#Black Dress in Disarray || Aesthetic

[nostomannia]

Semi-Selective, mutual-only independent RP blog for two fandomless OCs. Written by Fawn (21+, she/they) originally est. 2017. Remade 2021. 

A character study in: Manic pixie dream girls, the black swan theory and symbolism, the beauty in unpredictability, the manipulated, being your own worst enemy, trauma bonds, toxic dependency, the consequences of choice and lack thereof, never being able to return home, existential horror, the horror of immortality, paradoxes, the multiverse, death and revival, the inability to be honest even to oneself, the needs of all versus the needs of one, being unable to save someone who doesn't want to be saved, and more.

Carrd || Promo || Interest Tracker || Perma Call

Rules updated - 1/31/24 Solita updated - 2/15/24 Deity updated - 1/31/24 Verses updated - 2/07/24 Bonds updated - 7/26/23

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 6 of November Paramedic; part 5 is here and the AO3 version is here.)

"... and the biggest problem is that I like him. I really like him! I haven't liked anyone this much since fucking high school, and that's not comparable because I never got close to those guys. Just hopeless pining from afar."

Eddie takes a step back from the dresser. The clothes in the top drawer are in disarray, and after rummaging through them twice he must accept the shirt he seeks isn't among them.

"I admit, at first it was primarily physical," he says, slamming the drawer shut and yanking open the middle drawer to search it again. This time he pulls out the incorrect items and tosses them on the floor. "He's the guardian of my spank bank – of course I wanted to sleep with him. I would've been fine with that happening once and then never seeing him again. There's nothing wrong with that. Right?"

He turns to Gareth, who's lying in an uncomfortable-looking position on Eddie's unmade bed, spinning a pencil between his fingers like it's a drumstick. Though grimacing in disgust at the spank bank-mention, he nods. Eddie nods too, punctuating their mutual agreement.

"Right. But then I just had to go and get to know him, and he just had to be the perfect man, and I had to… ugh. Catch feelings."

The middle drawer is an equally lost cause. He moves on to the bottom drawer for the second time. He knows the shirt is there and he will find it.

"So, the good news is that I'm pretty sure I'm going to snag the guy. The worst news is that I have to tell him all my secrets, or else our relationship will be built on lies. And I- ah-hah!"

Rising from his ocean of fabric, he holds the shirt aloft in triumph before donning it. It's wrinkled from having been balled up in a corner, but that's okay. The creases add to the aesthetic.

Awesome. He's washed, brushed, dressed, and he's still got – he glances at the clock – five minutes before he's supposed to leave. Some of his nerves cool at the certainty of, if nothing else, at least he won't be late.

"Where was I?"

"You have to tell him all your secrets," Gareth says.

"Yeah. I have to tell the truth without it sounding like the creepiest thing ever. Emphasize the flattering angles. Be clever about it." Yeah. Yeah! He can totally do that. Sighing, he drags both hands down his face. "I'll need to strategize. I'm going to put distance between us while I plan my next move."

"Uh huh," Gareth says, dropping the pencil and sitting up. "But, Eddie-"

"No!" Eddie foresaw Gareth disliking the 'distance' part of it all. If he had his way, Steve and Eddie would be married already, just so Gareth could rub his essential matchmaking into Eddie's face during his best man speech. "I don't want to hear your counterarguments. It's what I'll do and I don't care what you think."

"Right, yeah, sure, that's not it," Gareth says. "It's just that curious minds would like to enquire why, if you're distancing yourself, you're 1. going to see him today, and 2. wearing your seduction shirt?"

Eddie's gaze dips to his chest, and the aforementioned shirt. It's just a normal shirt! A black and yellow Anthrax shirt, to be precise. Sure, he cut up the sides and the neck because it was too small, but that's irrelevant. It's not that revealing, just airier. His clavicles are visible but you can barely see any of his torso in it, unless he bends over and the front piece sags. But he's not going to bend over today, because his jeans are too tight for that to be safe. He glares at Gareth.

"This isn't my 'seduction shirt'."

"Yes, it is."

"I don't have a seduction shirt!"

"You do. It's that one. You only wear it when you want to show off to someone."

"You're creepy for noticing that," Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gareth leans forward with a shark-like grin. "Oh, so you admit it?"

"No! It's not a seduction shirt!"

"All right, a 'manwhore shirt', then. Listen-"

"Oh, fuck you."

Eddie flounces out of the bedroom and through the living room, gathering keys and wallet on the way. Gareth follows.

"Listen. I'm not against you going out to see him-"

"I'm not seeing him, it's a group outing-"

"-pulling back now is stupid-"

"-that Max invited me to-"

"-and I think you should go all out and get your man. So I'm all for this. It's exactly what I would do."

Eddie pivots; Gareth almost crashes into him.

"Well," Eddie says, wearing a barbed smile. "I suppose that is how I know it's a bad idea."

Then he leaves for the hallway to put on his shoes. He tries simply shoving his feet into them, but the knot is too tight and he must untie them. Gareth leans on one shoulder against the hallway wall.

"Oh, ouch," he says. "You're grouchy today. Is it because I, while sloshed may I add, gave you an excellent opportunity to get your dick wet and you still returned home unfucked? You had Steve and his pouty lips and one size too small clothes on a silver platter. You were like a towel draped around him after a really intense workout, man. He looked willing to wipe the sweat off his junk with you and you still failed. That's sad."

Eddie, shoe dangling from his fingers by the laces and face schooled into new-sketchbook-bought-to-combat-art-block levels of blank, allows himself one raised but carefully unimpressed eyebrow.

"Are you finished?" he asks.

"Hm. Yeah, I think so."

"You're never beating the 'wanting to fuck Steve' allegations after this."

Gareth shrugs. "I mean, if he had a sister…"

"Jesus Christ."

Shoes mostly on, Eddie continues storming out of the apartment. He'd have slammed the door behind him if he didn't need to lock it after Gareth. He compromises by chucking the keys at Gareth and letting him lock the door (and slam it, if he so wishes).

Max is waiting for him on the front steps, skateboard by her feet and one earbud in; she pulls it out when Eddie passes her and pushes off the steps. She's dressy again today: dark jeans and a crimson shirt left unbuttoned and tied over a black camisole. And heeled boots! No more than an inch, but it's a big deal considering Eddie's never seen her in anything other than sneakers before. He's not under the delusion that it's his business to tell her what clothes to wear, but it's nice seeing her like this. Also, her being spruced up means his outfit won't be under as much scrutiny. He appreciates her for that.

Scrutinizing him, Max smirks as she says, "You're showing skin today. Nice."

Never mind, she is detestable.

"It's his seduction shirt," Gareth stage whispers, both hands circling his mouth.

Max scrunches her nose. "What's with him and seduction?"

"I think he just likes how the word sounds."

"It's not a fucking seduction shirt. Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Eddie stomps over to his car. "We're leaving now!"

Max jogs to catch up while Gareth laughingly waves them off and tells them to have fun on their dates.

He's wrong, though. There'll be nothing datelike about this outing, and Eddie's determined to make it so. However, in the end, it seems like he won't have to. Two minutes in and it's as unromantic as it'll ever be.

Why? Well.

"Okay," Robin says, flinging a lined notebook and a pen onto the diner table. "It's settled: Nancy, Jonathan, and El will all be home during July. And Argyle and the boys have their plane tickets?"

Because they're planning a mass reunion. The plat du jour may be delicious, but nothing beats the taste of vindication!

"Yeah," Steve says through a half-chewed bite of pulled pork. It should be gross, but it's not. Neither is his tongue darting out to lap the BBQ sauce from his bottom lip. Eddie takes a big enough gulp of his pop to drown himself; Steve rubs his back through the coughing fit. Having a mere thin layer of fabric between him and Steve's big hand doesn't really help, but Eddie will be the last person to admit that.

(Okay, so maybe Gareth had a minuscule point in this counteracting the 'distancing', but shhhhh… Eddie won't tell if you won't.)

"And Erica has permission to come over?" Robin asks after scribbling check marks next to most of the names.

"Uh huh," Lucas says. His mouth is also full, with fried chicken, but he has the decency to cover his mouth with a napkin as he speaks.

"Great. So, about the accommodations. You have space for the boys?"

Lucas nods. "My housemates will be home for the summer and they're fine with me having people over as long as we stay out of their rooms."

"Where will everyone sleep if the bedrooms are off-limits?" Steve asks, reaching for his glass. His arm, tee-shirt sleeve folded up and leaving the whoooooole bicep free to view, brushes against Eddie's and leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Thank God he wasn't drinking this time.

"There's a couch, Sammy has a futon we can borrow, and I've an air mattress," Lucas says, counting on his fingers. "We'll have a weeks-long sleepover in the living room."

"The boys are accounted for." Robin checks three of the names a second time. She points her pen at Max. "You will have El and Erica at your place?"

"Yeah," Max says, nibbling on an onion ring in an unusually ladylike manner. As if to counteract the daintiness, she's slumped in her seat, one foot on the upholstery and head resting against Lucas' arm. She narrows her icy blues at Eddie. "Remember that you'll have to be quiet. There'll be virgin ears on the other side of the wall."

"You're not a virgin?" Steve says over Eddie's indignant sputtering that he's not that loud, the walls aren't that thin, and exactly what has she been hearing anyway?!

Max ignores Eddie to roll her eyes at Steve. "I'm talking about Erica. Pretty sure she's still a virgin."

Steve's expression clouds over. "She better be."

Robin scoffs. "Seriously? She's sixteen."

"So?"

"So! You were slutting it up at sixteen!"

"Now, hold on." Steve shakes his finger at her. "I was with Nancy then, and we were monogamous."

"Oh, excuse me," Robin says in a phony voice. "You were slutting it up at fifteen."

"That's different!"

"Why? Because she's a girl?"

"Because it was a mistake, and I don't want her repeating it!"

They're both glaring, leaning so far toward each other over the table it looks like they're either about to kiss or duke it out. Eddie doesn't know which option is less appetizing. In their corner, Max and Lucas share a squirmy look that can only be interpreted as 'mom and dad are fighting.

Then Robin withdraws with a curt nod. Steve relaxes next to Eddie. Crisis averted, it seems. Still…

"I wish I'd been slutting it up at sixteen," Eddie says, mock-mournful, because nothing evaporates tension like a well-placed joke. It works, too; both Steve and Robin huff a chuckle.

"Tell me about it," Lucas says. Max straightens up to stare at him; he flounders. "Uh, tell me about it because I've never experienced the feeling and don't know what it's like."

Max shakes her head, but re-settles against him. And she doesn't shrug him off when his arm slips an inch closer to wrapping around her shoulders, so he's forgiven.

"Anyway," Robin says, tapping her lists. "That leaves Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle. If we" – she waves the pen between her and Steve – "share a bed that leaves one bed and the sofa for the others, but it'll be cramped."

"That's why Eddie is here," Max says.

As if on command, everyone's head snaps to Eddie. He clicks his tongue.

"Exploited for lodging purposes. I should have known."

Robin frowns, contemplative. "Put someone with Eddie?"

"Yeah." Max smiles and, oh. He sees what she's doing now. "Like Steve. Then there are four in your apartment, and you two in Eddie's. You're good enough friends by now to make it work."

How nefarious. Is this a coincidence, or are she and Gareth in cahoots? Do they conspire behind his back? How dare they concoct plots to improve his life against his will!

"Max," Steve sighs, "volunteering Eddie's home like this is rude."

"He doesn't mind."

The worst thing is, it's true. He wouldn't mind. Not only would he give his skimpy shirt off his back for these people. Not only is he getting queasy green at the thought of Steve sharing close quarters with his badass and apparently Pulitzer-worthy ex, his equally badass friend whom he used to co-big brother with, and a guy who's a tall, dark California hunk with hair longer and silkier than Eddie could ever hope to achieve. Not only that, but also? Just sharing a living space with Steve 'November Paramedic' Harrington?

A dream come true.

Eddie's couch is fine to lounge on for a couple of hours, but not to sleep on a whole night. But they could share his bed. And they'd have breakfast together. Exist in each other's space. He'd find out what Steve does in his spare time. What his favorite song is, if he showers in the mornings or the evenings, how he dresses when he wants to be comfy.

It'd be amazing… and it'd completely fuck with his plan to distance himself. Honestly, he can imagine two scenarios: him falling even harder and proposing marriage and permanent cohabitation within a week, or Steve unearthing the calendar by accident, calling Eddie a stalker creep, and leaving forever. He'll have to reveal himself before that.

"Uh," he says. "We can figure it out. It's a while until they'll be here, right?"

Steve smiles softly at him; Eddie's heart gallops around his ribcage, thudding so fiercely he can feel it in his mouth, and, fuck, he's blushing down to his exposed collarbones. He might propose now. Do any of his rings fit Steve? Their hands aren't the same size.

"Yeah," Steve says. "We'll find a solution."

After lunch they drive to a nearby park, to aid their digestion with a promenade (Steve's suggestion, of course). Reminded by Robin, Eddie brings up D&D to Lucas – they discuss possible campaigns while Steve and Robin spectate. Max, her boots exchanged for Nikes, skates circles around them. Every so often she'll ride close enough to call them dorks, but mostly she keeps a wide berth, alternating between zigzags and jumps and waving like a queen when they whoop and holler at her.

And then it happens.

She's ahead of them, having reached a stone staircase. Leaping onto the railing, she slides along it like a pro. But halfway she loses her balance and falls. Slamming against the stone, she then tumbles the last steps.

They freeze, a collective breath rushing out of their lungs.

Steve reacts first, speedwalking toward Max, still on the ground. Robin is babbling that she's probably fine, that she eats shit all the time and takes it like a champ.

Max rises on wobbly legs. She stumbles, sinks back into a heap.

Steve sprints.

In an eyeblink he's reached her, skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees in front of her. By the time everyone's joined them, he's examining every inch of her by prodding and poking, even as she mutters that she's fine. She's not, though. Her clothes are dusty, her hair has come loose from her ponytail, there are scrapes on her jaw and hands, and the left knee of her jeans is torn open, bright red glistening where pale skin should be. Lucas sits behind Max, hands hovering over her shoulders. Wanting to soothe but not quite daring.

At last, after an eon has passed, Steve puffs in relief.

"No need for emergency care. Knee might be sprained," he gestures to the bloody, bruised thing, "but that should be the worst of it."

"Told you," Max mumbles, picking dirt from her palm.

Steve frowns.

"You know, this could've been prevented if you wore knee pads."

"Oh, really?" she says, mockingly exaggerated.

"Yes. And a helmet."

Max pushes out her bottom lip; it leaks more sarcasm than her leg does blood. "I thought my head was fine?"

"This time! But might not have been!" Steve exclaims.

"But it was!" she snaps, matching his volume.

"Guys, please…" Lucas says quietly; they ignore him.

"I just think you should know better by now," Steve says. "I mean, you've done this for how many years? How many times have you seen others get fucked up? How many times have I told you-"

"Oh. My. God. I get it. You think I'm irresponsible. You don't have to talk to me like I'm stupid, or a child. I'm not."

"Oh, yeah? Maybe you should back that up with your actions."

"Fuck you!"

They're both screaming now. Lucas is sitting with his head in his hands. Robin has wrapped her arms around herself and is swaying to and fro in discomfort. The tension in the air is thick enough to taste. Eddie doesn't know what to say or do.

"Come on!" Steve barks. "I need to wrap your knee"

He reaches for her; she finches away and kicks at him with her good leg.

"Don't touch me! I'll walk on my own."

"You'll exacerbate your injury. I'm carrying you to my car."

"Like hell you are!"

"Max…"

"I refuse care!" She bares her teeth at him like a rabid dog. "Leave me alone!"

Steve glowers at her. His chest is heaving and his body is drawn taut, rigid with cold fury. He shoots up and marches off without another word, leaving awkwardness in his wake.

Max gets to her feet slowly, winces slipping past her clenched teeth. Lucas touches her elbow to help, but she violently shrugs him off and limps away.

Sighing, Lucas pats Eddie's back.

"C'mon, man. She'll get more pissed if we try to match her pace."

So they walk ahead, sometimes glancing back at Max and Robin, the only one allowed near her, apparently. Even then she keeps a five-foot gap between her and the human firecracker.

Steve's already by the car, with a thunderous expression and a first aid kit in hand. When Max finally arrives, he yanks open the passenger seat door for her. She sits, he cleans her wounds, and not one word is uttered. Once finished, he slams the kit shut and storms off again, stopping by a fountain some 50 yards away, hands on his hips and back toward them.

Max, face somehow even sourer, curls up in the passager seat with her arms tightly crossed. Gliding down the BMW's polished side, Lucas takes a seat right beneath her.

Robin tugs at Eddie's wrist.

"Come," she whispers. "Let's give them space."

She brings them to a bench where everyone is within their view but out of their hearing. She collapses on the wooden seat like a potato sack.

"I hate when it gets like this," she says. "Don't you?"

"Yeah." He sits beside her. "Does it happen often?"

"Not anymore. But back when the kids were actual kids, sheesh. They were easier with us than with their parents, but still. Hormones and rebellious phases. Not that we were much better. We thought we were so adult." She rolls her eyes.

"Have you known them as long as Steve?"

"No, I joined the gang a year or two late. At first, I only hung out with Steve and the occasional child, when they deigned to stick around. I'm closest with Dustin, the MIT wunderkind, and Erica, Lucas' sister, the one still stuck at home. You'll love both of them – they're so savage."

Eddie nods, worrying his lower lip. At the car, Max’s hand has slipped down for Lucas to hold, but they still seem not to be speaking. Steve is stubbornly staring at the fountain like it'll reveal all of life's secrets if he's patient enough.

"You know after our gig?" Eddie asks. "When you raced ahead and we walked and talked? We talked a lot. Overshared, really."

Robin nods. "As you do."

"Steve told me about something important that happened at your old job? He wouldn't say what, because it's about you and it's private. But I'm curious, so… ?"

She sighs while grinning fondly. "He made it sound bigger than it is. All right. So we worked this shitty summer job at a mall ice cream parlor. The uniforms were hideous. We actually had to film a local commercial for it?"

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. I think it's still circulating – I'll ask around for it. Steve will never forgive me for showing it, but it has to be seen. Anyway, it was a summer job that continued into fall. That November, it all came to an end when the mall caught on fire."

"No!" he gasps, already invested.

"Yes!" she says, waving her hands, growing theatrical. "In the middle of the day! Rush hour! There was a stampede; we were trapped in the parlor for ages. By the time we got out of the shop, the fire had spread. Smoke everywhere! I inhaled so much I passed out. Steve carried me outside and gave me CPR."

He blinks at her, jaw slack. "Holy shit. Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. I'd have died if not for him."

She shrugs as if it's nothing, merely a fun little anecdote from yesteryear. Perhaps, to her, it is. Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"Why didn't he tell me this? He talked about his dad being a shithead, but not this?"

"Yeah… I don't know. When it's about him, he'll happily overshare. But when it's someone else it's all 'it's not my story to tell, I need permission'. Unless he hates them – he's sooo gossipy about people he doesn't like," she says, giggling a beat before sobering again. "Anyway, I'm telling you now that it was him saving my life and keeping me alive until the actual professionals showed up with the oxygen mask."

"Wow," Eddie breathes out. He gazes over at Steve's rugged form. "He's amazing."

Robin nudges him with her elbow. "He likes you, you know."

He likes him. He likes Eddie. He likes Eddie. Eddie kind of already figured. But hearing it from Steve's best friend is still…

"Yeah," he says, ducking his head and pulling ringlets of hair in front of his face. "Not sure I'm good enough for him."

"Oh come on. Isn't that for him to decide?"

"He doesn't know yet… what I'm capable of."

"Are you kidding me?" Grabbing him by the shoulder, she forcibly turns him to look at her. "Listen: I'm judgmental and I'm not afraid to admit it. When we first met, I took one look and thought I had you pinned down. 'Check out this guy. Leather and tattoos and black black black. So hardcore and gothic-'"

"I'm not goth-"

"'-he probably thinks he's soooo tortured'. And then you turned out to be a geeky-sweet bundle of sunshine. Well done, proving me wrong. And now you're doing this?" She gently smacks his chest. "Hitting me with all your self-loathing? Get over yourself! It's not like he's perfect either. Look at him!" She points at Steve. "He's sulking!"

A fit of giggles bubbles from Eddie's throat. It's true – he is sulking. No matter how impressive or resolute he's looking, that's what he's doing. It's so ridiculous and adorable.

"Whatever you're capable of," Robin says once the laughter abates, "you deserve to be happy. He deserves it."

She sends Steve a long look of pure love. It tells Eddie everything he'd ever need to know about her, he's sure.

"Also," she continues. "I'm getting seriously sick of the pining. I know, I should be kinder because Steve endured years of me desponding over various girls, but I can't stand this."

Eddie emits a triumphant noise. "I knew it. Only a lesbian dresses like that."

Robin's chin dips to her suspenders and tartan tie. She raises her brows at him.

"You wish you had my drip."

He would have replied if he hadn't caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Max is leaving the car. Eddie observes with bated breath as she slowly hobbles over to Steve. When reaching him, he spins to face her but makes no effort to step closer. She says something. He nods, sternness carved into his features.

For a moment, they're still.

Then she sways toward him; his arms envelop her, pulling her into a full-body hug. She tucks herself under his chin while he caresses her hair.

Eddie breathes out.

"They're fine."

"'Course they are," Robin says. "Don't you fight like this with your family?"

"Yeah." Eddie chuckles. By the fountain, Steve seems to be coaxing Max into letting him give her a piggyback ride. "Guess I do."

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------------------------------

Part 7

[argumate]

so I finally watched Dune (Villeneuve's) and it was entertaining, pretty much what I expected, I'm glad I watched it.

it has some good visuals, some decent actors, a dramatic score, possibly over-dramatic but that's appropriate.

the space scenes were excellent, cold and inhuman like 2001, vast geometric shapes moving in unnerving ways.

I liked the blocky solidity of the palaces, the theatrical effect of the empty spaces and the subtle decoration in the rooms.

that damn bull though -- they kept cutting back to it but what did it really signify? it represents the cruelty and capriciousness of the Old Duke, a trace of which should be visible in Duke Leto, but I don't think we see that at all in this film, perhaps it just represents another bold gamble taken and lost.

I imagined the fief on Caladan as being more like the Mediterranean, Aegean, or Indian Ocean in character, more suited to the Greco-Roman, Byzantine, and Persian influences that you imagine would describe the Atreides, but somehow it ended up more... Scottish?? the Atreides legions fight like a (distressingly undisciplined) hoplite phalanx but march out to bagpipes, maybe it's supposed to be an example of traditional Greek bagpipes, I don't know

at any rate the cliffs over the sea are dramatic and it's fun watching Paul stalk about dressed like a goth Victorian schoolboy as his father comfortingly tells him that he doesn't need to take on the burden of the family legacy if he doesn't want to (while the tombs of a dozen generations of his ancestors watch on in silent reproach)

I felt that the drama and pageantry of the introduction faltered a little when they reached the city of Arrakeen, which was a disappointing muddle of generic computer generated dusty metal that seemed very slapdash and poorly thought out compared to all the other settings, undermining the battle over it which was to come.

(and the battle was uninspiring, watching the feared Atreides legions run out in their pyjamas in disarray to face foes they didn't even notice were coming until after they arrived)

I'm quite familiar with the Dune books so it was interesting watching the movie and seeing how the sheer number of characters made it impossible to give many of them any meaningful characterisation or emotional development.

I was very pleased to see Chang Chen playing Doctor Yueh, but he is given no time to demonstrate his affection for Paul and Jessica nor the helpless compulsion that drives him to betray them, while Gurney and Duncan chew the scenery as best they can but can't quite convince you that they actually serve any purpose in the story (Paul's son is going to bring back a thousand clones of Aquaman?) and the Reverend Mother does a good job but has lost the nuances she had in the book ("I must have wanted you to fail").

"the Beast" Rabban portrayed by Dave Bautista (love that guy!) was one stand out I thought, mostly because this brute of a man comes across as nothing but a scared child next to his uncle, providing an excellent contrast for the nihilistic menace of the slug-like baron.

the baron is-- absurd of course, I mean he's even more absurd in the book, a corpulent flamboyant cackling caricature of a man, you could say this take is boringly toned down or you could say it's ludicrously over the top (he bathes in black sludge? seriously? you have to admire his commitment to the aesthetic, even if that's a Shrek move) but it's basically impossible to film a guy like this in a believable way and you just have to go for it.

the scene that sold the baron for me is when he's tucking into a solo banquet with his semi-conscious cousin Leto draped naked over a chair at the other side of the crazy long table, then when Yueh is brought in he activates his suspensors and silently rises into the air like a squid and drifts across the table towards us in a ghostly blur, all while the camera stays fixed on Leto's frozen rictus; the lack of focus echoes what Leto must be experiencing and is devastatingly effective.

the Fremen and Atreides and Harkonnen and Sardaukar have their own languages which is very cool (and Yueh speaks some Mandarin!) but why do the bad guys sound like they're using bad voice filters, they're being portrayed like literal orcs to the point that it begins to feel weird.

ornithopters are stupid but you have to admit these dragonfly contraptions do look pretty cool.

the worms get a lot of build up -- and I was surprised they preserved the harvester scene from the book almost verbatim, it felt like it consumed a lot of time -- but it's very satisfying when you finally see them rippling through the dune sea, it brings home the shifting danger of the desert sands in a way I wasn't expecting.

Paul has visions of the jihad but he never says the word "jihad".

splitting the movie in two is obviously necessary but the split is awkward, and it's really not helped by clunky lines like "this is only the beginning".

Chani gets a lot of vision time but what can you even say when you meet the teenager with whom you can precognitively remember several decades of future marriage?

still, bookending the movie with Chani is consistent with the book, that begins and ends with the women in Paul's life: Chani, Irulan, Jessica, something that always seemed like an interesting choice.

there is a lot more I would say about Dune but it would mostly be about the book rather than movie; this was a decent adaptation given the constraints of the medium, hopefully it won't be the last.

[sanctuary-kingdomhearts]

꧁𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼𝐼𝐼꧂

𝐷𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔

He was an older male, with long, white hair that flowed down his body’s natural curves and framed his face, rolling under his mouth and adding flare to his eyes with the bushiness of his eyebrows. He was dressed oddly but in line with his aesthetic of stars and magic. A large-cap sat comfortably on his head, covered in stars behind its blue background, with plain blue robes covering him to match. His very appearance gave meaning to the word ‘wizard.’

His very figure, right down to how he carried it, told anyone how composed he was. And, standing before him, I felt smaller than my below-average height usually made me. I averted my eyes, finding that to be a mistake when I realized the candle on his desk was shaped like a skull. Books floated about the room and organized themselves on shelves only to move again, or push other books out of the way. Always in a constant state of disarray.

Behind him were windows that allowed someone to look out into the starry night sky, and trees in the distance covered up the fact there was no ground past them. The sky was closer than it had been on the islands, and we’d had to take a rocket made out of candy to get to this fantastical place. It was just like one of the fairy tales that inspired Sora and Riku’s adventure games.

I stepped back as another stepped forward, hitting my shoe on the chalkboard behind me. I sucked in a breath and put my foot down, trying not to seem as small as I felt. Diverting my attention back to the two adults I was in the room with.

The male that stepped up was quite odd as well. Weirdly shaped with a snout and large, circular ears. His beady eyes reminded me of an animal with their look, but inside them was undeniably someone who cared, at least, from when I had met him. He’d gently taken my hand and told me it’d be alright, as he and mom talked.

His outfit was practical and easy to move in. Indicating that he exercised a lot, or needed to be more mobile than most. It was equipped with armor and soft, red fabric, a light jacket, and sweatpants. He had large, yellow shoes with belts on him too. He had a lot of belts.

I rolled back on my heels, bothered that Sora wasn’t here, and Mom had to wait outside.

“Master,” The male with the high-pitched voice spoke softly, “it’s her, she has the keyblade.”

Right, not only had Mom been worried about the strange key, but this person too, Mickey. I stepped closer to him, looking for assurance in front of his intimidating master.

The older man stroked his beard and closed his eyes in thought, “a keyblade wielder so young? It has never happened before,” He opened his striking black eyes, “perhaps it’s a warning, about what is to come.” He sighed, and I couldn’t help but observe how strained it sounded.

“What is to come, master?” The mouse-man stressed. “You won’t tell me anything.”

The wizard, Yen Sid– I believe that’s what Mickey told me before we arrived– shook his head slowly, “it is not our concern yet,” he turned and locked eyes with me.

“Could you show me, your keyblade?” He asked, pausing in the middle of his sentence as if contemplating whether I even knew what that meant.

I don’t. But with Mickey’s help, taking my hand in his larger gloved one, the light came back. The old and worn silver and gold key appeared in my hand, I couldn’t support it, so Mickey held up the oversized key for me. It was scratched and there were signs of it being worn beyond relief. It was definitely old, battle-tested.

He hummed, taking his hand off his beard. “So, it’s time for that as well.”

When he closed his eyes this time, he kept them shut for so long I’d thought he’d fallen asleep. But then he opened them, and along with that, came to a decision. “Then, it’s far too dangerous for her to return to the islands.”

I froze, clutching the clothes over my chest to try and steady myself. What did he just say? I think I must’ve misheard.

“But what do we do..? She’s too young to start training, and we can’t just give her to master Eraqus, can we? He has his own pupils to train.” Mickey looked at me, sympathy in his eyes.

I didn’t want sympathy. What did they mean I couldn’t go back home to Mom and Sora? That was ridiculous! It was just a key!

“I wanna go home,” I stated, walking closer to the desk. I didn’t even measure up enough to peek my head over without using my tiptoes. “To Sora, my mom’s waiting outside. I’m not going anywhere but there.”

“(Y/n)...” Mickey reached out to grab my shoulder, but I kept my gaze on Yen Sid.

“I don’t understand why everyone’s so concerned with it, but– does it matter? I’ll be careful with it.” I tried to convince them, pleading with them. But neither would meet my eye as I turned to each of them.

“(Y/n),” Mickey started, “it’s not you we’re worried about. It’s the heartless.” The mouse specified.

“The, what?” I asked, breathless. It felt like the world had turned on its head, and in a way, I suppose it had. But I felt like I was drowning in things I didn’t understand, didn’t hope to understand. Beside me, a black creature appeared with a puff of pink smoke that trailed into the air. It stayed still, but looked exactly like the Scary from two days ago!

I backed up, running into Mickey as I tried to avoid it. Yen Sid set his hand down, robes shifting with it, creating the sound of meshing fabric.

“This is a heartless,” he explained to me. “They are creatures created from the darkness in people's hearts, they seek to snuff out the light.”

“Your keyblade attracts them to you, (Y/n).” Mickey chimed in, I turned to him, clutching my chest.

“So they come from people's sadness and stuff? And then what do they do, snuff out? Like a candle?” I muttered before thinking of Sora, “and I can, help them?”

Mickey’s eyebrows dropped, behind us, the heartless burst into a puff of pink smoke. “Something like that.”

“By repairing their hearts, you would help those who’ve lost their way and have become consumed by darkness,” Yen Sid explained, his natural inflection highlighting the word consumed and elongating darkness.

“So, if they snuff out the light, that's bad?”

“Yes.”

“But I can just turn it back on again though, so there's nothing to worry about.”

Mickey looked at me, his black eyes became glossy with a sort of sadness. I wondered what could make a person that sad. “Eventually, yes, you will be able to do that.”

The older male cleared his throat, rubbing his beard. “It means, child, that returning to your family will put their hearts in danger.”

I turned to him, tilting my head, our hearts? He was going on about hearts too? Curious, I wanted to know just what exactly the hearts they were talking about went.

“They will try to take your heart, along with your mother and Sora’s.”

My grip on the fabric tightened. “But that would hurt…”

“Exactly. So we have to make sure that won’t happen.”

“But we’d be fine, right? Even if they snuff out the lights, we can just turn more on.” I spoke, determined. I could keep my family safe. I could handle responsibility. Anything for mom, anything for Sora.

Mickey sighed, averting his gaze from me. “That's not how it works, (Y/n).”

Confused, I turned to him, mumbling out my question as I deflated. “Why not?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with yet, child.” The magician dismissed me and I frowned.

“If it’s important to my family,” I turned to him and stared into his eyes, “I should know. Right?”

He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. I balanced my weight on one foot, suddenly antsy. An ache in my chest wasn’t going away, even as I scratched at it. “It’s not important for a child to know.”

Heat made its way into my cheeks and I frowned, “I wanna go home, I wanna see Sora.”

I turned around, intending to walk out the door and get mom, hoping she’d help end this conversation and let me go home. But Mickey placed a hand on my shoulder.

“If you go back home, untrained and with that keyblade, your brother will get hurt, (Y/n).” There was so much pain in the mouse's voice that I turned around to meet his almost teary eyes. I bit my lip and stilled in my movement. The look in his eye was too personal for me not to listen.

“But I love them, I want to be with them,” My chest ached again, a dull ache that persisted even as I rubbed against the rainbow fabric.

Mickey nodded, pulling me into a hug, “I know, I know, but, if you love them, you have to make sure they're safe, right?” Reluctantly, I nodded.

He bent down, crouching on his knees, “You wanna keep them safe, don’tcha?”

“I do.”

We turned to his master, and I gazed up at his wisdom-worn face. He peered down at me, and I resigned myself to listening to the rest of their conversation.

“She’s too young to start training.” He decided, his decision as firm as his voice, “Once she is of proper age, I will undergo her training myself, but until then, we must house her in a place that is best suited to protecting both her and those around her.”

Alarmed, my body shot up on its own. “You mean I have to go somewhere else?!”

Mickey protested as well, “master, she’s way too young to wait for the proper age. If we did that…” He looked at me, “We– I can monitor the islands, make it part of my daily patrol!”

I turned to him, then back to the master, “yes. We can do that, can’t we?”

The old man sighed, rubbing his beard, “Mickey.” He stated with closed eyes, “Do you really think you can handle that? As the only current active duty keyblade master, you have a duty to the denizens of every world. It's far too much for you to handle the protection of the child on her own.”

“Well, we can’t give her to master Eraqus. Like I said before, he has far too much with Aqua, Terra, and Ven.” Mickey argued, suddenly taking my previous stance.

Confused by this change, I tilted my head. “What’s the proper age?”

The older man stared down at me, unwavering in his composure, his cold stare made me straighten up before I even noticed it was happening.

“Thirteen is the usual beginning for a keyblade wielder in training nowadays. But long, long ago, it was decided at ten, who would be able to take up the path of a protector of worlds.”

My mouth was agape, and my eyes expanded at his answer. “Ten?” I asked, breathless and flabbergasted. I was only four. That was at least six years before I could even start training. And then, even after that..?

Sora, Mom. No, I can’t.

“I can’t accept that. There has to be another way, can’t I start earlier? I can do it, I’m,” I looked for the right words, something that would convince him, “mom says I’m smarter than most kids my age, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Amused, the old wizard cracked a smile, “But you are so young, you cannot even hold your blade. How do you hope to conquer the darkness without a steady hand?”

Wordless, I scrambled for an answer. “I’ll, I’ll… I– can’t I do the learning part now? And then practice every day to hold it, and then we can work on the practical part when I’m ready! Can’t that work?”

Mickey placed a hand on my shoulder, “we don’t want you to have to wait that long either, (Y/n). But I don’t think that's a good idea, and I’m sure master…”

“Five.”

Both our attentions’ turned to the mage, “huh?”

Stroking his beard, he closed his eyes. “If you can manage to hold your blade in the half a year it takes for you to turn five, then I shall oversee your accelerated training myself.”

Before Mickey could think to say anything more, I agreed as quickly as I could. “Deal.”

When I got no reaction, I repeated myself again, “deal, please.”

“Very well, then, child. Let your heart be your guiding key during this time. I am truly sorry for the grief you’ve been inflicted with.” We didn’t make any eye contact, his black eyes closed and body stilled. I believed him.

As Mickey took my hand and led me toward the entrance of the room. Towards mom’s arms. I couldn’t help but turn back to the man as we left.

“Let your heart be your guiding key too, mister.”

___________

The house was nice, a brick-based structure painted to match the nice town that it inhabited. The walkways were concrete with intricate designs, and the place was littered with flowers to the point it smelled more like incense than anything else.

The building was the same color as those walkways where the brick pattern was visible, but changed into a smooth white after a hard cutoff. The house was connected to the one next to it, and the one next to that. It seemed to be the style of this place.

I felt a little claustrophobic here, in Destiny Islands, the houses were separated and everyone had big yards where you’d need to walk a few minutes to meet a neighbor or go to school. I didn’t like the lack of a breeze or ocean air, I couldn’t hear the waves– I wasn’t with my family. I didn’t like that one bit, it was the part of this I hated the most.

I turned to Mickey and made my displeasure clear, crossing my arms. “I still don’t see why I can’t stay with Sora and mom.”

When Mickey gazed at me, it seemed to go right through me. And I caught myself unraveling and playing with my chain necklace. The heart-shaped metal felt nice on my chest. Mom had given one to me, and one to Sora, before I’d left. His was a crown, mine a heart. She said that no matter what, these would connect us, and lead us back to each other. She said they’d always and forever be ours.

It was wishful thinking. But for now, I’ll accept it. Because I was wishing. After days of goodbyes and packing, it had finally been time to say goodbye. And there was no one more than me who didn’t want to. But I went willingly because it means getting back to Sora quicker. It meant keeping them safe.

“The keyblade can give blessings to other weapons, for a short time this allows them to defeat heartless and claim hearts.” Mickey started to say as he led me to the front door, grasping my hand gently and softly leading me along.

“But there's no one on Destiny Islands that can fight them. So you’ll stay here, in Radiant Garden. I promise you’ll be safe,” Mickey tried to smile, but to me, it felt forced. “The people here are used to combating the darkness, and I bless their weapons often. So the heartless will stay away long enough for you to start training and finish it.”

I nodded along, that made sense. It didn’t mean I liked it, however.

“The people you're staying with are some of the kindest I know, you’ll be in good hands, (Y/n).”

“I believe you, Mr. Mouse.” I’m not worried about them, though.

He chuckled, his voice going up an octave, “Just Mickey, is fine.”

“Okay, Mr. Mickey.”

His smile morphed into a happy one at that, and he turned away from me, knocking on the front door. It made me wonder, what kind of people could hunt down the Scaries, and live here?

Would they be like the knights or the barbarians? What if they were like fairies? Or like the wizard Yen Sid, or a nymph or a cyclops? What if a dragon opens the door, what then?

I was disappointed only slightly when no dragon answered the door, but instead a very tall man.

The man had short brown hair that draped across his face, with a pointed tendril covering his sharp nose. He had bright blue eyes, and a distinct scar slashed across his face. His clothes were a spectacle on their own though, dozens of belts and leather littered his body.

As we locked eyes, a smile graced his lips. Something supposed to be a comfort, I think.

“You’re here,” His voice was gruff and low but with his inflection, it was light and airy like he was happy to see us. At least someone was.

“Yup!” Mickey greeted him, holding out his hand and standing on his tiptoes so the taller man could shake it without having to bend down too much.

“Please, come in.”

I waited for Mickey to enter first before the brown-haired person motioned for me to also come inside. I swallowed the saliva building up in my mouth, watching the man smile down at me softly.

The inside of the house was nothing like home, where we had picture frames and small projects of moms littering the walls. This place was relatively sparse, with only a couple of frames with the family that lived here scattered about. There was a calendar, table lamps, and some drawings hung up, but that was the extent of any decoration.

A boy, much older than me but he probably wouldn’t be far off from Riku’s age, hopped up from the couch. He smiled much brighter than the man I assume is his father, considering they live together and both have brown hair, albeit different shades.

“Hi! I’m Denzel.” The boy came over and introduced himself, extending his hand for me to take. Slowly, I took it.

“(Y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/n). I hope we can get along.” His light blue eyes sparkled and I saw genuine enthusiasm layered beneath. He reminded me of Sora.

“Me too.” At least, if I was going to stay here I should be able to get along with the people I’m living with, right? It’ll be a few months before I’m five, and then after that, I’ll have to train, so it’ll be at least a year before I go home and see Sora and mom again.

The shifting of clothes and the clanking of belts met my ears as I turned around, the older male had crouched down to me and held out his hand as well.

“I’m Squall, (Y/n). I hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay here, if you need anything at all, just ask.” His hand was gloved in more leather, in a weird style that barely covered his palm, when I took it, I noted the weird texture it gave our handshake.

“Thank you,” mom always said we should be polite to others, even if we don’t particularly like the circumstance, so I tried to suck it up. Like it or not, I was stuck here for quite some time.

The falling of heavy footsteps entered from down a hallway at the end of the living room, where a figure had stilled upon seeing us, I suppose.

Squall stood up and Denzel looked back, grabbing my hand. I gasped, not expecting it, nor the rough pull from the boy as he brought me closer to the man. “Dad, she’s here! Isn’t this so exciting?”

The blond was wearing a turtleneck and heavy, work-comfortable clothing. A giant sword lay on his back, something that made me gulp upon seeing it. His arms were crossed as he peered down at me, discovering he had light blue eyes with something strong behind them, a green that shimmered every second or so.

The thing I noticed before any of that, however, was the spiky hair on the top of his head, the puffy platinum blond formation that resembled a…

“Chocobo.” It left my lips before I had time to register what I was saying. But at the realization of what it reminded me of, I suddenly wasn’t so disappointed that there weren’t any fairies or cyclops anymore.

He grunted and turned his gaze elsewhere, muttering a phoned-in, “yeah” in response to Denzel’s question. It was a few stilled seconds later before he moved, stiffly shifting around us and toward the front door. Only to be stopped by Squall, whose expression had turned serious. Denzel started talking again as his Dad announced to his partner that he needed to leave.

“Dad’s like that. You get used to it,” he shrugged, it didn’t look like he’d even gotten used to it, which wasn’t helping the growing concern he didn’t like me. I shouldn’t have said that. Name-calling wasn’t the nice, or polite thing to do.

The brown-haired boy placed a hand on my shoulder, “Pa tries, but it takes some time for him to warm up to people, is all.”

“Pa?” I asked, confused. Isn’t the blond man his dad? Why was he calling him dad and pa? That was confusing.

Denzel turned to me, tilting his head, “yeah, Cloud is dad, Squall is pa, usually,” he paused before adding, “you can call them whatever you want though.”

I nodded, connecting the dots that the blond male trying to leave was probably Cloud. So Denzel had two dads? I didn’t even have one, how lucky.

“Do you wanna go see your room?” Denzel asked, tilting his head like a puppy. “It’s right next to mine, so if anything happens you can come to me.” he placed a hand on his chest proudly.

I nodded, now that I knew their names there wasn’t much to do. “Sure.”

Denzel took my hand again and started to lead me down the hall when a loud sigh filled the room along with an utterance of my name.

I turned to look at the person who’d said it and locked eyes with the shimmering blue and green-eyed man, he looked away from me as shortly.

“‘Name’s Cloud.” With that introduction he passed by Squall and made his way to the front door, exiting the building before anyone took another breath. Great, he hates me.

What a wonderful start to my time here.

[wolfontheloose]

|| Tony & Ryden ||

Ripping the door to his apartment open after the first couple of eager knocks against the painted wood, Ryden let the other man through without much of a greeting since his visit was expected, their plan to hang out and watch Jujutsu Kaisen long awaited and prearranged. Ryden had been looking for someone to watch anime with like the nerd that he secretly was and meeting this dear friend of Bellamy’s opened up the opportunity. Because watching animated series was at least ten times more fun in company than alone.

“Come in. I got popcorns and beer ready.” Ryden informed, leaving it up to Tony to close the door behind him and make himself comfortable in whichever way he wanted. Inside, Ryden’s apartment was a punk-rock biker fairytale dream come true, an alternative kid’s sanctuary when he got too tired of playing a proper grownup. Walls were painted insultingly black, fading into grey in a subtle gradient near the floor. Posters and wall art were scattered all over, in a chaotic but still somehow aesthetically appealing disarray, not merely a cover-up for a bad paint job or holes in the walls Ryden might’ve punched in for some recreational anger venting - which he never actually did although he looked like a bloke who regularly punched holes through walls. Almost everything was carefully framed, purposefully hung up, especially the limited editions hard to come by and therefore cherished and given special spotlight places. Iggy Pop, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Johnny Cash, David Bowie; faces of many a legend watched on from their lofty vantage points, cozily observing in between framed movie prints and comic book covers. Flat surfaces had picture frames of more real people, ones Ryden encountered daily in his life and kept them there, and artwork or mementos made or gifted by them. Taking up an honored place on the TV stand against the central wall, among Alien and Predator figurines, were framed hand-done doodles and drawings in charcoal or pen, shiny little car models and wooden 3D train puzzles Ryden assembled himself in what little free time he had.  

The furniture arrangement was where one would expect it to be in a space as small and predictable as this. The kitchenette was tiny, separated from the rest of the living space by a large kitchen island with rusty-colored countertop, tall leather-dressed barstools tucked under it. Ryden’s precious curved plasma TV was huge and very likely the most pricey thing he had ever bought with decently earned money, taking up most of the wall opposite to the black leather couch matching the barstools. The coffee table was Ryden’s own invention - a couple of beer crates and a wooden panel over them all securely nailed together, spray painted a glossy black, with stylized pair of claw mark engraved across it. Two Pacman-shaped lazy bags were shoved into a corner, stacked one on top of the other. An Xbox and a PlayStation sat under the TV.

Most blinds were shut and the only source of artificial light was a red lava lamp strategically placed where its crimson illumination would be at its best. A rosewood guitar sat in another corner on its stand, the amplifier connected, stereo mounted on the wall. An old jukebox was next to the instrument, still recuperating from when Ryden had salvaged it from a dumpster. He’ll fix it eventually and make it work. Heavy hand weights were stacked neatly on their rack, proudly being the reason why Ryden didn’t have a dining table. Instead of any ceiling lights hanging, there was a very professional looking punching bag, definitely sand-filled. The door to the bathroom was open and a sneak peek would reveal that it was kept pretty neat, yet sadly only large enough for a shower stall. Aside from that particular space dedicated to cleanliness, Ryden didn’t believe in storing everything away immediately after use - anything that might belong in a drawer was equally comfortable on the floor.

@tony-baxter​

[mintdrop]

Meet Nanami. A shy, selectively mute “witch” who spends most of her time tending to plants and making herbal medicines. She has a fascination with the ocean and occasionally daydreams about what it would be like to explore the waters. More info under the cut!

Basic Info

Real Name: Nanami Nami Age: 26 as of SHB Race: Dunesfolk Lalafell Sexuality: Bisexual Guardian Deity: Nophica, the Matron Main classes: WHM, SMN (purely for her familiar) DOL/DOH: BTN, ALC, a dream of being FSH Voice Claim: Nao Tōyama (Reina Prowler in Macross Delta, Chitose from Nisekoi, Lyria from Granblue Fantasy)

Personality

MBTI: ISFP Enneagram: Type 9 Wing 1 (The Dreamer) Temperament: Phlegmatic Alignment: Neutral Good

Nanami is soft; marshmallow soft. Introverted to the nth degree, she has no real experience in dealing with other people outside of those who have run a select few shops that she's patroned for years - and even then, she can't meet their eyes. She suffers from selective mutism, meaning words are few and far between in regards to anyone but herself for the most part. However, with enough time and trust, it's possible that you might hear an answer or two rather than see it with your eyes.

Because she knows that she can't function through life (alone or otherwise) without "speaking", Nanami is able to combine her magic with her aether to speak by drawing or writing in the air - she often chooses drawing, as it allows for quicker responses.

When observed from afar, Nanami's true character can be seen; gentle, and extremely caring of those around her. She handles plants and flowers as though they're her family, and more often than not will she end up somewhat red-eyed and sniffly when using a plant for herbal medicines.

Backstory

An orphan from birth, Nanami has lived her life in self-inflicted isolation. The other children of the orphanage were never very kind to her, given that she couldn't speak, was more interested in the weeds growing from the ground than the game they were playing, and often felt sick when in the sun. Of course, children can be cruel, and it would be a lie to say if she wasn't bullied because of it; this only led her to isolate herself more in the long run.

It was discovered at a young age that she was proficient in white magics, and thus spent a long amount of time training under E-Sumi-Yan to hone her skills; thanks to this, he is one of few people who Nanami is able to speak to normally, though only when nobody else is around. She now uses these magics in conjuncture with her "witch magic" to produce various potions and medicines to sell for income.

Nanami lives far within the woods of the Black Shroud, in a small cottage that she had built by herself. When adventurers, wounded or otherwise, would come seeking shelter and aid, she would offer it under few conditions; one, that they understand she would only be around them to administer care and meals. Two, that before they left, they repair a part of her cottage that was in disarray, as her own craftsmanship was fairly shoddy. Thanks to this, her cottage is much more stable than when it had been made.

Stats

Strength: 3/10 Offense:  5/10 Defense: 7/10 Speed:  4/10 Durability: 6/10 Accuracy: 5/10 Agility: 4/10 Stamina: 3/10 Teamwork: 9/10 Stealth: 2/10 Magic: 10/10 Healing: 10/10

Nanami is a healer in all forms of the word; from healing magics to shielding magics, and even homemade potions, she functions as a pure supportive role in the heat of battle. Of course, she'd very much prefer not to fight at all if possible, but she's well aware that that simply isn't the case in this world.

Because she often gets uncomfortable in the sun, Nanami is never found without a massively large hat to mitigate the effects - leading to a hard drop in combative accuracy, as the rim of the hat will often block the far off view. Her close combat skills are basically nonexistent, which can sometimes lead to her being more of a liability if she's unable to protect herself in time. To say she fears these scenarios more than death would be an understatement.

Other headcanons

Could probably sing fairly well if she didn’t suffer from psychological issues.

Has a floating ferret familiar named Ren and a fat cat named Mr. Pibbles.

Has a love/hate relationship with spring - she loves seeing the plants flourish, but hates the allergies that come with them.

Paints as a hobby, but she hides all her artwork in a loose floorboard because she’s embarrassed about it.

Somewhat good at figuring things out on the fly, but her anxiety leads her to second guessing herself almost instantly.

She loves fruits in all forms, especially in drinks.

Fell in love with the ocean after visiting Costa Del Sol once with the orphanage - she wants to visit again, especially on a clear night.

Blind as a bat; she can’t even find her glasses in the morning after waking up - Ren has to put them on his back and bring them to her.

She knows sign language! She just doesn’t use it often because her art conveys things easier to those who don’t.

Aesthetics

Scents: Baked apples, cinnamon, flower shops, rose water Colors: Grayscale, dark purples and reds Animals: Deer, crows, squirrels Clothing: Long dresses, cloaks, large hats, circle frames, long sleeves, layered shirts, long socks Others: Autumn leaves crunching underfoot, candlelight, the faint sounds of a piano from another room, bird calls, whispers

Mun Notes

First and foremost, I want to say that selective mutism isn’t choosing to be mute - honestly, the term is very poorly named, imo. The link the phrase directs to has a few examples that accurately describe Nanami’s condition:

Twenty-six-year-old Hannah is only able to speak with her parents. In other situations like school, where she’s interacting with a larger group of people who she is less familiar with, her words get stuck, and even though she wants to speak, nothing comes out.

For interactions with Nanami, I know it’s hard to portray her when she’s unable to speak, so people are free to have her talk in sets. But she’s very quiet/soft, and pauses a lot. Ellipses are her best friend tbh.

Her design uses a custom face dds that I edited from Mint’s that I don’t mind giving to people who want to pose her if they ask ;w;

[nostomannia-archive]

 tags. 

[rileyyy2468]

“Yes, Sir” Part Four

Written on AO3 by myself (Rileyyy2468)

Pairing: James Acaster/Greg Davies

Tags:  light BDSM, Body worship, blindfolding, tying up, hand jobs

Summary:  James finally gets what he wants, and Greg was more than happy to give it to him.

Chapter Four:

“Now, how about we take this upstairs, hm?”

James nods eagerly and they waste no time, standing up from the sofa, James wordlessly following Greg’s lead, close behind the taller as he guides him upstairs and into Greg’s room, Greg turning the light on and making sure the blinds were closed while James stands quietly in the middle of the room, awaiting instruction. Once Greg was done sorting out the surroundings, he re-directed his attention back onto James who was standing, his arms swaying at his sides and his teeth gently biting at his bottom lip; it'd become an unconscious action to do so by now.

Greg thinks for a moment, his eyes surveying James’ body, James shifting at the intensity of how Greg was looking at him, and Greg had to admit; he loved making the boy squirm. “How do you feel about kneeling?” Greg finally comes out with, and James was a little taken aback by the question but, already knowing the answer, he promptly responds. “I-i’m fine with kneeling. I-i can kneel, sir.” James stutters, fidgeting a little where he stands as Greg’s eyes never leave his. “Good. I’d like you to kneel down right there for me.” Greg demands, pointing down to the space just behind where James was standing, instructing him to kneel on the floor at the base of his king-sized bed. James of course complies, kneeling down obediently, dropping to his knees beautifully right where Greg had pointed and Greg admires how utterly gorgeous James looked in that position, the boy’s hands placed palms-down on his thighs, while he looked up at Greg, and how that boy managed to look so fucking innocent in such a position he had no idea. “Good boy. I want you to wait there while I go into the bathroom to get a few items, do you understand?” Greg instructed, “Y-yes, sir.” James stammers, and Greg smirks. “Good.”

Greg turns and walks into the en-suite bathroom across from James, leaving the door open so James can see what he was doing, he didn't want James to be startled by anything he brought out. Yes, Greg was in charge, but this was James’ pleasure he was in charge of also, he wanted James to be aware and comfortable with his plans. When Greg returns, he was now clad in a pair of black dress shoes—of which he wore mainly for the teacher aesthetic—holding a blindfold, a small bottle of lube, as well as a thin black tie, James’ mouth drops open a little, slightly shocked that Greg just had these things, but he was very much intrigued by the items, pleasantly eager to find out what Greg had planned for him.

Greg places the items down on the bedside table closest to him before directing his attention onto the kneeling boy before him. He walks briskly but heavily towards where James was knelt, the heels of his shoes thumping against the hardwood floor, James’ eyes following his movement, his head craning up to look at Greg as he stops just in front of him, towering above the younger. Greg says nothing. He simply just threads his fingers into James’ already tousled hair, smoothing it out slightly, although he was certain that it’d be in a state far more disarrayed soon enough.

“Stand up.” Greg commanded, unthreading his fingers from James’ hair as the shorter complies, standing straight away, a little wobbly once upright, however recovering relatively quickly, standing awkwardly before the taller, his arms swaying a little, unsure on where they should situe before hooking them behind his back. “Shirt off.” Greg stipulates authoritatively, and James hesitates a bit as his arms drop to his sides again. He’d always been rather self-conscious of his body, and in this moment, James felt that this was almost worse than any task he’d done while filming for Taskmaster.

Greg soon picks up on James' sudden apprehensiveness, quickly realising the situation. “James, hey, hey. Look at me.” Greg says, voice deep but soft, dropping the dominant persona for the moment, placing his hand gently upon James’ cheek to help distract James from his own mind and making him focus on him instead. James looks up at Greg, face adhering an almost apologetic expression. “James, you have no need to feel self-conscious around me, okay? There is absolutely no judgment within this relationship, and I intend on keeping it that way. You’re okay, James.” Greg promised, fingers gently pushing back James’ hair before pulling away, and although James was still a little reluctant, he nodded nevertheless. Greg made him feel safe, and he trusted that Greg would never judge him, and so, dipping his head to look at what he’s doing, he slowly brought his hands up, of which were shaking a little as his fingertips made contact with the top button of his shirt. “Take your time.” Greg assures. He was being very patient. In this moment of vulnerability, he understood how hard this would be for James to accomplish, but he was willing to wait as long as James needed him to.

James lets out a shaky breath and continues, proceeding to undo his top button, and Greg could tell that James was struggling, so, Greg stops him, placing his hands overtop of James’. “Would you like me to take over for you?” He offers, voice calm, not even a hint of judgment in his words. James gulps and his face flushes, nodding. Greg takes it slow, keeping his eyes locked onto James’ in a comforting and reassuring gaze, and soon the other two buttons are successfully unbuttoned. “Arms up.” Greg instructed, James did as asked, lifting his arms above his head, Greg lifting off James’ shirt, tossing it on the floor, James almost immediately wrapping his arms around his bare torso, feeling very much exposed. “James, arms by your sides please.” Greg warns in a soft voice, and James screws his eyes shut, unwrapping his arms from around himself, letting them drop down by his sides.

“Beautiful.” Greg compliments truthfully as his eyes scan James’ torso, his skin was just as fair as the rest of him, freckles dotted his shoulders, stomach flat, and his bare chest rises and falls with his slightly laboured breathing, he was absolutely beautiful. “How could you ever want to hide such a gorgeous body?” Greg asks in disbelief and James’ eyes shoot open, shocked by Greg’s words. “I-you really mean that?” James asks shyly. “Of course I do, James.” Greg affirms, his hand moving to tenderly cup James’ cheek and he takes a step forward. James looks up at Greg, mouth parted, and in that moment, he forgets about his insecurities, all he wanted was Greg.

“What do you want, James?” Greg asked, taking note of how James was looking at him, that wanton look returning within his eyes, and although it was obvious what James wanted, Greg knew better than to just give in, he had to make the boy ask for it. “I-i want you to kiss me.” James requests before quickly adding a “Please, Sir.” Greg smiles proudly down at the younger. “Who am i to say no to that. Come here.” Greg stated, placing two fingers underneath James’ chin, pulling him up into a heated kiss, James was on his tip-toes, pressing up against Greg’s front, his hands coming up between them both, placing his hands on Greg’s clothed chest, Greg’s other arm wraps around James’ bare torso in a protective manner.

They soon pull away, Greg taking the lead again, as much as he’d love to just kiss James all night, he had a plan, and although kissing James is still very much within that plan, he had other things he wanted to do with him also. “On the bed.” Greg commands, taking a step back, watching as James does as told, climbing on the neatly made bed and manoeuvring himself so that he was laying down flat on his back, glancing at the items that were laid out on the bedside table to the left of him, before returning his gaze back to Greg, who was stood intimidatingly, wordlessly admiring how debauched James looked, already. James’ hair was splayed messily against the pillows, although it still managed to make James look just as attractive, he had a bright-crimson flush dusting his face all the way down his chest. James looked purely gorgeous just laying there, waiting to be ruined.

Greg walked confidently towards the bed until he stood beside it, openly checking James out as he lay, shifting under the gaze. James whines, his hips jutting a little on their own accord, and at the movement Greg raises his eyebrow. “Eager boy, aren’t you, James. Don't worry, you’ll get what you want soon enough. Only good things come to good boys who wait.” Greg reprimands, James whimpers. He wanted Greg to get his hands on him, touch him, just anything. He was very much uncomfortable in his trousers, all he wanted was some friction, something to relieve the pressure. He wanted so badly to just touch himself, but he needed to be good. He needed to wait.

“Sit up for me.” Greg instructs, James sits up, situating himself so he’s leaning up against the headboard of the bed. “I’m going to put this blindfold on you now, alright?” Greg warns, picking up the blindfold from the bedside table, James nods, scooting himself forward a bit to give Greg easier access to put it on. “Good boy.” Greg praised before he gently pulled the blindfold over James’ eyes. “I’m going to tie your hands together now. I’m not going to be doing anything extreme just yet with the tying up. The only thing I want you to do is keep your hands above your head. If I catch you trying to touch yourself at all, I’m going to stop everything, and you’ll go home. I won't even let you finish. Do you understand?” Greg cautions, grabbing the tie, pulling James’ arms together at his front, James’ body pliable as he lets Greg take control of him, no resistance as Greg grips his wrists together in one of his large hands. “Now, if you ever want to stop, or if you start to feel too overwhelmed at all, I need you to let me know straight away, is that clear?” Greg reminds, voice serious and authoritative while he works on tying together James’ wrists, the boys’ hands intertwined for better ease of tying so James isn’t putting too much strain on his wrists.

“Yes, Sir.” James replies, voice all breathy as he tries to adjust to the fact that he was being deprived of his sight and touch as Greg securely ties his wrists together. He shifts a little, the feeling of his cock straining against the front of his trousers was very difficult for James to just ignore, he was becoming more turned on by the second as he comes to terms with the fact that what started as just a shameful fantasy that would cloud his mind night and day, was actually happening. “Is that alright?” Greg asks, referring to the tightness of the tie that securely joined his wrists, James wiggles his hands a little, it was already quite tight but some depraved part of James wanted it to be tighter, “Tighter, please Sir.” James chokes out, and if James was bright red before, he was more so now.

“Oh, now this is a side I haven't seen of you yet. Had no idea you’d be such a slut for pain.” Greg degraded, voice deep and raspy, and James gasps as Greg tightens the tie even more, it was definitely going to leave a mark when it’s taken off, but James loved the thought of being all marked up. “S-sir, please.” James whined, and Greg tuts, moving away to admire his work, also for the sake of seeing how James would react when he’s not touching him at all. “Ah, ah, ah, arms above your head.” Greg scolds, and James follows the command, lifting his arms so that they are now above his head. “Now, think you can lie back down for me?” Greg asks, his grin evident in his voice as he watches James try to shuffle himself, quickly realising that he couldn’t. “I-i can’t.” James whimpers, body stilling. Of course Greg knew that James wasn't going to be able to do it on his own, he just wanted to watch the boy as he writhes around on his bed blindfolded and tied up; wanted to show James that from here on, he had no control in this situation.  

Greg moves back over to the bed, gently placing his hand on James’ cheek, which caused James to jump at the touch, but after realising that it was just Greg, he let out a small sigh of relief, licking his lips as his body un-tenses. “Look at you. So pretty, all tied up for me.” Greg acclaims, his hand trailing slowly down James’ face, fingertips brushing past his neck and James’ breath catches in his throat as Greg’s hand continues down his chest and stomach, coming to a halt at James’ hip, his thumb softly rubbing against the bare skin just above his hip and he gasps, the sensations were driving him insane. Greg chuckles. “I haven't even done anything yet and you’re already falling apart at my fingertips.” James lets out a choked moan. If Greg kept saying that sort of stuff, James was going to cum untouched, and Greg knew this. Although he was having fun making James squirm like this, Greg would much rather make the boy cum the way he’d planned for him to.

Greg’s other hand rests itself upon James’ other hip, and for a moment, James wonders what Greg was doing until suddenly, Greg swiftly pulls James’ body down the bed, moving him where he wanted him so that James was laying down properly, head down on the pillows, his arms still above his head. Greg’s hands settle on James’ belt, wordlessly signalling to the younger what he was about to do. “Is this okay?” Greg asked, as much as he’d love to just get on with it, James’ consent was important. “Y-yes, Sir.” James breathed out as he jutted his hips up into Greg’s hands, further emphasising his answer. James’ chest was heaving as he took his bottom lip in between his teeth, waiting. Greg slowly begins to undo his belt and James can hear the sound of the leather as it’s pulled through the metal buckle, can feel as Greg’s fingertips begin to undo the top button of his trousers, wants to thrust into Greg’s hand as he feels his zipper being pulled down, but he reminded himself that he had to be patient.

Soon James’ trousers were fully off, along with his socks, left only in his boxers—the thin fabric of which not exactly doing the best at concealing his current hard-on, although, the lack of pressure was almost harder for James to deal with now that his cock had nothing as constricting to press against. “God, you’re beautiful.” Greg was in awe. How did he manage to get this lucky? He wondered, before he’s pulled out of his thoughts as James whines desperately, body squirming. Greg could tell that James was getting desperate now, he’d purposefully neglected James’ cock for this long, just to see how far James could go before he couldn't take it anymore. He supposed he’d waited long enough, deciding to finally give James what he wanted.

As soon as Greg’s hand makes contact with James’ clothed cock, he moans loudly, and James doesn't even have time to get all embarrassed by it as Greg continues to palm at James’ cock, the sensations were intense. The fact that his cock had not been touched for so long meant that he was so much more sensitive to the touch. Without warning, Greg pulls James’ boxers down, James’ leaking cock springing out onto his stomach, and James chokes out a small gasp at the feeling of his heated cock making contact with the cool air of the room. Greg wastes no time, getting his hand back on James’ cock and James was quite literally quivering at the contact, shamelessly moaning out in pleasure as Greg's hand rubs expertly up and down the shaft of his cock, the pad of his thumb occasionally rubbing at the slit, spreading precum across the sensitive head of his cock, and James’ back arches of the bed, his hands were clenched together so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“There you go. Been such a good boy for me, James. I might just let you cum.” Greg praises, his hand maintaining the same speed, never slowing down, but never speeding up. If James was going to cum, he was going to do it when Greg wanted him to. “ P-please, Sir. Wanna cum-” James begs, his body was shining with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead. He was really close. “Not yet. I want you to hold out a little longer.” Greg says and James sobs. He felt as if he could cry. He had no idea how much longer he could hold out for, but he was willing to push himself, he wanted to please Greg, so he focused. His eyes were screwed shut underneath the blindfold, this was all so much.

Greg was impressed by how long James was holding out for, he was twitching under his hand, his stomach was tensing, his legs practically shaking as he was being so intensely overloaded by oversensitivity. James’s moans were getting louder and more high-pitched and Greg knew that James wouldn't be able to hole out for much longer. “S-sir, please!” James almost screams, his back arching off the bed as he whimpers. “Okay, go ahead. Cum for me.” and as soon as the permission was given James lets out a loud choked moan, tensing as he shoots all over Greg’s hand and his own stomach, his whole body shuddering as Greg strokes him through his orgasm, whining softly in between laboured breathing as he lays, body limp upon the sweaty sheets before the overstimulation becomes to much for him, letting out a small pained sound.

Greg lets go of James’ softening cock, carelessly wiping off James’ cum from his hand onto the sheets before leaning over James, carefully taking off the blindfold, letting James adjust to the light, watching as his eyes squint open, blinking a few times before opening fully. “You okay?” Greg asks as he tenderly brushes away the hair that lay on James’ forehead with his fingers, continuing to smooth out James’ hair in a soothing manner. “Y-yeah. Thank you, Sir.” James murmurs, voice all raspy and broken, looking up dazedly at Greg as he leans over him. Greg chuckles, hand resting delicately upon James’ cheek before he captures the younger’s lips in a passionate kiss, breaking away a soon after.

“Come on, let's untie you and we’ll get you cleaned up, alright?”

[nostomannia]

[writingismyhappytime]

Crime and Punishment (Part 1)

Chris Cerulli x Reader

Warning: language, vampires, witches, Magic.

A/N: hi guys! Here's something new I hope you like, it's going to be a little different from the recent fics I've been posting. Let me know what you think!

Description: Vampire King Cerulli and you, the witch coven leader, have to team up to take down something attacking both of your people in the city you coexist in. You don't exactly get along, but with the help of his trainee vampire Vinny, and your ghost Claudette, you're sure you can work together long enough to figure it out, or die trying.

You hate waiting, especially in lobbies with the fluorescent lights and elevator music. It's been a long enough day as is, and now you've been drug to the museum over some nonsense you're sure.

You cut your eyes at the vampire standing a few feet from you, a bored expression on his face as he typed on his phone. He looks more like a businessman than the king of the undead, black coat with the collar flipped, tie the color of blood.

"You look nice today," you say after a moment, your voice full of sarcasm. "Drink enough virgins dry? You have a little color in your cheeks."

Cerulli glances at you. "I can see the sacrifice of children has done nothing for your personality."

You snort, crossing your arms as you stand beside him.

You're a witch, a snooty, brazen one at that. You lead the strongest coven that has ever graced the world, and therefore, you're sort of the wiccan leader. Your kind looks up to you for advice and leadership, which you've always been rather reluctant to give; you didn't exactly want to be the boss, but it sort of happened.

Cerulli is the vampire king; tall, dark, and handsome, he looks like he stepped right out of a Dracula movie.

You're not sure how old he is, you've never asked, but his mannerisms remind you of someone from the eighteen hundreds. You know he only became the king after his creator died, passing the unfortunate title off to him. He's always so cold, unreachable, it's like you're talking to a brick wall most times.

But then there are other moments when those hazel eyes of his seem so soft, so... human.

But he's about as human as a bear is.

"So, to what do I owe the misfortune of being in your presence?" You say after a moment, glancing over at him beneath black lashes. You don't dress like a typical witch leader, Cerulli will give you that. Your hair is long and loose, you wear many bracelets, but you don't wear flowing skirts or walk around burning sage; he's seen you most often in combat boots and clothing fit more for a rock concert. How you've been successfully leading anyone for the past thirty years is beyond him, but somehow you seem to make it work.

He knew your mother, Clarissa, and he respected her. She built the coven you now rule from nothing, finding stray witches and building bonds with them. She was a people person, full of laughter and sunshine, where you're like a beam of darkness bouncing off the walls. No one knows who your father is, not even you do he supposes, and Cerulli thinks the poor man probably got off easy escaping while he had the chance.

"Charles called a meeting for us, obviously." Cerulli responds, checking his silver cuff links. His black hair is slicked back, revealing the unnatural paleness of his skin, only made more obvious by the ink coursing it. He's always dressed so sophisticated, you look out of place standing beside him in his immaculate suit and tie, spikes jutting out the many piercings in his ears.

You wonder what he was like as a human.

"Charles never calls us in together, though. What do you think is happening?" You respect Cerulli, he's smart and conniving --- the only disappointment in your mind is that he's the stereotypical brooding, dark vampire and has absolutely no personality! He could like kittens, or enjoy knitting, or something interesting! Instead, you're fairly certain he lives in a cave with bats hanging from the ceiling, skulls and other bones skittered about and maybe a harem of enthralled groupies in chains for aesthetic.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here," he responds coolly, arching one black brow down at you. Doesn't help the bastard is so tall, he towers over everyone. You don't like him glowering down at you all the time, but even in the most tolerable heels you can't reach his height.

"Right. Because you have so much to be doing right now." You scoff, tapping your nails impatiently; it's so easy to insult him. "Got fresh meat waiting for you back home?"

He rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable."

"Thanks, do my best."

"Chris! (Y/N)! Wonderful the two of you could make it!"

You and Cerulli look over, spotting the smaller man standing in the doorway opposite of where you bicker. He's only about four feet tall, with wide rimmed black glasses and a beaming white smile. His hair is thinning in the middle, gray mixing in with the white, and you can practically smell the stress rolling off of him despite his misleading smile.

"We didn't have much of a choice, you summoned us." You say after a moment, straightening. You know you and Cerulli are standing rather close, and despite the fact you tease and torture him, you don't dislike him entirely. You trust him if it comes down to it, against yours and everyone else's better judgment.

You're sure he can hold his own, he's lived as long as he has for a reason.

"Oh, (Y/N), I know you wouldn't have come if you didn't want too," Charles sighs, and turns, walking back into his office, leaving the door open in invitation. You and Cerulli exchange a look before following him, the heavy double doors shutting behind you by themselves.

You glance around the small office, noticing the files piling up on the oak desk, how the bookshelves in the corner are in disarray. There's a potted plant turned over, some papers still in the floor on the red rug that has... scorch marks?

"It smells of magic in here," Cerulli says after a moment, his nose curling at the acrid scent. He raises a hand to his mouth against the hideous smell. "What's happened?"

"We were robbed last night," Charles answers, pressing stubby fingers against his suit jacket. He adjusts his glasses before he goes to his chair, sitting down rather heavily and disappearing from sight. You give it a moment before the chair slowly rises, making it possible for him to sit at a normal height and see the two of you. "Someone broke into the museum."

"What could you guys possibly have in this place someone would want?" You ask skeptically, your skin prickling. What would someone want with dusty old artifacts? Everything in the museum is from the humans, nothing magical --- anything with any sort of magic tie is immediately turned over to the community it belonged too, whether it be witch, vampire, or etc. The museum is more like a tomb, full of artifacts from long lost civilizations. Charles runs it, and typically during the day, it's open to the public and bustling with humans. You don't visit often, you don't see a point in revisiting the boring past, and Charles rarely asks you too.

This must be extreme circumstances.

You're sure Cerulli must love walking down memory lane when the dinosaurs roamed and virgins were sacrificed in flames.

"I'll have you know, this museum is very interesting!" The shorter man huffs indignantly at your comment, displeased; must you always toss on his career? "We are keeping history alive here, reminding everyone of where they came from! You might find no use in it, but others disagree!"

"Charles, what has been taken?" Cerulli asks, irritated; is it possible for anyone to stay on task? He has important matters that are being postponed due to this meeting, he doesn't have time for it to take much longer! He wants to know what was taken and how it pertains to him. Listening to you agg on the short man will only lead the conversation to hell!

"Well," Charles fidgets slightly in his chair, causing the metal to creak as it rocks back and forth. "As you both know, we were housing a very special artifact from the medieval era."

How are you supposed to know that? "Okay, and?"

"This artifact was made by Aradia."

You straighten immediately at the familiar name. Aradia, the original witch from Tuscany, is basically looked as the "mother" of all witches for lack of a better term. Most think she's just a myth, but you're a descendant of her line, your family tree is so detailed it dates back to her... just nothing before her. It's as if everything started with her, that magic suddenly existed only once her presence became known to the world.

"You had something made by her and you didn't tell me?" You demand, staring at the smaller man incredulously. The hell? He's supposed to tell you when something comes in, that's the agreement! Why else would your coven still be offering funds to keep his stupid tomb of artifacts going? "Why would you keep this from me? She's ---."

"We were studying the artifact, it just arrived two days ago." The museum curator interrupts quickly before your rant can get started; he'll never get a word in edgewise if he let's you go too long. "We were still unsure of its connection, I didn't honestly believe it held any connection to her until it was taken, only suspicions!"

"Are you kidding me!? You should have told me the instant that thing arrived so I could have protected it! Anything made by Aradia is sacred, it's powerful and needs protection --- no wonder the blasted thing was stolen!" You fume; how could he not tell you? You're the leader of the witches, you're supposed to protect them and magic from any and all threats, and there was an artifact who belonged to the mother of all witches in town and you didn't even know!

"What, exactly, is the artifact you keep speaking of?" Cerulli asks after a moment of silence. He's heard the name Aradia before, but it holds no significance to him. He doesn't care of its origin, only its supposed worth. He checks his watch. "And what does it do?"

"It's a goblet, made of immaculate wood. We think it's dated back to the original times, and the condition," the curator starts, only to stop at the two very unimpressed expressions he receives. He sighs, then continues. "It was excavated out of an old abandoned site in Tuscany, where the supposed goddess lived."

"She wasn't supposed," you snap, your hands going to your hips; everyone always wants to speculate if she was real or not, when obviously, she existed. She wouldn't be written as so and hailed in so many oral stories if she didn't have some origin. "She's as real as you and I!"

"I never said she wasn't real, obviously she was." Charles says calmly, the light glinting off his glasses as he adjusts them nervously. "Not much is known about Aradia except she taught witchcraft."

"She was a goddess, the mother of all witches. Without her, I'm not sure that any of us would know about magic," you respond, frowning. "Why were you excavating a site in Tuscany, anyway?"

"We were just doing some digging, you know how it is. Harmless, really, just searching for any treasures that may have been overlooked by the human eye." Charles quickly brushes off the question, which immediately annoys you. "We found the goblet buried deep within the earth."

"How do you know it was hers?"

"You can feel the magic on it, even now. It makes the skin prickle, which means it holds some sort of significance."

"Maybe. Doesn't necessarily mean that she made it, now does it?" You're skeptical. "There's been many powerful beings throughout the ages. Besides, Aradia was poor, she ---."

"Are you really arguing with me about this? I know it's an artifact, it came from a very popular place she used to visit. Can you just take my word for once?" Charles interrupts, looking annoyed. "Point is, it's been stolen, and was the only thing as well. They tore up my office until they found the file on it, got it out of the wards, and disappeared with it!"

"Well, see if you'd told me about it, I could have put up stronger wards," you grouch, not about to be deterred. "Being robbed is your own damned fault, and I hope you haven't doomed all of us because of it! Really, Charles ---."

"Don't patronize me, I was going to tell you eventually! I just wanted to be sure!"

"Eventually isn't good enough!"

Cerulli groans out loud, leaning back on his heels as he casts his eyes to the heavens.

"Enough of this bickering!" He snaps, interrupting the two of you mid-hiss. He glares at you before turning his black gaze on the curator. "Why does this pertain to me in any damned way?"

"Oh, well, we're pretty sure it was a vampire who took it." Charles shrugs, as if the words aren't going to completely upset the man standing in front of him. He actually summoned you both at once so he wouldn't have to face you separately, at least the presence of the other is sort of a damper.

Cerulli's expression darkens. "You think it was one of mine?"

"Well, not necessarily yours," Charles fidgets uncomfortably; this is the part he was dreading. Cerulli rules his roost with an iron fist, and anyone who crosses him doesn't have a happy fate. He's not known for his mercy or his kindness, and Charles isn't necessarily saying that it was one of his vampires that stole the goblet, just... "Just... a vampire."

"And you've proof of this?" It's quite brazen to accuse a vampire of such theft, especially in the king's district.

"Whoever stole the goblet may have been quick, but they obviously didn't think about the security cameras." Charles turns, and he opens the drawer of his desk, lifting out a remote and clicking one of the buttons. You turn, eyes flicking to the wall where a painting slowly rises, revealing a TV hidden behind it.

Fancy.

The screen is in color, and you can see the warehouse where the artifacts are stored. The lights are still on, as they always are, crates and other large boxes dotting the concrete ground, a light flickering in one corner as it goes out. There's some statues covered in white sheets, which you find creepy, and some empty glass cases.

You don't immediately notice anything, and you wait impatiently, wondering when the thief is going to strike.

"You see, it was around midnight when he took the goblet, right out of that crate. I had wards all throughout that warehouse, there's no way he could have gotten through unless he was thoroughly educated in their removal. Even then." Charles sighs as he takes his glasses off, rubbing his tired eyes.

You purse your lips.

Did you miss something?

"I can see why you would think it was one of my kind, but I can assure you, none of my brood would be so foolish as to touch an object such as that. Should it not be cursed, it would be of no use to us." Cerulli scowls, displeased; he saw the vampire moving across the screen, much too fast for the regular eye. To any mortal watching, it would have just seemed like the lid of the crate moved an inch, nothing more. "However, I know of no rogue vampires in the city either."

"So it seems we have a mystery on our hands then," Charles sighs, nudging his glasses back up his thin nose. "A witch object, stolen by a vampire. You two must understand why I wanted you directly to be here, not one of your advisers."

You didn't even see anything get stolen!

Shit, maybe you should invest in some glasses. You glance back at the screen unhappily, but you know there's no way you'll see what they did. Vampires move so quickly, it's hard for your kind to even see them, unfortunately.

"I wish you'd told me of this sooner," you finally say, your voice completely serious this time. You're troubled over this. "I wish I had known."

"I know, and I apologize. I meant no disrespect, I was just unsure if it held any magical qualities that would be of any interest." Charles says as sincerely as he can muster; he'd been worried, admittedly, about the consequences of this conversation. He knew it could go one of several different ways, most of them ending with his head on a plate or turned into a tree, which seems to be your fondest type of torture.

Where Cerulli is known for his merciless kills, you... rather like to be creative with them.

What a pair of leaders you two make.

You run your ringed fingers through your hair with a sigh.

"Alright, so take me to the warehouse, I need see what I can find out. If he broke the wards, there's going to be some sort of trace of it." Honestly, vampires are not handy with magic, so you figure he didn't do the job alone. There had to be someone else who broke the wards, meaning another witch, meaning one of yours. You're sure Cerulli has already made the connection, although he would never mention anything to you; well, he avoids talking to you if he can, so anything he finds out, he's not going to share no matter how significant.

You doubt this is going to go well.

~~~~~~~~

Cerulli is silent as he watches you pace around the box where the goblet was stolen. He'd decided to accompany you to the warehouse, leaving Charles back in his office. He stands completely still, watching you just out of the circle of light zeroed in on the crate. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he's just... waiting.

Your face is serious for once as you pace, and he can tell you're doing something. Your fingers are trailing above the box, never quite touching it, light glinting off your painted nails. Your brows are creased in concentration, and your lips are moving wordlessly.

He can feel your magic, it makes his skin prickle and burn, and he much dislikes the scent of it. He can smell it all throughout the warehouse, it makes his nose feel numb it's so strong here. He knows he shouldn't linger, he has a very important meeting in an hour, but curiosity has gotten the best of him.

"Alright, so every single ward on this warehouse is gone," you say after a moment, your fingers finally going still. "Whoever was with the vampire made sure he wouldn't trigger a single one to alert anyone to his theft."

Ah, so you've caught on that there must have been an accomplice, good for you.

"So a witch then," Cerulli says after a moment, seeing your nose curl. He says it quite point blank, but not with any judgment.

"Possibly." You allow, disliking the thought of one of your own being so deceitful. "It's the only explanation for the way the wards were broken. It's darker magic that did this, anyway."

"Why do you say so?"

"Well, these wards," you gesture vaguely, glancing suspiciously at the sheets covering the statues; you have this phobia of them moving beneath them, that really there's someone standing there and you just don't know it. They're suspicious and you've seen your fair share of horror movies. Being a witch won't stop someone from shanking you, after all. "They're powerful, Charles doesn't mess around. Whoever did this knew where they all were and were very meticulous in canceling out every single one. But there's no way they could have known where they all were unless they've been scouting the place a week, but..."

But Charles said he's only had the artifact two days, which doesn't make sense. So either Charles lied to you, or... well, he probably just lied to you to cover his own ass, which only pisses you off more.

There's no telling what he just let happen.

If the object does belong to your ancestor and used in any ritual, it's sacred, and it has the residue of her power. The mother of all witches has been dead since the 1300's, and you'd prefer she stayed that way; the only reason someone would want a possession of hers is to either resurrect her for worship, resurrect her and steal her power, or something just as bad!.

You chew your lip worriedly; this is... a really bad situation.

"I'll inquire around my brood," Cerulli says after a moment, reluctantly gliding forward after a moment. He comes to a stop beside you, sniffing slightly; he can smell the vampire that was here, but he doesn't know the scent as one of his. "Find out if there's a stray in my area."

"Alright." You rub the back of your neck, grimacing. "I'll check around too."

Cerulli inclines his head. He doesn't honestly intend to keep in touch with you, there's no point. Any information he finds he will relay to Charles directly, or at least, that's what he would typically do. However...

"I find it strange that they were able to cancel out every ward," he comments after a moment, leaning back on his heels. "Don't you?"

You send him a look. "Obviously."

His lips twitch. Perhaps you're not as dim as you act, if you've already caught on that this was an inside job. He just can't understand why Charles would bring the two of you into the fold and go through so much trouble; obviously he could have kept the artifact hidden and neither of you would have ever known.

Interesting.

"Well, I must be going," Cerulli glances at the silver and black watch on his wrist for probably the hundredth time. "I have appointments to keep."

"Guess you can't leave those virgins waiting, huh?" You say thoughtlessly, seeing his eye twitch just the slightest; okay, so you don't mean to be snotty towards him all the time, sometimes it just comes out. You pick at him, you try to rile him up so he can have some personality! He doesn't need to be so stoic and stereotypical all the time.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," He mutters, turning on his heel sharply. You sigh as he stalks off, heading for the open bay doors where his town car sits, lights on and the engine rumbling. Of course he has a driver, waiting for him behind the wheel.

Cerulli glances back at you as he gets into the car, opening his own door instead of waiting for someone else to do it like you expect.

You're not looking at him anymore, you're gazing down into the crate where the goblet once was, lost in your own thoughts.

Sometimes, he feels bad for you, thinking about your life. Only daughter of renowned Clarissa, a descendant of the mother of witches, you never stood a chance at being average. He wasn't surprised when you took over the leadership of the coven, just pleasantly amused when you actually did well and keep everyone in line.

Discipline is never easy but always needed.

Still, there's something about you --- you're more than you appear to be.

Perhaps he will keep in touch after all.

Perhaps.

~~~~~~~~ "My lady, I do not think this is wise," the ghost worries, wringing her hands as she follows you back and forth across the room. You're gathering your clothes together, shoving them in an overnight bag. You have intentions of paying a visit to an old friend, one whose magic you easily recognized from the scene of last nights crime. You'd kept the information to yourself, you didn't want Cerulli knowing about it.

"You never think anything is wise, Claudette," you grumble, zipping your bag. Claudette is the ghost of a housemaid, who died at an unfortunately young age and has haunted the house for as long as you remember. When times are peaceful, she's transparent, but the ghost can almost pass for human when she tries. She was your nanny when you were young, keeping you out of trouble while your mother ran the coven and the front of a bookstore.

"I am cautious and concerned of your well being is all," the ghost reminds, clasping her hands in front of her. She wears a dress from the 1800's, with a high black collar and long sleeves, a white apron over her clothing. Her dark hair is wound up into a tight bun at her head, and her eyes were once a pretty green. You're fond of her, one of the reasons you've not vanquished her or sent her soul on to the afterlife when you're perfectly capable of doing so.

Your house was once the home to a wealthy gentleman, complete with chandeliers and gas lamps that are pure decoration now. Claudette may keep it spotless, but you can't imagine she enjoys being in the home that she died in, especially since her late employer stabbed her to death with a fire poker in the upstairs study and shoved her out a window; lots of laudanum will make you go a bit bonkers.

"I know, and I appreciate it. I really don't know what I would do without you," you say, giving her a genuine smile as you slip your bag over your shoulder. "I'm just going overnight, I won't be gone long, so don't worry. Just keep the house safe and I'll be back before you know it."

Claudette frowns. "What if you are gone longer and some of the witches notice? You know one of them will fight for your position!"

"You act as if I'm going to the Bermuda Triangle." You shake your head. "I'm just going out of town like four hours drive, tops. I just need to check on Lydia."

"Lydia is a troublemaker, my lady. Tis why your mother banished her," Claudette warns. "She's not one to be trifled with."

"I know." You remember Lydia from when you were young. Her and your mother were close when you were a child, but then she just suddenly disappeared. It was only later when you realized she had been banished. Your mother never worried about just having one type of witch in her coven, she didn't discriminate between light or dark, and somehow the mixture has always worked. Lydia just couldn't get along with the other witches, and would use her powers to torment them instead of playing by the rules.

You understand why she was banished, although she obviously didn't go far from the city. You could have picked out her magic anywhere, it was so unique. She's the one who deactivated all of the wards meticulously, that much is clear to you.

Just not why.

Is she after a relic of Aradia, hoping it will give her a power boost? Does she intend to put it on the black market?

Why is she involving herself with vampires after she spoke against them for so many years?

That's what you're going to find out.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Should anyone ask, tell them I had to make a trip and they can always reach me." It's like Claudette ignores the existence of cell phones. "Alright?"

"Yes," Claudette says reluctantly, following you out of your bedroom and towards the front of the manor. "Although I still do not believe it wise. Those who are banished should not be brought back into the fold."

"I'm not bringing her back in, I'm just going to visit," you respond; you're not an idiot. You haven't been leading the coven for thirty years just on luck.

You turn just as you reach the front doors, looking at your friendly ghost.

"You're going to be alright for a night, aren't you? No more staring forlornly out the attic window and causing more rumors?" you say lightly; everyone believes the place haunted, and they're not wrong, it's the entire reason your mother decided to move in. What better place to live then somewhere no one wants to visit?

Claudette looks miffed. "That was a hard time, I was trying to come to terms with my situation! You try being dead and trapped in the same house forever!"

"I grew up here, I know it can be a prison." you shrug, shifting the weight of the bag on your shoulder. "Just keep it safe for me while I'm gone."

"As you wish," Claudette bobs her head. "Just be safe, and protect your amulet."

Your hand rises automatically. The gold amulet you wear is always tucked beneath your clothing, out of mind, out of sight. It's the entire reason you're not aging, why you still look young and not in your fifties. It belonged to your mother, and kept her alive and youthful for a good hundred years before she was killed. Of course it went to you, and it keeps you going. Should you take it off, you would begin to age like normal again, but you'd rather not. You're not ready to give up on life just yet.

You're sure others know about the amulet, but it's not something that's to be brought up in casual conversation. You don't mention it, and so no one else does. Not even the vampires question why you stay so young and leading your coven whereas the members themselves age and die off.

Circle of life, unfortunately.

Ah, well.

You'd better go witch hunting.

~~~~~~~~

"Allen, you say?" Cerulli says the name, disliking the taste of it. He stands at his study window, overlooking the fountain in the center of his garden. His hands are tucked carefully into his suit pockets, eyes thoughtful. "He's the stray?"

"He's not entered the city that we know of, sire. He's always stayed on the outskirts, so we took no worry of him," Vinny says hesitantly, unsure of his king's response. He's new to the position of the messenger to the king, as the last one died rather abruptly when he forgot to inform the King of some crucial news.

"Well, it seems he has entered the city under our watch, which is rather unfortunate." Cerulli mutters, glancing over his shoulder.

Vinny flinches.

Cerulli is in his office, where he conducts all of his business. The window he stands at leads out to a small balcony, the black curtains drawn back to allow the moonlight inside the room. Thick carpet covers the floor, wooden bookshelves lining every wall covered in tomes and manuscripts of old. Strange, unorthodox skeletons in little glass cases dot every other surface, and a large globe of the world stands as decoration at the far side of the room. A red velvet sofa sits against the wall below a painting of Cerulli in his youth, as a human, and before his large curving desk sits two more antique chairs.

The room fits him entirely, and Vinny always feels out of place when he has to come inside.

"Where has he been lurking? What is the residence?" Cerulli asks, his voice sharp. He's impatient to know what's going on and how it's connected to the witches, he certainly doesn't want any trouble. It's hard enough keeping a pack of vampires peaceful and not ripping out the throats of humans every time they lose their temper --- cleaning up the mess is such a hassle. He certainly doesn't want a war with your kind, you more specifically.

You're both leaders, of course of completely different kingdoms, but uneasy allies just the same. He has to admit, he's used to you leading the witches at this point and can't imagine a new monarch, he doesn't like change. He wants this situation to go away quickly and quietly.

"Some house out near the swampland, I can get the address."

"Who lives at this house?"

"Lydia St. Thames, I think."

"Is she human?"

"Witch, but banished." Vinny only learned all of this a few minutes ago, and he quells before Cerulli's withering look.

"One of our kind has been fraternizing with a witch and I was not told of it?" He hisses, turning abruptly to leave the moon at his back. He glares at the quivering vampire a few feet away from him. "How incompetent are you fools!?"

"We, we were unaware of her status! Our scouts didn't feel the information pertinent as the vampire was just supposed to be passing through!" Vinny gasps, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "I'm sorry, my king ---."

"Excuses! Have the scouts brought in immediately and questioned of all their knowledge on the witch and the vampire! I want to know everything about them by the time I return!"

"Return?" the messenger squawks in surprise, watching as the King strides towards the door.

"Yes. I'm leaving. Don't disappoint me." Cerulli growls, his black eyes brushing over the other vampire and making him feel very, very small.

"Yes, sir." Vinny wouldn't dare.

Vinny lets his breath go the moment the king leaves the room, pressing his hands against his knees as he tries not to panic. How he got stuck with this job, he'll never understand, he's new anyway! Only around a decade old, and he only transferred here because his maker was disappointed that he didn't quite turn out as planned, that he wasn't vicious and wanting to rip the throats out of virgins or steal candy from babies.

He literally got kicked out of the nest, and Cerulli took him as a favor, he knows that. The king hasn't been terrible to him, he's actually a decent guy, but yeesh, can he be terrifying! It's those black eyes, the barely controlled rage that sometimes pushes at the precarious hold Cerulli has against it.

Vinny isn't sure why the king is always so on edge and ready for a fight, but he has more self-control than the young vampire has ever seen in anyone. The king always just breezes through, pretending he's calm and calculated, amused at certain situations and not at all affected, but Vinny's been around him long enough to know that's not the case.

The king is ruthless, and the fact he actually let his anger show makes Vinny even more concerned about what might be happening.

What's so important about a banished witch, anyway?

Is she going to herald the end of their world as they know it?

Vinny sighs, and runs his hands through his brown, frizzy hair, trying to smooth it out of his face. He better do as the king said, bring all those scouts in for questioning. Pity the poor vampires who didn't relay the important information the king wanted. At least he's not one of them.

He never wants to be on the receiving end of the king's wrath.

[scvereignty]

introduction i.

A D E L A I D E  W I N D S O R (  p r i n c e s s  o f  e n g l a n d  )

bespoke houndstooth blazers, watching your mare come second place, exposed lace garters, sipping from a bottle of warm champagne, grey skies, french erotica, a wet slip dress with nothing underneath, white roses, reciting passages by heart at parties, mascara-stained sheets, sitting by open windows despite the cold, black velvet, heavy books by pretentious authors, jewels at the breakfast table, the dirty hem of a long dress, hidden gardens, purple hickeys on pale thigh, smoking in secret, sleeping naked, perfect tennis whites & an immaculate backhand, bows in tangled hair, audrey hepburn films & grace kelly sensibility, placing their hand over your neck mid-kiss and squeezing hard, oversized sunglasses paired with red eyes and dark circles, never wearing the same coat twice, the weight of history, the shot that puts down a lame horse, perfect posture, lingerie and silk in the library, sucking whip cream off of strawberries, making love in the stable, watching the sunrise from the garden in an evening gown.

age: twenty-one

nicknames: di, rosie, little princess

sexuality: heterosexual ( publicly ) / bisexual ( private, exploring )

gender: cisgender female

title: her royal highness

( + ) elegant, graceful, intelligent, clever, intuitive, adaptable, creative, impulsive, sensual, motivated, self-confident, hard-working, mature, modest, reliable, outspoken ( - ) pretentious, aloof, melancholy, judgemental, private, elusive, deceptive, guarded, secretive, unforgiving, sensitive, affected, mistrusting, self-destructive, changeable, indecipherable

UNDER THE CUT : HISTORY, TRIVIA, & CONNECTIONS !

A BRIEF HISTORY ;

the youngest windsor & only princess of england!

i’m currently keeping her actual childhood/family background undecided until i get the chance to plot with her brother(s), but as per the connection description: the siblings were initially v close while their parents were rather absent

notably, adelaide & her brother james had an extremely special relationship. as the eldest and youngest of the brood, from the time adelaide was born, james’s affection for her was almost paternal in many ways — and she loved him to pieces.

literally, like, there are shots of james walking adelaide hand-in-hand into her primary school, and even as they got older, she considered him her best friend and biggest protector. this is highkey inspired by my own grandmother & how she describes her relationship w her own late brother uwu

a charming, odd child, who was labelled as an old soul very early in life. very well mannered and mature, but prone to somewhat unusual flights of fancy 

a lowkey trouble maker -- or rather, incredible adept at being subtle. with at least one wild elder brother, it was both easy to learn from their mistakes and appear innocent in comparison

as adelaide got older, that old soul developed some of the troubles they’re ought to. she craved art, passion, love, justice, intense emotion, experience. she engaged in these behaviours moderately and with subtlety, particularly in comparison to silas. she was/is less about wild partying and more about deep experiences, and as such there have rarely been any stories about the little princess and drinking/inappropriate behaviour

she had always had a changeable nature and was susceptible to bouts of depression, but the death of james hit her in a way she has yet to recover from. while the whole family was devastated, no one took it harder than adelaide, who to this day calls him the love of her life

for the two years since his murder, adelaide has been in a poor mental and emotional place. unable to fully move on despite the time that has passed, she has both retreated further into herself and sought out unhealthy methods of coping ( ie. the usual -- alcohol, travel, and occasionally drugs )

hence she’s chosen to come to genovia, a decision that surprised even her parents. remaining in london has kept her in the throes of mourning, so she hopes to let go of some of her grief by arriving somewhere new and attempting self care

reputation & aesthetics tend to be very immaculate and proper, so it’s often a surprise to those that find out the young princess has that darker, troubled, sensual side to her - that she can drink gin straight without wincing, or has bruises and hickeys beneath her silk blouse

has never had any desire to rule/never considered it an option, but instead focuses her life on the betterment of people but domestic to the uk and worldwide through charity & philanthropy

TRIVIA ; 

the nickname for her in the uk is “the english rose,” or several variants (“the little rose,” etc) due to her fair complexion & nature. her reputation is very princess diana-esque: a modern, classy woman who devotes her time to philanthropy & charity

considered a fashion icon! 

an extremely accomplished horse rider, considered one of the best competitors in britain despite not actively competing in years. she’s down showmanship, jumping, dressage, & eventing. yes, she is the horse girl

despite her tiny height, form, and general fairylike facial features, this girl can drink a surprising amount of people under the table. is this a sign of a Problem? CERTAINLY

if you think you are the most beautiful and/or incredible thing to walk this earth, she thinks you are incredibly stupid. she’ll name 14 pieces of art right NOW that are more interesting than ur looks 

makes a habit of calling out those that are arrogant/rude

she started smoking when she was fourteen. her parents still don’t know.

camilla macaulay, grace kelly, and princess diana are probably her biggest inspos

very accomplished liar - she has an incredible poker face

she wears a locket james gave her every day. he had it specially made with an inscription (either a quote from a little princess or the secret garden, i haven’t decided), but since then she’s had the other side inlaid with a photo of him :c

her favourite disney movie is alice in wonderland, which is also one of her favourite novels

PLOTS & CONNECTIONS ;

the best friend: self explanatory! very open to how their friendship came about and when, but someone who knows adelaide intimately, and one of the few that can still read her even when she’s putting on her otherwise immaculate facade

the no-good: someone that would have been her corrupter, perhaps, or thought to be -- until they realized she was not the delicate thing one would seem. could be friends with benefits, drinking buddies, someone who encourages self-destructive behaviours, or any combination of this.

the counsel: young as she is, adelaide knows herself intimately, and as such knows a great deal about women in general -- this muse is coming to her for advice on how to court mignonette (or another lady)!

the lionheart: a dear friend, and someone similar to adelaide insomuch as her old soul, maturity, devotion to philanthropy, etc. someone to either decry or poke fun at the triviality of so much around them

the skinny love: it’s been the wrong time since childhood. but it’s always been the right time to hold terrible affection for each other. how heartbreaking, to keep on watching but never kissing.

the charged: inspired by this gif set. the true terrible influence, unhealthy relationship, disaster in a glass bottle. they infuriate each other, say the worst things that can be said. then they let it out in bed -- or almost go. getting closer every time

the antagonist: preferably a princess or someone of noble enough birth that they could have attended the same academy in their teen years. alternatively, could just be a pair that runs into each other frequently at those fancy aristocratic events. ( x ) is someone that leans into that queen B(itch) trope, or otherwise is confident to the point of arrogance/is unphased by potentially offending others by saying what they want, when they want. adelaide, blank-faced over her glass, calls this person out for their behaviour. as such, an intense dislike starts to brood between the two

the affair: we talking sex, we talking scandal, we talking familial outrage. we can talk more about specific circumstances, but i am very solid on the aesthetic of That Scene in atonement: aka green dress, up against the library walls during a dinner party, walked in on at the perfectly terrible moment. my initial thought was that these two met for the first time when the windsor’s were hosting a dinner/ball/celebration or something in honour of this royal/important family, and adelaide and ( x ) had incredible chemistry -- or at least sexual attraction. it only takes a few hours and several glasses of champagne for them to end up in the library in an entirely compromising position before someone walks in on them and snitches to the family. the whole evening is absolutely ruined, both sets of parents in disarray, and while the press never hear why the night was the fiasco, there are now rumours of tension between the two families/nations. alternatively, this could have been started some time long ago and wasn’t 100% a one-off

the young love: adelaide’s longest relationship, which began sometime in late high school or early college and lasted several years. preferably someone of royal blood, because this was in many ways - especially aesthetically - the Perfect Relationship. not only was adelaide wildly in love with them, but their relationship was public, and the press considered it an incredible feat that a prince and princess would naturally begin dating. this kind of aesthetic, ja feel? everyone that knew them felt they would get married, including adelaide. but for whatever reasons you like, this little prince broke up with her, and subsequently broke her heart & dashed her dreams. prior to james’s death, this was the greatest pain she ever endured. still do this day if she references “my ex,” or compares a man to someone, it’s this guy. despite whatever time has passed between break-up and now, adelaide still treats him with some disdain -- she’s both still hurt, and still harbouring lingering affection for him.

the exploration: the first woman that made adelaide question her sexuality !! i’m open as to what this is, how it happened etc; whether anything physical occurred or they were merely flirtatious and physically close; if it was one-sided or reciprocated, etc.

[draw-you-coward]

out to dinner.. b fancy

~*~

ao3

“I’ve just never gone to something like this, you know?” Ryne’s feet swing in the air as she kicks at nothing. She shifts her grip on the edge of her seat and leans forwards. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to act, or… What if I say something wrong and it upsets people? I don’t want to offend anyone.”

“If you manage to, I think they will probably deserve it.” Sapling green eyes blink at their reflection in the vanity mirror. Delicately painted around them, emerald-gold glitter glimmers. Ikael continues, “Whenever someone calls me rude, nine times out of ten they were sort of a horrid person anyways.”

Thancred, slowly and methodically working a comb through a section of soft black hair, winces internally. He meets Ryne’s eyes in the mirror and pauses, tapping a finger against the comb’s spine as he considers his words.

“The particulars and rules of propriety can be as difficult to navigate as they are artificially worthless,” he finally replies. “However, I would caution against forgoing manners altogether. They are used for something, you know.”

“Something,” Ikael agrees, still staring at his own reflection.

Thancred sets the comb down and steps back, glancing over Ikael’s getup as he turns his head this way and that to see how he looks. Rather bewitchingly entrancing, if Thancred may say so; they have all gone quite far to make sure they fit in with the aesthetic expectations of Eulmore’s elite. Ryne, he thinks, has undergone the most dramatic and vibrant change. It is a good look on her—not just the bright cyan of her dress and the ribbons woven into her hair, but the excited flush to her cheeks at the sheer fun of it all, at the chance to express herself and be creative as she has never had.

Thancred feels the now-familiar urge to smile like a sentimental fond fool at the thought. He half-suppresses it out of habit, and it comes out shrunken and lopsided, tugging at his cheeks with an inelegance unbecoming of this so-called propriety. He rolls his eyes at himself, unsure at which reaction he is aiming, and offers up a distraction by means of his hand to Ikael.

“For my pulchritudinous partner,” he says with a bow.

Ikael blinks at him, once. Glitter shimmers. “Excuse me?”

Thancred straightens up, offering his forearm instead. Ryne, apparently still stuck in her thoughts, muses in the background, “I do wonder what Alisaie and Alphinaud will be wearing. I fear we will stick out like a sore toe. But at least we look very beautiful.”

Thancred barks out a laugh, inappropriately amused at that comment. “At least we are more vain than this mirror itself,” he agrees with a teethed grin. Ikael squeezes his arm tightly to anchor himself as he tries to stand. “Fitting for Eulmore, I would say.”

“Oh—no, I didn’t mean—!” Ryne covers her face with her hands. “I mean to say we look like we belong in a painting. With all the colours and prettiness.”

“Perhaps chance that thought with Alphinaud, if you wish.” Thancred grabs at Ikael when he yelps and trips, nearly twisting his ankle. “We have no place for a painting, but Urianger is sentimental enough that he may find value in such a thing.”

Not to mention that they visit him fairly often, and Thancred would be lying if he said the thought of seeing such a memorandum to their little self-made family doesn’t strike a pang of longing within him. It… may be an idea worth pursuing.

“I cannot spend all evening in these.” Ikael sounds disappointed. “They are too high, and I am scared to take even a step.”

From his death grip on Thancred's arms, he is not exaggerating. “Put the sandals on, then,” Thancred suggests. “They may not match, but that has never stopped you before, hm? We should get going soon, lest we inspire Alphinaud to give one of his impassioned speeches about tardiness.”

“Sandals it is!” Ikael says quickly, dropping back into his seat. Ryne giggles.

~*~

“The twins,” Thancred says, shooting a glance at his wrist chronometer (an expensive but useful gift from Ikael, sleek and elegant), “are late.”

Ikael makes a sympathetic noise, folding his hands together. He is sitting in the middle of the table across from Thancred and Ryne, between Alisaie and Alphinaud’s empty seats. Why he would ever want to do that is beyond Thancred—perhaps he is seeking penance for something, or his masochistic streak is higher than most. Either way, he seems quite put together, for Ikael. Why, he has only asked them if they are hungry four times.

“Do you think we should order for them?” Ikael tucks a lock of hair behind a non-existent ear, and it falls down again. “Thancred, I have balm-lip if you need it—you don’t need to bite like that.”

Thancred extends a hand for the balm-lip, and replies, “If you like. I’d wager we’re all going to order whatever you recommend anyhow. That’s how it usually goes when eating out with you.”

Ikael’s ears dip down in a weak attempt at showing humility. “Oh…” he says like he is embarrassed, although the press of his lips gives him away. Ryne leans forwards, resting her forearms on the table.

“Well… I never had the opportunity to eat up here in this place,” she says. “And all of the options on the menu look so intimidating! I hardly know what to pick…”

Ikael gives her a sweet smile, eyelids falling halfway. “Why don’t you take your time looking, then,” he suggests, gently redirecting her thoughts before she can ask him to choose for her. “You can make your own decisions now, yeah?”

Ryne looks at her nails, painted a bright sky blue. “Yeah,” she says, and she sounds taken off guard, but pleasantly, as if the thought that someone would encourage her to make her own decision hadn’t even occurred to her.

“Oh, we do apologize for being late!” The rather loud exclamation and the sound of rushing footsteps announce the presence of the twins Leveilleur, dressed to the sevens. Alisaie, butting in front of her brother, pulls out the seat on Ikael’s right with an ungraceful jerk. “Alphinaud had to go give a speech.”

Alphinaud clears his throat, brushing down his tunic and repositioning his braid (which Alisaie has knocked askew) before seating himself. “A necessary but fine addition to this here dinner,” he says, and he looks at them all and smiles. “No one is going to listen if I give it after they eat. It is good to see you all, and especially looking so…”

His cheek twitches—a tell of his that means he is grasping for words. Thancred regards him leisurely over the rim of his wineglass, taking a long sip and maintaining eye contact.

“Se—” Ikael starts, and Thancred stamps on his foot just as Alphinaud finishes with, “… well-dressed! Did you manage to catch my address? It was quite stirring, if I do say so myself.”

Thancred gives him an apologetic smile. “Well, we were—”

“No,” Ikael interrupts, slamming his heel down on top of Thancred's booted toes. He expertly hides a wince. “We were doing our hair.”

“Ha!” Alisaie slouches back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Did you hear that, Brother? They were too busy doing their hair to hear your riveting speech.”

“Not my hair,” Thancred mutters under his breath. Ikael’s ears twitch towards him, and his eyes shine dangerously. Thancred dips his head back to his wineglass.

Alphinaud breathes out a half sigh, half chuckle. “Honestly, I’m not that surprised,” he admits, ignoring his sister’s pointed grin. “That’s alright; ‘tis our time together that matters most. So! Ikael, what would you recommend on the menu? There seem to be so many options…”

~*~

“Then over again, yes, like that.” Alisaie’s face brightens as Ryne repositions her hand with confidence, having gained it during their little game. “And then you… snap!”

She demonstrates, sweeping her arm back with a wink, and Ryne goes, “Oh!” and mirrors her movements with startling accuracy before falling back in her seat and giggling.

Ikael is watching their exchange with his oh-how-precious face, dopey smile lazily draped over his face. His hair is in disarray and his makeup has long since smeared, but it only gives character to his expression, making him look shockingly out of place in this hall of the elite. The rest of them are more put-together: Alphinaud is gazing at the girls with his chin on his knuckles, too well-mannered to lean his elbows on the table, and Thancred is watching them all.

It is… interesting to see them interact. Interesting and different, but bright. Unfamiliar, yet pleasant. He finds he likes it.

“Thank you for teaching me that one! I’ll be sure to practise it.” Ryne gives Alisaie an earnest smile, and gets a laugh and a hand wave in return.

“Of course! Hand games are integral to surviving boredom. I know plenty more, if you ever have the time to visit! Alphinaud does as well, although he won’t admit it.”

Alphinaud huffs out a tired chuckle. “I’ll admit it just this once,” he mumbles. The corner of his lips tip up.

It is getting late. Their food, including dessert, has long since been finished and cleared away. They have permission to stay all night, since the hall has been booked for this event, but Thancred thinks they should probably be heading back soon. Ryne will be falling asleep on him on the way if they stay for much longer.

He glances at Ikael, a silent question in his eyes, and gets an ear flick and a slight nod in reply. Thancred's gaze is momentarily diverted by a thin flash of gold delicately threaded into black fur, and he shakes himself internally. Tired indeed.

“Lovely as this evening’s dinner and chat has been,” he says, straightening in his chair to look at all of them, “We should get going while we are still awake enough to stand. Ah… this has already been paid for in full, right? Alisaie, I am asking you—your brother cannot be trusted to talk finances, so I have been told.”

Alphinaud scoffs out a protest, cheeks pinking. Ryne giggles again (she has been told the katana story from Ikael, albeit with what Thancred guesses were gratuitous embellishments) and leans against Thancred’s arm, her energy drained. He moves it to let her settle in more comfortably.

“Yes, it’s all handled.” Alisaie smiles faintly. “And you are right, it is getting quite late. More than time for us to go our separate ways, much as I wish to keep talking about how many different types of forks exist for the entire night.”

“Thirty-five,” Ikael murmurs with a half-lidded gaze.

“Goodbye hugs before you go, please,” Ryne blurts out. Alisaie looks surprised for a second, and then her smile returns, softer than before.

“Of course,” she grants. “Shortest to longest, then. Thancred, I’ll take your manly back-pat first…?”

~*~

[hapinessandlove123]

King and Queen Part 2

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: jealousy? 

“This can’t be” You said out loud only for your dad to give you a stern face. “It’s for your safety darling, the Hollands would protect you, won’t you Dom?” Your father spoke to you and turned to the king of the most famous and dangerous mobster in London for confirmation, that his little girl would be safe and sound. “Of course, she will be, and now being a part of this family you will have to behave a certain way and not draw bad attention.” Dom said this as he reassured you that you will be safe. All you could think about this whole deal, was the fact that you were being ‘married off’ as a 18th century woman, in a game of chess. 

Dom motioned both you and your father to a large office that was to the left side of this huge compound. You both sat in the opposite chairs to the large desk where Dom and Tom sat at. The office itself was all covered in mahogany wood. It had a dark, but mysterious vibe. There was a large book cabinet on the left side if you entered the office. It was decorated by different colors of different books. It looked like several volumes to those books. On the right side of the office you had large double door windows that lead to a courtyard. The windows happened to be opened by two curtains that were a beige color that was aesthetically pleasing to the color of the mahogany walls. In the courtyard, you could see a fountain, in the middle of it, that was shaped of a small kid who resembled a small royal child. From the back of the royal child, the water came flowing oh so smoothing, and there at least two birds enjoying the water from the fountain. In the left side of the courtyard you had a small bench that behind it, was a large bush wall. It seemed so peaceful there, you wondered how this place existed, in a place where crimes and possibly murder happened often.

“Now Y/n the marriage would occur tomorrow. We would have our immediate family and your parents tomorrow, here in the manor. It will occur in the gardens.” Dom said this to you, of course having his hands together and his elbows in the table. He was staring at you with an easy that, even though you didn’t choose this agreement, or be born in your family, you were now in a new family, one you knew you couldn’t be fucked with.

 You decided to push Dom’s buttons and you relaxed on your seat and slouched only to respond, “when’s the execution?” You smiled to Dom and Tom. Tom turned to look at you. He stared at you up and down. He realized right then and there you were going to be a feisty one. And he was intrigued to get to know you.

 Dom laughed at your answer. “Well if all goes well darling, you will not have to worry about it” Your father only gave Dom an unsure smile. “Now that this is handled, you can now go to your bedchambers” Dom smiled and moved his left hand for you to go off and explore your new home.

 You walked back to the foyer and you turned only to be met with your father. “Darling, please don’t be mad at me or your mother. We did this for your own good. You’ll learn to love it here. I can sense it.” Your dad gave you a hug that felt like hours, and a kiss to your forehead. This was of course the last time he would hold his little princess like this. “Okay, tell mother I’ll see her tomorrow and you. Now I’m off to explore.” You said this coldly to your father, and you turned to go upstairs in the long staircase that would lead to your bedchamber. Your father saw you go off, to your future. He hopes that you can forgive him for the terrible decision he chose to do about the agreement. All he wants is to protect you, and if that meant to marry you to the most powerful mob in London, then so be it.

 As you walked to the left side of the long hallway in the second floor of the manor, you found people who wore uniforms to be coming in and out of a room you supposed would be yours. As you went in, the ladies who were unpacking your luggage trunks saw you and bowed down to you. You thought it was ridiculous this gesture towards you. You weren’t royalty. I mean, your mother is part of the aristocracy in London, but that doesn’t mean everyone bows to her. Neither do they bow to you.

 You just said ‘hello’ to them and proceeded to look at the large room you were given. You saw double doors that you proceeded to open and found yourself in the large bathroom. There was a large bath tub you knew you would use once you were by yourself. It was white as it can be. Marble countertops and clear shower windows. There was also a large window just behind the large bath tub. You could see miles upon miles of green grass. It made you smile at the simplicity of it. You got out of the bathroom and went to look at your closet which was almost fully packed.

 You were startled by Tom who was standing next to the bed when you walked out of the double door closet. “Yes? Can I help you? Um, Dauphin? That was your name, right?” You swore you would put this boy cow bells so you could hear when he entered the room. “Darling I’m going to bed I hope you enjoy your sleep” Tom said this while taking off his tie and unbuttoning his white shirt. You swore you could see his abs from the unbuttoning. He then walked to the restroom and closed the doors.

 You were confused at the fact he went in, but since you two were bound to be married, you thought to yourself ‘might as well get used to it now.’ You changed to a simple long t shirt that hit your mid-thigh and you undid the bed and moved the sheets halfway so you could lay in bed and be on your phone. As you were relaxing and googling dresses, Tom got out of the restroom and to your surprise, he was only in black boxers. His hair in disarray and you could clearly see his chiseled chest. Everything about his body was screaming at your core to jump him right then and there. You weren’t happy about this agreement, but you found out where you could take out your anger. “Um what are you doing?” You looked at Tom as he went to the left side of the bed to get ready to get in the silk sheets. The king-sized bed was big enough for both, but you still didn’t know who this person was, even if he was meant to be your betrothed.

 “Darling, this is my bed, and by the looks of it, you seem to be enjoying it, so if you don’t mind I am going to bed, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” Tom smiled to you as just as he was about to go in you interrupt his action. “No, either you go to another room, or I go. I’m not sleeping in a bed with a stranger, no matter how close we’re going to be in the future.” You sat in the bed with your arms crossed your phone long forgotten. Tom sighed loud enough for him to hear you and he went off to open the large double doors of the bedroom and left off. You looked puzzled and wondered where he went off. Not even 5 minutes passed, and he came to the room with a servant and then the servant went on to prepare the twin sized bed of fine silk sheets in front of the king-sized bed. The servant left and closed the doors on his way out. “Now darling, if you don’t mind” Tom smiled at you, letting you know that everything was fine and he went off to bed. Everything seemed to move so fast around here, you couldn’t stop to wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on.

 “You know, if you want to get to know me more, all you have to do is ask” Tom said this to you as you were taken back from his sentence. “Um, no it’s okay” You smiled even though he couldn’t see you and you drifted off into your sleep. Waking up the morning of your wedding, you didn’t know you would be in this pickle. You wanted to go back to sleep and to wake up and be told this was all a dream. As you finally found yourself to fully wake up, you found the silk duvet to be brought up to your shoulders. You remembered that you hadn’t covered yourself the night before and the only one who seemed to be in the room with you was Tom. You found yourself smiling at the gesture, but you also remembered that you two were only marrying for protection, nothing else.

 It was already 7:00 p.m. you wore a Chanel dress, which of course your parents had given your measurements on time. Your hair was up and you were carrying peonies, white to be exact. You were standing next to Tom who wore a Hugo Boss suit and had a Rolex watch on his left hand. Your parents were on your left side holding each other’s hand. Tom’s father was standing next to his mother who you’d come to know her name was Nicola and his three siblings, who were Sam, Harry, and Paddy. His brothers seem to really look up to Tom from what you could gather from your view in your room as you were getting ready. Premier menuet by Rameau was playing low, while Tom and you said your ‘I do’s’, and you both signed your names on the certificate to be officially Mr. and Mrs. Holland.

 By the end of the ceremony you were then escorted to the dining area to enjoy of this new agreement and a good feast. You were seated next to Sam and you spent your time talking to Sam not paying any attention to your new Husband. You were 8 glasses of wine down and you were starting to feel yourself lightheaded and you excused yourself to go to the gardens to have a breather from everything that had just occurred.

 Tom’s POV

Just because Tom was now married to a mob’s daughter and aristocrat, that didn’t mean that he was entitled to stop his charades with the women he had fun with. He knew you could take care of yourself by the way you spoke to him. He never in his life had met anyone who wasn’t scared of him. As he was intrigued by you, his phone kept vibrating. It probably was one of his usual ladies who wanted Tom for the night. He excused himself also after seeing you had excused yourself after the many glasses of wine you had taken.

 He made his way to one of the rooms in the first floor of the manor where most of his women would go to help Tom, “get off.”

 Reader’s viewpoint again

You were now starting to feel your soul back in your body and proceeded to go back to the manor. You opened one of the large doors and made your way back to the dining hall. As you made your way back, you heard laughter and moans. You saw one of the many large double doors opened and you opened it lightly to see Tom getting a lap dance by a random girl. She proceeded to take off his tie and his shirt was halfway unbuttoned. You couldn’t help, but feel this emotion of jealousy coming your way. You smiled to yourself and turned the other way. You decided to go to the dining hall. You said out loud to yourself. “Two can play this game, Holland.” 

Hello Guys! I hope you enjoy this part. 

[shroudkeeper]

.character aesthetics

Rivienne: speckled sunlight through the canopies. linens caught in the breeze. warm kisses. armor surrounded by moss. the smell of the earth. goose-flesh under moonlight. blades of grass underneath naked feet. sheer dresses. hidden smiles. time slowing down. rustling leaves. dancing among bluebells. wolfish glare. sharpened steel. laurel of flowers. half lidded looks. fading scars. a longing sigh. howls cast to the winds. bubbling brook that cuts through the forest. leather. poison. gold filigree.

Kikyo: soundless laughter. spring rain. silks dyed in a myriad of colors. worn slippers. adornments of gold. shuffling feet. the fall of cherry blossoms. haunting stares. soft smiles. koi fish bubbling to the surface of a pond. paper lanterns set to the heavens. creeping darkness. a silent gasp of air. trembling fingers. baked goods. tears. tight embraces. frigid caresses. unfamiliar faces. loneliness. outstretched hands. wilting bell flowers. the taste of berries and cream.

Lanceloux: guttural growls. clashing of steel. bruised lips that smile. sun-touched. weariness. calloused hands. fur matted with blood. trembling earth. muddied boots. finger-less gloves. broken spears left to rust. windblown dark hair. a five o clock shadow. a deep rumble from the chest. sunflowers. the prelude a thunderstorm. chocobo feathers. the surf. crow’s feet. flexing muscles. the smell of summer shifting to autumn. the crunch of fallen leaves. freshly brewed coffee. bed-sheets at a disarray. rolled up sleeves.

Valtemonte: a soft hum. deep laughter. dusk, twilight. sharp tongues. organized books. starlight. heavy cloaks lined with red. creeping shadows. electricity shifting. intense stares. smirks. dimples. raven feathers. the smell of smoke. bobbing adam’s apple. monocles. fallen infrastructures. confidence. mist. charming smiles. hand carved staves. lacquered nails. high collars. altars. golden rings. walking cane. runes. spilled red wine. black wolves. pressed suits. ivory. piano keys.

[rk800downloading]

“Save me” Chapter 13 - Connor x Reader

Disclaimer: WOW, long wait! I am so sorry, school has been kicking my butt - but hopefully this will tie you over until the next one! ❤ As always, thank you so much for all of your likes / reblogs / comments / messages!!

Again, thank you so much to @autumn-become-human​ for all of your awesome help (and for dealing with all my shenanigans) you can thank her for convincing me to write the end of the chapter the way it is *cough, cough* ENJOY!

Previous Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12

“Stupid… It’s so unfair.”

You kicked a bucket of clothes over, spilling it’s folded contents into disarray. You wanted to step on the cotton, to take your angst out on it - why wouldn’t George let you take the car to Detroit? You couldn’t understand.

You sighed, picking up the fabric - the clothes hadn’t done anything to incur your wrath.

“Is something wrong?”

Tim hovered over you, his hazel eyes peering into yours.

“George wouldn’t let me drive to Detroit.” You sighed again, refolding a shirt with a snap of your wrist “I’m so bored here. There’s no one my age - this place just sucks.”

“Detroit can be a dangerous place for a young lady like you.” Tim’s voice was as silky as always, honey dripping from his Illinois accent “George isn’t doing it to be mean.”

“You only say that ‘cause you can do whatever you want.”

Tim’s face scrunched into a lopsided grin “Since when did androids get to do whatever they wanted? Did I miss a memo somewhere?”

“No,” You glanced down to the floor, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Tim gave you a gentle pat on the head, ruffling your hair “It’s okay, I know it’s easy to forget I’m not human - but nevermind that, I’ve got a plan.”

Your curiosity was piqued.

“How about I tell George I need to go do some shopping in Detroit - you sneak along, we take five dollars from the swear jar, and get you some ice cream- you in?”

“I’m pretty sure that those are all of my quarters though.”

Tim rolled his eyes “You in? Or are you in?”

You smiled.

“I’m in.”

---

“A nightmare?” Hank’s voice roused you from sleep.

“A memory,” You groaned, removing your cheek from the car window.

The drive to Rosewater was a long five hours. The orphanage was located on the outskirts of Geneva in Illinois - a place you hadn’t been to since you had left it.

A morbid gut instinct told you that Tim would be there. The Detroit police had sealed off the warehouse and apartments, yet you had overheard Hank talking about about how cases of the contaminated red ice continued to pour in.

The orphanage was the best lead - the only lead.

Hank glanced over his shoulder, noticing your grim expression.

“Reach into the seat pocket behind Connor.”

You nodded, stealing a quick look at the brown haired man in the passenger seat. His eyes were closed.

“Is Connor okay?” you questioned “Can androids sleep?”

Hank grumbled, gaze now focused on the road ahead “Said something about sending a report to Cyberlife.”

“Um?” your voice was skeptical “Won’t they be able to tell he’s… you know?”

“I asked the same thing, but he said that he had the situation” Hank mimicked Connor’s voice “‘under control’. Now reach into that damn pocket will ya?”

You nodded again, this time obliging. Your hand fought through napkins and wrappers finding a rectangular object.

It was a Nintendo 3DS.

You quickly looked up at Hank and back down to the gaming system. You clicked the power button, eagerly anticipating what game would load.

“Animal crossing?” you gasped aloud, but Hank didn’t indulge.

On the screen, a small dog welcomed you back to Sumoville. Your character was named-

You smiled.

Mayor Cole.

“Was this your son's?” You asked, exploring the well furnished virtual home.

“It’s mine.” Hank responded this time, voice strict “This information does not leave the car, you understand? I just thought that if you had that scowl on any longer, it’d be permanently engraved into your face.”

“I promise to keep your secret.” you beamed, suddenly surprised by Hank’s arm extending back.

“Cole used to make me do this,” his little finger reached towards you “a pinky promise he called it.”

You paused, looking in awe at his hand. Warmth spread throughout your chest, filling a deep hole that had been empty since birth.

“Ah, shit, I’m treating you like a kid- forget it-” Hank tried to take back his gesture, red subtly creeping up the tips of his ears.

You grabbed his hand, tightly wrapping your pinky around his.

“No!” you spoke bashfully “It’s not! I just- I never had the chance to do stuff like this before - it’s nice. I pinky promise to keep your secret!”

“Okay already!” Hank stammered, pulling free of your grip “Don’t get us into a damn car crash.”

“You started it!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He casually drummed his fingers against the wheel, seemingly embarrassed “So, how are you feeling about the whole Tim thing?”

Your hands hovered over the buttons of the 3DS.

How did you feel?

“I don’t know how I feel about a lot of things these days,” you started “I still feel that I should be more shocked, more upset. Truthfully, I guess I just feel really alone.”

Hank was silent and you were grateful for it. You stared out the window, processing your feelings. It felt selfish to dwell on your own misfortune, but the black hole in your heart refused to subside - it was sucking you in, making you feel numb.

“Kid,”

Hank’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with us now.”

You gulped hard “What do you mean?”

Hank turned the car, headlights faintly illuminating ‘Welcome to Geneva’ through the darkness of the night.

“I mean that after all of this GOR business is over with, you’re free to stay with me and Connor.”

Hank glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“For three years I hadn’t opened Cole’s room. I trapped him and my feelings inside there- and it’s just that, uh,” He nodded to himself, a small smile spreading across his face  “I think Cole would be happy if you got some use outta his old room. Connor would be happy too, and me, I guess-”

“Hank, I-” you struggled to find the words matching your feelings. You wanted more than anything to accept his offer, to jump up and down screaming yes - but were you allowed to feel this way? Was it okay for an orphan like you to find a ‘home’ in Hank and Connor?

“Nobody is forcing you.” he interrupted “I’m not asking you to replace Cole - but you’re part of the family now in your own way. Think about it-”

You arms wrapped around Hank from the backseat.

“Thank you…” you spoke, although the two words could just barely convey the multitude of what you felt. Hank seemed to understand, giving your hand a few light pats.

“It feels as if you’ve hugged Hank more than me lately,”

You looked to the passenger’s side where Connor’s eyes were open and on you. He playfully pouted, crossing his arms over his chest “is this what jealousy feels like?”

“I am the better looking one.” Hank smirked “Welcome back. How’d the Cyberlife thing go?”

Connor’s gaze narrowed “It went well. I don’t think that they suspect anything.”

“Good.” Hank didn’t ask anymore as he pulled the car into a motel “We’ll be staying here for the night.”

---

The motel wasn’t something you recognized from your childhood; it was simple, modern - vastly different from the preserved 1900’s architecture known of Geneva. Blue glowed from strips of light that ran alongside the cubistic building, matching the incandescent room numbers on the doors.

You walked with Hank to the motel lobby; an android stood dressed in fashion resembling the building’s aesthetic, a bright smile across her face “Welcome. What may I help you with today?”

“Two adjacent rooms, please.” Hank asked, leaning against the counter.

“Of course. I will need two pieces of ID, one from each human over 18 years of age.”

You slid your ID beside Hanks. The attendant’s fingers dangled over them, pausing atop yours. Yellow spun from her temple.

“Welcome back Miss, have you come to collect your belongings from your last visit?”

“I don’t- I haven’t been here before.” you tilted your head in confusion “Are you mixing me up with someone else?”

Connor stepped in front of you, LED blinking in rhythm with the attendant’s. He grabbed her arm, skin fading into white where they touched.

His brows furrowed at the results. 

“You were here, 12 days ago. You rented room 23, but never returned after leaving in the afternoon.” he released the android “Did you visit the orphanage by yourself?”

You closed your eyes in frustration. You were such a mess - one problem after another, one missing memory after another.

“I don’t know.” you replied - now an overused saying of yours “Maybe if I see it, I’ll be able to remember something.”

The attendant left, reappearing with your backpack. 

You were tired of forgetting - you would force yourself to remember.

You thanked her, stepping outside - barely waiting a second before tearing into the bag, taking your annoyance out on its zipper.

“My love,” Connor whispered, his warm hands stopping you “I think it would be best if we took a small break from the investigation tonight.”

“What?” You looked up, hair wild across your face.

“He’s right.” Hank appeared from behind, two key cards in hand “Rest tonight, watch TV, order some food if you want - but that’s an order from a cop. Okay?”

You sighed “I’m just so tired of not being able to remember - just constant roadblocks. I could have been Tim’s accomplice for all I know!”

“My love,” Connor repeated, softer this time - his fingers tightening around yours. “you know that isn’t true.”

You felt your shoulders drop, anger disappearing.

“Room 10 kid.” Hank grabbed the bag, handing you one of the cards “Go take a long shower. We’ll be next door if you need us.”

---

A shower did refresh you, even if only a little.

You hadn’t moved from the bed ever since, mindlessly watching TV, still warm despite only wearing a towel.

“Red ice; named after its appearance. It is known to induce rage and mental instability in its users - and now is creating instability in the United States of America. This is CTN TV, with all the current news on street crime, and your scoop on the latest drug terrorizing America.”

“Thank you for that opening, Dave. The introduction of androids into the workplace has created a significant impact on the economy. Unemployment is at an all time low, leaving humans unsatisfied and turning to red ice for an escape from reality - but can it really be called that? It has been reported that over 97% of people that smoke red ice experience extreme symptoms of anger, often leading to cases of violence and assault-”

A small beep rang from your door, the sound of a turning handle in its wake.

“I noticed you weren’t sleeping yet, I hope that Hank’s drunken snore isn’t keeping-” Connor walked in, freezing as he saw you.

“TV off.” You commanded, tucking the towel tighter around yourself. “It’s okay, come in. I was just watching some news.”

“I can return at a later time…”

“Hurry! you’re letting the cold air in!”

Connor cleared his throat, hastily shutting the door behind him “We have a robe in our room if you would like to use it.”

“Is the towel bothering you?”

“Well it is certainly distracting me.”

You patted the spot next to you, gesturing him to join. He reluctantly approached.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” he spoke dryly, knuckles tight, fingers grasping at his jeans as he sat. His whole body was rigid, eyes forward, jaw locked into place.

“Is the towel that uncomfortable? I just thought since you’ve seen me before- I’m sorry, I’ll go change…” you mumbled self-consciously, rising from the bed.

“No-” Connor reached for your arm “I believe you’re misinterpreting my actions. I am restraining myself.”

“Restraining?”

“What I spoke about before.” his voice was laboured “The ache.”

“Ache? You can kiss me whenever you want. I thought you were going to start being selfish?”  

“I want to be, but if I kiss you right now-”

Connor’s hands cautiously reached towards the towel’s hem. He brought his gaze to your figure, mouth parting in thirst.

“I’ll want even more.”

Fingers traced up your leg - brushing against the inside of your thigh.

You throbbed, swelled - your body pleaded for his touch.

“Then kiss me,” you begged, his eyes wavering in response. 

“Do you understand what you’re asking me?”

You leaned forward, softly pressing your mouth against his.

“I know exactly what I’m asking you.”

Connor inhaled sharply, breathing you in, hands grasping at your skin. His shoulders squared - posture straightened.

And then he kissed you again.

He kissed you deep and hungry. You groaned as his tongue found yours, shuddered as he bit your lip. You felt him grin as a gasp escaped you.

Lust pounded throughout your chest, pulsated between your legs. You wanted him on you, against you - in you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He whispered between kisses, his grip dipping under the towel. He pressed into the skin of your bare hips, lifting you, straddling you across his lap. You greedily pressed your body against his, back arching into the feeling of his lips against your collarbone.

All you could think about was the maddening pressure building inside you - how it threatened to drive you insane if Connor didn’t relieve it, if he didn’t save you.

You craved him, needed him.

You let the towel drop to the floor.

Next Chapter: CHAPTER 14

[the-uptake]

Faith in Higher Things

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 8. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Stitches, metropolitan crisis onset. Count the questions on one hand...

________________________________

Augen nudged ‘Choly awake in the pitch dark.

“We should get going,” the vampire whispered.

The Lazarus Hall. Right. ‘Choly’s chest tightened, that the overly sweet aroma wasn’t an air freshener, and he struggled upright. ‘Choly had slept atop Augen’s clothes, and Augen retrieved them, but prioritized helping his friend dress first. The vampire turned on his reader flashlight, and handed ‘Choly’s orthotics to him one at a time. 'Choly permitted him to help only with the corset.

“Are you okay?” ‘Choly started. “Your ribs. You’re okay now?”

Met with a hush, his not-quite-lucid mind gurgled with the memory of the textures and structures that had filled his lap, though in the dark, he could not process how long ago. Augen’s reader light grazed insinuations of thick, clear slime in places, rucked up on the concrete floor like well-traversed urban snow. The vampire seemed himself again. ‘Choly pursed his lips tight as he got his muck-stiff shirt and sweater back on over his head. Winning an argument with his leg brace, he sat at last in his wheelchair, and Augen finally got dressed, and they took stock of their effects one last time. Then, the two slipped out of the once-parlor the same way they’d entered.

Barring the discomfort of the dried weighted crunch of their clothing, to onlookers stepping into the fluorescent lighting of the broad hallways only punctuated their disarray. Augen took ‘Choly to the public restrooms on that floor to freshen up, and also to refill his canteen. Augen fished a new hair tie from his apron, and re-added any jewelry he’d removed prior to his healing process. ‘Choly pinched at bit at his itching chin suture, then took his next dose of both medication with a few palmfuls of sink water. He grunted with a squint at still not having eyeglasses. By the time he sank back in his chair to recollect himself, someone was inching him aside to get at the sink for themselves, unable to wait his turn any longer. Augen stepped up to cart him onward before ‘Choly could knock out any of the stiffness in his shirt.

“Guess it’s a good thing I bought instead of rented,” ‘Choly commented of his wheelchair with a huff, on their way to the elevator. He checked the time on his reader, as well as the battery--10:02, 46%--and sneered as he spoke next. “You sure made a mess of, well, us. Not sure we can get whatever that was out of the upholstery.”

“You mean I can’t just take you through a car wash?” the vampire jeered, doing his very best to ignore the crustiness of his hair. He leaned near to his ear. “Nothing a few bottles of dish detergent won’t fix.”

“...Take it you’ve got experience with this...”

He almost asked Augen what the chemical at the parlor had been, but Augen propelled them both into the then-ready elevator car, placing themselves amid a group of office-dwelling folk. In an undesirable silence, they aimed for the top floor as they had before. He thought to text Cecil, but recalled that if April Fool’s had damaged his reader, it surely must have destroyed Cecil’s. On the way to ground level, no fewer than two people shied from the rank, chalky musk the two exuded.

They made their way back HP way. ‘Choly removed his sweater, Augen tucking it into the back pouch of the chair, and wore his dark tank with the salmon dress shirt unbuttoned over it. The orthotic corset crested over the neckline, but although partly his binding garment, he didn’t wholly consider it unmentionable.

The line for the optician’s department took no time. The optician examined ‘Choly, and when she annotated both his updated prescription and his metahuman cataracts as addenda to his serial file, he requested the prescription for personal reference as well. The eyewear specialist offered him two catalogues to pick from, but he immediately declined the ShipShop options in favor of restoring his vision promptly by picking options available in-house. He still knew very little of Leveler culture, especially the nuances of navigating medical provisions, but mostly anyone no matter their upbringing knew how to select their earpiece and frame combination from the catalogues. Billable or not, Though he had a pair from ShipShop, if a body had eyewear these days, they more than likely came from the optician’s edition of a BF Meehl catalogue. It had been since the last time he’d broken his glasses that he’d even bothered to update his prescription, let alone his frames, and he enjoyed the aesthetic refresh.

Within fifteen minutes of the exam, a pair of thick flat round black acetate frames sat on his face. Separate but built-in sunglasses lenses hinged independently at an upward diagonal. Everything had features again. Distinct, clear, and tangible. They made him feel a bit like a spider. Though he wished there were something more of substance to the impression, he didn’t mind feeling at all like a spider.

Augen’s only reaction to the acquisition was to casually flip down the sunglasses to their useful position. ‘Choly didn’t object until they started moving again.

“H-- hey, what now? We’re getting coffee and breakfast now, right? Wasn’t that the turn to go to the cafeteria? Isn’t this the way out of the hos--”

“--To the nearest Overflow.” Augen snipped out a halted breath, and kept pushing when ‘Choly gave no reply which would suggest diminished confusion. “Just how long ago was it, that you said you leveled up?”

“My serial’s just shy of three years old now.” His shoulders shrank as he gripped the armrests.

“And still don’t know how all this stuff works? How any of billing works? Tch! I don’t mind helping, but a little communication wouldn’t hurt. So glad I nicked the room slip from you. Knowing you, you’d have tossed it by now. I know you don’t carry a wallet, either, and--”

“--Just how do you know that?” He couldn’t understand how a slip of paper could carry any sense of irreplaceability, and his ears burned.

“I pay attention. Which you really should. It’s like you don’t even know what’s going on and you could hardly be more dead center of it without being in Cecil’s shoes.”

‘Choly frowned meaningfully.

“He says to the injured man full of opiates... and completely empty of caffeine.”

“Coffee. Right. Overflow first. One thing at a time.”

He supposed he could forgive that Augen wasn’t a morning person either.

They crossed the street to The Granfalloon Overflow, and entered the busy glass-front lobby with pewter carpeting, to find easily two hundred patrons stood in the check-in line. ‘Choly held their place while Augen stepped out to grab them both coffee. By the time the vampire returned, the dirt-black dark roast had dipped to a quaffable temperature, and only twenty almost-customers remained in front of the pair.

“Let me do the talking when we get up to the desk window. I got you a filled croissant. You like berry, right?”

“Anything but grape,” he appreciated. He shrugged at the instructions. “You’ve got the... room slip, or whatever it is.  Y’need my serial, too?”

“The slip has everything we need on it.”

Rather than ask what Cecil’s room had to do with anything, ‘Choly alternated between his caffeine and his fruit jelly and nearly gelatinous cheese pastry. He said nothing of the texture it had gained from growing cold, grateful simply to have something in his stomach.

When they got up to the window, ‘Choly watched as Augen spoke quietly to the clerk through the slotted glass, and scanned the carbon-paper slip the vampire produced. The clerk looked up to ‘Choly, then back to the computer terminal. Augen objected at one point, but resigned to whatever the clerk had either asked or insinuated, and scanned a second item Augen produced before pocketing again. A pair of cardkeys ejected under the counter, and Augen retrieved them with a mention of gratitude before they sped off to one end of the large, open lobby to let the next patron check in.

“I thought you said the slip was all--”

“--They think I’m going to be present enough to count as an occupant to your room, since I’m pushing your wheelchair. I had to give them a serial.”

“But you’re not...” The word ‘documented’ stayed in his lungs.

“You collect a great many useful things riverbed scavenging the Hudson.”

‘Choly’s mouth tightened and his eyes widened behind his myopic, dark glasses.

“The more important question is, I never stayed in a hotel in my whole life, but I know how slagging expensive it is to. Who’s paying for this!”

“How do I put this? Overflows are hotels sponsored by the hospital they’re affiliated with. Usually they’re either part of the same building, or are right next door attached by skybridges. We needed the slip because staying at an Overflow sponsored location can be tacked onto the billing package for most inpatient hospital stays. I didn’t want you to have to cash in on it, because you responded so poorly to the billing process at the start, but in your current state, and knowing how long Cecil will be here, you really don’t have much choice. Especially since Tri-City bound transportation is still down. Every other lodging option is going to cost you, out of pocket, up front, and I can guarantee that, in the current state of things, anywhere else would charge you ten to fifteen times more for sake of emergency-stimulated opportunism.”

“You mean... If Cecil has visitors, they can stay at specific hotels and the tab goes on his billing?” When Augen didn’t correct him, he let out a low whistle. “I don’t think we should order room service...”

Pale gold halls radiated off the lobby to both sides at several angles. Following the digital wall-projected signage Augen took ‘Choly down one crowded frontmost hall in pursuit of the cluster of indoor stores and eateries. They popped into the convenience store. Augen tucked a shopping basked in ‘Choly’s lap and tossed a few things in it as they navigated around other shoppers in the small tiled space. As an ice-breaker, the vampire picked out a few beverages including a travel size assortment of liquors, then made ‘Choly pick out some shelf-stable sandwiches and some toiletries. ‘Choly also nudged him to get some isopropyl alcohol, and a bleach kit bottle, the latter of which elicited a wry smirk. Just as he’d said nothing of Augen’s very obviously faked identification, Augen said nothing of the bleach. The two paid separately, and for each purchase, the clerk required they swipe their cardkey. As they left the store with their plastic bags of items, Augen mumbled with a smile.

“You’re not allowed to ruin my rum with that.”

“The vodk--” ‘Choly sputtered. “The rubbing alcohol’s not for drinking--”

“You don’t add either to good rum.”

“Says who!”

They returned to the lobby and took a different hall in search of an elevator, a sleek mirror-wainscoted thing which they then rode to the ninth floor. The halls snaked such that Augen jerked about ‘Choly’s chair on their way to the room which would be loaned out to those who had visited the patient in HP’s room ICB-3406 the day before. Augen slid one cardkey and held the door open so ‘Choly could wheel himself inside. Accessing just about any facet of the hotel required a swipe of a cardkey to prove tenancy, down to making a purchase at any of the establishments on the ground floor, ‘Choly supposed.

“You know I appreciate you going down there with me,” Augen said as they sized up the place. He stepped into the bathroom with the bags, but did not shut the door.

The walls were cream, the carpet deep blue. A single queen-size bed, dark red. Wall-mount television. Small fridge. Two nightstands, one with a lamp and the other a tabletop-surface kiosk. Inset lighting around the whole perimeter of the ceiling. The vague floral residue of recent cleaning. The far wall, with a pair of full-length windows to either side of the small table with two upholstered chairs. The windows, with light-blocking treatments the same blue as the carpeting.

“And you know I appreciate you taking me with you. What even was that stuff? You never told me if your rib healed.”

“To be entirely fair, I haven’t a clue. What’s important is, it did the trick.” The vampire returned empty-handed to ‘Choly, and handed him a cardkey to put in his bag. “We can talk later. Now that you’re situated, I really must go check on some things. You are situated, yet? You’ll be all right a few hours?”

“But--” Augen pecked him on the cheek and patted him on the head. The parting gesture boxed his rationality, and he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll text you if I hear anything new from Cecil.”

“I’m not going far. We can go visit him when I get back.” The door shut behind Augen.

‘Choly stared off into the room in ever-mounting exhaustion. He tried to stand, only to have to shoulder the wall to continue succeeding. He seethed, and groaned.

“I should have gotten him to help me into the bath.”

He made it into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. The leg brace came off, then so did everything else. He almost searched for the bags of things from the convenience store, only to see the vampire had gone in the bathroom before to set them out for him on the dark marbled counter. Toiletries to one side of the sink, food and drink at the other. A jar of instant coffee stood among the bottles, and he couldn’t help but laugh at Augen thinking it something of a priority for ‘Choly. He pulled a towel and washcloth off the acrylic bath shelving, set his glasses on the counter, and resigned to drawing a bath to keep his leg elevated.

While the water filled the tub, he retrieved the sewing kit from his diamond bag and hobbled back to set it at the sink. He ripped open the carton of bathtub cherry bombs and flicked one of the small spheres into the water. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his face stitches earlier, and took the time to scrutinize its integrity uninterrupted. He turned the water off. He punctured the safety film over the mouth of the rubbing alcohol and doused some toilet paper with it to dab at his chin. A hard pinch produced a drizzle of thin pus, and he winced as he sopped at it. He removed the dressing from his leg, and palpated it finding similar heat and tightness. With some nervousness as to the soundness of his unsupported leg bones, the brace went back on without replacing the gauze. Of what he’d read of the instructions e-mail he’d received from Dr. Thornton’s care, the brace was waterproof, but submerging it was not recommended. He slipped into the effervescent tub with his leg elevated, and let the aromatics permeate his aching body.

He sat on the toilet lid and towel dried his hair a bit, and used the clippers from the sewing kit to open the brush and comb pack. It had been five years since he last changed the color of his hair, but he’d maintained coloration of all kinds throughout his twenties, and he didn’t deem it necessary to re-read the instructions label on the bleach. So he took off the cap to remove the rigid safety stick that ran down the full depth of the bottle right down the center, and closed it up again. Through the soft squeezable plastic of the outer bottle, he felt around for the long brittle tube now floating loose, and he cracked it and shook the contents to incorporate them. Once the bottle felt warm, he parted his dark, damp bangtails down the middle, and flipped the squeeze-top, to bleach the right half only. A few bobby pins held the hair in place while the chemicals worked. He set an alarm on his reader for thirty minutes.

A seam ripper popped the stitches on his face, and tweezers picked out the fibers. He leaned over the sink and let the basin catch the alcohol he poured over his chin. Alcohol-sterilized needle and thread reaffixed the seven stitches, and he snipped the thread off close to the knot. Sitting on the toilet lid again, he inspected his leg injury as best he could for the angles he could twist himself. A lot of the swelling around the wound site had gone down, and he imagined the warmth of the bath had helped both its drainage and circulation. Drainage. Despite the wound depth, Thornton had not implemented any kind of tubing to permit the free expression of fluids. He grimaced at the oversight. His portable sewing kit only included what he needed to do touch-up maintenance, not full repairs. Until he got home and had access to his own scissors and surgical knives, he’d have to keep a closer eye on the healing progress than he did of most of his skin repairs in past years. He patted it with rubbing alcohol, and replaced the dressing. The alarm vibrated his reader. He rinsed his hair.

He gazed at his naked reflection for some time before he at least put his tank top back on. Were it not for the marbling of railroad scars all over his body, and the absence of the forearm tattoo he’d gotten when he’d started dating Cecil, he nearly would have thought it were ten years earlier. At a point where everything felt like it was falling apart, at least he could do this. Stalkers might not have placed a wholesome value in superficial alterations such as these, but Levelers embraced it with enthusiasm. He sniffed in detachment. For once, the split dye job made him feel more like he fit in, rather than stuck out.

Uncertain as to the next time he’d get a change of clothes, he rinsed out his socks and underwear with soap and water, and laid them on the edge of the tub.

‘Choly carried his then-cold coffee to the nightstand and sat back in the plush down comfort of the hotel room’s queen size bed. He turned on the television. He crinkled his nose to push up his new glasses, then crinkled his nose again. The extra weight would take some getting used to, but he’d wanted prescription sunglasses for years. Augen had made good on his promise, not to leave ‘Choly unattended until they could replace his eyeglasses, but he couldn’t tell how long he’d be alone in the hotel room. Or if Augen would return anytime soon. How hard would it be for him to get himself back over to the HP to see Cecil?

He scratched at his fresh leg dressing with an absent sneer, and sank into the most comfortable bedding he’d ever put his ass on. He felt like he hadn’t been able to just sit down and rest for entire days, and a long soak followed by an unfathomably soft bed had him drifting off already. For the time being, it was just him and the endless procession of webcasts covering and discussing the aftermath of the Central bombing. He slipped under the thick, lightweight down comforter and cream colored sheets. And he kept scratching.

Channel flipping felt like a game of roulette where every pocket was a black number. Speculation as to how the stalkers had managed such a feat. Avowal that the quarantine’s integrity would be both investigated and reinforced. Discussion as to how FEMA would reinstate structured emergency power, and the potential duration of the power and server outage. Insistence that the displacement of nearly twelve million people would not be permanent. Assuagement of the mounting hysteria in other fusion cities, that similar could happen to them. The disaster had laid bare a glaring vulnerability of the grid, and it was all the federal agencies could do to swear something like this could never happen again. A fluke. No one could come up with an answer as to how it could have possibly happened.

But no one seemed to want answers. They just wanted it fixed, and they wanted someone to blame. And yet, no one seemed to pinpoint that the hybrids had anything to gain in the aftermath. All ‘Choly could think of, staring down the collateral, was how the geek bar the day before had erupted with good will over what the bombing did to the servers, and the absolute rapture of the tiger host. Augen had been so distressed over the other hybrids’ elation. Augen was right, that ‘Choly had been out of it even before agreeing to an April Fool’s Day lunch. But how out of it had ‘Choly been? Had he missed something important in the chaos, that could explain it all? What other harmful data stored at Central had been negated in the act?

His head hurt. He pulled out his reader to look at the pictures he’d taken the day before. Pallet after pallet of eight drums each. Bright orange, with no designating marker besides the semicircle insignia of BF Meehl. Thinking on it more, was Meehl the owner, or just the manufacturer of the drum itself? Regardless of origin, the drums very clearly had been left there within the last year. He’d have to take it up with Augen later. Maybe Augen would be able to tell him all about what had happened at The Lazarus Hall yesterday. Lacking anything of substance to distract himself with researching the Meehl drums, he resumed paying attention to the television.

It had taken two days, but the media coverage had shifted away from visuals of the explosion itself and moved onto the current state of Tri-City. Automobiles no longer stippled the treadless avenues, instead replaced by the congestion of emergency vehicles. Projected advertisements no longer flooded every neobrutalist surface with light, the Wolfram concrete taking on a lifelessness it had never known for even a moment. Everything had come to a standstill, threatening societal necrosis. People couldn’t transit.

Supermarkets had been upturned by Levelers attempting to hoard all shelf-stable food supplies they could locate, but after a single day no one could even get to them, not even to clock in for work. One channel’s webcast had postulated that FEMA had paired up with ShipShop, and together in the coming week they would set up emergency relief kiosks at every major housing block. If people hadn’t made it out of their apartment buildings by day one, the government had issued a warning to shelter in place.

None of it had felt real until he came across a segment regarding ShipShop’s FEMA-issue thetic delivery drone fleet. He lost the remote in the sheets at this point and leaned forward, staring in dread at these nonliving agency employees. Most thetic personalities he’d experienced firsthand had been only waist-up, a humanoid shape installed on whatever vehicle or robotic vending to stand in where a clerk might have functioned in prior decades. These androids made no exception, and would engage the ShipShop kiosks in order to dispense the variety of goods available through the company that had been ordered by those inhabiting the block where the kiosk had been placed. Either ShipShop or FEMA knew in advance that this would be a long-term arrangement, for how much effort they were putting forth to erect these kiosks... and for how the kiosks themselves would be run by full-body thetics.

The chaos of it all, it hadn’t just been Cecil getting critically injured and losing his hearing, hadn’t just been ‘Choly getting his leg broken by gunshot wound, hadn’t just been ‘Choly and Augen tumbling headlong into a completely unprotected vehicle crash. The known casualties had since tallied in the thousands, and the longer Tri-City went without power, those numbers would only continue growing, ShipShop or no.

He stuttered, patting frantically in the sheets to relocate the remote. He couldn’t remember if he’d been sure to stay on non-decimal stations. Once he’d relocated it and double-checked it was on Channel 43, he pulled up the hotel’s terms of service on his reader to check what was complimentary versus what cost extra. Provided he only pulled up non-decimal channels on a television, and only pulled up decimal channels on any non-television, there’d be no charge. The thought of having to keep them straight worsened his headache, and he curled up in the bed as best he could with the leg brace still on.

His reader chirped and buzzed for an incoming phone call, and he wouldn’t have picked up, but his services identified the caller as Hillock Plaza.

“I, hello?”

“Good morning,” Cecil greeted in a playful, low affect. “I got word you settled into a room at the Granfalloon. Glad I didn’t have to ring through to your room, though. Means your reader survived.”

“Good morning? It’s almost one o’clock. Yeah, I’ve told you f’years, they don’t make ‘em like they used to.” He grinned tiredly, relieved just to hear his boyfriend’s voice. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. I didn’t dream you visited me, if you’ve checked into Overflow. I was starting to worry if you were all right.”

“I’ll have some of whatever you’re having, if you can’t remember the conversations that have been happening in that hospital room. Wait, shit.” He shot up in the bed. “They haven’t had you sign anything without me there, right? Right!?”

“Not that I know of. Why? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Abandon help me, do you even know what day of the week it is?” He calmed himself a tic, and his face screwed up in a complicated grief. “What billing option did you take?”

“Alternative. What’s wrong?”

"...Are you worried that the HP will come find you down the line and do other truck to you?”

“What? No! That’s bogeyman talk. ‘Choly everything is all right. I’m just recovering from a bad injury. And can’t hear on my own anymore. It’s fine.”

“On what planet is what you described ‘fine’! ...Ben said he could have kept you from billing.” A long silence held. “Cecil?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“So you’re happy with the thetic halo? With having that stuff installed in your head?”

“Completely. It’ll take getting used to. But it works. And I can sync with data protocols to make phone calls with it. It’s how I’m calling you right now.”

“...I took alternative for my broken leg, too. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know anyone who’s taken alternative, and a hospital made good on the thread. It’s literally just a legal loophole where people aren’t allowed to sue the hospital. What has Augen been telling you? Damn.”

A notification from Augen butted in, and ‘Choly flopped over in the bed after reading it. ||Shoe size?|| He sent along all his size information with an eye-roll, poorly containing his glee at the likelihood that such a question could mean fresh clothing would come along sooner than anticipated.

“Sorry about that. I think his ears were burning... Nothing’s gonna be the same after the other day. I’m just... worried about tomorrow. And the next day. And... and...”

“Focus on today, babe. It’s all we can do right now. I need to sleep more. I was just calling to check on you. I’ll see about texting you from the hospital room. Love you.”

“Talking later sounds very good. Love you.”

‘Choly shoved his reader under the pillow with a strange, empty frown and got more comfortable. He nearly thought he was hearing sirens going off outside, but chalked it up to feeling like he’d drifted off. He glanced up at the television in detachment, only halfway processing the ‘breaking news’ streamer that at some point had begun chasing the bottom of the screen. He didn’t recognize the plume of smoke as belonging to any of the footage he’d seen before. The bombing had occurred after nightfall, and this footage took place in broad daylight. He stifled a yelp when he bent his leg a way the brace wouldn’t let him, and scrambled through the sheets to find the remote again and turn up the sound.

“...Second series of explosions at Tri-City’s Central building just twenty minutes ago. Despite Tesla’s best efforts, damage to the nuclear generators still resulted in their overheating, and it began the process of meltdown just hours after the detonations which rocked much of Tri-City on April First. Radiation has been confirmed far in excess of safe levels. Emergency devices are on-site now both containing the heat and radiation, as well as assessing the best course for containment. This is not a test: If you are still stationed withing any five-kilometer radius of Central and can receive this broadcast, evacuate immediately to a nuclear shelter and await further instruction. Available buses from all adjacent sectors will be running nonstop for Tri-City for the next twelve hours to facilitate evacuation. Everyone else within a thirty-kilometer radius of Central is to shelter in place. I repeat--”

Was... the true goal of the bombing to perpetrate another maximum scale nuclear disaster? Had the terrorist only made it look like they’d gone after the servers, so no one would think of potential reactor damage until it was too late? Immediately, his mind drifted in a soup through other urban nuclear explosions. Middletown, Palo Verde, Okuma... Pripyat... At this very moment, Central’s fuel was melting through its containment and slipping nearer and nearer the Newark Bay. Imagery haunted him of the different shapes various known corium flows had adopted in their pursuit of final rest. Slag swaths pouring ironically from water coolant release valves... Stalactites from falling through floodwater... The largest diamond in the world, formed through the sheer heat and density of a completely dry meltdown... He no longer dreaded the proximity to the disaster, instead transfixed.

“Hey, now, sleeping is just about the last thing I’d expect you to be doing right now.” Augen threw down two very large shopping bags on the end of the bed and rooted through one. He went into the bathroom with an armful. “Sorry I took so long. The line at the ShipShop kiosk was godawful.”

“Good morning to you, too.” ‘Choly grunted upright and finished off his cold coffee. “I was wondering where the hell you went. I didn’t mean to drift off, for what it’s worth.”

“I see the TV’s on. You saw the news, right?”

“I, yeah.” He glanced up at the screen to see emergency alerts still flooded the broadcasts. “Yeah, I didn’t think I dreamed that.”

“Slept well, then, I’m guessing?”

“As well as to be expected. Why were you asking about my sizing?” he started, looking slyly to the bags.

“You can root around and see for yourself. I’m going to help myself to your shampoo and stuff. As unnatural as it feels, I’m going to bathe twice in one week. Last night justifies it.”

One of the bags contained several boxes including a pair of shoes, while the other was a bunch of garments. He pulled out a few, and took off his tank to try on a few. A black tee stated a simple but gaudy ‘Sorry I’m late, I was masturbating.’ He scoffed, but, drawn to it, put it on immediately. He’d have said something, but the shower was already going, so he kept fishing in the clothes. Augen had brought him lacy black underwear, in both thong and bikini cut, and flustering he favored the latter for lack of another option. With the shirt he paired vein-print leggings. The shoes were low-heeled black boots, with pointed toes accented with a metallic tip. He returned them to the shoe box to pull out the other boxes in the bag. Several of them were carefully wrapped but otherwise unlabeled. Of those he could discern, he couldn’t really identify what they were.

“Figured you’d like that one the best.”

Augen came out in a white button-down and a pair of straight-leg black jeans, drying his hair.

“What, the shirt? You sure you didn’t get that for you?”

“A mirror, darkly. In these trying times, I took it upon myself to devise a new fashion capsule for you.” Augen flopped onto the bed to recline beside ‘Choly. “Zahnsammlung. You tend to emulate metahumans you fancy. I figure you could emulate me for a change.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you, to think I would,” ‘Choly feigned, laying back beside him eye to eye. “It’s been years since I emulated anyone besides myself... Tell me, what qualifications can you cite? To justify that degree of fixation?”

“Just how many demonstrations must I provide you, before you understand I’m the real deal?” Heavy-lidded, Augen played with ‘Choly’s bleached hair. “I’ve always thought this was a good look for you.”

“Have you ever...?”

“Bleached? Once. I thought it was too much trouble to do upkeep. How do you think Cecil will react to seeing you did your hair again?”

“He’ll think, that I think I’m guilty of everything that’s going on. And to some extent, he’s right. My brain tends to cope, badly, by accepting some or all of the blame for things I can’t have possibly done. But no, I guess I did it because even little expressions of self-control can anchor the chaos around a person.”

“Speaking of the chaos...” At Augen’s prompting ‘Choly flipped to be spooned, the vampire cuddled up to him and petted his hair. “Tell me, how you think it’s all going down, down there...”

‘Choly’s eyes rolled back, knowing exactly what buttons Augen set out to push.

“...Well, Central’s energy series is a ring of nine reactors...”

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