FINALLT figured out a rendering style that I have admired in many artists for years >:3c

You know what, I wanna see your Rick and Morty fanarts! and who is your fav character?

OH MY GOD HOW AM I JUST NOW SEEING THIS. ANON I LOVE YOU?????

Yes!!! I will absolutely start Rick and Morty shit posting at some point in the near future as soon as I finish cleaning them up!!

For favorite character I'd have to say either Prime Rick or Evil Morty. Both for the same reasons, which is that I find their character motives ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING.

Some spoilers under the cut!

I won't get into humongous details here, but Evil Morty is written so well and I fell in love with his character (and his theme!) from the get-go. I love the way the writers made him an anti-villain instead of an outright enemy, which was such a good choice creatively because it really goes to show how detached he is from the whole Rick + Morty dynamic. He doesn't NEED to make an enemy out of C-137 Rick because he straight up does not CARE about him, or any Rick for that matter. It makes it so fun to see because every Rick out there is so convinced that everyone is out to get them, that the concept of a Morty that wants absolutely nothing to do with a Rick is so outlandish that it automatically defines him as "evil." Also the line he gives before he leaves through the rift about how any Morty who even entertains the thought of living a life without Rick would also be "evil" was such a nice touch that Evil Morty was literally just a regular Morty, and that the Evil title was given to him and not earned. Like, yes, he did a lot of fucked up shit, but the only reason he's classified as evil is literally just because he's not particularly attached to the idea of adventuring with an old ass man. It's such a fun thing to consider, especially because all of the shit he does is tame if we compare it to Rick's (absolutely humongous) list of crimes, and yet out of everyone out there HE'S the evil one.

Speaking of Rick's with huge crime records. Prime Rick! There's not much I can say about him considering he's a relatively new character, but I knew I liked him when I first saw him in Rick's memories, but even more so when he shot Jerry from Morty's original universe. It was such a huge piece of lore and I'm both mad and pleased that they shoved it at the end of the credits instead of putting it inside the episode. I mean seriously, from this tiny clip we not only find out that he WAS the real deal from inside the glass tube, but that he's also near immortal after surviving and immediately healing from a slit throat. Prime Rick is ridiculously overpowered, but he really does a great job at showing the audience that he's not stereotypically evil, as he only shoots Jerry after Jerry decides to try and kill him.

Also, every detail ever about Prime Rick and C-137 Rick having complex history makes me sweat. The whole "this message is pre-recorded" spiel that Prime Rick gives Rick after his hide out had been discovered, but Prime Rick's eyes follow Rick the entire time on the screens, and the way Prime Rick immediately asks Jerry if he saw C-137 Rick when he crash lands on their original dimension DEFINITELY implies that they knew each other previously. If it was a one and done murder deal with Prime Rick killing C-137 Diane and Beth, then why would he care so much to know EXPLICITLY that it was C-137 who had found him? Especially when Prime Rick had claimed that he had no idea who it was that discovered his hide out?

God I love this show it's so stupid it's about an old man who laughs at fart jokes and a kid who can't talk to women.

Petting Party (pt 1)

Rundown of dimensions AU: Quackity’s from 1920s dimension called Prowa, Schlatt and Charlie are his business partners *cough found family cough* and they run a casino/speakeasy. Sapnap is a knight from a fantasy dimension called Quarry. Karl is like Dr.Who. 

tw - Mentions of guns and alcohol (1920s mobster dimension)

 This is really just the fluffiest full I have ever written. 

•••

@thecatchat

•••

•••

Quackity walked through his rooms, digging around drawers for his keys. He squawked a little in frustration as he rummaged. He felt so paranoid, like he was already short on time even though he was about half an hour early and it’s not like Sapnap or Karl would mind waiting. He just wanted this to go perfectly. They’d had dates in his world before, they’d even had proper ones where they weren’t running from cops or mobsters or some other guns/knife/bat-wielding foes. Heh, foes. He was starting to think like Sapnap… and he was starting to feel like Karl— where was his damn key? Karl had literal worlds full of stuff to keep track of, it only made sense he got turned around and mixed up, what was Quackity’s excuse? 

Finally, a glint caught his eye and he snatched up the silver piece of metal, stuffing it into his sleeve and practically skipping to the front. Their home was really just the back half of the casino so he just walked through into the back room. Schlatt and Charlie were sitting at a table, various game pieces scattered across the top, counting cards, chips, and cash. Charlie seemed to be in the middle of a failed game of solitaire and was stacking up a house of cards while Schlatt was just old-fashioned sorting, looking rather bored. It was a quiet night for them. Probably a few drinks and catching up till bed after they double-check the games for cheating. Quackity would usually join them but it wasn’t strange for him not to show. He gave them a wave as he walked past, motion enough for them to look up and acknowledge him. 

Schlatt only glanced up before returning to his work. “What’s with the getup?” 

“I told youse, I’m going out tonight.” 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I’m going out to meet my partners.” Quackity struck a joking pose. “No harm in good impressions.” 

“Hey,” Charlie frowned childishly, “aren’t we your partners?” 

Quackity chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Of course. My new partners, then. Actually, lemme see a cut of that doe, I wanna butter ‘em up tonight.” He snatched a few bills from the table and turned to make his exit. 

“Wait,” Schlatt commanded, still barely looking up from his work. “Partners like you’re out for coffee to discuss getting new tables?” He took a sharp bite of his apple, eyes lazily growing dark. “Or do youse mean partners like I outta trail behind... y’know, keep you from gettin’ lead poisoning.” 

“Uh...” Quackity blinked. “Partners like I’m off to a petting party.”  

Schlatt choked. Charlie laughed while he coughed, moving to pat his back and smiled at Quackity. “Well, good luck.” 

Quackity narrowed his eyes as he was almost certain he caught a ‘all knows you need it’ under Charlie’s breath. He played it cool and simply snapped, “Hey, I don’t need no luck. Certainly not from you.” 

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” Charlie held his hands up, grin still plastering his face. “Was just wishing you the best.” 

“Yeah... yeah,” Schlatt nodded, coming out of his state but still red-faced. Whether it was from embarrassment or lack of air Quackity couldn’t tell. He rolled his eyes again, smiling but waving goodbye without giving them a chance to drag him onto another conversation.

He stepped into the front, waiting patiently by the front of the door. Karl had said they’d meet him at the Vidrio, but should he wait inside or out? He paced, routinely adjusting his feathered headband and combing the actual feathers on his wings. He still worried he was overdressing a little but when he tried to lessen his look he panicked about underdressing. He wanted to look good for his boyfriends, a bit of makeup wouldn’t hurt that... would it? In the end, he’d settled on a simple pale blue dress, eyeliner, and a small headband. Nothing too gaudy but he still looked good. He looked good in everything, of course, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So why was he all jittery? What, was he suddenly a dud? It didn’t matter. It was probably just because of the surprise factor. 

He’d assumed they would come and get outfits at his place (no offense to them, they just really couldn’t go the way they usually dressed) but Karl had insisted they pick him up like a “proper date.” He didn’t know what Karl knew about proper dates or when he’d started to care about them, most of their dates involved some form of running for their lives. Quackity wasn’t complaining but he’d be lying if he said the idea of just being a snuggle pup for a change wasn’t wildly appealing, especially if it meant getting to have Sapnap and Karl got to hang out in his world and not just flee and sneak. There were some nice things here he felt he never got to show them. 

He sunk into himself, suddenly feeling ashamed. It was bad manners, it was. Combining his work and love life to the point he may as well have made chumps out of his own boyfriends. He knew they didn’t mind, it was all new and fun for them and he was pretty sure Sapnap did the same thing. (He wasn’t entirely sure what his job was, like a knight sure but where was the line between work and just regular old Quarrian life?) Still. He should take them dancing more or something. Technically, that’s what he was doing here but he’d like to make a better habit of it, it really sounded like the bees- 

A bright, impossible, but familiar, swirl interrupted his thoughts. He straightened himself, quickly fixing his headband one last time. His heart was pounding out of his chest— but not because he was nervous, because he was excited. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a giddy sap as out from the portal stepped Karl and Sapnap. His breath was caught in his throat as he got a good look at them. He wasn’t sure what he expected, nothing bad, but he mentally made a note to give them an apology for being SO wrong. Whatever he’d imagined, they looked a million times better. 

Sapnap was in a white dress shirt. He had on a maroon vest and black tie he clearly didn’t know how to wear but wore well nonetheless. He had his hair slicked back, completely showing his pretty silvery, misty, eyes. Quackity noted the headband he usually wore in his hair was tied in a ribbon around his neck. Sapnap just couldn’t be without it, he warmly mused. 

Karl had on something with colors in patterns like Quackity had never seen before, not in his world at least, which— of course, it was Karl. Beautiful, strange, mysterious, adorable Karl. The top of the pantsuit was made of several pale shades of green. They washed over it like waves of seafoam, a strip of pale purple lace swirled around it, almost mimicking a deconstructed form of his usual crazy attire. A herringbone cap was pulled over his head, shaping brown curls. 

Quackity stared, absolutely gobsmacked, until his brain caught up to his eyes. Sapnap was saying something and waving his hand a little. Quackity blinked, shaking himself out of it. Egad, he was goofy for them. Luckily, Karl and Sapnap didn’t seem to mind his zoning out. In fact, Karl seemed to find it tickling, he clearly held in a giggle as Quackity snapped to. Quackity guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself stunned. It certainly wouldn’t be the last either. 

“Hey, jackpot,” Sapnap gently flicked his forehead. “I asked how you think we look.”  

“You... good. You look good. Mmhmm,” he managed to squeak out, finally remembering to close his mouth. Slick. He was slick. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Karl chuckled. “I know you don’t really trust me to dress myself for nice places in Prowa.” 

“Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you!”

“You never said it, no.”

Quackity gave Karl a small punch in the shoulder. He flinched way more than was warranted, stumbling dramatically, but a broad smile settled on both their faces. 

“Aw, sugar! Did I hurt you?” 

“Yes!” 

“Hey, hey! Sir,” Sapnap stepped between them, also joking. “What is wrong with you, daring to assault my beloved in front of me?”  He threateningly toward over Quackity, grabbing his shoulders and backing him up against the wall. His eyes flickered with playful malice. He leaned in close, expression caught between a smirk and a snarl, completely aware of the growing blush on Quackity’s face. “I’ve half a mind to challenge you, and another half to crush you right here for your audacity.” 

“Aw, my knight in shining armor,” Karl sarcastically patted Sapnap’s shoulder, thoroughly less impressed by the display than Quackity. “Whatever would I do without you here to defend me from this sweet, cuddly, small, duckling?”

“Hey!” Quackity snapped defensively. “I could fuck you up if I-“ 

“Ey, Q! Have you seen-“ Schlatt stopped upon seeing the scene, turning on his heel and walking right back into the back. “Nevermind. Not my business. None of my business. Absolutely not my business…” 

“I-“ Sapnap dropped his boyfriend (who crumpled onto the floor in laughter), instantly turning a shade twelve times redder than Quackity had been. “I am so sorry.” 

“Ah- Schlatt?” Karl called over Quackity’s wheezing. “Schlatt, it’s fine-“

“NONE OF MY BUSINESS!” A shout came from the backroom. 

Quackity dropped his face into his hands, his chortling turned to full hysterics as he sat curled up against the wall. His dress, which he had been so unreasonable nervous about moments before, creased and probably picked up some grime from the floor. He didn’t care at all. Now that his boyfriends were actually beside him he could care less if he was painted green and orange. He had no one to impress, at least no one who would let anything bad happen over a stupid look. “Oh,” he snickered, the burst dying down. “Oh wow.” He wiped his eyes as jubilant tears stung, apathetic as he’d become he hoped his makeup didn’t run. It wasn’t necessary but he’d still like to look nice for the occasion. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off his outfit and sighing. “Ah. He’s got a point though, really should be saving that for the party.”

“Speaking of which—“ Karl snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. “Are we ready to go?” 

“Yes, let’s!” Sapnap turned with Karl as all three of them began to speed out the door.

Quackity made sure to bump in front of them before they made it out, he was not letting Karl anywhere near the wheel.  

The car ride was bright and lively although quiet. Quackity couldn’t help but grin just being next to these goons, one could practically feel Karl vibrating with excitement in the back, even Sapnap seemed to be enjoying the drive (he’d never quite gotten over the time Karl had offered to drive... Quackity could barely blame him for remaining he cautious and paranoid around automobiles). The blanched twilight hummed overhead as they made their way through the streets. It was relatively empty this time of night, too late for errands but just before everything started to swing. They pulled into the end of the road and all stepped out.

“It’s a bit of a walk the rest of the way,” Quackity explained. “Especially cause ‘s considered… ‘impolite’ to pull attention.” 

“Hmm…” Sapnap nodded, glancing behind them.

“What’s up?” Karl put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Nothing.” 

“You sure?” 

“It’s fine, I just-“ 

“Just what?” 

“Uh, maybewecouldgoseeSchlattandCharlie?”

“Huh?” Karl blinked. 

“Is… Schlatt and Charlie coming? Could we go get them?”

“N-no?” Quackity stammered, surprised to say the least. “This— uh- ain’t exactly the kind of party you bring your family to. Not ‘less they got dates of their own... and you know Charlie ain’t keen on that stuff.”

“Okay, well, maybe we could spend some time with them for a while at the casino? Before we commit here. The night is young!”

“I means, I’m pumped for your sudden urge to hang out with them and all, but I kind of wanted to spend time with the two of you.”

“Ah-“ Sapnap shrunk into himself. “Of course, I- me as well, I’m so sorry to imply otherwise. I was just thinking Charlie may like to hear about the slimes...” He trailed off, fiddling with the headband around his neck, just the slightest hint of panic on his face. He was very good at hiding it but Quackity and Karl knew him better than that. They shared a glance, this had nothing to do with Charlie. 

“Spice, are youse nervous?” 

“N-no!” 

“You sure? We don’t gots to do nothing you don’t wanna.” 

“Yeah, it’s just-“ 

“Chivalry and all that?” Karl chimed in, sympathetic. “I know our courting isn’t exactly conventional.” 

“No. Well, not exactly. Ah... think I’m merely... flustered?” 

“Flustered?” They spoke at once. 

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… romance in my world is so different. Much more complicated. It involves a lot of the other’s family and specific sets or roles for meetings, it changes depending on how long you’ve been together and what kingdoms you hail from, so such and so forth. I’ve never been a martinet for the rules but, the way you describe these kinds of parties, I- I- find myself… lost.” 

Karl blinked. “So, you’re used to having a bunch of guidelines and, while you don’t miss them, are floundering without the stencil?” Sapnap nodded at the ground. He took a breath and shook his head, clearing his mind before bowing slightly. He held his left arm over his chest, middle knuckle up with his pinky and thumb slightly out, keeping the rest of his hand balled in a fist. Quackity recognized the symbol by now as something like a salute of the Nether kingdom. It was used to show respect while speaking. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, remembering the formality was only habit. 

“I apologize for my trepidation,” Sapnap held a bashful tone. “I am just not used to courti-“ he paused, searching for the word, “dates being so… open. I don’t mean that as an insult to your world! I only-.” 

“Okay, buddy,” Quackity pushed Sapnap upright by his shoulders. He seemed confused but obliged. “I get it’s polite and nice for you but, if you really love me, please never do this again.” 

“Do... what?” 

“You have a habit of getting all formal when you’re worried you’re messing up with us.” Karl shrugged. 

“I do?” 

“I don’t know.” Quackity tapped his chin. “Let’s see.” Without warning, he grabbed Sapnap by the shoulders and takes him downward, planting a firm kiss right on his lips. He tensed a little as he felt a sudden wave of hotness wash over him (that was to be expected from surprising a demon) but stayed in the moment. As he pulled away, Sapnap blinked a few times, stunned although the faintest hint of a smile shone through. His gelled hair fell just a little messy.

“What the fuck, Quackity?” 

“There we go! Back to normal! You see the difference?”

“I- I guess so!” He nodded, a look of mild surprise mixing his comprehension as if he’d just realized what color his own eyes were. 

“Now, did youse like that?”

“Yes?”

“You want more?” 

“Yes...”

“You wanna go inside?” 

“Yeah.” Sapnap energetically nodded, slamming the car door shut, slicking back his hair again, and holding out his arms. “Yes, I do.”

Karl jumped between them, linking arms on his side before Quackity had the chance, and holding out his own instead. Quackity shot him a look but took it, joined by Sapnap in confusion at the sudden demand to be in the middle. Karl only smiled as they made their way down the street, nearly skipping at the attention until he lowly murmured, “So… do I get a kiss?” Quackity opened his mouth, smiling, but was cut off by Sapnap swiftly swooping in and planting one on Karl’s cheek.

“Oh- you-!” Quackity squawked, envy and agitation peaking his tone. “I was gonna-!” 

“Well, I did.” 

“Boys, boys, I do have two hands… and two cheeks,” Karl half-sang, leaning over to Quackity awaiting his kiss. 

“Oh, no. Fuck you. You’re gonna have to wait for it now,” Quackity pouted. Sapnap let out a taunting laugh as Karl gasped in mock offense. Well, probably mock. Regardless, Quackity only smirked and turned to face a door in the wall next to them. “Besides, we’re here!” He unlinked his arm, rattling out a little pattern into the door. It opened slowly, revealing a dapperly dressed serpentine blocking the view inside. He smiled wildly as the warm smells and colors hit him regardless, it had been a while since he’d been to one of these, long before he ever met them and certainly not while they were dating, but he missed them. 

He couldn’t wait to share this.

Phase One: Thor

Since I was looking up my past live-blog of the novel and realising how annoying and repetitive reading through it all is because of my having structured it as a bunch of reblogs, I’ve decided to organize it all into one long-ass post instead. In case anyone else wants to read it in the future. Or in case I decide to re-read it. Because I’m hilarious. 😅

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

My Hilarious Yet Wrathful Overview Of Phase One: Thor, Redux

—

If your son who’s to become king requires a babysitter to not screw it all up and also the idea of him being king is stressful enough to put you into a coma, maybe, uh… reconsider doing that? Just a thought.

But you see here why Odin was so deadset on Thor becoming king, despite him being ill-suited for the role. It’s not about what’s best for Asgard; it’s about personal legacy. Thor is Odin’s mini me, and Loki is very much not. There are places within the text where Odin laments Thor “lacking his father’s wisdom” (he’s definitely inherited your humility, though, Odin!), but he hopes for Thor to grow into a “wise king” like himself. Whereas he holds no such illusions (lol, pun) that Loki will ever take after him.

now with tag commentary! #this scene is in the script and both novelizations #(though in reading this novel seems to just be a more complete version of the junior novel? #idk i'm confused because they're supposedly written by different authors but so far the text is identical) #and it drives me insane each time i read it

“Haha, I’m a warmongering piece of shit, isn’t it funny?”

I know, I know. I try to cut Asgard some slack for being such a militaristic culture because social changes happen slowly and when you live for thousands of years per generation, it makes sense that your views on things like war would be regressive. The text says Odin has ruled Asgard for tens of thousands of years (so much for taking Loki’s “give or take 5,000 years” line literally; sure, the Odinsleep would have extended Odin’s lifespan, but by that much? Idk).

Still, fuck Odin. Especially since he’ll eventually try to shame Loki for doing the same thing he’s fucking boasting about here. And on a much smaller scale too.

…is it, though?

I actually think Loki’s relationship with being the centre of attention is really interesting in its complexity and we don’t discuss it enough. I’ve said this before, but he strikes me as the sort of person who craves attention but also wouldn’t really know what to do with it if he had it. He craves it as a result of neglect, because he’s never been shown recognition or validation. This is why he seems to revel in it in Stuttgart, even in (or maybe especially in?) his brainwashed state. But he also frequently comes across as pretty introverted and has horrible self-esteem, so I think on another level, sustained, genuine attention would make him feel kind of uncomfortable. Loki seems to believe that in order to be loved or respected, he has to literally be Thor, though. And Thor has always been the centre of attention, so for Loki, attention is synonymous with respect.

I find Loki’s relationship with wanting attention especially fascinating because I too both crave and fear it. As a borderline, I need it. When no one is paying attention to me, I lose my sense of identity. I feel as though I literally cease to exist. It’s excruciatingly painful. And yet, I have no authentic sense of self; I’m just a chameleon, and the closer people get to me, the more likely it is they’ll see behind my mask. They’ll realise it’s all a show and that I’m actually no one. And then they’ll leave. I can’t help wondering if that’s how Loki feels sometimes too.

Wait, what? You mean goat. His horns are shaped like a goat’s. This is a ram: 

This is a goat:

This is Loki:

Do you see now? They’re like a goat. Not a ram. Not a cow. A GOAT.

This book was written before Ragnarok was a thing, so it may be unfair to connect the two, but it still seems worth noting that it was Thor who reduced Loki to being no more than a trickster to begin with. “You could be more,” my ass. Loki’s problem has never been that he was one-dimensional; it was always that the people in his life, including Thor, refused to see any other dimensions to him. Which makes those words particularly cruel—as if they aren’t cruel enough already, what with the physical torture and all. 

Always happy to have cause to point out that

Loki was on Thor clean-up duty their whole lives; he certainly was not trying to kill Thor.

People like to point to Loki’s attempted genocide of the Jötnar and attempted(-ish? lol) conquest of Earth as proof that he’s some kind of violent maniac. But in a little place I like to call reality, Loki was historically far less aggressive and bloodthirsty than his peers.

Question: why is one conqueror evil and the other is righteously entitled to ruling over the Nine Realms?

Asgardian exceptionalism FTW

I can’t even begin to imagine what would lead you to expect such a thing, Odin. 😂

Uh, ‘cause it is?? And also their planet is MELTING without it??

This is all only within the first two chapters, btw. Lmao

—

—

—

“Looking for answers,” my foot.

YOU WOULD THINK SO, WOULDN’T YOU??

#i mean unless you knew heimdall #he only commits treason on days that end in y

—

—

What’d I say? Thor clean-up dutyyyyy 

Just wanna remind everyone that this 

is why he’s smiling during this scene 

because it makes me laugh every time. 😂 

—

My heart breaks every time I remember that second excerpt because literally ALL OF IT happened to him when he survived falling through the wormhole. My poor boy. 😭

But also of note… Loki gets cold (and also does not like being cold). This interests me because 1) as many are aware, the prevalent headcanon that Loki has a low body temperature irritates me and 2) it possibly(?) lends weight to the theory that he may not be fully Jötun, whether by virtue of his birth or Odin’s spell.

Haha, look at this Feminist Icon™ trying to take credit for his female friend’s accomplishments! Truly inspiring. 

#for some reason the ragnarok lovers have somehow decided that thor is both a feminist and lesbian icon #whatever that means 🤷‍♀️ #and i'm still trying very hard to figure out why #is it literally just because he *says* he respects women or whatever in that dumb rambly conversation with valkyrie?

Ooh… you were so close to getting the point, Volstagg. So close. Take your tongue off Odin’s boot for just a couple minutes longer.

Also, the author just forgot the name of the Casket. How did this book get published? 😂

JUST LOOKING FOR ANSWERS, HUH?

Because fuck Loki, amirite? He, uh… he’s a prince too, you know.

Also… Fandral, you dweeb 😂

…am I reading too much into this, or did Odin just literally forget that Loki exists?

On the other hand, the author also seemed to forget Loki existed for most of this chapter, so who knows. 🤷‍♀️

lmao @ Jane immediately trying to convince herself she’s too rational to be attracted to a stranger 

Honestly, though, big mood. 

Just your periodic reminder that Thor’s sycophantic friends KNEW Loki was right and decided to throw him under the bus anyway. 

Just as I’ve always said: That was it. That was their ENTIRE rationale. That Loki *could* have done it, therefore he must have. Please tell me these people have nothing to do with Asgard’s justice system.

…lol, jk, Asgard has no justice system.

Ok, first of all, no.

Second: thank you, Fandral. You’re a self-absorbed cad, but also evidently Thor’s least stupid friend.

Thirdly, how…? First, it was, “Loki arranged all this because he’s jealous of Thor.” Now they’ve suddenly jumped all the way to, “All of Asgard is in danger.” What exactly does Sif think Loki is planning? He’s gonna, what… assassinate Odin and then sell Asgard to the Jötnar?

—

Please stop hurting me.

Just so there’s no confusion: this one sentence explains everything Loki did for the rest of the movie. It explains how a person who has been historically non-aggressive suddenly transforms into a warmonger. To prove himself a real Asgardian, like his brother and father and grandfather. 

—

…why did Odin fall into the Odinsleep in two completely different scenes in this book? I’m super confused.

Also, we really need to talk about how cruel it is of Marvel to keep forcing Loki to prove his loyalty again and again and again when he’s been doing so almost literally since we met him. And by “we need to talk about it”, I mean I need to tie Kevin Feige and co. to a chair and spend a minimum of five hours lecturing them on how poorly they understand their own fucking character.

Let’s just be clear here: they’re talking about Loki. They’re saying Loki, their LEGITIMATE king, is an enemy of Asgard, based on evidence so paper-thin it’s practically invisible. Just… please, let that sink in. Take a moment to appreciate how utterly fucked up that is. 

I’m sorry (not really), but Thor was so much funnier before Ragnarok.

This scene has always kind of bugged me. If Odin removed Thor’s powers, how come he can still control the weather? Confusing.

So what exactly was Thor’s plan anyway, before he realised he couldn’t lift Mjölnir? He was just gonna call on Heimdall to help him commit treason AGAIN, show up on Asgard against the expressed command of his king, and… Odin would just shrug and be like, “You got me, son! I guess I can’t keep you down. Welcome home!”?

…I mean, I guess that more or less is what happened in the end, but it’s hard to imagine it would have still gone down that way without all the stuff that happened with Loki. Idk.  

#look what i'm saying is... thor is not exactly a thinking person #no one on asgard is a thinking person #except loki but he's crazy now so he's also thinking somewhat poorly lol

Cool, Thor. Now imagine feeling that way for ONE THOUSAND YEARS and develop a little fucking empathy for your brother.

But you won’t.

You’ll brush off his feelings of worthlessness as “imagined slights”. 😒

Nice that somebody knows how the royal line of succession works, I guess… 

That sound you hear? Yeah, that’s just my heart breaking. NBD. 

First, they mislabelled it the Casket of Eternal Winters. Now it’s the Cask of Ancient Winters. Author must have been thirsty when they wrote this. Lol 

Look, not to nitpick, but this is not the recommended procedure when you see a storm that you don’t believe is of supernatural origin coming. I’m just saying. Lol 

Uh… ‘cause he is?? And your pals are committing treason AGAIN, Thor, so it technically is responding to a threat to Asgard. Just FYI.

Anyways, this is an important point that doesn’t get made often enough. People want to act like Loki illegally usurped the throne somehow, but even without the deleted scene that explicitly shows Frigga passing rulership to him (a scene which is, for some reason, entirely skipped over in this book, but whatever), understand this: Loki could not have controlled the Destroyer unless he was legitimately King of Asgard. The fact that he’s able to do so is irrefutable proof that his rulership is valid.

lmao you little shit

So… here’s my issue with this scene (and with Thor as a character): He always assumes that Loki’s acting out specifically to hurt him. That Loki’s entire life and thought process revolves around Thor. He does it in this scene, he does it in The Avengers… it’s just a chronic thing with Thor. Everything is viewed through the lens of Loki inexplicably hating him.

But that’s… just not accurate. Yes, Loki harbours a lot of jealousy towards Thor. But that’s not what’s happening in this scene. Loki is not trying to kill Thor here because he wants him dead; he’s doing it because Thor (and his friends) are getting in the way of Loki completing his ultimate goal. Loki tried to solve this problem non-violently, by lying about Odin being dead. It’s Thor’s friends who all but forced his hand by going behind his back and trying to bring Thor back to Asgard against Loki’s (and Odin’s!) direct orders.

For all the humility he’s learned in the past few days, this entire speech is still really all about Thor. About assuming that Loki’s doing this for personal reasons, because he holds a grudge against Thor for some unknown reason. This is implicit in his request to “take [my life] and end this.” It never even occurs to him that his friends are traitors to the Crown and Loki, as King of Asgard, is perhaps justified in pursuing them.

It also needs to be acknowledged that Thor’s apology here is hollow, even if it’s ultimately coming from his heart, because he has no idea what he’s apologising for. “Whatever I have done to wrong you” is not an apology. An apology addresses specific hurtful actions taken and commits to not repeating those mistakes in the future. Thor cannot commit to not repeating the hurtful things he’s done, because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Despite his best intentions, what Thor is doing here is actually kind of manipulative. He’s not addressing any substantive issue between the two of them; he’s just trying to talk Loki down. And it ultimately fails not because Loki doesn’t care or because he wants Thor dead, but because it doesn’t actually change anything.

Finally and only semi-relatedly, we should maybe at some point talk about the fact that Loki, who is stated to be a master tactician, has displayed a weird pattern of hardly ever being as lethal as he could be. He freezes Heimdall in place instead of killing him outright; he backhands Thor with the Destroyer instead of incinerating him; he, well… *gestures vaguely at almost the entirety of the first Avengers movie* Anytime the violence is even a little bit personal, he seems to hedge. Odd behaviour for somebody who’s supposedly super evil.

I’m sorry, I know I’ve pointed it out at least a hundred times before, but I just can’t encounter this scene in any form without taking a moment to appreciate how underrated and hilarious it is.

I also genuinely wonder how many Ragnarok stans who have accused me of having no sense of humour, have failed to laugh at moments like this one. Kinda feel like if you need to have the comedy spoonfed to you in the form of ass jokes, maybe you’re the one whose sense of humour is lacking. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s be super clear: this is not what happened. Loki did not betray Odin; he was betrayed by Odin. He did not open Asgard to its enemies; he attempted, misguidedly, to destroy Asgard’s enemies. And he most certainly did not commit suicide out of a sense of guilt.

I’m not saying Loki did nothing wrong, nor am I saying he feels no regret for the lives he has taken. What I’m saying is there’s no indication that he believes he betrayed Odin or Asgard in the process. Which makes perfect sense, because he didn’t. Everything he tried to do was for Odin and Asgard. It was misguided and horrible, yes, but it can hardly be classified as a betrayal.

The insurmountable burden on Loki is not that he did terrible things, but that no matter what he does or how hard he tries, Odin will never look at him with anything but contempt. Consider once more these passages from the very beginning of the book, at Thor’s coronation:

—

Consider that this book goes to great pains to point out that Odin favours Thor because Thor is a warrior like him. And yet even when Loki embraces that, even when he acts more war-like than ever before, Odin rejects him— just as he always has.

There is a reason why this moment is the last time Loki will ever call Odin his father. Because he realises once and for all that, no, nothing he tries will ever be good enough; no, Odin won’t ever look at him with pride. That is Loki’s burden. That is why he lets go.

The epilogue is really just two pages of making me want to vomit. 

There’s your party where Thor and a certain subset of the fandom insist that Loki was mourned. There’s barely an indication here that anyone even perceives his demise as a negative thing.

“[Sif] could see Frigga thought [Loki was dead] as well” also contradicts the tie-in comic for TDW, so I don’t know what the author is on about there. Unlike the majority of Marvel comics, the tie-in comics are canon to the MCU, so it’s a bizarre statement to make.

COULD YOU SMEAR THE DEAD* ABUSE VICTIM A LITTLE HARDER, PLEASE? Fucking hell.

No matter how many times I encounter this scene, in whatever format, I still fail to become desensitized to how disgusting it is. I realise there’s a good chance that whatever version of events Thor has been told was twisted at best; but how you can look at a man whose son has just committed suicide under any circumstances and say there will never be a better father than that guy, is utterly beyond my capacity to understand.

And Odin’s “you’ve already made me proud” line just feels like extra salt in the wound because, again, Loki let go because he realized Odin would never say those words to him. And yet they come so damn easily when it’s Thor.

Fuck this entire family so much. I think I hate them more than Loki does. Sometimes I wonder what he would think about that. How he would react to knowing that not only is he actually loved, but that he’s so loved that people are genuinely furious at the way he’s been mistreated. That there are people who regularly devolve into full-on rants because they just can’t contain how much anger they have towards the people who hurt him. I think he’d have a hard time wrapping his head around that concept, tbh.

Anyways, to end on a not-completely-depressing note, I’m still waiting for someone at Marvel to explain how Loki knew what Thor said in this scene after plummeting into a wormhole. ‘Cause he references this conversation as Fauxdin at the end of TDW. So like… ?? Did he steal Odin’s memories before he erased them? Because that would be… kind of neat, actually. And very clever. Not entirely ethical, of course, but it’s Odin, so fuck ethics.

WELP, THAT’S IT. Thanks for following along with my dumbassery, hope you enjoyed yourselves. Lol

Desperation, Baby! (coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, Dean & Lucifer, Dean/Cas, 2.3k, T)

ao3 link

Death took her sweet time parsing through Chuck's book, meaning Lucifer spent longer than he'd like surrounded by his former vessel, his brother, his son, and a man whose obvious longing made him want to vomit. Instead of returning with his prize, Chuck welcoming him back, he must waste his valuable time playing 'nice; with those he can't stand.

Not that it matters. They don't trust him, each member of this ragtag group of survivors watching Lucifer in shifts. Never leaving him alone.

It's Dean's turn now, and he's driving Lucifer up a wall by doing nothing at all save for broadcasting a never-ending supply of feeling. Can he cut the signal without showing his hand, or put Dean's heart to good use?

           It’s pathetic, truly. Lucifer huffs, deflating, sinking further into his seat. Weighed down by obscene amounts of longing that poured freely off Dean like a broken hydrant. Funneled into his awareness because its usual drain was cordoned forever. It flooded these now silent angelic air waves, Lucifer growing more annoyed with each, excruciating second. Until, finally, “Holy hell, can you please quit it?”

           Dean startles from where he stood, jaw tensing. Mouth flattening in a thin line as he glares, “What?”

           “Quit. It. Quitit!” He hisses, leaning forward. Stretches his arms across the table, reaching for Dean. Fingers twitching, Lucifer imagines Dean’s neck between them. “Seriously, you’re giving me a migraine with all your feelings.”

           “Good.” Dean surprises Lucifer with his response. No attempted denial, nor misdirection. His gaze unflinchingly pierced through Lucifer’s vessel, pride bolstering its blow. Lucifer cannot detect any shame that usually clings to his soul, none of that smell lingering. He’s grown since they’ve last seen each other. Stunning character development. “Deserve it, after that dick move you pulled earlier.”

           “You still upset about that?” Scoffing, Lucifer rises. Meanders across the room towards Dean, gaze never straying. Easy since it’s only them. “I thought my gift would have more than made up for that.” He grins, rocking on his heels. A breadth of space separates them now. “How else was I supposed to get in, anyway?” he continues, “Not like if I called as myself you’d’ve rolled out the welcome mat.”

           “But… Cas?” Lucifer savors the taste of his brother’s name, drenched in sadness. Ripped from Dean’s heart in a barely controlled sob.

           “Nasty habit,” he giggles, “Though the results speak for themselves. I mean – you know how easy it was smooth-talking little Sammy when I looked like his ol’ flame, Jess?” Dean doesn’t laugh, snarled lip suffocating Lucifer’s airy mirth. “You’re no fun.”

           “Sorry,” Dean growls, “why don’t you try later when the world’s not ending.”

           “It’s always ending. In one way or another.” Lucifer waves his hand and a chair drags itself over. He straddles it, gazing up at Dean. “If we waited for peace to enjoy life, there’d be no time. Better to… say what’s in your heart, even if it kills you.” He frowns, mockingly, “Or in Castiel’s case… did kill him.”

           Dean slams his fist against the wall. “You have no right –“

           “Timeout there,” Lucifer smirks, eyes glowing red. Reflection of Dean’s entire face, blood rapidly swelling his cheeks. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret…” He holds Dean there, frozen, waits until the other man seems calm. Dips his head, tries catching Dean’s gaze. “If I let you go, will you behave?” Dean remains silent, yet Lucifer hears him. Tunes into his frequency, actively sifting through his frenzied emotions. “Seriously,” he lets Dean go, hunter falling on his ass, “how are we supposed to work as a team if you’re not willing to cooperate?”

           “This… isn’t a team,” Dean spits, “you’re working… with the Empty.”

           “And the Empty’s trying to take Chuck out!” he argues, “So, enemy of my enemy is my friend or all that nonsense –“

           “Go to hell.”

           “I wish I could, but I’m kinda on a short leash.” Bored with Dean’s resistance, Lucifer threads his next few words with seriousness. “Listen, once Betty’s done with the book I’ll flit on out of here and one, two, three – humanity is saved from dear, ol’ dad! We can make this all painless if you’d just trust me, or we can keep doing what we’re doing. I, personally, am tired of this bullshit. Rather be napping back in the Empty, but no…”

           “You should be.”

           “Beg pardon?”

           Dean bares his teeth, roiling hatred knocking Lucifer back a few inches. “You should still be sleeping, back there,” he says, “if anyone were supposed to come back, it’d be Cas. Not… you…”

           “Ah, Castiel, yes…” Lucifer sighs, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course, he lacks my raw power and charm, but… yes, you’d trust anything that he said.” Hand on his throat, he affects his vocal cords. Mimicking the other angel’s gravelly tone again, “Dean, please go along with Lucifer’s wishes and help him –“

           “Enough!” Dean kicks at a chair leg, interrupting Lucifer. Tears threaten to pour, dangling from his lashes like morning dew. “If you really wanna play nice, you’d stop doing that.”

           “This is nice, buddy.” Lucifer pokes at Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Why don’t you grow some thick skin, huh? Where’s the real Dean Winchester? That tough guy with endless bravado instead of this sad, sorry piece of shit that’s pining after some dead guy?”

           Dean turns, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That isn’t me. I… he never was.” An intimate confession whispered into ancient brickwork. Meaningful for a different crowd. Except Lucifer shows little care, sarcastic clapping shattering Dean’s moment.

           “Wow, Dean… really fantastic. Amazing!” He climbs off the chair, crouching closer. Tongue dragged over his lips, smile wide. “Your verbose diction astounds me… did you whip that together after my brother got dragged into super hell? Are you still workshopping it – okay if I give you a few notes?” Lucifer pinches Dean’s cheek, poking this rabid grizzly. “At least you’ve got that face. Clearly Cas didn’t fall for your emotional maturity, your observational prowess or timing…”

           He weakly bats Lucifer off him, “You don’t know anything…”

           “I think I know quite a lot,” Lucifer challenges him, “Between the both of us, only I managed to slip inside my tight-ass little brother. Probably why I knew all his little… perversions, although it was clear as day how he felt about you to everyone – well… almost everyone.” His hand settles on Dean’s chest, atop his heart. “Do you know amazing it was, when I slipped my blade through him? You were a buffet that night… fear, relief, hope… despair. I could’ve ended him in that other dimension, but I waited until he crossed back. Knew how much more painful it’d be.”

           “Monster,” Dean says, “Fucking psychopath.”

           “The old me, maybe.” Lucifer teleports, sitting on a nearby table. Legs absentmindedly pedaling, stirring confusion within Dean. “But I’ve been reborn on the right side, Dean. Nobler. I’ve got purpose.”

           “You’ve got a load of shit,” he accuses, standing on shaky legs, “that you’re trying to sell me. Us.”

           “Come on!” Lucifer groans, hands flying skyward, “Isn’t this supposed to be your eleventh hour? How can you be so stubborn? Here I come, with a Hail Mary, and you’re turning your nose up at me like some snob. Like you have better options waiting. All because you won’t work with the Empty –“

           “It’s not just that,” Dean corrects him, “I also don’t want to work with you.”

           He crosses his arms, pouting. “You’re gonna have to suck that up. So the Empty wouldn’t send your boytoy, do you blame them? For a broken, little thing he sure is popular. Who’s to say Cas’d come back once this all wraps up? At least the Empty trusts me.”

           “I guess something has to.”

           “You can, too, if you want.” Lucifer casts his reel wide, waiting. Eyebrows waggling like baited worms. “It’d be a hell lot easier than what you’re doing now. Come on…” he needles, “why is it so hard to believe in miracles?”

           “Please…” Dean says, hiding his face behind his knees. Arms circled around his legs, curled into a ball. “Stop talking.”

           He relents for the time being. Proud of what cracks in Dean’s armor he made. When Chuck sent him, he asked Lucifer to ruffle a few feathers. Mess with their heads, ensure this ragtag group of losers would stay down. Accept their fate, end this miserable experiment called humanity in sadness. “Don’t provoke them too much, though,” Chuck warned, fists curled along his jacket’s lapels, “Betrayals only work when the other side doesn’t expect them. Plot’s stretched thin as it is, bringing you back doesn’t really make sense –“

           “I love you too, dad.”

           “That’s why you need to lay it on thick,” he said, “steer them away from why, keep the action moving.”

           Lucifer stared down at his father, frowning. “Anything else you need?”

           “No,” Chuck clapped Lucifer’s shoulder, nodding. “Just be yourself.”

           Except none of them wanted him. Especially Dean. He wanted… Castiel.

           It’s a little off-script, but Lucifer bets Chuck will enjoy what he plans. Even if it’ll involve his least favorite character. Lucifer hops off the table, grace burning across his body. Razing this vessel’s form, stealing its characteristics and distinguishability. A tall mound of clay left that he molds into a new body. Darker hair, sturdier frame, and bluer eyes. “Dean,” he says, swallowing his laughter. “Dean…” He tries again, sounding exactly like him.

           Like Castiel.

           Dean tenses, “Cas?” Barely audible, Lucifer strained to hear his prayer. That hope, sweetness quickly bittering as Dean digests the scene. “No…” he sighs, mumbling into his legs. “Lucifer, thought I told you to quit it.”

           “Lucifer is gone, Dean,” he lies, kneeling. “I’m here… please, Dean, look at me.” Lucifer grabs at Dean’s head, thankful the other man lets him. Green finds masked-blue, their ‘reunion’ drawing a pained breath.

           “What?” Dean asks, a single tear slipping free. Trails along his cheek until it falls off his chin. “How – how is this happening?”

           “Because of you, Dean.” Lucifer’s hands shift, a thumb smearing that tearstain while he runs fingers through Dean’s hair. “You refused Lucifer’s help, even though what he said was true. The Empty saw and decided, if we were to truly end Chuck, the risk of sending me will be worth it.” Expression darkening, Lucifer leans into dramatics. Lips quivering as he recites his next line, “Though not without conditions, Dean – I… you know I can’t stay, right?”

           “You will,” he says, “Cas – we will… if this book really can end Chuck, and we take him out, what can the Empty do –“

           “Take you,” Lucifer cuts him off. “Take you… Sam, and Jack. I step even an inch out of line and we all get sucked into their being, with no hope of actually defeating my father.” He nearly breaks character, watching how the light in Dean’s eyes flickered before being snuffed. Lucifer regains composure, growling his next words. “You understand this, then? What it means?”

           Dean nods, snaking his hands across Lucifer’s wrists. “Means we don’t have long,” he barks, squeezing tight. “I have to set it right, right now.”

           “Dean –“

           “No, Cas,” Dean talks over him, guiding Lucifer’s hands off where they rested. Silences the disguised archangel by chaining him, making Lucifer a helpless victim. Awe real as he waits for Dean, cowed by longing powerful than his earlier annoyance. “I… I need to get through this because – well, the last time you didn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I, there was a lot left unsaid that I don’t want to stay that way. If we can’t have a future, then at least… at least we have here.” He laughs, choking on it. More tears dance their way down.

           “When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t believe it,” Dean confesses, “and then, when you told me why I – I was… I believed that less. I mean, you… you’ve listened to your heart more than I have. Even if a few of those times it was wrong, everything you did was for love. Knowing you was – that was my happiness. Having you, in whatever way you’d let me. Because there you were, this shining beacon, and for some reason you kept on letting me bask in your glow. I felt I… I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve you.”

           Dean brings Lucifer’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss along a patch of skin. The gesture disgusts him. “And you were right about how – I thought of myself so… so poorly, it kept me from saying and – and doing things I wish I’d done sooner. All my life I thought there were things I couldn’t have, rules I had to live by, and I never questioned them until you saved me from hell. Literal and figurative. Because of you, I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to be good. But I never believed I could. Then you tell me you loved me… because I was good. I already was the kind of person I thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t believe it. What’s stranger… I didn’t have to believe it, to know it’s true.” Dean smiles at him, Lucifer mirroring his gesture though it pained him. “I’m the person I always wished I could be, and even when you’re gone I’ll still be that person. I’ll miss you, Cas. Always. I’ll miss you, and I’ll love you. I’ll love you always.”

           It happens before Lucifer realizes. Distracted, nauseated by Dean’s powerful emotions, he missed how a hand snuck its way towards his neck. Pinched there, startling him. In that second, Dean forces Lucifer into an embrace. Lips crashing together, Lucifer stays frozen while Dean attacks his mouth. Mewling, whimpering.

           Disgusting.

           He pulls the curtains back, reverting to his previous form. Delights in how Dean senses the change, peeking with one eye as Castiel’s face vanishes. The other man violently hurls himself to the side, gaping at him. “Why Dean,” Lucifer grins, awkwardness heavy in his tone, “if I had known that’s how you felt about me…”

           Dean sobs, wiping at his lips. “How… what the –“

           “You really thought I was Cas, didn’t you?” Laughing, Lucifer towers over him. “I figured you’d catch on but… I underestimated you. And for that I’m sorry.” He devours these new emotions radiating from Dean, eagerly lapping them up. “I’m also sorry that you’ve convinced you deserve a happy ending,” he twists the knife further. Dean flinches, turning. Fleeing. Lucifer shouts at his retreating figure. “That’s not your story, Dean! Don’t ask for more, be happy with what you have!”

           Then, as he waits for his next babysitter, Lucifer’s eyes glow red. “Because soon enough… you won’t even have that.”

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts.

SUMMARY: You and Diego are close. Good friends. But nothing more than that, not now and not ever. You know that he’s not into you, that’s been made clear. There’s just one issue. While sober Diego thinks of you as just a friend, drunk Diego...well, that’s a whole other story. WARNING: drinking (mentions). swearing. angst, i suppose??  PAIRING: Diego Hargreeves x reader. WORD COUNT: 3300k+ (why can’t i write anything short....)

A/N: So, I’ve been looking a lot and thinking about the concepts between a happier Hargreeves family, so like sans apocolypse and whatever alternate dimension means they get along nicely and what not. And I’ve also been badly missing Diego Hargreeves and Diego content (because tua has been pretty dead on Tumblr, sadly). And so I wrote this. Please don’t consider anything canon and alongside the tv show, it’s not at all. 

IT’S HALF PAST MIDNIGHT WHEN THE PHONE RINGS. Whoever’s on the other end is lucky she was still awake. Her eyes had just been slipping shut when the loud sound interrupted her dreams. And truly, normally she would have clicked her phone off and ignored whoever was pestering her - but there was only a handful of people that called that late. And generally, there was unfortunately a good reason. 

Not even bothering to look at the caller ID, she clicked accept and raised the phone to her ear.

“This had better be important.”

“It’s Diego.”

And immediately, even without a chance to exhale, her heart began to pound. Stupid emotions, right? Betraying herself to...well, herself. Y/N sighed. Her frown dissipated, though she tried to remain irritated and not ready to jump into action. “What’s happened this time?”

“Well, he - he - long story short, there was a drinking contest,” Vanya mumbled, hard to understand amongst the pounding music on the other end. In the background someone shouted something, another voice joining in, and already Y/N could paint a pretty clear picture of the circumstances in her mind. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you know that when he’s in this state, well -”

“-it’s no problem. I get it, I didn’t sign into being his emergency babysitter for nothing. And...it’s not your fault your brother’s a dumbass.”

Vanya quietly laughed on the other side of the line. “He’s really something else.”

“Yeah...yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Already she was up, slipping on her jacket and shoes and fixing her hair in the tiny foyer mirror. “Give me like, ten minutes. Can you keep the trio alive that long?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Y/N smiled softly. “All you can do. Thanks, Vanya.” She clicked end and unlocked her door, rushing down the dimly lit hallway with new urgency, ready to go save some souls from what could be a particularly rough night.

Diego Hargreeves was a lot of things. But Drunk-Diego - well, that was a force not many could handle. In fact, no one really could, not even her, the designated collector due to a pact they made several years back. But though it was a challenge, she cared far too much (unfortunately) about him to say no, ever. And, also, he really did not need to be thrown in jail for the umpteenth time for something so silly as this.

                                   ─── 

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY SIX MINUTES TO GET TO THE BAR. That credit went to the lack of traffic so late, as well as the fact that her foot was practically pounding the gas pedal into the ground, begging her tiny car to go as fast as possible. Y/N was far too aware of what the Hargreeves boys were capable of and she was not eager to walk into a bloodbath. She could hope that someone thought to take Diego’s knives away from him, but that was unlikely.

Unfortunate, considering Drunk-Diego’s quick to anger nature (if one thought he was bad sober...oh, boy).

She hurried up the steps and pushed the door open, blinking to adjust to the dark lighting and throngs of bodies. People looked her way, but she paid them no mind, nodding once to the bartender before pushing her way through the crowd. It was not hard to find the Hargreeves, half because they always sat in the same place - and half just because of the noise. The sounds of cahoots and shouts filled her ears and Y/N had to wince and pause her movements. There was Luther’s bellow, rising just slightly above Diego’s hurled insults and Klaus’ squeaky, breathless jokes that no one ever truly got. It was like this every time something like this happened - and yet every time, it threw her off.

“Y/N, oh thank God you’re here,” cried Allison. She was followed closely by Vanya, wrapped up in a too-large sweater and wearing a matching frown to her sister. The tall woman moved in for a hug, but pulled away just as fast as she leant in. “I hate to make you do this, but-”

“-hey, it’s no biggie. Seriously, I wasn’t doing anything important.” Well, aside from maybe sleeping, but no point in ragging on that. She was already there, wasn’t she?

“It’s just that you’re the only one he ever listens to. Well, that and Vanya sometimes, but-”

“-it’s okay,” she interrupted, once more cutting the brunette off. The trio began to move back towards the craze. “I don’t mind helping out a friend.”

Behind her, Allison chuckled and mumbled something, but if she was meant to catch what, Y/N could not. She could guess the nature of the words, however, and chose to simply ignore it and continue on.

Once she was in view, the trio’s heads turned and cries of her name arised. Y/N could only grin as Klaus bounded over, wrapping his trembling hands around her body and murmuring how much he had missed her. Of course, it had only been two days since they had seen one another, but hey...arguing with logic with Klaus was never the smartest choice, and so she bit back her remark.

Luther did not come over, but just smiled sleepily on the couch. Diego, however, was moving next, with a large grin unlike any expression he ever wore sober. It was refreshing, seeing him smile - it really did suit him, and Y/N wished he would do it more often. But Drunk-Diego always forgot about his sober identity and did the adorable things that he would normally scorn. 

“Are you done here yet, big boy?” she teased, steadying him with a hand as he stumbled. When he shook his head, Y/N just chuckled. “Yeah, you’re done. Come on.”

“M’not even drunk, asshole…”

“Ri-ight. Well, whatever. We’re done here, and I am taking you home.”

With some struggle, mostly her trying to find a way to support him without breaking her back, the duo were on their way and leaving the rest of the Hargreeves behind. Diego protested the entire time, but she still managed to force him out of the bar. Y/N clung tightly to his body, trying to walk with him and not have him slip out of her grasp. It was a difficult task, but slowly but surely, they made it back to her car.

Once out of the bar, he was certainly sweeter, smiling as his inebriated self was prone to. She tried not to grin back, forcing herself to remain stone-faced and focus on her task. Diego managed to climb into the passenger seat without much difficulty, leaving her hurrying over to her own side and sliding in.

“Hey. Buckle up.”

Diego rolled his eyes but did as she asked. “Thanks, mo-oom.”

Y/N said nothing to that. Carefully, they pulled out and were back on the road, with Diego chuckling lowly about something or other and her eyes pinned to the road. 

“Where’re we going? This - this - this ain’t m’place…”

“No, it’s not. You’re crashing with me tonight.”

Diego’s head turned in his seat, twisting to attempt to focus on her face. “Ohh...so you takin’ me to your place, L/N?”

“Yes. So you can sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sure we...we...gonna do a lot of-”

-before he could finish the sentence, she cut him off with a click of her tongue. “You’re drunk, Diego. You are going to sleep, and like a damn baby, too.”

“Right. You just wanna piece a….this. You makin’ a - makin’ a - move?”

Y/N inhaled and turned the steering wheel sharply. There was no point listening to him, but it was hard to ignore his teasing (albeit, rather childish) remarks when it was the only sound filling the car. Curse that stupid broken radio.

“Y/N....Y/N…”

“We’re here now,” she interrupted, pulling into the parking spot and stopping sharply. Diego flung forward and whined, but she could hardly hear anything but her own pounding thoughts then. Stupidly, every time she let herself be pulled into his drunken words, let it infect her like a fucking plague until all she could do is repeat over and over the flirtatious remarks that would never mean anything. She collected every one in her mind from all past drunken encounters, held tight like a vice, to play over and over every time despite her mental protests. 

But she was going to do better this time. None of it meant anything, Y/N reminded herself, and he’s just latching on because you’re there. Nothing else but that.

    ───

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS COME TO PICK ME UP?”

Y/N did not turn around, facing the cupboards instead of the man behind her. Though, she did not have to look to know he was off the couch and moving closer, drifting like a magnet into her path. At least he paused in the kitchen entrance, but it still felt like he was right there.

She coughed to clear her throat - to clear her mind. “We’ve gone over this, Diego. You call me if you need help, I call if I need help. We’ve been doin’ this five years and you can’t even remember our pact?”

Y/N turned to face him, finally taking in his soft, almost childish pout. She frowned. “What?”

“You never call me for help.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name...name one time, Y/N,” he mumbled back. His words still slurred but it was obvious Diego was a bit more in control. Not enough to be thinking right, of course, but at least he could talk normally. “One time in even the last year.”

When no examples came to mind, only red-hot shame licking up her neck and cheeks, she averted her gaze. “Look. Take these. They’re gonna make the aftermath a whole lot easier to deal with. And then lay down, dumbass, and sleep.”

“No! C’mon, Y/N. Why do you never ask for my help? You go to others, but - but-”

“-Diego-”

“-I wanna help you, too-oo,” he rushed out, words like vomit springing from his lips, thrown full-force at her face. The glass and pills were set down, the latter rolling in circles on the counter but neither paid them any mind. Diego’s hands found hers, tracing sloppy designs into her heated skin. “I wanna...I don’t know. I wanna be that guy for you.”

“Okay, no. Diego-”

“-and you know,” he continued, pulling away but ignoring her protests, “an’ I know, I’m not that great, but I’ll do anything you need. Even kill the spiders for you. You gotta lot of spiders? I’ll stab ‘em to death. Just like...” he sloppily mimed a stabbing motion, “this.”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest and sighed. Every time, there was the slightest of pushes and then it all came out, Drunk-Diego spewing tangents of fantasies that would be long forgotten by the next morning. Every time she tried to avoid it and yet it came out, leaving her trying to drown out his sweet words by the time Sober-Diego’s up and gruff and shut-down again. And sure, there was nothing wrong with either sober or inebriated Diego, she unfortunately cared for him either way - but it always stung a little, hearing him sing her sweet praises only to forget all about it.

“You need to sleep. And take these pills.”

“Nah, c’mon, I need you…”

“No, you don’t. Go to bed.” Why had she taken him back to her place? Sure, it would have been a pain trying to get into the gym, but it might have been easier emotionally than trying to do this. Next time, she would have to remind herself of this and go with that route.

Not like she would ever listen to herself.

Y/N watched as Diego stumbled about, tumbling in a slow, awkward spin-around, staring around her place and then looking once more her way. He smiled, though it was watery and tired, as though one push and it would crumble. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Sure,” she replied, not wasting a second on the compliment. “And you’re wasted. You need to go to bed.”

“C’mon, why-yy do you push me away?”

“I don’t.”

“You are righ’now!” he protested. Diego’s smile had dropped, just as she predicted, and he stumbled over to her. She tried not to run. “You...you...you not care about m-me?”

His slurred words cut deep, even with the steady reminder of nothing he says means anything. Y/N shakily sucked in a breath. “That’s not it. I care very much about you.”

“Hm...you smell like p-peaches.”

She said nothing to that. No point in encouraging his nonsense.

“Y/N…” he stepped closer, steadying himself on the countertop. Diego did not touch her, remaining far enough away to not make contact, but she could see his hand trembling, even twitch as though to take her own. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.”

“You don’t get it - but - w-what’s that dumbass song? You dunno...what makes you beautiful! And-”

“-I swear, I-

“An-and you funny, and sweet-”

“-shut up now,” she hissed. Y/N finally came to her senses and shifted away, retreating back into the living room. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Diego try and stop her with his hand, but she skirted from the touch easily enough. “Stop saying this stuff, please.”

“B-but I need to tell you-”

-but she was not about to let him continue, not for a second. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. You’re drunk, you’re not thinking and you need to rest before you go on too much. Okay?���

His face fell, head tilted slightly to one side like a sad puppy. “But I….I...I lo-”

“-I know what you’re going to say, trust me. You’re going to compliment me and say all this sweet stuff, say you care and that you l-love me, even,” her voice trembled on the last syllables, “but I know you don’t mean any of it. And it’s not your fault, you’re drunk and not thinking and I don’t blame you, but I don’t want to hear all these things that aren’t true.”

“They are true.”

Y/N shook her head, chuckling sadly. “It’s okay. Okay? We’re good friends and sometimes you say stupid stuff when you’re drunk - I mean, you know I do. Your thing is just professing your non-existent feelings towards me. But look, it’s late and I do want to sleep, and you need to.”

Diego stepped forward, out of the kitchen and towards where Y/N stood. His brows were furrowed, but his face was still relaxed - at least not holding tight to the mask his sober counterpart clung to. Even in the shitty lighting, basked in shadows, he looked beautiful and it hurt to even look his way.

“No, no, I mean it.”

He moved closer, swaying ever so softly yet remaining on his feet all the same. One hand trembled and moved out, gently caressing her forearm with his fingers. His eyes slipped from hers to her lips, hesitating there. His hand drew away, but his body crept closer, eyes trained on her face, wishing for a connection that she would never allow him to make.

Once more, she shook her head. Without even thinking, she reached out to touch him, quickly moving the hand to his shoulder as though it was always meant to be supportive. “It’s okay. You won’t even remember this happened in the morning.”

“Bullshit.”

“Diego…”

Still, he remained firm in his belief, frowning down at her in what looked almost like concentration. “You think I could forget? I always remember. I ‘member everything with you.”

“No, you don’t. But it’s sweet, maybe a little cheesy but s’still sweet that you’re pretending otherwise.”

“You don’t g-get it, Y/N!”

No, he did not get it. He never did, at least not when absolutely hammered out of his normally quite logical mind. And there was no point in even bothering explaining herself to him, because he would forget until the next encounter when he would sing her praises before promptly forgetting all about how he toyed with her heart. She could count all the times off on her fingers, and sure he never did it on purpose, but that did not mean it did not hurt.

Y/N turned away, unable to look him in the eyes any longer. The sobs were coming and she would be damned if she cried right then, at least in his view. She choked back her tears and sighed. “Look. I care a whole lot about’cha. More’n you could ever know. And I’m fine with us just being friends, I’m not going to force you into loving me or shit like that. But I don’t want to keep hearing you say that you care about me, lying and toying with me like that because it does hurt, knowing you’re never gonna mean that. So please, for the love of whatever fucking deity runs this universe, go to bed and let’s just stop talking about this.”

With that, she stormed out, leaving him swaying by the couch. Y/N slammed her bedroom door and fell against it, freeing her tears to drip waterfalls down her reddened cheeks. She could hear him say something out there, but tried to pay it no mind. He had all he needed, and honestly she might do something stupid if she stayed out there too long.

At least that time had not been as bad. He only did this sometimes, but when it was done, it was long and convoluted compliments that a wannabe Shakespeare might declare poetry. One time, he even dared to try and kiss her, but she quickly made sure to cut him off. He was too drunk to comprehend his actions, but she knew that he would not want to wake up and know that he had kissed her. It was not fair to him and not fair to herself, either.

Y/N buried her head in her arms, propped up on her knees, and groaned through her tears. She should have just risked taking him home.

    ───

SHE ENDED UP NOT SLEEPING MUCH, not until five A.M hit. But after that, her eyes would finally slide shut and she would not open them until it was almost afternoon. Not that Y/N had planned on sleeping that late, but hell - it was a Saturday and it had been a worser Friday night than planned. She had earned a couple extras wasted on sleep.

Y/N yawned and slipped out of the bed, rubbing at her eyes to dispel the sleep. She still felt exhausted, probably due to the tears and high emotional run from the night before, but it had done at least some good. She felt more prepared to face the day, whatever it brought.

She found her apartment strangely empty, however. It was as though no one else had ever been there. She frowned, looking about as though Diego was hiding from her, but it was just her, as far as she could discern. And the only evidence of him ever being there came from the bottle of pills she had left out for him, pinning down a single piece of notepaper.

Y/N hurried to read what he had written for her, but was left feeling even more empty than before. What little he had wrote was vague, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ scrawled across in big letters, followed by his first initial. Not even his full name, as though he had been in a hurry to scurry off. Maybe he had been.

She folded the single paper and tossed it into the trash. Whatever it meant, he was not there to explain - but anyway, she could at least guess at the meaning and understand. If he was not there in the morning, he was either busy or could not bear to be there any longer, eager to flee. Not that she really blamed him. But still, it was odd.

Just before Y/N could begin her (albeit late) morning routine, there was a knock. For a moment, she debated just ignoring it and continuing on, but the raps sounded again and then once more, sounding more and more insistent as they went on. She was resigned to answering, grumbling under her breath about the bad nature of whoever’s visit and that ‘one day, she would have more balls to just ignore the knocks’.

She ripped open the door. “What-” her eyes drifted up, and Y/N stilled, lips forming a tiny ‘o’ in shock at the face that stood before her. “...Oh.”

A/N: May or may not be based on real life experiences (I’m an affectionate drunk, oops). Let me know if you’d be interested in a part two. :)

Learn Log #6 - Cozy Cabin (Exterior)

I’m finally returning to learning pixel art after taking a short break! This week’s Learn Log will focus exterior of my Cozy Cabin, covering my learning about houses, snow tiles, stone tiles and brick tiles.

House

I wanted to start with the house as I feel like that will determine how large I should make the canvas. I decided to return to 16x16 tile sizes after the beach piece and used this as the basis for my house.

First, I drew the roof outline as the size and shape of the roof will determine the size and shape of the building. You can certainly start with the building, however, during my practice, I realised that I much prefer starting with the roof. The shape does look a little weird, but I’m hoping that with the addition of shading it’ll look a lot nicer.

After the roof, I drew the outline for the building. I left a little of the roof hanging over the sides of the building to represent a gutter overhang. Once the rectangle shape of the building base was done, I added details including the door, a bench and two windows. I stuck the door out to make it clear that it can be interacted with to enter the house. Making interaction clear is crucial in the graphical design of videogames, so this is an excellent way to do so with doors, I think. The door should roughly be the size of the characters entering them. In this case, my character was the size of one tile (16x16), so the door was just underneath those dimensions. I then added other key features to the building, including the bench and windows to remove the empty space that would make the building seem odd.

I then added some colours and shading to the building to better display depth. The back of the roof and top of the building is shaded to display the reduced light hitting these areas. Meanwhile, some areas of the roof outline are highlighted to emphasise the sunlight is hitting areas with direct light.

Finally, I added details to the building to provide the viewer with more information. The roof was detailed with a simple brick pattern to give viewers the idea it is made of slate tiles. A simple brick pattern is simply composed of an alternating grid pattern with ‘bricks’ usually being stacked on the gaps between the ‘bricks’ of the line below.

I then wanted to make the walls and door of the building out of wooden planks. With the door, I did this by alternating shading with vertical lines which worked well. This could also work for the wall; however, I wanted the building to seem a little older, so I drew sporadic lines across the building in a lighter colour. This made the door seem solid while the wall was worn down.

I decided to make the canvas 240x160 pixels and placed my house inside.

Snow

Snow is very similar to sand, and a snow texture can be made with wavy lines as described in the last Learn Log. However, I think a grassy snowfield can also be created by using grass techniques with two shades of white. The colours used for snow can’t be a bright, saturated white but they also can’t be too dark, or it will seem unnatural. A highly desaturated, slightly darkened, bright blue seems to work well. After a bit of tinkering around, I made the tiles shown below:

This image is a 64x64 made up of smaller individual 16x16 tiles that can be placed separately. I think it looks pretty good, but it is a little flat. I guess I’ll set it into the scene and continue with these tiles.

I also added some snow to the building to make it fit into the environment better.

Stone

I wanted to transform these snow plains into a mountain range, so I created stone tiles for a cliff face. To create these tiles, I started by selecting two grey colours before drawing stone shapes (deformed ovals and circles).

I then added lighter and darker shades to the rocks to add shading, along with some brighter highlights to show where sunlight reaches in-between the cracks.

Finally, I needed to make this tile fit within the snowy environment. I decided to add a snowy overhang to the top of the cliff-face and icicles stemming from stones. I also added some dithering to each stone to make the shading appear more natural.

I was fairly happy with the tile, so I decided to add it into the scene for a quick test.

There was not a clear sense of depth here, making it seem more like a stone wall rather than a cliff. To add additional depth, I added a darker snow outline around the tiles and added shading onto the tiles. This shading should be a gradient with more light hitting the top of the cliff and less hitting the bottom. This also goes for the path to give a sense of elevation. Dithering is an excellent way to better transition these gradients. I also added a shadow to the building as I added the rest of this shading.

Path

To make the path I first made a grid texture with the same greys from the stone tile (to keep the palette minimal) and shaded each rectangle in the grid as I did with the stone tiles.

I then made two tiles with different snow cover to alternate between when laying out the path. I kept two bricks in the path tiles clear and utilised the darker snow colour to ensure the grid pattern is still present.

I finally added the path to the canvas and was pretty happy with how it turned out, so I called it there.

Conclusion

I definitely struggled with this week’s piece. The snow feels a little flat due to the limitations of working with white/off-whites which kind of sets the whole environment off a bit. The background was ok, but that depth really would have made the environment a lot better, I think. I particularly struggled with the cliffs. Trying to highlight the elevation to the next area of snow was quite tricky. Next time, I think I’ll use specific tiles representing a staircase or ramp rather than shaded standard tiles. Finally, while the house looks nice, it still feels off. I think I’ll have to do more tinkering with buildings to better understand what I can do to improve the shape of it because right now I’m quite unsure. Overall, it’s a good start. My work on the man-made tiles was quite decent, but I need to improve with my creation of depth and snow tiles.

That concludes this week’s learn log. Next week I’ll be covering the interior of the Cozy Cabin including floors, walls and furniture.

My learning and this blog post wouldn’t have been made possible without these fantastic resources. Go check them out if you wanna learn some stuff about pixel art!

How to Make a Pixel Art House by TutsByKai

How to Pixel Snow by TutsByKai

How to Create a Brick Texture by TutsByKai

How to Make a Pixel Art Stone Texture by TutsByKai

Tutorial: Pixel Art Tile Floor by Michel Mohr

Ooh, number 60 from that prompt list (you look like you could use a hug) sounds interesting

Garth gets arrested (whoops) and has a cell mate. Introducing a new OC I’m adding to the list! :D

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

“Hey hey hey-HEY! EASY!” Garth yelled as he was thrown into the cell, falling to the ground and scraping up his shoulder. “No need to be a snallygaster about this, what the hell man!” 

It was no use. His goading did nothing to dissuade the guard who shut the door with a sickening clang. Garth sighed, slumping against the back bars of his newest cage. Well, so much for diplomacy. When Garth got back he would be certain to give Cornelius a piece of his mind for even suggesting that Jinns could be reasoned with. And why the hell did Garth have to do all the sweet talking, anyhow? He loathed playing nice. All these ‘diplomatic’ missions just meant that some fantastical creature would inevitably kick his ass. 

Garth grunted, adjusting his position so his sores weren’t pressed so harshly into the iron bars. Looked like he was going to be here a while so he might as well get comfortable. He felt something soft beneath his fingertips on the ground, scooping it up and rolling it around. The material felt of natural origin, like a dry flower petal corroding away under his touch.

After a while, his eyes began to adjust to the harsh darkness. He peered around, noting the dimensions of his prison and its contents. Sure enough, flower petals scattered across the cell floor. Garth startled, realizing another shadowy figure was hunched in the corner across from him.

“Oh, shit.” Garth swore, not realizing he had a companion all this time. “Didn’t realize anyone else was locked up in this place.”

The figure shifted, and Garth could make out two shimmering white eyes. A faint glow appeared in the cell, accompanied by a slight chill in the air and Garth began to make out more features of his cellmate. It appeared to be a young girl, perhaps no older than twelve but you never could tell, could you? The sharp angles of her face and the uncanny pointedness of her ears made it clear this was no human girl, if the pure white pupils hadn’t given that away already. 

“...You a flower fae?” Garth asked cautiously.

The girl raised an eyebrow, forming a flower in her hand and scattering these petals on the ground as well with a look that said: what do you think? 

Fair enough, it was rather obvious.

“Those are very beautiful.” Garth chose his words carefully, indicating the petals he didn’t recognize. “What flower are they?” It was a loophole, a way for him to learn this sister’s name without the fae having to gift her Name to him.

She regarded him carefully. “Uva Ursi.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize that blossom.” Garth admitted. 

She rolled her eyes, which Garth considered to be quite an unfair reaction- he was only a human, and not even a biologist at that. “It comes from the BearBerry plant.”

Garth waited for a moment, expecting to get a lecture on the specialities of this plant (flower fae could be quite vain about their blossoms), but surprisingly Uva Ursi did not say any more on the subject. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that plant, either. Wanna tell me about it?”

“I hardly doubt you’re invested in the politics of an arctic shrub.” She snapped, and the air dropped another degree. “What gives you the right to question me?”

“Calm down, I’m just trying to pass the time!” Garth hastily backed off, not eager to be trapped in with an angered fae. “Look, free exchange, I’ll tell you about myself. I know a few of your sisters; Camellia is my accomplice.”

“Your accomplice?” Uva Ursi frowned, but the defensive light in her eyes seemed to dim just a twinge. 

“Long story.” Garth chose not to get into the details just now. 

“Is she the reason you are imprisoned as well?” Uva Ursi pressed on.

“Longer story.” Garth chuckled, amused at his own inside knowledge. She did not share his amusement. He coughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Why were fae always so charming and yet fond of making uncomfortable silences? “So, what about you? Why are you locked up in this joint?”

Uva Ursi gave him a wary look, but her lips twitched up softly in the glowing light of her eyes. “Perhaps a longer story.”

“Fair enough.” Garth grinned. At least this fae had a sense of humor; that usually meant they were of the less-murderous variety. “Care to trade stories?”

“Not particularly.” Uva Ursi admitted. “I am, however, becoming curious in your relations with my sister.”

“Oh- oh! hell no.” Garth quickly shook his head before he could receive an older sibling lecture. “I’m not courting your sister.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “And why not?”

Well, wasn’t that a loaded question.

“She’s… not exactly looking to be courted, at the moment?” Garth tried to push the explanation off on Cam, feeling that would be the safest way to proceed without crossing some line in fairy customs. 

“Regardless, I imagine she’s grown quite beautiful.” Uva Ursi muttered quietly.

“Oh, she is.” Unfortunately, Garth couldn’t stop his tongue from babbling in his awkwardness. “In her own way! I view her more of a pretty sister, really. Not that I’m trying to invade all of your whole flower sister gang thing, no, i’m like- a human sibling? Can flower fae have those? Whatever, strictly platonic. I don’t love kissing your sister, though I suppose it happens- again, that’s a long story- but I’m just, ah, going to shut up now.”

His cellmate watched his every move carefully as Garth continued to make a fool of himself, her expression turning somewhere between perplexed and amused. “You are quite loose with your words, mortal.”

“It’s a character flaw of mine in uncomfortable situations.” Garth grumbled, grateful for the darkness. He imagined his cheeks had turned a dark cherry red- why couldn’t the guard just kill him? “Your sister tends to use that to her advantage, using touch to make me… uh... “ Garth frowned, watching one of the petals twitch towards him and realizing he shared too much. “She’s a very...  huggy individual. I’m grateful you’re not the same.”

“Your assumption is presumptuous, but accurate.” Uva Ursi gave him a slightly predatory grin. “A pity; if a simple touch is all it takes for you to become a canary, it looks like you could use a hug.”

Garth gave what was surely an audible gulp, but thankfully Uva Ursi stayed on her end of the cage. She seemed the type whose idea of a ‘hug’ was squeezing her victims to death.

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

When I was doing research for this I chose the name because this plant is “generally harmless but a lot of it will give you nausea and other issues” lol

Send me prompts for my OCs! :D

A Perfect Storm || Luce & Roland

Luce listened intently as the cop filled her in on the details. So he was put on shit duty out here, figures. That kind of thing seemed to happen around her. Someone transfers in from one city or another, then they either can’t hack it or they become one of the locals. She idly wondered which side of the coin Officer Hills here would land on. “It’s a nice place. Small place, but we keep busy here. I’m Luce.” She said, not bothering to add her last name. It was hardly necessary and, if he was like any kind of the normal newcomers, he’d probably head to Illusions of Grandeur at some point. She’d rather not be associated with her sister’s sideshow act. “If you’re looking for a sports bar, Dell’s is pretty good about keeping the game on.” She said. Staring out the windows, Luce watched as a streak of lighting flashed across the sky. Pretty, in a deadly kind of way. “I’m a tattoo artist. I work at Ink Inc. I do a lot of geometric and black work, but I can roll with traditional too. You got any tattoos?”

Roland nodded along as Luce spoke. She had certainly been right about White Crest keeping busy for a small town. Crime and death rates alone spoke to that fact, though he wouldn’t consider that one of the town’s positive attributes. It had its charms and he had more than enough work to keep him busy. “It’s good to meet you, Luce. There’s definitely more going on here than you’d think for a small town. You go hiking out here often?” There was only a hint of concern in his voice. There were more missing persons reports than he’d like coming out of those woods. He’d hate to see her as one of them. She knew the area though, he had to believe she knew how to keep herself safe out there. It looked like she had a hiking pack which meant she was prepared. Now he learned she was a tattoo artist. It seemed more and more that Luce definitely had the know how to fend for herself. He’d never met a tattoo artist who didn’t have a little bit of grit to them. “Thanks for the tip,” he paused before adding, “Tattoo artist, huh? I don’t have any myself, but I’ve always thought they were cool. I don’t even know what I’d get if I were to get one. How long have you been doing that?”

“I usually just go running along the easier paths, but I like to mix it up with hikes.” Luce replied, jerking a thumb to the pack sitting in her lap. “I bring gear when I’m out and about. First aid kit, stuff like that.” She nodded. Plus, some miscellaneous magical odds and ends that wouldn’t attract too much attention. A lump of red tourmaline, which to most people wouldn’t look like anything other than a shiny bit of rock. To her, it was a focus for her magic. A small knife, in case she needed to fuel her flames with something beyond just her will and energy. But, she hardly ever used that. Not unless she wanted to pass the fuck out in the middle of the woods. Which, having done it a couple times before, was a sure fire way to catch a fucking cold when you were out setting fire in the middle of a storm. “No problem,” She replied, “Fair enough. I just know we have a couple folks on the force who come in from time to time. I’ve been tattooing for five years, but I did a three year apprenticeship beforehand.”

“As long as you’re being careful out there. Sounds like you’re well prepared. Just be on the lookout for wildlife. I know it keeps our Animal Control unit pretty busy,” Roland said with a gruff chuckle. It was good to hear she had safety supplies on her. Luce seemed nice enough and he’d rather not see her face in a missing persons file. Roland knew his way around in the wilderness, but it had never been something he specifically sought out. He got the appeal of it though and it was a practical hobby. He listened carefully and nodded along as Luce spoke. Eight years was a long time to be tattooing, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was good at other art forms as well, which sparked a question. “Do you do any other kinds of art? I don’t personally have any art, but I’ve been wanting to make a shadow box with some of my dad’s old uniform pieces. You good at that kind of thing?”

“Ah yeah. Growing up here, you get used to scaring off the local animals. I’m a pro at scaring away moose at this point.” Luce said with only the slightest amount of sarcasm. Moose weren’t anything to fuck with, and she’d been on the Mooseventure tour often enough to know that they could wreck your shit without a second thought. But, it helped when you could huck a ball of fire at an angry moose. “I do charcoal art. Woodburning too. Dabbled in oils a while ago, but it’s not my thing.” She nodded. A bit intrigued at the idea of a shadow box, Luce glanced over at the police officer. “I’ve never done one before, but it sounds like a simple enough premise.  Was your dad on the force too?”

“Are the moose here particularly violent? I always thought they kept to themselves,” Roland mused. If that was the case, he’d do his best to avoid them. Death by moose would be an embarrassing way to go out. It was far more likely that he'd go down in the line of duty than by a moose considering he didn’t spend too much time out in the woods. Roland was sure to pay close attention to directions while driving. He was still learning his way around. The main parts of town he had pretty much covered through patrolling, but the Outskirts were still new territory. Eventually even the roads surrounded by the woods would become familiar enough. He smiled at the thought of being able to nicely display his dad’s badge and uniform jacket. He’d always been proud of his father and hoped to live up to his example. “Yes, he was a Lieutenant for the Boston Police Department. If you’d be able to do something like that, I’d be happy to commission it.”

“They can be. Apparently the fuckers can run at 35 miles per hour and, to make it worse, they can swim. Nothing like going for a dip and then getting drowned to death by an angry moose.” Luce said, recalling the more gruesome fun facts she’d gleaned from the last time she’d been at Mooseventures. “The ones around town seem more ballsy than most, but I chalk that up to the fact there’s a literal company that hauls tourists out to see them. Like whale watching or something.” She laughed with a shake of her head. Listening to the man, Luce regarded him with an intrigued eye. A Boston boy, huh? Family ties and all must be why he had joined the police department. That said, it made it all the more interesting that he was here and not back in Boston. “Yeah, I could definitely help you out with that. You’d have to give me dimensions of what you’re looking for, but I’d be happy to work on a project like that.”

“I think I may have to skip out on potentially making a moose angry. Guess I’ll be skipping out on that moose tour. I was already a little iffy on it,” Roland said slightly amused that there was a moose tour to begin with. You didn’t get much of that kind of thing out in the city. Occasionally, you’d get a rabid racoon in your trash which was a lot less dangerous and easy to get away from. He relaxed into his seat, finding conversation was moving easily enough. He liked people well enough, Roland just found that sometimes he always didn’t have the easiest time relating to others. Luce seemed to make jokes easily enough which always helped these sorts of things. He imagined she had to make a decent amount of conversation being a tattoo artist. “Thanks, I’ll measure the space I’d like to put it in and get back to you. Do you have a website or something?”

“Sounds like a smart idea. But, I’ve been wrangled into more than my fair share of trips to Mooseventures. It’s better than the fucking mime restaurant.” Luce grimaced at the thought of Kaden’s awful fucking birthday. “Another good piece of advice? You wanna go to a strip club, just make the drive to Bangor and go to one there. The Stripe Club? Fucking awful. Worst place ever.” She said with a shudder that was only partly exaggerated. As they continued down the road, she couldn’t help but be amused at the situation. One of the good ol’ boys in blue, dropping her off back at home? And, even better, that she was in the passenger seat? Funny stuff. Not that Luce had ever been in the back of a cop car, but she had to act the part. Everyone assumed that tattoo artists were rough and tumble and she wasn’t going to argue with that, if it meant they continued to treat her with the respect she wanted. “No worries. And yeah, I do. Ink Inc. has a website that’s linked on the town’s message board. If you go there, you’ll be able to see my work under my artist’s page.” She replied.

Roland’s brow furrowed at the mention of a mime restaurant. That seemed to be very oddly placed in a small town. Wasn’t that French thing? He’d have to ask Langley about it. “I didn’t realize mimes were a big enough thing here to warrant a whole restaurant dedicated to them. I think I’ll be avoiding that.” When Luce went on to continue about there being a Stripe Club, he grimaced further and couldn’t understand the appeal. He didn’t really enjoy regular strip clubs much let alone mime strip clubs. “I don’t think I’ll be going to either if I can help it, but that Stripe Club sounds like a nightmare. Thanks for the tip. You have a bad experience there or something?” He mentally checked off places to avoid unless there was a crime to investigate. Roland sincerely hoped he’d never have to investigate The Stripe Club. There were some things that just couldn’t be unseen once you saw them. He supposed he was lucky to have found Luce in the woods. He hated the thought of her trekking all this way in a storm. “I’ll have to check that out and reach out to you with some dimensions.” He paused for a moment before he asked, “Have you ever been to Boston?”

“You and me both. If you can manage to figure out why people are so obsessed with them, you’d have cracked the mystery of White Crest.” Luce joked. Though, if he really did manage to figure that out, she’d honestly love to hear it. It had been years since she’d tried to tackle that particular oddity of the town she called home-- in a very literal way. She’d tackled a mime. When Roland asked if she’d had a bad experience, Luce’s face turned grim. “Yeah, you could say that. I accidentally got shanghaied into the most fucked up birthday party I’ve ever been to. One of your new co-worker’s actually. Kaden Langley, with animal control. If you really wanna make him angry, just mention “mime lapdance.””She said with a knowing look. “No worries. And yeah, I’ve been there a couple times. Work trips. I went there for a tattoo expo once and then the second time I was there, I was doing a guest spot at a friend’s shop. It was a fun couple weeks.”

“I have the feeling that maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved,” Roland said letting out a single laugh. Whatever the appeal was, he wasn’t too sure he even wanted to understand. As long as it wasn’t a front for some sort of illegal business, he could live without ever stepping foot inside. He was sure his face was visibly disturbed when Luce mentioned that Langley had his birthday party at a mime strip club. He was relieved he missed the invite on that one. Being the new guy around the station had its perks and not ever having to see a mime strip was definitely one of them. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Didn’t know Langley was into mimes like that. Should’ve guessed he had unconventional tastes with all the animal skulls on his desk. Glad I got here in time to miss the invite to that birthday party.” Even imagining it was enough to ruin his appetite. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to make that sound bearable. “Oh, yeah, we always get a pretty good crowd for that expo. There’s some nice hiking trails at the Boston Harbor National Park.” As they came up to an intersection, he asked, “Where am I going from here?”

“It was a fucking shit show, I can tell you that much.” Luce agreed. She’d gotten real fucked up that night, on the combination of whiskey and Blue Velvet. Even after spending a little bit of time merging into the alleyway outside of the Stripe Club she still couldn’t wipe the memory of the cursed mime lapdance from her brain. She had a sinking suspicion that little gem would be with her till she was six feet under. “He’s got animal skulls on his desk? What a creep. But yeah, you definitely dodged a bullet.” She reassured him. Glancing at the road they were coming up to she pointed to one of the dimly lit off shooting roads-- Bea’s house was closer to town than her own cabin, but it was still firmly placed in the outskirts. “Just turn left down here and keep driving. We’re the only house at the end of this road.”

“Sounds like it. Can’t say I get the appeal of mimes stripping. I’m not the chattiest guy around, but no conversation seems a little weird,” Roland responded, still incredulous that his coworker had a birthday party at a mime strip club. He definitely could have gone his whole life without the mental image of Langley getting a lapdance from a mime. There was something seriously disconcerting about it. If he had bad dreams tonight, he’d have that story to blame. He chuckled as Luce mentioned the animal skull thing was creepy. He never thought too much of it considering he worked in Animal Control. He slightly shrugged while driving and said, “A little bit abnormal for desk decorations, but he’s an Animal Control Officer so I guess it’s not that crazy.” Roland turned down the road as directed. It seemed like she still lived out near the forest which made a lot of sense if she loved hiking. “That must be nice. This part of town seems like a great place to live if you love spending time with nature. Did your family hike a lot when you were younger?”

“Right? And, as someone who had the misfortune of witnessing it, I can tell you that it’s incredibly fucking weird.” Luce shook her head, as though that might help cast the cursed memory from her mind. No such luck, but a girl could try. “I don’t know if that makes it any better. That’s like saying that since I’m a tattoo artist, it’s totally chill for me to have like… tattooed skin hanging up or something.” She grimaced. She never really understood the whole collecting animal skulls thing anyways. They were dead already, how would you like it if someone killed you and then used your skull as a paperweight? It just felt insulting. “It’s a good part of town. I didn’t originally live here, though. Grew up in the East End before moving out here.” She said before nodding. “We went hiking quite a bit as a family, yeah. It was a fun way to hang out with the family without really hanging out, you know? Because when you’re hiking, you can just kinda… go.” Luce grinned. “I prefer solo hikes, in case you didn’t notice.”

Roland wasn’t jealous of Luce having to endure what sounded like one nightmare of a birthday party. He guessed she had a point on the animal skull thing, but it seemed like a widely accepted decoration by most standards. “That’s fair enough. It’s not really my thing either.” His own decorating standards were pretty much nonexistent. The only not work related thing on his own desk was a photo of his father. When she mentioned the East End, he casually said, “That’s where I’m at now. Figured might as well live close to the station.” It was nice to hear she got to go hiking with her family a lot as a kid. Must have been what inspired her love for it. It was a productive and heart healthy hobby that he could get behind. “That sounds like it must have been fun. I did pick up on that part,” he said with a slight laugh at the end. He followed the road and pulled up to the only house on it. He was definitely glad she didn’t end up walking back home in this. “Here we are, it was good meeting you, Luce. I’ll be in contact with you about that piece.”

Gives You Hell || Discord

summary: Robbie takes it upon himself to break Daisy out of the Raft. But they see something unexpected on their way out that neither of them can let sit. trigger warnings: death mention, murder mention, suicidal ideations, mentions of torture, and general mentions of grief, depression, anxiety -- it’s dark and everyone is sad featuring: @vengeancedemons​

DAISY: There was a part of Daisy that wondered if the Ice Box would have been a kinder place to be hidden away inside. But there... there they had experimented on people like Daisy. Inhumans. Made them stronger - tried to weaponize them - but Dasiy was at the point of her isolation where she would have been happy to see anyone. Even a doctor with a blade in their hand and a devilish look in their eyes, just someone who would speak to her. But in the Raft, there were two guards that were posted at the end of the hall, watching the others like her that were in isolation. Ready to jump into action if anything ever happened.

Not that it did.

The only thing that ever happened was when they whispered to each other, and their incoherent words bounced around the otherwise empty space.

She had a moment with Matt and one with Alex... but since then? She had been on her own. Restrained in a straightjacket and left to sit in a room with nothing. No chair, no toilet, no sink. Three walls and the fourth made out of bars. And her only constant companion. Silence. (She wished she could hear the water currents running against the exterior, but Daisy was sure that she was in the center of the facility. There was no chance for Daisy to lose herself to white noise.)

Alex had told her that she’d get her out of here - that Daisy would be back on the outside but that it would take time, and Daisy didn’t know how much of that she had. Or how much of it had passed. (It felt like time passed differently inside the Raft... or maybe not at all.) Patience was hard when you were turned so far around that you weren’t sure what side of the planet you were on anymore.

tucked into the corner of her cell, Daisy stretched out her legs and tipped her head back, gazing off towards the other corner of her cell. A blank wall. Wondering if now was the time to start praying to the God she had turned her back on years ago - wondering if she could ask for anything after all this time.

ROBBIE: It would surprise no one to know that Hell brought with it no shortage of nightmares. Some nights, Robbie didn’t sleep at all. He lay in his bed for hours with screams still echoing in his ears, roamed the streets with the heat of phantom flames still biting the air behind him. What some people didn’t expect, however, was that Hell wasn’t the only thing that haunted him. Hell wasn’t the only thing marring his sleep, and his memories of fire and brimstone weren’t the only ones keeping him up at night. There was more to it than that.

Mostly, there was Eli.

A lot of moments with his uncle followed him around but, more often than not, it was the end that made his breaths come in short gasps, the last part that made his heart pound. Robbie’s mind went back to that last conversation, to the carbon spike through his chest and the madness in Eli’s eyes. Why’d you do it? He’d asked, wanting desperately to understand. Become a killer? And Eli, god, Eli hadn’t missed a beat. Well, I guess it runs in the family.

Eli Morrow tore Robbie’s life to shreds. His mistakes left one of his nephews in a wheelchair, the other dead on the concrete and damned to Hell. He’d ripped apart every piece of Robbie’s life that mattered, left him in shambles.

And it was, at the end of the day, a habit that ran in the family.

He’d been sloppy. That was all there was to it. He’d showed up at Daisy’s place drunk and stupid, begged her to take him to his Charger so he could steal it back. He’d been so desperate to regain that last piece of his uncle that he hadn’t wondered whether he might turn himself into Eli in the process. One mistake, and that was it. That was all it took. Robbie tore Daisy’s life to shreds with one mistake. And now, it was on him to fix it.

The moment he heard about her imprisonment, the moment he showed up to her apartment after those unanswered texts to hear her neighbor chattering about how they arrested the freak, took her to where she belongs, no doubt, Robbie began planning. He refused to be the man who raised him, refused to let this be just another of the awful things coursing through his veins. When Robbie tore someone’s life apart, when his actions resulted in someone innocent losing everything, he was going to make an effort to fix it. Even if he had to walk through Hell to do it.

God, he wished that was a fucking metaphor.

It was something he’d learned in his travels, something he’d discovered in researching how to get back to Earth. Time wasn’t the only thing that moved differently between dimensions --- space did, too. One step in Hell might mean a thousand on Earth. You could pop in in one place and pop out in another.

You could enter a portal in your shitty apartment and exit it in the Raft.

It wasn’t a perfect plan by any stretch of the imagination, and it took time to get it right. Robbie spent hours in his apartment figuring out exactly where he’d need to go, looking at coordinates and scouring shady internet messaging boards. He used his insomnia to his advantage, didn’t sleep for his own reasons. A tendency towards murder, as it turned out, wasn’t the only quality Robbie had inherited from his uncle. When he put his mind to it, when he really focused, he could tap into Eli’s smarts, too. He could plot the world’s most dangerous goddamn prison heist in a few days.

(And he knew a few days might still be too long. He knew that stories of the Raft painted it as the sort of place where minds were lost in hours. He knew that. He was just trying not to think of it.)

Getting the Rider to agree was difficult… but not as hard as it would have been if it were anyone but Daisy on the line. The Devil had always had something of a soft spot for her, and with the two of them working together, Robbie found himself stepping out of his portal just inside the door to her cell. He stepped into the cramped space on shaky legs, swallowing as he tried to put on the mask of a man who hadn’t walked through Hell to get there. Glancing down at her, he clenched his jaw and tried not to explode at the sight. She hadn’t been treated well, that much was clear. Robbie wanted nothing more than to walk out of this cell and kill every goddamn guard in this place, and he didn’t think the Rider would stop him. But… They had to go. If they wanted to make it out without him landing in a cell identical to this one, they had to go.

“You look like shit,” he greeted. “Wanna head out?”

DAISY: There was that crackling in the air again. That familiar sound that came with a smell of burning in the air - one that she had only smelt twice before. When Robbie was dragging his uncle to hell, and that day when he finally came back. It had the same smell in the air and Daisy could feel her heartbeat pick up with hope.

But it was short-lived.

Because as soon as Daisy’s brain started to process the expression on Robbie’s face, the familiar clench of his jaw - the way he looked as if he was about to tear apart a person with his bare hands. It was a look she had seen in his eyes before, and Daisy was over the ledge of delirium. So, she laughed. Of all the people she could hallucinate. Robbie.

“You know,” Daisy started, as the laughter finally subsided. “I expected to see Coulson, you know?” But saying his name caused her heart to ache immediately. (And what Daisy would give to hear some parting words of advice from Coulson?) Her eyes had locked into her hallucinations and she could feel her eyes burning. She wanted to ask him why he was there, why, out of everyone, he was the person she was losing her mind about.

Had she really gone so long without food and water? Would they leave her like this? Imagining people she cared about, stumbling into her cell, with some misguided hope to save her? Robbie told her she looked like shit and Daisy couldn’t help but smirk. “Sorry, Reyes, they confiscated my makeup -- if I knew I had a hot date coming, I would have at least brushed my hair. Now... get lost.” Daisy moved her leg and kicked Robbie.

Only... her leg made contact.

Her leg made contact.

Daisy leaned forward, her head tipping so she could look up at him. “You’re really here.” She tried to catch her breath, wanting to latch onto some sort of humor and pretend that she wasn’t completely fucked up - but she couldn't. She looked at Robbie, her mouth was slightly open while she processed the fact he was actually there. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

ROBBIE: For a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, there was almost a smile on her face. Robbie wasn’t used to people looking happy to see him, particularly not when he showed up like this, with the smell of burning air and smoke following in his wake, but Daisy wasn’t most people. And, shit, Robbie wasn’t exactly his usual self around her. Typically, Ghost Rider reared his ugly head to send people into Hell. He was the last thing they saw before fire and brimstone took them over completely, the last face they saw on the right side of the grave. But Daisy was different. Daisy was always different.

At least, Robbie thought she was. But then that smile was slipping from her face and, suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

Did she hate him for landing her in here? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to blame her if she did. It was his fault, after all, his selfish demands that launched her from the government’s nice list to the world’s most secure super prison in a matter of hours. Robbie’d been in Hell for years now, and in that time, Daisy seemed to have made out all right. She’d been alive when he came back. She’d been free. A few days of him back in her life, and she was here. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

She spoke, and Robbie’s brow furrowed, confusion clear on his face. “I expected to see Coulson, you know?” It took a moment for the realization to strike, took a beat for his mind to catch up to the situation.

Hallucinations were fairly common in Hell. Robbie had seen them often, either in the form of people he wanted to see, like Gabe or Daisy, or in the form of people he wanted to avoid, like Eli or Santino Noguera. He’d never stopped to think that the conditions here were dangerously close to the ones some people faced in Hell, never paused to consider just how thoroughly isolation could torture someone. Guilt washed over him in droves, and he pushed it away quickly. There’d be time to hate himself later. There always was.

Her foot made contact with his leg, and it was her turn to get that burst of realization. He noted the way her eyes widened, the way that flicker of hope was back and, selfishly, he was relieved for it. She didn’t hate him. For the moment, at least, she didn’t hate him. Maybe it was only because he was her ride, maybe she’d find time to be pissed at him the moment they landed back in New York, but it still felt good.

“I’m really here,” he confirmed with a curt nod. “And I’m really hoping you haven’t lost it completely, ‘cause the next part of this field trip’s really gonna suck if you check out on me.” He offered her a hand, ready to pull her to her feet. “We’re gonna get you out of that fucking jacket, Johnson, and then we’re gone. Won’t be much sightseeing on the way out. My shortcut doesn’t exactly come with a scenic route.” He nodded back to the portal still open behind him, Hell staring back at them both from within the circle. He doubted she’d like the ride, but the destination was definitely better than this shithole. And it was temporary. It was a few minutes at the most, and they’d be free. They’d be out. Robbie reminded himself of that over and over, desperate to calm his racing heart.

DAISY: The diet they had her on, Daisy knew that they were trying to control her more than just with the collar. The proportions, the choices, it was all to keep her body and her mind weak, so that just in case the collar failed, she’d still be docile. But how long had she been in here? Daisy didn’t know - and without knowing how many days had passed, she didn’t know how weak her muscles would be.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to tell him. Sorry that she thought he wasn’t really there? Or confess that it wouldn’t have been her first hallucination inside the Raft? It was one of those things that no matter how flippant Daisy wanted to be about it, it twisted her insides. She bit down on her tongue and tipped her head downward, hoping he wouldn’t notice the look in her eyes or call her out on how casually she talked to him like she had spoken to hallucinations before.

Maybe he was waiting until they were out of here - maybe he’d confront her about what she had been seeing on the other side of that portal... but she was thankful for the time to settle her mind. “I didn’t think---” Daisy cleared her throat and shook her head. “Alex said it’d take time. I would have told her not to worry about it if I knew that you were planning a jailbreak.” Not that Robbie had any way of letting her know he was on his way - it wasn’t like she could track him on her phone like Uber.

Robbie stretched out his hand and Daisy glanced up, shifting so that he could grab her arm easily. Her hands weren’t exactly an option considering the way the jacket was wrapped up. “I mean, I’m trusting you to navigate me through a hellscape and take me back to the real world - and -- really? We can’t do a direct flight?” Daisy quipped before turning so that he could undo the buckles on the back of the jacket. “Have to lose it a little to think a route through hell is the best way to travel.”

Joking was all she could do to try and tame the pounding in her chest. Her eyes darting towards the guards who were already on the radio, watching them - but thankfully, they had only seen Robbie from behind, and with any luck, the camera wouldn’t have caught his face either. (She’d double-check once she was on the outside. Brush off her hacking skills to protect Robbie from the consequences of his stupid choice to try and save her.)

“Hurry.” She urged. Daisy took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Robbie, “And please tell me... we’re not going to spend two years in there.”

ROBBIE: She wasn’t all there, though Robbie wasn’t sure if it was drugs, malnourishment, or the collar around her neck making her feel off. It could have had less to do with her and more to do with their surroundings, too, of course. Hell raged to his side, the portal wild and chaotic and, above all else, impatient. Hell didn’t like to be kept waiting. Behind him, too, there was Hell. Robbie didn’t know what went on within the walls of the Raft, didn’t know what sort of punishments they designed for those deemed dangerous enough to be imprisoned within it, but he knew it was bad. The Rider was stirring within him at that sense of desperation in the air. This is Hell, he was saying. This is Hell, too. Hell is mine, Reyes, you know it is. Robbie clenched his jaw, pushed the Devil down, and turned his attention back to Daisy. It wouldn’t be so easy once they stepped foot inside that portal but for now, they were still in Robbie’s world. Barely, but still.

She looked a little better than she had a moment ago, a little more settled. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was getting out, the fact that she’d soon be as free as a person could be with the United States government on their ass. Still… She didn’t look great. She’d still thought he wasn’t real, still looked prepared to fall over at any moment. Part of him wanted to squat down beside her, wanted to kneel at her side and take her face in his hands and look her in the eyes, to make sure she knew she was safe. Another part wanted to tear his way through the wall of bars behind him, to tear apart the guards outside, the ones on the other end of the radios they were speaking into, the ones in the cushy offices with the big paychecks coming in every month, every goddamn person in this hellhole. In the end, he did neither because neither would help her in the moment. Neither would get her out of that goddamn jacket faster.

He swallowed, throat dry and aching as he shook his head slightly. “Fuck time,” he said quickly, because he knew time wasn’t feasible. If you left someone in a place like this, took time to get them out through the legal channels, they wouldn’t come back the same. Robbie knew firsthand what it felt like to take your time clawing your way out of Hell. He knew from personal experience just how broken it left you. “I don’t know who Alex is, what she’s got planned, but fuck time. We’re leaving now. Okay?” He hoped she didn’t say no, hoped she didn’t ask him to leave her there. It would be a painfully Daisy thing to do, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. If she told him to leave him, he’d try to convince her until those bars came down, until those guards came in, until they tested their strength out on him. He’d already walked through Hell to get to her. It wouldn’t be much harder to stick around in it, if he had to. At least then she wouldn’t be here alone.

She shifted, and Robbie pulled her to his feet as quickly as he could, making short work of the straps on the straight jacket. He eyed the collar for a moment, but he could hear the crackling of the radio behind them and he knew they didn’t have time to deal with it here. “Yeah, well, if you don’t like the transportation I can always look for another flight. Just, you know, might take time. And I don’t think either of us want to spend a layover here.” He kept his voice light, but there was a tightness to it, too, a discomfort he couldn’t hide. They were both good at this, both skilled in telling stupid jokes while the goddamn world fell apart, but fuck, it wasn’t easy now. Nothing was easy now, not with most of his energy split between keeping the portal open and keeping the Rider at bay. “Plenty of people’d kill for a first class trip through the Underworld, you know.”

Behind him, he heard boots on the ground, and he knew they were out of time. It was now or never, this Hell or that one. Daisy told him to hurry, and Robbie nodded. “We’ll take care of the dog tags when we get settled,” he told her, taking her arm and leading her quickly into the portal. He caught sight of a guard entering the cell behind him, positioned himself between the portal and Daisy as the bullets flew in after them. The gate closed before anyone could follow, and Robbie sighed, letting out a groan as his lungs reinflated. “Stings like a bitch every goddamn time,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. Two shots landed. Not the worst show of resistance he’d ever faced. He could feel the Rider thrashing against the proverbial walls, desperate to get out of his cell now that Daisy was free of hers. “Uh, yeah,” he said, turning his attention back to Daisy. “I’ll do my best there, Johnson.” He grimaced again, shaking his head. “Look, I --- I’m not sure how long I can keep the other guy down. He gets out and I might not get out of here, but you will. Me and him have an understanding there.” Robbie shook his head again, taking a step forward. “Come on. New York’s this way.”

DAISY: Robbie knew the risk of coming here to break her out. He knew that if he wasn’t careful that there would be a cost - he had to know. Because Daisy’s faith in him in this moment hinged on her assuming that he understood what he was doing was dangerous and stupid and could harm everyone around them. If they got a good picture of his face, it wasn’t just Daisy and Robbie that would be in trouble, it would be every person they had wrapped their arms around. Every person that they looked at with even a hint of fondness in their eyes.

Neither of them had many people. Their families were limited - Robbie had Gabe and Gabe still thought Robbie was dead and Daisy... she had Matt (another person who had returned from the dead only for Daisy to find a way of fucking things up). But that bonded them, that burning feeling to protect the ones they did care about - and both of them were willing to walk through hell or take a bullet for the people they cared about. Robbie might not have been the hero type, but he was enough like Daisy for her to recognize it. The recklessness, the running headfirst into the fire, the Rider might not have given two shits about what happened to her.

But Robbie Reyes did.

And after all the shit she had dragged him through... he could have left her there. He could have shrugged off her being in the Raft and settled on it being someone else’s problem - he could have left Daisy to suffer the consequences on her own. But he didn’t. Not that Daisy would have blamed him for leaving her to the wolves - he had people to take care of himself, after all. (Him being there… it meant something. Even if it was unsaid, even if neither of them looked at each other and said that it, it was something.) “Fuck time,” Daisy repeated in a murmur. “Yeah... we’re going now.” Repeating his words, letting them echo in the space around them a second time - made them feel more real for her. Alex might have been able to clear Daisy’s name if given time, but as disoriented as Daisy was now, she wasn’t sure who she’d be once Alex sorted everything out. Daisy wanted to think that she could resist it, that she’d be the same at the end of it… but she knew better. Every mission she had gone on had left a deep scar across her psyche, why would the Raft be any different?

Space had taken so much from her. The Framework. Every other mission she had followed Coulson and her team on – it all took something. It was a miracle that there was any Daisy left to salvage. There was a very real possibility that it was Daisy that gave up on herself long before anyone else did... but in this case? How many could say they survived the Raft? This was the end of the line for most people like Daisy. Giving up was logical. Giving up was what sane people did. Coming to terms with their reality - another thing that sane people did. (Was Daisy sane? Or would she have driven herself crazy with some misguided idea that she’d be freed from this prison?)

But fuck time. Robbie was there - and there was no need to worry about what might have been. Robbie was there and Daisy hadn’t lost her mind. That’s all that mattered. The now. Daisy just had to focus on it. "That a joke about murder, Reyes?” Daisy huffed a laugh, letting herself find some odd comfort in his humor. (Focusing on anything but their surroundings - and even if it was Robbie’s gallow humor, she’d embrace it.) On the other side of the portal, Daisy turned around to watch as Robbie’s body threw out the bullets it had taken. She tried not to think about it as she started undoing the rest of the jacket. It wasn’t even about the heat of hell, it was the feeling of being restricted. (She would have torn off the collar too, but Daisy wasn’t sure what could force the damn thing off.)

“Fuck that, Reyes,” Daisy shot back immediately. The Rider wasn’t something that Robbie could control - not always - and this... this was his domain. She could only imagine how loud the Rider got here. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned. He had just gotten back - and he was already jumping back into hell? (No that wasn’t what was freaking Daisy out - it was another person willing to give up their life for her without asking what she wanted. Another person that would be destroyed because of her. How many names until it would end? Or would it end with her name?)

And what fucked up universe brought Robbie back to Earth and then stole him away immediately after? (The one they lived in, clearly.) She was ready to start yelling at him, Daisy stepped closer to him, reaching for his collar, ready to threaten to fight the Rider herself if the other guy thought for two seconds that Daisy was going to let that happen - not that she was much of a threat with the collar locked around her neck... but before she could start, she heard screaming. The anger quickly faded and Daisy couldn’t tell if it was because of the screaming - or the place they were in - but she was on edge. “Robbie...”

He said something about New York being a certain way - but all Daisy could focus on was the cheering and screaming, the sounds of a mass of people grouped in one area. On the horizon, it came into focus, it looked like a coliseum, an arena, a battleground. There was a woman being dragged towards it. A blonde - not just any blonde, Daisy recognized her. Trish Walker. “Do you see that?” Daisy asked, rubbing her forehead as she blinked, and when she opened her eyes... it wasn’t Trish she saw anymore. It was Coulson.

(It couldn’t be. It wasn’t the real him - it was a specter. It had to be.)

Daisy grabbed Robbie roughly by the arm, fueled entirely by panic. “Where is it? The portal - we need to go now.”

ROBBIE: There were a thousand different ways this could go wrong. Robbie knew each and every one of them, had a lengthy list of worst case scenarios lined up in his head. He could get caught here. They could put him in a cell in the Raft and he could rot until the Rider finally allowed his body to give out on him, until the Devil let him go from one Hell to another. He could get stuck between here in New York. The Rider could take him over at the last moment, could shakel him in his own mind all over again, send him back to that world where all he had was a freeway that lead to nowhere and his own thoughts reminding him whose fault it was he was there.

And those, those were some of the better options. There were things he wouldn’t let himself consider, thoughts he was afraid to give name to. They could realize who he was. They could go back to that shitty house in L.A., they could find Gabe and use him to draw Robbie out in the open. Or… he could fail. He could go through all this, he could walk through Hell to find her, could stand in a new version of the nightmare that still plagued him and plead with her to come along and she could tell him no. It was something Robbie learned the hard way, something that Eli and his parents and Coulson all taught him in different ways. You could fight for someone with everything you had, could walk through Hell for them, and sometimes it still wasn’t enough to save them. Sometimes, people were just lost.

He wasn’t going to let that be Daisy. That wasn’t how this story ended. Daisy didn’t get to disappear into the world’s worst prison for the crime of helping him. She didn’t get to spend the rest of her life in a cell because Robbie fucked up. He knew a thing or two about one person paying for another’s mistakes, had seen Gabe in a wheelchair because Eli fucked up. It was the Bauers, Eli had insisted, Joe and Lucy, they started this. They lied. And god, Robbie had felt like laughing. Gabe was in a wheelchair, Robbie had died, and Eli was still going on endlessly about his reason for it all. As if it mattered, as if any of that shit made a goddamn difference at the end of the day. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, that was how the saying went. Robbie could vouch for that personally, had seen just how Hellish good intentions could make someone. He’d never meant for this to happen to Daisy, just as his uncle never meant for Robbie and Gabe to be caught up in his shit.

Well, I guess it runs in the family.

Daisy spoke, repeated his words back to him, and the relief was nearly enough to take Robbie off his feet. Sometimes, you didn’t get to save people. Sometimes, you did everything you could, you went to Hell and back, you fought with every part of you, and it wasn’t enough. Sometimes. Not today. Today, he at least got her out of the fucking cell. He didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know how this story ended, but it wouldn’t be with her spending the rest of her life in a manmade Hell because of his mistakes. And maybe the next story ended differently, maybe Robbie couldn’t get away from the things that ran in his family, but for the moment, they were all right. He could recognize a win when he saw one, even if it was a single battle in a war that would go on for years to come.

He huffed a quiet laugh, half genuine humor half leftover relief from the realization that she was coming with him. Shrugging, he offered her a brief nod. “Hey, joke about what you know, right? Murder’s kinda my thing. Seem to remember somebody labeling me a serial killer once.” If you’d told him back then, when Daisy Johnson was just a girl who showed up at his shop talking shit and pissing him off more than anyone else had in a long time that he’d one day walk through literal Hell for just a chance at making sure she was all right, Robbie would have laughed. He would have called you a goddamn idiot, would have done anything but believe you. Back then, the idea of saving her would have seemed insane. Now, the idea of leaving her felt far crazier.

She was taking off the rest of that jacket, and Robbie took a moment to close his eyes. It was an action with two purposes --- assessing the soon-to-be-healed damage to his back and attempting to push the Rider a little further down. The back would be fine. Already he felt the wounds stitching themselves shut, a stark reminder that the Devil wasn’t finished with him yet. His eyes snapped open when Daisy spoke again, noting that familiar anger in her voice. Robbie’d had a talent for pissing her off since the day he met her. Going to Hell hadn’t robbed him of that.

“You really think I get a goddamn say? What, I ask nicely and the Devil’s gonna see my side of things? I say please and he’s gonna give up his gig here and let me go back to drinking him into a fucking corner? I’m not giving up here, Daisy, I’m not telling you to leave my ass behind. I’m giving you a warning. Letting you know what might happen. If it’s up to me, you’re buying me a drink when this shit’s over.” But it wasn’t up to him. Not entirely, not with the Rider pushing and scraping at the edges of his mind. One second, that was all it would take. One second of Robbie letting his guard down, one moment of losing control. He remembered the church his mother used to drag him to in the days before she’d decided parenthood wasn’t for her, remembered the sermons the preacher spat out from the pulpit. Damnation takes just a single slip. He wondered if the man had known just how literal that statement could be.

But, of course, Daisy wouldn’t accept that. She was stubborn and, right now, she was angry. Robbie saw it reflected in her eyes, recognized the storm brewing behind her expression. He knew he was in for an earful… and he was kind of touched. Who else would take time to scream at him in the pits of Hell? Who else cared about him that much?

Her expression shifted suddenly, and Robbie tilted his head to the side, curious as to what might have caused the change. It took him a moment to recognize the screaming. He’d gotten so used to the sound over the last few years, heard it so often that it blended into the background as easily as the sound of his own heartbeat. It had been a constant soundtrack for so long that he forgot not everyone was accustomed to the noise. Turning back, he caught sight of a woman being pulled into the arena, shrugging at Daisy’s question. “That’s where they fight,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. “She looks new. Won’t be fun for her, but that’s not our problem.” He was about to turn back to Daisy, about to tell her they ought to get a move on when he caught sight of another face at the edge of the arena.

Coulson.

Their eyes locked for a moment, Robbie sucking in a breath as the older man held his gaze. His throat was dry, his heart pounding. After a moment, Daisy’s hand on his arm pulled him from the trance and Robbie whirled back around to face her. “This way,” he said quickly, taking her arm and tugging her towards it. “We need to go now. If we can get out of here fast, I can keep the other guy down.” He hoped.

The portal was visible up ahead and Robbie dragged Daisy towards it quickly, wanting to get out before Coulson or the terrified blonde woman or any of the thousand ghosts Hell had to offer could step into their path and slow them down.

DAISY: It was the extreme of the situation that was making the laughter bubble up from Daisy. The fact that of all the people to break her out of the Raft, it was Robbie, and his path back to the city was through hell. Why was she surprised that this was the turn her life would take? But maybe it was a good thing that she could still be surprised. That there was still some crazy left in the world that could sneak up on her. And maybe there was that small blip of hope that reminded Daisy that no one in the future ever mentioned her being imprisoned in the Raft or escaping it – which meant… it meant she had done something differently. And maybe the future she had seen – the one that she had created – it could be avoided.

“I was wrong,” Daisy said. It felt strange to smile after everything that had happened, and to be smiling in hell? Another thing entirely. “And no, I won’t ever say that again, Reyes. So, enjoy it. It’s never happening again.” For a moment, everything felt light, despite the oppressive atmosphere of hell. Maybe that was delirium or hysteria some part of Daisy desperately trying not to think about what they were actually doing here... but she was laughing. For the first time since she was arrested, she was laughing. Catching her breath, she wanted it to stay like this. To stay in this small moment of peace they had found in hell... but this was only the start of the journey. They had to get through hell, literally, and then she’d be faced with a new mountain of problems.

The collar. Being a fugitive. Find a place to stay - Daisy wasn’t going to be able to step back into her life as though nothing had happened. Once again, Daisy had made a series of choices that would turn her life upside down. (And those around her were sucked into this storm as well. Alex, Robbie... Matt.) And to highlight that, Robbie was trying to tell her that he had made a deal with the other guy to make sure she got out. Maybe it was their location that was fueling her anger or that she was reminded once again, she had no control over anything. None. Not who lives, not who dies, and not for what fucking reason. Robbie was willing to trade his life for hers, to make sure she got out (he didn’t get a choice, he claimed, but he had made one when he stepped through hell to reach her, he had a choice, even if he didn’t feel like he did).

Hell seemed to have the same impact on Robbie, he snapped back at her - and Daisy didn’t have the capacity to call him out on any of it. The drinking, the way he was making decisions for her (even unconsciously) - but the last part, she could do that much. But she never had a chance to shove him away and tell him a drink wouldn’t do him any good if he got stuck. Would her admitting to giving a shit about him help - or just give the Rider more leverage over Robbie’s soul? A new way to manipulate the body he borrowed.

(Daisy needed to start keeping a list of things she wished she had said. Moments she let slide right past her. Because she knew she was going to regret not saying anything... but the moment flew past them so fast, Daisy didn’t have time to form words.)

“Do they make everyone fight?”

A question she didn’t want the answer to. Whatever the answer was, it wasn’t like Daisy could do shit about it. Her stomach turned as Trish was pulled away towards the arena - it wasn’t their problem - but watching someone be pulled away to a place where Daisy knew they’d be suffering? Trish was right there but Daisy couldn't do anything to help her. A feeling of uselessness pooling in her stomach as Daisy tried to come to terms with that reality. (She was no hero and Trish wasn’t her problem. If Daisy believed that, this would have been easier.)

“Robbie,” Daisy said his name in a panic, barely nodding her head at his words. As much as she wanted to focus on him, her eyes and her attention had gone back to the figure on the horizon. Coulson. Coulson was in hell. Her mind was already tipping into a downward spiral, but as Robbie pulled her arm, she snapped out of it. (Mostly.) But thankfully, Robbie was aware enough to know what to do. Stable enough to guide her to the exit. With the urgency in his tone, Daisy let her adrenaline and panic move her - and she ran. As fast as she could. Her grip on him changed, her hand finding his - a reminder for herself that he was still there, and her grip tight enough to tell him she wasn’t about to let go.

When they reached the portal, Daisy practically threw herself through it, gasping for breath as she hit the ground. “Robbie - I -” Daisy looked at him, shaking her head. Did you see him too? That was what she wanted to ask, but the words died on her lips. Too scared to know if she was hallucinating or if it had been reality.

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut while she continued to struggle to breathe. Her mind running through all the wisdom she had received over the years. But nothing seemed to fit. So, she focused on the one thing she could control. Forcing everything else down. “Can you get this damn collar off me?”

ROBBIE: It was telling, Robbie often thought, that the Rider had never presented saving people as an option when he was convincing Robbie to make his deal. The Devil didn’t ask him if he wanted to be a superhero. He wasn’t given a choice that involved making the world a better place, wasn’t offered a chance to save people from those like the ones who’d killed Robbie. ”Do you want to punish those who hurt your brother? Do you want to avenge your own death?” There was nothing noble in the offer, nothing heroic. And yet, Robbie’s answer had been the same.

”Yes. More than anything, yes.”

For a long time, Robbie put a curtain up between himself and the demon inside his head. That wasn’t him, he’d swear. He wasn’t the one killing all those people. It was something else, something inside him, something that he couldn’t control. He told himself that over and over again, muttered it every time he left a trail of bodies behind, insisted on it any time someone attempted to hold him responsible for the dead in his wake. It wasn’t Robbie who craved vengeance, wasn’t Robbie who tore people apart. It wasn’t him, it was the Devil. It was Ghost Rider. It was someone else.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the Rider who killed Santino Noguera in his cell, wasn’t the Rider who was so enraged at the sight of a former gang leader lying on a cot and reading a paperback that he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. It wasn’t the Rider who saw Eli standing across from him and lost all control, wasn’t the Rider who was willing to spend eternity in Hell himself if it meant he could personally deliver the man who’d raised him to the same fate. The Rider craved vengeance, but he hadn’t made Robbie take that deal. He hadn’t made Robbie answer with such desperate want in his tone. The Rider craved vengeance, but he wasn’t the only one.

Gabe had known it. Robbie didn’t think he’d ever forget the disgust on his younger brother’s face when he’d shoved Robbie’s touch away, the way his lips curled up when Robbie insisted that those gangsters got what they deserved for what they’d done to Gabe. Don’t you put their blood on me.

Robbie wasn’t a hero. He’d never once been that. Not before the Rider, and certainly not after. This, breaking into the Raft to save the one person in his life who was still willing to speak to him, this wasn’t heroism. It was selfish. Everything Robbie did, at its core, was selfish. He glanced over to her now, smiling faintly and huffing a laugh that wasn’t entirely genuine. “Yeah, I’ll put it in my memory banks. Take a mental snapshot. I’ll remind you you said it later.” It wasn’t what he meant to say. What he meant to say was, ’You probably weren’t far off.’ She hadn’t been. That initial assessment, the one that labeled him a serial killer, it was harsh but it wasn’t unfair. It wasn’t uncalled for. There was a difference, Robbie knew, between justice and vengeance. He’d never once pretended to fall on the right side of that line.

Daisy was laughing then, and Robbie wasn’t sure if he ought to be relieved or concerned. He’d seen people crack under far less pressure than this, seen Hell break strong willed people into shards of glass too small to hold between your fingers in less time than they’d been standing here now. He wondered if, after all this, she’d be lost anyways. If he’d come all the way here just for her to lose herself on the route home. You could walk through Hell for someone, but sometimes it still wasn’t enough. Some people, you didn’t get to save. Robbie was one of them, he knew. That was part of what had made this decision an easy one. It didn’t matter, in the end, whether or not he got out of Hell today. It didn’t matter if that portal closed before his feet were on the other side, because this was the deal he’d made. This was what was waiting for him when all was said and done. No matter how it ended, no matter how he got there, Robbie Reyes’s story only ever ended in one place. Sometimes, Eli would have said with that crooked grin and those eyes that never stopped laughing, the light at the end of the tunnel is fire and brimstone.

(Had he known back then that that was how his story ended? Had he known Robbie would be the one ending it?)

There was a fire burning all around them, warm and familiar and terrifying, and there was a fire burning inside him just as furiously. He was angry at Daisy for caring enough about him to risk her skin for him again and again, angry at her for being caught, angry at her for wanting a way out for him when all he wanted was for her to be okay. He was angry at her for daring to believe that he deserved more than this. He was angry at her for making him hope, even for a second, that she might be right. .

The anger drained out of him all at once when she spoke, eyes flickering back over to the familiar sight of the arena, the familiar chorus of cheers raising up from within it. Do they make everyone fight? For a heartbeat, that fire was back. It was burning in his eyes, in his chest, in whatever was left of his soul, and he remembered being here without her, remembered the rush of adrenaline, the way he didn’t know which feelings were his and which were the Devil’s, the way he almost didn’t care because as long as he felt something, if didn’t matter where it came from. “No,” he answered at last, jaw tight. “Some people, they don’t have to make.”

Robbie had never been like the blonde woman, fighting and clawing and trying with everything she had to escape her fate. Vengeance or peace? That’s what the deal he’d made boiled down to, in the end. Did he want to die on that dirty street with the world on fire around him, or did he want to live to set those flames himself? Did he want to go to his grave with only his own blood on his hands, or did he want to soak the earth with so much blood that the soil was damp with it? Vengeance or peace? Robbie had made his choice. He still wasn’t sure he regretted it.

(It was the choice Eli made, too. Robbie remembered Lucy Bauer, smiling at him with teeth that had rotted out of her head because Eli killed her, remembered the way she looked at him. ”You’re his nephew. Gabriel. Like the angel.” She’d sneered at him with those rotting teeth, smiled like she knew him, like she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. And Robbie --- Robbie had felt like laughing. ”No,” he’d said, shaking his head. ”I’m the other one.” Not an angel. Never that.)

(Well, I guess it runs in the family.)

She threw herself through the portal like a drowned swimmer desperate for shore, and Robbie stepped out after her with a relief so heavy it nearly knocked him off his feet. The Rider pounded on the wall that separated his consciousness from Robbie’s as his feet touched the earth, but Robbie knew it was too late. The portal closed behind him, and he was on the side that came with his mind in the driver’s seat, the side that meant he’d go to work in the morning and pay his rent on time and buy groceries before the milk in the fridge went bad. (Robbie didn’t know if it was the right side. It was the side he wanted to be on, but it certainly wasn’t the side he deserved.)

His name on her lips again, and he knew what she was thinking. He knew what she wanted to ask. Selfishly, he hoped she wouldn’t. Gabe hated him now. Robbie had known it the moment his brother pulled away from him in that containment module, the moment he said Ghost Rider in a breathless tone that was disappointed and terrified all at once. His brother hated him, his parents walked out on him, and he dragged the only father he’d ever known to Hell and left him to burn. Daisy was all he had, the only person who knew who he was and liked him anyways. And if she asked that question on the tip of her tongue, Robbie would tell her the answer.

And she would hate him for it.

There was a moment, a stuttering, heart-wrenching moment where she stared at him and he stared at her and the end was right there in sight. She would ask the question and he would answer it and she would hate him. He would get every goddamn thing he’d ever deserved, carve out the fate he’d earned for himself.

She shut her eyes and he steeled himself, ready for the world to implode around him, and then it didn’t. She asked another question instead, and Robbie hated himself for the surge of relief that came with it. One day, he knew, that other question would come. One day, she’d ask it and he’d answer her and it would be the end of everything. The world would burn away around him, just as it had on that dingy street where his blood still stained the pavement.

But not today.

“Yeah,” he said, the word coming out in a single quiet breath. “Hold still. We’ll see what we can do.”

Entry #00

Summary: Every good thing has to start somewhere, and sometimes the best, most unexpected outcomes start with nothing more than a nervous gift in a local diner.

Or: How I imagine WWTD began.

Word Count: 2441

Warnings: None

Additional Notes: Written for the 1-year anniversary of @fordanoia‘s RP blog @whatwouldteslado.

AO3 Link

“What… is it?” Ford turns the device in his hand, the hard, plastic outer case warm from the stifling summer heat (or, more likely, from being stored in Fiddleford’s pocket for hike from the house to the diner). Whatever kind of electronic it is, it’s remarkably small, able to fit comfortably in his palm. Boxy, but still rounded at the edges in an almost-ergonomic way. When he flips it, he realizes that the other side seems to have a small glass display, a small keyboard taking up the bottom half just below it, a circular dial of some sort between the two with four rectangular buttons lined up on its sides.

“I call it the Accelerated Logger: Experimental XML edition,” Fiddleford beams at him from across the table. “The ALEX device for short. I’m still fanoodling with the name though, since I reckon giving it a human name is a little creepy.” Ford flips it around a few times in his hands, getting a feel for the weight, pressing a few of the buttons on the keyboard, seeing if he can’t get the little glass screen to do something.

“But what exactly is it?” Ford repeats. “What does it do?”

“Oh right, right. It’s a new journal.” Ford glances back up, not sure whether or not he’s joking, since this device obviously isn’t a journal. The confusion must read on his face, because Fiddleford backtracks. “Well, sorta. It’s like a miniature computer that you only write entries in and— here let me show you.” Fiddleford takes the device back and holds down what seems to be a small button on the top of the device, one Ford hadn’t noticed. “So, this here’s the power button.” He sets the device down on the table between them as the screen flickers to life, the screen lit but dark. “It’s also the sleep button to shut off the screen when you’re not using it. Saves battery, but God willing, I don’t see you killing it any time soon. This high-powered interdimensional residual schism-based collision heap power cell’s got more energy than a kindergarten classroom the day after Halloween. But that’s besides the point.”

“It’s powered by interdimensi—”

“This here is your home screen,” Fiddleford continues on, unimpeded. “You can create a new entry by pressing this button here,” he presses one of the four buttons lined up just above the keyboard, the one on the left with the pencil on it, and a pop-up box appears on the screen with the prompt Type new entry here above it, “then you type in whatever you reckon to record. And then you can push this button," he pushes the next adjacent button, which has a pound (#) sign on it, and a smaller pop-up appears, “to add tags to the post. On the home screen, that same one lets you search through all your tags real fast, that way you can find specific entries without having to flip a bazillion pages crazier than a chicken with its head cut off when you need to find something. This one is the back button,” he presses the button to the left of the circle pad, and the tag pop-up disappears, “which will back you out of any screen until you get back to the home screen. But if you wanted to make a post, just type it in here” using the keypad, he quickly types in Test post 1, “and then press the center button,” he presses the button in the center of the circle, and the post disappears, replaced by a small box on the top of the screen that reads the same text he typed. “And there it is! You can also add titles to posts and stylize the text all fancy-like. And when you have loads of posts, you can scroll through them chronologically using the trackpad—"

“Fiddleford, this is very kind of you—”

“Oh! But this button here,” he presses the one unused button of the tray of four, and Ford’s not even sure his friend heard him, he’s so caught up in his excitement. “Well, by all means, it doesn’t do diddley-squat right now. But eventually, I want to make it to where we can each have a device and type messages to one another, sorta like instant messaging! And this button would take you to your inbox to see—"

He’s not sure how to say that, while the gift is nice, he just personally prefers his journal. There’s something about just writing with paper and pen that an electronic could never duplicate. But Fiddleford seems so excited over it, and he’s never been one for tact, that’s for sure. Maybe if he just…

“Look, Fiddleford, I really appreciate the thought—”

“And I know you still have Journal 3 to finish,” Fiddledord barrels right on, and for the first time, Ford notices the there’s a slight tapping sound coming from under the table. A shoe hitting the ground increasingly faster. “So if you wanna finish it out, I understand that. I just know you’ve always been a worry-wort about your book getting damaged by rain and all, so I figured this would help fix that. All the posts store in an empty pocket dimension, so there’s no chance of them getting destroyed or nothing. And even if the device gets damaged, I can make a new one and reconnect to the same dimension. And I also installed a camera so you can take pictures of anomalies instead of having to sketch them all the time and… And…”

Fiddleford trails off, though he’s still smiling and expectantly looking at Ford, as if waiting for a reaction.

His foot taps even faster under the table.

Five beats per second. Maybe six.

“What do ya think?” he asks.

It’ll be a while before I finish Journal 3. Maybe by then he’ll forget.

Ford sighs.

“I think it’s an amazing little piece of tech,” he says, picking it up and giving it an appreciative once over. “I’ll try it out after I’m finished with Journal 3. Thank you.” The tapping goes silent, and Fiddleford smiles.

“Well, I’m glad you like it!”

“Could you tell me more about this interdimensional power cell that you said powers it? It sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, it is!” Fiddleford says. “Obviously it’s based on the portal research, just on a much smaller, easier-to-stabilize scale. When I made the hole for the memory storage, I realized there was a dang near infinite amount of energy flowing from it, so I finoodled a way to back-harness it…”

~ ~ ~

Ford pours himself his sixth cup of coffee of the morning. Well, he hasn’t slept in… he can’t remember how many days, so thinking of it with respect to the morning can’t make much sense. Not in the colloquial sense. All he knows is that the sun started peeking through the snow-laden treetops over an hour ago, and he’s on his sixth cup of coffee since then.

It’s working well enough, he guesses.

He’s still awake, as far as he knows.

Not like he can really fall asleep now-a-days.

Can’t risk Bill…

He takes a sip from the mug, lukewarm black coffee even more bitter than the last cup, and yet somehow more familiar. Ever since the incident last week, this has become his norm, that bitter roasted taste a constant in the back of his throat.

He’s not sure how long he can keep this up.

Ideally, just long enough to get everything taken care of.

After that…

The Journal is sitting on the dining room counter, gold hand glinting at him in the morning light.

He doesn’t think he can trust a word in that thing anymore. Not after everything Bill has done. Not after learning what he now knows.

He’s not sure he can bring himself to open it again.

That’s ridiculous. It’s just a book.

Then why does the mere thought of it make him want to throw up?

He tops off his mug and heads back to the elevator, ready to continue his work. The portal has long since been shut down, but he swears he’s been hearing sounds coming from it. Which is concerning considering the nature of the machine and what lays on the other side. The room should be silent. Unsettlingly so. But when he’s down there, he swears he hears something.

Something like voices.

Which he knows is absurd.

He ignores them for the most part.

He has research to do. He needs to figure out how to keep Bill out. Either temporarily, or for good. And while initial attempts have been unsuccessful, he hopes knows he’s developed a plan of action that has a reasonable chance of success.

The elevator doors open, and he finds himself in the bottom floor of the basement.

He doesn’t know why he keeps insisting on bringing himself down here.

Maybe as penance?

Maybe out of some sense that he needs to guard it?

Maybe because he simultaneously enjoys and hates the way it makes his gut turn at the mere sight of it, something rotten and aching churning just below the surface.

Part of him… part of him wants to tear the damn thing apart. Some small voice in the back of his head says it’s the best idea, that it’s the only rational idea, that leaving it standing the next room over is dangerous and reckless, especially when it will never be turned on again. That it would be the ultimate way to rub Bill’s betrayal in his face.

But…

Because of course there’s a “but”, otherwise he would have torn it down already

But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not to something he spent months of his life on. Not to something that could still be the answer to all his questions. Not to what he knows is the single greatest piece of engineering this world has ever seen. Not when he’s scared of the aftermath the next time he falls asleep.

And so, he finds himself at a stalemate. Locked in a dilemma he can’t seem to reason his way out of. It leaves him staring through the safety test window, watching the monument as it stands proudly the next room over, fluorescent lights glaring off it.

It’s like some sick joke that he never even learned the punchline to. That there was never a punchline for to begin with. Something he had hoped would be beautiful and wound up causing nothing but pain and destruction.

It leaves something bitter in the back of his throat.

It’s almost familiar.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s cool now, the basement sapping every bit of warmth right out of the room, the winter ice settling deep into the dirt.

Maybe he likes that the cold helps keep him awake?

He sits down at the desk, aimlessly leafing through the pages strewn across it, hoping some spark of inspiration will flash across them and tell him what to do.

He moves a diagram to the side and uncovers something from what feels like eons ago.

The device Fiddleford gave him, before everything went bad, back when they went to Greasy’s Diner for breakfast from time to time and life wasn’t completely consumed by the portal.

Back when everything was still okay.

He picks it up off the desk, the device still fitting comfortably in his hand like he remembers it did, hard plastic cold against his palm.

The Accelerated Logistic—no, the Accelerated Log… Logging… Logger?

It was so long ago. He barely remembers…

He finds the button on the side and holds it down, the screen miraculously flickering to life moments later.

After I’m finished with Journal 3…

He knows he has a better time thinking through his problems when he can write them down.

Maybe this will be a good replacement for the journal.

Maybe.

He clicks on the button Fiddleford showed him all those months ago, but instead of the expected pop-up, he gets an error of some sort, asking for a “blog username”.

Why am I doing this? This is pointless.

You need to get your head on straight. Think through this all rationally. This will help.

It’s just another Journal!

What if I can’t fix this?

What if I can’t get him out?

A username.

Back in college, he remembers one physics professor introducing him to the work of Nikola Tesla, and there’s one story he always remembers in particular.

Tesla once built a great machine, an oscillator, meant to change the way electricity was produced and revolutionize the way steam engines operated. Tesla claimed that, during a certain experiment, the device began to vibrate at the resonant frequency of the building he was in, causing the whole building to shudder and quake, compromising the structural safety of the building and risking the lives of its occupants.

He took a sledgehammer to the device to end it.

Or so he claimed.

Ford wonders how true the story is, whether the machine really went unstable, whether Tesla was really able to simply destroy his work so easily.

He wonders what Tesla would do if he were in his own shoes, a literal demon tormenting him, his machine standing between him and the end of the world, or maybe all the answers he ever hoped for. A chance to be somebody and do something important.

Knowing something is the right thing to do, but just feeling deep down like it’s wrong. That there are other solutions.

A username?

He quickly types in the first thing that comes to mind:

whatwouldteslado

When he clicks enter, the pop-up disappears, and the screen is back to how he remembers.

Perhaps Fiddleford updated it while I wasn’t using it.

He shakes the thoughts off and starts typing, the click of the keys echoing through the room.

He’s not sure why… And he’s not sure how to describe it…

But as unfamiliar as it is, something about the device almost feels… promising. Like a new beginning. Some distant light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel.

It’s a good feeling to hold onto for now.

And so, he types.

~ ~ ~

Entry #01.

This is the first entry that will hopefully be of but only a small handful.

I am livid…. Among quite a number of other things, but I need to go about this in a rational manner.

I have recently come up with a rather simple solution to my main issue. Deploying it will not be easy, but I have already faced difficult challenges and I have no doubt that I can successfully carry this out on my own.

…

Post.

Escalation

AN: Since so many of you guys wanted a continuation, here it is. But I already know that you're gonna hate me for writing this ^^' Warnings: Rick/Morty, smut, still that little bit of body hair fetish, verbal abuse and graphic rape Summary: Continuation to "Substitution". Morty continues seeing the other Rick and thinks that he's actually developing feelings for him. However, everything changes after his Rick suddenly finds out about it.

Escalation It was at a point where Morty thought that maybe he didn't really mind anymore. The familiarity that he had with this Rick was something that was starting to outweigh everything else. Since their first time there were many more times that had followed, times that they had been intimate with each other. Sometimes, when he knew that he had the weekend all to himself and no one would miss him at home, he would even spend some more time with this Rick and cuddle with him, while still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. He would nestle his head inside the other's neck or rest it on his chest. His fingers would thread through the silver curls on the other's torso and sometimes he would follow their path with his lips. It was actually nice. The awkwardness that he still had felt in the beginning, even after what they had done, was vanishing more and more each time that he spent with this Rick that wasn't his Rick. It was really at this point, that Morty thought that he could get over the feelings that he had for his grandfather and just be happy with the Rick that he had. Not only was it because he had become so familiar with him, but also because he noticed that this Rick was a lot nicer to him, too. He was acting gentle and so considerate of him, even though Morty had never asked that of him and he loved it. Morty genuinely wanted to believe that he could move on and love this Rick. And it just had to happen, at this point, that everything went to hell… Everything had started out normally enough. The portal opened in his room, at the designated time and Morty stepped through it, being greeted by the other Rick with open arms – he had certainly become even more affectionate with him after Morty started to act less awkward about their meetings and whatever it is that they had. Quickly they found their way into the bedroom and while entangled in kisses, their clothes came off with fumbling hands till they were both left in only their birthday suits. They tumbled into the bed, both continuing to explore and pleasure the other's body with fingers, lips and tongue. After some gentle preparation it ended with both of them laying on their sides, Rick behind him, his hairy chest pressed against Morty's back, one hand on his thigh to hold his leg up for better access as he was steadily thrusting inside him, his other arm underneath Morty's head as he was supporting the weight of his upper body on it, leaning up a little on the bed. Morty had one hand gripping the arm that hoisted his leg up and the other twisted in the pillow underneath his head that he wetted with drool that was accidentally pouring from his open and meowling mouth. It was hard to hear over Rick's grunts and Morty's high-pitched moans, but there was another sound – one that was also familiar to both lovers. The sound of a portal opening. It took Morty's hazy mind a moment to register fully what was going on as he looked up at the Rick who had a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. It was his Rick! As that realization finally sunk in his eyes widened and he turned redder than a fire truck. God, it was so embarrassing to be caught by the last person he ever wanted to find out about this. Having been caught literally in the act and on full display to him with his leg still held up by the other Rick who was still balls-deep inside him. Somehow, he must have caught wind of Morty leaving his dimension and thus Rick had followed him here. Thankfully, Other Rick slid out of him and let go of his leg so it could drop down to rest on his other one and Morty felt the urge to cover himself up, but only ended up curling shamefully in on himself. His Rick has already seen so it would be utter pointless anyway. Finally, the angry glare on his Rick's face was accompanied by equally angry words. "Really, Morty? Of all the things that you could do, you have to pick spending your free time with a fucking pedophile? I hope you're proud of yourself. Real good—real talent for picking what people to hang out with." He started his tirade. "I mean, really, of all your—all the Ricks that you could possibly find, you had to choose the most disgusting kind, the-the-the really dirtiest and lowest kind of Rick imaginable." "Hey!" Other Rick shot back, wanting to defend himself. Morty's Rick didn't give him a chance though. "Well, excuse me, but needing to get your dick wet with an underage teenager proves very clearly to me that you're the lowest Rick-scum in existence." Without further warning, Rick suddenly pulled out his plasma gun and pointed it at Other Rick. "This time you just made the mistake that the kid you picked happened to by my grandson." Finally, Morty started to act, uncurling himself and moving protectively between Other Rick and the barrel of his Rick's plasma gun. "Stop it, Rick. He didn't—I was the one, who wanted this. He didn't force me or anything—" "Morty, you don't know what you want." His Rick countered. "Why do you care, Rick? You have never cared before about me or anything I was doing unless it was "impeding with your work"! So why do you suddenly care now?!" Rick was taken aback by the outburst. Of course, he knew that he was acting like a complete asshole most of the time, but he didn't think that Morty would really believe that he wouldn't give a single fuck about him. With a growl, he pocketed his plasma gun again. "Do you really th— you know what, Morty? We continue this discussion at home!" He opened a portal with one hand while grabbing Morty's wrist with the other and ignoring any protests or complaints, he tugged hard and dragged the boy with him back into their dimension. The flabbergasted Rick that still sat on his bed was left behind, completely forgotten. "What the— WHAT THE HECK, RICK?!" Morty yelled as he stumbled into his bedroom after his grandfather had let go of his wrist, just as they had passed through the now closing portal. "That's my line, you little shit!" Rick fired back. "The hell were you thinking, going with that shady asshole?!" "That Rick wasn't shady! He-he was nice!" "So if a random stranger on the street is treating you nicely, you just go with him and spread your legs for him?! Are you serious?!" With each shout at each other, they got louder in their argument, but since no one else but them was at home, no one would be there to interrupt them. "He wasn't a stranger! He was still a Rick and that's makes him my grandfather, too!!" Morty still tried to defend the other. However, even Morty had to agree that in the beginning this Rick had been a complete stranger to him. It took him quite a while to get to know him better and thinking about it, he still didn't know all that much about him. He didn't want to let his grandfather win this argument though and was willing to ignore that and defy these accusations. This in turn made him ignorant to something else that he said, which he probably shouldn't have… "So that's it, Morty?! Yeah?! You wanna get fucked by your grandpa so badly?!" Rick snarled and then shoved the boy to the ground as he unbuckled his belt. Morty's eyes widened in panic as the situation took an unexpected, dark turn. "N-no, Rick! Stop it!" He tried to crawl away, becoming painfully aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, but his grandfather would have none of that. Rick grabbed his ankle and pulled him right back again, where he towered over the boy before he shoved his pants and boxers down in one movement. With his lower body now bared, he dropped down on his knees, straddling Morty and hindering further attempts at escape. "Rick, p-please stop. I don't want this." Morty tried to plead with him again as he tried to shove the older off of him. Rick grabbed the boy's wrists now and pinned them above his head on the ground, holding them both there with one hand. "Oh, no. You do want this! You do or you wouldn't have always sneaked off to him." Ignoring any further pleas from the boy to stop, he bend down to mark the small body underneath him with hard bites. His free hand wandered to the boy's limp penis and stroked it. "Is this what he has done with you? Yeah, Morty? Do you like this, you sick little piece of shit?" Tears finally spilled from Morty's eyes as his body betrayed him and he could feel himself getting hard again despite the lack of real pleasure. "No, no… please stop, Rick. I don't wa—ahn!" Rick had simultaneously bit into one of his nipples while his thumb stroke with heavy pressure over the sensitive slit on the head of his now erect penis. "Tsk. You're such a pervert, Morty, liking this so much. This shit gets you really hard, huh?" As his grandfather kissed him, Morty tried to break it off by turning his head to the side, but the hand that had been stroking his erection grasped his cheeks hard now – between the thumb and the index and middle finger –and kept him in place. He whimpered helplessly into the unwanted kiss. Morty didn't want to like any of this because it wasn't right even though this had been what he always had wanted before. But not anymore. His chest and stomach hurt, where Rick had bitten him hard enough to draw blood. Rick's kiss was disgusting because he tasted so strongly of alcohol and bile, having obviously drank more than usual. Rick wasn't nice and gentle with him like the other Rick had been and he had already moved on, hadn't he? No, he didn't want any of this anymore! Rick let his face go again, but only to shove three of his fingers into his mouth. "C'mon, get them nice and wet. You know how to do that. I'm sure he's made you do it, too, right?" Morty couldn't disprove him with his mouth full and he gagged as the digits shoved even deeper into him, hitting the back of his throat. "What? Didn't he teach you to deepthroat yet? Bet he made you blow him pretty often though." Morty coughed as Rick finally withdrew his fingers again, feeling as if he was about to throw up. His relieve was only short-lived though as those same fingers reached between his thighs now and nudged insistently against his entrance. "No, Rick. Please don't…" He pitifully tried to plead with his elder once more, but it only fell on deaf ears again. Roughly, all three digits entered him and even though he was still slightly stretched from the Other Rick's penetration and slicked up with the previously used lube, it still burned. "Like this, you sick freak?" Rick harshly twisted his fingers, causing more painful whimpers to escape from his grandson. "Nah, not enough for you yet, is it? Well, I've got something bigger for you." He withdrew his fingers and took his own half-hard chub in his hand, pumping it furiously with the intent to work himself to full hardness and coating it in not yet dried up saliva and excess lube. By this point Morty had already stopped all his futile struggles against the hold that Rick had on him, only silently weeping, as he laid on the floor with his head turned to the side and eyes clenched shut, awaiting for the unavoidable to happen. If the pathetic sight of his grandson bothered him, Rick still didn't show it even if Morty wouldn't be able to see. Deeming himself hard enough for what he was about to do, Rick position himself and without waiting any longer, he entered Morty in one brutal thrust. Morty screamed from the pain of the sudden intrusion and Rick didn't give him any time to adjust, as he quickly pulled out only to plow in as fast again. All that the boy could do was sob and try to claw his nails into the solar system carpet beneath him as he just took it. "You happy now that you get what you wanted? I bet you love this, don't you? Love my dick plowing into your ass, huh Morty?" Morty didn't answer him. He just laid on the ground like a broken toy, unresponsive. Too exhausted from fighting the older and stronger man, he just accepted what was happening to him. By the looks of it, his mind was far, far away from his current hell. Rick only growled and slammed harder into him. His hand also started to pump the boy's cock again that had started to deflate a little. "You sick fuck, you're really getting off on this, don't you? You gonna cum for your Grandpa? Huh, Morty?" Unrelenting, he kept thrusting into the boy, now aiming for the prostrate as he continued to fist the boyhood in his hand. Even though he was still in pain, Morty could feel his body reacting to all the stimulation and despite not wanting to, he reached his unsatisfying orgasm. A stifled squeal escape him as he tried to hide his face away in the carpet. It only made Rick chuckle filthily, milking all the cum out of the still spurting erection with his busy hand. A few thrusts later, he groaned as he also reached his completion, coming deep inside Morty. Rick drew out of the boy, his semen tinged pink as it leaked from the abused hole and stained milky thighs and the carpet. He stood and pulled his briefs and pants up again. Finally free of the hold and the weight on top of him, Morty rolled onto his side and curled up. Zipping his pants up, Rick only cast one last disgusted glance at his grandson before he left the room, leaving Morty pathetically sobbing and broken on the floor all by himself.

Part 2 of You can't always have what you want

Part 1 of You can't always have what you want: Substitution

oneshot

Hot Brownie Sundae: PART 1/4

(Aesthetic header courtesy of @rixxy8173571m3w1p3, thank you dearest!!)

I got real carried away with this request, and I feel it requires a bit of an explanation. The whole thing is real long, over 14k words! But you can kind of split it down the middle as a sfw fic and a nsfw fic. So! If you’re only interested in sweet, playful sfw fics with these characters, you can read chapters one and two since they are both clean, and I have tried to end it so it feels satisfactory and can be read as a stand alone story.

BUT! If you wanna read a threesome involving the aphrodisiac trope... read on through chapters three and four too ;) 

Without further ado, here is part one! Enjoy :)

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

-

“I didn't expect to see another Rick here.” I commented as we were waiting in line for the ice cream truck. “Is he…” I trailed off, glancing at Zeta-7 with a look in my eye that I hope told him what I intended to say.

An asshole; is what I was thinking. After all, not many of the Rick's I'd met other than Zeta-7 weren't assholes.

“Is he from this dimension? Yes. This is his original dimension, though he h-hops around a lot, in his truck. He sells ice cream all over the place.” Rick smiled at me, his cute teeth on show and making me smile too. Of course, he hadn't picked up on what I wanted to ask him. “This is actually the reason I brought you to this dimension in particular. I.C and I have known each other for qu-quite a while, his ice cream is the best I've tasted, I wanted to give you the chance to try it.” He added.

Well, if Zeta-7 was friends with this other Rick, I could rest assured that he probably wasn't an asshole.

“I.C?” I questioned.

“Ice Cream Rick, sometimes Rick's give each other nicknames. His is I.C, kind of like how mine is-” he stopped suddenly, looking away awkwardly. I didn't push him to continue, I knew what nickname he'd been given by other Ricks. Instead, I continued for him.

“Zeta-7. Like I sometimes call you around other Ricks.” I said. Rick smiled at me considerately, like he knew my entire thought process and was grateful for my input.

“Yes, kind of like that.” He nodded. He squeezed my hand gently in his, and for a while I'd forgotten we'd been holding hands; it felt so natural at this point I was more inclined to notice when he wasn't holding my hand. I looked down at where our fingers were entwined and made a conscious effort to take note of the sensation; I wouldn't allow something so nice to become mundane.

After a moment we reached the front of the line, the ice cream truck was apparently very popular and so we'd been waiting for a few minutes. Though, it was getting late into the afternoon and the park wasn't as busy as I assumed it would've been a little earlier, so we were the last people in line. The Rick inside turned to us and a grin spread across his face when he noticed who he was looking at.

“Wow, it's been a- long time no see, Doof. How've you been?” He scrubbed his hands on his apron and held one out to him, waiting for a handshake. My eyes immediately flew over to Zeta-7 at the use of that nickname, no matter how affectionately it was uttered, or how big the smile on I.C's face was, I could feel my defensive streak kicking in. Luckily, Zeta-7's smile didn't falter, and he happily reached out to take the other Rick's hand.

“Hey, I.C. I've been doing just- just great! Yourself?” He replied, despite my efforts to control myself, my eyes widened. I had never seen Rick so confident around another version of himself, usually he was quiet, withdrawn, often lost in his own thoughts about who knows what. But now, he was smiling so comfortably, acting like he really was chatting with an old friend. It was a surprise, to say the least. Especially when I.C held onto his hand for so long, anchoring him into extended eye contact that felt so familiar and even a little bit intimate.

“Not too bad. Who's the little lady?” He questioned, his eyes turning to me. He finally let go of Zeta-7's hand, but not without giving it a visible squeeze; I wondered why I thought that was strange. I smiled shyly, suddenly feeling kind of like a third wheel, despite being the one on the date with Zeta-7. I.C held his hand towards me too, and I glanced at it for a moment before tentatively reaching mine to meet it. Expecting a handshake, I was surprised when he went in for a kiss on the knuckles. I blushed like crazy and suppressed a giggle.

“Th-this is my… my good friend, (y/n). I thought it wo-would be nice to bring her for a taste of your ice cream.” Rick introduced me, and I chuckled at his use of the phrase ‘good friend’. Despite me telling him countless times that it was okay to call me his partner, he continually didn't due to fears he'd embarrass me in front of strangers. He had little confidence in himself, years of being the butt of the joke had convinced him that he was an embarrassment to be associated with. It was ridiculous of course.

“Good friend, huh?” I.C cocked a brow and smirked. “I didn't know Doof had a girlfriend, it's nice to meet you.” He grinned at me, and I wasn't surprised that he'd guessed the truth, Ricks were nothing if not observant.

“Oh, that’s-” Rick started, chuckling and glancing at me nervously.

“We've been together for almost a year now, though Rick seems to like keeping it a secret.” I teased, playfully nudging my companion. One glance at I.C showed me the slight falter in his smile, he looked surprised, and I realised that maybe he was joking with his guess, only teasing us.

“It's n-not that I don't w-want people to know…” Zeta-7 said, flushing pink, his expression illustrating his worry.

“I know.” I whispered, squeezing his hand just like he'd done to mine earlier. This seemed to relax him.

“Cute.” I.C commented, his smirk was back but now mischievous, with this strange predatory edge. I couldn't for the life of me work out why that was there, but it was directed at both Zeta-7 and I. I'd seen other Ricks direct that look at me before, but never Zeta-7, so it threw me. “What can I get you?” He asked, swiftly changing the subject and hiding that expression.

“Oh, I have no idea, I haven't even looked at what's available!” I exclaimed in mild embarrassment, looking up at my Rick. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Hmm, I-I-I am partial to the caramel and honeycomb flavour, that's what I'm going to have.” He replied. I nodded, my mouth already watering at the thought.

“Two cones of that then, please.” I smiled, looking back at I.C who nodded and turned to prepare our ice creams. He tossed a wink my way as he did, injecting more colour into my cheeks.

“I brought the ingredients to make my ovenless brownies, if I make some we can cut up little pieces and pop them on top while they're still warm.” Zeta-7 suggested.

“Ohh, then it'll be all melty and delicious! Heck yes, you really are a genius.” I grinned, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet in excitement. He smiled warmly at me, then glanced around cautiously for a moment before bending down to press a kiss to my forehead when he was sure nobody was looking. He wasn't one for PDA, but it sure made me feel special whenever he did something like that.

“Oh, you're planning on tampering with my ice cream, huh? N-not good enough for you as it is?” I.C said over his shoulder, though there was no hostility in his tone, just playfulness. “I'm wounded.”

“Well maybe you two should go into business together. Ice cream and brownies are a match made in heaven.” I laughed. I.C handed each of us our ice creams as he chuckled. He wiggled his brows and looked to Zeta-7.

“Hear that, Doof? We're a m-match made in heaven.” He teased, his eyelids low. I smiled awkwardly, not knowing quite what to make of that. Rick, however, laughed cheerfully. Was I sensing..?

No. Surely not.

“Maybe that's not such a bad idea, w-we do work well together.” Zeta-7 said, not seeming to pick up any of the flirty vibes that I had. I shrugged it off. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house for an old friend. Enjoy your date.” I.C insisted, leaning back up from the counter and crossing his arms, signalling that he wouldn't be taking any money.

“Oh, no, I should pay you. I-i-it's the least I could do for my friend.”

“How ‘bout y-y-you just give me some of the brownies you make. That sound like a fair compromise?” I.C suggested. Rick thought for a moment, then finally nodded.

“Okay then. Th-thank you very much.” He beamed.

“Thank you.” I added, nodding at I.C before Rick and I turned to find somewhere to sit.

The two of us found a nice little spot underneath a tree not far from the truck. I held onto Rick's ice cream as he laid out our blanket and pulled out the ingredients he'd brought for his brownies. I took a seat next to him and watched as he prepared them, pouring a vial of liquid into a baking tray. He added a little of this, a little of that. It was always exciting to watch how quickly it all came together.

I noticed that our ice creams were beginning to melt, and one of them was starting to dribble down the side towards my knuckle. Deciding that that one would be mine, I dove in to lick it before it could make a mess. I just so happened to glance towards the ice cream truck as I did, and immediately made eye contact with the other Rick; who was watching us from a distance. I was startled, and quickly put my tongue away, looking back at Zeta-7 in time to see the mixture of chemicals bubble up into a pan of what looked like freshly baked brownies.

“They look and smell so good…” I mumbled, inhaling deeply. Rick began to slice up little pieces for us, cubes small enough to press into our ice creams. He was quiet, a peaceful look on his face as he picked up the pieces one by one, popping them onto each ice cream. It immediately melted the ice cream and each brownie bite sunk into place. When it got too melty Rick chuckled and took his from my hand, quickly licking up the drippy areas. I did the same.

I took a tentative glance back towards the ice cream truck; Rick had his back turned and was no longer watching us.

“So how did you meet him?” I asked Rick, nodding in the truck’s direction.

“A few Ricks on the citadel who were big foodies got together to form… a- a sort of club, I s-suppose you could call it. I went along one day.” The whimsical expression on his face as he recalled the memory was adorable. “He was very kind to me.”

“What about the others?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“N-not so much.” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. I nodded sympathetically. “But that didn't matter, be-because in the end, I made a friend.” He shrugged, going back to licking his ice cream.

I gnawed on my bottom lip for a while, considering whether I should ask my next question. In the end, I decided I would.

“I can't help but notice he's very… he teases you a lot, and he calls you that name. Does it bother you?” I asked under my breath, even though there was no way I.C could hear from this distance. Zeta-7 looked up at me with wide, surprised eyes and paused for a moment. He looked too cute, with a little ice cream at the corner of his lip and his slightly misaligned eyes peering up at me. I giggled and reached out to swipe the ice cream from his mouth with my thumb.

His face turned beet red when I licked my thumb right after. He looked down at his ice cream.

“Um, no, it- it doesn't bother me. He doesn't do anything maliciously, like the others do… and that name, it's different when he says it. I suppose you could say, i-i-it's a term of endearment.” He chuckled. I watched him eat for a while, noting how at ease he looked, it was clear he was telling the truth.

“I'm glad. I'm relieved to hear that it's not all Rick's that treat you badly.” I told him, turning my attention back to my ice cream. I coaxed a piece of brownie into my mouth and moaned at the combination of warm and cold, the chewy, moist texture of the brownie with the creamy melty ice cream soaked into it… dear God it was incredible. “Rick… I think I've found my new favourite food.” I added, my voice practically a groan. I didn't mean to sound so obscene, it was just that delicious.

“Oh, w-well we can always come back and do this again! I was hoping you'd enjoy it. We will have to tell I.C to try it when we give him his brownies.” He smiled. “His sweet tooth could rival mine, I'm surprised he's not ten times larger than he is.” He laughed, taking a bite of brownie himself. His reaction was much more dignified than mine.

“I always wonder where you Rick's put it all.” I nodded, quirking a brow. Rick simply laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “You know, I appreciate you thinking of me and bringing me here. It makes me smile when you think about what I like and try to accommodate.”

“Is-isn't that what couples do?” He questioned. I thought for a while; yes, that is what couples should do, I thought. But of course, not everyone is as sweet as Zeta-7.

“I don't know about anyone else. But I do know I've never been with anyone so considerate. I'm not saying everyone else has been awful to me.” I chuckled, pausing for a moment. “But they didn't put as much effort into making me happy, as you do. I think I should put more effort in myself, you make me want to be a kinder person, Rick.”

“Oh, oh no you mustn't think that. Y-y-you're far from needing to put in more effort, you're always making me happy. And you're one of- of the kindest people I've met.” He told me, but I couldn't escape the feeling that he was doing so just to make me feel better. Ever the considerate gentleman. I kept my mouth shut, though, and made a mental note to research local gardens. It would be nice to take him somewhere I knew he would enjoy, and if there was one thing I'd learned about Rick, it was that he loved all things nature; especially flowers.

“Still, I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to make your lover as happy as they make you.” I said quietly, noticing his cheeks darken at the use of that one particular word.

“Perhaps you don't realise, then, that that's all I have been try-trying to do. Every time I think of a new place to show you, I do it in the hopes that y-y-you can get a hint of the happiness I feel when I'm with you.” He mumbled, avoiding eye contact and turning redder by the second. That was the only evidence I could find of him struggling to say such a thing; despite his shyness and low confidence levels, he was a natural romantic. Though, I was convinced he didn't know it.

“Oh, stop it.” I said playfully, watching his eyes flash up to mine in concern. I gave him a smile to show him I was only joking. “If you're not careful, I might have to kiss you. Right here, right now.” I added, my tone dropping lower, a little flirtatiousness never hurt.

Rick laughed bashfully, fidgeting under my gaze. I reached across to where his hand was resting on the blanket, and I linked our fingers together wordlessly.

We sat there for the remainder of the time it took us to eat our ice cream slash brownie concoctions, and in that time the park had further cleared. The sun was beginning to come down in the sky, turning it a vibrant orange. It was my favourite time of the day, but Rick and I both knew we couldn't stay much longer; the gates to the park would be closing soon.

“Oh, I-I-I must give I.C the rest of these brownies as a thank you. Before I do, w-would you like some more?” Rick asked as he noticed that I.C was cleaning up the truck, getting ready to close for the day.

As tempting as it was to say yes, I shook my head. “No thank you, a moment on the lips, they say.” I laughed, and Rick simply shook his head. I knew he'd take the opportunity to tell me I shouldn't worry about that sort of thing, so I didn't let him. “Tell him thank you from me, he's a very talented man when it comes to the art of ice cream making.”

“Why don't you come with me and t-tell him y-yourself?” He suggested with a smile. My instinct was to say no; why? I wasn't sure. The concept of walking back over to him was making my heart rate skyrocket for unknown reasons. Perhaps it was because he was one of the few Ricks other than Zeta-7 I'd met that I could stand to be around for more than five minutes… and that was for some reason, quite concerning. Perhaps it was because he'd succeeded in making me blush a number of times in the short time I'd been around him. Perhaps it was because I'd always found men with ponytails very handsome.

I didn't want Zeta-7 seeing me blush and giggle like a schoolgirl, lest he get the wrong idea and start feeling insecure. It was already difficult to keep him from overthinking things and assuming he wasn't enough. But if I said no to saying goodbye to one of the few Ricks he was friends with, wouldn't that look bad too?

“Okay. Let's, uh, I'll roll up the blanket and catch up with you.” I suggested, and without missing a beat he offered to help me. I assured him I'd manage putting away our picnic blanket just fine, and he of course apologised for insinuating that I was incapable… I told him that he apologised too much.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly, and with a playful roll of my eyes I sent him over to I.C. I watched as he crossed the park to meet up with his friend, they were all smiles as he handed over the tray of brownies and I couldn't help but smile too. It was so nice to see him getting along with another Rick, most were so unkind to him.

Pulling my attention from them, I picked up our blanket and shook it free of all stray grass clippings. I folded it and rolled it up before putting it in our picnic bag; I was taking an unnecessary amount of time to do so, putting off going over to them. But there was only so many times I could fold and re-fold the blanket before I had to take the slow stroll back over to where Zeta-7 was still chatting away to I.C.

“Oh, (y/n), y-y-you need to hear what I.C just told me!” Rick exclaimed once he noticed me approaching, waving me over with an excited little flail of his arms. I chuckled at his enthusiasm and turned my smile to I.C when I reached them. He grinned at me, leaning his elbow on the counter, he looked well put together in his pastel pink button up shirt, little bow tie, and his longer-than-most-Ricks hair brushed back into a ponytail. I wondered momentarily if he had a partner, if he had a relationship like Zeta-7 and I's.

“I was jus-just saying, back home I've got a lab where I make all my different ice cream flavours. I-I'm always working on something new, keeping things fresh, you know?” I.C explained, letting his eyes wander up and down my form before meeting my gaze again. It wasn't as much of a leer as I'd experienced with other Rick's, but it was certainly more than casual. Heat rose to my cheeks again.

Damn it.

“An ice cream lab? Ooh, that sounds exciting. Do you have like, loads of different tasty ingredients all lined up on a shelf, and you just experiment?”

“Oh, I've done a lot of experimenting in my time.” He chuckled, glancing briefly over at Zeta-7. “Uhh, I guess it's s-something like that. But I was actually just asking Doof here if you guys wanted to come and take a look.” I didn't miss now he reached over and touched Zeta-7's shoulder, his thumb tracing back and forth over his lab coat.

“Oh? What, now?” My eyes widened and I glanced between the two Ricks. They both nodded.

“That is unless you have something else planned for your date. I-I don't want to intrude, I just thought- I thought it might be interesting for you guys.” I.C added, stroking his hand slowly down Zeta-7's arm before withdrawing completely, and tapping his fingertips casually on the countertop. I looked at Zeta-7, who looked at me. His expression was nothing but casual despite being touched in such a way, instead it seemed as though we were merely both consulting each other on whether we should take him up on his offer. I shrugged my shoulders before speaking.

“I don't think we have plans, do we? This was more just a relaxed date, a fun trip out. You didn't plan anything, did you?” I asked Zeta-7 who pursed his lips for a moment in consideration.

“I-I-I did think we could have dinner somewhere, but seeing as it's still a lit-little too early to eat, and I don't know about you but I'm still rather full from the ice cream, I suppose we have time to check it out. That- that's if you would like that.” And so he left it in my hands. I couldn't very well say no, could I? I had no reason to. Only that weird feeling in my tummy that I got whenever I was around this Rick, and whenever I saw him interact with Zeta-7. He was slightly too charming and too nice for my comfort, considering my experiences with other Ricks.

It wasn't that I didn't trust him; the problem was that I did. Zeta-7 liked this other Rick a lot, and I was coming to feel the same. It made me feel uneasy because I had a habit of making Rick nervous about the security of our relationship, by over-expressing my admiration of other people. I wore my emotions and heart plain and exposed for everyone to see, when I liked someone, everybody knew it. And with Rick's self confidence at a constant low, that wasn't always a good thing.

“Uhh, sure! Why not?” I finally said after staying silent for a slightly longer than comfortable length of time. I just had to keep myself in check, make sure that I didn't give Zeta-7 a reason to doubt himself. What could possibly go wrong?

Tbc...

Tagged by: @soysaucevictim

Rules: Write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle and quote your favorite lyrics from each. Then tag 10 people.

(I do not tag. I am tag-agnostic. But I want YOU to do this. Yes, YOU. Pleaz. =3)

I had to skip instrumentals, natch. They’re in italics below, if you’re curious.

Kenzo - “Sora ni Hikaru” (Neo-Progressive)

1. They Might Be Giants - “Fingertips” (Comedy / Alternative Rock)

I heard a sound

I turned around

I turned around to find the thing that made the sound

(...John and John, you utter trolls. X3 The ONE song (or series of songs... or series of three- to four-second musical phrases) that makes this meme break down. I could infodump about “Fingertips” all day, but we’re short on time, so just message me or something if you wanna know what I’m rambling about.)

2. Angelique Kidjo - “Try Everything” (Afropop)

Birds don’t just fly

They fall down and get up

Nobody learns

Without getting it wrong

(I’m really beginning to like Angelique Kidjo, but I need to track down more of her original work, because most of what I’ve heard from her is covers. Like, say, the above.)

Toby Fox - “Reunited” (Chiptune)

3. Serenity - “Wings of Madness” (Symphonic Power Metal)

Out on the silent battlefield

While the killing work is done

And the crimson haze is gone

Still lies the deadly sword I wield

And I’m dreaming of your face

Have begun to count the days

4. Eskaton - “Automute” (Zeuhl)

Je mate et puis j'imite

Ceux qui creent, ca m'epate

Moi je sais pas j'imite 

Je copie, j'automate

(...this is less “my favorite lyric” than “the one thing I can find a reference for with my utter ignorance of French”)

5. Rush - “Halo Effect” (Hard Rock)

What did I see, fool that I was

A goddess with wings on her heels

All my illusions projected on her

The ideal that I wanted to see

6. The Psychedelic Furs - “Pretty in Pink” (New Wave)

The one who insists he was first in her line is the last to remember her name

He’s walking around in this dress that she wore

She’s gone, but the joke’s the same

7. Joe Dolce - “Shaddap You Face” (Comic)

What’samatta you, HEY! Gotta no respect

Whaddaya think you do, why you looka so sad

It’s a not so bad, it’s a nice-a place

Ah, shaddap a-you face!

(...cut me some slack. It can’t be multi-layered prog rock and death metal alla time)

8. Yes - “Parallels” (Art Rock)

It's the beginning of a new love in sight You've got the way to make it all happen Set it spinning turning roundabout Create a new dimension When we are winning we can stop and shout Making love towards perfection

9. Elvis Costello - “She” (Singer-songwriter)

She may be the reason I survive The why and wherefore I'm alive The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears 

And make them all my souvenirs And where she goes I've got to be The meaning of my life is she

10. The Smashing Pumpkins - “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” (Alternative Rock)

The world is a vampire

Sent to drain

Secret destroyers

Hold you up to the flames

And what do I get 

For my pain

Betrayed desires 

And a piece of the game

11. Spock’s Beard - “Afterthoughts” (Progressive Rock)

To keep them out, I keep me in

‘cause they don’t get to hear the things I know

The bats up in this belfry 

Fly in circles ‘cause they don’t know where to go

12. Opeth - “The Drapery Falls” (Progressive Metal)

Pull me down again

And guide me into 

ah ah ah, ah-ah ah ah, ah-ahhh...

The Seventy Sound - “Bluephoria” (Library Music)

13. Premiata Forneria Marconi - “Geranio” (Progressive Rock)

Balla piano nella via Balla il vento della notte Balla un sogno che non c'è più Balla l'ombra della luna Sfiora il tempo la fortuna Balla piano, balla laggiù

(I don’t speak Italian, either, so this is the same situation as the Eskaton lyrics. Though I will say that these refrains are quite pretty in translation.)

Brand X - “Red” (Jazz Fusion)

14. The Psychedelic Furs - “India” (New Wave)

All the women form a line

Put your face upon a line

This is for the discotheque

This is stupid, I object

15. Alabama Shakes - “Gimme All Your Love” (Funk)

So much is goin’ on

But you can always come around

Why don’t you sit with me just a little while

Tell me what’s wrong

If you just gimme all your love

Gimme all you got, baby

Gimme all your love

15. Golden Earring - “Radar Love” (Classic Rock)

Radio playin’ that forgotten song

Brenda Lee comin’ on strong

And the newsman sang his same song

One more radar lover gone

16. Wolfmother - “Joker and the Thief” (Garage Rock)

Can you see the joker flying over

As she’s standing in a field of clover

Watching out every day

Wonder what would happen if he took her away

(...and they NEVER TELL US ALL THE STORY ‘BOUT THE JOKER AND THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT. NO, I’M NOT LETTING THIS GO.)

Gryphon - “Second Spasm” (Symphonic Rock)

17. Sonata Arctica - “My Land” (Power Metal)

My own land has closed its gates on me

All alone, in world that’s scaring me

I am here to prove you wrong

I’m accused of something, I live on

(...having been kicked out of home at a relatively young age, this song gives me Feelings)

Yes - “Mood for a Day” (Art Rock)

18. Yes - “Heart of the Sunrise” (Art Rock)

Love comes to you, then after

Dream on, on to the heart of the sunrise

Lost on a wave that you’re dreaming

Dream on, on to the heart of the sunrise

Sharp distance

How can the wind with its arms around me...

Sharp distance

How can the wind with so many around me...

(damn! Spotify shuffle really hittin’ the Yes tonight!)

19. Barclay James Harvest - “Who Do We Think We Are” (Progressive Rock)

All around we're travelling the universe Do we believe there's someone watching over us Can we be sure? Who do we think we are?

20. Rush - “Heresy” (Hard Rock)

The counter-revolution

People smiling through their tears

Who can give them back their lives

And all those wasted years?

All those wasted years

All those precious, wasted years

Who will pay?

There’s Nothing Wrong With Being Human - Vol 2

In which a mirror dragon and a planet god piss each other off, again and again.

Vol. 2 - Reflecting Darkness

Rating: (for this part) G (swearing)

Notes: I’m gonna keep pumping these out until someone gives a shit about them.

Reflecting Darkness

“Firem, why?” He breaths.

“You must be healthy, and balanced, Father.”

“Let me leave this world, Darling…”

“No.”

That landscape of peaceful dreams. They were shattered. Absolutely shattered.

Firem’s eyes slowly blinked open, as she was just conscious enough to feel something soft and silky brush against the tip of her nose.

When her vision cleared, she was greeted by a most unpleasant thing. Color.

As well as two red eyes.

The colorful thing was dragged away from her line of sight, and noise rang through her normally silent dimension.

“Wake up, wake up, sleepy bitch~!”

The voice was enough to make her sit up, but the profane word made her put on an angry expression on her usually calm face.

She looked ahead, and what she saw was enough to make her jaw drop.

A man clad in purple and gold armor, a flimsy toga, and a pure white cloth that seemed to float behind him. His skin was a shining umber, a golden winged laurel raked in his amethyst locks. There was a round hole in his chestplate, that looked like a gate to the void of space. He seemed to glow with a strange light, as if he was giving off what looked like the galaxy.

All of that, placed right there in her precious dimension. At first, she felt a wave of panic wash over her. (As well as a slight feeling of, well, something else that was unidentifiable to her.) And then she noticed two things. One was the long, shimmering purple blade hooked on his belt, and two, were those piercing red eyes.

“Quit ogling.”

“Y...you…” Firem muttered, shakily getting onto her feet. “You’re the one from the dungeon, aren’t you?” She rubbed her eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of being able to see them.

She heard the sound of metal clinking. “Yep…” The boyish voice came from behind her.

The dragoness spun around and glared at him, her legs tensing. “Who are you?” She called sternly, attempting to shake the grogginess from her voice.

More alien noise echoed through her perfect dimension, this time it was him yawning. “Listen, Reflecty, I just want that jewel back. So give it to me, and I’ll leave you be.”

“No.” Firem rebutted as soon as he stopped speaking. “And it’s Firem, not-”

“Firem. What a name, huh?”

She drew in a sharp inhale.

“...ugh.” He moaned, stretching out his limbs. “It’s too damn bright in this place. Here, let me fix it for you-”

“Hm. Well, that’s because in this place the laws of Light and Dark- wait what are you even doing?!”

Firem watched in shock as the intruder grabbed the blade on his belt, and pierced what looked to be the very fabric of the white void that was her world.

Her legs buckled, as noises she would only call pathetic slipped out of her mouth. He dragged the blade towards him, as the world tore like cloth, leaving a crooked diagonal slit that slowly pried open.

He tugged the blade and hooked it back onto his belt, and smacked his hands together as if he was proud of his vandalization. “There you go.”

“What have you done?!” Her cold facade was finally shattered, as she quickly made her way to the tear. “No! No! What is this? What is it?”

She heard him laugh raucously. “Chill! It’s only a rift. It leads to my own dimension, isn’t it pretty?” His honeyed words made her want to strangle him right there and then.

“No! It’ll be too much and he- I mean t-the dimension will die!” Pale hands flailed around, reaching to the cosmic rift, trying to find some kind of solution.

He laughed again. “Aw, you wanna go there? I might take you if you’re nice enough, little dragon…” He sat as he levitated, one leg slung over the other.

It was suddenly silent.

“Pitiful.”

“Hm?”

“Pathetic. You’re pathetic.”

“What did you say?”

“Disgusting! You’re so pathetic!”

“I…”

“I hate you! Your kind is so...so...detestable!”

No words were spoken, as Firem was grabbed by the hair and forcefully spun around. She was met with the navy void of space, before her cheeks were pressed in by cold fingers.

Her limbs went limp as she was lifted up to meet his face. His playful yet devious expression was now gone, as he stared into her very being with those dreaded bloody eyes.

In a state of terror, she shut her eyes, unable to express anything else with her scrunched face.

Firem felt his cold breath brush against her face. Her eyelids quivered.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Firem had never felt such hate for anything before. No human, monster, dragon, god, devil, spirit, whatever was this detestable to her. Despite the hurricane of emotions inside her, she gathered her little strength and opened her eyes.

Regret poured into her as her very soul was stabbed by those crimson daggers.

“Listen here, Shiny.”

He was now speaking in an angry, gravelly tone, tilting his head ever-so-slightly so he could get a good look at her.

“I am Uranus, and I am a God.”

Her soul quaked.

“You will not slander me, unless you want to ripped apart, limb by limb, piece by piece, into tiny, little, scraps.”

Firem’s face was beginning to turn a sickly grey.

“Do I make myself clear…?”

She nodded, knowing that if she disobeyed, she would be suffocated violently. “...yes…”

Uranus dropped her.

Firem fell to the ground, landing on all fours, brutally coughing as she attempted to catch her breath.

She hacked as she felt Uranus press his boot onto the back of her bare midriff.

“Y’know, you’re doing a great job at holding in those tears.” He laughed, toyingly putting pressure on her spine. “Most people would’ve broken down by now, but you’re a pretty tough girl.”

“...most people?” Firem whimpered, afraid of what he would do to her if she even talked back.

The God lightened the pressure, giving her the chance to recover. “Oh, I haven’t really done this to anybody else. I’ve usually just killed malicious human robbers, stuff like that...m-a-n, those guys have such fragile little brains.”

“But I don’t wanna kill you, Firem. You’re super fun to mess with!”

She couldn’t even come up with anything to say back to that.

Uranus finally removed his foot, but she didn’t stand up. “Okay, enough messing around. Where’s that stupid jewel?”

Firem, despite her determination and reluctancy, didn’t hesitate to summon the jewel beside her with a weak snap. She rose to her knees as she watched him take the artifact in his hands, and cover it with his bizarre white cloth-cape thing.

Without saying a word, Uranus strolled over to the rift he created. He looked back, smiled, and waved at Firem, as he stepped into his own dastardly place. “Bye-bye, Firem!” He cooed.

But, as he was waving goodbye to his little draconic plaything, he felt someone grab his hand, and he jerked back with a grunt.

To put it shortly, Firem was now in his dimension.

And she was not okay.

Bar Crawl

Music: “Your Light” by Yoe Mase

“ID, please.”

Norman casually produced the small, rectangular piece of plastic and gave it to the bouncer. The dude was one intimidatingly massive demon with cloven hooves where feet and shoes should be. Every inch of the guy oozed bouncer stereotype (tall, big arms, big chest, icy stare, cold demeanor), but the tight-fitting “Super Mario Bros” t-shirt he was wearing threw off his tough-guy fengshui. Norman fought back a grin, trying not to give away his thoughts. The last thing he needed was to be kicked out of the first bar of the evening. He still had so much exploring to do since this was his first time visiting Hell.

The bar’s neon “Beercade” sign overhead cast a yellow glow over everyone waiting in line behind Cal. Norman had never been to an arcade bar before. Cal said this was the place to come for the best local beer. Norman was more of a rum and coke kinda guy, but beer sounded great when Cal originally proposed the idea.

While the large, green demon checked his credentials, Norman’s eyes drifted up to the beast’s large, black, curvy horns. The way they twisted in a sturdy spiral reminded Norman of a mountain ram. Norman wondered if he ever kicked out disgruntled bar patrons by smashing into them headfirst.

The demon caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “You need something, bub?”

Cal’s hands clasped Norman's shoulders from behind, making him jump. He poked his head past Norman’s left shoulder and addressed the bouncer, “No, we’re good, Ron. Sorry, it’s his first time in the Furnace so everything is still pretty...new.” Cal planted a peck on Norman’s cheek and gave him a noogie. 

The “Furnace” is what native demons referred to as Hell’s main dimension. Cal brought Norman to Pandemonium, the capital of Hell and heart of the Furnace, to introduce him to demonic culture. As they exited the portal from Earth to Hell, he best described the bustling, satanic metropolis by calling it “an infernal version of New York City.” When the city came into view, Norman’s jaw dropped. The resemblance was unmistakably New York-ish with a dash of hellfire, exposed brickwork, and thousands of screaming, writhing souls of the damned. Skyscrapers grew out of the ground as far as the eye could see and stretched all the way up into the black, tar-like, starless sky. Taxis, cars, and other vehicles packed the streets, making any mode of transportation other than walking a pain in the ass. Flying was also an option for most since several demon species had wings, but Cal said most demons shy away from it due to all the construction and demolition hazards in the downtown area. Dozens of bars, coffee shops, and retail stores littered the bases of every skyscraper. Various demons, creatures, ghosts, ghouls, and undead hustled to and fro in the clustered madness that was Pandemonium’s downtown nightlife.

Cal tried to give Norman another noogie. He rolled his eyes and tried to shrug Cal off. The bouncer, aka Ron, smiled at their playful banter. He cleared his throat, politely coaxing them to stop, “Yeah, I know how it is. My girlfriend is human, too. We’ve been together two years and she still gawks a bit whenever she comes to visit. The Furnace can be a lot to take in all at once.” He checked the identification one more time before extending it back to Norman. “Here’s your ID back, dude.” He gave a nod to Cal. “Have fun you two.”

“We will! Thanks Ron, good to see you again.” Cal smiled back. He casually grabbed Norman’s butt and gave it a squeeze then walked through the door without ever showing Ron his own ID. Norman let loose the grin he’d been holding back and shook his head at Cal. Must be nice to have connections, He thought to himself. He wished he had something like that when he was still a minor.

He was thinking of ways to pay Cal back for that public ass grab when he stepped through the tinted glass door and gasped. The interior of the Bar was laced with intricate woodwork from floor to ceiling. The wood was clearly recycled, but sanded down and molded to fit perfectly in every corner. It looked like something straight out of a boujee architecture magazine. At the far left was the main bar with tap nozzles, shelves of fancy liquor, and a painted version of the “Beercade” sign from outside. On the right sat arcade-style video game machines stacked back-to-back all the way to the patio and emergency exit doors. There was Pac-Man, Galaga, Donkey Kong, Super Mario Bros, various racing games, and even skee-ball. Norman felt like he’d stepped back in time to the 80s.

Dozens of demons crowded around the main bar counter, ordering various glowing liquids, beers, and shots. Some of the drinks smoked ominous gases while others screeched earsplitting cries of intangible babble. Norman swore he even saw one of the drinks try to crawl its way out of a martini glass. He glanced around, trying to locate his boyfriend, when a familiar red hand shot up through the crowd and waved at him frantically. Norman squeezed his way between a very intoxicated rock golem and a succubus with ginormous boobs to find Cal saving the only two remaining barstools at the counter. He beckoned Norman to come sit. 

“Hey you, what d’ya want to drink?” Cal asked as Norman pulled up in the stool next to him.

“I don’t know.” Norman replied casually. “What’s good? I don’t normally drink beer, so order something for me. I trust your judgement.”

Cal grinned. “You got it!” He turned to the nearest bartender and shouted over the noise of the crowd, “Hey Ryali, two Pitchforks over here!” She nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Pitchfork? 

“What’s Pitchfork?” Norman chuckled. What an a-typical demonic beer name. It was almost so corny that it was a perfect fit. He was excited to try it. 

“Only the best brew to ever touch your mortal lips. It’s made from dragon’s blood.” 

Norman grimaced, “Dragon’s blood? I don't know if I can stomach that...”

“Oh no no no, not actual dragon’s blood. Dragon’s Blood. It’s a type of hop plant grown in Erebos. It gives the beer its unique flavor. Ah! Here we go.” He took two sweating, ice-cold beer cans from the bartender. “Thanks Ryali!” The demoness smiled, nodded again, and winked at Norman with her third eye, making him cringe a bit. Cal laughed and handed Norman his beer. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you squirm.”

“Oh shut up and drink your beer.” Norman snarked as he popped the tab on his can. Air hissed out of the opening when the metal punctured the seal. 

Cal held out his can to propose a toast. “Here’s to new beginnings and cute guys.” He winked.

“Uh-huh, suuure. And here’s to us.” Norman retorted.

“To us.” Cal agreed, clanking his can on Norman’s.

The cold can chilled Norman’s lips. The first surge of beer hit his tastebuds and sent waves of bitter, tangy flavor through his senses. 

“Damn! That’s good beer!” He exclaimed, sitting back to marvel the can with new insight.

“Told you.” Cal responded. “Hey, Ryali! Another round over here!”

Norman looked over at Cal and found his beer completely empty. His eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead. “We’ve had these in our hands for exactly one minute! Did you just chug that?!”

Cal grinned, showing off his fangs, and wagged his eyebrows. “They didn’t crown me ‘Beer Chugging Champ’ in college for nothing! It’s all in the gag reflex.” He flexed his biceps in a display of sarcastic, manly macho-ness.

“Is that so?” Norman cocked an eyebrow as Ryali brought Cal the next round of beer. The demon eagerly opened his second can and began gulping down a good portion of it. Norman returned to sipping his first beer and added with sexual fervor, “I can think of something else you should be chugging right about now...” 

Cal choked, sending spurts of alcohol flying out of his nose and mouth. Ryali, the two other bartenders, and several people around Norman and Cal stared for a moment then started laughing. Norman joined in as Cal got a towel to clean up the mess he made on himself and the counter.

“That’s for grabbing my ass earlier.” Norman chided, sticking his tongue out at Cal.

“You bastard.” Cal laughed, wiping beer from his face and shirt. “Your ass is mine when we get home.”

“Is that a challenge? Cuz I honestly wanna see you showcase those chugging skills.” Norman fired back at the demon. “If you can beat me in a Das Boot chugging contest, you can have me any way you want when we get home, deal?”

A spark of excitement and mischief flickered across Cal’s demonic eyes, “Oh it’s on like DONKEY KONG!” 

They shook hands as Ryali brought over two gallon-sized, glass boots full of beer.

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