#aeon purple haze

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

Height difference

[krscblw]

ghoul perfume associations pt. 2 (halloween edition)!

halloween ghouls! a little bit murderous, a little bit monstrous. is the slight scent of blood from the perfume or did the ghouls just get back from a hunt? who knows.

(i thought it would be fun to make a Halloween/fall edition of the ghoul perfume list I made before, so here it is! for most of these the first scent is a little bit out there, and the second is more wearable/lighthearted.)

cw: themes of death and injury, a lot of talk about blood and murder

Aeon

Notes: clean linen, lavender, marshmallows, blood. Aeon smells clean and gentle, but that cleanliness is tinged red and metallic on the edges. 

Perfumes:

Plutonian -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Soapy cleanliness sullied by blood and ashes.”

Sleepy Ghost -- Poesie Perfume

“Haunted by insomnia? Let this friendly ghost lull you to sleep with the blissful combination of marshmallow and lavender. You’ll be dreaming in no time!”

marshmallow pillows sprinkled with natural lavender essential oil and absolute for sweet dreams

Aether

Notes: amber, wood, blood. Aether smells warm and golden, resinous and a little bit spicy, like the ideal fall day spent lounging in front of the fireplace. But every so often you catch the edge of something that smells suspiciously like blood… 

Perfumes:

Blood Amber -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Slivers of warm, pulsating blood forever crystallized in golden amber resin.”

The Dead Rise -- Poesie Perfume 

“I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been the paprika. — Jonathan Harker’s journal”

dark roasted coffee beans spiked with fresh cardamom pods, cubes of brown sugar, ambroxan, cedar

Alpha

Notes: leather, smoke, spices, rot. Alpha smells aggressive and dangerous – and he is. Of all of the ghouls, Alpha is the most likely to admit to his hobby of hunting unsuspecting Abbey visitors for sport. 

Perfumes:

Eau de Ghoul -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Dessicated skin coated in blackened ginger, cinnamon, and mold-flecked dirt, with cumin, bitter clove, leather, and dried blood.”

Hellfire -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“A scent celebrating Sir Francis Dashwood’s Order of the Knights of St. Francis of Wycombe, also known as the Hellfire Club. A swirl of pipe tobacco, hot leather, ambergris, dark musk and the lingering incense smoke from their Black Mass.”

Cirrus

Notes: dark fruits, musk, metal. Cirrus smells alluring enough that you can almost ignore the way her nails are a little too sharp, her smile a little too wild. Her idea of flirting is offering to help you hide a body, and you’re not sure she’s joking.

Perfumes:

The Enterprise of the Night -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Inspired by the opening pages of Circle of Blood. The scent of vice and darkness: flashing neon, oil-tinged petrichor, fading perfume, smeared lipstick, and the faintest touch of gunpowder residue.”

The Witch Queen -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Wild plum, red musk, tuberose, calla lily, heliotrope, pimento, ylang ylang and beeswax beneath a dark haze of sinister purple-hued incense smoke.”

Cumulus

Notes: florals, sugar, poisonous chemicals. Cumulus smells sweet, sugary in a way that gets stuck to your gums and makes your teeth ache. She has the face – and scent – of an angel, but something about the way her eyes follow you makes you uneasy. 

Perfumes:

Shelley, Byron, and Keats -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Uncompromising idealism, haunted romanticism, fatal ennui, and a heady amount of scandal and vice: red roses and pale carnation with a draught of laudanum, smears of opium tar, a hint of absinthe, and mercury ointment.”

Tiny Phantom -- Poesie Perfume

“You see it there in the glass, a tiny phantom - a glimpse of white in an otherwise dark room. But there’s no need to scream, and there’s no need to faint -- the thing in the darkness is you.”

innocent pink roses, marshmallow buttercream, pale white musk, antique mahogany

Dewdrop

Notes: dark fruits, smoke, ash. Dew smells like the remnants of a house fire that may or may not have been set on purpose. He smells like if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t let him out of your sight. 

Perfumes:

Djinn -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Myths surrounding the Djinn paint them as many things: benevolent champions of mankind and slaves to mad sorcerers, malicious incubi / succubi and energy vampires, or malevolent harbingers of madness and disease.” 

The scent of black smoke, of crackling flames, and smoldering ashes.

Silent Hill -- Spirit and Venom

“The combination of foggy air, deep fire smoke, dark pomegranate, and hints of overturned dirt and honey. Welcome to Silent Hill!” 

Ifrit

Notes: black tea, brimstone, incense. Ifrit smells dark and clinging, slinky in a way that sets you on edge. He smells like going to sleep and knowing you won’t wake up. 

Perfumes:

The Chapel -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“In the center of the room, a groveling figure is crouched before a woman draped in purple-black clerical robes. The woman’s eyes are filled with righteous hellfire, and she extends a hand in benediction to the man who has fallen prostrate at her feet. He murmurs, “Libera Te Ex Caelum”, and she gestures for him to rise. As he gets to his knees he winces in pain and moans in a strange expression of ecstasy, and you see small horns growing from his skull.”

Black incense, bitter wine, brimstone, bile, and blood.

Darkness -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Bottled gloom; the essence of oblivion. Blackest opium and narcissus deepened by myrrh.”

Mist

Notes: water, herbs, blood. Mist smells herbal and cold, like the transition of fall into winter. She smells a little bit sweet, a little bit metallic, a little bit dangerous. Her scent reminds you of rain so heavy and cold you can barely take a breath. 

Perfumes:

Frostbite with Polar Bear Attack -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Slashes of sleet punctured by a coppery gout of blood.”

Villa Diodati -- Poesie Perfume

“A stately house on the edge of Lake Geneva, ringed by Swiss Alps so picturesque they look painted on the sky, in 1816 Villa Diodati hosted a group of travellers whose time there would forever be marked in history. As storms raged outside, in its candlelit rooms Mary Shelley conceived of her mad scientist and his iconic monster. Down the hall, poor Doctor Polidori (who was hopelessly in love with Mary and possibly Byron), was penning a little story that would inspire another little story. Bram Stoker’s Dracula. You may have heard of it.”

pungent wild rosemary and fresh balsam pine, crystal clear lakewater, dry, dark vanilla

Mountain

Notes: greenery, earth, poisonous mushrooms. Mountain smells like crushed leaves, like little brown mushrooms, like the change in the air when the calender hits October. He smells earthy and damp, as if he spent the day digging holes… for plants, of course. Right?

Perfumes:

Sinister Groundskeeper -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“A menacing figure in grassy overalls and mud-flecked boots, with a wheelbarrow full of sharp yet rust-stained implements. At least, it looks like rust…”

Clods of moist soil, crushed dandelions, and the coppery clove-tang of dried blood.

Death Cap -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“A lethal poison bundled up in a dainty, innocent little package that was oft times found in ancient witches’ flying ointments and astral projection balms. A warm, soft, ruddy scent, earthy and mild.”

Nimbus*

Notes: peach, rose, blood. Nimbus smells sweet – slightly earthy, slightly metallic – but overwhelmingly like peaches that are so ripe they fall apart in your hands. She smells like the thorn bushes that shrikes impale their prey on – but there aren’t any corpses in her garden. Probably.  

Perfumes:

Sentence First, Verdict Afterwards -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Off with her head: white roses, tea roses, climbing roses, blood red roses, and a cluster of thorns, blood-spattered and sword-sharp, with clove bud and tobacco flower.”

Astaroth -- Fantome

“Ripe peaches, pumpkin flesh over a bed of red musk, honey cakes drizzled with white chocolate, & roasted pistachios.”

*i headcanon nimbus as a earth/air multi

Omega

Notes: wood, amber, ink. Omega smells like the ghost of a once-warm sitting room. He smells like amber, like polished wood, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye and feeling watched for hours afterward. 

Perfumes:

Quintessence of Dust -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.”

Parlour -- Fantome

“Parlour is an atmospheric fragrance that is inspired by a 19th century Parlour at the height of the Spiritualism movement. Conjuring the dimly-lit rooms filled with dusty spirt boards, sweet wood, and magic.”

A darkly polished mahogany rapping table, spirit boards, sweet rosewood chests, burning incense, and a hint of vetiver

(i have this one and i love it sm, it's the best woody scent in my collection)

Rain

Notes: seawater, ozone. Rain smells like the ocean right before a storm: murky, almost-sweet, hair-raising. He smells like swimming in deep water and feeling something grab your ankle a little bit too tight for you to believe that it was just kelp. But it had to be, surely there isn’t anything else down there… 

Perfumes:

Cthulhu -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“A creeping, wet, slithering scent, dripping with seaweed, oceanic plants and dark, unfathomable waters.”

Circe Individiosa -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Salt-spray dotting an azure cove, its waters swirling with noxious poisons and venom drawn from dreadful roots: a cascade of blackcurrant and crystalline blue-green waters infused with theriac accord, bruised henbane accord, white gardenia, pear, cedarwood, emerald mosses, tuberose, and bitter almond.”

Sunshine/Stratus**

Notes: summer fruits, spices, smoke. Sunny smells like the end of summer, right as it turns into fall. She smells like roasting marshmallows, like sticky heat, like biting into a late-summer strawberry and finding it rotten inside. 

Perfumes:

Tongue Wall -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Fleshy and fruity: guava musk, slick strawberry lip gloss, and blood-tainted digestive juices.”

Zombie -- Possets 

“You really need a big dose of toasted marshmallow and oude, a bit of burnt stick, and the unmistakable fragrance of the crisp autumn air. The obvious combination, wouldn't you say? Resinous and foody at the same time. Smoky, sticky fun.”

**i headcanon sunny as a fire/air multi

Swiss***

Notes: smoke, musk, patchouli, blood. Swiss smells like darkness so thick that there could be something right in front of you and you would have no idea – or maybe right behind you. He smells like earthy resin, wine the color of blood, and curling smoke. Something about his scent leaves a metallic tang in the back of your throat.

Perfumes:

Dead for Filth -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Raw Patchouli, opoponax, and a coppery dry blood exhale.”

Nosferatu -- Black Baccara

“A rustling of leaves appears before the footfalls as a group of pale vampires emerge from the autumn darkness. They bring with them the aroma of archaic earth, deep red wine, tobacco smoke, and red roses.”

dark patchouli, deep red roses, aged red wine, dirt, tobacco smoke, and fireplace embers

***i headcanon swiss as a fire/water multi

Zephyr

Notes: dust, ozone, dry rot. Zephyr smells like a house long abandoned: dusty, faintly sweet, a little bit like rotting floorboards. It’s a scent that draws you in as much as it pushes you away – like a haunted house that has become so lonely, it will do anything to make you stay. 

Perfumes:

Yorick -- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

“Grave dirt, bone, decay, angel’s trumpet, and moldering scraps of shroud: the essence of finality.”

Attic Ghosts - Paranormal Perfumes

“Attic Ghosts is an antique, timeless Victorian mansion. The house on the hill. Flickering lights in the hallways, shadows in the windows. Footsteps. Apparitions. A locked door to the attic.”

dusty wood, chestnut, smoke whisps, vanilla absolute, orange blossom, rose petals, jasmine, vetiver

if you got this far, thank you for reading! this one was SO fun to make, i hope y'all like it too. (and as always i would love to talk more about this/hear other people's thoughts!!)

[miasmaghoul]

im tired and sad so have 1.7k of aeon/dew hurt/comfort ft light angst and f e e l i n g s

(rated explicit for a somewhat dubious handjob)

Sleeping on the bus has proven to be a challenge for Aeon.

The motion is soothing for some, likes waves on the sand, but for the first two weeks all Aeon could focus on was his lumpy mattress and every bump they hit. The exhaustion eventually set in, though, and when you're tired enough it's easy to sleep though damn near anything.

It helps that things get familiar after a while. The movement feels less like a disruption and more like gentle rocking, the mechanical sound of the bus fading into little more than white noise. By week three, the only thing that can wake Aeon is his phone alarm.

And, apparently, Dew crawling into his bunk in the middle of the night.

He was quiet about it, Aeon hadn't heard a thing, but the bunks are small. Cramped. It's hard not to be jostled awake when someone joins you unexpectedly, no matter how subtle they try to be about it.

Aeon doesn't know how late it is, but he was deep enough asleep that he can't find his voice. Instead, he blinks at Dew, bleary and confused. Trying to process, to focus. Dew, for his part, doesn't say anything either. He simply molds himself to Aeon's side and nuzzles into his shoulder. Rests a hand on his stomach, just above the hem of his shirt. It's so...new.

It's not that the pair of them haven't had their share of encounters, but never anything like this. It's always been frenzied, rushed. Filled with frantic desire that needed an outlet, always right after a show. Dew has never slept with him, has never come to him with anything approaching softness, and between that and the haze still clouding his mind, Aeon doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He settles on wrapping an arm around Dew, asking in a thick voice,

"Wha's up?"

Dew says nothing, now fiddling with the drawstring of Aeon's pajama pants. (They're his favorite ones - purple cotton, decorated with monkeys and bananas, a road gift from Aether.) He tries again, and after a moment Dew heaves a small sigh. He won't offer anything further, thought, and Aeon doesn't pry. He's so tired, automatically rubbing small circles into Dew's back and deciding that any questions can wait until his brain is working again.

Aeon hums when Dew snuggles closer, chuffing out a soft laugh when Dew presses his nose to neck and breathes him in. He's so warm, so close, and Aeon feels himself starting to drift off. Cozy and peaceful.

That is, of course, right up until Dew's lithe fingers slip right underneath his waistband to pet at his soft cock.

Aeon gasps, jolts, but Dew doesn't seem to notice. His sleepy brain struggles to process everything - Dew's hand slowly but surely working him up, Dew's nose at his throat, those long legs tangled with his own under his thin blanket.

"Dew?" He only manages to slur the name out when Dew wraps that hot hand around him and begins to stroke. They're tight pulls, designed to hit every sensitive spot and get him leaking pre in no time.

"Shh," Dew finally speaks - more of a hiss, really - soft lips at the juncture of Aeon's shoulder. "Just...just let me do this, okay?"

It's a bad idea, he's pretty sure. Why, he doesn't know, but something in the back of Aeon's head tells him so. Warns that this isn't something he should allow, that he should tell Dew to stop.

Dew thumbs over the tip, and against his better judgement, Aeon doesn't stop him. Doesn't even try, can't. Not when that elegant hand works him so expertly. Everything's hazy, syrupy slow, and as much as Aeon feels like it's wrong...fuck does it feel good.

Dew doesn't so much move from his spot, plastered to his side with his face buried in Aeon's throat. Breathing. Not even kissing, just measured inhales and shaky sighs. He can't help the way his hips move, jerking up into Dew's skilled hand as he's dragged far too quickly to an orgasm his body and mind really aren't prepared for.

"Close," he gasps, more of a realization than a warning, eyes flying open to focus on the barely-lit imagine of Dew milking him under the covers.

Dew doesn't so much as groan in response, simply adds a delicate twist of the wrist and before Aeon knows it he's biting his lips shut to hold back his moan as he spills in his pants, dribbling over Dew's knuckles and into his own happy trail.

Dew holds him through it, until the very last twitch, and then suddenly that warmth at his side vanishes. In a blink, the little ghoul is gone, back to his own bunk with quiet steps.

Aeon stares at the ceiling, still coming down, and in the absence of Dew's warmth he can feel that the collar of his shirt is wet. So's his neck, right where Dew had planted himself. He groans as he wipes at the moisture, figuring it's spit, but even in his addled state he knows it's the wrong consistency. Aeon frowns, licks the fluid from his fingers and - his phone screen lights up, grabbing his limited attention, and he fumbles for it with a deep yawn. It takes him a long moment to make out what's on the too-bright screen.

It's a pair of texts. From Dew. Just a handful of words, but they speak volumes. D: you smell like aether D: im so sorry

All at once, the tears on his tongue make sense.

Aeon rolls from his bunk without hesitation, knees wobbly and body heavy. He slowly follows the track lighting on the bus floor two rows down, stumbling as they hit a bump. Dew's curtain is pulled, but Aeon doesn't give it more than a moment of thought before he's tugging it to the side and peering inside.

The sight makes his stomach twist.

Dew's facing the far wall, curled into the tightest ball he can manage, wracked with fine shivers. The softest sniffles emanates from his tiny form, and something in Aeon's chest goes unbearably tight.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't ask or warn. Simply crawls into the cramped space, awkwardly draws the curtain shut, and presses himself flush to Dew's back. Wraps an arm around his slight waist and holds him tight. Presses a kiss into soft hair that smells of cinnamon, burnt sugar and fresh sweat.

He knows it's bad when Dew doesn't try to push him away.

Aeon holds him until the shakes pass, until his body relaxes. Waits until Dew straightens his legs and heaves a deep sigh.

"'m sorry," he finally breathes, barely audible over the rumble of the bus, but Aeon hears it clear as day.

"'s okay," he murmurs, thought he really isn't sure that it is. His brain is swiss cheese, muddled with exhaustion and the last dregs of his unexpected orgasm. He can worry about that later, though. "Wanna talk about it?"

Dew sniffs, shakes his head, but then pauses. Seems to consider. Then he's moving, squirming until Aeon lifts his arm and shifts back, finally turning to face him. The bunk is dark, but Aeon can still make out the molten copper of Dew's eyes, as well as the moisture lining them while Dew settles in against him. While he tangles their legs and balls both fists in Aeon's shirt.

"I just," his voice sounds so small, threaded with pain and frustration, "I just...I feel so fuckin' stupid."

Aeon wraps a gangly arm around him again, rubs his back, and with a soft sob Dew's tears start to fall once more. He clings to Aeon like he's terrified he'll disappear, and Aeon shuffles closer in response. Until he can rest his forehead against Dew's and soothe him with soft sounds.

"You really miss him, huh?"

Dew laughs through a sob, a hysterical sound, and Aeon decides that talking can wait.

He moves away, just a little, and Dew seems to panic. He paws at him, grips his shirt, but Aeon just slips a gentle hand into the little ghoul's hair and kisses his forehead.

"I'm not leaving, don't worry," he assures, soft and so sleepy. Dew gulps, breathing heavy through his mouth, but nods after a moment. Lets Aeon shift onto his back, lets him rest his head on the pillow and haul Dew to his side. "Here," he says, gesturing at his neck, "if it helps, you can-"

Dew doesn't wait for him to finish, burying his face in Aeon's neck and inhaling like he's starved for air. His exhale is stilted, choked, but something in the little ghoul seems to relax with each deep breath. The tension laced through every inch of him slowly fades, but Aeon can still feel his tears soaking into his shirt. He doesn't mention it.

Soon enough, Dew's breathing evens out. He's warm and loose, one leg hooked over Aeon's thigh and an arm tight around his waist. He feels so much smaller like this, Aeon thinks. So much more vulnerable than he should. He'll probably deny this ever happened, claim that Aeon was seeing things, but that's alright.

Soft snores kick up while Aeon's still staring at the ceiling, and finally he lets himself relax enough for sleep to tug at his own lids. In the morning, whether Dew likes it or not, they'll talk about this. He'll make sure Dew knows that he always has a place at his side, if he needs it. Until he can get back to the one he really wants.

For now, he can be a stopgap. For now, that will have to be enough.

For the both of them.

Aeon presses a kiss to Dew's hair, and when sleep finally takes hold again, he swears a soft voice says thank you.

[weird-an]

AO3 FIRST LINES

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have!

Thank you @adelacreations for tagging me!

Going less to most recent posted:

Steve knows he’s dreaming. What he doesn’t get is why the scene in front of him is so familiar and foreign at the same time, why it feels like he’s been here before and why he feels like he remembers it all.  - Shards Of Memories

Billy knows something is off, when Joyce cooks roast chicken for dinner on a random Wednesday and hands him a beer. - Extended Stay

Billy has to be quick - to fit in, to pull himself on top, to show Hawkins what Billy Hargrove is all about. Even though it's only a bunch of lies hidden behind abs and a leather jacket - King of The Keg Stand, nsfw

Steve steps out of the shower with a sigh. His head is still throbbing and a giant purple bruise is blooming on his left eyelid and cheek. - Reflections And Assumptions

Billy just bought himself a giant sundae and Steve Harrington has to serve him. It's just the cherry on top that Harrington has to wear a stupid sailor's uniform. - Blue

Billy's backside burns and Steve's hand hits his ass again, a sharp sting, sending waves of pleasure along his spine. - Ten, nsfw

Prom, 1985. Everybody’s wet fantasy, the highlight of the school year and probably of a few lives. - The King Has Lost His Crown, nsfw

It’s a lazy, late morning. A Saturday when Billy has to work until noon and Steve just crawled out of bed, waiting for him to get back to start the weekend. - Mama Don't Preach

King Steve is back, after moping for a few months and getting his face smashed in by Billy in a haze of anger. - Danger Zone, nsfw

Steve is so fucking annoyed. - A Thousand Lives Lived, my ficlet collection

Tagging: @ihni @aeon-of-neon @lilies-in-a-vase @billyharringson

And everybody who wants to play!

[luminescentlyricist]

♋ Twelve In One ♋

TW :: SUICIDE , BLOOD  

~

KARKAT VANTAS WAS GOING TO DIE. He was crying, crying, crying. Diluted red trickled down his cheeks, the salt stinging through the jagged lines slashed into them. He'd been lashed out at by Gamzee earlier, the troll in a sober haze, but that didn't matter. He'd been able to defend himself, but the purple blood on his sickles didn't perturb him either. Nothing really did, since he had lost everything. He didn't know where his friends were, but they'd stopped pestering and trolling him a long time ago. It was as if they never cared about him in the first place.

There was so much going on, and he had no idea how to stop it. Loud noises and touch and each sensation - however insignificant - seemed to make his head fill with static, and he couldn't even concentrate on one thing. It just muddled up his pan, and he hated every moment living like that. It was so draining. But he couldn't do anything to fight. As much as he was terrified, acting on instinct and adrenaline during the fight with Gamzee, he wondered then - sitting there, blank-faced and dark-minded - if he should have simply let it all go. His ex-moirail had seemed hell-bent on killing him. He was always making people happy, so why couldn't he have let the clown be? Let him fulfil his goal?

Karkat realised, then and there, that he'd dissatisfied someone. It was beyond him. He had been left to beg and do jobs and spend what little energy he had helping others. That was the only thing that gave him hope, the only real thing that he used to keep himself going through the days. To keep his mind from truly calling him into the deep, and someone letting him fade away into the void that already threatened to consume him. But he'd already failed. He felt so dull, even though it was just one strike against his record of countless good deeds. He couldn't recognise anything like that, since it was fading from his memories anyway.

He was a failure, by all accounts. There was only so much time until he lost his way, until everything crumbled into tiny little pieces. It was already beginning to happen. He felt so isolated, so small now. The situation with the purpleblood earlier was like having a magnifying glass dragged onto him in the sunlight; scalding, making him infinitely bigger than he ever wanted to be. The mutantblood didn't even know who or what he did want, really. Even though he sat there, grey face illuminated by the harsh white light of his husktop, he felt nothing but hollow. Like all of his insides had been drained from him, and he was a husk of his former self.

He had been messaging people earlier, even though they all seemed to be offline, as silent pleas of help enclosed in brackets, lowercase. He didn't really type any other way, and hadn't for an age. The times where he'd scream, even in Trollian - for catharsis or a million other reasons - were long gone. His rage had dissolved into sadness; so swamping and debilitating that it'd dragged him down. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead, dead weight that made it increasingly harder to even get out of his recuperacoon, to glean from the day the little relief he could.

He shifted in his seat, eyes newly obscured by the contacts he'd worn ever since the people he would once have called friends - though he had no idea if they felt the same, judging by their unwillingness to talk to him at all - disappeared. Karkat had felt safe showing the red, but now he hid it all again. There was no way he could bear his heart just for it to be destroyed again. With one claw, he idly pushed the contact back into place. There wasn't much for him to do when he was alone, and he liked it that way. He'd returned to his old respiteblock, and had suddenly realised what an apt name that was. Although it was lonely there, especially without his lusus, he felt safer than he had in aeons.

To go outside was to doom himself, and to bring an awareness to the very loneliness that was bound to crush him. Though nothing else could bring him relief from the swirling thoughts in his thinkpan, Karkat absolutely refused to go out unless he was needed by the people who found it fit to desert him. The tears dripped from his cheeks in even steadier streams, such that the mutantblood didn't even bother to get anything to wipe them away. It would be redundant, due to how persistently he was crying. It felt like he cried for no reason at all one moment, then a million different ones rearing up in the next.

He took a shuddering breath, feeling the trails of pale red as they traced rivers into his face, continuing to exacerbate the deeper gashes. There was so little hope left in him, but the vain idea that his friends might return to him was enough. To be given purpose was what drove him when he was alone; not a task, but the merest absence of one, strange though it might have seemed. Reaching up to his face again, Karkat let out a groan of protest when he felt the blood drip onto his fingers. He didn't know how long it'd take to heal, and there was no one that could bring him the necessary supplies to patch it up. Infection was a pain in the ass, even though he wouldn't die from something that simple in God Tier.

The Vantas troll just wanted to live again. He felt like he was dead most days, if not all of them. He wondered if any of his sessionmates had felt the way he did. There was certainly the possibility that Terezi had been dragged down enough by Gamzee during their toxic kismesitude, but he was never good at deciding things like that. Emotional identification had always been one of his weak points, as empathetic as he seemed because he was a Knight of Blood. When he thought 'empathy', he always thought of Nepeta, kind and loving, or Kanaya, motherly and compassionate. But never himself. That was... wrong.

As comfortable as the God Tier outfits were, he wasn't sure he wanted to keep it on. Being a Blood player felt like a slap in the face sometimes, when he really sat back and thought about it. To be so connected to something he despised felt... raw. However metaphorical his Aspect turned out to be, it didn't make the connotations any better. Especially now, when he hardly felt like anything but a Prince. A Prince, a Destroyer of Bonds and Connections and everything that'd served to... make Karkat himself. There was so little that the troll could cling to and feel fulfilled, so he felt nothing at all.

Life had faded to monochrome and dripping red.

That wasn't how it was supposed to be, surely. He shifted in his chair again, standing and lifting the God Tier shirt over his head. He threw it onto his recuperacoon, knowing that the slime would simply slide off if he decided to put it back on at any point. After taking the pants off and throwing them carelessly into much the same position, he slipped into his old Cancer jumper and grey sweatpants. The clothes didn't fit as well as they used to, but it was better than being tormented by the colours of his other outfit. When he was putting the jumper on, though, his fingers brushed against his horns. Hiccuping, the Vantas' momentarily-cleared vision blurred again. Tears began to come from his eyes, and so he squeezed them shut as tight as he could, if only to stop the insistent flow.

How stupid it was that rose-coloured glasses were a metaphor for seeing optimistically. When he saw red, it was blood, sweat or tears. The troll sniffled, glad for the drawn blinds of his respiteblock that prevented anyone from seeing how utterly pathetic he was. His horns made him feel inferior, shameful and disgusted. They were a part of him that he couldn't alter, and yet he couldn't stop being repulsed by them. Ruffling his hair almost aggressively, he walked to the mirror that he had attempted to shatter, purely to make sure the nubs coming from his head weren't visible from any angle. Nodding to himself. Karkat immediately retreated from the mirror.

The troll didn't want to punch it in his impulses, and have shattered glass imbedded in his knuckles. Nor did he want to see himself at all. The injuries he already had were more than enough. The bleeding from the clown's attack had largely stilled, but every now and again some dripped into his eyes or nose or mouth, so he had to wipe it away. The taste of iron met his tongue a few moments later, and he didn't bother washing his mouth out. It would be a pain, because he'd have to do it repetitively until the bleeding stopped. He didn't have the energy to do that. Gamzee was the only troll that had bothered to visit him for a solid few months, and it was for a bad reason that he didn't want to think about. Gog. Was he really the only reason that the other had been doping himself up?

That was a purpose, right? It felt like a bad one. The last time he'd been in a moiraillegiance, that had spiralled into the world's biggest shitfest, but maybe he needed someone to depend on him? For the relief. Karkat dragged his feet over to the door, grasping the crab-shaped doorknob without looking and having the grey 'legs' stick into his palms. He almost swore, but his throat ached in protest because of how little he'd spoken to anyone for an extended period. Stumbling back, staring at his palm and the bright red hue that had bubbled up from that spot, he fell completely silent. The pain was sharp, distracting, almost to the point of utter captivation. His gaze followed the droplet all the way until it fell onto the floor, a splash of crimson on the granite-like surface. Like a dog with fleas, he shook himself out of his stupor and continued towards the door.

Stopping for a moment, he realised what was wrong. Glancing downwards, the troll shook his head and walked to retrieve the God Tier outfit again, slipping back into it. He felt more constricted in the well-fitting clothing than he ever had in his old jumper. But it wasn't as if his opinion mattered any more, because there was no one who'd bother to hear it. Karkat made sure to sling the old things into a small bag, carrying it with him. He'd need them. Two colours and two words ticked about in his brain when he was getting dressed, over and over again. relentlessly. Heroic, Just. Gold, Purple. Heroic, Just. Gold, Purple. He barely remembered which hue he'd worn; he hadn't had sleep enough to warrant a trip to Prospit in several sweeps, and the dream planets were all gone as it stood.

His hive was beginning to close in on him, or so it seemed. Become so small a space that it was suffocating. He needed to get out. However much the Alternian sun scalded him, he couldn't stay inside. It'd kill him to have the blinds drawn far faster than the environment ever could. He knew better than the majority of his friends what isolation could do, but his knees still shook at the prospect of letting everyone see him. Looking back towards the mirror, the likes of which was nearly falling apart, he laughed. The sound was dull and lacked any emotion whatsoever, which was fine. Karkat doubted he'd be able to express the necessary forced happiness for it anyway.

Closing his hand around the doorknob, this time wary of the legs, he twisted it and opened the door, stepping out into the world. He couldn't remember the last time he had the motivation to even get up and shower, but he didn't think it mattered. All of the other hives in his cluster were abandoned, and for good reason. Removing his palmhusk from his pocket, Karkat attempted to type one word into the 'FRIENDS' memo that he'd never really planned to use, though he was wary of the fact that the people within it mightn't ever see it. His hands were shaking too much, and he dropped the device multiple times in the process. Everything was painful, even bending down to pick it up. After a five-minute period of hyperventilating and worsening tremors, the troll pressed 'send.' It was all he could do.

[CURRENT CARCINOGENETICIST (CCG) POSTED TO MEMO 'FRIENDS' RIGHT NOW]

CG: bye

[CARCINOGENETICIST (CG) HAS LOGGED OUT]

And with that, he dropped the palmhusk and stepped on it. Looking down at his feet, the troll curled his toes and vainly attempted to steady his erratic breathing. There was little he could do to stop his racing heart, his gasping, the tension in his shoulders. He needed to stop everything. There was only one way he could go forward with that, and he didn't really want to think about it. It was necessary, but painful to consider until his mindset had fully shifted. Nobody cared about him anyway, did they? No one had bothered with him for a long time, and maybe Gamzee was right. He wasn't meant to be around highbloods, or anyone worth a boonbuck or two. Even Aradia had a purpose to predict and pacify the needs of the dead. But he didn't feel like he had a purpose. He wasn't a fighter or a threshecutioner, and he couldn't be. He'd never be.

The knight's cape billowed out, and he felt his feet lift from the ground. He'd once shared Tavros' want and appreciation for flight, but now the whole of nature itself - gravity included - seemed against him. His body felt heavy again, even though he needed to get to the top of his respiteblock. Hovering for a moment, the boy braced himself against the ragged exterior of his home and closed his eyes. The darkness that slipped under his eyelids soothed him, because it separated the glaring colours of everywhere else. Even the crimson-hued windows on his own hive seemed too bright. He stayed there for a minute, then continued on his way up to the top of the building. Touching down, he dropped the bag of clothing, sitting and looking towards the sky. It was never something he'd had the time to appreciate. He had all the time he wanted then.

Since he didn't have much control over his God Tier wings like Vriska or Tavros, there was nothing keeping him away from what he was going to do. Just in case, however, he took his sickles out from his strife specibus and tore them. The sharp hooks slid through as if the wings were no more than paper, and he barely felt a thing. He was numbed. Slowly, he dressed back into his normal clothing. At least he'd feel more comfortable with himself for a while. Eyes still trained onto his feet, he walked. Coming closer to the edge of his respiteblock's roof. Once he felt sure that his toes were over the lip of the building, Karkat looked forwards and out towards the horizon line. The small smile that the sky had given him fell.

And so did he.

[arcanesupern0va]

Down With The Rickness; Ch4: Every You, Every Me

Summary: Nova is stressed so Rick tries to make things a little more interesting by taking her to Aeon, a casino outside of time and space.

A/N: Thar be smuts here. And no Halloween chapter because... well this happened instead. I have to thank my beta, my-sun-my-baelish, for all of the help she's given me. It was her idea to bring Flesh Curtains Rick into the story and he will definitely be back. I cannot wait. :D Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think. :D

CW: Smut, drinking, gambling  Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Word Count: 8508

My ao3

Masterlist

~Rick In The Water~

|Ch3: Scene Of the Crime|

Things fell back into a comfortable pace when we finally made it home with Rick even sleeping in my room more often than not. The coffee I shared with Beth every morning before she left for work was already awkward enough without Rick stumbling loudly out of my room, much to her chagrin. She insisted she didn’t mind, that she was happy for us, but I could still see the twinges of jealousy in her eyes as she watched her father stumble out of my room in my robe in search of his own cup of coffee. 

In an attempt to reconcile with her, I spent most of my days scrolling through job listings. On one particular afternoon, I had taken up my search across from Rick when he was at his workbench. I let out a guttural groan after scrolling through the same thirty listings I’d seen for the past two weeks, earning me a raised eyebrow from the irritable scientist sitting on the other side of the workbench.

“Y-You mind keeping your existential despair down over there?” Rick asked, looking up from whatever he was working on with an unconvincing scowl on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was my overwhelming stress bothering you?” I asked, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes as I tried to mask the grin forming on my face.

“W-Well, yeah. Yo*uuurp*u mind taking it elsewhere if you’re going to be a nuisance?” he growled, returning to his gadget with a dramatic huff.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” I smirked, rolling my eyes as I gathered my laptop to stalk off.

“I was gonna go out in a little bit, i-i-if you wanted to come with me,” he offered, spinning around in his chair and looking genuinely surprised I had taken his complaints seriously.

“Wouldn’t want my- what did you call it? Oh- extentistial despair to distract you in anyway,” I sighed, resisting the urge to grin at him again.

“W-Well, I was hoping it would get your mind off of it.”

“Aren’t you just so thoughtful?”

“I-It’s been said... from time to time-” 

“Never. I think you mean never.”

“I-I’m sure someone’s had the wrong idea before.”

I sighed, turning away from Rick and walking to the edge of the garage in contemplation. I could choose to stay here and commiserate over why failure seemed inevitable on the job front or I could go out with Rick and just lose myself in an adventure with him. As I weighed between responsibility and fun, my eyes fell onto my old house next door. It filled my heart with a petty glee to see the house falling into minor disrepair as weeds invaded the formly meticulously kept garden and small groups of crab grasses sprouted up across the lawn. Once the police had finally given me access again, Rick, Beth, and I started destroying the cameras that had kept me locked in the house. It was cathartic to say the least but I still hadn’t stepped foot back in since. There were too many memories haunting those walls and I’d sooner tear the place down than go back into it.

“Alright, let’s go,” I sighed, tearing my eyes away before the nightmares could find their way back in. I sat my laptop down for a moment, a low moan leaking out as my legs stretched as a chill ran down my spine at the sheer relief in it. With a yawn, I headed for the door to go change out of my pajamas and into something more suited for adventure.

“D-D-Don’t worry about getting dressed,” Rick stopped me, making one last adjustment to his device before pulling himself out of his chair with a groan and directing me to his ship.

“Rick, seriously?” I asked, gesturing down to my cartoon covered sweatpants, tattered tank top and flip flops. “I’ll be like, two seconds. You telling me you can’t wait?”

“N-No,” he growled, “You don’t have anything to wear that would fit in where we’re going. We’re going to have to stop along the way.”

“Oh,” I gasped softly, following him to the ship. “So, where are you taking me then?”

“Look, will you just take ‘it’s a surprise’ as a sufficient answer so I can have a bit of fun with this?” Rick scowled as I climbed into the ship, eyeing him hesitantly.

“I mean, I suppose I really don’t have much choice otherwise, do I?” I asked him, eyes narrowed at him as a smirk played on my cheeks.

“That’s what I love about you, you always catch on quickly.”

Our first stop was at an off-world intergalactic mall. Rick sent me into a large dress shop, shoving a large wad space cash into my hands and instructing me to “go nuts”. He departed with a kiss on the cheek as he headed into a Blips and Chitz further into the mall, muttering something about unfinished business.

The humanoid eel creature at the counter turned her nose up to me at first, eyeing my shabby attire until she caught sight of the fistful of cash I was carrying. Her demeanor shifted in an instant, ushering me past the clearance rack I had been eyeing to instead show me the latest gowns they’d just received. She ensured me I would be on the cutting edge of whatever charity gala or ball I would be donning the gown to as I flipped nervously past gowns with price tags I couldn’t read.

“I-I don’t know how much this is-” I held out the wad of cash in my hand to her nervously “-I was just kind of sent here and told to ‘go nuts’’.”

She eyed me suspiciously but remained silent as she quickly counted the money, handing it back with a satisfied smile. She started pulling gowns down, holding them in front of me to get an idea of what would look best before leading me to the lavish dressing rooms in the back of the store. Sizing proved to be no issue as the fabric adjusted itself around me, being snug in all the right places and scooping around my breasts in a scandalous way. After a montage worthy amount of changing, we decided on a long, black sleeveless number. It boasted a light train following behind me and a neckline I knew Rick wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of. She grabbed a pair of heels and a set of jewels for me to wear before pushing a large device over my head, letting it rest on my shoulders. Panic set in as my hair began pulling away from my scalp gently before it was doused and dried my hair quickly and a light spray methodically worked its way over my face. A soft chime rang out and the clerk lifted device with ease, handing me a mirror to take in my appearance. I barely recognized the face staring back at me. My hair fell gently over my shoulders in delicate waves and my makeup was done with skill I’d never possess. The sales clerk led me over to a full length mirror and I was taken aback by my reflection.

I looked so… elegant.

The clerk pointed to the rest of my outfit, sliding my heels and jewelry over to me. The heels were matte black with five inch heels and I stood up nervously in them, I was relieved to discover they were fitted with a balance technology that made walking as easy as if I was barefoot. The jewels hanging from my neck and ears sparkled with purple and blue hues, adding the perfect pop of color to offset the dark gown with the added benefit of accenting my eyes.

“T-Thank you,” I stammered, staring into the mirror to take in the finished product. I handed her back the wad of cash, waving my hand away as she offered me my change as I continued to thank her profusely. I wandered out of the shop in a haze, barely noticing when Rick approached me looking over his shoulder nervously until his eyes fell on me.

“H-Holy shit, Nova,” he gaped, looking me over completely. “You look fucking amazing.”

“I know, right?” I grinned proudly, looking down in amazement at my own cleavage.

“Are you ready then?” he asked with a grin, his eyes struggling to meet mine.

“I guess we’re not going on the usual kind of adventure then?” I trembled, my confidence gone at the reminder of the uncertainty ahead of us.

“You could say that.”

We landed in a large valet, the dinginess of Rick’s ship incredibly apparent next to all of the flashy ships parked around us. A Morty came out to greet us, taking the keys out of Rick’s hand before climbing into the ship and flying off to a garage. My eyes bulged at the sight, turning quickly to Rick with my eyes narrowed.

“Are we back on the fucking Citadel?” I hissed, looking around for the sea of Ricks and Mortys going about their daily lives.

“N-N-No,” Rick assured me quickly. “W-Well, kinda. N-N-Not really. This is a getaway for Ricks. It was built as somewhere to put all the Rickless Mortys and also give Ricks a place to relax when shit gets too serious.”

“So, there’s still going to be a shit ton of Ricks here,” I groaned, walking toward the entrance. The large doors slid open smoothly, allowing me to storm right into a large casino filled with Ricks and Mortys just as I had feared, but also a large variety of other otherworldly creatures. I stopped in my tracks as I looked over the sea of people gambling obscene amounts only to shrug off their losses and slide another tower back out into the circle.

“Welcome to Aeon,” another Morty greeted us. “Do you have a reservation in our hotel for the evening?”

“Y-Yeah,” Rick confirmed, pushing past me gently to handle the Morty in front of us leaving me to continue staring out over the casino floor. A large cluster of Ricks surrounded a craps table, cheering loudly after the shooter let the dice fly out of his hand. Another Rick was ordering a drink from the Morty cocktail server before turning back to a poker table. He looked at his hand, a look of irritation growing on his face as slammed the cards down, tossing a couple chips on top. I didn’t get to see if he’d won as Rick grabbed my hand gently as the Greeter Morty led us to the elevator to show us to the room Rick had reserved for the night.

The room was extravagant, with a full bar directly in front of us as we entered. A Bartender Morty portalled in and Rick ordered himself a drink immediately, allowing me to venture further into the luxurious room. A large four poster bed with delicate fabric draped down sat in the middle of the next room with a large television and sofa at the foot of it. The bed’s linens were quite possibly the softest thing I’d ever touched and I found myself running my hand over the fabric again and again. Rick entered the room behind me, quietly watching as I was mesmerized by a blanket.

“It’s alright, I guess,” he shrugged, setting his empty glass down and pointing to another door in the corner of the room, “You should check out the bathroom. True whirlpool jets, Nova. I’ve gotten lost in those damn things more times than I can count.”

“You’ve been here a lot, I take it?” I asked, breaking my attention from the linens to follow Rick’s suggestion.

“Yeah, this place isn’t called the Aeon for nothing,” Rick explained, “Time literally doesn’t exist here. You could spend ages here and no time passes. It’s outside of the ebb and flow of time.”

“So- Wait, what?” I asked, mouth agape as I turned to face him.

“Don’t think too hard about it, okay?” Rick smirked, “Let’s just put it this way, you could stay fifty years in this place and Madi wouldn’t think you’d been gone longer than an afternoon.”

“B-But, wouldn’t I be ancient by the time I got back?”

“Nope, I’m telling you, no time passes. You won’t age, you won’t gain any weight from any of the food you technically don’t need to eat… The only consequences you face here are with your wallet.”

“That’s… that’s crazy. So you could live here, forever?”

“I-I mean, if you had an infinite amount of money, sure. The fifty years thing was just an exaggeration, this place is not cheap.”

“I can tell,” I grinned, gesturing around to the expensive decor around the room.

“The Flesh Curtains have a show tonight,” Rick remarked, picking up the daily itinerary from the dresser.

“F-Flesh Curtains?” I sighed, biting my lip to resist a laugh.

“So, back in the day, my friends Birdperson and Squanchy formed a band called Flesh Curtains with me. Most Ricks do it but don’t stick with it. These guys are from a timeline that stuck with it and became a success.”

“I hardly consider playing in a casino success,” I said with a snort, glancing over at Rick in disbelief to find him staring at the pamphlet with a glassy look in his eyes.

“Psh,” he said finally, shaking the look away and clearing his throat. “It wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“You wanna go back downstairs? Maybe we’ll go see the show tonight?” I offered softly, moving closer and lacing my hand into his. A devilish grin spread over his face as he pulled the door open.

“You know how to play blackjack, right?”

When we made it back to the floor, Rick made a beeline to the first empty blackjack table he could find. The Ricks around us watched us pass, not taking their eyes off of me until Rick shot them a dangerous look. The Morty at the table greeted us, scooping the cards back up and deftly shuffling them again before loading them back into the shoe and waiting for our buy-ins.

“Player’s cards?” he asked, bored. Rick tossed me a handful of colorful bills before pushing his over to the dealer along with a black card. Morty quickly cut out his chips, calling out the total and waiting for his supervisors approval before sliding two stacks of black and green chips across the table to Rick. He turned to me expectantly, raising an eyebrow when I hesitated.

“How much do I give him?” I whispered to Rick, unable to read the symbols on the money.

“Just give him all of it. Trust me, it’s enough.”

I pushed the money across with a trembling hand, earning a sigh from Morty as he counted it up and slid me my own stack of black and green chips.

“Place your bets.”

“Alright, so all you have to do is play one at a time,” Rick said, pushing the chips closer to me. “You’ll be playing the minimum so if you start doing well, feel free to up your bet.”

“I see we have a special guest tonight,” the floor supervisor Rick remarked as Morty started dealing the cards out. “Not often we see a Nova in-”

“-In here. Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” I waved him off, not meeting his gaze. I tried to remember the basic strategy rules for blackjack as Morty checked his own hand for blackjack.

“I-I bet,” Floor Rick stuttered, looking between my Rick and I. Rick ignored him, tapping the table to get another card. Nineteen. He waved it off with a satisfied sigh, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his lab coat. The Floor Rick grabbed an ashtray, sliding in front of Rick before turning his attention back to me.

“Eleven,” Morty said, moving his hand from Rick’s hand to mine.

“Double it,” Floor Rick said with a shrug, “It’s a good hand for doubling. All you need is a ten.” I sighed, sliding another chip up next to my initial bet, wincing as Morty slapped the card down on top of it and quickly went to his own hand. Twenty One.

“Twelve. Sixteen. Bust,” he called out flatly as he played his own hand out, quickly paying us our chips and scooping the cards up before chucking them into the discard rack.

“Nice one, Nova. You two let me know if you need anything,” Floor Rick said with a sly grin, pushing himself away from the table and going to check on another table.

“I seriously hope every fucking Rick in this place isn’t going to be on you like that all night,” Rick groaned as Morty dealt out another hand.

“Well, even if they are, I can handle it,” I assured him.

“I-I-It’s just fucking annoying,” Rick grumbled, watching Morty bust his hand again. 

We play for another hour before the Supervisor Rick made his way back over to us, making more uncharacteristically friendly conversation with me before being relieved to go on break. The Relief Floor Rick was also enamoured by my presence but kept it to himself, watching me silently from the adjacent table’s computer system.

“Twenty one,” Morty declared, scooping our bets up and placing them in the rack. Rick groaned in frustration, counting his chips angrily.

“That’s five fucking hands in a row, Nova. This is mathmatically fucking impossible,” he lamented, eyeing the stacks of green in front of me suspiciously. “How in the hell have you been doing so well?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” I shrugged, sliding a stack of five into the circle and looking at his expectantly.

“There’s no such thing as fucking luck,” Rick grumbled under his breath, slamming a chunk of black chips into the circle and looking up at Morty.

“W-Wait, before you deal-” I interrupted, holding my hand up to him and smiling softly. A cocktail Morty had come by, calling Rick’s attention away in search of something strong enough to drown his sorrows in. “Do you guys get tips? Like, as a paycheck or something.”

“Y-Yea. Usually doesn’t amount to much though,” he remarked spitefully, his eyes resting on Rick’s back as he spoke.

“So if I put money up for you, you get it if we win?” I grinned devilishly. He nodded quickly, his eyes lighting up as I slid a chip in front of my bet with a wink. “Let’s make you some money kiddo.”

Morty started dealing the hand out as Rick turned back around, handing me a small glass as he watched the hand come out. Another fifteen for Rick and two sevens for me, with Morty showing a six.

“Split them, Nova,” Rick suggested, waving his hand off before pulling out another cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” I asked, wrinkling my nose as I slid more chips out and signaled for the split.

“It’s a casino thing. Something about this place just makes me want a cigarette,” he shrugged. “You’re betting for Morty? Y-Y-Your streaks coming to an end now.”

“Eleven, Au- er -Nova,” Morty stammered, focusing his attention on the cards. I slid another six chips out, doubling the hand for a solid nineteen. The other hand turned into seventeen, leaving me to wave it off and hope for the best.

“Looks like I’m doing just fine,” I smirked, looking over to Rick. He didn’t respond, gesturing to Morty’s hand across the table.

“Twenty,” he called out mournfully, scooping up the bets and thanking me.

“Here, just take it,” I said stubbornly, not taking my eyes off of Rick as I tossed him a couple chips for him to drop in his toke box.

“T-T-Thank you, Aunt Nova,” he said, his cheeks flushing at my name again. 

“Tonight in our Event Center, come see Flesh Curtains, only at Aeon!” a voice called over the intercom. Rick checked his watch, sighing inwardly as his slid his remaining chips across to Morty.

“Color me up,” he ordered, sliding our money to Morty before turning to me, “You ready to go see the greatest band in existence?”

“Greatest band, huh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he grabbed his money and finished his drink. He didn’t respond, taking my hand and pulling me through the sea of aliens and Ricks headed to the Event Center. The Mortys scanning tickets looked frustrated as devices were thrust into their faces by desperate fans. Rick pushed our way to a lone Rick standing guard, flashing his black card again and speaking in low tones. Whatever he said must have had an effect as the Rick dropped the rope, allowing Rick and I through to the back door and into the cavernous theater.

Seats were squashed together as aliens milled into the theater, finding their seats. Rick moved around them deftly, pulling me behind him to a small door by the stage where we were met with a bored looking Morty who let us pass after Rick flashed his card at him again.

“So is that just a ‘get whatever the fuck you want’ card?” I asked as the door to backstage closed behind me with a soft click.

“I guess you could call it that. I used to be in here all the time. I’m an Ultra member here.”

“Where in the hell is all this money coming from?” I demanded, quietly jealous of Rick’s seemingly endless supply of income.

“W-Well, you see- I’ve made some things that- W-Well- You remember Scar, right?” he stammered, running his hand through his hair.

“Yes…” I drew out, ignoring the ache that echoed through my chest at the memory of the Rick that saved my life.

“Well, I d-did that- I DO that a lot,” he said, shifting awkwardly before returning his hand to his hair.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so while I may not have a lot of Earth’s currency, I do pretty damn well otherwise,” he explained hesitantly as we approached a large door with a star bedazzled to it. Rick knocked that same knock he used on Scar’s door, tapping his foot impatiently before the door swung open to reveal another Rick that made my jaw drop.

“Rick N-682, as I fucking live and breathe,” he smirked, shaking Rick’s hand before his gaze rested on me. This Rick was a sight to behold. His loose blue tank top dipped lazily down to his jeans, giving me a tantalizing view of his navel. I pulled my eyes away from his skull belt buckle long enough to notice how much younger than my Rick, confirming his claims about time’s effect, or lack thereof, here. He nodded in acknowledgement at me before leading us into his dressing room, a small grin playing on his cheek. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, drinking in his every movement as he talked caught up with Rick.

“I see you haven’t changed,” Rick remarked, his eyes tracing to a closed door before meeting the other Rick’s gaze. “This is my Nova, by the way. Nova, this is Rick F-287.”

“Just call me Ricky, it’s a lot easier,” the much more laid back version of my Rick assured me.

“Oh! Another Nova!” a voice called out from another room. My reverie was broken when another… me appeared out of a makeshift bedroom wearing an excited look and more fishnets and dark makeup than I’ve ever owned. I felt out of place in comparison to her relaxed wear but I had to admit, I looked fucking hot. 

“Baby, why don’t you don’t you introduce her to the others,” her Rick suggested, gesturing behind her.

“Oh! Sure, come with me,” Punk Nova grinned, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind her. I spared one last fleeting glance back at my Rick before she closed the door behind us..

The ‘Others’ it turned out was more… Novas. This Rick had a veritable harem of Novas just hanging out in his dressing room. My vision spun at the sight of them, my knees going weak before Punk Nova grabbed me by my shoulder and led me over to the couch.

“You okay?” a Nova with bright pink hair asked urgently, coming to rest at my side. She was a stark contrast to the punk Nova who led me in here, wearing a tight lilac t-shirt with the Flesh Curtains plastered on the front with a short blue skirt and neon makeup. My tunnel vision was becoming worse as I stared into her face blankly. It felt like I was looking through one of those filters Madi had on her phone but I could feel her hand on my back rubbing soothingly.

“Seriously, P-465?” another Nova with long dark hair chimed in, pulling her away to give me space to breathe. 

“Goddammit, Kat. It’s Pinkie. You know that,” she reared back at annoyed looking version of me.

“K-Kat? P-Pinkie?” I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. “Y-Y-You’re not Novas?”

“It’s only fucking Pinkie when you’re not on my last goddamn nerve,” Kat retorted before looking back at me with a sigh. “No, we’re Novas. We’ve adopted nicknames so we can keep each other straight. It gets old when some says Nova and five people respond.”

“Y-Y-Yea, makes total sense,” I nodded numbly. “W-What are you all doing here?”

“Why don’t you just get your head on straight, first,” Punk Nova said comfortingly. “I’m Riff, by the way. That’s Harley-” she pointed to a fourth Nova with red and black hair “-and fuck knows where Norma went. She’s new around these parts.”

“S-So, you guys are h-here because you want to be r-r-right?”

“Of course we are! We lost our Ricks, so Ricky takes care of us,” Pinkie gushed, staring at the door. My stomach churned at her infatuation with the rockstar, knowing exactly which dark part of me that stemmed from.

“Ugh, she makes it sound so weird,” Kat groaned, glaring at the pink haired version of her. “My Rick blew himself up, so I tried to go to the Citadel for help because I was heartbroken. They couldn’t help but they sent me to… him. He took me in and he does take care of me but it’s not how Pinkie makes it sound. I’m not helpless without him. I just didn’t want to… be without him.”

“I’m sorry I love him, Kat,” Pinkie shot coldly, “I don’t want him to think I’m taking him for granted.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Riff swore, “just shut the fuck up Pinkie.”

“Rick knows how I feel about him,” Kat hissed, advancing toward Pinkie.

“Kat, don’t.” Riff tried to mediate between the two but the fury in Kat’s eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen in the mirror. “She’s not worth it.”

“You know he hates it when you two fight,” Harley groaned, finally pulling her nose out of the book she’d been reading. “He’s about to go on stage, he doesn’t need you at each other's throats.”

The bickering between the four continued as I watched, unable to believe any of it. How were these girls… me? Sure we were physically identical for the most part but the difference in our personalities was glaring.

“Ladies, ladies,” Ricky mitigated, clapping his hands as he entered the room. My Rick followed closely behind him, the smirk lurking beneath the surface coming to fruition as he met my eye.

“She started it!” Pinkie cried, running into Ricky’s arms. He groaned, pulling her away to look her in the eyes.

“Come on Pinkie,” he growled, “This is just fucking juvenile, you know that right?”

“She kept egging me on,” Kat snarled, standing up defiantly.

“Just- Don’t,” Ricky chastised her, holding up a finger in her direction to silence her. “Pinkie, you need to knock this shit off.”

“I don’t get why she’s here,” Pinkie whined, shooting daggers at Kat.

“N-682, why don’t you and your Nova head out to the balcony seats. I need to take care of this,” Ricky sighed, giving my Rick an apologetic look.

“So that was… weird,” I murmured as we walked back out into the amphitheater to our seats.

“What? Seeing yourself in a thousand different variations?” Rick asked with a grin. “You get used to it.”

“I can’t believe you just let me nose dive into that situation,” I grumbled, shaking my head.

He checked a small sheet of paper that Ricky had given him before pushing through a thick curtain to a small balcony befitted with cozy couches with an excellent view down to the stage. A small group of tittering well-to-do’s were huddled together speaking in low tones, only stopping to lift their piercing gaze to us. Rick shot them a dirty look, pushing past them and flopping down on the couch in front row.

“You would have seen them either way,” he shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the railing, much to the disapproval of the others. “You gonna sit down or what?” 

“Oh shit,” I swore, earning me a dirty look of my own. I sat down on the edge of the couch, back rigid as I fiddled with the hem of my dress. “You know, I think I took our adventures for granted.”

“Oh, did you now?” Rick grinned, raising an eyebrow over at me. “You don’t like your taste of opulence and decadence?”

“Let’s just say, I felt a lot more comfortable in dirty pawn shops and cheap arcades,” I muttered, earning a grin as loudspeaker sounded.

“Hello and welcome guests of Aeon Casino!” an announcer declared as the lights went down and focused on the stage. “Tonight we have a special treat for you, brand new material from the Flesh Curtain’s new album ‘Pushing Buttons’!”

Three figures emerged onto the stage, the crowd roaring with excitement at the sight of them. I recognized Rick immediately but he was joined by what looked like a large bird and a cat. I turned to Rick, my brow furrowed.

“Birdperson and Squanchy,” he shouted over the crowd. “Come on Nova, can’t you just relax and have a little fun?” he asked, pulling me back onto the couch and putting his arm around me. I let out a sigh, trying to emulate the same devil-may-care attitude Rick always had but the eruption of the crowd as the Rick on stage grabbed the mic set me right back on edge. Rick noticed my stiffened demeanor, pulling me in closer and kissing the top of my head.

“What’s up, you pieces of shit!?” Ricky screamed into the mic, surveying the crowd with a smug grin as they roared in delight before passing the mic back to Birdperson.

“Thank you for joining us tonight,” Birdperson said, his voice monotone. I raised an eyebrow at Rick but only received a gentle headshake in response, his eyes trained on the group down below. 

The music was loud and abrasive but I had to admit, I loved it. The group of snobs behind us finally started letting loose as the show went on and they downed drink after drink. They even started sending drinks our way, much to Rick’s delight. When our drinks emptied, another appeared in its place, courtesy of our new friends behind us. Soon enough, one of the women with them grabbed my hand and pulled me in close, dancing sloppily as Rick watched with a bemused grin. My ears were ringing and my cheeks hurt from grinning but I was finally feeling relaxed. No one to judge as I danced and drank, Rick even joining in.

“Squanch you and good night!” the cat on drums shouted before letting out one final drum solo. The show lasted three hours but it truly felt like no time had passed. A large alien bodyguard appeared in our archway, informing Rick and I that Ricky wanted us to come back by his dressing room for an after party. I thanked the group behind before Rick and I followed the creature back down the hallways, pushing through a sea of screaming fans that were just desperate for a glimpse of the band they seemed to live their lives by.

“N-682! You made it!” Ricky shouted, tripping over a large bag of empty beer bottles as Rick pushed his way into the dressing room. While it hadn’t been necessarily clean before, it was truly trashed now. The door to the bedroom had been ripped off its hinges, leaving a perfect view of the Novas doing a line with Squanchy. A group of aliens were spread out on the floor, countless bottles surrounding them as they told stories of antics past while Birdperson sat rigidly in a corner chair, his foot calmly tapping to the beat of the music blasting out of the stereo next to him.

“Rick,” he said evenly, “it is good to see you.”

“‘Pers, my man. Always a pleasure,” Rick said, playfully smacking Birdperson’s shoulder before pulling up a chair next to him. This left me standing awkwardly in the doorway holding my arm and wishing I could just go home or at least back to the room. I opened my mouth to tell Rick but Ricky grabbed my elbow gently.

“Hey, yo*uuurp*u okay?” he asked softly, wearing a look of concern I’d only really seen on my Rick.

“Y-Y-Yeah,” I stammered, shifting nervously and giving my lie away. “I’m just not really good in… social settings, I guess. Plus I’m a little drunk and I’m not even sure why I’m admitting it but here we are.” Ricky chuckled at my rambling but said nothing, nodding over at my Rick and leading me away from the din of the party guests. He opened a door, finding the room occupied by creatures in what looked like a compromising position, slamming it shut quickly as he continued his hunt for somewhere quiet. He finally circled back, going to the only door he had skipped, opening it with an apologetic look.

“Sorry this might not be ideal.”

“This is a bathroom with fresh vomit,” I grinned, holding my fingers under my nose to block most of the smell. The toilet was overflowing with vomit and the sink had its fair share as well. Now this is what I was accustomed to when it came to adventuring with Rick. Dirty surroundings and smells I’d rather not be smelling. I could feel the tension melting away from my shoulders already.

“S-Somehow it doesn’t seem to be bothering you all the much,” he remarked, flushing the toilet fruitlessly.

“This is what my life usually consists of,” I shrugged, “Hell, you get me out of this dress and into some running shoes and I’ll be top of my game.”

He raised an eyebrow, disappearing for a moment and returning with a change of clothes. He held them through the doorway, giving me the privacy to change. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out of the heels and into a black pair of running shoes. I was grateful to get out of the dress, no matter how beautiful it was and into a pair of leggings and Flesh Curtains tank top. I peeked around the door to find Ricky coming back down the hall with a large bottle and two red cups.

“Oh no, no, no,” I grinned, stepping away from him. “I’ve seen how this timeline goes, a bottle and two cups never ends well for me.”

“Oh come on, Nova,” Ricky grinned, pouring a shot into the cup and handing it over to me. “You said you were already drunk. I think that ships sailed.” I considered a moment, biting my lip to fight back the grin playing on my cheek as I stared at the cup.

“How does alcohol even get you drunk here anyway?” I asked, eyeing the bottle. “Rick said there were no consequences here.”

“Nova, this is a fucking casino. Without booze, this place would be entirely pointless.” 

“Alright then, fine,” I relented, taking the cup and trying to fight the grin spreading over my face. I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was because he was Rick, even if it was just a different version of him. Maybe it was just the fact he was so kind.

“I knew you’d see reason,” he grinned again, drinking straight from the bottle.

“So why in the hell are you being so nice to me?” I asked, sputtering from the liquor. He raised an eyebrow at me in confusion so I continued, “Like, I’ve been on the Citadel enough for twelve lifetimes. The Ricks there don’t seem to care much about Nova’s there. There was one ready to kill me just to kill my Rick.”

“Oh, damn. I dunno. I like Novas,” he shrugged, pouring us each another shot. “I’m sure your Rick would say I’ve become soft with fame, but I just don’t like seeing Nova’s upset.”

“My Rick would say he’s become soft,” I snorted, taking another drink. “So why do you have a veritable harem here?”

“H-Harem?” he coughed, choking on his drink. “Do you think I keep them around to just fuck them constantly?”

“Well, I mean… what else you be doing with them?”

“Treating them like human fucking beings? If a Nova I meet doesn’t want to sleep with me but needs somewhere to go, I help them. It’s pretty fucking cut and dry,” he explained, “Some stick around, like Pinkie, but some will inevitably move on, like Riff or Kat. I’m a fucking millionaire. I can swing it.”

“But, you’re a Rick, right?” I asked, holding my cup out for more. “From what I’ve come to understand, Ricks don’t do anything without there being a benefit to them.”

“Look, I mean, whatever benefits I get from being around a sea of Novas is inconsequential,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck before downing the rest of his drink.

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Who told you that, anyway? That’s a pretty depressing way to view a guy who’s supposed to lo-care about you.”

“My Morty,” I shrugged, sliding down against the wall. “He’s been, uh, pretty insistent on it lately. He wants me to just leave Rick and just go after someone better.”

“Ugh, Morties,” he grimaced, “Look, don’t listen to that twat. He really doesn’t know shit about shit.”

“Agree to disagree on that one, compadre,” I dismissed lazily, my limbs becoming far heavier than I remembered. “W-Where is Rick, anyway?” 

“He was out there talking to Birdperson last I saw,” he reassured me, sliding down against the wall next to me.

“H-He isn’t worried about where I disappeared to?” I slurred sadly, offering my cup back over to Ricky.

“Come on, sweetheart, he knows I’m with you,” he chastised me.

“H-H-How does he know you’re not in here making moves on me or whatever?”

“Because he knows I’m not one of those Ricks,” he growled. “You really don’t trust how he feels about you do you?”

“Wh-Why should I? He never says anything either way,” I mourned, downing the shot and quickly asking for another.

“Look, I can’t speak for your relationship, but I know that Rick. He was one of the first ones I met when the Citadel formed. There are Ricks out there that don’t care about their Novas. Hell, I heard about one a couple months back who let his Nova overdose because if she couldn’t keep up, then she wasn’t all she was chalked up to be. Do you really think that sounds like the guy you’re with?”

“No,” I admitted shamefully, my head drooping slightly as the alcohol weighed it down. “I’ve just been through a lot-”

“Y-Y-You don’t have to launch into the story, I know it all too well,” Ricky stopped me quickly, holding up a hand. “We Ricks aren’t good with the whole… emotional openness garbage. There are a couple oddballs out there but if you think you’re going to get some soft ‘I’ll love you until the end of time’ crap, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

I didn’t respond, staring into the murky liquid. Ricky didn’t push me, allowing me to lose myself in my thoughts for what seemed like hours until my eyelids started drooping. I felt Ricky push past me gently, pulling the door out and disappearing through it before I lost the fight and let my eyelids slam shut.

“N-Nova. H-Hey Nova, come on. Let me help you up, sweetheart. Let’s go home,” a gruff voice murmured. I could feel my limbs being tugged softly as they were pulled over a set of shoulders as I was brought back up to my feet. “Come on, baby, I’ve got you.”

 “Wh-Wh-What happened?” I asked, trying to open my eyes. “Where am I? Wh-Who are you?”

“Oh jesus, you really got fucked up,” he chuckled, adjusting fruitlessly over his shoulders before letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is not fucking working. Nova, baby, I need you to hold onto me as tight as you can, okay?”

“O-Okay, mystery man,” I giggled. My arm was brought back around his neck, only for him to lift me up, bridal style. I tried to open my eyes again and caught a glimpse of blue hair before they slid shut again. “Which one are you?”

“I could be any Rick in conceivable existence,” he laughed darkly, “and there would be nothing you could do about it.” I recoiled away from him, trying to fight my way out his embrace to no avail. “Jesus Nova, I was joking. It’s me- I’m your Rick,” he groaned, pulling me in tighter. 

“Oh, good,” I nodded, tucking my head back into his chest. The rhythmic bounce of each step lulled me into a complacent state and by the time he sat me back down, we were in his ship, rocketing through space. 

It was dark when finally landed back in the driveway. Most of the alcohol had left my system, leaving me with a throbbing headache and parched throat. Rick pushed his door over, making his way over to my side to pull me out himself.

“Oh shit, you’re awake.” His voice was husky as he surveyed my lazy form, chuckling to himself before walking over to his workbench. He started mixing chemicals, testing his concoction by taste until it seemed to be satisfying enough. He brought his finished product back over to me, offering it to me.

“No offense, but what the fuck is that?” I asked bluntly.

“L-Look- Just drink it okay? Your fuckin’ head hurts right? This will make it stop.”

I grabbed the cup out of his hand, smelling it once for good measure before downing it. The taste was vile but the pain in my head and stomach stopped up instantly as my vision cleared up. I pulled myself out of the ship, surprised to find my legs steady as I stood up.

“Wh-What was in that?”

“It’s just my hangover cure,” he shrugged. “It’s been saving my ass over the last twenty years.”

“Thanks, Rick,” I murmured, moving closer to him. “For everything. I had a lot of fun.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem,” he stammered, his voice gravelly as he rested his hand on the small of my back. 

My head may have been cleared up by his “cure” but being this close to him was intoxicating all on its own. I bit my lip as I looked up at him, earning me a low growl as he pressed his lips to mind, kissing me desperately. I returned his kiss eagerly, pulling him closer to me. He picked me up with ease, carrying me over his workbench.

“Are you sure you wanna do this out here?” I breathed, breaking the kiss to both of our frustration. “Beth-”

“Beth’s asleep,” he growled, reclaiming my lips. I wanted to continue arguing but his wandering hands pushed the thought right out of my mind. He worked his hand up under my shirt, pleased to find no bra underneath. My breast was cupped in one hand while the other worked its way into my hair, curling around my hair to pull my head away from him. My neck exposed, he watched me squirm underneath of him. I was completely under his control and he was enjoying every moment of it.

“R-Rick- Rick please,” I begged softly, desperate for stimulation of any kind.

“All in good time, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear, lingering just inches away. “What do you want me to do to you, Nova? Tell me what you want.”

“R-Rick, I-”

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

“I want- I want you, please,” I cried desperately, “I want you so fucking bad.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know that,” he chuckled darkly. “I want to know what you want me to do to you right now. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to make you scream my name until you forget your own?”

“Jesus, fuck yes, Rick,” I gasped, biting my lip again. He growled softly at the sight, panting softly as he dropped his hand from my breast, searching instead for the warmth below. He traced his fingers around my thighs, making sure to avoid the most sensitive area.

“So you want me to slide my cock in right here?” he asked, tracing a large circle around the throbbing mound between my legs.

“I need it,” I pleaded, clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer.

“Who am I to deny you?” he cooed in my ear, releasing my hair and gripping the sides of my yoga pants. He tossed them to the side as the cool air swirled around my exposed lower half. I shivered as I watched him unbuckle his pants, letting them fall lazily to ground as he pushed his way between my thighs. He dragged the tip of his cock up and down my moist slit.

“Oh Rick, oh fuck,” I murmured, my hands firmly rooted on his shoulders.

“Say my fucking name, Nova. Let the neighbors know who’s fucking you,” he growled, continuing his assault on my clit to torturous effect.

“Rick!” I moaned. At my compliance he slid the tip in, sliding it in and out slowly.

“Louder, Nova. I don’t think they heard you,” he ordered, his voice being over by a slight pant.

“Fuck, Rick! It’s you! Rick fucking Sanchez!” I shouted, letting my head fall back. He slammed into me finally as I continued screaming his name as loud as I possibly could. I released his shoulders, laying back on the table and pulling my knees into my chest. He quickened his pace, using his thumb to massage my clit gently.

“Fuck, Nova,” he panted as he buried himself in me, “You feel fucking amazing.”

I could feel my orgasm building, only moments from my release as he fell into a steady rhythm. I would have made there had it not been for the garage door swinging open, slamming into the dryer behind it.

“God fucking dammit, Dad!” Beth bellowed, shielding her eyes from the sight of her father burying his cock into her best friend. “I cannot fucking do this anymore, you guys need to stop!”

“H-Hold on, honey,” Rick grunted, quickening his pace.

“R-Rick, no- Stop,” I insisted, pushing him away from me. He conceded, pulling out of me and bending down to pull his pants up.

“What the fuck do you want, Beth?” he snarled, turning to face his daughter, taking care to shield my exposed form. I looked around desperately for my pants only to find them dangling haphazardly on the Meeseeks box.

“I want this to fucking stop,” she demanded, avoiding my gaze. “You’re waking up the entire fucking house. I sure as fuck don’t want to hear it.”

“B-Beth, I-I’m sorry,” I blushed, pulling my shirt down as much as possible.

“You know what, I don’t want to fucking hear it, Nova. Your daughter is asleep in this house,” she hissed, finally meeting my gaze. A look of fury I had never seen before distorted her features as she glared at me, turning to disgust as her eyes drifted downward. “Dad, you need to stop this, now. Nova, it might be time for you to start looking for somewhere else to live.”

“B-Beth, wait- please, no,” I begged, tears streaking down my cheeks.

“You know, I’m starting to think Jerry was right about you two,” Beth said coldly, “I thought I was okay with it when it meant Dad would stay but I was wrong. What you’re doing with him is wrong. He’s my fucking father, you sick fucking bitch,”

“Jesus fucking christ Beth, stop,” Rick cut in, advancing toward her. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that.”

“Why not?” she asked hysterically. “You two didn’t consider my feelings in the situation. I’m just supposed to be okay with it? Even when the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach?”

“Your fucking hangups are not our problems,” Rick snarled. He grabbed my pants off of the shelf, tossing them back to me. I slipped them on quickly and pushed past Rick.

“Beth, I’m sorry. We were really inconsiderate, I’m so fucking sorry.” I pleaded with my friend to see reason but the cold, clinical disgust in her eyes assured me it was a lost cause.

“You need to leave,” she repeated coldly. “Madison can stay here until you have somewhere to go but I suggest you go back to your house tonight. I don’t want to see you here in the morning.”

“Beth, she’s not going anywhere-”

“No, Rick. It’s fine,” I conceded, wiping the tears away as I pushed the garage door opener.

“No, Nova. You’re not going anywhere,” he roared, pushing the button again. “I-I can fix this.” He started digging through the drawers at his workbench, finally extracting a large gun with two discs. He pushed a couple buttons before aiming it at Beth, pulling the trigger. She crumpled to the floor, eyes glazed over.

“Rick! What did you do to her?” I asked, horrified. “Did you kill Beth?!”

“Wh-What? No?” he retorted, insulted by the accusation. “I just erase the last half an hour from her memory. I’m going to put her back in her bed, when she wakes up she won’t remember any of this.” He pulled a vial from the device, loading it with another before sitting it down on his workbench.

“S-So, everything’s okay now?” I asked numbly. He nodded quickly, pulling Beth over his shoulder. “I’m just- I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Y-You okay?” he asked, stopping at the door to face me.

“I-I’m fine,” I murmured, pushing past him. I couldn’t get Beth’s words out of my head as I went into my room, locking the door behind me before collapsing in my bed.

“He’s my fucking father, you sick bitch.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time for me to leave.

[technicallymilkshakes]

Nobody Like You (Part 9)

AU Fic Lay x Reader

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

           You had propelled yourself a step away from the bed a moment before a disheveled-looking Suho burst into the room.

             “What—” he was asking before his eyes scrawled over the atmosphere between Lay and you, from the abandoned washcloth bleeding the covers into a darker purple to the tension as visible as a scream written in size 72 font. He hastened to the bedside.

             While you were still a bit shaken from the encounter, Lay was decidedly the worse off of the two of you. The covers had slipped back down to his waist, an arm flung haphazardly in your direction, and he was pale and breathing harder than he had any right to be.

             “Yixing…” Suho spoke in a low tone. His hand hovered uncertainly in the air above the collapsed figure before settling a tentative hold on his shoulder.

             With part of your view blocked by the solid presence of Suho, you could only make out Lay’s eyes bursting open and his chest inflating in a gasp before he was curling away to the opposite side of the bed. A low groan rose up into the room before sinking into your ears, a dull ache of noise. Suho climbed onto the mattress and shuffled towards the center on his knees. But when he tried to pull Lay back flush with the bed, the other jerked in his grasp, screaming as he arched away.

             You jolted. “What did you do?” you hissed, taking a step forward.

             Suho didn’t spare you a glance. “Stay there,” he warned you as he bent to gather the covers. You caught a glimpse of the upper half of Lay’s back in the intervening moment. Tremors wormed their way over his body like live things.

             Dragging his armful of blanket up, Suho managed to carefully swaddle Lay back up in the covers without another outburst. You took a deep breath in, suddenly aware of the gravity of your attention. Similarly affected, Suho had slumped forward, head resting against Lay’s arm.

             “He seems to have gotten a lot worse all of a sudden.” Your words came out hesitant and measured, too aware that you were bestowing the gift of them on a fragile surface. “Don’t you think we should take him to the hospital?”

             The sheets rustled as Suho shook his head.

             “No.” He lifted himself then before turning enough to finally meet your eyes. “Lay… He really doesn’t like hospitals.”

             “But—”

             Suho shook his head again. “No hospitals. He’d make himself worse if we took him there. He’ll be okay.” He hunched over Lay, hands cuffed around the other’s forearms like he was trying to physically impress the will behind his words into him. “I’ll be here. I can take care of him.” He shot a wan smile over his shoulder at you. “In the meantime, you should go home, get some rest yourself.” Arching an eyebrow, he continued, “As I recall, it wasn’t too long ago that you weren’t feeling so good yourself.”

             You scoffed. “This and that are two completely different things. I was never this bad.” You dithered for a moment, conscious that you had been given a gentle dismissal and that you weren’t familiar enough to contest it.

             “I can stop in tomorrow,” you offered. “After work. Help look after him. I was probably the one who got him sick anyways.”

             The smile that Suho sent you this time was more genuine than the last, but something indecipherable lingered in his eyes. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Knowing him, he’ll have made a full recovery by the morning. There might be no need.” His soft laughter slowly dissipated. “But I’ll let you know. Thank you, Touli.”

             You nodded and before you could lose your nerve, you strode over to the other side of the bed where you leaned down to press your lips against Lay’s cheek.

             “Get well soon,” you whispered and then you hurried out of the room in the hopes of leaving your embarrassment behind.

              The late night hum of the bus lulled you into a state of contemplation. Most of the passengers were on their phones or listening to music. One couple in the back spoke in muted tones, their hushed laughter wafting to you every now and then. In the midst of your worry over Lay, it was only now, bags situated on your lap, thigh occasionally brushing against the stranger’s next to you, that you recalled what had set off the entire incident.

             You shifted the bags on your lap and brought your right hand forward for discrete examination.

          The dueling natures of the seeping dark outside your window and the overhead fluorescent lights created a soft haze over your vision. Even then, it was clear that the green vines that grew from Lay’s touch had faded completely. By contrast, the band, the one that looked so much like your own ring, glowed against your skin. It looked as if it hadn’t dulled at all.

             As you were bringing your hand closer to your face to see the band properly, long fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist. Startled, you lurched sideways only for your shoulder to hit the partition. Your seatmate, however, remained unperturbed and leaned further into your space.

             “That’s a pretty tattoo.” You dropped your gaze to where your hands were still connected, then back up to his face. The man merely grinned in response. “Mind telling where I could find who did it for you?”

             His brazenness set you off kilter.

             “I…It’s not—”

             You cut yourself off. It’s not a tattoo. That’s what you had been about to say. But what other realistic alternative could you offer? You hardly found it believable yourself that the touch of a singular person could set colors and, apparently, images blooming over your body.

             “It’s not real. It’s temporary.” Not a bad workaround. You hadn’t exactly lied. Although, sending a dubious glance to the band, you were a little less certain of the temporary bit than you had been before. This one was being pretty stubborn.  

             “Really?” He remarked in a blasé tone. “But it looks so real.” He raised his other hand and ran a fingertip over the skin the band curled along. Just a fleeting brush of skin on skin and then he released you, fingers and hand and all.

             He stood up.

             “This is my stop.” There was a wry twist to his lips, eyes staring into your own for another long moment before his demeanor shifted. He gave you a sudden bright, open-mouthed smile and waved while moving backwards, brown hair flopping into his eyes. “It was nice catching up with you, seat mate! See you later! Byebye!” And then he was disembarking and people were boarding and the bus was moving and only you remained frozen. Because when he had touched you, the entire thing had lit up.

             Turning you hand back and forth, the blue knot caught and trapped the light as if it were a real gem. The black knots glimmered. The silver of the band glinted as if it were real metal. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing over the finger, searching for a raised edge, a proper object that you could pull off your finger and analyze for an aeon. But your fingers came away with nothing but the trace of smooth skin and a vague disappointment.

             A flicker drew your eye. Incredulous, you watched as a lone tendril of silver unraveled from the band. While it continued to unwind, the opposite point, where it had first broken off, began to blacken. The black slowly spread until it reached the band proper and the tendril stopped unwinding, leaving behind a loose thread of black that moved gently across your skin.

             Unable to curb the impulse, you tried to pluck the thread up between your fingers, but when you felt the subtle drag of material between thumb and forefinger, you nearly dropped it in surprise. You maneuvered the thread so that it stretched over your palm, staring all the while. This hadn’t happened before. Just to double-check, you brushed the back of your knuckles against the imposter ring.

             Nothing.

             You returned to the thread, rolling it between your fingers. It was light and cool to the touch, but it didn’t have the same textured quality of any material you were familiar with. If anything, it most resembled what you imagined a pliable, moldable liquid would feel like.

             Over the course of the next four stops it took you to get to your own departing point, you played with the thread, coiling it up, squishing it, dropping it and watching it flutter from the slight breeze of the aircon, everything short of pulling it. You had an odd feeling that that short of thing might be best left for a more private space.

             Two other people got off at your stop. There was a slight bite to the air which encouraged you to get home all the faster. You folded your arms and stuck your hands under your armpits and scuttled as quickly as you could to your building.

             Even before you unlocked the door, you were toeing off your shoes. You flicked the lights on with your elbow and then set the bags on the counter, staring at the brown gift bag in particular. Somehow, in all the tumult of today’s events, you had forgotten your main mission. All you had wanted to do was give Lay a gift. Something to show your appreciation for the lengths he had gone to for you and to show that you had something to contribute to your… whatever it was that was going on between the two of you. And a cell phone, simple and pre-paid as it was, had seemed like just the ticket. At least this way you would know the messages you sent actually went to the right recipient rather than a 50/50 toss up between Lay and Suho. It was ideal, in fact. Suho got his phone back, Lay got a new phone, and you got a secure line of communication with him, which meant you no longer had to walk unsuspecting into offices only to be told by the resident Grumpy Face that Much Nicer Face wasn’t even on the premises. You could call or text first to check. Yes, phones were wonderful things indeed.

             But now here you were, gift ungiven, intended receiver sick in bed with a caretaker who had spurned your help, and a thread magically growing out of your skin.

             You groaned and face planted onto your bed.

             No, this was nothing like what you had expected.

             You rolled around in bed, hoping to bury all of your frustrations in the plushness of your overstuffed comforter. After a minute of this, you flopped onto your back, limbs spread out like a starfish, diligently scattering your concerns into places far enough away they wouldn’t bother you for the moment.

             It might be a very bad idea, true. Who knew what might happen if you pulled on it? Perhaps your skin might peel off with it. Perhaps the thread would only break off. Perhaps nothing. But you would never know unless you tried, would you, and you were so very tired of waiting around doing nothing while hoping still that something might change.

             Your hand edged into view. The thread was long enough that it dangled halfway down your palm. It stirred lethargically in time with your inhales and exhales.

            This time, curiosity and impatience won out over any trepidation. You once again grasped the thread and pulled.  

A/N: I’ve missed you.

[spicynbachili1]

Aeon Of Sands has the smartest opening

Oh! We survived Apocalypse Day! However what worlds are right here to greet us on Put up-Apocalypse Day as we stagger, blinking, into the sunshine?

I doubt it’s simply me who finds it extremely onerous to absorb the infodump that begins most video games. I attempt! I learn, “It was the ultimate day of the third season of the Sharmani, so Reslator gathered his bag and made his means down the Triamblate Path…” and I’m already simply watching letters, not absorbing info. It’s simply made up names in made up locations doing made up issues, and I’ve no probability by any means of retaining it, and worse, understanding it in context when the motion begins.

Which makes the opening of post-apocalyptic blobber Aeon Of Sands, due out early subsequent month, some of the sensible items of design I’ve seen in eternally.

From the very starting the sport provides you selections over the way you need to method receiving info. You will be extraordinarily mercenary in the beginning, responding to its extraordinarily plain description of the opening scene by asking for a extra poetic introduction, fast and soiled, or skip it altogether since you already know. Decide the primary possibility and it dives head first into some splendidly flowery purple prose:

“As the primary solar, the Giving Lord, leaves the embrace of the ever-changing hazes on the far horizon, solely the gulfs of shadow forged by the sacred bushes give some shelter from the warmth to the individuals of the desert, and solely the glass domes defend them from the colossal winds.”

To which the one obtainable response is,

“OK, possibly an excessive amount of ‘poetry’.”

The sport carries on, saying,

“But, of late, on the branchways of Pantella, suspended on the tall arms of the Kinami tree and worming between its roots, a obscure disquiet walks among the many individuals, and cautious eyes look suspiciously on the shadows.”

To which you reply, “Sketchy sufficient?” And sure, certainly, I’ve taken not a single phrase of it in. But it continues,

“On the daybreak of the Harsh Grasp, the second solar, a sleepy clerk named Setrani is unceremoniously dropped at the home of Cosimo Smith, the pragmatist of the Brown Leaves, the ruling council of the town.”

Which is why I used to be so greatly surprised with delight when it gave me these two choices:

1. Second solar… Nicely, it’s at all times too early to satisfy the council.

2. Wait! Wait! An excessive amount of info there!

TWO! Oh my goodness, sure, two! I didn’t get a little bit of it, forgot everybody’s names already, and keep in mind one thing a few tree? Click on it and it says “No worries,” and that it’ll again up just a little. After which, within the plain English I so crave when beginning out in a world I’ve but to expertise, it says:

“You play the function of Setrani, a metropolis clerk.

His metropolis is Pantella, an remoted metropolis constructed upon a large tree, Kinami.

All of that is lined by a large glass dome.”

“Okay, however why?” you reply. And it continues, explaining clearly concerning the world, the tribes, the raiders, and the way it’s so sizzling due to two suns. “So, don’t decide them if they’ve developed isolationism into an artwork.”

“1. Okay. Pantellans, Setrani, isolationism, verify.”

Oh my goodness, I’ve taken it in.

As you play the sport, this excellent fourth-wall-breaking can proceed! There are highlighted dialogue choices that may demand the all-powerful narrator step in and clarify phrases you’re having thrown at you, or simply suck them up and stick with it. Proper in the beginning there’s an awesome second the place you possibly can ask about a few metropolis names associated to a quest you’re being despatched on, and the sport has to confess it doesn’t know as a result of it’s a false errand, you’re by no means going to get there.

“However oh, no matter sort of metropolis they could be, and wherever destiny would toss them on a map, they’d have been magnificent! With a lot of facet quests and adventures.”

Nevertheless it additionally, with some protest, accepts that there are individuals who need to play dungeon crawlers for the motion, and never the story, so insist sufficient that you just simply don’t need to learn the textual content and it’ll say (simply earlier than teasing you with a “recreation over” display screen),

“Yeah, who’d need a to find out about all that crap concerning the story anyway, with all these turns and twists third-rate author pored over for the higher a part of a 12 months?”

You possibly can reply,

“I’ll skip all of the dialogues, laughin’ cruelly at him!”

or,

“Simply give me the gist, will ya?”

Select the previous and it relents!

“Simply pay some consideration to the stock icon on the worldmap whereas touring: when it blinks, a dialogue has awarded you some merchandise, fortunate you!

It additionally suggests,

“You possibly can nonetheless play the sport with out studying the dialogues, simply skip them by clicking on random selections. The sport will take you to some dungeon as an alternative of different ones, however ultimately it’s going to make some sense.”

And extremely, that is simply one of many many various methods it’ll offer you that info, relying upon when you relent at any stage to getting a little bit of the story outlined in a few sentences, or a number of extra, or none by any means. I’ve by no means seen a recreation do any of this so eloquently, and so particularly, whereas sustaining a way of humour about it.

It’s not typically that the opening spiel of a recreation can encourage a complete characteristic, however Aeon of Sands’ fully took me abruptly. Regardless of restarting and restarting to write down this, there are nonetheless avenues I’ve not explored for the way it can introduce itself.

And whereas I definitely wouldn’t need each recreation choosing a Verfremdungseffekt method to the matter, I’d actually prefer to see concepts lifted from it for all sci-fi/fantasy video games. Simply an choice to get a plain English rundown of all of the flowery lore guff dump in the beginning would make such a distinction. (Or, as I’ve beforehand argued, simply reveal your story by means of the precise play, after all.)

Aeon Of Sands – The Path is due out on the 4th December

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/aeon-of-sands-has-the-smartest-opening/

[planar-echoes]

Encounter at the Necropolis (Alara) By Doug Beyer (10/22/08)

The necropolis at Unx was a city's corpse. The stone of its outer walls crumbled day by dismal day, and zombie drudges patched the holes with the dead. The battlements were formed from the ribs of some enormous dead animal, a species almost forgotten on Grixis, something that had once breathed tongues of fire. The bones of the beast jutted through the wall, bleached-white crenellations, as if it wore the city of Unx as its rotting skin.

On the boneheap opposite the necropolis waited a young human woman. Eliza's skin was pale, her neck blotched with a subtle purple, but it retained the taut suppleness of living youth. She was one of few vital humans left on Grixis, and she was determined to remain that way.

Where others of her kind cowered in remote hermitages, squatting like nests of frightened rats before dying to the roving hordes of the undead, she chose to lead. Life as a necromancer baron was tenuous, to be sure, but only with such power on her side could she hope to thwart the whims of the lich lords and demon princes whose dominion spanned from horizon to horizon. Her armies of skeletons and zombie minions were no match for theirs, but she clung to a razor-thin advantage: she was alive.

Eliza's brain still fed on fresh blood. Her lungs still drew true breath. Her body coursed with the flickering quick that only an intact soul could provide. And as her body still lived, her mind was vigorous, too. She hadn't succumbed to the mindless power-lust of the liches or the desperate starvation of the vampires. She wore a necklace of protection and wielded a sword of fire, but in the final reckoning, they were nothing but knick-knacks. Everything she did, she did to protect her beating heart and her living mind. They were her most precious possessions, and her most powerful weapons.

A kathari scout alighted on a pile of bones nearby, its black feathers tattered and irregular. The vulture-like aven bent its neck to look sideways at Eliza. "I bring news, Baron, haaak," it squawked.

"The guardian has moved on?" asked Eliza.

"For now," said the kathari. "The archdemon took the bait, haaak."

She had given Unx's current ruler, an enormous, black-hearted demon, information that would left him defeat the wards of one of the remote human hermitages. It was a cruel wager, with many lives in the balance—dozens of useless deaths could result, and it didn't help Eliza's position if she had just added one more hermitage to the demon's dominion. But the archdemon and his forces would probably just run into the army of Malfegor, to whom she had given the same information. Living heart, living wits.

"But the necropolis is not defenseless," continued the kathari scout. "There is another threat, haaak."

Eliza knew it before the scout told her. "Another army."

"As you say, haaak. They've massed on the opposite side of Unx."

It was a smart move, taking advantage of Eliza's ruse to move in on the nearly-vacant necropolis. It wasn't fair in the slightest. And it was exactly what she would have done.

"It's him, then," she said. Only one mind could be behind the other army, she figured—a lich king so ancient that some said he traced his ancestry to Vithia itself. "So he's come to steal my claim. What's his stance?"

"Aggressive, haaak, but they haven't attacked yet."

"Then he knows we're here," she said. Eliza took off her necklace of protection and handed it to the kathari's talon. "Take this to him. Tell him I want to meet."

"This is a powerful ward," said the kathari. "Why do you shed it, haaak?" The vulture aven cocked its head at her up and down, blinking rapidly, sizing her up. "Oh, I see," it said, gesturing at the sword at her hip. "You offer a pretty token, so that the lich king will agree to meet you face to face, haaak? So you can put your fire-sword through him?"

"Something like that," said Eliza. "Go. And if I see you steal away with that, I'll kill you from here."

"Yes, Baron." The kathari launched up with the necklace, its sickly wings raining dust and ash as it flapped into the air toward the opposing army.

This news was disconcerting. Eliza looked back across her own undead minions, a confused regiment of fleshdolls, skeletal beasts, and shadowy silhouettes. They would never be able to face the raw power of her foe's minions—but retreat was not an option. She needed Unx. Without a constant supply of mana, she couldn't maintain her control over her army, or feed their ravenous appetites. She needed to constantly expand her holdings across the Dregscape, from sea to greasy sea, to fuel her necromancy and maintain her little barony. As long as she could retain her minions, she was protected. And as long as she was protected, she was alive.

One of her fleshdoll minions lurched to her side, its two mouths growling and drooling red ichor. It rolled its many eyes at her, and she nodded almost tenderly toward it. It was hungry—its body needed replacement flesh, and its bloated insides needed to be filled with souls to continue to move. She needed a plan to take Unx. Enchanted sword or no, she was fairly sure that attacking the Traitor King directly wasn't it. The fleshdoll's eyes swiveled expectantly, and she told it what it wanted to hear.

"Get the others ready," Eliza told it. "Form up for war."

It staggered away, its mouths coughing with something approaching glee.

A procession approached from out of the gray haze that drifted along the Dregscape, revealing the full might of Sedris’s army. There were wagons drawn by enormous dreg reavers. There were swarms of kathari, living and undead, swirling above. There were zombified giants carrying jagged blades made of teeth. Her foe's army made crunching sounds as they halted their progress on the boneheaps before her.

Double-height doors parted on the largest coach, and from the darkness within, a tonguelike tendril of flesh unfolded, extending from the doorway to the ground. The giant-sized figure of the Traitor King appeared from the coach and walked down the fleshy tendril to her.

He stopped before her, but his presence wafted forward like a perfume. He smelled of death and power, the stench of thousands of souls consumed in an aeon-spanning campaign of domination. His bearing wrapped around her like a cloak of knives; she felt small. Her knees wanted to buckle, but she forced them straight.

"Sedris," said Eliza, without quavering.

The lich held up her necklace in one bony claw, and then he spoke. His jawbone moved up and down in a mockery of speech, and his voice echoed weirdly, like a living voice that had reverberated down a long tunnel.

"Eliza, my dear," said Sedris. "I got your gift. But you're looking weary, child. I trust you're ready to join forces, to storm this necropolis together?"

"No," said Eliza. "My armies will stay separate, thank you. But we need to negotiate this assault."

"I don't believe you understand, my dear." If Sedris was ever human, there was no scrap of it polluting him. His massive horns reached out toward her as his dead voice echoed. "I'm telling you that your leadership is over. Give your minions the command to serve me. This I order you."

"You can't order me, Sedris. You have no thrall over the living."

The lich took a moment to make an imperious gesture to one of the zombie guards behind him. They advanced on her. Eliza stood back, and put a hand on her sword.

"Come now, there's no need for violence," grinned the lich king.

Eliza scoffed. "Did you think I wouldn't know how this would end? Did you think I hadn't heard the stories of you, traitor?"

"That's enough, child. Come here. I only hope your blood will assuage the pain your words have caused me."

With that, Eliza drew her sword. As it slid from the sheath, it burst into flame—and not the lifeless flicker behind the lich's eyes, but a true fire, made of fury and wildness.

Sedris's grin revealed all his pointed teeth. His voice was the breeze of a glacial cave. "Now we see your true spirit. I am so pleased to see it—it's exactly what I had hoped. Come, then." He dropped his massive war-club, crushing a nearby skeleton minion. "I am unarmed. Do your worst."

Eliza knew that even with its hearty flame, the sword would only scratch the ancient lich—and an attack would only draw her close enough for him to overwhelm her, smother her, and consume her soul. Instead she drew her arm back and, with all her might, flung the sword into the distance toward the necropolis.

Sedris's laugh ricocheted up through his body and out through his nose-hole, his teeth clamped tight. "Your negotiation tactics leave much to be desired," he said somehow, his jaw not budging.

The sword whipped end over end through the air, and hit point-first in the wall of the necropolis, sinking into the crumbling stone between two huge rib-bone crenellations. The hilt of the sword burned with vigor.

Eliza summoned up the last of her mana and uttered her most powerful necromancy spell.

The flame spread out from the sword like a wildfire, promptly ringing the necropolis with red light. A heartbeat later, the stone of the necropolis wall burst, falling away like ash. What it left behind was a mile-long skeleton, its bones suddenly unsullied by masonry. The flame alit on the bones then, spreading across them, filling the spaces between them, conjuring the shape of a being that had once stood with their strength.

"Here is my negotiation, Sedris," said Eliza, her voice strained. She held her arms above her head, locked at the elbows as if she were lifting a heavy load. "Leave Unx now, and I won't burn it, or your armies, to a cinder."

Sedris's grin turned to a scowl as he watched the skeleton-wall flood with flame. The flaming silhouette of a reptilian body formed around the huge skeleton, and the creature began to move.

"You wouldn't do this," said Sedris. "You need Unx as much as.... Don't do this."

"I'd rather see us both perish today, here, than see you take what's mine," said Eliza. Her eye sockets seemed deeper than a moment before, hollow with shadow.

The skeletal fire-dragon unwrapped itself from around the necropolis, and stood with full fury. It spread bony wings that blazed with the magic of the fire-sword. Its eye sockets trained on Sedris, pinning him with the same glare as the young necromancer.

"I'll destroy you all!" Sedris shouted in rage.

A shadowy ghost minion of Sedris's slipped up next to his head and whispered something to him. He glanced at it. It nodded, and slipped away again. He turned to Eliza.

Eliza maintained the necromancy spell as best she could. Her arms had begun to shake.

"I'll go," said Sedris. "I'm told that there's no endgame for me here, not with your little fiery friend. But it's no matter. You'll waste your resources taking Unx, and fighting off the archdemon when it returns, and then you'll be ripe for the picking."

"I look forward to our next meeting then," said Eliza. "Or perhaps I'll see you in Sedraxis."

Sedris sneered, and his nose-hole emitted an inhuman noise. But he turned.

The skeletal fire-dragon roared, sending a gout of flame into the sickly Grixis air. It continued roaring intermittently as Sedris's troops moved off into the distant haze.

Eliza dropped the spell. The charred bones of the dragon tumbled back to the ground around Unx. She fell to the ground as well, heaving with exhaustion.

The kathari scout returned, alighting on one of the boneheaps as before. "You did it, haaak," it said.

"So it seems," breathed Eliza. "Do me a favor, scout?"

"Yes, Baron?"

"Take this necklace." She produced another protection necklace, identical to the one Sedris now possessed. "It will help you follow its twin. Find the way Sedris uses to get into his lair, and report back to me."

"Back at the Keep, at Ilsun Gate, haaak?"

"No. Here," said Eliza. "I'm the baron of Unx now. Troops, form up for battle."

Her heart was pounding from tension and the exertion of her spell, but at least it was still beating.

[bedlamfoundry]

A State Of Trance Episode 885 (#ASOT885) – Armin van Buuren

A State Of Trance Episode 885 (#ASOT885) – Armin van Buuren ▶ https://AStateOfTrance.lnk.to/PLYA Subscribe to Armin van Buuren: http://bit.ly/SubscribeArmin Tracklist #ASOT885: - Armin van Buuren - Intro (00:00:00) - TUNE OF THE WEEK: Armin van Buuren feat. Sam Martin - Wild Wild Son (00:01:37) -   Lifelike & Kris Menace - Discopolis 2.0 (Sander van Doorn Remix) (00:05:49) -   BT & Matt Fax  - The Noetic (00:09:23) -   Cosmic Gate & Jason Ross - Awaken (00:12:49) -   Millennial Vs. Bigtopo & Omar Diaz - Bassa Marea (00:17:23) -   Three Drives - Air Traffic (Maor Levi Remix) (00:20:34) - PROGRESSIVE PICK: Danny Chen - Kudos (00:26:36) -   Purple Haze - Fall in (00:29:54) -   Denis Kenzo - Stay (00:32:37) - Markus Schulz & Smiley - The Dreamers (00:36:04) - Markus Schulz - The Awakening (00:42:57) - Markus Schulz & Adina Butar - Breathe Me To Life (00:46:54) - MatricK - Ethereal (00:49:48) - Omnia feat. Tilde - For The First Time (Ben Gold Remix) (00:51:56) - SERVICE FOR DREAMERS: W&W - Thunder (01:00:01) - Shanti V Deedrah - Valenor (01:02:52) - Beatman & Ludmilla - Shaman (01:04:02) - Alex DiStefano - Fast Forward (01:08:16) - David Forbes pres. Hal Stucker - Stars (John Askew Remix) (01:11:04) - Gary Maguire - Cookie Crumble (Will Atkinson Rework) (01:14:57) - Simon Patterson feat. Lucy Pullin - Fall For You (Cold Blue Remix) (01:18:09) - Artento Divini - Aeon (01:25:56) - Eximinds - Voice Of Angels (01:29:09) - RAM & Susana - Northern Star (01:33:36) - Pure NRG - Chrysalis (01:38:43) - Allen Watts & Talla2xlc - Equinox (01:44:08) - Miroslav Vrlik & Exouler - Immersion (01:46:28) - Assaf - Heliades (01:49:44) - Steve Dekay & Vision X - Damansara (01:54:09) - Warp Brothers - Time & Space (01:57:25) - Armin van Buuren - Outro (02:01:35) Connect with Armin van Buuren ▶ https://www.instagram.com/arminvanbuuren ▶ https://www.facebook.com/arminvanbuuren ▶ https://www.twitter.com/arminvanbuuren ▶ https://www.arminvanbuuren.com #ArminvanBuuren #ASOT #ASOT885 #BeFree #BeBeautiful #BeYOU #BeLOVE #BedlamFoundry #IAmBedlam #EDM #Armin #van #Buuren #astateof trance #arminvanbuuren asot #episode885 #asot885 #885 #asotavb885 #Wllatkinson #wildwildson #astateof trance 885 #avb885 #rubenderonde

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

Battle in the floating temple

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

The summoned 2

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

Ready

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

Aeon Purple Haze’s Lance

[no-so-dayly-purplehaze]

💜: Once I color the leviathan and aeon Purple Haze it will be over for you.