Hello! Reporter Allister Nyne, here to bring you all the News from DRAAG! Call in for song requests, weather in your area, interesting events, watching your heroes sell cars, and expression of love for our Grand Immortal Dictator!
Character Info . . .
Allister is 39, He/They/Him, Bi, 6'3, He runs 95.5 DRAAG and Channel 10 News.
Good evening DRAAG! I'm your host, Mr. Allie Nyne. As all stars do, it seems I've burnt out! I've enjoyed the sparks and flares and novas we've all experienced together, but I fear it's time for this one to die.
The many odd years I've been hosting have caught up to me. I find my love of the stage has become debilitating towards my mental health. As much as I do not wish to leave you, dear comets, there's other places I must go.
Channel 10 and 95.5 have treated me well. New management may take place but I'm unsure of what will happen in my absence. I will be returning to Sweden indefinitely.
To Maya, who I'm sure is watching, you will shine brighter than I ever could darling.
To Frank, my love, better things await you. Thank you for sticking by when no one did.
To Bastian, my oldest friend, you create change like no other.
I will miss you all ever so dearly. So here's your last view of the star before it implodes. Allie Nyne of Channel 10, signing off for the very last time.
Hello I’m Ophelia Prescott. I’m an international correspondent currently reporting on what Draag is like. I wanted to see if you’d be interested in working together at some point or even doing an interview for me?
i can no longer continue roleplaying as frank since he has just turned into a plushie
just kidding
so for realsies i’m gonna take a break from posting here cuz my motivation is low and there’s other things need to focus on (eg my failing grades, the fanfic i haven’t updated in over a month). i also am going to leave the server very soon which won’t affect my roleplaying too much hopefully since i still have contact with most people. anyways while im gone frank will probably just be in the hospital or at home resting since yknow. coma thing
if you try to take his role i’ll send my evil squad after you so don’t even try. i will not find it funny just annoying. only i can joke about this
[how will this work? it will basically be like my live updating setlists i did for the lltbp shows! instead of signs, guests are given wristbands that light up and change colors. each color means a different thing, and i will color code the songs according to what color the bracelets light up. bold = white. italics + any color = that color but less vibrant, meaning a different thing. multiple colors means the lights change color throughout the song, starting at one color and then going to the next.]
[it is important to note here that the draag national anthem is not sang before, and there are no rules or ads displayed on the screens. there is no laying of the wheat. nothing. additionally, she is not reconditioned while on stage - she was given milk before hand.]
Black Sheep
Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl
Temper, Temper
something along the lines of "hi, hello, thank you for coming". . ."with the bracelets, it looks like a bunch of stars. that's cool as fuck. we are brought here, tonight, by Disenchanted Records. everyone say, "thank you disenchanted records!" haha, anyway. . ."
4. Docket
5. Brand New City
6. Make Me Wanna Die
7. Jealousy, Jealousy
"this next song is dedicated to my very bestest friend, allie."
8. Pretty Isn't Pretty
9. All I Wanted
10. Your Best American Girl
11. In My Room
12. I Told You Things
13. Pool
14. We Hug Now
[it is important to note here that when she sings "no one comes close to / and I don't think anyone will" the lights turn red.]
15. The Only Exception
16. The Little Mess You Made
[during the little mess you made, a man comes on stage right. he is wearing a suit, and it's sort of a back up dancer of sorts. he mouths the words to the part sung by death, as that is played as a recording. this part is theatrical and throughout the song they appear to argue, with wherever he goes lighting up red and wherever maya goes lighting up pink]
17. Coin Operated Boy
[a piano is brought out. maya goes and sits.]
"so. . . how this works is at the end of each show, ill do a song on piano, that could be a cover or one of my songs or anything really, and then for the very last song we'll do a cover with the whole band - I thought it would've been a little depressing for the show to end with Doomsday or Coin Operated Boy or something. Um. . . Thank you to everyone who came to this show, or is going to other shows, and are just listening to music - that means the world to me, this whole thing means the world to me. i mean, a month or two ago, I thought the last time I'd be on stage would be for my highschools production of Romeo and Juliet, and now I'm here. So, thank you. . . this is called We're Alive and it's by an artist called Cavetown."
18. We're Alive (Cavetown, piano cover)
19. So Far So Fake (Pierce The Viel, whole band cover.)
(this takes place right after the concert, if you can’t tell)
*Frank had suffered throughout the entire show. His memory was foggy from all the drugs they’d pumped into him to allow him to even function, but from what he could recall, it was all miserable—watching someone dressed as him get shot down, seeing Gerard get stabbed for the millionth time, being dragged off stage with a black bag over his head—it was just horrible. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep himself together after every other concert.*
*Now things were falling apart. Frank could feel himself crashing, feel the medications mix together and drain out of his system and leave him as sad, molten rubble. He felt nauseous and tired and his head felt like it was going to crack itself open. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy and made his head hurt even more. He’d begged to be able to wear an eye covering during the show, because just looking at lights was painful to him, but he’d been told to suck it up for appearances’ sakes.*
*Appearances weren’t worth it. If not for all the painkillers and the stimulants and whatever the hell else, Frank probably wouldn’t have been able to function. He was thankful that his muscle memory hadn’t left him, because if it had, he would’ve been completely screwed.*
*Well, not really. If he couldn’t play, he wouldn’t have had to tough it out on stage.*
*He slumped against a nearby wall, his eyes landing on a shallow puddle by his feet. He could barely make out his reflection but he still groaned and looked away. He hated the sight of his own face, especially now, after the man who shared it had killed him. All of his loathing was targeted towards him, the Sentinel; though Frank supposed his own cowardice that got him killed was frustrating as well. Like, maybe if he had done anything but pretend than acting like a kicked puppy would save him, he might not have missed a week of his life and had to deal with all this torment. And if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid to sent a death threat to the entire goddamn government, he wouldn’t have even had to worry about that.*
*Frank’s leg suddenly gave out, and he fell to the floor. He yelped in pain as his head hit the wall, not hard enough to cause damage but enough to make his head feel like it was exploding. He cupped his hands over his eyes and cried out weakly, tears of pain clouding them. Everything was spinning, even though he was on the ground, and it wasn’t long before it all faded to black.*
*Allister wandered outside the venue. Too long had past since he'd managed to leave his home. Especially with the station's disarray to aid his lack of reasoning to do so. The concert was amazing to the general public, per usual. He hadn't seen Frank in a week. He looked so tired on stage tonight. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his partner? That wasn't right. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his... lover, lifemate, obsession, peace, joy, home, friend, was to come out.*
"This isn't right." *Allie murmured to himself. Normally, Frank was out quicker than this. He checked his watch. 2 hours? What? It had been 2 hours and he hadn't seen Frank leave? The bench was on the way to the bus, Frank had to walk past it to get there.*
*Panic set deep in his chest and he couldn't sit still anymore. With a shaky breath, Allister stood up and began to search for the rhythm guitarist. He ran his hands obsessively over the fabric of his dress pants in an attempt to calm himself while he looked. He re-entered the venue, first checking back stage. Nothing. The green room? No? Fuck. His guitar tech was gone, he couldn't ask him. The others must be in the bus by now. Silence filled his ears, constricting the broadcaster's lungs. He was near running searching for Frank.*
*His frantic checking of the venue proved to be fruitless. He quietly cursed his insanity,* "C'mon Allie, you're fine. Frank's fine. Stop fucking panicking for one second, okay? You're fine. You're fine, You're fine, You're fucking fi-," *Allister ran out the door and froze in his tracks. Frank was laying on the pavement, passed out. He choked back a sob of worry as he knelt down to check on him.*
"Frank? Frankie, baby, wake up. Wake up please." *The taller man begged, cradling the other in his hands, one hand rested behind his head, rubbing soothingly over the bump from hitting the black top. Could unconscious people feel physical pain? Whatever. The other maneuvered Frank haphazardly over his lap, shaking him lightly.*
*Tears fell onto Frank's face.* "Please. Please wake up. Please! This isn't funny Frank, please." *His voice cracked, his forehead resting against Frank's*
*Frank groaned quietly, but otherwise he stayed limp in Allister’s arms. His breathing was steady, maybe a little shallow. Blood started to soak his hair from the cut in his head, which had been reopened when he’d fallen.*
*Allister looks at his hand, eyes going wide as he sees the blood* "No, no, no, no, no.." *His hands shake and he gets his keys, using them to rip off fabric from his button down. Then, he wraps it around Frank's head as a make shift bandage. From what he's sure is off of pure anxious adrenaline, Allie manages to pick Frank up, hurrying them to his car.*
*Frank was still the whole time Allister carried him to the car, though he squirmed a little once he was put into the passenger’s seat. He groaned again as his head fell to the side, then vomited into his mouth, some dribbling out of his slack mouth and down his chin.*
*Allie frowns worriedly. He finds wet wipes in the center console and reaches over to gently wipe away what escaped Frank's mouth.* "Oh baby, Christ. I got you, okay? Deep breaths for me, best you can." *He opens the windows for fresh air, puts in directions, and begins to drive, definitely speeding his way to the nearest hospital. Allister is a decent driver, whispering an apology for any bump in the road.*
*Frank seemed to be a little bit awake now, drifting in and out of consciousness every moment. He opened his eyes a bit, and mumbled,* “Allie?” *before they hit a small bump and his eyes rolled back into his head. A minute or so later he regained consciousness and weakly reached out to grab Allister’s sleeve.*
*Every time Frank lost consciousness, it seemed like a shadow was cast over the car, cold air and uneasy feelings melting into everything, reflections of faces that shouldn’t have been there. It was unnerving.*
*Allister holds Frank's hand gently. rubbing over the back of his knuckles with his thumb.* "We're almost there, hon. Hold on just a little longer."
*He poorly attempts to suppress his panic. The disconcerting moments between Frank's waking moments were starting to get to Allister. The faces and deafening silence were not aiding his paranoia.* "What if...? No. Shut up. Frank, think about Frank. That's your priority." *Allie breathed out the words only for himself as he turned into the hospital parking lot.*
(this takes place right after the concert, if you can’t tell)
*Frank had suffered throughout the entire show. His memory was foggy from all the drugs they’d pumped into him to allow him to even function, but from what he could recall, it was all miserable—watching someone dressed as him get shot down, seeing Gerard get stabbed for the millionth time, being dragged off stage with a black bag over his head—it was just horrible. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep himself together after every other concert.*
*Now things were falling apart. Frank could feel himself crashing, feel the medications mix together and drain out of his system and leave him as sad, molten rubble. He felt nauseous and tired and his head felt like it was going to crack itself open. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy and made his head hurt even more. He’d begged to be able to wear an eye covering during the show, because just looking at lights was painful to him, but he’d been told to suck it up for appearances’ sakes.*
*Appearances weren’t worth it. If not for all the painkillers and the stimulants and whatever the hell else, Frank probably wouldn’t have been able to function. He was thankful that his muscle memory hadn’t left him, because if it had, he would’ve been completely screwed.*
*Well, not really. If he couldn’t play, he wouldn’t have had to tough it out on stage.*
*He slumped against a nearby wall, his eyes landing on a shallow puddle by his feet. He could barely make out his reflection but he still groaned and looked away. He hated the sight of his own face, especially now, after the man who shared it had killed him. All of his loathing was targeted towards him, the Sentinel; though Frank supposed his own cowardice that got him killed was frustrating as well. Like, maybe if he had done anything but pretend than acting like a kicked puppy would save him, he might not have missed a week of his life and had to deal with all this torment. And if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid to sent a death threat to the entire goddamn government, he wouldn’t have even had to worry about that.*
*Frank’s leg suddenly gave out, and he fell to the floor. He yelped in pain as his head hit the wall, not hard enough to cause damage but enough to make his head feel like it was exploding. He cupped his hands over his eyes and cried out weakly, tears of pain clouding them. Everything was spinning, even though he was on the ground, and it wasn’t long before it all faded to black.*
*Allister wandered outside the venue. Too long had past since he'd managed to leave his home. Especially with the station's disarray to aid his lack of reasoning to do so. The concert was amazing to the general public, per usual. He hadn't seen Frank in a week. He looked so tired on stage tonight. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his partner? That wasn't right. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his... lover, lifemate, obsession, peace, joy, home, friend, was to come out.*
"This isn't right." *Allie murmured to himself. Normally, Frank was out quicker than this. He checked his watch. 2 hours? What? It had been 2 hours and he hadn't seen Frank leave? The bench was on the way to the bus, Frank had to walk past it to get there.*
*Panic set deep in his chest and he couldn't sit still anymore. With a shaky breath, Allister stood up and began to search for the rhythm guitarist. He ran his hands obsessively over the fabric of his dress pants in an attempt to calm himself while he looked. He re-entered the venue, first checking back stage. Nothing. The green room? No? Fuck. His guitar tech was gone, he couldn't ask him. The others must be in the bus by now. Silence filled his ears, constricting the broadcaster's lungs. He was near running searching for Frank.*
*His frantic checking of the venue proved to be fruitless. He quietly cursed his insanity,* "C'mon Allie, you're fine. Frank's fine. Stop fucking panicking for one second, okay? You're fine. You're fine, You're fine, You're fucking fi-," *Allister ran out the door and froze in his tracks. Frank was laying on the pavement, passed out. He choked back a sob of worry as he knelt down to check on him.*
"Frank? Frankie, baby, wake up. Wake up please." *The taller man begged, cradling the other in his hands, one hand rested behind his head, rubbing soothingly over the bump from hitting the black top. Could unconscious people feel physical pain? Whatever. The other maneuvered Frank haphazardly over his lap, shaking him lightly.*
*Tears fell onto Frank's face.* "Please. Please wake up. Please! This isn't funny Frank, please." *His voice cracked, his forehead resting against Frank's*
*Frank groaned quietly, but otherwise he stayed limp in Allister’s arms. His breathing was steady, maybe a little shallow. Blood started to soak his hair from the cut in his head, which had been reopened when he’d fallen.*
*Allister looks at his hand, eyes going wide as he sees the blood* "No, no, no, no, no.." *His hands shake and he gets his keys, using them to rip off fabric from his button down. Then, he wraps it around Frank's head as a make shift bandage. From what he's sure is off of pure anxious adrenaline, Allie manages to pick Frank up, hurrying them to his car.*
*Frank was still the whole time Allister carried him to the car, though he squirmed a little once he was put into the passenger’s seat. He groaned again as his head fell to the side, then vomited into his mouth, some dribbling out of his slack mouth and down his chin.*
*Allie frowns worriedly. He finds wet wipes in the center console and reaches over to gently wipe away what escaped Frank's mouth.* "Oh baby, Christ. I got you, okay? Deep breaths for me, best you can." *He opens the windows for fresh air, puts in directions, and begins to drive, definitely speeding his way to the nearest hospital. Allister is a decent driver, whispering an apology for any bump in the road.*
(this takes place right after the concert, if you can’t tell)
*Frank had suffered throughout the entire show. His memory was foggy from all the drugs they’d pumped into him to allow him to even function, but from what he could recall, it was all miserable—watching someone dressed as him get shot down, seeing Gerard get stabbed for the millionth time, being dragged off stage with a black bag over his head—it was just horrible. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep himself together after every other concert.*
*Now things were falling apart. Frank could feel himself crashing, feel the medications mix together and drain out of his system and leave him as sad, molten rubble. He felt nauseous and tired and his head felt like it was going to crack itself open. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy and made his head hurt even more. He’d begged to be able to wear an eye covering during the show, because just looking at lights was painful to him, but he’d been told to suck it up for appearances’ sakes.*
*Appearances weren’t worth it. If not for all the painkillers and the stimulants and whatever the hell else, Frank probably wouldn’t have been able to function. He was thankful that his muscle memory hadn’t left him, because if it had, he would’ve been completely screwed.*
*Well, not really. If he couldn’t play, he wouldn’t have had to tough it out on stage.*
*He slumped against a nearby wall, his eyes landing on a shallow puddle by his feet. He could barely make out his reflection but he still groaned and looked away. He hated the sight of his own face, especially now, after the man who shared it had killed him. All of his loathing was targeted towards him, the Sentinel; though Frank supposed his own cowardice that got him killed was frustrating as well. Like, maybe if he had done anything but pretend than acting like a kicked puppy would save him, he might not have missed a week of his life and had to deal with all this torment. And if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid to sent a death threat to the entire goddamn government, he wouldn’t have even had to worry about that.*
*Frank’s leg suddenly gave out, and he fell to the floor. He yelped in pain as his head hit the wall, not hard enough to cause damage but enough to make his head feel like it was exploding. He cupped his hands over his eyes and cried out weakly, tears of pain clouding them. Everything was spinning, even though he was on the ground, and it wasn’t long before it all faded to black.*
*Allister wandered outside the venue. Too long had past since he'd managed to leave his home. Especially with the station's disarray to aid his lack of reasoning to do so. The concert was amazing to the general public, per usual. He hadn't seen Frank in a week. He looked so tired on stage tonight. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his partner? That wasn't right. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his... lover, lifemate, obsession, peace, joy, home, friend, was to come out.*
"This isn't right." *Allie murmured to himself. Normally, Frank was out quicker than this. He checked his watch. 2 hours? What? It had been 2 hours and he hadn't seen Frank leave? The bench was on the way to the bus, Frank had to walk past it to get there.*
*Panic set deep in his chest and he couldn't sit still anymore. With a shaky breath, Allister stood up and began to search for the rhythm guitarist. He ran his hands obsessively over the fabric of his dress pants in an attempt to calm himself while he looked. He re-entered the venue, first checking back stage. Nothing. The green room? No? Fuck. His guitar tech was gone, he couldn't ask him. The others must be in the bus by now. Silence filled his ears, constricting the broadcaster's lungs. He was near running searching for Frank.*
*His frantic checking of the venue proved to be fruitless. He quietly cursed his insanity,* "C'mon Allie, you're fine. Frank's fine. Stop fucking panicking for one second, okay? You're fine. You're fine, You're fine, You're fucking fi-," *Allister ran out the door and froze in his tracks. Frank was laying on the pavement, passed out. He choked back a sob of worry as he knelt down to check on him.*
"Frank? Frankie, baby, wake up. Wake up please." *The taller man begged, cradling the other in his hands, one hand rested behind his head, rubbing soothingly over the bump from hitting the black top. Could unconscious people feel physical pain? Whatever. The other maneuvered Frank haphazardly over his lap, shaking him lightly.*
*Tears fell onto Frank's face.* "Please. Please wake up. Please! This isn't funny Frank, please." *His voice cracked, his forehead resting against Frank's*
*Frank groaned quietly, but otherwise he stayed limp in Allister’s arms. His breathing was steady, maybe a little shallow. Blood started to soak his hair from the cut in his head, which had been reopened when he’d fallen.*
*Allister looks at his hand, eyes going wide as he sees the blood* "No, no, no, no, no.." *His hands shake and he gets his keys, using them to rip off fabric from his button down. Then, he wraps it around Frank's head as a make shift bandage. From what he's sure is off of pure anxious adrenaline, Allie manages to pick Frank up, hurrying them to his car.*
(this takes place right after the concert, if you can’t tell)
*Frank had suffered throughout the entire show. His memory was foggy from all the drugs they’d pumped into him to allow him to even function, but from what he could recall, it was all miserable—watching someone dressed as him get shot down, seeing Gerard get stabbed for the millionth time, being dragged off stage with a black bag over his head—it was just horrible. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep himself together after every other concert.*
*Now things were falling apart. Frank could feel himself crashing, feel the medications mix together and drain out of his system and leave him as sad, molten rubble. He felt nauseous and tired and his head felt like it was going to crack itself open. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy and made his head hurt even more. He’d begged to be able to wear an eye covering during the show, because just looking at lights was painful to him, but he’d been told to suck it up for appearances’ sakes.*
*Appearances weren’t worth it. If not for all the painkillers and the stimulants and whatever the hell else, Frank probably wouldn’t have been able to function. He was thankful that his muscle memory hadn’t left him, because if it had, he would’ve been completely screwed.*
*Well, not really. If he couldn’t play, he wouldn’t have had to tough it out on stage.*
*He slumped against a nearby wall, his eyes landing on a shallow puddle by his feet. He could barely make out his reflection but he still groaned and looked away. He hated the sight of his own face, especially now, after the man who shared it had killed him. All of his loathing was targeted towards him, the Sentinel; though Frank supposed his own cowardice that got him killed was frustrating as well. Like, maybe if he had done anything but pretend than acting like a kicked puppy would save him, he might not have missed a week of his life and had to deal with all this torment. And if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid to sent a death threat to the entire goddamn government, he wouldn’t have even had to worry about that.*
*Frank’s leg suddenly gave out, and he fell to the floor. He yelped in pain as his head hit the wall, not hard enough to cause damage but enough to make his head feel like it was exploding. He cupped his hands over his eyes and cried out weakly, tears of pain clouding them. Everything was spinning, even though he was on the ground, and it wasn’t long before it all faded to black.*
*Allister wandered outside the venue. Too long had past since he'd managed to leave his home. Especially with the station's disarray to aid his lack of reasoning to do so. The concert was amazing to the general public, per usual. He hadn't seen Frank in a week. He looked so tired on stage tonight. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his partner? That wasn't right. Maybe he could sit at the bench til his... lover, lifemate, obsession, peace, joy, home, friend, was to come out.*
"This isn't right." *Allie murmured to himself. Normally, Frank was out quicker than this. He checked his watch. 2 hours? What? It had been 2 hours and he hadn't seen Frank leave? The bench was on the way to the bus, Frank had to walk past it to get there.*
*Panic set deep in his chest and he couldn't sit still anymore. With a shaky breath, Allister stood up and began to search for the rhythm guitarist. He ran his hands obsessively over the fabric of his dress pants in an attempt to calm himself while he looked. He re-entered the venue, first checking back stage. Nothing. The green room? No? Fuck. His guitar tech was gone, he couldn't ask him. The others must be in the bus by now. Silence filled his ears, constricting the broadcaster's lungs. He was near running searching for Frank.*
*His frantic checking of the venue proved to be fruitless. He quietly cursed his insanity,* "C'mon Allie, you're fine. Frank's fine. Stop fucking panicking for one second, okay? You're fine. You're fine, You're fine, You're fucking fi-," *Allister ran out the door and froze in his tracks. Frank was laying on the pavement, passed out. He choked back a sob of worry as he knelt down to check on him.*
"Frank? Frankie, baby, wake up. Wake up please." *The taller man begged, cradling the other in his hands, one hand rested behind his head, rubbing soothingly over the bump from hitting the black top. Could unconscious people feel physical pain? Whatever. The other maneuvered Frank haphazardly over his lap, shaking him lightly.*
*Tears fell onto Frank's face.* "Please. Please wake up. Please! This isn't funny Frank, please." *His voice cracked, his forehead resting against Frank's*
It is now incredibly inconvenient for me to access tumblr as consistently as i did so I apologize for the lack of posting. It might get better if I can fix some things.
OP: HAHAHAHAHAHHAH OH MY GOD YES I HAVE LITERED EVERYTHING IVE EVER POSTED AND CONVERSATIONS I'VE HAD IN DMS RPING WITH ASOTM REFERENCES ON ALLIE'S PAGE
the first son is also what you all the eldest son of the president. but yes, i made this blog directly after reading asotm and it worsened my psychotic episode 10 fold. i thought "let's add so many fucking references"
one of the conversations allie had with frank he said "no one ever said loving you was going to be easy" sooooo yes. this made my night. thank you
when i read "It read: Ballato To Defend First Son" i went, out loud, to my sleeping dog: "holy shit. this was a reference, isn't it." my dog awakened and looked at me like im crazy
im going to finish reading this and then re-read ur whole blog. how could you do this to me
OP: thomas that shit was so bad i fucking SPLIT frank and gee. if u ever get dc i gotta send u the reaction images i had while reading.
btw. you will be ruined. like i was already in an episode when i started reading it. it deadass made me see shit i haven't in years. and am now still seeing.
