#but happen to be in the area. for which i have much lower shiny odds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

Text

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me

Sir Pentious a.k.a. Telly (@usedhearts) finishes shedding and goes to show Alastor, who’s been hanging out at his place the last week and a half fretting over him helping him out. Stuff that happens:

💕 MUTUAL CONFESSIONS 💕

Telly’s shed has given him some interesting new mutations! 🐟

Alastor makes a deal with his own soul on the line! 🔥

Things Which Are Unsafe For Work 🍆🍆

❤️❤️❤️ AND MORE! ❤️❤️❤️

Look I pulled out the emoji and everything, that’s how exciting this is.

(For y’all that want to keep up with the plot but don’t want to read lewds, I’ll mark where it begins and ends in the chat.)

Sir Pentious

The steam in the room was finally being released, dissipating the fog as the air began to circulate again. Telly felt refreshed, and much, much better, now that all that was over with. He smiled as he grabbed his phone, shooting a text to Alastor.

🎩 I'LL BE OUT MOMENTARILY! IT'S FINALLY ALL DONE!

And then he called the Eggs in to take care of the skin that lay across the floor.

Alastor

And Alastor was a mere room away from the bathroom-turned-sauna, flopped back on Sir Pentious’s bed, waiting—*just in case,* see. The other Sir Pentious had had a hard time with the last day of his shed, Alastor had wanted to be on hand in case this one was struggling too. To sing, to distract, to massage, to hold hands, to offer a few shadows to carefully slide off the shed... Whatever he was needed for.

But so far it hadn’t been necessary, so he’d mainly ended up singing to himself, rewriting a song that Valera had started on during the aforementioned prior shed: “*I’ll peel you, banana... I’ll peel you... I thought that you’d overripened, and I’d make a bread out of you; now my mouth and eyes are opened, banana... I’ll eat you, banana—*“

Alastor sits bolt upright. That’s his phone! He can feel the signal of the incoming text crackle against his hip. He pulls it out, reads the message, and rather than returning the text yells into the sauna, “I’m right where you left me! Need me to grab anything?” Probably not, but maybe Telly needed a fresh change of clothes or something. Alastor had gotten used to grabbing odds and ends for Telly this week.

Sir Pentious

He's moved on to the other area of the bathroom now-- what he liked to call the 'false lead' as there were no baths in here! Just the toilet and the sink and the mirror. Which he was now staring in, his arm held up as he looked at the three lines in his side. Those were new. Edged with black against the yellow, they stood out. He ran a finger over them and gave a soft gasp at the sensitivity. Like touching his fingers to his lips, these new....things were much more sensitive than the rest of him.

Telly lifted his other arm and sure enough, there was a matching pair on the other side-- and that's when it clicked. These were gills. He had _gills_ now. Well. That was something.

He finally broke out of his trance to respond to Alastor. "No! No need, I'll be right there." He slithered quickly toward the door and almost threw it open, beaming at Alastor.

"Ta-da?" He offered, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, his smile turning a bit shy.

Alastor

He stuffed his phone away before a handful of eggs could toddle by and spot it, and then all but forgot the eggs when Telly himself emerged. “And here’s the top banana himself!” Alastor telling jokes that only he’s gonna get, he’s a riot.

And he immediately regretted the comment, because “banana” did not come close to adequately describing the appearance of Sir Pentious immediately after a shed, scales all shiny and new, colors vivid and bright. He’d thought Telly had looked lovely a couple of weeks ago, with sparkling copper and iridescent green polish painting his scales; it didn’t come close to how he looked now, at his most naturally brilliant. Alastor could only stare a moment; before he managed to choke out, “... And, like a banana, you’re looking very a-peel-ing.” No, Alastor, bad, flirting did *not* make it better.

Sir Pentious

Telly momentarily got distracted by the Eggs as well, watching them toddle into the bathroom to collect the skin. But then his attention was drawn back by Alastor and just how....struck he was. Not speechless, of course, Telly hardly thought anything could strike the Radio Demon speechless, but struck all the same. A small bubble of pride inflated in his chest.

"Yessss, look at thisss!!" He slithered more fully into the room, stretching out his tail behind him. "I think I got a few extra inchesss now! Come here, Alassstor, come feel-- I'm ssso sssmooth now, too!" His excitement was in full force now and he gestured for him to come over.

And as he did, the Eggs reappeared with the skin hoisted over their heads. Look at that skin, that's a nice, nearly whole skin. And there they go, toting it out the door.

Alastor

Feel? *Feel?* He was being invited to *touch* immediately after a shed? He sure hadn’t gotten that honor when his *other* snake friend had shed, and for a moment his immediate wariness—*What’s the catch? Is this a trap? Will Telly be watching Alastor’s reaction?*—was enough to balance out his yearning to do *exactly* what Telly had asked for him to do.

Which let him get distracted by the eggs passing. He watched them go by, with *another* snakeskin he’d love to get his hands on but definitely was afraid to touch. If the eggs were just throwing it out, they’d probably have crumpled it up, wouldn’t they? “What in the world are they doing with that?” Look, a diversion!

Sir Pentious

He looked at the Eggs, tilting his head. "Probably going to dry it and then do....whatever it is they do with them! I don't know and I have never thought to ask. The Egg Bois, you know, they're..." He put his hand at the side of his mouth to stage whisper. "_Weird._"

Telly shrugged, and then reached out his hand again. "Anyway, come here!! Come here, Alastor, feel my ssscalessss!!"

Alastor

Dry it! Alastor’s grin widened with glee as he started playing a crackly song—“*Tan me hide when I’m dead, Fred, tan me hide when I’m dead; so we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde, and that’s it hanging in the shed.*”

Alastor remained convinced that he was, in fact, the funniest person in Hell.

And he was also stalling. He needed to talk to Telly about *them*—as in the *two of them*, and the wildly confusing signals that Telly was sending (THIS ONE already quite solidly ranked among them!), and he’d told himself he’d do it after Telly’s shed was over and he was feeling better, but how do you say “stop everything, I can’t feel you up until we talk about our relationship status to make sure that we’re in agreement on the exact implications of said groping”? You don’t say that. Nobody says that. Every love story Alastor had ever heard, seen, or read had both parties just blunder along until a *moment* presented itself when it had to be said, and those moments didn’t happen by interrupting different moments—

And while Alastor mused on the intricacies of confessing attraction as modeled by Hollywood, he’d run out of goofy music to play and been staring for a bit longer than he should have. “Are you sure? Isn’t it, you know, *tender* right after shedding?” Maybe that was tarantulas.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed at the song, a hissing giggle, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. His head tilted as he waited for Alastor to speak, or move-- but he just stared. Was this weird? Had he made it weird? Oh, god, he'd made it weird, hadn't he? He was about to speak again when Alastor finally spoke.

"Oh! No, it'sss not. The scales are quite firm." He snickered, and then slithered over to his nightstand. He dug around in it, finding the bottle of scale lotion and slithered back, this time closer to Alastor. "If it helps, I could give you a job? I need to put on lotion to help make sure I stay nice and shiny as long as possible." He smirked and hummed.

Alastor

Alastor watched far more closely than he should have as Telly slithered across the floor—oh God, were those gashes on the side? Alastor had noticed that some of Telly’s deepest wounds hadn’t healed completely with the shed, but he hadn’t noticed the gashes on the side—no, wait, those didn’t look like gashes—were those *gills?* “Do you have *gills?*” Look, another diversion!

Because he was *not* ready to answer a request to lotion up Telly’s body.

Sir Pentious

"What?" He blinked and then grinned, nodding. "Oh! Yes! I _think_ they are, they certainly look it!" He lifted an arm to let Alastor get a better look. "I suppose my body decided I needed them? I don't know, but I'm certainly not going to look _this_ gift horse in the mouth!"

He laughed and lowered his arm. Telly took Alastor's hand and placed it on the back of his arm. "Feel my sssscalesss, already!"

Alastor

“All right, all right.” That was as much procrastinating as Alastor could manage. He was going to touch *extremely lightly*—and oh even with his gloves on he could tell, yes, Telly’s scales *were* smooth, and it was a fight not to touch *more.* No, that was crossing a line.

Sir Pentious

"Feel some of the bigger onessss," He said, guiding his hands again to his hip area. "The big ones feel like a smooth river stone to me. Makes me think of what a dragon woud've felt like, were they real."

He hissed a soft laugh and purred.

Alastor

“Right,” Alastor murmured, hardly registering the comparison—dragons, rivers, yes. He’d felt a jolt shoot up his chest at the feel of Telly’s hands on his hands and Telly’s scales sliding beneath his fingertips, and now all he could think about was the shape of his hips and how Alastor wanted to trace them, wanted to satisfy a half-century-old yearning to learn where the skeleton beneath the snakeskin shifted from human to serpent, wanted—

He pulled his hands back. “Yes, I see what you mean! An astute comparison.” He laughed uncomfortably.

Sir Pentious

Oh. That laugh, he could practically smell the discomfort radiating off of Alastor. Oh, he made it weird again, didn't he. He moved back a little and then spread himself out on the floor, popping open the lotion bottle to start getting some on his hands.

"Did you want to help me with this?" He asked, his voice a bit smaller.

Alastor

Oh, and now Telly was uncomfortable, Alastor made it weird.

They should stop and talk. Alastor had overthought every interaction to the point that he no longer had any idea where he stood with Telly, and if Telly knew where he stood with Alastor he was doing a damn good job of not admitting it, and there was the whole girlfriend deal, and neither of the prior Sir Pentiouses Alastor had known had ever asked him to *lotion their scales* but was that a personality difference between this Sir Pentious and the others or was it a difference in how much he *wanted* out of Alastor, and—

—and right now, Telly��s voice sounded like it ought to be coming out of an anthopomorphic cartoon flower wilting beneath a vicious blizzard, and Alastor couldn’t stand it. He had to fix that first. Not *because* the sight of Telly stretched out so tantalizing across the floor filled Alastor with an *itch* to touch, but *in spite of* it.

Alastor knelt next to Telly, forcing his usual energetic cheer back into his voice. “Of course! I promised I’d help you through this shed start to finish, didn’t I?”

Sir Pentious

The cheer brought his smile back a little, and he offered the bottle of lotion to him. "The sooner I put it on the longer my post-shed glow will last," He said, with a soft chuckle.

"You'll be able to see a sparkly serpent for longer." Another laugh and he started rubbing what he had on his hands onto his arms. Ooooh nice and cool, felt good after being in that sauna for a day.

Alastor

Well, preserving the sparkly serpent was selfless enough, wasn’t it? The fact that Alastor would enjoy the sight didn’t change the fact that Telly would benefit from it. He scooted to sit behind Telly, squeezed some lotion into a hand, rubbed his hands together as he told himself to Not Make This Weird, *Please,* and then started where he figured it would be hardest for Telly to reach by himself—between his shoulder blades.

Sir Pentious

He shivered at the touch, but smiled, and purred. Oh, that felt nice. He continued to rub in what he had onto his arms, and his eyes (on his face) closed a moment, just enjoying the feeling of Alastor's hands on his back. Telly made a soft noise of contentment, letting his head droop forward a bit as he moved his hoot out of Alastor's way.

Alastor

Sure. This was easy. Alastor could do this. And then after this they could discuss—they *really* should have discussed this before—but there had never been a moment when he could. Just do this without doing anything out of line.

His hands slid down Telly’s back, running over the ridge of each vertebra and rib. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Telly totally naked, but *oh* was it a rush to just revel in him like this. Like painting on the polish had been, but far more so.

Sir Pentious

His eyes are closed and his breath is catching with every little traced of bone. He could feel his heart beating so much faster already and he wondered if Alastor could hear it-- it was so quiet, after all. Had he struck Alastor speechless, now? He didn't know, but his mind was on other things, like the feeling of his hands against his back. A purring rumble cascaded through his chest, a very pleased snake, yes, that was what he was.

Alastor

Alastor had stopped breathing entirely as he listened to each little change in Telly’s breath, ears twitching at every change. The rumble made his hands tingle from fingertips to wrist and ears tingle from tip to base and down the back of his scalp. Oh, if Alastor could get Telly to make that sound every day... His hands worked down to the small of Telly’s back, where they separated and started to creep around his waist, seeking out again the spot Telly had shown Alastor earlier, eager to grip him tight and pull him closer—

*No.* Alastor vanished, a shadow ghosting across the floor, to rematerialize sitting on the far side of Telly’s bed, faced away. “I—sorry.” His voice was far too weak for his tastes.

Sir Pentious

He was reveling in this, soaking in every touch like a sponge to water-- and then the touch was gone, and his eyes flashed open, blinking rapidly at the sudden absence. It made him feel cold.

His head turned to see Alastor all the way across the room and he frowned. Telly slithered over to him slowly, circling around to get in front of him. His head tilted and he moved with even more exaggerated slowness to take Alastor's hands.

"Sorry for what, Alastor?" He asked, holding his hands reverently.

Alastor

Ohhh they were having the conversation *now.* Okay. It wasn’t exactly Hollywood, but what ever was? He reflexively squeezed Telly’s hands, then had to let his grip go slack again.

Voice strained, eyes shut, head tilted back like he was hoping God might take pity just once on a poor damned sinner and telegraph some divine inspiration straight into his brain, he said, “You should know—that—doing this, it... means *quite* a bit more to me than I think you realize. Possibly *far* more than it does to you, but I, uh...” He let out a choked wheeze of a laugh. “I’m having a hard time figuring that out, actually.” Somebody smite him, please.

Sir Pentious

Oh. Oh! _Oh._ Things were starting to click in that brilliant, dumb brain of his, the wheels were definitely turning-- and stalling and catching fire and he was pretty sure smoke was going to start pouring out of his head.

Alastor liked him. Alastor _like liked_ him. More than friends, liked him. His heart began to swell as his brain rapidly repaired the wheels to think of what he should say here. What _should_ he say here? How did you tell someone you liked them, as more than a friend? God, he was awkward.

But Alastor didn't know that _he_ liked him! How was that possible? He thought he'd been....pretty blatant about it. But whatever, that didn't matter. What mattered was this....

"Alastor," He said, releasing one of his hands to cup his cheek, to make Alastor look at him. "I like you. More than would have been proper in my day and age or yours. I've, ah, I've liked you for some time now, but I wasn't sure if _you_ liked _me_ in that way and I--" His jaw snapped shut. Shut up, stupid, don't ramble.

"I have feelings for you, Alastor. Romantic feelings."

Alastor

And what do we find hidden at the bottom of Pandora’s box but small bright little hope! Alastor’s heart let out a single heavy booming *thud,* like a timpanist waiting for his cue had gotten startled and dropped his mallet. His eyes flew open and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for half a century. Breathless, he whispered, “*Do* you?” That couldn’t be true. That couldn’t.

But by God if Alastor wasn’t good at playing his assigned role in absurd situations, then what *was* he good at? His throat and lips worked for a moment, but he couldn’t say the words back—so instead, he simply... lifted one of Telly’s hands. And kissed the knuckles—a knight swearing fealty to a king. And turned Telly’s hand over to kiss the palm. This couldn’t be real; this was going to end any second. He tried to press his whole face into Telly’s hand.

(Everything tasted like snakeskin lotion.)

Sir Pentious

He'd been about to do that! You beat him to the punch, Alastor. But he smiled, and decided, fuck it, he was going to do it anyway. Telly lifted Alastor's hand and repeated the motions. A kiss to the knuckles and then to the palm. He held it against his cheek after that, and leaned in, giving a little blelele against his cheek.

He felt so light, so relieved, like someone had attached balloons all over him and he was floating.

Alastor

Alastor took the tongue flicking at his cheek as an invitation to return a proper kiss; and so he did. As close to silent as Telly had probably ever heard a Radio Demon—all his white noise trapped in his lungs, no sound but the rare stray distant unintelligible whisper of Alastor’s invisible audience. The kiss was light and tentative, as if he still suspected he might have misinterpreted the words “I have romantic feelings for you.” (He did, in fact, suspect exactly that.)

Sir Pentious

His arm wrapped around Alastor's waist, drawing him closer as he returned the kiss. It was soft and slow, as tentative as Alastor started it, but he certainly was returning it. And then his tongue made another appearance, flicking against Alastor's teeth-- oh, really, right now? Don't worry about that Alastor, it had a mind of its own sometimes.

Alastor

And the kiss was *returned.* White fireworks went off just behind Alastor’s eyes and he laughed, as much from the sensation of a forked tongue flicking at his lips as from relief and from half-hysterical disbelief. He broke the kiss to embrace Telly, bury his face in the crook of Telly’s neck, and murmur, “*Really?*” His voice was a small, muffled thing in the dead silence.

Sir Pentious

Telly's other arm wrapped around him and pulled him up off the bed. No more sitting for you, Alastor! Fully embraced in the snake's arms is how it's going to be now. Telly squeezed him, nuzzling back, and giving a flick of his tongue against Alastor's neck. "_Yes, really._"

Alastor

And up he’s pulled! Enjoy the sound effect of... a startled elephant? A man sneezing into a trumpet? The one lone sound effect was almost out of place in the dead silence.

He tugged off his gloves with trembling hands and pressed his fingertips to Telly’s back again, chasing some half-developed whim to attempt to keep rubbing in the lotion but really just retracing the scales and bones he’d explored earlier, this time without a thin layer of deerskin dulling the sensation. And he kissed, slowly, almost experimentally, along Telly’s collar bone.

Sir Pentious

Oh, the gloveless hands, he's honored. And purring. And reveling in the kisses. This was really happening. It was really happening, Alastor was _kissing him_ and it was better than he'd dreamed it. His arms squeezed him again, and his tail began to coil around his legs. Sorry, Alastor, you belong to the snake now.

Alastor

“I’ve never liked the touch of someone else’s skin. I hate how other people feel—the hair and sweat and oils of human flesh, pores and nipples and bellybuttons...” His voice was almost silent, but it was also entirely human, all distortion gone. He whispered fervently, like this confession was something else that had been trapped in him half a century, waiting for that long exhale before it could come out. “But scales...” Another kiss. “I’ve always thought snakeskin is so smooth and cool and—*perfect.* And even more beautiful now when it’s all new.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's breath hitched at the kiss, and the words. Oh, he was glad that he couldn't blush. He did purr instead, though, and his claws kneaded at Alastor's sides. "You think I'm beautiful?" He asked, his voice soft. "I--" He paused and smiled, letting his tongue flick against his cheek again.

"I love your voice. Being able to hear it all this week, while I couldn't see anything...It was the best thing to hear. You helped keep me grounded, with every word and every song." He leaned in to press a kiss against his clothed neck. "And red is one of my favorite colors."

Alastor

And now Alastor’s breath hitched. *Grounded*? He’d done that? With the rarefied airs he put on, he’d helped keep Telly firmly tethered to the world around him?

When was the last time his voice had helped anybody feel *connected*?

This was real. All of this was really happening. Alastor felt a lump forming in his throat, and he fought through it the best way he knew how: by talking. “You’re beautiful beyond words. Always. When you’re fresh from a swim, scales still *glistening* with with beads of water—or painted up like a temporary work of art—or practically glowing with vivid new colors...” He started slowly kissing up Telly’s neck every few words. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘curves in all the right places’—“ Kiss. “—you’re nothing but curves.” He delivered the punchline with a hiss of his usual static and a polite chortle from his studio audience. He was still absolutely terrified—but if he could make jokes, he’d work through it. “Curves covered in gold and onyx and rubies...” Kiss. And then, awkwardly, haltingly, he said, “...I don’t think anyone’s ever said something nice about my color palette before.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was what he could get out.

Sir Pentious

Every kiss brings another hitch of his breath, and his eyes slide shut as he listened to Alastor talk. His claws still kneaded against him, and his purring turned up a notch. His tail squeezed Alastor's legs and he laughed softly.

"I like it. Despite everything around us being red most of the time, you make it work for you. It makes you stand out and blend in at the same time. And anywhere that's not swathed in red already, you pop. When I could still barely see, the red and your voice where how I knew where you were." He laughed again. "And if I have curves all over, I suppose that I only _have_ right places to have curves, hm?"

His eyes opened and he looked at Alastor, smiling. "You're handsome, fun, exhilarating...I could go on and on."

Alastor

Hah, of course, this airship was probably the only place in Hell where a pure red getup *would* stand out. “Exhilarating?” He laughed half breathlessly. “You want to talk about exhilarating, talk about—talk about the man who’s conquering Hell! Good God! You don’t get more exhilarating than a laser the size of a Cadillac!” He pulled back suddenly—not far, just enough to make eye contact, to hold Telly’s face in his hands. “Tell me if I’m being too forward, but—I want to see it. Everything Poseidon said to Amphitrite—I meant every word. I want you to raise Hell and raze Heaven—I want you to dethrone the infernal and the celestial with nothing but the mechanical—I want hubris to win. And I want to be there with you. I want to be your personal broadcaster, your royal jester and royal executioner, your herald. I want to eat God’s flesh off of the same plate as you.”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he's nearly panting at that, eyes wide and locked on Alastor's. Every word seeped into his brain and down through his spine to his lungs and his gut. And something unknotted down there, and released, and the doubt that constantly niggled in the back of his brain fell quiet. And was replaced by Alastor's voice, Alastor's encouragement, Alastor's partnership-- Alastor's.....

He surged forward and kissed him, hard, once, twice. His tail coiled up further around him and his hands held Alastor's face. "I meant it all too. Everything I said then, in that moment. I want you with me, every step. I want you by my side. I want your laughing lips on mine as I tear down the Kings and Princes. I want to tear out God's heart and present it to you on a silver platter." And he kissed him again, breathless.

He chuckled softly after and stroked Alastor's cheek with his thumb. "Now, tell me if I'm being too forward, but for someone without ambition, you're being very ambitious with me." He slyly smirked and winked. And then another kiss.

Alastor

His heart fluttered and his eyes slid shut as all his conscious awareness rushed out of the rest of his body and to his mouth, and for a moment that was all that existed, two sets of lips and fangs and the promise of a universe caught in between them.

When Sir Pentious accused him of having actual ambitions, he only managed to get out “Well, I—“ before being pulled into another kiss. During a brief pause for breath, he hissed, “Didn’t I say Poseidon’s only an unfinished demigod without Amphitrite?”

And then he dove back in. He hummed into the kiss, a near-century-old love song caught in the back of his throat, ghostly voices singing as an invisible record skipped and repeated—“*When I’m calling you, will you answer too?—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—*”

Sir Pentious

There's nothing now but this. This kiss. What a rush it was, kissing him. Telly's hand slid back and his claws tangled into his hair, threading through and scratching at his scalp. Slowly, his body started to move, lowering them back and down, onto the floor, Alastor on top. He didn't want to stop this kiss for anything, never again wanted his lips separated from the Radio Demon's. His tongue flicked into Alastor's mouth, teasing and quick, before he pulled back at last, panting for breath.

"Kissing you....feels very....mm....very right," He said, as he tried his best to gulp down air. Telly held Alastor against him and purred.

Alastor

The tongue flick turned Alastor’s hum into a sound that was half static hiss, half longing groan. He tried to catch the Telly’s tongue between his lips when he drew back.

Alastor shut his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. When did Alastor end up laying on top of Telly? Did Alastor push him down? “It does.” Those claws running through his hair sent a wave of shivering tingles across his scalp, down his neck, halfway down his back. He held himself up with one arm, and with the other traced his hand down Telly’s side, careful around the new gills. “I’ve missed—“ *He missed having this with Sir Pentious, the scheming, the intimacy, the ability to hope for a future.* The words caught in his throat. None of what he missed was with *this* Sir Pentious. This Sir Pentious didn’t know anything about the first one—only that he’d succeeded in life and that Alastor believed in him.

Alastor’s heart sank. Telly needed to know so much more than that. “I need to—I have to say something.”

Sir Pentious

The hand down his side sends more sparks down his spine than it would've used too-- and when Alastor's hands pass over the gills, there's a deeper gasp, and then a low groan. Just how sensitive are those? He'd have to do some tests to figure out...

He refocuses on Alastor, blinking as his brain catches up with the words he's saying. "Oh? All right. Then please, say it."

Alastor

“I’m getting déjà vu.” He tried to take in a deep breath; it was shorter and sharper than he would have liked. “I... tried this before, with another version of you. Not our mutual acquaintance, long before that. It went wrong.” He let out a very small, but very terrified laugh, talking faster, trying to finish his confession before Telly could start drawing conclusions. “We didn’t get much past this when I ruined everything. I won’t again, I won’t, I promise. But...”

Sir Pentious

Things sort of click when Alastor says that and Telly gives a little gasp and a little 'Oh.' He's quiet a moment and he takes a few breaths, before sliding his hand back to hold Alastor's cheek. The gesture is tender, and his thumb strokes over his cheek.

"It wasss your Pentious, yes? The one you told me about, from your universssse? The one who ssssucceeded?" He nodded and gave a hum. "May...May I asssk how? How did you ruin it?"

There's no accusation in his voice, just curiosity, but his hand stays on his cheek, his tail still wrapped around his legs. Everything about Telly was gentle here, in this moment. He didn't want to ruin this either.

Alastor

He owed Sir Pentious this—*some* Sir Pentious somewhere. Someone had to hear his confession, hear him acknowledge his sins. “We got—this far. I spent the night. But I panicked before morning. I’ve never—I’d never wanted somebody before. I didn’t want to become the kind of person who—*wants.* So I... left.” He took a deep, shaky breath, pressing his face into Telly’s hand. “And I... You can be a stubborn, determined man, Sir Pentious. If I wanted to get away, I had to—I *thought* I make sure he wouldn’t want to try to bring me back.” Disembodied sound clips play around Alastor—the distant, dull sounds of multiple explosions; an out-of-context news broadcast: “And it's crashing!—It's burning and bursting into flames—and the frame is crashing to the ground—Oh, the humanity—“ and then a far more familiar voice, choked with rage and disbelief and hurt: “No. We fought ssside by side. You hhelped me—"

The clips are all cut off with a whine of feedback. He didn’t mean to share that last one. He didn’t mean to share *most* of those sounds, the reinterpreted broadcast should have been enough—but some self-destructive part of him had to go too far with it. Sir Pentious who had died in an airship crash so traumatic he couldn’t even put on mascara without remembering spending his last moments blinded—and Alastor who had taken Sir Pentious’s love and trust and in return brought down his airships. How could this one forgive him for his crimes against the other one? “I’m—sorry.” It wasn’t enough.

Sir Pentious

His face falls and his heart breaks-- for both of them. For Alastor's panic induced destruction, and for the other....the other him that was hurt by it. His touch is still gentle, though, thumb stroking Alastor's cheek. Telly's breath hitches a little, and one small tear escaped the corner of his eye-- a tear shed for what Alastor had done, for what Sir Pentious had lost. His hand slides back to the back of his neck again, and brings his head in to press their foreheads together. And then he swallows the lump congealing in his throat to speak.

"It's okay. I....I understand. That panic, that feeling of needing to push someone away. I understand it. I'm sorry it happened, to both of you. I'm sorry that you hurt him, and yourself." He takes another breath, and his arm winds around Alastor's waist, pressing him closer than before.

"I want this. I want us. But there is something I need from you before we go further with this. I need you to promise me, to _swear_ to me there won't be a repeat performance. I--" He feels the tears then, bubbling up in all his eyes. "I don't think I would be able to take the heartbreak, Alastor. If you were to betray me like that, after we begin this, after everything you've done for me, it would be too much. So, please, promise me you won't do that again. Not with me."

A little hiccup and he used a hand to wipe at his eyes. "I want to give you my heart, but I'm not going to hand it over if there's a chance you could turn around and crush it. I need you to swear to me, that we won't end up like that."

Alastor

And there, Telly’s starting to cry already—Alastor’s ruined it. Fifty-four years ago he ruined this before it ever had a chance. His smile starts to wilt, corners threatening to turn down. If Alastor had to break Sir Pentious’s heart again, this was the most responsible way to break it, wasn’t it?

But then Telly starts to speak. And Alastor can’t believe his ears.

Just like that? That’s all it took? Telly *understands?* No, that can’t be. There aren’t second chances in Hell. But— “I—I promise. I promise. I promise.” He slides an arm under Telly’s shoulders, clutching him tight, eyes squeezed shut and face pressed against Telly’s shoulder. Please, let Alastor have this! “I’ll shake on it if you want—my soul and every soul I own if I ever betray you!” There’s only the slightest tremble to his voice, professional that he is—but hot tears are trapped between his cheeks and Telly’s scales.

Sir Pentious

Alastor's crying. Alastor's _crying_ against him and that's all he can focus on for a moment, until he processes the worlds. Then there's a gasp from Telly at that-- all the souls and Alastor's own? Just hearing that fills him with a confidence in this, in them, but there's still that fear. He hates to actually ask for it......

"Will you? Shake on it? Make a deal and make it binding?" His hand is on the back of his head, petting at his hair, and he hiccuped a little, his own tears running free. "I don't-- I don't want to force you into sssomething like that, but....and I'm ssssorry I don't have more trussst in you, but I-- I'm-- My mind, my anxiety, it will alwayssss be whissspering if we don't, I think." He sits up slowly, prying their bodies apart just enough to get his hand between them, offering it in a shake.

"You swear to never betray me like you did the Sir Pentious of your own universe, to not destroy this relationship and my heart, or you forfeit your soul and all those you have to me?"

Alastor

“I *never* want you to worry about trusting me. If this takes that fear away—yes.” Because Alastor is risking nothing. He *knows* he’ll never do that again. He knows he *couldn’t*, even if he wanted to. If it gives Telly something and costs Alastor nothing—well, Alastor is a dealmaker, and that’s a good deal.

He listens carefully to Telly’s terms. They go beyond what Alastor said, with the sort of ambiguous wording that devils and dealmakers could use to run in circles around a victim. Alastor knows Telly doesn’t mean them that way; but he’s not leaving any open loopholes that might see him, for example, trapped in some nightmare marriage a thousand years from now because some judge ruled that Alastor couldn’t file for divorce without “destroying this relationship.” He might have been raised Catholic, but he happens to think divorce is a pretty good option to keep on the table.

He chooses his words carefully. “I... can’t swear that I’ll never end this relationship or never break your heart. As much as I want to vow that—maybe in a hundred years we’ll decide we’re incompatible, or maybe I’ll break your heart through some unforgivable, unpredictable accident—and I won’t risk my soul on things I can’t prevent.”

He pushes himself up again, cheeks still wet, and slides his hand into the scant inches between their chests. “But I swear I will never knowingly and deliberately or callously break your heart; and I swear that if I do ever leave, I’ll leave with kindness and honesty; and I swear I’ll never betray you like I did the Sir Pentious of my universe; or I forfeit my soul and all those I have to you.”

And if that’s good enough for Telly—not a promise to control the uncontrollable but at least a promise to control his own actions—then here’s Alastor’s hand, glowing green, ready to be taken.

Sir Pentious

He listened to Alastor's words, his tears drying on his cheeks. Yes, that made sense. He wouldn't want to be stuck in a relationship with no out if he were in Alastor's shoes, and things did change. But he nodded, face serious.

"I can accept those terms. I'll accept them happily. For you and for us." He smiled softly.

And then Telly took his hand and shook it. He didn't release it, instead using it to pull Alastor back in for a kiss. It's harder than before, but in a happy way, and the hand that's not still clasped in Alastor's tangled into his hair to hold him.

Alastor

He pressed into the kiss immediately, the tips of his fangs and tongue immediately teasing at Telly’s lips—*let me in, please*—as he felt the magic behind the contract shooting up his arm and pooling in his chest, pounding in his heart, hot and electric.

Of all the things he anticipated, he didn’t expect the bargain to make HIM feel safe. But it did. He could be sure he’d never lose his nerve and betray Telly. He *couldn’t* betray him. He felt lighter.

Sir Pentious

Telly's mouth opens to him, and his tongue flicks out to play against Alastor's. Then back it goes to let him smell, and then back out-- like it has a mind of its own. He lays back again, taking Alastor with him, and he finally releases Alastor's hand to instead grip at his jacket.

He pulls back after letting the kiss linger against his lips. "How-- Ah, how far do you--" God, he couldn't even get that question out and he nips at Alastor's lip instead. "I need to know....where I should....stop....with this...."

Alastor

It’s hard to leave that kiss behind, but he lifts himself just enough to let his brain sort itself out. How far—? It’s hard to think about; he still has tears dripping off his cheeks and onto Telly’s. He’s still reveling in this sense of *security.* But the fact that Telly asks makes his heart flutter. Give him a second to try to remember where the Venn diagram circle of what he wants ends and what other people tend to want starts. “Let—let me keep my underwear on. Everything outside that is...”

Good enough, he’s back in the kiss. He wants those fangs on his lip again.

Sir Pentious

He lets Alastor kiss him again, and does give him a few more nips, but then another thought presents itself and he's pulling away again to speak.

"I-- Ah, you should know that my-- my anatomy is-- it's the same as a snake's in, ah, below the belt regards. I have--" He looks away and his hand rubs the back of his neck and then over his face. God, this is embarrassing, but it's something he should say.

"I don't know how comfortable you are with other people's....anatomy. In that way. Please tell me if anything makes you....uncomfortable? I don't want that for you....I want whatever we do to be good for us both."

Alastor

“—two? Were you going to say two?” Because if he was, then Alastor really is gonna have a case of déjà vu—and he’s trying not to start laughing.

He pushes himself up again. “I’ve never wanted to get that close to anybody *else’s* anatomy before. But I want to see every last inch of you.” His smile turns self-conscious after that. “And... we’ll figure out what I’m inclined to do with it from there. Sound fair?”

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits START HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs, covering his face with a hand again. "Yes. Yes, I was. I take it you're familiar, then?"

He moves the hand and then nods, very seriously, before giggling again. "Yes. That sounds good. But do you know the first place I want you to explore?" His smile turned downright sultry as he took Alastor's hand and lead it back to the gills on the side of his chest.

"Why not start somewhere new for both of us?"

Alastor

Oh, Alastor could listen to that laugh forever. Every single one of Sir Pentious’s laughs, from the self-conscious giggle to the maniacal cackle. "It's come up once before! Under similar circumstances, in fact! Although we were never properly introduced—I'm still only familiar with the twins by reputation." He thinks he's hilarious.

Alastor blinks in surprise as Telly moves Alastor's hand to his gills. "Really? It doesn't feel like I'm trying to stick a finger up your nostril?" He experimentally runs one finger along the outer ridge of a gill.

Sir Pentious

"No--" The rest of his sentence is cut off by a moan and then a full body shiver-- and that's a lot of body for him! How sensitive those gills seem to be, and quite the erogenous zone.

"That-- Um, ah, the gentle touch feels....I can't quite describe it, but it's....very good. I think the closest is probably when you, when you touch something to your lips? But more..." He laughed again, breathless. "And well, you will get to see them tonight, especially if you keep touching me like that..."

Alastor

Oh, Alastor feels that moan in his very bones. He’s not used to that—most sexual noises are the auditory equivalent of someone chewing up their food and then carefully spitting it in his ear. But from Sir Pentious, it’s... well, it’s still pretty goofy-sounding, sure—but it’s a sound *Alastor* elicited on purpose. It’s the positive result of Alastor trying to make Telly feel good. And *that*... He thinks he likes that.

The shiver is like sitting atop a mechanical bull as it powers up, right before it starts bucking. Alastor pauses just a moment to absorb the new sensation, and then continues, tracing lightly along the gills with two fingers, then three. "That sounds like a fine plan to me! Especially if it gets another noise like that out of you."

Alastor focuses on Telly's face and chest as he continues, watching every change in his expression, every twitch of his muscles. And listens intently to every single sound out of him.

Sir Pentious

With each stroke, there's another shiver, another moan, and one of Telly's hands briefly scrambled for something to hold before landing on the tail of Alastor's jack. He scrunches up the material and takes a breath. His brain can hardly keep up with the sparks it sends through his body, he feels punchdrunk from the sensation, hardly registering Alastor's words.

"T-That is something. W-Who knew gills would be so sensitive?" He chuckled. "You're going to get so much out of me tonight, Alastor. Everything you want to pull free from me, I'll give willingly."

Alastor

“Here you are offering to sing opera for me”—a few seconds of Christine Daae’s wailing at the end of the “Phantom of the Opera” theme—“and me without my recording equipment!” Alastor sighs woefully, to laughs from the studio audience. "Who knew! Gills aren’t the place *I'd* choose for an erogenous zone. But then, I wouldn't have merged the entertainment center with the sewage system, either." More studio laughter and a flushing toilet sound effect. Can you tell this man has never done dirty talk in his life. Can you tell it has not occurred to him that he SHOULD be trying dirty talk right now. "It still feels like I'm threatening to stick a finger up your nose."

For a brief moment he wonders what it WOULD be like to try to dig up into Telly’s gills. It wouldn't be hard, he thinks, to reach his ribs. To taste Telly’s blood and lungs. To hold his heart in Alastor's hands...

That, he decides, is a fantasy he probably ought to keep to himself. But when he bends in for another kiss, there's a little more fang behind it.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help but snort, and roll his eyes (all of them) at the commentary. It seems like Alastor's back in form-- not even emotional confessions and desperate make outs could keep a good radio host down. He kisses back, though, and Telly finally starts in on Alastor's clothes. Jacket unbuttoned, he starts tugging the shirt out from where it's tucked in and then reaching up to remove the bowtie.

"You know," He says when their kiss breaks again. "You really are incorrigible. You have me at your mercy, nude and writhing, and you're making toilet jokes." There's fondness in his voice though, and he laughs. He removes the covering on Alastor's neck and then immediately is attacking it with kisses.

Alastor

"I've got to keep you laughing somehow, don't I?" What kind of a radio host would he be if he couldn't switch stations at a moment's notice? Just don't ask what the other stations are broadcasting right now. There’s a fair amount of emotional turmoil still brewing beneath the surface.

As Telly moves in on Alastor’s neck, he says, "Careful, I've got—ah." The bandage on his shoulder just past the crook of his neck—an unhealed bite wound made by another Sir Pentious in anger. Never mind, it can wait, his undershirt covers the bandage. He awkwardly shrugs off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the ancient band t-shirt he's using as an undershirt and offering more of his neck to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly makes sure to leave his mark-- a little scrape of teeth and then some sucking has a lovely hickie appearing against Alastor's skin. He smirks as he pulls back, pleased at how it looks-- and then he notices the t-shirt.

He blinks. "What'ssss that?" He points at it. He is perplexed. The Radio Demon wears t-shirts under his suit?

Alastor

Tease. Barely grazing his skin and sucking a little at it without biting down? Telly probably hadn’t even broken the skin. Alastor bites his lip, don’t stop there—

—what was that? “Oh! My undershirt!” He sits up, straddling Telly’s hips (pause to consider how amazing and miraculous that is), and pulls the shirt straight out. “They started printing slogans and artwork on undershirts in the 50’s, I thought it was fun! Adds a bit of entertainment to the most boring part of one’s wardrobe.” (He still considers t-shirts a form of underwear.)

The t-shirt in question looks like it was painted by a fantasy novel cover artist and ostensibly displays the name of a metal band, although the name looks more like a tangle of barbed wire than like actual words—and it’s so old it’s falling apart at the seams. This particular piece of high fantasy heavy metal art features a murderous-looking cobra menacing some sort of tiger person. Alastor glances away, momentarily self-conscious. “The local version of you—he also plays pipe organ, obviously—he started playing organ on rock-and-roll bands’ albums in the eighties.” (He still considers heavy metal a form of rock-and-roll.) “One of the only traditionally trained pipe organists in Pentagram City who’s willing to play modern music, I’m given to understand. I can’t stand the sound of it, but... I... like to listen for his solos.”

Sir Pentious

He's careful as he touches the shirt, tracing a claw along the familiar looking cobra. Well, that's something. A smile touches his lips and he chuckles a bit.

"He plays for rock bands? Hm. Never thought of doing that. But I bet it's a fun time for him, being able to play for others. I'm glad you were able to hold on to something of him, even if it's just organ solos in rock music." Telly laughs again, getting his hands on either side of the hem of the t-shirt.

"Arms up, I'd rather not tear something that is important to you." But before that, Alastor gets another kiss, this one a touch sweeter than the others.

Alastor

Another point of difference between the Sir Pentious that Alastor once knew and this one. He files it away carefully. “I’d tell you how he got into it, but I haven’t the foggiest!” A slight grimace. “We... weren’t on speaking terms by that point.” *Even if it’s JUST organ solos.* Yeah, that just about sums it up. He wrenches himself off of that station and leans into the kiss, trying to let it distract him. “Pity, though—I was kind of hoping you could explain the appeal of that music to me! I just don’t get the sound at all.”

He tilts his head so his antlers don't catch the shirt as Telly lifts it and tries not to think about how exposed he is. And there's Alastor half naked. He has a bandage on his shoulder near his neck. Patches of thick red fur on his chest and trailing down the center of his stomach to his belt line do little to hide how bony he is. Almost as soon as he's uncovered, he automatically crosses his arms.

Sir Pentious

The crossed arms were pretty hard to miss. Alastor was clearly uncomfortable being without his clothes, which was fair enough. Not everyone could be as comfortable being nude as a giant snake, after all.

His eyes were drawn to the bandage however, and he very gingerly touched the edges of it, careful not to press. "What's this? Was this from when you healed me? I thought you would've healed it by now..." He arches his brow, and lets his hand trail down to rest on Alastor's arm. Then an idea strikes, something that might make them both more comfortable.

"Oh! Oh, a moment, I think I have something..." He gently took Alastor by his upper arms, easily and quickly, but still gently, moving him off and setting him on the floor. He slithered quickly to his dresser, throwing open a drawer and digging through his clothes. He returned, beaming and triumphant, holding a soft, very large, grey t-shirt.

"If you're not comfortable without something to cover you, then why not this? I just don't want anything to happen to that shirt that you like so much, and I have many shirts of different kinds." He offered it to Alastor, leaning down to kiss his cheek as he did.

Alastor

An ear twitches at the touch to the bandage. "Oh! No, that was here.” He taps his inner arm, see, the skin’s already smooth and only slightly discolored by what looks like long-faded bite marks. “Nothing to worry about—it's not bad, just pierced a bit deep. It's healing fine, so I elected not to waste any magic on it.”

He willingly moves aside and watches curiously as Telly rummages around. What's he looking for— "Oh! No no, I'm fine! I'm just getting used to the chill, that's all. You don't have—" He looks properly at the shirt. He sees the text on the shirt. He takes the shirt. He puts the shirt on.

He loves this shirt.

Sir Pentious

Yes, Telly thought he might. He smiles and settles back on the ground, taking Alastor's hand to pull him back to his lap.

"That's better, yes? And if I should bite through it, well, it'll give the shirt some character. That's what getting blood and bite holes in a shirt does, correct?" He laughed again, his Pentious™️ laugh. He did still slide his hands under the shirt, though, letting his claws dig into Alastor's sides a bit.

And then he leans in for another kiss, rougher this time, testing the waters as it were. He scrapes his fangs hard enough to draw blood at least, and the points of his claws sharply dig in further. He certainly wants to see if Alastor likes that...

Alastor

“Well, they certainly thought so in the nineties.” The shirt isn’t getting blood and bite holes without Alastor getting bloody bites, though—and the thought of it makes his dead heart pound harder, drumming in his ears.

When Telly’s fangs draw blood, it triggers a searing, white-hot, knife-sharp euphoria right behind his eyes, and he leans in hungrily, desperate for more, shaking hands scrabbling for the back of Telly’s neck and head, fangs digging into Telly’s lip.

Sir Pentious

He wasn't expecting quite that reaction, but it was hardly unwanted. His own hands wound around to Alastor's back to pull him closer, smashing them chest to chest. His claws dug in, scraping down Alastor's back, hard enough to leave bloody red lines behind.

Telly pulled from Alastor's lips to return to his neck, and the hickie he'd already left. His mouth opened and he bit, overcome by the urge-- forgetting for a moment, his venom. The thought struck him like lightning, though, and he pulled away cursing.

"Shit! Fuck, oh no, Alastor, hold on--" He rushed off again, this time to his bedside table, to grab a vial and syringe. "I have the anti-venom, let me give it to you, hold on, just a moment--!"

Alastor

He shudders as he’s clawed, the static background noise that surrounds him jittering between stations, grabbing snatches of disconnected voices and half-words. When Telly pulls away from him, he has just enough time to hiss “Please—” before fangs sink into his throat. His voice cuts off completely with a gasp, replace with distorted song clips—“*I've tasted blood and I want more—*” “*OH~ touch-a touch-a touch-a TOUCH me~—*”

He nearly swoons when Telly disappears to go get the anti-venom. For a moment he sits there, blinking, dazed smile on his face, before he registers what happened and gets to his feet to follow Telly. His knees are like jelly, is that from the venom or is it just him? “Give it to me straight, doc, how long until the venom does me in?” He sits on the bed, bats his eyelashes dramatically, and gives Telly a bloody smile. “Short enough that I’ll die happy?”

Sir Pentious

He's torn between laughing at that reaction and pure panic, but his hands don't shake as he gets the dose of anti-venom into the syringe. He takes Alastor's arm and locates a vein, plunging the needle in and then pressing the plunger. Once that's done, he sighs in relief, sinking down to the floor. He rubs his hands over his face, and his breath is shuddering, but after a few more moments, it settles. And then he laughs, a bit choked and a bit manic, but otherwise calm.

Telly lifted his head and then took Alastor's hands in his. "If you want me to bite more, then we're going to have to figure out what to do about my venom. You'll...ah, you'll become resistant eventually, but I certainly don't want to panic after every love bite. Maybe-- is there some magical way to counteract venom? Or make you immune? I am afraid that is not my area of expertise."

Alastor

So fast. Alastor automatically glances away when the shot goes in. Then he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as Telly laughs, draping an arm over his shoulder—everything’s fine, no harm done. This certainly isn’t how he expected this visit to go; but then he didn’t expect... any of this. He expected to help Telly flake off some dead skin, congratulate him on a shed well done, and go home.

Alastor slides off the bed and seats himself on Telly’s coils. “Well, I most assuredly want you to bite more, so we’ll just have to figure that out! I’ve got a few tricks that can help draw it out, but they’re only partially effective. I could go to some of the higher demons to buy full immunity, but I don’t like making such large purchases from them unless I have to. Beyond that—if you tell me how you make your anti-venom, maybe I could brew up some potion that does the same thing? Or I could go to your local me, see whether he might be able to give me a blood transfusion to pass on whatever immunity he’s started building up?” If Telly panicked that much, Alastor wonders just how much suffering his alternate was in. (He needs to ask Telly about his relationship with the local Radio Demon some time, now that Telly knows a little bit about Alastor’s local Sir Pentious.) He winks, “Or maybe you just need to keep biting me until I get that natural resistance.”

Sir Pentious

He purrs when Alastor presses their foreheads together, and smiles at the gesture. God, he loves this, he loves touching and being touched, so very much, especially here and now and with him.

"I can give you my formula for the anit-venom, yes. I could also make some larger doses of it, perhaps just have more prepared. I could also come up with a device that could maybe automatically inject you, so we don't have to do the bottle and needle dance every time. Maybe an armband of some kind..." He made a face at the mention of the local variety. "I'm not sure if I've bitten him enough for him to gain one." He sniffed a bit haughtily, and then hummed, cupping Alastor's face to lean in to kiss him.

"Also, I could give you just some bottles of my venom, to try and figure out your own version of the anti-venom. Might even be fun, if you want to help milk it." He grins. "But that dose should counteract any more bites tonight-- but tell me if you feel nauseous, or if you get the chills."

Alastor

Alastor tightens his one-arm embrace when Telly kisses him again—he never thought he’d have a chance at this again, smooth scales under his bare skin. It feels so right.

“Oh, I get the chills just looking at you!” The song’s back—“*Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me—*” “What other symptoms should I watch out for? A racing heart? Lightheadedness? Sudden swoons? It might be too late for me!” He melodramatically presses a hand to his forehead—then laughs. God, it feels so good just to *say* that—without having to filter his words. “*Would* you let me have some of your venom?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, then, just tell me if you start to get nauseous." He laughs, and then slithers up onto the bed, taking Alastor with him. He lays among the pillows, letting his hand snake back under his shirt to start scraping against his skin again.

"Of course, as much as you wanted-- though I'm not sure if the classic 'drop in your drink' method of gaining a tolerance would work." He smiles, leaning in to let his tongue flick over the wound on Alastor's neck.

"Didn't know you liked Rocky Horror, darling. But I will _touch-a, touch-a, touch_ you all you want."

Alastor

He rolls onto his side so he can face Telly; and then, realizing that he’s still fully dressed from the waist down, lifts his feet one at a time so he can unlace his shoes and toss them aside. The flick over his wound stings lightly; it sends tingles up and down his neck.

“So you know it!” His face lights up. “It’s not one of my favorites—but it’s a place to go at midnight when all the other picture houses are either closed or showing porn!”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I do! Sad to say I've never gone to a midnight showing, only ever watched it on my projector here. But I enjoy it, it's very odd." Telly lets out another laugh, watching Alastor toss his shoes. He presses his lips to the wound, smearing some of Alastor's blood there, before moving down to where his neck and shoulder meet. There, he opens his mouth once more and bites down-- if Alastor likes this so much, well, he's more than happy to give him more now that he's had the anti-venom.

Alastor

“Really!” He beams eagerly. “We ought to fix that sometime. *Oh*—with costumes! *We can wear costumes.*” He could already imagine a beautiful future ahead of them: attending every silly little costume event the Pride Ring has to offer, dramatically playing with each other in character... stumbling home together through dark streets in the wee hours of the morning.

Alastor gasps again at the fresh bite—then lets out a giddy laugh. “All my life I’ve heard ‘he treated me like a piece of meat’ being used as a complaint! Please, if you ever feel the urge to bite a whole chunk out of me, don’t hold back.” He wraps an arm around Telly’s waist, drawing him closer—and then starts exploring his body again, running his fingertips up and down his back and dragging his thumb along the outer edges of his new gills. Every time he moves his arm, he can feel it deep in the shoulder muscle that Telly bit.

Sir Pentious

When he pulls back, mouth bloody, he smiles. "Costumes! Yes, absolutely. We both seem to love them, it seems, what better way for us to have fun." He coos.

The touches to his gills made him gasp, and he licks his blood covered teeth. His claws dug in again, and he kneaded, similarly to a cat. He moves his head, and then uses a hand to shift the collar of the shirt, letting him get at another piece of unmarred flesh. And he's biting again. At the end of this, Alastor would probably be covered in blood, but so would he, and he didn't mind that one bit.

"If I feel the urge, I'll be sure to indulge. Right now, all I want is to mark you up all over."

Alastor

Mark him—he likes the sound of that. He likes the idea of having proof that this really happened—something he can look at in the mirror tomorrow and SEE. Incontrovertible evidence.

He nearly digs his claws in when Telly bites again—without his gloves on, his claws are short and black, but still more than sharp enough to break skin—but he freezes, barely restraining himself. No, not that, not now. Instead, he nuzzles Telly’s face and murmurs, “Wasn’t I lotioning you before we got distracted? I believe I still haven’t gotten to most of you.”

Sir Pentious

He blinks. God, the lotion seemed like an eternity ago, he hardly remembers it. He flops back against the pillows and then nods. "Yes, you were. We got caught up in the euphoria of kissing, and biting, I suppose."

He laughs and his tail shifts, searching on the floor. A few moments later, and the tail fully returns to the bed, the lotion coiled in the very tip. "There it is~ Why not get back to it, and then I'll reward you with more bites. And perhaps it will bring forth the twins, as you called them." He snickers.

Alastor

"More? I'm going to leave here looking like Swiss cheese!" It's not a complaint.

He sits up, squeezes a bit more into his hands, and looks over Telly greedily. Oh, where to start? Every last inch available for him to touch as he sees fit. "Let's see... I think I got your back already... So let's start with..." He leans forward, running his hands along Telly's shoulders and collar bones, feeling the bones and muscles underneath, trying to memorize the shapes of them with his fingertips.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, as many as you can stand." He laughs.

When Alastor picked his spot to start, Telly shifted to allow him to reach whatever he might want. His tail moved as well, flipping to expose the bright yellow underbelly. The bed only fit ten feet, and usually he was coiled on it, so spreading out like this really showed just how long her was.

Alastor

"Oh, you're going to regret saying that! I have an amazing tolerance for pain."

His gaze travels down the length of Telly's body, drinking in the two-tone scales and the many eyes—he'll get down there soon enough. He returns his attention to Telly's upper body, moving down to his chest, carefully tracing around the central eye. Oh yes, this was *much* better than nail polish. Better smelling, for one thing. "You know, I wasn't just flattering you earlier. You truly are the single most beautiful being I've ever seen."

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to test it, then." He laughs, and then he bit his lip. He chewed a moment, forgetting his fangs in the need to chew on something. Compliments had that affect-- either a chewed lip or a tear filled eye.

But he stops after a moment and mutters a soft 'Ow.' as his tongue flicked out to lick at the wounds.

"You say that, but, I--" He makes a soft noise and sighs. "I'm sorry I'm still unused to compliments...I always find them hard to accept. But thank you. I know you mean it, and that means a lot to me."

Alastor

"So sorry!" He leans forward to kiss the wound—and get a taste of it himself while he's there. "Does that mean I should keep the compliments to myself? Or should I make sure you get used to them?"

Sir Pentious

"No, please, keep complimenting. I'd rather get used to hearing them, so that when it comes time for the rest of Hell to join in the flattery, I won't be coy about it." He laughs and winks.

Telly smirks slyly as a thought comes to him, and he wipes some of his blood onto his thumb. Then he leans over to spread it on Alastor's lips.

"Mm, that shade's is quite flattering on you." He laughs again and then reclines once more, pleased with himself.

Alastor

He'd hoped Telly would say that.

Before he resumes exercising his God-given right to ramble endlessly without ever shutting up, he lets Telly paint his lips, presses them together like he's smoothing out a layer of lipstick, and runs the tip of his tongue along the inner edge of his lower lip to taste it. It's going to be difficult resisting the urge to lick it straight off. Maybe he ought to start wearing lipstick regularly.

"In that case, I'll have to tell you all about how utterly mesmerizing you are when I watch you swim! Or how bone-chilling your villainous laugh is, or how spectacularly well megalomania suits you! Or how much you awe me with those brilliant machines you put out—so casually! And so quickly! Why, if you worked in magic rather than machinery you'd already be a god, if only you could build your private menagerie out of molecules and cells rather than clockwork parts. I truly believe you have a mind to rival God's, and if I'm wrong I dare Him to smite me for it!" He pauses to wait. He is not smote. "I guess I must be right!"

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the nervous and almost embarrassed giggles that erupt from him, but his smile is wide. To think, Alastor thought that highly of him when the one of his own universe could spend hours on espousing the opposite. But he wouldn't let thoughts of his local variety sour any of this. He didn't belong anywhere between them. No, this space was theirs and theirs alone.

A contented purr came next and he wiggles against the pillows. He takes one of Alastor's hands and kisses it, leaving a smear of blood there, though the wounds are already starting to stop bleeding.

"You're truly flattering me, Alastor. Soon my true ego will match my bravado." He laughs again. "But please don't let that stop you!" His laugh turned to a cackle.

Alastor

That cackle is enough to give him goosebumps. "I hope they will match! Egomania would *also* look good on you!" He bends down to lick the blood off his own hand (pff, tastes lotiony), then kisses Telly again—and resumes trailing his hands down Telly's body, caressing his chest, his abdomen, and sliding around to his gills again.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss and really is loathe to let Alastor go back to touching him if it meant Telly had to break the kiss. But he did, giving another contented purr-- and then a sharp groan when Alastor got near the gills again.

"If these things are that sensitive, I truly wonder how they'll fair when I'm in my suit," He huffs. "They are interesting, though. I want to try them out soon."

Alastor

Oh, those beautiful sounds. It was almost too easy. "That *would* be distracting. I wonder if there's some avant-garde fashion designer somewhere who makes suits with open sides?" He laughs. "Or maybe it's because they're new! Right after I died, my ears and tail were much more sensitive. Not THIS kind of 'sensitive,' but..."

He continues his caresses throughout his talking, slowly trailing lower down Telly's sides toward his hips, back toward that spot Telly showed him earlier that he could now feel with his own bare skin. Hmm. River stone. Yeah. Maybe he could sneak Telly into the mortal realm—take him somewhere *nice* to try out swimming...

Sir Pentious

His breathing is mostly under control, though he can't help the small, downright needy noises that come out with every touch. He just wants to lay here forever, being touched by Alastor.

"I remember my eyes being extremely sensitive before my first shed, but I think that was more just irritation than anything."

Another gasp and he could start feeling the twins as Alastor so named them, starting to peek their heads out from their hidden spot in Telly's sheath.

Alastor

He wonders if the sensitivity was some sort of aftereffect of the way Telly had died—but he wasn’t about to ask and ruin the mood. "I've always wondered how you stand all those eyes everywhere! I suppose you've got some sort of protective layer over them, don't you—but even so! It can't be comfortable slithering around on them all the—oh, hello." He rests his hands on Telly's hips. Guess what he's just noticed?

He goes still and silent for a moment as he studies the emerging equipment, not with a look of lust or hunger but a sort of excited curiosity—eager to see now that the sheath is opening how it usually keeps itself so well-hidden, eager to see the shape of what it contains.

Sir Pentious

God above, he really truly was happy that he couldn't blush, or he'd be even more embarrassed. With how intently Alastor is staring, he can't help but feel self conscious. But he keeps that to himself, biting his lip again.

But despite the burning embarrassment he's feeling, his dicks still emerge, slowly, as they were wont to do. Compared to the rest of him, they don't look the most impressive, but at a solid nine inches, they were on the large end for any human measurements. Not to mention, well, there were two.

They glistened with the slick self lubricant Telly's sheath produced, and he took a short breath once they fully emerged.

"What do you think?" He asks, and immediately the embarrassment is tenfold. Wow, Telly, that was lame, that was super lame. He pressed one hand to his face to hide himself a bit. This was just....a lot.

Alastor

"... Uh." For a moment, he's at a loss for words—not because he's particularly awed or flustered, but rather because he ISN'T, and he knows full well that under the circumstances he's EXPECTED to be. He thinks they’re kind of strange, in the way that one would expect a rarely-seen human part that’s been partially mutated by an animal part to be before one gets used to it; and he also thinks they’re kind of pretty in the same way that he thinks all of Sir Pentious is kind of pretty. But neither of those seem particularly remarkable.

What's a good partner supposed to say when they see someone else's dick(s) for the first time? That question isn't covered in sex ed. Or maybe it is, Alastor wouldn't know, his school didn't have sex ed.

He's read pulp novels and smutty comics, what do they usually say when the dick comes out? Something about the size, typically. "Well," he says, "you're bigger than me." A beat as he rummages around for something else to say. "Good job!"

Sir Pentious

The hand comes off the face, and he just....blinks at Alastor a moment. Then he laughs, loud, deep laughs. It takes time a few moments to calm enough to speak.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm sorry, that was--" He giggles a few more times. "I've never had someone tell me 'Good job!' for having above average sized penises.....Penii? What's the right plural?"

He snaps himself out of thinking about that little conundrum and reaches to take Alastor's hands.

"I must say, you're adorable. Don't worry about figuring out the right words-- Penii are awkward to talk about." He leans in to kiss him and then smiles, more shy this time.

"Did you....want to touch them? You can, if you wish..."

Alastor

Alastor laughs too, near voicelessly and shoulders shaking. “I didn’t know what else to say! Bigger is generally considered better, isn’t it? It’s—you know—something most men are proud of? It seemed like something worth congratulating!” He laughs again, yes he knows it’s silly.

Adorable? He smiles self-consciously; he’s not sure about this whole *being adorable* business. “You’re one to talk, which one of us got distracted by grammar?” Kiss. “... I think it’s penes, actually.”

He glances back down at The Twins. “I suppose that’s the direction I was headed, isn’t it?” Yes, he does want to touch—but this is another one of those moments that has a bunch of pressure and expectations piled onto it, a weight granted by society at large’s obsession with things that have never mattered to Alastor. He’s not sure how he can touch without it being a disappointment to Telly.

Then better to get the disappointment over with and recover from there, isn’t it? If he puts it off that’s just going to further build up an inevitably underwhelming moment. “Do you have a preference? Or both at once?”

Sir Pentious

He still laughs a little at the grammar comment and shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a Semantics Snake."

He laughs at his own joke and then settles again, taking a deep breath. Well, here it was, the moment of truth, as it were.

"Oh, ah, whichever you wish. I have no preference, nor do you need to....do both at once. The feelings tend to blend anyway." He gave a slight shrug and settled back to....watch, he supposed?

Alastor

Surprised, he asks, “Blend, really? What, does touching both feel like only touching one? What happens if I try to rub circles on one and pat the other?” He wraps his hand around the nearest one like he definitely knows what he’s doing—sure he can handle a dick, he handles his own all the time—immediately lets go in surprise when it’s a lot wetter than he expected, and quickly grabs on again. “What is that—that’s not pre, is it?” It’s a lot, if so—but really, what does he know about how much other men have? He isn’t a doctor.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, them being so close together on my body makes the feelings sort of...combine? Like if you were to grab both, it would definitely feel more than just one, but--" He gets cut off when Alastor wraps his hand around and he gives a little gasp.

"O-oh, ah, um, no, it's not, it's....a sort of natural lubricant that my body produces. Otherwise it would be very uncomfortable when they...came out and whatnot." He laughed, a little breathlessly. "It certainly saves on buying the stuff in a bottle or what have you."

Alastor

“Oh! Makes sense!” He lets go to lick some of the lubricant off his hand to see what it tastes like, then grabs on again to explore the shape of it with his fingertips. “‘Twins’ wasn’t quite right, was it? More like a two-headed turtle, pulling its heads in and out of its shell.” He grins cheekily as he tugs at the edge of the sheath with his pinky.

Sir Pentious

The taste would be....actually quiet similar to Telly's blood, if a bit blander. He's about to say something else when Alastor grabs him again, and a groan comes out instead.

His breath hitches when he touched the sheath, and Telly starts breathing harder, just in general. "The-The sheath is also sensitive, it's full of nerve endings and the like, v-very sssensssitive."

He whines softly, arms shaking a little as he grabs the sheets. Boy is too sensitive for his own good it seems.

Alastor

“Is it!” Alastor leans across Telly’s tail, propping himself up with his elbow on the bed and his cheek in his hand, grinning sweetly and oh so innocently. “So, you’ll be able to feel it particularly well if I do... this?” He runs one finger around the sheath, tracing it from one side of the double dicks to the other.

Sir Pentious

Telly gasps and shudders, his claws tearing the sheets as he gripped them tighter. "Yes!"

The shout is more involuntary than answering his question, but there's another reaction far more exuberant than that-- Telly's tail, rushing to curl from its stretched out position, to coil around Alastor, around the waist, and then his legs. It gave a squeeze, but luckily, not one too hard.

Alastor

Alastor’s gaze darts to Telly’s face when he shouts, and stays there, watching him. Each little noise makes his ears twitch.

The coil wrapped nearest Alastor’s waist serves to alert him to the fact that he has, in fact, developed a boner himself—which is, as far as he’s concerned, an unsurprising but unwanted physical inconvenience in the middle of what’s been an otherwise good time, not unlike sitting in an odd position too long and standing to find one’s foot has gone numb. When he shifts in Telly’s coils to sit up and lean forward, he absentmindedly adjusts Telly’s coil to keep the pressure off of the party crasher so Alastor can stay focused on Telly’s reactions. “Keep making those beautiful sounds, would you?” With one hand he traces around the bases of Telly’s dicks and runs along the sheath, and with the other he reaches up to play with his gills on one side—and the whole time he watches Telly so intently he might not even be blinking.

Sir Pentious

Telly is too consumed by the pleasure to notice Alastor's boner, fortunately for Alastor. He's also not used to being told to be loud. More often, he's asked to keep it down. He keeps himself from biting his lip again, so as not to stifle the noises. His panting is the first noise, and then, moans and groans pour out of him, with every touch and stroke. And then--

"Alassstor!" Halfway between a whine and shout, he writhes on the sheets.

Alastor

He nearly claws into Telly’s side at the sound of his own name—and again just barely restrains himself. “Yes!” He leans half over Telly, gaze darting like a spotlight between his face and his writhing body, eyes shining bright with hunger and adoration. “Oh, let me hear that again!” Like the Phantom compelling Christine to keep singing, if the Phantom sounded like an overexcited 1920s radio broadcaster.

Sir Pentious

His tongue sticks out and stays out, as he pants, and his eyes meet Alastor's, wide and red-pink.

"Alastor, please, more." He whines. Telly's able to release the sheet with one hand, and reach over to press a claw against one of the bites he left.

"I want more."

Alastor

Alastor shudders as wonderful pain lances his shoulder. “Anything you want, *ma reine*.” As long as Alastor knows that he’s the one giving Sir Pentious that pleasure—as long as it’s his name being panted—Alastor will do whatever it takes to give him more of it.

Both hands move to Telly’s dicks and sheath—he might not have any conventional sexual experience, but he certainly knows how to give hand jobs, he’s been giving himself those for well over a century—and his arms’ shadows peel up and slide up Telly’s waist to wrap around his sides.

Sir Pentious

The shadows are odd, but not any stranger than the fact that Telly was a snake and Alastor a deer. They do, however, feel odder than actual flesh and blood hands, and that pulls his attention for a brief moment. At least, until Alastor's attention focuses on his dicks. A whine catches in his throat and he shifts under him.

"Please, _mon roi_," He murmurs, eyes shifting from Alastor's hands to his face. He didn't think today would be ending with him in bed with Alastor, but well, he certainly wasn't going to complain. Especially not when his hands were doing so much for him.

Alastor

Alastor didn’t think *any* day was going to be ending with him in bed with Sir Pentious. Although, to be fair, he sometimes forgets that “in bed with” is an item in other people’s lists of priorities until someone else reminds him. It’s still remarkable.

“Tell me what else you want.” He’s going to keep stroking, keep caressing, keep repeating the things that get the loudest groaning and most dramatic squirming, and pushing them farther wherever he can.

Sir Pentious

It takes him a good few moments to get his brain together enough to remember things he liked, other than everything Alastor was already doing.

"Bite me. I-I like being bit, too. I want some to match what I left on you." He pants and arches against his hands, moaning softly. "Otherwise, just keep going. It feels so _good_, Alastor."

Alastor

To this point he’s been loathe to spill more than a drop or two of Telly’s blood—but at the explicit invitation, his smile stretches even wider. “We’re going to be quite a pair, aren’t we.” He chuckles, straddling Telly’s waist so he only has to let go with one hand to help him keep his balance. He kisses Telly’s neck and collar bone—and then sinks his teeth in. Oh, *delicious*. He wishes he could take a chunk of muscle with him, he’d commit a thousand murders to find out what Telly’s flesh actually tastes like. The blood will have to be enough.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, we will--" He gasps when Alastor's teeth sink in, and then his eyes squeeze shut and he shouts out Alastor's name again. Now that he was closer, Telly's hands move around to Alastor's back, under the shirt, and rake down again-- a sure sign of approval from the snake.

"If anyone asks you...if you got into a fight... you have to answer 'You should see the other guy.'" He wheezes out a laugh, breathless as he is.

Alastor

He shivers under the claws. He can’t remember the last time he got torn up like this, but whenever it was, it couldn’t have been half this good.

His laugh is muffled—his fangs are still buried in Telly’s shoulder almost up to the gums. He releases his bite, licks up the first blood to seep out, and plants a kiss on Telly’s lips. “And if anyone asks, who won the fight?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before switching over to Telly’s other shoulder and giving it a matching bite.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss, hungry for the taste of his own blood on Alastor's lips. The bit he's smeared there earlier was now covered up with a fresh coat, that was nice. He laughs, his head tilting to give Alastor more space for his next bite.

"Hm, I think--" He gets cut off yet again by a moan tearing itself through him. His hips buck a bit underneath Alastor, begging for more attention.

"I think we both win..."

Alastor

“Mm-hmm!” He moves his second hand back down to Telly’s dicks—which means he can’t prop himself up anymore, but he can live with that. He can get up on his knees to give himself enough space to access the dicks; it’s an awkward angle, but it works.

And it means he’s resting on his chest with his head right next to Telly’s, letting Alastor listen to every lovely laugh and moan.

Sir Pentious

And purr, which is the sound that comes next. Telly turned his head to kiss him again, moaning against his lips.

"I think I'm close, Alastor. Go all out, make me climax," He whispers, his claws dragging down his back again.

Alastor

He thought he WAS going all out. He’s new at this, “bite” and “jerk” are the only two tools in his toolkit. He panics for half a second—what does Telly want for the grand finale, a musical number? (he could handle that, actually)—before he realizes he can just pick up the pace, can’t he?

That, and return to kissing, deeply and eagerly.

Sir Pentious

Turning up the pace certainly works, quite well, in fact. As does the kissing. Their mouths are pressed together when Telly is finally pushed over the edge, and he gasps into his mouth, muttering Alastor's name. His entire body shudders, hard, and that is a lot of body to shudder. His hips jerk up, and both of his dicks spurt in time.

"Ah...Alastor...."

Alastor

He keeps on jerking through the length of Telly’s orgasm, reveling in the sound of his own name and the feel of Telly’s entire body moving beneath him. Success! Mission accomplished!

At last he lets go and murmurs back, “Telly.” A light kiss. “Sir Pentious.” Another kiss.

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits END HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

Alastor

He’s silent a moment, trying out the nicknames in his head, listening to the sound of them. “Astor,” he repeats. “Astor, huh. Makes me sound like a star, doesn’t it.”

Sir Pentious

"It does. And it's fitting because you are one." He takes Alastor's chin in his fingers and kisses him again. "I figured that since I have a nickname, you should too. Would certainly help to make things less complicated when referring to you, rather than one of the others."

Alastor

Huff. He returns the kiss, then says ruefully, "Not for a long time, I haven't been a star. But it's a fine sentiment! Maybe again soon, who knows? Maybe as Marquesident Laufeyefferson." He laughs. “If my being in the show doesn’t scare the audiences away from the theater.”

Sir Pentious

"Mm, mm, none of that talk. You are a star, you're my star, and I'll see you shinning again." He smiles and pokes Alastor's nose as he speaks. And then there's another kiss and his arms wrap tight around the Radio Demon. "And you'll have at least," He pauses, mentally tabulating. "Three people there to see you in it."

Alastor

“Why, throw in duplicates and the hotel crew—who I’m *going* to make come—and we might have a dozen! You can fill the rest of the audience with eggs!” HUFF! "So you'll make me a star and I'll make you king of Hell. That's the deal, right?"

For some reason, saying it out loud like that makes him feel strangely emotional. He returns the embrace just as tightly and presses his face into Telly's shoulder, blood and all.

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to get cloning then!" He snickers.

"That is indeed." He laughs softly, his hand going to the back of Alastor's head, to pet his hair. "You're mine, now. I'm yours. We're ours." He's not quite sure what he's actually saying right now, more just rambling in the afterglow.

Alastor

"I'm yours. You're mine. And this is real." That's the hardest part to believe. That the snakeskin under his hands is attached to an actual moving thinking person, not a piece of python-printed leather. That he didn't imagine all the words playing back in his head. That he was given a chance, in spite of everything. *You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you.*

Sir Pentious

Telly purrs in contentment, one hand resting on Alastor's back as the other pets over his hair. "Do you want to sleep here? Don't have an other engagements to attend to, _mon roi_?" His tone is light and playful as his fingers massage the base of one of Alastor's ears.

Alastor

"You couldn't pry me off with a crowbar." He pauses. "Except to use the bathroom. We should probably both wash off, shouldn't we?" And Alastor needs to take the opportunity to jerk off. The human body, he's found, is something like a battleship with very poor communication between the sailors: if the men belowdecks peep out their portholes and see other ships nearby firing their cannons, they hasten to ready their own ship's cannon even if the captain above has no interest in using it.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I think we should. I do not like letting it, uh, dry on my scales." Telly shifted, coils loosening to free Alastor. He got up and moved towards a door on the far side of the room.

"I'm going to fill up the tub to wash, and you may join me or clean up in the sink if you'd rather that." He smiles. "But I absolutely would not mind if you joined me, were you so inclined."

Alastor

"You think that's bad, imagine letting it dry in your hair." He runs his fingers through the fur on his lower stomach.

On the one hand, getting to be with Telly in a tub. On the other hand, being in the tub, totally naked. "I'll take the sink! I need to look for bandages, anyway. And snoop through all your cabinets." Studio audience laughter. (No but he's definitely going to snoop.) "But I'll come bother you once I'm cleaned up."

Sir Pentious

"All right, then, I will be awaiting you in the true bathroom-- that is, the one with the bath in it." He let out a hissing laugh before slithering through the door, and then to the other at the far side. He started his bath, humming as he put his favorite mix of fragrances in.

Alastor

In the false bathroom, Alastor quickly disarms the uncooperative cannon, pulls off his shirt to wash it in the sink, scrubs off the mess that managed to get beneath the shirt hem... and then, in the process of cleaning off his wounds, stops and stares at himself in the mirror. That really happened, didn't it? How does he feel about that?

About a dozen different ways. None of which he has time to examine right now. Mute those stations and save them for when he's by himself—TRULY by himself, not a room away from somebody who's waiting on him. He digs out some first aid supplies, properly cleans and covers up his bites, and magically dries out his new shirt so he can pull it back on.

Then he pulls off his socks and garters so they won't get wet, tosses them at his other discarded clothes in Telly's room as he passes, and ducks into the true bathroom. “Tired of hanging out in here after a week of it?” Studio laughter. "Well? How do the gills work?"

Sir Pentious

Telly isn't even in the water when Alastor comes back-- but he is dripping and, for some reason, sneezing.

"I may have forgotten about them and put scented oil in the water and now it feels like I snorted it up my nose." Another sneeze.

"So I am rerunning the bath, this time without the oils, and hopefully that will clear things out." He smiles over at Alastor and gives him a once over.

"You clean up nice," He jokes.

Alastor

Alastor laughs loudly. "Oh, and to think I missed it! I chose the wrong bathroom!" He flings an arm around Telly's shoulders. "You poor thing. I guess chlorinate pools are out now, aren't they!" Pity, Telly did so love his fragrances—Alastor wonders whether any of his stock of plants, whether culinary or magical, could serve as an adequately fragranced substitute that wouldn’t irritate Telly’s gills.

Sir Pentious

"Most likely, until my body can adjust to having those sorts of things pass through the gills. I'll have to perform some tests."

He turns his head to kiss Alastor's cheek, before smiling as he slid back into the tub. He did love this in ground design-- so much more convenient for a snake.

Alastor

He sits on the floor next to Telly. "I don't know a lot of fish sinners, unfortunately, or else I'd recommend them to you to ask them questions. Learn from other people's mistakes and all that." After a moment of thought, he rolls up his pant legs so he can stick his hooves in the tub.

Sir Pentious

"Oh, I've missed those hooves," He coos, sliding over to where Alastor sat. "They're so cute, you should take off your shoes more." Under the water, his gills flared and then settled, repeating as he breathed the water.

Alastor

Cute, huh? He crosses his legs to lift one hoof up where it's easier for Telly to see them. The red fur that climbs almost to his knees is currently wet and slicked down and probably less cute than when it’s fully fluffy. “I haven’t had much reason to take them off! Just at the beach and in the bathroom. Although I suppose if I’m going to be spending—“ He realizes what he’s saying halfway through, stops himself, then sheepishly continues with his volume lowered, “... nights over here, from time to time...” It still seems too much to assume.

Sir Pentious

He pushed himself further out of the water to kiss Alastor, softly, and with love. "You're welcome to spend as much time here as you want-- You should know that I can't get enough of you." He winked-- and then his brain clicked and reminded him of something that was dreadfully important, especially under current circumstances.

"Oh! I need to tell you about Hel! Oh, I completely forgot to mention it before we started-- well..." He cleared his throat and chuckled. "She's fine with it, with this, with us. I spoke with her when I first was starting to develop feelings for you and we talked about it. Apparently, in her culture, it's actually quite normal and mundane to be polyamourous! But you don't-- you don't mind either, do you?" He suddenly looks QUITE nervous.

Alastor

OH GOD HEL. *OH GOD HEL.* OH GOD **HEL.** Alastor’s heartbeat sounds less like a timpani and more like a drum roll. He entirely forgot, in the excitement of the everything, that Telly is a taken man. What would his mother think of him. Alastor’s a home wrecker. Or—*worse*—Alastor is some rich British noble’s idea of a fun time before going home each night to his far more powerful and important wife—

OH no never mind, God, everything is fine. “Thank *goodness*.” Alastor’s muscles give out and he flops backwards onto the tile. Listen to the chirping of those invisible birds flying around his head. Now the back of his shirt’s wet. “I...”

...*Does* he mind it? He doesn’t know. He’s imagined what it would be like to be with Sir Pentious more times than he could begin to count, but he’s never considered the possibility that Sir Pentious might simultaneously be with someone else. Alastor’s rarely heard anything nice said about polygamous folks, but he’s noticed a high correlation between the kind of people who go out of their way to raise a big fuss about polygamy and the kind of people who raise a big fuss about queers and the mixing of the races, both of which Alastor happens to be heartily in favor of himself, and that makes him disinclined to put too much stock in such people’s criticisms of any *other* amorous arrangements. He’s known a few little trios or quartets that seemed perfectly happy, although he knows very little about their inner workings. But how does Alastor feel about being *part* of one?

He’s deferring that decision until later. “If she’s fine with it, I want to hear it out of her own mouth. No offense, I hold you in the *highest* esteem, but as a general policy I’m not going to take *any* man’s word for it if he says his lady is fine with him bedding random entertainers he happens to fancy.”

Sir Pentious

Telly watches as Alastor processes it and then as he flops back against the tile. He pulled himself up a little more, and a little bit out of the tub, to flop down beside him. "I will happily arrange that. She'll be glad to hear that we've both finally figured things out." He can't help a little snicker.

"I've been talking with her about my feelings for you this whole time almost, and she's been supportive of it. I just....didn't tell you sooner because I didn't know if you liked me in the same way. I think it's obvious now that we both were a bit blind, weren't we?" He slid closer, laying his head next to Alastor's. He took his arm in one hand and squeezed it, his other twining his fingers with Alastor's.

"I mean, how awkward would it have been for me to just blurt out 'my girlfriend is fine if we start dating!' and then it turned out you _weren't_ interested in me like that? I would've been mortified and it might've ruined the friendship we'd been building. I didn't want to do that. But well, now....now is a good time because now we both know, and that needs to be clear. And don't worry, I'm not expecting you to do anything romantic with her and I doubt she'd want to anyway. It'd just be that I'm dating both of you. I find it quite a novel thing, no one ever openly did such things when I was alive."

He hummed, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I should finish washing up. You....do still want to stay the night, right?"

Alastor

Alastor laughs. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard! Granted, it would have worked on me, but...” He trailed off as he processed the rest of what Telly had said.

“Blind, worried about reading too much into things, either or. Sure, I noticed you were... affectionate, but so’s the Sir Pentious I’m friends with, and it’s entirely platonic out of him.” (Either that, or he’s a much better liar than Alastor thinks. Which he refuses to believe is possible.) “What do you mean, ‘this whole time’? How long, exactly?”

Sir Pentious

Oh. He pauses in getting up, and instead of sliding back into the water, sits there on the edge of the tub. He'd hoped Alastor hadn't caught that. "Ah...well, I've....I've had feelings for you since....since the extermination vacation. That's when Hel and I first talked about it-- I talked with her after our swim and talk. And I've just been feeling more and more since then."

He looked sheepish, looking at the far wall as he drew his hood over his shoulder to pet in a self soothing way. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but again, I didn't want to make things awkward...."

Alastor

*That long.* Alastor marvels at that, staring at the ceiling. They could have had this torrid encounter on a beautiful beach... “Wicked Game” on the wind and Chris Isaak’s ghost smiling in approval... a giant alien sea serpent watching...

“You know, I think I’m glad it took this long! I probably would have gone with it then, but I... don’t think I knew you well enough to do this then.” He honestly still isn’t sure he knows Telly well enough to do this *now.* “I’m used to this whole process taking more like... fifteen years.”

Sir Pentious

"I understand. It seems I tend to move a little fast-- Hel and I met at the speed dating and then that grew fast, too. But one thing I know is my own feelings. Most of the time." He shrugged, turning to look at Alastor.

"We can slow things down now, if you want but I can't say that I'm not happy that we're here now. I like....everything being out there, all these feelings I've been holding inside finally where you can see them. I'm glad we don't have to tiptoe around one another, wondering if the other feels the same." He took Alastor's hand and brought it up to kiss.

"There's a lot we still need to learn about each other, but we can do it now without constantly wondering about our feelings."

Alastor

He squeezes Telly’s hand. “And believe you me, that *is* a relief.” He shuts his eyes, sigh. “But I wouldn’t mind slowing down a little now that we’re here.”

Sir Pentious

"Slowing down," He said, nodding and smiling. He leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'm more than fine with that." He released his hand to slide back into the tub, grabbing a washcloth.

"Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be ready for bed, darling. I think I'll forgo the nightshirt tonight."

Alastor

Alastor cranes his neck to meet the kiss without having to sit up. "Fine by me." What’s *he* going to wear? Same as usual, he figures—boxers and t-shirt.

He props himself up on his elbows to watch while Telly cleans himself—and the way water rolls down his scales, and the way his muscles move and flex... "You know, you're pretty good looking from this angle, too." A disembodied wolf whistle plays.

Sir Pentious

Telly snorts and looks over his shoulder, giving Alastor a half hearted glare. He finishes up and then slithers from the tub and over to the heated towel rack-- freshly replenished by the Eggs when they'd taken away his shed. He started drying himself and then smirked at Alastor.

"Why not make yourself useful and grab a towel, hm? Instead of just oogling me like I'm a steak still dripping blood."

Alastor

He laughs. "Fine, fine!" He pulls his legs out of the tub, stands, and magically dries off the back of his shirt and seat of his pants—and takes two steps on his now-wet hooves, and immediately slips and lands face first on the floor. He lays there for a second, stunned. His shirt is wet again. Then he rolls on his back, lifts a hand into the air, and says, "You know, maybe I should just..." A towel flies across the room and into Alastor's hand. He holds it out to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the laughter that escapes him and his hand flies to his mouth. He slithers over and offers his hand to help him up-- at least to a sitting position.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry, but that was hilariousssss." He giggles more before offering the lower end of his tail for Alastor to dry. "No wonder you don't like walking on those hooves on tile. Hardwood is probably just as bad. Maybe I should get some rugs."

Alastor

"This is why I went into radio instead of musical theater." He accepts the hand, chuckling at himself. “That’s the great thing about shoes: traction!” Studio laughter. “How well does slithering work on rugs?”

Oh, Alastor gets to dry it? He does so almost reverently. They got "distracted" partway into the lotioning, Alastor never got an opportunity to lavish attention on Telly's tail. Time to make up for that.

Sir Pentious

"If it's something like an oriental rug, I should be fine."

Telly hums as he dries, and if Alastor listens closely and knows the tune, he would recognize it as part of your world from the little mermaid.

Every eye that Alastor approaches with the towel doesn't blink, but they did follow his movements, pupils dilating a bit. They watch him intently, almost adoringly, if eyes embedded in Telly's body could look at anyone with adoration.

Alastor

He doesn't see why they shouldn't be able to look at him adoringly. He makes direct eye contact with one and winks to see whether it winks back.

It takes him a moment to recognize the song—Disney musicals usually fall into "I'll watch it once to say I did" territory—but when he does, he cracks up. "You ARE a mermaid now, aren't you! Merman? Not a little one, though!"

Sir Pentious

It unfortunately doesn't. Not having eyelids will do that to an eye. It does, however, dilate a little further.

Telly's humming stopped when Alastor spoke and it took him a moment to understand what he was saying. He laughs after and shrugs a little.

"I suppose so! The Little Mermaid is my favorite of the Disney fare."

Alastor

"Really! I would have pegged you for more of a..." A moment of thought, then he admits, "Actually, I wouldn't have pegged you as a Disney fan at all.” He supposes the mermaid movie makes as much sense as any. What with the taste for sea shanties. And sea monsters. And sea. “Why The Little Mermaid?"

Sir Pentious

Telly gives him an affection, if sort of suffering look and lifts his arm to gesture to the gills.

"Thought that would be obvious by now, darling. What's not to love about a movie revolving around the sea with musical numbers and quite stunning animation?"

Alastor

"Okay, fair! Hah! I just wondered if there was *more* to it than that! Besides, a movie about trying to escape the sea? Why, you're more of a reverse Little Mermaid."

Sir Pentious

"It's more than that, more than even it's connection to the sea, it's a story about love and sacrifice, and it is decidedly queer, both versions of it-- I also loved the written version when I was alive. It resonates with me on many levels than just the surface." His face lights up a moment, and he laughs.

"Like the sea! More under the surface!" He giggles more.

Alastor

He gives Telly a surprised look. "Really? Girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, girl elopes with boy? Where's the queer part?" He pauses. "Besides the fact that the octopus is clearly a drag queen."

Sir Pentious

Telly looked at Alastor, his head tilting. "Have you never read about Hans Christian Anderson or Howard Ashman who wrote the songs for the Disney film? They were both homosexual, Alastor. And both put their own feelings into the character of The Little Mermaid herself. Part of your World is even Ashman lamenting that he wishes to be part of a world that would accept him for who he was and who he loved."

He slithered closer and cupped his face. "_I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's starting right now. Watch and you'll see, some day I'll be part of your world._"

Alastor

Alastor probably originally had something intelligent to say, but then Telly took his face and started singing directly to him, and now Alastor is automatically playing the orchestral accompaniment and utterly transfixed.

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

"Uh." Garbled stations as Alastor clears his throat. "It certainly feels different when *you* sing it." At the moment he's a little too twitterpated to register deeper nuance than that.

Sir Pentious

He laughs and kisses him. "Well, I hope you get used to it, because it's often what my mind latches on to when I am distracted by other things."

Telly strokes Alastor's ear once before shifting his tail towards him. "Now, let's finish getting me dry, and then we can lay down."

Alastor

Kiss! His lips are going to be numb by the time he leaves. “I, for one, hope I never get used to it.”

Right, back to work—hah, work. He continues lovingly drying every inch of Telly’s tail.

Sir Pentious

It doesn't take long with the both of them, to get him dry-- certainly less time than when he's alone. And once they're done, Telly's leaning down to, ayup!, lift Alastor into his arms bridal style.

"Don't want you falling again, dear."

Alastor

He reaches up toward Telly, expecting he’s about to be given a hand to get to his feet. He does NOT expect to be lifted into the air. He flails in surprise, arm flung around Telly’s neck, heart hammering in panic, until he registers what’s happened and stares at Telly. Oh. *Oh.*

A disembodied song clicks on: “*Sha-la-la-la-la-la, music play, do what the music say, you gotta kiss the girl—*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs softly, and hums along with the song for a moment. Then he leans down and does as the song says, and kisses the ~~girl~~ deer demon. He lets his lips linger there and then pulls back, slithering towards the door. Through it and then through the next, and they're back in the bedroom. But Telly doesn't set Alastor down, nope, he carries him all the way to the bed and then lays him down with a large amount of gentleness.

"Ready to get out of those pants?" He asks.

Alastor

Telly could toss Alastor down like a sack of potatoes and he’d be happy. He’s not used to all this gentleness. He’s not sure how to register being treated tenderly.

“Oh, very ready!” He reaches to unbuckle his belt, pauses, then laces his hands behind his head. “You know what? I bet you’d enjoy doing the honors a lot more than I would.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's brows raised and his smile took a turn for the salacious. "Oh my, getting to remove the Radio Demon's pants? What an honor~"

His hands moved to Alastor's waist, sliding down slowly to grab at his waistband. Telly tugged them down, and off, tossing them aside. "There we go, the Radio Demon, pantless."

Alastor

He lifts his hips a little to give his tail room to slide out of the slit in the back of his pants, then flops back down. Behold, the Radio Demon’s underwear. He wears red-and-white vertical-striped boxers that are so old-fashioned they’re held up with tiny buttons instead of an elastic waistband.

He removes his monocle and tucks it away... somewhere? “Not half the honor of spending the night in the great Sir Pentious’s bed!”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he hadn't even noticed the monocle had stayed on until Alastor removed it. Interesting. He slithers up onto the bed, coiling around Alastor and then tugging him close to his chest. "The first of many, hopefully."

He laughs, and kisses him again, his hand rising to stroke at Alastor's ears. He sighs softly and then speaks once more. "I could....sing more, if you wish? I don't do it usually around other people, but I will for you. Again."

Alastor

He wraps his arms around Telly and shuts his eyes. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I want to hear you sing more.” He shivers pleasantly and his ears twitch contentedly under the stroking. He really gets to stay here, all night.

Which is as frightening as it is thrilling. He opens one eye a slit. “It won’t bother you if I’m fidgety or wander off during the night, will it? I’m restless at night. I promise I’ll come back, I just need to move around.”

The last time he tried this, he spent the entire night wide awake in bed, unable to distract himself, staring at the sleeping form next to him, going over what had just happened again and again and again until by dawn he felt like he had no choice but to run. He ISN’T going to repeat that mistake this time. Maybe taking a 3 a.m. walk rather than just lying there will help keep himself from panicking again.

Sir Pentious

"That will be find. I'm a light sleeper, so if you need me to move my coils, just wake me. I'll fall back to sleep soon after, too. Feel free to explore, though there's not much you haven't seen already. But you know where I keep the violins, so if you feel like doing something, feel free to play." He smiles and kisses his forehead. "Just make sure to come back to me."

Telly settled back down, holding Alastor against his chest. "All right, any requests? If not, I may just default to some more Disney. They write some earworms for those animated features!"

Alastor

“I will, never you fear.” Violin, would that steady his nerves? Couldn’t hurt. Might take it outside so he doesn’t wake Telly. “If I need to wander around, I’ll go check them out.”

He lets out a slow sigh, static rushing out of him in a gush. “Whatever you want to sing. I want to learn what you like.”

Sir Pentious

Telly nods and settles down on his back, making sure Alastor close as he thinks. He lets out a little ah-ha! as he starts to sing.

"_I know you/I walked with you once upon a dream/I know you/That gleam in your eye is so familiar a gleam/And I know it's true/That visions are seldom what they seem/But if I know you/I know what you'll do/You'll love me at once/The way you did once/Upon a Dream._"

Alastor

He has just enough time to register the lyrics and affectionately think oh, how fitting, and then he’s gone. Bam. Mr. I’m Just Too Restless There’s No Way I’m Going To Fall Asleep And This Entire Night Is Going To Be A Tense Anxious Trial is out like a light one song in.

Which means Telly gets to find out some very interesting trivia: when Alastor falls asleep, his constant passive radio broadcast shuts off. And when it shuts off, Alastor does what every other station in the 1930’s did at the end of the nightly sign-off: play the national anthem.

Which means one second Alastor’s drifting off peacefully, and the next second—without Alastor stirring at all—the air is filled with the song Lucifer picked as Hell’s anthem: a nearly-but-not-quite-dignified marching band cover of a polka song.

Sir Pentious

He's surprised by the anthem, certainly, but then a fond smile comes across his lips. He waits for it to end before he starts humming Once Upon a Dream again, settling down to get himself some shut eye too.

#usedhearts #chat log #((FINALLY))#((we wrote this back in like. December???))#((and have been trying to get the plot up to this point ever since. AT LAST WE’RE HERE))

8 notes · View notes

kaweeella · 4 years ago

Text

To Be The Best Me

Here it is, that thing I was talking about earlier.

If you think of a cool title let me know. yeaahhh I thought of something but I’m still open to suggestions if you have one.

Chapter 1

~~~

Izumi looks at the paper in her hands. It was addressed to her father, but he’s been gone for years and her mother didn’t want to deal with it, so the responsibility of clearing things up fell to Izumi.

She looks out the window of the plane. She’s headed to the Veludo region. She stayed there with her dad a little when she was younger. It has a strong focus on the arts and has many different environments, so it has a lot of different pokemon.

Pokemon.

Her dad ran a school of sorts for pokemon trainers. That’s where she’s headed. His old school.

She probably could have sent a letter herself. She could have stayed home. But something compelled her to go in person.

The plane lands and everyone slowly shuffles off. Izumi grabs her pokeball belt out of the overhead bin and puts it back on. She didn’t want to put her pokemon in her luggage and wearing it the entire time would hurt.

After grabbing her bags she goes to the listed address. Mankai, it’s called.

When she finds the building, there are two men standing outside and a large backhoe. One man has messy brown hair. He’s wearing a green suit with patches and round glasses. The second man is blond with a black coat and rectangular glasses.

“No! Please! I just need a little more time!”

“You’ve had plenty of time.”

Izumi starts to slowly back away.

“Hey!” Shit. The messy haired man spotted her.

She walks over, showing him the letter. “I’m here by proxy for my father.”

“You are? Could you help?”

“With what?”

“The school!”

“There isn’t going to be a school anymore.” The blond man says. “Sakoda.”

The backhoe moves towards the building.

“Wait what’s happening?”

“This guy has a debt and the price to pay it off is the property.”

A dozen thoughts flow through her mind, one of which being that this isn’t even technically his property.

“Wait,” She speaks without thinking. “Couldn’t he pay in money?” She feels kinda stupid.

“It is an option, but he can’t afford it. That’s why we’re tearing the place down.”

“How much?”

He hands her a slip of paper. Jesus.

“How about a new deal?” She begs herself to stop talking.

“What’s the deal?”

“Give it just a little more time and I’ll have a full functioning school and your money.” Stop.

“You’re gonna help?” The messy haired man asks gratefully.

“Against my better judgment,” She mutters. “Yes.”

The blond man thinks it over. Izumi wonders how he’s gonna off her.

“Okay.” He says calmly. “You have ten months.” He turns back to the backhoe. “Sakoda, we’re leaving.”

“You’re the boss, boss!” The man leaves and the backhoe slowly backs away. After some time the backhoe disappears over the horizon.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” The man shouts.

“Yeah, don’t… don’t mention it.” She reaches out her hand. “I’m Izumi Tachibana.”

“Isuke Matsukawa.”

“Alright, let’s see the school.”

Inside the building Izumi finds what seems typical of a school. Desks, a teacher desk, a white board, shelves with books and such, just general classroom things. An odd thing she notices is that there is only one student.

“Hello!” He greets cheerily. “I’m Sakuya.”

“Hi.”

“Are you the teacher that Mr. Matsukawa was talking about?”

She’s not. In fact she’s not even licensed to teach. But they don’t need to know that.

“I’m assuming he told you about my father?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“But I am here to help!” She goes over to the teacher desk. “So what do you know already?” The good thing about having one student is that she could tailor the lessons specifically to help him. Unfortunately if she wants to run a proper school she’s gonna need to adjust it a little.

“Well there are a lot of types and some types are weak to some and strong against others, and that when pokemon get stronger they can evolve. Some have certain conditions to it like special items or trading.”

“Great! Now could you show me your pokemon?”

“I don’t have a pokemon.”

“You don’t have a pokemon.” She repeats. “Alright first lesson will be about catching pokemon.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard to be a pokemon trainer without any pokemon.”

They walk out to a nearby wild area and Izumi grabs her pokeballs from her belt. She also grabs an empty one from her bag and tosses it to Sakuya.

“Alright, typically you fight the pokemon to weaken it and throw a pokeball to catch it. You can catch it without fighting but it’s a little difficult.”

“How am I gonna weaken it without a pokemon?”

“Well you could use a stick if you really wanted to.” He looks so upset. “It was a joke. No, I’m going to weaken it for you to teach you how to battle.” She sends out her pokemon. A spinda and pachirisu.

“Cool!” He squats down to look at them.

“Eh… not really, but I love them.” She pats spinda on the head before she falls over.

They pause when they hear rustling in the bushes. Sakuya stands up and Izumi picks up spinda. Out of the bushes pops an eevee.

“Woah.” Sakuya admires it. He pauses. “It looks paler than other eevees I’ve seen.”

“It's shiny.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s purely cosmetic. Some look for them for aesthetic, others because it’s rare. It really doesn’t mean much, sometimes you can’t even tell unless you look close.”

The eevee drops into a fighting stance.

“Go on! Pachirisu!”

He jumps in front of her, electricity sparking from his fur.

“Let’s start this with status moves. Alright, use growl!”

He lets out a deep, low growl, staring daggers into his opponent.

“Growl lowers the target’s attack.”

The eevee runs round the area, kicking up dirt. The wind picks up and blows the sand towards the pachirisu.

“That's a sand attack,” She explains. “It lowers accuracy. Now for physical attacks. Use spark!”

The electricity in the pachirisu’s fur builds and he jumps up, using his tail to hit it. The electricity sparks and the eevee falls back some.

The eevee runs and tackles pachirisu, knocking him over a little.

“Alright Sakuya, now it’s your turn.”

He nods and throws the pokeball, hitting the eevee. It goes in, and the ball shakes some before going still. The ball lets out a little click.

“I did it?”

“Good job!”

“I did it!” He excitedly grabs the ball.

“Alright, now that you have a pokemon and some field experience, let’s head back in.” Izumi reaches down and pachirisu runs up her arm onto her shoulder.

“Can I let him out?”

“Yeah, if you want to. Just make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone or breaks anything.”

He lets out the eevee. He looks over him a little before smiling and jumping into his arms.

“Thank you, Ms. Tachibana!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

#a3!#a3! sakuya #a3! izumi #a3! act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #act addict actors au #pokemon au

3 notes · View notes

fatesdeepdive · 4 years ago

Text

Entry 18: A Random Purple Crystal Saves Kaze

I upgraded a few buildings and tried bribing Daniella. She requested 42 pieces of amber. She’s going to stay in the hole for a while. By the way, I realized I only did two supports each in the last two entries, as opposed to the regular four. I’m not going to do extra today to fix things, I just thought I’d bring it up.

Support: Lady Corrin/Scarlet

C: Corrin spots Scarlet training and the two train together. Scarlet explains that her parents were knights and that she wanted to be a knight, but became a rebel because of Garon’s cruelty.

B: Scarlet shows Corrin how to bedazzle her weapons, which would probably be bad in a combat setting but is a neat character detail. Side note, there is only one piece of official artwork that actually shows Scarlet with a decorated weapon.

A: Scarlet and Corrin go stargazing together. Corrin says that the stars remind her of Scarlet’s weapons. Scarlet, in a surprisingly touching moment, says that the people of Cheve believe their dead become stars and that stargazing makes her feel like she’s visiting her parents, who died in the war. Scarlet contemplates her own mortality, asking Corrin what type of star she’ll be.

Review: This line, especially the A-Rank, is fantastic. Scarlet’s acceptance of the possibility of her own death is poignant, especially if you’re playing classic mode. I can just imagine this conversation replaying in the player’s head if Scarlet dies in their run.

Support: Lord Corrin/Scarlet

C: Corrin fins Scarlet smashing up rocks to get shiny gems for her weapons. She promises to give Corrin a demonstration, as soon as she can find some new gunk. By the way, Scarlet calls glue magic gunk, because apparently glue doesn’t exist in this game, despite glue being tens of thousands of years old. Or maybe she just calls glue gunk.

B: Corrin gives Scarlet glue and Scarlet makes a mosaic of Corrin’s face. On her axe. Or maybe her lance, because they keep saying weapon instead of what type of weapon, which is odd.

A: Scarlet sparklizes Corrin’s armor.

S: Corrin asks Scarlet to decorate him...with her love. Which is such an awful pickup line that Scarlet’s confession is her mocking Corrin.

Review: The platonic support line was more romantic than this, I feel. That said, it was fine. Scarlet bedazzling Corrin’s armor and the horrible, horrible pick-up line were fun.

Support: Ryoma/Saizo

C: Ryoma asks Saizo if he’s ever had doubts about taking his father’s mantle. Saizo says no and the conversation ends very quickly.

B: Ryoma asks if Saizo is dissatisfied about his pay, which is apparently very low, and Saizo says no.

A: Saizo explains that he is compensated not by pay, but by serving a good master.

Review: A fairly bland support line, all things considered. Side note, the way I thought this would go based on the C-Rank is Ryoma and Saizo bonding over living up to their fathers, which I kinda think would have been more interesting.

Support: Rinkah/Subaki

C: During battle, Subaki chases after fleeing enemies. Rinkah yells at him for endangering himself and he brushes it off because he’s arrogant.

B: Subaki apologizes for brushing off Rinkah’s concerns. In doing so, he implies that she has a short temper, which pisses her off.

A: They apologize to each other.

S: Subaki reveals that he’s always loved Rinkah. See the last entry for why I hate this trope. Rinkah points out that they’re getting married way too soon, which is the only thing I like about this support.

Review: This support was unbearably bland, to the point that I’ve already forgotten it as I write this.

Birthright Chapter 15: Wolfskin Peak

Kaze returns from scouting and reports that there are thousands of Nohrian troops swarming the area. Ryoma reveals he knows of route around the Nohrian army, through a dangerous mountain range called the Impassable Peak.

While climbing the mountain, a group of werewolves, led by a man named Keaton, shows up to threaten. Keaton explains that in the past, humans tried to kill him for his fur, and shows off the collection of human bones he apparently carries around at all times. Corrin convinces KEaton to let the party pass, but a magical explosion suddenly kills one of his men. Keaton, blaming team Corrin, attacks.

First off, I’d just like to say I love the concept of the Wolfskin as Nohrian versions of the Kitsune. The idea of werewolves being the counterpart to japanese shapeshifting foxes is brilliant. This somewhat filler chapter features Wolfskin, who can run over mountains without issue, swaming our army. Spread around the map are Dragon Veins that lower the stats of all enemies. My main strategy with this map was to position Mozu so she was on the edge of enemy ranges, with Kaden right behind her. Enemies attack Mozu, who currently has the best defences in my army, and Kaden finishes them off with his Beastbane.

After we kill literally all of the Wolfskin, Corrin says that she’ll never forgive herself for what happened. How much you want to bet this is never mentioned again?

Now, this chapter’s dialouge changes a lot depending on whether or not you have an A-Rank support between Corrin and Kaze. If you don’t, Kaze volunteers to be Corrin’s retainer during this scene.

Suddenly, a random landslide knocks Corrin and Kaze off a cliff. Kaze barely manages to grab Corrin. Corrin begs Kaze to let her go and save himself, but Kaze refuses. Kaze explains that he blames himself for Corrin being kidnapped. Hinoka shows up and Kaze tosses Corrin to her, sacrificing himself and falling to his death in the process. Afterwards, Ryoma and Corrin spot a sunrise, despite the fact that the sun never shines in Nohr (a detail that is confounding from an astronomy perspective), which they take as a good omen. The chapter ends with Corrin vowing that Kaze will not have died in vain and praying for her firend to rest in peace.

That is what happens if Corrin and Kaze don’t have an A-Rank. If they do, something different happens. Kaze spots a random purple crystal and throws a shuriken at it. It explodes, sending the two of them back onto the cliff. Corrin asks what just happened and Kaze just shrugs.

From a story perspective, I obviously prefer the death scene. Anything is better than the ridiculous non sequitor that is the survival scene. From a gameplay perspective, I’m torn. A moment like that can increase the stakes and give the story a darker tone, but it also sucks to lose a unit you’ve been training up. It’s notable that Kaze lives if you’ve used him more, which is better from a gameplay perspective, but also lessens the impact. Ultimately, I think this scene fails because its pointless. If the game had Kaze die advancing the plot, perhaps holding off an army of enemies so Corrin can escape, it would actually had a good impact. But, because it’s just a random scene that exists solely to kill Kaze, and half the time doesn’t even do that, it stands out as a low point of this game’s writing. Specifically Birthright’s writing. This isn’t even close to some of the shit in Conquest and Revelations.

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fe fates #fe 14 #kaze fire emblem #keaton fire emblem #scarlet fire emblem

4 notes · View notes

andrewmoocow · 5 years ago

Text

Steven Universe: The Fantastic Mutants Chapter 2: Right into the Danger Room (originally posted on April 17, 2020)

AN: Kept you waiting, huh? After originally deleting the Fantastic Four from the climax of last chapter due to not giving them any dialogue, this is where I now shall introduce the First Family to the story. Well then, let's finally hop to it!

"Here we are Steven, the X-Men's personal training room." Pearl announced as the group exited the elevator, went through the hallways, and stepped into the famous Danger Room of the X-Men. Aside from the small control room above it housing X-Men ally Moira MacTaggert & Gold Team member Doug Ramsey aka Cypher, the area was a large white room decorated with turrets, holograms, and various other traps designed to test whoever trains in there. "So, the legendary Steven Universe in the flesh." Reed Richards announced his presence by appearing behind Steven with Susan Storm, Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm behind him. "Wait, the Fantastic Four are here too?!" Steven exclaimed. "That's right little guy. The professor and Stretch here actually wanted to test you." the Thing stated patting a big orange hand on the stretchable scientist's shoulder. "We've already heard about how you helped those Chitauri and Thanos." "Charles is already sort of familiar with you Gems thanks to your mother." Sue added with a wink. "Which version of my mom are you talking about, Rose or Pink Diamond?" Steven asked, casually bringing up his mother's true identity to the four, which incited an awkward silence. "Okay then." Johnny muttered nervously. "Why don't we just get to fighting already to get our minds off that junk?" he asked. "Very glad you asked Johnny." Reed answered just as sheepish while gazing down at the Danger Room. "Eight Crystal Gems against twenty-four mutants, Johnny and Ben. Sounds like pretty bad odds for you." "We'll find a way around that." Garnet declared as she pounded her fists together. "Now then, shall we begin?" "Gladly." Wolverine smirked and he popped out his claws and the two teams of both eight & twenty-six were lowered down into the training room. Charles, Reed and Susan remained in the control room to monitor the Gems' abilities from afar. "Let the testing begin." Xavier declared. "Heads up X-Men!" Cyclops exclaimed firing his eye beams at Garnet, who swiftly blocked them with a cross of her arms. "Joke's on you, my future vision saw that coming." the fusion smirked before she went in for the kill, punching the mutant in the face. "So what can you do little one?" Colossus asked while towering over both Peridot and Lapis. "That depends. How heavy are you with that form?" Peridot replied with a grin as she lifted the metal man into the air with her ferrokinesis. "My word, I am floating!" Piotr cried in astonishment. "C'mon Lapis!" Peridot muttered to the water Gem. "Go and make him wet! He should rust, right?" "Oh uh, I don't think I can do that right now." Lapis said nervously before slowly shuffling away, inciting curiosity from the green Gem. "That's a little odd." Peridot observed while lowering Colossus to the ground. "Yes, you say she has water powers yet has not used them at all." Piotr added. "And by the way, I do not rust." Meanwhile, Pearl and Connie were clashing their blades with Wolverine and Laura's claws. "Likin' the new sword Connie." Logan complimented. "But what the hell happened to the old one?" "Oh, funny story actually." Connie stated while parrying Laura's foot claws. "Ruby and Sapphire had this wedding that we put together after we all learned Rose Quartz was Pink Diamond in disguise only for it to be crashed by the Diamonds and Blue Diamond broke the first one. Then we went to Homeworld where Bismuth eventually came to help us with a new one she made for me." "That's certainly a lot to take in." X-23 remarked while flipping backwards to avoid Connie's attacks before she locked the claws in her hands with Pearl's spear. "Yes, everything after that did take some getting used to." the white Gem stated. "Between repairing the beach house, making a place for all the Gems we uncorrupted to live in and still sort of recovering from becoming extensions of White Diamond, it's a lot to take in."

-- "At home base is our golden boy Sammy "The Cannonball" Guthrie, as he gets ready for perhaps the biggest hit of the season!" Cannonball narrated to himself like a sports commentator while aiming himself at Bismuth, who was duking it out with both Ben and Johnny. "To say he's been preparing for this moment the entire year wouldn't be saying much, but by God he plans on making this the hit that'll change the way everyone sees his team for centuries to come!" "Hey Cannie, quit stalling!" Magma jeered as she made small talk with Nephrite. "Not even his fans will break his concentration!" Sam continued and then, he began to ignite his feet. "HERE COMES THE PITCH!" he yelled, blazing towards the blacksmith, the Torch and the Thing with rapid speed & a big grin on his face and then, knocked them all down like bowling pins. "AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!" "Sam you nino." Amara tutted to herself. "Is your relationship normally like this?" Nephrite asked the lava mutant. "Yeah, he's kinda like an annoying little brother to me." Magma replied. "So anyway, what can you do?" "Oh, you mean you want to see my weapon?" the former Centipeetle mother inquired. "Well, here g-" Before she could demonstrate, Cannonball was sent flying into a wall by a single punch from Garnet, right next to the two. "I'M OKAY!" he exclaimed. "NAILED IT!" Far from the others, Steven was backed into a corner by Blink and Warpath. "Gotta say kid, you're not too shabby." Clarice Ferguson nodded while flinging her crystal javelins at Steven's shield. "You still got a little to learn, but that's what the professor is for." "Oh yeah? Well try this!" Steven exclaimed, now turning his shield into a bubble to roll around in and raced off, knocking down Clarice and James along the way. "There is so much about Gems that we must learn." Warpath muttered. "Don't you agree Clarice?" "Hey Connie, over here!" Steven called out to his human friend. "Let's show everyone something really cool!" he offered. "Oh, you mean-" Connie began when Logan cut her off. "I'm sorry, what?" Wolverine asked as the girl raced to the bubble and high-fived each other, glowing brightly inside the sphere before it dispersed, and out of it came Stevonnie. "TA-DA!" "What the hell just happened?!" Cypher exclaimed in wonder. "Anyone else seeing this?" Moira asked the others, who were already monitoring the current events. "It seems they have merged into a singular being!" Reed analyzed through video footage of the fusion before speaking into an intercom. "Excuse me new fighter. Can you please tell everyone in the room who you are?" "We already know Richards." Garnet stated. "Meet Stevonnie, a fusion of well, Steven and Connie." she introduced the kids' fusion before they cut her off. "Let me take over Garnet." Stevonnie suggested. "In case you couldn't tell, a fusion combines multiple aspects of its fusees, like appearances for example." they explained. "And abilities too. Like so." To demonstrate, they summoned Steven's shield following by swinging Connie's sword about. "So in short, you're basically two cute kids standin' on top of each other to form a non-binary lookin' person?" the Thing remarked. "Whatta strange development!" "Fusion? Interesting." Lapis muttered to herself with her back turned to Peridot. "Uh, why would you say that Lapis? You know you've had bad experiences with fusion!" the green Gem asked. "Do you mind little one?! I'm trying to think!" the taller Gem shouted harshly, giving Peridot a fright. "Something just isn't right! Who are you?!" "We shall focus on your friend later child." Colossus stated as he picked Peridot up and walked away with her, leaving Lapis alone. "I assume you are very close?" he asked. "Indeed we are." Peridot remarked. "We've had our conflicts in the past, but overall we're very good friends or maybe something more. But still, she never called me little one before and hasn't acted like that since we were first getting to know each other." "You are correct. Something must be wrong." Piotr agreed. "I suggest we keep our heads down and see what happens." -- As for Stevonnie, they had just finished going a few rounds with both Cyclops and Jean before finding themselves getting tired out. "Okay, let's take five for a bit. I'm beat." they announced, officially splitting back into Steven and Connie. "You two work very well together." Scott remarked as he helped the kids up. "Are there any more fusions we should know about?" "Well, there's Ruby and Sapphire for example." Wolverine stated, cuing Garnet to split up into the married Gems. Ruby's headband was now a shiny orange color, she now wore brown pants and the top part of her torso was the same color. Sapphire's dress was currently covered by a light blue vest with navy lining underneath a white top with much pointier sleeves than before. "AAAWWW! Aren't you two just the cutest?!" Cannonball squealed at the sight of the two. "You're right, these funky little lesbians are just so small!" Kitty exclaimed. "Oh you're too kind." Sapphire giggled and blushed. "Anything else we should show you?" "Yeah, you got any more fusions?" Laura asked. Without any hesitation, Ruby, Sapphire & Steven merged into a new fusion that looked like a giant sun wearing sunglasses. "Sunstone is in the house baby!" Sunstone proudly announced, following up by offering everyone a high five. "How has everyone been doing lately?!" "T-this can't be real, can it?" Cyclops gasped at the friendly fusion. "Don't be so alarmed buddy." Sunstone exclaimed. "It's always nice to meet new people. But if those new people do anything to make you uncomfortable, that's NO GOOD!" "Why are you talking to the wall?" Beast asked Sunstone after they had given an important life lesson to seemingly nothing in particular. "No matter. Could you perhaps show us your abilities?" "With pleasure sir." Sunstone accepted the offer and made a pair of suction cups appear, using them to climb up the wall. "And another thing, don't forget to respect your elders!" they added. "Oh god, this new one is just like Wade." Wolverine face-palmed. "Who's Wade?" Bismuth asked, to which she was met with a terse "You don't wanna know bub!" -- Meanwhile in the mansion above, classes had finally got out and the students of the X-Men were ready to call it a day. "How come none of us have ever heard of these Gem creatures before?" Hisako Ichiki asked her friends. "Which one do you think is your favorite? I think mine's the big one with the rainbow hair." Megan Gwynn also inquired. "I find the little green one very funny." Sooraya Qadir answered. "And so cute to-" Suddenly, a loud knock came from a nearby closet. "Anyone else hear that?" Dust exclaimed. The knocking sounded again. "It's coming from over there!" The three mutant girls proceeded to investigate, opening the closet to find a blue-skinned woman tied up and gagged. "Is that one of them?" Armor shouted as she freed the girl from her restraints, and she only had one question. "Where's Peridot?" "Are you talking about the tiny one Sooraya said was her favorite?" Pixie wondered. "Last I checked, she went with our teachers to the Danger Room." Faster than the three mutants could see, Lapis zoomed off to the training room. "Please tell Peridot I find her hilarious!" Dust called after the water Gem, but her words barely reached her. -- "Okay, I do believe we've seen enough!" Xavier called to Sunstone from the viewing box. "Don't want anyone to get crushed if you fall!" "You got any pyrotechnic abilities Sunstone?!" Johnny exclaimed. "If you do, then I think we might have a little competition!" Sunstone was quick to correct the Human Torch however. "I do believe I haven't tried that out yet." they remarked, then they made the suction cups disappear from their hands and landed on the floor with extreme bravado. "Thank you, thank you very much!" "Ugh, showboat. You kinda remind me of another fireman." the Lapis Lazuli that Peridot believed might not be the one she remembers snarked. "Am I the only one who's noticing how different Lapis is?!" Peridot exclaimed. "I haven't seen you act like this since we first moved in together! What gives?" "I'm just not impressed, that's all." Lapis growled. "Something tells me we got a spy around here." Mr. Fantastic announced as he, Susan, Xavier, Moira and Doug entered the Danger Room. "Tell me Ms. Lazuli, what can you tell us about the disappearance of the ocean a while back?" "Oh well, they just vanished. That's all." Lapis answered while fidgeting with her hands. "I know a liar when I see one!" Ben growled. "And by my great aunt Petunia, you definitely look like a liar!" "That's because she is!" another Lapis exclaimed racing into the Danger Room and scowling at her double. "So, what thinks you can snatch me out of that elevator and take my place?!" she argued. "Who are you talking about? I am the real deal!" the other Lapis stated flamboyantly. "Loyal member of the Crystal Gems and this little Peridot's dearly beloved!" "Oh yeah, well which one of you likes this?" Steven declared before he began making fart noises with his mouth, causing the first Lapis to laugh and the second to smack her face in embarrassment. "What an absolute child." she groaned. "AHA!" Peridot cried. "Now we know who the real one is!" "I AM!" the pair of Lapises exclaimed in unison. "Oh please Mystique, you can use your powers better than this." Xavier tutted disdainfully. "It's almost like you're passing yourself off as incompetent to annoy us." "Of course it had to be you to expose me." the second Lapis growled as she began to change form. Unlike Gem shapeshifting, she didn't glow as her eyes turned an empty yellow, her hair was dyed red, scales appeared on her face & arms and Lapis's clothing was replaced with a white leotard that came with matching boots, gloves and a shawl kept together with a skull. She was no longer Lapis Lazuli, but instead her true identity as the shapeshifter Mystique. "Frankly, we knew this part of our plan wouldn't end well." "We?" Steven asked, but the X-Men knew exactly who she was talking about. "The Brotherhood!" Iceman shouted when the alarms sounded. "Oh hey, speak of the devil." he muttered bemusedly. "No offense Kurt." "No time to talk, we must go now!" Nightcrawler commanded while Mystique made a break for it. "You are exactly right Wagner." Scott declared. "X-Men, let's move out!" -- Where the proud front doors to Xavier's school once stood, now there was only a hole created by a massive man dressed in red, most notably a large helmet covering his entire head. "Okay ya walkin' talkin' rock candy, where are you?!" Cain Marko, better known as the Juggernaut, roared. "It's a good thing Mystique planted that hearing bug on herself just in case." his amphibious partner Toad added. "I just can't wait to see those pebbles for real!" "Hello boys." Mystique greeted her fellow mutants as she stepped out of the shadows. "I suppose you may have already gotten the news." she said. "Well I got worse news: they're after me." And Raven was right. The Crystal Gems came charging after the mutant and took up arms against the two new mutants. "And you two are?" Garnet asked. "Pardon me for being so rude." Juggernaut stated. "You can call me the Juggernaut, bitch!" he roared. "And we're all from the Brotherhood of Mutants, here for that brat with the shield!" "Let me guess, is this about my mom?" Steven asked, exasperated how most of his enemies come after him because of Rose Quartz. "No, we don't care about her! The master only wants you!" Mortimer hissed. "Now just come quietly and none of your rainbow friends will get hurt." "No dice Kermit!" Amethyst shouted. "Steven, keep yourself away from these guys and get everyone to safety! The OG-3 got this handled!" she ordered the boy. "Right!" Steven accepted. "X-Men, I need you to help me find the students!" As Steven led the mutants and the Fantastic Four away; Garnet, Amethyst & Pearl charged at Juggernaut, Toad & Mystique with weapons ready. "Do you wish to know the qualities of the mighty toad?!" Mortimer bragged as his long tongue tangled with Amethyst's whip. "Wait wait, I think I got this!" Amethyst exclaimed. "This can happen to them." Suddenly, Amethyst tossed Toynbee around by her whip, still tangled with his tongue, and smashed him into the ground multiple times. "Okay!" Mortimer declared, getting more desperate with each pound. "I surrender! Same thing that happens to everyone else! Make it stop! I'm gonna be sick!" "What business do you have coming here following us and replacing Lapis?" Pearl asked as her spear clashed against Mystique's knife. "We are simply in league with someone who wants that child's gemstone." Mystique replied. "He desires it for experimental purposes." "If you think you can take Steven from us, then you got another thing coming!" Pearl howled protectively. -- "Okay, that should be all the students." Cyclops announced while doing a headcount of the school's student body. "I swear, we should really increase defenses at some point and maybe build a stronger building." "But I on the other hand believe the school being damaged builds character." Colossus responded. "So what can we do now guys?" Steven asked his fellow mutants. "I mean, is there any way we can just reason with these villains and make them leave the place?" "Don't you go thinking some cutie pie words will just make us surrender pink brat!" a new mutant declared emerging from the dust & rubble. He looked very similar to Wolverine, but looked more feral with blank white eyes, crazy blonde hair and a red & brown costume. Beside him was a pale Japanese woman dressed in tight black leather that had an Oriental style to it. Also like Logan, they both had metal claws emerging from their hands. "Creed. Oyama." Logan snarled at Sabretooth and Lady Deathstrike. "Looks like we almost got the whole Brotherhood here." Emma Frost implied. And just as she said so, a morbidly obese man in a blue singlet came rolling in using his fat body. "HOWDY TRAITOR!" the Blob shrieked. "And lookie here, we got us a good one!" "Why don't you just hand over the boy and no one will have to get hurt?" a pyrokinetic mutant offered while standing alongside another member of the Brotherhood in steel blue armor who was causing the school to slowly fall apart. "Naw just kidding to be honest, someone is probably gonna get hurt no matter which side they're on!" "Don't get too cocky John." the Brotherhood's earth-moving tactician Avalanche coldly reminded Pyro. "Now where could Tom be?" "Right here gang! And guess who I found?" the plant controlling Black Tom Cassidy announced while having assisted Juggernaut, Toad & Mystique in detaining Garnet, Amethyst & Pearl with his vines. "Seriously, who are you crazy people?!" Lapis exclaimed in fright at just how one man was able to defeat three powerful Gems. "They're the Brotherhood of Mutants, a group of extremists dedicated to more violent ways of mutant peace." Jubilee exposited. "And by the way, what do you want now?!" "They want Steven! I don't know why exactly, but they're working for someone who wants him for science junk!" Amethyst cried out. "That's not untrue runt." the Brotherhood's leader Magneto concurred while descending from the sky in a sphere of purple energy. "I do apologize for making this much of a scene but I implore you all, give us the child and you'll go free." "You shall do no such thing Erik." Xavier boldly rebuked the master of magnetism. "Just who are you in alliance with?" "Well, it should be someone quite familiar to some other guests of yours." Magneto answered while looking at Reed and company, who knew exactly who he was talking about. "Doom." Richards muttered in shock. -- As the invasion of the mansion went on, a man dressed in green robes and silver armor watched everything play out through a holographic screen in his castle in the nation of Latveria. Its literally iron-fisted ruler Victor von Doom slouched in his throne as he watched the Brotherhood of Mutants contend with the Crystal Gems and their new allies before he got up and walked towards the screen. With a devilish grin that couldn't be seen through his emotionless mask, he traced a circle around Steven and let out a menacing laugh. "Soon child, your gemstone shall belong to Doom." -- At long last, chapter two is done! Yeah, tons of things got in the way of its creation like my bad habit of unintentional procrastinating along with a certain virus that's been ruining everyone's fun lately. But on the bright side, I've been able to get this out long after the grand conclusion of Steven Universe Future, so I'd have a lot to work with for future stories. But for now, stay safe out there in these trying times and stay tuned.

25 notes · View notes

lovebitesimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Aligned- Chapter Three.

Holy crap, this chapter has been hella requested. I hope you guys enjoy!x

Masterlist.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Tags: @biba3434 @i-love-you-green @lilianaswhatever @buckyboobear @between---the-bars @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @starkgaryan @labyrinth-of-thoughts @beaushelby @onlythechicagoway

Wanna be on the tag list for this series, or another? Just lemme know!

Warning: Swearing.

You’re having to come to terms with Tommy and Grace, but will he believe you when you find out some important news?

You were used to this. Nearly every man you had started to fall for, had gone off with somebody else. You had spent countless hours scrutinizing every aspect of your appearance, criticizing new found insecurities and flaws in the reflection of your mirror, wondering why you were never deemed worthy. The stomach drop sensation, the anxiety at seeing them again -you knew the heartbreak routine as well as the back of your hand. You could almost label yourself an expert.

But with Tommy, it wasn’t like he had opened an old wound. Every feeling you had once thought you were adept in experiencing, felt fresh and new. The heartache was as if you were suffering it for the first time. You lost count of how many shards your heart had splintered into, since everything took place two nights ago.

Your mind was cruel. It was as if your brain relished in forcing you to replay the events in your mind, a sadistic slideshow of your shortcomings. Of course Tommy would have gone for somebody like Grace. She was petite, her hair a shade of blonde that made her appear to glow. Her voice was angelic, even when she spoke it forced people to stop and listen. You could never possibly compare to somebody like her.

You didn’t know what you had been expecting with Tommy. Your arrival in Small Heath had come as a surprise to everybody, including yourself. Times like these though, you did yearn for the familiarity of your old life. You were frightened at where you were now, unaware of how this could possibly happen. It was completely against all the rules of science. Time travel- if that is what this could even be called- was impossible.

Yet you thought that you and Tommy possibly shared something special. The countless late nights you had spent together, telling each other things that no one else knew, your future together that he described to you…that had to mean something to him. He believed you when you told him about how you got here, the information not changing the way he had looked at you. You refused to entertain the belief it was meaningless to him, finding the thought completely out of the question.

Yet your mind continued to harbour the question, consistently playing on repeat. You didn’t even have respite in your sleep, your dreams conjuring up shiny brand-new doubts, which then went onto dominate every single waking moment. You hadn’t slept properly for the past few nights. Living with The Shelbys’ didn’t make the situation any easier, but you didn’t have any other option. You had no escape.

You knew that you couldn’t hide from The Garrison forever. You needed the job, the security of receiving a steady pay check to keep you on your feet, to allow yourself to eventually find somewhere else to live. You splashed cold water upon your face, in a fruitless attempt to appear more put together. A quick glance in the mirror in front of you, confirmed that this was a waste of time. The dark bags under your eyes betrayed you, shouting out about your lack of sleep to the entirety of Small Heath. And if that wasn’t bad enough, your waterline was rimmed with a dark shade of red- a result of the tears that had dampened your pillow case the past few evenings.

You chewed down on your bottom lip. The last thing on Earth you wanted to do now was to leave your room, but you knew that if you spent one more day in your sanctuary, suspicions would begin to arise. It was difficult enough convincing Ada that you were okay, blaming your lack of sleep on being homesick. You hated having to lie to her. The necessary action just didn’t feel right, leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

You didn’t pay much mind on what to wear to work, opting on a casual dusky pink dress. It needed ironing, possessing more wrinkles than you first thought. You pulled it over your head, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles with your hands as the fabric lay upon your body. It proved to be ineffectual, your actions having no impact upon the state of your dress. With a defeated sigh, you piled your hair on top of your head, a few curls breaking loose and framing your face. You quickly powdered your face, trying anything that could possibly hide your imperfections, before grabbing your bag and quickly rushing down stairs.

Luckily everybody seemed to be out of the house, or still asleep in bed. You gripped the front door handle, squeezing your eyes shut for a second as nerves paralyzed you. You took a deep breathe, opening your eyes as you turned the handle, stepping out onto the streets of Small Heath.

It was raining outside, the fine misty kind that clung to every strand of your hair and inch of exposed skin. It left little droplets upon your arms, mingling in with the goose bumps that had begun to form. Your shoes sunk into the mud slightly, leaving a thin layer of dirt to cling onto the soles. You inwardly cursed the weather, knowing that it did nothing but demolish any chances you had at looking somewhat presentable. At least due to the weather, the streets where significantly quieter than they would have been, allowing you to commute to work undisturbed.

You dug inside your bag for bag for the keys to The Garrison, your fingers brushing past the odd tube of lipstick and variation of coins. Your fingers fumbled with the cold metal as you tried to grasp them, the keys slipping out of your hand and onto the wet, muddy floor below.

“Let me get those” Arthur grunted from behind you, kneeling down to pick up your keys. You jolted slightly, unaware that he was beside you. He turned the key in the lock, pushing open the door and allowing you to walk inside first.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here today” he stated, heading towards the bar. The corners of your mouth turned up in a small smile at his words.

“Didn’t want to let you down” you answered, trying your best to make your voice sound cheerful and optimistic as you made your way towards your office.

“That’s my girl” Arthur laughed, beginning to collect empty classes from the bar top.

You pushed open the door to your office, throwing your bag onto the empty arm chair that was stood beside the door, before lowering yourself onto your desk chair with a defeated sigh.

Your head hurt.It was a consistent throbbing in your temple, a result of a lack of sleep and heightened emotions. Your vision hazed slightly, hot salty tears spilling out onto your cheeks. You were frustrated and hurt and felt betrayed almost. You hated yourself for trusting Tommy so easily, yet he made it feel almost effortless to do so. You initially didn’t have any doubts in your mind about him, he encouraged secrets to overflow from between your lips. He had made you look like nothing but a fool.

“You didn’t have to come in today” Arthur stated. You hurriedly wiped the tears away from your eyes, turning to face Arthur. He was lent somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, his back pressed up against the frame. His face was a picture of concern, as his eyes bore into yours. It was a surprising show of tenderness from the eldest Shelby sibling, who initially had despised you. Since beginning work in The Garrison, he had softened towards you and you had classed him as one of your close friends.

“I didn’t want to let you down” you whispered, swallowing softly. Arthur sighed softly, as he made his way towards you. He pulled over an armchair, placing it beside you before flopping back onto it.

“This is about my shit-head of a brother, isn’t it?” he questioned, his eyes never leaving your face. You nodded softly, earning yourself a frown from Arthur. “Fuck him”.

“I just feel…second best. He made me believe that we had a future together, but the moment she came in, I’m forgotten. I feel like an absolute fucking idiot” you blurted out, blinking rapidly as you realised how much you had said. You glanced at Arthur, worried that you had potentially said too much. He leaned forward, softly grabbing your hand to hold in his.

“Trust me (Y/N). You are absolutely fucking not second best. My brother is the fucking idiot in this situation” he whispered softly.

“I understand what you’re trying to tell me, I really do. But how can I ever compete with someone like her?”

“Check those fucking references” Arthur stated, his eyes lighting up. “Check those fucking references and get that Irish bitch out of here”. He gave your hand a soft squeeze, before standing up and leaving you alone in your office.

You looked back at the papers that where piled upon your desk, suddenly feeling renewed after hearing Arthurs words. You scanned over the piles of documents that where placed upon your desk, before finding what you had been looking for. You carefully picked it up, dialling the first number upon the telephone, holding the receiver up to your ear.

“Hello, is this The Farmers Arms?”

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

You leant back in your chair, placing down the phone. You had spent the majority of your morning double checking Graces’ references, the information that you now knew weighing heavily within your mind. You rubbed your temples softly, closing your eyes for a brief moment, as you tried to comprehend what you now knew.

You pushed yourself up off the chair you had been sitting on, your thighs numb from being sat down for so long. You made your way out onto the bar, your eyes scanning the room in search for Arthur.

“I didn’t know you were in today”.

Your heart stopped at the sound of Tommys’ voice. He was sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, the area surrounding him slightly darker than the rest of the pub. He delicately held a lit cigarette in between his fingers, his eyes watching you as you moved further into the room. Your hands began to get clammy at the sight of him, nervous sweat beginning to sheen lightly upon your skin. It made things feel worse, seeing him when you least expected too. You felt the wounds open up again, when they had only barely begun to heal.

“I had some errands that needed doing” you stated, praying that your voice didn’t give Tommy any indication as to how you felt. You stopped a few meters away from him, gripping the back of a wooden chair in front of you.

“And those where?” he queried, taking a drag of his lit cigarette. He raised an eyebrow as he spoke, his expression daring you to expose everything that you had recently found out. The eye contact made you feel uncomfortable, but you refused to be the first to break it, despite the fact that it made your hands begin to tremble slightly.

“Have you seen Arthur?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly towards the end of the sentence.

“Answer my question”.

You swallowed hard, gripping the chair harder in an attempt to calm your trembling hands. You had been hoping to bump into Arthur, to inform him first on what you had been told. You doubted that Tommy would be the right person to know first, afraid of how he would react if he heard the news coming from your mouth. Yet being subjected under his glacier blue glare, you heard the words spill out from between your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Grace has been lying about her references. She hasn’t worked in any of the places she claimed she has. No one round there knows her, and therefore I believe we shouldn’t trust her. Who knows what else she has been lying about”.

Silence settled uncomfortably between you and Tommy, the only noise that could be heard was the soft sound of your breathing. His facial expression remained unchanging, unbothered by the news he had just heard. He lifted the cigarette up to his lips, taking another drag before continuing to talk.

“I know” he lifted himself up from the chair, carelessly stubbing out the cigarette on the table in front of him, before making his way towards the door. He turned to face you, before continuing to talk. “She told me. If I remember, we also hired somebody else with no references and no reason to trust them. She will continue to work here”.

The door slammed shut behind him, increasing the finality of his words. You knew then that no matter how hard you tried, you wouldn’t ever matter to Tommy Shelby. You glanced down upon the wooden floorboards, as if you could almost visualise the shards of your broken heart scattered carelessly underneath your feet. Hot tears burned your cheeks, as they spilled out from your eyes. You didn’t know if you were angrier or hurt at Tommys’ words. In that moment, you swore to yourself that was the end.

Tommy Shelby would never make you feel that way again.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #Peaky Blinders #PEAKY FOOKIN BLINDERS #by order of the peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #new fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagines

336 notes · View notes

ceealaina · 5 years ago

Text

Out in the Cold

Title: Out in the Cold Author: ceealaina Rating: T Square Filled: G3 [Snowman] - @winterironbingo Y2 [Butts, Biceps, and Barnes] - @buckybarnesbingo Pairing: WinterIron Summary: Avengers press events are one of the worst parts of the whole superhero gig. But getting paired with Barnes (the man he just happens to have an unrepentant crush on) for an afternoon of snowman building? Tony’s had worse days. Link: AO3

Tony drew in a deep breath, preparing himself as best he could before the elevator doors opened and he was met with the rest of the team, looking up at him with hopeful, expectant faces.

“Sorry guys,” he told them, watching their faces fall one by one. “It’s a no go. We’re roped into this one, no excuses.”

“Aww, come on,” Clint protested, slumping back into the couch cushions and pouting as he folded his arms across his chest. “But I don’t wanna.”

Nat smacked the back of his head.

Steve was the first to rally, because of course he was. “Come on, team. This is important. Like it or not, public relations is an important part of what we do.”

It might have been more believable if he wasn’t wincing like the words caused him physical pain. Beside him, Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. Tony felt his lips twitch as he fought back a laugh, but of course Bucky noticed, giving him a wink that made heat flare low in his belly. The crush he had on Barnes was really getting ridiculous.

“But it’s a freaking snowman building contest,” Clint whined. “What is this, the Christmas fun fair? We’re superheroes!”

As per usual, everyone ignored him, reluctantly accepting that they weren’t getting out of this particular PR event and breaking up to do whatever it was that superheroes did on a Tuesday afternoon. For Tony, that meant brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He was leaning over the counter, inhaling the smell (it had been a very long morning) when he suddenly realized that Bucky was beside him, leaning back against the counter and looking down at him. Tony managed to keep himself from jumping, instead slowly raising his eyes to meet Bucky’s and waiting.

“So.” Bucky gave him a grin, nudging him with a shiny metal elbow. “Wanna be partners?”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him, straightening up again. “Partners?”

“For the snowman building thing. We’re supposed to pair up, right? I’m calling dibs.”

Tony fought back the pleased looking grin that threatened to split across his face. “Moi?” he said instead, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously until Bucky snorted and gave him a gentle shove. “Kinda figured you’d be pairing up with our fearless leader there, Buckaroo.”

Bucky looked so incredulous that Tony found himself fighting back a laugh. “ Stevie ?” he asked. “Nuh-uh, no way. I know how ridiculous that idiot gets over ‘art.’”

“Snowman building is an art now?”

“It will be to him. He’ll get all particular and bossy... Nope, Sam can have ‘im.”

“Oh well, in that case.” Tony held out his hand, beaming when Bucky grabbed it and gave it a firm shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Snowflake. Let’s win this thing.”

***

The day of the competition dawned bright and clear. It hadn’t snowed in three weeks, but they’d brought in a snow machine special for the occasion. It was being held on the compound, giving the public a chance to see first-hand the private lives of their favourite superheroes, or some other public relations nonsense that had them all cringing a little. Ticket holders would get a tour of the more public areas of the compound before watching the snowman building competition and then there would be hot chocolate, cookies, and mingling inside. All the ticket money was going to charity, which explained away the sky high prices -- and, unfortunately, also explained away the number of rich, society-climbers who were attending.

Tony, however, with the help of Friday and some carefully crafted aliases, had managed to buy about half the tickets himself, giving them away to underprivileged kids from the city, with free transportation included. It made them all feel a bit better about how weirdly invasive the whole thing seemed.

Spectators had started arriving hours before it was due to start, and by the time they all trooped outside for the actual competition, they were wound up and cheering.

“Oh boy,” Tony muttered, quiet enough that only Bucky would hear as he put on his brightest press smile and waved with mitten-clad hands. “No pressure or anything.”

Bucky grinned and, when they’d turned out of view of everyone, winked. “Come on, Stark. We’ve totally got this.”

Tony grinned up at him. “Fuck yeah.”

***

One hundred and fourteen minutes later, he wasn’t so sure. They should have had it in the bag. Three entries down from them, Wanda and Vision were making a fucking ice sculpture, which, what the fuck? Whatever, they’d lose on a technicality -- it was a snowman competition, not an ice man competition, thank you very much. Nat and Peter had given up about ten minutes in, and Nat had spent the entire time showing Peter her favourite moves on the lopsided snow block that they’d created. Clint had ended up pairing with Bruce, who had bowed out at the last minute due to rage issues (they all knew he was faking it). Clint had built the most cursory snowman ever and then wandered off in search of a warm drink and hadn’t come back.

The problem was that Tony kept getting distracted. Barnes’ pants seemed extra tight today, or maybe it was just the cut of his new ski jacket, but either way his ass looked phenomenal today. On more than one occasion, Tony had had to shake himself out of a temporary, butt-induced stupor. And, like most super soldiers, Bucky had a tendency to run hot. Hot enough that at some point he’d stripped out said ski jacket, leaving him in that tightly fitted red Henley that featured in many of Tony’s favourite fantasies, biceps bulging as he lifted heavy mounds of snow.

Not that ogling Barnes’ butts and biceps (and thighs, and back, and face…) was a bad way to spend an afternoon necessarily. But while Tony had been distracted, Team WinterIron’s (Bucky’s idea, but Tony had to admit the name was growing on him) snowman had come out looking kind of… aggressive. He had a frown, with angry eyebrows, and Tony was pretty sure that Bucky was putting the finishing touches on a gun belt around the snowman’s waist. It looked especially bad next to the all-American Christmas scene that Sam and Steve had built beside them, complete with a bald eagle, because Sam thought he was hilarious. (He kind of was, but Bucky wouldn’t let Tony give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Tony frowned at their entry speculatively, trying to figure out if there was anything else they could do in the six -- no, five minutes remaining. “It looks like it could kill someone,” Tony announced, poking at it haphazardly.

Bucky shrugged, offering him a grin over the top of the snow-ssassin’s head. “That’s kinda what I like about ‘im.”

“No!” Steve wailed behind them. “That line has to be at 45 degrees, Sam. Fourty. Five! Not fourty six!”

Tony caught Bucky’s eye and the two of them burst out laughing.

***

They lost, because of course they did, but it was hard to feel too bad about it. They’d had a great afternoon, laughing and throwing snow at each other, and Tony at least had all but forgotten about the adoring public watching their every move. Sam, on the other hand, looked ready to punch Steve’s teeth in, and had spent the afterparty thus far studiously avoiding the other man. Tony would take Team WinterIron’s second place standing in a heartbeat.

The party was, at least, going better than Tony had expected. They’d been able to avoid the most annoying of the donors by hanging out with the kids the whole time -- nobody could really call them out on it unless they were an irredeemable asshole, and while there were one or two of those present, a stern lecture from Captain America on the reason they were all really there had been enough to deter them from making a fuss. There were Christmas trees and lights decorating the area, and Pepper was an absolute angel who’d managed to arrange for a Santa Claus to come and give out gifts to all the kids. Even Clint had warmed up to the event, and they all seemed to be actually having a good time.

Tony had slipped away for a breather and was standing half hidden behind a Christmas tree, sipping on warmed apple cider, when he felt someone looming up behind him. Lips curling up in a smirk, he glanced back at Bucky.

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me there, Bucky Bear.”

Bucky grinned back at him. “But where would the fun be in that?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “So, did you get a chance to see Santa? Tell him what you want for Christmas?”

“Well…”

There was an odd tone to his voice, and Tony glanced at him to find… was he blushing ? He blinked at Bucky, who bit his lower lip and seemed to steel himself.

“All I want for Christmas is you.”

Tony stared at him a minute, and then he started to laugh, pleased and delighted. “Are you…Is this a joke?”

Bucky shrugged, looking shy but hopeful. “Delivery, maybe,” he admitted with a crooked grin, voice a little hoarse. “But not the sentiment behind it.”

Tony beamed at him and then, after a quick look to make sure nobody was watching them, he darted forward to plant a quick kiss on Bucky’s lips.

At least, it was meant to be a quick kiss. Bucky’s hands came up faster than he’d expected, gripping his waist and pulling him in close, deepening the kiss. They were both breathing a bit harder when they pulled away.

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, having to clear his throat when his voice came out a little more high-pitched and giddy than he’d intended. “Yeah, that sounds like a good Christmas gift to me.”

Bucky positively beamed at him, giving him another quick kiss, a little more needy this time. Tony hummed softly, and was just wondering how long they’d have to stick around before they could reasonably slip away, when another thought occurred to him.

“Wait, aren’t you Jewish?”

Bucky just shook his head and laughed. “Shut up, Stark.”

#buckybarnesbingo2019 #winterironbingo2019 #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #fluff #steve rogers #clint barton #sam wilson #getting together #winter #domestic avengers #fic #my fic

71 notes · View notes

love-and-monsters · 5 years ago

Text

Alien Encounter Pt. 9: Picnic

Valain and I had become closer since we spoke about his parents. He was more comfortable with me than he had ever been before. I was pretty happy about it. He would put aa hand on my shoulder or my back casually, and seemed pleased when I reciprocated. Our new closeness, however, was only making having to stay in the house all day waiting for Valain. Not only was it boring, but I was starting to miss him more keenly.

\The weather had shifted too. The humidity had dropped as the rainy season ended and instead, there was a dry, baking heat. It was less like being steeped in a muggy swamp and more like being trapped in an oven. The dry heat hit Valain much harder than the humidity. He often returned home panting and chugged most of the water in the house before collapsing into sleep.

\“Are you going to be okay?” I asked when he dragged himself into the house one day and promptly just lay on the floor for several minutes, unmoving.

“I am going to be okay,” he mumbled. “It’s a dry spell. Usually the dry hot season happens right after the rainy hot season. Eventually it will cool down.” He took in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I hope, anyway.”

I reached out to draw my fingers over his head. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. I’d been trying to help him by getting a wet cloth and draping it over his forehead. It seemed to be doing some good, although it still wasn’t doing as much as either of us hoped.

\“It ended for me. It’ll end for you too,” I said. Valain sighed and sat up, stretching from head to tail.

“It can’t end soon enough.” He leaned back against a wall, fanning himself with a large leaf.

I got up, stretching my legs. I was struggling not to lose my mind after about two weeks of being almost completely confined inside. Valain looked up at me as I paced around the room. “I did have a thought, though, as I was patrolling.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned forward, eyes fixed on me with interest. “You can come out with me,” he said.

“How?” I said, a little thrown. He’d always been the one who didn’t want me to go out with him. “Are you going to carry me on your back again? You really look like you’d collapse if you had to do any more work outside.”

“I don’t have to carry you,” he said. “It’s the dry season. The ground’s not as wet any more. I think you’d be able to walk around outside.”

“Really?” My heart leapt. “Wait. What about the other people who are patrolling? What if they see me?”

“We can avoid the borders. A lot of guards don’t go fully to the borders when they patrol in the dry season. It’s just too much effort in this heat.” He leaned further toward me, eyes shining. “Please? It’ll be more bearable if you’re there with me.”

Dammit. His big, pleading eyes, his gentle, but eager tone? I was sunk. “Okay,” I said. “Fine. We’re going out tomorrow?”

Valain nodded. “Mmmm. That’ll work.” He stood, carefully swaying to his feet. The thin layer of wetness that usually covered his body had thickened slightly in the heat. Usually it had only slightly more viscosity than water. Now I could see that it was thicker and it clung to him more than usual. It made me nervous.

“Come here,” I said, waving the wet cloth I was holding at him. “You should lie down for a while. I’ll help you out.” He looked at me with some surprise, but lay back on the floor and allowed me to run the cloth over his head.

The next day, Valain seemed much improved. He’d spent a while in the bath and that had perked him up again. He carried a load of water on his back and had loaded me up with a lot too, as well as some food. “I can’t carry you anymore,” he told me as we prepared to set out. “You’ll have to walk on your own.”

That made me a little bit nervous, I had to admit. I hadn’t exactly been under a strict exercise program and the small house really made it hard to move around a lot. Valain was much more prepared for long treks in the heat and he handled it a lot worse than I did. Still, I wasn’t going to just give up. I nodded. “That’s all right. I can handle it.”

Valain nodded and hopped out of the door, scaling the tree with ease. I followed, scaling with way less ease. Valain had to catch me when I missed a step and fell a few feet. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” I mumbled flushing with embarrassment. He placed me on the ground and we started walking.

It was not as bad as the humidity, that was something, at least. The air was barely damp and it was more of a baking, desiccating heat. I could feel myself start to sweat almost immediately. Even the ground was no longer a proper marsh. It wasn’t quite dry, either, though. The top had dried into a crust that stopped me from sinking into the swamp. I could still feel how the ground was wet and mucky beneath the crust, and it made me a little cautious about where I put my feet.

Valain had no issue with the ground at all. His enemy was the dry air. He panted with exertion after only a few minutes and his skin secreted more fluid, though it kept thickening as the water evaporated. His fins all were standing up, probably to release extra heat, but it didn’t seem to be helping much. Still, he kept going, which was pretty impressive.

Given my lack of physical ability and his difficulty with the heat, we kept pace with each other pretty well. It was slow going, but it was forward motion, and I was glad to be out of the house.

Gradually, I started to notice that there were a few animals creeping out of the undergrowth and peering at us from the trees. A small, fox-like animal crawled from the bushes and stared at us. A few fluttering critters darted between tree-branches, too fast for us to get a good look at them, but still there. Flowers also cropped up, appearing on the trees and the vines that crept across the ground. In fact, the flowers were so frequent that there were areas of the ground covered in fallen petals. It looked like a mad partier had blasted the ground with confetti.

The foliage grew thicker the further we walked into the forest. There weren’t bushes and grasses sprouting from the ground, but there were vines that stretched between the trees and a few fallen trees seemed to have been completely covered in all sorts of plants. The trees also seemed to be taking on the appearance of weeping willows, with their leaves hanging low over our heads. It kept the sun off our heads, which helped lower the sweltering heat.

When all the trees around us had changed to the willows, Valain stopped. The grove was covered more in shadow than sun and the hanging leaves created a sort of barrier around the edges of it, creating a little circle around us. Flowers bloomed across the branches. Valain padded to the center of the clearing and sat down.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the ground across from him. I sat and carefully swung my pack off my back. Valain put his on the ground and started rummaging through it. He passed me a bottle of water, then removed something wrapped in a cloth.

“What’s that?” I asked. I thought he’d only packed water in his bag. He smiled at me as he started to unwrap it.

It was several pale biscuits and a brown cakey substance that I couldn’t identify. There was also a small bottle of a translucent reddish substance. Valain placed the cloth on the ground and settled the items on top. It looked a little like a small picnic setting.

“Did you take me out here for a picnic?” I asked.

Valain gave a small, sheepish smile, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. “Well, yes. I suppose. I just thought it would be nice.” He looked at me hopefully. “I- do you like it?”

“It’s sweet,” I said. Valain’s ears twitched down a little. “Of course I like it, Valain. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It wasn’t really trouble,” he said, relaxing with obvious relief. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to make some good food for a while. I figured this was as good as any.”

I turned my attention to the food. “What are they?”

“They’re vaya,” he said, pointing to the biscuits, “and calla,” he finished, pointing to the cake. “The bottle is hew syrup.”

Valain uncorked the bottle of syrup and picked up a vaya. He held the biscuit flat in his hand and drizzled a little bit of the syrup over it. It soaked into the vaya, leaving a shiny red trail over its surface. It seemed like Valain was drawing something with the trail, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It more resembled an odd hieroglyph than anything else. Valain held the vaya out to me.

I took it from him, but noticed that he didn’t seem interested in eating. He just watched me intently. I lowered the biscuit away from my mouth, looking hesitantly at him. “Everything okay?”

He blinked at me like he was coming out of a daze. “Yes, I’m all right.” He picked up a biscuit himself and poured a little bit of syrup over it, but he still seemed to be more interested in me eating than actually doing it himself. Then again, he’d made these, hadn’t he? He was probably worried about how I would like them. I smiled at him and took a bite from the vaya.

It was more savory than I anticipated. The syrup was pretty sweet, but the vaya was buttery and rich. It was the most delicious thing I’d had since I’d arrived on Valain’s planet.

“It’s good,” I said, smiling at him. He smiled back and took a small bite of his own vaya. He still watched me as I ate, only nibbling at his own food. I wondered if he was nervous. He looked a little nervous, tail twitching across the ground. “Are you all right?”

He looked like he was going to say something, then he shrugged. “I’m okay. It’s warm.” He rolled over to lie down on his stomach. “Are you enjoying this?”

“I’ve never really been on a picnic before,” I said. Valain’s ears pricked up with interest, then lowered again as understanding filled his face.

“Ah. I suppose it’s difficult to have a meal outside when you’re in space.” He frowned, ears drooping even further. “It seems difficult to live up in space.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason most people are planet-huggers. I don’t think flying’s so bad, though. The time slips are a little annoying.”

Valain tilted his head a little. “The what?”

“Time slips? They’re, uh.” I hesitated. “It’s like, um. Do you know anything about extra-dimensional travel?”

He looked blank. Great. I tried to summon up my vague memories from pilot’s class. I’d barely passed that part of the course and it was not helped by the fact that I’d forgotten ninety percent of what I’d learned the second I left on the last day.

“So, basically, there’s a bunch of different dimensions, right? We exist in the third dimension. But we use our ships to access the fourth dimension. The fourth dimension is curved and the third dimension is flat, so it takes a lot less time to cross the fourth dimension than the third one. But fourth dimensional travel screws with time. A trip that takes a minute for the pilot could take an hour for the rest of the universe.”Valain blinked at me slowly. I wasn’t sure if he was understanding or not. His expression was still rather blank. “It’s like this.” I took a large leaf from the ground and held it out toward him, flat. “See, if I was really small and I wanted to go from the tip of the leaf to the base, it would take a long time. But this leaf might look different in other dimensions. In the fourth dimension, maybe it’s folded like this.” I folded the leaf in half, so the tip was touching the base. “Now it’s a much shorter distance between where I am and where I want to go. I can just step right over. Basically, the ships make it so instead of having to move across this leaf…” I unfolded the leaf again. “…I can go across this leaf.” I refolded the leaf.

Valain blinked at me slowly. I wasn’t sure if he was understanding or not. His expression was still rather blank. “It’s like this.” I took a large leaf from the ground and held it out toward him, flat. “See, if I was really small and I wanted to go from the tip of the leaf to the base, it would take a long time. But this leaf might look different in other dimensions. In the fourth dimension, maybe it’s folded like this.” I folded the leaf in half, so the tip was touching the base. “Now it’s a much shorter distance between where I am and where I want to go. I can just step right over. Basically, the ships make it so instead of having to move across this leaf…” I unfolded the leaf again. “…I can go across this leaf.” I refolded the leaf.

“Okay,” Valain said slowly. “I understand that. And when you do that it feels like a minute to you but it really is an hour?”

“Kind of. It feels like a minute for me because it is a minute for me. It’s just an hour for everyone else in the universe. It’s something to do with relativity and the way time works in the fourth dimension.” I frowned at the leaf, playing with the stem. “Most pilots quit after, like, ten years or so. Eventually all that time slipping kind of catches up with you. You get this weird, ageless look and some people say that it causes hallucinations and gives you psychic powers or something. Precognition, maybe?”

Valain’s expression was still pretty neutral, but I could tell he was upset because all of his fins were sticking straight out. “How long were you doing it?”

“Uh, two years. And the first year was mostly local stuff, just between planets in a star system.” Valain’s fins started to flatten back down and I felt a rush to reassure him. “And it’s mostly a rumor anyway. I mean, I met come people who were doing it for a while and they seemed all right. It’s the lost ships that are really creepy.”

“Lost ships?” he repeated.

I nodded. His wide-eyed expression reminded me of the newbies in ports, being told stories of far space from experienced pilots. I tried to mimic their hypnotic, rhythmic tone. “So most of the time, the amount of time lost in a slip is an hour or two. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s a day. Sometimes it’s two days. Sometimes it’s three or four. And sometimes it’s weeks.” Valain’s ears pricked toward me. His expression was solemn. “After two weeks, a ship that never re-emerged from the fourth dimension gets listed as a ‘lost ship’. They’re ships that, for whatever reason, never managed to pop back out into proper space. Sometimes they reappear again. Sometimes they don’t.”

Valain stared at me. “No one knows why they disappear?” he asked.

“Uh, I mean, we have an idea? Most people think that they screw up the coordinates when they go into the fourth dimension and that messes up the time they emerge at. Other people think it’s kind of random, though. Or at least, there’s no way to predict it. That every time you go into the fourth dimension, you might just vanish.” We were silent for a few seconds. “Well, there’s kind of a theory that the ships didn’t vanish, or that they aren’t lost in the fourth dimension or anything. They just kind of popped out in the future, like thousands of years in the future. They just hit a particularly big time slip.”

Valain looked a little sick. “That seems terrifying! How were you okay with that potentially happening to you?”.

“There was a really low chance of that happening. Less than one in a million.” Valain still looked unsettled. “Hey, it’s not like I’m going anywhere. If I ever manage to get back up into space, they’ll probably give me an early retirement. It’s not going to happen to me.”

Despite my reassurances, Valain stayed close to me for the rest of the day. We lounged in the shade together, enjoying the mild relief from the heat. Little animals would crawl out of the bushes nearby and Valain would occasionally catch them and show them off to me. He was quick, far quicker than I was, even in the heat. Finally, as the sun started to set, Valain and I started to head back to the house.

It was obvious Valain was exhausted when we got back to the house, as he collapsed as soon as we entered. I could barely convince him to crawl into his bed and curl up there. When he was finally curled up and unwilling to move, I prepared to lie down next to him, but my attention was snagged by something on a counter.

There was a book lying there. Real books were pretty uncommon in space, but this book was pretty old too. It was worn and kind of shabby around the edges. I reached out and gently touched the edges of the book. The paper had been softened after years of use.

I peered at the pages of the book. It seemed to be a page of symbols and writing describing them, but I couldn’t read any of it. I squinted at the page, trying to see if I had picked anything up that could help me translate it.

One of the symbols the writing described was one I recognized. It was the one Valain had poured over the vaya he’d given me. I focused in on the writing next to it, but I was nothing I could make out. I glanced back at Valain, but he was dead asleep at that point. I looked back at the book of symbols. Even flipping through it didn’t clarify anything. I went and sat next to Valain, feeling a little confused.

What did it mean?

#exophilia #alien boyfriend #alienxhuman #monsterxhuman #alien lover #monster boyfriend

92 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 5 years ago

Text

Sunrise over Darkness (1/1)

Summary: It’s strange enough venturing back into the Cosmodrome with everything that’s happened since Bauble found him, but going back with Ryan is just -

“Oh, there’s another cluster,” Ryan says, and Gavin twists around to see him harvesting spinmetal leaves. “Just a few more and I’ll have enough.”

Odd.

It’s very, very odd.

Notes: Prompt fill for @demoncowedgar who wanted something in a Destiny AU. :D?

Follows No Place for the Living.

(Read on AO3)

It’s strange enough venturing back into the Cosmodrome with everything that’s happened since Bauble found him, but going back with Ryan is just -

“Oh, there’s another cluster,” Ryan says, and Gavin twists around to see him harvesting spinmetal leaves. “Just a few more and I’ll have enough.”

Odd.

It’s very, very odd.

The Cosmodrome is as eerie as it’s ever been, cries from distant Fallen patrols echoing oddly off the high metal walls and rock walls. Lingering echoes of the SIVA crisis that has Gavin watching where he sets his feet far more closely than he normally would.

Commander Zavala hasn’t officially lifted the quarantine on the Cosmodrome, but he also hasn’t said anything about Guardians slipping in here on Banshee’s latest quest either. (For Banshee’s sake or the link to Cayde-6, it’s anyone’s guess.)

The change of heart may be for Banshee’s sake and the link to Cayde-6, or perhaps there are other more urgent matters weighing on his mind with recent events. Things that make disciplining errant Guardians breaking quarantine pale in comparison. (Commander Zavala isn’t pleased about Guardians running around the Cosmodrome again recklessly as ever, but he hasn’t spoken out on it either.)

Gavin sighs as he finds a comfortable spot on a rocky outcropping that gives him good line of sight as Ryan searches for more spinmetal. Something to do with one of Rasputin's WARSATs clipping his jumpship on a mission to Mars a week back.

There’s a glimmer of light by his shoulder and he smiles as he sees Bauble hover into view.

“It’s odd, isn’t it,” she says, voice pitched low. “You’d think a Titan would be a bit more...reticent to set foot here with the quarantine.”

Gavin hums, sniper rifle leaning against his shoulder. It’s natural for respective classes to look to their Vanguard mentors for leadership first with the way things are organized in the City rather than with the Vanguard as a whole, but few of them are blindly loyal anymore.

Too much upheaval in such a short time, things that weren’t quite secrets as just...not spoken of coming to light time and time again. More than enough to have Guardians question whether or not the Vanguard is infallible, especially with Cayde’s death.

(Funny how it’s the Hunter Vanguard mentorship that changes hands so often, while the Titans and Warlocks stand solid and steady. Maybe there is some truth to the jokes and friendly jabs every Guardian’s heard at least once.)

“You’d think,” Gavin murmurs, smiling as Ryan has an argument – no sorry, as he’s been informed the two of them engage in <i>debates</i>, not arguments – with Reggie.

Flailing hands and wide gestures and Reggie’s shell flaring out with little spins and flourishes either mocking him or unconsciously mimicking him, difficult to tell.

“Looks like arguing to me,” Bauble grumbles, and Gavin doesn’t laugh at the way he can feel her watching him, no.

No reason to get into a debate themselves, after all.

Movement behind Ryan and Reggie and Gavin’s reaching for his sniper rifle, easy as anything as Bauble flickers out of sight.

Ryan and Reggie give no sign of having noticed they’re not alone as their debate continues, and Gavin huffs a laugh echoed by Bauble’s through the speakers of his helmet as he scans the area.

A Marauder, two, creeping up on the shiny pair of idiots in the shadow of an old building. Cloaking tech glitching on them every now and then and Gavin almost feels bad about it as he takes aim.

And then Reggie blinks out of view as Ryan snaps around, hand cannon pointed unerringly at the Marauder Gavin’s not aiming for.

“Wait,” Ryan says, and Gavin holds his fire as requested.

There’s a standoff as the Marauders drop their cloak, no need for it now they’ve been seen. Guardians versus Fallen and even a year ago it would have ended predictably, but now?

Ryan cocks his head, just so and the Marauders share a look, chittering to each other before they lower their weapons and take a step back.

Look back to him and gesture at the harvested spinmetal growth, hunched low to the ground and ready to run.

Ryan lowers his hand cannon, tilts his head the other way and gestures towards the Mothyards. More spinmetal to be found there and the Guardians roaming the Cosmodrome at the moment seen content to explore The Divide rather than venture this far out.

The Marauder closest to him stands a little straighter and says something to Ryan he must be able to understand because he holsters his hand cannon. The Marauder regards him for a long moment before it taps the second Marauder on its pauldron and they set off towards the Mothyards, reactivating their cloaking technology when they’re nearly out of sight.

“Hmm,” Bauble says, reappearing in another glimmer of light over Gavin’s shoulder. “Interesting.”

Things are changing out here, and Gavin hopes it’s for the better.

Ryan turns to look up at Gavin and Bauble and tips the two of them a jaunty little salute and offers a cheeky, “Thanks!”

Gavin snorts as he settles back into a comfortable slouch as Reggie reappears and launches into a lecture about Ryan being a reckless fool of a Titan, although it sounds less stern than fondly exasperated.

Ryan nods along in the right places, makes these little noises like yes, yes, and you’re absolutely right and ooh, more spinmetal! as Reggie floats along behind still lecturing for all he’s worth.

========

Gavin leaves Ryan to negotiate terms with Amanda in the hangar and heads to the Tower courtyard which is bustling with activity as always. Guardians bartering materials for goods and showing off new bits of armor or weapons.

Ghosts flitting about catching up on gossip and trading bits of information on enemy patrols that haven’t been updated on the Vanguard networks yet.

Bauble gets sidetracked in conversation with a Warlock’s Ghost near Master Rahool’s booth, and he shakes his head as he visits Tess at the Eververse counter to see what the handful of engrams he picked up in the Cosmodrome hold for him. (An armor ornament or two, pretty new Sparrow for a race somewhere and other items he trades in for Bright Dust.)

It’s a lovely day, warm and sunny with birds calling to each other as they flock about the banners and whatnot about the Tower.

He should stop by Geoff and Jack’s quarters later, spend some time catching up with them as it’s been a while since he’s been back to the Tower for more than a pit stop. Spend some glimmer around the Tower vendors for more than the essentials, take some time to enjoy the chance to let his guard down.

A voice calling his name has Gavin look over to see a pair of Titans approaching. Battle-scarred armor and a look in their eyes that means trouble in Gavin’s immediate future.

He gives serious thought to bolting for it, given the last time he ran into these two. The impromptu race through the Glacial Drift on Mars that ended with the Titans going over a cliff – which by the way, wasn't his fault. (Heavy Titan armor and improperly calibrated engines and honestly, honestly, any Sparrow racer worth their salt would know better.)

“Well, well, well,” Michael says, hand landing heavily on Gavin’s shoulder. “Lookit who we got here, Jeremy.”

Jeremy grins, and like the menace he is, cracks his knuckles.

“Aw, now,” Gavin says, cheerful grin and laughter building up as he spots Ryan and Reggie headed towards them. “No need to be like that, Lads.”

They’re ridiculous is what they are. Playing the big, scary heavies like Gavin owes them glimmer or caught them up in a bad deal over parts or something similar. Armor adding to the image because Titans and those pauldrons of theirs that seem to get bigger every time Gavin turns around.

Michael snorts. “Aw, no need to be like that, Lads,” he says, doing a terrible job of mimicking Gavin’s accent. “You owe us a rematch, asshole.”

Jeremy nods, smacking his fist in his hand like that’s any kind of threat from him.

“What he said,” he says in the least threatening way possible because Gavin can hear him trying not to laugh, break character and ruin this little farce of theirs.

Big, bad Titans picking on the poor little Hunter and really.

“Is there a problem?” Ryan asks, nice and mild and taking his cue from Gavin instead of cracking Michael and Jeremy’s heads together the way he looked like he wanted to when he first spotted the three of them.

Michael blinks, sharing a look with Jeremy before they two of the leave off bullying Gavin and turn to face him.

Another little standoff, only this time it’s a trio of Titans and Gavin rolls his eyes as Bauble floats over and makes that quiet little humming noise she does when she’s studying Guardians in their natural habitat.

Still puzzling out their eccentricities and other such things as though she expects to wholly understand them one day.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs as the three idiots before them forget they were sizing each other up in case a brawl broke out and start discussing their armor, because of course they do.

“Titans,” Gavin sighs, and decides he might as well grab a bowl of ramen in the bazaar while they’re having a chat for old time’s sake.

========

“Interesting friends you have,” Ryan says, plonking himself down on a stool beside Gavin. “I think they challenged me to a race on Mars?”

Gavin chokes on his drink, winces as Ryan chooses to be helpful by pounding him on the back and forgetting he’s still in armor.

“Oh?” he says, and wonders if he’ll get grief from the others if he warns Ryan to calibrate his Sparrow if he takes them up on it. Glances over to see Ryan with this adorably confused smile on his face and decides the poor bastard will need the advantage. “Might want to mention it to Amanda before you go.”

She’ll know what to do.

“Hmm,” Ryan says, casting Gavin a look, like he knows there’s something Gavin’s not saying. “It has been a while since I’ve brought it in.”

Gavin’s sure Reggie does his best to keep Ryan’s Sparrow up to spec, but there’s only so much a Ghost can do when it comes to these things.

That, and Amanda’s a genius when it comes to Sparrows and jumpships, knows how to pull the best possibly performance from them without sacrificing efficiency. All these little tips and tricks she’s picked up over the years no one, not even the most skilled Ghost can hope to emulate.

“Any recommendations?” Ryan asks, skimming through the menu. “I don’t think I’ve been here before.”

Gavin shrugs. He’s not a connoisseur, but this little ramen shop is one of the most popular ones around. There’s a framed picture of Cayde in a spot of honor, and Gavin’s got an expired coupon stashed away in his vault because Guardians carry an odd sort of sentimentality with them, don’t they.

Claim they have no time for it, but small things catch them up time and again. Little rituals they’re not aware of, habits they form without realizing.

“Can’t go wrong with the spicy ramen,” he says, and laughs at the look Ryan gives him, leaning in to explain the joke that isn’t a joke, because Hunters.

#ragehappy #destiny 2 au #demoncowedgar #prompt fills #Beyond the Horizon #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

25 notes · View notes

therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

⁂ Moving Metal #5: Maniacs Don’t Cry

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Previous

Author’s Note: I wrote this while listening to Bebe Rexha “I’m A Mess” on repeat, so it’s a good theme song for this chapter.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

THUMP!

I jolted awake, my glassy eyes squinting in the darkness. I glanced at the clock, wondering if it was time to get up but the bright red digits were flashing, waiting to be set. I could’ve sworn it was set before I fell asleep.

I rubbed my eyes and listened for the sound of the realm alarm, but I was greeted only with complete silence. I shrugged it off, falling back onto the bed and stifling a yawn.

You know that strange sensation of being awake yet being asleep at the same time? It’s kind of like you’re teetering between the two. That’s where I was at, about to completely cross over when my brain picked up a faint whisper. It wasn’t enough to pull me back, but it was certainly enough to prevent me from advancing.

Another whisper, this time more clear.

My name. It was my name.

I groaned tiredly, rolling over so that my back was facing the source of the sound. I figured it was just Mark, so I muttered for him to get lost.

A few moments of silence and then another whisper. It was different this time, though. It sounded angry, demanding even. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up as goosebumps erupted across my skin. I was completely yanked from sleep.

My body was now alert and ready. For what, I couldn’t be sure.

I slowly sat back up, turning towards the door. I could feel my blood run cold like ice in my veins. My heart hammered against my rib cage as if it were trying to escape. I honestly didn’t blame it. I tried to speak, but it was as if something was lodged in my throat.

“Hello, Jae. Surprised to see me?”

Surprised was the last thing I was feeling right now. “Kadeem…? Is that… is that really you?”

“You should know. You did kill me, after all.”

I swallowed hard, shifting so that my back was against the wall. “No… I… I didn’t have anything to do with that…”

His eyebrow rose as he approached my bed. “Perhaps you’re right. You didn’t actually pull the trigger, but you certainly did nothing to help.”

“There was nothing – ”

“Don’t!” He growled in anger. “You saw me go over the edge. You could have said something. So tell me, Jae – ” he leaned down, face inches from my own. “ – why didn’t you?”

My heart clenched tight inside my chest and I snapped my eyes shut tight, clutching the dragon pendant in my hand. It took so much effort for me to answer, and when I finally managed to speak, it was nothing but a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Kadeem.”

“Let me tell you why.” He stood straight, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You’re a coward. You’re weak. You knew you couldn’t save me and you were too afraid to try, too afraid to show your precious Taro how weak you really are. Just like the swamp realm.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, vines appeared out of thin air. They wrapped around my wrists and ankles, dragging me down flat against the mattress. I couldn’t move no matter how hard I struggled against my binds.

Kadeem threw his head back in laughter. “You’re too weak to break free! This is why your family threw you away. Why all of your friends threw you away. Did you honestly think things would change here? Soon, the Metal Maniacs will come to realize how weak and pathetic you really are and they will abandon you just as everyone else has.”

“You… re… wr… on… g…” I managed to gasp out. It caused the vine around my neck to tighten, making it harder to breathe.

“You think so?” He leaned down again, his lips right next to my ear. “Your own father killed himself just to get away from you.”

A scream ripped from my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut tight, begging for him to stop. My hands balled into fists so tight that I could feel my nails breaking the skin. I could hear Kadeem’s laughter grow louder and louder, threatening to burst my eardrums.

A cry of pain left my lips.

And just like that, everything stopped.

I shot up in my bed, breathing heavy as a thick layer of sweat drenched my forehead. My eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of Kadeem or the vines. I found nothing to indicate their presence.

My eyes shot to the red digits illuminating the darkness. Half past two in the morning.

I swallowed hard, bringing my knees to my chest. My arms wrapped tight around them and for the next thirty minutes, I sat there chanting the same phrase over and over again in my head.

It was just a dream.

I felt fear at the thought of lifting my head. What if it wasn’t a dream and he’s just waiting for me to lift my head? The thought had me frozen to the spot.

You’re a coward.

Kadeem’s words echoed through my head. He was right, I am a coward.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly forced my head up, eyes quickly darting around for any signs of life. Once again, I found nothing but the clock digits basking me with a faint red light.

3:20 am.

I knew there would be no getting back to sleep for me which was perfectly fine. I lowered my feet to the ground, slipping my boots on before leaving the room. I didn’t know where to go, but I knew I couldn’t stay in that room a minute more.

The other members aren’t like me; they can’t function properly without sleep and I really didn’t want them to see me like this, either, so I decided to leave the dorm area for the garage.

I went straight to the Maniacs side. All of the cars are beefed up and mean looking. Metallics in faded browns and orange, black and red. They’re tough just like their owners, but as I ran my fingertips across the black metal of my car, I didn’t feel the confidence that it usually offered me.

It felt cold and distant.

I held back a sigh and approached the Teku’s side. It was a great contrast between the two styles. The Teku cars are bright and vibrant – shades of white, blue and orange mingling together like old friends. They’re shiny and look brand new – unlike the faded and rustic colors of the Maniacs.

I ran my fingers across them as I walked by.

Vert’s car. Nolo’s. Kurt’s. Karma’s.

My fingers hovered near the car belonging to their shortest member. It felt kind of sacred, like it was taboo to touch it without asking. I took a second to admire it for the very first time.

It’s actually a really beautiful car.

Even though it felt wrong, I let my shaking hand rest on the hood. The sleek metal was cold, but it felt nothing like my own had. I didn’t feel a sense of rejection or disgust. I just felt… a sense of calm rush over me, but it didn’t last long. I felt as if all the negative emotions I had been burying over the years were bursting from the dirt, demanding to see the light of day.

I stared at my reflection in the window – at the tears sliding down my pale cheeks. I can’t believe I’m crying…

I sunk to the floor, leaning my head back against the car.

I’m actually crying…

The last time I cried… I can’t even remember.

Crying makes you weak.

Maniacs aren’t weak.

Maniacs don’t cry.

Maniacs don’t feel anything but anger or excitement.

If Tork saw me right now…

Oh god, if Taro saw me like this…

They’d all get rid of me, just as everyone else in my life had.

I flinched at the pain shooting through my hands. Unclenching them, I found dried blood around half-moon cuts lining the length of my palms. Great, now I have a physical reminder of how weak I am.

I groaned, throwing my head back as I held my pendant up towards the ceiling. The stainless steel shined brightly, even under the dim lighting in the garage. My thumb ran over the engraved features from memory, having followed the same path a thousand times before.

A sigh passed my lips and I closed my eyes, letting the pendant drop back against my chest. And everything faded away.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

I grunted in annoyance as I felt a hand on my arm. I swatted it away, but it continued. My eyes peeled open, blinking repeatedly until my vision stabilized. I expected to see Mark and I was prepared to chew him out for waking me up, but I stopped short when I noticed who was actually in front of me.

The shortest of the Teku was kneeling in front of me, looking at me with curiosity. His headphones, usually on his ears, were around his neck. This struck me as odd.

“Are you okay?” He questioned.

I sent him a strange look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re sleeping on the ground next to my car.” He smiled lightly, almost as if amused.

I quickly sat up straight, almost hitting his forehead with my own. True to his word, I was sitting on the cold cement beside his car. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I groaned, rubbing my face with my hands. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here. Totally gonna feel this later.”

“What happened to your hands?” He asked suddenly.

“What?” I glanced at my hands. “Oh, forgot about that. It’s nothing, Teku.” I pulled myself to my feet too quickly, losing my balance if not for the music-loving guy that grabbed my arm. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He smiled, releasing my arm once I was steady. “I don’t care if you’re a Metal Maniac. I have nothing against you.”

I scoffed, thinking he was joking or playing a trick on me. When I looked into his eyes, though, I knew he was being honest. It caught me off guard and I looked at him with a blank expression. “You’re serious.”

“Is that really so strange?” He laughed. “You’re friends with Vert.”

“Who said we’re friends?” It was an automatic response I had built up to avoid conflict with the other Maniacs. They all know I talk to Vert, but friendship? That changes things.

“Vert did. He talks about you a lot.”

He considers me a friend? He even talks about me to the other Teku?

The Maniac side of me wanted to deny it, but something stopped me from doing so. All I could respond with was a soft, “Oh.”

“You should go to the infirmary.” He suggested, motioning towards my hands.

“Yeah. Yeah, I should.” I moved around him but stopped after only a few steps. “Hey, what’s your name?”

He looked back at me with surprise. “Shirako.”

“Shirako.” I tested the name out on my tongue before offering him a small smile. “I’m Jae.”

And then I walked away.

I honestly don’t understand why I asked for his name or why I was being nice to him. I just… I feel like I can’t be mean to him.

Or rather… I didn’t really want to be.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

▸Next

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

#angst #moving metal #series #writing #creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #scenario #scenarios #hot wheels #acceleracers

1 note · View note

jay-cult · 5 years ago

Text

Static and Stars : Prologue

Before a great story is told, one must often understand why.

Two dark figures stopped suddenly in the dimly lit night. The sand at their feet stood still, marking the hour windless. They looked up at the neon sign.

Ed and Edna’s Scrap N Junk

“I can’t believe he didn’t come,” a young, scared-looking girl commented to the other person.

“He couldn’t,” the other woman replied, full red lips moving in a whisper. “He didn’t even want to think about it.”

The smaller girl nodded, and pulled a hood on. The woman followed suit. They kept on guard from any possible security cameras.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” The girl asked. “I mean….. What if they don’t want him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman answered, taking a step through the gateway. “They were, a long time ago, very good friends of mine… we… are very sure. They wanted to raise a kid, but they were unable to have any. A-anyway. We’ve been over this.”

The girl nodded again, but her light blue eyes looked down in some doubt.

The two walked around the mountains of rubble in the darkness. The woman clung tight to a bundle in her arms. It stayed still.

They finally arrived at the door to a humble-looking trailer. Its light only dimly filled a small space around it. The woman stooped down, placing the bundle at the very foot of the door. It continued to lie still, almost too peaceful.

She slid a note out of her pocket, and placed it right on top. If ever you find the need to reveal the origins of this child, this address is enough for him to find his way, it read. An address was listed. We respectfully ask one thing. There is no need for him to be famous or important. He just needs to be loved, and free. Please do that for us.

The woman reached into a pocket again, and took out a light blue charm that shone with easily reflected light. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt. She placed it by the note, as if to say, he’ll always be a Staticholder.

The two gazed at the thing on the ground. The woman couldn’t draw herself away, until she forced herself to look to the side. Tears found their way to her eyes, then down her cheeks, but she knew she could not even let her own sister see how torn she was. “I’m going to go,” she mumbled. She stumbled away.

“Where are you going?” The girl asked, voice toned with fear, the woman a few steps away already.

The woman lowered her head. She wiped her face with her hands. “Away.”

She bolted up a tower of junk, almost invisible in the cold night. Her hood flew off and her golden hair wove as she ran. Her sorrowful, tear-ridden face was now a little visible in the dark. She reached the top, and leaped off the mound. The air beneath her lit and blue energy began to take shape, the shape of a dragon. It flew away, a sparking light, until it was dark again and the speck was gone.

The girl turned and looked back at the bundle, making her way towards it.

“Oh, you,” she whispered. “Little Staticholder…… a….. little guy.” She didn’t really understand. She didn’t understand why this had to happen.

The bundle stirred now, awakening, but no voice came yet. Little eyes were still shut tight. The young girl crouched down to look at it again. This time she was alone. Confused thoughts raged through her head. She wondered if, for a few moments, she could take it, and she thought maybe she could run away and be free of the future her parents promised her and instead try to make a life with a child- no, that would never work. The idea was insane. She knew it had to be left here. He had to be left here.

Still, she felt an odd connection that was there, even if she had never seen him until these past few hours. Perhaps it was sympathy, or perhaps it was a weirdly quick bond from staring at a sleeping baby, or maybe… it was just an automatic family tie, like as if blood was a path to loving.

“You’re not exactly my blood, are you though,” she said silently. “We still both have something from my parents though, I guess. I-”

The bundle stirred again and eyes screwed as if they were trying so so hard to do something. And then miraculously the eyes opened for the first time she had ever seen.

“....They. They’re like mine,” she breathed in awe. Light blue as if reflecting the lightning that ran always through the Staticholder family’s veins. Man to man to man to the two sisters, and their name would end on their branch.

Her heart twisted and she looked down at the little charm that had been given to the baby. Self-control let go and she knew she had to make herself some connection to him. She reached down to take it in her hands, and then a separate little hand reached out and touched her own. She smiled more sadly than she had ever frowned.

It was over quickly, and she dragged her hand back, and slipped the metallic charm in a pocket.

“Agh, typical. Now I have to figure out how to make sure you get in as soon as possible and I get out of here so I don’t get caught. She just bolted it outta here, and now I have no way home either, huh.” Yeah, sure her sister had quite a lot on her mind with all…. This. But was it really an excuse to just dumbly leave her in this desert? She hadn’t even reached her true potential let alone been able to conjure an energy dragon, how the hell was she going to get out- right. The kid first.

No need to think up a storm of a plan. The girl stood up and banged loudly on the door, immediately scampering away to hide behind a pile of trash.

Silence.

She poked her head out for a second, until suddenly the latch of the door opened. “Hello?” She heard a very tired voice of a woman say. The girl peeked out, and saw someone about 40, which she supposed was surprisingly old to raise a child. “Oh! Oh dear, what’s this? Ed?”

A similar-aged looking man stepped out. “By golly,” he exclaimed. “It seems we have ourselves a dilemma, honey.”

The girl narrowed an eyebrow, slightly confused about the odd way the couple spoke.

“Dilemma? Well, I’d hardly say that’s the word. It doesn’t have to be,” the woman replied. “I mean look at it. What a cute little….” a pause, “guy!”

“There’s a note,” Ed said.

The girl took one last look at the situation and sighed. She supposed she should probably go back to her house before her parents found her out of bed. She quickly snuck away, back through the illuminated sign, and to the road in the desert.

“Yugh. I’m gonna have to walk all on my own now, huh.” She said disappointedly. She began the path down the road in the sharp, cold night.

She pulled back her hood, and began to ponder as people who walk often do. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the charm, moving it about to observe the starlight’s effect on its shiny surface.

A familiar car pulled past, a rare sight in this area especially at this time, and stopped suddenly. The window rolled down and a face poked out. “Rhon? Is that you?” it asked.

“Ah FSM, Irene? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same, and even more relevantly, about you! Get in! Where’re your fancy whozits and whatnot? Can’t you pull yourself around in those?”

“They’re just small remote-control prototypes,” the girl named Rhon mumbled, dragging herself into the surprisingly nice passenger seat. “I’m not making mobiles at twelve-”

“Alright, alright,” Irene said defensively. She rolled up her window and quickly drove on. “Hey, I am taking you to your house ASAP right now. For real what are you doing-”

“I MAY or MAY NOT have went with Lib to take care of the problem, you know the problem where she didn’t have enough to take care of more than herself-”

“SO YOU WENT INTO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE AND KILLED HIM?”

“NO you DIMWIT!” Rhon yelled, and sighed to herself after, rubbing her forehead. “We brought him to the Walkers.”

“Ah, good choice,” Irene said. She seemed to recover easily. “FSM… a twelve year old shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a child, unlike her,” she said almost in a growl.

The car stayed in silence for a while.

“Sorry,” Rhon said suddenly.

“It’s alright, you’re starting to be a teenager after all, most of them say things like this,” Irene replied coolly.

But it was never this intense or weird between us, Rhon thought.

As if reading her thoughts, Irene piped up and said, “It’s just that this whole situation seems a little… shocking, eh?” She smiled like she knew what she did.

Rhon gave her the most disappointed look. It was an odd situation there in that car with a young girl being more serious and having gone through more than a well-established adult. “Ah, well… how have things been going, I haven’t really talked to you much since this all… happened. How’re you and that noodle boy getting along?”

“Hardly a boy,” Irene smiled. “Ah, he did used to be so young. He was only somewhat older than his apprentice when he was teaching him.”

“Ah, the infamous… did you hear about him?”

“Rumors have been going around,” Irene answered, frowning. “But… he left Chen a long, long time ago. Chen would know nothing now.”

“Wonder why,” Rhon commented.

“Yeah,” Irene said. “The man is crazy. But secretive, and well, he’s just wonderful, and it really is going pretty great with him. I-in fact, I should probably use this chance to tell you.”

Irene just stuttered. Irene never stuttered.

“You may have just had your baby situation. But now you can have real hope with me, I guess-”

“Holy. Shi-”

“YES, okay, I am, I do have a. Situation that I love that I have and I guess that’s just news for you and WOO yes there!” Irene shouted.

Rhon clapped. “Aa, nice! Cool! Wow, that’s new, huh.”

“Yeah,” Irene said.

More happy silence.

“We’re an odd couple, you know that?” the older woman said suddenly. “I mean, how did we even get to be like this, a young kid like you and… a person like me?”

“I dunno,” Rhon shrugged. “I s’pose friendships are just wild like that.”

The care came to a stop by Rhon’s home, but not right in front of it lest her parents wake up. “Ah, thanks for grabbing me outta that desert, the timing was perfect.”

“Yeah, I’m great, I know,” Irene joked. “Now do go get in your house. It’s so damn late ya crazy kid.”

She bolted off and snuck around the front of the house until she reached a window. She took a step onto it and climbed to the top of it, then onto the roof, and then she quickly dove into the window up there. Her room was just as how she had left it that night, thankfully. She dove into her covers, too tired to stare at the “Cyrus Borg: Kid Genius”-and-like posters on her walls for a few minutes before falling back asleep. She grabbed a blue dragon plushie and hugged it to her heart.

#ninjago #static and stars #fanfic #fanfiction #prologue #ocs #rhon

39 notes · View notes

demonfox38 · 5 years ago

Text

Shiny Hunting - A Review

So, I currently have 118 shiny Pokémon in my possession.

It was not my goal to have that many of the little critters around. I’m not a complete masochist! Make a living PokéDex? Maybe, if we’re not counting mythicals. Getting shiny versions of each of them? Are you serious? I don’t have the time or patience for that nonsense! They’re probably not even legitimate!

But, I did put in somewhere between two to three months collecting the little jerks, so I do want to talk about it. At the very least, it could be a lesson in statistics. Maybe a cautionary tale, too.

What’s a Shiny?

Look. I’m not going to assume you know what I mean when I talk about “shiny” Pokémon. I mean, maybe Pokémon was a cultural phenomenon 20 years ago, but I can’t pretend that my readers were alive or cared to play the games back then. I just want you to have an understanding on why there’s such a fervent hunt for the little mutants. Also, maybe to justify putting in the time I did to get them.

“Shiny” Pokémon are any Pokémon that are not of their natural color palette. Essentially, they are the equivalent to albino or melanistic specimens of real-life creatures. Depending on the (relative) ease of capture, popularity of the Pokémon, and the difference in colors, a Pokémon’s shiny form can vary greatly in appeal. Some may look a shade lighter or darker than their original colors, while others can be made of completely different color schemes.

The rate of these Pokémon appearing varies greatly depending both on the game the Pokémon is being hunted in and what accessories and seeking styles are available to the hunter. For the games I was hunting in (being primarily “Y”, “Alpha Sapphire”, and “Ultra Sun”), I was facing odds as high as 1 in 173 to as low as 1 in 5,464. That’s not even as rough as it used to get in previous generations, where chances could drop lower still to 1 out of 8,192! Given such variance in my chances, I knew it was in my best interests to maximize my luck as much as possible. So, I opened up a spreadsheet, picked what Pokémon I wanted, and calculated the best chances I had for each species.

25 Pokémon. That was all I wanted. 25!

Guess I’d better explain how I got those other 93, huh?

Overview

For each method I used, I’ll be discussing the following:

What games I used this method in

What the rates of success are using this method

How many Pokémon I caught using this method

How to use the method

Whether or not I liked this method

The statistics I used for estimating my chances using each method came either from Bulbapedia or Serebii.Net . All statistics are assuming that the player has earned a Shiny Charm, which you can only get from certain NPCs in game after finishing your Pokédex (typically, a post-game achievement.) I mention this because the Shiny Charm improves your overall odds, no matter what method you are using. Also, I think it’s important to get your badges and brawls out of the way, first. At least it’ll prevent you from accidentally catching something you can’t control or over-leveling your Pokémon on frivolous tasks.

Random Encounters

Games Used: “Pokémon Y”, “Pokémon Alpha Sapphire”, “Pokémon Moon”, “Pokémon Ultra Sun”

Average Rate of Success: 1 in 1364 (roughly)

Shiny Pokémon Earned Using This Method: Machoke, Lycanroc (Night Form), Oricorio (Sensu Style), Flabébé (Blue), Kecleon

All of the Pokémon listed above were gathered while either leveling up other Pokémon or en route to hunt a different species. So, basically, it was nothing more special than just entering an area where Pokémon had the potential to appear, then getting lucky. There’s really nothing much to say about what happened. Sometimes, just in the course of game play, you can get a surprise!

Which, let me tell you. As someone who uses False Swipe to capture most of their Pokémon, netting a ghost-type shiny truly was a stroke of luck. Or at least, having confidence in the strength of my Pokémon.

(For those not in the know—False Swipe is a move that reduces a Pokémon’s HP to 1, but never kills them. This is a normal type move, which is typically ineffective against ghost Pokémon, barring the use of special items or moves. Still, it’s probably your best attack for netting a new pal, alongside the supports of Hypnosis, Sing, Thunder Wave, Stun Spore, or Sleep Powder.)

Masuda Method / International Marriage

Games Used: “Pokémon Y”, “Pokémon Ultra Sun”

Average Rate of Success: 1 in 512

Shiny Pokémon Earned Using This Method: Furfrou, Honedge, Houndour, Mienfoo, Litwick, Popplio, Vulpix

The Masuda Method (also known as International Marriage) is one of the oldest and most reliable methods of generating shiny Pokémon. It’s been around since the era of “Pokémon Diamond” and “Pokémon Pearl”, when Pokémon games started using the Internet to trade creatures among its players. Basically, if two Pokémon from two separate regions breed with each other, they have an elevated chance of their offspring being shiny. If you ever see requests for foreign Dittos on the GTS asking for ridiculously uneven Pokémon to trade in return, this is why. (Also, just general greed. That’s why one should always check the filter to remove requests for legendary trades!)

This method typically works the best when you have two Pokémon of the same species, but different languages (like, an English male Furfrou and a Spanish female Furfrou.) You can crossbreed as well to get moves passed down to Pokémon that would otherwise never learn said moves, like breeding a Male Primarina that knows Moonblast to a female Alolan Ninetales to get a Vulpix that knows Moonblast. (The babies are usually of Mom’s lineage, FYI. The exception to this rule is Ditto, which again, explains their demand.) Crossbreeding typically takes a little longer, as Pokémon of two separate species won’t generate eggs as fast as those of the same species. But, assuming you’ve also nabbed an Oval Charm in your pursuit for a Shiny Charm, it’s not that much worse off.

Now, for the Pokémon I got using this method, you may notice a few similarities. I used this method when:

The Pokémon was a starter Pokémon (i.e., not available in the wild)

The Pokémon was unavailable in the game I was using (i.e., Houndour in “Pokémon Y”)

The Pokémon was a Ghost type and difficult to reliably chain and capture (i.e, Litwick and Honedge)

Alternative methods were less than enjoyable for hunting shinies (and boy, we’ll get into that in a bit!)

The nice detail about this method is that its reliability is static. The odds will always remain the same, no matter how much time you put into it. It won’t increase, but you can’t lose advantages due to your own putziness, either. However, it can take time. A lot of time. Like, my getting a shiny Furfrou took the entirety of September to do. And if you’re using a Generation 6 game like “Pokémon Y” or “Pokémon Alpha Sapphire”, you could be footing quite the daycare bill for housing your breeders, too. At least, if they’re not at level 100, anyway.

However, I don’t think the odds for this method are quite accurate. You can recoup your losses, but this depends on whether or not you are using the next method in junction with your international shipping.

Wonder Trade

Games Used: “Pokémon Y”, “Pokémon Ultra Sun”

Average Rate of Success: 1 in 60 (from personal experience)

Shiny Pokémon Received Using This Method: Abomasnow, Aerodactyl, Alomomoloa, Ampharos, Arceus, Aromatisse, Charizard, Cloyster, Cresselia, Dedenne, Delphox (x2), Diancie, Dragonite, Eevee (x4), Floatzel, Forretress, Froakie, Gardevoir, Genesect, Golduck, Gothitelle, Grimer, Heattran, Heracross, Hitmonlee, Honchkrow, Infernape, Jirachi, Keldeo, Kyogre, Landorus, Lugia, Manaphy, Mantyke, Meganium, Metagross, Mew, Moltres, Necrozoma, Nosepass, Omanyte, Palkia, Palpitoad, Pelipper, Pheromosa, Poliwrath, Porygon2, Raikou, Rayquaza, Regirock, Roserade, Seel, Scrafty, Sharpedo, Shaymin, Sigilyph, Solrock, Steelix, Suicune (x3), Sunkern, Swampert, Talonflame, Torchic, Treecko, Typhlosion, Venonat, Vicinti, Vivillion (x2), Walrein, Yveltal, Zapdos, Zoroa

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “What the hell? That’s so many! Why would I use any other method?” And, you’re right. This was by far my most successful method, producing 79 out of the 118 shiny Pokémon that I received. But, I think I should mention a couple of small details on this method before you go clogging up the Wonder Trade with the first disposable Pokémon you find.

If you’ve ever thrown a Zigzagoon into the Wonder Trade system, then I hope you get pimples on your next date. (Unless you’re doing a Wonderlocke playthrough. Then you are forgiven, and good luck!)

Wonder Trading is two players throwing random Pokémon at each other. Nobody picks who they are assigned to, nor what they get. For the most part, it’s just pitching garbage at other players. In my case, I used it to offload Pokémon that I had bred, but were not shiny. Yes, there’s an option to just release your surplus creatures, but I didn’t have the heart to do that. Besides, I’d like to think that what I passed on were in some way beneficial. Maybe not all of the Furfrous, but the Popplios had to be of some worth to 66% of the playing population.

What makes Wonder Trading such a useful tool has little to do with the game itself, but the unique accounts that sprung up in it. There are several YouTube and Twitch channels that do nothing but give away shiny Pokémon as gifts! They air their trades online, creating somewhat of a gambling culture around their channels. (Perhaps, generating a little revenue through ads or subscriptions as well.) The channels I encountered the most were:

ITSK33N.TV = 21 AuSLove.TV = 11 YouTubeREM27 = 7 ITSK33N.TV E = 5 Wolfie8pieYT = 3 Mike here YT = 2 StringsYTube = 2 bit.do/sp-fb = 1 Flexii.YTUBE = 1 MeanGengarYT = 1 Mitsuki.TV = 1

Are they legitimate shiny Pokémon?

Most likely, not. (I mean, look at this guy!)

These channels are auto-sending Pokémon based on timers and pre-programmed commands, so I’m guessing they’re probably being generated on emulated copies of these games and sent out to the masses. Still, I find it an interesting set of services. I routinely found people in “Pokémon Y” proclaiming their love for ITSK33N.TV and AuSLove.TV in particular, so I know that at least those two entities have gone a long way in preserving interest in the game.

That’s not to say that there aren’t actual people throwing out real shinies in the mix! (I mean, not to pat myself on the back, but I’ve chucked a surplus shiny or legendary out there. It’s good practice!) It’s just more likely that you’ll run into these names while trading.

From personal experience, I was getting a shiny Pokémon for about every one in two boxes of bred Pokémon that I threw into the Wonder Trade system. A box holds 30 Pokémon, so there’s where your 1 in 60 comes from. Again, it’s a very random process. You’re probably more likely to experience getting in contact with these shiny generating services in “Pokémon Ultra Sun” and its generation due to the newness of the game. (At least, until Gen 8 games drop in November.) However, as long as Nintendo keeps the trading systems open on the 3DS, you’re likely going to have an encounter in any game you pick from Gen 6 or 7 eventually.

Or, at least, get hundreds of Zigzagoons along the way.

Seriously. Don’t be that guy polluting the Wonder Trade system with Pokémon you find in the first route of the game. At the very least, have the courtesy to release them when you get them. Gotta take out that trash sometime!

Poké Radar

Games Used: “Pokémon Y”

Average Rate of Success: 1 in 200 at a chain of 40+ encounters (allegedly)

Shiny Pokémon Earned Using This Method: Ducklett

Lord. Poké Radar.

So, here’s how Poké Radar is supposed to work. You have a little wrist device that you press while in long grass to send out a pulse. It shakes the grass, showing you where you can get into encounters with Pokémon in that area. You touch the shaking grass, get into a fight (if you are lucky), defeat the Pokémon in it, and continue entering shaking patches until:

You get a sparkling patch of grass with a guaranteed Shiny Pokémon in it, or

Your chain breaks by encountering another Pokémon,taking over 200 steps outside of the grass, or just generally being out of luck by entering a shaking grassy area with no encounter.

Now, your odds of continuing your chain generally increase by entering vigorously-shaking grass at least four steps away from you. Like, I want to say it goes up 22% for every step you take past your starting position, all the way up to a max of 88%. However, a significant amount of terrain is not accommodating for this method. There’s a lot of either skinny clumps of grass or grassy areas with rocks or NPCs lodged in them. Constraints on terrain was the primary reason I decided to breed Mienfoo instead of using Poké Rader to get it, for example. Additionally, you have no control on which Pokémon you start your chain on. If you’re looking for a Pokémon that has a 10% chance of ending up in the area you’re hunting (like, for me, Furfrou), you’ll usually be soft-resetting 90% of the time to preserve resources spent on encountering Pokémon you don’t want.

Honestly, this is my most hated method for hunting for shiny Pokémon. If you’re looking for a specific Pokémon, then you don’t have control over which Pokémon you get at the start of your chain. And, let’s be honest, it’s probably not one that you want. When you get that chain going, you can risk the game not spawning the correct type of shaking tiles within the space you’re hunting, requiring you to take 50 steps to recharge your radar before taking another shot. If you get too close to the area’s edge, you can risk no shaking grass spawning at all, breaking your chain. Even if you preform a chain properly, you can get screwed by as little as an 11% chance of another Pokémon spawning. Hell, it takes a chain of at least thirty-some Pokémon to even match what you have with the Masuda Method. At least with that, you have a ton of Pokémon to chuck into the Wonder Dumpster to have a chance on reaping rewards for your efforts!

Long story short, I find the Poké Radar to be entirely too fragile and unrewarding. It’s literally better to spin in circles than to be a methodical hunter, in this case.

DexNav

Games Used: “Pokémon Alpha Sapphire”

Average Rate of Success: 1 in 173 (maximum)

Shiny Pokémon Earned Using This Method: Absol, Buneary, Cottonee, Feebas (x2), Growlithe, Meditite, Numel, Ponyta (x2), Relicanth, Slugma, Swablu, Venomoth, Vulpix

DexNav, though? Amazing.

Basically, you have an app on your lower 3DS screen called the DexNav that reports what location you are in, as well as what Pokémon you have encountered in the area. Tap on the Pokémon you want, and the navigation tool starts checking for any Pokémon of that type in the area. If it locates one, it’ll give you a hot/cold read-out for finding it until it appears on screen. At that point, you sneak up on it to attack it, then get into a fight with it.

Will you get a shiny every time? No. But, what makes this method impressive is that it keeps count of how many Pokémon of this species you have encountered. As this number goes up, your chances for finding this Pokémon increase, maxing out at around 900 encounters. So, even if your encounters are a miss, the game weighs your time in search for this Pokémon into the equation. In addition to that, the game also improves the sorts of Pokémon it generates, giving different attacks, hidden abilities, and improved IV stats to boot!

Do you have to hit 900 encounters? Hell no! On average, you should be able to find a shiny somewhere between 200-300 encounters in game. Additionally, the game tries to boost your chances of finding a better Pokémon every five encounters or so, culminating at one more chance surge around 50 encounters in a row.

It can still take a couple of hours to find a shiny Pokémon, but honestly, I like this method the best. Even if you don’t immediately get lucky, at least the game keeps track of your effort and tries to help you out. Granted, not many original Gen 3 Pokémon are in hot demand, but there’s enough variety from other generations mixed into this remake to make this hunting style more appealing.

Also, there’s nothing wrong with having a Milotic farm. It’s gotten me through a lot of requests!

SOS Battles

Games Used: “Pokémon Ultra Sun”

Average Time to Success: 3-6 Hours

Shiny Pokémon Earned Using This Method: Comfey, Furfrou, Oricorio (Pompom Style), Salandit (x4), Vulpix (Alolan)

Note: my statistic this time is based on time, not chance rates. Let’s get into that.

SOS Battles are a concept introduced into the seventh generation of Pokémon games (so, your Sun, Moon, and Ultra versions of Sun and Moon.) Basically, it’s an endurance test. The longer you and your Pokémon can stay in battle, the higher your chances are at seeing a Shiny Pokémon get pulled into the fight. This seems to cap out at a 1 in 683 chance, if Serebii.Net is correct. However, these stats seem to be bugged in the regular versions of Sun and Moon, resetting your chances after 255 Pokémon have been pulled into the brawl.

Why I’m focusing on time rather than statistics is that, from a certain perspective, you can get one Shiny Pokémon per battle. But, it all depends on how absolutely stubborn you are and how many resources you have to work with. I mean, for me? I had a roster of level 100 Pokémon and 999 berries a piece of Sitrus, Leppa, and Lum berries (for HP restoration, PP restoration, and stat curing, respectively.) As long as I had electricity in my 3DS, I could keep going for days, if needed.

What I’m saying is that this worked for me, as a single person with a stable source of power. It would not work for, let’s say, a ten-year-old who had to share their 3DS with their siblings.

My patience was tested the greatest with hunting Salandits. For those not in the know, only female Salandits can evolve into Salazzle, their higher form. Female Salandits appear at a rate of one out of eight Pokémon. This kind of aggravating ratio is usually reserved for starter Pokémon or fossilized specimens (i.e., making them harder to breed), but also shows up for Combee’s line. This scarcity means that I was facing odds of 1 out of 5,464 Pokémon that were both female and shiny. (That’s 1 / 683 * 1 / 8, or 1 / (683 *8), if you wanted to do some mathematics today.) That’s ouchy. Like, almost seven times the current Pokédex roster size ouchy.

Also—there is one species of Pokémon that is 7 females to 1 male, if that does anything for you. (It’s the Litleo line!)

It didn’t take me the month it took to finally get a shiny Furfrou in ““Pokémon Y”.” But, it did take nearly two and a half weeks of at least twelve hours of gameplay a day. You run the math on that. (And yes, I was naughty and did parts of it at work. Only when my tickets were finished, though!)

Ultimately, I was okay with this method. It wasn’t as rewarding as DexNav, but I could get it to be more stable and effective than Poké Radar. I can’t say I’d recommend it in its bugged state from “Sun”/ “Moon,” but those playing the Ultra versions should find it to be functional. Just be aware that you’ll need to be really, really prepared to make it successful.

Extra Methods

Now, I did get a couple other shinies from less-than-normal methods of acquisition:

Pre-Owned Games. If at all possible, it might behoove you to get your Pokémon games preowned. If the previous owner hasn’t wiped out their stash, you just might get lucky and get a handful of Pokémon you can either assimilate into your horde or trade off. That’s how I picked up a previously owned Charizard, anyway!

Retailer Distribution. I can’t recommend this too much, as I live in rural Iowa (i.e., away from most retail stores.) But, hell. I did get a shiny Lunala from a GameStop. That was pretty sweet, even if it was a pain in the ass to download the Pokémon Pass app to be able to download a code for it. Save yourself some time and download that to your own phone ahead of your next visit to GameStop or Best Buy or whatever, if you really want to go that route. Otherwise, I’m sure someone will spit one at you in a Wonder Trade one day.

Conclusions

So, I’d imagine that you’ve still got the following questions:

Why did you do this?

Did you have fun doing this?

Are you recommending that I do this?

For me, the first question is the hardest to answer. I think I’m the kind of person that needs to have stupid goals to achieve anything in life. Like, playing video games results in me making spreadsheets, which then results in me making budgets, which then results in me paying off my debts faster. I can’t just say, “I’m going to work on paying off my mortgage” and then make a plan for knocking a 30-year-loan out in 10 years. I’ve got to go “I want to buy video games,” then “I’m going to track the price of video games over several months,” then “I’d better start socking away money in saving and into debt while I’m buying video games.” I mean, Pokémon’s the reason I learned to count in hexadecimal. It’s just how I roll.

This stupid goal was started last spring, when my mom and her friends saw “Detective Pikachu” in theaters. They had no idea which character was who, so I ended up having to explain a lot. (Mom did pick up on Mewtwo being distrustful because of how it was treated, rather than being evil, which was 👍.) I then realized that with “Pokémon Sword” and “Pokémon Shield” coming out, the clock was ticking on being able to get completed Pokédexes in my 3DS games. So, I worked on that for a while, being able to get a Shiny Charm in everything I played. I did all of that in the hopes that, not only could my Milotic farm be useful for the new game, but I could start with my own goobers instead of whatever the game was going to force on me.

And then. Well. That whole cutting Pokémon from Sword and Shield’s roster happened. Then, it really was a matter of just getting what I wanted before time could run out. I mean, servers close all the time. I don’t think you can trade Pokémon from Gen 4 and 5 online, anymore (although, that search system sucked, anyway.) I just didn’t want to lose the opportunity I had to perfect my games, even if I’m not sure the Pokémon I nabbed will be used in the future.

Sometimes, I had fun. Sometimes, I was just praying to both regular Jesus and RNGesus to finally free me from these obligations. I really can’t see how people would be patient enough to get every Pokémon in a shiny form. Especially, legendaries.

If you want to do this, I recommend you sit down, go through a wiki, and try to figure out what the easiest way for you to get the shinies you want is. Hell, get a website, stare at the alternative colors, and figure out if you even like them, first! Personally, I’d recommend using “Alpha Sapphire” / “Omega Ruby”, then “Ultra Sun” and “Ultra Moon” to get what you want. Skip “Pokémon X” and “Y” for that task. (The game itself is entertaining! Just not the hunting methods.)

And again, I can’t emphasize this enough—don’t put Route 1 crap in Wonder Trade. Pimples. Your next date. Cursed. Doesn’t even have to be on your face.

I sure do talk like someone who would own a bunch of Ninetales, don’t I?

#pokemon #long post #post game evaluation #kind of

6 notes · View notes

virmillion · 6 years ago

Text

Love is a Four Letter Word

Summary: Everyone has magic, and it’s really nothing special at all. Just another skill, sort of like a sixth sense. Roman is not particularly fond of his brand of magic, and sets off to find Thomas—the one person rumored to not have any magic at all.

Ships: platonic logince (more like acquaintances tbh)

Words: 12,758

Warnings: implied major character death, Less Than Happy backstories, some bullying, unhappy ending, let me know if there’s anything else needing tagging

Check it out on ao3!

Roman shoulders his bag up higher, nodding a farewell to everybody in one swift motion without directly acknowledging any of them. He glances over the crumpled piece of paper one last time, reassuring himself that he knows what he’s doing. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Thomas. Sticking the page back in his pocket, Roman triple-checks that he has more than enough money for a train ride that long. At the very least, it should be enough to get him well past the reach of anyone in this city.

Everybody falls over themselves to bid him farewell as he makes the trek down to the train station, trying to offer absent smiles to anyone drawing near enough to see his expression. Their words all sound the same after an incredibly short while, all impersonal pleas for him to stay, to help.

“Roman, please hang around, I need your magic to lock down my boyfriend!”

“Roman, can you use some of that energy to bring up the positivity for after you’re gone?”

“Roman, would you bloom this flower early so I can impress my wife?”

“Roman, I need you to funnel me some confidence for my interview tomorrow!”

It only becomes more obvious with every plea that chases him further from the center of town that these people only kept him around to boost their own spirits—always at the expense of his own happiness, but no one ever asks about that. Not when they can get manufactured love for free. Sure, it saps Roman’s energy to use his magic, but doing so is the only way he can feel wanted anymore, and isn’t that enough to justify exhausting his supply for these people? No, he doesn’t know their names, their faces, their histories, but at least they keep him around.

Roman has been waiting for weeks to board a train heading in this direction, all the way to the end of the line. He passes the engineer a fistful of bills, requesting to ride the train as far as it’ll go. The engineer nods him on, seemingly unsurprised by the destination. “Passenger cars are that way. Bit of a bumpy ride near the end, though.”

“Where would we be without some good old ominous foreshadowing?” Roman mutters to himself, slipping through the cars and tamping down the bubbles of joy trying to stir in his stomach. He’s already wearing an oversized turtleneck to hide his face, so there’s certainly no need to broadcast his reputation as the resident magicker of love to the whole train.

None of the cars he sees are empty, but the third to last one is about as close as he suspects he’ll get. Just one passenger, who’s busy fiddling with a pile of shiny silver shards in his lap. They share a brief nod, acknowledging each other’s presence the way only two complete strangers can, after which Roman allows the neck of his shirt to slip just a little lower down his chin. The guy doesn’t seem like the type to jump up and fawn over Roman for a little extra cheer boosting his day, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Roman has seen many a person desperate for his help simply for the sake of an easier day, completely ignoring how much it saps his own energy. Hopefully this trip will solve all of that.

Roman continues on to the third to last seat—three is his lucky number—and exhales as quietly as he can manage, resting his head against the glass and watching the incessant crowds waving from the station. He doesn’t recognize a single person among them.

It’s pretty obvious that they’re searching for a sign of him through the tinted glass, hoping to siphon off just a little more love before he goes, and Roman wonders whether his resolve will hold out long enough to avoid that. He almost wants to leap through the window and into their adoring arms, to feel them welcome him back home, even if he knows it will help absolutely anyone except himself. Better not to, given what happened the last time he gave too much. Roman is terrified of ever giving too much again. He feels himself on the verge of breaking this time, and he might’ve just let himself give in, were it not for the train engine rumbling to life and knocking his head against the window.

Roman allows himself a soft, agitated ow under his breath, wincing as he presses his palm to his skull. By the time the pain wears off, the station is shakily bouncing off into the distance. He doesn’t allow himself to watch as it disappears.

The steady rocking of the train drags him into a fitful sleep, promising no rest behind his closed eyelids. His dreams are messy, just distant flashes of memories, of things he should’ve done, should’ve said, things he wishes he hadn’t and the letter R swirling in in dizzying circles around his head, hammering his brain like so many wasps forced through a long winter with minimal warmth and food. Amidst his short bouts of wakefulness, he tries to ignore the pounding headache on the rise, instead watching the rolling hills of lively green give way to dirt and mud, then to hundreds of thousands of barren tree stumps, all melting together in a mix of nothingness that envelopes his dreams in a cushion of hollow green love.

When he wakes, Roman shouts the name ricocheting inside his head, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth. He holds it firmly in place with the other, then glances at a beanpole of a man hovering to his left.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” beanpole interrupts. The guy that was messing with the silver stuff when Roman first boarded. Beanpole jerks his chin toward the window, then offers a hand to Roman. “Train’s down. Everybody off.”

Roman absently takes his hand, looking back at the window. Depot town. Not the most clever name, to be sure, but he’s got nothing against this place. Well, one thing, but it’s not a big thing. Well, it’s a pretty big thing. Well, it’s actually the only thing Roman can hold against a place, but it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s the worst possible place this train could have broken down, but it’s fine and he’s fine and everything’s fine, so stop asking.

“Name’s Logan,” beanpole continues, leading Roman to the front of the train. “Guess you slept through the announcement, since you took so long to hear me asking you to get up. They hit some problem in the engine or something, and they’re enlisting anyone that can offer specialized magic to fix it.”

“That’s, um, I don’t think I can help you there. My name’s Roman, by the way.”

“Pleasure. I wasn’t asking for your help, merely informing you of the situation. At which stop were you intending to depart?”

“I don’t know its name, but whatever the last one is.”

Logan stops at the last step leading out of the train, turning around to squint at Roman’s face—well, as best he can, what with the turtleneck in the way. “End of the line guy, hm?”

“Something like that.” Roman shuffles off the train behind Logan, glancing around the town. Well, the area just before the town—they pretty much broke down right outside civilization, not to mention that the designated train station is well near the opposite end of the town. Certainly not ideal. “Did they say what was wrong with the train?”

“Just that it’s down. Something with the machinery. I’ll figure it out.”

“Why you?”

Logan whips his head around—sharper this time, almost indignant. “Why not me? Why anyone else but me?”

Roman pulls his lips between his teeth and looks away, his face flushing bright red under the scrutiny of such an imposing figure. “Never mind.”

Logan sighs and pulls off his glasses—there’s an odd green glint along the lens, something Roman hadn’t noticed before. He watches Logan hold them aloft with one hand, lifting his other as if to present them to an enraptured audience. With a simple flick of his fingers, the glasses wobble themselves into the air, hovering a few inches above Logan’s open palm.

As the glasses levitate on their own, listing just a touch to the right, Logan whirls his hands around them, pinching and pulling as if he were trying to knot a length of string without overlapping the loops. Slowly but surely, the sleek frames stretch and pull at each other, separating into hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny pieces sparking with bright blues and fiery purples. The sparks flicker off, and Roman flinches away from one on instinct—even showy magic can scar.

There’s a soft pop, like someone blowing a sharp puff of air into a closed pair of hands, and the glasses click back together, almost identical to when Logan began his little charade. The only thing is that now, well, they look ever so slightly different. The green of the lenses is much more prominent, almost a pastel tone that nearly blocks out Logan’s eyes when he replaces them on his face.

“Neat party trick,” Roman says finally, uncertain how to react to Logan’s flat manner of demonstrating his magic. Most people only tend to use their magic when they need it or when they’re hassling Roman for favors, not to impress some stranger beside a broken down train.

“It’s not a party trick,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “I manipulate any technology I’ve taken the time to sit down and understand, which includes those that I’ve built.” He adjusts his glasses, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that that’s what he was talking about. “What I just did, crossing these wires, fusing those pins, what you so callously called a party trick? I switched around the core function. I can now effectively see any major malfunction that may not be immediately apparent to untrained eyes.”

Roman instinctively crosses his arms over his body, not wanting to know what major malfunctions might lie under his thin cotton shirt.

“Not like that, that’s a different setting. This is more for inorganic creations, like the train engine.” Logan gestures to his left, surprising Roman with how quickly they’d arrived at the front. “Remember what I was saying about specialized magic?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m the specialized magic. Thanks for the entertainment. It shouldn’t be long before the train is up and running again, though I wouldn’t hang too close by. Don’t want any techno flares flying off at the wrong moment.” Logan flashes a grin as he holds up a finger, letting a burst of sparks shower from the tip like fireworks. Roman takes the hint, quickly backing up to join the small group huddled a decent distance from the tracks. Not too many people staying on this far down the line.

He watches as Logan kneels beside the engineer at the base of the train, the pair quietly mumbling to each other as Logan waves his slender fingers around a large sheet of metal. In a flash, it smoothly glides off and hovers in the air over Logan’s head, easily poised to slice through skin at a moment’s notice. Logan doesn’t seem to care. He only leans in further, picking at some of the pieces inside the train, none of which Roman can see through Logan’s body. Quickly bored with watching Logan’s relatively still back, Roman glances around at the other stranded passengers.

A few talk amongst themselves, debating whether it’d be worth it to just walk the rest of the way to town and grab a drink while they wait for the specialized magickers to do their thing. Others lean forward over an invisible barrier, desperate to see what kinds of tricks the magickers can pull off with such a large and detailed engine, but clearly hesitant to get too close. There’s a lone mother standing off to the side, desperation in her eyes as she tries to maintain her composure while soothing her wailing baby. A few of the passengers that were discussing getting drinks shoot her nasty looks, but these, of course, do nothing to silence the distressed child.

“You told yourself you wouldn’t do this anymore,” Roman mumbles under his breath, more of a soft chastising than a reminder of a promise destined to be broken the moment it was made. He focuses in on the sound of the mother’s soft voice, amplifying it in his head until her hushed tones, her reassuring coos, her indescribable love flows like a serene river through a spring of endless flowers in his mind, growing and expanding and opening the world into the hope and joy and life that supports the love flowing through it all.

Roman takes this energy, feels it course around his heart, doing cheerful little loop-de-loops and excited hops that lift the corners of his lips, and he sighs softly, picturing his breath floating on the breeze, buffeted by the whispered gossip of the cherry blossom petals dancing across the landscape. He imagines his breath taking life, a pure wave of bright blue that almost blends in with the picturesque sky above, drifting over the heads of the grumbling passengers, teasing at the ends of the mother’s hair and lifting the tips as if there were fairies playing hide and seek on her shoulders. The mother’s voice takes on a new strength, bolstered by a laugh with no source as she bounces the baby and smiles in relief at its face, watching those rosy cheeks puff up with a big breath as the baby inhales the delightful air and releases a bright, burbling laugh, an elated giggles that echoes back into the wind, returning Roman’s joy to the air and spreading a thin layer over the world with the rebound of its happiness.

Roman smiles to himself, feeling the muted sparks of magic intertwine with the spirits of the passengers, all of whom seem to exhale just a little bit in tandem with the baby, suddenly filled with an inexplicable and untraceable sense of rightness. Something in their lifted attitudes allows Roman to forget just how much energy that one sapped out of him.

He glances back to the engine, where he can almost see Logan’s stiff posture relaxing as a display like an explosion of colors shoots out from his hands, whipping his hair up into a quiff for just a moment before it settles back into its usual stern state. Logan sits back on his haunches and cocks his head to the side, pointing at something as he speaks lowly with the engineer.

Specialized magic, indeed.

“Ahem, your, ah, your attention please, esteemed passengers!” the engineer calls, rising to all his four foot eleven glory. Roman turns to face him along with everyone else. “We have gotten the train back, ah, back in working order, it seems, but we want to, erm, we are going to run a quick diagnostic check to ensure the problem will not, eh, reappear.” Roman is pretty sure he catches Logan rolling his eyes at that, but the tint of his green lenses makes it too hard to be certain. “It will probably take us, erm, at least a couple of hours, so I suggest you all, ah, head over to Depot town and see all the attractions they have to offer and enjoy!” This is met with far fewer grumbles than might be expected, and Roman tries not to preen at the knowledge that his magic played some part in that. “I hear they have, eh, an excellent selection of pubs!”

Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek, watching most of the passengers turn toward the town. One of them lags behind to walk beside the mother, and they both share a hearty laugh when the baby does whatever baby thing it is that they find so funny. He looks to the engineer, who is profusely shaking Logan’s hand, while Logan looks just a little bit bewildered as he adjusts his glasses.

Once Logan finally frees himself from the engineer’s grip, he ambles over to Roman, who busies himself looking anywhere but at those green glasses. “Y’know,” Logan says, removing the frames and scrubbing at them with the underside of his shirt, “I am pretty good at what I do. I’ve fixed many a mechanical issue, simply by applying my knowledge regarding the technology at work behind the problem. What I do not understand is how a train engine, the exact model of which I have never personally seen before, suddenly put itself back into working order with me only needing to lift three fingers in the process.” Logan cocks his head to the side and peers at Roman, a strangely personal expression without the glasses to deflect his gaze. “It usually takes at least five.”

“Magic’s funny that way,” Roman says with an uncomfortable laugh.

Logan lingers on Roman’s face a moment longer, just beyond what could be called reasonable, before he straightens and looks toward the town. “I suppose it is. Let me buy you a drink, and we’ll discuss what else is so funny about magic.” Roman swallows thickly and nods, watching Logan take a few steps toward the town as he begins whirling his fingers around his glasses again. It’s not until Logan gets a solid fifteen feet away that Roman realizes he’s supposed to walk with him, and he trips over himself to catch up.

“You ever been to Depot town before?” Logan asks, holding his glasses over his head and squinting through the lens at the sun.

“Once or twice,” Roman says. Try a hundred times.

“Interesting.” Logan puts his glasses back on and turns to Roman, quirking his mouth to the side. “I don’t know if you could tell based on the mechanical manipulations, but I’ve just reworked the lenses to allow me to see when someone isn’t being entirely honest with me.”

“Oh, is that—I, um—okay, I did come here a lot with my family when I was little,” Roman admits.

“That so?” Logan chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Well, if I may be so candid in return—” He drops his voice to a whisper, forcing Roman to strain to hear it. “These aren’t truth-seeing lenses. I just know when someone’s a bad liar.”

“I am a great liar!” Roman protests.

“That so?” Roman is quickly getting tired of this refrain. He wonders how many more times he’ll have to hear it. “I suppose you’ll have to show me around town, then. I certainly don’t know which pub is the best.”

“Definitely not that one.” Roman waves a hand toward the bar nearest to the front entrance of the small town, where all the other passengers are flooding in like a line of ants. “They put it up to attract tourists like us, but the good stuff is way in the back, like a little secret for the locals.”

“Makes sense.”

With that, they weave their way through the town, careful not to trip over outcroppings of metal gears and wooden planks lining the dirt paths. Roman points out certain buildings as they pass them, returning excited waves from people who know him well enough not to question why he’s here without his family in tow.

“So over there’s the mill—they bring all the best raw wood in there, and the top magickers get their pick of the lot, since they’re usually sworn to funnel about ten percent of the work it brings them back into the town’s funds. Hey, Sigma, how goes it?” Roman nods to someone sitting in front of one of the only shops in town, lazily floating a steady stream of water from one pot to another. They wave back at Roman, the distraction big enough to shatter the rainbow of water over their head, the flow crashing down and soaking their hair.

“Stop doing that!” they shout, shaking their head and sending droplets flying.

“How else will you learn to focus?” Roman retorts with a laugh. The water charmer makes a motion like a conductor cutting off an orchestra, easily drawing all of the water into one big ball just beside their ear. A wicked grin crawls onto their face.

“Run,” Roman says softly, nudging Logan’s shoulder. As that smile grows, he says it more insistently, picking up the pace and urging Logan to “run, technerd, run!”

Logan complies easily, his long legs allowing him to keep up with Roman as they sprint away, dodging the drops of water that come hurtling for their heads.

“Sigma,” Roman huffs, “has never been,” huff, “one for,” huff, “practical jokes,” huff huff huff.

“It might help if you didn’t trick them into drenching themselves,” Logan points out, not struggling for his own breath in the slightest.

“Did I ask you?”

“You didn’t not ask me.”

“Well, I’m not un-didn’t asking you now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Roman forces his feet to slow down as they approach a pathetic looking building near the outer limits of the town, where there’s hardly anything but homes and patches of dirt with a little more life than the other patches of dirt. He leans hard into the front door, ramming his shoulder into it a few solid times before it flies open and he goes sprawling across the floor.

“I believe I’m about two pages ahead of you now,” Logan says, bending down to offer him a hand. He helps Roman to his feet, and Roman can’t help but wonder whether that will be a recurring theme with this guy.

“Roman!” an angry voice yells from behind the bar. “I thought I told you to stay away!”

“Hey-ho-de-low, Jackie,” Roman says smoothly—well, as smoothly as anyone can say something so ridiculous. “What if I said I brought a peace offering? A technerd to fix that juke of yours?”

A sturdy little lady who just about tops out at Roman’s chin rounds the corner, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I didn’t ask for no techie guy in my shop, either. Where’d you hide your family this time, huh? Where’s that boy y’had on your arm? Where’re the fancy stories and lies about why you didn’t bring your brother back around?”

“Your juke has been broken for ages,” Roman says, neatly dodging the other questions. “Let me let you let him fix it.”

“I never agreed to any such thing,” Logan sighs, but he grins at Jackie anyway. She returns the smile—an odd move, in Roman’s opinion. She never smiles at people she hasn’t met before. Although, despite her temper, Jackie always was a charmer. Maybe she just doesn’t like Roman. Of course, that’s an absurd theory, but it’s the only one he’s been able to come up with. Maybe Roman just isn’t that smart.

He moves for his usual seat in the corner, pressed up against the window with one wobbly stool and one wicker chair. He goes for the stool. To the sound of Logan and Jackie discussing the jukebox’s latest malfunction, Roman spins the stool round and round, until it won’t turn any way but right, and rests his chin on the windowsill.

Right out there, in the middle of that large ring of messy tire tracks dug artlessly into the mud, he allows his thoughts to wallow in their own emptiness, swirling up eddies of the forgotten carelessness of childhood hidden in the green grasses, the whole mess struggling to grow against the world of dirt trying to choke them out.

Roman sprinted across the open field, baring his teeth to the wind and imagining someone was using the sun as a camera to capture his every movement. He let out a whoop over his shoulder and yelled, “I’m eating bugs!”

“No you aren’t!” a voice behind him whined. “Stop eating the bugs!”

“I’m gonna eat all the bugs!” Roman insisted. Quick as a whip, he hit the dirt and dragged his hands through it, smearing the colors over his teeth. He spun around and grinned, feeling the mud squelch under his knees. “Look at all these yummy bugs!”

“You’re so gross,” Remy informed him, tripping over his feet as he stumbled to a stop beside Roman. “You didn’t even eat them, liar!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not! I can still see them all up on your teeth!”

“Nuh-uh!” Roman didn’t even flinch as he ran his tongue over his lips, wiping off the mug and flashing his not-very-pearly whites. “See? Ate ’em all! Told you so!”

“Guh-ross!” Remy shouted, planting his hands on Roman’s shoulders. He shoved him backwards, cackling as his brother’s back made a spectacular splashing sound as it collided with the mud.

“You’re gross,” Roman retorted, burrowing his short fingernails in the dirt. Before Remy could dodge it, Roman tossed up the chunks of earth, laughing without a care in the world as they splattered across Remy’s face. “Told you so! Told you so!”

“Boys!” a sharp voice yelled from the building at the far side of the mud ring. Roman and Remy both froze, taking in each other’s filthy faces.

“Bet she yells at you,” Roman muttered, getting to his feet without bothering to dust off his pants. No use trying to hide it now, anyway.

“Bet she doesn’t,” Remy said in a stunning imitation of Roman’s voice. “Older siblings always take the blame.”

“Not if I’m really good at crying.”

“Not if I cry first!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Remy only grinned, putting on a burst of speed as he ran for his mother. Roman shook his head and laughed, sprinting to catch up, and if he stuck out a leg to trip his brother on the way and take the lead, well, the past is the past, what’re you gonna do about it?

“—his peace, he doesn’t get much of it,” a familiar voice says, floating over the cotton candy skies and ripping Roman out of his sugar-sweet memories. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to ignore how much the green has faded from the grass outside.

“Sorry, what?” He looks up at Jackie and Logan, the latter of whom is staring at him with confusion. Not nearly as bad as the former, whose eyes betray naught but pity. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t ask, but I guess I’m glad to hear it,” Logan says, settling himself on the wicker chair.

“Drinks for you boys?” Jackie asks. Roman hates the way she softens the edge of her voice when she looks at him. She never used to put on that tone when he still brought Remy around. Granted, it’s kind of his fault that can’t happen anymore—by which he means it’s entirely his fault, which means it’s also his fault that she’s taking that tone, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, does it?

Roman’s lips feel chapped. “Just a couple waters would be—”

“Your hardest ciders, please,” Logan interrupts. He waves off Roman’s protests, continuing, “I’m buying, remember? No worries.”

Roman nods, forcing his eyes not to stray toward the window. There’s a reason he hasn’t been back here in years. “Thanks.”

“Now, do you think you might want to tell me what your deal is with this place?”

“Not really.” Roman briefly considers pulling on some of the upbeat music pouring from the jukebox, wrapping it around Logan’s head and forcing some semblance of tranquility into his mind, but no, bad idea. It was a mistake to cheer up that baby earlier, a taste of what he knows he can’t have. He swore off of messing with emotions a long time ago, back when there was nothing he could do to keep himself in check. No more.

“Think this might help loosen your nerves a little,” Logan says, pushing a mug of cider across the table. Roman hadn’t even noticed Jackie setting it down. He takes a tentative sip, all too aware of the way the other patrons along the bar are very pointedly not looking at him. Having a reputation to precede you isn’t always a good thing.

“Fine, I’ll go first,” Logan says. He takes a long swig from his own drink before plunking it down on the table, ignoring how some of the foam splashes out onto the wood. Roman traces his eyes along the grain of the surface, remembering when his dad let him sit in on the magicking process of converting a useless tree stump into functional furniture. That always was his signature move, wasn’t it? Magicking life into things that were long dead. Well, most things. Even his dad wasn’t one to magic life into things that never had any business being alive in the first place.

“The town where I live—well, used to live—was incredibly strict about when and how we could use magic.” Logan stares into his mug, and Roman has to wonder whether he hears the words leaving his mouth. “They didn’t like that I could disassemble things at will and put them back together according to my tastes, thought I might get carried away and start taking apart people.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Make sense? Sure it does. Remember how I said I can manipulate any technology I take the time to sit down and understand? If you think about it, people are just a different kind of technology, and I was studying to be a surgeon, and, well, one suspicion led to another, and that obviously made some people uncomfortable, so I left. And I left again. And I left again, and again, and every single town I went to was exactly like the last, all nice and welcoming until it came out that I could do more than just basic reparations on junky radios.” Logan furrows his brows, glaring harder at the ripples in his mug. “Well, huh. Didn’t mean to say that last part.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I can manipulate any technology I understand.”

“Right, that’s how you—”

“Fixed the train and did my studies, yes, but more than that. I can do that to almost anything, even intangible things, if given the right parameters.” Logan clenches his fist, and Roman almost thinks he sees the frames on his face flicker like a flame. “I don’t like talking about it, but you’ve obviously got some stuff blocking your system, and since you clearly helped me out with the train—no matter how much you try to deny it��I’d be willing to return the favor, but only if you’ll consent to it.”

Roman tries to laugh off the notion that he had anything to do with the train, but Logan isn’t buying it. “Don’t kid yourself, obviously that train didn’t just fix the engine on its own. We’ve been over this. You don’t have to tell me what your magic is or anything like that, I get it if you’re one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ types, but have you ever turned on a garden hose to full blast and stepped on the line about halfway down?”

“I—er, yeah, why?”

“That’s you. You’ve got some personal nonsense blocking the main flow in your system, and if you don’t release it soon, it’ll explode on its own, and it’ll do a lot more damage than if you let it leak out slowly right now.” Logan leans in with an earnest look on his face, much more sincere than anything Roman had come to expect from him so far. “I’m trying to help you here, Roman. You need to release it now, or you will regret it later.”

Roman takes a long pull from his mug, wishing he was talking to the mother and baby from the train rather than this oddly perceptive stranger. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Logan blows out a large breath, puffing up his cheeks and looking past Roman at the ring of mud outside. “I can take apart your psychology, physically and metaphorically speaking. You’re holding something in, and you need to let it out.”

“I don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Roman snaps, watching the liquid slosh around in his mug. “Nor do I appreciate your trying to say as much.”

“I merely wanted to make the offer,” Logan relents, raising his hands in surrender. “You are free to refuse my services, if it so please you, in which case I will make no further advances.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Roman mutters, looking up as the main doors swing open. Great. Just who he wanted to see.

“Heard the old love magicker rolled into town!” a gruff voice jeers. Sigma peers out from behind a man who has to be almost seven feet tall and two hundred stone. They mouth an apology to Roman, who just stares blankly back.

“Just get lost, Trev, would you?” he sighs, pointedly not making eye contact as the pair crosses the room in a few long strides to leer down at him.

“Aw, that don’t sound like much fun, does it, Sigma?” Sigma stays silent, only looking closely at Roman’s mug. He glances down to see the ripples taking the vague shapes of letters—probably some half-hearted apology—so he lifts the cup and turns it over, letting the contents splatter onto the floor.

“Hey!” Jackie yells, but she doesn’t sound too upset—at least, not upset enough to do something about it. She merely hangs back and watches the scene unfold. After all, no one’s ever helped before, so why should she lift a finger now?

“Hear you skipped town to keep your magicky love a secret,” Trevor continues, slamming his hands down on the table. “Little boy got too popular with his little love spells, came crying home to Mom and Dad—or, wait, you can’t do that, can you? Don’t got no one to cry to anymore, do you?”

“Shut up, Trev,” Roman whispers, hoping the agitation in his voice will mask the way his words wobble like dictionaries balanced on cooked noodles.

“Wittle baby gonna cwy to the pawents he don’t have!” Trevor whines in a shrill voice. Roman rests his hand on his cheek, all too aware of Logan’s stiff silence across from him. What good is having a silent observer around if they won’t do anything?

“That’s not your information to share,” Roman mutters, wishing Sigma would defend him and knowing full well they won’t.

“Well, somebody’s gotta tell our newcomer here about your deal, don’t they? Guess it falls to me, since you don’t wanna go clarifying it yourself. Forgive me if I decide to embellish some of the details, you know how I am with the dramatics.”

“Shut up,” Roman says again, wishing his voice were stronger than it is.

“Roman,” Logan says. Yes, very helpful addition, thank you for your groundbreaking contributions to this conversation. “Roman,” he repeats, more insistent this time. Roman glances across the table to see Logan removing his glasses, waving his hands in that familiar way again.

“Oh, the glasses are off now! Wittle Roman got a wittle techno dork to help him?” Trevor cackles, folding his impossibly oversized arms and giving Logan a once over. Seriously, his biceps are like sausages on steroids. “Just stay out of this, kid. It’s for your own good. Nothing worthwhile ever comes out of hanging around this guy, y’got that?”

“I don’t know that I’d say nothing,” Logan replies coolly, swirling his fingers faster now. Roman watches, not sure whether to be horrified or amazed as the frames split apart into tiny spears, their tips sharp enough to pierce metal. The flurry of miniature blades organizes itself into a sheet of steel, poised directly in front of Trevor’s face. Logan slows down his fingers, keeping the pieces in a careful rotation mere inches from Trevor’s eyes.

“Woah, okay, let’s just take it easy here,” Trevor says nervously and, as Roman is happy to note, with some degree of fear in his voice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says with a sickeningly sweet smile. “I’m simply demonstrating my magic for my friend here, while maintaining a casual discussion with a fellow patron of this fine establishment. Trev, was it?”

“I, uh, I didn’t—”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” Logan jerks his head to the side, hard enough that Roman is genuinely concerned he might snap his neck, and the needles rearrange into the silhouette of an arrow that rises to Trevor’s forehead. Something in Roman’s gut twists at the achingly familiar sight. “Anything else you’d like to share with the group, or should you like to be excused?”

Trevor makes a sound similar to that of a kicked puppy before bolting for the door, leaving Sigma shaking beside the table. One pointed glance from Logan, and they’re gone.

“Wh—you didn’t—I mean, I would’ve—you could’ve—” Roman splutters, watching Logan calmly reassemble the shards into normal frames on his face.

“I did, you wouldn’t have, and neither would I,” Logan says. “Now, you are naturally under no obligation to explain what all that was about, but I would recommend filling me in, if it so pleases you. I do think I’ve earned it by now.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Roman admits. “No matter how much I want to. So there’s this guy—”

“Isn’t there always?”

Roman pouts. “There’s rumors of this guy, Thomas, who doesn’t have any magic.”

Logan seems taken aback by this, and Roman finds a considerable amount of satisfaction in having silenced him. “People have had magic for thousands of years, even in just trace amounts. Surely he’s got some semblance of it.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” Roman shrugs, trying to decide how to proceed without bringing up the reason he even started looking for Thomas. “Anyway, he lives out near the end of the lines, of any train there is. I’ve never seen a station that reaches farther than this train’s last stop, and I want to find him.”

“Why?”

“I want to know what it’s like to be free of the magic.” Roman clenches his fist against his thigh, feeling the mud rings outside burning a hole in his back. “I want to know if he can pass it on.”

“You want to take his inability to do magic? Sounds kind of antithetical, no?”

“Well, yeah, but I just—I need to know if it’s true. I need to know if there’s an escape.”

“An escape from what?”

“From magic, from magickers, from all of it, I don’t know. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, with any of it. I just want to be done.”

“What kind of magic could you possibly have been stuck with that’s bad enough to hate it so much?”

“Hate? I don’t think it’s physically possible to hate my magic, actually.”

Logan twists his mouth to the side and considers Roman for a long moment. “Did it ever occur to you that this Thomas—whether or not he actually does exist—lives so far out of reach because he doesn’t want to be found?”

“It has crossed my mind,” Roman admits. “I just want to be done with my magic. I don’t want to mess up again.”

There’s another commotion from near the door—friendly faces, this time, but they sort of remind Roman of starving raccoons. They peer around the room before their eyes come to rest on Roman’s face, and from the way they almost seem to salivate at the sight of him, he knows exactly what they want. He wants no part of it.

“Roman, won’t you please fix my relationship—”

“Roman, my grandmother is sick, can you pull some sunshine—”

“Roman, I love your magic, is that enough to fuel me with—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, I love the idea of you—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, I haven’t seen your parents in a while, is it true that you—”

“Roman, where’s Remy these days, did you scare him off? I thought it was just a rumor that your love—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, what happens when you run out of—”

“Roman, can I have some of—”

“Roman, I love your—”

“Roman!”

Roman feels sick. He hides his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees and wishing his stomach would stop turning as their words bounce around his skull, Roman Roman Roman Remy Roman Remy Remy Roman Remy Roman messed everything up and everyone knows it and Remy knows it and it’s too late for Remy so it’s too late for you, Roman, what ever will you do with all the love you can’t have when no one will give you more?

“Right, that’s enough of that,” Logan says suddenly, swiping Roman’s wrists out from under him. He jolts up, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder as Logan yanks him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Logan ushers Roman out the door, leaving some coins and bills on the counter for Jackie and ignoring the shocked looks from the other patrons of the bar, all of whom quickly trade their surprise for awe as they realize this really is that Roman, right there in front of them.

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t need to tell me anything that you don’t want to. Keep moving.”

Roman bites his lip, numbly leading the way back to the station, where the train is slowly pulling up to the appropriate departure area. All in working order, then. No more engine problems.

He moves to step on board, only hesitating when he no longer hears Logan’s feet behind him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah,” Logan says, looking back at the station. “Jackie was telling me about a bunch of things that need reparations around here, and it’s a neat little town. Think I might hang around a while, try to fix it up for them. Maybe get to work on repairing some of these people’s attitudes, too.

“I—” Roman falters, uncertain what he could possibly say to Logan after all that just went down. “It’s love, I think.” Logan says nothing, doesn’t even nod for Roman to go on, but he does anyway. “I take different types of love and put them into different places and forms as it’s needed, and I did it wrong this one time, just one time, just one mistake, a big one, and, well—” Roman glances at the engineer, who impatiently waves for him to hurry up and get on board already. “I burned the only bridges that I had, and it was my fault, and I can’t take it back. That’s what all that was about, because Trevor and Sigma and Jackie and, well, everyone—they all got caught up in the fallout. Trevor’s the one holding the biggest grudge, I think, since he was such good friends with—um, well, y’know, with one of those bridges. I—”

“That will more than suffice,” Logan interrupts, gesturing for Roman to board the train. “You needn’t bare your soul to the first stranger that shows you any semblance of decency, you know.” With that, the door slips shut, barring Logan from having to see Roman’s confused expression.

Roman wanders down to the car he arrived on, collapsing on the third seat and wondering where all the sudden candor came from. Didn’t Trevor’s magic have something to do with compelling honesty? Although, Roman could’ve sworn Trevor condemned magickers after what happened last time things got out of control. Maybe he just had a special passion for condemning Roman, and that one mistake was the nail in the coffin that Roman built for himself.

He glances down at the cushion of the seat, shifting uncomfortably against an odd lump as he belatedly realizes that this was where Logan was sitting when he first boarded the train. He fumbles around with a blind hand beneath him, feeling for the source of the discomfort as the train sputters to life, sending him lurching forward. At the same moment as his head slams into the next seat, something dislodges from the cushion beneath him. His hands fumble through the air to catch it, carefully clasping around the figure and hugging it to his chest. Once his balance adjusts to the steady rocking of the train, he opens his hands and peers into them, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

A little 3D heart, vaguely pixelated with all the different pieces of metal and plastic lacing together to create its surface. Roman squints at the thing, turning it under the weak light of the train’s overheads, but there’s no note, no pull tab, no secret compartment, no nothing. Just a heart, and everything Roman is left to interpret from finding it. Did Logan know?

Maybe Roman’s reputation precedes him more than he realized.

----------

“End of the line,” a voice announces over the train speakers. Roman slowly rouses, blinking as his eyes come into focus on the little heart still clutched in his hands. He stuffs it in his pocket, careful not to tear the fabric on the sharper edges, and moves for the exit door. On his way, he tosses a flippant wave toward the ceiling, just in case there’s security cameras watching him go or something. A little politeness can go a long way.

He stumbles out into a cool, dark night, populated only by the densest of shadows. The sole clue that the train station is even designed to be used beyond as a set piece in a creepy picture is the dilapidated set of tracks that end just past the edge of the building, and even those on their own are a pretty flimsy sign. Once the train finishes looping around the track to reposition itself for the return to the inner cities, Roman plops himself down in the middle of the rails and lies on his back to stare at the sky.

As if the travel time weren’t a big enough hint that he’s farther from home than ever before, the stars above look completely different, almost unrecognizable compared to those rare nights in Depot town, much less back home.

Home. Roman turns the word over and over in his head, his thoughts dancing around that saying. How did it go again? Home is where the heart is?

Roman gives a hollow laugh in cheers to that, feeling the outline of the metal heart in his pocket. Hearts, as in love, which is something he never earned enough to make a home with. Foolish of him to try, really. A breathing mannequin in princely makeup, designed to give love, to spread hope and joy, but never to dare try receiving it. He’s not that kind of magicker, something of which he’s all too aware. Everybody seems to know that better than him.

He runs his hands over the dirt beneath him, feeling how solidly it molds around the cold metal tracks, and wonders whether Remy would appreciate the texture. Always did have a thing for mud and dirt, he did. Mom hated it to no end, which just made it that much funnier that Remy couldn’t go ten minutes without another smudge of brown across his cheek.

Roman allows himself to smile at that, trying to ignore the stirring in his chest at the memory of Remy’s toothy grin, how excited he was to show off the latest bruise or scratch to Roman, how his face would light up when Roman joined in on the fun.

All of it gone in an instant, because Roman was too selfish to acknowledge the part of it that Remy actually cared about. The part that everyone cares about, much more than they ever cared about the person behind it. Not that anyone asked. Not that anyone ever asks.

He rolls onto his side and curls up in a ball and waits for the night to pass.

“This you?” a voice demands. Roman blinks blearily, wondering how long he’d been asleep. Not very, if the stars shining proud overhead are any indication. Unless it’s the opposite, and he’s been asleep for days. It’s anybody’s guess, really. “Hey, wake up! This you?”

He reaches up toward the sound of someone shaking a paper in his face, rubbing at his eyes and trying to make out the contents of the page amidst the darkness. A wanted sign, with strikingly accurate details about his magic, his past, and a picture of his face that’s unnervingly spot on, but—

“Why did they make my forehead so big?” Roman whines, dropping the page and glancing around for whoever handed it to him. A hand snatches the paper back, and a pair of eyes appears inches away from his own.

“Look, I’m not exactly an artist magicker, but I did my best,” that same voice mutters from beneath the eyes. “Let’s just head over to the station, okay? You squinting like a bat in sunshine looks really stupid.”

“Your face looks really stupid,” Roman mutters, walking toward the station anyway. He’s been in weirder situations. Mostly because people get too much enjoyment from toeing the line with pestering him about his magic, but still.

“You don’t know how my face looks, but I can assure you it’s worlds better than yours.”

“I look amazing!” Roman’s protest echoes on the hollow breeze of the night, but the voice doesn’t return a snide remark this time. He continues on, seemingly alone, to the lamely flickering light at the station, half expecting someone to jump out and shout at him.

Beneath the sole light bulb, Roman waits for the owner of the voice to reappear and join him on the bench. No one shows up, so he starts talking to the stars instead. “How did you get that information about my magic, and about my family?”

“I think it’s pretty generous of you to call them your family,” the voice says from somewhere over his left shoulder. Roman turns to trace it, but the sound shifts to the shadows beneath his shoes. “You refusing to share information doesn’t mean no one else is allowed to know it. Especially if they know which shadows to shine a light on.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to go spreading it around with a crappy wanted poster.”

“Who said I made more than just the one copy?” The paper reappears in the shadows just past the reach of the station light, and accompanied by the sound of fingers snapping, it disintegrates. “I know what should and shouldn’t be shared. Give me some credit.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I can’t even see you?”

“Right, because seeing is believing. I always seem to forget that. Almost like it isn’t true.” Another snap, and those eyes materialize where the paper shattered. They stare at him like a feral cat, poised to attack. “Now have I earned your credit? Does your seeing me count as believing?”

“Pfft. Hardly.”

“How about now?” Another snap, and Roman finds himself on the edge of Depot town, watching everyone shutter their windows for the night, watching Jackie kick out the last few lingering drunks, watching Logan in deep conversation with Trevor as Sigma keeps a ball of water hovering over them.

“How did you do that?” Roman demands, whirling around with his fists raised.

“Right, because it’s so easy to fight a voice.” There’s an obvious tint of mockery this time, and Roman starts punching at the air. He feels ridiculous, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. “Hey now, no need to be so rude.” Another snap.

Back at the end of the line.

“How are you doing that?”

“You tell me. I’m just bending the shadows. You’re the one connected to the locations and the times.”

“I—what?”

Another snap. Back to Depot town, but it’s different than before. It’s daytime, for one thing, but artificially so. The moon still hangs among the stars, but they wear torn veils of sunshine and clouds, the rips in the fabric shining a spotlight on the mud ring, Roman follows the lines of pure white to the center and walks closer, not entirely certain why.

“No fair!” Remy’s voice echoes across the field. The boy stumbles over his feet, rushing to catch up to another silhouette while trying to hold up the cardboard box around his waist. The crude scribbles along the side try to make it look like a car, but they aren’t the most effective of artistic statements.

“Take me back,” Roman says coldly, desperately trying to tear his eyes away from the scene. But he can’t.

“No, I really think we should watch this play out,” the voice replies.

“I’m gonna beat you!” Roman’s voice shouts, but it’s not this Roman, not now, not quite. His lips move in time with the words, but nothing more than a strangled squeak escapes his throat. Other Roman, the littler Roman, is taunting Remy. What Roman wouldn’t give to hold them both back in the safety of this moment, for just a few seconds, to yank them out and hide them at the end of the line until the awful moment has passed. But he can’t.

As it is, he can only watch as the boys chase each other around the mud ring, bashing into each other with their cardboard boxes and making vroom vroom noises as they go.

“Sneak attack!” little Roman yells in time with Roman mouthing the same words. Little Roman drops his car and produces a long stick from within, grinning triumphantly. The fury of the moon masquerading as a sun burns down on it, and Roman can almost see smoke curling out of the tip, dark and grey and angry.

“Take me back,” Roman pleads, more desperate this time. He can feel the tremors of his voice all the way down to his feet, shaking the ground and sending his knees wobbling.

“Just another minute,” the voice says, completely unfazed. “Don’t forget, we’re only here because you brought it up. I’d happily return to the station if you would let yourself abandon this whole charade.” Roman feels something inside himself shatter as he watches the leaves spiral upward around the boys.

“That’s cheating!” Remy complains, watching little Roman fling his arms to the side. Roman can almost taste the negative pulls of love rising in his own body, and he hates it so, so much, the way the heat of the sun burns in his throat as his smaller self absorbs it, combining it with the dewy sweetness of the grass, the richness of the life in the mud, before it filters over his fingers, twice as bad now that Roman feels it both in his own hands and in his smaller self’s hands. He can feel it eating away at his skin as little Roman sends the emotions blasting into Remy’s chest, knocking the stick sword aside as if it were even less than the mere twig it already is.

“Please take me back.”

“Almost there.”

Roman can hardly stand to watch, yet he can’t force himself to look away, as the wind whips harder, faster, tearing the beautiful pink petals dancing in the air to shreds as they zero in on Remy. Roman falls to his knees, pleading with his younger self not to do it, but it’s far too late, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Say you love me!” little Roman demands, his voice forcing Roman’s jaw to move in time with the words. It might almost be a sweet sentiment, were it not for the millions of shreds of leaves hovering over his head like an arrow, poised directly above Remy’s heart, the moon in the sky using the stars as the bow waiting to release it.

“I—I—” Remy splutters, shaking his head. “This isn’t funny anymore, Roman, I don’t like this game anymore.”

“Say you love me!” little Roman insists, and the words are like a stab to Roman’s heart as he hears how awful, how hopelessly desperate and venomous they sound. They taste like poison as they spill from his own lips.

“Roman, please, I don’t—”

“Just say it before I go completely empty!” little Roman howls. With every quiver of his voice, the leaves over his head split again and again, more and more pieces of the love little Roman is desperate to give, more and more pieces of the love Roman has long since learned he cannot receive. Not unless someone gives it to him freely. No one ever has. Roman learned that the hard way, and here he is taking the same lesson again. He can’t look away.

Remy is frozen, a wild panic in his eyes as he searches for an escape from the sharpening arrow. A wilder look falls over little Roman’s face as he grows desperate, the lines etched in his skin wearing deeper, tearing claw marks over the surface that spawn into scars on Roman’s face. “Please, Remy, I need you to say it!”

“Roman, I don’t—”

“Roman!” an achingly familiar voice shouts from the door of the house nearby. Both Romans whip their heads around to see their mother racing barefoot through the mud, her shoes abandoned at the door. In a flash, she’s at Remy’s side, knocking little Roman out of the way and gathering the smaller boy up in her arms. She shoots little Roman a look of pure disgust, and it’s enough to curdle two stomachs at once, across the span of several years. “What were you thinking?”

“I—I don’t know, I just—” Little Roman’s lower lip wobbles dangerously, and Roman feels his own resolve shaking. His mind does everything it can to ignore the way the arrow overhead is spinning now, slowly breaking up into several smaller daggers. They shake and sink, trying to collapse, but they can’t. “I just wanted him to say he—”

“What, that he cares about you enough to let you force him to give you the magic back?” Though she’s not talking directly to him, not this him, not now him, Roman feels his heart shattering at the hatred in his mother’s voice. “Did it never occur to you that we don’t say it because it hurts too much? Just because you can give that love freely, it doesn’t mean we can, and it certainly doesn’t mean we’re obligated to.”

Roman lifts a hand to warn his mother, watching aghast as the leaves pick themselves back up, a sharper arrow than either of the ones before, aimed squarely at her heart, all the love in the world that little Roman could possibly muster, now a weapon Roman wishes he could turn away. She doesn’t hear him.

The arrow splits in two, one for mother, one for brother, and for a split second, Roman makes eye contact with Remy. The desperation in his face is enough to turn Roman’s heart to stone.

The arrows fall.

Roman’s world shatters.

A snap. The end of the line. “Well, that sure was an exciting little encore, wasn’t it?”

“You son of a—” Roman hisses, building up all the power of the moon back to its natural state, the knowledge of how many lovers use that little sphere as a landmark for their affection, a perspective around which to dance, amidst all the small creatures of the night and the life of the grass tipped in dew and the hum of creation buzzing down the train tracks, whipping it into a storm and bringing it down in tandem with his hands to smash the source of the voice into the ground, flatten and pound and hammer it until it has no chance of escaping, and when it’s all said and done, Roman pants heavily, bent over his knees and letting the energy of the twisted thing he calls love drain out of him.

“You certainly know how to put on a show, I’ll give you that,” the voice says from over his shoulder. Roman feels his body pulling in the energy again of its own accord, but the voice continues on unabated. “Have you considered that I’m just a figment of your imagination, a cursed fragment of your own mind? A shadow among shadows to remind you of all you’ve thrown away?”

“A shadow among shadows,” Roman repeats. He laughs, an empty sound that rings as dull as a cracked bell. In an instant, he pulls in all he can from every painstaking detail of each brick propping up the station building, funneling it into the sky and willing it to tear a hole directly through the secondhand sunshine dripping from the moon. “Any guess where I got the idea for that exciting little encore?” There’s a flash of brilliant light and a bang of sound, and a silhouette appears for a split second in Roman’s peripheral vision.

His whips around and seizes it, wrapping his hands around its throat and squeezing, squeezing, hating the image of the arrow that glows behind his eyelids like stolen sunshine whenever he blinks.

The silhouette still has those achingly empty eyes, which are hazily focused at best—they look over Roman’s shoulder, watching something take shape behind him. Roman glances back, stunned into silence when he sees that oh-so-familiar shape of the arrow of leaves. He swallows around a lump in his throat and slackens his hands, watching the leaves collapse to the ground as harmless debris. With every inch his hands relax, the leaves scatter weaker and weaker into the breeze, normal pieces of nature and not awful tools for something that only a heretic would call love.

The silhouette rocks to its knees and coughs, hacking up every ounce of air as it rubs gentle circles into its neck, and Roman scrabbles to get away from it. Even in the aftermath of that flash, he can still make out those eyes, still almost see the reflection of Remy hiding behind them.

“Like I said, putting on a show,” the voice says, sounding all kinds of broken and tattered. “What was it you called your magic again? Love? That’s a laugh, really, I can’t believe you’d call that love.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do, don’t I? We both saw that little scene of yours. I’m not the one that made that happen. It’s your own connection to the world through the twisted thing you call ‘magic’ that brought you there. You’re the one who was so desperate for love, he would throw away his family’s lives for the chance to get it.”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“And yet here we are, me knowing all this information about you, and you knowing nothing about me. Do you think I didn’t notice all those times you pleaded for someone to love you before? Do you think those dark nights in empty alleys on your own were really so private? You’ve just been waiting for someone to say they love you, and I’m here to break the news that it’s never gonna happen, so you might as well accept it now.”

The silhouette lurches closer, a smattering of purple appearing around his neck. They pulse in time with Roman’s heart, a feeling like fire lighting up on his hands. He wipes them on his pants, trying to separate the bruises from what he doesn’t want to believe he tried to do. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, the silhouette pulls him up to his feet with impossibly strong hands, pressing their faces together even as Roman tries to resist, tries to ignore the faint details masked almost completely by the shadows surrounding its features.

“What was it you wanted to hear again?” it asks. “Love, was it?” There’s an agonizing ache behind the voice as a clear face takes shape over top of the blank silhouette, an awful recreation of his mother’s face, undercut by the same purple bruises. When it opens its mouth, it has her honeysuckle tone, and Roman feels his stomach turn. “Oh, Roman, darling dearest, I love you.” It shifts, cycling through an impossible list of features and expressions before settling on something gut-wrenchingly similar to his father’s face. “Hey, kid. I love you, you know that?” Another shift, this time to a face that Roman doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to picture, hates it hates it hates it let me go—

“Look at me, Roman,” Remy’s voice says, now aged well beyond any years it had the chance to experience. Roman can’t make himself look, but he feels matching bruises appear on his own throat with every second he ignores the face. Selfish, disgustingly selfish how he forces himself to look just to make the pain stop, but when he meets those eyes, he sees everything all at once—the arrow, the fall, the love that tore apart his mother, his father, ripping through Remy all at once as if it weren’t love but hate, hate, hate hate hate coursing through Roman’s veins as he meets the eyes that have no right being on this bastardization of Remy’s face and hears those awful terrible words echoing through his body, shaking him to his core. “I fzzt you.” Remy raises an eyebrow, trying again. “I fzzt you.” He smiles, an awful toothy expression. “Seems even you can’t imagine him saying it. Think I like this face best.” Remy leers at Roman, eyes wide enough to show the burning white on all sides. “I hate you.” Remy cocks his head to the side and grins, dropping Roman to the cold metal tracks and vanishing.

The voice does not come back.

Roman hates how relieved he is to drown in the silence. He’s starting to think finding Thomas might not be worth all this trouble, and that realization is enough to crumble the last of Roman’s dwindling spirit.

The shadows fold in around Roman as he buries his face between his knees and feels his body shake, his skin prickling as if it were being stabbed by millions of tiny arrows.

And he lies there.

And

Lies

There.

“Well, this simply won’t do,” a new voice, a warmer voice, a softer voice says. Roman doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes. “I see that shadow boy got to you first. Can’t imagine what dark corners of your mind he brought to light to get you like this. I know you can hear me, but you don’t have to say anything. I’m going to pick you up now, okay? Lift one finger if you can hear me and don’t want me to do that.” Roman doesn’t move. “Okay, I’m picking you up now. Please stop me if you’re uncomfortable.” With that, Roman feels a sturdy set of arms wrap around him, lifting him carefully into the air.

Then, oddly, the arms seem to expand, growing more arms like branches on a tree trunk, completely enveloping Roman in a soft blanket of tentative warmth. He stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, still feeling all those tiny arrows, still hearing the echoes of that cold voice in his head, still seeing Remy’s eyes stare out as his whispered those damning words.

He loses track of how many times they play over in his head, I hate you I love you I hate you I hate hate hate hate hate you Roman I hate you, simply letting them wash over his soul because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. They must reach a breaking point eventually, because he falls back into himself in time to feel the blanket retracting, returning to a normal pair of arms, gently laying him down on what feels like a mattress. Roman stares at the backs of his eyelids,, wondering whether they’ll force him to start talking soon.

I hate you, Roman.

Surely it wouldn’t have been possibly for the voice to replicate it so perfectly without hearing Remy say the words himself. Right?

“Now, you’re under no obligation to talk about what happened if you don’t want to. Trust me, I know how thorough that shadow boy is about people who find themselves out here.” The return of the kind voice is jarring in comparison to the cold anger flickering in Roman’s head, the reassurance in this tone almost enough to convince Roman to open his eyes. Almost.

“I’m sure you had some idea of what you were doing if you made it this far,” the voice continues, “so you’re probably here because you heard about that Thomas character.” At this, Roman’s eyes fly open. The voice laughs softly. “Thought so. Nice to see you’re alive, at least.”

Now having no choice but to keep his eyes open, Roman sits up and surveys the area. A greenhouse, it looks like, incredibly humid with the sun beating in—when did it turn to daytime?—through the concentrated glass and reflecting off innumerable green leaves and yellow flowers and brown dirt. The person owning the voice almost blends into it all, his skin a dark tan and his fingers stained green, his hair a sandy blond and his bare feet covered in scrapes and dried mud.

“Name’s Patton. Pleasure,” he says, extending a hand to Roman. Roman stares at it, uncomprehending. “That shadow boy,” Patton tuts. “Never does know when to quit, does he?”

“Can you blame me?” the colder voice asks. “This one’s a downright monster.” Roman leaps to his feet, brandishing his fists like the arrows he so hates, searching for the source of the voice and hearing a low growl escape his lips. “Whoa, Patton, you see? Call off the dog, yeah?”

“What have I told you about harassing our guests?” Patton chastises. “Go on, get out. You’re only permitted around here at night, and you’ve lost even those privileges for the next couple days.” Watching Patton converse with the distant voice is a silly enough sight to relax Roman, who lowers his fists and settles back down on the mattress. “Now, onto you. How can I help you? A name would be beneficial to me, at least.”

“Uh, Roman. I, um, I came here to find Thomas.”

“Roman,” Patton repeats carefully, chewing on the second syllable. Something twists in Roman’s gut at the sound. “That so? Yes, yes, we’ve established the reason you came here, but in order to help you, you need to tell me why you wanted to find Thomas.”

“I want to know how he did it. How he escaped having magic.”

“I would hardly call it ‘escaped.’”

“So he does exist, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, where is he, if he does exist? I want to get rid of my magic, and if you can’t help me, I’d like to get going sooner than later.”

Patton cocks his head toward the more crowded section of the greenhouse, folding his arms and squinting at Roman through mud-splattered glasses. “He’s in the back, but I don’t think you’re going to like what you find.”

“I don’t think I asked you.”

“I don’t think you didn’t ask me,” Patton mutters, stepping aside as Roman darts past him. Roman barely remembers to keep his feet under himself as he barrels for the back of the room. Nothing in the world could prepare him for how sharply his heart stops.

“It’s a statue,” he whispers, staring in confusion at the cold marble figure. “He’s just a statue?”

“Just a statue,” Patton confirms, appearing behind him. “Just an idea of a person, for people like you who want to believe in that idea. But I know you didn’t really come here to get rid of your magic because of some fairy tale idea, did you?”

“Yes, I did,” Roman murmurs, staring at the statue, at the complete lack of life in its eyes. It was a lie, wasn’t it? It was always a lie, he never really had a chance. “I came here to get rid of it, all of it.” Something hot and wicked coils up in his chest.

“That so?” Patton rests a hand on Roman’s shoulder, ignoring how he flinches at the touch. Actually, he squeezes harder, holding Roman still. “And why is it that I don’t believe you, hm?” His nails dig in deeper. “Maybe it’s what you’re doing to my plants.”

Roman glances around to see all the petals and leaves and branches wilting, browning, slowly dying, their colors filtering through the air and into his lungs as he starts gasping for breath.

“My strongest love has always been for nature,” Patton continues, his grip almost too much to bear. “I pour my heart and soul into my plants, into growing life from the ground and letting it blossom into the air, and I think that’s pretty evident right about now.”

Roman hardly hears the words, still taking in more color, more light, more life, more love from Patton, feeling the room squeeze out its very essence into his body as he pulls and pulls and pulls, his gaze drifting back to the statue, to the dead silence behind those eyes.

“Go on,” Patton murmurs, an impossibly loud noise amidst the silence Roman has created in the room. “Fill an empty husk with love and see what happens.”

Roman can’t exhale, taking in more and more and more air and colors and life and love, his lungs well past full as he swallows more breaths than he can take and he’s choking on all the love in the room, all the energy Patton is funneling into his plants which are spitting it right back out into Roman’s throat and then he sees Remy in his head and looks closer at the statue’s eyes and it hurts, oh God it hurts, and he’s coughing and sputtering and releasing the colors and the life and the love in broken breaths, barely noticing as his body collapses beneath him, not strong enough to hold up his throbbing head, emptying himself of all the colors and the life and the love in his heart that he’s always given, the thing that hurt the worst when he took it for himself, all spilling out in a rush like a slash across the chest and filtering into the statue and flowing around it, the petals of the smallest flowers floating up and dancing around its head like a wreath as Roman exhales and exhales and blessedly exhales and when he’s finally empty of it all and there’s no more love left to give, Roman wonders whether this is what the love he’s always yearned for feels like.

Patton nudges Roman’s still form with his toe, wincing at the way the skin squishes like mud. “That went better than I expected it to, given how much you had to pull at the shadows.” He looks up at the statue, at the flowers slowing their rotations around its head, each coming to rest along the shoulders. His foot strikes something solid.

“Oh, now that’s interesting.” He reaches down and feels around in Roman’s pocket, producing a little metal heart from within the fabric. “We’ll call it an offering.” He lays it at the statue’s feet, and if he were a sentimental man, he might comment on how for the briefest of moments, a spark of life flashes behind the statue’s eyes before it falls dead and silent once more. In the instant after the light disappears from the face, his plants turn a brighter green, growing a solid few inches in mere seconds. “Change the name and restart the rumors.”

“On it,” the voice says. A very familiar wanted sign materializes behind Patton. By nightfall, word had traveled all the way back past Depot town and to the inner cities and into deaf ears that have already forgotten the person who could spin the sunshine into hope. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Roman.

In the darkest corner of a neat little pub tucked away in Depot town, beside a jukebox slowly breaking apart its inner machinery, a man disassembles his glasses. He watches the pieces swirl around his head like a crown as he crumples the paper into a ball and stuffs it in his pocket. “Jackie, I’m heading out again. Got a train to catch.”

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @mollycassmith @zerogettie @five-hour-anxiety @ashrain5 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @faacethefacts @rileyfirstname @sassy-in-glasses @virgil-has-a-houseplant @redundant-statements-for-400 @zennyo @extremistwateragenda @breloomings @jamthefan @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @crownswriter123 @rosesandstuff @dedaartist @unring-this-bell

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #mine #labhwrites #major character death tw #bullying tw #yaLL this. was supposed to be like 5k max as a qUiCk BrEaK from my big bang #that clearly did not happen #i wrote it all in one night but still #oof homeboi got Long(TM)#also i. have no idea what happened to the plot after that line break like??#roman snatched the keyboard from me and wrote the ending himself bc that is. Not How I Expected It To End #uwu catch me posting stuff explicitly for the validation that comes with doing so #i came up with the title first and it s h o w s

62 notes · View notes