only skin deep

but we are all just animals we are all

[drakethorne]

Christmas Eve, such a beautiful time

[drakethorne]

Drake suddenly stopped when he heard Marcel’s remark, he was shocked to say the least “I wasn’t laughing at you” He quickly replied before resuming his slow walk throughout the crowds of shoppers trying to get their last minute shopping done. “Where was the last place you saw them sweetie?” He asked before seeing the little girl pointing towards the wicca emporium “I’m sure they are in there” He lied before picking up the pace towards the shop. He couldn’t help but sigh at Marcel’s plans “I’m sure a quick detour won’t scupper those precious plans Mars”

[marcel-devereaux]

Rolling his eyes Marcel made some noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. He didn't grace the comment with acknowledging it farther than that. His fingers grasped at the stones in his pocket as his eyes shifted from Drake to the child. Another scoff escaped his lips. He almost said that Drake shouldn't lie to the child but even he wasn't that cruel. Instead he focused on the last thing the blonde had said. "First off, it better not because that was the only thing I had to look forward to. Secondly, stop with the Mars thing. It's fu- really stupid."

[drakethorne]

Christmas Eve, such a beautiful time

[drakethorne]

Drake couldn’t help but laugh internally at the words which were escaping from Marcel’s mouth. He didn’t know if he was being serious or not, but of course Drake didn’t want to say anything in case he was being serious and he offended him. “There is no off switch” he chuckled before walking slowly to the little child before bending down “Hey sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He asked sweetly before taking a hold of her hand “Can’t you find your parents?”. Within a second, the little girl nodded before Drake stood up with her hand still in his. “Why don’t we go and find them, come on sweetheart, I promise they are around here somewhere” he smiled before walking away, slowly. “You coming?”

[marcel-devereaux]

A swear was on the tip of his tongue, but remembering that there was a small child in close proximity, Marcel just angrily shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Whatever. I want to make sure it gets home." Marcel grumbled as he easily caught up with the two. "And stop laughing at me. I know that you are laughing at me. It's not funny. I don't do..." He vaguely gestured to the little girl." He sighed, trying to ignore the way the little girl was whimpering. "And i just wanted to get drunk tonight. Those were my Christmas Eve and Christmas plans."

[aelinwel]

[drakethorne]

Christmas Eve, such a beautiful time

[drakethorne]

Drake walked slowly past the shop windows, scanning them in order to make sure that they were filled with as much Christmas joy as possible. If there as one thing that Drake disliked, it was the fact that people didn’t go all out for Christmas. To him, the holiday was a time of happiness, of laughter and of good memories, but this year, like the others without his husband, would be different for Drake. He was simply planned to sit in front of the television and eat his weight in whatever was in his pantry, not that this was his first plan, but it was the only option which he had and seeing as it was Christmas Eve, he wasn’t about to get a better one. Within a second, he turned quickly around when he heard the voice of Marcel. He remembered it very clearly, as if their last interaction had only been a few minute ago. For a second he was still shocked about what he had done, but the second that he met the other man’s eyes, he let all of that melt away. He could see the sadness in his eyes and his heart went out to him. “Hey, what is the matter Mars?” He gently said.

[marcel-devereaux]

Marcel glared pointedly as if that were the dumbest question he'd ever heard. Leaning down, he brought the small girl attached to his leg up to rest on his hip. He held her as if he'd doe it a million times before, but internally Marcel felt highly awkward. He couldn't do kids. They were tiny and fragile and breakable and he knew that he was going to eventually make this worse. But Drake had that irritatingly nice quality about him so he had to be good with the little fuckers. "This is a child." The brunet stated simply. "A crying child. How do I fix this? Where is the off switch?" Despite his words, his free hand was coming up to run through the girl's hair like his mother had when he'd cry during the first year of his experiments. "What do I do with this?"

[drakethorne]

Christmas Eve, such a beautiful time

All the shop windows filled with Christmas decorations and watching the children’s eyes as they walk past it. There is something magical about all of that.  

[marcel-devereaux]

Since his meeting with Josephine, Marcel had been in uncharacteristically high spirits. He knew it was just a myth, something to ease his mind the stones that he held in pockets, but in reality a part of him knew that it was just a bunch of bullshit meant to comfort him. Still, the mix of what little holiday spirit he had and the stones had Marcel almost smiling as he walked down the street. He didn't even mind as a child bumped into him, tears in her large brown eyes. He did, however, mind when she started to wail and clung to his leg ad repeatedly albeit slightly unintelligibly, asked for her mother. Stiffly, Marcel ran his fingers through the girl's hair with a helpless look on his face because if there were two things he could not do it was be mean to a child and children in general. He heard a familiar voice, babbling about Christmas and beautiful times and all that other nonsense, so Marcel did the first thing he could think of. He blindly reached for that annoying familiar person and said, "Help me."

[marcel-devereaux]

LOST THE BATTLE, WON THE WAR ➸ JOSEPHINE & MARCEL

[callingcherry]

Josephine watched with dismay as the boy scrambled away from her, his body pressing itself back up against the cold stone of the tomb. She withdrew her hand, her eyes still trained on him as he brought his knees up, the sobs shaking through his entire body. Worrying her lip for a moment, stood upright again and turned to leave. This was far more than she had bargained for. In fact, it was exactly what she had intended to avoid when she disbanded the coven; feelings and issues.

Just one more step, one measly step, and she might have been out of ear-shot. As it were, she heard every word of Marcel’s prattles. Elliot. Mayor Devereaux. Anti-Witch propagandist extraordinaire. She, of course, knew that Elliot was Marcel’s older brother. Hell, she had even used the fact as ammunition against the boy. She also knew that the mayor was extreme in his hatred toward witches, but she had never known how far it stretched. She had absolutely no idea that the lithe fingers of his hatred had been long enough to reach and curl around Marcel’s throat, but they had.

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Josephine turned, walking back to him and kneeling in front of him. “Marcel, hush,” she breathed, placing her hands on either side of his cheeks, forcing him to look into her eyes. “He’s not here, just me. It’s just me.” For the first time in what seemed like years, she felt empathy, her soothing voice coming out in ribbons. “I’ll protect you. He won’t hurt you, I swear.”

[marcel-devereaux]

Her touch sent everything reeling within him. He wanted to fight her off, but the force of her intent left him immobile. So there he sat, trying to rein in his own emotions as she spoke to him. Embarrassment was the overwhelming whole of what he felt. He spoke often of how his brother had hurt him, of how Elliot and the entire Devereaux family were dead to him, but Marcel never really spoke of what he'd been through. Once or twice he'd say that he was experimented on, but no one knew what that meant. No one had gone through what he had gone through and on some level the male hoped that no one ever would. Witches were human beings and as angry as he was at the world, he didn't want anyone to end up like him.

After taking a few more steadying breaths, Marcel weakly bat the woman's hands away and stood. "Protect me?" His voice was small, curious and innocent like it had been once upon a time ago. There was, however, a bitter edge to it. "How would you do that? Will you check beneath my bed for monsters and make sure I don't sleep alone if I sleep at all? You can't save me or protect me or promise he won't hurt me because my monster isn't something so easily gotten rid of. He's very real and he has power over this city and power over you and me. People love him and he makes sure they hate us. What are you going to protect me from?"

The question was serious. What could she protect him from? It was too late to save him. He was all ready battered and broken and beaten. Would she keep it from happening again? Even if the thought relieved him, he couldn't believe it fully. Would she simply shelter him from everything? That wouldn't work either because the scars, mental and physical, were very prominent evidence of what he had been put through and hadn't been protected from. "I appreciate the offer, but I doubt you could protect me." Honesty. For once he was being honest. Maybe it was the lack of light and his heightened apprehension and anxiety, but he appreciated that she said the words. No one had ever promised to protect him before.

[adelaide-ward]

"Hey, don’t call me Addie," she shook her head, shoving him away. "We’re mean horrible people, Marcel Devereaux; we aren’t even allowed to smile. And I certainly don’t enjoy being kissed by you. Better be careful though, folks will start talking if you keep this up."

[marcel-devereaux]

"Oh, and what should I be careful of Addie? What are folks going to say about me that they aren't all ready whispering about?"

[marcel-devereaux]

LOST THE BATTLE, WON THE WAR ➸ JOSEPHINE & MARCEL

[callingcherry]

It was a simple word. Coward. Her mother had breathed it in her ear just before she disappeared, the word laced with enough malice to kill. She had shrugged it off then, but it still remained deep within her heart, gnawing at her, eating her from the inside out. Upon hearing the word, she glanced over at her grandmother’s tomb; she would call her a coward as well if she were still alive. 

Quickly, Josephine’s eyes snapped back to Marcel. Any apprehension she had about destroying the boy left her as she exhaled, her eyes narrowing and the tips of her fingers growing hot in mere agitation. She brought her hand up, her fingers playing at a pendant she wore around her neck. “Fine,” she spat. She flicked her wrist, and sent Marcel slamming back against the wall. Another flourish and the vines of the kudzu laced up her grandmother’s tomb bound his wrists and ankles. “You want the Evil Queen, you’ll get the Evil Queen.”

"Voodoo goes back a long way," she began, pacing back and forth. "It was brought to Louisiana from Haiti and Africa hundreds of years ago. Now, there are certain rules which every practitioner of the craft must follow. Do you know what the most important one is, Marcel?" She stopped pacing, her eyes slicing up to him. Grinning, she approached, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Respect your elders," the venom in her voice contrasted with the caress of her cheek, but the faux-kindness was short-lived, as she slapped him, her razor-sharp fingernails leaving blossoming red scratches on skin.

As she stepped away, another vine came up and wrapped tightly around his throat. She could feel the power pulsating through her, the tightness constricting, cutting off any chance of air he ever hoped to attain. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, and she sucked in a deep breath. She could end it right here, right now. The feeling of his life slipping away, his power draining, was almost tangible.

Exhaling, she felt the vines uncurl themselves and return to their original state, the loud thump of Marcel’s body as it hit the cold ground. Turning, she looked at him and walked over. “Never disrespect me again,” she seethed, though her eyes didn’t match her tone. Rolling her eyes and biting her lip, she extended her hand, hoping he would accept the offer to be helped up.

[marcel-devereaux]

Everything happened so fast. One second he was standing in front of her, the next Marcel could hear the sickening crack of the impact of his body against the weathered stone. He let out a low hiss of pain. Vines slid up from the ground, coiling around his body and tangling amongst themselves to keep him trapped, and through it all he remained more or less silent. Glaring, he watched Josephine as she paced him and couldn't help but make the cynical parallel that she resembled so much a villian from a movie; monologue all prepared and a look of victory in her eyes. The way she felt, it seeped into him and dulled the pain even though he wanted nothing more than to feel the pain heightened.

He watched her warily as she approached him and spoke. The caress of her hand was short lived in its tenderness as she followed quickly with a slap that caused a stinging pain in the side of his face. Once more he let out a low noise of pain, but refused to shout. These things he could take. This was nothing compared to what he had been through before and he'd be damned if she got him to cry from such a weak amount of effort and force. No, he could handle this. Child's play - this was nothing more than child's play and Marcel wouldn't submit to a child.

A short laugh. That's what he managed before she seemed to up the force and a vine slid around his neck. And that was it. The familiar feeling of losing control, of being at someone's mercy, that had Marcel stock still as the vine pressed harder and cut off his air ways. He swallowed, kept trying to force air down till his eyes watered from the pressure. Memories rushed back and something inside of him snapped. She might kill him and while he wanted that one some level, it scared him. 

As soon as it started, the vines were released. His vision had blurred, spots blocking what little clear sight he had and Marcel gripped at the dewy grass trying to regain control of himself. But it didn't seem to happen. He felt so small, so insignificant and weak. It was the same way he felt after every experiment his brother had forced him through. In this moment he was no longer Marcel Devereaux, he was that scared and unlovable creature that wasn't even human. He ignored her hand, pushing himself back against the wall of the mausoleum, curling his knees up to his chest like a child as he let out a ragged sob. Another followed suit and then another and another until tears freed slowly and Marcel was babbling incoherently aloud.

"Elliot stop." He begged. "Just leave me alone. Please, Elliot. Please. I'll change. I can still change, just stop hurting me."

[marcel-devereaux]

LOST THE BATTLE, WON THE WAR ➸ JOSEPHINE & MARCEL

[callingcherry]

Josephine shrugged on her leather jacket, the color matching perfectly with the riding boots she had pulled on just a few minutes earlier. She fixed her make-up in the mirror, tightening her ponytail as she grimaced at her reflection. This wasn’t where she had wanted to be, what she had hoped her night would consist of. Instead of being curled around the body of some sweaty man, she was going to be beating some sense and respect into the mayor’s little brother.

There were worse things to be done on cold, December nights.

It wasn’t a long trip to her grandmother’s mausoleum. Her eyes caught the letters and messages people still wrote to her, asking her for guidance. It had been her duty to do the same, but she had shrugged the responsibility. Now, approaching the tomb and seeing the young witch leaning against the stone, feeling his apathy sink through the ground and into her veins, she regretted that decision for the first time.

"Marcel," she called out, shoving her hands into her pockets and narrowing her eyes at him. God, he was just a boy, just a couple years younger than her. Sighing, she clenched her fists in her pockets. "I’ll give you the opportunity to strike first," she stated, taking a step closer to him. "You had better make it count, because if counter, you won’t walk out of this cemetery without help." It was all the warning she would give him. She braced herself, unsure of what he was truly capable of.

[marcel-devereaux]

He'd grown bored waiting for her, an itching anxiety arising beneath his skin; the itch that he couldn't scratch. With a heavy sigh, he leant against the cold stone of the mausoleum. The stone was wet and uncomfortable against the bare skin of his arm, but it dulled the feeling he couldn't shake within him.. For what seemed like hours that slowly ticked by in the form of seconds and minutes, Marcel waited. When she finally came into view, it was almost as if he could breathe out a sigh of relief. Which was admittedly odd, but he couldn't help it.

Her apprehension was almost palpable beneath his fingers. His gift, or whatever talent he excelled in, had always been in reading emotions and intentions. It was why he was so good at irritating others - he knew the buttons to push and could physically feel the emotional shift when he'd hit the right trigger before they even showed their annoyance with him. But apprehension, that wasn't what he'd meant to get out of her. Looking at her curiously, Marcel pushed himself up from the grave and took a step forward.

A cruel smirk twisted his lips as he looked at her. "I'm not here to fight you." He replied easily, strolling forward till he stood right before her. His arms spread wide, head tilted down to look at her, Marcel was the picture of over confidence despite inside he was bracing himself for the pain. "I'm here to see what you can do to me. So do it. Unless you're exactly what I assumed you were from the start: a coward."

[adelaide-ward]

She dodged his hand, his fingers barely brushing the top of her hair, but he still managed to mess it up. Reaching up to smooth it, she allowed herself a soft chuckle. “The dark’s made you crazier than usual, Devereaux. Going around kissing people.”

[marcel-devereaux]

"Careful there, Addie," he chided, "someone would think that you're actually enjoying my edginess. And that just won't do. You're not allowed to enjoy anything. Especially not getting kissed by me."

[holden-lundt-deactivated2013122]

Uh.

[holden-lundt-deactivated2013122]

Well. That’s… certainly one way to look at it.

[marcel-devereaux]

"It's my way of looking at it. Deal with it."

[marcel-devereaux]

LOST THE BATTLE, WON THE WAR ➸ JOSEPHINE & MARCEL

"You're competing for what's all ready mine, and it's misleading that you think you had a choice. Cause none of these things are happening. Oh, none of these things are happening. There's no need for you here anymore. I don't have to move my arms to win this fight and put you back to the floor. I can take you down with the words in my mind and put you back to the floor." - Data Romance, Arms

Soft earth gave way beneath his feet as Marcel stood, waiting, in the cemetery next to the mausoleum of Marie Laveau. On the cold December night, the air was crisp, clean, and stung his lungs as he breathed in unevenly and out. Any other night and the statuesque male might have been able to put on a much more brave front, but with the power outage Marcel's uneasiness was obvious. Flashes of memories that could on be associated with pain arose in the night, without the lights and only dim moonlighting to guide the way. All he could see, all he could feel, was prodding touching and incisions and the scars that decorated his body were proof enough of what he'd been through. Marcel hid behind the mapped stories of raised flesh that healed unevenly. He was a victim, a prisoner to them. A shell of the person he once was, the only thing he could find excitement in now was the pain that came with rejection and physical assertion because it reminded him that he was still alive. Elliot hadn't killed him and he hadn't taken away anything from him.

That was why the young man stood in the cemetery waiting for Josephine Lovelace. He wanted her to hurt him. He wanted her to show him that he could still feel it all. If she did, she'd unknowingly be doing him a favour. Marcel hadn't been lying when he said that he lacked self-preservation. Maybe one day it would all just stop. Maybe one day he would die and finally have that eternal peace, but for now he wasn't giving up just yet and the idea of being just wasn't enough. He wanted to see what she could do to him. He wanted her to make him feel alive.

[styleshelps]

Dianna Agron & Bill Skarsgard

[bigbrother-salvatore-deactivate]

No, Marcel.

It’s you who never knew yourself.

[marcel-devereaux]

[holden-lundt-deactivated2013122]

Uh.

So. It’s… really dark.

When did that happen, exactly?

[marcel-devereaux]

"Does it matter when? All that matters is it is fucking dark and now one is able to fix it."

[adelaide-ward]

"Seriously, I’m not—" But before she can protest the words that he’s chosen to describe her, he’s leaning down and kissing her; her eyes go wide, and for the moment she isn’t sure how to react. Devereaux is never soft with her, no matter what they’re up to, and this steals her thoughts and leaves her temporarily speechless. When she finally catches her bearings she’s stuttering and confused. "Damn, Devereaux—what the hell—have you lost your m-mind?"

[marcel-devereaux]

He smirked, reaching forward to ruffle her hair like a person would a child's. "You know I've never had a mind to lose."

[bigbrother-salvatore-deactivate]

Marcel…. I’ve known you your entire life, and here you try to tell me I don’t know you..? Well…

When you finally realize all that I’ve done was with your well-being in mind… Then come home. But for now, I have to work on this power outage. This isn’t you speaking…. This… This is someone else.

[marcel-devereaux]

"You don't know me."

"I'm not coming back. No. No. You're lying. This is me."