#Guy walked up to Satan and absolutely ROASTED him

[aureentuluva70]

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers With an MC That’s Only Soft for Them

So, cute Headcanons are my kryptonite! Please enjoy, my fluff loving brethren!

Lucifer

We at Stupid Headcanons inc. recommend that MC does not inflate this bastard’s ego further, but if they choose to…

Lucifer, the morning star, a high ranking demon, does not need MC’s affection… that was a lie he C R A V E S it.

This pairing is actually quite complimentary, Lucifer is only soft for MC, MC is only soft for Lucifer, perfectly balanced.

MC shouldn’t expect Lucifer to be too reciprocal to their affections in public until they’re both neck deep into the relationship, but in private, hoo boy.

The “good job!”s, the hugs, the quick pecks on the cheek, all of it just made Lucifer practically melt. He adores all the affection, and it’s all for him.

Finally, someone in this house appreciates him…

“Lucifer, try not to overwork yourself, if you need anything, just ask, okay?” “Thank you, MC.” “Hey MC! I need help, pass me the remote.” “YOU CAN WALK OFF A CLIFF BELPHIE! Love you, Lucifer.”

And to be honest, some of the roasts are funny, but MC, dearest, please dial down the sass near Lord Diavolo.

Mammon

Of course MC’s favourite is the Great Mammon! Heh, who else would it be? Not that he needs this human’s affection or anything!

…screw it, please MC, give him more head pats.

Hand holding, hugs, resting his head on MC’s lap… Mammon’s really living the life.

In public Mammon is constantly trying to get MC to shower him in praise and affection in his own weird tsundere kind of way. It’s good thing MC is always willing to give their demon all the love they have.

It just makes him so happy that all of MC’s affection belongs to him, it makes his greedy little heart sing.

MC’s love and care tragically does not save him from being caught for his shenanigans, but MC, stone cold bitch that they are, will always do something bad to get strung up next to him.

“MC, what’re ya doin’ here?” “Oh you know babe, just hanging around.”

Nothing makes him smile more than when they stick up for him, to MC, he isn’t scummy trash, he’s the great Mammon! Their super amazing guardian! He does what he can to live up to MC’s image of him!

Since Mammon’s super supportive of his human, he’ll always provide reaction sound affects whenever MC delivers a verbal smack down.

Levi

MC likes him? Must be a joke. Who’d like a gross Otaku like him…?

The human exchange student apparently.

They’d listen with a look of pure adoration on their face whenever Levi would ramble about his favourite anime, they’d help him organize his figurines, they’d play video games with him…

Man… MC’s really playing the long con here on this practical joke.

When Levi isn’t drowning in self doubt, he absolutely loves how sweet and gentle MC is around him, a side only he gets to see… *swoon*

A cold mean character that’s only soft for their love interest??? That’s one of Levi’s top five favourite romantic tropes!

Levi’s often taking notes on MC’s snappy remarks so he can sass people while he streams, he’s not too good at it, so he just streams with MC present. His viewership goes up whenever exponentially whenever MC says anything.

“Someone in the chat just said I must be insanely lonely-” “There’s no way in hell you’re lonelier than that guy at night. His bed ranks number one in the top ten loneliest places ever.”

Satan

At first, Satan took more of an analytical interest in MC’s attitude, they’re either suicidally impulsive or very confident in their ability to run from danger if they think they can sass demons and get away unscathed.

Once the two connect and MC goes soft for him, it’s game over. Satan’s weakness is cute things, and nothing is cuter to him than his usually mean MC raining affection and compliments down upon him!

Satan finally has a leg up on Lucifer! The human adores him and isn’t afraid to talk back to that pretentious motherfucker-

MC sits in Satan’s lap and the two read together, they smuggle cats into the house, they lay in bed together plotting the downfall of their enemies… just normal couple things.

Sometimes MC just sits next to him and makes a particularly nasty quip at someone else, then give him a big ol kiss on the cheek.

It just makes him oh so happy…

“Honey, I brought you tea!” “Ah, thank you MC.” “I took it from Lucifer’s private stash of relaxing tea :D” “You really are my soulmate, aren’t you?”

Asmo

Gasp! MC’s so mean! Do it more!

Asmo, sassy god he is, appreciates a good snide remark or twelve, so he’s always got a front row seat to MC’s shennaniganery.

Before the pact, he was back in the peanut gallery with Satan wondering when MC’s words would come back to bite them, but after the pact, nothing’s touching the human. Their sass is completely consequence-less as long as Asmo’s around!

These two are a match made in hell, literally. Asmo and MC get to be so in sync that they manage to make each other’s insults better by working together.

“I’d give you the name of a few surgery places but I don’t think they implant brains into unlucky people like yourself.” “They might be able to implant a better personality though~.”

Asmo’s fully willing to flaunt his relationship in public. Sort of in a “look at us! MC’s only nice to me! Eat shit losers!” kind of way.

It isn’t all vanity and insults, MC always finds a way to make Asmo feel better whenever he’s feeling down. MC makes sure to tell Asmo as often as possible that they love him for more than just his looks, and it makes the Avatar of Lust swoon.

Just as long as MC never turns their razor sharp wit on Asmo, he’s their cheerleader forever.

Beel

Good choice, MC.

Despite his resting bitch face, Beel’s a big softie, everyone knows that, and as the Simpsons said, ‘the strong must protect the sweet’.

Well… MC isn’t as strong as Beel, but they will verbally eviscerate anyone who even dares insinuate anything not nice about their precious gigantic cinnamon roll!

“Listen up bitches! Not you Beel, we’re all glad you’re here.” “^_^” “Y’ALL ARE IN DEEP SHIT.”

Beel loves how affectionate MC is! Doesn’t matter if it’s in public or private, he and MC are almost always at least holding hands.

MC always has emergency snacks on them, they never get upset when Beel eats everything in the house, they just smile and hand over whatever food they have on them and help fix the problem.

Beel is probably one of the only characters who would try and get MC to branch out and be nicer to everyone and not just him. Whether this works depends on MC.

Belphie

Does he deserve this? No. Did he almost start crying when MC began to show him genuine care and affection? Yes. Does he nearly die of laughter every time MC snaps at someone? Yes.

Belphie’s not sure why MC decided that they were going to love him of all demons… but they just… understand him.

They listened patiently and offered a shoulder to cry on, even after he hurt them… their understanding, their compassion, just wow. Belphie really lucked out.

MC lets him nap, fluffs his pillows, reminds him to wash his pillow cases and comforter, gets him sushi, like geez… what a simp… *sniffle*

In return, Belphie offers cuddles. Cuddles and quality time together. For the first time in how many millennia Belphie is going to get off his ass and do something for someone if they ask.

It’s a miracle.

Belphie isn’t one for flaunting a relationship but… he may just let some people know that this super mean human likes him the most by giving his human a quick kiss.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Hestia

This is another eternally virgin goddess, so we're doing another pseudo-demigod by adoption (like we did with Athena).

Demigod MC: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia

Hestia is the goddess of the Hearth, Home, Architecture, Domesticity, Family, and the State. She's high up there (firstborn of Rhea and Cronus), but several factors have led to her falling into the background when compared to the other (flashier) Olympians. She swore to never marry, rejecting proposals from both Poseidon and Apollo, and is something of an antithesis to Aphrodite.

Lucifer

Honestly? He thought they were exactly what they were after. A weak human with no experience in the magical world what-so-ever.

Well… He was half-right.

On the surface, this is a pretty weak human. They don't have super flashy powers or a divine birth from the gods… but they do have a very protective adoptive mother.

The brothers had just settled in for their first dinner with the new human when the goddess herself strolled into their dining room, asked who was in charge, then dragged Lucifer away by the ear!

She's not even his mother, yet he felt the intense urge to apologize and put himself in his own room… Oh, the humiliation… at least she did the same to Diavolo…

The Prince was only able to calm her down by promising absolutely NO harm would come to her child… on their heads...

By the time the goddess finally let him go, Lucifer was about ready to shackle the MC to his wrist so nothing could touch them but he settled on keeping them with him like an assistant of sorts. They were in charge of helping him with the paperwork so he could keep an eye on them. 

What he didn’t expect was for them to be so… good at it? They could keep his offices clean, they managed his daily schedule, fixed up the House, and still have time to bring him tea and sweets every night!

They could even reign in his brothers somehow… They weren't strong or intimidating, but one or two mildly unhappy words out of them and everybody would be on their best behavior.

Was everyone positive they're only human...?

As much as he hated to admit, he may have a slight deep case of falling for the housekeeper… He would make a move, but well…

He has Beel to contend with first.

Mammon

Okay so, watching Lucifer get dragged out by the ear just like Raphael used to do to him was hilarious!!! The whole room got a good laugh! 🤣

Until Hestia glared at them and suddenly they all felt like they'd disappointed someone important….

And all that fuss over some dumb human??

So what if they made amazing food?

So what if they could clean the entire mansion in a day?

So what if they were the walking equivalent to a warm cup of cocoa on a winter's day??

So what if they were just the kindest, sweetest thing in this godforsaken hellscape and he would throw himself in front of a bus to keep them safe-

-Wait, when did that happen?!?

Seriously, Mammon's attachment to the MC came out of NOWHERE to him. One day, he was threatening to eat their soul and the next he's freaking out when they stub their toe!

He swears they have to have some kind of magic about them! A charm, or a spell, or… their lovable smile and warm, loving hugs...! 😊

Damnit!! They're too cute!! He needs them to go away but also never leave, thanks. 😒

In all seriousness, though their kind nature puts Mammon's tsundere self at a bit of a disadvantage, his protective instincts shoot through the roof whenever they're involved.

Naturally, that means his day is spent running them away from hungry lesser demons or shielding them from Beel and Lucifer's tug-of-war matches… He's a busy guy these days. 😖

Leviathan 

They're so… so… MOE!!!

That was his immediate thought when Mammon brought them home. He was expecting a defenseless human, but not one that could have stepped out of one of his slice-of-life manga!

To be honest, his instant thought was try and find a place to sit them on his shelves with the rest of the adorable characters he loves… 😅

And that was before they even opened their mouth! Five words into their introduction and he was ready to get their face on a t-shirt!!

Honestly, combine their natural cuteness with their household skills and they made for perfect waifu/husbando material… 

Not helped by the fact they found one of his maid/butler outfits while doing the laundry one day. Not only did they ask if they could wear it, they actually non-ironically liked it and started wearing it around the House!!

Oh he got cornered by Beel, Lucifer, and Mammon separately that day because they thought he was using them for fetish fuel… But it was their idea, he swears!!

I mean… He didn't discourage them or anything either but still…

If Beel hadn't claimed them on Day One, Levi might have eventually thrown his hat in the ring too... Oh well… he can pine from a distance… What else is new? 😔

Satan

He has a video of Hestia dragging Lucifer out of the dining room on his phone and it's one of his most treasured possessions now. 😌

He is perhaps the only person in the House who was not at all impressed with their little human.

So they could cook? So could he. So they can clean? That's not impressive. They could manage a household? Big deal, he's more or less been in charge of the same thing for centuries!

As far as he saw it, there was nothing the MC could do that he couldn't do as proficiently or even better. There was nothing remarkable about this human at all!

… except for one thing.

That maid/butler outfit of Levi's? The one they like to wear around?

It has cat accessories…

Either they don't notice or they don't mind it but they essentially walk around the House cleaning things with little kitty ears attached to their head and a bell on their collar…

Dammit… Why did Levi even buy that?!?

Satan ended up getting in trouble for enchanting their outfit to give them REAL ears and a tail "accidentally..." Lucifer strung him up by his toes, Beel gave him a black-eye, and Mammon still calls him a "perverted cat freak" but it was worth it, he says, worth it!!

Asmodeus 

Oh Beel…

Asmo saw Beel's feelings for the MC coming from a mile away. He didn't even need to confirm it with a sniff check, he had them scented by the end of their first night!

Lucifer, on the other hand, now that was a surprise... 😏

Ask him a century ago if Lucifer would ever consider a human lover, godly mother or no, and he'd have laughed! Yet here he is, giving gifts and sneaking whiffs of their adorable new housemate!

Of course, that's causing some commotion because they're pitted against each other, but Asmo finds it kind of cute honestly. 

Beel and Lucifer aren't fighting, not for real. The whole house knows Lucifer would win in a real brawl, but neither of them actually want to hurt the other… They're far too close for that.

So Beel tosses Lucifer around with kid gloves and Lucifer holds back considerably against Beel. It's pretty much just two brothers who love each other squabbling over the same toy… 🤭

Honestly, Lucifer might have bowed out by now and just let Beel have them but now his pride's on the line… thus an endless tussle between family and the sweet MC is in the middle, clueless to it all!

Tragic, is it not? But it certainly makes things more entertaining around here! (Good thing too since Beel beat him to the punch… If it's a fight against those two, he'll have to keep any of his own affairs with the MC under the radar... 😏)

Beelzebub 

He has claimed this one. Full stop.

For a bit of perspective: when Barbatos needs cooking tips, he calls Hestia. Hestia, the Divine Master of All Things Cooking. Hestia, the goddess who raised this MC… 

Needless to say if they have any magic at all, it's in the kitchen.

If food is the way to Beel's heart, this MC has claimed his heart, soul, and probably all of his vital organs. Their food is astounding!! Always perfect every time and so good it brings him to tears!

It started the night of that first dinner, prepared by MC. He was too busy scarfing down the table to even notice a goddess showed up and then he proposed to the MC with their own pig roast by meal's end!

They said no to marriage, but an instant pact agreement suited him just fine.

Beel didn't waste a single moment before he started treating them like a potential mate, territorial aggression and all, but there was a bit of a catch… He kept the MC totally oblivious to it.

Surprisingly, Beel's can turn the "They're MINE" part of his brain on and off pretty well. He's nothing but sweet and cuddly to the MC when they're around and even with his brothers!... as long as they don't try anything.

The moment he caught whiff that Lucifer might be pursuing them too, it was on. Suddenly the two brothers who almost never fight were in competition against each other! But of course, both have an unspoken rule to never do so in front of MC.

And now poor MC believes it's common for demons to "play wrestle" like puppies and hugs are traditionally supposed to be so hard they could snap spines… 

And it doesn’t look like they'll be backing down any time soon… Oh dear...

Belphegor 

You know what? For once, everything goes exactly to plan for Belphie!

No really, this MC has no hidden powers, no magic horses, not even Demon Nip. They are a helpless, trusting little human who just wants to help their big teddy bear get his twin back!

So, you know how it goes. The charm, the lies, the treachery and all of that. He even gets to kill them!! Oh, happy days!! 😁

Come to think of it, they did smell an awful lot like Beel… But who cares, as long as Lucifer suffers right?? And this whole "living together in harmony" crap fails, right?!

Wrong. 

Beel went ballistic. Lucifer did too, but Beel was what really hurt…

Belphie can safely say that in all of his life, Beel has never physically attacked him. Not once, or at least, not with intent to kill… 

But when the sixthborn's fist went crashing through the wall right by his ear that day, he knew his brother's first instinct was to aim for his head… and his second was to miss, as he still loved him, but only by just a little.

What the hell did he just do??

Thank their father for Barbatos and all the funky time stuff he can do because bringing the MC "back" snapped his angry brothers right out of it. 

Things should have been smoothed over at that point but as everyone was finally settling down for tea, Hestia made another appearance in the House… this time carrying a butcher's knife!

Time fix or no, Diavolo had promised her no harm would come to MC and at least one continuity of them DIED… so punishment was now on Lucifer and the Demon Prince himself!

Belphie, in a rare case of guilt and an expression of brotherly love, offered to take their place since it WAS kind of all his fault. His gesture softened the Goddess of Family juuust enough to lighten his sentence from execution to hard labor.

And thus, the MC had their own housekeeping assistant for a whole year, complete with bitter reluctance and a matching maid outfit! Cat-theme and all!!

He's sending nightmares to anybody who laughs… guaranteed. 😒

[beelsnack]

Henlo!!! Just wanted to request MC getting surprised by the demon bros in the human realm! The bros miss MC a lot so they just surprise them and hang out for a bit :) it can be HCs! Thank you and I love ya work ❤️

Henlo!! Get ready for some fluff, my dudes.

I don’t know why, but this seemed better as short little headcanons as opposed to my usual scenarios.

-----

Lucifer

- He had expressly forbade any of his brothers from going up to the human world, because “they needed time to readjust.”

- But apparently Pridey McPrideface is exempt from his own rules.

- He does his research. If the human still lives with their parents or has roommates, he picks a night when they are home alone.This night is reserved for the two of them, and he will eviscerate anyone who gets in the way.

- Honestly, he wants to do some sort of grand entrance, but in the end, he simply knocks on the door.

- “Hello, my dear,” he takes their hand and kisses their knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

- “Lucifer!” they tackle him with a hug strong enough to knock over a lesser demon. In his peripheral, Lucifer sees a neighbor stick their head out of the door and look around with a confused look.

- “You have nosy neighbors, I see.”

“Well, I mean, I did just scream ‘Lucifer...’”

“Perhaps we should go inside before someone calls a priest?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

- The two of them spend the night in their living room, just talking. They ask if he wants to go out somewhere, but he declines.

“This is the most relaxed I’ve been in centuries. I’m perfectly satisfied with staying in with you.”

- He hadn’t intended to stay the night, but it was near impossible to resist the offer. And that would end up being his downfall.

- He had forgotten about that stupid game that his brothers and the human liked to play, where they got pictures of each other sleeping. And, just as he couldn’t resist the temptation to spend the night with them, they couldn’t resist the temptation to steal a picture while he slept.

- When he arrived back at the House of Lamentation, all six of his brothers were waiting for him in the entrance hall.

- “So, where ya been, Luci?” Mammon sneered. “Ya couldn’t have possibly snuck off to visit the human after makin’ damn sure you told us not to do that, now could ya?”

“It’s not like our dear eldest brother to do something so hypocritical.” Satan said coolly, regarding Lucifer with a raised eyebrow.

“...I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Lucifer huffed.

“’Hey guys! How many points is a sleeping Lucifer worth?’” Levi turned his phone around to show Lucifer a picture of his own sleeping face, with the human’s laughing eyes just poking out from the bottom corner.

“...Oh.”

He wasn’t living this one down for a while.

Mammon

- This sneaky little bastard straight up just climbs into their room in the middle of the night.

- You know, like he DIDN’T live in a completely different realm.

- The human damn near punches him in the face when he wakes them up.

- “Mammon, what the actual fuck are you doing?”

“Visiting, what’s it look like?”

“To my neighbors, probably breaking and entering.”

- They should kick him out, all they have to do is issue a pact command. But Mammon looks at them with his sad blue eyes and they just can’t bring themself to do it.

- “I got so used to ya...y’know...sleeping next to me.” he shuffled around like a kid waiting to get scolded. “It’s hard to fall asleep when ya ain’t there.”

“Shut up and cuddle with me, you big baby.”

- They stay up stupidly late watching vine compilations and talking until they straight up just pass out against each other. They stay like that for the rest of the night.

- And by rest of the night I mean until freaking noon the next day. And the only reason they wake up then is because Lucifer is blowing up Mammon’s phone.

- “Mammon, where are you?”

“If you’re out clubbing, be back at a reasonable hour. If you’re out scheming, don’t come back until you have something to show for it.”

“You better not have passed out in a gutter somewhere. We have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“Mammon, please tell me you didn’t directly disobey an order and go visit the Human Realm.”

Four unread voicemails.

“Welp, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks, human, love you too.”

Leviathan:

- Social anxiety is a bitch and a half, so he just asks if he can come visit.

-Deadass just portals into their living room like “’Sup, I brought games, go get some snacks and get prepared to get rekt.”

- That’s it, that’s the visit.

- They decide to do multiplayer vs some other humans and they wipe the floor with them.

- “Eat it, normies, I’M the one playing with a hot person! Have fun in your moms’ basements!”

“Pot meet kettle, Levi.”

“I don’t live in a basement, though!”

“Fair point. Boom, headshot!”

- Levi manages to sleep over without repercussions solely because nobody is surprised if he doesn’t show up somewhere.

Satan

- Makes direct eye contact with Lucifer as he leaves the House of Lamentation and goes “Don’t wait up.”

-Times his surprise visit so he’s made himself comfortable with a book and a cup of coffee when they get home.

- They brought a friend over to study or whatever. The human sees him in the middle of the living room and just screeches “Satan, what the fuck?”

-The friend is like “Aight imma head out.” And like goes into witness protection.

- Satan comes bearing gifts of the newest installments of Devildom book series’ and a recording of the episodes of the crime dramas that they need to catch up on.

- They pause between each episode to talk theories even though Satan already knows what happens. Both of them feel proud of the human when they figure it out.

- Mammon texts Satan in the middle of the night in absolute terror.

Mammon: Satan you get your ass back to the Devildom right now!

Satan: Why?

Mammon: Because Lucifer is about to rip a hole through the dimensions to drag you back here!

Satan: That sounds like a Lucifer problem.

Mammon: It’s about to be a Three Realms problem!

- Read 2:09 AM

Asmodeus

- He just tells Lucifer he’s going to visit Solomon.

- And makes sure to tell him that if Lucifer decides to interrupt him, he will gladly let him listen to all of the naughty things they’re going to be doing.

- And Lucifer just straight up doesn’t want to deal with his shit so he lets it go.

- The human comes home to see Asmo stretched out on their bed scrolling through Devilgram.

- “Ugh, finally! You took forever!”

“Asmo? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was planning on seducing you, but I absolutely refuse to have sex on a bed that moans louder than I do.”

- They go on a cute little cafe date and Asmo insists on going to all of the high-end fashion stores.

- “Devildom fashion trends always seem a few decades behind the human world. Honestly, it wasn’t until about five years ago that I could find a skirt above my knees! You would think a Realm full of sin and vice would be a little more up-to-date with provocative attire.”

- FASHION. SHOW.

-They spend an absurd amount of time trying on tacky jewelry and roasting it via Snapchat. Like, the employee showed up on Asmo’s story as they were kicking them out.

- They buy a bottle of liquor on their way back to the human’s place, get absolutely smashed and, depending on your preference, either have the giggliest sex ever or watch stupid beauty hack videos. Maybe both. Actually, definitely both.

- The next morning, Asmo does an Inter-dimensional Walk of Shame and no one is surprised.

Beelzebub

- Was going to lie about where he was going but felt guilty about it.

- So he just didn’t tell anyone.

-Knocks on the human’s door and immediately gives them the biggest bear hug.

- “I missed you, so I came to visit. That’s okay, right?”

- Beel wants to go out to eat, but the human flat out says no because they can’t afford to wine and dine the Avatar of Gluttony.

- They compromise by buying a crapton of snacks at the grocery store.

- Cashier: Must be a big party you’re having.

Human, grabbing a family size bag of chips out of Beel’s hand without even turning to look at him: Yup.

- They make themselves a blanket fort in their living room, watching movies and eating way too many snacks. Beel asks them questions about their family and their life up there. If the human has photos, he wants to see all of them.

-The human falls asleep mid-movie, slumping against his shoulder. Beel picks them up and tucks them into bed, planning on leaving to let them rest before they sleepily ask him to spend the night.

Belphegor

- Convinces Mammon to cover for him.

- Does this by going “Please, Big Brother?” and Mammon caves almost immediately.

- Pops into the human’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning and wiggles into bed with them.

- “Why am I not surprised?”

“Missed you too.”

- Human just accepts the snuggles and goes back to sleep. Belphie makes sure they have good dreams.

- If they have work or school, Belphie convinces them to call in sick and spend the day with him.

- Lots of naps and sleepy kisses. The chillest day ever.

- The human feels so relaxed that they almost convince Belphie to stay another night, and Belphie almost agrees.

- But Mammon’s ability to bullshit will only last so long, and Belphie knows he needs to go back before someone notices that his “afternoon nap” was going on 14 hours.

- “Come see me in my dreams, okay?”

[tsumugisindulgence]

Stay for the Night

Since your first day in the Devildom you were disgusted by how often Mammon’s brothers picked on him. They are demons but to channel their hatred onto one person was not by nature, it was by choice and you were sick of it. “So shitty Mammon wouldn’t stay in his room when the newspaper came to interview me today. Ugh I mean how inconsiderate can you be? He is the absolute scum of all three realms. Like are you trying to purposely ruin my image? Not that he could, after all I am perfect but still how dare he!”  Asmo whines about Mammon’s presence in his own home. You knew you could use your pact to shut him up but the issue ran deeper. At that moment you decided to stand up to each brother the moment they dissed your first man. Asmo took a deep breath to blow his nails dry and you slapped him, leaving him surprised. “Oh dear I didn’t know you were into that. Do it again.” he winked. “Quit talking down about Mammon. I am sick of it.” he laughs. “It’s all in good fun dear, don’t worry he can’t even hear.” you stand up from the chair across from his. “Yeah well I can. And you should know something.” You enunciate each word carefully. “Talking trash about people that care about you makes you ugly.” You storm off leaving him flabbergasted. Only a few hours later you caught Levi doing the same thing while you were gaming with him. “And I was like you are more pathetic than a level one boss. Rotfl! He was upset but that newb was going through my limited edition directors cut TSL movie series. I don’t know how you can stand him. He’s worse than the antagonist in My brother is a piece of shit and I can’t wait to kick him out because he is the absolute worst.” For a moment you pondered if his anger was valid but it’s not wrong to look through people’s movies unless it’s Asmo’s sex tapes. “Levi I think it’s endearing that you’re an otaku but the one thing about you that absolutely disgusts me is how comfortably you insult Mammon without him doing anything actually bad.” You stomp out of his room and run into Mammon himself. “Whaha doin human?” For awhile now you’ve had feeling for Mammon that were developing past friendship. It was a challenge to portray this without him being a tsundere. “Hey Mammo chan. I had to leave Levi’s room he was pissing me off.” He squinted his eyes at the door a few meters behind you. “What did he do to ya?” you could tell he was getting aggravated thinking about Levi upsetting you. To calm him down you place your hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay now that you’re here. I wanna talk to you though.” he begins wringing his hands nervously. “Wha-what did I do this time?” You beckon him to follow you and he does reluctantly until you’re outside his room. “Don’t worry I’m not mad at you. Can we talk in your room though?” he places his hand on the knob and opens the door for you. “Phew. That was a close one. Not that I was scared!” you plop down on his couch and he sits across from you. “Levi said you were looking through his TSL movie series. What’s that about?” Once again he gets nervous and starts waving his hands. “It wasn’t like I was trynna take it! I was just looking I swear! I don’t care about that stuff or whatever.” His reluctancy to look you in the eyes made you suspicious. “I think you do. You know if you want to rewatch it with just me this time you could’ve just told me and saved yourself the trouble.” He huffs and crosses his arms. “As if I’d admit that!” His eyes widen at his statement, realizing he inavertantly admitted it. You snicker. “H-hey what are you laughin at human?” Now was a perfect opportunity to spend time together without his brothers. At least you thought. “MAAAAMMMOOOON!” Lucifers voice booms through the door and probably the rest of the house. Mammon jumps ups and hides before the for is kicked open. “If you know where Mammon is I suggest you tell me this instant.” You roll your eyes. “What did he do this time?” “If you must know I had a vintage roast in the cabinet worth thousands of grimm.” He crosses his arms and stares at you. You mimic his stance. “I used it.” He looks at you with fury waiting for an apology or explanation. “Asmo showed me a diy face scrub recipe that called for rough ground coffee beans. I figure it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He raises his eyebrows and gives you a look. “Bold. This better not happen again otherwise I won’t forgive you so easily.” He turns around to leave Mammons room and you grab his cape. “I’m not done with you.” He scoffs and takes his cape back. “If you with to discuss this further I’ll be in my room.” He walks out and lets the door shut behind him. Mammon stands up. “Woah you totally stood up to him and didn’t even get threatened to be strung up in the hall.” You walk closer to him and grab  his hand. “I want to finish my conversation with Lucifer. I’ll be back when I’m done. Wait for me?” he blushes and looks away. “Alright not because you asked or anything human. I just don’t have anything better to do.” You laugh at his response and walk out. Thinking about how poorly Mammon is treated by his brothers makes you clench your fists. You were no match for a demon but you would be damned before you let this continue. “I can’t believe you all. You’ve lived with him for years and still haven’t learned to accept his sin.” you mumble walking down the hall and you stop when you hear Satan call your name. He sensed your wrath and decided to check on you out of curiosity. “Is something wrong? It look like you’ve just left Mammons room. What did he do this time?” Your body reacted before you could use reason. Your hand struck his cheek, it didn’t hurt him much at all. You meet his surprised yet inquisitive gaze. “You are all so awful to him! Imagine if I treated you the way you all treat Mammon! He didn’t do anything! Lucifer pissed me off when he accused Mammon of stealing something.” He adjusts his stance. “I understand being upset with Lucifer, but why does it bother you that Mammon was accused. He probably stole it anyway, he’s the most plausible suspect.” You clench your fists even tighter. Through gritted teeth you hiss. “I took it. You bastards always blame him and I’m sick of it.” You walk past him and stomp down to the eldest brothers room. He look up from his desk as you walk in. “I have a bone to pick with you.” You sit in the chair across his desk. “I am sick of you always blaming Mammon. You guys do anything you possible can to beat him up. You degrade him because of his sin. That’s something he can’t completely control. I am aware he could handle his urges better but I doubt you have ever tried to help him in a manor that he would understand. Instead you freeze his card and call him a piece of shit whenever he gives into an urge. Ever stop to think you’re the shitty one for treating him that way. I know your sin is pride, therefore you have this massive ego. Nobody ever criticizes you for being a pompous ass at times. I haven’t even been here for an entire year and I see how you all go out of your way to make sure he feels like shit. I think Beel is the most respectful to Mammon and he still puts Mammon down occasionally.” you continue your rant for a few minutes and take a deep breath once you feel like you’ve gotten everything off your chest. He sits back in his chair slightly surprised about your perspective and how brave you were to scold him. “I see. That’s quite a new view. You haven’t had to deal with him as long as we have. I’m sure you would do the same if you spent a millennia putting up with him. It’s admirable that you have the courage to stand up to me like this. If it is that big of an issue I will possibly consider changing my actions. Doubtful but possible.” You storm out of his room furious that you couldn’t get through to him. On your way down the hall you see Mammon peeping at you from around the corner. When you lock eyes he looks away. Your heart hurts for him. He’s a good demon and you wish he was loved by his brothers. “Mammon what are you doing?” He sheepishly steps out from behind the corner. “You were in there awhile. I figured I should check on ya since I’m in charge of your safety n stuff.” You smile knowing that’s his way of saying he’s worried about you. An overwhelming desire to make him feel loved hits your chest. You’ve had a crush on him for awhile now but he was no resistant to reciprocating affection. Probably because his brothers made him feel like he’s undeserving. That night you sit on your bed flipping through one of the many magazines Asmo gave you with your earphones in.  A message on your phone interrupts the music. Mammo Chan- Where are ya?You- In my room. in under a minute he walks through your door in his pjs. A white tank top and black drawstring pants. You look up and take your earbuds out. He rarely shows this much of his body outside his demon form, which you also rarely see. He has such a nice figure and beautiful skin. To you everything about him was attractive but he was sculpted by god after all. He walks over to your bed and tells you to scooch. “What’re we watchin tonight?” you toss the magazine aside and pick up the remote, happy to spend time with him. “Do you guys have access to human television?” He thinks about it for a second before answering. “I think Levi knows how to connect it. Why ya askin?” “There are a few shows I think you would enjoy. I’ll text him and ask how to do it.” After figuring out how to connect to human television you pull up Pawn Stars. You could tell by his expression he was hooked instantly. He was sitting criss cross on your right leaning forward towards the tv. It’s beginning to drop in temperature as the nights in the Devildom were extremely cold to you. You leave the bed and head over to your dresser. Mammon looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “Where are ya goin?” He was afraid you were going to leave even though it was your room. You pat his head to ease his worries. “I’m getting cold so I was gonna grab a hoodie.” He sits up straight. “No worries the great Mammon will warm you up. C’mere human.” He beckons you towards him. As you move he pulls back the blanket for your bed and lets you climb in then sits at the edge of your bed. You were hoping he meant cuddle but it was silly of you, he wouldn’t make the first move. So you would have to. You sit up and tug on his pant leg. “Can we cuddle?” His cheeks heat up and he looks anywhere but your eyes. “Yeah sure but only to warm ya up.” The way he stiffly laid next to you made you wonder if he has ever actually cuddled someone or if it was just you. “Can you move like this?” you position his body into the little spoon position and he goes quiet. After all his yeas alive he’s never been in a situation like this, he’s laid with succubi after sex but he was the big spoon and always woke up alone. It hurt to imagine falling asleep with you only to wake up alone. He didn’t want to think about it but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but your body embracing his from behind, your breath on his neck and your fingers drawing random patterns on his arm. He really liked you and didn’t want to screw anything up like he usually does. He began to worry if this was a prank set up by his brothers. You noticed his body was still tense after a few minutes. “Are you okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?” He sits up and laughs nervously. “Alright which one of my brothers set you up to this? Asmo?” You frowned that he thought you didn’t genuinely care about him. You sit up and move closer to him and look him in the eyes. “Mammon, I  know I only met you a few months ago but I like you.” He puts on his bravado attitude. “Of course you would! Any human is amazed by the great Mammon” You wanted him to take this seriously but you also knew he built walls of false confidence in hopes of making himself feel like more than what his brothers call him. “No Mammon. I like you as in I want to kiss you, go on dates with you, cuddle with you, support your goals. I want to show you that you are so much more than what you think. You’re caring, thoughtful, hardworking, obedient, helpful and so much more.” His eyes tear up behind his glasses. “You don’t mean that. You’re just messing with me aren’t ya?” Frustrated that your words aren’t getting through you take action instead. You push him down on the bed, prop yourself up over him and kiss him. He freezes for a second before kissing back. You’d be embarrassed to admit how many times you’ve thought about doing this with him. His hand moves to your lower back and pulls you onto his body. Now that you aren’t using your hands to steady yourself you run your fingers through his hair. He is insanely good at kissing you. You pull away breathless. His face is no longer fearful but at peace. He’s the first to look away. “I didn’t know ya meant it. Heh why me. I’m the worst of all my brothers.” You cup his cheek and make him look at you again. “You’re my number one man. I wouldn’t want anyone but you. I like you, flaws and all.” His face melts as if this is the first time anyone has ever said that, and it might be. He pulls you into a hug so tight you couldn’t move. He placed his face in the crook of your neck. You feel something hot and wet fall onto your skin and it registers. He’s crying. You lay there on top of him only when he releases you do you notice he’s in his demon form. The awe in your eyes cued him. “Oh um I didn’t mean to. Gimme a sec.” Your arm shoots out to him. “NO!” He whips his head around. “I mean I never get to see you like this. Can you stay like this a bit longer?” “Y-yeah.” He sits there embarrassed as you eye him over. Once you’re satisfied you tell him. “Why’d you turn?”  His usual bravado is gone. “It’s not like you were making my sin act up. I just wanted to.” You interpreted what he was saying, ‘I got greedy kissing you and slipped into my demon form.’ You giggle “Cute.” he switches back. “Hey! I’m not cute! I’m a terrifying demon!” “My terrifying demon.” You smile  at him and he stares at you in awe before his bravado comes back. “Prof course! I’m your first and most powerful!” You remember that the tv is still on. “Oops looks like we missed the rest of the episode.” “NOOOO!” he dives over to the tv repeatedly pressing the backwards button but it does nothing since it’s on a channel. You stand up and walk over to him. He’s on his knees hugging the tv. You tussle his hair and turn to get a sweater now that you’re out of bed. While you’re at your dresser you decide to change into pjs. You figure Mammon is still preoccupied with the tv that he won’t see you. You were wrong. Just after you take off your jeans he turns and begins to ask you a question before letting out a yelp upon seeing your underwear. His hands quickly cover his eyes and he turns away. Now he certainly isn’t looking. After changing you pull his hands off his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you warn me you were changing?” You shrug. “I figured you were distracted. It’s not a big deal I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of ass in your life.” “Well I mean yeah but you’re my human not a succubus or angel. You’re different.” You smile at his unintended compliment. You crawl into bed under the covers and snuggle in. “Mammo-Chan will you turn off the tv and lights if you head back to your room.” “Whaddya mean if?” “You can stay here tonight.” “Where am I s’possed to sleep huh?” You pull the cover back a little and pat the bed space next to you. “Oh well I guess I should so I keep ya warm.” He starts to walk over. “Turn off everything before you come to bed.” “Oh yea.” He does as you say before climbing into bed with you. You fall asleep on his side with your arm over his chest. 

[infernwetrust]

Luke Langdon [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Pt 2.

PART 1

PART 3

Summary: The one where you and Michael have a child together, but like most relationships, there are parenting differences.

Warnings: SMUT, swearing, fluff c:

WC: 2.7k

A/N: Part 2 of this 3 part series. Just a little longer! Thank you for reading! -Juno

When you had gone to check up on Michael, things still a mess in the living room, he was still outside on the deck. He had taken a seat and now appeared to be on a phone call. You tucked little Luke away for the night, repeatedly kissing his forehead and apologizing that he had to see you and his father like this. All you wanted was for him to remain as pure as possible. Yes. You did understand that the time will come where he will struggle to keep his emotions together, just like Michael did, but you didn't know how soon and until then, things were fine the way they were.

Out of fear, you had convinced Michael that the two of you could never hire a nanny until the both of you learned how Luke behaved. When you two needed a night off or wanted to go out, you left Luke with your parents. And man did that boy love his grandparents. His eyes widened every time he heard their voices. It was almost terrifying. Whenever they would come over just for a visit, Luke made sure that he was in the room. Grandma's arms were his favorite place to be when he wasn't be smothered by you or Michael. He'd occasionally give grandpa's long thick beard a tug and in return he'd "snatch" his nose and it made him a giggling mess every time. There was only one incident with Luke that was a cause for concern. Sometimes his skin would be absolutely burning, but when his temperature was checked, he was fine. You and Michael had come to learn that in Luke's case his temperature went based off his emotions.

When he was sad, he ran cold. When he was happy, his temperature was slightly normal, but he was a little warmer. When he was overexcited, he ran hot. And when he was extremely upset, he was burning.

Your parents knew exactly who and what Michael was and while they weren't a fan favorite of the whole satanic thing, they loved Michael regardless because he was always so respectful. He made sure things were taken care of for not only the little family he created, but for your family as well. For that, they were forever grateful. They even tried to get on board with it, but Michael reassured them that they didn't need conform for him. When it wasn't grandma or grandpa, it was Ms. Mead. She let you know that you can call her mama, though. She understood that she came off as a little intimidating the first mi of times you and Michael started talking, but she grew to love you anyways and Luke absolutely adored her. She too wanted to tell Luke about how great he was going to be, but Michael had warned her not to, especially when you were around.

You took a deep breath as you approached the back deck door. You made no efforts to be silent because he knew you were coming anyways. He could smell you, hear you, and feel you. Not wanting to get himself riled up again before you came out to talk to him, he avoided listening to your thoughts. You stepped out, standing a few feet away behind him as you listened to him talk on the yeah.

"Yeah, everything, especially that. That one was her favorite." he said, scratching the back of his head. "I appreciate you Johnny, I really do. You always come through for me every time I fuck some shit up." Johnny was like Michael's second in command, but only for house matters. If anything broke in the house and needed to be repaired or replaced, Johnny was there, 24/7. Demons don't need to sleep anyways, right? But surprisingly enough, a lot of them did, or forced themselves to. It's what helped them feel human every now and then. Michael didn't care though. He was going to do everything human like or not.

"So 10AM sharp tomorrow?" Michael confirmed. "I'll have everything cleaned up so the boys have no issue coming in and out of the house. Thanks again."

"Michael.." you called out to him, your voice barely audible, but he heard you anyways. He looked over his shoulder at you before turning around.

"Hmmm?" he questioned, his blue eyes piercing into your body.

"I just wanted to come out here and try talking again. Well first I would like to apologize." You could feel yourself beginning to choke on your words, recalling how he broke down completely a couple hours ago. Out of shame and respect for your husband, you dropped to your knees right where you were, not wanting to get any closer to him, wanting to give him his space. "Michael, I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to degrade you or make you feel any less of yourself for your past struggles. Why would I do that? Look how strong they've made you."

"Don't do that." he said, waving his hand, immediately making you rise up from your feet. "Don't you ever get on your knees like that in front of me again. Do you understand?"

"I'm just trying to-,"

"Answer my question, Y/N. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Michael."

"As my Queen, you are to never get on your knees like that unless it's for.. you know. And as much as I do like it, you don't have to suck up to me. We're almost equals. You just don't have the powers, but you were always so stubborn. I could just give them to you, but I know you don't want them."

"And I'm glad that you haven't."

"Come here." You did as you were told, not stopping until you were just inches away from him. You felt so small under his gaze despite his reassuring words. He ran his fingers down your cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"No Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I don't listen to you. I'm trying so hard to give Luke the father that I never had and sometimes I try too hard and forget that you're just as much his parent as I am. I don't mean to undermine you in any sort of way. I just don't want him to be lost."

"And I know you will make sure that he is never lost. I know you'll ensure of his greatness because Michael, you are nothing but greatness. Other people, they look at you as some cold-hearted man with daddy issues." He laughed as you said that and you were happy that you were able to bring him some joy, considering the earlier events. "But all I see is perfection. We're all a little bit misunderstood and I don't blame you for anything. I married you, right? So I knew what I was signing up for and didn't care. Michael, I love you. Do you understand me?" He nodded his head, but that wasn't enough for you.

"No, Michael." you said. "Like you told me. Answer me. I want to hear your voice."

"Yes. I understand you, Y/N. And I love you too. So much... I loved you ever since I stumbled across you. You reading that book, drinking that coffee that was too light for my satisfaction."

"I don't see how you drink black coffee anyways. It's so strong."

"Dark roast is the best roast."

"Yeah well I'm surprised your breath doesn't stink."

"I brush my teeth everyday, twice a day, sometimes three. Mrs. Langdon, I'm not liking your tone regarding our coffee differences."

"Mrs. Langdon..." you said, mocking him, sticking your tongue out at him. In one swift motion, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your arms made their way around the back of neck, hands entangled in his messy and slightly frizzled out hair. His hands firmly gripped your ass, shifting his stance a little bit so the two of you would be more comfortable. He wasted no time, colliding his lips with yours in a kiss that screamed nothing but love, lust, and apologies. Using his senses, he walked backwards until he met the deck sofa, plopping down on it, your lips never separating as he kept you close to him.

He was surprised when you pushed him back into his seat, but he didn't complain. He wasn't feeling too dominant tonight. He just wanted to make love to you. He wanted you to feel good. He was going to show you just how sorry he was. He kept his eyes on you as he took off his rose gold watch, his erection growing as he watched you rid yourself of the PJ top you had put on. He tossed his watch to the side, continuing to watch as your hands reached for his button up. His hands slowly ran up and down your thighs as you unbuttoned it, exposing his lean chest and torso. You ran your hands down his chest, causing him to release a heavy sigh.

You grabbed his hands from your thighs, putting them on your breast which he gave a gentle squeeze before gliding his thumbs over your nipples. He knew that drove you crazy. You gripped onto the sides of his now opened shirt, your breathing become heavier and shallower each time his thumbs darted back and forth. Without realizing it, you were grinding against his length, making his favorite pair of jeans, a mess, but he didn't care about the growing wet spot. And when he started grinding back, you threw yourself forward, resting your forehead against his as you two shared heated moans. Sitting up a little, he took his shirt all the way off, throwing it on the floor, leaning back once again.

He slid you off of him, making you whine with frustration. The both of you, looked at the wet spot that covered the entirety of his jeans, making it look like he had wet himself. He chuckled, running his tongue over his top lip before looking at you.

"These were my favorite jeans." he hummed. "And you ruined them with that pretty little pussy of yours." You blushed, hanging your head low, slightly ashamed that he was this much power over you. Before Michael, no guy ever came this close to having you soaking wet just from a kiss and a slow grind. He snapped you out of your thoughts, grabbing you by your legs and pulling at them so you'd lay down. He stood up, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, letting them drop to his ankles before he stepped out of them. Your eyes stayed on the massive bulge that was between his legs. His underwear was soaked from you too, so he went ahead and got rid of those as well.

You stared in awe at his size, the heat between your legs only rising in temperature. You almost touched yourself at the sight, when he stopped you.

"No." he said, practically drooling at the sight of your naked body. "Let me." He laid between your legs, blowing softly on your already swollen clit, through the material of your panties. "Won't be needing these anymore, will we?" He didn't even bother to pull them off, knowing he could always just get you another pair. He ripped them off, wanting access to your bare core, immediately. His lips brushed against you, causing you to jump slightly. He smirked, looking up at you.  

"Michael... please?" you whispered. "Please please please please." And that is all it took for him to dive into you, his tongue doing laps around your folds. He sucked on your clit, flicking his tongue across it at a moderate pace. You rested your leg on his back and your hands found their way in his hair again, slightly tugging at it, causing him to let out a moan against you. The vibrations rippled throughout your body, sending you into absolutely bliss and before you could even come down from that small high, two of his fingers were inside of you. You gasped at the feeling, starting to shake because he never did stop licking at your bud. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, slow at first, and when you bucked your hips up, he took that as a sign you wanted more. His fingers began to move rapidly in and out of you.

"Mmmm fuck!" you shouted. "Right there, Michael. Don't stop, please. I'm so close." He added a third finger, wanting to stretch you out as much as possible for him. "You feel so fucking good." He was a pre-cum mess as he ate you out. He didn't know if he was going to attempt to clean this couch or just replace it all together. You caught him and yourself off guard when you lost all control, squirting on him. You let out ear bleeding screams, which Michael liked. Your body shook violently as he continued having a go at you, wanting to see and feel you ride out your orgasm completely. And when he sat up, before he could even compliment you on how beautiful you were, you grabbed him by his throat, pulling his face close to yours. He groaned as the sudden aggression that had awakened in you.

"Fuck me." you said. "Don't say anything else, don't do anything else, but fuck me. Now." He lips moved, but you tightened the gripped on his throat, serious about what you said. He climbed on top of you, lining himself up with your entrance and sliding into with ease. You closed your eyes, throwing your head back and digging your nails into his hips. The both of you were so sweaty from your interaction and how warm it was outside for the night. Your bodies clung together and he moved himself in and out of you, not taking his eyes off you as he watched all the pretty little faces you were making.

"Y/N..." he breathed out. "You look so fucking beautiful, taking all of me." You clenched around him at the sound of his raspy voice. You could tell that he wasn't going to be able to hang on for much longer which was unusual for the two of you. If he really wanted to, Michael could go for hours, but your tonight, with the two of you being so vulnerable, he was weak under your touch. He sped up, looking down where he was fucking you. His shaft was covered from your cream and juices. You were so wet for him and he was loving every second of it. You moaned his name repeatedly every time he hit your spot. And let's be honest, it was every time. He was always on beat, until he was close, but his uneven thrusts felt just as great.

You pulled him down closer you so that he lay completely against you as he fucked you senseless. He nuzzled his face in your neck, giving it soft kisses, occasional giving it a soft bite. You breathed heavily in his ear, biting, sucking, and licking on it, which drove him insane.

"You keep that up and I'll cum for you right now." he said, barely holding on. He was getting sloppier and sloppier by the minute, struggling to even hold himself up, just wanting to melt completely into your arms.

"Cum for me then." you whispered in his ear. "Cum with me." And that's when he lost it, you not trailing to far behind. He moaned loudly in your ear, you in his, as you both let go, erasing the pain from earlier today.

Both of you laid there for a moment, still coming down, too tired to really speak. When he did decide to move, he pulled out slowly, aware of how sensitive you would be. He moved his now very damp hair out of his face, searching through his jean pockets for the hair tie he had earlier. He put his hair in a lazy bun before happily sighing and looking at you.

"I'm going to go and take the shower I've been needed since I got home." he began. "Care to join me?" When you made eye contact with him to give an answer, you could see that this was going to be no type of innocent shower. And you were okay with that.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

[jowritesthingss]

A (Demi)Boy and His Demon: Two

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): LoSleep (Logic | Logan + Sleep | Remy)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning(s): lots of swearing, food/drink, death mention (nobody’s dead they just talk about death briefly), suicide mention (again, just alluded to in passing)

Length: 2,858 words

Brief Summary: Sleep-deprived writer Remy accidentally summons a serious-and-seriously-fed-up demon named Logan. Two. In Which Remy Kind of Regrets the Stupid Things He’s Done

Fic Masterlist!

*

The morning dawned bright and cold, the sun shining its annoyingly cheerful face through the window and directly onto Remy’s face.

“Goddammit” was the first word out of Remy’s mouth as they winced at the bright light. They stretched, scrunching up their nose, stretching out their arms, and arching their back slightly.

Body pleasantly loose and relaxed, Remy rolled over onto his back. Judging from how bright the sun was, they had no doubt slept through their alarm, which most probably meant they were missing class time, but exhausted as they were, they couldn’t seem to find a reason to care in the given moment.

See, Remy with no coffee in his system was a Remy who gave exactly zero shits about anything. Granted, Remy at any given time was a Remy who gave exactly zero shits about anything—it’s just, without their morning coffee, there was no filter to prevent him from releasing this information.

Remy sat up in bed. In glancing across the room at the alarm clock on his dresser, they were made aware of a lump lying under the sheets on the other half of the bed.

“Goddammit,” Remy said again, more vehemently this time.

So the day before hadn’t been a dream, then. Either that, or Remy had gotten absolutely smashed, and his alcohol-ridden brain had concocted the wildest dream about him and a one-night stand. But a cursory glance under the sheets proved them both to be much too clothed for that, and besides, things like that only happened in really bad fanfiction.

Then again, demons actually existing in real life just sounded like a really bad fanfiction trope, too, Remy grumped as they forced themself to swing their legs over the side of their bed. And yet.

Standing, Remy stared down at the body of the person—well, demon—huddled underneath his bedsheets.

“And yet,” they sighed aloud heavily, “here we are.”

“Where are we?”

The covers rolled down to the demon’s—to Logan’s—admittedly attractive slim waist, and xyr eyes flicked open to reveal slightly slitted, surprisingly coherent pupils. “Are we not in your bedroom, in your apartment, in the human realm?”

Remy yelped, jumping slightly. “Wh—you’re awake already?”

“Naturally,” Logan answered, turning away from Remy as xe got out of bed. “As a demon, I do not sleep. My body does not require rest—it merely require the souls of the damned for nourishment.”

Remy gaped. “Then—why did you watch me flounder around trying to find somewhere for you to sleep last night?” His cheeks colored slightly. “And if you don’t sleep, then why the hell’d you think it necessary to, to lie in my bed with me all night? That’s highkey creepy AF.”

Amusement flickered briefly across Logan’s expression before a look of cool indifference once more reappeared. “Again, I am a demon.” Logan stepped over to Remy’s dresser and began investigating the jumble of objects haphazardly shoved onto it. “As such, I do not feel emotions; however, the amusement I find in humans’ dismay is the closest I will get to feeling love.” Xe paused. “What is ‘ay eff’?”

Remy was pretty sure ‘amusement’ technically was an emotion, but he wasn’t about to contradict and potentially anger a demon before they had even had their morning coffee. Nor were they particularly in a mood to explain modern slang to a probably centuries-old demon, so he ignored xyr question and shelved that discussion topic away for another time.

After all, apparently they had an entire lifetime to talk about it now.

But he wasn’t particularly in the mood to think about that, either, so. Moving rapidly on.

“Babe,” Remy said instead, scandalized, as they realized what Logan was—still—wearing. “You’re telling me you slept in that getup?” They looked Logan up and down derisively, taking in the somehow non-rumpled collared shirt and—the hell, was xe still wearing that lameass tie?

Logan raised an eyebrow at Remy before turning to examine xyr surroundings once more. “Why would I not?”

“Don’t tell me demons don’t have pajamas.” Remy walked over to his dresser and lightly pushed Logan aside, opening a drawer and scrabbling around for some dayclothes for him to wear (and for some that might fit Logan, just to make xem look slightly less like a nerd).

“We do not,” Logan confirmed, nodding, “although the concept is not unfamiliar. We simply have no need for sleeping clothes when we do not do any sleeping.”

“Whatever.” Remy rolled their eyes and tossed Logan a wad of clothing. “Just go into the bathroom and put those on already, gurl. I gotta get to class, and I’m assuming you’re coming with since you’re, like, stuck with me or bound or whatever this is.”

“But I am already dressed,” came Logan’s befuddled reply.

“Oh, please. You’re not wearing that on my watch, gurl.” Remy shamelessly unbuttoned and stripped off his pajama shirt, sliding on a soft, casual gray tee. They untied their drawstring pajama pants and began to slide them down their legs.

Logan whirled away, xyr cheeks turning surprisingly red for a demon. Weren’t they supposed to be all over stuff like that?

“Shy, huh?” Remy teased, slipping on jeans and grabbing for their faux-leather jacket from the back of their desk chair. “Whatever happened to the whole sexy demon stereotype thing, hmm? Not that you aren’t sexy in your own dorky nerd way,” he added, enjoying watching the flush gather around the back of Logan’s neck.

“I, ahm,” Logan stammered, hugging Remy’s clothes tightly to xyr chest. “I am afraid that...I am not one of those types of demons.” Xe peeked behind xem at Remy and, seeing them fully dressed once more, turned around, shoulders stiff. “So if that is what you are expecting—”

“Nah, not really.” Remy shrugged, slipping on their shoes, not missing how Logan’s stiff posture relaxed somewhat upon hearing those words. “Although remind me to ask you about, like, demon types and shit like that once I’ve had my coffee,” he said. There was another topic to be noted for later discussion. “I’m not ready to have important convos or existential crises till I’m on my third cup.”

“Duly noted,” Logan honest-to-god (or was it honest-to-satan?) pulled a notebook and a pen out of nowhere and began scrawling something down. “I shall keep this in mind in regard to our future conversations. Additionally, I will endeavor to remember to bring up that particular subject later on.”

“Oh my god,” Remy groaned. They really got stuck with what had to be the only nerd demon in existence, didn’t they. “C’mon, babe. I’m late to class, and I want coffee. Get dressed.” They looked Logan up and down once more. “At least lose the tie, please. I’m a college kid. You’re not one of my professors.”

“What?” Logan said, affronted. Xe grasped xyr midnight blue tie loosely in one hand. “I do not wish to ‘lose’ it. It is a necktie. It is for serious demons. I am a serious demon.”

Remy snickered as they picked up the backpack lying by the bedroom door.. “You’re, like, a total invalid, that’s what you are.”

“I am not!” Logan shrilled behind them, offended. “Serious! Necktie!”

But Remy was already out the door, grinning triumphantly and thoroughly ignoring xem.

-

Naturally, they had to make a stop at the coffee shop on their way to campus. Remy was already late enough, so it wasn’t like he was going to make it to his first lecture even if they tried. Might as well face the rest of the day with coffee by their side. Caffeine was their only true friend.

Remy had already ordered and paid for his own coffee before it occurred to them that Logan might want some, too.

“Shit, do demons drink coffee?” Remy asked, turning to Logan, who thankfully had lost the necktie after they argued nonstop over it on the walk to the shop. Xe was standing behind Remy, observing as Emile worked the espresso machine. “So, do you? Drink coffee? And d’you want any?”

“Yes, if you do not mind,” Logan answered. “Some coffee would be most welcome.”

“Lit.” Remy turned back to the front counter, ignoring the questioning noise Logan made at his use of slang. “Sorry, Em, but could we get a medium coffee too?” He looked at Logan, appraising. “You look like a dark roast kinda guy.”

“You most certainly may!” Emile smiled cheerfully at the two and popped a lid on Remy’s drink. “It’ll be on the house, Mixter Demon, sir.” He winked over-exaggeratedly in that way that only he could pull off without looking like a total fool. “Do you want any room for cream and sugar?”

“No, thank you. I take my coffee black,” Logan deadpanned. “Like my soul.”

Emile nearly dropped the cup he was trying to hand off to Remy.

“W-wait, really?” Remy asked, wondering if he needed to get worried. Was he going to end up with a black soul or whatever because of this unintentional deal gone wrong? If he was, did he even care?

Logan rolled xyr eyes, and hey! Eyeroll buddies. So the two did have one thing in common after all. “No, of course not. The concept is ridiculous.”

Relaxing slightly, Remy nodded. “Yeah. Kinda is, gurl.” They sipped at their coffee—today he had gone for a mocha, figuring the extra caffeine in the espresso would be very much needed to survive the day with any amount of sanity still remaining.

The two fell silent for a moment, watching quietly as Emile bustled around and poured coffee into a to-go cup for Logan, then:

“Besides, I don’t have a soul,” Logan added.

Remy spit out their iced mocha.

-

“Okay,” Remy said, voice muffled as he used his teeth to fidget with his reusable straw. They looked both ways before grabbing at Logan’s arm and dragging xem across the street in front of the coffee shop. “So. Tell me about demon-y things.”

Logan paused mid-step, and Remy swore. “Oh my—gurl, wait till we’re done crossing the street. Maybe you can’t die, but I still can.” He hurried the demon across the street. “Walk ’n talk, babe, walk ’n talk. I do technically have someplace to be.”

“Actually.” Out of the corner of their eye, Remy saw Logan push xyr glasses up further on the bridge of xyr nose. Nervous tic, maybe? “About that.”

“About what,” Remy said flatly.

Logan seemed to get smaller, folding in on xemself somewhat as the two of them walked down the sidewalk. Xe fully took xyr glasses off, rubbing firmly at the lenses with the hem of xyr shirt, seeming reluctant to speak. Eventually, though, xe finally opened xyr mouth, and the words that tumbled out baffled Remy and shook him beyond belief.

“You cannot die.”

Remy nearly dropped their coffee.

After a moment of madly scrambling to keep his grip on the slippery, condensated surface of his coffee cup, Remy turned to fully face Logan. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You, erm.” Logan peered through the lenses of xyr glasses, deemed them still dirty, fervently wiped at them with the bottom of xyr shirt again. “Technically you can still die, and you will. Just...you can only perish of natural causes—that is, of old age, or perhaps a particularly nasty illness.”

Remy blinked. Wh...what.

Apparently satisfied with xyr cleaning of xyr glasses, Logan carefully fitted them back onto xyr face. Xe abruptly continued walking, forcing Remy to keep in motion as well to keep Logan from straying off-track on the way to campus.

“Due to the...unfortunate extenuating circumstances of our deal, we did not have the chance to configure the details of it,” Logan elaborated. “As such, our contract with each other has resulted in the...shall we say, the default?” Xe pondered xyr words for a moment. “Yes, ‘default’ suffices, given our context.”

“I—how?” Remy managed to push a word and a half out of his choked throat, his fumbly mouth. Honestly, that was a pretty good number, considering the situation. “What’s the—so what’s the default, then?”

“If you happen to be fatally injured or similarly, our deal mandates that I heal you or, at the very least, provide you with the means of survival,” Logan explained. Xe smiled for the first time—but it was a grim, knowing smile that Remy didn’t find themself liking in the slightest. “Of course, ensuring that you survive does not require anything beyond a bare minimum.”

Logan’s face was weirdly shadowed for someone standing in the middle of the street on a sunny day. “Should I choose to, I could make your life quite miserable.”

Remy swallowed.

“However.” Logan fixed xyr unwavering gaze on Remy. “As you have not given me reason to do as such, we shall hope that it does not come to such measures.”

Unable to do anything other than nod, Remy rapidly shook his head up and down, not unlike a bobblehead. Logan had seemed fairly harmless at first, even for an apparent demon, but now...oh, boy. They were very much not keen to get on xyr bad side.

“The only fatal injuries that I am not required to heal are self-inflicted ones,” Logan said, albeit more quietly than xyr previous words had been. “If it is a human’s wish to take themself out of this world, it is...not my duty to interfere.”

“Oh. Uh.” Remy licked his dry lips nervously. “You won’t have to worry about that here. I don’t think.” Their throat was dry—any lingering wetness from the coffee had disappeared quite quickly when Logan had first begun speaking. But—oh, wait, they were an idiot. There was still more coffee left.

The two of them walked past the front sign of Remy’s university, officially on campus. Remy jerkily lifted his iced coffee to his lips, taking the tiniest of tiny sips. “Is there...any way to, like, break a deal or something?” Remy asked nervously as he guided the two of them towards the art building.

Logan sighed. “If I were an angel, perhaps I would be kind enough to look for a loophole,”—and, what the fuck, angels existed too? which, like, made sense, considering demons were a thing, but still, what the fuck—“however, deals are permanent contracts, and in return for ensuring your survival, our deal promises me your soul upon your death.” Logan sighed again, more heavily this time. “So as...irritating as you may be, and as much of an inconvenience as you no doubt will become, I am not particularly inclined to break a deal that benefits me in such a way.”

“Wh....” Remy didn’t exactly want to know the answer to what he was about to ask; all the same, they felt like they had to ask. “What are you going to do with my soul when I...when you finally get it?”

Logan stared wordlessly at Remy, and Remy did not like the expression on xyr face, no siree, they did not. “Are you sure that you would like to know?” xe asked lowly, and Remy had never been more aware of the fact that his new (unwilling) companion was, in fact, a dangerous, all-powerful demon.

“Nope!” Remy all but shrieked, turning on their gay speed-walking powers and moving ahead of Logan, now all the more anxious to get to class. “No, I do not want to know! I do not want to even think about it! I don’t want to think about any of this, actually, so you know what, we are officially closing this discussion topic for, like, ever! I just want to live my life, holy shit!”

Logan frowned. “How is shit holy?” xe questioned, and this time, Remy really did drop his iced mocha—or, well, the little that was left of it.

“Oh my—actually, no, never mind,” Remy muttered sullenly, picking the cup up from the ground. They extracted their straw from the cup, wiping it off on their jeans before they shoved it into the side pocket on his backpack. “Babe, you are, like, literally hopeless.”

“Naturally,” Logan responded evenly. “I am a demon. We have no need for hopes and other ridiculous goings-on.”

“I—ugh!” Remy threw his used coffee cup into the trash can with more force than was strictly necessary. They all but stomped over to the door of the art building, yanking the door open. “Nope. I am totally not dealing with this right now. I’m going to class for the next ninety or however many minutes, and you”—they jabbed a finger in Logan’s direction—“are being put in time-out. You can sit out in the hallway like a lost puppy or like, like a kid at the principal’s office or...or something!”

Logan blinked owlishly behind his glasses. (Which, why would a demon even need glasses if they have magic? Xe really was trying too hard for a nerd aesthetic, if you asked Remy.) “But I am not—”

“NO!” Remy all but shrieked, practically running into his animation classroom and slamming the door behind him.

Logan stared after them, flummoxed.

.

.

.

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

*

lol this sat finished and edited on my hard drive for a week before I remembered that oh, yeah, I do kinda have to actually post it to share it with y’all, don’t I.

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[kurokoros]

not another teen horror movie | sp x oc

Rated: T (mentions of smut)

Words: ~3K

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Jubilee Jones (OC)

Characters: SP, Jughead, Toni, Fangs, Joaquin

Summary: When they go camping in Fox Forest for a night, it’s all fun and games until Fangs goes missing. Maybe the legend of the Gargoyle King isn’t as fake as they thought.

AN: One-shot written for the @southsidearchive prompt: Classics. Requested by @catthecoder “from the falloween prompt list, can i request numbers 12 and 22, with sweet pea + oc?”

The fire crackles, little wisps of flame dancing through the air before disappearing into the darkness. The embers illuminate the small clearing where they’ve set up camp in Fox Forest. The woods are otherwise quiet save for the chirping of bugs. When Toni suggested they have a bonfire in the middle of the woods, the rest of them agreed easily, despite the local legends. They all needed a quiet night like this, and spooky stories and cheap beer around a camp fire seemed like a perfect decision for a chilly October night.

On a quilt a few feet from the fire, Jubilee curls herself closer to Sweet Pea’s chest, playing with the rings on his fingers as she stares into the fire, the warm, smoky smell lulling her into a half-asleep state. Sweet Pea’s chest rises and falls beneath her in a slow and steady rhythm as he draws shapes against her back beneath her shirt. His fingers trace the length of her spine absentmindedly.

Across the fire, Toni rolls her eyes as Jughead shoves another charred marshmallow into his mouth. Her nose scrunches in disgust, and she shakes her head as she takes another long drink from the bottle cradled in her hand. Jughead doesn’t notice, engrossed in roasting another marshmallow already.

They’re all a little drunk and tired, and Hot Dog’s tail thumps against the ground as Joaquin comes back out of the woods with an armful of sticks for the slowly dying fire. He drops the pile beside his folding chair before plopping down. “Hey,” he calls across the fire to the rest of them, “has anyone seen Fangs?”

Jughead frowns as he chews his burned marshmallow and Toni’s half-lidded eyes slide to the empty chair Fangs had been occupying for most of the night. Jubilee pulls her head from Sweet Pea’s chest to do the same, and beneath her Sweet Pea sighs.

“I thought he went to piss?” Sweet Pea says, voice low and thick with sleep.

Joaquin nods as he scratches Hot Dog between his ears. “Yeah, like a half-hour ago.”

Jubilee sits up, ignoring Sweet Pea’s attempts to pull her back down to him. “He didn’t come back?” she asks, slightly more awake now. She scans the clearing, just in case Fangs is passed out on the ground somewhere.

“Drunk bastard probably got lost,” Jughead says after swallowing. He stretches, his shoulders cracking loudly. “You know how he likes to go adventuring when he’s wasted.”

Toni groans as she comes to the same conclusion. “Who was supposed to be watching him again?”

Jughead takes a sip of his beer and glances at the couple on the ground slyly. “I’m pretty sure it was Sweet Pea,” he says as Jubilee disentangles herself from her grabby boyfriend and stands up.

“What?” Sweet Pea snaps, surging up from his prone position. “Fuck you, Jones, I watched him last time!” He follows Jubilee up, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glares at Jughead.

Jughead scoffs. “No, I watched him last time because you were busy trying to grope my sister behind a tree.”

“Can we not have this conversation now?” Jubilee asks, sighing as she grabs Sweet Pea’s arm to keep him from beating the shit out of her brother. Joaquin stares at the rest of them in amusement and continues to stroke Hot Dog’s head.

Toni sets her drink on the ground by her feet. “Agreed. Let’s just find Fangs and go home. He can’t have gotten far.”

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes as he runs his hand through his messy hair, irritation flashing in his dark eyes. “Let’s split up and look for him then,” he suggests.

“Let’s not,” Jubilee says, staring up at her boyfriend. She crosses her arms, having to crane her head back to meet his eyes. “That’s a good way to get lost. Or axe murdered,” she tacks on. He snorts in amusement, and she glares back at him. “What? You know what people say about Fox Forest.”

“Oh yeah. Sacrificial cults. A bloodthirsty, demonic creature. So spooky!” He laughs at the face she makes, and Jubilee shoves him away from her. Sweet Pea doesn’t let her go far. Easily, he tugs her back to him and wraps his arms around her torso, hugging her to his chest. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs against her hair, still chuckling as he presses a kiss to her temple. “There’s nothing out here. The Gargoyle King is just a myth.”

A displeased sound pulls from her throat, but she leans against his chest. “That’s what the hot guy in every horror movie says before everything goes to shit,” she reminds him, but she doesn’t stop his hands from flirting with the hem of her shirt.

He grins against her hair. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Eww,” Jughead says loudly from where he’s sitting closer to the fire. “Can you two not fuck in the middle of the woods? Thanks.” He takes the last swig of his beer, pulling a face as his sister and her boyfriend continue to flirt shamelessly.

Jubilee rolls her eyes. “Shut up, dumbass.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Jughead repeats mockingly.

Before they can start bickering, Toni stands from her folding chair. “Okay!” She claps her hands together, gaining everyone’s attention. “Look, Sweet Pea is kind of right,” she admits. “Fangs probably just wandered off to take a piss and passed out in one of the bushes. It’ll be faster if we split up and look for him.”

Jughead’s eyes narrow as Sweet Pea’s fingers dip beneath Jubilee’s shirt. “Maybe I should go with Sweet Pea.”

“What? Need me to protect you, Jones?”

The girls share a look before Jubilee slips from Sweet Pea’s grip and gabs his hand instead. “Sweet Pea and I will go this way,” she tells the others, gesturing north of their camp. “You two head towards the lake. And Joaquin,” she shrugs, “just stay here in case he comes back, I guess. Is that okay?”

Joaquin snorts and ruffles Hot Dog’s ears. “I’m fine with not wandering around in the middle of the creepy woods.” Hot Dog woofs his agreement, tail thumping against the ground by Joaquin’s feet.

“Great,” Jubilee says. “Keep your phones on and meet back here in an hour?”

Begrudgingly, Jughead stands from his chair, already groaning. “An hour?” he repeats, his brows furrowing. “You think it’s going to take an hour to find Fangs?”

“Nope.” Sweet Pea licks his lips as he looks at Jubilee, a mischievous look in his eyes. As he tugs her away, Jubilee giggles, barely glancing back at the rest of them.

Jughead watches them go. “You two disgust me!”

Jubilee flips him off over her shoulder.

They’ve been wandering around Fox Forest for nearly a half hour when Jubilee comes to the conclusion that they have absolutely no idea what they’re doing or where they are. It’s been at least twenty minutes since either of them could hear Toni and Jughead in the distance, and they’ve checked every bush and tree, yet there’s been no sign of Fangs.

In his drunken state, she seriously doubts he could have made it this far into the woods by himself, and she’s half tempted to head back to the bonfire to see if he came back. Though, that’s hard to do when everything looks the same and she has no idea where they are anymore.

“I’m calling it,” she says, stopping with a heavy sigh. Sweet Pea glances at her over his shoulder. “We’re officially lost in the woods.” It’s cold and dark and everything looks the same out here, and Jubilee can’t shake the weird feeling she’s had since they all split up.

Fox Forest has always creeped her out, especially at night. Sure, a demonic gargoyle and satanic cults sounds ridiculous, but with the rest of the weird shit that happens in Riverdale, she really wouldn’t be surprised if they walked into the middle of a group of masked cultists about to sacrifice some poor animal.

As if he knows exactly what she’s thinking, Sweet Pea rolls his eyes. The light from his flashlight makes another sweep across the nearby trees, casting gnarled shadows across the ground. “We’re not lost, babe,” he says. “I know exactly where we are.”

Yeah, that’s a lie. “I’m sure,” she responds dryly, gaining another look from him. “Okay, human compass, what direction are we going?”

It takes him way too long to answer her. “North?”

“Are you asking or telling me? Because I swear, Sweet Pea, if we’re lost out here in the middle of the creepy ass woods, I’m not sleeping with you.”

A smirk she knows far too well creeps onto his face, and the double entendre hits her a moment later. “What?” Sweet Pea asks her. “You scared?” He angles his light on the ground and crosses the short distance between them.

That look in his eyes makes her mouth go dry. “Hardly.” Jubilee wets her lips.

He clicks off the flashlight and slips it into his back pocket, plunging them into darkness. She blames the hitch in her breathing on the sudden chill in the air. “It’s okay to admit it,” he tells her, clearly amused.

“Bite me,” she murmurs as he backs her up against the nearest tree, his lips hovering over hers teasingly.

Sweet Pea’s hands press against the rough bark on either side of her head, boxing her in. Her fingers fist around the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. “You first, baby.” Teasingly, his lips brush against hers, the heat of their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

Goosebumps prickle at her skin as his palm leaves the tree to settle on her hip, his fingers flirting with the hem of her shirt. “We’re supposed to be looking for Fangs,” she reminds him half-heartedly, rising on her toes to get closer to his lips.

“He can wait,” Sweet Pea tells her before his mouth finds hers in the dark.

It doesn’t take long for them to become lost in each other. Their heavy breathing and the quiet gasps and whimpers slipping from their mouths are the only sounds in the dark woods. The moonlight casts a silver shadow across the secluded spot between the trees.

Jubilee’s arms loop around Sweet Pea’s neck as his mouth moves against hers roughly, the alcohol buzzing in their veins and the thrill of the night making them bolder than usual. His fingers slip beneath her shirt, his palms hot against her as he tugs her shirt upwards, revealing inches of soft, creamy skin to his greedy hands. She moans against his mouth, raking her fingers through his hair, and Sweet Pea’s lips move to her jaw. Nipping and sucking his way to her neck, he grins when her head falls back against the tree trunk, her eyes fluttering shut as he works a faint hickey just beneath her chin.

Jubilee giggles as he nips her shoulder, pulling her shirt higher, letting it bunch above her bra. His teeth scrape across her neck as her fingers disappear into his boxers. A low groan rumbles in his chest.

Glowing eyes lock with hers in the dark from between the trees. Jubilee freezes, her breath hitching. A trick of the moonlight, maybe, an owl in the trees, or a deer, but then her eyes start to adjust. A figure swathed in a black cloak watches them from between the shadow of the trees. Gnarled antlers protrude from a deer skull, blending with the trees.

It stares with empty eyes, and every story she’s heard about the Gargoyle King comes rushing back to her. Slowly, as if it isn’t really happening, the figure’s head moves.

“Sweet Pea,” she murmurs, watching in horror as it takes a step out from the trees. “Sweet Pea—stop. Oh my god!”

He rips away from her neck, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit, sorry, doll, I—” A branch snaps behind him, and Sweet Pea whirls around, releasing her. “What the fuck?” Sweet Pea immediately shoves her behind him, blocking her from view as whatever the fuck just popped out of the woods takes another step towards them. “Hey, what the fuck, man?” he shouts, glaring at the figure.

It just keeps coming closer, unafraid, and Sweet Pea squeezes her hip. The familiar sound of a switchblade clicking open splits the air.

“Jubilee, I want you to run,” Sweet Pea tells her, voice low so whatever the fuck the creepy masked thing is can’t hear him.

Her fingers curl against the back of his jacket. “What? No, are you crazy?”

“Jubilee—”

The goddamn Gargoyle King raises its arms, spreading them wide. “It’s time to ascend,” a voice booms across the space between them, a hoarse, gravelly sound. And then, the figure starts to shake.

It takes them a second to realize it’s laughing, the sound familiar.

“Wait, Fangs?” Sweet Pea asks. The figure only laughs harder as it yanks the mask from its head like a damn Scooby villain.

“Fangs, you asshole!” Jubilee yanks her shirt back down, glaring at the cackling man as he doubles over, clutching at his stomach.

The creepy, antlered mask drops to the ground by Fangs’ feet, rubber and very much fake. Sweet Pea slowly lowers his arm when he realizes it’s just his best friend, though he doesn’t put away the knife in his hand. Jubilee subtly grabs his arm. The last thing they need is for Fangs to get his dumb ass stabbed.

Fangs wheezes, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, “Oh my god,” he giggles, “that was fucking fantastic!” He wipes the tears from his eyes and straightens. A smug smile spreads across his face as he looks at Sweet Pea and Jubilee, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“What the fuck, man?” Sweet Pea sneers, his jaw clenched tightly. Jubilee slips around his broad frame, and his arm immediately curls around her waist. She leans against him in return and slips her cold fingers beneath his jacket. She rubs his back, drawing small circles between his shoulders, and he slowly starts to relax again.

“Where the hell did you get that costume?” she asks, eyeing the black fabric draped around his frame and intentionally ignoring the ugly, rubber mask on the ground.

The twigs sticking out from his back shake as Fangs shrugs. “Dilton Doiley had one,” he says. “Something about LARPing? I don’t know, he just said I could borrow it for twenty bucks.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jubilee murmurs, running her fingers through her hair and brushing the strands away from her face.

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow. “There’s no fucking way you knew we’d show up here. We’re in the middle of the woods, how’d you even find us?”

“I didn’t.” The smirk never leaves Fangs’ face as scoops his mask off the ground and crosses his arms. “I’ve kind of been walking around for the last hour waiting for someone to show up. I was hoping to get all four of you at once, but, damn, that look on Sweet Pea’s face was priceless.” He chuckles again and Jubilee grips the back of Sweet Pea’s jacket as he puffs up. “You two were being loud, so it wasn’t hard to find you.”

Jubilee blanches as realizes Fangs was lurking around in the woods listening to her moan, and Sweet Pea’s jaw clenches as he comes to the same conclusion.

Oblivious to their anger, Fangs wrinkles his nose and tugs at the black fabric he’s still swathed in. The creepy decorations that look like bones on his necklace rattle. “It’s fucking hot in here, man,” he whines, pouting at them. He freezes when he sees the open switchblade still clutched in Sweet Pea’s fist. “Dude, were you gonna stab me?”

“Still thinkin’ about it,” Sweet Pea grumbles as he closes the knife and slips it into his pocket.

With a groan, Jubilee buries her face against Sweet Pea’s shoulder and tightens her grip around his waist, her face heating up. “I can’t believe we were almost those naked teens that die in every horror movie,” she murmurs against his shoulder. Sweet Pea leans down to kiss her temple.

“Want me to kill him?” Sweet Pea asks her, too low for Fangs to hear.

Their friend doesn’t pay them any attention, too busy trying to yank the costume off over his head, but only succeeding in getting the fabric even more tangled.

Jubilee snorts as she leans back. “No,” she decides, pursing her lips as she tries not to laugh at Fangs’ struggles. “People would ask too many questions.” Sweet Pea chuckles, and she rises on her toes to give him a chaste kiss.

He steals another kiss before letting her go, and she giggles before turning back to Fangs.

“Okay, Your Majesty,” she calls to him, “lets go back to the car now. You had your fun.”

Fangs gives up on tugging off the costume and looks at her. “Oh, come on, Jubilee, you’re not scared are you?” His eyebrows wiggle.

She sending him a blank look that makes him freeze. “You really wanna tease me right now?” she asks seriously, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip, a stance that means instant death.

Fangs swallows. “No.”

“Good!” Jubilee grabs Sweet Pea’s hand. “Let’s go.” The two of them leave Fangs there, his costume still tangled around him.

“Wait—fuck—guys wait for me!” He chases after them, stumbling over his cloak.

[faveficarchive]

The High Road to Low Expectations

Number 666 of the White Trash Series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: In the final installment of the White Trash series, Cyrene fucks up the weed, Gabrielle is on a mad search for the right kind of weed, and not-so-surprising new facts arise when Eli starts a film project and chooses Dahak’s.

CW: There’s some off-screen sexual assault in this one. Two lines, but it’s there. 

You wonder why we're only half-ashamed

Because enough is too much

And look around…

Can you blame us? Can you blame us?

—Morrisey, "Interesting Drug"

1. The Mother of Peace

In 1967, just before she dropped out of the honors program at Berkeley in order to join Strawberry Alarm Clock on tour, Cyrene had participated in a student takeover of the president’s office on campus.

It was her finest moment: She was the Revolution incarnate. Wearing a beret, armed with a bullhorn, she lectured, cajoled, exhorted her fellow students to leave the past behind, to join with the Students Against Totalitarianism and Nostalgia (SATAN) in rebuilding the university for the future. The past was dead, she proclaimed. "Marx was wrong!" she spat into her bullhorn. "Religion isn’t the opiate of the people, it’s nostalgia!"

She was quoted for weeks, photographed for all the local newspapers and her FBI file, and propositioned by the grooviest guys on campus.

Thirty-three years later, the present was now the past, but it still looked pretty damn good. Especially when one lived in a day and age when Ché Guervara’s image was used to sell computers and a chain of stores selling bad coffee had taken over the planet. Now, Cyrene realized, she was beginning to understand nostalgia. She wanted to go back in a time capsule and apologize to nostalgia for all the mean things she said about it. Because now she was an old woman—albeit a relatively content old woman—reduced to selling pot to ungrateful young people who would just use it while watching cartoons and not as a break from fighting for the proletariat, or world peace, or the environment, or for an endangered species.

And then there was Gabrielle—who now stood before Cyrene, irritable and clad in her trusty old Carhart jacket. Once upon a time she thought her daughter’s main squeeze had enormous potential to do something—precisely what, the old hippie hadn’t the faintest idea. But ever since the trés sensitive poet had secured an academic career (with stripping on the side—some career choices were best left unexamined, thought the terminally unemployed Cyrene), she had become terribly dour and authoritarian. Gabrielle was now part of the problem, as they used to say.

"Got my dope, Cyrene?" A tad impatient, Gabrielle was shifting her weight from leg to leg.

The aging hippie sighed. "Of course, man." Cyrene pulled out her briefcase. While it was not a briefcase in the traditional leathery sense, she thought that the old Kung Fu lunchbox (which Zina had used for 3rd and 4th grade before advancing to the practice of bullying other children for food, money, and homework) served her purposes well.

"Here ya go, honey." She flipped a Ziploc bag of pot to Gabrielle, who examined it with the exaggerated self-importance of a nascent connoisseur.

Little golden eyebrows furrowed, like caterpillars plotting a coup. "Is this the Rhine Gold?"

"Absolutely!"

"It doesn't look like the Rhine Gold."

"Since when are you an expert?"

"Since you became my dealer—I've been smoking it for the past five years."

Cyrene squinted at the bag. And grew less convinced herself. She thought she had saved the last of the current crop for Gabrielle…unless she accidentally gave it to Eli. Which would explain why he was so fuckin’ happy at the food co-op last night! "Well, I'm pretty sure it's the Rhine Gold."

"'Pretty sure' doesn't cut it."

"Do you use that snotty tone with your students, man?"

Actually, yes, I do, Gabrielle thought, wincing. "Sorry, Cyrene. It's just a stressful time of year. The semester is over, I have finals to grade, not to mention the term papers. It's—"

"—it's coming on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees, they're puttin' up reindeer and singin' songs of joy and peace—"

"Cyrene."

"Honey?"

"Christmas is over."

The old hippie smiled in the glorious, reassuring fashion that made her a darling of the counterculture for 15 minutes, that is, with a freewheeling, easy, bullshit charm that totally suckered the always-guileless Gabrielle. Cyrene patted the young woman’s arm. "Just give it a try for me, honey, okay?"

* * *

Zina discarded a sooty jacket and a well-worn helmet in a pile beside the door. Another hellish shift. How many kitty cats could get stuck up in a tree in one frigging day? And then there was another case of blatant fireplace abuse—it happened frequently during and after Christmas, the most festive and mindless time of the year. Somehow people failed to understand that the chestnuts should merely roast over an open fire, and not turn into splitting, hissing flameballs that freak you out and make you inexplicably throw toward the window so that the curtains light up as well.

She yawned, stretched, and ambled into the living room. Gabrielle was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in her standard lazy-ass Sunday gear: green flannel pajama bottoms and an Olympus County Community College t-shirt. "Hey bitch, where's my chicken pot pie?" the firefighter trotted out her standard greeting.

Instead of a playful giggle or a semi-sarcastic retort, the poet met this with stony silence and a baleful glare.

"Just kidding," the firefighter added lamely.

"Your mother dicked me over again."

Zina smirked suggestively. "Come again?"

"She gave me inferior weed, Zina. I'm not high. I'm not getting a good high." The poet blew out a frustrated breath. "This is not Rhine Gold."

"You sure?" The firefighter walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Rolling Rock out of the fridge. "I though Mom woulda learned her lesson the last time she didn't give you Rhine." In response to the last time she did not get Rhine Gold as requested, the vengeful Gabrielle—perhaps over-inspired by Titus Andronicus—cooked a tofu casserole in chicken broth and fed it to the unsuspecting hippie. However, the only salient result of the incident was Gabrielle's overwhelming guilt and Cyrene's endless tirades on fucked-up karma.

"Obviously not. In fact, I'll prove it to you." The poet dropped her gaze. "Say it."

"I'm tired," Zina whined, as if four syllables would push her into physical collapse.

"Come on."

"Okay, okay." The firefighter took a breath, then wiggled her eyebrows for good measure. "Machu Picchu."

Half a minute lapsed into eternity. Gabrielle remained staring at her blankly. "Try again," the poet-pothead requested.

"Machu Picchu." This time Zina drawled it out a bit, sounding like a Pokeman on Quaaludes.

The silence continued. Zina frowned. Normally—meaning under the proper influence of Rhine Gold—upon hearing the name of the ancient Inca city, Gabrielle would dissolve into giggles that eventually escalated into hysterics and threatened the stability of her bladder.

Zina’s sooty brow furrowed with an almost genuine concern. This was indeed serious. She opened the refrigerator again to continue her reconnaissance mission for leftovers.

2. Somehow, Pacino’s Career Survived

Within the confines of Dahak's, Chad waved at an unusual sight: Eli, clutching a small, old film camera, was leaning nervously against the bar. He was intrigued enough to go over and speak with Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy.

"Welcome to the dark side," Chad purred mischievously.

"Hey man, how ya doing? Look, I'm not here because I'm gay."

"Sure, you’re not. I mean, where else can a straight guy indulge his love of 20-year-old dance songs?"

"No, really." Eli held up the camera. "This is for my semester project in Film 404. We have to do a short piece that remakes a Hollywood film about minorities. I chose Cruising."

"I see." Chad's eyes narrowed.

"No, you don't—I'm going to do it better, trust me."

"Good luck," Chad muttered.

"What?" Eli shouted. The sound of Dee-Lite's "Groove is in the Heart" now pounded over them, rendering embarrassed mumbling impossible.

"Never mind!" Chad yelled back. "But you better be careful."

"Why?"

"It’s contagious!" Chad laughed and pointed at a burly man on the dance floor, dressed in black Levis and a leather vest. "I mean, I never thought I'd see him here, but there he is! And I even got his number!" he crowed.

Eli watched as the magic man spun around. It was Artie.

"This is so going into the movie." He held up his super 8.

* * *

Zina had settled in on the couch to watch the latest offering from Fox: When Overeducated White Women Attack. The show was finally displaying some promise: After ten tedious minutes of observing a comparative literature professor balancing her checkbook—resulting in tears and a torn register—Zina now watched as a woman with a Ph.D. in art history from Yale contemplated sticking a butter knife into a still-plugged toaster.

"Do it, you dumb bitch!" the firefighter hissed at the TV, just as Gabrielle came in the house.

"Zina," the poet began breathlessly.

The butter knife hesitated about the toaster slot.

"Are you listening to me?"

The firefighter nibbled her lips with anticipation.

"Damn it, Zina!" Gabrielle latched onto a dark and brooding—yet terribly sensitive—earlobe, giving it a violent twist.

"Ow!" the firefighter roared. It was the first part of Gabrielle's fabled one-two punch: First the earlobe, then cranial battering with the world's ugliest throw pillow—a brightly colored, quasi-Pennsylvania Dutch mess of hexagons that resembled nothing so much as an Amish pap smear. Having the discordant colors so close to her face was worse than the actual physical pain.

Zina ducked a blow from the pillow and rolled off the couch to avoid further abuse. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted. "Ever since you stopped smoking dope you've been out of your fucking gourd!"

"Bullshit!" snapped Gabrielle.

The firefighter rubbed her delicate, doughy earlobe. "Oh yeah? What about all those American Gladiators you were so hot to beat up, the other night when we went out for pizza?"

Gabrielle held up a menacing finger—and snarled. "I just didn't like they way they were lookin' at you."

Zina blinked. Shouldn't that be my line? Is this what it's like to live with me? Mommy, I'm confused.

"We got a problem, Zina. Artie beat up Eli, outside of Dahak's."

"What was Artie doin' hanging around—oh."

"Uh-huh. And it's Gay Night too. This adds to my theory that he's a big fat fucking closet case."

"Or it could support my theory that he's just horny as hell." So very proud of actually having a theory on anything, Zina folded her arms with a minor sense of triumph.

Gabrielle was pacing now. "Fuck the theories. All I know is that I'm gonna kick his ass. Are you in or not?"

Zina now slumped, defeated. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to drink beer in front of the TV until she fell asleep. And maybe mess around a little with her girlfriend on the couch. Add some pretzels to that pleasure equation, and thus an evening was made, nay, would achieve an unrivaled, unparalleled perfection. She recycled the only line she could think of that might get her out of this potential mess. "Violence is not the way, grasshopper."

"Don't you dare quote Lao Ma to me!" barked Gabrielle. She stopped pacing. "I want vengeance!"

A sharp buzzing noise and canned laughter from the TV indicated that the Yalie had just fried herself.

The firefighter sighed. What else could she do? "Will we be home in time for Smackdown?"

"Count on it." Gabrielle sailed out the door, expecting her backup to follow.

* * *

Artie swaggered down a quiet, peaceful main street while fragments of "Stayin’ Alive" provided a rather dated personal soundtrack within his mind. He felt good. Fifteen minutes of sin in a bathroom, easily absolved by lots of prayer and repentant tears, made him feel like a new man. He sniffed at his arm, drinking in the powerful yet sublime scent of cologne that was not his—a heady (oh yeah, baby! he thought), Proustian remnant of his earlier toilet-side encounter.

A lone car passed. Then it executed an abrupt u-turn and came toward him. Immediately he recognized the battered, ugly economy vehicle as Gabrielle’s. When it pulled to a halt near the curb in front of him and both women emerged simultaneously from the Escort—even slamming their respective doors in unison—he giggled. "Hey! Cagney and Lacey! Arrest me and molest me!"

In response Zina leaped over the hood of the car with magnificent, MacGyver-like grace. Somehow he couldn’t picture Sharon Gless doing that. Nonetheless, as usual, her beauty broke his heart, almost literally in this instance as she head-butted him in the chest. He stumbled backward, and she slammed him into a wall. "Zina!" he cried. "What gives?"

"You know what gives, you little shit. You beat up Eli."

Fist curled, Zina leaned in closer to Artie. She sniffed at him. He flinched. Then he noticed that her eyes had that old, familiar look, that look he thought he would never see again, in his wildest, wettest dreams: Desire. "What's that you're wearing?" she growled sensually.

"Um, I think it's called Aroma Mist—"

"You mean Aramis?" The height-challenged Gabrielle was trying to interject herself between them; if doing so physically wouldn’t work, she would settle for verbally. Aramis was dangerous stuff—this she knew from Chad. The demon scent could arouse anyone, her worldly friend had told her. And while a conflation of appetites was an unfortunate aspect of the firefighter’s character—the smell of fresh meatloaf could have Zina naked and ready to pounce within seconds—Gabrielle was quite certain that she did not want to know to what ends Aramis would compel her lover.

The firefighter’s nostrils flared again. Artie almost came on the spot.

"It's nice. Real nice," Zina murmured. Her pupils were obscenely dilated, as if giving birth to a new lust.

"Zina—" Gabrielle ground out the "you-are-on-the-verge-of-infidelity" warning between her teeth.

"Thanks!" Artie gushed. He grinned. "Say, ah, my place ain't that far away. How about we have a little drink, get caught up on old times?"

Zina grunted thoughtfully, like a sensitive orangutan making her TV debut on Nova.

It was the last thing she remembered clearly. For the intoxicating scent carried her away, she flew on the wings of night, her heart swelled and thundered like a storm. To paraphrase John Denver, it filled up her senses.

And then, the scent of the fabled cologne faded—or rather, was taken hostage and pummeled to death by the joint, brute force of stale TV dinners and ancient laundry that happily coexisted in Artie’s trailer. Now, sitting on a couch more wretched and stinky than her own, Zina blinked in confusion, wondering how in the hell she had gotten there.

Artie was smiling at her in his smarmy way from the entrance of his eat-in kitchen. "I’m makin’ ya a Long Island Iced Tea, baby," he crooned. Which meant that he was frantically throwing every kind of liquor he had into a blender.

That goddamn cologne. Geez, it's no wonder straight women fall in love with gay men all the time! Gabrielle is gonna kill me.

"An’ you just sit back and enjoy that cee-gar," he was saying.

Zina looked at her hands. A cigar was cradled between the first two fingers of her left hand. Not just any cigar, she realized, but a good one, straight from the Ghurkhan plantation in Cuba! Now that brought back memories, she thought. She cut off the tip with her switchblade, then lit up, making sure that he could hear the soft, sensual sound of her lips going puh as she puffed away. Might as well torture him while I’m here.

Artie cast a nervous look into the living room. Seeing her here once again, within his home, made him realize that he wanted her to be there, always. This AM radio sentiment prompted a decisive action. He wiped his sweaty palms on his black jeans, darted into the living room, and knelt in front of her. "Zina, I—"

"Where's my drink?"

"I'll get to it in a minute. I—" He made the mistake of looking into her cold, uncompromising eyes. Suppressing a sigh, he stood up and went back to the kitchen. After five minutes, some cursing, and a whirring blender, he was back with a frothy concoction that he hoped would lower whatever teeny inhibitions—like, say, incest or a certain blonde pussywhipper—that now prevented her from sleeping with him.

Gleefully she gulped down half the drink, her lip smacking and groans of pleasure a delightful torture to him.

"Zina, I got to talk to you about something. I've been doing a lot of thinking about you and me."

She burped.

"I can't deny how I feel about you any longer. I reckon my feelings for you never changed in the first place. No matter how much I fought 'em. So I got to ask you this." He lowered his head, sent a quick prayer to the Lord, then looked once again into her eyes. "Would you marry me, Zina?"

"Ain't that illegal, marryin' your kin?"

His face turned red. "They can't prove that, and you know it!"

Zina paused thoughtfully and tortured him some more as she fellated the cigar. "I dunno, Artie. What's in it for me?"

"A devoted, loving husband."

"Not the answer I want, and you know it."

It had been The Issue in their relationship; Artie had prayed that she would not remember. But, alas and alack, she did. "What you ask of me is unnatural," he mumbled, which had been his Standard Retort in the matter—and it was true, because the Bible never said a damn thing about It.

"My ass," she grunted. "I bet if I asked Gabrielle to eat me out every night, she'd do it." She neglected to add that this would most certainly be true only if chocolate and/or margaritas were involved in said oral activity.

His expression curdled. What you won't do, do for love. Then he scowled.��Damn that song! "All right!" he spat. "You got it."

The firefighter blinked in surprise; she was impressed. "Okay. What about the housework?"

"Zina," he began patiently, "I am a working man. And the Lord dictates that the home is the woman's realm."

"I work too, asshole. So I would have to do all the cooking and the cleaning?"

His nostrils flared. He would not back down on this one. Never. Absolutely not. "We split it, fifty-fifty! And I'm not doing the laundry."

It was an admirable gamble, and a good offer, she thought. And she knew that Artie could never boss her around like Gabrielle did—he wouldn’t force her to eat vegetables, especially with some lowdown, dirty trick like hiding mushrooms under slices of pepperoni on a pizza! Still, her mind was made up; it always had been. She grinned and drained her drink. "Shit, Artie, Gabrielle already does all that cleaning stuff anyway." She stretched, patted his cheek, and stood up. "Thanks for the drink and the smoke."

As Zina left Artie's trailer, all the while marveling at how easy it was to block out the sound of his sobbing (which possessed a quality similar to the primal wailing of rhinoceroses in mourning), she realized that she had made a mistake. Even though nothing had happened, she had left Gabrielle high and dry, no doubt thinking that something was going on with her and Artie. Well, it wasn't her fault, really, that Artie had smelled so good. Still, Zina knew that one thing—and one thing only—mattered. Only one thing would rectify this mistake: One way or another, she would get Gabrielle the Rhine Gold.

3. Like a Bridge Over Troubled Kung Pao

On his first day out of the hospital, Eli agreed to lunch with Gabrielle at the Green Dragon. This, in spite of the fact that he felt embarrassed about how he looked: His shaven head was completely bandaged, and he resembled a partially bearded blue-eyed egg. But despite his tender condition, Eli was more concerned about his friend; he had detected a serious mood change in Gabrielle since she no longer had access to Rhine Gold. She was moody, irritable, and prone to violence. And maybe just plain weird: She was now arranging the peanuts of her Kung Pao Chicken into an impressive fortress around a particularly large floret of broccoli. She was about to send a lump of chicken careening into the peanuts when Eli announced his intention to speak by clearing his throat.

"So Zina's out of town?" He frowned as Gabrielle got the snow peas in on the action, creating a little drawbridge across the peanuts and into the broccoli.

"Yeah," the poet finally mumbled.

It was like trying to coax conversation out of an autistic child. "Where is she?"

Gabrielle sighed dramatically. Acting as deus ex machina in the culinary warfare, she stabbed the chicken battering ram with a chopstick. "Visiting an old boyfriend. Supposedly to get me some Rhine Gold." She devoured the meat.

Eli shuddered at this carnivorous act. "You don't trust her?"

"I dunno, Eli. I'm not sure anymore—not after the way she was sniffing around Artie."

"Well, geez—that was just Artie. This doesn't mean—"

"Why would she have to go all the way to New York to get the stuff?" Gabrielle burst out with exasperation.

The hippie cinemaphile attempted an explanation. "Gab, this stuff is actually pretty rare. It's powerful shit, and you should just count yourself lucky that Cyrene had a crop going for as long as she did. I'm not surprised Zina would have to go to a big city to score some."

This appeared to assuage Gabrielle somewhat. "I guess, but still…I don't know if I should trust this guy."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Marcus. I actually meant to tell you sooner, 'cause I knew you'd be interested in this—Zina says he's in the movies, like he works for a studio or something."

Eli's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

The poet furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Zina knows Marcus Pebble? Oh my GOD."

"Who is he?"

Eli shook his head in disbelief. Of course, he wasn't really surprised that she didn't know who Marcus was—most moviegoers today were so vastly ignorant of their cinematic heritage. He quoted directly from his own lonely, neglected unfinished dissertation: "In the early 1980s, Marcus almost revived the blaxploitation genre and almost returned it to its glory days in the 1970s with one amazing film: White Chocolate Comes to Harlem."

"'Almost?'" Gabrielle interjected skeptically.

"Okay, it bombed. But it's a great film, man. It provides a valuable and much-needed transition between classics like Shaft and Foxy Brown to the new genre of gangsta films which began with New Jack City."

"Is he still directing?"

Eli sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, no. He's leading a living death as a low-level Miramax exec."

Lao Ma stopped by the table to refill their water glasses. "You speak of Marcus Pebble," she announced.

"Ooooh, eavesdropping, how mystical!" Whereas Gabrielle was concerned, Lao never failed in stirring the sarcasm pot.

Nonetheless, Zina's ex ignored the temperamental poet and addressed her remarks to Eli. "I did feng shui for Marcus's townhouse."

Eli gazed at her, amazed, worshipful, and tempted to kiss her feet, even though her filthy New Balance sneakers were encrusted with old "Happy Royal Family of Prawns" sauce.

The proprietress of the Green Dragon merely shrugged. "It's a living."

4. The Face on the Cutting Room Floor

[A scene from White Chocolate Comes to Harlem. Zina, lying on a bed, is wearing a leopard-skin spaghetti string top and mauve hotpants. She has a typical Medusa-like early 80s perm, as perfected by the various members of the Bangles. She is pretending to be high or actually is; to this day no one is really sure. ]

[Marcus enters. His is a more restrained version of the classic pimp suit—black with a hot pink shirt and matching headband around his flying-saucer like hat.]

Marcus: Bitch, what did I tell you? Get your lazy ass on that street now! [He grabs Zina by the wrist and hauls her out of the bed. She stands before him, wavering slightly, glassy-eyed. Due to her three-inch stiletto heels, she towers over him.]

Zina: Huh?

Marcus: You heard me! [He slaps Zina—lightly—across the face. This snaps her out of whatever stupor—and pretense at characterization—she inhabits. Her eyes narrow with rage, she snarls, and knocks Marcus across the set with a vicious backhand. Off camera, a thud and a shriek of pain is heard. The camera follows the sound and twirls toward Marcus, now sprawled on the floor, clutching a bloody nose.]

Zina (off camera): Aw, baby, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to— [She totters over to him, kneels down and tries to help him sit up. Bleeding profusely, he tries, feebly, to crawl away from her.]

Marcus: GodDAMN, Zina! Remember that little discussion—ACTING? GodDAMNit. [To camera.] Floyd, turn off the camera!

Floyd (off camera): Huh?

Marcus: Fuck, are you all idiots? TURN OFF THE CAMERA.

Floyd: Sorry, man, I thought it was part of the scene. [Camera remains on.]

Zina: I'm sorry, honey, I really am. [Marcus is still crawling away from her, leaving a trail of blood. She is now crawling as well, right behind him.] You know how I get, I'm, like, more of a Method actor…I react, not act!

Marcus: I gave up a chance working with Pam Grier for this. [Still crawling, still bleeding. She watches helplessly, tries to approach him again. He is now off camera.] Do you hear me? PAM GRIER.

A Mercedes-Benz mired in traffic at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 76th, 6:42 PM EST.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the armrest, his cell phone glued to his head like the tumor it was probably already causing within his brain. "Right, Harvey. Right." He stared at the driver's thick pink neck and suppressed a sigh. "I'll take care of it as soon as I'm back in the office."

As Harvey droned on about the Gilligan's Island remake, Marcus gazed longingly toward Central Park, at the treetops that peeked over a long stone wall separating the green splendor from the sidewalk. His eyes widened when he saw a white hand appear at the top of the wall. A head, crowned with black flowing hair, followed this. A woman was pulling herself over the wall. Oh dear God. It can't be. Yet the pure grace of that body’s motion indicated it could only be one person, and one person only.

Marcus gasped; he couldn't find his voice. And even if he could have, the driver wouldn't have locked the doors in time anyway.

Gracefully, Zina zigzagged through the traffic, found the dark Mercedes, opened the door, and piled into the back seat. She grabbed Marcus's cell. "Hiya, Harvey. Yeah, I found him. Thanks a lot. Now promise me you'll think about that Billy Jack remake? 'Cause I tell ya, Harvey, that film is like my Bible, and I could be Billy Jack in my sleep, ya know?" A pause. "That Angelina Jolie weirdo as the hippie teacher, of course. Think about it. Okay, babe. Thanks again. Bye." Zina stared at the phone, couldn't figure out how to turn it off, and tossed it into Marcus's lap. "He'll never do it," she muttered to herself. "Damn shame." She sighed regretfully, but then, as she turned her attention on her ex-lover, the wattage on her smile increased exponentially. "Hiya, Marcus!"

Marcus, now plastered against the car door, wondered if he could possibly outrun her. Even if he could, the attention he might draw to himself would be questionable, at least to the easily confused members of New York's Finest. A black man running from a Mercedes? I don't think so. "Zina, what the hell are you doing here?" he barked.

She tried pouting. "Miss me, baby?"

"Like I would miss the plague."

"That ain't nice, Marcus."

"What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want somethin'?" Her eyes—those beautiful, beautiful eyes—went wide. "Couldn't I just stop by to say hi?"

Marcus held up a hand. "Girl, don't even. You always want somethin', Zina. There's always an angle. So just tell me what it is."

She attempted mixing in wounded, sullen pride with the pouting—which sometimes worked with Gabrielle, but only if you were already on your knees—yet he continued glaring at her until she finally broke down. "Okay, baby, you got me. I want some Rhine Gold."

"Rhine Gold!" he exclaimed. "What makes you think I still dabble in shit like that?"

Zina frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right. You're playing with power suits now. It's all coke."

"Zina!" Marcus shouted. "I do not do coke! Don't oppress me with your assumptions."

"What?"

Remember that this is Zina, he told himself. "Don't be an asshole."

"Oh." Silence fell over them. He folded his arms and remained crushed against the car door, wondering just how the hell he was going to get rid of her. And how in hell was he going to talk Harvey out of a Billy Jack remake. For despite what Zina thought, when it all came down to it, Harvey was just a massive, balding spittoon for bad ideas involving recycled B movies.

"Marcus, you at least gotta know where I can get some," she remarked, disgruntled, for he was wasting her very valuable time.

"Well…" He pursed his lips in thought. Granted, it was dangerous, but it would get her off his back, and far, far away. But can she handle it? he wondered. Marcus looked at her again, into eyes so blue they’d make Joanne Woodward dump Paul Newman in a nanosecond, and so crazy that Robert DeNiro would cry with envy. "I know where you can get some, but it is dangerous, and you gotta go south. Way south." His gaze flicked to his driver. "I’ve give you the details when we hit my office."

"Oh yeah? Okay, I can deal with that." Now that this most difficult phase of her mission was complete complete, Zina stretched with both relief and an air of self-satisfaction. They rode for a while in contented silence. "Hey, Marcus?"

"Now what?"

"Can I drive the car?"

5. Our Dyke in Havana

The retinue surrounding Castro was as thick as flies over a garbage can. The group of heavily armed men surrounding the leader of the small nation pushed through the crowd toward the baseball field.

Castro paused for a moment to shake hands with his people—the workers, the children, the huddled masses longing for decent TV stations. And also because he wanted a better look at the tall, pale senorita in the tight, sheath-like black dress and sunglasses, who grinned at him like a beacon.

With his guards watching warily, the mystery woman inched closer to Castro. Suddenly she flung her arms around the Cuban leader, crushing him in an affectionate hug. Several guards already had their hands on their weapons, but Castro was laughing and patting the woman's back.

Then, just as quickly, she disentangled herself from his embrace, still smiling. The pressure of the crowd urged Castro on, and reluctantly he moved away from her, with a final, longing glance backwards. Only a minute later he was patting his secret pocket for his stash and realized it was gone. He stopped and turned around. In the distance he could see her kicking off her heels, tearing her skirt for better mobility, and running. "Consigala!" he shouted.

Zina was tempted to take a moment to taunt them by shouting "Viva La Rhine Gold!" but as the adrenaline pumped through her and her legs kicked up increasing speed, she became more invested in keeping her sorry ass alive. Shit, I hope this swimming-to-Miami thing is as easy as Marcus says it is, she thought.

6. Husker Don't

Vendela Van Hoek nursed a damp, cold Heineken while a stripper's boobs shook in her face. Unimpressed, the Swedish musician simply leaned back, the gesture dismissing the dancer, who—untalented yet nonetheless working hard for the money, so hard for it, honey—took her mammaries elsewhere.

She had left Sven and Benny at the garage, thoroughly disgusted with her cousins' inane arguments with the idiot mechanic who could not fix their Saab motorbus. Of course it would take a week for a new exhaust pipe to arrive in this American backwater, and all the screaming and Laplander obscenities in the world would not change that. She placed the blame squarely on the domineering Sven. If he hadn't insisted on touring more rural areas, they wouldn't be here, she thought angrily. Her thumbnail slashed into the soggy beer label.

"I knew I would find you here." Benny's voice floated from above.

Vendela glanced up. Her bandmate, a truly gifted guitarist, was cradling a Heineken himself. He sat down.

"Don't say anything, Benny."

He shrugged and said nothing. Yet Benny's flaccid lips were quivering as much as the dancer's hips. Vendela knew it was only a matter of seconds.

"He didn't mean anything by it," the guitarist blurted.

"Like hell he didn't," she snapped.

"Vendela, we are all under a great deal of stress right now."

"That is no excuse!"

"It was just because you were off beat—" Benny winced at her icy glare.

"Oh, so now you are taking his side."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are, you fat fuck! Go on, tell me—say it! You think I am a 'second-rate Geddy Lee' too—you think that, just like Sven does!"

"I didn't say that!" he shouted. Mortified, he noticed that some of the people in strip club were staring at them. He lowered his voice. "You are Keith Moon, Vendela. Purely Moon."

"Liar!"

"Keep your voice down! You're embarrassing me!"

"Fuck you and your embarrassment!"

Just when Benny thought it could get no worse, the opening strains of the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself," began over the sound system, hypnotic layers of guitar that, nonetheless, he detested and thought so clichéd, so ridiculous for a strip club. Could they ever think of anything new? Who, he thought, is this pathetic bimbo who dares to use such an old, gimmicky song?

However, his heart clenched inside his chest when confronted with precisely the kind of bimbo who would use such a song: a delicious, voluptuous woman of perfection, with short blonde hair and in a white fringe bikini, slithering seductively around the pole on stage. He could not tear his eyes away from her. She moved with such leonine self-possession and controlled grace that his imagination begged to see her unleashed in the throes of passion.

May the heavens forgive me for slighting you, o nameless American goddess!

The goddess was now in front of him, gyrating slowly, her eyes glowing with faint disdain as she stared down upon him, awaiting her tribute. By the time that he had the presence of mind to dig for money in his pocket, the impatient goddess had moved on to Vendela. And now, watching his cousin brush a bill along those perfectly sculpted abs, Benny saw that Vendela was just as enraptured.

* * *

Sid Moskowitz narrowed his eyes at the sight of the two out-of-towners loitering in front of the dressing room. He knew they had to be from out of town since they were wearing leather pants and were stupid enough to believe they had a chance in hell with Gabrielle. The fact that they were shouting at each other in Swedish was also a big tip-off.

"Can I help you?" he murmured suspiciously at them. His eyes traveled freely over the statuesque blonde woman, who did not seem pleased at his attentions.

The stocky fellow in the chain-mail shirt, who looked like a scruffy Jon Lovitz, decided to answer for her. Before he spoke, his chest puffed out dramatically, as if he were indeed Master Thespian. "We come to offer frottage to a fellow artist! It is a certainty that She is the most talented dancer in your valley, and it is common for all far and wide to pay tribute to the genius who is She with White Undergarments Resembling Spaghetti!"

Sid had to hand it to this one; usually the potential stalkers lacked any kind of chutzpah and freely admitted that they simply wanted another gander at Gabrielle's tits. Nonetheless, Sid's paternal, protective instincts outweighed his admiration of the creative freak. "Sorry, sweetcakes, but Gabrielle does not receive visitors after she performs, okay? Now run along and abuse the English language elsewhere."

"Who are you?" the blonde beauty growled at Sid.

"I own this place, dumpling."

"And why should we believe that?" she retorted loudly, placing her hands on her hips.

Sid was caught among arousal, indignation, and abject fear—for him, a common state of existence. "Because I do, honeylamb. Now listen, I was just beginning to like you and I was even gonna offer you a tryout—"

Suddenly the dressing room's door flung open. Gabrielle's Olympus County Community College t-shirt and her cutoff jeans undermined her diva turn. "What the hell is all the racket about?" she snapped. However, the underachieving poet's erect nipples held them in thrall.

The proprietor of the Shimmy Shack, however, was accustomed to this glorious sight and he found his voice first. "These foreigners have come to stare at you, sugar pop." He sniffed disdainfully at Benny and Vendela. "What are you guys? French? You're fucking rude enough for it."

The tall blonde woman ignored him. She took Gabrielle's hand. "I am Vendela Van Hoek, drummer for Gravid Havarti. My cousin and I have come to praise you. You have given us three minutes and forty-five seconds of pleasure despite our hatred of the Divinyls. I, in particular, wish very much to prove my great admiration for you." Her full lips brushed the dancer's knuckles.

Gabrielle was only momentarily impressed at the smooth move. "I'm not giving back the twenty dollar bill. Sorry."

"Twenty?" Benny blurted.

Vendela silenced him with a hiss worthy of the most commanding cobra.

Benny fumed. His English was not as precise and mellifluous as his cousin's. Nonetheless, he knew one phrase, and one phrase only, that might get him into Gabrielle's good graces, or maybe even her tight jeans. His barrel chest puffed out once again. "And I have killer weed!" he proclaimed.

He smirked as Gabrielle's green eyes flitted to him. "Wait—wait a minute." She pulled her hand away from Vendela. "Just what kind of weed is this?"

7. Love Songs, Nothing But Love Songs

Carrying a bucket of ice, Vendela tried creeping by Room 604 of the Red Roof Inn as quietly as possible. She, Benny, and Gabrielle had managed to elude Sven when they first came up to the room that she and Benny shared, but somehow the drummer knew she would not be so fortunate in avoiding the overbearing band leader a second time.

And she wasn't. The door of Sven's room swung open and the skinny lead singer, clad in his black silk silver-studded bathrobe and his hairnet, violently hissed her name. "Vendela! What do you think you're doing!"

Sven was the ultimate killjoy. Nothing sucked the life and desire out of her like the sight of his tight, disapproving face. It was like being caught masturbating by a maiden aunt. "Nothing!" she retorted defensively. "Leave us alone! We are adults, you know."

"You're horny idiots, both of you. I know who is in that room with you."

Vendela glared at him defiantly.

"Her name is Gabrielle and her girlfriend is a violent, sociopathic ex-convict." He smirked with triumph at the surprised look on her face. "Obviously, you weren't paying attention to the mechanic at the garage. He knows this Gabrielle—he used to be in love with her. She's off limits, Vendela. Get rid of her before you get us all in trouble."

"Go to hell!" she growled. He slammed the door shut as she stomped over to Room 606. She fumbled with the card, then, exasperated, pounded on the door. "It's me, open up!"

Benny opened the door. Vendela was relieved to see that he was still dressed, as was Gabrielle, who was sprawled on one of the two beds in the room. The poet wore a simple outfit of jeans and a hooded green pullover sweatshirt. Such clothing is an affront to the perfections of that body! Vendela wanted to shout. Most of their vodka had served as a chaser to the big, fat, primo Rhine Gold joint that the stripper had polished off earlier. She was now thoroughly trashed.

And still muttering about Zina. Always with this Zina person, Vendela thought with disgust. As far as she could figure out, Zina was a whore of epic proportions who watched bad TV and made a pretense out of atoning for a half-assed criminal record. I would treat you far better, my queen! Even Benny would, for God's sake.

Her bandmate was now noodling around on his guitar, plucking a simple repetitive chord and singing softly: "Gab-ri-elle/My heart will swell...."

"Don't quit your day job," muttered the poet in a rare—albeit stoned—moment of insensitivity. "Oh, wait...this is your day job." She burst into giggles.

Vendela felt a pang of pity for her sensitive cousin. "Benny, perhaps you should turn on the radio," she suggested. The guitarist nodded, and fumbled at the knobs on the nightstand's dusty, fake wood-paneled clock radio. "Gabrielle," she continued, "I have brought you ice, as you requested."

Like a reanimated corpse in a horror film, Gabrielle sat up all herky-jerky. "Excellent. Gimme." The Swedish drummer handed her the bucket of ice. Over the course of the next few minutes the musicians watched as Gabrielle—ice bucket balanced precariously on her lap—fumbled to remove her sports watch, a much-loved acquisition courtesy of 50 Cap’n Crunch box-tops. Finally she liberated it from her wrist and noisily buried it within the ice.

She handed the bucket back to Vendela, who exchanged a look with her cousin. Do you want to ask her? Vendela's look said. No. She's freaking me out now, Benny's retorted. The drummer took a breath. "Why," she slowly asked, "did you do that?"

Gabrielle's verdant, unfocused eyes locked with hers. "I'm trying to stop time."

She flopped back onto the bed and grabbed an empty bong near her head. She cradled it, humming, as if it were an infant.

Does she have any brain cells left? Vendela wondered. The drummer returned the ice bucket to the dresser. Emboldened by a tiny sliver of bare tummy visible from where Gabrielle's sweatshirt had ridden up, Vendela sat on the bed next to the poet. She was about to lie down next to that delectable body when, in sudden woozy distress, Gabrielle sat up. At the sound of sniffling, Vendela leaned forward and Benny knelt anxiously in front of his goddess. A large, glittering teardrop splashed against the bong that she held.

"Gabrielle, what is it? What's wrong?" Vendela cried.

More shiny, silvery tears fell from the poet's eyes. "This is…our song."

Radiohead's "Creep" was on the station.

The Swedish musicians gaped at one another. This was inconceivable. A love song? A love song was "Chiquitita." A love song was "Babe." A love song was "My Heart Will Go On." A love song was "You Light Up My Life." It was not this.

But Gabrielle could only remember the magic of that night at the Horn, when Zina—after seven Rolling Rocks—finally convinced Effie to let her sing the song while backed up by the Amazons, to Gabrielle and the tattered, late-night remnants of the crowd. Initially, the bar's patrons had actually grooved on the laid-back melody and Zina's soft, angelic alto. Then the drunken, menacing, six-foot tall lead singer snarled the beginning of the chorus at them: I wish I were special/You're so fucking special and Sally punctuated the mood's turn with that sinister, slashing guitar chord. By the end of the song, Gabrielle truly felt that Zina was only singing to her, only to her, and no one else. And she was: Everyone else had left, even Ray Bob, the bouncer.

The spirit of song, nonetheless, now infected the discourse at Room 606 of the Red Roof Inn:

"But she's a creep!" Vendela spat.

"She's a weirdo," added Benny.

Gabrielle jumped up. "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here." The poet wavered. "I don't belong here," she repeated. The sudden lack of blood to the brain—and the pot and the booze—conspired like the three witches in Macbeth to send her toppling back onto the bed, utterly unconscious.

The salacious Swedes gazed upon the obtuse object of their desire, now snoring softly.

"Now what?" grumbled Benny.

Reluctantly, Vendela opted to do the right thing. "We take her back home. Sven wanted us to get rid of her anyway," she sighed.

"In this condition?" the guitarist asked nervously.

Vendela groaned in exasperation. "What other choice do we have?" She lifted one of the poet's deadweight arms by its wrist. "Look at her!" She dropped the arm, which fell on Gabrielle's stomach and caused an inadvertent squeak from the unconscious woman that startled them both. "Time to eat the doughnuts," Gabrielle murmured in a soft, dreamy singsong.

Benny's eyes lit up. "Krispy Kreme!"

His bandmate smiled in approval. "Excellent idea." Once more she gave the stoner poet a longing, wistful glance. "Benny?"

"Yes?"

"You don't suppose—I mean, how wrong could it be—?" The drummer's hand wavered above a tantalizing breast. "—just to touch them? Once?"

The guitarist's jaw dropped. "Vendela!" he hissed, appalled.

Vendela was not fooled by his outrage. She raised an eyebrow as temptation and sneaky lust danced across his face, his moral compass now crushed under their weight.

8. This is Not My Beautiful House. This is Not My Beautiful Wife.

In half-sleep, Zina sighed and squirmed. The bed felt good—too good. And the sheets were so soft. Must be that new fabric softener Gabrielle is using, she thought. Because they feel like silk. Just like when I used to sleep at Julie's…

Her eyes opened. The room was startlingly pristine, a crisp cream white. And it was not covered with faded blue wallpaper. And the dartboard was gone! And the sheets, which matched the walls, were truly spun from silk. Fuck. I am at Julie's! And I'm naked too! Gabrielle is gonna freak! She leaped out of the bed. Fuck! How did I get here? Fuck! I was just sitting at home—I didn't drink that much! Fuck!

The soft wall-to-wall carpet soothed her somewhat, and she took a deep breath. Don't panic. Find your clothes. Zina looked around the tidy room and its minimalist decor. Not a stitch of clothing was in sight. Not on the floor, or draped over the chair, or—she looked under the bed. Or under the bed. Frantically she opened one of the drawers of the teak dresser in the room. And found row upon row of neatly folded, clean t-shirts and jerseys. What the hell? Julie wouldn't be caught dead in stuff like this. She pulled out a large, Green Bay Packer jersey and slipped it on. Unless it's…The firefighter opened a second drawer, and saw many variations upon the standard, faded Levi's 501s that she always wore. Mine. This is my stuff.

And suddenly, like Saul on the road to Damascus, like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life, like Connie Selleca in Lifetime's But My Adopted Chinese Baby Has AIDS, she got it. She was doing the Alternate Universe Thingy, as introduced in the original Star Trek and expounded upon brilliantly in South Park. And she had no idea what to expect, except that Artie would not have a goatee and would be really nice and that Gabrielle would have a goatee and would be really evil. Right? The thought of Evil Goatee Gabrielle, she confessed to herself, was strangely, thrillingly scintillating.

She was now eager to see her brave new world. Zina padded through Julie's luxurious house—our luxurious house! She walked past a state-of-the-art weight room—in the blinding light of the chrome, she gasped with joy. Mine! Mine! Mine! She chanted this capitalist mantra as she dashed down the spiral staircase, past the big screen TV, the Mitchell Gold leather sofa, and into the kitchen. A middle-aged Latina woman in a sleek maid's uniform was cooking an omelet and ignoring her with the practiced coolness of hired help. Zina opened the refrigerator, and gasped once again at the most beautiful, most wondrous sight of all: Fields of shining, vivid green! Rolling Rock as far as the eye could see!

"Oh," she burbled, helpless with joy. Tears clogged her eyes.

Julie's stormtrooper staccato preceded her into the kitchen. Even so, Zina was not prepared for the affectionate nip upon her neck from the Culinary Fascist. "Good morning, darling. Sleep well?"

Zina said nothing, but remained staring into the nirvana of the open fridge.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. You seem to be running a bit low. I'll put a call in to Latrobe right away."

The firefighter tried to say "thanks," but could only manage a childlike squeak of happiness.

Julie turned her attention to the maid. "Macarena, you did remember to cook Zina's omelet directly in the bacon fat this time, did you not?"

"Si, Signora Caesar," the woman replied serenely, while quietly entertaining thoughts of murdering them all.

At the mention of "bacon fat" Zina slammed shut the refrigerator door and spun around. "Excellent!" she growled, following Julie into the dining room.

Julie sipped coffee as Zina sprawled in a chair, lazily awaiting her food. "Darling, I'm afraid I won't be able to breakfast with you this morning," she began, as Macarena entered and placed the steaming omelet in front of Zina, who tucked into it without hesitation. "But I'll leave the Porsche for you, since the Mustang is still being repaired."

Zina's baby blues bulged. Porsche? Mustang? Dear God in heaven, it's all perfect!

"Perhaps we could meet up later for lunch."

Zina, always a mere step away from turning into a happily mindless Sybarite anyway, nodded vigorously.

Julie leaned down for a quick kiss. "'Bye, darling. Oh, and one last thing…"

Zina, gobbling furiously, looked up.

"The pool cleaner is here." Julie patted her puffed-out cheek. "Pay her with the money I left in the dresser, would you? And don't get too flirty, dear. I know you like blondes, but really!" Julie's forced laughter ricocheted off the chandelier and the crystal ware, then splattered quite appropriately against the original Julian Schnabel lithograph on the wall.

And then Zina's feeling of euphoria tucked itself into Julie's Coach handbag and left with her. Damn. The unease filled her. She tried to ignore it as she decimated the omelet, but it lingered, like Julie's Chanel No. 5. She got up, stalked through the kitchen and past Macarena—who deigned to raise a questioning eyebrow—and slid open the door to the patio.

There, in front of the glistening pool, was pure pulchritude: A blonde woman—nay, the blonde woman to end all blonde women—in a tight sports bra and lycra shorts. She sprayed her sweaty face with a garden hose. Zina thought for a moment that Macarena had put hallucinogens in her omelet, for the pool girl flung her head back in a Flashdance-like slow mo and drops of water fell from her skin like rare, translucent, glowing pearls.

You would have to show up this soon and fuck up everything, wouldn’t ya?

The pool girl smiled at Zina.

And one hour later, the pool girl was coming in Zina's face. Her orgasmic bellows for God, Jesus, and country were laced with tasty bits of profanity as she dug her chlorine'd fingertips into Zina's scalp.

When she finally relinquished her hold on the dark hair, Zina came up for air, pillowing her head on a firm, sweet thigh. Absently, she wiped her face with the back of her hand as the girl's breath caught up with her.

"Wow, that was incredible!" the pool girl cried.

"Why is it that, even in the parallel universe, I'm still dumb as a doornail?" Zina muttered aloud. Everything is perfect, I have money, sex, freedom, even a Porsche, and all the beer I can drink…and I have to fuck it up somehow.

This time the girl's touch was gentle, as she raked her fingers through the black strands. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"No. Nothing."

She was still breathing heavily. Then she giggled. "I didn't get a chance to tell you my name—well, you didn't give me much of a chance, actually. I'm Gabrielle."

"I know," Zina retorted glumly.

"Oh. I guess Miss Caesar told you." There was a pause, and Gabrielle drew a deep satisfied breath, and Zina knew well that postcoital rambling would follow. "Hey. Um…"

"Zina."

"Zina? That's a pretty name." The comely pool girl—gee, you really went far in this existence, Gabrielle—was propped up on her elbows. "Zina, um, would you…like to go out sometime? Like just for a drink, even? I mean, I know it's really weird...we hardly know each other. Except carnally—you know, sexually. Um, I know—well, I assume you've got something going on with Miss Caesar, but I kinda like you. It's—well, you just seem like a nice person. And even if you just wanted to be friends that would be cool. But really, I gotta tell you, that mouth of yours...." She shook her head in pure admiration.

Oh, hell. Go on and do it, look at her and say yes. You know you want to, you frigging wuss. And so Zina looked up at Gabrielle, whose eyes were not as clear and dazzling as a Rolling Rock bottle, but something there—perhaps her innate kindness—made the firefighter feel weak. "Okay," she said softly.

Predictably, the door flung open. It was the Evil Parallel Universe Lieutenant Sulu and three red shirts. Actually, it was merely Julie and Macarena, the latter cradling an impressive-looking Glock handgun.

"Zina," Julie sighed. "I thought you would at least wait until you got to drive your new Harley."

A Harley? Zina's mind screamed. She glared at the naked, satiated Gabrielle. Who shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sure Crassus would like some company in his unmarked grave."

"Hey!" Gabrielle yelled. "How did you know—"

Julie waved a dismissive hand. "Macarena, if you will…"

Zina was leaping forward, covering Gabrielle's body with her own, when the shots rang out…

…and she woke with a violent, gasping shudder, her body spasming at the memory of each bullet. And with each twitch of her legs, the channels on the TV were changing. What the fuck? It was then that she realized the remote was lodged between her legs. She pressed her thighs together. WWF Smackdown flicked onto the screen. Hey. Cool.

The phone rang. She growled in frustration, jumped off the couch, and grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Hi! Uhhhh...is this Zina?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Well, um, I'm the manager of the Krispy Kreme—"

"Hey, I paid off our account there." The account was her euphemism for the time when Gabrielle—needing sugar and short of cash—ran out of the shop without paying for a dozen.

"—oh, I know. So you are Zina?"

Zina chose for once to ignore the paranoid little voices in her head—some of which sounded suspiciously like her mother—that told her this chirpy woman was a CIA agent. "Yeah."

"Well, um..." The woman trailed off and giggled self-consciously. "I'm your cousin. My name's Eve."

"Who?"

"Eve."

"Never heard of ya."

"Artie never mentioned me?" The young woman sounded hurt.

"Nope. But listen here, if he ever says he's sterile, or that he never had the clap, he's lyin', okay? Save yourself some trouble."

There was a long silence. "Oh."

"So why the hell are you callin' me, Evie?"

"Well, um, it's your girlfriend...she's passed out in the parking lot."

"What?" Zina shouted.

"Some weird foreigners left her here."

Zina's eyes bugged with anger. Earlier in the day, upon arriving home from her Rhine Gold expedition, she'd stopped at Sid's place, deciding to spread the wealth of her newly stolen stash. Sid had mentioned the members of the strange Scandinavian speed metal band who had taken a collective fancy to Gabrielle, and who had offered her some dope.

"She was sitting inside for a while. Then she walked out the exit and conked out, like, the minute she got outside. But, um, the people she was with put some pylons around her, so she should be okay." Eve's bright, chipper tone slashed through Zina's thoughts, both convincing herself and the brooding firefighter that nothing less than patently bizarre could be expected when a pothead slacker lesbian and a mediocre rock band collide.

* * *

And thus, Zina sailed to the rescue on her Harley.

She found Gabrielle just as Eve said—lying within a parking space surrounded by four bright orange pylons. It reminded her of when Lao Ma was going through her Yoko Ono phase and started doing weird art installment things at a gallery in New Mexico ("Lao at Taos," it was called). Lao had placed a half-eaten chocolate brownie on the gallery floor, in between two pylons. The viewer had to lie on the floor to read the message in 7-point type: Will the pylons of your soul protect you from your desires? (Zina, responsible for eating part of the brownie, was billed as a collaborator on the piece.)

Frowning with concern, Zina knelt beside Gabrielle. Her companion looked unharmed and was obviously just sleeping it off. Upon closer inspection the firefighter saw that Gabrielle's breasts appeared strangely rumpled. She tugged at the sweatshirt and quickly discerned that the poet's bra had been unhooked.

Zina felt a psychotic flash of red rage. I'm going to kill those fucking foreigners! She knew that her lover—no matter how furious or hurt she had been with Zina—would never permit tacky strangers to feel her up. Or worse. If only because she knew that Gabrielle detested metal music and thought anyone in such a band was "grody." She shivered away the anger, shaking her head violently. Relax. Later. She bit her lip in worry. Then, as if to dispel all her fears, she leaned in and quickly kissed Gabrielle on the mouth.

Just like in the fairy tale, the poet's eyelids fluttered open and a series of expressions passed over her face: fear, confusion, bliss. "Zina."

Zina's face burst into a grin at hearing her name spoken so softly, so reverently. "Hey."

"Why do I smell motor oil?"

"You're in the Krispy Kreme parking lot. Your, uh, little friends dropped you off here, then you passed out. The manager called me to come get you."

Gabrielle's fuzzy brain had no choice but to accept this strange tale. "Oh." Slowly, she sat up.

"Let me help you up. You ready to stand?"

"I think so." The poet latched onto her girlfriend's strong arms, and stood up. She stretched, then took a few moments to get her bearings. Something felt odd—something limp hung from her chest. "Hey, my bra!" She shot a look at Zina, who was trying to blink herself into an innocent state. "Oh, honey," Gabrielle cooed, "you just couldn't wait till we got home, could you?"

Could Zina bear to tell Gabrielle that horny Eurotrash had molested her? The firefighter smiled sheepishly. "Nope. I couldn't, baby."

"So we got our groove back, then?" The poet's expression was timidly hopeful.

"Yeah." Zina watched her own feet shuffle nervously. "Hell, I don't think we ever really lost it, ya know?"

Once again Zina's lawyer, parole officer, and the judge of her court case were proven wrong—a little white lie could be an enormously rewarding endeavor: The lovely poet jumped into the firefighter's embrace, wrapping her legs tightly around Zina's waist, and from there they proceeded to make out as if the world were ending.

And, in a strange way, it was. As Zina playfully tried to barricade Gabrielle's tongue from entering her mouth, she heard the distant, repetitive sound of a police siren. Despite the serious turn-on of publicly groping her girlfriend in a Krispy Kreme parking lot, the firefighter resolutely decided that she did not want to be anywhere near law enforcement officials of any kind. With the limpet-like Gabrielle firmly attached to her, Zina began to maneuver them in the general direction of the Harley. But instead of backing up against the worn leather and warm chrome of her hog, she literally delivered her ass into the welcoming grasp of Officer Minya.

Zina's lips did a cease-and-desist with her beloved's. A wary blue eyeball found Minya grinning slyly at them.

"Hey guys," the amiable trooper drawled.

"Minya?" Gabrielle was breathless. "What's up?" The poet disengaged herself from Zina, which gave Minya the opportunity to do what she was, nonetheless, very reluctant to do: She snared Zina's wrists—somewhat surprised at the lack of resistance—and clapped a pair of handcuffs on the firefighter.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gabrielle demanded. She looked at her lover. "Zina?"

"Er, Miss Amphisyphilis is under arrest for arson—"

Zina dipped her head, silently acknowledging the truth of the charge. She had known that someday this particular crime would catch up with her.

"Arson?" Gabrielle echoed. She threw up her hands in dismay. "What is it with you and fire?" she shouted.

"—and one count sexual relations with a minor. Do I have to do the Miranda thing with you?" Minya asked Zina. "Seems to me you should have it memorized by now."

But the outraged firefighter was too distracted by the second charge. "Minor? Minor? That fucking bitch told me she was 21!"

Of course—another ex-girlfriend, thought Gabrielle. Zina was being dragged with little effort from Minya—the cop was surprisingly strong. Yet she was placed into the back seat of the police car with care, Minya's hand on Zina's dark head gently shoving her in, like a midwife returning the baby to its well-deserved womb. The cop slammed the door shut and ambled over to the driver's side.

Desperately, Gabrielle lunged at the door and spoke to Zina through the open window. "Explain," she snarled.

"It happened 10 years ago."

"Why did everything happened 10 years ago?"

"Harmonic Convergence?" Zina hazarded a guess.

More like Unharmonic Psychosis, Gabrielle thought. "Never mind. Just tell me what happened."

"I was just showing Kimmy my little firebreathing trick…"

"Kimmy?" Gabrielle couldn't help it—her voice oozed with sarcastic cuteness. You never showed me the firebreathing trick!

"Kimmy."

"God, with a stupid name like that, I hope she was good."

"Nah." Zina shook her head. "Phony virgin," she mumbled. It was the truth, and they both knew it. For Zina could never keep her mouth shut about former lovers: Lao Ma made her multiorgasmic, Boris couldn't be tantric to save his life, Hank would sometimes yell "touchdown!" after coming, spanking with spatulas proved to be Julie's favorite foreplay...the list went on with excruciating detail. There were times when Gabrielle feared that she might be just another bit of minutiae in Zina's Sexual Trivial Pursuit, that someday the firefighter would be telling a new lover about her old flame Gabrielle, who used her firefighting helmet in a multitude of wanton ways, who had a toe fetish, who would sing "Now I’m a Cowgirl" while riding Zina….

Gabrielle shuddered at the list of sexual depravities that Zina could use against her. This was one reason for keeping the ex-con around. That and the love thing. God, I’m an idiot. "Don’t tell me—for the firebreathing, you used…"

"…tequila." Zina confirmed sadly.

It was the most flammable of drinks. "Fuck, Zina."

9. When Obligatory Flashbacks Attack: Ten Years Ago in Yokohama, Japan

Boris returned from losing a match with the local chessmaster—a seven-year-old who had him in check within two minutes—to find that his lover was not alone in their bedroom. He had every intention of being cool about it—he had learned his lesson with Lao Ma, or so he thought—until he heard himself screaming and stomping out of the bedroom with a dramatic slam of the door.

He paced and seethed. A few minutes later, Zina stumbled out of the bedroom, dressed, yet with wild, seriously tangled bed hair.

"Shouldn’t you comb your hair?" Boris suggested with his usual yet unique passive-aggressive flair.

"Go fuck yourself."

"I suppose I will have to, Zeeena. Since I noticed that someone else is in our bed."

She guzzled her morning beer. "Oh—her. Boris, I know it looks bad."

"It smells bad, too. You could at least wash your face."

"Hey—" She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. He winced as eau de muff diving slapped him in the face, and her voice dropped to a menacing whisper: "This is a big opportunity for us. The girl's father is Yodoshi Hirohito, one of the biggest 'Hello Kitty' distributors in North America!"

"Hel-lo Kit-tee?" he echoed.

* * *

"Hello Kitty?" Gabrielle interrupted the flashback in an accent considerably less charming than Boris's. "You mean like that stupid t-shirt Ming Tien is always wearing?"

Zina nodded. "It just got out of hand. The warehouse caught on fire." She paused, and her voice dropped to a cracked, anguished whisper. "Forty thousand 'Hello Kitty' purses, gone."

There was a moment of silence for the dearly departed merchandise.

"Well good fucking riddance!" Gabrielle yelled.

"That's my cue to peel out, right?" Minya asked hopefully, from behind the wheel.

"No!" cried the poet. Her vision swam with tears, yet Gabrielle's resolve—her faithful, steadfast love—did not waver. She clutched the car door, white knuckled. And while original words of inspiration and solace failed to come to her, something did float through to the forefront of her troubled mind, and thus she intoned the following: "I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you." No sooner were the sentences out of her mouth than she realized she was being Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.

Zina, however, was ill informed of her role in the make-believe and winced with both irritation and confusion. "Gabrielle, I'm just goin' to jail."

Minya hit the gas and the police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot.

10. Girlfriend in a Stupor

There were times when I could have murdered her

But you know I would hate anything to happen to her

—the Smiths, "Girlfriend in a Coma"

With a majesty possessed by those who are vastly ignorant of their own innate dignity, Gabrielle sat atop the Saab motorbus with a 7-11 Big Gulp. She felt bad about taking the Saab from Bob's Garage (Purdy, of course, had been quite compliant in allowing her to abscond with the now-functioning vehicle owned by the Swedes who had insulted him), but she comforted herself—rather, justified the theft—by recalling Vendela's touching words of devotion: What I have is yours, my love. For fate would have it, the motorbus's registration was in the drummer's name.

So far being a fugitive from justice was fun: She was an accomplice to a known felon, in a stolen vehicle no less, and with a large stash of dope and several peyote tablets in the glove department. Well, she thought with sanctimonious irritation, it was all Minya’s fault. If the sheriff hadn’t been so innately, irresistibly corruptible, and thus hadn’t succumbed to the temptation of a lap dance in exchange for Zina’s freedom, Gabrielle would still be a law-abiding citizen. Although Zina would be still rotting in jail.She hoped that Minya would be successful in at least convincing the Hirohitos to drop the charges; perhaps Eli’s offer of unlimited anime rentals would help soften their hard hearts.

Putting aside these tumultuous thoughts, Gabrielle reclined on the bus, eyes closed, drinking in the sun. Cyrene was right, there was nothing quite like sunbathing on top of a motor vehicle. She could feel the light and the heat sink deep into her bones, dissolving them. She was liquid, expanding, flowing free from the constraints of her body and from time. She was seeing and experiencing alternate time lines, the past, the future, and a new present.

In this vision of the present, Zina was still in jail and about to be executed for her crimes. All of her crimes, even sleeping with the 16-year-old girl scout. She was strapped into an electric chair, with a really bad, fucked-up Siousxie-and-the-Banshees kind of short hairdo. The switch was thrown and a gazillion bolts of electricity fried her lover into a pile of ashes.

"Zina," she whimpered aloud.

"Gabrielle."

The poet opened her eyes, attempting to blink away the effects of phosphene, even though multicolored dots and blobs and dashes remained floating in her sight. She was curled fetally, still on top of the motorbus, face to face with the Big Gulp. The voice came from the benevolent font of bubbling Sprite within the red container. "Zina?" she repeated.

"Gabrielle, what the fuck are you doing?" the Big Gulp demanded.

"Zina? Why are you there? Come back to me!" Lovingly she stroked the sweaty container.

The large red cup sighed. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

The world thundered, and the poet sat up with a gasp, knocking over the Big Gulp, spilling its sticky clear fluid all over the bonnet of the Saab.

Zina had jumped up onto the roof of the motorbus. Crouched like a panther, she grinned, pleased with herself. Then she shot a mock-scowl at the poet. "You ate a peyote tablet, didn't you?"

"I—" Gabrielle's eyes shifted guiltily.

"Eli told you to wait until we got into the Mojave."

"Aren't we?"

"Toto, we're still in fuckin’ Kansas."

"Oh."

"You probably got sunstroke now too."

The poet covered her eyes. "Do not."

Zina sighed and sat down next to her, yet as far away from the Sprite spill as possible. She pulled an old Oakland Raiders cap out of her back pocket and gently placed it on Gabrielle's head, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The poet basked in the musty, sweaty scent emanating from the cap. "Wow, you're letting me wear your Raiders cap. We must be in love or something."

"I reckon so." The firefighter sighed again, this time happily. They were quiet for a minute. "How long do you think before they drop the charges?"

"I dunno, baby. I figure it won't be too long. They'll soon get bored hanging around the county."

"Ya think? Hell, we never got bored hanging around the county."

"We’re idiots. They’re city types. They need neon lights and people driving badly."

Zina hummed skeptically. "So after we go to the desert, then what?"

"Oh, I don't know. We can go anywhere you want."

"We could go to Mexico!" Zina's blue eyes brightened.

"Don't you need a passport for that? I don't have one."

"I dunno—but we can get you one, easy. I know this fella in El Paso, he can put together a passport for you just like that." Zina snapped her fingers and pulled her own passport out of a back pocket. "He did one for me."

Gabrielle took the small document and opened its cover. The photo was Zina, sure enough, although the name read "Ellie Mae Ghurkhan." At the poet's look of puzzlement, Zina said, "Well, it always helps to have an alias, and Ghurkhan was my married name…" In a hapless attempt to take back the words, she bit the inside of her mouth. Oh fuck.

"You were married?"

"Just for a teeny bit..."

"Who's Ghurkhan?"

"It don't matter now, he's dead."

"How did he die?"

"Can we not talk about this now?" Zina tried furiously to work up some crocodile tears. "Let's just say I was the happiest woman in Denmark." When he died, that is.

Gabrielle scowled.

Zina patted the poet’s thigh. "Don't fret, baby, I just married him for his cigar plantation."

"Like that should make me feel better." Gabrielle put her arms behind her head. "So why do you want to go to Mexico?"

"I got an idea."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Zina ignored this and pulled out a picture of Harley—their niece, not Zina's beloved hog. "What we do is this: We get to some little town—a nice town—an' show this picture to all the locals, see, an' they'll think I'm in league with the Chupacabra, an' they'll, like, start payin' me tribute to protect them from the beast!" She grinned with maniacal pleasure.

"And then maybe if things go real well, we could buy our own boat. And we could sail around everywhere do a little, ah, tradin' here and there—or maybe not," she added quickly, at Gabrielle's disapproving look. "But there's quite a business in white slavery, ya know." Zina's eyes darkened, recalling the time that Boris knocked her unconscious with a bottle of Jack Daniels and tried to sell her to Lao Ma's uncle. She shook the thought from her mind. "Or," she continued, "we could just open a casino on board..."

Gabrielle stared at her. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crazy? The poet burst out laughing. Because it didn't matter. "God, you are so fucked up."

"But you still love me, right?" Zina dipped her head expectantly. She hesitated a second, perhaps wondering—and fearing—what Gabrielle's response would really be. Could you still love me, even though I put you through so much crap? Even though I ruined your original copy of On the Road, even though I dragged you across the lawn when your shoelace got caught in the weed-whacker, even though I knocked you unconscious while playing Frisbee with the lid of a crock pot? I still love you, but is that enough?

Gabrielle just smiled and lifted her head. Her answer was in the kiss.

The End

[astaroth1357]

The MC Accidentally Kisses the Brothers

Due to incredibly popular demand (and because it’s a cute prompt).

Lucifer

It was just a childish prank, but pretty much all of Satan’s pranks were childish at their core (even the more homicidal ones).

This one wasn’t even that bad in the grand scheme of things. The angry boi was just trying to see if he could get Lucifer to fall down the stairs...

...admittedly, saying it out loud makes it sound much more cruel than intended. But this is Lucifer we’re talking about. A tumble down a flight or two wouldn’t leave him too injured… Unfortunately for Satan, he wasn’t the only one who took a tumbling.

The plan was pretty simple, put an enchantment on the stairs to the Conference Hall, lay in wait, and trigger it right as Lucifer was leaving a meeting. He’s always the last to go, so it should have been foolproof.

But the MC hung back to leave with Lucifer that day and just so happened to jump forward right as Satan was timing his step… getting themselves thrown down along with him.

Fortunately for them both, the firstborn’s reflexes were astounding. He was already holding the MC in his demon form and cushioning their fall before they could even hit the first stair. And it was quite a long way down…

By the time they hit the bottom, Lucifer had them fully wrapped up in his wings and Satan couldn’t what had happened until they unfolded… whereupon he saw the MC laying on top of Lucifer with their lips far FAR too close together for his liking…

Yeah, that backfired pretty hard and Satan was left fuming over it for days… Not that Lucifer minded in the slightest.

Mammon

Sometimes when Mammon does his photoshoots he brings the MC along as one part cheerleader, one part pit crew. It’ll be their job to hold onto his stuff, make sure he has enough to drink, and generally stand there and be impressed by his awesomeness until they leave.

Well that day things had been going well… until a particularly nosy worker started hovering around the MC too much for Mammon’s liking.

He tried to put it past him, since he had a shoot to do and all, but he snapped about halfway through when the guy kept trying to force a conversation with the very not interested MC.

Oh, he was ready to tell him off. He made the photographer stop mid-shoot just so he could march over there himself and give that asshole a piece of his mind! He was going to absolutely tear him to shreds and then-!!

Okay, that didn’t exactly happen because right as he got up to the MC, ready to start shouting, our lovable moron tripped… again…

But unlike the first time, where he more or less face-planted the floor, this time he smacked lips first into a surprised MC in front of the jerk he was trying to scare off.

… Yeah. He meant to do that.

And that’s exactly how he played it off, keeping his lips right where they were and flipping the other guy off so he’d leave them alone (which, thankfully, he did).

Totally what he intended to do and he'll swear so to this day.

Leviathan

… how in the world do you mess up the Kabedon?

Levi had seen the move done hundreds of times before in anime. It’s a very simple concept: put someone up against a wall, put one of your hands by their head, and just lean. That’s it. Not rocket science.

Levi had been mentally preparing himself for this moment for days… He may or may not have even practiced this (very simple) move in his room countless times. He genuinely thought he was ready to try it on the MC.

So, on one of those rare days he went to RAD, he gave it a shot. He waited until he and the MC were walking alone together, got them up against the wall, annnnd…

...rather than touching the wall next to them, his hand completely missed any sort of hard surface because in his panic he stopped them right next to a blind corner…

Naturally, his body fell forward some but since there wasn’t that much space between them by that point he uh… he… well he now knows their preferred Chapstick.

No matter what the MC’s reaction ultimately was, he leapt away from them like he just licked an electric fence and bolted.

His embarrassment genuinely cannot be overstated... He practically broke a window in his attempt to get the hell out of there and back to his room, where he didn’t leave for three days straight… Poor Levi...

Satan

It started out as easily one of the best days of his life. 

The MC, the exchange students, and the Royal Court had all decided to surprise him on his birthday with a Devildom-style cat cafe… Kitties were on practically every surface around him! 

Admittedly, Satan had been pretty distracted throughout most of his time there. There were just so many kitties for him to see that he sort of forgot about the MC in the process…

So in order to get his attention a little, the MC thought it would be cute to pick up one of the furry bundles and hold it in front of their face, doing that little thing where you pretended to “talk” for the cat and even waved one of its little paws at him.

They hadn’t predicted that Satan would find the display utterly, heart-meltingly adorable...

He attempted to plant a kiss on top of the furry critter’s head at the exact time that the MC brought the cat down their face entirely.

It took Satan a second or two to register that his lips were not, in fact, on a cat. And when he pulled back to see the MC’s shocked expression, the full gravity of his actions smacked him in the face like a falling log…

Cue a flustered rush to apologize while the MC hid their face back behind the confused kitty… Getting an accidental kiss in front of the prince of Hell and literal angels was pretty dang embarrassing...

At least the incident was taken in good spirits by most of the people in attendance (minus Luke, who was desperately trying to give MC his bottle of holy water like it was pepper spray by that point). 

Though after that point, Satan noticed that his “guests” kept passive-aggressively giving him cats until he was literally so buried in fluff he could barely move… probably not related, though. Probably.

Asmodeus 

It was another party night with Asmo and the MC at the Fall having a good time.

Now, Asmo was no stranger to Demonus and other assorted demonic beverages. You could say his tolerance is decent enough, but get a few too many in him and he does start to get a little off…

And a drunk Asmo is a very troublesome Asmo. 

The MC, bless their heart, was pretty much playing the sober babysitter to their demon friend when Asmo decided that he HAD to leave the club and get cupcakes right then. Being the good person they were, MC agreed to go with him, as long as he promised to stay with them and not wander off…

But they somehow managed to lose him within three blocks from the club. All they did was check their phone for directions and the guy bailed!!

Little did the MC know, while they were frantically searching for him Asmo hadn’t run away completely… He had just decided it was a great idea to play hide-and-seek at 2am and hid behind a nearby building.

It was his drunken giggling that eventually gave away his position, but he jumped out from behind the corner right as the MC was rounding it. Naturally, they both to collided. If hugging hadn’t been an instinctual action to Asmo by they point, they would have fallen down…

All they did ended up doing instead was getting caught in lip-lock due to Asmo’s sudden vice-grip.

Apparently he laughed and laughed all the way back to the House but his memory of it is pretty hazy… He’ll just have to get the MC to reenact it with him a few dozen times, that ought to jog his memory!

Beelzebub 

The MC was helping Beel out with his workout yet again and things had been going well.

Since Beel is pretty much a one-man army, his weights and routine are usually waaay too advanced for any human to be able to handle. So the MC is less his spotter and more a casual supporter/motivator than anything else.

And motivation was just what they were trying to provide with a fun little experiment of theirs… 

Ever heard of the “carrot-on-the-stick”? Well they decided to try something like that… literally. Just replace the carrot with a roast ham!

They put ham on a fishing pole, set Beel up on a treadmill, and dangled it closer or farther away based on his speed. In theory, it wasn’t the worst idea in the world... but in practice…? 

Well. Someone should have told them not to stand in front of him during this little trial...

Their motivation experiment did work for a few minutes… But soon enough Beel’s stomach got the better of his (marginal) self-control. They just weren’t expecting him to leap over the top of the treadmill...!

The smart thing to do would have been to drop the fishing pole or to just keep it still so Beel could grab the meat, but the MC reflexively drew the pole back behind them… thus putting them right in Beel’s path instead.

And that’s how they ended up caged under lord knows how many pounds of Beelzebub, thankfully kissing their lips rather than trying to chew them off…

Needless to say, Beel climbed off of them, red as a cherry, and the MC let him have that ham before the two agreed to never try this again. Whoopsie!

Belphegor 

Belphie likes sleep. 

Belphie likes cuddles. 

Belphie likes cuddling in his sleep.

Really this was bound to happen eventually…

The MC and Belphie were having a nice nap together in the attic and there wasn’t anything nefarious about it. Just two people snuggled up together in the same bed.

...snuggled up very close together in the same bed.

So close, in fact, that when the MC finally woke up and rolled over some to reposition themselves, they felt the soft lips of their companion brush up against their own.

They, of course, had the appropriate reaction of shock and embarrassment to this… but this cheeky fucker just smirked at them and let one eye slip open.

“What…? Is that it? It’ll take more than that to wake me up…”

Never mind the fact he was awake the whole time...

He really should have expected that pillow to the head, but after they struck the first blow, it was on now.

Don't worry. As it would turn out, an impromptu pillow fight also wakes him up just fine. Who'd have guessed?

[johnlarens]

my great comet experience (act i + intermission)

okay so I wrote a lot so it’s gonna be split into two posts and I’ll edit this and provide a link to act two!

BEFORE THE SHOW

- So where you stand in line waiting be let in (and where you pick up your tickets) is decorated in Russian propaganda to make it look like a war bunker/safe house! And on one of the doors it says “strobe lights and haze!” (a pre warning for the show I believe?) with a hammer and sickle underneath it

- the theater is so beautiful

- decorating the walls were tons of russian paintings and my god it was absolutely stunning - okay so the lady who showed us to our seats was hilarious!!! My mom and I spent a good chunk of our time before the show talking to her- her name was Marylin! She was a cranky old lady who took her job so seriously but hey, she’s quick and efficient and I liked her! - okay so Brad Giovanine came around with dumplings and was like “who wants dumplings!” and honestly, i don’t think I’ve ever shot my hand up so fast

- i was the first one to get a dumpling in my section,,,,i feel blessed - Brad came back around and started telling us about the strobe lights and all!       But the other cast member who was talking the section in front of me was all:   “if strobe lights bother you then just close your eyes!” *closes his eyes* still to bright? *covers his eyes with his hand" - when the show started war sirens aired and it was such aN AMAZING TOUCH MY GOODNESS!!!! - And then the announcer with a deep Russian accent goes: “ladies and gentlemen, attention please! Cellphones!” - Cast: NYET! - announcer: texting! - Cast: NYET! - And one guy who was sitting in the section in front of me STILL had his phone out???? Even when the cast in my row pointed to him!!!!! - Announcer: googling? - Cast: NYET!

- Announcer: tweeting, photos, videos!

- Cast: NYET! NYET! NYET! - Announcer: no talking during the show! Violators are moved to security guards and KGB. Repeat offenders are sent to Siberia.

PROLOGUE - during the sick accordion provided by Pierre there’s a heart wrenching ‘NO!’ from Natasha as she’s seeing Andrey off to war - Andrey gives her a golden necklace and places it around her neck before going off through #the door - “what about Pierre?”

PIERRE - “I used to be better” he’s so upset with himself and who he his - he’s so sad and he hates himself and I love Pierre so much - “I’m married but not in love” the light shines on Hélène who’s looking down at him - “he is charming! he has no sex!” the ladies dance around him in a circle almost as if they’re making fun of him :-( - “you empty and stupid, contented fellows, satisfied with you place!” he makes a sharp turn and practically jabs his finger at Anatole - he just wants to do more and be more and do SOMETHING with his life I love him

MOSCOW - Natasha and Sonya are dressed in pretty white coats and hand warmers I love them - Grace McLean played such an amazing Marya, she looked to happy to see them - “then a game of Boston, and you’ll read to me while I knit!” Natasha and Sonya look so,,,,shook and 'no thanks’

THE PRIVATE AND INTIMATE LIFE OF THE HOUSE - those in favor of keeping Mary away from Prince Bolkonsky and loving her forever say 'I’ - As Bolkonsky is yelling at Mary she shrinks away in fear and is shaky - Andrey’s father was hilarious (minus the yelling at Mary part - “Everyone enjoys me” and he nods to an audience member - when he pats his powdered wig powder flies in the air ajdbdkdbdk - Abskdbdk this man is so shaky as he wobbles about the stage - And his servant,,,,honey I’m cackling he’s shuffling around the stage, bent over in the shape of an L

NATASHA AND BOLKONSKYS - Natasha’s 'hello’ to Marya is too abskdbdkd the way Denée delivers this line is so humorous - “says the mean old man in his underthings!” I cackled - as Natasha tries to leave, Marya follows her about the stage :-( she just wants a friend

NO ONE ELSE - natasha misses and loves Andrey so much I cry - the blue is so beautiful Denée is so beautiful I love her and her voice - the fake snow is such a nice gentle touch - Standing at the bottom of the steps, Andrey is reading (I’m assuming) Natasha’s letters and looking off in the distance, probably eager to get to her - Close to the end of the song, Andrey starts to walks off and Natasha chases after him before coming to a stop - At the end she positions herself next to an audience member and says “maybe he came today and he’s sitting the drawing room, and I simply forgot” :-( she misses him so much - but that doesn’t last for long :/

SUNDAY MORNING - when Sonya and Natasha do the candle in the mirror and Natasha sees a man lying down, she looks away, but the ensemble member that’s holding the mirror, follows her for a moment. Excellent touch - after Marya finds out how rude Bolkonsky was to Natasha she got SUPER angry and stormed off - and abskdbdk as Natasha is getting undressed, Hélène walks in and it’s gay time

CHARMING - Natasha is so shy and blushy when Hélène compliments her it’s so cute - for a little bit Natasha struts around in Hélène’s green coat and she looks so tiny in that big furry thing my goodness - When Hélène says “you will be the prettiest there” Pierre nods - When Hélène takes off the necklace that Andrey gave Natasha, and replaces it with her string of pearls, she dumps Andrey’s necklace on Pierre who fiddled with it and is like “what am I supposed to do with this??” until placing it on his desk - “She knows that I’m engaged, yet she talks to frankly, so it must me alright :-)” my mom called Natasha a dingbat and I snorted

THE OPERA - “Natasha smooth your gown” she looks so offended when they say that, my poor girl!! - I’m not sure what it symbolizes (or if it’s just part of the outfit), but as Natasha is saying how she’s not a little girl anymore, she puts on some lacey white gloves and they’re so pretty I love Denée so much I’m so gay - okay let me just take the time to say just how much I love Dolokov???? I’d let him assassinate me - before offering his hand for an audience member to kiss it- he kisses his own hand ajdbdidbdk, and then kisses her hand - “-Pierre the cuckold sits at home, the poor man!” from his desk, Pierre does a 'raise the roof’ motion before saying that he’s enjoying himself at home - Natasha is so enchanted by Hélène before Marya comes over and talks about Pierre before pulling Natasha away and brushing away Hélène - The satanic hooded figures??? A mood. The strange performers??? A big mood - Natasha’s response to the opera was hilarious ajsbdkfn first she’s roasting it then she’s praising it saying it’s the best thing ever - When Anatole enters through the door striking in different poses with the bass I nut right there right in my seat - Andrey’s guts spilling out is a good representation of me nutting over the intensity of this song

ANATOLE AND NATASHA

- first off Anatole is a soggy crocodile and needs to stay away from Natasha >:-(

- Natasha is feeling herself when she knows Anatole is enchanted with her - “when looking into his eyes I am frightened.” Natasha them kinda runs away from Anatole to try and regain herself - abskdbfkfbfkfbf kkay when Anatole grabs Natasha and kisses her on the neck, it’s so loud wtf it was a real deal kiss like, I bust a nut for that shit - when Anatole takes Natasha’s flower she looks so offended like girl!! - Anatole and Natasha’s kiss was,,,,,w ow

THE DUEL - so many strobe lights. so many colors. so amazing!!!!!!! - the ensemble was amazing oh my goodness - Grace McLean in the suit and the whip………dare I say…….mommy - when Pierre refers to Natasha as 'dear andrey’s betrothed’ Anatole shrugs and makes a 'yeah, sure, whatever’ kind of face while doing the so-so motion with his hand - “ I have known her family for years, and long carried affection for her” he puts his hand over his heart - when Anatole asks for 50 rubles Pierre coughed up a wad of cash, hands Anatole 50 and just leaves the rest (which is way more that (50 rubles) in his other hand, only to have Anatole take the larger sum of money from his right hand ! - again,,,,I love Dolokov he just saunters on in with a tray of glasses and starts pouring drinks - some (most?) of the ensemble had those light up bottom sneakers and were dressed like teens at their first rave it was cute! - pierre was drinking through the first good couple lines of it and he’s a funny + sad drunk - when Pierre is proclaiming his 'I used to love I used to be better!’ the demeanor in which he shouts it is so heartbreaking and hélène’s response is so twisted and gnarled - Dolokov is feeling all up on hélène and then they kinda made out and pierre EXPLODES - After Pierre realizes that he’s actually hit Dolokov he looks absolutely - during Dolokov’s turn to fire at Pierre, Pierre stand there arms wide open, head hanging low, waiting to be shot, and when Dolokov fires and misses, Pierre just stand completely still for a good couple moments, before realizing he’s alive - Anatole is so fucking andkdbdkbfkf as he’s saying “we love to love another day” he’s like……prancing around aND HE GIVES PIERRE FINGER GUNS until he goes off stage I’m!!!

DUST AND ASHES - I said it once and I’ll say it again: Scott was an AMAZING PIERRE - When Pierre goes “and if I die here tonight-” he picks up the gun that he used to duel Dolokov with and fiddled with it for a bit, “-I die in my sleep” and my heart broke - he’s so upset that he just slams down his book when he talks about not knowing a thing - “was a happiness within me the whole time?” he’s finally realizing that he can be who he wants to be - “they say we are asleep until we faALL iIN LOOOOOOoOoVVVVE! aaAND II’M SO REEeAADY, TO WAAaaaAAKE UuuuUUP NooOooOOWW” let me tell you I was fucking close to tears - when the song ended the crowd went crazy it was truly stunning

- i love scott

THE BALL - “Oh how I adore little girls, they loose their head at once!” Anatole you little nasty soggy crocodile get away from Natasha!!!!!! >:(((( - when Anatole presses Natasha’s arm and she says that he’s hurting her I wanted to bite Anatole’s hand off :/ - the kiss they have is insane like, it felt like it lasted forever like……..how they breathin???? - “I love you. how else could we have kissed? How else could this have happened?” - “I wiiillll loooove youu, Anatoooole,” Denée’s voice……………me? bust a nut? yes. - Abskdbfkf Anatole does a 'hell yeah! good job, anatole’ face after she says that and I……

INTERMISSION

- not much to comment about during intermission, i just stretched my legs some and walked to the merch table

- i wanted to buy a shirt but lmao i spent all my money on the ticket 

- when the three minute warning was called, the war sirens sounded and it was so amazing

okay so that was part one of my great comet experience! get ready for part two (act ii and stagedoor)

[axlslittlebitch]

Sheldon’s Visit

|Sheldon (one of Amelia’s friends in private practice) visits Amelia in Seattle and everyone gets to know a little bit more about how she was in the past. Also, Owen finds out that Amelia tried to sleep with Sheldon and gets super jealous. Overall fluff.

Sheldon walked around the halls of Grey Sloan Memorial lost like a little puppy, desperate to find his mother; or in Sheldon’s case trying to find Amelia Shepherd’s office. Finally he reached what seemed like a reception office that really was only a couple nurses chatting away like there is no tomorrow and getting absolutely no work done or looking even somewhat willing to help the lost doctor.

“Hello, I’m looking for Doctor Amelia Shepherd please. Could you tell me where her office is?”

The nurse looked at him slowly opening and closing her mouth but without uttering any words.  After what seemed like an eternity a red headed man appeared out of nowhere.

“I’ll take you to her office. Come with me.” Sheldon followed slowly. “I’m sorry” said the red headed man. “You are?”

“Oh I’m Sheldon Wallis. I’m one of Amelia’s friends from LA”

“Oh it’s so great to finally meet one of Amelia’s friends. She refuses to go to LA or anywhere remotely close or even speak about it.”

“Yeah I’ve noticed. I have to do something about that” muttered Sheldon more to himself than to Owen.

“I just realized I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Owen Hunt, Amelia’s husband.”

“Nice to finally meet you. It’s good to be able to put a face to the name. I’ve heard so much about you from Amelia’s hour long phone calls. They consist mostly of her ranting like a teenage girl but we manage to sneak in a few actual conversations in there, without her acting like a lovesick puppy.”

“Sounds about right, but that’s Amelia for you. We’re here.”

Owen slowly opened the door to reveal a focused standing Amelia looking at some scans, her back to the door.

“Amelia” called Owen.

As soon as she turned her back, Sheldon uttered a single hi but that was enough to have her running like the wind into his open arms.

“Oh my god Sheldon what are you doing here? I’ve missed you so much” she whispered in to his ear.

After a little while she let go, readjusted her clothes and decide to properly introduce the two gentlemen; it was after all the first time Sheldon (who was undoubtedly one of the most important people in her life) was meeting her husband.

“Sheldon I’d like you meet my husband Owen. Owen this is Sheldon.”

“We already meet on our way here. Owen was kind enough to bring me to your office.”

“Sheldon would you like to come to our house for dinner? You can meet Meredith and Maggie and Richard and a few other of my friends here.”

“You have friends. I’m shocked” exclaimed Sheldon jokingly to tease his friend.

At this point Amelia jokingly hit him in the chest and responded with a sarcastic Ha Ha.

“No but seriously all joking aside we’ll be expecting you. 9 o clock sharp. Be there”

And with that she left leaving the two guys confused and amused staring at each other.

After that Sheldon left to go to his hotel to get changed and relax before heading out to see the city and the infamous ferry boats and arriving 9 o clock sharp at the Shepherd-Hunt residence.

By 9:15 everyone had arrived and was seated, slowly munching on chicken and roast potatoes that were oh so lovely prepared by poor Major Hunt who had to cancel his last surgery for the day and run to the store to please his fabulous new wife.

“So Sheldon” started Amelia “this is Meredith, Derek’s wife, Maggie, Meredith’s half-sister, Richard, a good friend of mine and Maggie’s father, Arizona and Alex, the peds gods and Nathan. Everyone this is Sheldon.”

“Hey don’t I get a proper introduction” said Nathan apparently offended by the lack of further introduction by Amelia.

“Oh well Sheldon, this is Nathan or as I call him Satan 2.0. You see Satan 1.0 was Addison. This is the new and improved version”.

“I’m hurt Shepherd” said Nathan putting his hand to his heart and pretending to cry.

“Well, nice to meet you all” said Sheldon, while laughing at Amelia’s friend, who also appeared to have no filter.

“So Sheldon how was Amelia in LA. She doesn’t tell us anything about it” said Maggie who was eager to break the awkwardness and get the man to spill embarrassing stories of Amelia’s youth.

“Well to begin with she wasn’t a midget”.

“What do you mean” asked Arizona confused as to how her already petite and tiny friend could have grown shorter through the years.

“Oh she used to wear these six inch high heels and run around them all day. Until this day I still don’t know how she did that without falling every two seconds. She also used to show up wearing the tiniest crop tops I have ever seen. One could think that she was a teenager coming for a check up rather than the doctor ready to cut into people’s brains. Also her hair was different. It was longer and darker and straighter”.

“Yeah, well times change” proclaimed Amelia hopping to change the subject and ignore the surprised looks of her husband and friends.

“Now you just wear sneakers and scrubs. They’re all missing the fun Amelia here” teased Sheldon.

“Should I be offended Sheldon. Did you suddenly fall out of love with me? Is it the hair? Am I too old for you now? Do you only love me when I wear sic inch stilettos?”

“Still no filter I see. But no. How could I ever stop loving you?”

The others sat confused looking at each other not knowing how to react to this weird inside joke between the two friends.

“Am I missing something here?” asked Owen growing slightly irritated and annoyed and even slightly jealous and confused of the chemistry between HIS wife and her flirtatious friend. He was less than pleased with the current turn of events.

“Oh it’s just an old inside joke that has remained through the years. As some of you may already know I had come here in the past to perform a surgery with Derek and I saw Derek’s best friend Mark for the first time since I was like twelve and we ended up sleeping together. After that I returned to LA and for two weeks I hadn’t slept with anyone, which for me was a record back then, and I was so damn horny. Addison and another friend suggested sleeping with Sheldon, who at the time I didn’t really know. So I went in to his office and asked him to have sex with me, but this idiot over here refused saying I had serious daddy issues”.

“But you do my sweet child you do” said Sheldon half serious half joking.

“Shut up Sheldon”

“Wait you slept with Mark?” asked Meredith interrupting the friendly banter. “Is that a thing in the Shepherd family? Like is it a test you all have to pass?”

“Kind of. All of my sisters have slept with him and Addison who really is my sister…. well she more that slept with him”

“Yeah well after that Amelia was mad with me and then she met Ryan who was like the love of her life at that point and forgot about me but by that time it was too late and I was already in love with her. Fast forward to this day a lot of things have happened and we both have had a lot of relationships after that but it’s just a joke that withheld the test of time” and just like that Sheldon finished the story. By the time Sheldon was done speaking Owen’s face was red and fuming.

“You slept with Mark Sloan and tried to sleep with him. You are unbelievable”

“Are you serious Owen? That was like a hundred years ago”.

”Doesn’t matter” argued Owen acting like a young child ready to throw a tantrum.

“Dude seriously you didn’t know her then. She would sleep with seriously anyone” said Sheldon to calm Owen down, which only earned him about the millionth hit for the day from Amelia.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Who else have you slept with that I know?” asked Owen wanting to hunt down and kill every single guy his wife had ever touched but at the same time also scared to know the answer.

“No one Owen. Just Mark. And maybe Jackson” muttered Amelia waiting for the explosion to come.

And it came. “WHAT” screamed Arizona at the mention of Jackson’s name.

“It was just one time when you were gone and I was horny and he was just there” explained Amelia as simply as possible trying to calm her husband down but failing miserably.

“Just so you know he’s dead by tomorrow. And I want a list. Of everyone. Every single one” growled Owen who looked like an animal ready to pound on someone.

“Well that is definitely fun to hear. I’m so glad I came” exclaimed Alex who was enjoying the situation a little too much, which earned him a couple of shut ups from Meredith and Arizona and an agreeing smile from Nathan who was too trying to hide his amusement.

After everyone had calmed down the dinner continued without anything too exciting happening and the night ended with a lot of hugs from everyone and especially Sheldon, much to Owen’s dismay.

As soon as the door closed, Owen pined Amelia to the door his eyes filled with desire.

“Well someone is excited I see. To what I owe the pleasure” purred Amelia seductively.

“To your good friend Sheldon who has let my imagination run wild with picture of you in stilettos and cropped tops” responded Owen as he finally closed the gap between them and carried his hot, even with flats and long shirts, wife to their bedroom.

A little later both were catching up on lost air, slowly coming down from the high of their orgasms.

“Please remind me to tell Sheldon thank you tomorrow” said Amelia, to which Owen simply nodded.

“I still want that list though” said Owen, as Amelia groaned and kissed him resuming their previous activities and getting ready for round two.

[markyishanthonymartinez]

5/25/17

hold on i need some motivating tunes before i type this blog out.

okay got’em.

today i finally decided to write a blog. i really should have the past few days but just didn't and that makes me a bad person but I'm okay with that. 

quick summary of past few days: hung out with besties, left reno, came to vegas, played with puppies, hung out with joey, talked the past 3 months of soccer with my dad, watched manchester united win the europa league final, was stoked, watched logan and gera play indoor at longevity, got a smoothie, played basketball at sunset park, missed the hoop and obliterated my smoothie with the ball, was sad. 

okay so so so today.

I finally turned off my alarms that i had set for school all semester. like it took me a whole week and then some of having my alarm wake me up at 7 am/8 am. but tbf the reason i hadn't turned them off yet is because I was usually up anyways by then lol. whether it be by my internal alarm clock or rocky licking my face or having to pee or whatevs. 

i had a bagel this morning. an asiago bagel. asiago (or other cheese variation) bagels are forever the best don’t @ me. i watched first take and listened to tv personalities say the same secondhand opinions they say every single day about LeBron and Steph Curry and Johnny Manziel and Odell Beckham Jr. and Chris Paul and etc etc. Also, it just began to hit me how gross it is that they don’t discuss soccer at ALL. Not a single mention of the 5th most valuable sports franchise in the world winning the Europa League and making it back into the Champions League. Not a single word about the final of this years FA Cup, the 5th oldest current sporting competition (only behind an archery thing, two boating competitions, and a golfing thing). I actually didn't know there was four older competitions, but c’mon, 1871, that’s fucking old. Or the Coupe De France, DFB Pokal, Copa Italia, Copa Del Rey. Or god forbid they talk about that one lil thing that has just a couple (try 2.5x) as many viewers as the super bowl, the Champions League Final?????

idk im salt. i should chill. where’d my music go

vegas is hot

satans butthole is hot

same thing

i went to town square with bags and kyle. they made me drive, fuckers. jk I'm fine with driving cause that means i get control of the aux and that’s my rightful place in life. bags broke the screen of his iPod this semester (okay but rly who owns iPods anymore) and he was gonna try to get it replaced. they didn't replace it. they needed like $99 from him to replace it. he said “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucc no.” I went iPad by iPad, iPhone by iPhone, and loaded up my YouTube channel and left it open. we walked around for a bit got bored, realized we weren't 13 anymore and couldn't legitimately entertain ourselves by just walking around a mall, and did what you have to do on any town square trip.

walked into guitar center and played around with cool, expensive music stuffs. starting with the keyboards, swiftly moving to the synths and drum machines. okay okay they almost never have the vocoder microphones attached to the synths, but they did and i had so much fun with them lol. then bags and kyle got bored and left me while they went to explore elsewhere. after a while this guy seemed like he was actually wanting to buy something (he said he was from brazil) so i decided not to be a hassle and went on my way. but i was dropping them hot beats before i left. tell kendrick to hmu. maybe even drake. not j cole. or big sean. or like macklemore. then i found my way over to the electronic drums and this dude was straight jammin. so i sit down at the one at the other end from him and start jamming along to the songs he’s playing. (he was playing these neat little instrumental songs of all different genres and kinda just jamming along) so i sit down, find a tone i like and just sit there drumming with him. (I'm actually not a horrendous drummer for someone who’s not a drummer, i just absolutely cannot do bass drum kicks with my foot while I'm trying to focus on my upper body) i have no idea how to get the hang of that. 

then we got food. and i came home and spent the entire afternoon/evening watching the sports balls. first the cavs taking a polite dump on the celtics’ collective chest. and then watching Chivas play fantastically in the first 85 minutes, but throw the entire game away in the final 5 minutes in the first leg of the Liga MX final. 

aw my fish looks like he’s dancing. 

s/o to joey and mum for feeding him everyday when I'm gone.

glad he’s not dead.

i wore my pulisic jersey today. that kid is gonna be something special.

ALEX BOUGHT REAL SHOES. well kinda.

we’ve been roasting bags about not ever owning a pair of non-running shoes for a while recently. cause idk, i’ve always cared about what I'm wearing, but it’s gotten to an even higher level and i think i’ve rubbed off on my friends a bit. so yeah we’ve roasted bags and he finally bought a pair of vans. I'm proud of him BUT NOT TOO PROUD. They’re like the runner-style vans that kinda look like running shoes. You probably aren't supposed to run in them, but they’re styled to look like runners. Kinda like a casual runner. Like Roshes or NMD’s or other style/casual shoes that have the runner aesthetic but probably should not be run in. but yeah s/o bags. WAIT ANOTHER PROBLEM. instead of getting a nice black or navy or maybe even a shoe that pops a lil but can be matched with, he got some fucking olive, hawaiian floral thing that he will never actually match with and it just makes me cringe a tiny bit. i’ll be ok i promise. 

i sound really douchey in that last paragraph. i promise i’m only half serious about all those things. well i mean i do think he needs to not wear runners, but i’m glad he got something he likes and is comfortable for him and fits his style.

i should vlog one of these days. 

this blog was brought to you by, boobs.

do fun things//stay beautiful

-mark vanthony martinez