#it also sort of wandered away from it's initial purpose and became something else so eh

[astraldrake]

embrace the dark

[nobodyfamousposts]

Missing Interlude - Fu

Be aware that this interlude will contain medical issues and a trip to the hospital.

Wang Fu had known something was wrong.

Since revealing himself as the Guardian and starting her training in all things regarding the Miraculous, Fu and Marinette had developed something of a schedule. Initially, she would come to his shop frequently to assist him during the time he had been decrypting the Grimoire. From there, the visits had continued as he had also spent more time explaining the Miraculous, their powers, and their history. Over time, he found himself coming to rely on Marinette more. He had felt bad for it at the time as he had known it was an added burden for her, but Marinette had taken it in stride and he was proud of her.

But then the day came when she was supposed to come by again, and she never arrived. He was concerned, but at the time had simply assumed that something had come up. She was still young. She had friends. School. Her family’s bakery. Her growing commissions. Other obligations.

But then one day became two. Became three. Became a week. And he couldn’t fight the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. A feeling only proven correct when he passed by her family’s bakery and found its doors closed and the interior filled with officers instead of customers. Further investigation revealed she had gone missing, and he immediately feared...well...a number of things.

What if Hawk Moth had gotten her? What if Marinette had been kidnapped as a civilian and the earrings stolen by an unknown? What if she had been in an accident of some sort? What if...what if…?

He had been terrified. Not just that something had happened to his apprentice or that her knowledge of the Miraculous could have been discovered, though those were certainly among his concerns.

No. His true fear had been the loss of the girl he had come to care for. If things had been different between himself and Marianne, he’d...hoped that he would have one day had a granddaughter like Marinette. He trusted her more than he had thought. And perhaps cared for her more than he should have.

He was considering breaking his own code and making use of one of the other Miraculous to attempt to find her. The motives may have been selfish, but the need was great. There was no telling what could happen to Marinette or the Ladybug Miraculous the longer it took to find them.

“Ladybug! Hey! Hey, Ladybug!”

But he had never gotten the chance.

He had been confused at first. Though he was admittedly more focused on the relief he felt at the sight of her. He simply stared in wonder as he witnessed the scene between Ladybug and two of her civilian friends. Alya and Nino, he believed. The identities behind Rena Rouge and Carapace, he absently remembered. But he was still more taken with the sight of the missing girl before him.

She was there. Safe. And it was clearly the Ladybug he knew. The Miraculous took different forms for each wielder, so it couldn’t be someone else pretending to be her. And even with both the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous active and capable of creating akumas and sentimonsters in her image, Fu prided himself on being able to pick out the true Ladybug earrings.

This was Marinette. But something...something was wrong.

It was in her mannerisms. Her tone. Her stance. Similar...but still different from her normal self. He didn’t quite understand it, but there was something that bothered him about her. So against his initial desire, he refrained from approaching her. Instead, he simply watched.

He continued to keep an eye on her after that. And the more he saw, the more he grew concerned. What was she doing? Why was she transformed? Why had she not returned home? Had Hawk Moth found her? Had someone discovered her identity? Had she been compromised? And if something had happened, why had she not come to him?

But the more he saw...the more concerned he became.

She was wandering the city with no real destination or purpose. She wasn’t avoiding her bakery either, as she had passed near enough to it plenty of times, but she didn’t stop there. She...wasn’t stopping anywhere specific. If she even stopped at all.

She seemed to be searching, though for what he couldn’t say.

Wayzz couldn’t either when he tried to consult him. Much like his user, he knew something was wrong. Though on a deeper level, he sensed that there was something unusual with the current state of the Ladybug Miraculous. It wasn’t an akuma or a sentimonster as far as he could tell, but he insisted that something was different.

They agreed to keep watch. As days passed, he had caught her at points dozing in unusual places. On a roof. In a tree. Never for long. And she never returned to the same place twice. Instead, she just kept moving. To no goal. To no end.

It was...aimless.

He had dared to approach her once. He had wanted to question her. To demand answers. To find out what had happened.

What...just what was she doing?

But in that moment when they had met, it struck him. Just what had been so off about her. It was in the way she gazed down at him.

It was like she didn’t know him at all.

He had proceeded cautiously. Hinting at where she should be without questioning. Not demanding answers, but trying to get a feel for her current state.

But her responses...there was such detachment there. Like she didn’t know what he was talking about. Like the concept of a “home” or “loved ones” was foreign to her.

“Do you not have a life to return to? A family waiting for you?”

“Of course not.”

Her answer had been unsettlingly callous. But...sincere.

It wasn’t true. He knew that.

...but she believed it.

And he felt a coldness in the depth of his heart as she turned and walked away.

After that incident, he had immediately returned to his shop and consulted every means at his disposal. The Grimoire. The kwamis. His own limited knowledge from his memories at the temple.

He continued to watch over Ladybug, and have Wayzz follow her when he could not. But it was only after the fight against the return of Lady Wifi that he had been presented with a clue. And looking back over footage of the previous akuma fight before then that seemed to cement it.

This must have started during the last akuma fight. He did not know if or when Ladybug had been hit, but the timeline matched up that she hadn’t returned to being Marinette since then. He saw the images and video of the Cure taking effect, gathering around and healing everyone who had been affected.

...everyone except Ladybug herself.

The Cure would only work if Ladybug let if. But if she had directed it away from herself, the Loveliness wouldn’t heal her. And if Ladybug had been hit by the akuma, then she may not know she needed to be healed. Except…

Hadn’t the akuma’s power been to erase people?

It would explain Ladybug’s strange state. Her confusion when he attempted to prod her about returning home. Her lack of awareness and purposeless wandering around the city. As well as why her civilian self as “Marinette” wasn’t returning.

She didn’t know she could.

No. Worse. There was no “Marinette” to return to.

If it was a matter of memory erasure like the incident with Oblivio, it shouldn’t have mattered. At most, Marinette would have detransformed and then be wandering the streets with amnesia. Still terrifying, of course, as she would be vulnerable and anything could have happened to her in that state. But at least she could be found.

...but she was still Ladybug. From her presentation and response, it certainly appeared that she hadn’t stopped being Ladybug since that battle. It shouldn’t be possible. Tikki should have given up the transformation by now. The only reason the kwami wouldn’t...the only reason he could think of that she would force the transformation to remain past the time limit would be if detransforming would result in the loss of the user’s life.

From what he had seen of reports, the akuma erased people. Not just their memories, but their entire existence. But if Ladybug had gotten hit, she should have disappeared, shouldn’t she? Her ‘self’ should be gone completely.

“But Master,” Wayzz argued. “What if Tikki had sacrificed Ladybug’s ‘self’ as Marinette in order to preserve her as Ladybug to allow them to finish the battle?”

Fu’s eyes widened.

That was a possibility. It would give them the chance to defeat the akuma and set things right. If Ladybug purified the akuma and cast the Cure, it would restore her original self as Marinette as well. A major loss, certainly. But a temporary one.

...but it hadn’t accounted for the chance that Ladybug would not be healed by her own Cure. Or that she wouldn’t think she needed to be.

That was it, he realized.

Without any knowledge of her ‘self’ as Marinette, Ladybug didn’t know she was incomplete. She likely had no memory of anything from her time as Marinette due to this, which would also explain why she hadn’t tried coming to him for aid. She may not have even known she needed help, much less who to go to for it.

“Then the solution is simple.” He told his kwami. “We need to find Ladybug and inform her to cast the Cure on herself.”

Wayzz smiled brightly. “That’s brilliant, Master! Then Marinette will be returned in no time!”

It was simple.

...it should have been simple.

But as he approached Ladybug with her true name on his lips, he felt an invisible noose settle around his throat.

“Ladybug.”

She stopped and turned to him. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Given her expression, he half wondered if she was capable of it. Or any other emotion.

“Hello again, sir. Is everything all right?” She asked, giving him a cursory glance for any injury or any issue of note.

“I am fine, Miss Ladybug.” He replied. While he wanted nothing more than to just tell her the truth, her lack of recognition meant she didn’t know he was the Guardian and thus likely wouldn’t take him seriously.

He had to proceed cautiously.

“But I did wonder about yourself. These past battles have been hard, but I did notice you did not seem to use the Miraculous Cure on yourself. Are you well?”

She frowned, seeming to be confused by his statement. “It wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t injured.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It can appear that way. But some wounds are not so easily seen though they can be the most dangerous.”

“I see…” Clearly she didn’t. Her frown only deepened. “I am fine though.”

“But you don’t know where to go. You don’t know where you should be.” He countered. “Ladybug only appears in times of need. Outside of akuma attacks or other problems, her appearance in this city is limited. But you have been quite active for a while now. What have you been doing outside of these times?”

She had looked ready to argue with him, but hesitated at his question, looking unsure. “I...sleep. I think.”

“Is there not someone else beneath the mask?” He asked. “The Miraculous are simply items. Tools for the user. Behind every Miraculous user is a human. Even Hawk Moth was someone before he became a villain.”

He stared up at her, questioningly.

“Who were you?”

She faltered. “I...wasn’t anyone before I was Ladybug.” She shook her head as if shaking off the confusion from his remarks. “Perhaps the Ladybug Miraculous works differently.”

“Then how did you know what to do when Stoneheart appeared? How do you know this city and its people? How do you have no knowledge of other instances of the Ladybug Miraculous being active before the present age?”

He just needed her to consider...to be willing to listen.

“How do you know these things?” She demanded. She grew agitated, but she was at least paying attention to his words. Now she knew that he had knowledge of things that no normal citizen should. This would make him someone of note. Someone whom she could, if not trust, then at least listen to.

It would work.

He knew it would work.

Because...

“Because I know you, Ladybug.”

He smiled warmly.

“I know you, M—”

He felt it then. What he had thought was his imagination earlier made itself known as magic tightened around his throat, cutting off his air and forcing him into a coughing fit.

“Sir?! Is something wrong?”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Something formed around his throat. Harder than steel and lighter than air. It couldn’t be seen, only felt. And he recognized in horror the magic that coalesced around him, cutting off his words and forbidding so much as a sound.

No.

Just one word.

Much like the kwamis, the Order of the Guardians had rules and laws that bound them. For the kwamis, it bound them to their respective Miraculous and the commands of their owners. For the Guardians, it bound them to the Miracle Box and to ensuring its safety above all. For both, it bound them to their secrets.

After all, the Order were not jailers for the kwamis and Miraculous. They were Guardians. Meant to protect the Miracle Box and the amazing beings hidden within. How could there be trust if they were not held by the same rules?

Fu himself had taken the oath when he first joined the Guardians. Regardless of his feelings at the time, he had agreed to the duty despite knowing what it would mean. At the time, he thought it meant loneliness away from his family to bear a heavy responsibility he never wanted. To give up most of his life to a cause he was drafted into. He regretted it even then.

...never did he regret taking that oath more than now.

“You—”

“Sir?”

“Y-you are—”

“Sir? Are you all right?”

He had to say it. He desperately tried to force the word out. But so much as a breath of the first syllable was caught in his throat, choking him.

For the kwamis, this ancient magic transformed words themselves from sound into a physical form. It looked humorous, certainly, but they described the process as unpleasant. Kwamis were magical creatures who were—if not used to the magic in question, at least accustomed to magic. They were capable of handling the magical backlash. Built for it, even.

Humans weren’t.

He had never attempted to reveal a Miraculous user before. In the century since the loss of the Order, he had never needed to choose other users for this to ever be an issue. Even Marianne, as much as he had loved her, had never donned one of the sacred relics. Perhaps it was part out of his lingering fear from his past mistake that led him to be the last Guardian. But perhaps in its own way, it was out of selfishness and a hope that if a time came when he would pass on Guardianship, that Marianne would be a memory that would remain.

Perhaps if he had experienced it before, he would have realized sooner what would happen here. He could have done this differently. Introduced himself immediately and presented Wayzz as proof. Then tell her she needed to cast the Cure on herself. Find a way to explain it that didn’t involve directly infringing on the oath and resulting in this circumstance.

“Sir?!”

He had acted rashly. Too rashly.

And now, it was all he could do—all he could focus on. To simply say it. Shout it. Gasp it out. Make her hear it.

Just that. One. Word.

He clutched at his throat, trying to breathe past the coalescing combination of magic and sound. He barely heard Ladybug speaking to him. So intent on fighting the magic and telling her the key.

But...he was only human.

And in the end, magic won.

He found himself kneeling on the ground, gasping for air. His vision going dark, he only made out blurred images around him. Lights. Figures. Colors. Blue and red. Black and white. Red and black.

And the red. The red was leaving.

He tried to speak. Tried to stop her. But there was too much chaos. Voices were talking to him. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. Didn’t really comprehend what they were doing. Only that they were moving him as he suddenly found himself on a flat surface and brought him into a smaller cubical area. The wide door was closed behind them as they entered. The figures continued to ask questions.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

His eyes closed.

He was such a fool.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 1/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn't know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he's glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he's been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can't figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn't trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: brief fear of strangulation (no actual strangulation occurs)

Chapter Word Count: 2,926

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 2) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It starts with the snake in the sunshine.

Thomas supposes that’s not entirely right, because in order to be truly accurate, he would have to acknowledge that ‘it’ started a long, long time ago, when he was a kid, or perhaps even when he was a baby. He’s not certain; he’s never thought to ask any of the sides when, exactly, they developed. And he’s also not certain when they became… the way that they are, instead of just being regular, non-sentient parts of his personality like literally everyone else on the planet is made up of, when his heart became someone called Patton, his logic someone called Logan, and so on. But he doesn’t think that any of that is particularly relevant for this specific situation, so for all intents and purposes: it starts with the snake in the sunshine.

He spots it when he’s coming down the stairs, and promptly stops up short on the third to last step, because, snake. In his apartment. And he knows that things like this happen in Florida, knows that wildlife has a tendency to encroach on human settlements (and he has heard enough horror stories about alligators in people’s backyards to last a lifetime, thank you), but it’s never happened to him before, and he’s not sure what to do about it.

It’s lying in the sunlight slanting through the window, coiled tightly, unmoving. It is white, with dappled yellow patterns all across its back, though there appears to be some kind of black marking on its head. It’s fairly large, too, far larger than any snakes he’s seen outside of a zoo, and he briefly entertains the notion that this might be a zoo escapee, though he’s not certain of how that would have happened. Or of how it got into his apartment in the first place. He definitely would have noticed it sneaking through the door, right?

He manages to overcome his initial fear, carefully dismounting the last few steps and approaching cautiously, sure to stay out of striking range. He doesn’t know much about snakes, doesn’t know how to tell if this is a venomous one or not, and he’s not taking any chances. Though, isn’t it something to do with the shape of their heads? Don’t venomous snakes have pointed heads? That sounds right. And this snake’s head doesn’t look particularly angular, so perhaps he’s safe, though he still doesn’t want to get bitten, venomous or not. The next step should probably be to call animal control and let them handle this.

Something about it seems off, though. Something in its markings, perhaps, that particular shade of yellow, or that odd blot on its head—

Wait. That can’t be right.

He stops. Takes a few steps forward, squinting. Goes so far as to rub his eyes, because perhaps there is a spot in his vision, fooling him into seeing something that doesn’t exist.

But no, it’s still there.

The black spot on its head isn’t a natural marking at all. He’s still not entirely sure his eyes can be trusted, but for all the world, it appears as though there is a tiny black bowler hat perched between this snake’s eyes.

And just like that, everything clicks. All the fear rushes out of him at once, leaving him breathless with relief. He can’t say that there is no apprehension about this new set of circumstances, and a healthy dose of confusion is steadily building, but this is far better than there being an actual, real snake in his apartment.

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Slowly, the snake lifts its head, looking up at him with slightly glassy eyes. For a few seconds, they both participate in what has to be the strangest staring contest of Thomas’ life. Thomas loses, because the snake that is probably-almost-definitely-Janus doesn’t seem to blink.

Snakes don’t have facial expressions. Thomas is fairly certain of that. And yet, he gets the distinct impression that Janus is waiting for something; it’s in the gleam of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, almost like he’s issuing a challenge.

“It’s totally cool if it is,” he clarifies, raising his hands. “Uh, you can feel free to stay there as long as you want. But uh, I just wanted to make sure that it was you and not some random snake.” He smiles, casting about in his mind for something to say. He’s not yet sure how to talk to Janus, not sure how to interact with him now that he’s offered up his acceptance, but he’s certainly going to try his best. He wants to get to know him, wants to understand him better. He deserves nothing less. “There’s only room for one snake in this apartment.”

Janus stares at him for a while longer, and then nods, a fluid, intelligent motion that is slightly disturbing coming from something that looks like an animal, but Thomas can deal. If his sides can shapeshift into his friends, and puppets, and giant frog monsters with abs, he can cope with his snake-like side becoming an actual snake. It’s hardly the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

Janus returns to his coiled up position, apparently intent on taking a nap, and frankly, Thomas can’t blame him at all. A nap sounds great right about now. He’s not entirely sure why Janus has chosen to do so here, rather than in the mindscape; he’s certainly never seen any of the other sides sleep in his apartment. But he’s hardly about to make Janus leave, even if he’s bemused and a bit discomfited, so he wanders off to grab a snack and get back to editing, leaving Janus to sleep in the sunlight.

He’s gone by evening, and Thomas isn’t entirely sure when he left. It’s a few days before he shows up again, in the exact same spot, in the exact same sunbeam, and Thomas greets him but otherwise leaves him be.

From then on, it sort of becomes a thing. On cloudless days, Janus pops up as a snake to sun himself in the living room. Sometimes Thomas will chat with him, making idle conversation that he’s not sure is listened to, and sometimes he stays silent, content to do his own thing while Janus does his. It turns into a comfortable habit, on his end, at least, and he hopes that Janus is comfortable with it too. He thinks he is; at least, he never gives any indication otherwise.

He’s still not sure why exactly this is happening, but he hardly feels the need to complain.

But then, Thomas walks downstairs one day to find Janus staring directly at him.

He pauses, thrown by the change to their routine. Most of Janus’ body is curled in on itself, like usual, but his head is reared, and as Thomas watches, he sways back and forth slightly, a constant, seemingly automatic motion. His tongue flickers in the air, but he makes no sound, neither hissing nor speech, and though Thomas isn’t sure that he’s capable of talking while he’s like this, he’s heard him hiss a few times, so this silence is unnerving.

“Hey,” he says uneasily. He gives a half-hearted little wave, which he regrets almost instantly, feeling like an idiot. “Uh, is something the matter?”

Janus looks pointedly to the window behind him, and then back to Thomas again. It only takes Thomas a few seconds after that to realize what the issue is.

It’s raining.

And not a light rain, either, not the kind that casts grey shadows over the world and taps gentle, soothing rhythms against the windowpane. This is a storm, dark and furious, wind whipping and tearing into the trees and sending gust after gust of the torrential downpour against the glass. It is late afternoon, but it may as well be night for how dark the sky is. There is certainly no trace of sun poking through, and thus, no light for Janus to lie in.

He walks closer, though hesitantly. “I’m not sure what to tell you, buddy.” He winces as soon as he says it; ‘buddy’ doesn’t fit Janus at all, feels too presumptuous, like he’s assuming a closeness that doesn’t yet exist. He’ll keep trying. “I can’t control the weather.” He pauses, looking back to the snake, who has drawn up slightly, his head now almost level with Thomas’ waist. “Um, is there not anywhere in the mindscape that you could find some sun?”

Janus hisses, loud and sharp, opening his mouth to flash some fang. Instinctively, Thomas takes a step back.

He’ll take that as a no.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not sure what to do, then,” he says. “It’s supposed to be like this all day.”

Snakes cannot look disappointed. They cannot glare. They are literally incapable of those facial expressions. So how Janus is managing to convey angry dejection is absolutely beyond him. And he doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know if comfort would even be welcome; in a way, Janus is a lot like Virgil, not that he would ever dare to speak that opinion out loud. They present themselves entirely differently, but at their core, they are both proud, stubborn and guarded, if in varying ways. Thomas has learned Virgil fairly well by now, knows how to slip past his walls, but Janus is a different story.

But still, seeing him so disappointed doesn’t sit right with him. So he reaches out on instinct, running a finger down the scales just past his head in an attempt to offer comfort through touch, and he doesn’t realize that this may have been a mistake until Janus stiffens, going completely rigid and still. He pulls his hand back hastily.

“Sorry!” he says. “I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.” He frowns, glancing from Janus to his finger and back again. “You’re really cold. Is that normal?”

Snakes are cold-blooded. He does know that much, knows that they rely on external factors in order to maintain their body temperatures. He just never thought that such a restriction would apply to Janus, considering that he is, in fact, an imaginary snake and not a real one. But if he’s wrong, if Janus truly does need an outside source of heat in order to stay warm himself, then that would explain his distress.

Janus hisses at him again and ducks back down, curling into himself until he resembles a convoluted knot, his head nowhere to be seen. It’s almost upsettingly cute, not that Thomas would risk voicing such a thought. He crouches down instead, considering his options. Would Janus accept his help, if he offered it?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Um, look, I can’t turn on the sun for you, but you look super uncomfortable, so if you wanted, you could… wrap around my arm, or something? Body heat would help, right?” He hesitates; Janus is fairly long, probably about five feet, possibly a bit longer, so the logistics might be a bit tricky. But he’s sure they could figure it out, if Janus would be amenable. Slowly, he stretches a hand out again, placing two fingers on Janus’ scales and stroking them with a feather-light touch. He really does feel cold.

Janus uncoils himself, hissing loudly, but he leans into the contact in a way that almost seems like desperation, like he’s trying to steal all the warmth he can from Thomas’ fingertips. And after a moment, the hissing stops, and he regards Thomas with an almost wild stare.

“Really,” he presses, unsure of what Janus is thinking. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless it’s not something you’re comfortable with, in which case, that’s fine, we could figure out something else. I… might have a heated blanket?” He casts back in his mind, trying to figure out if he does, in fact, possess a heated blanket, or if he just used to have one and is remembering incorrectly. If he doesn’t still have it, he’s not sure that he owns anything else that would help; snakes like heat lamps, he thinks, but he definitely doesn’t have one of those. Could he turn on the oven and set Janus in front of it? Would that work?

He is jolted out of his thoughts by the sensation of Janus’ head rubbing into his hand, like a cat seeking attention. He freezes, and so does Janus, and for a long moment, they have another one of those staring contests. Then, Janus sets his head primly on the back of his hand, still staring, as if asking for permission. Something bright and warm blooms in Thomas’ chest, and with his free hand, he gestures to his arm, trying to suppress the grin that wants to spread across his face.

Janus hesitates for a second longer. Then, he slithers up and around Thomas’ arm, and Thomas shivers at the sensation of frigid scales sliding across his skin. At first, it seems as though this won’t work, that Janus is simply too big to settle comfortably, but Thomas watches in fascination as Janus begins to shrink, landing on a much smaller size, perhaps two feet long, a length that can wrap around his arm with ease. Somehow, throughout the process, the tiny bowler hat remains perfectly balanced.

And just like that, there is a snake looped around Thomas’ arm.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, because this is the closest he feels like he’s gotten to making a personal connection to Janus in months. “Okay, cool. Um, I was planning on getting some more editing done, so you can just hang out while I do that, I guess. Feel free to hiss at me or something if you get uncomfortable.”

Janus remains silent, which he will take as a good sign. In fact, he remains silent for the better part of an hour, lazily regarding the computer screen as Thomas attempts to wrangle his filmed material into something worth posting. He ends up doing most of the work with one arm so as to disturb Janus as little as possible, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. After a time, he almost forgets that Janus is there at all, becomes accustomed to the chilly weight of his scales on his arm, the slight movements as he shifts in place every now and again.

But then, those slight movements become bigger movements, and Thomas stills, tensing as Janus uncoils and begins to slither his way up his arm and under his shirtsleeve. His breath catches, and chills shoot down his spine; Janus is warmer than before, but still cool, and the sensation as Janus moves across his shoulder and emerges from his shirt’s collar is odd, unfamiliar. He exhales shakily as Janus continues to move, looping himself around his neck several times, just tight enough that Thomas is very aware of his presence, of the fact that there is a snake coiled around his neck, and as much as he knows that Janus will not physically harm him (and probably couldn’t, even if he tried), there is an element in his hindbrain that is gibbering at him, insisting that everything about this situation is a very bad idea, and that he needs to remove the threat.

God, he hopes Virgil isn’t paying attention to this. Except, judging from the way he’s feeling right now, judging from the almost audible oh god oh god get him off get him off, he definitely is, and Thomas is very surprised that he’s held back from showing up in person.

And then, Janus lets out a whistling breath and tucks his head between the coils and Thomas’ neck, and all the tension leaks from Thomas’ body as his rational thinking catches up to the situation. The way Janus is gripping him is nowhere near tight enough to cut off his airflow, and it never was, even though he seems to be pressing up as close to his skin as possible. But why--?

Was his arm not warm enough?

“You good there, Janus?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He receives no response, neither a hiss nor any additional motion, so he tries again. “Are you, uh, asleep?”

Again, no reply, so it’s probably safe to assume. He smiles, wide and unrestrained, and powers down his laptop. The storm outside has calmed to a softer rainfall, pattering against the windows, and other than that, the world seems quiet and still. It’s earlier than Thomas usually goes to bed, but he actually feels like he might manage to fall asleep if he tries, and a little bit of extra rest never hurt anyone. He’s been working in bed already, thankfully, so while he can’t lie all the way down without dislodging Janus in some way, Logan won’t lecture him too much if he falls asleep where he sits.

He reaches over to the lamp at his bedside and turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he murmurs. Predictably, he receives no response, but Janus’ scales still press against him in the dark, a comforting presence as he drifts off.

------

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders

As a note, I am willing to have a separate taglist for this fic if you just want to be tagged for the other two chapters. So if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! But please do specify which taglist you would like to be added to.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Verboten 10 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:   AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: child kidnappings mentioned

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 10

Frostbite was close lipped on their journey to Clockwork's lair, at least in regards to the mysterious and ancient ghost. He instead talked to Danny about different aspects of ghosts and their realm. Although the yeti ghost wanted Danny to return home, he wanted Danny to know about the realm as a precaution, and Danny reluctantly agreed.

As they passed by some of the floating islands, buildings, and doors, Frostbite would occasionally mention which of his allies or neutral acquaintances lived there. It was all so strange. There were buildings which looked like they were from ancient Greece or Rome, while there was another which looked like a modern library. Frostbite explained the form of the lair was heavily influenced by its ruler. A ghost needed to be a fairly strong to be able to create such a large lair, and while the architecture often reflected what the ghost knew while they were alive, it wasn't a necessity.

Eventually, a dark and imposing clock tower could be seen in the distance. "I guess that's the place?" Danny questioned as he tried to get a better look at it.

"It is. When we arrive, it is unlikely I will be able to go in with you."

"Wait, what?" Danny hadn't expected this would be a one on one meeting. From the way Frostbite spoke, he figured someone would be guarding him, at least until he had answers.

The older ghost gave him a sheepish look. "The invitation was only for you. Unless Clockworks invites me in, I will do no more than ferry you to the location and wait for your return."

"Is this Clockwork really so scary?"

"He is far more powerful than I am, so I have no desire to anger him. There are stories regarding how no foe has been able to sway or harm him."

"So you're just going to allow a teenager to go to meet a ridiculously powerful ghost by himself? That's just great. What if he incinerates me or something?"

Frostbite just chuckled. "I do not think you have anything to fear, unless you try to attack him. Clockwork is not known for going out of his way to do damage to someone."

"Great. That makes me feel so much better." Danny's sarcasm was lost on Frostbite.

…

A short time later, Frostbite's sleigh landed in front of the clock tower. Upon closer inspection, the building appeared to be made of a dark gray stone with large wooden doors. Thankfully, there was a small amount of land surrounding the building, so Danny wasn't worried about falling to his death. After being coaxed out of the sleigh, Danny, feeling incredibly self-conscious, knocked on the door.

The door opened, but he didn't see anyone when he cautiously stepped inside. He half expected the door to slam behind him, but instead, it remained open until he started moving towards the only thing in the room, a stair case. Once he reached it, the door slowly closed on its own.

While uneasy, he wasn't exactly scared. Whoever this Clockwork was, he was at least somewhat courteous.

After reaching the top of the stairs, he found himself in a large room filled with gears, pendulums, and what appeared to be mirrors set within large gears. However, after a closer inspection, the mirrors showed shadowy images which didn't appear to be him or anything in the room.

"Do you see anything interesting?" a pleasant voice asked from somewhere behind him, making him jump. He sheepishly spun around to find a ghost with blue skin, red eyes, and a clock pendulum in his chest watching him. The ghost initially appeared maybe around thirty, but after a few moments shifted to appear much older.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have looked." Danny wasn't exactly certain why, but he felt almost as if he was being caught in the act by a favorite relative. There was something familiar and personable about this ghost, even when his form shifted again. This time, his appearance was childlike.

The ghost chuckled as he approached. "It is quite alright. Most of my visitors have been drawn to them." He gestured towards the closest one, and the images suddenly became more vivid. It was almost as if it was playing some sort of video. "As you have guessed, I am Clockwork, master of time. I am able to see all events which may or may not come to pass." His form again shifted.

"Err… Frostbite said you wanted to see me?"

"Correct. Beings such as yourself have only shown up a handful of times over the millennia, and each time one does, it often brings great change."

"But what am I? Am I dead? Am I alive?"

The ghost gave a gentle chuckle. "You are still very much alive. You're just able to access the power of your soul, which is not usually feasible while one is still has a living body. However, this is not possible unless you are able to resist the pull of this realm."

"What does that mean?" Although Danny was relieved to know he was classified as living, he was still deeply confused by everything. "Does it deal with what Frostbite explained regarding what could trigger the change?"

"Yes. This world is similar to the human concept of limbo. It is a place where some souls wander until they are lead to the Evermore – true death. But, it is still a world of the dead, and the living are not meant to be here. It has defenses to prevent the dead from crossing back into your world, which unfortunately can cause the wayward human to become a denizen."

"However, there is more to it than that," Clockwork continued as he gestured to the mirror. Strange images flickered within it. "Over millennia, this realm became corrupted. The guides, beings unique to this realm, which used to help guide those wayward souls, are all but gone now. No longer being able to find true rest, souls that remain here often become tainted and become ghosts. Many can spread that taint as well, and some use that to create others like themselves."

"You're telling me that's why my classmates were abducted?" A cold chill ran through him as his body decided to return to his human form.

"Not in this case." Clockwork gestured to the mirror as an image flickered to the first ghost Danny and his friends saw. After a moment, another ghostly figure who suspiciously resembled Mikey came into view. "In Youngblood's case, whether or better or worse, wanted a companion more than anything else. This isn't an isolated case. However, many abductors have a far more insidious reason." The ghost turned to face him. "The living have an energy that the dead do not. It's probably easiest to refer to it as vitality. Returning to your previous question, you still produce that energy so it is safe to say you are still alive."

"Alright. So what makes that so appealing? Does it give, I don't know, special abilities?"

"Some believe so. Others believe vitality will help them restore some of the memories commonly lost upon death."

"That's so messed up," Danny replied after mulling over the information. "The memory loss thing, does that happen to everyone? Will it happen to me? Will I…?" He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was worried he might become a danger to his friends and family.

The ghost, who was back in his child form, gave him a soft smile. "As long as you're alive, you don't need to worry. As for death, most souls do not come to this realm, but instead find their way to the Evermore. Also, as long as the soul is strong, it can avoid being tainted by this realm and become a force of good or of balance. Those which do have no need to seek out and harm the living." It was impossible for Danny to hide the relief on his face, which made Clockwork chuckle.

"Now let us move on to some of your other concerns. You want to know if you can return home and how you became like that, correct?" When Danny nodded, Clockwork again gestured to the mirrors. An image of a young Danny berry picking with his aunt and sister. The view changed to show a creature, some other ghost, peering at them from behind a tree. After Danny caught sight of it, his family members disappeared from the scene. "This is where your journey began. As you saw earlier, a distraction from this realm can accidently pull you into it."

"What is that thing?" Danny felt uneasy as he watched the ghost beckon to his younger self which somehow triggered his body to switch forms again. There was something about the ghost which made him unsettled. It looked humanoid with dark skin, but did not have any facial features. "I don't remember seeing it, but then again, I don't remember much from that."

Clockwork stared at the image for another moment before glancing at Danny. "Most of them no longer have names. We call them 'Recruiters', but it was believed they had been destroyed several centuries ago. They worked for the previous king."

"Wait, king? You guys have a king? And what do you mean they were supposed to be destroyed?"

"We once did," Clockwork replied as he shifted to his elderly form. "He waged war against this realm and yours, so he was sealed away. The members of his court, made mostly of purposely modified ghosts, were either destroyed or sealed. It appears someone has resurrected those modification techniques."

Danny was about to ask another question when the images in the mirror caught his attention again. It showed the ghost, the Recruiter, examining him. It then handed him something which looked like some type of candy. After young Danny ate it, the Recruiter watched him for a while before attempting to grab him. When the attempt failed, young Danny tried to escape.

Images flashed as his younger self ran away from the Recruiter. Eventually, the boy collapsed outside of what appeared to be some sort of wall and began to cry as a faint glow started to surround him. As the Recruiter again appeared in the scene, it was blasted away by a strange beam. The boy looked up to see Plasmius staring curiously at him.

"Wow… so Plasmius actually wasn't lying when he said how he first met me."

"For the most part, no," Clockwork replied as he raised his staff, which caused the scene to shift to the inside of Plasmius' mansion. The older ghost had given Danny more food and was watching him carefully. "Plasmius did accidently find you, but if he hadn't provided you with more food from this realm, you may have been able to return home as a fairly normal human, albeit with form of minor psychic ability. However, he saw potential in you and became interested."

The teenager was silent for a moment as he continued to watch the images. After Plasmius took him back to the human world, the scene shifted to show him a little older. With a jolt, he realized it was when he disappeared the second time. Instead of the Recruiter, it was Plasmius who beckoned him. The ghost didn't do anything other than talk and play with his younger self. However, Danny was showing evidence of ghostly traits again. "He wanted to make sure he was right, didn't he?"

"Yes. Plasmius has grand ambitions in this realm. He wants power and having someone like you at his side would be a great boon. However," Clockwork froze the image and somehow zoomed into a spot in the background. There was a Recruiter watching them, "you were not alone. This is troubling."

"You mentioned earlier you are able to see all possible events, didn't you? So why do you seem so surprised?"

The ghost, still in his elderly form, wore a tenebrous expression. "While my abilities allow me to see any number of possibilities, it can be difficult to sort through the amount of information I receive. It is also possible, though unlikely, someone powerful was able to block them from my abilities. However, now that I am aware of the concern, it is much easier to locate similar events." The ghost shifted to his child form. "I had wanted to send you home while you adjust to the changes in your body, but you may need trained first."

Uncertain how to respond while the ghost took a few moments to think, Danny turned back to the mirror. It was no longer showing images of his past. Instead, it was flickering through a multitude of scenes at a blinding rate. For a second, he thought he saw Sam and Tucker, but the image changed before he could be certain. Some of the images seemed to show an army of some sort. Overall, it left him unsettled.

"I believe I will need to let Frostbite into the Clock Tower," Clockwork stated, making Danny jump. "I will need him to spread the word of my discovery, and he has information for both of us."

Moments later, the white furred ghost hurried up the stairs with two of his guards. After taking a moment to collect himself, he bowed towards Clockwork. "I humbly thank you for allowing us into your presence."

"There is no need for that. My abilities and agreement with the Observants force me to remain neutral under most circumstances. As such, I prefer to keep to myself, but sometimes when extraordinary people appear," Clockwork gestured to Danny, "curiosity gets in the way. However, this time, I am glad it did." The ghost brought their attention to the mirrors and showed the Yetis the image of the Recruiter.

Frostbite's shock was quickly replaced by rage. "Who would dare attempt to recreate such a vile creature? However, we have unsettling news of our own. The entourage who were escorting the other humans Danny knows home were attacked by the Fright Knight and a horde of Reanimated." When the yeti caught sight of Danny's horrified expression, he gave a small smile. "Fear not. Pandora herself stepped into assist my men and drove them back; not even the Fright Knight dares raise his blade to her. Your friends should be arriving home soon." His attention turned back towards Clockwork. "Pandora explained one of her spies caught sight of them shortly before they attacked my men and took it upon herself to intervene. Her ambassadors will request an audience of the counsel within the day."

"As much as I dislike dealing with the Observants, I believe this is necessary," Clockwork agreed. "Whoever is employing the techniques of the old king has been able to exploit the blind spots in my abilities. It also seems as if they are aware of Daniel and what his existence means. They may also be watching Plasmius."

"This is most troubling."

"Uh, excuse me, but I have no idea what's going on here," Danny interrupted. The conversation had lost him some time ago, but he was relieved to hear his friends were safe.

Frostbite gave him a sheepish smile as Clockwork explained, "It appears someone is trying to make a grab for power. The last time this happened, war overtook this realm and spilled into yours."

"That… that doesn't sound good."

"No. Last time, it was only through the power of the Ancients that we were able to defeat the King. If someone has found a way to access his abilities, then it needs to be stopped before catastrophe happens." The yeti's expression was grim as he addressed Clockwork. "So what becomes of Danny? Will he need to remain with us, or can he travel home? Is it even safe for someone like him to return to the human realm?"

"As he is still alive, there is no harm in him returning him. His parents are working on several projects, one of which will provide his home with enough ambient energy to allow his core to remain stable. However, the more I attempt to peer into the future, the more muddled the images become. There is definitely interference. So, I am uncertain what route will allow the most favorable outcome." He shifted to his adult form. "So, Daniel, I leave the choice to you."

"You said that whoever attacked my friends know about me?"

The time ghost nodded. "Yes. Since you can traverse both worlds without ill effects, your abilities would be of great interest. You could remain here and train with Frostbite…"

"But I would not be able to guarantee your safety as today proved," the Yeti admitted.

"There is also a concern the Observant and the Counsel will not approve of your existence," Clockwork continued. "You could return home, but you would be forced to develop your abilities on your own. However, you would be much safer there for the time being."

Danny looked down at his hands and momentarily stared at the faint glow surrounding them. "Am I a danger to my family and friends if I go home?"

"No, but it is possible to make them more open to this world. If we are unable to prevent our enemies from gaining power, it may cause them to be targeted again."

"Is it okay if I take some time to think about it?"

"Of course. Take all of the time you need."

=========================================

Note: The Evermore is something within DP lore. It was mentioned in a video Butch Hartman released which expanded upon more information regarding the different residents.

Clockwork's mention of limbo and soul guides. To my knowledge, the concept of Limbo is most prevalent to Christians (particularly Catholics). This is a place in between life and Heaven/Hell. In previous Catholic tradition, Limbo is the place where unbaptized souls go upon death, and there were circumstances which could help those souls find rest (the Catholic Church modified its views on Limbo in 2007). Some people say Limbo is also the realm of the fairies, elves, and any creature/entity which lives in another realm that is not heaven or hell. There is a similar concept in Greek mythology which was referred to as the Asphodel Fields/Meadows.

And for completion sake, Purgatory is not the same as Limbo. Purgatory (also per Catholic tradition) is a place of fiery cleansing after death. It's a temporary stop as once the cleansing is completed, the soul moves on to Heaven. While it is not mentioned much, Purgatory is still considered to exist.

Soul guides, also called psychopomps, are creatures responsible for guiding the deceased souls to the afterlife. The belief in them is ancient. Depending on tradition, they can be anything or look like anything. There's even some thought that certain entities known to spirit away people, faeries come to mind, may have derived from this concept. A great representation of this are the Alebrijes found in Mexican traditions (they were recently featured in the movie "Coco.")

The Recruiters are kind of based of off "Shadow People" mixed in with other legends like "Tall Man" spirit and Stick Men/Indians seen in some First Nation lore. Shadow People are a weird phenomenon, even for the paranormal. True Shadow People are not usually considered to be ghosts, but no one is exactly certain of what they are. The inter-dimensional theory often pops up with them because they don't seem to act like "normal ghosts" and are usually considered dangerous. They are reported to negatively influence and harm humans. There are some reports of them attempting to steal people. 

Stick Men/Indians and the Tall Man are described as creatures similar to that of the modern tale of Slenderman, and they are again said to either negatively influence or take children. I used these descriptions due to some supposed reports from missing and found children saying creatures of similar descriptions wanted to take them with them, but they didn't meet the correct criteria.

Also, regarding Clockwork's powers… per the show, he "knows everything." However, it would very difficult of an entity to be able to take and absorb all of the information he gets at a time. So, my mind is viewing it as if he's skimming the majority of the information, which could allow events in the background to get missed.

[tickle-her-senseless]

Dungeons, Restraints And An Electric Flosser: My First Real-Life Experience

Hey all. I’ve been suffering with a virus all weekend and have ended up typing this out to alleviate the boredom after a couple of people encouraged me via private message. Although I’m publicly anonymous here it’s still a very personal story, so please be kind. Also, this isn’t a “piece of writing”, I’m not trying to stylise it like a tickle fic or “make it sexy” - I’m just retelling things as I remember them and I’m aware that it takes a while for the story to get to the point.

I began to explore my fixation in earnest once I turned 18 and moved away for university, but I’d been aware of my fascination with tickles for a long time. Just the playful side initially, as it happened a lot around my extended family, although the more I saw online, the more the intensive side appealed to me as well. Growing up on a small and cold Scottish island, it was rare to see any of the classic tickle spots uncovered at school - and thinking back, that may have enhanced the taboo aspect of eg. hearing squeals and giggles from a corner of the common room where someone would be playing with his girlfriend’s stomach or squeezing her sides.

As a skinny outsider with an English accent who was terrible at football and did well in class, I’d had such a nightmare at school that I became incapable of making eye contact with anyone - even now I find it very difficult. I made it to the end purely because everyone assured me that if I nailed my exams and went to a good university, everything would be alright and I’d be surrounded by similar people. When I was offered a place at Cambridge it felt as though life would come together at last, but while I was no longer in daily physical danger, I still struggled socially. Most of the other students were at the very least middle-class, so their reference points were very different, and had been to good schools where academic success had only made them popular, confident, well-rounded people instead of walking targets. I connected with one of my supervision partners in the first year, one of those “extremely sensible but fun after a drink” types, as we used to work on the same problems every week. This girl - to my shock and paralysing flusterment - would also mention how mortally ticklish she apparently was, without a hint of a blush, amongst friends at the pub.

“There was this guy at my school, and all he’d have to do was THIS *mimes slow spidering* from the other side of the room, and I’d be doubled over in hysterics.”

I can’t remember how it happened, alcohol was definitely involved, but I have a very vivid memory of this girl chasing me around a tree in one of the quads with outstretched fingers, determined to wreck me. I remember desperately wanting to let her catch me and do her worst for a bit before turning the tables and exacting my revenge, but people were watching and I was still very unsure of the boundaries re. physically touching a girl ... I figured that the “done thing” would be to keep running/dodging and not get caught, so like a complete MORON that’s what I did.

While I was managing to miss gaping open goals like this in the real world, I was taking full advantage of my new broadband connection and laptop to explore the online scene. Prior to this I’d been able to get online using my parents’ computer at home, but the dial-up connection that was the best the island had to offer made it largely pointless. It was all forum-based back then. The TMF was the biggest, but there was also a small local one, now offline, run by a group of like-minded friends. After lurking for a long time to see how people interacted, I made a profile and introduced myself. The response was casually warm and, while I wouldn’t say I made friends there, I contributed to the discussion enough to be a fairly recognisable presence for a while.

This group would also organise real-world meet-ups from time to time. Most of them were drinks in a city pub around a pre-booked table. I went to some of these and had fun, although there weren’t many references to the reason we were all there barring a few teases between the forum’s stalwart “power couples”. They were more of a way to humanise the online usernames and avatars. Once or twice a year, however, they would get the most daring forum members to chip in towards booking a purpose-built BDSM dungeon for a day of kinky tickling. After being on the forum for what I felt was a respectable length of time and attending a few of the drinks, I signed myself up. At the time this was very out of character for me and I still don’t really know what made me do it, as I hadn’t connected strongly with anyone on the forum and would be going alone. Maybe it was a crushing romantic disappointment in the real world that changed me as a person forever, maybe I was finally sick and tired of living vicariously through others, but I coughed up the cash and marked it firmly in the diary. I would’ve been 20 years old at the time.

I stayed in a nearby B&B/guesthouse the night before, which for someone on a student loan felt like splurging on 5-star treatment at the time. I felt fine on the journey up there and the night before, but the morning of the gathering brought on an intense attack of nerves and I almost bailed. I focused on trying to show up as presentably as possible, having the world’s longest shower, trimming every nail I had, shaving my stubble and applying masses of anti-perspirant.

I was the first to arrive at what looked like a small industrial lot, with not much to give the place away. Wandering around, I was startled by what looked like a mechanic yelling from the other side of the lot:

“Oi mate, are you looking for the spanking place?!”

Oh Christ, no...

Thankfully the others showed up soon afterwards and we went inside. There was a large room on the ground floor with snacks and drinks, a communal play room upstairs with all sorts of restraints, and a small cell adjoining each room. There were two women to begin with, both involved in the running of the forum, and both were with their partners. There were a couple of other single guys there too. We’d been told the rough plan in advance - the women would take a turn in the restraints to be tickled by anyone who wanted to get involved, to give the people who’d come alone a chance. After that, they’d head to the cells and switch into domme mode - and any lee would be able to reserve a private session with them in advance, although you couldn’t choose which of them would do it. The group play room would stay open for the duration, and more people were expected later in the day.

The first person to be strapped in was the wife of one of the forum admins, let’s call her Lara. She always came across as a fun and really sweet-natured person. She was also stunning - mid to late 30s, curvy in build with long, dark curls and a lovely smile. Her bare feet were already strapped in when her husband rearranged her top to reveal her underarms and tummy, then suddenly attacked her sides mid-sentence!

Lara let out a squeal followed by a gorgeous, totally unrestrained peal of laughter. One of the other regulars joined in, but everyone else stood off to the side. I don’t think I was the only one to be apprehensive about the idea of touching someone in front of their partner. Moreover, at that point in my life I’d only exchanged handshakes or quick hugs with women. Not only had I never been intimate with anyone, I’d never even kissed anyone despite being towards the end of my degree. Eventually one of the other guys sidled up to an underarm and was given an encouraging nod by one of the existing lers. Right, I thought, here goes nothing. Where to begin? I’ll start with a foot, that’s not too intimate or presumptuous, right? Swallowing, I reached out and gently held her left foot - it was olive-skinned with painted toes and strikingly small, the same size as my hand. So far so good. You’re touching another human being’s foot and nobody’s exploded. Now do something with it before it gets weird! I held it upright with my left hand and spidered the fingers of my right hand into the soft arch. Lara was already laughing but began to corkscrew her left leg from side to side. I went from foot to foot, alternating between her arches and underneath her toes, trying to be as random and unpredictable as possible while drinking in the sound of her laughter.

Before long her husband moved down to where I was and went to work with his teeth and tongue, which utterly destroyed her. The cushion dropped from behind her head as she thrashed and someone picked it up.

“Shall I put the cushion back for you?”

“I CARE NOT FOR YOUR CUSHIONS!!!”

Heh. Poor ticklish Lara. I was standing idly to one side at this point, trying to work out if it’d be OK to approach her bare tummy when-

“Guys, can I have some private time with her?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Everyone but her husband stepped away and went downstairs for a snack. Damn, missed my chance. I chatted to some of the others for a bit and tried not to eat all of the food. After a while the air was split by a long, full-throated scream from upstairs.

“That’s definitely Kim,” observed her boyfriend nonchalantly. I excused myself and headed up, trying not to visibly sprint. Kim (not her real name) was a legend on the forum and one of the driving forces behind it. A tiny, pale blonde with a gymnast’s figure who was even younger than me, she was supremely confident and sarcastic, hyper-ticklish as a lee and a truly sadistic ler/dominatrix. On top of her formidable kinkster persona, she was an accomplished belly dancer (I know, right?!) and supposedly awesome at kung fu with an extensive collection of exotic weapons. These days, she’d be someone I’d make it my life’s mission to date. Back then, she was slightly terrifying and it was difficult to look directly at her.

Kim was lying horizontally on the same piece of kit that Lara had been tied to before, with her arms above her head. She was wearing short shorts and a white tank top that’d been raised past her ribs, and was already swearing her head off and thrashing around under the ministrations of three guys.

This time just do what you want to do, you idiot. Nobody’s stopping those three others, we’re all here for the same reason and everybody knows it. You’ve taken the huge step of showing up - don’t leave with regrets.

I scanned the scene. Someone was waving what looked like a small, very thin vibrating rod with a plastic handle between and under Kim’s toes. It was the first time I’d seen what I now know to be an electric flosser. As I drew closer, he put it aside. Picking it up before anyone else could nab it, I tested it on my palm to be sure it wouldn’t hurt at all, then took a deep breath...

...and slipped the vibrating tip directly into her navel.

Kim would often write about her sessions on the forum and I knew that this was her ultimate death spot. Unfortunately for her, female belly buttons were (and still are) a major focal point for me. She let out an explosive shriek, followed by another and another as I scritched up and down and drew tiny circles inside the hypersensitive shallow oval. I was expecting someone to say something like “easy, pal” or Kim to yell “red” as a signal to stop, but neither happened so I just kept going! While the flosser continued its work, my left hand began to explore the rest of her razor-thin tummy, scrabbling in the hollows of her hipbones, gliding up and down her sides and gently kneading her abs while she howled and bucked in the restraints. It was the first time I’d ever touched a woman’s stomach and I couldn’t get over how impossibly soft her skin was - I was in heaven, if slightly deafened...

“Guys, could I have some one-on-one time with her?”

Déjà vu. Well, at least I hadn’t missed my chance this time. We left her boyfriend to it and filed out. Others were arriving by this point, including a Scottish woman who went straight into a cell to be worked over by one of the guys, and a friendly couple in their mid-twenties who seemed to be established regulars. I was doing my best to mingle when someone called my name.

“Hey, you’re up. It’s the cell upstairs.”

I had signed up for a session with one of the house dommes in advance. I’d believed I was 100% ler for a long time, but recently I’d begun to wonder and thought it was worth finding out just how lee I could be - after all, when was I going to get the chance again? However, now that the time had come, I was bricking it. I trudged upstairs like a condemned man.

Let it be Lara. Let it be sweet-natured, softly-spoken Lara with the lovely smile - I can tell her it’s my first time and I’m just trying to work out where I’m at, and she’ll understand and be kind.

I approached the black door with the tiny, red-tinted square window, took a breath and pushed it open. The walls, floor and ceiling of the tiny room were a uniform matte black. An unadorned, dim light bulb swung above a horizontal, thickly-padded black leather couch that was covered in heavy-duty straps. Kim the known psychopath sat perched on one corner, cleaned up and freshly decked out in a domme’s basque, her expression all business.

“Lie down.”

Shit. RIP me.

“Right, yeah, er ... so what do I, y’know, take off and so on? I haven’t actually-“

“Whatever you want, as long as there’s no full nudity.”

Fine by me. I piled my trainers, socks and (after a moment’s hesitation) my T-shirt in one corner and lay on the couch in nothing but my jeans. Kim began the lengthy process of strapping me in - four straps per limb, with my arms by my sides. I glanced at her face as she went about her work - she looked positively predatory and with a cold thrill I realised that she wouldn’t have had time to forget my handiwork at the group session an hour earlier. Revenge was definitely on her mind. I closed my eyes and waited, trying to steady my breathing.

“Are you cold?”

“Nah.”

“You’re shaking.”

She sounded faintly amused.

“Oh yeah, maybe a bit...”

“Riiiight ... try to relax.”

She stalked out of sight towards the lower end. I tested the restraints - I could wiggle my feet but my arms and legs were totally immobile.

“You have very well-kept feet for a man, you know. Do you moisturise?”

Nope, just a lifetime in comfy trainers, even when indoors.

“No way, I guess I just - AHH!”

Classic misdirection - she’d caught me off guard. God help me, this was ridiculous. I’d never had my feet played with, not even as a kid, and had assumed that they wouldn’t be particularly sensitive. Kim’s vice-like grip and sharp nails gliding torturously up my right arch had disproved that in an instant, and now I was gritting my teeth, tensing up and making stifled gasping sounds in a monumental effort not to laugh. It felt amazing and I wanted to just give myself over to it, but I was very conscious of the people in the adjoining room - they may have been wondering how the newbie would stand up to the infamous Kim.

She spent a long time down there - she was an unapologetic foot maniac, and definitely enjoyed herself although she said very little. I still have no idea what was being used but I felt bristles and feathers under my toes, scratchy implements against my soles and at one point something motorised that was probably an electric toothbrush - and the smallest motion was amplified exponentially by the response from my nerve endings. I’ve no idea whether or not I managed to keep a lid on the giggles, but I tried my best.

Things became very ... hectic, let’s say, when Kim eventually moved north and eased my jeans down onto my hips. Although I had four tight straps on each arm pinning me in place, my torso was completely uncovered and when both of her hands started to squeeze my sides and knead my lower belly, I just lost it.

“A-HAAA-hahahaha no!! Nohohohohoho!! Stohohop! STOPPP!!!”

In a flash, her face appeared in front of mine, her cold grey eyes serious.

“If you really want me to stop, say ‘red’, understand?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, gasping. The last thing I wanted was for her to stop and she knew it, but had checked just in case. Now she had carte blanche to go as wild as she pleased until the safeword came out. She resumed her work, tormenting my stomach and ribs with light, grazing, spidery tickles and randomly timed/placed pokes that were even more effective than the squeezes. Without warning, a fingernail raked downwards against the bottom of my navel and a panicked yelp escaped my lips.

“WELL now, THAT was a good spot, wasn’t it?”

She sounded very, very smug. Doubtless she was thinking of my earlier crimes with the flosser. I said nothing, too busy trying to catch my breath. I was dimly aware of Kim rummaging inside her bag of tricks before feeling something tiny and fuzzy slowly twirling around in the same spot.

“Oh Gohohohohod, what is THAT?”

“A Q-tip.”

“AAAAH-hahahahaha!! AAAAH-hahahahaha!!”

“Actually hang on, I’ve got two of these.”

“WHAT?!?!?!”

“Enjoy...”

I don’t know if it was because the addition of the second Q-tip made the movements impossible to track or predict, but the next minute or two nearly ended me. Quite possibly it was the first time since I was a very little kid that I’d actually SCREAMED, although to be honest the memory of it is hazy and I’ve no idea what kind of sounds I was making. At one point muffled voices drifted in from the group play room.

“You’re not supposed to ACTUALLY KILL him, you know...”

I turned my head to the right to see two indistinct faces peering in through the tiny pane of red glass.

Oh I just can’t, this is too humiliating...

I was mortified beyond belief. You can understand why - nobody’s going to feel at their best when they’re caught half-naked, helplessly tied up and making a racket because, of all the absurd things on earth, they’re having their belly button tickled and can’t handle it. On top of that, this was the first time in my life I’d had a woman lay a hand on me in anything other than the most cursory way, and it felt extremely personal and intimate - so let’s just say I wasn’t thrilled that people were poking their noses in. To my horror, someone actually began to open the cell door...

“FUCK OFF!!!” snarled Kim. She dropped the fiendish Q-tips, sprang to the door and thundered it shut before anyone could take a good look inside. I swear I heard the clumsy thud of a body hitting the floor outside.

I guess that settles that.

Blazing with fury, the pint-sized terror strode back across to a position right above my head and launched a furious, full-on assault on my chest with her scrabbling fingers. This probably shocked me more than anything else. As a straight guy I’d hardly watched any videos involving a male lee, and it’d never occurred to me that this might be a ticklish area. It was intense and totally relentless. I strained upwards against my bonds with every bit of strength that I had, but Kim would regularly punctuate the chest tickling with devastating attacks to my belly, making me crash backwards again as my abdominal muscles turned to jelly at her touch. I was beginning to really struggle for air and was on the point of capitulating with at least an “amber” to get a break, when Kim stepped back. She silently walked towards my legs and began to untie them, while I closed my eyes, gratefully sucked in air and tried to slow my heart rate down. I actually felt giddy and physically light, like I was floating. It’d been the most incredible experience, and I was deeply sorry that it was over. It’s hard to guess at the length of time, but I imagine it was probably around 20-25 minutes.

I thanked her, hopefully without embarrassing myself, got dressed quickly and went to wash myself up a bit. Unfortunately I was going to have to leave soon as I had an evening commitment a long way away, but there was still one more very brief session to be enjoyed. The friendly couple who’d arrived later in the day were very open and curious, asking how I’d found the experience. I answered honestly, saying that while I’d really enjoyed it and it’d been a big personal step to take, I found the “gang tickling” aspect of the group sessions difficult to get into - it seemed very impersonal once you got got over the novelty, and it was difficult to feel as though you were having much of an effect a lot of the time as the lee would be laughing with or without you there.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. When are you heading off, twenty minutes’ time?” The guy shot his girlfriend an inquiring glance and she nodded happily. “I’m going to tickle Jen one-on-one for a bit, d’you want to take a turn by yourself first before you have to shoot off? Only if you feel like it, of course.”

I wasn’t about to say no to an offer like that! Jen (another fictitious name) grinned, slipped off her shoes, hopped up on the apparatus and stretched out while her partner strapped her in. She was very tall with long red hair and her feet dangled over the edge, while her raised arms had pulled the hem of her top above a flat but soft stomach.

“All yours, mate. I’ll be next door.” He took off, leaving me alone with her. Well, not quite - Kim was having a great time obliterating a guy who was hanging from the ceiling but I did my best to ignore them. I turned to Jen.

“So, er ... what sort of thing would you like me to do?”

She gave me an understanding smile.

“I’ll enjoy whatever - just do exactly what you want to do. They don’t organise these things very often, you know, so enjoy yourself while you can - surprise me!”

What an angel. Marry me. Thus encouraged, I began to slowly wiggle my fingers along her sides, gradually making my way in across her pale tummy. Jen wasn’t crazily hypersensitive or a screamer, she just laughed very easily and naturally with a big open-mouthed smile. She hardly struggled at all, surrendering herself to the sensations. I tried a few more of the tools this time, including an electric toothbrush between her toes where she seemed most ticklish, and I even managed a quick repeat of my “flosser in the navel” trick from earlier, which earned me a delicious “oooooooh” from Jen. After about ten minutes I sadly had to leave, but I was very grateful to her and her boyfriend for allowing me that brief spell.

Largely, the experience had been very positive. It had gotten a huge monkey off my back in terms of touching/being touched by women, and immediately afterwards I found myself able to date girls at last, kissing some and sleeping with a select few. It’d also confirmed a few suspicions about my interpretation of this particular kink:

Firstly, that I saw it as an extremely intimate form of play between two close friends or lovers and the “gang tickle” sessions with people I hardly knew did very little for me. I was going to have to find a partner.

Secondly, that I was just a freak for the female midriff in all situations and tickling was no exception to that rule!

Finally, that my days as a ler were over - I would forever after be a switch. The private session with Kim had been the highlight, no question. Getting to tickle three beautiful women had been amazing and a fantasy come true, but the physical and mental impact of being at Kim’s mercy had been a game-changer, practically an out-of-body experience. Even now I sometimes have dreams where I can feel the sensation of her fingers stimulating my nerve endings and driving me to hysterics...

I’d been going to write more about the aftermath, why I pulled out of the next one last-minute after booking my place and paying the money, and how I met my ex and converted her to the tickling way of life in a big way, but this thing is far too long already. Happy to talk about any of it over messages though. Well done if you made it to the end, and I may eventually write another one of these if the level of interest’s there. Hope everyone’s having a great weekend, bye for now x

[heilewelt]

‘Who cares what my story is?’ – An Interview Ruarri Joseph of William The Conqueror

There is no William in William The Conqueror. William The Conqueror is a band formed by Ruarri Joseph, Harry Harding and Naomi Holmes. However, William is set out to release three autobiographical album about the life of Ruarri Joseph. Well, that’s what I thought before talking to Ruarri about William. There’s nothing set in this project. So far they’ve released “Proud Disturber of the Peace” about the early years of Ruarri’s childhood and mid February ‘19 the teenage years summary “Bleeding On The Soundtrack” was released. 

Ruarri and I talked about the album and working with Ethan Johns who produced this album and his song writing technique. If you haven’t already, check out both albums, listen to them back to back but first click play below and read our interview. 

 I really like “Bleeding The Soundtrack” because in some songs there is some gruffness in the way you sing, the kind of gruffness you have when you’re a teenager. Was it on purpose? I didn’t hear it on the first album “Proud Disturber of The Peace”.

Ruarri Joseph: Not entirely consciously but I’m a big fan of Tom Waits and he’s one of those guys who uses his voice like an instrument. He’s got all these different sounds to it. For me it’s quite fun to sing in different ways. Some talk more than others and some sing more than others or whatever. If there is a gruffness there it’s probably because I was feeling rough. [laughs]

It sounds like it was on purpose.

Maybe. The whole idea of William is channeling the younger self which is all about feeling overly confident and pushing yourself which I strayed away from a little bit when I was a singer-songwriter solo artist. With William I feel a lot less inhibited and insecure. With William it’s easier to push yourself. I never a thought of it as being like a teenage gruffness, more an attitude maybe, but if that comes across gruff,  it’s cool.

It’s very fitting for me.

Because “Proud Disturber of the Peace” was an album about innocent and childhood, there was the idea to make it under these circumstances. So we made in my shed, not really knowing what we were doing and how it’s going to turn out. The second one with the adolescence thing it was about writing something before you caught yourself, before you start analyzing anything. Just get your head in the zone and dive in.

How difficult is it for your to put yourself in such a position when you start writing? To say I’m going to it this way and then follow the path?

It’s more difficult with certain songs or with certain subject matters. The songs on this record were the more tricky ones to channel because it’s not like I sit down and say something like I’ll write a song about… It’s more about letting your mind wander and see where it lands. […] You start fishing for these things that kind of add up and match in some strange disconnected way. I don’t know if it’s a difficult thing to do. You have to allow yourself this whole patience and time. I’ve certainly been a less present father and husband while I’ve been doing the writing side of things. Just because you have to let yourself go into it quite deep, writing about a past that you’d like to bury.

Is writing about your past some sort of therapy as well?

Absolutely but I don’t thing that was necessarily my intention.

I think afterwards you know what you did beforehand.

For sure. There is nothing more exciting to me than…. Music is like magic. There is nothing and then there is something. It’s a magical process. Songs are just really cool way of packaging up that beauty and presenting it to others. I love songs and I love writing songs. There is nothing more satisfying than not having any ideas in your head and then sitting down for 10 minutes and there is something there. I try not to analyze or pre-think what I’m going to do. In the process of doing that, in the middle of writing, it’s like ‘I’m in this this deep, I can’t just drop it now. I have to get through to the end.’ That became a kind of a slogan.

What happened to songs that didn’t fit the scheme of the three albums?

I haven’t been writing a great deal of songs that haven’t been relating. There are this three albums and there is this other kind of 4th album which is not part of the trilogy but ties into it. I’m writing a novel as well called William the Conqueror. There are still a lot of things and ideas I could write about song wise. I haven’t really been thinking about anything other than William the Conqueror in terms of writing anyway. It’s been quite fun. I’m in the deep end now.

You said the first album was recorded in your shed. I read it was by accident as you initially  booked a studio…

No, it was a black wedding. I didn’t know what William The Conqueror was. I was playing as William The Conqueror off the radar in between touring as myself, as a songwriter, because I recognized that I was losing that attachment to music that I had when I was a kid. When music becomes your job, some of that magic goes away because suddenly you have to consider all these other things: your fans, the label and who you’re trying to please. I kind of got pushed into the Folk/singer-songwriter world.

You’ve got the beard.

Yeah, I’ve got the beard, the red beard, and an acoustic guitar. It’s an easy fit but it didn’t necessarily feel like me. It felt like I was trying to please people but it was my job. William was a rest bank from that. It was just a chance to be completely creatively free. Along the way Harry and Naomi, who were my backing band as a solo artist, came along and were really into it as well. We would have so much fun doing it that we started recording randomly. We travelled up to the Isle of Lewis and spend a weekend in a hurricane recording. And we did other stuff with Neil Halstead of Slowdive who is a friend. We were just trying stuff out. The getting together in the garage thing….I don’t know, we just compelled to do it. There was no space and no plan. It were just lots of ideas and lots of songs. It was an accident in that respect. We recorded it and were like ‘this is way more fun than the other projects we’re doing. We should focus on this.’ And now William has become the job.

Why did you chose to go to a proper studio, Peter Gabriel’s Real World Studios, this time and didn’t just stay within your garage?

The first time we didn’t have any budget. But then all of a sudden we did have a budget and my publisher came along and he believed in our songs enough to help us to record it properly. It wasn’t a big budget but it was something. I just threw the name Ethan Johns out there, kind of whimsically, thinking that it won’t happen, so we would get the money ourselves, make the record and use the money. So, I said that and Ethan Johns got back to us and loved it. He was just really into it. Why should we turn that down? So, that was why that happened. It was brilliant.

How was it working with him? When I saw him playing live it looked like he’s always taking care that everyone is giving his best.

Oh yes, he’s all about the music. The coolest thing about working with Ethan is that he’s one of us. He has played in bands, he had toured around the country with his bands. He knows that you can play the same song every night for a week and it’ll be different every single time. He’s all about capture that one thing. It’s kind of a spiritual approach, not like a technical thing. Yet we had Dom Monks there who is an incredible engineer. He was floating around the studio without us really knowing – just setting mics up while we were jamming around with Ethan. Next thing we know is that we’ve played the song through and they were like ‘come and have a listen’. We didn’t even know he was recording. There are a few songs on the album that are exactly that. Dom hit record while we happen to rehearse the song.  That’s a great way of working because you really capture something that is now forced. That’s cool.

Someone once told me – it was a James Brown quote, I think – “first take is Jesus”. [we laugh] Is it something you would believe in, too? Or would you prefer to do it over and over again?

It’s easy to fall into this trap but then you get king of lost. That’s where Ethan is really good because recognizes when you’re doing that, even when you really believe yourself that you can do a better take. He can just spot something, he’ll spot some magic in whatever you were trying to do. We all live apart, we don’t have the opportunity to rehearse or anything like that. The gig that you saw the other day was the first time we’ve seen each other since November but we like that. We know the songs. That energy that we have whenever we get together and to have the opportunity to play, that keeps you on your toes a little bit. That’s what we’re looking for in William The Conqueror: the rough edges. We don’t want to sand off and make it smooth and slick.

I tend to find it quite boring when everything is too smooth.

Big time. I remember seeing The Strokes, who I love, but I felt like I might have stayed at home as well and just turn the stereo up with a photograph of them in front of it. It was so exactly to the record. Whereas my favorite gigs I ever been to like Tom Waits or Bob Dylan where you barely know what song it is when it starts. I like that.

I think that’s something Ethan Johns brings to the table. At least that was my impression when I saw him live – I didn’t know him before. I know him because of you and Ida Mae who also played earlier that day. That’s why I went to see him playing. The way he plays….I think it fits to what you said.

Yeah, it’s not improvised. But it’s from the heart, it’s from somewhere else. It’s not a practiced thing. Impressionist.

When you write your songs how do you start: melody or words first?

There is no real rule about that. As I said before songs were my preferred way to express myself ever since I was eleven when I started writing songs. I wrote lots and lots of terrible songs, knowing they were terrible but now caring. The process of starting a song and finishing the song – I love it. As a consequence for having done it for so long and so many times, I’ve got like a database of riffs, music, lyrics and things like that, all just flowing around. I couldn’t tell which one came first necessarily really. It’s just about when you get your head in the zone of that you’re going to write something, you try to let it kick in so that all comes together at the same time. You can only do that when you have a bank of stuff.

There is a song on this record, the title track “Bleeding On The Soundtrack”, where I didn’t have lyrics or I didn’t have the tune, I just had the idea that I need to write a song about the worst memories I had. It felt like I wasn’t doing it and I needed to do it because it was on my mind. I didn’t know how to articulate it or what the music should be or anything like that. Having that is good enough. It just bubbling a way in there and it took an event in my life, something that happened to me last year, and the next day I woke up and it was there. It was formulated from this.

What does it take to be added to this database? It sounds a bit like you’re very set in your head.

It’s not very set. It’s not like a filing cabinets that are labelled and alphabetized. The best way to characterize it is a caldron where you ever so often drop the ladle into and see what you get.

William The Conqueror is a new thing. It feels like it has a beginning, middle and end to it which is something I’ve not really done before. Because when I was a singer-songwriter before you just write about what’s in front of you. Something happens and you write a song – it’s an ongoing process. Going back in time and going over things that have already happened and tying it to the way you feel now. It’s a really different process. It’s quite consuming. It had to be done I suppose.

It feels like William The Conqueror is a limited project or you have to return to current problems at some point?

Possibly. It could easily be looked at like that. At the same time it ties more into the book idea. The book doesn’t wrap itself up and the ending is a happy ending. Life is open end. It has potential. It could go anywhere. People are asking what this is – is it a band, is it you, is it a character, what is it? The whole ethos behind William is that it can be whatever I want it to be at any given moment. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s the band, sometimes it’s a fictional character that I hate and sometimes it’ll be friend that I really love. There could definitely be an ending but maybe I’ll get there and I decide that I don’t want it to end and have another idea. It’s open.

I’ve read that you had it was easier to write about yourself while being William The Conqueror. When a songwriter tells me all my songs about my friends etc, I sometimes have a hard time to believe him because I believe you’re always come from a personal perspective. [We laugh.]

Absolutely. There is something in removing my name that helped my insecurities or whatever. I’m definitely someone who cares to much about people think. Also not worrying about whether or not getting things right helped. It’ll be easy for someone like me to think that I don’t have a story that relevant. I’m not an unlucky or depressed person. I’ve been very fortunate with love and that sort of stuff in my life. So what’s my angle? Who cares what my story is? At a certain point you go with it doesn’t matter who cares what my story is. My story is my story and if I want to tell it, I should be able to tell it. So, I just did that.

Most of us feel like this.

I lived through my childhood and my teenage years and took them for what they were. I suppose living with addiction comes to it, being uprooted and moving to New Zealand for four years, moving back to London, living with a drug addict. The things that happened to me they just happened and I ended up landing on my feet fortunately. The lessons I had in my life meant that I was able to steer myself towards the right path even though it could have gone very much the other way. It wasn’t until I was reflecting on that, looking back and writing about it that I realized how much it had affected me without me really knowing. That was interesting to me.

But good you know now…

I think you need to know sometimes, even if it’s just for yourself. You might just find an answer to what was bothering you. Why I’m like this or why did I think that when this happened? You just unlock this little answers. It’s cool even if it’s hard work sometimes.

Most people can’t imagine that writing songs can be hard work.

My wife’s family are teachers and plumbers and builders, they work with their hands. Their running joke is that I sit around all day drinking cups of tea and playing guitar which is kind of true. But if you’re dedicated to your art, if you believe in what you’re doing and you’re not writing songs because you want to get a hit or you want to be rich or whatever - which isn’t what I’m doing - then it’s hard. It’s hard when your main focus is to do something original, at least in your eyes. It’s challenging on the mind, it’s not challenging on the body.

As you said beforehand, going into the zone, not giving as much attention to your wife and your kids as you probably should… That’s not easy and not everyone could do that and not everyone could relive what they’ve been through – whether it’s pain or whatever else. No everyone wants to do that. It can be very hard on your mind.

There’ve been times were I wanted to take a break from the writing thing. I’m lucky that I can. I mean I say that I’ve been a distant parent but my wife and my kids would say I’m still the same guy. In my head it’s different. It’s less focused on… I’ve spend many years as a singer-songwriter the other way round. My focus was my family and my home and my career was my career but I was never dedicated to the networking thing and the time away. When I finished a gig, I’d go home. Part of being a musician is the networking and selling yourself. I never really fell for this stuff. I don’t like it. But I knew with William it would be…my younger self attitude would have been ‘let’s go and throw yourself into this head first and don’t think about anything else’. I found a balance but mentally it’s certainly dominating.

What I liked about the song “Thank Me Later” is the line “Here’s To All The Mistakes That Came Good In The End”. For me it was a good reminder of not all mistakes are shit.

They make who you are. The whole purpose of this song is that if I ever did anybody any harm, I now feel like I probably did you a favor. I’m a very complicated person you’re probably better off without me in your life. It’s kind of a joke.

It’s not quite sounding like a joke but it sounds like you’re better off without me but I also like it as a general reminder for life. I tend to forget that mistakes may have done something good for you.

Big time. All the best things that have happened to me being the result of something quite stupid I did: leave home at 17 or diving at the deep end of this thing or break up with that person. The things that would be dangerously unadvised actually turn out to be awesome because of the lesson you learned.

How long did it take you to realize that it can be something good coming out from a stupid decision?

I don’t know. It’s ongoing process.

It’s a lesson you forget?

Yes, you’re human. I’m not going to willfully making mistakes, thinking ‘don’t worry that’ll all become good’. It’s more that you just have to live and do your best and try to make the right decisions. I suppose you can only realize that when you write about things that have happened. You realize the value of those mistakes.

I find it quite rare that a Folk musician starts to make music like you do, quite often I find it the other way round. I’ve seen a lot of former Punk or Rock musicians starting to be Folk musicians or Singer-Songwriters then the other way round.

I started with my first band when I was 14. We were pretty rocky, pretty heavy, grungy kind of outfit and then I was in a couple of punk bands. My roots were in the heavier stuff. I fell into the Folk thing accidently and I have respect for it as well. It kept me afloat for years. I felt like that if my younger self would look at me now, it would be kind of disappointed that I became a folk musician, sort of being annoyed that I didn’t live out the dreams that I had as a kid which was to turn the distortion up and sing about being a little bit different or whatever.

What do you take from the Folk music into what you do now?

The first thing I learned from the Folk scene is that I wasn’t a Folk musician. I sort of got called a storyteller but I don’t even tell stories in the same way folk musicians tell stories. I also learned that I’m really not a very good musician. You have to be damn good at what you do like John Smith for example. I toured with him, just me and him. I was watching him play every night and thought that he’s got the same amount of fingers as me, he’s got the same instrument but how does he make it sound like that and I can’t do that. I remember thinking on that tour that I’m trying to get my head in and become some kind of better musician, better technique or anything. I can do something else with this than strum chords and tell my stories and whatever. I was getting very bored of it. It taught me to value the potential of your fingers and the potential of your instrument. I’m just not a Folk musician. I have no traditional ethos behind what I do.

I mean for me a good beard is enough. [We laugh.]

You’re not wrong.

I believe men with beard make the better music.

Tom Waits never had a beard.

There are exceptions to every rule. [Ruarri’s phone rang and the next interviewer was waiting. We sadly had to stop.] Thank you for taking the time!

As I said before: “Bleeding On The Soundtrack” was released on the 15th of February 2019 and I urge you to check it out. It’s very good. They’ll be on tour in UK/Irland in April/May. Go to their website to check out the dates: 

williamtheconqueror.net

Thank you for reading,

Dörte

[petite-neko]

Dissentient - 3

Fanfiction: Dissentient Story Summary: Trafalgar Law wasn’t a lot of things. But the one thing he most definitely was, was a man in denial. But you’d never hear him say that. Instead, he’d just blame that damned Strawhat. Characters: Zoro, Luffy, Law Pairing: Eventual LawLu Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Mentions of Suicide, alcohol use A/N: YOU NEED TO READ THIS STORY FIRST.

Sorry, insomnia plus hectic life struck again. (I was far too busy Thursday, and I needed to correct my sleep schedule last night on top of being tired still) But here we go.

Previous story || Read on Ao3 

Part 2 || Part 3: 6.5 Smile|| Part 4

Perhaps the only reason he managed to sleep so well was due to the fact that he had passed out due to exhaustion and a physical necessity.

When he woke up however, he didn’t exactly realise that.

He had no clue how long he slept.

He was tired – that was usual – but there was something different about it. It was more of a bodily exhaustion as opposed to the mental exhaustion that always accompanied him with every waking moment of his life.

(In fact, it actually seemed like it was gone which was quite unusual indeed.)

The exhaustion ran deep, as if he could feel it in his very bones.

The only thing he could think of was that the probability of his overusing his powers was high.

It wasn’t just that. Certainly, yes, he didn’t want to move a muscle and just go back into that fog that was sleep, there was…

He knew if he moved a muscle, his body would probably yell at him.

Maybe not now, but most definitely later. The lethargy that wasn’t related to the overuse of his powers was more than likely due to some injuries of some sort. But, despite the fact that Law wasn’t about to lay around and do nothing when he wasn’t too certain on his relative safety (passing out did that to ones memory), Law knew he had to get up. A deep sleep like that was a rarity and Law wasn’t foolish enough to think he could get back to sleep like that.

(The last thing he needed was a nightmare when he didn’t even know where he was.)

So Law sighed and moved his hand to run it through his hair before-

His arm wouldn’t move.

(Now that was unusual. Most times he had an injury he could still-)

The pain. He recalled screaming and oh God…

The Birdcage. Laughter. Mocking. Luffy. The Gun… Dressrosa.

Luffy.

With a groan, Law pushed himself upright with his good arm. Then he moved his head to look at his right arm. It was bandaged. Ah right… didn’t the little princess do that or something? He could also feel the stitches – that was a good sign. It was still mostly numb and tingling, but again, that was better than nothing.

He supposed he might even be able to will it to move too if he put a conscious effort into it, although that may do more harm than good. Perhaps he should wait until he subconsciously could move it before trying anything.

While severed limbs were his specialty, at least the limbs he severed could be easily reattached.

He already had a few ideas on helping improve the rate of healing the limb, but…

He’d wait until he knew he could expend the energy.

Because he also knew, just due to the stiffness in his limbs, there was more pain to come. Who knew what the full extent of his injuries was? (He was certain that the little princess had worked on more than just his arm as well, although the majority of the treatment went to that.)

He most definitely wasn’t looking forward to when that sweet, numbing fog effect of sleep wore off.

He took in his surroundings: They were in a house of some sort and it was quiet inside due to the dampening effects of the walls. (He could hear sounds and murmurings outside.) They were probably also being quieter than normal for those who were still recovering.

He could also remember being successful to some degree. (He didn’t even get to kill Doflamingo then and there and Luffy had even allowed him that chance and… fuck!)

So, theoretically they were safe. The bandages he had on had been changed at least once, he had no shackles on him, and there even was food nearby. So on the plus side: they had not been caught by the marines.

It only made him wonder just how long he had lain unconscious.

And by they he had meant him and Luffy. (The other captain was out cold nearby, and he didn’t need to sense him to know that. No he was loudly snoring off to the side. Not that he actually saw him. Part of him didn’t want to.)

And, of course, not just Luffy either. No, that annoying, bull headed swordsman of his was in the house with them too. He also hadn’t looked in his direction, but he could feel that gaze on him, and hear the swishing of his alcohol as he tipped it back.

Law ignored him too.

Things had most definitely not turned out as planned. In fact, things probably went the complete opposite of that. The question remained: Was he happy about it?

Trafalgar Law didn’t know. Trafalgar was supposed to know, dammit!

Joker had been taken down and dethroned, as he had wanted. But not in the way he wanted. Sure he had been stopped. Probably even arrested at that. And he even got to see the bastard fall.

He supposed that was what Cora-san had always wanted…

(But what about what he wanted? That bastard was supposed to pay dammit! Pay with his life and know what it was like to fear! He killed Cora-san!)

And while, yes, Law was unable to see the actual fall… he had been content. Content in knowing that Doflamingo would pay and fear and die… that Kaido would torment and chase him before killing him…

That eventually he would be stopped.

So… what now?

This… Doflamingo… it was his purpose. His reason for living. He planned to sacrifice everything for this. He was supposed to die all those years ago anyway… So many times over. He was a man who, despite the odds, slipped away time after time, was destined to die before he even reached sixteen. Die due to the disease that ate away at his body.

But he lived.

Cora-san. Cora-san.

That was the man who saved him. And that was the man he lived for.

The man he planned to die for.

(It was his fault that he died after all. In some respects anyway…)

Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to be alive right now.

No, not after challenging Doflamingo in his own playground. He had every expectation to die in the process. He had been prepared and willing to sacrifice his life if it meant that he would drag Joker down with him.

But Mugiwara-ya didn’t let him.

For a second time in his life he had escaped inevitable death.

(Perhaps there was more. Like his home town, or the birdcage with Cora-san, but he only counted the disease and now. One was just a fact of life and the other was of his own doing. Where he faced death, knowing it was the result and his fate. Flevance and the Birdcage were just results of his sheer luck and the stupidity of those hunting him.)

And both times. Both times he had been saved by somebody who decided to do it on their own accord. Who did it without him asking to. With him trying and failing to push them away.

This time, however, he had no reason. He couldn’t find one.

He had made his arrangements… he did what he had to… and yet… yet he had still been saved.

Again: what now?

He didn’t expect to survive this. He dedicated his entire life to this moment, and now that it was achieved, he was lost.

Trafalgar Law never got lost.

Do you get lost like Zoro does too?

That damned Strawhat.

He found his eyes wandering towards the peaceful form. He found them narrowing. He was angry.

At least that was one thing Trafalgar Law tended to be.

Because this wasn’t supposed to have happened! He wasn’t supposed to be sitting here right now and glaring at this fucking idiot and—

“I would’ve figured you’d be happy.”

Law snapped his head towards the swordsman. (He shouldn’t have done that, he thought as his muscles screamed at the sudden motion.)

“Shut up!”

Thankfully, it seemed the moss-head actually had some brains in there and kept silent.

It helped though, that momentary lash, it sated his initial anger enough for him to calm down. He was able to soften his gaze a little as he looked at the younger captain.

What was it, he wondered, that made Luffy who he was? He knew the boy from the inside out, but none of that told of his soul or spirit. The thing that brought everybody together. The thing that saved people, even if they denied they wanted saving. The boy was idiotic, stupid even, and yet… there just was something about him. Was it the D? Or was it something else altogether?

He drew others towards him without even trying.

What now?

I was afraid of being alone.

Law didn’t forget those words either. The words that Luffy had spoken to him that night he had dreamt of Ace. (Was it still last night, or more than that by now?)

When Luffy had told him what he was most afraid of…

No, Law couldn’t forget that. It… meant something. Trust perhaps? (And Law wasn’t the type of person to utilise that sort of thing against an ally, or even a comrade. Perhaps if they became utmost enemies, like Doflamingo was to him but… he doubted such a thing would occur.)

It started something it shouldn’t have.

Despite himself. Despite how much Law tried, or how much he denied it…

Luffy kept coming back, and Law wanted him to.

(Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to.)

What was it? Was it that he saw Cora-san in Luffy? Despite all their differences, did he see the similarities and parallels?

(Certainly, Law wouldn’t be able to handle two of either of them!)

Perhaps… but Luffy was still such a… unique individual.

Law wouldn’t deny that he hated Luffy however. At least at this moment. He hated him for what he did. What he was doing to him even now just laying there unconscious. It frustrated him.

Something told him the Strawhat would never cease to annoy him.

They were quite opposite when it came to things after all. He was cold and calculating. Meticulous. A plotter. Luffy on the other hand was warm and random. Spontaneous and instinctive.

They did have their similarities however, otherwise their alliance wouldn’t have worked. (Whether or not one called this a success was up to debate.)

But Luffy frustrated him. Angered him. Luffy wasn’t predictable. It created chaos in his otherwise organised life and he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

What to do with Mugiwara no Luffy.

What now?

Especially now that he was at the end of the rope he had tied for himself. He had no plans. No points of action. No nothing. He hadn’t planned for this.

He hadn’t even a will or purpose to keep going…

But he had to keep on going. He knew that his crew would have accepted his death if it was facing somebody like Doflamingo, but a clear-cut suicide?

He couldn’t do that to them.

I was afraid of being alone.

Nor could he do that to Luffy either. The boy fought so hard to rescue him (but not being patient enough to wait for the keys to his cuffs. As long as he was alive, right?) and Law couldn’t slap him in the face like that.

Shishishishishi, so that means we’re nakama, right?

He felt his lips twist as the voice rang in his head.

Now, Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to smile or have friends but…

“I suppose it does, Mugiwara-ya.”

(A/N: Or the alternate title: 6.5: Friendship)

[conleyhorace]

Gif Cat Spray Bottle Astonishing Tips

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How To Remove Cat Spray Smell From Shoes

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[almorganfiction]

Pillars

I was somewhere between asleep and awake, in that state where your mind touches on strange thoughts that fade once you tip into either consciousness or slumber. My mind tipped into neither and instead entered a state of deep and complete unawareness.

At first there was nothing, for how long I'm not sure as I had no perception with which to measure time, instead everything came as a sequence of events. Next there was seeing; only seeing. I saw darkness, not pure darkness but a black waterfall flowing all around me.

Next there was sensation as I felt the warmth of the water running over my body. This was followed by emotion. The warmth of the water opened up a warmth in my soul, I felt a calmness deep inside. Then a pinprick of blue light appeared in the distance.

The light grew larger and brighter until it filled the entire space around me for a moment before vanishing in a brilliant flash, the warmth and calmness vanishing with it.

The light was replaced with nonsensical shapes that surrounded me, ominous shapes that filled me with an overwhelming dread, a dread stoked further by my inability to understand where or what I was. The abstract shapes slowly took on a recognisable form of marble columns with indentations running parallel up their entire lengths.

I looked around to try and get a sense of where I was. It seemed to be some gigantic temple filled with nothing but marble columns so tall that in place of a ceiling was a black void, the same black void surrounded me as the temple seemed to be infinite in both height and width.

I wandered among the pillars, choosing a random direction and sticking to it, hoping to see some sort of change ahead, slightly anxious that I may be wandering the identical halls for eternity. After a few minutes of wandering the change came in the form of a distant green glow. As I walked closer more colours began to appear until a whole spectrum of coloured lights lay in the distance before me. I started to run towards the green lights, the columns flashed past me, out of the corner of my eye I saw that the columns were leaning in towards me, following me as I dashed down the marble halls. They seemed almost fluid in motion, bending and curling all around me.

I outstretched my arms and ran with my fingers brushing the pillars. An electric flash of purpose- for here purpose was an emotion in its own right- jolted up through my fingers in straight to my heart each time my fingertips connected with a pillar. Each pillar I touched curled and twirled with delight leaving behind me a trail of elegant swirling columns. As I looked back I saw my footprints were pools of light, glowing brightly, emitting golden beacons that reached high into the sky like rays of sunshine. I didn't spend too much time looking back, though, as I was fixated on the green light before me, excited by its friendly glow.

Soon the green light was all around me, I couldn't see where it was coming from although it seemed to be from the air itself. The light reached inside me and spread through my body, starting in my eyes and travelling through my nervous system, first to my brain and then leaving through my fingertips, creating a circuit between me and the emerald glow in the air.

I took a step toward one of the columns, leaving behind a brilliant green footprint even brighter than before. I pressed my palm to the column. The green light flowed from my hand into the marble surface. The column reacted immediately with an excited shiver as the white marble was turned green, its ridges transforming into waves. Beautiful jade crystals sprouted from the green marble creating a wondrous coral reef of lush, green light. The green light jumped out of the column and into the next, spreading its wonder from pillar to pillar until the entire world around me was file with joyous green monoliths.

I ran amongst the emerald pillars, watching them dance as I leaped by. An orange light lay resting in the distance, beckoning me with its subtle yet powerful glare. Despite its distance it only took me a few steps until the orange glow was all around me, working its way from my eyes to my fingers. It burst out in a cascade of brilliant illumination just as the green light before it and just like the green light it electrified the air around me, igniting every particle with a glorious, orange blaze.

I placed my hands on another pillar which was then pierced by the orange light. The orange mixed with green, creating orange veins which curled around the pillar, sprouting honey coloured flowers just as the green light had created its crystals.

The veins of orange were overlapped by the green spreading out to reclaim its territory, but both colours seemed to find a harmony, losing and claiming ground on the column with perfect synchronicity, the orange spreading like rivers and the green spreading in pools.

I watched in awe as the orange blaze leapt from the pillar, enveloping the next, creating another matrimonious dance, bounding through the pillars until every column was both green and orange. I watched as the orange light continued to spread into the distance. Excitement filled me as I spotted a blue glow in the distance.

I made it to the new blue light in just three short strides. Just like before the blue light created a circuit between me and the air. I tried the pillars again. This time the blue light squeezed into the marble, creating spirals of blue loop-de-loops, rolling through the column. Sapphire tree branches grew from the blue spirals, reaching high into the air. Once again the coloured light jumped from pillar to pillar, blue overlapping orange overlapping green overlapping blue.

I made it my mission to bring as much colour to the temple as possible. Soon, yellow rings rippled through the columns, bringing with them sprouting golden clouds.

Purple bolts zig-zagged through the colours accompanied by amethyst pyramids.

Red waves brought crimson obelisks.

The strange temple became a walk-in kaleidoscope. I wasted no time in gleefully running through its halls, leaving behind a rainbow of footprints, dazzling and everlasting. Then came something new. Then came the sound.

As I galloped across the marble floor my ears suddenly picked up the sound of my footfall, loud and alone. Until then I hadn't noticed how quiet the temple was, I hadn't notice how strange it was that such a large space would be completely devoid of sound.

The introduction of sound filled my imagination with endless possible wonders. I approached one of the kaleidoscopic pillars and knocked it with my fist, expecting a heavenly chime or some sort of ethereal noise. The sound that came from the pillar was a dull clunk. It was the sound of someone knocking a marble pillar with their fist. Disappointed I pressed my ear to the pillar hoping to hear the subtle sounds of the vibrant colours shifting amongst themselves but there was no sound coming from the column at all. It seemed that sound in the temple was exactly what you'd expect. It was just sound.

The unremarkableness of sound in the marble halls didn't hold me back, however, as I decided if the sound itself must be ordinary then it was my job to make it extraordinary. Once again I skipped through the columns, this time releasing a deep howl into the echoey halls. The pillars quivered around me as I passed, turning to face me and looking on as I disappeared down the infinite corridors.

I closed my eyes, held out my arms and burst out with a flurry of childish laughs. I listened as my laughs resonated among the column, a long drawn out echo returned. I kept my eyes shut so I could soak in my reflected laughs. I ran for what felt like miles until I hit one of the pillars and fell to the floor.

I lay motionless, shocked that it was even possible for me to hit the pillar in the first place as I'd had no trouble keeping my direction at all before the collision. I slowly opened my eyes and the sight before me elevated my shock. A grey marble ceiling lingered about ten feet above me, connected to it were the columns but not as they were when I closed my eyes, they were now devoid of wondrous shape and colour and perfectly still. They weren't even the same white marble as when I first came to the temple. They were grey. Not light grey. Not dark grey. Grey.

I stood up and looked behind me, they grey columns evoking a desperate need to feel the coloured lights again but all I saw was a never ending darkness framed with grey pillars. I reasoned that it must be another direction that I had come from but every direction was completely identical. I looked up at the ceiling, hoping it may slope upwards, revealing the direction I had come from but it appeared to slope downwards in every direction.

I picked a direction and started to run. I let out another laugh, trying to recapture my joy, but now that the light was gone my laughter returned sounding forced and carrying an obvious longing. I resigned to walking in silence, except for my hollow footsteps, the vibrant footprints from before also missing.

I walked until the ceiling sloped to just about two feet above my head. In front of me the slope showed no sign of shallowing so I determined I must be moving further away from where I started. I turned around, hoping to undo the claustrophobic descent of the ceiling but to my surprise the ceiling once more sloped downwards in every direction. I lost my initial route and picked another at random, running desperately toward the darkness. Every time I stopped to look around I was surrounded by downward slopes. I thought about stopping but the thought of giving up and never finding the light again was near agony to me. I walked and walked and walked until the ceiling was inches away. Nothing else had changes, not even my hope for finding the light. Finally the ceiling became so low that I had to stoop.

Once again I stopped to look around. I stared into the identical halls, arbitrarily picking a direction. The temple started to fade.

I didn't wake from the temple into my bed, instead I fell into a deep sleep filled with regular, hazy dreams, far less vivid than the columns. When I woke I remembered the temple clearly. It seemed odd that I could fall asleep if I was already dreaming but I was sure the temple could not possible have been real.

I dressed for work.