im gonna upload this here since ive been inactive as hell ;;-;; (uni is so time-consuming) but this is my take on noiz’s gothic design just as aoba has an official design
i figured simple and sharp would suit noiz but yet there is still something slightly childish about his outfit; he wears all black with a cool, cold green tone yet the back of his coat has a giant bow :D
You see a piggly wiggly as you drive and you panic. You do not live in the South. The South is rising. You must keep going.
Your friend lives just outside the city. Which city, you ask. The city, they say. They refuse to name it. Perhaps it has no name. You have certainly never been to a city.
Your neighbor has cars. So many. None of them run. They just need a little work, he assures you. They multiply over night. Your neighbor is gone. The cars rev their own engines. You will have a new neighbor soon.
Spring is coming. You bring your plants outside. They freeze. The sacrifice is accepted. It’s warmer today.
You hold the door open for an elderly woman. Well aren’t you just a sweetheart, she says. You try to protest, saying it was no trouble, but it’s too late. Your heart is sweet. The old woman smiles with sharp teeth. She will use your heart to make tea.
There is a flood watch. There is always a flood watch. You watch, as instructed. Nothing changes. You are already underwater.
You stop at an intersection. The person across from you waves you on. You wave him on, trying to be polite. Neither one of you will move. You look closer and see yourself. Time is meaningless. You wave him on, trying to be polite.
Your mother asks how your cousin is doing. Which cousin. There are so many. Everyone is your cousin. You know, she says, you know. And you do. They’re fine. You saw them just the other day. Neither of you made eye contact.
A waitress asks what you would like to drink. Water, please, you say. It is hopeless. She brings you a sweet tea. You are so thirsty. You drink the tea and it tastes like despair. She brings you another. You are so thirsty.
Come see the mystery hole, the signs say. The laws of gravity defied! You won’t believe your eyes! You shiver. You have been to the mystery hole, and you could not believe your eyes. You dared not.
You know that gas is cheaper in town. You drive further and further. Gas will be cheaper you assure yourself. You can’t remember who told you. It’s been days.
Of course the mothman is real, he’s right there. You try to tell the tourists, but they don’t listen. They insist it’s just a statue. The statues eyes glint red, and it breathes. They take pictures with it. We look away. It’s not our place.
People sell food on the roadside. Fresh ramps, they call. Picked fresh. You pick one up. It’s warm, pulsing. You buy ten. You don’t know why. You don’t like ramps, no one likes ramps. You put them in your fridge. They continue to pulse. It’s strangely comforting.
It’s mushroom season. You join your family looking for morels. Your father finds a patch. He picks one, and it has a face. He has blood on his hands. These will taste great, he says. He is crying. He loves morels.
You sneeze, and everyone in the room turns to look at you. God bless you, they whisper in unison. You will never see any of these people again.
It’s allergies, you explain apologetically as you wipe your nose again. It is always running, and it is tired. Eat local honey, the woman says. She was not there before. You have to eat local honey, she insists. She hands you a jar. It is black. You take it, shaken. It tastes like coal.
You’re not from here, are you. An old man stares at you distrustfully. You explain that you’re from Virginia. Virginia, he scoffs. Ohio, Kentucky, Maryland, Virginia. Those aren’t real places he insists. He huddles with other old men. They are afraid. They have never left.
A tourist knocks on your door. You answer, resigned. This is the fifth tourist today. They want to buy something. Anything. The last tourist bought your grandmother. Vintage, he exclaimed. Vintage what, he would not say. You are open for business.
Vote for Business! Vote for Business! You look down at the name you’ve written on the ballot for this year’s election. The words “President Business” laughs back at you, etched in your blood. Terror overtakes your face.
You can’t find your pants. You don’t dare speak your predicament aloud. They might hear you.
There’s supposed to be a sequel. It was supposed to come out three years from now. You can wait, you tell yourself. You can wait. Your shaking hands clutch feebly to the box of a Lego set. You are sweating Lego bricks. They making a clinking noise as they fall to the floor. You can wait. “When is the sequel coming out,” your voice rasps desperately.
You buy a Lego movie set. There is an Emmet minifigure. You buy a Bioncles set. There is an Emmet minifigure. You buy an mixed bag of vintage Lego bricks from the thrift store. There is an Emmet minifigure. You buy a minifigure keychain. You thought it was Batman. You look down at the hand holding it. It is an Emmet minifigure.
You really love this AU. You look through the tags to find its source. You reach the end of the tag, and follow the source link on the very first post. It takes you to a blog with nothing on it but a screenshot of Emmet in the shower. Something is off about the screenshot, but you can’t quite pin down what it is. Everything is Awesome plays eerily from your computer speakers. You look for the blog music player to turn it off. There isn’t one.
The Lego movie fandom is quiet. So very very quiet. Some fear it is over. Sometimes you fear it is over. You consult one of your Emmet minifigures. He assures you the fandom is simply lying dormant, in waiting. It will rise again.
Can I make a request? I'm looking for vampire clothing, a mixture of gothic, Victorian, business casual, I would prefer practical, not sexy. I would appreciate the help if you can provide it! Thank you for your time.