#I think it’s so goddamn funny that you can just walk in there with Charon and there’s no problem

[dontmindme2600]

Nobody:

Literally every NPC in Tenpenny Tower: Good Evenin My Lad. Yes yes, the weather is fine, unlike those Ghouls. Mr Tenpenny is a fine man. You hear about the Ghouls? I want those bastards dead, just so you know. Fucking zombies. Yeah Mr Tenpenny let’s us stay here as long as we pay rent. Holy shit I hate ghouls so mu

[joonkorre]

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

[elencelebrindal]

Heyy with your takes on female Cloths (I enjoyed reading them so much!), can I ask for your input on something on the opposite side? Surplices. Some are great for protection (not you Cheshire) but when I look at some I genuinely wonder just HOW whoever is inside is even able to move. Take Minos for example, how does he properly walk without hitting his legs at the “skirt”-ish part of his Surplice at every step? (1/2)

(2/2) Why are wings some sort of a standard at some point even if the “source” creature has nothing to do with flying, like Acheron or Alraune? Can the Spectres at least actually fly to compensate for the wings being so bulky and uncomfortable? If not, what's the point in having them in the first place? I have so many questions about the designs it’s not even funny.

(I put the second half of your ask here so I don’t need to make two separate posts)

I guess it’s time for me to write something about them, uh?  Brace yourself, this is another long post. 

My answer would be: their bodies adapt to the Surplice, so they can freely move around in it without being bothered by the ridiculousness of the thing. It is a bit of a stretch, but it’s either this, or the Surplice has like five thousands joints and moves accordingly to the body.  Which, honestly, seems way more unrealistic to me. Yes, I just said that their bodies adapting to the armor is more realistic than jointed pieces. Welcome to Saint Seiya!

The real world instances of, following your example of Minos, that “skirt” thing he has on his legs is very close to the combination faulds + tassets. Not quite the same thing, but close to it.

This, basically. Obviously, in real life these things are overlapped lames of metal that give the wearer a lot of mobility, and they are - generally - shorter that the ones we see on the Specters (in this case, Minos).

I’m saying this because on one hand those pieces of armor are supposed to grant mobility to the person wearing them, but on the other hand it’s clear that Saint Seiya doesn’t treat them with a realistic approach, so I generally believe that they can easily move around because their bodies adapt.  But even with that, it’s still pretty obvious that a Surplice has a great deal of mobility and flexibility. We do see a lot of the characters move in ways that should be impossible if the armor doesn’t accompany their movements enough. 

I don’t think this is well portrayed in Saint Seiya, and I totally understand it; this is an anime and a manga, not a movie that needs real people to walk in real armor. But, at the same time, it can have an explanation. I say can because this is just my explanation of it, it’s nothing even remotely official or - admittedly - of real importance.  I’m just a small blog writing these things, after all. 

What Minos has going on is a fantasy exaggeration of those things, at least as far as I can tell. The lower part of his cuirass could be based on faulds and tassets, but I have no way to know for sure.  I can only throw out some hypotheses based on what bits and pieces or armor knowledge I have. 

A bigger problem for this Surplice, rather than the hypothesized faulds and tassets combo, could actually be those big wings he as for pauldrons. They seem flexible enough, as they actually look jointed, but they are really in the way. Those could actually hinder his movements way more, at first glance, not so much with bending, but more with up and down arm movements. However, this is not something I will tackle, because Saint Seiya often shows how a lot of characters deal with those exaggerated fantasy pauldrons, and as unrealistic as some of their movements seems I have to give them a pass. There’s no way of explaining all of them in a realistic matter. This is a problem of a good deal of fantasy-style pauldron, though, real ones

Real ones are way less cumbersome and have a ton more mobility, they are made for the wearer to comfortably move their arms with them and to offer protection at the same time. The photo I’m showing you is just a replica I found while looking for good pictures, but it’s still close enough to how the thing works.  What Minos has could be functional, but it’s so exaggerated that I have a lot of doubts about it.  Still, I won’t hold it against the show/manga. Fantasy-style pauldrons, again, tend to be unrealistic for the sake of aesthetic. There’s nothing we can do about it.  A good representation of this piece of armor in fantasy setting can be found in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. At least, most of the armors are well designed. 

Since I’m here, let’s have a look at the other two Judges as well, and then I’ll tackle the second part of the ask. 

The design of the Garuda Surplice is something I can definitely judge a bit more well made in terms of mobility.  It has the same base pieces going on, but in this case the pauldrons look like pieces that can offer a good deal of mobility. Still, the way they attach to the Surplice is questionable, but in terms of shape we’re getting there.  Even the two horns are correct, since they’re facing outwards; you don’t want spikes or horns with the points facing inwards, that’s a shortcut to disaster and severe head injury. 

This is were mobility and flexibility peaked, when it comes to the big three. The combo faulds + tassets is not obnoxiously long, it gives protection without being a hindrance (yes, there are also instances of faulds and tassets with that shape, you can maybe understand why it was done at the time though), and the pauldrons look amazing. They look like they provide good mobility to the arms, and the way they attach to the Surplice is pretty correct. There’s space for Rhadamanthys to lift his arms, as you can see. Brilliant.  His boots don’t make a whole lot of sense, but... again, the body adapts to the Surplice, so there’s that to take into consideration. Maybe it’s tremendously painful to walk in some of those shoes, but for them it feels normal. 

However, back to Minos:

The TLC version of him is actually unable to move. There’s not a single excuse here, that thing restricts him movements. Period. The pauldrons look better, it seems like they can provide better arm mobility, but the lower part of his armor is literally a solid piece of metal. Maybe the side pieces can move, but he’s literally wearing a metal skirt there. I have no other words to describe it, it’s just bad. 

And now, onto the next part. 

Why does everybody have wings? Let’s go in order here, with all of them (I’m going to restrict myself to the anime, because otherwise I’ll stay here all night). 

Of course, the Judges are supposed to have wings. 

Garuda, griffin and wyvern all have wings. There’s nothing to say about them. 

Myu (who has really good armor, admittedly) is literally a butterfly. His wings are approved, and are not even that much of an hindrance. They’re not wings made of armor, and they seem incredibly delicate. He’s probably the most comfortable with his wings, honestly. 

I have to point out that the majority of the Specters with wings (not all of them, obviously) are Celestial Stars. But let’s not lose ourselves.

Charon having wings doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know if those could be called wings. I’ve always thought them to be a nod to those traditional Venetian masks, much like the design of his Surplice. 

Specifically, the Jester masks, with pointy fabric and bells coming from them. To me the inspiration seems pretty obvious. Maybe those wings could represent them a bit more symbolically, or maybe I’m looking way too much into character design and they’re literally just aesthetic.  If you want some explanation of why he has wings, though, here’s mine. I find it kinda weird that Charon is not even from Venice, in the show, but... what can we do about it. A gondola is a gondola, after all. 

The Balrog Surplice having wings is... ahem, questionable. I’m sure that if there’s any Tolkien fan reading this, they know what’s up. They know the debate going on in the community. Long story short, we have no idea if the Balrogs have wings or not. The movie depicts the goddamn Valarauka with wings, the books don’t describe them all that much.  Let’s try not to look too much into it, okay? He has wings, it could both make sense or not make sense. This is Schroedinger all over again, just weirder. 

He kinda makes sense, though those wings are tiny. They resemble the kind of wings Ancient Egyptian used, for example, for the winged scarab, Maat, and Isis. 

Since his Surplice is based on a Egyptian theme, and Pharaoh himself is Egyptian, they have a pretty self-explanatory reason of existence. 

And now we come to what to presented to my attention, the Alraune (aka the Mandrake) Surplice.  Those, my dear anon, are not wings. Those are either petals or leaves of the mandrake, not only a plant birthed from the mind of ancient authors or questionable fantasy writers, but also a real life plant. That has flowers like these:

It’s a similar shape, eh? This led me to believe that the Surplice worn by Queen has this as a main inspiration, opposite to the one worn by Fyodor in TLC, something that’s visibly based on the fantasy approach to the plant.  What I’m trying to say here is that yes, it makes sense for this Surplice to have “wings”, because they’re not wings. They’re something that links the Surplice to its probable inspiration.  I’m going off of visuals here, so don’t assume I’m correct. 

Shilfield here doesn’t make much sense with wings, right? After all, his Surplice is based off the basilisk, a giant venemous snake with eyes capable to instantly kill.  Well... technically yes. But:

This is the cockatrice.  A basilisk is born from an egg lais by a rooster and incubated by a toad, but it’s said that a cock egg (an egg with no yolk, as such it was believed to be laid by roosters) would hatch as a cockatrice.  Basilisk and cockatrice became synonyms when the De proprietatibus rerum, which featured a basilisk in it, was translated, and the basilisk changed to a cockatrice.  If the Basilisk Surplice counts both as a basilisk and a cockatrice, then there’s your explanation of why the armor has wings. Because the cockatrice has wings. 

The Harpy Surplice is self-explanatory. It has wings because harpies have wings, plain and simple. The shape of the wings resembles a heart because of Valentine’s inspiration, but the weirdness ends there. 

As honorable mentions, we have:

The Bennu Surplice, with another good reason to have wings: Bennu is an Ancient Egyptian deity in the form of a bird, probably the origin of the Greek phoenix myth. 

If I recall correctly, his armor is based on Lucifer, who we all know is a fallen angel who probably had a ton of wings, given what angels looks like.  So, even if this is Hades, wings have total sense on his armor thanks to the inspiration behind it.  Also, his armor looks like a 4/10 for practicality and mobility. You’re better than this, Hades. 

This was VERY long, I know. But I hope I answered your question as thoroughly as I could.  Thank your for reading by kilometric essay, and see you next post. 

[zoenightstars]

pjo musical: the rundown

so i went to see the lightning thief with @angelicomma yesterday and um. oKAY GUYS GALS AND NONBINARY PALS LEMME TELL U ABOUT THIS MOTHER!FUCKIN! SHOW!!!! because it was SO GOOD this is just like. the short list of what i loved about it because oh my god 

prepare for the longest post ever 

the set was such an aesthetic? it was all very metallic like there was scaffolding and greek columns with graffiti on them? it was very chb and very nyc and overall a Blessing 

every time they needed to show a different location they’d do it with the lights so like there were these lights lining the scaffolding that would change color ?? in the underworld they’d flash red, yellow and orange and were made to look like fire and near the ocean theyd be blue and if they were talking about trees itd be green and! if they wanted u to focus on a certain part of the scaffolding it’d be a different light color than any of the other parts which was rad af

the overhead lights were used really well too like when percy was singing about being the son of poseidon or when there was water the lights would be blue and when they were in the forest theyd be green

there is an entire song about how they hate new jersey and how they refuse to die in the garden state. know this

the show was very low budget like oh my god it was great

they didnt make some of their own props so sally walked in once with a trader joe’s bag and also the most important bag in the world (containing the master bolt) was a fucking jansport 

their representation of water was just to attach toilet paper rolls to leaf blowers and turn the overhead lights blue like what even

they covered the first 4 rows in toilet paper at one point 

also they fuckin deca-casted everyone except for percy (chris mccarrell, the light of my life actually he was so good) 

jonathan raviv played chiron, auntie em, random chb girl in a bike helmet and braids (?), random tractor guy (?), a bus driver, a train conductor, hades, and poseidon and im probably missing someone. he had very distinctive characters for all of them not to mention horse puns 

“the gods are kind of dicks”

medusa’s eyes were just light up swim goggles

sarah beth pfeifer, who probably has the best comic timing ive seen ever, played clarisse, katie gardner, a fucking squirrel?, mrs. dodds, lotus casino girl, random camper assistant to mr. d, and thalia 

*chases annabeth down a flight of stairs with a sword while screaming* 

“for their sixteenth birthdays my friends all got cars. I got a fern and a mason jar!” 

“ARROWS ARE MADE WITH WOOD. I REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE IN AN ACTIVITY THAT CONDONES VIOLENCE AGAINST OUR ARBOR BRETHREN!”

they had the most roles and they were GREAT 

george salazar was such a wonderful grover and mr d oh man 

mr d’s whole gag was he’d kick a chair when he got pissed which was hysterical bc the camper assistant would start pouting every time and he also wanted to turn percy into a dolphin 

“grover, are you ever going to wear pants again?” “NOPE!” 

his solo song was about thalia and how he couldnt save her talk about EMOTIONAL he cried

dam jokes

“we might have more drachmas if you didnt spend them on those DAM SNACKS” “HEY! IT WAS THE HOOVER DAM” 

let me talk about. carrie compere for like multiple hot seconds bc GODDAMN GIRL CAN SANG 

she was such a good sally. can she be my mom. she sang a song abt percy being special and wonderful and i got a lil teary 

“you saved my life, percy. It’s time i learned how to live it.” cryin g 

her silena was really funny? like very whiny but very funny.

 “every time i bring a boy home, my mom’s there in her nightie [...] she steals my mascara and all my dates!” 

she also played sort of charon? underworld guide in this awesome gold dress (she looked SO GOOD) who smacked grover’s goat ass (?????) 

“you know, bringing people to the underworld isn’t my only job. I also have a band. wanna hear a demo?” “not really?” “sorry, i can’t hear you over this SWEET ASS RIFF” 

“We got everyone! we got kurt kobain, we got beethoven. any requests?” “um, do you have josh groban?” “we will.” 

JAMES! HAYDEN ! RODRIGUEZ! was sO GOOD AS LUKE

THERE WAS A GOOD KID REPRISE AND I WAS SHOOKEN 

“being a good kid gets you nowhere at all” bruh 

they couldn’t have a scorpion onstage so luke just. fucking stabs percy in the back??? 

He was also a really funny ares and gabe!! 

ok and my gal KRISTIN STOKES 

fun fact abt me and kristin stokes ..... so we were walking in the same direction after stage door and so me and @angelicomma just walked with her....to the train.... she gave us dessert recs...... and talked about the show (she’s so salty about how rangey her big solo is but trust me she was so good on that song) and also waitress with us.... it was the best experience of all time she is so nice and cool and was wearing jurassic park leggings how rad is she oh my god

her annabeth? was awesome? she was witty and tough and aggressive and i was ABOUT IT 

she called out sexism all the damn time 

“annabeth, i get it. do you know how many schools i’ve been kicked out of?” “yeah, percy, but when boys mess up they get a second chance.” 

“hey, annabeth, who’s your dad?” “he’s a history professor.” “i thought everyone’s dad was-” “a god? that’s my mom. sexist.” 

longest yeah boi ever 

the moment where she betrayed luke at the end??? YES GIRL

chris mccarrell was such a perfect percy i am elated 

“Tartarus? LIKE THE FISH SAUCE???!!!?!?!” 

*swings riptide like a lightsaber while making lightsaber noises* 

*packages medusa’s head* “To Mount Olympus. Signed, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase.” “the gods will think we’re impertinent!” “*winning smile* we are impertinent.” 

*pouts* “i know how to hold a sword! like this!” annabeth corrects him and he swings it “oh wow actually that’s a lot easier” 

in good kid he was like? running around the stage and climbing the scaffolding and shit? and i cried??? the no mom line was the WORST i wanted to actually scream and his voice is so pretty 

and he was so shook by his own powers oh man 

he was just. so good at the twelve year old thing it was fantastic he was all fidgety and Dramatic (tm) god bless

he loves sally so much!!! all the demigods were salty af abt their parents and he was just quietly singing like “my mom loves hugs and scary movies” and i just. screamed quietly

there were rlly cute percabeth moments too. 

 percy’s knocked tf out the first time annabeth meets him (she infiltrates his dream a lil) and he sings a lil song abt how she’s beautiful and stuff and he wakes up and she’s all “YOU DROOL IN YOUR SLEEP” shook 

she shows up at capture the flag (percy hasnt officially met her yet) and he points at her and was just “gasps YOURE MY DREAM GIRL!” and annabeth side-eyes him hardcore and he goes “UM. THE GIRL. FROM MY DREAM.” 

“the god is my mom. sexist.” “NO NO I LOVE GIRLS!” annabeth is shook yet again and percy panics and is like “I MEAN UM THEYRE VERY NICE” 

percy gets serious side eye from luke

it’s great  

when percy gets stabbed they almost kiss and then grover RUNS ONSTAGE “HEY! here’s your ambrosia percy” goddamn it was DRAMATIC

im definitely missing shit but oh boy it was so so good

i’d kill a man for that soundtrack  

if you have the chance (and the money) it’s just. such an Experience and everything i could have ever dreamed of. the cast is great (and theyre all so freakin NICE s/o to kristin especially). 

i’d highly recommend it!!! A+ 1000/10

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Epilogue

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thank you for enjoying!

Charon yawned, stretching with a low groan. Beside him, Spoon snuggled into his ribs. Spoon?! Charon started, half out of the bed before he recalled what had happened between them. A slow grin crept across his face. Holy shit, smoothskin. He relaxed back against her, noticing a tiny notebook clutched in her left hand. That's...

  Charon remembered the little book from when they had been mauled by super mutants. Before they were sneak-attacked by raiders. In the brief interlude when they had fought and then awkwardly flirted. She'd been reading it when he had left to go 'keep watch'. His grin faded. Something like that can't ever happen again. I won't let it. Charon carefully, carefully managed to tug the notebook free of Spoon's fingers. A little stump of lead tumbled out when he opened it, and Charon caught it absently with his other hand.

  'This book property of Eleanor Grace!' screamed the inside of the cover, the Vault-Tec insignia emblazoned over the neat, small handwriting. Charon closed the book a little harder than he intended, quickly putting it on the windowsill with the pencil as Spoon stirred.

  Eleanor . Her name is Eleanor. Charon's head spun. Eleanor Grace.

  “Y' can look at it if you want. Nothin' in there's secret.” Spoon slurred through a yawn. “Just my journey log.”

  Charon fought back an embarrassed wince at being caught so easily, shrugging in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. “It fell open. I wasn't actually looking at it.”

  “Mmhm.” Spoon hummed, her drowsy look no-nonsense as she took the notebook and pressed it into Charon's hands. “Study up. Test tomorrow.”

  “Smoothskin...” She was either pretending to sleep or had already passed back out. Charon huffed in exasperation, propping himself up against the metal piping that served as a headboard and gingerly opening the notebook again.

  'This book property of Eleanor Grace! Vault 101.'

  The first page had a picture glued to it. A man and a woman wearing white lab coats, smiling for the camera. He had to fight the urge to see them as something awful, used and over-used to distrusting scientists.

  'Always know that your mother and I love you very, very much, little one. Remember her verse, Rev. 21:6. You are our precious beautiful daughter. Happy birthday, Eleanor.'

  The ghoul's throat tightened and he cleared it angrily. She wanted me to read this, dammit. Charon leafed through the pages. The first of them were covered with clippings from different books and magazines...maybe even some scientific papers, scaring up a few uneasy echos of the Institute. An Overseer. Stasis pods. The safety and comfort of a Vault-Tec vault.

  There was a defined part where it became obvious that Spoon-- Eleanor had left the Vault. Heated, young-adult rants about tunnel snakes were traded for blood spattered across one of the pages, now old and brick red-brown against the beaten paper. On the other side was tiny, immaculate writing. Charon's heart clenched as he read the words of an obviously shaken young woman, a terrified girl baptized in the fire that was the Capital Wasteland.

  'Dad is gone. The air out here is poison. The light burns. But if I stay down there, they'll kill me. Butch's mom almost got eaten alive by the huge...bugs. They bit me and I don't feel good. My stomach hurts. My arm hurts. Butch gave me his jacket and promised me I'd see him again if I'd stop being such a pussy. I punched him for that. My legs are okay. I can walk. I should walk. Far far far away.

  Dad why did you leave me here?'

  Charon flipped ahead a little ways, his stomach twisting when he caught sight of scrawled, capital letters. Silent screaming trailed across the page, a girl's plea to her father who had abandoned her. 'THIS IS WHAT YOU LEFT ME TO YOU DAD I'M BLEEDING I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT HE DIDN'T KILL ME BUT I WANT TO DIE I FEEL FILTHY WHAT DO I DO DAD WHAT DO I--'

  Charon shook his head, fighting the nausea that surged in the back of his throat as he hurriedly turned past those pages. What the hell kind of parent is this guy? Leaving his kid alone in a world like this...Christ. Next to him, Spoon groaned in her sleep. Charon pulled the blanket up over her, smoothing it across her shoulders.

  'I disarmed the bomb! I did it! I spent half the day chewing Mentats and reading all of Moira's old Duck and Cover issues. That, plus what I remembered from James's jabbering about nukes. Guess the old bastard had something to offer me after all. It's weird. For the first time since I was. Well. I felt surprisingly alive with my arms elbow deep in that bomb, clipping wires and listening to Simms hold his breath. Alive but at peace. Out here there seems to be this screaming insanity people mistake for living, the rushrushrush of survival. But today up to my armpits in nuke I realized that not much of it matters. I cut one wrong wire and I'm very very dead. Maybe it was the Mentats but I was alright with it. I just knew that I couldn't fail, that's all.'

  'I got drunk for the first time last night. Vodka burns but apparently it gives me the strength of an angry Brahmin. Jericho was nursing a busted nose come morning, and Gob high-fived me when Moriarty wasn't looking. Poor Nova was tired out from the festivities though, and I 'rented' her for the day so she could get some sleep. It's getting a little more difficult to keep up this male ruse, especially with my hair being how it is, so technically getting Nova's room was a strategic move. I'm still flattered that Nova seems to think I'm a goddamn gentleman either way. But even if I was a guy I don't think I'd do that to Gob. Poor bastard.'

  'The wasteland is so much bigger than I am. The vault was tiny compared to this world I have now. Moira says I'm suffering from depression, but she doesn't understand. I know what depression is. Depression is being trapped in a sunless hellhole, with no one around who actually cares about you. Depression is being used, being left battered and broken in a ditch somewhere. Moira has some jobs for me to 'get me out of the house' and I'll do my best to complete them. She's worried about me. I hate that. She shouldn't worry. I'm fine.'

  Charon's brow furrowed and he looked down. Spoon was soundly sleeping against his side. He stroked her hair absently as he continued to read.

  'People wonder why I'm Spoon. Not anything special, honestly. I'm not Eleanor anymore, so I picked a different name. One that lets me fit in a little better out here. And yeah, Spoon doesn't have the same impact as 'Murder' when you introduce yourself, but spoons are useful. I'd rather be useful than scary. Also it's unassuming. Who expects a person named Spoon to murder them in their sleep?'

  'James if you're still out there, I'll find you. I want answers, you fuck. Why did you leave me in the vault? I'm so lost. Like you always said, I'm too cocky and sloppy for my own good. Is that why you left me behind? Because I'm messy? Or because I was just in the way of your favorite kid, your goddamn Project Purity? I'm punching you in the face when I find you, you selfish prick.'

  Charon cocked his head. Project Purity?

  'Set out from Megaton today to go to...

  I met the Brotherhood of Steel! And I killed a...

  Underworld is so strange! Ghouls everywhere. Winthrop asked me...'

  Water had obviously gotten onto the pages at some point, a few of them dried together or smeared. He couldn't hold back his chuckle when he came across the entries involving him.

  'I'm finding myself a companion, little book. I've decided that it's lonely as hell out here and extra protection from something terrible happening again wouldn't be so bad. One I've got my sights set on for sure. His name is Charon, like the ferryman of the Styx. He's a big, big ghoul, and he's bored to tears. I don't know why he sticks around The Ninth Circle really. I would ask him but he appears to be under some strict fucking orders. I wonder what Ahzrukhal did to him to have a huge guy like that so pliant. I hope he isn't abusing him. I thought ghouls didn't abuse one another? Out of some kind of mutual understanding that they already have it bad enough? Maybe I've got it all wrong.'

  'Sometimes I catch him looking at me. Out of the corner of my eye. Maybe he thinks I'm trouble. Maybe I irritate him by not being so scared of him. Shit, maybe he just flat-out doesn't like me. It's probably my funny hat. Or how I talk. I wonder if he would try to kill me if I was able to hire him. He's obviously not a giant fan of 'smoothskins'. No one down here really seems to be but I guess I'm tolerable enough.'

  'Wow was I nervous talking business with Ahzrukhal! That ghoul is a goddamn snakey motherfucker. He wants so many caps for that precious contract. I'm going to have to go clear to Rivet to get that amount for the crap that I scavenge. And that's on top of keeping all the scrap metal so I can trade it to Winthrop. This bleeding heart stuff is exhausting sometimes. Still no new leads on James. Fuck it. I hope this is all worth it. I told Charon I'd be back soon. I saw his arms flex, so I know he's at least interested!'

  'The way Ahzrukhal stressed the word “employee” has me colored nineteen shades of curious. Maybe suspicious would be a better word. I feel like there's a lot more going on there than he's letting on. Did he get Charon from slavers? Raiders? Watching Charon hoist Patches like he weighed nothing was a little terrifying. I think I surprised him though. He turned around to head back to The Ninth Circle and his eyes got all kinds of spooked when he saw me there. Touching him definitely used up most of my very limited courage store. He radiates heat like a furnace. It was odd. Are all ghouls that hot? Have to ask Gob. That must be awful.'

  'He's six-ten if he's an inch. The hair he has left is a rusty red color. I think his eyes were blue at one point. Hard to tell with the ghoul film over them. I wish there was more research done on ghouls! I'm so curious about why it happens only to certain people...it's strange. The only weapon I've seen him with is an old combat shotgun. Drum mag-fed, back holster. I've never actually seen him use it though. Normally he just hefts ghouls up bodily to toss them out.'

  Charon rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little overwhelmed. His smoothskin didn't miss a trick. “Observant little fuck, aren't you.” He grunted. “I did think you were up to no good. You'd nurse your fucking vodka and just watch everyone in the place. And the weird way people would talk to you and ask for help like you guys were old friends confused me.” The ghoul stroked her hair again, carefully separating out the seven braids. “I think I understand a little better now.”

  'Talon Mercs. How on earth did I attract them? Took a damned hunk out of my hip too. Good thing I'm not queasy about blood, otherwise I'd be screwed. I've patched myself up as best as I can with what I've got, but it might be a little trickier than I thought getting back to Underworld. Especially with all the stuff in my pack I couldn't pawn off on Flak or Shrapnel. Butch laughed at me for saving up to buy Charon's contract, saying that I was such a pussy. Why didn't I just shoot Ahzrukhal? Even after I explained to him that I was at least slightly trusted in Underworld and I didn't want to ruin it with murder, he didn't understand. I wasn't really all that surprised. He said I was pretty after that though. That surprised me. He didn't try to do anything about it though, except wink at me and add, “For a little nosebleed like yourself”. Also surprising. The Bitch Butch I grew up with would have jumped at a chance to coerce a decent looking girl to grease his genitals. Maybe since he got out of the vault, he's had more options and it's evened him out? ...oh no, what if he's grown up?'

  'Willow is a goddamn lifesaver! I'd been out of ammo for a little while and my knifework wasn't cutting it (forgive the pun). I was sure I was a goner and then that red-lipped beauty popped the last Talon square in the head. I gave her a pack of cigs for that, and I promised her another before I left. She just rumpled my hair and told me I was the worst tourist she'd ever seen. I went straight to the Chop Shop. In fact, that's where I am right now. Doc Barrows told me Ethyl and Meat can't see through the glass of their prison, but I'm pretty sure they can. I don't mind them though, they seem okay. Glowing ones out in the Wasteland I'd pump full of lead for sure, and I guess a lot of other ghouls would do the same.'

  Charon suppressed a shudder. Glowing ones gave him the creeps, and he was pretty sure Barrows keeping them around was a bad move for everyone in Underworld. The pull that they had over the ferals was a little too much like mind control for Charon to be comfortable around them. The few times he had seen them they did look oddly docile, even bored. Not exactly the blood-thirsty, pack-leading 'Pulsers' he was used to.

  'Barrows says I lost a lot of blood and my hip is missing a chunk of bone about the size of a golf ball. A Stim would've reset the bone if it was still there. Ah well. I told him not to worry about it, it just 'added character'. He swore at me for that, but he laughed afterward so I think I did good. I've got to get over to The Ninth Circle soon though. I want to make sure Charon knows I'm back before I go trade the rest of my bits and pieces. I want Ahzrukhal to shake in his greasy boots with the knowledge that I'm coming to take his giant buddy away. Hell, this is probably the most proactive thing I've ever done! I'm grinning from ear to ear like some stupid little kid. I wonder if once I get his contract, I can give it to him or something? I'll have to ask Charon about that, once he can talk to me freely. One thing's for sure, I don't want to stick him in a corner like a damn chair or lamp.'

  'What an asskicker! Charon is the man with the goddamn plan not a doubt in my mind about that. It's awful that I can't give him his contract and set him free, but...I'm okay with having him around for a while I think. I've been keeping up this 'man' facade for some time now, just because it makes me feel safer. I never thought...after what happened, I figured I'd never want to be a girl again. But being around Charon makes me want to be okay, if just for a little while. He makes me feel safe. Hopefully writing these things down will help me work them out of my system.'

  'Charon says it's not a problem that I'm a girl. “I don't recall your gender ever coming up in conversation”. Just like that. He's not angry. He fucking carried me home. He helped patch me up. ...I don't know what to do with myself. It's almost a relief that someone knows. At the same time I'm sorry for making his job tougher. Now he has to...to worry about something happening like I have to worry.'

  Charon grumbled low in his throat, watching Spoon's chest rise and fall as she slept beside him. Smoothskin...

  He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling a little less exhausted after his long nap. Charon shimmied up to slump against the headboard, his movements sending dust motes spiraling up into the shafts of sunlight that seared their way through the partially-boarded windows. He turned his attention back to the chronicle, patchworked fingers turning the pages slowly.

  Sometimes there were sketches. Her rifle, the view from what he assumed was the door of Vault 101. A few of him, the muscle groups in his face and shoulders clearly labeled. Charon snorted when he came across a rather gratuitous sketch of himself with his pants unbuttoned, his fingers resting on his belt and the muscles of his legs clearly visible and labeled through his pants. Sometimes he stumbled over words, having to sound them out in his head. Sometimes Spoon's writing was illegible, too small or smeared to read. She had a habit of cramming words together if she was coming towards the end of a page, her loops and lines squashing themselves in a vain effort to make more room. Have to keep an eye out for extra paper. Don't want her running low.

  'I could have lost him today with those super mutants. I panicked. He could have died. He could have died and I can't fix that. I can't fix that. What the hell am I going to do? I'm already way more attached than I should be but he's been through more than enough! What is wrong with me?! Why the heck did I get so worked up? Jesus. I can't afford to be this way! 'This thing did a number on me' he says like he got love-tapped instead of thrown across the room. Stupid me I'm so stupid! We're okay now but God do I feel like an idiot.'

  'Caring for someone else is weird. It's been ages. I mean yeah Wadsworth Gob and Nova. Moira. Carol. Even Winthrop. Just since James I figured I never would again. Thought it would be easy. Then I met Gob in the bar and I knew I was screwed. He's the first ghoul I ever saw and he was just...he was so sad all the time and it made me so angry. He didn't do anything wrong and yet here's this other guy spitting on his existence! Making him his free labor! I don't understand how people can get away with that. Simms frustrates the hell out of me sometimes because he ignores it. I know he's just trying to keep the peace but really?'

  'Charon says he's been passed around and that he's broken. I can understand at least one of those things and I'm going to do everything I can to help. I'm tired of pretending we're just partners. We're friends damn it. From the day I followed him tossing out Patches I knew I needed to help. Even while I was getting turned into Swiss cheese by the Talons I understood that failure wasn't an option. I don't have much to live for out here honestly. The allure of finding my dad and punching him in the groin for abandoning me kind of wore off years ago. But if I can keep helping...keep doing what I think is right even after everything else...I don't know. Maybe I'll make a difference. Three Dog talks about me and it's like he's talking about a different person. I can't do great things. I can barely clean my rifle right. I can do good things though. I think.'

  Charon closed the notebook, trying to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath to clear his head and felt Spoon's fingers close around his limp hand slowly, like a reflex while she was asleep. “You're wrong, Spoon.” He rasped, his throat rougher than usual. The smoothskin hummed, obviously not awake. Charon felt his chin quiver a little. “Fuck's sake, you don't even see how much you do, you...you fuckin'...you disarmed a nuke for these people. You're so damn good and you can't even see it, spitting in the damn face of the Talons and raiders and slavers.” He slid down until he was laying beside her again, taking her face in his hands and shakily kissing her forehead. “Christ, smoothskin. Jesus fucking Christ. I told you I'd follow, 'I will make my services worth your kindness'. But I fucking can't. I failed. You've done so much more for me than I could ever...so much awful shit has happened to me and then your contrary ass comes walking in acting like I still deserve to have good in my life.” Charon shook his head in disbelief.

  “Don' cry.” Spoon murmured, putting a finger over his mouth. Charon hadn't even noticed the tears making their way down his face. “S'okay. No bad dreams. I'm here. Gotcha'.”

  “Spoon...”

  “M' here.” She repeated, wrapping herself around him protectively. “Right here. M' gonna' be here when y' wake up. Then we gotta' kill s'more baddies.”

  “Of course.” Charon tried to smile, wiping at his cheeks haphazardly. “For good or ill, remember?”

  “How 'bout 'for quiet an' let Spoon sleep', s'at sound okay?” The smoothskin mumbled, scrunching up her nose when Charon kissed it. “M'poss'ble bigass ghouly-ghoul, stoppit.”

  “I've been called much worse than that, smoothskin.”

  You are my heart. I will be with you always, for good or ill, and I promise I will be worth your kindness. Thank you.