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#bring me my clown costume i have to dress up for the occasion
kpopcotton · 3 years
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The Lonely Count ~ Huang Renjun
a/n ~ Happy Halloween! I’m so happy to finally get this out since I’ve been working on it all month!
• Genre: supernatural, high school au, strangers to friends, slight romance, fluff, angst if you squint
• Warning(s): very brief mentions of (fake) blood, it’s overall very toned down
• Reader Gender: gender-neutral
• Word Count: 6.2k
==≎==
   “No.”
   “Are you serious?!” Haechan cries out, his hands reaching across the table to give you a good shake as he speaks. “Come on! It’ll be so much fun! Besides, everyone else wants to and I already told them you were coming so, by law, that means you have to. Plus! Jaemin said he was excited to see you since you haven’t been hanging out with us recently.”
   The mere mention of his friends makes you want to crawl into a hole to hide. You blankly stare at Haechan’s overdramatic pout as he tries to guilt-trip you, his simple act makes you want to go even less. There was no way you were going to spend Halloween night with a bunch of severely good-looking people. Good-looking people meant attention, and attention meant you would be the designated person that people would come to ask for the boys’ numbers. 
   You could imagine it now, the random, crowded Halloween party they were probably planning on attending, and them leaving you alone to find a wall to sit against while they went out and mingled. You already felt like a clown just thinking about it. Maybe I should dress up as one, show my true colors. You remember Haechan’s friends mentioning being introverts that one time you had to take a personality quiz in Health class freshman year, but you find that hard to believe.
   Sometimes, it still amazes you how you’ve stayed friends with Haechan, in all his bubbly, social, annoying glory. “Tell them my mom grounded me,” you mumble, trying to show just how uninterested you are.
   “But that’s a lie! Your mom-”
   “Exactly.” You snap with your gaze fierce. Haechan’s previously open mouth clamps shut, fixing an awkward silence between you two in the booth of the diner.
   You angrily opt for stuffing your face with the fries from your basket instead of talking to him. Your eyes drift to the window as you chew them. Haechan watches you, his foot slowly sliding across the floor to poke at your ankle, his way of getting you to calm down and forgive him for prodding. It has the opposite effect, however, your foot shooting out to give his shin a good kick as you glare at him again. He yelps quite loudly and the waitress who was on her way to ask you if you wanted refills, flinches, turning around to pretend to help a coworker behind the counter.
   Haechan’s face flushes a pale red as he brings his leg up to rub at his shin. “That hurt, you know,” he whines, his bottom lip trembling pitifully.
   “Good.”
   His sad expression disappears in an instant, his face now pressed into clear frustration as he drops his leg back down. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you? If it were any other time, you’d be all over hanging out.”
   “Exactly. I would say yes to hanging out if it was with literally anyone else.” You stressed, sipping your drink. Haechan looks to be at his wit’s end with you.
   “What do you even mean?”
   “What I mean is, I don’t like your friends, Donghyuck. I mean, yes, they may be nice to me, and yes, it is cool that they want to include me in plans, but do you ever stop to think that I don’t enjoy hanging out with them? Or that I’m not a fan of the things you guys like to do? Or that maybe, when I’m with them, it’s like I’m not even there at all?” For once in his life, Haechan is speechless, staring at you with wide eyes as if all of this was surprising to him. And, maybe it was.
   “Y/N, I-”
   “I’m not finished.” You hold up a finger to his lips. “Listen, I get that you don’t want to leave me out of the loop or whatever, but parties and hanging out in bigger groups is not my thing. I’d rather it just be us, like when we were kids, where we ran around town past curfew on Halloween stealing candy bowls so we could get fat for winter. Hell, I’d even be down to explore those “haunted woods” we were always scared of because of that story Johnny told us when we were in first grade.”
   “Did I hear that right? Exploring the haunted woods? I knew you’d come up with an amazing idea for our get together, Y/N!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The Na Jaemin graciously plops himself down next to you in the booth with a basket of chicken tenders and fries. Haechan’s other friends, Mark and Jeno, squish Haechan into the wall on the other side of the booth. Jaemin’s smile was almost too bright, his eyes full of childish wonder as he glanced between you and your best friend. “That’s what this is right? A planning sesh? I love those, you know!”
   You ignore Jaemin, your eyes currently stabbing holes into Haechan, but the little coward is too embarrassed to even look at you. He doesn’t remain silent, however, choosing to be civil and answer Jaemin’s question. “Y-Yeah, we were planning what we wanted to do with you guys Halloween night.”
   “Oh goodie,” Jaemin claps excitedly, “Count me in then, guys!”
==≎==
   You were dreading Halloween by the time it came around. You had planned on avoiding them, maybe sneaking out to hang out with the dynamic duo, Jisung and Chenle, from your first-hour Psychology class. But, all hopes were dashed when your mom happily invited all four boys into the house when Haechan knocked. They were already dressed for the occasion; Haechan as an angel, Jeno and Jaemin cosplaying the spies from Spy vs. Spy, and Mark as… himself?
   He must have noticed your questioning glance because he was quick to explain, “I’m dressed as Peter Parker.” He pulls his backpack around to show you the mask conveniently hanging out.
   “He was too embarrassed to wear the suit,” Haechan announces, making you involuntarily let out a chuckle. Your mom coos while patting the latter’s shoulder and Mark’s ears burn bright red.
   “It’s skin-tight dude!”
   “And?”
   Before you could say anything in response, Jaemin was dragging you up the stairs to the bathroom, his arm full of costume things. He was talking a mile a minute about how he found the perfect costume for you and how he was so excited to help you get ready. He sat you on the toilet and quickly drew out the costume bag. 
   “Ta-dah!” His smile is, once again, blinding. You scan the packaging.
   “S-Sexy vampire?” You splutter, almost choking on your spit.
   “Yes! And, I can’t wait to see you in it!” He shoves the bag into your hands before turning around and covering his eyes. “Hurry up! Get changed! We don’t have all night!”
   You slowly get changed into the costume; which is a pair of black slacks, a classic frilly white top with bloodstains that has a very lowcut neckline and a deep v-cut through the back, and a black cheap cape. You stand awkwardly in your costume, it fits a bit tight, as you look at your bright pink face in the mirror. Jaemin spins around excitedly to face you when he hears you stop moving, letting out a sharp gasp.
   “Oh. My. Gosh! You look amazing!” He squeals, clapping with all his might. “Now let’s get you some makeup!”
   You’ve been pushed back onto the toilet in the blink of an eye, Jaemin settling himself between your legs. He can’t stop mumbling about how cute you are and how perfect the costume is. You notice movement in the corner of your eye and see Haechan trying to sneak into the bathroom. You glare at him and Jaemin turns away from dabbing fake blood onto your lip to see.
   “Haechan, look! Aren’t they so hot?”
   Haechan suddenly flushes, pausing halfway through the door to scan your costume. You notice his eyes linger on your exposed collarbones and you tug the thin cape to hide them. “Yeah,” He nods after his once over, reaching up to flick at the plastic golden halo on his head. “I mean, they don’t look half as good as me, but I’ll-” He cuts himself off with a scream when you stand up to go after him.
   Jaemin laughs, his hands quickly grasping your hips to keep you in front of him. “Woah, tiger. Calm down, you can beat him up when I’m done!”
==≎==
   You knew you were radiating the most awkward energy as you came down the stairs in your getup. Your tongue is mindlessly playing with the fake fangs Jaemin had stuck to your canines with tacky-putty, they feel foreign whenever you close your mouth. Your mom, upon seeing your costume, rushes up to gush about it, her fingers pinching your pale dusted face before she begs you all to pose for pictures. Your face feels hot under your makeup and you wonder if it showed through the stuff Jaemin caked onto it. She quickly runs to get her phone, giving Jeno and Mark a chance to compliment your look. You thank them almost silently.
   She won’t stop talking when she comes back, reminiscing about the days when you were all young, fragile, and small. She doesn’t miss the chance to poke at you for being a particularly weak kid, to which you fume over. Haechan tries to add onto it but you stomp your boot on his foot, shutting him up instantly.
   As she takes a few photos, the boys having fun with their poses while you try to join, she then starts to mention that this will be the last time you all go trick or treating before college. A pebble of guilt forms in your stomach when she says this, you weren’t expecting the boys to lie to her about what you were going to do tonight. You start to drift into thought when Mark, who’s standing next to you, loudly stumbles to mention he’s already in college, and that he’s taking engineering classes at the tech college in the next town over. Your mom seems embarrassed to have assumed he was younger, but she brushes it off by saying he should take care of everyone tonight as he is an adult. Haechan pouts at your mom when she says this, saying that the rest of you are technically adults since you’re all 18, and she laughs and pats his cheek which turns red at the contact.
   “Alright, kids, have fun! Stay safe! And don’t be out too late, I don’t want Y/N to wake me up in the middle of the night getting home.” The boys all reply with some version of, “yes ma’am” and start down the sidewalk toward the edge of town where the haunted woods start. 
   Mark and Haechan lead the pack, walking side by side and cracking jokes to the duo behind them. You, on the other hand, silently take up the rear alone. You already feel out of place. It doesn’t help when a group of pretty girls call out to Jeno and you have to follow as they all take a detour to talk to them. Haechan is quick to brag about your plans to explore the haunted woods, one of the girls gasping and indulging him. She’s dressed in a bright red jumpsuit, a headband with matching demon horns protruding from her hair. How ironic. 
   As usual, the girls are all over the four boys, none of them even sparing a glance at you. Typical. Sometimes you wish you had the confidence Haechan possessed to strike up a conversation with them, maybe then they would notice you. It sucked, but you knew it would happen, even when Jaemin said no one would dare ignore a “sexy vampire such as yourself”.
   Soon enough, Mark decides that it’s time to go and they have to pull Haechan away from the demon girl he was flirting with. Again, you all fall into the formation at the start of your journey. Your mood is completely sour, and you contemplate sneaking off. You knew Jisung and Chenle were probably out and about trick or treating, and they had invited you when you said you were forced into plans you didn’t want to partake in. You had told them it was up in the air, and that you might ditch. Jisung said he would save some candy for you and Chenle said he’d buy you a candied apple. You suddenly have a craving for a candied apple. You bet yourself ten dollars that you would have a better time with the two younger boys than with Haechan and his buddies.
   As soon as you turn to make a run for it, Jaemin shouts out, startling you. “We’ve made it! Guys, guys, are you ready for this? The scare of our lives awaits us!” He enthusiastically claps. “Y/N? Y/N! Come take a picture of me in front of the trees!”
   Seriously? “Coming,” You grumble, walking past everyone to wear Jaemin stands, making sure to check your shoulder into Haechan’s.
   You awkwardly take Jaemin’s phone from him after he opens the camera app. His smile is so strikingly perfect, you have a hard time focusing. He skips over to just in front of the tree-line and poses. You follow and take a couple of pictures before holding out his phone to him. “No, no wait. Take a couple more over here. Please, please, please!” You hesitate, trying and failing to hide your disgust when he gets down on his knees to beg. The boys behind you laugh at the scene, mumbling some things back and forth before laughing harder. An odd feeling clenches your heart when you wonder if Haechan was laughing at you, or making fun of you. “I’ll love you forever! Y/N, please, it’s for my Instagram!”
   At that, you shove the phone into his face, causing him to let out a squeak. “Have your boyfriends do it or something,” You then push past the kneeling boy and make your way into the woods. You just want to get this over with.
   The boys grow silent, looking at each other in confusion as you disappear into the thick underbrush. Haechan panics when he realizes just how thick it is, he can’t see you at all through the trees. He quickly apologizes to Jaemin before running after you. Mark and Jeno help Jaemin off the ground before following as well. 
   Once they step through the spot you had, awe overtakes them. The area, despite having a mass of vines and bushes surrounding it, is fairly open and you can see ahead for what looks like miles. It was dark, a lot darker than it was on the sidewalk with the full moon. The trees were all thin, devoid of branches until their very top where their canopies spread and weave together to block out the sky. It was eerily silent and it seems the sounds of life couldn’t penetrate the veil that bordered the entire wood. 
   Haechan could see you already a little ways ahead, looking around with an expression he would have thought cute if it weren’t for the way you had been acting all night.  He stumbles on his way up to you, reaching you much slower than he expected being as you didn’t seem that far in the first place. The three boys behind him let him go, opting to explore the wood together and away from the conflict they knew was about to happen.
   “Y/N, what was that?” Haechan questions you once he’s close enough, his voice low and demanding like you had done something wrong. He tugs on your cape and it irks you.
   “What was what, Donghyuck?” You growl, stepping up so you’re chest to chest with him, a challenge. “You better lay off, alright. I’m not doing this with you. And, in the haunted woods of all places.”
   His angered expression fades instantly as he gawks at you. He isn’t stupid, he understands something has made you upset with him if your use of his real name again was anything to go by, but he isn’t smart enough to figure out why. Before he could ask what pissed you off, Jeno’s voice slices through the silence from up ahead. You both turn to see him pointing to an old, victorian style house in the distance with a smirk. A small feeling of dread pricks at your lungs, deflating them and making you suck in a shaky breath. You forget the argument with Haechan in favor of observing the house.
   The house is large and looks very expensive, most definitely a grand mansion in its prime. The tallest tower’s roofing extends through the canopy and lets in a minuscule amount of moonlight which shines upon the face of the house, glinting off of the second-floor windows. The exterior could use some work, it looks like it hasn’t been properly maintained in years. The roof is missing some shingles, the wooden siding was splintered, and there were cobwebs on the front porch and in the eves of the roof. Surprisingly, even with the signs of age, everything was intact, like it was preserved by the woods itself. How you didn’t notice it before was unnerving to you.
   The five of you gather around the front steps. Upon closer look, it seems like some has been maintaining the house. There’s a potted plant next to the door that looks freshly trimmed and watered, and the garden surrounding the porch is beautifully filled with thriving flowers you were sure weren’t native. You wondered how they bloomed with such minimal light. As the boys discuss a plan of action, you almost curse when you see a faint light floating around inside the house. You pretend you never saw anything, taking it as your imagination playing tricks on you, in hopes to slow your suddenly racing heartbeat.
   “So, we explore it?” Haechan asks, however, it doesn’t seem like it was meant as a question as he’s already on his way to walk up the stairs before Mark’s hand shoots out and yanks him back by the collar.
   “I don’t think so, dude,” Mark quickly responds, his head shaking so fast you worry he’ll give himself whiplash. “Do you want to be killed or something?”
   “Yeah, it doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Jaemin pouts, his voice whiny. “We might get arrested for trespassing or something.”
   Jeno laughs, “Come on, are you guys scar-”
   “Let’s do it.” You suddenly speak up, your voice surprising yourself. You had no clue what compelled you to say that, but it seemed like something inside of the house was telling you to come in.
   “What?” All four boys seem dumbfounded. You don’t get why they’re so startled of you agreeing when they were the ones who suggested it in the first place.
   “Okay, Y/N, you are officially insane!” Jaemin shrieks, his thoughts seem to be racing before he gasps. “Are you possessed? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird tonight?”
   “I haven’t been acting weird,” You defend, already halfway up the stairs before you turn back to speak again. “You four just don’t know me. Now, we came here to get scared, didn’t we? So are you guys coming or not?”
   Jeno nods almost instantly, his expression stoic but you could see faint sympathy in his eyes as he joins you in climbing the old stairs. They didn’t creak under your combined weight, despite looking like they’d cave in if one too many people were on them at once, which surprised you. Haechan was next to follow, whining about the not so subtle dig you had directed at him. Jaemin hesitated before scurrying up the steps to cling to Jeno’s arm, muttering something about Jeno being the one to protect the group if something were to attack you. Mark was last, begrudgingly trudging up the steps with heavy feet, claiming that if things went south, he would leave everyone in a heartbeat.
   You rolled your eyes before turning to the grand main entry. It was a black wooden door, beautiful down to the very last detail, with a shining metal knocker in the shape of a boar with a nose ring. You gently run your fingers over the boar’s head before wrapping them around the nose ring to knock, the metal biting your hand with numbness.
   “Oh, please don’t Y/N, we-”
   Knock, knock, knock.
   “Ah, seriously, you’re going to get us murdered!”
   “Relaxed, Nana, it’s just an abandoned house. We’ll be okay.” Jeno laughed, watching the latter dig his nails into his bicep with a sweet eye smile.
   “Yeah, I’m just being polite,” You turn back to glance at him and the door opens behind you with a swooshing gust of wind. It’s almost strong enough to knock you off your feet, but you only stumble as Mark reaches out to help stable you. Your styled hair is now messed up and you notice Jaemin’s disappointment under the raging fear. All of their eyes are fixed on the door behind you. “What?” You ask, glancing at Mark. “Is there something behind me?”
   “No. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to save you,” Haechan walks up next to you, his chest puffing up as he tries to look tough while peering into the dark house. You resist smacking him upside the head for his comment. “It looks empty.”
   “Just like we thought,” Jeno adds, his words meant to comfort the group, but you could tell it was mostly directed at Jaemin who was shaking in his boots. Jeno gently fixes the spy cap on Jaemin’s head before his own.
   “So, we go in?” Haechan asks, again pretending he didn’t just ask a question as he starts to walk through the crack in the door. Mark, again, yanks him back by the collar, to which the former whines about choking.
   “Would you stop doing things all willy nilly?” Mark stresses, fixing the wrinkles he had caused in Haechan’s button-down. Haechan shrugs and Mark sighs, using his foot to open the door the rest of the way.  The darkness fades instantly when the lanterns flicker to life inside the house. “Okay, now let’s go.”
   You all walk inside with you in the front for once, the door closing behind Jeno and Jaemin but you aren’t sure who closed it. There’s an ambient sound of the fire crackling softly from the lanterns. The inside of the house is a stark contrast to the exterior. It’s well maintained and neat down to the very last speck of dust, almost like a museum. The room you had all walked into was the foyer, a thin room almost like a long rectangle with stairs stretching up the right wall toward a landing with three doors. You notice everything is severely outdated, the carpet red with gold floral accents and the walls half dark wood paneling and half faded floral wallpaper. There’s a dark wood table just to the left of you between two dark archways, it holds a priceless porcelain vase filled with stunningly preserved roses and you can smell their faint aroma from where you stand. To your right, just before the stairs is another archway leading into the right side of the house, and next to it is a coat rack which holds a small, but expensive, fur coat.
   “Woah, this place is-”
   “Stunning,” You breathe, your feet taking you down the hall as if you were floating and Mark’s hand narrowly misses your cape. Your eyes trail along every detail. Surprisingly, Jaemin is right behind you, leaving the rest of the boys at the door. You both reach the farthest arch on the left side, practically hand in hand, and you step through it first. The lights in this room flickering to life as well, revealing a lavish living space.
   You and Jaemin both gasp. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line two walls, a marble fireplace between a couple on one wall. There’s dark wood flooring in here but the couches and chairs are the same patterns as the carpet in the foyer. There’s a bearskin rug between the three couches and an antique coffee table sits on top of it. The shelves have collectibles too, dispersed between thousands of books. One of them, you note, is a Moomin figurine which is out of place in the traditional home.
   You glance back at the fireplace, suddenly regarding a large portrait above it, your feet gluing themselves to your spot on the floor. The person in the portrait is beautiful, much like the house. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul as you stare into them, and his expression is that of arrogance and power. He’s dressed in black gothic clothing but he has a stark white choker with a deep red-ruby. His hair is black, pulled out of his eyes but it brushes against his forehead in a few stray strands. You felt you could stare at him for hours, he was that handsome.
   “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Haechan chuckles into your ear, snapping you out of your daze as you flinch away from him. Your fist comes out to punch him in the shoulder before you can even process it. He yelps, catching the other boys’ attention from their spot examining the books.
   “What’s wrong?” Mark asks, still on edge as his eyes scan Haechan frantically.
   “Nothing, nothing,” Haechan grunts softly, rubbing his shoulder while he points to the piece of art. “Just making fun of Y/N for falling in love with a painting.”
   “I wasn’t falling in love!” You protest, your cheeks flaring with heat.
   “Okay, then what were you doing? Admiring the art?” Haechan asks, a little quirk to his lips. “Or that guy’s face?”
   You reach out to hit him again and he flinches, running away from you to hide behind Jeno, his tongue poking out to mock you. You get ready to chase him, but you decide against it, not wanting to accidentally knock something expensive over.
   “Oh, Y/N, I don’t blame you,” Jaemin gasps, his hands cupping his cheeks before one hand lowers to fan himself. You look over at him. “He’s so pretty!”
   “Hey,” Jeno suddenly speaks up with a pout.
==≎==
   You all spend the next hour exploring the bottom floor of the house. Jaemin follows you around to take pictures of anything he thought looked cool which was mostly you in your vampire costume doing casual things around the house. “Your vibes, Y/N! You suit this house so well!”
   You didn’t pay him any attention, focusing on finding out who that boy in the painting was. You snoop through the bookshelves in the living room while the others mess around in the kitchen. Jaemin got bored of you ignoring his pose ideas and left to join the others. You found a black and white picture of a toddler in a suit, a bit blurry as it seemed the toddler would not stop moving, but it was definitely him. You barely noticed your fingers starting to trace the boy’s features, quickly withdrawing upon realization, a sharp heat scorching the apples of your cheeks as you walk around and see what other pictures you can find.
   You found another of the boy, a bit older than the last picture, in the front garden you and the boys had gathered in. He was sweetly observing the flowers and a few specks that were most likely bees, and even in the poor quality, you could see the precious smile he wore. Your lips slowly curve into a smile the longer you stare at the photo. You were viciously torn from your daze when a loud shatter rang through the house, loud yelling following after and alerting you.
   “Haechan you idiot!” Mark. He sounded like he was on the verge of bawling his eyes out and, when you find them in the foyer, it looks like he is. The priceless vase that once stood on the table, lay on the floor in absolute ruin. There were shards of porcelain everywhere.
   “What have you done! We’re going to be cursed!” Jaemin wails, his face in his hands.
   “Guys, guys, relax. Just watch out for the pieces.” Jeno’s hands stuck out between the group of boys as a means of mediation.
   Before anyone could speak again, Haechan’s mouth already open to defend himself, the sound of a door opening upstairs alerts everyone. Dread fills everyone’s faces, yours included. Mark is the first to move, snatching Haechan’s collar and bolting for the door as fast as he can, pushing Jeno out of his way in his haste to get out. Haechan’s voice is pitchy as he cries out in fear. Jeno is right behind them, his arms tightly around Jaemin as he hauls him out, both of them muttering to each other what you can assume are comforting words. You try to leave as well, but a voice calls out to you, accompanied by the door slamming shut in front of you. Instantly, you hear faint banging and yelling from the other side of the door, but it seems you have other things to focus on.
   “Who are you?” The voice is soft and would seem timid if it weren’t for the forceful undertone. You slowly turn to face the person addressing you, your jaw almost dropping in sheer awe.
   It was the boy from the painting, standing at the top of the staircase in all his glory. He was even prettier in person, even with the flecks of paint on his cheeks and the casual clothing he sports. He has a pair of spectacles low on his nose that you can’t help but find adorable, he squints at you over the top of them. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions as if he was tugging at it restlessly. You notice cute little Moomin slippers on his feet as well.
   “Hello? I asked you a question. Who are you?” He calls, his arms crossing and his pretty bottom lip quickly sticking out in a pout.
   You gulped down the spit that had collected in your mouth. Was everyone in this town drop-dead gorgeous? “I-I’m Y/N.”
   “Y/N?” He tests your name on his tongue, looking thoughtful as he cautiously steps down a few stairs. He gives you a once over, his eyes resting on your exposed collarbones and neck, where Jaemin had created fake puncture wounds, before they met yours again. “I’m Renjun. Now, I don’t usually get visitors. Ever. So, what are you doing in my house? Besides breaking expensive stuff and looking like an overly sexualized version of my friend YangYang? It’s a little rude, you know, we don’t look like that or dress like that, actually.”
   You felt yourself become tense. Great, not only has he trapped me in his house to probably kill me, he’s mocking my costume which isn’t even mine! He said it - wait a minute, “W-We?”
   His lips part in surprise, like he wasn’t supposed to have let that slip. You quickly take notice of a pair of little fangs protruding from under his top lip. Your face quickly flushes, your fading makeup doing little to hide it. He lets out a shy chuckle. “Well, yes, I-I’m a vampire. Do humans not think we’re real anymore?”
   You’re speechless, your mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water. You can’t decide if you are afraid or in awe. You feel faint, the words almost not processing completely.
   “I-I’m sorry to have dropped that bomb on you, but could we get back to the task at hand? Your friends kind of, you know, broke my favorite vase and ran.” His hand slowly stretches out to point at the collection of shards on his carpet. You shake your head to come back to Earth.
   “Oh right, I am so, so sorry, Renjun.” His name feels funny coming out of your mouth and you feel like you don’t have the right to call him by his name. However, it seems you using his name softens something up in him and he looks away from you shyly. 
   “I guess you’ll have to pay me in some way,” He suddenly says, his eyes finding yours again. You deflate, you knew something like this was going to happen, maybe not getting stuck in a vampire’s house, but you knew you would have to pay for your friends’ stupid actions tonight in some way. It happened when they all forgot their wallets when you went out for McDonald’s at three in the morning and it was happening again, but this time you wondered if you would be paying with your life instead of spare change. “That vase was priceless.”
   You close your eyes, waiting for him to finally attack you. “I understand,” You whisper.
   “W-Wait,” Renjun’s soft voice sounds panicked and you furrow your brow in confusion before opening your eyes again. He seems to have an epiphany. “Ah! I’m so sorry! I’m not going to hurt you! Oh gosh, did you think I was going to kill you or something? Drink your blood?” You nod slowly, even more confused. “Oh, Y/N, I’m not like that! I don’t drink straight from humans, that’s gross.”
   “What are you going to do to me then?” You ask.
   “D-Do to you?” Renjun stammers, his cheeks turning a pale blue hue, and his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. You nod again, watching him start to frantically wave his hands. “Nothing! I won’t even lay a hand on you! I was just gonna ask you to keep me company!” 
   “Keep you company?”
   “I just - I haven’t left my house in like... years. And, YangYang actually moved to Germany so I haven’t seen him in a while and I’ve just been,” He hesitates, the conflict behind his eyes evident. “I’ve just been really lonely.”
   You feel like you’ve been hit with a brick to the chest, the air leaving your lungs and turning into pain, feeling for the boy in front of you. Even with friends, you know exactly how he feels. It hurts you to know that the first social interaction he’s had with anyone in a while has been you and your friends breaking into his house.
   “Oh, Renjun,” Your arms reach out to pull the boy into an embrace before you can even process it. The way you say his name makes him shudder despite not being able to feel cold. You pull away suddenly when you realize, both of you growing shy. “Wait, are you sure you want to be friends with someone who broke into your house? And someone who’s friends with an idiot who smashed your favorite vase?”
   “Absolutely, I would like that more than anything” He mumbles, finding it in himself to gently take your hands. “You are really lovely -- s-so far, at least. And, I want you to introduce me to this idiot friend of yours, I want to give him a piece of my mind.”
   You both share a laugh after that, and you hug him once more without even telling yourself to. “Then I would love to keep you company.”
   “Th-Thank you.”
==≎==
   “Y/N!” Before you could even close the door behind yourself, Haechan’s arms were suffocating you in one of the tightest hugs you had ever received from him. His face quickly buries into your shoulder and you feel the sticky wetness of his snot and tears on your bare skin. You forgo disgust in lieu of comforting your friend who seems to be more shaken up about the situation than you. You gently pet his hair while he nuzzles against you, rambling through his sobbing. “I’m so sorry! I swear, we tried to open the door, we really did! It was locked!”
   You try to talk, but he hugs you tighter with the rest of the boys quickly following suit, only a puff of air passing through your lips. “We thought we had killed you!” Jaemin cries, his head taking up your other shoulder from behind. You can’t exactly tell whose arm is whose around you. The hug lasts a little longer, Haechan and Jaemin mumbling and sniveling against your neck, and even with the obvious bodily fluids you can feel spreading around, warmth spreads through you at the notion that they care.
   “Was there a demon in there?” Mark asks with a trembling voice, backing away from the group hug with his eyes boring into yours as if to make sure your soul was still intact. He seems to scare himself looking back inside through the windows.
   “Nothing hurt you, right?” Jeno’s hands reach over the two boys still squeezing the life out of you to cup your cheeks and turn your head side to side.
   “I’m fine! I’m fine!” You rasp, “I just… can’t breathe.”
   Instantly, Jaemin and Haechan let you go, apologizing to you and choosing to coddle each other instead. The boys let out a collective sigh of relief. You let a small smile spread across your face before it drops. “Wait, I just realized something!” You gasp, the boys growing tense.
   “What? What? What is it?” Jaemin asks, leaving Haechan to hold both of your hands between his. His eyes worriedly scan your face.
   “You guys grabbed each other and just left me!”
   “Uh oh,” Haechan whispers, knowing your tone all too well. “Run!”
   Instantly the boys take off, much like they did inside the house, however, this time they are laughing. You race down the stairs after them before your body stops and turns you around to look at the second-floor windows. You can faintly see Renjun smiling brightly at you through the moon’s glare, he raises his hand and yours does too. He waves, but your hand doesn’t. Mind control. “Cool,” You whisper under your breath and he laughs from inside the house. You smile and wave back before Haechan calls from the tree line and you run to catch up.
I guess I owe myself ten dollars.
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krasnyzmeyawritings · 4 years
Text
Hybrid identity: Strange Case of Michael Myers
I wrote this a few weeks ago, the subject was “animality.” It was initially in French, I very quickly translated it, let me know if you see something amiss!
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I originally intended to work on the theme of animality through three films: Jaws (1975), the first Hallowen (1978) and the last Halloween (2018), in order to study cinematographic recurrences in the filming of horror “villains”. Subsequently, my researches and first attempts at writing enlightened me on the lack of need to compare Jaws’ shark to Michael to bring out the animality of the latter. Although I use Jaws as example to talk about subjective camera, I focused on the two Halloween movies (the first directed by John Carpenter and the last by David Gordon Green) to look at the way directors and their teams shaped their killer, by giving him non-human characteristics, coded as animalistic. 
Elisa Aaltola suggests that: "The monster lacks personality and its motivations are nonexistent. It only becomes known through its body and through its aggressive actions: it is constructed as an active body. Otherwise, it remains hidden, causing fear with its invisibility and absence. It goes with the idea that the animal is the opposite of man. The humans in the films are intentional, rational and moral heroes, the animal remains an instinctively violent body which is invisible, unknown and frightening." In this sense, animality speaks more about human beings than animals, or at least, animality defines animals through what they lack from Man (reason, speech, control of impulses). That definition fits the vision society has of the main antagonists of horror films, including Michael Myers of the series of thirteen Halloween movies. This text thus proposes to carry out a reflection on the fictional killers of Slasher, a cinematographic sub-genre of horror film designating murders committed on a group of young adults by a masked (or disfigured) killer, by studying the most iconic of them (or at least, my favourite).
The plot for the first Halloween takes place on the night of Halloween 1963 in Haddonfield, Illinois. While the opening credits scroll on a black screen, a zoom in is carried out on a lit pumpkin. Light spurts from its round eyes, its triangle nose and its square-toothed smiling mouth, then the zoom fixes its right eye and nose, two cavities similar to those of a cave lit by a fire. The first scene uses the subjective camera, which leads towards the front door of a white pavilion, typical of American middle-class suburbs. A young couple is half visible inside, hidden by the curtains covering the windows. The spectator turned voyeur, hidden in the vegetation surrounding the house, follows the adolescents through the back door. On several occasions, the camera makes long tracking shots showing a carved pumpkin lit by a candle. Inside the house, the uneasiness perceived by the viewer intensifies due to the positioning of the subjective camera, which is particularly close to the ground, as was the point of view of the shark roaming the seabed in search of food in Jaws. 
In the essay Looking through the Beast's Eyes?, Michael Fuchs wonders to what extent: “this point of view, pretending to be of an animal, even if it is clearly anthropocentric since manufactured by men, controls and allows the representation of the animal?” He suggests that horror films using this point of view offer a space for critical reflection making it possible to: “recognize that animals are outside human logic” and thus their gaze cannot be represented as it would be ours. However, in Halloween, although the director uses codes specific to the animal's demonstration in horror films, the killer isn’t one. But, like an animal, he is silent, speechless, observing, hidden by a natural environment.
While the camera is in the kitchen, an arm covered in a green baggy garment grabs a butcher knife – the same one that could have been used to sculpt the pumpkins –, thus revealing the human nature of the one the viewer shares the point of view. We then observe the teen man seen before going down the stairs while getting dressed. He comes out of the house and the camera slowly heads upstairs, followed by a continuous high-pitched sound. The voyeur grabs a clown mask lying on the ground and puts it on, the subjective camera is then cut by the shape of the mask: two slits through which we discover the naked girl, combing her hair in front of her mirror. 
In her book Men, Women and Chainsaws (1992), Carol J. Clover concludes that each good horror film focuses: “on vision problems – to see too little (until blindness) or too much (until insanity).” Consequently, the genre's project is to tease, confuse, block or threaten the viewer's vision, but also, to look through the eyes of the killer. The cavities are multiplied in the film and transcribe the obsession that the antagonist has for them (when he returns to his hometown, his first act is to remove the tombstone from his sister's grave, leaving a hole yawning in the ground). Recognizing the voyeur with a knife, the young woman shouts his name, “Michael!” Before being stabbed to death by the latter, who then fled the house. The parents’ car stops in front of him and the father removes the clown mask, revealing the murderer’s identity: Michael is a six-year-old blond boy. The scene ends with a slow zoom out, encompassing the three figures, the house, and the dark vegetation surrounding it.
The opening credits and this first scene introduce the identity of Michael Myers: the danger emanating from inside, from the family. With the end of the 70s scarred by the Vietnam War, the young generation was determined to enjoy life (which is represented by the couple made of Michael's sister – Judith, and her boyfriend). In addition, Hollywood cinema was in free fall, the public was fed up of large productions, which explains why Halloween is a very low budget film, made in an almost artisanal way (the actors wore their own clothes, the production had almost no budget allocated to costumes). The demonstration of this threat coming from inside touched the intimate, the familiar, provoking identification and explains the resounding success of the film and the terror it caused to its viewers. This period also represents the time when the number of American serial killers increased like never before, even going so far as to introduce the term “serial killers” into the dictionary, which was due to a lack of police officers (at the time the number gave one policeman for 9,000 Americans, against one for 450 French, for example), the explosion of cocaine’s market and other narcotics and the mass media coverage of famous killers (Edmund Kemper or the Zodiac).
During the film, Michael kills two dogs, the first to feed himself, the second to avoid being spotted because of its loud barking. Faced with the remains of the first animal, the city sheriff refuses to believe that a man could have done that, to which Dr. Loomis, Michael's psychiatrist replies that: he is not a man. However, animals are often the first victims of future serial killers, which neither the sheriff nor the doctor could have known, since the very idea of serial killers did not yet exist and began to appear during the filming time. At the time, the murderous impulses carried out with impassiveness by this child seem unexplained, incomprehensible. The psychoanalyst Colette Rigaud explains in L’animal d'angoisse (1998): “Philosophy has never ceased, to demonstrate the specificity of man, to exhibit the animal’s animality, reduced to mechanics. This double rejected is simultaneously necessary, allowing, by the haunting assertion of his a-humanity, to reflect and confirm to man his human image.” This echoes the Descartes’ thesis (now obsolete) of the animal-machine, which puts the animal as a series of actions, of processes. Like machines, animals would be assemblies of parts and cogs, devoid of conscience or thought, which would explain why the existential anguish felt in front of the animal and its incomprehension would lie in the search of a “simple explanation” of the animal. And, even if psychological explanations for Michael's state were sought during his internment, he is considered by the medical representative, Dr. Loomis, as a machine devoid of consciousness.
The film produces a time ellipse to 1978, October 30, the day before Halloween, in the psychiatric hospital where Michael has been interned since the murder of his sister. This stormy night serves as a presentation of Dr. Samuel Loomis, Michael's psychiatrist, and is reminiscent of the world of Frankenstein. In addition to the dark atmosphere and the lightning that tear the dark sky, it is through the way Dr. Loomis and the scientist Victor Frankenstein apprehend their respective creatures that correlations emerge: he is “the demon” (V. Frankenstein), “the demon, the devil, Evil” (Dr. Loomis) who escapes its designer and eliminates humans. The psychiatrist represents not only the medical world, which was supposed to take care of the child, but also the generation of elders and thus becomes the metaphorical creator of Michael. In particular, since the psychiatrists and experts who have studied this fictional case have all pointed that Dr. Loomis has misdiagnosed his patient as a child, which has resulted in poor care and failure of this care. Michael is, according to Dr Anthony Tobia (The Horror !: A Creative Framework for Teaching Psychopathology Via Metaphorical Analyzes of Horror Films, 2013), suffering from catatonia, which explains his extremely calm attitude and the fact that he never runs after his victims,  psychopathy, schizophrenia, sociopathy and stupor – a disorder characterized by the complete suspension of all physical and mental activity. 
Loomis, who has dealt with Michael's case for fifteen years, uses the term “it” rather than “him” to speak of his patient. Faced with his own failure, the professional turns to the only plausible explanation he’s left with: the evil nature and lack of humanity of Michael. He explains to a nurse that the latter has not spoken since the murder of his sister, which reveals a trauma and, according to studies in the psychopathology course REDRUM (Reviewing [Mental] Disease with a Rudimentary Understanding of the Macabre), denotes a conversion disorder (formerly known as hysteria), where symptoms of acute or chronic stress occur physically. The failure in the care offered by the psychiatrist is confirmed when the latter explains that he tried during the first seven years of treatment to communicate by word with Michael, which is not effective for a conversion disorder having rendered him mute and would have required other stimuli, non-verbal techniques, such as art therapy or music. Psychopathological studies of Michael Myers’ case have shown that he may also be on the autism spectrum. This last specificity is not treated by the film, but would be defined by its difficulty to communicate, the limited aspect of its behaviours and the repetition of its gestures (as well as the obsessive aspect which animates him, his obsession for a character in particular, and for the need to open, to create holes around him and on others). However, he does not entirely correspond to the profile of the psychopath nor of a sociopath, despite his antisocial, impulsive and guiltless behaviour. Faced with the impossibility of obtaining an explanation for the crime committed by the boy, the family, medicine and society (of the 1980s) turn to another explanation: the evil nature and animality. Evil is highlighted by Dr Loomis, while “the animal” is brought out through stereotypical cinematic codes used to represent the identity of the killer: absence of motive for the crime, the body evolving in nature, mingling with nature unlike individuals integrated into society who are lost or in a weak position in an environment other than the city, as well as the absence of speech. 
In L'animal d'angoisse, Colette Rigaud explains that: “the animal appears as a duplicate of the human subject to be exorcised, so that man does not lose his identity. The representations of the animal function as a projection of an unbearable interior reality: the animality of the thinking subject. Man has a hard time conquering his potential as a human being, and this is by constantly pushing back what he can contain in animality. External animality and the fear it arouses works like a displacement and a projection of the bad parts of the subject, its internal animality. This position is maintained in concert with a separation from the emotion and the one expressing it.” Michael Myers then appears as a double to be exorcised, the evil inclination of the American society of the 80s. According to Colette Rigaud, the link between evil and animal is even stronger: “the animal, in Cartesian philosophy, plays the role of the devil in religion. Philosophy, under the influence of a phobic mechanism, denounces the animal's claim to share the humanity of man: the most sensitive point will be language, the last bastion that man must defend with relentlessly, because repository of meaning in general and therefore of humanity. It’s the language that breaks this chain of animality.” If Michael Myers remains silent throughout the  films, he systematically executes his victims by slitting their throats or smothering them with his bare hands: by depriving them of speech, by making them beasts.
In the script, Michael is replaced by “the dark shape”, a nickname that will remain, since he is notably qualified as The Shape in the end credits (and later, The Bogeyman), which is partly due to the graphic quality of his costume: the dark overalls and the white mask (made from a Captain Kirk/William Shatner mask, painted in white) hiding his head. Michael chooses this mask representing a human to blend in during this Halloween night. The night everyone dresses as something they are not, he chooses to disguise himself as a man, because he does not consider himself as such. At the end of the film, when the main heroine fights him, she manages to tear off the mask for a few seconds, which completely destabilizes Michael, who tries at all costs to put it back in place (which allows Dr. Loomis to shoot him six times).
The film then unveils the iconic heroine of the series: Laurie Strode is a teenage girl babysitting to earn pocket money. Her father owns a real estate agency and it is by “luck” that Michael spots her in front of his house. When the latter observes her, the subjective camera is replaced by a close-up of Michael, as if the camera was right behind his shoulder. His point of view is no longer shared by the spectator, who watches, helplessly, Michael’s growing interest in Laurie. The resemblance between the teenager and his sister is obvious. Colette Rigaud adds that: “Throughout his work, Freud never stopped showing how much the animal was necessary for the development of epistemophilic tendencies in children. Scientific knowledge about children also involves investigations of the animal”. These epistemophilic urges represent a form of sexual urge that originates in a difficulty in defining sexuality and sexual identity. This absence in the construction of sexual identity is an underlying theme in the character of Michael, who mainly assassinates teenagers having sexual intercourse. The butcher's knife with which he penetrates the flesh, a violent (negative) phallic symbol according to Freud, makes this identity problem even more obvious. The choice to start the beginning of the story in Michael’s childhood is not trivial, it is not only a desire to shock by choosing a child as villain, since the temporal ellipse is immediate, but to show what triggered his murderous impulses in connection with his sexuality: the vision of his older sister with her boyfriend. The numerous stab wounds to the young woman indicate the crime of passion. Furthermore, if Laurie manages to survive Michael, unlike the others, it is not because she was a virgin as some have claimed, but on the contrary (according to director John Carpenter), she had no sex and suffered from it. This frustration, this energy and these impulses would be what gave her the strength to survive and fight against Michael. In the script, Laurie writes on paper that she feels alone, and her friends often remind her that she does nothing to have fun, that she only thinks of studying. This relational dynamic around sexuality is found between Michael and Laurie in the use of the subjective camera. When he is an adult, the subjective camera is not used to share Michael's gaze, but closeups behind his shoulder are used. Laurie is then assigned the subjective camera, while she walks the alleys to the house that she doesn't know is a crime scene. If all the other episodes of the saga have now established Laurie and Michael as inseparable, it is because John Carpenter thought of them as two sides of the same coin, whose similarities, other than in their education (American, white, from a middle class family), play around their difficulties in defining their sexual identity and integrating into an era that prevails over their liberation. But also, in their acceptance of their animal characteristics rather than their rejection: both become hunters (Laurie to survive, Michael to kill), in a world where they are positioned as prey.
Halloween 2018 follows the plot of the first Halloween by obscuring the eleven other films made in-between (some contradicting themselves, for example, in the second Halloween, Laurie becomes Michael's sister, which is no longer the case in the last) and allows to grasp the evolution of the same iconic character from the 1970s to today. The opening credits use the codes of the first film, the same composition, with the exception that the decomposition of the pumpkin is accelerated and reversed. 
While practicing marksmanship and strengthening her house defenses, right down to the bunker hidden under her kitchen counter, Laurie Strode has been waiting 40 years for Michael Myers to be sentenced to death. The film captures how much her meeting with Michael shattered her life, the impact that untreated post-traumatic stress disorder can have and the generational damages it can cause. Halloween 2018 focuses on the complicated relationship between Laurie, her daughter Karen (who was taken away from her by social services at the age of twelve) and her granddaughter Allyson in their fight against Michael. Dr. Loomis has died and one of his students, Dr. Ranbir Sartain, takes care of Michael. This new doctor is obsessed with his patient and once again the medical world is undermined by the saga, which reveals in this new character another bad guy, a fanatic of the serial killer, who will inevitably be killed by him. If the first film made many comparisons between Michael and Evil (specific to a Puritan and religious American society), this one uses adjectives reminiscent of the animal (“the beast in captivity”) and symbolizes a shift in the societal apprehension of what is “danger”. And if medical care is more present (Michael has had more than fifty different psychiatrists during these forty years), it is not necessarily more suited (which might be to show that Michael can’t be "cured” no matter what). Along with Michael, Laurie was not taken care of psychologically and found herself isolated and rejected by society, which questions psychoanalysis and its effect on multiple generations.
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i just love them bye
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spilledkauffie · 4 years
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Coulrophobia
Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader Word Count: 2.4k T/W: fluff! A/N: Happy Halloween!
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It was Halloween night and you were finally getting to go out for once. Usually the boys, all of them, kept you in the middle of the couch watching a movie locked in the bunker, mostly because their fear of something happening to you on a perfectly creepy night, with perfectly creepy spirits bound to be everywhere. They’d had numerous encounters on Halloween and didn’t want you getting mixed into any of it, so the best option was to just stay home.
But this year was different, this year you were on the roads. And with enough requests and puppy eyes, you convinced the more susceptible Winchester, of whom happened to be your boyfriend, to take you out to the local Halloween & Fall festival the city you were staying in was hosting. There was going to be a ferris wheel, games, candy, and so many more traditions that you had altogether missed, but now you were finally getting a chance to feel a part of normal society, just for a night.
“Hey, uh, it’s getting dark, we better get going,” You heard Sam say from outside the motel bathroom’s door.
You quickly applied a swipe of tinted chapstick, knowing you’d probably be having some sort of candy, and didn’t want to deal with the smudges of lipstick. Stepping back and observing yourself in the mirror, you felt surprisingly cute. It had been a very long time since you remotely dressed up for anything, even if this was Halloween, it still counted in your book. Exhaling with a smile, you nodded and turned the door handle.
When you opened the door you found Sam leaning against the wall next to it. He immediately stood up straight, habitually pushed his dark hair back and looked you over. You couldn’t quite read his expression, he looked both impressed and nervous at the same time, creating his signature puppy look, as you had deemed it. 
You bit your lip, wincing “too much?”
“No, no,” Sam stuttered for words shaking his head, “You look great!”
His eyes met yours; you swore you could get lost in them, “thanks,” you said in a softer tone than you intended to come out, but couldn’t help it, something about him made you feel so small, yet so safe. Part of you really did want to just stay at the motel with him, but the other part really wanted a real life date experience. Sam’s lips pulled into a small smile as he noticed you staring at him, making you blink repeatedly and blush.
“Hey, hey, Dorothy,” Dean came in the room with a 6 pack of his favourite beer, smiling as he quickly looked you up and down, “did you try clicking your heels and wishing you weren’t in a relationship with him?”
Sam huffed, closing his eyes for a moment, knowing it wasn’t worth it.
“You sure you don’t want to come Dean?” You offered sweetly, as you put an arm around Sam.
“Nah, you kids have fun,” he said opening a beer and sitting on the edge of a bed, “it’s slasher night on one of these old timey channels anyway.” 
“Okay, well, have fun. Stay safe,” You walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek sweetly, before grabbing your purse and heading for the door, Sam following behind you. 
He couldn’t help but notice the nice way your dress swayed with your walk, leading his eyes down to the little red flats you had found at a thrift store once. It might’ve been the first time he’d ever seen you in a dress and this was a pretty cute one for the first time. You really hadn’t over done it, it was just a blue and white checkered sundress, like Dorothy’s and you had your hair in two half braids with little ribbons in them and a little extra blush, nothing too fancy, but definitely a noticeable costume. 
“Hey,” Dean called out, causing Sam to turn around, “have fun, okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded knowingly, “we’ll uh, see you later.”
You waited for Sam outside the motel’s door, swaying your hips a little. The moonlight was starting to peek up over the pine trees as two of you walked over to the Impala, a rare occasion that Dean actually, willingly, let Sam take it outside of emergencies. The festival wasn’t very far from where you were staying, and the ride felt short with some classics playing in the background as you kept a wide eyed lookout for any appearances of the festival coming into sight. 
After finding it, Sam followed the signs to a gravel parking lot, shifting it into the park and taking the keys out, “well, we made it.” 
Smiling giddily, you could hardly wait, opening the car door and stepping out to see the silhouette of the ferris wheel from the setting sun. Accidentally forgetting to breathe for a moment, Sam’s gentle touch to your arm brought you back to reality, one you could hardly believe was happening. 
“You okay?” Sam asked quietly.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” you tucked some hair behind your ear, with butterflies in your stomach, your wrapped your arm around his.
The two of you walked together to the entrance, cutely decorated by a scruffy hay bail archway adorned with purple, orange and green glittery, sparkling lights and little ghosts. There were people dressed like demons with pitchforks, and vampires and of course a girl as an angel with tiny fluffy wings. It all made Sam laugh under his breath, but he tried to hide it merely perking his eyebrows for their sake when one of them tried to be scary, knowing this was what most people thought of the supernatural world. 
“I still can’t believe you wouldn’t even dress up as the scarecrow, you’re tall enough, you know,” you made conversation, walking leisurely through the hey matted path of the festival, both your hands now clutching the strap of the small purse you held in front of you lazily, your knees sometimes hitting it lightly.
Sam half smiled, hands in pockets, “I jsut- Halloween isn’t my favourite is all.” 
“Oh, I’m sorry-”
“No, I didn’t mean like-” Sam paused, both physically and verbally, running his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip, “listen, you’re making it a world better than I’ve ever known it to be, but it’s just- my family.”
“I get it Sam,” you nodded reassuringly, “you’re hunters, I’m not surprised Halloween isn’t your favourite, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. You know that.” 
For once Sam felt relieved to actually have someone just understand. He knew you said it, but now he felt it.
“Now, I’d like to enjoy this night Fall festival date with you,” you smiled, trying to get his mind off Halloween, “how about that?”
“Right, sorry,” Sam rubbed the back of his head, minorly embarrassed as he rustled his hair, “it’s been a while.” 
Giggling at his rusty date skills, you took his hand and lead him around, leaning into his arm whenever you saw a cute couple, realising just how lucky you were to have someone; someone that could protect you from anything at that.  
You both knew he’d totally demolish every and any game that involved shooting, so you decided to let others have a standing chance by just watching. Sam also didn’t want to bring attention to himself, while he wasn’t fully armed. Walking along all the stands was one of your favourite things. A few people offering balloons or candy stopping you for only a moment, before you continued.
 Suddenly the hand in yours froze, leaving you to walk on a few paces before realising it. Turning back Sam had completely frozen, chest starting to rise and fall at an accelerated rate. It was nothing like him to just completely stop in his tracks, and you could feel something was wrong.
“Sam?” You asked, returning close to him.
A blank expression was all you got, and he wasn’t even looking at you, it was something in the distance. You looked to where he was staring, but found nothing. 
“Sam,” you drew his attention to you, his lip twitching, as you placed one hand on his chest. 
You studied him over quickly to see if anything was wrong, was he hurt, did he get a curse, was he feeling sick? And for the first time since you’d known him, you saw fear, a genuine natural human fear. He glanced away again, that nervous twitch coming back. You looked to where he was and saw the most likely suspect causing his fear: a clown. 
“Sam, are you okay?” you looked up, gently and quietly asking. 
“Wh-what, yeah, yeah” he assured you, with a twitching smile, “I’m totally-”
Sam flinched when a giggling clown nearly touched him on its way back to the cotton candy booth. Closing his eyes for a moment, he swallowed harshly, subconsciously squeezing your hand tighter, and turned to face you. 
“Sam, we can go,” you told him, staring up at him, now becoming very aware of something you had never known before. 
He suddenly came back to you, remembering you were at his side, “I’m fine, we should stay, you wanted to see more, c’mon.”
You cautiously continued, now being led by him through the festival. It was quiet between the two of you for the remainder of the walk, and you kept an anxious eye on Sam’s body language, noticing how he kept you closer to him now, and didn’t let go of your hand. 
When the two of you made it to the ferris wheel, you looked up at it, with all its light and colours now shining brightly against a velvety black sky. The glistening colours reflected in your eyes as they slowly spun in the circular motion. Sam watched your face light up like a kid’s when it randomly changed colours on every cycled spin.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked, smiling as you spoke.
“Yeah, uh, it sure is,” Sam gave a quick glance to the ferris wheel, then back to you, “it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” 
You turned your head, Sam giving you a look that made you very aware you were not talking about the same thing. The dim glow of dark blues and purples almost appeared to stain his skin, but giving his eyes a bioluminescent glow of sparkling lights. You moved closer, and he slipped his arms around you, keeping you close. 
“Well garsh!” A loud, goofy voice broke the moment, literally making Sam shutter as the two of you turned to see the intruder, “you’re almost tall enough to be air traffic!”
The red nosed, white face, pink haired, big shoed clown was beginning to act like an airplane around Sam, who, rather than his annoyed expression when people made fun of him, had a distressed and anxiety ridden look spreading across his body. 
“And holy wow,” another voice called behind you, “we’ve got matching shoes!”
Leading to a second clown joining his friend in joking with the two of you. Sam tried not to look at them, but also didn’t want to be entirely rude.
“Want a flower?” a third sprung out towards Sam, making him slightly step behind you, closing his eyes as if wishing it was all a bad dream. 
“No, no,” you kindly put a hand up, “I think we’ll be going now, thank you. Sam?” you nodded away from the clowns. 
The trio began faking big crocodile tears and frowning as the two of you left, which was mostly you leading Sam away from his worst nightmares. You passed the stands and booths, making your way back to the entrance, which also served as the exit. Sam now very aware of just how many clowns were at this festival, squeezing your hand and swallowing harshly every time he saw one. Before you knew it, you were safely at the Impala’s side.
Sam stopped you from turning to open the car door, gently tugging you his direction. 
“Wanna talk about it?” You gently asked, leaning against the Impala. 
“I- I don’t know. It’s gonna sound really dumb, but,” Sam stared at the ground, deciding how to word it, “I have an aversion or a disliking, um a fear maybe of clowns.”
“Okay,” you nodded. 
“But that shouldn’t stop us from having a date night, I’m really sorry, let’s go back,” he tried to change the subject. 
“Don’t be sorry, Babe,” you shook your head, knowing Sam had a bad habit of apologising when things weren’t his fault, “I don’t want to go back anyway.”
Sam smiled, only because he felt you were just saying that to make him feel better. It was quiet, aside from the crickets singing in a nearby field. You were studying Sam’s expressions; it was as if he was deciding if he should just “get over it” and take you back or if he should agree with you and just head back to the motel. 
“This is so stupid,” he finally said, still feeling guilty, “I’m too old for this.” 
“Sam, wait,” you grabbed his arm just in time, your touch persuading him to turn back to you, “this isn’t stupid.” 
Sam sighed and stared away from you for a while, “but this is childish. I shouldn’t-” 
“You shouldn’t what? Have a natural, understandable fear? Sam, it’s okay,” You rubbed his arm, smiling while you slipped your hand to be intertwined with his, “it’s not childish. It’s totally normal.”
Sam couldn’t help but scoff a little, “yeah, that’s not what Dean says.”
“Well, I’m not Dean,” you said, immediately drawing his attention to you, beautiful green eyes meeting yours as you looked up, “and since when did you start taking Dean’s psychological analysis serious?”
“Okay, okay, you win,” Sam smirked.. 
“C’mon, let’s go,” you tilted your head to the Impala.
The two of you got in, shutting the doors with a slight creak. You set your purse on the floor board and moved over to the middle of the bench seat. Sam started the car, reversing carefully before pulling off the gravel. Snuggling against him, he put his arm across the back of the seat. 
The night was clear and the stars could easily be seen, as if they were little fireflies. You listened to the soft rock playing quietly and closed your eyes, head resting against Sam. 
“Hey, how about when we get back, we get our own room for tonight?” You proposed, hesitating to look up for a moment. 
“Yeah?” Sam smiled at you. 
“Yeah,” you bit your bottom lip, “maybe I can make your night a little bit better.”
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jordswriteswords · 4 years
Text
Clextober19: BYOB - Bring Your Own Boos
"How do I look?" Clarke asked, twirling about the living room. She was dressed in her Halloween costume, showing off her talent for makeup.
"Are you serious?" Lexa asked, mouth agape.
Clarke laughed, her hat falling down over her eyes. "Come on, don't be so offended."
"I mean, it's just…" Lexa trailed off, chewing on her lip. 
Madi bounded down the stairs, yelling a, "whoa, mom that's so witch-ist!"
"Witch-ist?" Clarke asked. 
Madi floated an apple from the fruit tray to meet her when she plopped down on the couch next to Lexa. 
"Feet," Lexa admonished her eight year old. 
Madi huffed and chomped down on the apple, a few pieces falling out of her mouth as she said, "yeah, it's prejudice against witches."
Lexa clicked her tongue at her daughter, scooping up the pieces of apple that had fallen from her mouth and wrapped them in a tissue. "No talking with food in your mouth, Mads."
"It's a joke!” Clarke said. "You guys don't even look like this. No wonder humans haven't ever been able to find you." Her face was painted green with warts on an exaggerated nose. Her head was covered by a pointy hat and she wore a long black gown. "Really, why would you ever want to look like this if you could change it with magic? Besides, it’s a rocking costume if I do say so myself.” She twirled again, and Lexa had to fight down her smile at her wife. She really, truly loved her, even if she was being highly insensitive right now.
“It’s kind of like saying that all humans are stupid and slow,” Lexa commented instead. “Like shoving our faces with the garbage some of you call food, and talking about how we’re the superior race and whatnot.”
Clarke twisted her mouth to the side in thought. “Okay, but I don't think like that,”
“Obviously, or we wouldn’t be together,” Lexa quipped.
“I just mean -- it’d be so much easier to be a witch. I mean, Madi can talk to animals, you are a superstar athlete. You’re like the spoiled brats of society.”
Lexa scoffed. Madi rolled her eyes. “I am so not a spoiled brat,” Madi chimed, more apple crumbs falling from her lips. Lexa glared at her child until Madi picked up her trash from the couch. She tried to wiggle her nose to send it to the trashcan, but Lexa snapped her fingers before she could, putting a safety lock on her nose.
"Come on!" she whined.
"You have legs," Lexa retorted. "Use them."
With a huff, Madi got up and dumped her trash into the trashcan in the kitchen. Lexa joined her, stirring the pot she had started for dinner.
Clarke continued her rant, “You kinda are. Whenever you want something you just have to poof it into existence. Lexa snaps her fingers or you wiggle your nose and there it is, whatever your heart desires.”
“What would you do if you had magical powers, babe?” Lexa asked over her shoulder. ���Since you clearly have had such a horrible hand dealt to you.”
Clarke shrugged. “I’ve never really thought of it because it’s completely impossible. It’d be like a vacation, though. I'd probably make everything silent so I could just relax. Man, you guys have it so easy.”
Lexa smirked, and then winked at Madi. "Alright babe," she said, turning to her wife. "Deal." She snapped her fingers, and the costume on Clarke’s frame shrunk down to fit her snugly, and the green paint disappeared from her face.
“What the --”
“Let’s see what you got,” Lexa teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve just handed over my powers. You, Clarke Griffin, are now a witch for twenty-four hours.”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve had the ability to turn me into a witch for our entire lives and never bothered to do so? Rude!”
Lexa laughed. “It’s not quite how it works. You have to have a deep emotional and physical bond with someone.”
“Like a soulmate?” Madi asked.
“Yeah, like a soulmate. Seeing that you’re my wife and also have bore my child, our connection is more than strong enough to allow me to pass my powers onto you for a short period of time.”
“So I’m legit a witch?”
“And I’m human,” Lexa replied.
“Cool! Can I be a werewolf?” Madi asked.
“No!” both parents barked at the same time.
“How does it feel to be powerless?” Clarke asked. “You do realize I’m not going to help you with any of the housework so you can get a sense of how tough it really is to grow up and have to fold your own laundry.”
“I look forward to it,” Lexa said with a small laugh.
“Wow,” Clarke said, marvelling at her hands. “How do I like, make it go?” She tried snapping her fingers and blinking excessively, but nothing happened.
Lexa chuckled. “Stop forcing it. Just let it come to you.”
“Got it, Chief,” she said, pointing her finger guns are Lexa that she typically did when she was trying to be sarcastic. With a flash of light and a poof of smoke, Lexa’s head donned a Native tribal headpiece.
Clarke’s eyes widened and she looked at her hands. “Oh, come on!” she bemoaned. “I can’t believe my trigger is finger-guns!”
***
Lexa bit into the dinner she had prepared, noting the meatballs ended up a little spicier than she had originally anticipated.  She stood to refill her glass of water, but Clarke held a hand up to stop her. 
“Don’t worry babe, I got this.” She finger gunned at Lexa and said, “water.”
Lexa sighed.
A sudden downpour of water fell atop Lexa's head, soaking her clothes right through.
A few seconds later, an empty glass appeared in the air, only to crash onto the kitchen floor.
***
“Jesus… Christ… How do I… Stop this… from… happeniiiiiiiing?” Clarke asked as she bounced up and down in the air, trying to get control of her levitation. She pointed her finger at Lexa, who sighed as she floated, and tried her best not to throw up at the sudden rollercoaster that her wife forced upon her in their living room.
***
Halfway through the pile of laundry, Lexa pouted at her smiling wife. “I got this, babe,” Clarke said. She finger-gunned at the last of the clothes and said, “fold,” but the already folded clothes exploded from their spot on the bed, littering the room in the family’s underwear.
***
“How’s it going?” Lexa asked, poking her head around the corner to Clarke’s art studio.
Clarke huffed and pouted at her wife. In front of her was a series of canvases covered in sad clowns and dreary landscapes.
“Moody,” Lexa said. 
“I don’t seem to know how to control any colour other than the black. This was easier when I was human."
***
Clarke was determined to master her magic, knowing that she would never hear the end of it if she came out of this day not being able to cast one proper spell. 
Lexa drove them to the store to get groceries for the week. She perused the aisles while Clarke thought and thought and thought about what she could do to get it under control. 
She thought over the words and the basic spells that Madi taught her when Lexa wasn't working, finger gunning without casting the spell aloud so she could practice her posture.
“Hey Clarke, isn’t that Harper?”
“Who?” Clarke asked, finger inadvertently pointing at her wife.
Suddenly, there was a poof of smoke and a bright flash of light, and hovering in front of her was an owl with the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
“Lexa?” Clarke gasped.
“Hoot, hoot, hoot,” the bird replied, fluttering its wings furiously. "Hoot, hoot, hoot!" The owl called. Clarke slowly backed away as the owl squawked and screeched and flew after her. 
***
The next morning, Clarke awoke to a platter of eggs, bacon and pancakes, and a single lily in a vase.
Lexa leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at her wife as she handed over a cup of coffee. “Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.”
Bashful and cowed, Clarke took a sip of her coffee and nodded at her wife.
After she finished her breakfast, she brought the plates downstairs and marvelled at the sparkling clean home. “Looks like someone got their powers back,” Clarke teased her wife.
“Nah, you still have a few more hours,” Lexa replied, hands busy scrubbing the pans used for breakfast.
“Really?” Clarke asked. She finger gunned in the direction of the milk container, and made the entire jug explode, coating the ceiling in dairy. She sighed. “Wheres Madi?” 
Lexa laughed and pulled out a rag from the cupboard, already moving towards the mess when she said, “At Jordan’s. It really was Harper we saw yesterday.”
“So, you’re telling me you cleaned our entire place and made me breakfast without the use of your powers?” 
“Clarke,” Lexa sighed. “I always do. I don’t want Madi to grow up thinking that her powers are the answer to everything. Everything I do at home I do as an equal to you. I only use my powers to spoil you if I can… or to fix something I broke on occasion.”
Clarke’s cheeks dusted pink at her wife’s words. “You really are something, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”
“I’m yours, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”
“I’m sorry for saying you were spoiled. This magic stuff is harder than I thought. I love you.”
Clarke leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her wife’s lips, and with a gentle poof of smoke and a warm flash of pink light, Clarke's magic worked properly for the first time ever, levitating her and Lexa off the ground together, high off their love.
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artificialqueens · 5 years
Text
Thank You For Being A Friend (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt
AN: Inspired by the multi-faceted Bianca/Adore relationship we got a glimpse of on the ABCD tour. Regarding pronouns and names, Bianca has said that she refers to Adore as Adore first, because that’s how they know each other.
SUMMARY: In the midst of the ABCD tour, Bianca ends up with a sleepy Adore in her room. Cue realizations, cuddling, and Adore disrupting Bianca’s sense of order.
“I’m a mermaid!” Adore sprawled over the foot of the bed, tipsy and loose-limbed.  “Yanx, you turned me into an actual mermaid!”
Bianca looked up from her phone, using a sock-clad foot to gently keep Adore from falling off the bed.  “You had to feel your fantasy.”
Adore managed to roll onto her stomach, still in full face and riding the high of a successful show.    She crawled towards the headboard, giving up halfway and collapsing over Bianca’s crossed legs and nearly dropping her own phone in the process.  “I love this.”
“The dress, the tour, or the UK? 
Grinning at Bianca upside down, Adore shook her head lazily.  “Noooooo, I meant just hanging out with you.”
Bianca didn’t bother to suppress the indulgent smile tugging at her lips.  She leaned back on the headboard, setting the phone on the nightstand and stretching.  
“You should take your face off, chola, before you fall asleep.”  Bianca tried to shift Adore off her legs so she could get to the makeup wipes on the counter.  She couldn’t quite reach without moving from the bed, but six feet of mermaid twined around her legs like an octopus.
“I don’t wanna get up.  Room’s too far away.  Can I sleep here?”  She punctuated the question with a yawn, rubbing her eyes and smearing streaks of teal and black across her face.  Adore pushed herself up on one elbow, lost her balance, and flopped onto her back.
Bianca took the opportunity to slide out from under her, grabbing what she needed from the bathroom along with a bottle of water for the nightstand.  “I don’t even know why they book you your own room,” she answered, surveying the space.  
Adore’s suitcase was open on the coffee table, drag spilling out of it and across the couch.  The sequined mini dresses and thigh high boots mixed together were a sharp contrast to Bianca’s neatly labelled zippered bags.  Between last minute costume adjustments, Adore wanting to show Bianca every look, and the ABCD defaulting to Bianca’s room as a meeting point, she never quite made it to her own suite 
“S’in case I bring someone hot back,” she announced with what was probably supposed to be a leer, but the effect was ruined by another yawn.
Bianca rolled her eyes.  “And how are you already tired?  It’s not even late.”
“B’cause sleeping on the bus sucks,” Adore half-heartedly swiped her makeup off by feel and dropped the used wipes onto the floor.  “Bed’s too small.”
“You know, you have a perfectly good room with a giant empty bed now.”  Bianca spoke around her toothbrush, rinsing her mouth and flicking off the lights in the room.
“You’re kicking me out?” Adore tried to sit up and gave in after the third failed attempt, yawning hugely.  She turned her best wounded expression towards the direction of Bianca’s voice.
Bianca sighed and dropped her glasses on the nightstand.  “Course not, you know that.  At least take your shoes off, if you’re going to sleep here.”
Two thumps followed as Adore kicked her boots off, accompanied by the clunk of her phone being tossed onto the nightstand.  “You’re the best, B.”  T-shirt and shorts were flung haphazardly towards an empty spot on the dresser, missing and landing half on Bianca’s clean clothes instead.
Shaking her head in mock exasperation, Bianca checked that her phone was plugged in to charge and the alarm set for an ungodly early hour.  She pulled the covers back and heaved Adore’s legs out of the way.  “You look more like a starfish than a mermaid.  Get in the bed and give me some room, or I’m dumping you on the floor.”  
It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Adore whined in protest, but moved from the center of the bed to one side.  Bianca stacked the pillows and laid down, reaching up to turn off the lamp.  “Goodnight, chola.”
“Night, B.”
She settled into the pillows and pulled the covers up, listening to the sounds of Adore moving on her side before falling still.  After a few minutes, the fidgeting started up again, and she felt the covers shift around.  The cycle repeated, until finally, “B?  You asleep?”
“Yes.“ 
“B,” She could hear the hesitation in Adore’s voice, and rolled onto her side to face her.
“Yeah?” 
“I like your room ‘cause it’s not lonely.”
Bianca had to admit that made a certain amount of sense, and Adore-logic wasn’t always so straightforward.  “You could always ask Courtney or Darienne to stay with you,” she teased, more gently than any of her audiences would believe possible. 
“S’not the same.  Courtney smells like that daisy air freshener and Darienne snores.”  Bianca snorted at that, which while true, would only have been said so honestly by Adore. 
While she was talking, Adore moved closer to the middle of the bed.  Wordlessly, Bianca lifted the covers up and Adore scooted the rest of the way across until she was right next to her.  “You don’t think it’s bad that I want to cuddle,” she muttered.  “S’fine when we’re awake, but it’s weird to ask them to sleep.”
Bianca tucked Adore’s head against her chest, chin resting on messy hair that really needed a shower.  It made a certain amount of sense - while the four of them shared personal space easily, Adore thrived on touch.  That was part of the reason Bianca found herself holding hands with her on stage, even with Adore’s gloves. 
She hadn’t been exaggerating in their season when she told Ru that the competition had broken down the barriers she’d built around herself over the years.  Sarcasm and biting wit were strong defenses, but they didn’t leave a lot of room for getting close to other queens, especially in a competition.
Bianca’s first love was always creation, and drag became her business.  Between work in the costume shop and comedy in high heels, her life was full and busy.  She hadn’t realized until that workroom how lonely it could also be.
Adore had thrown herself headfirst into those walls, first prickling with her comment about not wanting to work with Bianca.  It’s every clown for their fucking selves, she remembered saying in a confessional.  Bianca could have left Adore to flounder in the sewing challenge, or to face Michelle’s critiques of her figure.  She could have, and some argued should have, just to eliminate another competitor.   But she could respect Adore’s unconventional style, had come to enjoy the sense of fun and fresh perspective.  Seeing that vulnerability behind the torn fishnets and messy hair pulled down more bricks in her wall of self-defense.
She hadn’t expected to make friends on Drag Race, and couldn’t have ever imagined what Adore brought to her life.  Adore loved to play up their quasi-parent/child relationship to the delight of her masses of teenage fans, pointed out her age at every occasion, and merrily created a whirlwind of chaos wherever she went.  Bianca would never admit it, but sometimes she thought she had plenty to learn from Adore in return.
The mermaid in question had fallen asleep while she was thinking, one hand under the pillow and the other arm folded between their bodies.  Bianca made a mental note to toss her in the shower first thing in the morning, before shifting into a comfortable position that wouldn’t end up with a knee anywhere painful during the night.
“Not a bad thing at all,” he whispered.
“There’s an old saying, that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. For me, it wasn’t going through the competition with an adolescent charm, with a fabulous body and beauty, or going through it with great lip sync talents. I had dresses, I had hair, and a guard. I had built up this wall and this experience has changed me and I didn’t expect it to be this magical, or this inspiring, but it is.  I went through a self discovery, accepting that I wasn't such a bad bitch. And I thank all of you, honestly, from the bottom of my chilly little heart. Thanks."   -Bianca Del Rio, Season 6, Episode 12
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doublerumnukacola · 5 years
Text
Second Last Dance
They emerged from the State House the sound of the crowds around them a little overwhelming. She’d never seen Good Neighbor this packed. It was suffocating for her to be surrounded by the drunken masses.
Then they caught sight of Hancock and the crowd surged towards them. Sole stepped backwards to the State House as Hancock stepped forward, passing out what remained of his chem stash like he was giving out candy.
It felt exactly like pre-war Halloween, complete with kids in costumes. Some were hobos, gangsters, clowns, zombies… And to think the latter was the most friendly of the bunch. She leant against the disintegrating white paint of the ancient building as the last of the Mentats were distributed, the final tin having to be yanked from Hancocks leathery fingers. He gave a sigh as the crowd dispersed. Maybe in relief, or regret. She came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“You look like you need a drink.” She noted, he turned to look back at her with a thin, tired, smile. “Maybe a few drinks, actually.”
“You don’t know the half of it, sister.” He admitted. “Haven’t had a straight drink in awhile. Usually spritze it up with a few Daytripper. For taste, of course.”
“Ohno, not tonight.” She chuckled, spinning him around to face her. “Doctors orders, you’re already pushing it with drink.” He shrugged, old habits die hard. She could tell she would have her work cut out for her. She was going to have to keep him away from temptation...
-------------------------------------------
The sky above GoodNeighbor was dotted with faint stars against a deep, dark blue. The Sun said its last goodbyes at the Horizon, lingering like an unwanted house guest. The lamp lights glowed, waiting to be spotlights for the party. Magnolia had moved outside the Rexford, music playing from an old prewar speaker Daisy’d had in her attic. The usual upbeat jazz set was playing with Mags lending her sultry voice.
Sole and Hancock were drinking on the balcony of the State House, in an attempt to keep him distracted from the slurry of chems making their way through the crowd. The rum tasted like medical disinfectant mixed with cinnamon, but it kept them happy enough.
“I gotta ask somethin’.” Hancock started, taking a swig from the clear glass bottle, the dark liquid rushing to meet him. “What was it like, before… All this?” She shrugged and glanced away. It was question she got a lot. She’d had a lot of time to think of a good answer.
“Honestly, not great.” She answered bluntly. He nearly choked on his next swig of drink, spluttering it on the party goers below them. She smirked as a few held up their hands, checking for rain with confused faces. Hancock turned to look at her, and she continued. “We had prisoner camps in our own country, secret police, not to mention Vault-Tech.” She mused, remembering what life had really been like. “At the time, I kept my head down. I told myself it would all change after the war… I guess I was right...” Her hands gripped the railing, the ancient wood was feeble beneath her fingers.
“Looking back though, how could I have done so little? I had friends taken in the night; my colleagues who had tried to defend innocent people accused of treason… And I did nothing.” She took a breath. “And here, in the wasteland, I make a difference.” She smiled over at Hancock. “And everything is different, people here, in Good Neighbor, they’re free. Really free. You would never have had that before the war. Not for long anyway...”
“It’s funny…” He smiled back at her, “Daisy always makes it sound like Heaven on Earth...”
“Daisy’s had a long time to romanticise it.” Sole sighed. “For me, it’s just been a couple months...” Something about those words stuck in her throat. Months, centuries… What’s the difference?
Hancock could have kicked himself. He finally had a moment to himself with Sole, and he has to bring the mood down with a question like that. His stomach was turning, not quite agreeing with the rum and snack cakes. Or maybe it was something else. Something that hadn’t twisted his insides in awhile. Sole was looking forlorn at the street below, was it too late?
Then a commotion on the street caught his attention. The music stopped, the speakers softening to a silence. Kent was talking to Magnolia excitedly, holding some tapes in his hand.
“What’s going on there?” Sole asked, eyes brightening a little with curiosity.
“Not sure,” Hancock admitted, “Some scavver sold him some old broken Silver Shroud tapes. Guess he got them working.” She looked over at him in surprise. “Yeah, Kent’s actually pretty good with fixing Holotapes. It’s how he’s gotten all those old radio plays.” Her fingers flitted over her Pipboy for a moment, before returning to the railing. Hancock pretended not to notice.
“You think we’re about to hear another tale of the Shroud?” She asked with a small smile. “I should have dressed for the occasion.” His eyes dipped over the rose pink dress.
“Oh, I think you’re dressed just fine...” He muttered. Suddenly the street burst into music, and instead of Magnolia, sweet little Kent was stood at the mic. The tune sounded familiar, a tinny trumpet playing. The nostalgia made her smile.
Heaven, I'm in heaven, And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak And I seem to find the happiness I seek When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek
There was a tap at her shoulder, she looked back at Hancock holding a hand out to her. Her smile faltered. He kept his hand out, but there was a slight tremble to his fingers.
“Can’t help staring, huh?” He chuckled, a nervous edge to his voice.
Heaven, I'm in heaven, And the cares that hang around me through the week Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek
His hand started to fall, it was a stupid gesture. Why would a dame like that- Her fingers wrapped around his and he was pulled close. His heart nearly shot through his chest.
“We can’t waste a song like this, can we?” She smiled, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding his hand. He swallowed, but threw on a cocky grin.
“Whatever you say, sister.”
Oh! I love to climb a mountain, And to reach the highest peak, But it doesn't thrill me half as much As dancing cheek to cheek Oh! I love to go out fishing In a river or a creek, But I don't enjoy it half as much As dancing cheek to cheek
It was awkward, on that small balcony, two people used to a bigger dance floor. It could have been a waltz, or a tango. But all onlookers saw was two people tripping over each other’s feet, hands clinging loosely to the other as they held each other, laughing uncontrollably.
Dance with me I want my arm about you The charm about you Will carry me through to heaven I'm in heaven And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak And I seem to find the happiness I seek When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek
They could barely breathe, tumbling to the balcony floor. Holding their sides now as the laughter subsided. The music played on, but Kent was stepping off the small platform, handing the mic back to Magnolia. They’d just about missed his whole performance. They’d have to ask for an encore later.
“I think, we had better get down.” Hancock noted breathlessly. “Don’t think this old place was built to handle that kind of movement.” She smiled and nodded, rubbing out the soreness of her face from the laughter.
“Hey, thanks for that.” She said gratefully, pulling herself to her feet.
“Sure thing, Sister.” He said with a dismissive wave, “What are friends for?” Friends? He kicked himself as he followed her back into the State house. I mean, yeah, she’s his best friend. But he had the chance to make a move and he… He said they were just friends? What the hell was wrong with him?
“Hey, Hancock?” Sole called from his office. He looked over, and she was holding two cone shaped party hats. “I fished these from behind your sofa, want one?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not sure that would fit over the ‘ol tricorn…”
-----------------------------------------------
The party was intense. As the night drew on, the top shelf liquor started to flow. The world seemed to spin for everyone. Magnolia sung on, and when her voice was at its limits, they put on Kents broadcast of the Silver Shroud, prompting some waggling eyebrows from Hancock to Sole. As the party waned, the drifters passing out one by one, the broadcast turned to Classical Radio. No one dared put on Diamond City around Sole, she tended to get a little shooty with the radios as soon as she heard Travis’s voice. By then, the liquor had all but run out, and the few left awake in Good Neighbor sat in the square, drinking nuka cola of all things.
Sole and Hancock were some of the few party goers left awake. They lay on the cobblestones of the square, looking up at the night sky. Hancock even had Fahrenheit shut off all the lamps so the stars would seem brighter, but left the Christmas lights on at Sole’s request. The air was cold, Sole’s jacket came in useful to keep off the chill as they lay still under the night sky. Sole couldn't help but glance from the sky to the ghoul beside her, who was animatedly telling her about the patterns in the stars, in his own way.
“... And that one is the bent frying pan.” Hancock continued, pointing up at a constellation. “My old man used to say it was part of a yao-gui in the sky, but I can't see it myself.”
“Funny, before the war it was the big dipper.” Sole added softly, returning her gaze to the stars in question.
“What the hell is a dipper?” Hancock demanded, genuinely perplexed. Sole shrugged her shoulders.
“I think it’s like a ladle.” She answered unsuredly.
“Oh yeah, I can see that.” Hancock said, squinting a bit.
“Nah, I liked yours better. People know what a bent frying pan is.” Sole admitted. She looked again at the stars. She raised her hand and pointed to a constellation with three bright stars and cornered with four more. “So what’s that one?”
“Well that’s easy.” Hancock answered smugly. “It's the Vault boy with his dick out.” Sole turned to look at Hancock incredulously. “What? You can see it right there! Just below those three stars is a flaccid cock! What did you used to call it?”
“Orion, and those three stars are his belt… And the one below are meant to be his… Knife.” Sole replied awkwardly. Hancock laughed. Yeah, ‘knife’ wasn't believable.
“So who’s Orion?” Hancock asked, stretching an arm out and putting it behind his head.
“Oh, I actually know this.” Sole gushed excitedly, sitting up and turning to him. “Orion was this hunter in ancient Greece, and he used to hunt with this goddess Artemis. But her brother got jealous and made a huge scorpion to kill him.” Sole leant forward, Hancock could tell she was getting to her favorite part, she always did that when telling stories. “In her grief, Artemis placed Orion in the sky so he could live forever in the stars. But her brother put the scorpion up there to chase him through the heavens for eternity, you know, like an asshole.”
“Fuck, so there are Rad-scorpions in the sky too?” Hancock asked incredulously. She smiled at the joke. He liked to think he could do better than that. “Ancient Greece, huh?” He continued. “Sounds familiar, is that like the lard Daisy uses in her mirelurk cakes?” Sole laughed and shook her head. “Yeah then I'm sticking to the naked Vault boy.” Sole shook her head, still grinning, and laid down again. Looking at the constellation again, she could completely see it. And now she could never UN-see it!
“Give me another one!” Hancock urged, giddy more from being over-tired than drunk. Sole shook her head.
“Those were the only ones I knew.” Sole sighed, yawning. She rested her eyes.
“Come on, you can't sleep here, you'll wake up feeling the way I look.” Hancock advised. He shakily got up, brushing the dust off his coat. “Here, let me help you.” He extended his hand once again, but he was in no shape to help anyone. Luckily she waved it away.
“Leave me alone…” She murmured. “It's comfy here…” He sighed. He couldn't carry her to save his life. He looked around for someone to help him, but everyone was either too tired, too stoned, or too Kleo.
Then he heard soft snores come from his feet. He looked down and she was out cold on the cobblestones. He knew from experience what waking up with a hangover felt like on these rocks, and it wasn't pleasant, but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Muscles…
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Macready was a coward and he knew it. He sat on Daisy’s back porch, smoking his last cigarette. The music had long since died down, and the revelers had passed out.
“You better be using an ashtray.” Daisy muttered beside him. She had a bottle of beer in her hand, leaning against the screen door behind her. The old lady may have been a serial complainer since he arrived, but she enjoyed the company.
“Sure thing,grandma.” He joked, tipping the end of the ash into a dingy ceramic ashtray. She was too tired to smack him for that comment, she could only grumble. There was a quiet as he took one last drag and ground out the cigarette, glowing embers dying in the blackened ash.
“You’re running out of time, Mac.” Daisy said softly. He crossed his arms. He knew she was right. Didn’t make it any easier.
“Yeah, yeah…”
“I mean it. If you want any future with her, you had better fix things soon.”
“And what if she’s over it?”
“Then you can at least apologise for being an ass.”
He was quiet, he did owe her that. He stood up, dusting off his pants. There were voices still in the square, he knew who they were, as much as he’d tried to ignore them. It was time he stopped running away.
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Then footsteps on the cobblestones caught his attention. He turned around to see Macready emerging from the alley. He nodded to Hancock as he approached, and scooped up Sole quietly. She barely stirred as he held her.
“Hiding in the dark? Trying to take sunglasse’s M.O.?” Hancock asked in annoyance. Macready didn't say a word, ignoring him as he shifted Sole’s weight so he could carry her more comfortably. There wasn't a damn thing Hancock could do. At least the bastard could get her to her room safe. Hancock leaned close, narrowing his coal black eyes.
“So much as a hair out of place when she wakes up, and I’ll make a wind chime out of your dick.” He hissed quietly. Macready furrowed his brow.
“How would you even do that?” Macready asked, more curious than threatened.
“I'm a creative guy.” Hancock answered darkly. Macready just shrugged and started towards the Rex. Hancock watched him go, silently seething. Had he lost his touch? I mean it all sounded pretty threatening. Maybe it was the party hat he had strapped to his head. Yeah that was probably it.
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peaches-of-1 · 4 years
Text
Phantom of the Opera!AU (Pt2)
Masquerade until the end (for easier reading)
Fireworks went off as people of all shapes and sizes arrived in costumes. Animals, humans, alternative, nothing was off limits for the masquerade.
Junjin noticed his friend even with a mask on his face, “Monsieur Andy!”
And his friend noticed Junjin even with visible horns on his head, “Monsieur Junjin!”
Andy was dressed as a rooster, and his business partner and friend as a ram. Both preferred the hand held masks instead of ones that stayed firmly on one’s face. The men laughed and hugged before returning to the women they had come with in matching costumes, hanging on their arms. Chorus girls to be more specific, who the managers had won over in one way or another.
“Dear Andy, what a splendid party!”
“The prelude to a bright new year!”
“Quite a night, I'm impressed.”
“Well, one does one's best!” Andy exclaimed, smiling brightly.
The men grabbed drinks for both them and their dates and held up their glasses, “Here's to us!”
“The toast of all the city--”
The taller man added, “What a pity that the Phantom can't be here!”
Junjin, Andy, and their dates posed for one of the party photographers, smiling and experiencing true joy for the first time since they started working at the opera house. True, the Phantom had not been seen for months. No mishaps. No other murders to be written off as accidents in the newspapers.
Hundreds if not thousands of gown and suit covered bodies whose faces were obstructed with a mask either attached to the head by adhesive or ribbon with the alternative of simply being held in one’s hand with a stick danced in beaded and shining secrecy.
Everyone cheered, “Masquerade! Paper faces on parade Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade Masquerade! Look around—there's another mask behind you!”
And not to mention the colors which were brought into the room. Flash of mauve. Splash of puce. Fool and king. Ghoul and goose. Green and black. Queen and priest. Trace of rouge. Face of beast. Faces…Take your turn. Take a ride. On the merry-go-round which had been brought in and set up just for the occasion!
Eye of gold (in an inhuman race) Thigh of blue. True is false. Who is who? Curl of lip. Swirl of gown. Ace of hearts. Face of clown. Faces…
Drink it in, drink it up ‘till you've drowned in the light, in the sound.
But who can name the face?
“Masquerade!” Loud voices hollered as the less financially stable said from their own party in the backstage area of the theatre.
Younger ones not internally scorned by the signs of flaunting wealth gazed through cracks while the older ones drank and danced, looking on in awe.
“Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill—let the spectacle astound you!” They gasped and acted out the affluent manners, “Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!”
While those in the masks kept some thoughts to themselves, Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies. Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you! Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes…Masquerade! Run and hide—but a face will still pursue you!
However, that did not stop the opera folk from having a good time.
“What a night!” Jessi exclaimed, beaded mask held up to her face with her bosoms nearly touching her chin.
“What a crowd!” Her love Psy added.
The managers looked at each other with the shorter one saying, “Makes you glad!”
His friend couldn’t help but agree, “Makes you proud! All the crème de la crème!”
Jessi added with a smile behind her mask, “Watching us and watching them!”
Soyeon bowed to a potential suitor, “And all our fears are in the past!” and was pulled into a dance with them.
There was the shared relaxation even before having drank any alcohol that there had been three months of relief, of delight, of Elysian peace! And they could breathe at last since they believed there would be no more notes, no more ghost! To add more liveliness to the party and to quell her own doubts, CL grabbed a pipe of bubbly.
“Here's to health!” She said, raising up her glass.
“Here's a toast: To a prosperous year!” Andy grinned at her.
Junjin and their dates did the same, “To our friends who are here!”
Psy and Jessi said in sync, “And may our ​splendour ​never fade!”
Three months!
“What a joy!” Soyeon said in her white and blue gown.
“What a change!” Her mother said, keeping a close eye on the blonde headed young woman.
“What a blessed release!” The managers cheered.
Madame CL smiled at them and went to find her own partner to dance with, “And what a masquerade!”
You entered in a pastel pink gown which made it appear as though you were simply floating into the room with Chan on your arm. Both of you had smiles on your faces. The two of you had grown ever closer to one another during these three months without Taehyung brooding over you and the theatre.
Your hand covered in white opera gloves played with the high carat ring which rested on a silver chain around your throat and whispered to your militantly clad fiancé. The ring was one which he gave to you when he proposed.
“Think of it! A secret engagement! Look—your future bride! Just think of it.​” You spun around in joy.
Chan smiled but voiced his confusion, “But why is it secret? What have we to hide? You promised me…” he leaned in for a kiss.
You pulled back before lips could graze, “No, Raoul, please don't, they'll see…”
“Well then let them see. It's an engagement, not a crime! Y/N, what are you afraid of?”
“Let's not ​argue,​” You said.
“Let’s not argue.” He repeated with a nod and held your hand.
“Please ​pretend. You will ​understand in time ~”
I can only ​hope I'll ​understand in time, the Aussie thought to himself.
Part of you worried that Taehyung was still there. Even though you yourself hadn’t even seen or heard any trace of him since you and Chan confessed to each other on the snowy rooftop. Even though you wanted him gone, and you were appreciative of his absence, he was still there in a way. Inside your mind while the grinning blonde man in front of you had your heart. Within his smile, he held no worries. He was safe and in love with you. Anyone could see that.
Why did you worry? With Chan, everything would be alright.
A few performers put on a show using golden fans and danced upon the stairs, “Masquerade! Paper faces on parade…Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you! Masquerade! Every face a different shade. Masquerade! Look around—there's another mask behind you! Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!”
Some soloists even had their time to shine. You giggled and looked up at your fiancé to see if he was having just as much fun as you were, and he was. He was!
“Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill—let the spectacle astound you!”
Suddenly, the candles went out and gasps filled the room as attention was brought to the top of the staircase. He was there. Taehyung. V. The Phantom of the opera. Not a sound was heard other than his boots clicking against the marble floors.
He looked around, draped in red with a skull mask covering his own face, “Why so silent, good Messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good Messieurs? I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score—” He took it out of his cape. “‘Don Juan Triumphant’!”
You stayed fixated on him as he threw down the manuscript on the bannister and took our what was without a doubt, a real sword before gazing around at all the startled faces looking on in awe.
“Fondest greetings to you all! A few instructions just before rehearsal starts.” He approached the couple of the theatre first.
Chan touched your back affectionately to denote his leave before going off to get word to the cops.
“Jessi must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage~”
Taehyung gave a fake pout and stuck his sword into the feathery accents atop her head, ruffling them. Psy began to charge forward to protect his love before the sword was pointed at his stomach, making him stop short.
“Our Don Juan must lose some weight…” He tilted his head slowly to the side. “It's not healthy in a man of Jae-sang's age. And my managers must learn…” He said as he walked towards them. “That their place is in an office, not the arts.”
The Phantom booped them each on the nose before he sheathed his silver weapon and simply stared at you with fiery eyes.
“As for our star, Miss Y/N, no doubt she'll do her best. It's true, her voice is good. She knows. Though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn. If pride will let her return to me, her teacher…Her teacher…” he motioned to himself to make sure everyone knew who gave you your voice.
His eyes burned your skin as it searched it for an answer. You approached him…seeing the adoration behind it all. Wanting to be wanted so strongly. As you were mere inches away from each other, his eyes flicked down to your sternum to see your engagement ring around your neck.
Red gloved fingers grabbed it and ripped it from your throat as he said, Your chains are still mine. You belong to me!”
In a flash of fire and a flourish of his cape, Taehyung went down a trap door beneath the grand staircase. HOW MANY SECRET DOORS WERE IN THIS PLACE?!?!
Chan jumped down a moment later to find him. However, the blonde man found himself in a maze of spinning mirror with his sword already brandished to fight the nightmare haunting the one he loved. He swung wherever he saw the masked face, but it turned out not to be him each time.
All he could do was stare and try to track down this demon, not noticing the noose that fell from the ceiling. A hand on his shoulder. Madame CL. She had come to rescue him before certain death.
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The two climbed stairs back into familiar territory.
“Madame CL--” Chan beckoned.
“Please,” The older woman said. “I know no more than anyone else.”
He called out her bull, “That’s not true.”
“Chan-ssi, don’t ask. There have been too many accidents already.” She began to unlock her bedroom door.
“Accidents?” He scoffed. “Please, Madame CL…for all our sakes.” The young man grabbed her by the arm.
She sighed and waited for him to release her, “Very well…”
CL put her hair into a ponytail as he turned on a lamp. She stared into a portrait of herself in younger days. Right past her 16th birthday.
Years go, there was a traveling fair in the city. CL had been studying to be a ballerina, one of many living in the dormitories of the opera house.
“Come, come, come inside.” A bearded man called. “Come and see the Devil’s Child.” he called to the young girls.
Devil’s Child was written on one tent in red lettering while the tent itself was pitch black. Several people crowded into it to see a young boy, probably not even ten years old inside a cage with a flour sack over his head with two eye holes cut in the. He played with a monkey doll which had cymbals on its hands, making it clap.
The man knocked it out of his hands before beating him and ripped off the mask, making others in the tent laugh and point fingers in mockery. Not CL, though. She had seen the sadness in his eyes just a moment before the man approached. They threw their coins inside before the so called ‘show’ was over and people began to leave the tent.
She was the last one to leave, feeling pain in her heart for the boy. As the bearded man began to collect the coins, he used a stray section of rope to asphyxiate the man to his death. CL had lingered too long, or just long enough. As another man came in to make sure his fellow worker was ready for the next group, he yelled out.
“MURDER! MURDERER!”
CL took the boy’s hand and took him to the catacombs using a secret entrance once they were out of sight of the cops and fair folk.
“I hid him from the world and its cruelties. He has known nothing else of life since then, except for this opera house. It was his playground.” CL said, choking up. “And now his artistic domain. He’s a genius! He’s an architect and designer. He’s a composer and a magician, a genius, good sir.”
She tried to make her case to Chan who in return gave her a compassionate yet defying gaze.
He responded, “But Clearly, Madame CL, genius has turned to madness.”
The woman sighed, knowing it to be the truth but not wanting it to be all at the same time.
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In the week following, Chan did not leave your side except to sleep outside the door. As if Taehyung didn’t have countless ways to get to you. However, there was something you needed to do alone and waited until he was fast asleep to sneak out. You wanted to go see your father’s grave, paying a coachman handsomely to take you there.
Meanwhile, Chan woke with a start and became frightened when he did not find you in your bed enjoying a restful slumber as he had left you to do. You reminded the coachman where you wanted to go. The cemetery. Off you went, not knowing that your love had hopped onto a horse once he found out where you were headed.
With your father’s favorite roses, you recited the poem he had taught you long ago, “Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her father promised her that he would send the Angel of Music. Her father promised her…her father promised her.”
You spoke out loud to your father as to make the graveyard seem less scary, “You were once my one companion. You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father. Then my world was shattered.” You took a deep breath of freezing cold air.
“Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed,​ ​if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could.”
You passed by different formations of tombstones and memorials and continued to sing into the vacant air, “Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions. You were warm and gentle. Too many years, fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die?”
Among other questions that had nothing to do with him, but you wanted your father more than anything at this moment as you walked towards his resting place slowly in the snow.
“Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive, teach me to live. Give me the strength to try. No more memories, no more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years.” You sat on your dress, too numb inside and out to feel the cold ground. “Help me say goodbye…help me say…goodbye…”
It was as if a light had gone off inside your father’s mausoleum and a voice came from inside?
“Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance~”
You were scared to believe, but were too hopeful not to try, “Angel or father? Friend or phantom? Who is it there, staring?”
In his ever enchanting voice, the voice sang out in a curious tone, “Have you forgotten your Angel?”
Taehyung.
“Angel, oh, speak. What endless longings echo in this whisper…”
You stood, having set the roses at the bottom of the stairs, and simply watched the unmoving scene before you. Why was it so easy for him to control your mind?
“Too long you've wandered in winter rar from my fathering gaze~”
“Wildly, my mind beats against you,” You replied.
He seemed to have almost a giddy joy in his voice, “You resist, yet your soul obeys.”
“Yet the soul obeys~” The words flew from your mouth in time with his as if you had known them all along.
Again, the two of you sang with each other, changing pronouns respectively. Even in a hypnotic trance of affection, grammar was important.
“Angel of Music! I denied you, turning from true beauty. Angel of Music, my protector…”
“Do not shun me. Come to your strange ​Angel.” He sang before you fell silent and he once again whispered into your mind. “I am your Angel of Music. Come to me: Angel of Music.”
As he beckoned you with his deep melodic voice, you became more and more transfixed, forgetting everything except him. Craving his dark embrace. Not sure if the voice of Chan calling for you was real or false audio. Again, the call of you name rang out in a warm timbre.
You looked back to see the blonde haired man hop off of his white horse and draw his sword.
“Y/N! Y/N, listen to me. Whatever you may believe, this man—this thing—is not your father!”
A sword fight broke out with Taehyung getting the jump on Chan. Though your love fell to the ground, the Phantom missed his body by getting his rapier momentarily stuck in the bark of a fallen tree. This gave your heart time to get himself back onto his feet. Although you wanted it to stop, you had to stay back. You’d be harmed or worse if you were to get any closer.
The two men circled around a rather large above ground tomb until Tae ducked down and Chan lost him for a moment. However, with fast reflexes, he defended himself against the onslaught of quick sword movements. However, red blood stained white sleeves before the Phantom was knocked to the ground, letting go of his weapon. The blonde man went to strike the final blow until you screamed.
“CHAN, NO!” You were breathing heavily. “Not like this.”
Because his heart could not betray you, he put away his sword even as Taehyung mockingly begged him to come back. He watched as you two mounted the white steed and rode off.
His eyes seared the back of your head, “Now let it be war upon you both!”
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The morning of opening night, Chan tells the others the truth of what had happened and how they could potentially stop it from happening ever again.
“We have all been blind—And yet the answer is staring us in the face. This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend.”
Andy nodded, “We're listening.”
“Go on,” Junjin prodded.
Chan continued, “We shall play his game, perform his work, but remember we hold the ace. For, if Miss Y/N sings, he is certain to attend.”
“We make certain the doors are barred!” the shorter manager said.
“We make certain the police are there!” the taller one added.
“We make certain they're armed.” Chan said, wanting to be the very last time the devil was seen alive.
All agreed and were sure that when the curtain fell, his reign would end!
And then your lover went to find you, knowing where you would be. He found you praying--no--worrying in front of the candle you lit for your father as cops surrounded opening night. You looked at the source of intruding footsteps that you knew so well, eyes red and swollen from crying.
“Chris…Chan I'm frightened. Don't make me do this. Chan, it scares me,” You admitted as you stood up from your spot.
He held you in his arms as you practically begged, “Don't put me through this ordeal by fire. He'll take me, I know. We'll be parted forever, and he won't let me go!” You felt your stomach churn something awful at the thought of never being able to see your love again.
Your Bang Chan.
“What I once used to dream…I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end.” You stepped closer to the stained glass window. “And he'll always be there, singing songs ​in my head. He'll always be there, singing songs ​in my head…” you sat on the ledge and leaned against the wall.
“You said yourself—he was nothing but a man.” Chan reminded you. “Yet while he lives, he will haunt us '’til we're dead.”
He held your hand and touched your cheek softly, but you felt nothing but fear.
Your eyes looked into his brown orbs, “Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought. He murders all that's good. I know I can't refuse, and yet, I wish I could.” You gave a shuddering sigh. “Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me, in this, the Phantom's opera?”
Chan shook his head and held your hand tighter, “Y/N. Y/N, don't think that I don't care, but every hope, and every prayer rests on you now.” he spoke in his straightforward way full of affection.”
He hugged you tighter than ever, making sure you knew he’d be there no matter what happened.
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It began. Chan was in Box 5 because it was his. He could not give anything more to this Phantom man. Not a seat and not Y/N. He had a policeman standing in the doorway for extra security, however.
The chorus sung, “Here the sire may serve the dam. Here the master takes his meat! Here the sacrificial lamb Utters one despairing bleat!” with Jessi singing the same lines louder than them all. “Poor young maiden! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets. You will have to pay the bill Tangled in the winding sheets! Serve the meal and serve the maid! Serve the master so that, when tables, plans and maids are laid. Don Juan triumphs once again!”
Soyeon who was playing a prostitute of sorts danced around Jae-sang before having a coin purse tossed at her before she caught it and left.
Psy said his lines as Don Juan, “‘Passarino, faithful friend, once again, recite the plan.’”
The comedic relief known as E’Dawn in the role of Passarino replied, “‘Your young guest believes i'm you. I, the master; you, the man.’” and laughed.
“‘When you met, you wore my cloak. With my scarf, you hid your face. She believes she dines with me in her master's borrowed place! Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff Stealing what, in truth, is mine. When it's late and modesty, starts to mellow, with the wine~’”
E’Dawn nodded, “‘You come home! I use your voice, slam the door like crack of doom!’”
Both paraded around the stage as Psy sang, “‘I shall say, ‘Come, hide with me!
Where, oh, where? Of course—my room!’”
“‘Poor thing hasn't got a chance!’”
Don Juan put on Passarino's cloak and went into the curtained alcove where the bed awaited.
You took a deep breath before singing your part as Aminta, “No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy! No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!”
Don Juan returned to stage, but, er...thinner than when he left. Voice much different as well.
“Master?” Paassarino E’Dawn asked, noticing the change.
“‘Passarino—go away! For the trap is set and waits for its prey~’”
Those were the lines, but said more sinerstirly than they ever were in rehearsals.
He sang louder and more confidently, “‘You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent…Silent. I have brought you so that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind, you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided…decided.’”
You looked back and knew right away what had happened.
But his voice. Taehyung’s voice threatened to pull you in once more as he sang the lines you had never heard him sing before. It did things to you that Psy’s vocals just did not do.
“‘Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end~~”
News spread quickly as everyone knew that it was not Psy in disguise on stage playing this Don Juan. The voice, it was obvious so the wings became flooded and whispers stirred about who it could be. CL knew it had to be Taehyung, the Phantom.
“Past all thoughts of ‘if’ or ‘when’. No use resisting~! Abandon thought and let the dream descend~ What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?” His familiar flame cloaked in black and white walked around the false flame and towards you. “Past the point of no return. The final threshold~ What warm unspoken secrets will we learn beyond the point of no return?”
His voice enraptured you once more. Even though you had just shot Chan a nervoice look as you made your entrance, you now gave him one of warning. Hoping he got the message before Taehyung could hypnotize you once more.
“‘You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence…silence.’” You sung, “I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts. I've decided…decided.”
Your legs brought you to meet him center stage as you continued to sing what you had practiced.
“‘Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion-play has now, at last, begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question: How long should we two wait, before we're one? When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames, at last, consume us?”
Beautiful unison contrasted the harsh cacophony in the other parts of the play. He held you and touched you in ways you had never felt before. If you were in your right mind, you’d be embarrassed, ashamed. However, you were not, and this was theatre. Taehyung held you tightly from behind as you laid your head on his shoulder.
“‘Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've passed the point of no return~’”
V’s words came easy to him, “Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude.” as his hand caressed and gently grabbed at your throat. “Say you want me with you here, beside you~”
These were not in the script. These were his own words, a perverse and personal alteration to what you and Chan had told each other. Had he heard them? Of course he had. You looked at him in shock, no longer in character but not letting the crowd know. You put both hands on his masked face.
“Anywhere you go, let me go too. Y/N, that's all I ask of—”
You removed the Phantom's mask to show the world who he really was. Groans and screams and gasps of disgust. As the police began to charge the stage, he grabbed you around the waist and cut the rope for the main chandelier. Taehyung then pushed a lever which opened a trap door through which you both fell. The chandelier crashed into the pit as people fled every which way, starting a fire in the theater.
Jessi searched for her lover who was on the floor with a noose about his neck. She was so distraught at the thought of him being dead, sobbing and crying so loudly atop his body that she didn’t hear his faint but consistent heartbeat still going in his chest.
“Oh my God! Jae-sang, my love!” She cried.
In their own balcony seats, Junjin wailed, “Oh my god. We're ruined Andy—ruined!”
Chan raced backstage to ask Madame CL, “Where did he take her?”
She grabbed his wrist, “Come with me monsieur, I will take you to him. But remember, keep your hand at the level of your eyes!”
“I'll come with you!” Soyeon said in her blouse and pants.
CL refused, “No Soeyon, no. You must stay here! Come with me monsieur, do as I say.”
The two raced down into the depths of the theatre. Everyone was so used to following the teacher, that they tried to do so now. However, the blonde young lady stretched out her arms to stop them.
“No!”
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Though you tried to free yourself, Taehyung’s grip was too strong as he took you down a different path.
“Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into darkness, deep as hell!” He demanded. “Why, you ask, was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!”
You could hear the mob from above, “Track down this murder, he must be found!” and again.
“Hounded out by everyone! Met with hatred everywhere! No kind words from anyone! No compassion anywhere! Y/N…Why?” His voice broke. “Why?”
He asked as if you knew, pinning you against a wall as a warning. You were pissed! Why was he doing this? Why was he treating you like a cheap toy when he claimed to have loved you? Not to mention, he had killed so many people with the crystalline light fixture. Your mind raced with the irony of the musical he had you put on. The disguise, him having you say what he always wanted to hear from you. Disgusting. Him. The way he made you feel!
He was looking at the engagement ring he stole from you, but you didn’t care.
You screamed at him, “Have you gorged yourself, at last, in your lust for blood? Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?”
He screamed back, “That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood. Has also denied me the joys of the flesh! This face—the infection which poisons our love” He tried to reach out for you.
But you turned your head away, disgusted more by his actions than anything. No longer wanting anything to do with him. So he wallowed in his despair and strengthened his resolve by getting the wedding veil from the mannequin version of you and placed it upon your head before forcing you to stare at him.
“This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing. A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing.” Taehyung adored what he wanted you to be, his. “Pity comes too late—Turn around and face your fate: An eternity of this before your eyes!”
He placed the ring back into your hand as a gesture of peace. You wanted peace, but you didn’t want this. Not him. No longer him. You took the veil off and uncovered a nearby mirror since all of them were covered. Why did he even have them if they went unused?
You did not sugarcoat a thing for him, “This haunted face holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…”
Taehyung’s head suddenly turned towards the entrance, “Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!
Your eyes saw the soggy and exhausted form of your love, “Chan!” you exclaimed.
“This is indeed, an unparalleled delight!” your captor said. “I had rather hoped that you would come, and now my wish comes true—You have truly made my night!”
Chan grasped the bars of the closed gate, “Free her! Do what you like, only free her! Have you no pity?”
V rolled his eyes, “Your lover makes a passionate plea!”
You responded, “Please Chan, it's useless!”
But he would not give up, “I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion…”
The Phantom snapped back, “The world showed no compassion to me!”
Your love sang your name in his familiar way, “Y/N, Y/N~ Let me see her…”
“Be my guest, sir…” he shrugged and opened the gate with a lever.
You wanted to run and go to him, but you were scared of what might happen to either of you if you moved forward at all. Especially when Taehyung was already in the water walking towards the one you loved.
“Monsieur, I bid you welcome! Did you think that I would harm her? Why would I make her pay, for the sins which are yours?” He tripped the gate to close.
The sound of the lock taking away the Aussie’s attention just long enough for the Phantom to toss a hidden rope around the unwelcomed guest, binding him to the cold iron of the gate.
True horror struck through your veins.
“Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now—except perhaps Y/N…” the Opera Ghost looked at you with that burning gaze. “Start a new life with me—Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me, and you send your lover to his death! This is the choice—This is the point of no return!”
Moisture rolled down your cheeks as you replied, “The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold, and turn to tears of hate!” you spat out the word.
Chan spoke to you past the Phantom’s form, “Y/N, forgive me, please forgive me. I did it all for you, and all for nothing!”
You steeled your heart and spoke your mind, “Farewell my fallen idol and false friend--”
“Too late for turning back!” the ghost said.
“We had such hopes and now those hopes are shattered.”
“Too late for prayers and useless pity!” The demon spoke while trying rope around Chan’s neck.
Your love who cried out, “Say you love me, and my life is ​over. Either way you choose, he has to win!”
“All hope of cries for help, no point in fighting! For either way you choose, you cannot win! So, do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave?”
“Why make her lie to you, to save me?”
The rope was pulled as a threat and an attempt to make the male victim become quiet.
“Angel of Music~” you tried to plead once more.
But he cut you off, “Past the point of ​no return. The final ​threshold. His life ​is now the prize which you must earn!”
“For pity's sake, Christine, say no! Don't throw your life away for my sake!” Chan told you, willing to lose his life for your freedom.
You couldn’t stop the tears that came from your eyes at seeing the one you loved in such pain and torment, “Who ​deserves this? Why ​do you curse ​mercy?” since he had no pity from you.
“I fought so hard to free you…” Chen sobbed, looking at your strained face.
“Angel ​of ​Music, you deceived me…” you said with everything now quiet. “I gave you my mind, blindly.”
The Phantom growled, “You try my patience—make your choice!”
You stood and looked at your options. It didn’t take too long for you to make your choice. If you chose Chan, he’d die and you’d be unhappy for the rest of your life, losing true love to this villian. However, if your lover went free, he’d be able to move on, to love someone different and have a life with them. Mayhaps even form a family with them.
Even though you were moving, you were making your choice as you did so. Mayhaps, mayhaps you could learn to love the Phantom once more.
“Pitiful creature of darkness. What kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone.”
And so you kissed him, deciding to save Chan even if it meant losing yourself, betraying your heart for your mind and locking it up forever.
V knew. You would always love the other man more than him. You loved the light he gave you so much that you were willing to snuff out your own flame to save it. The Phantom began to cry, knowing the mob was close by, knowing he could never have your heart the way he wanted it. He moved away back to land.
You began to untie Chan, allowing him to breathe properly once more.
“Take her, forget me, forget all of this!” He cut you off as you began to speak. “Leave me alone. Forget all you've seen…Go now, don't let them find you! Take the boat, swear to me, never to tell the secret you know, of the Angel in hell!”
He noticed the care you took with the other man, and it hurt him so much more.
“GO NOW! GO NOW, AND LEAVE ME!” he went to his only place of comfort, his monkey with cymbals.
His music box to which he sung along in a voice choked with tears, “Masquerade…Paper faces on parade…Masquerade…Hide your face, so the world will never find you…” he sniffled.
You let Chan get the boat ready as you had one last thing to do with the Phantom as he looked up at you with teary eyes, letting you see a glimmer of Taehyung.
Alas, it was the soft hearted man who spoke, “Y/N, I love you…”
Without a verbal response, but you took off the engagement ring he had given you and put it in his hand before leaving back to the one your heart could openly love.
“Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime~” you sang to him as he pushed the boat off and began to row.
“Say the word and I will follow you~” which he did, down here.
You smiled at him, “Share each day with me, each night, each morning…” and took one last glance at the Phantom’s lair.
He sang with a shaky husk, “You alone can make my song take flight—It's over now, the music of the night!”
He was alone, truly alone now in his world of night. He smashed all the mirrors still left covered, having long forgotten the one which was an exit as well. V knew that he could no longer stay here. AFter finding the right one, he dropped the golden candle holder and left, only looking back to have the doorway hidden by its original curtain.
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Soyeon, with cops and fellow employees of the theatre treaded the water and went through the already opened gate to come across the lair now abandoned yet full of conflicting warmth and coldness. Still, the young woman was the first on dry land and saw the Phantom’s mask near a peculiar music box. Had he left it behind, or was he still here?
She took it, leaving the monkey music box behind and to continue her search for the Phantom of the Opera who she began to find rather endearing despite all he had done.
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Now, in the world of today, Chan was rolled to the graveyard in which he had battled the Phantom V all those years ago. However, he was not there to see your father’s grave, no. He was here to see you…or your grave that is. He refused help as he slowly walked with the music box in hand towards your tombstone which had your name up top and [Countess de Bang] below a faded photo of your face. He walked the remaining feet to lay the box in front of you.
“Beloved wife and mother.”
Tears fell from a wrinkled face before noticing a red rose with a black bow. A ring around the stem as well. Taehyung had been here recently.
The Phantom was always there.
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A/N: I will fix all spelling mistakes later! Just wanted to get it out today.
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clownsgobeepbeep · 6 years
Text
Sweet Dreams
He loved her so much-no...he loved how she could easily make him melt with just a wink or a playful little smile. He loved that with just one look from her, he wanted her and she wanted him.
Days of teasing eventually built up to this moment, the moment he was so anxious to have. Days of bashful eyelash flutters built up to this moment, the moment he was desperate for. Days of gentle and shy touches on his arms and chest built up to this moment, the moment he desired oh so badly.
The moment in which he would have her all to himself.
She was roughly placed against the wall just as her hands were pulled up and held above her head. She let out a giggle before the man let one of his hands wander to her side which made her bite her lip before he smirked and chuckled darkly.
"That's, ah...a very sensitive spot..."she whispered with a nervous chuckle which made the man laugh before he released her wrists and he allowed her to place them onto his shoulders. His hands went down to her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he placed his forehead onto hers. The young woman gently brought her hands up to his cheeks as he continued to smirk at her, and she knew what he desperately wanted.
"And, what other spots might be sensitive doll face?"
The woman giggled before placing her hands on the man's shoulders again, then bringing his head close to hers so that she could softly whisper into his ear which gave him chills.
"How about...you find that out for yourself?"she whispered before she yelped and felt her hands get immediately pushed back up, a bit too harshly which made her grit her teeth behind her pretty lips, but all she did was smile with half lidded eyes. The man in front of her licked his lips as he stared down at her.
He adored her slim body that was concealed by her tight, pink dress that accentuated every curve and revealed her beautiful clavicles. He loved how open she was to it all. He loved how submissive she was towards him.
He wanted her, all of her.
"Oh...you bet that I am doll...I'm going to find out about every inch of your pretty little body..."the man said before pressing his chest against hers, also loving how he towered over her despite her wearing high heels. "I could just eat you right up..."
"Haha...not if I eat you first sweetheart~"
"Oh dollface...sweet little Caroline of my dreams..."
He looked at her before closing his eyes, never realizing that her sweet, teasing smile had immediately turned into an angry frown. The man slowly leaned in to place his lips onto her own, but was stopped when he felt something soft and silky wrap around his neck.
He opened his eyes and noticed that the woman's hair was no longer its blonde color, but it has instead turned into a horrible, dark green and despite its soft touch: it looked like the seaweed you would find at the beach.
"My name..."the green hair now wrapped itself even tighter around his neck which made the man gasp for air as he was brought closer towards the woman's face, and he saw that her eyes were not their beautiful emerald green color but instead they were a glowing yellow as a single black streak was in their center. "IS CORALINE!"
The man began to scream in pain as the hair not only squeezed his throat, but it began to shock him as well. He brought his hands up, frantically waving them around before he brought them onto her shoulders as he tried pushing the creature away. He dug his nails into her which only resulted in her mouth opening to reveal teeth that grew sharp, and two of the bottom one grew long enough to reach her upper lip.
The man continued to scream, feeling her hair choke and strangle him right before his skin was injected with what felt like needles, and that's when the real sings began. Never had he felt such horrible pain, but just thinking about it made him realize it was similar to the touch of a jellyfish.
No matter, he brought his hands up and choked out a few breaths as his neck swelled and he clutched tightly onto the woman's green hair which made her let out a roar of obvious pain, but also anger.
In an instant, her mouth had grown in size just as her head did, and soon enough the man could only see what appeared to be the blurry sight of an angler fish, snapping its jaws at him. He could no longer scream for he felt weak and could only feel his neck sting with the venom the woman was injecting into him. Right before shutting his eyes, he saw the fish's jaws open widely before everything went dark.
The shocks and stings were all ceased right as the man's head was no more and disappeared into the abyss which was the woman's stomach. Her hair unwrapped itself from the empty neck right before it turned back into the golden locks she always had. She gently fixed her hair and fluffed it up while her face turned back into its innocent one with green eyes and cherry lips. The woman fluffed her hair and fixed any strand that was out of place before as the now headless corpse dropped down onto its knees.
"Ugh, even in death you're on your knees for me."she stated in a disgusted tone as she moved aside and let it drop down and she lifted her arms above her head to then hear her bones crack.
She sighed to herself before reaching inside her dress where her breasts were, and she pulled out a handkerchief she secretly kept for occasions like these. Coraline, or Jelly, lifted her hand to her mouth and gently dabbed the cloth onto her lips that remained red due to her lipstick. As always, she was a clean killer and eater.
Jelly left absolutely no trace of the man's blood on her for her careful actions and cleaning that came afterward, meanwhile the rest of the man's body would be disposed of by her aunts and uncles who would eventually go out to find the heir to their business. She giggled to herself, then adjusting her dress before raising her hand to fix the end of the sleeve before she gasped dramatically.
"Oh,no!"she examined her sleeve which was a much darker shade of pink; it was pure crimson and stood out far too much which made her groan as she whined like a child. "Mama Carol is going to be upset...I have to tell Papa to take me to buy another..."
Jelly threw her hands down, and easily removed the dress before her clown costume shifted onto her and appeared right the original dress. She looked to the side and discarded of the dress, throwing it into a nearby dumpster before she wiped her hands and smoothed out her poofy costume. One last time, she reached into her dress and wiped her red lips before letting out a burp and giggling to herself.
"Heheh...sweet dreams~"
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Undercover Boss - Chapter 1
That’s right it’s the Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU that no one asked for! Except me...and @anonymousnerdgirl ... and I think someone else too...Okay the AU that SOME asked for. 
Shout out to my lovely Beta @shipperqueen93
Summary: Undercover Boss Rumbelle AU: Life was great for, Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack, CEO Aiden Gold. At least until he finds himself roped into a reality show where bosses go undercover in their own companies to find out how their businesses are really being run. Gold nearly gives up when he is paired with a young Manager named Belle who teaches him what's really important in life and work.
Read it on AO3 or FFN 
Chapter 1/3 
If there was one thing that Mr. Gold hated more than normal social interaction then it had to be forced social interaction on a reality television program. Oddly specific he knew, but given his current situation it was understandable.
Wearily, he pulled the hotel room key from his wallet and frustratingly had to insert the key three times before the damn green light would come on and grant him entry. He trudged inside the darkened three star quality hotel room with a great sigh and quickly peeled off the hot wig from his head and threw it onto the bathroom counter as he passed by. It was part of his contract with the show that he not remove any of his altered costume or break character until he was back in the hotel room for the evening, lest he be spotted. Spotted by who or what he had no fucking idea, but he believed that the producers delighted in making this as antagonistic as possible for him.
He ran a hand through his short sweat filled strands as he collapsed backwards onto his bed. He could deal with the beard that he had had to grow out, he had the odd one from time to time throughout his life but the low quality, polyester monstrosity was another thing. It was hot and itchy and he looked fucking ridiculous. When he had first been presented to his 17 year old son in his new transformation, Neal had laughed hysterically and questioned why he had roadkill on his head.
The glasses he wore were actually his own. He didn’t need them all the time but they were particularly useful reading the fine print of his dealings. He pulled those off and folded them, gently tossing them on the nightstand. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose where the glasses left their mark and gently massaged the area. A headache would be coming, he knew, as it had every night since he’d been forced onto this television show.
It all started several months back when his Public Relations Manager, Ursula Finn, had come to him with a proposition. A popular reality show, Bosses Undercover, had approached them to appear on the show. A higher up from their corporate ladder would go undercover in their chain of restaurants, Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Shack, and work with their everyday employees to gain insight into the front lines of the business. Both she and the Chief Talent Officer, Ella Deville, thought it was a brilliant idea, and a great way to increase their public image and moral.
Gold didn’t think it could hurt. He had been with the company for around 7 years now, and though their numbers were generally good and they were consistently named one of the top chicken joints in the US, he knew there was always room for improvement. It wasn’t until after he’d already signed off on the venture, (he’d left his glasses at home that day), that he realized that he would in fact be the boss going undercover.
“Well, it couldn’t be either of us, darling,” Ella had drolled, leaning back against his desk. “We are the beautiful faces of the company. We visit the stores on occasion. Too many people know us and see us.”
“You on the other hand,” Ursula picked up, “You are a virtual ghost. You’ve been here forever but aside from us and the people on this floor, I don’t think anyone even knows what you look like. You’re more recognizable by your signature in the monthly memos than visually,” she laughed and Ella nodded in agreement.
Gold had groaned realizing that there was no way out. This was one deal he made that he truly hadn’t understood. The women carried on laughing at his misery and thinking up all of the terrible jobs that he would be forced to do and worse yet, the horrible disguises they could come up with.
“You know...they’ll probably make you wear…” Ursula paused, a glint of laughter in her eyes. She leaned closer into Gold and whispered, “Jeans!”
“Ohhhhhh perish the thought!!!” Ella exclaimed, clutching at her heart and throwing herself back across Gold’s desk knocking off several items and howling in laughter.
Gold internally cringed. The thought of dressing down almost more terrifying than the fact he’d been stupid enough to sign off on something without reading the fine print. Ursula and Ella may be his only friends but he had seriously began thinking of all the different places he could hide their bodies.
His phone buzzed gently in his pocket and he groaned just knowing instinctively who it would be. He ignored it deliberately, not ready to go down that avenue yet. The day had already been too fucking long.
The filming that was done that day had been the most humiliating of them all. It had started out with a young know it all cashier named Killian Jones being his “trainer” for the day. He spent most of the day patronizing Gold as if he had never operated a cash register before, slowly walking him through every button and its function, going even slower on the self explanatory ones like, “Total.” As if speaking slowly wasn’t bad enough he also would often adapt his tone to speak louder than necessary when answering any of Gold’s questions drawing the attention of everyone around them.
He was less than an hour into filming when he wanted to throttle the man. While Gold ended up doing all the work Killian flashed his smile and batted his eyelashes at every female under 40, striking up conversations and inviting them to see his houseboat on the harbor. Anytime that the line would get backed up Jones would placate the line of customers by reminding them that the elderly needed jobs too and to give Grandad a break.
Gold could only scream internally and question for the millionth time why he had decided to give up smoking. A cigarette or two or three would have taken the edge off that he so delicately teetered on these days.
After the lunch rush, the producers decided that it would now be a good time to film the pair outside of the restaurant. Each episode featured one of these “intimate” scenes where the employee would spill their guts with their tragic background. Many of the people were genuine enough but Gold already had a feeling Jones was far less deserving than the others he had met along the way.
They headed outside to take out the trash with Gold doing the bulk of the work. Jones dragged his feet behind him and offered no assistance with the heavy bags.
Killian Jones was the worst kind of employee and so far nothing that he had said about his past in this “intimate session” made Gold feel anything but disgust for the man. He had after all seen the man in action all morning. He was the type of employee that made the general population look down on the customer service industry. He was the guy that accosted every woman he saw no matter how uneasy she seemed or who was with her. He was the guy that forgot to wash his hands and then handled your food without gloves. The employee that then later was caught sneaking chicken strips off the pass to eat himself or taking a bite and putting it back. Killian Jones was the employee that dropped your food and just picked it back up and served it to you with a smile.
Gold had stopped trying to feign interest until his own real name had been brought up in conversation, and how it was specifically his fault that he had been passed over for a shift leader promotion over the company’s stricter attendance policy.  “I miss a couple days without calling or come in an hour late and it’s as if the world has ended.” Gold rolled his eyes and really wanted to tell him that corporate and he especially had no hand in the appointment of individuals for smaller internal positions but he knew that wouldn’t matter.  
The ranting was far from over as he rattled on about the company’s core values; integrity, accountability, customer first, enjoying your work and one team one goal; and how unrealistic it was to expect the employees to follow this “code of honor.”
“Gold thinks that we should treat this menial job as some sort of a career instead of the low class slop it is. Take pride in what we do and how we do it. It’s fucking fast food, mate. There’s no pride in this. The guy is just another shit for brains corporate clown. No one’s even ever seen the guys face. Even he isn’t proud of this monstrosity. Why should we be?”
Gold was tempted to relieve the man from his job then and there but that would have meant breaking cover, and as much as he wanted to rip the sweltering wig from his head and dump it in the trash, it would just be a bigger pain in the end.
“Why stay then? If you hate it so much?” Gold had to wonder if it would it be too much to hope that perhaps the man had some redeemable quality in his background. Working to support an ill parent maybe, or to put himself through college?
“Well, mate, between you and I, I’m only working here for awhile longer. I have a band on the side. Perhaps you have heard of us. Hook and the Jolly Rogers?” he questioned with the self importance only youth could bring. Gold just quirked a brow and kept his face impassive.
After a moment Jones growled and finished his thoughts.“Well, I suppose I can’t expect the leader of the geriatric society to know anything about music, but we’re this close to signing a deal with Midas records. When we do I’ll burn this place to the ground. Til’ then though, this place is just a means to an end. I take some buckets of chicken with me, maybe pull in some off the record tips for my services rendered and call it a day.”
Gold focused on one of the garbage bags still between them, processing all the information this idiot had not only told him but the camera crews as well and felt a smile quirk over his lips. The reveal show could not come soon enough.
“Did you say Midas Records? As in Stefan Midas?” Gold asked, lifting the bag up and tossing it into the open dumpster.
Jones eyed him warily. “Yes,” he spoke softly drawing out the word. “Why?”
“Oh, no reason. My son and I are fans of some of their artists. You see in between my early dinners and naps at the retirement home, they sometimes let me out for recreational activities like concerts and such. I was just having a hard time imagining Midas and company willing to diminish the quality of their content and reputation with some petty thief and his rag tag gang.”
To Jones credit he took Gold’s comments without much much of an outward reaction. His eyes registered the insult but he just smiled back at Gold with his bright, bleached teeth, a predatory edge in the corner of his grin.
“Here, mate, let me help you with that last bag,” he said reaching for the large trash bag in Golds hand. Before Gold could decline he pulled a small pocket knife from his trousers and slit a hole in the side of the bag spilling its contents across the pavement. “Whoops, would you look at that? Better get that cleaned up straightaway,” he laughed and dashed back across to the restaurant.
Gold let loose a string of profanities so immense in their detailing that he knew that the scene would have to be heavily edited if not cut all together. The nerve of the bastard. He was still fuming ten minutes later after he had finally gotten all the chicken bones and assorted trash up. He slammed open the back door uncaring of who he startled and made a beeline to Jones, who was chatting up a young looking blonde at the front counter.
“Hey, mate.” Gold bumped into Jones harshly. “Do you have a problem with me? Why don’t you come back outside with me for another little chat and I can tell you exactly how I feel about you and your pathetic little life.” He shoved at Killian’s shoulder again and this time he shoved back but Gold stood his ground. The customers had all began to turn their heads and gather to watch the conflict. The cameramen were practically in the men’s faces, excited to finally catch some action.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate. Perhaps you should head on back to the retirement home for your early dinner and a nap. Maybe then you won’t be such a crotchety old man,” Jones hissed back.
Gold would have punched him then and there but they had been broken up by the store manager Sydney Glass. The men were brought back to the office where he spoke to them calmly about how they were improperly representing Mr Cluck’s franchise and lectured them on teamwork and character, using phrases like “One team, one goal.” as he brought up the restaurant's core values. Gold genuinely liked Sydney, he seemed a fair man, but he didn’t appreciate the lecture at all.
“We just simply put cannot have this level of behavior out on the floor in front of customers. Carl,” he addressed Gold and it took a moment for Gold to remember his alias. “I know that we were going to have you working with Killian the rest of the day but under the circumstances I think that it may be best to separate you for the duration. Especially, considering we are due for a corporate visit today.” Sydney folded his hands over his desk and stared at the men like a principal breaking up a schoolyard fight.
“Corporate visit?” Gold questioned, hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it did.
“Yes, we received a call this morning that Ursula Finn and Ella Deville will be making a stop to our store this afternoon. They wanted to see how our team was getting along with this Job Swap show and observe some of the filming. You can see now why this behavior is especially unsavory,” he concluded.
“Of course they’re visiting,” Gold mumbled under his breath.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said of course it’s unsavory, and I apologize.” Gold covered and extended his hand to Sydney. Sydney took it without hesitation and then shook Killian’s too.
“Glad we are back on the same page. Now about the new job we’ll have you do...how tall are you, Mr. Benton?”
Gold’s phone buzzed again in his pocket and he groaned. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
He pulled the phone out and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his finger, the home screen indicating two new messages. One of them was from Neal telling him good night and that he loved him. He quickly responded back with the same and let him know he was sorry he hadn’t called and he’d speak with him in the morning.
The next message was a picture message from Ella and he already knew without opening what it would be. He contemplated deleting it without ever looking but he knew it would drive him crazy if he didn’t verify the monstrosity with his own eyes. With great reluctance, he opened the message was assaulted with the self portrait that Ella and Ursula had taken with him during their “surprise” visit.
They stood on either side of him with biggest grins. He was pretty sure that Ella even had tears in her eyes from her barely contained laughter. Right in the fucking middle was Gold in the yellowest, feathery, and hotter than the sands of hell chicken suit. Sydney’s job had been to spend his remaining time drawing in customers in the sweltering July heat and handing out coupons.
Underneath the photo was a single caption.
Have a cluckity, cluck, cluck night, Aiden!
Gold text back furiously sending nothing but dozens of knife emojiis and Ella responded back immediately with a winky face and a kiss. Gold just sighed and plugged the phone into the charger beside the bed and set his alarm for 545am.
He pulled the yellow uniform shirt over his head and angrily tossed it into the corner as he headed in to take a shower.
“One more day,” he whispered to himself looking in the mirror feeling older than all of his years. One more day of this madness and he’d be free. Well, technically. He still had the reveal show and wrap up but at least then he could finally be himself and not some fool nearly dying of heat stroke on the corner telling all the people to have a cluckity, cluck, cluck day.
That motto would be the first thing to go, he promised.  In fact he was pretty sure it had started as a joke by Ella in the first place before somehow managing its way into their marketing campaign.
He took his time in the shower, washing the smell of chicken, grease and sweat from his body, using copious amounts of soap and body wash to be sure the smell didn’t linger. The inside of the suit had been the worst. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that the thing had been dry cleaned but certainly not in recent memory. It reeked of sweat and body odor, making him gag whenever he breathed in too deeply. The suits would be the second thing to go. No human should have to degrade themselves like that, advertising be damned.
When he was satisfied he no longer smelled like the rotting insides of that yellow suit he got out and dressed for bed. Exhaustion finally took its toll as he collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers up, reaching a hand out to switch off the bedside light.
The next day would be easier. At least he didn’t have to make a mad dash for a red eye across the country again. This time he’d be working at one of the company’s top stores just on the other side of the city. The work would be in management and his task was to work with the store manager to get an idea of what they were doing differently from their lower performing stores. What was the manager’s name? Something French he thought? He was too exhausted to remember as sleep slowly began to claim his weary mind, thoughts of dancing yellow chickens, fueling his nightmares.
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thatnerdgirl7 · 7 years
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OCD Master Post
Hello followers! 😊 So, I have seen some of these posts kicking around and I decided to make one of my own. It's not something I ever thought I'd do, because I don't really enjoy talking about my illness, much less sharing it on the Internet. But I feel that if I am able to share a few experiences with you, that I can help someone else get through their own struggle while simultaneously helping myself because writing down my thoughts is helpful because if they're on paper (or pixels in this case 😜) at least they're out of my head. About five or six years ago I was diagnosed with OCD and Anxiety. Actually, I diagnosed myself, since I read an article about a teenage girl who matched most of my symptoms (washing hands constantly, touching things many times, needing things to be "just right" or I couldn't continue my day etc) but I still attended therapy for CBT which helped immensely. For some reason as a wee un, I was terrified of chemicals. I think it was because I was aware of the dangers of under the sink items like bleach and what it can do to your body if you drink it. This made early secondary school hard because I had chosen biology as one of my subjects, and we had to work with chemicals on numerous occasions. What followed was: •Me literally running out of the room scared that the chemicals would spill on me or get near my mouth •Not trusting myself that I wouldn't drink said chemicals •Worrying the teachers who didn't know why I was acting like this •Prompting bullying from the other pupils •Me having to do textbook work while the others swirled liquids about in test tubes •One incident prompted a near panic attack when a pupil thinking they were being hilarious, found out I had a fear of Tippex (the correction fluid stuff) and smeared some on my jacket in front of a group of students outside the corridor •I was the reason one of my female classmates had her tippex unfairly confiscated when she wasn't even doing anything bad with it, I just felt uncomfortable Eventually, my fear of Tippex was overcome through the CBT and I learned not to act like a prat in class. But OCD is cunning like that. Once you get rid of one obsession your fear preys on something else. After the death of my grandparents, my anxiety went through the roof. You all know that scary Stephen King story It? Well, I watched the Nostalgia Critic's review of it (he was the crux of me getting my joy back because he made me laugh through a horrible time) Well after watching those clips, my Anxiety started to play havoc (and yet I LOVE horror movies so this was unusual) •Brain thinks how scary it would be to be a character in that book and have an evil clown following you •Brain thinks "Could this happen to you?" •Brain goes "Yeah actually and what if just like in the movie, you're the only one who can see him?" •Hence mind games with myself that I was hallucinating this clownish figure in my peripheral vision (despite the fact we can't see ANYTHING clearly in our peripheral vision and even if we could over active imagination/pseudo hallucinations don't necessarily mean you're crazy) •I convince myself that I must be Schizophrenic and that I was going to be committed to an asylum where they would stick needles and wires in me •Even today I can't watch a film or look at a picture of Tim Curry dressed in his clown costume for fear it might bring back an anxious episode (or as my OCD says "make you crazy." Then we come to my peak worst of the worst: My Obsession with the End. I know I'm not the first person to fear death and the inevitable end blah blah blah but from December 2013-through to 2014 I became terrified that wait for it: the UNIVERSE WOULD EXPLODE. Does that sound like a nonsense article to you? That's because that's exactly where I read it. A theory from Danish scientists speaking about how the universe may collapse into itself one day and "it could happen at any given time." Hence me searching up about outer space threats even though I knew deep down I was being very irrational. Strap in: it gets crazier •Remember in March 2014 when Russia marched into Crimea and then the rest of the world got into a huge proxy war over Ukraine? And how everyone was talking about it? Well, at school I couldn't escape talk of a WW3 and nuclear weapons. •My Anxiety went "HOLY MOLY I'VE STRUCK GOLD HERE!" •I began obsessively checking the news/any little hints and signs even Nostradamus predictions to make sure a world war wasn't starting soon (like I had any power to stop it if it did. "Duck and Cover children that'll save you from being roasted to a crisp!" •This subsided in summer until the MH317 plane was shot down over Ukraine. Then my Anxiety flared up again all throughout August, September and October. And then Winter cometh and I am a M E S S 😧 •I lost my appetite. I stopped eating because I felt like every time I did I was going to be sick. I took nothing but fluids and my weight dropped considerably to the point where my family became really concerned I was going to end up in hospital •I dropped out of school for seven weeks because I couldn't face anyone and spent most of November and December at home in a long depression where I spent most of it with my electronics confiscated (my parents couldn't trust I wouldn't look at the news) watching movies to try and cheer myself up and crying a lot. •Eventually after seeing my mum really upset and myself in the mirror at how much skinnier I was I decided to brave eating and soon my appetite returned and I resumed school •I was prescribed Setraline medication from the doctors which I found to work great for my anxiety but not for my ocd compulsions While things are MUCH better now, I still carry a lot of OCD symptoms that are noticeable on a daily basis: •Touching things a considerable ammount of times (must be certain numbers like 28, 57, 58, 64 and in some cases 84) •Having to thinking of a certain colour or topic while I do it (eg: blue, green, orange, purple, blue, green or film titles/celebrity names •Worrying about my sexuality. While I am straight as a ruler, my OCD tries to convince me that I am gay/bi. Even though I know it isn't true. Then I worry because I think if I am trying to erase through a compulsion the idea of being gay, does that make me a homophobe aka a grade A Twat? •Having scary intrusive thoughts about harming my family or children and sometimes animals and getting worried that I am an evil person if I am not immediately disgusted by it •Brain trying to convince me that if I like one thing eg a movie or an animal, I can't like both or many at once. That I must focus on one thing, and if attention draws from that thing it means I don't like it any more and have lost interest. •Replaying a part of a movie/song or rereading a paragraph a certain number of times until I'm satisfied •Worrying about stupid shit in general such as "If I ever met my favourite celebrity would they like me?" or "If I somehow become famous will the world like me or will they find me annoying?" or self-loathing, "If I wrote something would people think it good or would it make a good doorstop?" Anyway, that is all I have to say. But I feel like if I get this out I can look back on it years from now and see if anything's changed or if I'm still a head case ten years on. I hope I can help out a fellow OCD sufferer if they recognise themselves in any of the things I have listed above. Thank You!
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ryesnatcher · 7 years
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La Fée Verte - Part 1
Summary: Whilst investigating the deaths of four women in Virginia, the team uncovers the wild, thrusting, and vibrant underworld of a nightclub which seems to be the missing key to solving their investigation. Meanwhile Spencer falls for the main act. 
Pairing: Spencer x Reader
A/N: I started writing this after watching Moulin Rouge on repeat for three days so it’s inspired by that, it’s also a slow burner and the first fanfic I’ve ever wrote so I know it’s not the best so constructive feedback is appreciated. 
Also shout out to Giselle for being the sweetest whilst I wrote this!
“La Fee Verte” Spencer reads the words etched from the frosted glass, squinting slightly as he tries to see inside.
“Huh?” Morgan asks, turning to face his partner.
“The Green Fairy.”
“Like on our vics keychains? What do you bet they all came here?”
It had been sheer luck that had led them here. A receipt found stuck in the corner of Chrissy Gadot’s (victim number 4’s) bag. It had been this discovery that had led the authorities to call for the team. With four bodies on their hands and only a cheap green metal fairy hanging from the vics keys to connect them, the receipt had been the break they so desperately needed.
“Actually-”
“We’re closed” The voice of a small girl cuts him off. The two agents reaching for their badges as she peeks through the door.
“I’m doctor Reid and this is agent Morgan, we’re with the FBI” Spencer starts, noticing as the girl instantly shifts backwards, tightening her grip on the door. “Chrissy Gadot worked here, when was she last working here?”
“Chrissy? She was last here Tuesday..” She nods, her grip on the door loosening. “Is she okay? Can’t be good if FBI are looking after her.”
“I’m afraid we found her body this morning.” Morgan speaks firmly but with a gentle touch, already comforting the young girl. “Who’s your employer?”
“Harry Crane. He’s not here though. The show starts at eight” She looks behind her at an unseen noise.
“Do you mind if we ask you some questions ma’am?”
She shakes her head, swallowing dryly and leaning closer towards them. “Eight o'clock” She gives them a final nod before shutting the door and leaving the trail of her silhouette to disappear from the frosted glass.
Morgan sighs. “Guess we’re coming back tonight”
--
By eight o’clock, Spencer and Morgan had once again pulled up outside of the sickly green building. The once empty streets now littered with lines of men all dressed in their Sunday best. The large windows emitting lights of pink and yellow whilst silhouettes of girls danced and drank within each white frame.
And it had taken less than a moment for the agents to be welcomed inside, a tall man in a jewelled waistcoat and a seemingly mute voice had taken a single look to their badges and gestured for them to follow after him. And with little choice, the agents obliged. Following him through the foyer, where already the chatter of excitement spilled out from the open doors, thousands of voices clamouring over the band and the laughter growing easier as the alcohol begins its rounds.
Bringing them inside the hall it was clear to them both that it had once been a theatre, where the stalls had once sat was now a dance floor filled with scratched up wood and surrounded by packs of men all formed from bankers and brokers, bachelor's eager to spend a penny. It seemed as though men from all wakes of life had crawled from their corner of the earth to celebrate under the domed ceilings of La Fee Verte. And those that didn’t stand, sat in velvet soaked booths, watching the girls that served as much of the background as they did the fleeting centres of attention. Draping themselves over balconies and each other. Dressed in every fantasy that could be thought of, scenes set away from the heart of the show pandering to the wants of the guests. Girls in mermaids tails sat in oversized oyster shells, contortionists on stools, women holding onto one another as they dance on pedestals, live snakes in the hands of others.
It was a whirlwind of tantric excitement, every corner you looked you would be greeted with a new sight, a new distraction. Everything as loud and bold as the ornate fixings themselves. The stage and floor overlooked by the band, controlled by every note they struck. And for a brief moment they brought silence, the men crowding in excitement as the first few notes are played and the once empty dance floor is invaded by the fierce movements of the dancers, and the men are once again alive. Each costume as individual as the girls themselves, heavy skirts lifting and falling, high kicks and splits against the polished wood floors. Flashes of stripes and fishnet, ruffles and garter belts. Each movement growing faster and faster, the room spinning with their movements as their voices collide in a salacious harmony.
The jewelled man leading them on the outskirts of the chaos, away from the violent and mesmerising fluidity of the dancers, waving for both men to follow him up the stairs, leading them past the band and into a dark and poorly decorated room backstage. Mirrors lining the walls, and stood in front of a dresser was Harry, his dark eyes looking up to inspect the intrusion. The jewelled man, who Harry revealed to be named Wonderful, speaking for the first time to introduce them. “The police are a popular presence but FBI? Must be a special occasion. That badge doesn’t get you a discount on admission though boys.” Greasy and large, Harry turns around, the confidence in his voice going beyond the definition of arrogance. “We’re -” Spencer begins, ignoring the soft laugh of Harry.
“Yes yes, you’re here because four of my girls are dead. It’s tragic. However I do not like my time being wasted so, I know nothing, I’ve seen nothing, and apart from the royal boxes, we don’t keep records of our patrons. Are we done?”
“All four girls worked here?”
Harry rolls his eyes, “Chrissy was one of the new dancers. The other three weren’t exactly big acts. Understudies and performers that worked up in circle and on the balconies.”
“Can customers access all these areas?”
“Depends on their ticket. If you pay for a ticket for stalls, you have access to the floor show and the balconies. But circle ticket holders are restricted to the circle and balconies. We have bouncers on every entrance all night to prevent patrons mixing.” He clasps his hands together, looking between the two with a slight sneer “Now. f you don’t mind gentlemen, I have a show to get on with. If you’re staying you’ll need a warrant or a ticket and I suspect we’re a little out of your price range.” Rubbing his hands together he strides between them, his shoulders brushing both agents as he leaves. Wonderful giving them an apologetic smile as he holds the door open for them.
Wonderful leads them back out into the corridor, following it back out into the main hall where the ravenous cheers still called out.
“Our unsub most likely meets the girls here. We know that he’s keeping them for three days, and there’s a week between each abduction so he’s most likely using that time to learn their schedule, could be coming back here to see her.” Morgan suggests, Spencer nodding in agreement as they begin pushing their way through the crowds.
“Wait here” Wonderful turns to them, his voice sincere as he holds both hands out before disappearing into the crowd, leaving both agents slightly confused as they look to one another. Using their new found time to look through the crowd, but nobody standing out. Even to them all the men seemed as desperate and eager as the last.
Then all at once, the obscene and carnal music comes to a stop. The warm lights gone and a darkness spreading into the corners as a single spotlight steals their focus. Stood at the highest point of the stage, shrouded by the spotlight. No words or sounds escaping her but already she had the attention and adoration of the crowd. Stepping forward, the click of her heel echoed around the hall, the desperation in the onlookers as they begged for more. Her corseted bodysuit, sparkled, the green diamante catching in the spotlight, the tulle train grazing her calf, the fabric catching slightly on her white stockings.
As she begins singing, the band holds back. Allowing her voice to fill the room by itself, pausing after every line to move closer to the audience, fixing her eyes on nobody but everybody seeing that the look was for them. Her movements as graceful as they are demure, “... But I prefer a man who lives…” Pausing once more as she reaches the flat of the dance floor, Spencer swearing that for a moment her eyes met his.  “...and gives expensive. Jewels.” The band springs to life as she begins her routine. Twirling and stepping, the crowd moving with her, men with fistfuls of money and gifts, saps with flowers and earnest smiles bending to her song. Performers around her dressed in clown suits and waistcoats made of jewels lifting her up as the song demands, ensuring that the desperate hands that reached for her never wander too far.
“You came!” The voice of a young girl startles them both, Morgan smiling as he recognises her as the girl from before, Wonderful stood beside her as she grins excitedly. “I see you’ve already met Y/N” She laughs, nodding towards the girl playfully ignoring the reaching hands as she sings. “She’s our Green Fairy. I thought that you might want to speak to her. She’s the one who got me and Chrissy a job here. But she knows Harry better than anyone, if he knows something, she’ll know.”
“Do you think we could speak to her?” Morgan asks, nudging Spencer slightly as his attention remained a little too focused on the shaking curves of Y/N’s dress, his cheeks flushing.  
“I’ve already set up a meeting, just you and Y/N, totally alone.” Gesturing to her heavy sunset skirt with its embroidered parisian skyline she shakes her head. “I’ve still got the show to do so wonderful will take you to her.”
“Thank you, uh?” Morgan prompts, the girl shaking her head in realisation.
“Oh sorry, Trixie” She introduces, giving them a parting smile her hand waving above the crowds as she disappears.
--
Before long, both Reid and Morgan were stood, awkwardly and a little uncomfortably inside of Y/N’s room, it wasn’t large by any means, with a large heart shaped bed taking up at least a third of the room, the other two thirds dedicated to props for entertaining, small tables with champagne and bottles of absinthe gathering dust, a piano, untuned and untouched sat in the corner, a divider with clothes hung over artfully giving the pretence of intimacy. Even a balcony overlooking the dance floor far below. “Do all the girls have rooms like this?” Morgan asks, gesturing to the room.
Wonderful, stood in the doorway replies first with a nod “Only the dancers. We do have rooms for our other performers but only dancers get their own. None are as extravagant as this”
“Did Chrissy have one?” Morgan asks. “Think you could show me?” He follows Wonderful to the door, looking back and winking to the rather lost looking Spencer.
Now alone, he takes the opportunity to look around. Opening drawers and sifting through them, unsurprisingly only finding changes of clothes and make-up, the odd phone charger and a small notebook, but as he reaches for it the click of the door makes him jump back, trying to push the drawer back in as it jams in the process.
“Looking for something?” Y/N speaks softly, shutting the door, dragging a hand up her thigh and keeping her gaze fixed on the young doctor as she walks slowly towards him, no regard for personal space as she shuts the drawer herself and turning towards the small table.
“I wasn’t… I was just.” He points to the drawer, shaking his head as he stammers.  “I’m uh Doctor Reid.”
“You look a little young to be a doctor.” She raises an eyebrow, lifting the bottle of champagne from the ice and tilting her head. “Champagne, Doctor?” She reaches for one of the faux crystal glasses. Each move she made was calculated, Spencer could see it in the way she didn’t leave him time to answer, the routine in her fluidity.  For him it made it easier to suppress the flush in his cheeks. Reminding himself this was her job.
“Uh no thank you. I have a few questions if you don’t mind.” “Oh?” The bottle of champagne clatters into the ice as Y/N puts it back with just a little bit too much force. Composing herself in less than a second.
Y/N dealt with all people from all walks of life. Before she was the star of Harry’s show, she had been only a dancer, she had learnt how to adjust each smile for every type of man. The perfect laugh for every person. She knew that the aggressive man needed a womans touch to put him in his place. The hero needed a woman to save. It was a simple switch. And the man before her was no different. She’d noticed the flush, the stutter, how he fixed his gaze to the wall behind her. Nervous men weren’t her usual clientele. But she wasn’t unfamiliar. They either needed a gentle touch or a firm hand. It was a simple matter of figuring which.
“Perhaps then we would be more comfortable sat down?” She takes a few steps back, gently taking his hand and keeping her eyes locked on his as she pulls him after her, leading him towards the bed.
“Trixie said that you got Chrissy her job here…”
“You want to talk about Chrissy?” She replies, dropping his hand and shifting uncomfortably. “I got her an audition. Look if you’re looking for a job I can -”
“No no I’m a federal agent. We think whoever hurt her may have met her here.” Spencer speaks quickly and Y/N’s eyes grow wide as she suddenly understands the situation.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry, Wonderful didn’t mention that you were here on business business.” Y/N  shakes her head, slightly embarrassed. Trying to rectify the situation by sitting down on the edge of the bed, Spencer watching her for a moment and sitting beside her, Y/N facing him as she speaks. “What did you want to know?”
Spencer begins with his questions, Y/N answering them honestly and without much consideration, both relaxing as they go on.
“Do you know if Chrissy had a boyfriend or anyone in her life?”
“I don’t think so. Most girls here don’t have relationships, it’s not in our contracts but it’s generally frowned upon. It always leads to trouble and it can cost you your job if Harry finds out.”
“What about any customers who had a special interest in her?”
“There was this one guy she told me about. Small, blond curly hair. He didn’t like it when she drank. But I haven’t seen him in stalls all week.”
“Would she have a record of his name?” “Unless she kept a personal record or he paid with a credit card, no.” She shrugs, moving away from him and over to the bottle of champagne, pouring herself a glass. Spencer refusing to acknowledge his slight disappointment in the empty space beside him. Watching as she leans against the small table, trying to keep his gaze away from the lace tops of her stockings and the way they curved around the soft skin of her thighs. Y/N downing her first glass of champagne, Spencer growing suddenly aware of the dryness in his throat.
“You look like you need a drink, doctor.” Y/N asks, smirking slightly as she pours champagne into the spare glass and holding it out towards him. His dark eyes flickering in consideration, and for the first time that night feeling the slight touch of relief as she became a step closer, considering every time she so much as stepped closer to him, a doe eyed look would flicker across those same dark eyes, and even now she could see him evaluating the situation. “You don't have to be so serious Doctor, I'm not trying to catch you off guard” She speaks coolly despite it being a lie.
He shakes his head at the drink, Y/N pouting but shrugging with a flounce as she sips from it instead. “I can’t drink when I’m working.”
“It’s a pity” She laughs gently, not taking her eyes from him. Even as the door clicks open and Morgan hovers in the doorway, glancing between the two and smirking as Spencer stands up all too fast.
“You ready?” He asks, Spencer nodding and walking over to the door, glancing back to Y/N and giving her a half wave.
“Be seeing you again, Doctor”
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