#this warrant their band members in the tag

[ivalice-tifalucis]

This is so cute lol

I'm looking forward to the rest of this show.

Also feeling so hopeless on myself I don't think I could watch this tour either :(

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 27: You'll Be In My Heart

Word Count: 729/Rating: M/Pairing: None/CW: canon-compliant, Eddie's funeral, dead dove!!!/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, Jeff's POV, Metallica, Corroded Coffin, funeral, death

Divider credit to @silkholland

Life, it seems, will fade away Drifting further every day

Today was the second time Jeff had stood in as Corroded Coffin’s frontman.

The first time was two years ago. Eddie had gotten laryngitis right before a gig and asked Jeff to take over rather than cancel the show altogether.

“You know all the chords and the lyrics,” he’d croaked into the phone. Jeff could hear the smile in his voice. “Go out there and kick ass.”

With abundant trepidation, Jeff took center stage that night, his nerves easing and confidence growing with each note he played. The sound wasn’t as full with only one guitar, and his voice wasn’t as powerful as Eddie’s, but he was good. Good enough to warrant praise from the band’s fearless leader.

Getting lost within myself Nothing matters, no one else

“Don’t let this go to your head, now,” Eddie had teased, clapping a hand on Jeff’s back, “but you made me damn proud. Not just the way you played–Grant and Gareth told me you were a total fuckin’ rockstar, by the way–but for stepping up when we needed you.”

That first time was a celebration. The second time was agony.

Jeff stood behind the microphone at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, feeling Gareth staring at him from where he sat at his drum set. Grant kept his gaze on the strings of his bass, eyes shiny with the threat of tears. If he made eye contact with either of the other two young men beside him, he’d almost certainly begin sobbing.

I have lost the will to live Simply nothing more to give There is nothing more for me Need the end to set me free

Despite having sung the Metallica cover hundreds of times, the lyrics felt foreign coming out of Jeff’s mouth. His voice was warped in his own ears the way a well-loved cassette sounds when the tape unspools.

The crowd was tiny but mighty, if not confusing. Among the expected attendees was Eddie’s Uncle Wayne, who had been the one to ask Corroded Coffin’s three remaining members to play at his nephew’s funeral. It seemed macabre to have a band with the word ‘coffin’ in its name to play such an occasion, but Wayne had insisted upon it.

“It’s what Eddie would’ve wanted,” he’d said, his whiskered jaw trembling the same way it was now.

Things not what they used to be Missing one inside of me Deathly lost, this can't be real Cannot stand this hell I feel

Dustin Henderson sat beside him, lips tucked into his mouth as he swallowed back tears. A running joke among the Hellfire Club was that Dustin hadn’t shut up since the moment he learned to talk, but he’d barely spoken a word since that godforsaken earthquake hit. 

Behind them sat the Sinclairs. Jeff couldn’t help but notice the way Lucas and Erica’s fingers intertwined, eyes stained with the harsh redness that only came from nonstop crying. The whole Wheeler family was situated next to them, along with Mike’s girlfriend from California, her buzzed hair just like Eddie’s back in junior high.

Emptiness is filling me To the point of agony Growing darkness taking dawn I was me, but now he's gone

The most surprising guests were Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley. Jeff watched a mascara-tinged tear trail down the awkward band geek’s freckled cheek, the former King of Hawkins High digging into his suit jacket and offering her a Kleenex. He hadn’t been aware that those two were friends nor that they were close enough to Eddie to attend his funeral, but he lacked the energy to question it.

No one but me can save myself, but it's too late Now I can't think, think why I should even try

A calming presence enveloped Jeff as the song neared its conclusion, bringing the same tingle of joy that he’d had when Eddie had lauded him after his first foray into lead guitarist. He wasn’t sure how he’d go on–how the band would go on–without Eddie’s guidance, but he’d solve that problem when his world hadn’t been turned on its head. His job now was simply to be the leader that Grant and Gareth needed. The leader that Eddie had taught him to be.

Yesterday seems as though it never existed Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye Goodbye

--

[noirvette]

WE NEVER EXISTED

[band smau]

[FOURTEEN]

masterlist.

prev. | next.

extra.

note: the black italics is Michael singing. The lyrics aren't in order though haha

"You guys out there don't mind if we play a cover right?" Michael calls out to the crowd. The crowd responds with loud cheers.

The guitar strum of 'Black Hole Sun' by Soundgarden starts to fall over the crowd's ears. The crowd cheers in delight at the prospect of this particular cover. From the sidelines as you watch the band; Graveyard Soldiers, your openers for the night play, you couldn't help but get into the groove of Michael's captivating voice.

"In my eyes"

Michael, last name unknown, he keeps it mysterious like that; is the band's front line singer, and electric guitarist. Last member, and from what Kyle told you was the whole reason this band (Graveyard Soldiers, not your band) nearly didn't happen.

"In disguises no one knows"

Pete Thelman, back up singer and plays the bass guitar, you and him had a fun time talking about what were the best bass guitarists of all time earlier. Second member, he was awkward, but overall a refreshing person to talk too.

"Lies the snake"

Henrietta Biggle, lead guitarist and sometimes keyboardist. She kept to herself mainly, but loved to talk to about music with you and Nichole. First member, she started this band to raise money to help find her missing brother. You remember the day he went missing, your band even helped pitch in with money before.

"Boiling heat.. summer stench"

Firkle Smith, drummer; absolute menace. He was scary, intimidating in a way you'd never thought was possible. He was nice, polite when needing to be but you know what they say about how the eyes are windows to the soul... He was the third member to join.

"Call my name"

From the corner of your eye you can spot Kyle walking over towards you, "They're good yeah?" He tilts his head towards the Graveyard Soldiers.

"Yeah! I'm really loving their style, I've heard their eps and now that they got an album, I'm excited to listen to more of their stuff." You gush.

"And I'll hear you scream again."

Kyle hums and you see his face become more serious, "Stan told me that Cartman's worming his way into causing havoc for you, that true Y/n?"

"Won't you come?"

Sighing, you look away from him and back towards the stage, "I really don't know. Cartman's never really interacted with me too much before, now he's tagging me in an update about his podcast? He even called me like four days ago. I'm sure it was a misclick, considering I say his name pop up for maybe three seconds before it disappeared."

"Cold and damp"

"God I hate him so much. You'd think he'd leave us alone, but he uses our band as a way to gather more fame for himself. Miserable bastard."

"For honest men"

You've never really seen Kyle badmouth anyone, sure for Cartman it's warranted and you've heard of the weird friendship they used to have, before it fell apart suddenly in high school. However it's still a bit surprising to you, seeing as Kyle makes it a point to be amicable towards everyone, even if he's not the biggest fan of them.

"In my youth, I pray to keep"

"It's fine, Kyle. He's a dickhead sure and he's the world's biggest attention seeker but that's all he really is. An attention seeker. No matter what he's going to do tonight, I'm not letting his bad mood ruin one of our best nights."

Kyle sets his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, "If he continuously causes trouble for you, let me know. You've helped me out a lot Y/n, let me return the favor. Besides, beating up Cartman is an easy task, it's refreshing seeing him get knocked down a peg."

"No one sings like you anymore...

Black hole sun"

Kyle removes his hand from your shoulder and you can still feel the warmth of his hand. "Thanks Ky, I doubt I'll need you to go extreme like that but if he becomes an even bigger thorn in my side, you'll be the first to know."

"And wash away the rain"

A bemused smirk dawns Kyle's face, "First? To know? Over Nichole?"

You chuckle, "Okayyy.. so maybe not the exact first, but it's the thought that counts? Right?"

"Won't you come?"

"Yeah, maybe when you're not lying.. miss L/n," Kyle teases,.

Your face holds one of mock annoyance as Kyle teases you and as Graveyard Soldiers do the instrumental part of the song you and Kyle just stand there, looking at each other.

"Hang my head... drown my fear... till you all just disappear"

"They're ending soon, make sure to do your last tune in." Kyle softly says.

"Won't you come"

"Got it captain!" You head further in towards the back to quick test your guitars, leaving Kyle to himself.

"And wash away the rain?"

Kyle turns to the band performing as Michael repeats the last lines of the post chorus.

You had decided to not bother checking twitter nor Cartman's podcast episode during the set change, the whole band decided against it, not for a lack of curiosity, but considering set changes were so hectic. You were curious, the nausea feeling of not knowing the answer to any form of a question of "why" eating at you.

You weren't even sure if Cartman had gone live, you doubted it, the crowd was just having a fun time talking to each other from what you saw when you peeked around the curtains earlier. Some people were on there phones but you doubt it was for Cartman.

In all honesty, you didn't need the stress of Cartman in your mind. What you needed was to give South Park the best god damn show you've ever done. You've grown a lot since your last big performance here, hell the whole band has grown.

So instead of giving Cartman another thought, you focused your mind on the set change.

Set changes were annoying, it's why Clyde actually hated having opening bands or opening for other bands like you have done in the past. Of course, opening bands were good in your eyes, it paved the way to allowing the crowd to experience new bands or genres.

"Dude, where did you put my drumsticks?" Clyde asked one of the stage workers in passing.

"Clyde. They're on your seat on stage." The worker replied, you could hear the disbelief in their tone. You couldn't help but feel bad for them.

With that, the worker left and Clyde was standing there like an idiot, but he was your guys' idiot and you had to let him do his own thing.

However, Clyde had a point to complain, the backstage workers going insane as they try and get everything put together properly did take a toll on you even. The quick instrument check before they were put up on the stage by the stage crew. Lights crew making sure they'd have no problem.

You could see Craig was munching on some crackers, having the time of his life knowing all he had to do was go on stage and take pictures of the band and the crowd and then call it a night.

Beside him, Nichole was going insane on making sure the stage looked absolutely perfect even though it'd be too late to change anything right now.

"Y/n! You don't think the stage is ugly right? I've been staring at this one sheer cloth placement that Craig took a pic for me, bless him, anyhow for like twenty minutes. It just looks off to me." Nichole rushed over to you, a picture on her phone that Craig took.

You look down at the picture, "Nicky.. the cloth is fine, besides Craig took the photo at angle look," You gently grabbed her phone and tilted it to the right, that way the picture was centered.

"Oh thank you, I was nervous that it was off center this entire time, I was about to jump on stage to fix it. Good thing I didn't it was just Craig's poor photography skills."

Craig looked at the two of you with a pointed look of "What the fuck" written all over his face; "You know, how about you guys find a NEW photographer then."

"Nooooo! Craig I'm sorryyyyyy." Nichole drawled. And the two started going back and forth.

Kyle looking lost as he ran out of things to do but you could see stress and worry marks all over his face as he ran through every scenario in which the band suddenly had the worst experience performing. Stan not caring about anything, he was really just taking in everything while he was doing last minute vocal warm ups.

You hadn't bothered to say anything to Kyle as he was trying to do something; not because you didn't want to but because you're not even sure Kyle would hear you. Whenever he got into this stressed manager mode (or as Clyde would call it; normal Kyle Broflovski), he tended to tune people out.

Tweek was playing with Craig's camera, or.. a spare. You doubt Craig would ever let Tweek handle his camera. There were three things Craig loved in the world; Tweek, his guinea pigs, and his camera.. but no matter how much Craig loved Tweek that camera did cost a whole lot.. and it was Craig's profession.

The lights were dimming out.. which meant go time. Everyone else paused and got into show business mode. You shook the nerves out of your body. No matter how many performances you did, you doubt that you'd ever go on stage without some sort of performance anxiety.

"Good luck guys! Have fun out there!" You hear Kyle call out as you all start to head out onto stage.

"You too!" Clyde responds before smacking his forehead with his hand.

From the podcast studio, Cartman and Heidi go live.

TAGLIST: @captivq @kimiesstuff @bwljules @the-cooler-kira @1one1person1 @kenny-the-ken @neenieweenie @n0tangeliccc @frogindisguise @revzxn @mirophobic @gonefiishiing @musiclovebot @bootsieboo @bonez4brainz @s0l4riss @1996kj @sweetadonisbutbetter @scinclaitnoir @okarigold

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Twenty Questions For Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @st-eve-barnes (ily)

1. how many works do you have on AO3 tumblr?

i am fairly new to a03, so my only fic on there currently is 'a fine line'. all of the rest of my works are here, on tumblr. so i'm going to just going to change a03 to tumblr for the sake of this little quiz.

2. what's your total AO3 tumblr word count?

approximately 115.2k, there are more because i have removed things from my masterlist that you can still find out there but i'm re-writing those currently for other characters.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

currently only writing for HOTD. previously, i have written for marvel, stranger things, the walking dead, and my very first fics were about members of bands that i loved.

4. top five fics by kudos:

age of consent (eddie munson) || a fine line (hotd) || casual (eddie munson) || i wanna hold your hand (bucky barnes) || dinner & diatribes (hotd)

5. do you respond to comments?

i try my absolute best to! comments fuel me in a way that i don't think anyone understands.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

it isn't anything that i have published but after 'a fine line' (which is also pretty angsty) i'm going to roll out a new series called 'leave it untold' which will have the angstiest ending i've ever written.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of my fics have a happy ending.

8. do you get hate on fics?

i have only ever received two hate comments. one was warranted. the other called my oc a 'fat cow'.

9. do you write smut?

it's hard for me to NOT write smut.

10. craziest crossover?

i'm not a huge fan of crossovers.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of and hope it never happens. i work really fucking hard on these fics, like my world revolves around these stories. it's all i ever think about.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

i have not!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, but i'd be happy to collaborate. or at least try!

14. all time favorite ship?

me and aegon ii targaryen.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm terrified of not finishing 'a fine line'. i'm going to, but it's not complete and i'm just scared that i'm going to let everyone down. fun fact about that story is that it started as a steve x reader x bucky (marvel) fic. someone liked the first chapter so much that they messaged me and asked me how i envisioned it ending. i told them the entire plot. so someone out there knows how it ends.

16. what are your writing strengths?

scene building (in my personal opinion)

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

transitioning between scenes

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i am bad enough at english, i don't think i personally could pull it off. but if there was a fic out there that i liked and it happened to have dialogue in another language, i wouldn't be opposed to reading it.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

emo bands of 2006.

20. favorite fic you've written?

at this point in time i'm going to say 'age of consent' because it's a finished series. it gained me a lot of new friends and followers. but as far as how passionate i am about a fic... it's 'a fine line' hands down. the way that fic has taken hold in my brain. it's so personal to me, too. i started writing it in a time where i was so uncertain of myself and what i wanted. and what i have planned for it is really good, i think.

no pressure tags: @madame-fear, @lovelykhaleesiii, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @sapphire-writes <3

[turbodrawn]

Death Warrant (Copia x Polyghouls, with Copia x Aether focus)

Summary: Copia and the ghouls are dreading what is to come following the aftermath of the 2023 Grammys loss, operating on the thought that winning it would be his only chance to persuade the Ministry to spare him the fate that befell his brothers, and now they must deal with the harsh reality of it all.

Tags: Rated M. Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy ending, Copia/Polyghouls, Copia/Aether. ~21k words

TW: Dissociation, Suicidal ideation/thoughts (almost suicide attempt [?], )

Find it on AO3 here

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

Preamble: Admittedly, I started writing this the day Ghost lost the 2023 Grammys, but evidently, I am an extremely slow writer. So disregard lore/events that have happened since the Grammys when going into this fic.

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

Even though the venue was only packed half-full, it still managed to stimulate Aether’s senses far past a comfortable limit. Tensions ran high within the crowd, nerves and excitement flowing in waves that his quintessence powers clung to almost greedily, refusing to drown out any amount of input, background or otherwise. The ghoul would have tried to flush his system of the absorbed emotions- maybe even block them off from the start- but his efforts would’ve been completely useless, like trying to wash away grease with nothing but water. 

Safe to say, he was tired. No, scratch that, exhausted. But he needed to be there. They all needed to be there. If not for the band, then for Copia, the latter was always a higher priority in his mind. As the quintessence ghoul’s thoughts turned to Copia he found his gaze doing the same, drifting over to focus on the man as he sat to the side of Aether. 

If you were to judge by his face alone, Copia was calm, cool, and collected, the only sign of stress manifesting through pursed lips and shifting eyes. However, the facade fell away the minute his body language was considered. His fingers rubbed relentlessly against each other and the palm of his right hand while his left lay in his lap, balled tightly into a fist. It didn’t take a ghoul’s heightened sense to recognize that he was nervous. Beyond nervous, really. His well-muscled leg bouncing violently up and down was a telltale enough of his nervous energy. Now, if you were to factor in a ghoul’s senses, it was borderline impossible to ignore. Even over the crowd and announcements, Aether didn’t so much as have to strain his ears to hear the man’s heartbeat that hammered inside his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs with a relentless thump-thumping beat.  

The drone of the ceremony continued in the background, unregistered beyond an incoherent din by Aether’s brain in favor of his attention and thoughts remaining heavily on Copia. Truthfully, his attention to the actual ceremony had been overall absent since they had entered the venue, though he’d never say it out loud, lest he be met with an unending lecture from some clergy member and the band’s public image. But the prospect of awards outside of their own meant little to him- to any of the other ghouls for that matter. It was a superfluous human ritual and, while he liked to partake in observing similar circumstances from time to time (even joining them on occasion), the Grammys were a “bit much”, as Cumulus had tried to put it nicely. Copia’s well-being was of far greater importance to him anyways. 

He continued to monitor the changes in the man’s vitals and mannerisms as the show went on, albeit in a semi-secretive fashion, his steel-gray eyes focused on him from behind the vents on the sides of his mask’s goggles. The last thing that he needed to happen was for Copia to notice, becoming antsier than he already was now that a pair of eyes were locked onto him as a result. Or worse, attempt to uphold the illusion that he was doing “a-ok” (his words) and ultimately push himself to the point of self-implosion, all for the sake of not becoming an undue burden on any of his ghouls because he could “handle it”.

In his earlier days as frontman of the Ghost Project, Copia had been a walking ball of nerves, his anxieties beyond palpable the moment your eyes laid on him. He had been so easy to send into a spiral of distress that even a single step taken that was not in accordance with his overall plan could send him careening into a jittery fit. He had been (and frankly, still was) so desperate to prove himself- to do things right - and anything outside of his carefully concocted scheme was bound to result in disaster- at least in his mind, it would. 

There had been days when those around him had to treat him as though he were an overwound mechanical watch, ready to break into pieces the second things went wrong, that is, if they didn’t wish to make his disposition worse. It would be an outright lie to claim there was never a ghoul or member of the Ministry that took advantage of this, setting him off for their own amusement. This nature of his had translated into the mundane, every-day as well, with his constant overwrought state becoming a unique obstacle that those who wished to be close to him were forced to figure out how to work around. Aether couldn’t begin to recall how many times he had heard one of the ghouls startled him to the point of letting out a short scream, dropping whatever he held in his arms. Many a coffee mug had been tragically lost to this, the ceramic mugs finally being traded in for a far less fragile metal tumbler once the graveyard of ceramic shards grew too full. 

Though, even with this, he had managed fine, very well even, with him succeeding to a notable extent as the years went on and his confidence growing steadily as a result. By the time of his ascension, it seemed as though he had become fairly apt at managing his stress, and gone were the days of the “overly twitchy and borderline-neurotic Cardinal” that was miraculously successful at his job. However, with the title of Papa came a slew of new problems and worries. And while he had grown to be able to handle more than anyone had thought he could years prior, they had only continued to metastasize and grow, the digging tendrils of doubt, anxieties, and pure dread burrowing between his cells and ingraining themselves into his very DNA. Somehow it had managed to make him feel worse than he had when he first took over the Ghost Project- more insecure, more worried, more unfit for the job- but that was something he would have never admitted, because if he did, then Papa Nihil and an unthinkable amount of the Clergy would have been right. 

Then Sister Imperator would be disappointed.

But Aether had known of these newfound anxieties that plagued him, and by extension, the other seven ghouls had known it (or at least known a vague notion of this) too, and for some time now. His quintessence made it near impossible for such aggressively overwhelming feelings as Copia’s- albeit stripped down to their most basic of physical sensations- to go unnoticed. For that, while he felt a tad bit guilty for the intrusion on the privacy of one’s own brain that his Papa likely took for granted, he was grateful, especially now. 

Copia, as of recently, had become well-versed, skilled even, at hiding what he truly felt, taking to removing himself or putting on a straight face when such things became too much from time to time. It had gotten to the point that most people would assume he was doing well even- and to an extent, he was. He was relatively successful, he had his ghouls, and he had his little games and tricycles. He had his happy moments. 

He could manage most of the negative and the bad- at least in small increments- but as of recently, its hold on him had only grown infinitely worse, making the charade of fine-ness infinitely more complicated. Those tendrils that plagued him from what felt like the start, dug ever deeper, disrupting any semblance of stability that he still had, leaving him hanging on by a thread. 

Observing this over the years, no matter how many times he had been reassured that Copia had been fine, created a similar sense of dread deep within the quintessence ghoul’s gut. He was worried for him, for so many reasons, he and his fellow ghouls were worried sick for him, especially with the fate of the other Papas threatening to befall him as well.

Aether’s train of thought had only become increasingly lost as he continued to watch Copia from the corner of his eye. The sights and sounds around him all but melted away into a soup of unregistered stimuli as he followed the white rabbit that was his Papa’s well-being down the metaphorical rabbit hole of his mind. The distant sound of Copia’s heartbeat was the only thing he could still hear with crystal-clear clarity, acting only to lull him down further. 

Remaining in such a limbo of background noise sounded almost pleasant, even if it was on such a subject. If he didn’t leave there, there would be no conclusion to those thoughts, no end that he would have to come to terms with and process. They would all remain frozen in their semi-hypothetical state, not quite the best, but far better than the possibility of what they all dreaded. And frankly, if it weren’t for the seemingly humanly-impossible jump in Copia’s rapid heart rate that now jackhammered against Aether’s eardrums, he would have remained there, missing the announcer’s transition to the category they had been entered in.

His upper body having gone rigid at the announcement, Copia shoved his now interlaced hands between his thighs and squeezed them together tightly. His leg still bounced with nervous energy, the movement now constrained to below the knee as he stared wide-eyed up at the announcer on stage. Aether leaned forward in his seat slightly, looking past Copia and catching the eyes of the fire ghoul on his left. He gave a quick twitch of his head in the direction of the man between them, to which Dewdrop acknowledged with a short rumble, the pitch too low for human ears to register. 

Ghouls never really needed words to “speak”, often relying on different-pitched noises and body language to communicate very basic concepts to each other. In the case of a complex topic, they then would utilize either their native infernal language or a human tongue. Though, if a group of ghouls spent time around one another in high enough frequency, over time, these short forms of communication could be used to convey said complexities as well. Considering this, as well as the extensive amount of time their collective pack had spent together, it was safe to say the two ghouls needed to say little more than they already had to understand what was being conveyed: keep an eye on Papa .   

While, as of now, preserving Copia’s well-being was within their job description, this came from a place of sincere concern above all else. His safety and health meant more to the ghouls than just a charge they were to protect and perform with- no matter what Sister Imperator had commanded. 

From the beginning, Sister Imperator had made it clear that the seven (now eight) ghouls were to only concern themselves with their contract-given duties as assigned by the Ministry, which ultimately boiled down to “protect and serve”. They were never to involve themselves deeper than a worker would their boss at a somewhat tolerable job, especially if it was concerning  Nihil, her, or Copia- that had been made abundantly clear since each of their summonings or transfers. Imperator had laid out a promise, the threat of banishment or worse if they stuck so much as a clawed toe out of line, and she had seemed eager to keep it. But, the youngest Emeritus had thrown the rule to the wind. He treated his ghouls more like friends- family , really- opening himself up to his ghouls like the bleeding heart he was, asking for nothing but acceptance and love in return. 

Maybe it had been the success that the Ghost Project had incurred due to the chemistry between Copia and his ghouls on stage, or maybe Sister Imperator had a soft spot for her pet project of a son, but the relationship between the ghouls and him was allowed to flourish despite her threats.

As a seemingly direct result of her leniency, Aether could confidently state that the eight of them considered their Papa one of the pack (in the somewhat culture-shock-inducing way a human could be), with even some of the most hesitant or stubborn of the group would agree. He himself had fallen into the former category upon first being assigned to who was Cardinal Copia and his rituals at the time, though this remained a tidbit about himself that he kept close to his chest as he was hesitant to admit it, even to himself. The quintessence ghoul prided himself in his affable nature, especially towards strangers (until given reason otherwise), but he hadn’t afforded Copia the same treatment in the beginning. He, having seen firsthand what happens to a Papa when the Ministry no longer wishes to have them as the face of the Ghost Project, was terrified of becoming attached. 

Aether was still plagued by the thick, insidious residue left in his brain by the day Terzo had been dragged off stage and the subsequent day months later when he had met his demise. The memory of those days existed in his mind like a demented paradox, not quite there but oh so painfully vivid. The events were a blur, a jumbled slideshow of grainy snapshots, the figures captured barely discernible. But the physical sensations? They cut through the haze like a hot knife through butter. And frankly, if you were to ask him to recall those moments in his life, all he’d be able to describe would be the hellfire-like pain that had erupted in his gut and spread to his chest, voraciously consuming him from the inside out, leaving him a charred and empty husk.

It was a pain he found himself barely able to withstand, and the thought of exposing himself to it again had terrified him to his core. But he found himself inexplicably drawn to the Cardinal. Maybe it was his charming awkwardness or his genuine care for things that were so often overlooked in life that had enchanted him, either way, Aether found him impossible to ignore. 

At first, the start of their relationship had been rocky, with a man so desperate to be liked, to be loved, reaching for a being that was desperate to love but petrified by the potential for loss and pain again. It had been a circumstance of an immovable force meeting an unstoppable object, but somehow, the man was able to get through. 

Maybe it had been that desperate need to love again that ultimately won, or that Copia had lulled him into such a sense of ease that he couldn’t bear to shut himself off from the Cardinal any longer, but Aether found himself opening again. Baring himself to someone in his life that wasn’t born of hell and infernal blood and by that, a far greater risk of getting hurt in the end because humans were so fragile after all. This was even more so true when the human wore the target on their back which was the frontman title of the Ghost Project. 

Truly, it hadn’t taken long for him to fall rapidly into what he’d describe as love, even if his heart felt rusty and out of practice. Sure, it had been kept warm and accustomed to infernal affections thanks to the few ghouls who understood how he felt- both Mountain and Dewdrop being present for Terzo's slow demise as he had been- but this was different. It was the shaky start of newborn love, like a foal standing on its legs for the first time, gathering its strength to walk, and then to run. His heart was unfamiliar with the routine of this new song and dance of ardor, one that would fill but not replace the old one, but it took to the challenge like a fish to water, relieved to return to a habitat in which it thrived.

This only opened him up to more love in the end. As he finally surrendered himself to Copia, new venues stood agape for the affections that his new pack had begun to brew. It hadn’t taken long for them all- ghouls and man alike- to build a home on each other’s hearts, with even Dewdrop succumbing to it in the end, despite his furious insistence that he would never open himself up again.

It was because of this bond forged throughout the years in blood, sweat, and tears, the ghouls knew how much the award meant to their Papa, how much of his self-worth in his eyes and both Sister’s and Nihil’s eyes, rode on the back of the award. However, it paled in comparison to what both Copia and the ghouls feared was yet to come in lieu of the ceremony’s results. It was an ice-cold dread that hung in the back of their minds, breathing down the nape of their necks, counting down the minutes and days to an unknown end. It was the fear for his future fate- something Aether had frequently shoved into the recesses of his mind because if he were to dwell on it- and so close to the deciding moment-he’d likely lose his shit.

The announcer, with envelope in hand, cleared his throat. He had tried to muffle the noise, turning his head away from the mic, but it had little success. The jarring noise bled from the speakers and reverberated harshly against the venue’s walls, grating on the ghouls’ already frayed nerves. Each of them recoiled at the auditory offense, a low growl bubbling up in the back of their throat or a thin hiss slipping from between their teeth.

The announcer turned back to the microphone, beginning to break the seal on the envelope.

“And the winner for the best metal performance is-” 

In this final moment, Aether turned his metallic eyes to the stage, his direct attention perhaps being the final thing that could, in some way, somehow, tip the universe’s scale in their favor. If ghouls were the type of creatures to pray, Aether would have prayed a thousand- even a million- times if it meant that his Papa would finally get what he greatly deserved and it could secure his safety. 

But ghouls weren’t.

And Copia wouldn’t.

He hadn’t listened past the first syllable of the name that was shouted into the microphone with a cheeriness that came as sharp lacerations to Aether’s infernal soul. He hadn’t cared to listen. It wasn’t theirs and that’s all that mattered. They’d lost. The only thing that drowned out the cacophony of congratulatory applause that had followed was the sharp, high-pitch ringing that now took place in his ears, deafening the ghoul to most sounds around him. 

Snapping his head with such haste that Aether swore he felt a handful of vertebrae crack, he threw all pretense of appearing as if he wasn’t staring to the wind and examined Copia through the dark lenses of his mask. An intense and harrowing worry bubbled inside him as he held his breath and waited for his reaction. 

Sobbing, wailing, cursing, pleading, praying- hell, maybe even a meltdown- the ghoul tried to prepare himself for the worst response he could imagine, though, for all reactions Aether thought of, he found them all to be fair in his book.

The ringing in his ears and the subsequent cacophony of claps from hundreds of guests began to fade into a dull uproar, the sounds taking their place in the back of his mind as he continued to stare, a haunted expression worn under his mask. The stiff forms of the other ghouls leaned forward in their seats, their black, bug-like lenses focused intently on the Antipope between them, joining in at staring expectantly at their Papa as they waited for a reaction. 

Copia’s eyes were still glued to the stage but there was a particularly vacant and dull quality to his gaze, his face void of expression save for a small smile. His hands rose robotically, joining the many others in congratulatory applause, albeit soft and somewhat discordant in its rhythm. 

Aether watched on in confusion, his brows knitting together from under his mask as he observed him. Something was off with him. What had been the constant feedback of his Copia’s anxiety had disappeared, leaving his quintessence empty of his input. Seconds passed with nothing taking its place, then what felt like minutes, still resulting in nothing. The ghoul had expected him to be distraught, overcome with emotions to the point that it would become near impossible to contain them, perhaps even needing to be consoled or corralled in the process. But this? This? It was something entirely different from what Aether had expected. Instead of the pain and dread and whatever else negative emotion that the quintessence ghoul had damn near planned and prepared for, all that emanated from the man next to him was a dull haze, thick like soup and impossible to wade through. It was something akin to an oppressing fog that obscured anything beyond the tip of your nose, effectively hiding any possible traces of emotion for Aether to chase. 

He couldn’t tell if this outcome was better or worse.

From beyond Copia, Sunshine, and Swiss’ heads now sat on a swivel. Ever the observant ones, their attention had been drawn away from their Papa by the bulky, black cameras panning over the crowd, it and its respective spotlight ultimately settling on their rigid forms. Aether, taking notice of the two ghouls’ diverging concentration, followed the direction of their line of sight. To his nauseating chagrin, he saw their faces- more so masks, save for Copia- displayed on one of the many large LED screens posted to the sides of the stage, replacing one of the many congratulatory images of the winner in horrific splendor. 

Silently cursing the camera crew and everyone else in the venue, Aether tore his attention away from the screens and returned it to Copia once again, finding that the smile that had been the only break between his otherwise empty expression had fallen. His painted face had taken on an intense look of exhaustion now, the lines in his face that had become ever prominent in the past months now slack. The overhead light that shone down on them like a malevolent searchlight overemphasized the shapes of his face, abruptly transforming its structure to that of one that looked far more drawn and hollow. The painted shapes on his skin only worked to exaggerate this even further, the curves of his cheeks and depths of eye sockets deepening significantly. Color had drained from the few areas of his exposed skin, leaving him waxy and pale. He took on a lifeless appearance as his body slumped back into his chair. 

He looked almost like a corpse, or maybe even a ghost , Aether thought, laughing to himself mirthlessly. This all felt like some cruel comedy routine and they were the main act, made to flounder in distress and agony for the rest of the venue to gawp and laugh at. 

It hurt to see him like this. It hurt so fucking much. That hellfire-like burn inside his chest, the one he had become so intimately acquainted with that night Terzo had been ripped from the stage and his subsequent execution months later, began to make its return, the flames licking at his ribs and caressing his heart and lungs with violent enthusiasm. It might as well have been heartburn sent from the ninth circle of hell and in no way was any amount of antacids going to help.

At a loss for ways to help either himself or his Papa, Aether placed a cautious hand on Copia’s thigh, his clawed thumb rubbing back and forth lightly on the outside of his leg. It helped as much as he thought it would- which is to say not at all. Copia’s mismatched eyes still remained glazed over and distant, his limbs laying limp and figure still. The only true movement he made was the near imperceivable rise and fall of his chest as he took in the shallowest of breaths, almost as if the air in the room was a finite resource and he was desperate to conserve it. 

Despite the obvious ineffectiveness of the quintessence ghoul’s comforts, Dewdrop joined him in his efforts, shifting as far as his seat’s armrest would allow him, and leaning into Copia’s side. With the somewhat little body weight he had, he tried to provide Copia with a warm and comforting pressure that he knew the man had come to appreciate in times of stress. 

The three of them stayed like that- with the six other ghouls remaining fixated on their Papa or their surroundings- for the remainder of the ceremony. Copia only finally stirred from his frozen position, rising like a member of the living dead, well after the seated crowd began to leave. He stood up from his chair in a way that made it seem like the mere action alone took all the effort he could ever muster and began to trudge through the rows of seats and towards the exit, his ghouls flanking silently behind him.

————

 The bright and excitable background that lay beyond the ceremony venue felt as if it were mocking them the minute they stepped outside. Each laugh, each smile, it all had felt like an offense, taking its toll on each of them as they began their march back to the limo that waited to take them home. Whether it was obvious or not, there was a thrum of shot nerves amongst them all, palpable in the very air around them. 

Cirrus, trying to be the solid rock for the pack that she often was, gave little indication of stress- at least, to the untrained eye that is. Those who truly knew her would take one look at how her blunt, nail-polish-painted claws picked at one another and (if she were partly unmasked) the way her fangs worried at her bottom lip would say otherwise. And, as if she were a litmus test for the pack’s level of stress, if Cirrus was unable to maintain her utter composure in the face of what lay before them, then the others would (very likely) not be faring any better.

Ghouls such as Swiss and Sunshine shifted restlessly, moving from foot to foot as the second they as a group had to stand still, waiting for some other menagerie of people to pass. The inklings of quintessence that ran through their beings as multi-ghouls were in overdrive. Not as well regulated nor understood as a solely-quintessence ghoul’s powers, their many elemental factors fed off the quintessence to create a chaotic internal storm, filling their vessels with an energy that made it nigh painful to sit still through. 

Mountain fared no better, in his own not-completely-understood-by-the-others way (save for the previous air ghoul, Zephyr, but knowing that aided the pack very little at the moment). Mountain had grown silent- which wasn’t unusual for the giant ghoul- but it was the type of silence that was cause for concern. The earth ghoul was a known observer, preferring to watch instead of speak more times than not, which meant, even if he was paying attention to something other than what was at hand, he was focused. Noticing. But not now. As of now, he had retreated somewhere in his mind as he did on occasion- a place he couldn’t begin to explain, only able to offer a mild “ I dunno ” upon question- completely absent from this world. 

It was reminiscent of how Copia was as of now, Aether had come to think, but the earth ghoul was too far gone to be of any help at the moment.

Rain and Cumulus, on the other hand, fidgeted relentlessly with their uniforms. The smaller air ghoulette picked at the purposeful imperfections of her jacket and chewed at the inside of her lip, taking little care for the blood she had begun to taste. This was while Rain, hands held close to his chest, spun the ring he wore on one hand back and forth on repeat.  

The ghouls no longer troubled themselves with keeping the illusion of the hellish invariable collective. Truthfully, it had come to the point that none of them could bring themselves to give a shit about said rule, given the circumstances.

Aether, in an attempt to abate his own stress, surveyed each member of his pack, trying to gauge their state of composure, trying to assess their need for aid- though, he was likely in no position to provide it. 

Was it his job? No. It had never been his job to keep the peace and manage the emotions of everyone around him. If anything, he had been told to “butt out of it” on more than one occasion, but, at times like these where dysregulation was high, he felt obligated to. Blame it on his element or on his inherent need to be needed, it just was the only way he could begin to feasibly fix this mess- or at the very least, make himself feel better, if only a fraction.

Making his way through the other six ghouls and finding that, while they all seemed to cling to composure with a weakened and slipping grip, they would remain “okay” for now, Aether turned his focus to the last ghoul, the one that concerned him the most when it came to dealing with stress. Dewdrop. 

If the telltale creaking of his unyielding fangs clenched hard against one another and the tightly balled state of his fists was to be any indication of the small ghoul’s state of agitation, he was on the precipice of an explosion. 

Despite his presence becoming nigh synonymous with stoicness (save for the exaggerations of his frustrations on stage), the water-ghoul-turned-fire-ghoul was fragile. It had taken him months of effort to find a semblance of control and stability and years to come close to being able to maintain it. And this had been asking for patience from his pack mates, new and old, all the while. So much change and so much tragedy packed within such a short period of time so soon after his summoning had made him volatile. That’s not to say both Mountain and Aether couldn’t relate, they both had been exposed to a similar start to their topside lives, but it was different. He was never given the chance to mourn, for both Terzo and himself. He was never given the chance to figure out who he was before his change, before his gills turned to cauterized divots and his blood turned to gasoline. 

A part of him was grateful for the transformation though, the roaring crackle and searing heat of his new element fit his fiery nature, but it burned away at parts of himself that he ached to have back. The one part he missed so frequently was the ability to automatically regulate himself. Water ghouls, so often placid in their nature, had a knack for it. Even he, with his white-water-rapid-attitude, had it. Now, now , he felt everything too strongly, too vividly, with no innate ability to stop it. He was tired of the all-consuming and ever-exhausting emotions it would cause and the overwhelming amount of effort he’d have to employ to overcome them. He had been getting better at it, though, right?

Even though that had been true, everything that day had done its damndest to push each of their limits, leaving his reserves empty. Traumas that were unique to him and those that he shared with both Mountain shared and Aether were rearing their ugly heads with no way to stop them, making it impossible to escape from a downward spiral of fury-inducing anguish that he was prone to. 

The small fire ghoul’s mind was reeling. 

  How dare they be happy. How dare they feel good when they had to fear for the well-being of their Papa. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. He didn’t want to- no- he couldn’t lose another one. It had taken him years to finally let himself become attached to Copia after the abrupt removal and death of Terzo. 

He’d finally gotten comfortable. He’d finally found himself capable of loving again- capable of being loved again- he couldn’t go through losing that a second time.

Every Papa would retire, everyone, especially the ghouls, knew that. But ever since the execution orders were set for the three retired Emeritus brothers, all in the name of allowing the next to ascend, it had been a day Copia’s ghouls dreaded, hoping beyond all hope that maybe it’d be different for him. Maybe if their Papa was good enough, maybe if they were good enough, the Ministry would spare him. The 2023 Grammys could have been Copia’s chance to prove himself, to save himself, even if it hadn’t worked for Terzo. Just maybe. 

They all knew it was unreasonable, stupid even, but hope was all they had.

Well, all they had had.

Now Satan only knew what the clergy had in store for Copia when his time came, and if Aether were to consider all that had happened since his summoning, it wouldn’t be good.  

Copia and his ghouls trudged through the crowds, a funeral procession for a living dead man with the eight ghouls sticking close around him, deterring any post-ceremony

conversations or interactions. To each of the ghouls’ surprise however, there was a singular brave- or perhaps stupid- member of the paparazzi that stepped in their way, a string of questions spilling from his mouth as the light of his camera flashed relentlessly in their faces. The nine of them froze in their tracks, mildly dumbfounded by the audacity of the man. He may have not known the extent of damage one ghoul could do to a human body, their teeth crushing bone while their claws ripped through flesh with ease, but if this taunt was to continue, he would soon know well enough. He might as well have been antagonizing eight loose tigers, their stomachs empty and blood boiling.

A growing unignorable tension spread throughout the ghouls, many of them clenching and unclenching their claws reflexively with hackles raised and low, rumbling growls building in the back of their throats. 

Aether found himself joining many of his pack mates in this involuntary display. His lips drew back in a snarl as his own unfamiliar rumble of anger reverberated in his chest, but he caught himself before he teetered off the precipice of loss of self-control. 

They needed to get to the limousine and leave now before they ended up being the topic everyone and their mother would be posting about. He had to get them to snap out of it.

The quintessence ghoul gave a series of strangled, frantic chirps, attempting to redirect the attention of his pack that stood ready to pounce. When his first series of calls fell on unhearing ears, the noises failing to shake the other ghouls of their fixation, he let out another set of chirps, the rising panic and desperation tangible within his voice. Small twitches of heads, just enough to angle an ear towards Aether, rippled through the pack, the reluctant unclenching of claws and loosening of taut muscles following slowly after. 

Just as Aether allowed himself to let out a sigh of shaky relief, he was shoved to the side, causing him to stumble. 

Evidently, his efforts hadn’t worked on all of the ghouls. 

Dewdrop, having come from the back of the pack and now pushing past Copia (who had been standing there, almost entirely unaware of the situation from inside his dissociative haze), had finally snapped. His usual composure and stoic stature had been disregarded in favor of blind, passion-fueled rage. 

Aether’s body locked in horrified anticipation. He wasn’t usually the type to freeze in times of sudden stress, quite the opposite really, he was one to spring into action, acting on instinct rather than waiting, but there was something about that day that made his limbs seize up, cementing him to where he stood. He watched in slow motion as Dew pulled down his balaclava to expose his mouth to the man- who still stood, blabbering on continuously- the lights of the venue glinting off of the ghoul’s bared fangs. A guttural growl followed by a sharp hiss left Dewdrop’s throat, sounding not unlike a cornered wild cat. It was a clear promise of bodily destruction that Aether knew the fire ghoul would not hesitate to make good on.

He wanted blood, he wanted pain. He wanted to show them, make them feel how he felt.

Brief, sharp screams littered the air from members of the crowd that had now gathered around the ghouls and Copia, having sensed even the tiniest potential for drama like sharks smelling a drop of blood in the ocean. However, even with the screams, they still watched the scene unfold with irritating curiosity, phones and cameras pointed straight at them. 

The offending man that Dew had locked in his sights was finally hit with the realization that his interaction was far from wanted- a realization he was fairly accustomed to, but these deadly ramifications were something entirely new. Dropping his camera with a yelp of terror, he fell to his knees, his hands clasped tightly together as he began to beg. Desperate, whining pleas for forgiveness came from his quivering lips in a jumbled string of words, the noise grating on each of the ghouls’ ears. When his logic that the enraged Dewdrop- a creature not of man but of hellish origins- could be reasoned with failed, he turned his pleas to Copia, screaming at him to call off his monster , then turned to the crowd, begging for their help. However, both Copia and their audience stood paralyzed, he still in his daze and the others in horrified shock.

Dewdrop closed the few steps between him and the man, his heaving body looming over him as he leered down at him through the lenses of his mask, his eyes filled with undeniable bloodlust. Another growl, this one deeper and far more guttural, began to emanate from Dew as he raised a poised claw, ready to tear his victim’s flesh from the bone.

Aether waited with bated breath, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the sound of blood spattering against the pavement and the chorus of screams that would follow. 

But it never came. 

Upon opening his eyes cautiously, Aether saw that instead of a blood-soaked Dewdrop and gore-painted ground, the smaller ghoul was now enveloped in Mountain’s arms. The enormous ghoul, even in his unpresent frame of mind, had not fallen victim to the frozen state that had befallen Aether and was able to pull Dewdrop away before he struck. The man that kneeled before them began to endlessly thank earth ghoul for his inadvertent rescue, his body shaking with the pure terror-induced adrenaline of a near-death experience, though his gratefulness went ignored.

Dewdrop squirmed in Mountain’s vice-like grip, legs kicking fruitlessly in the air as the earth ghoul lifted him off the ground, preventing him from getting any form of purchase. A harsh caterwaul erupted from his gnashing mouth, a string of expletives aimed at both Mountain and the man following quickly after- though the earth ghoul knew the ones meant for him lacked sincerity. 

 The furious cry that had come from the small ghoul shook the grip that the shocked daze held on the audience, returning them to conscious reality. 

The shrill noise wasn’t what truly shocked Aether however, it was the soft sound of unconstrained weeping that the small ghoul’s expletives metamorphosed into. 

Dew had gone limp in Mountain’s grip, his arms clinging tightly to earth ghoul’s own, not to attempt to pry them off, but with the desire to be held. His thin frame shook as tears fell from his tightly squeezed eyes; what remained of them after making their way from under his mask streaked in thin, wobbly lines around his taut, u-shaped mouth, contorted by his crying.

While Aether was accustomed to the smaller ghoul’s anger-filled outbursts (though, the public variety was far rarer), there was only a handful of times he had shown true vulnerability like this, and that had been in private . The number of times that had happened in public was a far smaller amount, one that he was confident he could count on a single hand. None had been as blatant as this, however. 

Aether felt the hot sting of tears pricking at the corners of his own eyes, his grief- which had been distracted in the brief moments where Dewdrop stood ready to strike- came rushing over him again, somehow heavier than the first time. 

Leaving the Grammys venue would make it official. Permanent . Like signing a death warrant, condemning those who the document spoke of to the slaughter. 

Suddenly going off the deep end like Dew almost had didn’t sound like such a bad idea, Aether had thought. 

Shoving this notion down and setting his jaw hard, desperate to subdue the new tremble of his chin, he caught the attention of Cirrus, their lense-shielded eyes locking. The air ghoulette that so often held herself with an air of ferocity and liveliness had taken on a wilted look, like a cut flower left in a vase a bit too long, most of its vibrancy having ebbed away. Despite this, Aether knew he could rely on her, especially at such a time when he feared the unavoidable shake in his voice and the loss of his already waning composure if he were to try to speak.

Taking Aether’s silent plea in stride, Cirrus let out a sharp trill, spurring the others to continue moving forward.

Mountain was the first to resume making his way to the limousine, still carrying Dewdrop in his arms (though he now held Dew bridal style, with the small ghoul curled into his chest) as he stepped past the man with his camera, who remained cowered on the ground. The rest of them followed suit, ignoring the flashing of cameras and murmuring voices around them, with one exception; Copia stood still, his eyes locked onto nothing in particular, somehow appearing deeper into his daze than he had been previously. His pallor had taken on a shade that nearly matched the deathly white of his papal paint and there was a sway to his stance that made it seem that the gentlest of breezes would send him toppling to the ground like a frail house of sticks. 

Aether, swallowing an emergent hitch of his breath at seeing him like this, fell to the rear of the group, motioning with a brief jerk of his head for the other ghouls to continue without them- to which, even though there was some resistance, they complied. He took to Copia’s side, placing a gentle but trembling hand on the small of his back, his touch feather-light as opposed to his usual firm but tender habits. He was trying his damndest not to startle him, but in the end, his effort felt near useless. 

Copia’s muscles tensed briefly under Aether’s touch as he jumped at the feeling of the ghoul’s hand against him, his head whipping unsteadily to face him so that his bleary, mismatched eyes reflected in the dark lenses of the ghoul’s mask. He uttered a weak noise of something between surprise and confusion, sounding as if he had been woken up mid-dream. 

“Come on, Papa,” Aether murmured, his face close to Copia’s ear, his voice, despite its low volume, notably wavering. “We’re headin’ back.”

“Wha- oh,” he said almost sleepily, his voice a hoarse whisper. He took a second to fully register what Aether had said, his mind lagging far behind his surroundings, and nodded his head listlessly in agreement, “ Okay .”

Encouraging Copia forward with a ginger pull from his hand that he still held on the man’s back, Aether led Copia after the others, his eyes never leaving the man for more than a handful of seconds at a time.

By the time they had reached the limo, the last two ghouls standing outside the vehicle (this being Swiss and Mountain) were lowering themselves into their seats. Though, upon seeing Aether and Copia approaching out of the corner of his eye, Mountain stepped out of the backseat silently, making room for them to enter. Aether gave a brief, strained chuff of appreciation and guided Copia through the limousine door as he did, following him in quickly after.  

The scene he was met with upon sliding into his seat was one that only cemented the presence of the nauseating bile that had built steadily in his stomach. There was a suffocating stagnancy that permeated the cabin of the vehicle now that the only hope they thought they still had was gone. The weight of this realization had descended upon them all, settling deep within their chests and wrapping itself around their hearts in such a way that it felt impossible to breathe. The only true sound that managed to pervade such a blanket of otherwise near silence came from Rain. The low, yet wispy rumble that was so unique to him, emanated from within his chest as he held Dewdrop in his lap, the water ghoul’s chin resting in the crook of the other’s neck while they rocked in unison. 

He was trying to comfort him. Aether, utilizing the minute amount of quintessence he could muster to increase its effectiveness, joined Rain to form a rumbling duet. 

The sound visibly loosened the taught muscles of the limousine passengers, if only just a bit, with even Copia’s slumped and dazed form leaning into his side, as if the noise had drawn the man’s body to him. They would need all the comfort they could get at a moment like this.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Rain said, the fatigue that was felt by all present in the drag of his syllables. The water ghoul wasn’t known for being the most optimistic out of the bunch- quite the opposite, really- but he was trying. Perhaps, just by saying “everything will be okay” it would manifest a happy ending to all of this, and things will turn out alright. Their kind weren’t the ones to deal in miracles, but it was worth a shot.

Rain stroked a thin, pallid hand back and forth against Dewdrop’s back- whether it was to soothe himself or for the fire ghoul at this point would be anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, Dew’s body shook just barely now, his tears now ceased, pointing to something having worked.  

This was how the scene within the limousine remained until they arrived at the steps of the abbey- the purr-punctuated but otherwise silent atmosphere only breaking once the vehicle came to a halt and stood idle for a moment.

 Aether and Copia remained still as the others began to stir around him, shifting towards the opening limousine door. The ghoul sucked in a breath, expanding his lungs as far as they could inflate, and steeled himself for whatever lay waiting for them outside those doors. By the time he felt prepared (as well as he ever would be), they were the only ones left inside the vehicle’s cabin. 

Letting the air trickle out from his lungs in a slow exhale, Aether placed a gentle hand on Copia’s knee, wiggling it back and forth slightly to grab his attention. It was a sad attempt at playfulness on his part, and it was made even more so with the small, forced smile Aether gave when he looked at the man beside him. 

Copia, now a bit more present, returned his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, his exhaustion glaringly prominent on his painted face. The excitable, almost childlike glint that so often found its place within his eyes was absent, a dull, death-like glaze taking its place. 

Despite how many times he had been knocked down, berated, or ridiculed in the short time (in terms of a ghoul’s existence, at least) Aether had known Copia, the ghoul had only one distant memory of a time when the man’s eyes had taken on such a look of abject defeat. That one moment- the image clouded by his own grief and turmoil- had been at the funeral procession for the three Emeritus brothers before the Cardinal. Despite the even briefer length of time Aether had known him at the time of the procession, with his affections for him still far from blossoming into what it was now, he had made a wish that day to never see Copia in that state again. Not for the reason that he didn’t want to deal with him when in such a condition- he was a people-pleasing quintessence ghoul for Satan’s sake, he lived to serve- but for the pain it caused him to see such a man hurt like that. 

All Aether wanted to do right that very moment was hold him, enveloping him within his body in its entirety, and never let go. And maybe he’d let him, at least for tonight. 

Taking Copia’s hand that lay limply in his lap in his own, Aether slid out of the limousine, his Papa in tow. They were met by the same seven, black-goggled stares that they had been upon approaching the vehicle, the air of exhaustion and concern thick amongst the pack. 

Rain still held onto Dewdrop as they stood outside the vehicle. His arms were threaded around the fire ghoul’s chest from behind with a distinctive grip, providing Dew with the compression he so often craved. This was all while the water ghoul’s head rested against Swiss’ shoulder, who was at their side. The multi-ghoul’s hand clutched at Rain’s hip, bearing a not-so-subtle tremor as he reciprocated the affection, resting his head atop the other’s. Next to them, Mountain sagged where he stood, his lengthy frame folding in on itself with the weight of that night’s events. He looked as if he were about to collapse if it weren’t for Cumulus, who had wedged herself snuggly under his arm, her own arms wrapped around his half-bent waist with a crushing grip. Their tails hung heavily together, intertwined and squeezing each other, attempting to wring out any form of comfort they could from one another. The other two ghoulettes, Cirrus and Sunshine, clung together not far away, attempting something similar. Cirrus leaned heavily into Sunny, nuzzling deeply against her body as their standing position allowed. Their hands that hung between them were clasped together, fingers interlocked with their grip near white-knuckled, while the air ghoulette clenched the multi-ghoulette’s upper arm in her other hand for good measure. 

Each ghoul held onto each other as if their pack mate would vanish if their grasp were to so much as to waiver, determined to ensure they would stay together. Even Aether found himself holding onto Copia’s gloved hand with an iron grip that was sure to make the man’s hand ache, though he made no indication of it if it did. It was all they could do, really, considering such a luxury of confidence in remaining there- alive - couldn’t be afforded for their Papa. Not to the extent they could expect for each other, at least. The ghouls would try their damnedest to change that fact, however. Aether was sure of it. 

“I don’t entirely know what I was expecting, but I thought we’d have Imperator halfway up our asses by now,” Swiss said with thinly veiled distaste, adequately expressing how the other ghouls felt about the woman as well. Though, if you were to ask some of them, a far louder, far more crass version would be needed to convey the proper message.

A handful of the ghouls took to glancing around themselves at their surroundings, finding that the multi-ghoul had made a fair observation. The front yard and subsequent entrance to the abbey were near empty. Only an odd ghoul, clergy member, or sibling passed by with no intention to stop. 

Most days, even at a somewhat-later time of night such as then (the time being 9:18 pm to be exact), more than just a handful of abbey residents would still be bustling around into the later hours of the night. Whether it be in the spirit of work or play, it wouldn’t be until well past midnight that the back-and-forth of uniformed figures would truly come to the trickle of bodies it was now. This oddly disquieting observation made the ghouls’ hairs stand on end and they had yet to factor in that they had returned from the Grammys of all things. A factor where, no matter the outcome, one would think they would have been met with a small crowd of people to explain themselves to, or at the very least, be met by the people controlling the operation in the first place.

Aether couldn’t care less, however. The less people- the less Imperator - to deal with, the better. 

Feeling the way in which Copia’s hand tightened around his own at the mention of Sister Imperator’s name, the quintessence ghoul became determined to not afford her the option to catch them. With the Copia’s hand still in his, Aether pulled forward with more force than he had intended, anxious to leave the open space of the yard and return to the protective walls of the ghouls’ wing of the abbey, yanking the man with him. Copia, still somewhat unsteady on his legs, stumbled after him, his sudden lurch forward causing both Swiss, Sunshine, and Cumulus to untangle themselves from their pack mates and lunge forward, ready to catch him. Though he managed to maintain his footing, offering quiet words of reassurance to the ghouls who jumped to his aid that he was fine, Cirrus barked an admonishing, “ Aether! ”, causing the ghoul to abruptly stop in his tracks. 

“ Shit, Papa, sorry -“ he began, the shame of being so wrapped up within his own head that he forgot about the person he was worried about in the first place rose to his cheeks, flushing them a deep, wine from under his mask.

Copia, seeming mostly, if not entirely, cognizant now, cut his apologies short. “It’s fine. I’m fine, really,” he said, taking his hand out from Aether’s grasp and offering the ghoul a light pat on the back. 

He wasn’t sure if it was fine, really. There was an ache of emptiness in both his palm and chest as Copia took his hand out from his that spawned yet another thread of worry within his brain- as if there weren’t already enough to tie a rope and hang himself with . This time, it was the fear that his Papa was pulling away, shutting down, and putting on a face to save others the trouble as he’d so commonly do.

He seemed to be back to acting “normal” enough- for the situation at least- but the glazed stare of defeat still remained in Copia’s eyes and it all but disturbed Aether.

“We ne- I, uh, just really want to get inside. Been too much stimulation and people, you know?” Aether said sheepishly, the tiny swell of guilt growing in his gut. This was not for the fact that he was humiliated to admit the day had taken its toll on him (though this, with many other feelings of inadequacy, would haunt him in the near future) but for the fact that he intended to use it and his quintessence to his advantage. 

By nature, Aether was straightforward. There were few times where he didn’t say what he meant outright, and of those few times, they were reserved for times when he found it (and the persuasive powers of his element) absolutely necessary- minus the occasional, playful harassment that usually found Dewdrop or Swiss as the recipient. The self-identified necessity for his brand of manipulation never placated the sparks of guilt that he would experience for days after, however, feeling in some way that he had betrayed those he loved through his actions. 

They, for the most part, trusted each other. Each member listened to the other’s concerns and took it to heart if it was serious enough- even in the event of a previous spat or argument. So there was no real reason for him to believe that his packmates and Papa wouldn’t listen to his concerns and follow him to their quarters without much fuss, but Aether was incapable of explaining himself. Truthfully, he currently felt incapable of everything he was meant to do . He had failed to keep control of the situation as they left the Grammys, and he had failed to manage his own emotions once they arrived at the abbey, almost hurting the man whom they were all worried about in the process. He had let his entire pack down as well as Copia, and no amount of him could admit that he was continuing to fail at regulating his emotions or that he was falling back onto less than savory methods to try and placate them, ultimately failing his loved ones further. 

But they’d have to send him back to the pit before he let himself fail at keeping Copia safe from the Ministry.

“I’d have to agree with the sentiment. It’s been, eh… a long day ,” Copia said, hesitating as he tried to find the right word to describe the shit show that was not far in the past. “I’m sure we could all use some ‘R & R’.” 

He gave little time for the weary murmurs of agreement to leave the lips of his ghouls before he began to make his way toward the large doors of the abbey’s front entrance. The unsure footing and shaky gait that Copia bore minutes earlier had been traded for one of determined liveliness as he did so, looking not unlike the hundred times he strode on stage for a ritual as they performed for the masses. 

This seemingly sudden switch- one that would be of no concern for anyone that knew Copia through his public appearance as Papa but was garishly out of character for his “off-duty-self”- was not lost on the ghouls. His out-of-pocket adoption of bravado sent a ripple of unease through the infernal beasts, a series of short chitters and (albeit goggle-clad) side-eye glances essentially asking one another: ‘ you seeing this shit too?’ were exchanged between the eight. 

It only served to deepen Aether’s anxieties that the man they loved was trying to pull away. Nevertheless, the eight followed after their Papa, undeniably ready to conclude the day. Even if a sense of unease was boiling just below the surface.

Whether it was through luck, or the bizarre emptiness of the abbey’s front yard extending to that of the wing both the ghouls’ and Copia’s quarters resided, the group was mercifully granted a reprieve from receiving an audience while within the abbey’s walls. Only a single ghoul had crossed their path by the time they arrived at the entrance to the pack’s quarters, the passing individual offering merely a sidelong glance towards them.

Mountain, his tail still partially entwined with Cumulus’, fished a ring of keys from his pants pocket. The earth ghoul had been entrusted with them for he had the luxury of wearing black denim jeans as opposed to the laced pants the rest of them wore. “ Benefits of hiding behind a drum kit ”, as he had said. The others that crowded around him as he fiddled with the lock- the thing being particularly temperamental, thanks to the time Sunshine jammed a nail file and an unraveled paper clip into it, thinking she could avoid another lecture about forgetting her keys- filed in one after another once the door gave way to the common room, shedding parts of their uniforms before collapsing onto the various furniture. 

All but Aether, Copia, and Mountain himself remained outside, the two ghouls looking at the man expectantly. Mountain still held the door ajar, as if silently urging them to follow inside, Aether, on the other hand, was not as subtle. Unbuckling his mask and shoving it under his arm, Aether hooked his thumb toward the entrance, a diluted expression of anxiety on his face. “Do you want to, uh, do you want to stay the night? With us?” He tacked on the last few words hurriedly as if it wasn’t already implied that Copia would be surrounded by his ghouls if he were to say yes, whether he wanted it or not. 

Before he was able to give the quintessence ghoul an answer, scrabbling noises filled the brief pocket of silence as the six ghouls from within the common room, either lying draped over furniture or each other (save for a particular fire ghoul), abandoned their weariness- if only briefly- to perk up from where they rested to offer their pleas. 

A ragged but hopeful chorus of “ please, papa ”, “ stay ”, and “ yeah, come on, please ” came from the group, many of them echoing one another’s words as they began to rise from their seats, likely to attempt to drag Copia inside.

 It was Dewdrop who had reached the door first, having been the only one out of the six who had yet to truly sit down, unable to fully release himself from the stress of the day. Instead, he had chosen to hover a few yards from the entrance, his sectoral heterochromatic eyes of dark blue and a fiery orange boring into Copia as the three stood outside the threshold of the room with an almost unnerving intensity. The small fire ghoul stepped out from the doorway and stretched forward, grabbing onto their Papa’s hand with a startlingly firm grip. 

His voice was hoarse, his vocal cords strained from his cursing and screaming earlier that day, so when he tugged on Copia’s arm, begging him to stay, it came out in a raspy whisper.

“ Please, Papa. Please stay with us .”

 He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears again, and if the growing sheen in his eyes was anything to go by, he was. 

Aether felt his own tears welling up in his eyes, once again overcome by the gravity of it all. He just wanted this night to be over. He wanted everyone to lie down in the common room and sleep. Please just let them stay together and sleep.

A sympathetic smile developed on Copia’s painted face as he covered Dewdrop’s hands with his free one and gave him a reassuring squeeze. He looked up from the fire ghoul, his eyes shifting between the rest of them, and offered the same smile.

 “You all are too sweet to me, I don’t deserve you. I’ll come by later, I promise. I just want to get out of this outfit and clean up. You wouldn’t want my paint all over your things, would you?” He laughed at his attempt at a joke, the sound dry and discordant, a far cry from his usual- albeit sometimes meek, but nevertheless, authentic - chuckles and “ha-ha’s”. Mountain, with his mask now hanging limply from one hand and never the one to be good at hiding his thoughts, furrowed his brow in confusion at his excuse, though this went unnoticed (or perhaps, ignored) by Copia.

Though the odd change in Copia’s behavior and subsequently odder excuse for him to leave went unacknowledged as he departed from the ghouls’ wing of the abbey, the unsettling sound of his mirthless laugh echoed in the eight ghouls’ minds and sent a wave of new anxiety down their spines. Cold, electric surges built at the nape of their necks and traveled down to the tip of their tails, making their hair stand on end once again. 

Something didn’t feel right. 

They were inclined to leave well enough alone and afford him the privacy he was so often deprived of, but a nagging sense of unease made it feel nearly impossible to do so without a sense of dread growing within them. 

As the five ghouls took their places in the common room once again, both Aether, Mountain, and Dewdrop lingered at the doorway a second longer to watch Copia turn and continue down a corridor to their left before doing the same.

“Tell me if I’m wrong and it's just my anxiety acting up, but Papa’s acting really freaking weird,” Cumulus said from within Cirrus’ arms, the taller ghoulette holding her close to her chest so that she could bury her face into her cloud-like hair. 

There was a murmur of quiet agreement.

“I mean- we’ve still got time to figure something out. They're not going to do anything immediately, right? So we can all rest for tonight, at least, but with the way he’s acting, I’m not sure.”

There was another mutter of agreement, or, at least, consideration of her point, save for the mumbling from under their breath that came from Dewdrop. Something about “ I wouldn’t put it past the assholes ”, but Cumulus only heard half of it.

Sunshine, ever the optimist, perked up from where she halfway lay under Swiss, the larger multi-ghoul draping himself half on her and half on Rain. “Maybe we’ll have another chance! There’s other award shows coming up, so maybe that might change the Ministry’s mind if we win those!”

Dewdrop, who had been quietly seething the moment a hopeful outlook was mentioned- so much so that both Aether and Rain who sat next to him could feel heat radiating off of him in waves- finally exploded. 

“CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THERE ARE NO MORE CHANCES?! WE’RE FUCKED! THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO! WHY CAN’T YOU GET IT THROUGH YOUR GODDAMN HEADS?!” he screeched, rising from his seat as he did, his tail thrashing violently behind him. His fury was meant for all of them, but it found an easy target in Sunshine, her words the most recent and her buttons so easy to push, making her the freshest and most perfect of fodder.

The other seven ghouls were taken aback by their pack mate’s sudden detonation, a few of them even jumping in their seats upon the start of Dewdrop’s screaming. It had seemed as if the fire ghoul still had smoldering coals of heated emotions from earlier that day and had only needed the energy and the (what was in his mind) naive hope of the others to reignite it.

Strangled hiccups that signaled the beginning of tears came from the multi-ghoulette, not understanding what she did that made her deserve such treatment. She hated it when people screamed angrily at her. Too many times had it happened over the littlest things in her time before she joined the Ghost project, and now she found that the minute it occurred, she would find herself transported back months, hell, even years, to the unsavory moments in her life that she always tried to forget. They- even Dewdrop, who explicitly and empathetically acknowledged the fact when she told him- knew this. So why , why would he scream at her ? Especially when all she was trying to do was be hopeful in a time that felt so bleak. She was just trying to help.

As the tears began to roll down Sunny’s face, her hands flew to clasp over her mouth, attempting to stifle her hitching breath. Swiss shifted off of Rain so that he sat in front of Sunshine, blocking the fire ghoul’s line of sight and subsequent focus on his target. 

“Dude, what the fuck ?” he growled, his ears pinned flat and eerily white fangs bared, one hand reaching out to hold it protectively in front of the multi-ghoulette behind him. 

With his concentration on Sunshine now broken and his mind reeling with emotions that made his rib cage feel as if it were about to break, Dewdrop’s eyes scanned over each of his packmates erratically, desperate to find someone who understood. He needed someone who would justify what he felt. Justify his explosiveness. Justify something , but when he was met only with weary or guarded stares, he suddenly felt as if he had been backed against a wall. Superheated feelings of what he interpreted as betrayal boiled inside his gut as hot tears and snot began to drip from his eyes and nose, catching in his mustache in a gross mixture, to which he wiped- or more so scrubbed- furiously from his face with the back of his sleeve.

Aether’s voice came steady and low, trying to avoid becoming another trigger for the fire ghoul, knowing all too well that his targeted hostility wasn’t true to how he felt outside of this moment of intensity. 

“Dew, you’re having an episode. Go take some time to yourself, see if it helps, yeah?”

The fire ghoul’s body trembled where he stood, a mixture of red-hot rage and ice-cold dread overtaking every fiber of his being. 

“ Fuck you, fuck all of you. You guys don’t fucking care what happens ,” he spat halfheartedly, his words wavering with the quiver of his chin. With another particularly aggressive swipe to his nose with his sleeve and a sniff, he stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him. 

A moment of uncomfortable quiet fell on the remaining seven, with the exhalation of held breaths and the soft coos of Swiss’ voice as he helped Sunshine come down from her fit of tears the only sounds that managed to perforate the silence. However, if one were to listen closely, other sounds could be heard just faintly. Ones of stifled sobs and curses, bleeding from under Dewdrop’s door.

Leaning forward from where he sat on the couch so that his elbows rested on his knees, Aether put his face in his hands and let out a strained groan. It sounded as if he were one minor inconvenience away from utterly losing it, just one stain on his shirt or spilled drink away from tumbling over the edge. Then his resolve would break, and with it would come the tears. Ones that would ultimately leave him a blubbering mess that couldn’t seem to do anything right for his family. When Aether felt himself begin to reach that tearful precipice of no return as he began to mull over every little thing that had gone wrong that day, however, he felt a soft hand come to rest on his shoulder. While it did little besides lay against his clothed skin, its presence offered a sense of comfort he had craved since the day had started. It might have not been much- sort of like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound- but it was something.

 The quintessence ghoul refrained from looking up despite the touch, instead opting to continue to smother his face within his hands and focusing on the tightness that was now starting to release its hold- if only slightly- on his chest. His sight wasn’t necessary for him to discern who it was anyways. By the touch alone, he could tell that it was Rain. What Aether could not tell though, was the look he wore on his face as he looked down at him. His eyes- circled by dark rings of tiredness- were half-lidded and soft, watching the bigger ghoul next to him with an understanding that most anyone outside of their pack could never even dream to have. Aether felt the drag of his rings and the gentle brush of the water ghoul’s cool fingers slide up and down his shoulder blade languidly, lulling him further into a calming state. He may not have been a quintessence ghoul, but he was good .

Rain’s voice was placid as it had been when comforting Dewdrop in the limousine earlier, offering not to comfort Aether but Sunshine now, knowing that the quintessence ghoul felt it as one of his responsibilities to keep the peace but had been clearly overwhelmed with it all.

“Sorry Dew lashed out like that, it’s sorta been a while since he has… He was doing so well too…” Rain paused to take a slow breath, with his exhale equally as slow, but forceful this time, the air exiting through his nose with an audible hiss. “I think today got to him.”

Sunshine, her tears subsiding thanks to Swiss’ comforts, sniffed loudly, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with the heels of her palms. Her voice had the smallest amount of a croak to it, her throat still congested from her crying. 

“I-I know he doesn’t mean it, not after he comes out of it, a-at least,” Sunshine hiccuped. “But the yelling- he knows. He knows I can’t handle that. I just…” she trailed off as her lip began to tremble and tears once again threatened to spring to her golden eyes. “I just can’t think this was our last chance! I don’t want Papa to leave us!” 

“None of us do, Sunbeam,” Swiss said, an almost startling somberness to his demeanor as he shifted to take Sunshine into his arms. With a tiredness that could only be described as oppressive taking over his limbs, Swiss let his body drape her back and rested his chin gently in the crook of her neck. A faint, wheezy purr (one that Cumulus always pointed out was probably due to the various ways he smoked) built ever so slowly in his throat. “Like Rainy said in the limo, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”-

These were the last words that would hang in the air, hovering over the heads of each of the ghouls like a personal rain cloud as a blanket of silence descended on them once again. 

—- 

Seconds. Then minutes. Then the better part of an hour had passed. No matter how long the span of time between when they last saw Copia and now grew, there was still no sign of him. 

While many of the ghouls couldn’t begin to tell how long it had been since he had departed from the entrance to their quarters, it had been long enough for each of them to slip into their rooms and trade their disheveled uniforms for something more comfortable ( properly comfortable , not naked- as the innuendo so often alluded to). However, perhaps operating on the nonsensical belief that if Copia were to arrive at their door and there was no one to receive him, they’d miss their chance and he’d be gone for good, the ghouls took turns slinking off to their rooms. One by one they went, with one ghoul going and returning, the common room reverting back to the stagnant silence that had befallen it when their earlier conversations ceased once the ghoul returned to where they sat. Only when the next ghoul- whoever decided that they would be next to go- got up and headed for their room, would the cycle start again. 

All while there was still no sign of head nor (metaphorical) tail of their Papa as each of the ghouls took their turns to change, they still returned to the common room to wait in silence. It wasn’t until Aether returned from his room, the last one to trade out his clothes, that Mountain broke the silence. His first syllable cracked with a voice gravelly from disuse.

“D-did any of you find Papa’s reasons to leave to be a bit, I dunno-” He paused for a second, trying to find the best word to describe it, but settled on something simple when no other words would suffice. “ Weird ?” The earth ghoul shifted uncomfortably in the armchair he found himself in, the old leather creaking as he sat up from his slumped position. “I mean, s’not like he hasn’t washed up here before or borrowed clothes, though I’m sure there’s some of his lyin’ somewhere around here.”

“He might’ve wanted some time alone. He probably has a lot to think about and stuff to process,” Cirrus offered, her tendency to reserve her inner emotional turbulence to herself and herself alone, evident from her suggestion.

“But what about how he acted, like, overall ? Like I said earlier, even if he’s taking time for himself, what about that bizarre switch? First, he was all out of it and then suddenly acting all hunky-dory,” Cumulus said, still sitting with Cirrus, with her side pressed heavily into hers. She wiggled in place and made brisk, back-and-forth motions with her arms as if she were marching jovially, as though the gesture would help further get her point across.

Mountain, tilting his head as to look over his thick-rimmed glasses that sat low on his nose, pointed a lanky finger towards Cumulus briefly, as if to say “ exactly ”. 

Aether sucked in a large breath of air as if he had just been unfrozen, the noise loud enough to startle some of the ghouls. It felt like the first deep breath he had taken in ages.

“I’ll go check on him,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch with a grunt, his weary body unwilling to return to a state of motion. He had been searching for an excuse to entertain his anxieties and go after Copia, and this would likely be the only chance he’d get. If it was squandered and found himself attempting it at a different time, he’d likely find himself facing prying questions. Questions he feared would cause the others to dissuade him from following the man, claiming he was being too overbearing, and that he needed to learn to let negative emotions sit and develop for once and not to try and fix everything. He was known to overstep, despite his best intentions, after all.

  He needed a chance to rectify his failures. He just needed to fix this.

Before anyone could say otherwise, Aether made his way to the main door, borderline jogging to the exit, but made sure to grab his phone from where it lay on a nearby side table as he did. 

Just as Cirrus began to shift from her seat, leaning forward as if she were about to get up and say something, Aether swung open the door and stepped out, but not before plucking a ring of keys from the mounted wall hooks. Whose they were he didn’t really care. As long as they had the key to their shared common room, it would suffice. It wasn’t like they locked their personal rooms anyways. He closed the door behind him, the frame rattling briefly with the nervous strength Aether accidentally imposed onto the door as he shut it. However, a second later, he opened it again, ducking his head into the common room to see the six haggard and mildly confused faces looking back at him. The whole scene would have been bordering on comical if it weren’t for the given circumstances. 

“I’ll let you guys know what’s going on once I know, kay?” He said, waving his phone back and forth in an upheld hand as if the others couldn’t guess the method by which he would contact them. “An’ check up on Dew in a bit for me, please? I want to make sure he’s doing alright after cooling down- if he has by then.”

Swiss, untangling an arm from around Sunshine (whom he found himself wrapped around again), gave him a lethargic thumbs up and accompanying half-smile.

“Got it, big guy. We’ll text you.”

“Thanks.”

Closing the door once again, Aether felt a chill dance down his back, finding its way into his arms and hands, a cold, tingling pain culminating in his palms. 

Time to find Papa . 

----

His body had gone numb, his limbs and mouth acting of their own accord the minute the winner’s name left the announcer’s lips. Everything felt like a dream- or, more accurately, a nightmare. With his head swimming and mind buzzing as they left the venue and made their drive back home ( was it really home though? ), his world distorted and blurred. It was as if he were looking through a fishbowl filled with silt-emulsified water. 

His legs felt weak and muscleless like they couldn’t possibly bear his weight upon exiting the limo, but they somehow had. This feat he hadn’t thought himself capable of held his meager focus until he found himself beginning to fall, though his legs managed to stay underneath him once again. It wasn’t until he took in the faces of his ghouls as they all stood there- his attention drawn by the bark of Aether’s name- that he found an ounce of true, in-the-present consciousness within himself, just enough to recognize the look of sickening worry and fear that the creatures he loved so dearly held for him. Just enough to want- no- need to try and placate that fear and worry, albeit in his own uncanny and avoidant way. 

The numbness had persisted as he made his disingenuous promise that he would come back to the ghouls once he had changed clothes, and it continued to persist as he tried to find somewhere private he could think. 

He had tried the bone-chilling mausoleum- the wing of the abbey in cruel proximity to his room and more private than his own room, which had been an equally cruel fact- that held the preserved bodies of his brothers and father. They still looked as they had when he had last seen them in their caskets years ago, never having the wherewithal to expose himself to the sight of their forms lying dead since then. And they would continue to look the same probably long after he would be added to the display, until the expert embalming wore off, at least. 

While the numbness that filled his body and mind was able to dampen the shock that came with seeing them (save for Nihil, he saw enough of the bastard in his ghost form and on stage) in their glass coffins, it could not deaden the perpetual sensation of eyes boring into every inch of his body as he stood there in the faint candlelight. Whether the eyes belonged to his brothers- ones he would assume were glaring with distaste or disdain, thanks to the unfavorable way in which the relationship he had held with them had left off, thanks to their untimely demise, or said demise in general- Nihil, or some other inconspicuous damned souls and beasts was not something he could withstand the feeling long enough to find out. Anyways, the sight of the four deceased Papas was too direct of a confrontation of his situation, even if the topic of his mortality and the things to come was the topic of his thoughts that he so desperately sought a place peaceful enough for him to consider.

The numbing wave of dissociation had begun to lose its hold on Copia as he found himself walking down the corridor to his room, his world beginning to fall in on him ever so slowly like a collapsing bridge, its cables fraying and snapping one by one until it all came crashing down. 

He had resigned himself to accepting that the best place he could afford himself privacy was his room, despite it being the first place Sister Imperator would look for him and her ownership of the copy of the key to the singular lock on the door (a fact that she would remind him of far too often for him to recall). Though, he at least had a door this time. Maybe he could barricade it with something heavy like the sofa, but that’s assuming he’d be able to move it, and that Sister wouldn’t employ some ghoul to overpower the blockage and break through. 

Beginning to exhaust his options through the consideration of outcomes as he neared his room, his thoughts began to turn to the very topics he was trying to find somewhere to deliberate over in the first place. His mind, ever exhausted in its efforts from years of events and emotions (many largely negative) that his words could not begin to hope to convey, jumped to the bleak place that it so often sprung towards in times when everything seemed too hard and nothing he did was ever enough. An urge that had been lurking under the surface since they had left their seats at the venue, only occluded by the protective shroud that years of turmoil allowed him to employ. 

It was an option. More of an option than he’d been given any time before, and it was one that he found something deep within himself wanting to entertain- to an extent, at the very least.

---

Copia, after visiting his room and putting the essentials in order as a precaution, found himself on the lip of what was virtually the only accessible and flat roof of the abbey, the final shard of protection that his dissociative state had offered gone, and the weight of everything, absolutely everything , crashing in on him.

The nightmare that had begun when those words- those few meager words- rang through the speakers on stage had become real. And with it, his hopes, his dreams, the measly chance he had had at being seen as something more than a screw up- maybe even the chance of saving himself- died, becoming a metaphorical tomb and sealing his fate. Even if there were a few more music videos, a few more shows, a few more tours, a few more whatevers - it was over. He was done for. He had known his time was coming soon if he failed to find a way to circumvent his fate, and yet, it was no easier to accept now that it was set in stone. The Ministry would be coming for him and there was little he could do to change that.

Maybe it would have been better if he were blissfully ignorant, unaware of what awaited him at the end of the road, but how could he have been? Despite how dumb and oblivious people thought him to be, despite how dumb and oblivious he believed himself to be, it was impossible to miss. He had been doomed the minute he had accepted the position of frontman for Ghost and he had been doomed the minute he ascended from Cardinal to Papa. Perhaps- he thought to the white iris that lay within his left eye, a gloved hand coming up to wipe at the smudged makeup beneath it- he had been doomed since birth. He was a part of the Emeritus bloodline, of course. It was a status originally seen as a blessing, though now, through malignant transformation brought on by the very people the bloodline was instructed to represent, it had become a curse. One that promised a life that was not truly yours and an untimely, possibly violent, end.

Just the thought of dying at the hand of the Ministry made his blood run cold. Ice filled his veins, sending a nauseating chill through his body, one that ultimately settled itself deep within his limbs and spine, his mind’s ability to sequester himself from reality no longer able to shield him from the visceral feelings that filled his chest when he thought back the deaths that befell his brothers. 

His brothers, oh, Lucifer, his brothers. The sight of the three, laying in false serenity in their eternal glass casket home resurfaced, the scene striking him with full force now. Why did it have to end on such a sour note? Why couldn’t he have been nicer? Why couldn’t he have gotten over himself and stopped acting like a goddamn child, jealous of his siblings because they got what he had thought he wanted. Satanas, Terzo had died thinking he hated him because he couldn’t control how much he envied him. 

Dear Lord, Terzo-  

The image of the third Emeritus son’s severed head in his hands wormed its way into his mind’s eye and with it, rose the bile in his throat. The very thought of it- a memory that he had shoved down, far into the recesses of his mind as it could go- transported him back to that very moment with the macabre sensations that came with it very much intact. The sickening sensation of what was left of his brother’s cold and clotted blood pooling in his gloved hands ghosted the skin of his palms. The dark, gelatinous globs slipping through his fingers sluggishly, then landing on the unforgiving marble floor with a sickening plap . The only coherent thought that had filled his mind back then (besides the nonsensical abject horror that made his brain feel as though it were composed of T.V. static) was how deceptively heavy the human head was. 

It had been years since that photo shoot, but those thoughts had yet to fail to bring him back to that moment- the horror, the grief, the guilt- fresh as the day it happened. He could almost feel the weight of the head- all five kilograms of it- in his hands right then.

The overwhelming urge to vomit and the subsequent vertigo that came with it flooded his system, causing him to begin to retch. As he gagged, a particularly strong dry heave overtook his body, causing him to sway from where he sat, his body wanting to follow the weight of his legs that dangled over the lip of stone. His hands shot behind him, scrambling to grab the other side. A terror-inducing fraction of a second passed before his fingers finally found purchase, anchoring themselves to the stone and steadying his center of gravity. He swallowed the urge to dry heave once more.

Not yet. He still needed to think.

Maybe he deserved it, that possibility of a brutal death. Maybe that’s what his choices and his failures had earned him. His brothers’ deaths had been his fault after all. Even if Sister Imperator had sanctioned the order, he was the one who wanted to be Papa. He had wanted it from such a young age, ever since Sister had told him about the position, saying that she could see him becoming Papa and even hoped to see him take up the role. So, by him wanting this , he was the reason they were dead because it had been all for him- right? All in order for Sister Imperator’s little boy to become Papa and lead the Ministry to even greater heights. Or that was the plan, but, as one of Nihil’s favorite things to point out (and it stung just to admit the dickhead made a point) he had failed to do that too, time and time again. 

He wiped the burgeoning tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, black and white paint smearing gray into the dark fabric. Oh, how he knew how he would be yelled at for ruining such an expensive outfit with his makeup and tears.

Yes, maybe he deserved that kind of death, but willingly subject himself to the Ministry’s mercy? He wasn’t sure he could. He was a coward at heart, after all. He’d likely sooner find himself trying to flee, but ultimately become cornered by a pack of ravenous ghouls, sent for retribution. He would plead and cry for mercy as he pissed himself in terror like the pathetic little boy he was before their terrible claws and fangs would sink into his flesh, ripping him apart. 

There was always the option he could take things into his own hands. That’s what he had gone up there to consider, right? To finally listen to that little voice in the back of his head that so often told him to give in. Ultimately, the result would be the same, just kinder, sparing himself the cruelty and humiliation that the Ministry likely had in store for him. He was tired anyways.

Engrossed by the ever-multiplying swarm of thoughts as he considered his options, the mere feeling of existence as they ran rampant in his brain becoming so overwhelming that it made his crawl, Copia missed the warbling creak of the rooftop hatch pushing open and the stocky ghoul that clamored through it. It wasn’t until he spoke that Copia was pulled from this state, his body jolting slightly in shock, threatening to pitch him over the edge once again. Thankfully, his hands flew to steady himself as they had before, preventing his second almost-premature-plummet of the night.

“ You’re way too close to that ledge there for me to be comfortable, Papa ,” Aether said through a stilted chuckle as he began to inch toward the man. A thin layer of humor coated his words as if he hoped that the scene he had happened upon was just a product of bad timing- and maybe it partly was- but in reality, it was to obscure the obvious tremble of his voice. 

He was scared. He was so fucking scared, and Copia wasn’t oblivious to it. He knew how this looked, what it implied. He knew what Aether thought was going to happen (and maybe it would). But, as much as Copia longed for comfort from Aether, something stoney that had planted itself within his core so many years ago as a way of self-preservation, reared its head once again, the desire to cut ties with any person that so much as hinted at caring about him quickly mounting. 

He knew Sister and Nihil didn’t concern themselves with his well-being, no matter how many times he had attempted to change that. From an early age, that had been clear to him, even if he had tried to deny it. But his ghouls, his beloved ghouls, they cared about him. He knew that for a fact. They cared so deeply for him that it hurt. It was a vile and sickening ache that sat in his chest and spread to his limbs, creating the overwhelming urge to peel away his skin in a desperate attempt to escape the disgust that rose inside him like the bile in his throat. It didn’t have much to do with the idea of being vulnerable- that was something he had little trouble being. If anything, he was too vulnerable, too quick to open himself up and lay down his heart to anyone who so much as offered him an ounce of kindness, leaving him defenseless against anyone who chose to use it against him. No, it was the fact that to these people- these ghouls - who loved him so wholly, so rawly, all he could be was a burden. An anxious and awkward mess who screwed up things more often than he seemed to get them right, and yet, they still loved him. It wasn’t fair. He loved them too much to accept taking all that he did while providing them with so little. 

Copia’s hands rose to the sides of his head, the heels of his palms hitting there repeatedly as a sound somewhere between anguish and aggravation made its way through his gritted teeth. Everything was too much. His skin was buzzing with electric, searing heat and his head felt as if it was about to burst, but he didn’t want to put Aether through this. The quintessence ghoul didn’t deserve to absorb how he felt. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with him.

“I’m fine, Aether. Pl-please just go back to the others. I’m okay, I just need to think,” he gasped, pleading from between each impact his palms made against his skull, desperate to convince the ghoul to leave and spare himself from the embarrassment that was his Papa. Copia knew deep down that it was a shit lie, however, and the quintessence ghoul would see right through it.

 “Bull shite you’re fine, and you can bet your ass I’m not going anywhere. Now get down from that fuckin’ ledge,” he growled, lunging towards Copia. 

Before he could find the ability to react, the ghoul was on him, a clawed hand clamping around his wrist while the other grabbed a handful of the collar of his dark jacket. The sudden and almost unheard-of harshness from Aether startled him into limp submission, allowing himself to be dragged off his perch like a ragdoll and promptly falling on his ass as he dropped to the roof’s flat base.  

With his wits returning to him, Copia scrambled on his hands and knees in a fruitless attempt to put distance between him and Aether. A primal sense of fear manifested within him, coiling throughout his body as he looked up at the formidable creature, the panic flooding his brain making Aether unrecognizable as anything other than a threat. Through pleas for mercy and strings of “no’s” that spilled from his mouth as he gave up on his unsuccessful creation of space between himself and the ghoul, Copia brought his legs to his chest and buried his face into his knees. The sickening image of the scenario he had imagined not long ago, where a horde of ghouls was sent to slaughter him at the order of the Ministry consumed his mind, convincing him that as this monster stared down at him with its shining eyes, it was plotting the best way to make the kill. 

A sliver of him still recognized Aether as the kind and gentle ghoul he truly was in this fight-or-flight state and it was this part of him that fought against his uncontrolled panic, his rational (although it truly was far from that at this very moment) and the primitive parts of his brain vying for dominance. However, as the fear began to ebb away, it gave way to shame. 

Unable to withstand the feeling of so much with so little ability to process it, he curled in on himself as tightly as his body would allow and began to rock back and forth in a desperate effort to self-regulate. 

In this undoubtedly preoccupied state, Copia failed to notice the look of horror that had developed on Aether’s face the moment the man had reacted in such terror. What he could only describe as a hellish mixture of abject shame and self-loathing flooded his system. All energy he had left inside himself imploded, like that of a collapsing black hole, dropping him to his knees. 

“Shit. Fuck. Papa- Papa, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he all but wept, reaching out a shaking hand towards the man, but retracting it upon second consideration. Instead, he sat, no less than a few feet between them, and watched Copia with eyes filled with apprehensive concern. He wanted to help. He was desperate to help and make things right but look at where that had gotten them. Unsure in his abilities more than ever, Aether hesitated to call upon his quintessence, fearful that his powers would only accomplish setting him off even further. 

Mercifully, however, given some time, Copia’s self-soothing attempts began to work just enough to allow him to return to a state just outside the realm of utter meltdown. 

The primal, unfounded fear that Aether’s sudden lunge sparked within him was gone, but the creeping tendrils of his chagrin that claimed any amount of space within his brain that had been surrendered by his panic began to consume him from the inside out, once again souring the mere presence of one of his beloved ghouls. On better days, the close proximity of the quintessence ghoul to himself would have offered Copia a semblance, his presence and magic acting as an anchor for his mind that was often lost within a raging storm, but today was not a better day. This time, it only brought guilt and shame. 

While he was not like Sister Imperator and Nihil, treating the ghouls as though the hellbeasts were merely hired help and seated far beneath them, the fragile state that Copia found himself in had him putting far too much importance on what they would have thought about the scene.

If only they could see him now. A Papa, scared of one of his own ghouls to the point of breaking down, allowing them to order him around and to manhandle him like a disobedient child. What a joke. He was supposed to be a leader, but in reality, he was more of a mouse than a man, incapable of standing his ground.

Copia shifted away from Aether as far as his balled-up position would allow, trying to escape the searing burn of the ghoul’s steel-colored eyes against his skin. His irises undoubtedly glowed a faint but gorgeous white in the darkness of the night, not unlike the full moon that hung above their heads. It was something Copia would have relished given almost any other circumstance- Aether, like his other ghouls, being so beautiful as if he were made in the image of Lucifer himself. All he found himself able to do, however, was shrink away from the ghoul, his body trembling like a leaf.

What felt like an eternity inched by as the two sat like this, the silence breaking only once the sensation of the quintessence ghoul’s celestial-like eyes had become unbearable. Turning his head to the side just enough that he could glimpse the blurry figure of Aether out of his right eye, Copia spoke in a quiet voice, his words broken by the lump that rose in his throat. 

“I wasn’t going to kill myself.”

While it wasn’t a bald-faced lie, he hadn’t gone to the roof with the single mission to walk off of it and end his life, it wasn’t the complete truth either. He was there to give himself a semblance of control, an option in his otherwise option-less life. There was no commitment to a singular path just yet, he had to consider his choices. This just so happened to be one and a damn convenient time to do so.

Though the ghoul had said nothing (truthfully having nothing he could say that would help in his mind) he reached out a hesitant hand once more at this. It hovered half way between them, jerking forward ever so slightly in aborted half-attempts at bridging the space between him and Copia as Aether searched for any signs of fear or objection. When there was none, the man remaining unresponsive to the movement, Aether continued his push, hesitating and hovering (if only for a second) his hand over Copia’s back before allowing it to rest against him. 

The pressure was firm but tender, a common staple of the ghoul’s own brand of physical affection and something Copia had come to revere and crave after having endured years of deprivation of anything remotely close to it. He fought desperately against his carnal need for comfort, something he had only truly become accustomed to in adulthood through his relationships with his ghouls, and in brief moments in his childhood, through his brothers. 

The desire to lean wholly into Aether and cry until his throat was raw and could no longer produce tears was growing at a breakneck pace. Why did he have to make it so hard? The ghouls had already done too much for him, especially Aether. He was pathetic to need this, to require his ghouls of all people to offer him solace in a time where he should have succeeded in the first place. His brothers hadn’t been like this with theirs, so why was he? 

All while Copia continued to struggle within himself, Aether’s clawed hand began to rub circles against his back, expertly working at breaking down the already crumbling barrier that his Papa had put up between them with gentle determination, his quintessence admittedly aiding in making the man more pliant. The ghoul knew when Copia’s damaged resolve broke when tears began to spill down his cheeks. 

In a last-ditch attempt to feign composure, Copia tried to wipe away his rapidly falling tears with the heels of his hands, though he only accomplished further mixing the remains of his Papal paint together.

“I don’t want to die, I, I-I’m just-” Copia said through increasing amounts of hitches in his breath.

This fragment of a statement wasn’t entirely the truth. Admittedly, there had been many a time when he wouldn’t have agreed with the sentiment of his words. Whether it was an outright wish for death or just the desire to stop existing, that nagging urge- the very one that had brought him up there- had been something that had been prevalent for most of his life, and he’d be lying even more if he said it hadn’t gotten worse since his ascension. It pounded at the forefront of his brain, screaming, ear-splittingly loud, for him to give in. To give up. It was all he wanted to do. He was tired. He was so fucking tired and beaten down, and all he wanted was for it to stop. 

It was when the hitches in his breath came to a crescendo, his spilling tears threatening to turn into loud, wailing sobs, that Aether threw his cautionary approach to the wind, bringing his clawed hand away from his Papa’s shoulder to wrap around the man’s curved waist and pull him into a tight embrace. Copia’s head lay buried into Aether’s chest, his body still curled tightly around himself, as the ghoul squeezed him within his arms as much as his human body could safely withstand, knowing that deep pressure had always helped ground the man. 

However, in this circumstance, all it accomplished was push Copia over the precipice that he had been trying to steer away from so frantically. He gave in. Not to the thoughts and urges that had brought him to the moon-bathed rooftop, but to Aether’s unyielding compassion. Abandoning his train of thought and leaving his sentence unfinished, Copia returned Aether’s vice-like embrace with desperate strength, his gloved hands digging into the small of the ghoul’s back as full, gut-wrenching sobs spilled from his lungs.

Through his own quiet tears, Aether looked down at the man he held in his arms and pressed his lips to the crown of his head, leaving them there as he brought a hand to the back of Copia’s head, pressing him further against his broad chest. Rocking gently in place together, Aether coaxed the tears from him little by little, pressing kisses to the top of Copia’s head all the while, until his wails became soft, hiccuping breaths, and his iron grip around the ghoul’s torso merely became where he rested his arms.

Shifting as to look up into the quintessence ghoul’s metallic eyes, the color more of a clouded pewter now that a shadow cast over his face, Copia blinked the remaining wetness from his reddened eyes and mumbled his thanks, his voice thick and hoarse.

“Of course,” Aether murmured back, threading the graying strands of hair that lay stuck to Copia’s face, thanks to his sweat, through his fingers, smoothing them back into place. There was a moment of silence as they sat like this, looking tired but gratefully into each other’s eyes, until Aether broke the silence with a question, though he was still hesitant on whether he truly wanted the answer. “Can, uh, can I ask you a question?”

“Hm?”

“What were you up here for, like, really ?” 

Copia’s gaze returned to chest level, his eyes looking off nowhere in particular. “I-” he started, pausing for what felt like ages as he deliberated what he would say. “I don’t wanna lie to you, I was considering it, er, uh, jumping .” He cleared his throat, his voice a fraction less occluded. “I, eh, had been since we got back. Not seriously though, or, well- ah fuck,” he sighed with frustration, failing at trying to convey the intentions he had just a bit ago. “I thought about it but wasn’t gonna do anything initially. I was trying to find a place to be alone but couldn’t and then, poof , I was on the roof.”

One of Copia’s arms had drawn back from hanging around Aether’s waist, his finger now drawing absent-minded circles on the ghoul’s chest.

“What about your room? Everythin’ was all laid out.”

“Precautionary action.”

“Is that why you didn’t stay with us and were acting all… odd ?”

“Suppose my acting wasn’t the best.” Copia gave a dry chuckle but it died quickly. ”But, eh, yes and no. I just didn’t want to be a burden or worry you guys, with how much of a mess I caused at the Grammys. But it worked in favor of, uh,” he raised an eyebrow briefly as if gesturing to the end of the roof, “yeah.” Pausing for a second to take a deep breath in, Copia opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted abruptly.

“That wasn’t your fault. If anything, that was on me. I was suppose’ta keep everythin’ in order but I fucked it up. I froze,” he confessed almost readily. The muscles in Aether’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth together tight enough that he could feel his gold tooth creak, fighting against pinprick tears of shame that rose to his eyes. “I couldn’t keep things under control, I couldn’t help Dew- I couldn’t even stop Dew- and now there’s a rift between him and Sunny… And I couldn’t even help you and that’s part of why I was summoned in the first place! ‘To protect the Papa you’re assigned to’.” He said as if rattling off a piece of legislation. “But I just made it worse! Fuck , I scared you so badly you looked like you thought I was going to kill you! Fuckin’ kill you ! And if I couldn't help you today without fuckin’ it up, what makes me able to protect you when it comes down to it? I saw what happened to Terzo. I can’t-”

It was Aether’s turn to expose his vulnerable underbelly, pleading guilty to his self-proclaimed sins in the presence of the one he felt he wronged the most. He took a great, shuddering breath, his gaze now torn away from the man leaning against his chest in an effort to obscure his view of his glossy eyes. 

Copia shifted where he sat so that his head rested against the quintessence ghoul’s shoulder instead of his chest and brought the hand that had been absentmindedly drawing shapes to the side of Aether’s face. His fingers ran against the black sideburns that grew down the length of the ghoul’s taut jaw, his mismatched eyes gazing at the ghoul’s features with the softest expression. Even if Copia couldn’t see the tears brimming in Aether’s eyes from the position he sat in, he could see the shades of mulberry on his mole-speckled cheeks, growing steadily the longer he tried to fight off tears. Tracing the sideburn up his jawline to the side of his head, Copia carded his fingers through the ghoul’s hair, its texture almost fur-like and surprisingly soft. He continued to move his hand through Aether’s hair, following the natural curve of his head, only to stop just behind his ear. They were somewhat small for a ghoul, his ears a relatively short length- even with their pointed tips- but they still bore an array of piercings, with gauges adorning his earlobes and a variety of hoops along the rest of it. 

Copia’s fingers reached the base of his ear, right where the shell met his skull, and began to scratch lightly with a particular knowing behind his deft movements. Within seconds, the ghoul’s head leaned heavily into his hand, like a dog would if you scratched an itch just right, with a very faint, somewhat broken, purr rumbling in his throat. A small smile spread across Copia’s lips as he watched this formidable ghoul (though he had the personality of a large, overly friendly dog) melt into his touch, the tears that he fought so hard to contain now beginning to dry. He continued to scratch as he trailed his hand back down Aether’s jaw, stopping at his chin. With a delicate hold on his face, Copia brought the ghoul’s gaze down to meet his.

“You did your best. That’s all I could ask for.”

Aether was quiet for a second, his expression dark as if considering something troubling. Then he spoke, his voice low, bordering on a whisper. 

“Sorry for being rough with ya’. I know it’s no excuse for it, but I was so scared . I couldn’t think and I just-” He lifted up a hand to mimic grabbing Copia’s wrist.

“It’s okay.”

“But-”

“ Orsacchiotto , I promise you, it is okay,” Copia said, a firmness in his voice that told Aether he wasn’t willing to argue on the matter. In most other situations, Aether, being someone who had to be liked by everyone, would have continued to loathe himself and fixate on what he did wrong- the hardened tone that the usually soft-spoken man developed only exacerbated the issue, no matter how much Copia tried to dispel the idea that he was angry with Aether- if it wasn’t for that pet name. 

Orsacchiotto . Big bear . 

It was a name he had only heard Copia say with the utmost adoration, and, despite the exhaustion, despite his steadfast opposition to Aether’s objections, that remained true.  

Still giddy after all these years, the special name that Copia had just for him never failed to bring a smile to his face. 

“I thought I was the one who was suppose’ta be comfortin’ you,” he said with a halfhearted snort.

“Ah, don’t give me that bullshit. Group effort, go team” Copia said with a playful smack of his hand to Aether’s chest.

The ghoul belted out a deep, hardy laugh, his entire upper body shaking with the noise. It was good to hear that laugh again. The sound was as boisterous as Aether and a representation of him as a whole as if one were to boil him down to an essence so that only the quintessential parts of his being remained. A large, albeit tired, smile spread to Copia’s face at this, the sound of his ghoul’s laugh herding the harsh events of the day that plagued his mind into a place for later. Somewhere they can pick up when he is ready.

“Suppose you’re right,” he said, his laugh dying down though his amusement was still audible in his voice. “Suppose Rain was right too, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Not tonight though.” Aether leaned his head to the side so that it rested against Copia’s, the purr that had started up in his throat spreading to his chest, reverberating loud and clear. “Tonight-“ he was interrupted by a yawn, “tonight, we focus on sleep.”

Copia hummed, his eyes closed and face lax. Not for the removed and dissociative state of his mind, but from genuine, honest to Lucifer, serenity. Things were likely to get even rockier in the future, but tonight- tonight - was for this. He only wished the other seven were here with them.

“Sounds perfect.”

----

What time it had been when he and Aether finally descended from the roof of the abbey and back into the living quarters completely eluded Copia. All he knew, as he now stood nude in front of the porcelain bathtub, his posture hunched and arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the steam begin to billow from the rising water, was that his bones ached and he was utterly exhausted. 

Hearing the sound of the sink faucet’s water stream join the drone of the filling tub, Copia lazily looked over his shoulder. Behind him stood Aether, equally naked, as he ran a washcloth underneath the water. The view of his soft yet well-muscled frame, while he busied himself with soaking the cloth, was something Copia drank in gratefully, even if it was a sight he had seen many times before. 

Crossing the admittedly small distance between them, Aether caressed Copia’s jaw with a large hand. The ghoul’s claws pressed ever so lightly into the flesh of his cheek as he began to wipe away the long ruined makeup on his face. His eyelids fluttered closed as Aether continued to rid his skin of the black, white, and gray paint smeared on his face, the freckles that dotted so much of his face and body becoming more visible with every drag of the washcloth. Once he had deemed his job adequate enough, Aether tossed the irreparably stained washcloth onto the sink counter, making a wet plap as it landed, and returned his attention to the man in front of him. Copia began to make a mental note to move the cloth into the sink later so as to not cause any undue mess, but his mind was quickly pulled from the thought as Aether’s arms wrapped around his torso, pulling his body into his. A small sigh escaped his lips as Aether pressed a line of kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder, focusing on the spots where his freckles gathered most. They had always been a feature of his that his ghouls adored, and Aether was no exception. 

One of the ghoul’s short, dark horns dragged slowly against Copia’s scalp as Aether angled his head to make his way further down his shoulder, all while the ghoul’s spaded tail began to creep up and around his calf. The sensation would have been enough to elicit a moan from him if it weren’t for the overwhelming fatigue that had spread so virulently through his body and brain. Instead, he rested his head in the crook of the ghoul’s neck and basked in the feeling of Aether’s body against his own, one of the few reliable presences he had amidst a never-ending sea of change and surprise.

A few minutes had passed as Copia relished the tenderness in which the large ghoul held him, completely lost in the sensation of it all, until Aether began to unwrap his arm from his body. A weak whine came from within Copia’s throat as Aether pulled away, his hands trying to cling to his body weakly. However, his disappointment was quickly assuaged by the promise that it wouldn’t be long until he could resume his place in Aether’s arms, the ghoul leading him to the bathtub that was now nearly full. 

Aether turned off the faucet and stepped into the tub, the water rippling in almost mesmerizing patterns as he sat and sank further in. With an outstretched hand, he beckoned Copia to join him. 

Taking the extended hand in his own, Copia climbed into the tub and sat down, his body wiggling its way between Aether’s legs so that his back could rest against the ghoul’s broad torso. Big, well-muscled arms made their way around him again, drawing him further into the ghoul’s embrace as far as their bodies would allow. In another circumstance, the awkward and tight fit of two bodies inside the just-above-average-sized tub would be uncomfortable, aggravating even, but Copia found himself grateful at that moment because the size of the bath only pushed them closer together.

Another sigh escaped from Copia’s lips as his head fell back onto Aether’s chest, the tension in his muscles finally releasing as waves of warmth made their way up his body. A deep, rhythmic rumble, almost like a purr, resonated against Copia’s back. 

The two sat there, breathing in the soothing steam, for as long as the temperature of the water held, only beginning to stir once almost unbearably hot became just hot.  

---

The bed- or more so, the mattress, given it was completely devoid of a bed frame- was smaller than Aether had remembered. Maybe it was his mind, utterly wiped of most of its logical abilities beyond basic thought, unable to recall such a memory, or maybe he really had been putting on some weight (despite the others saying he was as fit as ever, though he’d still look great if he had). Either way, the twin-sized mattress, adorned only with a royal blue comforter, matching sheets, and a handful of pillows barely fit both him and the man whom the measly thing belonged to. Even as Copia lay wrapped in his embrace, his body pressed up against the ghoul’s as far as humanly (and inhumanly) possible, Aether found parts of him hanging off the edge of the bed, one wrong shift potentially sending him or them both to the ground. 

But his Papa was safe for tonight, asleep in his arms and dressed in far softer clothes, snoring quietly into his chest, and no amount of mattress (or lack thereof) could ruin the tired relief that he felt because of it.

Right as Aether felt as if he could no longer fight the heaviness of his eyes, having been determined to stave off sleep for just a little longer, just long enough for him to enjoy a few more minutes of this moment, he heard a vibrating buzz somewhere near his head. Removing an arm from around Copia- who, barely disturbed, uttered only a brief groan and buried himself further under the covers- Aether patted around lightly for the stupid thing, only finding it when, after a particular shift of his arm, he heard a solid thump off the side of the bed. 

Craning his neck so that he could just barely see over the edge of the mattress, Aether saw the screen of his phone, alight with the notification of a message sent from Swiss.

Oh, grabbing this was gonna suck.

Aether shifted just enough to let his arm hang free from the bed and fished somewhat blindly for the phone, the muscles in his arm giving a burning protest as he did. Just as it felt as if the muscles were on the brink of tearing in two, his fingers mercifully wrapped around the phone and he was able to bring the damn thing up to his face. Fumbling his passcode a few times (the string of characters proving somewhat difficult to type with a single thumb, but there was no way in hell he’d leave his phone unprotected, making it a free for all for the troublemakers and pranksters of the pack), he swiped through to see the message from Swiss. It had been a brief text, accompanied by a photo.  

Guess who made up, it had said, the picture of Dewdrop and Sunshine, laying together on the largest of the couches, their limbs tangled around one another’s to the point that it was hard to tell which belonged to who. 

A wash of relief spread over Aether, freeing him from the growing hold that nausea held deep within the pit of his stomach. It had grown faint, borderline ignorable since he had started his mission to find Copia with the feeling of unease over the disharmony between his packmates taking a backseat to the issue of their Papa’s odd behavior. It was only as they lay in the twin-sized bed did it start to quietly build once again, just below the surface. 

But it had turned out okay. Dew and Sunny were okay.

As Aether began to type his response of relief, he remembered the promise he had made to the others and snapped a quick photo of himself with Copia wedged against him. Adding the brief caption “Papa’s safe” to his message, Aether sent the text, though, with a moment- albeit tired- thought, he sent another text.

You guys can come over. Better not wake him up tho

It hadn’t been more than five minutes before ghouls started to trickle in, each with their own makeshift bedding, either in their arms or dragging behind them. Some stumbled in, bleary-eyed and yawning, while others took to trying to be silent with the utmost seriousness, either way, Copia remained fast asleep as they each took their spots around or on the small mattress. 

By the time everyone had settled, a chorus of purrs filled the room, creating a rumbling blanket of sound, one to soothe even the most anxious of hearts. Even with the odd snoring or mumbling, the moment was utterly serene. 

No longer fighting the overwhelming waves of exhaustion that the radiating body heat of his packmates only emphasized, Aether’s body relaxed, fully and truly for what felt like the first time in ages. His eyelids began to droop once again as he listened to the noises of his family- ghoul and human alike- until he was lulled into sleep.

[sionisjaune]

JUST A PIT-LANE PLAYBOY?

Excerpt via the Daily Mail, October 15, 2005

Button has never had the perfect car since breaking into Formula One at 20. But his long run without a victory has now become caught up with criticisms about his playboy lifestyle and accusations that he is too busy enjoying being a Formula One driver to take that final step up.

Former team-mate Jacques Villeneuve once famously dismissed him as just a 'boy band member' while Scottish racing legend Stewart was more wounding in his assessment. Only last month he said: 'In my day we were committed, dedicated and professional. We didn't have the distractions you have these days with parties and girls. Jenson does not need the distraction; it's hard to focus if you're going out a lot. He needs to concentrate. He needs to win a race.' No doubt about that. But is the playboy tag warranted? Button said: 'People are very opinionated. Reading something in the paper from a past driver who knows nothing about your private life, who comments on it, and says you're doing things wrong -- it's just not for them to comment on. 'I work bloody hard and it's fair enough to be silly every now and again. I have to be careful where I do it, of course. I just have to do it behind closed doors as much as possible.' The young brunette is sitting at the table behind, peering under her lashes, waiting and hoping for a flash of recognition to come her way at the glamorous ceremony. It does not take long. Button, giggling and giddily entangled with one of his mates, breaks away for a moment and flashes her his look, the look. Job done. Now all he needed to do was try to stay sober enough to remember her later on. As he wanders through the starstudded line-up at the Royal Opera House, Button is open, polite, cocky and charming and in an utterly relentless chat-up mode. If only results on the track came as easily as they do at glittering events like the GQ Awards. It is the least you would expect from a recently-unattached grand prix driver with a yacht, an apartment in Monaco and an annual income of around £10million a year. This penchant for the high life is not exactly a new phenomenon either. Even when he was just an F1 fledgling, Button's behaviour provoked concern from the permatanned Flavio Briatore, a man who has had more than a few supermodel dalliances himself. The Benetton boss thought the young Englishman on loan from Williams allowed his eye to wander too far from the track. And it comes to something if a character like Briatore is worried. It centred on Button's antics on his boat 'Little Missie', which quickly became notorious along the Monaco pit lane. Matters became somewhat strained when Briatore also discovered the harbour master had placed his own yacht on a worse berth to this brash young driver's and worsened when the girl group Atomic Kitten arrived for the race, attracting the paparazzi like moths to a flame.

[sobuildabeautifulcity]

Your disappointment warrants a disclaimer though, otherwise you're seeding a certain sentiment a lot of trolls and shill are trying to whip up. Don't be that person who thinks writers and actors owe you endless content for less than a living wage.

i respect your opinion and you’re not strictly incorrect but… thats not my point lol & you’ve kinda proved my issue.

the main part of my thoughts was that i have an issue with, and i quote: not being able to post when you’re experiencing multiple conflicting feelings without explaining all of them without being attacked.

it’s not only about the strikes, it’s anything that someone thinks you cant have complicated emotions towards if you don’t explicitly say so. my example was about the strikes because thats the most recent thing i’ve seen, but it’s more than that. not allowing people to express only their negative feelings in their own space online, simply because it might overlap with people being dicks intentionally about it isn’t the right way to go about it. for example, saying you’re disappointed because your favourite band pushed back their album release doesn’t mean you’re not sympathetic to the fact they delayed it due to health issues, it just means you’re disappointed because you were excited about it & had planned for it happening on a specific day. you expressing that upset online shouldn’t need to involve a disclaimer, because it should be implied - until proven otherwise - that you care about your band’s wellbeing. if you send a string of posts abusing the band for postponing it, yeh, youre a dick. but if you send one which is ‘aw man this sucks so much we wont get the album’, thats not something you should associate with the people being dicks about it despite it being negative in tone.

idk, i like to assume the best of people rather than thinking they’re dicks & don’t feel a complicated way about things.

if someone expresses disappointment about their plans changing due to something, that doesn’t mean they disagree with the thing that changes their plans? it solely means they are disappointed that their expectations for the coming time period changed & to assume otherwise unless proven only makes your worldview more negative.

this… insistence that all your feelings must be explained entirely and in full in order for you to grumble about something online is exhausting, and unnecessary if you simply assume the best of people. and, quite frankly, it is why i stopped using my tumblr for anything beyond reblogging stuff until recently.

i’ll add a disclaimer here, as well as the one that’s in the tags, bc my point is being proven lol: i support pretty much all unions & their decisions to strike (us police unions are not included hence my ‘pretty much all’). i am 100% sure that the wga & sag aftra should strike & fully support them doing so, shutting down hollywood is a great way to have bargaining power. the conditions they are expected to work under are abhorrent & they need better protection. it is also absurd to say that you can’t express disappointment about things you were looking forward to being cancelled without needing to add a disclaimer that your frustration is aimed at the other side of the negotiations for not capitulating, and not at the sag members. if you are posting your feelings on your blog, you should not need to caveat those feelings. the default of people assuming the worst of others makes the world a worse place.

i have a tendency to over explain my point so that it gets across, and often that means my coherence suffers lol. please bear in mind i am cognitively disabled & severely ill.

[trustwash]

The detours was the original name of which band

THE DETOURS WAS THE ORIGINAL NAME OF WHICH BAND SERIES

Well while there is much speculation, it has recently been discussed at the offical Weezer message board, that Rivers Cuomo weezer's front man had a dream of a man with a flaming pie, the man with the pie was from outer space. Weezer frontman had bad athsma when he was a kid Rivers himself has openly admitted that this is not what Weezer are named after. It's popular misconception that Weezer are named after River's supposed asthma. Mickey Melchiondo and Aaron Freeman (the real names of Dean and Gene Ween respectively) decided that "any self-respecting members of a band should share the same surname" (in homage to the Ramones.) So, they picked out the name Ween and chose new first names to fit along with it. The name is a mix of the 2 words: Weiner and Penis. On top of the Ramones-same-last-name thing, I read that Ween was a mix of the words "wuss" and "peen" (short for penis) The rest of the group always thought it was funny, so that's what they named the band. Since he is left with only a nub, he calls it a Ween. I have read that the lead singer was in an accident when he was younger, and his weiner got cut off. The band is named after the song by The Undertones. It was a reaction to some 2004 anti-gay legislation that Bush proposed. The band's tag line is appropriately "Let Go." One night at practice, Eric Coiner (the bass player) quoted a line from that scene and it stuck. Wedge was one of the few pilots to survive the death star battle. The name came from a Star Wars character - Wedge Antilles. The missing vowels were "taken" by the bassist in 1983 and never returned. Was, not was.Īs a spigot made of wicker would not function by design, the band views itself similarly in relation to music. The Was brothers' family name is pronounced "wAHs" not like the word "was." Everyone kept mispronouncing their names. They took the name out of Bowie's song because they admired his music so much. Warsaw was the first name Ian Curtis' band, Joy Division. So as an homage to him, he named the the band Warrant. It is rumored that the guitar player (Eric) in the band was a huge fan of RATT and more so of their Lead guitar player Warren DeMartini. However, it is worth noting that the band is in fact from Kent in southeast England. Supposedly, named after Wang Chung Way, a tiny street in LA's Chinatown, where there was a Chinese restaurant which put on punk shows upstairs. I don't believe it is Chinese for "perfect pitch" as some have claimed. The sound a guitar makes when you strike a string. Named after the Indonesian slang term for a lug wrench (onomatopoetic phrase that describes the sound of a dropped lug wrench). I saw an interview with the band where they said the name referred to the sound of an electric guitar being strummed up, then back down. however, jakob's said that's incorrect and that it's all in the dinner theory. the photographer made a comment saying how they looked like a bunch of wallflowers. another popular theory around is that while the guys were at a photoshoot, they were pretty shy, standing off to the side. he said it was hard enough for 5 people to decide what to order, let alone choose a name that they'd have for the rest of the band's career. it was basically the only name that nobody hated. Jakob posted on the band' site saying that they came up with "the wallflowers" after sitting around the dinner table. Don't just stand there like Wallflowers." He said something along the lines of "Do Something. The name owes it's origin to a comment made by a photographer, while having a picture of the band taken.

THE DETOURS WAS THE ORIGINAL NAME OF WHICH BAND SERIES

The name comes from a traditional song on Bob Dylan's Bootleg Series compilation. It was the only thing written on a white board in the room where they first rehearsed. Originally this was the working title of an instrumental song but soon became the band name. But when asked directly the only answer is "We Ain't Sure, Pal". We Are Sexual Perverts is inscribed around the self titled LP album. We Are Sexual Perverts is inscribed around the label on their self titled debut LP. W.A.S.P simply are short for We Are Satans People. Read in an interview, the members were bored and said the name sounded cool

[asvterias]

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾!𝖱𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌

Tags: @homopheli @clarkegriffinslever @janeswhore

A/N: so I have a similar imagine in the making so look out for that one.

Robin would be an impulsive and overprotective yandere

With you being the head cheerleader and her being a band member, you would often see her after school

The lingering looks that you would receive from her during school or when you have cheer practice would surprisingly give you butterflies

Yes, yes. Robin knows that being queer in the 80’s was basically signing a death warrant

She would never put you that much danger. Why?? Because you are her sweetheart

Tries to talk to you more like she’s just getting to know

In reality, she already knows everything about you; your biological information, your schedule, your enemies and friends and your likes/dislikes

Luckily, you don’t degrade her and actually interact with her

So meeting up with her became more regular

There was this one time after school that your ex thought that he’d be funny and slap your ass

Right. In. Front. Of. Robin.

Oh, the fury that Robin felt was out of this world

Instead she remained calm and waited till nightfall to actually do something about that boy

When the next morning came, the daily news talks about a local boy ending up dead

Obviously you came to Robin for comfort and she embraced you

Then you start to notice how a lot of your enemies and ‘friends’ began to disappear as well

And who did you go for comfort and reassurance?? Robin mf Buckley.

At first it was getting weird and Robin was somehow encouraging you to spend the night at her house more often

The Buckley girl got into your head making you dependent on only her and persuaded you to move in with her

She also said that she was the only person that will ever protect and love you

You were barley allowed to leave the house unless Robin deems it necessary

❝The world is a very dangerous place, sweetheart.❞

If you were a good girl for an entire week, she would treat you to a restaurant or to the movies

Let’s say if you happen to escape her, she would murder your entire family within the second

So you became a good girl and always listened to Robin’s instructions in fear of your family’s safety

Somehow when Robin was getting rid of a body, she got the timing wrong and you accidentally saw her

❝Are you the reason why the bad people around me are disappearing?❞

❝I- I didn’t want you to find out about it this way.❞

❝Find out about it this way?!! You’re mental Buckley, you need help. ❞

Her face would falter so quickly that you had to bite back a gulp

❝Can’t you see, [name]. I did it for us! I did it for you!❞

Ever since that incident, you became unresponsive to the brunette

❝Darling, please eat.❞ Her voice would be hoarse and you almost gave in

And if you don’t listen, she will forcefully feed the sandwich to you

Which makes a cry escape your throat and Robin would feel so guilty

So she would run her hands through your hair and soothe you, with your permission or not

That was all it took for you to break down in her arms and her heart broke at your loud sobs knowing that she was the reason of it

❝Look, I’m sorry m-maybe tomorrow, we’ll go to the lake. Yeah, you’ve been cooped up too long, it’s not healthy for a beauty like you.❞

Would lightly grasp on her forearm when she was about to pull away from the hug

This manages to make her cheeks bright red and she thought maybe you would be getting along

You would give her a little nod and she cracks a small smile before leaving you in your personal hell

Then your mind will remember her words

❝No one will ever love you the way I do.❞

❝You’re crazy robin!❞

❝Only crazy for you [name].❞

There was truly no escape for you anymore, I mean who could you trust?

The worst part was that you started to fall for her before she became a total psycho

© asvterias, 2022. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[humankoalaa]

representation matters. periodt.

straight “maybe” queer actresses feeling the need to try silence viewers or filter our frustrations and opinions just because they don’t want to and or can’t handle honest criticism is so on brand yet still surprising. danielle savre made a video that honestly did more harm than good.

her sexuality isn’t anyones business but let’s not pretend that she didnt know what she was doing, especially in those lives. i didnt want to make this while angry and frustrated but here we are.

you cannot be an ally when it’s convenient. you can’t only want to speak up especially against hate and ignorance when it’s convenient. it doesn’t matter who in her life is queer and what she did for them. it doesn’t matter if she is or isn’t queer in real life. bottom line is she is playing a queer character involved in a disrespectful storyline and can’t handle what comes with that. im talking about the CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

if you are honest with yourself and not entertaining or blindly following her views on what’s in the tags keep reading. if you’re glorifying her for that video, just stop reading or continue if you want to understand why people are so upset over this storyline and that video. regardless of the outcome of this storyline. it is flat out disrespectful. if she is queer that’s a whole other level of SMFH because there’s the door, it would like a word.

i honestly am trying to be respectful. she spoke on donating her eggs to a gay couple one i believe is her childhood friend or both are. GREAT. its still equivalent to a homophonic family member saying they accept and love you because you’re their loved one. doesn’t matter, still disrespectful.

she spoke about the baby storyline and why it was important to her. why it was important it be done with RESPECT because of how personal it is to her. lol. k. why are we now not even singing the same tune just trying to silence the entire band danielle?

as an actress she herself has stated she feels a responsibility to get “IT” right. k. if you’re going to put that responsibility on yourself, you cannot cower away especially when the criticism is warranted and constructive. that video was unnecessary. just like this storyline. at one point she says it doesn’t feel safe to engage with all the things being said. …. k.

danielle… imagine not feeling safe in your own home because you’re queer and your family might as well be everyone else who feels you’re a disgrace. imagine not feeling safe around family because a family member we said they would tie you to the back of their car and drag the dyke out of you. imagine not feeling safe out in the world because you’re queer. imagine not feeling safe for simply existing because of your sexuality. your not feeling safe to engage on social media is not the same as the nightmare we live for no other reason than loving who we love.

don’t pull the it isn’t intentional and actors and writers have feelings cop out. you don’t think the queer community has feelings too? as human beings queer or not we all have feelings and hurt whether it’s intentional or not so please with this narrative.

who in the hell is going to sit there and be like oh wow this is beautiful storytelling. she got cheated on hates the guy but doesn’t anymore m so she suggests he be the donor because she is desperate for a baby and his sperm is right there . this story is ridiculous in every community no matter who or what you identify as because WHAT. THEE. ACTUAL. hell.

she makes a video basically calling out fans who have voiced their opinions. we all know how fans can get. i am not condoning that kind of hate. i am speaking about the CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. she talks about how the backlash has made her not want to engage on social media for the exact same reasons why fans are frustrated over this storyline. someone left a very respectful comment basically detailing why the community feels the way we do.

-her response- “I respect your opinion and your feelings about the specific storyline no one is trying to insult fans or insult LGBT Fanbase. please understand there are real people who also happens to be just as much a part of the LGBT community as all of their queer counterparts that are writing and creating the show. real people and actors doing their best to bring entertainment and meaningful representation to all of you every week” … k. textbook. on brand.

1. it’s not about who is or isn’t trying to insult fans or the community. that’s where most of these actors show how disconnected they are to reality. no one is saying or even insinuating that we feel this storyline is on purpose. we’re not that damn sensitive. we’re literally just saying the story line is disrespectful …because it is…. k? very good.

2. please understand that queer writers and creators are responsible for this mess? danielle, please understand that just because they’re real people and part of the community doesn’t mean we’re supposed to or are going to be on board by default. again, the door would like a word. the viewers that keep y’all employed are very much real people too danielle. it’s the community name dropping for me tho.

3. “real people and actors doing their best to bring entertainment and meaningful representation” … there is literally nothing entertaining about a baby storyline that involves desperation and laziness.. literally nothing. AGAIN, there’s the door.

4. the audacity. . mEaNiNgFuL rEpReSeNtAtIoN?! cut it tf out. regardless of how this turns out. this is not meaningful or even remotely close to healthy representation. the fact that queer writers and creators on the show are proud of this is just so incredibly sad. this storyline is degrading and unnecessary. the fact that she felt the need to disclose that queers are responsible for this storyline only made the situation worst because her ignorance is front and center. what was that information suppose to do?

the queer community most of the time would watch anything with even a little bit of alright representation. we have given this show and many like it the benefit of the doubt and we’re queerbaited or left disappointed 97% of the time. it passes and it’s just the same cycle over and over. these creators have no issue when they’re praised for mediocrity. but the minute there’s criticism it’s a block party.

this is the first time ive seen a show that prides itself on being diverse and whatever other textbook word vomit actors and creators spew when they are full of themselves literally not know what to say to even the CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. they can’t connect to any of the frustrations because they’ve never experienced it or they’re queer and have sold their souls to appease to the “norm” . you’re queer . literally not possible. they still don’t like or respect you. you’re a paycheck. k.

the cheating storyline wasn’t enough. let’s makes sure the viewers never forget about it by shoving jack down the throats of viewers who don’t understand how and why his redemption arc needs to be used in this storyline. make it make sense. please. like these writers couldn’t think of any other way to redeem jack? they absolutely could have.

here’s the thing. the draw to that show isn’t the lead and it hasn’t been … ever. it become even more noticeable when maya and carina met in that bar. they know marina draws in viewers. what they didn’t expect is the community actively dong what’s needed to be done for years now. use our OWN voices, thumbs, talk to text everything. y’all gon hear and see us.

no decent human being is just gonna be like yup i know i caused you a lot of pain. here’s my sperm since you’re desperate. don’t you ever forget it. like in what world is this okay? maybe years ago when the community just bent over? whatever. thats over and done with. it’s 2022 and this generation isn’t having it. y’all will be held accountable. if you’re going to run your mouth and talk respect and representation… prove it.

it’s bad enough that we have to deal with people who take issue with queer storylines/characters etc on their favorite tv shows or in movies. now we have to deal with essentially welcoming more ignorance because the writers and creators are queer? … the door, and don’t slam it on your way out.

i expect this kind of disrespect from writers who have no business writing queer stories. meaningful representation takes effort. meaningful healthy representation means taking the time to think beyond ourselves. meaningful representation requires welcoming CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. i keep putting it in all caps because if you look in the tags… 97% is CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

truthfully im just disappointed. its just a paycheck for these people. they love the attention, brag about ships, entertain the are they or aren’t they etc. welcoming questions and such because it helps the ratings. now people don’t reallly care and the draw just isn’t there. why? the actresses themselves and this damn storyline they’re expecting the queer community to eat up.

plot twist. we would rather starve. i want to know if they would be okay with this storyline being their actual real life dilemma. there is no damn way. so why do they expect us to be okay with it? oh yeah because thats what we used to do. not anymore. the days of saying what they think we want to hear is over with. those rehearsed textbook answers about diversity and representation matters don’t mean anything anymore.

at some point the show will no longer be on air and she won’t have to worry about the community . unfortunately people like myself do. we don’t get to just block every single person that has hurt us because of our sexuality. we don’t get to come on the internet making videos asking people to be nice because we can’t handle what comes with being queer. we don’t get to act queer. we don’t get to shut it off ever. we are people living the life you are getting paid to live on television. the most we can do is turn off the tv.

you don’t get to act like your hurt is just as or more important than ours. you get to shut the hurt off because it’s not your real life. you get to sit and read comments where people glorify you for standing up for your character, yourself, and these writers and creators. why? because they are obsessed and think you’re gonna notice and validate them for appreciating and respecting your “art”. k.

surprise surprise. and actress using their “art”and passion as a cop out. we are passionate about our community and the stories being told just like they are about their art. we are living their art. you don’t want your art tainted and critiqued then do better. encourage these writers that you love so much to DO BETTER.

imagine putting the same energy used to bitch and complain about hurt feelings when the comments are filled with homophonic slander and unjust hate. imagine. instead, that hate is conveniently ignored because it’s not their feelings being hurt, yet we are expected or asked to be nicer and respectful or we’ll get blocked? weird.

why not ignore the 3% and speak on the 97% why not address the CONSTRUCTIVE critisim? time and time again entertainers respond to more hate than good. they respond to the feelings of people who dead ass just want to be hateful. that is their only agenda. she literally could’ve simply blocked the 3% but no. she decided to make a video that is only going to cause more of that kind of hate because she fed into the keyboard warriors. that kind of hate is always addressed. why? make it make sense.

im not saying she just needs to deal with it. im simply saying that video was not a good look. no one needed to know she would be blocking people for being disrespectful etc etc. but she herself needs the validation from people that glorify her for doing nothing.

i just don’t understand how anyone involved in this storyline expected it to be met with anything but WTF. the same way she doesn’t want to engage with viewers because of the hate is the same way we don’t want to deal with society, and the hate. this is bigger than you and social media danielle.

DO BETTER.

[gr0vndz3ro]

Fucking Fame

Idol!Bakugou x Idol!Reader(NSFW)

Warnings:NSFW,18+, cursing, thigh riding, slight degradation??, unprotected sex

Word Count:3,656

Crossed off: Popstar AU

Tag list: @gallickingun​ @prismaroyal​ @shoutodoki​ @sadistiks​ @keigod​ @honeytama​ @shoutogepi​ @hawks-senseis​​

A/N: Happy forth of July to my fellow people in the USA enjoy some smut. This is my first piece for the @bnhabookclub​  bingo event, but I hope that you guys really enjoy it :3

“We’ve been driving for hours, PLEASE tell me that we’re close to the venue. I think I’m going to die.” You say as you throw yourself against the couch in your tour bus. You were currently heading to where your next concert was supposed to be located. It wasn’t far enough in distance to warrant taking the plane so here you were, trap inside this boring bus.

“You should be relaxing for the show tonight. And your supposed to be on vocal rest until we get there, so stop focusing on when we are going to arrive and just do what you’re told.” Your manager doesn’t even bother looking up from her laptop while you throw your fit. You roll your head over to where she sat and sigh dramatically hoping to get her attention so the two off you could do something more entertaining, but when she continues typing you give up. Moving your feet off of the side of the couch, you get up heading back toward the little hang out room. 

You shut the door behind you and take a seat on one of the comfy chairs and pull out your phone checking out tonight’s show and venue. After typing in your password you can see that the show tonight was one of your combined shows with a well known band that your agency wanted to have a show with to help boost your ratings. You had tried refusing doing a combined show but in the end your manager and team won. You knew that it would be good publicity but there was apart of you that wanted to be able to achieve your fame without having to piggy back off of others. Seeing as this was your first tour though, you didn’t have much say in things. What bothered you the most though, was that you had never even met this band before. At the least with other shows, you had a day or two to get to know whoever you were preforming with but this time it was almost as if you were thrown to the vultures. 

So you took it upon yourself to look them up. The band had consisted of 5 members. There was their lead singer, Izuku Midoryia, who seemed to be the face of the band, appearing in the most amount of interviews and seeming to have the biggest general following. The lead guitarist and back up singer, Shouto Todoroki, seemed to be more of the band’s mystery man and the ladies favorite. The second guitarist, Eijirou Kirishima, looked to be the life of the group, appearing at as many meet and greets and almost always staying after shows to talk to fans. There was the base guitarist, Denki Kaminari, who seemed to get in the most amount of newspapers and magazines. Never for any super bad reasons but it seemed to be for really stupid things like accidently breaking a hotel microwave by microwaving glass. And then there was the drummer.

Katsuki Bakugou.

According to article after article, he was the group bad boy. He had no filter and was often never brought to interviews due to past appearances. He didn’t put up with the fakeness of celebrity life and called every person who was apart of it out on it. The band’s PR team constantly had to log him out of his twitter due to vulgar debates. You were also able to find multiple scandals' involving him and other female celebrities and fans to which he never responded to with more than a wicked smile. But other than his hot headed ego and promiscuous relations, there wasn’t much else you could find. You searched for a half hour to try to see if you could find anything else about who he was but nothing came up. Eventually you gave up on your efforts to try to uncover any actually useful information on the man, instead decided to waste your time by taking a nap until you arrived at the venue. 

It felt like only seconds had passed before you were being nudged awake by your lovely manager. She explained to you that you had arrived at the arena and gave you direction to where your dressing room was going to be. The band had already preformed the sound check so you were free to take your time while getting ready seeing as they wouldn’t need you for a bit before it was time for your own mic check. You made your way through the poorly lit halls to where your manager had told you your dressing room was. When you finally come across the door you believe to lead to your room you push it open and quickly enter. Your make your way over to were the vanity was and take a seat. While reaching over to grab your products for the night, your attention is caught by the sound of the door opening. There in the doorframe was the same man you were unable to find any information on. Although you were confused as to what he was doing in your dressing room.

“Um can I help you?” Your eyes trail after him as he beelines toward the couch before plopping down. You raise your eyebrow at him, questioning how comfortable he was making himself. “Make yourself comfy I guess” He continued to ignore you while moving his arms behind his head as he closes his eyes. “Are you just going to sit there and ignore me? What are you even doing in my room?” You were now standing next to where you were just seated, hands against your hips as you question him. He shuffled on the couch looking over at where you were.

“Your room? I don't think you got the memo princess.” He sat up from his spot on the couch, still taking an obnoxiously large amount of room he spoke again. “This is our room. The other dressing room was too small for all 5 of us so the two of us are sharing. Besides...” He looked you up and down, suddenly feeling very small under his glare, “wannabe brats like you don’t get a private room. Sorry about your luck your highness” You’re stare hardens at his words, angry now flowing through you.

“Well you don’t have a private room either so what does that say about you?” Crossing your arms you wait for him to come up with some clever response. You make your way over to wear he was, prepared to shove him out of your room so that you could have some peace and quiet before tonight.

“Why you little-” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence.

“You know what I think. I think that your other bandmates probably got sick and tired of your ‘I’m the best person here and everyone else can fuck off’ attitude and forced you to go to some other room. How pathetic do you have to be for your own friends to find you obnoxious?” Your words leaving your mouth like venom, not even caring how mean you sounded. When he shot up from the couch and stormed right infront of you, you still stood your ground. You weren’t going to back down. He kept coming closer and closer to you until he was barely a step away, his face merely a few inches from yours. A breath hitches in the back of your throat, as you feel your body betray you. Just his presence alone was soaked in intimidation. You go to speak up again to tell him to back off but you feel the words get trapped and fail to get out. A smirk covering his face as he notices as well. 

“Oh? Not so big and tough now are you? You should learn to hold your fucking tongue, especially when you’re talking to someone who could end your whole career.” He holds you in place with his killer stare, Vermillion eyes staring into your own. You swallow whatever lump had formed and spoke up.

“Oh yeah? You and what following? I’ve heard about you ya know. Everyone knows that you call out everyone for living such fake lives. For taking advantage of their fame and sleeping with whoever they want just because they’re famous and they know they’ll do what ever they say. Yet you’re exactly the same. You pick up chick after chick as they all practically fling themselves onto you. You’re just a fucking hypocrite and I know you’re not going to do shit because you’re all talk.” Confidence pouring from your mouth as you take a step away from him, trying to create distance between the two of you. But he quickly takes another step forward closing your attempt.

“You almost sounded jealous there, what do you wish you could be one of them?” His smirk so wide you could see his gums poking out. You scoff at his remark.

“As if I would ever be with someone like you.” A look of disgust taking over you face at even the thought of sleeping with him. But like a disease, the thought continued to spread in your thoughts and slowly your face began to heat up. Suddenly the little space between you felt hot and you were wanting nothing more than to leave the room and distance yourself from him, but he had different plans. 

“Is that so?” He continues stepping toward you and you back away from him. This continues until you feel you back hit the wall next to where you were once getting ready. A gasp leave your lips at the sudden contact but are quickly brought back by a hand on your jaw, turning you toward his face. 

“Yes t-that’s so” You curse yourself at the stutter that manages to escape, the tension in between you finally getting to you, against your own wishes. A deep chuckle makes a shiver shoot down your spin.

“You don’t seem to confident in that answer. Come on where did all of that sass go? Don’t tell me the brat has lost her fight.” His free hand makes its way to the wall behind you, effectively caging you in-between it and his broad chest. 

“I didn’t lose anything and I’m not a brat.” You clench your teeth, sure he could feel it through his hold. His grip tightens slightly against you as he brings you closer to his face. So close that you could now feel his warm breath fan across you as he spoke.

“Then prove it princess. Show me that you’re not just some goodie two shoes who’s gonna cry if she doesn’t get her way.” His face hovering just barely in front of yours. You look into his eyes and think about what he said. You could very easily just brush past him and walk out but it was something about the way he was staring you down that almost didn’t make you want to go. So, against you better judgement, you did the exact opposite. You raise your arm up, bringing it to his forearm. Moving your fingertips up the muscles of his thick arms, you watch goosebumps litter his skin. Once you get to his bicep you switch to having your full arm feel him as you continue to travel all the way to his neck, where you run your hand around the back of his neck, finger tips spreading throughout his hair. Bringing your eyes back to meet his, you take a handful of the soft locks and lightly tug it, earning a throaty groan from him. Using the leverage of control over his head, you bring him down so you are at level with his ear.

“Why don't you make me?” You say as you lean forward, giving his ear a small nibble before returning back to your spot against the wall. His face grows red at your sudden forwardness, and you chuckled before letting a smirk cross your lip. But when you watch as his eyes darken as he drinks you in, you find yourself subconsciously biting your bottom lip. His eyes flicker down to see you release your lip before bring his own to come crashing down.

Both of your lips meet in a fight for dominance, not wanting to just let him win and loose your ground. Your hands still tangled in his hair as you find yourself tugging on the stands as you fight for air. The sensation only further driving Bakugou to want more. His hand moves away from the wall and to you hip as the other travels to the back of your neck, pulling you further into him if it was even possible. Your lips move in perfect harmony as he pushes himself into you, his thigh separating your legs as he kept you pinned against the wall. You gasp as you feel his hand grab your ass, but he takes advantage of it and dives his tongue into your mouth. They meet in a battle of dominance, exploring every dip of each others mouth. Eventually he takes charge and you feel yourself moan into the kiss. Oblivious from the heated kiss, you had hardly noticed Bakugou’s hand slid down to the edge of your skirt until you felt him take a handful of your ass and squeeze. 

You pull away from the kiss looking him in the eyes, lust glazed over them. You squeezed your thighs together but instead of getting any relief from the presser, it caused you rind down onto the thick thigh that was holding them apart. The friction making a surge of pleasure rip through you and the need to feel again grew. So you roll you hips forward, moaning from the rough jeans against your almost naked core, protected only by thin lace. It was almost as if something had came over you as you continued rolling your hips against his muscular thigh getting yourself closer to your own release. That was until two firm hands landed on either side of you hips, haltering your movement. 

“Are you so desperate that you’re trying to get off by riding my thigh? If you want more all you have to do is ask princess.” Leaning down so that his head was right next to your ear, making sure you heard his next sentence. “Go ahead, I want to hear you beg for it.” The feeling of his lips on your neck make your hips involuntarily move as he searches for the sweet spot, but as soon as he finds it you’re a puddle of whimpers in his fingertips. 

“Pl-please Bakugou- ughh- I need more” Barely able to get the words out any louder than a whine. Desperately trying to receive any form of please the man infront of you was willing to give to you. You shutter as you feel him chuckle against your skin.

“Is that all you got? You’re going to have to do better than that if you want this dick at all.” He returns to kissing against your neck, just light enough not to give you the pleasure you so desired.

“Fuck! Bakugou please! I need you to fill me up and fuck me until I can’t walk. Please I need your fat cock to just split me open.” If you could hear the words you were saying right now you would probably die of embarrassment but the amount of lust taking over your body made you not even think twice at the lewd confession. You feel his grasp on your hips tighten, his finger tips digging into your soft sides, surely leaving marks, as a groan leaves his lips at your begging. Quickly, he moves his hands from your side to underneath your hips, picking you up before placing you down on the sofa he once was on, pinning you between the soft cushion and his hard chest. You two met again in a passionate kiss, much messier than the first, spit was everywhere but you couldn’t care less you just wanted all of him. As he reached down to pull the drenched lace down your thighs you could feel his hard on press against your thigh and you couldn’t help but feel even more turned on by the fact he was liking this as much as you were. Pulling away from the kiss you feel him pant against your lips.

“Call me Katsuki baby, I want to hear you scream my name as I destroy this pretty little pussy of yours.” He almost couldn’t tear his gaze away from your soaked core, wanting nothing more than to devour you then and there. “Next time I’m going to have to eat you out but for now I want to feel you around me instead.” You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of there being a next time.

But suddenly your attention is grabbed when you feel his head press against your entrance, your head shoots down to see his massive cock rubbing against you, gathering all your slick with each stroke. Teasingly, he stops right as his tip is aligned with your hole, causing you to squirm as you craved to feel him deep inside you.

“Please Katsuki I can’t take it any more, I need you!” You bite down on your lip as you feel him start to push into you, feeling yourself stretch around his head as it dips further into you. Clenching around him at the pleasure of him filling you up.

“F-fuck Y/N you gotta stop squeezing me like that.” He struggled with trying to slowly push into you at how tight you were, so he did the next best thing. Thrusting his hips forward, he forces himself passed though the squeezing grip into you until you are filled to the brim with his cock. His head dipping back in ecstasy at how your walls hug around him. “Shit you’re so fucking tight.”

“P-please move.” Tears collect in your eyes at how full you were. Sure you may have been with other guys before but no one ever made you feel this full. Slowly he pulls out of you before rutting his hips forward to fill you back up. The way he was positioned, causing him to hit your g-spot. A moan leaving your lips as he starts moving his hip again, starting to pick up the pace before eventually he is slamming into you at an unforgiving speed.

The feeling of his vein dragging against your walls as he slams into your spongey wall causing you to cry out at the amount of intense pleasure you were feeling. Your hands make there way to his back, digging your nails into the muscle as you try to somehow control how you were feeling.

“Is my little princess already going to cum?” A yes barely makes it out of you as a mutter of profanities follow soon after. His hand reaches down to press into your clit causing a wave of heat to flood through you. While rubbing little circles into you, he leans down, kissing and sucking on your neck before speaking again. “Come on then baby girl, let me hear you. I want everyone in the whole building to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“God you Katsuki!! You do! Holy fuck you’re gonna make me cum” Your back arches as his pace becomes sloppy but he keeps increasing in power. You can feel the couch shaking at the intensity at which he’s slamming into you.

“Cum for me princess, cum all over me.” If the pleasure from him hitting both of your sweet spots wasn’t enough, the addition of his lewd words burning into your ear was enough to make you see stars. As he continued his assault on your body your vision went white as you chased your release, clenching tightly around him as your hands dragged down his back, marking it as your own as you felt yourself cum around the thick cock that pulsed inside of you. Watching your face be taken over in pure bliss and the feeling of you milking his dick had Bakugou painting the inside of your walls white within a few thrusts.

His pace started to slow down helping the both of you ride out your high. The room was filled with the sound of both of your uneven breathing as you both attempted to catch your breath. After a few minutes he pulled himself out of you and you immediately felt empty. He watched as his seed tried spilling out of you as you clenched at the sudden emptiness, and quickly brought his finger down to scoop it back up and push it back into you. He looked into your eyes as a smirk takes over his face.

“Maybe you aren’t as much of a goodie two shoes as I thought.” He grabs your hand and helps you to stand up and you feel your knees buckle under the weight. An arm is wrapped around you waist, stopping you from falling to the floor. As he held you, you felt his cum run down your thighs. You were about to ask him a question when a knock came from the door.

“Y/N you’re need for a mic check, make sure you hurry up because they’re waiting for you.” You heard the voice of your manager from out side of the room and a look of panic crosses your face but Bakugou just chuckles.

“You heard her princess, your audience awaits. We’ll just have to pick up where we left off after the show.” An evil smile on his face as he lets go of you and nudges you toward the door. As you step out of the room and make your way toward the where the stage was, you realized one thing.

That fucker didn’t give you back your underwear.

[mollygetssherlockcoffee]

Thirty Seconds

Pairing: Spencer x Fem!Reader

Summary: (Five Minutes, Part 4) Y/N enters the maze

Warning: Blood, kidnapping, maths (yes there’s a warning for that because it kills me)

Words: 2,360 

A/N: I hope no one looks at my search history because... not good

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Five  Part Six

Master List HERE   Permanent Tag List HERE

You look at the LED display which gives you your instructions.

 Unlock the door at the top of the stairs. Enter the maze. Forty-five minutes.

 You don’t bother to step over the pictures, not caring about the dirt from your shoes transferring. The steps are framed by a washer and a dryer, both in a dishevelled state from where you had searched them. Gripping the key tightly, you climbed the stairs and slid it into the lock. You turned the key, unlocking the door and pulling it open.

A wall extended from each side of the door, floor to ceiling and, once again, made completely of concrete. The path extended away from you, but the ceiling lights showed that it veered into two different directions.

 With the walls being floor to ceiling, there was no way for you to see above them and determining how big the maze was. The forty-five-minute timer set could be wholly unrealistic but what choice did you have? You had to at least try.

 You put your right hand on the wall, just like Spencer had said back in October, and take a final deep breath. You stepped into the maze, ready to begin your next task, one that you hoped was both your last one and not. Last, if it meant your team finding you. Not your last, if your team didn’t find you and you needed to survive.

 You kept your right hand on the wall as you travelled through the maze, the concrete scrapping at the delicate pads of your fingers. It wasn’t a painful feeling, but it was slightly uncomfortable. You ignored it, concentrating on keeping a level head as you walked through the maze.

 You had been close to death. You had barely found the key in time before the timer had run out. You had thought you were going to die for sure, that you would fail the task and the unsub would appear and kill you.

 You could have died and you would have never had seen your friends or family again. No more well-meaning lectures from your parents. No more worrying about how your younger sibling was fairing at college. You wouldn’t have Penelope dragging you shoe shopping again, and Emily wouldn’t be able try and convince you to have a drink with the team. Hotch wouldn’t stand behind you during interrogation sin a silent display of support, and there would be no more dinner parties or personal conversations with Rossi. Derek wouldn’t tease you about your ‘twin telepathy’ with Spencer.

 And, oh, Spencer. You’d miss out on so much, you had so many plans. You were going to take him to a concert your favourite band was holding. In return, he was planning on taking you to a lecture on molecular physics. You wouldn’t be able to bounce ideas off each other again, he wouldn’t be able to supply the words you couldn’t quite grasp when trying to describe something.

 No, stop it. You were going to be okay. You had made it this far. As long as you followed Spencer’s directions and kept right, you would make it out of the maze. You were not going to let some unsub beat you.

 You had went up against unsubs before. Everyday of your career was full of them and you hadn’t lost yet. You were not going to lose this time. You had been there to help stop Tobias Hankel, Mason Turner, and Robert and Linda Reimann. If you could get through them, you could get through this.

 Your nose scrunched up as a rancid odour filled your senses. Your left hand lifts to cover your face as you choke on air, the smell turning your stomach. The smell is strong and sharp, and almost seems to burn your nose.

 And its coming from your right.

 You have no choice, you have to follow it around, you can’t detour from your path or you’ll never make it out of the maze.

 You turn the corner.

 There, on the floor, is a large stain. It’s a dark, rusted red. Smeared across the floor, as if someone had half-assed trying to clean it us, the blood was easily identifiable. Someone had died here. It could only have been the second victim or the fourth. However, the second victim refused to participate and the fourth completed it… maybe the second victim refused to continue and was then killed? Or did the unsub have more victims he didn’t advertise?

 You stepped over the blood stain and continued on.

 From the stain, you know that the method of death wasn’t pleasant. You knew the unsub killed his victims by stabbing them but with the large stain on the floor, you knew it would be overkill. That means it would be painful but hopefully quick. If you were going to die a painful death, you hoped it would be over quickly.

 You turned right again and ahead of you; you could see a door with a LED display above it reads;

 Seven minutes and eleven seconds.

 You had made it. You were about to finish the maze, the second task. You breathed a sigh of relief, rushing for the door and twisting the handle, pushing it open and stepping inside.

 -

 Spencer stood with team as they delivered the profile of the unsub who had taken Y/N. He stood at the back, arms folded across his chest and remained uncharacteristically quiet as the other members spoke.

 “The unsub we’re looking for will be a white male in his thirties.”

“He is probably a man who is of average height and build, and is able to appear unassuming and non-threatening.”

“He most likely works in a profession relating to science in some way. Perhaps as a chemist, a schoolteacher even.”

“He’ll live in the north west Washington area and will be single with no children.”

“His interactions with women would be awkward, perhaps limited. He stabs his victims to get sexual release that he can’t get any other way.”

“He’ll probably drive a hatchback or sedan, nothing that would stand out, nothing flashy.”

 Spencer didn’t know how this profile would help. They currently had no witnesses, no suspects. There were multiple men in Washington who would fit the profile. They’d solved cases like this before but now it was personal, and Spencer couldn’t see the light here.

 Derek’s phone rang he quickly answered it, putting it on speaker. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

“Okay, I got a hit off the car and the partial plate. I’ve followed it back to two separate cars, with single differences in their plates” Garcia informs them. “Lewis Rakers and Bailey Peterson.” “Rossi, Prentiss, you go to Rakers. Morgan and I will go to Peterson’s” Hotch orders. “Garcia send the addresses to our cells and I want a full background check on both of them.”

“Yes, sir” she hung up.

Hotch turned to Spencer, “Go over all of the victim’s schedules again and see if their paths crossed in anyway, make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

 Spencer knew they hadn’t missed anything, that Hotch was just trying to give him something to do because he refused to let Spencer into the field. He nodded anyway, moving back to the room which held the case files while Hotch instructed JJ to visit the ME to find out more about the newest body found, that of Lydia Webb.

 -

 Lewis Raker opened the door to his basement, his arms full of washing as he climbed down the stairs. He shoved the dirty laundry into the washing machine, adding the detergent before pressing it on. He sighed as he looked around the messy basement, he’d have to clean it up soon. A knock sounded from upstairs and he left the basement, closing the door behind him as he went to the front door.

 -

 Bailey Peterson put away the final item, looking around his basement. Once a mess, he had managed to tidy it up in less than an hour. It had involved moving some items, picking up rubbish off the floor but it was done now. The bell for his front door sounded and Bailey quickly hurried to answer it, pulling the door shut behind him.

 -

 David Rossi and Emily Prentiss climbed back into their car. Lewis Raker had answered their questions without hesitation. He had, however, denied them entrance into his home. It was a one storey property, made with grey bricks and had a wooden porch. Thirty minutes outside of Washington, it was in a quiet area with limited neighbours.

 “Do you think its him?” Prentiss asked, not looking away from the house.

“I don’t know, but its strange that he won’t let us inside” Rossi comments, eyes narrowed as he eyed the house with equal scepticism. “Call Hotch, see how he’s getting on.”

Emily pulled out her phone, dialling Hotch’s number and putting it on speaker.

 -

 Aaron Hotchner and Derek Morgan walked away from the Peterson residence. A two-storey building made of bricks, it was an eye catcher in the neighbour-less area of north west Washington. They climbed back into their car, not bothering with their seatbelts as they stared at the building in front of them.

 Hotch’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his suit pocket. “Hotchner.” “Hey, we just got done with Raker. He gave nothing away and wouldn’t let us into the house without a warrant” Emily informed him.

“We just had the same interaction with Peterson” Hotch confirmed. “I’ll patch in Garcia and see if she’s found anything.”

 Putting the phone on speaker, Hotch dialled Garcia’s number and added her to the call. She answered the call on the second ring, greeting the team with her usual quippy comment before jumping straight into giving them the information they needed.

 “Okay, only one of our duo matches the profile. He’s not a chemist or science teacher, but his dad was. He works as a janitor at a local high school though, so he could get access to the ingredients to make the chloroform. No wife, girlfriend, boyfriend or anything that can be seen. I also went over CCTV of the areas where the victims went missing and it took a while, but I found the car in every camera. Sometimes the times aren’t exact, but its within half-hour either way.”

 “Who is it Garcia?” Hotch demanded.

Garcia took a deep inhale of breath before she told them the name.

 -

 You were in a new room. It was tiny, if you were to reach your arms out in either direction, you’d be touching the wall. Ahead of you is a door, an alphabetical keypad beside it. Above the keypad is a laminated piece of paper and a timer counting down from three minutes.

 The laminated paper held a riddle and you stepped closer to read it.

 ‘I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?’

 You know the answer to this riddle. You, Spencer and Penelope had a game you would play with each other. You would tell each other riddles, hoping the others wouldn’t know the answer. It was a playful game, something to occupy the downtime when you didn’t have a case. This had been Penelope’s first riddle and she had been annoyed when Spencer had guessed the answer correctly before she had even finished telling it.

 ‘Echo’ you typed into the keypad.

 The door slid open and you stepped through. The new room is exactly the same as the first, the timer reset to read three minutes and it was already counting down. You turned to the riddle.

 ‘I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?’

 This was a riddle you had given to Penelope and Spencer. You had spent ages on Google looking for the perfect riddle before finding this one. You had been proud because Spencer hadn’t been able to answer the riddle straight away. It hadn’t taken him long, only a few minutes, but you still counted it as a victory.

 ‘Map’ you typed into the keypad.

 The door in front of you slid open and you stepped through again. Its exactly the same as the first two and you groan. Riddles were fun but under pressure, you already knew you were going to struggle.

 ‘How can the number four be half of five?’

 This one stumps you. You’re not the best at maths and would admit to that any day. This was not a riddle which was made for you. While you struggled with large sums off the top of your head, you knew that half of five was two-point-five. The math was impossible. Maybe it doesn’t mean the literally number though. The numbers are written as words, maybe that was a clue. It could be ‘fi’ or ‘ve’ or…

 Roman numerals. They used letters, didn’t they? You hated Roman numerals, they were stupid and confusing, not following a logical order which you hated. What was the answer? IIII or IV… wait, IV. Those are two letters which are in five. You couldn’t be certain that they were the Roman numerical version of four, but you were running out of time.

 ‘IV’ you input into the keyboard.

 You hold your breath but then the next door slides open and you walk through. There’s another riddle.

 ‘Find the next three parts of the sequence…. OTTFFS’

 What? You didn’t understand. What was the sequence? It made no sense, there was no method to the layout of the letters. What could they mean? You didn’t even know what the letters could stand for.

 You would have to guess because you had no way of knowing. You looked at the timer, thirty seconds. What were you going to put? You bit your bottom lip and reached for the keypad.

 “SOO” you typed.

 The timer reached zero and the door remained closed. You held your breath, turning around in your spot. The lights went out and you were left in the dark. 

A/N: What’s the answer to the riddle? And, who is the kidnapper/killer?

Permanent Tag List: @sskhair​ @sammypotato67​ @spencerreids-wife​ @yoongi-holland​ @bucky-babygirl​ @youareperrrfectls​ @alexxcorona113​ @tired-draculina​ 

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[moonlit-mizukage]

Chapter eight: Perfect

Summary: Popular punk band, Skull crusher, had to find a new drummer due to the sudden disappearance of the last one. As band manager and lead singer, Semi Eita’s girlfriend, Y/l/n Y/n brings Kyotani, a rising internet drummer they found online into the picture. Everything was great at first, then Kuroo, the lead guitarist, started getting creepy messages and presents. Y/n is determined to find out who is trying to sabotage the band when things only take a turn for the absolute worst. Who could be the mysterious stalker really be? Is it their new band mate? Or could it be a close friend of one of the members?

Tw; DEATH! BODY HORROR! BLOOD! KILLING! Swearing, police This chapter is the mark start of the murders. I will begin tagging tw blood and tw body horror so If you do not want to see this, please block those Tags!!

Word count: 1.1K

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Third person pov - The Next Day

A loud knock on the door startled Yukie. She got up from her couch and headed over to her door.

“Police! Open up!” They yelled from behind it. She pulled open the door.

“Hello, how can I help you today officers?” She asked.

“We have a warrant to search the place.” The officer flashed her the paper as he and his partner pushed past her.

She went and sat back down on her couch sighing as she picked up her phone to tweet about the current situation she was in.

The police were looking around in the distant rooms. When they reached a door that was locked.

“Excuse me Ma’am, can you unlock this door for us?”

“It's my room for photography. It has to stay dark so the photos all dry out nice.”

“Open the door or we will break it down.” The officer snapped.

Yukie sighed as she got up and walked over to the door unlocking it. They entered the room as she moved back.

Inside the room were about 50 fresh pictures strung out all around. The officers soon came to notice it was all the same person, more specifically Kuroo.

“Why are all these photos of the person being harassed?” The one officer asked Yukie.

“I promise it’s not what it looks like! I have so many of the other band members I just do specific members at times.”

“Come down to the station tomorrow for a lie detector test at 3pm.”

“Yes of course officers.” The two had left after that as Yukie pulled out her phone to text her friends group chat.

 (WRITTEN PART AGAIN)

Yukie was sitting on her couch crying as she heard a noise come from her room.

“Hello?” She asked. She stood up and started to walk down by her room.

She screamed when she noticed a large pile of blood by her bedroom window on the floor with one finger placed in the middle. She turned to run out of the room only to be stopped by a masked figure.

“Where do you think you are going?” Said the eerie voice.

She tried to run to her window as the hand gripped her wrist. She was tossed onto the floor with a hard thud. Something slammed into the back of her head before everything went dark.

Yukie woke a little while later on her bed. She tried to sit up but she noticed her arms were handcuffed to her bed post.

“Hello?? Please let me go! I won’t say anything.” The person reentered her room.

“Oh good, you are awake. I have been waiting for you to get up. I wanted you to be awake for what comes next.” The person moved closer as they pulled a hand saw from behind their back along with some rope. “So you don’t move.” They said grabbing her left leg and tying it tightly to the bedpost.

They stood beside the bed, holding her right leg with incredible strength.. They lined the saw up with her ankle. They began to put pressure down as the blade began to cut through her delicate layers of skin. Yukie let you a blood curdling scream as the person stopped.

“I almost forgot.” They reached into her bedside table drawer as they pulled out a ball gag. They shoved it in Yukie’s mouth as she struggled. Yukie tried to scream now but it was barely audible. “Perfect.” They then grabbed an elastic band nurses use to take blood. They tied it as tight as possible just above where the ankle was cut. The person got back to their spot holding her leg as they continued to saw into her ankle. Yukie was desperately trying to scream and move, but her attempts went barely noticed.

Yukie’s eyes were puffy and red. Face covered in snot and saliva as the person reached the final side of their bone. Yukie’s leg was pouring out blood. The person reached into their bag and grabbed a torch out. Yukie shook her head as she watched the person turn it on to cauterize her wound to stop the bleeding. The person grabbed a first aid kit as they wrapped her wound up to be sure it would stop bleeding enough to make her live through what was next.

“Can’t have you bleed out before we are done now can we?” The person said with a laugh.

They walked over to the other side of the bed now starting on the second ankle just like they did to the first. Yukie was dizzy and feeling herself fade in and out due to the blood loss and pain. Barely awake, the second one fished and was burned and wrapped before she realized.

The person moved now to the top of her bed. Undoing the handcuffs as they knew Yukie couldn’t escape with the amount of blood loss she had faced.Yukie was barely conscious as the masked person began slapping her face.

“Wake up Yukie. You can’t die on me yet, I am not done playing with you.”

Yukie looked at the person almost lifeless now. They tied another band around her arm before they brought the saw up to her hand and began to push into her wrist. Cutting into it deep on the first try, Yukie was trying to pull away but her strength barley even moved it an inch.

By the time that wrist was sawed and they had started the second, the person could tell Yukie was on her last breath.

“Since you are about to die, I will show you who I am.” The person said before lifting their mask. Yukie’s eyes widened in horror as she tried to move away again. The person laughed at her pathetic attempt and began to saw into her again.

At the end of the second wrist, Yukie was lifeless now. The person began to laugh as they stood up. They placed the saw into their bag as they grabbed a large axe. They pulled back and began chopping the body as the blood now began spraying the walls of the room. They sadistically laughed while doing so.

As they finished they made sure to space all the limbs out as they took another bag of blood from their bag and stabbed it with a nearby pen. They made sure only to spray the wall now. The fresh blood dripped down the wall as the killer took their gloved hand and began to write a message. As they were done they grabbed Yukie’s phone off the couch, using her finger to unlock it. They took a few pictures, then grabbed the right foot and shoved it in a box. They wrote on the top a name as they shoved a note from their pocket inside it. After placing the box inside their bag, they returned to the phone. They chose a number off the list and sent the two pictures, one of the wall and the second of Yukie’s body, with a simple message that read;

You were wrong Y/n.

_____________________________________________________________

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Taglist: @satan-ruler-of-hells @elianetsantana @elephantloser @putmeinyourdeathnote @levithansbabygirl @megumitodoroki @idontknow-whatto-callthis @jellyfishsart @freakydeaky226 @atria-avior @doodletingz​ @kac-chowsballs @twistedvalkyrie @ranu-chan @why-couldnt-it-be @thisnoodlewritesao3 @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa

[ao3feed-larry]

Privileged Murder

by avocadotommo

Harry Cartwright (now Styles) and Louis Tomlinson both come from well-known, higher class, rich, successful families in the manor houses of England. Harry rejected his family name at 20 and became a highly honoured member of The Metropolitan Police Force. Louis, on the other hand, used his name and the power that accompanied it to become the most successful and famous music producer in England.

Louis is arrested during a murder investigation and Harry happens to be the Detective Chief Inspector, Louis has always used his name and money in life and Harry Is refusing to let him get away with it. Harry understands the privilege Louis relies on more than he realises.

What happens when all the emotions left behind ten years ago are re-released and can they both balance romance, work, loyalty to the ones closest to them and their love for each other?

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

I absolutely suck at writing summaries but it will make sense - hopefully

Words: 4462, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: One Direction (Band), Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Original Characters

Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne

Additional Tags: descriptions of violenece but not enough to warrant a warning, Police Officer Harry Styles, Nobility Louis Tomlinson, Childhood Friends, Gang Member Niall Horan, Sort Of Gang Member Louis Tomlinson, so many other tags that I cant remember, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Smut, On to smut..., Top Louis Tomlinson, Bottom Harry Styles, Kinky, Choking, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, one time bottom louis, one time top harry, dominat louis, Submissive Harry, ugh i hate tagging, just read and if you dont like something then stop :)

via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/3eB21zp

[raven-moon33]

@dorkshadows @earl-of-221b @melonmass @antidotefortheawkward-art @videogamelover99 (I’m tagging a bunch of people in case Tumblr eats my post again.)

Hello everyone! Happy #jttwfestival2020! I’m so excited to be participating in this event, and am so thrilled at all the new content we’re already getting. Here’s my fill for the prompt Day 3: Role Switch! 

I will be cross-posting this on AO3 as well, so feel free to leave a kudos or comment there if you happen to swing by.

Basically, Golden Cicada/Sanzang is the super powerful protector of the group while the other four are severely weakened from their various positions before the journey started and can’t protect themselves all that well on the road.

Some notes on this AU thingum:

- Golden Cicada is asked by Guanyin to help with the journey. He agrees and takes the name Sanzang as his human alias and to hide his true identity from demons who might cause them trouble. (He’s referred to as both Sanzang and Golden Cicada in the story, so let me know if that gets to be too confusing.)

- He wears two golden bracelets that limit his powers so that he can stay on the mortal plane in a semi-human form for as long as the journey will take, although the strain of having his powers limited in such a way is sometimes quite tiring and even painful. (He’s still more than powerful enough to protect the group however, so don’t y’all worry).

- Wukong, Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong are all well aware of who their protector is, but they’re not aware of the whole bracelet/limited powers situation. (At least, as far as Sanzang knows).

Anyways, now that we’re done with all that, on with the prompt fill! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Sanzang was deeply regretting his decision to accompany the pilgrims on their journey. Although the four other members of their group were each powerful in their own ways (especially the monkey, good heavens) they still needed him to guard their journey onwards. 

In order for the four celestials-turned-demons to redeem themselves and potentially achieve enlightenment, it was vital they had a guardian overseeing their journey, ensuring they remained on the righteous path, and protecting them from the many dangers their road took them towards.

Perhaps if they were taking this journey earlier- 

before Bailong was weakened by decades cut off from the sea- 

before Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing lost most of their celestial might from the years of being slowly corrupted from their own demonic behavior and the consumption of human flesh- 

before Sun Wukong was trapped under a mountain for five hundred years, once one of the most powerful creatures in existence, withering like a lotus flower locked away from the sun until he became a mere echo of his former self- 

perhaps then they would not have needed a protector from the hordes of demons and mortals who sought to end their journey before they could complete it for one reason or another. 

But they were not. This was now, and the things of the past could not be changed, only dealt with. So they continued on, however reluctant they might’ve been to do so.

Although the presence of a guardian for the pilgrims was clearly necessary, it most certainly didn’t need to be Golden Cicada himself. The only reason he volunteered to be the guardian of the scripture pilgrims at all was because Bodhisattva Guanyin herself asked it of him, and he never could find it in himself to say no to her. So he took the name Sanzang for his temporary human form and released Wukong from the mountain, beginning their journey west.

So now he was here, less than a year on the road with four demons who clearly didn’t want to be on this journey at all, trying desperately to prevent Wukong from killing. Again.

“Wukong! Stop!” He raised his hand to intercept the golden cudgel, only just stopping it from caving in the cowering bandit’s head. If Wukong was at his full power, the cudgel likely would’ve destroyed Sanzang’s hand (if not more) for the trouble, but as it was the hit left not much more than a stinging sensation reverberating up his arm, easily ignored. 

Wukong’s eyes blazed with frustration (whether from Sanzang’s interference or from his own inability to power through that interference as he once might have, Sanzang couldn’t be sure) but his mouth was still tilted in an easy grin and his posture remained casual.

“What is it, little bug? I was just going to give him a tap, a tap! I swear!”

Sanzang couldn’t quite hold back his scoff. “You and I both well know that a ‘tap’ from you is enough to kill an entire army, let alone a single man. I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t kill anymore humans, especially not while on this journey?” 

“If they can’t handle someone fighting back, then these bandits have no business trying to steal from people on the road in the first place.” Wukong’s grin became a little more feral when his eyes shifted to the bandit still cowering behind Sanzang. “Or is it alright that they’ve been going after traveling families and elderly folk?” His voice deepened a little into the demonic tone he only got when he was truly angry. “Children?”

“Of course it’s not alright.” Sanzang said with a soft sigh, his grip on the golden cudgel tightening a little to get Wukong’s eyes back on him. “And you know that’s not what I’m saying.” The silence between them grew into a large, tense thing, Wukong’s eyes blazing with the fire of his fury, singing with the memory of his days of havoc, and for a moment Sanzang wondered if they were going to fight once again, like they hadn’t since the very early days. 

Back then, Wukong was still so wound tight with frustration at the situation- being freed from the mountain only to be trapped on a journey he wanted no part of, Sanzang having to rescue him from demons so lesser Wukong once probably wouldn’t have even noticed them amongst his horde of monkeys and demons, not even being able to fly on his cloud to make the journey easier or shorter at all, weakened as he was by the weight of Five Finger Mountain- that he’d more often than not lash out at Sanzang over everything, physically and verbally slashing at him with every method available until he either tired himself out, they became distracted by something else, or they managed to reach an uneasy compromise built up of tense silence and avoided glances.

It got better with the addition of the others to their group, levying the tension and anger somewhat with the presence of others who likely better understood and who could commiserate with Wukong’s frustration, but still sometimes there would be an aborted swing of his staff, a grinding of the teeth as he seemed to resist the temptation to bite at Sanzang’s outstretched hand. 

But it was getting better, slow as the progress might be. Recently, Wukong even let Sanzang bandage some of his wounds after a particularly rough encounter with a mountain demon, the first time he’d accepted such help from anyone in the year they’d been traveling together. 

Sanzang was surprised by how deeply he hoped they wouldn’t slide back into those early days. 

It was not only because the constant war of wills had been exhausting, but because he genuinely hoped they could become something approaching friends before the end of their journey together. Sanzang had already become fond of the four demons he watched over, troublesome as they could be at times, but the other three took their cues from the Monkey King. So long as Wukong and Sanzang remained at odds, the others kept their distance from him, figuratively if not literally. (They did share a campfire more often than not, after all.) 

And besides that, physical altercations with Wukong were always draining, more than nearly anything else on their journey. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because Wukong was still just that powerful (weakened as he might be, it would still be suicide for most to challenge him) or if it was because Sanzang refused to use more than defensive tactics against him when they did fight (regardless of their personal issues, Wukong was still his charge, and he would never knowingly or willingly bring or allow harm to any under his protection), but whatever it was, fights with Wukong could leave him weakened enough to warrant a brief visit to Bodhisattva Guanyin to regain his strength, and he hated leaving the group even for handfuls of minutes, talented as they were at getting themselves into trouble even when he was there.

But luckily, Wukong didn’t seem to want a fight either. With a brief glance at the golden bands wrapped firmly around Sanzang’s wrists, the anger seemed to leech out of the monkey completely. (Not for the first time, Sanzang wondered if Wukong knew more about the bracelets than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to question him about it.) 

Wukong rolled his eyes and took a step back, tugging his staff out of Sanzang’s grasp. He twirled it until the golden cudgel rested across his shoulders, both arms hanging off it casually.

“Right right, ‘doing wrong unto those who have wronged will not undo their wrongs, only add to your own’, and all that. You need to get some new sayings, little bug, if even those of us who aren’t listening have them memorized.” He walked off before Sanzang could retort, disappearing through the trees and returning to the road the bandits attacked them on. Sighing, out of frustration or relief or maybe even both, Sanzang turned back to the bandit still frozen to the ground behind him. As soon as he saw Sanzang’s eyes on him, the bandit hurried into a kowtow, bowing over and over again as he muttered a shaky litany of ‘sorry’, over and over again, interspersed occasionally with ‘thank you’ and ‘please spare me’.

Abruptly feeling very tired, Sanzang knelt down in front of the bandit, placing a gentle hand on the back of his head as he bent down to stop the frantic movements. The bandit froze and fell quiet instantly, face nearly pressed against the dirt despite the feather-light touch Sanzang had on him. 

Sometimes, when he was feeling a little too tired or stressed or frustrated to completely hide the parts of himself the bands couldn’t quite suppress (or when he simply chose to stop hiding himself), everything around him could feel the heavy weight of his presence in the air. The insects in the trees would go silent, the plants in the forest would still their slow growth, and all mortal creatures would stop and tremble and hide in a desperate bid to avoid being seen by whatever now crouched among them, the entire world holding its breath as if waiting for the strike of lightning or the crash of an avalanche to swallow it whole. But, luckily for the bandit bowing beneath him, Golden Cicada was not cruel. 

“You have lived a hard life, Chenglei,” the bandit flinched when Golden Cicada used his name, but otherwise didn’t move or make a sound, “but you know in your heart that it does not justify your actions now.” Golden Cicada gentled his tone, feeling the loss and grief twisting the man’s heart, feeling the beginnings of a demon’s bitterness rooted there in the ashes of love and gentleness. 

(Loss wrought such devastation on a soul, and there was so much of it in the world; was there truly any wonder as to why so many demons wandered the world?) 

“You have lost much, but you know those you’ve lost would be ashamed to see what you have become without them. Do you truly seek to dishonor their memory?”

“No.” The man sobbed out, shaking as his tears stained the dirt beneath them.

“Then go,” Golden Cicada said, standing up and stepping back, “and do better. Live the way they would’ve wanted you to.” The bandit didn’t waste another moment, scrambling up from the dirt and escaping into the forest, running as far and as fast from the road (and from Golden Cicada) as he could. With a small wave of his fingers, a cicada sprung from a nearby leaf and buzzed hurriedly after the man. Golden Cicada had given the bandit a chance, a choice, and it was up to him what he did with it.

But whether he chose to turn from the dark path he walked or continued along it despite Golden Cicada’s interference, he would be sure to face the appropriate consequences; Golden Cicada’s messenger would make sure of that.

The bandit now long gone, Golden Cicada sat down in the shade of a large oak tree, relaxing into the familiar lotus position. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and he drew himself back into himself. The heavy presence of the air eased away until it was locked completely behind golden bands and a human facade once more. 

After a brief moment of silence in the newly lightened forest air, the insects began to cautiously chirp and chitter once again, birds hopping nervously onto new branches and singing soft tunes to one another, the trees groaning as they carefully continued their slow growth. 

Sanzang released his breath in a long sigh, eyeing the cuffs around his wrists. They were mostly unremarkable looking, plain and nondescript even with their golden appearance, but that rarely meant much when it came to celestial tools.  

They were given to him by Bodhisattva Guanyin back when he first agreed to help with the journey, and if it weren’t for the bracelets he wouldn’t be able to accompany the pilgrims at all, especially not for as long as the journey was likely to take. He recognized the necessity of wearing them, yet still he couldn’t help but loathe them at times. They locked away the majority of his powers, the majority of himself, shrinking him into something small and muted enough to exist on the mortal plane in a form he could pass off as human when he needed to, while still giving him enough power to help the pilgrims when they needed him.

The bracelets tethered him to the world in a way he hadn’t been bound for almost as long as he could remember, and although he could technically take them off whenever he desired, they still felt like chains trapping him, keeping him away from the sky and the freedom he’d enjoyed for an eternity (yet still for not long enough). 

The heaviness of his own body startled him at times, his bones filled with mortar and his blood as viscous as honey, and he thought often about how he could understand at least some of Wukong’s frustrations. To be a creature of the sky suddenly bound to the unforgiving grip of the earth was a unique kind of torment not easily likened to any other.

He could take off the bands whenever he wanted, free himself and stop feeling like he was too big for his own skin, form itching with the need to be drifting amongst the stars and being the stars and forming the stars and dying with the stars all at once, but he also couldn’t take them off. 

As Bodhisattva Guanyin warned him the single time he removed them, (back when a surprisingly powerful demon had his charges captured and was going to kill them, actually going to kill them, and Sanzang in his neutered form might not have been able to save them in time but Golden Cicada in his full glory most certainly could) the bracelets could only be removed and replaced a limited number of times. 

Rebinding his power weakened the bracelets significantly, powerful as they were otherwise, and eventually his own form would be too much for the bracelets to contain. If the bracelets broke before the journey was over, there was no telling what would become of the pilgrims left without the guardian and guide they needed, and he was determined to see this journey through to the end for them. 

(Come to think of it, Wukong hadn’t picked a fight with him since the time he briefly took them off. Wukong hadn’t been there when they were put back on as far as Sanzang knew, couldn’t have seen how excruciating it had been to lock himself away again after that brief taste of full freedom, but again he wondered if Wukong had managed to glean some understanding of what they were during that incident. Sanzang would have to question him about it soon, for his own peace of mind if nothing else. Something about the thought of any of his charges knowing, but especially Wukong, made something unpleasant shiver under his skin. He hoped none of them would ever know.)

It had only been a year, but already his investment in the pilgrims’ fates had gone from being for Bodhisattva Guanyin’s sake only to being entirely about his hope to see them succeed. 

He had become so fond of them even in such a short time, and although he missed his old life amongst the celestials without these bracelets leashing the very essence of him, he found he dearly wished for his charges to succeed and achieve enlightenment themselves far more, even if they themselves didn’t seem to care much about it, judging by how often they complained and conspired against him when they thought he couldn’t hear. (The fact that none of them ever made a serious attempt to abandon the journey was often the only kernel of hope he had as the nights grew longer and the road stretched ever on.)

All these swirling thoughts of his were interrupted by something soft being stroked across his face. 

Although he couldn’t see what caused it, he’d spent enough time around Bodhisattva Guanyin to recognize the feeling of a willow branch on his skin. She remained invisible, and although he could see her if he summoned his power once more (straining the magic of the bracelets binding him) he knew she would’ve shown herself if she wanted to be seen. 

He recognized her visit for what it was (a gentle reprimand), so he closed his eyes and folded his body into the lotus position once again. The minutes passed peacefully between them, her silent presence as comforting as it always was, warm and gentle as spring rain, and they needed no words between them. 

He breathed in, felt the knot of anger and anxiety and frustration and panic coiling in his chest, building from the time he’d last given himself to properly meditate, and he breathed it out. 

With each breath he felt himself relaxing more and more, the tight clutch of fear easing until it disappeared entirely. Soon he was empty, mind calm and quiet like it hadn’t been for a good many nights, and he felt as much like himself as he could, bound to the earth as he was. 

There was one more feather-light touch to his head (chastising, yet fond) and he could almost hear her saying you must take better care of yourself Golden Cicada; if you yourself are not at peace, then how can you help them find their own? before her presence faded and was gone completely. When he opened his eyes, all that remained as proof of her being there was a small lotus leaf filled with crystal clear water. 

Smiling at this generous gift, he picked up the leaf and took a small sip. He drank barely enough to be able to taste it, yet still the subsequent warmth and strength suffusing his body was immediate. (He didn’t realize how weak and tired he’d been feeling recently, not until energy lit him up once more). 

With care, he expertly twisted the edges of the leaf together until it closed up, protecting the water inside so he could safely store it in one of the hidden pockets in his robe. He would use it in their stew that night, as he knew they would be facing danger again soon and wanted his charges to have as much strength as they could before that happened. With one last look at his surroundings, Sanzang stood up, brushed himself off, and moved to return to the road where his charges were (hopefully) waiting for him.

When he returned to the site of the bandit attack, what he saw both surprised and warmed him. 

The bandits hadn’t really been aiming for their group when they attacked, as their sights were focused more on the wagon of a traveling family who’d been on the same road. Although the combined efforts of Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong were enough to scare away the rest of the bandits while Sanzang prevented Wukong from killing the man he’d chased into the forest, it appeared the family and the wagon hadn’t managed to escape entirely unscathed. 

The cart had somehow been flipped onto its side, flinging all of its contents into the grass beside the road, and while the horse pulling the wagon didn’t seem to be harmed, it had gotten loose and was now running down the road at a panicked gallop. The eldest of the group (likely the father of one of the parents), appeared to have broken his leg after falling from the wagon, and the two young children, a boy and a girl surely not more than five years old, were crying from their place stuck in a tree, where they’d gone to hide while the bandits fought the pilgrims.

But it was not all this that made Sanzang suddenly feel so warm and fond. 

It was the sight of Wujing carefully lifting and righting the cart onto the road as Bajie helped the father of the group pick up the family’s scattered supplies. 

It was Bailong quickly shifting into the horse form he generally seemed to prefer on the road to chase after the frightened mare, calming it down and leading it back to the family before it got too far to catch. 

It was Wukong soothing the scared children, carefully lifting them out of the tree and returning them to the ground, letting them cling to him until their shaking stopped and patiently calming them down so their mother could tend to their injured grandfather. 

A small smile painting his features, pride in his charges glowing brightly in his chest, Sanzang quickly strode over to help the mother set the elderly man’s leg.

Perhaps there’s hope for this journey after all. He thought to himself. 

Somehow, somewhere, he felt like Bodhisattva Guanyin was laughing.

(A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think and once again, happy #jttwfestival2020!)

[allsassnoclass]

unmute: 2011

Hello friends here is chapter 1 of unmute, aka the off-screen prequel!

Fic tumblr masterpost

Read on AO3

warnings for this chapter: there is one mention of alcohol and there is one slight instance of homophobia (a microaggression)

thank you to bella @clumsyclifford for reading this over for me

Luke first meets Ashton on a normal Friday afternoon.  They’re in Luke’s garage to give Michael’s granny flat a break, the door open to let the spring breeze in to occasionally ruffle their fringes.  They’re messing around with a blink-182 song just for the heck of it when a bike skids to a stop on the sidewalk.  Luke doesn’t even notice at first, too caught up in positioning his fingers correctly on the fretboard and getting the words right, but once they finish singing someone outside starts clapping and Luke startles bad enough that his cheeks immediately feel like they’re on fire.

“Wow, you guys are really good!” the cutest boy that Luke has ever seen says.  Even from this distance, Luke thinks he can make out dimples at the corner of his smile.

“Thanks, mate!” Calum says.  The cute boy gives a thumbs up and pedals away, and Luke tries to trade the embarrassment of being caught singing with the boys unexpectedly for the pleasant burning of the compliment instead.

It happens again the next week.  The boy comes to a stop on his bike at the end of Luke’s driveway, and Luke notices him right away this time.  He sends a small smile as he finishes the chorus and the boy beams, bopping his head along.  When the final chord fades away, he claps, compliments them again, and then is off.

“Huh,” Michael says as the boy bikes away.

“What?” Luke asks.

“I’m pretty sure we’re Facebook friends.  We met at a party.  His name’s Ashton.”

“Invite him in next time, then,” Luke says.  It ends up being futile, because Michael’s parents let them back in the granny flat after that and there’s no more practicing in Luke’s garage following school.

-/-

He runs into the cute boy again unexpectedly at the movie theater.

It’s embarrassing, because Luke had just been minding his own business waiting for popcorn and hoping that he doesn’t see anyone he knows when a few boys from his school spot him.  Normally this would be fine, but Luke just got a haircut that he hates and he’s wearing his really dorky glasses, and these boys aren’t exactly bullies but they’re also not the nicest.

“Hey, Hemmings, how are you going to be a rockstar with those glasses?” one of them says, and the rest snicker, and Luke can feel himself closing in on himself instead of putting on his thick skin and acting like that doesn’t bother him.

“Maybe he’s trying to be a trendsetter,” one of the others says, glancing at him quickly.  The boys scoff and Luke knows that he should say something, but he’s desperately hoping that Jack appears from where he ran off to the bathroom instead.

“Popcorn for the guy in the awesome green glasses,” someone says, voice strong and melodic, and when Luke turns it’s not Jack that’s come to his rescue but the cute boy, fringe sweeping across bright eyes and tan skin, wearing the uniform of the movie theater and holding out a tub of popcorn across the counter.

“Thanks,” he says, stepping forward to take it, and the boy smiles widely at him.

Luke had been right.  He does have dimples.  And straight teeth.  And his eyes are hazel.  His name tag says Ashton, so Michael wasn’t lying about having met him before.  Luke wonders what he was doing when this party took place.

“Don’t listen to them,” Ashton says.  “With a voice like yours, they’ll be eating their words soon.”

“I hope so,” Luke says, and then, because Michael says they have to advertise the band better, “I’m in a band.  We’re called 5 Seconds of Summer, if you ever want to look us up.”

“I’ll do that,” Ashton says.  “I’ll admit I’ve been disappointed when I bike by that house and you guys aren’t practicing.”

Luke’s heart does an excited little twirl at that, because Ashton seems genuine.  Luke knows that the band is okay, otherwise he wouldn’t have put anything out on YouTube or let Michael and Calum invade his channel, but it’s nice to hear it from someone who isn’t an immediate family member.

“We’re practicing at Michael’s now,” Luke says.  “Maybe--”

He stops, because that’s a silly idea.

“What?” Ashton asks, tiling his head slightly.

“Well, we haven’t done any official gigs yet so I can’t invite you to those, but it might be good to play for someone else who’s not related to us, if you wanted to sit in on a practice or something.  But you don’t have to!  It’d probably be weird and I don’t know if Michael and Calum would be okay with it, although neither of them minded you watching from the driveway…” he trails off, chewing his lip.

“I’d love that!” Ashton says enthusiastically, startling Luke out of the unfortunate swirl of thoughts centering around how awful it is that he’s still so awkward.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says.  “If your bandmates are okay with it, of course, but I’d like that a lot.”

“Oh.  Cool.”

Luke is trying to figure out if he should give Ashton his number, or ask for his, or how to go about coordinating this when the popcorn is snatched from his hands.

“Come on, Luke,” Jack says.  “Movie’s starting.”

He doesn’t wait for him, just sets off for the theater, and Luke scrambles to orient himself and follow.

“I’ll have Michael message you on Facebook!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing out a wave.  Ashton calls back a confirmation and returns the wave and then goes right back to smiling at the next customer and preparing concessions.

“Who was that?” Jack asks once they take their seats, thankfully before the previews have started.

“His name’s Ashton.  He likes the band.”

“Wow, a fan,” Jack says without the proper amount of enthusiasm Luke thinks being in a band that has real fans out in the world should warrant.  Luke elbows him and snatches the popcorn bucket, but not before Jack grabs a handful to stuff in his mouth.

Luke rolls his eyes and settles in for the movie.  When they leave afterwards he looks for Ashton, but doesn’t see him behind the concession counter.

-/-

Their next rehearsal dissolves pretty quickly into Michael and Calum playing video games while Luke pretends to do his homework instead of watch them.  He has a few assignments that need to get turned in to keep his grades up to his mum’s standard, but Michael and Calum are loud and vibrant and very, very distracting.  Luke is laying on the floor to avoid any stray elbows that get thrown, but he can’t let his guard down just in case.  As such, he’s done exactly half of a math problem.

When there’s a quiet moment he clears his throat and says “Hey, you guys remember Ashton?”

“The guy who was watching from the driveway?” Calum asks.

“Ashton from the party?” Michael adds.

“Yeah,” Luke says.  “I ran into him at the movie theater.  I think we should invite him to sit in on some practices.”

“Why?” Michael frowns.  Luke shrugs.

“It’ll be good to play in front of an audience, even if it’s just one person.  He seems cool and he likes the band.”

“Are we ready for that?” Calum asks.  Luke shrugs again.

“We already put out stuff on YouTube.  How much different can it be?”

“Yeah, but we mess up a lot before we upload the videos,” Michael says.  He looks at Luke critically, squinting in a way that makes Luke want to retreat like a turtle, except he can’t even effectively do that because it’s spring and he’s in a t-shirt.  Then Michael grins, wide and teasing.  “Does he really like the band, or do you just have a crush on him?”

Luke feels a blush flare up on his face, the type that stings.  

“Fuck you, I’m not gay!” he says, and a voice inside his head screams liar!  He stamps it down viciously.

He isn’t gay.  He might be bi, but that’s not relevant right now and he’s not going to make it relevant for a while, not when he doesn’t have to.  All of the boys at their school are tools, so it’s not like he’s going to have the chance to explore that side of himself here, anyway.

Maybe if the band actually goes somewhere he will.  But then again, maybe having a bi member would hurt them.  Maybe he’ll end up keeping this between him and the poster of All Time Low in his room forever.

Either way, it’s not relevant right now.  Luke likes flirting with girls and holding their hands and the few dry kisses he’s had, so he’s just going to focus on that.

“Aw, you do have a crush,” Michael says, catapulting him back to the real world, and his tone is teasing but it still makes Luke panic.  It’s not even true, because Ashton is super cute and he seems nice but that’s not-- Luke’s not trying to get to know him because of that.

“Are you jealous?” Luke asks, switching tactics because the more he fights against them the more Michael and Calum will clamp down on this line of teasing like dogs sinking their teeth into a particularly good bone.  Michael wrinkles his nose and recoils.

“Ew.”

And yeah, that stings a little, too.

Calum gets a look on his face that typically means he’s up to no good.

“I think I need to meet this Ashton guy,” he says.  “See if he’s any good for our little Lukey.”  He reaches over to ruffle his hair and Luke swats his hand away, which leads to a small tussle that ends in half of the pages of Luke’s textbook getting folded over.

“Fuck you guys,” Luke says once he has Calum in something resembling a headlock, a little out of breath but triumphant.  “He just seems cool.  I don’t have any cool friends and thought it’d be nice.”

“Hey,” Calum complains, then jabs him with his elbow and escapes.

“He says he’s free on Saturday,” Michael says, looking at his phone.  “I don’t want him at our practices until I know he’s okay, so we’re going bowling.”

“No one who goes bowling is cool,” Calum says.

“Shut up, Calum,” Michael says, then begins the next round of their game with no warning, leaving Calum scrambling to get ready.  Luke huffs a laugh and tries to get his textbook back to rights, even though he knows he won’t be getting any more homework done today.

-/-

On Saturday, Luke feels inexplicably nervous.

He shouldn’t, because Ashton isn’t special.  He’s just a guy that they met and now are going to hang out with a little.  Luke has already botched one conversation with him and survived, and he’ll have Michael and Calum with him this time for backup.  Besides, if it turns out that Ashton is awful they simply won’t ever invite him over.  If it turns out that he’s not, Luke could have a new friend.

He has friends.  He’s not an outcast at school or anything, and Michael and Calum are amazing most of the time, so it’s not like he’s hurting for friends.  Still, another one would be nice, and he really does think it could be good to get an outside perspective on their music.

His mum drops him off in front of the bowling alley where Michael is already waiting, running a hand through his fringe in a way that makes Luke think he might be a little nervous, too, which is unfortunate because Michael is typically the most boisterous out of them and Luke was counting on him to drag him through this if it starts to go sour.  When necessary, Michael is really good at muscling through uncomfortable situations for the sake of Luke or Calum.

“Call me when you’re done,” his mum says.  “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he says distractedly, already partially out of the car.  Michael immediately brightens when he sees him.

“Hi,” he says.  Luke waves and jogs over.  “Cal’s going to be a little late and I have no fucking clue when Ashton’s going to show up.”

Oh no.  What if Ashton doesn’t want to come in general?  What if he changed his mind and doesn’t think the band or Luke are hot shit? Then not only will Luke be sad, but Michael and Calum will never let him live it down.

“Mate, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Michael frowns.  “Don’t barf on me.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Luke says.  “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“It was your idea,” Michael says slowly.

“Yeah.  Maybe it was bad.”

“Luke, he’s just some guy.  It’s not like we’re proposing marriage.  It’s not like he might join the band or anything.  Relax.”  He knocks their shoulders together, throwing Luke off-balance and then catching him with a hand on his arm when he doesn’t bounce back right away.  Luke shrugs him off.

“I know that,” he says.

“So why are you being weird?”

He’s about to try to muster up an answer when someone calls their names.  Luke whips around fast enough that Micheal has to steady him again, but Ashton either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he continues steadily walking towards them and his smile doesn’t waver.  Luke waves and hopes that that negates the fact that he just almost tripped over his own feet.

“Hey,” Michael says when he’s close enough.  “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” Ashton says.  He rocks on his heels when he comes to a stop, and Luke feels inexplicably nervous again.  It’s different from seeing him with a driveway or movie theater counter between them.  Here there’s no distance or buffer, just Luke and Michael and Ashton.

At least his shirt is a pretty ugly purple.  No one can be too intimidating when wearing a shirt like that.

They exchange pleasantries until Michael suggests they go inside and get themselves sorted while they wait for Calum to show up.  They step into the air-conditioning and Luke immediately feels more at ease.  He loves bowling alleys.  He loves the gaudy carpet and the loud music and the weird lights and the funny shoes and the stacks of neon bowling balls by the lanes.  He especially loves this particular alley because he can pinpoint the carpet stain where he spilled his coke while here with his family then didn’t tell anyone so it had time to set before it got cleaned, or the lane they used when Calum broke one of the bumpers because he doesn’t like bowling without them but threw the ball too hard.

“Can I tell you something?” Ashton asks while Michael is paying for the lane rental and getting shoes, leaning close to be heard over the music and crash of pins being knocked down in the background.  He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and a little smile on his face, and Luke is instantly convinced that he’d probably let Ashton say whatever he wants and hang off his every word.

“Sure,” Luke says.

“I’m shit at bowling.  I don’t remember the last time I actually played.”

“It’s okay.  Calum is, too,” Luke says.  “That’ll make him like you.  We’re not using the bumpers, though.”

Ashton frowns.

“Do you usually?”

Luke gets called up to the shoe rental before he can respond.  While he’s kicking off his sneakers Calum arrives, prompting another flurry of greetings and introductions and small talk, then they finally all head to their lane and can begin the game.

Ashton is not nearly as bad at bowling as he had implied.  He’s not great, and Luke is glad that the only real competition he has to worry about is Michael, but Calum still decidedly comes in last for their first round.  He vows to take Ashton down for the second, which isn’t likely, but Luke likes the teasing it prompts between them.

Conversation flows naturally with none of the awkward pauses or weird adjustments that Luke had been preparing himself for.  Honestly, it’s extremely easy to get along with Ashton.  He fits into their little group seamlessly, cracking jokes and asking questions and keeping up with their topic changes like he’s been doing it for years.  Luke’s not sure if he’s stopped smiling the entire time they’re bowling, and his smile is great.  It takes over his entire face, wide and infectious, and Luke has to remind himself to stop staring multiple times.

It’s still not a crush, but Ashton is cute, okay?  It’s an objective fact.  Luke is allowed to notice cute people without having a crush on them.

After their time at their lane is up, Luke’s stomach grumbles and convinces them all to stop by the Macca’s next door before they have to call their parents.  Luke wants to order one of everything on the menu, but he settles for some chicken nuggets and hot chips.  All of them get a large fry, so Luke is pretty sure he’s going to get to eat Calum’s leftovers since he won’t have to fight Michael for them, anyway.

“So Ashton,” Michael says once they’re sitting.  “Luke says you’re a fan of the band.”

“Yeah, you guys are pretty good,” he says, then pops some chips in his mouth.

“Do you play drums?” Calum asks around his own mouthful of burger.  “‘Cause that’d be convenient.”

“No, I wish,” Ashton says ruefully.  “I’m not very musical.  My forte is visual art.”

“Really?” Luke asks.  “Like, drawing and painting and stuff?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, straightening up.  “I want to study it after school.  I actually really want to go to college in America for it.  I’ve been looking at places with scholarships for international students.  They don’t start their school years until September, so I could work full time for most of the year to save up since I graduate in December.”

“Wow,” Michael says.

“That’s cool,” Luke says, because yeah, wow.  Luke can’t imagine leaving behind everyone he knows to go to a different hemisphere, but Ashton seems excited for it, eyes shining.  He must really love art.

“If you guys ever make it to America, hit me up,” he says.  “I’ll be in the front row at your show.”

“When,” Michael corrects.  Ashton grins at him.

They manage to almost finish their meal before Ashton gets a text from his mum requesting him home.  As soon as he’s gone Michael turns to the other two, fast enough that Luke’s a little worried he’ll get whiplash.

“That shirt is fucking ugly.”

Luke and Calum dissolve into laughter.

“What?  Am I wrong?” Michael asks.

“No, it’s ugly,” Calum says around giggles.  Luke nods around his own laughter and Michael leans back in his chair, satisfied.

“Besides that I like him, though,” he says.  Luke feels warmth blossom inexplicably inside him, pleased on Ashton’s behalf.

“Me too,” Calum says.

“Yeah, me three,” Luke says.  Michael nods decisively and Luke’s heart starts beating a little bit faster in anticipation of their next band practice.

-/-

When Ashton arrives for the next band practice, Michael, Calum, and Luke are all playing Fifa in the granny flat.  Michael’s mum must let him in, because one moment Luke is in the zone and the next there’s a prickle of awareness giving him goosebumps and Ashton is there, existing in his periphery.

“Hey Ashton,” he says, not breaking eye contact with the screen.  Michael and Calum ganged up on him for this round and Luke is determined not to lose.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "What're you guys doing?"

"Fifa!" Michael says in his best sports-announcer voice.  Calum scores a goal and crows right before the game ends, throwing his hands up.  Luke considers throwing his controller but settles for a very loud groan and scrubbing his hands over his face instead before taking his first good look at Ashton of the day.

He's not wearing the ugly purple shirt, but rather a green v-neck that hugs the tops of his arms and ensures Luke can see his collarbones.  Luke tries not to make it obvious that he's looking at Ashton's muscles, following the line of his arms down to bracelets knotted around his wrists and a black book in his hands.

"You can join Luke's team," Calum says.  "He sucks though, fair warning."

"Hey!  I do not!"  He tries to smack Calum, but he has to reach over Michael to do it, which means both of them shove him away and he almost topples over.

"I don't play Fifa," Ashton says.

"What," Michael squawks.  Luke stares incredulously, but Ashton just shrugs and adjusts his fringe before flopping down on the ottoman.

"I don't really like Fifa.  I'm not big on video games in general, but Fifa isn't one of the ones I play."

"We can't be friends anymore," Michael sighs dramatically, falling backwards with an arm over his eyes like a fainting maiden.  Luke pokes his stomach to make him jolt.  "How can you not like Fifa?"

Ashton shrugs again.

"I just don't."

"You're lucky you're not actually in the band," Calum says, brandishing his controller.  "This would be grounds to kick you out."

"It's true," Luke says.  "The only band rule is that everyone must like Fifa.  That's why we haven't replaced Michael yet."

"Hey!  There wouldn't be a band without me!"

Michael tackles Luke to the ground, knocking the wind out of him with an oof.  He flails, but Michael digs his fingers into his side, making him shriek.

"Ashton!  Calum!  Help!"

Ashton sighs, then turns to Calum, who shrugs.

"I'm not getting involved in that."

"Betrayal!" Luke calls between giggles, uselessly kicking at Michael but unable to make satisfying contact.  Michael finally relents once Luke feels like his lungs are about to burst from the lack of a good inhale.  He pants on the floor for a few more moments, then heaves himself to sitting and runs his fingers through his hair to set it back to rights.  Ashton gives him a wry smile.  Luke ducks his head, cheeks still flushed from the tickling.

"Is this how band practice usually starts?" Ashton asks.

"Only when Luke's being annoying," Michael huffs.  Luke flips him off.

"Well, we do usually start with Fifa, yeah," Calum says.  "Sometimes we just hang out instead of practicing, which is probably why we're still kinda shit."

"Hey," Luke says.

"Yeah, hey," Michael frowns.  "Don't shit-talk the band."

"You guys do it all the time!"

"Not in front of a guest," Michael says, gesturing at Ashton.  "Besides, we're never going to make it out of Sydney if you keep believing we're bad."

"I didn't say we were bad, I said we're kinda shit.  You can be a good band and still be kinda shit."

Luke frowns, but Michael launches into a quick rebuttal before he can and Luke decides to stop following.  He glances at Ashton and shrugs.  Ashton smiles, pressing his lips together in a way that Luke hopes means he's holding back a laugh instead of being uncomfortable.  His eyes are dancing too much for it to be a bad thing, though, so Luke returns his smile full force.

It's nice to have someone else here for when Michael and Calum go off on their tangents.  Luke never feels left out or anything, but sometimes it's obvious that they have their own language and dynamic bred from years of history that Luke is still catching up on.  They all understand each other in different little, intricate ways, but it's nice to have someone to share his own secret smiles with when the others are in their own world instead of him staring off into space and waiting for them to jump to a conversation he can be involved in.

Ashton drums his fingers against the black notebook in his lap, drawing Luke's full attention to it while the others squabble in the background.

"Hey, what's that?" he asks.

"This?" Ashton asks, holding it up.  It's a hardcover, with thick black loops binding it together.  Luke nods.  "It's my sketchbook.  I figured it'd be better to have something to do than just stare at you guys while you practice."

"Can I see?" Luke asks eagerly.  Ashton pulls the book closer to his chest, a small subconscious movement, smile cracking with nervousness at the edges.

"Not yet.  I'll show you when I have something good, though."

Luke deflates, but nods.

"They're unfinished," Ashton explains.  "They're messy.  I don't try very hard with my sketches, and I want your first impression of my art to be a good one.  Sorry."

"It's okay," Luke says.  "I get it."

Luke doesn't point out that showing him the sketchbook would probably be like Ashton sitting in on a practice, because maybe Ashton’s not there with him yet.  He wants to reach that level, though.  He wants to sit on Ashton's bed and leaf through his art with him, letting Ashton explain what he wants and drawing his own ideas from moments of silence.

"Hey," Michael says, clapping his hands a few times.  "Are we going to practice or what?"

Luke rolls his eyes, because he wasn't the one arguing with Calum about whether their band is bad or shitty, but goes to get his guitar anyway.  He takes him time tuning it, waiting for the others to get ready as well, and Ashton gets comfortable, lounging back.  They bicker a bit about what song they want to do, but not as much as usual because Luke made them all talk about it at lunch so they don't look like fools in front of Ashton, although it's probably much too late for that, and the first play-through is always a little rough, but it's fine.  Ashton's gaze is a gentle weight on his shoulders, and Luke smiles while he sings.

-/-

Luke waits anxiously by the door, glancing out the window every so often to see if he can spot Ashton making his way up the block to Michael's house on his bike.  He's coming straight from work, and they delayed practice a bit today so that he could be there for it.  They've started factoring Ashton's schedule into their practices a bit more, and Luke likes it.  It's maybe not as productive, but band practices feel better when all four of them are there.  Having Ashton sitting in the corner bent over his sketchbook or, in more dire cases, doing homework and revising for exams puts Luke more at ease, and even though he claims not to be musical he has good suggestions for dividing up parts of songs and is willing to tell them when they can do better.

He always phrases it that way, too.  Not "that wasn't good," but "you guys can do better."  Luke likes that he has standards for them.  He likes how sure he is that the band is worth something.

"Luke, sit down," Michael says, picking up another piece of pizza and trying not to lose all of his toppings on the way to his mouth.  "Waiting for him isn't going to make him appear faster."

"I'm too excited to sit," he says, snagging another piece of pizza for himself.  They're supposed to leave some for Ashton, just to be polite, but at the rate they're going that won't happen unless Ashton pulls up right now.

"I still can't believe it," Calum says, awestruck.

"Me neither," he says.

"I can't believe they said yes," Michael confesses.  "I hoped they would, obviously, but I wasn't sure if they would like the YouTube videos."

"This is big," Luke says.  "Like, this could be life-changing."

"Yeah, you said that earlier," Calum says.

"Because it's true."

The doorbell rings and Luke scrambles to standing, basically sprinting to the door to answer before anyone else and effectively cutting off the rest of the conversation.  He throws the door open wide, greeting Ashton with an exuberant smile that he tiredly returns.  He's always a little tired after a shift, shoulders slumped and everything worn at the edges, but Luke's glad that he still comes over when invited.  Luke likes to think that they rejuvenate him a little.

"Hi," he beams.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "You're in a good mood."

"Hey Ashton!" Calum calls from inside.  "There's one piece of pizza for you if you want it before Luke or Michael take it!"

"Oh," Ashton says, perking up.  Luke steps aside to let him in and follows him to the main room.

"Pizza?" Ashton asks, sinking to the floor and taking the offered piece while Luke takes a spot next to him.  "What's the occasion?"

Michael, Calum, and Luke exchange giddy looks, excitement palpable in the air until Luke can't take it anymore and blurts, "We have a gig!"

Ashton freezes, looking at all three of them before one of his signature grins splits his face.

"No fucking way!" he exclaims.  "Seriously?  Where?  When?  Holy shit, congrats!"

"December third at the Annandale Hotel," Michael says.  He's practically vibrating.  Luke thinks the three of them are probably holding enough energy to power a small city right now.

"A real gig," Ashton breathes.  "I'll be there, obviously."

"Obviously," Luke repeats.  "We can't do our first official gig without our biggest fan."  Ashton gives Luke a smile, the type that makes something warm blossom in Luke's stomach.

"Do you know what you're going to play yet?" Ashton asks.

"No, we just found out today," Calum says.  "We were going to try to make the setlist tonight."

"And we still need to find a drummer," Michael says.  Ashton hums.

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

They all shake their heads.  The Drummer Issue, as it has been officially dubbed by the band, is becoming a bigger and bigger thorn in their sides.  They feel good as a three-piece, but you can't play a gig without a drummer.  Michael fills in on percussion sometimes when they really need it, but he likes guitar much better and it's a little late to make him learn how to be a proper drummer when they don't even have a kit to use.

"I might be able to help," Ashton says.  "One of my friends plays drums.  He's not looking to join a band or anything, but he's a quick learner and could probably play at the Annandale at least if you don't have someone more permanent by then."

"Who is he?" Michael asks, reaching for the laptop they upload all of their covers on.  "Pull up his Facebook."

He elbows his way between Luke and Ashton so he can lean over Ashton’s shoulder and Luke scoots over to Calum instead, content to munch on his pizza and leave them to do whatever internet-stalking Michael deems appropriate.  Michael's approval is the hardest one to get in the band, so if he thinks the guy looks good they'll probably end up using him, and Ashton's recommendation carries a lot of weight.

"A real gig," Calum says reverently, staring at his pizza like it's the greatest gift in the world.  Luke knocks their shoulders together and continues leaning against him while the other two talk.

A real gig.  Luke has always put a lot of weight into being in a band, but there's something more official about it now.  They're a real band, not just a band to themselves and a handful of people on YouTube, but to people who will see their name on the marquee and everyone who enters through the doors that night.  5 Seconds of Summer is going to get a chance to play in front of a real crowd, not just Ashton.  This is the start of something huge, he can feel it.

If he had to pick anyone in the world to share this moment with, he’d pick the three people in this room right now.  Luke leans his head against Calum’s shoulder and lets himself imagine the possibilities.

-/-

The night before they're meant to perform at the Annandale, Luke can't sleep.  He tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position and failing, flipping his pillow over to the cool side and readjusting his covers and still staring uselessly at the ceiling.  The clock on his side table reads 3:43, red letters blinking mockingly at him as every second ticks by.  He sighs, turning back to look at his ceiling.

He could try to text Michael or Calum, but he doesn’t want them to know how anxious he is, stomach already tied in knots with over twelve hours before the performance.  They might be dealing with their own nerves and he doesn’t need to add to them, or they might be fine and think he’s being stupid.  He could keep laying here, but the longer he does that the more he starts thinking about how everything could go wrong.

What if he forgets the words?  What if his voice cracks?  What if he doesn’t tune his guitar properly and everyone cringes at the first strum?  What if he loses all of his picks?  What if a string breaks?  What if no one even shows up and it’s just the three of them and Ashton’s mellow drummer friend playing to an empty room and then no one lets them do a gig ever again?

He could try texting Ashton.  He might not even be awake, but if he does reply he’d probably say something reassuring that would have Luke’s shoulders unclenching and quiet his racing mind.  Ashton is good at stuff like that, but he doesn’t say things unless he means them.  If he tells Luke that things are going to be alright, things are probably going to be alright.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the brightness.

Luke: U up?

He cringes when he realizes how much that sounds like a come-on.  Whatever, it’s not like Ashton expects him to be doing that, so hopefully he’ll brush it off.

He’s about to try willing himself to sleep again when his phone lights up.

Ashton: yeah whats up

Luke: nothn whats up w u

Ashton: nothing lol. u excited 4 tmrw?

This is his chance.  Ashton has given him a clear opening and all Luke has to do is tell him that the thought of going out onstage is giving him a stomach ache and he’s going to die if he doesn’t get to sleep soon.  Ashton might think he’s silly and dramatic and a baby, but if Luke works himself up any more over this he’s not going to be able to look at his guitar tomorrow, let alone pick it up, and he needs to be able to do that.  He can’t let the band down.

Luke: scared

Ashton: y? u guys r going to kill it!

Luke: what if i suck

Ashton: u dont ur a rockstar! i have gd taste in bands u deserve this opportunity& will be awesome

Luke: what if im not

Ashton: its ur first gig youll only get better frm here uv put in 2 much work 2 b scared u will be amazing

Luke: what if no 1 shows up

Ashton: ill b there! u can play 2 me ppl will come

Luke takes a deep breath.  Ashton’s probably right.  This is their first gig, and he seems convinced that there will be others.  Even if they bomb tomorrow or it’s only Ashton in the crowd, they can bounce back.  They’ve put a lot of work into the band, and he can’t let one shitty performance define them, especially when he doesn’t even know if it’s going to be shitty yet.  Ashton seems to think they’ll be alright, and Ashton is usually trustworthy.

Luke: thx

Ashton: no prob :)

Luke looks at his clock again and wonders if this will be enough to let him sleep, but something niggles at his mind.

Luke: y r u awake rn?

Outside, one lone car drives down the street.  Luke tries to imagine himself in the center of some big city like New York or Los Angeles instead of a suburb outside of Sydney.  He tries to imagine Ashton at a college town in the United States, living in a dormitory with all his friends and staying out late regardless of if he has classes in the morning.

Ashton: cant sleep sketching instead

He sends a picture with it and Luke waits patiently for the image to load.  When it finally does, he's greeted with a horizontal photo of Ashton's sketchbook, yellow light from a lamp barely illuminating the page.  It must be the scene outside Ashton's window, an empty street with houses lining the pavement and a rough sketch of a streetlight at the end of the block.  It's just graphite against creamy white paper, but Luke wishes he were seeing it in person so he could trace his finger over the lines.  They're rushed, but confident and bold.  Ashton has shaded most of the page to give the illusion of nighttime, and Luke imagines him sitting at his window, glancing up every-so-often for reference as he recreates what he can see on paper.

Luke: wow ur really good!

Ashton: <3 ty

Luke bites his lip, trying to figure out something else to say.  After a few minutes of silence, Ashton texts first.

Ashton: get some sleep luke. see u tmrw

His stomach sinks, but it’s probably for the best.  He’d keep talking to Ashton all night if he could, but he needs to sleep.  He has a gig tomorrow.

Luke: gn

He puts his phone down and lays back in bed, taking a deep breath.  To avoid thinking more about tomorrow, he tries to imagine what other creations could be in Ashton's sketchbook, black lines drawing themselves on the blank canvas of his mind until he finally falls asleep.

-/-

Luke paces anxiously as well as he can in the cramped “backstage” space.  They're about to begin the set, and it's just as nerve-wracking as he thought it was going to be.  Ashton's drummer friend is a picture of calm, twirling his sticks with a bored frown, but Michael and Calum are both jittery, too.  Calum is picking nervously at the bass he's holding, about to make his official debut as a bass player, and Michael keeps tapping his foot restlessly.

There's a few people here.  A group of girls is huddled by the stage waiting for them to start and Luke is supremely grateful that they showed up, but it brings up a new set of anxieties.  They're playing original songs for the first time, and it's one thing to be able to sing a cover, but it's another to present people with new material and ask them to like it.  They can't let these fans down, no matter how tiny the crowd might be.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Luke digs it out.

Ashton: break a leg rockstar :)

Luke doesn't have time to reply before the lights are dimming, the crowd is cheering, and he's following Michael onstage.

The show is amazing.

Like, objectively it's probably not, but Luke has the time of his life anyway.  He's shaky and nervous for the first minute, then he actually looks up and sees Ashton standing off to the side with a camera in hand, million-watt smile on his face, and suddenly things are easy.  They mess up and they're awkward and they give it everything they've got.  The crowd is small but mighty, the music is messy but sincere, and Luke starts to figure out how to be a rockstar on a tiny stage in a hotel in Sydney, Michael and Calum blossoming into their own stars next to him.

He tears up a little during "Everything I Want," which should probably be super embarrassing, but mostly he's just happy.  He can't believe people came.  He can't believe this is real and not a dream.  He can't believe he's lucky enough to do this with his two best friends.  It's only up from here, and Luke already feels like he's on top of the world.

When they take their bows and exit the stage, Luke is buzzing.  He pulls the other two into a hug, the kind that’s so fierce it feels like he’s suffocating, and they all laugh and cheer and maybe Luke cries a little bit again.  He tearily thanks their drummer, who looks marginally less bored now that the show has actually been played, and accepts hugs from his parents and pats on the back from his brothers.  He talks to a few of the fans that have lingered and even signs his first autograph, which is insane to think about.

When he finally has a spare moment, he finds Ashton and throws his arms around him.

"Hey!  Amazing job!" Ashton says in his ear, holding him just as securely.  Luke tucks his face in his shoulder and squeezes.

"I thought you wanted to be in the front row," Luke says once he makes himself let go.

"I figured I'd let the other fans get a chance.  I have a front row seat at every practice, so it only seemed fair.  I got some good pictures, though."

He holds up his camera and Luke brightens even more, if possible.  He feels like he's glowing brighter than the stage lights already.  He feels like he's probably glowing more than all of the stage lights in all of the big stadiums around the world combined.

"Can I see?" he asks.  Ashton doesn't get a chance to answer before Michael and Calum appear in an enthusiastic, all-encompassing storm, pulling both of them out of their corner because Karen promised to buy pizza in celebration and both of them were too nervous to eat before and are starving now.  Luke is, too, and he tugs Ashton to follow them out to the cars.

"Wait, shouldn't this just be band and family?" Ashton says, dragging his feet.

"Don't be stupid," Michael says, taking his other hand and helping Luke pull him forward.

"Yeah, you're basically part of the band," Calum says.  "As much as our temp drummer, anyway, and Mum invited him along."

Ashton's drummer friend declines, so it's just them and their families.  Ashton sits sandwiched between Luke and Calum and Luke's mum jokes about that side of the table needing four pizzas just for themselves.  When the adrenaline finally wears off part way through the meal, Luke slumps against Ashton's side and sighs contentedly.

He's pretty sure this is the best day of his life.

-/-

Ashton graduates in mid-December.  Luke texts him a quick congratulations, but they don't see each other until a few days after.  The band decided they need to celebrate (or maybe they just want the excuse to get ice cream along with the usual pizza), but Ashton spends a few days hanging out with friends from school and his family.  Luke thinks it's ridiculous that they have to wait almost an entire week to see him, but they decide to all stay over at Michael's when they do, so Luke can't pout too much.

They pick Ashton up instead of making him bike over, which they make a big deal out of as his graduation present.  They leave the passenger seat open for him, at least, so he doesn't have to squish into the back, and he graciously thanks them with a lofty voice, like a king talking to his royal subjects.  They make a big deal out of ordering Ashton's favorite pizza, too, which is just one of their usual orders, then grab some chips and pass around goon and put in Iron Man, because Ashton wants to watch the Marvel movies and Michael has all five of them.  The wine goes down easy in the way cheap wine usually does, and soon Luke has a pleasant buzz, enjoying the way the room fuzzes at the edges from his place squished between Michael and Calum on the sofa.  Ashton is alone in the arm chair, and Luke wishes he were squished in here with them, too.

Calum dozes off first, so after Iron Man 2 they set up blankets and sleeping bags.  Michael claims the couch because it's his house, so Luke watches Thor from the floor, propped against the front of the couch so he can see the TV better, Calum on one side and Ashton on the other.  Calum falls asleep again quickly, and near the end of the movie Michael starts breathing deeply, the kind of breathing that's close to a snore.  During the credits Luke blinks at Ashton and finds him already looking back.

"Hey," Ashton says.  "Want to watch Captain America?"

Luke nods.  Ashton carefully picks his way over to the TV, crouching to exchange the DVDs.  Backlit by the screen, Luke can see the way his hair is starting to get slightly wavy at the ends now, hours and hours since he last straightened it for the flat-iron fringe they all sport.  Luke wonders what his natural hair is like.  He likes that he's going to get to see it in the morning, but that also means that Ashton is going to see his bedhead, too.

"Hey," Luke says quietly when Ashton returns.  "The others are asleep."

Ashton glances at them, then grins.  "Do you have a marker?"

They give Calum a mustache, which is hard because the smell of the marker right under his nose keeps making him shift, then giggle their way through drawing a dick on Michael's cheek.  Ashton clamps a hand over Luke's mouth at one point when Michael hums and moves, and both of them hold their breath until he settles again, smacking his lips.

"Shhhh," Ashton says in his ear.  Luke shivers at the proximity, then nods.  Ashton moves his hand, so they continue to give Michael a few more doodle-tattoos before deeming themselves done and returning to their sleeping bags.

"They're going to hate us in the morning," Luke giggles.  Ashton snickers next to him, and they turn back to the movie.  It holds Luke's attention for the beginning, but now that he's aware of it, Ashton's presence as the only other one awake takes up the room.  Luke hears his huffs of laughter and every rustle of his sleeping bag hidden between the dialogue and backing soundtrack.  When he grins, it's still bright even though the TV is the only thing illuminating the room.  It creates weird shadows on his face, valleys of black amidst the blue-lighted highlights, but it doesn't make him look strange or unfamiliar.  If anything, it assures Luke that he'd be able to recognize Ashton in any context.  He’s not the artist out of the two of them, but he wonders if he’d be able to draw Ashton from memory.

"Are you going to miss us when you're in America?" Luke asks.

Ashton drags his attention away from the movie to look at him again.

"Yeah, of course.  You guys are some of my best friends."  Luke tries not to show how happy that makes him.  Sometimes he thinks that Ashton must thing that they're all stupid and immature kids.  Ashton has graduated and has plans for his life and takes care of his family.  Luke draws dicks on his friend's faces when they fall asleep.

"You're one of my best friends, too," he says.  "I'm really glad you talked to me at the movies."

"I'm glad you invited me to go bowling."

"It was technically Michael who did that," Luke says, ducking his head.

"No," Ashton says with a small smile.  "He sent the message, but I know you told him to."

Luke hums and settles deeper into his blanket.

"Are you going to miss me when your band makes it big and you're on tour all the time?" Ashton asks.

"Yeah.  I think I'm going to miss you a lot."

Luke can already feel the phantom pain deep in his chest where he's going to miss him.  He once again wishes there was some way for Ashton to stay with them without sacrificing his own dreams.  It's strange; he's so excited for the band to take off, but now that it's a real possibility that their dreams are coming true and they'll move on to bigger and better things, it hurts a little.

Well, it hurts to think of leaving his family, and it hurts to think of Ashton leaving him.

"Besides, you're the one who's getting out of here,” he says.  “5sos has still only played one gig."

"You're going to be huge," Ashton says.  He states it calmly, like an accepted fact.  It's in the same way he'd say that the sky is blue.  "You'll get out of here and get to see the whole world a thousand times over."

Luke nods, curling into his blanket a little more.  On screen, Steve asks Bucky if he's ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death.  Bucky says, Hell no.  That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight... I'm following him.

"Are you scared of leaving?" he asks quietly.  Ashton stays silent for a long time.  Luke watches him blink in the dim light, eyes toward the TV but too still to be watching it.

"I'm more scared of being stuck here forever," he confesses eventually.  "I love Australia, but... I don't want to turn into my mum, and I don't know how to prevent that unless I get out of here.  I love my family, I really do.  You know that, right?"  Luke nods.  "I love them, and I feel like I've always been taking care of them.  Even just wanting to leave is selfish, but filling out the applications for the schools was awful.  I felt so guilty, but... I don't know.  Australia has a great art scene that I probably should focus on instead, but I keep thinking about America.  If I don't go, I'm going to spend the rest of my life regretting it."

Ashton traces a thread on his blanket.  Luke wants to take his hand.

"I don't think it's selfish," Luke says.  "You can't let your entire life be determined by them.  They understand, right?"

"Mum does," Ashton says.  "I don't think Lauren and Harry get why I want to go so far away."

He sighs.  It feels heavy in the darkness.

"It doesn't matter yet, anyway.  It depends on if I even get into any of the schools I applied for and if we have the money.  I've been saving as much as I can, but it might not be enough.  America is so fucking expensive."

"You'll get there," Luke says.  "If our band is going somewhere, you definitely will, too."

Ashton shoots him a grateful smile.  Luke wants to tuck it in his pocket.  He's already saving pieces of Ashton in preparation of when they'll be halfway around the world from each other.

"Next year will be good for us," Ashton says.  "2012 is going to be a big breakthrough for us both."

"Yeah," Luke says.  "I believe you."

They watch the rest of the movie in silence.  When the credits roll, Luke realizes that Ashton fell asleep while he was distracted by the story, eyes closed peacefully next to him.  It’s strange to see him so relaxed and still, like some sort of marble statue.  He rarely stops moving when he’s awake, but here all of the stress lines he carries with him are smoothed out.  Luke didn’t know that they were there, but now the absence of them is obvious.

The movie menu screen reappears, loud music and bright colors startling him.  He grabs the remote and turns off the TV, plunging the room into darkness.  He tries to get comfortable, tossing and turning a bit on the floor and adjusting his blanket a few times, then closes his eyes.  Sleep doesn’t come easy, and he stays awake for a long time listening to Ashton, Calum, and Michael breathing.