#*slaps fic* this baby can fit so many headcanons

[unscrupulousartist]

hellerby fic, part 8/10

19 August 1929

Leaning over the small sink in his tiny bathroom, Mordecai used a comb and scissors to meticulously trim the ends of his fur back into its usual shape. He was dressed down for the task, in loose sleep pants and an undershirt he didn’t mind getting littered with hair. In this manner, he was only able to tense and sigh when he heard his apartment lock scrape open. The door caught on the chain, barring the entrance of his wouldbe intruders.

“Mordecai!” Mitzi yelled. “Let us in, it’s an emergency!”

“We were supposed to meet at the Marigold at eight,” he called as he resumed trimming. “If you really need someone murdered, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Mordecai Elijah Heller, open this door!”

Pausing to take a deep breath, he put down the comb but took the scissors with him to the little entranceway. Through the crack in the door he could see Mitzi, already ready for the Marigold event, glaring at him. “My name isn’t Elijah,” he said as he closed the door. Unslotting the chain, he pulled it open again and saw that Rocky, with violin-case in hand, stood beside the matriarch. 

“Three names sounds more dramatic, honey, you know this,” Mitzi huffed. Then she pulled Rocky in with her, pushing past Mordecai.

“Hullo,” Rocky smiled awkwardly, his ears low. He looked over Mordecai’s frame, eyes lingering on the exposed scar on Mordecai’s chest.

“D’you still have that hoity toity suit you’d wear to the theatre?” Mitzi asked over her shoulder, dragging Rocky along with her towards Mordecai’s bedroom.

“Why?” Mordecai followed, loitering in the doorway as Mitzi deposited Rocky and his instrument beside the bed, where Mordecai’s suit for the evening was laid out. 

“Asa called with a request,” Mitzi growled as she tore open Mordecai’s little step-in closet. It wasn’t as grand as her’s, but it was better organized. 

Slowly turning, Rocky's grin grew as he took in the number of plants about the room, the neatness of the shelves, and—most embarrassingly for Mordecai, who flushed and looked away as Rocky noticed—a large book on the bedside table.

Mitzi continued: “Apparently, he heard we have a Concert Musician on staff. He was hoping we’d indulge him with some Classical pieces, for his birthday.”

Mordecai’s tail flicked and he crossed his arms. “And what does that have to do with Mr Rickaby?”

Rocky perked and blinked at him just as Mitzi sighed and turned. “Really, sugar?”

“I can passably play Tchaikovsky,” Rocky explained. He held an unusually humble air, tail tucked between his legs. “Ravel and Mendelssohn, as well. Paganini of course, and a handful of others. My Aunt would say Mozart most fits my temperament… but, I’ve never played with an orchestra.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart,” Mitzi purred at him, then began rifling through Mordecai’s clothes. “There won’t be an orchestra, just you.”

“Of course, Ms M,” Rocky grinned at her, but it pulled a little awkwardly at his face. “You can count on me.”

“Mordecai, honey, do you know what sort of songs Asa likes?”

“Pieces,” Rocky corrected. 

“... no,” Mordecai looked between them. “I was usually preoccupied with the Savoys whenever we went to a concert.” Talking about the siblings made his chest itch, and he scratched at the old scar.

The motion seemed to catch Rocky’s attention, and his ears cocked forward.

Somewhat familiar with the past, Mitzi sent Mordecai a concerned pout as she pulled the first of a three piece suit from the closet. "Are they gonna be a problem?"

"Let me worry about them," said Mordecai. "Instead, explain what emergency requires you to destroy my closet?"

That caused Mitzi to snort. "Why? You hiding something in there?" She wagged her brows as she tossed pants and a jacket onto the bed, overlapping the clothes already there. Then she continued digging.

"Nothing you aren't already aware of."

Biting his lip, Rocky’s eyebrows quirked and his tail waved. 

Laughing, Mitzi picked out two nearly identical shirts. “I’d think the emergency was obvious, honey.”

Mordecai shook his head and sighed, then stepped away from the scene to return to the bathroom. “Don’t make a mess.”

“No promises!" said Mitzi.

Listening to her fuss over Rocky was strangely reminiscent of days long gone, waiting around in a penthouse suite as Atlas and Mitzi donned themselves for whichever excursion or event they required Mordecai to escort them to. As such, he became an unwitting eavesdropper.

"Here we are—Rocky, sweetheart, put that down."

"Ah ha, sorry—it's hard to resist the siren song of the bard."

“Best to keep your hands off Mordecai’s things, if you want to keep them.”

“Will that, perhaps, be a problem with—?”

“This? No, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. Now, get yourself ready.”

“Sure thing, Ms M.”

Shaking his head at his reflection, Mordecai combed his fur for inspection. In his peripheral, he saw Mitzi step out of his bedroom with a familiar book in her hands. She took it with her across his little livingroom to sprawl across the chaise by the window. Letting the book rest on her stomach, she pantomimed strangling the ceiling. “I can’t believe Asa!”

“It’s a show of power,” said Mordecai. He angled his head one way and then the other, and found another couple of hairs that needed to be trimmed.

“I know that,” Mitzi whined and kicked her feet. “It’s also childish. After all the trouble he caused, he asks for favours?”

“You could’ve said no,” Mordecai offered. He turned to peer out the door, and paused when he caught sight of Rocky, staring, across the apartment. 

A dozen or so feet away, Mordecai spied the musician leaning from the throughway to the bar. Rocky worried his lip, brows upturned, tail low and still. Music and laughter filtered past him, the speakeasy still in full swing.

Mordecai squinted from his seat on the stairs.

A grin quirked across Rocky’s face, and he waved. Mordecai rolled his eyes and stepped out of the bathroom.

“I know,” Mitzi sighed, head dangling over the single armrest. “But then he’ll start being all patronizing again, and we just got past that.”

In the middle of the space, out of sight from the doorways, Mordecai stopped. He brushed trimmed hairs from his shoulders as he spoke. “If it’s his murder you want, it really should wait until tomorrow. It would be a little gauche to kill him on his birthday.”

Mitzi snickered and smiled at him. Then, the sound of a tuning violin drifted, somewhat quietly, from the bedroom. Sitting up, Mitzi scowled. “Rocky!”

The sound glissed to a stop. “Sorry!” Rocky called from the other room. “You said to get ready!”

“I meant, dressed!” Mitzi yelled. She shifted as if to stand, book falling from her lap to thunk on the floor. “Oops—”

“Sit, please,” Mordecai waved her down automatically. “Before you knock over something expensive. I’ll sort Rickaby."

She leaned to scoop the book as he turned toward the bedroom. "Anything expensive you got from me, sugar.”

Shaking his head, he heard her scoff. Then he had to pause in his own bedroom doorway. Fur raising on the back of his neck, his mind replayed his absent assertion as his lungs quietly seized.

On his part, Rocky didn't notice. He had dressed down to his undershirt, suspenders hanging at his sides, but had abandoned the task to prop his violin on his shoulder. While he had bow-in-hand, he refrained from pressing hair to string and instead mutely practiced chord transitions as he leaned over his open case. There, a collection of loose papers were gathered in the space that should've housed his instrument. 

From this angle, Mordecai could see the bitemark on Rocky’s neck; he exhaled. "Last minute studying rarely works."

"Doesn't it?" Rocky replied without looking. But his bow-hand moved, trilling along a cluster of notes. "I haven't had any opportunities to know, but I'd've thought last minute study to be better than no study at all."

Forcing his shoulders to relax, Mordecai hooked his ankle around the door and kicked it close. It banged, and Rocky startled upright to blink at him. "Instrument away, please—" said Mordecai. He convinced himself to continue normally to his still open closet, where his laundry basket sat beside his dresser. "—before Mitzi has a heart attack."

Rocky laughed, but the sound aborted awkwardly. "She's not at risk to, is she?"

"At her age?" Mordecai glanced to raise a brow at Rocky. "You never know."

"She isn't that old," Rocky shook his head and moved to put his instrument away. He fussed for a moment, ears angling back towards Mordecai. It wasn't until Rocky peeked again over his shoulder that Mordecai realized he'd left too long of a pause. "... is she?"

"Best not to think about it," said Mordecai. Pulling off his undershirt, he leaned over the laundry basket for one more vicious scrub over his head and neck to rid himself of the last of his trimmings. "The last person asking those types of questions ended up taking a long walk off the Eads."

Rocky’s snickering drew Mordecai's attention; the musician grinned at him. "I take it you had something to do with that?"

"I held her purse."

Smile drawing back to reveal his fangs, his focus seemed to flicker up and down the length of Mordecai's body. After a moment, Rocky gestured to the scar carved into Mordecai's chest. "That looks like a story I haven't heard yet, Mr Serious Face."

Finding a clean undershirt, Mordecai shucked his sleep pants. "No one likes hearing stories from when I ran with the Marigold."

"Ah—" Rocky grimaced. "Sor—"

"Don't," Mordecai interrupted. "Just get dressed. Quickly."

"Yes sir," Rocky spread his arms and mock bowed, then perched on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes. Only to get distracted by the bounce of the mattress and the feel of the quilt. "Oh—this is nice." His tail swung up, wiggling.

"We've places to be, Rickaby," Mordecai shrugged into the clean shirt. Then he approached to dig his tidy suit out from the heap of fabric Mitzi threw on top of it.

"You're a poet now?" Rocky raised his brows. "Feeling inspired?"

"What?"

"The rhyme."

"That hardly counts as poetry."

"Sure it does," Rocky shrugged. "Anything could be poetry if you call it poetry."

"Ridiculous," Mordecai's tongue clicked. He started with charcoal pants, fresh from the tailor. "Poetry has rules, structure. You can't just call every accidental rhyme a poem, or the streets would be flooded with half wit poets and no one would know who to read. Next you'll say cereal boxes are poetry."

Rocky’s eyes dilated, the dark of his pupils obscuring the blue of his iris. "Quite the observation, Mr Serious."

Mordecai suppressed a shivver. "It would be best if you referred to me as Mr Heller this evening."

Expecting banter, Mordecai frowned when Rocky dimmed. "Right," he toed off his shoes. "Tonight."

Pausing, Mordecai's brows drew together. "You're nervous."

"Me?" Rocky forced a laugh, rocking backwards as he shimmied out of his blue pants. "Nervous? Why would you think—" twisting, he slipped off the side of the bed and careened to Mordecai's patterned rug. "—ow—that?"

"You tell me." Mordecai secured his slacks and picked up a crisp dress shirt. "Playing music is already your job."

Rocky popped up onto his knees, elbows indenting the mattress. "I play jazz."

"You're always bragging about panini—"

"Paganini."

"—and all those other motifs," Mordecai methodically worked the buttons closed. "You clearly have enough expertise to accept."

"Classical soloists are different," Rocky insisted. "Jazz is easy, you flub a note and improvise a phrase and the rest of the band are there to riff off of. When Classical musicians mess up they get run out of the theatre and left to get sick and—ah—" Biting his lip, Rocky shook his head.

"You're assuming people will notice," Mordecai  noted. He glanced at his bedside clock, slightly askew; weeks prior, he'd shifted it to make space for his new book. "It's a guarantee that everyone has already started drinking, and more than likely that no one will be sober enough to realize the genre has changed."

For a moment, Rocky stared and blinked at Mordecai; then his smile blossomed back. "You're trying to reassure me."

"Mitzi needs the night to go smoothly." He tucked the shirt into his pants, then found his suspenders. "That means whatever harebrained scheme the two of you devised on the way over here needs to succeed. I'm guessing the plan amounts to you being yourself while Mitzi flaunts non-existent assets to Asa and his boys."

At odds with the rest of his expression, Rocky’s ears drooped. "You think I can do it?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "Stop overthinking," he snagged the pile of clothes Mitzi had picked and tossed them all at Rocky's head. The musician guffawed with laughter. "Or do you need a head pat and empty platitudes as well?"

Pulling the clothes away from his face, Rocky’s tail wagged low and slow above the carpet. He bit his lip, brows upturning.

Mordecai sighed. "Just get dressed."

Shifting away, Rocky sat crossed legged with his back against the mattress. He leaned forward to sort the clothes on the carpet, both ears cocking to point at Mordecai. "Getting ready is more than just getting dressed. First, rehearse your song by rote—"

For the first time that evening, Mordecai's eyes were drawn to Rocky’s mouth. Vision glazed in spite of lenses, the musician seemed to split into two. Two of Rocky, both sitting cross legged with a hand resting on Mordecai's exposed sock. Two of Rocky, both leaning forward to soliloquy beneath the table-canopy. Two of Rocky, both petting a line along Mordecai's ankle. It made his head swim, and something selfishly fond dripped warmth along his senses. 

Rocky recited: "—to each word a warbling note." 

Mordecai watched the syllables take place. He tried to interrupt: "Obviously you rehearse—"

"Shh," Rocky lifted one hand from Mordecai's ankle to wave between them. "It's rude to cut into someone's plagiarisms. Listen—" something thunked to the floor, then Rocky raised both arms to gesture. "—hand in hand, with fairy grace, will we sing and bless this place."

Focusing on the task of dressing, Mordecai managed to tune Rocky’s voice into the background as he layered on his clothes. A holster over the vest, pistols procured from the night table, a matching set of shoes and jacket. For his part, Rocky bounced between characters nonsensically, sometimes pantomiming along lines Mordecai had yet to recognize. Often Puck or Bottom, sometimes Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, occasionally Oberon or Titania. But Mordecai's thoughts were preoccupied with piecing together disjointed moments.

Eventually, as Mordecai looped a tie around his upturned collar—he'd have to seek the aid of his bathroom mirror to make sure it laid evenly against his shirt—Rocky rolled up to a stand. The borrowed white vest was still undone, and he awkwardly turned in place as he fought with the buttons. "This is strange, isn't it?"

"Hm?" Mordecai's ears twitched. He moved to where his cufflinks were stored, on the small table in front of the window, and stopped to poke at one of his plants. 

"Getting dressed," Rocky replied, then cringed. "Together, I mean. Not that getting undressed isn't strange! The whole process is bordering on the phantastical—" he slowed, looking at Mordecai as he raised a finger to emphasize. "—and I mean that in the eerie sense."

"Mhm…" Mordecai leaned against the little table as he carefully folded his cuffs together. 

"Like a dream and deja vu rolled into one—" he spun his hands around each other, then paused to touch his chin. "Dreamah-vu?"

"Jacket next," Mordecai instructed.

"Right," Rocky snapped his fingers, then scooped the jacket from the floor. "Have you ever told yourself something so many times that you begun to believe it?" He shrugged on the jacket. "Only for something to happen to conjure a near perfect memory of the thing you were trying not to believe?"

Something tingled low against Mordecai's spine. "Are you believing or not believing?"

"Both," said Rocky. "Believing in the not believing."

"That's nonsense."

"Perhaps," Rocky nodded. Then he moved to fish through his discarded clothes. "But have you?" He retrieved his monogrammed tie.

"Of course not. Lies are things you tell other people, not yourself." Mordecai’s eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Embarking on a perilous parley, I think," Rocky looped the material around his neck and began to tie it from memory.

"You can't wear that," Mordecai clarified. Abandoning his second cufflink, he crossed the small space. "Mitzi picked out a bowtie."

Blinking, Rocky remained stunned until Mordecai reached to pull the tie away. "No!" He dodged backwards a step, the back of his legs hitting Mordecai's night table. He tried to compose himself. "I mean—this is my lucky tie. Surely a smooth evening requires every superstitious ritual to be observed. It's too risky not to."

Mordecai squinted at him. 

"It's a perfectly fashionable tie," Rocky argued. He adjusted his loops, fumbling with the tail.

"It's stained," Mordecai pointed out. "I'm fairly certain with blood. If history is anything to go by, probably your blood."

"I need it," Rocky pleaded. He craned his neck, attempting to see his work. "Jazz is one thing, but I've only ever performed a successful concerto with this on. And Ms M is counting on me."

"Mitzi is counting on you to wear a bow tie," he reached again, stopping Rocky’s hands. Slowly pulling the tie from the musician's grip, Mordecai considered the fabric. He made a small concession. "We'll compromise."

Rocky perked, looking. "Compromise?"

It struck Mordecai how close they were standing. Folding the tie around one hand, he gathered it into a small bundle and tucked it in Rocky’s breast pocket. For a moment he futzed to make a sort of pleat, then he pressed the fabric against Rocky’s chest.

Which was when he noticed the musician's hands, still raised but now with palms forward, as if to surrender or placate. And Rocky’s eyes, dark and wide. And Rocky’s lip, bitten.

He pushed Rocky against the side of the car, lips pressing together in a kiss as Mordecai pulled on his lapels.

"Dreamah-vu," Rocky muttered.

"That's not a real word," Mordecai countered, voice too soft for a real debate. Gravity invited him forward, and he felt the world lean.

Then Mitzi knocked on the door. "You boys decent?" she called courteously, only a second before turning the handle. Mordecai had just enough time to stumble back a step before she poked around the doorframe. "Are you nearly done? I swear, Mordecai, you take longer than Zib on Swingers Nights."

"You could've met me at the Marigold," Mordecai reminded her. Face burning, he stalked back to the little table under the window to retrieve his matching cufflink. "And I know how many hours it takes for you to put your face on; don't go throwing stones."

"Whatever, sweetheart," she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she looked both him and Rocky over. "I suppose this will have to do. Rocky dear, where's your bowtie?"

"Uh—" he tugged on the short cut of the jacket and shifted on his toes. "I don't know how to tie it?"

"Oh, dear," Mitzi sighed fondly, then snapped her fingers at Mordecai. "Cufflinks."

"The black ones—" Mordecai picked out another simple set, holding them out as he beelined to exit. "—I won't miss them if they disappear."

Mitzi took them. "Didn't I get you these?"

"My sister," he corrected. Angling past her, he folded his lone loose cuff together and secured it. "And your musician needs some encouragement. Perhaps a sincere atta-boy and a treat."

"My musician?" Mitzi exaggerated a scoff. "We pilfer one suit, and suddenly he's my musician? When is he your musician?"

Hands flexing, his footsteps fell a little heavily across the apartment. "You hired him, he's always your musician."

"I suppose that's true," he heard her sigh and step into his room. "Rocky, come here and hold still—"

Scowling into the bathroom mirror, Mordecai finished putting himself together. His fringe was brushed back with a little product, his tie was secured, and his glasses polished with time leftover for his thoughts to spiral into a dark mood. He returned to the little livingroom to wait, and picked up his newest book—The Complete Works of William Shakespeare—from where Mitzi had discarded it on the chaise.

Leafing through, he found and dismissed the one play he had read and reread—the marginalia made it easy—and moved instead to the sonnets. The regular form and structure, while playfully executed, appealed to him. He traced the edge of a page.

"Hurry, hurry," Mitzi urged Rocky out of the bedroom, one dainty hand clamped around the musician's wrist.

Mordecai snapped the book shut. "What's the rush?"

Even being dragged by the small matriarch, Rocky cleaned up nice. The clothes fit well enough, if a little long in the sleeves and leg, and the splash of orange at his breast was charming in spite of its asymmetry. The hand not captured by Mitzi held tight to his violin case, and his eyes flashed in Mordecai’s direction.

"I left Viktor downstairs," Mitzi explained as she fumbled with the front door.

"What?" Mordecai frowned. Placing the book on his desk, he followed Mitzi and Rocky into the hallway. "Why didn't he come up?"

"Oh, you know Viktor…"

"There's an elevator."

"He's just a little sore."

Sighing, he pulled the door shut. They made the short trip with little interaction, save for Mitzi's habitual banter with the lift operator and the doorman. She quoted the time and unconsciously started the groundwork for a plausible alibi; or she was just being polite, Mordecai always had trouble telling the difference. 

Outside, Mordecai glared at the three steps that separated his building's stoop from the sidewalk. But he inhaled, slowly, as he approached the familiar car—and its familiar driver—parked halfway down the block.

Not bothering with the back seat, he pulled open the front passenger side and leaned to scowl at Viktor. "For the millionth time, I'm sorry."

Viktor shrugged, and Mordecai felt the car shift as Rocky opened a door for Mitzi. "Bad veather today," said Viktor. He rubbed his knee. "Is going to rain."

"Move over—" Mordecai reached and tugged his old friend's arm, bullying him across the bench seat. "I'll drive."

"You von't—"

"I will—" Mordecai hissed. A leveraged pull put Viktor off balance.

Laughter from the backseat caused both hitmen to look up; Rocky closed the door behind him.

"This is cute and all," Mitzi smiled. "But we really should go. Viktor, let Mordecai drive."

Rocky’s face squashed under the pressure of his grin.

"Fine," Viktor gruffed.

Slamming the passenger door, Mordecai rounded the front of the vehicle to slide behind the wheel. As he was getting comfortable, Mitzi leaned forward over the seat. “Viktor, dear, pass me my purse.”

“Ya, ya…” the old slav grumbled as he reached down to where it had apparently fallen from the seat. He passed it back, and Mordecai started the car.

Digging a couple bills from her purse, Mitzi handed them to Viktor. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Vhat’s this for?” Viktor frowned, but took the money.

“Can I have some?” Rocky asked.

“Mordecai’s reading Shakespeare,” said Mitzi.

“Ha!” Viktor grinned and counted the bills. “Told you.”

“How is this news?” Mordecai complained as he maneuvered the vehicle onto the road. “And why are you betting about it? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

"McMurray owes me, too," Viktor flaunted a rare smile.

"Freckle?" Rocky leaned forward to interject.

"Is the band in on it?" Mordecai asked. "Can't you stick to betting on Zib?"

"Oh we are, Sugar, don't worry," Mitzi demurred. "We've got a pool going for how long it'll take Wick to realize Zib’s flirting—five dollar buy in, if you're interested."

"McMurray ask if you vould read Shakespeare," Viktor explained. "Zib couldn't resist."

"Oh shoot," Mitzi snapped her fingers. "I owe him too."

"You bet against me?" Mordecai glanced at Mitzi in the rearview mirror, and caught a glimpse of Rocky trying to keep up with the conversation.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes."

Viktor twisted, propping an arm on the back of the seat to speak to Mitzi directly. "He hate not knowing. Only matter of time before he go and figure out."

"I suppose," Mitzi sighed, and returned to sorting through her purse.

“I saw your edition,” Rocky admitted. In the rearview mirror, Mordecai watched the musician’s ears rotate forward and his hands come up to rest on the front seat before realizing that he wasn’t looking at the road. Rocky continued: “The Complete Works is ambitious to take on—have you read much of it?”

“I thought it might make a convenient projectile.”

"You should read it, sugar," Mitzi pitched. She pulled lipstick and a compact from her purse. "It's good to do somethin' other than work all the time."

Mordecai gripped the steering wheel tighter as he maneuvered through a turn. "Hypocrite."

"Ooo—we startin' the name callin' early?" Mitzi pursed her lips at her mirror and applied a fresh layer of lipstick.

"Remind me, how many prospective patrons are attending tonight's festivities?"

"I never said I wasn't a working girl, but A-plus deflection, Sugar." Mitzi snapped her compact closed and tossed it back into her purse. "Speaking of tonight… Rocky, honey, there's a few things you need to keep in mind—" and she launched into an impromptu lecture of who to expect and how to act. Occasionally, Mordecai would see Rocky’s reflection nodding along or hear the musician pose a question.

A quarter hour crawled past, and they arrived at the Marigold Hotel. Mitzi herded Rocky and his instrument out, taking the young musician by the elbow for a final look over on the sidewalk. Mordecai took a moment to gather himself as he got out of the car; he rounded the vehicle to see Viktor waiting with a narrowed eye.

He pointed at Mordecai. "Keep Rocky out of trouble."

"Why me?" Mordecai growled.

"Well, Viktor can't do it," said Mitzi. She tugged on the ends of Rocky's bowtie to straighten it under his chin. "Shoulders back, dear. Don't let them see your nerves."

"Ha ha," Rocky chattered. "Of course, Ms M."

Mordecai glared at Mitzi, then Viktor. "If this is about your knee again—"

"This not about apologies," Viktor began a slow march toward the door. "Is simple fact. I not keep up, you can. You keep Rocky out of trouble."

"Fine," Mordecai ground out.

"Relax, sugar," Mitzi stepped away from Rocky to slip a hand around Mordecai's elbow. "Just make sure he gets on stage unscathed. And doesn't burn the place down."

"No need to worry about that, Ms M," Rocky kept pace as they started after Viktor. "I left all my matches at the Lackadaisy."

"Somehow, that doesn't reassure me," Mitzi sighed, then gestured at Rocky. "Try to be a little less… yourself, Sweetheart. We don't need any extra theatrics."

Rocky slumped, ears drooping.

And Mordecai found himself adding: "Just the regular theatrics." Something warm tickled down his spine as Rocky grinned, perking.

"Don't encourage him," Mitzi teased. Stepping into the building, she looked around.  "We want to get out of here before sunrise. Oh, there's Asa—Rocky, come here—" switching partners, she pulled Rocky with her towards a crowd of people and away from Mordecai.

Something about the way Rocky looked back over his shoulder, past Mitzi's immaculate hair to check Mordecai's reaction, triggered another memory.

"Come along, Rocky—" Mitzi guided him away. "Time to leave the Big Bad Mordecai alone."

Mordecai blinked after them. "Where are they going?"

"Back to the stage," Zib answered. Hands slipped under Mordecai's armpits to pull him upright: he stumbled. "Easy there, tiger."

"'M fine—"

"Dere he is!" A familiar voice made Mordecai cringe, but he knew better than to avoid the arm that fell across his shoulder. Jostling him, Serafine Savoy grinned and prodded him along. "Nico is gonna be happy; he were sure you weren't gonna come."

"I considered it," Mordecai admitted. Carefully, he pushed on the frame of his glasses. "But it'd be worse if you two showed up at the Lackadaisy."

"Ha!" Serafine snickered. "We woulda."

"I know."

The crowd started filtering toward the ballroom, and Serafine rearranged herself to lead Mordecai after them. "Saw who you were runnin' with."

"Are running with," Mordecai corrected. "And it's not any concern of yours."

"Of course it is, cher," Serafine nudged him with her elbow. "We family."

He rolled his eyes, disguising the motion with a look around the foyer. "Where is Nico, anyway?"

"Oh, you know. Around."

"How reassuring."

"Awe, cher! He missed you too."

Shaking his head, he stepped into the main ballroom with Serafine. The party was already in full swing, a thirteen piece band accompanying a chorus of dancing girls. Tucked in the back, there was a queue at the bar that ringed dozens of tables. Every full seat—and they were all full—offset dancing and chatting couples and groups. Not too far into the room, Mitzi and Rocky were standing with Asa and a couple of gentlemen.

Spying his entrance, Mitzi raised a hand to wave at him, gestured at Rocky, then made loud goodbyes to Asa. The gentlemen all turned and Asa spotted Mordecai next; he hollered something unintelligible over the noise of the room. Mitzi took the moment to slip away, patting Rocky on the shoulder and abandoning him to chit chat with sharks. 

Mordecai sighed. "Excuse me—" he brushed off Serafine's arm. "I'm required to supervise my co-worker."

"The slippery one, non?" Serafine let him take the lead.

"That would be an accurate description of Mr Rickaby, yes."

"Always up for a good time dou," mirth decorated Serafine's voice.

"That depends on your definition of a good time," Mordecai drawled.

As they stepped up to Asa's circle, Mordecai took notice of the gentleman caller speaking with Rocky. Inhaling, he recognized a familiar blue handkerchief first pointed out by Mitzi months previous. The gentleman handed a long-stemmed glass to Rocky—who had to juggle his violin case to accept it—and let his hand linger by the musician's wrist.

Asa called: "Mordecai! Have you had a drink?”

“Not yet,” Mordecai answered. He sidled into the group, next to Rocky. “I should be taking Mr Rickaby to the green room.”

“Serious-face!” Rocky grinned at Mordecai, and lifted his glass towards his gentleman-compariot. “This is—”

“I don’t care,” said Mordecai. Reaching, he took the drink from Rocky’s hand. A few cats in the circle chuckled—Asa loudest—and the gentleman next to Rocky frowned. Mordecai continued: “Let’s get this over with.”

“Why, Mordecai—” Asa interjected. “You make it sound like work. I don’t have to worry about any corpses tonight, do I?”

“Admitting it would be inconceivably stupid,” Mordecai spared his ex-employer a look. He raised a brow. “So likely not. But the night is still young, and Nico isn’t here—”

As if summoned, Nico’s voice shouted above the noise of the room. “Peekon!”

Sighing again, Mordecai tipped back the stolen drink. He had just enough time to cringe at the taste, hand the empty glass off to Serafine, and wipe his sleeve across his mouth before brawny arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him in a bear hug. Tensing to stop himself from bloodshed, he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Put me down, please.”

“Is been too long!” Nico laughed. Dropping his suspecting victim, Nico left no recovery time before bodily turning Mordecai around to face him. Then he cuffed Mordecai’s neck with calloused hands, to keep Mordecai from moving while he pressed multiple loud kisses to both of Mordecai’s cheeks.

“Please stop,” Mordecai repeated. In his periphery, he saw Rocky staring. 

“Careful, Nico,” Serafine tugged on her brother’s arm. “You know how he is. Remember Remy?"

Nico leaned back on his heels to bark with laughter.

"Remy?" Rocky asked.

"You never told me he was an informant," Mordecai glared at Serafine. Then, breaking away from Nico, he took Rocky by the arm and pulled him away from the group. "Good evening, Mr Sweet."

"Don't mind him—" he heard Asa say as he dragged Rocky away. Liquid fire burned a line through his stomach, and he aimed for one of the employee exits near the stage.

Nico and Serafine flanked them. On Mordecai’s right, Nico pressed close to brush shoulders. On Rocky’s left, Serafine wrapped an arm around the musician’s waist. “Co-worker, hm?” She squeezed Rocky close, but spoke past him.

“Don’t remember you evah draggin' us off,” Nico added in a purr. “Eh, Sera?”

“Nah, never.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked, anyways,” said Mordecai. “None of you are particularly good at listening.”

“Have we been introduced?” Rocky asked, voice raising as he looked at Serafine. “I’d shake your hand, but, well—” he awkwardly flailed both his arms, one still held by Mordecai and the other still clutching his instrument.

Propping an elbow on Mordecai’s shoulder, Nico leaned to wink at Rocky. “Don’t t’ink we’ve ever been on dah same side of a pistol, cher.”

“There’s no need for introductions,” said Mordecai. "If I'm lucky, you'll never be in a room together again."

"Don't be like dat, Peekon!" Nico whined through a grin.

Serafine shook Rocky, which jostled Mordecai's arm. "We just wanna be sure you're nice to your… co-worker," she grinned at Rocky. "You be tuggin' him pretty hard, Cher. He gonna get hurt."

"This?" Rocky laughed. Wiggling, he dislodged himself from Mordecai’s grasp. There was somewhat of a recoil as the tension between them broke, Mordecai double stepping as Rocky waved his arm vaguely at Serafine. “This is nothing compared to the time Ol’ Serious Face broke my nose.”

There was a beat of silence, then the Savoys burst into laughter. Nico shifted to grip Mordecai’s shoulder as he leaned over to slap his knee, and Serafine pressed her face to Rocky’s collar.

“You aren’t helping,” Mordecai intoned.

“So mean, cher!” Serafine boasted. She pulled just enough away to give Rocky a proper look over. “Dou, maybe not so mean…”

“His murderous inclination is part of his charm,” Rocky added. 

Nico snorted and bat his eyes at Rocky. “Wha’d about your charm, cher?”

“Nope, no more charm,” Mordecai shook off Nico and went to grab Rocky again. But when he pulled, fist tightening over Rocky’s elbow, Serafine tugged. “Mr Rickaby will be performing—”

“A performer, ah?” Loosening her hold, Serafine lifted a hand to tug on one of Rocky’s ears; in response, the musician’s tail wavered upright. “What will you be performing for us?”

“I haven’t decided,” Rocky admitted. “Mr Smith suggested Paganini.”

“Who?” Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

“Paganini,” Rocky repeated. “He’s a famous composer from—”

“Not the music,” Mordecai interrupted. “Who is Mr Smith?”

“No one you care about, cher,” Serafine winked at him.

“We don’t like Smith?” Nico asked. “Wha’d he do?”

“Told bad jokes about money, mostly,” said Rocky. “Which Ms M said is a good thing, but I like it better when Zib’s around to take over. Some things are harder to ad lib.”

The details aligned close enough for Mordecai to grasp, and he scowled. "Unless Mitzi's plan was for you to seduce prospective patrons, I suggest against taking any suggestions from Mr Smith. Now come on—" another tug, and this time Serafine let Rocky go.

He stumbled along a couple of steps. "That wasn't the explicit plan—" he managed to regain  his balance.

"A contingency, then," Mordecai scoffed. Anger narrowed his field of vision; most people recognized something in his expression and cleared out of their way. In this manner, it slipped his notice that neither Nico nor Serafine were following.

"Well, anything can be a contingency," Rocky reasoned. And he continued babbling some excuse that Mordecai didn't hear.

Nostrils flaring, annoyance boiled up Mordecai's ears. But he contained the steam as they marched the last few yards to the employee exit, passing through a subtle haze of tipsiness. A couple staff were loitering about; they jumped as the doors opened and recoiled as Mordecai dragged Rocky past. It wasn't far to the green room, but Mordecai didn't pay attention to where he was going. At each corner and intersection he checked for people and chose the quietest route.

Eventually, he found a deserted stairwell and stopped.

"Do you know where we're going?" Rocky asked. "I thought I saw a sign; we could retrace our steps—"

Facing him, Mordecai pushed Rocky toward the wall. "Is Mitzi's plan to have you seduce unsuspecting philanthropists with classical violin?"

Stumbling, Rocky leaned against peeling wallpaper. "No?" His voice squeaked, and he held his violin case in front of him. "I'm not sure? She was fuzzy on the details."

Unconsciously, Mordecai stepped closer. "And you didn't think to clarify?"

"I didn't think it mattered?"

"So you would."

"Would what?"

"Sleep with him."

"Is that what we're talking about?" Rocky��s brows upturned and he attempted a smile.

"Yes," Mordecai growled.

"Um—" Rocky’s gaze drifted down, then back up to meet Mordecai's eyes. "... is that a problem..?"

"Yes."

A grin quirked on Rocky’s face, only to be washed away by concern. "How much did you have to drink?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mordecai's claws scratched at the violin case.

"You usually only have one," Rocky managed a small shrug. "Did you have something else in the ballroom? Or before—"

"Stop talking—"

Instinct and momentum collaborated; Mordecai pushed forward and kissed Rocky. A moment of awkward shuffling softened into shared sighs, and the instrument case was abandoned to clatter to the floor.

Their pants, somewhat heavier than their other shed clothing, thumped onto the roof of the car. 

From his perch at the edge of the backseat, Mordecai shook his head at Rocky. "Why..?" He caught Rocky’s wrist and tugged him closer, between the cradle of his knees. 

"I won’t be the one to ruin those pants,” Rocky explained. His hands slid up Mordecai’s thighs, rucking the material of Mordecai’s drawers. “The clothes make the cat, you know.”

“Do they?” Mordecai questioned rhetorically. Then he took fistfulls of Rocky’s undershirt and pulled him forward.

Licking the fur of Rocky’s cheek, Mordecai’s hands moved to grasp at the small of the musician’s back. Idly, he could feel the steady wag of Rocky’s tail, the pant of Rocky’s breath, the clutch of Rocky’s claws. “Don’t you think—” Rocky’s voice hitched when Mordecai’s teeth grazed the shell of his ear. “—that—that Helena is a tragic figure?”

Head swimming—he’d eventually question why one drink would have snuck up on him in such a capacity—the seemingly dramatic shift in subject caught him off guard. He tilted somewhat back, just enough to look at Rocky’s face. “What?”

“Midsummer is a comedy,” Rocky explained. His voice rushed out, and his fingers anchored on Mordecai’s shoulder blades. “And all the couples end the play happily married. But would Helena still be happy if she knew Demetrious only loved her because of an Elixir?”

“It’s a play,” Mordecai drawled. But his shoulders relaxed with the meaningless banter, and he nosed back into the fur on Rocky’s neck. His eyes closed, somewhat heavy. “She’s happy because Shakespeare wrote her that way.”

“So you did read it,” a pleasant note in the musician’s voice washed over Mordecai’s mind. 

“Hush—” and Mordecai tried kissing him again.

“Mm!” Rocky tilted his head away. “Are you sure—”

“Certain.”

“Your haste makes me believe you less,” a shallow chuckle echoed from Rocky’s mouth, and he conceded to a peck before tilting away again. “You’re out of character.”

Mordecai snorted against Rocky’s cheek, and the stairwell swayed into darkness.

The taste of blood snapped Mordecai's attention, and he pulled away to blink at the body beneath him.

Tension releasing, Rocky sighed and relaxed into the seat. His tail, still twitching, moved to loop around Mordecai's leg. "Murder," he muttered.

"Sorry," said Mordecai. Stretching out, he used his hands to investigate the bite on Rocky’s neck. It bled sluggishly, and some baser instinct prompted Mordecai to lick at it.

Shuddering, Rocky panted. "Sorry?" He turned his head to rest his cheek on the seat and chuckled. "I see no reason for your sorrys, Mr Serious Face; thou I admit I am a little confused as to your current—ah—state of mind?"

Mordecai hummed and nosed deeper into Rocky’s scruff.

With his arm slung over someone’s shoulders, Mordecai was distantly aware of being walked through a door.

“Almost—” Rocky’s voice was strained in his ear, and he could feel the musician trembling. Then his body experienced freefall, and he crashed into a couch. “—there.”

"You told me to stop?" Rocky prompted.

"No grooming," Mordecai clarified with a lick across Rocky’s jaw.

Someone brushed the hair back from Mordecai’s forehead, and he groaned. “No grooming.”

"No grooming, cher," someone repeated. "Your musician is on stage."

Blinking, cross eyed, up at a vague silhouette, Mordecai tried and failed to lift his arms. "I can't…"

Arching, Rocky whimpered. "No grooming for Mr Serious," he repeated back. "But you like to—?"

"Stop talking," Mordecai growled into his ear; then he set his teeth around the delicate cartilage to tug.

Rocky squirmed. "That may be somewhat of a problem—I've been told I have a great propensity for rambling."

For a few fleeting moments, a familiar violin playing an unfamiliar piece grounded Mordecai in the present. Opening his eyes, he recognized the dingy air of the Marigold's tiny green room. It was full of silent musicians—an entire band's worth—all quietly craning toward the open door, where Serafine leaned to look, presumably, to the stage. 

Then the world split in two and glazed over.

Sighing, Mordecai pulled back until he was braced, on hands and knees, above Rocky; it was space enough for the musician to roll awkwardly onto his back. "Is there a cure for your rambling?" Mordecai's brows rose.

"I can think of no true remedy," Rocky bit his lip. "Perhaps, if I were tasked with some other performance—?"

"Up we go, Peekon—" brawny arms scooped him.

Flopped against a broad chest, Mordecai looked up and frowned. "Why do you have blood on your face?"

"Never mind dat," Nico chuckled. "We found your friend."

"One job," came Viktor's grumbling voice. "Should have told Rocky to keep you out of trouble."

"Oh yay, Viktor is here." At ease, Mordecai closed his eyes to succumb fully into darkness. "Viktor's great."

[therealslimshakespeare]

Gigi -the unbaked thots:

• Bath •

Summary: I’ve had so many requests for this universe (including a bath time which this includes) and I appreciate all of y’all’s patience. I find this universe the hardest to write for and create entire scenes and fics out of so in order to keep it from dying out I intend to loosen up a little and start throwing out headcanons for y’all to enjoy in the meantime, you can watch for them with this header above. For now enjoy a trash bit of nastiness I wrote in under an hour in the middle of the night last night -kudos to the minxs @eliseinmemphis and @stylespresleyhearted

Warnings: Explicit! 18+ Bath sexy times, grinding, fingering, praying during sex, age gap, slight degradation, voluntarily drinking bath water containing cum. Yup.

Era: September 1977

Well here they are. On the dreaded tour.

But for now -there are bubbles. So many bubbles. And the heavy rumble of the bath’s jets and the golden glow of the dimmed bathroom lights in the hotel suite and the slippery bulk of Elvis as he grumbles beneath Gigi while she writhes amidst the foam of his rinsed shampoo.

“Sloppiest lil rider I ever-“ his face is shining in a heated glow, he is awash in pink cheeked arousal and Gigi persists, wearing herself out for his little gasps and the twitches of an eyebrow here and there. Bouncing adamantly atop his thick thighs in the swirling water and trying her avid best to slip his fat length inside her. She’s been trying since day one and every time it’s

-“not yet, Gigi, not yet, s’posed to be special and you’re special baby girl, not somethin’ to rush with someone special like you, see, I uh, i-i-it’s special-“

Gigi thinks having his rock solid cock inside her would be special enough.

“ ‘member the other night,

daddy?” She asks him in a huff, winded from the exertion as she pins his throbbing length against himself and grinds her clit against the hairs on his rounded belly, full of desperation born of youthful overexubernace, “remember how -how - when you were teasing me -and you pressed against my little hole?”

Elvis lets out a long groan in reply, slapping his hands against the sides of the tub in sexual frustration, causing his rings to clank and his bracelets to jangle against the porcelain. He can feel himself swell even more, the ache in his balls nearly unbearable at the proximity to snug tightness that he’s been denying himself for a myriad of reasons that are making less and less sense now, the more Gigi’s glossy wet tits slap his face silly.

“Oooh, oh I feel you-“ she gasps, as that redundant piece of meat between his thighs gives a hearty little twitch at the memory of her tiny hole and it’s fluttering need.

“You son of a bitch,” Elvis hisses to his traitorous little friend who’s acting very stalwart in his determination to find nothing but a tight cunt sufficient stimulation for release -it was easier back when little Elvis was a limp and useless dong: “this is the one time i’m asking you not to work. C’mon, don’t fail me now I-I- hell… O-o-our father. Who art in heaven-“

Gigi buries her face into the steamy crease where his cheeks meet his throat and licks at the salt there that not even the bath can remove. His hands fly to grip her hips and he yanks her up and down, grinding harshly against her raw little center as her breasts smash against his broad chest.

He regularly complained to the boys about her voraciousness and got no sympathy, not even when they saw it for themselves with the way he could barely get his seat in the limo, have his water handed to him and a towel before she was taking off his belt, unzipping his jumpsuit and inevitably giving lil Elvis some strong mouth suction. The boys had gotten used to ignoring him dumping a load down this little girl’s throat in the blurry blaze of street lamp lit nights and cranking up the radio to hide her moans every jet flight. Nothing about it was fitting and it wasn’t even to his tastes -so Elvis insisted- but it was real nice to be so wanted, even if the voraciousness of it was all a little alarming and out of hand.

Yet, God knows Elvis wanted Gigi badly. It half scared him sometimes and the rest of the time it kept him alive.

As did Lisa in an entirely different way and between the two girls tearing up his sedate plans for self mortification and permanent hermitage, Elvis found some zest for life returning to his soul as August became September and tabloids went from calling Gigi “the new girl” to calling her his whore and the colonel went from not answering his phone to leaving a perpetual red light on the message box and it went from kisses and snuggles in his Graceland bed to frantic grinding like this after every show that had her caterwauling in his arms begging to be torn open by his cock and him grunting like a bear in heat as he spurted against her belly and smashed the button for the tub jets to stop.

Wouldn’t do to circulate superstar spunk in a Cincinnati hotel jacuzzi.

“Mmm, that feel good daddy?” her sweet voice asks as the singing angels dim and the sense of time and space and his spent cock bring him back into consciousness.

“Uhuh. Feels real good.” he admitted sheepishly and felt her plump lips pressing to his bashful grin.

He returns it, pouring his love into her with the cradling of her head in his hands and the flick of his tongue against hers and the languid massaging of lips.

Gigi swirls the milky strands of his spend in the bath water between them, giggly and invigorated. She gets this way after climaxing and Elvis can only blearily smile and indulge the way she drags him around and makes him stand and get out of the tub, how she pats him down with towels like he’s a boy child and chitters to him about backstage gossip, praises for his performance of the night and Tammy’s latest tips for making Jerry’s life a living orgasmic hell. All while pressing kisses to every single part of his body as she goes along.

She’s found goosey places on Elvis that he didn’t even know existed.

Gigi is drying his shoulders when she sees the last remnants of the tub water cycloning in a swirl towards the drain, precious pearly strings cavorting like ribbons in the eddy.

Her conversational chatter ceases abruptly with a regretful -“oh no!“

She drops the sodden towel.

He watches her kneel, crouched and bent and glorious in a soft line of naked beauty from the back. Thought his maidenly idyl is shattered as she faces away from him and in what seems to be an impulsive moment of adoration, Gigi leans over the tub, hard porcelain lip digging into her sternum as she ducks her head and dips her mouth to the tepid bathwater.

He can hear her slurping.

Her graceful bracing in position and the greedy working of her throat suggest competency at this vile practice that makes his stomach lurch and spent cock swell thickly against his thigh. Without autonomy he hears himself grunt appreciatively.

“Fuuuuck me.” he drawls in disbelief, shuffling closer to watch the whole of it, the working of her sweet mouth sucking up his diluted seman and the arch of her back showcasing pink little pussy lips glistening from the back.

It’s sick and he’s terribly in love.

“That’s my good baby girl,” he finds himself praising this heinous degradation, hand coming to rest on the dip of her lower back, “not lettin’ m’lil contrition go to waste.”

It makes her strain to get as deep in the tub as she can, legs taut and face red from the blood rushing downwards to her cheeks as she chases gravity against the flow of the drain, his hand heavy and encouraging as it palms her ass, the pinch of his rings and the grunting, savage, male appreciation for her wantonness making her squeeze her thighs together in hopeless dissatisfaction.

A sting jolts her as his hand collides in an approving slap across her plush backside. The desire to make him proud eggs her on and she crawls further over the ledge, hair dragging in the drain.

Elvis’ hand once groping her butt moves until he’s peeling her apart and sliding in the long lengths of his middle and ring finger into her tight heat, meanly stabbing inside her as she’s bent double, tonguing at the drain for the last of his essence.

“You done this before.” Elvis’ voice is low, without a shred of questioning.

“Yes.” she moans, rosy cheek pressed to the wet floor of the now empty tub. “I always do this when you leave some left over, daddy.”

Elvis watches his fingers sink into pink plushness again and again, rings acting like stoppers at each culmination, spearing her until Gigi is sobbing and spasming over the tub edge, mouth wide open screaming for him with a tongue white from his spend, as broken as he is over the need to fuck her.

Sore and puffy, he assumes he’s learned her a lesson.

Standing her back up tenderly with all gentlemanly grace, Elvis wipes at her slimy cheek with his hands, pleased to find her smile as irrepressible as ever, the only thing on this godforsaken tour that hasn’t disappointed him yet.

“When is soon?” she whines into his kisses as he presses against her, bath quite redundant with the way he has her pinned between the door and his weeping cock, freshly spluttering his devotion against her bare pubic mound like he’s twenty years younger and fit to be such a minx’s lover.

“What?” He questions, murmuring in happy confusion.

“You said you’d make love to me soon.” she insists like a child reminding their senile parent of promises for ice cream after a trip to the dentist. “When is soon?”

Elvis grins through his grunt as he slides against her puffy clit, effortless from her slick and close to coming from images of her drinking his bath- “Soon, little baby,” he pronounces with all the gravity of a wiseman and the authority of a deadly opponent who his hand engulfing her fragile jaw, “-means soon.”

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

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[pinkpastels113]

Rediscovering some Good Songs, so now I'm wondering, what are some songs you associate with Beca & Chloe? (Or the other Bellas!) And why?

I HAVE SO MANY SONGS SO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION (ie i struggled adfgdjhsk) but i still hope yall like:

beca

no diggity (blackstreet) bc obviouslyy

no scrubs (tlc) just the vibee ahh and my lil bisexual girlie will not be with a man if he is not good to her !!!

just the way you are (bruno mars) DUHHHH the eye contact in the pool sigh and the moment where aubrey relinquished control of the pitch pipe and chloe was smug like see bree i told you she's good we will def make it to lincoln center

freedom! '90 (george michael) no explanation needed and bc she is finally getting recognized for her talent ahh but she decided to share it with her family (the bellas!!)

cups (originally by ap carter i think) bc iconic pop culture phenomenon

paint the town red (doja cat) rawr alt badass girlie pp1 beca

poison poison (renee rapp) for @afh48 mostly but yes!! beca is very "you're so fucking annoying" core

before he cheats (carrie underwood) she SLAPPED IN THAT RIFF OFF IM AFRAID- the way she grabbed that guy's jacket oof

chloe

she's v my "pink glitter gel pen" playlist coded i fear and here are some music/songs from it:

pocketful of sunshine (natasha bedingfield) bc she's a sunshine baby even kendrick says so <33

message in a bottle (taylor swift) i just think she's a swiftie and that this song and its fast beat and bubblegum pop is very her

we are never ever getting back together (taylor swift) red era chloe beale stan

love me harder (ariana grande) THAT PART IN PP3 WHEN SHE SINGS "love me harderrr, cuz if you really need me you gotta gotta gotta love me harder, gotta love me harderrr” GETS ME EVERY TIME

i kissed a girl (katy perry) her coming out song

still into you (paramore) she def dances around the bella house to this song

material girl (madonna) and this also pertains to aubrey, this is their friendship song <33

ocean eyes (billie eilish) brittany's eyes are so pretty i cant even begin to describe-

bechloe (the way i had originally just put these songs under beca and chloe separately but they got too many songs that make me think about them together that it should be a different section lmao)

not to be a dramatic (zoe clark) from beca to chloe <33 just LISTEN to the lyrics pls omg it is so angsty and pining

mascara (kylie cantrall) chloe telling beca the message in this song when she breaks up with jesse :((

friends dont (maddie & tae) just listen to it pls yall it's literally friends to lovers of them and fits their vibe perfectly and everytime i listen to it i daydream a whole ass bechloe fic like it's INSANE

not like im in love with you (lew) same thing as above

titanium (david guetta) sigh if i dont include this esp in this fandom i might as well kms/joking teehee

kiss me (sixpence none the richer) soft domestic bechloe <333

toxic (britney spears) again, the trust, the chemistry, the eye contact, the harmonies, the solos in pp3. im feral.

good luck, babe! + casual + red wine supernova (chappell roan)

birds of a feather (billie eilish) ahh i love them and to this song sm "i'll love you till the day i die, till the light leaves my eyes, till the day i dieee"

enchanted + dress + gorgeous + dancing with our hands tied (taylor swift)

stacie

low (flo rida) pp2 riff off cuz shawty had that apple bottom jeans (jeans) boots with the furr (with the fur) the whole club was lookin' at herr

sex with me (rihanna) pretty obvious methinks lmao

s&m (rihanna) no words truly

taste (sabrina carpenter) i headcanon stacie as pan so i just feel like the lyrics of this song can pertain to her if she's ever realizing that her past prospects are fucking each other <33

you problem (cloudy june, emlyn) i feel like she believes karma is a thing and "oh well you kinda asked for it haha" when someone comes to her complaining about drama or something like that if they started it in the first place if that makes sense

breakfast (dove cameron) nom nom her attitude towards men most of the time i think; "he's a hunter" coded

honey, im good (andy grammer) STAUBREY but she would never cheat on aubrey obv but maybe angst at the beginning of their relationship

heart attack (demi lovato) ANOTHER STAUBREY SONG HEHE

confident (demi lovato) goes without saying that stacie is confident in who she is and what she wants and goes for it

aubrey

boyfriend (dove cameron) hmm anyone here for jealous wlw aubrey? bc i am

hit me with your best shot (pat benatar) pp1 riff off :))

classic (mkto) she's just so Classic and i feel like she would love to be wooed traditionally like the whole wine and dine thing and lots of flowers on dates (stacie cough** im looking at you)

what makes you beautiful (one direction) i debated putting this under her or chloe but chloe def knows that she's hot, quoting “yeah im pretty confident about... all this ;))” so aubrey it is!!

hey blondie (dominic fike) girlie just wants to be serenaded fr

pretty girls (renee rapp) a lot of angst in coming to terms with her sexuality unfortunately :((

emily

sit still look pretty (daya) i can NOT listen to this song without thinking of her now i fear

flashlight (jessie j) same reason as above!! legacy is just a baby aaahh

cool kids (echosmith) she just wants to fit in 🐣

most girls (hailee steinfeld) i feel like she admires a lot of girls around her and wants to be like them and obv hailee singing it helps lol

cynthia rose

crazy youngsters (ester dean) that music video!!

starships (nicki minaj) idk i just think ab her when i hear it

amy

we belong (pat benatar) that "hey im soloing here!! whataver!!" part is so funny to me every time haha in pp2

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

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About Me

Age: 19

Nationality: American

Religion: Roman Catholic

Pronouns: She/Her

Romantic Orientation: Sapphic Demiromantic (sometimes I use Panromantic)

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

Current Obsessions: Greek Mythology, Apollo, Trials of Apollo, Apollo, Ancient Greece, Apollo, Roman Empire, & Apollo

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I do occasionally reblog more mature stuff, but I do tag accordingly. Remember that curating your online experience is up to you! :3

Post Masterlist - meta, theories, and headcanons galore!

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Favorite Posts

The Copollo Fic Masterlist

Fic Recs

🏹➳~My Fanfics~➳🏹

Fanfic Update Order

The Works of Apollo - RRverse Canon Compliant

Adventures in (Grand)Parenting: Featuring Koios - Our favorite grandpa and his many trials and errors at grandparenting

Alder's Mess of ToA AUs - RRverse Canon Divergent AUs within the series

The Crew of Dodona - ToA Pirate AU

The Odds Are Never In Our Favor - Hunger Games/ToA AU (playlist)

Mythology Fics - The OG myths

Tag List:

#ramblings of an oracle - me spouting whatever i what

#the oracle speaks - asks i have answered <3

#my incorrect quotes - IQs from my own fanfics, not from the myths or ToA

#my art - self-explanatory lmao

#fic asks - asks about my fanfics <3

#ask game - responses to an ask game

Mythology

#apollo love

Duos

#sun n moon twins - Apollo n Artemis <3

#truth n lies - Apollo & Hermes

#logic n chaos - Apollo & Dionysus

#knowledge & wisdom - Apollo & Athena

#theives' hunt - Hermes & Artemis

#poetry and love - Apollo & Aphrodite

#light and fire - Apollo & Hephaestus

#plague and war - Apollo & Ares

#stepduo - Apollo & Hera

#harmony & order - Apollo & Zeus (mainly ToA)

Groups

#the disaster trio - Apollo, Artemis, & Hermes

#queer quartet - Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, & Dionysus

#troublesome triad - Apollo, Hermes, & Dionysus

#raggamuffin kids - all of the second-gen Olympian sibs

#civilization trio - Apollo, Hermes, & Athena

#the music gang - Apollo & the Muses

#chaotic crew - Apollo, Dionysus, Hermes, & Persephone

#tasteful trio - Apollo, Dionysus, & Aphrodite

#delphic triad - Leto and her babies <3

#regal trio - Zeus and the twins

#raggamuffin parents - 1st gen Olympians AKA the children of Kronos

#delphic fam - the maternal side of the twins' family <3

Ships

I love many Apollo ships, both mythology and ToA, so do not be surprised by the Variety~!

also in this house we stan poly Apollo. whenever I write Apollo, ToA or myth him, he's poly :3

#hyapollo / #apollocinthus - Apollo & Hyacinthus

#copollo / apollodus - Apollo & Commodus (ToA)

the guilty-pleasure, absolute TRAINWRECK of a ship between Apollo and Commodus. *slaps ship* i can fit so many ISSUES into this ship!

#apricity - Apollo & Boreas

#sunkiss - Apollo & Branchus

#triple a - Apollo & Admetus & Alcestis

#freypollo - Apollo & Frey (ToA/MCatGoA)

#the music gang - Apollo & the Muses

and i unfortunately don't have ship names for these yet :(

#apollo x cyrene

#apollo x rhoeo

The Stuff

#greek mythology analysis

#incorrect greek mythology quotes

#mythology aus

#greek myths

#greek myth fanart

#greek myth memes

#greek myth headcanons

#greek myth vines

#greek fam tree

#greek history

Then just type in a god/goddess to find stuff with them in it. I can reassure you i will have plenty of stuff with Apollo, Artemis, & Hermes.

sometime tho i will put extra stuff behind it (ex: #pan the god)

for reference: I classify a "meme" as a funny post with pictures or something like that. A "quote" would be, well, quotes.

The Trials of Apollo (RiordanVerse)

*stuff that is exclusively from ToA*

#sunflower siblings - apollo & meg

#sibling shenanigans - apollo, artemis, thalia, & jason

#triumvirite holdings - the three nasty emperors

#prophecy pair - apollo & rachel

#incorrect trials of apollo quotes

#nero

#commodus

#caligula

#meg mccaffery

#python

#toa fanart

#toa theory

#riordanverse headcanons

#toa memes

#toa polls

#toa fanfiction

#apollo fanfiction

#if i was a demigod

ToA Fanfics

#tsari: eclipse

Epics

#the iliad

#the odyssey

#the aeneid

#the trojan war

#trojan war memes

#incorrect trojan war quotes

then just type in a character's name (Ex: #diomedes) and it should pop up. However, some characters I've put extra stuff with like:

#prince hector

#helen of sparta

#jason the argonaut

so as i go/find those names with extras in them i'll place them above

Other

#not myths but it's related

#rome

#poetry

#music

#the haiku bot

#resources

#blood of zeus

#roman emperors

#sacred animals

#statues

#paintings

#notes for later

#not myths

#rhymes

i won't do it often, but i also may reblog stuff from other mythologies like norse or egyptian (HA I SPELT IT RIGHT FIRST TIME WHOOP)

[shmowder]

Is there a resource that says how old the characters are supposed to be? Or, how old do you headcanon them to be?

🐿️ anon, guilty of sending multiple messages so please, take as much time as you need to answer!

Yes! You can find the ages listed on the Pathologic Wiki here. They're sourced from VK posts the devs made.

It's not just the age, but also more abstract things like which animal the character represents, which body part and which colour.

Take Yulia, for example.

I adore the fact that she represents the ankle body part. It fits her extremely well since she was the one to design the roads to the town. Not to mention her limb and how walking can be painful to her and yet she is still the fragile ankle of the human body nonetheless.

The flamingo fits her too in a way. It's a bird that acquires the pink colour it's so famous for rather than being born with it. Did Yulia work hard for her genius rather than being naturally gifted? Does that affect her mental health?

She is a bird who can't fly and has to walk. She has a leg injury. She lives in a city where the river is poisonous.

As for the blue... I don't have much to say. I wish they gave us a hexcode instead of just slapping blue on it and calling it a day, yk? It would've been more specific since there are endless shades of blues out there.

Although, all of these notes and ages are about Pathologic classic characters. They might not all translate to P2, especially with how the timeline is changed there.

In P1, the polyhedron was built 10 years ago, and in P2, it was built 5 years ago. That drastically changes Artemy's age from 16 to 21 when he left the town.

Also. Do yourself a favour. Never calculate what age Nina was when she had Maria in P1. Ever.

And I absolutely love your asks! Never apologise for sending them or feel guilty. It made me so happy when I woke up the other day to them, and I'm writing up an answer to one, although it may take time to gather all the screenshots and my thoughts. You're amazing <333

Like fr. You're genuinely the only anon I have. It's dry af in this fandom. I only have two other asks rn which are requests for fics. Take as much space as you want lmao we're the only two people talking in this blog.

Sadly, Aglaya doesn't seem to have a VK post written about her. But in P1, she confirms that she is older than Artemy and of similar age to Maria in their reality. However, she mentions that she is older than him as a doll, but many parts of her body got replaced and newed, so it makes her fresher younger doll than his doll. If I had to give her a colour, it would be one from her image picked colour pallet here. Or maybe brown, like her eyes. Especially with how brown eyes are almost a symbol of humanity from how common they are and it giving it to the one character who is self-aware she is a doll and convinced she has no free will is funny.

For an animal, tho...hmmm. I'd imagine others to view her as a spider, but I think it's just a facade, even if it suits her.

An ant? A wasp?

a chameleon? Daniil says she changes her tactics with each person she encounters. How she used his anger against his to trick him while she used tenderness with Artemy who's guided by his heart.

A crane? They fit her colour pallete.

A crow or an owl? Any "Bad Omen" animal since inquisitors arriving is considered a bad omen in an itself

A mourning dove? They hold a lot of religious importance to rituals and she technically follows the church.

A dragonfly? They spend most of their lives in the baby stage, and when they finally look like what we consider an adult dragonfly, they only have 6 months to live. Aglaya spent all her life searching for an answer, and when she found it, her remaining days were cut short. They are a symbol of living life to the fullest.

Fox? I remember one of the characters describing her as one in P1. Or maybe it was a idom with "Foxy" that the translators added on their own to drive a message home. They are extremely cunning too. Can represent wisdom.

Which one is your favourite option? Or do you have another animal in mind?

For the body part, I'm thinking something that has to do with the heart or hands because I want her to match Artemy tehe. Maybe a ribcage since it protects the heart?

If we do go off of her personality alone and story importance, I feel like she represents the soul as much as Eva does but in her own contrasting way. Like in a left brain right brain type of way.

To even question your existence is a human trait. You can't prove the soul exists physically, and yet all of us at all times are aware of a soul. We are conscious and know something inside of us is doing this, but we can't find it anatomically.

Interesting detail, Aglaya's corpse in P2 doesn't have any organs. I checked it after the train death scene. She is the walking essence of a soul.

However, you find a gun in her body.

Is Aglaya a weapon? A tool for the hands to hold and use? Is that why she lacks organs? A dagger for Artemy's hand to cut open his enemies with?

So how could the steel dagger fall in love with the flesh and blood of the hands carrying it.

She might be the teeth, or the nails of the body in that case. Primitive weapons for the humankind before we invented spears. She might be the

I think she is the corpus callosum.

It's the part of the brain that connects the two halves together. You see, each brain half is fully functional on its own and controls one of each hands and looks through one of each eye.

The only reason they work in unison despite being two entities, is the thanks to the corpus callosum allowing them to communicate and act as one whole organ.

Cutting that connection, as in physically removing the corpus callosum, used to be a way to treat people who suffered from epilepsy. It's on the more extreme solutions when medication isn't working and the seizures are too frequent.

And it weirdly worked.

It fits her in a way, the anchor between two ships, the wires connecting the doll to the hand moving it.

I read from a different ask how she is your favourite alongside Yulia and Victor. You have amazing taste I tell you bc they are my favourites too! I am writing a long ass essay about it-

I'd love to hear your ideas about them and their symbolism animals/colours in the way. Also the look on your face when you find out that Victor Kain is 58 years old BECAUSE GODDAMN he looks so good for his age.

[deliriiuumm]

dreamling post-canon time loop au headcanons

I honestly can’t believe we don't have a wealth of Dreamling post-canon time loop AUs. There's so much untapped potential in them & let me tell you why they slap (MAJOR COMIC SPOILERS AHEAD):

Imagine Dream being reincarnated as a human after TKO but has no memories of being an Endless. Imagine him being trapped in a time loop that is a metaphor for unresolved issues & self-punishment. Imagine him accidentally pulling Hob into the time loop & experiencing the inherent romanticism of watching his lover from his past life die in his arms while trying to fix his mistakes over & over again. 

How do they break the loop? By confronting their past issues & forgiving themselves. That's right, enforced character development & therapy via time loop, baby!

For your consideration:

Reincarnated Human!Dream & Johanna are childhood besties who like getting drinks at The New Inn owned by none other than Hob Gadling (who may or may not have been Dream's lover in his past life)

Dream doesn't remember Hob but he feels like an old friend & he feels safe with him

Random & headache-inducing flashbacks: “You take care of yourself"/ “Thank you… I shall”

Number of deaths:  ∞; Cause of death: tumbling down the stairs 💀

Enter Delirium who disguised herself as Reincarnated!Dream's human little sister because she missed him terribly & she's sick of losing her siblings 😢

“I want my brother to be okay, I don’t want him to get hurt” 💔

Hob's POV after The Wake: living on deliriously after losing his oldest friend, the one he thought he'd spend his immortality with. What would be left of the world without his old stranger, his beloved, and only confidante? How did he cope with grief? Did he cope at all?

[Narrator voice] He did not, in fact, cope well at all.

Post-Wake flashback: Hob dropping to his knees, screaming in anguish, and begging Dream to haunt him

The past begins to unravel in bits & pieces: a field of red flowers, bloodstained hands, a whiplash across his cheek, and the comforting touch of Death's hand. Nothingness. 

The deaths become more violent as Dream starts remembering the past. Being in so much pain, he's going mad. "Morpheus, we're dying again."

Objects and people start to disappear into the void. If they die one more time, will they come back? Or will they simply disappear into oblivion? 

Time loops are within Father Time's domain. Does he have anything to do with this or is it a cosmic anomaly?

Where do the Endless fit into all of this? Can they interfere or not? Will they be willing to? Or will they let Dream sort it all out as he did in the fishbowl?

And lastly: Dream vs. the Final Boss aka Death. Dream holding Hob as he dies in his arms for what may be the last time, filled with unfiltered rage as he summons and confronts Death of the Endless. 

That's all for now. I have many other headcanons for this AU that I hope to string together into one coherent fic. 

If you have some Dreamling/ Sandman time loop headcanons, I'd love to hear them!

[erisenyo]

I’m thinking about an Avatar time loop AU where Zuko loses in his Agni Kai against Azula and starts back again before his Agni Kai against Ozai, and keeps resetting to that moment every time he dies Groundhog Day style (except over years, if he makes it that long).

The more I think about it the more I’m realizing that the problem with a Time Loop AU is that it can kind of hold every other AU you are thinking about...

[endursent]

An Aspect's Affection

characters; alexstrasza, ysera, nozdormu, x gn!reader

summary; bullet-point affection in headcanon format, a spice of character analyses and some angst if you squint. the three original remaining aspects need some loving, and them to love us some, it's healthy for everyone involved.

note; started this before dragonflight came out—for ao3, decided to slap it here as well—planned to have it done before release… took longer than i thought it would, my bad lol. i love reader-inserts and all dragons but especially the aspects, first fic i post in years yikers. please enjoy.

read on ao3

Alexstrasza

As the Queen of Dragons, Leader of the Red Dragonflight and most importantly, a mother, Alexstrasza serves her duties with unmatched tenacity and grace. You would be hard-pressed to find a more suitable person for the job. But despite her parental nature and deep desire to fiercely protect those dear to her, she does not baby you—she trusts you and believes you are perfectly capable to handle obstacles thrown your way, it is only when you either ask her for assistance or she deems the situation out of your control that she will interfere. Alexstrasza loves every creature on Azeroth, sometimes to an unreasonable degree, she makes sure it is known that they all fall under her wing, her protection and care—and few move independently from the shade her wings cast and can so easily find her attention as you do. She favours you, unafraid to admit your presence is much more desirable than some—than many—and will seek your company over others.

Alextrasza is not a young whelp, she has flown Azeroth's skies for far longer than the older races that walk the soil have on two feet, and even if she loves and cherishes every life on Azeroth, even though she desires to protect and preserve their health, she will also have them understand that they will stand on their own legs through the high wind—but that were it to come to it, she will always stand before the storm.

If you were to allow it, Alexstrasza would love to decorate you, to gift you gold and jewels to hang upon your person wherever you so desired. She would prefer you wear red and gold, adorned with her gifts and more often by her side than not—fitted like you truly to belong to each other, made for each other—Alexstrasza would not insist you do as she would like, but would appreciate it even more so if you chose to by yourself.

Were you to lay the palm of your hand to her scales, you would find them to be comfortably warm. Her body emits a comforting heat that reflects her burning love and passion for her children, family and consorts, a love that does not fade even for the dead. Her golden gaze—whether draconic or elven—eases whatever nerves might trouble you, a gaze so soft you might feel cotton fill your chest.

It's a far more subtle and independent relationship than one would expect, sometimes there are days that Alextrasza is busy and must attend to her duties, and as much as she would love to have you accompany her... most of them can be quite boring, and you have your own daily tasks to go through. Alexstrasza isn't much for parading you around like a drake with a newly found mate, but she does not hide you either—she simply isn't much of a hand-holder, in the simplest sense.

The quickest way to improve Alexstrasza's mood, were she to seem troubled or feel under the weather is to grab a whelp our of the air—they're everywhere, those little rascals—and plop them down in her lap. She will look momentarily confused, but her heart will instantly lighten at the high-pitched squawk the whelp lets out, Alexstrasza thanks you for your consideration and suggests you accompany her on a walk to clear her mind. The whelp is freed from their voluntary confinement and flaps back to enact chaos on it's caretakers.

Speaking of whelps, I hope you find them cute, because they can and will swarm you anytime you are in their line of sight. Unfortunately, they are young enough not to understand their impressive strength despite their small form and will sometimes grip and nip at you a bit too hard. A nearby sitter—or even Alexstrasza herself, if she happens to be nearby—will scold the horde of excited whelps, trying to get it into their small heads that they must be aware of and have care with their strong jaws and sharp talons. The whelps will give you the largest, shiniest pleading eyes you have ever seen in your life in attempt to beg forgiveness, and it would be a crime of the highest degree to not forgive them on the sport. They would then bite you again—gently—for fun, they love you very much.

Alexstrasza has a tendency to bring you things, differently from the gifts she gives you involving jewelry or clothing. You had once stopped on a stroll for a minute to re-tie your boots—not noticing that Alexstrasza had continued walking—and looked back up to see her approaching you rapidly. Confused and a bit startled by her brisk pace, you ask if there is anything wrong.

"Nothing at all," she replies with a smile, placing something in your pocket.

You reach into your clothes, curious what it was that she had slipped into it and pull out an oddly shaped stone. You blink at the rock and look to her again, Alexstrasza had begun walking again—turning when you spoke. "Thank you...?"

She says nothing for a moment, inclining her head slightly. "What for?"

You raise the stone between your fingers, a flicker of the sun peeking between leaves above you shines it's side.

"Oh, it is strangely shaped, is it not? I thought it was interesting."

Many times you don't even notice, as the day comes to an end and you begin removing your outside clothing in favour of something more comfortable, you do not remembering having seen Alextrasza for the entirety of the day—yet your pockets are full of strangely misshapen shells and discoloured wood. And dirt.

But you can be assured that when the sun is below the horizon and the chill of night falls over the land, you will never embrace sleep without her warmth beside you.

  Ysera

I hope you're not afraid of bugs.

Ysera spends a lot of time in greenery, thick and moist forests filled with bugs and creepy crawlies--though sometimes in open plains, laying on the soft moss, a natural cushion under your head.

You will never for the rest of your life have a sense of privacy in your sleep—Ysera will know what you dreamt of and she will talk about it, mostly because she finds it fascinating what your subconscious comes up with in the dark of the night.

On the upside, you will also never for the rest of your life have a bad or uncomfortable sleep, whether you mention it or not, Ysera has made it her personal mission in life to keep your dreams peaceful and comfortable—if asked, she will simply say that since she watches it anyway, why not ensure it is nice? 

Outside of napping and dreaming—her favourite hobby and occupation—Ysera has a lot of teaching and consulting to do, druids and dragons young and old seek her advice on both important and sometimes painfully trivial matters, yet the dreamer addresses every single one of them with attention and care that’s enough to quell any worry and anxiety in regards to the problem at hand.

But Ysera is not all-knowing, she often asks you for your perspective and values your opinion greatly—don’t worry if you don’t know or understand the weight or intricacy of the problem, sometimes it helps to have access to an unbiased view she trusts.

One day she offhandedly mentions she likes your smell and upon asking for her to elaborate on the strange comment, Ysera would say that among the heavy wet smell of the morning forest, of the lingering chill of the night, your scent stands out and draws attention to you. A smell she likes to follow. You weren’t sure exactly what that meant but at the time you thought it was a thinly veiled insult, or suggestion to bathe more often (it was not). 

You like to think you know more than some how visages work, and you’re confident that Ysera can wear her hair any way she desires when she uses the magic. Then why does she, almost every time you get ready for the day and she makes use of her visage form, ask you to style and form her hair? It’s simple, she does not say it—too bashful to voice it—but she likes the way your fingers thread through the hair of her visage, how you try your best to make it different every time and sometimes place flowers and greenery in it to elevate your newest work. Whether you have any knowledge of styling hair doesn’t matter, she will wear it until she changes from her visage form. 

Despite her seeming unending wisdom to her flight and Azeroth’s druids, Ysera sometimes asks you the most out of pocket, insane questions known to man.

“Why do mortals say ‘after dark’ when it is usually said after light has gone for the day?”

“That saying—if roses are red, why is it followed with ‘violets are blue’? They are not blue.”

“The book you were reading the other day, ‘Unsolved Mysteries of Tol Barad’—why are they called ‘unsolved mysteries’? Do they not have to be unsolved in the first place to be called a mystery?”

You sometimes wonder if she asks these types of questions only to see your completely bewildered and befuddled expression as you attempt to both decipher her thought process and come up with an appropriate answer.

She does, catching you off-guard and watching the gears in your head turn as you try to understand what she just said is a rare change from the composed, wise elders and druids she so often speaks to. It makes her feel more… awake, interacting with something more alive, makes her feel more alive. 

She is one of the the best people—next to her sister of course—to be around if you were to get sick or have a need for quiet and caring, remedies and letting the body work it out is the healthiest way to deal with the common cold or any mostly harmless sickness, so she mostly helps you even out your body heat and soothe any headache or other pain. She is confident in you to handle any small illness but is unafraid to ask for the second opinion of a dragon or druid specialising in caring for and healing sickness if she feels the need, or finds your condition become concerning. 

Overall the embodiment of care and comfort when you need it, five stars.

  Nozdormu

Early on, you had to use every single cell in your brain to navigate a single conversation with this guy. The amount of mental gymnastics you had to do to decipher some of the stuff he says offhandedly is impressive—you were advised to not think too hard about what he says, that the effort is too great for something he won’t explain to you if you asked anyway, but you choose to engage with his pondering and strange comments despite the occasional headache. Which is something the Lord of Time find increasingly more impressive as time goes.

That doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal conversation with him, if Nozdormu truly wants to tell you something or chat, he will. He simply finds it amusing and strangely engaging to create conversational hoops for you to find your way through, it's not malicious... on purpose.

You once complemented the tattoo on his visage form’s shoulder and he has never covered it since, even when he conjures more clothes on his visage form he always keeps his tattooed skin exposed—even if it might be impractical, and if you asked, he would never tell you it was because you seemed to like it. 

As the Guardian of Time and leader of the Bronze Dragonflight, Nozdormu is extremely busy. Not only has he had to lead an entire flight, but the entirety of time to watch for as well—less so after the loss of his titan-given powers as aspect, but his position is demanding. There might be days or weeks where you would not see him, not knowing what he was doing nor optimistic that you would ever know—and despite having no idea where or when he is, you are unfortunately the person most would assume knows and you'll have to become skilled relatively fast at answering the question of where he might be to those who need his attention. 

Fortunately, Nozdormu doesn’t leave you to answer for his hand forever and instead will leave you with answers to give—his definition of an answer to; “where is Nozdormu and when will he be back?” being along the lines of; “he will come to you when the time is right.” which is not technically an answer, but it gets them off your heels for a while.

Nozdormu does not often explain what he’s doing, where he’s going or why to you—nor anyone, really. He has many things on his mind, so much that it is surely unreasonable to assume one being could shoulder the entirety of time on their own, he reasons with himself that it is precisely for that reason he must be the only one to bear the burden of time. Most of the dragonflights operate separately and many of the dragons within them fly independently, but the Bronze Flight much more so. Many of the flight work alone and rarely do they work in groups, the dragons of his own flight rarely or ever speak to Nozdormu directly, even if they desired to do so—which most don’t have a reason for. 

Over time, despite his flight taking considerably less losses than others comparatively, Nozdormu has short times where he feels a strange, cold pit of… loneliness strike him. He often distances himself from the mortal world and spends time gazing into the timeways, sometimes to an unhealthy degree where he would not emerge for a long while—and who would notice? For the longest time, he has been so detached from the ‘current’ time that there was no one who would ask. 

He would wonder, often, what it was that drove his future self to insanity... was it some event in the future—unseen to his current eyes—of losing control of himself in a horrible way? To lose grip of his senses and fall to madness, lose the desperate battle to cling to rationale and grasp of what makes him himself...? What is it what makes Nozdormu what he is? Is it his power over time? If so, then who was he before? How does he know if his understanding of himself is true, that it does not fool him? Unable to see that he has become different before it is too late? Where his morals and senses have become too altered—twisted unrecognisably—to the point of insanity?

It is an uphill battle to get the dragon to open up about his doubts, of the nagging, itching concerns he never allows to crawl far enough to the forefront of his mind to show behind his eyes. You only have vague assumptions of what Nozdormu might be thinking when he gazes distantly over your shoulder—you might never know what he is feeling, and you certainly might never understand those feelings. But it does not mean you can’t try to reason that perhaps if he confined in someone, not necessarily yourself, anyone, that it might help him sort his thoughts. 

As is his expertise, Nozdormu deflects and guides the conversation away from the topic. He does not wish to become Murozond, but he knows he cannot’ alter the true timeline—he will not stop his pursuit of preventing his own downfall, but how far can, and is he willing to go? He cannot’ allow himself to fall to madness—he cannot’ allow you to see him fall. 

You know there is little you can do to actually help him while he keeps this distance, so you stay where he places you—so barely within arms length that it’s obvious he wants you not to interfere for your own safety, but yet somehow so barely closer than most that perhaps, you can find a way to ease his burden just a little. Until the time is better.

theyre my little meow meows

[bestiesenpai]

itadori + sukuna, twins + babysitting

This is a mix of headcanons and a fic. Also, I’m going to do this as a ‘reader was their babysitter years ago but now everyone is all grown up and seeing each other again’ type thing. And femme reader!

Sorry if Itadori is a little OOC it just fits the plot, tw: dubconish? Maybe?

Babysitting Yuji and Sukuna was fun and an easy way to make money

They were the twins a few years younger than you across the street, so it was only natural for their parents to enlist your help in watching them

The pay was good, and while dealing with Sukunas practically destructive tendencies drained you at times, it was still fun to hang out with them and grow up together

Yuji was nice and sometimes a bit of a crybaby, whether it be because Sukuna did something or because he just wanted to cry that day

He often told Sukuna off for being bad and messing with you, but a lot of the times Yuji was just trying to save face when he and Sukuna got caught doing something troublesome

Sukuna, we already know is a little devil child and lived to annoy you

Ya know the meme of ‘what do you have? A KNIFE! No!’ that is Sukuna lol he knows he can be good and get your attention that way but where is the fun in that?! Answer there is no fun in that

As they get older and their parents don’t call you around anymore, they do get sad and complain

You’re just older than them that they can’t hang out with you outside of you babysitting them, it’d be weird

So they try to let you go, but you’re always in the back their minds, especially when they see you out with friends or something and they can’t stop looking at you

They’ve always had a crush, always.

And when you go away for college every year, they’re devastated. They come to say goodbye and you ruffle their hair like you used to and promise that you’ll visit them when you come back for break

And let’s be real they mark that shit on their calendar and wait for the day you come back

Sukuna is the one to invite you into the house when you come to visit them on your school break. He can’t keep his eyes off the way you fill out your clothes and the way your ass moves when you walk. You’ve grown up a lot, but so have they.

“Aw, I remember this!” You grin, holding up a picture frame of the three of you together the summer you got braces.

“Yeah.” Sukuna chuckles and closes the door. Yuji is here too, awkwardly sitting on his bed and staring at you with hearts in his eyes. Setting down the frame, you fall back onto the bed Yuji is sitting on. Even as they grow older, they still share a bedroom, and you can see Sukunas messy half of the room.

“(Y/N).” Yuji says softly, grabbing your hand in his. This isn’t uncommon for him, he used to beg you to hold his hand when he was younger. Lacing your fingers together, the smile you send him has him squeezing your hand tightly.

Sukuna had been standing at the door for a while now, fiddling with a stereo trying to pick the right background music. Finally settling on something, you don’t hear the click of the lock on the door and you certainly don’t notice the way the two of them share a look.

“Hey (Y/N).” Sukuna grunts, sitting on your other side.

“Yeah?”

“What’s college like? You’ve been there a couple years, you’re a veteran.” He puts an arm around your shoulder, leaning back and making his chest appear bigger to try and impress you.

“I only just started my third year.” Chuckling, you lean into him a little bit.

“Yeah, but still.”

“It’s way different than high school, that’s for sure. You two will like it when you go.”

“I wish we could go to college at the same time!” Yuji groans, curling himself into your side and pouting. “I want to go to classes with you.”

“Fuck classes, I want to go to parties.” Sukuna cuts in. “College parties must be wild, huh? You can tell us, (Y/N).”

“Some of them are.” Wrapping your arm around Yuji, you adjust to let him cuddle more into your side. Sukuna lets out a loud snort and shakes his head, not believing a word you say.

“C’mon (Y/N), you can be honest. I bet all you do at these parties is drink and fuck.” Neither Sukuna nor Yuji have ever spoken to you like that before. Your relationship was always kept PG-13 at most, a few gross crude jokes about making out and having sex when you were younger, but nothing vulgar.

“Well-” Your face flushes with heat, and Yuji is quick to sit up and look at you with owlish eyes.

“Is that true, (Y/N)? You fuck at these parties?”

“Guys!” Slapping a hand over your now burning face, you don’t miss the way they chuckle. “How is that any of your business?”

“C’mon, we aren’t kids anymore! We can talk about this stuff!” Sukuna scoffs, and the arm around your shoulder shakes you from side to side. “Just tell us, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Yeah, we’re older now.” Sitting up a little straighter, Yuji’s hand that was holding yours let's go and settles on your thigh. Biting your lip, you look between the two identical boys. Their stares are unwavering and nearly enough to make you too embarrassed to speak.

“Yes, I have fucked at these parties-” As soon as the words leave your mouth Sukuna lets out a holler and laughs, jostling you further.

“I knew it!”

“What’s it like, (Y/N)?” Yuji questions, and his hand squeezes your thigh tightly. The two of them have fully encased you, making it impossible to squirm out of their hold or escape their eyes.

“I don’t know if I should tell you.” They aren’t the same young kids you used to babysit. They’re fully grown men now, still growing into themselves but old enough that if you saw them at one of your college parties, you wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Please!” It only takes Yuji a little more pushing to get you to crack.

“It’s not that great a lot of the time, really. The boys at my college aren’t the best lay if you can believe it.” Rolling your eyes at the memory of your most recent escapade, you relax a little bit. “I mean honestly, how is it impossible for them to find the clit when I literally point right at it?”

“What a joke!” Sukuna chuckles, and his arm drops to settle around your waist. His fingers splay across your ribs, cupping just under your breast. “(Y/N) if you were with us we could make you feel ten times better!”

“Yeah, okay.” Laughing lightly at the proclamation, you think nothing of the way Yuji wraps his arms around your hips. He’s got a pout on his lips and his fingers start to dip beneath the waistband of your bottoms.

“We’re serious.” He says, eyes scrunched up a little from how intense he is. “We love you (Y/N), we can make you feel better than anyone else.”

“You love me?” Quirking a brow, you look at both of them. Yuji always said he loved you when he was younger, but Sukuna had always denied it with a fierce blush on his cheeks.

“We do, what about it?” There’s the telltale blush on his cheeks. Sukuna can see your smirk and it pisses him off, so much that he pushes you down to the bed.

Wrestling with Sukuna was a pastime the two of you enjoyed when you were annoying one another. He’d push you, you’d push him, and then the two of you would end up in a mess of limbs on the floor. This time felt no different, and you fought back like you always did. Wriggling away from him and trying to pin him down, you somehow ended up in the middle of the bed with Sukuna sitting on your legs.

“Ha, I win.” He says breathlessly. It wasn’t a fair fight to be honest, he and Yuji had begun working out ever since they hit puberty, so his strength easily outmatched yours. You easily conceded and tried to sit up, but Sukuna didn’t budge.

“Let me up.” You try to yank your legs out from under him but he just pushes more of his weight on you. Yuji is on the bed as well, sitting near your chest and looking at you with that same starry eyed look. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the way your shirt clings to your chest, the outline of your bra clear as day for him.

“(Y/N), will you let us show you how good we can make you feel?” He asks, licking his lips nervously. His hand settles on your stomach, palm hot and itching to feel your breast. You don’t answer, and they take that as a green light.

Sukuna is the first to take his shirt off, flexing the muscles he’s worked hard to get. Yuji follows suit, and they take their pants off as well, leaving you the most dressed person in the room. There was an argument brewing in the back of your throat, saying that it was wrong to do this since you’d known them for so long. But now, seeing them as they wanted to be seen, burgeoning men that clearly had a desire to be with you, that argument seemed silly.

“What-” You start, and the word catches in your throat for a moment at what you’re about to say. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh baby.” Sukuna lets out a low groan, an almost sickening grin stretching his cheeks. “We’ve done a lot of research.” His hands are already working your bottoms down your legs, leaving you in your panties.

“(Y/N), lift your arms.” Yuji whispers, tugging your shirt off. They’re both silent when they see your nearly naked body; something they’d fantasized about many times. Leaning down, Yuji kisses you abruptly, and that sets Sukuna off to take your panties off as well. Yuji takes your bra off, placing it with the large pile of clothes on the floor.

Climbing off your legs, Sukuna forces them open, nearly kneeing Yuji in the face when he pushes your legs up.

“Shit. Look at this.” Yanking Yuji by the shoulder, they both settle between your legs and stare directly at your cunt. In that moment, you’re reminded of their inexperience and lack of knowledge, and it’s almost innocent.

Spreading your lower lips with two fingers, Yuji leans forward, puckers his lips, and spits onto your cunt, making it clench around nothing.

Innocence, gone.

“What should we start with first?” Sukuna asks, giving you a once over.

“What do you want to do? I know you always talk about tasting her.” Yuji, always so polite, scoots back and lets his brother take up all the space between your legs.

“Thanks little bro.”

“You’re only older by two minutes.”

“Best two minutes of my life.” Laughing, Sukuna slaps your thighs with both hands and moves to lay on his stomach. “Just relax, (Y/N). We’re going to take good care of you.” Yuji is also laying down with his mouth hovering over one of your nipples.

“Yeah (Y/N).” Yujis breath fans over your nipple, and his eyes are torn between looking at you and looking at your chest. “We love you.”

[helloblobbyblobfish]

E.E.K.F (Edgy!Eldritch!Knight!Four)

After writing some headcanons about Four last week (and especially how I actually like to imagine him as one of the most magic-oriented Link of the whole chain), I decided to write my own fanfic

*Slap the fic* You’ll never guess just how many headcanons this baby can fit! I’m getting Four and many other Links (if I ever manage to focus to do the following chapters. °0°).

-

Sky POV

It was a very typical day of exploration. Brand new forest to explore. Apparently, they were somewhere in Legend’s time. But in a country called “Hytopia” rather than Hyrule. Sky found the place rather relaxing. Apparently, they used to be a lot a monster, trough. So, Legend asked them to separate into groups of three to explore. Something about “totems pile”, but he didn’t explain more.

Sky was with Four and Hyrule. Well, he was with Four. The traveler was as bad as the champion when it came to exploring, so now, the smith and the chosen of the goddess were looking for him rather than monsters.

“HYRULE! Where are you???” “Sky, you’re going to attract the monsters!”

Sky was confused by the annoyance in Four’s eyes. “Isn’t it good?” “Not if those are strong monsters- or worse, black blood monsters!”

Four was a really confusing link, Sky though. Sometimes, he was childish but the most emotionally mature. Sometimes, he was protective yet harsh. Sometimes, he was a goofball with horrendous puns, but was as skilled a leader as Time. Rarely, he seemed more reserved. Those days, he even stopped using a magic rod or a sword and used a bow as his primary weapon. It was all very odd.

Sky was to focused on the mystery of Four’s personality, and Four too focused on using a spyglass Wind gave him to try to find Hyrule, to noticed the weird forest floor in front of them. When they stepped on it, they suddenly felt the ground falling under their feet.

Sky was knocked out as he hit the ground.

-

When Sky rises to consciousness, Four has somehow managed to move him up in a dark place, with barely any light. Sky wonders how Four could see anything, why would he be moving Sky, and where they are. Trying to move in the dark, Sky realizes they are in a stone tunnel.

“Underground tunnels?” Sky asks. “Yes. I hope we can reach the ending by going in this direction. The hole we fell through is too deep and the walls are too smooth to easily climb without proper material. As for the absence of light, I left my lantern at camp. You have something that could help??” Sky checks his pockets. “No. Sorry. We’re going to have to go blind.”

Fou doesn’t react for a moment. Then: “Well, I might have a way to light the room... But...” Four seems to hesitate a lot. “It’s... Not something I’m super open about. It marks me as... Dangerous, for many people.”

Sky is surprised. Four being considered dangerous? If you don’t take properly care of your sword sure, but outside of it... “Hey, hey Four.” He answers. “I won’t force you. It’s you who decides if you use it. There doesn’t seem to be monsters here at least.” Four makes a sharp inhaling noise. Sky worries he came out as pushy.

Four talks again. “No. It’s okay. Just... Don’t talk about it when we get back at camp. I don’t think Legend and Wild would trust me after this. Maybe Time too” Legend and Wild? That’s an odd duo. What would be the thing they commonly distrust that Four would have?

Then, Four starts murmuring something. Sky can’t put his fingers on it, but the language feels wrong. Like it evolved to put emphasis on harsh sounds, -r and -dt are commons. Now... Maybe those letters don’t exist. Sky doesn’t know how he is so certain, but he is persuaded this language doesn’t belong to their world. That an Hylian speaking it is abnormal. It is inhuman and almost... cruel? How can a language be cruel? How can Four speaks it? It wasn’t made with a tongue like his or the smallest Link’s one in mind.

And then, Four’s right hand alight with a purple flame. It’s a light violet, no, a dark eggplant-level purple. It looks physical, yet sky is surprised when he put his hand closer and notice it produces no heat nor smoke. However, it is when Sky notice how the corridor light up, made of grey bricks, that he nearly loses it. The flame that is dancing on Four’s palm without burning him isn’t producing light anymore than it produces heat. The dark seems to be swallowed by the “light”, dragged to the impossible color in wisp of pure dark. The flame feeds itself on the darkness of the room to burn.

-

They are walking in stunned, or awkward, silence. Sky doesn’t want to speak, afraid of how his voice would sound. He isn’t even capable of looking at the flame directly. He fears it would break his mind to try to figure out how it can exist. Four seems... Sky can barely look at Four. He is too afraid. Is that why Four is scared of other people knowing? Sky hasn’t seen much of it, but even he can tell. That is dark magic.

Finally, Sky tries to say something. To be supportive. He is afraid of what happened to Four for him to be so afraid of judgement.

He tries. “So... Hum... The flame... It sucks out the darkness.” Stupid Sky. He looks at Four, purposefully trying to occult the flame from his direct field of vision.

Four seems surprised, almost relieved, actually. Sky almost let his breathing be natural gain. Wait. Since when does he has this feeling of chocking?

“Heu... Yes!” Sky almost laughs at the discomfort. How they both are trying to sound natural. How they both so, so clearly are refusing to deepen the conversation beyond obvious facts. The fear that things will get ugly.

Sky tries to deepen the conversation. Four is secretive, but he is someone who likes to explain things. Sometimes. Always difficult to figure out what will annoy or interest him. It seems ever-shifting.

“Aren’t you afraid there won’t be dark after some time?” Sky doesn’t ask: “What will happen if there isn’t any darkness left to eat? What does it eat then?” He is afraid Four still understood the worry in his voice.

Compared to usual, Four doesn’t seems to pick on what isn’t said. He actually sounds relieved Sky is asking a technical question. Sometimes, he loves to share knowledge. One could even say, showing off his knowledge. But it’s rare. Sky was lucky, he thinks.

“Oh, not in there. Look behind us. In a place like this one, the darkness reappears so fast, the light barely has time to leave an impact. Maybe the darkness will be a little thinner than before we arrived for a few hours, but we won’t be lacking darkness before we reach the exit.” And indeed, as Sky turns to look behind him, there is nothing he can notices in the dark. But the darkness behind them seems a bit lighter than the one that faces them.

“And who taught you this... magic?” Sky immediately tries to take it back. It’s too soon. And Four looks pained by the question.

Sky looks away in shame. He is about to apologize when Four speaks up. “There was that... guy. In my third adventure. See, at one point... I pretended...” Sky barely notices, but in such a context, he is hyper-focused on what he said to him. And so, he realizes the I was weighted. Almost like Four isn’t certain the pronoun fit. “... to join the evil overrunning Hyrule.”

Sky skips a breathing. He coughs when trying to get his respiration on check again. Four became evil? No, he said he pretended to join. But Sky realizes this is a big thing to reveal. Time and Warrior, Legend, Wild. Wind, who talks a lot about the loyalty asked in a pirate crew. So many of them have been taught in training or by experience to pick loyalties carefully. To be true to one-self. That four even faked being traitor once, that he learned dark magic during this time, might break any trsust the chain has in him.

Sky realizes admitting this to Sky is either a sign of severe trust, or that Four is himself overwhelmed by the weight of revealing his knowledge of dark magic to realize the severity of what he said. Sky might not talk much about it, but he is a knight. He might become a king, the first king of Hyrule even, based on what they shared of the timeline. That four, even for sympathetic reason, worked against Hyrule. Sky is hurt. Yes, Hurt. Sky realizes it, but wants to hear more from Four before acting. Wild and Warrior wouldn’t even do that. They are too protective of their Zeldas. Hyrule to. Oh Hylia, Hyrule. So happy to talk about his Zeldas reconstructing the country. If Four helped destroyed Hyrule at one point...

Its then Sky realize Four has stopped walking behind him. He comes back towards the lighted small figure. Four is crying. Sky hugs him after a second of hesitation. “It’s okay Four. I don’t need you to tell me more for now.” They stand here, the darkness becoming spare as they stay in the same place, the only sound the hard breathing and tears of Four as he sobs in Sky’s tunic.

-

They started walking again. The walls are more decorated now. Sky wonders if they will reach a dungeon if it continues.

Four suddenly starts talking again. “Yeah... That guy. Well, he wasn’t... He was... He did so many things... But I learned to care about him... We were doing many things... together... He taught me some spells... And after the war... picked some more stuff...”

Sky puts a reassuring hand on Four shoulders. The only evil beings Sky knows who could speak and were evil are Grihamin and Demise, and neither are people Sky can imagine someone caring for. But maybe Four’s bad guys were more sympathetic? He can’t imagine, because he doesn’t know exactly what happened. Four is as secretive about his adventures as the leader, and that’s saying something.

“Well...” Sky tries to be comforting. “... If after the war, he could still teach you things, then he was a good person at heart, no? You wouldn’t have been able to talk to him if...” Its then Sky realize Four has stopped moving under his palm. He is almost a statue.

Sky is worried: “I... I’m sorry, Four. I...”

“No, it’s okay... You couldn’t know... But... That guy... Shad... He died. I learned more... I wanted to remind myself of him.”

Sky doesn’t know how to answer besides giving his sailcloth to Four as a sign of sympathy.

-

They finally managed to get out. The night was falling. Wolfie found them after a few steps in the woods. Four had stopped using the flame when holes in the celling allowed them to see the level floor. Now, everyone is at camp. Twilight just arrived with Wild. They were very worried when they found Hyrule lost by himself. Sky explain that they ended up in a set of tunnels after an accident. Even Legend didn’t know about it. But Wind did find the hole they fell through, so all is fine. Four is rather silent. Sky explain that the tunnels caused an emotional reaction. Sky checks on him from the corner of the eye. Four is trying to convince Hyrule he needs to take more sugar. Hyrule seems to want the sugar but is ashamed? Given the fact too much sugar apparently gets you over-excited, Sky can see why Hyrule would try to not take too much sugar, but Four seems worried.

Anyway, Four isn’t focusing too much on the subject. Time notices but seems to decide it’s not important for now. They go to sleep. As he gets into his bedroll, Sky can’t help but notices Four is having a hard time sleeping, being apparently deeply lost in thoughts. However, Sky’s biggest enemy, sleep, grabs him.

-

Notes: Sky thinks it’s dark magic. It’s more accurately shadow magic, but I don’t think Sky, like Legend, has too much experience with grey areas in magic. They belong to game that have very evil and powerful beings practicing dark magic, and benevolent and powerful beings using magic and artifacts given by the goddesses (except Legend knows the Wind Fish, but that’s another can of magical worms entirely). Time and twilight are definitively more used to dark powers being used for good. Four doesn’t have much experience with good people using dark magic, but Vaati is using Minish Magic, which is by nature benevolent. At least in Minish Cap. More unclear in Four swords and Four Swords adventure.

So, I would say those Time, twilight and Four are the least likely to judge magic based on it’s origin and more on how it’s used.

As for his relationship with Shadow... I’m a huge vidow shipper (Vio link x Shadow link), but I’m going to go a complicated feeling road, like Navi for Time or Midna for Twilight. Stay tuned for more talk about that!

[unscrupulousartist]

hellerby fic, part 10/10

19 December 1929

Sprawled across two booths in the Lackadaisy Cafe, the senior staff loosely gathered for a breakfast meeting. Furthest from the door, Mordecai had a table to himself to accommodate the piles of paperwork and books he was referencing. As such, Mitzi half kneeled in the other booth with Viktor and Ivy, both to be able to lean over the divide to bother him and also so she had a clear view of the doors. Outside, the streets were white with snow. The people of St Louis were bundled in colourful scarves and bulky jackets, and fewer cars were out and about. 

“Where is he?” Mitzi grumbled.

“Who?” Ivy asked, voice muffled with food.

Shuddering, Mordecai hunched over his ledger and started a second count of the day’s proposed expenses.

“Zib!” Mitzi answered. “He knows we don’t have a whole lotta time!”

“Perhaps you should get him a watch?” Mordecai pitched in without turning. “Though I doubt it would help. Why are we hiring jugglers?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mitzi reached to smack his shoulder lightly. “You’re goin’ home at noon.”

“Yes, so you’ve said.”

“A nice, relaxing, stress free weekend for you while the rest of us frolic and play.”

“Sounds delightful,” he made a tally in the margin. “And suspicious.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Mitzi ruffled his hair, then straightened as the bell over the door dinged. “There you are!”

Zib’s voice carried across the cafe: “Here I am. Be grateful I’m even awake.”

“And with company,” there was a note of mischief in Mitzi’s voice.

Explained by Wick’s response: “Hullo.”

“Great,” Viktor grumbled. “Who do I owe money?”

“Money?” Wick questioned.

“No one, yet,” Zib answered. “Don’t worry about it, Wick. Ivy, budge over—”

There was some shuffling as three people squeezed together onto a two person bench, all of which Mitzi seemed to have no patience for. She turned to sit properly beside Viktor, leaving Mordecai as an eavesdropper. “Did you get it?” she asked.

“Who do you think I am?” said Zib. There was a fwump as something hit the other table. “Cost an arm and a leg, but I got it.”

Mordecai rolled his eyes and asked: “Is that why—?”

“Shush,” Mitzi shot back at him, then returned to the conversation. “And the recipe?”

“All sorted; I just need an hour in the kitchen before the festivities start.”

Wick cleared his throat. “Is this about the kissing booth..?”

The whole table laughed.

“No, no, Wick, that’s separate,” Mitzi purred. “But we’re still payin’ off Mozzie’s new piano, and there’s always something or another to fix.”

“I definitely have another kissing campaign in me,” Zib added. “You done with the paper?”

“Yea,” said Viktor. 

“So…” Wick started. “The mushrooms were for—?”

“Shhh,” Mitzi, Ivy, and Zib all chorused.

“Nothing to worry about,” Mitzi continued.

“Suspicious,” Mordecai repeated.

The bell rang again. “Goooood morning!” An exuberant Rocky sang; Mordecai slumped lower in his booth, out of sight. “Horatio! Good sir! Are there pancakes?”

“Come here, Rocky,” Mitzi called. Someone scrambled to remove something from the other table. “Horatio knows your order.”

“Of course, Ms M—”

“We weren’t expectin’ you this early.”

“Is it early?”

“Oi, Rocky—” Zib waved something in the air. “—says here your boy was found in the Missouri.”

“Freckle?” Rocky questioned. He came close to stand at the edge of the other table. “What was he doing there?”

Quietly groaning, Mordecai reached for his tea to sit and stare at; but he could still see Rocky in his peripheral.

“No,” Zib laughed. “Not him.”

“Freckle’s my boy, Rocky,” said Ivy. “But I forgive you.”

“Ha, of course,” Rocky’s arms flailed high as he rubbed his neck.

Zib’s voice lowered to near a whisper, and Mordecai’s ears twitched to hear him. “The one you kept awkwardly flirting with.” There was a beat of silence as Rocky inhaled, and Mordecai felt something twist in his gut. Zib continued: “Says right here—” there was the smack of flesh on paper; Mordecai pulled his tea close to sip. “—cops finally identified the body they found back in October—”

“Oh good,” Rocky interrupted, sighing. “You had me going there, but I saw Ol’ Serious Face yesterday.”

Sputtering, Mordecai spewed his mouthful of tea across his tableful of paperwork. He continued into a coughing fit as Rocky tensed and twisted to look at him.

“Oh my gosh,” Ivy squeaked. “Rocky!”

“Oh—uh—hey, Mordecai,” Rocky managed a laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”

Staring up at him, Mordecai froze. He could feel his face flushing hot, and his ears angled low and away. But he managed to pick out the details of Rocky’s outfit; a dark gray overcoat obscuring the blue of his usual suit and a hideously yellow scarf, half unwound from his neck. His clothes slowly dripped, a scattering of snowflakes disappearing in the cafe’s warmth. His pupils were narrow, his smile panicked, and he brought his hands up in front of him to pull awkwardly on his sleeves.

“Jeez, Rocky, you can’t just say that stuff!” Zib said loudly. It drew the violinist’s attention, briefly. Just long enough for Mordecai to start gathering his work things into messy piles; he sorted by wet and dry.

“Can’t he?” asked Wick.

“Not about Mordecai,” Zib added. “Not unless you have some sort of death wish. It was a joke, right?”

“Uhhhhh—” Rocky frowned.

“You gotta work on your delivery.”

“Mordecai?” Mitzi knelt again, leaning over the booth to look at him. 

“I’ll start that evening off now,” Mordecai rushed. “Should I take these upstairs or—?”

“I’ll get them, sugar.”

“Perfect,” he shifted along the bench, trying not to look at Rocky. “Don’t burn anything down.”

Flinching, Rocky managed a chuckle as Mordecai stood.

Wick asked: “Aren’t you staying for the party?”

“Definitely not,” Mordecai hissed. Standing, he could see the entire second table; they all stared, wide eyed, at him and Rocky. "I was promised ignorance and relaxation. Not jugglers and—"

"It was good to see you, Sugar!" Mitzi shouted, too loud. It drew the attention of several other morning visitors. "And don't you dare take any work home with you! I wanna hear about a boring weekend, full of plants and crosswords."

“So long as I don’t have to hear about tonight’s—”

“Shhh!” Ivy and Mitzi said again.

Shaking his head, Mordecai slipped on his overcoat and reached for his hat and scarf. 

Rocky startled into motion, stepping towards him again. “You’re leaving?”

Tense, Mordecai bit his tongue and glared as he looped his scarf around his neck. He turned toward the door.

Rocky motioned as if to block his path, but Viktor reached out and snatched his arm.

“Take the hint, kid,” Zib interpreted. The musician draped across a confused Wick to point at Rocky. “We’re all lucky he hasn’t gone feral again. Remember what happened to Sully?"

"No?" Rocky frowned at the table.

Mordecai used the moment to slip away.

"Miriam?" Zib tried again. "Chance?"

"I don't think Rocky was around yet," Ivy mused.

"Ah—wait!" Escaping from Viktor's hold—he contoured out of his overcoat, leaving the article in Viktor's hand—Rocky stumbled after Mordecai. "I got you something."

Slowing at the doorway, Mordecai was very aware of the room full of potential witnesses. Behind the counter, Horatio stood with a tray piled high with pancakes, and every third table sat one or two people. Still, his traitorous body paused to stare at Rocky, mortified, and he noticed a familiar pair of black cufflinks at the violinist’s wrists. He didn't speak.

"For the candle Holiday?" Rocky explained. He bit his lip.

Back at the booth, Mitzi spoke up: "You mean Chanukah, sweetie?"

"Yes!" Rocky shot her a brief but dazzling smile. Mordecai managed to shift an inch closer to the door before Rocky looked at him again. "It's in the garage? I could go get it right now." And he took a single step backwards, raising his brows at Mordecai.

“Oh, Rocky—” Ivy sighed. “Chanukah isn’t really a gift giving holiday?”

“It isn’t?” Rocky turned again toward the booth, face contorting into a puzzle. 

It gave Mordecai the final opening he needed to flee the cafe. As the door shut behind him, he heard Mitzi add: “and it’s next week, sweetie.”

An overcast sky accompanied Mordecai as he stormed home, carefully picking his way over compounded snow and slushy ice as he darted between people and cars. But the short walk wasn’t long enough to calm his swirling thoughts, and he continued past his building and down the block. 

“These are nice shoes,” Rocky remarked. Leaning closer, he disappeared out of sight beneath the table.

But Mordecai felt fingers on his feet a moment later. “Stop that—” he pulled his legs up out of reach. Squirming in his seat, he rearranged himself to put the violinist back in his sights. “How much longer are you going to sit down there?”

Half propped against the table leg, Rocky shrugged. “Use me but as your spaniel—” he hiccoughed, blinking, and continued. “—spurn me, strike me, neglect me—oh, hm, purrhaps that’s too romantic a prompt.” He pursed his lips and frowned at the underside of the table. “Someone wrote something under here.”

“Not falling for it,” Mordecai rolled his eyes. Looking across the room, he saw Mitzi and Viktor still watching them—Zib had wandered back to the stage. “Congratulations, Mr Rickaby, you’ve successfully drunken yourself under the table.”

“Not yet successfully,” Rocky countered. Then he listed onto his side, rolling. “But I can feel the first thralls of elixir, so it isn’t so bad.”

Eventually, Mordecai returned home.

Shucking his wet outer garments to dry in the bathroom, he methodically checked his plants. Most of them were dull as they overwintered, but they were still green and healthy. It was a five minute distraction he drug a whole hour out of. 

Frazzled, he made tea and a sandwich for a late lunch, which he took in the living room. Bundling up beneath a thin blanket, he curled in the chaise and stared out the window for the exact amount of time it took to steel himself to pick up Shakespeare. He leafed through the pages—now completely graffitied with notes and questions—until he found the sonnets, and read until his eyes felt heavy and his mind could drift.

It was full dark when the phone rang. Unused to the reasonable mode of communication, Mordecai chased the sound through the remnants of a dream, flailing away from a despondent violin player on a burning stage. 

Sitting up fully, ears perked and eyes wide, his consciousness clued in to what was happening just in time for the ringing to stop. He sighed, slumped, and straightened his glasses.

The phone rang again. Standing, he crossed the small apartment in a few long strides and picked up the device. “What is it?”

“Mordecai!” Ivy shouted, too loud. Then she giggled and shushed someone.

Mordecai looked for his nearest clock. “Ivy?”

“Yes!”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Is it? It is! Can you come get me?”

He rubbed his brow. “Isn’t Viktor there?”

“His knee hurts.”

Mordecai groaned.

Ivy continued: “Because you shot it.”

“I know,” he hissed. “I was there.”

“Right,” Ivy giggled. “It’s late and I want to go home but everyone is too drunk to drive. Come get me.”

He knocked his head against the wall. “Sleep upstairs, Mitzi won’t mind.”

“Mordecai!” her voice dipped, crackling low over the line. “I’m bringing Freckle with me, I can’t take Freckle upstairs!”

“This seems like a phenomenal lack of planning on your part.”

“Mordecaaaii…”

“I’m not even working tonight.”

“Pleeeeease—”

“Why isn’t McMurray taking you home?”

“I tooold you, everyone is tooooo drunk. Just come get us!”

Waffling a moment longer, his other hand clenched into a fist. “Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” And he hung up.

Not too bothered about being witnessed during the drunken hour, and still mostly dressed from falling asleep, Mordecai made short work of getting ready to leave. He took the stairs for haste, and nodded at the doorman on his way out. The weather, while mild, still held a midnight chill. The sidewalks had glazed over, and troughs had frozen in the streets. Very few people were out and about, and even fewer cars. So it was somewhat of a spectacle to see the dim glow of light coming from the Lackadaisy Cafe, and a small gathering of people outside the doors.

And, as he drew closer, Mordecai saw two unexpected individuals.

“Dere he is!” Serafine noticed him first, and nudged her brother.

“Peekon!” Nico cheered, but stayed in place leaning against the glass beside Viktor, who nodded a greeting. Mitzi, Zib, and Wick closed off the smoker’s circle, each of them bundled against the cold.

“What are you doing here?” Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

Serafine grinned and shrugged. “Your musician invited us a while back.”

“Dou, he said you’d be here,” Nico added. He tapped the ash off his cigarette.

“Kid’s ballsy,” Zib sighed. Shaking his head, he leaned into Wick’s side. “I swear, he’s got nine fucking lives.”

“None of you could take Ivy home?” Mordecai glared at the group.

“We’re waitin’ for a taxi,” said Mitzi. “We offered to take her, but she doesn’t wanna hang out with the adults.”

“She’s twenty.”

“You try tellin’ her that, sweetheart. Lemme know how it goes.”

Mordecai shook his head.

“We could take her?” Nico offered.

Viktor and Mordecai spoke together: “No.”

“I’m hurt,” Nico pouted, first at Mordecai and then at Viktor. “T’ought we were gettin’ along.”

“Nothing personal,” Viktor over-enunciated in an uncharacteristic voice. Then Nico and Serafine started to laugh. 

“I feel like I missed something,” Mordecai remarked wryly. He peered in through the glass, where a dozen strangers were having coffee pick-me-ups before heading home. Horatio was again behind the counter, this time bustling back and forth between percolators.  “But I don’t want to know. Where’s Ivy?”

“Garage,” said Viktor. He rubbed at his knee.

“Be sure to knock,” Mitzi added.

Zib snickered into Wick’s side.

“Noted,” Mordecai drawled. 

Instead of risking going through the building, he continued on around the block. Bright headlights turned the corner as he darted into an alleyway, and he supposed Mitzi and the rest would be gone soon.

Someone had shoveled the drive, all the way back to the discrete garage, but Mordecai paid the snowdrifts very little attention as he spied the open door. There was no one outside, but he could almost discern the intimate whisperings of a couple. Before he stepped inside, he announced himself: “I’m here.”

There was a scrambling, and he entered to see Freckle awkwardly side stepping away from Ivy, who sat on the hood of their dodgy vehicle. “Mordecai!” Ivy hopped down, swaying. “It took you long enough.”

“Mhm,” he propped his hands on his hips and gave her a practiced look, flat. “This feels unnecessary.”

Freckle cleared his throat and straightened to a stand; but his voice slurred around his words. “Faank you, Missir Heller.”

“Come ooooon,” Ivy urged. She stumbled to Freckle, pushing him at the back seat; but she climbed up front to sit next to Mordecai.

“Did you not have a plan?” Mordecai asked as he came around the vehicle. He pulled open the door. “What were you going to do if I didn’t pick up?”

“Slept here and hate you about it,” Ivy answered simply.

In the backseat someone—not Freckle—groaned. Mordecai tensed as Rocky’s voice floated up from the floor. “Issit t’morrow yet?”

“Yes, Rocky,” said Freckle. He reached down to pat his cousin's head. 

“Oh, good… ma’by thin’s’ll be differen’ now…”

Frowning, Mordecai peaked over the seat. Sprawled out on the car floor, Rocky drooled into the upholstery. Slumping behind the wheel, Mordecai turned to hiss at Ivy: “What’s he doing here?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Well, usually Rocky drives us home, but, uh—Zib made something?” She scratched her head. “It was sorta like Rocky’s tea? But mush—much stronger.”

“He doesn’ ushully get like this,” Freckle added, then hiccoughed. There was a pause before he continued. “He’s got a tall—a taller—a tall-shurance?”

“Ignore him,” said Ivy. “He can barely tell his reds from his greens right now. Le’sss gooooo.”

Reluctantly, Mordecai started the car. He took care of the garage door himself, opening it, driving through, closing it again, and then they bumped down the little alley and out to the street. A couple more people were leaving the Lackadaisy, but the senior staff—plus guests—were all gone. And then they crawled, extra slow, through the streets of St Louis.

Ivy took up the cause of conversation. “You missed out on a fun party,” she sighed, drifting across the seat.  “There was a bit of a theme? The twelve days of Christmas. You know it?”

“Yes,” Mordecai growled. “It’s the worst carole.”

“It’s not that bad, you sourpuss. But ins’ead of the regular days of Christmas, Mitzi mixed it up. You know?”

“The juggler?” Mordecai guessed.

“Jugglers,” Ivy corrected. “Ten clowns-a-juggling, nine swingers swinging, eight—” and she rattled off a whole stream of nonsense as Mordecai tried his hardest not to bend the steering wheel beneath the force of his grip. In the backseat, Freckle occasionally nodded or added a comment, but Rocky was quiet. Oblivious, Mordecai hoped. He still found himself straining to hear any noise the musician might make. 

When they finally pulled in front of the midtown apartment Ivy kept, paid for by her inflated paycheque, the girl was still waxing about the three Dutch dancers that had taken up a whole segment of the evening. 

"We're here," Mordecai noted.

"Oh—" Ivy squinted out the window, then perked. "We are! Freckle, come on—"

Opening the back door, Freckle stumbled and tripped onto the ground. "Ow."

Ivy giggled, and carefully disembarked the front seat. "Thank you, Mordecai! Have a good—"

"Wait—" Mordecai leaned to catch her door, forcing it open so he could address her. "What about Rickaby?"

Taking on an air of innocence, she blinked at him. "What about Rickaby?"

He grit his teeth and waved toward the back seat. Ivy raised her brows and tilted her head. Mordecai narrowed his eyes and flattened his ears.

“Roooocky,” Freckle sing songed himself upright, and leaned into the car. 

Ivy giggled as Rocky snuffled to semi-consciousness. “Whaaaaaa’—”

“Haaaaappy biiiiirthday,” Freckle pushed on the frame of the car, rocking it.

Rocky snickered quietly.

And Mordecai froze, frowning.

Ivy cleared her throat. “You can just take the car back—Rocky will be fine.”

“Goodnight—” Freckle continued. “Sleep tight—”

“No bed buuuuuugs—” Rocky whined.

Mordecai’s ears twitched. “He’s not staying with you?”

“Nope,” the word popped from Ivy’s mouth, then she leaned forward to whisper. “Mitzi doesn’ know—he sleeps in the garage. Shhh…”

“He sleeps here?” Mordecai’s claws dug into the seat. “In the car?”

The backdoor shut, and Freckle stumbled around the vehicle.

“Shh,” Ivy reiterated. Then she leaned into the car to kiss Mordecai’s cheek. “Thanks again. Goodnight, Rocky!”

“Night, Mssssss Pep…”

Smiling, Ivy retreated, slamming the door. Meeting Freckle on the sidewalk, the two walked towards the building. Creeping across the bench seat, Mordecai watched until they greeted the overnight doorman and disappeared inside. Then, sighing, he slowly moved to peer again over the back of the seat.

At some point, Rocky had rearranged himself onto his back. His knees were bent, one foot resting against the back door and one arm sprawled beneath the seat. The thin blanket, wrapped around his waist, had tangled and lowered, showing the wrinkles forming in Rocky’s shirt and vest. His jacket was missing.

Mordecai shivered. “What am I going to do with you?”

Inhaling, Rocky’s eyes snapped open. They were a luminous blue in the darkness, his pupils rapidly growing and shrinking as he tried to focus. 

Mordecai held his breath.

Then Rocky relaxed, eyelids drifting partway closed. “‘Mmmmm I dreaming?”

Biting his lip, Mordecai looked around the car pointlessly. “Yes,” he decided.

“Tha’ makes sense,” Rocky sighed and closed his eyes.

Another moment, and Mordecai tapped his claws against the upholstery. “Get up here.”

“Hmm?”

“Up front.” Half crawling, Mordecai reached behind the seat. He caught hold of the blanket first, and tugged.

The motion caused Rocky to roll. “Whaaaaa—” he fell into snickers as he wedged under the backseat. Shifting, he scrunched his face up at Mordecai. “Why?”

“The symmetry,” said Mordecai. “Obviously.”

“Symmetry?” Rocky puzzled. But he climbed up, tipping over into the front cushions. 

Sliding back into place, Mordecai threw the blanket overtop of Rocky again. Clearing his throat, he restarted the car. “Well?”

“Well what, silly duck?” Rocky laughed as he fought his way out of the blanket. He managed to nearly kick Mordecai’s head as he awkwardly rolled around the seat, falling off the front. Snickering, he smiled up at Mordecai. 

“What should I do with you?” Mordecai asked.

Perking, Rocky struggled back into the seat. “Take me home?”

“I would,” Mordecai drawled. But his carefully measured tone did nothing for the goosebumps rising beneath his fur. He stepped on the gas. “But, apparently, your home is the garage.”

“Well…” still half on the floor, Rocky swayed close. “You could take me to your home…”

Shivering, Mordecai drove.

It wasn’t long before Rocky yawned, eyes drooping. He nodded several times, seeming to catch himself, before finally falling against Mordecai’s thigh. “This’s nice,” he mumbled, eyes closed. 

“Is it?” Mordecai replied softly. Overhead the clouds cleared, letting a handful of stars sparkle through the light pollution. The moon was out, gibbous and waning. “We’re just driving.”

“Is nice,” Rocky repeated. “I’s like our first drive.”

“Is it?” Mordecai repeated, panicking.

“Yes—no—” Rocky sighed, and turned to rub his face against Mordecai’s leg. “I couldn’t’ve dreamed that drive, I’m too dull.”

“You?” Mordecai scoffed. And, inexplicably, he relaxed under the pretenses. “Dull?”

“Dim-witted,” Rocky nodded, continuing. “Dotty, daft, dopy, dumb, brain-dead—”

“Sit up,” Mordecai interrupted. 

“What?”

“Sit up,” he said. “You’re throwing off the symmetry.”

“Nooooo—” Rocky whined. Pawing, he pulled one of Mordecai’s hands from the steering wheel and held it against his head. “It’s my dream.”

While the drive was relatively easy—nearing five in the morning, the day was too cold and quiet for the general public—Mordecai left his hand where it was. He traced along the nearly-even pattern of Rocky’s fur, listening to him purr and ramble. “Through the forest have I gone, but Athenian found I none—” Rocky spoke Puck’s part as he nosed into Mordecai’s palm. “—on whose eyes I might approve, this flower’s force in stirring love. Night and silence; who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear—”

They’d both shifted, laid out facing each other on the roof of the car. Rocky still performed, “Now, until the break of day—” But his voice softened, eyes hooded as he studied Mordecai’s reactions. And Mordecai, transfixed, watched the words as they formed on Rocky’s lips. At some point, his hands lifted to grasp at the front of Rocky’s vest, claws catching in the fabric. Their ankles were intertwined and their tails brushed together. Rocky continued: “—through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride-bed will we—”

Mordecai interrupted: “I think I want to kiss you.”

When they came close, Mordecai idled the car in front of the Lackadaisy. Still lying on the bench—though now he faced the seat more than Mordecai—Rocky continued reciting every line, regardless of character, straight into the third act. He didn’t seem to notice the pause in the journey, nor when Mordecai made up his mind and continued driving home.

Parking in the alley behind his building, he tried corralling Rocky out of the car. But the violinist frowned for a long moment before sitting himself up. “I have presents for you,” he announced; then he climbed again over the seat, falling into the back.

“I don’t need presents,” Mordecai sighed. Stepping out, he moved to open the back door.

Squirming, Rocky searched for something under the seat. Two somethings, which he produced with a flourish and a smile. “Ta da!”

Hesitating, Mordecai observed both objects. One was lumpy and wrapped in newspaper. The other was a cactus, decorated with googly eyes and planted in a familiar old shoe. “Well, I think this is already mine,” he remarked and tapped on the shoe’s toe, then leaned to inspect the unhappy plant. Its needles were shedding and its soil was dry, but it still seemed alive. “And you’ve killed the cactus.”

“Have I?” Rocky frowned and pulled the plant closer to look at.

Mordecai took the other present and tucked it under his arm. “Inside first,” he instructed. “Can you walk?”

“Pssh,” Rocky rolled his eyes, but moved to crawl awkwardly out on all fours.

“Stop, stop—”

“What?”

Mordecai sighed, tilting his head. “Your feet should be underneath you.”

“I’s fiiine,” he insisted. But he still teetered out the door, performing a miraculous shoulder roll to flatten himself on the icy pavement; somehow, the cactus remained intact. Rocky blinked, then grinned up at Mordecai. “See?”

“I see that your feet still aren’t under you.”

“The little details don’t matter.”

“You’re inebriated.”

“Am I?” Rocky’s puzzled. “There was, purrrrrrrhaps, more inbide—imblide—impride—” Scowling, Rocky stuck his tongue out. “Words.”

“Come on,” Mordecai shook his head. 

Somehow, he convinced Rocky to teeter on two feet. The trek inside was practice in balance and patience, and Mordecai tried to feel indifferent about the polite non-attention of the doorman and the lift operator. Rocky leaned next to the door while Mordecai fished for his key, and then they were inside.

“This is an awfully long dream, isn’t it?” Rocky remarked as he waited for Mordecai to shed his outer layers.

“I suppose typical dreams are short,” Mordecai agreed. A tinge of guilt crept into the corners of his mind, dark and sour. He tried to shake it off. “You should change into something dry.”

“Present first,” Rocky reminded. His tail twitched, and he watched Mordecai eagerly.

Mordecai frowned, but picked at the newspaper packaging as he wandered across the little apartment. “Isn’t it your birthday? Why get me a present?”

“I’ve never been good at birthdays,” Rocky shrugged, following with cactus-and-shoe in hand. "And I missed yours."

“Hm—” he ripped away the paper and sighed. It was a scuffed menorah, second hand. But… "I don't light candles for Chanukah."

"Oh." Ears lowering, Rocky frowned. "Then, what do you do?"

"Usually? Call my mother." Mordecai threw the candle holder onto the chaise and moved to take the cactus from Rocky’s hold; their fingers overlapped. “This one seems more like you.”

A snort drew from Rocky. Instead of yielding the plant, he moved as if Mordecai were pulling him along, too. “I’ve had it for years. I thought, well—” he let go to gesture at some of the many potted flora dotting the apartment, and Mordecai wrestled the shoe from his hold. “—if anyone could keep it alive, you could.”

“It’ll need new soil,” Mordecai noted. Walking into the bedroom, he moved to the little table by the window. Rocky followed him. “Dry clothes are in the closet. You can borrow something from the dresser, and put your things in the laundry for tomorrow.”

Rocky’s fingers rasped together. “Tomorrow?”

Mordecai tensed. Setting the cactus down next to a flowerbox of ferns, he kept his fingers busy by unbuttoning his cuffs. “Only if you’d like.”

There was a moment of silence, then Rocky stumbled to Mordecai’s little closet. It took a few minutes, but they both dressed down from their day, slipping into clean sleep things. Neither of them looked directly at the other, both awkwardly lost in thoughts and memories, until the floor was littered with clothes and their bedtime preparations were complete. Then Rocky waited, tail twitching, until Mordecai could again meet his eye. Reaching, he took Mordecai by the wrist and pulled him toward the bed.

Even inebriated—especially inebriated—Rocky was a force of chaos. The bedding seemed to rearrange around him as he maneuvered Mordecai into a little spoon. Nested, Mordecai arched back into Rocky’s torso. He tensed as Rocky licked a line up his neck, but slowly relaxed to the gentle pull of teeth across fur. The ministrations went no further.

Eventually, Rocky fell asleep with his face pressed against Mordecai’s scruff. 

The hitman was less fortunate. The afternoon’s early sleep, combined with the usual hours of his profession and a dash of nerves, kept his heart beating and mind racing. He tried everything from solving complex algebraic problems to mapping out the most efficient route around the great lakes and couldn’t settle his thoughts. It was worse when Rocky pulled close, an arm snaking around Mordecai’s waist. Then worse again when Rocky shifted to nose at the back of Mordecai’s ear.

And worser still when the first hints of morning finally invaded the room. A glow out the window suggested daylight, and the start of traffic sounds drifted up from the street. All at once, Rocky inhaled, sat up, and scrambled away. Mordecai curled a little tighter around his knees and feigned sleep.

Falling out of bed, Rocky made muted noises as he searched around the room. Mordecai heard him pick up his clothes and tip toe away. 

Consumed, Mordecai buried under his pillows and bit his cheeks. Minutes passed. The pain grounded his thoughts, and he tried listing all the reasons he was being stupid. It had been a mistake. A long, drawn out farce fuelled by alcohol and other intoxicants that, yes, perhaps both of them played into on occasion but neither of them had business pursuing. Outside of a penchant for the philosophical—and a precocity of word that often sent others racing for the exit—they had little in common. The idea of them together was a joke to their friends, an inconceivable notion that went unnoticed and unthought of; and even if it had, it would only be as betting fodder. He didn't even like to be touched—usually. And there was blood in Mordecai’s ledger, too much for any person to deserve—

“Shit shit shit!” Rocky’s voice chorused from the other room.

Sitting up, Mordecai smelled smoke. The blankets tangled around his ankles and he tripped from the bed. Half the bedding shed with him as he scrambled from the bedroom, only to pause in the doorway to watch as Rocky dropped a flaming pan into the little kitchen sink. The musician turned on the water, dousing the flames with a hiss.

“Not ideal,” Rocky cursed.

Mordecai took notice of the state of his kitchenette. Flour was spread across his small countertop, where a bowl of something sat balancing a whisk. His fridge was open, the contents disheveled as if they had been riffled through. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Startled, Rocky twisted to blink at him. Still undressed, his eyes were manically wide and ringed with exhausted circles. “Uhhhh—” the water was still running; he scratched at his disheveled neck. “—making pancakes?”

Habitually, Mordecai’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders hunched. “That’s cast iron. You can’t leave it in the sink.”

“Sorry—” Rocky darted to turn off the water. “It sort of caught on fire—”

“And—” continuing, Mordecai cast a quick look around the rest of the room. Seeing a pile of material on his coffee table, he pointed at it. “—I told you to put those clothes in the laundry.”

Biting his lips together, Rocky leaned against the little sink and raised his brows. He considered Mordecai. “So… it wasn’t a dream?”

Hand dropping to his side, Mordecai frowned. “... no.”

“I mean, the part where you seemed to reciprocate,” Rocky added. “You know I like you.”

“Yes.”

“And you—”

“Rocky,” Mordecai interrupted. “Please, get out of my kitchen before my cast iron rusts, or you manage to blow up the stove.”

Rocky’s nose scrunched as he grinned. “So bossy.”

“That’s not new,” he replied. Then, hesitant, he walked closer. “I thought you’d left.”

Rocky shrugged. “Technically, you weren’t wrong.”

“You know what I mean,” Mordecai intoned. “I would’ve left.”

Cautiously, Rocky reached out to hold Mordecai by the waist. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Slotting together, Mordecai nestled against Rocky’s neck. “I’m not good at this.”

Rocky snorted. “Neither am I.” He pet a line down Mordecai’s spine. “But… I think I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

Shuddering, Mordecai pulled back just enough to peer into Rocky’s eyes. “I don’t usually like kissing.”

“Oh.”

“But yes,” Mordecai added. “It’s okay.”

Tentative, Rocky pressed his lips to Mordecai's cheek. He started butterfly soft, leaving a trail of affection across Mordecai’s eyelids and up to his temple. "I don't understand kissing—" Rocky admitted in a whisper.

Mordecai snorted.

"I should say, didn't understand," Rocky corrected. He rubbed his face against Mordecai’s, knocking his glasses askew.

"What's not to understand?" Mordecai asked, aiming for condescending even as his heart beat with sincerity.

Rocky shrugged and tugged him closer. Boxed in against the sink, his hands pushed under Mordecai’s shirt to scratch claws down his back. "Usually people would act nice to get kisses, then hurt me and leave."

He couldn't help purring, even as another twinge of guilt had Mordecai leaning back against Rocky’s hold. Cadling Rocky’s neck, Mordecai pet the old bite wound. "That's what I did."

"You didn't act nice," Rocky snickered, nosing close. "You didn't pull your punches, or go along with things you didn't care about, or pretend."

"I pretended you were still dreaming just to get you up here."

"To kiss me?" Rocky raised a brow at him

Mordecai rolled his eyes.

"That's what I thought," Rocky hummed. "I like kissing you; I didn't realize it was fun for everyone."

"Who were you kissing before, that it wasn't fun?" Mordecai's eyes narrowed. "There's reasons we throw people into the river, Rickaby, and—"

"Hush—" Rocky licked Mordecai’s nose. "Who cares about them? You're fun to kiss—but only when you want to. No need to be a Miriam—or Arty—or Chance—or—"

Mordecai kissed him, licking into his mouth until they were both left panting. He scratched down Rocky's chest, enjoying the soft hiss that angled the musician's jaw wider and sighing as Rocky’s claws combed through his fur. Something reminiscent of flickering warmth and summer nights coloured in the corners of his consciousness, and he leaned closer, closer, closer until he felt Rocky’s spine arching backwards over the sink. Then, nipping at Rocky’s bottom lip, he pulled away. "You aren't like anyone else," he said. "You're very…"

A smile split across Rocky’s face. "Oh?"

"Tolerable," he settled on. “Now—get out of my kitchen, and I’ll see if I can salvage pancakes.”

Snickering, Rocky kissed Mordecai’s cheek before ducking away. He winked. “Yessir, Mr Heller, sir.”

As Mordecai scrubbed and reseasoned the cast iron, Rocky regathered his clothes to dump somewhere in the bedroom—presumably in the laundry basket, but Mordecai couldn’t be sure. He returned to the livingroom as Mordecai was inspecting the lumpy pancake mix, and curled up on the chaise with a well-read copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

When Mordecai served a tray of pancakes with jam—he made a mental note to consider adding syrup to his shopping list—Rocky tucked his feet under his knees and used his finger as a bookmark. “You’ve worked your way through the whole volume,” he noted with a smile.

“You do quote the bard a lot, Roark,” Mordecai replied.

Rocky’s nose scrunched. “Only Aunt Nina calls me Roark.”

“You’ll have to add me to that list,” said Mordecai. And when Rocky blanched, he conceded. “At least some of the time.”

Rolling his eyes, Rocky held up the book. “Do you have a favourite play?”

“I may have formed a preference along the way,” Mordecai sidled onto the chaise next to him. “But I’m afraid it isn’t the frivolous one you like so much.”

“You think Macbeth is frivolous?”

Mordecai narrowed his eyes at Rocky. “Your favourite play is Midsummer’s Night.”

Settling to sit closer to Mordecai, Rocky reached to fill a plate. Undeterred by the lack of syrup, he spread an inch of jam between two pancakes. "Yes, Midsummer is a little frivolous; but why did you think I would prefer Midsummer?"

"You quote it constantly."

"Ah—" Pausing to think, Rocky nodded. "—I suppose I do."

"You convinced the band to do the third act."

"A thematic choice, for Mayday."

"Why quote it if it isn't your favourite?"

Rocky shrugged and pulled the plate into his lap. “It’s a famous tale of lovers, drugged by faeries and left to frolic overweekend in the woods.” Picking up his jam-pancake-sandwhich, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Id feld ap—”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Mordecai admonished. “Or I’m changing my mind about everything.”

Cheeks puffing as Rocky strained his lips together, he raised his brows at Mordecai. Frowning back, Mordecai’s ear twitched; so Rocky tapped a sticky finger against the volume of Shakespeare as he chewed.

Sighing, Mordecai glanced out the window in pretense of annoyance. Really it was an attempt to stop his face from heating in embarrassment. Outside, the occasional snowflake drifted by. From memory, he recited: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

The rest of the morning passed both slowly and too quick. Food was finished and set aside, but instead of leaving the two cats reclined together. Mordecai dozed on Rocky’s chest; Rocky peered over Mordecai’s shoulder to keep reading; and both of them occasionally purred or whispered to the other. Everything was on track to becoming the most relaxed day off in Mordecai’s recent memory.

And then the window slid open.

“Mordecai!” Ivy’s voice yelled. Both him and Rocky flinched. “What did you—! Oh.”

Looking up, Mordecai and Rocky saw Ivy and Freckle perched on the living room windowsill. The four cats looked at each other for a long moment; then, Ivy continued climbing inside.

“I have a front door,” Mordecai noted. He pushed himself up until he was kneeling, more or less in Rocky’s lap.

“There was no time for the door,” Ivy snapped her fingers at him. “We thought you had killed him!”

“Who?” Rocky blinked.

“You,” said Freckle. He tripped as he tried to follow Ivy, falling to the floor.

“I have to call Mitzi,” Ivy continued, beelining across Mordecai’s apartment. “I think she owes Zib money.”

Sighing, Mordecai slumped against the back of the chaise. “So much for a peaceful day.”

Then Rocky took hold of his hand. “Good day, though,” he said with a smile. “Right?”

“Right—” Mordecai entwined their fingers. "—but if you tell anyone, I'll deny it."

Scoffing, Rocky lifted the limb to press a kiss to Mordecai's knuckles. "Deny it all you want," he said. "I've got you figured out."

[kakashis-formal-simp]

I am enjoying all your headcanons and just started reading your fics! If I may. Can I request a headcanon of Kakashi’s s/o who has a big booty?

I am so sorry this took so long I just now saw it 😭😭😭😭

Kakashi with a S/o who has a big booty

When you and Kakashi started dating he had no idea having a big butt came with so many problems

The two of you were out on a date walking through the park

You made the bad decision to wear a dress without putting deodorant or Vaseline between your legs

You stopped walking without realizing it, noticing the familiar burning between your legs

You debated whether you wanted to deal with it or stop before it got too bad

“Is everything okay, Y/n?”

“Uh, yeah, just some chafing,”

Kakashi looked at you, “chafing? What is that?”

Honestly, you didn’t know whether you should have been surprised or not he didn’t know what that was

“That’s a thing, are you okay? I can carry you back Y/n,”

Ever since then Kakashi brings a baby Vaseline container with him whenever you wear a dress

Another thing he noticed after you two started dating was how often you hit things with your hips

After he noticed you had some bruises from hitting the table corner he got Guy to come over and they rounded all the corners in the house

A big butt problem Kakashi had always known about was people saying “you’re thicc” or “I’d hit that,”

Let’s just say, even before the relationship those people always ended up passed out

Kakashi and you went shopping once and he hated it. Why was it so hard for people to make jeans that fit right

He wasn't even the one shopping

Ever since then he just shops for jeans without you and then gives them to you

You’re still not sure how he finds jeans that fit the waist, butt, and thighs but you’re not complaining

Kakashi loves your butt for two reasons

It’s a part of you

He’s a pervert

Kakashi is always showing appreciation for you but he makes sure to give your butt extra love because he doesn't want you to be insecure

Sometimes you have to elbow him because he will smack your butt in public

Instead of feeling bad he just smirks at you

One time you were laying on your stomach and Kakashi was resting his head on your butt reading

Next thing you know he’s playing the drums on your butt

“Uhm excuse me, what are you doing,”

“Well, obviously, I’m playing Jingles bells, can you not hear the rhythm?”

Some times you get payback on him and slap his butt

The first time you did it he yelped like a girl

To say the least, Kakashi would love your butt big or small because it’s you and you’re his everything. So, because of that he also goes out of his way to make things a little easier

[plush-rabbit]

Dirty Talking - Mammon

A/N: I simp for one demon and it’s ya boi Mammon (i also simp for the rest, poly demons, all of ‘em) I also did headcanons cause I felt like it fit better but if you want a fic, just drop an ask;P

Mammon is a nervous wreck at first, struggling to find the right words to say to you first but the second the words leave his mouth, he’s rambling. He’s nonstop, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear, burying your face into the mattress and cooing about how good you feel around him. If he’s allowed to choke you, he’s commenting about how tight you’re clenching around him.

“Ya know, I should choke ya more often. You’re clamping around my dick and fuck, you’ve never felt tighter. This is what ya like, isn’t it? You’re practically milking me.”

Dirty talk from him ranges from many things but it all revolves around possession. He’s talking about how you’re his, how he’s going to mark you to show others you belong to your first. He’s a greedy demon and he’s going to want to keep you around. If he could, he’d make his pact mark visible, plastered on your neck, hands, anything that you can’t be able to hide easily. 

You both are in an empty classroom, he’s humping against your sex, his member hard through his pants and hands pawing under your shirt. “Fuck all those demons who were around you.” He nips at your neck and his mouth has a slight taste of metal. “They don’t even know their own place, eh?” You whimper under him, eyes brimming with tears when you tell him people might come in. “Like I give a fuck- it would put them in their place. They’d finally learn to stay the fuck away from you.” When you leave the class, you’re desperately wishing you had brought a scarf to his all the red and teeth marks that decorate your neck.

Mammon is going to be into breeding. The thought of releasing his seed inside of you is enough to throw him over the edge, but if he gets to do it, gets to fill you to brim until his load is spilling out of you and he gets to see your belly swell, then his greediness really rears its head.

He’s pumping into you, his cock stretching your inner walls and your nipples between his fingers- his fingers are fast and circle around you. The stimulation is all too much and you can feel the heat in your lower burn and mark your skin.”Fuck,” he curses, “I’m gonna fill you up with cum,” he buries himself all the way, “you’re gonna take my seed and you’re gonna have my fucking kid- cause I’m your demon and fuck- you’re my human. I’m gonna love seeing you fill with my cum and my kid.” He places feverish kisses across your face, teeth that press across your soft flesh and with a snap, he releases inside of you, chanting your name and resting his hand against your belly. You can feel his smile when he kisses your neck and tells you that he can still go another round. “Everyone’s gonna fuckin’ know that you milked my cock good.”

His dirty talk rarely involves degradation. He isn’t a fan of putting you down. He’ll talk about how you feel, how beautiful you are, how you belong to him and what not, but rarely will he degrade unless you ask for it. 

“You fuckin’ slut,” his voice is hoarse and he’s behind you, his hand oon the back of your head and gripping your hair. He gives you a slap sharp on your bum and you squeal into the mattress. “Squealin’ and shit, actin’ like it hurts but I can feel your grip tighten.” His movements are fast, and he hooks your body up, sliding a hand to grip your chest. “You’re a filthy whore for liking this- getting off on me- shit I wonder what else you’re into?” His moan breaks his sentence and his nails dig into your skin. “Maybe I should do this in front of others, eh? Let them see what a whore you really are.” When you moan at the thought, he gives you another spank but you can feel his cock twitch inside at the thought.

He’s going to want you to hump him- ride his thighs, his crotch while your sex is barely covered. He wants to see how desperate you are while you’re riding him, begging for release. 

“Like a bitch in heat,” he says in a low voice, watching your face scrunch as you try to reach your high. “That’s right baby, keep fucking yourself on my thighs. Let me see those pretty eyes sweetheart.” His hand is hot on your sides as he keeps a controlled grip on you. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you suck my cock when you cum. So be a good cumslut and beg will ya?”

When you ride Mammon, he’s gonna be spitting how good you feel while he has a smug look on his face. You’re doing all the work, riding him, moving your sex on him, your hole clenching and pulsing as he moves inside of you. 

“Look at you bounce,” his eyes are on your face, tongue out and brows furrowed as you ride him. “Moving yourself on my cock, finally getting all of me in you. Remember when you cried when I was halfway in but still begged me to go? Muttering that cock was too big but now with your pretty hole all stretched, I can go all the way in. And you’re even the one moving. Damn baby, gotta admit, I’m impressed.” He lets out a shaky breath and his eyes flutter to a close. “Oh fuck, that hits the spot, you’re so squishy inside, so fucking hot and wet, other demons don’t even come close to this feeling.” He’s impatient, grabbing your hips and guiding you on his length, hissing with each thrust, every time your hole moves and lewd noises fill the room. “Next time, we’re recording this because fuckin’ hell baby, you look so hot like this.”

[randomingoftherandomness]

Headcanon: everyone assumes that wkx likes to talk dirty in bed since he's so flamboyant all the time but in reality he's super shy in bed and zzs has the filthy mouth

Spicy Lemons under the read more 🌶🍋

Memorable moments include but are not limited to:

Lao Wen getting fucked stupid against the lip of a bath tub, water sloshing all over the floor while Zishu’s three fingers deep coring out a space for his cock as he keeps cooing, telling him how pretty his baobei is all clean but ready to be dirtied up only by him

Zishu enjoying the way the sunlight dapples over his face as it trickles through the wind rustled tree tops while he is facefucking Lao Wen out in the open, telling him how perfect he is, how well he is doing taking him down his throat like this, how Lao Wen will just let him do anything he wants, hm? Lao Wen whimpers around his cock, drool slicking his chin, eyes lifting to meet Zishu with a dark curl of agreement

I will be remiss not to include a personal kink of them coming back from a high of a job well-done where Lao Wen dressed up as a courtesan with a bit of face-changing work by Zishu, and they get home and Zishu helps him take the ‘face’ off and just before Lao Wen can get out of his get up, he nuzzles in close, breath hot and heavy on his skin, kissing, licking, nipping with teeth, begging, “Can I, Lao Wen? Can I please?” with his hands already halfway done undressing him out of the soft, gauzy things they borrowed from Qian Qiao for this

And like, just Zishu sliding two fingers to press on Lao Wen’s tongue, while he bends him over the table and fucks the sweat and come slicked soft heat between Lao Wen’s thighs; one hand moving to grope at Lao Wen’s chest, squeezing, pinching, telling him that it’s ok that he doesn’t have breasts, it’s ok, because Zishu likes them the way they are; how well they fit in his hand, how Zishu has remade Lao Wen’s body into something that fulfils every pleasure, every dark and deep desire, every need, how Lao Wen was born just for Zishu to have and to hold and to love and to fuck and to cherish and to spoil

And all Lao Wen can do is croak out a choked yes, yes, yours, all yours

Oh! Because, you know, like Taxian-jun with his Chu-fei, I too like the thought of Zishu slapping Lao Wen’s ass and saying, You won’t believe how much cum this baby can fit...

Breeding and impregnation kink; Zishu gripping Lao Wen by the hair with one hand, slapping his ass as he fucks him into the bedding while Lao Wen cries and whines, drooling into the covers and clenching and unclenching his fists helplessly, crying softly as he endures the ache of coming untouched for the umpteenth time while Zishu croons about how he wants to put a baby in him and wondering how many times he needs to come in his ass before it will take because it will take, right? You’ll take all my come, you’ll carry all my babies and you’ll let me fuck you right and you will let me breed you full each and every year until our manor is full of our children and your tits are heavy with milk and I’ll fight our kids to suckle from them, you’ll let me right, baobei? You’ll do anything for me?

Yeah. Okay. So. I may put a bookmark on this for a fic idea lol.

[send me a WenZhou head canon]

[burglar-bird]

Assassin!Zuko AU part 2

I love it when AUs take canon and yeet it out of orbit. *slaps fic* these babies can fit so many headcanons.

Zhao and Azula are the primary S1 antagonists, so like, how does that change things? Maybe Azula is so good at tracking them that Sokka decides the only proper reaction is to hire a bodyguard. The scariest, coolest, most badass one possible!

AKA June.

Sokka: Crazy Blue is a demon in human skin, so we need our own human weapon to counter her.

Katarra: what happened to war being men's work?

Sokka: Kyoshi island happened and now that I know how terrifying women are I'm taking full advantage.

[primeministerofantarctica]

TAICHI

favorite thing about them: there are too many things to like about taichi <3 sweet puppy dog boy

least favorite thing about them: hm. i don't think canon really dives into the negative aspects of his jealousies and insecurities enough other than the guilt he felt over being the traitor? like he might be baby, but he was willing to sabotage an entire theater troupe just to get his big break.

favorite line

this is SO unprovoked. taichi what the hell did tsuzuru ever do to you. you're saying that like you actually have a girlfriend (everyone knows you don't). it's hilarious. brOTP: i think itaru and taichi are neat. they're gaming buddies. taichi calls the wii "retro" and itaru can't look him in the eyes for a week straight OTP: JUBANTAI NATION nOTP: don't really have any except the obvious random headcanon: *slaps head* this character can fit so much mental illness (/j). he has dyscalculia. he has terrible rsd. (implied ed tw) he has body image issues and i wouldn't put it past godza to have strict dietary regimens which only made it worse. unpopular opinion: semi-related to the second point, i think fanon should start acknowledging his petty traits more. the only fic i know that actually goes into this is suisou song i associate with them: gosh im so bad at this </3 can i cheat and say avril lavigne sk8r boi favorite picture of them

HE IS SO CUTE HERE also it's a million degrees rn and i wish i was eating ice cream with taichi at the beach