#two posts in one day????????????????? its the end of the World

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt. 

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain. 

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler. 

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black. 

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets. 

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over. 

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes. 

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.” 

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise. 

“That one was close by.” 

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.” 

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her. 

“Do you see that?”  

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club. 

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair. 

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air. 

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings. 

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side. 

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail. 

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed. 

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers. 

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice. 

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving. 

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one. 

“I’m-I’m a mated male.” 

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head. 

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him. 

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color. 

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind. 

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood. 

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master. 

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate. 

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right? 

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back. 

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed. 

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one. 

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean. 

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.” 

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously. 

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.” 

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him. 

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean? 

His mind — I can’t get into it. 

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor. 

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights. 

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold. 

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain. 

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious. 

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves. 

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving. 

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all. 

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle. 

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears. 

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her. 

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate. 

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth. 

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them. 

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!” 

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates. 

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold. 

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate. 

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process. 

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now. 

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse. 

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet. 

He heard the rush of air a second too late. 

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch. 

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold. 

Gods, she was beautiful. 

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore. 

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes. 

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” 

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement. 

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.” 

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her. 

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said. 

…I see your point. Cassian muttered. 

Be careful around this one. 

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female. 

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression. 

You think?! Azriel all but growled. 

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time. 

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection. 

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside. 

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel. 

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real. 

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently. 

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing? 

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow. 

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them. 

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind. 

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked. 

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.” 

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.” 

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?” 

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?” 

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise. 

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib. 

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her. 

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.” 

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world. 

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves. 

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on. 

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick. 

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.” 

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings. 

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation. 

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind. 

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail. 

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them. 

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed. 

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen. 

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose. 

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.” 

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor. 

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home. 

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body. 

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail. 

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors. 

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had. 

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.  

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness. 

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep. 

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it. 

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could. 

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little. 

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors. 

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #22: Kith and Kin

Prompt: rencounter (free write) || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Spoilers through Patch 6.5: Growing Light, and very very very minor ones for Dawntrail.

---

Radz-at-Han was a truly beautiful sight from the air. Built atop a large, lonely plateau rising above the Thavnairian jungle, the city covered its entire surface in a myriad of brightly painted buildings, open plazas decorated with mosaics, and lush gardens on multiple rooftops. And even from this distance, there was no mistaking the crowds that bustled throughout the city and crossed the great bridge connecting Radz-at-Han to the rest of Thavnair.

Excitement bubbled up in Ehll Tou’s throat and she trilled an adventuring song as she began to glide downward in a smooth spiral.

The airship landing was easy to spot, a series of long platforms jutting out from the plateau close to the main gate. As she drew closer, Ehll Tou spotted a figure waving from the end of the westernmost dock: large and broadly built, grey skin, large ears, a sinuous trunk, and wearing a beautiful sari of pink and purple. Ah, that must be Nidhana! Ehll Tou obligingly adjusted her course.

The arkasadora took some steps backward as Ehll Tou neared, her ears held up perked and alert. Almost to the edge now, Ehll Tou threw herself into a backwards loop—it had taken quite a bit of practice to relearn how to do that in her adult body—both as display and to slow her momentum. Coming back upright, she flared her wings as a finally braking maneuver, and landed delicately on one foot, and then the other.

[Hello!] she sang happily. [Are you Nidhana?]

“I am indeed!” Nidhana said, striding forward with surprising grace for a being so tall. She held out her hand, and Ehll Tou reached forward to shake eagerly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ehll Tou! Welcome to Radz-at-Han.”

[A pleasure to meet you as well!]Ehll Tou said. [I’ve heard so much about you and your city! Thank you so much for allowing me to attend your introductory alchemy class.]

“Oh, it is a delight to accept a student so diligent and eager to learn,” Nidhana said, beginning to walk down the pier. “I am only sorry I cannot introduce you to Master Vrtra and Mistress Azdaja, but diplomatic business has taken them to Tural and I’m not certain when they will return.”

Ehll Tou kept easy pace beside her and reached into her bag, retrieving her hat and carefully pinning it back to its rightful, jaunty place atop her left horn. [That’s all right,]she said. [There will be plenty of time to properly meet my kin! I am not in any rush.]

“Ah, the benefits of a draconic lifespan,” Nidhana sighed wistfully. “The things I could learn over such time!”

The two chatted happily as they traveled through Radz-at-Han’s streets towards the High Crucible, with Nidhana pointing out many shops and restaurants and landmarks and Ehll Tou dutifully committing them to memory as she built her mental map of the city. She drew curious looks from many Hannish citizens, though dragons had become a somewhat more common sight since Vrtra began openly ruling as satrap. The adventurers were a familiar sight, and some she even knew from Ishgard! With those she exchanged hellos and promises to meet for a snack and cup of tea.

“Such a wonderful world we now live in,” Nidhana said, her trunk curled and ears gently flapping in the manner Ehll Tou was quickly learning meant happiness. “As terrible as the Final Days were, its aftermath has brought new life to the city and Thavnair as a whole. New foods, new ideas, new friends!”

[It is wondrous to see,] Ehll Tou trilled and tapped her claws together with excitement. [I never thought to see the end of the Dragonsong War, but now I may safely travel the lands of man and learn new skills and meet new peoples, and compose songs to share it all with my kin and encourage them to travel and learn, too!]

Nidhana trumpeted a laugh. “Oh, Sisters have mercy on me, I know now why Synnove adores you so much! It is going to be an honor to teach you, truly!”

Ehll Tou chuffed, chest puffing with pride.

--

Five days later, Ehll Tou was browsing one of the markets, humming happily to herself as she examined a stall of clockwork devices. Her first days of classes had gone well and she had settled into the nest that the Alchemists’ College had prepared for her in the student housing close to the High Crucible. She was making new friends, too, and while some of it had no doubt been engendered by the allure of a draconic classmate, once her classmates realized how well-read she was, they had quickly settled into a mix of gossip and idea sharing. Such fun!

She did miss Hautdilong and Arvide, but they had encouraged her to take this opportunity, and she would be back home within the next few moons once the class was concluded. And in the meantime, she would write letters to them, eagerly await their own, and acquire some souvenirs to bring home with her!

Today was a free day and while she would later meet with her classmates to review their notes and prepare for their first laboratory session, this morning was the perfect time to shop.

Ehll Tou had already purchased some silk for a potential sewing project she had in mind, thread for embroidery in colors that made her purr, and a number of interesting snacks she could share at the study session. The clockwork had caught her eye, used as she was to Ul’dahn styles, and her perusal right now was for an item or two she might carefully disassemble to compare its construction to a Goldsmiths’ Guild mammet she was building. A watch was always a good starting point…

A flash of moving scarlet caught her eye, and Ehll Tou raised her head to spot a dragonet further down the boulevard. She blinked curiously; none of her cousins had said they would be visiting Radz-at-Han, but the dragonet didn’t quite look like any of her cousins, either. Perhaps this was a Meracydian dragonet, one that Great Mother Tiamat felt was well enough to travel beyond the safety of her restored brood? Oh, what fun, she hadn’t met any of her Meracydian kin yet!

Ehll Tou made her selections, gently haggling with the shopkeep, and shook hands once they were both content with their deal. She exchanged gil for the watches, placed her purchases within her satchel, and trotted off down the street.

As Ehll Tou drew closer, she noted that the dragonet was certainly no Dravanian but was quite pretty: her wings had feathers, and a fluffy ruff of white feathers crowned her head behind her horns! She whistled a hello, and the dragonet turned—

—this was not a dragonet.

Ehll Tou scrambled to a stop.

{Oh, look at you!} The great wyrm in a dragonet’s body swooped closer. {What a beautiful dragon you have grown into, scion of Ratatoskr!}

Her voice purred and rolled around the careful enunciations of Dragonspeak in both Ehll Tou’s ears and mind. The sound was warm and multi-toned, drums and dulcimers and heavy woodwinds, a deep contralto of age and experience and affection. In it was echoed the symphonic rumble of Kinfather Midgardsormr and the memory of the green skies of the Dragon Star; the hatching songs of new generations and warsongs of wyrms flying to protect their children; the hollow loneliness of a red moon and the dream of home.

Ehll Tou dropped into a bow, neck low and wings spread, and frantically pawed through her mental library of etiquette. Azdaja the Lost had never mothered a brood, so ‘Great Mother’ would not be the proper courtesy title, but perhaps a more mortal term would work, she could contract the layers of generations into one—

[It is my honor, Great Aunt Azdaja,] Ehll Tou trilled in Dragonspeak, though the term for ‘aunt’ translated rather awkwardly.

{Such wonderful manners, I am well met,} Azdaja said, squinting her eyes closed in pleasure. {Further formality is not necessary, little niece.}

Ehll Tou popped up from her bow, fairly vibrating with excitement. [Thank you, Great Aunt! I am Ehll Tou.]

{Yes, yes, Ehll Tou of Dravania! First of a new generation of dragons born to peace.} Azdaja’s voice had warmed even further. {My brother and I just returned to Radz-at-Han last night. How fortuitous that I met you this morning; Vrtra planned to send you an invitation to dinner so that we might properly meet and exchange songs. Would you be able to attend tonight?}

[Oh, yes, I would! Today and tomorrow are my rest days,] Ehll Tou said, fighting the urge to fairly dance in place. Oh goodness, to share family songs with two of the great wyrms! So much to learn! So much to share! She was going to be the utter envy of Zenith and Anyx Trine!

Azdaja’s laugh was a rippling sound of bells and flutes. {Might I accompany you?} she said. {I am still learning much about Radz-at-Han myself, and such excursions are always more joyous with company.}

[It would be my pleasure!] Ehll Tou couldn’t stop her excited hop as Azdaja came to hover next to her, both of their attentions caught by a samosa stall opening as the lunch hour began.

This, Ehll Tou knew, was going to be one of the best days she ever had.

[min-imum]

FLUFFY GYU SMUT !!!!

nsfw, mdni

content warnings: gn!reader, this is actually so fluffy because i love domesticity and i’m a sucker for domestic fluff but also mingyu is too hot so i ended up being a smut account but but but TIYA I MEANT AN ASK WITH CONTENT 😞😞😞😞 it’s okay this means i can write WHATEVER I WANT!!!!!!!! DOMESTIC MINGYU!!!!!!!, super soft sex, super sweet mingyu, AUGH its vanilla and it’s cute, also i literally added tags to this in advance because my dumbass completely forgot to add tags in my previous post and i was like hmm it’s a suspiciously low number of notes for the amount of time this has been up OHHHHHHH no tags., second time i’ve had to rewrite a fic because tumblr said nope sorry we cant save this AND THEN IT JUST DIDNT SAVE EVEN THOUGH I ALREADY SAVED THE DRAFT EARLIER AND I WAS JUST ADDING ON :( im being so fr the first draft was SO much better on god and it was longer too but i forgot what i wrote rAAA

mingyu — your sweet, darling boyfriend. you love him with all your heart and you know he loves you too.

he shows you just how much he loves you all the time. you know he loves you when he crawls up at dawn to make you breakfast. you know he loves you when he crouches to tie your shoelaces for you. you know he loves you when he sends you sweet texts throughout the day, and when he purchases souvenirs from all his travels for you, and when he wraps his big arms around you on a bad day to cushion you and comfort you.

you know he loves you when he makes love to you like this, slow and sweet and filled with emotion.

he kisses you slowly, languidly, and you moan into his mouth as his cock presses into you inch by inch. when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are filled with adoration. it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

when you finally take him to the hilt, he pauses, litters kisses over your face and neck, presses his lips to your jaw, bites gently at your earlobe, and waits ever so patiently for you to get used to his size inside you.

“you can move, gyu,” you whisper. he kisses you once more as his hips start to move, grunts falling from his lips with each thrust. he leans his forehead against yours tenderly and bumps your noses together affectionately.

his hands roam your body, squeezing gently and feeling you up. he revels in every moan and whine that escapes from your lips. he nuzzles against your cheek sweetly.

as much as you like the rougher, meaner sex you have with him, this sweet love-making is your favourite. he never fails to remind you how much he loves you and how special you are to him.

he presses his nose into your hair and breathes in your scent.

“did you use my shampoo, baby?”

“mhm,” you smile sheepishly. “sorry.”

“don’t apologise. i like it when you smell like me.” he giggles, expression absolutely lovesick. you blush, shy and contented.

“i like smelling like you too.”

he has the sweetest smile on his face, eyes glittery and lips curled, as he fucks you with all the love in the world. he loves making you feel good, he loves taking care of you. he loves you.

soon, you’re cumming over his cock with a long whine, and he fucks you through it. he always makes sure you cum first. and then he follows quickly, rolling his hips into you one last time and emptying himself into you.

finally, he rolls the two of you over so you’re lying on his chest, his cock still buried inside you.

“hi,” you giggle.

“you’re so cute,” mingyu coos. “my adorable baby. i love you so much.”

you smile, eyes bright with happiness and satisfaction. “i love you too.”

“let’s get up soon, okay? i have to clean you up and change the sheets,” he murmurs.

as always, your sweet boyfriend never fails to take care of you and show you how much he loves you.

“okay,” you hum. “five more minutes?”

he strokes your back affectionately and presses a tender kiss to your head. “five more minutes.”

[indigo-flowers09]

OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I JUST DISCOVERED YOUR BLOG LIKE A FEW DAYS AGO BUT I LOVE YOUR ART SM OMG 😭😭😭💕💕💕

I LOVE YOUR UTY AU TOO!!! KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK & CONGRATS ON TURNING 15!! 🥳

BLOW OUT YOUR CANDLES & MAKE A WISH! >:3

🎂

Gosh i said i wasn’t gonna post this week and here i am, making ANOTHER drawing for another tumblr ask („•v•„U )

little rant under the cut ;3

I might be overblowing it but i mean, i’ve been getting a lot of love for this au these last. two weeks i think? gosh time moves so slow…

I even got my very first commission! and i’ve gotten so many likes and heard so many people say they love little Clover up there and it really means the world! I’m so happy, even if it’s to a handful of people, to share something that im passionate about and has been keeping me sane for the past month or two, alongside it being undertale, one of my earliest special interests and biggest passions.

I’m planning on making a C!overtale comic, starting at some point in the next few months, if not by winter break. If i actually end up finishing it, and all its routes, you might even be able to expect an Overtale proper comic ;]

I’m just happy that people care about my art so much, and that i can enjoy my birthday knowing people care as much about Clover as i do.

Sincerely, Indigo :]

[todayisafridaynight]

what makes minedai even sadder is that we never rlly see daigo try to build a bond with anyone else like he did with mine it rlly shows how badly it effected him like yeah he reached out to shinada in y5 but that’s rlly it and he probably would wanna leave him alone after that and not involve him in any yakuza stuff so i don’t think they would’ve hung out or anything like that afterwards. All he rlly had were saejima and majima but they were more like babysitters than anything, wish we saw more of their dynamic tho like we did with majima and daigo in dead souls since that was fun and we were lowkey robbed but in canon he’s just as lonely as he was before majimas promise to kiryu. And mine is the only person he really had a meaningful relationship with romantic or not they were still really close and we don’t see that again with daigo ever (from what i recall after y3) ok sorry for rambling LMFAO

even with shinada, he reached out to him more so out of 'duty' and trying to make up for the misfortune that befell him because of yakuza than wanting to rekindle any kind of friendship they might have had in high school (though it sounds more like they were just acquaintances if shinada needing a second to remember who daigo was is anything), so yah i doubt they really had any kind of bond afterwards

dead souls really was the only time after Y3 where we got to see daigo be more sociable with someone, but its as you say majima and saejima are more like retainers than close friends

[bpdonnie]

im about to be such a stupid hater but as an aromantic person i hate the httyd 3 ending.

[trans-xianxian]

since this october will have both tarot cards And the annual wei wuxian birthday comic

[milkstoner]

I don't have an insta 😔

I do have to respect that honestly.

[pyrriax]

HI TUMBLR late footnote posting before i go to bed (i took a nap today........ ate up most of my time)

not a lot to talk about with footnotes today since i was Busy and my brain wasnt working pfndkmlfd i blame seven hours of modded oneblock

[sheliesshattered]

The overdress is all in one piece! And we have sleeves! With bonus screen accurate Rhaenyra ring!

Work has been extra weird this week, but weird in a way that's given me more time to iron and pin and sew than I usually have. So I was able to get through that long list of pressing tasks from my last post, and then pin the two front panels to the side panels (which are already sewn to the back panels), pin the back seams of the sleeves, and sew those four seams earlier today.

With those seams done, the sleeves are sleeve-shaped and the dress is basically dress-shaped. All of those new seams need pressed, and the sleeve seams will need to be hand-finished since the black silk organza is a bit itchy on its cut edges. There's just one more body seam left to sew for the dress, the center front seam, and then the little shoulder seams.

There's quite a lot of finishing to be done, both on the dress and the sleeves. In the above pic, the sleeve is just clamped closed at the underside of the wrist, and once it has its hooks-and-eyes it'll fit a lot more smoothly. And then there's all the seam finishing for the dress, hemming the neck and armscyes and skirt edge, and handsewing on all the trim and beading. Lots to do!

I've been working little by little on the handsewing for the seams finishes for the underdress, and then it will need all its hemming too. But when possible I've been trying to focus on the overdress, because if it came down to it, I would rather have the overdress done and leave the underdress somewhat unfinished. But today is exactly 15 weeks until I have to pack for Dragon Con, so I've still got time, and I'm hoping I can get everything finished to my liking in the time remaining.

Besides the dress itself, I still have a few things to do on the wig, and I've been tracking down the jewelry pieces one by one, and I may actually end up making one piece that I've been unable to find. I also want to make a little handbag to carry all my stuff at con, but that's definitely on the nice-to-have list.

Some days I feel like I'll be able to get through this whole project with time to spare, and other days I feel like I'm going to be working on it up until the very last moment, and maybe have to cut corners to get it done. Getting through this last portion of machine sewing and into all the extensive handsewing will hopefully give me a better idea of how long the whole thing will take.

But, of course, I'm already having Ideas™ about what other cosplays I could make for Dragon Con this year, if I do end up having time at the end of the summer. One of them would be pretty straightforward, and I could use the same pattern as this project with just a few modifications, and I already have at least most of the materials I would need to complete it. The other one is completely ridiculous, with tedious machine sewing and handsewing, but damn it would be fun.

Welp. I guess if I want to have any hope of finishing this cosplay and maybe one or two more after that, I should probably get back to it. My iron awaits!

[swingstep]

Please drop mrd theatre au lore????

OH HOO BOY so. genuinely did not remember i never explained that au huh ksjdngd its been a hot minute since ive messed with that one, but lets see what i can dig up for it. as a disclaimer, its kind of an... abstract au, very rough around the edges as well. dont expect it to be anything too concrete WAHAHA

anyhow. tldr:   the mrd theatre au is exactly what it sounds like: the plot of the game described entirely through the lens of a theater production! alternately referred to as the dance au, because... its a musical! major events are described through dance, each piece pushing the story forward with the power of music and expression. literally-- the story won’t move on without it. starring mad rat as the lead role, rat god as the director, and heart as... That One Guy, Sure!

    the abstraction kicks in in its presentation though-- it's told through the framing of a stage-- however, the story itself is Real to the characters. their world is real, and as characters, they see it as such. to everyone else, it's exactly as its namesake: a play. the term "actor" and "character" go hand in hand, practically synonyms. actors are the characters. the narrative is their world. all in all: the theatre au is an inspection of the meaning of Reality and Perception, the meaning of what it is to be a Character or a Person, and a play on Stories and Roles. more under the cut.

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

  As it does in canon, the narrative starts with Mad Rat waking up, and Rat God telling him his situation. Y'know, he died, she's giving him a second chance, etc etc. However, she Specifically tells him that he is, in fact, a character in a play and, as someone outside of the narrative, she knows what to do and what paths to follow. As long as he followed her, he'd be able to make it to the end of his story a-ok, and finally get the ending he deserved!

  In the beginning, Rat God starts out with a whole musical number as she narrates the scene (to both the audience and Mad Rat) to catch him up to speed on where he is, who she is, and why he died. As she finishes, hands off the (metaphorical) mic to Mad Rat to get a word in for his debut scene. Unfortunately, Mad Rat, having just recovered from a terminal case of Being Dead, Does Not In Fact Have The Nicest Voice. Seeing this, Rat God quickly interrupts and redirects to another option: Dance. Which is where a major quirk comes in: every character has a specialized dance style!

  Rat gods style is tap/swing, which is what the intro scene Truly is! It's Rat God introducing Mad Rat to the concept of The Show in a duet swing performance. Specifically, in this performance, Rat God takes the lead role in this one for several reasons: 1) She's Extra and Likes Showmanship. 2) She's ensuring Mad Rat goes in the direction he's supposed to-- making sure he's following along. And 3) She's effectively re-teaching Mad Rat how to move after. Y'know. Being Dead. Swing is a heavily motion-focused and improvisational dance: Mad Rat Does Not Know How To Dance. However, Rat God is good enough at it that she can take the lead and turn his stumbles and missteps into motion and flair. It's essentially the tutorial stage!

  The narrative is pretty much the same through the first third of the game, more or less. Mad Rat meets Heart, who doesn't really Dance but rather just cheers him on, and they begin "travelling" together, with periodical "intermissions" where Rat God, off to the side of the stage presents recaps, narration, and questions-- but it's never clear if it's to the audience or Mad Rat. Maybe both. What's really important is the Framing, though. Mad Rat (kind of) acknowledges he is just a Character, but doesn't really Understand it. 

  Despite the knowledge, he still functions through the frame of a Character. He perceives the stage as The World Around Him rather than A Stage, while Rat God is the opposite. This leads to Mad Rat essentially just Following Her Lead. Which ends up just seeming... brazenly reckless and incredibly dangerous-- because Mad Rat doesn't think it will lead to anything. Obviously he's the main character, so he's probably going to just... get to his goal and whatever happens happens, right? Rat God said which way the story goes so... whatever, right?

  Which all culminates at Heart's intervention: Heart notices all of this and gets worried. Whatever this Mess about "shows" and "story" and "directors" is, Mad Rat is still being really really flippant about how many Near Death Experiences he's had (not to mention the whole "Seeing Things That Heart Doesn't" thing.) So he decides to step in.

  This is the first time we ever see Heart dance! He'd always insisted on being moral support/backup for Mad Rat, not really stepping in in any major way. Turns out, he's really good at a lot of dance styles. It's the first time we have a music genre outside of showtunes and the adjacent. It's heart basically trying to tell him that, whatever bullshit about "Narratives" he's following, Mad Rat is still Here. He's still a contributor to the world around him-- he can affect It, and it can affect him. It doesn't matter what he knows about Whatever This Is because it all wont matter if he gets himself into Real Trouble. Which is a convenient segue to the next arc-- they go off-script.

  The following arcs are pretty much just those two figuring out what to do and where they’re going. Mad Rat, up to this point, was just (kind of badly) trying to imitate the swing style from the beginning, but slowly starts figuring out his own specialty on his own. Mad Rat kind of dabbles through a lot, but is Particularly good at breakdance/krump. It’s a bit of a slow process, but he slowly forges his own place in a world he technically does not belong in. 

  All the while, Rat God is suspiciously quiet. They weren’t supposed to go that way, or do any of that, But she could improvise. She passively tried to mess with them from offstage-- changing the background scenery, tossing obstacles after them-- but they just. Kept going. Mad Rat even began Understanding the nature of The Stage and learning how to use that to his advantage, predicting the way things would move or shift, and using that knowledge to move even faster. It was only after Mimolette’s scene (which was Not supposed to be this early in the script, to Rat God’s chagrin,) that she Really started to get particularly miffed. They’d completely gone off-script, avoided Everything she sent after them-- but there was still an ending that needed to be told, and she was going to tell it no matter how messy it was to get there. Which leads to an intervention of her own.

  As the director, she had direct control over a lot of things-- but she herself could never interact with the Narrative. She had no real Hold, as it were. She was barely a concept to the characters in the narrative-- they could not really perceive her. So, she decided to break that rule-- and interact with them directly. Rat God’s scene is incredibly similar to that in canon: Incredibly Chaotic and Hard To Track. She mostly keeps to swing, as that’s her specialty, but regularly switches it up to try and throw Mad Rat off. But things are different than their first dance.

  Mad Rat has a grasp on himself and his goals. Rat God’s plan is already off its rhythm-- it was clear from the start that this was a last-ditch effort on her part to kill him. Despite her still trying to take control, Mad Rat was nothing if not stubborn. He was just as good at deflecting and navigating the scene as she was. But it’s hard to truly get rid of something like Rat God. She isn’t done until the Story was done. There was still a story to be told, so here she stayed. She could keep going as long as he could, and longer. So knowing what he did now, and understanding the circumstance, he did the only think of. The two had, to some extent, switched places: Rat God taking the stance of a Character/Participant in the scene, and Mad Rat seeing the full scope of The Stage and how it worked. The show was still going, so all he had to do was end it. 

  Tricking her into a monologue, he truly exits the frame of the narrative for the first time, grabbing one of the curtain ropes and letting it free, closing the curtains on the stage-- with Rat God behind them. And... silence. In the end, it was just the closed curtains, the audience, and Mad Rat and Heart in front of them. They saw the audience, truly, for the first time-- that larger force constantly watching over him from beyond his view, pushing the show forward not of their own actions, but of their presence alone. This is who it was all for. And seeing this, Mad Rat makes the decision... to ignore them. 

  They weren’t important anymore. The show was over-- the audience had no more use here. No more power here. They meant nothing to him. Nothing to them. He has one last talk with Heart-- they knew they weren’t alone, not truly-- but all that mattered right then was just the two of them. What they’d seen, what they’d been through-- it all had to come to an end eventually. But not by the hand of someone who had no stake in their story-- in their lives. Mad Rat gets to make his own choice about his future: And with no story left to tell... he gets up, and walks off the stage. 

   The Story Is Over.

[violetganache42]

Yep. Mario movie still looking mid as fuck.

[maengekyou]

i know this is a naruto blog but i need the world to know how much i hate halsin (and gale)

[cannotfly]

tags; verses

*❈ ‣ look at you pale and ivory-skinned‚ look at you looking so sad — ( v: canon. )  

*❈ ‣ poor child‚ she needs so much correction: she sings if left alone — ( v: foggs. ) 

*❈ ‣ and we’ll sail the world and see its wonders‚ from the pearls of spain to the rubies of tibet — ( v: post. ) 

*❈ ‣ isn’t that her dainty footstep on the stair? yes‚ isn’t that her shadow on the wall? — ( v: alternate. )  

*❈ ‣ i lived this one wild life‚ i ripped it apart‚ i pushed through the corners with no apologies — ( v: modern. )

*❈ ‣ and though my soul will die with you‚ our child will not be left alone to spend a lifetime wondering how — ( v: single mother. )

*❈ ‣ i have to run away‚ i have to sit and stay; i'm gonna live a life where i'm proud of the way that i spent my days — ( v. hawkins. )  

*❈ ‣ this was an escape plan‚ carefully timed it‚ so let me go and dive into the waves below — ( v: panem. )

*❈ ‣ don’t need a ring for my finger‚ just need a steady hand to hold — ( v: main. feat. anyfight )    

*❈ ‣ chasing our heart’s desire but we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings — ( v: affair. feat. anyfight ) 

*❈ ‣ if you love me tell me that you love me; if you don't just tell me that you do — ( v: workhouse. feat. anyfight ) 

*❈ ‣ wasn't it gonna be the two of us? weren't we birds of a feather?— ( v: feat. arthur / notefinal. )  

*❈ ‣ for somebody i thought was my savior‚ you sure make me do a whole lot of labor — ( v: feat. riff / notefinal )  

*❈ ‣ i had this feeling as i was falling the sound across the bay was the sound of you calling — ( v: great gatsby. feat. notefinal )

*❈ ‣ only we know what we’ve both been through‚ if i save you will you save me too? — ( v: main. feat. art / notefinal ) 

[motherforthefamicom]

random assortment of drawings i might as well post

[supreme-leader-stoat]

You're fresh out of college and looking for a job. Everyone is hiring. Nobody who's "hiring" is actually hiring. You finally get a call back from somewhere you barely remember applying to (though the voice on the other end sounds synthesized). You pull up the job listing again real quick. The company name and the fact that the listing is for "Minion" are kind of concerning, but you know what, you've interviewed with enough evil corporations by now, you can handle one wearing its true colors on its sleeve. At this point it's a matter of making rent or moving back in with your parents, and as much as you love your family, you can't imagine spending another summer dealing with your brothers' antics. You agree to the interview.

The man who greets you is an enthusiastic older German(?) man who's either way too into cosplay or just that committed to the bit, judging by the lab coat. He made cookies. The tray of cookies is proffered to you by a ten-foot-tall robotic caricature of a 50s businessman. You take a deep breath to calm yourself. You bite into one of the cookies. It's delicious.

You ask the boss about his business model. "Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that, I bounce from project to project a lot." He mentions that his end goal is becoming the undisputed ruler of the surrounding counties. "Really? Not the whole world?" you ask. "I like to set realistic goals," he replies.

As he gives you the tour of his "evil lair," ingrained instincts are screaming at you to report this guy to some kind of authority figure. You remember the salary. You decide that you can always bust him after getting your first paycheck.

The boss asks when you can start. Caught off guard, you say "tomorrow?". Your boss(?) says he'll see you then.

On the way out, you bump into your stepbrother's girlfriend. Your boss introduces her as his daughter. You both silently agree to sidestep the subject for now and act like this is your first time meeting.

You show up to your first day of work. Your boss is putting the finishing touches on a giant machine that was definitely not there yesterday. You are nonplussed. You ask him what it's for and he launches into a convoluted explanation involving his parents always forcing him to put his shirts on backwards so the tag was in front. You think he should probably talk to a therapist.

Your brothers' exotic pet breaks down the wall. You stare at him. He stares at you. Incredulously, you say his name. "Oh, good, you two already know each other!" your boss says. You mention that you used to live with him. "What? Perry the Platypus, you never mentioned having a roommate."

This is what I like to imagine Candace Flynn's life is like, post P&F.