#Taking my stickbug for a walk

[its-a-beautful-day]

If stickbugs where the size of small dogs, I would take them on a walk to the park. Maybe they would enjoy playing with sticks or would I loose them up a tree?

[sister-lucifer]

Brian/Hoodie, Toby, + Eyeless Jack with a chubby S/O

Brian, Toby, + EJ x Gender Neutral Reader (Separately)

[Anonymous Request]

Genre: Fluff + NSFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW but no smut, lots of body talk (all positive), so if that makes you uncomfortable be aware, oral sex (reader receiving), Toby likes to suck titties, Toby is very handsy 

A/N: i’m almost definitely projecting on this one cuz i have a chubby partner and i lub him🥺 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

Brian 

[SFW]

Brian’s a pretty lanky lad, he’s built like stickbug 

So having a chubby S/O would be a WONDERFUL contrast for him!

His favorite thing is being able to use you as a human weighted blanket 

He cant fall asleep without you, not after that first snuggle session! Your presence is so warm and calming 

You’re just perfect for cuddles, especially spooning 

Any excuse he has to wrap his arms around you, he’s taking it, 100% 

Big bear hug with a playful squeeze to boot 

+ He’s asking you to sit on his lap any chance he gets 

Oh there are three other chairs you could use? But he loves you:( Sit with him:( He’s just a little guy:(

( (manipulatively) )

I’m sure we all know that finding plus sized clothes that are cute but not expensive as FUCK is way too hard, but that problem is completely out the window now 

Brian has mad sewing skills, so he can alter OR duplicate anything you’d like! 

(The only catch is he has to make/get a matching one for himself, this is non-negotiable, sorry) 

[NSFW] 

Of course, we can’t always be family friendly wholesome here 

Let’s just say he loves having so much soft, plush skin to grab onto 

This man is a head giving god, like ridiculously skilled 

And not only that, he really enjoys doing it. For him it can sometimes be more enjoyable than the actual sex part 

He looooves grabbing onto your thighs and hips while he eats you out, just grabbing handfuls of everything he possibly can 

He gets really into giving oral too, like closing his eyes and moaning and just giving it his all, completely invested 

He’s gripping on for dear life 

Don’t be surprised if you have bruises in the shape of his fingertips 

And if you’re feeling especially generous, make sure you squeeze his head with your thighs 

It’s his fave ❤️ 

Toby 

[SFW]

Honestly this segment is gonna be pretty short 💀

Writing anything SFW for Toby is hard, he’s too much of a horndog 

He’s also a cuddle bug much like Brian, so a lot of those headcanons could apply to him 

He’s very tactile so he tends to be grabby, especially with your thighs and love handles 

Not even exclusively in a sexual way, a lot of the time it’s really just a sensory thing 

His hands just absentmindedly wander, and you just happen to be close by most of the time 

He’s not a big fan of anyone or anything laying on top of him at all since it makes him feel trapped, so he likes laying on top of you instead! 

It really helps calm him down after he gets hyper or upset 

[NSFW]

Forgive me if this is a controversial take, BUT: 

Toby is a boobs guy 

And I don’t just mean breasts, I don’t just mean AFAB chests

Any sort of soft chest fat will do 

He’s using his mouth a loooot, sucking and biting and leaving little marks all over your chest and nipples 

And every chance he gets he will grab your chest 

You could be fully clothed doing something completely unrelated to him and if he walks by he’s slipping his hands under your shirt 

He’s grabbing everything tbh 

Once again, it’s a sensory thing that can wind up horny 

He loves your thighs even more than Brian does 

Thigh jobs are his fave ever, not only because your thighs are easy to get to at all times but because they’re so warm and soft and perfect!! 

And the entire time his wandering mitts are squeezing and groping every bit of skin he can get to 

Jack

[SFW] 

Since EJ can’t exactly rely on his sight, he has to use his other senses, one of the most common ones being touch 

He can be touchy too, but not in the same way Toby is 

He doesn’t grab or squeeze or anything, he simply runs his hands over you, often over your clothes 

He likes feeling the softness and the curves of your body, just tracing his fingers over your hips and tummy 

Especially holding your face, rubbing his thumbs over your round cheeks and admiring your beauty in his own way 

He also headbutts like a cat when he wants attention, so don’t he surprised when you randomly feel his face against your stomach or leg 

If you really wanna show him love, let him lay on your chest while you scratch his head 

He likes to be able to listen to your heartbeat 

Jack has many animal like behaviors, one of those being kneading or ‘making biscuits’ like a cat 

If he’s kneading the soft skin of your stomach or thighs, that’s how you know he’s suuuuuper comfortable 

Like, as comfortable as he can possibly get 

Be prepared to be used as a pillow very often 

[NSFW] 

Jack is also good at giving head, but not in the same way Brian is 

He’s not as skilled or practiced, but you can’t go wrong with up to five squirming tentacle tongues working to get you off at any given time 

(Plus, he purrs, which basically turns his mouth into a vibrator) 

He also really enjoys fingering you, and will often use his hands and tongue at the same time 

Your insides are just so warm and soft, and he’s attracted to that heat 

He could get lost in your warmth and sweet taste 

He’ll run his hands gently over your body the entire time, and it’s certainly not unusual for him to knead during these sorts of activities 

He likes to lick you as well, and if you allow him to get a bit carried away, he’ll run his tongue up and down your body 

There’s just something about your plush skin and wonderful curves that completely captivate him in a way that nothing else can 

[coffeeghoulie]

#12 is so swiss/aeon coded if you wanted a pop art that? <333

thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy!

#12 from this prompt list: lifting you up during a hug and swirling you around

"You sure you want me teaching you this, stickbug?" Swiss asks, brushing a strand of dark hair behind their ear. "Aeth and Omega would be more than willing to help with your magick."

Aeon sighs, leaning into Swiss's warm touch. They're both lounging in Swiss's room, smoke-hazy and not quite sober, spending a lazy afternoon in each other's arms. "It's embarrassing though," they say, dragging it out nearly into a whine. "I've been Up Top for months and I can't connect to your guys' minds. Any quintessence ghoul worth their salt can do it. And Aeth and Meg are busy in the infirmary."

Swiss hums, still playing absentmindedly with their hair. "It's not embarrassing at all, buggy," he says, voice gentle as it washes over them. "It took almost a year for me to get used to my magick Up Top. It works differently up here than it does in the Pit. It still kind of slips every once in a while. It's okay to ask the others for help."

"I'm asking you," Aeon presses, leaning in close enough to touch their nose to Swiss's, face crinkling as his mustache tickles his upper lip.

Swiss grins, nudging his horn against Aeon's two-toned one. "Of course, stickbug," he says, urging them both up so they're sitting. "You want me to show you how I do it, with my little quintessence? Or do you want to show me what you've been trying?"

"Could ya show me?" Aeon asks, chuffing softly as they lean against Swiss's chest.

The multi-ghoul nods, urging them both to stand. "You stay here, stickbuggy," Swiss says, crossing the room in a few long strides. Aeon whines as he leaves their grasp. "I don't really know how to explain it, but you just sorta, reach out? With your mind? I'm gonna show you one of my memories, put it in your head. I want you to try and do the same."

Aeon nods, swaying a little on their feet. They stare at Swiss as he focuses, gold eyes clear despite their recent indulging of some of Mountain's finest.

The world shifts, no longer in Swiss's bedroom, and suddenly Aeon's looking out over a Ritual stage, watching over Papa and the other ghouls. Aeon startles as they recognize themselves from behind, realizing that this is Swiss's point of view. They watch themselves lean out over the speaker, reaching out to the Ritual goers at the barricade, screaming and grinning. The roar of the crowd only grows as they watch themselves reach further out to the crowd, tossing a pick to a young person wearing black lipstick, grinning wide up at them.

From their point of view, watching themselves give a fan a pick, they feel pride growing in their chest, realizing they're feeling what Swiss was feeling in that moment, seeing what he was seeing. He cocks his head, grinning at them, and the memory fades.

Swiss is grinning at them when they come out of his memory. His tail sweeps languidly behind him. "You're blushing, buggy."

"Shut it," Aeon hisses, focusing and trying to give Swiss a memory of their own. They're distracted by his lazy grin, the magick slipping out of their grasp.

"Focus, darling," Swiss says, tone light and teasing. Aeon snaps their fangs once, no real threat, and tries to focus, feeling their magick swirl around their fingertips, dancing over their skin.

They remember a different Ritual, walking up to Swiss's podium, playing a song they can't put a name to. They gesture up to Swiss, and the multi ghoul crouches down. Aeon takes his face between their hands, pressing a kiss to his lips through their balaclava. As Swiss stands back up, he grins down at them, and Aeon feels the warmth blossom in their chest.

The memory fades, back to reality, and Aeon startles as they see Swiss approaching him, not quite running but almost. He scoops them up, squeezing the breath out of them with a squeak.

"Oh, buggy, you did it!" Swiss shouts, spinning them around with the momentum. Aeon clings to his neck, giggling as they spin.

"I did it?" they repeat, a little stunned, still a little high and giddy. "I did it!"

Swiss grins wider, if such a thing is possible, all teeth and crinkled eyes, setting Aeon down on their feet. He still holds them around the waist, leaning down and peppering kisses over his mottled lilac and grey skin. "You did it, baby bug," he coos, laughing as they giggle. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You've got this, you're just psyching yourself out."

"What can I say?" Aeon laughs, nuzzling against Swiss's stubble like a cat. They rub their cheek against his, chuffing happily as they settle back down on Swiss's mattress, their tail smacking against the mattress as it wags. "I've got a really good teacher."

[kaeyx]

How would you rate the bsd mens‘s stamina?

At the top? Chuuya, obviously, and Lovecraft.

Chuuya does NOT know the meaning of getting tired, or cramps. He can bend both of you into pretzels and go for hours if he feels like it, and it doesn't matter how heavy you are because he'll move you like you're nothing. He usually stops bc his dick starts hurting from overstimulation and he's not the biggest fan of it.

Lovecraft straight up can't get tired. Whether he's in human form or something more monstrous, his body works on a completely different power scale. You're like a speck of dust to him, and your lifespan that of a fly's. He can't get tired in any way that you can comprehend and even if he did, he can simply switch to another set of limbs and keep going. He gets his satisfaction from making you fall apart.

Pretty high? Nikolai, Atsushi, any of the hunting dogs

Nikolai would be able to last longer, if he didn't insist on going ballistic every single time. I don't think he knows what restraint means, he's always up for weird and strenuous positions that end up tiring him out. And don't get me wrong, he's strong, but I don't see him focused on cardio.

Atsushi my darling boy, another one who still has an above average stamina. You're still going to tap out before him every time, but I think longer sex sessions take quite a bit out of him. It doesn't help that he often transforms halfway through, pinning your arms down so he can mount you. By the time his knot has gone down he's already begun to get sleepy and cuddly, rubbing his cheek against your back and purring, so all the fight has gone out. But don't worry, in the event that you can still walk you can probably coax another round out of him, as long as you do most of the work.

The hunting dogs are variable, depending on what time of the month they're at. Remember all those surgeries they have to do to maintain their bodies? Yeah, if you catch them on the tail end of that they eventually get tired. They still last inhumanly long though, but might get creaky and achey joints afterwards. While on the topic of them being augmented I'd like to propose them having small dicks, since it's a side effect of steroids (and it will also happen when you take estrogen!)

Average? Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Mori

Not much to say here, they're not cardio specialists but they can still last. Who ends up worn out first comes down to how fit you are. Less strenuous portions like riding or spooning will help.

Abysmal? Dazai, Akutagawa, Fyodor

Sorry guys, but Dazai is not the CEO of sex no matter how much you wish he was. This man doesn't eat right, drinks exclusively alcohol, and hasn't exercised a day in his life. He's going to be panting like an asthmatic pug after two minutes, and god forbid you make him do all the work. Nope, make him do core exercises and take him biking.

Akutagawa has a lung condition and is also built like a stickbug. I believe he eats moderately well thanks to Gin, but he's no stallion. Take care of your frail Victorian man lest he be taken by consumption. However, using Rashomon helps immensely since it's not taxing on his body, plus wearing the coat makes him more comfortable.

As for Fyodor? Don't even bother. 0/10. Would not recommend. You can do better.

[bluntforcefem]

ocs of your choice + 23?

23. in relief

“zachery!”

zachery makes an unintelligible noise as they sway, shaking petals out of their hair before their entire body veers to the side. duncan sprints across the field to catch them, toffee and vivi right on his heels.

they’re too warm in his arms, fingers still sluggishly tearing flowers from around their eyes, but they stop when toffee pulls at their wrists and starts to handle them herself. vivi gestures to itself and duncan laughs, a little unraveled, draping zachery across both their laps. keyes walks over, cecil’s body left unconscious behind them.

“are they okay?” their eyebrows furrow in worry as they detransform their arms from their half-scythe state, leaning down to examine toffee’s work. “they look—”

“’m fine,” zachery mumbles. they squint up at the group surrounding them, before turning their head to shove their face into vivi’s stomach, ignoring toffee’s sigh at the interruption of her work.

“you’re fine,” duncan echoes, excitedly, so relieved it hurts somewhere faint in his heart. “c’mere, man, let toffee and us take care of you, we’re doin’ a great job of it so far!”

vivi unceremoniously pushes their head away, its expression somewhere between amused and worried. “what he said, stickbug.”

“agh,” zachery says, but they don’t protest when toffee starts plucking petals from their hairline, or when duncan leans down—too full of nervous energy to wait, practically buzzing with it—and knocks his mouth into theirs. it’s a bad kiss, bad angle, but it makes them laugh, hoarse and breathless.

“my turn!” duncan leans back as toffee moves to kiss her weapon, smiling giddily against their mouth as she crushes a rose in her palm. “all gone,” she promises as she pulls away, “for good, this time.”

“for good.” zachery relaxes fully, melting as they close their eyes and take a deep breath. “okay. okay.”

keyes crouches down and takes their hand, squeezing it once. contact, not needed for them but for zachery, with all their clingy tendencies. “okay,” they affirm, and as if they were waiting for keyes’ word, zachery finally lets themself rest.

[pogchampia]

here we go...

I'VE DONE IT

i've never loved a stickbug more in my entire life i could kiss it right on the mouth

look at that BEAUTIFUL filled out card

(ignoring the fact that i made such slow progress over the years lmaao)

i am OVERJOYED

and OVEREXHAUSTED

FINALLY I CAN GO TO BED

it's 1am, despite what the in-game clock says

GOOD NIGHT, CROSSINGBLR,

(but i might take a good walk thru the completed bug exhibit before i call it a night)

[sc3n3kitt3h]

@kkandikid BOY OH BOY MAN OH MAN AM I GLAD U ASKED!!!!!

sillyclan is one of many clans living in the silly little unnamed city in my very twisted and fucked up mind. specifically they live in a back alley, with empty boxes and whatnot acting as dens. They eat pidgeons and rats and discarded food and stuff. The founder and clan leader, sillystar (who was previously a kittypet show cat named princess which is why she gets 2 have a cute ponytail), founded the clan after meeting wolfblood, the current deputy of sillyclan and at-the-time renowned warrior of emoclan. while sillystar and by extension the rest of sillyclan are completely for peace between the clans and are very kind to other clans, emoclan sees sillyclan as their rivals. so they have a completely one sided rivalry that sillyclan is somewhat oblivious to.

wolfblood is completely devoted to sillystar and sillyclan, and will take any and all perceived threats, no matter how minor, VERY seriously. She swore to protect sillyclan with her life and her life revolves around that duty. this also sometimes ends up in some scuffles with other clans, but it never gets too serious because its a small clan and when theres a fight, EVERYONE gets involved and so sillystar is always there 2 put a stop 2 it. since wolfblood is so devoted 2 sillystar it might SEEM like theres some romantic stuff going on, but theyre actually just queerplatonic bffsies.

Sillyclan also has 2 healer cats! softpaw, who is very shy and has a one-sided schoolgirl crush on wolfblood that she will NEVER confess 2, and frogwater, who sort of has a mad scientist thing going on. who knows what her deal is! either way, she gets the job done, even if her demeanor and fascination with deadly things are a bit offputting.

The rest of the sillyclan members are: lilydream, palecloud, batfang (who has a rivalry with frogwater going on. theyre both mean old ladies hehe!),stickbug, cherrybliss, fuzzyfeather, mossystone, mothglow and nova, whos a runaway kittypet and sillyclan's most recent member. he decided 2 keep his kittypet name though!!! mothglow and cherrybliss are mates and so are lilydream and palecloud!!! :)

more on emoclan: emoclan lives at the local dump! the leader is edgystar, who is secretly wolfbloods father! natrually he's pretty upset about the whole wolfblood fucking off 2 go found his own clan with some random kittypet, so thats what really drives emoclans rivalry with sillyclan, even if the rest of emoclan doesn't really know it. They just sort of go along with it 4 funsies and territory. i havent REALLY developed emoclan or the rest of the clans beyond that though.

The other clans are gardenclan (very iffy on the name still), who reside in a community garden, and spireclan, who live on top of buildings, jumping from roof 2 roof and walking on wires 2 get from point a 2 point b. I have a few ideas 4 them but nothing concrete yet :P maybe i'll come up with a few more!!!

this is all the definite stuff i have so far, but im coming up with new stuff ever day :3 and i have soooo many more ideas!!! i hope u all like what i have so far hehehe >u<

being really autistic about my warrior cats clan rn. my oc clan. its called sillyclan i love it very much. ask me anything pls pls pls pls pls

[qingxintea]

heartbreak avenue (3) || albedo x reader

heartbreak avenue (1) heartbreak avenue (2) -- tell me how, do you do this thing called living? when theres nothing more to gain. gn reader -- ignore the link below idk how tf to hyperlink on mobile but that’s ur part 4 ig

damn. imagine missing mond so much that you visit just for the vibes and accidentally become a one time vigilante for dominating over a couple abyss mages

how oddly specific!

you moment.

TO BE FAIR, you didn't mean to and also ur just strong with that 245% crit damage ugh yeah yeah get it ig

it was night time, like, idk 1am and you were in this cloak because idk look swaggy and comfortable

abyss mage went ŏ̸̡̡̹̘͉̫̬̬̭̘̙̝͐͒̆̈́̒̿̄́͠͝ǒ̸̧̺͕̣̬̝̱͈̭̭̻̮̈̏̔͆̑̀̍ǫ̵̡̜̲̭̠̤̰̹͍̣͎̤̈́̓̍͠ḩ̴̡͍̣̹̯̭̩̮̣̩̭́̔̀̍͊̂͒́̆͘͜͝͝ȃ̷̧̡̢̡̨̛̪͓̤̜͕̳̦̼͊̏̃͆̓̈́̈́̽̈́͌͐̋̚ͅh̸̡̩͍̟͕̥͚̰̰̟̮̖̪̉̈́͛͂̍̾a̸̧̢͕̙̞̳̩͈̲͉͕̒̆̎̐̎̍̀͊͘̚͝h̸̡̼͓̝͕̫̤̰̱̬̣̗͚̙̀͜ and you were like "lmao shut up"

and like it did! because you made it shut up and also mans diluc was watching in his dark knight hero thingy

of course you noticed his presence from the beginning, you just wanted to piss him off and act like he wasn't there at all

you walked. straight past him like he was actually on the bridge in the middle and you just w al ked .

i mean ofc he gonna say something. and he did. dude said "who r u"

stared at him directly in the eye and said "the embryo made of chewed bubblegum."

he stared. sh o ck ed . what were you even saying

"jk im a resident of mondstadt, visiting from my liyue trip."

"and how do i know you arent lying?"

you sighed and grabbed your dendro vision, letting him look at the frame. "its incased in a mondstadt styled frame." after a few seconds, you put it back. "if that is all, i'll be going."

"k"

"literally fuck off" you responded and walked inside.

sometimes you forget how rude mondstadt people are lmao loser.

ok so like this donna girl really went up to you like "JFKLSJFLKSDJFL NUMBER ??? HELLO ?? UMM THE WAY YOU SAVED MONDSTADT RLKDFFC" and you resisted every urge to flip her off on the spot.

you just stayed and let her talk, smiling through all of it. your hood was still on but it was quite windy s ooo

its been ten minutes. girl please let us go. you were literally begging for anyone to cut in because ur too nice (or unbothered) to tell her to shut up even though you totally went off on diluc aadahahhshdf

and someone did! not the one you expected though.

"good evening donna, and... oh? who would you be?"

ALBEDO LMAO GET STICKBUGGED? ? ? ?? AH a hjfkahfjah . im so funny .

guys i meant that ironically please

anyway

you got even more uncomfortable lmao and you just looked at him and smiled. what do you respond? "no one of importance."

he heard your voice, saw your eyes and it registered. it was you...

or was that what he wanted to believe?

cause this whole time hes been waiting for you, only using experiments as a thing to pass time. it got... a little more lonelier, because nothing could replace you.

he decided to not believe it. because 1) you knew well they welcomed you with open arms, so there would be no need to hide yourself

(which is also proof of how much the whole situation fucked up your thinking)

a second of silence before he continues on the conversation with normal evening meeting stuff things idk

then ur like "ahhshaaajk i must be taking my leave now for matters i will not disclose ahaha skidoosh"

skidoosh

so you go to the big venti statue next to the cathedral and just stand. stare. yikes

no ones out right now and theres nothing to do. but you remember this place because its where the both of yall would eat together whenever he had free time (which wasnt that often, but he still made the effort)

you look up to the sky, counting all the stars like you used to.

no ones gonna know that you're here, you decided on that. you only visited because you simply missed it, but after this, you were going back to liyue.

no ones gonna know. because no one needs to know. no one needs to know that you were here. that would only cause more trouble to the situation you tried to avoid

albedo ends up catching up to you later, still having some spark of hope left that it really was you

i mean lowkey there isnt really anything saying it wasnt. he wanted to believe that he was just overthinking when he thought it really wasnt you

like you look the same. sound the same. its just the reasoning of you coming here, but he can push that aside

"(y/n)."

you flinch but didnt react with anything else. he doesnt need to know that its you.

"(y/n)?"

you turn around to meet his eyes as he was approaching you. slightly distancing yourself another inch away as you were not used to the proximity, you responded, "i'm afraid i'm not the one you're looking for."

albedo stops for a moment, and was about to apologize,, but then

yknow that wind i mentioned earlier? like right after donna started bothering you

yeah that same wind blew ur hood off! lmao L

okay time to get serious !

you stay composed and sighed, your breath visible in the cold air.

so your features are exposed, and its so obviously you, like theres literally no way it cannot be you

"it really is you..." he doesnt understand why youre not admitting to it. "(y/n), please.."

you shake your head and walk away but mans grabs your wrist gently

"(y/n), whats wr-" he starts, but youre quick to respond

"im not (y/n)." you flat out said it and looked right into his eyes. and you swear there were small tears even if he was deemed nonchalant.

he doesnt understand, its your physical features, and your same energy, there is no other person that completely matches it.

he pulls you closer to examine this black smudge on your hand, a small yelp of surprise coming from you.

"this is... ink," he studied the properties of the substance. "you responded to my letter a day ago. (y/n)... i know by now. there's no reason to hide it."

you step away, freeing your hand from his grasp. your voice broke, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "i'm not... i'm not (y/n). i never will be. i'll never be so vulnerable again, i'll never be so naive again, i'll never be so lonely again, i will never ever be anything like they were again."

your vision blurred, but you werent oblivious to the tears streaming down his face as well. reaching to brush them away, you paused and let it drop to his shoulder instead.

"albedo. i... the (y/n) you knew... they're gone now. and if i could revert back to them any time, i would, i swear, but... i'm al-... they..." you buried your head in your hands. "i'm broken. to the point that i refuse to identify as the (y/n) you know me by."

doesnt know what to say, so he almost pulls you into a hug before you move out of the way. something you never did.

"don't... please. it never works out in the end." you shake your head, facing the other way. "for me at least."

"..we could work together, no?" he tried, still oblivious about your feelings towards him.

"only if you're willing to cross your moral boundaries," you looked back and tilted your head. taking a deep breath, you continued, "but you know that neither of us are willing to do that."

he couldn't say anything, because as much as he hated to admit something for once, you were right about that. at this point, he would've thought that literally any extent would've been fine to reach to bring you back.

yet in multiple situations where he's doubted himself before, theres always a line he will never cross.

"...i wish you the best. treat her well because i worked hard." you walked away without him stopping you this time. i worked hard. not we worked hard.

even if you had honestly felt that way, there was no chance the old you wouldve actually voiced that.

and so he watched you slip from his grasp again, only this time, he stopped himself from holding you back from his own will.

yet he swears- the next time he meets you again, he will bring you back.

[ridreamir]

Edit: This is all scrapped, but I'm not sure if I want to delete the post or not. I guess you get to see the really really ugly part of my trash writing process :stickbug: for now, that is

I think I'll also be writing oneshots/smaller things to keep me going

This song is going to be the inspiration for one of them :^) I have not slept for the longest time :E __________________________________________________

A simple practice of mindfulness. 

On a day of light rain, take special care in noticing the sensations of the body. This can be done alongside gentle exercise, what is most important is understanding the equilibrium of the self. Though not required, mindfulness of one’s inner voice is suggested, as training the body and mind together is a practice of both balance and mindfulness. Just as one cares for the body and soul, so too does the space in which one dwells. Awareness of one’s surroundings can also be considered a meritable practice of mindfulness.

After all, there is a spiritual element that may be maintained when considering one’s place within the walls of a sacred space, and reflexively, within the structure of the world. On days of less gentle rain, none could go out into the main courtyard without dragging a trail of water following close behind, so many stayed inside. Some of the temple hands would stay to watch as you went about polishing what you could find in an effort to keep busy, but no words were ever exchanged beyond a simple, polite cordiality. Cleaning for the monastery has been a rigorous form of training in its own way, despite not being the standard breed of spiritualist. Not just the physical strain, but your emotional strength had constantly been under question, and it was easy to make a fool of yourself by saying the wrong thing. Silence was a virtue itself despite the problems it brought. 

 It must have looked like a simple practice of gratitude in exchange for indefinite sanctuary. 

.

.

Often, there is a mat laid out beside the open columns that overlook the courtyard. Without elsewhere to go, It is you that rests in solitude, beneath the star laden sky. The marble of the floor is cold to the touch. A hand rests against it, smoothing slow patterns down along the weathering. A cold front rolls over the mountain, bringing a breeze to caress a sliver of exposed skin. Your side is warm, flush against the bamboo, dry in the absence of rain. 

It is not always unpleasant to sleep outside during the rainy season. But it does remind one that there are few pleasures afforded to those who seek to obtain spiritual piety. For those that remain, they must be sought out. You could think of a select few. 

 The meals are offerings of rice and grain on most days, meant to sustain the body. They were hardly frivolous by any means, but they did well to feed and nourish. On days of light rain, the tin rattling of the roof follows no pattern nor rhythm. A single rain catcher is allowed to hang underneath a barren tree, its branches not yet over-cumbered by a million tiny blossoms. The light green papules on the bark are a sign that they are soon to come. Though welcome to walk amongst the temple hands, you have not been recognized as one. Many offer you no acknowledgments as they wander along, fulfilling their simple duties. It is clear that you are in many ways not a member of the temple, but rather a charitable case living under its roof. These have been your observations in your time at the monastery. You were not upheld to pious standards nor teachings, so long as you did not disrespect sacred space. That did not at all mean that you hadn’t picked up a few of the teachings that were common practice. As the unfitting puzzle piece, you had begun to trace the cracks in the marble, looking for a place to belong. 

.

.

There is one sole monk that never fails to address you in times you find your paths interwoven– usually in the early morning and just after dusk. 

He is a teacher, an overseer of some kind. He seems to be of the belief that one need not be of pious background to benefit from mindful practices. Thus, it was he who offered you the most in terms of conversation. You let him do the speaking, not looking to showcase your ignorance of their customs. He seemed not to mind, and even less like he’d be the type to judge, unlike many others living under the monastery in the name of ancient tradition. 

It had made sense, that he had taken some interest in your doings. When you had woken underneath the ornate ceiling of the main atrium for the first time, it had been his name that the temple hands had called for. After some intense questioning, he had since concluded that appearances made little difference in genuine innocence. Though you had wanted to express some sort of gratitude for his willingness to consider you, daily duties had kept you on separate sides of the complex, leaving you locked out of the restricted areas he’d been expected to frequent. It was lonely, truthfully, watching him disappear behind a row of arches that seemed to lead to a staircase far down the hall.

From what you could glean, the libraries had also been past the forbidden arches, not that you could even read the Hanzi scrolls, yet there was little left for you to memorize past the scars on the bark beneath your favorite tree and the days it last rained. 

.

.

You continued to look for ways to practice mindfulness, unconventional as your methods had been. It did not matter to you how you achieved a sense of bettering yourself, so long as you had been making progress. Not that it was easy, being self-taught. Trying to catch the movement of sprouts as they broke from the earth, you’d attempt to sit in place without any care for the time nor any external sensations, and dusk would often break before your daydreams of drizzling rain and perfect blossoms covered in dew faded into meditative quietude.

Despite the passing time, and the slow crawl of the blaring moon across an arc in the sky, there had been a noticeable lack in progress in your spiritual endeavors. The only visible difference had been in how intensely you longed for something to change. 

.

. “I understand how you feel, young Omi.” You had overheard earlier that day. “The start of your journey may make the road ahead seem impossible to trek, but you must focus on the small steps your feet must take to move forward and nothing else.”

Somehow, it felt like those words had purposely found their way to you, as well. 

.

.

A heavy thick layering of deep swirling grey had covered the skies the morning before the first storm of the season. Without the warmth of the sun, frost had dusted over the courtyard marble, leaving it moist to the touch. The thunder had come not long after the first flash of lightning, and it reverberated over the many mountain peaks in a foreboding grumble. The crashing downpour came suddenly, ripping away any peace that came with meditating under the light trickle of rain. You’d already been soaked, and it would be no different whether you went in now versus later– the floor would take up puddles either way. So instead of seeking shelter, you stayed put in place, once again trying to sink back into a state of peace. The lightning flashing behind the darkness of closed eyes did little to deter you. .

.

[inthememetime]

The Company (+Gandalf, Dís, & Tauriel)- Do they have a Tumblr in a modern AU which I'll probably never write?

Dwalin- Like this? *holds out a tumbler style cup*

Balin- Yes, and he uses it to shitpost constantly. 'Your teeth are always wet.' 'On average, the number of human skeletons in a human body is more than 1.'- style posts. No one in his friend group knows, but some suspect since he's suspiciously up to date on memes.

Thorin- Yes, but he's only on like twice a week. A friend of his suggested he posts some of the tattoos he does, and he likes the validation. He also does watercolors for commissions. He was confused about why some of his regulars told him they were 'looking respectfully' until he was tagged in one of Bilbo’s livestreams where he came downstairs in nothing but a pair of boxers with mistletoe on the front. Somehow he always forgets what night Bilbo streams on despite the fact it's posted on their fridge.

Glóin- No, but I think Dwalin has one you can use. Oh. Is it that thing my lad Gimli is always on? You know, my son landed 1st place last week in his- wait. Where are you going??

Oín- The what now? How do you get on a mug? Like a painting thing? I think Thorin does those if you want one.

Dori- Yes, he's on a few times a week. He's very active in the embroidery and needlepoint circles. He doesn't have a lot of followers, but he's ok with that.

Nori- He's more of a Reddit guy. But sometimes he gets on and spams the porn bots with requests for free toasters or tacos for funsies. He also teaches people how to legally get away with breaking and entering, theft, and similar crimes as long as they promise to only use it on rich assholes.

Ori- Yes, he has 2 Tumblrs. One that's active in needlepoint, crochet, and calligraphy that Dori knows about, and the other is a fanart blog. His Zukka, Johnlock, and Destiel work gets a lot of reblogs. Hates Post+ with a passion.

Bifur- He likes plants, so he started looking them up and posting them online. Eventually, somebody on Reddit told him he should get a Tumblr and now he's known as the plant guy. He's very active, and talks about his disability sometimes which lost him a few followers but gained him a lot more. He's actually made a side gig out of it through Ko-Fi.

Bofur- Yes, and now it's a legitimate business model for him? He still can't figure out how that happened. All he did was post pictures and videos of his handmade toys, link his Etsy and tell people he did commissions, and he's actually had to hire people now to keep up with the workload. 90% of it is the toys. The other 10% is the internet swooning over the super nice goofball who has to stop streaming to shout 'kitty!' every time his cat walks in and forgets to edit it out.

Bombur- Not really. He has a Tumblr, sure, but he hasn't used it since 2015.

Fíli- Yes because he can talk to people about swords and knives and axes and not be considered weird. He's known as the Weapons Discourse Guy, don't tag him in anything else. Unless it has explosions. Yes he's seen the video of his uncle in nothing but the world's tiniest mistletoe boxers, please stop tagging him in it.

Kíli- He has the blog his brother, mother, and uncle all know about- the one where he talks about hunting, archery, prehistoric animals, and dream vacations. He has his main blog, which is full of writing prompts, fanfic he's writing, and an insane amount of reblogged fanart for Reasons.

Bilbo- He finally got on Tumblr to see what the lads were on about, and posts a lot of baking videos. He runs a sweet shop and he's found lots of people enjoy watching him make candies, cupcakes, and pies. He also accidentally made Thorin a little more popular because he lives above the shop and sometimes Thorin comes downstairs shirtless while he's filming. His views always spike when there's the Baking Trifecta- complicated candies, shirtless Thorin, and Thorin talking to him from the side. His viewers like Thorin's voice; Bilbo doesn't blame them.

Bonus:

Tauriel's blog is NSFW, but not for the reason you might think. She's a Forensic Pathology major, and some of the research papers and pics she reblogs are disturbing to say the least. Despite using (some would say over-using) trigger tags, she still gets a lot of anon hate. Despite that, there are a lot of people who actually like her blog, because they get to find a lot about what happens when they die and find it comforting. She's also exposed a lot of racism and classism in the death industry, and now she writes books on it.

Dís: Everyone thinks she doesn't, but she does. She's not very active, but takes the time to send Thorin pictures of stickbugs (he hates them) because any opportunity to troll him is one she'll take.

Gandalf: He doesn't know how he got onto this hellsite, but he's blaming Pippin. Pippin was maybe 3 at the time, but he'll still blame the kid. But now that he's here, he might as well devote some time to raising absolute HELL on TERFs, Karens and pedos.

[doodledrawsthings]

How do you come up with ideas, both for the premises of and characters for AUs, and the dialogue you use in comics? I can sometimes come up with fun idea, but I've always struggled doing it with any kind of frequency, and I struggle with funny/functional dialogue all the time.

Idk... I kinda just.. have an idea and then go ham?? Like don’t worry about doing what you think other people will like or want to see, fill it with stuff you, personally, like and think is funny or cool. The frequency comes purely because I just like doing it. If you like what your doing it’ll be easier to come up with ideas for it. Don’t force it Though, that might burn you out. Let the ideas come and then go stupid crazy coming up with cool stuff for it

Now writing dialogue and stuff for comedy is... different. I’m no expert either so take my word with a grain of salt. Though that can be said with any kind of advice. In mostly going off my own experience. So to start,something that helps me is reading my dialogue out loud or trying to write/read it in my voice. It can help you tell whether or not your dialogue sounds natural.

Now for writing stuff that’s funny, well... Ngl comedy is hard to write. I find angst easier to write than comedy cuz with comedy, you aren’t always sure whether the jokes will hit or not. It’s easier to make people sad than to make people laugh XD. But it also kinda depends on personal taste I guess? Like watch a lot of TV and read comics and books and you’ll find you have a certain taste in comedy/ drama/ writing/ etc. And it helps you build a library in your head of references to pull from. For me, some of my biggest inspirations are Bojack Horseman and Gravity Falls. While a lot of people praise these shows for Well Written Drama or A Good Mysterious Story. they were also funny as hell. And I frequently look back on them for reference for both and often reference both in my own content. My personal taste in comedy kinda boils down to things like exaggerated reactions, awkward situations, and good comedic timing. I also love shows like parks and rec and the office which show funny exaggerated moments in mundane life. Another thing in comedy is playing with people’s expectations. Like- the stickbug meme even does this. Take the crows from Coffee Shop AU for example. They’re incredibly unnerving an mysterious, potentially dangerous even, but then you have em do things like huddling together over the shop counter and asking for BEANS, or they trip over their trench coat while they try to mysteriously walk away into the shadows, or they’re usually very synchronized and apathetic but suddenly one of them breaks the synchronization and bumps into the crow in front of them, causing the other crows to yell at them for messing up their flow (“GOD DAMMIT JERRY, NOT AGAIN”). Break peoples expectations. It’s why we find it funny when the Great And Powerful Snatcher gets all flustered about getting his non-existent butt kicked by a 12 year old. We set up our audience with expectations about certain characters and then pull the rug from under their feet.

[kanerallels]

HEHE UPDATE ON THAT STICKBUG THING.

So, that night I asked for your help—I threw a binder on it, pretty certain it was dead. WELL GUESS WHOS FLYING AROUND MY ROOM NEXT NIGHT.

THE BUG. So I lured it in the corner and threw a notebook on it. It’s dead now. WELL. Last night it was STILL ALIVE. HOW. I squashed it twice! Anyway, I lured it in and shut it in the closet. This morning, I checked on it. It was chilling on the shelf, so I squished it with a binder. NOPE. Still alive. So I am seriously considering cutting it in half with scissors when mom walks in and calmly takes it outside.

SHE DIDNT LET ME PUNISH THE THING. It’s alive. Against my will.

NO THAT'S AWFUL!!

Ugh, I HATE multi-leggers. Especially the ones that take SO LONG to kill like that, that always SUCKS.

And I'm sorry you didn't get to exact your vengeance properly-- it's my firm belief that if the bug is in your personal space, it has forfeited it's right to live, should you choose to act on that.

To make up for that injustice-- tell me about something that's been making you particularly happy lately!

[locallysourcedfriend]

The wanderer had been rattling and whining again at collymore, occasionally reaching down to nip at the lab coat and pointing at their hat before any other two legged being in the vicinity.

The first time she took the hat and tried to walk over to hand it to the folks the creature pointed at before being stopped by a hand about as big as herself got in the way queued by a polyphonic "No-".

Second time around was a drawing of misshapen buildings and a few stick people, one of them had a hat and a similar hair style to them. Leaf style?

"Ms. Romero went missing in the desert." she squinted back up at the wanderer, what the fuck was that supposed to mean? Oh. One of the reports before they got to the facility had that surname... Third and current time the beast overheard Kathryn and Tamilyn talking and learned what a car is. To an extent. It keeps calling it a rig.

"Please? I won't say anything and I can just sit in the back. Could say you were removing a diseased tree if people ask?" She blinked. It preferred sounds and playing charades over full sentences.

"I'll... Think about it." She wouldn't mind taking an early vacation but this'd need planning that she probably doesn't have the time for and have to borrow someone else's truck since her car's too small to fit the Yucca La..trans? Yucca concolor? God she doesn't think they even agreed on what to call these fucks yet. She's also got other cr- interrupted by loud rattling and a nip on the shoulder from the cryptid. This earns it a clipboard to the face.

"Teeth." the rattling stopped almost immediately and with a short whine it let go, an alternative was picked up- that being rattles and sort of dance that resembled a stickbug's defense, it'd be endearing if she didn't see it punt Deimos and start hissing at him immediately after just the other week when the dance was over- she backed up towards the exit and it started to whine again but it stopped the rattling and possible threat grooving. Sighing, pen and paper prepared she walked back to do the last few tests assigned for that day with an escape plan sitting on the back of her mind.

Im not done but the power's out in my neighborhood n im using the library's wifi to finish all my work so I won't be able to do part two until maybe the 17th if im lucky 😭

YOOOO THIS IS A GOOD START THOUGH. @itsflowers yo new collymore fic just dropped

[soulwillower]

ice cream • eddie kaspbrak

(eddie kaspbrak x tozier!reader)

requested: Ok I love the concept of Richie’s sister dating Eddie, can you maybe write an imagine of them on a date and Richie interrupting them and it’s fluffy and 🥺 ahhhhh only if you have the time though       +        What about Eddie trying to have pda with Richie’s sister and he’s not having any of it... I just love the concept of Eddie dating Richie’s sister

warning: swearing, fluff, richie being a little shit, unedited :)

[losers + reader are aged up in this.]

1.1k words

♡

the sun was high in the sky - it was 12:41 pm on a june saturday. birds are chirping, kids are wandering through main street, and music plays peacefully from inside the building you’re sitting outside of. the ice cream on your spoon was turning into a sweet, melted puddle as you stared at your boyfriend.

his freckles were bright today - because of the sun beating down, making him look sun-kissed and ethereal. his hair was slightly mussed up from the light breeze and your eyes trail over the light waves that curl at the nape of his neck. his upturned nose scrunches up as he laughs at something you say and you can't help but beam. his honey brown eyes are expressive as they flicker around your surroundings, always falling back to you after a few moments. he’s so sweet, your heart swells. 

you and eddie had decided to walk down to the ice cream parlor to get outside for a bit. you sit outside the store on a picnic table, eating your ice cream as eddie tells you about what he and ben had done to get detention the other day. you couldn't stop laughing at his story.

"you know, i really don't get why he thought i wouldn't feel it, becau-" eddie's cut off as a figure behind you catches his attention. "shit." he whispers, groaning and shaking his head. 

hearing the familiar sound of skate wheels on pavement, you crane your neck. "what?" you ask, placing your ice cream on the table in front of you and looking to where eddie's attention was focused. "oh my god." you state as your brother richie walks up to you, skateboard in hand, his lanky arms crossed.

he stops on the other side of the picnic table from where you and eddie sit and he stares down at you from behind his glasses. his hair is pulled back with the hair clips he'd stolen from your room and there's a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

"kaspbrak. i see you've taken pity on y/n and bought her some ice cream." richie sneers. you roll your eyes. eddie scoots closer to you. "shut up, richie." he quips. "you're just mad that i like her more than you."

richie rolls his eyes, a hint of a smirk lingering on his lips.

richie turns to you, "sis, why'd you decide you wanted to date my best friend? you could have picked anybody in the entire world. anybody, bean. and you picked him? you choose little wheezy kaspbrak?" he mutters and you can tell that while he's just teasing you, he really is slightly annoyed. eddie glares at richie’s nickname and you have to hold back a chuckle. 

you shrug, "he's just so cute, rich. look at him!" you quip lightly, poking eddie's cheek. eddie giggles in embarrassment, swatting your hand away and grabbing it with his own. you set your entwined hands on the table and look expectantly at richie. eddie’s thumb smoothes over your skin, making your heart flutter. 

"please stop." richie mutters, looking pained. you roll your eyes, lifting eddie's arm to snuggle into his side. eddie laughs, rolling his eyes as richie pretends to gag and proceeds to toss his board onto the table, stalking over to your side.

you watch him with an unimpressed look.

he starts to shove the two of you apart as he makes it to your side. "if you'll just- get- eds, move your fucking arm-" richie struggles to pull eddie's arm off of you as you protest, face turning red at your brother's antics. 

eddie's laughing. "richie, stop!" you call, laughing and shoving him in annoyance, trying to grab your boyfriend.

"fuck off, rich, what's wrong with you?!" eddie screeches breathlessly. richie wedges his stickbug body between the two of youand forcefully shoves you and eddie apart, grumbling to himself. 

eddie speaks up from the other side of your brother, "richie, you made me drop my ice cream. go buy me another, you douche."

richie sighs, shaking his head. "no. not moving." he says childishly. you and eddie make eye contact from on either side of richie's stubborn frame. you smile at each other, eddie shaking his head. "rich, you're acting absurd." you say, face red with a laugh as you look to him. "can you go get eddie his fucking ice cream?" you ask.

"fuck off, both of you." richie snaps, and you roll your eyes. your brother was so dramatic. but despite richie's words, he stands up. "i'll get your dumb ice cream if you pay for my own, too. and no touching my sister." "you don't control me, rich." you say, sending him a look. he grumbles, "yeah, yeah i know. i have a pass to be mad, though. my best friend is dating my sister. i'm sensitive."

“you’re a bitch, is what you are.” eddie grumbles, picking at part of his shorts. you snort a laugh. 

"i will stop this relationship if it's the last thing i do." richie says dramatically, taking money from eddie as he pulls it from his wallet. you laugh and eddie shakes his head, face red. 

 "good luck trying to stop me from dating your sister, trashmouth." he says cheekily as richie walks towards the store entrance. richie flips you both off from behind his shoulder, shaking his head as he trudges into the ice cream parlor.

eddie turns to you and you laugh, "he's such a fucking baby. we're not that bad." you say, hands looping around his neck. 

he grins back at you, his cheeks pink. you brush a strand off his forehead and his eyes follow you, soft and full of admiration. his leg nudges yours as his hands circle your waist. 

"no, we're not." he says, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. he tastes like his chocolate ice cream and your butterflies flutter in your stomach.

he grins bashfully when you pull back and you sigh dreamily. you like how comfortable you are around him, how happy he makes you feel. it’s peaceful. 

it's quiet for a few moments, until eddie whispers, "hey. don't tell richie, but i think i'm really into his sister." you giggle, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "is that so?" you ask, pulling him closer again. eddie laughs lightly, nodding and humming, "yeah. she's pretty cute."

you kiss him again, loving the way his plush lips flit against yours. he pulls you closer, one hand on your cheek. "god, this is my nightmare. disgusting. i hate my life." richie mutters, making you both pull away at the sound of his voice. you bite your lip as he scowls at you. 

"can you not ever do that again? i have to scrub my eyes now." he adds, tossing eddie's ice cream on the table haphazardly and grabbing his skateboard. you both have sheepish smiles on your face as you pull away from each other, watching as richie hops on his board.

"i hate you both." he says with a grin before pushing off, eating his ice cream cone as he crosses the street, nearly getting hit by a car as he flies away.

you press a kiss to eddie’s cheek as he grins into his ice cream. 

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Habushu

Hey remember when @hiss-and-vinegar came over this weekend to hang out in a room and get drunk with Alastor? Yeah well things got unexpectedly fluffy. They really are doing an enemies-to-friends speedrun.

If the read more doesn't work then I'm sorry but it's not my fault because tumblr did it.

Sir Pentious

Pentious actually ISN'T drunk when he arrives, thank goodness. He slithers in like he owns the place, as one does. Tucked under an arm is an enormous picnic basket, and he's looking very proud of himself.

Alastor

"Right on time!" Alastor says that like they'd actually scheduled a time. He doesn't have an offering of food, but he does have a bottle of bourbon. He half offers it with an apologetic shrug and says, "If you'd warned me sooner that you were bringing food, I would have whipped something up too." Maybe next time.

He twirls a key ring with a single room key around a finger. "Shall we?"

Sir Pentious

Oh nooo dont' tell him that, Alastor. Now he's giving you the MOST smug face that he can muster.

"OH, DEAR, ALASTOR!!! WERE YOU CAUGHT OFF GUARD BY ME??? I SHALL CHERISH THIS VICTORY."

He is. Kidding? He slithers forward, and takes the bottle, before handing off the Very Heavy picnic basket to the stickbug Alastor.

"IF YOU ARE SSSSTILL HUNGRY AFTER THISSS, THEN WE COULD WHIP UP SSSOMETHING TOGETHER, BUT I DOUBT WE WILL HAVE TO."

Alastor

Joke's on Sir Pentious, maybe Alastor likes the smug face. Maybe he wanted Sir Pentious to be smug.

"Perhaps next time you'd cherish homemade snacks a little more?" The stickbug is stronger than his toothpick arms would suggest, but his eyebrows still shoot up a little at the weight of the basket. He supposes extra food WOULD be superfluous, wouldn't it? But he hefts it gamely and gestures toward the stairs. "Second floor, first door on the right."

His hopes soar at the thought of cooking with Sir Pentious. He can probably feign hunger. His stomach's nigh on bottomless.

Sir Pentious

Pentious' tongue flicks at the display of strength. Alastor didn't have the heft of a snake to rely on, so it was indeed impressive.

"I CHERISH THEM ALL THE SSSAME, AFTER ALL, I PREPARED ALMOST EVERYTHING WITHIN THAT PIC-A-NIC BASKET. YOU WILL SURELY BE DAZZLED BY MY TANTALIZING TREATSSS, MY FRIEND."

BOY this snake is in a REALLY GOOD MOOD!!! He begins the ascent up the stairs, zig zagging as snakes must. He knows Vaggie said she was avoiding the lobby, but he hoped to give a little frilly talon wave. Oh well. Door located!

Alastor

"Did you!" He tries to balance the basket on a hip so he can free a hand for opening it as he walks, finds it too heavy for that, and calls up a shadow to help support its weight instead. He's impatient and eager to find out what Sir Pentious's cooking is like.

He and the shadow trail slightly behind Sir Pentious as he tries to dig into the basket, humming distractedly along with his own background music as he does.

Sir Pentious

Inside the basket is...... OH IT'S LOCKED. IT'S ACTUALLY GOT A LOCKING MECHANISM.

Rest in peace, Alastor. No peeksies.

"YESS! APPARENTLY, EVERYONE ISSS ALWAYSSS SSURPRISED TO FIND OUT I CAN COOK. I LIVED BY MYSSSSELF FOR QUITE SSSOME TIME, YOU KNOW."

Alastor

Alastor has the sneaking suspicion that Sir Pentious knows him just a little too well. He tries to think of a way to open the basket, comes up with three, tries to think of a way that DOESN'T involve returning a broken basket to Sir Pentious, and by then they're in the room so it's a moot point.

"You have egg servants," he points out, dropping the basket on the coffee table. "But, point taken! Do I get to see the fruits of your labors now?" He taps a claw on the basket lid.

Sir Pentious

"I HAVE EGG SHAPED SERVANTSS, YESS."

He gives him a look, "BUT THEY ARE NOT VERY GOOD AT WHAT THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO. WORKING WITHOUT SOULS DOESS THAT."

Pentious slithers over to a nearby seat, sitting down on it and coiling his tail up to be out of the way. He can see Alastor being all eager, so he decides to milk that.

"WHY??? ARE YOU GOING TO LOSE YOUR MIND WONDERING WHAT LIESSSS WITHIN, ALASSSSTOR?"

Alastor

"You know, I just might!" He knows full well that the more eagerness he expresses, the more likely Sir Pentious will be to drag out the big reveal for his own sadistic entertainment. But Alastor isn't exactly dying of starvation, and he'd like to see Sir Pentious enjoying himself—so sure, he'll play along a little bit. It isn't like Sir Pentious is going to leave without showing off his food.

The nearest seat to the coffee table is a couch—it's a sizeable hotel room suite, with not just bedroom furniture but also a desk, office chair, armchair in a corner, and then of course the couch and coffee table. Alastor momentarily wavers over whether he should pull over one of the other two chairs, then decides to let his id win this one and plops down on the couch next to Sir Pentious. "I've been wondering since I saw you were bringing something!" he said cheerily. "Why, wondering what you're bringing is half the reason I didn't bring anything myself! I was trying to guess what might compliment your offerings without knowing what they were going to be."

Sir Pentious

Pentious, an enormous King Cobra Demon decorated in eyes looks down at this stick bug, his tongue flicking as he listens to the eager chatter of that frequency mingled voice. Alastor seemed in high spirits, too.... And while Pentious was still upset over what the Radio Demon of his own HELL had done, he could relax here... To a degree.

It was nice, in its own way, to be able to exist next to him again.

"A WISE DECISION," Penny begins, clicking his talons together, "AFTER ALL, OUR ABILITIES ARE INCOMPARABLE! YOUR BOLOGNESE WOULD NOT PAIR WELL WITH MY MODE OF PREPARATION, BUT I DIGRESS."

He slips his sleeve up, revealing a gadget strapped to his wrist. Upon pressing it, the basket pops open. Voila!

Inside, a bottle of brandy mixed with lemonade ("HOT TODDIE" has been scribbled onto a label), a bottle of Japanese spirits with a dead viper inside, a tea kettle, and then also an assortment of sandwiches made with salted meat and fish. Crumpets, jam filled biscuits, and also a plate or two of thinly sliced meat. One does what one can in Hell, and he obtained his ingredients in the Hotel.

Alastor

Alastor immediately pulls the basket over, and is almost just as immediately disappointed. Oh, sandwiches. Sandwiches and charcuterie. Sure, it was food preparation, but it wasn't what Alastor would call cooking.

But it's certainly serviceable. Alastor has gotten his own hopes raised too high, expecting to be wowed—this was about the level of his own Sir Pentious's culinary talents, after all. And who is he to turn down the simple pleasures of unadorned meat? "You know my tastes," he says wryly, snagging a slice. He quickly devours it and then gets to work eagerly pulling goods out of the basket.

He pauses at the bottle of snake booze, his dead heart jolting in his chest. After a moment, he murmurs, "You really know my tastes," and sets it firmly on his side of the coffee table. "Quite a spread! If it wasn't for the booze, I'd think we're having a proper tea party, here." Maybe tea parties do have booze? Alastor doesn't know, he doesn't exactly attend many.

Sir Pentious

All the while that Alastor is looking the items over, Pentious is leaning over to watch, his talons fidgeting nervously. He very clearly cares about the other's opinion, evidently from the look on the snake's face. His brow creased, the corner of his lips pulled down into an inquisitive frown. He was a picky eater, and texture played such an enormous role in what he could and couldn't eat... This followed into the things he'd prepare for himself. It was no wonder he was so thin.

"I PREPARED SSSIMILAR FARE ON MY OUTING WITH VALERA ON THE FIN-DE-SEMAINE PRIOR." AND HE WILL NOT TALK ANYMORE ABOUT WHAT WENT DOWN DURING THAT PICNIC. RIGHT IN FRONT OF THOSE INNOCENT SANDWICHES.

"THE HOT TODDIE WAS WELL RECEIVED! BUT THE HABUSHU ISS NEW. I AM EAGER TO TRY IT! I WONDER IF YOU'LL BE BITTEN BY THE SSSNAKE? HAHA!"

Alastor

"And she has exquisite taste," Alastor says, resisting the urge to cast a pointed glance at Sir Pentious himself. Oh, he knows how sensitive Sir Pentious is to the approval or disapproval of the people he's trying to impress—that's consistent across universes, too. Sir Pentious is not going to hear a word of disappointment and is not going to see anything but a smile.

"Ha—ha-boo-shoe?" That's a new one. "I'm already more than familiar with snake bites," he says, tilting his head to pointedly stretch his neck. He grabs up one of the fish sandwiches and asks, "Have you never gotten any snake alcohol before, then?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious grins devilishly at the reminder of their previous visitation, his fangs in full view. If you want an encore, just ask, Alastor ~

But he leans back on the sofa, waving a hand, "NO, NEVER. PEOPLE DO NOT SSSSEND ME GIFTSSSS. I NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO TAKE A BOAT TO JAPAN, ALTHOUGH I REALLY WANTED TO. THINGS OF JAPONAISE ORIGIN WERE COVETED DURING MY TIME!"

He gestures to the Habushu. "ALTHOUGH IF THERE WERE SSSNAKE ALCOHOL IN LONDON TOWN, NO, I NEVER RECEIVED ANY."

Alastor

Sir Pentious is going to have to tell him he can ask or else he's going to think it's kinda weird. Because he does want an encore.

He makes a mental note about the gift issue. "Oh, is it from Japan?" Alastor gives it another look. Huh. Well, what does he know about Japanese snakes from any other? "I think the kind I came across was Thai. Well—technically it was Hellish, but based on a Thai recipe, I mean."

Sir Pentious

His shoulders bounce as he laughs, snickering behind a hand.

"A HELLISH SERPENT SSSTUFFED INTO A BOTTLE?"

He looks delighted, "WHY, I WASS AN ALCOHOLIC! THAT'SS CLOSE ENOUGH! HHHAAAAA HA HAAAAA!"

DARK HUMOR!

Alastor

Alastor blinks in surprise. "Were you." He gives the bottle an uncomfortable glance, then forces his gaze away. "Ha! I had a decade like that! I've never seen a radio in a bottle, though."

SYMPATHIZING THROUGH DARK HUMOR!

"I suppose in place of a radio you could squeeze in one of those little wireless headphones that are supposed to go up your ear canal," Alastor says, with a slight sneer of distaste. "But I doubt it would do much for the flavor."

Sir Pentious

He grins wide at the shared understanding. WOW THESE OLD MEN. Pentious drags the tips of his claws across his lips, carefully.

"OH, I DON'T KNOW! IF YOU BROKE THEM JUSST RIGHT, MAYBE YOU'D FIND THE TASTE SHOCKING! IT WOULD SSSSPARK A NEW FLAVOR!"

Booooo.

"I HAVE NEVER WORN EAR PIECESSSSS, I DO NOT HAVE EARSSSS LIKE A HUMAN ANYMORE. AND BESIDESSS, I MUCH PREFER THE SSSSOUND THROUGH A GRAMOPHONE. I HAD ACCESS TO ONE OF THE VERY FIRSSST MODELSSS, YOU KNOW! "

Alastor

He's relieved when the conversation moves on without further questions. "Ha! A real jolt to the senses! If nothing else, it would probably improve the ear pieces."

Alastor's eyes light up. (More, anyway.) "Did you?" he asks with relish. "I shouldn't be surprised, early adopter that you are! I just didn't realize they were around in the 1880s. I heard my first in the aughts. I still prefer records myself! Not that I mind headphones, but..." He flicks an ear. "They don't make many models for me, either." A wan smile. "But then it's not a terribly high priority when you can do this." He briefly cranks the volume up on his disembodied background music before letting it settle down to a murmur again.

Sir Pentious

He leans on his hands, upon his coil and. EXCEPTIONALLY close to that grinning radio man. Tongue flick.

"YOU ARE GOING TO BE SSSO VERY ENVIOUSSS. IN 1887, EMILE BERLINER CREATED A PROTOTYPE OF WHAT YOU KNOW AS THE GRAMOPHONE!! AND...."

Demonic hungry beast-like grin.

"I THREATENED HIM FOR IT. HE GAVE IT TO ME. I HAD THE ORIGINAL, CRANK OPERATED MODEL!! SSSSUCH INGENUITY. SSSSUCH SSSTYLE."

A frown, "IT'SSSS TOO BAD I DIED THE NEXT YEAR, BUT THESE THINGSSSS HAPPEN."

Alastor

Alastor doesn't budge an inch back as Sir Pentious closes in, focusing the entirety of his attention on that wonderfully wicked grin. His eyes open more and grin stretches wide enough that it threatens to rip his face in two; his studio audience applauds at the conclusion of the story, all parties thoroughly amused. "You—are—RIGHT!" Alastor prods Sir Pentious's chest underneath his eye. "I am envious of you! The prototype, no less! There's being ON the cutting edge, and then there's being the one to sharpen the knife."

Alastor flashes back to where he'd been a year before he died—too bad, indeed—and shrugs. "There's something to be said for dying while king of the hill. No slow descent from the peak into the valley of the shadow of death." The words are still as chipper as he can make them but even to himself his tone rings somewhat hollow. He still misses those years he lost. Half his life unlived.

Sir Pentious

Oh, yes! Listen to that applause. Pentious leans back, placing his claws under his chin as he basks in the praise given to him. What a wonderful feeling, being adored! He purrrrrs, in that Cobra-Snarling Kind of Way. "YESS, NO SSLOW DESCENT AT ALL. I DIED IN AN AIRSHIP EXPLOSION!"

Alastor

"A—an airship explosion!" Alastor played back a couple of soundbites from the Hindenburg disaster broadcast—"it's a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen"—"oh, the humanity!"—he couldn't help himself. "Well, talk about going out with a bang! Ha! What in the world managed to bring down an airship in 1888?"

Sir Pentious

Oh man, he has no idea what the hell Alastor just played, but it gets an inquisitive look out of the snake anyway. Pentious waves a hand dismissively, and leans over to pick up the bottle of Brandy+Lemonade.

"ENGINE CAUGHT. I WAS TOO HASTY WITH MY PREPARATIONSSS THAT DAY, OR ONE OF MY LABORERS HAD A MISHAP. REGARDLESS, HERE I AM! ALTHOUGH, IT'SSSS RATHER FUNNY... IT DID NOT FEEL LIKE MUCH OF ANYTHING. I RECALL THE HEAT, THE WAY MY SSSKIN WAS TEARING FROM MY LIMBSSSS, BUT THEN BEFORE I COULD THINK TO SSSCREAM, I WAS FLYING MY SHIP THROUGH THE BLOODIED SSSSKIES OF HELL. IT'SSS THE SAME ONE, YOU KNOW. MY AIRSHIP."

Even if he's had to rebuild it.

Alastor

Just a clip of one of the best tragedies Alastor died too soon to enjoy. He lives (so to speak) for opportunities to buy black market broadcast recordings of devastating news in the living world.

So he'd brought HIMSELF down—isn't that typical of most of Sir Pentious's losses? Alastor has to fight the urge to laugh; Sir Pentious wouldn't appreciate the humor.

But this is fast to be hearing about Sir Pentious's death. Especially in such depth. Alastor wonders if he's always this free with the details of his demise, or if Alastor is riding on the legacy of whatever intimacy his alternate had enjoyed with Sir Pentious. Or if Sir Pentious is trying to push through to intimacy as fast as possible before THIS alliance falls through, too.

Because that, Alastor is aware, is certainly what he himself is about to do. "Mine didn't feel like much either. The injuries before the killing blow, sure—but the last one? Just a quick pop on my forehead, and suddenly I'm backstage at a circus with an imp telling me to get out!" He huffs. This is the second time he's told a Sir Pentious about his death. The last time, it took fifteen years—and came less than a day before Alastor permanently broke off their alliance. "But—you brought your entire airship to Hell with you? That's rare! Very rare." And, if Sir Pentious's version of Hell operates on the same principles as Alastor's, means the airship is an extension of his soul. Alastor wonders if Sir Pentious himself knows that—he's run into far too many sinners who don't.

Sir Pentious

It was a toss up of reasons. Pentious found it easier to joke about his own demise, as long as it was him telling the story. It gave him a bit more control over the outcome, and even if he were to end up laughed at, he still chose to tell the tale. But why share it with Alastor? Well... He felt good, lately. It was a peculiar feeling--the snake had a habit of oversharing anyway, and sometimes he didn't catch himself quickly enough. But Alastor wanted to be friends, and, friends are the sort of people who overshare information, right?

At least, that was the impression the Inventor got from online interaction. You couldn't call yourself a friend without having shared strangely private matters of your own life. It was kind of a comfort slip... but as long as attention wasn't brought to the fact he was so open about it, Pentious wouldn't become defensive. He didn't know the ins and outs of friendship, didn't know what this kind of contract allowed or forbid. Maybe he had made an enormous mistake, sharing that much information... but now Alastor was telling him about his own death.

Pentious smirked, that greyish, reddish tongue slipping out between his lips as he listened in variable silence--he made a lot of noise just existing, but as Valera had described, he was like a white noise machine. Once the topic returned to him, Pentious looked a lot more comfortable, "YESSS, I DID! I'VE REBUILT HER UP TWICE NOW... THREE TIMESSS, SSOON TO BE. IT TAKESSS TIME. I HAVE TO BE IN THE RIGHT..." His eyes glance about, and his hood raises, "NEVER MIND ABOUT THAT. LET USSS HAVE A DRINK, SHALL WE, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

Alastor ponders over the missing end of that sentence. Right state of mind? Right mood? He feels like it has to be something like that—and if so, that suggests the ship IS a part of him, if its physical condition is dependent on Sir Pentious's inner condition.

But for now, he'll never mind about that. "Of course! That's what we came for!" He locates a glass and holds it out to be filled from Sir Pentious's bottle.

Sir Pentious

Pentious pours him a glass, careful to not spill it as he does... and then, he pours a glass for himself. The liquid is warm, which was the best way to enjoy this kind of beverage. He lifts his glass to Alastor's, "TO WHAT DO WE CHEERS TO, CHUM?"

Alastor

Chum, what a word. It sounds so... chummy. He considers the question, tossing out several options that are either too sentimental or too impersonal, and taps his glass to Sir Pentious's with, "To your not having to rebuild that blimp a fourth time for a good long while, how about that?" To Sir Pentious's health, both internal and external.

Sir Pentious

Oh ho! Now that's a good toast!

He clinks his glass elegantly against the others.

"YES, RATHER SO! HERE ISS TO THAT ENDEAVOR, HAHAAA!" Aaand he takes a big gulp. Burns all the way down, with a dance of sweet and sour on the tongue.

Alastor

Alastor also takes a deep swig—chokes, swallows hard, and coughs static. "S—sorry." Cough. He wrinkles his nose as he tries not to let the rest of his face twist. "Sweeter than I was expecting." He'd heard "hot toddy" and unthinkingly assumed it was made the same way he'd make one for a sore throat—with whiskey and the absolute minimum amount of honey he could get away with.

Sir Pentious

OH!! WHAT A REACTION! Pentious LAUGHS openly, his hood lifting up!!!

"NYA HA HAAA! LOOK AT YOU-- I FORGOT, YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS KIND OF THING!! NYA HA HAAA!"

Alastor

Alastor sticks out the tip of his tongue—ick—then grabs another sandwich to cover up the taste. (He has to grope a couple of times before his hand lands on one—his eyes are on Sir Pentious as he laughs, not on the coffee table.) He devours a couple of bites before he says, "If you 'forget' again, I'm going to start assuming you're doing it on purpose."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious couldn't look ANY more smug than he already does, and he leans closer to that Sour Faced Deer--even if he was still smiling, Pentious knew he definitely was caught off guard. Small victories. "OH, THAT ISSSS A DISSSSTINCT POSSSSSIBILITY."

Alastor

"I'm going to have my guard up next time," Alastor warns. He takes another small sip from the glass to see whether the sweetness is less shocking when he knows it's coming.

It is—but he's still not going to call it enjoyable.

Sir Pentious

You drink for enjoyment? Pentious prefers to drink to eradicate sensation. He takes a sandwich for himself, as well as a napkin, and leans back to start eating it. Yum yum. The sandwiches are missing their crusts, and the bread is very soft.

Alastor

He's tried to break that habit.

Alastor's not complaining; the less bread, the easier to enjoy the meat by itself. Alastor leans over to try to peer at the sandwich fillings and see if there are any flavors he hasn't tried yet, and grabs another. "So, hot toddy aside—were THESE chosen with my tastes in mind?" He takes a bite and, experimentally, grabs up one of the meat cuts to add on. "Because if they were, I'm flattered."

Sir Pentious

Pentious thinks, a moment, and he shakes his head.

"NO, I DIDN'T REALLY MAKE ANY OF THISSS WITH YOU IN MIND. I JUST WANTED TO BRING SNACKSSS AND BOOZE, SO WE COULD GET "HAMMERED". HAAAHAA!! THISSS ISSS SSTANDARD PICNIC FARE OF MY TIME, ALASSSTOR. YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN MISERABLE. NOT A RADIO IN SSSSIGHT. I WONDER IF YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN THE OPERA DEMON."

Alastor

"Well, lucky our tastes line up!" He lifts his glass again—cheers to that—and takes another sip. "... Mostly."

He doesn't have to contemplate the question long. "Probably!" It's something he's actually thought about—in death, being the Radio Demon has felt so correct that he has to wonder if he still would have been the Radio Demon had he died a century earlier, his powers lying latent until the radio receivers to react to them had been invented. Or maybe it was impossible for his soul to have been created until the technology he needed was ready. "I was trying to make it on Broadway before the radio came around. A generation before that, it probably WOULD have been opera. What about you, if you'd been born too early? I expect you would have had to start the Industrial Revolution all by yourself."

Sir Pentious

He snickers, grinning REALLY close to Alastor's head.

"AND YOU KNOW, I WOULD HAVE DONE SO!" He takes another gulp. There's no gentle sips here, "I HAVE AN EYE FOR INVENTION! I COULD NEVER SSSSIT BY AND LET OTHERSSS GET THINGSSSS SSTARTED WITHOUT ME. NO MATTER THE ERA, SHOULD I HAVE BEEN BORN INTO IT, I WOULD HAVE REVOLUTIONIZED IT!!!"

Alastor

Well, don't be shy, Sir Pentious, there's still a couple inches of empty air there.

He's getting tired of gentle sips himself. He opens his bottle of bourbon, drowns what's left of his hot toddy, and takes a deep gulp of the new concoction. Much better. "Oh, I have no doubt! That's what you're made for! You're still doing it now, even!" Alastor sure didn't see anyone else running around with rail guns like the one Sir Pentious has just cooked up.

Sir Pentious

Oooh, a straight swig from the bottle, eh? Pentious flicks his tongue, looking it over, before he puts his glass down and reaches for Alastor's bourbon, "COME NOW, DON'T BE sssSTINGY."

Alastor

"What, do you need to burn out the taste of honey, too?" He passes over the bottle then flops back against the couch cushion, enjoying the familiar burn down his throat.

Sir Pentious

"HARDER TO GET DRUNK OFF OF SOMETHING SSSSO SSWEET." ACtually, it's easier, but he doesn't like the sticky taste of honey so much.

Pentious fills up his glass near to the brim, which means there'd still be a hint of lemon and honey, but not quite as bad. He then takes a direct swig from the bottle and passes it back with a cackle.

Alastor

"Definitely not as enjoyable! I prefer to taste exactly how drunk I'm going to get off my drink." And if that means occasionally feeling like he's drinking paint thinner, so be it.

He takes the bottle back, almost takes a swig, stops, stares at the lip of the bottle as he thinks extremely hard about the implications, and then swigs with even more gusto.

Sir Pentious

Pentious leans over to grab his glass, and sits back slowly, as to not jostle the thing. Several big gulps, you can hear it noisily! OHH that burns. He purrrrrsss, and brings the glass down on the coffee table. Looking even more giddy by the moment.

"YOU KNOW, WE SHOULDN'T GET OURSELVESSSSS TOO DONE IN BY THE BRANDY... THERE ISSS SSSTILL THE SSNAKE BITE THERE."

He gestures to the Habushu, "UNLESSsss YOU HAVE ANOTHER BITE IN MIND!" Pentious, you already made this joke.

Alastor

There's a crackle like two stations trying to interfere with each other and brief garbled voices over Alastor's background music. Okay, all right, Alastor's got just enough booze in him to take the edge off his common sense. And Sir Pentious wouldn't have brought it up twice if he wasn't serious, right? "Are you offering?"

Sir Pentious

Hhhmmmm. He looks over at Alastor, wincing at the sound of crackling radio stations... He taps his grit teeth with a talon, thinking it over, "LET ME HAVE ANOTHER DRINK BEFORE I DECIDE!" Because that's always smart. He takes the bottle back so he can pour himself another glass-- but whatever. He'll just take a gulp or two from the bottle. He sucks in air! Feels great, and also horrible at the same time.

Alastor

Is that a drink to work up his nerve, or a drink to put off a distasteful task? "Up to you," Alastor says, as if it doesn't make the slightest difference to him. He takes up the bottle of habushu—HIS next drink is certainly going to be of the "liquid courage" variety—opens it up, and tastes it a little more cautiously than he did the hot toddy.

Sir Pentious

Unfortunately, Pentious had neither decision on his mind. He was just wanting to drink more--he watched Alastor taste the Habushu... He'd be greeted with a spicy, though definitely Strong taste. The smell was as if cinnamon were dipped into paint thinner. Excellent? The Snake outside of the bottle, wearing a blinking top hat, leans closer to Alastor, somewhat towering over him menacingly, his hood out.

"OR SHOULD WE SAVE THE BITE FOR LASsssT??? I DO NOT WANT TO CUT OUR MEETING SHORT."

Alastor

Tastes good to Alastor. Weird, but good. He drinks a little more.

And suddenly he's being loomed over.

He thinks he's starting to develop a little bit of a taste for being loomed over. Not many people have the courage to attempt a loom on the Radio Demon—and most of those people are boring as hell. A looming Sir Pentious, however, is a promise of an exquisitely interesting afternoon, often in the form of mass carnage and flattened city blocks. (And he looks handsome from this angle, to boot. Very imperious. Very sure of himself.)

"Oh! I can handle a little blood loss and keep going, don't you worry!" He pats Sir Pentious's shoulder reassuringly. "But you're right! Dessert comes after the meal."

Sir Pentious

Pentious only feels comfortable when he can loom over his enemies! Perks of being so long. And he may not have his airship, he's still very big in general. His eyes squint at the shoulder pat, but he sits back, pulling more of his tail up onto the couch. Pleasant rattling sound. While Alastor caresses that bottle, Pentious is going to fetch a few jam filled biscuits out of the basket and munch on them.

He really does look happier, these days. Like his color is more saturated.

Alastor

If Sir Pentious is leaning away, then Alastor is going to... maybe... lean toward. Keep that distance consistent and all. That's a good idea. (The alcohol is definitely kicking in.)

He elbows Sir Pentious and offers the bottle. "The snake booze is pretty good! Makes me regret not trying the other bottle I got. We oughta try the Thai variety some time, you know, for comparison purposes."

Sir Pentious

His neck does a weird accordion thing, but only briefly. Exaggerated movements, though not intentionally, his head swivels a little as he looks Alastor over. Taking the bottle now, and peeking at the viper inside. His tongue flicks and he grins.

"WANTING TO DRINK WITH ME AGAIN IN THE FUTURE, ALASSSTOR? YOUR LADY FRIEND WILL BECOME QUITE ANNOYED WITH OUR VISITSSSS."

Alastor

"Well, sure, the first couple times have gone well enough." There are a confused few seconds during which Alastor tries to figure out which of his lady friends Sir Pentious thinks would be jealous of these meetings; he can't think of anything to say in response except, "You're not worried yours will get annoyed?" And then he figures it out. "Oh—I wouldn't call Vaggie a FRIEND. Coworker at best. Anyway, we could go over to your side of things."

Sir Pentious

Valera always encourages these sorts of meetings, so he's not worried in the least in this case.

The mention of having their visits over on his side makes him think about his own Alastor, and the conversation he had with Valera... Pentious' expression grows a little dark, a red glow seeping into his eyes as he thinks on it.

Alastor

Alastor's watching Sir Pentious closely enough to notice that. He weighs his curiosity against his desire to see Sir Pentious in a good mood, decides that this friendship has been short-lived enough that not maintaining a good mood could ruin his chances completely, and he says, "Vaggie will get used to our spending time over here. Anyway, I don't know what she could do about it!"

Sir Pentious

He's startled out of his own brief intensity, and he leans back on the sofa, resting his head more on Alastor's side.

"MY PLACE COULD WORK, HOWEVER, THERE WOULD BE ANOTHER ONE OF YOU WATCHING USSS, AND CURRENTLY, I AM NOT LOOKING TO SSSSPEND ANY SSSSUCH TIME WHERE HE COULD BE WATCHING ME IN A JOVIAL SSSSTATE."

Alastor

Ah. "Think he'll try to ruin the mood? Maybe kidnap me in the middle and switch us out?" He laughs at the thought, then leans forward to grab—what's left?—another few pieces of meat.

Sir Pentious

That gets a LAUGH out of the old serpent, and he rests his head on his palm, grinning down at Alastor.

"I DOUBT HE'D WANT TO SSSPEND ANY LENGTH OF TIME WITH ME! BESIDESSS, HE WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO RESSSIST CALLING ME SIR HAROLD. I WOULD KNOW THE DIFFERENCE IN AN INSSSTANT."

Alastor

"Harold." One corner of his mouth twists. Of all the names to settle on. "You know, I don't get why he wouldn't want to! I don't know why he—well—" He stopped, stumbling over his words as he realized he wasn't exactly heading toward neutral territory. "What it is he... doesn't see in you...r company." Smooth work, Mr. Professional Radio Host. Incredibly subtle.

Sir Pentious

The repeating of the name CLEARLY irritates Pentious, his glare fixating on the other with a snappy hiss sfx. But then he watches Alastor, of all Demons, stumble awkwardly through that mess of a sentence, and he raises a broooow. Huhwha.

Sir Pentious straightens up, polishing his claws on his suit, "YESSS, WELL, CLEARLY, HE IS AFRAID OF BEING SHOWN UP! ONE CANNOT SSSIMPLY BE IN MY PRESENCE WITHOUT THAT HAPPENING! I KNOW HE FEARS SSSSOME ASPECT OF ME, OTHERWISE, WHY WOULD HE BE SSSTAYING AWAY?"

Easier to tell himself that-- it was definitely more likely that Alastor just didn't give two shits about Pentious, and he knew that to be true, too.

His focus is back on the Stickbug.

"BUT YOU KNOW, YOU CLEARLY HAVE A FEW POINTSSSSsss ON HIM! AFTER ALL, YOU CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF ME!"

Alastor

Can't get enough of me. He is going to sit forward and he is going to pick up a sandwich and he is going to chew on it a bit and he is definitely not buying time while he screams in his head, and there are certainly not very very quiet terrified howls buried beneath the background music.

Finally, he says, as though he never paused, "Well, OF COURSE! What more interesting company could one keep than a man determined to conquer Hell and capable of independently producing the all the firepower he needs to accomplish that task?! If my duplicate is AFRAID of you, then he must have ambitions I don't! And if he ISN'T afraid, then..." He gropes around for an explanation, then lamely concludes, "then... I guess he's just stupid."

Because he genuinely, genuinely doesn't know what it is that his alternate isn't seeing. He's sifted through enough parallel dimensions and met enough versions of himself to conclude that his sentiments are quite probably unique, and he doesn't know why. He isn't so different from his mirror selves; nor are most of the duplicate serpents he's seen so different from his own. And yet he's the only Radio Demon who's got thorns wrapped between his ribs like this. Why him? What are the other lucky Alastors missing?

Sir Pentious

Pentious is too tipsy to consider the sounds he's hearing in the background music, just watching Alastor idly.

What a way to end that thought! The Cobra laughs, and he holds the bottle of habushu up, beaming with enjoyment. Thoroughly, THOROUGHLY entertained. "I WILL DRINK TO THAT, ALASTOR. HE IS JUST STUPID, INDEED!" And he takes a swig, clearly not bothered by the viper inside. Then again, Cobras do eat smaller snakes primarily. The taste has more kick to it, and he offers it to this rideerculous man.

Alastor

Oh! Success! What a relief. Alastor accepts the bottle—who needs glasses, next time they should start out by passing bottles back and forth, he's loving this—and drinks deeply from it.

Sir Pentious

Don't swallow the snake, Alastor.

Pentious was definitely getting pretty hammered at this rate, though. At least ten minutes later, he's kind of... on the floor, but his tail is up on the couch, as he streeetches and hums to himself. He just looks so relaxed.

Alastor

And as long as they're getting comfortable, Alastor's going to take the opportunity to flop across the couch—and across as much as Sir Pentious's tail as he can get away with. If he DOESN'T swallow the snake, it's not going to be for a lack of trying. He's got the bottle upside-down and his tongue in the bottle, trying to coax the coiled-up corpse toward the opening so he can bite down. It's probably not going to be nearly as delicious as he imagines, but right now he's primarily thinking of the satisfying crunch of the skull.

Sir Pentious

Apparently Pentious doesn't mind Alastor lying on him--either he's too drunk to properly feel it, or he is too drunk to care. Or, the forbidden third option... he doesn't actually mind all that much. It would be hard to tell in this state. He purrs.........

"YOU KNOW, ALASSTOR, I HAVE BEEN 'STRAIGHT UP' MISERABLE FOR THE PASSST ONE HUNDRED YEARSSS! GIVE OR TAKE A DECADE OR SO. WHEN I DIED, I WASS OPTIMISSSTIC IN SSSOME WAYSSS THAT I COULD, WELL, MAKE IT WORK. AND THEN I MET YOU IN THE FORTY YEARSS AFTER THAT, AND IT WASS--WELL IT WASN'T YOU, YOU. BUT WE ALL KNOW HOW THAT WENT!"

He imitates the sound of a blimp crashing and exploding.

"AND, AFTER THAT, I THINK A PART OF ME FINALLY DIED! I HATED EVERYONE, EVERYTHING. I DOUBLED DOWN MY EFFORTSSSsss, AND FIXATED ON MY DESIRESSSsss, BUT I WAS COMPLETELY ALONE! EVEN AFTER HAVING THE EGGSSSSssss CREATED, THEY WERE A POOR SSSUBSSTITUTE FOR CONTACT."

Alastor

There is an actual audible record scratch as the background music finally shuts up. "Oh."

His pleasant buzz has quite abruptly shifted into nausea. He reaches past Sir Pentious to unsteadily set the bottle of Habushu on the coffee table, snake uneaten.

Sir Pentious

"AND YET...!" He continues, "I HAVE BEEN HAPPY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN DECADES.... BECAUSE OF VALERA! SHE ENTERED MY LIFE AND NOW I HAVE DRIVE ONCE MORE... SSSHE EVEN MANAGED TO CONVINCE ME TO GIVE YOU A CHANCE, ALASSSTOR...!"

He's beaming, pressing his hands to his cheeks as he rubs them. Oh no, he's so in love.

"I WENT FROM A BITTER, LONELY, HATEFUL MAN TO HAVING A FRIEND, AND...! A WONDERFUL WOMAN IN MY UNLIFE...!"

Alastor

Alastor stares at the ceiling as his nausea finds a way to twist into horrible new shapes. It should have been him. It could have been—if not for his own goddamn, stupid...

He rubs his face (still smiling? good) and then sits up to try to move from the couch to the floor—wow that's a lot of snake down there. He turns and tries to lift his legs over Sir Pentious's body to swing off the couch, loses his coordination, and falls off the couch to land on his ass on the floor with his legs flung across Sir Pentious's tail. He flings an arm around Sir Pentious's shoulders and declares, "And it shouldn't have taken you HALF that long to get all that—and more! Why, you should never have lost it in the first place." He leans closer to Sir Pentious and says insistently, "But you have it now, and I am TRULY glad that you do." And he is. As much as he desperately, furiously wishes all that could have come from him—he's proven quite conclusively that he's not at all equipped to offer it, so better that Sir Pentious found someone who is. "And you don't know how honored I am to have been given a second chance to be a part of it. Goodness knows I don't deserve it, ha!"

Sir Pentious

The sudden THUD of Alastor falling on the floor definitely startles Pentious enough to open up his hood--but soon he's got the deer next to his head with that arm around his shoulders, and Sir Pentious can't help the little smile that accompanies that. Friend.

"WELL, ALASSSTOR, DO ANY OF US DESERVE SSSssECOND CHANCES?" He was PRETTY drunk, just listen to that slurred speech. "BECAUSE THISSSS IS HELL, I THINK NOT! BUT.... FRANKLY, MY FRIEND, I DON'T GIVE A DAMN! WE'VE BEEN DOWN HERE LONG ENOUGH, LET'Ssss GET sssssSOMETHING OUT OF IT!"

And he bumps his head affectionately against Alastor's. Bonk. Probably better not to mention this to him when he's sober.

Alastor

If head-bonking is on the table now, then so is sustained head contact. It's like a bonk that doesn't end. He tilts his head sideways against Sir Pentious's, they're making contact, no take-backs.

"No, no, of course we don't deserve second chances." He laughs ruefully. "But there's the thing: if you don't deserve a second chance, usually that means nobody's going to GIVE you any! Which makes it all the more—all the more... Well, YOU DID! You said just a bit ago that you WERE optimistic—if you ask me—not that you asked me, but I'm telling you anyway—you still are."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious' tongue sticks out in the most ridiculous way as he practically beams. What a smile. It's like a large C trying to take over his entire face.

"OHH, DON'T INssssSULT ME~" he waves a hand.... "OPTIMISSSTIC.... SSUCH A FAR FETCHED IDEA! AND YET.... IT DOESN'T ALL FEEL SSSO POINTLESS, NOW."

He purrrrrrs. It's a cobra sound, deep and raspy, but the growling is curled enough to sound content. It's not a friendly sound if you're used to cats, but at least he wasn't about to bite.

"ARE YOU OPTIMISSSTIC, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

Pressed as close to Sir Pentious as he is, Alastor can practically feel him smiling without having to turn and look at it. He can DEFINITELY feel that raspy purr—even as calm as Sir Pentious is, there's an edge of something dangerous to the sound. (It reminds him of fangs sinking into his throat.) Alastor is sure the reason he feels a little light-headed is because of the alcohol.

"It's not an insult!" Alastor lays his free hand dramatically on his chest as if he's offended at the mere suggestion; then pauses and amends himself: "It would be an insult toward anyone else. But YOU wear it well!" He pauses again and amends himself again: "Wore it well. Anyway—no. I'm not. Not sure if I ever was one, but I'm even less of one now."

Sir Pentious

Alastor often talked so much, most of his commentary or idle prattle was just background noise.

Sir Pentious looks to the other--but since their heads are together, it's more like a nuzzle. Nuzzle nuzzle........

"AND WHAT WOULD HELP YOU BECOME MORE OPTIMISSSTIC? YOU'VE ALWAYSSSS BEEN A MYSSSTERY TO ME, ALASTOR."

Alastor

Ah, every radio host's greatest fear: to be switched on and left ignored in the corner, nothing but idle noise for a busy listener to hear but tune out.

Alastor 100% mistakes the gesture for a nuzzle and returns it eagerly. How did he get this lucky this fast?

"I—huh." He doesn't think "you" would make a very good answer. "Optimism is hard to come by in Hell."

Sir Pentious

Luckily, Sir Pentious is too hammered to question it, although he does make a face.

"DID.... YOU CHANGE YOUR HAIR?"

Yep. He's only just noticed now.

Alastor

He's too hammered to realize Sir Pentious really should have noticed sooner. "Oh! Yes!" He leans away slightly so he can turn toward Sir Pentious and point at his hair. (He's not letting go of Sir Pentious's shoulders, though.) "This is how I usually—well, I guess I can't say 'usually' anymore—how I used to wear it! How I prefer it. Do you like it?"

Sir Pentious

He has to focus his eyes a little, giving him a once over..... Hmmmmm.

"I'M NOT USED TO IT, THE RED SUITS YOU MUCH BETTER!" Or rather, Sir Pentious prefers it, "THIS STYLE DOES MAKE YOU LOOK YOUNGER...."

Alastor

His ears droop slightly, but it doesn't touch his tone as he says, "Well—don't you worry, I'm sure the red will be back soon enough! I never can manage to maintain this look." He wonders if "younger" is good or bad.

Sir Pentious

"WELL IT ISN'T BAD, I JUST DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE WITH IT. WE ONLY MET IN DEATH." Sir Pentious attempts to clarify, his tail slithering off the couch and.... FLOPPING on top of Alastor's body. Trapped.

Alastor

Trapped... or embraced??

"Fair enough. I'm not going to pretend I didn't act differently back when I looked like this than I do now!" He leans a little more heavily on Sir Pentious for a moment, "And I suppose I'd have to adjust if you showed up one day with a curtain of black hair instead of a hood."

He drops his free hand on top of Sir Pentious's tail. NOW who's trapped? "... Do you miss your body?"

Sir Pentious

Oh yes, definitely, it is Sir Pentious who is trapped. A prisoner of the deer.

The question gives him pause, and he thinks... Does he remember it well? Does he miss it?

"NO. NOT PARTICULARLY. I WAS A THIN, FRAIL SORT OF MAN. UNREMARKABLE. AT LEAST UNTIL I FINALLY BEGAN MY TERRORIZING OF LONDON, THAT IS."

He grins, "DANDY SUITSSS AND WHAT NOT. BUT, I SAY, I'M MUCH MORE RECOGNIZABLE LIKE THIS. I HAVE MORE PRESENCE THAN EVER BEFORE. LEGS ARE A HASSLE."

Maybe he can't waltz anymore, but it's not like he ever enjoyed those fancy parties.

Alastor

"Isn't everyone unremarkable until they find something to start terrorizing?" Alastor doesn't find many people remarkable, anyway. "Snakeskin suits you. I've SEEN pictures of you—other you—but I'm sure if I was asked to try to describe what you'd looked like, I'd describe you as a cobra first and then try to explain what's different."

Sir Pentious

"OH, HAVE YOU SEEN PICTURES OF ME?" Big. Big pupils. They're huge like kitten eyes as he looks at Alastor.

"RIGHT, BECAUSE OF YOUR HISTORY WITH THE SERPENT OF YOUR HELL..."

He flops his head back down, "FOR A MOMENT, I THOUGHT YOU'D HEARD OF ME FROM THE LIVING WORLD, BUT, AMERICANS LIKELY DON'T CONCERN THEMSELVES MUCH WITH THE ENGLISH ANYMORE."

Alastor

Oh, hold on, give Alastor a moment to stare into those eyes. Okay. He's good.

"Sure, I'd heard of you in the living world! Why, we covered you in history class! Early films showed who the top bad guy was by giving him long black hair."

Sir Pentious

what. WHAT

In a FLASH, Sir Pentious pinned Alastor to the floor, face mere inches from his.

"YOU'VE HEARD OF ME?? YOU WERE TAUGHT OF ME?? I MADE SSSSSOME KIND OF AN IMPACT???!!! DETAILSSSSS, MAN!"

Alastor

"I—sure, of course you made an impact! You invented air combat a generation before anyone else figured out how to get off the ground, how could you NOT make an impact?" How could HE think he hadn't made an impact?

Sir Pentious

He's. Staring.

Alastor

Alastor's staring back. He's really digging all this soulful eye contact.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious had just found out, after decades, that he'd ACTUALLY made an impact--nobody had ever known who he was, even soon after his death.

Apparently the Jack the Ripper murders were far more enticing than Pentious blowing up the Savoy.

Alastor

Sir Pentious is still staring. Alastor should probably give him a little more than that to go on. "They named an entire chapter in our history textbook after you. 'The Serpentine Decade.' Between Reconstruction and the Gilded... Do... do people not know who you are in your version of things?"

Sir Pentious

Oh no.

He's known? In a different variation of the world?

Pentious sits back, staring wide eyed into the middle distance...

"EVERY TIME I INQUIRED, NO ONE... NO ONE KNEW WHO I WAS. IT WAS AS IF MY DEEDS WERE COMPLETELY UNHEARD OF."

Alastor

Alastor watches his face closely, trying to figure out what he's thinking. Considering Alastor's own vision is a little blurry at the moment, he can't quite make it out. "Well—rest assured, as long as you're over here, there will be no one who's died in over a hundred years who doesn't know your name."

Probably a hyperbole—surely SOMEONE hadn't been taught their history properly—but certainly Sir Pentious himself was unlikely to run into anybody who didn't know.

Whether they still took him seriously after a few years dead and watching the reigning overlords sneer at the old supervillain's airships was quite another question, but Sir Pentious didn't need to know that.

Sir Pentious

He places his talons together, scratching at his gloves. Oh... This was such an amazing situation.

As long as he's here, EVERYONE knows who he is, historically speaking. But. Well.

Not the same Sir Pentious. The serpent suddenly felt envy flare inside of him, but he shook his head. No, no. Dwell on that later......

...... He looks back at Alastor, "WAIT. AREN'T YOU AMERICAN? WHY WERE YOU STUDYING ME?"

While his father was an immigrant, it didn't really make sense to him that that would do it.

Alastor

If Sir Pentious has to ask, then his history really IS different. Alastor fears that this little cross-dimensional compare-and-contrast is going to leave Sir Pentious not with the lesson "I'm remembered somewhere," but "a different version of me was more successful than I am." In the back of his mind, Alastor starts figuring out what he'll say if that happens.

"Over here, you decided to hop overseas before beginning your rampage. You were the absolute bane of the east coast. You made a far bigger impact on us than you did on England."

Sir Pentious

Well, that answers that! He smirks, looking devilish. "NYA HA HAAAAAAA! DID I FLY OVER? CAUGHT YOU ALL BY SSSSURPRISE, DID I? HOW ENTERTAINING! YOU KNOW, I SHOULD HAVE MOVED TO AMERICA WHEN MY WIFE LEFT ME... A NEW SSTART WOULD HAVE DONE ME SSOME GOOD."

He stares kind of. Hollowly at his hands. Instead, he'd lost several years of his life to addiction and insanity. And any chance of meeting his son.

"I WANTED TO BE RECOGNIZED--I KNEW I WAS BRILLIANT, BUT THOSE BASSSTARDSSSS REFUSED TO SSSEE IT. I MADE THEM SSSEE JUSST WHAT I WAS CAPABLE OF, EVEN IF IT COSSSST ME EVERYTHING."

Alastor

Alastor's not sure when his own Sir Pentious's wife left him—maybe it HAD been before he started his rampage? Certainly a wife had never been mentioned in any of the biographical materials Alastor had seen on Sir Pentious.

"I don't see how anyone could refuse to see it now," Alastor says dryly. "Unless it's out of sheer, stubborn spite! But if so, that says more about THEM than you, doesn't it?"

Sir Pentious

He lies down directly on Alastor. Yep. Crushing him.

"YES, BUT THEY ARE VERY LOUD, AND I AM TIRED....."

Alastor

Oh. Oh this is... this sure is something that only happened once, right before Alastor ruined everything.

Not this time. This time he's getting it right.

He slides his arms around Sir Pentious's back and holds him tight. "I'm louder." A dozen voices buzz like locusts under Alastor's words.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious' eyes widened, but... He didn't sit up in an offended rage. Instead, he processed what was going on slowly....

He was being embraced by his old friend. Alastor, from a version of events that seemed better off. The old inventor didn't move, but he didn't hiss either. He just breathed deeply.

"I KNOW YOU ARE, MY FRIEND."

Alastor

My friend. Alastor can hardly believe how good that feels to hear. To have this heavy weight on him, proving that this is all real. He lets his eyes slide shut, taking the rare opportunity to bask in the tactile sensations. "So if you ever need someone to drown them out... you know the frequencies you can reach me on, pal."

[selanpike]

Abandoned Trollcops/Problem Sleuth fic

i’m bored so i’m posting this old trollcops concept i wrote a couple years ago

i meant to have it be this big sprawling thing, including all the trolls and the beta kids and team sleuth and the crew, but it was way too big for me, so all i ended up writing was the first three chapters--basically, the intros for sleuth, pickle and ace. 

i don’t plan to return to it. i still can’t get my head around the whole thing. but i like what i wrote, and maybe you might like it too? so here u go.

Chapter One

Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.

The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.

The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.

“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”

“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”

“Is that so,” Terezi says.

You nod.

“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”

“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”

The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.

“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you. 

“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.

“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”

“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”

“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.

You wilt under their stares.

“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”

“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin. 

“N--no,” you admit.

Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away. 

You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.

“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”

“You--you what?!”

“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”

“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”

The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.

“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”

Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.

“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”

“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”

You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”

“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”

“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”

 She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”

You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”

You laugh.

You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”

“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.

“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”

She does sorta have you, there.

---

You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.

“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”

“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.

“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”

“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”

“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.

The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.

“I know you,” he says.

“I get around,” you reply.

“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”

“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”

Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.

You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”

“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”

You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”

“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.

“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”

You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”

He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow. 

---

It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?

Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.

You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him. 

“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”

“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”

“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”

There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.

“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”

“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”

“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”

“They hired me.”

He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.

You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”

He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”

“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”

“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.

“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”

Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down. 

“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”

He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.

You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.

The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.

Chapter Two

> Be Pickle Inspector.

You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.

Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.

Uncooperative witnesses.

You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.

Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.

It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?

You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days. 

You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes. 

You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.

“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.

“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.

“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”

“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”

He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers. 

Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”

You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”

“Oh! Let me get my coat.”

“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”

“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”

You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”

She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”

Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.

---

34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.

This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.

He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.

He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”

“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.

“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”

“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”

“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”

“I can, yeah,” she says.

“A--are you going to?”

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”

He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.

“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”

“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”

“Absolutely.”

You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”

“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”

You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”

“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”

You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.

“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”

“As usual,” he says, before standing up.

He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”

“H--how’s that?”

“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”

“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”

You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”

“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”

“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.

“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”

“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”

She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.

She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.

“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.

“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”

“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.

“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”

You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.

“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.

After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.

Chapter three.

> Be Ace Dick.

Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.

You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.

You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”

She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”

You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”

“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”

She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”

“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”

“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”

Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”

“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”

“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.

Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”

“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”

“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”

“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”

“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs. 

“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”

“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Might be.”

“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.

“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.

She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”

“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.

“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”

“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.

She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”

Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”

“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”

She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”

“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.

They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.

You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.