#instead of making it so we can write in cursive on text posts

[captainuranium543]

How I think various fairy tail characters would text - part 2

Wendy

- she uses emojis the same way natsu does, not relevant at all to the situation she just thinks they look cute

-🪽🐦🐁🌞🌪️🌳🍃🌸🌺🪻💨🩵<- her faves

- she will almost never use emojis with faces, if she wants to communicate and expression she EXCLUSIVELY uses the cat

- ��😸😹😻😼😽🙀😿😾

- she types with normal grammar and spelling for the most part but will also just make up a word sometimes to describe shit or just use a random adjective that makes no sense but feels right

- "the weather was very sunflower windmill today" <- what does that mean? Who knows, nobody wants to ask

- oh also she uses XD sometimes because she is 14 years old, I don't make the rules it's a legal requirement

Happy

- he uses natsus phone because natsu basically never does

- also uses exclusively the cat emoji instead of faces but for him it makes more sense

- he has brainrot humour I don't make the rules

- that plus the fact he picks up on Wendy's words sometimes means he's basically always speaking in code, nobody knows what he's on about

- his paws make typing hard so his texts are full of typos (him and natsu are equally impossible to understand but you can always tell who's who)

- he LOVES emojis and uses like 50 each text, sometimes relevant sometimes not, but trust there will be many.

Carla

- She has her own phone, where do she get it? Fuck if I know

- she texts in cursive font, don't ask me why she just does

- rarely texts but when she does it's in perfect grammar and she signs each one like she's writing a letter

- similar to Lucy except she's doing it on purpose, she knows that's not how you're supposed to text but she doesn't care, it's the principle.

Also she HATES emojis, she thinks they're childish and is very vocal about that.

Uses big ass words nobody's ever heard of and sometimes Wendy will pick up on them too so it's a 50/50 shot weather a word Wendy used is one she made up or just a carlaism

Juvia

- emotocon user, of this I am certain

- ≧◠◡◠≦, <(^,^)>, >:O

- only emoji she uses is this one ->🩶, and I think you can guess why

- she uses them downloadable fonts to emphasize words, she has to say Gray-sama in cursive or else she dies

- her phone is a flip phone btw because she wants to attach gray charms to it (thanks guy from the comments on my last post for opening my eyes)

Mira

- gave people a bunch of nicknames in her phone when she was a teenager and never bothered changing them

- to this day erza's name in her phone is like "annoying ahh ginger" or some shit

- teenage Mira and adult Mira fall into very different categories of texting

- as a teenager Mira unironically uses 🖤⛓️🔪

- as an adult Mira sends minion memes

- gonna make a whole separate post for teenage Mira later for now we focus on adult Mira

- she uses some weird fucking emojis and almost never human ones

-👿😈🪜✂️💟🧶🌕🫀🐏 <- devil emoji because she just likes to use it instead of the smile, it's more personalized that way. Other ones hell if I know

- her siblings are brain rotted beyond belief shes fighting for her fucking life out here

- she's also an emotocon user but only the fancy ones you can't make on unless you fucking copy paste it

-(ง'̀-'́)ง (✿◠‿◠) <- genuinely where do you get that flower idfk

[kamweek2023]

Prompts and Guidelines

September 7: First Date

September 8: College/Roommates

September 9: Exes/Breakup

September 10: Cowboy

September 11: Soulmates

September 12: Artist/Musician

September 13: Free Day

Guidelines:

Kam Week will take place from September 7th to September 13th! If you need extra time, submissions will be accepted up to months after the week ends, so long as it was intended for this week!

Tag @kamweek2023, @when-wax-wings-melt, and @did-i-say-you-could-get-up (aka @/honey-the-dinosaur-ate-our kid) and also tag your post with #kamweek2023

These creations can include any medium, including art, writing, moodboards, playlists, aesthetics, animatics, gifsets, edits, anything else you can imagine! We can't wait to see the creativity and excitement all the participants will pour into this week!

Feel free to post the prompts out of order as well! Whatever works best for you!

Send in asks if you have questions, clarifications, or just need to share your process!

[id: a series of images with tan backgrounds with black smoky wisps, with words in cursive reading "Kam Week Prompts:" the transcripts are listed in plain text below the cut /end id]

In plain text below the cut:

Kam Week Prompts:

1. First Date

This is a good day for beginnings. Perhaps they're asking each other out instead of actually being on the date. A blind date set up by friends, dating apps. Matchmaking, or meet-cute, or childhood rivals finally trying something new. Restaurants, movies, walks on the beach, arcade something unconventional; this can be sweet or end in disaster!

2. College/Roommates

Whether they've known each other for a long time or just met, whether they're grudging friends or full-on enemies, this is a fabulous pining day! Platonic besties/haters, only one bed, staring at each other in classes-- moodboard the hell out of their shared room and see the difference between their aesthetics! Make them clash in uncomfortable ways and then find the parts that make them work!

3. Exes/Breakup

This is a day for jagged edges and cracked picture frames. A big, explosive fight or a quiet day that ends with what they've seen coming for months, years spent apart, pressure from family, something needed or something wrong. right person wrong time, wrong person wrong everything. Make it dramatic, make it broken, make it red, make it the end or the beginning. This is also a day for second chances.

4. Cowboy

This is a day for fun! Plop them into a Wild West movie as actors, or onto a horse and into your father's barn because somehow you know it ain't the ale he's got a hankering for. They're kids playing pretend and then they grow up and it's not pretend anymore. They're taxed physically and mentally, they're water in each other's desert, this is the worst possible person to be stuck with in the dry heat and dust.

5. Soulmates

There are SO many possibilities for this one. Look up prompts and check them out! Sharing pain, feeling when the other lies, sensory deprivation (colorblind, no music, etc) until they meet, numbers count down until they meet, red/blue string, sharing skies or handwriting, tattoos, matching superpowers, drawings will show up on skin, and so much more! Remember, this doesn't have to be strictly romantic-- mix things up!

6. Artist/Musician

Also included in this prompt is "poet". Keefe is a painter, always having ink or paint splattered on his clothes and hands, colors smeared on his cheek and caught under his fingernails. Tam is a musician and a poet, scribbling lyrics that he will sing with his guitar, or flute, or whatever. They're in a band together, or one is a famous singer that the other styles or writes for, Keefe finds Tam's poetry journal, one teaches piano to the other, anything!

7. Free Day

This is a wonderful day to incorporate your culture and see how that breaks the norms! Make them mermaids and pirates, childhood friends or royalty or vampires. Use nonverbal/sensory overload, death and resurrection, gods or superheroes, mythology or old age, enemies or villains, anything you want.

[vykko]

Not going to lie, dyslexia is amazing as nobody in my school or life remembers it exists and if they do they pretend it isn’t a disability

it great like

Tiny letters for no reason that I have difficulty reading

Me trying to make my phone more accessible to myself is not as good as I want it because both, the lay out is not meant for big letters and it doesn’t apply it’s self to anything not deflauf on the phone LIKE GOOGLE

having to learn cursive just as it was no longer useful so now I write in semi cursive when tired or having to be quick, I can’t read cursive

having to ask people who know I’m dyslexic even as well to slow down multiple times when writing stuff

not spelling well so getting lower marks

its a pain in the arse to get my accommodations and ATAR is basically wanting me to get diagnosed again to get a lower word limit so fuck me I guess

I can write and spell well, buuuut because everyone else can write quickly I have to too so I cant read my notes and I’ve cried before because a teacher would slow down

I have to write my notes before the teacher says so, so I can have written before they ask if everyone’s done. Which if I say I’m not I get either have everyone now focusing on me or it’s kinda ingored

”why do you have someone scribe” we don’t have teacher aids in high school for some reason, and during exams yet again getting accommodations is incredibly difficult it was a very hard for me to just get word limits brought down

beimg forced to write rather then type because if the teacher lets us use computers people might play games so again fuck me

them trying to help me with effectively treating dyslexia like I I understood nothing in the English language. also we worked on vowels sounds for ab example of how they did stuff, first I’d done it for 2-3 years 2 yes pior in speech therapy and I was flying through the activities and instead of picking up that I already knew the basics they kept doing the basics

effctivly trying to teach someone who is having difficulties holding their breath underwater for the same time as everyone else by teaching them how to swim by scratch when they allready can swim

more gaint stuff but it gets more ableist so I’d not want to talk about here but later

Last one is the time they changed the daily noctice section telling us where to go when a teacher was away

everyone had difficulty reading it and I couldn’t read it at all and got mild headaches from eye strain, I got lost for 20 minutes because I had forgotten my teachers name and had to get others to read out the table for me and getting pointed I’m the wrong direction by myself

It happened again but it was fault of lazy admin

yeah but I have soo many more stuff on how dyslexia isn’t at least in my school, city, most standard books, old people, the special system at my school, most signs, weirdly a lot of dyslexia awareness stuff and much much more is not accommodated for

also why is dyslexia treated like it’s not a disability

Like if a website has a bad autocorrect system you can very easily tell how much difficulty I have eg

tumblr = good

Skype= BAD!!

like it’s so jarring when I go and write after texting because all of a sudden it’s incredibly hard to English

like if you want to see how kinda I write in pen but for typing either look at posts I made while tired or upset or I’ll take a screenshot of Skype messages

sorry for how long of a rant this is, it’s just infuriating how I honestly struggle because somehow I’m excepted to do as well as my peers WHEN I HAVE A LEARNING DISABILITY, honestly dyslexia isn’t hard to accommodate

[la-principessa-nuova]

I was googling about ADHD and handwriting and stumbled across this tweet:

And so much so yes, but with a big asterisk and it relates to the thing I was wondering about people’s thoughts on, so I’m going to use this as a launching off point.

First to answer the question, yes, this looks like my handwriting to the point where when I saw the image before I read the text I actually felt the need to look up at who posted this to see if it was me back in my Twitter days.

There are subtle giveaways that I didn’t post write this, like that I don’t write b or f like that anymore, but note that I said anymore. This is where the story gets deeper.

The thing is, I usually don’t write like this, at least not if i intend on it being read and think to write better. But often while writing, especially if I get into it or I’m writing something long and start to think about getting through writing more so than writing neatly, this happens.

I assumed it was an ADHD thing (and searched this) because I write well as long as I’m paying full attention to my handwriting, and not to what I want to say or what someone else is saying or how much my wrist hurts from all this writing. So it feels to me like an attention issue.

Here are samples of some of my handwriting styles (keep in mind that especially the historical ones are a bit influenced by how I write now and it’s hard to intentionally not pay attention to something):

The times listed are the number of seconds on the stop watch from hitting start with my writing hand, then as fast as possible putting my hand to the page, then writing “This is very slow to write.��, then stopping the stop watch as quickly as possible.

By third grade when we learned cursive, I already had a reputation for bad handwriting. But my cursive was the best in the class. I think my teacher suggested I write in cursive so she can read what I was saying, but this might have been a teacher sometime later.

The thing was, when I wrote cursive it was usually just focusing on writing because that’s what we were learning, and even when I started using it for some other things, it didn’t come automatically, so I had to stop and focus on each letter.

But not everyone can read cursive, so I maintained writing a little of each, and eventually, in 7th grade, when I had a teacher who couldn’t read cursive, but I was embarrassed about my handwriting (getting jealous of those girls who take perfectionist notes’ handwriting), so I decided to reinvent it!

I was obsessed with Helvetica at the time (this was right around its 50th anniversary), so I decided neater meant sans-serif. It took a few weeks of science classes to workshop it (if she wanted me to pay attention she shouldn’t have complained about not being able to read my cursive), but it was initially very neat.

But over the next few years, I got lazy with that writing too, and this time thanks to a few more years of brain development, I noticed the pattern of getting sloppier with my handwriting after a few years, so I decided it was time for a major change. The serifs were back, and stronger than ever! I had so many serifs, some of my serifs had serifs.

I still have the muscle memory of rushing that handwriting, so it’s hard to make it that neat now, but it looked really cool at one point. I also started writing my lowercases a as double-story (with the little hat on top) instead of single-story (circle with a tail).

By the time that one got messy, I was in my later years of college and was able to realize the real trend that it got messy when I didn’t focus on it, so I just let things naturally change over time instead of making purposeful changes, but when I need it neat (which is usually at least somewhat true), I make a conscious effort to choose a style and write neatly, or at least sort of choose a style and sort of write neatly.

One final semi-related note is that when I write, I tend to make a few of the “careless mistakes” we often talk about in ADHD, for example:

missing letters (e.g. memory → memoy)

missing words (e.g. i don’t want to go with you → i don’t want to with you)

switching homophones even though I know the difference (e.g. there → their, right → write, know → no)

I think one of the reasons especially the missing words and homophone issues happen is that because I can’t think about writing and what to say at the same time, I think of what to say, say it in my head, and then write down the words I’m hearing. So I think about writing the sentence, “I have the right of way,” and then I go to write it down, and my brain then takes the sounds and transforms them into words, so I might get, “I have the write of way,” and not notice until I read it back.

Also if my thoughts drift while writing, either to what to say next, or to some other tangent, or especially if I start to fall asleep, like I’m doing right now, I might find myself writing the wrong word, skipping one or more words, or in some cases waking up from right on the edge of dreaming and being confronted with the reality that I have not been fully awake for some time and yet I’ve been typing the whole time and all of it is what I meant to write. I just stop coming up with new things to say, or rarely add on additional nonsense or nonsequitur words at the end.

Hopefully this is all somewhat coherent, especially the end because I suddenly got very tired while writing this and started falling asleep a couple times and my thoughts about writing this started to mix with dreaming.

[free-online-toolkit]

𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑜𝓇

Cursive Comeback? Using Text Generators to Embrace Fancy Fonts!

Hey lovelies,

Remember cursive? Yeah, that beautiful, flowing script that feels like it belongs in a Jane Austen novel? Well, guess what? Cursive doesn't have to be a relic of the past! We can bring back a touch of elegance to our digital lives with the magic of cursive text generators. 🪄

Why Use a Cursive Text Generator?

Let's be real, typing can feel a little... sterile sometimes. A cursive text generator lets you add some personality and flair to your:

Tumblr posts: Imagine your next aesthetic masterpiece with a title in flowing script!

Social media bios: Stand out from the crowd with a unique, handwritten-looking bio.

Fanfiction or creative writing: Set the mood for your historical romance or fantasy story with some elegant cursive!

How Do Cursive Text Generators Work?

These clever tools don't actually teach you to write in cursive (although some might inspire you to learn!). Instead, they use two main methods:

Fancy Fonts: Many generators offer a variety of pre-designed cursive fonts, each with its own style. ✨

Unicode Characters: These are special symbols that look like cursive letters. While not always compatible, they can add a nice touch!

Finding the Perfect Generator

There are tons of cursive text generators out there, so finding the right one is easy! Look for one that offers:

A variety of fonts: So you can find the perfect style for your needs.

Customization options: Like size, color, or even adding flourishes!

Compatibility: Make sure the generator works with the platforms you use (like Tumblr!).

Let's Get Creative!

Once you've got your generator, the possibilities are endless! Here are some ideas:

Quote graphics: Turn your favorite quote into a beautiful image with cursive text.

Moodboard titles: Add a touch of elegance to your next aesthetic creation.

Fan art: Dress up your character names with some fancy lettering.

Share Your Cursive Creations!

Have you used a cursive text generator? What are your favorite ways to incorporate it into your digital life? Let's chat in the comments!

#cursive #cursivecomeback #textgenerators #digitaldesign #aesthetic #tumblrlife

[wof-kin-culture-is]

blog guidelines

submissions should begin with some variation of "wings of fire kin/fictive/etc culture is," but you can get more specific if you want, going by things like your tribe, where you lived (whether thats a continent or a town), any organizations you were a part of, the time period you lived in, and so on. you could also do something like "au wof kin culture is" or "disabled wof kin culture is" or something else along those lines, basically just keep the "x culture is" format so we know its a submission.

we want to avoid deleting submissions as much as possible, but grounds for deletion include being hateful on the basis of tribe, powers, and so on, or being hateful on the basis of gender, race, religion, ability, etc. we understand that this is kind of a subjective measurement but basically just try not to be an asshole or a bigot.

submissions can be sent through the ask box, which well try to check every week or so at the very least, depending on how much activity the blog sees (and how much free time we have). submissions will be added to a queue so if theres multiple at once they wont be posted at the same time, and the queue will be adjusted depending on how many submissions we end up getting.

if a submission is sent anonymously, it will be tagged "anonymous," if its sent off anon, it will be tagged with the url attached to the ask. other tags will be listed in our tag guide, but the main tags you need to know are "not wof kin culture" (anything that isnt a submission) and "nav" (the mostly-non-rebloggable posts we plan to use instead of blog pages). any commentary from the mods (which would only be in tags or in reblogs) will also be tagged with their mod tags.

if your submission is made anonymously, we wont be able to take it down once its already been posted, since we have no way to verify that thats actually you, but if your submission hasnt been posted yet, please just send us an ask with some keywords and well delete it/take it off the queue. (there is room for exceptions to this rule - for instance, if theres identifying information you didnt catch before sending it in - but we wont delete posts without a compelling reason.)

we understand that typing quirks are often used by people in kin communities as an important form of self expression, but theyre also inaccessible to people with certain visual or cognitive problems, so we ask that anyone who feels the need to use a typing quirk (yes, including all caps) provide a transcript in plain text. if a transcript isnt provided, we will try to write one, but it may lead to delays in getting your submission posted. we will not be posting submissions sent in colored text, small text, or cursive/monospace fonts at all, also for accessibility.

well be making blacklist tags as they come up, trying to tag anything that seems obvious to us, but let us know if theres something we havent tagged that you think we should - we cant accommodate every request, but will try to do what we can. blacklist tags will look like "[thing] cw" so they should be caught in your filters if you already have a subject blacklisted in your dashboard settings.

we dont want to have to block anyone on this blog, but if youre in our notes spouting any kind of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ace/arophobia, antisemitism/islamophobia, ableism, or other hatred, you will be blocked. that shit does not belong in any space wed like to create.

we also will not tolerate any "syscourse" in our askbox or our notes - to be as clear as possible, both of the mods on this blog are fictives, and we recognize endogenic and otherwise non-traumagenic systems as systems - and kin discourse doesnt have any place here, either, because kin stuff is extremely subjective and we dont see any reason why debating the finer points of the labels folks use for themselves should get in the way of forming a community around shared experiences. anyone who considers themself to be under the alterhuman/kin umbrella is welcome here as long as they come in good faith and try not to be a dick.

(disclaimer: this is not a confession blog, and we wont be doing any kind of personal tags beyond tagging your url if you send a submission off anon. thats just not really what this blog is for.)

thanks for reading all that, and we hope you enjoy the blog!

[lillotte17]

Whelp, @feynites posted the beginning of the chapter from the fic she is stuck on, so here is the beginning of the chapter from fic I am stuck on... T_T

Chapter Four- Feats of Strength

~

Thenvunin felt something heavy sinking down into the pit of his stomach as he caught sight of the figure in black emerging over a not so distant hill, rushing up the path towards them.

“Desire has been…beaten,” he breathed, not wanting to believe it. He was not certain precisely what emotion the revelation sparked in him, some heady mix of grief, anguish, and an acrid bite of rage. Desire would have likely known a good word for it. Thenvunin was not exactly eloquent, but he liked to amuse himself by writing down little stories sometimes. Adventures and fairy tales. And romances. Nothing he would ever dare show Uthvir, but he’d let Desire read one or two of the ones he was especially proud of. She hadn’t laughed. She even asked to see a few more of them, if he was willing to share. And ever since then, he would occasionally seek her advice whenever he was stuck for a plot point, or struggling to find a word to suit a situation his protagonist had found himself in.

He supposed she would not be doing that for him anymore, seeing as she was dead, and all.

“What was that?” Uthvir called back to him. The road leading out to the Arlathan Wilds was mountainous and narrow, treacherous in that it was frequently beset by large feral cats and falling rocks. So, Uthvir was scouting out ahead while Thenvunin followed a few feet behind, the Princess still draped across his broad shoulders like an especially awkward shawl.

“Look,” he said, when Uthvir circled back around to him, pointing down to the lower foothills behind them and the dark figure making their way towards them, “Squish must be dead.”

“Inconceivable!” Uthvir blurted, their face twisting into a snarl.

“Yes, I am certain she must have actually defeated the figure in black, and to prove it, she stripped them down, dressed herself in their clothing, and miraculously lost roughly half of her body weight,” Thenvunin sniped in return, too upset to stop and consider that picking a fight with his companion was probably not the most advisable course of action.

“Shut your fool mouth,” Uthvir hissed, “I am in no mood for your misguided attempts at wit, Thenvunin. Of course, that is not Desire. After all these years, don’t you think I know what she looks like?”

“But you said-” he began to retort before Uthvir cut him off.

“Desire must have slipped, or been tricked, or somehow been unfairly beaten, that is the only conceivable explanation,” they continued, visibly agitated and glaring down at the mysterious stranger with dark wild eyes.

“Does it really matter how she was killed?” Thenvunin wondered, a slight crack in his voice.

“I…suppose not,” Uthvir conceded in a somewhat softer tone, “But that is no excuse to start blubbering. We still have a job that needs doing.”

“But they murdered her…” he insisted thickly.

“Crying about it will not alter what happened,” they pointed out.

“She should be avenged!” he exclaimed with just a hint of a sob.

Uthvir sighed heavily, coming over to rip off the ropes binding Pride’s feet and helping Thenvunin shift him back onto the ground. They spared a moment to massage his ankles so the Princess could walk on his own

“Catch up with us quickly,” they instructed, grasping Pride by his arm and dragging him along behind them.

“What?” Thenvunin hiccupped, temporarily startled out of his tears. The thought of being abandoned out here almost as awful as the sudden loss of his friend.

“Finish them off, if revenge is what you seek,” Uthvir explained with a dismissive wave of their hand, a touch of irritation creeping back into their tone, “Succeed where Desire seems to have failed us.”

“B-but I do not even know how to fence-”

“No one said you had to challenge them to a duel,” Uthvir snapped, “Just do it your way and have done with it!”

“My way?” Thenvunin sputtered, momentarily at a loss.

Uthvir heaved another grating sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose as if suddenly assailed by a splitting headache.

“You’re always going on and on about how you ‘understand’ force,” They ground out, “How it belongs to you, or whatever flowery turn of phrase you prefer. Use it. Finish them, I don’t care how. Shove them down the mountainside. Lift them over your head and snap them like a dry twig. Go hide behind that boulder and when they come sprinting past, crack their skull like an eggshell.”

“I could do that, I suppose,” Thenvunin sniffed, “…‘My’ way does not seem particularly honorable, does it?”

Uthvir finally seemed to come to the end of their patience.

“Is it somehow beyond your understanding that we are in the midst of a highly profitable job?” they snapped, “Have I not fully impressed upon you the notoriously lethal disposition of our client when they happen to be displeased? If the figure in black somehow divests us of the princess, our lives are forfeit. Finished. Over. Do you comprehend?”

“Yes,” Thenvunin muttered in a small voice.

“I do not care if you are forced to slit their throat while their own mother bears witness, just get rid of them!” Uthvir hissed out, gripping Pride’s arm more firmly and wrenching him back in the direction of the Arlathan Wilds. Stalking away from their associate, who had the look of some strange bird left out in the rain, still covered in clashing colors and ruffles, but now somehow deflated.

Once the other two had disappeared from sight, Thenvunin spared a glance for his approaching opponent. They were still a good distance away. Far enough that he had time to warm himself up a little. He did a few stretches, picked up a rock that was roughly the size of a cannon ball, and aimed it at a crevasse in a nearby ridge.

He hit it dead center.

Thenvunin allowed himself a grin of self-satisfied triumph. Rolling his shoulders a bit before picking up another stone of a similar size and aiming it at a shadow line on a rock that was even farther away.

A little off. About an inch or two. Still impressive, by all accounts. Two inches astray would leave a person just as dead if you aimed for the center of their head.

He was still pleased with himself, all things considered. He searched around a little until he found a perfect rock for throwing; it fit just so in the wide palm of his hand. Then he looked for a good hiding place. A sharp turn in the path leading out towards the wilds. A deep fall of shadows. He tucked himself close to the mountainside, still and silent. His crude weapon poised to strike.

Waiting for the figure in black to come sprinting by.

[yutahoes]

Love and Letter

pairing : college student! Yuta Nakamoto x secret admirer

word count : 4.5k words

genre : fluff

summary : A series of letters melt the anti-love’s heart.

warnings : cursing

For the “...dear you” collab hosted by @theje0ngs 😄

I had fun writing for this story. I’m sorry if I posted this early, I’m just so excited to show this to you. Please enjoy and leave feedback. 😁

Nakamoto Yuta. The perfect embodiment of the rebel guy moms would always remind young girls to get away from. Pierced ears, long hair that defies the school rule, a scowl on his face as if hating everyone which he does. A total rebel that is feared by students and teachers alike. The classic bad guy who never showed up for classes, only staying a minute for attendance roll call then skipping. 

And he wanted it to stay like this for the whole year. 

Why does he have to attend Creative Literature class when he’s not even a Literature major? Annoyed, he pushed the door of his locker and was startled when a piece of paper fell from the said locker. His name was written in front in cursive form. To say that he’s not intrigued is a total lie but he waited until he was seated in class when he unfolded the paper. 

‘Hi, Yuta. 

Please don’t be alarmed, I’m not a bad person. 

I notice you a lot in the school hallways and honestly, you’re a little scary. 

I know you’re a nice person. Please lighten up a bit.

XOXO,🍎’

A chuckle escaped his lips. Just a little scary? Him? A nice person? Isn’t this weird? Who in their right mind would make an absurd letter like this? 

But a smile escaped his lips as his mind drifted on the letter in his pocket. Should he start smiling more? Talk to some classmates? Maybe he can find out who wrote the letter. Fuck, this is so dangerous. 

Although it is ultimately different from his usual aura, he greeted the discipline director waiting by the school gate. He also gave a bow to the teachers he passed, smiling lightly at his classmates he only recognized by faces. They were obviously surprised at the sudden shift in his attitude but greeted him as well. By lunchtime, he was hanging out with the guys in his Physics class and laughing at their jokes.   

‘I don’t know if you received my letter the first time but I noticed that you’ve been a little brighter and that you’ve been hanging out with some friends. 

That’s nice. 

I’m happy to see you happier. 

Thank you for making my days brighter, Yuta.

XOXO,🍎’

Yuta smiled. But it was the letter sender who made his days brighter. Does that person like him so much? Or is this something that is made up? He doesn’t want to know but he liked the feeling of receiving the letter. 

He’s used to it by now, saying good morning to the school guard and the discipline director before entering the school gate. He would smile at the other students who were early for class, even helping some with their things. 

Every morning, he would pass by the school’s soccer field. His turf back in high school. If only he continued playing soccer, maybe he can be a part of the team and defeat these guys with terrible form. He smiled while rubbing the back of his head, walking to where the Arts building is. Soccer isn’t for him. 

‘Do you like Messi? 

I noticed you’ve always stopped by the soccer field every morning. 

Maybe you can try out for the soccer team. Didn’t you use to play for the team back in high school? 

It will be cool to see you play again.

XOXO,🍎’ 

He glanced around to see if someone was watching him read the letter but the students are busy with their own things. That person knows that he plays soccer back in high school? Is that person a schoolmate from before? But he’ll have a hard time locating who it is considering that he went to a local high school near the university. 

Is this a sign from above? Should he really try out for soccer? He did miss the feeling of the ball in his feet, the smell of the grassy field, and the excitement it brought him. Why did he even stop playing for a girl who never cared about him?

With the letter in his pocket, Yuta got accepted in the soccer team. The coach even thanked him repeatedly for changing his mind, claiming that he had been coaxing Yuta into applying since his freshman days. The guy only smiled, rubbing his head while apologizing. “The soccer golden boy is back.” And he is. He’s happy to be back. 

But training is so tedious that it startled him. Back in high school, training is such a piece of cake. Why did you have to run fifty laps around the field now? Maybe his body is really startled that for the first time in his college life, he got sick. For two days, he skipped school and just stay at home to rest. Now, he’s debating if playing soccer is all worth it. Should he quit? But he just started. Can his body take on this intense training? 

His friends were greeting him when he returned to school. The other guys from the soccer team teasing him that it’s like that at the first time but he’ll get over this. Hopefully, he will. There isn’t a letter in his locker that made him feel odd. Well, what did he expect? Maybe it already stopped. But he kinda liked it. Even looking forward to it every morning. 

“Dude, you have to attend creative literature tomorrow.” Jungwoo, one of his classmates on the said subject claimed. “We already paired for the project. Your partner seemed really down.” 

Yuta laughed at that. “Who is my partner?” 

“Y/N. She always comes early in class, sitting on the back row.” 

“A girl? Can’t I pair up with you instead?” He revolted quickly that made his friend reason out that nothing will be done if they pair up for the project even asking him the golden question of all, ‘Why are you so scared of girls?’ But Yuta just shrugged, not wanting to explain it to him. 

‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away. 

I’m glad you’re feeling fine and that you’re back in class. 

Also, the apple juice from the vendo machine tastes great. 

I hope you’re not allergic to apples.’

XOXO,🍎’

Funny, that person will say that. He isn’t. And it’s not bad to try it out. 

When he entered the room for their creative literature class, he immediately saw the girl Jungwoo was describing with her face buried in the book. Why is he even scared of talking to a girl? 

Yuta breathed hard before sitting beside her. “Y/N? Am I correct?” He asked which made the girl turn to him. Yuta handed her the same apple juice he’s drinking. “I’m Yuta Nakamoto and we’re partners for the project?” 

The girl nodded, thanking him for the drink. “It’s an epistolary piece we should make…” 

“Epis…? What?” 

She lightly giggled at that which made him stare. “Epistolary.” She said emphasizing all syllables. “It’s a letter-type fiction. We write a story using letters.” Yuta nodded at that. Letters. “I have the idea already but since it’s a pair project, I can’t start on it until I show you.” 

Can’t she show it now? Can she just do the project without his help or without talking to each other? “Do you want to discuss it after class? I’ll be in the library if…” 

“I have soccer practice.” He immediately said that made her stop. He gave her his phone, asking if they can just talk through messages that made her nod, typing her number in. The moment she returned the phone, he immediately stood up to talk to his friend, Taeyong, in the first row.

---------

“You just ditched her?” Taeyong asked that made Yuta ruffle his hair. He shouldn’t have told him. “That’s a pair project, Nakamoto. You’ll both get a zero if you don’t cooperate.” 

Yuta showed the text message he shared with Y/N. “She said she’ll just do it. She’s smart. She can do it.” 

The other shook his head. “Why can’t you just talk to her? Y/N isn’t bad. The thing you’re scared of with girls. I’m sure Y/N isn’t like that.” He raised an eyebrow at him. “All I’m saying is that you should stop being this total jerk on her. He’s not like your ex, Yuta.” That took his attention. How did he know that? “There are talks around.” But before he could ask him to elaborate, Taeyong turned a sharp left. 

The rain was falling hard that made Yuta sigh while taking out his umbrella. Soccer practice ended early because of the muddy ground that made him hate the rain. Today, of all days? He just returned from sickness and yet there’s no training. As he neared the steps of the building, he saw a familiar girl with her hand held out in the pouring rain. “Y/N.” he called. 

The girl gave him a timid smile before returning to what she was doing. Weird. Does she love the rain so much? “Do you have an umbrella?” He asked that made her shake her head. “Do you want to share? I can walk you to the bus stop.” 

“It’s fine, Yuta.” Y/N whispered while shaking her head. Once again, she started playing with the droplets of rain. Truly odd. Maybe Taeyong is right, she really is different. Yuta handed the umbrella that startled her, “Yuta!” But he was already running in the rain. Shit, he might get sick again with this. 

‘It’s been raining non-stop this past few days. It’s so gloomy. 

Also, I learned a new word today.

Niwakaame. 

Isn’t it Japanese? 

Rain Shower. 

I love the rain shower. 

How about you? I hope you don’t hate the rain as much. 

It helps water the plants, you know?

XOXO,🍎’  

A giggle escaped his lips. It does, doesn’t it? 

He just had a reason to like the rain. 

Since soccer practices had been on hold because of the rainy weather, he would always find himself in the library working on that epistolary piece with Y/N. She would always type her ideas and he would check if it was alright. But really, what does he know about all of this? 

He was just thankful that she became his partner, she's really smart and creative. He'll probably pass creative literature with ease because of her help. Another thing is that she never talks when she's in front of her laptop and he was thankful that she's saving them from awkwardness. 

He put on the straw of the apple juice before slipping it beside her notebook. Yuta returned to his comic book when he heard her say in a soft voice, "I didn't know you like apples." Yeah, he honestly didn't know that he did either. 

‘Soccer is such a boring sport for me before. Why does it take so long for players to score a goal? 

But watching you play, scoring that goal in the last minute, I’ve never felt that thrill and happiness before. 

Congratulations! 

And if no one told you this before, I guess I’ll have to tell you now. 

You are really cool, Yuta Nakamoto!

XOXO,🍎’   

The class was cheering with excitement when Yuta entered the room, everyone was congratulating him for the amazing game. He beamed happily, thanking them as he poked a straw to the apple juice he was holding and putting it on Y/N’s table but she didn’t even look at him and was just typing in front of her laptop. 

“You’re being chummy with her.” Taeyong claimed while elbowing his side. “So what’s special about Y/N that she’s the only girl you talk to?” 

Yuta had to laugh, voice resonating to the whole room. Instead of the professor, it was the TA who came for class. He just asked them to talk with their partners that made the class scrambled on their seats. Yuta sat beside Y/N who kept on typing in her laptop as if not caring about anything. “Y/N.” He called softly. “Are you alright?” 

The girl almost screamed when Yuta held her shoulder. “Yuta?” She called then stared around. “I’m sorry. Is the class starting?” She immediately put down the screen of her laptop while biting her thumb. 

“The prof isn’t here. The TA just wanted the pairs to talk about the idea.” She whispered an ‘oh, I see’ before putting out her laptop which opened a document. “You seemed busy.” 

“Paper due today.” She answered while typing, bouncing her legs while she bit her lip. 

The TA started walking around the room to see what the students are doing which made Y/N close the document, groaning when she failed to save it. The girl bumped her head to the desk that surprised Yuta. “You can type your paper and pretend to listen to me.” Yuta suggested that made her look at him. There were tears in her eyes. “Just pretend that I’m telling you the story.” 

Y/N wiped her eyes then breathed hard before opening her laptop to start with her work. Yuta smiled when she started typing words on her laptop. “Someone is giving me letters.” But her typing didn’t stop and he wondered if she was even listening to him. “I don’t know why but that person gives me comfort all the time.” The TA approached their table and she started typing at a slow pace as he continued talking to her, “I always wait for that person’s letters every morning.” 

When the TA passed, Y/N returned to her usual typing that made Yuta shrug and just watch as she focused on her work. Maybe she isn’t interested in hearing his story but it feels good that he got this chance to tell someone about the mystery sender always giving him smiles. He placed his head on the table, facing her. “I hope you meet your letter sender, superstar.” Y/N said without looking away from her laptop. And he wished he did too. 

‘Ureshii. 

I’m happy you’re always happy, Yuta. 

I’m happy to hear your laugh echo in our room. I’m happy to see you smiling at everyone you pass by. 

I’m happy you’re coming to class and enjoying soccer. 

I’m really happy for you, Yuta.

XOXO,🍎’

A smirk appeared on his lips, so this person is in the same class as him? He usually passes by this person as well. He really wants to see this person once and thank him or her. 

A thought passed his mind. What if the sender is a girl? Can he actually talk to her? Maybe not. This is probably better. That he’s curious about the mystery letter sender. 

It was the midterm week. Everyone is super busy with the things they have to do, college life is so fast-paced that it scared Yuta. He’s used to getting left behind but what if he gets too left behind? He’s not super smart, not even studious. And a failing grade meant an automatic expulsion from the soccer team which he slowly grew to love. He should just be back from his usual rebel phase. 

The thing he was scared of happened because of Math, specifically Trigonometry. He had to admit that he was blank the whole time, the result of not going to class during the first few months of school. What’s more annoying is seeing everyone’s score on the bulletin board and his fifteen points in Math. 

“Take a tutorial class and retake the exam. It isn’t that hard.” The soccer coach said. “I don’t want to expel you in the team, golden boy.” But most of the tutors are all girls which scared him the most. Yet he didn’t want to fail. 

As he skimmed the possible Math tutors to help him, his eyes fell on one specific girl that he knew who could help him. The only girl he could talk to. 

‘Keep your head up. 

It’s Math. It is naturally hard. 

Don’t beat yourself up instead focus on what you did. 

You solved an entire equation, fifteen of it and that’s admirable already. 

Keep it up, Yuta! You’ve done a great job. 

XOXO,🍎’ 

“This answer is wrong, superstar.” Y/N claimed, circling her pencil to the number two which Yuta got as an answer. The guy looked at it curiously, sighing hard while bumping his head on the table that earned looks from everyone inside the coffee shop. The girl had to giggle at him before closing her book, “We can rest if you want.” 

Yuta followed her by closing the book then drank his apple juice that made her shake her head. “Y/N, do you remember the letter sender I told you about?” He asked before leaning his head on top of the books. The girl only nodded in answer. “Should I meet him?” 

“Him? Your mystery sender is a guy?” 

The guy shrugged. “But I want to think that the sender is a he so I won’t get too nervous.” But Y/N only gave him a confused look. “I’m not good with talking to girls. I mean, I’m really scared of holding a conversation with them especially after I broke up with my girlfriend.” Yuta breathed before continuing, “She gets jealous even if I just smile at another girl and maybe that was when the trauma started. When we broke up, I just can’t shake it off. I feel like it’s wrong for me to be talking to a girl.” 

Y/N nodded. “Well, you just told that whole sentence to me. And I’m a girl.” 

“Oh shit!” Yuta exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be offended.” Y/N shook her head, smiling at him. “I think you’re really pretty and smart.” 

“You think I’m friendly?” He gave her a confused look. Friendly? But he clearly said pretty. Yuta chuckled before nodding at her. 

It was Y/N’s idea to give the mystery sender a response in a form of a letter, just Yuta saying that he’s thankful for the letters the sender gave him. He even shared how he liked Keisuke Honda better than Messi, how he thinks the apple juice from the vendo machine is the best drink there is in school, and how he started to think of the rain in a better light. He thanked the sender for encouraging him to study Math and the support he got from playing soccer. By the end of the letter, he told the sender that he will wait in a coffee shop to meet him or her so he can properly thank him or her. 

"Y/N!" Yuta called while running in the hallway to where she was. He kept bumping on other students, apologizing quickly to them. "Y/N! He took the letter." She shrugged, looking at him confused. "Do you think he'll come to the coffee shop and meet me?" 

"Did you tell her that?" He leaned beside your locker while she took out books for her consecutive classes. 

Yuta nodded, taking her books for him to carry. "I'm nervous. What should I do?" Y/N was startled at the action. "What if the sender is a she? How can I even talk to her?" 

The girl giggled. "Like how you're talking to me, Yuta." 

He stopped walking and she was steps ahead when she noticed Yuta was gone. "Can you come with me later?" 

Y/N sighed, shaking her head at him. “You can do this, superstar.” 

--------

Yuta was so nervous that he kept on ordering water to ease his nerves. Every time the chimes of the door ring, he would stare at the door and hope that it was the letter sender. He lightly glanced at his wristwatch, it's been an hour. Will that person even come? 

He's in his fifth cup of coffee, almost two hours have passed since the time he told the person in the letter. Yuta had already given up. Maybe she wouldn't come. He was about to stand up when Jungwoo came inside the coffee shop and sat in front of him. The younger guy handed him a folded piece of paper, "Someone wants to give you this." 

"You know who it is?" 

He nodded, "I saw her putting the letter in your locker once." Her? "But Yuta please know that she has her reasons why she doesn't want you to meet her." 

"Can you just tell me who she is?" Jungwoo shook his head, apologizing before standing up to leave Yuta alone. 

‘I received your letter and I’m so sorry for not coming to meet you. 

I’m scared. I don’t know why but I am. 

I don’t want to erase your smile when you find out that this is just me, I appreciate your letter, I really do. 

And I’ll treasure it all my life. Thank you, Yuta. I’m sorry.

XOXO,🍎’ 

That's it? He won't get to know who she was. He cannot thank her for giving him something to look forward to every time. Is it possible to have your heart broken before it can even beat for a person? 

Creative Literature class. Today is the last day of submitting the epistolary piece he and Y/N had been working on. He did the usual morning routine, go to the vendo and pick up a juice for him and her. But he can't seem to find the courage to push the button for the apple one so he settled to the orange-flavored juice. "Shit!" he cursed. He never knew Y/N's favorite juice flavor. He would always give her the apple flavored one. So with a heavy heart, he settled on the apple one. 

Weird, he thought. It's almost time and Y/N isn't here yet. Taeyong entered the room and placed a folder in front of Yuta. "Y/N wanted to give you this." He was startled. There's always something fishy about Taeyong and Y/N so he asked him the question that's always bugging him. The other guy chuckled, "We're cousins, stupid." Taeyong supplied that made Yuta nod. He didn't know that. 

"Where is she?" Yuta asked while opening the folder. There's a page full of computerized words, the story she wrote. "Is she sick?" Five pages of the story and on the last page, hers and his names are written in her handwriting. 

"She didn't tell you?" Yuta shook his head in a questioning manner. "She's going to New York for the Exchange Student Program. It's her flight today." 

Yuta skimmed the contents of the epistolary piece she made then focused on the handwriting. Why did it take him so long to realize everything? Taeyong called for his name but he was already outside the door of their classroom. He heard Jungwoo calling him but he was already out of the gates and hailed a cab. "Airport. Please step on it." 

He took out the letters that he kept in his notebook, nine different letters to be exact. Yuta smiled seeing the hidden message in the letters. She cannot hide from him anymore. "Where are you?" Yuta asked when she answered the phone, his foot stepped inside the crowded airport. 

"Airport?" He answered 'I know', "Gate four."

"Wait for me there." She called for his name but he was already running to where she was, putting the phone in his pocket. "Y/N!" he called which made the girl turn to where he is. He lightly bowed at her parents, asking if he can talk to Y/N for a while. 

"It's you, isn't it? The letters." He asked which made the girl stop. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Then he shook his head. "After confessing, you're just going to leave me?" 

The girl giggled at that. "It's just for two months, don't overreact." The guy breathed hard. "Did Jungwoo tell you?" 

"I saw the pattern with the epistolary you did. Saw how you wrote my name and realized you never told me the juice you wanted and just went with the apple juice I always gave you." The girl smiled then he showed the nine letters he was holding. "Why the hell are you so smart that you have to put a secret message in your letters?" The girl giggled. 

The announcement for the plane passengers heading to New York can be heard, "I have to board, Yuta. I'll see you when…" 

But he pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms. "I like you too, Y/N." A final call for the passengers can be heard and he hesitatingly let go of her. "I'll message you every day." Y/N nodded before saying goodbye to him and her parents, facing the boarding gate without even looking back. 

----

Nakamoto Yuta. The perfect embodiment of the soccer superstar every university wanted to have. The model student who greets everyone, female or male, when he passes by them in the hallways. The loyal boyfriend who only has eyes for one girl. 

He couldn't believe only a month had passed. He misses her so much even if the time they spent together is much longer than the time they're away from each other. 

A normal day, a normal scenario for him. He quickly went to his locker to get his books for Physics class when a piece of paper fell, making his heart race. 

'Did you miss me, my soccer superstar? 

How many girls have fallen for that smile? 

Or are you just smiling for me? 

If you do, Room 3F.

XOXO, Y/N' 

He slammed his locker shut then passed by the vendo machine to get an apple juice, even tapping his foot when it took a long time to go down. Yuta ran to the third floor, catching his breath when he's outside room 3F. 

The moment he opened the door, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. "Hi, Yuta." She greeted that made him smile. 

She's here. She's really here. 

"Why didn’t you tell me you’re back?” But he just wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tight. “And I was complaining last night about missing you.” 

Y/N giggled. “That’s why I went home early. I heard you’re famous with the ladies lately.” Yuta sighed, bopping her nose while teasing her for being so jealous. “Too bad we don’t have the same class together.” 

The guy chuckled worriedly. “Well, you know I had to skip class that day and go to you to the airport.” Y/N nodded. “I didn’t submit our project so the professor gave us a zero.” 

“What?”

Yuta laughed, shrugging. “On the bright side, we’re going to attend the same class in summer.”  

And he knew, from her grin, his anti-love phase is over. 

tagging : @jenosdaemi @notworthit24​ @smrutiisiva-13​ @justpeachygirl​ @notmejustmymind​

I know someone is going to ask me about the secret message in the letters but I’ll let you discover it. 😁 

[kyoupann]

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like: 

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels. 

A chunk of his handwriting: 

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your  4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending ­a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk  Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine,  defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life. 

One of his letters would look like this: 

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.-  Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy -  Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write.  He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Phone Lesson (5/5/2021 chat log)

Alastor/Astor (hi there) visits Sir Pentious/Ruddy’s (@ruddygore) ship to help teach Alastor/Offal (@offalgore) how to use a smartphone. But mostly to try to get to know his supposedly “mad” alternate.

Offal doesn’t seem particularly mad to Astor. Just really sad and, like, super insecure.

(Technically this thread happened months ago, but like, stuff happens.)

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious had clearly never spent a day in Hell before now, he decided. No, his time in this inferno was nothing. A jaunt. A slither in the park compared to what he'd sat down to start attempting today.

His local Alastor was sitting on his couch after the disastrous voice to text attempt, smiling that stupid smile, nodding along as Pentious went over how a smartphone touchscreen worked... And then didn't take his gloves off before trying to poke the on screen keyboard.

If Pentious had hair, he'd be ripping it out by the fistful.

Astor

And who is here to save Sir Pentious from Alastor but another Alastor! A veritable hero.

As soon as work's over, he hops over to Sir Pentious's dimension, looks around for the most important-looking airship, and teleports in. From there it's easy to follow his alternate's signal. "Hello, hello! How are we all, having fun?"

He can tell that they are not, in fact, having fun.

Ruddy & Offal

Alastor looks at Alastor. Sir Pentious looks at both Alastors, one at a time.. and quietly decides the one local to his universe is going to be called Offal now.

Sir Pentious clears his throat, ushering Astor closer. "FUN IS ONE WAY TO PUT IT. IT'S STRANGE, IT DOESN'T CARE FOR HIS VOICE IN THE SLIGHTEST. TELL HIM TO TAKE HIS GLOVES OFF TO TOUCH THE SCREEN."

Astor

"Oh, that's a common problem! Not to worry, we can fix that. The gloves though, *that's* interesting." Astor leans over to examine the phone, presses a gloved finger to the screen, and tries to scroll it around. It works. "Well! Time to figure out if the issue's electrical, physical, or magical! What's your glove made from, my friend?" He holds out a hand to his alternate, palm up.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal watches Astor wiggle the lights around on the horrible little rectangle, almost missing the question entirely. A blank stare for a moment, then his brain catches up and he jerks a hand up to show off an impressively worn deerskin glove... Which he peels back just a touch to reveal the edge of another glove underneath, this one a softer fleece. "Which one, my good self? There's a selection!"

Astor

"Ah! *That* might be the problem." He taps the glass screen with a claw. "You see, the way this thing works is that there's just the faintest layer of static on the surface! You break it when you touch it, and where you break the static layer tells the phone where you're touching! Like when you touch a doorknob and get a little shock. Now, clothing can't break it, skin *can* break it, and that tiny little field of magical energy that hovers right by our skin can break it—but I'd guess that field can reach through one glove layer but not two!" He pauses for a second to think; then nods at the phone and says, "Try reaching for it like you're going to make a deal with the phone—with all that energy focused in your hand. Let's see if *that* lets you reach through your gloves."

Ruddy & Offal

There's hesitation, a flash of discomfort before Offal looks back to the phone. He hasn't made a deal of any sort since... Well. It didn't matter. He does as Astor says, letting his finger smoothly scroll up to refresh Ruddy's dashboard. Which serves as a perfect distraction, he can read more words from other people instead of thinking about the feeling of his magic surging through his hands again.

An eggboi chooses now to come bring Astor some coffee and a scone. He's helping!

Astor

Astor makes note of the look; but his alternate doesn't object, so he doesn't say anything either. He casts a quick glance to Sir Pentious—*look at that, progress*—and then focuses on his alternate again with a broad smile and a modest round of applause.

"There you go, just like that! With a bit of practice, you'll be able to do that second nature, without needing to spend so much of your own energy on it—thank you, my good egg." That last comment is directed to the Egg Boi as Astor takes the coffee and scone and straightens back up. "Or, if you find you don't want to waste a *drop* of magic on such a lowly machine, you can take your gloves off. *Or* you can get these new pens they make these days that have nubs on the end that look like black erasers, they're designed like fake skin to touch the screen for you. Like this!"

He opens up a portal, rummages around, and pulls out a cheap-ass pen with "CALL SINNER SALES STRATEGY FOR YOUR ADVERTISING NEEDS" on the side and a stylus tip on the back. Don't mind the stain on the pen. It's probably just blood.

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious nods, accepting his own coffee before shooing the eggs away so they can't distract from this delicate display of Alastor to Alastor communication. Progress indeed. Astor was far better suited to helping another Radio Demon solve the puzzle of modern technology, no surprise there.

What's a little blood between Alastors! Offal takes the pen, squishing the nubby stylus tip a few times before scribbling on the screen. Oh, that was MUCH better. "Is THAT what these are? I thought they were a ah...." Give him a second, he's thinking. "Stim toy! A discreet little one for those high minded professionals out there!" How hilarious to be so wrong about such a simple thing!

Astor

"'Stim toy'?" He can guess that "stim" is short for "stimulation." He is absolutely prepared to be informed that a "stim toy" is some new form of sex toy.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal reaches up to brush his too long bangs out of his eyes, trying to get a good look at Astor to see if he's joking. No? *Well then*. Time to reach into his pockets and pull out a little fidget cube to press into Astor's hands, all shiny brass and black leather. Looks like Sir Pentious made this at some point, it was *heavy*. "These little doohickeys, my dear me! Completely pointless busywork for your hands. Helps stave off the gnawing teeth of boredom!"

Astor

"Oh! Hand busywork!" He hefts it and pushes some of the buttons. "Like desk toys! Newton's cradles and magnet sculptures, and those trays of sand and polished rocks with those little rakes they sell at bookstores, that sort of thing? *Stimulates the mind,* I take it?" He has, of course, immediately zeroed in on all the buttons and wheels that make click sounds. "I've always been partial to slinkies."

Ruddy & Offal

"Just the ones, never did understand why people wanted to rake sand so badly! I thought people hated yardwork!" A nod. "Slinkies are fine toys, my good self, but unfortunately, one wrong move and they twist themselves out of shape like a.. me!" He barks out a laugh, but quickly moves on. "Not very good for carrying around, unfortunately! A damn shame."

Astor

Well, that's a telling statement. "I'd sit there and painstakingly untwist them! Completely forget what I was doing! Do that with telephone cords too, you know, the curly ones."

He's gone from click-click-click-ing to clicliclicking; he offers the cube back. "Funny little thing."

Ruddy & Offal

The cube is tucked back away into a different pocket than he'd pulled it out of, coat smoothed out with a quick pat. "Funny indeed! Now.." Back to the matter at hand. The phone! Sir Pentious' phone at that, comically large in the hands of someone under twelve feet tall.

"How do I get to the typewriter, my self? Which horrid little mock buttons do I get no tactile sensation from?"

Astor

Typewriter, typewriter. He pauses as he translates that. "Now, see, that bit depends on what you want to do with it. The little typewriter will automatically appear and disappear when you need it, and there's quite a few tools in here that use a typewriter at some point. So—what, specifically, are you planning to do with the typewriter once you have it?"

Ruddy & Offal

He nearly titters. "Oh! Write one of those little telegrams that Pentious here is always on about to the public pinboard. No, dashboard. That's the one."

Astor

The "telegram" mention has him nearly redirect his alternate to the texting app, but by the end he's figured it out. "Ah! Well, lucky you, we're already looking at the dashboard, so... you see the five little symbols lined up in a row at the very bottom, there? The one smack in the middle, in the box to make it easy to see. It looks like a simple pencil but then it pulls up a typewriter and a fresh telegram, but I suppose it's close enough, isn't it? They'll both let you put words on the page."

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! How.. intuitive." He says that with the driest voice he can muster, but quickly sets about tapping at the screen with his little stylus. He manages to figure out the backspace and shift keys, at least, though the emoji key seems to surprise him. So many tiny pictures..... A problem for later.

A once over, and he pokes around until he figures out how to send the "telegram" off. And there it is, out for everyone to see!

Astor

Astor watches obnoxiously over his alternate's shoulder to see whether he needs help, then plays a little trumpet fanfare when he successfully posts the "telegram." "And there you have it! Nothing to it, is there?" He nods at the phone, "What other tricks were you looking to figure out?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, other tricks? He squints at the phone. He hadn't paid enough attention to technology after... When had he lost touch with-- No. No time for that. He prods the button again, pointing at the other symbols. "What do these do? How do I put a photograph in it?"

Astor

He goes over them one by one: "The first one with the letters changes the type face—bigger letters, cursive letters, so on, they've got half a dozen different types. The second that looks like two chain links, it lets you put in what they call a 'link' on the Internet; it's less like a chain link and more like a street address, if touching an address instantly teleported you to the location. The third one is for... I'm not really sure what that's for." He shrugs at the "gif" button. "But the *fourth* one, the one that looks like a stack of papers with a drawing on top, *that's* how you put in a photograph! And then the headphones at the end are for music, obviously." *Obviously.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Oh! A music button? Tell me more, my dear self." *Now* he's interested in the horrid little rectangle and all its bright little lights. "I met another self, the one with the wife and son? And I believe Sir Pentious mentioned he used the tumbler too.... Do you two run your stations on these?" Actually, maybe ALL his alternates were married. He didn't know. Seemed probable enough, he'd been a charmer in life after all.

Astor

"Touch the headphones and then touch at the top where it says 'search audio,' and you can type in the name of a song you want to find. It's not a very effective way to listen to music, but to be fair, you *are* trying to insert a phonograph record into a telegram! One doesn't go to the telegraph station to listen to music, does one—one goes to the record store, or the jazz club, or the theater. And there's record stores hidden elsewhere in this thing."

Wife and son? Which alternates does he know who have wives and sons? None that he's close to. He'll circle back around to that question later. "Most alternates I know are still broadcasting on AM! A few on FM. One's picked up a TV station, believe it or not. Some of us, myself included, use v#xblr—what did you say it's called in this universe, tumbler?—to advertise for our stations." He likes "tumbler" better. "I know one self who has his station set up to play on the radio *and* on the Internet at the same time, but I don't know any who are *only* broadcasting on the Internet."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal happily taps away, adding and removing a few songs and photos to get the hang of this strange system. "Oh yes, Once Sir Pentious took Vox out," and he can say Vox without censoring himself, how lovely, "he went and rebranded most of the properties he inherited. Still though, a TV station of all things? My Goodness what a shift! Good for him! I myself haven't put out a broadcast in quite a while. Not since--"

Ahem. Moving on. "A dual broadcast sounds like a good way to get the younger generations interested, goodness knows I've heard enough about Pod Casts. Sir Pentious is unfortunate enough to listen to them." And oh, his heart breaks at the very THOUGHT.

Astor

*Not since.* Astor wonders—would that be his alternate's rampage after cannibal colony fell? From what Astor's heard about it, he wouldn't consider that "quite a while"—but maybe his alternate is trying to distance himself from the incident.

Either way, his alternate doesn't want to talk about it, so Astor won't pry. "*Podcasts.*" He scoffs. "For the people unwilling to commit their time to a scheduled radio program but unwilling to commit their money to an audiobook. The worst of both worlds."

Ruddy & Offal

The accused snake is rolling his eyes, but refraining from commenting. He's had this debate a *hundred* times. Offal, on the other hand, seems QUITE pleased that his Dear Self shares his opinion, nodding firmly as he side eyes Sir Pentious. You hear that, buddy? Yeah that's right.

"Ah well! No accounting for taste, this is Hell after all! Shouldn't surprise us that a bunch of loathsome sinners have no appreciation for the wonders of radio!" A comical shrug, and he looks around. What, no coffee for him? Fine. A concerningly long silly straw appears in Sir Pentious' tea, half of the liquid vanishing into Offal's mouth in one SUCC. He doesn't even like tea, he just needs something warm to lube up his throat.

Astor

"It's a pity! But it's their loss!"

Oh, c'mon, dude, don't antagonize one of the only two people in this universe willing to talk to you. Astor quietly holds out his coffee cup. Here. Take it.

"A bit ago, you mentioned an alternate of ours with a wife and son? Which one was that?"

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious SIGHS.... And pours himself more tea. He's used to Offal's antics at this point, though why the eggbois are so hesitant to be around him is a mystery. Coffee for ONE of his guests was just insulting. And look, here comes an egg already to offer Astor another cup. *Embarrassing*.

Offal accepts the coffee, immediately taking a hearty sip to get the taste of earl gray out of his mouth before he speaks. "Ah! Yes! I'd give you a name, my dear me, but. Well. You know! I mean the one with the long black hair and the glasses. He visited Sir Pentious with his wife once or twice while I was over, lovely couple. Very cozy! He's a smidgen overprotective if you ask me, but I suppose if I got married I'd hover over whatever unfortunate soul dazzled me too! And a second child on the way! Incredible!" Another of those sharp laughs. "Does that narrow it down enough, my self? I know there are *apparently* a number of us out there!"

Astor

Long black hair, glasses, recently visited... Alastor narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Is his 'wife' Valera?" he asks. "Valera and child Pelagios?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I didn't catch his son's name, and I'm not certain on the wife, he wouldn't even let me near her without looking ready to snap my neck! Is Valera a bit of fish? Tall? Big horns? Big tail? Big... eyes?" He's miming around himself, trying to portray various aspects of his alternate's spouse's grandiose features. Honestly he wasn't sure how his alternate didn't get lost in the hair alone, but to each their own.

Astor

"... One moment." He reaches over to the phone his alternate is using, does a quick search, and pulls up one of Valera's selfies. "Is this the fish in question?"

Ruddy & Offal

Give him a second while he squints at the phone.. "That's the one! Though she's quite a bit slimmer in this picture than in person." Snrk snrk. "But yes, that's the one! Are *all* of my alternates out there getting domesticated into doting husbands?"

Astor

"They're not married," Astor says flatly. "If they told you they are, either they were playing a little joke, or else they're conducting the world's most poorly concealed affair. I certainly hope they *didn't* tell you they are?" Because if they did, then Astor has to go fucking ask them about it, which is going to be excruciating for everybody involved and won't even resolve anything.

Ruddy & Offal

Well *that's* a weird reaction. Offal raises an eyebrow, but takes another sip of his coffee and decides to see where this is going. "My own self informed me they were in a rather intense on and off again relationship. Seven times divorced and counting, or somesuch? I found it rather hard to believe, really, but after seeing the way he looked at her?" He snorts. "No, those goo goo eyes wouldn't be on anyone who was just playing at a bit. And I haven't had a chance to ask his wife yet, as I said. Can't go near her."

Astor

*Oh.* The divorce gag is back. Or never left, whichever. "The divorces are an inside joke. But however goo goo his eyes were, they are not and have never been married—or else I think the Sir Pentious that Valera's been engaged to since long before meeting our alternate would have had something to say about it. The son was adopted from deadbeat relatives, and the egg on the way is said Sir Pentious's." He leans back over to the phone and keeps on scrolling through the selfies until he finds a picture of Valera and Penny being cutesy together.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal tilts his head one way and then the other, his ears twitching slightly as his brain turns the information over. So his dear self had lied to him, then. Or this dear self was lying. Was his own self an unreliable narrator? Maybe he'd forgotten. He did forget things, sometimes important things. Was this dear self going to mock him for believing another dear self? Maybe. But he knew what he saw! Probably. Maybe. Maybe not? Probably not, really. This sounded like something he'd misunderstand.

He feels heat creep over his cheeks, and his head ducks down to let his overgrown hair hide his face.

Astor

No comment? Odd. Odd and uncomfortable. Better fill that silence. "Although they *can* get..." He's silent for a moment, grimacing, a clock ticking sound unfortunately highlighting just how long he's struggling to find a delicate way to put it. "... Clingy."

Although if Leal had guarded Valera from even *talking* to this alternate, that was quite a bit more protective than usual. Is Leal really *that* afraid of this alternate?

Ruddy & Offal

Offal clenches his jaw until his teeth creak. He'd ask later. He'd ask his dear self about it later, if he remembered. Deep breath, and he sits back up with the same smile as always. "Hah! They certainly can! The way he wrapped himself around her, you'd think my dear self thought I'd lay a finger on a pregnant woman! And his *"beloved"* At that! No no, I would never harm a mother OR my dear self's beloved! I wouldn't!" He wouldn't. He didn't think he would.

He stares at Astor for a moment, a beat of dead air and a blank smile. Then he continues. "So what IS the deal with them then, my dear self? Has a casual friendship turned from the occasional embrace to protective amulets and wrapping around your beloved like a fashionable scarf while I wasn't paying attention?"

Astor

The radio doth protest too much. He's trying to convince himself as much as Astor, isn't he? "Oh, I'm quite sure you wouldn't, my friend, *quite* sure!" And for the purposes of this conversation, Astor believes it wholeheartedly. This alternate needs somebody other than himself to believe in it, doesn't he?

"Oh, well—I wouldn't call that a *casual* friendship. That other of ours has a tendency to... Well, you know how touching another person's flesh feels like dipping one's hand in a vat of acidic mold! I think when he meets people that *don't* feel like that, something in his head concludes it's some sort of spiritual bond." A shrug. "That's the best I can make of it, anyway. But no, I wouldn't exactly call that the norm."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal is seized by the sudden, wild urge to grab his dear self by the shoulders and beg him to repeat that. He's sure? Is he sure? He wouldn't do it he swears but is his dear self SURE he believes him? But no. That's pathetic. So instead he brushes the reassurance off like it didn't affect him, biting the inside of his cheek as he hears the rest out.

... Someone who DOESN'T feel like acid? Well, it made sense. No wonder he could drape himself all over her and have two children-- Wait no, this dear self said they *weren't* his. But still. The hugging and nuzzling and all the kisses he'd watched his dear self pepper all over the fish's face made much more sense when it wasn't something he'd have to fight through the screaming urge to recoil to do. His mouth moves before his brain can, voice thick with bitterness. "Lucky him."

Astor

Lucky? He *wants* that? Poor fellow, Astor doesn't think there are any alternates he pities more than the ones who can't handle physical affection but long for it. Except maybe for the ones who have no trouble with it and get themselves into the same torrid affairs as the rest of the human race. Or the ones who find physical contact so revolting they can't stand to so much as think about it, much less hear anyone else discuss it.

... Which means he pities just about every alternate who doesn't share his *exact* personal levels of indifference, doesn't it? Maybe he's biased. Oh well.

He doubts his alternate would appreciate hearing that it's really not all it's cracked up to be—grass is always greener—but maybe he can help another way. "Well, here, have you ever tried direct contact with another of yourself?" He tugs a glove down to his knuckles and offers the back of his hand to his alternate—not to shake, no threat of a deal. "Most of us find most of us safe to touch, if you want to test it out."

Ruddy & Offal

The bolt of panic that shot through him when he realized he'd voiced his thoughts, surprisingly, didn't get much to work off of with Astor's reaction, and thus fizzled out somewhere between his fourth and fifth rib as he watches his dear self start peeling his glove back and exposing *scandalous* amounts of Bare Hand.

Well he can't just leave his poor dear self be the only one exposing himself here. If the man is going to offer up something wildly uncomfortable, it's Offal's job to match him. His own gloves are peeled back with a bit of a struggle, the back of his hand pressed to his dear self.

......... Well it. Wasn't acid. It didn't really feel like anything at all, really. Which was an improvement, but not the bolt of near euphoria he remembered from life in the rare instance of being able to tolerate someone's touch. "It feels like I sat on my hand! Still, that's the best I've handled any physical contact since I was a teenager!" Poor maman had been heartbroken when he started wriggling out of her hugs... Why did he remember that?

Astor

He idly wonders what changed when his alternate had been a teenager. Maybe nothing; maybe that was just when he'd let himself become aware of how unpleasant touch is. "Not all that exciting, is it? Just like touching anything else, except this time it happens to be a person. I think that's all it is for most people, most of the time; it's only remarkable when it's an exception."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'm sure!" And the gloves are slipped back down to their proper position. Experiment over, send those results in to be filed away! "Say, my dear self! How well do you know my dear self's.... *Companion?* Is she as scaly as she looks? Cold and slippery? Physically, not emotionally! But if she's both, well that'd be fitting!"

Astor

"Huh. Well..." He has to stop and think about that. "I've only had reason to touch them a few times, never without clothes in between, but... I wouldn't say cold and slippery, but cool and smooth, certainly. And the scales are really scales, yes."

Ruddy & Offal

"Cool and smooth.." He ponders that. So she really felt like a fish, then! Fish scales had certainly never made him recoil the way human touch did. Maybe that's how his dear self had managed it. Simple and effective. Negate the problem by just. Not touching skin.

He nods to himself, tapping his chin. His dear self was certainly clever. "What is she like? You said she was engaged to a Pentious, so I can assume she's either deaf or has the patience of a saint." Sir Pentious huffs from his chair, but stays out of it.

Astor

"Well, I've spent the last couple of months rehearsing with Valera for a musical, so either she's not deaf or she has a clairvoyant sense of pitch!" Astor laughs. "She *is* patient, as it happens; but her fiancé isn't as difficult to get along with as you'd think! Get through the first hour of defensive posturing without trying to poke holes in his shield, and he'll set it aside and have a civil conversation with you. It's just most people don't see the point in enduring that first hour, see. I'd even say he's easier to get on with than this one!" Astor tips his head toward Ruddy. "Sure, at least this one starts out cordial, but you've practically got to hand him a resumé and two character references before he'll let you do him a favor."

Ruddy & Offal

There's an AWFUL lot of little tidbits Offal could follow up on, there. But he'll come back for those in a moment, it seems like his dear self has a lot to say about snakes. "I disagree, my dear self! Sir Pentious here is the least cordial being I've ever met AND he never lets me do him any favors."

Anyway, enough about snakes. If he talks too much about Sir Pentious he might get kicked out again. "So! The fish-- Valera. I should call her by name, my goodness. You know her fairly well then? Working together for your musical and all. Is she.." He has to consider his words, here, lest he imply things. "She's patient. Is she.. kind? To my dear self? If my dear self got attached so quickly, I would hate to hear it was to someone unsuitable!"

Astor

"Did your resumé's cover letter say 'Dear Sir Pentious' or did it say 'To whom it may concern'? Maybe that's the difference." A wink, he's just teasing. ... But no yeah that probably is the difference.

"I know Valera well enough! And they're kind, yes—if anything I'd call them a little *too* concerned with how everyone else is doing, but that's a matter of personal preference, isn't it! Some people put on a mask as a test to discover who wants to see underneath, other people put on a mask because they're actors and they don't appreciate audience members getting on stage to tug it off.

Ruddy & Offal

Vaguely disgruntled noises from Sir Pentious, and a single sugar cube goes sailing over to bounce harmlessly off Offal's mass of hair. He doesn't even seem to notice.

TOO concerned... Interesting. "I take it you're the latter, my dear self! I imagine most of us are. She sounds like a bit of a busybody, no good for letting a performance run smoothly." Not that he necessarily minded that. If his dear self was anything like he was, having someone fret and fuss over his _feelings_ of all things had probably been an unexpected high.

Astor

Astor is momentarily terrified but then relieved when the incoming sugar cube bounces off his alternate's head instead of his. Okay good, he was right.

"I certainly am! Most of our others tend to be the same—only a handful of people are allowed backstage. Although there are exceptions, of course, all perfectly within the normal variations of Radio Demons." Offered just in case this alternate happens to be one of the exceptions. Astor doubts it—he doesn't think this alternate's been giving peeks behind his mask because he wants people to see so much as because the ribbon that's supposed to keep it up is fraying—but from what he's heard, if *anyone* could use someone peeking in, this one could.

But no prying. If this one doesn't invite Astor in, then it probably means that what he wants most is to be treated like everything's perfectly normal, so that's how Astor will treat him.

Ruddy & Offal

Normal variations... Oh, yes now there's a topic. "If it isn't too much to ask of you, my dear self, tell me about some of the other varieties of radio demon around. I've only seen two and the differences are already rather stunning!"

Astor

"Well, who do you want me to start with! There's me, the one I mentioned with a TV station, you've met the one Valera knows, another who spends most of his time mentoring a college radio station, one that's ascended to some sort of godhood... These are just the recent local ones, mind, I've met more than I can count beyond that—but I figure you'd want me to start with the ones you might actually meet! What or who do you want to hear about first?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal was expecting the first few. Yes, he could see a better version of himself working with a college, if he squinted. A bit out there, but not unbelievable. But the casual mention of godhood had him choking on his coffee. Pardon him while he tries to pretend he isn't hacking up a lung here. "Apologies, my dear self." *Ahem.* "When you say godhood, you're exaggerating I hope?"

Astor

His smile widened. "He goes by *the Engineer*—Engi to friends. He independently devastated his own Earth with nothing but his own raw power, and plays around with the surviving population for his own fun. He can transport himself anywhere unaided, absentmindedly wander backwards and forwards in time without noticing, plant visions in your head more real than any hallucinogenic you've ever had or signal you've ever received—all while never once breaking character! Why, half the time he speaks in advertising jingles! Whether or not that qualifies him for godhood depends on one's definition of a god, doesn't it? But consider what you or I can do, and imagine how powerful one of us would have to be before I'd consider him out of our league entirely. Whatever you call him, he's something that's moved beyond humanity."

Ruddy & Offal

He keeps as neutral a smile as he can as Astor spins what can only be *incredibly* out there lies, nodding politely and taking a much more measured sip of his drink. So this dear self was the liar, then, and Leal really did have some kind of fish wife. Really, a dear self that was that powerful..? That was just too far. Not remotely plausible. But quite the story! "Well well! What a fellow he must be! Perhaps I'll meet him someday, if I ever get out of this pit! In the meantime though, what about that college radio chap? What's his bag, my dear self?"

Astor

He could see that change in demeanor, that quick shift from shocked disbelief to indulgent neutrality, that rapid loss of all curiosity. Why? What could he stand to gain by lying about something so outrageous? Did this one simply assume Astor would spin tall tales to his own self—why, for the fun of it? To mock him? Out of some pathological need? Did he think he was delusional and the Engineer was some fantasy? Astor quickly cycled through anger and hurt and humiliation before he managed to snap on his own polite smile. "I'm sure you will, he likes his alternates. Turn the dial on any radio all the way to the left until it cracks a little and ask for him." Let this one get his *own* verification. And Astor's going to kick Leal when he sees him next. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten such a cold reception if this alternate had never been given reason to think his other selves were untrustworthy.

What does he say about Alexa to distinguish him from the others—that in his universe all radio stations broadcast from a singular tower and he's the self-appointed guardian of them all? "You might not find him convincing." Astor smiled wanly and sipped his coffee.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, not as subtle as he'd hoped. Damn, he'd fallen out of practice. Offal's smile twitches a bit, but he chuckles and waves an airy hand. He's fine. It's fine. This is fine! "I'll have to give it a go sometime, meet this.. Engineer, you said? For myself!" He glances at Ruddy, still curled up in his armchair and seemingly oblivious to the radio chatter. "Off of Sir Pentious' ship, of course! I'm already overstaying my welcome, having a surprise guest over would get me dropped from the bay doors in a heartbeat! Again!" There's a rumble of agreement from the snake. Not as oblivious as he seems, then. But any drive to talk about this other self was nipped in the bud, Astor's less than subtle jab hitting its mark with enough emotional impact for Offal to outright flinch. So he just.. nods, and grips his cup tighter.

Astor

It hadn't been meant as a jab, but a shield. He didn't think it had been taken that way. He had no idea how it *had* been taken, but a flinch wasn't what he thought it would cause. Well, great. Now he didn't just feel stupid and small; he felt stupid, guilty, and downright microscopic.

Come on, Alastor; you're the professional communicator, salvage this. "Anyway—pretty soon you'll find that anything that can vary between two people, does between our alternates somewhere. Including the things you wouldn't expect to be variable, even..." He tried to think of an example; but any that were big enough to make his point would probably be too big for his other to believe now. "Well—I don't yet know enough about you to say what you'd find unusual versus what you'd find mundane, do I! Any trait I could try to name as an outlier, you might say 'why, but that's just what I'm like!' And then wouldn't I look the fool?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no. This sounded like he was being nudged to talk about *himself*. Was he being nudged to talk about himself? That was the LAST thing he wanted to do. Offal wanted to find the perfect, most average Alastor experience, adopt that as his story, and never draw any attention to himself that wasn't one of his dear selves nodding in agreement at how very... Alastor..y.. he was. But he'd already screwed *that* up, and it was sounding like, from what his dear self was saying, his little plan was doomed from the start.

Deep breath. "I suppose so! You'll ah.. Have to excuse me, my dear self. I am still struggling to grasp the notion of seeing other people running around with my face!" A slightly too high pitched laugh. Come on, rein it in. "Perhaps it will be easier to grasp the differences if I don't think of them as my selves! Just.. Cousins."

Astor

Was that nervousness? Astor was just fucking up all over, wasn't he. "Why, I don't know what you want to be excused for!" (He really didn't.) "Mutiversal variations are endlessly fascinating, really—you get used to seeing your face on other people, but you never quite stop being surprised at the new variations. For my own part, I see my others as... as something like cousins and brothers and my own self all at the same time. An alternate is never quite the same person as you but never quite a different person from you, either; but there's no comfortable place in between the categories to put them either, so they're in all categories at once."

Ruddy & Offal

Sir Pentious snorts, lowering his newspaper to look pointedly at Offal. He knows what this idiot is on about, and he's not about to sit through thirty minutes of agonizing social awkwardness while Astor fumbles for a clue. "I'VE SPOKEN TO A NUMBER OF ALASTORS BY NOW, AND IT IS MY _EXHAUSTED_ OPINION THAT YOU'LL FIT RIGHT IN WITH THE PARADE OF _THESPIANS_. DON'T TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT."

Sir Pentious slithers from the room with a huff, off to refill his empty cup. Offal looks.. weirdly reassured. And so he turns to look his dear self, and blurts out the first thing that comes into his fool head. "I died at twenty seven. How old were you?"

Astor

Astor's struggling smile wilts even further at Sir Pentious's jab. He's just striking out with everyone today, isn't he? He keeps his mouth shut until Sir Pentious is gone, then mutters, "Figures, doesn't it. You go above and beyond to help a man with his work, and after that he calls you a 'thespian' like it's some kind of vermin that'll spoil your picnic." He sighs harshly. "*Sorry.* I think I tuned out for a moment, there. You were saying?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile twitches down, head cocking to one side as he loosens his death grip on his coffee. Well _that_ came out of nowhere. Astor's question is dismissed with a sharp shake of his head, and Offal uncurls to lean towards his alternate. "My dear self, you think he dislikes you?"

Astor

Eyebrow arched, he says dryly, "He's certainly never suggested he *likes* me. I know Sir Pentiouses are much louder when they're peeved than when they're pleased, but generally they drop *some* hint if you've won their approval. I suspect he finds me forgettably neutral."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal shakes his head. "He likes you quite a bit, my dear self! If he didn't, he'd never leave you unattended in his ship. Or even let you in." He shrugs, gesturing around them. "I know he's.. prickly, but he's talked about you with respect."

Astor

Astor isn't so sure about *that*—thus far he's been allowed on board when he has something to offer and has demonstrated he won't cause trouble. That makes him *minimally trustworthy and occasionally useful,* not *likable.*

But that last bit gives him pause. "Has he. With *respect*-respect, or just without *dis*respect?"

Ruddy & Offal

"Respect-respect! I've known Sir Pentious since I landed here, and in that time the only people he's ever been anything approaching sweet to are ladies. If you want him to speak kindly, try wearing a bonnet and fluttering your lashes!" He snickers, but he's completely serious.

Astor

A huff. "In my experience, his others reserve 'sweet' for lovers and 'kind' for close friends—and infrequently at that. No, I'm not expecting any of *that* out of him." But there are ways one can demonstrate approval for a person without having to be *kind* to them. Like by publicly stating that a given person is the only version of them that one respects. And Astor is not the Alastor that received that honor.

He decides not to ask what exactly Sir Pentious has been saying about him. He's afraid to find out that it isn't genuine praise but rather *you'd be less insufferable if you were more like your alternate, let me tell you what he does that you don't measure up to—* Besides, it would feel needy. "Well, you've known him longer—I'll trust that you've had more experience picking up his subtleties." It's half true.

Ruddy & Offal

A shrug, and Offal puts down his empty cup. He's rubbish at reassurance, but he wants SO badly to connect to his self.. "I do! Earlier, what made you wilt? That was him.. reassuring me." Oh, that IS embarrassing to admit. Soldier on.

"I'm sure you've figured out that I'm not quite. Matched up. To yourself. Or others of my dear selves." His shoulders droop, but he squares himself back up to continue. "He's aware of my feelings. Not that I ever _admitted_ them." Hrmph. "It's horrible, I'm freeloading in the airship of a man who can _read_ me!"

Astor

Oh, was the wilting that obvious? He very nearly internally cringes at himself too hard to catch the substance of what his alternate is really saying. But he does catch it.

"My goodness, aren't you the unlucky one—stuck with the only Sir Pentious capable of reading anything subtler than a billboard." Dumb joke to lighten the mood; but Astor quickly sobers up. If his alternate is openly talking about the subtext now, then he can talk about it too.

"I've figured out you're having a bad year, yes. But I don't think the rest of us are as matched up as you might think. Or if what you mean is you think you're *lesser* than us?" He snorts dismissively. "Sure, you look at the Hell Broadway performer, the TV manager, the college mentor, the *god,* all of that, and my oh my don't they sound like an impressive lot! Living their best afterlives, aren't they? But that leaves out all the drug habits, the suicidal gestures, the identity crises, the breakdowns, the burnouts... Oh, we're quite the pack of fireworks, aren't we? Flashy and loud, and all too prone to catching fire and exploding."

A wink, "But none of that's fit for broadcast, is it? A good announcer puts on a smile and his best persona and makes sure the audience can't tell he's got a hangover! Even if his audience is his fellow announcers. See—you match up with us, after all."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile is thin, but he nods appreciatively towards Astor as his cheeks turn slightly pink. It's a comfort to hear, he'll just need time to roll the thought around in his head. At least this dear self is being honest with him, or if he's lying, doing a damn good job. It makes it less humiliating to have done what felt like pulling his own organs out to show off.

"I suppose you're right, my dear self. Easy to get razzle dazzled even by your own selves, if you're already full of self loathing. And I'm afraid I've let myself fall rather far from my own graces! No broadcasts, I haven't even been to my own house in.. Who knows HOW long. What a waste of a good garden, I'm sure the flowers are all dead by now." He sighs, reaching up to brush his too long hair out of his face. "A shame, it's a nightmare getting plants to grow down here, let alone flower and reproduce. Maybe I can.. try again. Eventually." Now that's wishful thinking. But his dear self doesn't need to hear him get TOO melancholy over some ridiculous flowers.

Astor

Astor leans closer, fixes him with a look, and says meaningfully, "You have a *house?*" The corner of his mouth twitches. He sits back up. "Oh, that's the trouble, isn't it? We're good even at dazzling each other! And then trying so hard to be dazzling in return nobody can see past the lights to realize that *most* of us think we're the one black hole in a sky full of stars." Astor doesn't think he's ever managed to discuss this with an alternate before, even though he's sure he'd met enough alternates to figure it out a couple decades back. Ironically, the fact that this alternate currently can't keep his mask on makes things easier—not that Astor is going to make him self-conscious by mentioning that.

"I've got some okra and bell pepper potted right now—remarkably hardy strains, too. I could give you some seeds if you need to restart your garden. I'm making plans for a little herb garden, too—nothing ambitious, just what I can squeeze into a window planter."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course I-- Ah. I see your point." He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. His dear self was right, though having such an honest discussion still felt incredibly wrong. But maybe that was good. They were both breaking rules, talking like this.

"A window planter? I think you could manage a decent selection of herbs with that, if you're not too worried about the aesthetics. You could probably even manage some cherry tomatoes if you fashioned a little trellis. If anything in my garden is left, we can trade cuttings."

Oh, that wasn't supposed to be the topic here. But it was a nice distraction at least, gave him something to dig his nails into while trying to navigate difficult terrain.

Astor

"Of *course.*" Huff. He crosses his arms loosely, casually, hoping it's not obvious how painfully he's digging his fingers into his arm. It's a hard, rare thing for him to admit, *especially* to an alternate. This conversation really is breaking all the rules.

His eyes light up. "Oh, a trellis, I hadn't even thought of that! Wonderful! Hold on—" He opens a portal, pulls out his grimoire, and flips it open to two pages at a right angle so that they stand like a desktop and an adjoining wall; on the desk he's pencil sketched out a magical workspace and altar, and on the wall a couple of cabinets, a planter, and a round window. He roughly sketches in a pair of trellises curling up along the curved window frame, and then, inspired, adds some over the window that something could hang off of. "Brilliant. Yes, by all means, let's trade—the only way to get any decent produce down here is to swap snips of the stuff that survives!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Gladly, my dear self. The less I have to try and comb the market for fresh ingredients, the better." Offal tilts his head, trying to get a look at what Astor is drawing. A curved window? That looked like.. Well. That was none of his business, now was it? He pulls back, glancing at his empty coffee before his head suddenly swivels up at the sound of scales on the floor.

Ruddy enters, a fresh pot of coffee in hand, and glances between the two Alastors before nodding his head towards Offal almost imperceptibly. It was as close as he'd ever get to asking "do you need help". The returning shake was equally easy to miss, but enough for the serpent to come refill empty cups. "I'M ONLY HERE FOR A MOMENT, SUPPER IS COOKING."

Astor

Lots of places have circular windows, probably, maybe.

Astor starts. "Oh! I believe I'm being reminded not to overstay my welcome, aren't I? I won't intrude upon your supper." Pity, they were just getting somewhere.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal opens his mouth, but Ruddy responds faster, staring at Astor like he'd just grown a second head, and that second head had started speaking tongues. "IF I WANTED YOU OFF MY SHIP, I'D TELL YOU TO GET OFF MY SHIP. THERE'S A PLATE FOR YOU TOO, ALASTOR."

A loud scoff, and Ruddy twists around to slither back out of the room, leaving Offal to give Astor a 'what did I tell you' look.

Astor

"Oh, then my mistake for thinking you might be tactful about it!" He meets his alternate's gaze and rolls his eyes. "How do you like that? It takes real skill to offer someone an invitation without letting them feel the least bit welcome. I bet he's practiced."

Ruddy & Offal

"Incredible, isn't it? And this is how he is with the people he *likes*." He shakes his head, giving his coffee a tentative sip before putting it back down. WAY too hot to drink, he'll have to wait. Oh well, more time to try and reassure his dear self that Ruddy wasn't, in fact, JUST a foul tempered old man, but ALSO a cantankerous bastard of a friend who never just SAID nice things. "You may have missed it, if you weren't looking. He came in to see if I was alright. I don't know about the snakes you know, but he's rather *subtle* about any care he shows."

Astor

"Hm. 'Likes' or 'tolerates'?" Astor's still dubious of the claim that this Sir Pentious so much as respects him—and it's a steeper climb still to get from "respects" all the way up to "likes."

"They run the gamut, but some are... well, it's hard to call anybody that loud 'subtle,' but certainly they've got ways of showing concern that no one else would recognize as such. I wasn't looking until he mentioned dinner, I'll take your word for it."

Ruddy & Offal

"Of course, my dear self." Offal leans back into his seat, giving Astor a once over. Now that he wasn't in the middle of shrinking away or flinching, he had a chance to see his alternate as something other than the pinnacle of what an Alastor should be. There were flaws, probably, even if he didn't see them yet.

He was forgetting something... Oh, yes. "*Did* you want to stay for dinner, my dear self? I'm sure you could sneak out without any fuss."

Astor

"Sneak out, after getting an explicit invitation? Not without insulting him." Which didn't quite directly answer the question, but it meant he was staying.

Ruddy & Offal

"I'll take that as you're staying, then! Good. Sir Pentious always cooks enough food to put my own mother to shame, and we wind up feeding the leftovers to some college students he knows just to clear out the fridge!" Why does he know college students? Offal has no idea, but it seems like Sir Pentious just *knows* people.

Astor

Considering Sir Pentious had just helped a university worth of them unionize, Astor isn't too surprised. "Oh, well, I'm always happy to help rescue people from leftovers."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal didn't know about Sir Pentious' adventures, unfortunately. He simply nods and reaches for his coffee again. It's still too hot of course, but he's going to do his damndest to cool it down by blowing on it before the dinner bell sounds. He has nothing else to say, so unless Astor has more to say, they're just going to sit in silence.

Astor

Astor very rarely doesn't have more to say. What had they been talking about before Sir Pentious came in? Gardening, Radio Demons dazzling each other—ah. "You uh, asked something when Sir Pentious first left that I didn't catch, and we never looped back around to it. What was...?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, he remembered. Damn, and here Offal had thought that had been conveniently forgotten in the rest of the mess. Ah well, he'd already spilled his guts to this alternate, he may as well commit to it. A polite cough, and he nods. "Ah, I'd asked how old you'd been when you died. A bit of a silly question, feel free to ignore it, my dear self. What does it matter when we've been stuck down here for so long, really?"

Astor

"Oh, it makes some difference. Not the age itself, maybe, but what it means you lived through. I was in my mid thirties," he says automatically, before immediately amending himself: "Thirty-five. Although I don't give just anyone the exact number. You?"

Ruddy & Offal

Oh no, he's OLD. Offal's smile turns almost apologetic, coffee cup lifting to his lips as he mumbles his response. He's talking to the coffee, it's fine. "Twenty five, I think. Maybe twenty seven at most. I don't remember. Younger than thirty, that's for sure."

Astor

Oh no, he's a BABY. Never mind the fact that the gap between 113 years old and 123 years old doesn't mean much. This is an infant. "Well—see, that's a perfect example of an age that *does* make a difference. It means you're one of us that didn't fight in the war. You must have been... what, eleven or twelve during the draft?" He blinks as another thought occurs to him. "My goodness. You were still a teenager when I first went on air."

Ruddy & Offal

Just an old man and a baby, hanging out in an even older man's glorified blimp. This is going great. "Correct! Not that my father's side of the family didn't try and tell me I should go lie about my age and serve the country like a proper man. If looks could have killed, I tell you, my mother would have had a body count!" His laugh is a little bitter, but at least it's a laugh. "I don't envy your service, but it certainly sounds like you had more time to enjoy being on air. Felt like I'd barely started before I was six feet under."

Astor

"She wasn't too happy about it in my neck of the woods, either. I'd never seen her like that before."

And over a century later, it's still uncomfortable to think about. Move along. "You were on speaking terms with your father's side, then? I've found that's one of the most inconsistent things among our others. I think you and I are in the minority."

His smile thins grimly. "I'd been on air just a few months short of a decade—and it still felt like I'd barely started, too."

Ruddy & Offal

That was the way of things, wasn't it. It was always too soon to go, when you were doing something you were passionate about. He sighs, the hand not holding his coffee pushing his hair out of his face again. Maybe he should find a pair of scissors soon... But that's for later.

"I was on speaking terms with them, yes. Although they could never completely hide that they were disappointed that my father's only child was, well.." Mixed, but he's not going to say it outright. A gesture towards himself should get the general idea across, hopefully. "But I was never mistreated, and I was never left wanting."

Astor

Astor nods energetically in agreement; yes, his too. He gets it. "They kept me on the family tree and stared down any neighbors who looked puzzled when they introduced me as a cousin. There was never any question that I wouldn't become the next patriarch of the family; but they always had the decency to make like it was because I lived so far out of town. Of course, not *all* of them were quite so circumspect, but—well." Astor clicks his tongue. "Interesting how a tragic hunting accident can lighten the atmosphere at Thanksgiving dinner." He sips his coffee very coolly.

Ruddy & Offal

That startles a laugh out of Offal, but he nods in turn. Good! Good, someone understands where he was coming from. That was a relief. Some things were hard to talk about with someone who didn't share the experiences. "Couldn't put it better myself! I have no idea how they never figured me out, I doubt I was *half* as clever as I thought I was at the time. Being the patriarch would never have worked out, I barely tolerated the questions of when I'd get married to one of the nice *white* girls from the church they insisted I attend with them."

Astor

Astor blinks in amazement. "No. And I'm sure it never crossed their minds what a fix *you'd* be in if a stranger came to town and objected to the marriage." He shakes his head. That's his father's side of the family, all right. "I was far enough outside the line of succession that they saw my bachelorhood as a subject of gossip rather than as a problem to be solved. Anyway, Pa never married and only had a child with a woman he *couldn't* marry, I don't think anyone was surprised I followed in his footsteps. Ma certainly wasn't."

Ruddy & Offal

"Hah! I was.. pale enough, I suppose? That I'm sure they hoped they could just pass me off as tanned from hunting. Or maybe they just didn't think at all, who knows. Once mother died and I was stuck with them full time, they wasted no time trying to make me presentable. I'm just glad she never had to see what they did to my hair!" His smile twitches at the corners, but he wastes no time on *that* little memory. Natural causes his *ass*.

"Were I so lucky to only be gossiped about! No no, I had the misfortune of being the eldest son of the eldest son. A barely passable bastard, but one too well known to hide away. I suppose I was proud of it, in some way. I made myself quite the thorn in their side while I could!"

Astor

"I was pale enough to get away with *some* things, but not enough that I was about to try fathering Désirée's baby." Not that he'd planned on being *anyone's* father, but.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the revelation that his alternate's mother died; and again, this time in anger, at the thought of anyone touching his hair. In life he'd had the same hair as his mother, and proudly so; if they dared try to take that from his other—

But he presses his lips together. That's not a can of angry worms he wants to open now. Instead, he says, "I only spent summers with them. Ma survived me."

Ruddy & Offal

They'd done a bit more than *try*, but that wasn't something either of the alternates present wanted to get into at the moment. The news that his dear self's mother survived him was enough to distract Offal from memories of hot irons and wet combs. His eyes close as his shoulders hunch, smile twisting for a fraction of a second before it snaps back into place. Deep breath, relax his posture, come on then. He'd already crossed enough lines with his alternate without *crying* over things from a hundred years ago.

"I. Well. I don't know if I should be glad to hear that or not! But it is what it is! I wish I'd had more time with mine, but I'm glad she never had to bury me." He clears his throat and goes for the coffee. A few gulps to help steady himself, that does it. "So! Do you speak French then? That was one of the only things they were happy about, though they insisted I learn *proper* French once I was in their house. And piano, though I didn't mind the piano. I'd always liked music."

Astor

None of the possible endings were good, were they? "I wish I hadn't made her bury me." It might be the plainest and opennest thing he'd said all afternoon.

But that kind of thing can only be taken in a grain or two at a time. Back to lighter topics. "*Bien sûr, mon ami!* I practiced with my father's family in the summers and with ghosts the rest of the year. In Paris a man told me I looked like somebody's grandson but spoke French like somebody's grandfather. I don't remember which side of the family got me started on piano—both had ones I could play—I was young when I started. I do know I was with Ma when I started the violin, although it was Pa's side of the family that put the idea in my head to learn. He probably paid for it, I don't know; children don't keep track of that sort of thing..."

Ruddy & Offal

"You went to Paris! How fantastic, I never got the opportunity. I... never got the opportunity to do a lot of things, really." He really *had* died young, hadn't he? It was easy to forget, until he remembered all the things he'd been *planning* on doing. But that was *depressing* to think about, lighten the mood there buddy! "The experiences are half lined up, but my French is tragically standard. Not a hint of my poor mother's accent!" He tosses his head back dramatically, the back of his hand daintily pressed to his forehead.

And then its several seconds of trying to arrange his hair once he's sitting properly again. Pthhbt. Hair in his mouth. Give him a moment. What had he been saying? "So, what was Paris like, then? Everything people said it was, or a disappointment all around?"

Astor

"Now, here's the thing, in Louisiana they thought *my* French was standard, too. It was the *French* who disagreed. I'm sure if you'd ever made it to Paris, they'd have found your French charmingly antiquated, too!" This is probably meant as reassurance.

He's watched his alternate fuss with his hair a time too many and his desire to mind his own business is now outweighed by his pity. He opens a portal, rummages around inside, and emerges with four glittery plastic barrettes that are just slightly too pink to blend into Radio Demon red hair. He wordlessly offers them. "When I was there? Lamentably full of soldiers. I'm afraid I didn't have an opportunity to absorb the culture, although I glimpsed a little in the distance. I always wanted to go back after the war, but, well." A shrug. "As it is? All I got out of Paris was my first honest-to-God demonology book."

Ruddy & Offal

It takes Offal longer than it should to figure out what his alternate is offering him, several seconds wasted on puzzling over the barrettes before he realizes what they're for. Astor gets to watch him haphazardly pin back his bangs. It doesn't look good, the man has never used a hair clip before.

"Is THAT how you got your start, my dear self? I got mine from poking my nose into the pittance of belongings I was left by my mother that I was _allowed_ to keep."

Astor

Completely satisfactory. Barrettes aren't to help you *look* good, they're to help you *see* good.

Astor is just about ready to strangle his alternate's paternal relatives. "You'd have to specify what, exactly, you're asking about the start of! I had many starts at many different things at many different times, and that was certainly *one* of them; but I'm quite certain my mother never worked with demons, so I suspect we're talking about different things!"

Ruddy & Offal

"We may just be, my dear self!" Offal plants his cheek into his own palm, finally able to look at his alternate without a curtain of hair obscuring his vision. It was strange, seeing himself sitting across from, well, himself. It wasn't like the illusions or shadow copies, this was an independent person who happened to share a face, and apparently several other things as well. "My mother didn't work with demons either, to my knowledge. She worked *against* them. It wasn't her main area of focus, not her religion, not her circus, not her monkeys. But apparently it was something she picked up when she got involved with my father? Or so the letters said, if I remember correctly."

If he were anyone else, he'd frown. But he furrows his brows instead, and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm afraid that in the absence of my mother, I was raised almost entirely Catholic. Demonology was my bread and butter once I got my hands on it. Learning how to counter them was a fine start in learning to *deal* with them."

Astor

"What in the world was your father up to that necessitated getting into demon fighting?" A huff.

"Half with Catholicism, half with Voodoo. I've been communicating with spirits since before I was born; Ma started teaching me magic before I learned to read. But I didn't start working with demons until the war. The Catholics discouraged it and the Voodooists had no business with it." He nods to his alternate, "Did you only work with demons, then?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I don't know! Never got the chance to ask." His grin grows. It's a vexing mystery, but some part of him thinks it's *hilarious* that somehow, his blandly pleasant but ultimately spineless father was out there attracting the attention of demons.

"Oh, almost entirely. I wasn't allowed any of the, as my grandparents put it, *"Blasphemous Voodoo Hoodoo Garbage"* after I moved. No no! That was a good Christian household, anything out of the ordinary was scolded out of me." He rolls his eyes, now that Astor can see them. "I did try and relearn what I could once I moved out, scrounge the scraps I could remember together, but it wasn't the easiest thing."

Astor

It's impressive how effective a sneer Alastor can produce while technically still smiling. "'Blasphemous' my entire... I used the Bible far more for conjure than I ever did for church! Try telling *that* to average 'good Christian'! Or that Hoodoo is practiced on nearly every page in the book, just by a different name!" He sighs harshly. "You were robbed." Which he's sure his alternate already knows, but sometimes it helps to hear someone else say it. "I wish I could offer to teach you whatever you didn't get to relearn, but I'm afraid I'm not qualified anymore. Maybe for some of the rootwork, but not the deeper stuff. Certainly nothing of Voodoo."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods, taking a few seconds to get his feelings in check before he responds. He was robbed. It was painful to think about, painful to acknowledge. And there wasn't much to be done about it anymore, unfortunately. And it stung.

"I appreciate the thought, my dear self." A shrug, and he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to turn this little social into a deep dive into my history! You've already heard enough prattle to last your whole afterlife! I'm just glad to hear my other dear selves weren't also cut off."

Astor

"Think nothing of it, I find these little compare-and-contrast sessions tend to go that way! We'll start with 'so what's *your* favorite food?' and end up on, '... and that's why I still have lingering trauma around blonde women and golden retrievers!'" He laughs. "For what it's worth, our experiences run the whole spectrum. You're not the only one who's been cut off for one reason or another. Even I was eventually. It's unfortunate, but, well! At least it means you aren't an outlier."

Ruddy & Offal

It's less of a comfort and more of him feeling a twinge of sympathy, but it's kind of his alternate to offer up that kind of knowledge trying to.. comfort him? Relate? Either way, it's appreciated.

Offal nods, empties his cup, and puts on his best grin. "Well, I can tell you my favorite color isn't red! I'm more of a fan of pink, personally. Or yellow. My mother adored yellow."

Astor

His eyes light up. "Oh, my mother's favorite was yellow too! Perhaps I should say 'is'—I doubt it's changed in the last eighty-odd years. As long as I lived, every year she'd grow yellow angel's trumpets right outside the kitchen window. It's among my favorite colors too, yellow or gold. But I'm afraid I'm terribly predictable and really do favor red just as much as my wardrobe would suggest!"

Ruddy & Offal

Should he ask his alternate why he's speaking about his mother in present tense? It's tempting. But the idea of her being, well, not *alive*, but any sort of present, is absolutely terrifying. And it wasn't even *his* mother, it was none of his business. Don't be a freak, Alastor.

"Angel's trumpets! Now those bring back memories.. I managed to get some of them growing at one point, I'll figure out how to do it again. I hope the honeysuckle is alive at least, its a stubborn enough plant that it may still be limping along." He taps his lips thoughtfully, staring off into nothing. Later. He'll worry about that later. Along with everything else. "Red is a fine color! Pink is just a bit softer, easier on my eyes. Though it'd clash *horribly* with my skin tone now!"

Astor

"Did you? *Oh!*" The corners of his mouth and eyes twitch a bit, threatening to betray just how much hearing of an alternate with living angel's trumpets yanks at his heartstrings. "I've only seen them a few times down here, and never growing free, just dried parts in tea bags. I do hope yours survived! I'd ask for a cutting, but goodness, where would I plant it? I'm sure I'd just kill the poor thing." He tuts chidingly at himself—but there's a flash of genuine melancholy in his eyes.

"I've seen a few of us with pink wardrobes! I don't think it clashes all that terribly, but then I've never had much of an eye for that sort of thing. I'm sure you could find someone to exchange fashion ideas with, at any rate!"

Ruddy & Offal

Forget the pink, look at the way his poor alternate had responded! No no, unacceptable.

"Despite the sizes I'm sure you've seen various plants reach, Angel's Trumpet *is* a shrub. You can keep a one in a pot if it suits your fancy! Mine filled half the sunroom before I moved it outside, QUITE the display!" A shake of his head, and he leans in towards his alternate again. "You've already done enough for me, you think I wouldn't help you learn how to keep a plant alive? Really, my dear self. Even if I have to start from seedlings all over again, I'd be happy to show you how I strangled life out of Hell's soil."

Astor

"That would be..." He's *tempted.* But he shakes his head. "No, no—Ma took hers inside when it got cold, and she had to plant that thing in a washbin. And I don't have a *sunroom*! Goodness me, wherever I put it, the poor thing would starve for lack of sunlight! I've got one spot with a window, but just the one window, and small; I'm going to try out those sun lamps in another place, but that's a *kitchen*, and a crowded one at that, I can't grow a massive poisonous shrub in there—I have the makeshift greenhouse at the hotel, but I was hoping to move everything out of it soon, I couldn't possibly tie myself down at the hotel again for the sake of an ornamental plant..."

He shakes his head again and smiles sadly. "I just... don't have anywhere for it."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal nods. He wasn't about to insist his alternate saddle himself with a plant just for emotional reasons, so... "Entirely understandable, my dear self! I suppose you'll just have to come see mine once its all back up to its former glory. May take some time, if my house is half as dusty as I think it is. I couldn't *possibly* have a guest over until the place looks passable again. But we can do coffee in the garden, if you'd like."

He didn't like having guests over even when he HAD lived in his house full time. But he hadn't known any versions of himself then, either. It might be interesting. Or disorienting. But if his dear self had half the emotional attachment to a few plants that he did, maybe it would do him good to be able to see some again. It was the best way he could think of to try and pay him back for this bizarre peptalk.

Astor

"Yes—yes, I'd like that. It sounds—pleasant. Whenever is convenient for you." He clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. Damn, almost slipped up and had emotions for a second. "If you find you could use a second pair of hands to help get your garden back in order—well, I don't get nearly enough practice these days!"

Ruddy & Offal

He is not going to comment on the nearly emotional display. Glass houses and all that, this alternate had already tolerated him being as close to hysterical as he could tolerate, let the man have a dignified wobble. Instead Offal cheerily snaps his fingers, letting himself speak more loudly. Bombastic! Cheery! No emotional anguish here! "Oho! And here I thought I was going to have to beg Sir Pentious to loan me a few eggs. Yes, you'd be most welcome to come help me dig out my... What did he call it.. *Depression Pit*. It'd be good to trust in my assistant's competence instead of having to run to hide the fine china."

Astor

*Depression pit.* Well, *that* wasn't very optimistic. "I imagine all they'd be useful for is  contributing their shells to the fertilizer! I'm sure I could offer much more help! We'll get your garden back in shape, never you fear."

Ruddy & Offal

"Fertilizer, certainly, and they don't make bad starter pots if you clean them out well! You just have to make sure you crack them apart once you're putting the plant in the ground." He pauses, then taps a fingertip to his own cheek. "I... appreciate the assistance. Once we have it fixed up, we'll have to at the very least set you up with a fresh bouquet. Less permanent, but you can dry the flowers."

Astor

"Now there's an idea! I suppose their shells would be thick enough for it, wouldn't they?"

His face lights up at the offer of a bouquet. "I'm sure it would make a lovely decoration! Thank you, my friend, that sounds delightful!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Glad you think so! I'm sure we can keep you well supplied with flowers when you want them, this Hell doesn't have much in the way of seasons beyond Hot and then Hot and Raining. At least the plants love it!"

And there's the dinner bell, right on schedule. Offal gestures towards the doorway, tilting his head towards Astor. "I hope you're hungry, my dear self!"

Astor

"You have *hot and raining*? We got the short end of the stick! All we have is *hot*! With a few surprise days, peppered in like sprinkles in a confetti cake!"

His ears flick at the bell. "Aren't I *always* hungry!" He heads for the door—but his alternate has better catch up fast, Astor isn't actually sure where he's going.

Ruddy & Offal

Uh oh, time for Offal to do the awkward little half jog everyone hates, look at him go. Once he's caught up to his alt he can settle into a more dignified walk. "The kitchen and dining room are this way! Just follow the sound of Sir Pentious humming! Or, failing that, the line of eggbois. They're like ants, I tell you!" It's okay to kick eggbois out of the way. It's fine.

Astor

"Why, do *they* eat?" Squinting at the Egg Bois. The ant comparison may have thrown him off, he's imagining they're invading the dining room like ants at a picnic. He's not about to kick them though, he is a *guest.*

Ruddy & Offal

"Do they eat? My dear self, they'll eat anything you let them shove into their mouth." His grin widens. "Don't ask me where it goes, I have no idea! I saw them swarm a sinner and eat him once, though. Gone in seconds, never saw the fellow again." He nudges another eggboi out of his way with the side of his foot, one of the fancy faberge ones.

"...I don't think they get hungry though, they just like putting things in their strange yolky mouths."

Astor

"Hm! The one I've seen, they'll eat if you tell them to, but they won't do it on their own." He regards them curiously. Multiversal differences. "Self-seasoning omelets."

Ruddy & Offal

There's a loud snort. Seems like Astor managed to almost get a laugh out of Ruddy! Not that you'd guess it by his expression when he leans out of the kitchen. A fistful of rolled silverware is shoved at Offal, and then Ruddy vanishes back into the kitchen before he emerges properly with a tray of garlic bread. A last minute addition he'd thrown in, but EVERYONE likes garlic bread. Off to the dining room, a comically huge amount of food was waiting!

Astor

Oh, he was overheard. He doesn't think he caused any offense, but just in case, he throws in, "Of course, I'm not going to scramble any without permission!" He's pretty sure this Sir Pentious isn't accustomed to Alastors asking permission, it can't hurt to throw in a reassurance.

And it's a good thing Astor reminded *himself* he's asking for permission, or else he might have casually snagged a slice of garlic bread off the tray on the way to the dining room. In a herculean display of self-control he holds off, and in the dining room waits eyeing the feast to be told how seating is to be arranged.

Ruddy & Offal

Such strength... Such restraint. Offal has no such thing, and tries to grab for a slice before the tip of Ruddy's tail darts up to slap the back of his hand. Neither of them comment on it, and Offal meanders off to one end of the table on his own. Ruddy pulls out a seat for Astor, and sits at the other end of the table, tail coiled around and around his seat to keep anyone from tripping on him.

A moment to get himself arranged, and Ruddy plucks up a slice of the bread. Better to do it now, before the radio demons inhaled it all. "HELP YOURSELF, THERE'S MORE GARLIC BREAD IN THE OVEN."

Astor

Astor made the right move on the garlic bread. He hates to try to make himself look good merely by avoiding the decisions that make the alternate he's decided he'd like to help look worse; but like, he'll take it.

He takes his seat and then a slice of garlic bread—but it's a close race. "Quite hospitable of you to let me stay!"

Ruddy & Offal

There's that look again, like Astor had grown a second head. Ruddy takes his time to respond, fixing his plate up before he *harrumphs* at his guest. "WHY WOULD I NOT? YOU WERE HERE WHEN IT WAS TIME FOR SUPPER, I HAVE PLENTY TO SPARE FOR A GUEST OR TWO." A pause as he sets his napkin in his lap, can't forget his manners here. "TAKE SOME WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO, TOO. IT'D BE A SHAME TO WASTE THE LEFTOVERS."

Astor

"If you hadn't wanted a dinner guest you could have made some excuse to kick me out. Or skipped the excuse! Now, you accept my gratitude without making a fuss." He serves himself. It's time to Judge this cooking.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again with a huff. *Fine*. He has to see what his guest thinks of his cooking anyway, it'd been a while since he'd cooked for anyone but himself or his squatter guest, and Offal was expected to praise his cooking just to keep from getting booted off the ship to find somewhere else to freeload. Astor was under *no* such obligations.

Offal of course, is already plowing through his serving and getting ready for a second. That garlic bread had his name on it, watch out.

Astor

Well, clearly this Sir Pentious doesn't think "seasoning the food" meant "adding salt," which is a good first step. The cooking style is definitely British (derogatory), but if Alastor couldn't drum up an appreciation for foods low on additional flavoring, then he wouldn't have a penchant for raw human flesh, now would he? Satisfying him takes either a high-quality recipe or high-quality ingredients.

And luckily, Sir Pentious has the latter. Alastor gives him a pointed look. "*You* have a supplier."

Ruddy & Offal

Look how that serpent preens, he's so VERY smug about his food. Oh, did you notice? Did you notice the fresh snap of the vegetables? The decided lack of that almost spoiled aftertaste to the meat? Oh, it's nothing special..... He hums, and then answers as matter of factly as he can despite the insufferably smug aura.

"SUPPLIERS. PLURAL. OF COURSE I DO, WHAT, YOU THINK I'D EAT HELL'S IDEA OF FOOD IF I COULD AFFORD NOT TO?" Ruddy grins with all his teeth, waggling his fork with a piece of broccoli skewered onto the tip. "NO NO. EVERYTHING HERE IS EITHER FROM THE SURFACE, OR FROM A SPECIALTY SELLER WHO KNOWS HOW TO GROW IT JUST AS WELL. I AM A MAN OF CLASS AND STYLE, I EXPECT MY FOOD TO BE *EDIBLE*. COSTS A FORTUNE, BUT THESE DAYS, MONEY IS ONE OF THE THINGS I HAVE IN ABUNDANCE."

Astor

"And the quality shows! We'll have to trade lists of suppliers sometimes. I'll bet there's some overlap, cross-universally speaking; but we move in different circles, I imagine I've got some sources you don't and vice versa."

Ruddy & Offal

"OH, ALMOST CERTAINLY. I'LL GET YOU A LIST SORTED BY WHAT THEY SPECIALIZE IN. PHONE NUMBERS, ADDRESSES, YOU CAN SEE WHAT MATCHES AND WHAT DOESN'T." He didn't want to think about how long it had taken to track down some of his suppliers, he'd had to attend a NUMBER of what passed for high class functions these days before he'd managed to get a few of those names. But who knew, maybe Astor had a more reliable fellow for finding decent chicken. It was worth investigating, at least!

Astor

"And I'll do the same! As far as I can, anyway. Some of them don't have *addresses* so much as farmer's black markets where you can catch them if you're lucky."

Ruddy & Offal

"AH, I'M FAMILIAR WITH THE TYPE. MINE MOSTLY CAME FROM THE... *HIGH SOCIETY* CIRCLES. A BIT OF ACCESSIBILITY IS REQUIRED FOR REPEAT CUSTOMERS." He'll get the list after dinner, if he remembers. Though he doubted Astor would let him forget, the fascination Alastors had with food was one of their more respectable features, after all.

Astor

"Oh, I gave up on those high society functions in the sixties. They're so insufferable." Astor tuts, shaking his head. "For most ingredients I prefer to go the working class route! Sure, any prince with a taste for human cuisine can hook you up with fresh produce—but what are the odds he's personally maintaining a cellar full of dirt and mushrooms, or hopping over to China to harvest asparagus? No, he's paying some imp servant to do that for him! It's far easier to just befriend that imp!"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs, cutting his meat into little cubes so he can better arrange little bites of everything together. "I SUPPOSE, BUT THE PRINCE IS THE ONE WHO CAN SEND THE IMP TO THE SURFACE. BEFRIENDING THE IMP WON'T DO YOU ANY GOOD IF THE IMP IS KILLED OFF OR REPLACED, YOU WANT TO GET IN GOOD WITH THE ONE ACTUALLY HOLDING THE POWER."

Astor

"See, that's why you don't *stop* at befriending the imp. You bring gifts and favors for *all* his coworkers. You make yourself a staple at the farmer's market. If he disappears, they'll know you well enough to give you an honest answer when you ask who's replacing him—especially if they know you're a middleman who can get things they can't." He's trying not to watch Sir Pentious cut up his food and not quite succeeding. Makes him think of Penny and how he preferred his meat cut up just so. "One strategy that works if you have more money than time, another if you have more time than money. It all gets the job done!"

He glances at Offal. "Or you could cut out the middlemen and grow your own produce, can't you?" Hi he didn't forget you're here.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal jolts at the sudden acknowledgement, his fork scraping across his plate with a screech that makes him and Ruddy both wince. Can't play that one off, so he elects to ignore it entirely. "Why yes, my dear self! That's always worked well for me."

Ruddy has no green thumb to speak of, so he's not going to comment on that. He'll settle for watching the Alastors.

Astor

Make that three for three on the wincing. Astor also chooses to ignore it. "I *do* appreciate the offer to trade cuttings, by the by! You mentioned a couple of flowers, what else have you gotten to grow down here?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks at his alternate, brain stalling for several seconds as he tries to remember the name of any plant, ever. What had he grown? Think, Alastor, think. What had *mother* grown?

"Green beans, okra, potatoes, a few herbs.. I had sunflowers, too. Pumpkins and corn, occasionally. I had a few fruit trees..."

And NOW Ruddy decides to poke his nose in, snorting loudly. "HE'S BEEN GRAFTING TOGETHER A HORRIFYING CITRUS AMALGAM IN ONE OF THE STORAGE ROOMS. IF YOU WANT A LEMON, AN ORANGE, _AND_ A GRAPEFRUIT, HE'S GOT JUST THE NIGHTMARE SHRUB FOR YOU."

Astor

Astor is sorely tempted to play the sound of a car engine trying to start—but no, no doing that to an alternate.

He nods appreciatively at the list. Good mix of ingredients. He's about to ask about growing corn in a garden when Sir Pentious's addition scatters more mundane questions completely. "Oh, like the... hold on, I heard a story about this once—the Bizarria hiding somewhere in Italy, right? But from how I hear it, that one only had *two* citrus trees. But *three!* Now, there's a trick! To think I've been talking to the high king of horticulture, here!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Well, I haven't seen any chimera fruit yet, but the grafts are still fresh! I'm sure given a year or so, I'll have plenty of bizarre combinations to hand out to a lucky few unsuspecting victims! But high king? That's far too generous. I've heard tell of SEVEN citrus grafts." Offal waves a hand. "As long as they're in the same family, you can graft any number of trees together. Citrus is one of the more forgiving ones. Now, stonefruit? Finicky. The peach tree fought me for months when I put an apricot branch on there, and getting cuttings of trees fresh enough to graft is a NIGHTMARE in this place."

Astor

"Seven! Now, that must be a sight!" He shakes his head. "All right, maybe not high king—but you're at least a Dr. Frankenstein, stitching all those limbs together. I wouldn't have the foggiest how to do it myself—although if you're in need of an Igor, I *might* be able to help find fresher parts for your creation."

Ruddy & Offal

"It's not nearly as complicated as you might think.." Offal trails off, Ruddy's sudden sharp look making him snap his mouth closed. Right. Try that again.

"I mean. Thank you!" He imitates the Pentious Preen. This is what you wanted, you big snake, this is what you get. "The offer is appreciated, once I've got my garden under control I'll be happy to enlist your assistance in more Frankensteining. I'm sure we could find a favorite fruit of yours to graft on somewhere."

Astor

He doesn't catch the look, but he certainly makes note of the sudden shift it caused. Hmm.

"Favorite *fruit!* Huh..." Don't mind him as he momentarily zoned out, picking at his food as he tries to think of a favorite fruit. "Do tomatoes count? Hah! But no, they don't grow on trees. Lemons are useful, but you've already got those..."

Ruddy & Offal

"Spoiled for choices, my dear self? I understand! I barely knew where to start, the idea of having fresh produce in my own backyard was a SHOCKING possibility! Not having to beg barter or steal a lemon for my zest? Unthinkable!" A chortle, and Offal pulls out a very expensive looking sketchbook, complete with Sir Pentious' crest embossed into the leather cover, and starts scribbling away with the attached pen. "If you've got a hankering for tomatoes though, we COULD graft together a pomato plant! Potatoes down below, tomatoes up above!" Behold, his terrible doodle showing a hastily rendered visual of exactly that, right next to several other doodles of various eggbois doing their strange egg activities.

Astor

He's tilting his head to try to see that fancy notebook cover for a moment before he finally tilts the other way to see the actual drawing. "Is that a *thing?* The tomatoes don't come out tasting like potatoes?" He glances at the egg doodles. Huh. An alternate who does art.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy makes an annoyed huff when he sees the notebook, but just gives Offal a *look*, which is returned with an innocent smile before Offal turns back to his alternate to answer. "It's a thing! A far more recent thing than grafting trees, granted, but a thing!" Tomatoes tasting like potatoes? He hums, considering the possible applications. That may not be so bad, he had hated the texture of potatoes when he was young, even when his mother had made them. Maybe he'd have liked it.. But it had been a *question*. "They taste normal, I assure you! You're grafting different plants together, not mixing their genetics!"

Astor

"Huh! You'd think they'd be fighting over..." Vague hand wave. "... nutrients." He's only got an approximate understanding of nutrients as applied to agriculture. Vegetables are full of Nutrients, and plants wither if prior crops have taken too many Nutrients out of the soil, so either a tomato-potato would take twice as many Nutrients or else each half would contain half as many Nutrients as it should. Right? This is far more complicated gardening than he's ever had to worry about. "Impressive, all the same!"

Ruddy & Offal

"Fighting? Not at all, they're cooperating. They're one plant after a certain point. The tomato part is doing all the leafy business of energy gathering, and that provides for the potato part that is doing the other half of the equation." Offal is a bit baffled at Astor's rather interesting take on plant civil war, but he moves along. "It IS impressive! I'd have never considered it on my own, but modern science has come a long way!"

Astor

One plant making twice as many veggies; or maybe they produced half as much of each? Something for him to look for when he actually saw the thing, he supposed. "It certainly has! My goodness, the marvels they're coming up with these days! Did you know back in the mortal realm, they've put *robots* on *Mars?* Honest-to-God robots!" Listen, he's only known this a few months, he's still amazed,

Ruddy & Offal

Offal blinks, processing the information. Humanity did what??? "They put *robots* on *Mars?* I can hardly imagine what good that does for them! How and why would you put a robot on Mars? Do they come *back?*" Give him a moment while he tries to imagine a reason humans would send multiple robots all the way to Mars. "What, did we discover alien life and decide to do a hostile takeover?"

Astor

"Win the *War of the Worlds* before it starts? Ha! No, no, it's for scientific study! Scientists broadcast signals from Earth telling them where to drive around—like the controls of those fighting robots Sir Pentious let us play with—and in return the robots take photos of the surface of Mars and broadcast them back! And I think they study some other things too, chemicals and such. Maybe nutrients." He's only thinking of nutrients because he's still thinking about vegetables and soil quality. "I don't think they're designed to come back—the scientists just make them hardy so they can last a while out there without a mechanic to come tune them up, then send a more advanced replacement once they've come up with some more equipment to strap on. I expect they'll pick them up and stick them in a museum once astronauts make it up there in a decade or so." Alastor is very optimistic about this hypothetical Mars mission's timeline.

Ruddy & Offal

That was a lot of information to take in, though Ruddy seems to be completely unsurprised by it. Mentioning him by name only gets a vague hum of acknowledgement and quick glance to confirm Astor isn't talking to him. Of course the old snake's kept up with the accomplishments of topside. Offal on the other hand, seems entirely flabbergasted. "Scientific study! Who'd have thought. Next thing you know we'll have... Cities on the moon, or some nonsense like that! Tell me, what do they look like? They must be rugged little wonders to survive a trip to another planet entirely!"

Astor

For a split second after he finished talking, Alastor was worried that he'd come across as unbelievable again. But no, apparently either Mars rovers were more believable than a godlike alternate or else their heart-to-heart had raised Astor's credibility in his alternate's eyes.

"Oh... let me think, it's been a while since I saw the pictures." He looked up as sketchy red shapes floated over his plate, chunky vehicle parts he was trying to shift together into a shape that reminded him of the robots. "They did look tough, though! I remember thinking they looked like something halfway between a beach buggy and a real bug—they must have had bits and bobs sticking out like legs and antennae, I suppose, although I can't quite reconstruct it." He glanced at Ruddy. "Say, could I trouble you to pull up a picture for us?"

Ruddy & Offal

Both, Astor. It was both. But mostly the former, humanity had already been meandering in that direction the last time Offal had been caught up on current events, no surprise they'd raced ahead by now. Little robots on Mars, using radio signals.. how strange.

Ruddy takes a moment to register that he is now being spoken to, but obligingly wipes his mouth and sets about finding a picture before handing over his phone, comically oversized in the hands of the smaller sinners. "HERE YOU ARE, THEN. THE MARS ROVERS. CHARMING CONTRAPTIONS, REALLY. WERE SOLAR POWER AN OPTION DOWN HERE, IT WOULD CERTAINLY SAVE _ME_ SOME MONEY."

Astor

Astor lets his alternate take the phone, but leans over to look at the picture as well. "There they are, *that's* why I thought they looked like bugs! The panels make me think of insect wings."

He glances back at Sir Pentious, surprised. "Do solar panels *not* work here? Not even off of Heaven's light?"

Ruddy & Offal

"THEY DO NOT. AS IF HEAVEN WOULD EVER DO SOMETHING *USEFUL* FOR US SINNERS." Despite not having an immediately apparent nose, Ruddy manages to make a haughty sniff of disgust, dismissing Heaven's failure with a wave of a hand. "NOW, PERHAPS THE PANELS I USED WEREN'T SENSITIVE ENOUGH, THE TECHNOLOGY HAS IMPROVED SINCE MY LAST ATTEMPT. BUT I AM INCLINED TO THINK NOT. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER, MY ATTEMPTS TO HARNESS GEOTHERMAL ENERGY HAVE BEEN *MUCH* MORE SUCCESSFUL, IF LESS IMMEDIATELY USEFUL..." Oh, but he's taking the conversation into a tangent. He cuts himself off, adjusting his glasses before returning to his mostly empty plate.

Offal has been staring at the various mars rover pictures, completely fascinated by the strange little science cars. They looked AWFULLY silly, but he had to admit they were.. cute?

Astor

What is a conversation but a series of tangents tied together at the ends? And Astor's alternate seems momentarily preoccupied, they can pursue this one a bit further.

"I've seen folks show how a solar panel under the moon can light up a tiny bulb—but then, I suppose a panel that can charge a bulb can't charge a room! Here I thought adopting solar panels was going so slowly just because Hell's so terribly disorganized!" He laughed. "Now, why isn't geothermal energy useful? From the sound of it I'd think it'd be easy to use, considering how hot Hell is!" A pause. "Oh. Because you're in the air, I suppose?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy snaps his fingers, nodding at his guest with a pleased grin. "GOT IT IN ONE, ALASTOR. THAT IS PRECISELY THE ISSUE. IF IT WERE A MATTER OF STRAPPING PANELS TO THE TOPS OF MY AIRSHIPS, THEY COULD STAY AFLOAT PERPETUALLY. BUT WITH GEOTHERMAL, I HAVE TO DOCK EACH SHIP AT A PLANT TO CHANGE OUT AND CHARGE THE BATTERIES. STILL A DAMN SIGHT EASIER THAN SOME OF THE ALTERNATIVE ENERGY SOURCES, THOUGH. HAVING TO DEDICATE SPACE TO STORE COAL TO BURN? ABYSMAL." And here he preens, twirling his glasses chain around a finger. "MY SHIPS ARE MUCH FASTER AND LIGHTER NOW, BUT I ALWAYS SEEK TO IMPROVE THEM FURTHER."

A pause, and he gives Alastor a considering look. "THAT REMINDS ME, ACTUALLY. I HAVE DESIGNS IN THE WORKS FOR A MAGIC ENGINE, PARTIALLY BASED OFF OF THE MATERIALS YOU'VE PROVIDED ME WITH. IT IS STILL IN THE EARLY STAGES, BUT REST ASSURED YOUR RESOURCES ARE BEING PUT TO WORK."

Astor

Oh! He *has* been useful! And is being recognized as useful! He puffs up. "Is that so! Well, you're quite welcome!" (Even though Sir Pentious didn't say "thank you.") "You know, it seems like every version of you I run into these days is looking into using magic as a power source! Don't take that the wrong way now, that's no accusation of uncreativity—I'm just marveling at—well, when one looks at alternates across parallel universes, one's first instinct is to look at what events in their pasts make them parallel to each other, isn't it? Hometowns, hobbies, death days, the like. The moment they meet, one assumes, is the moment they branch off in divergent directions. But no! They continue going on, being nearly the same people, making nearly the same decisions, and—well, here I am rambling! It fascinates me, that's all."

He rested his chin on a hand thoughtfully. "But, here's a thought, back on the topic of geothermal energy and magical engines—you've got those portal makers of yours now. What if you opened up some sort of permanent portals between your geothermal plants and your engines? I know an alternate who's made doorways permanently bridge two points, I've been meaning to look into doing it myself—I bet that could solve your power problem."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shrugs and nods where appropriate as Astor prattles on about the similarities between alternates. He's mostly met alternates of Alastor, and they were difficult to tell apart without their little emojis next to whatever nonsense they'd decided to ramble at him. Besides, of course his own alternates would turn to magic! Penny lived on a planet riddled with the stuff, and Telly... Well, he wasn't keeping up with Telly's activities whatsoever, but if he was entangled with this Alastor that was probably reason enough. Why waste such an ample power supply?

"I'D CONSIDERED IT. HOWEVER, THAT DOES LEAVE THE MATTER OF..." His tongue flicks out as he hesitates, thinking of an appropriate comparison. Thoughtful blelele. "LEAVING THE FRONT DOOR WIDE OPEN, I SUPPOSE. THERE ARE MANY MAGIC USERS IN HELL, I AM NOT CONFIDENT IN MY CURRENT ABILITY TO ENSURE THEY CAN'T EXPLOIT A PORTAL DIRECTLY TO THE POWER SUPPLIES OF MY FLEET."

Astor

"Well! I think the chances are low, personally. If permanent doors can be constructed the way I think they can, it wouldn't reduce your security any more than installing a door between two adjoining rooms would—which is to say, the door's only useful to an intruder if he's already in the right room to go through it. But still, it's a fair concern. It's something I'd planned to make absolutely sure of myself in my own research into such doorways. I could let you know if I find anything interesting either way?"

Ruddy & Offal

"I WOULD APPRECIATE THAT, YES. OBVIOUSLY THE POWER PLANTS ARE HEAVILY GUARDED INSIDE AND OUT, BUT I DIDN'T DRAG MYSELF TO THESE HEIGHTS BY ASSUMING THINGS WOULD GO WELL FOR ME." Ruddy sighs. "IT'S HELL. THE PLACE IS TAILORED TO DRAG YOU DOWN BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY GIVEN HALF A CHANCE. YOU KEEP ME POSTED, AND I WILL SEE ABOUT SEEING WHAT I CAN DIG UP THAT YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM IN TURN."

Astor

A wry, dry laugh. "Don't I know *that.*" But a polite dinner that he'd really only gotten himself invited to by accident wasn't the place to get into his grand theory of How Some Days He Thought Even Being Careful Wasn't Enough Because Hell Probably Only Let You Achieve Good Things As A Setup To Cause Even Worse Things, so he'd leave it at that. "And I'd appreciate anything you find too, of course."

Ruddy & Offal

"WE'LL SEE WHAT I COME UP WITH." A wiggle in his peripheral vision catches Ruddy's attention, and he turns from Astor to accept his phone back from Offal, who finally seems to be done staring at pictures of robots on Mars in favor of hastily shoveling more food into his face before it gets cold. Ruddy glances at his empty plate, and then looks between the two radio demons. "NOW, ALASTOR. I ASSUME YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH OF A SWEET TOOTH, SO I DOUBT YOU'RE INTERESTED IN DESSERT?"

Astor

He flashed his grin toward his alternate as he passed the phone back. "They're sure something, aren't they?" And then turned his attention back to their host. "It depends on what it is, but probably not, no. What is it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Offal grins at his alternate, nodding enthusiastically. "They are! I can't believe I hadn't heard about them sooner, how exciting!" And back to Ruddy, who's pushing his chair back to take his plate to the kitchen. "COFFEE CAKE WITH A RUM GLAZE. *PROPER* COFFEE CAKE, WITH COFFEE IN IT, NONE OF THAT GARBAGE THAT JUST HAS SOME COFFEE POWDER DUSTED OVER TOP OF IT." The very THOUGHT makes him sneer. The nerve of some people.

Astor

He considers it. Coffee flavored. Probably won't be completely overloaded with sugar. "Oh... it would be rude not to if everyone else is eating. I'll try a thin slice!" He hops up to take his plate to the kitchen as well. Good guests move their dirty dishes.

Ruddy & Offal

"A THIN SLICE, THEN." Finally, someone with *manners*. Offal is entirely content to let Ruddy pluck the plate out from in front of him and doodle in his sketchpad while he waits to be served.

Into the sink with the dirty plates, where Long Eggboi can wash them from atop his little egg stool, and Ruddy pulls the cake from the fridge to cut slices. How thin is thin.. An inch? An inch. Alastor is getting an inch thick slice of cake, here's a plate. Shoo back to the table.

Astor

An inch is perfect. That's exactly how much he wants.

But he feels odd toddling right back to the table with only his own dessert, so he asks, "Anything you want me to carry back with me?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy hadn't expected Astor to actually want to be helpful. After a moment of confused staring, Ruddy offers up another plate with a similarly thin slice of cake. "I SUPPOSE YOU COULD TAKE THIS TO YOUR OTHER SELF WHILE I GET MY OWN SLICE AND PUT THIS AWAY?"

Astor

"Happy to!" It's a Task, he'll take it. He accepts the second plate and heads back to give it to his alternate his dessert.

"And one for you!" Plop. "You're using that book there as a sketchbook, aren't you? Are you much of an artist?" That's right: it's time for more small talk. But Astor's genuinely interested; all Radio Demons sing and dance, but not many draw.

Ruddy & Offal

Astor's approach gets an ear twitch from Offal, the younger alternate looking up in time to Accept Cake. Ah, cake. Always better when someone else makes it.

"You flatter me, my dear self!" He trades his pen for a fork, waving it dismissively before cutting himself a tiny bite of cake. "No no, I'm just a doodler I'm afraid. No real skill to speak of, it just helps me keep track up here." His other hand taps the side of his head. "If you want an actual artist, get Sir Pentious to show you his charcoal sketches sometime! Seems the arts were mandatory for the upper crust back in, what, the 1830s?"

Ruddy & Offal

[[ We NEED to find the worst possible design from the pilot for philip. maybe that weird naked dude with the face on his chest

Astor

"You've seen my sorry excuse for artistic record keeping! Now, *that's* what I'd call doodling." He scoffs. "Is he that old? I wouldn't have guessed. Mine never gave me a year, but I would have put him around 1840 at the earliest."

Ruddy & Offal

"He might be! Or not? Well, let me see..." Offal pops his nibble of cake into his mouth, humming thoughtfully as he watches Ruddy slither back to the table and sit down. "Sir Pentious! When were you born, you fossil? The spring chickens in the audience want to know!"

Ruddy looks unamused, but answers over the rim of his... glass of milk. Seems he wanted a drink with his cake. "I WAS BORN ON THE SECOND DAY OF JUNE, IN 1826, AND DIED AT SIXTY TWO YEARS OF AGE ON AUGUST 8TH, 1888. NOT THAT IT'S ANY OF YOUR *BUSINESS*, ALASTOR..S."

Astor

Astor starts when his alternate abruptly asks Sir Pentious. Oh, he's going to think they're rude—

Aaand he thinks they're rude. "I wasn't going to ask," he mutters, turning his full attention on his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy looks from Offal, who is completely delighted, to Astor, who looks considerably LESS delighted. Ah, of course. He saw plenty of this in his lifetime. Usually from his kids, but still. "I KNOW YOU WEREN'T, ALASTOR. I CAN'T BLAME YOU FOR THIS MAN'S LACK OF MANNERS." There, a single crumb of patience as a reward for being helpful. If he were anyone else, Ruddy may even reach over and pat his shoulder. But alas, Astor will have to settle for a quick little flutter of a hand in his direction. A strange little air pat, and an almost apologetic look from Hattie.

Astor

Well, he hates throwing his alternate under the bus, but slightly less than he'd hate undeservedly going under the bus *with* him. An almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment is all he offers in return before digging into the cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, they had an understanding. Ruddy turns his face to Offal with a hiss, and Offal responds with a shit eating grin before he cheerily goes back to nibbling his cake. No remorse from this deer, then. Ruddy will remember this. For now though, the three can eat their cake in silence as the eggbois start to gather to lift food away from the table and carry it back to the kitchens. A very organized little army, not even a WoooOooOOooO between them.

Astor

It's been silent for more than three seconds and that's far more than Astor can tolerate. He would have preferred the WoOooOOoos.

"Anyway! We were talking about art!" He nods toward his alternate, "Or *doodles*, as you say."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal looks up from his cake, staring blankly at Astor for a moment before his brain catches up. "Oh! Yes! What about them, my dear self? Curious? I'm afraid I don't have a wealth of examples on hand for you to page through. Come back in a month and perhaps I'll have sweet talked Pentious into letting me use his supplies!" Not likely, judging by the snort that Ruddy made.

Astor

That wasn't a promising sound. "Or you *could* get your own." That was one of the perks of being the Radio Demon, after all: people give you free stuff.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal laughs, a strained bark of noise. "I suppose I *could*, were I so inclined." He quickly shakes his head, as sudden and stiff as his laugh. "I'd have to find something decent to wear, my my! The public hasn't laid eyes on me in far too long to show up looking so rough!"

Astor

He glanced at his alternate, then glanced at himself, then reached down to lift up the tail of his coat and pointedly examine the atrociously tattered hem. "You know, as long as you're still recognizable from your warning poster, I don't think they'll care about the rest."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy covers his mouth and turns away as Astor pointedly examines himself, trying to disguise his wheezing laugh as a cough as Offal gets mildly called out by his own alternate. "That's the thing! People see me and run screaming, my dear self! I can't really avoid that just by changing into something less.. *me*, but I could at least look less like I dragged myself straight off the posters to terrorize Hell for a *third* time."

Astor

"Well, that's how you get the art supplies, isn't it? They scream and run, you browse the store at your leisure, you leave with what you need!" This is just how Astor conducts his shopping trips.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal's smile tightens for a moment before he nods and cheerily waves a hand, voice rising an octave as he cheerily exclaims. "... Yes. Of course! That *is* how I get most things, isn't it! I suppose there's no need to worry about my appearance if it doesn't matter, hm? Silly of me to forget that!" He is the radio demon, after all. He can hardly just walk away from *that* reality!

Astor

Astor studies his alternate's face for a moment; then looks back at his own plate. "A new suit won't undo what's been done," he says, more subdued. "Nor would depriving yourself of something you want by using the lack of new clothes as an excuse not to go." He'd have to apologize for giving his alternate a far more pointed call out in front of Sir Pentious, but Astor doubted it was anything Sir Pentious hadn't figured out himself.

Ruddy & Offal

Both of the locals at the table have gone very still, for entirely different reasons. Ruddy is the first to break the tension, loudly dropping his fork on his empty plate before standing up to hastily exit the room under the pretense of cleaning up after himself. Excuse him, pardon him, he must go make a strong cup of tea for himself.

Which gives Offal a moment to breathe in, hold it, and sigh forcefully. He has to control himself better, he's slipping too much too quickly, if this self can read him so blatantly this soon it spells terrible things for the future when he inevitably gets seen by anyone else half as perceptive. Chin up. "I am aware, my dear self! Apologies if I've made it sound like I resent you for pointing out the obvious, it simply stings to hear something you're avoiding. But you're right, as I always am!" Another laugh. "I suppose I'll have to face the music, eh? I set the band going, I can hardly walk away from it!"

Astor

"A little *too* honest?" he mutters. Nice work ruining dinner. Well, he hadn't expected to get invited back to a second one anyway.

He gives his alternate a wan smile. "Afraid so. But, think of it this way: if they don't have the courage to face their own damn customer, then they're getting what's coming to them if their customer walks out without paying, *aren't* they." There's a faint hint of a sneer on his face as he says so.

"Sorry for..." sigh, "scaring off our host." He stabs at what's left of his cake.

Ruddy & Offal

Scaring off..? Oh right! Of course, Sir Pentious left the room rather hastily, of course it would look terrible. He laughs, more genuinely this time. "Don't you worry about that, my dear self! It takes more than an awkward conversation to scare that uppity old rope off. I assure you, he'd said far blunter things to me at much greater volumes! He likely just thinks I'd take it better one on one rather than if he joined you for a surprise intervention. Not a lick of social graces to delicately excuse himself though!"

He cocks his head, thinking. "He's right, too! It's quite a bit easier to take this from myself in private, like a pep talk in a bathroom mirror without an audience on the side."

Astor

"Yes, well, I shouldn't have brought up something he'd feel the need to excuse himself for, delicately or otherwise." He tuts. "Anyway, that's all I had to say on the matter. He hardly needed to leave."

Ruddy & Offal

Offal holds a finger up, voice far too chipper. "Ah, but he knows how I usually respond to getting confronted, you see!" He doesn't elaborate on *what* exactly he usually does, instead fussing with his hair clips before they can lose their grip. "I'm sure he'll return with tea and his sour attitude before long once he notices the lack of reaction. Though of course, he may also be packing you some leftovers to take home. What did you think of the cake, by the way?"

Astor

He's going to politely stare at his alternate in quiet invitation to elaborate on how, exactly, he usually responds. No? Okay then.

A shrug. "It tastes like cake." The review's utter neutrality is scathing.

Ruddy & Offal

Offal raises an eyebrow, but decides to drop the conversation in favor of turning to watch Ruddy slither back into the room. As expected, a serving of leftovers had been packed away for Astor, and was placed on the table in front of him after a quick glance around. Not even a tear in the tablecloth, how refreshing. A sigh that might be quiet if he hadn't been a massive serpent escapes him, and he nods politely at Astor. "I HATE TO INTERRUPT A CONVERSATION, ALASTOR, BUT I'M AFRAID I NEED TO BORROW YOUR OTHER TO DEAL WITH A RAID ON ONE OF MY FACTORIES BEFORE THE IDIOTS MANAGE TO BREAK ANYTHING *TOO* EXPENSIVE." And to Offal he hands a paper with an address, huffing irritably.

Ah, of course. Offal pushes up from the table, plucking the clips from his hair to toss back to his dear self. "Ah! A sinner's work is never over, I see! I'll be seeing you, then. Ta!" A hasty exit on his part, but it's not like Astor was expecting social grace from this shaggy man, right? No of course not.

Astor

"It's fine, as luck would have it we'd exhausted the topic anyway." Astor wondered whether Sir Pentious would manufacture a crisis of that scale as an excuse to tell Alastor to leave. He didn't think so—especially after being quite insistently informed that Sir Pentious didn't have that kind of tact—but considering that he'd also just received a hint that his other tended to get violent when confronted (what kind of violent, Astor wondered), he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of lying for self-preservation. It certainly was convenient timing.

Pity, though; Astor had hoped to have one final private word with his alternate before he left. He supposed it could wait til next time.

He gestured at the hair clips on the table. "Tell him he can keep those. I have more and he can make better use of them right now." He picked up his leftovers with a word of thanks. "I suppose you'll need to go supervise the counterattack?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy wouldn't admit to it even if he had, but he gives Astor a considering look as this strange alternate of his resident squatter speaks. "I DON'T, NO, BUT I WONT KEEP YOU HERE IF YOU'D LIKE TO HEAD HOME." A gesture from Ruddy, and a decorated eggboi slides the clips off the table and into a small bowl, scampering off down the hall to deliver them presumably to whatever room Offal has claimed as his own.

"ALASTOR, A QUESTION BEFORE YOU LEAVE." Ruddy shifts back, his tail sliding over itself as he tries not to accidentally crowd his guest. "WHAT DO YOU.. *MAKE* OF HIM. IF YOU GET MY MEANING? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO."

Astor

A surprised blink, and Astor says hesitantly, "No, I'm not in a particular rush..." As long as they aren't trying to out-polite each other into Astor overstaying his welcome.

He gives Sir Pentious a thoughtful look. "There's a dozen different ways I could answer that, so I think you'd better narrow it down for me a little more?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy's face scrunches. An internal debate, a sigh, and he flops back into his seat, elbows planted on the table as he rests his chin in his hands. Well, damn it all, he certainly wasn't going to get anywhere trying to play games with radio demons, now was he? If he could get along with Alexa by speaking frankly... "YOUR ALTERNATE, ALASTOR. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH HIM. HE ACTS LIKE WE'RE BOSOM COMPANIONS HALF THE TIME, AND THE OTHER HALF HE SEEMS TO WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO SEND ME INTO A RAGE."

He shrugs, rubbing his forehead. "FORGIVE ME FOR BEING INAPPROPRIATELY BLUNT, ALASTOR. BUT HE IS *MAD*. OFF THE ROCKER. ATTEMPTS TO SPEAK TO HIM GO IN CIRCLES, AND DESPITE MY GENIUS, I AM NOT THE SORT OF DOCTOR WHO CAN FIX AN AILING MIND. I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM GET *HELP*, AND THEN GET *OFF MY SHIP* TO REJOIN SOCIETY IN SOME CAPACITY."

Astor

He slowly takes his seat again. This doesn't seem like it's going to be a short conversation.

"You know—I've heard quite a lot from you and my other alternate about how supposedly mad this alternate is—but I've seen no evidence of it so far. Maybe that says more about my mind than his, hah. But what I've seen is a sinner who suffered a single brain storm, and who's now terrified of his own potential to break again. Maybe *that's* what you're calling madness; but if there's more to it than that, I need to hear about it." He props his chin on his hand and leans toward Sir Pentious. "Have you asked him why he acts like a friend one minute and a pest the next? I'm not suggesting you do, I'm just wondering what his answer was if you have."

Ruddy & Offal

He really shouldn't be surprised that Astor didn't respond with a glib comment or an insult, but he is. Perhaps his expectations have been a bit unfairly skewed by his local radio demon. Astor isn't Offal, they wont respond the same way to everything. Possibly even most things. Another great, heaving sigh, and Ruddy gives Astor a very tired look. "I HAVE ATTEMPTED TO ASK THAT QUESTION ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, YES. IF HE WISHED TO BE FRIENDS, WHY DID HE TURN AROUND AND BARB ME WITH WORDS? IF HE WISHED TO BE HATED, WHY DID HE CLING TO ME SO DESPERATELY? I HAVE TRIED ASKING DIRECTLY, AND I HAVE TRIED COUCHING IT IN THE NONSENSE RIDDLING FRILLS DEALMAKERS SEEM TO LOVE. AND NO MATTER HOW I APPROACH IT, HE DOES ONE OF TWO THINGS."

His head reads heavily in one palm, the other curling into a fist to raise two fingers for emphasis. "ONE, HE WILL INSULT ME VIGOROUSLY AND PERSONALLY. IT DOES NOT MATTER HOW I APPROACHED IT, HE WILL INSULT MYSELF, MY CHILDREN, MY PAST FAILURES, ANYTHING HE POSSIBLY CAN, UNTIL I HAVE TO LEAVE BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER. OR TWO, HE WILL DANCE AROUND THE QUESTION MORE SKILLFULLY THAN I HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR. HALF TRUTHS, MISLEADING STATEMENTS, I KNOW WHAT HE'D DOING BUT I SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR IT." He hesitates, then raises a third finger. "OR. AND THIS HAS ONLY HAPPENED *ONCE*. HE WILL RESORT TO THREATS. VIOLENCE, IF I PRESS FOR TOO LONG. I MAY NOT FEAR HIM THE WAY OTHERS DO, BUT I AM NO FOOL. I'VE EXPERIENCED WHAT YOUR LOT IS CAPABLE OF ONCE, AND THAT WAS MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME."

Astor

Astor nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning that over in his head, asking himself when would he react like that, what would it mean out of him.

"Tell me more about this 'madness' of his."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy shifts in place, face twisting for a moment. "I SUPPOSE YOU SHOULD KNOW. AFTER HIS THREATS AGAINST ME, THE ONE TIME HE CROSSED THAT LINE, HE WAS INCONSOLABLE. I NEVER SAW HIM IN WHATEVER STATE HE WAS IN, BUT I COULD HEAR HIS WAILING THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT. LIKE A DAMN BANSHEE HAUNTING MY AIRSHIP. IT TOOK A WEEK FOR HIM TO SHOW HIMSELF IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN, THOUGH HE KEPT LEAVING THE HEADS OF SINNERS AROUND IN WHAT I ASSUME WAS APOLOGY." Oh that felt awful to say out loud. Spilling other people's business *sucked*. "HE LEFT AN ANGELIC WEAPON ON MY NIGHTSTAND, AFTER THAT. MILDLY TERRIFYING, BUT CONSIDERING HE DIDN'T KILL ME IN MY SLEEP..."

Another shrug. "IN THE DAY TO DAY, HE GENERALLY HOVERS AROUND ME AS I WORK. *GENERALLY*, IF I ACT FRIENDLY AND ATTEMPT TO ENGAGE WITH HIM, HE EVENTUALLY LASHES OUT. IF I LASH OUT IN RETURN, HE TRIES TO BACKTRACK AND ACT LIKE A BOSOM COMPANION. OCCASIONALLY HE'LL VANISH FOR A FEW HOURS AND RETURN EITHER DESPONDENT OR GIDDY. USUALLY WITH SOME PRIZE CLUTCHED IN HIS HANDS, OR COVERED IN SOME SORT OF SUBSTANCE. NOT BLOOD. PAINT OR DIRT OR DUST, USUALLY. ONE TIME HE CAME BACK WITH SOME RATTY TORN UP SATIN THROW PILLOW AND ASKED ME TO REPAIR IT."

Astor

Astor clicks his tongue thoughtfully. How long had he spent alone wailing after he'd betrayed his Sir Pentious? "Well, he doesn't sound mad to *me.*" He's mainly referring to the strange cycle of hostility and penance, and the mysterious day trips; but it probably says something about Astor that he doesn't even bat an eye at the decapitations. "He just likes you and hates himself—hates or fears—that's all there is to it! Did you work out that the angel weapon was his apology?" Probably not, since Sir Pentious only mentioned the heads. "He's given you self-defense. So you can exterminate him if he threatens you again." Because that's what Astor would have done.

Ruddy & Offal

Radio demons will do as they please, it seems. Is an Alastor really apologetic if he isn't leaving severed heads around for you? No better token of remorse than a slain enemy. "HE'S ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL SINNERS IN HELL. GIVING ME A WEAPON CAPABLE OF EXTERMINATING HIM WONT DO ME MUCH GOOD IF HE CAN CRUSH ME FROM HALFWAY ACROSS THE RING. BUT IT'S SOMETHING, AT LEAST." Ruddy taps his claws on the table, frowning deeply. "AS FASCINATING AS THIS IS, AND IT *IS* INTERESTING TO HEAR AN INSIDER-BUT-ALSO-OUTSIDER PERSPECTIVE, IT DOESN'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN DO TO GET HIM BETTER AND OFF MY AIRSHIP."

Astor

"Do you want him better or do you want him off your ship? Because those are two separate matters! If all you *really* want is to get him off your ship, and getting him better just seems to you like the easiest way to make that happen... well, that opens up quite a lot of much faster options. But it depends on your priorities."

Ruddy & Offal

He looks outright offended at Astor's suggestion, his entire torso rearing back as a hand rests daintily on his chest. Gasp! The NERVE.... "I WISH TO SEE HIM *IMPROVE* HIMSELF, FIRST AND FOREMOST. I MAY NOT WANT HIM AS A ROOMMATE LONG TERM, BUT I HAVE STANDARDS, ALASTOR. IF *I'M* THE BEST SUPPORT HE HAS, HE MUST BE *TRULY* DESPERATE, AND I AM ABOVE KICKING A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN."

Astor

Color him surprised. He tries not to let it show too much on his face. "Then I'm afraid I can't offer you a solution in one visit; but I could keep coming back. My alternates have a tendency to open up more easily to each other. If he's determined to keep *you* at arm's length, that's that, but I bet I could get through to him instead." He's not going to mention that his alternate already all but cracked like a walnut under a jackhammer. That's private. "You claimed what's left of the Cannibal Colony, didn't you? What have you done with it?"

Ruddy & Offal

Of course he couldn't get a nice easy solution, nothing in life was so quickly wrapped up in a bow. Not even another magician could fix the one living in his home. Pah. The question, however, is unexpected enough that his displeasure is forgotten for the moment. "THE COLONY? NOTHING, REALLY. I HAVE SOME EGGS WORKING ON CLEARING THE RUBBLE, BUT MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN MOSTLY TAKEN BY MAINTAINING MY BORDERS AT THE MOMENT. IDEALLY I'D LIKE TO SEE IT REBUILT IN SOME CAPACITY, I FOUND IT A CHARMING LITTLE DISTRICT..." He turns his head almost entirely sideways, giving Astor a whole other kind of side eye as he smirks. "EVEN IF THE RESIDENTS *WERE* PRONE TO BITING."

Astor

"Bite back, it's how they say hello." It *was* how they said hello, he reminds himself. "You might want to hold off on rebuilding it for now—and keep an eye on it. I'd bet you anything that's where my alternate is going when he leaves the ship: to scavenge in the ruins. Did that pillow he brought back look like it coulda come from the colony?"

Ruddy & Offal

Did cannibal colony pillows come with some special signifier woven into them? Were the tassels special? He may be overthinking it. Astor probably just meant to ask if it looked old enough to be from the era. "I.. SUPPOSE? IT'S A VERY FEMININE PILLOW, I'D EXPECT SOME YOUNG HYSTERICAL HEIRESS TO HAVE IT ON HER BED TO SCREAM INTO IN A FIT OF RAGE. VERY LUXURIOUS."

Astor

You never know. Maybe it has "BLESS THIS CANNIBALISTIC MESS (1910)" embroidered on it. Maybe it can be immediately ruled out because it has a Pikachu on it. Worth asking.

"It could be." Sounds like something Mimzy could have owned, although Astor wouldn't put it outside the realm of what would fit in Rosie's quarters. "Anyway, I'd leave the colony be for now in case that's where he's been going. If it *is*, then discovering it's been leveled before he's found whatever panacea he's digging for probably won't help his mental state." The corner of his mouth quirks wryly. "Especially if he's not ready to admit he's looking for anything at all."

Ruddy & Offal

He squints, then turns to wave an eggboi over with a cup of tea. Add a little scotch, and he's got something worth drinking for this talk. "I SUPPOSE IT'S NO LOSS TO LEAVE THE WRECKAGE BE, IF YOU THINK IT'S FOR THE BEST. WHAT THE DEVIL *WOULD* HE BE LOOKING FOR THOUGH?"

Astor

"Something to remember his friends by? Maybe something that smells like them, or something he once gifted them, or something he always associated with them whenever he visited." He's totally just listing the things he rummaged for in his Sir Pentious's abandoned safe houses. Projecting is useful when it's an alternate. "Or something he knows they'd hate to see buried and abandoned. Or, hell, maybe he's rebuilding a room or two by himself—you said sometimes he's got paint on him. He's recently lost almost everything; why wouldn't he want to salvage whatever's left over?"

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy decides to keep his suspicions to himself, even as Astor goes down a list that sounds less like pure guesswork than seems completely plausible. You know what that sounded like? None of his business. The losses of a man a few universes over weren't his to pry into. So he nods, and hums, and drinks his tea. "I SUPPOSE THAT'S TRUE. I CAN'T SAY I ACTED ENTIRELY REASONABLY WHEN I FIRST LANDED DOWN HERE AND REALIZED I'D NEVER SEE MY FAMILY AGAIN." Huff. "I DON'T THINK IT'S AN ENTIRELY COMPARABLE LOSS, BUT THEY'RE SIMILAR ENOUGH. SO YOUR SAGE ADVICE IS TO LEAVE HIM ALONE AND LET YOU HANDLE HIM, IS IT?"

Astor

"It's comparable enough! It's enough to understand that he's grieving. Now keep in mind that the only people he could have shared that grief with are the ones he's grieving for, and he's spent the last eighty-odd years pretending his only two emotions are 'bored' and 'entertained,' and it makes sense he'd act a little unreasonable, wouldn't it! Poor man's trying to squeeze everything he feels through the eye of a needle."

Astor shakes his head. "No, don't leave him alone, just the colony—at least until you figure out if that really is where he's going. If you leave *him* alone, I think he'll self-destruct from social deprivation, and the only question is whether he'll implode or explode." But what can Astor offer that Sir Pentious *can* do? "In the meantime... I wish I could offer concrete suggestions, but without knowing more about how he is when he isn't trying to make a good first impression, I'm afraid I have nothing but 'don't push him too fast.' If you have any specific scenarios you want to know how to handle, I can offer my best educated suggestions?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HRM." Yes, very helpful Ruddy. Try that again, with more words this time. "FINE. I WILL DO WHAT I CAN. I DON'T HAVE ANY SPECIFICS YET, BUT IF ANYTHING COMES UP I'M SURE I COULD FIND SOME WAY TO CONTACT YOU."

Astor

"Yelling into the nearest radio always works! You might have to narrow down which Alastor you're asking for, but I've never had trouble with it! Although I *suppose* you could contact me online, too." He says this like the Internet is clearly the inferior of the two options.

Ruddy & Offal

"AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NARROW DOWN WHAT ALASTOR I'M ASKING FOR. WHAT, DO YOU ALL HAVE YOUR OWN.." Ruddy flicks his wrist, vaguely gesturing at the air as he tries to remember a word. "CALL SIGNS? YOU CAN HARDLY EXPECT ME TO REMEMBER TO TUNE IN TO FREQUENCY 666.06, THE SLAUGHTER, AND ASK FOR ALASTOR *"DON'T-ASK-THE-RADIO-DEMON"* LAST NAME, THE RADIO DEMON."

Astor

"I generally broadcast on 670 AM, actually! Call sign KTRD! But don't you worry, you can yell for me on *any* frequency and I'll hear it." The biggest grin. Isn't he just so helpful. "If Alastor Don't-Ask-The-Radio-Demon-Last-Name-The-Radio-Demon is too much of a mouthful for you, you could also try asking for Marquis de Lafayette, I doubt there are any other Radio Demons answering to that. Or President Jefferson, if you *must.*" He has briefly forgotten that he has a nickname.

Ruddy & Offal

There's the classic Pentious Scrunch again, and Ruddy spends longer than remotely necessary giving Astor a *look*. Then he resumes the conversation like it never happened. "RIGHT. WELL THAT WONT BE NECESSARY, I DON'T KEEP ANY FUNCTIONAL RADIOS ON MY AIRSHIPS UNLESS I AM USING THEM AT THAT MOMENT. CONTACTING YOU *ONLINE* WILL WORK JUST FINE. BESIDES, IT SEEMS EXTREMELY ILL ADVISED TO SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT A *RADIO DEMON* OVER THE RADIO IN MY OWN HELL WHERE HE'S QUITE LIKELY TO PICK UP THE TRANSMISSION. UNLESS YOU'RE SAYING YOU'D BLOCK HIS ACCESS SOMEHOW?"

Astor

Astor gives a *look* right back. Why's Ruddy bothered by the fact that he's got a call sign. Of course he's got a call sign.

"I *can* block my alternates, actually; not enough to really keep one out, but enough that most wouldn't notice the signal unless they went looking, and I'd notice them knocking down my wards to listen in. I'd really only expect you to use it to tell me you want to talk, not to have the full conversation. *But*—" he offers a tight smile, "—as I said, online is fine, so all of this is a moot point!" *So whydja bring it up, Ruddy.* "But do keep the radio thing in mind in case of emergency. Not that I expect any, but it's the nature of emergencies to be unexpected, isn't it?"

Ruddy & Offal

"HM.." Now before he gets too interested in the specifics of *how* Alastor does that, he'd better stop letting his curiosity get away from him and actually stick to the point. "I WILL BE SURE TO WRITE YOUR INFORMATION DOWN IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, AS YOU SAID, AND ALLOW OFFAL TO FINALLY PUT SOME OF HIS OWN LITTLE RADIO CAPABLE KNICK KNACKS AROUND THE SHIP JUST TO BE SURE YOU ARE ACCESSIBLE." He didn't even notice the tight little smile, too busy wrapped up in himself. Typical. "NOW, ABOUT YOUR ONLINE ADDRESS. YOU SHARE YOUR BLOG WITH A TRANSCRIPTIONIST... OH, WAIT. GOODNESS, I FORGET. IS YOUR HELL STILL HOSTING A VOX? I'VE ENTIRELY TAKEN FOR GRANTED THE NOTION THAT HE'S DEAD!"

Astor

*Offal*, is that what his alternate has been dubbed? *Awful.* Poor thing. "We have an agreement, one we've shaken on. Among other things, she's not permitted to read my private messages. I trust her to honor it." He sighs heavily, *Vox.* "As for *him*—yes, he's still around, but I can completely keep him out of tracking my online activity. If he tries, all he'll get is static. All the same, I prefer discussing more sensitive matters in person, just in case he proves me wrong someday."

Ruddy & Offal

Ruddy drums his claws on the table, other hand rubbing his chin as he thinks. Does anything else spring to mind, any other immediate concerns...? Didn't seem so. He nods. "VERY WELL. IF I REQUIRE YOUR ADVICE, I WILL CONTACT YOU EITHER ONLINE OR OVER A RADIO DEPENDING ON URGENCY. HOPEFULLY YOU WONT HEAR MY *LOVELY* VOICE RATTLING AROUND YOUR AIRWAVES ANYTIME SOON." A self deprecating joke from good old Sir Pentious, he knows EXACTLY how grating his voice is. "I JEST. BUT TRULY. I AM SORRY THINGS WENT A BIT SIDEWAYS THERE IN THE MIDDLE, BUT YOU HAVE BEEN HELPFUL."

Astor

Maybe the self-deprecating joke would have landed if it was said to somebody who thinks Sir Pentious's voice is grating. However.

Receiving an apology is surprising enough that he starts, even though he doesn't know what it's for. "Which part was the middle?" Speaking of self-deprecation. However, he's afraid Sir Pentious might give him an answer, and then he'll know exactly what he's being judged for; so he hurries onward. "As long as I've done *something* helpful! I suppose I saved you having to explain the basics of v#xblr, didn't I?" He pauses. "Or whatever it was called around here." He's sure he's been told. He's already forgotten.

Ruddy & Offal

Oh, Satan, he forgot Alastors could do *that* with their mouths. He physically jolts, head jerking back before he can catch himself. But he plays it off as best he can, smoothing down his vest and hem hemming loudly. "YES, WELL. YOU HAVE DONE THAT. BEYOND THAT, OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVE ON THE BEFUDDLING FREELOADER IN MY HOME IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED. I AM A BIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SITUATION, AND A BIT TOO LEGLESS, TO TAKE A STEP BACK."

Astor

"Ha!" Snake jokes. Alastor's going to pretend he didn't accidentally startle Sir Pentious by revealing he knows how to pronounce a hashtag and quickly moves on: "Consider yourself welcome to ask me more about the befuddling freeloader at any time. I hope you don't think me too sentimental if I say I'm rather invested in my alternates' well-being; they're the closest things to cousins I've got left."

Ruddy & Offal

Ah, good, neither of them will comment on his Moment Of Surprise. Don't mind him as he adjusts poor Hattie, the poor thing was a little sideways. "NOT AT ALL. I'M INVESTED IN MY OWN ALTERNATES AS WELL, TO VARYING DEGREES." Lets ignore that his relationship with Telly is strained at best. He never said the investment was strictly positive. "NEXT TIME, I'LL EXTEND A PROPER DINNER INVITATION AND PREPARE SOMETHING SUITABLE TO SERVE A GUEST. YOU DESERVE COMPENSATION FOR YOUR TIME." This whole being nice thing does NOT come naturally, but he attempts a smile that's only SOMEWHAT lopsided. Very good effort.

Astor

*To varying degrees.* He can guess what *that* means. "I appreciate the consideration! Not that there was anything wrong with tonight's dinner, mind!" At least he'd know next time he wasn't overstaying his welcome by having dinner.

Ruddy & Offal

He COULD argue that tonight's dinner was incredibly basic fare, or he could just accept the compliment and move on. And who is Sir Pentious to turn his nose up at praise? So he hums, nods, and smooths his lapels. "I'M GLAD TO HEAR IT. UNTIL NEXT TIME THEN, ALASTOR. I'VE KEPT YOU LONG ENOUGH. DO YOU NEED ME TO ESCORT YOU TO THE EXIT, OR CAN YOU FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME?"

Astor

Sure, it was basic, but like, the ingredient quality was top notch and it wasn't quite totally bland. He knows how to manage his own expectations. "I think I can make my own way out, thank you." He tips his head. "Until next time. And convey my regrets to my alternate for not being able to say goodbye to him in person."

Ruddy & Offal

"I'LL LET HIM KNOW YOU SAID GOODBYE, I'M SURE YOU'LL BE HEARING FROM HIM SOON ENOUGH." A polite nod, and Sir Pentious turns to begin his long and dramatic slither out of the room. No time to waste, he must go back to his workshop and continue whatever ridiculous project he's got on the table today.

Astor

One portal to dimensions unknown, and Alastor was gone too, headed back home to think over his alternate and what else he might do for him.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Chapter 17 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

~|Emily Fox|~

Charlie has not left my side since Friday and it is now Thursday. Besides splitting up for school, he’s been stuck to my side like superglue. And even during school, he didn’t leave me alone one second by constantly texting me cute messages or hilarious memes to make me smile because according to him, knowing I’m smiling makes him smile. I don’t know how I deserved to meet a guy like Charlie. “Romeo sending you cute texts again?” Madison’s voice makes me jump. “No, he’s sending me hilarious memes,” I show her my phone screen as she sits down at our lunch table, and she cracks up after a few seconds. “He’s been sending me at least one every hour.” “Aah, love language of the modern day,” she sighs dreamily with an amused smile on her face. She then fishes something out of her backpack and hands it to me. A piece of paper with Emily and The Foxes written at the top in cursive. Live at Open Mic Night, and then the address of the Music Store. “I took the liberty to create a flyer for your gig on Saturday. So many people have reacted to your post on Facebook and Instagram.” Madi is way too excited about this. “How many people?” I cringe, not really wanting to know, but I want to be prepared anyway. “A few five hundred.” I gulp loudly. “That’s a lot of people.” Madison gives me a sympathetic look, knowing that would stress me out. “I don’t know if I can perform in front of that many people.” “Emsie, you have a great band that’ll back you up no matter what. You saw what they did last Friday with your song for your uncle Bobby! They were there for you even though you never rehearsed the song. They got you.” Her words do sound reassuring, but it doesn’t calm my heart down enough. “It still makes me want to puke,” I reply with a giggle, and Madison laughs too, if not out of pity. “I did start writing a new song last night with Charlie.” I grab my songbook, open it to the page and hand it over. Madi looks at it for a second. “It’s for Uncle Mitch,” I inform her, but I think she already knows. “This sounds beautiful, I bet you and Charlie have come up with a great melody for it.” “Not yet! We’re going to work on that tonight. Sometimes he comes up with the melody first, but for this one, we wanted the lyrics right before we added the melody or the beat.” “I don’t understand anything about songwriting. But you’re the expert, so,” Madison raises her hands, making me laugh. After lunch, Madi and I head to our lockers where I find Jake leaning against mine. My heart beats faster, but not in a good way, and my hands become clammy, my body freezing entirely. Madison even bumps into me because I’d stopped so abruptly. “Oof, Emily, warn a girl before—” she stops herself when her eyes land on what I’m looking at. I’d told her about what happened at the party last week. “I swear to God…” she grumbles while rolling up the sleeves of her jumper, ready to charge forward. “What are you going to do, Mads? Punch him? Not a great idea,” I tell her in a hushed voice. “We got to do something for what he did to you, Ems! He harassed you!” I glance around to make sure no one heard her angry whispers. “Charlie already punished him enough by nearly punching him. I think he learned his lesson.” A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of Charlie’s dark, angry eyes. “If he learned his lesson, what’s he doing at your locker?!” I shrug, turning back to Jake. “I don’t know, let’s find out.” Madison wants to start arguing, but I’m already charging forward towards Jake. “Can you move, please?” I raise my voice, hoping it’ll give me some power. “Emily, hi,” Jake breathes out in a blind panic. “What do you need?” I ask as he moves out of the way, so I can get into my locker. “I just wanted to check up on you. I know your uncle’s passing was a year ago.” “It was a year ago last week, dumbass,” Madison chimes in angrily. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know,” he stutters, glancing from Madison to me. “Yes, you did, Jake,” I tell him, “You broke up with me exactly a year ago on this day after a week of me not being able to function because of my uncle’s death. You know all-too well.” “Yeah, dumbass!” Madison hypes me up with her interjections. “So, stop bothering me and get back to your girlfriend.” I grab the book I need from my locker, slam it shut and then walk away from Jake with Madison in tow. “I am shaking,” I whisper to Madison and she wraps an arm around me. “That was so good!” she whispers back, and we both head to our next class together. I can’t believe I just stood up to Jake like that. Something in me definitely wanted to punch him, but I kept my cool. I wish I punched him though.

“I nearly punched Jake in the face today,” I tell Charlie when we’re in my bedroom after school. I don’t have a shift today, so Charlie and I decided to chill in my room instead to work on our music. Mitch did have one rule though; leave the door open. “What?!” he asks in a surprised squeak. “Yeah, he was waiting at my locker after lunch, saying he wanted to check up on me because,” I lower my voice for the next part, imitating Jake, “He wanted to check up on me because he knows my uncle’s passing was a year ago today.” Charlie furrows his eyebrows. “Jake sounds more like,” he squeaks out the next words as if his voice hadn’t dropped yet, “I’m checking up on you, Emily, because I am a jerk,” he goes back to his normal voice, “You know, because his balls haven’t dropped yet.” His comment makes me laugh. “Anyway, Madi was there too and she was like ‘It was a year ago last week, dumbass’ and then he stuttered a stupid apology, being like,” I cough and higher my tone, “I didn’t know.” “That’s better,” Charlie comments, plopping down onto his stomach on the bed, propping his head up with his hand, looking up at me. “Thanks,” I say proudly, “And then I was like ‘You did know, Jake. You broke up with me a year ago’, and Madi was like ‘yeah, dumbass!’ and then I went ‘So, stop bothering me and go back to your girlfriend’ and walked away but I so nearly punched him!” “You should’ve punched him,” Charlie agrees with me, and I halt in the middle of my room, right in front of him. He gives me this amused, smug grin, which just makes me proud of myself. His smile then turns to a scowl. “I wish Jeremy would’ve let me punch him.” “What would that solve, big guy?” I squat down to his height, placing my elbows on the bed. “Nothing, I’d just like to punch him.” I smile and plant a kiss to his nose. When I get up again, he captures me by my wrist, stopping me from walking away. “Are you okay? I can imagine seeing him wasn’t amazing after what he did to you.” “I’m fine, I had a minor panic when I saw him at my locker, but I’m fine.” “Come here, let’s cuddle!” He rolls onto his side and pulls me down. “No, Charlie, we have to finish this song!” I object but let him pull me next to him anyways. “Cuddle first, then we’ll work on the song.” We’re facing each other, our foreheads pressed together. His fingers reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear; a habit of his I’ve come to adore. “You’re beautiful, do you know that?” I roll my eyes at his compliment but can’t help the blush appearing on my cheeks. “You’re pretty too,” I reply instead, which makes him frown. “I am not!” He now just looks like an angry puppy. “Yeah, you are,” I tease. Charlie’s mouth drops open, eyes widening, and before I know it, his fingers attack my stomach with tickles, sending me into a laughing frenzy. “No, stop! Stop!” I wheeze out, trying to tear his hands of me. “Char, stop!” He obeys, and as my laughter dies down, I can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at me. A feeling of love and adoration fleets throughout my body, but my brain doesn’t dare to give my lips permission to say those three words at the tip of my tongue. It does, however, give them permission to take away the space between mine and his. “I’m so happy I met you, Em—” I know he nearly calls me ‘Emmy’, but stopped himself before he could. “Like, so happy,” he adds instead and kisses me again. Now I pull away after a few seconds, like I needed his lips to mull this over. “Charlie…” I whisper, combing away strands of hair from his forehead. “Call me Emmy.” His breath hitches in his throat before his lips curl up into the most beautiful smile I ever did see. “I’m so happy I met you, Emmy,” he repeats and then just kisses me again as I relish in the feeling of being able to hear that nickname again from a person I love.

After a cuddle and make-out session of about an hour, Charlie and I detangle – much to both our dismay – and start working on our song for Saturday. The one for Mitch. We’d come up with pretty much everything, it just misses a bridge. “What if we mix the pre-chorus with that second verse?” Charlie suggests, and starts singing. His voice raspy and low. “The times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed some help Stuck in my head, with nothing left” I join in now, our voices intertwining. “And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home Fight through the dark” He smiles at me, “High note, go for it,” he says quickly, leaving the last line to me. “And find the spark,” I hit the high note effortlessly. “Yes!” Charlie exclaims excitedly, “Yo, I got chills, literal chills.” He shows me his arms, filled with goosebumps. “I can’t get over how talented you are, Ems.” He’s careful with the permission of the new nickname, I see. “Same goes for you, Charlie,” I compliment him and peck his lips as a reward of some kind. “Now with some guidance of the guitar, so we can show it to the boys tomorrow?” Charlie nods and grabs the guitar he brought from home or the garage. I haven’t talked to him about home yet. I’m too scared to. We sing it once with the guitar, and then start thinking about other instruments. “Let’s start with a bit of piano?” Charlie suggests, “And just you singing?” I nod my head in agreement. “Drums, electric guitar and bass join in at the chorus, but we don’t sing yet.” I raise my eyebrows at him, not entirely sure about that idea. “It’s your song for your uncle Mitch, Ems,” he reasons, and I can’t argue with him. Not that I don’t want to, but because he simply continues. “I’ll take the second verse?” “And Jeremy and you duet the pre-chorus, and then second chorus is all of us?” I chime in. “And we’ll alternate on the bridge?” Charlie nods his head. “Jere can guide on piano on the bridge.” “And you can hit them high notes during the last chorus when the boys join in again?” “Uhm, yeah, sure,” I reply, unsure about the high notes. I can hit a few, but I think he might overestimate my abilities a little. “This gig is going to be awesome, Emmy!” he exclaims excitedly and jumps up from the bed. “It’s a nice warm-up for my audition in a week,” I tell him absentmindedly as I write down all our ideas in my notebook. “YOUR AUDITION IS IN A WEEK?!” he yells loudly, making me jump. “Yeah, didn’t I tell you? Not this Saturday because Open Mic Night, you know, but the Saturday after that.” I don’t even look up at him until I feel the bed dip down. My eyes glance up at the boy kneeling on the bed in front of me. “You didn’t tell me that. You want me to be there?” He takes my hand in his and presses kisses to my knuckles. “Of course. I doubt I can do it without you supporting me from the sidelines.” His lips curl up until they very nearly reach his ears. “But first, Open Mic Night.” I turn to my songbook again and feel him kiss the top of my head before he gets off the bed again. His excitement is winding him up again, shooting balls of energy through his body until he becomes one. He even radiates that excitement when we have a band rehearsal on Friday when we show the boys the new song. “That sounds awesome, Emily!” Jeremy compliments giddily when we’re done explaining and showing. “Shall we open with that one?” All three of us agree with that idea. Then Charlie kisses me on the cheek when he walks past to grab his guitar. “Then Perfect Harmony?” he suggests, playing the first chords of the song on his acoustic. “I would end with Now or Never,” I chime in with my idea, which everyone agrees to. “Flying Solo third and Finally free straight after?” Owen goes on while I write them all down. “Are we allowed to play five songs?” Jeremy then asks, “I mean, we only played one the last time.” I feel one corner of my mouth tug upwards into a smirk. “I work here, Jere, of course we can.” A giggle eludes from his mouth. I love the boys’ excitement about everything. They often remind me of a huddle of excited puppies or curious squirrels. “Any other song we want to add?” “Ooh!” Charlie exclaims excitedly, “Do you want to do the song you played to that girl?” “Wake Up?” I ask, and he nods vigorously. “I mean, sure, but it’s been a while since I played that and it’s just piano though?” “It could be the song we play to emphasize the Emily in Emily and The Foxes?” Owen suggests, to which Charlie just nods his head again. “I’m not going to sing a song without you guys,” I tell them and move over to the piano. “Then we’ll add some drums and bass,” Jeremy sums up, and Charlie coughs as to tell his buddy not to forget about him, “And guitar.” “I mean… If you guys really want to do that…” “Yes! Babe, that song is amazing!” I’m a bit taken aback by the pet name Charlie uses. He suddenly goes from excited puppy to solemn, shy Charlie I’d seen appear a couple of times the first few days of meeting him. “That’s the song you played when I first laid eyes on you.” While Owen and Jeremy let out an ‘aw’, mostly to tease Charlie, I think, I smile up at Charlie. “It definitely has potential for a good Emily and The Foxes song, I guess?” I play the first few notes on the piano, being reminded of the song I wrote with Uncle Bobby. “And how about that Sirens song?” Owen asks, which makes me stop playing abruptly. “No, we can play Sirens at rehearsals, but not at gigs. I want to keep that song for us,” I answer determinedly. Owen simply nods, understanding what that song means to me. “So, for Saturday it’s Bright - Perfect Harmony – Flying Solo – Finally Free – Wake Up – Now or Never?” Jeremy asks, just for reassurance. “Yes,” Charlie and I say in unison. I’m still a little nervous about Wake Up, but I’m sure we’ll be fine after a couple of rehearsals. We even nailed Flying Solo after rehearsing for an hour and I know Wake Up by heart. “Are we nervous for our first official gig? Because I am,” Owen laughs nervously, wringing his hands. I pat the spot beside me on the bench in front of the piano, which he then takes, sighing nervously. I play a couple of notes, letting the melody flow out into the room. “I’m nervous too,” I tell him softly, “But I know as long as I have you guys, nothing can go wrong because you guys have my backs. Always,” I look up at him, but don’t stop playing. Owen offers me the sweetest smile ever. “We have each other’s backs, always.” He nods his head agreeingly. His arms snake around my waist as he hugs me sideways, and before I know it, Charlie has his arms around my neck and Jeremy’s hugging Owen. “See, I told you,” I whisper to the boy next to me. “We’ll be fine,” Owen reassures himself more than me, but it does work for me too. No matter what happens. We’ll always have each other. We’ll always be more than a band.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @hannahhistorian92 @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @ashleyleblancx @calamitykaty @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @lolychu @hemmingsness​ Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this story/any of my other works!

[ymiwritesstuff]

Return

Oki once again I suddenly got an idea that I wanted to post asap so apologies if this feels idk rushed? But anyways I hope you enjoy!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ever since Gyro sailed all the way to America in order to take part in the Steel Ball Run race, you had been eagerly waiting for his return.

Notes: Angst, SPOILERS FOR PART 7

Gyro’s emerald green eyes lit up and his lips curl into a wide grin that shows his golden teeth when his gaze falls on the envelope in his hands. With an excited chuckle his drops everything he was just about to do and sits down on his sleeping bag. Johnny glances at his friend a smile of his own apparent on his features as he has a pretty good guess about the contents of that envelope.

“Another one?” The blond asks, laying on his sleeping bag with his head leaning against his hand. The scene before him was nothing new as Gyro had received letters like this one many times in the past and judging by the Italian’s expression, he had been waiting a long time for this one. 

“Yep.” He says as he opens the envelope, carefully enough so he doesn’t tear apart the letter itself, but swiftly so he can begin reading the contents of it. He had been waiting for so long to receive a response to his previous letter and the excitement bubbling inside is so intense it feels like it’s about to burst out. He can’t help it though. This letter had been delivered to him all the way from his home country and once he got the envelope open, Gyro wasted no time in reading it:

Ciao, Handsome!

How’s the race been treating you?

Upon reading the first lines of text Gyro’s smile only grows when he notices the familiar cursive handwriting of his lover he had seen so many times throughout Steel Ball Run. He missed you so much and wished he could see you in person but for now had to rely on this distant form of communication. He didn’t complain, though as frankly any contact with you was enough.

Good, I hope, you know how worried I get. I can’t help it! I love you after all.. When I read your last letter and you wrote about all that crazy shit you’ve been through I.. I couldn’t help but to feel a bit worried. I know what you’re going to say, “I promised to come back after I win this race, cara. And I won’t break that promise”.

He lets out a quiet chuckle upon reading your words. You knew him so well. The letters you sent him made him feel that familiar warmth he felt whenever he had been in your presence before his admittedly painful departure. He remembers you shedding painful tears as you watched his ship slowly move closer to the horizon. As much as he hated seeing you sad, he knew he had to do something in order to save the innocent boy’s life. However he didn’t leave before promising to return home as soon as he grasped victory.

I laughed just now, you know. And it only made me miss your laugh. I miss you so much, Gyro. I think of you every day and I can’t wait for you to come back. Honestly, a part of me wants to hop on a ship and sail to America just so I can see you again. But based on the things you’ve told me.. Perhaps it would be better for me to just stay here and try to wait for you patiently. I just want you to be safe. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.

Gyro frowns his brows as his eyes scan the text before him, his fingers lightly brushing over it. He had told you about the bizarre events he experienced during the race quite openly, but a part of him wonders if it was alright to bring you so much worry with the dangerous tales. On the other hand, he had promised to always be honest with you and thought it best not to sugarcoat any of the events that occurred. Gyro was sure you respected his honesty, but it still, he couldn’t help but to question it.

But I believe in you. I know you will return with the prize money in your hands and the joy of victory by your side. I will cheer you on, even from the other side of the world. You will prevail, I am certain of it. I just can’t allow myself to forget that so easily. I know it’s dangerous and I know anything could happen, but I have faith in you, Gyro. I love you so much and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. Please, take care of yourself and stay safe. I’ll be waiting for you, Gyro.

Love,

(Name).

Gyro smiles to himself, your letter being able to awaken so many emotions inside of him. At this point they didn’t feel like mere letters anymore. Whenever he read them, he could hear your voice and feel your emotions, which was why he had saved every single letter he had received from you. They were like pieces of a puzzle that would combine into something bigger when all of this was over. They were memories that both of you shared and cherished. With each passing day he would think about you. Your stunning smile, your beautiful (E/C) orbs that put the stars to shame and those soft (H/C) locks he had so often ran his fingers through. He missed having you next to him, but knew that this grueling time away from you would all be worth it, because when he finally returned he’d get to pull you into an embrace he had been yearning for so long.

With a sigh, Gyro folds the letter and immediately begins to write a response on a piece of paper. There was always some delay with the delivery due to the great distance between you two so Gyro made sure to always begin writing as soon as possible. Johnny looks at his friend and smiles to himself. Gyro was often stressed and tense due to everything that had been going on, but would show signs of relief and happiness whenever he wrote his letters or read one of yours. It always managed to put a smile on the blond jockey’s face. Gyro was madly in love with you, and that love would carry him through whatever the race dared to throw at him.

~

When your hands touch the fresh paper of the envelope, you immediately sit down and begin to open it. It had been a good month of sending letters back and forth just like usual and Gyro was sure that it would all be over soon. Things had gotten quite a bit hectic and to quote the Italian’s own words; “It’s a shitstorm over here, but we’ll get through it.” Reading his letters in which he told you about all that was going on was like reading a story, a very dangerous, bizarre story. But it helped you to feel connected to him in a way, as if you were there with him, experiencing those events.

Upon opening the envelope and unfolding the letter your brows frown at the unusually short length of the content. It was odd considering just how long his previous letters have been and a deep part of you starts feeling something akin to concern. But that feeling quickly fades away when you start reading:

Ciao, beautiful!

Listen, I’m gonna need to keep this one a bit short simply because it won’t be long before you can actually hear my words instead of having to read them. Yep, you read right, cara. Everything is going to be over soon. The President has gotten a bit out of control with the corpse but me and Johnny are gonna take him down! Soon it will all be over and I can finally come home to you and hold you tight.

You smile at the text, relieved to hear that everything was well. Gyro had mentioned the President’s plans and initially it did hit you with a wave of concern and worry but with his letters came a reassuring wave of relief as according to his words, things had been turning for the better.

I know how much you worry, but I assure you, I will kick Valentine’s ass AND win the race so I can happily return home. Return to you. I miss you so much, you don’t even know, but the fact that this won’t last for long keeps me going. You keep me going, (Name). I can’t wait to hold you, kiss you, hug you.. I can’t wait to see you, cara.

Your reading gets interrupted when a single tear you didn’t even notice drops on the paper. The words stick onto you like glue and caused a storm of strong emotions to erupt within you. Dammit, Gyro! How dare he make you cry?! You giggle to yourself and quickly wipe your tears and continue reading:

And perhaps.. We can discuss the future. Because I want it to be with you, (Name). A future with you sounds like heaven and I really hope you feel the same way. Well, we will have time to discuss this when I return. But, feel free to consider it! If you ask me, a little Zeppeli running around would make me the happiest man in the world! But yeah, we’ll have time for that. Take care, my love and until we see each other again, 

ti amo.

Gyro

The amount of tears rolling down your cheeks only increases after you finish reading his letter. Those tender, loving words he used were so rare, but they managed to cling to you and you wished nothing more than to feel the man himself next to you. The thought of having a family together with Gyro filled you with so much joy and warmth it felt like torture not having him here to make that dream a reality. Not yet, at least.

Soon, your long wait would be rewarded. Because once this would all be over, you could finally live with the man you loved so dearly. His voice, his eyes oh, how you missed them all and you could hardly wait any longer. Patience was key here. He would return, just as he promised and you’d never have to be without him ever again. 

And he did return. But not in the way you were hoping. And when your (E/C) eyes that were filled with joyous tears, meant to express your happiness in finally seeing Gyro after so long land on that wooden box that Johnny was dragging behind him with a dark, sorrow-filled look dulling his blue eyes, those tears froze for a split second, only to be filled with devastation.

He promised. And he didn’t break his promise. But he broke you. Because upon his return, he didn’t hold you, kiss you, hug you, instead, you were met with a lifeless corpse that once belonged to the man you loved. Your entire world crumbled, it felt as if your soul had been dragged out of your body with him. This couldn’t be happening. But the sight before you didn’t lie. And no matter how much you cried, wailed, sobbed or screamed, deep down you knew, Gyro never returned. 

And the last memory you had of him, was a letter that painfully reminded you of a dream that never became a reality.

[spn-safeandsound]

12. Long Distance

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x17; Hell House

Word Count: 7,182

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, sisterly antics

Author’s Note: Enjoy! Let me know what you think! Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Julia anxiously watched the printer in Beth and Taylor's study, her lips quirking into a smile as the professional cursive was inked onto the expensive paper that Beth insist she get for her diploma. She had finally graduated from Stanford and, although she didn't get to attend graduation, she was very proud of herself. Her double major in Religion and Linguistics had been received simply because she was too meticulous and stubborn to let her education go waste.

But now that education was over and she couldn't lie and say she wasn't happy about it.  Sixteen years in school was a long time—even though she went two years less than other people she graduated with—and she was glad that part of her life was over. She just wished that her mom and Levi were still here to witness this. Still, she knew they were watching up in Heaven and that was the best she was going to get.

Once the printer spit out her diploma, she carefully set it on Beth's desk so the ink could dry without any smudges. She was just taking a seat in the desk chair where her open laptop was sitting so she could continue working on the case she found for Sam and Dean down in Texas when her cellphone rang.

She wasn't surprised that it was Dean; he had been calling her every couple of hours to check up on her. He wasn't happy that she didn't want to hit the road just yet after Levi's death but he understood and was supportive anyway. He just made sure she knew that he and Sam would check up on her and the rest of the Petersen family. That was sweet and everything and Julia appreciated how supportive the Winchester brothers were being but sometimes there was such a thing as too many calls. She couldn't believe that Dean accused her of talking too much.

Beth and Abby thought it was the cutest thing ever when she'd have to leave the room to talk to Sam and Dean—though it was mostly Dean as she and Sam communicated through a text thread—and not return for a half-hour. Beth and Abby weren't the ones who had to assure a very worried Dean every couple of minutes that they were safe and feeling a little bit better. Usually Julia was the mother-hen but, apparently, in her absence, Dean took up the title.

Julia sighed and flipped her phone open. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Dean."

"Yeah, I know," Julia rolled her eyes, glad that he couldn't see the obvious look on her face. "What's up?"

"Well, Sam just woke up with a spoon in his mouth," Dean chuckled, sounding satisfied with himself. "and I took a picture to send to you."

"Yeah, it's real funny, Dean," Sam grumbled.

Julia shook her head in amusement; Sam and Dean's prank wars were always a hit with Dean, even if Sam didn't enjoy them as much as his older brother.

"Where are you guys?"

"A few hours outside of Richardson," Dean answered her. "Give me the low down on this case you found."

"Okay," Julia pressed the space button on her laptop, waking it up, and clicked on the folder of information she collected. "About two months ago, a group of kids went poking around a local haunted house."

"Haunted by what?" Sam wondered.

"A misogynistic spirit, I guess. Like we need any more of those in the world," she hummed in disapproval; Sam chuckled in agreement. "Anyway, the legend goes that it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters."

"Okay, so what happened with this group of kids?" Dean said, getting her back on track.

"They saw a dead girl hanging in the cellar."

"Anybody ID the corpse?"

"The body was gone by the time the cops got there," Julia clicked on the police report in the file. "The police think that the kids were playing a joke on them."

"Maybe the cops were right," Sam suggested.

"They could be but I've read some of the first-hand accounts from the kids involved," Julia sighed. "They seemed pretty sincere about the whole thing."

Dean sounded skeptical when he spoke next. "And where did you read these accounts, Junior?"

Julia took a beat, glad that he couldn't see the flush rising in her face. "I might have surfed through some local paranormal websites."

"Mmhm," she could hear Dean's disapproval even though he hummed. "and what's it called?"

Julia sighed as she read the website from the file, "Hell hounds lair dot-com," she heard Sam laugh. "Hey, it could be legit!"

"Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit them in the ass, Julia," Dean sighed.

"Hey, you wanted a case, I delivered," Julia defended herself. "If it's nothing, that's fine, but it doesn't hurt to check it out."

"Especially since we let Dad and Luke take off," Sam backed up Julia.

Julia frowned, still bitter about that. She wasn't mad at Dean and Sam by any means. No, she was angry with her dad. He didn't come when Julia was dying or when Levi actually died but he was fine following John Winchester to Chicago just to see the failed trap the girl who killed Levi set up for them.

It wasn't like his daughters were only a half-hour away, mourning the loss of their older brother or anything. It wasn't like his only son was killed.

"Fine," Dean gave in when he heard Julia's silence. He had been the one to tell her that they saw Luke with their dad and it was heartbreaking to see the expression on her face. He hoped he'd never let her down like Luke did. "We'll check it out. How have you been doing, shortcake?"

"I'm fine," Julia twisted her lips. "I got my diploma today."

"Wait, are you serious?" Sam exclaimed. "That's great, J! Congratulations!"

"I'm proud of you, Julia," Dean added sincerely.

"Thanks, guys," Julia's chest swelled with love. She was so glad that Sam and Dean Winchester were in her life.

"Send me a picture."

"I will," she agreed to Sam's request. "Well, I'll let you go—"

"Wait, wait," Dean stopped her from hanging up. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Dean..."

"I mean, you can talk to us."

Julia quirked an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't do chick-flick moments?"

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, well..." he changed the subject. "How many times have you watched Dirty Dancing since we left?"

Julia hesitated; Dirty Dancing was her go-to movie to watch whenever she was sad. It was her mother's favorite movie and Julia grew up watching it a lot. She absolutely adored Patrick Swayze, the dancing, the music, and the love story that made up the film. It made her happier.

"Jules?"

"I've watched it every night, okay?" she confessed. "Leave me alone, I'm delicate."

"All right, all right," Dean gave in; Julia could tell that he was worried about her and that was sweet but watching that movie was her coping mechanism and it hadn't let her down so far. "We'll talk later, shortcake. Stay safe."

"I will," she promised. "You guys be safe, too. Love you."

"Love ya, too, J," Sam called. "Bye."

"Bye."

Julia closed her phone and set it down on the desk beside her laptop. She pulled up her internet browser and started doing more research for the case, hoping that any information she pulled would help the brothers out.

-

Dean and Sam walked into the record shop, looking around for the guy that the witnesses said sent them to the house where they saw the dead girl. As they passed by the first table full of records, a worker came out from the back with his hands full of more merchandise to put away.

"Gentlemen, can I help you with anything?" he asked them.

"Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?" Sam asked him politely.

"I am," the worker confirmed as he put a record in place.

"Well, we're reporters with the Dallas Morning News," Dean told him. "I'm Dean and this is Sam."

"No way," Craig's face lit up. "I'm a writer, too. I write for my school's lit magazine."

"Ah, good for you, Morrison," Dean chuckled as he began to look through the crate of records in front of him. He completely missed the confused look that Craig gave him but Sam noticed and cleared his throat.

"Um, we're doing an article on local hauntings and rumor has it you might know of one," Sam smiled at Craig, wishing that Julia was here to get the information out of him—she was much better with the guys than he was.

"You mean the Hell House?" Craig asked.

Dean nodded, looking up from the records. "That's the one."

"I didn't think there was anything to the story," Craig said avoidantly.

"Why don't you tell us the story."

"Well, supposedly, back in the thirties, this farmer named Mordechai Murdoch used to live in this house with his six daughters," Craig told them after a moment of hesitation. "It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, and he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. So, I guess that's when he went off the deep end."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "How?"

"Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick rather than starve to death, so he attacked them," Craig stated. "They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung them up, one after the other. And, when he was all finished, he just turned around and hung himself. Now, they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside."

Dean pressed his lips together; the story Craig was telling sounded just like that. A story. His words were something out of a dramatic novel, not a true story. And what parent would just kill their kids instead of trying to do whatever it took to make sure they lived?

"Where'd you hear all of this?" he asked Craig.

"My cousin, Dana, told me. I don't know where she heard it from. You gotta realize, I didn't believe this for a second."

"But now you do," Sam assumed.

"I don't know what the hell to think, man," Craig shrugged. "You guys, I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don't wanna go anywhere near that house ever again."

Dean shared a look with Sam and then nodded at Craig. "Thanks."

A half-hour later, Sam and Dean were walking through mud to get to the so-called Hell House. It was creepy looking, they had to admit, but not anything less creepy than the things they saw everyday during their job. It was just a little run-down house, not much else.

"I can't say I blame the kid," Sam sighed, his eyes searching the grounds around the house.

"Yeah," Dean agreed as they got closer to the house. "so much for curb appeal."

Sam took a look around the perimeter of the house while Dean pulled out the EMF meter. It whirled like it usually did when there was anything unusual around but the way it started up as soon as he pressed it on, made him think that something was off.

He tapped the device, frustrated, as Sam came back over to him.

"You got something?"

"Yeah, the EMF's no good," Dean looked around, the powerlines above the house catching his eye.

"Why?"

Dean nodded at the power lines. "I think that thing's still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings."

Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah, that'd do it."

"Come on, let's go."

They entered the house, finding that it was unlocked in its abandoned state. They started in the front room and then moved onto the living room where a fireplace lined with various candles was. The walls were covered in spray paint, a bunch of different symbols that didn't really even go together scattered randomly around the room.

Dean whistled sarcastically. "Looks like old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger in his time."

"And after his time, too," Sam muttered, eyeing a symbol of an encircled cross. "That reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of Sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the sixties."

Dean gave Sam a long took, wrinkling his nose. "How do you know that?"

"I listen to Julia when she talks about this kind of stuff," Sam said pointedly, knowing that Dean checked out whenever something that required a little brain power was brought up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shuddup," he walked across the room, looking at more of the symbols on the walls. He stopped in front of one that looked like an upside-down question mark with two little lines on either side. It looked kind of familiar. "Hey, what about this one? Have you seen this one before?"

Sam studied the symbol and took a picture of it with his phone. "No."

"I have...Somewhere," he couldn't place it, though.

Sam cautiously reached toward the symbol, rubbing it with his fingertips. "It's paint," he studied the slight stain that it left. "Seems pretty fresh, too."

Dean sighed and turned away from the symbol. "I don't know, Sam. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind but the cops may be right about this one."

"Yeah, maybe—"

A loud noise cut off Sam's agreement. The brothers instantly went on alert and followed the noise to a door that led to another room. They stood on either side of it; when Sam nodded, Dean whipped open the door and stepped into the room.

He was immediately attacked by bright beams of lights right in his eyes and two groans of horror. When the flashlights flitted away, he could see that there were two guys in front of them, around his age with camera gear.

The brunette groaned. "Oh, cut. It's just a couple of humans," he told his companion, who shut the camera off. "What are you guys doing here?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Dean countered.

"Uh, we belong here," the ginger guy with the camera drawled. "We're professionals."

"Professional what?"

"Paranormal investigators," the ginger reached into his pocket and pulled out a card to give to them. "Here you go, take a look at that, boys."

Dean took the card and read it. He groaned in realization, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

"Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler? Hellhoundslair.com," Sam read over his shoulder. "You guys run that website?"

Ed, who was the ginger with the camera, nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, we're huge fans," Dean said sarcastically as he passed Ed and Harry to check out more of the kitchen.

"And we know who you guys are, too," Ed said.

Dean and Sam turned to face him sharply. "Oh, yeah?"

"Amateurs," as soon as the words were out of Ed's mouth, Dean pursed his lips and turned away once again. "looking for ghosts and cheap thrills."

"Yep," the other guy, Harry, agreed. "So, if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here."

"Yeah?" Dean noticed a gadget that they must have brought with them on the counter; he picked it up to inspect it. "What do you have so far?"

"Harry, why don't you tell them about EMF?" Ed prompted his friend.

Harry hesitated. "Well..."

"EMF?" Sam played dumb and Dean saw that he was trying not to smile.

"Electromagnetic field," Harry told him as though he was an expert. "Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector," he pulled a EMF reader out of his canvas vest. "Like this bad boy right here."

He turned on the EMF, causing it to whirl angrily. "Woah, woah," he exchanged an excited look with Ed while Dean smirked at Sam. "It's two-point-eight MG."

"Two-point-eight," Ed repeated excitedly. "It's hot in here."

Dean whistled mockingly while Sam tried not to laugh. "Wow."

"Huh," Dean clicked his tongue. "So, have you guys ever really seen a ghost before?"

"Once," Ed looked back to where Dean was standing by the counters. "We were, uh, we were investigation this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table."

"By itself," Harry added needlessly.

"Well, we didn't actually see it, we heard it," Ed corrected himself but grew serious again. "And something like that...it, uh, it changes you."

"Yeah, I think I get the picture," Dean crossed his arms over his chest and walked over to Sam. "We should go, let them get back to work."

"Yeah, you should."

Dean nodded at his brother and then the door. "Sam."

Sam followed him out of the kitchen and they left the house, not wanting to deal with the kids who wanted to enter the big leagues.

-

Julia kneaded the sugar cookie dough on the counter in front of her, humming along to whatever Disney song that the radio that was playing throughout the kitchen. Lizzie was on her side of the island, cutting out cookies with a heart-shaped cookie cutter while Beth and Abby were on the other side, decorating some of the finished cookies with colorful icing.

Once that song was finished, a familiar one started, making her smile.

"Oh, I love this song!" Abby exclaimed while concentrating on the flower cookie she was creating. "Let's get down to business to defeat the Huns!"

"Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?" Beth joined in.

Julia sang next. "You're the saddest bunch I ever met but you can bet before we're through..."

"Mister, I'll make a man out of you!" Lizzie finished loudly, making Julia, Beth, and Abby laugh.

They continued singing along to the best song that Mulan produced while making cookies. When Lizzie was finished with the rest of the heart batch, Julia slid the tray into the oven. Once she set the timer, she gave Lizzie the last batch of dough, allowing her to cut out some dinosaurs.

"I'm done with the dinosaurs, Momma!" Lizzie announced once the dough was gone.

"Good job, cutie," Beth smiled. "Why don't you go wash your hands?"

"Okay!" Lizzie climbed off the stool she was standing on and ran out of the kitchen to the nearest bathroom.

"Use soap!" Beth called after her; once she was sure her daughter couldn't overhear her, she turned to Julia. "So..."

Julia pursed her lips, knowing what was coming. Since Dean and Sam left four days before, Beth had been waiting to talk to her about something. She had that look in her eyes where she wanted girl talk and it also occurred every time Dean called her. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Julia sighed and started wiping the excess flour from the counter. "So what?"

Beth smiled coyly and Abby shook her head impatiently. "She wants to know about you and Dean."

"What about me and Dean?"

There was no her and Dean, no matter how much Julia wanted that. She had moments recently when she and Dean spoke—especially when Sam wasn't joining the conversations—where she thought Dean might have the same romantic feelings that she had but she wasn't sure. Dean cared about his family and he considered her and the rest of the Petersen family his family. It wasn't like he was pining after her the same way she was pining after him.

"Oh, stop deflecting, Julia Ruth," Beth scolded her. "There's something going on with you and Dean and I—" Abby cleared her throat and Beth corrected herself, "—we want to know."

Julia scoffed and threw her washcloth into the sink. "There is nothing going on. Trust me."

Beth and Abby exchanged skeptical looks. "But you want there to be, don't you?" Beth guessed; she gasped loudly when she saw Julia scratch her cheek. "Oh, my God, you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"You scratched your cheek, you liar," Abby pointed out with a laugh. Julia scowled at her. "We're sisters, Jules. Sisters talk about this stuff."

"I've never talked to you about my boyfriends before," Julia protested.

"That's because by the time you had an actual boyfriend you were at Stanford," Beth reminded her. "and you did use to talk to me about boys. Remember that guy you liked when you were in high school?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Julia groaned; Abby and Beth gave her expectant looks. "Fine, I like Dean. Happy?"

"Extremely," Abby smirked. "He sucked you back in, huh? How old were you when your crush on him finally went away?"

Julia blushed. "Fourteen."

Abby snorted in amusement. "Yeah, now I remember."

Julia sent her a glare while Beth slapped her arm. "Abby, stop," she scolded her before turning back to Julia. "Ignore her, Jules. It were cute."

"A fourteen-year-old crushing on a guy who was twenty? Yeah right," Julia scoffed. "And that's the problem, isn't it? He's almost seven years older than me. He doesn't see me as anything but a little sister."

Abby calmed her laughter. "Jules, Dean doesn't look at you like a sister," she told her baby sister. "He looks at me and Beth as sisters. He looks at you like you're sex on legs."

It was Beth's turn to giggle as Julia's cheeks darkened further and she ducked her head.

"And Sam says that he always checks you out," Abby added.

Julia looked up sharply. "He did?" Abby nodded. "Since when do you talk to Sam?"

"Since he grew up to be a hottie with a body."

Julia rolled her eyes so heavily that it hurt. "No one actually says that, Ab."

"Since when were we talking about me?" Abby protested as Beth laughed again. "my point it that Dean wants to fuck you."

"Okay, the five-year-old is going to be back any second so let's not use that language," Beth smothered her laughter as they heard the faucet cut off in the bathroom. "But, seriously, Julia, he likes you."

"What we're going from sex to feelings now?" Julia asked incredulously. "Sex, I get. I'm hot and Dean loves sex but feelings? Are we talking about the same Dean Winchesters, here?"

"I wanna talk about Uncle Dean!" Lizzie chirped as she ran back into the kitchen. She climbed back onto her stool and looked eagerly at her mom and aunts. "Are you talking about the crush he has on Auntie Jules?"

Julia gaped at her while Abby pointed enthusiastically. "See? Lizzie sees it too."

"That's because Beth's poisoning her mind."

"No," Lizzie protested innocently. "I heard Uncle Sammy and Auntie Abby talking about it."

"Well, I'm so glad that my love life is so interesting to you guys," Julia huffed with warm cheeks. She glanced at the oven, wishing the timer for the cookies would go off so they could change the subject.

"Look," Beth sighed. "Dean calls you multiple times a day, every day just to see how you're doing. Do you think he does that to anyone else who isn't Sam?"

"He's checking up on me."

"Don't give us that sh—crap," Abby shook her head, correcting herself before she could cuss in front of Lizzie. "You're scared that you'll put yourself out there and get rejected."

"Because it's Dean!" Julia exclaimed, frustrated. "Dean, who doesn't do relationships. So what if I want to protect myself? That's good."

"It's good to protect yourself," Beth agreed and grabbed Julia's clenched fists. "but you and Dean...you should see each other. You look at him when he's not looking, he looks at you when you're not looking. You move even an inch and he's shifting toward you. The way I see it, is this isn't a passing fancy."

"You're together every day, you fight along side each other, you protect one another," Abby continued. "You trust each other and that's rare in our profession, Jules. Even I can see that you guys have something special."

Julia wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. It was nice hearing her sisters say these things but she couldn't tell Dean about her less than platonic feelings for him. He was too important to her and she didn't want to lose him, even if it meant she had to get over her feelings. Dean didn't do relationships and she had tried the one-night stand thing and it didn't go well for her. Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

As if the universe was disagreeing with her, her phone rang from the counter by the fridge. Lizzie eagerly climbed off her stool again and raced toward the phone, flipping it open.

"Hi, this is Lizzie!" she chirped before gasping excitedly. "Uncle Dean, we were just talking about you!"

"Lizzie!" Julia lunged toward her niece, ignoring her flour-covered hands to grab the phone from her. She pressed it against her ear. "Uh, hey, Dean."

"Hi there, shortcake," Dean's voice was coy. "Heard that you girls were talking about me. Are there gonna be pillow fights next because, if you want, you could—"

"Okay," Julia hurried interrupted him, waving frantically at her sisters as they laughed at the mortified expression on her face. "We were, um, we're making cookies actually, so...yeah."

"And I just so happen to come up in the conversation?" she could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

"Uh, yeah, because," she walked out of the kitchen and into the bathroom next door, shutting the door firmly behind her. "I was telling Lizzie that you liked pie instead of cookies."

Dean perked up. "You guys are making pie?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Julia agreed even though they hadn't really planned on it. "So, what's going on down there?"

"Eh, we got some more information," Dean sighed, becoming serious again. "Some kid told us that a guy named Mordechai Murdoch killed his six daughters during the Depression but what Sam found didn't quite match up."

Julia frowned. "Well, what did he find?"

"That the guy's name was actually Martin and he had two sons instead of six daughters," Dean informed her. "There's nothing to say he ever killed anyone."

"Huh," Julia wrinkled her nose. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I talked to the police and there's no missing persons, either," Dean paused for a second. "Jules, we dug like you wanted but we don't think there's anything here."

"Well, that's good, then," Julia said. "No spirit, no dead people, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, on your way back, you can stop in Houston," she suggested. "I, um, I got that NASA tour for Levi, remember?"

"Jules, we can't—"

"Yeah, you can," Julia insisted. "I don't want it to go to waste and you love that kind of stuff, Dean. You and Sam deserve some fun once in a while, you know?"

Dean was quiet for a few seconds. "All right. We'll check it out."

"Good," she smiled. "I'll email Sam the information about the tour and hotel."

"Thanks, shortcake," Dean's voice cheered up a little. "I'll call you later when we head out, okay?"

"Okay, talk later. Bye, Dean."

"Bye."

Julia snapped the phone shut and sighed, pressing it to her chest. She was glad that she got to the phone before Lizzie could spill on what they were really talking about. Dean was already insufferable when he knew they were talking about him but if he knew that they were talking about feelings and sex and all that, his ego wouldn't be able to fit in the Hancock building.

She slipped her flour-covered phone into her apron pocket and quickly washed her hands before heading back to the kitchen.

-

Before Sam and Dean could even leave town, they got a call from the detective Dean spoke with the day before. The sun was still setting when he called, telling them to get to the Hell House as soon as possible. When they arrived on scene, a body bag was being carted to the coroner's van. The detective informed them that a girl had hung herself in the house, which sounded just like the Mordechai story went.

They went back to the Hell House around midnight and dodged the cops when those nerds, Ed and Harry showed up. Mordechai ended up attacking with an ax and was immune to rock salt, which led them to more research.

Dean sat on his bed, drawing that familiar symbol on the notepad that the motel provided. "What the hell is this symbol? It's bugging the hell out of me," he looked up at Sam, who was researching at the table. "This whole fucking job is bugging me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks."

"It does," Sam said distractedly, focusing on his laptop.

"All right, well, that explains why he went after you but why me?"

"Hilarious," Sam looked away from the screen to scowl at him. "The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?"

"Yeah."

"What's up with that?" Sam shook his head. "And the ax, too. I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over again?"

Dean nodded. "This dick keeps changing."

"Exactly. I'm telling you, the way the story goes..." Sam typed in Ed and Harry's website and pressed enter, waiting as it loaded. His eyes widened when he saw a new article about the Hell House. "Wait a minute."

Dean looked up from his notepad. "What?"

"Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site," Sam informed him. "Listen to this: They say Mordechai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an ax before slitting his own wrists. Now, he's imprisoned in the house for eternity."

Dean sat up as he stared at the symbol he had drawn, finally recognizing it.

"Where the hell is this going?"

"I don't know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started," Dean rolled off his bed. "Come on, we gotta go to the record store."

They entered the record store not long after, spotting Craig at the cash register.

"Hey, Craig," Dean called to him over the loud rock music playing through the store. "Remember us?"

Craig sighed. "Guys, look, I'm really not in the mood to answer any of your questions, okay?"

"Oh, don't worry," Dean waved him off as he stopped in front of the record crate marked with the second letter of the alphabet. "We're just here to buy an album, that's all."

He quickly flicked through the records in the crate and pressed his lips together when he found the one he was looking for. On the back of a Blue Oyster Cult record, he saw the symbol he had recognized at the Hell House.

He grabbed it and slowly walked over to Craig with Sam on his heels.

"You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn't mean anything," Dean told Sam conversationally, his voice hardening toward the end. "It's the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult. Tell me, Craig, you into BOC or just scaring the hell out of people?"

When Craig turned around to face him and Sam, he handed the Blue Oyster Cult album to him. He took it and flipped it over, eyes flitting over the cover art, which included the symbol that was spray painted at the Hell House.

"Why don't you tell us about that house," Dean suggested. "Without lying through your ass this time."

Craig looked up at Dean for a moment. "All right," he sighed heavily. "My cousin Dana was on a break from TCU. I guess we were just bored and looking for something to do. So, I showered her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted so we painted symbols on the walls, some from albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks."

"Then, we found out this guy, Murdoch, used to live there so we made up some story to go along with that," he continued. "They told people, who told other people, and then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took a life of its own."

Dean blinked at him; something about what he said was familiar.

"I mean, I thought it was funny at first, but..." Craig shook his head sadly. "That girl's dead. It was just a joke, you know? I mean, none of it was real. We just made the whole thing up, I swear!"

Sam nodded. "All right."

As they turned away from Craig to leave the record store, Dean muttered to Sam, "If none of it was real, how the fuck do you explain Mordechai?"

-

Dean was trying so hard not to smirk as he watched Sam wiggle around in his seat, trying not to scratch at his crotch. While his brother was in the shower, he had sprinkled itching powder into Sam's underwear and now he was able to watch the whole thing unfold right in front of him.

If only shortcake was here, too, he sighed mentally.

Sam was in the middle of talking to Julia on the phone, telling her his thoughts about Mordechai being a tulpa when Dean interrupted him, "Dude, what's your problem?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Sam said avoidantly.

"What's going on?" Julia's voice came from the speaker.

"Nothing," Sam assured her. "So, these tulpas...There was this incident in Tibet in 1915. A group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard that they brought the thing to life out of thin air."

"Okay, well, there are thousands of people on the internet," Julia said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Sam nodded, wincing as he picked at his itchy jeans. "I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai and then it spreads and goes online where countless people believe in the bastard."

"Wait a second," Dean spoke up. "People believe in Santa Claus so how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?"

"Cause you're a bad person," Sam opened his laptop, still squirming, and pulled up a photo of the sigil that brought tulpas to life. He showed it to Dean. "And because of this. That's a Tibetan spirit sigil on the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was."

On the phone, they could hear a thump of a book and then pages being flipped. "Okay, this book says that the sigil has been used to centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass. So, people who are on the Hell Hounds website, staring at the symbol and thinking about Mordechai...would that be enough to bring a tulpa to life?"

"It would explain why he keeps changing," Dean answered her.

"Right," Sam adjusted his jeans and added, "as the legend changes, people think different things so the legend itself changes. Like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work."

"Yeah, because he's not a traditional spirit," Dean stated, choking back his laughter as Sam started wiggling more than he had. "So, why don't we get this spirit sigil thing-y off the wall and off the website?"

"I don't think it's that simple," Julia sighed as they heard more pages being turned. "Once a tulpa is created, they take on a life of their own."

"Great," Dean grumped. "So, if he really is a thought form how the fuck are we supposed to kill an idea?"

"Well, that's not gonna be easy with these guys helping us," Sam showed him the video Ed and Harry put up on their website. "Since they posted the footage, their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone."

"Huh," Dean clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "I've got an idea but we have to find a copy store."

"What are you thinking?" Julia wondered.

"We're gonna give these boys a story and change the legend," Dean told her as Sam forcefully stood up and did a weird walk to relieve himself. "Dude, what the hell?"

"I think I'm allergic to our soap or something."

Dean snickered as Julia spoke up, "What? We use hypoallergenic soap, Sam."

Dean's laughter increased as Sam did a weird lunge in the middle of the motel room. Sam immediately stood up to his full height and glowered at his older brother.

"You did this?!"

Dean couldn't talk, he was laughing so hard.

"You're a fucking jackass!"

Dean continued to laugh, standing up from his chair to dodge the attack coming his way.

As Sam chased Dean around the room, they didn't notice as Julia sighed, "All right, I'm gonna hang up now."

-

After Dean and Sam told Ed and Harry about this new legend that they found—in which Mordechai would be killed with a pistol and wrought-iron bullets—and a little prank Sam pulled on Dean—where he superglued his beer bottle to the palm of his hand—they headed back to the Hell House to kill the tulpa once and for wall.

They entered the house with their firearms drawn and slowly walked their way around, looking for any sign of Mordechai.

Dean winced as he tightened his hand around his gun. "I barely have any skin left on my palm."

Sam snickered. "I'm not touching that line with a ten-foot pole."

Dean pressed his lips together, irritated, and flashed his light straight into Sam's eyes until he flinched. Once he was satisfied that he got some sort of revenge on his little brother, he continued on through the living room and into the kitchen. "So, do you think old Mordechai's home?"

"I don't know," Sam pointed his gun at the door that led to the basement.

"Me either."

Sam and Dean whipped around at the new voice, pointing their pistols in Ed and Harry's faces.

"Woah, woah!" Ed shouted while Harry lifted his hands in the air to show he meant no harm.

Sam raised his gun away from them. "What are you trying to do, get yourselves killed?"

"We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?"

Before either of the irritated brothers could say another word, a crash came from the basement door. They instantly went back on alert, aiming their guns back at the door.

"Oh, shit," Ed muttered from behind them, focusing his camera on the action. "Hey, guys, do you wanna—you wanna open that door for us?"

"Why don't you?" Dean dared him.

None of them even stepped closer to the basement door as Mordechai burst through, growling at them while waving his ax in the air. Dean and Sam immediately took their shots but Mordechai didn't falter. It was only after full rounds that he disappeared but not in the way they wanted him too.

Sam and Dean immediately left the kitchen to check the other rooms on the first floor.

"Wait a minute?" Ed said breathlessly. "He's gone? He's gone."

"Did you get him?" Harry asked him urgently.

"Yeah, they got him."

"No," Harry shook his head. "On camera. Did you get him on camera?"

Ed faltered. "Well, I..."

Harry grabbed the camera from him. "Let me see it, let me see it."

He flipped open the little screen but was pushed to the floor as Mordechai appeared, smashing the camera with his ax. Dean ran back into the room after hearing some loud noises and glared at them.

"Hey, didn't you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?" he barked at them.

"Of course we did," Harry answered, getting to his feet as Sam came back into the room. "But then our server crashed."

Ed nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

"So, it didn't take?" Ed and Harry shook their heads at Dean's question. "These guns don't work?"

"No."

"No."

"Great," Dean sighed and turned to his brother. "Sam, any ideas?"

Sam shrugged; no ideas. None whatsoever.

"We're getting out of here," Harry spoke up.

"Yeah," Ed agreed quickly. "Great idea."

They left the kitchen, only to run into Mordechai again. They screamed and ran for the front door but it was locked and they were unable to get out. They turned to see Mordechai and followed them to the front door and was slowly advancing toward them, raising his ax.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"The power of Christ compels you!" Ed shouted at the tulpa. "The power of Christ compels. THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU."

Any other time, what Ed was saying would make Dean laugh so hard. But, alas, now was not the time for amusement. Sam ran up to the front door and shouted at Mordechai, getting his attention.

"Hey! Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch!"

While Sam and Mordechai fought and Ed and Harry ran out of harm's way, Dean found some lighter fluid in the kitchen. He quickly sprayed it all over the floor and onto the cupboards before heading into the living room to spray it there, too.

"DEAN!"

Hearing Sam's shout of help, Dean quickly grabbed a bottle of spray paint and pulled his lighter out of his pocket before running toward his brother and Mordechai.

"Hey!" he shouted at the tulpa before lighting his lighter and spraying the paint at the same time, creating a homemade blow torch.

Mordechai let Sam go and disappeared; Dean grabbed Sam and helped him run back into the living room.

"Mordechai can't leave the house and we can't kill him? We improvise."

He showed Sam his lighter and clicked it out before throwing it onto the floor. The old wooden beams lit up immediately and Sam and Dean took off, knocking down the front door and jumping off the porch.

As they ran into the trees, Sam turned to Dean incredulously. "That's your solution?" he pointed at the flaming house. "Burn the whole damn place to the ground?"

"Well, nobody will go in anymore," Dean shrugged. "I mean, look, Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works."

"Well, what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?"

"Well, then, we'll just have to come back."

Sam sighed at Dean's nonchalant answer and turned back to the house. "Kind of makes you wonder," he said. "Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just because people believed in them."

Dean didn't answer but he thought about what Sam said as he continued to watch the house burn. It did kind of make him wonder but he couldn't really consider that. No matter if a supernatural was real just because someone believed in them, they were still killing them and saving people.

It was the family business, after all.

(Gif is not mine)

[itsclownhours]

merlin as tumblr posts again because when i edited a typo in the original it fucked up the formatting

everyone: you have to make time for yourself

morgana: *stays up until 1 am every night crying* me time

.

morgana: ohhhh so the pain is forever and endless i get it now

.

young!mordred: once i learn how to read and write it’s over for you hoes

.

lancelot, in cursive: i can’t read cursive handwriting

gwaine: what does this say

elyan: i can’t read cursive handwriting

gwaine: bitch me neither that’s why i asked

.

arthur, to merlin, about lancelot: is he...y’know…*gestures downard to super hell*

.

uther, straight: hey what’s up guys do you want to go get some food

arthur and morgana, gay: ??????

uther: oh sorry i mean asgdhjdhs guys do you??? want some food??? lmao ashdjdjhs

arthur and morgana: oh! agshdjjshsj yeah lmao agshdj

.

morgana: do you ever associate the word “girlfriend” with wlw so much that you forget straight boys have girlfriends

.

gwen: am taking care of a tiny kitten. have given it an excellent name. dad thinks i’m calling her “minty” but this is actually short for The Government

gwen: The Government bit my finger and pooped on the floor

.

gwaine: peak art is when you were like six and you scribbled all over ms paint and then carefully paintbucketed in all the different shapes in the scribbles to make “stained glass”

.

morgause: forcing my car to commit sins so it goes to hell with me when i die

.

leon, after arthur gives the knights a pep talk: so motivational...time to drill a hole in my skull

.

morgana: i want to be a she really did that!! kind of girl but i don’t do anything

.

arthur: pros and cons of being my friend:

arthur: pro: you have a friend

arthur: con: it’s me

.

gwaine, to lancelot: bro let’s watch a horror movie together...bro you look scared do you wanna share a blanket dude? if you wanna hold hands it’s ok. if you wanna rest your head on my shoulder it’s alright bro...bro if you wanna kiss that’s understandable that was a scary movie...we can keep cuddling after the movie is over it’s alright dude…

.

lancelot: old town road but he just keeps listing all the places he has horses

gwaine: i got the horses in the back

gwaine: horses on the track

gwaine: horses in the shack and i got horses fetching snacks

gwaine: i got the horses in earth’s core

gwaine: down under the floor

gwaine: horses in the store and i got horses on the moor

.

gwaine: died and came back as a cowboy i call that reintarnation

.

morgana: *shows up at college* excuse me will someone please direct me to the leftist brainwashing class? i’m here for the leftist brainwashing class

.

merlin: finally found someone i was more disappointed in that myself: the entirety of america camelot

.

morgause: customer (derogatory)

.

arthur: business major (derogatory)

.

leon: leonardo dicaprio date a woman over 25 challenge

gwaine: thought that said “leonardo da vinci” and was confused since da vinci was gay and also since you were calling out someone who’s been dead for well over 7 years

leon: well. da vinci has been well over 7 years, i’ll give you that

.

morgana: the retirement age needs to be lowered to 25. i’ve had enough

.

gwaine: i’m fucking in luigi’s mansion

leon: who?

gwaine: some italian freak

gwaine: oh you meant who am i fucking. your mom

.

leon: stop setting things on fire because you’re curious about what will happen. what will happen is fire

gwaine: but what if...something else happens. just this 1 time

.

morgause: bored? burn an orphan. who’re they gonna tell? their parents?

.

morgana: due to personal reasons i will be a serial arsonist

.

mithian: fruit (affectionate)

.

arthur: going to the fruit (derogatory) store do you want anything

.

gwen: fruit (salad, yummy yummy)

.

morgana, to gwen: i’m allergic to hookup culture and too weird to participate anyway. die in my arms

.

kilgharrah: i am fast and full of teeth. i will die in a barn fire

.

morgana: not evil anymore i want to be loved now

morgana: evil again

.

morgause: every day i put on my evil little clothes and do my evil little tasks

.

percival: megan thee stallion and timothee chalamet are the same age

gwaine: megan thee stallion 🤝 timo thee chalamet

.

morgana: hey how many swords do you have

morgause: sword of a lot

morgana: blocked

morgause: parried

.

morgana and gwen simultaneously in 1x10: *chanting* girls with swords girls with swords

.

morgana: the more knives you have the more valid you are

.

kilgharrah: blocked. blocked. blocked. you’re all blocked. none of you are free from sin.

.

morgana: seven deadly sins speedrun

.

gwaine: i want 6 pet sloths so i can name them after every sin except for sloth

.

merlin: the eighth deadly sin is networking

.

arthur: online school culture is constantly wondering if there’s a sneaky little assignment you missed...is it tucked under modules or assignments or heaven forbid, announcements? who’s to say?

.

gaius: asynchronous learning

merlin, a clown: mmmnaptime

.

arthur: have you ever just cried because you’re you

.

elyan, to percival: bro, we are teens . it’s ok to cry around me . i’m your best friend . i love you … bro we are kissing now … no don’t stop bro … bro …

.

morgana: mad bc i was told as the bride my wedding would be “my day” but actually where will be a whole other bride there and we will have to share it

.

leon: i’m disgusted every time someone does a gender reveal and it’s about a gender i already know about, what kind of reveal is that

.

leon: gender reveal party??? no, this is a gender repeal party. we out here revoking genders

.

gwaine: you’re laughing. i asked you who sings party rock anthem and you’re laughing

.

gwaine: make no mistake not only am i party rocking but i’m also in the house tonight

elyan: are you shuffling?

gwaine: everyday

.

morgana: lung extensions

morgana: with extended lungs you can: scream longer, breathe harder, brag about extended lungs

morgana: this procedure is not legal but i will do it for you

morgana: do not tell the police or morgause

.

morgana: i’m so sick of dna, i’m going to have all mine removed

morgause: good news! this is a real thing that can happen to you

morgana: perfect, sign me up

.

morgana: if YOU die because i poisoned you...how is that MY fault like i’m sorry you aren’t immune to my poisons i think that’s genuinely something you need to work on. fix yourself before blaming others

.

arthur: my body is NOT a “temple”...it is a CLOWN CAR and NONE OF THESE BITCHES KNOW HOW TO DRIVE

.

morgause: live

morgause: laugh

morgause: l u r k

.

mcdonald’s employee: please sir get off the table

gwaine: I ASKED FOR TWO LARGE FRIES *dumping bag of fried out onto the floor* BUT INSTEAD GOT A HUNDRED FUCKEN LITTLE ONES

.

merlin: i relate to vampires because i too must be clearly and specifically invited in before i have the audacity to try to participate in anything

.

gwaine: it can’t be september, just yesterday is was marchgustuary

lancelot: today’s date: [REDACTED]/[REDACTED]/20

.

gwaine: why are internet friends not normalized. it’s 2020 they’re probably making robots that will wipe your ass for you and i can’t text grace in the uk and tell her to have a good day? fuck you

.

percival: imagine if halsey was in beauty and the beast

elyan: are you insane like gaston. been in pain like gaston. bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like gaston

.

arthur: my dad is learning about pronouns/gender identity and he called me in the middle of the night to tell me he is cis

.

merlin: ough. those first 400 bites of dirt were not so good. maybe the next one will be better

.

morgana: i’m at the dark candy store, buying sorrowful ranchers

.

merlin: i’m surprised no one has ever punched me in the face

.

gwen: i want a gf so i can send her memes about loving my gf

.

morgause: oh to cook with my wife and stand directly in front of cabinets and drawers she needs to open

.

morgause: decided i will no longer be paying taxes. what are they gonna do, tax me more? go ahead. i won’t pay those either. oh i’m going to prison? the one paid for by my tax dollars? sorry, didn’t pay em. now there is no prison. i am at least 3 steps ahead of the government at all times

.

merlin: lab safety but the teacher just wants to you die

merlin: lab safety: 1. drink whatever’s in that beaker. i know you fucking want to

.

morgause: my therapist is selling her house so i’m gonna find the listing online and make her living room my zoom backgrounds before our next session. you wanna get in my head? ok well i’m in your home babe. i’m in charge now

morgana: yeah i see why you’re in therapy

.

morgana: i hate it when people ask me to “explain my thought process” like hell if i know

morgana: what’s going on in that head of yours?” nothing i want to be a part of

.

mordred: hey girls what’s the hot gossip what’s new what’s the 411

morgana and morgause: everything is bad and getting worse by the day

.

morgause: common letter greetings from 1889

morgause: dearest my-soon-to-be-enemy

morgause: salutations and i hope you enjoy contact prison

morgause: i hope this letter finds you in a ditch

.

arthur: *highlights all the wrong and unimportant stuff with full confidence*

.

merlin: i’ve tried opening my mouth and saying words before and i’ve gotta say, i’m not a fan

.

morgana: a large group of humans is called a fuck that

.

website: synonyms for blood: juice

mithian: thank you thesaurus.com, that is absolutely not what i was looking for

.

gwaine: gen z humor was single-handedly cultivated by the zoo wee mama comic and you can’t convince me otherwise

.

morgana: screw this it’s halloween now *turns into a swarm of bats them consumes the moon*

.

morgana: i can’t believe the heterosexuals are gone. they’re gone

uther: we’re still here

arthur: who said that

.

gwaine: no more france

gwaine: society has progressed passed the need for france

.

morgause: girls night out (of body experience)

.

morgana, to morgause: what do you mean “what have i been up to”...i’m out here ruining my own life as always bitch

.

merlin: stop complaining about your life. there are literally people living in camelot

.

arthur, trying to find new knights: oh so you’re a human? name three pictures with traffic lights in them

.

gwaine: we mcfreaking lost her doctor

.

morgause: looking for a wife in the walmart

.

morgause: arrested for visiting www.killing.com/murder

.

gwaine, to merlin: no bro this isn’t a date listen bro

gwaine: it’s bruhnch

.

morgause, to cenred: if you think i’m not interested, you’re right

.

gwen: put a pancake on a girl’s head when she’s asleep to keep her warm and safe

.

morgana: idk what mad scientist needs to hear this today but your goggles and lab coat are incredibly flattering and all your experiments will block away the scientific community who called you a fool

.

morgause: i’m gonna fucking die disease

morgause: symptoms: back hurts a bit too much for a bit too long

.

arthur: if you think i’m annoying now wait until i get over my fear of being perceived as annoying

.

merlin: sorry if i’m bothering you

surgeon: how do you keep waking up and saying that

.

gwaine: home depot needs more small tunnels for me to crawl through tbh

.

percival: hot tip: soup is customizable! go wild but know your limits

.

morgana: brains say “i know a spot” and take you to a traumatic memory from 2011

.

mithian: “can you multitask” yes actually i am losing my mind and chilling at the same time

.

morgana: quarantine schedule to keep you on track

morgana: wake up

morgana: neglect online school

morgana: yearn (ongoing project)

morgana: again!

.

mithian: if cats don’t want to be held like little babies maybe they shouldn’t be roughly the size and shape of little babies

.

morgause: fuck this pandemic i could’ve ruined 2020 on my own

.

morgana: a cute girl told me she has lots of plants in her house and i told her for some fucking reason “damn the oxygen at your place must be mad crisp” and somehow still got her number so. chase your dreams. nothing is impossible apparently

.

morgana: oh to wear a knife strapped against my thigh beneath a silk dress

.

morgana, running off with morgause at the end of season 2: i hate this place i want to go to build a bear

.

morgana, at work: i’m evil

morgana, 1 second after clocking out: not evil anymore i want to be loved now

morgana, the next day at work: evil again

.

season 2 morgana: i am fine thank you for asking! though recently there has been a darkness growing within me

.

morgause: *thinks about love* okay well i am just losing my mind and being insane now

.

arthur: you think you can hurt my feelings? i’ve been the least favorite in every single friendship group i’ve had since i was 8

.

morgana, staring out the window at arthur and merlin: look at them plotting my downfall

.

mithian: i wanna buy clown noses in bulk and start sticking them on every person i see whose mask is pulled too low

.

mithian: oh to be a tiny cat whose biggest concern is the looming threat of being gently picked up and kissed on the head

.

morgana: i deserve to be kissed

.

morgana: did you have a homoerotic friendship with a girl in high school that ended in tragedy and you two are never talking again or are you normal?

.

mithian: just diagnosed with forehead kiss deficiency :/

.

morgana: i think i’ll continue to wear a mask when this shit’s all over, and huge sunglasses. my face is none of your business

.

morgause: my therapist told me that sometimes when a person consumes the same piece of media over and over they may be unconsciously coping with a mental block so now i’m trying to figure out what the fuck i was going through that made me watch ratatouille 8 times a day for a solid month in middle school

.

morgause: opposite of depression nap. depression awakeness. refreshing the same three websites over and over. there’s nothing new on any of them. eight seconds have passed and it feels like a century

.

morgana: very homophobic that my head is not laying on the chest of my maidservant as i am drifting off to sleep

.

merlin: no no, it’s fine, i’ll text myself back

.

morgana: *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns* *pines* *longs* *yearns*

.

arthur: i’d have to be a fool not to? being a fool and not doing things are my top two activities

.

gwaine: you think it’s easy to be me? you think it’s easy to get up every. single. day. and be an industrial grade dumbass? well it’s not. but that’s what i do. and i’ll never stop.

.

morgana: ah shit i’m sorry man, my schedule for the week is all booked

sunday: yearn

monday: pine

tuesday: long

wednesday: ache

thursday: sigh

friday: lament

saturday: crave

.

morgana: talents include: being a public menace, denying God’s will, petting dogs, yearning, being dramatic, witchcraft, quoting classic literature when no one asked, napping, befriending a murder of crows, being gay, covering up my emotions by being “the funny friend” when in reality i’m really going through it, wistfully staring out the car window

.

merlin: *doesn’t even do the bare minimum* all in a day’s work

.

cenred: a “period” is not an excuse to have an attitude

morgause: i miss the times when men would go to war and die

.

morgana: the cheap halloween vampire fangs stay ON during sex

.

gwen: maybe i pspspspsp’ed you because i love you. did you think of that? huh?

.

morgana: mom said it’s my turn to hand out the ominous and vague warnings

arthur: that wasn’t mom

uther: she JUST SAID it was her turn

.

morgause: i’m a chill person but if my back doesn’t stop hurting i’m going to take out my spine and beat God with it

.

mithian: one of these days i’m going to say the f word

mithian: then you’ll all be sorry

.

morgause: 3 words every girl wants to hear

morgause: club penguin membership

.

morgana: hmm, yes.

morgana: time to s i p

morgana: some *~crispy~*

morgana: d i h y d r o g e n m o n o x i d e

.

morgause: roll call! raise your hand if you’re in the following fandoms:

morgause: 1. suffering 2. the pain of living

morgana: *raises both hands and a leg*

.

leon: it’s so hard being a single mom when you have no kids and are a male teenager

.

merlin: yeah bro hit me up and we’ll cancel some plans sometime

.

morgana: my brain, or as i like to call it, the suffer contraption

.

morgause: my circle so small i almost cut myself off

.

morgause hyping herself up before entering any public area: i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal i’m normal

.

arthur: today in french we learned how to say “what’s in the bag” and i couldn’t stop laughing because

arthur: swaggity swag qu’est-ce qui dans le sac

.

merlin: even when i am not speaking, know that horrible sentences are raging within me

.

mithian in 5x04: sorry bro i can’t go out tonight. i’m stuck in an eternal state of melancholy

.

morgause: shower gel label: immerse yourself in this new “Me Time” luxury frooty tooty. abandon all sense of identity and dissolve your memories into this soothing chemical broth. one billion melons are in this tube...use them wisely

.

leon, writing a headline about the most recent knights’ mission: local dumbasses knew that what they were getting themselves into and did it anyways

.

morgana: *feels random pain in body*

morgana: kill me

.

mithian: *slowly inches closer to your pet*

.

morgause: *refuses to look at texts* i love conversation and communication

.

arthur: cute gender neutral things to call your partner

arthur: significant annoyance

.

leon: the most unrealistic fantasy trope is the one where half of the pair works in some sort of shop and one is a customer because i have literally never thought about a customer with anything other than contempt

.

gwaine: why is everyone talking about 1d all of a sudden did one of them die

elyan: they’re 10 years old now

gwaine: i wish them luck 4th grade is tough!!

.

gwaine: must i pursue a career? is it not enough to be passionate about tv shows and snack foods?

.

leon, aroace: cool date idea: me eating oatmeal by myself

.

morgana: i have no self of steam

.

gwaine: i hate wearing a mask. i miss being able to gently kiss my trader joe’s cashier on the lips after they ring up my $8 box of blueberries

.

morgana: committing acts of violence today…*pushes morgause’s glass of water off the counter*

.

gwaine: mario will do anything to put a smile on your face

.

morgana: haha we get along so well...our brains just work the same way

morgause, after changing her entire personality to match morgana’s after analyzing the way she talks and texts: haha yeah it’s incredible

.

gwaine: covered in sauce, trembling

.

arthur: *says the vaguest most incoherent shit ever*

arthur: you know what i mean :/

.

[online]

morgana: *screenshots things her girlfriend said to her so she can read it again later* yeah i’m not gay

uther: dude no offence i don’t want to sound like an sjw or anything but if you have a girlfriend you’re straight. that’s just how it works

morgana: i’m a girl

uther: what the fuck

.

morgana: the second you say “family group chat” i know we are not the same

.

gwen: what if early in the morning after buying groceries we got caught in the rain and i used my jacket to cover your head ut we still got soaked and we made a fire at home and brewed tea and sat together watching the rain as our cats hid under our feets at each sound of thunder and we ate stew for dinner and watched tv until we fell asleep on the couch with your head resting on my shoulder

.

gwaine, to percival: hold my hand bro we’re crossing the street

.

percival: imageine if we all just started ignoring celebrities though

percival: i can’t stop thinking about how funny this would be. imagine kyie jenner posting a selfie and it gets 12 likes

.

morgana: this isn’t fun anymore i need a kiss

.

morgause at 1159 pm: life’s great lol

morgause at 1201 am: does anyone really know me? most importantly do i really know me? what if life doesn’t get better than this?

.

merlin: king i needbfjdjgnjfg qldkr snmsmdjgjt ….. .. i need--fjrjkrhgphpqn dd

arthur: huh *dunks merlin’s head back underwater*

.

morgana: i don’t go to therapy or take any pills i just rawdog life and let my brain turn into soup

.

mordred: dark emails

morgause: to whom it WILL concern

morgana: now that this email has found you

.

gwaine: hi waiter could i get the spaghetti i promise i’ll behave this time

.

merlin: the sexiest thing about me? everything hurts my feelings

.

gwaine: how is sex fun if i have to remove my crocs to have it

elyan: if he makes you remove your crocs for sex he isn’t the one

.

morgause: a motherfucker could use an embrace

.

morgana: every night after 10pm my feelings start crawling out, starved, as i beat them with a moderately large stick vigorously hissing “stay back” until i inevitably fall asleep

.

fanfiction: there’s only one room available…

morgause, who specifically chose a rated m and explicit story: oh my gosh there’s only one room they’re gonna share a bed what’s gonna happen next

.

morgana: i can have a little unrealistic romantic fantasy. as a treat

.

arthur: some of y’all weren’t asked out as a joke in middle school and it shows

.

morgana: how is everyone doing. i’ll go first i’m doing badly

.

morgana: being a kid was so fucking funny we’d just go around lying to each other’s faces constantly to impress each other one of the knights told me he was the first person to visit the sun and when i asked him what it was like to prove he was lying he said he didn’t remember because they sent him there when he was a baby and to this day the mental image of nasa launching an unsupervised baby into the sun still makes me crack up

.

elyan: do you wish you were seeing somebody

leon: a therapist

.

morgause: when you see someone from high school and they don’t recognize you that’s the exact opposite of the mortifying ordeal of being known. the gratifying relief of being forgotten

.

[texting]

morgana: you seem hard to kill

morgause: aw thank you

morgause: i haven’t been killed yet

morgana: to your knowledge

morgause: what

.

morgana: just truly bonkers how much i love lying down……..like being horizontal? Unparalleled

.

arthur: when i was younger i really thought that piranhas were going to be a bigger issue for me than they’ve turned out to be

.

morgause: filling out the depression and anxiety checkboxes at the doctors is always so sad but also very very funny

morgause: i am handed a piece of paper. i check off a box that says “every day i wish i were dead”. i hand back the paper. the paper and its contents are never again discussed.

.

morgana: unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, i cannot just “walk up and join the circle of people talking”, but it does sound lovely thank you

.

morgana: if california is so expensive why don’t you move to somewhere like ohio

morgause: full offense but i’d rather be dead in california than alive in ohio

morgause: ugly and uninspiring--review of ohio

.

morgana: staying up late not even fun anymore it’s just sad

.

morgause: everyone should be comfortable in their own skin :)

morgause’s brain: except for you

morgause: except for me :)

.

mithian: please peer pressure me into finishing projects

merlin: do it or you’re straight

mithian: i said peer pressure not threaten

.

morgause: the year is 2030. bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. the uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. i go to hug my wife for comfort. she is cake.

morgause: i sob in despair as i eat my cake wife. she is delicious

.

gwen: do ladies love stupid men or do they just love men who don’t exhaust every opportunity to feel smart

gwen: “i used to think that melancholy was a vegetable” that’s incredible, let’s hang out more

.

morgause: basically i accidentally listened to a song a few years ago and it led to this

.

morgana: *desperately tries to romanticise her homework*

.

uther: do i have to be pretty? is it not enough to simply be the loudest person in the room with the worst opinions

.

morgana: oh i can’t possibly study, i have allotted the next six hours to yearning vaguely

.

morgause: allow me to de-introduce myself

morgause: my name is [redacted]

.

arthur: i have no good posts today i’m sorry guys

merlin: haha “today”

.

mordred: “do we perhaps use magic because we were bullied and needed blah blah special interest blah blah” shut the FUCK up i use magic to see my anime husband’s big fucking honkers. sorry you got pantsed in front of your crush

morgana: i came here to bully people

mordred: is it because you got pantsed in front of your crush

morgana: no it’s because i’m deranged

.

mithian: pretty sure seven deadly sins is a bit excessive

mithian: just combine wrath and gluttony and make hangry

mithian: sloth and pride make Bottoming

.

morgana: despicable me ruined the word minion whenever i become a supervillain i’m just going to have to call them my homies or whatever

.

gwen: as a bisexual i am attracted to lanky boys with dark hair, girls who look like they could kill me, and anyone wearing vampire teeth

.

morgana: if someone tried to assassinate me that would make me feel so important and valued and beloved

.

gwaine: turn down for whom?

.

mithian: fact: usage of the word “the” has begun to decline. this is because as more and more people become educated, usage of the word “thoum’st” has become more common.

.

morgana, kidnapping mithian in 5x04: truth or dare? uhhh i dare you to………………………………..fall in love with me. haha i’m just joking bro………………..unless…………………………?

.

gwaine: my thoughts are like a clearance sale

gwaine: once it’s gone it’s gone

.

morgana: *pronounces “hors d’oeuvres” as “horse divorce” specifically to piss off morgause*

.

gwaine: do you prefer women or men?

leon: death

.

morgause: honestly no offense but i love falling asleep and sleeping. it’s like. ok goodnight

.

morgause: ngl it’s kinda difficult to be the moody and mysterious background character in everyone’s life when you’re quarantined at home

.

morgause: i need to get laid

morgause: --to rest. put me in a coffin, let my soul ascend

.

gwaine: it takes a lot of heart to be this stupid

gwaine: it takes real strength not to know shit about fuck

.

elyan: what’s your favorite anime?

leon: i’m a christian

.

arthur: just bought this tapeworm from etsy!

lancelot: where are you gonna keep it

arthur: :)

merlin: i don’t like this conversion very much

.

gwaine: i’m home alone with the tv repair man

gwaine: i’m no fool, there are only two possible outcomes of this scenario

gwaine: porn or murder

gwaine, an hour later: apparently there was an unforeseen third outcome where he fixes the tv and then leaves

.

morgause: well tomorrow fucking sucked

.

morgana: dark brunch

morgana: *mixes a mimosa with evil intent*

morgause: this is just what being gay is like

.

gwaine: movie idea: guy finds a stone tablet engraved with a mysterious alien language and gets caught up in a national treasure-esque adventure to decipher its meaning, only to learn that it’s just an alien “live laugh love” decoration

.

arthur: sorry i didn’t mean to open your ig story 20 seconds after you posted i’m just unemployed

.

arthur: why do you say men are objects? that’s not true and hurtful

morgana: men are on sale at the grocery store for a few dollars

OR

cenred: why do you say men are objects? that’s not true and hurtful

morgause: men are on sale at the grocery store for a few dollars

.

morgana: wow would you look at that. it’s already that time of the night where i move the stuff on my bed to my chair. can’t wait until tomorrow when i move the stuff from my chair back onto my bed

.

gwaine: hi i’m bethany with girl defined ministry and today we are going to be talking about how to stan my chemical romance in a God-honoring way

.

morgana: bottom: ,,, !!! ;;; vers: …. top: no punctuation whatsoever

morgause: tops are illiterate

.

morgause: i slept for almost 12 hours but i might still be tired so let’s go for 12 more just in case

morgana: morgause that’s a coma

morgause: sounds festive

.

mithian: i am a simple woman. i enter the kitchen. i eat four servings of bread products. i leave.

gwaine: it’s one serving if you serve all of it to yourself

mithian: i like the way you think, friend

.

gwaine: spencer from icarly and rodrick from diary of a wimpy kid are on the opposite ends of the same spectrum

elyan: the gay older brother scale

.

merlin: i found a rock :)

merlin: my troubles will soon be over

gwaine: parasite (2019) dir. bong joon ho

percival: uncut gems (2019) dir. josh and benny safdie

elyan: cain

.

morgana: social distancing is okay for me bc i’ve been touch starved since the 15th century. i’m used to it

.

mithian: fanfiction hits different when you’re gay and yearning and haven’t experienced an ounce of romance in your life

.

morgause: callout for rude baby seen at grocery store

morgause: i’m calling out a baby (approximately 12-14 months old) from the grocery store due to its rudeness. i’m guessing its age based on appearance, motor skills (atrocious) and whatnot. anyway, i smiled at this baby and it just stared at me. as soon as i began to move on, though, the baby said “no!” and started giggling when i turned back around. this happened multiple times. the baby’s actions were toxic and manipulative. the baby was also manhandling a package of dried fruit which wasn’t yet paid for (quite minor) and was just generally sitting around and not helping

.

gwen: we need to melt down all the pennies and make the statue of liberty a girlfriend

.

morgause: had a realization in a dream i just had that this isn’t real and i can just do whatever i want and so i started shrinking the face of this guy that was talking to me and then once it got real small i woke up sleep paralyzed

morgause: i was given godlike powers over the universe by realizing it’s all in my head and the first thing i did was use them to torment the nearest man

morgause: and the actual God woke me up and put be into a 5 minute timeout to lay frozen and think about what i’ve done

.

morgana: does anyone else feel an awkward tension whenever you see another person your age in the grocery store

.

gwaine: the number 87 kinda looks like a plague doctor

percival: you’ve just changed the fucking game

elyan: [|87

.

morgana: a lonely bitch...a loner...i love isolation AND detachment

.

gwaine: i will not call the judges “your honor”. in america we don’t have titles of nobility. they will get a simple “yes dude” from me

gwaine: calling big bird just “bird” because i do not respect him

.

morgause: *photo of a pizza in a bad* caught the bae sleepin

mordred: now why would you waste a perfectly good pizza :(

morgause: that “waste” happens to be my wife getting her beauty sleep. think before you speak

.

gwaine: *finishes wedding vows* don’t forget to like and subscribe

.

morgana: *is bitter but is also right*

.

morgana: how dare you not notice me when i’m ignoring you

.

morgause, killing cenred: men be like i’m bilingual i speak english and over women

.

gwaine: after i move i really wanna get a used roomba

percival: i love that you’re adopting instead of buying from a breeder

.

mordred: joking about a kink is a gateway drug into developing said kink

morgana: my kink is mental, emotional, and financial stability

morgause: unrealistic, settle for choking like normal people

.

gaius: gay people use halloween props as home decor year round

morgana: shut up shut up this black jar with a raven painted on it is holiday-neutral

.

[texting]

morgause: can you come out?

morgana: yeah gimme a minute

morgana: morgause, i’m gay

morgause: i know that. come out to the car

morgana: car, i’m gay

.

morgause: God FUCKING damnit i’m such a hopeless romantic one day someone’s gonna say “i love you” and i’m just going to let out an agonized scream so horrible that they immediately change their mind

.

gaius: i’m not wearing glasses anymore i’ve seen enough

.

morgause: sorry my battery’s on 96% i gtg

.

morgause: you hate me? wow you think you’re hot shit and original huh well i hated me first so you can go grab a number and wait your turn

.

morgana: don’t ignore me ?? i despise being ignored ?? i mean i’m ignoring like 8 people right now but still ???

.

morgana: shoutout to my favorite coping mechanism, isolation

.

morgana: the concept of physical beauty is a scam unless you’re calling me cute in which case it is valid, actually

.

merlin: oh, so when other people go outside it’s “good for their health” and “highly recommended”, it’s only when i do it that it’s a “containment breach” and a “high-level threat to public safety and security”, huh?

.

gwaine: a charming photo of young john mulaney, seemingly celebrating the kennedy assassination

merlin: princess diana wasn’t john mulaney’s first kill

.

morgause: hate when i got out in public and the public is there

morgana: it seems the public is no longer in the public

morgause: i’ve won...but at what cost?

.

morgana: girls will see a chance to commit arson and be like “sorry, i have to take this”

morgause: girls will see a building that’s not on fire and say “is anyone gonna burn that” and not wait for an answer

[mimzy-writing-online]

Coping Methods

Ways I’m managing my mental health during this high stress period:

-open my curtains in the morning

-wash my pajamas and favorite shirts more, so I won’t have to choose between wearing my favorite but dirty clothes or less comfortable clothes

-watching youtube videos that relax me (soothing aesthetic videos with soft music and pretty clips of someone doing daily routine stuff or doing their hobbies are what relax me the most)

-playing lo-fi or studio ghibli music in the background of my room, very soft

-(after having super productive days) accept that the next day I won’t have energy and allow myself to relax instead (because that’s just how my spoons work)

-call K and talk for a few hours on the phone, about 2-3 times a week

-play Overwatch with A

-Sims 4, giving my simself a productive, social, exciting life. currently they’re a doctor (because I’ve never played the doctor career) and married and I made them a really nice house on my most recent low-energy day so they can start a family

-picking up art again, mostly watercolor but some sketching too

-and learning cursive, and writing in my journal with cursive. that took me a few weeks

-reducing social media use

-cat cuddling

-brushing my dog (shedding season is supposed to start)

-one day a week I do my hair and makeup and put on nice clothes for working/productivity

-tea, so much tea. but I’m not drinking Starbucks anymore and the first two weeks without were hard. I’m making Twinings Earl Grey, and sometimes I brew that into iced tea

-use my nice tea pot and make a huge pot of tea, to make it feel more special

Things I’m Still Struggling With:

this month has been hard because ADHD was at its worst. I talked to my doctor and we changed my medication routine and the last week I’ve been feeling great. performing tasks is much easier than it was a few weeks ago.

the ADHD was also making it hard to be motivated to take care of this blog. You can’t see it because I have a large queue usually. it’s easier for me to do big sessions of hyperfocus for this blog and filling up the queue instead of posting everything at once. the queue is pretty drained, but that’s okay. I have that system for a reason, because I know physical and mental health will have temporary setbacks sometimes.

I have five asks still unanswered. your asks aren’t lost, it’s just been hard to focus enough to put quality thought into my responses or research anything I’ve been asked about.

actually, while I say I’ve been off most social media, really I’ve been neglecting all the ones that weren’t tumblr for a long time. twitter and insta just haven’t been easy to summon the mental and emotional spoons for.

I’m still struggling with sleeping, insomnia is bad. eating is hard to remember, and whatever executive function takes care of that hasn’t existed in a long time.

Hey, if I’m gonna share mental health tips, I’m gonna give you the real honest, sometimes ugly part too.

I’m doing okay. My overall outlook is positive, so long as I focus on my immediate situation, which is that I’m safe and as healthy as I usually can be, that I have family and am not living alone, that my friends are well and that I can reach out when I need to, that nobody I know has gotten sick, that my family is currently comfortable on necessity supplies, that my mum and sister can manage their anxiety and overall mental health too, that my doctor is literally a text away if I need help. I’m okay :)

[whtaft]

Heelys Through Hell: A Stucky Fic to Benefit Planned Parenthood

I’ve been writing ficlets for donations to Planned Parenthood. For more information, see this post. @imperatorrrrr asked for a fic based on this text post. Thank you so much!!!

Bucky reaches the underworld while chomping on a hot dog with mustard and relish. He throws the last bits of the hot dog to Cerberus, whose three heads fight over the bit of processed meat. It’s easy to slide past the creature on his heelys after that.

“Hello?” Bucky calls as he reaches the cavernous chambers of the underworld. Hades could use some interior decor — it’s just slightly-wet stone everywhere. Joanna Gaines would call this a fixer-upper, but not even some shiplap could fix whatever is happening down here. No wonder no one wants to die; the aesthetic is awful.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” says a deep voice that echoes through chamber.

“Yeah?”

A billowing cloud of smoke emerges from the opposite end of the cavern. Moments later, a pale figure emerges. “Why are you here?” asks the man who must be the Lord of the Underworld, Hades.

Honestly, he looks kind of like Voldemort.

“I’m picking up Steve,” Bucky says.

Hades looks at Bucky, unimpressed. “I cannot give you a soul that has been—”

“No, no, there was a mistake. Paperwork got mixed up, whatever. Gimme Steve and we’ll get out of your hair.” He looks at Hades’ bald head. “Wherever you may have it,” he adds because public lice aren’t a joke.

“Steven Grant Rogers will not—”

“Listen, I’ve got shit to do, so does he. I assume you do, too, but I don’t know your schedule. Let’s get past the ‘oh, you can’t take him he’s doing so great in the underworld’ bull and talk about deals. What do you want for Steve Rogers. I’ve got an ice cold Fanta in my backpack if that does the trick.”

“What is a Fanta?” Hades asks.

“Orange soda.”

There’s a long pause. “As much as one’s parched lips may thirst for sugary sweet ambrosia, I don’t think that an orange soda is a fair trade for a soul.”

“What about a Fanta and a Snickers?” Bucky asks.

Hades looks at him, unimpressed.

Bucky groans. “Jesus, fine, whatever. What do you want?”

“Only a soul can—”

“Fine, whatever, take mine,” Bucky says.

There’s a long pause. “What?” Hades asks.

“Take my soul. What’s left of it, at least.”

“You would trade yourself for your friend?”

“Boyfriend,” Bucky corrects.

“Boyfriend,” Hades says and hey, it’s pretty cool that the Lord of the Underworld seems to be a-okay with the gays. Take that, homophobia.

“Yeah, boyfriend. We’ll switch. Just let me see him first, have a conversation. He owes me $50, too.”

Hades disappears in another poof of smoke, which is a little overdramatic. But moments later, Steve wanders into Bucky’s vision. He’s looking pale, wearing grey rags. But it’s Steve and Bucky heelys over there as quickly as the tiny sneaker wheels can take him.

He wraps his arm around an astonished-looking Steve and squeezes tight. “Hey buddy,” he says.

“Buck?” Steve asks, voice croaking. He holds on just as tight as Bucky’s holding him. Good. He feels cold.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m breaking you outta here.”

“Oh good, the interior design is terrible.” Bucky snorts, pressing his face to Steve’s golden hair. He missed Steve’s hair and Steve’s body and Steve’s mouth and just Steve. Sure, it’s only been sixteen hours but he’s deeply in love with this asshole. “Stop sniffing me,” Steve says.

“Make me.”

Steve does, pulling Bucky in for a biting kiss. Seems like Captain America missed his sidekick just as much as his sidekick missed him. He can feel Steve’s hard-on pressing up against his groin and is just about to take care of that when the cloud of smoke returns and Hades steps back out.

“Have you received your fifty dollars?” Hades asks.

Steve looks down at Bucky. ���Is this really about the fifty bucks?” he asks, looking hurt.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says. Steve squeaks. “And about your immortal soul.”

“Gee thanks,” Steve says. “Let me get you your fifty bucks and you can be on your way.”

“I said it was also for your immortal soul!” Bucky responds, jabbing Steve in the side.

“Hey!”

“If you all are finished, we had a bargain: a out for a soul.”

Steve looks at Bucky wide-eyed. “You didn’t,” he says.

Bucky shrugs. “It’s whatever. The dog’s cute.”

“Bucky,” Steve hisses.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Your time has come,” Hades says.

“Hold on, I gott ask Steve…” Bucky says, then turns to Steve. “You okay with me staying down here forever?”

“No!” Steve squawks.

“This isn’t a choi—” Hades says, but Bucky interrupts.

“The big man said no,” Bucky as, giving Steve a pat on the back. “But I’ve still got the Fanta, if you want that.”

The smoke behind Hades starts to gather and Bucky doesn’t waste any time. “Hop on,” he tells Steve, gesturing to his back. Steve does hop on, wraps his arms around Bucky, and Bucky heelys their way out of hell.

— —

“That was easy,” Steve says as they get back to their New York apartment. “Too easy.” He pulls off his ragged shoes and makes his way through the apartment, looking at everything as if it’s been years since he’s been there and not a day. It’s kind of nice to see Steve look so appreciative of the life they’ve built together over the past few years, though. That’s pretty cool.

“Oh, I’m sure something terrible will happen now,” Bucky says, toeing off his heelys and letting them drop next to the door. He makes his way across the apartment and over to Steve, then wraps his arms around him. “Whatever, I’ve got you back. That’s all I care about.”

“Thanks for getting me back, Buck,” Steve says, laughing.

“No problem. Wanna split that Fanta?” he asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. The you’re ridiculous is implied.

Bucky smiles, extricates himself from Steve, and goes to his backpack. Steve follows him, close behind.

There’s no Fanta inside.

Instead, there’s a note written in immaculate cursive on a thick off-white yardstick. It reads:

The drink is a stop gap. You’ll return to me again with time, both of you. But for now, live and love as you are. Until we meet again.

“Wow, that’s… He’s not going to follow us?” Steve asks. “That’s actually really nice of him.”

Bucky pauses. He scowls.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“That motherfucker stole my Fanta.”

“Is that really what you’re taking from this?” Steve asks.

Bucky blinks. “Of course,” he says.

Steve grins, slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and kisses him on the cheek. “We can go to the bodega and get you another Fanta,” he says.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Bucky complains, but lets Steve guide him back towards the door.

It’s nice to have him back home.