#Just People Watching || Dash Commentary

[royalreef]

....... She really doesn't know they're having a staring contest. She can't see their eyes in detail anyway, and she really does just go this long without blinking.

[huntershowl]

when mutuals hit the dash with the beautifully written angst

[profutured]

[ruinlost]

[“Ive never seen such dedication to search for a possibly not mythical being..”]

[leaderintitleonly]

"Y'know if tha's too upsettin' I can tell the story 'bout the tyrant Thane an' his twin who switch places so 'stead o' the Thane dyin' the brother dies instead. Since brotherhood an' sisterhood is real 'portant to us." He takes a breath.

"Don't matter if yer blood, either. Once yer family, we're dyin' fer each other. Y'coul' be evil, m'gonna get my 'ead cut off. Or m'gonna cut somebody's head off." Sounds like very extreme Olive Garden.

That regicide charge didn't stick. Gravity. Or it was Zeus. We don't know cause he's not telling. You know, maybe you ask Hercules if his dad had anything to do with that!

[faetch]

tag drop : admin part one

[adventures-written]

;; @vashtxt​ - you're really going to write them all arent you DSJFHGSDFHSG

Who’s gunna stop me? No one, that’s who! Muwahahahahahahahahhahahaha!!!

[transform4u]

Just like the movies

The crisp air on campus carries a hint of nostalgia, mingling with the earthy scent of leaves transforming into vibrant shades of amber and crimson. As students meander along the widening road of academia, the familiar hum of conversation fills the air, punctuated by laughter from nearby frat houses. On the quad, a group of theatre majors passionately rehearses their lines, their voices weaving through the rustling leaves, while a few bespectacled students dash off to the library, arms laden with textbooks and notes, eyes focused ahead.

Winding paths lead through the campus, lined with towering trees that whisper secrets of the season. Just off the main thoroughfare, a newly restored art house theater stands as a beacon of creativity and mystery. The building, once cloaked in shadows, now boasts a fresh coat of paint and a glittering marquee illuminated by retro Edison bulbs, casting a warm glow against the encroaching twilight. Posters plastered along the entrance advertise a lineup of classic horror films: Nightmare on Elm Street, Frankenstein, Friday the 13th Part 2, The Shining, Psycho, Rosemary's Baby, and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, all promising a thrilling escape into the macabre.

The theater’s storied past lingers like a ghost, having transitioned from a notorious porno house in the ‘80s to this vibrant hub of art. Developers, perhaps naively optimistic, undertook the daunting task of restoring it, scrubbing away the grime of its seedy history and replacing the moldy carpet that bore witness to countless clandestine encounters. Yet, what they didn’t know was that their mysterious backer, R. Morningstar—an enigmatic figure with an ageless visage—saw potential in the decrepit building. He believed it could harbor something more than just old memories; it could embody the restless spirits of creativity longing for rebirth.

Beneath the polished surface, the theater holds its breath, waiting for the first flicker of the film reel to spark life once more. Each cinematic frame, imbued with echoes of the past, yearns to breathe new life into the community, to remind them of the magic that resides in storytelling—if only they would dare to watch.

Patrick strode across the campus with an easy grace, the kind that comes from years of confident familiarity. His salt-and-pepper hair framed a face that had aged beautifully—deep-set eyes crinkling with warmth, a sharp jaw softened by the years. He wore a tailored jacket over a simple sweater, a nod to the academia he adored, but there was an effortless style to him that set him apart. He was handsome, but it was the kindness in his gaze that truly drew people in.

As an art professor, Patrick found himself surrounded by the vivacity of youth each semester. His students, bright-eyed and bursting with ideas, reminded him of the carefree days of his own youth—days filled with late-night gallery openings, spontaneous road trips, and an insatiable hunger for new experiences. Now, while they thrived in the whirlwind of possibility, he often felt like a spectator, a seasoned guide navigating a world that seemed to whirl ever faster around him.

Still, life was good. He had a loving husband, a devoted dog named Jasper, and a comfortable routine that, while predictable, brought him joy. Evenings were spent in quiet solitude, savoring a single glass of wine, a ritual that felt more comforting than indulgent these days. Indie rock—music that had long since faded from the mainstream—filled the air as he flipped through the New York Times, engrossed in political commentary that often left him shaking his head. With his husband being a poli sci professor, discussions at home could be both enlightening and frustrating, especially with the state of the world seeming to veer into chaos.

But today, something caught his attention—the news of the newly restored art house theater. Independent cinema had always been his passion, a link to the past that fueled his creativity and reminded him of the films that had inspired him as a young artist. Curiosity piqued, he browsed online for showtimes, but found nothing. With a shrug, he decided to make the short walk to the theater, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it had to offer.

As he strolled through the campus, the crisp autumn air filled his lungs with a freshness that felt invigorating. Leaves crunched underfoot, the brilliant colors painting a picturesque backdrop that seemed almost cinematic. Approaching the theater, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. Maybe this place would breathe some new life into his routine—maybe it would stir something dormant within him. As he neared the marquee, illuminated against the encroaching twilight, he felt a sense of possibility blossom, ready to embrace whatever the night had in store.

As Patrick stepped into the building, the soft flicker of Edison bulbs cast a warm, inviting glow across the lobby, their orange light bathing the space in a cozy ambiance. The air felt alive, tinged with the scent of buttered popcorn and the faint trace of paint from the recent renovations. In front of him stood a modest booth, its vintage charm echoing the theater’s storied past. Behind the counter was a lone employee—handsome, with an effortlessly cool demeanor—dressed in a somewhat retro usher uniform. His name tag read “R. Morningstar.”

“Hello, quite the place you got here,” Patrick remarked, letting out a slight sigh as he took in the atmosphere, but the usher merely looked him up and down, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Ticket, sir?” came the prompt response, echoing the formality of a bygone era.

Patrick’s heart sank as he fumbled through his pockets, realizing he hadn’t prepared for this moment at all—he didn’t even know what was playing. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should go,” he muttered, already turning to retreat.

“Sir, ticket,” the usher repeated, this time with a tone that brooked no argument. With a quick, almost magical flick of his wrist, he handed Patrick a ticket stub. “Theater 13. It’s on the house. Help yourself to whatever concessions you’d like.”

Utterly bewildered but intrigued, Patrick accepted the ticket and wandered over to the concession stand, pouring himself a tub of popcorn and grabbing a soft drink. He felt like he had stumbled into a surreal dream, but the allure of the unknown pulled him further into the winding hallway.

As he made his way down the dim corridor, posters adorned the walls, each more bizarre than the last: Nightmare on Bro Street, Cabin and Some Wood, Rosemary’s Baby Daddy, Douchebag of the Dead, The Night of the Living Nerds, and Bible Study. A mix of humor and horror flashed before him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. What kind of films were these? More and more titles lined the wall, things he had never heard of.

Confusion mingled with a tinge of excitement as he finally approached Theater 13. Pushing open the heavy door, he stepped inside, greeted by a sea of empty seats. The auditorium felt both intimate and eerily quiet, the kind of silence that heightens every sound. He took a seat in the middle, hoping to absorb the atmosphere before the film began.

As the lights dimmed, he braced himself for the familiar buzz of previews or perhaps the iconic Nicole Kidman introduction, but the screen remained blank for a moment before abruptly displaying the title. Patrick’s heart raced as anticipation hung in the air—he had no idea what he was about to watch, and that thought both thrilled and unnerved him. He settled back, popcorn in hand, ready to dive into whatever bizarre cinematic adventure awaited him.

As Patrick looked up at the screen, the bold, red letters spelling "Hell’s Frat Party" seared into his consciousness. An icy grip of terror clutched at his heart, and he found himself frozen in place, unable to move as images of raucous college life flooded the screen. The overwhelming sounds of laughter and shouting filled the air, echoing with the energy of young, muscle-bound men—an endless parade of bulging biceps, thrusting pecs, and glistening abs that were drenched in sweat and blood.

Something stirred within him. Was it the film? The tension in his muscles seemed to echo the energy radiating from the screen. He tried to convince himself that this was just a silly movie, but each scene sent a jolt of apprehension coursing through him. Patrick licked his lips, anticipation mixing with a sense of dread.

And then, abruptly, the screen went black. SCREEEEECH! The jarring sound pierced the silence, causing Patrick to rub his temples, as if trying to banish the confusion clouding his mind. Thoughts of art history, of Van Gogh's swirling colors, slipped away like wisps of smoke. All that remained were the pulsating images of muscle and youth—an intoxicating blend of desire and envy that filled his senses.

As he watched, something strange began to happen. His own muscles felt tight, as if responding to the visceral power on display. He imagined himself as that twenty-year-old frat bro on screen—tall and broad-shouldered, with a physique honed by relentless dedication. The memory of his older body seemed to fade, as he envisioned a chest that rippled with strength, a perfectly defined six-pack glistening from exertion.

As Patrick continued to watch the film, an unusual warmth began to spread through his body. It started as a tightness in his muscles, a sensation that felt both foreign and exhilarating. With every flex of the frat bro’s arms on screen, Patrick felt his own biceps twitch, as if responding to an unseen force. The ache transformed into a deep, throbbing power, as though he were drawing energy directly from the display of youthful vitality before him.

He imagined himself standing tall, broad-shouldered and full of strength. His older body seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sculpted chest that rippled with strength. Each heartbeat sent a rush of warmth coursing through him, igniting a desire to reclaim that physical prowess he once had. Perfectly defined six-pack glistening from exertion filled his mind, and he could almost feel his own muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt---and they did.

As the frat bro flexed, veins snaked along his arms, a testament to hard work and discipline. Patrick felt a surge of longing, his own forearms tightening as if mirroring the action. Fat being replaced by hard earned muscle. It was a physical ache, but one that began to feel like a promise---a promise of power. The weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by a heady mix of adrenaline and desire.

The images on the screen shifted again, showcasing the young man's impressive physique. Patrick could feel his own glutes tightening, a strange sensation of fullness and strength building beneath him. Each glance at that muscular form fueled his body, and his own body swelling with energy, the outlines of his muscles sharpening and becoming more defined.

With each passing second, the scents of stale cologne and sweat filled his senses, amplifying his longing. It was intoxicating, stirring something primal within him. The ache in his muscles became a thrum of vitality, a pulsating rhythm that echoed the energy on screen. Patrick could almost sense his body shifting, his age fading as he surrendered to the fantasy of youth and power.

As he watched, every muscle aching with the desire to awaken and push beyond its limits. The film played on, but for Patrick, it was more than just a movie—it was a catalyst, igniting a powerful yearning for strength and vitality he had thought lost forever.

The image shifted again, showcasing the young man’s bubble butt, round and muscular, drawing admiring glances whether he wore shorts or fitted jeans. His face was striking—strong jawline, cheekbones that caught the light, and a cocky grin that revealed perfect teeth, framed by a hint of stubble that gave him a rugged appeal. Mischief sparkled in his eyes, a promise of endless parties and adventures.

To calm down, Patrick reaches for his soft drink, not realizing its suddenly become a beer. As the cold, crisp beer touches his lips, the sensation sparks a surge of energy within Patrick. A wave of confusion washes over him, quickly replaced by a wicked grin. The cold liquid cascades down his throat, a newfound sense of entitlement swelling inside him. He slams the empty can down, the aluminum scraping against the surface as if trying to keep up with the rush of euphoria.

Patrick's gaze lingers on the scene unfolding before him—the bros holding court at their makeshift kingdom of fraternity and debauchery. He watches, enraptured, as the sororities dance and gyrate for their adoring followers, their moans and shrieks of pleasure intermingling with the thumping beat of the music. The memories come flooding back—a haze of drunken college parties, the thrill of gridiron battles, the hours spent sculpting his physique into a weapon both deadly and beautiful. The wrinkles in his face seem to vanish. In that moment, nothing else matters but feeding this growing sense of dominance, this all-consuming need to exert his will over all.

Slowly, the golden cross around his neck begins to take shape, each intricate link representing his superiority in every aspect of life. His hands curl into fists at his sides as the anger simmers, ready to ignite at any moment. He feels powerful—no, invincible. This is his world, and everyone in it knows it. Even as his blood sings with righteous fury, he savors the sweet taste of intoxication on his tongue. Just another step in his march toward total domination.

The cruel smile spreads across Patrick's face as his rage begins to build. His eyes narrow, pupils dilating with a malevolent hunger. The air around him crackles with barely contained aggression, an aura of danger radiating from his very being. Each beat of the thumping score seems to stroke the flames of his fury, fueling the ever-growing sense of entitlement bubbling up from deep within.

He watches with rapt attention as the sorority chicks writhe and undulate, lost in a haze of drunken desire. Their wanton displays of lust only serve to inflame his twisted fantasies, each flicker of skin against skin igniting his sadistic imagination. Patrick's hands clench, nails digging into his palms as he fights the overwhelming urge to reach out and mark these girls as his own personal playthings, but they were just visions on the screen.

In his mind's eye, he sees himself presiding over a kingdom built on a foundation of physical prowess and sexual domination. Frat parties become a means to an end—an opportunity to test the limits of his power and claim yet another group of unsuspecting victims. College football games are merely a platform for him to flex his brawn and assert his status among the social hierarchy. And those endless workouts, meticulously crafted to sculpt him into a living, breathing weapon…they are nothing more than preparation for the conquests to come.

Every fiber of Patrick's being screams at him to seize control, to assert his dominance over anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. The gold chain around his neck seems to burn against his skin, a tangible reminder of the authority he holds over his peers and the world beyond. With each passing moment, he grows more eager to unleash the beast that lurks beneath the surface.

As Patrick watches the depravity unfold on the screen, a single tear rolls down his cheek. For just a fleeting moment, the haze of anger and lust lifts, allowing a pang of regret to pierce through the fog. Memories of his quiet life—a loving husband, a beloved dog, a sense of purpose—flash through his mind. But they fade away almost as quickly as they appeared, drowned out by the primal urges raging within him.

His focus returns to the frat party on screen, and his eyes zero in on the group of gay men stumbling about the room. A cruel sneer twists his features, and he leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he studies the scene with predatory interest. The frat bros are merciless, their fists flying in a frenzy of violence as they pummel and taunt their helpless prey.

Patrick's gaze darts to the women watching from the sidelines, their eyes wide with a mix of excitement and arousal. He can practically taste their fear, their confusion at finding themselves caught in this twisted spectacle. But their hesitation only fuels his excitement, the thrill of taking something pure and innocent and corrupting it with his own dark desires.

Unbidden, his hand moves to scratch at his thick chinstrap beard, the rough calluses on his fingers betraying his rough upbringing and hard living. He sways his baseball cap back and forth in his grasp, a subconscious gesture of dominance and control. The image of perfect tits bouncing to the rhythm of the music fills his mind, and he growls low in his chest, his cock stirring to life in his jeans.

All traces of empathy, of any shred of human decency, have been eroded away by the onslaught of base instincts. Patrick finds himself chugging the rest of beer, crushing the can against his forehead. Blacking out momentarily. As a frat party blurs around him, Patrick finds himself standing in the midst of a raucous celebration, just like the one he had been watching on screen moments ago. The air is thick with the musky scent of sweat and alcohol, and the pounding bass of the music reverberates through his very bones.

Before him stands a buxom blonde, her massive breasts nearly spilling out of the low-cut top she wears. She hangs off his bulging biceps, her breathy voice laced with admiration as she recounts the details of his latest victory on the field. "Oh Cayden," she purrs, her hot breath tickling his ear. "You were incredible out there. Those Western boys didn't stand a chance against you."

Pat----Cayden grins wolfishly, his teeth glinting in the harsh light of the party. "Tell me about it, babe," he growls, his voice dripping with confident arrogance. "No one can match me on the gridiron." He looks around the room, scanning for potential challengers to his newfound dominance. His eyes land on a group of meathead frat bros in the corner, their eyes glazed with cheap liquor and barely concealed desire.

An idea, if you could call the thoughts still spinning in his head an idea, sparks in Cayden's mind, and he turns to his new conquest with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey there, boys," he calls out, his voice carrying across the room. "How about a round of beer pong? If I win, you guys have to do whatever I say." The bros look at each other uncertainly, clearly debating whether to accept the challenge or back down. As the night wears on, Cayden saunters from girl to girl, his confidence oozing from every pore. With a charming smirk and a wink, he charms the airheaded beauties, promising them the time of their lives if they'll join him for a drink.

Most eagerly agree, drawn in by his charisma and the promise of a wild good time. Cayden wastes no time in leading them to the bar, his hands already roaming their curves. He pulls them close, nuzzling into their cleavage as he orders round after round of shots and beers. The alcohol flows freely, and soon, the girls are giggling and stumbling, their inhibitions lowered by the potent cocktails.

Cayden takes full advantage of their drunken state, dragging them off to secluded corners of the house. He pins them against the wall, grinding his hardness against their bodies as he kisses and bites at their necks. One particularly slutty blonde hangs on his every word, mewling in delight as he gropes her ass. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, giving her a rough thrust. "I can't wait to split you open on my fat cock."

He continues his reign of debauchery throughout the night, leaving a trail of sloppy makeout sessions and crumpled clothes in his wake. Pranks and shenanigans ensue, as Cayden and his bros pull harmless but hilarious stunts on unsuspecting guests. Farts and burps punctuate every conversation, much to the amusement of their fellow partygoers.

Towards midnight, Cayden spots a particularly brazen bimbo across the room, her low-cut top barely containing her ample assets. He saunters over, his confidence oozing from every pore. "Hey there, gorgeous," he purrs, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "I've got a room upstairs where we can get better acquainted."

She giggles, batting her eyelashes coyly. "Lead the way, stud." Cayden grins, offering her his arm like a true gentleman. As if. Together, they navigate the rowdy crowd, drawing appreciative stares and catcalls from their fellow partygoers.

Once inside the bedroom, Cayden wastes no time in pinning the girl against the door, his hands roaming her body with reckless abandon. She moans wantonly, arching into his touch as he nips at her neck. "Mmm, you feel so good," she gasps, grinding her hips against his straining erection.

Cayden growls in response, his hands slipping under her skirt to grope her ass. "That's right, baby. You're mine now." He captures her lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue as he plunders her mouth. The girl whimpers into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Without breaking the liplock, Cayden walks them towards the bed, tearing at their clothes until they tumble onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. He pins her wrists above her head, his eyes dark with lust as he looms over her. "Get ready for the ride of your life," he smirks, before burying his face between her thighs and devouring her like a man.

[incandescentflower]

I'm seeing the whole "If you don't like something stay out of the fandom tags" commentary again. Honestly, it bugs me quite a bit. I would say that I try to not piss in people's cheerios often. I try to not just complain for the sake of yelling about something. I do believe everyone should get to enjoy what they enjoy whether I like it or not.

but I also think people who like a certain kind of story and watch things with the hope they will get what they like, and then are disappointed, also deserve community.

I think the opinion that all people are doing this to troll or because they enjoy complaining is a bad take, at least in the fandoms I'm in. When I get that stubborn about a show it's because I genuinely loved something about it and I now have passionate opinions about it. If I didn't care, I would not be posting about it. I would just forget it.

And yes, there are different levels of critique that are productive and others that are not. But having people be like - have your feelings but keep it to yourself or only your dash where others may or may not have the same feelings - maybe are harmless when you are annoyed that an adult show has all the plot points of a high school story, but are concerning when the post is talking about the pair the spare where there is no recognition that they had painted the antagonist as an assaulter and are now rehabilitating him with no effort at all. When you start dictating what is acceptable and unacceptable fandom opinions, you start walking the line of censoring voices that should be boosted.

In my opinion, fandom is at its best when you are hearing other points of view and gaining more understanding of media by listening to other voices. It's another part of the transformative nature of fandom.

And It's so easy here to block people or filter people and tags if it's really something you don't want to see. The expectation yet again that someone else should be responsible for your experience is beyond my brain capacity.

I do know how hard it is to see a huge fandom reaction that doesn't align with yours -I have experienced it both in loving something and hating something. But that is why we all need to find our community and well, on tumblr, it's in the tags.

[dotthings]

Congrats to the fans of the wee woo show. I don’t go here but it makes me happy to witness how this arc for Evan Buckley got to bloom and I’m happy because I hope this reflects another shift in the TV industry.

For some media commentary context for you: ABC network is owned by Disney. Fox network was owned by Rupert Murdoch. So I can see how the network change for 911 can easily be a factor on how this got greenlit, after years of creator Tim Minear’s intention to work in hints, on the off chance he could take it there. (I don’t go here, but I did my reading). Oliver Stark who plays Buck also revealed he's been for it and couldn't say anything, until he was sure they could do it, until it aired and was out there. (*steeples fingers*)

For further context, Bob Iger—with George Lucas’ vocal support—just fended off a right wing coup on the Disney board from the kinds of people (like Peltz) who complain “why do we need so many female leads” “why do we need movies with all Black leads.” While it doesn’t mean Disney is no longer an evil megacorp, I’m pointing out that its CEO defended inclusive Disney brand content to the shareholders and the board, as well as dismantling the idea that it can’t be entertainment while being diverse.

The ripple of this goes outside of the wee woo show fandom. I’m seeing the joy on my dash from people who don’t watch the show or don’t watch it regularly, as well as from people who have been watching a long time and noticed things and realized there was a progression and it was there all along, and I know how much this must mean to a lot of people. With the world being how it is, with what people are facing inside the US from the far right, in their real lives.

It’s very hopeful in general for inclusion levels on a major network TV show, owned by a big evil megacorp. Representation matters.

Also I'm aware the wee woo show already had a queer couple, plus it's already an intersectional inclusive series, that’s great.

There shouldn't be limits placed on inclusion though. “But you already have X” shouldn't be weaponized to tell people to shut up. There is no “enough” or “too much” when it comes to inclusion. While I'm not for undermining the inclusion that's there, I've seen that weaponization used with a series that hasn't been great on inclusion, and I've seen that weaponization used for 911, which is. It's a sus argument.

Indirect and unintentional as it is, also bi Buck shut down every concern troll, every gaslight, every denial, every rationale I've ever seen people deploy against bi Dean. Everything from people who don’t understand what bi actual means—“but he likes girls so he can’t be bi”—to “but he wasn’t declared bi from the start of the show so he can’t”—yes he can and the wee woo show just did. On one of the original big three networks. Or people who say it would "ruin the character." Really? “But he’s an action hero”—so what? Evan Buckley is a hero, Dean is a hero, both badass action heroes. “People who see this as canon are delusional”—Evan Buckley went O RLY? Not so delusional now, is it.

Evan Buckley avenged bi Dean.

It’s self-evident. It’s right there. Different show, different network, but the concepts are familiar, the situation has a certain familiarity. This turn of events on an ABC show didn't just make bi Dean fans valid. bi Dean fans were always valid, the bi Dean reading was always valid. But I appreciate how much what happened on the wee woo show bonked people with a truth stick, about self discovery, character arcing, queer readings, queer coding, and the validity of merely noticing things.

[vampiricnature]

Hey guys

FOP hcs under the cut

Dev Dimmadome

-has manic BPD

-curly hair (inherited from Dale)

-extremely closed off, emotionally really sensitive but is just really good at masking

-sleeps in the corner of his bed even if it's absolutely humongous

-likes futurama unironically

-favorite mlp character is sunset shimmer because she's "like, I dunno, whatever" (pretty and rebellious)

Hazel Wells

-favorite mlp character is Applejack because she's cool and strong, plus her accent

-high functioning autism!

-will debate people on whether or not ice cream is a food (it is and she always wins)

-usually when having episodes, her brother always helps her calm down, so when Dev has manic episodes she knows how to help him

Cosmo

-Bed hog

-loves slugs for no reason

-gifts Wanda moss and leaves (she loves it)

-very bisexual tbh, also uses she/her on occasion because he does drag 💪

Wanda

-genuinely enjoys Stephen King books, her favorite is Misery

-watches commentary videos about things she knows nothing about

-keeps every little trinket given to her by everyone (one time, hazel gaze her a rock with one big googly eye and Wanda put it on a shelf, and when hazel came over and saw it she started crying because Wanda displayed it)

Dale

-gay

-gay

-gay

Peri

-due to his love of fashion and his passion for helping kids, he's looked into symbols of support (he paints one of his pinkies red to show his support against csa)

-autistic because I'm him and I said so

-clicks his tongue against his teeth as his main stim (it usually hurts the tip of his tongue but he can't stop)

-scared of peacocks even though they're absolutely gorgeous to him. He just hates how they look at him

-loves fashion from all eras, but usually wears 70s/80s style clothing, with the occasional greaser look from the 50s

Jasmine Tran

-likes Katy Perry more than Taylor Swift

-had a weeb phase where she dressed in only anime merch for three months straight

-her favorite mlp character is Rarity because she's slay

-doesn't actually like musicals unless it's Disney or other animated movies, especially if the genre is pop or jukebox (like Trolls or strange magic)

Winn Harper

-avid Justin Bieber and Eminem fan

-tried roller skating but they don't have very good coordination like that, so skateboarding is much easier for them

-loves the "cool s" symbol

-says based about everything they like

-favorite mlp character is obviously rainbow dash because she's based

Anthony Wells

-ADD+OCD

-theatre lover, the kinda guy to like parody musicals (also watched scamilton and sobbed so hard because of how funnily atrocious it is)

-prefers red over blue Gatorade

-genuinely just a really good guy to everyone, naturally sweet

Irep

-Rivers is a vampire. Look it up

-uses gen alpha slang but also outdated trends like dabbing and flossing

-listens to ABBA on a daily basis, literally every night he plays gimme gimme gimme (a man after midnight) and in the morning it's Dancing queen

-only wears platforms because it makes him taller by like. An inch or two

-telle people to commit suicide on the internet for shits and giggles

-genuinely glad Peri changed his name because Foop embarrassed him and ruined his intimidating image

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Forever & Always | cowboy!Wilbur x Reader

Wrote this one over the course of the past week. Feels so good to write again :) Sorry for being so incredibly absent the past few months. Blame my university.

Summary: Wilbur finally makes it to the state championship in barrel racing, although he seems off afterward. Thankfully, you always know how to cheer him up.

Warnings/Tags: Smut, a tiny bit of angst and hurt/comfort (barely), oral sex (reader receiving), good ol' riding a cowboy, mostly fluffy, soft sex, reader is afab but gender neutral

Word Count: 4.8k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

Inside of a massive, indoor, horse-riding arena, you sat on the stands. It was a crowded event, the audience having come from a variety of places throughout the entire state. The crowds cheered and the announcer’s voice blared over the speakers. “And next up, our first-time, state championship competitor…”

You were hardly paying attention. Instead, your eyes searched for Wilbur, who you knew was just behind the gate to the arena, sitting atop his prized horse. The crowd was cheering, the place full of people. It was the yearly barrel racing championship. Your boyfriend had been preparing for this for years, trying again and again to make it to the state finals, but never quite doing it. 

This was finally his year—-you were sure of it. You’d seen him race barrel patterns a million times now, watched him and his prized mare wind effortlessly between the obstacles as if they were one being. There was a sort of majesty to the movements, a dance that seemed effortless whenever he did it. Sure, he’d taught you how to ride, but you couldn’t ride like he could. He’d been working at this his entire life. 

It’s rather stereotypical, he’d said once. The ranch boy who grows up wanting to be a barrel racing champion. And then he’d paused, biting his lip as he gazed nervously at his horse. I just hope I get to be one of the ones who actually does it.

There had never been a doubt in your mind that he could. As the gates to the arena opened, Wilbur and his horse came dashing into it. At a speed so quick that your eyes could hardly follow the movements, they rounded the first barrel, then the second. You watched as the horse dashed all the way across the area, kicking up dust in its wake. The crowd cheered. You joined them. Despite your anxiety for him (you knew how devastated he would be if he lost), you smiled and cheered louder than all the rest. 

There was no way that he could hear you; you knew that. And yet, you tried. At least he knew that you were there. You watched as he continued, the announcer carrying on his commentary on the performance.

And then, as soon as it started, it was over. Wilbur rode his horse out of the arena just as fast as he had entered it. The announcer called it “a perfect run.” The total time for the run was only eleven seconds, the fastest run so far.

The rest of the races crawled by. It seemed like an eon before all the races were over. You sat in the stands the entire time, watching the other racers, zoning out. Only one other racer had managed Wilbur’s eleven-second time, but she got a penalty for knocking over a barrel, meaning Wilbur still had more points. 

Your heart pounded. Wilbur had won, right? Or had you zoned out and missed one? You couldn’t remember. As the announcer walked to the center of the arena, microphone in hand, you waited, hardly able to breathe. So many hours put into this sport…you couldn’t bear to see Wilbur lose.

“And the winner of the state barrel racing championship is…” The announcer checked his notebook before looking back up at the crowd. “Wilbur Soot!”

You cheered so loud that you nearly gave yourself hearing damage. A couple nearby audience members gave you startled looks, but you hardly noticed. All you could think about was the fact that he’d finally done it. You stood up, clapping and cheering for him, watching as he walked into the arena and claimed his ribbon.

You’d watched him succeed at the local level, then the regional level, and now the state level. Next, he could go on to national championships if he wanted (and you knew he would). You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your face even if you tried. You saw the smile on Wilbur’s face even from your spot in the audience, the joy that radiated off every inch of him. He thanked the announcer before walking back out of sight.

After the audience filed out of the arena, you got a text from Wilbur.

Out by the truck. Meet me there

You smiled and tucked your phone back in your pocket before practically running out to the parking lot behind the arena. The second you caught sight of him, you rushed into his arms. He laughed as he picked you up off the ground. 

You giggled and wrapped your legs around him to help him hold you. “I told you you’d do it,” you said breathlessly. 

“I fucking did it,” he replied. His tone was almost surprised, as if it was a shock to him. And perhaps it was, but it certainly wasn’t a shock to you. “I still can’t process it.”

You laughed softly, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he set you down. “I’m really happy for you, Wil.”

Wilbur was absolutely beaming. In the weeks leading up to the championship, he’d hardly smiled at all. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said. He gave you a quick kiss. “Now give me a second. I gotta make sure the horse trailer is still hooked to the truck.”

You rolled your eyes. “You really need a better trailer…” Your eyes fell on the old truck, Wilbur’s first ever car that he still used. The paint was blue and peeling off its frame. Wilbur had called it a “proper farm truck,” although you saw it primarily as a safety hazard.

“I know, I know,” Wilbur said as he checked the hitch. “It all looks good, though.”

You wandered behind the truck to the horse trailer, where Wilbur’s horse could be seen trying to poke her head out between the window bars. You laughed and gave her nose a quick pet. “Looks like Annie isn’t happy being locked up,” you said.

Wilbur sighed. “She never is.” He opened up the passenger side door of the truck and motioned for you to get in. “She’ll be fine. She’s gotta be worn out, anyway.”

You shook your head, smiling as you got in the truck. “Nah. That horse has always got energy.”

“Maybe.” Wilbur shut the door and continued talking only when he got into the driver’s seat. “But I have been working her hard.” He frowned. “Poor girl hasn’t had many breaks.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “She’ll get a nice break after this.”

Wilbur started up the truck. “Yeah,” he said quietly. The truck’s engine roared to life, making a few concerning mechanical sounds as it did so. 

Something about Wilbur seemed…off. He looked almost deflated. You weren’t sure if it was simply the adrenaline wearing off or if there was something more to it. As he drove the truck out of the parking lot and started down the road, you couldn’t help but be worried at the sight of his expressionless and unreadable face. You could almost always read him, but you were at a loss.

“You alright?” you asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “I mean, I just won the state championship. I’ve been working at that for years.” 

“And yet,” you said, “you don’t seem happy.” 

“I am,” he said, unconvincingly. “I…it’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know?”

“Is it just not as good now that you have it?”

“It’s great,” Wilbur said. “It’s awesome. Now can we please just…talk about anything else?” He definitely looked tense, his usual, relaxed posture nowhere to be found. He’d also raised his voice the tiniest bit, which he never did with you before. It was a hardly noticeable change, but a change nonetheless. 

“Sorry,” you replied quietly. You looked out the window. It was late evening, and the sun was going down. The drive back to the ranch would take about two hours, and it seemed that it was going to be a long one. 

Wilbur turned the radio on. Some country song that you didn’t recognize played over the speakers—-an old Johnny Cash tune that you couldn’t place. Wilbur loved Johnny Cash, but he wasn’t singing. He wasn’t even humming. 

You thought he would be ecstatic. He looked ecstatic. Holding that ribbon in the center of the arena, he looked beyond happy. When he’d scooped you into his arms in the parking lot, he seemed happier than ever. 

What changed? The only thing you could think of was that your presence had somehow ruined things. The thought worried you. You glanced over at Wilbur, but he wasn’t even looking your way. Maybe you hadn’t been supportive enough. Maybe you’d pressed him too hard, given him too much pressure, stressed him out. You wanted to apologize, but you weren’t sure what to apologize for. You’d done everything right…or at least, you hoped so.

Two hours passed in near-silence except for the songs on the radio. You tried to make small talk, but your attempts quickly fell flat. It was a relief when the truck finally hit the familiar dirt road that led to the ranch. 

The truck rolled up the road and toward the barn. When it finally came to a stop, Wilbur murmured something about needing to put Annie in her stall.

You rested a hand on his shoulder. “I can take care of Annie if you want,” you said softly. “Just go inside and get some rest, maybe.”

He nodded and gave you a small, weak smile. “Thanks, darlin’.” He paused, glancing away before his soft eyes met yours again. “I’m sorry for…for being…”

“It’s okay,” you said, “but can we talk about it when I get inside?”

“Of course.” He gave you a quick kiss before climbing out of the truck. You sighed to yourself and got out as well. 

For a moment, you watched as Wilbur walked up to the house. You then turned to open the door of the horse trailer. Once you did, Annie looked at you curiously. “Hey, girl,” you said softly. “Time to get you home.” You approached her and slipped her halter over her head so that you could lead her into the stall. She nearly ran you over as you led her out of the trailer, so happy to not be cooped up anymore. 

She was a good horse. Caramel-colored, built sturdy, with a small, white spot on her nose. Wilbur had rescued her from a horse sale. She was so scrawny back then, a poor, mistreated thing. I’m gonna make her into a prize-winning barrel horse, he’d said. Everyone thought he was crazy trying to turn such a wild mare into a champion, but he managed to do it. Annie had become the sweetest horse around, with endless amounts of energy. The perfect horse for Wilbur.

You opened the gate to her stall and tucked her inside. You removed her halter, checked her water and her hay, gave her a few pats, and left the barn. Wilbur had a few horses, Annie and two others that he was training up to sell for a profit. After rescuing Annie, he’d decided to do the same for more horses, giving them better lives and then selling them to good homes. He’d promised that after those two were sold, he would buy you a horse of your own. Something sturdy. Good for trail rides, he told you. He’d been begging you to go trail riding with him, and you were more than excited for it. In the meantime, you just had to figure out what was bothering him.

You walked up to the house, coming in the back door. The ranch house was relatively small, cozy in a rustic sort of way. Wilbur had inherited it from some uncle of his who passed away, and there were still vintage photos and artwork on the walls. The kitchen cabinets were worn and faded, and the furniture had been in terrible shape until Wilbur saved up to replace it. The back door led into the kitchen, and from there, you could walk down the hallway, past the living room and to the bedroom.

When you entered the bedroom, Wilbur was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was still dressed in his rodeo gear. He looked up at you, and this time, his smile was less forced. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey you.” You sat down beside him. “Annie is settled in the barn.”

“Did you double-check the gate latch?” he asked, “Because you know that thing doesn’t close—-”

“I checked it,” you said. “It’s all good.” You gently took his hand. “Now what’s wrong?”

He looked down at the floor, unable to meet your eyes. “...I don’t think I…no, I know I don’t want to go to nationals.”

You couldn’t hide the surprised expression on your face. “I…what? But you’ve been working at this for years.”

“I know,” he said. “I…I get that you’re probably confused. I just…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of it. It’s not fun. It all feels like a chore. And these past few months, I feel like all I’ve done is run barrel patterns again and again and again. I’m just so tired of it. It’s not worth it anymore.” He sighed. “And I don’t want to travel around, going to rodeos. I want to just stay here on the ranch with you rather than dragging you everywhere.”

“I never minded it,” you said. “I don’t feel like I’m being dragged.” You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch. “But, Wil, if you’re done with racing, I support you. I may not understand fully, but I support it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me put it this way,” he said slowly. “I’ve found something else I want to do.” 

That made you perk up a little. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He immediately seemed a little happier, a little more himself. “Do you remember when I bought Annie from the horse sale, and she was all…you know. Not in good shape?”

“Of course I do,” you said. “You were so excited to train her up.”

“And I did,” he said. “And I…loved doing that. Rescuing a horse, giving her a better life, and training her up.” He smiled, more to himself than anything else. “I want to keep doing it. Keep buying horses out of shitty situations, training them up, and selling them to good homes. It makes me some money, but it also saves these horses from potentially being put down and gives them something to do, you know?”

You smiled softly at that. “You did really like training Annie. And she’s a fantastic horse now.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I think it’s a good plan.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you, his expression somewhat worried. “What if…I don’t know. What if I’m not good at it?”

You laughed softly, bringing another smile to his lips. “I’ve seen you train horses, Wil. You were raised training horses. You’re good at it. And I think you’ll be really happy doing that. Plus, I think it’d stress you out a lot less than barrel racing.”

He let out a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true.” He gave you a kiss on the forehead. “So you’re alright with it? Me shifting gears like that?”

“I’m more than happy with it,” you said. “I’m proud of you, Wil. You’ve worked hard, you’ve done good. You deserve to choose whatever path forward you want.”

He smiled at that. “Thank you, hun. Nobody supports me quite like you do.” He paused, and then a small smirk came to his face. “You know…I did just win the state championship today…”

“Oh? Does my cowboy want a reward?” you asked teasingly. You figured earlier that he’d eventually say something of the sort. You teasingly flicked the brim of his hat, nearly knocking it off his head. 

“I think he deserves one, wouldn’t you say?” Wilbur grinned, and just like that, he was back to the Wilbur that you knew, the Wilbur you fell in love with. Cocky, teasing, sarcastic, but simultaneously as soft as they came. 

“Maybe he’ll get a reward,” you said. You gently took off his hat, holding it in your hand as you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling your faces close together. “If he asks nicely.”

Wilbur shrugged. “Seems to be a fair tradeoff.” He gave you a quick kiss. “So, darlin’, would you please give a reward to this poor, lonesome cowboy?”

You laughed. “I would hardly call you poor or lonesome.” 

“I would be without you,” he said. 

“Well, thankfully this ‘poor, lonesome cowboy’ asked very nicely,” you said. You gently took Wilbur’s hat off his head and set it on the bedside table. “So yeah, I think I’ve got a reward or two to spare.”

“Then he’s very lucky,” Wilbur said. He pressed his lips to yours, and you immediately reciprocated. His hand rested on your lower back before pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your other arm around his neck, one of your hands playing with his messy curls. His hands both went to your waist, pulling you close against him. It was as if no amount of closeness would be enough, like he needed your bodies to melt into one in order for him to come anywhere near satisfaction.

His tongue met yours, and you let out a soft hum as he continued to kiss you. His hands on your waist were gentle: firm, but soft. You could easily get away if you wanted to (but of course, that was the last thing on your mind). You cupped his cheeks, gentle fingers resting upon his skin. His lips were soft, gently touching yours. Even with tongue, the kiss was lazy and soft, more a tender meeting than a passionate one. 

He sighed between kisses, pulling away just slightly to get some air. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Just wanted you to know.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “I know. And I love you too.” Your lips met again, this time somewhat more desperate. You heard Wilbur hum softly against your lips as you kissed, a sound almost like a moan. He was often vocal in softer moments like this one, which you loved every time. 

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, and you held back a gasp. He pulled away once again. “Can I take this off?” he asked, brown eyes looking at you in the warm lighting of the bedroom.

“Please.” Your hands reached for the hem of your shirt as soon as he did, and you helped him pull it over your head. His lips immediately went to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the length of it. His lips went to your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he could easily reach. Your hands went back to his hair, running through his curls as you let out soft sighs and moans. You couldn’t help but start to rock your hips against him, grinding against his lap, to which he responded with a quiet laugh.

“Not very patient, are you?” he asked teasingly. 

“Not tonight, no.” You reached for the bandana tied around his neck and untied it before tossing it aside. “That's okay with you?”

“I’m definitely not complaining,” he said. His fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, an elaborate western shirt with fringe and embroidery. He had complained about having to wear flashy rodeo gear. You, on the other hand, were a big fan of it. 

It didn’t take long for you both to get his shirt off, then his undershirt. His belt went next, although you had some trouble getting it off considering how shaky your fingers had become. There was eagerness and excitement flooding through you, knowing what was to come. You unbuttoned his jeans as he unbuttoned yours, and without much more thought given to it, you stripped yourself of them. 

He gazed at you, eyes wandering your body. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. Many people in these parts were religious. Wilbur had never been that way. Why would I worship a god, he’d said, if I could worship you instead?

It seemed that the same thought was running through his head. His hands gently ran down your sides as he gazed lovingly at you. “Let me get you ready,” he murmured as he kissed your jaw. You nodded wordlessly, at a loss for what to say. He didn’t seem to mind, easing you onto your back and pulling down your underwear by the waistband until it was discarded on the floor along with the rest of your clothing.  

He kissed his way down your body, taking extra time with your chest and the insides of your thighs. You squirmed a little, frustrated by the tease, but he held you down gently with his hands on your hips. It only took him another few seconds to bring his tongue to your folds, licking and kissing the sensitive skin.

You moaned, lips sealed shut to try and prevent the sound from escaping. After a few more attempts to quiet yourself, you gave up and let yourself go. Wilbur became even more enthusiastic after that. His hand found yours, and he held it gently in his hand as he continued with his mouth. He alternated between licking your folds and teasing your entrance with his tongue to lightly circling your clit. Your free hand gripped the sheets. Wilbur moaned against you, and the vibration sent tingles up your spine. 

“Feels so good, Wil,” you said, panting. “Keep going.” Your hand got a small squeeze in response, a signal that he definitely wasn’t stopping anytime soon. He spent some more time kissing and licking near your entrance before finally focusing in on your clit.

He licked it a few times, light and teasing, before properly sucking on the skin. You cried out, hips twitching against his face. You thought you heard him chuckle, felt the vibration of it against your skin, but you weren’t sure. Your mind was too foggy, too lost in pleasure to fully process anything he said.

His movements got more eager, more rough. Before long, you were gasping, back slightly arched, gripping his hand tight in one hand and the sheets in the other. You murmured an incoherent string of pleas before finally climaxing, letting out a few moans and small cries as Wilbur slowed his movements to a stop. 

He kissed the insides of your thighs and let go of your hand. He got out from between your legs, opting instead to lay beside you and pepper your face and neck in kisses as you came back to reality. 

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked. His voice was hardly above a whisper and honey-sweet. 

You smiled, cupping his cheek before giving him a soft kiss. “Perfect,” you said. “Now grab a condom before I get impatient again.”

He laughed and kissed the tip of your nose before complying, rolling to the other side of the bed, opening a bedside drawer, and grabbing one. He tugged his boxers off, revealing how hard he was. You watched with thinly veiled eagerness as he rolled the condom on. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?” he teased.

You shrugged. “My mother also told me not to date cowboys, so I’m not on a great track record when it comes to following her orders.”

Wilbur smiled. “Clearly I was right earlier when I said I was lucky.”

“That makes two of us.” You kissed him again. “Alright, lean against the headboard a little.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You takin’ charge tonight, sweetheart?” 

“If it’s alright with you,” you said. “You’ve been working hard. The least I can do is help out a bit.” You winked, and he chuckled in response.

“Again, I’m not complaining.” He leaned against the headboard as you got on top of him, straddling him. You watched his face as you sunk down onto him—-the way his breath hitched, his mouth fell slightly open, and his eyes closed. “Jesus…”

You giggled, leaned down to give him a kiss, and started to move. At first, your hips lazily moved back and forth against him. His hands rested on your hips, gently guiding your motions. You reveled in the way he looked at you. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes unfocused. You couldn’t resist leaning forward briefly to give him a quick kiss before starting to move again. 

You moved in small circles on top of him. One of Wilbur’s hands moved up to your waist, and he lazily smiled up at you. His smile quickly turned to an open-mouthed moan as you started to move up and down, slow and almost teasing.

His hand slid back down to your hips before sliding it between your legs and rubbing your clit. It took everything in you to keep moving despite the stimulation. You made a few clumsier movements as you tried to keep yourself upright. Wilbur chuckled at your predicament. “Too much, sweet thing?” 

You shook your head rapidly. Truth be told, you felt dizzy. The combination of Wilbur’s cock filling you repeatedly as you moved up and down and his fingers on your clit had you seeing stars. You looked down at him through half-lidded eyes and kept moving despite the fact that the muscles in your legs were starting to complain.

Your attempts to keep going faltered more as time went on and your muscles grew more and more tired. Wilbur kept rubbing your clit, circling it with his fingers. You were getting closer, but you could tell that Wilbur was having trouble getting there. You attempted to keep going, and gasped loudly when Wilbur thrust up into you.

“Let me help, darlin’,” he said between soft pants. He started thrusting up against your movements, keeping you going as he got you off. 

That was all it took for you to finish. You kept moving clumsily as Wilbur’s fingers continued to work magic on your clit, helping to prolong your orgasm. You were vaguely aware of how loud you were moaning, but it was the last thing on your mind. All you could think about was the shivers going up your spine, the overwhelming feeling in your core, his fingers, his cock…

You realized quickly that you had practically slowed to a stop. Before you could start moving again, you felt his hand wrap around your back. Your world tilted as he flipped your positions effortlessly. It always surprised you how strong he was: a side effect of growing up on a ranch and doing hard labor, you supposed.

You let out a breathless giggle, and so did he. He immediately started moving again, trying to finish himself off. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your legs wrapped around his back. His breathing was heavy, and it only took him a few thrusts before he finished too. His hips stuttered, and you felt him twitch inside you. He groaned softly, burying his face in your neck. You rested your hand on the back of his head, gently combing through his hair as he settled against you, gasping softly.

For a few moments, you laid there, Wilbur resting against you. You played with his hair, and he kissed your neck softly. You could hear the quiet sounds of the crickets chirping outside and the whisper of Wilbur’s breathing. “I love you,” you murmured.

He kissed your jaw again. “I love you too.” He sighed softly before forcing himself to pull out. You let go of him as he moved away to pull off the condom and toss it in the bedside trash can. Before you could miss his absence, he was back by your side, pulling you gently against him. 

You laid your head on his chest, and he rested an arm across your shoulders. You felt his lips kiss the top of your head. “Alright, lovely?” he asked.

“More than alright.” You snuggled closer and closed your eyes. “You?”

“I mean…it’s been a pretty damn good day for me,” he said. “And, um…” He paused, and you opened your eyes to look up at his face. “Thank you for everything. Being supportive all this time. It means the world to me.”

“Of course,” you replied. He leaned down and kissed you, and when you parted, he was smiling softly at you.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “I’m yours, you know that?” 

“I know.” You laid your head back down. “And I’m yours.”

“Forever?”

You smiled and closed your eyes as he kissed your forehead again. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I could do forever.”

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

CW: For Valentino being Valentino. He doesn't do anything, but he does say some things.

oOo

The closer they came to V Tower, the more loud everything became.

Paper posters gave way to bulletin boards. Every street was lit with flashing signs and arrows, pointing the way to different businesses down the main strip. Advertisements were nearly plastered on every single available surface, competing with each other in a cacophony of bright colors and promises to make all of one's troubles go away, if only one bought the product.

Sinners wandered the streets, some glued to their phones as they typed out a text message, watched a video, or shouted at someone on the other end of a phone call. Some sinners loitered around various shops selling televisions, each screen showing an advertisement for the latest gadget VoxTek was selling.

The Vees made it ridiculously easy to learn their faces, as none of the trio were shy about plastering their likeness all over their wares. Vox was clearly unafraid to throw his reputation behind anything he supported, one advertisement proclaiming, "I'd buy it." Valentino left nothing to the imagination - figurative or literally - on what he was selling, with various larger than life posters that featured the moth scantily clad and in suggestive poses. Velvette was significantly more reserved, in comparison, with only a billboard advertising her perfume, named, Love Potion.

Quite frankly speaking, it was all a bit overstimulating.

Walking nonchalantly at his side, Alastor barely gave any of bombastic sights around him a second glance. He had made little commentary since they had set out from the hotel earlier in the day, falling silent as they had entered the Vees territory. Where all of this technology was practically invented yesterday, as far as Lucifer was concerned, Alastor had lived on Earth when most of the technology around them was still in its infancy stages. Advertising, likewise, was hardly new. Humans had been shouting at each other to buy this or to buy that since they'd first come up with the idea of selling a product. They may not have had flashing lights in the 1920s or 30s, but there had been posters, billboards, and radio ads.

Modern technology just made everything more... flashy.

Lucifer watched a group of sinners standing before an electronic shop, TVs stacked up in the window. Each TV was showing the same thing: an advertisement for the latest cell phone. He was a little surprised he still cared enough to be sickened as Vox straight up hypnotized the viewers into buying the phone. He shook his head in disgust a they passed group turned mob making a mad dash into the store. "Quite the salesman, Vox is," Lucifer commented, not trying to hide his judgmental tone.

Alastor snorted. He glanced at the group scampering out with their new cell phones as he drawled, "Vox has always had a... persuasive sales pitch."

It was Lucifer's turn to snort as they passed another poster of Vox, this time just the overlord and his VoxTech logo. His ever present slogan, Trust Us, curved around the logo. "You mean he hypnotizes people into doing what he wants." It was good to know in advance. No one had ever tried to hypnotize the Devil himself before and he wasn't keen to find out if it was possible.

"Hm," Alastor hummed in agreement. "Just so."

V Tower was easy to spot, even with all the noise going on in the background. The number of surveillance cameras also began to increase the closer they got to the trio's headquarters. Lucifer eyed one as it followed their trek down the street. "So much for keeping our arrival a surprise."

The redhead smirked, obviously pleased about something. Sing song, he assured, "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

The blonde sighed. He was walking right into it, he knew he was. He was going to do it anyway, because damn his curiosity. "Oh?"

Alastor twirled his staff around his fingers like a baton. "All the cameras we've passed so far have been laughably easy to take out." With a practiced hand, he caught the staff, it's tip pointing at the offending camera. As they passed it, the little button on the side of it blinked from green to red. "Vox isn't paying attention to his little toys. Dear me, he must be away from his surveillance room."

Lucifer squinted at the camera dubiously. "You can tell we're not being watched, by, what? The camera not coming back on?"

Alastor laughed, short and cutting. "Oh, it's more than lack of interaction." He leaned in close, as if he were parting with a juicy secret. "I can tell when Vox is watching." His smile was sharp and cruel and said everything about how pathetic he found the overlord in question. "His attention has a certain... desperation to it."

Lucifer wasn't certain which part of all of that to focus on first: the fact that apparently Vox had flat out stalked Alastor to the point Alastor knew when he was being watched or the fact that Alastor clearly found the whole thing hilarious.

Father, these sinner could be fucked up sometimes.

Lucifer grinned, unable to pass up the opportunity he'd just been handed to needle the deer demon. "Didn't do much about the camera that recorded the fight."

Alastor's expression soured around the edges. His ears flattened as he resumed his previous position, snide as he pointed out, "Yes, well, I was a bit distracted by doing all the work. You should try joining in next time."

Alastor hadn't let him get involved in any of the attacks, insistent that he had everything covered, and they both knew it. Lucifer had let him because he always half hoped someone would kill the asshole.

Lucifer let the conversation drop with little more than a roll of his eyes, his mind drifting as he processed this new information. If Alastor could indeed tell when Vox was watching (which, creepy) and had been surprised by one of the attacks being filmed, one could infer that Vox was keeping the hotel under a certain level of constant surveillance.

After returning from their day out, he had hauled himself up in his room as he scoured the news for mention of any attacks. Had tracked down the news reports Rosie had mentioned. There had only been a number written reports and many more reposted written reports, with a single video dedicated to the subject. The video itself contained footage from the first attack, despite the news articles having all been posted fairly recently. Judging from the general comments under the articles and the video, few people were interested in the hotel itself beyond wanting to know if it still stood or not.

They had been lucky the fight had forced the drone to retreat or risk being destroyed. Distance had rendered the video quality poor enough his bleeding hand wasn't visible for all of Hell to see. Everyone already knew angels could be harmed, killed even. It wouldn't do for anyone to get it into their pretty little heads that angel weapons might work on him or Charlie, however.

(Lucifer tried not to think about the main image he had seen, again and again, in those news articles. Tried not to think about how reverent Alastor had looked like as he reached his hand out to the Devil, as if he were the only God the sinner would ever be able to touch. The framing of the image had made it appear like it was something so different than it had really been.)

Light pressure on his shoulder drew him out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of his view, he caught Alastor withdrawing the hand he'd used to get his attention. It was a good thing he had, as it took a second for the sensor above the door to register their presence and trigger the door to open. He could only imagine what the media would have thought if a camera had caught Lucifer running right into the front doors of V Tower while lost in thought.

They stepped through the doors into a lobby themed in oranges and reds with purple accents. Hearts were definitely a motif, accenting arches and their support columns. Purple lanterns dotted every other column, more decoration than function. Lucifer took in the additional advertisements, some on the walls, some on a-frames. A large, flat screen tv displayed the VoxTek logo, but there was nothing currently playing on it.

There were a number of employees dotted around the lobby. A sheep sinner carrying a precarious stack of tablets raced off in one direction, while a horned rabbit sinner ran in another direction with an armful of clothing. A trio of sinners loitered off to the side, whispering back in forth in a frantic, hushed argument about what sounded like bottom lines and stocks. Near the back of the lobby, a blue and yellow sinner shouted about "messy actors" and "shitty wardrobes" as he frantically slammed his finger into the up button of the elevator.

At the center of the lobby, themed similar to the surrounding columns, was a welcome desk, currently being run by a white haired, fuchsia skinned sinner. Her tiny bat wings fluttered and drooped as she fielded calls. Distracted as she was, she failed to notice anyone had entered the lobby until Alastor and Lucifer had already reached the desk.

"One moment, please," she said to them, showing that she had at least noticed they were there. "Now where did Velvette say she wanted her calls sent to today...?" She bit her lip, finger hovering over one of a quite frankly insane number of optional extensions. Her eyes darted back and forth between two of them, before she shrugged and for all intents and purposes flat out guessed which one to send the line to. "Thank you for waiting," she said in a practiced, albeit polite monotone. "How may I... help..." She trailed off as she finally laid eyes on who had walked into the lobby, eyes going wide. She gaped as she recognized Lucifer but went completely blank as she took in Alastor's presence. The blonde was fairly certain that if he could read minds there wouldn't have been a single thought going through her head at that moment.

Lucifer fixed an equally practiced polite smile on his face. "Excuse me, miss," he began, only to pause when she failed to regain her senses, apparently still too flabbergasted by his companion. Brow twitching, he rapped his knuckles sharply upon the marble surface of the desk.

The noise seemed to do the trick, the sinner snapping out of her trance to jerk her head around. "Yes! Um." She swallowed, casting one last nervous glance at the Radio Demon. Between looking at Alastor and looking back at Lucifer, he could see her clawing her professional mask back on with the kind of experience that came from needing to remain calm when one's life was on the line. "How may I help you, sirs?" Her voice didn't even shake a little.

Noting the reaction and shelving the topic for later, Lucifer said, "Please let Vox know we are here to speak with him."

The sinner blinked, disbelief clear as day on her face despite her best efforts not to show it. "You..." Lucifer had the distinct impression the 'you' here was Alastor, even if she wasn't looking directly at him. "Wish to speak with... Vox?" Her tone suggested that had she not been speaking with Lucifer Morningstar, the literal king of Hell, she might have asked him if he was smoking something.

The noise, or lack there of, reached his ears. The general hustle and bustle of when they had entered had completely died down to be replaced by whispers and murmurs. Even without turning, he could feel all eyes on them. Lucifer glanced at Alastor, whose Cheshire Cat grin suggested he was internally laughing at all the fuss his being here was causing. His ears flicked to and fro as he followed different conversations.

Smile fixed in place, he affirmed, "Yup!" He waggled his fingers in the direction of her phone. "Now, please."

The receptionist stared off into the middle distance, the same blank look in her eyes he'd seen on soldier's who'd died at war. In the fatalistic tone of someone who didn't expect to have a job (or possibly be alive) in the morning, she said, "Whelp, this job sucked anyway."

Someone, a little too loudly, stage whispered, "Oh, I would not want to be in her shoes, right now."

Without turning, the receptionist flipped the person off with one hand while picking up the phone with the other. She pressed a seemingly random button as she put the receiver to her ear, a down right manic smile crossed her face.

Lucifer (and likely everyone in the lobby, as well) could tell the instant the phone was answered on the other end. A voice that matched the one's he'd heard in the advertisements bellowed, "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT INTERUPTING MY MEETINGS?"

Taking advantage of the fact that it sounded like Vox was a sinner who needed to breathe on occasion, the woman said, voice picture perfect cheerful, "The King of Hell and the Radio Demon are here to see you, sir."

A very long, audible pause, both on the phone and from the lobby around them. Then, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ALASTOR'S HERE??"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the redhead, incredulous. Seriously? What kind of history did these two have that Alastor showing up at V Tower was causing this kind of fuss? It was almost enough to make him forget he had been totally overlooked in that last statement.

Around them, every camera in the lobby suddenly came to life, zeroing in on them. Lucifer could tell by their synchronous motion, someone was likely watching them. Alastor's whole posture changed as he turned on one of the cameras, head tilted just so and smile lazy as he waved at it.

As one, those very same cameras began to sizzle and pop as they were all taken out.

Lucifer noted the redhead looked far too pleased with himself for that to have been anything other than deliberate. He knew Alastor hated being recorded, but that was just petty. Turning his attention to the receptionist, it was only because of his heightened sense of hearing that he was able to hear Vox, voice considerably more in control and at a much more reasonable volume, telling her to send them down.

"At once, sir." She set the phone down at leisure, as if she hadn't just had her eardrums tested by her boss shouting in them. Still looking at something only she could see, she said, "Vox will see you now." She pointed behind her to a set of elevators. "Please use the elevator on the right, as this is the only elevator with access to Vox's personal office." Placing her hands on the desk in a deceptively casual way, she finished, "Please have a hellish rest of your day."

"You, too," Lucifer said on reflex. He watched her as they made their way around the desk, throwing glances over his shoulder after they'd passed it. Under his breath, he asked of Alastor, "Think the hotel needs a receptionist?"

They had a front desk, didn't they? And a land line? Maybe? There was no mail service in Hell and Alastor had to get communications somehow, seeing as he refused to touch anything more modern than a radio. He'd check on it when he got back.

"Ha!" Alastor side eyed him. "Come now, your Majesty, you don't want poor Husker to be out of a job, do you?"

Lucifer belatedly remembered that apparently Husk doubled as not just their bartender, but also as their receptionist. He guffawed. One the one hand, Husk was indeed an great bartender, even willing to be a patient ear for one's troubles, if he tolerated them. He was certainly an exceptional judge of someone's character. On the other, was he a good receptionist? No offense meant to the avian feline in question, but, not in the slightest.

Lucifer added the mental note to check in on the receptionist later to his growing list of things to do.

The elevator opened without them pressing any buttons, suggesting that Vox, the creep, had other ways of keeping tabs on them. Lucifer and Alastor stepped in, the former not thrilled with how tiny the elevator was. There was just enough room for the both of them to stand side by side with little to spare. Insult to injury, the most obnoxious elevator music he had ever had the displeasure to have inflicted on him played over head. There were no buttons to chose from, but there seemed to be none needed as the elevator began its decent on it's own.

Lucifer reiterated: what a creep.

More to fill the silence and distract himself from the growing need to destroy the speaker putting out that horrible noise, he asked, "You ever been here before?"

In the same way most people would say, 'I'd rather die, thanks,' Alastor scoffed. "Absolutely not! I'd never inflict such poor company on myself willingly." Still, it wasn't hard to notice the little ways Alastor was on high alert, very much aware of the fact that he had walked willingly into enemy territory. His ego didn't allow him to worry, but it still paid to be alert to potential surprises.

Thankfully, the elevator didn't take long before reaching its destination. This new room was vast, with a color scheme nothing like the lobby's. Where the lobby was warm shades of orange, red and purple, this room was all cool shades of blue, red, white. The room was dark, only illuminates by dozens upon dozens of screens, most glowing with white light, a handful with red light. Red light filtered up from what appeared to be a deep pit surrounding a bridge-like walkway. Attached at the end was a round platform and attached to the platform was a seat surrounded by even more monitors.

This wasn't an office. This was a surveillance room.

Walking down the walkway was none other than the founder of VoxTek, Vox himself, striding along with all the confidence of someone who was at the top of their industry and knew it. His smile was wide and Lucifer immediately pegged it as the fake kind he usually saw on car salesmen. "Your Highness! Welcome!" Vox greeted. When he was close enough, he offered his hand out for a handshake.

Lucifer eyed it, just long enough to make it look like he wasn't going to take it. He didn't expect anyone to actually bow to him in greeting, but something about this guy left him half tempted to push for it now. Taking the hand, he allowed Vox to shake it to be polite.

When it came time to greet Alastor, the TV demon merely gritted his teeth and said, voice dripping with venom, "Alastor."

Alastor didn't appear bothered in the least by the rude greeting. Matching vitriol with amusement, he merely said, "Vox."

Lucifer looked from Vox, to Alastor, and then back to Vox. Man, he was so sorry he hadn't asked for more details on these two before they'd gotten here. Predicting this could go on a while if they were left to their own devises, Lucifer pointedly cleared his throat.

Vox's smile smoothed out, salesman mask back on place. "Yes, of course. Now, your highness," the sinner held out his hand towards the bridge, indicating he'd like them to come into his "office" proper. Lucifer didn't fail to notice there was only one seat down that way and it was meant for Vox. "May I call you Lucifer? Lucifer--"

Oh, absolutely not. They were going to have to nip that in the bud. Even Alastor, who had somehow become his rival for his place in his daughter's life and literally lived down the hall from him, was smart enough not to call him by name.

"The word you're looking for is 'Majesty'."

Vox paused, body tensing. The fallen angel got the impression he wasn't used to being interrupted. "Excuse me?"

Lucifer effected a bored stance, one hand settled on his cane as he explained, deliberately just this side of hostile, "Your Highness is how you would address my daughter." He looked Vox dead in the eye, making it pointedly clear he was deadly serious and there was going to be none of this BS about who was calling the shots. "Your Majesty is how you address your king."

Vox interestingly grew more calm in the face of his king's ire. "Of course, your Majesty," he said, immediately correcting course. He offered they move the conversation to the platform again. This time, Lucifer nodded. He followed as Vox lead the way, noting how the TV demon never quite turned his back on them, seemingly uneasy having Alastor at his back, even this deep into what was his own territory.

Lucifer took the time spent crossing the bridge to exam the pit around them. While the red light obscured the bottom itself, he was able to make out what appeared to be a very large tank behind equally large glass walls. Swimming around without a care in the world were what appeared to be several glowing sharks. He followed one as it made its way from one side of the pit to the other, able to sense there was nothing natural in their design. These creatures may have appeared to be alive, but they were all circuits and wires, through and through.

When they reached the platform, Vox showed sense by not going for his chair. He did stop in the center of the circle, a subtle attempt to regain some control of the situation. "Now, your Majesty," he began, just sincere enough it was impossible to tell if it was fake or not. "Please, tell me how I and VoxTek can be of assistance today."

Lucifer watched him. Watched the way his face was turned to Lucifer, but his eyes kept ticking to Alastor. Noted the way his body was tilted ever so slightly in the redhead's direction, as if drawn by a magnet he couldn't resist. Vox may have been putting on a show of talking to Lucifer, but he very much only had eyes for Alastor.

Someone was obsessed.

Someone was obsessed really badly.

Something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness reared its head deep within his chest. Lucifer had no more of a claim on Alastor than Vox did, but Alastor had chosen to live under his roof and was his daughter's hotelier. Finicky to the last, with all the loyalty of a feral, stray cat, Alastor was theirs.

Smile all teeth, eyes gold on red, Lucifer raised his free hand until they were right under where Vox's nose would be if he had one. He snapped his fingers, once, twice, sharply.

Vox nearly went cross-eyed, as he zeroed in on the offending digits, leaning slightly back.

"I know Alastor is very eye catching," Lucifer drawled, voice deepening as he let his displeasure seep in. "But you are talking to me. Do you understand?"

The TV demon had the grace to raise his hands, not necessarily in surrender, but certainly in a pacifying manner. It was easy to see him cycling through possible responses, as he fished for the one that would deescalate the situation the fastest. "I apologize, you Majesty, for any offense," he settled on, tone so polite it reeked of falseness.

Lucifer let him have it because it seemed Vox was finally cottoning on to the fact that there was a larger predator in the room then either of the two sinners. The reluctant king withdrew a step, pleased when Vox's eyes followed him, with not a single glance at Alastor. Now that he had the CEO's full attention, he decided it was time to get this show on the road. "I have a message for everyone in the Pride Ring. I've noticed how many people have a TV or a cellphone. I've also noticed VoxTek's reach." Lucifer said this last part only because it was true. However they had managed it, VoxTek has even managed to make it's way into the other rings.

For the first time since they'd arrived, Vox's smile actually appeared real. It put into stark light how fake the one he had been wearing up until this moment had been. "We would be thrilled to feature you on one of our television shows, your Majesty." He was smart enough not to look at Alastor, although it was obvious the next part was directed towards him. "Our viewership ratings have been going through the roof over the last few years. Statistics show that almost every household in the Pentagram City has a TV these days."

It was a good sales pitch. It might even have been true. The hotel had even had a TV, although Lucifer had explicitly forbidden anyone from bringing one into the palace, the exception being the live-in servants' personal quarters. Regardless, Vox hadn't said that to try and sale anyone on anything, he'd said it to rub it in Alastor's face that Lucifer had chosen to pass his message along over Vox's medium, instead of Alastor's.

Although they hadn't discussed it ahead of time, Lucifer found himself saying, in all the casualness of it having been a given, "If Alastor wishes to broadcast the message simultaneously over radio for our viewers who prefer the medium, he's more than welcome to do so, but we're not here to discuss that." He was fairly certain, even without turning around, that Alastor hadn't given it away that this was news to him.

The idea was reinforced by the way that Vox's eye twitched before he could regain control over it. "Yes, of course we want it to reach all of the intended audiences." Hands coming to rest at the small of his back, the TV demon attempted to steer them back on course. "Now, about the content of the message."

Lucifer tilted his head to the side. "Does it matter what the content is? Unless you prefer I go somewhere else to do this." Something that was also true. Mammon may lack any talent of his own, but he knew a cash grab when he saw one. He jumped onto the bandwagon that was television sets, TV shows, and moving advertisements as soon as the technology had hit Hell. The only reason none of his products where seen in the Pride Ring was because Lucifer limited his exposure to sinners were ever he could. If he gave him the green light, Mammon would topple VoxTek within a matter of months, if not less.

Vox paused, sensing he was in troubled waters, but not quite sure from which direction. "No, no. We here at VoxTek simply prefer to make sure that all the content we put out is content we stand by--"

Lucifer leaned in. If his tail were out, it would have been thrashing. "Are you saying your king could say anything VoxTek wouldn't support?"

Vox's screen left eye widened ever so slightly, the sclera going from a solid red, to more hypnotic red and black. It was there and gone in the blink of his eyes. His voice sounded glitchy as he gritted out a, "No."

"May I suggest something, your Majesty?"

Lucifer broke off what was quickly becoming a staring match with Vox to turn his attention to Alastor. The redheaded sinner had been standing behind him, seemingly content to watch the drama unfold from the side as Lucifer took the lead. Considering their rivalry, Lucifer was a little hesitant to allow Alastor to enter the fray, lest he potentially make things worse. However, he did appreciate the fact that these two knew each other better than he knew either of them.

Giving away the floor, at least for now, Lucifer gave a single short nod, for him to proceed.

Alastor stepped up until they were side by side.

Unable to resist now that the redhead had center stage, Vox immediately shifted to face him, Lucifer all but forgotten. He frowned, almost all pretenses of being a businessman all but thrown out the window. "What are you doing here, Alastor?" He snipped at the redhead. "I know you'll take any opportunity to move up in Hell, but I didn't take you as a kiss ass."

Alastor smiled at him, as if he were a short sighted child. "We hadn't gotten to that part, have we?" He gave his staff a little spin, noting the way Vox's eyes narrowed as he took in it's repaired state. "His Majesty asked me to stand with him as he gave his address."

Vox snorted, doubtful. "You'd never agree to appearing on screen." He actually started to laugh at the idea, until he realized Alastor was completely serious. "Wait, you said yes?" Gaping, he turned on Lucifer, seeming in his shock to forget who he was talking to. "What the hell did you do to get him to agree to show up on TV?" He glared back and forth between then, baring his teeth as he asked, "What, are you two fucking or something?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, lip curling back. In one fell swoop, Vox had just reduced himself to less than scum on the bottom of his boots. The only reason they were continuing this conversation was because he didn't feel like dragging Valentino down to the Greed Ring. "Maybe you just don't know how to speak his language," he snipped back, mouth moving before he could think about what he was saying or how much it gave away.

Before Vox could think too deeply on it, the redhead cleared his throat. For all that he preferred to be an unseen voice on the radio, Alastor did how to play his audience in person. "Let me sweeten the deal," he said, his hand running down the pole of his staff, eyeing the TV demon as he did so. "If you agree to broadcast our King's message, I'll do that one little thing you wanted me to do when you asked me to join you." He pointed the microphone end at Vox, the tip perilously close to his screen. "From when you agree to the end of the broadcast."

Vox stared at the microphone. Slowly, he raised his eyes until he met Alastor's. Something that looked suspiciously like sadness peaked through his anger, although Lucifer was certain they weren't supposed to see it. "You'd really do that. For him?"

Alastor withdrew his staff, tucking it under his arm. With his free hand, he reached out until a single claw rested under Lucifer's chin. Encouraging him to look up at him, Lucifer let Alastor tilt his head up and around to meet that fond expression on the redhead's face. "As his Majesty said, he knows how to speak my language."

Vox's eyes widened, a dawning expression coming over him. Real horror followed shortly behind it. "Holy shit," he whispered, staggering back. Lucifer tore his gaze away from Alastor's just in time to see him drop into his chair as if his strings had been cut. Dragging a hand down his face, Vox said with absolute certainty, "You actually made a Faustian Bargain."

He said it like this was his worst nightmare came to life.

Beside him, Alastor practically radiated smug triumph. It was all the affirmation he needed to give.

All of the fight hadn't been been cut from Vox just yet. Unhappy as he was with this set back, Vox was already trying to figure out how spin this in his favor. An elbow resting on each arm of his chair, the knuckles of his joined hands pressed to his lips, he countered, "Alright, Alastor does his thing and I'll broadcast whatever you want." His grin took up most of his screen, all pretenses of friendliness dropped. "Give me an hour to prepare the studio for you."

Before Vox could run off, Lucifer placed one last little condition on him. "Vox. Make sure the other Vees are in attendance." At the TV demon's questioning tilt of his head, the blonde merely said, "I wouldn't want anyone to miss my message."

Whatever Vox thought of this was hidden behind his joined hands. Instead of bothering with any of the usual ways out of the room, Vox transformed into a bolt of electricity, disappearing into one of the monitors.

Silence descended over the room. Then, "You two have history."

Alastor snorted. "You know how to use your eyes, your Majesty. I'm impressed."

Lucifer ignored the sarcasm and the insult in favor of observing his companion. The redhead's brows were furrowed with concentration, eyes closed and the very air around him warped to a noticeable degree. To Lucifer, a creature who had existed before physical matter, picking up on the way Alastor was enhancing certain electromagnetic waves around him was child's play. Hoping to kill two birds with one stone - learning more about their shared history while figuring out what the sinner was doing - the little king gave into his curiosity and asked, "What did Vox want you to do?"

Alastor didn't answer for a moment, whatever he was doing taking quite a bit of his concentration. Lucifer patiently waited him out. Several minutes ticked by with nothing by the hum of the monitors and the swimming of the sharks to keep him occupied. Cracking open a single eye a slit, Alastor reached a point in whatever he was doing where he could split his attention. Lucifer noted the pupil of the visible eye was a dial.

"Do you know how the technology in that silly little device in your pocket works?" Alastor asked by way of response.

The only things Lucifer tended to carry on his person were his cane, which was in his hand, and his cellphone, in case Charlie tried to call him (rare that it was). His cellphone, which was indeed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he eyed it. He knew it worked. He knew how to work it. Did he really need to know more? Besides, it wasn't one of VoxTek's cellphones, which made him less wary of it. Confused as to where this was going, he said, "It works, isn't that all that matters?"

"Such a pedestrian response." Alastor hummed, his microphone coming over to point at the little device. "You device works because it's able to transmit data via radio waves." He used his staff to gesture to the room around them, his eye falling shut now that he no longer needed to see to engage in the conversation. "Vox's specialty is electricity. He can interact with anything that uses it."

Lucifer remembered the way the TV demon had disappeared into his monitor, a chill running down his spine as he imagined what all else he could likely interact with.

"Radio waves, on the other hand, are my specialty," Alastor continued. This fit with what Lucifer had observed both in the current moment and back at the radio tower. "Usually I simply use them to connect myself to any radio in Pentagram City, but I can also enhance them." His edges of his smile tightened. There was no strain in his posture, but Lucifer was suspicious they might see hints of it if this carried on too long. "When Vox wanted to introduce wireless technology to Hell, he suggested that we team up. He would create the technology and the demand, and I would enhance his reach." His expression sharpened into a sneer. "I had no interest in being a mere tool in elevating him to the top."

Judging from the short interaction he'd observed, Lucifer was suspicious Vox had wanted much more than just to use Alastor as a tool. Vox had done little to hide the depth of his anger and hatred, and no one reached that level of emotion without having swung in the opposite direction first. Lucifer wondered if Alastor had really turned Vox down because of his own lust for power or if Alastor had seen the way Vox had looked at him and hadn't been interested.

Since that question was more likely to shut down the conversation then receive an answer, resigned himself to never knowing. Either way, he supposed he should be happy that Alastor had turned Vox down. Lucifer didn't want to think about what they could have accomplished if they had somehow found a way to work together.

Instead, he went with, "So, you can interact with anything that receives radio waves, then. Not just radios?"

In response, his cell phone dinged. The screen lit up to the lock screen, showing he had a new text message. Though it should be improbable, there was nothing in the place of a sender's name. Lucifer silently frowned at it, suspicious of who was the sender, but unwilling to open anything he didn't know who it came from.

As if sensing his distrust, Alastor crooned, "Go on. I promise it's not spam."

Lucifer was still wary, but he unlocked his phone. If this was malicious ware, Alastor was getting him a new phone.

The text message was indeed not spam. When he opened it up, there were simply two words:

You suck!

Lucifer glared at the message. "So, what? How would this help Vox?"

Alastor wagged a finger at him. "I'm currently high jacking every TV and cellphone with it's WIFI turned on. 666 News has never been more popular than it is right now." He paused, as if searching for something. "I excluded most of the phones in the hotel, but I do have Angel's."

Lucifer whistled, giving credit where it was due. That was honestly incredible. Terrifying in it's reach, holy shit, but incredible. A thought crossed his mind, an unholy grin slowly spreading across his face as he wondered, "Wait, if I reply to this, will the message go straight to you?"

"Ha!" Alastor shook his head, using his microphone to bop the top of Lucifer's hat. An impressive feat, considering his eyes were still closed. "Sorry, but I'm merely a transmitter and an amplifier. My abilities don't work that way."

Lucifer straightened his hat, half tempted to try anyway, just to see if it were true. Perhaps he would another time.

He was interrupted from any further questions by one of the monitors coming to life over Vox's chair. A moment later, the sinner himself reentered the same way he had left. Vox settled back in his chair, legs crossed and significantly more calm than when he left. "The studio will be ready for you in half an hour." He glanced once at Alastor, who had opened his eyes upon the TV demon's return, before returning back to Lucifer. "Let's relocate there now, shall we?"

Lucifer nodded. Instead of leading them towards the elevator they'd come down in, Vox merely joined them in the center of the platform. It became apparent why when the very middle suddenly began to rise, revealing there was yet more ways in and out of the surveillance room. Once they were back in the lobby, he led them over to elevator on the left, only sticking with them long enough to press the button of the floor with the studio, before pulling back out of it. "I'll meet you up there."

The door closed, once again leaving just the two of them and that horrible elevator music.

Lucifer glanced at Alastor. He still looked fine, but he was definitely putting out a lot of power. Feeling concerned (Alastor had agreed to do this for him) and wary of insulting him, he asked, checking in, "You doing okay, still?"

Alastor's ear twitched, the widening of smile showing he wasn't insulted, but rather amused. "Oh, don't worry your little head, I'll be just fine, your Majesty." Eyes aglow with more than just the power it took to carry out his promise, he added, "But I expect a reward when we return to the Hotel."

Lucifer felt a jolt run up his spine. The chain around his neck didn't manifest, but he could feel it tightening ever so. Alastor was invoking their deal, officially giving him his 12 hour notice. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, as Alastor had yet to actually invoke the deal since making it with him. Tilting his head so his hat hid his expression from both Alastor and the camera's gaze, Lucifer grumbled, "Should have known you'd do nothing for free."

The doors to the elevator opened, illuminating the redhead's sinister grin. A few sinners had paused to catch a glimpse of them as the doors opened, only to pale at the expression on Alastor's face. They quickly scurried off to carry out their tasks. Lucifer stepped through the doors, taking in the chaos in front of him. Numerous demons were running around, similar to the frantic energy he'd seen in the lobby, everyone getting the studio ready. A stack of papers and angry shouting from a blonde woman in a red dress (what was her name? It started with a K) suggested that something else had been planned for this hour, but had been cancelled due to Lucifer's abrupt interruption.

Lucifer might have felt bad, if it weren't for the fact that he knew without a shadow of a doubt this particular reporter was likely going to find some way to verbally eviscerate him later. He may not have remembered her name, but he did remember her particular brand of cutthroat journalism and the outright nasty things she had said about his daughter in the past. And her casual abuse of her co-reporter.

As if sensing she was being watched, the reporter turned her head a full 180 degrees, her smile down right unhinged and full of promises.

Not for the first time since landing in Hell, Lucifer almost wished he was still capable of creating Holy Water. There were some situations one just needed a spray bottle full of the hard core stuff for.

"Your Majesty," Vox pipped up, appearing from seemingly nowhere. The only reason Lucifer didn't jump was because he was still caught in a glaring match with a literal reporter from Hell. "This way, please."

Lucifer carried on glaring at her, right up until he physically couldn't. "I don't care who you've got sitting with me, I don't want her anywhere near me."

Vox followed his gaze, snorting when he saw who he'd been making a stink eye at. "Oh, no worries." He turned his own glare on Alastor. "I'll be copiloting right along with you."

Lucifer took in the two chairs. If he was sitting in one and Vox in the other, Alastor was going to be left standing. Judging from the gleam in the TV demon's eye, this was on purpose. Vox pulled out the seat on the right, the malicious reporter's coworker's usual seat, a smile so fake one would have to be blind to think it sincere spread across his screen. "Just a few more finishing touches, and then we'll be ready to begin." He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the bowels of the studio.

Lucifer blinked down at the seat. He could already feel the sheer number of eyes from the people in the studio, watching and waiting to see what he was going to do next. This was the first time almost every single one of them had ever seen him in person. He already hated everything about this. It was more than enough to make him want to retreat back to his room at the hotel and not come out for the rest of the month.

A gentle brush, an almost tickle, against the back of his neck, the feeling almost shockingly intimate, startled him. He inhaled sharply, not having noticed that he had stopped breathing. Instinctively, he turned his back on the growing crowd, his hand coming up to half way, before he aborted the motion. Turning to face him, Lucifer noted that Alastor appeared to have not done anything, standing in that default pose he favored. The only reason Lucifer could tell it had been him that touched him was from the way the redhead was watching him.

"Smile, your Majesty," Alastor murmured, voice pitched low and soothing. "The hardest part is almost over. I'll be with you the whole time."

How out of sorts had he been that even the Radio Demon was taking pity on him? That the reassurance was a comfort?

Lucifer breathed in slowly through his nose, breathing out even slower through his mouth. His racing heart began to calm, as he reminded himself that he had taken on far more terrifying beings than a room full of nosey sinners. This was all for Charlie and the safety of her dream, and for that, he could handle anything.

He dropped into the offered chair, the anticipation of a battle falling over his shoulders like a weathered cape.

A door opened off to the side, one that he hadn't seen anyone coming and going through. Stepping through were none other than Valentino and Velvette themselves. Velvette was typing away on her phone, muttering about an interruption to her photo shoot.

Valentino paused as he caught sight of Lucifer and Alastor. "Oh! If it isn't papito, himself!" The grin spreading across his face and choice of wording caused the blonde's skin to crawl. Sauntering over, Valentino nearly draped himself over desk, bringing his and Lucifer's faces far too close together. "You wouldn't want to hang around after this little show for some one on one time, now would you, mi pequeño rey?"

Lucifer had barely managed to do more than lean back in his chair, trying to escape the heavy stench of smoke and hard drugs that hung around the Overlord like a second skin, when a weigh settled heavily on his shoulder. He glanced up, finding that Alastor had stepped up beside him, hand placed in such a way that it wrapped possessively around shoulder and was beginning to snake around the back of his neck.

"Valentino." Alastor's filter was grating, a warning despite his pleasant smile.

Valentino lazily blew out a thin pink, heart shaped mouth of smoke. It hit Alastor in the face. His smile was filthy as he gave the deer demon a once over. "Don't be jealous, venado, my offer is still open to you, too."

The static glitch of a record screeching. It wasn't hard to pick out Alastor's distaste with everything from the offer to the Overlord himself. "Pass," he quipped back, shotting down the offer with extreme prejudice.

The pimp shrugged, viewing it as his loss. He turned his attention back to his original target. "What do you say, papito? We could--."

"Val." Vox's voice was barely recognizable through whatever filter he was using, the noise causing Lucifer to flinch as it grated at his ears.

Valentino pouted, somehow making it look aggressive. "Vox, querido, what have I said about using that tone with me?" He twisted around in a way that accented his figure. "Don't be upset because the Radio Demon's already turned you down."

"The show is about to start, Val," Vox pointed out evenly and sternly, despite the dig. Lucifer was beginning to pick up that when it was anyone other than Alastor, the TV demon might actually be able to keep a cool head. "How do you think it will look if we don't start on time?"

Valentino's pout to edge in the direction of a normal pout. "Spoil sport." He leaned back until he was facing Lucifer. He reached out, running a single finger along the underside of the blonde's chin. "Call me if you change your mind." Offer made, he thankfully, finally got off the desk and made his way back over to Velvette.

Lucifer was going to take a long, hot shower when he got back to the hotel. With acid. Regrow some nice, new skin that Valentino had never touched.

Alastor pulled him from his thoughts, giving the back of his neck a squeeze. Lucifer was almost sad for the loss of contact when he pulled his hand away so he could resume his prior position.

From where he stood, Vox watched the two of them, his expression unreadable. Several minutely later, the blue and black themed sinner dropped into his own seat, calling out to the cameraman as he did so. "How's the camera holding up?"

The cameraman peaked at Alastor, indicating this question was because of the redhead's tendency to take out anything with a camera around him. The sinner studied his monitor and then gave a thumbs up.

Vox clicked his tongue. "So," he gripped, irritation heavy in his voice. "You can be recorded without destroying my electronics."

Lucifer couldn't see Alastor from where he was standing almost directly behind him, could only hear the tapping on his fingers on his microphone. His taunt was malicious as he came back with, "We both know I can be photographed ...when I want to be."

The TV demon grimaced, the hit landing where it obviously hurt. He had little time to recover, as the cameraman began his countdown. As he hit zero, Vox's smile was back in place, just a lot less real.

"Top of the hour, folks!" Vox's voice was loud and boisterous, the rhythm and pace almost break neck. "Breaking news: in a rare interview, we're joined by none other than the King of Hell and the Devil himself, Lucifer Morningstar!" Vox leaned over, holding a hand out to indicate the fallen angel sitting beside him. "Please, give your people a little wave, your Majesty."

Lucifer resisted the urge to flip him off. Gave the camera a little wave with little enthusiasm.

Vox carried on, unphased, "Equally rare and unlikely to never happen again, fellow sinners, we also have radio talk show host, the Radio Demon himself, Alastor!"

Alastor didn't wave. He grinned straight into the camera, as if staring into the very souls of the views, eyes and teeth alight as reality itself threatened to warp around him.

The camera gave an alarming whine. The cameraman gave an alarmed cry as it threatened to give out.

Point made, Alastor seemed to remember he was supposed to be behaving. The camera stopped whining as reality returned to normal.

Vox's eye twitched. Smile strained along with his chipper tone, he said, "Your Majesty, I assume your being here is because of the attacks on the hotel your daughter is running?"

Lucifer gave him his own chipper smile. "You mean the attacks you only know about because of your voyeuristic habits?"

Vox laughed, a touch nervously. "You've clearly never dealt with the paparazzi, sire. One has to cross a few boundaries if they want to get the exclusive first."

Was that what he was going with?

Either blind to it or ignoring it, Vox glossed over Lucifer's offense, moving on to, "Please, tell us, do you have any idea who's behind the attacks? We're dying to know."

Lucifer highly doubted that. Or at least, doubted Vox cared. It was more likely he wanted the hotel to fail or get taken out, judging from his poorly concealed eagerness. He leaned his elbow onto the table, chin resting on his palm. "I'm not here to waste my time nor the listeners' with an interview." He took delight in watching Vox falter for the first time since the interrogation began. Over his shoulder, he called sweetly, "Alastor?"

Alastor's voice was just sweet and still more bloodthirsty. "Yes, sire?"

It was a show of how in tune Vox was with Alastor's moods that the TV demon was already beginning to sweat. He was doing a good job of hiding it, Lucifer would give him that. It was a pity he was sitting beside someone who could see right through him, when he chose to make the effort. Lucifer rose from his chair, the blue and black sinner nearly taking a screen full of wings as they manifested. "Be a doll and make certain Vox doesn't get any ideas. Like interfering."

"With pleasure." Alastor's words were nearly lost to his filter. The air around them crackled, the shadows in the corners of the room growing unnaturally dark. Vox dropped all pretenses of pretending he wasn't unnerved, leaning back as much to avoid the wings as to distance himself from the redheaded sinner.

Red and white wings fluttered, giving Lucifer the lift to make stepping up onto the desk look effortless. Papers flew everywhere and a few people made startled noises as they were hit with a few errant pages. His wings fanned out, allowing him to gracefully fall into a seated potion on the other side of the desk. He leaned to the side, placing his weight on the hand braced on the desk, head rolling until he was facing the other two Vees. "Velvette, if you value your life just sit there and look pretty for a bit."

Velvette narrowed her eyes to slits at him. "What the hell?"

Valentino waited to see what advice he had for him. When he received none, the pimp blew out a lung full of pink smoke. His expression turned sultry. "Nothing for me, pequeño rey?"

Lucifer didn't respond, not wanting to give the game away too soon. Relaxing his control over his form, he allowed the full extent of his corrupted, angelic form to appear on full display for all of the viewers to see. Far too many eyes focused in on not just the camera, but the cameraman and the sinners directly around him. Each of them instinctively shied away, hindbrains warning them they were out in the open and too exposed. Vox attempted to push his chair back, the area around the desk suddenly a little too hot, only to be stopped by the end of Alastor's strategically placed staff locking the chair in place.

Lucifer rolled his head back around, until he could easily stare into the camera. "Now, to clear up a few things: I could care less about sinner politics." He grinned in that way he knew looked off, even for a creature of Hell, leaning into the fact that he wasn't human and had never been human. "How you decide to throw away the one good thing you stupid, stupid little humans have going for you is up to you." His pupils were lost in a red glow as his temper spiked, the flame of hellfire blazing between his horns. " What I do take issue with is someone sending hitman to threaten my daughter over something as silly as potential lost contracts."

He slid off the desk, the sinners in front of him all collectively taking a step back. Only the cameraman stayed in place, too frozen to move. "Perhaps it's my fault, I've been away a while." He held out a hand, fingers searching until he found the particular contract he was looking for. "Perhaps it's yours for never reading the fine print." His hand closed around his desired target, a chain made of pink, translucent smoke, deceptively fragile, coming into being. One end led out the doors. The other end led off to the side, leading over to a certain Overlord.

Valentino's and Angel's contract.

The pimp held up his wrist, confusion evident on his face. "The fuck?"

Lucifer's grin was all teeth. He wrapped his hand around and around the chain until he had a nice, solid grip on it. Without warning, he viciously yanked on the chain.

Valentino was pulled so hard, his shoulder nearly popped out of its socket. The pimp yowled like a cat dropped into pool as he was sent crashing to the floor. Lucifer didn't give him the chance to recover, reeling him in like a particularly resistant fish, the Overlord shouting and cursing as he was dragged across the floor. The Devil gave no quarter, even when he had him where he wanted him, pressing his heel into Valentino's back and twisting moth's arm until it was just short breaking.

"You see," Lucifer carried on, tone bored and voice raised over the slew of insults being thrown his way, "There's this little clause in your contracts that say I have the final say in every single one of them."

"You little shit!" Valentino hissed, twisting in a way that should be impossible for someone who purportedly had a spine. "We had nothing to do with the attacks on that shithole your hija is running."

Lucifer pulled on the chain until he could hear the shoulder pop. The sinner's claws dug into the ground beneath him, glare baleful. "Maybe," Lucifer said, almost nonchalant. "But you're the lowest kind of sinner: the kind that profits on selling human flesh and locks people into contracts so they can never escape."

The moth demon snarled, composure gone. "Every one of those whores came to me willingly. I made them stars. They would be nothing without me."

The Devil peered down at him, unmerciful. All of Valentino's sins where on display for him to see and judge and he found him wanting. "Nothing gives you the right to abuse another human being."

Lucifer returned his attention to the camera. He wrapped his free hand around another section of the chain, pulling the links tight between his two fists. "Let everyone remember that your little deals mean nothing if I say so."

Without further ado, he pulled almost effortlessly on the chain, Valentino's strength that of a kittens next to his. A link, just off center, gave, pulling apart until it shattered. Each one of the links similarly followed suit, falling from his hand like crystalline shards. They vanished like the smoke they had originally appeared as before they could hit the ground.

Valentino's arm, free of the chain, fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Lucifer stepped off his back, releasing him. Stepping around the desk this time, he held his hand out to Alastor. The Radio Demon blinked back at him, something delighted behind his gaze.

It looked a little like victory.

He took Lucifer's hand.

"The Hazbin Hotel and every one of its residents are under my protection," Lucifer declared into the stunned silence, voice projected loud and unearthly, raising the hair on ever sinner's head, save the one in front of him. He looked upon each of the sinners in the room, gaze coming to rest on the camera lens. "I will not have mercy upon anyone looking to cause my daughter anymore trouble."

To his right, a portal appeared. Without another word, he stepped through it, pulling Alastor along with him.

As everyone continued to stare, the portal vanished and they were gone.

tbc

Translations:

-Papito: Little daddy

-Mi pequeño rey: My little king

-Venado: Deer or venison. I chose this word as a way for Valentino to make a dig at the fact that Alastor's demon form is a type of food source.

-Querido: Darling, used if you love or like someone. Chosen as a shoutout to the affair they're clearly having.

[gamora-borealis]

I saw someone talking about why people didn't get™ dystopia daily on my dash again but I lost it on accident so anyways. my contribution to that discussion is. dan is the master of irony (go back and watch his dinof videos on irony they are very ahead of their time I think) but unfortunately his delivery seemed a bit too sincere at times so the purpose was missed by some (although. that's kind of the point!!! like. he's just playing a burnt out youtuber... or is he???)

also I don't think breaking a variety talk show into pieces like that helped him at all I think it would have been better as straight up long-form content to get the full vibe. plus like, a lot of commentary youtube, which this felt adjacent to, IS long-form. But he was editing while on tour and also before BIG/WIQYT he mostly just made short videos. without the full structure being apparent it's like why is he alternating between things is he just looking for some kind of set upload structure??? and the answer is yes (because structure is good for a chaotic mess like him) but it's also supposed to all flow together to justify the structure, and I definitely was confused by that at first when I jumped into dd in the middle of it being uploaded.

I feel like his best dd vids were the monologues where he just yapped about something dramatically because that's always been his strong suit. and honestly, I've always loved his silly sketch comedy and dd only had bits and pieces of it at the beginning or end. I think it would have been even better if he leaned into more like a mockumentary with more "behind the scenes" interactions with him as the host.

[canmom]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, 000-012

Or, what if that mural was the heart of a web serial.

I'm reading The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, thanks largely to the enthusiasm of @azdoine and @lukore on my dash over the last few months.

This is absolutely not gonna be a liveblog in the level of detail of the great Umineko liveblog project. Rather I'm gonna be aiming at something like the comics comints series or those occasional posts on anime. Or indeed what I wrote about Worth The Candle last year. I must create a robot whose purpose is to watch to see if I start writing detailed plot summaries and hit me with a stick labelled 'remember you have a job now'.

That outta the way, let's talk flower!

No, not that flower!

I will start with an anecdote. When I was at university, I ended up attending a talk by court alchemist senescence researcher Aubrey de Grey, who at that time did not yet have a 'sexual harassment allegations' section on his Wikipedia page. The main thing that struck me at the time was his rather spectacularly long beard. But I did listen to his talk about ending aging.

de Grey's schtick is that he, like many people in the transhumanist milieu, believes that medical technology is on the cusp of being able to prevent aging sufficiently well to prolong human lifespans more or less indefinitely. He believes that the different processes of aging can be understood in terms of various forms of accumulating cellular 'damage', and that these will begin to be addressed within present human lifespans, buying time for further advancements - so that (paraphrasing from memory) 'the first immortals have already been born'. He has some pretty graphs to demonstrate this point.

At that talk, one of the audience members asked de Grey the (in my view) very obvious question about whether access to this technology would be distributed unevenly, creating in effect an immortal ruling class. de Grey scoffed at this, saying he always gets this question, and basically he didn't think it would be a big deal. I forget his exact words, but he seemed to assume the tech would trickle down sooner or later, and this was no reason not to pursue it.

I'm sure de Grey is just as tired of being reminded of how unbalanced access to medical technology is in our current world, or the differences in average life expectancy between countries.

So, I was very strongly reminded of de Grey as The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere laid out its major thematic concerns and characters. I was also put in mind of many online arguments in the transhumanist milieu about whether it would be a good thing, in principle, to end death.

In particular, of course, comes to mind transhumanist Nick Bostrom's short story The Fable of the Dragon-Tyrant, in which death is likened to a huge dragon that demands to be fed trains full of humans every day. In the story, humanity's scientists secretly build a giant gun to kill the dragon. Naturally, despite all the doubters and naysayers who foolishly feel obliged to justify the existence of the dragon, the gun works. Bostrom's imagery is incredibly heavy-handed (particularly the trains à la Auschwitz), but just in case you didn't get it, he also spells out the moral explicit at the end: basically, every day not spent putting resources to abolishing death is adding up more and more bodies to the pile of people who don't get to be immortal.

So far, Flower seems to be shaping up to be a critical intervention into that milieu, with a much more grounded view of death and a much stronger model of society - admittedly not a high bar but it's going good so far!

At the time of writing this commentary, I have read the prologue and first two six-chapter arcs, namely Mankind's Shining Future (1-6) and Pilgrimage to the Deep (7-12).

the general shape of things

We are introduced - from the perspective of sardonic, introverted Su, who is going to be the protagonist of our time loop - to a group of brilliant young medical wizards, who have just been invited to visit the headquarters of a secret society whose mission is precisely to abolish death. Su's grandfather was some kind of controversial luminary who was expelled this organisation, and he also did something to her, which is giving her some kind of ulterior motive to find her way into this society.

We know pretty much from the outset that this is a time loop scenario: Su has been explicitly given the opportunity to replay the scenario in the hopes of find an alternative outcome, by some kind of presently mysterious parties. This first part is the 'control' loop, i.e. probably more or less how things went down 'originally'.

I believe Umineko is an explicit inspiration for this story, and the influence is pretty evident. But parallels with the Locked Tomb series, especially Gideon the Ninth, are also quite noticeable. @lukore spoke of it as the STEM to Locked Tomb's humanities, and I can already kinda see it, although we haven't got into the real meat of the scenario yet. This story began serialisation four years ago, making the two works roughly contemporary. The latest chapter was published in the last couple of weeks - no idea if I've arrived just in time for the ending!

Stylistically, it's generally pretty heavy on dialogue and long asides. The characters are a bunch of mega nerds who love to have big philosophical and political discussions, but their dynamics are well enough realised and their dynamics clear enough that it can double up as naturalistic characterisation. So far, the discussions have been interesting to read.

Below I'm going to make some notes and comments on various elements of the setting and story. In a followup post (because it got too long) I'm going to talk a lot about entropy. Perhaps you will find this interesting!

the world

The first few chapters are dedicated pretty hard to exposition. We find ourselves in a distant-future setting - one in which it seems reality has totally collapsed and then been rebuilt using magic, creating a somewhat oddball universe which lacks things like the element iron, and also electromagnetism. This seems like it would have pretty severe implications for just about everything!

However, the 'ironworkers' have, after producing a series of trial and error 'lower planes' that didn't quite get it right, landed on a fairly close approximation of how things used to be on the old world. Though by 'fairly close approximation' I mean like... it's a bowl-shaped world and the sun and stars are artificial lanterns. But still, there are humans, and they seem to work more or less like we're used to humans working, apart from the whole 'magic' thing.

So, an alt-physics setting. Praise Aealacreatrananda, I love that shit.

While electromagnetism might be out, the more abstract physical principles like thermodynamics still apply, and the humans of this universe have managed to find analogues to a number of things in our world. Instead of computers, they have 'logic engines' which run on magic. Horses seem to have made it in, so we get delightful blends of historical and futuristic concepts like a self-driving computer-controlled horse-drawn carriage taxi.

The biggest difference is of course that in this setting, magic - more on that in a bit - has solved most medical problems and humans routinely live to around 500. The setting is ostensibly a semi-post-scarcity one, although a form of money exists in 'luxury debt', which can be exchanged for things like taxi rides, café food and trips on the space elevator.

Politically, we are told that the world has enjoyed a few hundred years of general peace, broken in living memory by a revolution which put an end to a regime of magical secrecy. There are lots of countries, and an alliance overseeing them.

There's a few other oddities in this world. Something called a 'prosognostic event' can happen if you see someone who has the same face as you, and whatever this is, it's bad enough news that everyone is constantly reminded to veil their faces in public and there's some kind of infant 'distinction treatment' to mitigate the risk. Given that, in the regular world, nothing particularly bad would happen if you ran into a long-lost identical twin, it suggest there is probably something a little fucky about how humans work in this world!

There's evidently a fair bit of effort put into the worldbuilding of fictional countries and historical periods. The important elements seem to be roughly along the lines of:

our world is currently in what they call the 'old kingdoms' period, which is poorly remembered;

next up comes an 'imperial' period of high transhumanist shenanigans in which society was ruled by 'gerontocrats' who got exclusive access to the longevity treatment, but this all somehow led to a huge disaster which destroyed og earth;

the survivors built the Mimikos where humanity currently lives using magic and created some kind of huge iron spike that holds the universe together; there was subsequently a 'fundamentalist' period in which a strict cutoff point was put on human lifespans and a lot of the wackier magic was banned;

now we're onto a new era of openness following a small revolution, while the major political structures remain largely intact.

Writing a far-future setting is hard, because trying to deal with the weight of history without the story getting bogged down with worldbuilding details is a fiddly line to walk. The Dying Earth series of Jack Vance might be a relevant point of comparison. Vance leaves the historical details vague - there are endless old kingdoms and strange artefacts and micro-societies for Cugel and co. to stumble on. Far more important than the specifics of history is establishing the vibe of a world that's seen an unimaginable amount of events layered on top of each other and is honestly a bit tired.

Flower makes things a bit more concrete and generally manages to make this work decently well. I do appreciate the asides where Su talks about, for example, the different architectural styles that layer up to make a place, or the way a technique has been refined. It establishes both that Su is the kind of person to notice this sort of thing, and also helps the world feel lived-in.

the names

The story doesn't do a lot with language. The story is written in English, and the narration will occasionally make reference to how things are phrased (e.g. how divination predates the suffix -mancy). We can probably make the standard assumption that this is all translated from $future_language, with the notional translator making a suitable substitution of whatever linguistic forms exist in that language.

The characters are named in a variety of languages. Our main character's full name is Utsushikome of Fusai. We're told that this is "an old name from Kutuy, and means something like 'mysterious child'" - so Kutuyan is one of the languages spoken in this world. It's blatantly got the same phonotactics as Japanese, and indeed if I search up 'Utsushikome', I find an obscure historical figure called Utsushikome-no-Mikoto, wife of the Emperor Kōgen; she has no article on English Wikipedia, but she does have a brief one on Japanese wiki. Just as Su says about Kutuyan, 'Utsushikome' is written 欝色謎 in Japanese, but it relies on archaic readings of those characters and wouldn't read that way in modern Japanese. We could perhaps assume a good old translation convention is in effect where Kutuyan is replaced with Japanese.

A lot of characters have Greek names, as do various setting elements. One exception is Kamrusepa, or Kam, who is named for an ancient goddess of medicine worshipped by the Hittites and Luwians. I know basically fuck all about Hittites and Luwians but it's a cool little nod to mythology, and it won't be the only one!

I'll run down a list of characters and my comments about them in a bit. But many are named after gods or other mythological figures.

the magic

Most of the divergences come from magic existing. Certain humans are 'arcanists', who are able to use the 'Power', which is a magic system with a highly computational flavour. Thanks to Su's expositional asides, we know that an incantation is something like a short program written in cuneiform with the ability to gather information, perform maths, and manipulate particles. An example we are given is a spell called "entropy-denying", which is the following string of cuneiform:

"…(𒌍𒌷𒀭)(𒌍𒁁𒀭)𒅥𒌈𒆜𒈣𒂠, 𒋢𒀀𒅆𒌫𒃶,𒈬𒊹."

We're told that spells always start with phrases ending in 𒀭, and end in 𒊹. Beyond that, I'm not sure how far the author has actually worked out the syntax of this magic system - probably not in too much detail! Seems like the kind of thing it's better to leave vague, but also she seems like kind of nerd who would (positive). It's conceptually a reasonable magic system for a world where more or less realistic physics applies.

The use of unusual scripts for a magic system isn't that unusual - the old European occultists who wrote the [Lesser] Key of Solomon loved to write on their magic circles in Hebrew, and in modern times we could mention Yoko Taro's signature use of the Celestial Alphabet for example - but the specific use of cuneiform here seems like it might be a little more significant, because a little later in the story the characters encounter a mural depicting The Epic of Gilgamesh, which of course was recorded on cuneiform tablets. Remains to be seen exactly what these allusions will mean!

The magic system is divided into various disciplines defined by the different ways they approach doing magic, with the disciplines breaking down broadly along the same lines as the modern scientific disciplines. For example, our protagonist is a thanatomancer ("necromancer" having become unfashionable), which is the discipline dealing with death; she's specifically an entropic thanatomancer, distinguished by their framework viewing death as the cessation of processes.

Magic relies on an energy that they refer to as 'eris' (unknown relation to the Greek goddess of strife and discord). We are told that eris must be carefully apportioned across the elements of a spell or shit blows up, that it can be stored, and it accumulates gradually enough that you don't want to be wasteful with it, but so far given little information about where it comes from.

Magic in this story generally seems to act as a kind of 'sufficiently advanced technology'. It's very rules-based, and used for a lot of mundane ends like operating computers or transport. Advancement in magic is something like a combination of basic research and software development. But the thing that makes it a magic system and not merely alt-physics is that it's at least a little bit personal: it must be invoked by an individual, and only certain people can operate the magic. We're told a little about how wizards are privileged in some societies, indoctrinated in social utility in others, and expected to be inconspicuous in the present setting. It's not clear yet if you need some kind of special innate capacity to do the magic, or if it's just a matter of skill issue.

With one exception, our main characters are a gaggle of wizards, and exceptionally skilled students at that. They're at an elite institution, carrying high expectations, even if they are themselves fairly dismissive of the pomp and ceremony. They have grandiose plans: Kamrusepa in particular is the main voice of the 'death should be abolished' current.

the cast

We're entering a cloistered environment with high political stakes hanging off of it. Even if I hadn't already heard it described as a murder mystery, it would feel like someone will probably be murdered at some point, so lets round up our future suspects.

Su (Utsushikome) is our protagonist and first-person POV. She's telling this story in the first past tense, with a style calling to mind verbal narration; she'll occasionally allude to future events so we know for sure narrator!Su knows more than present!Su. She's got a sardonic streak and she likes long depressing antijokes, especially if the punchline is suicide. She will happily tell us she's a liar - so maybe her narration isn't entirely reliable, huh.

Su is more than a little judgemental; she doesn't particularly like a lot of her classmates, or people in general, and generally the first thing she'll tell you about a character is how well she gets on with them. She introduces the theme of 'wow death sucks' in the first paragraph, but she is, at least at this point, pessimistic that anyone will manage to do anything about it for good.

Her magical specialisation is entropic thanatomancy, roughly making processes go again after they working coherently.

Her name is a reference to an obscure Japanese empress, as discussed above.

Ran is Su's bestie from the same home country. She is generally pretty on the level. She likes romance novels and she is pretty sharp at analysing them. She will cheerfully team up with Su to do a bit or bait someone else when an argument gets going.

Her magical specialisation is Divination, which is sort of a more fundamental layer of magic, about gathering information by any means. In medicine it's super advanced diagnostics.

Her name is too short to pin down to a specific allusion. Could be one of a couple of disciple of Confucius such as Ran Geng, or a Norse goddess of the sea.

Kam (Kamrusepa) is the de facto class prez and spotlight lover. She's hardcore ideological, the story's main voice of the de Grey/Bostrom death-abolishing concept so far - I think she straight up calls someone a 'deathist' at some point. She loves to tell everyone what she thinks about everything, and getting the last word.

Her magical specialisation is Chronomancy, so time magic. It's described as secretive and byzantine, but also it can do stuff like (locally?) rewind time for about five minutes. No doubt it has something to do with the time loop.

As mentioned above, she's named after a fairly obscure ancient deity of healing and magic.

Theo (Theodoros) is a fairly minor character. He's scatterbrained and easily flustered, he has a similar background to our protagonist, and he's not great with people. His name is shared with a number of ancient Greek figures, so it's hard to narrow it down to one allusion. I don't think his magic school has been mentioned.

Ptolema is a cheery outgoing one, someone who Su dismisses as an airhead. And she is at least easy to bait into saying something ill-considered. Her specialisation is applying magic to surgery. As a character, she tends to act as a bit of a foil to the others. Bit of a valley girl thing going on.

'Ptolema' is presumably a feminised version of the renowned Greek philosopher Ptolemy.

Seth is the jock to Ptolema's prep, and our goth protag Su doesn't particularly like him either. ...lol maybe that's too flippant, I may be misapplying these US high school stereotypes. To be a little more precise then, he's pretty casual in demeanour, flirty, likes to play the clown. He specialises in Assistive Biomancy, which revolves around accelerating natural healing processes.

Seth is named for either the Egyptian god (domain: deserts, violence and foreigners) or an Abrahamic figure, the third son of Adam and Eve granted by God after the whole Caim killing Abel thing.

Ophelia is someone Su describes as 'traditionally feminine' - soft-spoken, demure etc. (Gender in this world appears to be constructed along broadly similar lines to ours). Indeed we get a fairly extended description of her appearance. Her specialisation is Alienist Biomancy, which means introducing foreign elements to healing (not entirely sure how that differs from the Golemancy mentioned later).

Ophelia is of course a major character in Shakespeare's Hamlet, best known for going mad and dying in a river.

Fang is the only nonbinary member of the class, noted as the most academically successful. They're not on the expedition, but the characters discuss them a little in their absence, so maybe they'll show up later. It seems like they have a bit of a rebellious streak. Their magical specialisation is not mentioned.

Fang is a regular ol' English word, but I gave it a search all the same and found there's an ancient Chinese alchemist of that name. She is the oldest recorded woman to do an alchemy in China, said to know how to turn mercury into silver.

Lilith is the teenaged prodigy in computers logic engines, and Mehit is her mother who accompanies her on the trip. They've got a big Maria and Rosa (of Umineko) dynamic going on, with Mehit constantly scolding Lilith and trying to get her to obey social norms, though in contrast to Maria, Lilith is a lot more standoffish and condescending to the rest of the gang. Lilith specialises in 'Golemancy', which means basically medical robotics - prosthetic limbs and such. She spends most of her time fiddling with her phone logic engine, and will generally tell anyone who talks to her that they're an idiot. Sort of a zoomer stereotype.

Lilith is named for the Abrahamic figure, the disobedient first wife of Adam who was banished and, according to some Jewish traditions, subsequently became a demon who attacks women at night. There may be some connection between Lilith and the lioness-headed Mesopotamian chimeric monster Lamashtu, which I mention because Mehit is an Egyptian and Nubian lion goddess.

'Golemancy' is probably playing on the popular fantasy idea of a 'golem' as a kind of magic robot, but given the Jewish allusion in Lilith's name here, I do wonder a little bit if it's going to touch on the Jewish stories of the Golem which inspired it - a protective figure with a specific religious dimension.

There are some other characters but they're not part of the main party on their way to the function, so I won't say much about them just yet. Also it's entirely possible I went and forgot an entire classmate or something, big whoops if so.

the events

In true Umineko tradition, the beginning of the story narrates in great detail how the protagonists make their way to the place where the plot is going to happen.

To be fair, there's a lot of groundwork to be laid here, and the characters' discussions do a lot to lay out the concerns of the story and sketch out the setting, not to mention establish the major character relations. A murder mystery takes a certain amount of setup after all! There's plenty of sci-fi colour to be had in the 'aetherbridge', which is a kind of space elevator that lifts you up to a high altitude teleporter network. (It's technically not teleportation but 'transposition', since teleportation magic also exists in the story, with different restrictions! But close enough for government work.)

They go to a huge space citadel, which is kind of a transport hub; some cloak and dagger shit happens to hide the route they must take to the mysterious secret organisation. They find a strange room with a missing floor and a mural of the Epic of Gilgamesh, albeit modified to render it cyclic. What does it meeaaaan?

The idea of a secret society of rationalists is one that dates back to the dawn of ratfic, in HPMOR. It was kinda dumb then, but it works a lot better here, where we're approaching the wizard circle from outside. The phrase 'Great Work' has already been dropped. I love that kind of alchemical shit so I'm well into finding out what these wizards are plotting.

the dying

A lot of the discussions revolve around the mechanics of death. Essentially the big problem for living forever is information decay. Simple cancers can be thwarted fairly easily with the magic techniques available, but more subtle genetic slippages start to emerge after the first few hundred years; later, after roughly the 500 year mark, a form of dementia becomes inevitable. It's this dementia in particular that the characters set their sights on curing.

One thing that is interesting to me is that, contra a lot of fantasy that deals with necromancy (notably the Locked Tomb series), there appears to be no notion of a soul in this world whatsoever. The body is all that there is. Indeed, despite all the occult allusions in the character names, there is very little in the way of religion for that matter. Even the 'fundamentalism' is about an idea of human biological continuity that shouldn't be messed with too much.

Su distinguishes three schools of thought on death, namely 'traditional', 'transformative' and 'entropic'. The 'traditional' form attempts to restore limited function - classic skeleton shit. 'Transformative' sees death as a process and uses dead tissues together with living in healing. Su's 'entropic' school broadens this 'process' view to consider death as any kind of loss of order - a flame going out as much as an organism dying. At the outset of the story, Su has discovered a 'negentropic' means to restore life to an organism, which she considers promising, even if for now it only works for fifteen minutes.

This is an interesting perspective, but the devil is in the details. Because processes such as life or flames, necessarily, result in a continuous increase in the thermodynamic entropy of the universe. And yet this idea of death-as-loss-of-order does make a kind of sense, at a certain level of abstraction.

Elaborating on this got rather too long for this post, and I think it can stand alone, so I'm going to extract it to a followup post.

the comments

As is probably evident by the length of this post, I am very intrigued by The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere. The setting is compelling, and it seems like it's got the willingness to bite at the chewy questions it raises instead of acting like it has all the answers, which is I think one of the most crucial elements for this kind of scifi. I like how unabashed it is at having its characters straight-up debate shit.

Of course, this all depends where they go with it. There's so many ways it could be headed at this point. I hear where it's going is 'dark yuri' and 'Umineko-inspired murder mystery', so that should be really juicy fun, but I do end up wondering what space that will leave to address the core theme it's laid out in these first few chapters.

Overall, if this and Worth the Candle are what modern ratfic is like, the genre is honestly in pretty good shape! Of course, I am reading very selectively. But this is scratching the itch of 'the thing I want out of science fiction', so I'm excited to see where the next 133 chapters will take me.

Though all that said, I ended up writing this post all day instead of reading any other chapters or working, so I may need to rein it in a bit.

[magmaaqua]

HARDENSHIPPING: A PRIMER

you’ve probably heard of hardenshipping before. even if you’re new to pokémon, the posts about maxie and archie’s hardly ambiguous relationship have probably crossed your dash before. but just who are these two old men? and how does one find out more about them? can one even get into a ship from a game that’s almost twenty years old now? (yes! please do! there will always be at least a couple people still enjoying the ship, and what with the streams of new content constantly coming out and being pulled away almost immediately, it’s a real breather to take a look back at the things that’ve come out in the past.)

the key players

hardenshipping is the ship between maxie, the leader of team magma, and archie, the leader of team aqua. they debuted in pokémon ruby and sapphire in 2003, with maxie starring as the villain of the first game, and archie starring as the villain of the latter. maxie’s goals as the leader of team magma are to expand the landmass of the world – making more room for growth and development by the humans that live there. archie, meanwhile, desires the opposite – as the leader of team aqua, archie’s sights are set on the ocean. he wants to engulf the world with water, making more room for the pokémon that dwell beneath the hoenn region’s vast seas. while in ruby and sapphire, the team not cast as the villain works as your ally, the enhanced emerald casts them both as villains and you as the intermediary.

in the remakes, omega ruby and alpha sapphire, maxie and archie’s roles are upped to eleven. while in the original games, maxie and archie were somewhat similar in terms of personality (even using the same dialogue at times), the remakes gave them more distinct personalities and loads more lore. maxie became more of a calculating, cold character – a professional with a short temper and no mercy when it comes to fighting you. on the other hand, archie’s love for the sea and pirate persona gained prominence, and although his goals are still those of a supervillain, he treats you more as a rival, even calling you a little scamp with a big grin on his face. we learn more about their backstories as well – maxie and archie used to be on the same team once upon a time, and both end up harboring a desire to make things right with one another by the end of the game. even seemingly aloof maxie keeps a telltale boat model in his hideout, with not a speck of dust to be found on it. between archie talking about maxie’s bony backside and the soft song that plays as they reconcile, there’s ample room to think that yeah, there’s definitely something going on between these two.

why are they called that?

pokémon ship names have been written differently than your typical name-fusion ship name for a while, and often the first part of the ship name will have something to do with the characters involved. (for example, jessie and james from the anime are called rocketshipping.) when lava meets water, it hardens. hence, hardenshipping. magma and aqua.

are they canon?

depends on what you mean by canon. the heart-shaped valentines’ card posted circa 2016 by the pokémon official twitter (complete with cards called “maxie’s hidden ball trick” and “archie’s ace in the hole”) certainly leaves little to the imagination. you don’t have to consider them canon, of course, but it’s safe to say there’s at least a bit of evidence pointing directly at the idea.

how do i play the games?

i would personally recommend oras first, but the original games can very easily be emulated by looking up roms and a gba emulator online (i remember there being a post with pokémon emulation resources going around a while back, so i’ll add that on if i find it). if you have a 3ds and a friend who’ll lend you a copy, you could play oras like that, but although you can find the games for their original sales price online, you can also easily watch a playthrough without commentary on youtube (there are TONS) if you can’t or are just looking to catch the story bits. (i’m not an expert on 3ds emulation, but that’s always a supported option, too. it’s a bit trickier than gba emulation but it works.) the game’s about four and a half hours through and well worth it, especially for free.

what about other stuff?

there are lots of different iterations of canon when it comes to pokémon. maxie and archie come back in ultra sun and ultra moon as their ruby and sapphire selves, pulled forward from a timeline where their plans succeeded. the manga takes a darker turn with their characters, and although i’m not personally a fan, it might be up your alley if you prefer your villains less …supervillain (and your enemies to lovers heavy on the enemies part.) i haven’t watched much of the rse anime but while it hasn’t followed the game characterization for characters like cyrus too closely, it’s always an entertaining watch. and sometimes people post screenshots from the mobile game, but i suggest looking up those on youtube as well, as they’re not too long nor hard to find. the mobile game and usum are tied to/inspired by game canon more directly, but the manga and anime are their own separate interpretations, and not generally considered part of the main “game” canon.

tldr: these two are really great! consider them if you've got the time!