#i have no idea whats going on in here congratulations and/or my condolences <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

SENDING MY FIRST ASK FROM THE NEW BLOG!!!! i feel like i am sending a letter from a new address... crazy. ANYWAY HOW R U TONIGHT!!!! i hope ur havin a good day!!!! kicking my feet like a teenager at a sleepover rn tell me abt ur day who r the blorbos in ur mind rn what kinda art r u workin on lately how's it going friend!!!

HIIIIIII HI HI . HELLO SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG- i mean catboy cellbit!!! . dude i am. dreading the coming week tbh but it is fine !! we will get thru it we will survive!!! i am so sleepytired but alas i also cannot sleep so i may just have another night of reading and music ahead of me . wah. i hope u are hsving a good night <3 IVE BEEN COMPLETELY ART NERFED TOO BTW. my laptop died on me a couple days ago and while i was able to find a new one affordably it will not be here until the 13th 😔 so no digital art from me for a while. sigh. i DID just decorate my new sketchbook with stickers tho so im hoping that will get my brain in gear for traditional art again. AS FOR BLORBOS. oh . u know. the usuals. vash the stampede. zacharie from off . masky marblehornets (also tim marblehornets) . to name three of them.

[honey-coloured-passion]

Dream SMP High School AU

pt 1

so many people loved this AU so here’s my little ficlet on the TA’s adventures! This one is SBI centric and we’ve also got some Tubbo and Ranboo!

(based of this post)

On the third day of school, Teacher-Assistant assignments are posted. Ms. Puffy treks through the halls smiling at new bright-eyed freshman and shakes her head at the hoard of hopeful seniors following behind her to the library where the list is posted. 

“Everyone will get to take a look! Mr. Minecraft and I worked extensively on the list and there will be no changes! The teachers and I are so excited to help foster your growth as a-” Puffy tried to give her inspirational speech but was cut off by the shrieks of joy, excitement, terror, anger, and every other emotion high strung teenagers could have. 

Tubbo walked straight up to her, “I got Sam right?” while the other kids were crowding the list beyond hopeful for their advisor Tubbo knew he would be Sam since he took every computer science class in his freshman year.

“If I told you no would you believe me?” Puffy winked, Tubbo shook his head with a laugh and started off toward the science wing. Unfortunately for him, a familiar screech made him spin on his heel. 

“WHAT THE FUCK” Puffy stiffened, took a deep breath, and located the voice as one TommyInnit. In a few angry strides he was towering over her as he began screeching. “I requested Wilbur, or even big man Philza, or hell, I probably could’ve made do with Sam and Tubbo! But Wastaken’s shit class? What do you take me for? Wilbur doesn’t even have a fuckin’ TA this year? You’d better change me right the hell now if you know what’s good for you.” 

Puffy sighed, she knew this was coming. “Tommy, Mr. Minecraft and I went over this, and we really think you can grow a lot with Dre- Mr. Wastaken this year. You truly have knack for physics and we think your creativity will add to his class. Trust me here Tommy, this is gonna be a great year!” Puffy tried to keep a calm smile on her face, but her saving grace was Wilbur himself coming up to her. 

Wilbur looked disheveled, it was writing season for the fall musical after all, but he had a massive grin as he approached the pair. “Pufffayyy! How will I repay you, or was it Philza? God do I have to give my condolences to Dream but a year with no TA is a good year for me! Say- Tommy! You ready for physics?” Wilbur clapped the shorter boy on the back with a teasing grin. Wilbur would poke fun at Tommy but he truly wanted the world for his favorite student. Puffy wasn’t going to be the one to tell Tommy it was actually Wilbur who had the idea of putting Tommy with Dream, Wil was always telling everyone he could that Tommy would be great and he was determined to let him shine even if it meant living TA-less for a year. 

“Wilbur you have to let me switch I cannot lose senior year to physics.” Tommy faked a gag but Wilbur was quick to chime in, “Oh no, you’re doing it. But my door is always open you know. Also you should be happy- isn’t the physics classroom one door down from the computer science room?” Wilbur always knew how to get Tommy’s attention elsewhere.  

“It is... speaking of which, Tubbo, we have to go set up our TA studies next to each other!” Tommy turned on his heel, nodding to his best friend as the two bolted through the hallway towards the science wing.

“You sure about this Wil?” Puffy glanced as the library which now had the teachers looking at their own pair-ups. One physics teacher looked less than excited. 

“The world isn’t ready for TommyInnit. Hell, Tommy isn’t ready, but he’s gonna do big things. Trust me Puffy.” Wilbur said with a grin, heading over to congratulate Dream on his new understudy. 

~

On the other side of the school Philza sat with a different senior.

“Ranboo my boy, I promise you this year’s going to be great! Mate, you’re one of the brightest students in this school. And trust me, Techno’s a great guy. He likes to have the reputation but he’s a real softie once you get to know ‘em! I wouldn’t assign you to him if I didn’t believe in you!” Phil placed a reassuring hand on the anxious senior in front of him. 

Ranboo’s voice was shakier than normal, “I-I just- it’s only my second year here. I barely know where the english classroom is! Also, I didn’t take advanced english here so how will I even be any help? Doesn’t Mr. Blade hate all the non AP students?” Ranboo rambled but Phil knew he was just nervous. 

“Everything happens for a reason mate, now go on down and pick a study wing with the other TA’s. It’s your senior year! It’s gonna be great.” Ranboo gave him a slight nod, thanking him for his time as he scurried out of Phil’s office. Phil couldn’t deny the Ranboo and Techno pair up was his idea, last year he saw something in Ranboo that was so innately intelligent and bright he knew Ranboo’s thoughtful ideas could impress anyone, even “The Blade” as the students called Techno. 

Phil yawned, he was exhausted and it was only day three of the school year. Just as he was about to dive into paperwork he go a call from the front office manager saying he had guests. With a sigh he got up, giving slight waves to his teachers as they made their way through the office to pickup paperwork and whatnot he noticed two familiar figures sitting directly across from each other. As he entered the main office both stood up.

“Phil, the newbie? Kid hasn’t even passed my class how am I supposed to make a TA out of him?-”

“TommyInnit? Tommy-freaking-Innit. Is this a joke? What’s your play here?-”

They both stopped, looking at the other. 

“Techno.”

“Dream.” They greeted each other curtly. 

It was always a funny sight seeing the two interact. AP Physics and AP English were known as the two most challenging, and iconic classes in the school- and their teachers held themselves to that standard. Many compared the two, debating who was the better teacher, with the better class content, or more rigorous academics, but honestly Philza wouldn’t have it any other way. Dream and Techno pushed each other in the best way possible, and the students always benefited from their competitive nature. 

“I see you two saw the TA assignments.” Phil mused, beckoning them down back to his own office. The two scuffled for who got to walk directly behind him but Techno took the lead. 

“So, as I understand, you’re both reasonably confused with your seniors, but trust me: those are two of the brightest students here, and they’ll both impress you as the year goes on.” Phil laughed at himself at their similarities, deciding he could play into the competitiveness of the two teachers in front of him. Phil continued, “Now, before either of you start I’ve got this to say. Ranboo and Tommy are both gifted in their subjects. Techno, I know you haven’t taught Ranboo everything he knows but that kid will give you a run for your wits, and I trust that you can shape him into a great scholar. Dream, you’ve got Tommy. I’m assuming Wil has already explained Tommy’s capability, your job is to inspire him. Both of you have two of the best kids in my school, and you better appreciate it. I would hate to see either of you drop the ball.” Phil leaned back in his chair, watching the two think his statement over.

Dream was the first to speak up, “I never drop the ball.”

Techno scoffed, “Good luck with Tommy, this Ranboo kid sounds pretty great anyways.”

This got Dream in the game, “Tommy’ll be double the student you could make Ranboo.”

“That so? Not with your teaching.” Techno shot back playfully. 

And just like that, Phil knew Dream and Technoblade would give their students the best education they could, he just hoped the kids could hang with the crazy teachers in front of him. 

~

“Did this day feel like the length of a month or just me?” Puffy slumped into the chair across from Phil. Phil answered, “it felt liked a month. But I just know this year’s gonna be good.” Puffy nodded in agreement. 

“Glad you’re feeling good, ‘cuz I’m 99% sure Tubbo’s programming a device to hack the school intercom. And I cannot deal with another week of Wii Shop music playing over our loudspeakers like last year.” Puffy laughed, but there was a clear wince in her tone.

“God that kid’s unstoppable isn’t he.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. Almost like clockwork a familiar tune started blaring over the intercom. Phil and Puffy jumped from their desks, headed straight to the comp sci room.

“TUBBO”

~fin~

That’s part one! Mostly just setting stuff up but it was still pretty fun! I’ll probably get a taglist going for this series so message me or send an ask if you want updates! Also, there will probably be some spin-off style parts including DNF or KarlNap but those will have warnings for those not interested. 

Thanks! <3

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Eight

“’In light of how much Viper Canyon has grown in just the past year or two, I think it’s best if we elect a new sheriff as soon as possible. Are we all in agreement?’”

November 1852

Slowly but surely, the schoolhouse was being filled by the citizens of Viper Canyon arriving from their homes. Along with them, the heavy presence of unease and disquiet filled the air, and there was little small talk amongst the people as they sat down at the students’ desks in wait of the first ever town meeting.

Winnie wouldn’t have come to the meeting at all if it weren’t for the fact that she was the only person with a key to the school. As its sole caretaker, she stood in the back, wishing she were at home with Mamma and Bea. 

The meeting had been called to discuss the bank robbery – even the mere thought of outlaws anywhere in the area made her stomach turn. Most of the women, it would seem, shared the same sentiment as Winnie – or there were still things to be looked after at home, like children and housework.

Timothy Putnam, proprietor of the Sidewinder Saloon, was chosen to lead the meeting. He’d always been regarded as one of two de facto leaders of the town alongside Mr. Monroe. 

He stood at the front of the room where Winnie usually taught her lessons and cleared his throat. The room immediately turned and watched him carefully with baited breath. 

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’ve had to call a town meeting of sorts to discuss the events that took place at the bank this past Saturday.”

“Usually this sort of thing would be taken care of by a lawman. But seeing as our previous sheriff, Mr. Daniels, passed during the bout of flu a few years back, we have no man of the law left. Unfortunately he had no successor and at the time there was no one available to take his place, so the jail has been empty ever since. ” 

Winnie had seen the empty jail on Main Street and wondered why there was no sheriff or deputy to look after it. Naively, she figured it was because there was no need for one in such a peaceful town. Her stomach twisted.

Winnie turned over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. 

Quickly, with only the sound of his heavy boots against the floor boards giving him away, Elijah slid into the back of the room. He stood there in the corner and waited for Putnam to continue.

“In light of how much Viper Canyon has grown in just the past year or two, I think it’s best if we elect a new sheriff as soon as possible. Are we all in agreement?” 

There were several quiet responses, all positive, and a great nodding of heads as the people all looked between each other and then back to Putnam. 

“And what do you think, Mr. Yates? It was your bank that those outlaws robbed, after all…”

Mr. Yates was a man of advanced age, with a nearly bald head and shaking white hands dotted with brown spots. He was gentle and sweet and generally regarded as a saint, and his voice passed through his lips like a whisper of wind. 

“A new sheriff would be for the best,” he nodded decisively. “Those men should be hanged for what they did to our poor John. May his soul rest in peace.” 

The crowd murmured words of condolence and Mr. Yates settled back into his seat without another word. At his side, his son, Percival, gave him a tender look.

“I agree wholeheartedly that we should elect a new lawman,” Mr. Monroe spoke up. “Seeing as we have all of these children and families in town now. But one does have to wonder how he would be paid.” 

Winnie pondered quietly in her corner. She was lucky enough to be paid her wages directly from the parents, seeing as there was no formal government in Viper Canyon to collect taxes to then divvy up between public servants – or nearby schoolboard to see to her salary. If there was a sheriff to be elected, that meant everyone would be responsible for ensuring he got his pay, and it was unrealistic to have each citizen in town come by to the jail to drop off his paycheck bit by bit. The next step would obviously be taxing the people, but…the idea of creating an entire local government seemed daunting. 

“Excellent point, Mr. Monroe,” Putnam agreed. “We’ve covered Miss Hawkins’s salary quite easily by having the parents pay for their children's schooling directly, but…there have been a few flaws in that method.”

“Flaws?” Robert Campbell, the tailor, asked from his chair. “How do you mean, Mr. Putnam?”

“Consider if a child wanted to go to school but their parents couldn’t afford Miss Hawkins’s wages outright. If we were to set up a fair tax system, where everyone pays a small bit towards the school, then every child could afford to attend. Isn’t that right, Miss Hawkins?” 

Putnam looked towards the back of the room where Winnie stood. She squirmed as every pair of eyes turned to look at her. 

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, not having expected to speak. “Exactly, Mr. Putnam. Every child should be able to go to school and learn, regardless of how much or how little their parents may make.”

“Very civilized, very good,” Mr. Monroe nodded. “It’s about time we started doing things the right way around here!” 

Like a flock of birds stopped on the street, everyone’s heads bobbed up and down, making small, short sounds of approval.

“Well then, I believe we’ve come to the consensus that we should move forward with establishing some form of government for the town. But there’s still an incredibly urgent matter at hand – what are we going to do about a sheriff?”

“I say we nominate one as soon as possible, straight away.” Mr. Monroe was deathly serious. “Preferably right now at this very meeting.” 

“Well, that might be a bit soon, don’t you think?” 

Robert Campbell was already a meek man, and he shrank at the thought of possibly being nominated for sheriff. 

“There are vicious killers on the loose!” Mr. Monroe cried. “Those wicked criminals murdered poor John in cold blood. We have no time to spare!”

“Yes, I do have to agree with Mr. Monroe,” Putnam said. “Who knows when the outlaws will strike again? Not only was poor John Williams viciously killed, but they nearly robbed our entire town blind.”

Mr. Yates shakily came to his feet. “Don’t worry, your money was insured. I shall see to it this is all sorted out as quickly as possible.” 

Percival helped his father sit back down with a sheepish look at the crowd over his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Mr. Yates. My point is, who knows what they’ll do next? Their first crime here was so heinous…perhaps without a lawman, they’ll think they can get away with much more. It’s imperative we move this process along as quickly as possible.”

Elijah shifted uncomfortably in the corner. Winnie cast a look at him, having not seen him since he abruptly left town nearly a year ago. He was the same as ever – maybe a bit older looking, more tired. He caught her staring and Winnie backed down from his green eyes, pretending to stare at some of her students’ assignments pinned to the wall.

“So, are we going to nominate anyone to vote on? All of the men in town are here. It should be a fair vote.” 

“Yes, let’s begin nominations. But keep in mind the men that can’t make the commitment – men with families and large businesses to run.” 

That excluded more than half of the room. Even Joseph Ebey couldn’t be nominated, seeing as his large farm needed looking after and his wife was due to have their first child any day now. 

Clarence Monroe was a bachelor and the successor of his father – but Winnie figured no one in their right mind would elect such a soft and awkward man into an important position like that of the sheriff.

“The obvious choice here is our Elijah McLain,” Mr. Monroe called loudly. 

He looked up from beneath the brim of his hat. “Sir?” 

“You’re strong, reliable, you have a good head on your shoulders…and all that time hunting and trapping for the Hudson Bay Company made you an incredible shot – I’ve seen it with my own eyes!” 

More positive sounds came from the crowd.

“What do you say, Elijah? Do you accept your nomination for Viper Canyon Sheriff?” 

He thought about it for only a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Sounds all right to me.”

“Well, then. Our first nomination goes to Elijah McLain. Does anyone else have anyone in mind?” 

Winnie thought she could hear the crickets chirping outside. 

“Anyone?” 

“Elijah’s perfect for the job,” Mr. Monroe reiterated. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“Is there anyone who disagrees? Who thinks Elijah wouldn’t be a good fit for Sheriff?” 

Silence. 

“Well, then. By order of acclimation, Elijah McLain is now the newest sheriff of Viper Canyon. Congratulations!”

To Be Continued

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Nine Coming Soon

(These group scenes take me so long...such a short chapter that took me forever! I hope you guys like the story, things are finally falling into place for the main plot to begin :) let me know what you thought and thank you for reading as always <3) 

[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))

[backtobackbakubabe]

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 3)

Bakugo x Reader 

Snuggles fix everything right? 

Angsty fluff? Idk. 

Words : 1703

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

*****************************************************************************************************

Telling your hero agency wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be. Apparently this happened pretty often. In fact your boss looked almost bored as  you told him. You had built a pretty close relationship with him since getting to the agency, giving him the loving nickname boss man. 

“Congratulations Bakugo... you finally found someone who could tolerate your bullshit.” He turned his attention to you, “And y/n my deepest condolences to your eardrums. As I’m sure you already know those temper tantrums of his aren't exactly quiet.” 

You gave him a knowing smile, “Oh sir I’m very aware. I’ve been at the receiving end of those tantrums for years.” 

You could see Bakugo’s ears tint pink as he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, I yell, whatever. What about our patrol assignments? Will we be assigned new partners?” 

Boss man narrowed his eyes at you both... “No I don't think I will..” He ignored Bakugo's startled expression. “And I’ll tell you why. See Bakugo while you are likely the most talented hero at this agency you aren’t exactly a people person. In fact the only person you said you’d be willing to work with on your intake form was y/n. And luckily she has more patience in her pinky than most do in their whole body because she puts up with you. She keeps you centered and you keep her motivated. We’d be crazy to split you two up.” 

You gave him a smirk. See you and Bakugo had been adamently opposed when it came to splitting up as partners. You thought it was a stupid idea and Bakugo while he hated the idea of not being there to protect you, he also thought it was the only way he could focus and do his job. 

Katsuki stood up from his chair, fists clenched. “Sir with all due respect... WHAT THE FUCK!” You slipped your hand around his wrist trying to get him to calm down. His eyes met yours and he did seem to reign it in a bit. “Sorry what I meant to say is... please reconsider. I honest to god cant focus on anything besides her safety when were out there. That has to be a conflict of interest!” 

Boss man scoffed, “That right there is why I cant split you up.You start to blow up and all she has to do is touch your hand and you become a reasonable human.” 

You could see his shoulders tense up as he was bracing himself to lose this battle. He gave you one last last pleading look that tugged oh so hard on your heart strings. 

Sighing, “Listen Boss man, I understand why you want to keep us together. Really I do. I don't want us to split up either.. but if this is what Bakugo wants then I think you should at lest consider it. You say he has the most talent in this agency right? I’m sure there’s tons of better suited partners for him than me anyways...” 

Boss man knit his eyebrows together, “Now I won't have any of this self depreciating bullshit y/n. We’ve had this talk before and I think you are incredibly gifted...” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to fight off a headache, “But if this is truly something both of you want... than I guess I’ll fill out the paperwork.” 

Bakugo’s eyes widened, not expecting you to step up to help him. But before he could say anything you gave him the ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look. 

The walk home was quiet. Bakugo could tell you were upset and he was still new at the whole being nice to others thing so he didn't know how to handle it. He finally settled for holding your hand. You usually talked his ear off, but now you wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't possibly be mad at him could you?Hell you even had his back in the meeting... He will never understand women. 

You both stepped into the elevator and to his surprise you hit the button for your floor. 

“Oi what gives? You just did laundry I know you don't need clothes..” 

Pulling your hand out of his, “What I need is space Katsuki... Before you freak out... I’m not mad at you. I understand why you don't want to work with me anymore. But you have to understand that I am very sad right now. I just need some alone time.” You gave him a gentle peck on the cheek before exiting on to your floor. 

Fuck... he didn't like this. On one hand he thought you were being ridiculous. You will still see him every day! You practically live with him for fucks sake. But on the other hand he knows you’re upset and he knows that he's the reason why. He hates it. 

He practically slammed his door after entering his apartment and threw his keys harshly at the couch. How was he going to fix this. He walked over to the freezer to see if he has any ice cream. It was something he only started buying once you two started dating. It seemed to be a staple in your diet. He pulled out a tub of cookies and cream and spoon not bothering to put it in a bowl. 

He walked back to the main room to binge eat and mope when he heard that precious sound of air whooshing in. He turned the corner to see y/n in one of his shirts curled up on the couch, “I was alone for maybe 5 minutes before I remembered how much I hate being alone... So can I be alone... but like with you...?”

His nose scrunched up, “What the fuck does that even mean?” He handed you the ice cream and sat next to you pulling your feet in his lap.

You accepted the ice cream greedily, “Exactly what we’re doing now, except we turn on the tv and just like don't talk to each other... Just give me some time to process that we’re no longer partners...” 

He pulled a blanket over the two of you and handed you the remote. He knew you'd end up picking something awful like a Disney movie or a romantic comedy but if this is what you needed then he’d do it. 

Three hours and eight episodes of Avatar: the last Airbender later you were passed out. Sometime between the third and fourth episode you had decided you wanted your back scratched so you scooched over and without saying a word laid on top of Katsuki, picked his hand up and placed it on you back and moved it back and forth until he got the idea. 

That leads him to now. You were asleep with your head on his chest. You were so cute when you were asleep. He was content. He could have fallen asleep himself. He probably would have too except his phone buzzed in his pocket. It took some expert maneuvering to get it out of his pocket without waking you up but he managed. 

He had received an email from the agency with a list of available heros for the two of you to choose from. He opened it up and low and behold the first available hero was fucking Deku.. well that was enough for one night. He closed the email before looking at any other candidates. 

There was no way in hell he would ever work with Deku... but maybe... maybe he’d let you. As much as he hates to admit it, Deku wasn't the weak ass nerd he used to be. He knew first hand how powerful he was, but more importantly he knew how loyal he was. 

He threw his head back exasperated. Was he really considering this. It’s not like he had the right to pick his replacement, that was totally up to you... but maybe he could ask. Fucking Deku... 

He could feel you stirring awake so he put his hand in your hair and ran his fingers through it, earning him a soft moan of approval from you. 

“I think I’m ready to talk about today.” 

You didn't make any move to look at him and he didn't make you, “Oh yeah?” 

You nodded and rubbed your eyes trying to wake yourself up. “But I only want to talk about the positives. Like for example... apparently you requested to work with me on your intake form?” 

He could feel your soft giggles vibrate against his chest. Usually he’d be annoyed but knowing this made you happy was enough to make him get over it. “I knew that didn't slip past you. And just so you know... I didn't request you... I said I don't work with anyone and then in parenthesis I said (but if I absolutely have to then I’ll only work with y/n.)” 

“Oh so it’s your fault that we got paired together! And here I thought you hated working with me all this time.”  

He kissed the top of your head, “I did at first. But not for the reasons you’d think. I hated that you never looked before running into things. I hated that your costume was so tight and every guy we walked past got to see you in it. I hated that because of your quirk you could always beat me to the scene of a crime, meaning for a few minutes you'd always be alone with a villain without me there to help. But most of all I hated how every day it got harder and harder to pretend that I actually didn't hate you at all.” 

“PPPPPFFFFFFFFT” You couldn’t help it you just started laughing. 

“What the fuck it so funny eh? I’m pouring my heart out over here and you’re fucking laughing at me?” 

“I’m sorry babe! Its just that sounds like the speech from one of my favorite movies and its totally a rom com so I know there’s no way you’ve seen it but it’s still just so funny!” 

So then you just had to show him 10 Things I Hate About You, and to your surprise he actually enjoyed it. 

*****************************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! I know this chapter was kind of slow but shit gets real starting in part 4! Buckle up! 

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

MJS Aftermath - SIX FEET Part 3

While humble had never been easy for Miho, she had much bowing to do when she eventually went home to face Goto’s family. Though difficult, her apologies were sincere, for she had no desire to hurt them or compound their suffering, even if they did not agree with her point of view. A compromise was struck, and though she would not concede her belief that Goto was still alive, she accepted no accord would be met and did not pursue further attempts to convince them the whole funeral thing was a sham.

She resigned herself to being the most supporting daughter and sister she could be, though Issei seemed unsurprisingly angry at her still.

Shinichi, Seiji’s father, would have liked traditional Shinto customs observed, but the circumstances being what they were, there were several steps concerning the corpse that could simply not be performed as one might with a fully intact body.

Still, Miho returned to the Goto family residence out of Tokyo to help in the preparation of food offerings; her only real contribution that all offerings be made at a reasonably cool temperature, the way Seiji would have been able to eat it. But her resolve did not waver.

As the process proceeded toward the wake, she’d had several follow-up conversations with Liana, who had pledged to use her journalistic sources to investigate what current criminal organisations within Japan would have access to highly restricted flammables, despite knowing her husband would not be impressed if he found her meddling. So far, she had come up empty, though several organised crime groups had certainly been more active of late; Liana did not keep this from Miho or Jazz, the latter who was staying in accommodations nearby to continue offering Miho her support.

On the day of the wake, everyone visibly donned the darkness of their grief, and Miho robotically greeted mourners to accept their condolences.

She wanted to shout out how pointless all their words were, their tears, when Seiji was still alive somewhere – not a pile of bones awaiting further cremation – but she kept it buried behind a stoic, if tired mask.

Priests prayed and prayed and prayed, before mourners were fed, but Miho had no appetite. Under Subaru and Jazz’s watchful eyes, she remained quiet, while those who didn’t know her very well at all whispered about how strong the wife of a police officer had to be, how brave she was.

“This is normal, right?” Subaru whispered to Jazz as the pair observed Miho’s blank expression.

Her eyes were directed at the coffin, but there was nothing to see in her gaze at all.

“Miho’s never normal,” Jazz replied just as quietly. “And you know she’s only doing this for Goto’s family; she still won’t believe he’d dead.”

“I guess, maybe I can’t blame her, after that whole thing with her ex-husband’s faked death and all,” Subaru noted, but he was scowling – after all, this was difficult for him too. “But, how long do you think this will last?”

Jazz tilted her head a little as she considered her best friend, then looked up into Subaru’s face.

“I think you know her well enough now,” she said. “If she believes something, no one will sway her.”

“So, what do we do?” he scowled, as people began to line up to say their final farewells.

“We just be here for her, if she needs us,” Jazz shrugged, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “For her, this isn’t nearly over.”

Shinichi first, Haruka then Issei, then it was Miho’s turn to stand before Goto’s coffin and bid farewell to the man she loved more than her own life.

It seemed silence fell, a thick blanket of tense expectation for those who knew how she felt; but when she spoke it was so softly only the closest ears could have overheard.

“I will never let you go,” she whispered, glaring at the coffin intensely. “And when I find you, I’m going to kick your ass for putting me and your family through this.”

That was his send off, and when all had passed and said their goodbye, the immediate family travelled to the crematorium.

It was ironic – Miho even wanted to laugh at the idea a man reduced to bone would be cooked all over again in the name of tradition – but she managed to hold it in.

Instead, she took some time alone before they all returned to the house, staring across the rows of headstones, of mausoleums.

“Not today,” she grated under her breath, jaw clenched as she was struck with an overwhelming pang of loneliness.

“Mrs. Goto,” Kaga said, clearing his throat. “I was going to congratulate you on whatever you said to unsettle Captain Ishigami,” he continued, his voice low. “But there will be more appropriate times for that.”

Miho hadn’t had as much to do with Kaga as she had Goto’s direct superior, but she knew the man was callous, or clumsy, or a mixture of the two – enough to not be offended by his awkward, misplaced dig at Ishigami.

“Tell me, Captain,” Miho said, her voice thick, her watery eyes fixed on the distance. “Do you believe it? What you’ve seen on your surveillance tapes? What you’ve heard, read in reports? Would Seiji be so incompetent as to fall prey to a death and make his wife a widow?”

For a man rarely at a loss for words, Kaga’s lips parted but no sound emerged. Unusually, he seemed to be thinking carefully before speaking.

“Would Lieutenant Goto intentionally put himself at undue risk?” he rephrased, but Miho intercepted his dodge.

“Not what I asked,” she snapped, inching a little closer to him.

“I am sure of what I observed, and am satisfied with the rigor of our forensic investigators,” he answered slowly, and Miho jumped on his hesitation.

“Damnit, Hyogo, you know what I’m asking!” she barked, giving his chest a bit of a shove, and Kaga snatched her wrist.

This caught the attention of Liana, who was standing nearby with a phone pressed to her ear.

“These are questions for Captain Ishigami,” Kaga told her, lowering his head and his tone.

“He was as slippery as you, and it’s suspicious,” Miho hissed.

“You’re grieving,” he asserted, trying to sound accommodating, maybe even sympathetic. “You’re raw and hurting and wanting all this to be a horrible nightmare, but…”

“I DISBELIEVE!” she snarled, shaking herself free, and several others looked over, including Issei.

“Captain Kaga,” Liana began amiably, as she approached to defuse a true blow-up of the situation.

She had since ended her phone call, and gave the pair her entire focus.

“Please, allow me,” she smiled warmly, slipping her hand into Miho’s.

Not quite with his tail between his legs, but certainly without reluctance, Kaga nodded and shifted away from the two women.

“You just saved him a black eye,” Miho hissed, scuffing her toes in the gravel irritably.

“Just a black eye?” Liana smirked cheekily, and this got Miho to smile wickedly.

“Yeah okay, he might have lost a little more; I’m fed up with getting chided for not being morose enough,” she muttered, allowing Liana to turn her away from the gathering at the shrine.

“Well, I just got off the phone with reliable source,” Liana explained quietly, “who said a known terrorist group on Public Safety’s watchlist called Kurai, had recently been planning a serious attack, but now the group is in chaos - something about an internal power struggle.”

“When?” Miho prompted, giving Liana her full attention.

“That’s what caught my attention,” Liana nodded. “According to my source, an attack targeting shinkansen lines was supposed to happen two days after Goto’s supposed death.”

Miho’s brows drew slowly down, but she wasn’t drawing any major conclusions yet, but the wheels were definitely turning. Liana’s acceptance of Miho’s belief in Goto’s survival was warming, a relief.

“No terrorists though,” Miho noted.

Any disruption to the train network would be big news – a case of terrorism, if it had occurred, would have been all over the news

“So their plans were disturbed,” Miho added, thinking aloud.

“I wasn’t able to get much in terms of specifics,” Liana admitted, “but,” she continued quickly, “Kurai is having a bit of a management crisis, which might explain why their plans fell through.”

“Seiji,” Miho exhaled. “This is totally his doing.”

“Entirely possible,” Liana smiled, but quickly her expression fell. “And if that’s the case, his death, could all be a part of the investigation.”

About that idea, Liana did not look at all impressed.

“I’m going to need to speak to your husband again,” Miho growled, and while Liana would defend Ishigami when he was in the right, she had no issue taking him to task when he was wrong.

“We’re staying here overnight,” Liana revealed. “I’ll give you the hotel address.”

 “Spill it,” Miho charged, the moment Liana opened the door of her hotel room.

Stunned, Ishigami blinked at the instant onslaught, but Miho did not even allow him to draw breath.

“He’s not dead, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on or…”

“Stop right there, Mrs. Goto,” Ishigami said, emerging from his stupor.

“I will not stop!” she snapped – in his face, teeth bared and savage. “Whatever this is? Terrorists? All of Japan, the world in peril? Because if it’s not, the bullshit you’re putting me, and Seiji’s family through it outrageous and I…”

“You need to calm down,” he tried to reason, but Liana could see the cracks forming in his demeanour.

“Would you? If I told you Liana was dead, tell me you wouldn’t be in my face demanding answers,” Miho pressed, finally stabbing a finger against his chest, and there Ishigami lost his cool.

“That is enough,” he snapped, and even Liana flinched.

Miho’s lips continued to move, but no sound emerged.

After a few tense seconds, Ishigami adjusted his glasses and exhaled a slow sigh.

“Kurai,” Miho prompted, more tempered in tone. “Seiji infiltrated them, didn’t he?”

Walking to the window, Ishigami sighed again.

“Yes,” Ishigami admitted, softly. “And… his death… is essential to not only the success of the operation, but to his survival because…”

Hanging off his every word, Miho leaned forward; Ishigami turned back to the room and pair of expectant gazes, his own serious.

“There is a mole in Public Safety.”

“Who?” Miho blurted.

“If I knew that, all this would not be necessary,” Ishigami grumbled, fiddling with his glasses again. “The only way to protect him and his contact within Kurai, is to convince everyone in Public Safety he is no longer in play.”

“So… who does know he’s alive?” Liana asked.

“Myself, Chief Namba, and now the two of you, against my better judgement,” he answered wearily. “Though I must say, I am immensely relieved to have brought your suffering to an end.”

“I’d still be livid if I didn’t know you genuinely did this to protect Seiji,” Miho nodded slowly. “But am still pissed off you didn’t think me capable of feigning grief.”

“This is a case of substantial import,” Ishigami insisted. “Telling anyone what you have learned could not only destroy our chances of bringing down Kurai, but lead to catastrophic infrastructure damage and death.”

“I got it,” Miho huffed, running her fingers through her hair in a frustrated manner, before reaffixing her gaze on him.

Softer.

Beseeching.

“Have you had contact with him?” she asked, voice so much smaller. “Is he injured?”

“Not… recently, no,” he admitted, motioning for her to sit.

She complied.

“But his last communication was directly to my private number informing me of his status – unharmed – a brief situational report, and his strong suspicion he and his contact had been compromised by a mole in Public Safety.”

It wasn’t until a cup of tea appeared before her, that Miho realised Liana had snuck away. With a small smile, Miho accepted the offering.

“So, what do you do now?” she frowned, before blowing softly against the rim of her mug.

“Well,” Ishigami began again, moving to also sit. “I will have to inform Chief Namba that you’re now aware of the situation. He will probably wish to speak to you himself.”

  Though he was the Chief of Public Safety, when Miho followed Ishigami into Namba’s office, the broad-shouldered looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“So, where do you want it, Jin?” she dropped, flat and cold and staring daggers.

“Excuse me?” Namba blinked, looking from Miho to his subordinate.

“I believe she means to hit you,” Ishigami translated, and Namba’s brows twitched.

“Hit is the polite translation,” Miho snorted, pointing at him sharply. “I get your need for secrecy, but all this is bullshit – I should have been told.”

“Ah,” he nodded, shifting a little before his fingers knitted together before him.

“No doubt Captain Ishigami has now explained the seriousness of the situation?”

At this, it was Ishigami’s turn to squirm a little.

“I think we both know, Mrs. Goto is not one to let something go once she has sunk her teeth into it,” he said, then wished he’d used different phrasing when Miho bared her teeth.

“You knew marrying a skilled undercover agent could result in time apart,” Namba explained. “And that strict rules of confidentiality would prevent you from knowing the details of his missions.”

This was true, but in Miho’s mind, what they had done to her and the rest of Goto’s family was way beyond that.

“You killed me,” she asserted, tone low and dangerous as she leaned forward across his desk. “You carved out my heart, and you set it beside the heart of his mother, and father and brother…”

“For Lieutenant Goto’s safety,” Namba insisted.

“And that’s the only reason I haven’t crawled over this desk and ripped out your throat,” she growled, at which point, Ishigami did the brave thing and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“That is quite enough,” he told her firmly. “We are all sorry for the pain you have experienced, but as I said earlier, the greater good was, is served by the continuing secrecy of Goto’s mission.”

Surprisingly, Miho didn’t throw his hand off. In fact, she straightened and let out a long breath to balance herself before resettling her gaze on Namba.

“So, I suppose you want to get him home,” he then said, a sparkle lighting up his eyes. “And since you no doubt know most of what’s going on - if I’m right about your interrogation abilities – I have an idea of just how you can help do that.”

“Sir?” Ishigami frowned, but Namba held his hand up.

“If it was to become known in Public Safety circles, that you had received a missive from Lieutenant Goto prior to his death, and that you felt it necessary to take action upon that information…”

“That could draw the mole out to ensure what I fictionally know doesn’t reveal their identity,” Miho finished thoughtfully, already nodded.

Ishigami, meanwhile, was not.

“I am very much against this,” he declared. “Involving Mrs. Goto in this investigation is…”

“A brilliant idea,” Miho interrupted.

“Irresponsible,” Ishigami corrected. “A traitor in our midst willing to put the safety of the public and his or her colleagues at risk, in the firing line of the Kurai, is not someone against whom a civilian should be pitted. I should also think Lieutenant Goto would not want his wife put in undue danger.”

“Lieutenant Goto knows better than to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Miho sniffed, then flashed a nasty grin toward Namba. “Flush that son of a bitch in my direction, Chief.”

“Chief Namba,” Ishigami said, as serious as he may have ever been. “I will go on record with my disagreement; Mrs. Goto should not be any further involved in this!”

For a few seconds following the rise of his voice, the two others looked at him a little surprised.

“You don’t want me in danger, I get it,” Miho told him finally, her expression softening a little. “But Seiji can’t come home until the mole is revealed, and this will work. I doubt Chief Namba has a mind to strip me naked, tie a bow around my neck and shout-out to all potential traitors to come have a poke.”

Both men immediately blushed.

Like, fires of hell heat in their cheeks you could see in pitch black.

“For crying out loud, you’re both grown men,” she huffed. “The point is, I’m not signing up to die, but to be very well guarded bait. Do you have people who are above reproach? Kurosawa, surely,” Miho answered, before they could. “He idolises Seiji. There’s no way he would do anything to put him in danger.”

“Soma and Kaga,” Namba put in, though at the last name, Ishigami’s nose wrinkled.

“I’m not so sure about the last,” he declared.

“Leave him out then… Subaru… call Subaru in. He would never let anything happen to me.”

“He may well have a few things to say in opposition,” Ishigami added.

“Then he can stow it too,” Miho huffed. “Chief Namba, will you set this up?”

With only a few seconds hesitation, Namba nodded his assent, and Miho exhaled.

“I’ll wait for your instructions,” she sighed. “Whatever it is you need me to do, I will, don’t question that for a second.”

“I don’t think anyone would dare,” he noted, and there concluded the meeting.

Dun dun duuuun... the final part!

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 14

AO3 link here

He’s always taken by surprise when the memories come for him. It will be something small, usually: an article he goes to set aside because Bruce would be interested, or - even after all this time - a reach for his phone to check the weather before realizing the reflex won’t make sense for several more decades. The first Thanksgiving he spends with Peggy, he’s muddled through enough to have the turkey in the oven and the potatoes boiling on the stove and suddenly he remembers being on the run, holed up in an apartment in Sofia with Sam recounting stories of family holidays past as he taught Steve and Natasha to make “the best damn cornbread you’ll ever eat.” (Steve remembers the recipe and serves it at dinner, but can’t bring himself to taste it.)

There’s the time that Rose, independent minded as always, starts calling her new brother Natty, then Nat (over and over - “Nat, Nat, Nat”), until Steve, who does not yell at his children, finds himself barking at her to quit it before leaving the room. He apologizes to them all later, a mulish, wary-eyed Rosie in particular, but none of them ever uses the nickname again.

Once, he is waiting in line at the post office and recalls with a sudden and biting shudder that something of him is out there, frozen and insensate in the solitary ice while Steve lives this life. And then he realizes that Thor is somewhere now too, still young and princely, a warrior, already having lived a thousand years or more. Someone Steve could talk to, someone who would not know him, someone who can’t be reached. (The postal clerk offers condolences as he mails his package.)

The day Tony is born is particularly bad.

Steve knew that Maria was pregnant, knew it was going to happen soon. The date on the calendar triggered something familiar in the back of his mind when he went to write in the sleepover party Emma has scheduled for that evening. But he is still surprised when he gets the call.

It comes in the early hours. Peggy grumbles when the phone shrills into the dim morning quiet of their bedroom - she’d been on a late-night call and only got to sleep around 2 AM - so Steve rolls out of bed and over to the dresser to answer it.

“Steve!” It’s Howard, sounding entirely too awake. “Steve, he’s here!”

Steve massages his eyes for a moment, wondering if he has to rouse Peggy after all. Some diplomat, some dangerous figure he doesn’t know about…? But Howard is continuing, “—told me take her over to Mt. Sinai. Luckily I had Jarvis drive us because that woman really had her claws in my arm - hard to steer with that kind of grip on you. Figured the kid was ready to fall out of her, the way she was acting, but we were there all night.You know they let husbands come in for the main event these days? Crazy times. Thought Ana would be better at that sort of thing, though. Calming presence and all. She came out about an hour ago, brought me in to see him before they took him away. Ten fingers, ten toes and all, did great on that baby score test, and we’ve named him too! Anthony, for Maria’s father, but we’ll call him—”

“Tony,” Steve says softly, but it is lost under Howard’s joyful echo.

He had thought that it would be Jarvis calling, pride and delight masked beneath British propriety. He imagined it like being informed about a royal birth: “It has just been announced that Mrs. Maria Stark was safely delivered of a boy at 3:43 A.M. and that she and the child are both doing well.” He could have stood for that, offered suitable congratulations on behalf of himself and the rest of the family, and hung up. But now it is Howard, bursting with unexpected eagerness about his son over the telephone line, and the appropriate amount of corresponding happiness seems more than Steve has to give.

There’s a sick twist in his gut as he thinks of the disdain and hurt in Tony’s voice whenever he spoke about Howard, and it only gets worse when his mind recalls the vivid details of Tony slumped in his armor that final time - the smoke of it all, the everywhere wreckage. He remembers, too strongly for a memory so far past and so far future, the beautiful sun and silence of everyone at the funeral for this child who’s just been born.

He doesn’t even notice Peggy there until she has eased the phone from his ear. “I hear you’ve some good news for us, Howard,” she says, her tone cheerfully dry in a way Steve can’t manage just now. He leans against the bureau and places his thumb on the inside of her wrist, even though he knows that it means the pulse he’s feeling is most likely his own.

Once she’s had her turn to be exuberantly hollered at, the story told lovingly all over again with little additions (Jarvis’s hurried trip back to the house to find the pre-purchased cigars, the little tip Howard had dropped for the nurses to make sure they didn’t go running to the papers), she asks when they should plan to come up and see the baby.

“Come up next weekend, if you can manage it,” says Howard. “Bring the kids! Well, maybe don’t bring them, but park them with Dr. and Mr. Barnes and bring yourselves over.”

“And you’ve confirmed with Maria that she won’t mind?” Peggy asks. “It’s all likely a bit overwhelming between the birth and caring for a newborn, without adding the stress of entertaining.”

“I bet the Jarvises will be over the moon to see you,” Howard says, either not having heard or choosing to ignore her.

“I see I’ll be checking directly with your better half when she’s had an opportunity for some well-deserved rest,” Peggy says with a slight sigh, and then her voice softens. “And, truly, congratulations again, Howard.” She looks up at Steve’s still and somber face. “From all of us.”

Peggy covers it well, but she always needs a moment to settle in around babies when they’re this young. Steve doesn’t technically have much more practice than she does: he’d held Bucky’s kids at this age - mostly Libby; Davy wasn’t born until they’d moved back to DC - but even Emma was a toddler by the time she came into their lives, which means that he doesn’t have much day to day experience. Still, he knows without being asked that Peggy needs him to step up, so when Maria offers to let them hold the baby, he puts out his arms.

Tony is light and sleepy against him, with only a vague suggestion of dark hair. His mouth works at the air a little, dreamily, crusty suggestions of milk at the corners. Maria fed him just before they came. Steve rocks him a bit.

“He’s a sweet, sweet boy,” says Maria, fond and proud and fierce, even though Steve doubts the baby’s done anything to prove that, even though Maria looks tired through her natural elegance. There’s a bit of spit-up on the shoulder of the long, pale blue silk robe she’d greeted them in.

“You seem like you’re doing a great job,” Steve offers.

Maria, easing herself back to recline on the sofa, laughs. “Only because it’s four against one,” she says. “If I was doing this alone, I’d be crying along with him.”

Peggy stands from her settee and holds out graceful hands to take her turn. Steve passes the baby over gently, careful of his head. Tony makes a cranky little cry despite the precautions, but returns to sleep as Peggy begins to rock him rhythmically.

“He’s absolutely darling,” she tells Maria. “Or at least doing a very good impression at the moment.”

Maria says, “I’m glad you think so,” and Steve can see the sweet canniness to her smile that had once convinced him that she could handle Howard. “Because I—We—Howard and I have a request for the two of you.”

“What?” he asks warily, but just then the door opens, and Howard enters the sitting room. Peggy turns her back, holding the baby away from the sudden draft and the cloud of pollen Howard brings in with him clinging to his suit jacket.

“You didn’t start without me, did you?” he asks his wife, striding over to her.

She takes his hand and replies, “You’re only lucky that I didn’t - you promised to be home before they even arrived and I’ve been throwing the child at them as a distraction to cover for you.”

Howard bends to kiss her cheek. “You’re a very good woman,” he tells her, then goes to shake Steve’s hand and wrestle Peggy for a turn to hold the baby.

This turns out to be a poor idea: Tony makes his opinion of all of their antics very well known, and finally Maria takes the baby back herself and calls Ana to put him in the nursery.

“She means our room,” Howard says. “Spent months choosing the paint and just the right books, tracked down all the baby equipment in the world, but she can’t stand to have him on his own.”

“Volunteering to carry him back and forth a dozen times a night, then?” Peggy asks innocently. “How very helpful of you, Howard.” Maria and Steve snicker as Howard busies himself pouring coffee from the tray Jarvis had left on the side table for their refreshment. (No one bothers to tell him that it was put out when Steve and Peggy arrived and is now room-temperature at best.)

“Well,” says Maria, shifting over to let her husband sit beside her. “As I was saying before the interruption, we have something to ask you.”

“We’d like you to be Tony’s godparents,” Howard says, serious for once, although he ruins it immediately by pulling a horrible face after taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. He puts his cup on the table and tries to recover. “Be his guardians if there’s ever a need.”

Peggy glances over at Steve, who has settled himself to her right. She’d speculated that this was why the Starks had been so eager for them to visit in person, but Steve had insisted that they were simply new parents looking to show off their offspring and that there were surely other people who would be better suited to such a role.

There’s a reason he usually doesn’t argue with Peggy’s hunches.

“I’m honored. Truly,” says Peggy, striving to make clear the sincerity in her voice rather than the fact that she’s stalling. “I’m sure that we both are.”

“Of course we are. And I’m grateful that you would want to trust us with something like this.” Steve leans forward. “But are you sure we’re the right choice? We don’t live close, and things can get a little busy around our place. Maybe someone more local, someone who can offer him more time than we can really promise - plus, if you’re serious about the godparents business, someone who’s actually religious - maybe that would be better. Jarvis and Ana would probably be—”

“Too worn out for that sort of thing.” Maria reaches forward and covers his clasped hands with hers. “This is exactly why we wanted it to be you. You held him for two minutes and you’re already thinking of what’s best for him.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries, one last time. “Buck and Layla—”

But Howard interrupts now, bringing a triumphant hand down on the table. “Didn’t I tell you that he’d be modest about it?” he says to Maria, then turns to Steve and says, “It’s you, pal. The two of you - the smartest, most capable woman I know, who’s already proven she can handle a Stark, and the best thing I ever—The best father in the world - there’s no one better.”

“So?” asks Maria with quiet hope, and it is clear that at least some part of her has registered Steve’s hesitation in a way that Howard hasn’t. She lets go of Steve’s hands and sits back against the couch again, although her expression is still kind. “Will you do it?”

Steve knows without even looking at Peggy that it is his choice and she will have his back either way. He thinks of Tony as he knew him, lost and brilliant and bold, friend and adversary. He thinks of tiny, fragile Tony as he held him just now, unformed and entire. He thinks about Tony’s daughter who Steve never got to hold at that age, who never got to place a grandchild in her father’s arms.

Maybe this time around.

They excuse themselves soon after, Maria clearly worn out and hanging on by the barest threads of her hostess smile. Peggy goes to speak with the Jarvises about joining them in seeing Angie’s new show tonight (“Come now, Mr. Jarvis, there’s no Benny Goodman these days to stop you from enjoying an evening out”) while Howard walks Steve down to the foyer.

“Any chance—” Howard starts, and even though his tone isn’t wheedling or sly the way it usually is, Steve knows what he is going to ask. “Any chance you’ll give me a hint about the future of it all?”

“Howard, you know that I—”

“Sure, sure, I’ve heard it all before. But just this once, tell me if things turn out. For him.”

It’s a selfish bit of manipulation, but a parental one too: “How will my child grow up? How can I protect them from the harm that is in store?” Did such thoughts ever come to the other Howard, the one who was caught up in weapons and cold war and past victories, who seemed to have been gone even when there, cruel and disappointed in a way that led only to more disappointment? Had he showed this sort of wonder and worry in the beginning only to let it fade?

“I can’t tell you things like that,” he says, driving unyieldingly forward over Howard’s protest. “But as a father, I’ll tell you this: you need to take time with him.”

Howard laughs. “Steve, I’m sure I’ll have a few minutes to catch a ball once he actually starts being able to control his own hands.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not just that.” He doesn’t know where the idea comes from or if it will fix anything, but he says it anyway. “You should take a day off every week. One day, to give the rest of them a break and so you can spend time getting to know him.”

“I don’t think there’s much to know about him yet.” Howard laughs again, but there’s an edge to it now, the laugh of a man who isn’t accustomed to interventions into his business. Steve questions if there would be a laugh at all if it wasn’t him, or perhaps Peggy, saying it.

“If you don’t start now,” Steve predicts, “you never will. And, sure, at the beginning you’d be missing sleeping and diapers and crying - things I never got with my kids - but soon it’ll be first steps and first words and first day of college. The time goes fast, Howard, faster than you can believe. You asked for advice, and there’s mine: spend a day out of the office and taking care of your son.”

“Not exactly a convenient time,” Howard says brusquely. “You were the one who said I should throw those AGU characters a bone and give the keynote, and then the whole thing went off between the ones who are saying the planet’s going to explode if we don’t do something and the ones who say the planet’s going to explode even if we do something. Most of them say it’s getting too hot, but then there are the ones who say the problem is cold. And of course there are the ones who say it’s not a problem at all. I’m starting a whole new division to try to straighten things out, so I’m not sure that all those expert scientists I just hired are going to take too kindly to my kicking my feet up for a whole day.”

“You’re in charge. And you did just say that they’re the experts,” Steve reminds him, then tries a different tack. “And who knows? Your boy could be the next expert if you’re around to help him.”

That seems to strike something in Howard. “As if he’d ever be an egghead like that.” He looks irately Steve and adds, “And didn’t I tell you he’s already a genius? Aced everything the doctors threw at him. That’s genetics, pal.”

“So,” Peggy asks as they begin making their way back to Bucky’s. Jarvis had offered to drive them, but they’d declined. “Attempting to engineer fatherhood now, are we?”

“He didn’t do a very good job the first time around,” Steve says.

She looks at him, gentle but shrewd. “And do you expect he’ll actually make the time as you suggested? I believe Howard loves Maria, but since they were married he spends as much time in the office as ever. Perhaps more, now that he doesn’t need to excuse himself to charm the next starlet in the pack.”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know if he’ll listen, or if it will change things, or if it might make it all worse. But I know I had to try something.”

With a fond sigh but no surprise, she says, “Of course you did.” They continue walking even as are separated for a moment by a tour group taking up the sidewalk, Peggy moving in toward the wall and Steve stepping off the curb into the street. When they rejoin each other, she twines her fingers with his. “I’m sure you feel a particular responsibility too, now that we’ve been named godparents.”

Steve sighs himself. “Well, we’ll see how that goes.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up at him. “They sounded quite firm in their intentions, if you’ll recall.”

“I know that,” Steve replies. “But you might end up changing your mind and sabotaging the whole deal.”

She pulls away. “Steve Rogers, I would do no such thing!” He laughs; sometimes he likes to be reminded that beneath the spy and the director and the mother, there’s the boarding school girl who kept secrets on her word of honor and considered welching a criminal offense.

“You just wait,” he says. “I have the feeling that no matter what I try, some things can’t be avoided - and Tony Stark’s personality might be one of them.”

“That’s no reason to malign me,” she says, settling back against him though clearly still touchy. “I do have some fortitude. I did help bring up Rose, after all.”

They pause at a cross street to wait for the stoplight. Steve glances up at the clearing sky, a brilliant May blue emerging. “You’re right. And so did I. Maybe I’ll actually have the upper hand this time around.”

Peggy tells him airily, “Well, I perhaps wouldn’t go that far. When have you ever with the children?” and laughs when he glares down at her.

The light changes and, clasped hands still together, they step off the curb and cross onward.

More chapters here

[kanasmusings]

[Translation] Growth Drama CD Vol. 3 - Track 3

Here’s the third track~ Man, I love this track so much hngh!! Ryota’s as savage as usual XD

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

Track 3: [懐かしい再会と、今と] “A nostalgic reunion and the present”

Under the cut, enjoy~

Track 3: [懐かしい再会と、今と] “A nostalgic reunion and the present”

(chattering noises in the background)

CLERK A: Welcome! We have quality Hokkaido wine right here! Would you like to try some Hokkaido wine that’s famous for its fragrant aroma and light taste?

CLERK B: Sorry for the wait! We just got finished baking them.

CLERK C: Over here is Hokkaido’s number one taste, the potato! It’s been cut into small pieces and have been deep-fried!

MAMORU: (chomping) So delicious…! (in English) Delicious~!

KEN: Let me try~! (Ken takes a bite) Woah, it’s really delicious!

RYOTA: (takes a bite) Th-this is…!

RYOTA: This taste is the perfect combination between a juicy croquette and the potato’s natural taste underneath the perfectly fried breading. It’s a taste where you can tell the earthy flavour even when it’s covered in bread crumbs. It has a very nostalgic and yet it’s fresh!

RYOTA: What a wonderful croquette!

KOKI: Looks like it matches Ryo’s tastes as well.

KEN: I mean, it’s totally delicious! Mochiduki-san, the croquette from your brother’s stall is the best!

KOKI: Your brother’s such a wonderful person, too.

KOKI: He’s cool as well just like Mochiduki-san but his body’s so well-built like an athlete that it kinda surprised me.

MINATO: (chuckles) Farming does take quite some strength after all. I think it’s expected of him.

MINATO: Even compared to my sister I think I’m the skinniest one. I’m so happy that you even loved the bread.

MINATO: Hokkaido’s food really is delicious and I’d like for everyone to come and visit it someday, too~

MAMORU: Mochiduki-san, please try to get us a job there~ We’re ready to fly off anytime!

KEN: Right~?

RYOTA: Yeah.

KEN: Just like this, Ryo’s on board, too~!

MINATO: Roger! I’ll try to make that a goal.

MINATO: If it’s for first-time visitors, I think it would be good to visit in summer since it won’t be that much of a challenge.

MINATO: But… Maybe now’s not gonna be a good time. Hokkaido’s pretty famous to visit during summer…

KOKI: True. I mean, even the food stalls here are getting quite the attention, too.

RYOTA: They’re trying to experience it before-hand. Oh~ I wanna eat the special jelly over there later.

MAMORU: (patting Ryota on the shoulder) Ryo-kun, Ryo-kun! The melon bread over there looks delicious, too!

RYOTA: (gasps) You’re right! Wanna buy some and bring it to our next work location?

MAMORU: Ah, that’s a great idea! (they both start walking towards the stall)

KEN: Those two sure look perfectly happy being normal customers.

KEN: Oh, Ko, you said you wanted to look at some cheese and stuff. Wanna go?

KOKI: Let me see… After the next meeting we’ll be going home so I think it’d be okay to carry it around frozen for an hour before we reach home.

KEN: What’re you gonna make with the cheese~? You see, I wanna eat some cheese fondue~! I haven’t really tried it, to be honest. Can that be made at home?

KOKI: It’s rare for Ken to request something~ Cheese fondue, huh? I think it’s doable. Lately it’s been popular for stores to sell items as a set so let’s look for some later before going home.

KOKI: So tonight’s cheese fondue, huh?

KEN: Yay~! I’ll help you hold stuff so let’s go buy a lot!

KOKI: Got it~ But only the amount that we can finish eating, okay?

KEN: Yeah, and that’s a lot!

MAMORU: (walking back) Eh, what’s going on? What’s up with you two~?

RYOTA: We already got our melon bread.

KEN: Y-you sure move fast, huh…? Well, we’re in the middle of fulfilling my request.

KEN: We’re having cheese fondue tonight~!

RYOTA: Eh, that’s nice~ I wanna eat cheese fondue, too. I love them.

KEN/MAMO: Oh, you do~

KOKI: Um… Mochizuki-san, the time…

MINATO: Oh, we still have one hour. Perfect for shopping, if I do say so. I think it’s still okay.

MINATO: And also… I heard it from people at the agency but… I guess it’s true that Ko-kun can really cook, huh? That’s amazing!

KOKI: (chuckles) I don’t do it every day, though. It is a hobby of mine so I do so whenever I feel like doing so.

KEN: Ko’s cooking is super delicious! Please come eat with us too sometime, Mochiduki-san!

RYOTA: Ken, let Ko invite and decide, okay?

KOKI: (chuckles) I don’t mind. Mochiduki-san, if you do manage to have some free time then please join.

MINATO: Eh, would that be okay [with you]?

MAMORU: Of course, of course! You’re absolutely welcomed! Oh, I guess this should also be said by Ko-kun (chuckles).

MINAKO: Oh, is that you, Fujimura-kun?

MAMORU: Eh?

GROWTH: Hm?

MINATO: Ah, excuse me. Are you a fan?

MINAKO: Ah, no, I’m sorry. I suddenly called out without thinking.

MINAKO: Do you remember me? I was Fujimura-kun’s former classmate during elementary school.

MAMORU: Could you be… Matsuyama-san…?! The one who taught me piano…?

KOKI: Eh…?

RYOTA: That means…

MINAKO: Yes! I’m that Matsuyama! Matsuyama Minako.

MINAKO: I’m so relieved! You remembered me.

MAMORU: Uwah…! This is so nostalgic!

MINAKO: Really, right? What a wonderful coincidence!

KEN: (whispering) What a coincidence, huh? But, wait… Isn’t the one that taught Mamoru the piano his first love…?

RYOTA: (whispering) Now that you mention it…!

MINATO: (whispering) Eh…?! Those two had that kind of dramatic reunion…?!

KOKI: (whispering) Maybe this is fate’s doing.

KEN: (whispering) Don’t tell me… A forbidden love is about to…!

MINATO: (whispering) I’m so sorry to burst your bubble but, in TsukiPro, you idols are not allowed to be in love. But, as a person, of course I would support it. But… this is too much of a challenge on my first day [as manager]!!

MINAKO:  Oh, that’s right. Matsuyama’s my maiden name. Right now I’m known as Sekishima. My name is Sekishima Minako. Nice to meet you.

MAMORU: Eh?! M-maiden name…? So you got married, huh?

RYOTA: (whispering to Minato) Rest assured. It ended before it even began.

KEN: (whispering) My condolences. And congratulations.

MINATO: (whispering) I feel sorry for Mamoru-san but as a manager I feel so relieved.

KOKI: (whispering) Guys, don’t tease him too much.

MAMORU: Um… Let me introduce her again. She’s my former elementary school classmate, Matsuyama—Sekishima Minako-san.

MINAKO: Good afternoon! Nice to meet you. My name is Sekishima Minako.

MINAKO: You’re Growth, aren’t you? It’s my first time meeting celebrities so I’m a little nervous.

MINAKO: Uwah, your faces are so small and pretty, your legs are long, and you’re so refined~! It’s like a completely different feeling, isn’t it~?

KEN: (chuckles) Thank you very much! We’re ready to accept any challenges with a smile and a positive attitude!

KEN: Ah, Sekishima-san, you’re the person who taught Mamoru how to play the piano before, aren’t you?

MINAKO: Oh? Does everyone know about that, too?

KOKI: Yes, before our debut, Mamoru came to visit our high school and he told us about it as one of his precious memories related to school.

MINAKO: Eh~ I’m so happy!

RYOTA: You’re the person who made Mamoru meet music. In other words, you’re like the person who helped bring our songs to life.

RYOTA: Nice to meet you, Sekishima-san. It’s an honor to have met you.

MINAKO: Ah, no. It’s me who should be honored. I’m very moved right now.

MINAKO: Um, I always check and buy your CDs, too!

MAMORU: Eh, really?!

MINAKO: Yep~! I told you before, right? When you become famous, I’d be bragging to the people I know.

MINAKO: And I really do, you know? “I’m the person who taught him how to play the piano!” is what I tell them.

MINAKO: Though they didn’t believe me much, I still felt so proud!

MAMORU: Uwah…! I see! Woah, I’m so happy!

MINAKO: I’m happy, too! You really proved to everyone what I meant when I said you were amazing when we were little.

MINAKO: A professional artist, huh~? This might not mean much coming from me but, you’ve become so great now, haven’t you~?

MAMORU: Th-that makes me a little shy…

MINAKO: That part of you hasn’t changed at all, huh~

MAMORU: (chuckles) If you’re at the event then does that mean you still live in Hokkaido? Did you get married there, too?

MINAKO: Yep! I transferred to Hokkaido during elementary and have stayed there since. I’m still living at Hokkaido now, too!

MINAKO: Oh~! And with someone who’s 13 years older than me, too~ I—

TOHMA: Matsuyama-san, Father’s looking for you.

MINAKO: Ah, Tohma-kun, you looked for me? Thank you.

TOHMA: … These people are…?

MINAKO: Ah, I’ll introduce you! Remember those people on TV that I talked to you about? This is my former classmate, Fujimura Mamoru-kun and—

MAMORU: Good afternoon.

MINAKO: And Mamoru-kun’s friends, Eto Koki-san, Yaegashi Kensuke-san, and Sakuraba Ryota-san, and their manager! The four of them are celebrities, you know?

KEN: Nice to meet ya!

ALL: Nice to meet you.

TOHMA: Heh… I haven’t seen them much but are they popular?

MINAKO: H-hey now!

MAMORU: (chuckles) Well, we’re not exactly actors or performers after all. We don’t really appear much on TV. Singing is our main job. Please think of us as singing brothers.

KEN: We’ve sung at Budoukan once, y’know? We’ll be doing another live soon, too!

MINATO: Exactly! They’re a clear and resounding unit from TsukiPro who’s only going to get more famous from now! Please check them out.

RYOTA: Mochiduki-san, you don’t have to appeal to young children, you know?

TOHMA: Hm…

KOKI: If you like music then I would like to ask for you to listen to us at least once.

KOKI: Our songs are all made by this ‘singing brother’, Mamoru. It’s really diverse and interesting.

KOKI: We have songs that are like the ones used for games, too. Though this is coming from us, I think that we have a lot of really great songs.

KOKI: I would like for you to listen to them sometime.

TOHMA: …! W-well… I-if I have time I’ll listen to them.

KOKI: Yes, thank you.

KEN: (whispering) Looks like the Ko-sama smile works great on children, too.

RYOTA: (whispering) As expected.

MINAKO: I-I’m sorry about that, everyone. Tohma-kun, you heard their names so you have to introduce yourself, too.

TOHMA: I’m Tohma. Sekishima Tohma, 9 years old.

KEN: Nice to meet you!

ALL: Nice to meet you~

TOHMA: Then, Matsuyama-san, Father’s waiting over there. (Tohma runs)

MAMORU: “Matsuyama-san?”

MINAKO: Ah, yes, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m my husband’s second wife and Tohma-kun’s his first wife’s son.

MINAKO: I heard that his first wife died from an illness when he was little so it’s kinda… you know…?

MINAKO: I figured that it’s something that can be fixed with time.

MAMORU: I see.

MINAKO: I’ll do my best okay, Fujimura-kun? I feel like I received some courage after talking to you when you’ve become this great!

MAMORU: Eh?

MINAKO: You were the same age as Tohma-kun when I taught you the piano, weren’t you?

MINAKO: If the me from before managed to do a lot for you then, the me now can do a lot more for Tohma-kun I’m sure!

MAMORU: Yep, that’s right, Sekishima-san. I’m really grateful that you introduced music to me.

MAMORU: Thanks to you I managed to meet with such wonderful friends and I live together with such beautiful music every day.

MAMORU: I feel happy every day. That’s why, you should too, okay?

MINAKO: Yes!

MAMORU: Well, compared to me who’s living alone, I think you’re happier with a wonderful husband and child.

KEN: No doubt about that.

MINAKO: (laughs) Now then, thank you, Fujimura-kun. I’m glad I got to talk to you! I’ll be returning to our stall now.

MINAKO: Fujimura-kun, do your best with work from here on too, okay?

MAMORU: Yep, you, too. See you.

MAMORU: (sighs) Somehow I’m overwhelmed. She’s the same age as me and yet she’s already married and has a child.

MAMORU: People really live their lives differently, huh?

KOKI:  That’s right.

KOKI: There are some of my classmates who are already married, too.

MAMORU: Heh~ Ko-kun’s friends, huh? Wai—WHAT?!!

MINATO: Woah… That’s quite early, huh? Lately, I feel like the “who can get married first” competition has gone to extremes.

KEN: We just debuted so forget about getting married, we have to work with the love ban for the meantime.

RYOTA: Though Ken’s gonna run away from love even without the ban.

MAMORU: Ah… Ken-kun’s popular but he’s bad at handling things like that, huh…

MAMORU: He’s the type who’ll get pushed and run away, huh?

KEN: WAHH!!! Let’s stop with this topic! We have work, right? WORK! Come on, let’s go! (Ken walks away)

KOKI: (chuckles) He’s right. Let’s go, everyone.

MAMORU: Yessir~ Let’s do our best with afternoon work, too!

MINATO: I’ll send you the map for the next location, okay?

MINATO: It’s a six-minute walk away from here so… please wait a second.

RYOTA: Ken already left though. Oh, wherever shall he go~?1

MAMORU: (laughs)

  ==END==

TRANSLATOR’S NOTES:

1 Ryota actually says a pun here that kinda only makes sense in Japanese so I translated it to the next closest thing it could be in English ^^

[notsuchasecret]

Ad Libitum Day 7

@oiyamaweek2018 Day 1 - Music/Dance Day 2 - Call/Text Day 3 - Flowers/Growth Day 4 - Rivals/Protector Day 5 - Break up /Make up Day 6 - Fairlytale/Fantasy Day 7 - Free Day

Tooru was more nervous than he had ever been before, and it didn’t help that Yamaguchi was utterly clueless. He was doing that thing again, that thing where he was entirely the most beautiful creature on the face of the planet, but he seemed to have no idea. He laughed and ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it until it stuck out adorably. The candlelight made his skin look like a map of constellations and glinted in his beautiful eyes. Tooru was smitten, and had been ever since the day he’d first stumbled into Yamaguchi’s ballet studio and laid eyes on the love of his life.

And now… well. Now it was two years to the day since that first fateful meeting, and Tooru had taken Yamaguchi out on an entirely spontaneous date that he definitely hadn’t been planning for three months now. They sat alone on the balcony of a fancy restaurant that Tooru had had to practically sell his kidney to get a reservation for, sipping champagne after a wonderful dinner and watching the bay below them. It was the most romantic setup Tooru could have possibly arranged, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing he had set this all up for. He paid the exorbitant check and led Yamaguchi out of the restaurant.

“This was incredible,” Yamaguchi sighed, leaning his head on Tooru’s shoulder as they walked hand-in-hand through the night. Tooru had gotten them a cab so they wouldn’t have to deal with the busy trains in this part of town and now they were walking the last couple of blocks to enjoy the night air. “Thank you, Tooru.”

Tooru considered doing it there, at the end of their date when Yamaguchi was feeling grateful for a night out. But he couldn’t do it.

They found Iwaizumi already ready to go, his shoes on and his bag in hand. He rushed out the door without much more than a mumbled goodbye, and again, Tooru considered taking advantage of the privacy Iwaizumi had given them and doing it there. But Yamaguchi walked into the apartment and laughed at something he found there.

“Tooru, why did Iwaizumi-kun leave us a fruit basket?” he called. Tooru walked into the kitchen to find a massive basket of fruits and chocolates sitting on the counter. “The tag says ‘congratulations or my condolences - whichever is appropriate’. What does that mean?”

Tooru could have done it there. But instead he shook his head and shrugged. “Iwa-chan’s weird like that,” he said. “I never know what he means.” He knew then that he had blown his last chance, that he was all out of romantic opportunities. He sighed. “I’m going to go check on Tobio.”

Yamaguchi followed him down the hall to Tobio’s bedroom. Where Tooru was just going to have a peek into the room, Yamaguchi slipped inside to pull Tobio’s blanket tighter around him and give him a kiss on the forehead, and Tooru knew. There was no way he could spend the rest of his life without this man in it. There was no need for romance when every time he looked at Yamaguchi he felt like he was flying. There was only one way to go forward from here. Yamaguchi stood and turned to face Tooru, and Tooru knew it was now or never.

He got down on one knee.

[ultimatereviewinsights5-blog]

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[nhl-imagines-posts]

Jordie Benn - Habs Won

Team: Montreal Canadiens

Requested: Yes: Can you write about meeting Jordie Benn in a Montreal Bar after a game. Maybe he’s hanging with either his brother since they played the stars or with Gallagher…

Edited: Yes

Word count: 819

Summary: You meet in a bar

~

 My friend smirks at me and I glare back at her, taking a sip from my strawberry margarita.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I mumble.

“I told you so,” she sings anyways.

“Don’t be a bitch, there’s still the third period,” I point out.

“Y/N if the Canadiens are down 5-3 and their defense is getting shittier and shitter as time goes by, what makes you think they’re going to win?”

“The faith I have in my team.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything.

Our attention returns to the TV as the Stars vs. Canadiens game starts for the third period.

My friend is visiting me in Montreal from Texas, so this game is a big deal for us.

We’re at the bar now, her in her green Benn jersey and me in my red Benn jersey.

She was born into a hockey family but I was never really into hockey.

I only started getting into hockey after I moved to Montreal and was immersed in the culture- hockey a big part of it.

Now, two years later, I know every player on my team and watch every single game.

We watch the last period with minimal comments.

I get more excited as Max Pacioretty scores the fourth goal and Alex Galchenyuk scores the goal to tie the game.

That caused my friend to screen in agony.

I just laughed and cheered the players on.

With one minute remaining and an empty net, Artturi Lehkonen scores the game winning goal.

The bar erupts into cheers and the game’s timer quickly winds down, ending the game with a win for my Canadiens.

I smirk at my friend.

“Open a tab bitch, I’m getting so wasted tonight I won’t even get up tomorrow.”

Since the game was so intense, we had the bad idea to make it even more intense by placing a bet on top of it.

If the Stars win, I have to open a tab and whatever she drinks will go on it.

If the Canadiens win, she has to open the tab and whatever I drink will go on it.

Looks like I’ll be drinking the rest of the night.

One beer and three shots later, I’m barely tipsy, since I’m good at handling my alcohol.

“Why is it so busy?” I look around the bar, noticing every seat is taken and some people are even standing.

“I don’t know,” my friend shrugs.

“The game,” the bartender comments as he walks past.

“What about the game? It ended,” I say.

“The Canadiens and a few Stars players are here,” he replies.

“Oh my gosh, now’s your chance to sleep with Jordie Benn,” my friend hits me with an enthusiastic smile.

A guy belts out laughter from next to us.

I turn to meet brown eyes that I’ve only seen in pictures- Jordie’s eyes.

Jamie stands behind him, surprising me with a smile.

It’s a change from his regular stoic expression.

“Sorry you can’t sleep with Jamie, he’s taken,” Jordie comments to my friend.

“Try Tyler Seguin,” I add, causing the men to laugh.

“Good idea,” she takes me seriously, looking around for him.

“I’m Jordie,” Jordie smiles at me, holding out his large hand for me to shake.

“Y/N, congratulations on the game,” I shake it with a firm grip, smiling back at him.

Jamie introduces himself next and I shake his hand. “My condolences on the game.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re too sad about it,” he snickers.

“I’ll never be sad about my Habs winning,” I take a sip of my new beer. “Do you guys want anything to drink? It’s going on her tab.”

I point to my friend who found Tyler and is now flirting with him.

“Why?” Jordie laughs.

“Habs won,” I respond simply.

“You can take the offer, Jor, I’m gonna go see what Gally’s up to,” Jamie slaps his brother on the back before bidding me farewell, walking away.

“So how long have you been a Habs fan?” Jordie questions me.

I answer him and we exchange a few more questions about hockey, it’s mostly me asking if he hates Boston as much as the fans do.

He just laughed at that.

I don’t spend the night getting wasted and spending my friend’s money, in fact, I spend it talking more and more with Jordie.

We talk until the bar shuts down and even then he walks me home.

“I’d love to see you again,” he says when we’re outside of my door. “Can I get your phone number?”

“Of course,” I smile sweetly, taking his phone from him and entering my number as a new contact. “Text me soon.”

“Will do,” he waves before walking down the sidewalk.

My phone buzzes instantly with a text.

Jordie

Tell your friend I’ll pick up her tab. It’s the least I can do for winning against her Stars.

[tariqk]

So every time I hear a dude1 bring up the specter of a super-intelligent artificial intelligence, I roll my eyes, but this current bout of wight hand-wringing has gotten me wondering if these dudes are just blowing smoke at our faces to distract us from the real issue.

Cut for some angry ranting (and footnotes, because nothing feels better than angry research!) about this subject.

Like, do I care about superintelligent Strong AI? Not particularly, for the following reasons:

Strong AI takes a lot of effort for questionable results

I think it's pretty self-evident that intelligence doesn't self-organize by you just mashing as many processing units as you can into some kind of platform, and you can get a mind. You kind of can't. At this point, jamming as many neurons as possible into a skull will just leave you with a mass of neurons and not a brain, and jamming more memristors or whatever it is that you're using for computation won't give you a brain. Or maybe it will, but that's like the beginning. You still need to train that brain, so unless you can tell me that that's been automated and that neural networks are training themselves, what's the problem? Yes, deep learning systems are outperforming humans (slightly) on tasks that were previously the province of human minds2, but right now? It's not self-directed. And yes, that's something you can do.

But the basic argument here isn't that it won't be hard to do, because it is! It's hard to do, it costs money and time, and your final result is...?

If you were going to say, “something very much like a human mind, but better”, I'm going to stop you there for a minute, and have you reconsider. You want to create an entity that has it's own volition, it's own motivations, be essentially a person... because...? You want to exploit that entity? How are you going to make it do what you want?

Let's be real here. There's a difference between “getting work done faster and more effectively” and “creating workers to exploit”. And that difference is huge. Like, one is focused on results, the other is something we've never really done before, and frankly, the idea is horrifying, from an ethical, legal and financial perspective. You're talking the mother of all liability suits, here. Or the beginnings of an atrocity. If we're talking about minds that can be killed with a switch3, created to... work tirelessly for you?

That's slavery. That's horrifying. And you want to work towards it, when the cost of being found out, or your workers demanding to be treated like people, is likely too high, and the ethical and legal cost of creating new minds might be astronomical...?

Why4?

More importantly, who the fuck would want to finance this5?

Super-intelligence may actually be impossible

Okay, let's say, because we don't really know, and it's totally plausible, that instead of aiming to create Strong AI, you focus your efforts on Weak, specialized AI, without a sense of self, that aren't people, because the ethical concerns are horrifying bad and you don't want that sort of legal and moral entanglement. And yet it happens anyway, because the space between what you're doing and Strong AI might be so porous and thin that one day they just break through.

Okay, congratulations in creating a person. Also, my condolences to your legal and ethical entanglements.

Are we doomed, though? Probably not.

Like, Robin Hanson kind of covered this in The Betterness Explosion, so I'll just quote the relevant section:

After all, we seem to have little reason to expect there is a useful grand unified theory of betterness to discover, beyond what we already know. “Betterness” seems mostly a concept about us and what we want – why should it correspond to something out there about which we can make powerful discoveries?

But a bunch of smart well-meaning folks actually do worry about a scenario that seems pretty close to this one. Except they talk about “intelligence” instead of “betterness.”

Considering the fact that our history of intelligence is not only incoherent but also indefensible, because intelligence was never seen as something to strive for, but used to exclude and murder, the fact is that well, there isn't a theory of intelligence that could be used to, I don't know, build a damn machine?

I'm remembering a time when people were buzzing about AIXI, which, well, for one thing, it's not computable6, and for another, why?

Like, end of the day, the reasoning behind artificial general intelligence is that you want to resolve AI-complete and AI-hard problems like computer vision, language translation, image classification... but if you look at the stuff that's happening in Weak AI research, that's already happening. You don't need to make smart people to solve these problem. You don't even need people.

The problem with artificial intelligence isn't the AI itself, but the people who own the AI

Basically.

Like, do I give a shit that we'll end up making people? No. because, do you know how fraught it is to actually make people the natural way?

They're expected to have rights, and you're responsible for them because you made them, and it opens the world up to this whole universe of liability that you really ought not to get into unless you really want to.

And if that happens, so what? What, they're going to destroy humanity? There are already human beings dying by the busload because there are human beings who already don't give a shit about other human beings... so what if they're replaced by not humans? Are those human beings getting killed not going to get more killed? Not particularly.

The only people who are terrified are the ones who worry that what they've visited upon the poor and the not-white and the not-abled will happen upon them, and let's be honest: if their track record for treating sapient beings is of any indication, the day that fucking happens is the day that they had it fucking coming.

Like, as if Mark Zuckenberg, Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, Eric Schmidt, Travis Kalanick or any Silicon Valley puke gives a flying fuck about algorithms they use to fuck people over... but they're trying to get us to care about systems that go out of their control?

Mmm-hmm, yeah, okay. Sure. Sort out your own fucking problems, assholes.

And it is a dude, and usually a white one at that ↩︎

I really need to recommend Károly Zsolnai-Fehér's YouTube channel, because not only is his channel full of insightful (and accessible!) videos on not just artificial intelligence research, but also other things, but he delivers it in this really charming way that I find very enjoyable. ↩︎

Oh, okay! You can restart them from their last state. Great, so it's not a switch to murder sapient beings, it's a switch to imprison them indefinitely. WOW THAT SOUNDS SO MUCH BETTER (it does not). ↩︎

Seriously, why the fuck, though? We already have people tirelessly advocating for the rights of non-human beings, and the thought of having another corporation, or some rich bastard like Elon Musk, creating his own fucking slaves... like, yes, we do, as a society immersed in a racist capitalist system, tolerate slavery, we just don't call it that, we spend endless amounts of time working so that less people don't get outraged about that, but can you imagine when they do? You wouldn't only be fighting against your workers, but all of these angry people who've found out that you're keeping slaves in the basement. ↩︎

I'll be fair: in this age of Trump? Maybe there are sick fucks who'd want to do this. That's depressing to behold. ↩︎

Based on this thread on Stack Exchange, it's like… basically abstract everything that's difficult about AGI and push it to computing? That's fucking lazy. I mean, as it defines the universe of possibility great, but doesn't make it any easier to make AGI, and it might not even be the final form of what might eventually be AI as people? ↩︎

[glass-closet]

Hi Sera :) So both panels yesterday were amazing! I was so happy (and relieved). One thing that stuck out to me was during the gold panel when the Js were talking about their kids...I mean, their comments? Things happening that weren't the plan, having to "match" the number of kids...wow. From a tinhat perspective, it just sounded like they were bitching about how that all went down. (Not that that's to say they don't love their kids, of course). But it just cracked me up. Have a good day!

Anon: Hi Sera! I know that you don’t like to talk about the children but seeing the gold panel I’d noticed that Jared wasn’t really “haappy” about his  newborn child… I don’t know I find it really odd, thoughts?. okay, that’s all… have a happy week!

Hello, lovely people!

These two panels had the strangest vibe when they mentioned the kids. I’m going to put my opinions below the cut. I know a lot of people don’t want this stuff on their dashboards, so I’ll spare them.

This might not be entirely pleasant. Consider yourselves warned!

(1:18) Here is the kids mention from the gold panel. Jared starts talking about how a lot has happened since their last convention and his voice actually seems to break a little when he starts to say “I have yet another reason to…” before Jensen interrupts him to lighten up the mood and saves him. The awkward clapping and Jensen’s serious expression lead me to believe that this is not an entirely happy thing for them. Luckily, the atmosphere lightens up when they move on to talking about the show and Nesnej. Jensen looking out for his boy, ladies and gentlemen!

(3:51) A fan congratulates Jared and he says “I think you meant condolences.” Jensen quickly takes over and reveals that it wasn’t “the plan” to have three kids. They look like they try to make a joke out of it, but Jensen’s stony face tells another story.

I wonder how serious Jared was when he said him and G needed to catch up. I know many think that the beards are competetive, and the theory does certainly seem to have a solid base.

Frankly, I have this theory that G coerced Jared to allowing her another kid because D got an “extra” one. She could have held something over Jared, like perhaps her signature on divorce papers or something of that sort. To support my theory, I present Jared’s absolute lack of mention of the P&S campaign on the panels, his strange statements about becoming a father again and him spending three days out once they presumably came back to Austin with Odette. Also, don’t forget that he told bar patrons about the baby before G’s official annoucement was due.

Jared has been behaving strangely in regards to the child a couple of months now and he’s given reigns of his social media to an outsider. While I do think that he loves the kid, I don’t believe for a moment that it was his idea to have her. I also don’t think he’s responsible for using his kids as advertising faces for G’s blog and P&S. Sure, he allows it, but I really don’t think it was his idea.

Jared and G have also acted weirdly around each other. I trust you saw the video? What about Jared’s serious face on that family manip? The relentless marketing of G’s blog that he doesn’t even do himself? It doesn’t look like they’re seriously pushing the happy family image - it looks more like they’re preparing for a divorce and creating and trail of clues that can be later drawn together to see how they were unhappy.

In the midst of this P&S mess, the J’s seem to have been celebrating something. Have they now fulfilled their bearding contracts and are they free to file for divorces? Or are they perhaps making up for the missed anniversary, assuming they missed the date in the first place? I hope it’s the former, but it could be something else entirely. It’s not even necesarily celebrating, who knows!

Oh well! That’s my beans on the matter. I hope you both have a lovely day and a sunny week! Thank you for messaging me! Let’s see what happens next.

PS: If you are a random person who just stumbled across to read this, remember that this is speculation and I’m not an all-seeing oracle that knows the future. ;)

[shadowscrybe]

Metamorphosis- Chapter 2

Requested: no

Summary: You’re Melissa’s “adopted” daughter after her best friend died and left you to her. Scott pretty much ignores you until one day he randomly starts hovering over you. Then this new kid Isaac comes along and Scott takes him in so quickly. You resent them both until…

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: YAY! An Isaac chapter I’m so lit you guys. I have 4 done. I might post 3 and 4 together because 4 was the first chapter I wrote. Tell me what you guys think and what you want to see in more chapters!

High school is the best form of mass information spreading. For example, when you fall down the steps, the whole school will know before you hit the bottom. So when someone’s parent shows up dead, you’re bound to hear about it.

His name was something unimportant. We all knew what he did to his son. It was obvious to everyone but the people who could’ve done something about it.

The only reason I know it happened is because his son is in my chemistry class. I don’t remember his name. Ian something?

He walks into third period with confidence in his step. Not the way someone who’s just lost a loving parent would appear. The second he sits down he’s flooded by people giving their condolences. Something is so different about this kid. He usually sits there trying to make himself smaller, making as little noise as possible. Today he’s sitting back in his chair with disdain.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” One spritely blonde says as she put her hand over her heart.  

“I’m sure he loved you very much.” He flinches slightly at that one.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m here for you,” says someone who has definitely never spoken to him in his life.

I am the only one in this class who’s actually sitting down in their seat not bothering this guy. Mostly because I don’t know him and I don’t feel bad for him. It’s obvious he doesn't feel bad either.

By the time lunch comes around, one back corner table is surrounded by a mass of people. I can’t see him sitting there behind the wall of people, but I can see Erica Reyes and the kid everyone calls Boyd angrily sulking in the corner. Erica keeps yelling at people who walk by her and touch her. We were almost friends once. We had gym together in sixth grade until she had one of her seizures and was pulled from the class. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with that anymore, though.

I can’t take it anymore. If that were me I’d be pissed. I can’t even stand it when people apologize for my mom. Why apologize for something that isn’t your fault? Before I know it I’m stomping over to the curly haired stranger.

I approach him with my cheeks burning and I can feel myself breathing heavy. He is so much more attractive up close. His face says he's uninterested in what I have to say. It’s oddly cute. I’m completely dazed in how blue his eyes are. They’re the type of blue that has stripes of darker and lighter shade and even some almost white.

He raises his eyebrows at me waiting for my consolation. “Congratulations.” I blurt out.

It seems like everyone in the cafeteria turned towards me in the next instant audibly gasping together. Erica bursts into laughter and grabs onto Boyd’s arm who doesn’t have a frown on, so I assume that’s his smile. The blue-eyed boy smiles for the first time. I give myself a reassuring nod and turn on my heels and leave the cafeteria.

What did I just do? What if he really liked his dad? I mean, I know he was cruel, but it was his dad. What if he loved him in his own way? No, he smiled. Maybe he thought I was insane.

“Y/N!” I hear Scott call from down the hallway. I stop but don’t turn around. He runs up to me, eyes wide. “What did you say to Isaac Lahey?”

Oh, his name is Isaac. Well Ian is close. “I didn’t know his name was Isaac,” is all I say and move around him to leave. Allison comes up behind Scott.

“Wait,” he barely touches my arm to stop me. “Are you friends with him?”

“What’d you say to him?” Allison asks again.

“Congrats,” I respond abruptly. “And what does it matter?” I say to Scott.

“Don’t talk to him.” He orders.

“You don't get to tell me what to do.”

“I'm serious, Y/N. He’s not a good guy. Stay away from him.”

“What if he’s a good friend of mine?”

“You just said you didn’t know what his name was.” Allison interjects.

“I don’t know him. I thought his name was Ian until just now.”

“Ian.” She repeats and giggles.

“Am I free to go, sir?” I mock. Scott turns to the side and I walk past him the way he does to me every morning. The gall to try to tell me who I can talk to when he doesn’t even talk to me.

The next day in chemistry, Isaac- not Ian- and I make more eye contact than is considered socially acceptable. My neck flushes red and I am very aware of how I keep breathing in and out. I feel like I’ve just ran up a set of stairs. He’s attractive, I won’t lie. I know he’s not looking at me because I’m attractive. We’re on two different levels. He can go up to pretty much anyone and get what he wants. I have to wait until someone comes up to me and even then it’s never to ask me out. He always looks mad to appear unapproachable so no one talks to him. That’s working out real well for you, I think at him. I realize I’ve been staring at him thinking all of this. I cringe at myself as I put my head down. He was probably looking at you because you look like you’re going to pass out, you idiot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh no.” I say as I watch the lacrosse boys run on the field. I didn’t know Isaac was on the team. If he sees me he’s going to think I’m stalking him.

“What?” Allison says as she sits down next to me like it's the most natural thing to do.

“Uh, nothing.” I close my backpack, trying to not take up much of her space.

“It’s gotta be something.” She presses. She crosses her legs and pulls out her English notebook.

“What’s going on?” Lydia Martin plops down on my other side. My eyes go wide and I sit up straight going stiff. Do they know it's me? Are they aware I’m here?

“Lydia, this is Y/N, Scott’s sister.” She introduces me as his sister even after he made the distinction. This sweet dark haired girl has made me feel more like family in less than three conversations than my own brother.

“I know.” She says checking her lipstick in a compact mirror. “You have a higher math grade than I do.” She sneered at me.

“So, what's wrong?” Allison doesn’t forget. She seems like the person who when you get talked over acknowledges you and says ‘keep going’. They both turn towards me locking me in between them.

“Uh, this guy I keep having awkward encounters with is on the team.”

“Who?” They say unanimously, leaning in closer.

“Isaac Lahey.”

“Who’s that?” Lydia asks. I have never spoken to this girl. My nerves are electrified. I have no idea what's going on. They’re just sitting with me.

“Number fourteen, right?” Allison answers.

“I think so. I'm not sure, they're in practice uniforms. I don't know if that makes a difference.” What am I doing?

“This is boring, we should go do something instead of sit here. We have an hour before they’re done.” Lydia reaches across me to touch Allison’s leg, “Let’s go buy that homecoming dress.”

“Okay.” She puts her notebook away and the girls get up to walk down the bleachers.

“Are you coming?” Lydia asks me.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I have that math grade to keep up on.” I finger-gun at them. Allison laughs and Lydia narrows her eyes on me.

“She didn’t mean you had a choice.” Allison explains.

“Oh...” I can’t help but smile as I put my stuff away. I’m so excited I just shove everything in there, not putting papers in their right folders. If I go too slow they might change their mind.

When we get to the mall Lydia lights up. She half runs into every store and she’s the one in heels. I feel so out of my comfort zone. The girls never leave me out though. They keep asking my opinions and throw dresses at me to try on. I explain I’m not going because it makes me uncomfortable.

Lydia opened her mouth to protest but Allison says, “That’s okay, we’ll just do something together after.” They just assumed we’re going to be hanging out after. They have accepted me so fast. I didn’t even plan for this to happen.

“What’s happening here?” I ask in the car on the way back.

“What do you mean?” Allison turns around to me. Lydia flicks her eyes to the rearview mirror.

“Like what are we doing here? Why are you guys hanging out with me?”

“We wanted to hang out?” She says like it's common sense.

“Lydia, I’ve never talked to you a day in my life, and now I’m riding in the back of your car from picking out homecoming dresses.” I’m going to ruin this for myself. They’re going to regret taking me.

“Allison talks about you and Scott all the time. I might as well have met you to see what all the hype was about.”

“Y/N, you're our friend. So the mall isn’t your scene, got it. Next time we’ll do something you want to do.” Allison offers.

“Wait, we’re friends?” Both girls laugh at the joke I didn't know I made.

“Yes, oh my god.” Allison turns around as we get to the school. Lacrosse practice seems to have ended early. Scott is leaning against my car. When he sees me get out of Lydia’s car he does a double take.

“Hey, babe.” Allison greets walking up to kiss him.

“Where have you guys been?”

“Mall.” Lydia says across the passenger side out the window.

“Gotta go,” Allison kisses him goodbye and hugs me. “See you tomorrow?” I look back at Scott who’s not looking at her. She meant me. I quickly nod trying to blanket over my awkwardness. She gets in Lydia’s car and they drive away.

“You’re friends with Allison and Lydia now?” He asks pulling on the door handle repeatedly waiting for me to unlock it.

“I guess so.” I smile the whole ride home. 

[rue-by-another-name]

“Home remedies” -h.s. Part 5

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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It didn’t take you long to pack a bag. All you needed to do was throw in a couple pairs of leggings and some of your favorite knit jumpers and you were ready to go, zipping up your thigh high boots that kept your legs warm and lugging your suitcase to Harry’s car.

You’d texted and let Kat and Tilly know where you’d gone. Tilly had given her condolences quickly but you knew she was distracted by Todd. Kat had called to make sure you were both going to be okay, telling you to please give her prays to Anne before she said she would keep your flat from falling apart while you were gone. And now you were on your way to Harry’s house about fifteen minutes from your own flat.

“I’ve never been to yours,” you realized as Harry drove a bit faster than usual to get to his place.

“I think you’ll like it,” he nodded, “Bit like back home.”

And it was. The house had a rather cozy feel to it with a warm color scheme and artsy, rustic feel. You wanted to turn the fireplace on almost as soon as you saw it, and you could picture yourself curling up by the fire and reading on colder nights. But now was not the time as you followed Harry through his house towards his bedroom. 

It wasn’t a big house as you’d expected a famous, rich person would have. It was rather average sized, and you had to remind yourself that only one person lived here, and that one person was Harry who oftentimes got lonely quite easily. 

His bedroom came up rather quickly, and you almost didn’t have time to look around before he was walking into his closet and tossing his suitcase out onto his large bed. But it didn’t take a second before your eyes fell on the picture above his bed.

“Where’d you get that?” you asked, not even thinking before you were crawling up onto his bed, standing between his pillows in your socks to get a closer look at the printed canvas. Your body was tingling.

Harry walked out of what you could only assume to be a closet bigger than your own bedroom with some jumpers of his own before looking up at the picture of the cold beach. “It’s a photo I bought a couple years ago,” he cleared his throat before climbing up and standing next to you. “Not that special of a picture really, but I swear this is the beach my mum took us to that winter where we ran around in our wellies for ages against the wind.”

“Got wind bitten,” you smiled softly, watching Harry as he fondly looked upon the picture. 

“We ran around for hours and then stayed in that cottage overnight,” he nodded, “Swear we both would have stayed out all night too if my mum hadn’t made us go to bed. It was the first time we slept in the same bed, remember? Wasn’t enough beds for all of us so my mum put us together.”

“Claudia was on a weekend work trip,” you recalled, “And you and your mum already had plans so she took me along without a second thought. It was one of the best weekends of my life still to this day,” you bit your lip. “First time I remembered what having a mum felt like.”

“I bought this picture at an auction a couple years ago,” Harry told you as he jumped back down off his bed and started packing his bag. “They weren’t asking for much for it.”

“But you still bought it way out of the price range,” you looked down to where he was looking up at you with a quizzical look.

“Yeah. Meant a lot to me. I swear I know that beach.”

“It’s the beach we went to,” you nodded, taking his hand as he helped you down.

“How’d you reckon?”

“Because I took the picture.” This simple sentence took far more courage than you cared to admit or allow Harry to see as you shrugged in a casual manner. Tilly had been right when she said you belonged in the world your photography alter ego was in. Regardless of how well of a job you did dodging the press as yourself in your own world, Harry’s world was so different and the intensity you were sure you’d face as his friend would by some means bring out who you really were behind the camera. You’d rather Harry find out from you, as well as the rest of the world.

Plus, this was Harry you were talking with. When had you ever kept anything from Harry before? Why should this be any different? There was no need for any sort of drama to separate the two of you. You’d both already been separated enough for years, and a simple profession wasn’t going to cause a rift between you. The photographer you were was a huge part of you, your life, and your essence. Harry was also a big part of you now and you knew he wasn’t going away any time soon. 

So why shouldn’t he know?

“You ... wait you - you took this picture?” Harry looked beyond puzzled, sitting down on the edge of his bed and blinking multiple times while thoughts flew through his head. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knew you were dedicated and talented, but he also knew the caliber of which this photographer worked at and the fact that you were this high achieving photographer with such a massive following and title caught him off guard.

“Is that ... a problem?” you bit your lip, “I work anonymously so no one knows who I am as a photographer. I got by -”

“Your first initial and your middle name,” Harry nodded, “I’ve been following you as a photographer for years now since I saw this photo. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. Oh wow,” Harry rubbed his eyes, “I bought your topless self-portrait last year for a lot of money.”

“Rather it go to you than anyone else,” you chuckled, attempting to keep this a light tone. “You’re not ... mad or anything?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? You’re a ridiculously successful photographer. You’re - you’re social media sites are crazy! I follow you on every platform. I’ve bought tons of your prints. This is ... wow.”

“I figured you should know,” you shrugged, “It’s where I go to work every day.”

“Yeah yeah,” Harry nodded, “Yeah wow. Y/N this is amazing.”

“Tilly knows, since she works with me. But I haven’t gotten around to telling Kat. I’m afraid she’ll ask for a photo shoot or something and when I get home the last thing I want to do is pick up a camera again.”

Harry chuckled as you smiled down at him, reaching out for his hands. He took them in his, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands before bringing them to his mouth and kissing them. “I’m proud of you,” he nodded, “Your work is amazing.”

“You have to say that. You’re my friend.”

“I’d like to think I’m more,” Harry shrugged, “We should probably talk about that actually ... you know the whole ... kiss thing.”

“We’ll have time,” you nodded, “I’m not going anywhere. But we need to get home first and check on your mum.”

Harry nodded and quickly finished packing. You observed his room as he did so, lying on his bed and admiring the pictures in frames, finding a childhood one of you, Kat and Harry all in rain gear at Kat’s sixth birthday party smiling widely. It was supposed to be a swimming party in the lake down the street from her house, but when it started raining you’d all gone puddle jumping instead. Kat looked as gorgeous as ever with her long hair and flawless pose. But you and Harry looked like muddy trolls with your arms around each other’s shoulders and smiles wide. You couldn’t believe how long ago that had been yet you remembered the rain on your face and the squeals of laughter as if the memory was right outside the window.

“Let’s go,” Harry said softly, his lips on your temple as he pulled you from your thoughts. You were both pretty quiet on the drive back to Holmes Chapel. It was still dark out by the time you pulled up at the hospital and Robin was waiting for you both as Harry parked and you jogged through the cold to get inside.

“She’s just fine,” Robin nodded, “Her right leg is broken and her left wrist is fractured, and other than a couple bumps and bruises she’s all good.”

“And how are you?” Harry asked, observing the soft case on Robin’s right wrist and the cuts scattered across his skin as well.

“I’m just fine too,” Robin waved it off, “Just a sprain.” He looked to you now as you lowered your hood and rubbed your tired eyes. “Well look who it is.” Robin’s smile was warm as you gave him a hug and he squeezed your arms once you’d pulled away. “Anne and Gemma will be so pleased to see you.”

“I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances,” you said as you and Robin followed Harry to Anne’s room. 

“Yes well, we all come back when we’re most needed,” Robin shrugged, “Regardless, any reunion with friendly faces is a happy one.”

You allowed Harry for a moment alone with his mum, watching as he went over and leaned his tall and lanky body over her to give her a hug. She was smiling, as she always was, and you stepped aside so the door could close quietly. 

Gemma gave you a questionable look before you turned to see her, her eyes widening before a smile spread across her face. “I knew that was you!” she cried, nearly jumping into your arms in a fit of giggles, “Harry had mentioned that he had seen you again and that you were living in London but I’m so uninformed of his friends lately that I had no idea who he’d possibly bring with him back home and it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you and you’ve grown so much with such shorter hair that I couldn’t be sure but oh my gosh you look really just the same it’s so good to see you I can’t believe -”

“Gem,” Harry cut in, chuckling as you both turned to see Harry sitting on the edge of Anne’s bed. “Breathe.”

“It’s so wonderful to see you,” Gemma said, giving you another hug. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, “Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. If I had known earlier I would have sent flowers or something.”

“Oh please,” Gemma scoffed, “Seeing you again is far more wonderful than any flowers.”

“Yes it is dear; it’s so good to see you,” Anne said, reaching out her non-fractured hand that wasn’t in a sling for you to grasp. “You’ve matured into a beautiful young woman. Claudia would be proud.”

“Mum,” Harry groaned, “Don’t get weird.”

“I’m on medication,” Anne huffed, “I can be as weird as I want. I have an excuse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Anne pulled you in for a hug, kissing your forehead as you pulled away. “It’s so good to see you again,” you smiled, “As I was telling Robin, I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“Oh nonsense,” Anne smiled, “I’m just happy Harry has you back in his life. He’s quite annoying without you occupying all his time, you know.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly as Harry rolled his eyes again. “Seriously Mum.”

“You kids worry too much,” Anne tsked, “Really, I’m just fine. We’re both fine,” she said, gesturing to Robin, “You both didn’t need to put your holidays on hold for us.”

“You were in a car crash, Mum,” Gemma groaned, “Of course we’re going to come and make sure you’re alright.”

“She can’t help she’s a troublemaker Gem,” Harry smirked, “She missed her kids on the holidays and was seeking attention.”

“You’re both brats,” Anne hit Harry over the head, “And you’re nearly not quite as funny as you think you are, young man.”

“Merely joking Mum,” Harry leaned in and gave his mum a kiss on the cheek as she rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t know how Y/N will ever put up with you now that she can’t escape you in London,” Anne gave you a bright smile. “Now that you’re here though, how long do you think you’ll be staying?”

“For as long as you need us,” you nodded.

“Oh please dear that’s very nice of you but I’m sure you have a job you’ll need to get back to.”

“Oi, what about me?” Harry asked, “I have a job.”

“You do not,” Anne scoffed, “You’re between work. My son, unemployed.”

“To think I was worried about you.” Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling though, as he looked on his mum with a fondness you hoped to one day receive from your own children, if you ever had any. The thought suddenly of little ones running around a warm and inviting house with your skin tone and Harry’s curly hair and green eyes washed over your mind, a vision of Harry snuggling with a baby or giving a toddler a piggyback ride making your cheeks warm. The thought intrigued you.

“We’ll at least stay through New Years,” you caught Harry saying, “And however long you need help with anything.”

“This will be fun then,” Anne patted his cheek, “The family back together for New Years. Will you stay as well, Gems?”

“Yes,” Gemma nodded, “Charlie is already on his way down so we’ll be able to stick around. I told him to just go straight to the apartment and we’ll stop by tomorrow morning before you’re released.”

“They aren't releasing you tonight?” Harry asked, checking his watch.

“It’s near two in the morning, Harry,” Robin chuckled, “We’re probably the only ones on this floor still awake.”

“We should head back to the house then,” Harry yawned, suddenly aware of the time. “What time tomorrow morning?”

“Anytime before noon,” Anne nodded, “Please sleep in.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning,” you promised, leaning in to give Anne one more hug. It felt good being back under a motherly watchful eye as you shared a smile with Anne. “Please rest up.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about me sleeping,” Anne smiled, “You’re free to anything in the house. I’d worry the guest room isn’t set up, but we all know you won’t use that room at all.”

“Mum,” Harry turned with wide eyes, blushing at his mum as she gave him a confused look.

“What?” she asked innocently, “You always used to share the same bed when you were younger! Why would that be any different?”

“We haven’t seen each other for like, three or so years!” Harry blinked, “Why would you think -”

“Oh please,” Anne scoffed once more, “Don’t try and fool us. I’m surprised you’re so embarrassed.”

“Jesus, Mum,” Harry mumbled, grabbing his jacket. 

“Unless you have a reason to be embarrassed,” Gemma crossed her arms and smirked at the two of you as you felt your ears burning and Harry sputtered to get an answer out.

“Whatever. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good Lord,” you grumbled, following Harry out of the room as he’d grasped your hand so hard that he nearly yanked you right out of your shoes. 

“She’s perfectly fine,” Harry grumbled, “2am and she’s still embarrassing me every chance she gets.”

“You forget that she will equally find pleasure in embarrassing me as well,” you smirked, “So I have no sympathy for you.”

Harry’s annoyed façade cracked, a smile shining through as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close as you walked through the cold to his car before driving down the familiar streets towards his house.

It was something out of a dream being back in the Styles household you’d grown up in. You could remember running up and down the stairs, cutting your forehead on the coffee table in the living area, and spilling milk all over the kitchen when you’d left cookies and milk for Santa Claus. There was still the large window out front with the warm window seat that would be basked in sunlight after school where you’d lie and take a nap as Harry finished the homework you’d already done during your study hall. 

You tripped over the same welcome rug you remember tripping over countless times when you’d arrive unannounced and without even knocking to open the door and scream for Harry to come out and play. The house sent chills down your body as you looked around, almost everything exactly how you remembered it.

And Harry’s bedroom was no exception. There were less posters and more awards, more pictures hanging on the walls of his band now and less of those old sports memorabilia he’d once collected. But it was still the same room you’d snuggled next to Harry almost every night. Still the same room you’d cried in after your first breakup, and still the same room where you’d hid from a game of spin-the-bottle during a very adventurous party Harry and Kat had once thrown. Harry had gotten suspicious when you hadn’t showed up for around a half hour or so and had come up to his room to find you sound asleep in his bed, all your clothes and even your shoes still on. He’d told Kat he was tired as well after that and made her kick everyone out before coming up and taking off your shoes for you and helping your extremely sleeping little body get into bed before he’d snuggled right up next to you.

“Brings back memories, huh?” Harry asked, the thump of your suitcases making your jump slightly as you were brought from yet another deep memory. Harry couldn’t help but smile at your jumpy nature. “Relax,” he chuckled, his fingertips pressing to your shoulders as he pulled your jacket down your arms and tossed it on his desk chair. “Are you tired?”

“Extremely,” you nodded, “It’s been a long day.”

“It has,” Harry sighed, “Come on then. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Harry’s mattress, no matter how famous and rich this kid became, would still always be the lumpy uneven mess that sucked you right into the actual mattress as you laid down in your baggy t-shirt and underwear. The concept of being in a thong around Harry didn’t shake you at all as you allowed your body to mold to the comfiest mattress you’d ever experienced after all these years. It was a piece of shit old mattress, but nothing could ever replace it.

Harry sounded like an old man sinking down onto the damn thing, his groan lasting longer than you expecting and causing you to giggle a bit as he reached out for you blindly and humphed when his hand met your stomach. “Just how I remember it,” he grumbled, “Most uncomfortable mattress in the whole world.”

“I love it,” you mused, “Best sleeps I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” Harry sighed contently after a small moment. His arms tensed, using all his strength to pull you towards him as you fell into him like a rag doll. 

You were both quiet for a moment as there was an awkward presence between the two of you. You’d kissed. You’d made out. That boundary was broken. Harry had basically admitted he was in love with you and you hadn’t declared that you weren’t. And yet here you were pressed against each other but neither of you were saying a word. You’d both agreed you’d talk about it, but with everything going on now ... it just didn’t seem like the right time. 

“Thanks again for coming with me,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah of course,” you nodded quickly, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Harry’s arm slowly wound its way around you, pulling you close as you nuzzling your face into the crook of his arm. 

“Happy Christmas Y/N,” Harry whispered, nuzzling his nose against yours in an eskimo kiss.

“Harry Christmas Harry.”

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the feeling of being in Harry’s arms again in this bedroom where you’d once fallen asleep together almost every night brought a level of comfort you hadn’t achieved since the last time you’d seen Harry before he was a singer, before you were a photographer, and before either of you were old enough to ever admit that the feelings you’d always had for each other was something you should act upon. 

So many things had changed since then, but you were happy they had or else you wouldn’t be right back here waking up in the morning to Harry’s face nuzzled into your neck and his body wrapped all around yours like a snake. 

You were up before Harry like usual, attempting as quietly as you could to unwind yourself from Harry’s slumbering body as he rolled over away from you. Showering quickly, you got dressed and made your way downstairs to start making some coffee as the front door rattled and Gemma walked through, box of pastries in her hand.

“Oh,” she smiled once she saw you standing in the kitchen. “Well good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smiled, “I’m making coffee. Would you like some?”

“I’ve already had some and should probably turn it down, but yes I’ll take a mug,” Gemma smiled and sat down at the kitchen island. “How’d you sleep?”

“Just fine. Surprised I woke up at a normal time for me though,” you chuckled, “I’m not a night person whatsoever.”

“I remember,” Gemma chuckled, “Still an early riser, I see.”

“Yeah and your brother sure isn’t.”

“Are you two fucking?” Gemma asked bluntly.

“You nearly choked on the doughnut you’d pulled from the pastry box as you felt your entire face burning. Gemma looked on with a smirk as she waited for you to compose yourself. 

“No! No Gemma we aren’t ... we aren’t sleeping together,” you hissed, “Jesus.”

“I’m just saying,” Gemma raised her hands in defense, “There was always something between the two of you when you were younger and Harry would whine about you the past couple years whenever he felt lonely when he got home and none of us would hang out with him,” she laughed, “‘Y/N would go with me. Y/N would hang out with me. Y/N would find that funny.’ I swear it was the most annoying thing ever.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Harry still talking about you during your time apart, and shrugged as you turned towards the coffee machine to pour the fresh brew.

“No Gemma come off it,” you felt the blush beat on your face as you attempted to hide your expression as much as you could. “You know Harry and I were never anything more than friends growing up.”

“People come back for a reason though,” Gemma shrugged, “I’m just saying.”

“You’re just saying what sister mine?” Harry asked tiredly, stumbling into the kitchen and rubbing his eyes. “Jesus, you’re both us early.”

“Would you expect anything different?” Gemma asked, not even getting up from her stool as her brother gave her a lazy hug. You and Harry shared some awkward contact before he nodded at you, opening the fridge to break your eye contact as he reached for some orange juice. 

You didn’t like this. You didn’t like how awkward and disjointed you felt with Harry right now. But you couldn’t imagine what must be going through his head. First he has this strange epiphany not even he was expecting by realizing feelings he was developing for a long time friend he never thought he’d have the pleasure of seeing again. Then there was the accident with his mum that he was probably still wrecked up about inside thinking of all the repercussions of her healing from this. And now, not only were his best friends back in his life and he was back home, but the one he’d declared his love for haphazardly ended up being a famous photographer he’d been obsessing over for years now. 

You were sure he was confused and overthinking everything, so you didn't want to rush him. But you did really, really want to kiss him. 

Releasing Anne from the hospital was a whole thing. Harry insisted on pushing her wheelchair for her and then insisted on lifting her up into the car. None of you really said anything against it, knowing that he was far too stubborn for his own good and Anne was already giving him enough shit for pushing too fast or too slow that you all just figured sitting back and letting it all happen was the best scenario for the rest of you to not be harassed either. 

Once you were back home, Anne was situated on the couch until she was comfortable and Robin went to check on how everything was going with the car and the insurance agency. You barely saw any of Harry all morning, spending majority of your time with Gemma and meeting Charlie who was absolutely one of the nicest human beings to walk the planet. He belonged in the Styles family for sure and without a doubt. Harry spent most of his time with his mum, watching TV and going through some pictures and playing cards with her. 

Around lunch time, you exited the kitchen per Gemma’s request considering you lack of any cooking skills and Harry took your place, allowing you some time alone with Anne.

“So how are you doing, dear?” she asked, grasping your hand in hers. “What are you up to these days?”

“I’m a photographer now,” you couldn’t help but smile. “A pretty good one, if I do say so myself.”

“And you’re happy?” 

“I am,” you felt your ears heating up at having to talk about yourself. “I like what I do and the people I work with. The money I make of course is just an added bonus, but really I just love that I get to do what I’ve always wanted for a living.”

“You’ve always been a smart girl, Y/N,” Anne squeezed your shoulder. “I’m happy you’re back in Harry’s life.”

“Yeah I’m glad we all met up again as well,” you nodded, fiddling with the edge of your dress. “Feels like childhood.”

Anne nodded and admired you for a moment as you sat together. “I’m glad you’re both staying around for a little bit,” she admitted, “You two can pretend all you want that you’re adults but we all know you’re still kids at heart.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with Anne as Harry walked into the living room. “Ears burning?” Anne asked, smirking up at her son as he stood there awkwardly. 

“What? Oh uh ... no. I just ... your medicine, Mum,” Harry cleared his throat and handed the pills to Anne before nodding awkwardly and making his way out of the room. You watched him go, his shoulders slumped and his feet shuffling.

“What is wrong with him?” Anne chuckled before tossing her pills in her mouth and downing her glass of water.

“He’s worried about you,” you were able to lie easily. You could tell you were the issue, and you knew that you were the issue because you were the only one he wasn’t talking to. But you didn’t want to tell Anne that considering then you’d feel like you were intruding and there was a selfish part of you that was starting to realize how lonely you’d been without a family and you selfishly wanted to stay a little longer. 

So you kept to yourself, and dreaded having to go to bed where you would face Harry on the other side of the bed and there was no way out. 

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Okay I’m so sorry for the wait for this. I know it was longer than usual but I’ve just been a lot busier than I thought I would but I’m going to have a slower couple of days so hopefully I’ll be able to pump out the next couple of parts (if you’d like them lol). 

Part 6 HERE.  

[ifishouldvanish]

For Art and Happiness

Chapter 7: Two Women

Summary:  A repressed Belle runs from home to pursue a life of freedom in a new city. To support herself, she turns to modeling for local eccentric painter, Ross Gold. Known as the Town Pornographer, Gold’s avant-garde work and lifestyle exposes her to the very ideas her father sought to guard her from. Rating: M, for sexual themes Tags:  Sexual Repression, 19th Century, fin de siecle, Art History, Body Image, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Miscarriage mention, sexual anxiety This Chapter: Ross struggles to make peace with Cora’s departure. Valerie = Cruella Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

[Read on AO3]

Ross knocks impatiently on the heavy red door of the Schäfer’s home. There’s some shuffling about on the other side before he’s greeted by Mary Margaret’s voice.

“Just a minute!” She calls from inside.

“Take your time.” He sighs with petty annoyance, much to quietly for her to hear.

The door swings open a minute later, revealing Mary Margaret with the baby in her arms. She looks exhausted, but happy nonetheless. Ross is certain Mary Margaret grew up with every expectation that she would have midwives and house staff to help her care for any children she might have. But that isn’t the life of an artist, certainly not ones like he and David. She waved goodbye to such comforts when she married him, and while he might pity her naivete toward life amongst the city's lesser half, he has to admire her heart. Mary Margaret chose love. Unlike Cora.

“...Herr Gold.” Mary Margaret nods, putting on an uneasy smile.

Ross wets his lips. “Frau Schäfer.”

“What do you—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. “Hi.” She says, smiling more convincingly this time. “Why don't you come in? David's in the studio.”

“Thank you.” He nods curtly, stepping inside. He looks at the baby in her arms with a smile. “Hello, Emma.” He says, poking a finger at her belly. She babbles and reaches for him, and Ross smiles.

“Things have been a bit chaotic here.” Mary Margaret admits with a chuckle, starting down the hall. “Everyone’s been in and out, preparing for the exhibition.”

Ross doesn’t say anything, his smile slipping away as he follows her inside. He hasn’t put much thought into the exhibition, despite all of Cora’s encouragement. If he’s honest, he always thought it was a bit of a dog and pony show, and a pathetic one at that— at least as far his circles were concerned. His colleagues were all vying for approval from the artistic elites and the Academy. No matter where he went— London, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague— there was always some new school of artists intent on showing the world the full potential of what art could be. But quite frankly, Ross never gave half a rat’s arse whether or not people thought his art was any good. As long as he was getting enough sales and commissions to keep food on his table, he was happy.

Happy enough.

Mary Margaret gives him another uneasy smile as they step into the studio where David is cleaning his brushes. He hears them walk in and smiles, walking over and planting an affectionate kiss on his wife’s lips, and another on his daughter’s head, before the two scurry away again.

“Ah, Ross!” David looks at Ross with a broad, genuine smile. “It’s been far too long. How are you?”

“Fine.” He answers listlessly.

“How's Cora?”

Ross clears his throat. “...Engaged to be married.” He says as he steps further into the studio space. He immediately turns his focus to the rows of canvases along the wall.

David's expression freezes as he tries to decide whether he should be offering his congratulations or condolences. “When’s... the big day?” He asks tentatively.

Ross stops thumbing through the paintings and clicks his tongue. “That’s a lovely question.” He declares, spinning around with the snap of his fingers. “Perhaps you could ask our esteemed friend Herr Berger the next time he drops by to express his grievances against the Secession.”

David blinks. “Excuse me?”

“She’s marrying Berger.”

David’s expression dampens and he looks at his colleague helplessly. “Ross. ...I— I’m sorry.”

Ross scowls and goes back to browsing his work. “Well it’s hardly your fault now, is it?”

“No, but...” David furrows his brows and steps closer. “Why?” He asks in a whisper.

“Oh, something about her father’s farmland being the only place this side of the Donau where he can set up shop for his steel operation.”

“Ach.” David frowns. “I’ve gotten more than a few offers on this place myself. But after how hard Mutti and I had to fight to hold onto it? I’ll die before I let some industrialist turn it into a factory.”

Ross sighs and moves to the next pile. “Yes well, I’m afraid the only loyalties Herr Mϋller has are to his Schnapps.” He mutters. He quickly thumbs through the canvases and spins on his heels to face David again. “Was she here?” He asks abruptly.

David reels back, furrowing his brows. “...When?”

“Last week.” Ross clips. “I’m damnably curious to know if there's anything else she's been lying to me about.”

“I—” David clears his throat. “Yeah. She was in on Tuesday.” He peers around the studio, his eyes widening as they land on something. “Here—” He says, snapping a finger and walking up to one of the canvases he has set out to dry. “We worked on this.”

Ross studies the painting with a mixture of awe and anger. Cora looks beautiful, her auburn hair stylized as a rhythmic stream of sinuous lines and spirals, accented with gold leaf. She proudly holds up a platter, gazing reverently at something which has yet to be executed— a blank area waiting to be filled with a severed head.

“Salome.” Ross observes.

“That's right.”

“...Fitting.” He says bitterly. Of all the models he and David work with, who better to play the part of the femme fatale than his beloved Cora? He just can't decide if he's her Herod— a means to an end, or her John— the object of some perverse affection of hers.

A little smile tugs at David's lips. “You know... If you aren’t busy this afternoon, I think you would make a great John the Baptist.” He chuckles.

Ross huffs out a bitter laugh. “Indeed.”

“Honestly. Would you mind?” David nods toward the canvas he’d been working on before he arrived. “I'm waiting for the latest coat to dry.”

Ross looks around the studio and shrugs. “Where would you like me to sit?”

David picks the canvas up and surveys the room for a moment. “Usual seat should be fine.” He smiles, carrying it over to his easel.

  “So how are you holding up?” David asks, peeking around the canvas to look Ross in the eyes. “You two were always so… I don’t know, inseparable.” He shrugs, returning to his work.

“Well enough, I suppose.” Ross sighs. After a moment, he scoffs. “Part of me always expected it, honestly. I mean, look at me. What she ever saw, I will never understand. I’m lame, beaten, used up, old—”

“Ach!” David shakes his head and Ross rolls his eyes. He doesn’t need to anyone’s pity. “Alright, alright.” David laughs, “So you are lame and banged up and older than most of us. But—  you are also brilliant!”

Ross tries not to glow under his praise. David is the kind of man Ross wishes he was. Warm, kind, open. Likeable. David may be much younger than he is, but Ross respects the man and the thought that he sees anything admirable in him is a comfort, as much as he hates to admit it.

“Prolific, passionate, experienced, wise ...Handsome?” David continues, wiggling his brows.

A little smirk tugs at Ross’ lips. “...Now I know you’re full of it.”

“You have a great face for portraiture!” David insists, “The angles, the way the light hits your features. It's very intense, expressive.” He puts his brush down and takes a step back to evaluate his progress. “Rembrandt and Caravaggio would have been very lucky to paint a face like yours.”

Ross allows himself a tiny smile at this, but quickly wipes it away. “My art is suffering.” He confesses, trying to change the subject. “Nothing I do seems to satisfy me. I’m becoming frustrated.”

“I think that’s understandable.” David shrugs, picking his brush back up and continuing to work. “You and Cora were quite the team. But you’ll find something or someone else to inspire you. You just need a new perspective.”

“It’s not just Cora though.” Ross mumbles. “I’ve felt myself slipping the past few months.”

“It happens. But you’ve got the soul of a true artist, Ross. You’ll come back from it.”

He considers this for a moment. He doesn’t hate everything he’s done the past few months. Looking back on the past few weeks, he can actually recall a few pieces he’s pleased with. There’s the charcoal he did of Belle, the commission for Herr Hutmacher, a painting of Belle—

He suddenly feels his mouth go dry and clears his throat. “Have you—” He sighs and wets his lips. “H-have you ever had a young woman by the name of Belle come by? To sit for you?”

“Belle?” David pouts and hums thoughtfully. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“She came to sit for me a few weeks ago. Comes by quite often.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I gave her your information last week. Told her you might have more work for her. Curious, is all.”

David frowns. “Could you describe her?”

“Petite.” He shrugs. “Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes… An accent you wouldn’t soon forget. ...She’s ah, French.” He explains with a cough.

David peeks at him from behind the easel and smiles. “...Nope.” He says, disappearing once again. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

 *****

 Ross’ visit to the Schäfer’s yesterday has left him with more questions than answers. He was hoping to catch Cora in a lie. To find out she never stepped foot in David’s studio last week at all, but had instead been plotting and scheming to leave him all along. It would make it so much easier for him to let her go. But now he just feels more confused.

His eyes dart back and forth between the two women sprawled out on his floor, and the drawing on his easel. He’s producing shite today again. The lines he puts down lack certainty, and his drawing altogether is nothing more than a mockery of the scene before him. Valerie and Ursula are women in love, lit from within by a flame they each ignite in the other when they touch.

He and Cora had such a flame, or so he thought.

Ross tears the paper from his easel and scrunches it up. “Verdammt!” He hurls the balled-up drawing across the room and it lands on the floor, joining the pile of all his other abandoned efforts from the past week. The two women finally stop caressing each other in favor of sitting up and glaring at him. He tries to ignore them, fixing his gaze on the floor and kicking a crate of supplies. The few inches the heavy thing moves aren’t even close to worth the pain that shoots up his leg, causing him to yelp in pain. The whole display is more embarrassing than anything else.

“It is incredible,” Valerie scoffs and leans into Ursula's ear. “So much anger in such little man...”

“Shut up!” Ross hisses, pointing his stick of charcoal at her threateningly. Both women let out a snort of laughter that makes him fume even more.

“Do not worry. I would be angry, too.” Valerie pouts, taking a feigned kind of pity on him. “If I were man who cannot draw, cannot paint, cannot keep woman, cannot— how you say— get it up.”

“Valerie!” Ursula says through a giggle, giving her a shove. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds.”

“Eh,” Valerie shrugs and stretches over to her pile of clothes, searching for her cigarette case. It’s an ornately engraved silver piece, an artifact from the comfortable life she’d left behind in Prague’s Dejvice district.

“You know,” Ross warns, “your friend has a point.”

Valerie tilts her head back and laughs, then lights her cigarette. “You want to threaten me? I get you soap box so you can look into my eyes when you do it. ...Little man.”

Ross clenches his jaw and lets out a huff. He should have fired Valerie the first time she started with the comments about his height and fragile ego, but he's not too proud to admit that he's a lonely man, and he finds himself enjoying her and Ursula's company for reasons that defy his comprehension.

“See, Ulla?” Valerie says, nodding toward him with an amused grin. “What will he do? Nothing.”

Ross relaxes his jaw and exhales slowly. She’s right. He won’t do a damned thing.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Ursula sighs. “Sore subject, but... Berger?” She says, cringing as she says the name. Her forehead wrinkles from the way she raises her brows. “The same Berger who tried to pay off your landlord to kick you two out? And when that failed, reported you for harboring unregistered prostitutes?”

“Aye, that’s the one!” Ross says bitterly, dropping his charcoal into his tin and readying another sheet of paper on his easel. Perhaps he’ll have better luck with crayon today.

“Well, you seem to be taking it well.” She says dryly, eyeing the crumpled up drawings and deserted canvases that litter the floor. Several of Cora’s portraits have been torn off the walls and ripped to pieces, and one unlucky canvas seems to have been stabbed at least twenty times with a palette knife. “You really loved her, didn't you?”

“Well, I wouldn't let her live here with me if I hated her, now would I?” He snarls, and Ursula rolls her eyes.

“You waste your time,” Valerie says, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“And you— ” Ross steps over to her and plucks it from her lips, “waste your money.”

“Hej— what I use my kronen for is not your business,” she snips, taking it back.

“Ah...” he chuckles, wagging a finger at her. “And what I spend my time on is none of yours.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugs and puffs on her cigarette.

Ross waits, folding his arms and raising his brows expectantly.

“But I tell you—” She starts up again and Ross can't help but smile at the impending dose of unwarranted advice. “Cora is no good. Can smell it on her. Like corpse rotting from inside out.” She pauses and exhales a ring of smoke. “...You should get dog.” She says with sudden decisiveness. “They smell rotting flesh from mile away.”

Ross stops rifling for a crayon and narrows his eyes at her, bewildered. “What in the hell are you talking about? What the hell am I going to do with a fucking dog?!”

She wags her smoking hand about as she arrives at an explanation. “You don’t have such problem to begin with if you have dog. Cora works for you first time, dog growls, and you know—  Cora is no good. ” She puffs out a ring of smoke and wrinkles her nose. “Send her packing before you get penis involved.”

In his emotionally compromised state, Ross doesn’t think a guard dog for his heart sounds like too bad of an idea. Not that he’ll admit to it.

“...Just suggestion.” Valerie says with a shrug after his lack of response.

“Well, in case it wasn’t clear: I don’t pay you to make suggestions,” he grumbles, finally putting crayon to paper.

“You should,” She snickers, a sly smile shaping her lips. “I can teach you how to please woman— no dick necessary. Is that not right, Ulla?”

Ursula snorts. “I think that is the least of Ross’ problems.”

Ross clenches his fist and breaks his crayon in two. “I could please her just fine!”

“You’re so smart,” Valerie chuckles, leaning in to peck Ursula on the cheek. “This is why I love you.” She looks back to Ross and shakes her head. “My husband— thought same thing.”

“Oh? You mean the one you murdered?” Ross points out, digging through his tin for another crayon that hasn’t already been reduced to a nub.

Valerie draws back and puts a hand over her heart. “It was accident.”

“Sure it was.”

Abandoning appearances, she shrugs her shoulders and points at him with her cigarette. “I make it look like one. Police in Praha… very stupid. See no difference.”

Ross rolls his eyes and looks at Ursula. “And you sleep next to this woman every night?”

“Quite soundly.” She nods.

“See?” Valerie drapes an arm around Ulla’s shoulder. “Because I kill man, she knows I can protect her.” She smiles, leaning in and nuzzling her neck.

“So you’re saying—” Ross scoffs and resumes drawing, “I should have killed Herr Berger?”

“Jistý. ...If you want, I can show you how to make it look like accident too.” She offers boastfully. Her expression suddenly darkens and she hunches forward. “But I will be honest to you, Herr Gold— because you amuse me. Cora… she leave you either way.”

Ross groans and stares blankly ahead. “So are you saying she was just a good liar, then?”

“No, no. You do not understand. She loves you. But she leave you still. Such is the cruel bitch that is life.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You men, so naive.”

Ross groans and rolls his eyes. “Ursula, what the hell is she talking about?”

“Women like Cora are raised early on to forget about love. Marry for money, marry for status. Something silly romantic men like you don't understand.”

Ross raises his brows and blinks repeatedly in disbelief. “I'm silly and romantic?”

Valerie and Ulla look at each other for a moment and burst into laughter. “...Yes!”

He scowls. Silly? Ross Gold is not silly and romantic, he thinks. Ross Gold is… sensible. Hardened by the heartless world around him. Dark, even. And romantic? He’s anything but. Unloved and unloving. An enemy of love, and Cora had been his ally.

“I think Cora loved you.” Ursula finally says to comfort him, “but to her, the money and status is more important. I’m sorry Ross, but I don’t think you ever stood a chance.”

“Then what is the goddamned point!?” He snaps, giving his easel a shove. It's such a pointless act, doing nothing to quench the flame of frustration in his chest. He takes a deep breath to compose himself, and the frustration turns to sorrow. “Why bother getting attached to somebody just to… abandon them?” He slouches his shoulders and sulks across the studio to plop into the armchair.

“Well if I remember correctly, you never asked for her hand...” Ursula says. “Can’t blame the girl for moving o—”

“Of course I didn’t ask for her hand! She never wanted that!” Ross blurts as the frustration returns for a fleeting moment, leaving him again as quickly as it came. “We were just… fine the way things were,” he mutters under his breath, not sounding the least bit convinced of it himself.

“She must think about children.” Valerie says. “Place like this— no good.”

“She doesn't even like children!”

“Ne, she does not like street vermin you let in and feed like your own.” Valerie says, pointing in the air with her cigarette. “Woman must think about her children. But me? I decide very quick, no children.”

“I don’t understand.” Ross sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I asked her: ‘Are you happy, sweetheart?’ And she gave me every assurance that she was.��

Valerie plucks another cigarette from her case and offers it to him. After a moment's hesitation, he tucks it between his lips and leans in so she can light it. He smokes in silence in for a moment, his thumb rubbing over the crayon in his other hand while his eyes scan over the portraits of Cora that remain on the walls.

“When she didn't come back from David's the first night… It was like I could sense something was wrong, you know? I was going to visit and check on her, but I told myself no— she likes her space, leave it, she will come back when she’s ready… And now— And now...”

Ross’ lip quivers and he curls in on himself. The feeling is back. The emptiness. The shame. He takes a series of heaving breaths until the overwhelming panic subsides.

“...Now she’s gone...” He exhales slowly. His shoulders ease a little and he takes another deep breath. “...Now’s she’s gone.”

“See? It is okay.” Valerie hushes, patting a hand on his lap. “You will meet another woman. Maybe next one will be more young, bigger breasts, not so tall…” She snorts, “Next to her, you might almost feel like real man.”

“Have you any idea how many women I’ve met over the years?” Ross sighs. “Cora was… she was just different.”

Valerie scowls. “Like I say— you waste your time on that one.”

Ross rolls his eyes and takes a long drag on his cigarette.

“Listen, Ross.” Ulla says. “You just need to take your heartbreak and put it into your art. Suffer for the art, like the rest of your colleagues.”

“Oh, that's original.” He scoffs, carelessly throwing his crayon across the room. It strikes the wall and mars one of Cora's portraits with a harsh black line.

“David produced some of his best work while he was holding a torch for Mary Margaret.” Ursula points out. “That is all.”

“Exactly!” Valerie chimes in. “David's work now? Nothing special.”

“And Mal?” Ulla adds, “The work she did after her beloved Ružička was wed to that Stephan— some of the most inspired pieces I've ever seen.”

Ross presses the heels of his palms over his eyes and groans, slouching back into his chair. “Mal Fiala has not produced a single canvas in years.” He reminds them.

“Ich weiß...” Ulla sighs. “It is a tragedy.”

“Better to make no art than bad art, I say.” Valerie shrugs. “Or worse—  so-so art.” She adds sourly. “This is why now, we sit for you, Herr Gold. Ulla and I, we follow the talent.” She says proudly, making another dramatic gesture with her smoking hand. “People think we follow the kronen, but this is not true. We do not sit for just anybody. We have taste. Standards.”

Ross raises a brow at her and plucks the cigarette from between his lips. “Is that all? ...And after all this time, I was beginning to think it was because we were friends.” He jokes.

“...Friends?” Valerie tries to frown, but a smile quickly takes hold of her lips. “I do not know what this word means, Herr Gold! But I do know, if there are going to be portraits of me in museum fifty years from now, they will be damned good portraits. And when I am dead, if people think I am secret lover of yours, I say, even better.”

“My lover?” Ross tries not to retch at the thought. “Wouldn't you rather be remembered as the sapphic murderess you really are?”

“Eh.” Valerie snorts and taps the ashes from her cigarette. “People will look at your drawings of Ulla and me making love, read her poems to me, and say, ‘How nice it is, that white woman and black woman are friends!’ More stupid than police in Praha.” She snickers, “But! You do enough drawings of me, they will assume I am your Miláček. The scholars will wonder, ‘Who is enchanting woman in Ross Gold's art? So beautiful and free-spirited she is!’ I will become symbol, like Mona Lisa, and live forever.”

"I hate to disappoint," Ross sighs, “But at this rate, the only place my work will end up is in the trash.”

“Ne, ne, ne.” Valerie tuts. “Your work belongs in trash, I will be first to tell you. Like true friend.”

He raises a brow at her. “I thought you said we weren’t friends.”

She scowls. “You are one of least stupid people in Wien, so for you I make exception.”

Ross presses his lips into a thin line, trying to decide if he should be flattered or not.

“...Still pretty stupid though.”

He groans internally and rolls his eyes. “Go, both of you. Get dressed. We're done here.”

Both women roll their eyes and get up, plucking their clothes of the floor.

“I still expect full day's pay.” Valerie mutters as she dresses herself.

Ross waves the two of them away. “You know where I keep it.” He mumbles.

Valerie grins and saunters over to the little end table in the corner. “Yes, I do...” She hums, pulling the drawer open and grabbing more than her share of crowns. “Come, Ulla. We get drunk tonight.” She looks to Ross with a smirk. “Gold— What do you say you come with us? I feel generous. Let me buy you drink with your money.”

Ross shoots her a defeated look.

“Eh.” She waves her hand dismissively. “You are probably sad drunk, anyway.”

They finish dressing and head to the front door. Ulla pauses when she rests her hand on the knob. "Sure you don't want to come?"

Ross slouches deeper into his chair and lets out a puff of smoke. "Quite certain."

A/N:

In the New Testament, Salome dances for and seduces her stepfather Herod, who in return offers to give her anything she wishes, up to half of his kingdom. Salome’s mother tells her to request the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter, and Herod delivers.

Oscar Wilde wrote a play based on this story in 1894. In his version, Salome is infatuated with John, and demands his head after he rejects her. In art of this time, Salome was frequently used to represent the femme fatale, the dangers of seduction, and the world of vice and hedonism that developed alongside the industrial revolution.

Prior to this time period, Salome was depicted as an innocent girl unaware her sexuality, but the Symbolist Salome was a very witting seductress. The art is kind of amazing (tw for severed heads?):

“The Apparition” by Gustav Moreau, 1877. Oil on Canvas. (Moreau did a TON of Salomes and they’re all gorgeous)

“Salome” by Lucien Levy Dhurmer, 1896. Pastel.

“Salome” by Max Oppenheimer, 1913. Oil on Canvas. (NSFW, probably?)