salubriwrites-blog

[salubriwrites-blog]

The Amnesia Game Pt 2: Silent Auction

Here is a link to Pt1: Homecoming

Good morning and happy Monday! We are so back. Continuing with my experimenting to see if FFs get more movement on ao3 vs tumblr. Enjoy and stay hydrated ^^

“We’ve never seen that woman before in our lives,” Elias said stuffily, pulling the jacket he’d worn for the interview off his shoulders. Back in the dressing room, he was waiting to see if the dressing crew would return to help him into something worthy of this auctioned meet and greet. Nearly slamming the door behind him, Reca found himself almost crawling to lay on the couch after his brush with the enigmatic fan on set. All the while, Mira was speaking to him. Damn creature wouldn’t shut up as she jumped to sit on top of his chest after he had collapsed on the chaise lounge. 

“I don’t know her,” he insisted, though the frog was staring at him in that peculiar way she often did when something was amiss. It had been as he suspected, in that small brush they had underneath the ghost light of an empty stage, with only the dormant lights and set as their witness. At the sight of her, all of his anxieties, that pain he’d been feeling all morning, dissipated. As if she had caught them all like butterflies in a net, he felt cured. Why? 

Sitting up, Reca listened to Mira while reaching for the water pitcher that was now cold with condensation. “No, I don’t regret leaving her like that. She’s just a fan, you heard it yourself. Now let me rest, this damn headache is killing me… yes I still have it.” He lied with a snap, just to get his assistant director to quiet down. 

A short lived repose, just as he was sinking down into the cushions and the dark room was beginning to soothe him, a knock.

“Mr. Reca? May we come in?” The voice of his staff called out, waiting for his permission. “Are you comfortable with this outfit for your meeting with the auction winner? Anything we can fix for you?” After the ensemble retouched his makeup and hair, and dressed him in a coat that felt familiar to him, one of the artists escorted Reca to the private studio lounge.

The IPC Studio was four stories tall, he anxiously counted the floors as the elevator climbed the heights. Keeping his hands behind his back to hide his clenched fist, Reca glanced down at Owlbert who was yammering on and on. “... Yes, this was a silent auction to provide aid for Sigonia-IV, we raised well over five million credits. Your activity fetched the second highest price, as a matter of fact!” 

“How wonderful,” Elias said through gritted teeth, watching as the elevator doors split open. No one knew that he was afraid of heights, it was a fear that he kept close to his chest. His knees felt too light to support the rest of his body as he clenched a fist behind him. To his relief it was indoors, with floor to ceiling windows that revealed everything outside without anyone being able to see within. IPC’s Studio and Entertainment Headquarters was situated within the center of Pier Point’s recreation district. It was an authentic oasis in the midst of the space station’s faux nature. Overhead the ceilings of the dome were computer generated imagery to look like clouds and stars, flora in the parks were grown in a lab and were coated with artificial scents. Topped off with an ambiance sound that played babbling rivers, it was as fake as it gets. Here at least, the plants didn’t bloom and sleep on a timed schedule, nor did they have that tell tale artificial acridness. It was charming though, the furniture and other decor was similar to the rest of the building. Its geometric, zigzagging massing accentuated the neon lights attempting to reflect onto the industrial facades of apartments and office mega complexes. 

“We’ll be bringing her in shortly, make yourself comfortable. We’ll have a third party present too just in case things get too intense. You never know with fans like these, who spend millions of credits for an opportunity like this.” Owlbert added lightheartedly, as if a crazed fan was the real danger.

Once the door closed on him and Reca was left alone, he immediately marched toward the bar to inspect its selection. Perhaps alcohol would help assuage some of his trepidation about this meet and greet he didn’t remember offering himself for. It seemed wildly out of character, even for several million credits he wouldn’t show his face. Nor was he allowed to show his face in such an intimate setting. The dark liquid went down easily as he turned from the bar to stare out the tall windows. TIlting his head, he looked skyward to the several stories of apartment complexes and office buildings that reached for the artificial skyline of Pier Point. How could anyone live in a place like this? Surrounded by concrete comforts and iron skies?

Behind him the elevator was whirring with life, and Reca took that time to find the best place to put Mira next. Together they decided on the shelf behind the bar, where she could see the cars flying past the window as the light passed away outside. He could imagine a lovely warm filtering to this moment, maybe he’d rewrite the dialogue to make it a heated confrontation for his next film. 

As the monotone elevator bell came closer to the lounge, he next looked for where to pose himself, opting for standing to face the window. Breathing deep, the man inhaled confidence and waited until he heard Owlbert’s familiar voice ushering the fan inside. 

“... Mr. Reca, allow me to introduce to you Ms… oh dear I seem to have forgotten,” the host muttered, and something in Elias’ stomach dropped when a familiar voice giggled. 

“You may know me as Black Swan.”

Turning around too fast, the alcohol in his gut began to disagree with Reca as he whirled to stare at her. “It’s you” he said, a little too honest in his surprise as Black Swan’s grin only widened at him. 

“It’s me.” Black Swan replied, quietly watching him splutter. 

“You’re the...” he began, one brow raising as he tried to reconcile the elegant figure in front of him with the idea of a “fan.” There she was, arms crossed casually over her conservative outfit, long hair loosened from its confinement. It tumbled down her shoulders like lattice work, and those bright eyes seemed to mock Elias. In full lighting, she was - in a word - breathtaking. He mimicked her pose and tried to remember his manners and not stare too deeply. “Lucky fan.”

“Lucky me,” she said smoothly, stepping deeper into the lounge and away from Owlbert. 

“Seems you two are already acquainted,” the host chimed in, stepping to sit at the bar as Black Swan moved to approach Mr. Reca.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to chase autographs,” the director said, trying to come off nonchalantly as her shadow overtook him again. 

“I’m not, I’m just your… number one fan.” The lilt in her voice as she eyeballed the empty cup he held at his side suggested she knew more. “Would I have to pay extra for you to make me a drink, by chance?”

“Not at all, what’s your pleasure?” He asked, already walking to stand behind the bar as she pivoted to watch him walk. 

“Mr. Reca, this is meant to be a dry meeting,” Owlbert was starting to say, when something spectacular happened. 

“Oh come now, Owlbert,” Reca swatted away his concern with  a flippant wrist motion. “This is an exceptional occasion, which calls for an exception to the rules.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Ms. Swan chimed in, and Owlbert sighed seeing that he was beat two to one. 

Seeing that the host wasn’t going to leave them alone, Reca reached deep into his chest to find that dominating tone. The power of suggestion, of rewriting a little moment in the host’s mind. “Besides, Owlbert,” he began, and Black Swan turned to watch intrigued as the show host stared at the mention of his name. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? A meeting, perhaps?”

Winking at the fan, they both watched as Owlbert reached for his pocket watch and started before jumping down from his stool. “You’re absolutely right, I’m afraid I must leave you two for the time being!” 

Before either of them could bid him goodbye, the show host was already in the elevator and the doors were closing on him.

“Your powers of persuasion are noteworthy,” she grinned while slipping into the now vacant stool, eyeballing the empty glass in Reca’s hand. “I’m a gin and tonic kind of girl.” 

How long was the meet and greet supposed to last? Reca didn’t remember, it didn’t matter, because even a whole day would not have been fulfilling for him. From the bar, the pair drifted to sit across from each other by one of the high reaching windows, drawing comparisons of their home planets and Pier Point. 

“Penacony,” she purred, holding her empty glass by the lips and dangling her arm over the chair. Quietly Reca got the hint and finished his own drink in kind. “I suppose that makes sense, you have a natural sense of showmanship that would only come from the Planet of Festivities.” 

“I will perceive that as a compliment,” Elias said teasingly, pushing his own empty cup to sit comfortably in the middle of the table beside him. They’d only had two drinks each, but the adrenaline of their successful conversation and the pangs of an empty stomach made the man’s head spin and his heart hunger for more. When was the last time he had felt a connection such as this? The young lady’s demeanor was enigmatic but inviting. Standoffish yet he felt like an exception. A push and pull of social oxymorons that made the Memokeeper wary. More than any of that though, there was an underlying sense of… contentment. That didn’t feel like the right word, but there was no other way to explain how her presence soothed his previous feelings from all that morning. The ache of waking up that morning, the thrum of lights and sounds assaulting his senses, spending the day in her orbit had replaced all of that with peace. 

“What’s on your mind, dear director?” Black Swan’s lilt interrupted his musing, her eyes followed his gaze  to look for what was bothering him. 

“I can’t help but feel… oh, it’s nothing.” He decided, waving her inquisitive stare off. “A thought occurred to me that you wouldn’t be interested in.” 

“You’re wrong, Mr. Reca,” the woman said, leaning forward to put her glass on the table and then steepling her fingers. “I’m quite interested to hear your thoughts. You're dynamic and alluring, I’m under the impression that you don’t get to be heard often.”

Not a preposterous idea, in his opinion he had been quite guarded for the last couple hours as he didn’t want to scare this woman away. They had been getting along famously, and he felt at ease in her presence. He didn’t want to jeopardize those truths. Instead Mr. Reca laughed and deflected her. “I’m a director, Ms. Swan. I have no shortage of people to listen to me.” 

“True,” she nodded sagely, and those eyes bore down on him as she smiled coyly in that way that made him think she knew more. “Though they are paid to listen to you. I gleaned that you don’t have many people who genuinely want to hear your intimate thoughts.”

“You paid to listen to me,” Reca shot back. 

“Touche,” she smiled, reaching for her glass and frowning when it was empty. “Your mixology skills are on par with your persuasion and wit.”

“Why are you really here, Ms. Swan? We’ve been here for several hours now, and you haven’t asked me a single question about my career.” 

Smiling coyly again, Black Swan only shook the empty martini glass at Elias, following him back to the bar. She didn’t speak until they toasted and drank again, he admired that she could hold her liquor. “You caught me,” was how she began, cheeks brightening a shade of pink that made her hair pop. “I’ve been trying to get you to open up in hopes that we may extend our time together. That perhaps if I show my more inquisitive side, you’ll invite me to see more of you.”

Ah ha, Reca thought as he smiled against the lip of his glass. “I’m flattered, Ms. Swan, but…” Before he could think of a way to turn her down, she was asserting herself.

“But… is there already a Mrs. Reca?” Black Swan had been in the process of reaching out to touch him, but held her fingers dramatically in midair. 

“No, my ambition keeps me from having entanglements. I do not wish to be perceived as the man who uses his status to get what he wants, be it power or flesh.” He added, watching warily to see how her expression would reflect on that information. 

“How noble,” she hummed, resting her hand on the bar, just out of his reach. He wouldn’t have to do much to diminish that gap. “Well, maybe I’m just reaching then, because I felt that we were really making a connection.” 

Staring intently at her fingers, Reca reflected back on the hours he had unwittingly allowed to pass. He didn’t feel like he had been leading her on, he genuinely enjoyed Black Swan’s company.  Did he want to see more of her? Obviously, she was a beautiful woman and a compelling presence, who wouldn’t want to see all of her? It wasn’t appropriate though, he knew that as he held her stare, both of them waiting to see who would flinch first. She was tipsy, as was he, and though he should have walked away from this conversation, that felt like the alcohol talking. He would need a clearer mind before he told her to shove off, and a clear mind would surely come with something that soaked up the alcohol.

“Would you like to take this meet and greet somewhere else then? Like say, to dinner?”

Her smile bowed wide, and it felt like Reca’s own chest was widening in response to her elation. It was infectious, he couldn’t help himself from smiling back. Blaming the alcohol was the easiest way through this situation. If Elias were sober he would not be taking her hand delicately and ushering her to the elevator, nearly forgetting about Mira in the process.

“Tell me more about your home,” she asked, passing the hip flask to Reca while she lay back on the building’s rooftop. Instead of doing what she asked, Elias became entranced at how her hair flared out on the ground like cracks in a glacier. Gods, she was breathtaking. When the silence grew too long, Black Swan opened one eye to catch him in the act of his gawking.

 This was their last night in Pier Point, Reca had already extended his stay on the planet an extra week just to visit all of her favorite restaurants, lounges, and sights. This place, like all the places she’d brought him so far, boasted emotions and ambiance as marvelous as she. However, also like all the others, bore a catch: it was up a perilous climb on a rickety ladder along one of the tallest buildings in Pier Point. 

Black Swan had suggested this place after learning about his fear of heights, challenging him with promises of a reward should he conquer this tower. Even as the building loomed higher and higher, a giant of awesome size against the endless darkness of Pier Point’s artificial night sky, Reca had successfully told himself it wasn’t going to be that bad. Instead of focusing on the stomach dropping height, he hinged his focus on her. Black Swan had chosen a rather inappropriate outfit for the evening, trading her usual skin tight pants for a lustrous skirt that revealed her leg-torso ratio. The only sensible thing about this outfit was her shoes, which were fit to scale a service ladder that hadn’t been inspected in years.

“You’re nervous,” she observed as they walked side by side through the city center. 

“Not at all!” He lied with flair, while Black Swan cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“You haven’t stopped talking since you picked me up, you’re trying to distract yourself. It’s okay to be nervous, it means that you care.” That was true, he realized as he was forced to examine his behavior for the last ten minutes. Those were the first words she spoke since Reca came for her, she allowed him to fill the air around them in an attempt to dispel his fears. Gesticulating wildly and animated, Elias found everything but where they were going  interesting, and had something to say about the small bakery they passed, or the musician playing for credits on the corner. Trying to find somewhere else to be, to deter her from the final destination. Ms. Swan wasn’t going to be swayed though, and looped her arm in his to keep the man on track.

On the backside of the building was the fire escape ladder, a cliche set up of iron bars billowed like a sheet of paper in the fan powered breeze. Reca had volunteered to go first, noting Ms. Swan’s outfit, but she eagerly pushed ahead of him, throwing back a carefree smile for him to hold. “I’ll lead the way, just focus on me and don’t look down.” 

Doing as instructed, he kept his eyes focused on her ankles and sensible shoes as she moved deftly up the rungs. This must have been her plan the whole time, as Reca gripped to the ladder until his knuckles whitened and his breath shortened. On the ascent, her skirt began to inch its way up her thighs, and Elias found it very easy to focus on her. At first it looked like Ms. Swan was wearing neutral toned lingerie that blended with the creamy complexion of her skin. However with each exaggerated lunge she did to find purchase on the next rung, Reca began to question if she was wearing anything underneath that skirt as he caught flashes of invitingly soft curves.

 She only stopped once to see if he was still following, smiling at his flushed expression. 

“Enjoying the view?” She asked innocently, running a hand over her skirt in a feigned attempt to protect her modesty. All that did was pull the hem back more, revealing more of her unblemished thighs. 

“It’s splendid,” he breathed, hardly able to tear his eyes off of her. “Do you mind if we go a little slower?”

“I suppose,” Black Swan pretended to sound exasperated, but only slowed her tempo to a seductive dance that made Elias wish this climb would last forever. It really was about the journey, not the destination. The switch of her hips as she shifted her weight and thighs rubbing together, left him with the awful temptation to force Mira’s eyes to zoom in on her. By the time they reached the top, she shimmied the rest of the way up and leaned down to hoist him up. Bending over to do so, Reca realized that even the blouse she wore was strategically loose. Collar hanging, he caught yet another glimpse to peer down her cleavage, her unholstered breasts dragged down by gravity to help him out of the ladder as well. If this was the reward she mentioned, Reca would go on a climbing tour of every tower and mountain he could get his hands on. At the top of the climb, she smoothed down her skirt properly, spying out of the corner of her eye as Reca adjusted his own trousers similarly.

With all of Pier Point unraveled before them, Black Swan held the crook of his elbow as they walked gingerly toward the edge of the rooftop vista. Now that they were actually here, the gripping sense of adrenaline brought the Memokeeper to heel. His vision became pinpointed and the world spun as he realized he could look down on the rooftops of all the other buildings. She didn’t tug him along though, she let him hold onto her to steady himself before taking inching steps that barely moved them at all. Now that they had come all this way, there was nothing left to do but move forward.

“There is no rush, one step at a time.” She soothed him, patiently moving at his pace. 

“May I focus on you again?” Elias asked, his chest squeezing with excitement at Ms. Swan’s reaction. Her eyes glinted with gleeful recognition and she gave her consent by focusing on him in kind. Neither of them spoke as they moved toward the edge of the skyscraper, entranced in one another’s eyes until she compelled him to sit. They didn’t make it totally to the ledge, stopping at the guard rail that corralled the ventilation system. She was braver than he, letting her legs dangle over the lip of the building while he sat back far enough from the ledge that he could stretch and his feet wouldn't be near the edge. 

Which led to now, Black Swan laying on her back, feeling the effects of the drink she had slipped in her purse. Meanwhile, Elias couldn’t give less of a fuck about the city skyline and its fake sky. Not when a real star was within arm’s length, posing like a constellation she lit up the artificial skies with her natural light. A constellation for the meek and lost to follow. Not him, though. All he felt loss over was a loss for words as she caught him staring again. 

“Still enjoying the view?” She teased again.

“It is magnificent,” he rasped with his sights set on her, casting the flask aside to lay back too, tucking his arm behind his head.  She knew that his eyes were on her, yet she kept her focus trained on the satellites that could be mistaken for stars. Her profile against the night was sharp, but when Black Swan finally did turn to face him, she softened.

“So, what is home like for you?” The woman asked again, rolling on her side and propping her head up so that she lingered over him. It intrigued him that she always had to tower over him, not that he minded either. Her silhouette was as powerful as the building they had just scaled, and if he could find a way to brave her heights like this, he’d be unstoppable. 

“It is not something that is easily explained,” he started, running a hand over his face to try and smooth away the fluster. Expectantly, she smiled at his hesitance. “It's a far cry from Pier Point, or Penacony, or any of the Xianzhous. Nature and technology interlace beautifully, far removed from intergalactic politics.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Black Swan mused, running her hand down her side and smoothing out her skirt. “Lonely too.”

“It is,” he breathed and out of the corner of his eye she nodded for him to continue. “The Garden is isolated from much of what happens in the world, and because of its idyllic way of life, unless you actively leave you can forget there is anywhere else. Many of my neighbors don’t even remember their lives before they came to the Garden.”

As he spoke she hummed, as if tasting his metaphors, riding the waves of his cadence as her hand drifted across the concrete ground to try and touch him. Noticing it, Reca clenched his own hand tight wondering if he was reading too much into her gesture. No, he certainly was not. Every day for a week they were bumping into each other. None of their encounters to date had been coincidence. He’d sought her out, and Black Swan had been making herself easy to find.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all of this?” She asked suddenly, speaking slyly as though she already knew the answer. “I’ve been around for quite a while, but I’ve never heard of a planet in the Asdama system called the Garden, much less one like what you’re describing.” 

“Truthfully? No,” Reca blurted, too tipsy to feel ashamed. “I’m making an exception because, well I know how strange it sounds, but I feel like I know you well. Well enough to know that you won’t go shouting about my home from the rooftops. Well enough to maybe share it with you.” 

Catching her attention, Black Swan’s expression changed as he carried on. It wasn’t quite soft, but there was something in the crook of her eyebrows, something eager to reveal itself now that this conversation was rising.

“These last few nights have been meaningful to me, and I’d wager that you feel the same.”

Black Swan’s lips curled and he swore that as she stretched and shifted, she pulled herself closer to him. Their knees couldn’t touch just a few minutes before, it couldn’t be his imagination. 

“How bold of you to say,” she grinned, ever wider as he mimicked her, and soon their feet were able to lace around each other. “Not wrong, though. Something about you feels… familiar.” 

Closer now, the heat of her belly radiating through her shirt boiled some of the alcohol out of Reca’s system as he no longer imagined the sparkle in her eye. “It does,” he agreed, wondering if she was feeling as reckless as he. “Though I can confidently add that we’ve never done this before. I would never be able to forget someone like you.” 

Her smile rose like music that was captured by the artificial sunset as she pushed him to lay on his back, purple hair crafting a royal curtain that veiled their faces. Her lips tasted like gin and quicksilver, mercurial on his tongue as they both inhaled deeply at the euphoria. 

“Is that supposed to be an incentive that I do something memorable?” She asked teasingly, already moving herself to straddle on top of Elias, letting his hands guide her barely clad hips to lay against him. 

“You don’t have to do anything of the sort,” Reca whispered, pulling her back into his gravity. “You are quite unforgettable as you are.” Looping her arms around his head, she made a halo of her hands and played with Elias’ hair as they kissed. Meanwhile his hands snaked up and down her back, playing her spine like the vertebrae were strings. They were a beautiful song on that rooftop, sighing and squirming just subtle enough to express a want for more. Her beautiful body rising and falling like a crescendo, Black Swan tactically ground and rotated her hips to dig against him. It would have been an insult if his body didn’t react to her seduction, though Reca recognized the irrationality of his response. This was only a first kiss, a tender epiphany, why was just the simplest touch setting him on fire? Never in the past had Reca been so inappropriate, but she noticed and didn’t seem to mind. With another sensual circulation against him, her lips fell off of his and landed against his jaw. 

“Someone’s excited.”

“I don’t have a defense,” Reca gasped, fingers moving of their own accord to twist into her hair as she nipped at his neck. That had an effect on him, and without her mouth to stifle him, a tilted moan was knocked out of him. “You are quite memorable.” 

Back and forth they took turns exhaling their sighs and grunts into the air, and try as he may, he could not get the same reaction out of Black Swan. It had taken her no effort at all to make his body tighten, adjusting his legs and hips to let her ride back and forth along his groin. 

Once they had calmed down they went back to sharing the flask of gin, exchanging intoxicated kisses and making up constellations. Laying with her head against his chest, Ms. Swan hummed along to his racing heart. It wasn’t possible for him to truly relax now, spending more time staring openly at her profile than at the fake night sky. 

“Did you mean it?” She asked suddenly, tracing the details of his coat, starting at his chest and trailing her finger down his belly. He watched her nail swirl and stop just short of his belt, Reca’s muscles tightened and twitched beneath her, and she smiled at the reflex. “About inviting me to The Garden?” 

Absolutely not! The Garden of Recollection was not a place that was open to just anyone. Only memetic entities were welcome through its gates, and if Elias were to sneak just anyone inside-

She wasn’t just anyone, he told himself, grabbing the hem of her skirt and pulling it down her hips as a cold breeze passed. In just a matter of weeks this thief named Black Swan had stolen his mind, and in its place she left only thoughts of when he’d get to see her next. He couldn’t think a damn thought without wishing that she was there. Stroking the hair from her shoulders, Elias took a deep breath and waited for the dread that he was making a bad decision to set in. 

“Of course! I’d love for you to see the plaza, and the auroras at night out by the mirror lake are not of this world.” With that, still waiting for that tugging of his conscience that would scream and clap its hands together at Reca. 

Wake up you fool! It would shout, waving in front of his face as he watched Black Swan’s face glimmer with wonder at his descriptions of his home. You could get the both of you killed for bringing an outsider into the Garden!

It didn’t though. Instead his heart fluttered and his stomach ached at the utter excitement of seeing her again. Somewhere that wasn’t as dreadful and banal as this corporate penal colony. 

[salubriwrites-blog]

The voices are too loud, so I'm doing some cute little angst to keep me motivated.

I wanted to write a Hwei/Sona story, with a little smattering of Hwei's complicated relationship with Jhin.

Taking place in the years before Khada Jhin's visit to Koyehn, Hwei is sent to Demacia for an art commission where he builds a sweet heart Summer fling with Sona Buvelle.

Years later when they reunite, is Hwei still the same young, reserved man that Sona fell in love with?

[salubriwrites-blog]

Better Late Than Never Introduction!

Hi.

I'm Salubri :) She/Her, 18+ writer (Minors DNI) based out of the US. I've been writing since I was a wee thing, and its both my job and my hobby. I'm still new to uploading my works to places like Tumblr and AO3, so once i understand how to organize my projects, I'll be putting together grand libraries of all my stuff.

I'm a published author for TTRPGs such as Vampire the Masquerade and Call of Cthulhu. Horror genres are my bread and butter, but I love writing romance. Especially in my fanfictions.

MY DMs and asks are open! Preferably keep it to questions about my HCs, current WIPs, and general brainrot. I live for engagement.

Some of my Fandoms I write about!

League of Legends

What in "Hell" is Bad?

Zenless Zone Zero

Honkai Star Rail

These are also coincidentally my hyperfixations right now.

You can find my Archive of Our Own link here!

Though a majority of my WHB stories are on Tumblr.

That's all I have for now! I'll come back and edit this as I'm interested in it.

Have a good day and drink water :)

[salubriwrites-blog]

First Date with Andrealphus: The Christmas Village

Hi. I needed to write something cute, so I did. Christmas time is usually an explosion of the 5 senses, and I really wanted to dip a little into an excursion when you help Andrealphus experience something for the first time. Some of the dialogue is based off of his lobby interactions with you.

I love this little man I would do anything for him.

“How do I look?”

“Good!”

Dawning silence, Bathin elbowed his brother hard in the ribs, and Gusion sighed dramatically. “You don’t look like a maniac with all the blood and feathers in your hair. I can barely tell that you have the scars, you might actually wanna- here, just wear these. They’ll hide your eyes.”

“What are- oh, thank you,” Andrealphus laughed awkwardly, touching the frames that Bathin set on his nose. Needing to feel them to understand, the devil ran his fingers over the slim glasses, clumsily rubbing the lens as he did so. Bathin took the glasses off his face to clean them. 

“Just don’t touch them and you’ll be okay.”

“Am I ready? Has he given us the sign yet?” Andrealphus asked now, doing a nervous turn with his arms outstretched to feel for collisions. 

“No word yet,” Bathin said, staring at his phone while Andrealphus began to pace, holding his hands out to navigate the unfamiliar room. They were in Gusion’s home, which was cramped and filled with books. It was a far cry from the bare bones apartment Andrealphus lived in, with minimal furniture that he knew approximate locations of. Navigating slowly, he paced while running his hands through his hair. Bathin and Gusion were in charge of dressing and preening Andrealphus, scrubbing the blood and gore off his body and brushing the snarls from his hair. Meanwhile Beleth took point in distracting his Lord Majesty. He hadn’t told anyone exactly what that distraction was going to be, just to be patient. 

Technically Belphegor was not aware of what Andrealphus was going to be doing with you that evening. Much less that the two of you were about to leave Hell. His Lord Majesty was strict when it came to letting his underlings out of his sight. Other kingdoms in Hell had need for the capable warriors, and a portion of his wealth and weight among the Princes came from Andrealphus and his brothers, cash cow butchers. The devils of Niflheim were formidable opposition to heavenly warriors, and Belphegor guarded them jealously. You were no exception to the rule, and when his Lord Majesty denied your request to have one of his great fighters accompany you beyond the veil. 

“I’m homesick, and it’s a very special time of year on Earth.” Andrealphus could see the desperation in your eyes just from the way you spoke. “There are no better warriors in all of Hell, he makes me feel safe… please, name your price. Just a few hours of his time, you wouldn’t even know he was gone.”

“Andrealphus does not perform escort duties,” Belphegor said stiffly, and the devil could feel a hand being pushed against his chest to stop him from correcting the Prince of Sloth. “You are loved by Satan, ask him to put together an entourage for you if you wish to return to Earth so badly.” 

The butcher heard your blood quicken in your veins at that remark, he could hear your anger. You would have had better luck talking to a brick wall than Belphegor as he slouched in his seat. “I don’t want an entourage from Gehenna, I want Andrealphus.” He could hear the air being cut by your hand as you swung to point at the devil. No one knew the logic behind your decision, you two had only met in a few freak accidents in Tartaros. The discussion had never evolved beyond, “did they hurt you?” and “Stand behind me, no one will harm you.” 

Rumor had traveled far across the kingdoms of Hell that Satan and Mammon were spoiling you rotten, yielding to your every command. Either because of your unstoppable charisma or a testament to their weakness, no one knew for sure. Whatever it was that was swaying the minds of the Princes across Hell, Belphegor would not fall for it. 

As you turned to leave, Andrealphus felt your eyes on him, and though he had to remain solid, he could hear the scheme brewing in your determined sigh. Almost a month’s worth of secret letter exchanges between his brothers, and encouragement that Andrealphus be on his best behavior, led to the invitation. That you wanted Andrealphus to be your date to Earth. All of the different verbiage circulating around his duty that evening confused the devil. Belphegor had used words like “entourage”, you had requested a companion, and not Gusion was telling him that you had asked him to be your date. 

Preparing for tonight, they had to keep all of those words in mind. Bathin had dressed Andrealphus into something unassuming and charming, while Gusion sharpened and slipped a sword into the butcher’s hand. He was dressed to woo you and decapitate angels if necessary.. 

“It’s time,” Bathin said suddenly, and before Andrealphus knew it a pair of hands were picking him up by his elbows. “He’s asleep.” 

Everything about this was absurd, from the way that Gusion and Bathim had to practically carry Andrealphus out so that he wouldn’t bump into anything, to Belphegor’s snores. They reverberated through the stone facades of the halls, rumbling like thunder and quaking the floors. When his Lord Majesty was asleep, all of Niflheim knew it, and by the sound of it the Prince of Sloth was lost in an early hibernation.  

Acrid cigarette stench met the trio as Beleth stood by the front gate leading out of the castle. Andrealphus’ stomach clenched when he also detected the faint aroma of sweat and orgasm on the tall devil. Understanding why the handsome devil hadn’t told anyone his plan, Andrealphus broke free from his brothers to hug Beleth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered, and he heard Beleth exhale high over his head. 

“Come on,” the cool devil chuckled, fixing the blind one’s tie and smoothing out his suit jacket. “You know what it takes to put him down. At least now you know you have more than just a few hours. Make it worth my trouble.” 

One more minute of fussing over the finishing touches on Andrealphus’ outfit, touching up the makeup that hid his scars, and brushing cigarette ashes off his suit jacket. All the while his brothers explained in great detail how they had prepared him. 

For once he was trying to hide from the angels, so the halo and angel wings were left behind under his bed for now. Trading out the completely black suit, he was wearing one of Bathin’s shirts that allegedly shimmered like sequins in the proper light. 

“It will make you shine when the city lights hit you, like a diamond.” Bathin explained fondly, fixing the shirt into Andrealphus’ pants. His suit jacket remained though, just in case he would need to offer it to you. Gusion had washed, brushed, and styled the blonde hair so that its wavy texture cascaded perfectly down the devil’s back. 

“It looks nice when its down, but we’ll make it so that it doesn’t get tangled if you do have to fight… Belphegor forbid.” Gusion added under his breath, spraying something artificial into Andrealphus’ hair to hold it in place. Together they had spent hours applying magic and makeup alike to Andrealphus’ throat and eyes to conceal the scars. If it weren’t for the eternal gouges that ran through his eyes, you would never know. Last but not least, Beleth was fixing stalks into Andrealphus’ outstretched hand. 

“Give her those when you get to her, it’ll go well.” 

With that final blessing, the three devils who stayed behind helped to push Andrealphus through the heavy bars of Niflheim’s castle grounds. The first few steps were nerve wracking, he kept looking over his shoulder though he couldn’t see, listening for the snoring of his Lord Majesty to stutter. Prepared to spin on his heel and climb back over the gate and pretend that he hadn’t been about to sneak out of Hell for a night. No one stopped him and he found his way easily to you.

The way to Earth was high and lonesome, filled with the buzzing of souls that moved like bees ‘round his horns. They grazed over Andrealphus as he leaned into the incline as he felt his way along the path to the world of the living. With each step there was agony as his horns began to throb, and it wasn’t until he was halfway through the portal that he remembered. He blamed thinking about you, and all the things that he wanted to talk about with you, as he reached into his pocket for the vial he had prepared hours earlier. Tearing the stopper out with his teeth, Andrealphus reveled in feeling nothing as he knocked the bottle back. A viscous texture that reminded him of angel’s vitae coated his tongue and throat, oozing its way down into his gut. Tossing the bottle to the ground before continuing his march, Andrealphus felt the change immediately. 

His horns receded into his skull, and the devil waited until the headache passed to run his fingers through his hair. It was jarring to lose something so integral to his identity, not having to navigate around the great horns when he touched his head. Wondering if you would approve, he pulled his jacket tighter around himself when an unfamiliar chill worked into his extremities. Not a chill like fear or thrill of the hunt, but something that nipped at his fingertips and made his nose feel numb. 

Nearly there now, Andrealphus began to recognize the comforting sensation slipping away as all around him the sounds of a crowd, the hum of music, and the warm aroma of something delicious took over. There was no audio cue that told him that the portal to Hell had closed behind him, just that strange shiver that made him hold his arms. He was on earth now, walking amongst humans, but it also meant that he didn’t know where he was. In the letter exchanges between you and Gusion, there was a vague direction of where to end up, Earth is a big place after all. With one hand in his pocket as he stood still to try and listen for something or someone familiar, the devil in disguise wondered how silly he looked. His shoulders shivered, but he couldn’t name the sensation as he spun in a slow circle, using his feet to feel for anything he might bump into. When- 

“Get out of the fucking road! Idiot!” Someone screamed, the shouting made Andrealphus reach over his back to remember that his scythe was still in Hell. A fist closed around the arm in his jacket. He was used to being pushed and pulled around by his comrades, and clung to that familiarity as he was dragged. “Maybe if you weren’t wearing sunglasses at midnight you’d see where you were going, are you trying to get yourself killed?” That same person demanded, and Andrealphus swiveled his head in their direction. Their heartbeat was accelerated, whoever his savior was it was definitely mortal.

“P-pardon me,” he started, but their footsteps were receding before he could continue. “I’m looking for a… oh.” 

An immense sadness made Andrealphus reach behind him until he felt something solid, hopefully a wall, and slide down its facade. What am I doing here? He asked with a huff, soothing himself by fidgeting with the items that Beleth had closed his fingers around. It was flowers, he realized with a bitter tightening of his throat, with soft petals that felt like velvet between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know the first thing about Earth and no one to help him find his way to you. He had an excellent sense of smell and hearing, honed over years of conquering his blindness, but hunting down devils was one thing. Looking for you in this new world full of strange sounds and feels, was this his limit as a hunter? On top of all of it, this damn chill that he couldn’t identify was making him feel pathetic, pulling his knees to his chest as he sought to fight it off. 

What if you weren’t even up here? What if you decided that since no devil - especially not the devil of your choice - would accompany you to this special occasion on Earth, that there was no reason to make the journey? He could imagine you back in Tartaros, probably sitting on Satan’s lap looking at the clear skies and drinking from the river’s of gold. Not even thinking about the devil who was chained to the duties of his lord-

How am I going to get back? Andrealphus’ thoughts raced to the next worry, forcing himself to stand up despite his bones aching and protesting at the discomfort. All he had to do was find a place to draw his sigil, it would open the way for him to go crawling back to Hell defeated. If that didn’t work, then surely his siblings would try to find him if the devil didn’t return to Hell. Or would Belphegor, upon waking up and realizing the defiant act of the butcher devil, forbid anyone from searching for Andrealphus? Make him a cautionary tale to all future Niflheim, the story of the devil who disappeared without a trace after a rebellious act? Deciding that he was overreacting, the devil shoved his hand back into his pants pocket, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he felt his way forward. Following the radiating warmth of a hundred bodies and the smell of something aromatic, he forged his way through that unknown path. 

This was just another hunt, of course not one he’d ever done before, but the preparation is always the same. Become familiar with the land, know his quarries mind, and move without raising suspicion. No one knew that he was a devil, and the mixture he’d drunk on his way here would mask his aura from angels. For now, there was no danger. You had to be up here somewhere, he had smelt your perfume trailing ahead of him in the portal that brought him to earth. Maybe you had grown weary of waiting for him, and gone ahead yourself. What a shock it would be when he snuck up on you-

“You,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Andrealphus felt fear for the first time in centuries. “Did I scare you?” 

Holding a hand to his chest, the devil spun in a circle until he zeroed in on you. 

Instead of answering you right away, the devil stepped closer until he felt the tips of his shoes bump into yours. Your breath mimicked each other as he realized how close you both were. Perhaps too close, but after wondering if he would ever know a comforting presence again, decorum be damned. 

“You got me,” he laughed, feeling the flowers he had gripped to make sure he hadn’t squeezed the life from them. Reaching out, Andrealphus found your shoulder and ran his hand down until his fingers met your wrist, pressing the stems into your palm,  “these are for you.”

“Andrealphus,” your smile was audible, and the devil couldn’t help but do the same. You inhaled with the flowers pressed to your face, and the devil felt bold enough to stay where he was and listen to your appreciation. “These are beautiful, did you find them here?”

“No, I had uhm, some help.” 

“I can tell,” you laughed, and he felt his suit jacket get plucked at. “You aren’t wearing your usual suit, is this… Bathin’s?” Your feet retreated and he stood still while you admired his assembled outfit. “Your hair, too. It’s all different.”

“Different… good?” He asked, wondering if it would be inappropriate to pull you back into him. At the moment you were an anchor and he feared that the sensory overload he was experiencing would wash him away, losing you again. Yes, it would be inappropriate, he decided. This was his first date, of sorts, with you. These were the most words that the pair of you had ever exchanged since the day you both met.

“Yeah, it’s nice. You look nice,” you elaborated, and just as he was going to reach to take your hand, you had a different idea and were stepping into him. He wasn’t ready for the collision of your bodies colliding, thankfully that wall was there to catch him. “Careful!” You laughed when his hand slid down your side, his fingers feeling the thick fabric you were wearing. In kind your cheek pressed against his shirt, your warmth taking the edge off that cold-

“Is this… weather?” He finally asked, having found the word that could not describe the bite in his shoulders and back. 

“Yes,” you explained, letting his hand fall into yours. At last, he thought with a contented sigh as you pulled him to follow you. “I had kind of forgotten that Hell- home doesn't get cold or hot. It’s nice all the time. Would you like to stop somewhere and get a jacket? Or at least some gloves?”

“Gloves would be nice,” he said, fixing his sunglasses on his face while you tucked some of the flowers into his suit pocket. “So, what is this thing? That you wanted to visit.” 

Leading the way, you hugged his hand close to you, forcing Andrealphus’ hips to collide against yours. The proximity was better than any warmth Earth could have given him. “It’s called a Christmas village,” you began.

Following your instructions he used a crosswalk for the first time. Using his feet and listening for the woman’s voice overhead, Andrealphus successfully crossed the street to find the tactile bars. You even let go of his hand to let him feel the confidence of doing it himself, though he quickly snatched for you again once the challenge was conquered. Taken by surprise at how accommodating Earth was, he was tempted to ask about doing it again. The exhilaration of that independence he only felt when he’d been somewhere a hundred times before was unequal.

“Are there many blind people on earth?” He asked, lifting one foot to feel for the curb as he triumphantly crossed the street. 

“There are, they usually have things like guide animals, canes, or even people to help them navigate.” You explained, pulling him closer to the chorus of music. “I’ll be your guide for tonight, don’t worry.” 

“Just for tonight?” He asked, feeling his cheeks turn pink at his audacity and wondering if the makeup that Gusion had put on him would hide some of it. He heard your heartbeat quicken as you gripped his hand tighter.

Now that the devil had found his quarry, the true hunt could start in earnest. Leaning on you, Andrealphus ate up your descriptions of this Christmas village. It was a dense square, much like the city center of Abyssos, with festive streamers that traveled through the air. They began attached to the top of a tall evergreen tree in the middle of the village, leaping from poles and stalls all the way out, creating a thematic web of colors. According to you, the tree was already alight with festive colors, which he asked you to explain in detail. You let him stand close as he pretended to admire the tree, listening to your hushed voice. He liked it when you whispered, an excuse for him to stand closer to you, feel the density of your jacket, the warmth of your breath. Daringly, Andrealphus thought that you wanted to stand next to him too. 

“Why a tree, though?” He asked after you had finished explaining the garland, ornaments, and lights. “Why not… a rock?” Tilting his head to you, he listened to the notes of your laughter rise and mix with the aria of the carols sung nearby.

“Some people think that the tree represents a life and death cycle, they used to decorate their homes with branches to prepare for the coming of Spring. Some use it as a metaphor for Jesus and God. Most excitingly though, it’s where people put their presents for their family.”

“Could I put something under a tree for his Lord Majesty?” Andrealphus mused, allowing you to walk him away. 

“You could, anyone you want to give a gift to, it goes under the tree and you don’t open it until the big day.” 

Musing, Andrealphus dreamt about the people he would give gifts to while you navigated him toward the delicious smells next. 

“Let’s try out some of their food, this village has some really good stuff.” 

You left him to sit on a bench while hustling back and forth between food stalls. So far that evening, candied nuts and an intricately bowed treat called a pretzel had been his favorite. The twists reminded him of his own horns. 

This was nice, he decided as he waited for you, not minding the cold so much now that he knew it wasn’t the worry of danger. In a way, it felt like you were going out foraging for him, returning with bounties to share. Your latest hunt yielded a bratwurst, and you had to instruct Andrealphus on how to eat it. “You hold it like this, you don’t need to use utensils or anything.” 

“Feels phallic,” Andrealphus mumbled, and you both shared an immature giggle as you guided the sausage toward his mouth. Phallic, perhaps, but it was also delicious and you laughed as his eyes bulged behind his sunglasses. “We need to show this to Beelzbub, he would go mad!” After that, the devil decided he wanted to follow his nose, urging you to hold on and help him maneuver the crowds in search of the food stalls. “I wonder what else is here that he would like… could we bring something back for my brothers?” 

Now that your hunger and warmth had been addressed, neither of you were shy about clutching onto each other anymore. All the while you continued to describe the colors, decorations, and sounds in that way he secretly adored. One of the last places you circuited in the village was the ornament stalls. 

“I wish you could have your horns out for this part,” you hummed, laughing and putting a hand to his chest to stop Andrealphus as he pretended to think about growing them outward. “We could wrap them up in tinsel, you’d look so festive. Maybe we’ll just get an ornament you can wear instead.” 

“Like my feathers?” He asked, touching his pierced ears where nothing dangled. “Could we make those into ornaments to hang on a tree?” 

“We could,” you laughed, and there was a pause as something scratchy grazed his nose. “I think I like this one for you.”

“What is it?” He asked, reaching a finger to bump against what you held out. It was a sphere, and just from the way it swung wildly at his inquisitive touch, the devil knew it was fragile. Cupping it in his hands like a prayer, slowly dragged his fingers across the glitter and paint. 

“It says Christmas Village 24, here, and with little angels flying around,” you explain, hesitating before helping his fingers find the painted details to feel himself. Then you laughed even harder as Andrealphus subconsciously dragged his finger across their little throats. “Do you want it?”

“I do.” 

After the quite concerned vendor had wrapped up the ornament, Andrealphus was already explaining to you all the ways he would repaint the ornament. “I can ask Gusion to paint red marks over their throats, and we can erase their wings.” 

“We’ll find a tree to hang it on for the season,” you promised, holding out a piece of kettle corn and waiting for his lips to take it from you. The last food item for the evening was that, taking turns teasing your fingers in front of each other, letting your lips and tongues coyly snatch the popped corn away. 

“Then you decorate the tree, and underneath it you put gifts for your loved ones?” Andrealphus asked, holding out a piece of kettle corn and waiting for your lips to take it from him. Taking your turns feeding each other, the devil’s full belly tightened when your tongue coiled flirtatiously around his fingers. What would he put underneath a tree for you? Perhaps a dress made of the softest feathers from angels. 

“Yeah, it’s a big time for family and friends to come together and express gratitude and love.” You explained, there was a pause as he caught the smell of more kettle corn and opened his mouth. There was a long, sensual pause where your fingers lingered on his lips, where Andrealphus couldn’t tell if you were being playful or if you were trying to turn his face to yours. Did you want to kiss him? He hoped the answer was yes, but before he could test you with tilting his chin, something else about you caught his attention. Not you though, you were sweetly oblivious as you dropped your finger from his chin.

“If you wanted, we could do something like this in Abyssos. We couldn’t do a tree like the ones here, maybe we can get Mammon to loan us one of his dildo pillars,” you laughed, too caught up in your excited day dream to notice his shift in behavior. Keeping an ear out, Andrealphus began to sweep and smell the street. “Can you imagine? A giant penis with tinsel and little ornaments hooked into the foreskin? Oh, and maybe Amon could cook, I know how to make a lot of this stuff but we’d have to… get ingredients from elsewhere… maybe Leviathan would help decorate.” While you had been walking, Andrealphus was already calmly putting himself into the perfect position to catch you as your legs gave out. Deftly, as you were swooning mid sentence, the devil swooped in to snatch you before the ground could claim you. 

“Whoa, is she alright?” A voice Andrealphus did not recognize asked, and a pair of footsteps got too close. Swinging you out of the stranger’s reach, everyone was suddenly an enemy. Any of these people could have poisoned you, angels probably had similar ways to disguise themselves. 

“She’s fine,” he tried not to snarl on the off chance that this was someone who was only trying to help. Being by himself in this place was already overwhelming, but what would he do if he had to fight? With you struggling to breathe in his arms, no less. “She just needs to go home.”

Holding you to his chest, Andrealphus used his hip to find the railing that led out of the village, moving until his feet found the textured bumps on at the crosswalk. “What’s going on? Talk to me, please. Do we need to return?” 

“I need… need…” you were gasping, your fingers interlocked around the back of the devil’s neck as you pressed your lips to his ear. He thought he knew what you were going to say - word had traveled fast and far when you first came to Hell. The human who needed to be regularly given energy in order to survive. Every devil in Hell was scratching and clawing for time with you, hoping that you would collapse into a dire strait. Of course, what rotten luck that it was him, and here of all places, that your breath was growing shallow and your weight was sagging in his arms.

“I know, just hold on a little more. I-I’ll get you back to Hell, back to Gehenna.” Scrambling to keep track of where he was going, Andrealphus moved away from the music and aromas, focusing only on your pounding heart and shivering fingertips. 

“Will we make it?” You asked, he wondered what face you were making when he stopped you from taking off your jacket. There wasn’t going to be a need for that, he thought as he continued to walk, feeling for a place where he could open the portal. “You might have to-”

“That isn’t going to be necessary,” he assured you, smoothing your hair out of your face, feeling his flowers he’d put into your bangs. “I’m taking you back to Gehenna, where his Majesty Satan, or Sitri, even Paimon are able to help.” 

“Andrealphus,” you’d begun to say, but was interrupted by a scream and a crunch. His stomach flipped as the ground underneath him collapsed and he couldn’t figure out how to land. Al he knew was that you could not be harmed, and clutched your head to his chest as he landed awkwardly on his shoulders. Over and over he fell, bouncing and colliding into something that crunched and froze his bones. By the time the devil’s roll had slowed, you were gasping for breath and he tasted blood in his mouth.

“What happened?” He groaned, stifling a scream when he couldn’t move his leg or one of his arms. “Are you hurt?”

“D-Don’t move,” you panted, groaning to yourself. He felt you sit up on top of him, not minding as he squeezed at your thighs and hips. “I’m not hurt, but oh gosh you are. Can you feel this?”

He answered by grunting in pain when you touched his leg. Taking inventory of his pain, Andrealphus' heart stopped as he realized that both an arm and leg were broken. Breathing sent a sharp ache through his core, and something warm was dripping down his neck.

“This isn’t good, r-roll me on my side.” Doing as he asked, you thought you were helping him into some kind of recovery position. Pressing his hand into the biting cold, the snow, he began to draw out his sigil. “I can still get us to Gehenna, just… I need to draw.” 

For a few minutes he struggled to remember it, the pain of his leg dulling his senses. Whimpering and shivering, he couldn’t give up, running his hand over the cold slush to try and erase his last attempt. All the while your eyes were on him, he could feel your stare fading. Clutching his injured self, Andrealphus realized he was losing a race against time. “Just hold on.”

“It doesn’t have to be anyone from Gehenna,” you whined, and he could hear your clothes slipping down your body. “Y-you can help me.”

“I know, I know,” he repeated himself softer the second time, still trying to open the portal. He’d heard the way you flinched at him. Please don’t think I don’t want you, he thought to himself as he struggled. “I just… I want you to be helped by someone you’re familiar with.” 

“Andrealphus,” you whispered, the crunching of that cold powder reaching closer to him. Mindful of his injury, you shifted the devil to lay on his back. “I don’t mind if it’s you that helps me… I like you.” 

“I know!” The devil snapped, slamming his head back into the ground, not caring that it sent a dull throb down his spine. “I know that you like me. I like you too,” he had to pause as he squinted his eyes shut and cursed himself. This was not what he had planned for tonight, not the way he wanted to confess his feelings. “Except I don’t want the first time that we… I don’t want it to be out of necessity. I want our first time to be meaningful and darling, maybe somewhere where you could see starlight and feel safe. Not like this.” He waved his hand to gesture to his useless form, you gasping for breath, cold air blasting between the two of you. Up above carols were still playing, and no one seemed to have noticed Andrealphus fall.

“Our first time will be meaningful and sweet,” you promised him, taking advantage of his damaged body to unzip his pants. Both of you knew that he was too hurt to fight you off, Andrealphus squeezed powder between his fingers as you pulled his flaccid penis into the cold. “This isn’t going to be our first time, because it's necessary. I promise we can do it again, for real, because I want you, Andrealphus.” 

“You do?” He asked, voice hiccuping in his throat as you massaged at his erection.

“I sure do,” you giggled, letting your lips tickle his ears. No match for your hands, the pair of you took turns moaning softly against each other, not wanting to even kiss as he expanded and grew in your hand. Those little words inflated his ego along with his body, and you sighed relieved at the erection you could barely hold with one hand. “I think you’re the kindest and most honorable devil in all of Hell. You could have broken every bone in your body just now trying to get me back. Just so someone I was comfortable with could take care of me. You aren’t greedy, and you wanted to prioritize my sense of safety.” His body was so battered from his tumbling that even just your weight pressing ever so sweetly on his chest made him gasp. “Do you know how hot that makes me?”

The powder that he was laying on top of melted from the heat of his body as you straddled Andrealphus. Asking you if this was an appropriate place was forgotten when he felt your soft, naked skin sliding along his length. Having you on top hurt fiercely, he was sure he had broken at least his leg, and maybe a rib, but he grit his teeth as pain gave way to burning pleasure when you slipped him inside. Freezing air snatched his warm cry and let it fall back down on his chest as you leaned forward, planting your hands firm against his shoulders. 

Rocking slowly, it was like you were milking the energy out of him, each thrust gave you energy. While pinned there in the snow, broken and feeble, he was at the mercy of your hunger. Your hips rising and falling along the lengths of his cock made a sweet sound like that reminded Andrealphus of innocent kisses. He wanted to kiss you so badly, he realized with a strangled breath. Riding and grinding your hips into him almost made him forget about his pain and breaks. His useless arm throbbed each time you slammed your hips down, while his leg and ribs begged to tighten and partake. 

“Oh, mercy,” he whispered into the air between you as you coaxed an orgasm out of him. Gritting his teeth, he ran his hands down your cheeks and over your eyelashes, hoping to have just a taste of what you looked like at the precipice. “I’m so close.”

You didn’t say a word, but the half laugh, half moan as you caught his fingers and kissed them said it all: “no peeking, you have to wait until our first time.” While he came down, you slipped backwards and cautiously dismounted from the devil, helping him button his pants back up. While he was gasping to regain control of his body, shivering and numb in the snow, you let out an energetic sigh as your wits were restored. You weren’t a doctor, but you poked and prodded at the places where he’d hurt himself, peppering him with gentle evaluation while the devil struggled to catch his own breath.

“Thank you for helping me,” you whispered into his ear, finally helping him sit up and aiming his finger at a place to draw. “Now let me help you, you need Morax or Beur.” 

With your guiding hand, the butcher drew his sigil into the snow, and as the door back to Hell opened, you lay against each other and slipped down like a slide. With a quiet oof followed by a gasp that could have woken his Lord Majesty, you both collapsed into a familiar living room floor. 

“What the fuc- oh. Daughter of Solomon, Andrealphus, you’re back early.” Bathin calmed immediately at the sight of them, hopefully using his best poker face as he helped you to your feet. 

“There was an accident, everything is okay now, it's just that,” you waved your hand to the devil’s broken body.

“Oh, what the fuck you were supposed to be looking after her,” Bathin hissed exasperated, dropping to his knees to examine the extent of the injuries. 

“I did-”

“He did-” you spoke over each other, and Andrealphus smiled wide.

“We’ll have to sneak him out to get to Morax’s hospital,” the devil sighed, picking Andrealphus up and clutching the battered man to his chest. “Would you mind getting the door for us?” 

Sneaking out of Niflheim one more time, you led the way to the grand hospital in Paradise Lost. Andrealphus talked his brother’s ear off the whole way, explaining his outing with you in great detail. You of course chimed in occasionally to fill in the details. Bathin tilted his head at you once to silently ask, “what the fuck?” when the butcher couldn’t stop talking about tinsel covered cocks with feathers hooked into the veins. It wasn’t the ideal first date in his mind, but you stayed at Andrealphus’ bed side at the hotel for the whole night. Sitting next to him, one hand holding his uninjured arm, listening to him recap the evening. 

“Can we get bratwurst again?” He yawned eagerly, letting you run your hand over his face until exhaustion became greater than discomfort. At the beckoning of your fingers against his eyelashes, he began to fade.

“Sure we can,” you promised, scratching his arm gently. “I know it got forgotten in all the excitement, but I saved your ornament.” 

“You did?” Andrealphus drowsed, turning his head toward you as you gave the packaging a jingle. “We can find a big tree to hang it on.”

“We can,” you mused sweetly, fixing it to one of his horns. “We can even make our own ornaments, with angel eyeballs or whatever you want. Next time I’ll show you what mistletoe is.” 

“On our second date?” He asked, barely finishing the sentence before a whistling snore passed through his lips.

“Yeah,” you hesitated before stealing a kiss from his forehead. “Our second date will be even better.”

[salubriwrites-blog]

*deeeeeep breath*

I don’t need another obsession I don’t need another obsession-

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[salubriwrites-blog]

LOOK AT MY BABY GIRL

[salubriwrites-blog]

[salubriwrites-blog]

The Amnesia Game

A Mr. Reca/Black Swan romance.

I made the first chapter. This is shaping out to be a 2-3 chapter story, and it's my current palette cleanser, so I hope you enjoy!

I'll be putting this up on ao3 when its complete. Contains 2.6 spoilers, proceed with caution. CW: Manipulation (no matter how consensual)

You can find Part 2 here!

Part 1: Homecoming

Penacony was a beautiful planet, and returning to its orbit always warmed a forgotten part of his soul. One that lay dormant and was only stirred to life by almost familiar sights and sounds on the Planet of Festivities. Reca’s last visit home was at least a hundred Amber Eras ago, it had felt like returning to an empty childhood home. Even the memoria sounded and tasted different when he stepped into his room at the Reverie. What was that feeling called? He asked himself now as he stepped off the lift and into the claustrophobic halls of the habitation complex. To be homesick for a place to which you cannot return? 

“Hiraeth,” he exclaimed, echoing his Assistant Director. “It is hiraeth, a sharp memory.” Reca chuckled and as he juggled his keys in his hand a comforting, more familiar sensation greeted him. The apartment was usually empty, a shell of a home that Reca had to resuscitate every time he returned from traveling abroad. Not this time though, the apartment’s heartbeat was steady and solid as he hurried to its front door. Usually around this time all of the other studios and habitats were alive and breathing with conversation and dinner time aromas. At the welcome mat, the smell of a warm meal permeated under the door and weaved through his feet like a feline. It could only mean one thing, the Memokeeper thought as he patted his hair down.

“You’re here,” he declared musically, swinging the front door open to the sight within. Reca’s heart played monkey bars on his ribs and he felt like a child again, smiling like this for Black Swan. Leaning against his kitchen counters, turning only her head to face him, she was tasting the contents of a pot. Her purple hair was wound up tight into an elegant twist that accentuated her profile, neck adorned with jewelry befitting her rank as Memokeeper. Amber eyes glittered anew as Reca dropped his bag at the still open door and strode inward to her. 

“Of course, it wouldn’t be home without me here,” Black Swan laughed, throwing her head back as his lips reached for her bejeweled neck. Lifting her off the ground, Reca half spun her before setting her back on her two feet. Not that she had to fall far, Black Swan was taller than him by a foot, she held his face and tilted it upwards, admiring his face like she hadn’t been able to for months. Her lips were plump and glistened with gloss when they kissed, warming his shoulders and dragging him in. “Welcome home, Elias dear.” 

“Why thank you, darling.” Elias Reca pressed his nose into her neck. She smelled divine, brushing his lips at her nape before slumping to lean against the counters next to her. “You are absolutely right.” Tilting his head, the Memokeeper watched her pull his oven mitts on her hands and haul the pot from the stove. “You also didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“Nonsense, you are worth all this and more.” She mimicked him before stepping up to the stove. This was not her home, but you wouldn’t know that as the cutlery bent to her will, and the stove never complained of igniting at her touch. Maybe this would be the time she’d accept his invitation to move in with him. “Go shower, decompress, I’ll tell you when it's ready… without me!” She added with a melodic laugh, only half resisting as Reca pulled her out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. 

“I changed my mind,” he sang, snapping his fingers and illuminating the upstairs loft. With a creak the shower hummed to life as Ms. Swan allowed him to pull away her sweater. “I do want all of this.”

“Sounds like you had an eventful visit to Penacony,” Black Swan mused after dinner, readjusting her plush robe as she twisted her legs into his. They had been planning to eat at the table, but after that shower, replaying the sounds of water and soaking sounds bouncing off the tiles, they were left too satisfied. The candlelit dinner was meant to be part of the foreplay, but now that they were staggering back to eat in just their robes, the set table and flowers felt unnecessary. So they put one of Black Swan’s favorite movies on instead and collapsed into the large couch with the coffee table pulled close so that the wine was near.

“Eventful is certainly a word for that,” Elias groaned, rubbing her calves and enjoying how she felt under his hands. “I ended up having to resort to that silver haired Trailblazer to unlock the Galaxy Ranger’s memories after all.” 

“The Trailblazer’s fate is a uniquely entwined one… I wouldn’t let it bother you that that was what came to pass. Not to mention it was a Stellaron Hunter who warned you of this solution.” 

“Yes, but oh! To defy that damned Script and rub it in her smug face,” he sighed, clutching a fist dramatically to the air before letting his hand fall back down atop her thigh. In that reflective quiet, his gaze found hers, and they couldn’t stop themselves from laughing at the absurdity of his attempt to defy Stellaron Hunters and their unyielding mission. “I missed you, and I… needed this quite badly.” He gestured to the empty bowls, the bottle of wine, and the movie that quietly played in the background of his lush apartment. Behind them the auroras from the Garden cast Black Swan in fractured colors like she was a stained window come to life. “I owe you a night like this.” 

“Is there something you have in mind already, or maybe I can make a suggestion?” The Memokeeper asked, reaching to hold his legs as Reca pulled her in. Kissing and swooning, he exhaled the loneliness and inhaled Black Swan. She was right, home was wherever she went, and right now all he wanted was to unravel in each other’s arms and be at home.

“You are the professional on lovely evenings, I’ll hear you out.” 

“Would you,” she started, pushing her legs further into his lap, hugging his hips with her heels. “Like to fall in love with me?”

“Our Amnesia game?” Pursing his lips, Elias worked his hand underneath her robe to caress her legs. The Amnesia Game, as they uncreatively dubbed it, was one that he had come up with to keep their relationship satisfied. Being quasi immortal entities facing time, chance, and entropy’s cruel hands together meant that they were ever on the hunt for ways to stay in love. The last time they played the Amnesia game it had lasted months, almost spanning an Amber Era, and oh what fun it had been. The anticipation, the mystique their chemistry invoked, if he could get away with it he’d graft those moments into a movie to play at Penacony’s Golden Hour forever. However, as Reca ruminated on the idea his body was sinking further into the couch, happy to not be moving.

It had been many, long months in Penacony. The infiltration of his alma mater had been his strongest performance yet, and now that it was over all Reca wanted was to be quiet. Not have to breathe a word, just file paperwork, organize his films, and rest. It was hard to keep that boundary when he was welcomed home like this, brought inside like a hero and treated to wonderful sex and a home cooked meal. More than the quiet, more than the mundane aspects of Memokeeping, he missed Black Swan. How magnificent it was, to be adored and yearn for the charming woman, who was guiding his hand to part her bathrobe. Her energy left Reca feeling electrified and raring to do it all over again. To march back out that door and ruin another evil genius. Except he would miss her, if they played. He just wanted a few days at her side, resting against her while she stroked his shoulders and read her books. 

Still thoughtful, he watched Black Swan unhook her legs from each other and let one drop to the floor, pulling the robe even further apart. Maybe he would make that one of the rules, Reca smiled now as he watched Ms. Swan’s face twitched and tense to the rhythm of his teasing. “I only want to play for a month,” he mused aloud, leaning her to lie back against the couch. At first she sighed and relaxed, but when his shadow overtook her, Black Swan’s eyes snapped open with disbelief.

“Didn’t you say you were too tired?” She giggled, melting into a cooing sigh as his fingers reached for her lips beneath the robe.

“We don’t have to,” he teased, no longer sure if they were talking about playing the game, or his fingers playing over her body.

“Keep going,” the Memokeeper whispered, her face softening as he obeyed her demand. 

“I could be convinced for two months, but no more than that, and I want you to give me hints.” Elias carried on, leaning to sit back on his knees as he pulled her calve to rest on his shoulder. 

“Hints, hm?” Black Swan asked, her hands reaching out to wrap around his wrist, encouraging Reca as her spine tightened and her toes curled. With a wave of her hand the coffee table jutted across the room so that they could slip from the couch to the floor. He didn’t answer again until her sighs unfurled and she came apart like a thing that Reca could pick up and read for himself. Until they were left gasping and reaching for the wine, sharing a glass between them.

“Yes, I’ll reward you extra points if you can convince me up onto a rooftop for our first kiss,” he whispered to her, running half damp locks of purple through his fingers, leaving a trail of wet kisses over her neck. “Maybe this is the time I’ll conquer my vertigo.” Languishing in the quiet, he whispered sweet things into her ears, lips tickling her neck and the roots of her hair as Black Swan held him near. 

“Rooftop kisses and hints, I can work with that… where would you like us to meet?” 

Thinking, Elias snapped his fingers again and the screen mounted on the wall died, casting the pair in blue and green darkness. Together they lay, their fingers searching for the best places to hold one another, reacquainting themselves with how nice it was to be adored like this. “I have an interview at Pier Point about my project, I’ll be there for a week or two, what about then?” 

“Pier Point, look at you,” she teased, pushing her hair out of her face. “That makes things easier… What about starting? Maybe we can begin in a few days? I need some time to scheme,” Black Swan added, letting Reca help her off the floor as they drifted to the spiral staircase. 

Laughing at how they had to rely on the bannister and rails to climb the staircase, Reca crawled into bed beside her. 

“Give me a few more days of this,” he asked, letting her body eclipse him as she pressed herself against his back. Another wanting shudder played down his spine as Ms. Swan’s naked body pressed him, her hips contouring to fit his frame well. Alas, the flesh was in need of a deep slumber. “All of this is exactly what I needed.” 

Pushing his bangs from his face, Black Swan kissed his ears until his tiny snores reverberated against her chest. “I can’t wait for you to fall in love with me,” she whispered to him, knowing her voice would reach him deep in that dreamless place. “See you soon, dearest.” 

Morning always came too soon when Elias couldn’t fall asleep, he tossed to try and reach for a pillow to block out the cool, chiming ambiance that was his alarm clock. However he had tossed all of them to the floor in his restlessness. Rolling on his back, Reca squeezed his eyes tight before opening them to watch the morning light filter through his bedroom curtains. Pier Point was as contrasting to the Garden as a world of color being reduced to monochrome. Where Elias’ home was always lit up with gorgeous hues cast by the archive of memories, Pier Point was cold and corporate grays and blacks highlighted by industrial apathy. The night before Reca tossed and turned trying to fall asleep in this city of lights, longing for the quiet where he was lulled to sleep by only his breath. Though his bad nights sleep couldn’t be solely blamed on struggling to fall asleep in a new place.

“Good morning, Mira,” he groaned, pressing his palms to his face as around him the room came alive. The bedroom curtains opened slowly, and the alarm’s gentle chiming faded into a pair of talking heads yapping about an electrical storm in the Asdana system. It was harder than he thought, Elias’ head felt top heavy and was the last thing to become vertical as he forced himself up. “Kindly give me the briefing for today’s travel table, and start the coffee.” 

With a croak, the Assistant Director powered to life and sent a timetable to the screen in the shower for Elias to read as he began his morning. The IPC’s home planet was a cold place that only really cared for numbers and expansionism, but they knew how to make an exceptional hotel. Little tricks such as these were the ticket to keeping employees happy enough to work to death, and people like Mr. Reca unwilling to challenge their status quo. Stepping out onto the warmed floors of the bathroom, a cup of espresso waited for him as he stared at his naked reflection, where he transferred that data from the table. He felt as awful as he looked, the bags under his eyes were defined while his head and chest pounded as he reached for the bottle of pain relievers to quell this body ache. Squinting to himself as he gulped the pills down, Elias tried to remember if he’d done anything the night before to cause this. 

His heart fluttered in his chest with excitement for seemingly nothing, and his head moved between heavy and light as he checked the clock every few minutes. It was a feeling of nerves, that made sense in a way as he would be meeting galactical superstar Owlbert later that morning for his interview. That was something to be nervous about, but that wasn’t something that would make his stomach heavy with nerves and his fingers fidget as he gripped the gray sink. He hadn’t gone to bed drunk the night before, so he couldn’t chalk this feeling up to a hangover. It was like his body was counting down to a secret that was being kept from his mind.

He wanted to walk back into the shower and sit underneath the warm spray for a little while as he waited for relief to come. Fate wouldn’t have that, and Mira was calling for him from the bedroom. “Yes, yes, I won’t miss the train.” 

Painkillers did nothing to soothe Elias, who dressed incognito for the purpose of traveling to the IPC Studio. A black suit and pair of sunglasses to block the light from the trains and hide his telltale eyes from any possible fans. Mira hid in his breast pocket, peering over the lip of the fabric to take in the metropolitan surroundings before hiding again. He heard a few whispers as he clung to the overhead railing of the train, but they were easy to ignore. Of course, none of this was actually necessary. Mr. Reca could have requested a personal car be sent for him, and he could ride in style over the bustling tunnel ways and train system. He wanted to do it like this, though. It was good for his perspective to see and experience what every day people like these IPC drones went through. Even though he fumbled with payment to get into the station, and had to track down a station attendant to navigate the different lines, it was charming. Charming and engaging enough to help him forget about this heaviness in his body that was decidedly not the result of poor sleep. 

Unlike the rest of Pier Point, the studio had an art deco facade with abrasive bulbs that outlined the edges of the building. The marquis was backlit with bold, black font that read, Today Only! Owlbert’s Live Studio Interview featuring Special Guest Mr. Reca! Even this early in the morning, with still hours to go before his showtime, the line to get into the studio was trying to wrap around the building like an ouroboros. Keeping his head down, the whispers only got louder as he was ushered in the lobby of the recording studio. Inside it boasted plush rugs and comfortable arm chairs. Photographs of prolific idols hung around the front room, looking down on the director as he prepared himself to take a seat, looking for a chance to recline and soothe his discomfort. There was something more to this dull throb, and he wished he had the time to try and understand it. Honestly, it was best that Elias forced himself to ignore it for now, these kinds of things were bad for his nerves.

“You’re right,” he told Mira, dragging his finger affectionately across the frog’s head. “Interview first, we must put on our best performance.”

“Mr. Reca! Welcome to IPC’s Telecommunication Studio,” the receptionist at the front desk stood up to clap her hands together excitedly. “You’re early, would you like to wait in your dressing room?”

“That would be wonderful,” he supposed, dragging his fingers beneath his dark bags as he was taken away. Through the frosted, glass doors she ushered him through hallways that were similarly decorated. More faces and posters beamed down at him, and as Reca passed them he wondered hopefully if he’d be asked to sign his own portrait. 

A small flight of artists waited for Elias in his dressing room, where they helped him into colors and textures that were a little more familiar. That made the nerves flatten a bit, seeing himself in something that - compared to these corporate drones - burst with color and life. Most notably, the makeup artist worked wonders to save his complexion. A true talent, he thought admirably as he touched gingerly at the foundation. He would have to take care to not ruin it until he got home that night, Reca damn near felt alive now. Another cup of coffee and a few magazine articles later, a stage assistant knocked and appeared.

“Crew are ready to mic you up, sir.”

Walking through the back stage, Reca caught sight of the house. It was packed to the brim, not a single empty chair was facing Owlbert’s stage. 

“Go on, get the shot,” he lingered, pulling his assistant director from his pocket. With a lively croak, Mira leapt from Elias’ hand and she disappeared beneath the heavy curtains. He would enjoy rewatching this interview for himself later in the evening.

“Good morning, good afternoon, and goooooood evening!” A familiar, equally dramatic voice hooted from the stage as Mr. Reca held still, allowing the technician to snap his microphone to his coat collar. 

“Break a leg out there,” the crew told him as he fixed himself. 

“One of our guests today is a five time winner of the Galaxy Awards, just returned from the set of his latest and hottest production that will be up for consideration this year. Guests from afar, please put your hands together for-” Owlbert’s words were drowned out as the crowd had already begun to applaud and scream. 

Exuding confidence, but still thankful for the makeup that concealed his flustered skin tone, Mr. Reca bowed deeply to the audience and walked slowly across the stage. He even stepped off into the House and shook a few hands of the front row guests. It was controlled chaos as they screamed and bounced in their seats, but never rose from them to lay hands on Elias. After he had milked that attention from those rabid fans, he turned and held his arms out as if surprised to see Owlbert waiting before approaching a familiar sofa. 

Owlbert rose from his seat to shake the director’s hand before they both took their seats. Mr. Reca was also obviously a fan of the show, and knew just how to sit on the cushions that would make the light fall properly over his shoulders. Resting an arm out across the back of the couch, Reca angled himself to face the host before raising a hand in the air. Waving it and then dramatically closing his fist, like they were well trained performers who had been rehearsing together for months, the studio audience fell silent. 

“Very impressive, Mr. Reca,” the host laughed, applauding the director in turn as the man offered a small bow from his seat. “This is your first time on our stage, and yet you command like it was always yours.” 

 “You know, Owlbert,” Elias laughed, winking to the camera, where Mira was sitting in one of the aisles, completely unseen by the audience members. “Every stage I’m on becomes my stage. Though I thank you for sharing this beautiful space with me.” 

Yes it was true, this was his first time on a stage like this, but it was just another performance. Elias was dreading the pounding in his temple that would come from this. None of the pain relievers that he nor the studio offered him had kicked in yet. Knowing that relief would not come, Reca hoped that he could hold his head to nurse his headache in a way that wouldn’t raise questions or suggest disinterest. The crowd ate up his commentary, while Owlbert was impressed and breath taken by their on stage chemistry. Their easy banter made it difficult for the host to naturally pivot to the purpose of that day’s interview. 

“Now, Mr. Reca,” the host began, finally finding a pause to catch his breath and wrest control from the director. “I want to turn the scope onto your most recent work, which will be hitting theaters later this month, Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions.” The crowd turned to stare at the director expectantly, a normal person may have buckled underneath the weight of all those eyes. Not he though, as Reca leaned back and shifted his anchorpoint, crossing one leg over the other.  “Your newest film follows a young apprentice who has forsaken the path of her master’s, seeking out a colorful - both literally and figuratively - new way of the ninja for herself. While striking out to blaze this trail of hers, old shadows rise up and she must use her new code of honor to defeat them. Tell us a bit about your decision to weave this tale.” 

Chuckling to himself, Elias winked into the crowd, where a handful of audience members swooned, believing that the sweet gesture was for them. “It’s quite simple, Owlbert. Why would I deprive anyone of my talent? By expanding into… nuanced genres such as the gritty fantasy of Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions, I can share my talent with even more fans.” Oh, this was too easy, he thought confidently, watching as Mira zoomed in to capture the awe struck expressions of the audience.

“Of course, that’s a generous approach, no one should be denied a good story.” 

“Indeed - I recently paid a visit to the Planet of Festivities, Penacony. My alma mater - Paperfold University - was hosting their anniversary celebrations. As I’m sure we’re all aware, the Dreamscape is a frenetic and dynamic culture, ideas echo through the memoria and just a whisper,” he emphasized by leaning forward and dropping his voice, though the microphone captured him. There was a thrilling moment as the audience leaned in too. “Just a whisper of a new idea may ripple and expand into a tsunami, affecting the dreamscape. I witnessed one such ripple while touring as a guest lecturer for the college, ninjas! Wayward warriors who stride over galaxies and systems, an army of one in many cases, chasing the wayward gales of evil. I fell in love with my fellow student’s fascination and determination to forge their own mantra, and what better way to spread my alma mater’s motto, ‘color your dreams, free your ideals’?”

Both the audience and Owlbert ate up his response, and once again he cast his gaze out toward the crowd, where he saw Mira. She had taken a seat pressed up against one of the stairs, that way if a guest were to come down the aisle she wouldn’t be stepped on. Except she wasn’t looking at him, the assistant director was distracted by a member of the audience in an aisle seat. Her lens was zoomed in on the guest’s face, and perhaps most shockingly, the guest was looking back at Mira. Large eyes like an inverted sunset, yellow that drained to black, were staring dreamily down at the frog. Seemingly more interested in that than the once in a lifetime interview she must have paid thousands of credits to be here for. A wellspring of thick, lilac curls poured down her shoulders and back, one lock was being twisted around her finger. It was mind boggling to Reca that this strange woman was aware of Mira, and giving her the light of day that he was entitled to-

“Mr. Reca?” His thoughts burst as the director blinked and returned to the present, with Owlbert leaning against his desk with a cheeky smile. “Didn’t stump you, did I?” 

“I- apologies, I was a little star struck by this gorgeous audience,” Elias explained smoothly, and the crowd applauded at his recovery. Notably again, she did not applaud him, instead resting her chin in her hand  and smiling dreamily at him. Now why was that the panacea to his discomfort? The knot in his chest loosened at her gaze, but Elias could not allow himself to be taken by this strange occurrence, and forced himself to look back at Owlbert. “Could you repeat your question, dear Owlbert?” Stealing little glances into the crowd, the man couldn’t quite know what it was because he was forced to continue to engage in the interview. All he knew is whenever he had a moment to lay eyes on her, the pain in his body ebbed away. The hour dragged on with only little reprieves when he could look into the crowd and look for her. For his final applause, Reca stood from his seat in hopes to see her in the ovation, but his heart dropped to see her seat suddenly empty. How could she have slipped away? He wondered as his feet were carrying him off stage as music played him out. 

The applause continued on even after Reca was gone and his microphone had been taken from his coat. 

“Are you alright, Elias?” Owlbert appeared at the director’s elbow after the show, big eyes watching keenly as Reca attempted to swat away the concern. “You got a little spacey in the middle of those questions.”

“No no, everything is fine, you are a wonderful host, thank you once again for having me on,” Mr. Reca clasped their hands together as he bowed once more. “I think I’m still a little travel weary still, I only got into Pier Point yesterday evening.” 

“That’s okay, these are things that we can edit in post,” the show host laughed, and laughed even harder when Elias joined in. “You’re more than welcome to rest in the dressing room before your signing.” 

“My signing?” The director echoed, doing the mental gymnastics to try and remember if this was part of the invitation. “I… I can’t recall agreeing to that.”

“Oh, well let me find your contract for you,” Owlbert said easily, and like magic produced a tablet, handing it to Elias. “During one of the IPC’s charity events, we hosted a silent auction. You volunteered an additional hour of your time to participate in a meet and greet to the highest bidder. Your time is precious, Mr. Reca, and fetches quite a hefty price I might add.” 

“No surprises there,” he mumbled to himself, staring at his flowing signature written on the screen. Thankfully he didn’t doublebook and dispelled the tablet. “I think I will take you up on that offer.” First to find Mira, he thought to himself as he peeked back through the thick curtains to see the studio. It was empty, only the ghost light illuminated the room as the director stepped back onto the stage. His footsteps echoed on the lacquered wood finish, and his shadow was cast long and deathly over Owlbert’s desk. 

“Mira,” he called out, his voice carried into the dark. No answer, well, not the one he was looking for. A whisper of fabric and leather squeezing against each other, followed by a familiar croak rose up from the house. Wheeling around, Elias’ body froze and found a pair of exquisite eyes that accompanied beady ones sitting in the stands. With another croak the assistant director jumped down the steps and toward the stage. 

“Mira,” a cool voice echoed him, and the woman stayed in her seat. “A fitting name: to look, to see. Very romantic of you.” It was her, the woman who had distracted him during the interview, right where he had seen her. Sitting casually she crossed her leg one over the other, the stretch of her skin tight pants was magnified in the quiet expanse. That purple hair was tied back elegantly now, spilling behind her and down the chair like an avalanche. As if it was planned, the lonely illumination from the ghost light cast her shape in exquisite shadow. Neither of them spoke while Mira hopped to his feet, waiting for him to return her to his place by his heart.

“That’s her… model name.” He had enough of the wherewithal to scoop the assistant director off the ground and hold her in both of his hands as he took a cautious step toward the steps. “You are… I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be here.” Reca admitted, giving the studio another expectant sweep, wondering if anyone would come in here and kick her out for sneaking back onto the set. Wondering if he had enough sway to stop them, because he needed to know who she was.

“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Reca, I’m exactly where I need to be.” The strange woman replied coolly. Reca crossed his arms to seem indignant or impressed, truly though he did it to conceal his shiver. Her voice ran a finger down his spine, making him stand a little straighter.

“Are you a critic?” He squinted at her, watching for her expression to shift. It was a stony one, she had an excellent poker face as she rose from her place in the empty audience to descend the staircase. Goodness was she tall, Reca thought with the clench of his fist against his body as she stepped down to meet him. 

“Of course not, Mr. Reca,” the woman assured him, and it took some godly strength for him to stand his ground as she got close. This woman didn’t intimidate him, not one bit, but as her perfume swam into focus and he had to tilt his head backward to stare up at her his legs trembled with adrenaline. Why the sudden fight, flight, or freeze response? “In fact, you could say I’m your biggest fan.” 

“I’m flattered, truly,” the director lied, holding a hand to his chest as Mira croaked again. “Then may I ask what my biggest fan’s name is?” 

Appearing to think, she pressed a sharply manicured finger to her chin, seemingly not bothered by their striking proximity. Elias liked to think that he was a respectful and mindful gentleman, but could not bring himself to back away from her, even though his neck ached from having to lean back and look up. Maybe it was because of his pride, not wanting to back down from this challenging stranger. Yes, that had to be it. She was audacious and unyielding, she didn’t fluster or flinch at his words or presence. Instead she seemed… amused by him, and that annoyed Reca. Made him want to find what would get on her nerves and tease frustration out of her. 

“You may know me as Black Swan,” she seemed to decide, smiling down at Reca as his eyes must have twisted with confusion. A stage name?

“A pleasure to know you, Black Swan,” he bowed, and before he realized it he was kissing the top of her hand. How did that get there? He didn’t remember his brain giving the command to the rest of his body. Still, the gesture went a long way as her illegible face shifted into a warm smile. “I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have an obligation that I need to rest for.” 

Her smile remained eerily as Elias let go of her, pulling himself away from her, half wondering if she would try to follow him. In his time as a director, Reca had no choice but to master evading his fan’s attention. He wondered what kind of slip he would have to give her. Did he even want to?

“Of course, we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” Black Swan promised, twiddling her fingers as he gave the mysterious lady one more glance before slipping backstage again. 

[salubriwrites-blog]

The crimes I’d commit to give this man backshots-

feel bad that i didn't realize before that its leviathan birthday but GOD DAMN

[salubriwrites-blog]

Mr. Reca/Black Swan brain rot

UPDATE: The spirits in my walls won't let me sleep until I bang this out (hehe, bang). I'm learning how to write and update on tumblr, so thanks in advance for your patience!

I can't get over him, he's so fucking unhinged. I'm back on my Rarepair bullshit.

I decided I want to write a short story (10 chapters, tops) about his romantic entanglement with Black Swan.

Taking place after the events of the 2.6 story at Paperfold University, Reca and Black Swan decide they wanna play one of their kinky little games that they've developed during their relationship. Keeps things interesting and improves their connection, healthy shit like that.

"The Amnesia game" (these are Memokeepers we're fucking with, after all), where the couple take turns being the one who "goes under". This time its Mr. Reca. Black Swan will erase all of his memories of her, and through loosely planned circumstances that they negotiate before hand, the pair fall in love all over again. This is meant to be a happy ending story that explores cutesy themes like, even though they may forget each other, their hearts will always know the way home.

Since we know absolutely nothing about Reca, I'm taking some creative liberties. Including but not limited to, giving this man a first name. This will be mildly canon divergent, cause the world building is gonna go crazy but-

Take this teaser:

“You’re here,” he declared musically, swinging the front door open to the sight within. Reca’s heart played monkey bars on his ribs and he felt like a child again, smiling like this for Black Swan. Leaning against his kitchen counters, turning only her head to face him, she was tasting the contents of a pot. Her purple hair was wound up tight into an elegant twist that accentuated her profile, neck adorned with jewelry befitting her rank as Memokeeper. Amber eyes glittered anew as Reca dropped his bag at the still open door and strode inward to her. 

“Of course, it wouldn’t be home without me here,” Black Swan laughed, throwing her head back as his lips reached for her bejeweled neck. Lifting her off the ground, Reca half spun her before setting her back on her two feet. Not that she had to fall far, Black Swan was taller than him by a foot, she held his face and tilted it upwards, admiring his face like she hadn’t been able to for months. Her lips were plump and glistened with gloss when they kissed, warming his shoulders and dragging him in. “Welcome home, Elias dear.”

[salubriwrites-blog]

I CANT CHOOOOOOOOSE

[salubriwrites-blog]

THIS IS SO PRETTY WTF

I was playing around CSP with my old drawing tablet this weekend, I'm not really used to it anymore, but I found out it's fun to sketch in it!

I wanted to try finishing a rendered piece, so of course I had to draw Morax lol I'm quite happy with the result, even if it's messier than what I usually do, though I like messier styles, I should try to incorporate it in my procreate art too

I'm also pretty proud of the eye, I also had a lot of fun rendering it. Overall, a very self indulgent drawing I did for fun

WHB taglist: @rjthirsty @floydsteeth @narolinde @atigerandabear @down-in-hell-rn @bakersgrief (fill this form if you want to be on the taglist, or let me know if you don't want to be part of it anymore)

Art Raffle | Kofi commission | YCH

[salubriwrites-blog]

Thank you for your service

characters whose philosophy is “if i cannot be wanted, i will be needed and if i cannot be needed, let me be used until there’s nothing left of me.” thank you for everyone’s attention. falls off stage and dies

[salubriwrites-blog]

You Chose Barbatos (Pt1)

Aaayyee we're back with more "You Chose" one shots. I actually came up with this concept a while ago, but didn't have a Leviathan devil in mind for it. Until I got to Ch5 and the answer became apparent. Will be posting Part 2 uuuhhh later!

“Do you understand the terms?” He asked, cold but urgent as he rose from his desk. His pale eyes twinkled and watched you with the same danger of a faustian devil, not of the King of Envy. 

You didn’t answer right away, not because you didn’t understand, but to keep Leviathan in suspense. Solomon had told you that the more arrogant you seemed, the more cowed the devil would be. Doing as suggested, you finished your wine slowly and allowed Leviathan to wait. Those big eyes never left you, waiting for your answer as you quietly smacked your lips to enjoy the last scent of wine. 

“I do, but I have a question.”

Tilting his head only, he looked willing to answer. 

“Are you going to be one of the devils for me to choose from?” 

Under the desk you balled your hands into anxious fists as Leviathan smiled thinly before shaking his head. “That would be unfair to everyone else, don’t you think?” He smirked as you sighed with relief, accepting his help to get out of your seat. Was this a ploy to make you reconsider? To bait you into throwing aside everything and lay yourself in his coffin, begging for his attention?

You had already been in Hades for a week as a guest to the King of Hades and Devil of Envy. Before leaving Gehenna, Satan pulled you into an alley and pushed you against a building wall as he gave you an energy transference. He didn’t allow you to bury your face in his shoulder, only letting you scream into the open air as he pumped his hips with violent precision.

“You better not strain yourself while you’re there,” he growled, leaving purple bruises shaped like his fingers in your hips as he covered you in bite marks. “No one else is allowed to do this with you. Not. Even. Leviathan.” 

Dripping and trembling from your combined orgasms, Satan left you in the care of one of the King’s generals. A pink haired devil with a purple noose around his neck smiled politely and offered you his arm for silent support as you passed into Hades. The King of Gehenna’s eyes burnt into the back of your ponytail, you know that he stood and watched until you were completely out of sight. 

Despite your best efforts, the King of Hades had worn you down. Taking you out on day trips, never spending a day in the castle as you were forced to tour and admire his kingdom. Keeping you up at night in his office reading up on the history of the Hells, he wore your social and physical battery down. You weren’t allowed to have much privacy in Hades, and those few precious times you did there was always an underlying paranoia as his attendants were everywhere. Not to mention the arms of the abyss; black, white, and silver tentacles that emerged from corners and underneath beds to help you dress, tuck you in, and wake you up. Extensions of Leviathan, you grew wear quickly of the novelty. There were only two places in Hades where you had found peace and quiet without prying gazes.

The first had been in none other than Leviathan’s coffin, where not even the King himself could wriggle his way between the cracks. It was claustrophobic and the quiet it wrought reminded you of Sitri’s bedroom, where your heartbeat sounded so loud and the rushing of your blood through your body made you lightheaded. The second was a place you had found, run into it while trying to escape Glasya who had been tasked with giving you a tour of the King’s prized gardens. Unexpectedly still, it felt like all time had stopped as you ran your fingers over the leaves of the hedge maze that swallowed you up. Whenever you needed that much sought after peace, you would pretend to play hide and seek with your attendants and slip away within the refuge. Though you were never truly alone there either, the attention that waited for you there was warm, welcoming and nurturing. You always came out of the maze with fresh flowers that Leviathan would wither under his poisonous gaze.

After a week passed, Leviathan’s scheme had worked and your fatigue set in. The need for energy, you had gotten so used to it now that you could feel when it was coming on. It started as a tingling in your toes, followed by lightheadedness that left you confused and needing to be held as you walked through the halls of the estate. Which led to now, with Leviathan offering you his hand as he walked you from his office. You were nervous, and for once he expressed something akin to gentleness and patience as you walked into the throne room one shaky step at a time. 

Explaining your needs to Leviathan, the King had gotten a thoughtful expression on his face, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together. You didn’t like one bit the way he looked when he thought deeply like that. Unlike the other, more emotionally driven Kings of Hell, Leviathan was a scheming and provocative devil who actually exhibited meticulous planning in everything he did.  

Iridescent tendrils emerged from the walls to pull the doors open for the pair of you as Leviathan ushered you into the black and silver room. All the devils were lined up, all looking dashing and composed though you couldn’t imagine they were feeling calm. Dozens of eyes snapped to you, and the pressure of those gazes made your head pound. 

“I need to sit,” you uttered, almost falling out of Leviathan’s hands as you half staggered, half crawled to sit on the steps leading to the throne. Before you could though, creeping vines slithered across the ground and caught you, cradling you to sit as you caught your breath. Your eyes stole a glance from him before he was forced to stare his King in the face. 

The noose around the devil’s neck twitched as Leviathan’s eyes tightened at the gesture, but he was not yanked from his place in the lineup. 

“As you can see,” the King began, gesturing to you as the soft tendrils shaped themselves into a lounge for you. “The Daughter of Solomon has grown weak. As she continues to adjust to Hell and Hades, she will be in need of an attendant capable of providing for her. Her condition is fragile and will require the utmost, immediate care. Being available to the Daughter’s every beck and call, prepared to die for her if necessary.” 

No one in the hall spoke, just a sea of eyes that watched Leviathan as he stepped aside to let them watch you struggle. 

“However, due to the unique nature of her needs, she will choose only one of you to be hers.”

Now the devils were showing a reaction, they all seemed to check themselves, straightening out their regalia and preening for you. Not him, though. His eyes remained steadfast on His Majesty, never once fidgeting with his suit or feeling the chain on his horns. 

Leviathan’s plan was nasty, forcing you to publicly reject all other devils in favor of one. His gratification was going to come from watching the hope drain out of their eyes and faces as you walked down the line telling each of them no. If only you could walk now, as you looked out at the neat lineup. You were dreading having to make a choice, because who knew what kind of retaliation you might face for rejecting any of them. Time was of the essence though, you would just have to get your energy back quickly before facing the repercussions of your decision. 

Rising to your feet and taking small sips of air, you started at the left end closest to Leviathan. In a hurry to get it over with, you approached the first devil. 

Orias was standing still, hands behind his back with his shoulders square, staring at you flirtatiously as you approached. You hadn’t thought about how you were going to do it, but you were certain that Leviathan would have notes on your process. Maintaining a respectful distance back, out of arm’s reach, you leveled your gaze against the petite devil. “No,” you said simply, a lump forming in your stomach at the heartbreak in his smile. 

Behind you, Leviathan let out a noise that sounded almost like a snicker. 

A few more rejections down, you came to stand face to face with Foras. You and he had developed a friendship that included finding places to hide from Leviathan. “No,” you said with a little more difficulty, wishing that you could grab the word and swallow it as his shoulders fell. His rejection tasted bitter in the back of your throat as you moved hurriedly past him. All the while, Leviathan walked parallel to you, reading the faces of his subordinates and reveling in their emotions. Occasionally he would make little sounds and comments that would dare the devils to act out of anger. 

“Oh, that’s a surprise.”

“I thought you two had something.” 

“Shame.”

His spiteful commentary followed you down the line as you started just ignoring the faces that you walked past, eager to reach the end. Ready to make your choice, you kept your eyes forward and didn’t even look at most of them. His Majesty’s snarky observations stopped when he saw you moving with purpose, your weakened state temporarily abating as your choice drove you. Leviathan’s eyes started searching the devils that were lined up ahead of you, trying to predict to whom your stride took you. 

Perhaps it was the devil’s own ego that made him wait at the very end of the line, he was a subordinate to the Perfect Devil of Envy, after all. What a way to stroke his ego as he watched you rush past the devils who were now stepping out of line to watch and see where you’d go. However your strength was failing you, the dew drops of sweat trickled down your neck and under your dress as you neared the end of the line. Just how many devils had Leviathan summoned for this public humiliation? Most of them you didn’t even recognize as you brushed through. 

You collapsed before getting to the end, where a strong pair of arms caught you as you stumbled. Relieved, you smiled upward, prepared to touch his face and make your choice-

“Your Majesty, the Most High, the Greatest, and the Most Beautiful,” a deep voice announced, the bass in Glasya’s voice stirred adrenaline into your system. “I’m afraid that the Daughter of Solomon is too weak to continue.” 

That wasn’t true, you thought but your limbs felt too heavy to pull yourself upright and out of his hold. Hanging your head backward, from your upside down perspective you saw a pair of golden boots approaching. 

“She has worn herself out from coming all this way, please excuse us so I may tend to her as the one she chose,” speaking smoothly and confidently, Glasya stood with you in his arms. 

No, no. You thought, rolling your head away from his chest, trying to open your mouth to speak. Your jaw felt heavy and your limbs weighed down, this had to be some sort of spell he had cast on you. Or was it actually the exhaustion? You couldn’t tell because you found your throat and chest tightening, lungs aching and bones sagging.

Leviathan was looking at you, seeming to wait for you to confirm that Glasya Labolas was indeed your choice. When you didn’t show an outward sign, he shrugged and waved his hand. 

“Very well-”

“I apologize for interrupting, Your Majesty.” A cool voice butted in, and the room went still as you found the strength to yank your arm out of your lap as if by marionette strings.

Rolling your head, you peeled your sealed lips into a smile as he winked knowingly at you. “I believe that she just needs a little bit of a pick me up before she continues.” 

His lips felt warm on your skin, tickling and tanning your cheeks with a flush as the devil had the audacity to kiss you in Glasya’s arms. Maybe it was the butterflies stirred to life in your stomach, or maybe it was the little bit of strength he lent you, but you wrapped your arm around his shoulder and kissed Barbatos back. 

Whatever trick Glasya had pulled was no match, like a flower before the dawn you found your strength and opened for the sunny devil. Wriggling with new found power, you fell out of the devil’s arms and Barbatos caught you easily. A tsunami of disappointed murmurs threatened to crash over the pair of you, disgusted and envious of the unabashed affection the devil took from you. 

“Barbatos,” you gasped though, clinging to his shoulders, knees weak and barely to hold yourself up as you turned your focus onto Glasya. “I choose Barbatos, not you.” 

The dark devil did not respond, just stared wondering if you would tear into him for what trick he had used to manipulate your silence. You didn’t give him another glance, turning to give Barbatos a softer, more appropriate peck on the lips. 

“So be it,” Leviathan said stiffly, it was clear to you that even he was annoyed that whatever scheme he had planned backfired. That you grabbed the blonde devil’s hands excited, pulling him eagerly out of the room. “Well, Barbatos, I temporarily release you from your duties. The Daughter of Solomon has a need for you, do not make me regret her decision.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty, the Most High, the Greatest, and the Most Beautiful.” Barbatos replied, bowing deeply before letting you pull him from the throne room. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw him flash Glasya a rude gesture just before the doors closed on you both.

[salubriwrites-blog]

Am I showcasing my characters right?

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[salubriwrites-blog]

"you should be at the club" I should be working on my fanfic