#stolas willow.

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession asked for: 01. [willow] brushes their fingers across [stolas'] lower back while passing by slowly.

THE DEMON PRINCE OF HELL, MASTER OF THE COSMOS, EXPERT IN HERBOLOGY AND ALSO MOST OTHER -OLOGIES YOU CAN PICK UP FROM BOOKS, IS INCREDIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE IN THIS LOS ANGELES COCKTAIL BAR.

When Stolas is not in a circle of people that included Willow, he is not talking to anybody at all. He holds a watered-down concoction of herbaceous liquor and vodka, or something, but he is so nervous about his surroundings that he actually keeps forgetting to sip.

In a trancelike state, he is startled when Willow emerges from behind him, lightly touches his lower back to indicate her presence, to remind him of—of something. He isn't sure. He feels incredibly lost.

She'd just been in the restroom down the hall, and she wanted to check on him. Is he alright?

"Oh! Quite alright, darling, quite alright."

He clinks his glass against hers with a forced, stilted sort of cheeriness.

"Don't worry about me. All of your friends are so excited to see you, I can just tell."

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession asked for [stolas's reaction to receiving an intentional nude]

[ sms: Darling Willow 💜🖤 ] FUCK [ sms: Darling Willow 💜🖤 ] Are you too terribly busy up there still? At this very moment? I assume you had some time to yourself. To send something to me. Very considerate of you i must say. Can you call? [ sms: Darling Willow 💜🖤 ] Can you?

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession didn't technically ask for but will receive: [chin tilt]

WILLOW WATCHES STOLAS DRY SWALLOW TWO OF HIS ANTI-ANXIETY PILLS AND STARE AT HIMSELF IN THE BATHROOM MIRROR. (Who's to say whether or not his medication—manufactured in hell—will work in the mortal realm, while he's wearing a mortal glamor? How deep does his human disguise go? Stolas ponders this.)

Stolas senses that Willow's eyes are on him, so he forces a toothy grin. With put-upon energy and flair, he whirls to face her.

He's not fooling anyone. Especially not her.

In this form—as opposed to his natural, eight foot tall demonic one—it's easier for Willow to reach up and grasp his chin. As he tilts his head down towards her, his fake-as-fuck smile fades to little more than the results of a tightly-clenched jaw.

Immediately, Willow is reassuring him that he doesn't have to go, that she'll even stay back with him, that she doesn't want to see him so anxious or upset. Stolas feels wretchedly that he compels Willow to offer such a sacrifice. They have plans, you see, to attend a networking event sure to feature movers and shakers who could help Willow with her TV show, with her career at large. And the reclusive, neurotic prince wasn't able to steel himself for the daunting event in time.

What if they hate him? What if he embarrasses her and ruins everything she has on earth? These Completely Rational concerns repeat themselves on a loop.

"Darling! Don't be ridiculous. I cannot wait to attend."

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession asked for: (HIDE) for sender to hide their face against receiver's back.

OCTAVIA IS A GOOD KID. Why else would she have hugged Willow—said she was glad to meet her, said she was glad Willow was in their lives? There is a goodness in 'via that Stolas cannot possibly take credit for. She will be a more-than-just heir to the Goetia throne when Stolas passes on.

This is what Stolas is thinking about, fond and proud as a once-absent, once-distant father can be, when Octavia departs Stolas's castle to return to the manor of her bitch mother. A portal flickers into existence, then disappears—swallowing up 'via and leaving behind only the scents of incense and ozone.

And Willow, of course. It seems as if no matter what gets taken, what lingers, what wafts away—Willow, permanent and tangible, will always remain.

Even if she is ducking behind Stolas, currently. He is too tall for her to hide in the crook of his neck, as she might have intended; instead, she ends up nestled against his shoulder blade, close to his spine.

Stolas cranes his neck—his long, long neck—to attempt to see her. As he is an owl, this is not difficult. He turns all the way around, has as much of her in his sights as he can possibly manage.

"Willow. Darling." He reaches to put an arm around her, which is not as easy to accomplish with his upper body mobility. He ends up contorted.

"Whatever are you hiding for?"

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession said: i would recommend that you take just as much as you need to feel good.

IT'S A NOVEL NOTION, FOR A PRINCE.

Stolas curls into himself, which presses part of his spine deeper into the couch and part of its curvature further up. Willow rests easily on his chest, even though there are points where he seems to envelop her whole.

He sighs. Frankly, it is more of a put-upon groan, the kind he usually lets out when he realizes his meds are running low, or he's hungover as fuck.

Things feel easy in this position, but conversations about his duties and inheritance always make him feel dizzy and strange.

"That's not how anybody expects me to behave, given my position and status, darling."

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession said: i could be convinced with a well-structured argument.

"You do know I received only the best education hell has to offer, don't you?" he teases. He's only trying to say—he knows how to structure an argument well. Rhetoric is still one of the things they teach in hell—especially hell, where self-righteousness and vindication are so important, in their own way.

"But, come now, Willow. Why argue?" Let's not fight, remember? He cups her face gently.

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession said: clean that up.

WIDE, REVERING EYES. When he's like this and she's like that, sometimes they have to rely on more than his flexibility and her creativity. Sometimes they have to get extra nasty.

And he loves extra nasty.

He stares at the droplets of wine splattered across the kitchen floor. Already, the butler has left the kitchen, as if sensing what was to come.

"You wish for me to get on my knees? You wish for me to wipe it with—what, exactly?"

[vitalphenomena]

@unpossession asked for: help / for sender to help receiver undress

THEY'RE IN HELL. They'd gone out in devilish disguises, but now, back at home, Stolas is unaccustomed to using his own faculties, including his magic, to do something as simple as to undress.

"I am so drunk!" Stolas slurs, gleeful. "And I have had such a wonderful time with you. Oh! Darling. Watch the buttons on my waistcoat, won't you? It's all rather delicate. Tailor-made, as it were. As it were! What a silly—silly group of letters to string together—"