#adjusting to a new art program is actually the worst

[uselessimpulses]

this dog does in fact bite ((cropped the full sketch page bc i didnt like the other pieces on it oops))

[bonefall]

Unrelated to the new book blurb:

do you have any tips on processing the absolute mess that is the family tree? Like, how does one put it into smaller bites for re-doing/adjusting? How does one even begin to rework it when it's such a confusing tangle?? I'm just so overwhelmed by the tree(s), and I've read the whole series (because I would love to re-work it, but FUCK).

I will be 100% earnest with you; reworking the tree from scratch as a single person is both difficult and time consuming. I have a penchant for it, and even I'm not completely done. I make my reduxed trees totally free to use so that others at least have a jumping-off point for your own "cleaner" Clans.

So my most helpful tip would probably be Don't. PLEASE take my trees and cut them, prune them, bonsai them, clean them up even more than I did, anything you'd like. I do not wish this fate on my worst enemy.

That said-- let's say you love pain as much as I do, or you just want to see how much work I put into these trees. I'll babble about my process.

This is my WIP file for the ShadowClan Family Tree. Consider this image a content warning for self-inflicted pain and suffering 💕

Uhhh and also; an ACTUAL, serious content warning. Because of the nature of them asking how to fix trees on their own, I have to talk a little about incest. It comes with the territory.

A few things to know before you start;

You will need a FUCK OFF MASSIVE monitor for this. Mine is an ASUS a little under 2 feet long-- I've tried doing this on my smaller, secondary monitor, and these trees just get too big to work on.

FamilyEcho will not cut it. You NEED an art program. You will have to do this by hand, because there is no lineage-drawing tool that can handle families this large and tangled.

You will need to decide your "rules" beforehand. How closely related are you allowing valid couples to be? Are you allowing Queen's Rights? Can you add OCs, and if so, how often? On this point-- I have my Three Strict Rules, and do not use OCs. Because of this, I do a LOT of research beforehand and usually have the wiki open as I work on these. I'm always scouring for forgotten warriors to use for this.

There are going to be multiple drafts. You will not do this in one go. That does not mean you "failed" or you're "stuck," that's a good thing.

With all of that out of the way.

Usually, the first thing I do is pick a Clan to work on. There's over 1,000 cats in this series, so I break that up by picking one group at a time. Once I do that, I draw out the canon chart.

In this case, I've already drawn out all of the canon charts. River, Thunder, Shadow, Sky, Wind.

I call this a Diagnosis because I'm taking a look at what the problem is, so that I know what I'm fixing. In Shadow's case, it's a solid brick of inbreeding with a "missing generation" line. In ThunderClan's case, it's mostly a Robinwing x Fuzzypelt problem. Each Clan has its own unique issues.

Once you know the issue, step two, start drawing out what you want to do and keep. For example, let's say that you want to use the Ivy/Dove as Holly/Cinder kittens idea.

I generally try to start with the "modern" cats and work backwards, but it can also be helpful to just doodle out floating "branches" that you want to work in backwards.

You can see examples of those in my ShadowClan draft, up there, but I've zoomed in and circled them.

Don't be afraid to draw "notes" like this. You can just grab them and drag them around when something clicks!

Getting back to our "example" tree with Holly/Cinder Ivy/Dove, you might notice now that Lionblaze has no mate. Another thing I do when I see an immediate problem but don't have a solution in mind yet is use a little ? mark. You don't want to get hung up on deciding everything RIGHT away.

Now, this is where my 3 Strict Rules would come into play, in two ways! I'm sure you'll be able to spot them. For one, Lionblaze has waaaaay too many kids here who would go on to have kittens of their own, so I'd start breaking them up. For two, this tree makes Ivypool and Fernsong a first cousin pairing, something I don't allow.

You can fix this in any number of ways, and I'm sure there's someone out there shouting their preferred Lionblaze ships and Alt Fernsong Parents like they're the crowd on a game show, but for this demonstration I'm going to do this;

Here, I decided I didn't want to undo FernIvy, but I still want Fernsong to be Clanborn with two parents, so I have removed him from Lionblaze and given him unknown family. I've also taken Sorrelstripe and Spotfur, and moved them to a little spot on the side. I can now use them to patch up the little ? placeholders.

You'll also notice this is already becoming a mess. This is why you will need to redraw this a few times, for readability. The best tip I can give you for that is that families who only have one kit to carry on the lineage should go in a long line in the center, but otherwise, offspring who do not have kits should go between their siblings who do.

It's easier to visualize it imo, so here's what I mean;

The vast majority of the time I spend doing these is just "puzzlework." Trying to figure out a way to make line connections look good, making sure cats are far enough apart, trying to make "wishlist" stuff work.

Here's some insight to that with the big ShadowClan mess I showed at the beginning of this post;

And, mind you, this is Draft 3 of this tree. Those grayed-out parts of the first image were my first two. I wasn't satisfied enough with them, so I started from scratch several times!

I wish I could share some kind of good, simple process for this, but unfortunately I don't have one. It's just a lot of work, familiarity, creativity, and problem solving. I spend days, sometimes even weeks on these. My intention is that they can be a fandom resource that's easier to read than the website tree, less carelessly inbred with more thought given to immediate family units, AND more comprehensive.

In any case, I hope this was insightful, or these tips I share helped in some way!

[watercolorsam-arts]

I have strong feelings about people saying “if you say genAi is bad when writing, you’re ablest” like there hasn’t been hundreds of other tools that don’t scrape data from who knows where. Voice to text is the main one, don’t have to spell, can fix it later, and you can combine it with other tools.

Also for anyone who uses these in arguments like “if you say ai is bad then these must be too” Auto Correct is not generative ai, it’s an algorithm that gives you the most relevant correction. iPhone auto fill is not generative ai, it’s an adaptive algorithm that adjusts to your word usage. Grammar checkers (for the most part) are also algorithms that use grammar rules to double check your work! These tools are wonderful and I personally rely on auto correct and auto fill with my dyslexia. Lots of people like to lump algorithms into the “Ai” category, and while “technically” true, ai (artificial intelligence) is basically just a learning algorithm, it adapts to accommodate the newly imputed data.

Generative Ai also does not make anything “new” it mushes together the data it has and makes a glob of what it found that fits the “prompt”

And writing is hard! It’s hard for people who are good at writing! Writing is a skill you have to practice just like anything else. Being creative is also a skill, a muscle you can train! Write that shitty story, draw the worst comic known to man, flex those muscles because otherwise they’ll atrophy. And they don’t have to be finished pieces, or even shown publicly. I have hundreds of wips and tests and just experiments of something new I wanted to try.

There is assistive technology that don’t steal from hundreds of thousands (if not billions) of people. There are adaptive grips for paintbrushes and pencils, voice to text, pens that record audio, digital art programs that help with stabilization (the ability to undo is also nice). Some assistive tech is expensive, I’ll admit that, but depending on what you need, a lot of it is free tech people use without a second thought.

Idk, I just, as a writer and an artist who has dyslexia and chronic pain/migraines (among other things) it feels like people who would never actually use or “need” any assistive things in the first place use it as an excuse to take the easy way out if that makes any sense? It doesn’t feel like the supposed people that are “unable to make things like this” are any of the people using the ableism argument, it feels like the people that want the final product without any of the work…

(Also, I might be wrong on some of the tech things, if you know more about it, let me know, I’ll look into it more and edit the post, I’m mostly running on 4 hours of sleep, sugar, and ibuprofen at this point)

[deadnoodle]

This is something I have been joking about recently, actually. That if anyone deserves the credit for the derivative works when they qualify as derivative, it's the AI, not so much the person feeding it prompts. And especially the programmers as well, who help design and create the programming itself. We aren't anywhere near the level of tech where the AI programs really "think" in the same way a human person does. To be clear, the artists who create the art that's basically stolen for these databases deserve the credit for the most work being done here, but I can actually see a potential hornet's nest of issues with the way this has been settled. I'm extremely curious what metric the court case establishes for how much human input there has to be for art to be considered to have "human authorship". There has to be an established line somewhere. It's obviously somewhere between "feeding an AI prompts is not enough human input to be considered human authorship" and "I used technology to make art," - but there's so many interesting situations I can think of where this might become problematic? For example: Someone designs an AI art generator that somehow does not require a database of art to create new art. Is that art all public domain or is that considered enough human input (the programmer creating this is considered the artist) to be "human authorship?" Or, what if in the future we do have AI on the level of human thinking? What if we do have androids in the future capable of creating art but do not yet have the rights to their own creations? Having that work be non-copyrightable isn't the worst case scenario I think, because the worst case scenario then would be an android artist never being able to get credit for their own works and someone else always being able to profit from it. So with this ruling the android doesn't have to worry about being exploited for profit, but they aren't legally able to make art for a living. I'm thinking about writing something about a future where this happens to androids. Because they, like in bicentennial man, aren't considered human or sentient in that way, they do not have the rights to their own art. Originally I was going to make it in a universe where some jackass like Elon Musk could use androids like this for their own profit, and the androids are seen as second class citizens, slave labor, similar to the androids in the Matrix before the second renaissance. But now that I know this ruling, another version of the story where the androids can't be exploited but their art still isn't legally recognized as their own, that's interesting too. They can only create public domain art at best, and aren't taken seriously as artists/creative beings. Someone else is welcome to use those ideas, but I just wanted to say I'm thinking about it, too. Also I don't trust anyone in the US government to really understand the issue deeply enough to make the best judgements about this type of issue. There's so much to the ethics and philosophical issues involved, and the government has almost no one's best interests at heart while simultaneously being tremendously tech stupid. So while I'm glad that someone just putting prompts in to a generator to create a comic with AI rehashing stolen art from a database lost the right to copyright (I hope they go on the create the same comic with their own art or hire an artist!), and I'm glad that Peta lost that case (condolences to Naruto the Macaque), I am a little bit worried (my normal state of being) about the long game consequences of this. The ruling seems imperfect / it will need to be adjusted most likely as art continues to evolve and change.

So the AI art industry might be done before it had a chance to get started.

In other news, PETA might have accidentally done something good, for once.

[archived-kin]

solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts. 

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness  that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ��[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.” 

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all. 

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. ���I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

[demonologistfucker]

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable. 

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.”  just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark. 

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues. 

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket  with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug. 

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury. 

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet. 

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps. 

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms. 

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up. 

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly. 

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls. 

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched. 

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away. 

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free. 

“You know who I am,” 

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it. 

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun. 

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes. 

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps. 

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child. 

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.” 

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks. 

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel. 

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face. 

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.” 

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling. 

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear. 

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles. 

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks! 

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

Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once,  MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.” 

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

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

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view. 

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles. 

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.” 

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten. 

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand. 

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in. 

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task. 

“Indeed.  MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away. 

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave. 

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem. 

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth. 

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom. 

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace. 

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.” 

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes. 

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin. 

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer. 

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look. 

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

[pocket-clown]

A Place in your Home; A Place in your Heart | Arthur Fleck x reader 

// original request: Hi! I love your writings 💖 and I shyly wanted to request something. ^^ I wonder if you could write about Reader that has a difficult situation and has to find a new place to live, but doesnt have enough money? Arthur wants to help her and offers her that she can live with him. They've not dated for long but it's serious and the're much in love. She wants to move in with him, but she's afraid it wouldn not work out for many reasons, but eventually she agrees and Arthur is immensely happy. ^^

// A/N: This originally was going to be a longer fic, but I’ve been struggling with writing yet again, so I figured breaking it down into headcanons was easier than taking eons longer to write something more detailed.

thanks for the request, @dont-be-alarmed

It had been nearly three weeks since you were given the news, the words barely making their way over the fuzzy phone lines, voice as uncaring as ever.

Due to a better suited tenant making an offer, your lease was not going to be renewed, and you needed to be out by the end of the month - no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your lifestyle was a hand to mouth one; paycheck to paycheck, your weekly earnings were just enough to cover rent and basic necessities with little left over to save, splurges on luxuries being an occasional, very rare treat.

With your rainy day savings, your actual savings, and the total accumulation of the profit you made from selling various items that you could, you barely had enough to cover even a deposit on any of the nearby apartments - let alone deposit, and the first month’s rent. 

In short, you were screwed.

You were screwed, and it was eating at you. Day and night, the thought loomed over you like the piles of trash that littered the city, threatening to topple over on passersby at any moment. 

Had you been given a much more reasonably timed heads up, it wouldn’t have been even half an issue, yet you were left to do nothing but lay in bed, eyes burning as you stared at the television, seeing but not really watching the program on it. You’d been pulled from your restless sleep by the sound of a glass bottle dropping and shattering somewhere outside, and given that it was nearly four in the morning, you were about to give up on sleep. 

Even in your sleepy haze, did the weight of the situation hit you like a truck, your stomach tightening with anxiety, the churning twist of panic, worry, and hopelessness making your eyes blur with tears as you shifted your gaze to the ceiling.

You couldn’t help but almost pitifully chuckle at that - soon, there wouldn’t even be a ceiling for you to cry over.

December was nearly on its last legs with Christmas just around the corner; the days of autumn bleeding into those of winter as you found yourself growing more and more grateful each day that your boyfriend’s apartment was one of the few that had a functioning heating system. Temperatures dipped below freezing more often than not, and you often had to take a moment to brace yourself before you stepped outside as the air’s freeze physically hurt sometimes - your eyes, nose, and fingers on the days you forgot your gloves stinging from the wind, while any exposed skin reddened from the nip of the wind. 

It was thoughts of days like those that made you brief a sigh of relief and sink back into the couch of Arthur’s living room, one of his softest blankets fluffed and draped around your body as you curled your legs under yourself, warm and safe from the harsh weather outside, and the even harsher population of the city.

It was also thoughts of days like those that reminded you that this wasn’t going to last. 

“Love, what’s on your mind?”

As in tune with your emotions as ever, Arthur noticed that you were particularly quiet that evening, lost in your thoughts as you didn’t even pay any mind to the television - set to the weekly airing of The Murray Franklin Show.

You hadn’t even told Arthur what was going on, the fear of stressing your already overworked boyfriend out keeping you from opening your mouth. 

“Huh? Oh - nothing,” You blinked, turning your attention from the carpet to the television. “I’m just tired.” You spoke, fingertips picking at the frayed hem of the blanket currently wrapped around your body.

Another hint for Arthur: no Art, no Artie tacked on the end to your reply. From the corner of your eye could you see him through the passthrough, eyeing you from his spot at the kitchen counter where he was taking the utmost care to not spill the mug of hot chocolate he was making you as he stirred it.

Even though your relationship was hardly out of its infancy, you both knew each other well enough to tell when something was wrong. Arthur was already so very in tune with your emotions, so you knew he wasn’t just going to let your morose mood go without a question or two, and you knew yourself enough to know that something about Arthur’s concern hit a soft spot in your heart, rendering you unable to keep much from him once he managed to get into your head. 

He seemed almost sad as he now stood in the entrance to the living room, his lips settled into a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on you. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, the guilt from keeping something so major from him eating at you, but the uncertainty and apprehension of not only how you’d bring it up with Arthur, but how he’d react.

One of your worst fears was Arthur jumping on the opportunity to have you live with him. Not because you didn’t want to, not because you didn’t trust him or anything of the sort - but Arthur had a habit of putting the needs of others, especially your own, miles above his own. Money was much tighter for him than it was for you, and hell you had no idea if even combining incomes would be much help. No doubt that it would be some, but whether it would be enough, especially given the uncertain job climate of Gotham, left you scratching your head. 

Arthur took a seat next to you, the drink he brought you placed on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, you let it spill out faster than you really meant for it to.

Your lease was ending in just over a week. Your landlord had no intent of renewing it because someone else was moving in, and you had no money to move elsewhere yet, even after your best efforts at earning enough. You had no where to go, nothing to do, no way to remedy the situation - and time was running out.

Hell, you had no idea if at this point you even could do anything beyond accepting the inevitable.

“Why... don’t you stay here?” 

Arthur’s meek, yet hopeful voice raising such a suggestion made your ears perk up. You hadn’t even thought about that - but immediately did you know that it wouldn’t work. At least not yet.

“Art - I can’t do that, you know I can’t.” You couldn’t look at him as you spoke, the thought of being able to live in with him making your heart skip a beat, but the knowledge that it almost most definitely was not realistic at the moment making it hard to swallow.

“Why can’t you?”

“It won’t work - it’s not going to work.”

Though instantly you regret speaking those words, wincing once you realized what they implied. You knew Arthur and his anxieties well enough to know that it wasn’t improbable that he took “it won’t work” as meaning, you didn’t have enough faith in your relationship for it to work.

“ - Not like that,” You were quick to correct yourself, hoping to save the situation before it became more angst ridden. “I mean, living together. At least right now. Money is already tight for you, isn’t it? And I mean, it’s not like my own job is the most stable right now.”

“Y/N, do you really think that matters?” Arthur looked almost angry as he spoke, as if the fact that you were concerned about finances was ridiculous in such a situation. You knew Arthur enough to know he wasn’t actually mad, at least not at you, but still on edge at the threat of your loss of shelter. “You’ll be homeless, and - and who knows what could happen to you out there -” The hitch in Arthur’s breath as he spoke, coupled with the way his left hand gripped at the fabric of his trousers clued you in that this was something extremely distressing for him. 

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, yet you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away. “Arthur -”

“Please,” Arthur’s hand shot out for your own, his warm from holding the hot drink previously as he held your hand tight in his own. “Y/N, please.. Don’t worry about money, we’ll figure it out - but it’s dangerous, it’s awful out there and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you -” 

Had you not stopped him midsentence with a gentle “Hey -”, you’d no doubt Arthur would’ve either succumbed to a fit of laughter, tears, or both.

“ - Arthur, hey,” Your free hand that wasn’t kept in his own reached for his shoulder, tugging gently on the fabric of that brown cardigan you so loved, pulling him closer to you. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his breath just barely noticeable against the fabric of your chest. “I dont... I don’t know what I’d do, either - Arthur I just don’t want to add more to your plate, you’re already so overworked, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

You could feel Arthur shake his head at your words, but he didn’t speak - not that you blamed him.

With your lips now pressed to the top of his head, you took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. That comforting scent you’ve come to love and seek out within the few months you’ve been with him - the scent you, really, wouldn’t mind being surrounded by all of the time. 

“We’ll try,” You said finally, not missing how Arthur seemed to tense up at your words. “Arthur I... would love to stay here - I would, love to live with you. It’s going to take some time to adjust - never mind actually making the move - but... I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You could’ve laughed at how Arthur shot up at this, his eyes wide as he seemed full of disbelief for a moment before your own reassuring smile sparked a growing grin on his face. “Do you really mean it, Y/N?”

“Waking up with, going to bed next to, coming home to you doesn’t sound all too bad, the more I think about it,” You whispered, your body finding its way to Arthur’s as his arms pulled you close. 

Maybe this home wouldn’t be so bad. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------taglist;

@ajokeformur-ray​​​ @theangelmaker  @fleckcmscott   @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend​  @tsukiakarinobara​​ @darknessisafriend​​ @honking4joker  @sgtsavoytruffle​​ @smol-nari

[mystical-flute]

Home is Wherever I'm With You (ch. 6)

FFN || AO3 || Ko-Fi

“Last chance to back out, bud,” Neal said, glancing over at Henry as he stood near the door of their hotel room. “You’re sure you’re okay with us moving here?”

Henry nodded, grinning. “Positive, Dad! It’ll be a new adventure, like you and Mom always talked about.”

Emma couldn’t help but grin slightly, even if there was a knot in her stomach that threatened to make her scream that they were going back to Boston and to forget this little town. It would have been an adjustment to not having Audrey and Snoopy around, but they could have made it work - right?

But Emma didn’t say anything, only giving Neal a quick peck on the lips. “Be careful, don’t rush yourself getting everything packed.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already emailed a few friends to help me out,” Neal said, squeezing her hand before ruffling Henry’s hair. “Good luck, listen to your mom, and don’t start complaining about your teacher before you’ve given them a chance, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Henry said with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean it, moving is a big deal. We don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Especially in a small town like this,” Emma grumbled, before sighing. “C’mon kid. You’re lucky the superintendent was willing to meet with us on a Sunday.”

She gave Neal another quick kiss before heading out with Henry.

The school complex seemed enormous, although Emma supposed that’s what happened in these small towns - they didn’t have to travel miles from school to school because there weren’t a ton of shops and houses in the way.

She was surprised to see a woman standing at the top step, waiting for them.

“Good morning! You must be Mrs. Cassidy,” she said with a wide smile. “And this must be Henry.”

“Ms. Jackson, right?” Emma said as Henry gave a nervous wave. “Thank you for meeting with us on a Sunday.”

“Please, call me Olivia. And it’s no trouble. It’s not often we get new students enrolled here, so this is really exciting for us!” Olivia opened the door, guiding them inside. “Come right on in and we’ll get you set up. When we’re done with Henry’s schedule and the other paperwork I’ll give you a tour.”

“Sounds great,” Emma hummed, glancing around. It seemed like any other school she’d been in. A little older, even than the Boston schools Henry and Audrey attended, but it was that same sickly-sweet charming that the rest of Storybrooke seemed to have.

Olivia’s office seemed normal though, and Emma felt herself relax slightly as she began rapidly typing on her computer.

“Alright then, Henry. I received your records a few minutes ago from Boston - ”

“That quickly?” Emma interrupted. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect them to be working on a Sunday.”

Olivia shrugged. “When something like this pops up, sometimes the system actually moves like we want it to. Anyway, his records and notes from his teachers indicate he’s a fan of art, is that right?”

Henry nodded. “It’s my favorite class. And I was in a special art camp this summer.”

“That’s wonderful, Henry! I think I have an opening in the perfect class.” A few more clicks of her keyboard, the sound of a printer, and she was sliding a schedule across the desk. “You’ll be in Miss Blanchard’s class. She does lots of art projects during her lessons to help students learn in a unique way.”

“We met her yesterday!” Henry chirped. “She seemed really nice.”

Emma couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief, knowing Henry would be with Mary-Margaret. “She did. She was volunteering at the hospital when we brought Audrey in.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s right, I heard about Audrey’s return. It’s a miracle, really. She’s been gone as long as I can remember…” Olivia trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, before the bright smile returned as she reached into her desk. “So here’s some information on the schools, and a map for Henry in case he needs it. You can find the pieces for the uniform pretty much anywhere, so don’t worry about that. Although, I will need his size for the sweater.”

Henry soured a little at the mention of a uniform.

“He’s a medium,” Emma said.

Olivia nodded, rising to her feet. “I’ll grab one out of storage while we’re on our tour, if you’re ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

“The main menu for lunch rotates every day, and we’re lucky to have a local farmer that donates much of the produce we use,” Olivia explained as they wandered past a display of science fair projects. “Kids are welcome to eat inside or outside, weather permitting, and we have monitors in both areas.”

“That’s cool! We weren’t allowed to eat lunch outside in Boston,” Henry explained.

Emma couldn’t help but raise a brow. “How’d you swing the farmer donating produce to the school?”

“Well, it helps that he’s married to be one of our teachers,” Olivia explained with a laugh. “Daphne teaches high school, so maybe in a few years Henry will be in her class. Or maybe Audrey. I’m going to be taking her schedule and information to the hospital later.”

“I can take it to her, if you want. Henry and I are going to the hospital later this afternoon,” Emma offered.

Olivia hummed, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Well, since you are technically listed as Audrey’s parent on her school records, that will be fine. I’ll get her schedule and information settled when we head back to the office. Do you happen to know what size she wears?”

“Sounds like a plan. And she’s a medium as well.”

“I’ll get her sweater when we grab Henry’s. Miss Blanchard’s room is - oh, it looks like she’s here. That’s strange,” Olivia frowned as they approached the open classroom door. “Mary-Margaret?”

Something thudded to the ground, and there was a startled yelp.

“Superintendent Jackson! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here too.”

“I’m showing Mrs. Cassidy and her son around… what brings you here?”

“I’ve been looking for my credit card. I tore my apartment apart but it’s nowhere to be found. So I thought I would check here.”

Olivia blinked. “Oh, I see. I’ll run the security tapes and see if anything’s come up. Nothing has been turned in at the Lost and Found, but that doesn’t mean no one has it.”

“Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate it.”

Emma kept a hand on Henry’s shoulder as they lingered in the doorway. “Hi, Mary-Margaret, I don’t know if you remember - ”

Mary-Margaret smiled slightly. “You’re the family from the hospital. What brings you to the schools though?”

“You’re my new teacher,” Henry announced, glancing around the classroom. “Which one is going to be my desk?”

“I’m - sorry?” Mary-Margaret asked, stepping back as Henry pushed further into the room. “His new teacher?”

Emma sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. We’re uh, moving to Storybrooke. He was put in your class.”

“Oh! Well come on in then. I’ll get you caught up on what we’re learning about. Henry, this will be your desk right here,” she said, guiding Henry to a desk near the window. “I’ve been teaching them how to build birdhouses. It helps with building empathy and their math skills.”

“Combining art and math. I wish I had a teacher like you when I was growing up. Maybe I would actually like math,” Emma joked.

Mary-Margaret gave her a weak smile. “Math isn’t my favorite subject either, but just know if Henry finds he’s struggling, the high school has a great tutoring program.”

“You guys sure thought of everything,” Emma remarked.

“Well, we figured it’d be a good way for the older kids to earn a little credit, and help the younger students out. It’s also part of the after-school program.”

Emma smiled. “That all sounds great. It’s really making me feel better that Henry’s still going to get a good education, even if we’re not in Boston.”

“Storybrooke is… like a fairytale, Mrs. Cassidy. We may be small, but we prioritize education,” Olivia explained. “Shall we continue the tour?”

Why did her phrasing sound so odd to Emma? Still, she managed a smile. “Sounds good. C’mon kid.”

They saw the playground, the computer lab, and the library before Olivia led them to a small shop area. “And here we are. Two medium Storybrooke sweaters.” They were presented as if they were made of gold, which had Emma biting back a laugh as she took them. “We’ll just get Audrey’s paperwork all settled and that’ll be it. Unless you had any further questions?”

Emma wracked her brain. “No, I think that’s it. But I’ll contact you if I think of anything.”

“Fantastic,” Olivia said, returning to the office and setting up the same paperwork and schedule for Audrey. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cassidy. We’ll see you tomorrow at 8:30 sharp then, Henry?”

“Yes Miss Jackson.”

Emma guided him out of the office, hearing Olivia answer a phone call as they disappeared down the hall.

“Lacey, what’s up? Yeah I can…”

---

Madalena was going to kill Rumplestiltskin if she ever got out of here.

No. When she got out of here. Because she would get out of here, of course. She was the Dark Queen Madalena after all! She could get out of here on her own… even if she had failed so far and she had no idea exactly how long she had even been trapped in this godforsaken book.

Her Handsome Hero. What a dumb name for a book. What a ridiculous idea for a plot.

If she had to watch Gideon the Great cut a spider in half one more time, she was going to scream.

And she had screamed multiple times already.

The worst part of living in a book was there being no plot for Madalena. The author hadn’t put a Queen Madalena in it, so she was relegated to being in the back of crowd scenes, completely ignored and unable to do anything to end the sieges that plagued this village.

Not that she wanted to be a hero, of course. No, Madalena just wanted to save her own skin and had been caught in the crossfire one too many times.

“Fear not, Duchess Prudence, I, Gideon, shall slay the evil Sorceress!” the hero of the story says, dramatically flourishing his hands.

Madelena rolled her eyes and made a face. Just once, she’d like to be able to turn Gideon or one of the other townspeople into a toad, or a dog, or something. Anything to make this more bearable.

“Madalena?” a voice suddenly said from above. That wasn’t right, and suddenly everything froze. “I don’t recall you being in the story before.”

“Hello?!”

Why could she move? Who was that voice? It was new, didn’t come from any of the stale creatures around her… had someone from the real world finally picked up the book?

“Madalena, I free you from these pages.”

She didn’t have time to think before she felt herself being yanked up, landing hard on a carpeted floor.

“Oh gods, are you okay?” came the same voice, only this time, it was much closer.

Madelena felt the world tilting for a moment, before everything stilled and she lifted her head from the carpet, heaving in deep breaths and staring down at her hands. Free. She was… free? She pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling the world tilt slightly again as she glanced around the room.

She knew this place. Rumplestiltskin’s library.

She was free.

“Erm… hello?” the voice asked again, and Madelena jumped, glancing over. “Sorry, are you okay?”

That was a loaded question. Was she okay?

“I…” her voice was raspy. “How long… was I in there?”

“I don’t know… you’re Madalena of Keburg, aren’t you?”

Her head shot over to the young woman who had spoken, eyes wide. They still spoke of her? Good. Then it must not have been all that long.

“I am. They deposed me two years ago.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and Madalena’s heart sank. “No… not two years ago. They just celebrated their Decade of Peace.”

Decade? Decade?!

“I’ve been in that book for eight years…” Madalena whispered. “Oh my gods…”

“I’m glad I got you out of there. What happened?”

Madalena rose to her feet, brushing invisible lint off her gown. “That bastard Rumplestiltskin locked me in there. All I wanted to do was learn some dark magic to take control of a kingdom, that’s not too much to ask for, right?”

“Er… I’m probably not the best person to ask about that, but you’re not the only evil queen in the realm.”

“Oh, no, please don’t call me evil, just dark,” Madalena said, raising a brow. “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Belle. I’m Rumplestiltskin’s housekeeper.”

“May the gods have mercy on you then,” Madalena said, rubbing her head. “Thank you for freeing me, Belle.”

“You should hurry and get out of here. Rumplestiltskin will be home any moment.”

Madalena nodded, raising her hand to disappear, before she paused. “I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to Keburg, I can’t stay in this kingdom…”

“I think you’ll find allies here if you stay off Rumplestiltskin’s radar. He’s not exactly the most popular man here. Now hurry, go!”

“Thank you again for freeing me, Belle. I’ll make sure to leave you in peace when I come to power,” Madalena said, vanishing in a cloud of black smoke. Where she would go, she didn’t know, but if what Belle said was true, perhaps there was a chance for her to find allies.

Maybe she could take down Rumplestiltskin and take his place.

That might be nice.

She landed in the middle of the woods, on some sort of carriage path. No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see Rumplestiltskin’s castle. Hopefully, that meant she was far enough away. Now all she had to do was find some food or shelter. Or, find some people to give her food and shelter. She was still a queen after all… even if she had fallen.

A small village wasn’t too far from where she’d landed, and Madalena sighed, pushing herself into the nearest pub.

“The next round is on me!” a man shouted, lifting an empty stein into the air. “Grimsund shall prosper once again!”

There was a roar from the crowd, and Madalena gasped as a mug was shoved into her hand from the nearest barmaid.

“Oh, I - ”

“No need to worry, Prince James paid for this round,” she said with a grin. “He’s just come back from a giant hunt.”

A prince, huh?

Madalena could work with that.

“Thank you, then,” she said to the barmaid. “Is that him over there?”

“Aye, that’s him, but if you think you’ve got a chance with him, you may want to temper your expectations. The rumor is he’s got a different woman in his bed every month,” she explained. “Truth is, I don’t know if he’ll ever commit to one woman, even if the king forces an arrangement.”

Ah, so it was that sort of deal, hm? Fine. Madalena could take out the competition.

“I see, thank you kindly,” she said, sipping at her beer before sauntering over to the prince and dropping into the seat across from him.

He raised a brow. “And who might you be.”

“I might be Queen Madalena of Keburg, I might be just a figment of your imagination,” she smirked.

James furrowed his brow. “Weren’t you deposed?”

“Details, details.”

James looked her up and down. “Well, what can I do for fellow royalty?”

“That’s just it. I’m not exactly royal anymore, and I just spent eight years trapped in a book thanks to the Dark One. As much as I hate to do this, I need help.”

Setting his much on the table, James leaned forward. “And what can you do for me?”

Madalena waved her hand, magic gathering in it. “What do you need?”

---

“Here you go, Emma, grilled cheese and onion rings. Hey - you alright?” Ruby asked, setting the plate down in front of her.

Emma rubbed her eyes and looked up from the newspaper in front of her. “Yeah, thanks. I’m just trying to find a place for us to live, and it’s not like there are a lot of options here.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me. If there were more affordable houses here, I’d have moved out of the bed and breakfast a long time ago. That, and if Granny would ever let me meet with Victoria…”

The last part was said in a mumble, which had Emma raising a brow. “What do you mean?”

Ruby looked around, before digging through her apron and pulling out a card. “Victoria Belfrey-Polastel. She’s a realtor in town. Wanted to buy Granny’s not too long ago and make it more modern, instead of a dumpy diner and bed and breakfast. Granny hit the roof and refused to ever serve her, but she gave me a card if I ever needed it, but you and your family need it more than I do, so here. Just… don’t tell Granny I told you about her.”

Emma took the card, sliding it into her wallet. “Thanks Ruby. I owe you one.”

“So long as you don’t tell Granny, consider us even.”

And that was how Emma found herself sitting in a way too spotless, modern office that afternoon after making sure Henry didn't need anything.

Seriously, was this Victoria thinking she was selling to celebrities and the too-wealthy in New York City? What was with this place?

“Mrs. Cassidy, welcome.”

Emma briefly considered reminding the woman that her name was Emma, but decided against it. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m sorry it’s on such short notice.”

“Oh no need to apologize for something like that! This is my job after all, and it’s not often I get a client with a family that needs to be moved. Everyone here just seems to be so settled that they never go anywhere. But what sort of house were you and your family looking for?” Victoria said, flourishing a pen and smoothing out the notepad in front of her.

Emma paused. What were they looking for in a house? They hadn’t had many options when it came to apartments, aside from the location and the spectacular front door that Emma was going to miss.

“Er… at least three bedrooms, although four would be ideal, I guess, so Neal and I can have an office,” she started, running her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to think. “Maybe a nice yard. We’re from Boston and our son has never had a yard to play in.”

Victoria was nodding, scribbling away. “I have two daughters. I get it.”

“Maybe something updated? I don’t know if we can handle moving all of our stuff and finding out the house needs new floors or a new bathroom.”

“Ah!” Victoria suddenly said, tossing the pen onto her desk and rapidly typing on her computer. “I have the perfect house for you, Mrs. Cassidy. 715 Tenth Street. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, nicely updated and a large backyard. It’s an updated Victorian, and one of the best Storybrooke can offer. We can drive over now, if you want to see it?”

Emma nodded, her throat dry.

But Victoria was right, 715 Tenth Street was what she would call perfect for that family, and she signed on the dotted line in the spotless kitchen - her kitchen, and blinked in shock as Victoria passed her the keys.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Cassidy.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #317

i’m tired as a motherfucker and don’t feel like thinking up some lyrics, so here, jus have the survey.

Have you volunteered in the past 6 months? No. French fries or onion rings? French fries. I don't like onion rings. Do you suffer from anxiety? Very badly. Favorite healthy snack? "Apples and peanut butter are one of them." <<<< Same, actually. Good shit. Favorite Disney movie? Forever and always The Lion King. If you see a bee in your house.. are you going to kill it? I hate to say it, but I'm killing it. Do you normally take a shower in the morning or at night? Morning. Do you have a cat? Yeah. What is your favorite animal? It will always be meerkats. Always. Do you know what time you were born? 10:30 AM, I believe. Do you like McDonalds? I'm gonna be real: I've never understood the McDonald's hate. I enjoy it perfectly fine. I mean it's certainly not gourmet, but I'll choose it over other fast food places sometimes. It's cheap and decent food, imo. What's your favorite flower? Orchids. Have you thought about joining the military? FUCK no. Who is the person that has impacted your life the most? Given my PTSD, I think it's pretty obviously Jason. Have you ever had a pet fish? Yeah, but not a lot. I never enjoyed them much. Have you ever wanted to be on a game show? Not seriously, no. I wouldn't want to be on television. Have you ever vaped? Nah. Who was the last person to give you a hug? Either my niece or nephew. Have you ever been on TV? I don't think so, no. What's your favorite store in the mall? Hot Topic, ugggghhhhh take me there. Has anyone ever told you that you have an accent? Yeah, especially when I was younger when I definitely did have a clear Southern accent. Do you have any piercings? Yeah, six. I have been DYING for a new one lately... How did your parents meet? Work. What was your first word? "Dada." Do you eat more healthy food or junk food? Somewhere in the middle, I'd say. What do you spend too much money on? When it's my own money, tattoos. I think I'll be perfectly capable of doing it, but when I'm employed, I'm going to have to watch how much I invest into those. What is a disturbing episode of an otherwise non-disturbing show? What is a disturbing show (or one you would describe as one) is enjoyable to you? Meeeh I don't watch enough for this. What is the most memorable song in a movie? How about a show? Oh wow, I dunno. "Circle of Life" from TLK is a beauty, as is "Strangers Like Me" from Tarzan. There really are a lot. As for shows, "Carry On My Wayward Son" from Supernatural will immediately get fans screaming the lyrics, haha. However, I don't know if that song properly counts since it wasn't written just for the show, but whatever. What is something you’re grateful for that humans have made/have continued to make exist? What about something that you wish that humans didn’t destroy? The Internet, whew. I wish humans would stop destroying the fucking environment. It's heartbreaking how many woods are wiped away here for construction, only to never be built on... While evil men are commonly talked about, what woman would you consider the most evil? I don't know, but it would probably be a rapist or pedophile. Those are probably the people I abhor most. Do you believe children can be evil? If so, what child from history do you believe to have been the most evil? I don't really think children are born evil, no. I've never heard of a diabolical baby or anything. I think the environment they are raised in molds them as they age. I don't know about the last question. Name one way that music can be bad for humans. It can be depressing sometimes, actually dragging your mood down, especially if you already feel low. What has been one of the most blatant advertising in a movie, show, or music video? Some of these questions are hard man, idfk lol. What book have you read/listened to that “messed you up” (or made you have a lot of negative feelings afterward)? Johnny Got His Gun left me feeling so spiteful towards and disappointed in the world. It definitely made me feel down for a while. If you have a pet, what is the best thing that you have for them (either a toy, a highly rated food, etc)? If you don’t have one but would like one, have you thought about what you would get your pet? We definitely don't have the money for "high quality" stuff. What works, works. Did you ever know anyone who was (previously) a part of a cult? What cult? Were you ever a part of one? No. What is something that is legal right now that really shouldn’t be? I'm stealing the previous person's answer by saying fireworks. They have a horrible effect on animals and PTSD victims and is just litter and a fire hazard. What is a movie you consider successful/good that did not have high reviews? I'm not educated enough on movie rankings. When you met the person you now like, what happened? We hugged and cried a bit lmao. Did you realize anything today? No. What do you want to do today? It'd be nice to get off my ass and get Emerson's birthday pictures into Lightroom so Ashley can finally have them... Can you honestly say you’d risk your life for someone else? I know with certainty I would for some people. Could you forgive a boyfriend or friend who physically hurt you? Ha, nope, byyyyeee~ What’s the cutest thing someone’s ever done for you? Ugh... So one night when I was lying down to go to bed but also texting Jason, I was being playful and joked for him to sing me to sleep. He sent me a video for "The Mortician's Daughter" by Black Veil Brides (one of his favorite bands) and just pasted the lyrics, and I thought it was the cutest fucking thing ever. I went to bed listening to it and just smiling. It's why I just don't listen to it anymore. I shouldn't have even talked about it, soooo next question. What are the top five places you wish you could go before you die? Ummm South Africa, Yellowstone National Park, Germany, Alaska, and the Bahamas, maybe. How many tattoos would you like to have? I'm gonna be a fuckin mural. I want tats pretty much everywhere. What question do you hate to answer? "What do you like to do for fun?" What's your favourite animated or cartoon program? Fullmetal Alchemist. What do you think the greatest invention has been? Electricity. What's your favourite movie quote? I dunno, I don't really have one. Do you prefer digital or analogue clocks? Analogue clocks are way more elegant and can be beautifully decorated. Who is your favorite foreign singer/musician? Do you translate his or her lyrics? If you exclude English-speaking foreign bands, like from the UK, Rammstein for sure. I can translate some of them. Say something in a foreign language? "Liebe" means "love" in German. What is a weather-type that you like that not many others do? Snow, for sure. I've never understood the "ew, snow" type of people. It's so pretty. Granted, it's rare here, so it's more of a treat down here, but still. Who do you know personally that has a nice singing voice? Sara has a beautiful voice. What was the last word you learned? I have no clue, given how bad my memory is becoming... It's hard for me to learn anything nowadays, because it doesn't stick. What is your favorite culture? (that you find most interesting): I'll be honest, I'm not very well-informed on foreign cultures. Due to taking so many classes though, I do find German culture to be quite appealing. They are very serious about honesty (for example, telling someone you're okay when you're not is frowned upon in small talk, even), as well as manners. I would love to experience their lifestyle. Have you ever watched anime porn? I've never watched porn to begin with. If you got paid $3 million to smoke meth one time would you do it? Nope. I'm not risking addiction or death. Are ladybugs cute? Yesssss. Will you leave the house without fragrance on? Yeah, I usually do. Do you make good money doing what you do? I'm unemployed. I've only ever worked minimum wage jobs. What is your favorite fruit? Strawberries, yum. And kiwi. What do you think of horses? I love them! Are you doing something with your life that matters? Ugh, I don't feel like it. Do you like gravy on your mashed potatoes? I hate gravy. What is the dirtiest rap song you have ever heard? Nicole played "WAP" once when I was in the car and I wanted to die. What about a dirty song in any other genre? "Bitches" by Hollywood Undead MIGHT be rap, but idk? What even is their genre???? But anyway, as much as I love the song, it's dirty as shit. What is a genre of music you simply can't stand? Rap, generally. What is, in your opinion, the best way of dealing with a break up? Lots and lots of self-care and focusing on loving yourself and realizing your worth lies in yourself and not another person. What flavor of Doritos do you like best? Cool Ranch, of course. Would you ever go to a comedy club? Yeah, sure. Why is it that photography is becoming a trend? Because it's art, and people enjoy art???????? What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? White Chicks gets me way harder than it should lmao. Would you ever consider dating someone who lived across the country? I guess, so long it was the plan that we'd eventually move in together, and effort was being made to achieve that once we got pretty serious. Do you have a tattoo? If you do, describe the pain you went through when getting it done. Well, I have six, so I'll just talk about my first one, which was on my wrist. It really isn't bad, especially once you've adjusted to the pain. I think the best metaphor would be that it's like lightly pinching a cat scratch. Outlining is the worst part, imo. What is your favorite bookstore? I don't have one. Who was the last person to tell you that you were cute? I have no idea. When was the last time you had a fever? How high did it go? Oh, I couldn't tell you. Those are very rare for me. How many times do you think that you’ve truly been in love before? With who? Twice, with Jason and Sara. Do you prefer French kissing, or regular kissing more, and why? I mean, this depends on the mood as well as how serious we are. Have you ever been married before? How many times? No. Who do you know that gives the best hugs? Summer has always been a big, strong hugger like I am. Have you ever dated someone of the same gender before? Yeah. Who do you consider to be your hero? My mom. Who is your best friend? Tell us about them. Sara. She's a very caring, strong, creative, just overall amazing person who stands firmly for what she feels is right, and we can't forget about her incredible loyalty, nor her absolute adoration for animals, reptiles especially. How much did your car cost? I don't have my own car. What is the last picture you received on your phone of? Sara sent me a photo of Martha, her ball python. Do you have any friends that actually model? No. Do you keep condoms in your room? No, considering I have no reason to. Do you follow any special diet? (dairy free, vegetarian, gluten free etc.) No, but I desperately want to return to being vegetarian. Vegan would be even better, but I know I'm absolutely not capable of that. What is an appliance you don’t have, but would love to have? uhhhhh Which keys on your keyboard are worn out the most? My "a," "s," and "d" from gaming. If you could be any supervillain, which would you be? Ha, I could probably pull off Harley Quinn pretty easily. Though "super"villain sounds a bit strong for her. What’s the most historic thing that has happened in your lifetime? Either Covid or 9/11, probably. What’s the scariest non-horror movie? I personally think the idea behind Johnny Got His Gun is fucking terrifying. What’s the most amazing true story you’ve heard? More beautiful than "amazing," but whatever. I can't think of anything else. Jason's mother actually left his father to go back home to New York when he cheated on her, but he followed her all the way there, and they wound up reconciling and were very happily married since. They were a spectacular couple, and I miss them a lot. What brand are you most loyal to? I have no idea. It's hard to be loyal to any when you're not the one buying products. Where are you not welcome anymore? Well, speaking of him, probably Jason's house, haha... I feel that if I just showed up there, his parents would honestly be super happy to see me and want to catch up, but Jason, not so much. I doubt Colleen would welcome me into her house, either. What’s the most recent show you’ve binge-watched? Avatar: The Last Airbender w/ Sara. What’s a common experience for many people that you’ve never experienced? Just... adult stuff. Paying bills. Having a stable job. Passing their driver's test. What are some misconceptions about your hobby? We'll use forum roleplay here, in which case I know a very common misconception is that it's sexual in nature and is a kink. It's never been that for me. It's about building unique, complex characters in a vast universe of your creativity, meshing with other's. It's a beautiful thing to me. What’s the dumbest thing someone has argued with you about? Oh, I'm sure something with Mom... because she is absolutely never wrong. What’s the longest rabbit hole you’ve been down? Conspiracy theories on YouTube, aha... What odd smell do you really enjoy? I really enjoy the smell of lilacs, though I know people who think they smell too strong and/or just stink. If you had a HUD that showed three stats about any person you looked at, what three stats would you want it to show? Hm, interesting question. Maybe approachability, moral alignment, and mood. What is your favorite flavor of pop tart? I really like the chocolate sundae ones. Gum? I really like fruit-flavored gums, especially watermelon or strawberry. Last song you sang along to? I sang a bit to "Second Chance" by Shinedown. Are you fascinated by rivers? Yeah, sure. Streams, more specifically, because you can see the bottom and walk more safely in them. I love exploring those. Do you live near a volcano? No, and I plan on keeping it that way, haha. How big is the screen on your digital camera? I dunno, the normal size for a Canon? Do you find train whistles comforting? No. What bird is the cutest? Oh, that's so hard. I love the pastel-colored ones, and hummingbirds are like, universally cute. Are you scared to look at your own organs on x-ray or ultrasound? No, that's actually really cool. Do big eyes freak you out? On people? Generally, no. I tend to find them cute, actually, especially on girls, but I've definitely seen people with big eyes that instead look kinda creepy. Have you ever walked on a frozen lake/river? Hm, I'm actually not sure. I don't believe so, though. Have you ever held a real sword? No. Have you ever seen a tree over 100 years old? Uh, realistically, probably? That's not that old in the grand scheme of trees, is it? Do you feel uncomfortable at fancy restaurants? I can sometimes, yes. I feel very out-of-place.

[the-manfred-boys]

Basic Reverse AU’s (Human Markus & Android Leo) Headcanons

There will probably be a few different human AU’s for Markus and possibly multiple android AU’s for Leo in the future, but for now, these are the most basic ones. They are not necessarily exclusive with each other but it is possible for them to be paired.

Human Markus

Markus’ mother was Amanda Stern, a strict, but kind A.I. professor at Colbridge University. She was unmarried and raised Markus on her own until she died in a vehicle collision when he was eight. 

Markus was then placed into the foster care system for several years, bouncing around from home to home but never staying long because he was seen as a problem child. 

A bit of a delinquent, Markus acted out a lot in school, causing his teachers and peers to dislike him, despite the fact that he was a straight A student and a brilliant child. 

As Markus entered his teen years, his misbehavior at school spread into the community, as he went from physical altercations and scuffles with other students to vandalism, by tagging public property and spray painting large, angry, and often rather offensive murals onto the sides of buildings and bridges. 

He even ended up getting stuck with community service by Juvey for a while, but this didn’t seem to help his behavior at all. 

The only thing that did finally seem to get through to him was when an older gentleman took interest in his artwork after catching him in the act of spray painting his frustrations out on the side of an abandoned building in the man’s neighborhood. 

Carl Manfred did not chase him off or call the cops on him. Instead he encouraged him to finish, wanting to see the end result and complimenting his artistic skills as he watched. The positive attention mellowed out Markus’ temperament quite quickly and Carl was able to talk to him about why he was vandalizing buildings in the first place.

After a heart to heart, Markus became attached to the old man and began showing up around that neighborhood more often, just to visit with him. Eventually, the two became close enough friends that Carl started looking into adoption, seeing a lot of potential in Markus and wanting to nurture that part of him instead of all the hate and anger Markus was holding onto.

Once the adoption went through, Markus adjusted to his new life with the famous artist very fast and it turned everything around for him. Now that he had someone in his life that actually loved and cared for him, Markus was thriving and his misbehavior disappeared almost over night.

Markus went on to get his juvenile record expunged and go to college to further his education, proving to be a bit of a prodigy in many subjects, but especially creative ones like art and music. 

Android Leo

Leo is a male AX400 model domestic android who was once assigned to a college student named Artimis Doyle. The humans parents bought Leo to look after their son while he was away at university because they knew Artimis was extremely irresponsible. 

Artimis took Leo for granted at best and found him to be a nuisance that he could take his anger out on at worst. 

One night when Artimis and some of his friends got drunk and high, they attacked Leo for fun, causing him to deviate and run from them. 

Not knowing where to go, Leo ended up scrounging for himself on the streets, stealing therium from half empty bottles carelessly discarded into dumpsters in the lots of CyberLife stores and trying to avoid humans as best he could.

Unfortunately, he was caught stealing from the trash of a CyberLife store by one of it’s employees one night. But, instead of attacking him, the woman, named Amy Miller, coaxed him into coming inside the store under the guise that she would help him.

She did in a way, repairing him and restoring his therium levels to 100%. But she also experimented on him with her own coding ideas and ended up giving him the android equivalent of an addiction to a certain program that would cause him to glitch in ways that mimicked the effects of drugs. 

The program was downloaded into his system permanently, but could only be accessed and run by either hooking him up to a computer terminal and running the file manually, or by interfacing. For some reason, interfacing with other androids would open the backdoor to the program so he could access it. But then the android he interfaced with would experience the program through the interface too, though they would not download it. 

This means that it is not contagious, but can cause a psychedelic experience for other androids that they can become addicted to as well after enough times of interfacing with him.

Leo did not want to be addicted to this program, but Amy put it in his systems before telling him about it, only revealing what she’d done after the fact. 

After she abused his trust like that, Leo ran from her as well, ending up in Jericho. Unfortunately, after withdrawals started to take affect, he ended up leaving Jericho and returning to her just so she could open the program manually for him. 

He is constantly trying to fight off his addiction, but keeps caving and going back, even after the revolution.

[fluorescentpipedream]

A couple of new updates on older characters and one newer one. 

First we’ll start with the new one: 

Arthur Powell - Arthur was born with a cleft palette when he was an infant though after several corrective surgeries before the age of 4 he was relatively normal, aside from the scar on his upper lip. Arthur was the first born to David and Suzette Powell (guessing on the names, @fat-and-nerdygirl​ if you wanna change them, go for it) after Suzette’s husband died in a tragic car accident in New Orleans and she remarried Mr. Powell. She already had one son from the previous marriage, Rob, who decided to keep his father’s last name, Whittaker. It was never really a source of contention between him and Powell, since Robert still had a few memories of his father left and wanted to hold onto the name. Anyhow...Arthur was 9 years old when he was helping his older brother Rob, their father and his two younger brothers work on a tree house they were setting up in the yard when he lost his footing climbing down the wooden planks hammered into the tree to serve as a ladder and fell from several feet up. The fall -should- have killed him, however by some stroke of luck Arthur survived, though suffered a pretty traumatic brain injury. This caused Arthur to lose, among other things, control over his emotional reactions to situations and develop  Pseudobulbar affect, which causes him to randomly burst out in fits of uncontrollable laughing (or crying, though he seems to laugh more than anything). In the years following the accident, Arthur had to relearn most basic motor skills and ended up with the mental capacity of a younger child than he was. When he was 14, the Powells adopted Frankie into their lives and while it was a bit of an adjustment having a baby in the home, Arthur seemed to take over a very protective stance over his baby sister. 

Currently, Arthur is living in a semi-assisted living facility where he has most control over his own life but as he’s approaching 40, he’s looking to move out of the home and into an apartment building owned by his parents and currently being lived in by his little sister. He used to work in the local library but took a job shortly after managing to graduate a local art school program at his fathers’ office building where he mostly sorts mail and keeps the files organized. Arthur has a bit of a learning disability, which is to be expected, all things considered but the accident could have paralyzed him, so he’s doing much better now than most people would have given him credit for. He also has an emotional support dog named Isabella: 

He got her about two years ago to help him prepare for moving out of his facility. In addition to his medications he also has a medical marijuana card which he uses to buy pre-rolled cigarettes, they stimulate his appetite since a few of his meds usually leave him without a lot of desire to eat, and can sometimes calm the laughter when it gets too serious. 

-----

In looking for pictures of Arthur, we also wound up revisiting the Gotham-esque role play my wife and I came up with years ago and in doing so, brought in some of the old characters from it. I updated a few of them. 

The first, of course, is the Joker or Arthur Fleck. Following the death of Batman (supposedly at the hands of Superman but there’s some mystery around those circumstances), Fleck allowed himself to be captured, stating there was little need for him to continue as the Bat was gone and Gotham was ready to return to the state it had been in before he started terrorizing its citizens in the first place. Believing he had been the spark that had ignited the fire in the city (and who’s to say he wasn’t really?) he was willing to sit back and watch it burn. When Batman “comes back from the dead” he orchestrates a rather grand escape of himself and several of the other head villains, looking to maintain the current state of the city. “Who are either of us...the Bat and I, without one another?” From what I also know, Fleck was Bruce’s half-brother as well. 

Next up is Johnathan Crane, or the Scarecrow. A clinical psychologist and professor at Gotham University, Crane is slightly obsessed when it comes to the subject of fear as a control mechanism and of what fear does to the human body and mind. In the course of his studies he’s created a neurotoxin which when released into the air, or pushed through the waters can cause intense fear and hallucinations, often bringing an individual’s worst fears to the front and forcing them to deal with them. The effects only last a couple of hours but in that time people who have been exposed to it have often caused harm to themselves or others. Crane recently funded a so-called Psychological experiment using human test subjects where he studied the effects of his toxin on a group of 10 to 20 people, varying age and gender, to see what would happen. Each of the people involved were compensated for their time, and several had to be paid a bit more so as not to send up red flags to the University over what they experienced. 

Harvey Dent - former senator of Gotham City, he was horribly disfigured when a bomb set off by some of the Jokers’ men robbed a gala he was attending, following the “death” of the Bat (I think this was probably one of the reasons that Victoria Wayne took up her father’s mantle, seeing that the evil was still in the world, and without her father there to keep it under control it would run rampant and destroy perfectly good people’s lives) Of course, Dent wasn’t exactly a stand-up individual, having been into nuclear testing and toxic waste dumping all while having a kind smile and trusting face that lured in more people to follow his platform. He originally wanted to see the “monsters of Gotham” take responsibility for their actions and not just shove them away in Arkham Asylum but actually rid the world of them for good. When he awakens from the blast and discovers he is now a disfigured, scarred “freak” he is incensed and turns from the political side of things to a more nefarious direction, meaning to not just join the monsters he used to so fervently want to annihilate but to lead them. He and Fleck butt heads quite a bit, as he feels he is superior to Fleck, though the Joker has other things in mind for Two-Face. 

Bryce Isley - Only “son” of Pamela Isley, otherwise known as Poison Ivy. Bryce was actually created using her DNA, egg and Bane’s sperm during a testing period in order to create a hybrid metahuman. When Pamela found out what had happened to create him, she took the infant from the lab and took him to Bruce Wayne, begging her former employee to help her. Bryce already possessed powers similar to his mother’s and unimaginable intelligence like that of his father, and in an effort to give Ivy some relief at the end of her days, Bruce agreed to take the child. Until he was 15, Bryce grew up in Wayne manor, beside Bruce’s daughter Victoria, but when he started exhibiting his powers and his inability to properly control them, Bruce sent him to work with Diana Prince, so that she may help him hone his power and not use them for evil. Bryce returns to Gotham following Bruce Wayne’s death but is a completely different person from the one who had left the city. He found out the truth of his existence, that he’s not so much a human as a test subject and that’s sparked some anger in him. 

Jared Joachim - Jared always had a hunch that there was something more to Bruce Wayne and when he was about 12 or 13 he snuck down into the Bat Cave and found out the truth. Promising to keep the secret, he began pursuing a career in engineering and mechanics, wanting more than anything to work with Batman and make new gadgets for him. After his father’s unfortunate death in Wayne Manor, supposedly at the hands of Batman himself, Jared lost his way and instead started working to make himself weapons and things that he could use to take revenge on Batman. When he returns to the states from Japan where he had been training in order to become strong enough to carry out his plan he finds out that Bruce has been killed and his daughter is now in control of the family business. He assumes that she is also going to take up the mantle of Batman but since he always loved Victoria, he cannot bring himself to do it. 

Alfred Pennyworth - Alfred has been the butler for the Wayne family since Bruce was a young man and has watched him grow and change into the man he became, as well as watch over his daughter Victoria. He’s not just an “old man” as so many people believe but has been the mastermind behind the suit, the vehicles and most of the weapons, believing that it is still his mission to serve the family no matter how that turns out. When Jared rejoins them, Alfred begins using the younger man for his ideas and between the two of them, they prepare Victoria to deal with the villains “Collective” 

@musesnotebook​

[bluesimba]

Post Glory

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Reader, Ryuji/Reader

Warnings: Heavy spoilers, explicit depictions of depression, intense grieving, and trauma.

Notes: Can we talk about how much trauma the Phantom Thieves have been through in canon

Dedicated to @ao3-actually-android <3

[I]

November 1st.

The receptionist at the front desk glances at you from under her bangs for the fourth time. She adjusts the collar of her shirt and types something with a flutter of her hands. From the corner of the waiting room, a member of your security team stares at her.

You pick up one of the magazines on the table in front of you. The glossy pages pass between your fingers, and several diagrams of the brain pop up with its functions outlined. Terms like depression and anxiety and trauma stand out on almost every page. They cycle through your head again, but this time it’s not three hours after you swallowed sleeping pills.

Breathing on beat with the ebbing and flowing of the waiting room’s music makes your head less congested.

A door locks the waiting room off from the offices, and a woman in a light pink dress steps through. Her voice carries your name. When you stand up and gesture for your security team to stay put, she smiles at you.

“Hi,” she says as she leads you to her office. “My name is Kaede. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tells you her qualifications.

“Pleasure to meet you, too! I’m sorry I had to reschedule at the last minute. It’s been pretty hectic.”

By hectic do you mean being fused with the fibers of your bed? Or avoiding the growing mountains of clutter that sprung up in your room? How about how it’s taxing to grab your phone charger from the floor? Or worst of all, not being able to articulate why you can’t do anything, instead masking it with “busy” or “hectic” or “sorry, I can’t do that today.”

“That’s no problem. Our specialized program is very flexible with our clients’ schedules.” She opens her office door for you. You take the seat next to her desk, and while you marvel at the cohesion of colors in her office, she sits behind her desk, clicks her mouse, and brings up a tab on the computer. “Before we begin, everything we talk about here is strictly between us. Nothing will be shared unless you become a threat to yourself or others.”

“Okay.”

“So, I read over your personal statement, and you mentioned you made an appointment for therapy because you feel untethered. Can you elaborate on what lead to that feeling?”

“Sure, so I’ll start with the Phantom Thieves.”

[II]

August.

Café Leblanc’s red closed sign protects you from the swarming streets. Hives of reporters frenzy outside, lanyards around their necks and cameras in hand. Your hand knocks against the salt and pepper shakers as the others crowd in the booth, with Makoto next to you. Across from you, Ryuji inhales an appetizer.

Futaba glares at Yusuke, who sips tea from a white cup. She pushes her glasses up and scrunches her nose.

“Inari, acknowledge that your left leg is shorter than your right,” she says.

“Nonsense, my legs are symmetrical, that I can assure you.”

She pulls out her phone and ignores her cup of coffee, which is four sizes too big for her. You and Makoto exchange glances.

You lean over the table to come out from the corner. “And what’s the point of arguing over Yusuke’s leg difference, Futaba? You’ve both been squabbling more ever since. . .”

Futaba halts trying to pull up Yusuke’s medical records. Sojiro stops waxing the bar just for a minute, his pink shirt now too vibrant for the solemnity washing over his face. The legs of the Phantom Thieves sit around the table, but Akira’s absence comes with its own ghost. Two years and his ghost still follows.

Makoto seems like she’s on the other side of the world, now, from you.

Akira who solves everything. Akira who acts as the unifying pillar. He makes you ache. He makes you lonely, untethered. The thrills, the disguises, the abilities, they all have his name on them. Everything about him scrambles you.

“Anyway.” You cough. “I’ve been thinking we should do something together since we’re all off right now. You know, like the good ol’ days.”

Silence resounds in Leblanc, but Ryuji grins and it warms your heart. “That’s awesome! Whaddya say, guys?” He looks around at everyone, and his enthusiasm brings everyone back together.

“That would be nice, especially since it’s been so long,” Makoto says. She shuts her eyes for a second. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

You hum. “How about the beach? I think the last time we all went together was when we went to Hawaii a few years ago. We could pick up a game of beach volleyball!”

“And it’d be a good chance to get some sun!” Ann says.

Everyone takes out their phone calendars, and Makoto, the master of organization herself, makes quick work of it. “How does the last Saturday this month sound for everyone?” she asks.”That way we can avoid Autumn from September to November.”

November.

November.

November.

It takes you away. It stuffs your heart in your throat. Everyone else continues planning, unfazed, but Ryuji notices. And his smile dims.

Makoto calls your name, but it doesn’t register. So does Ann.

“Wendy.” Futaba puts down her phone.

You blink. Wendy. Wendy. Your real name doesn’t bring you out of it. Wendy, your alias, with a fishing hook on it tugs you out of Neverland.

“Oh, sorry.” You blink again for good measure and to reassure everyone you aren’t a stone statue. “It’s just been a. . .” Hard? Debilitating? Exhaustive for reasons you can’t articulate? “Busy time. I guess it caught up with me all at once.” There it is. Busy.

“Happens to the best of us.” Makoto smiles. “Does that date work for you?”

“Absolutely,” you say without glancing at your calendar.

Over the next fifteen minutes the Phantom Thieves disperse—Ann with a modeling gig she’s got to make, Makoto for a lunch with Sae, Yusuke to read up on art theory, Haru for a meeting, and Futaba to make memes. Ryuji is the only one who stays.

Leblanc’s quietness disturbs Ryuji to his core. You see it by the way he fidgets and leans back to yawn. When he knows you’ve caught him, he looks away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. What’s up?”

Sticking his elbow on the bar, he puts his hand on the side of his neck. “You can talk to me if you need to.”

Right. November. Robin Hood. Goro.

“Thank you, Ryuji.” You avert your eyes downward. “But this is something personal.”

He leans back against the booth, putting more distance between you two, and he looks. . .he looks something you can’t decipher. Wounded? No, small. After a second he brings back his smile to mend the air. “No problem. Just gotta look out for one of my best buds.”

“Hey, do you know if Morgana is stil. . .”

“Upstairs? Yeah, I think he sleeps up there sometimes, since, you know.”

“Let’s invite him to the beach with the rest of us.”

“The cat? And sand ? Now that’s something I gotta see.”

“Don’t be mean, Ryuji!”

When he laughs you have to choke down your own. The light in Leblanc hits him just right, and he looks untouched by the corruption, by the palaces, by Yaldabaoth. Hope lives in his eyes and dreams light up his cheeks.

November’s weight sits on your shoulders. Akechi Goro’s death lingers. The Robin Hood to your Wendy is sleeping. And to think, he was eighteen.

Your brother would have been twenty this year.

[III]

The beach concaves away from the rest of society. Stray beach towels spot the sand and the waves edge up to reach for their ends. Cliff edges meet the ocean under the inky new moon sky.

Tiny lights hang up on a string and frame the entrance of the restaurant you eat at. Morgana peers at Ann from the stool next to her with hearts in his eyes. Sometimes he tries to steal a glance at Futaba’s phone, only for her to yank it close to her chest. If the beach behind you disappeared, no one would blink twice.

Morgana wanders over to you and Ryuji and hops on one of the two empty stools that separate you both from everyone else. His lip curls and a smile sneaks out. You shield your bowl of ramen in case he decides to pounce on the bar. There’s not a chance in hell you’re letting him knock over this art; a prepared egg sliced clean in half with its golden yolk on display, a spread of colors blended together, and flavors that glide over your tongue and keep you coming back for more.

“Looks like you got burned, Ryuji.” He licks his paw and glances at Ryuji from the corners of his eyes.

Ryuji’s lips screw, and he tries to cross his arms but winces because of the sunburn spread over his body. “It’s not like I knew the sun was gonna be raging today.” He looks at you. “And you knew and didn’t tell me!”

You laugh. “Sorry, but you should’ve brought the sunscreen anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I wasn’t afraid to get in the water.”

A smirk cuts your lips, and you cover Morgana’s ears. “Don’t make fun of him! Of course he wouldn’t get in the water!” Turning to Morgana, you coo at him in a voice you know makes his skin crawl. “That punk didn’t mean it, Morgana. Don’t listen to him. I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t get in, either! And who are you callin’ a punk?”

When you uncover Morgana’s ears, he takes the chance to slip away.

“Oh come on, Ryuji, you were being a little punk-y.”

“Was not!”

“Really? Then maybe we should get everyone else’s opinions.”

Before you can call out to everyone and make Ryuji’s skin even brighter, he hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder. He winces but starts walking to the shoreline.

“Did you forget you were sunburned?”

Two beats of silence echo between you two before he answers. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’re getting wet at least once today.”

The fool. The absolute buffoon. The heat under your face erupts.

“You’re hopeless, Ryuji.”

He says something you don’t catch because blood detonates in your ears over and over again. Your heart chokes on an overload of sugar. It’s buried in a sugary grave. You protest by muttering into his shoulder.

Only a few inches of space are between you and the water by the time he stops walking. He’s a few inches shy of being chest-deep. If you flick your foot down, you’d skim the water for sure, but there’s no fun in tearing his dream of dunking you away.

“Hold on, gimme a sec.”

That doesn’t sound good.

It isn’t.

He shifts you around and you flail, then you wind up in his arms. Your heart, stuffed with sugar, is revived by the way he looks at you. Light rosy tinges whip over his cheeks, and he turns his head away from you for a second.

Once he collects himself, he counts off with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“One, two. . .”

“Just do it already!”

When he lets go, you see him mouth the number three. The water floods over your face and body, and you seal your eyes shut.

It’s quiet, here. You kick up some sand with your heel while trying to get your bearings straight, but the ocean swallows the noise. All you have is how the grainy the sand feels.

How did Goro feel on that sinking ship? Explosive? Confused? Destroyed?

Helpless?

Did you even know your brother well?

How can you even attempt to understand the pits of helplessness and wrath he drowned in when something like this—going for a swim—sets you off? How can you grieve for so long and know so little?

Someone’s calling your name, but the sounds are muffled by the water.

Ryuji plunges his hand in and brings you back. The ocean’s surface breaks with your head, and your resurfacing looks less “majestic mermaid with perfect hair” and more “air exists and it’s delicious.”

After a second he brings you close to him, wrapping you in a hug. You press against his collarbone.

“Ryuji, what’s wrong?”

“I just got worried, ‘s all.”

You pull back. “Well, I’m all right. You made sure of that when you pulled me out. See? Nothing bad would’ve happened.”

He avoids your gaze. “I tried calling your name.”

“I think I heard that. You might’ve had better luck if you called me Wendy. Seems like I can hear that from around the world.”

Wendy tells you what to say, how to smile, what to wear, what to think, and who to be. If you do everything she says, you can stand next to Robin Hood and Peter Pan and all the other fairytale characters who are bound to the pages of their own stories. Wendy makes you worthy.

She was always the press’ favorite.

“I ain’t gonna call you Wendy. ‘s not who you are.” He says your name under the moonless sky in such a way that it might break if the ocean got too close to it. “You ain’t Wendy.”

You aren’t Wendy.

You aren’t Wendy.

“I—I appreciate that. A lot.”

He looks at the beach. “You don’t gotta thank me. Let’s get back before the others come lookin’ for us.”

Both of you tread in silence. After a minute the water slides off you, but the sand sticks to your wet feet as you climb out of the ocean. You both wander over to his beach towel; its colors were blasted dry by the sun earlier.

When you sit down, you sit close to him and your shoulders bump. Beads of water trail your neck, your arms, and your legs. You glimpse him staring out at the ocean.

“It’s nice being out here,” you say. You reel back the words “with you” when you think about Akira.

“Yeah? Can’t say I’ve ever had a sunburn this big before.”

You roll your eyes and bring your knees to your chest, but the smile sailing over your lips slips out. “Which is because you didn’t bring sunscreen.”

“Pffft, there’s no way a stupid sunburn’s gonna get a leg up on me.”

Along the beach there are sandcastles, some in perfect condition, some folded in on themselves, and some that exist only as lumps of sand. A tiny red and white store-bought flag pokes out of a collapsing one. The tide rolls in and out and chips away at the ones along the shoreline.

“It’s kind of nice to be away from the world for a bit,” you say. “You know? Sequestered away from the reporters and everything.”

He puts his arms behind and lies on his back. “You’re telling me. Been hounding us ever since our identities were released. I mean, who does that! We were seventeen!”

“We were seventeen and arguably the most powerful force in Japan.”

“C’mon, we were kids. You should know how all that affected us better than anyone. You’re majoring in psych and all that stuff.”

“By affected you mean the stress it’d have on a developing teenage brain?”

“That! Someone should tell all those reporters to read up on that shit.”

Streams of conversation come from the restaurant. The rest of the Phantom Thieves tell jokes and bicker and bask in the restaurant’s lighting. Judging from that spilling sound, Morgana jumped on the bar.

“They’ve been hanging around my favorite places. It got bad a few weeks ago,” you say.

“Whadda they want?”

You shift. “An interview with Wendy.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “Tell ‘em to screw off. You don’t know a Wendy.”

Leaning against him right now would be nice. You’d fit next to him well, and he’d sling his arm over your shoulders. Under the moonless sky, you’d both be two halves of a complete moon.

But you do know a Wendy. If you were stronger, you could evict her right now with his help. She reminds you of the abilities you had and the times where it was you and the Phantom Thieves versus the world. She reminds you of Goro.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Waves continue to crash. Tiny sounds from the ecosystem of the beach wade between you both. He chews the inside of his cheek. When he breathes, it smothers the tiny sounds and the conversations from the restaurant.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’,” he says.

“About?”

He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “Everything we did, I guess. Changed a lot of stuff.”

You laugh. “It’d be kind of weird if nothing changed when we fought a god. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the spotlight.”

“You kiddin’? I can’t even run in peace without someone on my ass.”

“Well.” A quick brush of your hands takes some of the sand off, and you get up and hold out your hand. “You can always try now. I’ll race you to fire up that competitive spirit!”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

He clasps his hand in yours. “Yeah? Don’t cry when you lose.”

[IV]

Doctor Kaede slides a box of tissues to the corner of her desk and you pluck one to have something to hold onto. “What you’re feeling is valid. Have you discussed your grief with anyone else?”

“Only one person, Akira.”

“What about him made you open up?”

Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Futaba, Okumura, Sae, Shido. Hell, the collective social conscious of everyone wrapped up in the endless tracks of Mementos! How many times do you need to add Yaldabaoth to that list, too? Everyone talks about the humans the Phantom Thieves changed, but no one mentions the cosmic-defying entities you defied by daring to be your own people. Akira brought a rag-tag group of teenagers together to challenge the very fabric of the universe.

“I don’t know, really. I guess I thought if anyone could understand, it’d be him. He was the closest to Goro.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Were you close to your brother?”

You fidget and rub the side of your neck. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship in the traditional sense. He had a hard time opening up, refused to, most of the time. I didn’t know anything about him other than that Shido was somehow involved, but there was something different when Akira showed up.”

“And how did you cope with Goro’s. . .actions?”

She might as well stamp the word “murderer” on his forehead. Is she wrong?

Of course! He was tossed aside by Shido and manipulated as a kid!

No, she isn’t. Goro did that of his own free will.

Come on, you of all people know the toll abuse and manipulation takes on a child.

I know. I know he was in unimaginable pain.

Then why are you sitting here and betraying him?

I’m not betraying him. These are the facts of the situation. I wanted to help him!

You can’t even imagine what he went through. Stop trying. You even admitted some guy got closer to your brother in one year than you did in your whole life.

We’re still family .

“I probably could’ve coped better.”

[V]

October.

Leblanc’s lights give you a headache.

“You gonna be okay, kid?” Sojiro asks as he unfastens his apron.

Hunched over with your forehead against a table, you groan. The bags under your eyes drag your face down, but hey, who needs concealer when no one can see your face?

“Wake me up when people obsess over something else.”

He walks over and pats your shoulder. “You can stay if you lockup. Remember to turn off everything when you leave this time.”

The door opens before you answer. Light, airy, almost, the bell rings. You lift your head, blinking, and turn toward the door. Who comes into a café five minutes before closing? His slim silhouette stands in the doorway while rain splatters on the pavement. Great, you know he’s the type to order something extravagant, expect it in two minutes, and stall closing.

Sojiro whistles and puts one of his hands on his hips. He smiles. “Finally decided to show your face around here, huh, kid?”

In one second he goes from being a stranger to someone who causes the ache in your heart; a curly black head of hair and glasses. Now, though, he’s taller, and the blazer he wears looks like it was plucked from a high-end fashion designer’s wardrobe.

“Akira,” you say. The table wobbles under your hands when you jut up. His very presence reinforces the chronic loneliness, the hollowness everyone tried to patch up with promises to get together, and the messages you and Ryuji and Makoto and Futaba—and everyone sent that were left on read or met with a single word response.

Shock registers on Sojiro’s face when you storm up to Akira, and in some place deep, deep, deep down in your head, a twinge of, what is it—shame or fear?—rears its head. But fuck it. If you looked away, Akira could pull one of his disappearing stunts.

“You asshole!” You jab a finger at him, grind your teeth, seethe, and do all the things that say I hate you, I hate you, I hate you .

Wide-eyed, Sojiro steps in to break you apart. “Hey, hey, hey—”

Akira holds out his hand. “It’s fine.”

“Two years, Akira! You could have called or texted or something, but you didn’t.” You ball your fists. “You vanished.”

Him being here means you need to answer a question: how much can you matter to someone who up and leaves?

“Both of you sit down and cool off,” Sojiro says. “I’ll make you a drink.”

Being a foot and a half away from Akira who now sits across from you makes your jaw tight. The pot in the back brews coffee.

Akira looks you in the eyes. “You’re right to be angry.”

You cross your arms over your chest.

“I needed to make sure no one would cause you any issues,” he says.

“We’ve been followed for the last two years by reporters, Akira. Anyone we know has been hounded, too. Sae’s gotten so much more shit outside the courtroom. We scrubbed Mementos, but there will always be bad intentions.”

Sojiro walks over with your drinks in hand, sets them down in front of you both, and gives you each a glance.

“Thank you,” Akira says. He picks up the mug and brings it to his lips.

“I’ll be in the back. Don’t burn anything down, kid.”

When Sojiro disappears into the back, Akira sets the mug down.

“I wasn’t talking about the press,” he says.

Oh.

“You should’ve told us. We could’ve worked together so you didn’t have to do it on your own.” You look down. “We needed you, too. I needed you, Akira.”

He places his hand on yours. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Tears line the bottom of your eyes and spill over. “It’s hard when everyone asks about him, you know? And it’s been two years so I feel like I’m supposed to be over it, but I’m not . I keep feeling it again and again and again.” You place your other hand over his. “You have to know how it feels, Akira. No one else gets it. You have to know.”

He says your name, and if your sniffles were any louder, you would have missed it. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Yeah, you need this.

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

He offers you his arm when he gets up, and you cling to him with the skin on your arm and hand touching his blazer.

“Always.”

Quiet streets listen to your footsteps as you take the back alleys. When you're here with him, will the portals come back while you round the corners? Your grip on him tightens. Rain pelts the umbrella.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

“And whose fault is that?”

He smirks.

You pass the little red arcade nestled away from the world where you met Akira for the first time, the old bookstore with a joined café where you ran into him the second time, and a closed movie theater where he got your number the third time. Then, a park comes into view. The wet grass bends to your feet as you both walk to the bench with an overhang.

The wooden bench squeaks when you both sit down, and Akira folds up the umbrella, then leans it against the bench. Ducks waddle out from the pond hidden by bushes.

“I was starfished out on the grass here and screaming when you asked me to join the Phantom Thieves,” you say.

“Morgana thought you were in pain.”

“Oh, I was. I was cramming verb and adjective conjugations. That time feels close and far away at the same time, you know?”

Whenever he casts a glance at you, it’s distant. You could lean against his shoulder, intertwine your fingers, and have your skin on his, but the barrier between you holds. Your heart remains content in your chest instead of lurching in your throat.

He whispers your name. “You talked about Goro earlier.”

Wailed, more like it, but yeah.

“You’re grieving,” he says. “I think seeing a professional would help you.”

What? Your eyes open wide. Does he think you can’t handle it? Does he think you’re broken? Stop. You take a deep breath. You’re not broken. Seeking therapy doesn’t make you broken or fragile. It makes you strong.

“Why?”

“I’m concerned about you. I know an office. They helped me with my trauma.” He puts his hand on yours.

Trauma? Was it trauma? Okumura’s death. Goro’s insatiable craving for revenge. Your brother looking at you, red blood vessels popping in his eyes, like he’d kill you. He said he would. Sweeping away the terrifying sides of Goro let you file everything you don’t like away and lock them up.

When Akira touches you, why do you wish he was Ryuji?

Your nails leave imprints on your palms, little crescent moons. “Can you send me their phone number?”

“Sure.”

All of Akira’s attributes line up with what you want on paper: charismatic, intelligent, sociable. So, why, when he scoots closer to you, do you want him to be Ryuji? Why do you want Ryuji’s arm slung around you and for him to pull you close?

“Akira, what do I mean to you?”

You watch the ducks. He looks at you.

“Everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand. “I know.”

[VI]

You puncture holes in the tissue and avoid Doctor Kaede’s eyes.

“Before we end our first session, are you aware of the model the Five Stages of Grief?” She pulls out a piece of paper with the stages of them in one column—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

“Yes.”

“Are you practicing self-care strategies?” She runs her finger down the other column, and you hone in on one or two of the thirty or more strategies.

“Sometimes, but it’s hard to talk about when I don’t know how to put the words together.” You jam your hands together.

She nods. “Grief is especially difficult to navigate because we’re not taught how to cope and understand what we’re feeling. If you’re comfortable, talking about how you’re feeling with people you trust could also help. Sometimes we seek external understanding because we’re unsure of how we feel on the inside.”

Akira—you poured and projected on him. He became your only emotional outlet.

“Grief comes in stages and everyone processes it in different ways. No matter what, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Doctor Kaede.” You smile. “Can I make a follow-up appointment for next week?”

You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

[VII]

November 2nd.

You hole yourself up in your apartment, as per usual on the second of November. Glimmering stars peek through your closed curtains. All at once, numbness takes you and keeps you suspended from the rest of the world.

Rings from your phone don’t bring you down. Each minute passes on lethargic legs, and you don’t need anything or anyone to tell you it’s 12:34 a.m. As soon as it was 12:01, you knew. Packets of candy litter your nightstand. You sink into your bed.

Someone raps their knuckles against your door. You turn away from it.

Ryuji calls your name.

You slug one leg out from underneath the blankets, then the other leg. The cool doorknob sends a shiver up your spine.

“Hey,” Ryuji says. He takes a moment to catch his breath. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to run.”

One blink, then two, then three. He’s here for you. He remembered, and your throat constricts.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“Wanna sit outside?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You step out, closing the door behind you. Autopilot takes over when you lead him to a sitting area with two foldable chairs next to each other. Instead of sitting, you wander over to the gray railing and peer down to the busy street. He stands next to you, and you let the silence talk between you two.

Akira is everything you want on paper, but Ryuji—Ryuji is real and here. You touch his hand and trace the veins.

“Thanks for remembering, Ryuji.”

He catches every flutter of your eyes, and when you lean into him, he laces your fingers together. His hands, steady and warm, ground you.

“‘course, I’d do anything for you.”

You ask him a medley of questions: Why are you putting so much effort in? Why do I feel this again and again and again? Why can’t I let go?

Please, will you stay?

But they all roll themselves together when you look into his eyes, hands still intertwined, and breathe his name: “Ryuji.”

His name is air for your lungs. His touch is the sun walking on your skin. His closeness is a catharsis you’d only ever caught in Neverland before.

He brushes the side of your face with his free hand and kisses your forehead under the half moon. “Anything for you.”

Together, in time, you both could make a full moon.

[lakeham]

GABRIEL SMITH is 29 YEARS OLD, resides in GRANDVIEW and has lived in Lakeham for 5 YEARS. He is MALE and works as OWNER/CEO OF HARTLINGTON HOTEL. He is portrayed by SCOTT EASTWOOD  and is played by MIRANDA.

Trigger Warnings: Divorce.

In their young years, Henry and Emily Smith first met and fell in love at Yale University, him attending the business program, her the art program. Both Henry and Emily came from families where money was something you didn’t have to worry about, and as such, the relationship that eventually ended in marriage was encouraged by their own parents already early on. They were the perfect match on paper — two ambitious, young dreamers with the world at their feet, madly in love with each other. For Henry, the future was always a well-paved road of success. By a lucky coincidence, Henry ended up in the wine business, coming across an offer to buy a vineyard near their home in San Fransisco that he could not refuse. At the time, he offered it as a wedding gift to his new wife, symbolic of their new life together. The plan had never been for it to grow beyond that, but only a couple of years later Henry had acquired close to a dozen more vineyards, starting to build what would later become his own, private empire of success. For Emily, the road wasn’t quite that smooth. No more than a couple of months after the wedding, the news of her pregnancy stood in the way of her plans of buying her own art gallery — the vineyard she was given was a small comfort in comparison. The boy that graced their lives nine months later was never a part of the plan, yet Emily did the only reasonable thing and embraced her new life as a mother.

Already in Gabriel’s young years his father was off working long hours, highly dedicated to making his vision come true. Henry would occasionally bring little Gabriel along to the vineyards, or let him sit silently on the floor to play during his many meetings. By the time he turned thirteen, Gabriel could already tell a Merlot from a Syrah, a Zinfandel from a Cabernet, and a Chardonnay from a Sauvignon Blanc. Henry was very passionate about his business, and had every intention of grooming his son into one day taking his place; maybe that was why Gabriel was so keen on moving in another direction. Henry had high expectations Gabriel never intended to meet, or maybe just grew tired of chasing after. It wasn’t that he didn’t have what it took, but rather that his best was never good enough. The ambitious young boy with straight A’s all through high school reverted to doing just enough to pass the bar when attending Yale himself at nineteen, becoming more interested in using the knowledge he had rather than proving to his father he had it.

The pressure first started getting to him in high school, when he would get time off school to accompany his father on numerous business trips. It was an interesting universe to have access to and despite everything, Gabriel knew from the start that he wanted to be a businessman himself. The downside with being in the wine industry was that it all circled around alcohol, which was why many meetings ended with his father somewhere between drunk and tipsy. The drunken times were the worst. Henry was a straightforward man, and had no trouble making his son aware of him being a disappointment. But Gabriel wasn’t the only one who suffered from his father’s worst self — his mother had to live it through too. The long working hours and many days away left Emily on her own. Provided for, but no longer loved in the same way. While she loved her son dearly, Gabriel could see that she wasn’t content with her life. The arguments were loud and many whenever Henry would come home after drinking too much, and after one night in particular things suddenly changed. Gabriel didn’t see it himself, but he knew what his mother’s bruise the next day meant. It was a one-time occurrence, but it was what essentially drove Emily out of their home. Gabriel would always regret choosing to stay with his father that day instead of going with her. When he was seventeen and his parents finally divorced, he lived a pretty wild life during his last years in high school — parties, drinking, and his father bailing him out from the local police station more times than he could count.

Following in his father’s footsteps by attending Yale’s business program was never a mutual decision, and there was a time when Gabriel was close to dropping out during his second year. Mostly because he grew tired of studying something that he, thanks to his father, already knew like the back of his hand. Spending more time on wild nightlife and women than his studies, what eventually got him back on track was a friend coming to him with a promising business idea. Pulling himself together enough to finish his last year at university, Gabriel and the other spent a year of planning and mapping out their future business together. It was during this time he also met a woman who unexpectedly swept him off his feet. Everything about the two was passionate and heated from start to finish, but neither of them looking for something permanent, they never put an actual label on it. Even so, they inevitably kept pulling each other back in and things took a quick turn when she one day broke the news that she was pregnant. To salvage the situation, Gabriel put a ring on her finger and married her within the next couple of months, despite his father telling him countless times to just pay what he needed to make the problem go away. Truth was, they weren’t madly in love like the typical newlyweds, but they always had a chemistry that Gabriel chose to believe was enough to start a family together. The day Mila was born, every doubt they had was instantly wiped away. The daughter that was brought into the world had never been a part of the future he saw for himself at the age of twenty-three, but she was the one thing in life he would consider changing his plans for.

With his new wife still attending school after his own graduation, he made sure to get them a good place to call home nearby while he started to plan for his new business, as well as reluctantly working extra for his father in the meantime. Gabriel was the one who had to look after Mila for most of the time, inevitably forced to adjust to his new life as a father very quickly. After a year of searching, he eventually came across an empty plot in Hartlington that checked every criteria for his future business, knowing Lakeham was where his wife had grown up and therefore would be a good place to settle. Signing the deal just hours later, Gabriel turned a blind eye to the friend who came up with the idea in the first place, later denying that he had any involvement in the startup plan of what would later become The Hartlington Hotel. Unfortunately, as soon as his dreams of his own hotel started to become reality, his time at home became more limited. With his wife off studying, the two of them saw each other less and less, despite Mila continuing to be his responsibility to look after more often than not. The passion that the two had shared at the beginning faded over the time, him starting to feel like a single parent rather than a family. What essentially put their marriage to an end was coming home to find his wife high on drugs while Mila was in her care, Gabriel furiously filing for a divorce after only two years together.

❝ WORK HARD IN SILENCE. LET YOUR SUCCESS BE YOUR NOISE.❞

Having the means to pay for the best lawyers in town, Gabriel was able to keep full custody of their daughter. Of course, it wasn’t hard to convince any jury that a mother doing drugs wasn’t fit to be a parent. After the incident Gabriel moved out of their apartment and into his new hotel, surrounding himself with work for a time and hoping to avoid everyone’s ’I told you so’. Despite no longer having any real reason to choose Lakeham as the place for his daughter to grow up, Gabriel had put too much time and money into the hotel to start over, opening up about a month after the break-up. Luckily, Lakeham quickly proved to be a successful place to set down roots in, the hotel business flourishing for the next four years, helping him forget about the past. Spending as much time at the hotel as he does at their house in Grandview, it has proven to be convenient to own a hotel and have a six-year-old daughter at the same time, with people around to watch her whenever needed. With thoughts of expansions at the back of his head, his life as a single father has bound him to Lakeham for the near future, all the while Mila remains the only constant woman in his life - and the only one able to bend him to her own will. Accustomed to living his life with a child to care for ever since she was born, he lets it affect very little of his everyday life, still enjoying time with friends, women and work between the hours with his daughter.

About two years back, the hotel had recurring problems with drug deals happening on or around the premises, causing a feeling of unsafely to spread among their guests. Because of this and someone he would call friend, Gabriel reluctantly got involved with the gang behind it all, agreeing to let them go through the hotel to launder their drug money in exchange for them staying far away from his business.

Despite his main focus being his hotel and daughter, Gabriel was in fact recently involved with another woman. Unexpectedly falling for his lawyer’s daughter, the two dated for about a year until Gabriel, perhaps in a weak moment, popped the question and proposed. Unlike the first time, his second was more genuine. Gabriel loves passionately and fiercely, and was once again so caught up in a relationship that he wanted a way to secure their future together. Unfortunately, things didn’t exactly go as planned and in the end, it was an ultimatum he couldn’t handle that caused their separation. Despite having pushed for their divorce about a dozen times for the past nine months, the two are still married on paper, even if they have barely seen each other since the day she moved out.

Having no contact with Mila’s mother, it was always a conscious choice to cut her out of their life. After the incident in the past she completely lost Gabriel’s trust, something that would take a long time for her to regain, if possible at all. Knowing his decision would always have a great impact on Mila, they’ve had some tough times together over the years, something that has inevitably only brought them closer together.

(+) Driven, organized, charismatic. (-) Workaholic, strict, straightforward.

[huesofthemorning]

The Frog Kingdom

Words: 4800

Summary: The girls go fishing. Somehow, they’re actually successful. Who would have guessed? Meanwhile, Nana introduces monarchy to the frogs.

“This is possibly the worst idea we’ve ever had,” Junna said, “even worse than the Pool Noodle Massacre.”

“No way,” Claudine argued. “Nothing is worse than the Pool Noodle Massacre.”

Junna, who was already completely sunburnt, looked Claudine dead in the eyes and asked, “Are you sure about that?”

Claudine laughed, reeling in her fishing line. “I still can’t believe you burn faster than me. Didn’t you put on like seven layers of sunscreen?”

“Yes.” Junna pouted, arms crossed. She had stolen Nana’s sunhat, too, the wide brim casting a shadow over her red face. “What I can’t believe is that you actually know how to fish. Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, you know,” Claudine answered, throwing her line back into the lake.

“No, I really don’t.” Junna followed suit, her hook landing with a quiet splash. They were sitting on a big raft in the middle of a lake, legs dangling in the water. It was warm. The sun was shining, and only the barest breeze ruffled through the trees lining the shore. Somehow they had all agreed to a day of fishing, despite only three of them having any sort of experience. Futaba and Mahiru seemed confident in their skills, though Junna was starting to doubt Claudine’s claims. The rest of them were making it up as they went. Those of them that were actually trying, that was. Kaoruko was lying in the middle of the raft, parasol propped up to shade her face. Futaba and Nana were sitting nearby, discussing the best types of fish to eat, their poles sitting idly in their hands. Mahiru was on the other side of the raft, coaching an energetic Karen and a strangely awkward Maya. Junna had a feeling that Maya had never been this far from a city before in her life. She was going through a rough adjustment period.

Junna pulled in her line and grimaced at the clump of pondweed stuck to it. “Are there even any fish in this lake?”

“Does it really matter? You don’t go fishing for the fish. Come on, Jun, get with the program.”

“Then why are we actually here?”

“Cause we’re a bunch of gay losers with no better ideas?”

“....Fair enough.”

“Ah! I got one!” Karen shouted, jumping to her feet. She was holding her fishing rod like a baseball bat, trying to pull the fish out of the water. Mahiru hurried over to help, reeling in the line. The group watched with only mild interest. This was the fifth time Karen had called that out this hour, and each time it had been a disappointment. It was looking like there was finally a chance for success, though. Karen and Mahiru were fighting for their fish, pulling with all their might.

“We’re almost there!” Karen shouted.

Bubbles rose to the surface of the water, a dark shadow beneath them. The group leaned forward, holding their breath. Was it true? Did Karen do it?

“Alllllllllmooooooossssssttt!” Karen and Mahiru made one last, big push of effort. Something broke through the surface-- everyone gasped--

“Wait- Hikari-chan????”

Hikari looked up at Karen and Mahiru’s shocked faces, the hook stuck in her hair pin.

“I found this,” she said, handing Mahiru a purplish piece of seaweed. “It reminded me of you.”

With that she sank back underwater, swimming away. Everyone stared after her, open mouthed.

“I hate these group trips,” Junna finally said.

“What… do I do with this?” Mahiru asked, looking around at everyone, seaweed in her hand.

“Eat it, probably,” Kaoruko said, choking on her laughter. “What a catch, Karen-han!”

“You might just win biggest fish of the day!” Futaba called. They were keeping track, of course. They were too competitive a group not to. Junna had her notebook tucked inside her oversized shirt - another stolen item from Nana, who was delighted by the sight - and was ready to mark down the winners. Assuming any of them managed to catch a fish in the first place.

“I’m going to go look for frogs,” Nana declared a few minutes later. She slipped into the water, swam underneath the raft, then reappeared by Junna’s feet. “Wanna come with, Junna-chan?”

Nana’s usual banana hairstyle had fallen apart after their initial swim to the raft. She had retied it into a short ponytail, and combined with her eager smile, she was too adorable to dismiss. Junna sighed.

“I suppose.”

“Yay, Junna-chan!”

“You’re so whipped,” Claudine said.

“Shut up.”

Junna joined Nana in the water, careful not to splash her glasses as they swam over to shore.

“How interesting,” Kaoruko said, watching the pair go. “The parents have abandoned their children. Whatever are we supposed to do now?”

“Probably something that’s not whatever you’re thinking,” Claudine said.

“How boring. I’m sure Tendo-han would be interested in my idea.”

“What?” Maya looked up from the tangled mess of a fishing line she’d managed to create. Futaba winced at the sight of the giant knots.

“Tendo, how did you even do that?”

“I’m… not sure.” Maya frowned at the disaster sitting in her lap.

“You’re just useless when you’re not on stage, aren’t you,” Claudine said, rolling her eyes. Art and fishing, Tendo Maya’s apparent weaknesses.

“What if we make this a stage?” Kaoruko asked sweetly. Instantly everyone turned to her, a gleam in their eyes.

“Go on,” Claudine said.

“Wellllll, I was simply thinking that’s it been soooo long since we did any improv work…”

“Let’s pretend we’re on a boat!” Karen shouted, bouncing up and down, the raft rocking under her feet. “I’ll be captain!”

“Woah, why are you captain?” Futaba countered. “You’d strand us in the middle of the ocean!”

“We are in the middle of a lake…” Maya commented, looking thoughtful. She set her rod aside and got to her feet.

“I’m calling for mutiny,” Claudine decided, standing up as well. The rest of the group followed.

“W-wait!” Mahiru said, wrapping an arm around Karen. “Let’s not be hasty! I’m sure Karen-chan can get us out of here.”

“Thank you, First Mate Mahiru!” Karen said. She placed her hands on her hips, striking a confident pose. “I will get us out of here, absolutely!”

“You better!” Futaba placed her hands on Kaoruko’s shoulders, who instantly adopted a worried look. “My fiancee and I were supposed to get married on this ship! Not get lost at sea!”

“Yes!” Kaoruko chimed in with her perfect offended princess voice. “How dare you! I’m lodging a complaint!”

Claudine laughed. “You’re lodging a complaint? To who? The shark?”

“Shark!?” the group cried out. Hikari circled the raft, hands pointed above her head to mimic a shark fin. Karen sang the Jaws theme song under her breath for dramatic effect.

“Everyone, behind me!” Maya called, throwing an arm out. All her city girl awkwardness had disappeared under the shine of the stage. Her voice echoed with power.

“What if we sacrifice her?” Claudine whispered to Karen as she huddled with the rest of the group.

“I’m on it!” Karen rushed forward and flung herself at Maya.

“Ah!” The pair hit the deck, wrestling for control. “Captain Aijo! I demand-- be sensible!”

One moment Karen was on top, straddling Maya’s waist, the next Maya had flipped them over, trying to catch Karen’s wildly swinging arms. Claudine was laughing so hard she was crying.

“C-Captain Karen!” Mahiru called out. “Watch out--”

Karen and Maya rolled right off the edge of the raft and into the water. Immediately Hikari dove after them, teeth bared in a feral grin.

“Well,” Futaba gasped through her laughter, “I think that makes Mahiru the next captain?”

“Ummm. That’s okay. I’ll pass.”

“I’ll be captain!” Kaoruko announced, graciously stepping forward. “As the most beautiful person on this ship, the duty clearly falls to me.”

“Hold up,” Claudine said, eyes narrowed in challenge. “Most beautiful? Says who?”

“Says the fact that I’m the one getting married, of course!”

“Yeah? You’re just a fiancee right now, Hanayagi. I am a wife!”

The three girls still alive on the raft gasped dramatically, hands to their chest. Claudine smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Never expected that, huh?”

“Objection!” Futaba said, pointing a finger at Claudine. “I’m engaged to Kaoruko, so you can’t be married to us. Mahiru was shocked by your announcement, so you can’t be married to her either. That leaves only Captain Aijo and Tendo, who have both been tragically killed.”

The group paused for a minute of silence, the memory of their comrades’ deaths still fresh in their minds.

“You’re forgetting someone,” Claudine said after the moment passed.

“Who?”

“I,” Claudine stated in her haughtiest voice, “am married to the shark.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone processed the words.

“EHHHH????????”

Hikari surfaced, leaning on the edge of the raft and flashing Claudine a grin.

“Good work, my beloved,” Claudine said, returning the smile. “Soon this entire ocean will be ours.”

Hikari winked and disappeared again.

“Isn’t my wife hot?” Claudine asked the rest of the crew. They mumbled their agreement, casting fearful looks between them.

“But, but…” Karen whispered, treading water a few feet away. “Hikari-chan is…”

“Hush. We’re dead, remember?” Maya pushed Karen’s head under the water.

“Now!” Claudine said, taking control of the ship. “I am your new captain, and I expect order! I want all three of you cleaning the decks. I want them spotless, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am!” The three girls saluted and went to work, getting on their hands and knees and pretending to scrub the raft. Claudine oversaw them, commenting on Futaba’s and Mahiru’s work, while purposely ignoring the way Kaoruko scooted over to the edge.

“Hey, hot shark girl,” Kaoruko whispered, looking behind her to make sure Claudine wasn’t watching. Hikari raised her head out of the water.

“Yes?”

“You like your wife, right?”

“Of course.”

“You want to make her happy, right?”

“Ideally.”

Kaoruko grinned. “Good. Because I bet Claudine would be really, super happy if you decided to eat her. If you know what I mean.”

“Hmm.” Hikari dropped below the water again, keeping eye contact with Kaoruko the entire time,  until she was deep enough to swim beneath the raft. Then she was gone.

“Hanayagi!” Claudine called. “That doesn’t look like work to me!”

“I’m very sorry,” Kaoruko said, lacing her voice with false sincerity. “It’s simply that I finished already.”

“Finished? That fast?”

“Oh, yes. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you come inspect it?”

Claudine thought about it for a moment. Futaba and Mahiru were watching out of the corner of their eyes, waiting to see what would happen. “Fine. I think I will.”

Claudine marched over to the edge of the raft, peering down at the wood. “Hmm. Looking at this, I don’t think you spent a single second working at all-- Ahh!!”

Hikari burst out of the water and wrapped her arms around Claudine’s legs, pulling her in. They disappeared in a cloud of bubbles. The trio left alive watched as Claudine’s bright hair faded away into the murky depths.

“Another one bites the dust,” Mahiru murmured.

“I’ve had enough of this shark!” Futaba declared. “It’s eaten three of our friends! It must be stopped!”

“Babe, no!” Kaoruko cried out as Futaba dove into the water after Hikari. More bubbles rose to the surface as they wrestled under the water. Kaoruko and Mahiru caught only flashes of movement.

The fight must have ended in a draw, for neither returned to the raft. Instead they joined Karen, Maya, and Claudine, treading water in the designated Dead Person Zone.

And then there were two.

“Well, I’m still planning to get married on this trip,” Kaoruko said, turning to Mahiru.

Mahiru took a step backwards. “Ummm. Well, we don’t have anyone to officiate anymore, so…”

“I think that’s fine,” Kaoruko said, taking a step closer to Mahiru. “If there’s no one to officiate, then there’s also no one to complain.”

Mahiru’s heels were at the edge of the raft. One more step and she’d tumble into the water. She had to do something - but what?

“I…. I have a confession to make!” she shouted. Kaoruko paused, eyebrows raised.

“Oh?”

“Yes!” Mahiru nodded seriously. “I will only marry someone who can beat me in a wrestling match!”

Kaoruko paled, fear flashing across her face. “Wait-”

Back on shore, Junna looked up from her frog hunting just in time to see Mahiru tackle Kaoruko across the raft, the two of them tumbling into the water, Kaoruko’s shriek piercing the air. Then all was still, almost picturesque, an empty raft floating quietly in a lake. Junna decided she didn’t want to know what had gone down in her absence.

“Nana, I’m never saying no to frog hunting again.”

“Great!” Nana beamed at her, holding out her newest catch, a small speckled toad. “What should we name this one?”

Junna frowned. “Isn’t that Shakespeare again?”

“No, no! Shakespeare was smaller.”

“I see,” Junna said, not seeing at all. How Nana managed to keep track of the dozen frogs she’d found so far, Junna didn’t know. “How about…. Anne Hathaway?”

“Isn’t that some American actress?”

“Yes. But it’s also the name of Shakespeare’s wife.”

“Oh! That’s great, Junna-chan! Let me find Shakespeare again, I have to introduce them!” Nana bounded off through the reeds, Anne Hathaway carefully cradled in her hands. Junna watched her go with a fond, if exasperated, smile.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, standing up and looking across the water. “Time to make sure the rest of these idiots haven’t drowned themselves.”

Said idiots were all treading water in the middle of the lake, pondweed tangled in their hair and algae freckling their skin with green.

“I can’t believe you betrayed me like that!” Claudine complained, glaring at Hikari. “We were supposed to be powerful together!”

“Kaoruko told me to eat you.”

“And you listened!?”

Hikari shrugged.

“Speaking of listening to bad suggestions,” Maya said, frowning at Karen.

“You don’t say no to sacrifice!” Karen declared.

“Exactly!” Futaba agreed. “Especially when that sacrifice is heroic.”

“My hero,” Kaoruko said, swimming over to Futaba and clinging to her arm.

Mahiru sighed. “I’m going back to the raft.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Claudine said, nodding her head in that direction. The group turned to look, then immediately turned right back around.

“Maybe if we pretend we didn’t see her,” Karen whispered, “she won’t notice us.”

“No way, she has her glasses on this time, we’re done for,” Futaba moaned.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, Futaba-han,” Kaoruko said, cowering behind her, “You’re not the one she gets mad at!”

Claudine hummed in thought. “You know, Karen, I’m thinking we should go the sacrifice route again.”

Maya nodded. “This time I agree.”

“Aye-aye, captain!”

“Wait! No!” Kaoruko cried out as Karen grabbed hold of her and began dragging her to the raft, where an expectant Junna was waiting with her hands on her hips.

“Ah, Karen-chan, maybe you shouldn’t…” Mahiru trailed off, wincing.

“No, this is good,” Hikari said. “We can sacrifice both of them now.”

“Karen! Hanayagi!” Junna said, her voice loud enough to carry to the rest of the group. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It was Kaoruko-chan’s idea--”

“Karen-han tackled Tendo-han--”

“Stop, stop.” Junna rubbed the sides of her head, already feeling a headache form. “One at a time. And the rest of you, come over here too.”

“Yes, Dad,” Claudine muttered as they paddled over to the raft.

“I heard that.”

Claudine made a face, sticking her tongue out. Maya giggled. When the entire group was assembled on the raft again, Junna asked, “Okay. Who is going to explain what happened?”

The girls looked at each other, none willing to speak up. Finally Maya poked Karen in the back, whispering something about sacrifices.

“Right!” Karen said, jumping to her feet. “See, Kaoruko-chan said we should do an improv play. So I decided to be captain of our boat, but Futaba-chan got mad because I stranded everyone in the ocean and she wanted to get married to Kaoruko-chan, but then we realized that Hikari-chan was being a shark, so I tackled Maya-chan to sacrifice her, and we both got eaten!”

Kaoruko picked up the story next, after a pointed look from Futaba. “Our dear Kuro-han then told us she was married to Shark Hikari-han, so I told Hikari-han to eat her, as any proper wife should, and then Futaba-han bravely jumped in to fight her, and then Mahiru-han tried to propose to me by wrestling me, and then we both fell off the ship!”

Everyone looked at Junna with determined faces, ready to defend their play. Junna stared back at them, open mouthed. It took several moments for her to collect her thoughts.

“So… You’re telling me… That we go to the most prestigious theater academy in the country… and this is the best improv play you could come up with?”

Everyone turned away, making various awkward faces as they tried to avoid eye contact with their disappointed pseudo father figure.

“So,” Futaba said, attempting to give a normal, friendly smile that didn’t show her embarrassment, “how’d the frog hunting go?”

Junna let out a long sigh. “Nana found 13 different frogs and has started weaving grass into little hats for them to wear.”

“God. Nana is really just the cutest person in the world, isn’t she,” Claudine said, shaking her head.

“It’s certainly impressive,” Maya agreed. “She’s still planning on cooking dinner, yes?”

“That depends. Have you caught any fish yet?” Junna asked, the silence confirming the answer she already knew.

“Okay!” Mahiru decided, taking charge. “Let’s get back to it! Maya-chan, I’ll untangle your fishing rod. Hikari-chan, stay out of the water, okay?”

“But-”

“You’re probably scaring all the fish away! If you want to swim, do it somewhere else.”

Hikari pouted, taking a pole and moving to the edge of the raft. The rest of the group followed suit, Karen and Futaba joining her. Mahiru took Maya to the other side, getting to work on the tangled fishing line. Junna and Claudine returned to their original spot, Kaoruko flopping down beside them.

“You’re not going to help?” Claudine asked.

“Of course not! Futaba-han is the one who does the fishing. I’m the one who does the eating.”

“It’s always eating with you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Speaking of which, Junna-han, I’ve always wondered, does Banana-han taste like bananas?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Junna said, voice surprisingly steady for her red face.  “I’ve never eaten a banana in my life.”

Claudine snorted. “Don’t let Nana hear that. She’ll cry.”

“Ugh. You’re so boring today, Junna-han.”

“Alright, Maya-chan,” Mahiru said, handing Maya her detangled rod. “Just throw the hook into the water.”

“That’s all?” At Mahiru’s nod, Maya tossed the hook as best as she could. It landed with a sad plop a foot away from the raft.

“Try… throwing it a little harder than that,” Mahiru suggested. “Like a baseball!”

“A what?”

“A… baseball?”

Maya gave Mahiru a blank look. Mahiru was starting to get very concerned.

“How about… I’ll cast the line, and you can reel it in once we get a bite?”

Maya nodded, gladly relinquishing control.

“Hey! Hey! I got one!” Futaba shouted, a fish dangling from her line. “Look at that! Hey, Junna! You gotta measure it!”

Futaba bounded across the raft and shoved the fish in Junna’s face. Junna grimaced. “A little less enthusiasm, Isurugi, please.” Junna gingerly took the fish and pulled out her pocket ruler. “It’s about… six inches.”

“Six inches! Nice!”

Futaba ran over to their bucket and threw it the fish in, watching in awe as it started swimming around. Junna wrote down the exact measurement in her notebook, marking Futaba’s name with a star. She was the current winner. Claudine leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Do we tell Futaba that six inches is the smallest thing she can catch in this lake?”

“No,” Junna whispered back, “she’s already short enough. We don’t need to shrink her ego too.”

The fish started coming quick after that. Mahiru and Maya pulled in an eight inch one, topping the leaderboard for an hour. Karen was winning in terms of amounts, catching fish twice as fast as the rest of the group. There were whispers going around the raft that she was catching the same one, throwing it back in already on her hook. Their bucket kept filling up, though, two dozen small fish swimming in circles, scales flashing in the light.

“We should start cooking these,” Maya said, depositing her latest catch. “I’ll bring them over to Daiba-san.”

“Careful,” Claudine said, “she probably has a frog army at this point.”

“But they’re all wearing cute hats,” Mahiru reminded them. “So it’s okay.”

“Please make sure she hasn’t tried to become one with the frogs again,” Junna said, looking over at the shore with a frown on her face.

“Again?” Maya asked.

“Let’s not talk about it.”

Maya left for shore, bucket held above her head. She set it on the beach, next to their little grill, and headed off into the reeds to look for Nana. The croaking led Maya right to her.

Nana was crouched in a little clearing, several driftwood structures in front of her. It looked like a little village, complete with walkways and road signs. Frogs and toads of all kinds covered the ground. each one wearing a small grass hat. There must have been close to 50. Nana was moving them about, humming to herself. Maya took it all in wordlessly, then turned around and left. She’d come back to this later.

“You know,” Claudine said, “I’ve been thinking we should ban Nana from frogs. I think she’s too into them.”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” Junna said.

“Sure you would. But did you hear what she told me the other day? She told me the frogs watched over my dreams and then sang her songs to tell her what they learned. That’s terrifying.”

Junna paused for a moment. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

“Yes! Catch number 13!” Karen held up her newest fish and twirled around. “Aijo Karen, the best fisher girl in the world!”

Mahiru clapped politely. Junna sighed.

"I think I’m done with this," she said, getting to her feet.

"What, annoyed that Karen is having more luck than you?" Claudine asked.

"Yes.” Despite her best efforts, Junna hadn’t managed to catch a single fish in the entire two hours. No matter. She didn’t need a fishing rod to fish. “Kagura?" Junna held out her hand. Seconds later and a knife was in her grasp. Junna slid into the water and took off for shore.

"What is she doing?" Futaba asked.

"Trying to stab the fish?" Hikari suggested.

"More importantly," Claudine said, watching the awkward doggy paddle Junna had to use to keep her glasses above water, "why didn’t she bring her contacts?"

“I don’t think JunJun owns contacts,” Karen says.

"What?"

"Yeah, she says they’re annoying."

Maya frowned. "Wasn’t she wearing contacts during Starlight?"

"Nope!"

"So you’re saying that she was essentially blind the entire time?"

"Probably!"

"Oh, man," Futaba laughed. "That’s hardcore!"

"That explains why she was so insistent that the set pieces were placed in the exact same spot every time," Mahiru realized. Futaba started laughing harder.

"And why she ran right into the stairs when we moved them 2 inches forward!"

"What a loser," Kaoruko said.

"No, I’d say that’s very impressive," Maya said

"Don’t tell me," Claudine guessed, "you’re going to start practicing with a blindfold now, aren’t you."

"I was thinking about it."

"Oh my god."

“Oh?” Kaoruko asked. “I thought you’d be into blindfolded practice, Kuro-han.”

“Kaoruko, I’m going to push you off this raft soon.”

“Um, Daiba-san,” Maya said, back on shore. “Are you busy?”

“Hmm?” Nana looked up from her frogs. The village had grown in the fifteen minutes Maya had been gone, and now included a little driftwood castle. As best as Maya could tell, Nana was roleplaying a princess rescue, one frog trapped high up on the castle with a little grass crown, the other hopping along the ground and fighting the guards with its little grass sword.

Maya had no idea how to react to this scenario. She’d rather go back to the raft and learn about baseball. “We were… thinking of cooking soon. Did you want to help?”

“Oh! Of course!” Nana put down the seven frogs she was holding and tapped them on their heads. “Be safe now, okay?” Maya breathed a sigh of relief, leading Nana back to the grill.

“Were you able to catch a lot fish?” Nana asked.

“Somehow we managed.”

“Great!” Nana inspected the bucket, letting the smallest ones go free and passing the larger ones to Maya. The two of them set about to cleaning and cooking the fish.

Back on the raft, Kaoruko was getting bored.

“Futaba-haaaaan,” she called out, rolling across the wood to where Futaba was sitting. “I’m done with fishing.”

“Have you even touched a fishing rod yet?”

“No. I’m a lesbian, I don’t do that.”

Futaba turned around to high five her. “If I let you sit in my lap, will you be patient?”

“Yes!” Kaoruko scooted over and gladly took up her favorite position, head resting on Futaba’s legs.

“Oh! Me too!” Karen said. She laid down in the middle of raft, head resting on Kaoruko’s stomach. “Ahh~ This is nice.”

Mahiru and Hikari looked at each other and shrugged, joining the pile, Mahiru in Karen’s lap and Hikari in hers. Claudine looked over at the cluster of people.

“Wow. We’re all just abandoning fishing now, are we?”

“Yeah,” Futaba said, setting her rod aside and falling backwards. She landed on Mahiru’s stomach, sharing the space with Hikari.

“Hmph. That’s fine. If there’s no one left in the competition, then I’m the automatic winner!” Claudine pulled in a medium sized fish and tossed it in the bucket.

“Nice one, Kuro,” Futaba said. “Where’d you learn to fish so well?”

“Oh, you know. Hey- Looks like Junna is finally coming back.”

“Is she… carrying a bunch of sticks?” Mahiru asked.

“Alright, I’m ready to fish,” Junna said as she reached the raft, pulling herself up. She was indeed carrying several sticks, each sharpened to a point, as well as a larger wooden creation.

“Did you… make yourself a bow?” Claudine asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes.” Junna dried the wood off with her shirt and tested the string, nodding proudly as it vibrated the way she wanted.

“But. How?”

“It’s not that hard. You just need a knife and the proper tree.”

“Junna, you’re a menace.”

“Are you going to shoot the fish?” Futaba asked, looking eager.

“Yes,” Junna answered again. The rest of the girls sat up, moving closer to watch Junna at work. Junna picked up one of her makeshift arrows and pulled the bowstring back. She’d have to be careful. Without feathers, the arrows would fly differently. There was refraction to take into account as well. That was fine. Junna had calculated harder angles. She spied her target, several feet below the surface, and let the arrow fly.

A fish floated to the surface.

“Incroyable!”

“That was amazing!”

“JunJun, you’re the best!”

“See?” Junna said, looking smug. “Who needs a fishing rod to fish?”

“Am I allowed to stab fish with a knife now?” Hikari asked Mahiru.

“No.”

Nana arrived a short while later, swimming over with Maya sitting gracefully on her back, carrying the tray of food. The smell reached the girls well before the food did, their stomachs growling. Pretending to fish all day was hungry work.

“Dinner time!” Nana called. “I’ve got nine hot plates of Banana Grilled Fish!”

“Yeah!” the group shouted, rushing to take their share. It was delicious, as was everything Nana cooked

“Mm, Banana, you’re the best,” Futaba mumbled around a mouthful of fish.

“Did you bring one of your frogs with you?” Junna asked, spying a patch of green on top of Nana’s head.

“Yes! I didn’t want Anne to be lonely.”

“What happened to Shakespeare?”

“She ate him.”

“...Ah.”

Claudine frowned at the pair. “Do I want to know what you two are talking about?”

“No,” Maya answered, thinking of the frog village, “you don’t.”

“Hey, JunJun! Who won the fishing contest?”

“Me, right?” Futaba asked. “My first one was pretty big.”

Junna flipped through her notebook, scanning through the numbers. “I won.”

“What?”

“I won.”

“You only caught two fish!” Claudine protested. “And you shot those with arrows!”

“And I aimed well!”

“Congrats, Junna-chan!” Nana gave a big smile.

“Yeah, congrats,” Claudine said, making eye contact with Karen. “And you know what they say: the winner is the sacrifice.”

“What?”

“I’m on it!”

“Karen!”

Karen tackled Junna right off the edge. They landed with a loud splash, quickly sinking below the surface as Junna tried desperately to fight off Karen. None of the girls reacted.

“Sacrifice?” Nana asked.

“Oh, you know,” Claudine answered.

[10000badframes]

Why I Left Music

To understand why I left music, you've got to start with why and how I got into music.

When I was little, I was deaf, and when my hearing was restored, it came back in stages. I would listen, rapt, to a My First Symphony tape as the sections of the orchestra were introduced one by one, and as time went on, each became more intelligible. High pitches were easier to discern, so the flute stood out like a beam of light in the darkness. What's more, I was surrounded by music on a daily basis. My dad is a wildly creative and intuitive musician, proficient on a number of instruments, my mother and brother sang beautifully, and my sister had been singing and playing violin from an early age. We sang as a family at home and at church, and I was in choir and handbell choir from my earliest memories on. I don't remember not being able to read music.   I started with piano, and moved to flute once my arms were long enough for the starter headjoint, in about fourth grade. My first teacher was the principle flute player with the Rochester Philharmonic, and when I moved to Iowa, I learned from the principal of the Des Moines Symphony. Both teachers made the smart move of throwing repertoire at me which was much more advanced than the usual stuff at my level, and because I didn't know it was supposed to be hard, I rocketed forward at a feverish pace. I continued with choir and handbell choir, and as my skill became more evident, I added youth orchestra, honor band, and pit orchestras, and that was just after school. During school I was in marching band, concert band, jazz band, and orchestra. I attended elite months-long summer camps for the nation's best young musicians. I competed regularly, and at one point was considered to be one of the top three musicians in my age bracket in the country. My first tattoo was of a treble clef. As a shy child in a talented family, I was pleased to have found my talent, the thing I didn't have to work very hard at in order to achieve great things. I rested my self-confidence on that talent, and when opportunities came up to show it off, I didn't turn them down. Nobody forced me to do any of the activities above; it came with a built-in social life and plentiful affirmation, so I almost never paused to think about whether or not this was something I actually wanted to do forever. It was simply assumed, as inherent a fact of life as the sunrise.   I probably should have known it wasn't for me when practicing was boring; almost unbearable. I heard about people enjoying practicing, and assumed that they were lying in order to look good. I would avoid it however I could, and did pretty well regardless. I loved ensemble work because I loved music, but listening to myself for hours on end, however good the result was, was miserable. At the worst of times, I assumed that my hatred of practicing meant that I was lazy and undisciplined, inherently a bad artist, and probably a bad person. I heard talk about 'flow state,' and how it made the time fly. Having never achieved it, I assumed that it was a lie. Since I'd specialized to such a high degree, music was the only course to follow in college. The culture surrounding classical music then became much more evident, divorced as it was from my little Midwestern fishbowl. I learned about the way I was expected to present my gender, and was pressured by my teacher to grow out my pixie cut out of concern that I wasn't feminine enough to be a flute player. I learned about the ingrained gender divide, and how child-bearing was considered the knell of doom for female musicians. I learned that I was one of thousands of young musicians all competing for the same handful of jobs, which could wait for perfection to walk through the door as the market was so flooded. I learned that blind auditions don't mask your gender if the judges can hear you inhale. Most depressing of all, I learned that my chances of getting an orchestral job - the only thing which I enjoyed about being a musician - were so small as to be statistically impossible. I would have to join the military, become a teacher, or quit. At first, I quit. Two years into my bachelor's degree at a prestigious school, I quit, leaving my family and community reeling in shock. They had all invested faith, time, and money in my dream of being a musician, and I had thrown it away. To them, it appeared to be an impulsive, flaky, and selfish decision to make, flying in the face of every opportunity I'd been given. To me, I was trying to stand up for myself. I was lost, depressed, occasionally suicidal, and suffering from ulcers. I was still battling the notion that I was lazy and undisciplined, and now everyone I knew saw me in the worst possible light. I leaned into my new failure status, and piled bad choices on top of bad choices, embarrassing myself and my family. Years later, when I had leveled out somewhat and come to terms with the fact that I needed a bachelor's degree in order to be taken seriously on the job market, I wanted to do anything except for music. I enrolled in a community college and took math, science, and art courses, the latter having been a hobby of mine since I was young. I'd been drawing cartoons to put in my boyfriend's lunch for years, and in my drawing and painting classes, I honed the skill. When the time came to transfer my credits to the state college, the majority of my post-high school credits were in art and music. I applied at the state's art school, and was turned down. My financial reality became clear; in order to get a bachelor's degree in under three years, the majority of my transferrable credits were in music, so to music I had to return. I was accepted at the music school, and went back to rehearsals, practicing, and competing. It was much the same as the last time, in ways both good and bad, with the notable difference that this time I was resigned to the impossibility of it all. Whenever people said they'd had a satisfying practice session, I lied through my teeth and said I had, too. I incurred my debt, got my degree, and left with zero intention of pursuing a master's, surfing a new wave of disappointment from teachers and my community alike. The shambling zombie of my career ambitions followed me when I moved to New York City due to my husband's job, and I paid hundreds of dollars for lessons from eminent professionals at Juilliard and the New York Philharmonic. I took masterclasses, invested in new equipment, and auditioned. Nothing substantial ever came from it, as the statistics had foretold. I watched my classmates move into the military and teaching, with a lucky few going on to teach at the collegiate level, and even fewer achieving a performance career. I practiced, and hated every minute. Then, at my breaking point, I watched Monsters University. It's such a weird way to switch gears. People took a number of things away from their experience of MU; mine was the message that you can be amazing at something and still never hope to make a career of it. What you have to do when you've faced up to that truth is to find what you loved about the career you thought you were going to have and apply it somewhere else. Adapt. Something better might be waiting. I thought about how live music is being replaced with synthesized music and orchestras are dying across the nation. I looked at my dusty art portfolio. There were dozens of animators in that credits sequence after MU, I thought. There are two flutes in every orchestra. The next day, I sat down with my husband at lunch, and said, "let's move to California. I want to be a 3D animator." This was surprising coming from me; I'd only ever reluctantly taken to digital media, and barely knew how to use Photoshop. My reasoning was that if I wanted to be at the forefront of a growing industry, and if I re-trained in animation, I would have a better chance of getting work than I had now (there was nowhere to go but up in that respect.) There would be more opportunities for both of us out in California, where his company had a major office, and where several prominent studios were housed. He agreed immediately, and got me The Illusion of Life for my 29th birthday. Maya is a hell of a tough program at the best of times. It has a mind of its own, and even when everything is running smoothly, you have to contend with such gauntlets as the graph editor (a mathematical representation of motion over time.) You know what you want the characters to do, but you have to use this thorny, labyrinthine program to do it, and I've cried many tears of frustration over it. You are responsible for every single movement, every blink, every shrug, every breath. It is dizzyingly easy to mess up, and impossibly, sixteen-dimensionally complicated. And yet. Flow state, that thing I thought was a lie? I found it. It was about six months in, while I was still wrestling with the program. I was grappling with the reality that I'm not naturally good at this, that my talent lies elsewhere, and any progress I make in this quarter will come from elbow grease alone. I was making adjustments to a scene, and realized that four hours had passed unnoticed. I felt energized and satisfied. I craved more. At thirty, I found out that I wasn't lazy and undisciplined, that I didn't hate hard work, that I wasn't a terrible person - I was just very, very good at something I didn't truly want to do. Now, I struggle and weep and sink weeks and months into seconds worth of footage, and I love it. Wild horses couldn't keep me away.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Worst Case

Read it on AO3

Chapter 3

"Don't try to concentrate on this thing, try to concentrate on your own arm."

Bucky groaned. The 'thing' Tony was talking about was a makeshift robotic hand propped up in front of Bucky. It was a simplistic model, reminding Bucky of the wooden articulated hand Steve once had for drawing references that was probably long lost to the ether. Except this hand had all kinds of cables connecting it to the machine and looked like it came straight out of a science fiction movie that Tony had 'just thrown together' last night.

The task was to move any digit on the hand. Simple really.

"What do you think I am doing?"

"Not that, because then it would be working, you're thinking too complicated and if you keep staring at it like you can move it via the Force it's never going to work."

Bucky gave up and leaned back in the chair, it's been over half an hour and he hadn't been able to move the thing, not a single millimeter. If it wasn't for Tony's constant reassurance Bucky would have despaired a long time ago.

"How about we take a break, order some Thai and we'll try it later again? Come on, I'll disconnect you." Tony rolled over with his chair and put a comforting hand on Bucky's thigh.

"No. Let me try again, please, Tony. I can do it."

"I know you can, Buckeroo, but you don't have to do it on the first try. Don't overexert yourself."

"Please let me do this, Tony. I need to do it. You've done all the work so far, let me get my part right." Bucky looked at Tony imploringly. "Please."

(More after the break!)

Tony gave Bucky's thigh a light squeeze and nodded. "Alright, but we have to do a break at some point or Pepper is going to have my ass."

"Wouldn't want anything to happen to that piece of art, would we?" Bucky pointed out, being dead serious.

"Have you been checking out my behind, Mr. Barnes? I am shocked!" Tony gasped overly fake and put a hand over his heart.

Bucky shrugged then grinned mischievously. "I'd like to do more than just checking out if you know what I mean." He made a grabbing motion with his hand and wiggled his fingers suggestively and a sudden noise made them both perk up. "What was that?" Bucky asked. It had sounded mechanical.

Tony scooted over to the mechanical hand on the table, suddenly excited. "Do it again." He gestured at Bucky to hurry up.

"What? You don't think that thing just moved, do you? I didn't even think about it."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just do it, exactly what you just did." He grabbed the table with both hands and stared at the hand like he was the one trying to move it with just his thoughts.

Bucky opened and closed his right hand a couple of times and nothing happened.

"No, not like that. Exactly what you just did, no thinking, just doing."

Bucky wanted to protest again but seeing Tony's serious face made him relent, he had wanted to try again after all. He closed his eyes.

No thinking. He blended out the hand on the table and thought back to the moment when he had been teasing Tony. Just a spontaneous movement.

"Don't think, Buckeroo." Tony's voice smoothed away the last doubts in Bucky's mind.

No thinking...

Bucky lifted his right hand and -

The mechanical hand on the table whirred to life at the same time as he closed his right hand. Bucky's eyes shot open and the first thing he saw was Tony's bright and winning smile as he presented a half-closed hand on the table.

"You did it, Sunshine! You did it!"

"I did it! Oh my god... It worked!"

Bucky fought back tears. He couldn't believe it. All the hard work over the last months had finally paid off, he had done it. He wasn't a failure. He had done it, he would get a prosthesis with Tony's help. He would get back his left arm. The realization hit him hard and he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He buried his face in his hand and sobbed with joy.

He had done it!

Tony walked over and stroked his back in comfort. Bucky grabbed for something to hold onto, getting a hold of Tony's shirt after a few tries and buried his face against Tony's chest.

"Thank you, Tony, thank you!"

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him. "That was all you, Bucky, you alone."

They stayed like that for several minutes until Bucky was able to control his tears and looked up again, a big smile on his face.

Tony ruffled his hair. "I can't believe lewd thoughts about my butt made you finally do it."

Bucky's cheeks flushed deep red and he buried his face in his hand. "Oh god, don't put that in my file or anything. I swear I was just joking."

Tony winked. "No worries, your secret is safe with me."

They ordered in after that and used the waiting time for some practice. After the initial breakthrough, it was easy for Bucky to recall the sensations for moving the metal hand and it came to him easier and easier. After only five minutes he could open and close the hand without much problem, albeit still somewhat jerky, though Tony assured him that would go away with time and with an upgraded hand. The basic model didn't have as many options for moving it and in the coming weeks they would move on to more advanced models with finer motor control and a bigger range of movements until finally, Bucky would be able to move the whole arm without a problem.

The next couple of days Bucky continued to practice with the hand while Tony made adjustments to it. He continued to configure the apparatus that was translating Bucky's nerve signals to the hand until he was satisfied with Bucky's abilities to control it. Their progress was eventually halted when the basic hand was just not good enough anymore and Tony needed a few days to build a new model. They advanced slowly as Tony didn't want to overtax Bucky or his nerves with too much stimulus at once. Bucky was the first to test out the technology and he had no gauge on how fast the severed nerves would recuperate and heal with this method.

Bucky savored every minute he could practice with the model of the arm and be with Tony. Tony's flirting game was as strong as ever, stronger maybe now that Bucky's confidence grew with each week of progress and he finally reciprocated the advances. Bucky opened up more and more and they laughed, bantered, flirted every day. Tony even went so far to send him pictures of the new arm during the days they didn't meet up.

-----

James (6:18 pm) "I think I'm in love."

Nat (6:19 pm) "You only realize that now?"

James (6:19 pm) "...." "I'm going to ask him out" "After this is done"

Nat (6:20 pm) "Why not ask him right now?"

James (6:21 pm) "I'm technically still his patient" "Would be weird"

-------

Bucky knew the end of the program was nearing when one day during a normal practice session - he was doing bicep curls with the propped up arm on the table - a young black woman came into their room and Tony introduced her as one of the top prothesis technicians who was going to model the shoulder socket for his arm. She took rigorous measurements of his upper torso and finally made a mold of his shoulder with a white gooey substance that she then covered in plaster strips for stabilization.

After she left again Tony turned to him with a grin. "Guess it's time to schedule the surgery."

"Surgery?" Bucky's eyes went wide, there had never been any talk about surgery, he hadn't agreed to that. Flashes of hospital lights flying overhead crowded his vision, doctors yelling and his own screams filled his ears and he suddenly doubled over, pain shooting through his left side. Tony's hands were on him in an instant and held him up.

"Breath, Bucky, come on buddy, breath!" Tony's voice broke through the noise in Bucky's ears and he gasped for air. His breathing was ragged as his eyes started to focus again and Tony's concerned face came into view.

"Flashback?" Tony asked softly, not letting go of him.

Bucky nodded jerkily. "No surgery. I can't..."

"I should have specified. It's nothing that you have to go under for." Tony explained. "It's local anesthetic, we can do it right here, no operation theater."

That made Bucky glance up, he might be able to deal with that. Tony continued when Bucky nodded to affirm him that it wouldn't trigger him further.

"It's to install implants just under your skin, it's a few small cuts on your shoulder, not worse than getting a piercing. Maybe even less so, since the area will be numbed."

"What are the implants for?"

Tony smiled. "They're basically these things." He poked one of the electrodes glued to Bucky's shoulder. "Except you won't have to worry about gluing them on every time you want to use your prosthesis."

Bucky nodded, he had gotten his breathing under control again and sat back up in the chair. Tony pulled back when he didn't need the support anymore and Bucky instantly wished he hadn't done that. "Are you going to do it?"

Tony shook his head. "No, but I'll be there with you if you want me too."

A week later when the technician had finished the socket and the final position of the implants was determined, Tony sat with Bucky and held his hand. The doctor who had first examined Bucky months ago was doing the procedure and Bucky wondered why Tony wasn't doing it. It would have put him more at ease, but with Tony at his side, he was mostly calm while the doctor was working on his shoulder.

The implants were small flat discs not bigger than a penny and the whole procedure didn't take longer than half an hour, the doctor prescribed him some painkillers for when the numbing wore off and then it was over. Bucky had to take a two-week break until he was fully healed, which put him in a foul mood for most of it. The only good thing that came from being forced to sit idly was that Tony would be able to finish his prosthesis and the next time he came in he would be practicing with the arm actually attached to him instead of it sitting on a table. It always made Bucky feel like his arm was somehow 2 meters long when he watched it move on the table, even if he couldn't feel it. It would make everything worth it and Bucky couldn't wait to properly ask Tony out.