Coffee Shop AU variant azurido where Azul runs a café and Riddle is... well, now is his regular, but it didn't start out that way. It starts out when Riddle first peeks his head through the door, a few minutes late from the usual morning clientele— and he cringes, the chime from the bell at the door making his presence all too known.
He stares at the menu and displayed pastries as if they'd personally done him wrong, lists off a single coffee order so fast Azul can barely catch, and waits by the counter while he makes it.
Turns out, the cafe Riddle regularly goes to is going out of business. He doesn't want another cafe; his usual one knew exactly what he liked and how to prepare it— but he needs his routine morning coffee and pastry or else it's going to throw off the entirety of his day.
He gruffly points towards what he wants on display, pays (looking extra miffed and muttering something about the price from his usual place) and disappears without another word.
Needless to say, Azul is more than a little offended.
A possible new regular? Good! A regular who clearly doesn't appreciate the work he put into running this place? BAD. Worse, on Riddle’s second visit— still cringing at the bell, still staring at everything like they'd violated a rule— he learns that Riddle doesn't actually have that colorful of a palate. No, it's just a matter of ritual. What a joke!
So, he figures he's going to teach this guy a lesson. After all, where does he get off, treating Azul’s business like it was the worse option?
Riddle keeps coming in. He winces at the usual bell, as if it's an alarm bell announcing his betrayal to his beloved little defunct ritual. Same time, stiffly watching Azul do his job. He almost expects to be nitpicked about his methods.
After- what now, a handful of weeks? Riddle is later than usual. It's a rainy, gloomy day, and there are less customers than usual- mostly loiterers he's on the verge of kicking out because, clearly, all they want is to get out of the weather without purchasing a single thing.
He almost thinks Riddle has finally given up on switching and decided to forgo his morning ritual, when he stumbles in. The chime stops abruptly with the way he shuts the door behind him (thank goodness no one else was behind him), utterly soaked. Frazzled, Riddle doesn't even bother to say hello, just nods at the counter and slumps into the nearest open seat, one facing Azul.
When Azul calls his name, he pats at his bag, where he usually has the precise amount of money separated in advance (again, he used to make a face at the difference in price, but he's out of it enough that he doesn't appear to question it, this time.). Azul can see the whites of his eyes as he barely squeaks out a few words.
"I forgot my wallet."
Great. As if those loiterers weren't enough, right?
"Because you're a regular"— Azul insists. The coffee's already been made, so he slides it forward. "Pay me tomorrow."
He's unaware that his usual sharp smile is a little more dopey than usual, and he leans over the counter a little too far. Just enough to catch the subtle fragrance of roses that Riddle naturally carries, even as damp as he is.
Then, the next day, he steps through the door again, chime, nod towards the counter- that one's new- and he takes a seat. The one facing Azul. No, he's got no plans today. He can sit and enjoy this one. He's... relaxed, in his own way. He pays the amount for that day and the day previous, as agreed.
Riddle pauses on his second sip.
"I went out with some... friends, and made the same order at a different store." He says, narrowed eyes shifting to stare at the counter. "It didn't taste the same. Why is that?"
"I'm surprised you even noticed," Is all Azul remarks.
Turns out, he'd tweaked Riddle's order like... on his 3rd visit, and had just been making it that way ever since. Because he'd said it himself- he didn't have that advanced of a pallet, and honestly, his coffee order was pissing Azul off. What he did makes it compliment Riddle's pastry of choice, anyway.
"You like it, don't you?"
Riddle purses his lips, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of red. He mutters a response that Azul can barely catch, and nods.
"Come by any time, even if you don't have money," He offers, "You're a regular, so I trust you'll pay it back."
Riddle comes back the next day- earlier. Earlier than the other morning customers. Chime, nod, seat. This time, they even make small talk, between bites, sips, and the slow trickle of morning regulars.
And the next, at the same new time. Mumbles that the music that plays through the speakers is nice.
And the next, shoulders shaking slightly at a joke that Azul makes.
And the next.
...Of course.
That had always been Azul's plan- now, Riddle won't be able to go anywhere else. Not that he's planning on shutting down his place anytime soon. Every other place will feel second rate.
Though, as he leans closer and pushes the coffee towards Riddle and that smell of roses wafts over him again- maybe it was a little too effective.
I saw this post about Matt Johnson getting asked in an interview about the lack of women in his films a couple days ago when I was busyyy and have a lotta thoughts abt it but I don't wanna tack a bunch of bullshit onto op's post so I'll just post it here #mytwocents
I think it's important that interviewers use their access to confront their subjects about social criticisms of their work in this way instead of spending the whole time glazing their subjects, and more interviewers should be doing this. I don't think she was even being particularly negative, she just said there aren't women in his films.
That said, not everyone has something meaningful to say with their work about demographics they are not a part of, and trying to shoehorn in "representation" will not actually feel representative because of that. I'm not sure Matt could write a meaningful narrative from the perspective of a female character, unfortunately, because he has expressed a need to find an autobiographical angle to make his narratives work.
Regardless, it is still vitally important to interrogate who is and is not included in someone's body of work, and to analyze how that may reflect the attitudes that produced it. I think it's very easy to identify misogynistic themes in early Zapruder work, and while Matt et al have clearly learned and evolved since then, there absolutely remains a conspicuous lack of women as central characters in their films/shows. And I do think this growth is born of confrontation, and can only be improved by asking why half their audience is not present onscreen.
The solution here is not to get the established white men in the industry to start writing more "inclusive" narratives, but to expand who is actually included in the industry so that they may be able to share their own narratives. Matt has been very vocal with his criticisms of the Canadian film industry, and his use of his influence as an established white man in the industry to spearhead the first-time filmmakers fund will have a more lasting impact than any of his own films individually.
That said, I don't necessarily think he should be the "face" of the program, nor should his involvement absolve him of all criticism. Addressing misogyny and other forms of bigotry in the industry is an ongoing and never ending process, and one thing that helps advance this process is interviewers and critics publicly questioning who is excluded from the works they are criticizing (and writers applying this criticism to improve their own work instead of passing all responsibility onto other demographics).
Would a narrative exploration of how the presence of women interrupts male-dominant spaces be interesting? Yes absolutely. Would Matt be the best person to write that narrative? I'm not so sure. I would prefer to see another filmmaker take a crack at it I think. He's quite good at playing an insidious sex pest character in Matt and Mara, in a narrative that has something to say from the pov of a woman (another male writer/director, but co-written with a woman, and Deragh Campbell's performance carries). I think opening up to other filmmakers with different perspectives would ultimately benefit the ecosystem better than depending on the same established people to meet representational needs.
Imagine becoming a competitive swimmer. The day of your first race was quickly approaching, and while you spent most of your days practicing and making sure you were at top form, uncertainty and anxiety still ate away at your nerves.
So, you decided to pray to a local deity to give you confidence, a naga by the name of Halloran. Inwardly, you thought it was silly, only half believing what you read while leaving the other half up to skepticism, but you felt an odd comfort when thinking of him as a patron deity. Looking through the little information there was of him, you found out that in order to get his attention, you needed to pray by any body of water, and for you, that wasn't a problem at all.
You decided to pray on the night before your big race after practice, all alone in the changing room. With water droplets still dotting your skin after your post-workout shower, you sat on one of the cool metal benches and clasped your hands together. Your heart reverberated through your chest, anxious to see if you could really summon a great naga, and scared to be disappointed if nothing happens. After gathering your courage, you took a deep breath, and bellowed your prayer:
"Oh Halloran, great naga of the seas, I ask you to reveal yourself, so that I may receive your aid for my upcoming race," you ask out loud, voice echoing through the empty change room. You turned red, realizing how ridiculous you probably just sounded, and after a prolonged moment of silence, you realized that this ritual was never going to work.
You nearly succumbed to your dismay, until you suddenly heard water burst from the showers behind you. Your head snapped in the direction of the showers, face turning a deeper scarlet by the thought that someone had snuck in and heard your prayer when you weren't paying attention, but it was hard to see anything past the steam quickly engulfing the room.
Until a large shadow began to rear itself past that steam.
"It's been a while since I've been called upon. But, just lettin' you know, you don't hav'ta go through all that theatrics to get my attention," the shadow purred, revealing himself to be none other than Halloran. Water droplets slid down his fluffy blue hair and beard, trailing down his soft yet defined human torso, and continuing past his banded tail and tentacles floating from his waist.
"I–, um–, I would like–, umm–," you sputtered, finding it impossible to think when this irresistible naga was inching ever closer to you. Not only did you think you would be able to call on him, but you didn't think he would look this good.
"I've already heard your thoughts. You want help with your swimming, yeah," Halloran asked, body towering over yours, a grin playing on his lips.
You nodded fervently.
"Well, I can definitely help with that, but there's a bit of a process that goes with that. You alright with that?"
You nodded fervently again. You were more than willing to take what he was offering, and give whatever he wanted to take.
Halloran's grin grew, and you could feel his eyes piercing through you - through your swimsuit. "Well, if you want my blessing, I'll need to give you some of my essence. And the most effective way for you to absorb it is by putting it inside of you," Halloran explained, leaning his face into yours, his calm breath mingling with your rushed one. "And if you want it to be the most effective...I'll have to put a lot of it inside you."
You nod fervently again, nearly begging him to do what he needs to do.
"Then let's start by getting this out of the way," Halloran's eyes flash, and within seconds his tentacles find their way under your swimsuit, suckers latching to both your skin and the moist fabric. With a swift motion, he slips the swimsuit off your body, revealing your nude body, all for him to plunder. Halloran's tentacles circle around your thighs, your back, and resting around your chest, hoisting you up so that your entrance meet his unsheathing cocks. While two tentacles poke and suck at your stiff nipples, two other tentacles begin to prod around your entrance, both slipping in at the same time and gradually stretching your open, readying you for his throbbing cocks.
You beg for him as his tentacles do their work, but he coos for you to be patient, and teases you further by rubbing his twin cocks between your folds, the tip of the heads just dipping inside you before gliding upwards and away. Your whining reaches a fever pitch, and you begin to cry out for him to fuck you. Halloran chuckled, leaning into your face again, his forehead touching yours.
"Tell me what you want, and it's all yours," Halloran coos onto your lips.
"I-I want your essence," you manage to spit out between deep breaths.
"Yeah? You want to win this race? How much do you want?"
"A-all of it, please..."
Halloran was more than satisfied by your answer. He delved into you with a deep kiss, leaving a trail of spit from your lips when he departs, and then spins you around in his tentacles so that your ass is cushioned against his tail, your stomach is cushioned along his tail, and his fingers dig into your waist. Keeping your entrance open with his tentacles, he slides his dual cocks into you with ease, but his gentleness is only temporary, as he rapidly quickens his pace until he's pounding into you with no mercy. With his tentacles fastened around your body, you have no option other than to bounce in time with his swift, deep thrusts, your moans and slapping between his tail and your ass overlapping and echoing throughout the change room. Through the steam, you catch a glimpse of your reflections in the mirror across from you, and the sight alone of him fucking you made you want to cum, to succumb completely to him. But from the wet streaks dripping down your inner thighs, you were sure you already came time and time again without noticing. But you weren't that concerned for yourself. What you really wanted - what you needed was Halloran's cum.
And just in time, you felt a low growl from his stomach rising up to his throat. Halloran craned his head to the back of yours, pressing his chest into your back, tail twitching along your ass, and cocks throbbing in your hole.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck–, I'm–" Halloran grunts into your ear, and before either of you could say another word, he pulls out slightly just to violently slam into you again, and again, and again, pace slowing with each thrust as his cum erupts inside of you.
You have no need for words; your labored panting and drool spilling from your bottom lip tells him how satisfied you are. But just as he promised, he was going to give you all the essence you needed to win. Halloran shifted you in his tentacles again, holding your limp body firm to face him and ensuring that his cocks remain stuffed inside your hole, that none of his cum dared to leak out.
"Don't look too tired yet," Halloran hums through his own heavy breaths. He brushes some hair out of your eyes with one hand, then traces his fingers down your flushed cheeks, landing on your chin. "I've still got more of my essence to give you."
