#pardon my poor punctuation

[thegreatarlecchina]

Thank you all for waiting so patiently on my latest Star Palace Fanfic! So without further ado pleas enjoy…

Making Friends!

The workday was finally over and Y/n let out a sigh of relief as the last customers filed out of the building. Today had been good all things considered, but their social battery was thoroughly depleted. Y/n wasn’t necessarily an antisocial person, but hours of nonstop interaction was just plain tiring. Their cheeks practically ached from smiling for so long. Why had they even taken a customer service position in the first place!? Their phone buzzed in their pocket, *Reminder: Feed Pagliacci*. Oh yeah that’s why. They couldn’t wait to get home to their little fluffball, that cat was more goofy than all the clowns they worked with put together. Once they got out of here they could finally curl up, snuggle their furry friend and- “Y/n wait up!” A familiar voice called just as Y/n was about to clock out. “Heeeey Wesley…” Y/n strained, trying not to sound as unpleasant as they felt. The boy quickly took note of their demeanor before shrinking back just a bit. “I know you're about to clock out, and it’s totally ok if you say no! But I um… need a favor.” The boy explained, clearly desperate. Y/n liked Wesley, they really did! But the poor kid always seemed to be getting in his own way. It was clear that he wanted to be useful (oh how he wanted it), but he hadn’t quite gotten his bearings yet. It didn’t help that the women who should have been mentoring him only did the bare minimum of what it took to keep her job. “Y/n?” He prodded, breaking them from their daze once more. “Oh! Yeah, uh what do you need bud?” They inquired, they were going to help him regardless (they couldn’t not help the poor kid) but they wanted to prepare themselves if it was anything like the Taki incident. “It’s about the bots…” he trailed. “Please don’t be Fairy! Please don’t be Fairy!” They thought to themselves. It’s not that they didn’t enjoy their time with Fairy Floss, but her overbearing peppiness was just one more thing they didn’t want to deal with right now. At least Zavy could read the room, but even he was quite the chatterbox. God forbid the two were together. Those two could prattle on for hours… “It’s Mirage,” the ginger revealed, “they had a bit of a conflict earlier today and they said they needed to recharge but it's been hours. Doc was supposed to look them over but she clocked out early…” Oh! Now it made sense, Wesley hated going into Mirage's room. Most everyone was creeped out by the whey faced robot but Wesley seemed genuinely frightened of the bot for reasons Y/n couldn’t quite grasp. “They don’t bite ya’know.” Y/n chuckled as they made their way down the hall. Wesley, taking this as a yes, followed them. “I know! It’s just…. I tried to go in their earlier and they were just sitting there arguing with their puppets and they-” Wesley said hastily attempting to justify the aversion before realizing how stupid he probably sounded “I’m sorry…” the Ginger began to apologize as they approached their destination. “Don’t worry about it dude! I’m just yankin your chains!” They reassured, “I’ll be fine, it shouldn’t take to long anyway.” Finally, the two stood outside the maroon door, Wesley fidgeting with his tool bag. “I can take it from here buddy.” Y/n prompted, seeming to catch Wesley somewhat by surprise. “Are you sure? We could go together since I have more ummm mechanical training.” He offered. “Nah it’s okay,” Y/n responded shaking their head, “besides if it is a tech problem I’ll call it in and y’all can fix it tomorrow.” The carrot top’s expression relaxed as he huffed out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he sighed “for real!” And with that the boy was off.

“Okay theeen..?” Y/n turned to face the wine colored door, decorated with flourishing gold calligraphy befitting of the thespian inside. They knocked, once, twice, thrice. “Hello? Mirage?” They spoke, hoping for a “Come in!” Or “It’s open!” But alas, nothing. “It’s Y/n,” they prefaced as they opened the door“I’m coming in.” Unlocked. The door was unlocked, or rather, it never had a lock to begin with. It was something so small, but so sad.

They felt guilty entering the dimly lit room. It was one more loss of agency, one more way to dehumanize the bots who weren’t given that much autonomy to begin with. They were so smart, so human, they at least deserved some personal space. (Although some of them seemed to prefer the personal space of others more enticing) As Y/n walked around the claret colored room, they couldn’t help but notice the array of puppets in various stages of completion. The smell of wood varnish filled the air, as they scanned the room for the elusive puppeteer. Suddenly several muffled voices caught their attention. They seemed to be coming from a large wooden chest in the corner to the room. Y/n began to approach the mysterious chest before a hand on their shoulder abruptly cut them off. “What are you doing here?!” Demanded the high pitched voice. With a loud yelp, Y/n jumped, stumbling backwards. Despite the anger in their tone, the bot had the same ever-present smile plastered on their face. “Jesus Christ dude!” Y/n spat, slowly gaining their bearings “You almost gave me a heart attack!” How the heck were they so quiet? Where were they hiding? Why hadn’t they announced themselves? Question after question swam through the employee’s head as Mirage continued to glare down at them, unwavering. “Why are you in my room?” They practically growled, okay now they understood why Wesley has such severe trepidations. “Woah man!” They shot back, throwing their hands up as if admitting defeat, “I was just coming in to check on you!” Before Mirage could respond a sassy little huff could be heard from across the room. “It’s about time someone did!” Piped a soft feminine voice. “Wha- Ery!” Protested a very frustrated Mirage, who had turned around to face what appeared to be an intricately carved wooden marionette.

The puppet was sitting on a dark velveteen cushion that had been placed on a chair, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Y/n vaguely recalled seeing her before, as Mirage often carried her around the building as a sort of comfort item. “You’ll have to excuse them dear,” the puppet apologized , “they’ve been in poor humor all day.” Y/n couldn’t help but chuckle at the little lady’s comment. (Earning them a killer side eye from the animatronic before them) The way she spoke was akin to that of a mother apologizing for her grumpy child who had missed their nap. “Well thank you for your concern, but I can assure you that Im just fine! Now if you’ll excuse us-” insisted the pale faced bot wasting no time attempting to shoo Y/n out of their room, much to Y/n’s annoyance, “We were quite busy before you arrived unannounced so goodbye and good day!” “Now hold on just one minute!” Y/n sassed, spinning to face the bot, “First of all I did not come in unannounced, I knocked!” “Thrice my love.” Added the puppet. “Thank you madam! Secondly I don’t wanna be here either!” Y/n continued as the puppet master began steadily backing up, seeking comfort in their beloved Ery. “Listen, since neither of us wanna deal with each other right now, why don’t we just get this over with. I’ll make it as quick as possible and we can both have some alone time.” They offered. Mirages head gave a odd little twitch as they mulled over the proposition. “That….that’s fair I suppose.” They sighed, picking up both Ery and her cushion before making their way over to their woodworking table, sitting themselves and the puppet down. “May I?” Y/n asked pointing at a free spot at the table. “It seems you’ve already decided.” Mirage grumbled. “Oh hush, you!” Ery chastised as Y/n took a seat, “Though I must ask darling, why is it you’ve come to visit us? I do admit not many people chose our company. Although I haven’t an inkling why.” The puppet remarked, nodding subtly toward Mirage, who in return gave a huffy little noise. Oh Y/n was gonna get along with her just fine.

“Wesley told me something happened today.” At this the twitching returned and the bot grew visibly nervous, beginning to stress stimm with their gloves. “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble!”

They attempted to no avail, “At least I don’t think you are….Anyway! He said you needed to recharge for a while but didn’t come out, so he was worried you weren’t charging properly.” Mirage looked down, then at Y/n before deadpanning “If he was so concerned why didn’t he come to me himself?” At this Y/n started to respond before stopping. What were they supposed to say? Y/n didn’t know Mirage very well (not that any of the employees did) but stating the obvious would hurt their feelings wouldn’t it? Sure they were more reclusive than the other two, but no one wanted to be told they were undesirable. No matter what Mirage might have wanted them to think Y/n figured they weren’t as threatening as they were made out to be. But on the other hand Mirage would know if they were lying to spare their feelings and that could be worse. “Oh you know how the poor boy is, scared of his own shadow.” Ery commented before Y/n could hesitate for too long.

They awkwardly chuckled in agreement before looking at Mirage who had looked askance. “I did recharge, earlier this morning.” They admitted, picking up Ery from her own chair and placing her on their lap. “You see dear, my love had to save me from some unsavory rapscallions. I thought it was quite romantic really.” She regaled, Mirage flustered at her flattery “But the woman in the coat didn’t share my sentiment I’m afraid. We were both a bit shaken up after that and well the others… weren’t helping.” As if on cue the muffled voices from before piped up again. “So those are the other puppets in there?” Y/n queried, motioning toward the chest from earlier. “They were being unpleasant, so we put them in a time out.” Ery said. At this the voices seemed to get angrier which prompted a response from their master, “Quiet, you lot!” The bot scolded, causing the voices to die down.

“So you just wanted a break?” Y/n inquired. Mirage gave a shy nod in response. They seemed less volatile now, but more nervous than before. As if hey we’re expecting to be punished simply for wanting some personal time. “Oh… I’m sorry that happened to you. Teenagers suck.” They comforted, “I won't tell Doc, and as agreed I’ll leave you be.” They stood up from the table making their way toward the door.

Wait, just like that? No grilling them for details? No snide remarks? No scolding them for missing work? “Wait!” The tall being beckoned jumping up from their seat, “You're leaving?” Y/n looked back at the jester quizzically. “Yesss? Did you want me to stay?” Mirage hesitated, why did they call to them? They did want them to leave, didn’t they? “It’s just that….You’re not upset with me? Really?” They inquired clutching their beloved Ery close to their chest. “Of course not!” Y/n snapped, “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be as snippy as I was, and I wasn’t even thinking that you might be just as tired as I was.” An odd warmth crept over the bot’s sensors. Sorry? Nobody had ever apologized to them before. “I’m not mad at you for wanting to take a break dude, I just wanted to make sure you were okay! Besides,” they leaned in, “If doc wants to bitch about it so bad I’ll just remind her caffeinated ass how often she’s outside puffing like a freight train instead of doing her job.” Ery nodded enthusiastically at this statement.

Mirage was dumbstruck. They felt…validated. Like for the first time someone was in their corner. (Other than Ery of course) Somebody who didn’t make them feel like they were crazy just for standing up for themselves. “Would you…perhaps like to see what I’ve been working on?” The bot asked cautiously, much to Y/n’s surprise. “Umm sure?” They answered their gaze following Mirage to a wooden drawer on their wood working table. The animatronic opened it to reveal an array of brightly colored yarn and thread, with some wooden beads rolling around, helter skelter. But that wasn’t all, as their gloves reached into the drawer to reveal a darling woolen doll. It was simple, for a head a wooden bead with a face painted on and thick jute for arms and legs, but the real craftsmanship was in the clothes. The dolly dawned golden hair made of embroidery thread and tied back in a bun. She also sported a white gown made from yarn and finished with a blue sash of satin ribbon. “Oh Mirage, She’s beautiful!” They breathed in awe. “If you like her so much, we can show you how to make one dear!” Ery prompted, giving Mirages sleeve a little tug. “Would you?” Said the star struck Y/n turning to the bot. “I suppose we could- Since Ery wants to of course!” They retorted. It seemed odd having someone besides their puppets in the workshop, but not as unpleasant as they expected. It felt…good to be wanted. And so Mirage spent the rest of the afternoon doing something they never thought they would enjoy….making friends.

[writingprincessblog]

Hey guys! So, this is the next part of the story "Her Guilty Conscience". I would suggest to read the previous parts before reading this. Also, pls share your opinion about this story. Hope that you all enjoy the story and pls pardon my errors. Happy Reading!

Her Guilty Conscience - Pt 2

Flashbacks :

The house buzzed with laughter and chatter. The table was alive with jokes and laughter, the clinking of cutlery punctuating the siblings’ playful arguments.

“And you know, Dad, she didn’t even notice that the teacher was standing just behind her, watching her doodle his caricature! Oh! You should have seen her face. HAHAHA!” The young girl laughed as she recounted a funny incident that she had encountered at college.

Her father chortled as he finally rose from the table, finishing his meal. He walked over to the couch to grab his bag as his wife hastened to bring his coat.

“Try to come home early, honey,” she said to her husband as she fixed his shirt. “Don’t forget Margaret is coming over this evening.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will… try. Anyway, it’s not like she is coming because she missed us,” the man replied sourly. “She will be here just to remind us about the 'rights' she and her family have on this house.”

“Oh, honey, she is your cousin—”

“Well, I have enemies better than her. Let’s just drop this topic. And yes, before she arrives, tell Lucas and Audrey to clean their rooms.”

He picked up his watch, smiled at his wife, and cast a final glance at the children, who were currently squabbling over the last piece of pie.

“Little tykes,” he muttered as he stepped out the door to start yet another hectic day at the office.

“Bye, Joy. See you tomorrow.”

The young girl walked down the lane after parting ways with her friend. She skipped her way to the bus stop where her brother was already engrossed in a book. She ran up to him and playfully smacked his head. Startled, he looked up with a frown.

“Audrey, just because you’re older doesn’t mean you can abuse me whenever you feel like it!” he cutely complained.

She gasped. “Abuse? Man, it’s just my style of greeting. Come on! Stop grumbling like an ancient grandpa.”

Just as Lucas opened his mouth to retort, the bus rumbled to a stop. Audrey’s laughter bubbled up as she grabbed his hand and tugged him onto the bus, her energy infectious despite his scowl.

“How was your day?”

“Great, but the teacher set yet another test for next week.”

“Oh? So that’s the reason behind your salty mood? Well, doughnut worry! I have full faith in my little brother. You will definitely pass with the highest marks.”

“Enough with the flattering. By the way, how were your tryouts?”

“Great! I got in! I managed to save most of the punches and landed a few hard hits on my opponent. The poor girl had to be rushed to the medical room. Anyway, the coach was very pleased with my performance.”

“Good to hear that. But you should do something about that black eye and swollen lips before Mom sees your clown face and faints from your 'exquisite beauty.'”

“Why, you punk. Come here. Let me break some of your teeth and add a natural blush to those cheeks—”

Their playful banter continued throughout the ride as they shared gossip and secrets. They had a precious bond where neither could survive without the other. They were friends who fought, taunted, comforted, and laughed together. They had each other’s backs and were possessive of one another.

Audrey was 19, and Lucas was 16. Lucas was a bookworm, while Audrey was more of a sports enthusiast. Recently, she had taken an interest in boxing and joined the club. Despite juggling her changing interests, she managed to maintain good grades to avoid complaints from her teachers and parents. On the other hand, Lucas was the top student in his class with sky high marks on every test and exam. Though he appeared meek, his tall stature and cold stare were enough to intimidate anyone.

After a 15-minute ride, they finally reached home. But as they neared their house, they were surprised to find a gathering nearby. Curious, the two teenagers approached the crowd to find their neighbours gathered around Mrs. Thomson, a kind old lady from the other part of town who was a good friend of their parents and whom they warmly called "Aunt." She was crying hysterically, and when her eyes fell upon them, she threw herself on Audrey and sobbed uncontrollably. Audrey was taken aback; she tried to soothe the crying lady as she noticed the other people gathered giving them pitiful stares. What on earth was going on?

It was Lucas who voiced the question. “What’s the matter, Aunt? Why are you crying? And what’s going on?”

“Well, she brought some news. Very bad news,” one of the neighbors spoke up. “I can’t even believe it.”

“What? Wait, Aunt, come on. Let’s go inside. Mom will comfort you.” Audrey tried to guide her inside. “Dad will be on his way back in a few hours, too.”

“N-no!” Mrs. Thomson choked between her tears as she stood straight and stared at her and Lucas with her tear-stricken face. “They can’t help anymore because—

they are dead. They met with an accident two hours ago.”

The rain fell outside the window in a comforting silence, but it sharply contrasted with the storm raging in their minds. They soon learned that their father had unexpectedly come home during lunch when he should have been at the office. The neighbours recalled that he seemed to be in a state of panic as he rushed inside and soon came out with his wife and some of their belongings before hastily driving away—God knows where. Later on, it was discovered that they had met with a tragic accident where they both died on the spot.

Relatives arrived soon after the funeral, but their intentions were less than kind. They claimed the land and the house, coldly evicting the children. The siblings, overwhelmed by grief, were unaware of the property issues and too distraught to fight for their rightful share.

No house, no parents, no support, no hope. The kids sat on a bench in a park, huddled together to keep warm in the chilly wind. Out of compassion, Mrs. Thomson took them in. Though old, she did her best to provide for them.

Audrey was shocked by the whole ordeal. She cried day and night for months. Her constant smile was long gone, replaced by the shadow of helplessness and sorrow. She was nowhere near the young, cheerful girl she had been years ago. On the other hand, Lucas was no better. While Audrey slipped into the darkness of depression, he remained in a state of denial. He would wait for hours in the drawing room or at the door for their parents to arrive with apologetic smiles on their faces, making different excuses for their sudden absence. But deep down, he knew that they were long gone to a place from which they couldn’t return.

It was only due to the love and care provided by Mrs. Thomson that the two children were able to move forward. Slowly, as time progressed, both of them accepted the inevitable and moved on with their lives.

Mrs. Thomson soon faced difficulties in taking care of the new family. The parents had saved quite a sum, but it was nowhere near enough to suffice their day-to-day needs—the household necessities, Lucas’s school fees, Audrey’s college fees, etc. As the money dwindled, the household’s struggles became evident. The old lady tried to keep the fact hidden from the poor kids by using the meager pension she received every month to cover expenses. However, the difficulties were already noticed by the siblings. They decided to help the kind lady who had become their guardian during their worst.

“We should find some ways to help her out. She is already old, and her health is failing. How about we get some part-time jobs to scrape together some extra cash?” Lucas suggested as he paced up and down the small room that they shared in the little cottage.

Audrey, who seemed to be deep in thought, stirred and, glancing at her brother, cautiously spoke, “Well, I had been thinking about a solution. I do have one. But.........I don’t think you would like it.”

“Oh, yeah? Try me.”

“Well, Joy mentioned a new club on the next street. She said that, along with the bar, there is also some kind of arena for fights. Many people come to bet their money and—”

“Wait, wait, don’t continue. I see where this is going. Look, Audrey, I know that you are physically fit and all, and also you are in that boxing club but this doesn’t mean that—”

He glanced at her, bewildered.

“That you would fight there…”

-Aurora

To Be Continued.........

[groundcontrol21]

Sicktember #19

Prompt #19: Whining/Crying

Fandom: Don Quixote. Yep, you read that right. The one by Miguel Cervantes. If there even is a fandom.

Title: Hour of Need 

Summary: A hero’s hero suffers a hero’s cold. Sancho Panza just suffers. 

Notes: Just had to do something with the OG Bastard and Long-Suffering Servant combo. Let this be a warning to all the long-dead classics writers out there: none of y’all’s stuff is safe from being snzified while I’m on the loose. 

Months into his chivalric journey, it is disheartening to report that Don Quixote became afflicted with a cold in the head. However, as to be expected, our noble hero continued on as though nothing were amiss, despite the coughing and sneezing nearly sending him off his horse. But as soon as the fever struck, mild though it was, his entire demeanor changed. The man took to his bed at the first inn they laid eyes on, staggering and insisting that Sancho Panza prop him up as he washed and quit himself of his armor, moaning the whole while like a special breed of dying animal. 

“Heh’TSHOO! Ahh’TSHOO!”

The man let his sputum decorate the air like fine dust motes on a sunbeam, and his manservant knew it was a matter of time before the ailment found its way to him as well. Still, Sancho Panza let whatever pity stirred in his chest for the poor, strange Don Quixote move him to fix plasters for his master’s chest and elixir’s for his congestion. Sancho pulled the covers to the man’s chin and tucked handkerchiefs around the pillow as the Man of La Mancha raved on, sore throat not in the least bit impeding him. In any other man, the ramblings might have been classed as feverish, but in our noble hero, it can be said they did not depart enough from the ordinary to warrant the designation. 

“What if someone has poisoned me?” Don Quixote mused with a thick sniffle. “Let us think, dear Sancho, for I am sure there are many who wish me dead. ‘Tis the fate of a righteous knight to make many enemies of those who do not walk in virtue.”

Sancho Panza stirred the tea which he was warming on the hearth and said mildly. “It would be a most ineffective poison to kill you by way of catarrh and mild fever, wouldn’t you say, sir?”

“Ah, but be my enemies many and desperate, I did not say they were all smart! What did you think of the shepherd near Toledo? Do you think he might have slipped a poison into your satchel and tampered with the meats as we passed?”

“Then I would be ill as well. It is all the more likely that you have caught the same cold suffered by the innkeeper’s daughter in Cobisa, whose table and cups you shared.”

Don Quixote coughed for the better part of his servant’s sensible rhetoric, and punctuated this contribution with a raucous sneeze. “Heh’ESHHH! Oh, my throat aches, as does every part of me.” A cloud passed, then, over Don Quixote’s countenance, and his eyes shot toward his squire for reassurance. “Could it be the plague? Oh, say you don’t think it so. Or the pox? Whichever of the two it may be, I will surely be with the Lord by nightfall.” If possible, he sunk deeper into the pillows, one long hand over his eyes, and beckoned for his squire with the other. “Come close, then, brave Sancho. Promise me you will avenge me to Dulcinea. Promise me that beloved Rocinante will come by no harm. Promise me… Come closer, my voice fails me already.”

At his Lord’s command, Sancho leaned his ear to Don Quixote’s lips, only to be rewarded with an abrupt and unrepentant sneeze for his efforts. “Hesshhh’uhh!” 

Sancho Panza jerked back upright, wiping the spittle from his cheek with a grimace. “My Lord,” he said, chewing the title through his teeth. “You will pardon me if I promise you no such thing, for I swear to you if you are not better by the morning next, then the morning after that shall find you in perfect health.” Whether the same could be said for him, that much the squire had cause to doubt. 

“Oh God!” Don Quixote cried as tears began to flow freely down his cheeks. “Is this to be my final test upon this earth? Forsaken by my own humble squire in the hour I need him most?”

At present, Sancho Panza did not trust his lips to adequately reassure the man, so he was silent as he bathed his fevered face with a wet cloth. Graciously, it did not take long until the knight was soothed to sleep, his wretched sobs giving way to deep snores, and it was then Sancho Panza was able to join him in sleep as well, ignoring the ache at the back of his own head as the cold hero and squire both seemed destined to share took root.

[absolutepokemontrash]

All Demons are Entitled to Vacation Time (Because The Devildom Isn’t a Dystopia)

Part One (you are here!) Part Two Masterlist

Genuine friends in the Devildom were hard to come by, and the human exchange student had noticed that the brothers had been working her new friend to death, so she decided that the poor bastard needed some time off. The brothers agreed, but come to notice that they may have become a tad dependent on their makeshift assistant’s help.

(Just a heads up, this fic features an OC and my personal MC, so the MC will be using she/her pronouns, if you’re uncomfortable with that, no harm no foul, see you next fic. Anyway, enjoy Paimon’s mental breakdown and the boys being jerks!)

“Do you need anything else, Lord Lucifer?”

“Yes Paimon, get me a coffee.”

“The usual?”

“Yes, and do hurry up, I have work to do.”

Paimon quickly nodded and scampered out of Lucifer’s office at RAD. Sure it was after school, and sure Paimon had other things to do, and sure, he needed to sleep, but when the seven rulers of hell declare you their assistant, you be their fucking assistant.

“Oi!” Paimon felt the back of his uniform get balled up and he braced himself to be thrown into the nearest locker. “Pipsqueak, I need help with my homework.”

“H-hi Lord Mammon, s-sure, when do you want-”

“Nah nah nah,” Mammon spun Paimon around to face him. “I need, ‘help’ with my homework.”

The purple haired demon winced as he rummaged around his backpack and pulled out the assignment that Mammon had neglected to do. “R-remember to change up some words so-”

“I know how to copy homework! I’m not some dunce!” Mammon not so nicely set Paimon free from his 80s movie bully shirt grab and walked off. He whistled some made up tune and sporadically grumbled about finding his missing human.

Cheating on assignments was punishable by hanging from one’s thumbs in the glorified torture chamber known as the detention hall. Paimon had never been down there due to the fact that the place was reserved for the worst troublemakers, but he was pretty sure Mammon was familiar with it. Why didn’t he learn..?

While entranced with his thoughts of torture and mayhem, (see, Paimon could be a demon sometimes) Paimon didn’t notice the Avatar of Envy peeking around the nearest corner and nearly ran right into him.

“S-sorry Lord Leviathan!” Paimon sputtered. Levi’s head swivelled to Paimon as he began to stutter out a reply.

“G-good! You’re here! Get rid of them!”

“Get rid of who..?” Paimon looked around the corner and noticed a group of students just milling about and chatting. “Oh, right away sir.”

This wasn’t the first time Paimon had to do traffic control for Leviathan, and it wouldn’t be his last. He made up some bullshit lie about the hall needing to be cleaned and the students grumbled and slowly filed out. Once the hall was clear, Levi brushed past Paimon without even so much as a thank-you. He mumbled something about sending normies to deal with normies and disappeared down the hall.

Next up on his trip to get Lucifer a coffee, he ran into Satan, thankfully, he didn’t literally run into him.

“Ah, Paimon, give these to Barbatos, last time I saw him he was in the colosseum with Lord Diavolo.” Satan, barely even looking at the poor demon, slapped a huge stack of papers into his arms and strode down the hallway like he didn’t have a care in the world. Shit, and Paimon still had to get Lucifer coffee…

“Ah, there you are Paimon dear,” Paimon needed to muster up all his willpower to not openly roll his eyes as he met the gaze of the cheery Avatar of Lust.

“Lord Asmodeus,” Paimon said blankly. “How may I help you?”

“Take these to Majolish after you’re done… whatever you’re doing. On the double, sil vou plait!” Asmo shoved a massive stack of fabric on top of the paperwork Paimon was holding, causing him to stumble back a bit. “And if any of those touch this disgusting floor, I will personally claw each of your little freckles off your face.”

“Yes sir…” Paimon barely suppressed a growl as Asmo sashayed away from what one could barely call a conversation. As much as Paimon wanted to throw both the fabric and the paperwork into the nearest trash can, Paimon knew that both things could be recycled, and he also valued his life and his freckles.

Maybe he could run to the colosseum on the way to getting Lucifer’s coffee, torture two traitors with one tool, or however the saying goes! Paimon picked up his pace, his vision almost completely obscured by the massive pile of fabric. Despite nearly tripping twice, he made it to the kitchen, started up the coffee maker, then ran to the colosseum to drop off the paperwork.

“Mr. Barbatos?” Paimon’s call for the butler’s attention was cut off by a growl that sent shivers down his spine. Right in the centre of the colosseum the Fangol team was getting into “oh fuck” formation. That could only mean one thing and one thing only… oh no… Lord Beelzebub was hungry… really hungry… who didn’t order snacks?!

“Dammit dammit dammit…” Paimon squeaked as he shifted the paperwork and fabric and rummaged through his bag for his lunch. If Beel didn’t get some sustenance quickly he’d wreck the entire school! “L-Lord Beelzebub?! D-D-Do you want my luh-lunch? Sir?”

Beel’s head swung around to the sound of Paimon’s voice and before he could blink, the Avatar of Gluttony was towering over him. Paimon gulped and held out his lunch bag, and Beel snatched it up and ate the entire thing whole. Well… Paimon needed to replace the lunch bag anyway… and he could always eat later. His stomach growled pitifully. He had made the mistake of skipping lunch…

“Mmm… more.” Beel said, Paimon was still shaking in his designer knockoff school shoes.

“S-sorry, I don’t have anything e-else but the cafeteria has leftovers I think…” Paimon squeaked, Beel nodded and lumbered off towards the cafeteria, his hunger tantrum momentarily halted. Paimon breathed a quick sigh of relief before he heard the sound of someone stirring from a nap next to him.

“Mmph…” Belphegor shot Paimon a glare that only those who just woke up from an hour long nap could. “What took you so long?”

“M-my apologies, Lord Belphegor.” Paimon adjusted his glasses and frowned. “Pardon, but do you know where Mr. Barbatos is?”

“The kitchen, he was making something for Beel.”

Paimon had… he just left the kitchen… damn it. Paimon nodded in thanks and rushed towards the kitchen. The coffee was done, the paperwork was delivered, the fabric hadn’t touched the ground, and Paimon was on his way to give Lucifer his stupid- I mean needed beverage.

He limply pushed open the door to Lucifer’s office with his shoulder and placed the coffee on his desk. Lucifer didn’t look up from his paperwork and raised an eyebrow. “I did say quickly, didn’t I?”

Paimon bit down on his lip, a tic developed under his left eye and he clenched his fists until he felt blood trickle from his palms. “S-sorry, Lord Lucifer. I’ll do better next time, sir.”

“You’re dismissed, Paimon.”

The moment those words left Lucifer’s lips, Paimon turned on his heel and walked right out of the office. He was done, so tired and… and so angry! He just wanted to relax, he just wanted to relax. Paimon’s feet led him to the concert hall. Ah, he was supposed to be the president of the school’s band, not the student council’s resident doormat. He could just call on his undead parade and play some music… that always kept him calm.

His thoughts of relaxation were brought to an abrupt halt the moment Paimon felt the sting of recent magic in the air around the hallway that led to the concert hall. Oh no, please tell him there wasn’t a fight near the concert hall, please tell him-

Two of his band members were in their true forms and hurling insults at each other. Phenex and Eurynome were standing in the midst of a completely destroyed concert hall, the instruments were scattered around the room, dented and completely broken… the two brawling demons paused when they noticed Paimon at the door.

“Prez! You won’t believe this shit! Someone vandalized our stuff, and Phenex’s accusing me!”

“Paimon! You hafta believe me! I walked in and Eury was-”

Their voices had become unintelligible background noise, Paimon’s eyes were glued to the destroyed instruments, his instruments… he felt his shoulders shake and his chest begin to tighten. Why… why!? Why him?! Why today?! Paimon dropped the fabric and his backpack onto the ground and slowly dug his partially bloodied palms into his hair. To his absolute horror, he felt tears threaten to spill from his eyes. Don’t cry- Don’t cry! He can’t cry!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHGHGGHHHHH!” Paimon let out a screech like a wounded animal, he felt his true form beg to be released so he could wreak absolute havoc on everyone and everything in a mile radius, but he yanked down on his hair and brought himself back to reality.

“Paimon?” The demon in question slowly turned, the human exchange student herself awkwardly stood a few feet behind him, seeming to not be sure exactly what to do. “Are… are you okay..?”

“Y-yes…” Paimon mumbled, his fists began to shake. “Th-thank you Ms. Himiko but I’m fi-”

Paimon’s voice broke and Himiko fixed the other two demons behind him with a glare that could probably kill a man. “YOU TWO. Clean this up right now!”

Before he could react, Himiko pulled Paimon into an empty classroom and slammed the door behind her. “Pai, what happened? Do you need to sit down?”

“Nuh-ne-no! I-I-if i suh-sit down I’ll fu-fall aslee-eep…” Paimon awkwardly hiccuped. Trying to talk through the lump in his throat was proving to be very difficult.

“Paimon… do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Himiko’s voice was oddly gentle, almost sisterly in a way as she sat Paimon down in one of the desks in the room. “I’m here to listen.”

“Thanks Ms. Himiko… sorry…” and with that, Paimon began to explain.

———————

“BOYS!”

The scream of rage was punctuated by the slamming of the front door of the House of Lamentation and the angry clicking of heels going towards the living room. Six of the seven rulers of hell sat dead straight in their chairs, geez this little human had really whipped them good.

“Stupid human! Let go of my ear-yeeeeeeOW! Sorry! Sorry! Have mercy, tiny overlord-” Mammon was dragged into the living room by the ear and shoved onto one of the couches. She let her glare rest on each and every one of the demons before she spoke again.

“So, Asmo,” Himiko turned to Asmo with a calm smile, but the Avatar of Lust was anything but calm. “You think you’re too good to deliver your own fabric to the place where you work?”

“Uh… what are you talking about Himi?”

“Paimon! You told him to deliver your fabric to Majolish!” Himiko then turned to Mammon, who was already looking for an opportune time to bolt to the exit. “Mammon! You took his homework to copy, didn’t you!?”

“I-uh-”

“Satan!” Himiko stamped her foot and swivelled to glare at the relatively calm Avatar of Wrath. “You can’t just dump your paperwork on him like that!”

“Himiko-”

“CRAM IT!” Satan’s mouth clamped shut and he levelled an absolutely murderous glare at the human, but remained seated. “Levi! What the hell’s the matter with you!? Did anyone ever teach you that it’s polite to say THANK YOU?!”

Levi awkwardly shifted in his seat and sputtered out a barely intelligible reply, but Himiko was already turning to Beel and Belphie.

“Belphie! Beel! What the fuck were you two on during Fangol practice?!” Belphie grumpily lifted his head from his pillow and Beel mumbled out an apology. “Beel! You cannot just throw your hunger tantrums whenever you don’t have food handy, I thought you had enough common sense to realize that the kitchen wasn’t that far from the colosseum! And Belphie! Why didn’t you pack snacks for Beel like you were supposed to!?”

“Himiko why the fuck are you so upset about-”

“Shut UP.” Belphie was in the same boat as Satan in a matter of nanoseconds, the Avatar of Sloth rolled his eyes and went back to resting his head on his pillow.

“And you, Lucifer, the eldest and best of the bunch.” Himiko’s words were laced with enough poison to take down a fully grown grizzly bear as she stared down Lucifer with a glare cold enough to snuff out a fire. “I have one question: would it kill you to show some appreciation to the people who help you? A thank you? An appreciative nod? Or is your head rammed so far up your own ass you’ve forgotten basic courtesy?”

In a blink of an eye Lucifer was standing in front of Himiko. He was a good foot taller than her even in his human form, but she looked right back up at him with zero fear.

“Care to repeat that, Himiko?” Lucifer’s words were as sharp as a razor, he narrowed his eyes when Himiko didn’t even flinch. “If I were you, I’d choose your next words very carefully.”

“Or what?” Himiko asked, tilting her head slightly. “You’re going to try and kill me again?”

The room went completely still. It was so silent that they could hear Cerberus rustling around in the Underground Tomb. No one said a word as Himiko casually smoothed down her skirt. “You know what they say, third times the charm. Are you going to listen to me or are you going to explain to Diavolo why I’m a bloody smear on the wall?”

Lucifer held her gaze for a few more seconds, until he sighed and sat back down, still not breaking eye contact with the human. “What do you want, Himiko?”

“I want you all to give Paimon a week off, or, you pay him to be your actual assistant. Putting up with you boys’ crap should be a full paying job.” Himiko raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Give him a week off, live without him for a bit, and treat him nicer when he comes back. Unless of course, the seven rulers of hell can’t survive without their assistant?”

Lucifer bristled and crossed his arms. “…fine.”

———————

Sleep went by too quickly… way too quickly. Paimon rubbed his eyes and trudged through the hallway. Stupid mondays… stupid school… stupid Mammon… wait did Paimon say that out loud, because the Avatar of Greed and Lucifer himself were standing right in front of him.

“Sup pipsqueak.”

“Hello Paimon.”

Oh, Paimon must have fucked up bad somehow for the Avatar of Pride and the Avatar of Greed to have stopped him in the hallway. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. The sweet release of death was coming. But what exactly had Paimon done? Was talking to the human exchange student a punishable offence?!

“Lord Lucifer! Lord Mammon! Uh… how can I help you?” Paimon smiled nervously, at this point, nervous was his default state, so this was his normal smile.

“Ya can help us by handin’ over your lunch mon-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Mammon,” the signature clicking of Himiko’s heels on the stone floor alerted the three demons to her arrival before her voice did. “Stop being a douche.”

“We’re here to offer you a week off.” Lucifer ignored both Himiko and Mammon and kept his eyes fixed on Paimon. “Himiko noticed you were five seconds away from a stress induced heart attack so she campaigned for you to get some time off.”

“I-I-I’m fine, that’s very nice of you to offer but I’m coping well with my extra duties.”

Extra duties, also known as ‘nice things Paimon was doing for a group of demons he respected, which those demons then began to expect him to do all the damn time.’

“Paimon,” Himiko raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re left arm is shaking.”

Paimon silently cursed his stupid arm. “Those are normal shakes!”

“Fuck dude… I don’t even like ya and I want you to take a vacation.”

“Consider it less of an offer and more of an order.” Lucifer said sternly. “Take the week off and come back refreshed. Your school responsibilities will be waived during your time off, now shoo.”

Lucifer waved his hand and strode past him down the hallway. Geez, what a charmer.

“Have fun, Paimon!” Himiko gave him a wave before gesturing Mammon to follow her, class was starting soon after all.

“Th-thank you Ms. Himiko.” Paimon mumbled and began to turn to leave, but Mammon caught the back of his school coat. Huh, a goodbye locker shove perhaps?

“Before ya leave,” Mammon cooed. “What’re ya doin’ with my human?”

“I’m not doing… anything?” Paimon said truthfully.

“Plannin’ on doing anything?”

“N-no?”

“Are ya sure?” Mammon tilted his head, his eyes began to glow dangerously. “Not planning on trying anything?”

“No sir!” Paimon began to wave his hands in an attempt to communicate some extra ‘NO’. “N-not at all! Ms. Himiko’s just a friend!”

Mammon raised an eyebrow and Paimon felt his stomach drop right to the floor. Apparently talking to the human exchange student was a death sentence. Wasn’t the point of this exchange program for demons and humans to get to know each other???

“Really now? How’d you two get to talkin’?”

“I-I uh, she um…” Paimon stuttered. “She swore me to secrecy…”

After blinking a few times in surprise, Mammon dropped Paimon right to the floor. “Alrighty then, I’ll just ask ‘er myself.”

Mammon then sauntered away like nothing happened. Geez… Paimon silently made a wish that Himiko could swallow her pride and actually admit the reason the two became friends so Paimon wouldn’t end up getting his ass handed to him by the Avatar of Greed himself. What a shit way to go…

————

Himiko gave Mammon a glare that could wither roses the moment he began to pepper her with questions about her friendship with Paimon. Geez, couldn’t a lady have some friends who didn’t want to date her? Was that too much to ask?

She let out a sigh and looked around to make sure that she and Mammon were alone in her room and that there was no one walking around in the hallway outside. Good, nobody. “Mammon, Paimon and I exchange gardening tips.”

Mammon blinked a few times and debated pinching himself to see if he was dreaming. His mean little human liked something like gardening..? That was… that was… so fuckin’ adorable! “You… you like gardening..? Really Himi?”

Himiko’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment, which really hindered the effect of her scowl. “Yes. In case you didn’t know, the plants here are very different from the plants in the human world, and I miss having a garden, so,” she gestured to the window out into the HOL’s garden where Mammon noticed quite a few new flower bushes. He had to admit, they were really pretty.

“Oh, so you two aren’t smoochin’ or anything?”

“Mammon,” Himiko smirked and fluttered her eyelashes. “Just because you’re hopelessly in love with me doesn’t mean everyone else is~.”

————

The moment Paimon stepped foot into his apartment he collapsed onto the couch like a… like a… tired person. The man hadn’t had a proper staycation in almost a thousand years, give him a break.

When he was done being a lump on the couch, he looked up at his plants. He hadn’t properly been able to look at them for a while- shit almost all of them were dead. Perhaps Paimon should have invested in a nice garden of cacti instead of fussy water-needing plants. Oh well, he had things to worry about other than his failing garden. His apartment was also a complete mess. After defeating his chronic anxiety by going on a massive cleaning spree, Paimon decided that he had a hankering for some sweets. He ordered in from Madame Scream’s and collapsed back onto the couch.

His pastries arrived and he was fully prepared to dig in until- A knock on the door startled Paimon from his stress free thoughts and the demon rushed to answer the door. The familiar faces of Mephistopheles and Satan awaited him.

“Hey buddy!” Mephisto gave Paimon a friendly (and a little too hard) thwack on the shoulder and walked into the apartment. “I smell foooooooood!”

“Paimon,” Satan flashed a grin and a friendly nod.

“L-lord Satan,” Paimon nodded dumbly, after registering what he was seeing, he stepped aside and let Satan into the apartment, thank fuck he had cleaned it. “What are… what are you doing here? Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, no,” Satan waved Paimon off. “I heard you and Mephisto were trying to solve a mystery and I thought I’d offer my help.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Paimon sputtered, he then turned to his pie, that Mephisto was busily shovelling into his mouth. Mephistopheles gave Paimon and Satan a thumbs up.

“S’great Pai!” Mephisto laughed at his own pun.

The mystery Satan was referring to was the mystery of the vandalized instruments. Paimon had asked Mephisto to help look into it, he was the former president of the newspaper club and had a penchant for getting into trouble and finding people responsible for trouble. It was a last resort kind of thing, really, Mephisto and Paimon never really spoke outside of their few shared classes.

“O-okay, did you guys find anything out..? Do you need me to answer any questions?” Paimon asked, sitting down at his tiny dining table across from Mephisto and Satan.

“We didn’t find much out today, suspect, but we do have some things we’d like to know.” Mephisto pointed a pie-filling covered finger at Paimon. “How do we know it wasn’t you who vandalized the instruments?! I can see the headline now! ‘Band president vandalizes instruments, Mephistopheles hailed as hero and reinstated as newspaper club president!’ I love it!”

“E-eh?!” Paimon jumped backwards in his seat, nearly knocking himself right onto the floor. “Wh-what?! Why would I do that?”

“That’s what I wanna know!” Mephisto slammed his sticky hands down on the table and leaned across to look Paimon right in the face. “Why’d you do it?!”

Satan grabbed the back of Mephisto’s shirt and yanked him back into his seat and gave Paimon an apologetic look. Ah, good cop bad cop, that was the game they were playing.

“Paimon, do you have an alibi?” Satan asked, his tone measured. Paimon meekly nodded.

“Y-yes, technically my alibi is you and your brothers, sir… I was busy all day, and that morning was the last time I saw the instruments before they were wrecked.”

“Mmm, just as I thought,” Satan nodded. “Paimon, does the band have any enemies you know of?”

“N-no,” Paimon said on reflex. “Wait! Yeah… um… a few demons… I have a list…”

He quickly began to write out a list of names. For someone who seemed so meek and pathetic, he had made a lot of enemies… well, less a list of enemies and more of a list of people who found it fun to bother him.

Satan raised an eyebrow as he looked over the list. “Paimon, how?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“How does a high ranking demon like yourself have this many petty enemies that you haven’t dealt with yet?”

A shrug was all Paimon could give. He preferred not to hurt people due to petty grudges, which was not a very good trait for a demon to have. No wonder no one respected him…

Satan huffed and nodded to Mephisto. “Well, we’ll look into these leads. Try and have a nice week off, Paimon.”

—————

Day One:

Lucifer needed his coffee, he sat up in his chair and leaned over to look at the clock, 3:30 pm. Paimon should be- ah, right, Lucifer gave him the week off. No matter, he rose from his seat and prepared to get his own coffee. He was a strong independent demon who didn’t need an assistant thank you very much.

When he walked into the kitchen, he nearly choked on air when he saw the technological monstrosity that was the new coffee machine. It had to be new, he had gone into the kitchen all the time to make his own coffee, hadn’t he? No, Paimon had taken care of that for the past how many years..? Geez, when was the last time Lucifer actually had to walk into RAD’s kitchen?

It’s just a coffee machine, Lucifer reasoned, he’d be able to figure it out in no time.

Riddle him this, why did this infernal thing have so many buttons?! The machine let out an unhappy groan and Lucifer was tempted to repeat the sound himself. Stupid coffee machine… back in his day coffee was made with magic, sure it exhausted the person more but… that’s what the coffee’s for!

After about twenty minutes of nearly fruitless labour, Lucifer finally figured out how to get the machine to make coffee to his tastes. He’d throw the machine at the wall if it made him decaf…

Lucifer (eventually) returned to his office and his massive stack of paperwork with his hot mug of caffeinated salvation and sat back down at his desk. His mind began to wander back to the conversation he had with Himiko the day prior.

Had he forgotten basic courtesy? He had known Paimon longer than Himiko could probably comprehend, was Paimon always this willing to get walked over? Lucifer wracked his brain trying to find the answer. He grimaced when he thought back to his time as an angel, but even then, Paimon was the same. A constantly frazzled Dominion who fell from heaven only to end up a frazzled and even more anxious demon.

It was so odd, when they all first became demons, Paimon was one of the large amount who decided that the best way to figure out their new demonic identities was to cause complete and utter chaos. It was an embarrassment, really, but Diavolo knew that no one could get that number of newly turned demons under control without ripping apart the Devildom, so he sent them up to the human world. It was devastating for the humans, but Diavolo knew it was necessary to save his kingdom. While up in the human world, everyone’s powers were tested and the pecking order if you will, was established. Paimon was right near the top.

One of the most powerful demons in the Devildom, one that watched kingdoms burn for his amusement just mere days after falling from grace, had become nothing more than an assistant. When and why? That was what Lucifer was wondering.

Tsk, he didn’t have time to wonder about the motivations of his little fake assistant, he had way too much work to do. He downed his coffee and stared down his paperwork. He was going to do this himself, or collapse from exhaustion trying.

——————

Day 2:

Mammon mindlessly gnawed on his pencil as he stared down at his homework. He was stuck in the library at RAD and couldn’t go home until his stupid work was done. His human had gone off with Asmo to go shopping… dummy… not that he cared or anything…

He needed help, but the great Mammon didn’t grovel! Wait, yes he did. But he usually didn’t have to when it came to his homework. That little nerd Paimon was always down to let Mammon copy his homework. Sure, if Lucifer even dared to ask if Paimon had let Mammon copy his homework, the purple haired demon would sing like a canary. Stupid little snitch….

…Mammon could have really used that little snitch right then…

He searched his mind for anything to daydream about to distract himself from the lame homework. Ah! His human! He liked to think about his human. Her cute little smile… her deep dark eyes… her soft hair that tumbled over her shoulders… her dumb but still somehow cute little headband…

Not that he liked her or anything! Uggggghhhh… this was going to be a long ass study session…

——————

How did things get this way..?

Paimon was once again lying face down on his couch, apparently cleaning only temporarily staved off his mental illness. At least he was spiralling in a clean house…

His concert hall got completely wrecked and his status wasn’t a deterrent to the stupid vandals… Paimon could and had crushed kingdoms beneath his heel! He’d sown discord across entire countries! Humans and demons alike begged to have the privilege of his favour, and now, nothing. Paimon hugged his knees to his chest and tried to ignore the feeling of his glasses digging into the side of his face. The tightness in his chest and gut was indicative of one thing:

Guilt.

Paimon was guilty. After being called back to the Devildom and seeing what he had done to the human world, he felt the worst most roiling and disgusting sense of guilt. He was completely alone, if any other demon that went up there and did the things he did felt guilty about any of it, they were amazing at hiding it. He had been an angel just a few days before he went completely ballistic…

Was his behaviour for the past thousand years some sort of bullshit atonement for him? Tsk, he didn’t have time to give himself a therapy session. He needed to go to sleep. He earned it, after all.

——————

Day 3:

Levi absentmindedly tapped his phone screen, the colourful gacha game was completely failing to fully entrap his attention. Ugh… just get the daily rewards and log out…

A crowd of chattering students walked into the formerly empty classroom to sit and eat lunch. Stupid normies… whenever he had to show up to school he at least had the ability to eat lunch by himself.

It was Paimon’s doing, obviously. After hearing that Levi was having a tough time being at RAD, the demon took it upon himself to make Levi more comfortable. After the first few times, Levi enlisted him as his personal crowd disperser.

He often wandered the halls during lunch making sure everything was alright like the world’s most anxious hall monitor. Whenever Levi happened to notice the sound of Paimon’s feet pattering against the stone floor, it was usually followed by Paimon’s meek little voice telling some wandering students that the classroom was occupied.

Tsk, dumb normie on his dumb vacation. Levi huffed and slid his headphones on to drown out the sound of the other students talking.

Paimon needed to hurry up and get baaaaaaaaaaack…

—————

Day Four:

“Alright, the scene of the crime…” Satan placed his hands on his hips and looked around the concert hall. The Avatar of Wrath had let Mephisto loose on Phenex and Eurynome for questioning. Satan now had the crime scene all to himself for investigating.

Most of the instruments were dented and ruined, hm… maybe he should have viewed the crime scene earlier when it was fresher. Man… all the fictional detectives Satan knew of would be so disappointed in him. Not perturbed, Satan began to peruse the room and take it all in. Well, until Asmo broke down the door shouting his name.

“Saaaaaaaataaaaaaaan!”

“I’m right here, Asmo, you don’t need to yell.” Satan turned and gave him an annoyed look. Asmo only beamed and clapped his hands together.

“No need to be so snide, Satan dear, I’m gracing you with my presence!” Asmo cartoonishly pouted as he almost skipped towards Satan. He looped his arm around Satan’s and began to try and pull him out of the room. “Come on! We’re going to have a self care day!”

“No, no we’re not.” Satan gently removed Asmo’s arm from his and shook his head. “I’m trying to solve a mystery, here.”

“Really?” Asmo raised an eyebrow and absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair with his finger. “Why? Isn’t this Paimon’s business?”

“Yeah, but Paimon asked Mephisto for help and Mephisto asked me, so here I am.” Seeing that Asmo wasn’t convinced, Satan dragged a hand down his face and prayed to the Demon King that his gossip of a brother could keep a secret. “There are no exams to study for, my favourite detective book series just ended, and Lucifer just rehomed a cat I took in. I have nothing else to do and I’m bored as hell.”

Asmo wrinkled his nose, then shrugged and nodded. “Eh, legit enough for me. I’ll help too!”

The two somewhat carefully rummaged around the room, searching for literally any kind of evidence that wasn’t destroyed in the fight between Phenex and Eury.

“Tada~ evidence!” So quickly? Satan had to stop himself from sighing as he turned to face his brother. Asmo proudly presented what looked like a neon orange fake nail, Satan crossed his arms and gave his brother a deadpan stare.

“Groundbreaking.”

“Satan, for a detective you can be really dense sometimes, I swear.” Asmo huffed and fixed his hair. “People who play musical instruments keep their nails short. Fake nails like these are expensive and are stuck onto the actual nail and sealed with magic. This obviously came off by accident, and it doesn’t belong to some band kid.”

“It belongs to the culprit then…” Satan murmured, digging through his pockets for his list of suspects. “Asmo, tell me, does anyone on this list have these kinds of nails?”

Asmo scanned the list of suspects and hummed to himself before snapping his fingers and grinning. “Only Amii would wear something as garish as that.”

Ah, one of RAD’s resident assholes. Amii and their partner in crime, Murmur, were frequent visitors to the detention hall due to their rampant idiocy. Their combined ability to learn absolutely nothing from their past punishments rivalled Mammon’s, and that was saying something because Mammon had gotten strung up at least once a month for the past two thousand years.

So, the little bastards had taken to bothering Paimon recently… perfect! Mystery solved!

Satan scratched his chin, then grinned. “I think we’ve found our culprits. Thanks Asmo, you were a real help.”

“It’s no problem Satan, really, you can repay me by keeping me company while we both have a nice spa day.”

————

Spending time rethinking one’s entire life and trying to cultivate a garden really sapped up Paimon’s energy. He wasn’t lying down on the couch this time though, his new breakdown spot was his kitchen table.

As he expressed to himself multiple times, he was sick and tired of being walked over, he may have hated being a demon, but he still was one. A damn high ranking one at that! He wasn’t some midranking Dominion anymore! He should be treated with basic respect!

The sudden ringing of his phone jolted him from his mini identity/respect crisis and he fumbled to pick it up.

“H-hello?”

“Paimon, you’ll be pleased to know that I have found the culprits.” Satan’s voice rang out from the phone and Paimon let out a sigh of relief. “Though, Amii and Murmur aren’t on school property at the moment.”

“Y-yeah…” Paimon was too emotionally drained to act surprised. “I think they’re on an overnight trip or something… they’ll be back on Monday.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I uh… I checked the budget documents you sent out at the start of the year to make sure no one was skimming funds again…” Paimon pursed his lips and sighed. “Remember what happened last year? I wanted to make sure Mammon didn’t cause you any extra trouble.”

“Ah, right.” Satan said. “Thanks for that.”

A genuine thank you! Paimon’s eyes practically sparkled as he nodded enthusiastically before realizing Satan couldn’t technically see him. “Y-you’re welcome!”

“So, I know it’s your club but this is also RAD property and I assume you know how much musical instruments are to replace…”

“Yeah… rest assured, I’ll deal with those two.” Paimon mumbled.

“Hm, I’d like to be there, if you don’t mind.”

You see, that was code for ‘I’m going to watch you to make sure you’re not just going to give them a lecture on not hurting other people’s feelings.’

“It’s no problem, Lord Satan.” Paimon said. “Come by if you have the time after school. I’ll put on a show.”

——————

Day Five:

Asmo was practically skipping through RAD’s hallways like he was following the yellow brick road or something. What had him so chipper? Some of his friends in the sewing club had agreed to help him sew some of his clothing designs and make them legitimately wearable! EEEEEEEE! He was so excited! He threw open the doors to the club and everyone… did not shower him with affection and praise. Pardon but what was this bullshit?

“Sorry Lord Asmodeus… but we’re in a bit of a crisis. Some of the sewing machines broke and we don’t have any way to replace them right now.” One of the club members said.

“How’d this even happen?!” Asmo huffed. “The sewing club never shuts down! There was a miniature hurricane going through RAD about a century ago and literally none of you skipped your club meeting!”

“W-well, normally we’d call Paimon to order some new machines or call a repairman because the student council usually gets really busy around this time of day…”

“UGH.” Asmo threw his head back and dramatically groaned. “Are there any machines in here that actually work?”

“Y-yes, about three of them…”

The demon pointed to three in the back and Asmo stomped over to begin sewing the one outfit he could do. He had bought nice fabrics and everything…

Asmo pulled out his sketch of the design, he smiled and set it down next to the sewing machine. He remembered how to use these… right?

‘Paimon usually fixes this’ ‘Paimon deserves a break’ ‘Paimon Paimon Paimon’ Asmo had to stop himself from openly rolling his eyes whenever that little pipsqueak’s name was mentioned. The Avatar of Lust had the stinking suspicion that the bespectacled demon wasn’t particularly fond of him. Everyone loved Asmo, that was a known fact, but Paimon had a funny way of showing it.

He never went exactly out of his way to help Asmo with anything. If Asmo requested help, it was always met with a cold ‘yes lord Asmodeus’. Hmph, Asmo had to hold back a bit of a smirk as a thought crept into his mind.

Paimon’s behaviour was truly a testament to how hard the Avatar of Lust is to get over~.

—————

Ready? Okay! The first step to becoming a respected demon was fixing the way he was perceived by others, and people mainly made their judgements on outward appearances.

Paimon was going to fix his self image! No more dorky glasses! Wait… he couldn’t see… damn. Okay, get contact lenses instead! Aaaaaaand he was out of those. New plan, the dorky glasses were staying on for the time being!

Hmmm… maybe he should flatten down his weird little crescent moon shaped Ahoge… Yeah, not going to happen. His hair kept flying right back up no matter how much hairspray he used.

Looking into his bathroom mirror, Paimon wondered how long it had been since he actually fussed over his appearance. 400… 500 years? Geez, that lined up awfully well with the last time he had been on a date… and that ‘relationship’ did not end well.

Oh well, he looked… well he looked like himself. That was fine. He just needed to fix his posture really quick-

The audible crack of Paimon’s spine may have scared his neighbour’s cat and caused the neighbour on his other side to wonder why their hellhound started barking, but at least he was standing up straight again. It was nice not to be slouched forward like the world’s most nervous Igor. Paimon stretched and shook out his shoulders. Huh, he forgot he was supposed to be 5’7 and not 5’5. He should have done this a while ago.

——————

The Weekend:

School was out for the next two days but the student council was still in the stupid building. Lord Diavolo had decided that the school year needed yet another festival week and it was up to the student council to budget, manage, and plan this entire thing, and to top off the sundae of stress, two of their members were missing.

Beel and Belphie were on the complete opposite side of the school, and their dear little human was having a hell of a time dragging them to the meeting. This was Himiko’s reward for not being an asshole.

“Beel, for the love of all things good in the world, I’m sure there will be snacks provided at the meeting, now get your face out of the fridge.” The long suffering Himiko practically begged. The attic nap club were stuck in the cafeteria despite the borderline desperate efforts of the human.

“You can’t know that for sure…” Beel sighed mournfully before he took another bite of whatever eldritch horror those demons called food. “Paimon or Barbatos would usually bring the snacks and neither of them are here…”

Foolishly hoping that the younger of the two twins would be able to do something, Himiko turned to Belphie, who was passed out with his head down on a cafeteria table.

“Belphie, wake up and help me get Beel out of the cafeteria.”

“No. I am asleep.”

“Belphie I swear-”

“Sh. Sleep.”

Beel usually carried Belphie’s unconscious ass to those stupid meetings because Beel knew for a fact there’d be snacks there, and now neither twin would move from the cafeteria. Great. Time to use the pacts Himiko worked so hard to obtain.

This. This was what it was like to be the one master to rule them all. It was glorified babysitting.

“BOTH OF YOU HAUL ASS TO THE ASSEMBLY HALL RIGHT NOW. BRING THE FOOD IN THE FRIDGE WITH YOU.”

Monday couldn’t come soon enough…

——————

To be concluded!

Author’s Note: Not too satisfied with this one, but honestly when am I ever satisfied with my own writing? Pai will go politely apeshit next part I promise

TFW you’re royalty and the local brown-noser goes on vacation and you now have no one to boss around :/ totally relatable right guys?

[selenehoneybell]

decision / self para

“‘scuse me.”

The pardon wasn’t necessary seeing as the woman shoved her aside anyways.

Five was worse every time she came to visit.

But she chose to come anyways. Because despite having gone her entire life having choices made for her, Selene Honeybell was finally coming into her own. Every decision was one calculated move after another. Well, all except Sirena. And Jupiter. Perhaps she wasn’t so bright after all.

If she was, why on earth would she have ever chosen to support a tribute like him? Small and meek and smart like her. One who didn’t have half the choices she did at his age.

Selene coughed out the lump stuck in her throat.

The man smiled uncomfortably as he squirmed in his seat, suddenly embarrassed by the newfound attention to his orphanage. It was the very same one that Jupiter had lived in--the one where she very graciously donated a small fortune to maintain its upkeep for months. And all under wraps, of course. Selene was nothing if not a saint.

“Well, they are awfully large shoes to fill. My mother has an extensive collection, after all,” she said, adding a small laugh to ease the tension. “But the people of Panem deserve to know that the Honeybells aren’t just a legacy, but an institution. And like all good ones, we want to ensure that we give back as much as we can. It’s why I’m involved in the Hunger Games. They do such amazing work there and our, my, involvement is the least we can offer.”

A lie, polished and rehearsed for this exact moment. One punctuated with a soft sigh as if the work she did took all the wind out of her sails.

Her answer was quickly followed by a question regarding that of the Bentley company. Selene had to hold back a smirk as to not seem smug. She was, but it was in poor taste.

“Yes, it is a shame, isn’t it? Rest assured that we are moving forward the best that we can,” Selene clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. “In fact, we’re working with the Capitol to essentially open sources the technology built by the company. Security measures and whatnot. It really is an exciting project.”

Not a lie, but an exaggeration. It wasn’t like they were going to give everything away. Selene was simply embellishing, an effort to make her look like she was actually doing good for the people of the Capitol. The man from the orphanage nodded nervously, unable to keep still with all of the people in the room.

“Cade was opposed to the initiative. He preferred to keep his secrets under lock and key. Fortunately, we aren’t doing things the Cade Bentley way any longer. It was rather devastating to find out that it was happening all right under our noses. And with someone with a name to uphold myself, I understand the gravity of family—birthright and what have you. But, the company is in good hands, with or without him.”

Selene kept her face even, not wanting to give her answer any leeway through her expression. When she was asked by Sirena, her mouth frowned ever so slightly.

“No, it’s fine. It was a difficult loss, but it’s fine. Things are fine.”

The words were stiff, but she wasn’t prepared for such a question even though people had been asking the same for months. What else could she really say?

“All in all, it’s about what we can do for Panem. I say it’s our time to finally give back and show that we’re united. The President is leading by example and I, for one, think that we should start listening.”

Selene tilted her head to the reporter, even though he insisted that they should pay no mind to him. Did it matter? There was no feigning a humble attitude now. Not when she would be plastered all over the Gazette. Though every decision and every choice and every crossroad that undercut her life, Selene, above all else, would choose herself.

[writingwhimsey]

The Tiger and the Oda Princess Ch. 4

Chapter 4

I woke the next morning, and Shingen's handsome face was the first thing I saw. His gray eyes were looking at me with complete adoration. "Good morning, Ava, my angel." He greeted me, kissing my forehead.

I smiled at him. "Good morning...were you watching me sleep?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't help myself." He replied. "When I open my eyes and see you sleeping so peacefully beside me...I can't help but to stare. You're just too beautiful."

I felt myself blush. "Shingen..."

He smiled at me and hugged me close. I nestled into his embrace, wrapping my own arms around him to return the hug. "I love waking up next to you." Shingen whispered to me.

I smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."

We stayed like that for a while longer before getting up and getting dressed. Otsuna was soon bringing in our breakfast, keeping mine as the soup. "Do you have a busy day today?" I asked, Shingen.

"Nope." He answered. "I am all yours for the day."

"I love it when I get you all to myself for an entire day."

Shingen smiled as he moved to sit behind me and pulled me into his arms. He kissed me gently on the neck. "And I plan on pampering you all day." He said. "Showering you with love and affection." Each word spoken was punctuated by another kiss to my neck, going up before his lips were at my ear.

I shivered in pleasure. "Mmm... I like the...sound of that."

Shingen ran a hand down my thigh and began pulling the hem of my kimono up. That was when there was a knock at the door. "Pardon me interrupting Lord Shingen, Lady Ava..."One of the vassals called from the other side, before sliding the door open.

I was instantly pulling my kimono back down, trying to cover myself. "What is it?" Shingen asked.

"I have a response to your letter from Asuna. She said she would return at once and be here by tomorrow." The vassal replied. "I know you wanted to know right away...and I am sorry to have interrupted. I will leave now." He was then bowing and exiting the room.

Why would Shingen be writing a woman? Why would he be asking her to return? Why would she be agreeing to so soon? I found myself thinking. I normally wasn't a jealous person...but for some reason hearing that he had written another woman made my heart race in a not so fun way.

"Is something wrong, my love?" Shingen asked me, seeing the troubled expression on my face.

"It's...nothing."

Shingen looked at me a moment before smiling. "Is my goddess jealous that I wrote a letter to another woman?" He asked.

"No." I lied again.

Shingen chuckled and pulled me closer to him. He rested his head on my shoulder so that his cheek was pressed against mine. "Asuna is a midwife. She has worked for my family before. Her mother was the one who delivered me, actually. She is the best and constantly studies to make sure she can know everything to care for her patients. She also firmly believes in supporting the mothers after the baby is born. I sent the letter asking her to come to care for you. I want only the best care for my wife and child."

I quickly hid my face in my hands. "How could I..." I started.

Shingen was turning me around and pulling my hands from my face. He was then coaxing my face up with fingers beneath my chin. "Don't be so hard on yourself." He told me. "It is only natural to feel jealous at times...especially when you don't have all of the information."

"I know, but still. I should know better. I know how much you love me."

Shingen rested his brow against mine. "When you love each other as much as we do, it's only natural...and you're awfully cute when you're jealous over me."

"Is there anything I do that you don't think is cute?"

"Not a thing." Shingen replied. "Sometimes I wonder how in the world it's even possible for one person to be this cute." He was then pulling me into his arms and nuzzling my neck.

I giggled at how it tickled. "Stop...stahp!"

Shingen chuckled, but he stopped. He still held me close. "Whatever my princess desires." He said.

"Whatever I desire, huh?" I replied, a coquettish smile on my face.

"I can deny you nothing."

"Then...how about we continue where we left off before we were interrupted?" I suggested.

"I am glad you were thinking the same thing I was thinking." Shingen said, smiling as he pulled me in for a deep, passionate kiss.

The next day we were in the main audience hall. Asuna, the midwife, was soon joining us. She looked to be about my age with long dark hair, which she wore tied back in a simple pony tail, and bright green eyes.

She bowed to greet us. "My Lord, my lady, I am so happy to hear the wonderful news and I am honored you would call on me to help."

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Asuna." Shingen replied.

Asuna smiled. "It is my pleasure. As soon as I got your letter, I knew I had to come. More than anything just to meet the woman who could have finally gotten you to settle down, my lord." She was then turning to me. "It is truly wonderful to meet you, Lady Ava."

I smiled at her. "Just Ava is fine." I told her. "And thank you for coming. Shingen spoke highly of you and your mother."

"I just hope I can live up to your expectations." Asuna said. "And I swear to you, I will do everything to make sure that you and the baby both remain healthy during your pregnancy and after birth."

I wasn't sure why, but I instantly felt like I trusted her. I believed every word she was telling me and felt at ease. "Thank you."

Just then Yukimura was coming in. "Oh no, you're back here?" He asked, looking at Asuna.

"You're as tactless as ever I see." Asuna replied. "And as dense, too. I mean, our lord's wife is pregnant and I am a midwife. Where else would I be?"

"Oh, I thought I liked her before, but I like her even more now." I said, smiling.

Shingen chuckled. "Yuki fights with every woman he sees it seems."

"I do not. You just keep all the crazy ones around." Yukimura replied. "Of all the midwives in the country you just had to pick her?"

"Hey, I am right here, you know. You could not talk about me like I'm not here." Asuna said. "Besides, having me here is all about keeping our lady and the new little lord or lady healthy. I'm sure you just give poor Lady Ava a headache."

"He really does." I agreed.

"Hey!" Yukimura said. "No fair you ganging up on me like that."

Asuna laughed. "Still so easy."

Yukimura looked at her. He was then going over and mussing her hair. "Why you..."

Asuna was laughing and pushing Yukimura away. "Stop it!"

I leaned over to Shingen and whispered. "Are they..."

"No, but I think the potential is there." He whispered back.

Asuna and Yukimura were looking over at us. "Hey, what are you two whispering about?" Yukimura asked.

Shingen was quickly wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. "Some things I say to my wife are not meant for other's ears." He was then sweeping me up into his arms and heading for the door. "Yuki can you show Asuna to her room?"

"If I have to." Yukimura replied.

"Hey, wait, I still need to discuss a care plan with Lady Ava! And do an exam to determine how far long she is!" Asuna added.

"I'll...meet you for that later...after you get settled." I replied, as Shingen carried me out of the room. Once we were a safe distance away I looked up at Shingen. "Are you playing matchmaker?"

"Just trying to educate Yuki better." He answered smiling. "And also, I would like to be alone with my wife."

It was then that I realized he was carrying me to our room. "So, all day yesterday wasn't enough?" I asked, teasing.

"It's never enough." Shingen replied, placing a tender kiss on my cheek.

Yukimura and Asuna...

"Wow...no wonder she's pregnant already." Asuna said once Shingen and Ava were out of the room.

"You don't know the half of it." Yukimura replied. "I'm surprised you weren't called here months ago, already."

"And yet you were still surprised to see me."

"Today." Yukimura replied. "I knew Lord Shingen had sent for you. I didn't know you would be coming here already. I thought you were busy with another mission."

"When our lord calls, it is my duty to come." Asuna replied. "Plus there are still others in my group to continue with the information gathering."

Yukimura nodded. "Well, come on this way. I'll take you to your room."

The pair left the main hall and Yukimura led Asuna to her room. "Here's your room and then across the hall is the room you can use to keep anything you need for taking care of Ava." He explained pointing.

"Okay, that's good." She said. "Lord Shingen appears to be in good health these days."

Yukimura nodded. "Yeah...he's finally cured."

"Really? How?" Asuna asked.

"It's a long and complicated story." Yukimura answered. "I got stuff to take care of. I'm sure Ava will be here to talk with you in an hour or two."

Asuna couldn't help but to notice how informal Yukimura was with Ava. Granted she knew that that is the kind of person he is, but he always referred to Lord Shingen as Lord Shingen.

Ava and Shingen...

After spending some time alone together in our room, Shingen walked me to Asuna's room. "I have some business to attend to." Shingen told me. "I'll let you and Asuna talk."

I could tell by the look on his face exactly where he was going. I stretched up to give him a peck on the cheek. "I love you."

Shingen smiled at me. "I love you, too." He was then tenderly kissing my lips.

I watched him head off in the direction of the dungeons. I hoped that he would find what he was looking for when he went there. I sighed and turned to Asuna's door. "Asuna, it's me Ava. May I come in?"

Asuna was soon opening the door, greeting me with a smile. "Actually, we should go to the room across the hall. There we'll talk and I'll give you an exam."

I nodded and followed her across the hall. She gave me an exam and talked through each step, explaining what she was doing. Once she was done she brewed some tea and we sat and talked.

"So, what kind of symptoms have you been having?" She asked me. "Any sickness?"

"I've had some." I answered. "It was pretty bad in the beginning, but then Otsuna found out and started making a special soup for me with an herb mixture that helped to settle my stomach."

"Oh, I know the one she made. She and my mother worked on it together for Lord Shingen's mother."

"She mentioned making it for Shingen's mother when she was pregnant with him."

Asuna smiled. "Hopefully the sickness will go away soon. Some women experience it for only a brief time and others never experience it at all...then there are some who unfortunately experience it through their entire pregnancy."

"I have heard that." I replied.

"Have you had any cramping or unexpected bleeding or anything?" Asuna asked.

I shook my head. "Nope, thankfully."

"That is good." She agreed.

As we chatted, I could tell that there was something she was thinking about. "Is there something wrong?" I asked her.

"Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"It's just...you seem to be thinking of something is all." I replied.

Asuna smiled. "You're observant. You're definitely a perfect match for Lord Shingen." She told me. "And it's nothing really. I still find it all so weird is all."

"Find what weird?"

"Being back in Kai for one thing." She answered. "And for Lord Shingen to be married and starting a family. When I received the letter calling me here, I was very surprised. And please do not take that the wrong way, my lady? I mean no offense."

I smiled at her. "None taken. I know what you mean. I'm very aware of Shingen's past. So I can see where your surprise is coming from."

"So you know he was a playboy?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"I am curious, how exactly did you two meet?"

I felt my cheeks reddening. "Well, we had met a handful of times before, but...we didn't really get to know each other until...well he...took me hostage."

Asuna almost spit out her tea. "I remember hearing that Lord Shingen had taken a princess of the Oda forces hostage...so that was you?"

I nodded. "Though I'm not really a princess. I was also the chatelaine of Azuchi castle."

"I see." Asuna replied. "So, tell me what it was like, while you were Lord Shingen's hostage? I am curious as to how your love bloomed in that situation? I mean, it is not unheard of in these times, but still."

"Well, I was given a nice room and lots of nice things." I began to explain. "And then there was the bet."

"The bet?"

"Yes, Shingen bet me that if he could make me smile, when I was truly happy from the bottom of my heart, that I would have to give him a kiss."

"That...I believe that. That is a very Lord Shingen thing to do." She replied.

"And he worked very hard to try to make me smile." I said, remembering our early days. A fond smile came to my face.

"How did you manage? I've grown up with Lord Shingen. I know when he sets his sites on a woman, he usually wins...and well you are married to him and carrying his child."

I laughed. "Somehow I managed it. Though I really don't know how I ever did." I went on to tell her about the things Shingen tried and how he pushed me away, but then I returned to him anyway.

"Well, I am very happy to see him happy." Asuna said. "That's all any of us have ever wanted for him."

"You seem to care an awful lot about him?" I observed and hoped that my slight jealousy was concealed.

Asuna nodded. "Yes. My mother died when I was about twelve. I had been apprenticing with her while she still served the Takeda clan. I grew up in this castle with Lord Shingen. He's always been like an older brother to me. He really started looking out for me even more so after my mother died."

Relief flooded my chest, though I did my best to hide it. "That also sounds very much like Shingen." I agreed. "He has a big heart."

Asuna nodded. "Yes. I am surprised he didn't come with you to this first meeting though. I figured he would want to be involved in your care."

"He walked me here, but he's gone to see Kennyo." I replied.

"I heard about what Kennyo did during the last battle with the Oda forces."

I nodded. "It was terrible." I agreed. "But I know Shingen won't give up on him. I hope that one day they can be friends and share a drink again."

Asuna looked at me, her eyes observing. "And why do you wish that? What he did...from what I understand it almost killed Lord Shingen and did much damage to Kai."

"I don't like to believe anyone is beyond redemption." I answered. "I think that love and compassion can help bring someone back from the brink...but also in this case I want Kennyo to be brought back for Shingen. I know it would make him happy to have his friend back."

Asuna smiled at me.

It was then that I remembered. "Oh, I have something for you." I was reaching into my kimono and pulling out the pouch that I had made. "Here, I made this for you. It's a gift to welcome you and say thanks for coming to care for the baby and me."

Asuna took the small red pouch with it delicate floral embroidery and looked at it. "You made this?"

"Yes, I thought it might be something you would find useful." I answered with a shrug. "If you'd like anything else let me know. I make kimonos and obis as well."

"You make clothing?"

I nodded. "It's what I love to do. I love making things for other people that will make them happy."

"Now I definitely see it." Asuna said.

"See what?"

"Why exactly you're the woman who finally got Lord Shingen to settle down. You're heart is as big and caring as his is."

"I don't know about that."

"Well, I do." Asuna replied, smiling.

"Speaking of my sewing, I have some things I need to finish up." I said. "Thank you for the tea and again for coming here to be my midwife."

"No problem."

"Oh and make sure to come to the main hall for dinner tonight. We are having a banquet to welcome you." I told her before walking out of the room and heading to my sewing room.

Shingen...

Shingen arrived in the dungeons. He made his way to the cell where his former friend was being held. He pulled up a seat to the bars and sat down.

"I was beginning to think you'd finally given up on me." The gruff voice came from inside the cell. The man speaking not even turning his head toward Shingen.

"Well, it was my birthday a couple of days ago. You know how busy it gets around here when that happens." Shingen replied. "I had planned on coming here to share some sake with you on the day, but my plans were changed."

"I see."

"But I did bring the sake today." Shingen said, smiling. He was then filling two cups and placing one inside the bars.

"Sharing a birthday drink with me late then?"

"Not exactly." Shingen replied smiling. "I have other things to celebrate, Kennyo."

"If I don't ask will you go away, or do you plan to tell me anyway?" Kennyo replied.

"It's good news I have to share." Shingen answered. "I'm going to be a father."

Kennyo seemed to react to that, but kept any words on the subject to himself.

"Ava surprised me with the news for my birthday. She kept it a secret for two months before telling me, all to surprise me with." Shingen said, a happy smile coming to his face. "My adorable wife. She sewed some cute little baby socks and wrapped them up for me to open. I was very surprised...and so incredibly happy."

More silence from Kennyo.

"I am really looking forward to seeing how adorable she is as she gets farther along. I can just picture her small frame with that growing belly..." Shingen was practically gushing over the image in his mind of his wife in pregnancy. "She's already the most adorable creature that ever lived, but I can only see her getting more so."

Kennyo sighed. "Why do you keep visiting me like this? Why do you not just kill me?"

"Because I know the man I once knew is still hiding inside that monster somewhere." Shingen answered. "Besides, I wanted to share this wonderful news with my friend."

"But why?"

"To remind you that good still exists in this world and that there are things to be happy about." Shingen answered. "I know I am not the only one who wishes to see you be kind again."

"No one else..."

"Ranmaru." Shingen spoke the name. He watched Kennyo flinch at the name.

"Have you...seen him?" Kennyo asked.

"I have. He is well and he is worried about you." Shingen answered. "Would you like to see him?"

"No." Kennyo replied, too harsh and too quick.

Shingen eyed Kennyo for a moment. "Suit yourself." He was then getting up and walking away. "I will see you later."

Shingen left the dungeons, a heavy feeling in his chest. He looked back. "I won't give up on you." He was then turning and heading to the room he shared with Ava. he needed to change before the banquet they were having to welcome Asuna. He also needed to clear his mind of his heavy thoughts on Kennyo so he could enjoy himself.

When Shingen arrived in the room, he found Ava sitting at the desk, writing something. She looked up at him, smiling as soon as she saw him. When he saw her smile, Shingen couldn't help but to return it. Her beautiful happy smiles always clear away the darkness. He thought.

"How did your visit with Kennyo go?" She asked him.

"How did you know that's where I was?" Shingen asked.

"Because your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes after you visit him. There's always a lingering sadness there." She answered.

Shingen walked over to Ava and sat down behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Ava leaned back into him, knowing he needed the comfort. "And here I thought I was the expert at reading people." He murmured into her hair.

"You are, but I just know you." Ava replied. "And I hope your visits help him."

"It may take forever at this rate." Shingen agreed. "Is it wrong of me to not give up on him?"

Ava shook her head. "Not at all. I don't believe anyone is beyond redemption...and there is nothing wrong with wanting your friend back." She was then putting her brush down and turning around in Shingen's arms to face him. "Love and compassion are what truly change people. I think one day, that will bring him back and he'll be the man you once called friend again."

Shingen lifted up a hand to cup Ava's cheek and rested his brow against hers. "Love has truly changed me." He said. What did I ever do to deserve you, my angel?

Ava smiled at him. "Love changes everything...and makes life worth living."

The pair shared a kiss and stayed in each other's embrace for a moment longer before pulling apart slightly. "We had better start getting ready." Shingen said.

Ava nodded. "Yes. I just need to finish up this letter."

"And what letter is that?" Shingen asked, though he had a feeling he knew.

"To my friends back in Azuchi. I know you shared our news with Kennyo, I wanted to tell them as well." Ava answered.

"I figured that it was the type of news you would want to share in person?"

"I would, but I know with winter coming up that it's not going to be safe to travel." Ava answered. "And once spring arrives, I'll be far enough along that it will probably not be good for me or the baby to travel, or at least not that far anyways."

Shingen could see the sadness in Ava's eyes. A mixture of emotions stirred in his chest. Naturally he wanted Ava and their baby to be safe. He also hated seeing her sad even if it was only the tiniest hint of sadness. He hugged her closer and Ava leaned her head against his chest. "I'm sorry." He whispered into her hair.

Ava pulled back and looked up into his gray eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Shingen." She said smiling. "I knew what things were possible when I made my decision. I still wouldn't change it nor would I change our life together. I love you with all my heart. You and our baby are the most important people to me."

Shingen leaned his forehead against Ava's. "Still, I know you think of them as family as well...and I hate that there is one wish of yours I cannot grant."

Ava placed her hand on Shingen's cheek. "You know I am always going to hope for peace. And I know that it will happen one day, as I come from a time of nothing but peace. But I also know that it will take a lot of hard work and it won't happen over night. I am a patient person. Even if it does not come in this lifetime."

Shingen gently kissed Ava's forehead. "That is one of the many reasons I love you."

Ava smiled at him. "I know."

It was then that an idea came to Shingen's mind. He wouldn't voice this aloud to Ava, as he wasn't sure it would work, but he also wanted to make it a surprise for her. Even if it wasn't exactly something he was fond of.

"What are you thinking?' Ava asked, noticing the thoughtful look on his face.

"Just that my goddess is too beautiful and gracious." Shingen answered, not wanting to divulge his plans. "And that I will find a way to make this up to you."

"Shingen..." Ava began to protest, but Shingen cut her off with a kiss.

"I love you." He whispered to her after breaking the kiss.

"I love you, Shingen." Ava replied before leaning in for another kiss, which Shingen happily obliged her.

Lost in the kiss and their love for each other, they didn't notice when the door to their room opened. "Alright, that's enough of that! Come on you two."

They were pulled from their kiss by Yukimura's voice. Ava's cheeks instantly reddened. Shingen turned to glare at his vassal. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"I knew you two would be doing something like this. I'm just glad I showed up while your clothes were still on." Yukimura answered. "Someone has to remind you two about the banquet. The one you insisted on having to welcome Asuna back."

"We hadn't forgotten." Ava protested.

"Uh-huh." Yukimura said, his arms crossed. "Just hurry it up will ya?"

"You know Yuki, when you one day finally bring a woman home, I am going to remember this and make sure to keep interrupting you." Shingen remarked.

"Yeah, well that's not happening any time soon. Besides, you'll probably still be too distracted with Ava to even think about me."

After a bit more back and forth, the trio finally got up and left the room, heading for the banquet hall.

Chapter 5 below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/656171495807139840/the-tiger-and-the-oda-princess-ch-5

[adorethedistance]

No damsel - JJ Maybank x Reader Titanic AU

I got major Jack Dawson vibes from these pictures which I found whilst writing

Request: “Can you do a jj x reader titanic au, where she’s engaged to rafe or topper and jj swoops in, like Jack does”

Warnings: Mentions of nudity

Words: 1067

“I wanted to say thank you. For talking me off of the ledge the other night,” I say softly to the disheveled boy walking beside me. “You didn’t even need to follow me but you immediately seemed to care that I was in distress and that’s not an easy thing to notice-” he cuts off my rambling with an incessant clicking of his tongue and a shake of his unkempt hair.

“It’s no big deal,” he says scratching the back of his neck,”it’s a very easy thing to notice- when someone is in distress. Especially a damsel,” he teases craning his neck downward to look at my face. I smile at him but immediately look back down to the wooden deck underneath us.

“Then I guess it’s just not easy for my mother and Rafe-”

“Rafe?”

“And I am no damsel!” JJ playfully reaches across my body to grab both of my hands and abruptly brings the two of us to a stop so he can look at my face.

“You’re young and unmarried, so by definition: you are a damsel.”

My breath hitches in my throat as his eyes catch mine. Gleaming in the gentle midday sun.

Time has stopped.

Nothing in the world matters but us.

Here and now, together. I’m taking little mental polaroids to savor the moment, to savor this feeling of bliss.

I can’t.

My eyes snap back to the floor beneath my feet as reality sets in.

“Uh, well, I-uh, I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Maybank-”

“JJ.”

“-JJ, I’m afraid you’re incorrect about me being a damsel. I am spoken for,” I say revealing the expensive engagement ring Rafe picked out. Precious jewels and rare diamonds abound, blind any poor bastard who is brave enough to take a look.

“Holy shit! You’ve got every diamond in the world on your tiny little hand,” he teases.

“Stop it! My hand is average sized.” JJ simply laughs and releases my left hand but holds onto my right so that we can continue walking to nowhere in particular.

“Why do you always carry that thing with you?” I ask pointing to the brown leather case tucked beneath his left arm. He responds by offering the item to me. I take the case smugly and drop my hold on his right hand.

The buckle across the top is a faded brass that looks immensely out of place under my glistening ring. I open the book gently so as to not disturb the vulnerable contents and all the tension I was holding in my face dissolves completely. Breathtaking. Portrait after portrait of nude women cover the pages. Still lifes that make the subjects feel infinitely distant from oneself, yet suffocatingly close and personal all at once.

“These are exquisite, JJ.”

“And yet, I'm still poor.”

“Maybe you ought to raise your commission price,” I say, flipping to the next page to reveal a young child in the arms of an adoring mother.

“Maybe I oughta charge a commission price in the first place,” JJ grins and steps behind my body slightly to view the pictures with me. He’s looming over my left shoulder and looking down into the book.

When I look up to ask him about the third nude portrait, my words fall dead in my mouth as I see he is already looking at me. My parted lips draw shut to lift into a small smile and once again, I’m finding myself lost in the endless abyss of his oceanic blue eyes.

“Y/n?” startled, JJ and I break apart and turn towards the source of the noise. Rafe rounds the corner of the second deck to find myself standing with JJ and his book of nude women. I quickly flip to the page of the mother and her child to ensure Rafe doesn’t see the pictures I just know he wouldn't approve of. He doesn’t understand the art of feminine anatomy the way that I can tell JJ does.

“Y/n, my love, I’ve been searching all over for you.”

“I’ve been here!” I feign innocence. I can tell he’s about to ask me something but he cuts himself off with a confused expression.

“What do you have?”

“Hm? Oh! Mr. Dawson here was showing me a bit of artwork he’s done. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes, it’s great, I’m sure you’ve made a great fortune off of your work,” Rafe says only glancing at the page for a brief moment, “I think it’s time you’ve dressed for dinner.” I shoot JJ a look of apology for Rafe’s intrusion.

“Of course, would you be available to join us, Mr. Dawson?” JJ can see right through my act of polite ignorance.

“It would be an honor,” he says in a posh accent, subtly mocking my change in formality. Rafe politely smiles before turning his back to JJ, isolating me in a cloud of discomfort.

“Once you’re finished, may I escort you to the dining hall?”

“Of course.” Satisfied with my answer, Rafe closes in on the space between us and presses a lingering kiss to my cheek. He’s showing off for JJ, as if I’m a prize that he’s won. And with that, he’s gone, leaving me with JJ and his portfolio of moments in time.

Connecting eyes with JJ, I see he is smirking much larger than before.

“I presume you found my fiance amusing?”

“Just the whole conversation actually.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re a completely different person around him, which makes me think either something’s off between you two or something’s off between me and you,” he states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I slam the leather case of drawings shut to punctuate my statement. JJ shakes his head with an unwavering smirk and the air between us falls silent to the energized chatter of people lounging on the deck. After a moment he speaks again,

“Do you love him?”

“Pardon?”

“Rafe. Do you love Rafe?”

“I should find that is a subject that does not concern you!” I respond in frustration to keep my guard up.

“It’s a simple question, Y/n.”

“Well he is my fiancé-”

“That’s not an answer,” JJ then smirks once more, but the playfulness is gone. He’s boxed me into a corner and he knows it.

“I’ll see you at dinner, princess.”

[novantinuum]

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 1: Crux

This just kind of. Sprinted away from me. Have some relationship discussion/examination and character introspection on some Elezen, through the lens of relationships. I hope this sparks joy! Cross posted on AO3

Word count: 2,442

“I beg your pardon,” Aymeric spoke up in the tense quiet of the sitting room. “But I believe this courtship disservices us both.”

His paramour— former paramour, he amended with some bittersweet relief— sighed as if in defeat (but not surprise, and Aymeric noted that acutely,) and set his teacup primly on its saucer.

“May I ask why? I had thought our arrangement had been going rather well.” 

It certainly had been, for a time. Then, as is inevitable with such intimate relations, the true nature of his partner emerged through sheer exposure to him. Aymeric could not reconcile the man he had adored with the man he now knew him to be.

“In coming to know you, I fear our differences are irreconcilable. Further pursuit on either of our parts feels dishonest.”

“This is about the marriage comment, isn’t it?” The noble asked, tone edging on something less than polite. 

A tone Aymeric had gotten uncomfortably familiar with suddenly and recently, when topics of lowborns or bastards came up. Always with the hastily tacked on, “Oh, but I don’t mean you, handsome!” It had guaranteed that he would never even want to entertain the notion of marriage, which in turn had rendered a courtship between them utterly pointless.

“I meant it. I would marry you! You’ve done well for yourself, given your...circumstances. We could still have—”

“No. We cannot.” Aymeric sharply cut him off. “It would require mutual interest. I assure you in the wake of your infidelity and disrespect, it no longer exists, but I thank you for your time.”

“My, my. How impersonal.” The noble stood and brushed nonexistent dust from his coat. The spiteful contempt on his face was evident.  “This is likely for the best. I couldn’t even expect a warm bed with you, you’re such an unfeeling cu—”

“If you are finished, my attendant will show you out.” Aymeric ignored his comment, and calmly returned to his tea to hide the sting of the insult.

After a few moments made more tense by the sound of silence pierced only with angry, labored breathing of his ex-lover and the faint clinking of Aymeric setting his own teacup on its saucer, the hard, rapid thumping of the nobleman’s shoes against carpet punctuated Aymeric’s loneliness, and capped it off entirely with the slam of the heavy oak door.

“Remind me why you put up with him so long, again?” Estinien groused into his ale later that evening, once the knights on the midday shift had made for the Forgotten Knight the moment muster was over. 

Aymeric lacked an answer that would satisfy either of them, and avoided replying by way of a heavy pull from his own flagon. Estinien leaned back heavily enough that his chainmail rattled against the back of the chair when he connected with it, a huff escaping him when he realized an answer was not forthcoming.

“I’m still going to break his fucking legs.” The lancer groused.

“Now, now, much as he is undeserving of his kneecaps, assault would only make more trouble for our friend!” Haurchefant piped up as he flagged a waitress down to order another round.

Though it more or less quieted the griping of their friend, it didn’t entirely silence the grumbling. Aymeric was unsure of whether to feel touched or concerned for how much they— Estinien in particular— cared. Still, flanked by his friends at the table as he was, it helped to feel less alone, and eased the heartache, if only a bit.

“Regardless of your penchant for violence against those who seek to use me,” Aymeric sighed and set his flagon down. “It means much that I am yet in good company.”

“That does bring up your unfortunate track record, my friend.” Haurchefant mused, and just this once, his expression was serious, troubled. “Though your courtships have been few...they have not particularly ended well, have they?”

“That is putting it mildly.” Estinien snorted. 

“Oh, must we?” Aymeric groaned, and swiped a hand down his face. When Estinien opened his mouth to reply, he instead continued, “I am aware that my relationships have hitherto ended...poorly. Spectacularly so. And I have been subjected to mistreatment in each-” he ran a hand through his bangs. “-I ended them all the moment I realized I was being used, being hurt. I know what it is to be loved, and I know what courtesy and respect I deserve, as a person.”

“Really, that’s the best anyone can do. Pray do not take our concerns as criticism of you—” Haurchefant tried to reassure him.

“Speak for yourself.” Estinien muttered into his ale. “I think him a fool.”

Haurchefant kicked Estinien’s shin under the table hard enough to make the lancer choke on his drink. As he dissolved into a coughing fit, Haurchefant continued as though he had never been interrupted, “We aren’t here to criticize, and most certainly should not do so. We only worry because we care. This is most assuredly naught more than a string of bad luck—”

“I would take it as a providential warning at this point.” Aymeric muttered into his ale before he drained his flagon and set it aside. 

After thanking the waitress for bringing them another round and tipping her for the trouble, he spoke up again, hesitant. “I think...I should just stop looking. Focus on the good things and the good people I already have in my life. For mine own sake.”

Haurchefant looked aghast at the suggestion— for how could he play matchmaker anymore if that was the way of it— but when he opened his mouth to interject, Estinien returned that kick to the shin with a hard heel to the ankle. 

Ignoring Haurchefant’s yowling, and the jostling of the table by his jolting in his seat, Estinien picked up his flagon and replied, “If that’s what it takes for you to not get hurt, then do so. Halone knows the both of you—” he gestured at Aymeric and Haurchefant with the hand still holding his ale, “—have little but your looks going for you.”

“Arse.” Aymeric and Haurchefant groused in unison.

“I mean it— the only thing Ishgard cares less about than the poor are the bastards. Anything you have that others would kill for? It makes you the exception to the rule. It makes you a target.” Estinien pressed, his expression serious. “So do what you must to be safe.”

A heavy weight hung over them, oppressive enough they all curled into their cups a little, falling quiet. Aymeric knew that his friend was right— knew that loneliness was preferable to being made to feel alone, and even before that silence was shattered, had already begun to lay the groundwork for those walls he would need to raise around his heart.

“You are right, and the contradiction between Ishgardian politics and my upbringing is the crux of the issue, I suppose.” He finally admitted softly. When Haurchefant sprang up to try and insist differently, he continued, “I know what it is to be loved, and what love and respect I would deserve from and to give my partner. I know that I deserve that, as a person, and I will settle for naught less. If that condemns me to be alone, then so be it.”

“Aymeric, my friend…” Haurchefant sounded sad, but could tell he knew not how to change his friend’s mind. 

Very likely, he could not.

“You need not worry for me.” Aymeric reassured, and for the first time in what felt like years, his smile felt genuine. “‘Tis as I said: I have known love from my parents— Halone rest their souls— and I—”

He hesitated a moment, and lowered his suddenly timid gaze to the frothy head of his ale. Thinking on the comfort that these two men had offered him, had continued to offer him and help support him with, even if he understood that neither of them romantically loved him— or at least, if they did, not deep enough to make it a courtship— he scrounged up enough bravery to admit to his own observations.

“And I continue to know love with the both of you. So ‘tis not all bad. I do not need a courtship to know happiness.”

“...We aren’t here to use you and toss you aside.” Estinien said suddenly, voice uncharacteristically soft. When Aymeric looked up at him, it was Estinien’s turn to stare into his half drank flagon of ale. “Neither of us can offer you that, but...but what we have offered, we’ve done it because we want to.”

“Because we do love you.” Haurchefant said with a nod. 

Estinien said nothing— though his lack of correction was noted, and what mattered.

“If tonight has proven anything, I hope it has proven that if I thought otherwise, I would not be here with you.” Aymeric reassured, and resumed drinking.

Though they did not speak of it again, their mood lifted significantly after that.

The trio, true to their words, had continued to give that warmth and comfort in what ways they could, in what capacity they had, though as their careers pulled them ever further apart, it became easier to forget what that sort of love looked like, until Aymeric couldn’t recall the last time they had been able to make the time for any of it at all. Not for years. Duty and schedules and stations had pulled them apart physically, though letters helped to bridge that distance. Aymeric had learned to make that enough. It was enough. He was happy.

Which was why, once the Warrior of Light had been welcomed as a friend to the three of them, he had thought nothing of stopping to speak with her following a chance encounter in the Pillars. That Haurchefant and Estinien had hung a few paces did not strike Aymeric as odd. As a flower after a dark knight, Aymeric bent toward her radiance.

“I’m so glad I ran into you!” Serella said brightly, and produced a book. “Here— I’m on my way out of the city, but I found it!”

“Found—?” Aymeric had a book suddenly pressed against his chest with a light thmp before he could ask.

Taking the book from her, and forcing himself to tear his gaze from the bright, excited smile she gave him, he glanced down at the book in his hands. When he realized it was the book he’d been meaning to pick up but could not track down a copy of, he gasped in shocked joy.

“How on earth did you manage to find one in the city?” He asked excitedly, already looking back up at her with what he hoped was a socially acceptable level of happiness.

“Oh, I didn’t. Gridania had a copy, though, in one of their bookstores.” She shrugged. “I was there on business, but when I saw it, I thought of you. Wanted to make sure you got to read it.”

“Why? I recall you misliked this series.” Aymeric lamented, even though his elation. 

“Sure, but I remembered how much you liked it.” She explained like it was obvious why she would go out of her way.

“What do I owe you?” He asked suddenly. At the confused expression and tilt of her head, he elaborated, “For the book? What do I owe you?”

Once she realized he was serious, she gave him a wince of a smile. Aymeric couldn’t help but wonder why there was a strange sort of sympathy in that smile.

“Enjoy it, and we’ll be square.” Serella reassured him.

“But what if he does not?” Haurchefant asked, all dramaticism and sweeping, gesticulating arms that managed to arrange themselves with a hand on his hip and an arm slung over her shoulder. “How ever shall he repay you?”

“Well, he needn’t at all. It misses the point of a gift!” She laughed brightly. “But if it would ease the Lord Commander’s guilt…” 

When she looked back at Aymeric, he swore his heart skipped at the playful twinkle found within her eyes. Had Haurchefant also been looking at her with what he could generously describe as a, “scheming bastard’s grin,” he might have forgotten what was being discussed at all in favor of watching her.

“A cup of tea in good company will do.” Serella finished her answer, and her smile widened ever so slightly.

It felt suddenly and unseasonably warm in the courtyard.

The spell was broken and he felt cold again at Hyana’s call from the foot of the stairs leading down to Foundation, as it tore her gaze from him. 

“Alright,” she called back, and threw the three of them another wincing, apologetic smile. “Forgive me, but duty calls.”

“As ever.” Estinien snorted. “Need you assistance?”

“We shouldn’t, thankfully, though rest assured I will contact you if that changes.”

Estinien gave a grunt and nodded, satisfied. 

She looked at Aymeric one last time, as if she wanted to say something else, but then her gaze darted between the three men, she nodded once, and with a simple, “Be well,” she was off down the stairs again.

Aymeric looked down at the book in his hands, and opened it to the first page— nearly letting the pressed lily there flutter away in the breeze for how unexpected it was. He managed to pin it down: a pale blue center with white petals— Halone’s Grace. A flower of immense sentiment to him. She remembered he’d mentioned that, too.

“I have yet to read it,” He called out before he could stop himself. When he turned to face her again, she had paused on the steps, pivoted to face him. “But if assures your return, I regret to inform you ‘tis awful.”

After the momentary shock morphed into another of those dazzling smiles of hers, she called back, “A cup of tea in good company, then, upon my return!”

It had not registered that he had been grinning, ears perked up, as he watched her go until he realized Haurchefant was watching him. He averted his eyes from both Estinien and the damnably observant knight. He cleared his throat behind his hand ears pinned back in humiliation.

“Well, well.” Estinien was the first to speak. “She seems…”

“Shut—”

“Nice.” Haurchefant finished the sentence for him, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

Aymeric hoped the flush that pooled to the tips of his ears would be attributed to the spiteful glare he threw at his friends and not the way his heart fluttered in his chest. Hoped, but was ultimately a realist.

[lucy-the-cat]

Lover’s Curse Chapter Twelve - Affectionate Trigonometry

Iris

Tiberias cannot stop moping.  He barely smiles at his grandmother, despite her numerous attempts to cheer him up.  His head hangs at a permanent angle, always fascinated by the ground.  He won’t laugh at any of my excellent jokes.

It’s annoying.

“Does she love him?”  Tiberias finally speaks once we arrive inside the gates.  Anabel nudges him forward, past metal columns and ominous guards.  I might have exchanged one prison for another.  “He wrote her letters when we were on the run, and she kept them.  Read them in the middle of the night, over and over, crying.  They were friends once.”

“Please don’t involve me in your melodramatic teenage love triangle.”

“She’s being tortured.”  He glares.  “What mind fuckery does it take to convince someone it’s better to be tortured than not?  It’s a reasonable concern.”

I roll my eyes.  “Do you think her an idiot?  Use your head.”  I scoff.  “Mare knows what kind of man he is.  No amount of poetry can erase that.  Perhaps she has plans you don’t know about.”

Tiberias sighs.  “Of course.  She had to make herself a martyr.”

“Wonder who she learned it from.”

“We’re here.”  Anabel guides her grandson away from me, halting in front of a bedroom far less grand than his station should merit.  “Don’t get comfortable.  Maven’s troops have been marching towards Corvium, and a clash is inevitable.”

“I am no stranger to battle.”  I lean against the wall.  “Tiberias, on the other hand, hasn’t trained in weeks.”

He rolls his eyes  “I’m beginning to understand why Maven threatened you.”

“I know.  Neither of you have a sense of humor.”  I huff.  “Barrow does.  Can’t fathom how either of you attracted her.”

“Did you talk to her?”  Tiberias lingers in the doorway.  Anabel has retreated, choosing to inform others of our arrival rather than escorting me to my chambers.  It seems poor manners run in the family.

“Occasionally.”  I study my nails.  “She understood what court did not.  I could relax my guard and discuss what mattered to me without fear of violence or interrogation.  She was a suitable companion.”

“Did--?”  He hesitates.  “Did she ever talk about me or Maven?”

“Self-centered, I see.”  Eye roll.  “She barely mentioned either of you, as she should.  Empty wind bags, both of you.  Learn some manners.”

“That’s not what I meant.”  Tiberias grits his teeth.  “You’re not listening to me.”

“I don’t owe you answers.”

He slams the door in my face.

My room is severe, black and silver coiling around one another in columns, punctuated by the occasional window.  Metal spikes gleam on every surface.  These people would turn on me the instant they stood to gain.

I reach for my vapor to soothe me, but a portion of air is conspicuously dry.  There’s a body in the way.  “Lady Evangeline, I’m not an idiot.  Keep your shadow wench to yourself.”

“Princess Evangeline.”  She appears in the doorway, arms crossed.  There’s a new smugness to her posture, one I hadn’t thought possible.  “You’re addressing an equal, nymph.”

I know her type.  Deeply insecure, overcompensating, resentful of anyone with the authority to make her shut up.  They were always the first to call Tiora lazy, or me an emotionless statue.

“It’s still an act of aggression.  Did you fail Protocol, Your Highness?”

“Why are you here?”  She scowls.  “You had everything, and you gave it up for what, a disgraced prince?  You can’t be that foolish.”

I scoff.  “Everything? Do you think titles are all that defines power?  There is always someone above you, and I’d rather they be Mother than an overstuffed peacock.  I’m sure she’ll agree.”

She tenses.  “You don’t know that.  You can’t leave an engagement and beg forgiveness.  Marriage is for alliances, treaties, business deals.  Not happiness.”

“Pardon.  Did I ask your opinion?”  I turn my back.  “I’ve no desire to steal your princeling, so please cease the dramatics.  Empty your misery on someone who cares.”

The air beside me shimmers into a curtsey, coiled locks more flame than hair.  “Forgive me.  I couldn’t restrain my curiosity.”

I sniff.  “Be more cautious next time.  I may not use underlings to teach a lesson, but others might.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.  You’re wise beyond your years.”

“At least one of you passed protocol.”  I am the still ocean waters on a moonlit night, placid surface teeming with dangers beneath.  “Bother me again, and I’ll carve the next warning into your flesh.”

“What a charming guest.”  Evangeline steps in front of her lover, the metal ornaments twitching in time to her rage.  “Congratulations.  Few manage to be so insufferable Maven Calore won’t tolerate them, but you broke his patience within a month.”

“Please leave.  Don’t make me settle this in public.  My family might still love me after a humiliation, but I suspect yours won’t.”

Poke a bear, you get mauled.

Evangeline pales.  “Come, Elane.  This is growing tedious.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she follows.

I grasp at vapor to ensure I am alone before collapsing onto the bed.  This was the longest day in an endless string of sleepless nights and busy schedules, and I cannot summon the energy to don a proper nightgown.  Gods, grant me strength.  My mortal body is failing me.

When have I last been able to rest?

Perhaps I should’ve stayed.  Maven’s image was a devilish foil to mine, the violent temper to my measured calm, the madness to my rationality, the Merandus menace to my Cygnet saviour.  Once his brother had been slain, I might have swayed enough nobles to depose him.

A Lakeland Empire.

But I’m not a machine.  His blunders couldn’t go uncorrected, my every moment squeezed for maximum efficiency.  Every missed meeting was filled by me, every slighted noble soothed, always humble, always reserved.  So much work, most unappreciated.

Why does any woman marry?

_

I wake at noon.

My morning routine condenses to a flurry, plain dress and sloppy hairstyle compensating for the time already wasted.  War waits for none, no matter their status.

To my dismay, Tiberias is already alert, eyes plastered to a broadcast.  Seated beside him, a scrawny red boy grits his teeth.  Tiberias wrings his hands, lips pressed to a thin line.

“She must know how damaging this is.”  Scrawny paces back and forth, fists clenched.  “It’s exactly the propaganda he needs, and we can’t afford to lose any more support.”

“He’s blackmailing her.”  Tiberias clutches his head.  “Remember when he forced her to recruit newbloods?  Her hollow eyes, her tense stance, her starved frame--they’ve all grown so much worse.”  He closes his eyes.  “She was so fragile.  I can’t imagine what he’s done to her.”

Scrawny throws his hands in the air.  “Then why didn’t she leave?”

“I.  Don’t.  Know.”

“Excuse me.”  I nudge Tiberias, and he glares.  “You’re blocking the screen.”

He shuffles with a huff, revealing a familiar set of blue eyes.  The words slide off me, the usual pageantry, but enough details stick to complete the picture.  Her face flickers into view, a stone that has withstood the pull of an ocean.

Her time has come.

I chuckle.  “She plays him like a fiddle.”

[goldenponcho]

A Cruise Fit for a King Chapter 4

I’m going to preface this chapter with a hot take:

Scarlemagne is absolutely a Karen.

Previous | Chapter 1 | Next

The erratic slapping of Hugo’s hand against the water as he attempted to paddle for shore, in hindsight, had most likely been ineffective. But in the moment, in his still stir-crazy mind, it felt like it was making him go faster. He tired himself out long before he would make it, however. The horizon, he soon realized, was much further away than he had once thought.

It was a good four hours before his strange little craft got anywhere close to perceiving much of anything about the island, but when he did, his hopes rose. The island was massive, for all he knew, an entire continent. He could make out a scattering of small architecture, nothing like the massive high-rises of Skyscraper Ridge, but it still promised some manner of life. Hugo was so mesmerized, it nearly gave him palpitations when something hit his vehicle with a thud.

“‘Ay!! No floaters in the reef, land-crawler!!”

“Huh?” Hugo leaned to see who was speaking to him, only to be shocked into silence. Below him was a bustling rainbow of colors and shapes. There were hundreds…thousand of all sorts of marine mutes weaving in and out of a labyrinth of radiant coral. The water was so crystal clear, he could see straight down for what must have been at least thirty feet, and he quickly sat back down in the passenger seat, as actually seeing how deep the water was was much more unnerving than just knowing it in the back of his mind, no matter how much infinitely deeper the actual ocean was.

There was another thud and a squeeeek! as another mute raked the side of the car.

“Hey! You don’t belong here! Get out of our shoals!!”

Hugo, more cautiously this time, craned his head to address the second irritated mute, a porpoise with a fanny pack strapped to her pudgy neck.

“Apologies, madame! I just need to get to shore so I can-”

“Officer! Arrest this baboon!”

Hugo bristled with an affected gasp, “I am NOT a baboon; I’m a MANDRILL! And I’ll kindly thank you not to-”

“Alright, King Kong! Outta the water! Beat it!!” The black and white “officer” fish berated him and blew a shrill whistle.

Before Hugo could begin to reply, his craft was rocked to the point of nearly capsizing as a mega octopus surfaced, and began flailing its massive tentacles to send his vehicle careening toward shore. He could hear angered jeering aimed toward him, and he gripped the door and the seat beneath him as his craft skidded through the surf and onto the shore.

His car came to a nearly instant halt in the sand, and his nose pressed painfully into the windshield before he was tossed back into his seat. Hugo rubbed his aching snout, groaning as he sat up from the slouched position he had been forced into. He quickly saw that he had been lucky enough to stop just short of a substantial piece of driftwood.

“Thanks for the ride, gents!” He leapt to balance himself on the edge of the driver’s side door, holding onto the windshield frame for support as he cupped the other hand to project his voice, “This is exactly where I wanted to go! I’M MUCH ABLIGED!!”

He was barely through with his taunting when a nasally, monotone voice interrupted him, “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to move your car, or I’ll have no choice but to tow it.”

Hugo looked through the windshield to see a seagull mute wearing a crooked baseball cap and a heavily stained navy jumpsuit.

“I beg your pardon, but I was most unceremoniously surfed here completely outside of my own control,” he stepped back onto the seat behind him and opened his door to release a stream of seawater before stepping down to the beach with a haughty strut, “AND if you could see beyond that BEAK of yours, you would notice that this vehicle has no wheels to speak of.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t be less emotionally invested if I wanted to… Tough break, I guess.”

With a wave of the gull’s feather wing, Hugo heard loud flapping and turned in time to watch a mega pelican with two heads that would have dwarfed even his own personal flamingo several times over thud to the sand on the other side of the car. The creature lowered one of its heads and opened its beak to reveal a whole pile of mostly metal flotsam and jetsam. Hugo was left uncharacteristically speechless as the beak latched onto his car and engulfed it completely before the bird waddled with heavy steps away from the beach and further inland. It stopped in front of what looked to be a large wall made of garbage that spanned the entire length of the shore as far as Hugo could see both ways, then practically vomited his precious luxury car onto the top of the wall along with the pile of scrap metal.

“Are-you-JOKING?!!” he resisted the urge to stomp his foot, “That convertible is my ONLY mode of transportation!”

The seagull didn’t look up from his clipboard to gave a wide eyed, tight beaked stare at nothing, “Well, you should have thought about that before you bought a car with no wheels.”

Hugo’s eye twitched, and his fur bristled as he clenched his fists in front of him with barred teeth. Before he could retort, the rude mute had ripped the the sheet of paper he had been writing on and held it in front of  Hugo’s nose. “If you want it back, sign this and take it to Maggie at the kiosk. Have a nice day.”

Hugo glared daggers at who was now his least favorite mute in the world, raising a hand slowly, then violently snatching the paper from him. “Thank. You.” The words were punctuated in a way which insinuated that in spirit, he was saying something much less kind. He huffed as the bird left to torment some other poor soul and glanced to scan the form he had been handed.

He glared at the entry for “year” where the gull had written “old”. “Old?! That car was a classic, fully restored, in mint condition!” He slapped the back of his hand against the form, “At least it was.”

His eyes scanned over the total for the pickup fee to see scribbled there “five small shells, three medium shells, or one large shell”. That was all? He looked to his feet where there was nothing but a mixture of seashells and sand, and he gave a shrug before scooping up a handful. He sorted through the gritty mixture with a finger to study its contents. There was one shell. Two. Three, four…and five! He dusted the rest off on his coat, taking extra care to make sure none of the sand stuck there, then made his way to the kiosk next to the wall.

Hugo approached the large crab mute behind the counter and tossed the form and the shells in front of her. “I’d like my automobile back, ma’am. The fuchsia convertible with the silver hood ornament of my very own likeness,” he gave a “get going” motion with his hand. “Please and thank you.”

“What the hell are these?” The crab’s voice grated as she put a cigarette out on the counter, but she didn’t budge from her spot, arms crossed and leaned back against her own massive shell.

“Five small shells?” Hugo jabbed a finger to the form, “I believe this is sufficient payment for you to release back to me my vehicle that your DELIGHTFUL little mom and pop operation took right from under my nose.”

“You ain’t from around here, are ya, monkeyshines? These measly little suckers ain’t worth squat. You need a few o’ these bad boys!” She gave the shell behind her a slap, “We’re talkin’ ‘bout conchs, whelks, cones…even a pitiful little nerite  would be better than this. How ya ‘spect the young’uns ta keep their keisters covered with a couple’a little, cracked surf clams?” She moved to open the curtained bar flap next to her which revealed a tiny horde of baby hermit crabs, all of different sizes, one skittering out of site with a squeak at being caught mid shell exchange.

“Listen!” Hugo howled, pointing an assertive finger, “THAT car has been with me for a LONG time! If you think I’m about to let it become a BRICK in your wall of RABBLE, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN!!!”

Hugo breathed loudly and rapidly, now hunched forward on his knuckles, but the hermit crab wasn’t at all threatened.

“You ain’t got SHELLS, monkeyshines, then you ain’t got a CAR!!” And with that, she slammed the rolling counter door above them shut, nearly catching the tip of Hugo’s nose on the way down.

He inhaled before releasing something between a snarl and a scream through clenched teeth, then shuddered with a growl before almost immediately composing himself with a proper, upright posture and a stiff, manic smile, “I…HATE it here.”

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 15: For This Trick, I Will Disappear

I easily find my way to the coffee house thanks to the map Sebastian gave me along with the money. I neatly fold it and put it in my cloth bag when the streets become familiar to me. The layout of this neighbourhood has barely changed in the 126 years between now and my time, so I no longer need it to make it into the large venue. According to Sebastian, this is the place to go for the finest coffee beans available in Paris, despite the steep prices. He made sure to give me more than enough in order to afford it.

As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting inside, my nose fills with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Ignoring the few patrons seated around various tables, I march straight to the bar at the back, causing the man behind it to look up from his newspaper.

“Bonjour. I would like to buy a large bag of coffee.” The man looks down at me with a sneer.

“Sure, mademoiselle. If you can pay for it,” he laughs rudely. “40 francs, take it or leave it.”

I stare blankly at him. Surely he must be joking. Sebastian only gave me 15 and assured me this would buy more than twice the amount that I’m supposed to get.

“Pardon my language, monsieur, but there is no way in hell that is the real price,” I snap at him. I know for a fact that prices have gone up, and even in modern currency that would be such a stretch the bastard would need a chiropractor afterwards. “Do you think you can swindle me because I’m a woman, or is it because I’m a foreigner? Please enlighten me as to why you think this is acceptable business practice.”

This rat of a man is looking more offended by the second. Before I can continue on my furious tirade in the fight for a goddamn bag of coffee, I feel an arm snake around my shoulders.

“Now, now, how about we settle this with a bet?” I do not need to turn around to identify Arthur’s playful tone.

“Madre mía, lo que faltaba... (just what I was missing)” I breathe out my lament in Spanish as Arthur keeps talking over me like he doesn’t even notice my exasperation.

“If the lady wins, you give her the coffee for free. If she loses, she must pay the full price.” I elbow him on the ribs, ready to complain that I don’t even have that much money, but his shit eating grin tells me everything I need to know.

“Great idea, my dear,” I play along. “Let’s see...” My eyes scour the bar for anything I can use, gliding along the expensive bottles of liqueur that line the wall behind it, until they settle on a tower of clean saucers. “Would you be so kind to get me one of those full of water, monsieur? And an empty glass, too.”

I lean into Arthur’s lazy embrace with an innocent smile as the man behind the bar eyes me with suspicion, but soon enough, the items I requested are laid out in front of me. Arthur and I exchange a meaningful look: his inquisitive, and mine charged with reassurance. I mouth the words “trust me” in English, facing away from the bartender. He gives me no sign of acknowledgement, but follows my lead nonetheless as I climb on a stool across from the man.

“I bet I can transfer the water from this saucer into the glass without touching it.” I pause dramatically, allowing the man to ponder my proposal. He lets out an incredulous laugh and barks at me to prove it, confident in the limitations of the seemingly impossible task.

By now, Arthur has caught on. He reaches for a cork on a nearby table and presses it into my hand under the bar. I calmly put it in the middle of the flooded plate, and proceed to pull out a cigarillo and a book of matches.

“Go on, woman! I don’t have all day!”

Unbothered by the man’s sudden loss of patience, I raise an eyebrow at him and light my cigarillo, deliberately taking my time. With it still between my lips, I stab the matchstick upright into the cork, and put the glass over it as a makeshift dome. As I predicted, the flame grows briefly before slowly dying out, and the bartender watches, dumbfounded, as the water on the saucer begins to raise into the upside down glass, pulled by a vacuum.

I dramatically exhale a cloud of smoke as I curtsy, cigarillo in hand.

“And this is how it’s done, thank you very much,” I say with a cheeky smile that truly resembles Arthur’s a bit more than I’d like. “I’ll take my coffee now, please.”

I watch as the man lets out a resigned sigh and goes to fetch what I asked for. He reappears and sets the bag on top of the counter. However, the moment I reach for it, his demeanor changes.

“No way,” he snaps angrily. “Pay up, woman.”

“What? I won the bet!”

“She won indeed, fair and square,” Arthur echoes. The bartender glares at him before taking the bag protectively in his arms and making his way to the other side, to us.

“You must have cheated somehow. 50 francs, now. Or you won’t get your coffee beans.”

50? I can’t believe he had the gall to raise the already outrageous price even more. Before I can open my mouth to protest, he shifts forward and reaches a sweaty hand to stroke my face.

“If you don’t have the money, I can think of another way you can pay, chérie.” He stands uncomfortably close, punctuating the disgusting implication of his words. I swat his hand away in a quick, brusque movement.

“How dare you request such a thing of a lady!” Arthur intervenes, getting between me and the man, who responds by throwing the sack of coffee on the floor behind him. My eyes widen when I see his fist tighten, and before I can shout a warning, he throws a punch at Arthur.

Oh, shit.

I never hear it land. Instead, the writer dodges it with almost supernatural ease, and his own fist connects with the bartender’s jaw. The man stumbles backwards, more from his own poor attempt at dodging than from the impact itself, but catches himself against the bar to regain balance. I take this distraction as an opportunity to scurry behind him and grab the coffee before I bolt to the door.

At this point, the other patrons have already heard the commotion and are beginning to react. I hear a woman scream, which seems to wake most of them from their blissful stupor. People are getting up and heading towards the exit, where I lean against the wall as I try to shove the large sack into my shopping bag.

“Arthur, run!” Now is the perfect time. He doesn’t need to be told twice, and runs to join me outside, dodging the agitated crowd, which provides an excellent distraction. He takes my hand and we sprint down the cobbled street.

After a couple minutes of running full speed, we finally stop by a wooden bench. Panting, I look back. The bartender is nowhere to be seen. I am confident we lost him shortly after we left.

“Ai, merda... (shit)” Cursing in Catalan, I let go of the heavy bag and rub my shoulder, where the handle was painfully digging into my skin. I glance at Arthur. He seems to have caught his breath much faster than me, if he even needed to at all. “What a pervert, huh?” I laugh. He does, too.

“Some people just don’t play fair,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Are you alright, dear?”

"Made it in one piece. Are you?” He nods, the cheeky smile from before back on his face. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed the beauty mark on his chin until now. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be such a gentleman!” I playfully nudge him before switching to a cheesy British accent. “Thank you for defending my honour.”

“Why, you’re welcome, dove,” he laughs. “I simply must protect a fair lady such as yourself. Speaking of, what where you doing all alone? Didn’t Sebastian accompany you?”

“I came with him, yes, but he sent me to get the coffee. Said I could explore the city on my own after,” I explain, gesturing towards my bag. “I should probably go find him in the market. Do you know where that is? I already know Paris pretty well, but some things have changed in the future and I have the feeling this might be one of them.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll accompany you.” He offers his arm and I take it, grabbing the bag with my free hand before we start walking.

[notalwaysthevillian]

Parent Trapped

Warnings: knife mention (pocket knife), general anxiety

Pairings: Eventual Romantic Remile, platonic LAMP

Word Count: ~3.2k

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Chapter 1: Moving In

Patton Picani stared out the car window as they drove through their new town. He was careful to keep his excitement down so that he wouldn’t wake up his sleeping brother. He’d been so nervous about moving that he hadn’t slept at all the previous night, only to pass out as soon as they’d gotten in the car.

The moving van was leading their way through town. Patton could see a few kids his age looking at the van, probably wondering who the new people were. He hoped they were friendly!

“What do you think, Pat?” His dad asked from the front seat.

“I like this place.” Patton’s glasses clinked against the window as he pressed his face against it. “It’s a lot smaller than Elmville.”

“Hopefully it’s easier for V.”

There was some shifting in the seat backseat as Virgil finally woke up. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, panicking as he realized he was in the car.

Patton quickly reached over, grabbing his hand and rubbing soothing circles into the skin. “It’s okay V. It’s moving day, remember?”

There was only a slight release of tension in his shoulders. With the hand Patton wasn’t holding onto, Virgil flipped up his hood.

Shortly after, Emile pulled into the driveway of their house. The moving van parked by the curb and a few workers hopped out, heading for the back.

“You boys ready to work?” Emile asked as the three of them got out of the car.

They both nodded, Patton clearly more excited than Virgil.

Grabbing the boxes labelled ‘kitchen’, Emile set them on their island. “If you boys could get the kitchen set up, that would be a huge help. The movers and I will get the bigger furniture inside, so when you guys are done with that you can set up your rooms. When we’re exhausted, we’ll order some pizza.”

Virgil pulled out his pocket knife, slicing open the tape on the box. He and Patton immediately dug inside as their father left the room.

“What if we don’t like it here?” Virgil asked as they started putting mugs in a cabinet.

Patton pulled their favorites out, leaving them off to the side for later. “I think we will. You were asleep when we came through most of town, but everything is really close. The library is only a few blocks from here, we could walk to it every day. And there’s a cafe right across from it in case we get hungry.”

Virgil nodded, but Patton could tell he wasn’t convinced. He had that look in his eye that he got when he was worried about something, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

Instead of pressing the issue, Patton slid over the next box. “Can you open that one?”

The two quickly formed a rhythm. Virgil would open the box and decide where the items went. Patton would start emptying it as Virgil moved to the next box. When Patton could no longer reach, Virgil would take over, his few extra inches allowing him to just reach the top shelves in the cabinets.

It took them all morning to completely unpack the kitchen. The refrigerator was still empty, but all of their dishes were now in their proper places, as well as the cleaning supplies under the sink.

After stacking the boxes, they started looking for their dad.

“All done already?” He asked when they found him in the master bedroom. “I knew I picked the right ones for the job.”

“This is the last of it.” One of the movers said, wiping sweat from his brow.

Emile immediately grabbed his wallet. “Let me walk you out. Boys, you can work on your bedrooms if you like. If you’re too tired, just get out some clothes for tomorrow and throw some sheets on your beds.”

The two boys looked at each other before darting down the hall. They found each of their rooms with ease. Patton had a canopy bed, easily distinguished from Virgil’s more modern bedframe.

“Look at your window seat!” Patton bounced on his toes. “When it rains we can make a blanket fort in here.”

“We definitely have enough materials for that.” Virgil said, a small smile starting to form. “You have direct view of the driveway, Pat.”

“Good! I’ll know if any of our friends come over.”

Virgil sat on his window seat, wrapping his arms around his legs. “Pat...what if no one wants to be my friend?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Virgil shot his brother a look, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes.

“V, anxiety is something a lot of people have.” Patton sat across from his brother, nothing but truth shining in his eyes as he repeated what he’d heard their dad say a few times. “It’s not something to be ashamed about. And if people don’t like you for that, then it’s their loss because I think you’re awesome.”

The edges of Virgil’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Thanks Pat.”

“Hug?”

Truly smiling now, Virgil slid into his brother’s arms, the pressure calming him down almost immediately.

“Boys?”

“In here!” They called out in unison.

Emile walked in, peering through his glasses at his phone. “What kind of pizza do you want? They have a coupon for two one-topping pizzas and a liter of soda.”

“Pepperoni!”

“Sausage!”

Emile laughed. “Alright, pepperoni and sausage it is. I’ll get some Sprite for all of us, is that okay?”

“Yep!”

While they waited for the pizza, Virgil and Patton did a little bit of unpacking.

Virgil made his bed and grabbed his clothes for the next day, before digging through his boxes and finding his weighted blanket.

Patton did the same, but opted to start putting some of his clothes away.

When they heard the doorbell ring, they both headed downstairs, Virgil wearing his blanket over his shoulders.

Emile took the pizzas and handed them to the boys before giving the delivery driver a generous tip. “Thank you very much.”

“No problem sir.” The driver said, eyes widening at the tip. “Have a nice night.”

“You as well!”

By the time Emile got into the kitchen, Patton and Virgil already had pizza on their plates.

“I don’t have the cable set up yet, but I did set up the router.” Emile said as he grabbed a few slices. “We can watch something on Netflix.”

Patton looked over at Virgil. “Anything in particular you want to watch?”

“Just something relaxing.”

Heading into the living room, Patton grabbed the remote and pulled up The Great British Bake Off. “Is this good?”

“It’s perfect.” Virgil leaned back into their new couch, loving how soft it was. He rearranged his blanket on his shoulders as Patton picked a season to watch.

After finishing their pizza, Emile gathered their plates. Patton roused a nearly asleep Virgil, helping him to his feet.

“C’mon, V, we’ve had a long day.” He started leading his brother to their bedrooms. “Let’s get some rest.”

Half dragging Virgil, Patton got them upstairs. Virgil snuggled closer to him when they got upstairs.

“Did you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Patton whispered.

Virgil nodded, his eyelids drooping again.

“Go put on some pajamas.”

By the time Emile finished cleaning up and checked in on his sons, they were curled up on Patton’s bed. He smiled at their sleeping forms before flicking on the hall light and mostly closing the door.

Knowing the boys were safe and sound, he headed to his room, opting to watch some Parks and Rec on his laptop before he joined his sons in a peaceful slumber.

The next morning, Emile rose bright and early, like he always did. He took a quick shower before deciding to go for a walk around the neighborhood. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, painting the houses in a beautiful golden glow.

As he rounded the corner, he nearly bumped into small woman who had her hair neatly tied up in a ponytail, blonde waves cascading down her back.

“Pardon me!” He said, moving to the side.

Instead of continuing on, she stopped, pulling her headphones out of her ears. “Sorry, I don’t normally run into anyone on my morning walks. This neighborhood is full of night owls. It’s nice to meet another early bird!”

“Same here.” Emile held out a hand. “I’m Emile Picani. My sons and I just moved in.”

“Oh!” The woman shook his hand, flashing him a big smile. “You’re our new neighbors. I’m Juliet Task. My husband and I have a set of triplets. They’re sophomores at the high school.”

Emile couldn’t help but match her happy energy. “My sons will be starting on Monday! They’re freshman.”

“Did you guys need any help unpacking? My husband and I try to keep our Sundays open in case the kids need any homework help, but we could spare a few hours.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Juliet shook her head, a stern look on her face. “Nonsense! Our last neighbors were shut ins, I’m not allowing that to happen to someone as lovely as you. I’ll even bring over some dessert.”

Emile laughed. “That’s very kind of you, Juliet. You’re welcome at any time. Though my youngest does prefer to sleep in, and he’s had a bit of a rough move.”

“Poor thing.” Juliet put an earbud back in. “I’ll see you in a little while!”

“See you!”

Emile finished his walk, finding Patton in the kitchen when he came back in.

“I forgot we didn’t have anything in the fridge.” He said, his stomach punctuating the sentence with a growl.

Grabbing his keys, Emile said, “I’ll run to the store and grab some eggs and bread right now. Let Virgil know where I went if he wakes up, but I’ll be back in about five minutes.”

Patton headed back upstairs. He quietly unpacked a few more boxes, doing his best to not wake Virgil up.

The silence was ruined when he dropped a box on his foot and let out a yelp.

“Pat?” Virgil mumbled as he sat up. His normally straightened hair had started to curl overnight, pulling up and away from his eyes. “You okay?”

Patton opened the flaps of the box. “I’m fine! Just clumsy. Oh! Virgil, look!”

Patton pulled a small trophy out of the box. Virgil couldn’t help but smile, remembering how happy Patton had been when he’d gotten a trophy for ‘cutest smile’ in the fourth grade. Their whole class had voted, and since the winner had been unanimous, the teacher had bought a trophy. Of course, that had set off a whole slew of angry parents, but Patton didn’t know that.

In fact, Virgil only knew that because he’d come to class early, anxious about being late, and had overheard the teacher on the phone. He’d never told Patton, knowing it would crush his spirit.

The two of them perked up as they heard the front door open, darting downstairs. Emile set the bag down on the kitchen counter, pulling out a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a small package of bacon.

“I’ll go grocery shopping a little later, but I figure we can have this for breakfast and some leftover pizza for lunch.”

“Okay!”

Patton grabbed a frying pan off of their rack, twisting the knob on the stove to get the heat going. Virgil started peeling apart the bacon and getting it in the microwave. They’d had a few issues with cooking bacon in the pan before. After that, they agreed that it was safer to cook it in the microwave.

Emile threw some bread in the toaster, not pushing the levers down until Patton cracked the first egg.

Working in tandem, they got breakfast on the table. Each of them grabbed their plate, moving to the dining room table for this meal.

“So, I ran into a neighbor this morning on my walk.” Emile started, smearing butter on his toast. “She said she lives right next door to us, and offered to help us unpack some things. Her name is Juliet and she’s very nice.”

“Juliet is such a pretty name!” Patton took a bite of his bacon.

“Are you going to be alright if she brings her family over, Virgil?” Emile asked, looking at his younger son. “I can always tell her that you’re sleeping.”

Virgil chewed on his lower lip for a second. “Her whole family?”

“Yes, she talked about bringing over her husband and her triplets. But if you’re not going to feel comfortable -”

“I think I’ll be okay.” Virgil said, spreading the egg yolk around his plate. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

Almost as soon as the three of them had finished and cleaned up their breakfast, the doorbell rang. Emile opened it up, feeling his sons behind him.

Once more a pair of sparkling blue eyes shone up at him. “Is it too early?”

“Never.” Emile said, waving a hand. Virgil and Patton moved out of the way as the Task family entered the house.

A bigger man with dark skin who stood tall, compared to his tiny wife, held out a hand. “Brad Task. Juliet came home absolutely gushing about the polite new neighbor.”

As the adults got acquainted, Patton and Virgil had led the triplets into the living room.

The triplets all shared the same wavy black hair and green eyes, which made it harder to tell them apart.

“I’m Tanya!” One of them said, her grin showing off her dimples. “That’s Ted and that’s Trevor. Trevor is the one with the birthmark in case you need to tell them apart.”

“Nice to meet you guys!” Patton wiggled in place. “I’m Patton, and that’s Virgil. We’re twins!”

Virgil nodded, beside Patton, doing his best to look inviting.

Tanya tilted her head, looking at Virgil. “I like your hoodie. It looks really comfy.”

“It is.” Virgil flipped the hood up, anxiety getting the better of him. “It’s starting to get some holes in it though.”

“I could help!” Ted offered. “My mom’s been teaching me a little bit of sewing. She said that since I keep putting holes in my clothes, I should learn how to stitch them up.”

As the kids bonded in the living room, the adults walked in and started unpacking. Brad helped Emile get the cable set up while Juliet got the kids to help her unpack all the knick knacks.

“This is such a cute photo.” Juliet said, holding up a photo in a silver frame.

Patton and Virgil exchanged a quick look, before Patton spoke up. “That was taken just after we were born.”

“Where’s your mom now?” Tanya asked, before she covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, that was - you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay.” Emile said as he walked over. “Their mom was a wonderful person. Unfortunately, she passed away not long after the boys were born. There had been some complications during the birth and the doctors didn’t catch them in time.”

Tears shone in Emile’s eyes as he spoke. Patton and Virgil hugged him tightly.

“Do you miss her?” Trevor asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Emile nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Every day. But I know she’s watching over us, and that she’d want me to keep living life to the fullest.”

“That’s a very positive attitude to have.” Brad said, wrapping his arms around his wife and kissing the top of her head.

One slightly awkward silence later, they continued unpacking.

With the help of the Tasks, the Picanis had a functioning home in no time at all. The only boxes left to unpack were sitting in each of their bedrooms.

“I think it’s time for a break.” Juliet said as Brad and Emile came back in from recycling the boxes. “Who wants some chocolate cake?”

“ME!” The kids all shouted.

“That sounds delicious!”

Brad grinned at his wife. “She makes the absolute best desserts. I guess that’s why I’m a little more like Santa.”

“If that makes me Mrs. Claus, then I’m all for it.” She said, going up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

The triplets rolled their eyes in unison, making Patton giggle. Trevor leaned over to them. “They do this all the time and it’s so gross.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Tanya said. “But it is a bit gross.”

“Oh, hush.” Juliet walked over, grabbing a knife from Emile and slicing up the cake. “You’ll feel the same way when you’re older about a lucky guy.”

“Or girl.” Brad added on. “Or person. Whoever you end up with is going to be lucky to have you.”

“What if I want to be a cat lady?” Tanya asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Then we’ll love you just the same.”

Emile couldn’t help himself. “Awww, that’s sweet. And it’s great that you’re so accepting. Our last place we lived in wasn’t as...accommodating.”

Juliet’s happy smile vanished. “There’s still a few people in town who aren’t as open minded, but for the most part, the whole town is working on our acceptance. More and more of our kids are finding labels that fit them, so a lot of us are making an effort.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Despite Emile’s smile, there was a sadness in his eyes.

Brad and Juliet didn’t press the issue, instead enjoying the rest of the cake. When it was gone, they gathered up the cake pan and the kids.

“Thank you for all the help.”

Brad waved a hand in the air. “It was no problem at all.”

“Did you need the triplets to help your boys to the bus stop in the morning?” Juliet asked, hovering in the entryway.

Virgil’s eyes shot wide. Emile caught the look, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. “That won’t be necessary, I’ll be taking the boys to school. It’s on my way to the office anyway.”

“No worries!” Juliet waved as she headed out the door after her kids. Brad followed right after, leaving the three of them in a now mostly unpacked, silent house.

Virgil immediately headed up to his room, mumbling something about ‘too much interaction’. Emile let him go, knowing that he needed a cool down before talking to anyone else for a while. Patton headed upstairs as well, hoping to unpack more of his stuff.

Looking at their empty fridge, Emile decided to take a trip to the grocery store. He popped his head upstairs to tell the boys were he was going before heading off.

With a general list of what he needed, as he was mostly getting the basics, he managed to power through the store. Just as he got to the checkout line, a man in a leather jacket stepped in front of him, throwing his items on the counter.

Emile bit his lip to keep from saying anything. After all, he didn’t know anyone but his neighbors. For all he knew, this guy was having a bad day, or maybe one of his kids was sick and he needed to get home quickly.

As the man gathered up his groceries, he finally looked at Emile. “Thanks for letting me cut babes.”

Flushing bright red, Emile was left speechless as the man left the store.

There’s currently no taglist to this fic, but if you’d like to be tagged you can find the link to my taglist here. It can only be edited on desktop, so if you’re on mobile just send an ask to my inbox!

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[wickedandthedamned]

Ch.1 Even saints lie

"You bitch"

 The man in the bowling hat stared into the monk's frightened eyes as his grasp became even tighter around her throat. His voice remained even and his expression only showed mild annoyance.

 "Yoshikage…. Please.. You are hurting me" She managed to croak out. It would not be long until she lost consciousness and she knew it.

 "So, I see you ARE trying to achieve sainthood. Thought you would do God's work and 'help' a poor soul pass on to the next plane huh?"

 "I was… just trying to…. Help…." There was no use in struggling. The man had lifted her by her throat. Her eyes pleaded as they became glassy.

 "Help? Look at me! As you can see, the cleansers did quite a little number on my arm.” He leaned in, and whispered into her ear.

 “ There was one thing that kept me sane during my time trying to determine whether you knew about the eggs and that was the thought that maybe, just maybe your arm would fit " He punctuated his sentence by holding up what was left of his severed limb.”

 "Please.. You.. Need.. To.. Move.. On……" The world started fading.

 Kira stared at her. He could see the color draining from her face as her usually pink lips turned a pale shade of blue. He took a deep breath and let go of the monk's throat allowing her to hit the ground with a loud thud. She loudly gasped for air and proceeded to cough, her throat marked with a large handprint. He crouched down to her eye level and looked at her seemingly unbothered by the sight of her struggling to get life back into her lungs.

 "Not your call, Momoko. I think it is for the best if we stop seeing each other. I have enough money to find an apartment now anyway." 

 He slowly walked away not bothering to look back.

 It was a nice day, he thought. It was neither too hot or too cold and the sky was bluer than ever. He stopped by his favorite shop and admired the flowers for three minutes like he did every day.. They had tulips, his favorites. Maybe now that he was going to have his own place he would finally be able to paint them in peace. Yes, that sounded nice. He would wake up at 9 am, do a couple of stretches, and make breakfast while listening to the radio. Later, he would listen to an entire Wagner symphony while painting in his balcony. At night, he would watch the people go by while drinking a cup of tea, hell he may even read that silly book about noseless elephants. Finally, peace and tranquility. That was if things did not go like last time and a 'concerned' tenant started claiming there was suspicious activity going on which sooner or later would lead to him being evicted by a group of 'mediums' with nothing better to do than harass the dead.

 On his path, he saw a curled up soul whimpering and attempting to avoid the feet of the living who moved around rapidly, anxious to get home from work. The pitiful sight gave Yoshikage a wonderful idea. He bent slightly forward and stuck his hand out politely.

 "Hello, I am Yoshikage Kira. I too am dead.” He giggled.

  “Please pardon my foolishness, but I cannot believe I had not thought about this sooner is all" He coyly held a hand to his face as he gave the most innocent smile to the poor spirit who looked as though ready to start sobbing.

 "As you can see, my arm appears to be missing. “ He punctuated his sentence by holding up his stump which was poorly draped with ripped cloth from his green suit.

 “I think you can help my predicament.” With his remaining arm he kicked down the soul who began wailing and frantically looking at the living for any kind of help.

  “Now, now, please do not scream or struggle. You are going to make my head hurt. It isn't as though you are getting much use out of yours sitting here in this corner all day anyway so I don’t understand why you’re being such a pain."

  Kira’s foot pressed down on the other ghost’s head as he hacked away at the poor things arm with his knife.

  "There is a house with a couple of dogs down the street and I'm afraid I'm going to have to throw you over the fence if you don't stop causing such a scene." 

 The way the man cutting his arm spoke scared him far more than the living ever had. Despite his horrible actions, it seemed like this was nothing to this man -no- this monster

 "There,  see? That wasn't so bad, was it? All done" 

 Kira dropped the whimpering soul and walked off fitting the new arm into his stub. Surprisingly, the arm attached itself in a matter of seconds and he was able to use it relatively well.

 He had spent the last couple of weeks sleeping in the house of a family who had been out on vacation. Unfortunately for him, they were coming back in a day or two so he would have to find a way to acquire his own space sooner than he had hoped. He sighed and glared at the setting sun.

 "It's always a hassle figuring out where I will rest"

 …... 

 "Yoshikage!"

 The familiar voice called from down the street followed by the clanking of wood on concrete. Oh great, what did she want? Just as predicted, the caller was none other than the monk he had been running errands for. He turned around both amused and exasperated, still hurt about her betrayal.

 "Momoko? I thought I made myself clear yesterday." 

  "Wait! I thought about it and you were right. It wasn't my place to send you to that house. By now you should know I am not a sentimental woman but.. Here.”  She dug through her robes and produced a small object.

  “Think of this as an apology"

 She handed him a small piece of yellow paper with a number scribbled on top and the word "Poveglia" at the bottom. Kira looked down at it then back at her face. It was as expressionless as always but there was a small hint of something Kira could not quite read in her eyes.

 “I don't work for you anymore" He announced while continuing to walk forward. The monk sped up and walked in front of him still holding the paper.

 "Then think of it as a present from a friend" She pushed the paper closer towards Kira's closed fist.

 'Friend'? He thought to himself. He had been working with her for the past three years but he had never thought of her as more than a boss really especially considering her stoic attitude towards him. Yet again she was, in fact, a monk, so that could be dismissed as part of her creed. Oh well.

 "Why should I trust you?" He tilted his head and raised his brow. Momoko had to admit he did have a point. She had sent him in a suicide mission fairly recently, after all.

 "You will not get what you seek in Morioh. There is simply too much going on but I know someone-"

 "Let me guess another one of your 'friends'" Kira rolled his eyes sarcastically.

 "I know someone that can help you get the quiet life you want." Momoko glared, she hated being interrupted.

 "Fine, but for the record if you are lying to me I will kill you this time. Do I make myself clear?" The tone of his voice let on that this was less of a threat and more of a matter-of-fact statement.

 "Fair enough"

 "Let me guess I'm going to have to offer my services to your 'friend'"

 "A small price to pay for a lifetime of tranquility, is it not?. My acquaintance has a very wealthy client who is looking for something-"

 "Do I look like a bloodhound to you?"

 "Stop interrupting"

 Kira raised his hands defensively and listened on. He knew Momoko Okamoto well enough to know when to take her seriously and despite yesterday's actions, he acknowledged she was someone who's bad side he did not want to be on.

 "As I was saying, he has a very wealthy client who is looking for something he has lost. Said item is very heavily guarded by a bunch of inconveniences that need to be dispatched, that's where you come in. They will explain more once you meet with them. In this paper you will find the coordinates to the meetup spot as well as the code word you must say in order to prove you are who you say you are"

 "You still haven't told me my reward."

 "My friend knows of a place solely populated with people in your state.No living beings to beings to be seen"

 "Go on"

 "Your reward is enough money to buy a house or apartment in the location of the aforementioned place"

 "What's the catch?"

 "The meeting place is in Europe"

 "Hm" 

 "I will pay for your travel expenses. You don't even have to take the job just go to the meeting"

 "I'll think about it" He opened his palm and allowed the paper to fall on it. The monk gave him a nod and went back to where she came from.

 ...

 In the afternoon of the very same day, Yoshikage Kira found himself in the Morioh Library. It was a Saturday night, there were hardly any patrons which made the place rather pleasant. There he was able to sit down and perhaps figure out additional information on the mission. He could not find anything on the word "Poveglia" but he did, locate the coordinates in the paper. It was a small café on the outsides of Sicily. Kira placed both hands under his chin.

 "Italy, huh?"

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 41/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

From the minute she got into Rose’s car, Rey realized that unlike the time she spent with Ben, the next five hours were going to be exceptionally long. San Francisco seemed a world away. Rose stared straight ahead, cheeks still flushed and lips pursed in consternation. Rey pretend to be engrossed in her phone. Suddenly, Rose held out here hand, palm up, without even turning to look at her. Rey’s eyes widened, unsure. “The microchip. Hand it over.” Her companion ordered. “No way, I risked my life for this thing; I’m keeping it. I won’t give it to anyone but Leia Skywalker herself.” Rose gave her an exaggerated eye-roll. “Let’s just say I don’t exactly trust you,” she said through gritted teeth. “Given that I spent a long sleepless night worrying about what happened to you, only to find that you’ve been having a great time in Kylo Ren’s arms!” “Come on! As if you or Leia ever even bothered to warn me about the massive risk you were exposing me to. You can sulk all you want. I almost died, on three separate occasions! Is this what you people always do? Take some poor unsuspecting passerby and throw them into No Man’s Land?” “It was for an important cause,” Rose stammered. “You gave no idea what this trial means to us, and to Leia Skywalker...” “More than a stranger’s life, in any case,” Rey retorted dryly. “You sacrificed my life without hesitation. No wonder Ben ran away. Did his mother throw him to the wolves too, in the name of the ‘greater good’?” “I won’t let you talk about Leia like that!” Rose snapped, her bottom lip quivering with rage. “You have no idea the hardships she’s been through, none!” “I have a very good idea of what she did to her son, though. Pardon me if I can’t find enough compassion for the woman who considered Ben and I negligible losses!”

Rose took a deep breath before answering in a low voice : “He did this to you. He filled your head with lies without you realizing.” “Kylo Ren lied to me. Ben Solo would never. Ben was willing to sacrifice everything to make things right. No one can convince me otherwise.” “And there’s another one,” Rose sighed, visibly exasperated. “Oh really? He was the one who brought me here, did you ever see him hurt me? If he wanted to kill me, didn’t he have a thousand perfect opportunities to do that already? How do you explain that?” Rose hesitated, uncertain. “What if he...put a tracker in you bag! You’d lead him right to the Earth Soldiers HQ!” “Stop the car,” Rey demanded. “What?” “I said, stop the car. Do you want to search my belongings? Park the car and do it right now. If that’s what will get you to stop imaging whatever nonsense, do it now and save us the argument!”

The other woman turned red. “You know what?” She raised a brow. “Okay. Okay, we’re doing that!” True to her words, she flashed her signal and turned to park just off of the highway. It wasn’t a rest stop per se, but an emergency parking area just large enough for a vehicle. Rey wasn’t sure if this counted as a real emergency, but she didn’t want to push her luck today. After days of being hunted by FORCE she’d imagined finding some comfort in the company of an Earth Soldiers op, not another trial by fire.

Rey stomped angrily out of the parked car and shouldered her bag out of the trunk, dropping it on the ground. “Go ahead, take a look. I’ve got all day.”

Rose walked up, her head held high. She began to carefully unpack the bag. She searched every garment she withdrew, using her fingers to trace the fabric and feel every inch for abnormalities before moving on to the next one. When the bag was empty, she checked the every corner of the lining and the straps too. Finding nothing, she turned to Rey with her fists clenched at her sides. “Your handbag too.” “Very well.” Rey surrendered the other bag.

Rose’s eyes widened at the sight of the box of condoms, but she said nothing. The soon-empty handbag was subjected to the same thorough investigation, yielding the exact same results. Nothing. Rey repacked her things, her expression hovering somewhere between triumph and annoyance. But Rose was still determined. “Undress yourself.” “Not even in your dreams.” “Then I’ll search you myself.” Rey rolled her eyes. “You’re wasting your time.” “I’ll be the judge of that. I lost plenty of time coming all the way to Winnemucca to wait for you. I wonder if you made up the story about the fire to spend more time with him, that wouldn’t surprise me. Hands up!”

Rey begrudgingly raised her hands, hoping to be done once and for all. As soon as Rose realized there was nothing to see, she would leave her alone. So she let the agent search her hair, her t-shirt, her bra (cringe) and her jeans. Rose stuck her fingers in the denim pockets, where she would soon find the microchip that Rey had refused to hand over earlier. They would have it one way or another in the end. She paled however, when she fished yet another condom from the girl’s back pocket. Rey flashed her a cynical smile. Oh yeah, that was for exactly what she thought. Still curious, Tico? Apparently so, because the next thing Rose unearthed was the microchip. Rey maintained a neutral expression. Behold! The prodigal microchip. Could she leave now, and go find Ben...whenever he was? They could be together somewhere else, anywhere else, hopefully far away from these lunatics.

But Rose’s face fell as she looked at it. “It’s ruined!”

Rey held her breath. What did she mean, ruined? Rey had carefully inspected it earlier this morning with her own two eyes and it looked fine! Rose was a furious scarlet as she held the plastic square right under Rey’s nose. “It’s damaged, you broke it! You sabotaged the mission on purpose!” “What? No, it’s not,” Rey protested incredulously, her blood pressure spiking. “Show it to me!” Rose placed it in the palm of her hand and she bent to look at it up close. Shit. Rose was right, the chip was thoroughly warped. Rey looked up, mortified. How was it possible? Did Ben actually double-cross her? But how, when she had kept the thing on her person at all times throughout— Suddenly she understood. Her thoughts flashed back to that morning in Elko, where she had struggled to take her jeans off. She’d been in such a rush to undress, bouncing from one foot to the other, trampling her jeans between her feet and the craggy, rock-studded ground...completely forgetting that the microchip was still in her pocket. Rose had been right all along: her desire for Ben had lead her to betray Earth Soldiers in the end. Rey’s face was impossibly pale. She died a little on the inside as she passed the chip back to Rose, who was still waiting for an explanation. “Yes, it was me. I damaged the chip but...” “But?” “But I have no way to prove it was an accident.” It was almost exactly what Ben had said, when she’d caught him red handed. She could now empathize with the position he was in—the feeling of helplessness and fateful injustice. She would be condemned by Earth Soldiers, and hunted like an animal by FORCE. Rey had never felt more alone, yet again. And yet she knew that the only person who could ever understand her, could ever commiserate with her empty, aching heart, was Ben Solo—who was some hundreds of kilometers away. The two of them stood alone against the world, linked by destiny. And all hell was about to break loose. “There’s nothing for it,” Rose declared solemnly. “You’ve clearly chosen your side.” She punctuated the last word with a swing on the car door. “I would leave you here but it’s up to Leia to decide your fate. And mine.” Rey’s eyes widened. Hers too? “I was the one who sent you to her.” The other woman explained. “It’s my fault if we made a bad choice. I thought I saw loyalty and grit in you, but I was wrong.” What a drama queen. Rey could practically feel the thinly-veiled anger behind her dismay. The girl was full of herself. She wasn’t the unsuspecting mule on the frontlines and yet she wanted pity as she fancied herself on the chopping block. “Right, then.” Rey held her head up. “I’ll talk to Leia Skywalker myself. Maybe she’ll understand. Let’s go.”

The rest of the journey to San Francisco was long and silent. Rey gnawed on the sandwich Ben had bought her. He’d left her the water bottle too. BB8 whined uneasily in the back seat, clearly design the tension in the air. With nothing better to do, Rey contemplated the surrounding landscape. After Reno, the desert was slowly replaced by a coniferous forest that wound around a mountain road. They had reached California, the west end of the world. Tahoe boasted wide, tree-studded prairies, Sacramento was surrounded by acres upon acres of fertile farmland. Napa Valley was full of rolling green hills that slowly but surely led them to the sleek skyline of San Francisco. Rey perked up as they got on to the Oakland Bay Bridge, which offered them a breathtaking panoramic view of the city. And beyond that, the endless blue of the Pacific.

Rey had never been so far from home. Nor so alone. She took out her phone and typed a message to Ben:

Arrived in one piece at the end of the world. Wish I could share this moment with you. I’m lonelier than ever. Take care of yourself — Rey

He responded immediately.

You’re not alone. Be strong, we’ll see each other soon. I love you —Ben

“Who are you talking to, Kylo Ren?” Rose snorted derisively beside her. “Yes,” Rey answered, unmoved. “Do I need permission to text, now?” “If you’re talking to FORCE, the answer is yes. We’re at war here, in case you’ve forgotten. Your double-crossing has to end somewhere.”

Rey put away her phone, forcing herself to remain calm. “We're going to win this war not by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love, Rose.” “Still,” Rose shrugged, “we’re not going to disarm FORCE with tickle attacks.” “You’d be surprised,” Rey mused.

The car continued into the city, and Rey took a moment to admire the skyscrapers and winding streets. Despite her bad mood, she marveled at every new sight like a child. Cable cars, Victorian houses...if she ignored the feeling that she was about to walk into the gallows, she could just about enjoy the city’s charm. Rainbow-colored pride flags adorned many a building entrance, and on the wall of one particular church, Rey spied the words REFUGEES WELCOME written in large, bold letters. She would have loved to discover the city with Finn. In the meantime it was vital that she soak everything up to describe to him later. One day he would get better and see it with his own eyes. By the time the car finally stopped somewhere, Rey had lost track of their location. They were in an underground parking structure. Rose buzzed past a security checkpoint, and then another, before they finally parked in the darkest, lowest level. The whole place was mildly claustrophobic to Rey. “Are we there yet?” “No comment,” Rose replied.

They unloaded the bags and let BB8 out. Rose opened a metal side door to reveal a long corridor lined with yellow fluorescent panels. They passed many rooms as they reached the end of the corridor, where another door stood, practically identical to the last. Rose used her badge to open this one, which lead to...another parking garage. With a press of her thumb on a key fob, the vast space was illuminated with a flash of light from yet another car. “Another car, really?” Rey asked. Rose gave no answer. Another car, another interminable drive through the city. Rey yawned. Who did these overall-clad ecotypes think they were? Super heroes? Ridiculous. The next parking garage was better. Rose typed a code into the intercom. Rey didn’t recognize the voice on the other end, but she heard Rose whisper the password (“resistance”, she rolled her eyes). The door opened. Corridor, elevator, corridor. If this setup was meant to intimidate newcomers, it was certainly effective. The prepared speech that Rey had come up with during the long hours on the road seemed to wither away with every row of corridors and armored doors that they passed. Finally, Rose motioned to her to enter a room. It was a dark room littered from floor to ceiling with boxes upon boxes of documents. Little windows let in little daylight. A coffee machine bubbled away in the corner. And sitting on a large futon was a blonde woman Rey had never met. Her fingers tapped impatiently against a tablet. In the middle of it all sat Leia Skywalker herself, dressed in a long grey dress and a matching manteau. She was commanding despite her small frame, and Rey felt intimidated already, knowing she was almost a divinity to these people. Behind Leia sat a tall, thin woman with strangely elegant pinkish-purple hair. Rey stood, frozen for a moment and unsure of what to do. Was this her grand trial? Who were these people? Was Leia going to crucify her on the spot? It was Leia who crossed the few steps that separated them to hug Rey, holding the girl in her arms.

[dukeofriven]

From An Old Internet Veteran: Go, and Sin No More

I wish I could explain to young people how wild the internet was as it went from the ‘weird niche thing for lame nerds’ irrelevancy of the early 90s and the “Boy This World Wide Web Thing Sure Is Nifty”-style painful optimism that describes 97% of Western Culture between 1994 and 2002 to the ‘Mad Max But Statistically Less Australian” culture that was the internet from 2002 to around 2010. I come neither to praise this era of internet nor condemn it. I merely want understanding. I cannot polish a lumpen pile of rape jokes, Chuck Norris glorification, “ironic” racism, and numa numa fat shaming and say that it’s misunderstood comedic genius. Trash is still trash even if it wins a bunch of Emmys. But at the same time I cannot take you with me back to the 90s and get you to feel, on a visceral level, what it was like to live in a place where Bart Simpson was both promoted as a real and present danger to the moral upbringing of the world’s children and was named by Time magazine as one of the most influential icons of the 20th century. And because I cannot do that I cannot get you to understand how freeing it felt to be on the internet in that Mad Max era. Ten years before a yellow boy shouting “Don’t have a cow” while doing a pathetic kick-flip on a chunky skateboard was considered the potential downfall of humanity’s children, but now you could make something so risqué that the old-guard stuffed-shirt in 1994 would have died on the spot, his brain unable to consider anything so outside his moral world view. I cannot easily make you understand a time when nobody just said whatever it was they wanted, not just because they had no platform to do so but because the rigidity of social convention was so strong. Nobody ever had hardcore lesbian sex on Northern Exposure on prime time television. Nobody on the X-Files ever died by having their head smashed in a car door repeatedly like a melon until viscera spilled all over the pavement. You could not have made Game of Thrones or Steven Universe in 1995. Forget the graphics, forget the budget, you simply couldn’t do or say any of that on television for either kids or adults. The Mad Max internet changed that - changed the very firmament of what was acceptable in media for every genre and for every demographic.  Is this a good thing? Not particularly. Is this a bad thing? Not particularly. If this sound frustratingly ambivalent that’s because it is: were we to go back and do it all again, knowing all that we know now, would we do it the same way? No. But then, we would not know all that we know now had we not learned it by making the attempt in the first place.

This poor comfort for someone who dives into some 2006 webcomic with a reputation of a Legacy Touchstone and finds it full of ‘jokes’ about their gender, or sexual preference, or the liberal use of the r-slur, or a kind of hyper-suburban comedic racial ignorance. I am not here to argue that that had any value merely because it was transgressive. But the same space that opened-up to let such ugly things out also opened-up places for marginalized groups to made themselves known, groups who never before had such public voices.

Imagine an apocalypse. Imagine society rebuilding in the ashes. Imagine how many false starts and missteps there would be and you begin to understand just a little of what that period was like. It was embarrassing. It was cruel. It was childish and stupid. But in living through it we grew up. Or, at least, those of us capable of growing up grew up, and learned, and learned to be better - learned what better was. And then we built new places where other people could learn too - and spread the gospel of being better. One of the things that always irritates me when it comes to young people talking about the past is the unexamined privilege of knowledge being at your fingertips. It’s more than just everyone carrying a wireless-internet connected computer in their pocket at all times. It’s more than just a Wikipedia with hundreds of millions of articles and a reputation for fact sourcing. It’s more than just a Google that works. If you never experienced it you cannot imagine what using WebCrawler was like in 1995 against Ask Jeeves in 2005 against Google in 2015 - or even Google between 2005 and 2015. Most people don’t go around thinking about SEO and search engine algorithms but maybe we should because anyone who wants to go “this info’s been on the internet since day one so people have no excuse not to know it” disingenuously argues that information search and retrieval has been consistent across the decades. There was a time - not all that long ago - when to look something up on-line involved getting the tacit agreement of everyone in your household to lose the use of the sole telephone for as long as you were web browsing. There was a time - not all that long ago - when ‘looking something up’ was to burden everyone around you with inconveniences, and while you were doing your web searches there was no guarantee what you wanted could be found with the primitive technology of the day. Do you know how much I’ve learned since joining Tumblr in 2011? On a fundamental level, both about myself and the make-up of our species in terms of social conception? I recently went through a bunch of old posts, removing those with broken links and meaningless content, but also shit that just embarrasses me now - mostly opinions from a period where I hadn’t yet had a chance to learn because the spaces in which to learn it did not yet exist. It’s not just things like communities for [demographic X] - it’s things like “communities for [demographic X] with an ability to broadcast their voices and have platforms able to network their ideas and audience halls able to receive them and a search engine to guide people to that community and a basic understanding that the community even exists in the first place.” And this does not even begin to touch on internet access, something that even now is not a universal thing, and for which getting angry about people’s ignorance reflects a bias all its own. I say all this because I think that a core tenant of cringe culture is a myth of universal access to knowledge and universal awareness of one’s own ignorance. I look back on old posts of things I said and I cringe with self-hatred - cringe enough to rip them down and stuff them in the trash. “HOW DID I THINK THAT?” and “HOW DID I NOT KNOW?” But why should I have known - what, in my life, would ever have put better ideas across my desk? That I can meaningfully speak now about privilege and intersectionality and historiography is because between then and now I was put in a place to learn these things. I was exposed to ideas that I had never before been exposed to, and was given the grace to learn. I am tired of the expectation that every aspect of our past selves should be held to the same standard as the present. (Yes, to all the disingenuous bad-faith trolls out there, I obviously and of course am advocating for complete and total uncritical pardon for everything in the past ever. Were you a neo-Nazi ten years ago? Water under the bridge without question because that’s obviously, obviously, obviously the sort of extreme outlier case I am talking about good on you for being clever enough to notice.) But for the non-dipshits out there who understand how to read without injecting insincere hyperbole into every argument, I want us to be kinder to our past selves when we have learned to be better. It’s okay that you used to like Sherlock - there were genuinely fun things about it, and it’s okay that you didn’t possess an expert grasp of post-graduate feminist critical theory when you were 21. Or 31. Or 41. More concepts of academia have filtered into mainstream consciousness than ever before - and in saying that we should remember the corollary that ten, twenty, thirty years ago that was not the case. We knew less, had access to less, and were exposed to narrower viewpoints than we are today. It is unfortunate - but it was not our fault, and we cannot easily blame ourselves for it any longer. Nothing makes my blood boil more than seeing people taking umbrage that... oh, Farmer Joe McSmithHead of Buttnut, Alabama in 1963 was ignorant of internal Chinese politics and said some untrue things about Chinese Communism. But the only thing Farmer Joe had to tell him of the outside world was a radio that played country music, a TV with four channels and strict content guidelines to only show pleasant, moral, and god-fearing content, and the three books in the Buttnut library, two of which were the Bible. There have, and will always be, certain moral lines so obvious that people of any era should always be held accountable to them. But above that, in the more trivial space of media consumption, absorption, and critique, we have to learn to be more forgiving - to ourselves and to others, so long as in the present we have changed. Did you use the r-slur a lot because it was practically a form of punctuation on 4chan and that’s where you learned the ways of the internet? Did you learn the harmfulness of this practice and cease to do it? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. Did you and your friends used to make jokes about how Mexicans smelled because you saw Seinfeld do that in his standup and the whole TV laughed as though it was funny? Did you realize one day ‘wait a minute that’s actually super gross’ and stop repeating it? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. Have you gone back to a beloved childhood property and found it’s full of woman-beating and weird views on homosexuality? Did you find yourself able to critique this beloved thing and did not defensively double-down on shielding it from all harsh words? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. I will not allow us to dismiss the cruelty and hurt of Mad Max Internet Culture with a flippant ‘well that’s just how it was back then” but nor will I allow anyone to condemn us all as being consciously unfeeling, willfully ignorant, purposefully hateful. Some of us were. But some of us did not know, could not have known, needed to learn - and we were lucky enough to live in a time before cringe culture and cancel culture where we were allowed to have that opportunity to learn and grow. We need that today, for all young people who think themselves as woke as can be and ten years from now will look back and blush with shame for things they said and did in total ignorance. The sin is choosing to never change, not failing to change sooner.