#easy to laugh as someone slinkys away

[moshieee]

And here I thought I could avoid falling into the TADC fandom fully if I didn't make an oc... Meet taffy y'all, a slinky dog who just wants to go to bed tbh

Now excuse me while I figure out how to draw these characters...

[munsster]

that everything feeling

A/N: i love s3 and i love s3 steve in his s3 scoops ahoy shorts. so i like basically did a mini s3e7-8 rewrite??? but it’s not serious. and now there's this

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!GN!Reader

Summary: You (Henderson!Reader) despise Steve Harrington, but the end of the world (and your little brother's gang) has other plans for you. 2.6k words

Warnings: season 3 major spoilers (lol), canon-level gore, blood & vomit & drugs, kissing (ew right), fluff, cursing, drugged steve, more kissing & cursing

Steve is basically limp against you, and you have to laugh at how quickly the Russian amphetamines went right to his head and turned him into a walking slinky. Well, more stumbling than walking. You also have to laugh at the awful situation Dustin and his little shit friends left you with: dragging their half-concussed babysitter through the mall rapidly away from a troop of bodybuilder-types foaming at the mouth and hungry for blood.

Speak of the devil, two of the brick shithouses in question—each larger than both you and Steve combined—come barreling against foot traffic in your direction, though not quite at you, which is somewhat of a relief because there’s a chance to escape. Still, your heart is pounding deep in your ears—something that always sends you in a stupid direction. So with your fingers wrapped around Steve’s bright red neckerchief, chanting ‘please be unlocked, please be unlocked’, you yank the door to one of the mall’s storage closets wide open and tug him in after you.

“Woah,” he sighs, putting a hand on his sinking chest, and when you look at him, he’s marveling up at the ceiling, and you’re about to slap him across the face if he utters one more drug-induced adage. “Did I just die? Is this what the afterlife is like?” His eyes go wide as saucers when he turns to stare at you, suddenly bursting with giddy, schoolboy laughter.

You clap your hand over his mouth and guide him deeper into the pitch-black room at the sound of muffled shouting beyond the reinforced plywood door. He trips over a fallen broom, knocking himself off balance enough to instinctively anchor to your waist and slump back against a wall of stocked shelves. And he has the audacity to ‘ouch’ when an empty spray bottle bounces against his skull to the floor.

As much as you’re against Steve Harrington, you do have to give the bastard credit; he has a very natural charm about him that you can’t stay mad at for very long. Which is why you’re going easy on him today: not ribbing him for his reckless abandon and motherly love for the kids. He clearly cares, or else he would’ve let someone else take the hit. I mean, he’s got those gorgeous, brown eyes, all honey in the sun and starry. He hums against your hand and shuts them. But in a frog way, one after the other. And you’re almost relieved. A moment of silence, at last.

“Did you just lick me?”

You flick your hand away and wipe it down his shoulder with a killer glare, and he’s back to laughing his stoned ass off. But your fed up meter is boiling over, and those pairs of boots thudded along a while ago, so you slip your fingers between his and pull him along into the now unlit foodcourt, checking behind you every couple of steps to make sure he’s not facedown on the linoleum. That would be seriously inconsiderate seeing as he’s caked in blood, and it would suck to have to wipe that up on minimum wage.

“Um…” he huffs, tightening his iron grip on your hand and halting to a wavering stop next to the centerpiece fountain. He looks seasick and pale and moist, and you don’t need to hear him to know that when he says, “I’m gonna yak,” he’s being dead serious.

“Oh my God, Steve, you’ve gotta be kidding me”—you’re suddenly panicked when he tugs at the collar of his uniform with his brows drawn taut together—“okay, okay, where are the bathrooms, they’re—holy shit, across the mall. Nevermind—”

“Sink,” he grumbles, finding his shaky footing a few steps ahead of you, hand in clammy hand.

“What?”

“How ‘bout a sink?” He presses on, and you’re compelled to let him drag you around tables and chairs because he feels so sure and set, and you’re not one to deny a bleeding, more-than-slightly intoxicated man. You bare your teeth in a fake, almost worried grin.

“Steve, you’re drugged, where the fuck are we supposed to find a sink”—and in that second, you look up at the flickering LED sign—“Scoops.” From which epiphany, you take the lead, pushing him at the hips around the counter, through the swinging door, straight towards the deep, aluminum sink that he dunks his head into and proceeds to violently spew into.

You take to fiddling around the room, including but not limited to: dragging your finger across the dusty, steel table, opening and closing the service window, and reaching for the top of one of the shelves only for two ice cream scoops to clatter to the floor and scare you shitless.

“Nice,” Steve chuckles, running the faucet and wiping his cupped palm down his chin. He reaches forward and flicks three light switches, illuminating the baby blue room and the storefront with a warm and buzzing fluorescence. You gasp when he spins on his heel.

“You’ve got blood all over you,” you say. Because you knew he got jostled around pretty bad back there, but you didn’t think it would stain his shirt or earn him an insane shiner.

He looks down and shrugs. “Hey, handsome’s gotta do what handsome’s gotta do, okay?”

You roll your eyes and back up through the door to the front and nod him along before ducking down to locate the first aid kit and set it next to the register. “Come here,” you coo, “in the light.”

“Woah, bossy… okay,” he says, following you and bumping his hip against the counter and watching you flip the case open, digging around with both hands. He smiles sweetly when you stick the tip of your tongue out while taking out stacks of paper-sealed supplies, frantically scanning labels and directions.

“Okay,” you huff. You tear a small, white square open between your teeth and unfold the antiseptic wipe seated inside it. In one hand, you hold Steve’s jaw, tugging him closer while the other carefully cleans the blood spattered around his bruised eye. He hisses and latches one hand into the side of your shirt.

In tandem, you both “Sorry!”, and chuckle a little, and he’s still holding your waist, but you’re still holding him and tilting his face toward the light. You open a new parcel and dab the wipe at the cut below his lip. He squints his eyes shut, grunting and shifting his weight slowly.

“D’you want a bandaid for that?”

He shakes his head.

“Just gonna tough it out?”

A blossoming yet stubborn smirk gives him that signature shithead appeal, and you guess it’s conditional when he says, “They don’t call me ‘the king’ for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that anymore.” You let go of him and shove the leftover wipes and bandaids into your pockets.

“Yes, they do.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They so do.”

“Okay, name one person who calls you that.”

He scoffs. “Your brother.”

“Half brother.”

“Whatever,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, “he thinks I’m cool.”

“For your sake, I really hope Dustin respects himself a little more than that.” You crouch down to slide the kit back onto its shelf before popping up and smiling in Steve’s face. And he clenches his jaw, trying not to glance at your lips for too long.

“Wait,” he thinks out loud, “half? Same dad?” And c’mon, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, same mom. And it means you suck, Harrington, and my brother is definitely cooler than you,” you say, eyes suddenly wide and pleading, “don’t tell him I said that.”

“Oh, I’m gonna tell him.”

“Steve, don’t.” You poke his shoulder, and he tosses his head back to laugh. You look so serious, it makes his stomach hurt a little, but he’s glad he can still make you laugh when you look down for a second to hide a smile.

“Fine, fine, I won’t.” He shrugs, and you groan.

“Liar.” You turn to walk away, but before you can even move, your foot slips on the wipe, which would’ve sent you flying backward with a split skull if Steve hadn’t caught you and pulled you hard against his chest.

“Woah, don’t go falling for me now,” he teases. And despite how lighthearted he tries to sound, you can hear the deepset worry in his throat making his voice thick and breathy. “At least let me get changed, yunno, all that blood—”

“Shut up.”

He’s a little confused when he looks at you and you’re clearly not poking for fun. You’re straight-faced, and his stomach churns so delightfully when you curl your fingers into his shoulder. You don’t know if whatever this is is mutual when his eyes go a little glossy and his cheeks blush pink and warm. Your heart is wild and deafening and you think this feeling is nice. Like it could stay this way, and you wouldn’t even question it.

Because in reality, it’s already like this most of the time. Tip-toeing around and teasing each other like you’re some kind of forbidden fruit. Like it wouldn’t be fair to have each other. To care about each other even though you might as well. You might as well when you keep glancing down at his mouth shamelessly. When he brings his hands closer together around your back, there’s nothing louder than your blood like water in your ears.

You don’t even hear yourself whisper, “please,” but Steve sure as hell does.

He nods, feeling the curve of your spine, mapping you out because even though he can’t work a compass, he’s pretty sure you’re his true north. It’s not a hallucination when he leans closer or when you move your fingers so gently up the back of his head.

“Holy shit, there you are!” Dustin hollers, and you let out a heavy breath and draw yourself quickly away from Steve who shuts his eyes and pushes a hand through his hair. You hop over and scoop your brother into your arms. He groans, still patting your back reluctantly and saying, “We gotta go.”

…

Why you’re standing at the top of a hill watching these actual children babble into walkie-talkies is beyond your comprehension. You’re pretty sure even Steve gets it at this point. Though, he does call you over after spending a couple minutes listening to your brother and his staticky lady friend. Which is exactly why you agree and follow him blindly.

“I just need a little help pushing it out of the mud,” he sighs, gesturing over to the Cadillac slowly sinking into the grassy sloped meadow.

“‘Kay.”

He slumps into the driver’s side and pats the seat next to him, urging you to open the door with a sigh and slip into passenger. Turning the key, the car chokes a little before starting up, and Steve reaches across for the back of your seat, putting the car in reverse, and hiding a smile in his shoulder when it easily glides backward a few feet down the hill.

“Well… that was easy,” he mumbles. Your jaw ticks, and you look at him with a stupidly cheeky and incredibly feigned smile. Getting out of the car, you groan up the hill, and Steve fumbles for the door handle after shutting the car off.

“Wait,” he calls, and when you try to ignore him, “Wait!”

“What do you want, Harrington?”

His confidence falters a little with a dent in the soft earth, and you keep walking as if he’s not crazy about you. As if you don’t know and feel the exact same. But you’re sure nobody’s ever been crazy about you before, and this is Steve Harrington you’re dealing with. And then he’s shouting after you.

“Kiss me.”

Even your lungs go silent at that. You pause only for a step, recovering when you hear him get close and shuffle in the grass. What you don’t expect is him jogging far enough to wrap his hand around your wrist and stop you short of the shining horizon of Hawkins.

You turn, and Steve looks insane. Hair mussed, chin split, and eye swelled, but you bite the inside of your cheek because under it all, he’s handsome. More than a young adult boy should be, and when he says, “kiss me,” again, you believe it. He’s charismatic and thoughtful and he loves your brother almost as much as you do, and you wonder what stopped you all these years. Maybe it was impending doom, and now that it’s closer than before, maybe you’re feeling manic.

But maybe that’s okay.

“You’re high,” you whisper, “you don’t know what you want.”

“Come on, don’t do that. You were there when I puked up just about everything, right?” He wants to admit that right now, there’s nothing in his system but you and your smile. You’re in him like a sugar high; he can’t pinpoint the cause, and he knows he’d do it again. No matter how much you’d tease him for being cheesy, he’s serious. And with him looking into you like this, you feel insane. His brown eyes give you the stars and the everything above.

“I know what I want,” he says, squeezing your hand and guiding you closer. This is definitely not spur of the moment, unless this moment has lasted three years. He wants you close. Closer, even, than this, with you hovering like body heat though the night is cold and makes him rethink. But every time he does, he feels the same. “And I think you do, too.”

You reach up to cup the side of his neck, rubbing your thumb along his throat and trying to ignore the way your eyes water and cloud your vision.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking his knuckles under your chin and pecking your temple, finally gathering you in his arms and rubbing your back, leaving another kiss against the crown of your skull. You lift your head, and he chuckles at the smear of blood down the bridge of your nose.

“Oh,” you huff, smiling and wiping your sleeve across your face. But looking up at him makes you feel embarrassed. Batshit and bothered and shy. He looks at you like it’s you. Everything, always.

And you hook your arms around his shoulders and catch his mouth with yours, grinning and going back for another when he holds you tighter than before. Your teeth click a little, but you figure it out, and you feel light at the noises he makes. No more ache and hurt and strain, just his soft lips pressed to yours. Just his palms sliding up your back. Just his smile and yours.

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin shouts from the top of the hill, “I called it—Woo-hoo!” Steve snorts when Erica slaps a five into Dustin’s waiting palm. You look at Steve and even past that to the sky, the open air and its stars. He smiles and kisses the corner of your mouth. You blink and grin before your eyes drift down to Hawkins. And Starcourt.

But your eyes go wide, and its not amazement when you mutter, “Holy shit.”

masterlist

[erodasfishtacos]

I would love to see mlbrry’s reactions to when mama sends him videos or pictures of herself 😏😏😏

So.Fucking.Easy

prompt: ^

warnings: smut

If you enjoy, please like, reblog, comment, recommend, and come talk to me😌

Happ 2nd Day of Eroda Week 💕

-

They’re at a event for the team and Harry, as always is in the spotlight, and he eats it the fuck up with wide smiles and throaty chuckles to the people he’s talking to.

At one point, he’s standing near the bar with a few men and one girl who is making crazy lustful eyes at him (he doesn’t even notice but YN sure as hell does).

It didn’t matter if she had a rock of her finger, a house in both their names, and four of his babies - she was possessive and fuck if that didn’t turn him on.

It’s time to remind him a bit of who he belongs to, she’s sat on a chair near the back of the room - away from the party and pulls out her phone.

She flips through some pictures and videos she took last night before he flew home from San Diego, she knew something like this would come up.

The first picture is explicit - off the start, it’s a shiny blue metallic bullet resting deliciously between her plump folds, her pubic hair grown out a bit and she knew that made him feral.

Harry feels his phone vibrate, pulls it out of his inner suit pocket, and swipes with confusion on his brow - eyes widen like a cartoon character as he looks down at the picture before clicking it off so no one else sees it.

His eyes find hers in mere seconds, when he moves to come to her, she shakes her head and tells him to keep talking to his friends.

Harry’s hand is squeezed tight around the whiskey glass, almost hard enough to crack it as he feels his phone vibrate again.

He has no idea what his colleagues are talking about, the room is fuzzy, and now all he can think about is that picture imprinted in his mind.

This time, he swipes the dimness on his phone until it’s dark and brings the phone closer to his face, it’s another picture.

Her index and middle finger spreading her open, a better view of the small vibrator working against her dewy puffy clit.

Again, he locks his phone and cracks his neck, acting like he’s engaged in the conversation but she can see the arousal creeping up his neck as he swallows hard.

It was just so easy to fuck with him.

When he gets distracted by a big wig coming by and clapping him on the shoulder, YN escapes to the bathroom and locks herself in the single stall.

She’s in a tight, slinky black dress - pulls down the top until her tits spill out and takes a selfie in the mirror - sending it her husband’s way before pulling her top back up.

She wanted to piss him off now.

A bit bummed when she doesn’t get a reply, she startles when there a loud banging on the door, “Open up, now.”

So. Fucking. Easy.

YN decides to play coy, innocent as she replies back, “Occupied!”

The knocks are hard, demanding, she can hear his rings cracking against the wood, “Open this fuckin’ door or I’ll make sure your mouth is occupied the second I see your lips.”

YN flips the lock and steps back, the door bursting open and Harry slamming it shut again, crowds her roughly against the countertop with a hard bite to her lower lips.

“You’re a god damn tease,” He accuses, giving her not time to even breathe before he’s claiming her mouth with a hand gripping the hinge of her jaw to keep her right where he wanted her.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” She manages flippantly through thorough kisses to rile him up even more, hand going to palm at the seam of his dress pants.

“You’re spoiled, I’ve spoiled y’too much,” Harry laughs gruffly, “Give you s’much attention that that minute I look away from you, you start sendin’ me pictures of y’cunt.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy them,” YN smirks, she’s trying to play it cool but watching her husband’s dark expression and rough movements is make her soaked.

She’s not sure how she landed someone so ducking hot, his sharp jaw clenched, green eyes dilated black, and just the way he loomed over like he was staring at a five course meal.

“Of course I enjoyed ‘em. Be a mad man not to enjoy pictures of m’wife’s pretty pussy,” He retorts, his thumb is pressing into her mouth while the other hand is undoing his belt and then zip, “Knees.”

A zip of electricity shoots through her spinal cord at his deep voice and as soon as she has knelt onto the cold tile - he leans down and carelessly tugs her top down until her tits spill out.

“You know what to do, c’mon. Know you know your way around this cock, mama,” Harry encourages, chin tucked against his chest as he stares down in pure rapt at his fucking gorgeous wife.

She doesn’t waste anytime, gripping his base and taking him into her open mouth with her teeth tucked and tongue licking the underside.

“Fuckin’ hell, doll,” Harry groans - he was being way too loud for the setting, anyway walking by outside could have heard and would have known from his distinguishable voice, “S’right, s’good. Know what belongs to you, hm?”

His rings clink against the stone countertop as he grips it for support, knees weak as she doesn’t shows any mercy - bobbing and slurping with barely any finesse, sloppy and carefree just how he liked.

YN was in a mood though.

She wanted to punish him for leaving her, for spending any time away, even if Harry was more loud about it - YN was just as possessive and needy as her counterpart.

And right when his massive hand reaches to weave into her hair, she pushes him back, and quickly stands, “I don’t think you deserve it. You left me for nearly a week.”

YN’s tone makes it sound like he’d gone off to war for a decade, she brushes past him and pulls up her top as he tries to process what’s going on in his horny stupor.

Right when she’s about to unlock the knob, his hand cups the back of her neck tightly and he’s like a predator, he moves quickly and body checks her again the door - front of her pressed tightly again the wood and cheek squished to the side.

“Yeah? I’ve been such a bad husband, huh?” He taunts, his voice becoming dominant and condescending- rare form for him and she’s dripping from it, “S’not like I’m working so that you can have whatever your spoiled arse wants?”

“You don’t spoil me,” YN lies, just to annoy him and she squeaks in surprise when he bites her shoulder as his hands hike her dress around her hips without an ounce of gentleness.

“Mmm. You begged for me to knock you up over and over again. Which out of the kindness of my heart, I gave you four kids,” Harry’s breathing is becoming deeper, heavier as he tightly massages her cheeks before landing a harsh smack.

“Not like you have everything you’ve ever wanted, anything you want - I’ve fucking bend over backwards to give you,” He grits out as he tugs the lace to the side, “All because you take my cock so well, couldn’t get rid of you. Right, mama?”

If it wasn’t so fucking hot, YN would be laughing hysterically because of the dialogue - it was obvious to everyone how bloody obsessed he was with her for a thousand reasons other than her body.

“Not gonna give it to you now, dickhead,” She grunts, when she struggles to try to push him back - he just presses even more of his warm weight on her.

That earns her three smacks.

The echo of skin hitting skin echoing through the small space followed by a throaty moan from YN.

It was insane how much they still wanted each other after all this time.

“Oh no?” Harry hums with a fake pout, tugging his briefs down again, his hand moving to stroke at his thick, long cock, “Too bad. Missed your pretty cunt. Dream about it when I’m away.”

It shouldn’t make her even wetter but it does, his voice is just so syrupy but yet rough, slow but precise as he thinks carefully about his next words.

“Harry,” YN moans breathily, hands flat against the cold door - she can hear the commotion outside of hundreds of people while she’s getting felt up and spanked by her husband.

He pulls at her hair, light pain prickling at her scalp as his lips brush her ears, “What? Now you want to give it to me? No surprise there. Been on by this cock constantly for the past ten years.”

“P-please,” She responds in frustration, pushing her sore bum back against him and hissing when he finally guides himself in - a welcoming twinge of stretching from a little bit without him.

And Harry can’t keep the ‘tough guy’ act on for very long, especially when his wife gets pliant and sweet for him - limbs becoming more malleable and lazy as she tilts her head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Okay, okay. Shush up now,” He murmurs, lips pressed to her temple as he starts a steady rhythm that’s harsh because they don’t have much time, “Let me enjoy this. Fuck, perfect pussy. Best one I’ve ever had.”

YN musters enough bite to hiss out when he presses her harder against the door, “Only one you’ve ever had, don’t forget that.”

“How could I?” He huffs out a laugh, a bit of sweat beading at his brow as he reaches around to thumb harshly at her clit, “Been obsessed with fucking you since the first time you let me.”

“Hurry up,” She moans impatiently, pushing back to met his thirsts, the sound of her bum hitting his pelvis resounding through the room.

Harry can’t help but deliver a few extra powerful stroke as punishment for her attitude but it does the opposite, he hits her spot every single time and it’s not long before she’s letting her forehead meet the wood of the door and letting out a high-pitched moan as she comes.

“There we go. You know s’all for me, yeah?” He coos, letting up on his rubs when she grasps his wrist and halts his movements, “Gonna let fill you up?”

Jesus. Harry was filthy tonight.

“Please,” YN begs pathetically as she drops her weight back on him, he moves to grip her hips and pounds in for another moment before letting out a entirely way too loud moan as he comes.

“Fuck, mama,” Harry groans with a exhausted chuckle, his hand massaging at the little plush of her belly as he catching his breath.

“Mm, this is why I’m not worried when those girls come up to you. Just as needy for me as the day that you first got to stick it in,” She giggles, allowing Harry to wipe her up with a damp paper towel, hand on his shoulder.

His face is pink, the rosiness of his cheeks and the curls slicked against his temple where a dead give away, not to mention how swollen and bright his lips were.

“Never get tired of you, sweet girl. Let’s get home, go see the babies and get a shower. I like when y’get a bit wild like this, give me some material for when I’m alone in the hotel rooms.”

-

🥵

[sadisticyouko]

MAY YOU FEEL THIS WHILE YOU WAKE

TW: stalking, yandere hiei

A/N: was supposed to be a quick drabble but it ended up getting long, I might make a better banner later but I’m literally falling asleep

At exactly the wrong time on exactly the wrong day, Hiei made his appearance known.

You had been bogged down by a strange presence following you for months. Having moved into a new city following a new career, at first you had blamed it on the scenery. Everything was different, so it was natural for you to feel uneasy, wasn’t it?

Except the feeling didn’t fade with time. That uneasy feeling of someone’s eyes roaming the expanse of your body as you jogged along in the park. While you picked out groceries at the store. While you changed into something more comfortable before bed.

You were always being watched. Examined. And it made you uncomfortable.

After a quick few google searches and picking up a few books at the local bookstore, you decided you were being haunted. Unable to tell if the presence was menacing or not, you opted for the safest summoning. A pentagram and some salt crudely drawn on a towel you had set down in the living room.

But no one showed.

After the awkward cleanup, you shelved your books and cleared your history, ultimately deciding that you were lonely.

A date with your forward coworker was easy enough to set up. Even if it tanked, it could open the door to a new friendship, you reasoned with yourself. Uncharacteristicly dolling yourself up for the date, curling your hair, selecting a new slinky dress to show off your curves. The final touch, a bright red crimson lipstick you had been saving for a special occasion. Tonight would be special enough.

That feeling of someone’s prying eyes blended in with a few gawking strangers as you arrived at the bar, getting there a little earlier than your date. While the weight intensified, you had something to blame it on now. The dress, your lipstick, the alcohol. You felt pretty for the first time in this new city and immediately decided that a night out was all you needed all along.

A few guys come up to hit on you while you waited. You managed to score a free drink and easy banter before he had to leave. And suddenly, the bar starts clearing out little by little. Until you and only a select few others are in this once bustling place.

Your head is swimming. Being a lightweight was great for the bill, but not so much otherwise. Your date finally shows, having been held back in traffic, and when he offers to take you home, a hand sliding dangerously low on your back, his other hand groping your waist, you don’t think twice about agreeing.

Someone squeezes your ass as you head out the door, making you jump a little closer into your coworker’s chest. He laughs, and tells you how good you look tonight. But all you can think about is how nothing feels right.

Something feels off.

And then a car door is being slammed shut. There’s some yelling. Your arm is grabbed roughly and yanked away, sending you face first into a surprisingly hard chest and encompassing you in the subtle smell of woodsy oak and campfire.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blurred vision comes into focus, but it’s wrong. Clearly wrong. Because no one can have such bright red eyes for an eye color. No one could look this enchanting as they glared down at you. Mysterious, and somehow, almost safe as he pressed his fingers into your biceps, steadying you against the concrete wall of the parking complex.

“My date,” you murmur, and your own voice feels foreign to this place. It’s too ordinary. Too human to exist in realm where his eyes could exist.

“The fuck were you doing with him?”

His voice is low as he questions you, face so close you can feel the warmth of his breath as it fans your face.

You can only hum in response as the haze takes over you once again. Heavy lids falling shut as your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Idiot.”

And in the dream, you’re swimming in those gleaming crimson eyes. Your image reflected back at you as you peer down into the shimmering water below. A girl standing naked in the center of a pool. A figure walking up behind her. Slowly and slowly coming into view until he’s directly behind her. Directly behind you.

You turn around, and it’s him. The same crimson eyes you were swimming in. The same deep voice as he mutters something about finding you, his hands reaching up to untie the white cloth covering his forehead.

Completely naked, laid bare in front of you, but your eyes remain fixated on his face. You’re not self conscious as you stand in the crimson pool in the same state, watching as his third eye opens before you. Revealing his amethyst eye, the weight of his gaze exerting that now familiar pressure over you.

As if he were watching you. Examining you. As if it were him all along.

The terror never comes. You never scream or flinch in fear. Instead, a curious hand reaches up, daring to touch the face of your savior. The face of your demon.

As your fingers graze the soft skin of his cheek, his eyes gently close as he leans into your touch. Allowing you to cup his face while everything else tells you this is so much more than a dream.

“No one else can have you,” he says, as he turns his face to press his lips into the palm of your hand.

His voice drops an octave as his eyes fly open. Narrowing and glaring. Piercing gaze dripping with venom as he states his final words. His final threat. “You’re mine.”

You awake with a start. Heart racing as you scramble for your phone to illuminate the dark. It’s past midnight, in the middle of a work week, and you’re naked under your sheets.

There are a few notifications on your phone you take a look at while you calm your beating heart. Freezing once again as you read a text from your coworker.

Did u get home okay? Who was that guy?

©️sadisticyouko | please do not plagiarize, repost, or redistribute in any way without permission.

[dodo-begone]

It's the Cat's Life for Me

Pairing: Ranboo x Reader, Tommy x Reader, Tubbo x Reader, Purpled x Reader

Request: Can I have your take on the yandere boys (purpled, ranboo, tommy, and tubbo) with a cat hybrid reader? Don't overwork yourself and remember self care! <3

Word count: 1.6k words

A/n: This all platonic, nothing romantic. Also oops i didn't make it yandere- misread it.

Ranboo

He’d definitely be excited to meet you, especially since you’re a hybrid. He’s an enderman hybrid and you are? Oh a cat hybrid! That’s really cool! You two should hang out a few times- it’ll be great.

When he realizes and puts the pieces together, he gets ultra excited. Most cats don’t like water, right? So does that mean you don’t like water or- oh you definitely don’t like water! Or water in that way. Maybe water period- you know what he shouldn’t and won’t try that again.

Now you two playfully threaten each other with water. You, at least, would have a squirt bottle at the reader for whenever the moment is right. Ranboo does the same. Think old wild west style shoot off. That’s what happens.

There has to be loads of cuddle sessions with purring. Specifically to calm one of you down. Or both of you. Doesn’t matter, works all the same.

I don’t care what Mojang said; endermen can and will be fluffy.>:( They have to be. So you just pet each other to help calm down. Either be pet or pet, that is the question. Honestly it’s a “whatever you think works best for you bud” thing.

So I already mentioned how you helped with his anxiety. But I want to go slightly more in depth with it. Anytime he seems like he’s panicking, and you get his permission, you just flop on him and purr up a storm. The combination of weight, sound, heat and feeling is very comforting to him. You’re like a living weighted blanket!

Also you totally nap on him during this time, making it impossible for him to stand up and do anything. Just designated chill time.

When this man enderwalks, it’s a whole cute show. Just an enderman hybrid, slightly hunched and walking around the server, muttering stuff in a different language. Then you got that cat hybrid that’s following him and occasionally rubbing against him. Especially if they think he’s about to get into trouble.

Sometime he’ll just pick you up and carry you around with him. It’s the equivalent of a child picking up the family cat and walking around with it. He isn’t properly holding you so you do that cat slinky thing where they just elongate like a slinky. You aren’t pleased but you can’t get out of his grasp.

Tommy

Okay kinda following the headcannon that Tommy has wings here. But when he finds out you’re a cat hybrid? Oh man this is so cool! What cat things can you do? Do you know? Want to find out? Want to commit science with him?

He will drop you from great heights and free fall with you. It’s a fun activity only the two of you can enjoy together.

Before you hit the ground, he’ll do his best to grab you and land. Other times aren’t that fortunate so you just land on the ground yourself. Mostly on your feet but there were a few times Tommy messed you your angle. He’ll always make sure you’re okay by the end.

Like any bird, he will love to annoy you. There is no safe place. Look away or don’t pay attention when he’s talking? Grab and gentle yoink the tail. Loves to just attack your tail when you’re relaxed or least expect it.

Once he realizes what effect catnip has on you, it’s game over. He can get you to do whatever he wants! After you play, rub, eat and sniff the catnip. And if he can get and keep your attention. Maybe this was a mistake…

Will absolutely get you cat toys. You don’t enjoy them, yet you do. It’s Tommy’s way of patronizing you but they’re also so fun. Man what a conundrum....

His favorite toy to get you is a laser pointer. Easy entertainment for everyone! Plus it’s his secret weapon. Admittedly his newest. It was something he should’ve realized ages ago. But now? Oh it’s his new best friend- besides you of course.

Losing an argument? Pull out the laser pointer? Wanting you to do something because he’s too lazy? Point that little red dot at a point where you pouncing on it gets his job done.

Play fighting is a very common occurrence between the two of you. Happens right out of the blue. You two could literally be chilling on a hill and then you two are wrestling aggressively on the ground.

Tommy also tries to spook you. Is it effective? Sometimes. Usually not. But when he’s able to get you to jump and just bolt away screaming? Man those are the best reactions! You jump so high too!

Tubbo

Aw man, here comes another fuzzy duo!! You two can easily chill out with each other. It’s incredible. You both calm down together. And just chit chat so much. Emotional support friend? Sure.

You’re so good with Micheal too. Micheal just wants to pet you so much. Big cat? But also human? Good friend? Cool friend? Soft and fuzzy friend!! You’re like a giant talking cat to him, for lack of a better description. You can do human stuff. You just got some animal features.

Another duo that will just cuddle. Bring in Ranboo and Micheal while you’re at it. Make it a family cuddle session!! The little group will see two people cuddling and go “I must join”.

I feel he has an area to grow plants in Snowchester. He just has to. So you know what that means? He’ll grow you stuff! Load of cat grass and some catnip along with other greenery that you like to much on. He makes sure they aren’t poisonous to cats- wait how much of that will apply to you? Do you know?

Okay so you two play fight, but much less aggressively than you and Tommy would. You two also include Micheal. Very gentle play fighting then. Like ultra.

You two fight with what your instincts are telling you. Mostly acting out on the funny animal behaviors that’ll make Micheal laugh or just to have fun with it.

He will get you so many soft things. Just so much. Soft blankets, fluffy pillows and so much else man. Especially trying to get the squishy and soft stuff so you can knead it. Honestly a very endearing sight. You purr so heavily doing it.

Now you two will do gentle headbutts of affection. Very gentle, mind you. You two are very wary of the horns that peak through Tubbo’s fluffy hair. Sometimes the two of you won’t gently butt heads, but butt your heads against other body parts like the upper arm or shoulder. To grab attention and show affection.

Purpled

Now this relationship is going to be mildly different from the get go. There won’t be an innate sense of “what’s right” or how hybrids function as a being/person. See, Purpled is a human. You are a cat hybrid. Two very different species. The backgrounds and some of the body language is different, but you two manage quite well.

So he’ll treat you differently than the other hybrids. Well, only a wee bit. He’lll treat you like the others but in a different way, with a different tone to his actions. It’s very sweet, but you tell him it’s not necessary. He still does it.

One of the cat-like things he found out was that you don’t like water. People usually like water and some cats like water, yet you’re like a majority of cats. You despise getting wet. Attempts at smacking anything that’s getting you wet was what clued him in on this. Specifically when he accidentally did it. Oops.

You two can’t swim together. Napping is really out of the question because he has work and sleeping doesn’t seem like the most interesting activity. Although relaxing, it isn’t too productive.

Activities are hard to come by; stuff you’d want to do with Purpled is stuff he definitely doesn’t want to do and vise versa. After a standstill on what to do, you two started to get creative with the ideas.

Building super tall buildings? Although not safe for Purpled, you can easily take the fall. Along with that, Purpled is more than happy to build tall things. You can’t tell me otherwise because this man built a whole ufo.

Sometimes he’ll even bring you on his mercenary missions. It’s a cool way to hang out and have some more one-on-one time and you two get to work together. A very pog situation.

He tries to give you a part of the money; 50-50 for you guys. But you deny. It was his job, you just came around. Although not too happy about it, because you two worked together on this, he’ll concede. After all, he can just slowly slip the money into your house.

On these trips you not only provide companionship but you also are more than ready to work. Maybe playing coy and cute for a patron at a bar to lure them out and away from the public eye to be executed by Purpled. Or it could be a simple distraction of someone running by. Maybe you’re able to pickpocket the target and get what’s needed. You’re a cute and fuzzy swiss army knife

He loves to get on higher surfaces than you and try to pick you up. Even if it’s only enough to just get your feet on the ground. You do the little cat extension thingy and he thinks that’s super cool and funny. So he’ll do it often. Though you try to object, claiming to not enjoy the process at all. Yet that smile and giggles say otherwise.

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

 Azriel

 Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

 Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

 Elain

 “He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

 Azriel

 Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

 Elain

 Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

 As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.  

 The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

 ********************

 Azriel

 Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, ���if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

 Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

 It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Arcade - Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆  Just a silly thing I wrote about an arcade employee being baffled while Komaeda clears out all the machines lol ミ☆ I’ve been feeling kind of down about my writing so i just wanted to do something fun. It’s not very good haha. I’m tired and i can’t write good asjfkakd

Night shift at the arcade is usually pretty quiet. Most people start leaving around dinner time and while there are usually still some hardcore gamers lurking around until the AM, most of them only come in on Friday’s or weekends. So the job is usually easy breezy, most nights you lean up on the counter and browse the internet on your phone until your shift ends.

Tonight though, you have been acutely watching as this guy moves from machine to machine. Absolutely clearing them out. You’ve never seen anything like it. Presently, you are crouched behind a claw machine filled with Hello Kitty plushies as this guy slips two bucks into the Big Bass Wheel cabinet. Your eyes drift over to the last cabinet he used, the Wizard of Oz coin pusher. It is empty , you have never seen that happen in the whole time you’ve worked here. You weren’t even sure it could happen.

The guy spins the wheel, it spins and spins and spins. Jackpot. Your eyes narrow, a jackpot isn’t too uncommon, it honestly isn’t even worth that many tickets, but then he nonchalantly slides in another two dollars and hits jackpot again . This is starting to get suspicious.

The machine is spitting out tickets now, so many tickets. Even the guy looks surprised, you are definitely surprised. Two jackpots is not worth that many tickets, but they just keep coming and coming. Machine fault? Must be. The guy looks almost resigned at this point, sighing unhappily as the tickets keep spewing out, like they’re wasting his time and not like this was a superhuman feat of luck. Then, the machine starts smoking.

“Shit!” You hiss, jumping up from your hiding place behind the claw machine and dashing over to the guy before anything catches on fire. You’ve caught him by surprise, he probably didn’t realise you were following him around, “out of the way, please!”

He ducks out of the way, pulling his armfuls worth of tickets along with him as you switch the arcade cabinet off at the wall. The machinery inside stops whirring and the smoke calms down. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, you’ve never seen a machine fault this badly before, you were probably going to need to file an indecent report. What a pain.

“You okay?” You ask the guy. He is a lot taller up close, and the shock of messy white hair on his head only makes him seem taller. He sways like a palm tree in the breeze, clutching onto his massive wad of tickets for dear life.

“I’m sorry. I broke your machine.”

Oh...his voice is softer than you had expected it would be. The lights from a nearby Daytona cabinet are reflecting in his green eyes. You swallow, “You didn't break anything, machine fault, it happens sometimes.”

His eyes drift away from you and over to the cabinet, the smoke has stopped now, it doesn't look like there was too much damage, but he looks very upset about it anyway.

“Hey, seriously, dont worry about it.” You give him an awkward pat on his forearm, “The machines in here are really old, stuff like this happens all the time.”

“Oh...ah…” He bites his lip, “If you’re sure…”

You smile, “Yeah, don't even sweat it. You can keep the tickets by the way, once they're out of the machine it's a nightmare to get them back in again, so consider it an apology for almost setting you on fire.”

He laughs weakly, “Thank you.”

“Hey, uh…” You start, not so subtle eyeing his ticket collection. A decent chunk of it was from that Big Bass Wheel malfunction, an already exorbitant number was won legit. More than you had ever seen anyone win before, “are you a cabinet master?”

“A...what?”

“Like, you know all the sweet spots on the machines. Technically not cheating, but not entirely legal either.”

His eyes widen, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You shake your head at him, “You just won a lot of tickets is all. I’ve never seen someone win that many tickets.”

“I’m just really lucky. It’s all i'm good at, honestly.” He’s fiddling with the tickets in his arms, “My friend’s birthday is coming up and i'm trying to win her that Sailor Moon statue.”

It is true that there is a coveted Sailor Moon statue amongst the arcade’s prize collection. It’s huge, beautifully painted and according to your boss, incredibly rare . It’s been sitting there on the shelf for god knows how long, still tight in it’s shrinkwrap. Generally the most any player is able to afford is three or four sticky hands and a glow in the dark spider ring, but this guy is getting tantalisingly close.

You cross your arms and smirk at him, “You’re really that lucky?”

“Most of the time.”

“Okay then. You’re going to play Monster Drop next, it's the hardest cabinet we have.” You start heading over to the machine in the back of the arcade, it’s huge, you always forget how huge it is. The guy is diligently following behind you, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. The pile of tickets in his arms rustling as he walks, “I’ve never seen anyone get a monster jackpot on this thing. Also my boss filled it with a bunch of different sized balls, so it's basically impossible to get a standard jackpot too, even after practicing at other arcades.”

“Hm. Is that really fair?”

You shrug a shoulder, “Nope. It’s big and loud, so lots of people want to play it and Boss doesn't want too many people winning. there's a catch though, raise the difficulty and you also raise the ticket payout. So if you manage to beat it, you'll be able to afford Sailor Moon.”

The current ticket payout is displayed in flashing red lights, 72,483 . With every failed attempt at hitting the monster jackpot the payout just gets higher and higher, those tantalising numbers draw in more kids hoping to be the one who gets lucky. A number that big means the cabinet has never been won, a smart arcade goer knows that a number like that means stay away.

“How do I play?” He asks, dropping his ticket collection on the ground at his feet.

“Ah, it’s deceptively simple.” You grab his hand and tug him over to the machine, gesturing up at where the balls drop down from, “You just need to press the button to let out a ball, and that’s literally it. The base of the machine spins around to make it harder to get the balls in. Monster jackpot is in the middle, so you would think a straight drop down would jackpot you every time but-”

He smirks wryly, “it’s never that easy is it?”

“Of course not! We’d never make any money if it was.”

He laughs to himself, pulling another coin out of his pocket and clinking it into the machine, “Ah, only one turn?”

You hold up a finger, “Just the one.”

He laughs again, “Brutal.”

“Very.” You take a step back to give him room to familiarise himself with the machine. Most people like to observe it from a few angles, take some time, watch at least one cycle before using up their one shot, “Good luck.”

He turns to you and smiles, “Thanks, but like i said, this is the one thing i'm good at.” He pushes the button, he isn't even looking at the machine, the rotating base hasn't even finished half a cycle. This guy is ballsy.

Despite his gumption, the ball falls a little short of the monster jackpot, “Aw, bad luck-” you start saying, but then it starts bouncing. Once off the base, three times off the sides, up high into the air and then plonk . Straight into the monster jackpot. All you can do is stare. Not only did he get the jackpot, he got it in a rigged machine while he wasn't even looking .

He laughs politely, the sound barely audible of the cabinet’s furious ringing bells and sirens signalling an impossible feat just happened here, everyone look! The tickets have started dispensing, with over 70k to print, it's going to be a long wait, “Jeez, that was scary. I almost thought my luck had run out there!”

He looks completely relaxed as he starts folding the fresh tickets into the neatest pile he can manage, “Are you a god or something?”

“Huh?” He says, blinking down at you, “That’s such a strange thing to ask me.”

“You just beat Monster Drop without looking . I’ve seen professional cabinet masters come in here and still lose after examining the machine for a good two hours!”

“Oh, no need to be impressed. I didn't actually do anything.” He smiles sadly and continues collecting his tickets, “It’s not really much of a talent, but i suppose it comes in handy sometimes.”

You clap a palm to your forehead, unable to believe what you are hearing, “You’re going to have enough tickets for the Sailor Moon statue and enough leftover for like...unlimited sticky hands.”

He taps a finger to his lips, “Oh! I would like some sticky hands.”

“How many?”

His brow creases as he considers it, “Three or four, i guess.”

“Three or-” you start laughing, “Buddy, i could pour the whole box into your bag if you wanted.”

“I don't think i need that many sticky hands, but it's very kind of you to offer.”

“We also have glow in the dark spider rings, and a robust selection of slinkies. Oh! If you really want to splurge we have a pair of slippers that resemble a character from Rick and Morty.”

He grimaces, “I would prefer the slinkies.”

You hear the arcade cabinet’s ticket dispenser finally come to a stop, and despite his good natured effort to collect the tickets in a neat pile, they are still all bunched up around his ankles. You are about to ask him another question when you quickly realise that the Monster Drop machine is now also smoking.

He sighs, “I should have known.”

You don't have time to look into that comment, you are too busy scrambling around to the back of the machine so you can turn the power off at the wall. Much like last time, you catch it before anything actually catches on fire. This has been a very eventful day.

“Hey, uh-” you start awkwardly, pulling yourself up from the ground and moving to help the guy contend with his ticket pile, “I finish in like half an hour...if you need help carrying your miscellaneous arcade prizes back to your car or whatever…”

He blinks at you as you both reach the prize counter and deposit the monstrous ticket collection onto the bench, “I should be okay on my own...but if you want to come I wouldn't mind, though I can’t guarantee I won’t set anything else on fire…” he chuckles nervously and you give him a quizzical look.

You do want to go with him, you aren't sure if it’s just a morbid curiosity about his luck with the arcade machines, or a fascination with the soft halo of white hair falling into his eyes, but you want to get to know him better, “I’ll come with you. You don’t have anywhere near enough fingers for all the glow in the dark spider rings I’m about to give you.” You say as you round the counter and start organising his tickets into more manageable piles.

He smiles, “that does sound like a good idea. I don’t want to drop any of my brand new sticky hands, after all.” He leans forward on the counter, blinking up at you. He’s got really pretty eyelashes, “I’m Nagito Komaeda, in case you were wondering.”

You laugh, “Nice to meet you, Nagito. Now give me 20 minutes to count all your damn tickets.”

[insomniamamma]

Rain: Ezra X F!Reader w/Cee

A/N: Prickle ‘verse. Takes place after Prickle but before Clean Dirt. Can be read as a one shot. Reader is established crew with Ezra and Cee. This was written for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ ‘s Writer Wednesday. I am woefully behind. I legit don’t understand how some of you write fics so fast!

Warnings: Mentions of war, a little bit of angst, but mostly gentle fluff. Feelings.

            "Hey, Ez," Ezra is engrossed in grading the latest haul, testing for clarity and hardness.  The surface of CJ's World is cut through with oxbow rivers, fantastic hoodoos of striated sandstone slashed with valleys deeper than any found in Sol system. You're digging for fossils. These rusty carved out plateaus were once the bed of an ancient ocean. Through some trickery of mineralization and chemistry the fossils of CJ's world shine like the fire opals of Old Terra. Big or small, they all have value.           "Ezra," says Cee, "She's doing it again."           "Doing what, birdie?" Ezra takes off the loupe and rubs at his eyes. Rain pelts on the tent, even sheltered the humidity soaks through.           "Look." Ezra draws open the tent flap and sees you, standing in the rain, your head tilted up, no gentle shower this, rain that pelts down hard, turns the view across the sharp-cut canyons to silver curtains. Your clothes are plastered to you like a second skin. The rain actually aids your cause, washing away loose sediment, making the fossils easier to get to. You bow your head and let the stinging rain hit the back of your neck, let it fall on your closed eyes, your outspread arms. You laugh at the sky.

           "What do you know about Falnost?" Cee's eyes go distant for a beat. She has a memory to rival Central computers.

           "Hmmm..about two thirds standard grav, class C5, would've rated lower if not for it's primary. Dustball."             "Mmm-hmm."             "She's not used to real weather," says Cee.             "Observant as ever," says Ezra. The rain is not gentle. It is chilly and hits your skin like handfuls of flung sand, but is so different from anything you've known, so new that you can't help but stand there with a huge, dumb grin plastered on your face, even as your teeth chatter with the cold. Ezra comes and gets you.             "C'mon, Artichoke, while the rain does feel slinky and delicious it is not worth hypothermia."             "Sorry, Ez," you say and allow him to take your hand and lead you back to shelter. This has become something of a habit. Many worlds in the fringe are dustballs like the one you fled, algae and fungus growing on every bit of pipe that condensation beads on. On Falnost they had a deal with the ice-miners, discounted accommodations on world or on station in exchange for chunks of ice from your primary's lush rings de-orbited, burning and evaporating as they fell. The idea was that, eventually, there would be moisture enough in the atmosphere to trigger rains. Someday Falnost will have an ocean, but you won't be there for it, half your life spent harvesting rills of water from sail-traps, careful irrigation channels covered over with plastic sheeting, calorie vs water consumption ratios discussed every planting season. How many credits do we net vs wha† we have to spend? You got fucking sick of dreaming of an ocean your great grandchildren might paddle in. You skimmed enough to buy your way off world and since then you have seen things that you never would have believed as a child.            The first time you heard thunder was on a world called Ingwy. Your first  thought was artillery. Ingwy was a contested world, Karoclan and Lussia Collective skirmishing over land rights, while small stakes droppers like you and Ez and Cee swooped in to reap the spoils while the big corps and clans fought each other.  It was the middle of the night and you were on your feet instantly, railgun in hand, screaming that there was incoming, to take cover. Someone had flicked on a utility light hanging from a cord that swung, illuminating the inside of the tent in sickening arcs, and there's another explosion, this one so loud you feel the pressure change in your ears, hear your own voice crying out in tandem, white hot light even through the thick weave of the tent.           "It's just thunder," Ezra yells over the sound of rain slamming against the tent.           "That was an explosion!" He presses gently on your arm until you lower the rails.           "It's just loud," says Ezra, "It can't hurt us. We're safe here. Put the gun down." You set on the edge of your cot and put your face in your hands.           "Kevva. You must think I'm the dumbest dirt-farmer this side of the Great Arm." The cot dips as Ezra sits beside you.           "Not at all," he says, squeezes your shoulder, "I come from a backwater as well. First time I ever saw a proper ocean I nearly lost my breakfast right there on the beach."  Thunder peals again and you flinch, shrink against him slightly.            "Static electricity," says Ezra, "That's all it is. Builds up in the clouds and discharges into the ground." He keeps his hand on you as he speaks, fingers gently squeezing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, "The sound you hear is the air in the path of the lightning instantly heating and expanding. It makes a sonic shock wave, like any explosion."            "Like the boom when ships lift," you say.            "Just like that, Artichoke," he says, "Storm's already moving off, see?" The rain pelting the tent has settled into a steady drone. Thunder grumbles, a low, almost soft sound, not the air-rending explosion that shocked you out of sleep.            "We should try to rest," says Ezra, gives your shoulder one more firm squeeze and a little shake, and when you look up, he's smiling, dimple just beginning to sink into his cheek.             "Yeah," you say, "Okay." He kills the utility light and settles into his cot. You can hear the music from Cee's headphones, the tinny, fast pop she favors, threaded through the white noise of the falling rain. She slept through the whole thing.

            The ancient life of CJ's world favored heptagonal symmetry, long-dead mollusks like seven-sided shields shine out of the rusty ground, the smallest the size of a fingernail, the largest the size of dinner plates. This is a good deposit. The small ones are fashioned into jewelry and buttons.            "They take these great big ones and slice them micron thin," says Ezra, "Use them for window-glass in the temples of the Ephrate. They say it is like standing inside Kevva's very beating heart."           "I can see why," says Cee, and so do you. The minerals that limn the shells shine translucent red with brilliant streaks of orange, yellow and even thin threads of green and blue.           "They say that Kevva's first heart-beat ignited the explosion that became the universe," says Ezra.           "You really believe that?" Asks Cee.           "I don't know if believe is the right word," says Ezra, "We all grew up with these stories, why my grandmother..." You smile and tune him out. The back and forth banter between Cee and Ezra is a pulse that underlies every harvest. Cee has grown more talkative with each drop. Their relationship has a growing ease to it. You don't know exactly what happened between them before you joined up, but Cee's initial skittishness and Ezra's new healed scars tell a story you can guess the shape of. You let their conversation fade into the background, focus on the work of your hands, the meticulous scrape of soft sediment away from the hard glitter of the fossil, working around the seven sided edge, loosen enough up to get your fingers under the shell and you can pry it out, focus on the sounds of the world around you, no birds on CJ's world, but there is a range of bug-music, hidden in crevasses in the midday heat, all metallic clicks and creaks. Your rail-gun rests within easy reach, as always. You worm your fingers under the edge of the shell, wiggling it like a loose tooth, pops out of the sediment suddenly and you plop on your ass in the sandy dirt.           "You all right there, Artichoke?" Ezra grins at you.           "I'll recover." You dust yourself off and take your prize over to the tub that sits in the shadow of the pod. Further cleaning and grading can be done after dark. Nights  are long at this latitude. You stretch in the sunlight. This job is a milk-run compared to other drops, but hunkering in the dirt still hurts your knees and you feel every bit of it when you stand. There's a familiar sound, like a rumbling stomach, thunder, you think and glance up.          "Ezra!" Your voice is urgent and sharp and he's scrabbling up in a heartbeat, hand on the thrower at his hip, but when he stands there is only you pointing out across the vast expanse of sharp-carved valleys and hoodoos, lined in sharply delineated shadows and rusted cliffs where the light catches. The rainbow swoops skyward into grey cloud-bellies, a luminous curtain against the grey clouds, distant rain falling across the canyons.

        "Ezra, look!" Ezra exhales, tension leaching out of his shoulders. His hand drops away from the thrower.          "Oh, hey, a rainbow," says Cee. You lower your arm and just stare, transfixed at the glowing phantasm, brightening and dimming with the movement of clouds between it and the sun.           "It's beautiful," says Ezra. But he's not looking at the rainbow. He's looking at you. Your eyes are wide, lit up with wonder, an unconscious smile creeping across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. The stiff professionalism that you wear as close as your body armor momentarily set down, forgotten. Ezra's heart squeezes. There you are, he thinks. He can count on his one hand the number of times he's seen you smile like this, open and carefree, rare and precious as the gems the three of you pull from the ground. Part of him wants to kiss you, but he suspects he would end up on his back in the dust with the barrel of your railgun jammed beneath his sternum, so instead he brushes his hand against yours and your fingers find his and squeeze hard.            "I've never seen one before," you say, barely aware of Ezra's hand linked with yours, "I mean, I know what a rainbow is, but I've never seen one. Not in the real, just in vids."            "They don't have rainbows on Falnost?" Says Cee.            "They don't have rain on Falnost," you say, "Get's a little hazy sometimes after the ice-haulers make a drop, but that's about it." You shake your head as if just waking, the rainbow still shimmers, a bit duller now, and you are suddenly aware of Ezra's hand clasped with yours, the gentle pressure of his grasp.             "Sorry," you drop your eyes, "I got distracted. We got work to do." Ezra gives your hand a squeeze and then lets you go.             "Not to worry, Artichoke, rainbows are fleeting things. You look your fill while you can." And so you do. So does he.

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Folk Songs (Weiss Schnee builds a home in the aftermath)

She asks Winter if she ever wonders why Atlas is named the way it is. Surely, naming a floating city after someone who was almost always pinned to the ground by the weight of the world would have been a mistake. Icarus, she muses, if it were up to her, she would have named it Icarus.

(Icarus flew and Icarus fell. Icarus, a slave to his own ambitions)

“Is that who you feel like?” Winter asks. “Atlas?”

It’s an honest question put to someone who has spent significant time carrying the family name around, by someone who handed it over when she grew too tall for it. Weiss shrugs.

“It’s not that deep,” she says.

Winter responds to that by patting her back. “Isn’t it, though?” she says, pushing a hand so Weiss straightens her posture. Weiss is sure the movement is unconscious, instinctual. Then Winter moves her hand to adjust the collar of the shirt she’s wearing, and lets her hand rest on Weiss’ shoulder for the rest of the conversation. Neither of them mentions it.

*****

She’s sitting at the piano when Ruby plops down next to her. “Teach me,” Ruby says, hitting a couple of disjointed notes.

Weiss, who is prone to losing her bearings when Ruby is near, plays a couple of notes in response. It’s supposed to be a tiny jingle, but she messes it up.

“I can’t play very well,” she, who has been trained to play the piano, the cello, and the violin since the age of five, says without a pause. Then she balls up her fists, because what she meant to say instead is — I can’t play very well when you’re around. Actually, I can’t do a lot of things very well when you’re around, Ruby.

(Blake and Yang need to come up with their combined manual on love soon. And when they do, she hopes there will be a section titled How to talk to girls you’ve kissed and sworn eternal devotion to but because there was a war going on neither of you ever sat down to define your relationship and now you don’t know what to do with your hands when she’s near. It can be a long section; she doesn’t mind as long as it gives her clear instructions.)

Ruby presses at a note. “What’s this?”

“An F.”

Another one. “This?”

“Either a C sharp or a D flat.”

Ruby stares hard at the piano, and Weiss entertains the crazy thought of kissing her frown away. She’s done it before — on sleepless nights, on ravaged battlefields, as a mark of comfort and of quiet, painful adoration. It’s damning how easy it is to bend to Ruby; every cell in her body calls out a primordial cry for her. How could she, mountain of carefully sculpted indifference, bow this effortlessly to fire?

(Her father, if she deigned to give him the time of day, would probably mutter something about how she’s a disgrace to the Schnee name, and she would disagree. What she feels in her heart for Ruby is nothing short of a miracle.)

“Here,” she says, pressing the notes in order, slowly so she’s sure Ruby can follow. “If you want to play a basic chord, you could just hold down C, E, and G notes together. That’s C major.”

“Like this?”

“No, that’s….to the right. No, not that,” she pauses, brings up her own hand to press over Ruby’s and guide her. It isn’t until Weiss glances up once and sees the mischievous smile on her face that she realizes.

“Oh!” she says, her hands retreating to her lap.

“I’m sorry if I—“, Ruby starts, sounding guilty, and Weiss turns to her, quick as a whip.

“No!” she says, then realizes they’re both almost nose to nose. “Don’t — don’t be sorry, please.”

“Did you not like that?” Ruby asks, her voice soft.

Weiss laughs, and the sound seems nervous to her own ears. “No, I,” she says, “I liked it.”

Ruby’s answering smile is sunlight through her windows in the morning, gradual in its brightness until it’s too much to bear. Weiss shifts, rests her forehead on Ruby’s shirt clad shoulder. The fabric smells a little like detergent and a lot like Ruby’s fruity perfume.

“You know,” she says, her voice half muffled by the shirt. She knows Ruby can hear her though. “I can never look you right in the eye when I talk to you. It feels — feels too much like burning up.”

Ruby shakes: Weiss can almost see her laughing. “Do you know how you can never look me right in the eye when you talk to me? That’s when I get to stare at you. You talk and talk and I just keep looking at your pretty face.”

The sound that comes out of her throat at Ruby’s halting admission is a mixture of acute embarrassment, disbelief, and delight.

“I used to wait two hours for you to come back from your missions with Blake and Nora so we could eat together.”

She feels Ruby press a kiss to her temple. “I used to stay up until 2 am because that was the only time I could be alone with you.”

“I can’t sit next to you,” Weiss tells her, “it’s like there’s this thing between our arms — this—”

“—electricity,” Ruby completes, and slides her fingers through Weiss. Weiss closes her eyes from her very comfortable position and feels Ruby’s lips on her knuckles, soft, careful. When Ruby removes her hand, she feels the loss as acutely as something has been ripped out of her soul. Another random note rings out in the silence.

“Go out on a date with me.” Nowhere in the statement is a demand, or a presumption, just quiet assurance. “Weiss,” Ruby says, when she still doesn’t answer. “Go out on a date with me, please.”

Weiss nudges aside the collar of her shirt and kisses her neck. Then she leans back to look at Ruby.

“What if you don’t like me after we go on the date?”

The question is delivered with just enough amusement, but behind it lies real distress. What if this only works because we’ve been thrown together all these years fighting a weary battle? What if you only think you like me because you haven’t seen the rest of me yet? What if, when you see the rest of the world and start spending time with other people, you realize I’m not up to all that you’ve built up in your head?

“If I don’t like you after we go on that date, then you have my blessing to blast me into space with your Arma Gigas.”

“Ruby—”

“In what world,” Ruby cuts in smoothly, “do you imagine I wouldn’t like you back? In what world does my stomach not twist when you walk into the room, or my breathing not falter when you talk? I have heard a million voices in my lifetime, Weiss, but in what world is yours not the only one I want my heart to cut itself on?”

“Stop,” she says, face burning, eyes closed, “Ruby, you — just, stop talking, I’m going to—”

“Weiss,” Ruby says. “Go out on a date with me.”

Not that the answer is needed, but Weiss nods anyways.

*****

Whitley is equal parts familiar and foreign. There’s the same bristling stance, the Schnee stamp prominent upon his features, his hair, still parted the same side as she would see back when they were children running around in their estate. What’s different is the thinly veiled animosity in his eyes, the angry twist to his mouth.

“You can’t just come in here,” he starts, waving a hand to wipe away the holographic design for SDC office headquarters Weiss has just pulled up, “and start ordering me around.”

“Whit,” she says, watching as he flinches at the old nickname. “I’m not ordering you around. I couldn’t. You’re the expert here—”

“—yeah, I am. The heir who stayed, remember?”

She is reminded, of a game of hide and seek on a Sunday a long time ago. Whitley had hidden himself so well that Weiss couldn’t find him even after wandering all around the estate. And then when Winter had come back from training, she’d abandoned the pursuit, running off to interrogate her sister instead.

You didn’t find me, Whitley had come running, crying after ten minutes, distraught. You and Winter, and — he’d paused to take in a wet shuddering breath too big for his ten-year-old body — you and Winter forgot about me. And she’d known, even then, that what he was protesting was being left alone when they were together.

“I do know a little bit of this, Whit,” she says, mildly. “I can help.”

“I don’t need your help!” he tells her, sharply.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Weiss says, “but we’re the last of Schnees, if you don’t count mom, and we should stick together. I’m not saying I know everything, but I have been training half my life for this, so I could contribute.”

“I’d rather,” he starts, then cuts off abruptly. I’d rather die, she completes in her head, and waits patiently for him to continue. He looks away. “So much for sticking together.”

She reaches out and pats the top of his head. He swivels away violently.

“You — stop, you, you don’t get to do that.”

“Actually, I do,” she replies smoothly, “I happen to be one of your sisters. Not historically a very good one, but I’m what you’ve got, so you’re going to have to make do.”

When Whitley speaks, every time Whitley speaks, all she hears is his ten-year-old version screaming You left me at her, upset and sulking. While Winter made sure Weiss was able to defend herself if she wasn’t around to do that for her, when opportunity to leave Atlas had arisen, Weiss herself had run off, too relieved about the freedom to worry too much about her brother.

He glares at her. “I’m guessing you’ll want something?” he says, flippantly. “The position of the CFO? A seat in the Board of Directors, maybe?”

“Not exactly,” she says, smiling as she messes up his hair one last time before she exits the room. “Dinner every Tuesday and Saturday evening. 7 pm. I’ll see you in two days.”

“Wha — what?” she hears him ask from behind. “What are you — no! I’m not doing…. Weiss!”

*****

When Weiss goes to pick Ruby up for their date, she’s greeted by the entirety of Mantle and Atlas instead.

“We’re not that many people, please,” Blake says, before she joins Yang at the door. “Oh. Oh wow.”

“Do I — does this look, okay?” Weiss asks, smoothing the front of her dress nervously. She didn’t quite trust Jaune’s choice in dresses, but this was what Oscar, Robyn and Winter had collectively agreed on: a midnight blue slinky…. thing that didn’t quite reach her knees and was making her feel very awkward.

Yang’s jaw is still open, her head moving back and forth between Blake and her. Blake closes it for her.

“Okay?” Nora calls out, as Weiss enters the house further. “Girl, if Ruby doesn’t get down on her knees at the end of the night, I’ll give away all of my wealth to the good children of Mantle.”

“Nora!” you say, scandalized, the same time that Yang screams Ew.

“What? I didn’t mean it that way,” she says. “But don’t you think it’s interesting how both of you jumped to….”

Ren covers her mouth with his hand, smiles wryly at the rest of them.

“Also,” Emerald points out, poking her head out from behind the fridge. “Doesn’t Nora have like, five lien to her name?”

And that will not go to the good children of Mantle tonight, comes through in the muffled voice of a still incapacitated Nora. Weiss walks around the room, trying to calm her nerves. She doesn’t want to walk too fast and sweat through, or rip something, but there’s this electric charge festering under her skin everywhere, and no amount of balling up and releasing her own fists seems to help. She tries to take a deep breath, discovers her lungs aren’t ready for it yet.

“Hey,” Blake’s already at her side, one hand gently resting on her abdomen, the other on her back. “Breathe. Breathe with me, Weiss.”

She focuses on Blake’s steady voice, on the numbers she counts out, and slowly her breathing evens out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Please,” Yang says easily, “you should’ve seen Blake after I kissed her the first time. She nearly passed out.”

“That’s because you weren’t wearing clothes!” Blake shoots back, defensively.

“Oh yeah,” Yang says, staring off into space. “Wait, why wasn’t I wearing clothes?”

“Can I just say,” Ren said, looking pained, “how much I do not want to hear this story.”

“I’m okay now,” Weiss says. “Also, why aren’t you guys helping Ruby get ready?”

“You think I need help getting ready?” Ruby’s voice rings out from behind her, and Weiss turns, and

(Had she just thought that she was okay? Because she’d never been more wrong in her life.)

The sight of Ruby, standing near the door rips the breath from her lungs so fast she’s left reeling. It imprints itself upon her memory, a postcard polaroid for the end of all her days, and Weiss wonders where to look. Surely she’s not allowed to look at Ruby directly — isn’t it illegal to look upon angels? She wants to shield her eye, hide her face, wants to turn and run away because she’s sure there’s a world out there where she’s worthy of holding Ruby’s hand and walk beside her, but this can’t be it.

“What?” she says, stupidly, when she realizes Ruby had asked her something but for the life of her can’t remember what it was.

“I — nothing,” Ruby says, walking forward. “Weiss. You look….”

She trails off into silence, until Emerald says — Yo, can I get in on that bet you were talking about earlier — and gets shushed loudly.

(Weiss wants to warn her against it. She’s convinced she’s going to be the one getting down on her knees and proposing marriage at the end of the evening)

*****

Life moves on. Weiss holds Ruby’s hands in hers, and watches autumn turn to winter. Whitley smiles at her on their fifth dinner date, and then, to make up for it, turns down all her proposals for the next two. Sun and Neptune come to visit, and Yang spends the entire time doing pushups ominously in full view of both Blake and Sun, to the former’s amusement and the latter’s bemusement. Oscar goes on his first date with a girl from Mantle, and discovers at the end of the night that Jaune, Ren, Nora and Emerald had been following them the entire time. Qrow makes a half-hearted attempt at warning her of the consequences of breaking Ruby’s heart, and when Whitley and Winter discover that, they kidnap Ruby for half a day. Ruby refuses to tell her what happened, but she also refuses to kiss her in public the whole next week.

Weiss decides to move out of the Schnee estate when she finds a tiny apartment in Mantle, a building over from where Blake, Yang and Ruby have theirs. There’s a lot of light and her favorite spot in the entire place is a corner where the previous family had marked the heights of their three children, apparently named Lee, August and Celia. Ruby draws a line next to it, names it Weiss’ patience level for the day and marks it at random points, depending on her mood. Her mother gifts her flower plants, and subsequently, vases, when Jaune breaks the few that Weiss already had.

The first night, when they’re all exhausted from the multiple trips up and down the stairs and are all crashed in the living room, Ruby finds her outside on the balcony. Weiss knows as soon as she enters through the door — Ruby’s presence carries trough the air — but she only looks back when there’s a red cloak wrapped around her from behind. She feels familiar arms wrap across her stomach and leans back.

“Miss home?”

“This is home now,” Weiss replies, and is surprised to find that the thought does make her a little sad, regardless. “But yes, I do.”

She’s going to miss living with Whitley and her mother, will miss sleepovers when Winter comes down to visit. All the loneliness in the world wrapped up in one large house, and it still stings to leave it behind.

“You know, I heard Robyn’s place isn’t too far from here,” Ruby says. “And if Robyn isn’t far, then—”

“—Winter isn’t too far.”

“—and Whitley and Oscar are already planning a video game session here next Friday.”

Weiss arches back, and kisses Ruby on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for, my darling?”

“For,” she flounders for an explanation that sounds normal. Thank you for loving me, while accurate, isn’t a very healthy sentiment to express, “for keeping me warm, always.”

Ruby chuckles against her cheek. “Okay.”

“And Ruby?” she asks. “I know this is the first time I’ve moved out on my own, and I need to build my own life here, and I will. But. In a while — maybe….”

Ruby hums to let her know she’s waiting.

“I’m just saying, that there’s. I mean — I’ve left half my closet empty. So, if, in a while, you ever want to. I just want you to know that I want to build a life with you.”

“Weiss Schnee,” Ruby says, and even with her eyes closed Weiss can hear the smile in her words. “If in a while, you want to share your closet space with me, then it would be my greatest honor.”

*****

She knows Ruby’s up even before she’s completely conscious.

It’s the little things — the fact that Ruby’s arm isn’t weighing on her shoulder, that her leg isn’t slung over her thighs. Weiss blinks, and turns over in bed, concerned.

Ruby stares back at her, wide-eyed.

“Can’t sleep?” Weiss whispers.

Ruby shakes her head slowly. There’s something in her expression that has Weiss worried. It’s not that she thinks they’re in any danger at the moment, but there’s some unsettling thought going on behind those beautiful eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you watch that movie,” she says, but Ruby shakes her head once again. “What? No ghosts scaring you?”

Ruby opens her mouth, clears her throat once. “Only the human kind,” she says.

“Hey,” Weiss asks, bringing up a hand to brush the hair off her forehead, “sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Does this still bother you?” Ruby asks her in return, her hand sliding under Weiss’ shirt to expose the scar Cinder had left behind when she had impaled her. Weiss looks down, struggles to make out the tiny line in the dark. She wants to ask another question, but at this rate they’ll be stuck in an eternal loop and she does want Ruby to get some sleep, because she tends to lose her appetite if she doesn’t.

“Sometimes,” she says. Then she smoothens out a tiny crease that’s formed between Ruby’s eyebrows. “You want to tell me what you’re thinking?

“I didn’t see her do it,” Ruby starts, after a while. “Cinder, I mean. I only turned when you fell and I. Weiss.”

“Ruby,” she says, pressing her forehead against Ruby, kissing her once. “Stop.”

“—no, I. And then I left to fight. I left you with Jaune and Ren and Nora, but I still left, and every day I think about it, every single day, I think about you lying on the ground, the blood spreading on your dress, and if Jaune hadn’t been there—”

“—but Jaune was there!” Weiss tells her, not knowing what to say to make it better. Ruby is in so much distress; her voice is in shreds, and there’s a tear making its way across her face. “I’m fine. I’m safe.”

“I’d have killed her,” Ruby says, simply, her voice raw. “I would have killed her. I should have.”

“Ruby, no.”

“If you’d — if something had happened to you,” Ruby says, pausing, frustrated. Her eyes are closed tight, more tears squeezing out of them by the second, and Weiss tips forward to kiss one away. I’m safe, she says. You’re safe. We’re all safe. Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. We’re safe, she says, as she kisses her temple, her rumpled up hair, the bridge of her nose, and she has no idea how or when her words turn into I love yous in her mouth. I love you, Ruby, she repeats over and over, wanting to imprint the words on Ruby’s skin, wanting to tattoo her kisses on her cheek so the mark never fades, so she’ll never forget, I love you so much. And it’s easy in the thin light of the moon, to pull out the words from where she’s been hiding them, keeping them safe her entire life. There’s a moon in the sky and Weiss loves Ruby. There’s a garden blooming in the balcony and Weiss loves Ruby. For as much as love threatens to bring about her end, Weiss loves Ruby, and that love is both the beginning and the never-ending middle to her story.

*****

Tell me about what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, Ruby asks her, laughing, one morning over breakfast, and Weiss tells her there is destruction, but also that love is born in the carnage.

“Our hearts are but collateral damage, my love,” Weiss says. “But my heart, regardless of the damage it bears, is yours to do with as you please.”

*****

Robyn builds a school in Mantle.

No, that comes later. This comes first: Weiss grows tired of sitting in an office. She loves Whitley, but if she has to design one more plan, or take one more call talking to people about dust, she will kill herself.

Actually, wait. That comes second. This is what comes first.

Weiss grows tired of fighting.

*****

“My name,” she says, knowing from the whispering going on in the rows, that the information she is about to share is redundant anyway, but formalities are important, “is Weiss Schnee, and in this class we will be learning Grimm Studies.”

She’s pretty sure she hears someone whisper Hero of Mantle somewhere in the back rows, but ignores it, in favor of writing a couple things on the board. She jots down the curriculum and a brief lesson plan, acutely conscious of whether the clothes she’d had Ruby pick out for her this morning were appropriate class attire. The tie with dogs on it wasn’t something she could have helped, anyway, since she’d lost a bet with Emerald a while back. After she’s done, she turns around and asks the class if they have any questions.

“I have one,” comes a voice from the door, and Weiss closes her eyes. Of course. Of course they would come. “Miss. Schnee,” Yang continues, jumping on top of a desk in front of what seems to be a very impressed student, “when will the kids be divided into teams?”

There’s a lot more pointing, whispering and an abundance of awed looks going on in the class now.  

“That is not something the students need to be worried about right now,” she answers, evenly.

“Actually, jumping off of Yang’s very astute question,” Jaune chimes in, “will each team also have a leader?”

She’s going to kill them she’s going to kill them she’s going to kill them

“Yes,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Awesome!” Blake adds, brightly. “But, in the event that they do not like their leader, and think their leader is an incompetent idiot, what can they do?”

Nora and Ren titter from their place at the very back. And from where she’s sitting between them, feet kicked up onto her desk, as casual as she had been all those years ago at Beacon, Ruby smiles, and raises her hand.

“I’d like to know the answer to that myself,” Ruby says.

She takes in a deep breath, summons the Arma Gigas. Has him sit just behind her.

“Now,” she says in what’s her best attempt at authority, “not only will I not be answering any of those questions, but also, unfortunately, question time is over for the entire class. If that thing I have summoned behind me is scaring you, please do not worry, I will make sure it only stands up when one of the six idiots sitting amongst you say something stupid.”

“Okay so,” she says, then takes it all in. Thinks back to years and years ago, when she’d been one of the students sitting in a similar classroom in an academy, miles away, next to people who’d end up meaning more to her than she ever imagined. After all the years of fighting and bleeding, here they were, trying to do something to make the world a better place.

This is not a tale that ends in tragedy, she thinks, and starts talking.

[fanfiction-funtime]

Spritefather and Selene Interaction

A fan drabble for @clouds-rambles, I hope I characterized Selene right

Without much prompting it's a tad hard to write like this, but I hope it works.

Also I hope you don't mind me mentioning Cael amnesia anon.

(Selene was hanging out with Cael when Venti makes trouble, bringing the night to a close)

(Selene pov)

Yet again, I had to drag Cael's boyfriend out of the bar. This time because he thought someone was insulting his father and punched them, but he was just talking about some mythological person called 'Spritefather'.

I haven't thought about that story in a long time, not since I was a kid. Something about him being able to "use all elements" or something and how he "taught Barbados about freedom", maybe I'll ask Lisa about it.

"Excuse me madam, my father needs to speak to that man you're carrying. Please, hand him to me." I heard a voice from behind me say, the accent was a thick Schneznayan one.

I turned around to meet the person, a woman in an outfit that wouldn't look out of place in a family portrait of old Schneznayan nobility, they also held a vision.

A cryo vision.

I three Venti into a hay pile and summoned my spear, "your a pretty bad liar, LA SIGNORA!"

"No wait! You've got it all w-" I jabbed at her with my spear, using conduct to increase it's power, "I said wait!-"

"I don't bargain with people who hurt my friends!" Hehe, that was a cool line, nice one Selene.

"W-WHAT!? HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I WOULD HURT MY OWN BROTHER!" The woman gasped and pointed behind me.

I looked back and saw an abyss mage sneaking away with Venti.

"HEY! THAT'S MY BROTHER/BEST FRIEND'S BOYFRIEND!"

The mage noticed and bolted away. We chased it all the way to star conch cliff, where it threw Venti over the edge.

"Haha! Do your worst human! I have already completed my mission! Now without your precious archon, mondstadt will-!"

A tornado of water sprouted up from the sea, then froze in place. From the newly formed spiral of ice rose a cloaked man, and around him were 6 wisps of every element but cryo.

The mage turned around, and were it not for the dendro tendril crushing it's windpipe they would have screamed in horror.

"First you threaten to kill my son," the cloaked man stepped off the spire, the air polarizing itself with electro to form a step, "then you kidnap him while my daughter is trying to retrieve him," another step, this time the air simply pushes him up to form a step, "and now you have followed through on that threat. It tried to," the man took one last, powerful step, to which a geo platform met his feet and lifted him to the hanging abyss mage, "how truly foolish must you be."

He man then lit the tendril on fire, burning the mage like a furby in a campfire.

The man lowered himself down, Venti in his arms, and said, "I'm sorry Barbados, I should have gone to get you myself. Viktoria, what happened?"

Then he noticed me.

"EEEEP!" He shouted as he dropped Venti with a thud.

_____________________

(3rd person limited, Spritefather pov)

'Oh celestia, a person! No no, keep it together. You love interacting with humans in a controlled manner. This is just as controlled, just...a suprise.' Spritefather thought.

"By Barbados' hairy nostrils! You're the Spritefather!" The human Selene shouted.

Spritefather straightened himself out and cleared his throat, "y-yes, I am. But I am not 'the' Spritefather, I'm just Spritefather. Saying 'the Spritefather' is like calling you 'the Selene'. But now isn't the time for such trivial bickerings," Spritefather gave a gentlemanly bow, "thank you for attempting to rescue my eldest child, and for taking him home everytime he indulges a bit to much on vices."

Viktoria facepalmed, "dad! They aren't supposed to know that!"

"Well why not? They're friends with him, and best friends with his boyfriend. Which by the way I STILL need to meet-" he noticed Selene was seeming kind if pale, "you ok?"

*thud*

"Oh dear."

_____________________

(3rd person omniscient pov)

(There's no good point to explain this, but they're in a serenitea pot)

Selene woke up in a very confused state, and on a cloaked woman's lap.

"Please do not be alarmed, neither me nor my daughter did anything to you." The woman said.

Selene, in response, punched the woman and scrambled away, "who the abyss are you!?"

"Well I'm not particularly loved by celestia but I'd hardly say I'm abyssal.."

"Father, people here are not as accustomed to the divine as Liyue or Inazuma." The woman from before, who Selene thought was La Signora, said as she approached them with some tea.

"Wait, fa-no, no. Don't do that Selene, it's rude."

The cloaked woman shook her hands to dismiss Selene's concern, "it's fine, however I thank you for your accepting nature. Though it is to be excepted given your personal identity."

"How do you know me?"

"Heh, have you forgotten already? Though I suppose the change in form is not common among you humans. And nonexistent in the way me and the wisps can do."

The woman got up and started twirling, then surrounded themself in elemental power, and when it cleared stood the cloaked man Selene saw in her dream...

*wait*

"That wasn't a dream...holy shit that wasn't a dream! You're the Spritefather-I mean-you're Spritefather! Your real!"

"Indeed I am. I would think everyone in mondstadt believes I'm real, but atleast that leaves less for that misconception."

"What misconception?"

"Ask Barbados, shouldn't be too hard since you two are close."

"Barba-wait Venti is actually Barbados!?

"Oh dear I'm making this worse."

The still unnamed woman sighed and shook her head, "how about we focus on why my dad decided to be a woman? Surely that would be a far more easy thing to understand."

"It's because she likes women, and I don't blame her. World cold and hard, titty warm and soft."

"Dad who taught you that!?"

"You do realize I can hear the lives of all in my home yes?"

"I guess I'm at fault." Selene laughed.

"I will have my revenge upon you for this." The woman responded.

Spritefather chuckled, "oh? And how about you get your revenge over a date. Anastasia."

"F-FATHER!"

"What? She's single, friends to someone who can teach her proper tea ceremonies, and uh....they have....hmmm..." Spritefather was trying to think if what he could say to convince his daughter, "look I just want to see grand kids!"

"FATHER"

"K-KIDS!?"

"Look I'm pushing fifty million! If one of you doesn't get me kids in the next ten million years I'm going to grow grey hair!"

Anastasia starts forming an ice throwing knife, "REBEL'S-"

"Papa, what happen?" Came a childish voice.

Selene gasped, they were looking at probably the cutest thing EVER!

"Oh my ARCHONS! IS THAT A PYROSPRITE!?"

"Yes that's my child Flameo-"

Selene, already having picked up the the baby, "they're so CUTE!"

They hugged the little flame close to their face and nuzzled them, to which Flameo quickly responded to with their own.

"Smell like..." they thought for a moment, "big Bro Bardos!" They flew around Selene excitedly, "friend!"

Spritefather sighed, "Oh dear, now the rest will be coming out. And I just got them to sleep aswell."

It wasn't long before Selene was surrounded by six Sprites.

The Electrosprite landed on her vision and started vibrating happily.

The Geosprite asked, "are you strong!? I think I could be you!"

"Oh I'm sure you could." Selene said to appease the little Sprite as she chuckled chuckled.

The Anemosprite and Pyrosprite flew around her head like children.

The Hydrosprite was inspecting her clothes, "how utterly bourgeois, has my Brother and father been teaching you how to dress? Honestly, the people of mondstadt should learn from the reconnaissance captain of the knights. Now there's a woman who knows how to dress."

"Oh you mean Eula?"

"You know her?"

"Oh yeah, she's invites me to tea every now and then."

"SHE...invites....YOU...out for TEA!?-"

Anastasia puts her hand over the Hydrosprite and tries to hold her back

"Sorry about that," the woman replied, "kids and their crushes."

(Agua, muffled: I'M SIXTEENTH HUNDRED YEARS OLD!)

"Ha-haaa...."

Selene couldn't respond to that as they felt a prick in her spine, causing them to yelp.

A Dendrodsprite slinkied up her back and put it's head on her shoulder, "just sampling...never seen blood like yours...so intertwined with the...divine....yet so distan-"

Spritefather picked up his child, "please forgive Leafy, they're in their...adventurous stage. And their adventure is to learn things. Often things that involve pins and needles."

This was going to be a looong night

_____________________

The next day, Vanessa's tree

Selene yawns and falls on the statue, Venti doing the same. The difference between them is one is hungover and waiting for his boyfriend to take him home after the fifth assassination attempt this week, the other has to deal with the consequences of being loved by children and being there to try and stop the most recent assassination

"Holy shit....this hang over....I thought Decrabain's hailstorms were bad..."

"You shouldn't try watching after Leafy.....but I think half the pains are from Agua's jealousy bites......"

"You think that's bad?.....you should have seen them when they realized Cael and I....were dating....."

"...archons I hope I was never like that as a kid...."

"Oh cherry up you two!" Spritefather said, a bit too loud for the two, "it's a new day and-"

Venti hit his father with a clump of grass using anemo

"YOUNG MAN!-

"Ohheythere'sCaelgottagobye!" The archon said as he ran off.

Spritefather sighed, "he's always like that, running from responsibilities. But he always means up when it counts, so I can only say I'm proud of the man he's become," he thought for a moment, "except for when he turns into a woman for whatever reason, then I'm proud of the woman she's become...you know, after being around single form life for so long stuff like that feels so strange. I mean you humans are born with one form and cant naturally change it. But if you feel it's wrong you'll go through so much trouble just to get close to what us shape changers can get. While to humans it is inspiring purely because of the person's determination to take the form they so deserve, that they were truly meant to have. But for me it's so much more! The human spirit and will is oh so inspiring, but the amount humans go through! So much money, so much time, and in many places simply enduring life! Why even I couldn't get the...uh...transphobia is it?...out of Inazuma!Terribly sorry human language changes so much. Oh and on language! To think that I was there when the first cave man was trying to mimic the grunts of the gods, only to make something so much superior to them to the point that the gods copied THEM! And speaking of copies have you ever heard of the time Dainsleif-" he paused as he saw Selene's bored face, "sorry. One little thing and I start ranting and rave...no, it's info dumping. And I should thank you humans for making that term, and all the other wonder words you've made, and the medical advances. They've helped me understand myself....ah but look at me, rambling on again. You know what? For entertaining my kids the whole night, and listening to an old man's ramblings, I'll give you a boon. Anything you want, if I can get it you shall have it."

Selene thought for a moment. She thought about asking him to bring back her father, but they knew he couldn't raise the dead. She even thought...of her mother, to see her again, but they knew that it wouldn't help. A selfish part of her even wanted someway to reignite her's and Rosaria's relationship, after all that part of her life was, but she knew it would be wrong and that they both agree they just didn't work.

Perhaps just ask for mora? She did need some for a good night's rest, but that felt wasteful. What was one night's rest for what could be a lifetime of amazing power. But maybe it would be wrong to ask for something like power. Ah! She's got it!

"How about a spear? A really powerful one that compliments my powers perfectly! Oh! And make it look really cool!"

Spritefather blinked, then laughed, "well, that's rather simple isn't it? So amazing you humans. You expect them to make something big and/or selfish, like taking control of a country, or killing someone. Yet never once has one of my boons been used for anything bad. Even when they're selfish. Like one time I met a very selfish person who I granted a boon, and all he did with it was ask me to make sure the kids of Inazuma were never hungry. Ah, now that. That was ranting, sorry." Spritefather walked over to the statue's base and knocked three times, "hello Vanessa. It's been a while since I last called you, but I was hoping you could give me a hand? And perhaps a very sturdy branch off your tree?"

"Uhhh-"

A light shown down from the heavens and the ground shook, causing a skeletal hand to rise from the depths.

Selene would have screeched if she weren't so tired, "I'd prefer my weapon to be less...body part-sy."

"Nonsense! Everyone knows that bones make the best weapons! You know why it's called a prototype rancor?! BECAUSE NOONE WANTS TO ACCEPT THAT THE PERFECTED VERSION I, THE INVENTOR, MADE INCLUDES THE SHINBONES OF MITSCHURLS! YOU EVER SEEN A-*ahem*-sorry, rambling."

As he was ranting, a branch handed Spritefather a sturdy branch from the tree.

"Perfect, now a bit of magic and-" the two items blew up in Spritefather's face before reforming into a purple and black spear that ended in a feathery sleeve like pattern that was attached to a sharp blade that looked very much like a hand made into a spear blade. Mainly because it was.

A brilliant light shone down on the Spritefather as he floated up and presented the spear to Selene(mumbled: thanks Venessa)

"SELENE OF MONDSTADT!"

His voice became that of s god's, filled with power and compassion, booming across windrise.

"YOU HAVE SPOKEN YOUR WISH, AND BY MY HONOR AS THE ENTERNAL FATHER, I AM DUTY BOUND TO GRANT IT!"

He leans imup to Selene and whispered to her, "do you like the eternal father moniker? I thought it up myself."

"Oh yeah, 10/10, really keeping with the Inazuman background."

"Thanks."

"TAKE YOUR GRAND BLADE, AND GO FORTH TO CARVE THROWS DESTINY AND TILL YOUR OWN FUTURE!"

Selene took the spear, "uh...thanks?"

"Oh your very welcome. By the way how was that delivery? I've been working on the whole 'I am a powerful being' delivery for a few centuries."

"A bit hard to understand, but overall gets the vibe across. Maybe 8/10? Low seven probably."

"Yeah, I kind of expected that. Wonder how else I could get that effect, you know without the whole can't understand thing."

"Well, I've got teo other immortals to meet. Ones I need to question."

"Ah yes, I'm sure Cael and Barbados have much to answer for to you."

"Yes they do. I don't suppose 'see you around' would be appropriate here?"

"On a sense? It's appropriate. After all I'm your friend now aswell, and I prefer a life without isolation. So...see you round?"

"Sure, see you around."

_____________________

Admittedly didn't know how to end this. I like it but I'm a tad worried I made it to focused on my character and didn't give Selene enough attention.

Regardless I hope you enjoyed it cloud! I really tried to get Selene right. And sorry it took so long, sleep kept getting messed up, and then covid shot+forgetting to hydrate kicked my ass.

(Tagging: @storytravelled, @golden-wingseos, and @clouds-rambles)

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Phone Lesson (5/5/2021 chat log)

Alastor/Astor (hi there) visits Sir Pentious/Ruddy’s (@ruddygore) ship to help teach Alastor/Offal (@offalgore) how to use a smartphone. But mostly to try to get to know his supposedly “mad” alternate.

Offal doesn’t seem particularly mad to Astor. Just really sad and, like, super insecure.

(Technically this thread happened months ago, but like, stuff happens.)

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious had clearly never spent a day in Hell before now, he decided. No, his time in this inferno was nothing. A jaunt. A slither in the park compared to what he'd sat down to start attempting today.

His local Alastor was sitting on his couch after the disastrous voice to text attempt, smiling that stupid smile, nodding along as Pentious went over how a smartphone touchscreen worked... And then didn't take his gloves off before trying to poke the on screen keyboard.

If Pentious had hair, he'd be ripping it out by the fistful.

Astor

And who is here to save Sir Pentious from Alastor but another Alastor! A veritable hero.

As soon as work's over, he hops over to Sir Pentious's dimension, looks around for the most important-looking airship, and teleports in. From there it's easy to follow his alternate's signal. "Hello, hello! How are we all, having fun?"

He can tell that they are not, in fact, having fun.

Ruddy & Offal

Alastor looks at Alastor. Sir Pentious looks at both Alastors, one at a time.. and quietly decides the one local to his universe is going to be called Offal now.

Sir Pentious clears his throat, ushering Astor closer. "FUN IS ONE WAY TO PUT IT. IT'S STRANGE, IT DOESN'T CARE FOR HIS VOICE IN THE SLIGHTEST. TELL HIM TO TAKE HIS GLOVES OFF TO TOUCH THE SCREEN."

Astor

"Oh, that's a common problem! Not to worry, we can fix that. The gloves though, *that's* interesting." Astor leans over to examine the phone, presses a gloved finger to the screen, and tries to scroll it around. It works. "Well! Time to figure out if the issue's electrical, physical, or magical! What's your glove made from, my friend?" He holds out a hand to his alternate, palm up.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal watches Astor wiggle the lights around on the horrible little rectangle, almost missing the question entirely. A blank stare for a moment, then his brain catches up and he jerks a hand up to show off an impressively worn deerskin glove... Which he peels back just a touch to reveal the edge of another glove underneath, this one a softer fleece. "Which one, my good self? There's a selection!"

Astor

"Ah! *That* might be the problem." He taps the glass screen with a claw. "You see, the way this thing works is that there's just the faintest layer of static on the surface! You break it when you touch it, and where you break the static layer tells the phone where you're touching! Like when you touch a doorknob and get a little shock. Now, clothing can't break it, skin *can* break it, and that tiny little field of magical energy that hovers right by our skin can break it—but I'd guess that field can reach through one glove layer but not two!" He pauses for a second to think; then nods at the phone and says, "Try reaching for it like you're going to make a deal with the phone—with all that energy focused in your hand. Let's see if *that* lets you reach through your gloves."

Ruddy & Offal

There's hesitation, a flash of discomfort before Offal looks back to the phone. He hasn't made a deal of any sort since... Well. It didn't matter. He does as Astor says, letting his finger smoothly scroll up to refresh Ruddy's dashboard. Which serves as a perfect distraction, he can read more words from other people instead of thinking about the feeling of his magic surging through his hands again.

An eggboi chooses now to come bring Astor some coffee and a scone. He's helping!

Astor

Astor makes note of the look; but his alternate doesn't object, so he doesn't say anything either. He casts a quick glance to Sir Pentious—*look at that, progress*—and then focuses on his alternate again with a broad smile and a modest round of applause.

"There you go, just like that! With a bit of practice, you'll be able to do that second nature, without needing to spend so much of your own energy on it—thank you, my good egg." That last comment is directed to the Egg Boi as Astor takes the coffee and scone and straightens back up. "Or, if you find you don't want to waste a *drop* of magic on such a lowly machine, you can take your gloves off. *Or* you can get these new pens they make these days that have nubs on the end that look like black erasers, they're designed like fake skin to touch the screen for you. Like this!"

He opens up a portal, rummages around, and pulls out a cheap-ass pen with "CALL SINNER SALES STRATEGY FOR YOUR ADVERTISING NEEDS" on the side and a stylus tip on the back. Don't mind the stain on the pen. It's probably just blood.

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious nods, accepting his own coffee before shooing the eggs away so they can't distract from this delicate display of Alastor to Alastor communication. Progress indeed. Astor was far better suited to helping another Radio Demon solve the puzzle of modern technology, no surprise there.

What's a little blood between Alastors! Offal takes the pen, squishing the nubby stylus tip a few times before scribbling on the screen. Oh, that was MUCH better. "Is THAT what these are? I thought they were a ah...." Give him a second, he's thinking. "Stim toy! A discreet little one for those high minded professionals out there!" How hilarious to be so wrong about such a simple thing!

Astor

"'Stim toy'?" He can guess that "stim" is short for "stimulation." He is absolutely prepared to be informed that a "stim toy" is some new form of sex toy.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal reaches up to brush his too long bangs out of his eyes, trying to get a good look at Astor to see if he's joking. No? *Well then*. Time to reach into his pockets and pull out a little fidget cube to press into Astor's hands, all shiny brass and black leather. Looks like Sir Pentious made this at some point, it was *heavy*. "These little doohickeys, my dear me! Completely pointless busywork for your hands. Helps stave off the gnawing teeth of boredom!"

Astor

"Oh! Hand busywork!" He hefts it and pushes some of the buttons. "Like desk toys! Newton's cradles and magnet sculptures, and those trays of sand and polished rocks with those little rakes they sell at bookstores, that sort of thing? *Stimulates the mind,* I take it?" He has, of course, immediately zeroed in on all the buttons and wheels that make click sounds. "I've always been partial to slinkies."

Ruddy & Offal

"Just the ones, never did understand why people wanted to rake sand so badly! I thought people hated yardwork!" A nod. "Slinkies are fine toys, my good self, but unfortunately, one wrong move and they twist themselves out of shape like a.. me!" He barks out a laugh, but quickly moves on. "Not very good for carrying around, unfortunately! A damn shame."

Astor

Well, that's a telling statement. "I'd sit there and painstakingly untwist them! Completely forget what I was doing! Do that with telephone cords too, you know, the curly ones."

He's gone from click-click-click-ing to clicliclicking; he offers the cube back. "Funny little thing."

Ruddy & Offal

The cube is tucked back away into a different pocket than he'd pulled it out of, coat smoothed out with a quick pat. "Funny indeed! Now.." Back to the matter at hand. The phone! Sir Pentious' phone at that, comically large in the hands of someone under twelve feet tall.

"How do I get to the typewriter, my self? Which horrid little mock buttons do I get no tactile sensation from?"

Astor

Typewriter, typewriter. He pauses as he translates that. "Now, see, that bit depends on what you want to do with it. The little typewriter will automatically appear and disappear when you need it, and there's quite a few tools in here that use a typewriter at some point. So—what, specifically, are you planning to do with the typewriter once you have it?"

Ruddy & Offal

He nearly titters. "Oh! Write one of those little telegrams that Pentious here is always on about to the public pinboard. No, dashboard. That's the one."

Astor

The "telegram" mention has him nearly redirect his alternate to the texting app, but by the end he's figured it out. "Ah! Well, lucky you, we're already looking at the dashboard, so... you see the five little symbols lined up in a row at the very bottom, there? The one smack in the middle, in the box to make it easy to see. It looks like a simple pencil but then it pulls up a typewriter and a fresh telegram, but I suppose it's close enough, isn't it? They'll both let you put words on the page."

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! How.. intuitive." He says that with the driest voice he can muster, but quickly sets about tapping at the screen with his little stylus. He manages to figure out the backspace and shift keys, at least, though the emoji key seems to surprise him. So many tiny pictures..... A problem for later.

A once over, and he pokes around until he figures out how to send the "telegram" off. And there it is, out for everyone to see!

Astor

Astor watches obnoxiously over his alternate's shoulder to see whether he needs help, then plays a little trumpet fanfare when he successfully posts the "telegram." "And there you have it! Nothing to it, is there?" He nods at the phone, "What other tricks were you looking to figure out?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, other tricks? He squints at the phone. He hadn't paid enough attention to technology after... When had he lost touch with-- No. No time for that. He prods the button again, pointing at the other symbols. "What do these do? How do I put a photograph in it?"

Astor

He goes over them one by one: "The first one with the letters changes the type face—bigger letters, cursive letters, so on, they've got half a dozen different types. The second that looks like two chain links, it lets you put in what they call a 'link' on the Internet; it's less like a chain link and more like a street address, if touching an address instantly teleported you to the location. The third one is for... I'm not really sure what that's for." He shrugs at the "gif" button. "But the *fourth* one, the one that looks like a stack of papers with a drawing on top, *that's* how you put in a photograph! And then the headphones at the end are for music, obviously." *Obviously.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! A music button? Tell me more, my dear self." *Now* he's interested in the horrid little rectangle and all its bright little lights. "I met another self, the one with the wife and son? And I believe Sir Pentious mentioned he used the tumbler too.... Do you two run your stations on these?" Actually, maybe ALL his alternates were married. He didn't know. Seemed probable enough, he'd been a charmer in life after all.

Astor

"Touch the headphones and then touch at the top where it says 'search audio,' and you can type in the name of a song you want to find. It's not a very effective way to listen to music, but to be fair, you *are* trying to insert a phonograph record into a telegram! One doesn't go to the telegraph station to listen to music, does one—one goes to the record store, or the jazz club, or the theater. And there's record stores hidden elsewhere in this thing."

Wife and son? Which alternates does he know who have wives and sons? None that he's close to. He'll circle back around to that question later. "Most alternates I know are still broadcasting on AM! A few on FM. One's picked up a TV station, believe it or not. Some of us, myself included, use v#xblr—what did you say it's called in this universe, tumbler?—to advertise for our stations." He likes "tumbler" better. "I know one self who has his station set up to play on the radio *and* on the Internet at the same time, but I don't know any who are *only* broadcasting on the Internet."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal happily taps away, adding and removing a few songs and photos to get the hang of this strange system. "Oh yes, Once Sir Pentious took Vox out," and he can say Vox without censoring himself, how lovely, "he went and rebranded most of the properties he inherited. Still though, a TV station of all things? My Goodness what a shift! Good for him! I myself haven't put out a broadcast in quite a while. Not since--"

Ahem. Moving on. "A dual broadcast sounds like a good way to get the younger generations interested, goodness knows I've heard enough about Pod Casts. Sir Pentious is unfortunate enough to listen to them." And oh, his heart breaks at the very THOUGHT.

Astor

*Not since.* Astor wonders—would that be his alternate's rampage after cannibal colony fell? From what Astor's heard about it, he wouldn't consider that "quite a while"—but maybe his alternate is trying to distance himself from the incident.

Either way, his alternate doesn't want to talk about it, so Astor won't pry. "*Podcasts.*" He scoffs. "For the people unwilling to commit their time to a scheduled radio program but unwilling to commit their money to an audiobook. The worst of both worlds."

Ruddy & Offal

The accused snake is rolling his eyes, but refraining from commenting. He's had this debate a *hundred* times. Offal, on the other hand, seems QUITE pleased that his Dear Self shares his opinion, nodding firmly as he side eyes Sir Pentious. You hear that, buddy? Yeah that's right.

"Ah well! No accounting for taste, this is Hell after all! Shouldn't surprise us that a bunch of loathsome sinners have no appreciation for the wonders of radio!" A comical shrug, and he looks around. What, no coffee for him? Fine. A concerningly long silly straw appears in Sir Pentious' tea, half of the liquid vanishing into Offal's mouth in one SUCC. He doesn't even like tea, he just needs something warm to lube up his throat.

Astor

"It's a pity! But it's their loss!"

Oh, c'mon, dude, don't antagonize one of the only two people in this universe willing to talk to you. Astor quietly holds out his coffee cup. Here. Take it.

"A bit ago, you mentioned an alternate of ours with a wife and son? Which one was that?"

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious SIGHS.... And pours himself more tea. He's used to Offal's antics at this point, though why the eggbois are so hesitant to be around him is a mystery. Coffee for ONE of his guests was just insulting. And look, here comes an egg already to offer Astor another cup. *Embarrassing*.

Offal accepts the coffee, immediately taking a hearty sip to get the taste of earl gray out of his mouth before he speaks. "Ah! Yes! I'd give you a name, my dear me, but. Well. You know! I mean the one with the long black hair and the glasses. He visited Sir Pentious with his wife once or twice while I was over, lovely couple. Very cozy! He's a smidgen overprotective if you ask me, but I suppose if I got married I'd hover over whatever unfortunate soul dazzled me too! And a second child on the way! Incredible!" Another of those sharp laughs. "Does that narrow it down enough, my self? I know there are *apparently* a number of us out there!"

Astor

Long black hair, glasses, recently visited... Alastor narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Is his 'wife' Valera?" he asks. "Valera and child Pelagios?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I didn't catch his son's name, and I'm not certain on the wife, he wouldn't even let me near her without looking ready to snap my neck! Is Valera a bit of fish? Tall? Big horns? Big tail? Big... eyes?" He's miming around himself, trying to portray various aspects of his alternate's spouse's grandiose features. Honestly he wasn't sure how his alternate didn't get lost in the hair alone, but to each their own.

Astor

"... One moment." He reaches over to the phone his alternate is using, does a quick search, and pulls up one of Valera's selfies. "Is this the fish in question?"

Ruddy & Offal

Give him a second while he squints at the phone.. "That's the one! Though she's quite a bit slimmer in this picture than in person." Snrk snrk. "But yes, that's the one! Are *all* of my alternates out there getting domesticated into doting husbands?"

Astor

"They're not married," Astor says flatly. "If they told you they are, either they were playing a little joke, or else they're conducting the world's most poorly concealed affair. I certainly hope they *didn't* tell you they are?" Because if they did, then Astor has to go fucking ask them about it, which is going to be excruciating for everybody involved and won't even resolve anything.

Ruddy & Offal

Well *that's* a weird reaction. Offal raises an eyebrow, but takes another sip of his coffee and decides to see where this is going. "My own self informed me they were in a rather intense on and off again relationship. Seven times divorced and counting, or somesuch? I found it rather hard to believe, really, but after seeing the way he looked at her?" He snorts. "No, those goo goo eyes wouldn't be on anyone who was just playing at a bit. And I haven't had a chance to ask his wife yet, as I said. Can't go near her."

Astor

*Oh.* The divorce gag is back. Or never left, whichever. "The divorces are an inside joke. But however goo goo his eyes were, they are not and have never been married—or else I think the Sir Pentious that Valera's been engaged to since long before meeting our alternate would have had something to say about it. The son was adopted from deadbeat relatives, and the egg on the way is said Sir Pentious's." He leans back over to the phone and keeps on scrolling through the selfies until he finds a picture of Valera and Penny being cutesy together.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal tilts his head one way and then the other, his ears twitching slightly as his brain turns the information over. So his dear self had lied to him, then. Or this dear self was lying. Was his own self an unreliable narrator? Maybe he'd forgotten. He did forget things, sometimes important things. Was this dear self going to mock him for believing another dear self? Maybe. But he knew what he saw! Probably. Maybe. Maybe not? Probably not, really. This sounded like something he'd misunderstand.

He feels heat creep over his cheeks, and his head ducks down to let his overgrown hair hide his face.

Astor

No comment? Odd. Odd and uncomfortable. Better fill that silence. "Although they *can* get..." He's silent for a moment, grimacing, a clock ticking sound unfortunately highlighting just how long he's struggling to find a delicate way to put it. "... Clingy."

Although if Leal had guarded Valera from even *talking* to this alternate, that was quite a bit more protective than usual. Is Leal really *that* afraid of this alternate?

Ruddy & Offal

Offal clenches his jaw until his teeth creak. He'd ask later. He'd ask his dear self about it later, if he remembered. Deep breath, and he sits back up with the same smile as always. "Hah! They certainly can! The way he wrapped himself around her, you'd think my dear self thought I'd lay a finger on a pregnant woman! And his *"beloved"* At that! No no, I would never harm a mother OR my dear self's beloved! I wouldn't!" He wouldn't. He didn't think he would.

He stares at Astor for a moment, a beat of dead air and a blank smile. Then he continues. "So what IS the deal with them then, my dear self? Has a casual friendship turned from the occasional embrace to protective amulets and wrapping around your beloved like a fashionable scarf while I wasn't paying attention?"

Astor

The radio doth protest too much. He's trying to convince himself as much as Astor, isn't he? "Oh, I'm quite sure you wouldn't, my friend, *quite* sure!" And for the purposes of this conversation, Astor believes it wholeheartedly. This alternate needs somebody other than himself to believe in it, doesn't he?

"Oh, well—I wouldn't call that a *casual* friendship. That other of ours has a tendency to... Well, you know how touching another person's flesh feels like dipping one's hand in a vat of acidic mold! I think when he meets people that *don't* feel like that, something in his head concludes it's some sort of spiritual bond." A shrug. "That's the best I can make of it, anyway. But no, I wouldn't exactly call that the norm."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal is seized by the sudden, wild urge to grab his dear self by the shoulders and beg him to repeat that. He's sure? Is he sure? He wouldn't do it he swears but is his dear self SURE he believes him? But no. That's pathetic. So instead he brushes the reassurance off like it didn't affect him, biting the inside of his cheek as he hears the rest out.

... Someone who DOESN'T feel like acid? Well, it made sense. No wonder he could drape himself all over her and have two children-- Wait no, this dear self said they *weren't* his. But still. The hugging and nuzzling and all the kisses he'd watched his dear self pepper all over the fish's face made much more sense when it wasn't something he'd have to fight through the screaming urge to recoil to do. His mouth moves before his brain can, voice thick with bitterness. "Lucky him."

Astor

Lucky? He *wants* that? Poor fellow, Astor doesn't think there are any alternates he pities more than the ones who can't handle physical affection but long for it. Except maybe for the ones who have no trouble with it and get themselves into the same torrid affairs as the rest of the human race. Or the ones who find physical contact so revolting they can't stand to so much as think about it, much less hear anyone else discuss it.

... Which means he pities just about every alternate who doesn't share his *exact* personal levels of indifference, doesn't it? Maybe he's biased. Oh well.

He doubts his alternate would appreciate hearing that it's really not all it's cracked up to be—grass is always greener—but maybe he can help another way. "Well, here, have you ever tried direct contact with another of yourself?" He tugs a glove down to his knuckles and offers the back of his hand to his alternate—not to shake, no threat of a deal. "Most of us find most of us safe to touch, if you want to test it out."

Ruddy & Offal

The bolt of panic that shot through him when he realized he'd voiced his thoughts, surprisingly, didn't get much to work off of with Astor's reaction, and thus fizzled out somewhere between his fourth and fifth rib as he watches his dear self start peeling his glove back and exposing *scandalous* amounts of Bare Hand.

Well he can't just leave his poor dear self be the only one exposing himself here. If the man is going to offer up something wildly uncomfortable, it's Offal's job to match him. His own gloves are peeled back with a bit of a struggle, the back of his hand pressed to his dear self.

......... Well it. Wasn't acid. It didn't really feel like anything at all, really. Which was an improvement, but not the bolt of near euphoria he remembered from life in the rare instance of being able to tolerate someone's touch. "It feels like I sat on my hand! Still, that's the best I've handled any physical contact since I was a teenager!" Poor maman had been heartbroken when he started wriggling out of her hugs... Why did he remember that?

Astor

He idly wonders what changed when his alternate had been a teenager. Maybe nothing; maybe that was just when he'd let himself become aware of how unpleasant touch is. "Not all that exciting, is it? Just like touching anything else, except this time it happens to be a person. I think that's all it is for most people, most of the time; it's only remarkable when it's an exception."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'm sure!" And the gloves are slipped back down to their proper position. Experiment over, send those results in to be filed away! "Say, my dear self! How well do you know my dear self's.... *Companion?* Is she as scaly as she looks? Cold and slippery? Physically, not emotionally! But if she's both, well that'd be fitting!"

Astor

"Huh. Well..." He has to stop and think about that. "I've only had reason to touch them a few times, never without clothes in between, but... I wouldn't say cold and slippery, but cool and smooth, certainly. And the scales are really scales, yes."

Ruddy & Offal

"Cool and smooth.." He ponders that. So she really felt like a fish, then! Fish scales had certainly never made him recoil the way human touch did. Maybe that's how his dear self had managed it. Simple and effective. Negate the problem by just. Not touching skin.

He nods to himself, tapping his chin. His dear self was certainly clever. "What is she like? You said she was engaged to a Pentious, so I can assume she's either deaf or has the patience of a saint." Sir Pentious huffs from his chair, but stays out of it.

Astor

"Well, I've spent the last couple of months rehearsing with Valera for a musical, so either she's not deaf or she has a clairvoyant sense of pitch!" Astor laughs. "She *is* patient, as it happens; but her fiancé isn't as difficult to get along with as you'd think! Get through the first hour of defensive posturing without trying to poke holes in his shield, and he'll set it aside and have a civil conversation with you. It's just most people don't see the point in enduring that first hour, see. I'd even say he's easier to get on with than this one!" Astor tips his head toward Ruddy. "Sure, at least this one starts out cordial, but you've practically got to hand him a resumé and two character references before he'll let you do him a favor."

Ruddy & Offal

There's an AWFUL lot of little tidbits Offal could follow up on, there. But he'll come back for those in a moment, it seems like his dear self has a lot to say about snakes. "I disagree, my dear self! Sir Pentious here is the least cordial being I've ever met AND he never lets me do him any favors."

Anyway, enough about snakes. If he talks too much about Sir Pentious he might get kicked out again. "So! The fish-- Valera. I should call her by name, my goodness. You know her fairly well then? Working together for your musical and all. Is she.." He has to consider his words, here, lest he imply things. "She's patient. Is she.. kind? To my dear self? If my dear self got attached so quickly, I would hate to hear it was to someone unsuitable!"

Astor

"Did your resumé's cover letter say 'Dear Sir Pentious' or did it say 'To whom it may concern'? Maybe that's the difference." A wink, he's just teasing. ... But no yeah that probably is the difference.

"I know Valera well enough! And they're kind, yes—if anything I'd call them a little *too* concerned with how everyone else is doing, but that's a matter of personal preference, isn't it! Some people put on a mask as a test to discover who wants to see underneath, other people put on a mask because they're actors and they don't appreciate audience members getting on stage to tug it off.

Ruddy & Offal

Vaguely disgruntled noises from Sir Pentious, and a single sugar cube goes sailing over to bounce harmlessly off Offal's mass of hair. He doesn't even seem to notice.

TOO concerned... Interesting. "I take it you're the latter, my dear self! I imagine most of us are. She sounds like a bit of a busybody, no good for letting a performance run smoothly." Not that he necessarily minded that. If his dear self was anything like he was, having someone fret and fuss over his _feelings_ of all things had probably been an unexpected high.

Astor

Astor is momentarily terrified but then relieved when the incoming sugar cube bounces off his alternate's head instead of his. Okay good, he was right.

"I certainly am! Most of our others tend to be the same—only a handful of people are allowed backstage. Although there are exceptions, of course, all perfectly within the normal variations of Radio Demons." Offered just in case this alternate happens to be one of the exceptions. Astor doubts it—he doesn't think this alternate's been giving peeks behind his mask because he wants people to see so much as because the ribbon that's supposed to keep it up is fraying—but from what he's heard, if *anyone* could use someone peeking in, this one could.

But no prying. If this one doesn't invite Astor in, then it probably means that what he wants most is to be treated like everything's perfectly normal, so that's how Astor will treat him.

Ruddy & Offal

Normal variations... Oh, yes now there's a topic. "If it isn't too much to ask of you, my dear self, tell me about some of the other varieties of radio demon around. I've only seen two and the differences are already rather stunning!"

Astor

"Well, who do you want me to start with! There's me, the one I mentioned with a TV station, you've met the one Valera knows, another who spends most of his time mentoring a college radio station, one that's ascended to some sort of godhood... These are just the recent local ones, mind, I've met more than I can count beyond that—but I figure you'd want me to start with the ones you might actually meet! What or who do you want to hear about first?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal was expecting the first few. Yes, he could see a better version of himself working with a college, if he squinted. A bit out there, but not unbelievable. But the casual mention of godhood had him choking on his coffee. Pardon him while he tries to pretend he isn't hacking up a lung here. "Apologies, my dear self." *Ahem.* "When you say godhood, you're exaggerating I hope?"

Astor

His smile widened. "He goes by *the Engineer*—Engi to friends. He independently devastated his own Earth with nothing but his own raw power, and plays around with the surviving population for his own fun. He can transport himself anywhere unaided, absentmindedly wander backwards and forwards in time without noticing, plant visions in your head more real than any hallucinogenic you've ever had or signal you've ever received—all while never once breaking character! Why, half the time he speaks in advertising jingles! Whether or not that qualifies him for godhood depends on one's definition of a god, doesn't it? But consider what you or I can do, and imagine how powerful one of us would have to be before I'd consider him out of our league entirely. Whatever you call him, he's something that's moved beyond humanity."

Ruddy & Offal

He keeps as neutral a smile as he can as Astor spins what can only be *incredibly* out there lies, nodding politely and taking a much more measured sip of his drink. So this dear self was the liar, then, and Leal really did have some kind of fish wife. Really, a dear self that was that powerful..? That was just too far. Not remotely plausible. But quite the story! "Well well! What a fellow he must be! Perhaps I'll meet him someday, if I ever get out of this pit! In the meantime though, what about that college radio chap? What's his bag, my dear self?"

Astor

He could see that change in demeanor, that quick shift from shocked disbelief to indulgent neutrality, that rapid loss of all curiosity. Why? What could he stand to gain by lying about something so outrageous? Did this one simply assume Astor would spin tall tales to his own self—why, for the fun of it? To mock him? Out of some pathological need? Did he think he was delusional and the Engineer was some fantasy? Astor quickly cycled through anger and hurt and humiliation before he managed to snap on his own polite smile. "I'm sure you will, he likes his alternates. Turn the dial on any radio all the way to the left until it cracks a little and ask for him." Let this one get his *own* verification. And Astor's going to kick Leal when he sees him next. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten such a cold reception if this alternate had never been given reason to think his other selves were untrustworthy.

What does he say about Alexa to distinguish him from the others—that in his universe all radio stations broadcast from a singular tower and he's the self-appointed guardian of them all? "You might not find him convincing." Astor smiled wanly and sipped his coffee.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, not as subtle as he'd hoped. Damn, he'd fallen out of practice. Offal's smile twitches a bit, but he chuckles and waves an airy hand. He's fine. It's fine. This is fine! "I'll have to give it a go sometime, meet this.. Engineer, you said? For myself!" He glances at Ruddy, still curled up in his armchair and seemingly oblivious to the radio chatter. "Off of Sir Pentious' ship, of course! I'm already overstaying my welcome, having a surprise guest over would get me dropped from the bay doors in a heartbeat! Again!" There's a rumble of agreement from the snake. Not as oblivious as he seems, then. But any drive to talk about this other self was nipped in the bud, Astor's less than subtle jab hitting its mark with enough emotional impact for Offal to outright flinch. So he just.. nods, and grips his cup tighter.

Astor

It hadn't been meant as a jab, but a shield. He didn't think it had been taken that way. He had no idea how it *had* been taken, but a flinch wasn't what he thought it would cause. Well, great. Now he didn't just feel stupid and small; he felt stupid, guilty, and downright microscopic.

Come on, Alastor; you're the professional communicator, salvage this. "Anyway—pretty soon you'll find that anything that can vary between two people, does between our alternates somewhere. Including the things you wouldn't expect to be variable, even..." He tried to think of an example; but any that were big enough to make his point would probably be too big for his other to believe now. "Well—I don't yet know enough about you to say what you'd find unusual versus what you'd find mundane, do I! Any trait I could try to name as an outlier, you might say 'why, but that's just what I'm like!' And then wouldn't I look the fool?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no. This sounded like he was being nudged to talk about *himself*. Was he being nudged to talk about himself? That was the LAST thing he wanted to do. Offal wanted to find the perfect, most average Alastor experience, adopt that as his story, and never draw any attention to himself that wasn't one of his dear selves nodding in agreement at how very... Alastor..y.. he was. But he'd already screwed *that* up, and it was sounding like, from what his dear self was saying, his little plan was doomed from the start.

Deep breath. "I suppose so! You'll ah.. Have to excuse me, my dear self. I am still struggling to grasp the notion of seeing other people running around with my face!" A slightly too high pitched laugh. Come on, rein it in. "Perhaps it will be easier to grasp the differences if I don't think of them as my selves! Just.. Cousins."

Astor

Was that nervousness? Astor was just fucking up all over, wasn't he. "Why, I don't know what you want to be excused for!" (He really didn't.) "Mutiversal variations are endlessly fascinating, really—you get used to seeing your face on other people, but you never quite stop being surprised at the new variations. For my own part, I see my others as... as something like cousins and brothers and my own self all at the same time. An alternate is never quite the same person as you but never quite a different person from you, either; but there's no comfortable place in between the categories to put them either, so they're in all categories at once."

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious snorts, lowering his newspaper to look pointedly at Offal. He knows what this idiot is on about, and he's not about to sit through thirty minutes of agonizing social awkwardness while Astor fumbles for a clue. "I'VE SPOKEN TO A NUMBER OF ALASTORS BY NOW, AND IT IS MY _EXHAUSTED_ OPINION THAT YOU'LL FIT RIGHT IN WITH THE PARADE OF _THESPIANS_. DON'T TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT."

Sir Pentious slithers from the room with a huff, off to refill his empty cup. Offal looks.. weirdly reassured. And so he turns to look his dear self, and blurts out the first thing that comes into his fool head. "I died at twenty seven. How old were you?"

Astor

Astor's struggling smile wilts even further at Sir Pentious's jab. He's just striking out with everyone today, isn't he? He keeps his mouth shut until Sir Pentious is gone, then mutters, "Figures, doesn't it. You go above and beyond to help a man with his work, and after that he calls you a 'thespian' like it's some kind of vermin that'll spoil your picnic." He sighs harshly. "*Sorry.* I think I tuned out for a moment, there. You were saying?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile twitches down, head cocking to one side as he loosens his death grip on his coffee. Well _that_ came out of nowhere. Astor's question is dismissed with a sharp shake of his head, and Offal uncurls to lean towards his alternate. "My dear self, you think he dislikes you?"

Astor

Eyebrow arched, he says dryly, "He's certainly never suggested he *likes* me. I know Sir Pentiouses are much louder when they're peeved than when they're pleased, but generally they drop *some* hint if you've won their approval. I suspect he finds me forgettably neutral."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal shakes his head. "He likes you quite a bit, my dear self! If he didn't, he'd never leave you unattended in his ship. Or even let you in." He shrugs, gesturing around them. "I know he's.. prickly, but he's talked about you with respect."

Astor

Astor isn't so sure about *that*—thus far he's been allowed on board when he has something to offer and has demonstrated he won't cause trouble. That makes him *minimally trustworthy and occasionally useful,* not *likable.*

But that last bit gives him pause. "Has he. With *respect*-respect, or just without *dis*respect?"

Ruddy & Offal

"Respect-respect! I've known Sir Pentious since I landed here, and in that time the only people he's ever been anything approaching sweet to are ladies. If you want him to speak kindly, try wearing a bonnet and fluttering your lashes!" He snickers, but he's completely serious.

Astor

A huff. "In my experience, his others reserve 'sweet' for lovers and 'kind' for close friends—and infrequently at that. No, I'm not expecting any of *that* out of him." But there are ways one can demonstrate approval for a person without having to be *kind* to them. Like by publicly stating that a given person is the only version of them that one respects. And Astor is not the Alastor that received that honor.

He decides not to ask what exactly Sir Pentious has been saying about him. He's afraid to find out that it isn't genuine praise but rather *you'd be less insufferable if you were more like your alternate, let me tell you what he does that you don't measure up to—* Besides, it would feel needy. "Well, you've known him longer—I'll trust that you've had more experience picking up his subtleties." It's half true.

Ruddy & Offal

A shrug, and Offal puts down his empty cup. He's rubbish at reassurance, but he wants SO badly to connect to his self.. "I do! Earlier, what made you wilt? That was him.. reassuring me." Oh, that IS embarrassing to admit. Soldier on.

"I'm sure you've figured out that I'm not quite. Matched up. To yourself. Or others of my dear selves." His shoulders droop, but he squares himself back up to continue. "He's aware of my feelings. Not that I ever _admitted_ them." Hrmph. "It's horrible, I'm freeloading in the airship of a man who can _read_ me!"

Astor

Oh, was the wilting that obvious? He very nearly internally cringes at himself too hard to catch the substance of what his alternate is really saying. But he does catch it.

"My goodness, aren't you the unlucky one—stuck with the only Sir Pentious capable of reading anything subtler than a billboard." Dumb joke to lighten the mood; but Astor quickly sobers up. If his alternate is openly talking about the subtext now, then he can talk about it too.

"I've figured out you're having a bad year, yes. But I don't think the rest of us are as matched up as you might think. Or if what you mean is you think you're *lesser* than us?" He snorts dismissively. "Sure, you look at the Hell Broadway performer, the TV manager, the college mentor, the *god,* all of that, and my oh my don't they sound like an impressive lot! Living their best afterlives, aren't they? But that leaves out all the drug habits, the suicidal gestures, the identity crises, the breakdowns, the burnouts... Oh, we're quite the pack of fireworks, aren't we? Flashy and loud, and all too prone to catching fire and exploding."

A wink, "But none of that's fit for broadcast, is it? A good announcer puts on a smile and his best persona and makes sure the audience can't tell he's got a hangover! Even if his audience is his fellow announcers. See—you match up with us, after all."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile is thin, but he nods appreciatively towards Astor as his cheeks turn slightly pink. It's a comfort to hear, he'll just need time to roll the thought around in his head. At least this dear self is being honest with him, or if he's lying, doing a damn good job. It makes it less humiliating to have done what felt like pulling his own organs out to show off.

"I suppose you're right, my dear self. Easy to get razzle dazzled even by your own selves, if you're already full of self loathing. And I'm afraid I've let myself fall rather far from my own graces! No broadcasts, I haven't even been to my own house in.. Who knows HOW long. What a waste of a good garden, I'm sure the flowers are all dead by now." He sighs, reaching up to brush his too long hair out of his face. "A shame, it's a nightmare getting plants to grow down here, let alone flower and reproduce. Maybe I can.. try again. Eventually." Now that's wishful thinking. But his dear self doesn't need to hear him get TOO melancholy over some ridiculous flowers.

Astor

Astor leans closer, fixes him with a look, and says meaningfully, "You have a *house?*" The corner of his mouth twitches. He sits back up. "Oh, that's the trouble, isn't it? We're good even at dazzling each other! And then trying so hard to be dazzling in return nobody can see past the lights to realize that *most* of us think we're the one black hole in a sky full of stars." Astor doesn't think he's ever managed to discuss this with an alternate before, even though he's sure he'd met enough alternates to figure it out a couple decades back. Ironically, the fact that this alternate currently can't keep his mask on makes things easier—not that Astor is going to make him self-conscious by mentioning that.

"I've got some okra and bell pepper potted right now—remarkably hardy strains, too. I could give you some seeds if you need to restart your garden. I'm making plans for a little herb garden, too—nothing ambitious, just what I can squeeze into a window planter."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course I-- Ah. I see your point." He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. His dear self was right, though having such an honest discussion still felt incredibly wrong. But maybe that was good. They were both breaking rules, talking like this.

"A window planter? I think you could manage a decent selection of herbs with that, if you're not too worried about the aesthetics. You could probably even manage some cherry tomatoes if you fashioned a little trellis. If anything in my garden is left, we can trade cuttings."

Oh, that wasn't supposed to be the topic here. But it was a nice distraction at least, gave him something to dig his nails into while trying to navigate difficult terrain.

Astor

"Of *course.*" Huff. He crosses his arms loosely, casually, hoping it's not obvious how painfully he's digging his fingers into his arm. It's a hard, rare thing for him to admit, *especially* to an alternate. This conversation really is breaking all the rules.

His eyes light up. "Oh, a trellis, I hadn't even thought of that! Wonderful! Hold on—" He opens a portal, pulls out his grimoire, and flips it open to two pages at a right angle so that they stand like a desktop and an adjoining wall; on the desk he's pencil sketched out a magical workspace and altar, and on the wall a couple of cabinets, a planter, and a round window. He roughly sketches in a pair of trellises curling up along the curved window frame, and then, inspired, adds some over the window that something could hang off of. "Brilliant. Yes, by all means, let's trade—the only way to get any decent produce down here is to swap snips of the stuff that survives!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Gladly, my dear self. The less I have to try and comb the market for fresh ingredients, the better." Offal tilts his head, trying to get a look at what Astor is drawing. A curved window? That looked like.. Well. That was none of his business, now was it? He pulls back, glancing at his empty coffee before his head suddenly swivels up at the sound of scales on the floor.

Ruddy enters, a fresh pot of coffee in hand, and glances between the two Alastors before nodding his head towards Offal almost imperceptibly. It was as close as he'd ever get to asking "do you need help". The returning shake was equally easy to miss, but enough for the serpent to come refill empty cups. "I'M ONLY HERE FOR A MOMENT, SUPPER IS COOKING."

Astor

Lots of places have circular windows, probably, maybe.

Astor starts. "Oh! I believe I'm being reminded not to overstay my welcome, aren't I? I won't intrude upon your supper." Pity, they were just getting somewhere.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal opens his mouth, but Ruddy responds faster, staring at Astor like he'd just grown a second head, and that second head had started speaking tongues. "IF I WANTED YOU OFF MY SHIP, I'D TELL YOU TO GET OFF MY SHIP. THERE'S A PLATE FOR YOU TOO, ALASTOR."

A loud scoff, and Ruddy twists around to slither back out of the room, leaving Offal to give Astor a 'what did I tell you' look.

Astor

"Oh, then my mistake for thinking you might be tactful about it!" He meets his alternate's gaze and rolls his eyes. "How do you like that? It takes real skill to offer someone an invitation without letting them feel the least bit welcome. I bet he's practiced."

Ruddy & Offal

"Incredible, isn't it? And this is how he is with the people he *likes*." He shakes his head, giving his coffee a tentative sip before putting it back down. WAY too hot to drink, he'll have to wait. Oh well, more time to try and reassure his dear self that Ruddy wasn't, in fact, JUST a foul tempered old man, but ALSO a cantankerous bastard of a friend who never just SAID nice things. "You may have missed it, if you weren't looking. He came in to see if I was alright. I don't know about the snakes you know, but he's rather *subtle* about any care he shows."

Astor

"Hm. 'Likes' or 'tolerates'?" Astor's still dubious of the claim that this Sir Pentious so much as respects him—and it's a steeper climb still to get from "respects" all the way up to "likes."

"They run the gamut, but some are... well, it's hard to call anybody that loud 'subtle,' but certainly they've got ways of showing concern that no one else would recognize as such. I wasn't looking until he mentioned dinner, I'll take your word for it."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course, my dear self." Offal leans back into his seat, giving Astor a once over. Now that he wasn't in the middle of shrinking away or flinching, he had a chance to see his alternate as something other than the pinnacle of what an Alastor should be. There were flaws, probably, even if he didn't see them yet.

He was forgetting something... Oh, yes. "*Did* you want to stay for dinner, my dear self? I'm sure you could sneak out without any fuss."

Astor

"Sneak out, after getting an explicit invitation? Not without insulting him." Which didn't quite directly answer the question, but it meant he was staying.

Ruddy & Offal

"I'll take that as you're staying, then! Good. Sir Pentious always cooks enough food to put my own mother to shame, and we wind up feeding the leftovers to some college students he knows just to clear out the fridge!" Why does he know college students? Offal has no idea, but it seems like Sir Pentious just *knows* people.

Astor

Considering Sir Pentious had just helped a university worth of them unionize, Astor isn't too surprised. "Oh, well, I'm always happy to help rescue people from leftovers."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal didn't know about Sir Pentious' adventures, unfortunately. He simply nods and reaches for his coffee again. It's still too hot of course, but he's going to do his damndest to cool it down by blowing on it before the dinner bell sounds. He has nothing else to say, so unless Astor has more to say, they're just going to sit in silence.

Astor

Astor very rarely doesn't have more to say. What had they been talking about before Sir Pentious came in? Gardening, Radio Demons dazzling each other—ah. "You uh, asked something when Sir Pentious first left that I didn't catch, and we never looped back around to it. What was...?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, he remembered. Damn, and here Offal had thought that had been conveniently forgotten in the rest of the mess. Ah well, he'd already spilled his guts to this alternate, he may as well commit to it. A polite cough, and he nods. "Ah, I'd asked how old you'd been when you died. A bit of a silly question, feel free to ignore it, my dear self. What does it matter when we've been stuck down here for so long, really?"

Astor

"Oh, it makes some difference. Not the age itself, maybe, but what it means you lived through. I was in my mid thirties," he says automatically, before immediately amending himself: "Thirty-five. Although I don't give just anyone the exact number. You?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no, he's OLD. Offal's smile turns almost apologetic, coffee cup lifting to his lips as he mumbles his response. He's talking to the coffee, it's fine. "Twenty five, I think. Maybe twenty seven at most. I don't remember. Younger than thirty, that's for sure."

Astor

Oh no, he's a BABY. Never mind the fact that the gap between 113 years old and 123 years old doesn't mean much. This is an infant. "Well—see, that's a perfect example of an age that *does* make a difference. It means you're one of us that didn't fight in the war. You must have been... what, eleven or twelve during the draft?" He blinks as another thought occurs to him. "My goodness. You were still a teenager when I first went on air."

Ruddy & Offal

Just an old man and a baby, hanging out in an even older man's glorified blimp. This is going great. "Correct! Not that my father's side of the family didn't try and tell me I should go lie about my age and serve the country like a proper man. If looks could have killed, I tell you, my mother would have had a body count!" His laugh is a little bitter, but at least it's a laugh. "I don't envy your service, but it certainly sounds like you had more time to enjoy being on air. Felt like I'd barely started before I was six feet under."

Astor

"She wasn't too happy about it in my neck of the woods, either. I'd never seen her like that before."

And over a century later, it's still uncomfortable to think about. Move along. "You were on speaking terms with your father's side, then? I've found that's one of the most inconsistent things among our others. I think you and I are in the minority."

His smile thins grimly. "I'd been on air just a few months short of a decade—and it still felt like I'd barely started, too."

Ruddy & Offal

That was the way of things, wasn't it. It was always too soon to go, when you were doing something you were passionate about. He sighs, the hand not holding his coffee pushing his hair out of his face again. Maybe he should find a pair of scissors soon... But that's for later.

"I was on speaking terms with them, yes. Although they could never completely hide that they were disappointed that my father's only child was, well.." Mixed, but he's not going to say it outright. A gesture towards himself should get the general idea across, hopefully. "But I was never mistreated, and I was never left wanting."

Astor

Astor nods energetically in agreement; yes, his too. He gets it. "They kept me on the family tree and stared down any neighbors who looked puzzled when they introduced me as a cousin. There was never any question that I wouldn't become the next patriarch of the family; but they always had the decency to make like it was because I lived so far out of town. Of course, not *all* of them were quite so circumspect, but—well." Astor clicks his tongue. "Interesting how a tragic hunting accident can lighten the atmosphere at Thanksgiving dinner." He sips his coffee very coolly.

Ruddy & Offal

That startles a laugh out of Offal, but he nods in turn. Good! Good, someone understands where he was coming from. That was a relief. Some things were hard to talk about with someone who didn't share the experiences. "Couldn't put it better myself! I have no idea how they never figured me out, I doubt I was *half* as clever as I thought I was at the time. Being the patriarch would never have worked out, I barely tolerated the questions of when I'd get married to one of the nice *white* girls from the church they insisted I attend with them."

Astor

Astor blinks in amazement. "No. And I'm sure it never crossed their minds what a fix *you'd* be in if a stranger came to town and objected to the marriage." He shakes his head. That's his father's side of the family, all right. "I was far enough outside the line of succession that they saw my bachelorhood as a subject of gossip rather than as a problem to be solved. Anyway, Pa never married and only had a child with a woman he *couldn't* marry, I don't think anyone was surprised I followed in his footsteps. Ma certainly wasn't."

Ruddy & Offal

"Hah! I was.. pale enough, I suppose? That I'm sure they hoped they could just pass me off as tanned from hunting. Or maybe they just didn't think at all, who knows. Once mother died and I was stuck with them full time, they wasted no time trying to make me presentable. I'm just glad she never had to see what they did to my hair!" His smile twitches at the corners, but he wastes no time on *that* little memory. Natural causes his *ass*.

"Were I so lucky to only be gossiped about! No no, I had the misfortune of being the eldest son of the eldest son. A barely passable bastard, but one too well known to hide away. I suppose I was proud of it, in some way. I made myself quite the thorn in their side while I could!"

Astor

"I was pale enough to get away with *some* things, but not enough that I was about to try fathering Désirée's baby." Not that he'd planned on being *anyone's* father, but.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the revelation that his alternate's mother died; and again, this time in anger, at the thought of anyone touching his hair. In life he'd had the same hair as his mother, and proudly so; if they dared try to take that from his other—

But he presses his lips together. That's not a can of angry worms he wants to open now. Instead, he says, "I only spent summers with them. Ma survived me."

Ruddy & Offal

They'd done a bit more than *try*, but that wasn't something either of the alternates present wanted to get into at the moment. The news that his dear self's mother survived him was enough to distract Offal from memories of hot irons and wet combs. His eyes close as his shoulders hunch, smile twisting for a fraction of a second before it snaps back into place. Deep breath, relax his posture, come on then. He'd already crossed enough lines with his alternate without *crying* over things from a hundred years ago.

"I. Well. I don't know if I should be glad to hear that or not! But it is what it is! I wish I'd had more time with mine, but I'm glad she never had to bury me." He clears his throat and goes for the coffee. A few gulps to help steady himself, that does it. "So! Do you speak French then? That was one of the only things they were happy about, though they insisted I learn *proper* French once I was in their house. And piano, though I didn't mind the piano. I'd always liked music."

Astor

None of the possible endings were good, were they? "I wish I hadn't made her bury me." It might be the plainest and opennest thing he'd said all afternoon.

But that kind of thing can only be taken in a grain or two at a time. Back to lighter topics. "*Bien sûr, mon ami!* I practiced with my father's family in the summers and with ghosts the rest of the year. In Paris a man told me I looked like somebody's grandson but spoke French like somebody's grandfather. I don't remember which side of the family got me started on piano—both had ones I could play—I was young when I started. I do know I was with Ma when I started the violin, although it was Pa's side of the family that put the idea in my head to learn. He probably paid for it, I don't know; children don't keep track of that sort of thing..."

Ruddy & Offal

"You went to Paris! How fantastic, I never got the opportunity. I... never got the opportunity to do a lot of things, really." He really *had* died young, hadn't he? It was easy to forget, until he remembered all the things he'd been *planning* on doing. But that was *depressing* to think about, lighten the mood there buddy! "The experiences are half lined up, but my French is tragically standard. Not a hint of my poor mother's accent!" He tosses his head back dramatically, the back of his hand daintily pressed to his forehead.

And then its several seconds of trying to arrange his hair once he's sitting properly again. Pthhbt. Hair in his mouth. Give him a moment. What had he been saying? "So, what was Paris like, then? Everything people said it was, or a disappointment all around?"

Astor

"Now, here's the thing, in Louisiana they thought *my* French was standard, too. It was the *French* who disagreed. I'm sure if you'd ever made it to Paris, they'd have found your French charmingly antiquated, too!" This is probably meant as reassurance.

He's watched his alternate fuss with his hair a time too many and his desire to mind his own business is now outweighed by his pity. He opens a portal, rummages around inside, and emerges with four glittery plastic barrettes that are just slightly too pink to blend into Radio Demon red hair. He wordlessly offers them. "When I was there? Lamentably full of soldiers. I'm afraid I didn't have an opportunity to absorb the culture, although I glimpsed a little in the distance. I always wanted to go back after the war, but, well." A shrug. "As it is? All I got out of Paris was my first honest-to-God demonology book."

Ruddy & Offal

It takes Offal longer than it should to figure out what his alternate is offering him, several seconds wasted on puzzling over the barrettes before he realizes what they're for. Astor gets to watch him haphazardly pin back his bangs. It doesn't look good, the man has never used a hair clip before.

"Is THAT how you got your start, my dear self? I got mine from poking my nose into the pittance of belongings I was left by my mother that I was _allowed_ to keep."

Astor

Completely satisfactory. Barrettes aren't to help you *look* good, they're to help you *see* good.

Astor is just about ready to strangle his alternate's paternal relatives. "You'd have to specify what, exactly, you're asking about the start of! I had many starts at many different things at many different times, and that was certainly *one* of them; but I'm quite certain my mother never worked with demons, so I suspect we're talking about different things!"

Ruddy & Offal

"We may just be, my dear self!" Offal plants his cheek into his own palm, finally able to look at his alternate without a curtain of hair obscuring his vision. It was strange, seeing himself sitting across from, well, himself. It wasn't like the illusions or shadow copies, this was an independent person who happened to share a face, and apparently several other things as well. "My mother didn't work with demons either, to my knowledge. She worked *against* them. It wasn't her main area of focus, not her religion, not her circus, not her monkeys. But apparently it was something she picked up when she got involved with my father? Or so the letters said, if I remember correctly."

If he were anyone else, he'd frown. But he furrows his brows instead, and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm afraid that in the absence of my mother, I was raised almost entirely Catholic. Demonology was my bread and butter once I got my hands on it. Learning how to counter them was a fine start in learning to *deal* with them."

Astor

"What in the world was your father up to that necessitated getting into demon fighting?" A huff.

"Half with Catholicism, half with Voodoo. I've been communicating with spirits since before I was born; Ma started teaching me magic before I learned to read. But I didn't start working with demons until the war. The Catholics discouraged it and the Voodooists had no business with it." He nods to his alternate, "Did you only work with demons, then?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I don't know! Never got the chance to ask." His grin grows. It's a vexing mystery, but some part of him thinks it's *hilarious* that somehow, his blandly pleasant but ultimately spineless father was out there attracting the attention of demons.

"Oh, almost entirely. I wasn't allowed any of the, as my grandparents put it, *"Blasphemous Voodoo Hoodoo Garbage"* after I moved. No no! That was a good Christian household, anything out of the ordinary was scolded out of me." He rolls his eyes, now that Astor can see them. "I did try and relearn what I could once I moved out, scrounge the scraps I could remember together, but it wasn't the easiest thing."

Astor

It's impressive how effective a sneer Alastor can produce while technically still smiling. "'Blasphemous' my entire... I used the Bible far more for conjure than I ever did for church! Try telling *that* to average 'good Christian'! Or that Hoodoo is practiced on nearly every page in the book, just by a different name!" He sighs harshly. "You were robbed." Which he's sure his alternate already knows, but sometimes it helps to hear someone else say it. "I wish I could offer to teach you whatever you didn't get to relearn, but I'm afraid I'm not qualified anymore. Maybe for some of the rootwork, but not the deeper stuff. Certainly nothing of Voodoo."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods, taking a few seconds to get his feelings in check before he responds. He was robbed. It was painful to think about, painful to acknowledge. And there wasn't much to be done about it anymore, unfortunately. And it stung.

"I appreciate the thought, my dear self." A shrug, and he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to turn this little social into a deep dive into my history! You've already heard enough prattle to last your whole afterlife! I'm just glad to hear my other dear selves weren't also cut off."

Astor

"Think nothing of it, I find these little compare-and-contrast sessions tend to go that way! We'll start with 'so what's *your* favorite food?' and end up on, '... and that's why I still have lingering trauma around blonde women and golden retrievers!'" He laughs. "For what it's worth, our experiences run the whole spectrum. You're not the only one who's been cut off for one reason or another. Even I was eventually. It's unfortunate, but, well! At least it means you aren't an outlier."

Ruddy & Offal

It's less of a comfort and more of him feeling a twinge of sympathy, but it's kind of his alternate to offer up that kind of knowledge trying to.. comfort him? Relate? Either way, it's appreciated.

Offal nods, empties his cup, and puts on his best grin. "Well, I can tell you my favorite color isn't red! I'm more of a fan of pink, personally. Or yellow. My mother adored yellow."

Astor

His eyes light up. "Oh, my mother's favorite was yellow too! Perhaps I should say 'is'—I doubt it's changed in the last eighty-odd years. As long as I lived, every year she'd grow yellow angel's trumpets right outside the kitchen window. It's among my favorite colors too, yellow or gold. But I'm afraid I'm terribly predictable and really do favor red just as much as my wardrobe would suggest!"

Ruddy & Offal

Should he ask his alternate why he's speaking about his mother in present tense? It's tempting. But the idea of her being, well, not *alive*, but any sort of present, is absolutely terrifying. And it wasn't even *his* mother, it was none of his business. Don't be a freak, Alastor.

"Angel's trumpets! Now those bring back memories.. I managed to get some of them growing at one point, I'll figure out how to do it again. I hope the honeysuckle is alive at least, its a stubborn enough plant that it may still be limping along." He taps his lips thoughtfully, staring off into nothing. Later. He'll worry about that later. Along with everything else. "Red is a fine color! Pink is just a bit softer, easier on my eyes. Though it'd clash *horribly* with my skin tone now!"

Astor

"Did you? *Oh!*" The corners of his mouth and eyes twitch a bit, threatening to betray just how much hearing of an alternate with living angel's trumpets yanks at his heartstrings. "I've only seen them a few times down here, and never growing free, just dried parts in tea bags. I do hope yours survived! I'd ask for a cutting, but goodness, where would I plant it? I'm sure I'd just kill the poor thing." He tuts chidingly at himself—but there's a flash of genuine melancholy in his eyes.

"I've seen a few of us with pink wardrobes! I don't think it clashes all that terribly, but then I've never had much of an eye for that sort of thing. I'm sure you could find someone to exchange fashion ideas with, at any rate!"

Ruddy & Offal

Forget the pink, look at the way his poor alternate had responded! No no, unacceptable.

"Despite the sizes I'm sure you've seen various plants reach, Angel's Trumpet *is* a shrub. You can keep a one in a pot if it suits your fancy! Mine filled half the sunroom before I moved it outside, QUITE the display!" A shake of his head, and he leans in towards his alternate again. "You've already done enough for me, you think I wouldn't help you learn how to keep a plant alive? Really, my dear self. Even if I have to start from seedlings all over again, I'd be happy to show you how I strangled life out of Hell's soil."

Astor

"That would be..." He's *tempted.* But he shakes his head. "No, no—Ma took hers inside when it got cold, and she had to plant that thing in a washbin. And I don't have a *sunroom*! Goodness me, wherever I put it, the poor thing would starve for lack of sunlight! I've got one spot with a window, but just the one window, and small; I'm going to try out those sun lamps in another place, but that's a *kitchen*, and a crowded one at that, I can't grow a massive poisonous shrub in there—I have the makeshift greenhouse at the hotel, but I was hoping to move everything out of it soon, I couldn't possibly tie myself down at the hotel again for the sake of an ornamental plant..."

He shakes his head again and smiles sadly. "I just... don't have anywhere for it."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods. He wasn't about to insist his alternate saddle himself with a plant just for emotional reasons, so... "Entirely understandable, my dear self! I suppose you'll just have to come see mine once its all back up to its former glory. May take some time, if my house is half as dusty as I think it is. I couldn't *possibly* have a guest over until the place looks passable again. But we can do coffee in the garden, if you'd like."

He didn't like having guests over even when he HAD lived in his house full time. But he hadn't known any versions of himself then, either. It might be interesting. Or disorienting. But if his dear self had half the emotional attachment to a few plants that he did, maybe it would do him good to be able to see some again. It was the best way he could think of to try and pay him back for this bizarre peptalk.

Astor

"Yes—yes, I'd like that. It sounds—pleasant. Whenever is convenient for you." He clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. Damn, almost slipped up and had emotions for a second. "If you find you could use a second pair of hands to help get your garden back in order—well, I don't get nearly enough practice these days!"

Ruddy & Offal

He is not going to comment on the nearly emotional display. Glass houses and all that, this alternate had already tolerated him being as close to hysterical as he could tolerate, let the man have a dignified wobble. Instead Offal cheerily snaps his fingers, letting himself speak more loudly. Bombastic! Cheery! No emotional anguish here! "Oho! And here I thought I was going to have to beg Sir Pentious to loan me a few eggs. Yes, you'd be most welcome to come help me dig out my... What did he call it.. *Depression Pit*. It'd be good to trust in my assistant's competence instead of having to run to hide the fine china."

Astor

*Depression pit.* Well, *that* wasn't very optimistic. "I imagine all they'd be useful for is  contributing their shells to the fertilizer! I'm sure I could offer much more help! We'll get your garden back in shape, never you fear."

Ruddy & Offal

"Fertilizer, certainly, and they don't make bad starter pots if you clean them out well! You just have to make sure you crack them apart once you're putting the plant in the ground." He pauses, then taps a fingertip to his own cheek. "I... appreciate the assistance. Once we have it fixed up, we'll have to at the very least set you up with a fresh bouquet. Less permanent, but you can dry the flowers."

Astor

"Now there's an idea! I suppose their shells would be thick enough for it, wouldn't they?"

His face lights up at the offer of a bouquet. "I'm sure it would make a lovely decoration! Thank you, my friend, that sounds delightful!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Glad you think so! I'm sure we can keep you well supplied with flowers when you want them, this Hell doesn't have much in the way of seasons beyond Hot and then Hot and Raining. At least the plants love it!"

And there's the dinner bell, right on schedule. Offal gestures towards the doorway, tilting his head towards Astor. "I hope you're hungry, my dear self!"

Astor

"You have *hot and raining*? We got the short end of the stick! All we have is *hot*! With a few surprise days, peppered in like sprinkles in a confetti cake!"

His ears flick at the bell. "Aren't I *always* hungry!" He heads for the door—but his alternate has better catch up fast, Astor isn't actually sure where he's going.

Ruddy & Offal

Uh oh, time for Offal to do the awkward little half jog everyone hates, look at him go. Once he's caught up to his alt he can settle into a more dignified walk. "The kitchen and dining room are this way! Just follow the sound of Sir Pentious humming! Or, failing that, the line of eggbois. They're like ants, I tell you!" It's okay to kick eggbois out of the way. It's fine.

Astor

"Why, do *they* eat?" Squinting at the Egg Bois. The ant comparison may have thrown him off, he's imagining they're invading the dining room like ants at a picnic. He's not about to kick them though, he is a *guest.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Do they eat? My dear self, they'll eat anything you let them shove into their mouth." His grin widens. "Don't ask me where it goes, I have no idea! I saw them swarm a sinner and eat him once, though. Gone in seconds, never saw the fellow again." He nudges another eggboi out of his way with the side of his foot, one of the fancy faberge ones.

"...I don't think they get hungry though, they just like putting things in their strange yolky mouths."

Astor

"Hm! The one I've seen, they'll eat if you tell them to, but they won't do it on their own." He regards them curiously. Multiversal differences. "Self-seasoning omelets."

Ruddy & Offal

There's a loud snort. Seems like Astor managed to almost get a laugh out of Ruddy! Not that you'd guess it by his expression when he leans out of the kitchen. A fistful of rolled silverware is shoved at Offal, and then Ruddy vanishes back into the kitchen before he emerges properly with a tray of garlic bread. A last minute addition he'd thrown in, but EVERYONE likes garlic bread. Off to the dining room, a comically huge amount of food was waiting!

Astor

Oh, he was overheard. He doesn't think he caused any offense, but just in case, he throws in, "Of course, I'm not going to scramble any without permission!" He's pretty sure this Sir Pentious isn't accustomed to Alastors asking permission, it can't hurt to throw in a reassurance.

And it's a good thing Astor reminded *himself* he's asking for permission, or else he might have casually snagged a slice of garlic bread off the tray on the way to the dining room. In a herculean display of self-control he holds off, and in the dining room waits eyeing the feast to be told how seating is to be arranged.

Ruddy & Offal

Such strength... Such restraint. Offal has no such thing, and tries to grab for a slice before the tip of Ruddy's tail darts up to slap the back of his hand. Neither of them comment on it, and Offal meanders off to one end of the table on his own. Ruddy pulls out a seat for Astor, and sits at the other end of the table, tail coiled around and around his seat to keep anyone from tripping on him.

A moment to get himself arranged, and Ruddy plucks up a slice of the bread. Better to do it now, before the radio demons inhaled it all. "HELP YOURSELF, THERE'S MORE GARLIC BREAD IN THE OVEN."

Astor

Astor made the right move on the garlic bread. He hates to try to make himself look good merely by avoiding the decisions that make the alternate he's decided he'd like to help look worse; but like, he'll take it.

He takes his seat and then a slice of garlic bread—but it's a close race. "Quite hospitable of you to let me stay!"

Ruddy & Offal

There's that look again, like Astor had grown a second head. Ruddy takes his time to respond, fixing his plate up before he *harrumphs* at his guest. "WHY WOULD I NOT? YOU WERE HERE WHEN IT WAS TIME FOR SUPPER, I HAVE PLENTY TO SPARE FOR A GUEST OR TWO." A pause as he sets his napkin in his lap, can't forget his manners here. "TAKE SOME WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO, TOO. IT'D BE A SHAME TO WASTE THE LEFTOVERS."

Astor

"If you hadn't wanted a dinner guest you could have made some excuse to kick me out. Or skipped the excuse! Now, you accept my gratitude without making a fuss." He serves himself. It's time to Judge this cooking.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again with a huff. *Fine*. He has to see what his guest thinks of his cooking anyway, it'd been a while since he'd cooked for anyone but himself or his squatter guest, and Offal was expected to praise his cooking just to keep from getting booted off the ship to find somewhere else to freeload. Astor was under *no* such obligations.

Offal of course, is already plowing through his serving and getting ready for a second. That garlic bread had his name on it, watch out.

Astor

Well, clearly this Sir Pentious doesn't think "seasoning the food" meant "adding salt," which is a good first step. The cooking style is definitely British (derogatory), but if Alastor couldn't drum up an appreciation for foods low on additional flavoring, then he wouldn't have a penchant for raw human flesh, now would he? Satisfying him takes either a high-quality recipe or high-quality ingredients.

And luckily, Sir Pentious has the latter. Alastor gives him a pointed look. "*You* have a supplier."

Ruddy & Offal

Look how that serpent preens, he's so VERY smug about his food. Oh, did you notice? Did you notice the fresh snap of the vegetables? The decided lack of that almost spoiled aftertaste to the meat? Oh, it's nothing special..... He hums, and then answers as matter of factly as he can despite the insufferably smug aura.

"SUPPLIERS. PLURAL. OF COURSE I DO, WHAT, YOU THINK I'D EAT HELL'S IDEA OF FOOD IF I COULD AFFORD NOT TO?" Ruddy grins with all his teeth, waggling his fork with a piece of broccoli skewered onto the tip. "NO NO. EVERYTHING HERE IS EITHER FROM THE SURFACE, OR FROM A SPECIALTY SELLER WHO KNOWS HOW TO GROW IT JUST AS WELL. I AM A MAN OF CLASS AND STYLE, I EXPECT MY FOOD TO BE *EDIBLE*. COSTS A FORTUNE, BUT THESE DAYS, MONEY IS ONE OF THE THINGS I HAVE IN ABUNDANCE."

Astor

"And the quality shows! We'll have to trade lists of suppliers sometimes. I'll bet there's some overlap, cross-universally speaking; but we move in different circles, I imagine I've got some sources you don't and vice versa."

Ruddy & Offal

"OH, ALMOST CERTAINLY. I'LL GET YOU A LIST SORTED BY WHAT THEY SPECIALIZE IN. PHONE NUMBERS, ADDRESSES, YOU CAN SEE WHAT MATCHES AND WHAT DOESN'T." He didn't want to think about how long it had taken to track down some of his suppliers, he'd had to attend a NUMBER of what passed for high class functions these days before he'd managed to get a few of those names. But who knew, maybe Astor had a more reliable fellow for finding decent chicken. It was worth investigating, at least!

Astor

"And I'll do the same! As far as I can, anyway. Some of them don't have *addresses* so much as farmer's black markets where you can catch them if you're lucky."

Ruddy & Offal

"AH, I'M FAMILIAR WITH THE TYPE. MINE MOSTLY CAME FROM THE... *HIGH SOCIETY* CIRCLES. A BIT OF ACCESSIBILITY IS REQUIRED FOR REPEAT CUSTOMERS." He'll get the list after dinner, if he remembers. Though he doubted Astor would let him forget, the fascination Alastors had with food was one of their more respectable features, after all.

Astor

"Oh, I gave up on those high society functions in the sixties. They're so insufferable." Astor tuts, shaking his head. "For most ingredients I prefer to go the working class route! Sure, any prince with a taste for human cuisine can hook you up with fresh produce—but what are the odds he's personally maintaining a cellar full of dirt and mushrooms, or hopping over to China to harvest asparagus? No, he's paying some imp servant to do that for him! It's far easier to just befriend that imp!"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs, cutting his meat into little cubes so he can better arrange little bites of everything together. "I SUPPOSE, BUT THE PRINCE IS THE ONE WHO CAN SEND THE IMP TO THE SURFACE. BEFRIENDING THE IMP WON'T DO YOU ANY GOOD IF THE IMP IS KILLED OFF OR REPLACED, YOU WANT TO GET IN GOOD WITH THE ONE ACTUALLY HOLDING THE POWER."

Astor

"See, that's why you don't *stop* at befriending the imp. You bring gifts and favors for *all* his coworkers. You make yourself a staple at the farmer's market. If he disappears, they'll know you well enough to give you an honest answer when you ask who's replacing him—especially if they know you're a middleman who can get things they can't." He's trying not to watch Sir Pentious cut up his food and not quite succeeding. Makes him think of Penny and how he preferred his meat cut up just so. "One strategy that works if you have more money than time, another if you have more time than money. It all gets the job done!"

He glances at Offal. "Or you could cut out the middlemen and grow your own produce, can't you?" Hi he didn't forget you're here.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal jolts at the sudden acknowledgement, his fork scraping across his plate with a screech that makes him and Ruddy both wince. Can't play that one off, so he elects to ignore it entirely. "Why yes, my dear self! That's always worked well for me."

Ruddy has no green thumb to speak of, so he's not going to comment on that. He'll settle for watching the Alastors.

Astor

Make that three for three on the wincing. Astor also chooses to ignore it. "I *do* appreciate the offer to trade cuttings, by the by! You mentioned a couple of flowers, what else have you gotten to grow down here?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks at his alternate, brain stalling for several seconds as he tries to remember the name of any plant, ever. What had he grown? Think, Alastor, think. What had *mother* grown?

"Green beans, okra, potatoes, a few herbs.. I had sunflowers, too. Pumpkins and corn, occasionally. I had a few fruit trees..."

And NOW Ruddy decides to poke his nose in, snorting loudly. "HE'S BEEN GRAFTING TOGETHER A HORRIFYING CITRUS AMALGAM IN ONE OF THE STORAGE ROOMS. IF YOU WANT A LEMON, AN ORANGE, _AND_ A GRAPEFRUIT, HE'S GOT JUST THE NIGHTMARE SHRUB FOR YOU."

Astor

Astor is sorely tempted to play the sound of a car engine trying to start—but no, no doing that to an alternate.

He nods appreciatively at the list. Good mix of ingredients. He's about to ask about growing corn in a garden when Sir Pentious's addition scatters more mundane questions completely. "Oh, like the... hold on, I heard a story about this once—the Bizarria hiding somewhere in Italy, right? But from how I hear it, that one only had *two* citrus trees. But *three!* Now, there's a trick! To think I've been talking to the high king of horticulture, here!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Well, I haven't seen any chimera fruit yet, but the grafts are still fresh! I'm sure given a year or so, I'll have plenty of bizarre combinations to hand out to a lucky few unsuspecting victims! But high king? That's far too generous. I've heard tell of SEVEN citrus grafts." Offal waves a hand. "As long as they're in the same family, you can graft any number of trees together. Citrus is one of the more forgiving ones. Now, stonefruit? Finicky. The peach tree fought me for months when I put an apricot branch on there, and getting cuttings of trees fresh enough to graft is a NIGHTMARE in this place."

Astor

"Seven! Now, that must be a sight!" He shakes his head. "All right, maybe not high king—but you're at least a Dr. Frankenstein, stitching all those limbs together. I wouldn't have the foggiest how to do it myself—although if you're in need of an Igor, I *might* be able to help find fresher parts for your creation."

Ruddy & Offal

"It's not nearly as complicated as you might think.." Offal trails off, Ruddy's sudden sharp look making him snap his mouth closed. Right. Try that again.

"I mean. Thank you!" He imitates the Pentious Preen. This is what you wanted, you big snake, this is what you get. "The offer is appreciated, once I've got my garden under control I'll be happy to enlist your assistance in more Frankensteining. I'm sure we could find a favorite fruit of yours to graft on somewhere."

Astor

He doesn't catch the look, but he certainly makes note of the sudden shift it caused. Hmm.

"Favorite *fruit!* Huh..." Don't mind him as he momentarily zoned out, picking at his food as he tries to think of a favorite fruit. "Do tomatoes count? Hah! But no, they don't grow on trees. Lemons are useful, but you've already got those..."

Ruddy & Offal

"Spoiled for choices, my dear self? I understand! I barely knew where to start, the idea of having fresh produce in my own backyard was a SHOCKING possibility! Not having to beg barter or steal a lemon for my zest? Unthinkable!" A chortle, and Offal pulls out a very expensive looking sketchbook, complete with Sir Pentious' crest embossed into the leather cover, and starts scribbling away with the attached pen. "If you've got a hankering for tomatoes though, we COULD graft together a pomato plant! Potatoes down below, tomatoes up above!" Behold, his terrible doodle showing a hastily rendered visual of exactly that, right next to several other doodles of various eggbois doing their strange egg activities.

Astor

He's tilting his head to try to see that fancy notebook cover for a moment before he finally tilts the other way to see the actual drawing. "Is that a *thing?* The tomatoes don't come out tasting like potatoes?" He glances at the egg doodles. Huh. An alternate who does art.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy makes an annoyed huff when he sees the notebook, but just gives Offal a *look*, which is returned with an innocent smile before Offal turns back to his alternate to answer. "It's a thing! A far more recent thing than grafting trees, granted, but a thing!" Tomatoes tasting like potatoes? He hums, considering the possible applications. That may not be so bad, he had hated the texture of potatoes when he was young, even when his mother had made them. Maybe he'd have liked it.. But it had been a *question*. "They taste normal, I assure you! You're grafting different plants together, not mixing their genetics!"

Astor

"Huh! You'd think they'd be fighting over..." Vague hand wave. "... nutrients." He's only got an approximate understanding of nutrients as applied to agriculture. Vegetables are full of Nutrients, and plants wither if prior crops have taken too many Nutrients out of the soil, so either a tomato-potato would take twice as many Nutrients or else each half would contain half as many Nutrients as it should. Right? This is far more complicated gardening than he's ever had to worry about. "Impressive, all the same!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Fighting? Not at all, they're cooperating. They're one plant after a certain point. The tomato part is doing all the leafy business of energy gathering, and that provides for the potato part that is doing the other half of the equation." Offal is a bit baffled at Astor's rather interesting take on plant civil war, but he moves along. "It IS impressive! I'd have never considered it on my own, but modern science has come a long way!"

Astor

One plant making twice as many veggies; or maybe they produced half as much of each? Something for him to look for when he actually saw the thing, he supposed. "It certainly has! My goodness, the marvels they're coming up with these days! Did you know back in the mortal realm, they've put *robots* on *Mars?* Honest-to-God robots!" Listen, he's only known this a few months, he's still amazed,

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks, processing the information. Humanity did what??? "They put *robots* on *Mars?* I can hardly imagine what good that does for them! How and why would you put a robot on Mars? Do they come *back?*" Give him a moment while he tries to imagine a reason humans would send multiple robots all the way to Mars. "What, did we discover alien life and decide to do a hostile takeover?"

Astor

"Win the *War of the Worlds* before it starts? Ha! No, no, it's for scientific study! Scientists broadcast signals from Earth telling them where to drive around—like the controls of those fighting robots Sir Pentious let us play with—and in return the robots take photos of the surface of Mars and broadcast them back! And I think they study some other things too, chemicals and such. Maybe nutrients." He's only thinking of nutrients because he's still thinking about vegetables and soil quality. "I don't think they're designed to come back—the scientists just make them hardy so they can last a while out there without a mechanic to come tune them up, then send a more advanced replacement once they've come up with some more equipment to strap on. I expect they'll pick them up and stick them in a museum once astronauts make it up there in a decade or so." Alastor is very optimistic about this hypothetical Mars mission's timeline.

Ruddy & Offal

That was a lot of information to take in, though Ruddy seems to be completely unsurprised by it. Mentioning him by name only gets a vague hum of acknowledgement and quick glance to confirm Astor isn't talking to him. Of course the old snake's kept up with the accomplishments of topside. Offal on the other hand, seems entirely flabbergasted. "Scientific study! Who'd have thought. Next thing you know we'll have... Cities on the moon, or some nonsense like that! Tell me, what do they look like? They must be rugged little wonders to survive a trip to another planet entirely!"

Astor

For a split second after he finished talking, Alastor was worried that he'd come across as unbelievable again. But no, apparently either Mars rovers were more believable than a godlike alternate or else their heart-to-heart had raised Astor's credibility in his alternate's eyes.

"Oh... let me think, it's been a while since I saw the pictures." He looked up as sketchy red shapes floated over his plate, chunky vehicle parts he was trying to shift together into a shape that reminded him of the robots. "They did look tough, though! I remember thinking they looked like something halfway between a beach buggy and a real bug—they must have had bits and bobs sticking out like legs and antennae, I suppose, although I can't quite reconstruct it." He glanced at Ruddy. "Say, could I trouble you to pull up a picture for us?"

Ruddy & Offal

Both, Astor. It was both. But mostly the former, humanity had already been meandering in that direction the last time Offal had been caught up on current events, no surprise they'd raced ahead by now. Little robots on Mars, using radio signals.. how strange.

Ruddy takes a moment to register that he is now being spoken to, but obligingly wipes his mouth and sets about finding a picture before handing over his phone, comically oversized in the hands of the smaller sinners. "HERE YOU ARE, THEN. THE MARS ROVERS. CHARMING CONTRAPTIONS, REALLY. WERE SOLAR POWER AN OPTION DOWN HERE, IT WOULD CERTAINLY SAVE _ME_ SOME MONEY."

Astor

Astor lets his alternate take the phone, but leans over to look at the picture as well. "There they are, *that's* why I thought they looked like bugs! The panels make me think of insect wings."

He glances back at Sir Pentious, surprised. "Do solar panels *not* work here? Not even off of Heaven's light?"

Ruddy & Offal

"THEY DO NOT. AS IF HEAVEN WOULD EVER DO SOMETHING *USEFUL* FOR US SINNERS." Despite not having an immediately apparent nose, Ruddy manages to make a haughty sniff of disgust, dismissing Heaven's failure with a wave of a hand. "NOW, PERHAPS THE PANELS I USED WEREN'T SENSITIVE ENOUGH, THE TECHNOLOGY HAS IMPROVED SINCE MY LAST ATTEMPT. BUT I AM INCLINED TO THINK NOT. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER, MY ATTEMPTS TO HARNESS GEOTHERMAL ENERGY HAVE BEEN *MUCH* MORE SUCCESSFUL, IF LESS IMMEDIATELY USEFUL..." Oh, but he's taking the conversation into a tangent. He cuts himself off, adjusting his glasses before returning to his mostly empty plate.

Offal has been staring at the various mars rover pictures, completely fascinated by the strange little science cars. They looked AWFULLY silly, but he had to admit they were.. cute?

Astor

What is a conversation but a series of tangents tied together at the ends? And Astor's alternate seems momentarily preoccupied, they can pursue this one a bit further.

"I've seen folks show how a solar panel under the moon can light up a tiny bulb—but then, I suppose a panel that can charge a bulb can't charge a room! Here I thought adopting solar panels was going so slowly just because Hell's so terribly disorganized!" He laughed. "Now, why isn't geothermal energy useful? From the sound of it I'd think it'd be easy to use, considering how hot Hell is!" A pause. "Oh. Because you're in the air, I suppose?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy snaps his fingers, nodding at his guest with a pleased grin. "GOT IT IN ONE, ALASTOR. THAT IS PRECISELY THE ISSUE. IF IT WERE A MATTER OF STRAPPING PANELS TO THE TOPS OF MY AIRSHIPS, THEY COULD STAY AFLOAT PERPETUALLY. BUT WITH GEOTHERMAL, I HAVE TO DOCK EACH SHIP AT A PLANT TO CHANGE OUT AND CHARGE THE BATTERIES. STILL A DAMN SIGHT EASIER THAN SOME OF THE ALTERNATIVE ENERGY SOURCES, THOUGH. HAVING TO DEDICATE SPACE TO STORE COAL TO BURN? ABYSMAL." And here he preens, twirling his glasses chain around a finger. "MY SHIPS ARE MUCH FASTER AND LIGHTER NOW, BUT I ALWAYS SEEK TO IMPROVE THEM FURTHER."

A pause, and he gives Alastor a considering look. "THAT REMINDS ME, ACTUALLY. I HAVE DESIGNS IN THE WORKS FOR A MAGIC ENGINE, PARTIALLY BASED OFF OF THE MATERIALS YOU'VE PROVIDED ME WITH. IT IS STILL IN THE EARLY STAGES, BUT REST ASSURED YOUR RESOURCES ARE BEING PUT TO WORK."

Astor

Oh! He *has* been useful! And is being recognized as useful! He puffs up. "Is that so! Well, you're quite welcome!" (Even though Sir Pentious didn't say "thank you.") "You know, it seems like every version of you I run into these days is looking into using magic as a power source! Don't take that the wrong way now, that's no accusation of uncreativity—I'm just marveling at—well, when one looks at alternates across parallel universes, one's first instinct is to look at what events in their pasts make them parallel to each other, isn't it? Hometowns, hobbies, death days, the like. The moment they meet, one assumes, is the moment they branch off in divergent directions. But no! They continue going on, being nearly the same people, making nearly the same decisions, and—well, here I am rambling! It fascinates me, that's all."

He rested his chin on a hand thoughtfully. "But, here's a thought, back on the topic of geothermal energy and magical engines—you've got those portal makers of yours now. What if you opened up some sort of permanent portals between your geothermal plants and your engines? I know an alternate who's made doorways permanently bridge two points, I've been meaning to look into doing it myself—I bet that could solve your power problem."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs and nods where appropriate as Astor prattles on about the similarities between alternates. He's mostly met alternates of Alastor, and they were difficult to tell apart without their little emojis next to whatever nonsense they'd decided to ramble at him. Besides, of course his own alternates would turn to magic! Penny lived on a planet riddled with the stuff, and Telly... Well, he wasn't keeping up with Telly's activities whatsoever, but if he was entangled with this Alastor that was probably reason enough. Why waste such an ample power supply?

"I'D CONSIDERED IT. HOWEVER, THAT DOES LEAVE THE MATTER OF..." His tongue flicks out as he hesitates, thinking of an appropriate comparison. Thoughtful blelele. "LEAVING THE FRONT DOOR WIDE OPEN, I SUPPOSE. THERE ARE MANY MAGIC USERS IN HELL, I AM NOT CONFIDENT IN MY CURRENT ABILITY TO ENSURE THEY CAN'T EXPLOIT A PORTAL DIRECTLY TO THE POWER SUPPLIES OF MY FLEET."

Astor

"Well! I think the chances are low, personally. If permanent doors can be constructed the way I think they can, it wouldn't reduce your security any more than installing a door between two adjoining rooms would—which is to say, the door's only useful to an intruder if he's already in the right room to go through it. But still, it's a fair concern. It's something I'd planned to make absolutely sure of myself in my own research into such doorways. I could let you know if I find anything interesting either way?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I WOULD APPRECIATE THAT, YES. OBVIOUSLY THE POWER PLANTS ARE HEAVILY GUARDED INSIDE AND OUT, BUT I DIDN'T DRAG MYSELF TO THESE HEIGHTS BY ASSUMING THINGS WOULD GO WELL FOR ME." Ruddy sighs. "IT'S HELL. THE PLACE IS TAILORED TO DRAG YOU DOWN BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY GIVEN HALF A CHANCE. YOU KEEP ME POSTED, AND I WILL SEE ABOUT SEEING WHAT I CAN DIG UP THAT YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM IN TURN."

Astor

A wry, dry laugh. "Don't I know *that.*" But a polite dinner that he'd really only gotten himself invited to by accident wasn't the place to get into his grand theory of How Some Days He Thought Even Being Careful Wasn't Enough Because Hell Probably Only Let You Achieve Good Things As A Setup To Cause Even Worse Things, so he'd leave it at that. "And I'd appreciate anything you find too, of course."

Ruddy & Offal

"WE'LL SEE WHAT I COME UP WITH." A wiggle in his peripheral vision catches Ruddy's attention, and he turns from Astor to accept his phone back from Offal, who finally seems to be done staring at pictures of robots on Mars in favor of hastily shoveling more food into his face before it gets cold. Ruddy glances at his empty plate, and then looks between the two radio demons. "NOW, ALASTOR. I ASSUME YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH OF A SWEET TOOTH, SO I DOUBT YOU'RE INTERESTED IN DESSERT?"

Astor

He flashed his grin toward his alternate as he passed the phone back. "They're sure something, aren't they?" And then turned his attention back to their host. "It depends on what it is, but probably not, no. What is it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal grins at his alternate, nodding enthusiastically. "They are! I can't believe I hadn't heard about them sooner, how exciting!" And back to Ruddy, who's pushing his chair back to take his plate to the kitchen. "COFFEE CAKE WITH A RUM GLAZE. *PROPER* COFFEE CAKE, WITH COFFEE IN IT, NONE OF THAT GARBAGE THAT JUST HAS SOME COFFEE POWDER DUSTED OVER TOP OF IT." The very THOUGHT makes him sneer. The nerve of some people.

Astor

He considers it. Coffee flavored. Probably won't be completely overloaded with sugar. "Oh... it would be rude not to if everyone else is eating. I'll try a thin slice!" He hops up to take his plate to the kitchen as well. Good guests move their dirty dishes.

Ruddy & Offal

"A THIN SLICE, THEN." Finally, someone with *manners*. Offal is entirely content to let Ruddy pluck the plate out from in front of him and doodle in his sketchpad while he waits to be served.

Into the sink with the dirty plates, where Long Eggboi can wash them from atop his little egg stool, and Ruddy pulls the cake from the fridge to cut slices. How thin is thin.. An inch? An inch. Alastor is getting an inch thick slice of cake, here's a plate. Shoo back to the table.

Astor

An inch is perfect. That's exactly how much he wants.

But he feels odd toddling right back to the table with only his own dessert, so he asks, "Anything you want me to carry back with me?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy hadn't expected Astor to actually want to be helpful. After a moment of confused staring, Ruddy offers up another plate with a similarly thin slice of cake. "I SUPPOSE YOU COULD TAKE THIS TO YOUR OTHER SELF WHILE I GET MY OWN SLICE AND PUT THIS AWAY?"

Astor

"Happy to!" It's a Task, he'll take it. He accepts the second plate and heads back to give it to his alternate his dessert.

"And one for you!" Plop. "You're using that book there as a sketchbook, aren't you? Are you much of an artist?" That's right: it's time for more small talk. But Astor's genuinely interested; all Radio Demons sing and dance, but not many draw.

Ruddy & Offal

Astor's approach gets an ear twitch from Offal, the younger alternate looking up in time to Accept Cake. Ah, cake. Always better when someone else makes it.

"You flatter me, my dear self!" He trades his pen for a fork, waving it dismissively before cutting himself a tiny bite of cake. "No no, I'm just a doodler I'm afraid. No real skill to speak of, it just helps me keep track up here." His other hand taps the side of his head. "If you want an actual artist, get Sir Pentious to show you his charcoal sketches sometime! Seems the arts were mandatory for the upper crust back in, what, the 1830s?"

Ruddy & Offal

[[ We NEED to find the worst possible design from the pilot for philip. maybe that weird naked dude with the face on his chest

Astor

"You've seen my sorry excuse for artistic record keeping! Now, *that's* what I'd call doodling." He scoffs. "Is he that old? I wouldn't have guessed. Mine never gave me a year, but I would have put him around 1840 at the earliest."

Ruddy & Offal

"He might be! Or not? Well, let me see..." Offal pops his nibble of cake into his mouth, humming thoughtfully as he watches Ruddy slither back to the table and sit down. "Sir Pentious! When were you born, you fossil? The spring chickens in the audience want to know!"

Ruddy looks unamused, but answers over the rim of his... glass of milk. Seems he wanted a drink with his cake. "I WAS BORN ON THE SECOND DAY OF JUNE, IN 1826, AND DIED AT SIXTY TWO YEARS OF AGE ON AUGUST 8TH, 1888. NOT THAT IT'S ANY OF YOUR *BUSINESS*, ALASTOR..S."

Astor

Astor starts when his alternate abruptly asks Sir Pentious. Oh, he's going to think they're rude—

Aaand he thinks they're rude. "I wasn't going to ask," he mutters, turning his full attention on his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy looks from Offal, who is completely delighted, to Astor, who looks considerably LESS delighted. Ah, of course. He saw plenty of this in his lifetime. Usually from his kids, but still. "I KNOW YOU WEREN'T, ALASTOR. I CAN'T BLAME YOU FOR THIS MAN'S LACK OF MANNERS." There, a single crumb of patience as a reward for being helpful. If he were anyone else, Ruddy may even reach over and pat his shoulder. But alas, Astor will have to settle for a quick little flutter of a hand in his direction. A strange little air pat, and an almost apologetic look from Hattie.

Astor

Well, he hates throwing his alternate under the bus, but slightly less than he'd hate undeservedly going under the bus *with* him. An almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment is all he offers in return before digging into the cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, they had an understanding. Ruddy turns his face to Offal with a hiss, and Offal responds with a shit eating grin before he cheerily goes back to nibbling his cake. No remorse from this deer, then. Ruddy will remember this. For now though, the three can eat their cake in silence as the eggbois start to gather to lift food away from the table and carry it back to the kitchens. A very organized little army, not even a WoooOooOOooO between them.

Astor

It's been silent for more than three seconds and that's far more than Astor can tolerate. He would have preferred the WoOooOOoos.

"Anyway! We were talking about art!" He nods toward his alternate, "Or *doodles*, as you say."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal looks up from his cake, staring blankly at Astor for a moment before his brain catches up. "Oh! Yes! What about them, my dear self? Curious? I'm afraid I don't have a wealth of examples on hand for you to page through. Come back in a month and perhaps I'll have sweet talked Pentious into letting me use his supplies!" Not likely, judging by the snort that Ruddy made.

Astor

That wasn't a promising sound. "Or you *could* get your own." That was one of the perks of being the Radio Demon, after all: people give you free stuff.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal laughs, a strained bark of noise. "I suppose I *could*, were I so inclined." He quickly shakes his head, as sudden and stiff as his laugh. "I'd have to find something decent to wear, my my! The public hasn't laid eyes on me in far too long to show up looking so rough!"

Astor

He glanced at his alternate, then glanced at himself, then reached down to lift up the tail of his coat and pointedly examine the atrociously tattered hem. "You know, as long as you're still recognizable from your warning poster, I don't think they'll care about the rest."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy covers his mouth and turns away as Astor pointedly examines himself, trying to disguise his wheezing laugh as a cough as Offal gets mildly called out by his own alternate. "That's the thing! People see me and run screaming, my dear self! I can't really avoid that just by changing into something less.. *me*, but I could at least look less like I dragged myself straight off the posters to terrorize Hell for a *third* time."

Astor

"Well, that's how you get the art supplies, isn't it? They scream and run, you browse the store at your leisure, you leave with what you need!" This is just how Astor conducts his shopping trips.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile tightens for a moment before he nods and cheerily waves a hand, voice rising an octave as he cheerily exclaims. "... Yes. Of course! That *is* how I get most things, isn't it! I suppose there's no need to worry about my appearance if it doesn't matter, hm? Silly of me to forget that!" He is the radio demon, after all. He can hardly just walk away from *that* reality!

Astor

Astor studies his alternate's face for a moment; then looks back at his own plate. "A new suit won't undo what's been done," he says, more subdued. "Nor would depriving yourself of something you want by using the lack of new clothes as an excuse not to go." He'd have to apologize for giving his alternate a far more pointed call out in front of Sir Pentious, but Astor doubted it was anything Sir Pentious hadn't figured out himself.

Ruddy & Offal

Both of the locals at the table have gone very still, for entirely different reasons. Ruddy is the first to break the tension, loudly dropping his fork on his empty plate before standing up to hastily exit the room under the pretense of cleaning up after himself. Excuse him, pardon him, he must go make a strong cup of tea for himself.

Which gives Offal a moment to breathe in, hold it, and sigh forcefully. He has to control himself better, he's slipping too much too quickly, if this self can read him so blatantly this soon it spells terrible things for the future when he inevitably gets seen by anyone else half as perceptive. Chin up. "I am aware, my dear self! Apologies if I've made it sound like I resent you for pointing out the obvious, it simply stings to hear something you're avoiding. But you're right, as I always am!" Another laugh. "I suppose I'll have to face the music, eh? I set the band going, I can hardly walk away from it!"

Astor

"A little *too* honest?" he mutters. Nice work ruining dinner. Well, he hadn't expected to get invited back to a second one anyway.

He gives his alternate a wan smile. "Afraid so. But, think of it this way: if they don't have the courage to face their own damn customer, then they're getting what's coming to them if their customer walks out without paying, *aren't* they." There's a faint hint of a sneer on his face as he says so.

"Sorry for..." sigh, "scaring off our host." He stabs at what's left of his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Scaring off..? Oh right! Of course, Sir Pentious left the room rather hastily, of course it would look terrible. He laughs, more genuinely this time. "Don't you worry about that, my dear self! It takes more than an awkward conversation to scare that uppity old rope off. I assure you, he'd said far blunter things to me at much greater volumes! He likely just thinks I'd take it better one on one rather than if he joined you for a surprise intervention. Not a lick of social graces to delicately excuse himself though!"

He cocks his head, thinking. "He's right, too! It's quite a bit easier to take this from myself in private, like a pep talk in a bathroom mirror without an audience on the side."

Astor

"Yes, well, I shouldn't have brought up something he'd feel the need to excuse himself for, delicately or otherwise." He tuts. "Anyway, that's all I had to say on the matter. He hardly needed to leave."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal holds a finger up, voice far too chipper. "Ah, but he knows how I usually respond to getting confronted, you see!" He doesn't elaborate on *what* exactly he usually does, instead fussing with his hair clips before they can lose their grip. "I'm sure he'll return with tea and his sour attitude before long once he notices the lack of reaction. Though of course, he may also be packing you some leftovers to take home. What did you think of the cake, by the way?"

Astor

He's going to politely stare at his alternate in quiet invitation to elaborate on how, exactly, he usually responds. No? Okay then.

A shrug. "It tastes like cake." The review's utter neutrality is scathing.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal raises an eyebrow, but decides to drop the conversation in favor of turning to watch Ruddy slither back into the room. As expected, a serving of leftovers had been packed away for Astor, and was placed on the table in front of him after a quick glance around. Not even a tear in the tablecloth, how refreshing. A sigh that might be quiet if he hadn't been a massive serpent escapes him, and he nods politely at Astor. "I HATE TO INTERRUPT A CONVERSATION, ALASTOR, BUT I'M AFRAID I NEED TO BORROW YOUR OTHER TO DEAL WITH A RAID ON ONE OF MY FACTORIES BEFORE THE IDIOTS MANAGE TO BREAK ANYTHING *TOO* EXPENSIVE." And to Offal he hands a paper with an address, huffing irritably.

Ah, of course. Offal pushes up from the table, plucking the clips from his hair to toss back to his dear self. "Ah! A sinner's work is never over, I see! I'll be seeing you, then. Ta!" A hasty exit on his part, but it's not like Astor was expecting social grace from this shaggy man, right? No of course not.

Astor

"It's fine, as luck would have it we'd exhausted the topic anyway." Astor wondered whether Sir Pentious would manufacture a crisis of that scale as an excuse to tell Alastor to leave. He didn't think so—especially after being quite insistently informed that Sir Pentious didn't have that kind of tact—but considering that he'd also just received a hint that his other tended to get violent when confronted (what kind of violent, Astor wondered), he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of lying for self-preservation. It certainly was convenient timing.

Pity, though; Astor had hoped to have one final private word with his alternate before he left. He supposed it could wait til next time.

He gestured at the hair clips on the table. "Tell him he can keep those. I have more and he can make better use of them right now." He picked up his leftovers with a word of thanks. "I suppose you'll need to go supervise the counterattack?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy wouldn't admit to it even if he had, but he gives Astor a considering look as this strange alternate of his resident squatter speaks. "I DON'T, NO, BUT I WONT KEEP YOU HERE IF YOU'D LIKE TO HEAD HOME." A gesture from Ruddy, and a decorated eggboi slides the clips off the table and into a small bowl, scampering off down the hall to deliver them presumably to whatever room Offal has claimed as his own.

"ALASTOR, A QUESTION BEFORE YOU LEAVE." Ruddy shifts back, his tail sliding over itself as he tries not to accidentally crowd his guest. "WHAT DO YOU.. *MAKE* OF HIM. IF YOU GET MY MEANING? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO."

Astor

A surprised blink, and Astor says hesitantly, "No, I'm not in a particular rush..." As long as they aren't trying to out-polite each other into Astor overstaying his welcome.

He gives Sir Pentious a thoughtful look. "There's a dozen different ways I could answer that, so I think you'd better narrow it down for me a little more?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy's face scrunches. An internal debate, a sigh, and he flops back into his seat, elbows planted on the table as he rests his chin in his hands. Well, damn it all, he certainly wasn't going to get anywhere trying to play games with radio demons, now was he? If he could get along with Alexa by speaking frankly... "YOUR ALTERNATE, ALASTOR. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH HIM. HE ACTS LIKE WE'RE BOSOM COMPANIONS HALF THE TIME, AND THE OTHER HALF HE SEEMS TO WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO SEND ME INTO A RAGE."

He shrugs, rubbing his forehead. "FORGIVE ME FOR BEING INAPPROPRIATELY BLUNT, ALASTOR. BUT HE IS *MAD*. OFF THE ROCKER. ATTEMPTS TO SPEAK TO HIM GO IN CIRCLES, AND DESPITE MY GENIUS, I AM NOT THE SORT OF DOCTOR WHO CAN FIX AN AILING MIND. I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM GET *HELP*, AND THEN GET *OFF MY SHIP* TO REJOIN SOCIETY IN SOME CAPACITY."

Astor

He slowly takes his seat again. This doesn't seem like it's going to be a short conversation.

"You know—I've heard quite a lot from you and my other alternate about how supposedly mad this alternate is—but I've seen no evidence of it so far. Maybe that says more about my mind than his, hah. But what I've seen is a sinner who suffered a single brain storm, and who's now terrified of his own potential to break again. Maybe *that's* what you're calling madness; but if there's more to it than that, I need to hear about it." He props his chin on his hand and leans toward Sir Pentious. "Have you asked him why he acts like a friend one minute and a pest the next? I'm not suggesting you do, I'm just wondering what his answer was if you have."

Ruddy & Offal

He really shouldn't be surprised that Astor didn't respond with a glib comment or an insult, but he is. Perhaps his expectations have been a bit unfairly skewed by his local radio demon. Astor isn't Offal, they wont respond the same way to everything. Possibly even most things. Another great, heaving sigh, and Ruddy gives Astor a very tired look. "I HAVE ATTEMPTED TO ASK THAT QUESTION ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, YES. IF HE WISHED TO BE FRIENDS, WHY DID HE TURN AROUND AND BARB ME WITH WORDS? IF HE WISHED TO BE HATED, WHY DID HE CLING TO ME SO DESPERATELY? I HAVE TRIED ASKING DIRECTLY, AND I HAVE TRIED COUCHING IT IN THE NONSENSE RIDDLING FRILLS DEALMAKERS SEEM TO LOVE. AND NO MATTER HOW I APPROACH IT, HE DOES ONE OF TWO THINGS."

His head reads heavily in one palm, the other curling into a fist to raise two fingers for emphasis. "ONE, HE WILL INSULT ME VIGOROUSLY AND PERSONALLY. IT DOES NOT MATTER HOW I APPROACHED IT, HE WILL INSULT MYSELF, MY CHILDREN, MY PAST FAILURES, ANYTHING HE POSSIBLY CAN, UNTIL I HAVE TO LEAVE BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER. OR TWO, HE WILL DANCE AROUND THE QUESTION MORE SKILLFULLY THAN I HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR. HALF TRUTHS, MISLEADING STATEMENTS, I KNOW WHAT HE'D DOING BUT I SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR IT." He hesitates, then raises a third finger. "OR. AND THIS HAS ONLY HAPPENED *ONCE*. HE WILL RESORT TO THREATS. VIOLENCE, IF I PRESS FOR TOO LONG. I MAY NOT FEAR HIM THE WAY OTHERS DO, BUT I AM NO FOOL. I'VE EXPERIENCED WHAT YOUR LOT IS CAPABLE OF ONCE, AND THAT WAS MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME."

Astor

Astor nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning that over in his head, asking himself when would he react like that, what would it mean out of him.

"Tell me more about this 'madness' of his."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shifts in place, face twisting for a moment. "I SUPPOSE YOU SHOULD KNOW. AFTER HIS THREATS AGAINST ME, THE ONE TIME HE CROSSED THAT LINE, HE WAS INCONSOLABLE. I NEVER SAW HIM IN WHATEVER STATE HE WAS IN, BUT I COULD HEAR HIS WAILING THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT. LIKE A DAMN BANSHEE HAUNTING MY AIRSHIP. IT TOOK A WEEK FOR HIM TO SHOW HIMSELF IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN, THOUGH HE KEPT LEAVING THE HEADS OF SINNERS AROUND IN WHAT I ASSUME WAS APOLOGY." Oh that felt awful to say out loud. Spilling other people's business *sucked*. "HE LEFT AN ANGELIC WEAPON ON MY NIGHTSTAND, AFTER THAT. MILDLY TERRIFYING, BUT CONSIDERING HE DIDN'T KILL ME IN MY SLEEP..."

Another shrug. "IN THE DAY TO DAY, HE GENERALLY HOVERS AROUND ME AS I WORK. *GENERALLY*, IF I ACT FRIENDLY AND ATTEMPT TO ENGAGE WITH HIM, HE EVENTUALLY LASHES OUT. IF I LASH OUT IN RETURN, HE TRIES TO BACKTRACK AND ACT LIKE A BOSOM COMPANION. OCCASIONALLY HE'LL VANISH FOR A FEW HOURS AND RETURN EITHER DESPONDENT OR GIDDY. USUALLY WITH SOME PRIZE CLUTCHED IN HIS HANDS, OR COVERED IN SOME SORT OF SUBSTANCE. NOT BLOOD. PAINT OR DIRT OR DUST, USUALLY. ONE TIME HE CAME BACK WITH SOME RATTY TORN UP SATIN THROW PILLOW AND ASKED ME TO REPAIR IT."

Astor

Astor clicks his tongue thoughtfully. How long had he spent alone wailing after he'd betrayed his Sir Pentious? "Well, he doesn't sound mad to *me.*" He's mainly referring to the strange cycle of hostility and penance, and the mysterious day trips; but it probably says something about Astor that he doesn't even bat an eye at the decapitations. "He just likes you and hates himself—hates or fears—that's all there is to it! Did you work out that the angel weapon was his apology?" Probably not, since Sir Pentious only mentioned the heads. "He's given you self-defense. So you can exterminate him if he threatens you again." Because that's what Astor would have done.

Ruddy & Offal

Radio demons will do as they please, it seems. Is an Alastor really apologetic if he isn't leaving severed heads around for you? No better token of remorse than a slain enemy. "HE'S ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL SINNERS IN HELL. GIVING ME A WEAPON CAPABLE OF EXTERMINATING HIM WONT DO ME MUCH GOOD IF HE CAN CRUSH ME FROM HALFWAY ACROSS THE RING. BUT IT'S SOMETHING, AT LEAST." Ruddy taps his claws on the table, frowning deeply. "AS FASCINATING AS THIS IS, AND IT *IS* INTERESTING TO HEAR AN INSIDER-BUT-ALSO-OUTSIDER PERSPECTIVE, IT DOESN'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO TO GET HIM BETTER AND OFF MY AIRSHIP."

Astor

"Do you want him better or do you want him off your ship? Because those are two separate matters! If all you *really* want is to get him off your ship, and getting him better just seems to you like the easiest way to make that happen... well, that opens up quite a lot of much faster options. But it depends on your priorities."

Ruddy & Offal

He looks outright offended at Astor's suggestion, his entire torso rearing back as a hand rests daintily on his chest. Gasp! The NERVE.... "I WISH TO SEE HIM *IMPROVE* HIMSELF, FIRST AND FOREMOST. I MAY NOT WANT HIM AS A ROOMMATE LONG TERM, BUT I HAVE STANDARDS, ALASTOR. IF *I'M* THE BEST SUPPORT HE HAS, HE MUST BE *TRULY* DESPERATE, AND I AM ABOVE KICKING A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN."

Astor

Color him surprised. He tries not to let it show too much on his face. "Then I'm afraid I can't offer you a solution in one visit; but I could keep coming back. My alternates have a tendency to open up more easily to each other. If he's determined to keep *you* at arm's length, that's that, but I bet I could get through to him instead." He's not going to mention that his alternate already all but cracked like a walnut under a jackhammer. That's private. "You claimed what's left of the Cannibal Colony, didn't you? What have you done with it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Of course he couldn't get a nice easy solution, nothing in life was so quickly wrapped up in a bow. Not even another magician could fix the one living in his home. Pah. The question, however, is unexpected enough that his displeasure is forgotten for the moment. "THE COLONY? NOTHING, REALLY. I HAVE SOME EGGS WORKING ON CLEARING THE RUBBLE, BUT MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN MOSTLY TAKEN BY MAINTAINING MY BORDERS AT THE MOMENT. IDEALLY I'D LIKE TO SEE IT REBUILT IN SOME CAPACITY, I FOUND IT A CHARMING LITTLE DISTRICT..." He turns his head almost entirely sideways, giving Astor a whole other kind of side eye as he smirks. "EVEN IF THE RESIDENTS *WERE* PRONE TO BITING."

Astor

"Bite back, it's how they say hello." It *was* how they said hello, he reminds himself. "You might want to hold off on rebuilding it for now—and keep an eye on it. I'd bet you anything that's where my alternate is going when he leaves the ship: to scavenge in the ruins. Did that pillow he brought back look like it coulda come from the colony?"

Ruddy & Offal

Did cannibal colony pillows come with some special signifier woven into them? Were the tassels special? He may be overthinking it. Astor probably just meant to ask if it looked old enough to be from the era. "I.. SUPPOSE? IT'S A VERY FEMININE PILLOW, I'D EXPECT SOME YOUNG HYSTERICAL HEIRESS TO HAVE IT ON HER BED TO SCREAM INTO IN A FIT OF RAGE. VERY LUXURIOUS."

Astor

You never know. Maybe it has "BLESS THIS CANNIBALISTIC MESS (1910)" embroidered on it. Maybe it can be immediately ruled out because it has a Pikachu on it. Worth asking.

"It could be." Sounds like something Mimzy could have owned, although Astor wouldn't put it outside the realm of what would fit in Rosie's quarters. "Anyway, I'd leave the colony be for now in case that's where he's been going. If it *is*, then discovering it's been leveled before he's found whatever panacea he's digging for probably won't help his mental state." The corner of his mouth quirks wryly. "Especially if he's not ready to admit he's looking for anything at all."

Ruddy & Offal

He squints, then turns to wave an eggboi over with a cup of tea. Add a little scotch, and he's got something worth drinking for this talk. "I SUPPOSE IT'S NO LOSS TO LEAVE THE WRECKAGE BE, IF YOU THINK IT'S FOR THE BEST. WHAT THE DEVIL *WOULD* HE BE LOOKING FOR THOUGH?"

Astor

"Something to remember his friends by? Maybe something that smells like them, or something he once gifted them, or something he always associated with them whenever he visited." He's totally just listing the things he rummaged for in his Sir Pentious's abandoned safe houses. Projecting is useful when it's an alternate. "Or something he knows they'd hate to see buried and abandoned. Or, hell, maybe he's rebuilding a room or two by himself—you said sometimes he's got paint on him. He's recently lost almost everything; why wouldn't he want to salvage whatever's left over?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy decides to keep his suspicions to himself, even as Astor goes down a list that sounds less like pure guesswork than seems completely plausible. You know what that sounded like? None of his business. The losses of a man a few universes over weren't his to pry into. So he nods, and hums, and drinks his tea. "I SUPPOSE THAT'S TRUE. I CAN'T SAY I ACTED ENTIRELY REASONABLY WHEN I FIRST LANDED DOWN HERE AND REALIZED I'D NEVER SEE MY FAMILY AGAIN." Huff. "I DON'T THINK IT'S AN ENTIRELY COMPARABLE LOSS, BUT THEY'RE SIMILAR ENOUGH. SO YOUR SAGE ADVICE IS TO LEAVE HIM ALONE AND LET YOU HANDLE HIM, IS IT?"

Astor

"It's comparable enough! It's enough to understand that he's grieving. Now keep in mind that the only people he could have shared that grief with are the ones he's grieving for, and he's spent the last eighty-odd years pretending his only two emotions are 'bored' and 'entertained,' and it makes sense he'd act a little unreasonable, wouldn't it! Poor man's trying to squeeze everything he feels through the eye of a needle."

Astor shakes his head. "No, don't leave him alone, just the colony—at least until you figure out if that really is where he's going. If you leave *him* alone, I think he'll self-destruct from social deprivation, and the only question is whether he'll implode or explode." But what can Astor offer that Sir Pentious *can* do? "In the meantime... I wish I could offer concrete suggestions, but without knowing more about how he is when he isn't trying to make a good first impression, I'm afraid I have nothing but 'don't push him too fast.' If you have any specific scenarios you want to know how to handle, I can offer my best educated suggestions?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HRM." Yes, very helpful Ruddy. Try that again, with more words this time. "FINE. I WILL DO WHAT I CAN. I DON'T HAVE ANY SPECIFICS YET, BUT IF ANYTHING COMES UP I'M SURE I COULD FIND SOME WAY TO CONTACT YOU."

Astor

"Yelling into the nearest radio always works! You might have to narrow down which Alastor you're asking for, but I've never had trouble with it! Although I *suppose* you could contact me online, too." He says this like the Internet is clearly the inferior of the two options.

Ruddy & Offal

"AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NARROW DOWN WHAT ALASTOR I'M ASKING FOR. WHAT, DO YOU ALL HAVE YOUR OWN.." Ruddy flicks his wrist, vaguely gesturing at the air as he tries to remember a word. "CALL SIGNS? YOU CAN HARDLY EXPECT ME TO REMEMBER TO TUNE IN TO FREQUENCY 666.06, THE SLAUGHTER, AND ASK FOR ALASTOR *"DON'T-ASK-THE-RADIO-DEMON"* LAST NAME, THE RADIO DEMON."

Astor

"I generally broadcast on 670 AM, actually! Call sign KTRD! But don't you worry, you can yell for me on *any* frequency and I'll hear it." The biggest grin. Isn't he just so helpful. "If Alastor Don't-Ask-The-Radio-Demon-Last-Name-The-Radio-Demon is too much of a mouthful for you, you could also try asking for Marquis de Lafayette, I doubt there are any other Radio Demons answering to that. Or President Jefferson, if you *must.*" He has briefly forgotten that he has a nickname.

Ruddy & Offal

There's the classic Pentious Scrunch again, and Ruddy spends longer than remotely necessary giving Astor a *look*. Then he resumes the conversation like it never happened. "RIGHT. WELL THAT WONT BE NECESSARY, I DON'T KEEP ANY FUNCTIONAL RADIOS ON MY AIRSHIPS UNLESS I AM USING THEM AT THAT MOMENT. CONTACTING YOU *ONLINE* WILL WORK JUST FINE. BESIDES, IT SEEMS EXTREMELY ILL ADVISED TO SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT A *RADIO DEMON* OVER THE RADIO IN MY OWN HELL WHERE HE'S QUITE LIKELY TO PICK UP THE TRANSMISSION. UNLESS YOU'RE SAYING YOU'D BLOCK HIS ACCESS SOMEHOW?"

Astor

Astor gives a *look* right back. Why's Ruddy bothered by the fact that he's got a call sign. Of course he's got a call sign.

"I *can* block my alternates, actually; not enough to really keep one out, but enough that most wouldn't notice the signal unless they went looking, and I'd notice them knocking down my wards to listen in. I'd really only expect you to use it to tell me you want to talk, not to have the full conversation. *But*—" he offers a tight smile, "—as I said, online is fine, so all of this is a moot point!" *So whydja bring it up, Ruddy.* "But do keep the radio thing in mind in case of emergency. Not that I expect any, but it's the nature of emergencies to be unexpected, isn't it?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HM.." Now before he gets too interested in the specifics of *how* Alastor does that, he'd better stop letting his curiosity get away from him and actually stick to the point. "I WILL BE SURE TO WRITE YOUR INFORMATION DOWN IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, AS YOU SAID, AND ALLOW OFFAL TO FINALLY PUT SOME OF HIS OWN LITTLE RADIO CAPABLE KNICK KNACKS AROUND THE SHIP JUST TO BE SURE YOU ARE ACCESSIBLE." He didn't even notice the tight little smile, too busy wrapped up in himself. Typical. "NOW, ABOUT YOUR ONLINE ADDRESS. YOU SHARE YOUR BLOG WITH A TRANSCRIPTIONIST... OH, WAIT. GOODNESS, I FORGET. IS YOUR HELL STILL HOSTING A VOX? I'VE ENTIRELY TAKEN FOR GRANTED THE NOTION THAT HE'S DEAD!"

Astor

*Offal*, is that what his alternate has been dubbed? *Awful.* Poor thing. "We have an agreement, one we've shaken on. Among other things, she's not permitted to read my private messages. I trust her to honor it." He sighs heavily, *Vox.* "As for *him*—yes, he's still around, but I can completely keep him out of tracking my online activity. If he tries, all he'll get is static. All the same, I prefer discussing more sensitive matters in person, just in case he proves me wrong someday."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy drums his claws on the table, other hand rubbing his chin as he thinks. Does anything else spring to mind, any other immediate concerns...? Didn't seem so. He nods. "VERY WELL. IF I REQUIRE YOUR ADVICE, I WILL CONTACT YOU EITHER ONLINE OR OVER A RADIO DEPENDING ON URGENCY. HOPEFULLY YOU WONT HEAR MY *LOVELY* VOICE RATTLING AROUND YOUR AIRWAVES ANYTIME SOON." A self deprecating joke from good old Sir Pentious, he knows EXACTLY how grating his voice is. "I JEST. BUT TRULY. I AM SORRY THINGS WENT A BIT SIDEWAYS THERE IN THE MIDDLE, BUT YOU HAVE BEEN HELPFUL."

Astor

Maybe the self-deprecating joke would have landed if it was said to somebody who thinks Sir Pentious's voice is grating. However.

Receiving an apology is surprising enough that he starts, even though he doesn't know what it's for. "Which part was the middle?" Speaking of self-deprecation. However, he's afraid Sir Pentious might give him an answer, and then he'll know exactly what he's being judged for; so he hurries onward. "As long as I've done *something* helpful! I suppose I saved you having to explain the basics of v#xblr, didn't I?" He pauses. "Or whatever it was called around here." He's sure he's been told. He's already forgotten.

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, Satan, he forgot Alastors could do *that* with their mouths. He physically jolts, head jerking back before he can catch himself. But he plays it off as best he can, smoothing down his vest and hem hemming loudly. "YES, WELL. YOU HAVE DONE THAT. BEYOND THAT, OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVE ON THE BEFUDDLING FREELOADER IN MY HOME IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED. I AM A BIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SITUATION, AND A BIT TOO LEGLESS, TO TAKE A STEP BACK."

Astor

"Ha!" Snake jokes. Alastor's going to pretend he didn't accidentally startle Sir Pentious by revealing he knows how to pronounce a hashtag and quickly moves on: "Consider yourself welcome to ask me more about the befuddling freeloader at any time. I hope you don't think me too sentimental if I say I'm rather invested in my alternates' well-being; they're the closest things to cousins I've got left."

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, neither of them will comment on his Moment Of Surprise. Don't mind him as he adjusts poor Hattie, the poor thing was a little sideways. "NOT AT ALL. I'M INVESTED IN MY OWN ALTERNATES AS WELL, TO VARYING DEGREES." Lets ignore that his relationship with Telly is strained at best. He never said the investment was strictly positive. "NEXT TIME, I'LL EXTEND A PROPER DINNER INVITATION AND PREPARE SOMETHING SUITABLE TO SERVE A GUEST. YOU DESERVE COMPENSATION FOR YOUR TIME." This whole being nice thing does NOT come naturally, but he attempts a smile that's only SOMEWHAT lopsided. Very good effort.

Astor

*To varying degrees.* He can guess what *that* means. "I appreciate the consideration! Not that there was anything wrong with tonight's dinner, mind!" At least he'd know next time he wasn't overstaying his welcome by having dinner.

Ruddy & Offal

He COULD argue that tonight's dinner was incredibly basic fare, or he could just accept the compliment and move on. And who is Sir Pentious to turn his nose up at praise? So he hums, nods, and smooths his lapels. "I'M GLAD TO HEAR IT. UNTIL NEXT TIME THEN, ALASTOR. I'VE KEPT YOU LONG ENOUGH. DO YOU NEED ME TO ESCORT YOU TO THE EXIT, OR CAN YOU FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME?"

Astor

Sure, it was basic, but like, the ingredient quality was top notch and it wasn't quite totally bland. He knows how to manage his own expectations. "I think I can make my own way out, thank you." He tips his head. "Until next time. And convey my regrets to my alternate for not being able to say goodbye to him in person."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'LL LET HIM KNOW YOU SAID GOODBYE, I'M SURE YOU'LL BE HEARING FROM HIM SOON ENOUGH." A polite nod, and Sir Pentious turns to begin his long and dramatic slither out of the room. No time to waste, he must go back to his workshop and continue whatever ridiculous project he's got on the table today.

Astor

One portal to dimensions unknown, and Alastor was gone too, headed back home to think over his alternate and what else he might do for him.

[popculturebuffet]

House of Mouse: “Goofy’s Valentine’s Date” Review

Come on in mouskeeteers! It’s Valentine’s Season here on popculturebuffet, and while I may be single, I do love a good romance story. I find them sweet, sometimes hilaroius, and endearing when done right. And the bane of my existance when done wrong, but we’ll be getting to smidgen of that too. Point is I may not be getting any romantic love this season but I can sure celebrate it. So for the next two weeks we’ll be diving deep first into some ending with one heck of a closer. 

So for our opening act since i’ve been going on in to the House of Mouse a lot lately, and since I NEARLY missed this one if not for Kevin, we’re going to be looking in on my boy Goofy as he grapples with being lonely and Daisy misguidedly tries to help him. Blind dates with a manquin and Mortimer hitting on women to predictable and justified results insues under the cut. 

So as usual for house of mouse we’re chunking this up by segment. Let’s go. 

Donald’s Valentine’s Dollar: Easily the segment of the night and the best House of Mouse short i’ve seen in a rewatch so far. The short is simple but awesome: Donald has only a dollar to spend for V-Day, and wants to buy daisy a tiny but sweet box of chocolates, but his dollar blows away in the wind and he chases after it. And that’s.. it that’s our premise. But it leads into fast paced looney tunes style shenanigans with donald zipping up and down kites and later taking goofy’s broken one and putting it on like wings Arthur Everest styles and taking after it. Also the nephews show up and dick around with their kites because their douchebags in some shorts. Also donald tries to punch a whale.. well a whale kite but still let it be said there’s a short where donald tries to punch what he thinks is a sky whale. And that is wonderful.  The climax is also really sweet, as Donald gets the dolalr, after another briliant sequence where they play hide and seek in the clouds, only to find it sold out and himself dejected waiting for her thinking she’ll be mad.. only for her to present him with the very gift he was going to give her and the two to share a look. 

It’s cute enough on it’s own but after SEVEAL weeks of having to put up with the  three cabs version it’s NICE to have a Daisy back whose not an overly demanding monster from some stygian hole in the sky. Not much else to say about this one. I’ts just REALLY good and I could easily recommend checking it out on it’s own. 

Mickey Saves Minnie: The Stairs This is one of those short segments from Mouseworks that lasts about a minute and is off a simple recurring premise, in this case Mickey saving Minnie from some sort of bizzare fortress of pete’s.. in this case THE STAIRS!

I said STAIRS. In this case Gimmicked stairs with all kinds of traps: boxing gloves, giant balls...

And giant slinkies. I knew one day they’d grow big and kill us all but they all laughed at me.. well whose laughing now.. well still them because Mickey gets past them easily. Pete turns the stairs into a slide but mickey rebounds by pure luck via slinky and uses one of the boxing gloves to win, minnie kisses him and this was real fun. Nothing really deep to go into just a fun few minutes of my life i’m glad i’m not getting back. Speaking of wishing I had minutes of my life back....

Pluto’s Arrow Error: Well this one’s messed up. Look Love Potion plots genuinely ONLY work when the writer knows that giving someone something to make you fall in love with them is inehrently messed up. It worked in Buffy because Xander did so for vengance after Cordellia broke up with him, which granted she did REALLY hurt him but it’s still a bit of overkill. However while it ends up backfiing and making every OTHER girl in school into him, and psyotically so as the episode goes on, he never indulges, as he KNOWS it’s wrong and not under their power or choice. Basically it was one long deconstuction of this nonsense. 

My point is unless it’s used to deconstruct this type of plot or for some shenanigans, Love Potion plots are inherently creepy at best and rapey at worst. So naturally we get one with Pluto trying to make a dog who dosen’t know him love him instead of trying to woo her, and accidently making her bodyguard/boyfirend I guess chase after him for 2 minutes while he’s tinted pink. And yes i know he’s a dog, but he’s an intellegent dog who should knwo this is bad and never gets called out on it and his punshiment.. is one long gay joke. 

So yeah while not the worst love potion plot i’ve probably seen, or love magic or what have you, I could make a list of those and might some day, it is still pretty uncomfortable and easily a dead spot in an otherwise pretty enjoyable episode. 

Goofy’s Valentine’s Date: And fitting it’s accompanying shorts, the good ones anyway, this is a simple plot with funny gags. It’s valentin’es day at the house of mouse and Mickey encourages everyone to kiss their sweeties. So we get Aladdin and Jasmine, AWWWW always shipped those two so adorable, a toy soldier and some other toy from a work im unfamiliar iwth and Timon turns down Pumba. Come on man, who are you trying to kid me or the censors? 

But Goofy’s depressed since he dosent have a sweetie and Daisy feels bad for the poor guy while Minnie tells her “not to meddle”. 

Minnie from a buisness standpoint, he’s crying while reading the menu and clealry not in great mental shape. Setting him up with someone or even just talking to him will help with that. And from a human being standpoint... your being a cruel ass to NOT help him in any way shape or form. The guys a fucking widower. He’s probably been lonely for some time and more focused on raising max. And since no one knows where Peg is he dosen’t have a lot options now he is ready to date again. It’s not MEDDLING to help a clearly lonely person whose gotten over his grief move on, it’s just called basic human decency. I expect that from cablleros daisy Min not you. 

So Daisy does end up meddling, in part because she thinks it’s shuffling around coins, and sets him up with a secret admirer.. without actually getting him one. 

So Minnie does agree to help and they.. put him in a blindfold and have him date a manquin. In front of the entire restraunt. I have no words.. since this is pretty funny and Goofy’s shenanigans while blindfolded, because it’s a BLIND date.

Also sidebar it’s very weird that she DID set Lincoln up with a blind date once but didn’t pull this gag. Point is it’s some funny stuff including Gus, in his first apperance on this blog seriously how’d it take so long, eating the shakes he orders since Goofy can’t see. 

Tying into the resolution to this is Moritmer, who spends the episode as you’d expect.. hitting on various characters. He hits on the wicked step sisters, whose cat attacks him, he hits on the lady gargoyle from huncback and her two friends rightfully beat his ass, he hits on madam mim who set shim on fire and he hits on the queen of hearts who somehow DOSEN’T cut off his head, and you know is married, and does launch him into goofy spoiling the ruse. Honestly I found this funny both because Moritmer is objectively hilarious and because the show DIDN’T take his side at all or give him anyone, and he suffered consequences for sleazly hitting on women. He also called himself a wonder man. No sir the only wonder men are these guys. 

And if your wondering about the secod one there was a whole song about it. 

Your welcome. So Goofy’s dejected until after Pluto’s cartoon where it turns out he had a secret admirer after all. it’s clarabelle! Awww.. and Daisy says “Well it’s better than a manquin” what a supportive friend you are. And she’s STILL better than cabs Daisy. Point is happy ending pulled sorta out of their ass, as she showed up earlier but sitll it woudl’ve been easy to have Clarabelle chime in during their scheme or something and have Minnie set them up to fix it. Or Donald or Mickey. Donald was absent outside of the short. That’s not fair. But overall not a bad wraparound, ending is a huge copout and feels like not much, but i’m starting to think that’s usual for season 1. I do KINDA ship the two, but usually I prefer her with horace or him with Peg Pete. Yeah you heard me and you cant unhear it and frankly I don’t want you to. We also get a funny add about the Queen of Hearts valentine’s service.  Overall not a bad episode. Fun gags, a cute premsie and only one really terrble short. Check it out this valentein’s and hopefully disney will have this show up on plus by next valentine’s. Until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure. 

[vixenpen]

Caged Hearts

(Hawks x Miku)

(((Chap 2 Cat&Mouse)))

((Pt. 1)) ((Pt. 3))

The loud smattering of applause finally made Hawks look up from his second serving of roasted chicken dinner, and he nearly choked when he saw the winged goddess herself gliding through the crowd in a silver gown.

Oh my god, oh my god, what is she doing here? What the—Shit! I need to get an autograph.

Thanks to his dizzying train of thought, it took him longer than necessary to register that the lady of the hour was actually gliding towards their table. In fact, it didn’t register until Mirko and Lady hopped to their feet to pull Syren into one of those squealing group hugs girls did.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Syren exclaimed.

“You kiddin?” Mirko pulled back with a grin, "we wouldn’t have missed it for the world! You were amazing, girl.”

“Thank you.” She beamed

“Seriously, you were incredible,” Lady added.

“Oh, hey, we have some friends we want you to meet.” Mirko gestured to their table.

“This is Kamihara Shinya, aka Edgeshot.”

“Nice to meet you,” Syren smiled.

“Likewise,” Edge gave a curt bow of his head, “your show was a delight.”

“And this is—“

“Oh my god, you’re Hawks!” Her eyes widened.

He could only gawk in response.

It wasn’t until Mirko cleared her throat pointedly that Hawks finally dropped the fork, which had been half way through its journey to his mouth, to reply.

“Heh, yeah, th-That’s me.” He gave her—what he hoped—was a charming smile.

“It’s so great to finally meet you!” Syren said, beaming brighter than he had seen her beam all night.

It should have eased his nerves some that she seemed to be a fan of his. It didn’t.

“Same here.” He replied.

“Well,” Mirko clapped. “I’m going to go to the little lady’s room!”

“Great idea,” Lady hooked her arm through Mirko’s. “I’ll come with.”

“You kids have fun!” Mirko winked. Hawks could have sworn that was directed at him.

“I actually think I saw someone I know earlier,” Edgeshot spoke up next. “I’m going to go say hello. Ms. Syren, why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to his spot beside Hawks as he stood.

“Sure.”

With that, Hawks’ last buffer was gone.

Those slick assholes.

He didn’t know if he wanted to kill the lot of them when they got back or thank them.

Syren slid into the booth next to him, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. Her ivory wings brushed against his own.

The singer’s excitement was literally palpable. His feathers were picking up the enthusiastic fluttering of her heart.

Alright, Keigo, play it cool.

“It’s so great to finally meet you, Syren gushed, "I’m such a huge fan."

“Well, that makes two us, Angel.”

Syren blushed. Hawks felt her heart rev which eased his nerves.

Wow, she really is a fan of mine. Alright. This is good. This I can handle.

After all, fans were easy. All he had to do was turn on some of that old Hawks Charm™️, and he would be back in control of his frazzled nerves.

“I have to say, beautiful, I loved your show.”

“Really?“

“Really. I gotta say, I’m surprised you didn’t end with The View from Up Here.”

If it were possible, Syren’s grin grew even wider.

“Oh, you really are a fan! I decided to debut Take Off on a whim. My managers were like: ‘you can’t do that; the audience won’t recognize the song merp merp merp!’ but I told them: ‘this is a meaningful artistic choice! It’ll resonate more with the audience.’ You know, it’s easy to talk about the view from the top once you’re already there, but the scariest part for most people is taking that first step, 'The Take Off,' so to speak so—oh I’m sorry, I’m talking to much aren’t I?”

Hawks snapped his gaping mouth shut and shook his head.

“N-no, not at all.”

I love your view on your craft. Also, your voice is so textured and expressive it almost feels like a constant massage. I could literally listen to you talk for hours and never get tired.

He was definitely keeping that little anecdote to himself.

“I can’t speak for everyone else, but it definitely resonated with me.”

a soft grateful smile danced on her face. “Thank you,” She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “That means Everything coming from you.”

The gesture, friendly as it was, lit a fire under his skin. So much for getting his nerves under control.

Luckily, Syren quickly moved on. Her lavender eyes landed on one of Hawks’ most prized possession, his gold Rolex.

“Oooh!” She trilled. Her wings fluttering excitedly.

God she’s adorable.

“You like this, sweet heart?” Hawks chuckled, holding up his forearm to give her a better view of the jewelry.

She hummed in agreement, reverently stroking the band.

Hawks unhooked the watch, and motioned for Syren’s arm. Even fastening the watch as tight as he could, it still slid

Down her delicate wrist, making her giggle. He smiled.

“It’s so pretty.”

“Heh, it is nice, huh?” He replied, fastening it back on his arm.

A thoughtful smile crossed Hawks face as he stared at the pearl face and reminisced.

“it was the first indulgent purchase I made after becoming a hero. Pretty shallow I know, but hey, when you risk your life every second of everyday, you deserve a little indulgence I say.”

He’d meant to play that as a joke, but he almost couldn’t help the bite in his tone.

“Hawks,” Syren said gently.

His golden eyes met hers.

“I know we just met, but I have a proposal-“

“Woah, already?” He interrupted with a chuckle. “That’s pretty sudden, Angel, can’t a guy get dinner first?”

A flush lit up Syren’s brown cheeks as she giggled.

“Not like that, silly. I was going to ask if you’d come to my birthday party next weekend? I know we just met, but I would really love it if you came.”

“A personal invitation from the birthday girl, herself?” He brought a hand to his chin and rolled his eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. “Now what kind of guy would I be if I refused an offer like that?”

“An asshole,” she replied.

Hawks let out a bark of surprised laughter at her frankness.

“Well that does it, huh? I can’t have my favorite singer thinking I’m an asshole. Alright, Miss. Syren, I’ll be there.”

She bounced giving a giddy little clap. “Yay!”

Hawks smiled, relaxing in her effervescent presence.

“So,” he inched closer to her, feeling suddenly emboldened. “What does the birthday girl want?”

“Oh no, Hawks, you don’t have to buy me anything,” she waved her hands, dismissively. “just you coming will be enough.”

“Syren, I promise you, babe, it’s no problem.” He threw an arm over the back of her chair.”

A blush colored her cheeks. He smirked. He was still nervous, but the more flustered she got, the more at ease he felt. Not to mention the thrumming of her pulse was sending a sweet little vibration through his wings.

“Hawks, you really don’t have to-“

“Angel,” he drawled in a low, warning tone, “if you know my reputation, you know I’m very persistent in getting what I want.” His golden eyes ran over her body, suggestively. “So, you may not wanna play cat and mouse games with me, beautiful. Unless you like getting caught.”

He didn’t even need his quirk to pick up on Syren’s flustered energy. It was written all over her adorable, blushing face.

“W-well, I, um, I love jewelry, sparkly things, anything to do with music, and backless dresses like this one.” Her voice cracked as she stammered out her reply.

Her nervous energy excited Hawks. He found himself wanting more. Wanting to see just how far he could push her.

“Oh?” his eyes ran over her once more. “Let me see.”

Syren turned away from him. The silver gown she wore dipped dangerously low in the back, showing off a well-toned physique. Her ivory wings flexed, as if to showcase the muscles that kept them working. But what drew Hawks’ was the thin, sparkling silver chain that fell just above her ass holding the slinky little dress in place.

He almost couldn’t help himself as he hooked his fingers beneath the chain and allowed them to travel up the length of her spine. He marveled at the way her wings fluttered as she shivered under his touch. When he reached the juncture between where they protruded from her back a pretty coo escaped her.

Holy fuck.

His voice took on a low, suggestive tone as he asked: “Like this, baby?”

Syren turned to face him, whipping her curtain of silky white hair over her shoulder, and hitting him in the face.

“Just like that, daddy.” She purred.

Hawks choked.

He choked on literal air.

Hawks: 0

Syren: 1,00,000,000

Damn...was not expecting that. Alright, bud, you can bounce back. Smooth and witty, kid.

“Thank you.”

Syren laughed.

Hawks: -1

Syren: 1,00,000,001

“Hey kids, we’re back!” Mirko’s booming voice announced as she and Lady slid back into the booth arm in arm.

Saved by the bunny.

“Hope you two didn’t have too much fun while we were away.” Lady winked, smirking at them.

Hawks aimed a pointed look at her messy hair before glancing at Mirko’s smeared lipstick.

“Not as much fun as you two had, I’m sure.” He shot his friends a smirk of his own.

Lady blushed; Mirko just chuckled.

“Say, you guys didn’t tell me you knew my number one hero!” Syren piped up, placing a hand on Hawks knee.

His heart skipped a beat, both at the title and her touch.

“To be fair, we also didn’t tell him we knew his number one celebrity crush either.” Mirko replied.

Whelp, guess I’ll just die of embarrassment now. Good bye cruel world.

Before he could commence with dying, however, Syren nudged him.

“Your celebrity crush?” She quirked a brow playfully, but he could see the hopeful gleam in those crystal eyes of hers too.

“Guilty as charged, Angel.” He grinned back at her.

The pair held each other’s stare for a beat until Mirko coughed something that sounded a lot like: “She’s single!”

I swear I’m gonna skin this rabbit.

“So, since you two got acquainted, I take it Shiro told you about her birthday party coming up?” Lady asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

“She did, and I agreed to come.” He replied, coolly.

“I can’t wait for you to come!” Her bubbly tone didn’t match the suggestive glint in her eyes or the way she licked her lips slowly as she glanced at his.

Was everyone at this table conspiring to kill him slowly or what?

Mirko smacked her his arm.

"Hey, you better not be coming to the birthday girl's party empty-handed either, Hawks!"

He smacked her back. "C'mon Cotton Tail, what do you take me for? Of course, I've got something special in mind for the lady."

"Oooh!" Syren bounced again. "What is it."

He turned to her, playfully wagging a finger in her face.

"Nuh uh, Angel, it's a surprise. You'll find out soon enough. Promise."

“OK Hawks," she smiled back. Her voice rolled down his spine pleasantly. He had a sudden urge to hear her say his real name the way she said 'Hawks.'

She laid a hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as she leaned forward. His golden-brown eyes dipped straight to the abundance of cleavage spilling out of her low-cut gown.

"Now that you know what I like, I can’t wait for you to give it to me.”

Hawks: -3

Miku: 1,000,000,003

[nazyalenskyism]

The Love of My Life When... (Part 5)

Ao3: The Love of My Life When... Tumblr: The Love of My Life When... Summary: Part 5 of The Love of My Life When… a Zoyalai fic. | The call that neither of them wanted to make reminds them of their favourite moments together. And maybe, just maybe, they begin to realize what they want. A/N: Here’s part 5! It’s been a while since the last chapter, so thank you for keeping up with it! All your comments and feedback are amazing and I love reading them ❤️❤️

Audrey said she saw you out past twelve o'clock Just because you're hurting doesn't mean I'm not If it doesn't go away by the time I turn thirty I made a mistake and I'll tell you I'm sorry "Sorry"

        “Ugh,” Zoya groaned, peeling off her shiny silver heels, collapsing in her favourite armchair. It had been an exhausting night, they had been putting together some of the final details for Tamar and Nadia’s wedding, as it was in two weeks. Of course, that had only been the first half of the night, the second had involved going to the club. Zoya threw a blanket over herself, considering sleeping in the chair, that was how tired she was.

        Before she could nod off however, there was one last thing she had to do. Calling Nikolai after the disaster in the park, seemed like the worst idea she could fathom. She knew Genya was the one who’d orchestrated the whole thing. Setting her and Nikolai up to be partners for the whole wedding weekend. She would have to share her duties with him, walk down the aisle with him at the end of the wedding, be his partner for the ridiculous flashmob Tamar had planned as a surprise to Nadia and the even more ridiculous flashmob Nadia had planned as a surprise to Tamar. Because that totally wasn’t going to end in flames. She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. It wasn’t for her, it was for her friends, and she would do this, even if she would much rather do anything else in the world. At least the drinks at the bar had lowered her inhibitions to the point that she could do this without wanting to cry. That’s how she usually felt when Nikolai was mentioned these days.

        “Come on Koja,” she called, smiling softly at the grey cat who jumped into her lap, curling contentedly under Zoya’s loving stroke of her soft head. Koja had been yet another gift from Nikolai’s birthday week celebrations for her. Zoya let out a small laugh, remembering how excited he’d been to give her the cat, how infectious his joy was. He was amiable with everyone, but he never let anyone see his true goofiness but her. She missed a lot of things that she tried to pretend she didn’t, but most of all she missed him. Some days she missed him so much she felt like it was breaking her from the inside out. She knew she would be fine without him, but as each day passed, she had to wonder, ‘did she want to be without him?’

        No. Her decision was final. She was Zoya Nazyalensky and she would not change her mind, no matter what her traitorous heart said. She would not back away from her duties, especially not after Genya had spammed her with 21 texts and 12 calls all telling her to, “Nazyalensky up and just call Nikolai already.”

        “Well Koja, time to call Nikolai,” she murmured, feeling a pang in her chest as the cat’s ears perked up at the sound of her favourite person’s name. “I can do this.”

                                                   ***

        “Ugh,” Nikolai groaned, collapsing into the hammock in front of his bedroom’s window, overlooking the city and the edges of the bay. He usually slept in his bed, but on nights where he particularly missed the sea, he would sleep in the hammock, the gentle rocking and distant view of the water helping him fall asleep. A soft whine sounded from the floor and Nikolai saw his puppy, Sobachka pouting up at him, clearly wanting to sleep on top of his owner, as usual. He was lucky he was still a puppy, if he were any bigger he would’ve crushed Nikolai in his sleep or tumbled out of his hanging bed. He sighed, knowing he didn’t have it in him to reject the dog’s pleas tonight. He settled back into a comfortable position, Sobachka’s floppy gold ears resting beneath his chin. Nikolai wanted nothing more than to go to sleep after an exhausting day of gathering things for the wedding. Unfortunately, he had one more thing to take care of tonight. He opened his phone, gathering his courage to call before he saw a slew of notifications for his Instagram dms, all from someone named Audrey who he vaguely remembered going to uni with.

        ‘Nikolai! It’s Audrey.’

        ‘I think I saw Zoya at the club tonight’

        ‘She was wearing silver and black’

        ‘You guys aren’t still together, right?’

        ‘Anyways she was there with some guy? look at this pic, it was 1:30 am.’

        Attached to the last message was an image that Nikolai clicked and when he zoomed in, he saw that it was taken at a club, Zoya wearing a slinky silver dress, her hand on the shoulder of a tall guy in a suit, trailing him out of the club. He let out a sigh. He hadn’t thought Zoya would move on from them so quickly, but regardless of that, he knew he ought to be happy that she was happy. No matter what, he wanted that for her. Although… as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. He wasn’t jealous, there was nothing to be jealous about, she wasn’t his and he wasn’t hers, but he just wanted… he wanted what he could never have. And he was a fool for that.

        Sobachka barked at the ringing of the phone, and Nikolai frowned, had she read his mind? “Hi.”

        “Lantsov, Genya says we need to go over our duties for the wedding.”

        “And you want to do that now? At almost 3 AM? How did you even know if I would be awake?”

        “Oh please, you and David were helping Nadia with something sciencey tonight, and you never sleep well, not without—” she stopped mid sentence, realizing that this time she was the one who’d let something slip.

        He had trouble sleeping, he always had, and for some reason, he’d found that if he played piano before bed, it almost always helped him sleep. He had his own piano room at his place, but Zoya had bought him a keyboard for when he stayed at her’s.

        “How do you know I haven’t played tonight?” he asked, attempting to gloss over the awkward pause.

        “Please, Nadia texted me when she dropped you both off home, and if you played the piano at 3 AM your stupid neighbour would’ve called ME complaining and telling you to shut up.”

        “That’s fair,” he sighed. “So… what were you up to before this? Out at the club?” Oh, he hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Maybe his lack of sleep was affecting him.

        “Tamar actually— wait how did you know that?”

        He hesitated, “I saw you walking out of the club with some guy in a suit.”

        “Some guy?”

        “Some guy,” he confirmed.

        “You IDIOT that was TOLYA.”

        Nikolai let out a dry laugh, “and that’s what I get for paying attention to Audrey.”

        “Audrey? I think she tried to get me to join her pyramid scheme… she only stopped when I pretended to be a part of another one and tried to recruit her.”

        “Intriguing! And what were the results?”

        “She blocked me on all social media, tried to convince Genya that I was going to steal David and that I stole Adrik from her.”

        “Huh.”

        “Yeah.”

        “So about the rehearsal dinner—”

        “Lantsov,” he heard her take in a deep breath, “I know this might be hard for you… but don’t you think it was hard for me too?”

        “You cut things off so easily, I didn't think that it was,” he said slowly. He didn’t know what had brought on Zoya’s forthcoming mood but he wasn’t about to ruin it.

        “It’s not easy for me! Seeing you out with other people… I’m hurting too,” she finished sharply, and Nikolai felt his throat tighten, his careful attitude flying out the window.

        “What if this was a mistake? What if the reason you’re unhappy is because this isn’t what you wanted?”

        After a long pause, Zoya spoke up again, “No. It was the right thing to do. I’m not changing my mind. If, by the time I’m 30, I somehow regret it, I’ll tell you I’m sorry. But it won’t matter then, Nikolai, because you’ll be married and happy and living the life you were supposed to have before you met me.”                               He didn’t have anything to say to that.

        Zoya waited for Nikolai to say something, and was surprised when all he said was, “okay, Zoya. So for the rehearsal dinner, I was thinking I could set up my stuff at 5, and you can start at 6, since I’m driving up first. That leaves us enough time to double check everything before the dinner. Then for the ceremony, you’re walking in with Nadia, we just have to practice walking out, and how we’re setting up the reception. Genya said she’s going to email all that to us in the morning.”

        “That sounds good,” she said.

        “Good. Well, I guess that’s it then. I should—”

        “Wait. Nikolai…” she didn’t know what to say… she just wanted to say something to him, something to let him know how she felt, but she couldn’t find the right words.

        “I know, Zoya,” and she could imagine him smiling softly, despite how she continued to step on his heart. “I know. Goodnight.”

        “Goodnight,” she echoed faintly, waiting until the line clicked on his end to bring the phone back to her face and whisper, “sorry,” a quiet sob shaking her body.

                                                   ***

        Nikolai pulled a hand through his hair, even more confused than before. Everything Zoya said was what he expected her to say— but her behaviour confused him, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that she didn’t want to still be broken up. But if there was anything he could rely on, it was that she was Zoya Nazyalensky, and she wouldn’t change her mind. Still, that didn’t stop him from remembering what it had been like before all this.

        The way she used to put her head on his chest as the hammock rocked. How he used to tell her stories about the sea and the year he’d spent on a boat with Tolya and Tamar before he’d met her. She always wanted to know more about the lives he’d lived, and in return for his stories, she would whisper secrets in his ear, not even trusting the wind as much as she trusted him. Some nights, curled in the hammock, Zoya would point out the constellations, teaching him what her aunt had taught her, while other nights, she would clear out the furniture in her living room and demand, with her hands on her hips, that Nikolai teach her how to dance--she refused to let him excel in something she knew she could best him in. And so he’d taught her. And in return, she’d taught him how to ice skate, the one thing he had never tried, holding his hands the entire time, regardless of how much she’d teased him. He had been terrible, utterly terrible, but as he’d watched Zoya skate perfectly backwards, all while helping him, he had realized that he would never find this again. This was it for him. She was it for him.

        His hopeless heart had only gotten ensnared worse when he’d made her a traditional dish he’d learned about in Russia, the only thing he knew how to cook well, and she had looked at him with so much ferocity, wanting to know how to cook it for herself. She was a worse cook than him, and had never quite managed it, despite his teachings. So she would call him whenever she was stressed and wanted her comfort food, although she never said that, he could always tell. She’d come to rely on him, trust him, in the same way he had relied on her, trusted her. He’d given her his heart-- but in the end he had been mistaken. His heart was closely guarded and despite Zoya’s warnings not to, he’d given himself to her completely. The pain he felt now was his own fault, and he didn’t know if it would ever truly go away.

                                                       ***

        Zoya couldn’t sleep either, and no piano melody would help bring her closer to it either. On the nights she could sleep, she found herself in the same situation, she dreamed of him, and only him. The press of his fingers against her arms when he steadied her after she’d drank too much. Warm kisses to her head when she was sick and couldn’t leave the bed, or protest his soft actions. His calloused fingers brushing back her hair in the moments after she shared her frustrations. The distance he stumbled back— as if he’d been struck in the chest when she had said she couldn’t do it anymore. The distance from his apartment, where she’d stayed each night to her own, cold and alone on the other side of town. The hurt in his eyes when she’d twisted the knife further, saying that she would have never been able to care for him— love him in the way he did for her. The pain that passed over his otherwise neutral features when he’d realized that she was yet another person who he’d let himself love, only for his love to never be reciprocated. The boy he’d shown her, who collected scars he didn’t deserve, retreated back into a man who had a collection of scars whose stories she would spend a lifetime forgetting. Whose hands she would spend a lifetime trying to forget. Whose love she would spend forever mourning. For all that she’d said to Nikolai to make him forget her, she was beginning to realize that if Nikolai would have her back, she would gladly go.

        “Sorry,” she repeated softly, even though he couldn’t hear her, she vowed that she would make things right, even if he didn’t want her again, she knew she owed him that much. She was Zoya Nazyalensky and she wanted to change her mind, to listen to what her traitorous heart said, but only if that’s what he wanted too.

[azpartygirlz]

Thursday, September 30th

SHANNON & THE CLAMS

at Club Congress (info/tix)

“I am terrified of spiders,” says Shannon Shaw. “My mom always told me that they’re drawn to me. Like, they would drop down and dangle in my face as a baby, or they’d get in my bed.” 

But the powerhouse singer-bassist of retro-rock band Shannon & The Clams had bigger fears when she went to an astrologer two years ago. Shaw was at an emotional tipping point — willing to try anything — because everything she loved was falling apart. 

“It felt like the end of an era,” Shaw says, which began to unravel in 2016 with the tragic Ghost Ship warehouse fire in the Clams’ DIY community in Oakland. In 2018, the California wildfires in Napa almost caused her parents to evacuate their homes. In 2019, a lurking intruder drove Shaw out of the beloved apartment she’d lived in for 14 years. And then, right as her band was getting invited on big tours with bands like Greta Van Fleet and The Black Keys, her father was diagnosed with cancer. “The idea of leaving my family was agonizing — it was torture,” Shaw says. 

The astrologer told her to summon Durga when she felt powerless, a Hindu goddess who holds a weapon in each of her eight arms. Shaw saw the connection. “The symbolism of the spider made a full turn in an interesting way,” she says. “I was getting protection from the thing I feared the most.” Plus, she says with a laugh, “Spiders destroy the bullshit bugs. Like mosquitoes. Who needs ‘em?” 

Year Of The Spider, the band’s sixth studio album, rages against death and disease with the power of a thousand angry Ronettes. Songs like “All Of My Cryin',” “Mary, Don’t Go,” and “Year Of The Spider,” pulse with girl-group elegance and punk ferocity. On a Clams record, you always get both. 

That harsh/soft balance often comes down to Clams keyboardist Will Sprott. "Different keyboards lend themselves to different tones," Sprott says, "a Rhodes [piano] is more soft and bell-like, whereas a Wurlitzer has these chunky, abrasive bites. So when I'm deciding which instrument to play on a song, I'm thinking, what does the song make you feel? What do you want it to communicate? It's like, do you want this organ to scream at you or soothe you?" 

On the album opener, it was a little bit of both. “Do I Wanna Stay" is a slow tango between Shaw's voice and Sprott's piano that builds to a break point when Shaw rasps, “I dream at night…” sounding like someone whittled Brenda Lee into a shiv. 

"We went line by line with a fine-toothed comb to make sure the instrumentation matched each scene, almost like a movie," Sprott says, adding, "That's one thing about having Dan [Auerbach] as your producer — he is really good at seeing an overall vision of the sound — knowing when and where to add or remove certain layers." 

Drummer Nate Mahan agreed, saying "Stay" was a true collaboration. "Shannon had a very unique idea about the tempo of that song that we had to work out with Dan … The timing took us quite a while to get right, but I'm really proud of how it came out." 

When Mahan moved to Oakland in 2007, he was a fan of the band before he joined. "I was in a lot of improvisational and noise bands in a city that has every micro-genre you can imagine floating around … Shannon and the Clams stuck out to me because they had great songs with great singers, which I thought that really lacking in Oakland at the time." 

Mahan's intuitive approach shines through on songs with dense imagery like, "Mary Don't Go" — one of Shaw and Auerbach's favorites. "I wanted to leave space for the words and pull back [on the drums]," Mahan says. "When you slow the pace, the words can feel more powerful." 

On “Godstone," which tells the story of a surreal underwater encounter Shaw had in Hawaii, Mahan ditched the drums completely and played a halting, horn-like piano line while Sprott added the eerie arpeggiated synths. 

The other source of the Clams' signature sound comes from the decade-long creative partnership between Shaw and Clams’ guitarist Cody Blanchard. In “I Need You Bad,” their voices lock into bewitching minor chords. “It’s like a zipper when we sing together,” Shaw said, “I think we have a blood harmony, though we’re not related.” Bands that do have blood harmonies — the Everly Brothers, the BeeGees — are major musical touchstones for them. But unlike those groups, Shaw, Blanchard are close friends. They live 15 minutes away from each other and when both are in town, will rehearse in the goat shed turned recording studio that Blanchard built in his yard.

Blanchard mixed Spider at Dan Auerbach’s Easy Eye Sound Studios the same week tornadoes devastated parts of Nashville right before the COVID-19 shutdowns in early 2020. He also wrote and sings lead on roughly half the songs on Spider. His songs, like “Flowers Will Return” and “In The Hills, In The Pines,” have swelling pop arrangements and a mysteriously sparse falsetto, reminiscent of bands like The Hollies and The Association. 

As a songwriter, Blanchard said he can get neurotic, so he tried Dolly Parton’s trick: writing songs from another person’s point of view. It worked, yielding some of Spider’s darkest songs: the howling “Crawl,” which has a roiling hard-rock guitar (“that was really fun — just a classic, rippin’ ‘70s guitar solo”) and the album's first single, “Midnight Wine," a thundering baroque-pop number that was inspired by friends and people in the Oakland arts community who died of drug overdoses over the last few years.

“I was thinking specifically of the feeling of alienation,” said Blanchard. “Where it feels like nothing in society works for you. The only thing that makes sense is to get fucked up to the point where you don’t care if you die or not because life is too difficult and bleak.” 

Spider ends with the slinky Motown-esque, “Vanishing.”Shaw dons her spiritual spider armor once more, singing directly and poignantly to her father (who is doing well, she said.) At first, Shaw wondered if the lyrics were too personal to put on the record. 

“It’s very emotional, very tender,” she said. “I also had these ideas that made no sense, like having the weird call-and-response, but we made it work so it was one of those songs that gave me the chance to grow.”

[knittingdreams]

Fireheart - Chapter 11

I’m back with another chapter of my ToG fic!!!

As always, thank to my B (it’s for b*tch, not babe) @fleetingpieces for proofreading, giving me ideas, and overall being an amazing & supportive B. 

If you’re not up to date, here’s the Masterlist!

And if you are, pppssss, I just updates a NEW-ER chapter onto Ao3! ;)

WARNING: As on basically every chapter, there’s violence, and swearing xD

CHAPTER 11

Fighting is the easy part

Convincing Arobynn to allow her to be a part of the tournament didn’t end up being as hard as Celaena expected. Sam had had to stay in the hospital for an extra night after he coincidentally got a terrible migraine just before being dismissed, ending up with the doctors running a few extra tests in case there was any damage to his brain.

The results had come in clear by Wednesday morning, and Sam had been dismissed with a warning not to do any extenuating exercise. Arobynn would have been happy to send Sam to a fight on the same day, but the fact that he had missed a lot of his training and wasn’t in his best shape was what helped them convince him. Sam had sustained major bruising to his abdomen and was still wearing tight bandages to help ease the pain, as well as ingesting a whole lot of painkillers on the daily. There was also major bruising on his shoulder, but nothing was broken. 

“How are you feeling today?” Celaena asked him Saturday afternoon as he watched her punch the boxing bag in the basement. 

“So much better. My chest still looks like a work of art between the greens and purples, but the pain is tolerable. I’m used to worse,” he chuckled. They both were.

“Do you know who I’ll be fighting tonight?” Celaena asked as she started practicing her kicks.

“No, they won’t say a thing until you get there. Just…”

“Just what?” Celaena cut him. “Don’t you dare say ‘just be careful’.” She glared at Sam, knowing that that was exactly what he was about to say, and he looked down, almost ashamed.

“That’s not the way I mean it, I know you can look after yourself, but don’t get cocky, those guys won’t like getting beaten up by a girl,” he said after a moment.

“So, you’re saying I’m going to beat them?” Celaena smiled as she stopped hitting the bag and walked towards Sam, grabbing a towel from the bench he was sitting on and wiping her forehead.

“I know for a fact you will."

Smiling to herself, Celaena headed up the stairs and made her way to her bedroom. After taking a shower and getting changed into her usual leggings, she headed back to the hotel. She was looking forward to a big nap to make sure she’ll be well-rested for the fight.

***

The tension in the atmosphere was palpable, and the air was so thick with testosterone that Celaena thought she could probably cut it with a knife. There were going to be ten different fights that night, each fighter having two battles to prove their worth. If she won both, she’ll be included in the tournament, which would officially start in two weeks. She wasn’t worried, she knew she’d win, she had to. She needed to be a part of the tournament to find out why her aunt’s name had been on the slips from Arobynn’s bets. Was Maeve the one behind the whole tournament? What other unlawful business was she involved in? Did this make her a more prone suspect in her parent’s deaths?

She was bouncing on the ball of her feet as the first fight was announced, and a bulky guy with a bald head moved out of the back room and into the arena, followed by another guy that couldn’t be more than 19 years old, and looked lean but too small in comparison. 

Celaena stayed in the backroom, peeking at the raised fighting platform from behind the thick curtain that separated them from the audience. The place wasn’t too full, as the tournament hadn’t officially started. The only ones present were people known to the fighters and some of the bigger investors that were curious to see who they should root for. Arobynn was between them, and Celaena looked around half expecting to find her aunt Maeve there too, but there was no sign of her. 

“Hey,” Sam called as he showed by her side. “Would you care to explain the mask?” He asked.

She didn’t look at him, but instinctively fixed the red mask she was wearing, making sure it was still tightly fitted around her cheeks. She knew she probably looked like a weirdo, but she wasn’t going to risk her aunt seeing her if she was around, so Celaena had decided on yet another disguise. She had tied her hair in a low bun and had made a red lace mask that concealed a few of her features. She had glued it to her skin so it wouldn't become an annoyance during the fight and was wearing her brown contacts as well as black eye shadow and liner.    

“Don’t you laugh at it,” she finally said under her breath. To explain to Sam the mask, she’d have to tell him about her aunt, and even if they were on the best terms they’ve been in a long time, she still wasn’t sure if she could trust him with that kind of information. 

“I wouldn’t, you look lethal.” 

She turned around to face him, expecting to see him laughing; but Sam was serious. “You mean it?” 

“Aelin,” he said in a whisper, her real name slipping out of his mouth for the first time in months. “I don’t know what else to do to be back on your good side, we were friends once, and I’m here to prove that you can trust me again.” Sam was dead serious, and the fact that he had used her real name, told Celaena that he wanted to make a point. He was one of the few that knew who she was: Aelin Ashryver, heir to the Ashryver Galathynius fortune. He had kept her secret for nine years, and what had she done in return? Be an ass and mistrust him at every chance she got. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he hadn’t betrayed her after all. 

“Okay,” she simply said as she looked into Sam’s eyes; pondering. “Let’s say I give you one piece of information, can I trust it won’t make its way to Arobynn’s ears?”

Sam looked hurt as he took a step back, and Celaena thought he was offended by the insult until Sam spoke again.

“Don’t,” he said sadly. “Don’t tell me anything, there’s something you need to know,” he looked through the curtain to where Arobynn was sitting. “You need to know the real reason why he sent me to school before you decide to tell me anything.”

Celaena grabbed Sam by the elbow and dragged him to the back of the room as the crowd roared and they heard the host proclaim the winner of the fight. The next round of fighters was called onto the stage as they reached the back wall. 

“What are you talking about?” She asked him once they were far away from everybody else.

“He sent me over to spy on you,” he spat, as if repulsed by the idea. “He wanted me to keep an eye on you and had me promise I would tell him everything you got up to. Who you were hanging out with, places you were going.”

“And did you do it?” Celaena asked.

“I had to,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers.

“What does he have on you?” She knew that if Arobynn could get Sam to do something like that, it was because he had some kind of leverage. 

“He threatened to repeat what happened that night,” he said in a low whisper. Celaena shuddered, the memories bringing a sour taste to her mouth. She didn’t need to ask any more questions, she knew what was at stake, and she wasn’t going to risk telling Sam anything that might put him in that kind of danger.

“It’s okay, Sam." She rested a hand on his shoulder and nodded once. 

“It almost sounds like you’re forgiving me,” he said hopefully.

“Don’t be too cocky,” she punched him lightly, making him laugh again. She had forgotten what it was like to get along with Sam. There had been a short time when they had been great friends, and it had been refreshing to have someone to joke around with.

“Fireheart and Verin, you’re next,” someone called from the door, and Celaena turned around and walked towards the curtains with Sam following a few steps behind. 

Her opponent didn’t look like much, he was slinky and looked more like a homeless person than a fighter. Celaena knew the fight would be over before it’d even start. 

Her rival was already walking away with one of the staff members, as the other security guy waited for her, looking impatient.

“You, with me,” he said as she got close enough. He had a tall and broad complexion like all the rest of the men on the security team, but Celaena thought there was something different about it. There was something in his pine green eyes that looked more like sorrow rather than contained anger. Celaena was used to dealing with his type, always acting before thinking, mere puppets following the owner’s orders. She knew not to mess with them, as they were the ones that would beat the crap out of you and ditch you in an alley if you ever crossed their masters. 

Once they got to the side of the platform, the guy pushed her forward with a hand against her lower back, making her flinch at the contact. She quickly jumped onto the stage, eager to get away from the feeling of his hand only a thin fabric away from her scarred skin. 

She had decided to wear one of her long-sleeved catsuits so she would avoid as many points of contact as possible from where she could be grabbed and pulled. After all, she wasn’t like those guys that could fight in a pair of shorts. Even if that would’ve been an interesting show. 

She stood in her corner, waiting for the judge to announce the start of the fight. Her opponent was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and Celaena thought he looked like he was high on drugs. He wasn’t even a real opponent, and she was pissed off at the humiliation. Had they done it on purpose thinking she couldn’t fight because she was a woman?

She would show them what she was capable of.

“Okay, you know the rules, no deadly hits, you fall off the platform, you’re out. Now, fight!” The judge roared. The crowd cheered briefly, and then went silent as Verin stepped forward.

She jumped on the spot twice, making sure her ankles were warmed up properly, and rolled her neck as Verin took another step towards her. She took two steps on light feet, barely touching the floor, and before her opponent could take a swing at her, she lifted her leg and lowered her trunk as her foot collided against Verin’s face, sending him tumbling down to the floor. She landed with her hands on the floor and did a half cartwheel to get back up, facing her opponent again. When she saw he was still lying on the floor, motionless, Celaena relaxed her posture. Too fucking easy. 

With a bored expression on her face, she crossed her arms over her chest. The crowd was unusually quiet as the judge spoke.

“Uhm, I… I think that’s a win for Fireheart,” he said, not sounding convinced. The guard that had brought Verin to the platform jumped up and checked the guy's pulse, quickly nodding to the judge and then slapping the fighter a few times to wake him up.

She jumped down as Verin was taken away, the other security guard waiting for her by the side of the platform. She started walking towards the resting area in the back, the guy following suit by her side. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the guy muttered, almost as if unwilling to share that information.

“What do you mean?” She snapped, looking at him.

The man ran a hand through his long white hair, and then fixed his low pony. Just before they reached the curtain, he spoke again in a low and hushed tone.

“Just be careful, and watch your back.”

She didn’t have time to reply, as before she could react, he had gone ahead of her and entered the back area to look for the next fighter. Why did men always have to tell her to be careful? Celaena knew how to look after herself. And what had he meant? What was she not supposed to do? Win? Watch your back. Was that a threat? That guy certainly didn't know a thing about her. 

Celaena huffed in annoyance as she walked towards her bag looking for her bottle of water. She watched the white-haired dude walking out with the next fighter, and shook her head. Most of the time, she thought men were the strangest beings she had to deal with. And that guy had certainly won some bonus points already.