#god it's fun being a wildly anxious human being

[novelconcepts]

Having a background check done is a little like going through airport security when you know you've never bought, owned, or used a gun in your life, that you do not even like guns, actually, but do you know for sure someone didn't sneak one into your suitcase, do you even know??

[milfhandholder]

Random Grell thingz I've accumulated in my head bcs I'm delusional but without context bcs I am going to write a legit novel abt this woman one day

Idc what anyone says, I am an avid believer of the fact that Grell has always been considered beautiful by her peers even in her human life

LIKE SHE'S THE MOST SOUGHT AFTER SUITOR OF HER SEASON, SHE WAS AN IT GIRL BEFORE THEY KNEW WHAT AN IT GIRL IS

She's so beautiful that the Victorians could've started kpop PC first bcs of her and trade them like actual kpoppers

Grell always knew about her being queer (minus actual label bcs Victorian era duh) but not about her gender

"Wait so you people don't fantasize about having boobs? Not at all? No?"

It was maybe 6 years into her reaper life when she finally got the memo that "hey girlie, you're actually a girl"

Her crisis went a bit like this: straight man -> gay man?? -> 'oh no I like girls too' bi man -> died LMAO -> 'I hate everyone and I hate my gender' questioning -> 'maybe I have no gender at all. I like girls though' (she was exclusive to girls only so I guess??lesbian?? Who cheered) -> transwoman questioning -> !! transwoman bi !!

Was in a 'lavender marriage' with a closeted lesbian for maybe 2 - 3 years before her suicide. Grell sort of fell in love with her but understandably never confessed. Fast forward to present time AND GRELL IS HITTING THE FLOOR, SCREAMING, CRYING

She had a lot of rage as a young reaper because she never really got over 'my parents suck' mindset that stood by her as she died

HATED WILLIAM. As much as I love the OVA, I will stand by my words that it would’ve been so much more interesting if Grell buried / was embarassed about her crush and acted like a dick towards him BECAUSE WHY, OF ALL THE MEN IN DISPATCH, DID IT HAVE TO BE WILLIAM T SPEARS

Mellowed out eventually and cool character development happened

Has more experience with and confidence in dating girls, she's very anxious (and perhaps frightful) about men reciprocating her advances

Being made "an experience" does that to you

Fun fact: she's the first and only woman William ever had a crush on. Good taste dude

She was projecting her ex wife A LOT onto Madam but it's ok bcs it was vice versa you see, Madam projected too BUT THEN THESE BITCHES TALKED IT OUT and everything is all ok and cool and OH GOD GRELL NOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭

Speaks German and French, is the go to translator for German Dispatch businesses until Ludger (and eventually Sascha joined in as a bonus and a translator) was forced to sharpen his English

Now for the E discourse.... someone made a typo one day and she went with it

Grell: You see, when you go to France, they make you get a name in French. That's why I can go by Grell Sutcliff or Grelle Sutcliffe

Ron, an idiot who has never been anywhere except his hometown: oh shit fr??

Eric's her first ACTUAL reaper friend which is sad ngl LMAOOO

Firm believer that the reapers have mentorships for gifted students that started in Ron's year and that Grell was her mentor READ MY RON FIC, IM OBSESSED WITH THEM

Mentoring Ron (aka a few years before Jack the Ripper) was the moment where she was the healthiest, mentally

Then she divorced Madam, had a falling out with William and oops she regressed el em ao. Don't tell any of her friends though, they'd start annoying her to get better

People older and the same age as her are wildly terrified of her. This is in contrast to (most) juniors who are so in love with the idea of her

Harbors a lot of guilt, grief, rage, anger, jealousy, insecurity, narcissism, etc. She's just a good actress

Her butler persona was her mocking three people at once: her father's (brunette) appearance, her mother's wish for Grell to be more obedient, and Grell's old self that let people walk all over her for the sake of maintaining her family name

Her family is rich rich though she can't remember for what. She doesn't really care eitherway so

Can be very insensitive!! It doesn't help that she's friends with people who'd give the same energy back (Eric and Othello) or people who just don't care enough (William)

She learned how to hold her tongue when she realized Ron was genuinely upset with her rude comments. Ironically, Ron learned how to have thicker skin because of said comments

Likes dogs, sorry Sebastian

Good at fencing! Not much else in other sports!!

She hates sports sm, they make her sweat and they are tedious and they're exhausting and THEY'RE BORING

The only ranged weapon she'd try out is a gun.

She's no wuss

Yeah that's all that I can think of lmao

[antialiasis]

Morphic: the Musical

The Thousand Roads forums have a fanfic music thread. While I don't really do those kinds of threads usually because I don't really listen to a very wide variety of music and generally have a hard time associating music that already exists with unrelated fiction, one of the questions in it is this:

Talk about what would happen if some Broadway hit-maker scooped up your fic and turned it into a script. What songs would be in it? Describe a dance number/dance battle?

And immediately, the musical analysis glint lit up in my eyes. This question was presumably intended in a lighthearted jokey sort of way - imagining some fight staged as a dance battle, a hypothetical Broadway hit-maker doing the adaptation. But that's not enough for me, say I! Musicals are a good and interesting medium for serious fiction that I care about and I am going to serious this up.

See, to me, the musical format has two major strengths as a narrative medium. The first is that it can explore the inner worlds of characters in a pretty unique way. Characters get to monologue in a sort of heightened, non-literal manner, intensified by music: we can learn what they're about, what makes them tick, what's going on in their heads in a particular moment, in a way that wouldn't really make sense presented as actual inner monologue in another medium. The music aspect itself then adds a layer to it that's impossible to replicate in any other.

The second strength of the musical format is that it's really good at highlighting recurring themes, parallels and contrasts. Reprise the same melody, the same lyric, a parallel but opposite lyric, and you've instantly connected two things together. Is there a character arc? You can highlight what has changed. Are there two characters going through something similar? You can draw that out. Is there a recurring theme throughout? Use a recurring lyric, a recurring melodic phrase! Nudge the viewer into forming connections! Delicious! And you can do subtler things on the music level itself - particular instruments with particular connotations, recurring motifs...

So naturally I decided I should think up what a musical adaptation of Morphic would be like. It'd be a fun exercise in putting all my thoughts on musical adaptations into practice, but also an interesting way to help sort out some of my thoughts about characters arcs, etc. for the actual Morphic rewrite. And in the process, I may have gone slightly overboard. I regret nothing.

(I'm about to spoil most of the fic here, if this wasn't obvious)

Morphic: the Musical - tracklist

(Note: this musical is not sung-through; there are regular non-musical sections with regular dialogue in between. Morphic would almost definitely not make for a good sung-through musical.)

Act I

[Intro song] (Brian)

A monologue by Brian at the TV studio as he tries to work through what to say, how to explain or justify any of this (which conveniently serves to exposit to the audience as well as introduce his character). He makes nervous false starts and cuts himself off, starting the verse over each time, and through these false starts we learn what's going on, that the press has been calling them Pokémorphs, that this was all Dave's idea, that alcohol was involved, that it was meant as a basis for further research, that there were never supposed to be *children*, that he doesn't know what he'd even do with a kid, that Dave roped him into going on this show because he couldn't.

[Dave song] (Dave)

This musical properly introduces us to Dave via Jane walking out on him followed by this song, wherein he contemplates chucking baby Jean out the window. It's a dark rock song with big emotional contrasts and raw lyrics that is almost definitely my favorite song in this musical in the hypothetical reality where it is an actual musical and I didn't write it, because I am me. Probably starts with a couple slower lines of desperate disbelief before launching into wild anger about fuck that fucking whore, followed by what I will be referring to as the everything-is-shit verse (please bear with me), just a general cynicism rant about why the world is a shitty place not worth living in, followed by him wildly fantasizing about killing his infant child. What a delightful human being that I adore. The song ends abruptly, he's standing there staring at her in his arms for a moment, then he silently goes to feed her. On the soundtrack you probably might think he just did it.

Fatherhood (Brian)

A montage song covering the timeskip, which probably reprises [Intro song]. Brian initially has no idea what to do with his new squirming horrorblob child and is convinced he will screw it up the way he tends to screw up everything. Makes a couple of false starts again, but then gains confidence as time passes as he genuinely bonds with Gabriel and legitimately thinks he's a pretty amazing kid. There's a repeated line along the lines of that Gabriel's a weird, weird kid, but he's his, initially in a tone of "oh god I'm responsible for him what do" but towards the end is said with pride and fondness.

[Villain song] (Isaac and Jacob)

A duet between the two brothers, exploring what makes them tick. Isaac is all about this heavy pressure and sense of responsibility, originally imposed by his father, that he continues to impose on himself. He's been appointed to take over leading the family/cult and was raised with that constantly in the back of his mind as his future, and he believes that they're God's true righteous people and he cannot go wrong. He has dreams with some regularity that he interprets as visions from God, as he has been encouraged to since childhood by his father. When he has one about murder, it frightens him but he sees it as basically a divinely-appointed mission.

Jacob privately doesn't really believe any of that. He is trapped in this cult and goes through the motions but is not actually driven by any of the things that are driving Isaac. He's fairly quiet for most of the song - as Isaac is going on about his vision, Jacob has a line here and there obliquely challenging it, but Isaac has an answer for everything, and he doesn't press it, instead moving seamlessly on to suggestions for how he should do it. Jacob gets a quiet variant of part of the everything-is-shit verse from [Dave song], expressing the same kind of cynicism in a more reproachful, apathetic way - all in his own head, of course.

Just Like My Hero (Jean and Will)

Jean sings about how she is just like her hero, Sarah Hooter! Starts off describing how they look the same, moves on from there to how she will torch anyone who's mean, etc., just like her hero. Halfway through, Will joins in, and it becomes a counterpoint duet: Jean may be immature and ridiculous, but he deeply wishes he was confident and adored and nothing would get to him, and he admires and envies that about her. His just like my hero has a bit more of an ironic vibe, he'd hardly properly call her his hero, but he looks up to her more than he'd normally admit nonetheless.

Storming the Castle (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack and Gabriel are playing a D&D game with their friends, arguing about the best course of action. Jack is eager to waltz into the bad guys' fortress, storm the castle, while Gabriel urges lying low, says they're too weak. Jack wants to take the leap and try it; Gabriel insists no, we're not taking the leap, it's stupid. "It's brave!" Jack counters. (In the end, Gabriel gives in and they go ahead with it, and it goes fine.)

Unique (Mia and Lucy)

Mia and Lucy play one of their games. The song is about how Lucy needs someone like Mia to challenge her and let her actually indulge her powers, which are otherwise unsettling to people and she's ashamed and self-conscious about them, while Mia needs someone like Lucy to get a real outlet for her hunter's instinct. The word the lyrics are built around is unique; by being the precise way they are, they are each the only person who can provide this for the other.

Mia doesn't sing. She speaks her lyrics in her usual monotone, not even rhythmically. They also don't rhyme. It's technically a duet but really it's just Lucy singing and Mia talking.

[Peter/Katherine song] (Peter and Katherine)

A counterpoint duet between the siblings, contrasting their experience as Pokémorphs. Peter can pretty easily hide that he's different and be treated mostly as a normal kid, and feels free in his privilege, not confined quite the way the others are, able to be a bit reckless and incautious. Katherine, meanwhile, has a very different experience, being extremely noticeably different, getting stared at, and struggling with basic activities, and feels a huge sense of responsibility weighing her down, worrying about Peter and grounding him and reining him in. There's a lyrical contrast involving something something bird freedom plant rooted down something.

Brian's Death (Isaac and Dave)

This is one of those mostly-instrumental pieces that they include on the soundtrack anyway, but Isaac gets a couple of sung nondiegetic lines in here, a sort of frantic excitement, realizing in a brief panic that he shot the wrong guy before rationalizing that God must have planned it this way.

Dave is probably also in there screaming and attempting to call the police, because I am always in favor of screaming and panicking on musical soundtracks.

The Funeral (Gabriel and Jack)

Begins with Gabriel at the church during the funeral, singing about his vague discomfort being there, but slowly becomes increasingly frantic and anxious, working up to a breakdown where he exits and finally manages to cry for his dad. There's a verse about little things, how they ordered pizza the night before he died, etc., culminating in the bit about him having been in the middle of this mystery novel and never getting to learn who did it; the verse trails off quietly there, backing instruments gone, as Gabriel breaks down. Jack follows to comfort him.

Act II

[Montage song] (everyone)

A montage of the days after the attack, where everyone gets a couple lines about how they're coping, scared and grieving.

Dave's lines are like, spoken slightly too desperate annoyance at having to do some work that Brian didn't get to finish, or rebuking somebody who asks how he's doing by saying he barely even knew Brian. He is not singing along with this kind of grief-porn bullshit, fuck you.

[Villain song II] (Isaac and Jacob)

The brothers come up with a new plan. Isaac is agitated, reprising some of his bits from the original villain song in a quicker, more frantic tempo, while Jacob picks up the slack, walking him through a new idea. Isaac takes to it with conviction and goes back to the original melody/tempo, talking again about his God-given purpose. Jacob does not join in with any of that, only with the bits about the actual plan.

The Kidnapping (instrumental)

I'm just going to say this is on the soundtrack too and contains panicked Gabriel noises because I want it to be.

Storming the Castle Reprise (Jack)

Jack tries to rally the others for a rescue mission, echoing the D&D game from Act I. The lines about storming the castle and taking the leap make a reappearance.

Just Like My Hero Reprise (Jean)

Jean, on the bus, miserably contemplates how she is unlike her hero. Again, it begins with a verse talking about how she looks - not a thing like Sarah Hooter anymore - but then moves on to how she's scared and pathetic and running away, unlike anything a hero would do.

Church Sequence (Will, Jack, Mia)

A single track, largely instrumental/dialogue/sound effects, with a couple of brief song snippets:

- Will reprises "Just Like My Hero" as he wills himself to go on. He is cut off mid-line as he is shot.

- Mia slits that guy's throat and she actually sings a few words, for the first and only time, before she is also cut off mid-line by a gunshot. The line is something about, like, warm blood in her face or the guy's satisfying death throes, reprising part of the melody of "Unique".

Strong (Gabriel)

Gabriel discovers his powers. Starts slowly, calling back to the bits from "Storming the Castle" about lying low, being weak. But as the song continues and he makes his discovery, the tempo builds, and he starts reprising Jack's bits instead: he is strong, taking the leap, storming the castle.

Perish Song (Lucy)

Another brief reprise of "Unique", distorted and deafening and terrifying, mourning her sister.

[In the Hospital] (Jack and Gabriel)

The two of them work out their feelings about what happened. Includes Jack going "It was stupid" (i.e. the rescue mission) and Gabriel responding "It was brave", echoing the bit where they said the opposite in "Storming the Castle". Jack blames himself for how it all turned out, feels stupid and weak, while Gabriel actually felt kind of awesome. (This is also calling back to their opposite bits of "Storming the Castle".) They end with a shared duet verse as they realize they've both got that same innate desire to fight and win. Possibly calls back to the weird, weird kid line from "Fatherhood".

Eulogy (Dave)

Dave's eulogy for Mia (which also touches on Will, but this is Mia's funeral). It reprises "Unique". There will never again be anyone like the two of them, two of the only truly unique people on this Earth. (And, while he doesn't say it straight out because hahahaha, he needed Mia, too).

Taking the Leap (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack's suicide attempt and his swirling inner turmoil as he tries to talk himself into taking the leap once again. Gabriel, of course, comes in with don't take that leap. Am I overusing this one line by putting it in like half the songs in this thing? Well, who's going to stop me.

[Peter/Katherine song reprise] (Peter and Katherine)

The two of them contemplate indefinite house arrest (in contrast to the freedom Peter's enjoyed most of his life) and Katherine's failure to stop all this (despite her sense of responsibility). In the end, they both find their own ways to accept the new state of things and support each other through this.

Finale (Dave and Jean)

After Dave breaks down on his couch and Jean comes in to ask what's wrong, Dave sings a reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, going over the many things he's angry about, because that is the only emotion involved here clearly. At the exact point where Dave's song originally went from there to fantasizing about throwing her off the balcony, Jean throws her arms around him and sniffles "It'll be okay, Dad," and after a stunned "What? Jean, I'm--", he continues with a slow, hesitant *inverted* reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, "Everything'll be fine", constructing a little fantasy reality for her (and himself) where everything turns out all right in the end. It's backed by, like, a simple, quiet, slower piano rendition of the original melody, and trails off at the end, never quite coming to a satisfying conclusion before he tells Jean she should go back to bed.

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Just who is Yin Spirit?

Anyway finally made a Spirit fic 

Cover Here

Ao3 link

Chapter 1: Escape

Spirit has been scared for a long, long time.

Not for forever, because there used to be good times.  Good times were the days spent scampering through the forest and eating anything they could off of bushes and trees, finding out what was good and not while hiding from the predators that could never catch them.  Good times were days following Mom around the Inn, helping mix up medicines and salves and watching as she fixed wounds and illnesses as if they were mere inconveniences rather than life threatening.  Good times were scritches behind their ears, nights curled up on a branch or in a soft bed next to someone who cared, where there was nothing to cause nightmares yet.

But the good times are behind them.

They have been for a long, long time.

But Spirit won’t let that get them down!  They’ve been around for...well, they lost count of the years a while back, because Mom was the one who kept count and they didn’t feel like asking.  They wonder if they’re timeless, if they just keep going because no one has told them to stop.

They’ve told themself to stop plenty of times, but it never sticks.

But they have a day job!  Sure, it doesn’t pay anything, but going around and helping spirits move on is something they think their Mom would be proud of.  One of their eyes, the one their mom helped fix, can spot spirits without any trouble and that makes the job easier.  

It’s the one on the left side of their face.  The lonely one.

They’re good with their blades and they can fight off the occasional mean spirit if they happen to pop in.  They’ve been busier, too, since they can’t rely on mortals to fend for themselves in smaller cases anymore.

Mortals wouldn’t know what to do, because the types of mortals who knew how to fend off spirits, who knew the sigils and magic necessary for self-protection, those died off long ago.  Peacetime breeds lack of preparation; those traditions and that vigilance was lost to time.  A lack of consistent danger leads to laziness.

Spirit isn’t lazy.  There’s always danger.

The job is a bit lonely, though.  Spirit doesn’t interact with humans without a disguise, because monkey demons seem to cause more of a stir than others.  Spirit thinks Monkey King is the reason behind it, but then again, Monkey King has been missing for a while.  And everyone blames Monkey King for everything.  Demons and Gods alike hate him.  Spirit’s pretty sure the name Sun Wukong is banned from being said in the heavenly palace, even.

They duck behind a building and through a secret passageway a few miles out from the nearest city.

They do have a second job, after all.

Bull clones greet them, red eyes glancing over them before moving out of the way so Spirit can enter.  They pass through the very, very lavish halls of the building, down towards the basement.  

Or, well, down towards the workshop.

They can tell Red Son is up in a tizzy, because things get hotter and hotter the deeper they go in.  That usually means that Red Son is upset.  He’s been upset more often lately.

Spirit tries not to think about how it’s probably because Princess Iron Fan has become someone who no longer reminds them of their Mom; rather, she’s more like their other parent.

“Hi Red!” they greet, and Red Son really is in a mood, because he scowls at the nickname.

He’s hunched over his desk, hair wild.  It flickers, whipping around like actual flames rather than the controlled shapes Red Son prides himself in styling, and Red Son’s hands burn the metal tools he holds.  When he flips up his welding mask, there are bags under his eyes, his pupils burning with exhaustion.

Spirit winces at the sight.

“I am Red Son!  Address me as such!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches back a little.  Sometimes Red Son’s shouting is easy to handle and other times they want to curl into a ball until the storm passes.  This is more of the latter.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters, and they mean it.  “I keep forgetting.  You used to be Red Boy, you know?  I get them mixed up, so saying Red makes sure I’m right no matter what!”

Red Son glances over at them and softens.  It’s a secret, but Red Son has always been a little soft.  Soft isn’t what a Princess Iron Fan needs, though, so Red Son has put his heart on the shelf, so to speak.  

It’s admirable.  Spirit knows that as a kid, you have to do a lot to keep your parents happy, or else you won’t be good enough anymore and you’ll have to go.  They hadn’t told Red Son that when they’d met, but they’re glad Red Son learned before anything too drastic happened.  Princess Iron Fan hadn’t seemed like that type of parent when Spirit had first met her, but ever since Demon Bull King was sealed away…

Spirit sees less of Princess Iron Fan every time they visit.  It’s likely for the best.

“You may call me Red in private.  Not in public.  Or around mother,” Red Son acquiesces.

Spirit smiles, warm.

“Thanks Red.” They reach into their pocket, pulling out a mechanical piece.  “And here!  That part you wanted!”

Red Son snatches it from their hands, and they jerk back at the violent motion, a shot of fear jolting up their spine.

“About time!” he snarls, but there’s no heat to it.  Spirit knows Red Son enough to know when the anger is more performative, though they’re still a little wary regardless.

“It took a bit to find, you know.  I was as fast with it as I could be, you know that,” Spirit assures.  They take their favors very seriously, after all.  If they fulfilled it in a less than perfect fashion, it might not count, and if it didn’t count then that would mean that they could get hurt.

“Yes,” Red Son mutters.  “Adequate work.”

“That brings you up to…” Spirit pulls out their nifty favor book, flipping through the pages until they spot Red Son’s name.  “Ten favors!” They tally it down.

Ten favors means Spirit can mess up ten times and not get hurt.  Ten favors means ten degrees of safety, ten layers of protection.  It’s another blanket of relief.

Red Son doesn’t deign that with a reply, setting the part onto the workbench and turning it around.  He measures it out.

“This is more than enough material,” he mutters, glancing over at Spirit questioningly.

Spirit rubs the back of their neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I know you said a specific size, but finding flame resistant, rust resistance, magically reinforced metal in a specific size isn’t easy!  But, I got this lazer thing,” Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls it out.  “It’s tuned to the specific enchantment so you can use it to cut the metal!  And you can keep the extra material!”  They hand it over to Red Son.

Red Son rolls the device around in his hand, before glancing up at Spirit, seemingly unimpressed.

“I thought it was nifty…” Spirit mutters.  They would have thought Red Son would like to have extra material.  He’s always got another invention on the backburner, so more stuff is better, right?  And they brought him a new laser cutter thing!  What’s wrong with that?

Then again, Red Son has been a bit more particular about perfection as of late, so that could be the issue.

Spirit chews on the inside of their cheek and tries to not take it personally.  Why bother, when fighting back will lead to nothing but regret and pain?  They’re not strong, and they know that.  If they were strong, they’d still have four eyes and a mom.  So it’s easier to let it slide off their back than make a fuss.

Even if it does hurt a little.  But that’s fine.

“I suppose it’ll do.” Red Son slides down his welding mask and starts cutting the metal down to size.

Spirit watches, rocking back and forth on their feet, because watching Red Son work is always fun.  They used to watch their mom work, whenever there was a patient, and she’d always ask them to grab this herb or that gauze.  From start to end, Spirit would see their mom fix up any health issue with practiced, simple movements.  Always graceful and soft.

In contrast Red Son is very animated, when he’s in the zone, with sharp, harsh motions and dangerous flames that have them stepping back a few times.  Still, Spirit has been getting a lot of parts for whatever it is Red Son is making, so it almost feels the same.  It’s a wonderful feeling, to be able to help in the creation of something, whether it be a healed patient or...

“What’s all this stuff for?” they ask, because now that they think about it, they were never told.

Red Son freezes, and Spirit takes that reaction as reason for why they weren’t told.  They take another step back, out of the immediate blast zone (last time they checked, Red Son’s explosive temper had a thirty foot radius, with the most dangerous flames being within ten feet of the explosion) and tries not to make a mistake that could cost them.  They have their favors, but those only got so far, and they only have ten!  They can’t lose them.

“If-if it’s okay to ask,” Spirit fumbles, fidgeting.  Their tail curls around their leg, an anxious habit.  “I was just curious on how you’re gonna use all this stuff I’ve been bringing.”

Red Son doesn’t turn, but his posture does loosen ever so slightly. “...Mother wouldn’t want me to tell you,” he does seem a bit apologetic at the refusal.

Spirit gets it.  Princess Iron Fan knows them.  Spirit doesn’t betray, but they’ll do anything for a favor.  And if someone wants information they already have, why wouldn’t they give it away?

“Can I know what you’re making?  You don’t have to tell me how you’re using it, I’m just curious.” They kind of like eavesdropping.  Sometimes, when they finish a job around mortals, they’ll lurk around to pick up the town gossip.  Mortals have a lot to talk about, since they don’t have mortal peril to contend with.

“It’s for a gauntlet,” Red Son admits.  “A glove so powerful that the wearing could lift anything with it!”  

His hair flickers wildly in excitement, voice rising in pitch and volume as he continues.

Spirit “oooo”’s in appreciation, clapping their hands.

“Sounds exciting!” They have a few guesses of what said gauntlet could be used for, but no one tells them to think for a favor, so they keep those thoughts to themself.  “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.  That stuff burns!”

Red Son does not laugh at their joke.  To be fair, they’ve said it about a hundred times in the past thousand years.  Red Son does smile, for a moment, before turning back to his work.

“See you, Red!” They get a wave as they leave, which means they’ve improved Red’s mood a little.

If Red Son is in a good mood, he’ll actually say goodbye, but a wave is far better than when he just ignores their departure.  

They head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the way they came in, and nearly run into Princess Iron Fan in their haste to leave.  Their vision is a little lopsided, one side of their face having one eye and the other having two, so they can miss things if they aren’t paying attention.  It helps if they close one eye to even things out.

“S-Sorry ma’am!” They quickly bow, standing up straight a moment later.  

They usually try to hunch over when they’re around others, since their height can be seen as an intimidation tactic or even a sign of disrespect, for those with big egos, but Princess Iron Fan could never be intimidated by them and to insinuate such would be the real insult.  After all, Princess Iron Fan is the wife to the Demon Bull King.  Clearly, size means little to her.

“Spirit,” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is colder than it has ever been, and Spirit shivers.  “I see you have delivered your latest favor.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spirit nods with a small, what they hope is respectful, smile.  “Do you have any other favors you need me to do?”

The Demon Bull Family has been Spirit’s greatest...well, ally is a bit strong, but Spirit likes them a lot, out of those that typically call for favors.  While Princess Iron Fan has gotten less maternal over the years, she’s never outright mean to Spirit, and they take what they can get.

“No, we’re fine,” Princess Iron Fan waves a hand, before her gaze turns sharp.

Spirit feels their breath catch in their throat and they clasp their hands tight behind their back.  Their tail goes ramrod straight, the tip brushing the floor.

“I’ll ask you once more,” she starts.  “Align yourself with the Demon Bull Clan.  You will have our protection and will be at our disposal.”

Spirit bites back a sigh, because Princess Iron Fan has asked them a few times to join, and they do appreciate the offer, really, but it just is...too much.  Maybe they would have considered the offer more when Princess Iron Fan was nicer, but Spirit has seen the expectations she’s put on Red Son and they don’t have it in them to disappoint another parent.

They don’t know what she’d do, if Spirit failed her, but they know it would hurt.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t align myself with clans.  I’m a free Spirit, so to speak,” they bite back a giggle at the pun.

Princess Iron Fan’s eyes flicker yellow and Spirit wonders if they’re going to have to run, but then she sighs.

“Very well then.  Stay out of town for the next few months.  For...your own safety.  If things go according to plan, then…” Spirit nearly jumps back at the feral smile that graces Princess Iron Fan’s face.  “Things are going to get messy around here.”

Spirit takes a shaky breath, and nods.

“Yes ma’am.  Farewell.” They bow, and then run off.

Jeez.  This is exactly why they keep away from all this stuff.  The Demon Bull Family is scary, and Spirit just wants to dole out favors in peace.

They don’t have any favors in mind on the backburner, and no one has called for them, so they head to the nearest town outside of the one Princess Iron Fan has told them to leave, and decide to clean up the local spirit activity there.

The next few months are relatively uneventful, if only because there’s no new favors for them to spend their time on.  Sometimes there are dry spells.  They once went two years without a favor, and boy, was that a boring couple of years!

It gets really lonely, some days.  They’ll play as a human for a while, intermingling with the mortals who have no clue what spirits haunt them.  

Spirits don’t have to be people, they just have to be things that were alive.  A dead relationship is just as haunting as a person.  Dead hopes, dead wishes, dead family ties, dead lives you’ve left behind—all weights that cling to auras.  

Spirit knows they have plenty themselves.  They’ve lost a lot. It sticks around.

Being around humans is hard nowadays, though.  They used to hang out around humans a lot.  Helping their Mom out in the Inn with patients acclimated them to seeing humans of all shapes and sizes, but then they had to run.  And they never stopped.

Staying around humans brings an itchy feeling that feels too much like grief.  They don’t like remembering how things used to be, because that only ever hurts.  So, when they get too entrenched in the past, they pull away, hide in the forests around the towns.

But they don’t fit in with the wild either.  Far too used to civilization, they can never find a place to stay.  So they wander.

No one can not notice the carnage that happens.  Spirit recognizes Demon Bull King’s aura from miles away, and as the surrounding areas evacuate, Spirit heads towards the danger to investigate.

Normally they’d run away, but whenever they were around Demon Bull King, he seemed nice.  Fluffy and kind and ever worried and furious about his son’s imprisonment, demanding Spirit send word to Red and come back with an update on the boy’s condition.  

Usually, Spirit wouldn’t try to go toe to toe with the Guanyin, but Princess Iron Fan was inconsolable and Demon Bull King had nearly begged.

So they snuck in to give Red Son, then Red Boy, a letter, and Red Son had them send one back.  It was an arrangement made simple, Spirit the messenger.  They wonder if the Guanyin knew the whole time and was just letting them sneak around, but regardless, they gained a rapport with the family.

And then Demon Bull King was sealed away, and Princess Iron Fan was despondent.  Nothing Spirit said could get her to stop crying, and when they’d relayed the news to Red Son he’d begged on his knees for them to sneak him out, so he could help his mother grieve and move on.

That favor was a hard one to decide on.  Again, risking the ire of the Guanyin was not something Spirit was interested in.  They knew what the Guanyin could do—she managed to reign in Sun Wukong and she could keep Red Son imprisoned.  What would she be able to do to them, a monkey with less than a quarter of the power she’d dealt with before?

But Red Son pleaded, and Spirit caved.

Their history with the family makes it hard to be worried about their safety around Demon Bull King returns, but that doesn’t stop Spirit from worrying about Demon Bull King himself.  Being imprisoned for so long is likely unpleasant, and who knows what happened to him underneath the mountain? How has it changed him? It’s not like something like that doesn’t hurt.

They could do without the violence, but Spirit doesn’t try to judge other people’s decisions.  If they were locked up for a while, unable to see their family, they might be upset too.

But Spirit doesn’t really get angry, on the regular.  Anger doesn’t do anyone good.  People getting angry at them has only been bad for Spirit, so the idea of them letting that same anger fester in them so that they hurt someone is ludicrous.  And what would their anger accomplish, anyway?

There’s enough pain in the world.  Spirit doesn’t feel like adding to it.

They sneak around the levelled town, watching Demon Bull King raze the ground, wondering if there are any mortals hurt.  Spirit catches a glimpse of a few spirits wisping around in the rubble, a moment later.  They’re of all ages, some even children, and the sight makes them wince.  None of this is right, mortals shouldn’t be getting hurt like this.  

What did they even do, to deserve the ire of the Demon Bull King?  Anything?  Or is this all meaningless rage, directed at someone weaker, someone who can’t fight back?

A hand, reaching down towards them, grasping them by the neck and pulling them up, up, up.  They kick their legs but their feet touch nothing, and the spoon comes in closer, and it digs, down, down, down—

Spirit takes a breath.  There’s no point in letting the past cling.

They would say something, maybe say hello and distract Demon Bull king from adding the to death toll, but that would just get them killed.  And Spirit has never been the one to step in and save someone. They’ve never been a hero, not when it counts.

Demon Bull King looks neither fluffy nor kind.  It seems that, just like with Princess Iron Fan, time has hardened whatever fluffiness he had.  It was as if the mountain had pressure cooked the lid on his temper, letting the anger boil over into the carnage below. And while the rage may have been….justifiable, almost, it still makes Spirit turn tail and run to the memory of stomping feet and angered roars that never were stopped by their mom’s pleads.

They duck away just as a newcomer arrives, weilding a very identifiable staff.  Spirit doesn’t catch who the newcomer is, exactly, but it has to be Monkey King, right?  Who else could wield the staff?

They scamper off to the sounds of a battle they don’t want to be in the middle of, passing by Red Son on the ground.  The sight makes them slow their escape, stopping to kneel besides him for a brief moment. He groans, hardly conscious, and they place a bottle of healing balm in one of his jacket pockets for later, before they finally make it out of the battle range.

They don’t see how the fight ends, but they know Demon Bull King certainly didn’t win.

Town reconstruction is pretty quick.  They haven’t caught up on all the different technological advancements mortals have managed in a thousand years, but last they checked this sort of damage would have taken years to fix, not just a month.

Mortals are pretty crafty in this day and age.  Spirit doesn’t exactly interact with all the new technology because it all seems to change so fast.  They interact with humans every once in a while, maybe a week at a time every few months, but they watch from the sidelines more often than not.  They’ve been called a wallflower before and it seems fitting.  They like watching the world pass by, and every time they think about joining the parade, the procession is moving too fast for them to feel safe jumping in.

It’s after a few days of scaling the rooftops of the newly rebuilt town, finding the lost spirits, and helping them fade into the underworld, that they get a summons.  Being the wanderer they are, most clans who know of them give them a token of sorts, one that they can use to notify Spirit when said clan is in need of their assistance.  They keep them on hand, hidden in their pocket.  

Sometimes they’ll jump around to hear the different tokens clack against each other.  It’s a fun sound.

They pull out their keychain of many, many tokens, and find the glowing one.

Ah.  The Demon Bull Family.  

Spirit considers ignoring it, but that would likely not end well, considering Demon Bull King’s newly-demonstrated-and-somehow-worse-than-before temper.  So, they sigh, and press the glowing red eyes of the bull token, letting the pull of the call teleport them to where they need to be.

They appear beneath the looming figure of the Demon Bull King, and they quickly bow, before looking up with an anxious smile.

“Hello, sir,” they greet with a tiny wave.  “It’s nice to see you again!  I was pretty sad when I heard you were sealed away, so it’s nice that you’re out.”

They bite their lip, hard, to stop themselves from saying anything else.

Princess Iron Fan is sitting on Demon Bull King’s shoulder, and Red Son is at Demon Bull King’s feet, looking...uncomfortable.  Spirit glances at him and smiles.  Red Son remains stoic, silent, and upset.

It makes them wonder, because they remember Demon Bull King being able to tell if Red Son was in a bad mood just by how he wrote in his letters, always sure to tell Spirit to bring an extra something or other if the latest letter had revealed Red Son’s dour mood.  How Demon Bull King can look at Red Son now and ignore the clear signs of sadness that are written in the red lines beneath Red Son’s eyes, the rage that comes from hurt that paints the tight set of Red Son’s shoulders, the frustration that reads in Red Son’s clenched fists, Spirit doesn’t understand. He sees it, right?

Maybe that’s just the eventuality of parents.  The good ones die, or they stop pretending.

Spirit was hoping that Red Son would look happier after his father returned, instead of scared.  They’d hoped things in the family would have gotten better, with Princess Iron Fan being happier and maybe kinder with her husband back at her side.  But, well….being under a mountain and spat back out into the world thousands of years after is probably quite the culture shock. 

Spirit worries.  Red Son only has two eyes.  Losing one won’t be as easy as it was for them, starting with four. If it comes to that, of course.

“Spirit,” Demon Bull King’s voice rumbles, far darker than it used to be. 

It always had a baritone timber, but now everything is said with an undercurrent of a growl, as if he’s angry before anyone has even done anything.

It reminds Spirit of their father way too much.  But that’s...fine.

“We have another favor to ask of you,” Princess Iron Fan continues for her husband.  “We want you to steal Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit opens their mouth to say yes, of course, as they always do, but then the words sink in, and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“What?” Is what comes out of their mouth, incredulous and terrified.  “No-I can’t-how could I even lift it?  Isn’t it a million pounds?  I thought only Monkey King could wield it!” Their tail wraps so tightly around their leg that it hurts, as they tremble in place and refuse to look Princess Iron Fan nor Demon Bull King in the eye.

Red Son’s face shifts from neutral displeasure to panic, at Spirit’s refusal, before he steps forward.

“The gauntlet you brought materials for will fit you fine,” He holds it out, even as Spirit recoils.  “It gives the wearer the ability to lift Monkey King’s staff.”

Spirit scrambles to argue back, again, because they can’t do this, is everyone here crazy?  Sun Wukong isn’t someone they can sneak around, or talk around, or use a favor around.  He’s a being that has gone up against the Gods, fought them head on, and won.  The only person who could beat him was the Buddha himself, and the Buddha could only seal him away.  Spirit isn’t strong, they’re just crafty and careful, and neither of those things matter when going against the Monkey King.  Even if they managed to grab the staff, Monkey King would catch them before they took two steps away from him.

They’re so dead.  Their hands clutch at their face as they try to control their panicked breathing.  They blink a few times to focus and swing their arms out towards the Demon Bull family as everything bursts out of them.

“I-I can’t fight the Monkey King, though!  He beat you, the Demon Bull King!  I couldn’t even-how could I—” They’re rambling, half terrified they’re going to be killed for saying anything in dissent to the request, but far more paralyzed by the idea of fighting the Monkey King of all people.

Monkey King has not met them and owes them nothing, which is worse than if he hated them and owed them something.  They don’t know what he’d do to them, if they met, but they know that they like being alive.

And fighting Sun Wukong is a good way of making yourself not alive.

“The Monkey King has chosen a successor.  A mortal boy,” Princess Iron Fan explains.  “He’ll be far less skilled, and far easier to overpower.”

Spirit bites back the argument that if that were the case, Demon Bull King would have won when he returned.  Clearly, they’re being used as a pawn, and they don’t mind that usually, because it doesn’t always lead to them being put in the line of fire.  And hey, pawns are pretty useful, right?  They like being useful.  But—

“How old is he?” They have to ask.  It’s important.

“A mortal,” Princess Iron Fan says.  “He could be no older than Red Son, in mortal years.”

Red Son is younger than they are.  Red Son is a kid.

“No.” Their voice is sharp.

Red Son takes a step back, unused to the tone.  Even Princess Iron Fan goes still.  

Spirit doesn’t have a lot of lines in the sand.  They’ll do just about anything for just about anyone.  Just about, though, and they refuse to falter on this.

Ten years old and curled on the ground, clutching their face as their father roared, feeling the emptiness in their skull because he took it, he took it and it hurts—

“I don’t fight kids,” they say.  “I don’t.  The successor has to be a kid, right?  Smaller than Red Son, and Red Son isn’t all adult, right?”

“I am an adult!” Red Son shrieks in outrage, but Spirit has tripped too far into terror to stop talking.

“I’ve been told the mortal brain doesn’t develop until one is twenty five, and Red Son isn’t at that age, right?  Not with the way demons like us age, anyway.  So, I can’t!  I have a rule,” they shrug a little helplessly.

Oh god what are you doing you’re going to get killed shut up stop talking stop stop stop—

“And besides, you think I can beat someone who can go toe to toe with the Demon Bull Family?” they laugh, a little hysterical and shaky.  

Spirit glances up and regret it, because Demon Bull King’s face is dark with rage.  Red Son keeps staring at them like they’re already dead, and Princess Iron Fan’s eyes glow.  They feel very, very small here, shoulders hunched up as they manage something that could be described as a smile if you didn’t know what a smile was.

Useless, Useless.  If you keep messing up, maybe you’ll finally have a normal number of eyes, and wouldn’t that be funny?

“H-hey-I’m not a miracle worker!  But I can give you some information, anyway.  There are a lot of powerful artifacts you could use, I know where they are!” Spirit offers, voice shaking.

They fidget, staring up and waiting for the other shoe to drop.  On them, or in their favor, either way.  They can run anytime.  They wouldn’t get far, they know, but they have to try in that situation, don’t they?

Demon Bull King’s eyes glow, a snarl on his face that curls up his lip to reveal sharp teeth the size of Spirit’s arm.  Spirit trembles, and watches as Princess Iron Fan considers them, eyes glowing as well, before she pats a hand against Demon Bull King’s head and whispers something into his ear.

Spirit expects an axe a moment later, but instead—

“An acceptable proposal,” Princess Iron Fan says, finally.

Spirit manages to stay upright, so relieved they might just pass out.  They won’t be dying today, probably.  That’s good!  Cool.  Nice.  

They’re mad at you.  Can’t you feel it?  You have to run, before they can catch you.  Remember what happened last time?  You can’t expect this to turn out well.  Keep on guard.

They tug on their sleeves, shuffling their feet.  Cool.  

“So, to start, I would suggest the Jade Dragon blade,” they start, without prompting.  “It’s in the manor outside of town.  It’s an ancient blade passed down from the Dragon of the West Sea!  Very powerful.”

They continue to prattle on about any and all artifacts they can think of that would be useful, from the blade all the way up to the weird blue power source locked up in a tomb that no one touches for some reason.

Spirit had gone to check it out, once, but looking at it made their eye, the lonely one without its pair, hurt.  So they left it alone.

They talk for about an hour before they’re relieved, and they nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get out of there.  They run in one direction until their legs burn, and curl into a ball on the ground, trying to breathe.

They said no.  To Demon Bull King.  They can’t just do that, they don’t have that type of power!  That whole fiasco had to have shaved a favor or two of protection off of their tally.  They’ll have to edit that in their book, when their hands stop shaking enough to be able to write.

It’s fine.  It’s fine!  They handled it, like they always do.

They’re going to come after you and take your eyes.  They don’t even need a spoon.  Demon Bull King’s claw will work just fine, it’s large enough.  Or maybe they’ll use one of Red Son’s inventions, to make it more painful.

Spirit fights the urge to scream and buries their face in their knees.  Deep breaths.  

It takes them a few hours to calm down and they meticulously erase two tallies from Demon Bull King’s count.  There’s still five left, they still have room for error, it’s fine.  Sure, the sight makes their stomach churn and they hate to erase, but they have to.  It’s better to know where you stand than to pretend, no matter how scary the truth is.

Satisfied, they tuck the book away and lay back, staring up at the stars.

They should really check out the town, though.  The idea that Sun Wukong of all people has a successor is near ludicrous, but Princess Iron Fan probably wouldn’t lie to them.  Either way, checking it out is imperative, especially since such a newcomer means a possible new client!

If Monkey King has a successor, maybe Spirit can be of assistance, can offer a favor.  Just like with how a favor for Red puts them in the good graces with his parents, the same may be able to be said for Monkey King and his successor.  And if that’s the case, then they’ll stop at nothing to make it so.

Maybe, if they plan this right, Spirit can finally be safe from everyone.

They have to try, right?

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 15

////TW Deceptions of canon typical violence and a home invasion near the end////

“Yea so the pizza is not only aesthetically pleasing but pretty fuckin' good too.”you finish your rant on why the two of you should drive out to Point Pleasant some time.

“Not gonna lie it seems more like you want to,” he pops his knuckles, “drag me miles away to sacrifice me to some old god.” the popping gets worse.

Shit, Toby's getting nervous. You probably look pretty sketchy right now considering the fact that you've been suggesting the two of you go out to Point Pleasant for the past thirty-ish minutes. Toby had pulled off to the shoulder lane once Connor's barking started up. Alerting the two of you to his incoming tics. It seemed to be a long episode so you offered to drive off the interstate and on to the side of the road instead. Hoping that maybe the absence of the additional outside stimulants coming from cars driving past you two would calm Toby's tics.

Unfortunately you'd gotten caught up talking about your late night escapades having been taken by the fact that Toby didn't seem to mind. He'd actually understood that restlessness you went on about. And when he asked what was the furthest town you've driven to in one night. You kind of let loose and spilled your guts about the Mothman capital.

For half an hour, on an offshoot of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, he was trapped with no where to run. Of course the poor guy was probably scared of you at this point. He was just indulging you out of fear not out of any genuine interest.

Why couldn't you just read signals properly?

“No!” from his jump you've probably said that way too loudly, “I mean sorry I get carried away – Mothman's cool – the town is a nice tourist trap and I thought you'd think it was cool – but then I just probably just seemed weird to you and now I just....ughr none of that made sense did it?”

“Weeell” he drags out as thought he's thinking on it “nope none.”

Looking at his face you can see his red stained scarred lips pull into a sort of smirk and there's a glint in his eyes. He's being sarcastic, he's making fun of you. He isn't weirded out by you just being yourself and ranting about nothing in particular or running around in circles with a train of thought only  to get confused or baffled by the workings of your own brain.

The smug dick. Letting you spiral while he watched on in amusement. This reeks of Brian, has his fuck boy energy written all over it. You'll just have to spend more time with Toby to make sure the sweet man next to you doesn't turn into a menace to society. Or at least not a menace to you.

“Meanie.” you blow a raspberry in his direction, he returns the gesture albeit a lot messier than he intended. Spit seeps from the gash in his cheek and dribbles down the scarred edge of his lips.

Toby lets out a grunt and looks down at his spit in disgust. Whether that's in himself or just his spit you can't tell. Leaning over the console you pop open the glove box to hand him some emergency napkins you had in there.

“Fuckin' Mary Poppins.” you hear him mutter over you.

Choosing to ignore his teasing and take the high road in this you hand him the napkins and relax back into your seat. Watching him run the napkin up and down his arms trying to get any spit that may have backfired onto him, which was definitely most of it.

“You good?” you ask.

“Uh yea 's just spit no big deal.” it's such a simple statement but you can't help the smile that it brings to your face.

You meant if he'd be good to drive yet since you two had been out here for the better part of an hour now. It was nearly two in the afternoon. Neither of you anticipated the quick slushy run turning into an all day event. And while you wouldn't mind driving around for two more hours or so – you're quickly coming to the end of your battery.

“Meant to drive, dork.”

“Hmm...Yea should be now,” Toby says wadding up the napkins before spinning in the passenger seat towards you and gently flinging the wad of napkins in your face, “and 'm not a dork. You are.”

Returning his spit used napkin to him, tossing it just a tad harsher than he originally had, “You're right you're a brat!”

You exit the car before he can throw it at you again. Though it really doesn't matter when he just pelts you with it from over the hood when you switch seats anyway. Picking the napkin up off the ground you hold on to it and place it in one of the empty slushy containers sitting in your console.

The mature course of action. However, you do poke your tongue out at Toby as you do it. He only rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh at you.

Toby hovers over the gear shift waiting for either an alert or one of his tics to rear its head. When neither happens he put the car in drive and you two begin your hour and half drive back to Kepler.

Or would've, had it not been for the traffic you seemed to get stuck in not even five minutes after getting back on the interstate.

“You're fucking kidding me.” Toby says incredulously.

After ten minutes of going nowhere, all the while his leg bouncing was shaking the car, Toby abruptly get out of the car and marches to the passenger door flinging it open.

“You're driving.” is all he says.

You don't think there's any talking him out of it. You're good to drive so that isn't the issue, his abruptness about the situation is what stuns you. Wordlessly you get out of the car and take the wheel. Getting buckled in you see from the corner of your eye Toby grabbing you phone and typing away.

He seems to find what he's looking for as static flows through your stereo. The sponsored ads for the white noise “podcast” start playing before fading back into the never ending static. Your phone is placed back under the radio and Toby reclines his seat all the way.

It's tense for a moment as you wait for something else to happen. Whether it's an outburst or an explanation you aren't sure, the anticipation for anything to happen hangs thick in the car. You keep your focus on the road and traffic in front of you figuring Toby will let you know what's up in his own time.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind you as Connor scoots over to his handler to be of assistance. Only for him to be gently waved off. And he goes back to his spot laying down and honing in on you. Since you are currently driving...even though scooting the car up a few inches in the past twenty minutes shouldn't really qualify as driving. Nevertheless the pup remains vigilant in his work.

It's probably an hour or so before Toby finally speaks, breaking the semi silence he put the car in.

“Traffic jams make me anxious.” he doesn't move from his reclined position, just stares up at the ceiling of your car.

A noncommittal hum comes from the back of your throat. You'd assumed it was something to that nature but didn't want to pry. It must be bad if it was something that made him willingly pass the torch of driving, something that also made him wildly uncomfortable.

“Wanna talk – or do you just need silence.”

The answer came in the form of the silence that followed. It was another long hour and a half before the traffic finally cleared. You weren't even aware so many people could be on the interstate going through West Virginia on a Monday afternoon. Since you were at the tail end of the traffic by the time you got to where you assume it started, by the left over debris in the road and fresh skid marks heading into the median, you really couldn't put together what had gone on.

Your eyes didn't focus in on the leftovers of the accident nor did you slow down like many other vehicles. It's not like you enjoy seeing the wreckage of cars or people being lifted into ambulances but you understand most people give in to that base human curiosity. You just hoped everyone involved was safe and okay.

From your peripheral you catch Toby turning his head to face you every few minutes or so. Disregarding it as a tic you continue on driving. While this accident had cleared you don't doubt the power of stupidity to not influence another reckless driver, who might now be late from traffic, to start weaving in between lanes.

“Are we past it?” comes the quietest voice you've ever heard from Toby.

So stunned by the volume it takes you a minute to register what he'd asked.

“Uh...oh yea. We passed it like fourteen minutes ago?” assuming 'it' had been the crash site, though you hadn't been keeping track of time honestly.

No point when the two of you would be getting back to Kepler after dark anyway. You'd ask Toby if he'd want to grab food before you drop him off at the lodge but his continued silence as he fixes his seat up right clues you in that he might not be up for anything other than turning in for the night. Honestly you're at the point yourself, so you don't really mind the silence driving back.

Just like you thought the two of you got into Kepler a little after eight o'clock. Having been stopped by another accident, this one not lasting nearly as long to get situated, had really taken a toll on Toby's mood though. You could practically feel something eating at him as anxiety radiated off his form.

He didn't offer any clarification for his reactions and you didn't pry. Most times when you get a similar way you find it's easier to just let it run it's course than to try and calm yourself. So you're a little surprised when you reach the lodge and  Toby practically volts out of your car, when he gently taps on your window after he's retrieved Connor from behind you.

“Get home safe.”

Those words hit your ears with a bit more weight than they normally do. Maybe because the day's been full of accidents on the road. Or maybe because of the lack of interaction the two of you have had for the past four hours. Whatever the reason it doesn't change how Toby lingers at your side even after your reply. He finally steps away, once again falling silent, and you're able to drive home after a final farewell to him.

The way Toby reacted today never leaves your mind. While theories and ideas toss around in your head you can feel the bubbling weight in your stomach build as cold sweats break out all over your body. Combating the weight in your stomach is its emptiness. Having only eaten the bowl of cereal today and nothing else has left you on empty since you'd gotten into traffic. However, being so preoccupied with Toby's change in behavior you'd forgone food in favor of getting your friend home as soon as possible.

Pausing when you come to the fork in the road making you choose between going straight home and fighting with cooking a meal or running to the mini mart and grabbing something quick and unhealthy. You normally take a bit to decide, but today it seems your gut is telling you to forgo the food and get home. You can't quite place a finger on what you're feeling – not quite fear or anxiety or even paranoia. All of which would be valid considering how weird your afternoon had been. Instead it feels like a little voice is ever so quietly telling you that you should get home immediately.

The voice pipes up again as soon as you gently shut your car door. It seems to warn you that there is danger near by.

'Fuck' is all you can think about as memories of the evidence of your stalker come into play.

It had been so busy lately that you'd honestly forgotten all about the stalker. Hell your bat was still in your room, so you were fucked if your intuition was right about this. You were at least going to be smart about this and pull up the Cowell's home phone contact on your cell before even getting near the front door. If anything happened you'd call and either leave a message or have a concerned Big Jo over instantly.

The house is silent as you open and shut the front door. Not anything new to you but with the tension in the air you're more than certain someone is here with you. Making your way through the house you peer into the kitchen and living room. The coast is clear on those fronts which leaves the hall closet, your bedroom, and the bathroom right across from your room.

Quickly ruling out the closet because of the limited space for a grown adult to hide in. The only options are your bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom that has the door open at all times and would make a great place to hide and ambush you while you went into you room. Or a good place to lock yourself in to call Jo in case they were in your room, you'd just have to be ready to sprint out faster than they could register seeing you. Then there's your room, multiple hiding spots and the baseball bat you'd left in there. Even if they came empty handed they were the one with the weapon right now, you had to be careful.

As you make your way slowly and soundlessly down the hall way you hear a small beep come from your bedroom just as you stand in the doorway of the bathroom. You don't own anything that beeps. This thought causes you to freeze in place all but your thumb which hits the dial button.

Just in time too, because in your stupor a large figure in a black ski mask opens the door to your bedroom. You barely have time to react to the sudden appearance before they come barreling into you. A sharp pain bursts in the back of your head as it collides with the wall that you are tackled into. Phone forgotten, instinctively you bring both hands to your attacker's face.

They may be wearing a ski mask but it will do little to protect their eyes against your nails. Thankfully they have a stupid red frowny face decorating the mask, giving you the perfect target for their eyes. Not expecting your quick reflexes the attacker pulls away slightly trying to get out of your reach, and get your hands off of their mask. They must be worried you'll find out their identity, and while that would be nice you'd enjoy surviving this encounter a lot more. So you continue your assault on your would be assaulter.

A large hand comes down and swoops both of yours in a crushing grip. Harshly yanking them away from their face. Unfortunately for them they'd gotten one of your knees pressed against your chest when they tackled you. With the new distance between your bodies you're able to lift your leg up higher and kick at them.

“Get OFF of me..you piece of SHIT.” more force exerted on certain words while you kicked them solidly in the chest.

Their grip actually gets tighter on your hands as you knock the air out of their lungs. Aside from that and their pained grunts they weren't giving much of a reaction. You'd be certain you weren't kicking hard enough if it wasn't for a cough that ripped through them on a particularly powerful kick to the stomach.

There's a distant warble that you can't make out, it's high pitched and annoying. Good, that irritating sound will only succeed in pissing you off more and enabling you to unleash your rage on the fucker holding you down right now.

Before you can give another blow pain erupts through your chest as it constricts. You can't breathe and you see black dots forming in your vision as you're slammed into the tile floor of your bathroom. There's a foggy feeling in your head, and that distant warble gets more frantic and higher in pitch. But you can't focus on that you can't focus on anything that isn't the merciless thudding in your chest, the pounding of your head, and the god awful static that is starting to burn your ears like a white hot fire.

With the first heavy and heaving breath you're able to take as your assailant presses you into the ground, you feel the rush of adrenaline surge through you. Without any leverage you can do little more  than squirm and thrash under the heavier figure. A brief feeling of vindication showers you as one of your arms is tugged free in your flailing. Your attacker isn't quick enough to restrain you this time and you reach your hand up to their face, this time intent on clawing it up from under the mask. That way some one would know based on the nail marks who did this, and maybe the DNA left under your skin would be enough identify them and save a future would be victim.

God you didn't want to be a victim.

Just before you can hook your fingers into their flesh they are thrown off of you. All adrenaline you had before turns into ice as you stare at their companion. The white mask with painted black features. It hadn't been a hallucination.

They hadn't been a hallucination.

They'd been in your home before. While you were there and blissfully unaware. They'd been so still, so quiet that you'd never even thought they were anything more than a messed up part of your psyche. There isn't enough time to dwell on this feeling of pure terror that spikes through you. But you still freeze in the face of the mask, only to be rewarded with an iron grip locked into your hair pulling you up by the scalp. Then you're bashed against the floor twice.

You honestly hadn't meant to play dead. In your shock it was the only thing you could do to just go limp. That once high pitched warble is now a drawn out moan almost, the static is playing at the edges of your mind as you barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps.

You want to roll onto your back but as nausea hits you at just the thought you stay on your side. Eyes fluttering against your will, this time not a tic but in an attempt to heal your body on it's limited energy reserves. You doubt you'd be able to turn over again if you needed to vomit. Hell you'd be lucky to stay conscious till someone came looking for you.

Would that be in the morning when you don't show up for work? Would it be days from now? Wait did you manage to call the Cowells?

The pounding in your head gets worse with each passing second. You officially can't keep your eyes open anymore. There's no reaction from you when you hear your front door burst open and yelling echo through the empty house. You don't stir from your sleep as someone taps you, not shaking you but just gentle taps careful to not exacerbate your injuries.

When Big Jo got to your home he slammed open your door and had his gun at the ready for your attackers. The house didn't look messed with and nothing was out of place, at least to him he'd only ever been out this far to drop little Jo off once or twice. It was quiet in your home except for a murmuring coming down the hall. So he made his way down slowly, vigilant for any sudden movement if there was anyone other than you here. He'd called your name several times since entering and hadn't received a reply.

As he got closer to the bathroom the murmuring became louder, peering in his heart stopped for a beat. The weathered man has seen a lot of shit in his time but he always hated to see a kid in your condition. Beaten with bruises littering your face and wrists all while being unresponsive as he tried to wake you. The source of the noise became clear when he saw your phone a few feet away slid into the corner away from you.

Dia was still on the line and sobbing now. If that didn't twist the knife that was already speared into his heart. Picking up your phone he spoke with his wife trying to reassure her as he felt for a pulse. You had one, one that was faster than normal. Your body was probably still reeling from what you just went through. But he wasn't a doctor and wouldn't count you out of the woods until one assessed you themself.

Jo wasn't waiting long before he heard the sirens, he went out front to meet the sheriff. After you'd been packed into an ambulance and taken to St. Francis Hospital Jo told Dia so she could meet you there. He'd stuck around while the sheriff and his deputy surveyed the area and came back to him for his statement.

“Looks like we've got most of what we needed Jo...But the kid, they got hallucinations you said?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Why're you asking Zeke?” now wasn't the time to anger the large man as he was barely holding his normal civility.

“Now I don' mean nothin' by it ��� 's jus' tha' well we didn' find any evidence of a break in.”

“You think the kid coulda done that to themself? The marks on their wrists are bigger than their hands!”

“Jo, in some cases people sufferin' from delusions can do all sorts a things ta themselves... 'm just trin' ta find out if we ought ta have 'em kept in the ward for a bit.”

“They're fine. They've told me themself that they only get visual hallucinations and they can differentiate between the two.” a small lie on his part, he knows occasionally a hallucination will grab your attention for longer than it should if that were the case but he'll keep you out of the damn ward for now because this wasn't a hallucination. He had heard the struggle going on between you and someone else.

Right now his top concern was getting to the hospital and meeting up with Dia to make sure your condition was stable. If he had to lie to the sheriff to do it, so be it. Not like he wouldn't enlist his own detail to figure out what went down here. He'd let you stay with them while he contacted Lydia about updating security on her property.

Sheriff Owens didn't put up a fight on this, and said he'd swing by the hospital Wednesday to get your statement on the encounter. With that the sheriff and deputy piled into their car and left. Jo had found your keys still in the door and locked your home, a lot of good it did you but at least this way a bear wouldn't get in before they set up the new system.

Jo got to St. Francis and was greeted by his teary eyed daughter and sobbing wife. Dia really wasn't cut out for any type of violence. He's have to make sure she called her therapist this week for an extra appointment or two just to help her through this. Looking at his daughter he sees the worry in her eyes as she runs to him.

A doctor comes up to the family to inform them of your condition.

“Ah Mr. Cowell good to see you. Mx. LN is responsive right now, and in enough of their right mind to complain that we are keeping them awake.” The doctor pauses with a slight chuckle, “We have them set up with an IV drip that's giving them fluids, their pain meds, and for tonight they'll also have a caloric infusion. They mentioned that they hadn't eaten much today. So to ensure their body has the energy to heal we thought it'd be the best course of action. We're keeping them up for another hour or so before they can sleep and then we'll be keeping them for observation for at least two days.”

“Can we see YN?” little Jo interrupts.

“Unfortunately we believe they wouldn't enjoy that right now. Their injuries aren't extensive but they are quite cranky due to residual pain and hunger.” the doctor says with a smile to little Jo. “Now speaking of their injuries the worst of which is their slight concussion again we're monitoring that and they seem to be very receptive to us right now. And then there's the dislocation of their left shoulder that we've already mended and the various bruising and mental trauma they're likely to retain from the incident your wife has briefly informed us about. We'll give a card for a good therapist to you and one to Mx. LN on their departure. When can we expect the Sheriff coming?”

“Owens said Wednesday.”

“Perfect, then that should be all. If anything changes or we want to keep them longer we'll let you know right away. And Miss Cowell if you come back in the morning we're sure Mx. LN will be much more agreeable company.”

The doctor waits for a moment letting the Cowells have time to process and ask a question or two. But when nothing comes up the doctor turns away to continue their work elsewhere.

And with that the very emotionally exhausted Cowell family go home. With plans to come visit you sometime tomorrow. Big Jo does however makes a few phone calls before going to bed that night. It isn't lost on him that he's already had one employee mysteriously vanish, he doesn't like the thought that she was targeted and your next on some hit list.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

meat!

well that seems like a fairly conclusive response (only one person voted for just candy). you did this to yourselves

Title: soma

Summary: What’s that thing people say about ignorance?

Notes:

This takes into account and is somewhat of a followon to the stuff established in these three remixes of melliferous, so if you’re confused, i am SO sorry. it’s not that much better from this end of things, trust me.

less of an epilogue, more of an addition or maybe a series of vignettes in the melliferous multiverse. because apparently that’s a thing now. this is dubiously canon. take it as you will.

Warnings: for the usual melliferous content – bugs and drugs, death, unreality, body horror, cannibalism. And also corpse desecration, and dismemberment! If any of these even vaguely seem like they might upset you, please turn back now.

For I was hungry, and I ate you. I was thirsty, and I drank you. [sic] – Matthew 25:35

*

i.

“You know what’s bugging me?” Thomas says, millions of cycles into all of this, and two swiftly-downed shot glasses into the last of Lady Seph’s newest round of stock.

“Haha, bugs.” Patton lowers his glass of starfire briefly to give a weak fingergun in Thomas’s direction. “Because – you know, everything’s bugs down here for some reason?”

Logan is halfway to drunk and halfway to dead already. It’s just one of those lifetimes. The fact that’s he’s mostly dust and barely able to hold up his glass does not, however, stop him from theorizing, “You know, it really is entirely possible that they aren’t actually insects, and their carapacian forms are a result of some form of convergent evolution.”

“Stop trying to apply logic to them,” Roman moans. He makes a face and raises a sleeve to his mouth to try to scrub the taste of honey off of his tongue. It lingers strangely, sweetly. “Haven’t you ever heard of willing suspension of disbelief? We’re not meant to understand this.”

Remus is dissolving. But cheerfully. “Yeah, it’s more fun this way!”

“For a certain definition of fun, sure,” is Virgil’s muttered take.

“Or maybe the evolution path was divergent in form. A potential split somewhere along the line, dividing from beings of a celestial persuasion into what we find ourselves as today into insectoid and humanoid, both created in their image...”

“It does appear that God has an inordinate fondness for beetles,” says Janus. “Holistically, that is.”

Thomas frowns. “...Guys, are we having oblique yet resonant Socratic dialogue again?”

“When are we not? Someone check for cameras, I’d hate for this one to go up online, unedited,” Janus replies, somewhat sardonically, and raises his own glass. “Refill, if you would.”

A flurry of flowers, a fluttering of wings, and good old Auntie Seph is back again with another bottle of gods-knows-what. “Y’all ain’t sticking around for long this time, huh?”

“A few more minutes, maybe,” Virgil confirms as she passes by and swishes back into the darkness of the bar to continue her evening rounds. “I think I’m really going off steak at this point, honestly.”

“What were you saying, Thomas?” Roman asks, trying to sit up straighter. “Something bugging you? Something you can’t quite, um – ”

“Bee-lieve?” Patton supplies.

“Sure. Uh. The steak,” Thomas says. “I had some this time, you know? It was...” He struggles for words.

“Delicious,” Virgil says with a grimace.

“Remarkably well-seasoned for something drenched in honey and not much else,” Roman comments, who had also partaken in the steak this time around for some unknown, unknowable reason.

“Human!” Remus crows, teeth flashing white in the dimness of the lowly-lit bar. “Soylent Green is people! Or did I make that joke already...?”

“We all knew it was human flesh, Remus,” Logan sighs, listing even further sideways. “It’s not as if there are any cows down here to harvest the steak from, let alone any other animals. And if you examine the entomology and feeding habits of the American vulture bee – ”

“The humans around here don’t look very, um. Meaty,” Thomas says. “Just saying. It’s – they’re – ”

“Hollow? They would be,” Janus points out. “In case you haven’t noticed, the bees are sucking them dry. They’re all essentially husks.”

“So where does she get the steak from?” Thomas asks again, and nobody has an answer for them, most likely because they’re all far too busy shrivelling away into the darkness.

“Oh, never mind,” Patton yawns. “We’re dead anyway. What does it matter?”

“...Good point. I’ll work it out next time.” Thomas studies the bar with bleary eyes. The faded photographs and portraits on the walls, the legions of shades drinking in their usual solemn silence. “So where do you go when you die if you’re already in hell?”

“Hell 2,” Remus suggests, slumping against the bar, “This Time With More Capitalism.”

“Not too loud, you’ll give my wife ideas,” Seph tells them from across the bar, and raises her glass to them. A farewell toast. “And don’t you think too hard about the steak thing. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.”

And then it’s dust to dust, and the wheel begins to turn again.  

*

ii.

The party’s in full swing when Virgil says to Thomas, quite frankly, “I hate parties.”

The lights are bright above them. The air is fresh with the birth of spring, and the music is loud and ringing through the air like a hailing chorus fit for the arrival of a queen.

Thomas clears his throat after a moment. “Okay, not that I don’t appreciate the commentary... but, uh, Virge-?”

“I’m here because you’re anxious,” Virgil supplies, folding his arms and resting his head on top of them. “Parties, man. Just stay home and browse Netflix for the millionth time, why don’t you?”

“It’s good for me to get out, and also, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be here for me to be anxious. It happens anyway. That wasn’t what I was going to ask.” He rests his hand on a nearby tree and watches Logan and Patton attempting to reconcile their two extremely different ideas of ‘dancing’, on the fly, on the dance floor. “...Why are you sitting on my shoulders?”

“I like being tall,” replies Virgil.

“Hm,” says Thomas. “Okay, fair enough.”

Janus is over in the far corner chatting with the grinning man; the one with the hat and the constantly-in-motion wings and the laugh like the rattling of a lock clicking open. They’re talking about car chases and unlikely escapes and flights into the night, they’re comparing false identities and secrets they’ve never told anyone else; they’re lying wildly to each other.

On top of a table of cakes and sweetmeats piled high to the heavens, Remus perches and engages in deep, fascinated conversation with a lady whose crystal-cut eyes shine in the bright sunlight. They speak of rot, of rebirth, of blazing heat and screaming cold.  Her wings are familiar. Nothing else about her is. That’s another story, though, one to be told later.

“Well, this is new,” says Seph, sauntering over. A crooked flower crown rests in her hair with all the colors of spring, and the wine glass her long spindly fingers are curled securely around seems to be filled with actual proper honest-to-god wine. Her eyes are bright, her coat is long, her wings are radiant. “Now, what brings a scattered disaster of a man like you to a party like this?”

Thomas blinks. Virgil’s arms, looped loosely around the top of his head, tighten. “I’m... sorry, do I know you?”

“In a roundabout sort of way, maybe,” she replies, and swirls the wine before slurping it up with that long, long tongue of hers. “Lady of the spring, at your service. You here by invite, or-?”

“Hey, I can’t actually remember how we got here,” Virgil mutters into Thomas’s hair.

Thomas hovers, suddenly extremely worried. “Should I. Like. Leave?”

“Not a worry. The blooming of spring is a party for everyone,” she says wisely, and then grins wide and sharp and tosses her empty glass to one side, where it shatters into crystal shards and light. “‘Specially me. Even if I’m late. ‘Specially if I’m late. Have you tried the food? It’s to die for, and for once ya don’t even have to die to eat it!”

“...Is this a fairy ring?” Virgil says suspiciously, peering down at her from his perch on Thomas’shoulders. “You legally have to tell us if it’s a fairy ring, otherwise it’s entrapment.”

Seph laughs. “Naw. Different story, that. Don’t worry too much about the details, just have fun – it ain’t gonna last for very long.” She adjusts the flowers adorning her head, tucking chrysanthemum blooms back to stop them falling over her eyes, and extends a hand in Thomas’s direction. Her long fingers wiggle; an invitation. “Here, come on and dance, kiddo, while we’ve still got the time.”

Virgil sighs and complains but gets down from Thomas’s shoulders with a catlike tumble that leaves him crouched on the ground, and he claps Thomas on the shoulder before going to join Remus.

Seph isn’t any threat. Not here, not to them. She’s a friend, in a roundabout sort of way.

“All right,” says Thomas. “So, let’s dance.”

The music blares, rising with brass and percussion and strings struck with purpose and energy both. Out onto the dance floor with them, and into the fray. Seph dances like she drinks – careless and wild; sloppy but purposeful. She whirls them around, cackling in time with the music-from-nowhere, kicking up her heels in the dirt. She’s a different person entirely, up here, full of light and laughter and a kind of rusted-and-rough love for everything around her.

Thomas lets her lead and lets her swing and swirl him around in mad spirals, wild and free as a honeybee in a summertime frame of mind. They laugh and yell and stomp and he thinks he might have started to sing along at some point, although there’s no earthly way he should know the words.

“But what about the steak?” Thomas asks as she pulls away and he stumbles back, dizzy and high on the thrill of life.

“What about the steak?” she replies, and there’s another glass of wine in her hand already. “Don’t you know what they say about ignorance? See you when winter comes around, sugar. Let’s hope we get it right this time, hey?”

*

iii.

Virgil sits and goes at it with a fork-and-knife, breaking the steak up into bite-sized chunks. It’s tough and he has to saw a bit to cut through. Juices bubble and spill across his plate, honey pooling in concentric little patterns. The centre of it is red-rare; just like he likes. He spears a chunk with his fork, and holds it to his lips.

He doesn’t take a bite.

He says, “I don’t get why we have to do this.”

Remus says, “Sure you do, it’s what we do every time. I say ‘funny how it doesn’t feel like much of a choice at all’, and you say – ”

“This is some sort of cycle, isn’t it? Some kind of loop.”

“Uh, no?” Remus puts down his steak. (He doesn’t bother using the knife. His hands are sticky with honey and meat-juice. Although the honey is a kind of meat-juice too, if you think about it.) “You’ve never said that before. Usually it’s something sardonic to hide the fact that’s you’re extremely freaked out.”

“Remus,” says Virgil thoughtfully, still staring at his fork.

“Mm?”

“How often are you aware of the fact that we’re stuck in some kind of horrible time loop cycle?”

“Oh, only when it’s funny,” says Remus, and tears off a long, thick strip of meat from his meal with his back teeth.

“Right,” says Virgil. “Right, okay.” He pauses. “So, have we figured out where the steak comes from yet, or..?”

“Shh,” says Remus, sloppily raising a filthy-sweet finger to Virgil’s lips. “Don’t spoil the moment, Great Skittish Bake-Off. I never get invited over for family dinner, this is a novelty.”

“Gosh, I wonder why,” Virgil mutters, but shuts up and eats his damned steak like a good little cog in the machine.

*

iv.

“Okay, here’s another question,” Thomas says, tossing a stone into the Styx. It doesn’t make a sound, mainly because an infinite number maggots don’t tend to have much surface tension to break. “When you all went and decided ‘right, time to go get Thomas back from being extremely dead’...”

“Mm?” says Janus, sorting through their makeshift tacklebox with an absent look on his face.

“...Do you want to explain why your first thought was let's go to hell?”

Patton acquires an extremely shifty look on his face, and doesn’t reply. Instead, he casts his fishing line high and wide, and nods approvingly as the hook and lure and end of the line disappear into the seething mass of maggots.

“What are you even fishing for,” Virgil complains, trying to smudge excess honey off his clothes. “More maggots? It’s not like there’s any fish in that whole mess.”

“You don’t know that,” insists Patton, stubbornly optimistic. “There might be fish.”

“Dead fish, maybe,” Logan says dryly.

“Guys, no, seriously. What specifically did I do to make you think I was in hell. I mean, you weren’t wrong, but I – I really desperately need to know your reasoning, come on, don’t just – ”

Remus lies on his stomach several distance away. He’s also fishing, but he’s doing it with his bare hands. Which doesn’t seem very safe or sanitary, but stopping him would probably be more trouble than it’s worth. “Maybe he’s fishing for the steak,” he suggests.

“That’s even more unlikely than the fish,” Roman replies, snorting.

“Eh. ‘Bout as likely as anything that goes on down here.” Remus makes a wild swipe into the river and comes up with a bloody fistful of maggots. “Just saying. Maybe that’s how she gets her hands on the meat. She dredges through the river and pulls out the people that fell in and fries them all up for dinner, sweet and hot.”

“If the maggots don’t get to them first,” Virgil points out.

Remus holds up his hand obligingly, letting everyone see that his fistful of maggots are currently going absolutely to town on the meat of his hand. Bone is gleaming through the raw-hamburger mess of red and more red.

“I thought maggots only went for dead flesh,” Patton hums, and jolts as his fishing rod jerks and bends, straining against some pressure on the other end of the rod.

“Patton,” says Thomas glumly, having resigned himself to the fact that nobody at all is planning to answer his extremely pertinent and important question, “I have to break this to you, I really do, but we are all extremely dead.”

“Oh, yeah,” Patton says, reeling in his catch. “Ha! I keep forgetting about that, would you believe it? Now, I wonder what I caught...”

The catch is maggots. It’s all maggots, down there. Some are much livelier than others, but still maggots. Not that any of that’s going to stop Patton, though. What’s that thing people tend to say about hope?

*

v.

Back straight, hands clasped, chair pulled up tight as it can go to the lip of the kitchen table. His leg jitters on the underside of the table, his nervousness invisible in the darkness.

“I just want to see,” Thomas says.

Missus Hades hums lowly to herself, before raising her cigarette up and away, letting the smoke peel off towards the dark ceiling tiles. The lights buzz, or maybe that’s the bees. “You really won’t like what you find, you know.”

“Let me guess,” says Virgil, pressed up tight in the corner like he’s trying to melt into Thomas’s side. “We never do.”

“Don’t know about that,” she says. “Far as I’m aware, you’ve never asked. I just know you’re really not going to like it.”

The smoke doesn’t smell scratchy and musty in the way that Thomas expects cigarette-smoke to smell. It’s like a bonfire. Maybe a bit floral. A hint of nostalgia to it.

“We’ve been doing this for so long,” Logan says. The lighting in here does weird things to his glasses, makes them all honey-red-shiny and alien. He doesn’t come in here often, never has. “If it doesn’t impact us, surely there’s no harm in telling us. And if it does, we really would like to know.”

Missus Hades leans sideways, bends down to skritch-scratch one of her larger-than-average pets behind its ears, or where its ears would be. They seem to enjoy it, at the very least. Her smile is sideways and strange and barely genuine. “Now what’s that they say about curiosity, again?”

“There’s no cats down here,” Roman points out. “Just bees.”

“An unholy amount of bees,” Janus mutters, shifting back into the shadows. He never seems to like Hades’s house. Not that any of them do, but – well.

“Fine,” says Hades, and stubs out her cigarette, crushing it under the heel of one shining chitinous hand. “Now, follow me, and don’t you go and say I didn’t warn you.”

You’d think that the layout of Missus Hades’s house would be simple, looking at it from the outside. But two hallways down and two stairways up and three right turns (and not necessarily in that order, either) and none of them could even begin to recall how to get to where they’re going.

It’s in the middle of a hallway like any other, in fact. Just another room in a house far too vast for one person to live in alone. Looks like she and her wife haven’t quite fixed things up properly, not this time around, but oh well. There’s always time and there’s always next time.

The door is locked and the door is solid metal. Not a lot of metal down here, come to think of it, not in the buildings. It’s just for the garden gates and the deadbolts, and anything made to keep people out.

Hades fishes for keys in the deep thick pockets of her long skirts. Thomas watches, and so do everyone else. They’re all here, which is nice – it doesn’t happen all the time, but it’s better when they’re all together.

“All right,” says Hades, and the door unlocks with a click. She pushes it open, flicks on the lights, and steps back.

It’s clean; almost obsessively tidy. The knives are sharp and shiny, the equipment not new but definitely well-maintained. The butcher knows what she’s doing. It would almost be pristine if it weren’t for the bloodied countertop and the source of the meat, which is –

Thomas takes an instinctive step back.

There is a pile of him on the ground, in various states of decay and dismemberment.

He recognizes the shirts, even. Lots of flowers. He’s always liked the flower shirts. His gaze travels sideways, to the countertop where a new steak is being prepared.

Oh. All right.

Okay.

“I really don’t know what I expected,” Thomas says.

Hades shrugs; the shifting of a mountain. Her face is impassive, although she seems to be watching him closely. “Neither do I, if I’m completely honest.”

Virgil says, “I’m going to go throw up now,” and does. He at least goes to do it outside, which is kind of him. The smells’ awful enough in here as it is.  

“I’ve heard of eating your heart out, but...” Patton trails off, and winces, going pale. “...Nevermind. I’m going to go join Virgil.”

“Well, hey,” says Remus. “It kind of makes sense. You are what you eat, you know?”

“Remus,” says Logan flatly. “Please shut up.”

“You don’t like me much, do you?” Thomas asks.

Hades tilts her head; her version of a startled blink. She sounds genuinely confused when she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You are repeatedly carving up Thomas’s lifeless remains to serve to variations on his personality as a last meal,” Logan summarizes, rather succinctly – his steady voice a neat counterpoint to the whiteness of his knuckles and the faint trembling of his lips. “Are you telling me that is how you treat people you hold any sort of affection for?”

“You were hungry,” comes the reply. “I never forced you to eat, only served you the meal. Why for the love of all things above and below would that mean I hold any sort of animosity towards you? I don’t not like you, Thomas Sanders. And trust me, if I disliked you, you’d know about it.”

Logan stares at her for a long, long moment, and then turns on his heel and walks out of the room as fast as he can.

After a moment, Roman follows, not even saying a word.

Janus takes Thomas’s arm, and steers him out of the butchery. “Next time, let’s pick something other than the steak to fixate on, hm?” he says, voice entirely too calm.

“Hm, I’ll drink to that,” Thomas agrees, letting himself be steered. “And drink. And drink. And keep on drinking. Hey, let’s go to Seph’s right now; I feel like developing a major alcohol dependency for the sake of my own mental health. Who’s with me?”

They pretty much all are, not that it matters. This time around is going to be over soon enough, just like the others, and it really is completely up to chance whether any of them will remember this, or will remember it in time, or will even care.

Hades, alone in the butcher’s room, picks up a clean knife. She weighs it from side to side, thoughtful. She doesn’t exactly understand all the fuss – meat is meat, after all, no matter where it comes from. She doesn’t regret sharing the information, only that her wife may be upset by the fallout.

She’s wearing her nice clothes, and she never likes staining the gold and white – it’s absolute hell to get out, and she of all people knows that’s not an exaggeration – so she replaces the knife and casts one last glance around the room before turning and stepping out with the shift shift shift of moving fabric and the gentle clik-clak of boots on marble floor.

The light clicks off.

The smell of meat lingers.

*

[emeraldeyes23]

Fictober/Fantober2020 - Day 5 - Sleepover

"I've never done that before. A sleepover, I mean."

Those innocent words made everyone at Eiji's table stare at him in utter disbelief, gaping at him. Seeing all the eyes on him, Eiji wondered what he had done wrong, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his hoody while looking down at his now empty plate.

Eiji had just arrived at the school a few months ago and still had some trouble adjusting to a big city like New York. He had come here a few months ago with his uncle from a small town in Japan because this school offered a special art wing, and he had gotten a scholarship.

Despite his hard accent in English, he had found friends pretty quickly. He had met Shorter when Arthur wanted to bully him and Ash because he had to work on a school project in chemistry with him. Shorter had immediately asked him to join them for lunch. That way, he got to know Skip, too, because Ash looked out for him like a big brother. And Sing was friends with Shorter and was always around, too. Sometimes Bones and Kong joined them since Ash was tutoring them.

It had all started when they were all having lunch in the cafeteria, and Shorter had asked them what their plans for the weekend looked like.

"Reading and sleeping.", Ash said while trying to eat and read simultaneously.

"God, you're so boring. Why am I friends with a nerd like you again?", Shorter complained to him.

"Because you need me to copy my excellent homework or to change our grades by hacking into the school server."

When Eiji looked at him, completely shocked by that revelation, Shorter assured him it had been a joke. But judging by the mischief in Ash's eyes, he wasn't so sure. He was undoubtedly brilliant enough to pull it off.

"And because I constantly talk you out of all your crazy ideas. Or blame Arthur for them if they fail.", he added, a smug look on his face.

Shorter grinned. "Ok, I admit that the last part is true."

Then he asked the others for their plans. When Eiji mentioned on the side that his uncle would go on the business trip for the weekend, he put an arm around Eiji's shoulder.

"Is that so? You know what that means, right?"

"No.", Eiji asked innocently, "What does that mean?"

"Sleepover.", Shorter smiled mischievously while looking around.

"A sleepover? Seriously? How old are you, ten?", Ash scolded him without looking up from his book. "Count me out. I'm too old and too smart for that."

Everything else was really excited at the idea. Their exams had been a week ago, so they had more free-time now as Sing reminded them excitedly.

"I love sleepovers!" Skip exclaimed happily with shining eyes.

"Of course, you do.", Ash replied in a softer tone. "That's because you ARE ten years old." He finally put his book away. "You're supposed to love them."

Eiji was silent for a moment, trying to keep up with their conversation. Then, he looked nervously at them. "What's a sleepover? I've never done that before."

Everyone looked at him, completely astonished, their jaws practically hitting the floor.

"Never?", Shorter gasped out in surprise, recovering first. Eiji shook his head but kept quiet. He was anxious that he had said something wrong or weird. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that so openly. Even so, he was so miserable at lying...

Ash looked at him, a half-smile escaping his lips. "Wasn't your last school a boarding school, Eiji?", asked Ash, suddenly curious. "I thought you told us something like that when you introduced yourself to our class." When Eiji nodded, he continued. "A sleepover means a friend or more stay overnight at another friend's house." Eiji smiled at him, relieved that Ash had come to his help. There were many rumors about Ash circulating. From being a criminal killing his parents for money to him being a pure genius. Eiji didn't listen to any of them since rumors were rarely true. Ash kept mostly to himself, and he had an intense glare and a confident stance that scared many students. Eiji, however, was convinced that his tough-guy-act was just covering up his pain and suffering. One time, he had been looking for Ash and had finally found him on the rooftop. Ash hadn't noticed him at once. It was at that moment that he had seen a hurting teenager and eyes that cried out in pain and reflected such loneliness it broke his heart. That's when he decided to learn more about him. While working with him on the group project, Ash had slowly opened up to him, and they had grown closer. Still, Ash still kept mostly to himself and preferred reading books in the library to conversations with other students. Shorter, however, was an exception. Ash was more talkative and relaxed around him. He always tried to force Ash into social gatherings and told Eiji he would turn him into a decent and social human being one day. "Since Eiji went to a boarding school, he lived at the school. Therefore, it makes sense that he has never done anything like that.", he lectured the others. "Thank you for the lesson, Professor Callenreese." Shorter took the glasses from Ash's head and put them on, then mocked him by mimicking his voice perfectly. The others burst out laughing while Ash's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, glaring at him. "Give them back! Now, Shorter!", Ash exclaimed furiously, eyes burning wildly. Shorter held them away from him, completely unfazed by his death glare, so Ash grabbed the sunglasses tucked on the collar of his shirt and took those instead. "They look better on me, anyway.", he said, putting them on and peering over the edges of his sunglasses in self-satisfaction. "Fine, you win." Shorter gave in, and they switched their glasses. "Anyway, Eiji, you wanna do a sleepover? At your house, of course. Your uncle won't mind, will he?" "No, I'm sure it's fine. I'll tell him later. That sounds great!" Then he turned to Ash, a bit flustered about the question he was going to ask him. "You really won't come? I was hoping you'd be there as well." He nervously fumbled with some brown strands, trying to remove them from his face, but they always fell back into place.  The others grinned, watching the conversation with open curiosity, all staring at Ash. They had probably noticed by now that he liked spending time with Ash. He had no poker face, after all. Ash sighed deeply, then smiled a little. "If you want me to be there, I'll come. I can't leave you alone with this group of monkeys, after all.", he replied, winking at him. Eiji felt his cheeks burn up when he smiled at him. "Thanks, Ash."                                                      _____________ When they arrived at his apartment, they first made some pizza together. That had been his idea and was a lot of fun, especially for the younger Skip. After they had eaten, they played a few games until Skip had fallen asleep before sneaking into the other room to watch a horror movie. When Eiji heard that, he grew nervous. He was a scaredy-cat when it came to horror movies and flinched at every little sound and movement. He wondered if it would be alright. They grabbed some snacks and drinks Ash had brought with him and sat down at the living room after Shorter had some put in a DVD and had switched out the light. Shorter and Sing sat down at one couch while Ash and Eiji took the other one. Eiji sat there frozen up and didn't dare to move. He could feel A

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Egg Meeting 3/14/2021

Alastor visits Valera on Okkylk to “meet” an egg! An egg which hasn’t been laid yet, but like, it buzzes in magic static that Radio Demons can detect, so it’s still an interesting thing to meet if you’re an Alastor.

Alastor and Valera spend way too much time talking about the weird magical interdimensional tricks that Valera’s species can do because at one point Valera went “Alastor mentioned some of his occult experiences and I have decided I will be polite and NOT ask him about them” while Alastor went “Valera mentioned some of their occult experiences and they’re absolutely fascinating so I’m going to crack open my little grimoire and ASK A HUNDRED QUESTIONS and TAKE LOTS OF NOTES.”

He also somehow finagles himself into maybe being a fake-uncle, making the short list for a hypothetical godparent position, and definitely being the official Nightmare PTA Representative at any future school functions.

They also ended up following up on this conversation and it was awful and nobody enjoyed it.

(Starts as semi-OOC chatter and then segues into fully IC)

Alastor

SHOW HIM HIS FUTURE FAUX-NIBLING

Valera

He can meet Eelizzy the spectacular staticy egg

dazzler of, as of now, 100% of the people who've met this literal fetus in an egg in someone's goddamn stomach

Alastor

It’s definitely a lot louder than he generally expects eggs to be. Not, like, *audibly* loud. But still loud.

Valera

it is the sensation of like. those old tvs. the kind of fuzzy when you run your hands in the air right over the glass

Alastor

That’s a good stim

Valera

It's a GOOD STIM and now Val has just accepted that people are going to want to skim their hands over her stomach every time Egg goes brrrr

Alastor

He only does it for a couple of seconds before he’s like what the *fuck* am I doing that is somebody’s belly and stops himself and apologizes, how very rude of him

(But once the egg is laid all bets are off)

Valera

That egg is gonna get so much touching.

Alastor

Everyone with their hands over this egg like it’s the dead of winter and the egg is the only fireplace for miles

Valera

If eelizzy didn't want that she should have thought about it before she decided to be a stim

Egg buzzes rhythmically to music, and the lil beanie baby of A Child inside will kinda wiggle to the beat, which right now Val feels as a vague shifting of weight.

This thing has been exposed to music since it was conceived, it's too late for her

Alastor

Alastor will absolutely play some music for this egg to hear it buzz along

He’s like “You know my mother told me that when she was carrying me, a ghost would come to her and sing for me! She stopped hearing him when I was born. I don’t think I buzzed, though.” And then goes back to playing music like this is a totally normal fact to share out of the blue.

Valera

That's a very normal and not at all weird thing to tell someone. Yep. Fun little factoid to share with a friend.

Val just has to accept this as a new thing they know!!! "Well, hopefully I won't stop hearing you when Elizzy is born! I'm not too bad at charades, but it *would* complicate things."

Alastor

“Well, you could hear me just fine before then, so it’s probably fine!

Valera

Alastor sure had a WEIRD LIFE and Val is NOT SURE what to make of the snippets they heard. Humans aren't usually so Aware

Alastor

:) a special boy

Valera

On one hand, they almost want to *congratulate* him, on the other, did he get robbed of a normal childhood??? Should they offer condolences??? Help.

Alastor

:) :)

Valera

It worked out for him at least but at what cost....

Val doesn't actually know anything about his home life growing up! Like did he have a dad in the picture? Match and Leal didn't, but This guy has Surprised Her Before

Alastor

:) :) :)

Does Val ask or just Wonder?

Valera

They're still anxious about Alastor getting the wrong idea from them asking questions so they would Not ask.

They kept scwunching at the rehearsal because Leal was sitting with their main body patting them and singing in french to Soothe Their Dumb Ass

Alastor

So he just shares a weird-ass anecdote and then they marinate in the moment. Delightfully awkward

Valera

YEP

A little quip and then several seconds of dead air while Val goes on a face journey.

valera, wildly overthinking the second she doesn't have someone literally or figuratively holding her hand through a Social Interaction With Someone She Is Unsure Of Boundaries With

alastor: I was a haunted baby.

val: ..................... cool

Alastor

Alastor: and now I’m haunting YOUR baby! Haha isn’t that fun

Valera

Valera: A proud and noble tradition of baby haunting. Can't wait to see who she decides to haunt later in life.

Alastor

Alastor: ......... Do Veci have ghosts when they die?

He doesn’t know how Veci work, just that afterlives are something that happens to other people

Valera

Val: Nope, when we die for good our gods destroy our souls and recycle them. Unless you're an Autocrat, then you're turned into one of their little puppets used to enact their divine will and guide the next Autocrat. She'll have to find a mortal soul to haunt as a spirit.

Veci who die get put into the soul blender to get recycled for fresh soul meat

Alastor

Alastor: Pity. Environmentally friendly, I suppose.

Alastor: We just get thrown in the landfill and once a year a bunch of us get scooped into the trash compactor.

Valera

val: It's efficient! Kinda gross though, being made of the ground meat of souls. At least I get to look forward to a continued existence as some fucked up angel analog when someone makes me bite it someday. Wonder if I'll still recognize my kids?

Pat pat belly.

Alastor

Alastor: Can you ask your puppet predecessor?

Valera

val: I could try! He did have a daughter who's still alive, maybe if I made him manifest around her I'd get a reaction.

Alastor

Alastor: For her sake, I hope he does! Can’t imagine how awful it’d be if he didn’t! Although I don’t know how close you folks are to your ancestors. Even on Earth it varies.

Valera

val: Oh, very close! There are rooms in the Reppetto Compound still left exactly as the old owners left them when they died *hundreds* of years ago. There's never been a reason to clear them out, so we don't. I visit them occasionally, pay my respects. That's just the Veci though, I think the other species are much more practical.

Alastor

Alastor: ... And yet most of your ancestors get... “recycled.” They’re no longer around to visit the rooms left for them. That *is* a pity.

Alastor: Do Veci ever recognize shreds of their loved ones in their reincarnations?

Valera

val: Yes! It isn't unheard of for lovers to find each other again through old fragments, or a son to find that his child tugs at his soul to remind him of a dearly departed mother. Plenty of people recognize parts of me, some more strongly than others. Shreds tend to find their way back to their families. Sons, daughters, if you've experienced a loss you may find some glimmer of that person again in a generation or two.

Alastor

Alastor: Hm. Not quite gone forever, then. That’s good—the alternative is just too depressing, isn’t it!

Valera

val: Indeed! Full on reincarnation has even happened a few times, though the odds are, obviously, *incredibly* slim. We did have one guy though, who got reincarnated *three times in a row*. He's still alive, I've met him. Absolutely off the shits, never met someone less sane.

Alastor

Alastor: Hah! Is madness a prerequisite or side-effect to full blown reincarnation?

Valera

val: A side effect, I imagine! That would probably mean remembering getting your essence shredded and then falling back together. He likes to say he's "all there but the mind". What about you though? Was your culture close to your ancestors?

Alastor

Alastor: One side closer than the other. Some humans reincarnate, I’m given to understand, but where I’m from once you’re ejected from your body you tend not to get a replacement. Some stick around, most move on to one afterlife or another—and at that point you mainly reach them through long-distance calls, spiritually speaking. They’re still *there,* but... not on the same *level* that we are.

Alastor: It’s a trade off, I suppose—no reincarnation means no way to see them in the flesh again, but on the other hand they’re always *themselves*—they never become somebody different.

Valera

val: That.. Is very alien, to me. But I don't dislike the concept. Preserved in time, an individual forever, able to be reached but not touched. I guess, for us, since we live such a long time... We get a lot of time with people. By the time they leave us, they've usually said all they'd ever want to. If they pop up again it's just a nice surprise.

Alastor

Alastor: We seem to only get enough time to figure out what we're doing and pass on a fraction of our tricks to the next generation or two, and then we're gone and our descendants have to bumble around just like we did! Maybe we need ghosts more.

Valera

val: Sounds like you need more haunted babies to me, Alastor.

Alastor

Alastor: Why, are there any others around for me to haunt?

Alastor: anyway, I wouldn't make a very good ancestor, considering my distinct lack of descendants.

Valera

val: Just pick a baby and declare yourself part of their life! Step-Ancestor them before they can blink!

val: In all seriousness, Leal's already conceded the title of uncle to you despite you not even asking for it, I think you can figure something out.

Alastor

Alastor: I— Has he?

Alastor: Well—I was about to get all presumptuous and commandeer it myself, but—er. Good. Thank you. Him.

Valera

Val: He has indeed. As he puts it, you were here first, and you're Penny's best friend so *obviously* the role of honorary uncle should be yours. If sinners did godparents, I'm sure he'd ask you to be hers. Or I assume as much!

Alastor

Alastor: ... oh. Well. I'd hoped, actually...

Awkward shuffle.

Alastor: ... I mean, a child can have more than one uncle.

Valera

val: What had you hoped, Alastor? I won't laugh or anything, I just need you to be clear with me.

Alastor

Alastor: ... to be that.

Valera

val: What, to be an uncle? Or a godparent?

Alastor

Alastor: I'm not picky about the term. Someone close enough to matter. Uncle, probably, I suppose. I don't know what a damned sinner would do as a godparent—but I wouldn't turn it down.

Valera

A thoughtful look.

val: I'd love to have you be an important part of my child's life, Alastor. Though, from what I *understand* of modern human customs, a non-religious godparent usually just means that if the parents die, the godparent steps in to either raise the kid or find them a home that would raise them the way the parents would want. Largely symbolic, but important nonetheless.

Alastor

Alastor: It's hard to be non-religious within a religious afterlife. But—just for the record, if anything happened to you two and you *didn't* have a plan in place, I'd probably be charging in to do that myself anyway. I'm not about to leave that child in the hands of somebody who's going to be halfhearted about it.

Valera

Val: Well there you go! Already ready to do your job, and you haven't even been handed the paperwork or negotiated a salary.

Alastor

Alastor: IS there paperwork?

He's giving a Skeptical Look

Valera

Val: What, you think they'd hand over an orphan child to any guy who showed up claiming to be a family friend? They like seeing some documents saying "if I die this guy is who I want protecting my kids while they're vulnerable".

Alastor

Alastor: ... All right, fair enough! I was just going to kidnap her and flee into the night, but I suppose a paper or two would keep law enforcement off my back.

Valera

Val: I'm flattered that you'd get in trouble with the interdimensional magic fish police for Eelizzy's sake, but let's spare everyone the hassle. I'll talk to Penny, see if he wants to do the godparents thing at all, but I know what name I'd be floating.

Alastor

Alastor: Well—that's fine, then. Thank you. It's an honor to be considered either way.

He's all self-conscious now, look at this awkward man

Valera

Val: Of course! And at the VERY least I want you to be close to her when she hatches. Good old _Uncle Alastor_ to spoil her when Penny and I are busy.

Look what happens when you actually tell Valera what you want. Blurses. Blessings and curses.

Alastor

Look at him he's got heart eyes

Alastor: Fortunately, I'm an expert at spoiling other people's children! Don't you worry, I'll be loading her up with penny candy and letting her get in all the trouble she wants. Maybe even nickel candy if I'm feeling generous.

Valera

Val: How generous! And speaking of candy, that reminds me. I visited New Orleans recently on business and picked up a few treats while I was there. Do you want some roman candy? I know you don't have a sweet tooth, but it seems like something one should offer regardless.

Alastor

Alastor: ... They're still making that? Is it the real deal or did the family sell the franchise to some big candy company?

Valera

Val: I bought it from the same old wagon as always, so I believe it's authentic! Wax paper and all!

Alastor

Alastor: Well... sure, I'll have some. Doubt I have the right teeth for taffy anymore, but...

Valera

Val: You'll muddle through somehow, I'm sure. What flavor does it for you, chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?

She will whip out a few familiar looking wax paper rolled tubes to offer him. Crinkly!

Alastor

Takes a strawberry one!!

Valera

Val: I'll be sure to let you be the first one to take her to buy this _particular_ candy, when she's old enough to actually enjoy taffy.

Alastor

Give him a second, he managed to bite off a bit and now he's doing the whole dog-with-peanut-butter routine

Valera

Oh no, that's funny. She is LOOKING and SNICKERING at this man. Who knew the secret to silencing the radio demon was _chewy food?_

Alastor

Alastor: ... You know I don't remember this stuff being so hazardous.

He was expecting a RUSH OF NOSTALGIA but then he was like oh right I didn't eat this stuff more than like twice when I was alive, I just saw at the cart.

Valera

The wax paper is more nostalgic than the candy, understandable.

Val: Not having good molars does that, I only ate the stuff the one time to experience it. I like the paper though, it's a very unique experience.

Alastor

HOLD ON LET HIM GET THE LAST OF IT OUT OF HIS MOUTH, he thinks he'll attempt to eat the rest later.

Alastor: We'll see when she's old enough to attempt to eat these things, but—I don't see much point in holding off on letting her try taffy just for ME to do the honors. Seems like a very little thing to make a whole trip for.

Valera

Val: Okkylk doesn't really have much in the way of taffy, I doubt it would come up.. and it would be funny to see her suddenly be faced with a chewy candy to struggle against. This is _guaranteed_ entrainment.

Alastor

Alastor: Hah! I like your parenting philosophy. All the same—no need to wait on me to go get the taffy. I'm sure you'll have more opportunities to pick some up than I will.

Valera

Val: Nothing wrong with a little light torment, she gets candy out of it! Builds character! But yes yes, I get the picture. We'll see how it shakes out, play it by ear.

Alastor

Alastor: As long as she's being duly compensated for providing entertainment! :)

Valera

Val: Of course! She's still my _daughter_, if anything actually upset her that would be a whole different story. Penny would be _inconsolable._

She would also be inconsolable but let's ignore the wibbly sad eyes Val gets at the very thought

Alastor

Alastor: I'm sure we'd be taking turns supporting him through the grief. One person alone wouldn't be able to support that weight.

He's got no doubt Valera would be duly distressed but somehow, somehow he feels like Sir Pentious would be more dramatic about it. Just a hunch.

Valera

There is a distinct possibility that one of the parents may be A HAIR more dramatic, and it MIGHT not be the one with a degree in musical theater. Possibly.

Val: It's true, he's pretty heavy. Like a weighted blanket of emotion.

Alastor

HUFF.

Alastor: I’m going to be thinking of that the next time he flops on top of me.

Valera

Val: Good, you can share my curse. Every Pentious is full of emotion, genius, and, honestly, horny.

Alastor

Opens mouth. Shuts it. Opens it. Shrugs and makes noncommittal radio noises.

Alastor: ... Frankly I don’t know what a normal quantity of horny is.

Valera

Val: I did research, but I don't know how sound it is. We're outsiders trying to look in to a very strange world.

Alastor

Vaguely nods, yeah, that’s true

Alastor: ... What’s the research say?

Valera

Val: Once a week seems like normal horny, in a relationship? A heightened few weeks or months of activity at the start before it levels out seems normal too.

Alastor

Alastor: Weekly?? For the same activity? That’s not as bad as I’d thought, but doesn’t that get boring?

Alastor: ... No, okay, I could schedule a weekly dinner date and never get tired of it, I’ve got no room to talk.

Valera

Val: I was going to say! I do all kinds of stuff on a weekly basis without it getting dull. Plus it does wonders for relieving tension, which I can appreciate from a medical standpoint.

Alastor

SKEPTICAL LOOK

Alastor: You find it RELAXING?

Valera

Val: Well sure! It's only nerve wracking if you aren't at ease, and after almost an entire _year,_ Penny and I have figured out what we like. Plus.. Neither of us sweat, there's no cleanup to worry about, and after the fact the brain gets flooded with feel good chemicals.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, right, the feel good chemicals, right.

Valera

Val: Not familiar with them, Alastor?

Alastor

Alastor: ......... We’re passingly acquainted

Alastor struggling to figure out how to answer without Discussing Specific Sex Acts

Valera

The STRUGGLE.

Val: Only passingly, interesting. Well, you get a lot more of them with a partner, suffice to say.

Alastor

He's just 8)

Alastor: I would prefer not to!

Valera

Val: You don't have to! I'm telling you why the allosexuals like it so much. Or why I assume they do.

Sex talk with two aces this can only go well!!

Alastor

It sounded like Valera was speaking from a little more than secondhand experience there for a bit but you know what? Alastor isn’t going to ask for clarification. It’s fine. Doesn’t need to know.

Alastor: ... To be quite frank, I prefer far less to be a co-star and more to be a fluffer. I’m sure that’s going to disappoint him sooner or later, but...

Valera

What? The visibly pregnant fish might have firsthand knowledge about sex? Perish the thought.

Alastor

You never know. Mary made it work.

Valera

Immaculate conception of her husband's child, sell that story to the news!

Val: I'm sure you two discussed that before getting together, no?

Alastor

Alastor: ... *As* we were getting together, yes.

Valera

Val: Well then! He knows what he signed up for, and unless he says it's a problem, it shouldn't be treated like one.

Dismissive little hand wave.

Alastor

Alastor: Yes, yes. I don’t intend to treat it like one. Just... making conversation about the whole ‘get more with a partner’ concept.

A similarly dismissive little gesture.

Valera

Val: Ah! Yes, I see, that was perhaps too blanket a statement. Well, he has his other partner, I assume?

Alastor

Alastor: I assume. He hasn’t talked about their sex life. None of my business, I’m sure.

Valera

Wiggly hand gesture.

Val: Yes and no. You ARE his partner.

Val: I tell Penny what Leal and I get up to.

Alastor

Alastor: But do you tell my alternate about how often you have sex with Sir Pentious?

Valera

Val: If he asks! Which he doesn't, really, but we did talk about the finer points of eating pussy.

Alastor

RAISED EYEBROW.

Alastor: ... I don’t think the man I’ve been dating for under a month owes me the details of a near stranger’s sex life. I’ve only met his other partner a couple of times, what business is it of mine what she gets up to?

Alastor: I wouldn’t mind knowing what HE gets up to, but sex is a group sport.

Valera

Val: It isn't like he owes you her life story in hardback, but a frank discussion isn't going to breach confidentiality.

Val: Dating someone who is dating someone else means you're entitled to know what you're consenting to, Alastor.

Alastor

Alastor: I’ve already consented to be with a man who’s probably sleeping with someone else, I can’t think of anything else they could be getting up to that would possibly affect me.

Alastor: Unless their bedroom activities happen to include calling up all my worst enemies and telling them everything they know about me—but if it did, I doubt he’d admit so if I asked about it, would he?

Valera

Her turn to raise an eyebrow.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I don’t think they ARE, I’m trying to think of the most out-there hypothetical possibility.

Valera

Val: Good, I was about to be worried. But really, if those are the boundaries you're comfortable with, that's fine. But I don't think you'd be out of line to ask for more information. Either you'll learn, or he'll tell you it isn't something he wants to discuss.

Alastor

Alastor: Honestly, it... doesn’t cross my mind.

Man has no object permanence when it comes to sex

Valera

Val: Dare I say it, mood. But really, if that's how you like it, good for you, keep on keeping on.

Alastor

Alastor: I intend to!

Unless Telly doesn’t like it, but they’ll cross that bridge when they reach it.

Valera

Val: Then there's no issue, I hope!

Alastor

Alastor: One hopes! ... How did we get on this?

Valera

Val: I... Think it started when I called Pentious horny? And then you got worried about not being an active enough participant?

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, yes, right! But worried, no. Just a passing thought.

Valera

Val: Well, based on my knowledge, as long as the partner gets off they don't often care about the methods.

Shrug! Don't ask where the knowledge came from.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! If it was that easy, I doubt so many people would be so distressed when the have to make do with their own hands!

Valera

Val: Did you know there's an entire subset of men that intentionally make their hands fall asleep so they can pretend someone else is getting them off?

Alastor

Alastor: You know, it just so happens I did. And I do not understand the appeal. It combines all the worst parts of getting your mouth numbed for a dental procedure with something half-dead and dangerously uncoordinated fumbling with your delicate bits.

Valera

WHEEZE... Oh that caught her off guard, give her a second to collect herself.

Alastor

He’ll wait. Smugly basking in his comedic genius.

Valera

Val: You said it yourself, sex is a group activity for a lot of people. Lonely people want someone else to make them feel good.

Alastor

Alastor: But if that’s all it takes, then why for so many people is a hand inferior to a mouth, and a mouth inferior to a more intimate part? No, I’m sure that there’s more to it than simply a desire for company when cleaning one’s pipes. The methods don’t trump the company, but they do matter.

Valera

Val: I could say more, but then I'd have to start talking about my own _alleged_ experiences.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Is the answer going to be something to the effect of “that particular bit of anatomy feels nicer against one’s equipment than other bits of anatomy?”

Valera

Val: Kind of. I'm sure some people prefer various bits, and they certainly feel _different._ I wouldn't say better though, just on physical contact alone.

Alastor

Alastor: ..."Kind of"?

You know what they say about cats and curiosity

Valera

Val: Yes, kind of. A hand can do things a mouth can't, and vice versa.

Alastor

Alastor: All right! That’s more or less where I thought you were going with that.

Valera

Val: Yes! Though there's a lot to be said for the varying degrees of intimacy.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m sure there is! No doubt there’s something special about the moment you finally get to show your loved one the parts of yourself you previously only shared with your toilet. ... So sorry, I don’t mean to be *dismissive* of the whole thing—I can just never quite get over that association, you know?

Valera

Val: Oh, no, I agree _completely._ Not that I'd tell that to Penny, of course. That would be cruel. But if my husband wants to mutually stimulate nerve endings a few times a week I'm happy to make him happy.

Alastor

SNORT. Mutually stimulate nerve endings.

Alastor: Well, what couples are equally interested in ALL their hobbies?

Valera

Val: None, unless it's two alternates of the same person, I guess!

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, you’d be surprised.

Valera

Val: Oh?? That sounds ominous. You know something I don't?

Alastor

Alastor: I know a lot of my own alternates, primarily!

Valera

Val: Yes, and I suppose even they have varying levels of interest in things?

Alastor

Alastor: Wildly varying! Why, sometimes you can meet yourself and wonder where you have anything in common at all! It’s fascinating, really.

Valera

Val: Goodness, that DOES sound fascinating. I can't imagine.. There's only one me, the idea of a me who isn't like me at all is just bizarre!

Alastor

Alastor: Only one? Or only one that you’ve found so far?

Valera

Val: By virtue of what I am, the only one! Unless something goes VERY Wrong.

Alastor

Alastor: Really! Do elaborate?

Valera

Val: I'm a singularity! There is one me, just in a lot of places!

Alastor

Slow blink.

Alastor: ... Like a god?

Valera

Val: Is... Is that a god thing?

Squint.

Alastor

Alastor: I don’t know many other things that can be in multiple places at once and yet remain an undivided entity with a singular source. Either a god or a radio signal—and signals can get distorted.

Valera

Val: ..... I'd rather be a radio signal than a god, honestly, but. Yeah, I guess? I didn't think it was so uncommon!

Alastor

Alastor: I’ve seen people so rare that even when they go looking, they can only find themselves in one universe—but that’s usually a trick of the universe itself, some little chain of cause-and-effect that only worked out once! Move a dimension to the left and their parents never met, move a dimension to the right and their grandmother died in infancy, and so on. But what *you’re* talking about—one person with a simultaneous singular presence in many realities? That sounds to me like something operating a step higher than your run-of-the-mill monodimensional mortals.

Valera

Val: I could turn on the TV right now and show you what the me in another reality is doing right now, I'm fully aware of myself. Are you saying you _don't_ have that?

_When you are suddenly hit over the head with the fact that you're actually an outlier and not the standard_

Alastor

Alastor: If I want to know what another me is doing, I have to call him up and ask! And sometimes I’ll find out he’s been hearing salacious details about my best friend’s oral skills. I can assure you I wasn’t fully aware of THAT, hah! I’ve heard of people with psychic sensitivities to their alternate selves—a sudden sense of disembodied alarm when something goes wrong elsewhere, emotions without a source, that sort of thing—but that particular sensitivity doesn’t come naturally to me. As far as psychic abilities go, I’d say that one in particular is notably rare.

Valera

Blink.

Val: Oh. Uh. Well. All of my species is like this. _All_ of us are singular individuals.

Alastor

Alastor: ARE you singular individuals? Or do you have alternates just like any other species, but because all of your alternates are... psychically linked, as it were, your thoughts are so inextricably intermingled that the whole lot of you consider yourself one person with one identity?

Valera

Val: At that point, what's the difference?

Alastor

Alastor: It’s the difference between a radio transmitter broadcasting the same song to a dozen different radio receivers, versus a dozen individual radio transceivers that play the same songs because they’re directly broadcasting to each other. Is it one singular thing that’s being witnessed in many places, or is it many separate things that have synchronized and homogenized with each other? In day-to-day life the difference might not matter; but philosophically, spiritually, magically, I think it all makes a great difference!

Valera

Val: Fair enough! But I still believe it's the former. The me you see now is the me that all the information goes back to. We've never cared enough to investigate it in depth.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Do you mean information *doesn’t* go back to the other versions of you?

He’s fascinated, he’s taking mental notes, he’s going all metaphysical occultist on this.

Valera

Val: Of course it does, if I don't intentionally restrict it, which is not something I'd be inclined to do. I'm simply aware of them the way you are aware of your arm.

Alastor

Alastor: So all versions of you get all the information from all versions of you.

Valera

Val: Yes! Unless I'm playing one of my games. Sometimes I'll make myself think I'm a normal mortal for a while. It's fun!

Alastor

Alastor: ......... Let’s unpack that a little.

Valera

Val: Sure! Where do we start?

Alastor

Alastor: Your “games”?

Valera

Val: Yes! A lot of Veci do it as they get older. They'll go to a universe and have one of themselves live a very normal mortal life, unaware of what they actually are.

Val: It's a fascinating perspective.

Alastor

Alastor: So, you cut off one version of yourself from the hive mind. And this version, I take it, then forgets for the duration of the game that they were once a part of a hive mind? Their memories only consist of what they experienced in their own home universe, and anything that they thought or did due to the influence of their other selves, they... what, make up a new false memory to explain away, something like that? And they aren’t receiving information, but they’re still sending out information for the rest of you to receive?

Valera

Val: Yes! Exactly so. A one way broadcast back to home base.

Alastor

Alastor: Huh! What about the people around the game piece who know they ought to be connected to other dimensions—or do you disguise yourself and drop yourself on some alien planet before you start the game?

Valera

Val: The latter! It's no fun if other people know things you don't, they could ruin the game for you. Unless you're going somewhere dangerous, then a lot of people will ask someone to send in an aware variant of themselves to help keep them in the game longer. Istoph does that for me in some places!

Alastor

Alastor: Does your game piece go in cold, wandering around like an amnesiac? Or are they given some sort of... of false set of memories, to blend in with the locals?

Valera

Val: Depends which is more interesting. Usually the latter, unless I can think of a reason that an amnesia story would work better.

Alastor

Alastor: And when does the game end? Death? Discovery? Is there a way for your game piece to "win" or is the game only supposed to be watched?

Valera

Val: It's usually for a set amount of time! A year or two, a decade at most. I don't let them Reproduce or anything, I don't want to go sowing any wild oats. That's how you get overly sensitive humans half the damn time.

A shake of her head.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Yes, that *would* do it.

Valera

Val: ... I don't.. I don't mean to imply _you_ were a result of that or anything. There is more than one way that could happen.

Alastor

Although he doesn't much like the thought that someone somewhere could use that information to dismiss particularly psychic humans as partially inhuman.

Alastor: I should hope I wasn't! I come from a long line of magically gifted people—we don't need the outside help!

Valera

Val: Hah! I know, I could practically smell it on you. If I turned you loose on Okkylk you'd get swarmed.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Swarmed like a dog in heat, or swarmed like a bleeder amidst sharks?

Valera

Val: .... Considering how violent Veci are in the act, uh. Both.

Alastor

A slow, slow nod.

Alastor: ... To steal my traits.

Valera

FACE JOURNEY

Val: I take it he told you about that one, eh? Not his finest moment

Alastor

Alastor: It will be my most carefully-guarded secret. ... But you knew about it already, so.

Valera

Val: To be fair, it's hilarious. I was minding my own business and then the guy I just started dating calls me to accuse me of stealing his traits like some kind of succubus.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I think succubi reproduce with humans because it’s easier, rather than because they want human traits. But don’t quote me on that, I don’t talk to many succubi.

Valera

Val: Neither do I, honestly. Plus, come on. Really? I could have just seduced him, I'm the one that insisted on a relationship.

Alastor

Alastor: Well, how many traits did you *want?* It could take a while!

Valera

Val: Oh yes, of course. If I'm going to get traits I may as well get a full set out of him! However many that is!

Alastor

Alastor: Only one way to find out!

Valera

Val: You're just saying that so you can flex on your alts with all the kids who'd call you uncle.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m willing to share unclehood with as many of my alternates who care to claim it!

Hand over heart, how magnanimous.

Alastor: ... So, are you only pregnant in this universe or all of them?

Valera

Val: Only this one. This is the only body that's gotten plowed by anyone and that's how I'm keeping it.

Snrk.

Alastor

Alastor: Then which universe any given Veci has... copies, facets, whatever—of themself in will vary wildly, depending on whether or not their parents happened to have synchronized date nights across those universes? I suppose it would be *easier* to synchronize up, if every version of you is connected—just like a whole line of dancers doing the can-can together—but what if one body sneezes and an egg doesn’t get filled, does that Veci just have one less version of themself than everyone else? Will Eelizzy have no other selves across the universe?

Valera

val: ..Do you think I'm going to sneeze too hard and shoot this egg across the-- Nevermind. Veci children aren't stable enough to exist in multiple realities, they have to grow up and get more control of their magic before they can manifest across realms.

Alastor

Eyebrows shoot up.

Alastor: No, I was talking about the conception, splash one or two drops the other way and... never mind, that’s the boring part! You’re telling me you start off as one singular entity in a singular universe—and *then* you split off into separate versions of yourself... deliberately?

Valera

Val: Well of course! There's only one Pelagios right now, he won't split off until he's fifteen for his first practice run, and then in earnest in his twenties. Rite of passage and all that!

Alastor

AMAZED BLINK. And then he’s opening a portal and hauling out his grimoire, ‘scuse him, don’t mind him.

Valera

She watches, slow blinking. What, did THAT catch his attention?

Alastor

Alastor: I should have been taking notes all along—I apologize, I do believe you were right, you *are* a lone tower transmitting to many receivers—or at the very least you do start off as one tower! How do you split, does it follow the natural branching of timelines—when two paths of history split over somebody’s decision, you just keep conscious contact with the two versions of you formed at that fork? Or do you create your duplicate self and then assign it to some pre-chosen timeline?

Scribble scribble SCRIBBLE scribble.

Valera

Val: The latter at first, I see a reality that interests me and drop in, and then as it progresses, it becomes the former. As the timeline I chose to investigate develops and changes, I follow the branching paths and observe the varying realities. It is *fascinating* stuff. Though sometimes a branch seems doomed, in which case I'll usually withdraw and send that variant elsewhere instead. Start the whole process over.

Alastor

Alastor: So you can pick and choose which path you follow—but you don’t AUTOMATICALLY form another version of yourself, only when you want to? That means that more versions of you AREN’T forming every single time a timeline you’re in branches, correct? But a single timeline can branch countless times, a hundred times an hour—I’m pulling that number out of my you-know, just as an example—if a timeline branches a hundred times an hour, then that means that in ninety-nine percent of all those timelines, a Veci living in it will suddenly... vanish into thin air? Is that right?

Valera

Val: Close enough, which is *generally* why we try to live very lowkey lives. Making new branches of yourself isn't.. *energy consuming* or anything, but you have to be able to process that amount of information. We don't vanish into thin air, but we'll often arrange a swift withdrawal. A sudden move, a staged home invasion, or, in a pinch, just erase ourselves from people's memories. Though that one is imprecise and often leaves lingering traces. Not ideal.

Alastor

Alastor: I imagine it explains an encounter with the fae or two.

Valera

Val: Probably? That's my theory.

Alastor

Alastor: And how often DO timelines branch around you, would you estimate? Are you abandoning thousands of iterations of the same place a day or... Well, I sort of *imagine* that time branches at ridiculously high rates, but I don’t actually know.

Valera

val: Not as often as you think honestly. Obviously it happens, but most people aren't wildly changing reality with every move. The butterfly effect is not as impactful as people believe it is.

Alastor

Alastor gratefully waves away the nightmarish thought of a million sad snakes wondering where his wife went.

Valera

Thoughtful hum....

Val: *You* probably caused a split, back in the day. There's a reality out there where you're dating the Pentious of your Hell. That was a fairly significant moment with pretty obvious impact on the rest of the population.

Alastor

Alastor: I’d always wondered about that! The whole ‘butterfly’ effect thing—particularly considering how often universes seem to CONVERGE on each other. Those of us who have more conventional alternates—it’s *amazing* how often I can talk to myself and think “why, you and I are so similar—our realities must have split no more than ten minutes ago!” and then I find out my other self has completely different parents and a big sister to boot. If two universes that started out in utterly different places can drift back together—

Oh. He stops talking with a noise like a motor dying.

Valera

Slow nod.

Val: It's not like every breakup causes a split in realities. But a drastic choice that results in explosions? Yeah.

Alastor

From 100 to 0 with one sentence.

Valera

Shoulder pat.

Val: It's weird to think about.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I hope he’s doing better.

Valera

Val: ... You're doing better too, Alastor. Better than you were.

Alastor

Alastor: I didn’t mean my alternate.

Valera

Squint.

Val: Your Pentious.

Alastor

Alastor: The one over there isn’t “my” Pentious. ... Sir Pentious. He’s just an alternate of my Sir Pentious, just like the one I’m seeing is an alternate of my Sir Pentious, and the one you’re married to is an alternate of my Sir Pentious. He just branched off a little more recently, that’s all.

Alastor: “My” Sir Pentious will always be the one that I backstabbed.

Valera

Val: He's fine. And *yours* will be okay too. We both know Sir Pentious is stubborn and unstoppable.

Alastor

Alastor: Stubborn, yes. ... We’re going to fix all that, though. So that this never happened.

Alastor: The original plan was to... to wrench the course of this timeline off its current path and onto the path it *would* have had if that decision had been different. But if you think the timeline *already* split there—then it’s not so much a matter of relocating this timeline as it is—just erasing it entirely, so that the other one is the only one left. Right?

Valera

She grimaces. That's a *lot* of people she'd be killing. Erasing from existence. Whatever.

Alastor

She agreed to it once before.

Valera

Val: Yeah, essentially. Not pleasant to think about, but... Yeah. And it's theoretically possible, but. Again. Fifty fifty shot.

Val: I'm... Surprised you'd still want to do it, though. You've got a boyfriend now. What about him?

Alastor

He squeezes his eyes shut and looks pained a second. That’s the same thought that he had. And that he HAS had about a thousand times.

Alastor: This was never about what I want, it was about him. Putting him back on track. Where he deserves to be.

Valera

Val: .... Not to... Okay, you know what, *yes* to be that person. But you want to help one Pentious by hurting another? If you wanted to spare the man you backstabbed, you shouldn't have started dating Telly. You *know* losing you is going to hurt him, *if* it works.

Alastor

Another pained wince.

Alastor: No, you’re right, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and I shouldn’t have. And I knew I shouldn’t have, and... well. Here we are. But I can’t just—just change my mind, not when I have my first chance to make this right!

Valera

Val: I know. I understand. I—I wish I didn't but I *do* and I hate it. And I'm still going to try and help you. If you're sure you want to try. Even though this is. *Awful.* And only going to hurt people. Penny. Telly. Gods only know what will happen if we succeed. If we don't.. You'll hurt him anyway. You know this isn't something you should keep secret from him.

Alastor

And we’ve got a triple pained wince combo!

Alastor: How can I *not?* How can I just—just... happily go about my days, having picnics with one version of him and cuddling up to sleep with another, merrily getting ready for my big Broadway debut, dreaming about infernal conquest like I haven’t been able to dream in half a century—when he’s Hell’s laughingstock because of me?! Everything’s finally coming together for me, but the man I loved first and longest is a joke! How can I live out his dreams with an echo of him? What the Hell gives me the right to let a world like that exist?

Valera

Val: I know we've discussed this before, but. Tell me. Why haven't you tried to make amends? You'll never be friends again, obviously, but surely you could take out some overlords, or anonymously provide supplies... Do some networking, find allies to thrust his way without your name ever crossing his mind?

Frown...

Alastor

Alastor: ... I’ve done a bit. Taken out some of his rivals, that sort of thing.

Valera

Val: That's good! If your major grievance is that you've ruined his life, isn't it right to fix the damage you've caused, even if it's hard?

Alastor

Alastor: And then I heard him whining about how somebody else took down his foes before he had a chance to.

Wan smile.

Valera

.... Somehow, she doesn't look surprised. She just rolls her eyes.

Val: Okay, yeah that sounds like Every Pentious I Know.

Alastor

Smiles a little wider for a second

Alastor: Doesn’t it?

Valera

Val: I love my Penny, truly, but he's a _brat_ and so are his alts. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, Alastor. Literally.  You might as well be damned handing the man an overlord on a platter. Even if he complains, at least he's getting a chance to rebuild.

Alastor

Alastor: ... I—*hm*—but—It isn’t *right.* It shouldn’t be just, just... He’s had half a century wasted. All that should be gone. Not just made up for after the fact, but—GONE. Shouldn’t it? Throwing him favors after the fact is, it’s... it’s...

Gestures vaguely and throws out meaningless sound effects. You know!!!

Valera

A sympathetic nod.

Val: I know. Erasing it seems like the kindest option, but is it? Would that be what _he'd_ want? To simply undo everything? Or would he want to claw his way back to the top and spit in the face of every overlord who tried to keep him down? You know him better than I do, so this is not rhetorical. It's a genuine question.

Alastor

He’s gotta stop and stare into space while he thinks about that.

Alastor: ... If somebody asked the Sir Pentious of today if he’d want the last century of troubles retroactively wiped away... I don’t know. I don’t know if he’d rather *have* the throne or *earn* the throne. He’s never had any shame about using an unfair advantage, the only reason he was able to conquer half the States was because he was filthy rich for no good reason and he’ll tell you so himself, but... he wouldn’t want somebody else to do his conquering *for* him, but I don’t know if that’s what he’d consider somebody changing history for him. But if I asked the Sir Pentious of ‘66 which route he’d like to go on, the one where he’s got a loyal ally and can get on with the business of conquest or the one where he’s betrayed and has to start at square one just for a fun extra challenge, he’d ask me if I’m crazy and say he’d rather have the first route. No question.

Alastor: ... But he already HAS that route, if you’re right. If it split then. If it *did* split then, then I’m not... I’m not giving the one I know a little mind wipe and transplanting him sideways into a better reality. That reality is already there and populated. I’m just... destroying him. Right?

Valera

Val: Correct. Is that mercy? Is that making amends?

Val: Wouldn't it be better to improve his life, rather than erase him entirely?

She almost reaches for Alastor's hand, but thinks better of it. Fiddle with her necklace it is.

Alastor

Alastor: ... Is there a way to see? If that universe already exists? If it doesn’t then we can proceed as planned.

Valera

Val: Oh, yes of course there is. I could try to find it, put myself in it the way I do any other universe. Would you like me to?

Alastor

Alastor: It could settle things.

Valera

Val: True. Do I have permission to peek under the hood of your reality?

Alastor

Alastor: ... What, right now?? You can just do it on the spot?

Valera

Val: I could, but I'm not going to. I'm _heavily_ pregnant and my baby is liable to start spitting static that could mess with my spells. I'll have to wait until she's tuckered out, play something energetic until the little thing wiggles herself senseless.

She pats her belly affectionately, but with a roll of the eyes.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! Right. Of course.

... Plays something energetic.

Valera

The egg, predictably, seems very excited about this sudden turn of events and starts throwing hissing nonsense static fuzz into the air with a sensation not unlike static electricity.

Valera raises an eyebrow at Alastor.

Alastor

:)

Valera

Val: Spoiling her already, are we? She's getting big enough to actually feel her moving, you know.

Alastor

Alastor: It was your idea. :) But really? Through the egg and all?

Valera

Val: Yes! Soft shelled eggs are a lot easier to feel through than hard shells, and she is _wiggling_. It's not obvious like a human baby kicking, but there's definitely weight shifting.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, right—they WERE soft, weren’t they! I was trying to be polite and not look too closely.

Valera

Val: Understandable! Amusingly similar to snake eggs, really. Which means by the time May rolls around I'm going to be strangling any radio demon brave enough to try and get this baby active.

She's grinning, but not in a way that says she's joking.

Alastor

Alastor: You were the one who suggested getting her to wiggle herself senseless, I’m only following your sage advice.

Valera

Val: You're evil. How _dare_ you listen to me. If my daughter wants to learn the trumpet when she's older it's your fault. She's being seduced by _Jazz music_.

Alastor

Alastor: I’m setting her up for a life of vice and villainy, EXACTLY as I’m sure her father would want.

Valera

Val: He'll want her learning the pipe organ and how to cackle maniacally. That classic Romantic ideal of brooding and fits of murderous passion. You'll have her _flashing ankles_ on the dance floor!!

A mock gasp!! Perish the thought!

Alastor

Alastor: All the better to shock and scandalize her enemies, right before eliminating them! If they’re staring at her ankles, they’ll never see her gun.

Valera

Val: Bold, I like it. But you'll have to explain that one to Penny, I can already tell he's going to be one of those dads who fawn over their daughter. Leal too, even if he insists he's not attached.

A VERY dramatic roll of the eyes.

Alastor

Alastor: Ha! Then I can do one better—I’ll get *her* to explain it to Sir Pentious.

Valera

Val: Oh that can _only_ go well. I'm holding you to that one, Alastor.

Alastor

A wink.

Alastor: My alternate can fawn over her—I think instead I’ll conspire with her. I just hope she’s a rascal.

Valera

Val: Well I don't know about _Penny_, but I was a rascal without equal in my youth! I knocked over half the shelves in a library and pinned it on another kid. I'm sure she'll give me as many headaches as I gave my caretakers.

Alastor

Alastor: Never you fear, I'll do my best to make sure she lives up to the precedent you've set!

Valera

Val: I appreciate that, Alastor! I'm sure I'll be much too busy doing boring parent stuff. Not sure what, but it'll catch me. Maybe I'll go to a PTA meeting.

Alastor

Alastor: A... what meeting?

The man hasn't been around children in almost nine decades, he'd forgotten such esoteric acronyms. It sounds like a military thing.

Valera

Val: A PTA meeting! A parent teacher... SOMETHING meeting. I don't know what the A is for.

Alastor

Snaps fingers! Now it’s familiar.

Alastor: Assassination.

Alastor: ... Wait.

Valera

Val: I don't think I'm supposed to assassinate the teachers. Although, if they're doing a bad job...

Kombucha girl face journey.

Val: No. No. It's probably association or something stupid like that.

Alastor

SNAPS FINGERS AGAIN.

Alastor: THAT was it! Association! Pity, “Parent Teacher Assassination” sounded far more fun.

Valera

Val: It DOES sound more fun. Now I'm disappointed.

Alastor

Alastor: Sounds like a fantastic parent-child bonding activity, too!

Valera

Val: Take the teacher with the lowest reviews and hunt them for sport? Sounds like something you'd enjoy.

Alastor

He’s got to pause and think about that for a moment.

Alastor: Who’s reviewing them?

Valera

Val: Not sure. The students, I imagine?

Alastor

Alastor: All right, seems fair! I’m for it!

Valera

Val: Good! You'll be handling the PTA meetings then, that's _one_ less thing for me to worry about.

Snrk snrk. She's kidding. Probably.

Alastor

Alastor: Oh, CAN I? I’ve always wanted to be a problem at school events! An *adult* problem, I mean. I imagine it’s a somewhat different experience from being a student problem.

Valera

Val: What, you want to get saddled with my kid for an evening to go to a school and scare the hell out of the staff?

Alastor

Alastor: Scare them, annoy the hell out of them, say wildly inaccurate things that they’re forced to agree with because they know I’m there on behalf of the autocrat... any of the above, really!

Valera

Val: Well damn! Alright, I'll make sure you go to at least a couple of them. If I send you and one of your alts we can _really_ get a show.

Alastor

Oh look at him he’s ecstatic. This just opened up a whole new world of pranks.

Valera

Val: I've never seen someone so excited about going to a PTA meeting. But hey, who am I to deny you fresh victims? Congratulations on your upcoming career in school harassment.

Alastor

Alastor: Thank you, I eagerly anticipate it!

Valera

Egg probably wore herself out while they were discussing the finer points of PTA sabotage

Alastor

yeah there IS a secondary timeline where Sir Pent and Al are Hell's most feared power couple. Airships are everywhere. Lucifer is going "oh shit the prisoners are unionizing." Alastor and Sir Pent wear matching outfits. They have a kid, where did they get a kid, did they adopt a baby imp or something??? what the fuck

Valera

Oh my god

Val takes one look at that timeline, looks at that Alastor, looks at this one. Looks back. "Well you're a dad in this one." And does not provide context

Alastor

Alastor just. Sits on the floor.

Valera

Well she can't exactly pat his head so they just have to sit there. Timeline confirmed welcome to die

Alastor

"What's their name?"

Valera

"What, the kid? I didn't think to ask. Does it matter?"

Alastor

"Just wondered." He's gotta lay down.

Valera

Guess she's gotta go try to learn the kids name now if Alastor is gonna be a sad floppy man. Feels bad.

Alastor

He was gonna be a sad floppy man regardless.

Valera

It is in the nature of Alastors to be sad and floppy men

Valera

But only under SPECIFIC circumstances

Alastor

Selectively sad and floppy

Valera

"...... Alternate timeline you's kid is named Codie Grace." Alright that is enough telling Alastor things about the future he doesn't have

Alastor

In one universe The Alastor That Didn't Fuck Up is probably giving Valera this c: look like do you get it. do you. do you get it. And in this universe The Fuckup Alastor is squinting at the ceiling and then suddenly goes "WE NAMED OUR KID *COUP DE GRÂCE*?!"

Valera

VAL GETS IT AND SHE ISN'T SURE IF SHE LOVES IT OR HATES IT

But it is VERY like them, the bastards

Alastor

Alastor just covers his face and laughs. It is the laugh of a broken man. Yeah. Yeah that's what he would name a kid, dammit. It's true.

Valera

Poor Fuckup Alastor

Alastor

"... Are they successful, over there? Are they happy?"

Valera

"They wear matching outfits and have airships all over the place so yes and yes."

She's gonna need a broom to pet this man with. There there.

Alastor

Alastor

It's just a high pitched static whine noise. *Matching outfits...*

That's BASICALLY the exact same thing as marriage. You're married when you wear the same outfits.

Valera

What is marriage if not an elaborate excuse to wear matching outfits? Just keep doing it, forever.

Pat. Pat. "And now you know. There's a reality out there where you and your local Pentious are basically married with a kid and have airships over like, half of Hell."

Alastor

He's gonna. Lay there for a second. And process that.

And then sit up and cradle his head in his hands and process that some more.

Valera

Would he like.... Well. Not tea but she can get him some water. Maybe a coffee.

Alastor

Coffee would be nice

Valera

She can do coffee. Does he want any cream or sugar?

Alastor

Black as his soul. Like an edgy hottopic goth kid.

Valera

She'll get him some pourover, let him have a good coffee while his brain wheezes and stalls.

Alastor

He eventually gets himself up in a chair with his coffee. Look at that, he's almost human again. "So there's already a place where it all worked out."

Valera

"That seems to be the case, yes." The power of coffee, clearly. If only sitting upright really fixed your problems.

Alastor

A nod, and then he’s silent again a moment as he processes this. “So there’s—I wouldn’t be helping him. I can’t help him like this.”

Valera

"You cannot. You can't just wave away what you did to him. Not without ruining another Pentious' life."

Alastor

“It’s not just ‘waving away’! Don’t forget that doing this would erase me, too! It’s not *running* from the consequences of my actions, it’s *paying* for them!” He’s gotta hop up and pace. “‘Waving away’ what I did is what I’m doing right NOW—getting to—to move on and be happy like it never happened! How is that fair?!”

Valera

"How is it fair? Good question, let me counter with another." She sips the tea she got for herself, watching him pace. "Have you forgiven yourself?"

Alastor

He pauses for half a second, and then continues pacing. “Now, why would I go and do a damn fool thing like that?” He laughs wryly. “I don’t see how it matters.”

Valera

"Because you're in Hell, and why would Hell ever _really_ let you win?"

Alastor

“*Hell* wouldn’t—and that’s why I’m outsourcing the job. I don’t see what that has to do with forgiveness and fairness.”

Valera

"Didn't you think Hell has some measure of control over you, or am I misremembering?"

A stretch, and a hand lays over her belly. Rub rub. "Now. I am loathe to admit I could still try to break your timeline like a bone and forcefully reset it into a shape similar to the one I saw, but. I could. Though THAT is something I've never tried at all, I've got no idea if it would work."

Alastor “‘It’s not my fault, the devil made me do it’?” Alastor shook his head. “It’s my fault. Hell is pulling some strings, sure—it can, say, nudge things around to prey on your worst character flaws—but it doesn’t give you those character flaws.”

He stops pacing again. “What would that involve?”

Valera

She opens her mouth, closes it. Clicks her tongue. "That's what I'm figuring out. It *can* be done. I've never done it. But I said I would help you, so I have to offer it as a possibility. It would probably take something fairly drastic. There was a window between you making your decision and actually betraying Pentious, right?"

Alastor

A slow nod. “Ten or fifteen minutes.”

Valera

"There are... A few options. I don't know how *viable* they actually are, right now. I'll have to do research. But I *think* I could try to remove you *entirely* from the timeline at that point. Most likely through a faked assassination or kidnapping. That would break the timeline off the track that was set, an outlier that was not within reasonable bounds. Then give the timeline a few hours, maybe days as it tries to course correct and *cannot*, and then I... Drop *you* back in. Let you run back to Sir Pentious, alive, if not unharmed. At the very least, I'm sure he'd be too busy being glad you were alive to be angry that whatever scheme he was currently enacting got thrown off."

Alastor

He stops breathing for a moment as he thinks about Sir Pentious having to deal with Alastor so suddenly disappearing.

And he tries not to too deeply analyze his disappointment when Valera says they’d put him back. He starts pacing again. “And that would be—like we discussed before? This version of the timeline disappears completely?”

Valera

"It would be impossible for the timeline to continue as it was, so. Yes. You cannot betray Pentious if you aren't there. Everything would get thrown off the rails entirely. Timelines account for a reasonable margin of circumstances with everything people do. Most people rarely do things outside of their norm, so even small changes rarely mean anything and that's why they don't branch as much as people think."

She taps her stomach, lips pursing. "Again. Remember, I can't guarantee it would work. But it does seem the most *likely* to work out of all the options. The first obstacle would be me taking down the Radio Demon. I don't know if you're aware, Alastor, but I don't actually relish the thought of fighting you to what you'd believe to be your death."

Alastor

He laughs humorlessly. “You won’t need to fight. I can tell you exactly what to say to make me come willingly.”

Valera

Blink. Wait, what? She looks back up at him, eyebrows raising. "What, really?"

Alastor

“You think I don’t know myself well enough to know exactly what would make me shut up and listen? Don’t you have secret things that would immediately catch your attention if a stranger said them to you?” A shrug. “Anyway, I wasn’t exactly hard to persuade at that point! I’d just decided to escape a relationship by destroying everything he owned and running—if a stranger magically appeared in front of me and said ‘come with me, we need to fake your assassination,’ I’d consider it a miracle.”

Valera

Valera raises a finger. "Alastor, I am a stubborn, paranoid bitch of a politician. My own parents could miraculously spring back into existence and promise me anything I wanted and I would probably try to bite them. I can't be blackmailed because any time someone tries, I get my PR team to leak it themselves to control the narrative. I am TRULY the most contrary piece of work to get dragged into existence."

A pause.. Then she grins. "Lucky for us, you're not me. If you think that would work? *Good*. That's one of many obstacles down. A question, though, and possibly a dumb one. Would you even *want* to go back? If I ripped you from the timeline, that is."

Alastor

“Does what I’d want matter? Either you put me back, you exterminate me, or you drop me somewhere outside of Hell and I end up having to go back eventually. A disembodied soul can’t last forever outside of Hell, and I can’t move into a neighboring Hell without stepping on an alternate’s hooves.”

Valera

She rolls her eyes, sighing noisily. "Yes, it matters. Even if we can't figure out something better, I want to *try* and help you get a happier ending. Because right now, it's sounding like you're about to give up Telly to go run into your Pentious' arms. Which I don't think Telly would like much."

Alastor

“No! That’s not what I want! I keep double checking that this will delete the current timeline for a reason! If some different Alastor *just slightly* removed from me ends up with him, dandy, but it had damn well better not be me! I’m not trying to get back with him, I’m trying to get ERASED!”

Well. That’s sure something he said and can’t unsay.

Valera

She freezes, her eyes locked on Alastor's face. So, the truth comes out, does it? But is this the eye of the storm, or a defeated gasp? This may require some care.

A slow inhale. A shift of her weight as she sits more upright, face neutral. "I *see*."

Alastor

Those weren’t quite the words he expected out of himself, either. But he’s nothing if not impossible to shut up, so he swallows hard and soldiers on. “Didn’t I say, the very first time we discussed this, that when you made that other timeline, I didn’t want you to combine my memories with my past self—I wanted you to let me get deleted with the rest of this timeline? *This isn’t for me.* I don’t want to get him back—I want him to win. How isn’t that clear? If I wasn’t worried about what it would do to Sir Pentious’s psyche if his lover is assassinated on his airship the morning after they hooked up, I’d tell you to put a bullet through my head the moment you see me!”

Valera

She nods, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she watches him dig his hole deeper with every word he rattles out. She'd known this, really. He'd said it. But she didn't realize..

Well. Better late than never, one supposes. "And what about Telly, Alastor? What are you going to do about *him?* What of *his* psyche?"

Alastor

His face almost cracks completely, brows drawing and smile half wilting. He slumps down onto a seat again. “I shouldn’t have gotten him involved.” It’s not really an answer.

Valera

"No, you shouldn't have! But you did, and now you have another problem to solve. Because Alastor? I do NOT want to explain to that poor man that I helped his boyfriend erase himself from existence for the sake of the man he betrayed, and had planned on doing so before you two even met. You may not have to deal with the fallout, but *I will.*"

Alastor

He inhales sharply at the thought of it. “Isn’t there a way to... As long as we’re altering timelines, can’t we just... make it so he never met me? It was under three months ago, all it would take...” He can’t even finish. It feels like knives just to think about.

Valera

"I already find the idea of breaking your timeline dubious at best, and now you want me to alter the reality of my friend? An innocent party in all this? You *know* he wouldn't want that, Alastor. I agreed to help you with one very specific problem, it isn't my fault that you decided to dally with another snake and complicate matters when you knew your time was potentially limited to months. I wont help you fix that."

She struggles to her feet, empty mug in hand. "I am going to get a refill on my tea. Do you want more coffee, Alastor?"

Alastor

He glances at his cup. He still hasn’t quite emptied it. He shakes his head.

Valera

A nod. "I will be clear. I am not angry, I am not saying I wont help you. But I cannot fix all of your problems so easily. Your actions have consequences, and erasing yourself wont leave everyone happy and everything tied up with a bow." Her thumbs rub over the smooth finish of her mug, brow furrowing in thought.

"I am sorry, Alastor. If I could guarantee, one hundred percent, that I could erase you from Telly's life, take you back to your timeline, and wipe you out before you ever hurt your Pentious.. I would. I would obliterate your mind on the spot and let whatever version of you sprang forth, happy and in love, carry on with your day like it never happened. And I'd take that to my grave. But I can't make that promise." Okay she'd better actually leave, standing around holding an empty cup to rant at someone is stupid. Give her a bit.

Alastor

He nods vaguely, but although he absorbs what Valera says, most of his focus is on his own thoughts.

Telly. If he leaves, who’s there for Telly? Who’s the one who will bargain, threaten, or assassinate whoever it takes to get Telly the supplies he needs for his ship? When all his machines are broken, who’s going to be the one to fill the gaps with magic until they’re repaired? Who will tell him that he’s beautiful, brilliant, unstoppable, every day until he believes it himself? Who’s going to *feed* him?

Every single day, Alastor sees more of Telly’s real self—the person Alastor met just shy of three months ago is hardly a ghost compared to the person Telly is now. It doesn’t matter how Alastor leaves. If he just vanishes, then everything he’s tried to give Telly will be lost. If they never met, then Alastor never gave him those things at all.

He’s still brooding on these thoughts when Valera gets back.

Valera

Valera lets him have some silence, settling back down with her tea as she observes Alastor's stewing. Good. He's thinking. Maybe he'll think his way *out* of this idiocy.

Alastor

He’s working on it.

His Sir Pentious, though—the one he *betrayed*—nothing is fixed for him if Alastor *doesn’t* follow through. He’s still stuck where he is. So which is worse? Which weighs heavier? Never paying the price and making amends for the sin he committed before, or committing a fresh sin now? If no matter what he does, he’s got to knowingly and deliberately doom one of them to an afterlife of broken hopes and unfulfilled aspirations, which one of them is worse?

“... I made a deal with him.” Instead of trying to repeat it, he just plays it back, his own voice slightly cracklier than usual as if it’s playing back from a phonograph record: “*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.*”

He looks at Valera. “As far as you can think of—is there no possible way for me to do this without violating all three of those?”

Valera

Valera pauses, rolling the terms over in her mind. "You could tell him you can't be with him anymore because you realized your goals are incompatible. That would be a _kindness._ You would be leaving with honesty. Your goals _are_ incompatible."

Alastor

Nods, he accepts that. There are ways he could be honest without telling too much of the truth. Debatable on the idea that he’d be leaving with kindness, but he’s willing to let that sit for the moment. “The other two, then. I wouldn’t be knowingly and *deliberately* breaking his heart, since breaking it is just a side effect instead of my goal; but it would be knowingly and *callously.*”

Valera

"Is it callous, to try and spare him from further harm by stepping away? Because that's what you'd be doing, I imagine."

She leans back into the cushions of the couch, tapping her chin. "_Knowingly_ breaking his heart is the real issue. You've essentially _trapped_ yourself in the relationship. You can't leave while he has feelings for you, no matter how kind and honest you are, because you'll break his heart doing it."

Alastor

“I was damn careful with my wording to make sure I wouldn’t be trapped.” He shakes his head. “That’s why it has to be both. Knowingly-*and*-deliberately or knowingly-*and*-callously. If I know it will break his heart, but the heartbreak isn’t deliberate or callous, it’s legal.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m *not* trying to spare him harm by stepping away. I’m trying to... disappear, to undo a prior betrayal; and, in the process, I’d be knowingly adding to the parade of people who have promised him the world and then ripped it away—and—and I’d be doing untold damage to his ability to follow his ambitions.” He clears his throat, his voice is starting to sound a little hoarse. “He wouldn’t be spared harm. Knowing the extent of the damage, I—there’s—there’d be no way to proceed without callousness. Would there.”

Valera

Valera has an argument already half formed, but stops. Cocks her head to one side. Why the FUCK would she try to convince him around to her side. This was basically a get out of jail free card. Her perspective didn't matter here, it was *his* contract.

"Y-yeah. If that's the way you interpret your contract, you're well and truly stuck."

Alastor

His shoulders slump, the tension draining out of them all at once. "So that's that? It's undoable." If he can't think of a way and Valera can't think of a way...

Valera

She lifts a shaky mug to her lips, squeaking out what MIGHT be the affirmative. "Mm-Mm!"

Alastor

“All right. That’s that.”

He expects to feel... maybe relieved. Maybe resigned. Instead, what hits first is an unexpected wave of grief. He tries to disguise it by rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, as though he’s just tired. “So—“ Ahem. “So. You and I shook. If we can’t proceed, then what’s... How do we dissolve that?”

Valera

Valera frowns, fins drooping as she wavers. But no. This is for the best. "Well, how do *you* negate a deal that is no longer viable? All you need to do is say you've released me from the contract, on my end."

Alastor

“You’re released from the contract if I’m released from the contract.” He’s not *unilaterally* releasing somebody else from a contract, that’s just common sense.

Valera

Her eyes are ROLLING. Of course, even now he's being difficult. "Well we shook on it. What does your magic need to terminate the agreement? Blood? Another handshake?"

Alastor

"For you to agree to the same out loud." It's not THAT complicated; but a release from a contract has to be mutual. Otherwise anyone could cancel a contract at any time, and then where would the exploitative dealmakers of the world be?

Valera

"Alright. I release you from our contract under the same terms."

... She doesn't know why she always expects something dramatic to happen, it never does. At least she can lean back and sigh, now.

Alastor

If it helps, Alastor plays a little *ta-daaa* trumpet fanfare.

Valera

It helps, but also makes her primary heart clench. She didn't lie, but she wasn't honest. And it digs into her like a splinter.

A sigh. "Are you okay, Alastor? I know you wanted _very_ badly to help the Pentious of your Hell." That came out more gently than she'd intended, but she's too tired to try and force a casual demeanor right now. Deal with her concern.

Alastor

He's silent for a moment, then sighs and sort of shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. "It just puts me back where I was a few months ago. No great loss."

Valera

"Sure, but you got your hopes up, only for them to be dashed by a contract of your own design." She isn't going to comment on that being incredibly dumb. She isn't. But she's thinking it. Even though it worked out for her.

"I suppose that means you'll have to do things the old fashioned way if you want to make amends."

Alastor

"If the contract wasn't there, I would have had to *decide* which one of them I want to hurt. At least this way the choice is out of my hands. And it means the contract did its job, didn't it?"

He rubs his eyes. "Still. Having the end in sight, and then watching it disappear..."

Valera

Most people would be happy to live another day, but a man craving oblivion? Maybe not so much. She frowns.

"At least you've got Telly. That leaves your local Pentious still suffering. And lest we forget, I entered that contract wanting to help _him_. Still do."

Alastor

And there is nothing he wants more than to go home, curl up in Telly's coils, and not come out for a week. He nods. "I know."

Valera

A low sigh. She could WANT to help, but she couldn't really *do* much. "Well. I suppose there's nothing to be done, at least not now."

Alastor

"I suppose not. Maybe another time." It's hard to even think about an alternative plan right now. How can he even consider a plan that doesn't involve completely erasing all of his mistakes in one fell swoop? What's the *point*?

Valera

"Another time? Yes, absolutely. The politician in me already has five concepts to workshop with my imaginary team. But I am tired, and nauseous, and I want to go hide against either Leal or Penny, whichever lucky man I find first."

Alastor

"Cheers to *that.*" He limply picks up his almost-empty coffee mug. "I think I'll be following your lead." Now that for the first time he HAS someone to hide against.

Valera

She waves her tea at him in what could pass as a pale imitation of a toast, slamming back the rest of her drink like a shot. "At least that's one thing we get out of *love*. Somebody willing to let us use them as *emotional support*."

Alastor

That feels like an attack. Why does that feel like an attack? "Or a warm pillow." He finishes his coffee and stands. "Well, that didn't quite go the way I wanted it to. But thank you for the introduction." He nods toward the egg. "And I suppose I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Remember that part? After all this, they've got JOBS they've gotta go to tomorrow? Harrowing.

Valera

She opens her mouth to remind him that she and Penny are both coldblooded, but then remembers that Leal is a furnace on legs, and just nods instead. "It was... Well. Parts of this visit were fun. I'll see you tomorrow, Alastor. And I'll remember to talk to my beau about your role in Eelizzy's life." Thumbs up.

Alastor

Listen, Alastor's spent the past few decades crying himself to sleep on a pillow with a faux snakeskin pillowcase. Who wants to argue with him if he says he feels warmer when he's wrapped around Telly.

His expression brightens a little bit. "I'd appreciate it."

Valera

She wheezes out a breathy laugh as she stands, smoothing her dress over her stomach. "Hey. I know this was rough, and I wish our talks didn't always end so stressfully, but I do think you'll be a fantastic uncle. With allowances for Penny and Leal, there's nobody I'd trust more to make sure my daughter was cared for if something happened to me. And I mean it."

A flick of a wrist, and a familiar portal opens in the wall, the Hotel's lobby visible through a shimmery haze. It could have gone worse, all things considered.

Alastor

"I doubt we'll need to have any other conversations on this. It's not like we have anything else to discuss on the topic." A crooked smile, but a slightly pained one. "Just let me know when the first PTA meeting is!" And out he goes.

Valera

[[ NOT LIKE SHE CAN DUMP HIM ON TELLY'S SHIP BUT SHE *WISHES*

Alastor

((He's gonna be teleporting himself STRAIGHT to Telly's ship anyway))

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

Multiples of 6 for the OC asks!

AYYYYYYYYYY THANK YOU

i think for this one i’ll answer each question with three ocs for comparison >:V

(under the cut because, predictably, It Got Long)

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6. Do they smoke or do they hate smoking. 

(origfic, unnamed superhero verse)

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Neil: won’t touch cigarettes, but has been known to smoke a bowl every now and then when his anxiety gets the best of him. he doesn’t like doing it--he’s internalized some pretty negative shit about how it means he’s a trashy, weak-willed loser who can’t handle reality--but since meeting nads and then beth, he’s eased up a lot on the guilt and is able to relax more.

Nads: smokes cigarettes, but only if they’re stolen. she’s got an active lifestyle to say the least and she doesn’t want to risk fucking up her lungs, so that’s her compromise. my god does she love her weed though

Beth: smokes cigarettes to take the edge off her anxiety when she has to go outside during the day. she knows they’re worse for her than weed, but she’s wary enough of her liminal space powers without imagining what they might do if she got stoned.

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12. What’s an outfit they’d despise wearing Vs one they’d love wearing? Draw it! 

(Tales of Arcadia; i’m godawful at drawing clothes so i’ll just describe them as best i can ashdflkshdfkl)

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Liyen: loves comfortable, understated, professional-looking masc clothes, usually in muted shades of gray, blue, or black. give them a fuzzy turtleneck sweater and black pants and they’re happy. meanwhile they’d be SUPER uncomfortable in loud, clashing colors or anything too femme. 

Schommag: Does Not Like Clothes That Will Get in Her Way, also not a big fan of dressing femme with very few exceptions (the right Little Black Dress, for example). give her what she needs to get around the woods and stay out of her way. that said she does love showing off her muscles, so she wears a lot of tank tops and sports bras (and sometimes no top at all, if she can get away with it). 

Oryalv: VERY femme, particularly business casual. this man loves his pantsuits. meanwhile his nightmare is middle-aged high school coach aesthetic. put him in a t-shirt and khakis and he’ll start pouring smoke like a teakettle

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18. Have they ever committed a crime? How? Why? If not, then what’s their opinion on crime?

(origfic, unnamed VALENTINE DON’T DO THAT verse)

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Valentine: has been made complicit in a lot of their family’s cutthroat-noble shadiness growing up, is otherwise a law-abiding sort up until they jump off the slippery slope and get the war crime ball rolling in earnest. Whoops

Edmund: has gotten into plenty of cutthroat-noble shadiness of his own volition, thank you very much. unlike valentine he’s a whole lot more inclined to go UHHH and pull up when it comes to war crimes

Marcel: LOVES war crimes. LOVES them. would marry them if he could. lucky for him he’s captain of the guard and has plenty of opportunities. will otherwise use the law as a bludgeon but i don’t think he’s too bothered about it for its own sake

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24. Mcdonalds, subway, or KFC?

(Final Fantasy Tactics A2)

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Nebilim: subway, grease is sensory hell and makes him sick and it’s the easiest place to avoid it. the number of variables per sandwich make him anxious, but if he has to pick one then fuck it, it’s worth not putting grease in his body.  

Moovry: loves grease with all his somehow-still-functioning heart, would bring his own beer keg to KFC and refuse to leave til he’s finished his fourth bucket of chicken

York: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS. gets the happy meal and then uses the toy to test their black magic minispells. we hardly knew ye, beyblade 

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30. Have they ever dreamed about another oc?

(Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, taxidermy/doll horror cw)

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Faerna: has dreams about missing his mother sometimes. he hasn’t seen her in a long time, and for all he knows she thinks he’s dead, but he can’t bring himself to go back and look for her when he doesn’t know if she’ll approve of the life he’s chosen for himself. for all he talks himself up, not everyone’s happy to have a thief and a conman for a son.

SkekNev: has recurring dreams about the victims of their taxidermy coming back to life. less of a HOLY SHIT THE DOLLS ARE ALIVE nightmare for them, more of an anger/anxiety nightmare because stop that, stop having autonomy, i made you like this for a reason.

Aivne: dreams a lot about her little siblings. outright nightmares, semi-lucid rehearsals of danger scenarios, memories from before they lost their parents.

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36. If they’re nonhuman, what’s their opinion on humans?

(origfic, faeverse)

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Aislinng: vampire/incubus, more specifically A Dracula Lookin Motherfucker. depending on how much of a bastard he is in a given au, humans are usually somewhere between ‘fun to dazzle with my Supernatural Charms’ and ‘boring. where are the interesting people to torment’

Meadowsweet: rabbit faun. depending on which of the two wildly different versions of him we’re talking about, he either treats humans with the same goodwill as anyone else who might need his healing, or looks down on them and considers them fair game for whatever evil bastard he’s pining after this week.

Agaric: aislinng’s son with a forest spirit, so fuck if i know what to call him at this point. humans tend to find his brand of quiet, aloof awkwardness either offputting or endearing; either one is mortifying, and he’d mostly rather just keep to himself. 

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42. What’s their standpoint when it comes to washing hands?

(origfic, bumfuck nowhere cult)

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Cristina: obsessed with cleanliness, washes her hands constantly, crissy please you live in the desert

Skinner: if my hands are clean i can’t wipe them on cristina’s robes now can i

Rosemary: who needs to wash hands when you’ve got tentacles ;)

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48. If they were defeated fairly in battle, would they accept and move on or throw a fit?

(origfic, slasher movie slaughterhouse dimension)

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Maggie: will stay down and let you think she’s beaten, until you take your eyes off her for a second too long. then she’ll go for your hamstring

Dee: will accept it and move on, but will also try to make you feel like winning wasn’t really important anyway. maggie loves her dearly but she is kind of infuriating to everyone else

Esau: is delighted when somebody beats him, because if they’ve gotten that far they’ve committed at least one horrific atrocity and will have to live with that forever (if not embrace it). the real treasure was the corruption and PTSD we found along the way. no wonder maggie kind of hate-connects with him, he reminds her of dee lmao

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54. Have they ever lost anyone?

(misc origfic)

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Gray: lost the person who summoned them, gave them form, and taught them how to speak. once she died, all they knew was that she’d stopped coming, and that their only friend--their only contact with the world outside the cave--was gone. they’re there alone for a long time before a hitchhiker stumbles across them, and now they’re clingy as fuck and terrified of being abandoned again.

Ashdown: lost her wife the spring before her story begins, which left her so depressed she didn’t bother flying south for the winter with everyone else. she does eventually find love again, after coming to terms with the fact that what she’s lost isn’t the only thing she can ever have.

Jake: lost his older brother as a kid, which might or might not be why some fuck haunting their own fursuit recruits him to help with their unfinished business.

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[DYING WHEEZE]

thank you again for the questions!!! i have. so many ocs. SO many ocs, and it’s always fun to get a chance to trot a bunch of them out, especially with a good range of questions like these :D

[logical-little-lies]

Meeting in Person

Background: Patton runs his agere channel (eat-a-second-cookie), and he's known for being pretty popular on the agere side of the internet. Virgil has been interacting with Patton online since forever, and he's his online cg. Virgil is dating Roman, who is just learning about the agere community, slowly becoming vee's second cg, and a little himself. Logan is dating Patton, and is becoming a cg for him. This is a human/young adult au

Summary: Virgil prepares to meet his dear friend in person for the first time.

Ships: Eventual LAMP/CALM

tag list: @novacloudcat @stimmingsides @smollilsanderssides (just some people who usually support my content)

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They had it all worked out. Throughout the weekend, Patton and Virgil were talking more than ever, and Logan and Roman spoke as well. The four were starting to get to know each other, and the two boys were very excited. That Monday, both Roman and Logan had work, but Virgil didn't. So Patton and Virgil would get to meet, and hang out anywhere they wanted in the mall while their carers worked for the day.

Virgil had been waiting for the day he'd get to hug Patton. He was just a little chubby, with the softest sweaters, Virgil just thought he looked so cuddleable. Virgil was bouncing on his feet, texting Patton from the passenger seat of the car, biting at his lip.

"Remember, if both you and Patton slip into littlespace, then you have to go to either Logan's bookshop, or come to the arcade. I believe you guys can take care of each other if it's just one of you, but if both of you go into the headspace, I don't want you to get lost."

Virgil nodded, "You've told me this millions of times, Roman. I get it, I know the rules!" he chuckled, causing Roman to smile.

"This is like, actually happening! I can't believe it!" back when Virgil was just an anxious teenager, Patton was there for him. He was very happy he'd finally get to meet him. Roman smiled dearingly at his boyfriends excitement, pulling into a workers-only parking spot near the front of the Teens Arcade, with the bookstore a few shops down.

"The bookstore opens at the same time as the Arcade, so they should be here any-"

"ROMAN!! Look, it's them!" Virgil pointed down the parking lot, at a small car that Logan climbed out of. He walked around to the passenger side, opening the door, and Patton climbed out. Roman was quick to pull out his phone and start recording, and Virgil climbed out of the car before his carer could even say a word.

Patton spotted them quickly, and the two boys made eye contact . Logan was recording two, and the two boys closed the gap quickly, immediately hugging one another. "You're really here..this is so crazy!" Patton squealed, not pulling away from the hug for multiple minutes.

"After almost five years, I actually get to meet you!" Virgil spoke in a soft, but very energy-filled voice. They've known each other since sophomore year, when Patton first start his channel. Now, they were 21. And for three of those five years, Patton lived within half an hour away, and they didn't even know.

Virgil was short than Patton, but only slightly, but both of them were shorter than their boyfriends, with Roman and Logan at aout the same height. The four walked up to the Arcade.

"I'll text you guys when I have my lunch break, and we'll meet up somewhere to eat, yeah?" Roman proposed, and the other four nodded.

Virgil stood on his toes to kiss his boyfriend, and before anyone knew it, Roman was inside the Arcade.

"You've been dating him for six months, right?" Patton asked.

"Yeah, and we've lived together for four. And he's been my caregiver for about the same amount of time."

"Did you tell him about your regression before you are started dating?" Logan questioned.

Virgil blushed when talking about the start of him and Roman's relationship, "Mhm, he came to my apartment to watch movies..and he told me that he liked Disney and that's when I told him."

They walked towards the bookstore as they talked. Patton squealed, "I love that story, it's so cute!"

"He didn't take long to learn about all of it, and we talked about it. But it wasn't until we moved in together that he saw me little and really had to chance to take care of me. So four months in all, and about three since he started talking to Patton."

Logan nodded, "Patton and I have only been dating for two months in all, and I just moved in with him less than a month ago. But I knew about his littlespace the moment we got together, he's very open about it,"

Patton blushed, nodding. "I'm still getting to know little him, and all that. Adjusting to being a caregiver," Logan approached the door of the bookstore.

"Bye Logan!" Patton kissed his cheek, and the taller man left them with a warm smile.

"You boys text me if you need anything, alright?"

They both nodded. "This is so exciting, where do we even go?" the hyperness that came from his mix of positive emotions was wearing off, but he was still very, very happy.

"We can just walk, it's just a big circle. And stop anywhere we'd like," Patton decided. "Oh, and also, can I use the video Logan took for my channel, I kind of want you to be featured on my channel as more than just a name and a  'Go follow him on tumblr!'."

"Sure, go ahead. I wanted to post our video somewhere anyways," Virgil nodded. It was silent for a few moments before he spoke again, "Twenty minutes...only twenty minutes away!"

Patton giggled, "It really is crazy. But now that we figured it out, nows a good time to start a real life friendship, right? We both are in healthy relationships, and have stable homes, and don't have anything really bad happening in our lives. I think now is a better time than ever to finally meet you."

They talked, dipping into shops, topics ranging from their personal lives, all the way to things they didn't know about each other. They were currently walking in front of a craft shop.

"So, you remember how like a few months ago, I came out on my channel as poly?" Patton asked, biting at his lip. Virgil nodded.

"Well, I had come out to Logan before we even started dating, and just yesterday he came out to me as poly too!" Patton seemed excited about this.

"Did he just not know until recently or.." Virgil trailed off.

"Well, he told me a little while ago that he thought someone from work was cute, and he was figuring it out. And he figured it out, so now we've reached a point where we're willing to have someone join out relationship, we just want to find the right person."

"It's great that you guys are on the same page. I know you've wanted a little partner since before Logan came in, is that what he wants too?" Virgil knew that Patton's dream romance life involved a caregiver boyfriend, and a little boyfriend, all living in the with him. Patton had a large home, after high school he inherited it from some family member. That's why he moved after high school, the house was perfect for a family, and he didn't have to pay any sort of rent, the house was in his name. That's what allowed him to survive off of youtube money, he only needed to pay electricity and other bills.

"Yes, actually. Logan says that he wouldn't mind a four person relationship, like merging with another caregiver/little couple," Patton revealed. They were heading back towards the bookstore now, deciding they were gonna meet at the mall diner for lunch.

"You guys got your eye out for anyone?" Virgil asked.

"Okay, you can't tell Roman, but I know a secret."

Virgil seemed worried and confused, but he nodded slowly. "The only reason Logan knows he's poly is because he has a crush on Roman. So uh, why I brought it up was to ask if Roman was poly or anything."

Virgil thought, "I don't think he's against it. We've brought it up before, he doesn't identify as anything, but he knows that he can be attracted to multiple people. So yeah, technically, but he's never been in a poly relationship, like me."

Virgil felt off for the rest of the day. Yeah, Patton had brought that up because of Logan, but he was basically talking about the idea of their relationships merging, meaning that Virgil and Patton would be dating too, and Virgil hadn't thought about that since high school. He still had fun though, they entered the diner to see Logan and Roman talking in a booth. They motioned them over, and the two boys made their way over.

Patton slid into the seat to sit next to Logan, and Virgil sat next to Roman. When the four of them sat together, you saw how wildly different they all looked. Virgil was short, and skinny, with deep purple hair. Patton had light pastelish purple hair, Logan had freckles and deep brown hair. And Roman had light brown hair.

Patton and Virgil dyed their hair a year ago to match, and ended up loving the colors, so they maintained them and kept them. "Hey baby, are you guys having fun?" Logan greeted Patton.

"Oh my god! I just realized that you guys have matching glasses!" Roman interrupted whatever Patton was gonna say. Logan smiled warmly, wrapping his arm around Patton.

"Mhm, we realized that within a few seconds of meeting each other," Logan nodded.

As they waited to order, Patton began telling them all about the trinkets and items they had gotten, the stores they went to. Logan and Roman realized that they both loved marvel movies, and Patton and Roman realized they both liked makeup. They were finding similarities and common interests.

"So Roman, very recently, realized that he's a little too," Virgil was teasing Roman, who blushed lightly.

"Shut up!" he whined, burying his face in Virgil's shoulder.

"Look at how cute he is! Aweee," Virgil kept teasing him, knowing that he was pushing him on the edge of little space.

"What age do you regress to, Roman?" Patton asked. Roman shrugged.

"He hasn't regressed that many times, he's figuring it out. He says he prefers being a caregiver to me," Virgil elaborates for him, Roman nodding.

"What about you Virgil? I know Patton has been taking care of you for a long time, but how little do you get?" Logan asked, popping a french fry in his mouth.

"Baby ages all the way to like, fiveish."

"Wait, Logan. Are you also a regressor, or just a caregiver?" Roman questions.

"Just a caregiver," He responds. They kept talking about little stuff until it was time for Roman and Logan to go back to work.

Little did they know, the online friendship between Virgil and Patton, along with that day, would be the start of a four-way bond that would never be broken.

[stargirl720]

Day 11: Defiance | Struggling

Tachihara was warned constantly not to get too close to the shore. Just about every time a friend caught him staring off into the distance, they'd tug on his hand and frown a little bit before dragging him away.

He knew why, of course. His brother had died in human captivity, after being snatched up in a net. His parents hadn't let him see the mutilated body they got back, but he knew it had been bad.

They assumed that he of all people should know not to get too close to shore. And they were right, really. He knew it was smarter to stay away. But that didn't sate his curiosity, nor did it get rid of his parent's voices in his head saying that they wished he had been caught, instead of his brother.

Jouno had gotten him away from them a long time ago, but when you tell your young child that you wish he was dead instead and that he's a disappointment (among other abusive and neglectful things) for years, it doesn't go away easy.

So… the curiosity gnawed at him. And one day, when he was alone, he followed his impulsive thoughts and began to swim towards the shore. His long, golden tail pushed him forward with each powerful pump, and before long, he left his city far behind, approaching a new horizon.

He was about two kilometers out from the beach when he came to a stop, just surveying the land. He could see humans, a bunch of them in the water, seemingly having fun.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" He heard, and he flinched as he whipped around, spotting Jouno as he swam over. "How many times have you been told to stay away?"

Tachihara ducked his head, turning back to the beach. "I wanted to look," he explained simply, as though that justified anything.

Jouno swam closer, placing his hand on Tachihara's shoulder. "Well now you're endangering us both. You've gotten close enough - let's go home," he ordered.

"No," the redhead replied, starting to swim forward again, towards what looked like a cave. "I'm already this close - I wanna look around a bit more."

Jouno clenched his hands into fists, then, wishing he could just turn around and leave. But as long as Tachihara was still there, he wasn't going anywhere. "Goddamn it."

Tachihara glanced back when Jouno reached for his hand, threading their fingers together and guiding him forward. He could tell Jouno was anxious, but he hoped to reassure him.

Neither were expecting the nets.

They came out of nowhere - Tachihara didn't even notice them until too late. He turned to Jouno in a panic. "Nets - let's go!" He shouted, except the film was already beginning to press against his skin. "Shit!"

Jouno flinched as it began to close in, and he grabbed at it, tugging and trying to rip it apart. "Find us an opening!" He shouted, panicked, and Tachihara looked around wildly, looking for any part big enough for them to escape.

His head snapped up, and he gasped. "The top! It hasn't closed yet, if we hurry we can make it!"

Jouno grabbed Tachihara's hand again, and he furiously swam upwards with the other's guidance. Jouno slipped through, though he hissed at the scrape against his fins, and turned back around, gripping the edge of the net. "Come on, idiot!"

Tachihara shot up, getting to his waist before it became too tight, and he cried out as it seemed to close up around his hips. "I - I'm stuck," he said, starting to struggle against the grip of the coarse netting, his skin starting to rub raw. "Jouno - Jouno, I can't get out!"

Jouno grabbed at the opening, starting to tug at it, to no avail. They were getting too close to the surface, and Tachihara’s breathing grew harder. “Jouno - Jouno, you have to go. Get away, before they get you too.”

Jouno gulped and shook his head, feeling around Tachihara’s waist to try and find a way to wiggle him out of it. “I’m not going to leave you, Tachihara-kun.”

Tachihara began tugging at his hands, trying to knock him loose. “You have to - I can’t do this to you, I can’t bring you down with me.”

Jouno shook his head, grabbing Tachihara’s hands and tilting his head to face the other. “You already have. I’m not leaving you to die alone, Tachihara-kun.”

Tachihara felt a wave of both irritation and relief. Thank god he wouldn’t be alone but fuck Jouno for not leaving and saving himself. “Well then -” he paused as he began to surface, and he coughed the water out of his mouth. “Let’s give them hell.”

[endearinglysarcastic]

Taylor Swift’s Current Form of Hell

Some thoughts considering Taylor’s current situation. Feedback is welcome (especially if it can be added to the analysis!), but please don’t @ me to argue that she’s a bully or a bitch. I will eat you. 

Firstly, let’s talk about age. Taylor is 29. Scott and Kim are 38, Kanye is 42. Famous was released in 2016, when Taylor was 26 and Kanye 39. So, not only was it released without her permission, not only was she filmed without her permission, not only did it defame her, not only was it implying sexual promiscuity in return for fame, not only was it entirely beyond the bounds of anything she would’ve agreed to regardless of Kim’s ‘proof’, she was 26. Let that sink in. There is more than a decade between her and Kanye - think about someone a decade older that you (a cousin, uncle or friend) and imagine how you would react (me, I’d go all Tangled on them, and hit them in the face with a saucepan; and that’s my calm reaction). Then remember how you were at 19 - considering that, in 2009, when Kanye said ‘imma let you finish BUT’ she was 19.  Fast forward a little to 2016, and Kanye has 2 children, a wife and an established music career. He should be the elder, the one that understands the industry, the one that works with RESPECT. Taylor is only just older than his second youngest sister-in-law - and you best believe that if something like this happened to Kendall, Kanye would be coming after them. But this ‘feud’ was deemed appropriate, Famous was deemed ‘funny’. Scooter and Justin Bieber and various radio hosts etc have decided that all this is ‘not a big deal’. But there we were, Taylor was 26 and being TAGGED by people a decade older than her in this revenge porn horridness. Is it because we now think it’s okay to be horrible to white girls? Is that it? Is it because she’s American? She certainly isn’t a Trump fan, so we can rule that out. Maybe it’s because Kanye was threatened - maybe it’s because he was made to apologise by Queen B and he’s been looking to reassert his masculinity ever since. Maybe it’s his own past, insecurities, problems. But that in no means makes it okay; nor does it condone the behaviour of his wife and associates like Scooter. Hence, we have defamation, revenge porn and cyber bullying, all of which started when Taylor Swift, pop princess supreme, was 19, 26 and now 29.

One of the people who brought this 2016 pain about, now owns the rights to her music. Sounds a bit iffy (it still has her name on it! you cry), but let’s think about this legally. This means that if Taylor wants to work with, rerelease, remix or reconsider any of HER prior works, she has to a) work with Scooter, b) have the changes approved by Scooter and c) give a portion of the profits to Scooter. And yes, kiddies, that means concerts too. Performing her music, at her concerts, for her fans, is giving her abuser a profit. Imagine having to do that with a high school bully, or say, prior boss that you never really liked, with a report or a paper. Objectively these things are worth nothing, but you did the majority of the work; despite this, it’s technically part of their group or company, so it’s theirs too. It’s like sharing custody of your child with an abusive and absent ex. Except, that child is worth a literal fortune and took 14 years to create; and you’re well aware that your ex will completely abuse their side of the contract for their own amusement.  Furthermore, while she’s sharing those rights, we have to remember that Taylor has no legal recourse - he owns the masters by CONTRACT, that she no doubt signed at one point or another. Now while I have things to say about the lawyers that advised her to sign that contract, please remember that she was just 14 when she entered the industry and that a human female brain does not fully develop until at least 23 (men are develop by 27 but this is about Taylor so I’ll refrain from making that joke today). Business savvy she might be now, but that comes with experience and practice and a good team. People who are good at their job, understand your vision and you trust entirely are hard to find; especially when your vocation is as all encompassing as Taylor’s must be. Perhaps there was a mistake there, perhaps she shouldn’t have signed the contract; but hindsight is 20/20, and perhaps blaming Taylor isn’t the most progressive thing to do.  What is both interesting and considerably more gross, is that Taylor was offered a chance to, quote, ‘earn back’ her masters - not only is this bribery, it’s an attempt to further abuse and power over one of the biggest earners in today’s music industry. With such a power over her, there is no way that Big Machine will ever willingly let her go - perhaps they’d enter into a never-ending negotiation; for every album she produces (which would belong to Big Machine), she earns back a prior album that belonged to Big Machine. Sounds fabulous and abusive, doesn’t it? If you are so naive as to think that she was not a guiding factor on the purchase of Big Machine, please reconsider your brain. No one wants to buy the cow if you can get the milk for free - which essentially is what Scooter did, plus now he gets to kick the cow and the calf if and when he wants to. Lovely, right? However, please consider that in signing any new contact under this offer, one can see definite similarities with Kesha’s situation, though the abuse hopefully be only mental and emotional. Taylor has made an incredibly hard and painful choice; she could leave her legacy behind in favour of happier life, or continue with her legacy and ‘earn it back’ and be generally miserable. This desire to make Taylor ‘submit’ is misogynistic, horrible and really really gross. Hence we can conclude that not only has she been abused, bullied and used, we may now note that she has no way of ‘winning’ this argument - in that she may never get her masters back without paying a very serious life consequence.

Taylor has posted a 2 paragraph statement on Tumblr. (Fun reminder - I’m not even halfway done and I’ve written a longer defence that she did.) She is being called attention seeking (‘turning the the public has worked for her before’ - what my local FM radio told me), bullying, gaslighting etc etc. which are all things we’ve heard about before in relation to her. Certainly, Taylor, like other people in the media spotlight, has done things that people don’t approve of or deem problematic (because she, like all others, is just a person) but this by no means should overshadow her present situation. You don’t need to be a Taylor fan to consider this issue problematic; the facts alone are indicative enough. There is no element of like, love, favouritism or adoration that even needs to be considered here. Taylor is being judged, abused and publicly bullied as she dared to speak her mind and feelings about her own works. If Scooter had his way, we would  revert to simply calling her hysterical, and strip her of all capacity to reason - god forbid a woman in the music industry be of sane mind and conviction. Despite this, we have to note that these events, this treatment, these discussions have led to one of the most prominent and successful women of the 21st century retreating from public, and posting her defence, in her own words, on TUMBLR, which is widely considered a niche site when compared to say Twitter or Instagram. Hence, we must ask ourselves, why would Taylor choose Tumblr? She has been so widely supported on Instagram and Twitter in the past. Maybe this is where she feels supported and like she is least chance to be attacked; what does that tell you about her headspace? Maybe it’s where she sees the least tagging, comments of ownership, masters related from people who are meant to be her colleagues - cyber bullying is, effectively, so harmful because it can truly follow you anywhere. Imagine the outrage if this had been done to Justin Bieber, Ed Sheeran, Shawn Mendes. But it wouldn’t happen to them - not because producers and owners are incapable, but because they do not deem in necessary for them to need to show who the ‘alpha’ is. But having Taylor as the more powerful, pervasive person seems to offend many men to the core. Hence, maybe Taylor posted it is simply for herself, knowing it would be unedited and seen by people who might sympathise without yarns of criticism that related to the anatomy between her legs. Certainly, I know I would want to have my say for my own peace of mind as well as for my mental health - and I’m just a law student with 7 followers. How does someone so wildly popular feel so unsafe in the social media sphere? This. This bs is why. 

So why are we just hearing about all this now? Well that’s just it; Taylor. She has brought this to the public attention. She is not so naive as to think that there would be no backlash - she’s been the victim of that too many times. Taylor, despite knowing all of this, despite standing alone, despite the lack of media, social media, peer and male support, has said something. She has expressed her thoughts and feelings, knowing she would be labelled unstable and narcissistic - because that is the fastest way to depreciate and devalue anything legitimate or threatening that comes from a woman or girl. Taylor has, in a sense, reported her abuse; except she reported it to the public. She has been bullied, cyber bullied, defamed, indicted, disliked and gaslighted. In her position, many would be anxious, depressed, scared, paranoid, running crying to their parents (cough me cough). Instead, she has made a rational, intelligent and self-caring decision that led to a well written statement, conveying her feelings in a timely and eloquent manner. She is effectively telling us that Times Up, and it’s coming for the music industry. As always, she has handled this in the most dignified and elegant of ways, while Scooter and his supporters seem to be borderline aroused at the pain they’re inflicting. How anyone can get their kicks out of another persons pain will always be beyond me, though that seems to be the way women are accustomed to men acting. Taylor is, as she has often been, at the forefront of changing social issues and bearing the brunt of the backlash in the public eye. I hope that there are other young women and young artists that are watching and listening - she might very well break the glass ceiling - again. 

Taylor has gone through an immense amount of pain throughout her music career - she’s been labelled an attention, money and boyfriend seeking crybaby for over a decade. The behaviour of men in the music industry is neither appropriate or acceptable. I do not accept it - we, the public, cannot accept it. 

Although I know it is of little help, I will no longer be listening to or streaming Taylor’s old work in an effort to support her. I will also not be streaming or purchasing any other Big Machine productions until her work is returned to her. I will also be signing this petition in her favour. Please consider doing the same - Katy Perry already did. 

I hope Taylor is okay, I hope she is caring for herself, I hope there is some legal action she can take. I hope Lover is wildly successful and her heart is full. Remember that this is not about receipts or feuds or drama. This is about the cruel and unfair treatment of a woman in the music industry and the escalation of that when it became public information. This is about changing the conversation and changing the working conditions. This is for more than just Taylor; this is part changing a toxic culture, where cyberbulling and revenge porn and spiteful purchases for ‘funzies’ (and the torment of others) is appropriate, provided it is against a woman. Whatever you might say or think of her, this is an example of injustices that occur to women everywhere and everyday. We have proven only one thing with these injustices, and that is that you can kick Taylor Swift down are hard as you can - she has discovered feminism and she’s going to get back up. She might not be perfect, she might not be your favourite, but she isn’t a push over. Taylor Swift is taking up space and taking no shit, and I am here for it. 

Petition: https://www.change.org/p/taylor-swift-make-taylor-swift-re-release-her-6-albums 

You can find Taylor’s statement here: https://taylorswift.tumblr.com/post/185958366550/for-years-i-asked-pleaded-for-a-chance-to-own-my

You can also check her Tumblr out here, though this is less related to this analysis and more if you want a good giggle: @taylorswift

[thealphabetmurders]

Scrambled Thoughts

Pairings: Romantic Logince, Sibling Analogical

Word Count: 2228 (for Chapter 5), 12714 in total

(Previous) (First)

Summary: Roman was not a rebel by any means. Roman was not a fan of breaking rules. Sure, he bent some from time to time, but never done anything blatantly wrong, that was not in service to his passions. Yet, despite the protests his best friend and his consciousness, he picks up two dozen eggs and goes to vandalize. Now, Roman has to avoid suspension, make amends with Virgil, alleviate the concern of Patton, and not fall in love with his enemy Logan.

Triggers: Bullying, Violence, Vandalism, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Mentions of Racism, Classism

Authors Note: And we are done. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, I am so very proud of it. I have two announcements for this. #1. I was thinking about getting Roman and Logan's first kiss commissioned by someone, because I really like the way I wrote that. So if you do art or can recommend me someone, then go ahead and comment or message me on here. #2. I have the skeleton of an epilogue for this. It ends the fic on more of a humorous note and finally resolves the eggs, so let me know if you want that. This journey is at it's close.

(This fic was inspired by a dream @misplaced-my-notes had, thank you).

Taglist (for everyone who seemed interested): @misplaced-my-notes, @jaszczurkaaa, @an-atypical, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace, @mystrangedarkson

(Read on AO3)

“Hey.”

Roman felt a harsh kick on the back of his shin. “Ouch,” He responded, turning around to see his former (?) nemesis standing over him, crossing his arms with a small smirk on his face, “What exactly was that for?”

Virgil shrugged, but offered a hand to help Roman up from drilling the bottom section of the flat. “I just need to talk to you,”

Roman frowned at this omission, “What exactly would we need to talk about, no offense,”

Virgil groaned, looked around the auditorium, quickly snapping his head from side to side, then he grabbed Roman by the bicep and pulled him out of the stage area to the spare woods shop and tools room.

“Look, I just wanted to get some things straight with you, okay?

“Impossible, I am a gay as a warm spring day!” Roman flourished, half-bowing. Virgil pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath.

“That is obviously not what I meant,”

“What do you need, we are still in class, y’know,” Roman frowned, now getting concerned. He had been watching the anxious kid for about a month now, and he never seemed to go out of his way to talk to anyone. No matter what, he was always recluse and a bit cold, nevertheless, he went out of his way to talk to Roman, which means it must be important.

“Do you know what day it is?”

Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Seriously genius, you couldn’t just look on your phone to see it is Wed-”

“No no, you misunderstand, the date,” Virgil waved his hands in front of Roman, obviously frustrated.

Roman winced in spite of himself, forgetting that Virgil is speaking his second language and translating everything he is saying in his head, so making fun of his vernacular is a dick move, “Ah, sorry, it is September 29th.”

“Right, and do you remember what happened a month ago?”

“I-” Roman’s realization dawned upon him, “Oh, right, that. Did Logan say he was going to-”

“No, he is not,” Roman cocked his head to the side as Virgil continued, “He told me last night that he has ‘let the whole thing go’,” Virgil dropped his air quotes, wearing a disgusted look on his face, but Roman’s expression perked up.

“Well, that’s great, yeah? He is not going to say anything about me egging your house and I obviously am not going to say anything. This is fantastic!”

“Yea, fantastic,” Virgil grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at his shoes.

“Is it not? Do you- do you want me to get expelled Virgil? Because I swear I thought you liked me. I know we are kind of enemies but I always thought it was in a playful banter type of way, not that you would ever actually try to “take me down” or whatever,” Roman gasped, “Unless that was your plan all along. Oh my God, that is genius, you really are an incredible actor, Virgil, you should join theater with-”

“Drž hubu! Drž hubu Roman, I swear, you talk so much,” Virgil shouted. “I just- That is not what I am saying, this has nothing to do with me,”

“What does this have to do with, then?”

Virgil sighed, calming himself down a bit, before speaking, “What are your feelings towards Logan?”

Roman was taken back a bit by the question, which must have put a shocked expression on his face, making Virgil quirk an eyebrow up, “We- we’re friends. Good friends, Virgil,”

“Just friends?”

“No!” Roman said, putting his hands up a bit too defensively, “I mean, yes, obviously just friends, I said no because we are no more than- not more than friends. I just- No, we are friends,”

“I just cannot think of any other reason why Logan would let this go other than him being,” Virgil shivered a bit, “In love. He would do anything to get ahead and is a crazy ambitious guy. He has all the proof he needs as well,”

“What do you mean ‘all the proof’-”

“And you two spend everyday after school together now. I see how you hold onto him on his motorcycle,”

Roman scoffs, thinking about his afterschool activities as of late, specifically, the ride to his apartment, “If you mean how I hold on for dear life because motorcycles are giant death bicycles, then you would be correct,” Virgil widened his eyes, very obviously mouthing ‘wow…’ in Roman’s direction, making the latter frown, standing in akimbo, “Maybe Logan has just, I dunno, thawed out a bit. That whole Ice Punk Prince act was getting tired,”

“Act?” Virgil repeated incredulously.

“No, no, no,” Roman waved his hands in front of him, “Just, a phase,”

“A phase, huh?” Virgil frowned even deeper, crossing his arms over his chest after zipping up his jacket.

Roman sighed, shrinking in on himself, “Well, yea. Clothes often times are a direct reflection of how we are feeling, and Logan tries to distance himself from whomever he feels he is getting close to. This creates problems whenever he tries to form meaningful relationships with anyone because of his abandonment issues with his parents. They were never really there for him so he does not realise how important those kinds of relationships can be, on a fundamental level. The phase that he is in now cannot be held up forever because eventually he is going to need a support system for himself, and I believe he is recognizing that,”

Roman bit his lip a bit, “It feels nice to be one of the first people he is warming up to, y’know? I am sure you understand, Virgil,”

Virgil straightened out his shoulders and uncrossed his arms and was wearing a soft smile on his face, one that was really only reserved for his brother most days, “Yea. I think I do understand, Roman. I am shocked about how well you know Logan,”

Roman laughed, “Well, he was a tough nut to crack, but I try my best to get to know people now before making snap judgments about them. And, I took AP Psych last year,”

“Oh, hey,” Virgil pointed at Roman, “I am in that now,”

“Really? Roman asked, foregoing their original conversation, “Do you have Woodstock?”

“No, I got Davis,”

Roman pouted, “Lucky, you got the easy Psych teacher. She does not grade worksheets, it is all participation,”

“It is not so easy for someone who has anxiety,” Virgil deadpanned. Roman opened his mouth to refute/apologise, until Virgil spoke up again, “Nah, I am just playing, she normally takes pity on me because I am the exchange student,”

“Either way, that is just my two cents from my year of Psych. Maybe all Lo wants is a meaningful friendship.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Friendship, sure. Either way, I support you,”

Roman smirked, “Or, maybe, he just really wants my coc-”

There was a harsh rapping on the metal door leading to the shop room where a teen’s voice could be heard, “Roman, Virgil, Mr. B says if you are done making out then you need to come out and help clean up,”

Roman could not help but laugh wildly as Virgil turned beet red and quickly shuffled out of the shop room.

Despite the boisterous laughter, Roman could not cover up what he was thinking: Did he have deeper feelings for Logan? Logan always was a really clever, handsome guy. He was the type of person whose voice carried like silk throughout a room and was pleasant to listen too, and his tight jeans were not doing the world a disservice.  He was always willing to help and to learn, even in a trade he did not necessarily need to know about. Logan will most likely never change oil in his life, but the idea of even having the option to learn was just enough to get him to become excited. Logan had so much passion. Most people thought of him as cold or robotic or unfeeling, but Roman saw the human and the warmth and there was so much passion packed in his stout frame, so much Roman fears sometimes the smaller man will start singing like a teapot and burst.

Logan and Roman continued to text and hang out every day. Roman rode on the back of Logan’s motorcycle enough for his to stop screaming, but the tightness of his grip only increased. They continued this routine for a few days, but Virgil’s question still burned in his mind.

It burned and consumed his every thought. Every interaction now had a deeper meaning and he couldn’t look at anything surface level. It kept him up at night, he couldn’t close his eyes without imagining his smile. It became increasingly difficult to talk or hang out and it made his emotions go haywire, but luckily Roman was an actor by nature.

After two weeks, Roman knew, and Roman had his answer.

Roman: I am head over heels for Logan.

Pat-Man: oh dear… D:

A Tuesday, afterschool

“You ready to go, pretty boy, I don’t like to wait?” Logan threw the helmet at Roman who barely caught it in his haste to put his jacket back on from his waist.

“I told you not to call me that,” Roman grumbled, putting on his helmet.

Logan shrugged, “Why not, it’s so fitting,”

“Wait, what is th-” Roman was cut off by Logan’s motorcycle engine turning on and raised an eyebrow before putting on his helmet. Roman got on the back of the motorcycle before they sped off to Roman’s apartment.

After 10 minutes, they reached their destination. Logan parked his bike and took off his helmet, running his hands through his black hair, climbing off the motorcycle. He looked off into the distance at the parkway he just came off of. Roman let his eyes trail over his frame. Logan’s dark blue button up paired with a black tie nicely accented his subtle muscles. He didn’t wear ripped jeans often, but today, he wore pitch black jeans with rips on the knees and thighs with those oh so familiar combat boots. Roman’s mouth went dry. It was a partly cloudy day, but Logan was glowing. Roman was barely paying any attention until he fell off of the motorcycle back and hit his shoulder hard on the pavement.

“Roman! Are you alright?” Logan rushed over to Roman’s aid, muttering to himself, eyes filled with worry and concern. Roman almost forgot how nice and cool Logan’s voice sounded. He realised he was wrong, Logan’s voice is velvet. “Roman, what is wrong?” He realised only then he had been staring at the other with a blank look on his face, saying nothing.

“No, nothing is wrong. I feel fine,” Roman’s voice wavered a bit as he looked away from Logan.

Logan said nothing as he led Roman over to the curb and they both sat down, Roman let out at sigh of relief, standing up and the short walk to the ledge somehow became very difficult.

“Roman, did you sleep at all? Eat?” Logan asked. Roman shook his head, and Logan took his hand in his and rub his thumb across his knuckles, Roman’s pulse speeding up exponentially at the act, “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

Roman’s eyes widened and shook his head, “Oh, good, I would not know how to deal with that,” Logan said, running his hands through his hair with his free hand. Roman smiled at this and shook his head, “Well, here is some generic advice then: you are, uh, incredible, Roman. Whatever this is, it is not worth you not eating or sleeping over,” He raised an eyebrow at Logan and the man in question gripped the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry, I wish I could be more empathetic. I care about you, Roman. I care… A lot,”

Roman eyes shot up and looked at Logan. He was not looking at any part of Roman and was biting his lip, looking vulnerable and open. He was frantically rubbing his knuckles now, his eyes filled with worry. Roman thought back to what Virgil said, then back to Logan giving him homework, then his apology, then the altercation in the hallway, and the first time they declared war upon one another in the vice principal’s office, what did they all have: Passion. Logan is passion. He tries so hard to subdue it, but it is who he is, and Roman cannot get enough of it. Poor Logan’s stoic demeanor is cracking ever so slightly, and just enough for Roman to read between the lines.

“Hey Logan,” Roman started, his voice scratchy and raw, “Did you know that the lips are among the body parts that have the most nerve endings out of the whole body?”

“Yes, I did. Though I am unsure as to why you’re telling me-”

Roman cut Logan off, he cupped his face and connected their lips, effectively shutting him up. The kiss was sweet and tender and chastate. Yet, somehow the kiss was filled love and admiration, and walls broken down of tension between them. Logan responded and gripped the back of Roman head, slightly tugging his brown locks and deepening the kiss. The kiss now had heat and fire in their lips. A blazing inferno was created with every second passing of the pair’s kissing. Eventually, Logan broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Roman’s.

Roman chuckled slightly, “It is what makes contact with them so perceptible,”

Logan laughed, “Oh, you gorgeous bastard,” He cupped his face and kissed Roman again, filled with that same passion that enraptured Roman so many months ago.  

[tempestshakes01]

happy and anxious. 

happy because i love my apartment and i love Lil Cup of Joe. he is a terror and the sweetest boy ever, and i feel so much love for him. this is why i can’t be around an animal for an extended period of time. i will die for any creature i get attached to and lil joe is now my baby. 

but i am anxious because i put of working when my brother brought home a puppy. he didn’t ask me to, but he’s an idiot who’s never home and bought a puppy to make him come home. i gave him 3 days and when his habits didn’t change, joe was being left alone and untrained, and i needed a running buddy--well, i took over. joe’s now potty-trained and knows a few (one) command. i take him everywhere to socialize him. he’s mine. but i’ll never say that to nick. who still needs to go therapy. i don’t know him. i don’t know what goes on in that head of his. it’s like we switched personalities in our 20s. i went from the quiet, serious type to basically a manic 13 yr old boy. he went from a wildly charismatic clown to a brooding hipster. what makes him laugh? what is he thinking? what is he passionate about? how does he talk to other ppl for hours but he can barely speak to his family for more than half of one? what did we do?

i got really angry the other night thinking about the fights i’ve had with my parents this past year. 

1) washington d.c. - mom and i got into to it in front of the fuckin white house at dusk. i was so emotional and upset at being there, right there where trump fucks over our country, and my mom was being...well, the woman fox news molded. i was furious and trying to keep it nice, so i asked if we could just stop. stop talking. i was gonna blow up. and my mom was like, “why do we stop when you say stop, but when i ask to stop, you continue?” which...is it true? i didn’t think so, and because i can’t keep my mouth shut, i argued until i walked away. i walked into the crowds and then i kept walking. i kept walking. i kept walking.  

it was terrible. i texted her “i’m gone” and i left. 

i forgot the details but i wandered that area of d.c. got a coffee. tried not to cry. and then...remembered how much trouble my mom’s phone was giving her, that her gps apps weren’t being accurate, that she wasn’t confident at the metro, and that it was now dark. that she was alone in an unfamiliar city with a camera bag strapped to her screaming “i’m a tourist!” 

i felt like utter and complete shit. it was one of the most despicable things i’ve ever done. later, i told some people and they were like “she’s a grown woman! you were both upset!” but no. i can’t make excuses like that. i knew that my mom was scared. i burst into tears. a crazy sobbing girl in the middle of d.c. i immediately texted her and told her to get back to me when she got to the hotel. 

an hour later, back at the hotel, my mom couldn’t even look at me. couldn’t speak to me. i knew i had to apologize and i did, wording it carefully because i walking on a minefield. i again blocked out most of the conversation, but it quickly dissolved into a mess of confessions. i was wrecked. at first because of what happened, but as our conversation turned into an argument, i became furious again. over how she interpreted some of our interactions. over how i “blamed” her for my anxiety and anger. i told her i got my anger from her. that i was slow to it like my father, but when something lit inside me it burned bright and hot and deadly like her. that her grudges and cold shoulders hurt me so, so badly when i was a kid (which she then explained wasn’t a grudge, just her processing her anger...but that was way, way into the night). oh god, it was so bad. so bad. she confessed how she felt about all us kids. told me about her problems with andi and nick. told me she wanted to move away from us. told me she didn’t want a relationship with me or them if it was going to be like this. 

i didn’t sleep. just cried and cried. like i did when i was a kid. sobbed in the bathroom and then under my covers. we barely talked the next day, but it slowly became okay. i didn’t know how to explain how much i loved her, so i tried to show her.      

in the end, we were ok enough. 

2) driving 30 hrs across the country - my dad and i were talking and he told me how he didn’t get us, and that we were hurting mom by rejecting her or something. he was upset and my dad doesn’t get upset, so i got upset and moody. and he was like “why are you like this? just with me? just with us. you’re so cruel.” and i knew it was true but it still took me an hour to snap out of it. and i apologized. 

--

but i feel sometimes angry bc i got the emo dump from both my parents. about both my siblings! and they don’t even talk to them about it! my parents don’t even touch nick anymore! they leave him alone because it’s easier that way and he wouldn’t listen even if they tried to talk to him! and my sister would get super huffy and feel judged and act out in some way and take the kids! so. i get it but i hate it!!! because i got the feelings dump! i got the tears and the hours of psychoanalyzing why we are the way we are! and i hate that i feel burdened by it sometimes?

 i want to be there for my parents but sometimes i’m that petulant child that still wants a mommy and daddy, not two parents who are human and exist with their own emotional life. and that’s so unfair to them and wrong of me, but i feel that way because i’m the child that gets this brunt of this side of them.  

but it’s because in my own way im the most difficult and this shit spills out when i push them. 

--

my parents (mostly mom) are only getting more set in their ways and defensive of their opinions. my mom...my mom who taught me so much about art and the world and appreciating different cultures and music and lived life with such vigor and wonder...i can see that fading and hardening. she’s stubborn about what she like and doesn’t have much interest in anything new. she’s offended and hurt when i gently bring up her how she used to be. 

my dad’s always been this way. very traditional, but kind. spoiled, but hardworking. likes what he likes. but he’s eating more greens. he’ll try what i make because i made it. we listened to latino usa and old radio lab podcasts that whole drive from wa to tx, and he loved it, and we discussed the episodes. and i loved him so much because he gave them a shot and we connected. 

but my mom. my mom. i miss her and she’s right there, but she’s not. and i know i’m part of the reason she’s retreated into herself and her more ‘sturdy’ beliefs and the friends who share them. she’s so quick to judge and harsh about it these days. is it age? is it us? is it this horrible world?

--

i came home to this. i came home and how quickly people change bc i didn’t expect my mom to be so old. in spirit. she’s tired. she doesn’t trust me. we’re working on being gentle. i’m working on not being so quick to anger.

my dad and i...i’m thrilled we’re getting along so well after i treated him like shit during the ~separation years~ between my parents. i was awful to him and he knew why, but he never called me out on it. 

my sis and i are fine. i’m so relieved she got out of that last relationship with that TERRIBLE PERSON and came to her senses, and somewhat grew up. we kick it. she cooks for me. we don’t completely jive cause she’s hood, but can code-switch between worlds, and i’m suburban through and through, so i’m not as cool or smooth as she is. i’m her dorky weird little sister and i appreciate her love for me. 

my brother? a mystery. a complete mystery. 

and i’m reminded of how he called me on my birthday and started weeping and asking about therapy and saying he’s sorry he never believed in my anxiety because it’s true--you don’t ask for, you don’t know why it appears, and it wrecks you. and he deals with it now for no discernible reason and he sounded so, so broken over the phone that i was shaking and crying when we hung up.

but now he’s as chill as ever and takes minimal care of his puppy because the 1st dog he got was pretty hands-off from the jump, but she was grown and pooed and peeded everywhere for months (he says no, but that’s selective memory), so now lil joe is mine and i need to get a job because the lack of structure is killlllllllllllllingggggg me. but i don’t want to leave lil joe :( 

--

it’s funny how i never set out to write all this shit, but it comes spilling out. 

huh. wait.

i left and i worked on myself but then i missed my family.

did i come back to work on the family? to work on my relationship with them? is that my purpose here and why i felt compelled to return?

--

went climbing with GA. i was totally afraid of falling and bouldering isn’t as fun to me as top rope, but i wanna keep at it. 

trying to set something up with B and A. my buds. i love em. 

gotta set something up with L because I have a feeling we’ll be good friends here. and weirdly, BG contacted me even though I haven’t talked to him since college? and even then we weren’t that close. he was just inching toward asking me out and never managed it.

--

fav emmy looks: zendaya (obviously. omg, whatta babe), maisie williams (whatta look, suits her perfectly, killed it), gwen christie (whatta jesus babe), that girl in the billowing mint green dress, anddddd clea duvall (a babe in a tux). 

vm continue to make me sad and hopefully things go well with tour for them. it’s nice to see them getting along with charlie and tanith. with bby charlie and tati and max’s kid coming along...oh boy for scott’s emotions. he’s gonna ignore the HELL out of those sad feeling for what couldvebeen with tess and he’s gonna plan hard for his and j’s future offspring instead. (can i also predict that i think one thing scott’s gonna have trouble with in his marriage--oddly enough--is keeping the marriage a partnership and not bulldozing over his spouse with his wants and needs ...wait, that’s not odd lol) 

--

anyway, gotta take joe out to pee. gotta get to bed soon because i wanna be on the trails by 7am and then maybe to the climbing gym. this face maybe a potato but my body can improve! (i’m thicc at the moment thanks to texas food 🤧) 

[terramythos]

My thoughts on October Daye #12 “Night and Silence” oooor “Dammit, Janet!” (suggestion courtesy of @mistressofmuses ).

And with this I am officially all caught up! Well, I haven’t read all the novellas and short stories, but caught up on the main series. Now I have to wait for #13 this year like a normal person! Gah! 

-So, leading off from all the horrible shit that happened last book, things aren't going.. great.

-You know that intense, extreme trauma 2 members of the main cast experienced @ the end of last book? Yeah that. Didnt go away

-There's a line about how Tybalt keeps seeing Toby as her mother Amandine... the person who kidnapped and basically tortured him last book. And he's basically terrified of shapeshifting at all and has just stayed in his humanoid form. And he's refusing help from anyone and disappearing for long stretches. And maybe going just a little bit Fuckening Crazy. G-great start, guys!

-And there's a flashback where he's just MEAN and like you can understand why but MAJOR YIKES and also pain.

Ok unexpected May feels ;-;

-Gillian Is Missing Again but I have a feeling this is not gonna be much of a retread...

-And.. boy this sure is a callback huh? May and Quentin being the found family, Gillian is missing, Tybalt is antagonistic...

-ok Jocelyn is a creepy fangirl character

-ok I'm 5 chapters in and wondering where this is going. Apparently there's Quite The Twist in this one or at least that's what I suspect is going to happen

-oooohkay they find like this weird pocket dimension with like. A miniature house that is also a chicken (and no one even mentions Baba Yaga). And idk what it is about the scene but it is fucking eerie and creepy as hell somehow.

Shade appeared in like book 6 as a Literal Cat so.. here she is showing up and being relevant for 5 minutes

-but what the FUCK is with this place. I got nothing and that exposition just raises more questions. There's no magic scent at all (except MAYBE cinammon), a bunch of rare fucking plants, and a fucking miniature baba yaga hut just wandering around

-that opens another rabbit hole because Golden Gate Park is ALSO completely unclaimed for no particular reason 🤔

This might be a waste of picture and might get deleted later but like, that's fucking creepy, right???

-god I know there HAS to be someone with cinnamon in their magical signature who we've MET but... it's been 12 books, dog. I dont fuckin remember

-The closest I can think is Simon with "mulled cider" because that's cinnamony... BUT it's pretty unlikely he did this, and that part of his magical signature is PRE corruption and we have the corrupted version running around.

-We just found a SECOND creepy unexplainable house hidden in plain sight so that's starting to feel Thematic.

-And she smells the false Queen's magic in this house :) someone supposedly asleep for 100 years in Silences. So that's great.

-Aaand there's Gillain! Not even halfway through the book. Way too easy.

-It's not Gillian. It's a Baoban Sith which is apparently *googling* a.. vampire. Ok

-My crack theory is pretty much dead in the water lol 

There's more than this bit but ;---; fuck dude

-But yeah! After a book and a half of hiatus, Tybalt's back! A little.. broken and suffering from severe PTSD, but you know.

-They go to Goldengreen based on a hint and Marcia is there baking cinnamon rolls. It really stresses the fact that she's making cinnamon rolls.

UM.

-.... holy shit.

-Ok. Ok ok. Assuming that's the truth that means Amandine's mother was.. a human? Making her a fucking CHANGELING Firstborn? What the fuuuuuck

-Oh that is fucking hysterical with what a fucking blood purist Amandine is. She looks down upon changelings and the beast races SO MUCH. Janet implies Amandine has no idea her mother was human, or at least never knew Janet. I'd bet she figured out she was part human because the Dochas Sidhe's whole deal is messing with one's heritage for fun results. Gosh. Hmm.

-And this mirrors everyone hiding October's heritage from her BEAUTIFULLY.

-I don't remember quite when "Miranda" was introduced but it was pretty early on. And now that I think of it there was NO REASON for her to fucking exist! What the fuck! The story would have made just as much sense with Cliff being a single dad raising Gillian. Miranda was just an antagonistic extra detail who didn’t... really do much. God damn it. 

-Cliff “accidentally” marrying Toby's maternal grandmother who is somehow Human and also like, alive, in order to help raise Toby's daughter is. Fucking Something, huh.

Oh lore??? (Oberon, King of Faerie, kinda a nice guy it turns out, accidentally knocks up a human. Uh... whoops?)

-Fuck dude, that was the blood memory flashback we had in book 9. The Luidaeg begging her mom not to leave on The Ride. Oof.

-So Janet is, yes indeed human and YES INDEED Toby’s grandmother. She’s cursed with immortality because of all that shit she pulled. 

-And BOY does that lore regarding Janet make the whole "Amandine was doted on and given everything she ever asked for" make sense cause... THAT'S WHAT THEY DID WITH HUMANS. And here we have a fucking FIRSTBORN born from a fucking HUMAN. Gosh. Jeez.

-and Katy pointed out to me that that's a big book 3 reference because Toby's family holds her down when THEY try to remove her from Blind Michael's version of the Ride, and SHE wildly shapeshifts through dozens of forms.It was a Tam Lin retelling only I don’t think I ever expected the actual thing to be relevant. 

-And FUCK Evening/Eira, by the way. I think that goes without saying at this point.

-So is Blind Michael's Ride supposed to be a replacement of the old one? 500 years ago the fae used The Ride to sacrifice a human every 7 years--until Tam Lin and Janet fucked it up. Fast forward to the present and we had Blind Michael showing up every couple years stealing children for what HE called The Ride.

-soooo Toby killing Blind Michael might have not been a great thing if you follow that line of reasoning. I mean, he was a fucking monster, BUT... Because The Ride is supposedly to maintain balance, hence the sacrifices. Whatever the fuck that ultimately means. And by stopping it...

-Add that on to all the stuff last book about how Blind Michael wasn't always such a shitty person, and... uh hmmm.

-OK this part might be a stretch but: the Dochas Sidhe are the only descendants we know of that are just... one hundred percent descended from one of the Three. The human part is largely irrelevant in fae terms. They’re directly Oberon’s, not some mix of Maeve/Oberon or Titania/Oberon. Would that mean Oberon is actually Dochas Sidhe? He did, after all, create the hope chests, and the Dochas Sidhe are literally living, breathing hope chests. IDK MAN. 

Tybalt, PLEASE.

-So it is, predictably, the false Queen behind this whole situation, helped by Jocelyn. And I just FUCKING REMEMBERED that it was that dickbag Dugan who had cinnamon in his magical signature .-.

-The Baoban Sith just be like "yeah sorry about almost eating you I uh straight up hadn't eaten in 40 years lol. Anyway I'm Kennis, what's up?"

OH FUCK! I FUCKING *CALLED* THIS SHIT OUT IN BOOK SIX! I remember it being mentioned offhand as something that could happen. I fucking KNEW we were going to turn a character into a Selkie for plot reasons. But I gotta say I didn't expect it to be Gillian!

FUCK DUDE ;___; in this house we stan The Luidaeg. Best character. I'm not crying. (I am.) 

-She has a line a few pages later about anxiety and catastrophic thinking, and how what you THINK will happen is never as bad as what actually happens. She compares it to "chasing the tide" and honestly that's such a useful metaphor, as someone often caught in that trap...

-They take down Dugan, yay, he was a loose end. He's not DEAD, but.. This is another one where the villain felt pretty secondary to the big plot revelations. 

-And Tybalt stepped down (temporarily) as King. Jolgeir's daughter is apparently going to temporarily take things over so I expect we will be introduced to her later?? 

---

-And, like the last few books, theres a novella epilogue at the end. This one is "Suffer a Sea-Change" and looks to be from Gillian's perspective.

-ok so Gillian has this whole scene where she TALKS to Firtha (whose skin she's wearing now) and I can't help but wonder if all selkies have this weird scene with the Roane whose skin they inherit when they ascend or whatever?

-The Answer Is "No", The Story Explicitly Says 

-Gillian is honestly pretty funny. She's up to here with this bullshit.

-The Luidaeg would like to remind everyone that she’s nice to October and Quentin but she’s not actually all that nice to most other people and Definitely Has Her Own Agenda. Although she seems to have taken in Poppy as an apprentice of sorts so... *vague shrugging* 

-And The Luidaeg speaking fondly about her "little brother Michael" who liked interior decorating despite being entirely blind. This is my uncomfortable face based on all my Analysis earlier.

-So Gillian is a Selkie now! That's not a twist I expected. And the next book (not out until September) is about The Luidaeg finally calling in their debts. So uh. That was one hell of a way to make the stakes personal on that.

-Im probably gonna make a master post overview of the series now that I read the whole thing in relatively short order. I'm glad I'll have a chance to read other books, but I'm anxious for the next one too based on the recent developments...

[audible--silence]

Well shit.

23 ay, the year Casey resented turning just a few months prior. The last 12 months felt like they were one big bender except I started it hopeful and optimistic, went through a few months of utter chaos, underwent a huge amount of change and then came out the other end somewhere between jaded and selfish; and chaotic and fun. The last twelve months flew by seemingly so fast i can barely remember it, until i start thinking about it and i realize just how much happened and how much has changed and how much ive done and how much everyone has done. So much has happened. You went through a good few months of breakup chaos (as i write this, i cant believe the breakup isn’t ancient history yet) including lots of mates, lots of staying busy, lots of alcohol and a fair few joints. I hitchhiked to Broome and back with Dan. That set me off on the photography and adventure road for the year. The post breakup was lots of kinda staying together, trying to be friends, jealousy, miscommunication, pettiness and frustration but at the same time, there was much love and patience and understanding and forgiveness and care and fun. In the middle of the worst of it, there was always the knowing that we’d be ok. We always believed it. Then after some months of change and growth, for better or for worse, we find ourselves on opposite sides of the country again, my plan to come see you spoiled by hard conversation, hard feelings and a hard fucking virus to plan around. We both had our chaotic period of the year, mine being arguably a tad more fun and a tad less anxious. Yours arguably giving me the most fomo, though I cant say for sure. I spent my days filling them with anything and everything with anyone and everyone. I made lots of new friends and intensified relationships with old ones. In the same breath, i think I’ve drifted from some others, though it may be too early to tell. We drifted and I started to let you go. One day, I realized it worked, after much effort and pain. Sometime after, you realized you felt differently about the idea of being together and I got spooked. I told myself I wasn’t ready but the truth is i was just very scared. Of opening back up, of looking like a fool, of getting played again. I withdrew and started being painful to you in a sad effort to make you want space. I hurt you and caused you grief and for more than I wish to accept, I knew i was. I was selfish and unsure which made for a cocktail designed to reduce any situation into a heavily laden emotional shitstorm that took its time playing out through lots of letters and discussions and fights but eventually ended in us planting enough metaphorical and physical space smack bang in the middle of us with the desired outcome being a certain degree more ok without the other. I welcomed it gladly till I realized you were actually pretty great. Now, we’ve had our season of not talking and are now trying the whole friendship thing again. As i write, I’m assuming you have a new boyfriend. He has good tastebuds. I know little as it stands, we’ve been out of communication for some time. I hope he’s wonderful but i kind of hope you still like me a little. Selfish im sure but hey.

I spent the time working, drinking, gigging, shooting, writing, planning on moving and the eventually traveling anyway. I met a new girl. It came and went pretty swiftly. I gave her my virginity and it was not worth it. I ended up leaving my crew of beautiful friends, my lovely old piece of shit house, my super fun job and all of the customers and going up north to Exmouth with one of Gods finest creations, Ben Gallagher. I write this right now in Karijini, where im traveling with many good humans in a slightly dodgy nissan xtrail that fit most of my life in. My life without the people that make it so. Im learning from traveling that you cant take the joy you get from your relationships with your friends to strangers and expect the same result. I dont miss my bed, despite my car barely fitting me, but i do miss my friends. They’re all doing mostly well. Claire is seeing Austy and they seem to be in the wildly in love phase. Reubs fucked his shoulder and is now mining gold. Ty lives with Reubs, broke up with Z, got a new job and then stopped talking to me when i left town. Ben is strong w Cails and is currently undergoing prac in bunno. Tom is living the dream still. I think his house is being built? Dan just proposed the fkn maniac. Harry got married. Fuckin nuts. Loz is building a house, the gang are all doin good. Music vids are coming out n shit now. Up the barry.

I started working at Hemingway, a place that saw me through a lot of different stages of life. I started a little unsure of myself and what i was doing and then left it confident, self assured enough in my abilities and with scores of new friends from the team and the customers. All of whom mostly entirely unaware, helped me through a breakup and then saw me thrive and grow into my own skin day by day and coffee after coffee. As i write this, its been a couple months since my last shift and i really miss it.

As I write this I realize more and more just how much happened this year and just how little I have reflected on it. Too much time socializing, working and surfing in a mad ditch to stay busy in order to avoid thinking about much at all. Evidently worked because I am realizing i have so much to talk about and realizing i have so much to contemplate.

Where I find myself now, i have more to say and feel i have less power to say it. I want to do everything but I dont know why. I miss my people but they dont talk much unless im there. I dont know what to do with myself and im not sure if im supposed to or not.

I’m tired, less enthusiastic and cynical.

I’m also fun and ready and charming enough to figure shit out right now that seems to be what i want. To figure shit out. I dont even know my own brain anymore, maybe I should figure that out. It all seemed so easy with her. I miss that. But here I am. I will make ot work.

12.12

4/8/21