#Vintage Favor Box

[misshunnybee]

Just put half of my vinyl collection into discogs and its valuing it at $2.5k HA

Excuse the shitty display pic, this is from months ago but it goes to show ya, what exactly it goes to show ya i dont know but now if i tried to lay all my records out in a dog shit manner like this it would take up my whole living room

(Tags are important on this one)

[desertrosew]

[jessamine-rose]

⋆ Sunt Lacrimae Rerum ⋆

Of all devils, I didn’t think Lucifer would be the second to inspire his own one-shot. Fun fact, this idea was originally for my next set of WHB headcanons but it expanded into its own fic. Thanks for the brainrot and historical revelations, Lucifer ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Note:: Pre-release Lucifer, dacryphilia

♡ 0.8k words under the cut ♡

As Lucifer’s lover, you are a willing subject to his desires. The taste of your tears, the sight of your crying face, his influence over your body—all of it constitutes his forbidden fruit, one he can never get enough of.

Unfortunately, due to your roles in Hell, the two of you rarely have time for each other. Days can pass in Lucifer’s absence, in the company of other devils, in a haze of longing and insecurity. At times, you wonder: Does he miss you? How can you retain his favor in spirit?

The idea comes in the form of a memory. Once, while browsing the internet, you came across a photo of vintage “tear-catchers.” According to the description, the aesthetic vials were used by mourning Victorians; a few were even found in ancient Greek and Roman tombs. Granted, you’re still alive and your lover prefers fresh tears, but it would be a nice keepsake. A small part of you forever in his possession.

Thus begins your mission to prepare a special gift for Lucifer! First, you ask your friends to help you acquire a tear-catcher. After a few questions and odd looks, Ppyong brings you to the best craftsman in Gehenna. The glass-blower is also confused by your commission, but it doesn’t take long for them to create a personalized tear-catcher.

Next, you have to fill the vial with your own tears. This is achieved by watching sad movies, cutting onions, and following tutorials on how to cry. Now the final step is to present it to your beloved and witness his reaction~

⋆ ✦ ⋆

“Oh, what’s this?”

As expected, the tear-catcher is a perfect fit for Lucifer. Gilt, black enamel, and scarlet beads form a serpentine design. A ruby, sculpted in the shape of a familiar horn, serves as the stopper. Most curious are the contents, a clear liquid of higher viscosity than water.

On his desk rests an opened box and untied ribbons. Carefully, you place the gift in his hands and offer a bright smile.

“Do you like it? It was made just for you!”

He accepts it, eyes alight with curiosity. “This fluid feels familiar. Is this…?”

Your smile widens. “Yup, these are my tears! You’re probably familiar with tear-catchers, right? I commissioned a craftsman to make one, then I used it every time I cried. What do you think?”

A product of your blood, sweat, and tears—minus the blood.

For a few seconds, Lucifer just stares at the gift. Black nails carefully grip the bottle, tilting it ever so slightly to make the tears flow. You remain in front of his desk, shifting your stance.

Finally, he looks up. Gold eyes make contact with yours, bright with amusement.

“It’s pretty,” he comments. “And I can only imagine the effort it took to fill it with your own tears.”

He likes it! “You’re welcome!”

“But I do wonder,” he continues. He sets down the bottle, curiosity overtaking his features. “You do know that tear-catchers are a hoax, yes?”

…What?

He takes your silence as an answer. “No such item existed in the Victorian era or any historical period. In reality, what humans call ‘tear-catchers’ are actually perfume bottles. One of this type would typically be disposed of once empty.”

“I…I see.” Your smile falters, pride giving way to chagrin. “Of course, someone like you would’ve immediately recognized it if they were legit. Ahh now everyone’s reactions make sense.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

A soft laugh interrupts your thoughts.

When you look up, the tear-catcher is off the desk. Lucifer holds it up to the light, a soft smile making its way to his face.

“Nonetheless, I appreciate the gesture,” he tells you. His eyes are blown wide, light against darkness. “And your pride was absolutely delicious, so do remain satisfied with your present. It will be of great comfort to me during our time apart.”

“I…all right!” Your cheeks remain flushed but no longer from embarrassment. “That is good to hear. At least my time wasn’t wasted.”

“Besides.” He rises from his desk, leaning closer to caress your cheek. “I prefer seeing your tears on your face. Won’t you indulge me again, ______?”

⋆ BONUS ⋆

______: SEVEN DAYS!!

Satan: What are they talking about?

Ppyong: It’s not that big of a deal—

Sitri: We wanted to honor your dedication—

______: That’s how long you stood by and watched me cry into a fake antique! Do you know how difficult it was to deposit my tears into such a tiny bottle?!

♡

Still hornii?? Read my other WHB fics <3

To think that I learned the truth of the tear-catcher because of an R18 game….y’all can also thank @diodellet for inspiring this idea during a chat about Genshin *cough* I highly recommend her Lyney fic *cough*

Among the devils we haven’t met yet, Lucifer piqued my interest by virtue of looking so pretty. I can’t wait to learn more about him~

Tag a WHB enjoyer!! @sparkbeast20 @2af-afterdark @pinkaditty @h2o2-and-baking-soda @paradivis @gr0tesquerom4ntica @dobaekki @obeythisass @karinyawhb22 @yanmaresu @jazeswhbvault @devilmen-collector

[shall-we-die]

╔‌‌‌‌•°🍰༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚

{HBD Dear Y/N!~}

A list of gifts they gonna give you 🎁

╞•⊰❖⊱•═══•༻🎂༺•═══•⊰❖⊱•╡

☰[Main list]•⊰ X Moriarty the Patriot

#Part 1 || #Part 2📍 || #Part 3 || #Part 4

╚•°🍰༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[William]

A rare, first-edition book related to your favorite subject or hobby.

A handcrafted chess set or other game that he has designed or built himself.

A personalized watch or jewelry piece that incorporates a special meaning or inside joke between the two of you.

A collection of vintage, high-quality tea or coffee sourced from all over the world.

Tickets to a concert or performance of a favorite artist or composer.

[Albert]

Expensive jewelry.

A diamond encrusted jewelry item.

A very expensive box of chocolates.

Wine.

(He'd obviously never go cheap on the gifts, and would probably buy more than these three, as they were more of a "general" list.)

[Louis]

Music boxes from around the world.

Paintings that he personally commissioned from his favorite artists.

Clothes/jewelry that he picked our according to your style.

Food from exotic lands.

A piece of art or sculpture.

[Sebastian]

A high-end, expensive perfume or cologne.

A high-quality and expensive watch.

A designer wallet or handbag.

A bottle of her favorite alcohol.

[Sherlock]

A handmade coupon for a favor of your choice.

A framed picture of the two of you.

Tickets to a private, exclusive party (for business reasons, of course)

An opportunity for you to have a one on one game of poker together.

[John]

A ticket to a popular or exclusive event.

A handwritten love letter with sentimental value.

A trip to somewhere special.

[lou-struck]

Haunted or Creepy?

Reo Mikage x reader

Flufftober Day 5: Little Doll

~ After wandering into an antique shop, Your boyfriend notices a strange doll has caught your attention. . 

All of the well-kept trees in the plaza are adorned with the most breathtaking collage of leaves. They rustle slightly in the wind, still too stubborn to fall. It’s beautiful, but you know that Reo Mikage has them all beat. 

Your soccer star boyfriend has elected to forgo his training clothes in favor of something a bit more his style for your date today. You are sure that his plain yet perfectly fitted sweater costs more than your entire wardrobe, but judging by the way he hurries over to you with the two full cups of hot apple cider in his hands, he doesn’t care in the slightest about getting dirty. 

Especially if it’s for you.

“Here, for your hands.” He smiles, holding out one of the cups for you to take. Wisps of his rich purple hair fall delicately onto his face, somehow making him look even more handsome.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully, taking the paper cup. Its spiced warmth helps you realize just how chilly your fingers have gotten in this wind. 

“Is it just me, or has it gotten a lot colder since we started walking out here?” He asks, looking up at the deceptively sunny sky. As if hearing his words, Mother Nature sends a bone-chilling gust of wind your way. The cold air penetrates through your light sweater and sends teeth-chattering shivers down your spine.

You tense up and place the paper cup up to your cheek in an attempt to warm yourself up. “D-definitely n-not j-just y-you.”

His eyes widen in concern as he pulls you closer to him. “Let’s head inside one of the shops where it’s warm. I’ll call my driver to come pick us up.”

“You’ll call your driver?” you giggle, leaning into his warmth, “You really are a pretty rich boy.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he coos, placing his chin on top of your head. Would you rather walk?” 

“Nope,” you say quickly, not wanting to be out here freezing your ass off. “D-drivings good.”

An amused chuckle slips past his lips as his hand slides securely on your lower back, guiding you towards a weathered wooden door. “This place looks open; let’s check it out.”

You nod and glance down at the simply drawn chalkboard sign that rests on the pavement. “It looks like an antique shop.”

“Interesting,” he hums, reaching towards the faded brass knobs. “I don’t think I have ever been in one of these.”

You snort and shake your head in amusement. Of course, he had never been in an antique store before. You have only met his parents a few times, but they don’t seem to be the type of people who are interested in buying someone’s old wedding china or vintage bedroom furniture.

“Well then, I’m glad that I get to be here for your first time.” you wink, bumping into his cashmere-coated chest. 

“I feel so supported,” he laughs, playing along with your antics. His arm stretches over your head to hold the door open for you. 

The shop is dimly lit by rustic floor lamps. The light reflecting off of the blown glass shades creating patterns on the thickly carpeted flooring. Gone is the harsh chill of the wind as it is replaced by the heavy scent of dust. It surrounds you, and you can’t help but feel in your gut that something is off about this place.

“Woah, look at these lunch boxes,” Reo says, looking over at a glass display case filled with printed metal lunch boxes with various cartoon and comic book characters posing on the front. He puts his hands up on the glass and peers in closer to get a better view. “I saw one like this at a charity auction a few years back, and they made a killing. I wonder if these are the same kind?”

“That’s so cool.” you grin, trying to focus on just how adorably excited your boyfriend is and not on the strange feeling of dread that has clung to you ever since you have walked into the store. 

“I wonder what other cool stuff they have in here?” he grins, taking your hand and pulling you deeper into the shop. 

“I wonder,” you hum, playing with the tassels on a beaded lampshade as you are guided deeper into the store. You pass the checkout counter and a rather distracted employee who is tapping furiously on their iPad. The unmistakable sounds of Candy Crush playing through the muffled speakers. 

Turning the corner, you notice a tall glass display case sitting on a polished wood dresser. Your stomach seems to be tying itself in knots as you continue to take step after apprehensive step. If Reo feels the same way, he does not show it. 

Have you ever looked at something and said, ‘Yeah, that is totally haunted?” 

The porcelain-faced doll in the display case just screams it. It’s deep dark eyes glimmer with sinister intent and makes your skin crawl. You want to leave, you want to be as far away from this toy as possible, screw it if it’s cold outside you don’t want to be here another minute. But you feel that if you take your eyes off this thing even for a second, it’s gonna get you. 

“Woah, cool doll.” Reo says innocently, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “You’ve been looking at it for a while; let me get it for you.”

“No!” you say much louder than you initially meant to. Your eyes grow wider and wider in fear as you imagine what it would be like to take that creepy thing home, hiding it away in some far-off closet or crawlspace only for it to find you in your room when you least expect it.

Reo looks concerned at your outburst and takes a step back, raising his hands up in the air innocently. “Woah, I guess not.” he chuckles. 

“Do you not see how creepy that thing is?” you huff pointing at the case. “There is no way it’s getting anywhere near my place or yours.”

“What?” he asks, his lips twitching as he tries and fails to keep from laughing. “It’s a bit creepy, but it’s got some charm to it.”

“Charming? That doll is one hundred percent cursed, or possessed, or whatever.” you say seriously. Making the mistake of taking your attention off the doll to watch the wonderful way Reo’s amethyst-colored eyes twinkle as he laughs. 

“Oh come on, it’s not that…” he turns to look at the doll, and all the color drains from his face. “It just moved.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“It. Just. Moved.” he repeats again with a deadly serious tone.

You look back at the case and want to hurl. Just seconds ago, the doll was staring blankly ahead, but now her head has twisted to the side, exposing her copper-colored ringlets and staring right at you. Those dark eyes boring into your soul. “It moved.”

“We gotta go now,” he says worriedly, taking your hand and pulling you away from the item. His strong legs lead you out of the store and down the walkway for your lives. 

“W-wait.” you pant, lungs burning as you dig your heels in. As a professional athlete, his stamina is much better than yours, so he probably could’ve dashed the two of you all the way home. 

“Yeah, that thing was definitely haunted.”

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie Brown's Living Room on the S.S Anne Ark

Hobie's living room on the houseboat complete with graffiti, boatcats, and a juke box he's customed himself.

(In depth explainer below - click for higher rez)

Diane took this photo early in the morning while Hobie was still sleeping upstairs. It seems like Moto the cat is already up. [Light mentions of my Spidersona Disco-Spider Diane below] The S.S Anne Ark (get it- AnArch?) is Hobie's home, and arguably his favorite place in the world.

Gifted to him by an old geezer Hobie used to work for, he's been living on Anne for 4 years now - since he was 16.

And this is his living room.

Hobie is by no means a homebody, but when he is home, he spends most of his time here - reading, writing songs, and listening to music.

The Living Area -

Feel free to imagine a LOT more junk here. The living room floor is always covered with his projects - songbooks, or patches, zines - whatever art he's making then. Cause Hobie is always making art. His couch might as well be older than him - and he found it on a curb in Tower Hamlets, called a few favors, and somehow got it in here. But it's the most comfortable thing you'll ever sit on.

The Music/Recording Area -

Almost every song Hobie has recorded or written in the past 4 years has been here. Hobie keeps most of his music equipment in the wooden cabinet and the good stuff that can't fit gets put on display. There's a microphone rigged to the ceiling and mixing equipment for recording. Hobie's motto is the louder the better, and it's a good thing the windows are re-enforced, because his speakers are loud enough to make the glass rattle. There's also a vintage jukebox that Hobie had bartered for a couple years back. Now, he loves tickering with it. He's swapped out the old 50's songs for something more his taste tho.

The Kitchen Area -

Hobie can cook, and he loves it, but being a street kid for so long, he's hardly ever gotten in the habit of doing it. Hobie's kitchen is sparce, partly because the boat is off the grid. His cupboards are mainly full of books and shoes, and his oven is rarely used. However, he has a grill on the back deck - and that's where he does most of his cooking. Once Gwendy came around, Hobie got a lot more into cooking, the kid seemed like she needed a homecooked meal. Hobie mainly eats cheap street food - street kid habits -frequenting fish n' chip places and kebab shops, and yeah, he calls the dude behind the counter 'boss' or something. He also eats a lot of food from convivence stores, like packaged sandwiches and cold pastas. Because they're easy to carry, and when he was younger, they were (literal) life-savers. The taste gives him nostalgia. The thing he makes most in the kitchen is beans on toast. Diane finds it disgusting, which Hobie finds hilarious.

The BoatCats

Hobie is a man of many cats. He looks after the dock and alley cats, catching fish on early mornings (yes, he fishes) to give to them before he has breakfast. All of them have names, and none of them have collars. And Hobie loves them all. Those that are a bit older, weaker, or just want to - get to come live with him as BoatCats. Pictured here: Left - Moto (Personality: Feisty, Calm, Curious) Right - Pierogi, also known as Rogi (Personality: Cuddly, Talkative, Friendly) Hobie does not care much for their genders, and doesn't check.

More about The S.S Anne Ark (I'll be posting an explainer with the outside, layout, etc)

The S.S Anne Ark is a modified wide-beam canal boat. Completely off-the-grid, and DIY'd by him, it's Hobie's pride and joy. The Anne Ark is three levels tall - a 'ground' floor, and upstairs, and a locked basement below the deck. Pictured is the living room. To the left - beside the windows - there is a hallway that leads to Hobie's workshop and the basement Hobie choses to firmly keep private. Not even Gwen, Pavi or Diane have been down there. To the right behind the cat tree is the stairs up to Hobie's bedroom. (You walk up those stairs, hit the landing, turn and go up again.) The Anne Ark has two 'bedrooms' and one 'bathroom'. Hobie's bedroom is what was once the control room, gutted and converted. The second bedroom was once a small equipment space. The small bathroom is up there as well - but it's more of a wet room, with a shower and toilet. There's a sink to wash your hands on the second floor outdoor deck, but it's either that or the kitchen sink.

But that's Anne Ark! And after years of squatting and homelessness as a streetkid, Hobie considers Anne his forever home. And he takes pride in that.

He tries pride in opening Anne's doors for others too - kids in the same spot he was, who just need a little help.

Other little facts about Anne Ark:

Hobie's leather jacket is on the couch. He has multiple, he can't be walking around in the same jacket as Spiderpunk 24/7, right? He has a couple, and the ones he stops wearing, he donates. He usually starts a new one when the last is too cover in patches to continue.

The Anne Ark changes colors.

Diane throws rager after-parties on Anne Ark after the band's shows. She has her own apartment she loves to death, and doesn't sleep over often - maybe staying a weekend or two a month, or crashing after a party. In turn, Hobie hardly ever sleeps at hers. Mainly because her place is merticulously pink, and she says he messes up her throw pillows. He disagrees with the idea of unusable pillows. And with her own crib and bed a portal jump away, they don't feel the need to bunk together. Non-conventional relationship and all that. [Insert scene of Barbie being like 'why would you wanna stay over?? :) This is MY dreamhouse lol <3 ]

________________________________________

So uhhhhh, that's his living room.

I tried to get it as genuinely close how it looks in me paracosm (i JUST learned that word), based on how Diane sees it. All of this is based off of headcanon and I see it when I'm in the space.

Some things may be left out for sake of space and simplicity - but this is mainly it - as accurately as I could reasonably get it.

If you read this far, THANK YOU - I really appreciate it and it genuinely means a lot! As usual, you will take this photo of Hobie, and pretend this is normal behavior.

Bye.

[inviisiiblelee]

Vintage

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,224 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags:

Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Velvet (Hazbin Hotel), Vox is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, Lost Love, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered.

Notes: An entry for Tumblr RadioStatic Week Day 2: Vintage. I'm late by a week, but I will be writing for each prompt anyway. This definitely falls much more under the unrequited vibes. Vox is obsessive.

----------------------------

Glowing red eyes focused on the blueprints on the table. Vox’s hands were deft, gentle with the small pieces he was fitting together in front of him. The blueprints were as detailed as he could think to make them, but he rarely worked with wood products anymore. It had been years, maybe even decades since he had touched the material, especially a rosewood as beautiful as this. He usually worked with metals, able to use his power to work holes of good sizes and engrave himself. But he also hadn’t worked anything by hand in years just as well. The factories produced everything now, and while he often made prototypes of certain products, he still didn’t usually work the material himself anymore. He would put it together and handle the tech parts and the programming. 

But this was a simple wooden build, with only a few moving parts for a reason. Of course, those parts were metal, shiny and well polished brass. Recreating and making things a little more efficient was something he was good at, even if he didn’t do it often. He could cut out a few in between parts in favor of newer, modern pieces, while still maintaining the original effects. He had hired someone especially to make sure the music piece would play properly, and he was able to make those pieces himself with clear instruction. His fingertips could get hot and were easily sharpened, and he was more than familiar with ensuring holes in metal were an appropriate size. Plus, he had several sheets of brass ready in case he did need a few trial runs.

His work bench was covered in wood shavings and dust, the smell of burning fibers. But a few screws, several hours, an infuriating amount of time spent bent over into the light, engraving into the wood with red-hot fingertips and listening to the same little tune over and over again until it was perfectly placed. Vox stepped back to look at the completed box, closed and fully varnished and dried, something he’d done to the pieces days before assembly. The outside looked about the way it should have at the time of the original designs, in the late 1890's or so, clean corners and raised layers. A shiny little keyhole for a simple lock and key to turn and open it. The top lifted up, Vox had taken time to engrave the image of a deer on the inside in the unvarnished wood, grazing on some grass between trees. The inner parts of the box were otherwise everything they needed to be, the disk of brass meant to spin and pluck along a musical comb underneath. It looked perfect, and it put a smile on Vox’s screen, before it fell slightly. He tipped the box over, and there was the false bottom.

With the hollowed space opened up, he picked up a small sheet of paper that he folded into fourths before tucking it in and placing the bottom over it. A screw in each corner and it was hidden away. It was … unlikely to ever be found. But that was fine. 

Another quick set of checks before Vox gathered the music box, tucked it away in a bag, and left his little workshop area. He didn’t use the room often, it branched off of his office, something he’d built into the VoxTech building but hadn’t used almost at all since the early 2000’s. Sometimes he would build a thing or two, but that was typically at his desk, not in there. It was fairly late in the night, nothing unusual for him to be up at, but a time he knew the majority of the building would be shut off, Valentino and Velvette probably having already retired to bed. So it was very easy to make his way out of the tall towering office without any incident. He walked with purpose, entered one of his smaller vehicles that would garner almost no attention, and made his way to the inner city. 

Vox parked a few blocks from the destination, intending to walk the rest of the way. He didn’t have a clear idea of why he was really doing this. He didn’t … have a good reason. This was silly, a ridiculously sentimental impulse to have indulged for the last week. He supposed he thought he would give it up halfway through, and even now, he thought maybe he would make it to the front door, and then he would abandon ship. He could still go back. Destroy the thing, or repurpose it. 

But no, he was walking his way right up to that stupid Hazbin Hotel, and stood at the double doors for a little while. It was two in the morning, and it was unlikely anyone was in the lobby. He didn’t want to risk leaving the thing out on the steps, it would be far more likely to be destroyed before ever even being spotted. Or stolen. He pressed one hand on one door and pushed, feeling it give and open with slight pressure. It was quiet and quick, and he peeked inside. The worst that could happen was … well. A confrontation, he supposed.

But he was lucky. The lights were low, only a few around the bar left on to illuminate the area, which appeared to be empty. No patrons, no staff, and that was perfect.

A few steps in, closing the door behind him. The remodel had clearly gone smoothly, and it was definitely for the better, given what glimpses of the interior he had gotten before. It helped that Lucifer had led the efforts seamlessly, it took them all less than a day to construct. Lucky bastards. But as he idled in the lobby, he noticed a television set around the sitting area on the other side. Perfect.

A quick approach over to the tech, and Vox dug the box out of his bag. He placed a single note card on top, bearing the name to whom the gift was for.

Alastor.

Single spaced, typed out, using the basic Arial font. He didn’t want to be connected to this. The back of the card bore a simple set of lines. Enjoy. Hand-made for your listening pleasure. He didn’t think hand-writing the note would be a good idea. Signed or not, he was sure Alastor would remember what his penmanship looked like, given it had hardly changed in over fifty years. So typed it was. A soft sigh left him as he stepped back, looking at the gift left on the television for a long moment before turning and making his way out.

“Alastor! There’s something down here for you!” Charlie called out excitedly from the lobby. Alastor was not really in the vicinity to hear, but he did quickly appear at her call, as he always did, emerging easily from the shadows, smile wide. 

“Oh? What do you have for me?” he asked smoothly, glancing down at the wooden box that she was holding. He read the card bearing his name, and his brows furrowed slightly. If it were a gift from Charlie, why would she bother with a card as such?

“It’s not from me, and no one else is owning up to it either,” she said, also looking a little confused. “It was just sitting in the lobby when Husk came to open up, and he gave it to me when I came down.”

“Well, let’s take a look together, shall we?” Alastor said simply, placing his microphone in the crook of one arm and taking the box in his hands. It didn’t seem to be anything inherently dangerous.

“I did open it,” Vaggie admitted as she approached out of curiosity. “It doesn’t look like anything too weird, or like any sort of weapon.”

“Vaggie! It’s just a gift!”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Charlie. Vaggie has the right idea, triple-checking things.” Meanwhile, he turned the card around and read the few lines typed out on the back. For his listening pleasure? Hand-made? Odd.

The key taped to the card – or rather, re-taped by Vaggie – was clearly needed to open it, so he pulled it off and opened the box, peering at the inside. The scene of a grazing deer, engraved by some sort of heat into the wood, greeted him first, and he found himself blinking in some surprise. There was no signature, no name anywhere inside, and he wondered if the hand-made comment was simply a lie. But there was a certain amount of humanity in the lines, flaws here and there that convinced him more that it wasn’t the case. It was clearly a music box. There was a crank left on the music disk, and he inserted it into the hole it was clearly meant to fit into. Setting the box down, he went ahead and turned it to allow the box to begin making its music.

The song began to play, and Alastor felt something shift in his heart. It was a song he recognized, a song that he was most familiar with in the 70’s, and his mind was left trying to figure out who would make such a thing, or send such a thing. His smile wobbled, but he forcefully kept it up, as a single name arrived as a possibility that he quickly shook away. There would be no reason he would do any such thing, surely. Charlie and Vaggie both appeared entranced by the music, and Alastor seemed stuck in place, so the song played in full and eventually stopped to leave them in silence. Alastor stepped forward and snapped the box shut, tucking it under his arm.

“That’s such a nice gift, do you know who- oh. Where did he go?” Charlie spoke to Vaggie, realizing Alastor had disappeared amongst the shadows again.

The Radio Demon was back in his room, and the box was back in his hands, opened and being examined. He was searching it for just about any semblance of information on who had sent the pesky little thing. He shook it a little in his hands in frustration when he found nothing at all. But he heard something seem to slide against the wood inside of it. 

He paused. Was it just a mechanism piece? Another shake gave the same noise, but it didn’t sound like anything that should have been in there.

He sat down with it, examining the well-crafted item, noting the screws on the bottom of the box after a closer look. He produced a small screwdriver and worked the metal out of their holes, finding the hollow spot where the folded paper resided. 

“Ah-ha!” 

A triumphant little noise and he withdrew the folded note, placed the music box gently down on his desk, and read it. 

Alastor.

Today marks it being officially eighty years since the day you saved me from Hell, in every literal and figurative sense. Technically, a total of a hundred years since meeting you for the first time. Things are weird and different now, and I wish that wasn't the case, but hopefully you have fond memories about this song, that maybe it can remind you of what we used to be. Who I … used to be. And maybe it'll bring you a little happiness, too.

With love, Vox.

Oh. 

So it was Vox's doing as he first thought. Somehow, it was almost relieving. That no one else seemed to be aware of that part of him, or that it ever existed. There were really few who remembered that once they used to be close, but … truly Alastor had thought that Vox was one of those people. There was a mix of feelings boiling in his chest, he felt like, and he couldn't begin to sort out what was more prominent. Anger? Rage? Something … softer? Sentimentality? Regret? 

His fingers pulled the box back into his lap, flipping it back over. He cranked the handle and let the song play again, his expression softening. He thought he'd buried most of this decades ago. He thought Vox had buried this all decades ago. Alastor was more than aware of the date, though he had no intention of being so actionable on it. It meant Vox came during the night, and Alastor hadn't noticed. For once, he had been able to sleep, and it appeared it had been conveniently during the time he had arrived. Stepped right into his domain to drop off a ridiculous gift that he made plenty of effort to be unattached to. 

He could remember the many times they'd danced to this song. It was an original piece by someone more local, Vox had been enamored by it, and Alastor had agreed that it was very good. Vox bought the record without question and when they lived together, back in the 70’s, they would often play it. 

Alastor shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. It hadn't been like that for so long. Vox moved out a couple decades later, abandoned him for work and profit and frivolity. Lost himself to the corporate world somehow, though it was frankly surprising he'd managed to go so long with any individuality in the first place. 

But he couldn't seem to harshen the smile on his face as the song played. 

Thank you, old friend.

[coffeetailor]

GTober - Day 8: Vintage

(A/N: Is it late? Yes. Do I care at this point? No. Enjoy.)

Deep in the inner-most parts of the Northern Palace, where the king could allow himself to let down his guard, in the room that would have housed his queen had he shown inclination to marry, there was a shrine. If anyone but the king were to lay eyes on it, they might find it odd. curious, or rare. But the only one allowed through the doors was a single servant who had raised the king and was above suspicion. But not execution, should they betray his trust.

It wasn't strictly forbidden for a demon to worship a god if they pleased, but they so rarely did that it was more unheard of. And if they were to choose one to pay tribute to, surely it would be a god of destruction, war, or conquest.

But the little shrine hidden away in the palace of the Mobei clan of ice demons was dedicated to a single god of creation. A god that very few ever knew about from the start, and even fewer remembered. A near powerless god.

But the only one that Mobei-Jun considered worth giving his worship to.

He pulled the door open quietly, only his composure keeping him from making a face at the warm radiating from one of the only fireplaces in the palace. Ice demons and those they kept around them tended to thrive in the cold. But his favored god liked the warmth, and there was little that the little god could ask for that he would deny, except to leave him.

Mobei had set the shrine up where the vanity had once been, close enough to the fire for warmth, but far enough away that he didn't have to worry about something catching while he had to be away from the room. It was a simple little set-up, but had everything that he could get his god to accept. A silver bowl for his offerings, a small hand mirror for him to use when combing out his hair. Small little scrolls, brushes, and ink sticks by the dozens, because even here, the creator god wanted to keep creating. (How often had he had to bring him a bath after he got ink all over his hands?) Places to store all the small treasures that Mobei brought him. And in the center, a curious antique of a writing chest, once plated in gold and encrusted in jewels. So much of both was long gone before Mobei had found the unassuming treasure.

And it'd been a treasure. At least, its contents were. However much he'd stuffed the lidless box with soft furs and silks since, sleeping in the chest now as then was his little god.

Looking down at him, he couldn't completely hide his smile, even as his heart clenched at the reminder of that day. At how frightened the little god had been when he awoke in Mobei's hands upon his removal from the chest. It'd taken time to convince him that Mobei would never bring harm to him, knowing so quickly that he couldn't bear to see that fear, and couldn't bear to think of him leaving. Neither were acceptable.

"Qinghua," he whispered, sliding a finger under one soft and tiny cheek to nudge him awake. He kept his claws trimmed carefully short to remove the risk of hurting him, and kept his voice gentle to ease him awake. His god had nightmares when sleeping unaided, the remains of the spell that'd kept him asleep helping him sleep dreamlessly now. A hidden blessing for them. But one that also meant that the god would sleep until he was woken up again as long as he laid in the writing chest.

His little god's face scrunched up with displeasure as he curled away from the finger, grumbling in soft protest and clearly intending to go back to sleep.

Mobei snorted, giving him another nudge before simply scooping him out of the bed to hold in one hand, bringing him over to the table. There was a second, much smaller one that he'd ordered made just for his god, set up on the surface so they could eat their meals together. Without making his god eat from the edge of his dishes like a mouse stealing scraps.

He deposited the sleepy god down onto his cushion, moving the similarly tiny dishes from his tray over to Qinghua's table, kept warm by a stasis spell he'd had to ask the emperor's permission to be taught by the empress. The latter man had been curious, but didn't ask questions. The spell came in handy for keeping the small pieces of food that his god could eat from cooling immediately. Likewise for the cup of tea he liked to have in the morning.

Once he could open his eyes, that was.

The tip of a finger was carefully employed in keeping his god from falling back asleep where he sat and faceplanting into his bowl, another rubbing little circles on his back.

After Mobei's discovery of the god, even before he'd truly known what he was, it'd been a delicate process to calm Shang Qinghua's initial fear of him, and it'd taken time still after that before he was truly comfortable with being touched and handled. They'd started with a box. Not the one he slept in, just an emptied jewelry box that was about the right size. His god could sit inside it, and Mobei could move it where needed. Without direct contact. The nightmares, in that aspect, had been a blessing in disguise, if only because they'd sent Qinghua into his hands for comfort before either of them truly realized. They'd progressed from there, and later still figured out that the magic on the writing chest could be useful.

The only thing about that discovery that Mobei regretted was it meant that his god could no longer sleep on his pillow beside him. (The matter of sleeping temperature tolerances could have been dealt with. But furs didn't keep away the dreams of lightning.)

"I'm awake, my king," Shang Qinghua finally murmured, still not pushing away the finger giving him a soothing back rub. It made a very nice start to the day, and Mobei continued until the god was finally actually awake enough to reach for his breakfast and start eating. "What's the schedule today?"

"Breakfast, morning court, then training," Mobei said, watching him a little longer before picking up his spoon to eat. He had never asked his god to help with his duties over the kingdom, but Qinghua got twitchy when he had nothing to do, as much as a part of him would like to see him simply lounging in luxury all day. "Lunch and time to work. The emperor and his consort will be coming to sit for evening court and dinner."

"Hm, good. I have a new draft I want to show my bro," the little god said, half to himself. Which was part a confusing mystery, the way he referred to some people. The empress was given a litany of nicknames, some of them familiar enough to make the emperor twitch, some of them just... odd. The most confusing of them often being 'son-in-law,' which Shen Qingqiu always denied vehemently. It was a nickname that the emperor would have (and had gotten) been upset over, if it weren't his own occasional nickname of 'my son.'

Mobei could only assume that it had to do with his creation of the world, even though he was very selective over those he claimed. It was something of a relief that the ice demon had never heard it being directed at him. He wanted a close relationship with the little god, yes. But he didn't want to be his child.

Perhaps he'd get to call Luo Binghe his son-in-law some day. If just to see how he responded. Secretly of course. Never let it be said that Mobei-Jun could have a petty sense of humor.

Mobei did, however, believe in returning slights. And the empress tended to yell at his favored god, and wave those fans of his a little too close to the tiny deity.

Said god put down his empty bowl, finishing the rest of his tea before getting to his feet with a stretch. Perhaps not the picture of dignity and propriety, but Mobei didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he was a handful of perfection. And rather literally a handful as he stepped up onto the hand that the demon offered, allowing himself to be carried back to his 'room.' As he settled in front of the mirror and began to take out his hair to comb through, Mobei found himself wishing he trusted himself enough to comb it for him. Or that they were the same size, just for the mornings, so he could dress him.

Given the choice, he would even put himself in the vulnerable position of being as small as his god. But the only methods that he'd found in his research tended to be much more permanent, or needed a heavenly demon to cure. There was one available, yes, but not in that way. And a permanent shrinking would take away much of his ability to protect his god.

"My king, maybe I'll be big enough to do your hair someday," Shang Qinghua said, looking up at him. Mobei realized that he'd been staring. Already, the god had his hair tied up into a tidy bun, stuck through with a jeweled pin that the demon had insisted he accept as an offering. It was, admittedly, one of many. There wasn't much use in giving him the large jewels he deserved, but small, rare, and precious ones would have to stand in for them. Another gem sat on the hint of the sword that'd been specially craft for him, and some of his furniture pieces before he'd said enough. "Then I can spoil you."

Mobei raised an eyebrow. "Shang Qinghua will still be my god, regardless of size."

"Right, meaning that you should let me do as I want, right?" the god asked, waiting for the nod. "Including spoiling my favorite creation utterly rotten."

The tips of Mobei's ears flushed blue, a kind of heat swelling up in his chest.

Emperor Luo Binghe might be thought of as the god's son, but he was his favorite.

[digi-tama-in-your-pocket]

YES! My connection finally came! I finally get to run my very first Tamagotchi Connection! Yes...... that's right, the V1 I ordered finally came!

And also some other things....

I know I know.... I said no more v-pets till October aside from the connection remake, But, listen, to be fair, I ordered the connection V1/Plus and the Genjintch long before I said that and they only just got here. The V2 and the Teku Teku Angel were just really cheap. Also Tama lunch box and chop sticks to make shipping more worth it.

So the Connection remake is probably not going to be my first Tamagotchi Connection. I was excited to run it this month, but the fact that it's not going to be here until Monday has made me change my plans.

Here's what i'll do... I want to get a bit of an appreciation for how the connection evolved, so, I'm going to run the V1 until my first Tama dies. Then i'll run the V2 until the end of the month. Then, on the 1st of the month, I'll run the remakes. That should give me more appreciation for the Connection line, at least up to the V3. I'd like to try the others at some point, I just don't know if I should buy vintage ones, or wait and see if Bandai has plans to remake more than just the V3.

The one I got is in pretty good condition, there's some ghosting, but it's barely noticeable, unlike the vintage Gen 2 I bought some time ago where it's distracting. I can see how this started forming ideas of modern tamagotchi, right down to the sound effects being similar to what we've got on the Uni. But the V1 isn't that much different than a gen 1/2, in fact I find myself fighting my impulse to highlight the 2nd icon on the bottom row to look at stats, I'm so used to them putting the stats in an inconvenient place that it's become second nature to me with black and white Tamas, even though Digimon put stats first years ago.

Why Oyajitchi for the charm? Because it's the only device I have where Oyajitchi is raisable, since they cut him out of the english Gen1 in favor of Bill. I might replace it with a different character later if I find one that fits. Someday I'd like to get a Japanese Gen 1/2 just so I can have all the secret characters available, so this is definitely a temporary home for him.

In other v-pet news, I spent a good portion of the day organizing my Digimon and trying to arrange them in a way where I'd have more space, since my Digimon drawers are nearly full. I finally came up with the idea of all of my bricks being in the top drawer arranged in rows ( X3 appears to be missing only because i'm currently running it ) and the same with my Pendulums, there's just enough space for 3 rows of six, so once the 2nd wave of PenC gets here, i'll have two full rows with just enough space for my 20ths, and a few extra devices in case I feel like checking out some vintage releases some day. The bottom drawer will be reserved for my Vital bracelets, digivices, and other miscellaneous releases. Maybe they'll surprise us an make a legitimately new Digimon virtual pet some day. They're running out of things to remake.

I actually did have to take a few v-pets out and I decided to make a container dedicated to extra v-pets and v-pets I keep for spare parts and put it in storage, Because I stupidly bought a bunch of DM20ths and ran almost none of them, part of that was just so I could have all the exclusive eggs ( even though I don't care about any of them that much ) but the other part was for customization reasons. I kept my first DM20th, and my translucent green which I ran the most and completed the library in my drawer.

[terrence-silver]

Would old man Terry still smoke his signature Cuban cigars?

---

Why'd he stop?

Because it went out of fashion.

(See the above ads. Can you imagine anything similar today?)

In the 70's and the 80's, a Cuban cigar (or just a cigarette in general) would've been a sign of decadence and masculine power; it is what every Senator in his cabinet during his spare, private time alongside every coked out, upstart Yuppie on Wallstreet, every would-be Gangster Mafioso, every Banana Republic dictator and of course, Terry Silver, would smoke. Politicians, would perhaps, secretly indulge the vice, seeing as how Cuban cigars couldn't even be imported into the US up until a certain time, making them even more of exclusive of a habit. Just look at old advertisements. Men smoking in a manly fashion while, optionally, a nearby woman swoons and looks on. It's fun! It's sexy! It makes the ladies drop their panties, you men! You would be surprised how many plain, old Americana style scenes with Cowboys smoking I've found while researching a reply to this question. It meant something then that it doesn't mean now. Today, it is almost comically associated with the (quite literally cancerous) evils of Capitalism to the degree that if you asked a literal kid to draw you a corrupt rich man, they'd probably draw Monopoly man with a top hat and a cigar. Heck! Most public places don't even allow indoor smoking and you're relegated to a separate smoking area and still, people will stuck their noses up at you the entire time even so. What I mean to say is --- times changed and so did attitudes. So happens that Terry Silver lived long enough to witness these changes and I think he stopped smoking somewhere in between the fiasco that took place between him and John post tournament loss in 1985 and those thirty something years they weren't close. Long enough for cigars to go from a symbol of power to a symbol of something disgusting people collectively would rather not be around because it stinks and makes you sick. Gives you bad breath. And Cancer. It used to be cool. It used to be badass. Nowadays, it comes with a little message on the bottom of the box that says 'Smoking Kills!'

Terry Silver went through a (temporary) re-brand.

He changed the way cultural sensitives changed, as I keep on repeating.

Turned into the image of the ''acceptable'' type of the model rich man for the new, 21st century was meant to look and act like for a brief spell. Mellow. Clean cut. Vegan. Considerate and practicing 'mindfulness'. Someone very much in favor of attending therapy, seemingly sworn off of his formerly rotten ways, and in fact, completely tucking them away. A champagne Liberal fundraising apps for the poor from his multimillion dollar beach patio mansion. You see what I'm saying? Cigars --- they don't fit into that whole image, in fact, they completely clash with it. So, he discarded them, the same way he discarded many things that would come off as 'problematic' in the current day and age, shedding his skin and becoming a 'different' man to hide in plain sight, being the ultimate chameleon that he is, always adapting to his surroundings.

I do firmly believe he still has a stash of vintage cigars somewhere, in some golden or silver elaborate, decorative box he hasn't touched in actual decades, in some locked drawer or safe, as a keepsake. Perhaps he even lights up in his more mature age, for old time's sake, seeing it as a sign of authority, refusing to go down as some sad, old man once his existential crisis kicks in as the years advance and advance, taking the reigns of control and picking a poison of his own choosing to rot him from the inside, kicking up his legs on a work desk and smiling to himself.

Who knows?

Nobody's ever there to see him do it, just the way he would want it too.

[fuzzkaizer]

Wren and Cuff - Eye See ‘78 OG – Smashing Pumpkins Muff

"…is a Big Box version of a classic Big Muff as used on Siamese Dream … a classic V4 circuit Big Muff … and it is based on the 1978 Op-Amp version of the Electro Harmonix Big Muff Pi. … In 1978, this now vintage Muff circuit design changed drastically. The transistors inside were scrapped in favor of operational amplifiers, otherwise known as op-amps … This particular variant was only manufactured for around two years, and as such, only a few thousand ever made it out of NYC."

cred: guitarbomb.com

[littlestfallenangel]

FNDM Creator Bio

This image was created with Picrew’s “미니미 메이커“!! https://picrew.me/share?cd=fNZBQvh8uB

Name: Ruby

AO3: LittlestFallenAngel

I'm a writer! I've written 14 RWBY fics so far. While I do write some shipping, I tend to favor character studies in my RWBY writing.

Favorite characters: Weiss, Winter, and Willow Schnee; Yang Xiao Long; James Ironwood

Favorite ships: Qrowin, White Knight, Marrowgold, Monochrome, Bumbleby, Sunflakes (I will basically ship Weiss with everyone - this is a threat)

Favorite tropes: hurt/comfort, smut with feelings, age differences (with adult characters), slow burn, smut with plot

Self recommendation: A Kiss to Make it Better is one of the best examples of my slow burn fics. My Beautiful Snowflakes is one of my character studies and I think it's one of my best first person POV fics, and Somehow is one of my rare AU fics, and one of my best works overall, I think.

Creator’s note: I'm an adult and I write a lot of (really good imo) sex scenes, and if you decide to follow my blog you will inevitably see the dreaded female-presenting nipple (not mine, mostly from doujinshi screenshots and vintage pinups), so be mindful of all that when engaging with my blog or my work. No hate if it's not your thing.

My ask box is always available. It's a good way to engage if you're not totally comfy with the above stuff I mentioned and don't want to commit to following my blog. I also only have my DMs open to mutuals, so the ask box is a good way to talk to me directly in general. Anon is also on for the shy people.

@remnants-of-rwby-events

[nothisis-ridiculous]

XIII

Set years after the end of Baldur's Gate 3, Astarion and Tav meet by chance after years apart. This story follows their meetings every year, on the anniversary of the start of their adventures.

IV-

Tav's finger glided over the smooth glass in her hand; the pads of her finger stopped once she touched the condensation on the glass. Deciding to drink the liquid before it got much warmer, she downed the glass in one long sweep.

 "Is it my company, or is drinking becoming a new vice of yours?" Astarion teased as he took the seat opposite her. 

 His crimson eyes followed the silk tablecloth to the carnation in a vase at the center of the table, the clear liquid within it reflecting the golden candlelight. They traveled up to meet her eyes with a flash of a genuine smile and pointed fangs. Tav felt her smile return to him without her heeding. The coil in her gut tightened as the heat roaring across her face was not from the wine alone.

 "I'm afraid you get the sober Tav this time," she set the glass down carefully and took the chance to look away from him, "and the less… randy version as well."

 His eyes narrowed as he leaned in, "Darling, don't you dare roll over now," Astarion retreated with a glint in his eyes, "unless it's on top of sheets. Yours or mine."

"Incorrigible," she replied peevishly, though the corner of her mouth tilted.

"We don't have to stay here," his voice dipped into that dangerous octave, "we cou-"

That 'smelly' Orc appeared behind him, pulling the spawn's attention from his flirting as he debated with the server over wines. Tav sat back and observed Astarion's animated conversation. He was so confident that he did not even glance at the price menu as he quizzed the Orc about the best or newest vintages on the scene. The vampire fit in so well with the aristocratic crowd- well, except for his tattered and worn clothing. This brown and white doublet had seen far many better days, and she recognized a couple of the ground in stains: blood from her rescue in the sewer and the telltale rust-colored stain from the stucco roofing of Razmith's tower. On further reflection, she recalled seeing that doublet since the little reunion Withers had thrown them. Tav would gladly supply him with new clothes if she didn't predict his temper at the offer. Like the new cream-colored satin halter top number she wore now, she excused the neckline that plunged to her navel as a fashion statement, not an attention grabber for a particular undead.

 "She'll have another glass of whatever she is drinking," Astarion boldly ordered her another glass, "and I'll have the Tavern of the Garden Wine, and I mean wine. Not whatever other vintage you usually serve me."

 "One glass of Tavern and one glass of Undermountain Alurlyath," the Orc chuckled, "and food for the lady?"

 "Smoked Salmon with wild berries, please."

"The usual changes," the Orc asked in a too-familiar tone.

 "The usual would be wonderful," she returned with a smile. Ignoring Astarion's knowing smirk.

 Astarion caught the Orc's arm before he left the table, "don't forget a slice of Devil Deal's cake." His toothy grin swiveled back to her with a victorious grin, "What it  is  your birthday."

"How… chivalrous."

 He made a sour face, "Don't ruin my fun. It might just put me out of the mood to give you a present."

Her black eyebrow raised, but she played along, "However shall I regain your favor!"

Astarion grinned like a cat, "I could think of a few surefire ways, but I don't want you to bother me about it any longer," he took out a small box wrapped in a red ribbon and slid it in front of Tav.

The tears threatened her eyes before she managed to touch the box, as her fingers gently grasped the thing as if it might crumble from the gentlest pressure. Today, she would allow her tears to fall; it was a special day, and she could cry if she wanted. The pad of her finger delicately touched the ribbon, but her eyes wandered up to her companion, her voice a mere whisper, "Is this mine?"

He gave her a half-assed snarl, "Yes, you were always wearing that ratty thing," his lips thinned, "but open the damned present; I don't want everyone to see you cry. It's embarrassing."

Tav tucked her head in, then proceeded to open the paper box after carefully winding the crimson ribbon around her wrist.

 "Some vagabond took off with your earring," he interrupted before she got a glance at the contents within, "so I found another one. If it doesn't match, throw it or hawk it- it doesn't matter to me."

 This time her head shook with a cocked smile, unsure if it was wise of her to think he didn't mean half of what he implied. But that was half the problem in of itself; his course tone aligned with the biting words. Part of her wanted to bend over to make them stop, the other just to cower and turn inward so they would go away sooner. Leaving her with a taste of bile, where she knew she should find the taste sweet. Tav shook her head to dislodge the thoughts once again; she had a present to open after all.

 For the second time, she was tearing up. Nestled against a plush backdrop was a lapis earring that matched the stolen mate she had taken from her mother's dusty jewelry box a lifetime ago in a mad dash to leave her father's home. He had an impeccable memory for the detail of her missing piece, which tipped her tears into brimming over. Astarion's body moved into action, cascading over the table to cup her cheek and flick her tears away with his calloused thumb before it could completely smudge the kohl under her eyes. Heedlessly, her face nestled into his palm, undoing all his work not to smear her makeup.

 The smell of smoke entered her nostrils.

 Astarion's arm retreated as he cursed and flailed.

In a manner of divine timing, the orcish server rounded the corner and rushed forward with the bucket holding their wine bottles. With one hand, he placed both bottles on the table, and with the other, he shoved the vampire's elbow into the ice and dosed the flame.

"Unhand me brute!" Astarion demanded with no shame.

 Tav chortled loudly, happy tears now streaming over her cheeks. Her hand rested on her belly as she attempted valiantly to control her laughter.

His red eyes shot daggers at her as he resumed control of his arms, but his gaze turned back to their server, and his gaze softened as his mouth resumed a neutral position. "Thank you, that was very helpful, unlike one of some of us," he muttered the last part under his breath.

 The Orc let out a soft laugh, which for him still carried over half the restaurant, "the bottles are on the house; please enjoy," he made short work of pouring both of their glasses before retreating away again.

Tav still wiped at her eyes with an upward angle, her face red from the force of her laughter.

 "You look horrid," the spawn snapped as he surveyed the damage. His entire right elbow had been burnt away as his pale skin shone out in a large swathe at his joint. He picked and tore off the ashy bits of his clothing with a fierce frown, fretting at the garment until he had eliminated each burnt and melted bit of cloth and leather.

"Are you hurt?"

 "I don't need your help," he hissed.

 Tav nodded glumly and began to swipe at her face using the dark window as a mirror. At least this way, she didn't have to see the vampire who was likely fuming at her. It gave her pride a chance to recover and face him again as she was back in some order. It was also the opportunity she needed to swap out her earrings for the lapis studs that finally had returned to a matching pair.

 "I'm sorry," Tav offered him softly.

 "Darling, I can tell you still wish to laugh," he let out a long exhale, "so apologies not accepted or needed."

 She allowed the silence to move in between them, only broken by the minute sounds associated with them drinking from their glasses. Until Tav's attention was drawn to Astarion pulling something from his pack, a familiar flask that he tipped into his second glass of wine. His eyes trained on her ears for a moment longer, the corners of his mouth stretching. 

 Astarion released a smile, "I am in need of sustenance too; the vintages should pair well."

"Vintages? If that makes you sleep easy at night," Tav snorted gently, "But are they working?"

"Yes," he said slowly, chewing on his words, "with what supplies we have, it's difficult to make a pack of vermin agree to share."

 That earned him a smirk, "nearly endless supply isn't enough? Shame."

 "We're all beasts, some of us more beautiful than others," he sighed, "but enough about my favorite subject. How is your quest for Dukedom?"

"Hah, hardly a quest; it's been far more fun avoiding that role."

 "Not enough perks of Office for you?"

 "No, a fear of increased paperwork," she smiled from her wine glass, "the office machinations are tedious enough."

 His returning smile was predatory, and he leaned in, "Anyone that needs to meet an unexpected and grisly end?"

Tav considered the offer, but her head shook. She took a cursory glance around her before she continued, "Nothing that extreme, just Duke Roseau trying to wave his power stick in my face. It's Nothing new."

 The vampire leaned a little more forward and licked his lips, "this sounds personal. Can I kill him? Please. Pretty please."

She laughed, reinforcing her words with a shake of her head, "Keep it down, killer. I can handle it."

 "But I could help," the spawn whined as he sipped at his concoction, "two hands make for easier work."

 "It's not that big," she chuckled, amused thoroughly with her joke.

Astarion's face crossed with a bit of confusion, but he joined her chuckle.

"But before I forget again, again," Tav admitted with a guilty grin as she fished something out of her pouch. It was a carved cat; the slightly iridescent surface of the white creature glinted in the candlelight as she slid it across the table, "It should make things a little easier for you."

Astarion picked up the half-heart-shaped cat with a tilted head, "easier for what?"

Tav stared ahead at a point behind his back.

 "Tav? Hellloo," his torso turned to look behind him.

There, the orcish server approached with a tiny figure compared to his massive frame. The girl-woman carefully balanced a tray and what could only be Tav's salmon and strawberries with the side of asparagus. Her big brown doe eyes looked over them with her mouth agape, and the plate toppled to the floor with a loud clatter and shattering of ivory dishes. Tav stared at the younger woman, and she stared transfixed right back. 

 A few seconds later, the second crash was the chair being spun out from under Tav as she leaped up. 

 The reverie wasn't necessary to remember the smells of strawberries and apples mixing with the aromatic spices and vanilla of the rising pie crust. The burning streaks of sunlight that branded her tan skin, and the giggling of the sweetest kind- and the little hands pressed to her cheek with a puff of flour. Before the crescendo of the little voice rose again and again until they collapsed into a pile on the threadbare and stiff couch beneath them. Sneezing and laughing until they were both out of breath and wheezing. Just as quickly, the world tilted, and the laughter was replaced with deafening cracks and groans. Rock, metal, and wood alike careened and skidded across the cobblestone streets. She curled around that little figure, letting the debris cut through her to shield her child from even a moment of pain. But they couldn't stay there as she urged them forward again. Glancing behind her to look at the strange shadow that had blotted out the sky and stretched out to take them. She shoved her child beneath the underpass with only a second to react. Screaming out for her to hide as the world was ripped away from her.

"Tav!" Astarion's tone was insistent and rising, likely not the first time he had called out to her.

"I have to-."

--- --- ---

Astarion blinked as Tav disappeared with a faint crack. Leaving him alone with the Orc and the girl whose gaze had not left the space his friend had vanished from. The Orc started issuing an immediate apology as he set to clean up the mess left behind by the dropped plate. The girl stood there, dumbfounded, her mouth still slightly open. Ignoring her partner's requests and pleas for help.

"Hells," he whined. But it had been a futile effort without someone to react to his dramatics.

His head turned to get a better look at the woman. Something about her scent was familiar, drawing his interest to inspect this person closer.

Tall but lean. A sharp nose and a pink skin tone dotted with freckles. Her dark brown eyes were surrounded by shiny black hair pulled into a low bun and the elegant curves of half-even ears decked out with several rings and piercings. If he… no. That was the answer, wasn't it? One of the final puzzle pieces in the mystery of Tav's murky past life. The woman was a clone of his companion, even down to the moisture that ran down her cheek and how she swiped it away to minimize the running of her kohl. The similarities of the composition of their blood flooded his nostrils as he placed the shared notes between mother and daughter. 

"What is your name, my dear?" he mustered with as much gentleness as he could find.

Those dark orbs turned to him, finding himself being scrutinized and picked over with one look, "Sophie Blaire."

"And you are?" she returned with an even tone.

 "Astarion," he wasn't sure why he gave her a bow, but he was halfway through the action before he caught it.

One of her eyebrows raised, "a vampire."

[90s-2000s-barbie]

Hello, Megan! How are you doing? I was wondering if you have any tips for someone wanting to start a 90s/2000s collection like yours.

Where do you shop? How long did it take to accumulate your collection?

Last question might be weird but do you sleep in the room in the photos? The reason I ask is because I want to make my room look like that but I'm a little worried about what people will think...

Hi! This is a great questions and literally anyone can do it and affordable! So I’ve been collecting my whole life but I started going super into it in 2009. Not only do I collect nostalgia, I collect about anything I would see and like, antiques, records vintage clothes, toys, ex. What started my interest is I just saw something a couple antiques i wanted at goodwill and passed it up and I would never live it down. I will forever remember is and kick myself in the ass for it. I said that’s it, I’m not regretting leaving something so cool behind in fear of being judged.

Even though I started in 2009, I will admit, no one has to break bank to start collecting. The best place to start is goodwill, local thrift stores, flea markets, garage sales. I don’t pay much for anything I own in my collection. One time I thrifted an entire huge box full of vintage McDonald’s toys for $2! It’s very simple to do. Some garage sales, people were so tired of selling, they would tell me to have things for free! Like I’m doing them a favor getting rid of the items. lol u really don’t need to spend much.

I started collecting by going to my local goodwill every week and I’d find a cart FULL of 90’s -2000’s finds and I’d spend like max, $50 for my entire cart and I’d find the coolest stuff, toys, clothes, books, ex.

I leave no stones unturned. Some people hid things at goodwill and wait for the color tag to go on sale so look everywhere! I would go by myself and look for a few hours and pick out everything old, and decide at the end what I LOVE and put back things that I just don’t. I’d find cool 2000’s clothes hidden in the kids clothes! I found a vintage adult sized Powerpuff girls sweater in the kids! People hide stuff everywhere and workers also put things in wrong spots just cause it’s got cartoons on them. lol

So the photos of my room is right before I moved into my own house but YES. I slept in that room for years and everyone that walked in thought it was cool! Now I have childhood friends sending me photos of it and asking why my room is all over the internet! lol 😂 I had 2 beds so I could have my best friends over and have cool sleep overs, all my friends, guys and girls loved it and even my boyfriend loved it when we first started dating. My mom loved it cause it reminded her of when me and my sister were kids. She would come up and hang out with me and we would watch Britney and Backstreet Boys videos. I say, do things FOR YOU. If people aren’t supportive, then that’s there problem. As long as ur responsible and not harming anyone or anything, then there is nothing wrong with u doing what makes u happy! ❤️ If u have anything ur really into, the fashion or toys, ask any questions u want, fill free to ask. Something I always do with everything, is pick something up, look for a year. Sometimes older stuff didn’t always have a year on it. Now they always have years.

Also I don’t make YouTube videos anymore but I do have one thrift haul on my YouTube channel Nostalgic Studioz. Can kinda see what I found going to one goodwill! One store is all it takes. lol

Thanks so much for the ask! I love talking about my hobbies and I hope this helps u too! ❤️❤️

Here is one flea market haul and there is that box I spent 2 dollars on to the right. lol I bought all of this in one place, one day at the local flea market. Ohio’s biggest flea market is like 30 mins away and it’s my FAVORITE place in the world. It’s opened all year around and it’s like a giant garage sale.

[royaletiquette]

On a day like any other, a hand-written note appears with Hibiko’s tray of tea. Sealed with a golden drop of wax, it was delicately balanced against the teapot. Perhaps it was old-fashioned of him, but Raum had the inkling that the princess might appreciate such a flair, as he did himself. Once opened, it was written in his own slightly dramatic cursive:

Dear Princess Hibiko,

Since you seemed so eager for me to make use of you, last we met. . . This is a formal request for your company.

Weiss Communications will soon be hosting a charity auction: art pieces, vintage clothing, instruments, antiques, unique experiences… and so on. It would be my pleasure to host an item or two that you can spare to donate — and that you are to personally introduce as a former part of your collection.

Worry not, there will be plenty of entertainment during the evening, and I will accompany you throughout. I will see to it you are not hounded, as usual ;^)

No doubt this would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Everyone loves to see a benevolent princess, don’t they?

The details of the event are below. I look forward to your response.

— R.

Precious curiosity hardly allowed time to properly admire the details of the note's exterior, immediately interested more in its contents (and ignoring the tea completely).

It pulled a mix of emotions from Hibiko, a smile that even by herself, she was embarrassed to express. The ever-rare decision to go over the king and queen's heads, offering the invite directly to the princess instead of them was nothing but daring. And yet, it felt so casual, like inviting a friend for lunch.

Hibiko held the letter close as her mind wandered in different directions, most notably unsure how extravagant or modest an item might be expected from her. Once an idea was settled on, little time was wasted fetching a pen and a crisp sheet of paper, happy to show off her penmanship.

Raum Weiss,

What a pleasant surprise to see a letter from you. Although I might think a man of such caliber would have a better choice of words with a woman of my status. "To make use of you." You embarrass me, were someone to read this! Luckily for both of us, I received your invite still sealed. Since favor is on your side, and with the promise of plenty of entertainment, I accept and am honored to come as your guest. In these boxes, you'll find the necklace I wore to the King and Queen's 15th wedding anniversary, and a fine bone china, three-piece tea set. I'll have letters of authenticity with all the necessary details drafted up for you come morning. I look forward to seeing how a Weiss Communications event may differ from a Suburashi's. However, I must ask of you a small request before I can full-heartedly agree to be your guest. Please notify me of what you'll be wearing to the auction once you've decided on an outfit. I'd never forgive you if we were clashing.

I'll see you then, Princess Hibiko Subarashi

@cantuscorvi

[radioiaci]

@ducktastic-dad ⧐ some time has been taken to prepare himself ; cutting it a bit close to the clock that is continuously ticking, but the anticipation is not entirely a miserable feeling. usual ringmaster attire is done away with, god forbid alastor ruin his fine tailoring, in favor of a less iconic outfit. a parting and ruffled blouse, held from opening any further by pale suspenders that trail down to slimming pants. designs of white and gold litter his comparatively unusual outfit ━ he cannot help wanting to match the mess he is anticipating. he has foregone his tight bowtie for a much looser ribbon, a totally and utterly necessary addition to all the rest of it. maybe he dressed up too much. but the hour is almost up, there is no time to go back, so he swallows his pride and gives a knock at the door. waiting. expecting. dreading. UNPROMPTED ASKS

He's kept his expectations low - something about Lucifer's mood had read to him as though it could have gone either way. But here he is, regardless, clawed fingers dancing along the keys of a baby grand piano - has that always been there? Of course not - to the tune of a somewhat melancholy piece by Johannes Brahms. Soft in his press of each subsequent note, it's likely only barely heard outside the confines of his room. Soft enough to hear the knock on the door.

Alastor does not arise from his seat at the piano which is nestled half in the room's interior and half in the strange, metaphysical swampy natural bog that he's manifested for himself as a means of comfort and familiarity. Instead, his shadowy counterpart seeps its way across the walls and to the door to open it for Lucifer, revealing the rather warm tone of the room as a fire crackles steadily on the nearby hearth.

Only when he finishes the small composition does Alastor turn to face the guest (do NOT express relief at his actual appearance, he tells himself). Lucifer is not the only one who has opted for a change in appearance; Alastor is no stranger to the steady waltz of ensnarement. He's not going to pounce like a hungry wolf - hungry though he truly is.

It's an art.

"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," he says as he stands; a snap of the fingers carries on a continuation of the melody in a steady, vintage tone that emanates from the radio atop the mantlepiece. Predictable, maybe.

His hair is pulled upwards into a tail, red shirt abandoned for a black one with a red, striped vest that is accented with a few gold pieces for emphasis. Slightly on the nose, perhaps. Sue him. Shirt is unbuttoned once or twice from the collar only for the simple fact that Lucifer has already seen what usually lay underneath it. Can't put that back into the box, really. So he will take advantage of it.

"Glad to see that you are not as timid as all that."