#prefer to have a long hiatus and chapters come back as they normally are than off and on and half chapters. oh well ah...

[dapperrokyuu]

What I thought was gonna be a Noe flashback arc is turning out to be a Dham arc. Which is a win either way, so yay!

[loveotomization]

i got unbaaaanned here's an ask: can i get a behind the scenes for (one of) your fav/s akekita scene/s you've written, any fic 👀 like, how did the idea come to you, or some fun fact abt the writing process... if you have anything to share ^^

Thank you for this!! I've been dying to have an excuse to talk about this stuff, you have no idea!

This wasn't exactly what you asked, but I thought I'd mention that people who have read my stuff in general point out my use of off-the-wall metaphors/similes. If anyone enjoys my little flair in doing this, I highly recommend reading the works of Peter Beagle! I shamelessly stole the technique from him and made it my own. I recommend starting off with The Last Unicorn (it's a classic for a reason), but any of his older works share a similar style (A Fine and Private Place, Folk of the Air). I'm not sure that I would be a writer today without him.

Anyway...

-Fun fact: Akechi is easier for me to write than Yusuke. I, too, am very angry inside and probably just need a hug lol It's cathartic. Although, two years of studying art in college actually helps with writing Yusuke, because I don't need to look up art terms.

-In Aesopica, the ending was highly inspired by my favorite Tokyo Ghoul fic, in which Kaneki turns the tables on Tsukiyama in the end (huge content warnings for that TG fic btw). I loved how satisfying the circular nature of it was and wanted to try something similar. I knew the ending I wanted to create right from the first chapter.

I cannot remember how I came up with the fruit bowl to both mark the passing of time, and the decay of their relationship. But go past me for coming up with that! My 2017 brain was the real mvp.

This is also my longest fic and you will not see me write anything this long again lol I just don't have it in me. Shout out to long fic writers, I'll have some of whatever you're snacking on.

I also remember this being something of a vent fic. I was sad and wanted to my faves to be sad together. While I do enjoy supportive akekit, where they both grow together, I also love when they just make each other worse.

-Sliced Halves, Light Syrup, please imagine me in the grocery store staring blankly at a can of peaches while concocting an entire fic. Writers are very normal people.

This is also my second most popular akekit fic. Fluff sells, I guess. I prefer my darker stuff tbh!

-After Aesopica, my personal favorite of mine is Psychosomatic. I'm shy about my love of organ-fondling since it's not a common thing to be into (there's not even an official ao3 tag for it lol), so I'm grateful to the person on the kink meme for prompting this. Knowing someone else was interested allowed me to put myself out there and write it. I re-read it not long ago just for fun, and it holds up. It's the intimacy of literally touching the insides of someone, you know?

-I'm scrolling through my akekit fics now and wow! I do not remember some of these? Who wrote these while I wasn't looking??

-Kilroy Was Here was going to be serious angst about Akechi forcibly kissing Yusuke so that he would no longer trust him, because he feels like he doesn't deserve trust, blah, blah... But the idea of Yusuke annoying the crap out of him before they got to that point was so funny to me that I had to run with it. If anyone was wondering about my sense of humor, this fic is it. (I am not funny)

-Born to be Posthumous 69 kudos harr harr... I enjoy this one even if it wasn't as popular as some of my others. I remember being depressed and angry and wanting to take it out on Akechi.

This is getting long now, but it was fun! Thank you again! Hopefully this wasn't too far from you asked! Most of my scenes just come to me as I'm writing with a basic idea in mind, so I just toss them in as I go. A humble chef tossing anything she finds in the fridge right into the soup.

Now that I'm back from my writing hiatus I definitely plan to bring out more akekit when I can!

[duckprintspress]

How can I return to writing after a long hiatus?

This post is based on a conversation we had in the Duck Prints Press LLC Discord, and all contributors comments have been used/paraphrased/integrated into this post with permission. The people who contributed ideas to this post are: @nottesilhouette, @ramblingandpie, @arialerendeair, @tryslora, @deansmultitudes, @theleakypen, Owlish Intergalactic, myself (I’m @unforth), and one who preferred to remain anonymous.

Few things are harder than coming back to writing after a long period of not writing. Being creative takes a lot of energy, and starting after not doing so for a period of time takes even more energy. The writers on our Discord had a really productive discussion, where we talked about strategies we’ve each personally used to help us get our writing mojo back. None of these methods work for everyone, but if you haven’t written in a while, maybe one of these will work for you!

How to Revive that Creative Writing Spark:

doing sprints with a friend - knowing you’re all in it together can really help!

talking with writing buddies about what you’re each working on - the shared enthusiasm can be really helpful,

journaling, about daily life, or about dreams you’ve had - turning the dream into something coherent can be a great strategy (or, don’t bother, and just write it however crazily it took place!)

pick a random story you wrote in the past and read a chapter, paragraph, or 500 word segment - and look at it as a reader, say things you liked about it, praise it, emphasize the good things about your own writing.

transcribe a song with lyrics you find inspiring, or crack open a favorite book and transcribe a few paragraphs. You can even do it with something you’ve written yourself!

set a low-pressure, low-word count deadline - make it public, if you’re the kind of person that helps, or keep it to yourself.

sign up for a zero-consequence challenge, such as a bingo, or the Duck Prints Press #drabbledaysaturday prompts on Twitter - something where no one will mind if you don’t succeed, but you might find some inspiration.

create a small goal, either daily, weekly, or monthly - it can be a time frame (I’ll write for 5 minutes a day!) or a word count (I’ll write 1,000 words a month!) or even something tiny (I’ll write one sentence a day!) or a public sharing goal (post a ficlet a day!) and then do your best to stick to it, and reward yourself when you succeed.

open your ask box or otherwise solicit short prompts - for example, do a “three sentence” meme (”send me a pairing and a trope and I’ll write a three sentence fill”) or a story title meme (”send me a story title and I’ll write a little about the story I’d create with that title”) or an emoji prompt (”send me three emojis and I’ll write a ficlet”) or make your own fun one that will bring you joy (one of our writers created a “name two characters and I’ll make them kiss in six sentences or less” meme that helped them a lot)

participate in a prompt month, something with no consequences for failure but with prompts that can inspire daily ficlet.

write without editing, and just throw what you create out into the world - anything to get the words flowing.

challenge yourself to write a drabble day, no more and no less.

try changing how or when you write - get a nice journal and write by hand, or if that’s your normal, try writing in a word document instead.

write at different times of day, and see if it’s easier for you over breakfast, or after lights out, or during your lunch break, or by stealing a few minutes while you’re “on the clock” at work.

make an attempt at different formats of writing - if you usually write prose, try a poem; if you usually write really long things, try a drabble.

look out your window, or find a place you like, and just describe what you see.

do some free association exercises - for example, use a random word generator (I use this one sometimes) and then write literally whatever word comes into your head next - keep going until you fill the page, or until it starts to turn into a story, or just until you don’t feel like it any longer.

pick a random sentence (the person who suggested this often uses “Just write anything”) to be the start of a story, and “pants” your way through whatever comes next, without worrying about grammar, continuity, logic, or much of anything.

plan ahead - schedule your writing time and don’t let yourself put it off (rewards for success are always good!) and/or visualize exactly what you want to write ahead so you’re ready when you sit down.

if you get hit by inspiration, don’t put it off - even if all you do is scrawl a sentence in your phone or on scratch paper between other tasks, get it out of your head. Even a single sentence is a creation!

get out of the spaces where your usual things are - go to a park, or on a hike, or in your backyard, or even a different room in your own home, and bring a journal or phone or laptop, and see what strikes you.

pick That Thing You Haven’t Been Letting Yourself Write and ignore all the things you Think You Should Be Writing and just...write what brings you joy

fanfiction can be very helpful, especially in canon using canon-compliant ships/characterizations - there’s no need to do the heavy lifting. Even if you just write the characters going to a grocery store, or talking about what movie they want to watch, or arguing over take out - something short and sweet that’s just for fun, with no expectations for yourself or anyone else.

alternatively, if you’re the type who writes better for others and you’re feeling down - knock out anything, even something short, and post it, and take joy even in a single like or kudos. Knowing even one person out there loved what you wrote can really help.

Any or all of these may help you, but there’s one final one that I, at least, think is the most important of all - and that’s helped me most.

FORGIVE YOURSELF. You have work in progress up. It’s okay to leave them. You told someone you’d write something for them. It’s okay not to. You have a deadline looming. It’s okay to ask for more time, or to withdraw, or - in the end - it’s even okay to ghost. You think what you’ve made is bad. It’s okay if it’s bad. You’ll never be able to create when you’re raking yourself over the coals. Everyone in fandom has “been there” - has missed deadlines, has left challenges, has abandoned works in progress, have reneged on a promise to a friend to write something. Until you forgive yourself, you’ll never be able to create anything, and isn’t even a single sentence that isn’t on that Big Important Thing better than no sentences on anything?

Forgive yourself, and find that spark, inspiration, muse, whatever you want to call it - and write things that bring you joy.

We believe in you!

YOU CAN DO IT!

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 122

Annnnd WE’RE BACK!

Thank you so much for your patience during the hiatus. Work is still crazy, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel there *crosses fingers*. And I was able to build back up my cushion of chapters, so that was a huge win for me.

As a reminder, this is a skip forward roughly 4 years from chapter 121. So, if you read a bit and start to wonder “wait, did I miss something?”, you probably didn’t and it’s most likely something I am going to circle back to.  Don’t be a afraid to shoot me an ask, however, if you are just really thrown off by something! I’ll gladly clarify unless it’s something plot-specific.

Thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog.  By the way, Raven is working on a podcast of The Miys, which I am incredibly stoked about. Please follow @glimmeringfeatherspodcast for updates!

I carefully adjusted my glasses as I suppressed a giggle at Noah, who was swarmed with small yellow puffs of fuzz.  In the last seven years since their discovery, Else’s hyper-fast evolution hadn’t slowed down much, although Grey did promise that it had slowed down. Noah buzzed at the puff resting on one of its vomu, eliciting a purr. “I believe they learned this behavior from Mac.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I admitted. “I caught him playing with several of them a couple days ago.”

“I have observed them together on frequent occasions.” Reaching up, it plucked another puff from the top of its head. “I cannot hear if you sit on my sensory organs, podling.”  Soon after Else evolved to the point they could live outside of a habitat tank, Miys had developed a tendency to treat them like its own young, and generally had several of them perched somewhere.

“How many of them are there now?” I asked, reaching out slightly before stopping myself from petting the closest canary-sized fluff. “Else, can I pick you up?”

In response, it bounced onto my hand.  I’d noticed how little they spoke now, but Miys had assured us it was a normal stage in hive-being evolution - once Else became too large to actually fit in our bodies, it wasn’t able to communicate through the translator chip.  At this stage, it could still hear us, but communicating back was a work in process.  Mostly, they just trilled and chirped.

“Currently, there are five hundred and seven thousand, six hundred and twenty-three.”

“They’re very adaptable,” I observed.

With the one free vomu it had, Noah made a nodding gesture. “Most species that reach sentience are. We are able to observe Else’s evolution on a much shorter time scale than most, as well. Consider humanity’s evolution, and imagine seeing it take place in years rather than over the course of millenia.”

“I know,” I laughed. “But seeing it is way more incredible than imagining it.” I adjusted my glasses again, eliciting the buzz that usually meant Noah was exasperated with me.

“Why do humans insist on using those instead of having their eyes repaired?”

“My eyes aren’t damaged,” I reminded it. “And you did repair my eyes. I’m wearing these because my eyes are working right. You know this.”

“In principle, not in practice.”

It was my turn to sigh. “Our eyes evolved to work in a specific kind of light. Earth’s sun is yellow, I think? But Von’s sun is more blue.” I gestured at the light emitters in the corridor. “When the light is in the twilight cycle like this, some humans can’t see as well as we could in Earth-twilight. Hence the glasses.”

“Sight is so inefficient.”

I just shook my head. I couldn’t exactly argue. “Between the light and the gravity, it’s been a huge adjustment.”

“You have all adjusted in quite - innovative ways,” Noah replied. “My kind have done many of these relocations. Not all species adapt well.”

“What was it you called it?” I squinted, both from trying to see what was ahead of me and from thinking. I’m going to have to talk to someone about some flashlights, I swear… “We ‘persist’?”

“Humans are remarkably stubborn, yes,” it confirmed. “As Arthur Farro seems to prefer explaining it, your species began space travel by attaching chemical ignition drives to your posteriors.”

Even after so long, some things just did not translate. “Yep, we very much strapped a rocket to our asses to achieve spaceflight,” I laughed. “Everything on Earth kind of evolved and adapted like that. We learned what wouldn’t poison us by watching others die from eating it, that kind of thing. Even our superstitions, and later our laws, were basically ‘hey, let’s not do this, it kills people’.” A liw made its way into my line of sight, rocking to mimic a confused head-tilt. “You rescued us for our sight, not because we are a particularly bright species.”

“I understand that the polite thing to do, according to your customs, is to object to that statement, however I have been told on several occasions that I lack any skill in falsehoods.”

“We bombed ourselves back to the Stone Age the second we hit our highest peak in technology.” I reached out and patted what would have been a shoulder on a human. “You don’t have to lie about that. Arthur has studied an absurd percentage of human history. Even from a scholarly perspective, I am assured we are a singularly idiotic race. Besides, we’d already ruined an entire planet at that point...”

“It has evidenced itself to be a lesson well-learned.” It returned the pat, gently. “For a species historically inclined to warfare, those on the Yjq have demonstrated a profound proclivity toward peace.”

“Trying to keep it that way, bud,” I admitted.

Removing yet another puff from its sensory organs, Noah continued. “Please be assured, also, that Terrans are far from ‘singularly’ idiotic.  There are many species in the Galactic Community that are demonstrably lacking in what you refer to as ‘common sense’.”

Noah was still a terrible gossip. “Do tell,” I asked, crossing my mental fingers that we weren’t the worst out there.

“Preeyar,” it listed immediately.

“The rift-valley avians?”

“The same. They experience terrible reactions to liquid water, and yet they are fascinated by fountains and insist upon touching them!” Startled chirps erupted as all six appendages on Noah’s upper body flung out in frustration. “Any vessel transporting Preeyar has specific instructions on how to treat the resulting burns.”

I had to admit, that was pretty bad. “Terrans at least learn not to touch things that will burn us by the time we can speak, usually.” My nose tickled as several little Else-puffs migrated over to me, upset by the grand gesture from my friend.  I was almost glad it was so difficult for humans to see in the corridor, because I probably looked absurd.

“Shalt’krii are somehow just as difficult,” Noah confessed. “As a species that have what you term an ‘allergy’ to sonic waves - they develop painful rashes and can have seizures when exposed. Yet, it is entirely inevitable when transporting a large group that several will have forgotten or neglected to bring dampeners.”

“Oh my gosh,” I gasped, trying not to laugh and upset Else again. “How?”

“It has eluded the Galactic Council since they joined. The dampeners are far less barbaric than what the So-K’nor do to resolve a similar concern, but I must privately admit that the So-K’nor are at least more consistent and effective.”

Well, yeah, deliberately deafening yourself permanently when you go off-world tends to be that way, I thought to myself. I knew I didn’t need to say it out loud, but I also knew that Noah would not address my thoughts out loud. “Okay, maybe we aren’t that bad,” I granted. “I think the worst we do is ingest mild poisons.”

“On an alarmingly frequent basis, yes. Including plants native to your world that actually attempt to digest you as you eat them.”

I shook my head. “Not this girl. I don’t like pineapple.”

“And the number of humans on the ship who willingly consume lactic acid, knowing it will cause them digestive distress?” If it had eyebrows, they would be arching, I just knew it.

“You have pointed out several times over the years that you can’t taste,” I pointed out. “So you have no idea how tempting cheese can be.”

Noah shook one vomu like a head. “Incorrect. Having witnessed the sheer amount of it that Tyche consumed once she realized that you were not lactose intolerant, there is empirical evidence to support your claim.”

Unconsciously, my hand jumped to touch my left ear before I could force it down. “I remember the spicy food,” I said carefully, stroking one of the fluffs on my arms. “But I didn’t know about the cheese. Come to think of it - “ I stopped in my tracks and turned to face Noah directly, “Why weren’t the consoles just adjusted to make all the food… I dunno, lactose-free, I guess?”

Two liw reached to pluck several yellow beings from my arms and head as Noah used one vomu to start ticking reasons. “One, because I was specifically asked not to by Grey Hodenson and Xiomara Kalloe, the consensus being that bovines are, in fact, in the genetic database. Two, because that was attempted several weeks before you were brought on board, and I was tempted to damage my sensory organs to block out the sheer number of complaints regarding how everything tasted.”  Thankfully, its vomu was still empty when it flung outward. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to accommodate requests regarding something you do not experience?”

I felt slightly ashamed. “Not entirely, no.” Trying to lighten the mood slightly, I felt the need to point out “Besides, I really like goat cheese.”

“Something about chetter and mootsareeleh,” Noah grumbled.

“Ohhhhh,” I whispered. “Eyeah… do not mess with Italians’ mozzarella, I have learned. And cheddar does have a very specific flavor. I can see those being very loud complaints.”

“In eight Terran years, I am still confused why the color of the chetter is a determining factor, as well as how something so soft can be compared to an edged weapon.”

I felt like I was going to explode from suppressed laughter. I had to stop, tears streaming down my face, and catch my breath. “Oh, Noah… I honestly don’t know if I can explain that, but I can try…”

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[love-a-little-less-archived]

So I decided that for my day nine, I’d do a list of some of my favorite fics to give the fandom authors some recognition. Of course, all of our fanfic authors are amazing and I’m so grateful that they do what they do, but these are just a few of my favorites. 

I tried to tag any authors that had a tumblr account, but it’s entirely possible I missed some, so if I did, sorry

This post isn’t super long but it’s pretty damn long so all below the cut

(also do note that my interest in bellarke is only a few months old so I have a lot more clexa fics than I do bellarke sorry)

Bellarke

Canon AU

Set The Dark On Fire by @talistheintrovert (complete)

Okay okay so this is a pretty dark fic, but god is it beautiful. After waking up from Cryo, Clarke and Spacekru try to figure out what to do about this new planet situation, but Clarke isn’t handling it very well and attempts a suicide. Like I said, pretty dark and serious, so if that isn’t your thing don’t read, but it’s amazing

Three Lives, Three Loves, One Face by @these-dreams-go-on (complete)

This fic has a ton of my favorite themes all mashed together and it’s amazing. Basically it’s similar to the Josephine!Clarke situation of s6, but Wanheda is an actual manifestation also inhabiting Clarke’s body so when Josie gets put into Clarke, Wanheda takes over and goes mass murder on Sanctum. Phenomenal fic, I’ve read it so many times and I adore it

Into The Anomaly by @fuckitup-in-style (WIP)

Time Travel AU!!! Starts after s6, but resets back to s1 canon divergence. The hundred all wake up on dropships and they all remember up until their deaths, and then it’s this thing where the mains all take charge and start herding up their crew. Just- if you like time travel fix-its, this is p e r f e c t please read it

And Now You’re Home by @asroarke (complete)

I just read this one recently and g o d is it amazing. After being left alone during Praimfaya, Clarke finds herself becoming desperate after being alone for so long. Until she finds out there’s been a grounder watching her the whole time. Grounder!Bellamy AU, with some accidental pregnancy that just makes it even cuter

Modern AU

I Found Peace in Your Violence by @eyessharpweaponshot (WIP)

I just found this fic a few days ago and holy shit is it a piece of art. I finally went through and read the entire 80k fic last night, it’s absolutely enthralling. Basically, there’s this gene called HTS and Clarke ends up having it, and so does Bellamy, and it’s just a beautiful story from both a romance and a plot standpoint. Such an interesting concept

our stars came in a packet of two by @millipop (WIP)

This isn’t a super long fic, it’s 20k right now and hasn’t been updated in a few months but what’s there is amazing. So the delinquent group is desperately trying to get Bellamy and Clarke together since they’re constantly denying their chemistry, but what the delinquents don’t know is that Clarke and Bell have actually already been together in secret and it’s such a fun fic, highly recommend

Don’t Wake Me, I’m Not Dreaming by grumpybell (complete) (I can’t find their tumblr sorry)

A very interesting AU where Clarke can see into other people’s dreams. She’s been meeting Bellamy in his dreams for years, him being the only person who could actually see her. Guess what happens when they meet in person? Probably not what you expect. Read the fic to find out, you’ll love it

reelin’ through the midnight streets by @detectivebellamyblake​ (WIP)

I haven’t finished this fic yet, but what I’ve read so far is wonderful. Basically Clarke, Bell and Octavia all grew up in a trailer park together, and eventually Clarke has had enough of her mom’s bullshit and decides to get out. Bellamy and Octavia go with her

Clexa

Canon AU

Broken Body, Broken Spirit by @vmplvr1977 (complete)

I love love love this fic!! It basically mashes together the worlds of The 100 and Deus-ex, and if you don’t know what the latter is don’t worry too much, the fic gives all the backstory you’ll need!! Basically Clarke gets severly injured and ends up with augmented limbs, and Lexa, thinking Clarke dead, has some pretty severe reactions to it all. Kind of an enemies-to-lovers, but it’s set after the s2 finale

Clarke Kom Azgeda by FMLClexa (WIP)

This fic combines so many of my favorite ideas it’s amazing. Coming back after a long hiatus, basically Clarke gets sent down to Earth alone and ends up in Azgeda territory. She’s tortured and trained into Nia’s top assassin for years, and eventually gets the order to infiltrate Polis and kill the commander. You can guess how that goes

A Riffle and the Sea by Follower_Of_Mania (complete)

I will say it’s been a while since I read this fic but it’s amazing. Another Clarke gets sent to Earth alone AU, but she gets adopted by Floukru and trained to be a seriously badass killer grounder, like even Lexa is pretty put off by her. Clarke and Lexa develop this really interesting relationship where half the time you can’t tell if they love or hate each other and it’s amazing

Ascendants by whiteleopard1124 (WIP)

So this isn’t entirely clexa, it’s also clarke x luna but it’s clexa enough. Basically Clarke and the hundred get injected with this solution before being sent to the ground, and it causes certain people to develop supernatural powers. But Clarke gets injected with a special serum that causes her to be extra-OP but like in a very very good way

doing the impossible (with you) by snowandwolves (WIP)

Another Time Travel AU where Clarke kills herself and, after having a discussion with the goddess of death herself, wakes up back in time. She (and her accomplices) work out how to rewrite their story and make everything go better than it did last time. One of the best time travel fics, in my opinion

Healer on the Ground by Owlmemaybe (WIP)

This has long been one of my favorite fics, I love AUs where Clarke turns grounder, and that’s exactly what this is. Basically Clarke has a healing talent, so she can heal herself and others on command, and during s1 gets separated from the 100 and ends up with Heda. Another fic that isn’t likely to get updated, but it’s 100k of goodness that you h a v e to read

Whispers In The Dark (Lead Us To The Light) by JadelynDeath (WIP)

This one also hasn’t been updated very recently, but it’s still 50k good words to enjoy. Wanheda!Clarke AU where Death is a real being and takes a liking to Clarke before she even touches the ground, and once on Earth Clarke is an absolute badass in leading the delinquents.

(my) Destruction Within Your Mouth by @entirelytookeen (WIP)

It took me so long to actually finish this fic once I started reading because oh my god the angst, it was actually too much for me. This is a beautifully written story, so many emotions, can’t recommend it enough. Basically, Clarke gets separated from the 100 and ends up temporarily mute while she’s taken in by Heda

She’s a maniac by ChocDog (complete)

Another big-time favorite, this has badass commanders Heda and Wanheda. The grounder culture is different in this fic, but in such a good way. They’re much more tribal than is portrayed in the show, preferring not much clothing, bloodthirstiness, but it’s amazing. Also Bellamy comes in and makes a fuss of things

Through the Looking Glass by RhinoMouse (WIP)

Role Reversal AU where Lexa comes down with the 100 and Clarke is a BAMF Commander of the grounders. It’s been a really long time since I’ve read this one but I remember loving every second of it. Faintly follows the s2 plot, but it’s different enough that not a second of it is boring

Can you See Me? by clexawarrior (complicated)

Okay so basically this story was discontinued, but the author left a summary of how it would’ve played out at the end, so it’s... complicated. But this is another one of my favorites!! Lexa was at the explosion on the bridge and got injured, Clarke brings her back to the dropship to care for her. A lot of sexual tension ensues

From The Ashes by ArchonsVoice (complete)

I love love love this fic!!! So basically the dropship landed in the sea rather than on land, the ship explodes, leaving Clarke stranded alone in the middle of the ocean. She’s rescued by a clan called Tseekru and after years of living with them, has a run-in with our one and only Heda and sets this whole thing going. Amazing fic, so many twists

Returning to Hell by ElseworldKara, littleraider99 (complete)

If you haven’t read this fic what have you even been doing honestly. Set two years after the s2 finale, Clarke leads the coalition beside Heda, and she’s returned to Arkadia to finally tell them to get their shit together or suffer the consequences. Very dark, a lot of character bashing on Abby, Bellamy, and others. An inspiration for many of my own fics

Then There Were Two by TheWorldNeedsMoreOctaven (WIP)

I haven’t read the most recent chapters of this, but it’s phenomenal. ABO universe where Clarke is the only omega sent down in the hundred (later followed by Raven), and they have to deal with the grounders and nature. It’s a lot more interesting than I make it sound, promise. Also very octavia/raven based too

Doctor on the Ground by @underneaththecovers-au (WIP)

Very angsty, very smutty fic. Clarke finds an injured Lexa while out of camp and takes her to the bunker to help her heal. Lexa pretends she can’t understand English, but even with the barrier, things get heated very quickly. You can imagine the chaos when Lexa’s secret gets out. Must-read

Modern AU

Vantage Point by thatoneloser_kid (complete)

This is pretty short, only 16k words, but god is it good. If you like dark!clarke, this is the story for you. Clarke, Lexa, Octavia, and Raven are all a bunch of criminals who run around- saving people?? That makes it sound like a superhero story but no, they’re all badass. Clarke is literally a psychopathic ex-assassin. It’s just an amazing fic

Are You A Kidnapper? (Because You Abducted My Heart) by 707 (complete)

This isn’t normally the type of fic that I like to read but I’m so glad I picked it up. So Clarke and Lexa have this hatred going on between them that’s actually just hidden attraction, and they’re finally forced to address it when they get kidnapped and locked in a room together. This fic has it all, fluff, smut, angst, an amazing plot, it’s just all around wonderful

Make Two Halves Whole by awkwardrainbow, Lexawoodz (WIP)

This one I also don’t remember all that much about other than that it was amazing. It’s been years since it was updated, though, so I doubt we’ll get any more, but what’s there is 80k worth of goodness. Clarke and Lexa meet online through Twitter, living on opposite sides of the US, but still manage to fall in love with each other

breathe into my lips the life i do not have by @ur-the-puppy (complete)

So this is another long-time favorite of mine!! It’s a 36k oneshot where Clarke moves into a house that ghost Lexa haunts but instead of being creeped out Clarke just starts chatting up the ghost and they become roommate buddies. Such a good fic, I highly highly recommend this one

You See the Smile That's On My Mouth (it's hiding the words that don't come out) by heartshapedcandy (complete)

Another fic I need to go back and reread, but I remember being absolutely absorbed in this fic!! Childhood friends to lovers AU, with a fuck ton of angst and confusion and oblivious pining dorks that you can’t help but love it to death. Also a lot of ‘’’’platonic’’’’ kissing

Other AU

Storm of the Heart by @cruellanita-bby (WIP)

Mermaid AU!! Clarke lives on an island where they grow up hating the mermaids that attack their fishing ships, and she hates them too until she finds Lexa the mermaid washed up on the shore, injured, and starts taking care of her. They fall in love and try to mend the relationship between their people. I’ve been keeping up with this one for a while, it’s so good, please read it

Hold Me Till The Stars Dim by @ur-the-puppy (complete)

I’m putting this one down here rather than in modern AU just because of how different it is from most modern AUs. Lexa goes camping with her friends out in the woods, some shit happens, and she meets what’s basically grounder Clarke, with a twist. This fic is so captivating, I loved it

You’re safe with me by I_am_clexa (WIP)

ABO modern AU where omegas are sold as slaves to alphas. Clarke is an omega who is bought by Lexa’s father as a gift to her, but Lexa doesn’t like the way omegas are treated and goes out of her way to give Clarke the best life she could possibly have

Other Pairings

Canon AU

Three Loves (Pieces Of Us) by @kendrene , @bae-in-maine (WIP)

Clarke/Lexa/Anya fic where Anya takes Clarke back to Lexa as a kind of prize, Clarke ends up making an alliance with the Trikru and maybe also falling in love with the commander and her general along the way. I’ve read this fic so many times, but it hasn’t been updated in years. It’s still 150k worth of amazing fic though

Twisted Steel by Steelehart (complete)

A clarke/raven fic where an explosion on the Ark leaves Clarke with two prosthetic arms. Follows fairly closely to the s1 plot once you get into it, but deviates in the later chapters. It’s an amazing fic I promise, please read it

Modern AU

and four makes home by @dreamsheartstory (complete)

This is over 300k worth of Clarke/Lexa/Octavia/Raven, which seems like a lot but I promise you it’s perfect. It’s been a bit since I read this, but from what I remember it’s your typical fall-in-love modern fic, just with the added angst of figuring out a four-way poly relationship

[superleafygamer]

Here’s a Carly and Sam friendship analysis because I was bored

Okay so Carly and Sam are the best iCarly characters in my opinion. I’m obsessed with them so I’ll be analyzing their friendship. Let’s begin from, well, the beginning, because that’s the most convenient place to start an analysis.

Carly and Sam first met when they were in third grade. They became friends fighting over a sandwich, which is amazing, honestly. Sam originally had pushed Carly over in this moment, but from that point on, Sam has never done any physical harm to Carly since then. This shows that Sam genuinely cares about Carly, considering Sam beats everyone up. The two became best friends since that day, and have stayed together ever since. They hang out after school, get smoothies, and they even created a webshow together; iCarly.

This friendship is a perfect example of the saying “opposites attract,” as Carly and Sam are polar opposites. Carly is sweet, hardworking, and empathetic. Meanwhile Sam is lazy, unruly, and overall a jerk. Yet somehow, Carly and Sam seem perfect for each other. In fact, they even use their differences to help each other out sometimes. Sam defends Carly from bullies, Carly helps Sam stay out of juvie, etc. I’m going to further elaborate on those two examples specifically.

Sam is kind of like Carly’s personal bodyguard. Whenever someone is a jerk to Carly, or if they make her uncomfortable, Sam is quick to get at their throats and make sure they stop. Only with Carly’s permission, of course. Speaking of which, Carly is in some sort of position of power when it comes to Sam. Sam will ONLY listen to Carly, and nobody else. When Sam does something that Carly doesn’t approve of, Carly scolds her. Usually if someone told Sam to stop doing something, she would continue to do said thing out of spite. But when Carly is the one calling her out, Sam becomes immensely guilty, and then stops what she was doing. Carly doesn’t have to say much for Sam to get the idea that she’s disappointed in her actions, as she normally could just say “Sam” in a disapproving tone, and Sam would know exactly what she’s done. Carly is kind of like Sam’s moral compass; Sam can tell if she’s doing something right or wrong based on Carly’s reaction. This helps her out in the long run, due to Carly preventing her from doing anything too bad and going to juvie.

Moving on, anyone who watches the show can easily tell that Carly and Sam are very affectionate towards each other. They cuddle, give each other advice, and comfort each other when they’re upset. Carly seems to prefer physical affection from Sam, and Sam seems to prefer emotional affection from Carly, but they still appreciate both forms of affection. When Carly’s stressed out, she usually calms down by fidgeting with Sam’s hair or shoelaces, as Carly tends to feel most comfortable with someone to rely on when she’s upset. Sam allows her to do this with no complaints, and often hugs Carly to cheer her up. Then when Sam’s upset, she’s soothed by Carly’s voice in particular. She looks for comfort in what Carly has to say, and wants to be alone with her to hear every word of it. Carly makes a pretty good therapist.

When one of them notices that the other is upset, cheering them up becomes their top priority. Like in the episode “iSam’s Mom,” Carly pretends to have a panic attack in order to make Sam and her mother get along in therapy. Carly knows Sam would do anything to help her out, which is true, so Carly’s plan works. Sam notices Carly’s discomfort, and instantly gets defensive of her, so she proceeds to swiftly make amends with her mother so they can get Carly out of there. On the other hand, in the episode “iOwe You,” Sam breaks down to Carly about how much she hates her job. The reason Sam had the job in the first place was to pay back Carly(and Freddie) for all the money she owed them. But Carly encouraged Sam to quit because it was stressing her out, rather than telling her to keep the job because she wanted her money back. Sam’s happiness is a big priority to Carly, and Carly didn’t want to get the money back in this way if it meant seeing Sam this upset. Carly and Sam are always looking out for each other, and I think that’s adorable.

There are other little details that show how strong their friendship is, too, like how Sam hangs around in Carly’s apartment, with Carly even allowing her to stay the night on multiple occasions. Sam’s mom doesn’t feed her, so Carly often provides Sam with food, and openly allows her to dig into her fridge whenever she feels like it. Carly becomes somewhat motherly in a way when Sam is over, and makes her feel at home. Sam and Carly practically live together, considering the amount of time Sam spends in Carly’s apartment every day and the fact that Sam sleeps over occasionally. It’s also heavily implied that Carly and Sam have slept together in Carly’s room from time to time, because you can see them heading upstairs together when it’s getting late. They don’t seem opposed to sleeping together either, because in the episode “iGo To Japan,” Carly and Sam share a bed with no complaints or hesitation.

Carly and Sam’s friendship shines the brightest during their webshow. Carly’s the host, and Sam’s the cohost. They do everything on there together, and that’s how they like it. iCarly is a huge priority to the two of them, and it gives them more time to hang out after school. Carly and Sam do various skits on iCarly, with the most common example being “The Cowboy and the Idiot Farm Girl Who Thought the Cowboy’s Mustache Was a Squirrel.” They enjoy participating in these, and have a lot of fun brainstorming for the skits too. They’ve been webcasting weekly, except for one time in the episode “iWon’t Cancel the Show.” Sam gets arrested in this episode, which leaves Carly all alone. Carly is deeply upset about this, and doesn’t know how she’s going to do the episode without Sam, as she’s a big part of the show. Carly ends up webcasting with her older brother Spencer as the cohost, but you can tell Carly still misses Sam, especially in the Cowboy & Farm Girl skit, when Spencer fills in as the Cowboy. Once Sam comes back though, everything goes back to normal, and the two are happier than ever.

Now, this paragraph is where things get a bit more headcanon-y. Many people have pointed out that throughout the series, it seems like Sam has a crush on Carly. And honestly? I can see it. It’s a cute thought, and there are a lot of details in the show that support this. One example is Sam’s treatment towards Freddie. Freddie is Carly and Sam’s friend, who records their show. Freddie has a massive crush on Carly, and is very open about it. Sam always gets frustrated when Freddie mentions his crush, and she constantly tries to discourage him from getting his hopes up. Carly gets uncomfortable with Freddie mentioning his crush on her sometimes, so Sam beating up Freddie all the time could be seen as her defending Carly from him. Sam also possibly sees Freddie as a threat to her chances of being with Carly, so Sam’s abuse towards Freddie is probably her way of saying “back off, she’s mine.” There are also some tinier examples of Sam’s crush on Carly. These examples include Sam using various nicknames on Carly(one of them being Cupcake, which Sam used on one of her previous boyfriends frequently), Sam refusing to do anything violent to Carly despite her violent tendencies(as I’ve mentioned before), etc. But the crush thing is just a theory, and it could be nothing. Who knows.

Finally, the ending of iCarly. In the final episode “iGoodbye,” Carly’s father comes back home temporarily, before having to return to the military in Italy. Carly’s given the chance to move there with him, because he’s missed most of her childhood. You can see how upset this makes her, because she’d have to leave her whole life behind. Carly hesitantly makes the decision to go with her dad, and ends iCarly with Sam. Well, they ended it, but not really. They put it on a hiatus, with no set time for when it would be back. After this, Carly starts to get ready to leave. In past episodes when there was a threat of Carly leaving, Sam became defensive and tried her best to get Carly to stay. But this time, she knew this was the best for Carly, so she let her go. Not to say it was an easy decision, because it wasn’t. At all. Soon after Carly said her goodbyes to Spencer, Gibby, and Freddie, Sam got in the elevator with her as they left the building. She gave Carly her iconic blue remote used in iCarly, for whenever Carly needed a laugh. They said their goodbyes, and hugged each other one last time, before Carly left to get on the plane with her dad. On the plane, Carly began to rewatch every episode of iCarly on her laptop. She would miss the good times she spent with Sam, Freddie, Gibby, and Spencer, but we left this scene with Carly moving on. As Carly watched more and more episodes, she seemed to get happier and happier looking back on it all. She looked like she was ready for a new chapter of her life, and good for her, honestly. The other ending scene we got was of Sam riding her new motorcycle. Her expression was blank, like she was suppressing any emotion after the heartbreak of saying goodbye to Carly, after eight years of knowing each other. But she seemed at least slightly willing to move on the last time we saw her, as she nyoomed away on the motorcycle. And they did end up moving on, as painful as it is for me to admit. I want them to stay together😔

“iGoodbye” was the last time we saw the two together, since Carly moved to Italy, and the show ended. There’s going to be an iCarly reboot in the future, but Sam won’t be in it, so I guess Carly and Sam will never see each other again. I think I know what excuse they’re going to make for this, they’re probably just gonna say Sam moved away to live with her new best friend Cat, who is THE WORST. I would rant about how much I hate Cat and the fact that Nickelodeon completely destroyed Sam’s characterization to pair the two up, but that’s another story for another day. This is a Carly and Sam friendship analysis, not “watch Leafy cry as she talks about why ‘Sam & Cat’ is a horrible show and doesn’t deserve to exist.” I prefer to ignore the show’s existence so we’re swiftly moving on. Carly is supposedly supposed to get a new best friend in the reboot too which also makes me immensely upset, but I need to stop ranting about how much I dislike the idea of Carly and Sam making new friends, so let’s ✨not✨. I’m getting a bit off track here, so back to where I left off. Carly and Sam may not be seeing each other anymore after Carly moved to Italy, but I like to think they still communicate from time to time. Calls, texts, facetimes, etc. Their friendship was too good to just let go, and I’ve gotten very attached to them as you can tell. So I hope they’re still friends, even at a long distance🥺🥺🥺

In summary: Carly and Sam’s friendship in iCarly is ADORABLE and I absolutely love them with all of my heart, and I hope you do too. Also if you read this, you’re such a pro. You know who you are 👊😎

[courtorderedcake]

Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns​ 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972​  @ultraluckycatnd​  @donteattheappleshook​) and Art by @kmomof4​

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2 

Chapter 2 - House Evil Spirits to appease of,

Part of Emma was coming to terms with the new fact that she was pregnant, then just as rapidly she reverts back through the cycle of grief, sometimes not in order. The doctor had warned her this would happen when she announced that they would be keeping her for overnight observation as a safety precaution, dropping the news that her new pregnancy hormones would also make her feel even more upside down then she had ever imagined. It was one thing to be told, but feeling it was another thing entirely.

She had gone from laughing at the breakfast menu she was handed to crying over grilled cheese not being an option, to enraged at being brought bright blue jello with her 'breakfast sandwich' made of bologna and eggs. They could not have known the intense reaction the jiggling neon goo would have given her, her magic flaring and sputtering in turn as she launched it away from her. But then again, she doubted any of the staff had spent time in a No-Magic cell. Nausea bloomed as soon as rage subsided, the food on the plastic tray too similar to what had been served to her over those long years locked away. 

Now irritation was playing through multiple emotions, a new nurse violently poking her with a needle, and running some sort of IV. 

"You're giving me what -" 

"A hormone treatment, and a magic suppressant." 

"But I need my magic -" 

"Would you prefer to shrivel up and die? You'll still have enough to do daily witch activities or whatever. This helps keep the extra at bay, and your baby healthy. It needs your magic." 

"Oh. Great." She laughed, half crazed at the news and the nurse's treatment. "Just great."

"Mess with their kind, and well." She shrugged, eyeing Emma's body. "An Angel wouldn't do that to you. A Vampire couldn't, and the rest of 'em could, but you wouldn't have to suffer through all this nasty magic aftermath. You're just early enough for a termination though, thank Merlin."

"I didn't do this to myself on purpose . This was never supposed to happen, at least not like this…" 

"Sure." The nurse rolled her eyes as she drew out the word, clearly being condescending. "It's never the Witch’s fault; I hear it every time I'm fixing them for blowing themselves in half for not reading a spell right. You play with dark magic, there's a cost." 

Emma scowled, hot tears starting and streaming down her cheeks. Her anger and ferocity that was there just moments before had evaporated without warning into a deep resignation. 

"Can my brother come to see me yet?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"After they question you, sure. He can come pick you up - You're done here." The nurse pulled off the empty bag from the IV stand, throwing it in the trash. 

The doctor entered, waving a hello. Emma did not notice her, too busy staring at her bump. She joined the nurse as a machine beeped, helping to take out her IV and the pads on her belly. When that was done, Emma sat up, wobbling from her strange new center of gravity. 

The doctor smiled at her kindly. "We'll have your test results in a few days to a week's time. You'll feel strange and sluggish the first few weeks as your body catches up to the rapid growth, your hormones, the magic, so on and so forth. From there, you may actually start to grow as normal until you'll need the next dose of suppression. We'll schedule that out for 4 months from now, checking in monthly, but if you grow suddenly, shrink suddenly, your extremities swell, or you begin to exhibit flu like symptoms, come in immediately. If anything seems off, just give us a call. We have a twenty-four seven nurse line should you have any other questions. Good luck!"

The doctor left without much more than a precursory glance back. 

Snapping her gloves, the nurse glared over her glasses at Emma. "Leave when you are ready. We got you a different outfit; it's amongst your personals there."

The nurse left in a hurry, leaving Emma to dress herself in a large pair of green hospital scrubs, her new figure completely foreign as she rubbed her hands across the smooth skin. Her once flat stomach was distended, a slight curve that pushed out stretched skin. Her clothes in the plastic bag they had given her were dirty and looked damp. The clothing she was given would have been a small comfort if the stiff fabric didn't feel so much like her old prison uniform. 

"Fuck," Emma choked out, gripping the chair for support. She felt dizzy, absolutely nauseated at the idea of a baby. Her baby. She was pregnant. Something in her felt warmth at the idea, a strange, creeping feeling of rightness mixed with calm. The rest of her wanted to claw at her skin, urging her to wake up from this horrible dream. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she fervently wished this wrongness was a hallucination. But it wasn't; she was still swaying on her feet every time she opened her eyes again. This wasn't some sort of nightmare, there was a baby, some creature's inhuman child inside her. "Fuck. Fuck!" 

Tears began to prick behind her eyes, her face heating as she sat down on the hospital bed with her head cradled in her hands. 

( You can't cry over this. This happened because of your shady dealings. 

  You got a firstborn child alright. Yours. )

Swallowing hard, Emma tried to banish the thoughts bombarding her. 

( A baby. A baby you can love and hold, who you will never abandon. Someone you can raise the way you weren't, a second chance. Put your armor back on - for you and your child. )  

Emma bit her lip hard, swiping angrily at her tears. Bottling up the emotions, she took a breath, grabbed her purse, and walked down the hallway. To her great surprise, Elsa was waiting. 

"Emma, oh my stars. This is - I have no words. I'm so sorry," Elsa whispered. Emma gave a half hearted shrug, her voice still trembling slightly.

"Yeah. Well. Can I go home yet? That's why you're here right?" Emma hated the anxious, pleading edge of her tone.

"No, not yet. You have to be interviewed by the inspector detective here and then you are free to go." Elsa approached and hugged Emma softly. "I got you a nice one though, he's one of my favorites. Jones. He's an Angel - literally and figuratively. He's saved me on so many cases, I can't help but sing his praise." 

"Oh Elsa. Thank you." Emma hugged her friend tightly, both of them trembling. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Elsa scoffed. "I don't know what anyone would do. Joking aside, we are all going to be here for you, no matter what happens. It's not going to be like last time." Elsa pushed back a strand of Emma's hair, looking straight into her eyes. "You won't go through this alone. We're going to fight for you, and figure this out. Luckily, our major project is postponed anyway. Until they find the Demon Prince, the council is on a hiatus." 

"I just want to go home. I don't know if I can handle everyone right now." Emma mumbled. "It's bad enough David probably knows, which means Snow and everyone else -" 

"Please don't push us away, Emma. We know it's a lot, but going into the unknown like this," Elsa took one of Emma's hands, squeezing it lightly. "Having a family, having faith and love - it's the only way to get through."

"Miss Frost," a low voice called from a room nearby. Elsa led Emma to a small office, smiling at the large Angel who stood on one side of a desk. He returned her smile, until Emma met his eyes. His frown was slow, not suiting his features, even when his blue eyes sharply laser focused on Emma's rotund body. She could see his muscles tense, his golden tinged wings giving the smallest of flutters. "Miss Swan."

"I'll leave you both to it, then." Elsa smiled, inspector Jones weakly returning it as she closed the door to them. 

Emma sat in the only chair on her side of the desk, landing with an audible noise in surprise. Her body was heavier now. Of course sitting felt wrong. Jones grunted before sitting in his chair, his presence formidable even with his wings unopened. He began jotting down notes, not looking up at her for a long, stretched pause of silence. Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, one foot bouncing on the floor. 

"Stop that at once," Liam growled, his eyes narrowed.

Emma stopped, hissing out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just -" 

"How did this happen?" Liam interrupted, gesturing at her with clear disgust. "Dr. Mullins indicates it was against your will? You haven't been sexually active to induce conception? Explain."

"Well, I um -" 

"And I must remind you Miss Swan," Liam grimaced, marking something on his paper. "Lying to me is a crime itself. Perjury."

"Yes, I uh - I know." Emma nodded with a gulp. She took a breath, centering herself, and began to tell him the entire story of what had taken place with Gothel. He listened in absolute silence, writing the entire time as his frown only deepened. When she had finished, he continued writing in the oppressive silence, until finally flicking his eyes up to glare at her again. 

"Is that all, Miss Swan?" 

"Yes, then I, um, got the cramps -" 

"Spare me the sordid details of the consequences your illegal activity most likely caused," Liam drawled, sarcastically. He leveled his angry, burning gaze at her, and she felt like an animal being cornered by much larger prey. "Now, I have some questions for you. Answer to the best of your ability, but remember -" 

"Do not lie, yeah I remember," Emma said softly. 

"Who says you Witches can't be taught," Liam sneered, his voice mocking. Emma felt irritation bubble up in her gut, her surprise that Elsa liked this asshole rising. If he was a good inspector, Emma never wanted to meet a bad one. "Now. What exactly did this Gothel ask of you in exchange for her firstborn?" 

"Youthful beauty and a long life, I think," Emma stated, thinking hard. "She wanted to be young forever. I told her that it wouldn't be instant or eternal, that she would have to wait. Now I know why it didn't bother her."

"Did she mention any other rituals, Miss Swan?" Liam asked. 

"No, but she did say that she was in a time crunch." Emma shrugged slightly. "I don't know if that means anything."

Liam looked at her with more vehemence, still writing furiously. "Did you feel any effects at that time?" 

"No, I was surprised I didn't with the amount of magic that detonated. I checked myself twice to make sure, once with a warding bind even." The strangeness of the situation and her clear confusion due to it made her voice sound foreign to Emma's own ears. Did he know how much she didn't want this? "Nothing. Then boom, today I - today this. She showed her true colors at the end, did an evil laugh and everything." 

Liam hummed disapprovingly, looking over his notes. Flicking his eyes back to hers, he glared with contempt. "Let me make sure I have this all correct. So, you and this other Witch do a forbidden and illegal ritual -" 

"I had no idea it was going to be this illegal, I swear!" Emma began to feel panic, her heart racing. "I thought I was helping -" 

"Sure, sure, even though you already have a record -"

"That was - That was different, I was set up and I -" 

"It seems like you are awfully good at being set up, Miss Swan. So what did you get out of this?" The inspector looked at her in disgust, folding his arms against his chest. "A Demon child to experiment on? Heightened powers?" 

"No! No, I had no idea she would - I didn't know - I thought later on that she'd give me her unwanted child. I didn't want another kid to be unwanted. I didn't know the parentage - "

The inspector interrupted with a loud scoff, leaning forward and leering at her. "Likely bloody story." 

"Detective Inspector Jones, I swear to you, I swear it - I had no idea what… I had no idea this would happen. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to get pregnant, I still don't know what to do."

"If it is a Demonic child, even only a half-breed, the best thing to do is give them up." Something painful twisted in her gut, a deep feeling of dread and wrongness. 

"I can't, I want to think about it and wait to look at options -"

"You can . You should . It will get easier the longer you are separated from the leeching thing." Liam's sneer turned into a look of pure disgust. "Don't wait, and get it out of you before it completely ensnares you in its unholy thrall."

"It's a child, sir, and my choice. I'm not making any promises -" 

"No Demon has ever been innocent, not even a baby. They are inherently selfish, cruel, and angry. Your mixed breed baby will be the same." Liam looked down at his feet, his fingers interlaced as he rested his elbows on his knees. His voice had lost the cruel edge, and Emma felt her superpower activate. He didn't believe what he was saying, and as she watched him, she noticed how tired he looked. 

"Inspector, are... Are you alright?" 

"Miss Swan," Liam chuckled darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing up to look at her. "If I was in your position, I would worry about myself, especially if jail time was on the table." 

Emma felt as if he'd slapped her, air rushing from her lungs as her heart beat rapidly. 

"Jail time?" She asked in disbelief, "What about Gothel? Why are you demonizing me -"

"That is government business, Miss Swan." Liam stood stiffly, rummaging in his pocket. He fished out a card, carefully sliding it on the table towards her. "If you remember anything, contact us. Otherwise, we will be in touch. I'll have the nurse give you the proper paperwork and instructional pamphlets."

He turned, pushed the curtain aside, and Emma heard a soft whoosh of air indicating his exit. Looking down at her body under the scrubs, she cursed Eloise with every fiber of her being. 

  ﾟ・.  ｡���. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

  The first few nights were a string of blurry, anger, and grief strewn rampages. Elsa has taken her home, Emma unwilling to let David even see her until she had some space to take care of herself. She had sent a text, and after a lot of back and forth arguing surrounding his lengthy replies, David had conceded. 

  (She just couldn't right now. 

Not right now. Not yet.) 

A Celestial, or something similar. Most likely Demon, he had said. 

Gothel had not only gotten her pregnant, but with some Demon child that could be claimed by its monstrous father for who knew what awful reason. Emma shuddered at the thought, hands protectively resting on her small swell of stomach. Pulling them away as they trembled, she cursed her body and the invader that was making her feel so attached to it. Demons didn't exactly get along with any of the other demographics, but Witches and Demons had the most volatile relations amongst any of them. Her own child might grow to hate her, all because of how much Witches persecuted Demon kind. 

She could still… No. She would not terminate the baby this far along. Every part of her vibrated with the wrongness of the very idea, sending her retching into the kitchen sink. She gripped both sides of the basin, crying hot, angry tears as she came to terms with the parasite - the baby, the small baby, the life - occupying her body. As much as she tried to hate it, the only hate she could muster fell on herself and Eloise. 

Part of her felt crazed, crying in her bathtub, nauseated and afraid of every implication and outcome. Laying her head back on the tile, she wondered about what she was going to do. Rubbing her new bump slowly, Emma traced the curve. Sixteen months. A doubly long second trimester, and extended third, all while it changed with her body. Mixed children generally presented like their non-Demonic parent, and the pregnancy bond would be fierce regardless of species. Although it was doubtful at this point it was even in effect despite her behavior and thoughts, Emma smiled at the thought that she already felt attached to her baby. Her own family. 

Her brother was going to go insane, and her sister-in-law… Snow was always supportive and full of a positive outlook. Emma had teased her that it was an Elf thing, but her pointed ears would twitch as she blushed, and she'd mumble something about her plants helping. Smoking her pungent blends of cannabis could make anyone positive, and Emma was suddenly envious. 

Regina and the coven would be on the defensive, taking over everything in Emma's life without quarter. That would be another comfort, their careful planning and patience having gotten her this far through her difficult life. 

In the end, the coven, Ruby, and Snow were over shortly after her emergency summons, flying through her doorway. Ruby was a Werewolf Emma had befriended through Snow. While Regina disliked her, Emma didn't think she was any different than most humans other than her keen sense of smell and bluntness. It was these traits that immediately made it clear what was wrong. It would seem not everyone in their circles knew yet. That would take a few more days. 

“Emma,” Ruby whispered, horrified, her nose wrinkling as tears filled her eyes. “What did… Who did this to you?”

"They think it is a Demon, but it's almost definitely Celestial, or something with a dynamic gestational period due to magic." Just behind Ruby, the rest of the coven began appearing, all staring on her porch as Emma ushered them in. "Until I find out the father, I don't know, although most likely it's Demonic."

Regina's head snapped up. “A Demon? Emma, what do you mean dynamic -”

The women went quiet when Emma lifted her shirt to show them her bump, explaining everything. 

Emma laid her head in Snow’s lap after, feeling numb. Snow stroked her hair gently, looking at the others. Their coven was small, mostly women, but David and two other men were honorary members by means of dating or marriage. Anna picked at her braid, eyes wide, while Belle's mouth was still open from her earlier gasp. Mulan, Regina, and Merida were all business. 

“I'll hunt the Witch and her Demon pet down myself, and bring him back here. We can take turns peeling away his skin -” 

“Mulan,” Merida hissed, her curls bouncing when she nodded her head at Emma, who's eyes were welling with tears once again. 

“I thought… I thought I was doing something good ,” Emma burst into tears, sobbing into Snow, and Belle excused herself to fetch the whistling kettle from the stove. Pouring everyone tea, they tried to figure out what to do. 

“Well, you certainly can't go hunting skips,” Regina scoffed. “And this house, I mean, I get that you fixed it up but it's a dump -”

“Oh! David would be happy to have you back on the farm with us!” Snow lit up, but the thought of being around their saccharine relationship and the smell of incense, patchouli, and skunky smelling herb had her running for the toilet. The others talked and sipped tea, planning out things as Emma curled up on her bath mat. Maybe it was better to terminate, if the leap in growth hadn't made it too late. Would it be better to give it up? Her mind filled with swirling ideas, and Emma let herself get lost in her sadness. 

Ruby snuck in a moment later, sitting next to Emma quietly. 

“So,” she whispered quietly, and Emma cracked open an eye to look at her friend's face. 

“So,” Emma rasped back, her throat raw. 

“Apparently, you're going to go live with Regina in the Guest ‘Wing’, yes, not room, ‘Wing’, and work at one of Belle’s bookstores. I tried to chime in with what your input might sound like. They looked at me as if I'd eaten Anna's familiar. Not like Elsa would let me snack on knock-off Rudolph anyway. Miss Ice Queen has her fancy new council to lord over, so who knows. We could have some reindeer snacks.”

Emma snorted, a smile breaking across her face. 

“Look,” Ruby started, running a hand through her hair to push back her straight brunette style. ”I know how important it was for you to be independent, Emma. I know you really cared about Neal, too. I just… There's something… There's something really off with this situation, and it's not just my nose saying that you smell weird, like dark magic weird, or my gut saying a Witch that makes contracts with Demons for a baby, knocks you up, then just up and vanishes is bad news. I want you to be safe. I called Graham on your telephone, and there's an opening at his precinct I think you might like. It’s mostly paperwork -”

“Rubes!” Emma laughed despite herself. “That's awesome, thank you-”

“Just listen. I want to meet this… Demon. I still have this feeling like something is really off, and you're neck deep in danger. Besides, you know, the Demon part of the situation. Are you sure that you can't remember, er… Well. You know?”

“No, it was literally one minute I was fine, then the next the worst period cramps of my life while I inflated. I was sort of Instant Knocked Up, just add magic or whatever.” Emma rubbed her temples, and Ruby sighed. 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Granny says that's most likely how I was conceived too.” Ruby flashed her a smile, and Emma laughed, hugging her friend tightly. 

“I don't know what I would do without you, Rubes.” 

“Look, I'm pretty sure Graham isn't into a menage et trois with a preggo, but I'll broach the subject.” 

“You're ridiculous,” Emma laughed. 

“You wouldn't have it any other way.”

  ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Months passed slowly as Emma waited for the other shoe to drop. Work at the station was easy, filing reports and making coffee not troublesome at all. Liam apparently worked somewhere in the massive complex, but Emma made no moves to seek him out or head to the detective offices. 

Her house was almost completely redone and brand new; the floors, walls, ceilings, and everything in between redone with the utmost care. 

  ("I refuse to let you live like this and represent our coven," Regina ran a finger along the mantelpiece, grimacing when it came up dirty. "Are you sure that you have to live here?" 

"What Regina means," Elsa shot her a glare as Regina shrugged, rubbing her fingers together, "Is that any of us would love to have you. Don't feel obligated to stay -" 

"But don't feel like you have to leave either. David and I would love to help you fix up the place, maybe have you make a few rooms?" Snow encouraged. David nodded, his arms crossed across his chest. 

Elsa clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh yes, you could make an apothecary room like the one you talked about, and a potion brewing room, a nice place to grow plants, a library -" 

"And we'd all pitch in, if you wanted to make a nursery?" Mary Margaret mumbled, almost shyly. "I wanted to throw a baby shower for you since we found out, but I didn't want to overwhelm you like I feel like I always do -" 

"Too late," Emma gritted under her breath, her friends already planning the event for her.)

  Emma actually had eased into the idea; at first it seemed absurd that they were planning for this when the whole situation was so strange. The father was still unaccounted for, even as the test results made it clear that the baby was of Demonic parentage. Sometimes Emma thought she could feel something, a little tug, the eerie feeling of being watched, or an emotion that wasn't hers flitting through her mind, but she dismissed them easily. More often, she was fascinated by the lack of information on the bond her and this child were supposed to have. 

Pouring over books, it was as if someone had removed or rewritten any passages about Demonic parenting, specifically with a non Demon parent. She had found minor information on the bond in a few books. It was supposed to be fierce, the instinct making women hysterical and unreasonable. It only got more intense when the father was around, cases of actions deemed feral surrounding the mixed couples she had managed to find. All of them had ended in tragedy, and Emma eventually found herself unable to stomach reading about them. 

Or anything really, food was enemy number one on baby's list, unless it was deep fried, covered in sugar, or drenched in sweetness. Without shame, Emma had managed to eat and keep down an entire jar of marmalade with crackers. 

When Snow, Elsa, and Ruby's grandmother had brought up the food options they would make if Emma would let them throw her a shower, she had caved. 

  ( "I will make you a bear claw cake, mini grilled cheese, and onion rings, amongst other things," Granny grinned. "And I will crochet you the most darling blanket for your little girl."

Emma tried not to drool, or give in. "That's nice, but I don't think I want that many people here, you know? That detective is watching my every move, I feel like a whale, I never know which food will agree with me -" 

"And I will make sure I have a never-ending hot chocolate drip for you." Granny's eyes twinkled, full of mischief. "With toppings."

"Including cinnamon?" Emma asked, unable to disguise the longing in her voice. Granny nodded firmly. "How did you know? Wait - did you say a girl -" 

"I just know," she shrugged. "Call it a wolf's intuition." ) 

It was supposed to be small, just a few people and family, but somehow it had turned into a full on social event. Emma was grateful that she had added a few rooms in the days before, the space sorely needed regardless of how drained she felt. Even still, she loved the house. It actually felt like hers, the exposed beams and vintage fixtures mixed with tapestries, framed art, and treasured photos. Her herbs dried above a large sink, food was spread along a long bar and buffet sideboard, and people milled around her living room that she had adjoined to two more exact copies through her doors. 

No need to be original there.

( Her private door stayed tucked away in the upstairs hallway, and it was unable to be unlocked by anyone but her. 

That was more important than a few extra rooms she could collapse after these people were gone. ) 

Emma was a good sport for the first couple of hours, playing games, being paraded around to people who apparently were important in the city, and sipping hot cocoa. Elsa, Regina, Mulan, and Snow were putting emphasis on her innocence, and although it was a spectacle, Emma hoped it would work. 

Two very terrible things ruined her mood. 

At some point, Elsa fell away from Emma's side, returning as cake was being cut. Her face was pinched, irritability written across it as she glared down at the slice she's given. 

"You okay?" Emma whispered, and Elsa blinked, looking up in surprise. 

"Oh, yeah. I just - I thought my date might show up, but he's working." Elsa gritted out the last word, anger seeping into it. "He's on this case, and it's important to him because it's family related, but I want him to understand that I have family too, and I could help if he just -" Throwing up her hands, Elsa groaned in annoyance. 

"I'm so sorry. I don't know anything about -" 

"Emma," David pulled her up by her arm, looking around as if checking for something. "Kitchen. Now."

There's no time to protest, his grip strong and firm, dragging her into the kitchen. 

"David, what the fu -" 

"That detective was here, asking about you," Regina hissed, pointing out towards where guests milled. "We made sure he left, but he was asking questions."

"Questions?" Emma repeated, fear gripping her. Elsa walked in, listening to the conversation beside her. 

"Like, if you had a history of criminality, if you knew and associated with undesirable magic users, if you knew who the father was or were protecting who did this to you," David said. The stillness around them seemed to tense just as they were. 

"If he questions you, you make sure to tell him that you know nothing," Elsa whispered, trying to hold her hand. "Make sure you proclaim your innocence, and he'll believe you, he has to -" 

"You think I haven't tried?" Emma ripped her hand away, looking at all of her friends with annoyance. "I agreed to this not knowing it was going to serve as some bullshit trial ball, where I'd be judged like this. I've searched everywhere for that woman, I have nothing to hide. She's disappeared, and not like a new identity in Guam disappeared, no. Like, off every plane of existence without a trace. It wouldn't matter if I did find her, because this is my kid. The bonds of the spell make her of my blood more and more every day. I can't just go back to the way things were - "

"What about the father?" Regina asked. 

"I don't know. I know nothing about him or why he hasn't come. As far as I know, he might not. I don't know how he couldn't feel these binds. I know I feel something, but it could be because I'm practically mooing, I'm so huge, and I have these crazy urges. The hormones alone here are making me feel insane, even before you started in on me. Even before that asshole showed up because we have the entire damn city here!"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Regina," Snow mumbled. Regina glared in return. 

"We - I just want you to know that no one will judge you for not wanting this, or for giving up the baby -" David said weakly. 

"Shut up David," Emma growled out. Her hands rested against her stomach and she felt like she was going to fall over. "Right now, shut up and do not go down that road." 

"Emma, it's making you feel attached," Regina said gently. "And if I'm agreeing with him, you know I - "

"I mean it, not another word. I'm keeping my baby, that's it. End all, be all. Say another word and I will curse your tomatoes," She pointed at David, then rounded on Regina. "And hex your wardrobe with bleach stains that don't come out. Try me."

"Fine!" Regina threw up her hands while David grunted. 

The kitchen went silent, the tension palpable. 

"We got you a really nice layette," Snow offered, trying to clear the awkwardness while smiling. "Come open gifts, and look at all this cuteness. "

Emma begrudgingly moved forward, her eyes widening at the mountain of gifts in front of her. 

"Don't worry," Anna whispered as she pulled Emma down to sit. "I'm writing your thank you cards for you."

The crowd thinned after gifts, the night trickling on as the house emptied. If Emma had felt drained before, now she felt completely devoid of energy. The small crowd that's left hadn't bothered her, so when Snow and Regina asked her to do another walk about with them, it seemed safe enough. 

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, his head nodding, laughing at something in his self absorbed sly little chuckle that makes her want to break his nose. She must have tensed because Snow was beside her and sucking in breath harshly through her teeth, the coven turning as if they could all feel the disturbance. 

( Maybe they can, maybe the unbridled audacity of this man being here with another woman as he laughs with a martini glass in his hand is enough to share one collective experience of hatred. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a smirk that screams pity and humor at her expense as he lifts his glass toward her, mouthing congrats ) 

A figure cut in front of her, and her rage that feels like a sickening punch in the gut is coupled by this smack in the face - Neal's father grinned at her, his cane on the ground while both hands rest on its handle.

"My my my, Miss Swan," Gold smirked the same smirk that she wants to rip off his face. "When we heard, we were so surprised to not receive an invitation to this… quaint event of yours. Truly poor manners when our covens are no longer supposed to be at odds."

Regina and Elsa were there in front of her in a flash, Snow pulling her away, words being exchanged in hissed tones. Emma could barely hear over her heartbeat, over the sound of her stomach screaming at her to vomit. 

"You can protect her all you want, but we know what she did. We know what it will be," Gold's voice slithered over her skin even in the bathroom. "You can't redeem her, and she will be the reason for all of your downfall. Enjoy your council while it lasts."

David shooed everyone out when Emma hastily retreated, the entirety of her patchwork family pushing inside to comfort her. 

  ﾟ・.  ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

After the disaster of her shower, Emma began to feel the strange feeling of being watched even more. It became especially noticeable at night when she rocked in the nursery, sorting out piles of gifts. It felt like a presence sat beside her or hovered over her shoulder, and it began to follow her into her dreams. 

They didn’t last after she woke, glimpses of a mirror, of the sound of pounding, a muffled voice that she can't make out. 

The tip of the weird iceberg happened when Emma had gotten out of the shower, the steam in the room rising to fog the mirror. Dressing in pj's and heading back in to blow dry her hair, she had been dancing along to some new pop song by the Wolves of London, when her eyes caught the words.

On the fog of the mirror, her name had appeared backwards, joined shortly by the word 'Help' in a curling script that she blinked at in confusion before they disappeared. 

( A baby, a Witch, and a Ghost. Just what she needs in the never ending chaos that has become her life ) 

Luckily, the Coven can save her ass again. 

Regina glared at Emma, her judging silence lay heavily over the room. She crossed her arms, eyebrows pinching into further scorn, before asking again. 

"You want me to do what?" 

"Look, I know it's not your favorite thing to do, but you can and I don't have the gift or a guide like you do -" 

"That doesn't make it any easier!" Regina threw up her hands, then gestured to her pantsuit clad form. "It's my body, and my mother is just -" 

"I am begging you, Reg. Begging. You." Emma moaned, irritated. "The father is a complete mystery, there's a ghost in my house that I think has to do with him, and I'm scared it could be someone like…" Trailing off, she chewed her lip. 

Liam's increasing push for her to choose adoption had thrown her off her game these last few weeks, his phone calls almost non stop. In a way, he was right. She wasn't the only parent, and she certainly wasn't ready to be a mom. She was no one, absolutely nothing. It wasn't as if she could raise a baby. 

(Even if she wanted to, and the idea of her baby, her family enveloped in the family she chose and created, it made her feel nothing but happiness) 

Regina rolled her eyes with a huff. "Fine. Fine!" she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "I do this for you, and you owe me. I expect you to be at my whim for this."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And I'm not doing it for long." She shuddered. "Every time I check out and she checks in, I feel so just -" She shuddered again, making a gagging noise. 

(Regina had done it before for David and her, to say goodbye to Ruth. It had hurt, hurt so badly, but not as much as Cora cutting the reunion short to tell her daughter to do more cardio.)

"I promise, we find his grandma or cousin or somebody, maybe whoever wrote that on my mirror, get the lead, and we're done." Emma nodded. 

With another sigh, Regina laid her hands over the table, palms up, and Emma laid her own over them. A lavender spark shot from their joined hands to the air above them, Regina's head falling back while purple smoke began to pour around the table, permeating the air. Regina shook slightly, before violently snapping her head forward and blinking. 

"Emma Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure of being ripped from my study?" A higher, nasal, woman's voice spoke out from Regina's mouth. "My daughter feels chubbier, and her skin is just -" Regina touched her face, making clucks with her tongue. "Oh, she is a mess! Did she break it off with that awful Warlock? Ugh, is she stress eating? I try not to pry, but I know she ate at least one slice of chocolate cake when she was out this last week -" 

"Cora," Emma gritted out, closing her eyes in frustration. "Cora, Regina is fine. If she wants to discuss her love life with you, she'll call you up on the Ouija. I need your help to find someone, and I don't know the someone."

"Well, aren't you in a pickle."

"Please Cora, it's not just for me!" 

"Oh, you're not interested in Regina are you? Because you are much too low a class for her breeding -" 

"Oh Merlin, no, no!" 

"What is it then?" Cora sighed in a bored drawl. "I've told you I can't find your family if they don't want anything to do with you, I -" 

"No." Emma let her chest fall, speaking quietly. "No it's not that. I remember from last time and I have a family now." Emma took a deep breath, pushing back against the hurt in her chest. "I need to know… I need to know who the father is, and I'm having trouble. I need you to see if you can reach a relative, or friend, or someone who knows why his offspring is inside me, as well as what it is. I got a visit from a ghost, so here we are."

"Oooooh!" Cora squealed. "An enceinte pregnancy Miss Swan? An illegitimate baby? A haunting? How very risqué and daring on your salary!"

"Cora!"

"Fine, I'll check. I'll want the details of this though, so don't spare any of the juicy bits." Cora winked with Regina's face, before the woman's body went slack. After a minute, her head lifted back up, blinking slightly. "Well, Emma, what a doozy this is. This woman will not stop talking, and it's absolutely ridiculous how impossible she's being, even if she is ancient looking. Yes, I said ancient looking - well don't get mad at me, I tell it how it is - oh, I don't care who your son is, he can't be that grand if he's knocked up this wreck. Sorry Emma dear, I love you, but I mean," Cora shrugged, unabashedly. 

"Cora, ask her what her name is!" Emma hissed. 

"What's your name then? Oh, that's interesting. Not as good as Cora, or Regina -" 

"Cora!" 

"It's Milah. And she's not his mum, she's - oh he's an ex lover of yours? Juicy juicy! Sounds like Emma dear might be getting leftovers then? Oh don't be like that -" 

"I need a name Cora, this is so -" 

"I'm trying Emma dear, the woman won't shut up about her sweetheart. No - Really? The scandal, but - well that is so weird! Milah says that he's been hidden somewhere and no one is haunting you, but… Ugh! She's speaking so rapidly - yes, I get it, but if he wants the kid he would have come to get it, or - I am listening to you, you're not listening to me! A mirror? You should look at one, why do I have to tell her about a mirror? I mean Emma's at most average, and look at her figure now. A child will do that to you." Cora sighed, and Emma stiffened. Cora seemed to nod for a moment, before Regina's face soured further. 

"Don't get smart with me, you may be an old soul but you died far younger than I did!" Cora growled, her eyes slitting at some unseen target. She turned with her head cocked, looking at Emma with pity. "I'm sorry Emma, sweet little duckling, but this woman is a nightmare. She keeps screaming at me about how this Killian fellow is the father, but it's impossible for her to see him for whatever reason. Something about a mirror? She's also absolutely ancient, I haven't seen clothing like that outside of - Pre-Babylon? Is that the robe designer or…? Don't look at me like that miss bed sheet toga, I - Emma, this woman, I swear! It's just incessant chattering, really - "

"His name is Killian? Cora, wait, don't you -" 

"I understand that you were crazy in love with him, trust me, you seem crazy Milah dear. Yes, Killian is his name. A Demon of lust for vengeance. Wow, Emma, what a winner!" Cora snickered, and Emma resisted the urge to shriek. "Well, I don't care if the beast is misunderstood, he's a Demon. How touching, now please - oh come now, Gothel in the tower with the mirror? Red spire, Troll falls? What is this, Clue? Do I look like a detective?" Regina's eyes rolled, Emma desperately trying to remember the snippets that might make sense. Gothel, tower, mirror, red spire, troll falls. Killian. 

Cora grew louder, her voice rising in pitch. 

"Oh, how dare you! I'll have you know your cheap robes aren't exactly chic either; you need a wardrobe update, badly! You look like a ten cent frat party attendee!" Cora spat, and Regina's face pinched tight. "Excuse me? More important things, WELL , I never - Oh you rude little tart, I've had enough!" 

"Please Cora, no, I -" Emma attempted, but Cora flipped Regina's hair back, sniffing with haughty indignation. 

"It'll be alright Emma, duckling. It seems that your little orphan persona is perfect to parent this little babe! Shut up! No, I'm done with you, you crazy broad. Go back to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and buy some new linens!" Cora hissed, her mouth curled in an ugly snarl. "Anyways, Emma, just accept that you can't ruin a child to be like you if you're giving them a home, even if their father is some failed Demon. Or something inspirational, I don't know." She shrugged, Regina's shoulders going up in a blasé dismissal. Her eyes snapped to look behind Emma, her face contorted in rage. 

"Cora. I am begging you - " Emma tried again, but Cora's focus was elsewhere, on someone unheard and unseen. 

"Shut it, shut up thread count Cleopatra!" Turning back to Emma, she smiled serenely. "Tell Regina to summon me later, I need to know how she is. And tell her no more sweets, especially if she ever wants to be a wife. Ta!"

Regina fell forwards, her body shuddering as the lights flickered, purple smoke dissipating into the air. She moaned lowly, cracking her shoulders and neck as she rolled backwards. 

"Dammit!" Emma exclaimed, sitting up and violently stalking to the fridge. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" 

"Ugh, I can taste her perfume. Bring me a beer please," Regina groaned. Emma pulled a beer and a soda out of the fridge, giving the beer to Regina. "Emma, don't you ever say that I don't love you after that." Regina shuddered again, flicking her hand to open the beer and drinking down half of it in one go.

"I know you do. You just have… You're just abrasive with it. Like a big cat, or an alligator."

(Or a wood chipper wearing lipstick) 

"Shut up, and tell me how it went. Was it worth it? Mother never is, but -" 

"She, uh, well she got me some information to go on. So, that's something." Emma averted her gaze, licking her lips. 

"She talked about my weight, didn't she," Regina sighed. When Emma said nothing Regina drank the rest of the beer and walked to the kitchen, depositing it in the trash. Pulling out a wine glass, she reached under her cabinet and produced a bottle of wine. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Don't even start on me."

"I wasn't going to," Emma whispered. 

Laying her palms flat on the countertop and bowing her head, Regina looked up after a moment's pause. 

"So, what now?" She asked. 

Emma chewed on her lip, thinking hard. "I have his name, or at least I think I do. I think all that's left is to, well, summon him."

(Summon him, and say what? 'Hey, Mr. Demon, I'm having your kid and thought you might like to know', as if it would care, or want anything to do with her...) 

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "Not alone, surely -" 

"No. I would ask Snow, David, and maybe Mulan and Belle. I know Belle would be delighted, and she has the spellbooks."

"That actually sounds like a relatively good plan." Regina nodded, then took a sip of her wine. 

"Don't sound so shocked, Regina." Emma grumbled. 

"Miss Swan," Regina smirked, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. "If you ever cease to stop shocking me with your antics, I'll assume I have gone to meet my mother and maker."

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 1 - First Night

Photo by Joe Waranont

Read the full fan fiction HERE

This is an excerpt.  Due to Tumblr’s regulations, the second half of this chapter is only available on AO3.  The full fiction is not child-friendly!

Summary: Months after Titan's defeat, Roxanne faces concerns as she and Megamind's relationship grows more serious. Soon, however, she learns that may be the least of her problems. Metro City's new hero has a dangerous past, and loving him comes with as many perils as benefits. Mystery, drama, romance, and humor.  RATING: Explicit.  WARNINGS: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll!

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f I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do?

                —Dorothy Parker

Roxanne Ritchi stared at her reflection without really seeing it.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight. She had waited, fretted, but no more. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps this moment had been too long in coming. It wasn't as if she didn't want it to—she adored him, she was undeniably attracted to him, and she was completely unbothered by their physical differences—but there was a part of Roxanne that had been affected more than she liked to admit by past disappointments.  She described her approach to relationships as "circumspect" and "judicious," but, if she was honest, she was, in reality, a coward.  Not that she was afraid of Megamind, of course; that would have been ridiculous.  Her concerns were harder to define than that.  What she feared was, she supposed, perfection, or rather the relentless feeling that anything this perfect had to be inevitably doomed.  After all, past experiences with men had all ended in disaster—she was either too aloof or too intense, depending on which of her exes you asked— and it seemed that the better relationships were in the beginning, the more spectacularly they failed in the end.  In fact, the reporter had already resigned herself to a single life, throwing herself completely into her work, when along came a certain blue alien.  Now, deep down, she was afraid that something would go wrong—especially when their relationship was already complicated by its very nature.  Perhaps that was the real heart of the issue: her love affair with Megamind was complex in so many ways, even more than the expected difficulties entailed in dating any Defender, and some of those issues revolved around things neither she nor her blue boyfriend could control.

Even so, she had made her decision, and she wasn't going to back down.  It was going to be tonight.

A knock snapped Roxanne's eyes back into focus, and she frowned at her incomplete makeup. Hurriedly finishing her mascara and applying some russet red, long-wear lipstick, she swept all her cosmetics back into a drawer.  An extra spray of perfume for good measure, and that would have to do. Fanning her mouth with her hands to dry the lip color, Roxanne walked briskly through the living room to her apartment's front door.

Megamind was standing in the hall, eyes fixed pensively off into the distance. It was a look she was growing to expect whenever she left him waiting too long; the double-edge sword of his massive intellect was that he was always thinking, always wondering, his thoughts never still. The sound of the door brought him back to attention, and he smiled. She threw her arms around him— their usual greeting— and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Nerves sang and sparked. She hated that she was as fidgety as a maiden bride.  While she believed that, like alcohol and tobacco, sex should be "enjoyed responsibly," Roxanne had slept with a respectable number of men.  It had been years since the idea of it had made her jittery.  Until now.  Maybe it was her long hiatus from the dating pool—very few men were willing to move on a woman supposedly dating someone with lasers in his eyes—or maybe it was Megamind's charm coupled with the intensity of her feelings for him, but, whatever the reason, something about the city's hero made her feel like she was in high school once more: heart fluttering and stomach slightly queasy.  If only that were the sole reason for the butterflies beneath her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she smiled again, looking into eyes so green they glowed.

His expression was tender as he turned his gaze down to her's— something that, at only two inches taller than Roxanne, he only managed to do when they were this close. And when she was wearing flats. For a moment Roxanne silently praised the work-sore feet that had prompted her to opt for more comfortable shoes this evening.

Clearly, the blue alien had been on duty today as he was dressed in his familiar dark leathers. For a short time, Megamind had tried wearing white— had even gone as far as to build a new super suit that imitated Metro Man's powers— but thankfully Minion had convinced him that it was better to be his own brand of hero. And he'd been right. Not only did Roxanne prefer her boyfriend's bad boy look for reasons of her own, but even the most hardened criminals had grown to fear the black-clad Defender of Metro City while citizens had grown to accept Megamind for himself.

Will that continue after tonight, if people find out? Or will the same public that praises him today turn against him tomorrow?

"Don't worry, it's alright," the blue hero assured her. Roxanne startled for a moment— how did he know what she was thinking?— before she realized that he'd been referring to the wait. "I was just considering how I might turn one of your windows into a transparent glass monitor," he continued. "It would require some creative engineering, but I think it could be done. Then I could build you a smaller version of the supercomputer in my lair, and ta-da! It could function as a window until activated, and then you could use it to communicate with me in my workroom, or research, or to—" seeing her quizzically amused expression, he caught himself in mid-thought and cleared his throat. He and Roxanne had agreed to just have a normal, relaxing date, and it seemed to occur to him that this might not fit the description. "Erm, these are for you," he finished sheepishly, proffering a bouquet of yellow daisies, orange and gold cosmos, gardenias, and red and white roses.

He always brought her daisies, ever since she had mentioned once in passing how much she loved the ones in Hill Top Park.  Bouquets turned up at her office every Thursday like clockwork.  She didn't even mind that some of the interns got all girlish and giggly about it.

Roxanne accepted the flowers, inhaling the blossoms' sweet scents before saying: "They're beautiful. Come on inside." She pulled him in, leaning up to give him another kiss as she reached around him to shut the door. "I've always wondered: what are these?" she continued, touching tiny white clustered flowers with one hand. "It seems like they're in every single bouquet I've ever seen, but no one ever mentions what they're called."

"Ah, yes, that's Gypsophila, Baby's Breath. And you're right, it is a common addition to bouquets... I think for artistic reasons. What's wrong? Do you dislike it?"

"What? No, not at all..."

"What is it? You look like you just smelled something horrible. I can take the Gypsophila out."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It's nothing... just..."

Baby's breath.  Oh God.   Roxanne tried to ignore the skittering tightness in her heart.

What if she got pregnant?  What would the world say to the first half-human child?  She was a responsible adult, of course, and she wasn't rushing into this unprepared, but even so... Sex was designed to make babies, and no matter how careful a girl was, sometimes it did just that.  Her cousin Theresa, who had conceived her third child while she and her husband were using both pills and condoms, was living proof.

Realizing she'd been quiet too long, Roxanne thought quickly. "It's just that that's an odd name for a flower, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't really look like breath."

"No stranger than Forget-Me-Nots or Grandmother's Lace." He shrugged. "Flower names are just weird."

"At least Grandmother's Lace sort of looks like lace," she laughed, more at herself than anything else. "But you're probably right. Either way, these really are gorgeous," Roxanne smiled again. "I love them."

"I'm glad," he grinned. "I've been studying Floriography."

"Flori-what?"

"The language of flowers."

"I didn't know flowers talked," she joked.

"Very funny. You've read enough classic literature to know what I mean."

"I do, and you're very sweet," she answered, retrieving a vase from the small china hutch in her living room, and leading him into the kitchen. "Let's see… Roses are for love, right?"

"Love and affection, depending on the color."

"And these colors are?" She asked, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face him.

His cheeks flushed a little, the expression of shy pleasure at odds with his tough-guy persona. It was unreasonably adorable. "The red ones mean: 'my love for you is passionate,'" he explained. "And the white ones mean: 'my love for you is pure.'"

She felt her heart do a happy, ridiculous little flip, and turned her head to give him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy and girlish. "Oh."

This was always his way: thoughtful, charming, romantic, foolishly sentimental… Yet he never begrudged her her independence; never complained when she had to break a date for a hot news story or an overdue deadline. He just told her to stop by the Lair on the way home if she had the time, and sent over a packed dinner via brainbot with a note saying something like: "You won't forget to eat, will you? Love, MM." And then there was the way he fully embraced her for who she was, skipping typical dates in favor of afternoons in bookshops, long days in the park, weekends exploring quirky little-known museums, and dinners at hidden gems serving unexpectedly excellent cuisine or wonderfully authentic international dishes.

"Are you sure you're not telepathic?" she asked, only half in jest.  It was something she'd questioned him about before.

"I think I would notice if I were."  His expression turned teasing.  "Perhaps, Miss Ritchi, you are simply too... Predictable."

"Jerk," she laughed, trimming the edges of the flowers under the running tap.  

"Villain," he corrected, gesturing to himself.  "One of the good guys, now, but still a villain," he moved close.  "And a devilishly handsome one at that."

"Hmm.  I can't argue with the last part."

"That's because you have excellent taste."  God, why did his smirk have to look like dark secrets and wanton promises?  "Really, though, Sweetheart," he added, his smile gentling.  "I know you because I love you."

"I love you, too."

She truly did, and the fact that someone as brilliant and charming as Megamind loved her back sometimes still filled her with soft surprise.  More than that, however, he respected her.  He trusted her.  Following their defeat of Titan, Megamind had not only granted her nearly unfettered access to his secret Lair— something unheard of in the past— but, keenly aware that the sudden cessation of her regular kidnappings could affect her career, he had also allowed her to join him in some of his more noteworthy heroic battles.  While her blue beau insisted that she steer clear of the dangerous Doom Syndicate, together they had taken down two minor would-be villains: the first an ex-model with a scarred face and a terrible idea of revenge, the second a balding science teacher with an insane plan to make the pigeons in the park emulate Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.  That last had been a monumental failure even by Megamind's standards.  The chemical compound the man had fed the birds had only succeeded in giving them explosive diarrhea.  It had been an incredible mess.

Thank God for brainbot cleanup crews!

"And just what are you snickering about?" Megamind asked her, cocking one eyebrow, green eyes shining with curious mirth.  "It's mean not to share," he added, adopting his best Hero-Giving-a-Life-Lesson voice.  Roxanne laughed harder.  That particular part of his new persona was definitely a work in progress.

"I was just thinking about the bird guy," she answered, turning to fill the vase from the faucet.

"The bird—Oh!  Ravenous!" he gave the word an odd inflection, putting an emphasis on "raven," just as the aspiring villain had.

"That was it!" she chortled.  "God, even his name sucked!  He got so mad at you for pronouncing it wrong, too."

"Excuse me," he grinned, leaning back against the counter to catch her eye. "I was pronouncing the word ravenous correctly.  It's not my fault he had an unnatural obsession with avians.  And, as I recall, it was you, my Dear Miss Ritchi, who insisted on pronouncing his name wrong—or rather right— on air, until you had the whole city doing it.

"Me?" she couldn't hide her smile.  "Look at this innocent face.  Would I do something like that?"

His laugh rang through the kitchen.  "Oh, yes, you would.  I always said you would have made an excellent Evil Queen!"

It was absurd how much her heart sped up when he said that.  "When did you decide to learn floriography?  I mean, it can't have been just for this," she asked, arranging the bouquet with more care and concentration than was really necessary.  "I can't imagine you taking an interest in it before."

"Yes and no.  I did learn for you, Roxanne, but," he seemed to swallow his sheepishness, "I've studied the language of flowers for years.  I... I used to imagine what I would say to you if I only had the courage to leave a tower of blossoms on your table after a kidnapping.  I never did.  I didn't want you to feel... uncomfortable, frightened, but...  Roxanne, I revolve around you.  Your smiles have been my drug for a long time."

She swallowed turned her head back quickly.  Her face felt like fire and she knew she was losing the battle for suave composure.  Damn it, I'm supposed to be the one seducing him!  

How could she not love him when he said things like that—said them and actually meant them?  Surely that was too much for any reasonable world to expect? And if others might not like it, well, so what?  She'd endured criticism of everything from her political stances to her hair, and God knew Megamind was no stranger to animosity.  Whatever storms this might brew, they would weather them together.

"The Gypsophila represent purity, too," Megamind informed her.  She could hear him grinning at her blush. "The cosmos are joy and harmony," he added, moving closer again. "Yellow daisies are for both true love, because each flower is actually two joined as one, and for new beginnings. Gardenias, now those are interesting. They represent feminine beauty, and can refer to a secret love, but," Roxanne nearly dropped the vase as he leaned against her back to breathe the last words against her ear. "Gardenias also mean: 'I will always protect you.'"

"Megamind," she breathed, gently setting the vase on the counter and turning to bury herself in him. He smelled like hot metal— he'd probably been welding something earlier— and expensive cologne, but beneath that was his familiar musk of leather, spices, and something warm and woody.

He began kissing along her ear and down toward her shoulder— something he had become extremely good at in the last few months. His goatee, warm breath, and gentle teeth were sweet torture against her sensitive skin. Clever fingers tickled up the nape of her neck and slid around to gently tangle in her short hair, making her shiver. She sighed his name again, tasting the syllables like a prayer.

Megamind. This was Megamind: fiercely loyal and endlessly affectionate. Of course, he would always protect her. Let the whole entire city, or even the entire planet, turn against them, and he would remain steadfastly at her side, determined and immovable as stone.  Certainly, they had had their share of arguments—what couple didn't?—but, in the end, he always had her back. He'd probably even do his best to shield her from the worst of people's biases.  Because that was the sort of man he was.

To hell with what people might think. I want this, now and always.

Roxanne leaned back just enough to kiss him with thorough passion, giving his mouth the full and undivided attention it deserved.  He matched her passion, tongue gliding past her lips to tempt and tumble against her own.  Almost of their own accord, her arms wrapped about his slender neck, pulling him closer, urging him on...

And her stupid phone timer went off, shattering the moment with an annoyingly jaunty little tune.

"I… um… I have dinner in the oven," she stumbled over her own words. "It should be... ready… almost... almost ready."

Mercifully, he took his cue. "Oh-ho!" he laughed, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Home cooking twice in one week! Just what are you up to, Miss Ritchi?"

Although Roxanne had learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, she'd rarely felt it worth her time when she was single, preferring quick frozen meals she could leave in the crockpot or even pop into the microwave.  Since she had started dating Megamind, however, she'd dusted off the old cookbooks she'd inherited and started making meals from scratch once a week.  True, the hero had Minion to cook for him— and her skills were nowhere near the henchman's gourmet standards— but this was one of the ways she could show her affection, and it always seemed to please the blue alien.  Things like that had become important to the reporter as Megamind took up residence in her heart, which is why she found herself constantly making little gestures like buying him a blue teddy bear in a black leather jacket, or texting him funny pictures and thoughts she knew would make him smile.  So she had gotten into the habit of planning one special dinner each week.  But, up until now, it had always been only one.

I'd hoped he wouldn't notice.  I should have known better.  

She gave him her best calm reporter stare. It was ruined by the fact that her face still felt like it was glowing red. "Why should I be up to anything?" she asked coyly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his grin playful.  "Your wiles won't work on me."

That earned him a sultry look. "I was under the impression they were working pretty well just now."

"Wicked girl," he teased. Following Roxanne across the small kitchen, Megamind opened the oven and sniffed eagerly. "Mmmm... Lasag-na. My favorite. Now I'm definitely suspicious."

"It's lasagna, silly," Roxanne corrected fondly, moving past him to set her bouquet on the dinette table. "And can't a girl make her favorite hero a nice dinner without him getting into conspiracy theories?"

He only grinned at her again. "La. Sag. Na." That was one of the things Roxanne loved most about Megamind. He never let himself be embarrassed. Most people would have been mortified by constant mispronunciations, but he brushed them off with a smile.

Giggling, Roxanne swatted him playfully out of her way and found two oven mitts in a drawer before retrieving the dish from the oven. "Maybe I'll make you learn to say it correctly before I let you have any."

"Oh, you could never be so cruel!" he answered over his shoulder as he selected plates from the cabinet. "I should have brought a bottle of wine."

"I still have two from the last time you came over," laughed Roxanne. "I think we'll be okay."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," Megamind complained, but he couldn't quite tame his playful expression as he began setting the table. "I simply couldn't decide what would compliment the dish best. Besides, I wanted to make sure I had something to eat my breakfast cereal with in the morning."

"Ewww!"

Roxanne loved Megamind's laugh. He was the city's hero now, but his rolling chortle still had a dark ring in it, and something about it sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he assured her.

"I know, but... Ewww!"

He laughed again and motioned her to her chair. "Alright, okay," he said, helping her into her seat. "Whenever I stay here overnight, I solemnly promise that I will not eat cereal and wine for breakfast."

Roxanne tried to giggle but found her throat suddenly tight. Funny how that comment brought the conversation to the matter at hand.

Come on, Roxanne.  For God's sake.  Just ask.

She looked up at him, his face still glowing with humor, and gently placed her hand on his.

"Megamind, I was thinking, what about tonight?"

He looked confused. "What about tonight?"

"For that. For you to stay over. I mean..." she sighed.  Ugh... Why is this so hard?   "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"Of course!" his easy tone implied he still didn't get her meaning. It wasn't as if he had never stayed over, after all... It was simply that they had never done any more than cuddle.

"No, I mean, will you—" Oh, God, I'm going to have to be specific, aren't I?— "Will you sleep with me? Will you spend the night here as my lover?"

That finally did it. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he glanced quickly down, trying unsuccessfully to hide his little up-to-no-good grin.

When he lifted his gaze again, however, his expression turned serious. "Are you... sure? I want you to be sure, Roxanne. Absolutely certain." He lifted his free hand to push a strand of her short hair tenderly back from her face. "No regrets between us. Ever."

She smiled. Doesn't he understand that that's what makes me so certain?  He's always ready to put me first.

Yes, he was an alien. Yes, she was going to be the first known human to sleep with someone from a different planet. Yes, in a society where too many still objected to relationships between different races and same genders, sharing her bed with an extraterrestrial was sure to stir up trouble. But it didn't matter. She had given him her whole heart, and after five months of dating— more if you counted the dates with "Bernard"— she wanted to give him her body, too. The time had come. Their relationship couldn't continue in this state of limbo. Either she stopped holding back or she broke things off, and she couldn't bear the thought of the latter. No matter what happened, no matter who judged them, no matter how many snide comments she had to hear about Stockholm Syndrome and tentacle porn, she would not—could not—let him go.

Fully meeting his look, Roxanne let her emotions— love, desire, trust, longing— fill her blue eyes. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she pulled him down for another slow-burn kiss.

"I'm sure," she breathed when they parted for air. "I'm very, very sure."

He smiled and leaned back in, kissing her again, letting years of contained passion spill over her.  The chair skittered back as she rose, tangling her arms around him.  Clutching her, Megamind ran eager hands over her back, cupped her hips, and pressed her close to feel the proof of his desire. His kisses were hot, desperate, as if he were drowning and her lips held his only salvation.

Panting and flushed, the hero was the first to pull back. "I'm sorry," he said, motioning to the cooling meal on the table. "I don't mean to let all your hard work go to waste, but—"

"I have a microwave. We can heat it up."

He grinned. "Well, in that case..." he purred. Scooping her up in his deceptively thin arms, Metro City's blue hero carried Roxanne to the bedroom.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight.

Click Here to Keep Reading

[devnny]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

AT LONG LAST!! my hiatus is broken! i’m very happy to present ch14... after months of failed attempts to finish ;-; thank you for all the kind messages in between 🖤🖤🖤 i hope you enjoy! :]c it's time for artist things, and bad memories!

[•/•/•• :

That one guy that paid me for that BIG ASS project, apparently, really liked it, and wants to see more of my paintings. Talked about exhibiting some of my shit in one of his galleries, if he likes any of ‘em. Neat.

…

And me and Johnny… had a… moment, or whatever. Whatever.]

--

Johnny sat wide-legged on the floor with a large crate settled between his knees, thumbing through the different paintings standing inside the box like records. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth while he inspected each one with intrigue – Devi’s work was always so fascinating.

“Why are you even looking through that old shit?” Devi asked from across the room, smiling slightly as she spoke.

“It isn’t shit, I think they’re… cool.” His lips stuck out in a soundless ‘ooh’ as he lifted up a small painting of a retching face. He bared his teeth at the agonizing expression like a mimicking chimp, then set it back down to sift through more artwork.

With the news that she may have another chance to exhibit her paintings in a gallery, Devi had started the tedious process of scrutinizing her available pieces to slap together a decent portfolio, which was fairly difficult, seeing as she was her own worst critic.

“Well ‘cool’ or not, that’s all over a year old. The likelihood I’d want to stick any of them in a portfolio is very slim.” Devi turned to look at him as she finished, but stopped with a sharp inhale when she saw which painting Johnny was holding now.

Johnny was fixated with the canvas in his hands, finding such familiarity with the large eyes and long, devilish smile of the demonic looking subject on it. The paint was very rough in texture, and made the whole piece look rather fleshy. He brought up a finger to poke at the lumpy marks while he thought.

“Is this… me?” Johnny asked absentmindedly. Devi felt a cold sweat prickle on the back of her neck, but waved off any shame she felt with a swat of her hand.

“Yeah.” She answered honestly. Her attention focused on the painting, and she tried as best she could to not feel the deep-seated anger and disappointment that resonated within her at the time she created it. “It was a vent art I did, some time after the whole… attempted-murder, thing.”

“Ah.” Johnny nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth settling into a slight frown. “Is this how you saw me? With all the blood and tentacles coming out of my head?”

Devi’s lips slanted uncomfortably. She leaned her weight onto one of the bigger canvases she had on hand, and sighed.

“No, not really.” Her eyes wandered away from Johnny as she thought. “I just kind of, went wild with it, I guess. Added gore and sharp lines and splatters wherever I felt like. It was supposed to represent a feeling, not really… a person. I mean, it is you, but it was more like the energy you gave off, not how you looked.”

Johnny nodded, his teeth poking out again as his smile returned.

“Neat…” He commented and turned the canvas sideways to inspect it further. Devi blinked in surprise at his response, then snorted after a minute.

“—‘Neat’!?” She asked with a laugh. “That’s what you think that is?”

“It is!” Johnny’s attention jumped to her again. “I don’t have any pictures of myself really, and definitely no paintings. It’s cool that it’s… symbolic. Not of a particularly great time in my life, or spurred on by any particularly great choices on my part, but still cool. I like seeing how your brains perceived me in such an inventive manner.”

“HAH! You are truly the weirdest guy I’ve ever known, Nny.” She chuckled, and returned to the pieces beside her. As she started to sort again, Devi paused, and began picking at the chipped paint on one of her canvases thoughtlessly.

“You know, um,” She turned her head ever-so-slightly in Johnny’s direction. “—originally, it was just a normal portrait of you. I’d started it before our uh, date, then altered it later…”

Her cheeks blushed faintly at the admission; it was so embarrassing to confess that she’d taken him as her muse before she’d ever even asked him out. Part of her still felt, with little room for argument, that Johnny didn’t need to know that, but in light of recent events, it also seemed stupid to hide things pertaining to her ‘feelings’ from him at this point.

 Johnny’s head popped up, his neck and back straightened fully, as he turned to stare at her. Devi wasn’t looking at him, but he could tell by her meaningless fidgeting with the canvas in her hands that her attention was still on him. It brought a giddy smile to his face.

“Oh.” He hummed contently, returning his staring to the portrait. He wondered what it looked like before she riddled its face with globs of resentful paint. With a content sigh, he answered his thoughts; “I bet it looked nice.”

“Tch!” Devi held her laugh inside her throat. “I’m sure I gave you too much credit.”

“HAHAHA!” Johnny sneered a wider smile. His brain immediately imagined an overly-handsome depiction of himself, even though he knew Devi had better taste than that. So funny. He reviewed the portrait one more time, then set it off to the side.

“Hahh… I like it a lot.” He sighed, and laid down flat on the floor, legs still sprawled. “I like all your stuff a lot. Why are you so critical about your paintings?”

Devi cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Are you going to try and tell me you’re not critical of your own artwork, Nny?” Her words jabbed playfully in his direction, and he puffed his cheeks out in response.

“WELL…” Johnny huffed, making Devi laugh again. “Maybe the stuff I do now, but all my old paintings, all the stuff I don’t remember even making… no. But I guess it’s hard to be self-critical of something you don’t have any recollection of creating.”

He brought his one leg up high to lob over the crate in his lap as he rolled onto his side to face her. Devi greeted him with a look of pity, but with a degree of immense curiosity to it.

“Shit.” Devi thought a moment. “I don’t think I ever really saw your old stuff, actually.”

Johnny had described to her vaguely last year, and in much more depth this year, his style of painting that had long-since depleted into noncomplex stick figure comics. He explained it as being rough and gritty, with themes of decay, agony, and horror, and his subjects most often being flesh-like nonsense, or close-ups of distorted human faces. The oldest of the surviving pieces would dip into dark landscapes and actual silhouettes, but that was the extent of it.

“Man,” Devi sighed as she thought. “I’d love to see ‘em.”

The comment surprised him, and Johnny laid still on the floor as he watched her with large eyes. He rolled into a seat position after a moment, and moved his staring to the carpet.

“W… would you, really?” He asked tentatively. “A lot of them are still in okay-condition, they’re just… buried in my house...”

Devi replied with a few confused blinks, mostly in regard to Johnny’s sudden change in demeanor. After a moment of thought, she was delightfully suspicious that his timidness now was because of her absolute refusal to enter his house the day she assisted him with ‘moving out’. The concern he had for making her uncomfortable was as unfortunately endearing as ever.

“You wanna go pick some up?” Devi asked with a smile, and Johnny cricked his chin up to stare at her with redoubled surprise.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief as he scuttled to stand. “I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

Devi laughed at him and balanced the canvas she held against the wall.

“Yeah. I need a fucking break from looking at my own paintings.” She explained with a pop of her back. “Who knows, maybe you’ll inspire me.”

She shrugged the last of her sentence at him as she walked past, and Johnny pivoted to watch her leave the room. He always found her teasing to be so disarming, never knowing what to do when she threw the ball into his court. It was fun, in a way, but he was always nervous to banter back besides mock cynicism. It made his heart flutter all the same.

“If you’d like.” He called after her as he walked. “I just meant—you know, if you don’t want to go inside, and all.”

Johnny stopped in the living room when he caught sight of Devi at her bedroom door, already straightening a newly pulled on t-shirt.

“Your concern is appreciated.” She smiled at him, then reached around the door and grabbed one of her shorter jackets—it was just too balls-hot to be wearing her trench coat at this hour. Stupid summer weather.

Johnny grinned, though his smile melted into an awkward squiggle as Devi approached him with that accursed collar in hand. He’d grown accustomed to wearing it on outings, but he still loathed it. He would be happy to chop it up and burn the pieces, one day.

His malicious thoughts were short-lived, as Devi roped the accessory around his neck. She paid much less mind to not touching him these days, and the caressing of her fingers made him feel like his insides might liquify from the heat. She smirked coolly as she clicked the collar shut.

“Why don’t you drive?” She suggested, and Johnny was taken off-guard again. He hadn’t driven at all since he’d come to live here, what with Devi preferring to have control over just about everything. He raised an eyebrow, cautiously inspecting her expression, but was unable to determine if this was representative of anything.

“I don’t feel like navigating the suburbs to get to your place.” Devi provided for explanation as she moved to the front door, but Johnny remained unsure. Still, he went to fetch his keys from one of the art room drawers without prodding any further.

--

NOW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN:

Devi had not been to Johnny’s neighborhood more than twice, and only once during daylight hours, yet she still managed to recognize some landmarks that signaled that they were getting close. One neighbor a few streets down had an absolutely obnoxious amount of pink flamingos in their yard, and another surely teetered the worth of their fragile masculinity on the pure number of beat-up looking muscle cars that lined their curb.

The car jerked as Johnny took a sharp turn onto a different street, and Devi sucked in a breath while she watched the addresses get closer in number to ‘777’. She stubbornly refused to let the sight of the ramshackle house bring her too much anxiety, but as they slowed beside it, and then turned up the slope of the driveway, the familiar shiver of distrust climbed up her spine. Johnny spared her a nervous glance.

“You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want’a…” He reiterated, in an effort to comfort her, but Devi only scoffed and started to exit the vehicle.

“NOPE.” She replied with a quick slam of the door. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

Johnny stepped meekly out of the driver’s side, and watched Devi glare at his ‘former’ place of residence. Guilt gnawed away at his stomach, well-aware of the traumatic memories of that evening that were still sealed away inside his house.

He’d lived with them long after their infamous date; tromping over the wooden floors that had served as her route of escape, or laying like a limp sock across the couch that would have been where they shared their first kiss. When he paused to dwell on those sorts of facts, remorse filled him each time, but certainly not to the extent that it used to. It wasn’t the soul-splitting agony that those first days had brought – it didn’t drive him into hysterics to catch sight of his bedroom mirror, nor did the thought of sitting on the right-hand side of his sofa.

But, of course, Devi hadn’t.

She didn’t muddle through that house for months, learning to accept the space beyond those fleeting, horrible memories. She hadn’t had to wander through the atmospheric fog of departed, romantic dreams, with its lingering tethers warping around her person like ghostly fingers, searching for what was lost. She didn’t find herself stepping on glass fragments even weeks afterwards, and having to force herself to accept, with tearful blinking, that there was no changing this; that this was her house, and there was no escaping what happened here.

Johnny frowned to himself, and started toward the front door, fretting all the way about what Devi’s response would be.

Devi gathered herself as she followed him up the pathway, and as Johnny fiddled with the lock, she spared a moment for a little flower that was poking out from the cracks of the cement. Symbolic, or ironic, she couldn’t decide.

The sound of the worn lock’s mechanics moving in sync with the key that Johnny jammed into it brought her attention up from the ground, and she steeled herself as he pushed the door open with a throw of his fingers. He remained on the front step with her, half-way shielding her from the innards of his home, as she peeked beyond the doorframe.

Even with her expectations low, she couldn’t help but blink her eyes wide in shock.

“Did you… throw out everything?” Devi questioned as she tried to peer past him and into the living room. The décor wasn’t particularly abundant the last time she had been there, but there was more on the wall than a weird little poster that said “I WUV YOU”, and certainly a decent amount of worn furniture. Johnny shot her a confused look, and waited a beat before allowing himself to relax into a smile.

“Oh, no.” He sniffed a laugh and took a few steps inside, loosely raising his arm to gesture to the far side of the room. “The TV n’ shit is just over here now.”

Devi poked her head past the threshold to see, and slanted her mouth uneasily at the sight of the stained sofa a few steps away. It looked even more beat up than the last time she saw it, but it was definitely still the same one. She smothered a scowl under her pursed lips, and fully passed the door’s threshold with a swing of her leg. It was just a stupid, dilapidated couch, she reminded herself—nothing to be wary of!

“My house got kinda wrecked after the wall-thing sent it careening through a tear in the dimension or, something like that.” Johnny continued. “Shit got tossed around everywhere, so I just pushed it all into one of the rooms… Pulled the couch and stuff back out after I came home a couple months ago.”

“That’s…” She cocked an eyebrow. “—I mean, at this point, sure, why not.”

Johnny snickered a little at her incredulous response, and continued further into the house, explaining in greater detail his decision making for what furniture he had rearranged and where. Devi paid little mind to his babbling as she gradually trailed his steps, taking in the house’s atmosphere with as little bias as she could. It was just as dingey as she remembered, and it did help her sore memories that it was basically gutted, aside from the worn couch and beat-up television. It barely looked like a house the way it was, instead looking more like a large shed. It definitely didn’t look like the place she remembered, and that was a very good thing.

“—I don’t spend much time in my bedroom, but I still thought it was important enough to leave it usable, so I just jammed everything in here.” Johnny finished, flinging open the door to his former ‘studio’. A few random objects fell and rolled out from the mass of clutter that loomed all the way to the top of the doorframe.

“Holy Hell.” Devi said loudly, aghast at the sight of the mounds of dusty debris and overturned furniture. There appeared to be parts of doors and chunks of ceiling plaster mixed in with the heaps of furniture and belongings, giving the entire mass the look of a true junkyard.

Johnny bend his leg up and reared it back as far as he could, before springing his heel out straight, sending most of the blockade crashing backwards inside of the room with one demanding kick. With the first heap out of the way, Devi could see more clearly that there was actually quite a bit of bare space inside. Enough floorspace to walk in, at least.

Johnny led the way, and sent a chunk of splintered wood clattering with a lazy punt of his boot. Devi watched it kick up dust as it fumbled along, then fall still near a pile of damaged Christmas decorations. The room was musty, and the only light granted inside the space was from the poorly boarded up windows that failed to stop the sun’s glow outside. She looked up to the ceiling for a light, but the only spot for one had a shattered bulb still twisted into the fixture.

“My drafting table was in here.” He mentioned offhandedly as he inspected a box.

“Ah,” Devi nodded in understanding. “so that’s why it took you so damn long to drag the thing out.”

“Well, yes, and the fact that it’s heavy as fuck.” Johnny snorted and peeled back the remains of an ironing board from its resting spot against the wall. It make a cracking sound, like bark being torn from a tree, then gave way in a small flood of junk to reveal some paintings hidden in the area behind.

“AH-HAH.” He cried in triumph, and moved proudly to the side to allow Devi the opportunity to inspect them first. Devi looked at him with an unsure expression, but decided to humor him and approach the pile as invited. As she stepped toward the stack, the twisting paint gathered her full attention, and she reached a hand out for it like a gleeful child.

She gripped the corner of the first canvas, and hoisted it up from the stack with a smooth pull of her arm. The rolling swirls of brushstrokes that greeted her brought a tantalized smile to her lips, and she had to extend the artwork out with both arms to continue her appreciation of it.

It was about three-feet in height—a fairly average sized painting—and was smeared with meticulous bends and curls of dark paint that made the two grim subjects look as though they were positively radiating in fear.

Gorgeous, she thought.

Devi gleamed, and set the painting to the side, eagerly reaching for the next one in the pile. Johnny watched her with uncertain, but very delighted, eyes. A timid smile bent his mouth as Devi reviewed his art. It was a lot different than her critiquing his current work, since these could actually be on par with what Devi herself might create. He desperately wanted her to be impressed, even though he could barely take credit as the artist anymore.

The painting Devi pulled out next was too large to properly view while holding, so she set it on the floor, tilted at an angle against a box, and stepped back a few feet to study it. Her lips parted with a curious exhale at the detailed eye in the center of the canvas, surrounded by flesh-like tethers and threads that seemed to keep it upright, like a spider’s web.

“Oh,” She breathed, and squatted down to see it more clearly in the wispy light. “I love this.”

The last of her apprehension of being inside the house flittered away as she absorbed herself in Johnny’s art, appreciating fully all of the effort put into the fine lines and details of this piece in particular. This one was definitely coming back home with her—she could already see it replacing that outdated movie poster in the living room.

Devi’s reaction surprised Johnny, and he dropped his neatly folded arms out from behind his back. He felt breathless, like he often did when Devi praised him, but to a much higher degree than usual. He watched her with a look of awe—she was completely captivated by one of his creations. One of the stupid paintings he almost loathed, simply because it was a symbol of the self he lost—because it was meaningless to him; no memory behind what drove him to paint it, or how he was feeling at the time, not even an approximate date as to when he made it.

But with the way Devi reviewed his work with such adoration… now, he felt pride. Real pride in his former abilities, and a deep, desperate desire to create something now that would make her react like this. Her expression could drive him mad; looking so brilliant and excited, with that bright smile, and eyes that shimmered just as brightly. His shoulders raised up to his ears in an attempt to quell is elation.

“Do you have more like this?” She turned her attention up to him with a grin, and Johnny held in a shiver.

“Oh—yes!” He nodded, happy to offer her more of what was currently invigorating her. “I do… but most of them are very large. Like, full-wall-size large, so they’re down in the basement… Perhaps another time?”

A nervous laugh accompanied his suggestion, and Devi nodded without argument, though a soft smile remained. She already knew what horrors he’d committed down there, and wasn’t keen on venturing down into what was formerly a demon’s torture den. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, she would have the bravura to follow him into the fucking abyss.

For now, though, she would remain satisfied with her newly excavated treasures—she could already feel her own inspiration spinning in her head in response to such fantastically morbid art. Something like these but the size of a mural? Now that she wanted to see!

--

They continued rooting through Johnny’s amassed garbage for a couple more hours, spearheaded by Devi’s eagerness to rescue as many paintings as she could from the bones of the decrepit prison that had stolen their creator away from them in the first place. By the time they were packing away all of the works that Devi wanted to bring back to the apartment, it was nightfall.

“Safe travels.” Devi commented with a smile to the stack of canvases tucked away in the back of Johnny’s car, then heaved the trunk lid closed.

Johnny stood off to the side nearby, surveying the night sky with a lofty smile. It had been a very long time since he stood in this driveway, watching the clouds drift over the starlit darkness in wispy smears. It was almost surreal how strangely foreign it felt now, but after the months of his nightly backdrop being the city’s lousy view, most often from Devi’s apartment windows, he had forgotten one of the few benefits to living in an unlit, ‘quiet’ suburb.

“What a lovely evening.” He hummed absentmindedly, and Devi turned to him with a questioning look, before moving her focus up above them.

“Yeah.” She breathed with a matching smile, and crossed her arms over her chest while she took in the view.

“On nights like this—when I lived alone—I’d always like to go up to the Hill.” Johnny said, eyes still trained on the glittering sky. Devi looked to him curiously again, and whether he felt her stare, or realized the significance of that spot between the two of them, he quickly turned to meet her with wide eyes. Devi snorted a short laugh, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Do you… want to go?” She asked him with dubious smile. Johnny stiffened at the question, grimacing at his carelessness.

“Oh—no, no, not at all! I’d never! That’s not what I—” He stopped, registering her tone only after he started his denials. “Um, well… I mean I would but, I’m not saying… I guess; do you want to go?”

Devi’s smile crinkled upwards more, teasingly, then she readjusted her arms while she looked off in thought.

She had already dredged through Johnny’s shitty little house of horrors, was she really prepared to delve even further into her freshly revived emotions tonight? It wasn’t like the hilltop was particularly connected to anything bad that happened that night, but it was still connected to said night, intricately-so.  She drummed her fingers on her bicep as she debated.

She was very happy to be out of residence 777, but being there had brought her a little bit of peace. It wasn’t much, but a few hours’ worth of sifting through artwork was now the most time she had spent there, and it made the fading memories of Johnny’s Pillsbury-Doughboy-influenced attempt on her life a little less predominant. It wasn’t like she had any intention of spending more time there, but Devi did not like having any lingering fear for a dirty, eldritch-demon-housing shack, and the fact she could bear even a second inside with her head held high made her very proud.

So if she could handle such vicious, lingering resentment, surely she could handle a quick visit to a place coated with softer, waxy memories, accompanied by the individual that had made them so bitter.

“Sure.” Devi said finally, prompting a surprised half-smile from her companion. “The clouds are clearing, even.”

Johnny grinned fully, and took note of the brilliant moon starting to peer out from behind the thin clouds. He tried to quell his excitement as he urged Devi to the car, and quickly hopped into the driver’s side to begin the trip farther out of town.

--

A FEW HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE CITY:

Johnny was already regretting his request to visit his cliffside spot.

The drive out had been as casual as all their drives were now, with idle chatter about plans for the coming days and mockery over whichever handful of bad movies they’d ingested recently. The only real difference was that it was Johnny driving tonight, and with that being the case, the music droning beneath their conversation was marginally quieter.

But, as the vehicle climbed the dirt road to the top of the hill, Johnny had become more engrossed with the details that were so comfortable and pleasant.

Things were too pleasant. The mood was too kind and light, with the crunching gravel below the car’s tires, and Devi’s tittering laughter over something dumb he’d said. It reminded him far too intimately of the atmosphere that surrounded them that night, on that damned date. How stupid, he thought as the car came to a gentle stop at the peak of the mountain’s height, that it would be such airy, nice sentiments that tore and ripped the edges of his comfort zone.

After taking a moment to walk the measly fence that skirted the edge of the cliff, he and Devi both plopped down on the end of the car’s hood. Devi sat loosely, head tilted upwards as she enjoyed the first breeze the summer season had bothered to offer her. Johnny’s posture closed in tighter the longer he watched Devi relaxing.

She was so beautiful, wonderful—the same way she was before, maybe even more so. He could hardly stand to look at her, with her skin almost iridescent under the yellowing moonlight, and her sharp, blade-like hair cutting across the stars, almost dark enough to fool the eye into thinking someone had carved two pointed shapes from the shimmering sky itself. Johnny turned his gaze to the crusty earth below, and tried to steady his mind.

“Haven’t seen a view like this in a while.” Devi murmured, eyes transfixed on the flashing of some neon signs in the downtown area. Johnny only hummed in reply.

“I was actually up in the mountains maybe… half a year ago now? But it was waaay over… there.” She pointed to an adjacent set of hills further south. Johnny lifted his head and focused on the area she was pointing to with a curious look.

“I think it was that one.” Devi said half-committally, followed by a laugh. “That was the night that plane hit my apartments—y’know, the one I told you about, with the psychic fat lady downstairs and all?”

“Ah.” He replied with a nod of comprehension. “I’m sure that was quite a sight.”

“It was. Tenna and I sat up there for like an hour before the fire finally died down. A morbidly magnificent sight—even if the burnt fat lady smell permeated all the way up here.” Devi punctuated the comment with a mean laugh, and Johnny couldn’t help but join in her cackling. Dark humor was so delightful.

As their laughter quieted, Devi set her palms flat behind her and leaned back a ways to sigh out her last chuckles. Johnny watched her with a warm smile, as captivated as always by her every move.

He loved her laugh, and being the spark that set it off always filled him with immense pride and glee. He was fortunate that her sense of humor had consistently been on the same frequency as his own, and that she was sharp enough to match, and even outrun him, in verbal banter. It made it rather fun to back-and-forth, and send each other into hysterics. They did so quite frequently at the bookstore, though if Devi wasn’t on a break, they had to muffle themselves to an extent, lest a customer complain.

A gentle push of wind across his face reminded Johnny where he was, and intertwined that knowledge with his current train of thought. His heart pulsed with sinking remorse as he remembered the events that followed their first visit to the Hill.

“I wish I’d declined.” He said suddenly, voice low.

“Huh?” Devi turned to look at him, but Johnny remained slouched forward, elbows balanced on his knees.

“When you asked me to the movies,” he clarified. “I wish I had declined.”

Devi was taken off-guard by that, but shortly scoffed, rolling back into her leaning position with a slight smile.

“Why’s that?”

Johnny finally raised his head with a look of vaguely-annoyed disbelief.

“What d’you mean ‘why’s that’?” He grunted, and Devi breathed a quick laugh at his persnickety tone. He couldn’t help but smile too, though it fell away nearly as fast as it appeared.

“Because I could have spared you… all of this.” Johnny continued. “…I’d wanted to—to say ‘no’, I mean… out of habit. But I couldn’t because I just… really wanted to go. It sounded like so much fun, I thought it would be… fun.”

He hugged himself, staring out into the darkness of the road as his thoughts led him into a myriad of ‘what if’s. Devi observed his shape with a small frown; she was very much accustomed to Johnny’s habit of allowing his emotions to swallow him up, but at this point, she felt it was pointless for him to wallow in his regrets to such a pitiful degree. Their relationship had turned pretty big, fucking corner, recently, after all.

“Was it fun?” She asked him finally, smiling like she already knew. Johnny pouted at her.

“…Well, yes.” He sighed again. “If you don’t count the attempted murder, or the immense ass-beating you gave me after.”

Devi spat out another laugh at that, and looked down to Johnny with a tired smile when he tilted his head backwards to frown about it.

“—or the fact I got you infected with lose-your-creativity-and-kill-people disease!” He snarled, and laid back fully on the car’s hood to sulk. “I just—wouldn’t that have been better? If I just said ‘no, thank you’, and we kept being friends, and maybe you had found some nice person to date that wouldn’t try to kill you?”

“And you could’ve just gone on murdering for that wall-thing forever?” Devi asked him smugly. His eyes went wide at that, and he stopped to consider the idea.

He wanted to argue that no, the creature probably would have had him die at some point—he long suspected that it was the wall-thing’s desire to regain control over it’s doughy minions that had allowed him to die in the first place—but he couldn’t know that. It was very possible that he might have gone on for his whole life, or at least long enough to allow Mr. Fuck the autonomy that he so desperately desired, and who knows how detrimental to the world that could have been.

Devi observed Johnny’s uneasy, sad expression with a shake of her head.

“Look Nny, the thing is, if there’s an eldritch fucklord that births mental parasites, that target artists and-the-like, to gorge itself on until their victim is reduced to a worthless meat-husk, I want to know about it.” She gave him nod before looking off. “I don’t have to like it, but considering that it exists and it’s happening, I’m not going wish for blissful ignorance, blabbering spittle onto my bib like a fucking infant about bullshit that doesn’t matter. And if you just learned of a plague like that, wouldn’t you want the same?”

Johnny stared at her from his spot on the hood, surprised by her response. He couldn’t believe how easily her blunt take on things still sideswiped him from time to time; he really should be used to this by now.

“Heh… yeah, I guess so.” He looked off with a hesitant smile. Devi smirked with another roll of her head.

“And as absolutely horrible as it is, my… involvement meant that you died before things really got ugly… I’m still not happy about it, but I guess if you couldn’t truly ‘die’ no matter what, it’s not so bad, especially seeing as you’re free now.” She paused. “Well, mostly free.”

“GEE, THANKS.” Johnny laughed, and Devi arched into another laugh too. The pair giggled over their horrid luck for a few minutes, before Johnny’s mind settled on an old memory.

“Hey, do you remember that joke you said, after you told me you liked me?” His smile stretched wide enough to give a mischievous squint to his eyes. “About how you’d kill me?”

Devi blinked at him, mouth drawn low, before breaking into laughter again. She redoubled into hysterics when Johnny joined her, and she held her face in her hands while he gave the metal beneath them a few slaps amidst his cackling.

“WELL, YOU DID.” He reiterated the point, and Devi gave him a shove.

“Shut UP, Nny!” She laughed, and turned away from him to try and quiet herself, with limited success.

--

OFF TO A NEARBY 24/7:

Johnny winced his left eye shut as he gave the straw of his Brain-Freezy one more voracious suck, hoping to gather the last of the watery remains of sugar from the air bubbles at the bottom of his cup, but only really achieved making a repeating, cacophonous sound. Devi smacked him with the back of her hand, in a wordless way of saying ‘knock that off’.

They had stopped at the first 24/7 they saw, one on a normally unventured side of town, to pick up some snacks before returning home. The large advertisement in the window featuring disgusting gas station nachos had reminded them both that they hadn’t eaten since early that afternoon, and the lure of 2-for-1 deals on just about everything was hard to pass up.

“I think you got it all.” Devi said, flicking a crumb of tortilla chip off the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Johnny pouted at her before flinging the empty cup cleanly into the nearby garbage can.

“I’m trying not to be wasteful!” He defended himself as he started the walk back to the car. The rub of material against his neck reminded him of the goddamn collar he wore, and how the leash Devi had insisted on putting on him before they entered the store was, in fact, on him. She needed to have a little more faith! Just because they were in an even shittier part of town than normal, didn’t mean he would run off on a murderous rampage at the drop of a hat!

“Oh, you’re so frugal, my wallet thanks you.” Devi replied with a sarcastic smile, matching his stride as they made their way to the side of the building, where Johnny had parked.

Just when they thought they’d escaped humanity unscathed, a quick whistle hit their ears, and both eyerolled in the direction of God, to ask him with mixed expressions ‘why’. Devi and Johnny both turned toward the source of the sound, Devi looking somewhere between bored and irritated, and Johnny glowering just past her shoulder. She was unsurprised to see the group of men chatting idly on the other side of the small parking lot gesture in her direction.

“Heyyy, that’s kinda kinky—WOAH.” One of the men called, then stopped suddenly. He pushed himself off of the side of a car and started to approach them. “—No way!”

Just as both Devi and Johnny’s fight-or-flight responses had reached their peaks, the man spoke again.

“DEVI?” He said loudly, with an obnoxious smile. Devi blanched. The man had very few features she would find memorable; patchy dyed hair, brown eyes, tall and thin—could have been any number of guys she’d hung out with before… except for the eyepatch.

“Eddie!?” Devi replied with a horrified expression, and Johnny’s irises snapped to her, shocked that she actually knew this person. Eddie’s lip perked up further on one side, and he slapped a hand over his cheek with a laugh.

“WOW, it’s been forever, huh?” He gleamed. “But I knew it was you, cause of your face.”

Devi only stared at him with vague disgust, still too shocked to fully absorb the situation. She hadn’t hardly thought about this particular idiot since high school, the recent retelling of their failed date withstanding. Johnny scowled at their uninvited guest, but did his best to hold back the volatile feelings he already had churning in his gut.

“Who’s this little guy you’re with? Your boyfriend?” Eddie asked casually, without a braincell to stop him. He set the side of his hand against his mouth, and leaned further in Johnny’s direction, as if to whisper, only to say at a completely normal volume; “Don’t count on getting too much outta her—she’s hot, but she’s a total prude.”

Johnny stared at him with incensed disbelief at the comment, as did Devi. With thin pupils, Johnny jutted forward, still crouched, to rebuke the remark.

“NEVER speak about Devi in such a repugnant way—in fact, never speak about her at ALL, you cycloptic knuckle-dragger!” He hissed. Devi could only cringe as her mouth twitched into an uncomfortable scowl.

“Hey, don’t blame me for warning you dude, it’s true!” Eddie defended himself. “I took her out, paid for everything, and she wouldn’t even kiss me. I had to be dying before she agreed to at least sit on my face.”

“I NEVER SAT ON YOUR FACE, YOU DUMBASS.” Devi snapped, face hot. “That was the AIRBAG.”

“—See! That’s even worse. My dying wish, and she’d sooner just let me die empty-handed.”

“SHUT UP!” Johnny seethed, bowing out his stance. “Shut you fucking mouth—I’ll cut your dirty GODDAMN THROAT! You don’t deserve the privilege of speaking, you boorish ogre—I’d be doing the world a damn FAVOR redirecting your vocal chords into your ear canals! Maybe then you could hear the UNBRIDLED FILTH THAT EXPECTORATES OFF YOUR TONGUE!! I—”

While he ranted, Devi stood beside him, vibrating in insult. Eddie was her first ‘real’ date, and he was horrible one at that—she would have gladly never seen his dumb ass again. In fact, she had kind of hoped he had died in different sexually-motivated car wreck in the years since she last saw him, but obviously she had no such luck. The smarmy fucker, acting like he knew her, acting like he had any comprehension of who she was, or what drove her physically. BASTARD! Ugly, horrible bastard!

Devi bared her teeth; she wanted retribution! Her body ached, with pulsating, twitching fists, to obliterate Eddie where he stood. Her mind floated away from level-headedness, her anger coaxing her ever-closer to violence, tantalizing her with the beautiful release of emotion she’d be granted with a few kicks to his head. But, as her trembling hand squeeze the handle of Johnny’s leash, her cracking logic had a quick, hateful idea. She didn’t give herself time to reconsider, she just wanted out of this situation.

With wide, angry eyes, Devi stared at Eddie, then released her hold on Johnny and retreated to the car.

Johnny felt the tether around his neck go slack, and swiveled his head around in surprise to watch Devi’s withdrawing form.

“Aren’t you going to stop me!?” He yelled to her. Devi opened the car door and turned back to him with a glare.

“Stop you from what?” She said with a biting tone, then dipped into the car with a loud SLAM! of the door.

Johnny stared at where she had just stood, dumbfounded, then moved his attention to the loose leash dangling from his neck. After a few moments of consideration, a grim smile spread across his face. He was rather certain that Devi was, quite literally, turning a cheek to this exchange—and if she was leaving it up to him, Eddie would not be leaving unscathed for those repulsive comments.

He raised his head, and his posture, with dark shadows swallowing up his grinning face. Eddie cocked an uncertain eyebrow when he heard the creak of the vehicle’s trunk, and only looked more confused when met with the sight of the tire iron that appeared from behind Johnny’s back.

Johnny stepped closer, happy that the exchange had garnered the attention of the rest of Eddie’s little group; he hoped they would intervene, they were all just as shitty in his eyes! A set of eerily slow laughs emitted from his throat, that slowly hiccupped into something maniacal, as he brought up his weapon up above his head.

--

“That was baaad, Devi.” Johnny sung in a teasing tone while he drove, blood still smattered on his face and hands. Devi sulked in the passenger seat, glaring at the street signs as they passed them.

“Whatever.” She grumbled. Johnny giggled in reply; he rather liked when she was feeling vindictive.

“NOT TO WORRY,” He boasted earnestly. “I didn’t kill any of them—I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I only gave them all a some blunt-force trauma, just a bit of facial bludgeoning, promise!”

Devi looked to him with a grouchy frown, but rolled her eyes away after a moment, face falling into mock-boredom.

“Thank you, Nny.” She sighed. At least someone had some self-control tonight. She could only hope that her choice to let Johnny dish out the ass whooping that her wrath had so desperately craved had no adverse effects on his self-restraint—they’d both worked too hard to ruin it over Eddie of all things.

“You are ever-so welcome, Devi.” Johnny smiled, happy to exact some vengeance in the name of his dearest friend.

“Who was that moron, anyhow?” He asked casually. Devi huffed.

“Just some dick I dated in high school.” Another eyeroll. “He was the first guy to ever ask me out—I told you how it went, didn’t I? The date was bland and meaningless, but he thought it went well. The genius tried to convince me to screw him while he was driving, and when I said ‘no’ he tried to push the point and crashed the fucking car into a tree. Dumbass.”

Devi sneered at the memory, but was quickly shaken out of her thoughts when the car took a violent turn, leaving her to yelp and grasp onto the center console for balance. She snapped her head in Johnny’s direction as he drove at an increasingly fast speed.

“Nny, what the Hell!” She shouted at him, but Johnny was too focused on the road.

“WELL YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT!” He replied aggressively. “I’M GOING TO FINISH KILLING HIM.”

“NO, NNY.” Devi yelled, drastically grabbing for him, or the wheel, or both. Johnny shrugged her away, doing what he could to use his shoulder to keep her from interfering with his burning desire to murder. “Johnny!!”

--

(He turned back around, don’t worry.)

--

NEXT...

[spirit-of-the-void]

Gunpowder and Flower Petals (Dante x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 3

Author’s Notes: I formally apologize for the long hiatus everyone. I was depressed and anxious after having some doubts in my writing, and then got roped into a long commission....I’ll do my best to keep this updated

A huge thanks to @meliapis​ for making the new cover picture for this story!

                                                     Chapter 3

                             ~Calloused Palms and Delicate fingers~

Opening the shop in the morning went on as usual.

You woke up bright and early, getting in a shower and some toast for breakfast before bouncing cheerfully downstairs. Unlike the previous morning, Clover followed each footstep, black tail flicking back and forth as she searched out a nice patch of sunlight to lounge in. Meanwhile, you breezed through each task with ease, pleased to find all the previous day’s seedlings fully grown and ready for trimming. Magic made quick work of those, your mouth babbling forth cheerful praises and kind words to the new bulbs and buds as more were planted in the place of others. A cycle, one that came and went every day without fail. Going smooth enough that there was time to spare, leaving you free to tidy up the front shop and loosely braid your hair. Soft, delicate--peppered with mini carnations and tiny clovers, in honor of your lovely familiar soaking in the morning sun on her belly fur.

You giggled when the cat blinked slowly at you, whiskers glowing with bright light as the shop door was unlocked and sign flipped to “open”. Customers usually wouldn’t come in for another half hour or so, but that was fine. Mondays were generally slow anyway, so you didn’t expect many people to stop by minus the occasional regular or newbie looking for a last minute gift. After ten o’clock, there would be no other orders either, only one being scheduled for a restaurant to pick up some time after nine. Various assortments, mostly lilies. You looked at Clover, realizing this was probably why the cat was more comfortable hanging around the shop that day. Low amounts of people, lots of sun, plenty of time to get attention from their owner. Typical. You shook your head, causing a few stray petals to flutter out onto the floor.

Since the morning was slow, you attempted different tasks to keep yourself busy and distracted from wandering thoughts. Yesterday was flower crowns, today was grinding roots and leaves into salves. They were sold on the side as natural remedies, and they definitely worked for their intended purposes. Balms to soothe pain, powder to sprinkle on a pillow to aid sleep, cream to help with dry skin. It was one of the few things your mother managed to pass along before she died, your mind awash with memories of those times. Her smile, showing you just how to use a mortar and pestle while lightly channeling magic. It was cathartic, a walk down memory lane and a reason to smile.

Thinking of her always made flowers bloom in your hair.

 By the time that restaurant came to pick up their order there was quite a few buds in your silken locks. They didn’t comment on it, seeming to be in a bit of  a hurry as the boxes of flowers were loaded into their truck quickly and efficiently. Papers signed, payment given, customers on their merry way in a matter of minutes. You both preferred it this way and felt a twinge of disappointment--it was nice to have things done and ready at a fast pace. Satisfying even. But once they were gone you were left in the shop by yourself, minus Clover sleeping soundly in a patch of sun as it warmed the fur on her belly. Mondays were oddly lonely, leaving you to drift around the shop repeating small tasks over and over in an attempt to stave off boredom. Trim the roses, arrange bouquets, praise seedlings, make flower crowns--it left your thoughts free to drift in and out of focus, only snapping back when the occasional customer popped in for some flowers.

It was normal. But wasn’t normal was the new addition to your thoughts--Dante. 

How could you stop yourself from thinking about him? You sighed softly, fingers playing with the locket resting on your chest as his face kept making an appearance. Maybe you were just easily swayed by ruggedly handsome men? His white hair, slightly unshaven face and soft eyes...Ah, there it was again. The lonely feeling was worse today because each moment passed with you hoping the mysterious man might return. Maybe you were reading too many romantic books, head spinning webs and stories where none belonged. A handsome stranger comes into your shop, rough around the edges and seeming to carry a deep sadness...what a love story that would make! Problem was that your wistful mind kept hoping so desperately that it was yours.

“I’m losing my mind, Clover,” You mumbled to the cat, who most certainly wasn’t listening, “Maybe Mrs. Davenport was right--I need to get out of the shop sometimes.”

Clover gave no indication that she had heard other than a flick of her ear, eyes still closed and fur shiny in the sun. You sigh, head resting on your hands as you watched that same sunlight make dancing patterns on the walls every time a car passed. These feelings of attraction came with a strange guilt, one you wanted to shake. How rude was it to daydream about someone who simply came in to get their roses? To convince yourself that there was more to the encounter? He did ask me out to coffee, didn’t he? You tried to reason through the doubts with that, but maybe he could have meant it in a friendly manner? Overthinking again, panicking, mind left to wander in the quiet calm of a monday morning. You let out a light groan, a scattered pile of petals falling from your curls with the spike of stress. Too many maybes, there to make you regret not setting up a day more.

What were you going to do?

“Clover,” You practically whined, head now resting on the counter as you stared at the wall in a daze, “If only you could speak...I need someone to tell me what an idiot I’m being.”

The cat didn’t like you berating yourself. This caused the furry creature to blink her eyes open, glaring at you from the floor before she stretched and sprung to her feet. She was on the counter moments later, one paw firmly pressed to your forehead in a sign of disapproval. Message received loud and clear--she didn’t like you calling yourself an idiot. 

“Sorry sorry…” You mumble, making a face when she rubbed her fur all over your poor nose. Thank god you weren't allergic.

Regardless, Clover settled down nearby on the counter edge, staring with round eyes while her tail flicked back and forth. You knew she wanted to help, but there wasn’t much a cat could do in a situation like this. To offer even that silent support was more than you had for a long time, already used to not having friends after going through school alone. Children and teenagers strayed away from the strange and unusual, and you had a reputation for yourself early on. That girl is strange, I heard she can grow flowers in her hair--What if she collects animal skulls in her spare time? Does she do blood rituals? Can she curse us if we do something wrong? Witch rumors spread fast, so you kept that to yourself for a long time. No friends, no relationships ...just the flowers, and focusing on the skills your mother left behind. 

Maybe that was why the idea of going on a date was so exciting, so...nerve wracking. 

You just didn’t want to be alone anymore. The Davenports were lovely, but their new home was an hour drive away. They didn’t want to be close to a city after the Redgrave incident a while back, which you could fully understand. Both stopped by whenever they could manage, and you to them, but...those times between left a lasting effect. It felt so selfish to want more after all the wonderful things you had been given, but...was it so wrong to want companionship? You had gotten lucky, raised by two wonderful human beings who didn’t have to help you, but chose to anyway. They took your mother’s role seriously, buying books on witchcraft and being supportive in any way they could after the incident at school...The Davenports gave so much, and you would never forget that.

You would be fine. You just needed to get past these lonelier days.

So lost in your drifting thoughts, you didn’t notice someone pass by the open store front at all, not even when Clover’s eyes flickered to that area with interest. They stood at the door for a few moments, as if gathering their thoughts before the bell jingled to sound an entrance. Yet you still didn’t notice at all, focused on those patterns on the wall. Thinking about your mother, the Davenports, school and the kids who ridiculed you there. It wasn’t like you to not pay attention, used to greeting each and every customer to make them feel welcome and see if they needed help. But you were oblivious to the tall man entered through the glass door, staring at you in surprise and raising one white eyebrow as he took in you slumped over the counter, looking glum. What a sight that must have been, seeing the cheerful girl from yesterday so troubled and moody.

No, you didn’t notice him at all. Not until he was standing right by the counter, deep voice jolting you right out of daydreaming and bringing the previous days excitement back in a burst.

 “You alright, sunshine? Lookin’ a bit cloudy today.”

Oh.

You jolted upright with a gasp, petals scattering all over the counter as you swung around to stare up at the white haired mystery man himself. Sure enough, Dante stood tall and handsome, completely real and solid as he met your gaze with a light grin. Oh goodness, he was dressed differently today--still casually, but a little more clean cut. His stubble had been trimmed neatly, and now he wore a grey button up tucked into black jeans with that red leather jacket slung over his shoulder. The sight of his white hair pulled back in a messy attempt at a ponytail sent your heart into overdrive, orchids blooming and dropping a considerable amount of petals from your hair onto the pile already forming at your feet. You immediately tried to hide them in your hair, flustered and panicking a bit despite how absolutely relieved you felt.

There goes the loneliness, here comes the absolute sheer excitement and nervousness with him being in the shop again.

He called you sunshine. He remembered. He’s here.

Calm down, you’re being ridiculous.

“O...oh…!” You tried to get your voice under control, but failed, cheeks already feeling far too warm as you stood straighter and stammered, “H...Hello again, Dante…!”

The rugged male seemed surprise as well, tilting his head a bit as he cleared his throat. You noticed him nervously run a hand through his hair, almost like he didn’t realize it was in a ponytail--the action pulled a few strands loose.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya, “ He chuckled, the sound both warm and a bit off, like he wasn’t sure how to progress at all, “Shocked you remember me, to be honest. I uh...didn’t make the best first impression.”

Something about his awkward disposition was oddly...cute. Relaxing, even. Dante kind of reminded you of a nervous boy asking a girl to a school dance for the first time. Maybe you were reading too much into it, but he seemed just as nervous as you, but better at hiding it. Trying to keep his cool. Reading people was a hobby you kept up on while working in the shop, so his cues and mannerisms were starting to make more sense. That hand through his hair, the way he kept shifting from one leg to another, clearing his voice...He looked a bit embarrassed, to be completely honest. No better than you, which was comforting and endearing all the same. 

His words made you smile softly, some of the anxiety melting away as you replied with firm honesty in your tone, “I disagree...you were very kind and understanding, it made for a lovely first impression. Of course I remember, Dante.”

This seemed to relax him a bit too, his stiff posture losing some of its edge as he let out a hefty sigh, “Maybe, but I do owe you an apology though. I uhhh... I realized later that I hadn’t actually given you a day when we can have coffee or...anything.”

Oh. You blinked, staring at his blue eyes despite him looking away, scratching the side of his neck and looking slightly guilty. Another nervous habit. Cute. He must have realized belatedly, like you, that no date had been set up for this impromptu interaction that had you so nervous. 

A smile tilted your lips, followed by a soft, embarrassed giggle as you admitted, “I kind of forgot to ask about a day too...I...I got too excited and didn’t realize till later…”

Admitting that felt strange, almost like you were giving away too much. It was awkward, but in a way that seemed oddly correct. 

Dante certainly didn’t mind. Hearing about your excitement made his blue eyes finally meet yours, surprise and relief mingling on his expression like it somehow took a weight off his chest. You didn’t really know what you looked like to him in that moment, but Dante was absolutely enchanted. Flowers blooming in your curls, cheeks pink with honesty and excitement...it shot several arrows through his already nervous heart, sending it into overdrive like a caged bird seeking to be freed. Thank god he decided to come back, that he didn’t chicken out and listened to the others.

“That was all on me, sunshine,” He chuckled, leaning against the counter and plucking a few petals from its surface. You flushed more at his closeness, watching him rub the soft floral between his fingers, “Thinkin’ I got a bit too excited myself. It was pretty rude of me to just...ask and bounce like I did. So how ‘bout I make it up to you and take you out today, if you’re free?”

Today? So soon? It was everything you wanted and more.

You couldn’t help but notice he smelled nice today--he was close enough that a warm scent reached your sensitive nose, bringing traces of what must have been a men’s soap brand or cologne. Both this and his words sent a little thrill down your spine, heartbeat pounding in your chest even as Clover looked on with curious eyes. She seemed to be keeping her distance for now, sizing Dante up even as he looked at her with a hint of interest in his own gaze. Focus, you needed to focus--The man had asked you a question. But the sight of him trying to cover up his nervousness by turning his attention to Clover was only making you more flustered.

We’re both a mess. An absolute mess.

Dante extended a hand to let your familiar sniff, purposely allowing the small cat take her time instead of petting her outright. Clover already knew about Dante after you talking to her about it. But...her reaction to sniffing him really put you off. Clover was usually a very mild mannered cat, she behaved and liked everyone she met. With Dante, however, her little nose scrunched up in obvious distaste, ears flat against her skull and a low growl emanating from her throat. You blinked in surprise, watching Dante immediately retrieve his hand and look ruefully disappointed. Not surprised, like he somehow expected this outcome. He didn’t try to reach out again, making an apologetic face to you as she let out another low growl.

What in the world was that? Your familiar immediately slunk her way around you in a very protective manner, ears still down and eyes not leaving Dante for a second. Why was she so angry? You got nothing but honesty from Dante when he spoke, and there were no bad scents or energies. Mind you, there was something a bit off about his aura, just a twinge of something from him that felt familiar. But...no violence, no bad intentions. Your senses didn’t lie, not when it came to something this important. Perhaps Clover was just feeling a bit territorial or jealous? Having a stranger coming into your life might have been scary, or maybe it was due to how upset you were the previous night due to not knowing if he would come back?

“Clover!” You scolded, picking the cat off the counter and tucking her against your chest, “Don’t be mean, that’s so unlike you…!”

The cat snorted in your face, ears flicking and looking quite perturbed. Her gaze kept flickering over to Dante in a fierce glare, letting out light growls as Dante shifted back a step, getting the message loud and clear.

“Don’t worry about it,” He chuckled, seeming ruefully as he stared at Clover’s fluffed up tail, “Cats don’t like me too much--never knew why.”

That last part of his sentence...it was tinged in a bit of untruth. He knew why cats didn’t like him--but whatever it was, the man was reluctant to tell you why.

Perhaps that should have made you wary, should have made you hesitate. Clover was your familiar, and her judgement was important to you above all other things. But this lie, seeing the almost sad way his eyes drifted away only served to make you very curious, stirring that part of you that sought adventure and wanted to know more. Past attraction, wanting to know what rested at the core of this strange man who seemingly stumbled into your life. You paused, staring at Clover’s scrunched up face imploringly for a moment, gathering your thoughts. If anything, going out to a coffee was the safest you could get--you could pick the place, somewhere public and talk for a bit. If there was any indication of danger, you could leave. Easy as that.

You wanted to know him. Wanted to know what made Clover not like him.

I’m sorry, Clove. I have to try, I have to know.

“I can close the shop down early for the day,” You said decidedly, looking shyly at Dante while he blinked in surprise, “It’s slow on mondays. Do you mind waiting here while I take Clover upstairs and get changed?”

Something akin to eagerness flashed in his eyes, but he tried to keep his tone neutral as he replied, “You sure? I wouldn’t want to barge in on your work day or anything.”

That was the fun part about owning your own business--you got to set hours and make choices. There were no more deliveries and business would be slow at best, completely absent at most.

A soft smile tilted your lips as you stepped out from behind the counter, shaking free a cloud of petals as you turned up the closed sign on the door. All the while Clover growled softly, tail doubled in size with her anger. She wasn’t liking this situation at all, especially not with you ignoring her warnings and still going out with Dante.

“It’s perfectly fine,” You reassured the man and her at the same time, slipping past him to head upstairs, “I’ll be down in five minutes...I know a lovely bakery nearby that serves coffee and tea, we can go there for lunch.”

Somehow this relieved Dante, like he hadn’t actually decided where you both would go. He nodded, running a hand through his silver hair again in a nervous gesture, “Sounds good, sunshine.”

That nickname made your heart beat faster, cheeks flushed as you hurried to the back room and up toward your apartment. Petals drifted in your wake, a few more orchids blooming in your excitement. Lord, you were so out of control at that moment it was ridiculous. This was your first date, the only one you had ever gone on in your whole life. No dating in high school, so busy with the shop afterwards that it never came up. But now...what were you supposed to do on a first date? Could you hold hands? Was that too much? So many questions were buzzing around your skull that you weren’t sure how to process anything.

All the while, Clover meowed naggingly as you entered the apartment, seeming distressed as you set her down on the table. She followed, eyes watching and little mouth working overtime as you changed into something cute--a pink sweater tucked into a high-waisted, black pleated skirt. Would pink thigh highs and boots be too much? You settled for tights instead, and brown laced boots to go with it. There was still that part of your brain worried about Clover’s reaction to Dante, but you wanted to try trusting your instincts for once. 

So many years you spent letting fear and worry keep you to yourself, working in the flowershop alone. A lot of that time was spent letting others make your choices for you, content on just doing what was expected of you and safe. But now...you wanted something exciting, wanted to try and listen to instinct for once.

You paused, taking a deep breath and holding your mother’s locket firmly between your fingers. She would never let you get hurt, never lead you astray. There were no bad feelings from Dante, and until there were you would rather take a chance than play everything safe.

“I’ll be okay, Clover,” You promised the cat, finally looking down at her body weaving between your feet before plucking her up into an embrace. She stopped meowing as you did so, looking incredibly worried even as you kissed her snout, “Just trust me, okay? I don’t know why you’re so spooked, but...I want to take a chance. If something is up, I’ll come right home. Promise.”

The cat still hesitated, ears pressed back and eyes wide with worry. But she didn’t meow again as you set her down, grabbing your small purse and keys before heading for the door. Cell phone carefully tucked away, everything in its place. Just in case, you brought a packet of particularly potent seeds, ones that could sprout into vines if you needed to make a quick retreat. You never ever assumed Dante could hurt you, or even want to, but...Mrs. Davenport taught you to be cautious, and you didn’t want to be too trusting.

Clover was sitting by the door as you closed it, like she was ready to wait until you came back. Hopefully she wouldn’t do that, but you gave her a small wave anyway as the wooden surface separated you both from view. Her dislike of the white haired male was definitely disappointing, you wouldn’t deny that. There was still a mystery to uncover, however, and going out on this little date was something you wanted more than anything. It felt so foolish to think this way--like those girls you see in movies who end up ignoring warning signs and going out with serial killers.

But...Dante’s aura was gentle with you. It was sad, filled with trauma he seemed to keep bottled up. The colors were warm and bright, tinged with something you didn’t understand--but you wanted to.

So you gathered your courage... and made your way downstairs. 

Dante was still waiting there when you arrived, seemingly trying to fix his messed up ponytail. That leather jacket was now on his body, a stark contrast from the neutral grays and blacks of his outfit. He didn’t notice you return, eyes down in concentration as his long fingers slid back the white hair with a black hair tie in tow. Something about it made your heart beat faster, flustered all over again at the way his grey button up shifted around his chest muscles and waist. Oh dear…maybe you didn’t have the nerves for this? Sent blushing and nervous just at the sight of him doing something so normal, like a flustered school girl.

No backing down now.

You took a deep breath, nervously tucking a curl behind your ear and trying to will each flower to stop blooming in the loose braid you still had. The orchids had a mind of their own and practically blasted your feelings to the whole world, it was so embarrassing. So...honest.

Dante looked up at the sound of your boots clicking on the floor, breath catching as he took in your appearance with unabashed awe before trying to make his expression more collected and neutral. You looked like a fae in his eyes, ethereal and gorgeous in the sun’s dancing patterns. The flowers in your hair, the way your braid curled over your shoulder with the occasional curl escaping to cling around your face….you were a vision, and he was having trouble gathering himself together at the sight. How was he supposed to not act like a stammering, bumbling mess around you now? 

 He needed to remember what Trish and Lady told him. Open all the doors for her, tell her she’s pretty, but that’s not the most important thing about her. Remember to listen, to talk about her and yourself. Be a gentleman for fucks sake.

“Welcome back, sunshine,” He greeted you, lips quirked in a half smile as he stood straight and stepped away from the counter. There was a hint of nervousness in his eyes, a chuckle escaping his lips as he added, “Just gonna warn you now, I’m gonna be a whole idiot today walking around with you lookin’ that gorgeous. I’m already forgetting how to make complete sentences.”

He was trying to use humor to cover up his awkward compliment, which was charming your socks off while also sending your heart pounding away. I’m such a mess. I’m such a MESS--one complement and I’m practically a puddle at his feet.

You flushed pink, looking down as you stammered, “I...I highly doubt that...but...you look very handsome today. I’ve never been on a date before so...I might be an idiot too.”

Were you supposed to admit that? Maybe not. But Dante didn’t seem to mind. 

He let out a sigh of relief, walking toward you and staring ruefully at your flustered face. You felt a twinge of surprise when he held out a hand for your to take, showing you those calloused, scarred fingers you felt the day before. 

“Then we have something in common,” He admitted, scratching the back of his head with the other hand, “This is honestly the first time I’ve tried going on a date with anyone...I’m a bit of a disaster, sunshine.”

Somehow, that both surprised you and didn’t. He was so handsome and warm, but...there was tragedy in his life. It was something dark and heavy, weighing the poor man down and you weren’t doubting that, not with what you could sense. But...you were a bit of a disaster too, and you had your own secrets tucked away where no one could see. Dante was an adventure, and something about him drew you in like a moth to a flame. So you took his hand gently with your fingers, enjoying the way he sucked in a surprised breath and a hint of flush made its way across his cheeks. It would seem some of his reactions were very honest, especially when your fingers curled around his and squeezed. Warm...very warm, and oh so gentle with you...he squeezed back.

His expression was so cute.

You smiled softly, tugging him towards the door as you replied, “That’s fine with me...I’m a bit of a disaster too, so try not to worry too much. We can learn together, slowly if you’d like.”

This was only the first date--both of you had all the time in the world to decide how this would go. Maybe after learning about him, or seeing how he acted in public would make you change your mind. Maybe you weren’t compatible--but learning that would be part of the fun. And there would be no better way of doing it than having a nice lunch at Alex’s bakery, with people you knew and faces around who had your back. But Dante didn’t seem to be a bad person, nor did he seem to have bad intentions. There was only a quiet, nervous eagerness from him as he opened the flowershop door for you, still holding your hand as you locked it tight for the day. 

The waiting mid-day sun was warm on your face, like a soothing caress as you turned to smile at Dante. Your cheeks immediately flushed, however, at how handsome he looked with the light glinting off his white hair. Lord, he was a beautiful man, and the world seemed determined to show you. The thought made you suck in a breath, trying to gather any courage you could muster while tugged his hand to signal movement. He fell in step easily, tucking you hand around his arm like a gentleman would.

Do not get too attached yet. It’s only one day.

“I think you’ll like Alex’s bakery,” You hummed, the wind rustling your curls as you walked the familiar path, “His sweets are great if you like that--and they have a wonderful dark roast and many different exotic teas.”

“Sweets are good,” Dante nodded in approval, eyes lighting up at the prospect, “To be honest I wasn’t sure if you liked coffee, sunshine.”

A sweet tooth then? That was pretty surprising for a man like him, not that you would say that.

Instead you smiled, staring forward as you responded softly, “What’s your favorite sweet, Dante?”

You expected him to think about it, or maybe rattle off something like chocolate or some cream filled pastry. But instead he grinned, his answer quick and smooth as he turned to meet your gaze.

“My favorite? Strawberries.”

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FIC: By the Guidance of Stars - Chapter 13

Title: By the Guidance of Stars Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: E (Chapter Rating: T) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Humor Synopsis: The Coalition tries to heal in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin 4, but not every wound is physical. A series of missing scenes set during the end of Shadow of Revan. Warnings: See Chapter 1. Author’s Notes: It’s done! It’s complete at long last! *joyful sobbing* Thank you all for sticking around this long, and through the long hiatus of writer’s block.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Crossposted to AO3

Usually Theron liked to take a little longer getting decent, but the ticking clock forced him to rush through getting cleaned up — just taking enough time to restore his hair to its normal glory. Only a poor spy would ignore a crucial detail like bedhead in covering up his, ahem, undercover activities.

By the time he’d emerged from the refresher, his lovely companion had managed to get herself back into most of that damnable, confusing armor and getup and look almost presentable. He’d rounded up and sorted through the haphazardly discarded articles of clothing while she hit the shower first, which probably made her task a little easier. She waited patiently for him to don ninety-percent of his own attire before quirking an expectant eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I think someone might ask questions if I suddenly started walking around with my hair down.”

“I kind of like it.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she said, almost a little too patiently, “but I still need to put my hair back up.”

“What’s stopping you?” He grinned, already knowing the answer.

“Theron Shan,” she put her hands on her hips, the motion carrying a little more weight and authority now that she had those giant pauldrons back on, “you know very well that you still have my hair tie.”

“Oh? This?” Theron waved his wrist, in her direction where the little leatheris strap was still tied. “I was thinking about keeping it. I think it suits me.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, but he caught the edges of her mouth quivering in a repressed smile. “Unless you have something else I can use for my hair, you will need to return it to me.”

“If you insist.”

“Master Satele will be expecting us very soon,” she reminded him, “and I do not believe either of us really want to try and explain why we kept her waiting.”

“There you go,” he muttered as he carefully untied the little strap, “being all logical again.”

“I have never met anyone as dedicated to irrationality as you,” she quipped back, expertly gathering her hair up into a ponytail.

“It’s one of my charms.” He could have just handed over the hair tie and let her finish the job, but it seemed much more efficient, not to mention a convenient way of stepping in close again, if he tied it back into place himself. “It’ll work on you eventually.”

A hint of color rushed to her cheeks, already letting him know the effectiveness of said charms. She tried to cover up the reaction by smoothing her hand over her hair to check on the neatness of the ponytail. 

“But you’re probably right — again,” he continued, “we shouldn’t keep the boss waiting.”

“No, of course not,” she said, and to her credit, only sounded the slightest bit flustered.

Their trip to the clifftop where Satele was overseeing the launch of Republic’s ships was probably a little more hurried than it would have been, had they dawdled a little less in the shuttle. He needed to shift personas now, try and make it look like they were merely colleagues to the outside observer. Something that might have been called into question right now with just how close they were walking together. As the clearing came into sight, he spied his mother’s silhouette in the distance. And if he squinted, it appeared that Jakarro, Kira, and several others were waiting. Okay, yeah, they couldn’t walk in together now, that’d be way too suspicious. 

So he peeled off at the last second, to a narrow walk path someone had cut through the foliage.

“Where are you going?” she asked quietly.

He just shot her back a grin, and waved her on. If his ears didn’t deceive him, he thought he heard an exasperated sigh as he plowed through the underbrush. He gave his hair one last check before emerging from the tree line, just a few seconds before Grey did from the other path. Satele gave him a polite nod at his arrival, gaze focused on the various Republic vessels that were taking off. He had almost convinced himself that this had been the perfect ploy, when he caught Kira glancing at him, then back at her boss, before rolling her eyes.

Okay.

Maybe not one hundred percent effective. But it was all he could come up with at the last minute. His mind had been occupied with more important tasks than coming up with a proper cover story. Like making sure every article of clothing had been tucked back into all of the right places — and maybe sneaking in one last kiss before unlocking the shuttle door.

Thankfully Jakarro was less observant than a nosy ginger Jedi and hadn’t seemed to connect the dots quite as quickly. Theron was fairly certain that the Wookiee would have practiced far less discretion, and the loud protocol droid still strapped to his chest even less so. Besides, the nearly bone shattering farewell hug that Jakarro had swept the spy up in had been quite enough, thank you — especially considering it had smashed Theron’s face into C2-D4’s disembodied head for an up-close and personal goodbye. He was saved from spending the entire flight back to Coruscant in a kolto tank treating re-cracked ribs by his dashing Jedi Knight in shining armor rushing to his rescue.

“Jakarro,” she said amicably, laying her hand on the large Wookiee’s shoulder, “it has been such a pleasure working with you and Deefour in this endeavor.”

The ploy worked and he abandoned his current hugging victim to envelop her gauntlet with his big paw in a firm handshake. Theron tried to maintain his dignity and didn’t stagger away upon being released, but did move out of grabbing distance in case the smuggler decided resume his affectionate farewell. 

“This has been the most fun the droid and I have ever had, tiny friend,” Jakarro roared in Shriiwook.

“You two certainly have a way of livening things up,” Grey agreed.

“I’ll say,” Kira added with a knowing smirk in Theron’s direction. Silently she mouthed the words ‘Motesta Driller’ at him.

He glared back at her. “Thanks. I had just forgotten about that.”

“Don’t lie, you’ll never forget.”

He refused to deign that with a response, and beyond their little group, he could make out Satele raising a brow in inquiry. That in itself was an uncomfortable reminder of the conversation she had nearly walked in on earlier that morning, not to mention his afternoon activities with the Grand Master’s favorite knight. He cleared his throat, and shot Kira a more serious look.

“You know,” she added quickly, turning back to the unlikely set of smugglers, “it really is a shame that you two have to leave so soon.”

“As lovely as this has been,” Deefour said, “we have some lucrative business opportunities awaiting us back on that pirate infested planet. Nothing to worry yourselves over — just normal, legitimate business.”

“Right,” Grey drew the word out to several syllables.

“Hopefully these ‘opportunities’ turn out better than your Manaan contract,” Theron said flatly.

“You take on one client that’s working for a secret cult trying to take over the galaxy and you never hear the end of it.” If Deefour could have shook his head, he would have. As it was, the color in his eyes just blinked in dissatisfaction.

“You have to admit,” Grey said, “that can be a sticking point for some.”

“I have implemented a new screening process!”

Jakarro growled, “We have no screening process!”

“Of course not.” Kira rolled her eyes.

“You know, you could join my crew if you’d prefer.” The lilt in Grey’s tone was teasing, but Theron was fairly certain the offer to adopt the wayward pair was serious. “The chances of you winding up on the bottom of the ocean floor again are very small.”

“As tempting as that sounds—”

“There is not enough room for the Mighty Jakarro on your tiny ship!” Jakarro cut the droid off, his word choice summoning flashbacks to the “pep talk” from the night before. 

Mercifully, before the explanation on the Wookiee’s size could go down any unwanted path, Deefour tactfully added, “Another time perhaps.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways sometimes,” Satele remarked as the smuggler duo disappeared back into the tree line.

“I’m not sure ‘mysterious’ is the word I’d use,” Theron muttered.

The sarcastic comment didn’t phase her, instead Satele turned to Grey. “I have just finished a meeting with the Council regarding all that has transpired.”

The knight didn’t exactly stiffen, but there was the slightest shift in her posture. Straightening her back and folding her loose hands together in front of her, which forced the pauldrons on her shoulders to jut out. The natural, cheerful expression she’d been wearing for the previous conversation smoothed into a pleasantly neutral one. Her cape fluttered lightly in the breeze behind her as her transformation back into the perfect, model Jedi seemed almost complete.

It was a curious sight to behold, not unlike watching someone slip a mask into place. Theron didn’t quite know what to make of the uncomfortable feeling that bubbled up in his gut seeing it happen, even though he did the same thing all the time. When it came time to do the job, the mask was fixed in place. Another similarity between their chosen professions.

“The work that all of you have done against Revan and his followers is to be commended.” Satele’s tone had a note of officiality to it.

Curious, Theron glanced over at Kira. She had tucked her arms behind her back in an almost formal fashion and was more focused on the proceedings about to happen with something akin to pride than acknowledging the spy’s silent question. Interesting.

“You have a unique perspective and experience among all of us,” Satele continued, “especially when it comes to dealing with Vitiate.”

There was no flinch from Grey at the mention of the name, just a tip of her head in Satele’s direction of acknowledgment.

“The Republic is forming a taskforce to address the renewed threat that he poses, and I have Darth Marr’s word that the Empire is doing so as well. We need all of our best people working on this — and it only makes sense that the Order’s foremost expert on the matter represent us in this endeavor.” 

All of those words were meant to be a compliment, the appointment an honor — but a trickle of dread dripped down Theron’s spine for some reason, settling in his gut hard. Ngani Zho liked to say that what most people called gut instinct was just the Force reaching out to them. That people would be better off listening to that. It was one of the memories of his mentor that had a tendency to either rankle or comfort him depending on the day. At this moment in time, though, it was unsettling. A bit like tasting the tang of ozone in the air before an oncoming thunderstorm.

“You are already familiar with the SIS’s liaison for the task force,” Satele said, rousing Theron back to the present.

He gave a half-hearted shrug at both Kira and Grey. “Hi.”

It wasn’t exactly the most witty of remarks, but he was still unsettled. It made perfect sense that the Republic would involve Grey in this, choose her to lead the fight against the Emperor. She’d already done it before after all. It would be more stupid to keep her sidelined really. But it also meant she’d now be on the front lines tracking Vitiate down. Confronting him again. The thought of that stirred at the unease in his gut and he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Maybe the Force was trying to warn him of something to come, if it actually did deign to actually associate with him in any way, or maybe it was just his own feelings surging to the forefront and blocking out common sense.

Of course, the bright side of all of this meant he’d be seeing her again, probably sooner rather than later. Even if he’d prefer that reunion to be under much different circumstances.

“The council was unanimous on this decision, and one other.” Oblivious to Theron’s internal monologue and struggle, his mother continued to drone on. The sudden shifting of those giant pauldrons caught his attention, as Grey unclasped her hands in front of her and tucked them behind her back, feet spreading apart into an even more formal stance that matched Kira’s. 

“Master Greyias Highwind,” Satele said proudly, “you have served both the Jedi Order and the Republic under extraordinary circumstances, time and time again.”

Grey’s serenely composed Jedi expression broke, blue eyes widening in realization, even as Kira’s lips started to twitch in a repressed smile. Almost as if she knew what was about to be said.

“You embody every ideal in the Jedi Code—”

Theron managed to bite back a laugh, just barely, and was struggling to hold back a full-on grin as he caught Grey’s gaze. He physically pressed his lips together tightly to try and hold back in his reaction, mind immediately straying back to the shuttle. He caught just she slightest purse of her lips and light flush of extra color rush to her cheeks, making him wonder if their thoughts were running in sync at this very moment.

Well, almost every ideal, he thought to himself with no small amount of smugness. The important ones anyway.

Satele either missed, or was intentionally ignoring the silent byplay going on. “It is with great pride and honor as Grand Master, that I name you Battlemaster of the Jedi Order.”

A wave of pride rushed over Theron then, watching the new Battlemaster blink, once. Twice. Her lips twitching as if fighting a smile down and to live up to that embodiment of every ideal of the Jedi Code she was supposed to represent. As much as he had his own issues with the Jedi, it was readily apparent that she adored the Order she worked for. And seeing her so happy and honored was… it was something alright.

“I thank you and the Council for this honor, Master Satele,” Grey had almost, almost managed to keep the smile out of her voice, so she could retain the appearance of that proper, perfect Jedi. “I will do everything I can to fulfill my duties with wisdom, skill, and humility.”

“You have my every confidence,” Satele said, her own serene countenance cracking, a rare and genuine smile emerging underneath.

Theron watched the interaction with probably a little more interest than called for. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen that warm, indulgent expression before on Satele. Prior to this whole business with the Revanites, Theron’s dealing with his mother had been limited and always very tense. He’d always cast the blame outwards for that, it was easy, almost natural to do so. But it was possible there was… more than just a little bit of baggage that made its way into each of their interactions. Listening to Grey the night before — and watching the two of them now — was starting to make him reconsider if that baggage somehow prevented him from keeping a more open mind. 

Whenever he talked with Satele about anything approaching a personal subject, Theron felt himself revert into that angry teenager left to wander the galaxy on his own. He’d learned quickly that it was best to make the first strike to put his opponent on the offensive — and for some reason when it came to his mother he always reverted to that mentality.

When they’d talked back on Coruscant for the first time as mother and son, she had promised him she would always be there if he needed her. And she… had been. He was alive now because she had convinced Jace to bring the Republic fleet to Duros when he’d asked. And she’d forged a Coalition with Darth Marr on his (and Grey’s) word — granted they’d had the data to back it up. But it very easily could have gone the other way. And she’d supported all of his judgement calls when it came to the mission here on Yavin. Had stood next to him for the briefing with Trant. She’d even given him, granted in a slightly underhanded way, his old ship back.

And yes, she had tried to meddle yesterday, but it hadn’t been unprovoked when he replayed the memory of the incident. And it maybe hadn’t actually been about what he’d been assuming at first.

The more thought he gave it, the more he had to wonder if he was… missing anything. By just reacting all of the time. And not listening. Always pushing any personal interaction they had into an argument. Shutting her out of his life completely, instead of… not.

Not that he had any idea of how to go about that. Probably best to not think about it, keep focused on the here and now.

“Our first priority is to understand what happened the other night,” Satele was still addressing her new Battlemaster. “Even if we can guess at what his ultimate goal likely is, we need to understand where he might have gone if we are to bring an end to his threat. We will need more intelligence before we can be sure.”

“That’s probably where I come in,” Theron cut in, shooting a look over at Grey. It was probably the easiest way to try and explain their earlier conversation back in the shuttle, at least while everyone else was listening.

“It is a large task,” Grey said evenly, matching his gaze, “and we must all do our part.”

If Satele sensed any underlying tone or tension to their words, she didn’t show it, instead turning her attention above to where the Coalition’s ships were filling the sky. Behind the gas giant, Yavin’s sun was beginning to set in its orbit, its rays bouncing off of the red planet and reflecting onto the moon. A deep red hue filled the valley beyond them, haloing the ships in a a beautiful but haunting light.

“Not sure I’ll ever get used to the sunsets here,” Theron said absently, watching the glow creep across the canopy below. “Kind of glad I don’t have to.”

“It will be nice to return to some semblance of normality,” Satele agreed. “This entire endeavor has been… different. In both good and disturbing ways.”

That was putting it lightly. “Yeah, I mean, as happy as I will be to get off this rock, I’m not exactly looking forward to trying to explain this whole mess to everyone else back on Coruscant. Conspiracies, government infiltrations. Not just one Revan back from the dead but two. Or whatever that was. I’m not even sure I understand half of what went down — kind of sounds insane when I say it aloud.”

“I would be happy to assist with that,” Satele said cautiously, “with your permission of course. I am more… familiar with matters of the Force.”

He arched a brow at her, trying to contain his dubiety. “You sure? It’s going to be a lot of boring meetings.”

“You forget Theron,” she said, with just the tiniest hints of humor bubbling to the surface, “I studied the art of patience under Ngani Zho too. I am more than prepared for a few skeptical Republic officials.”

“This I have got to see.”

The smile he exchanged with her wasn’t infused with the soft and gentle warmth that he’d witnessed a few moments prior, but unlike all of their previous interactions, nothing in it was forced. It was a little more conspiratorial, with just a hint of mischief dancing in the eyes. And if he wasn’t imagining things, she shot him back one that was almost identical.

Huh.

Maybe that’s where he got it from.

Beyond his mother, he caught a glimpse of Grey, still standing at attention, gaze directed up to the sky as if she was trying to blend into the background and give the parent-child moment some semblance of privacy. Despite the projected formality and image of practiced disinterest, the corner of her lips were still quirked up ever so slightly.

“It is a long journey back to Coruscant,” Satele’s expression had shifted back into her normal, placid expression, “we should not keep the Dauntless waiting.”

“Probably need to go grab my ship in that case.” He indicated the path he’d exited from the jungle. “Speaking of… thanks. For that.”

If Theron hadn’t been watching, he might have missed the change in her expression. Like the subtle ripple on a still pond, it was just the barest of things. Brows arching up ever so slightly, the laugh lines he had never noticed as such easing just a little as she nodded an acknowledgement. It probably should have infuriated him that she didn’t say anything more, but oddly enough, it didn’t. There were others around, which would have made it awkward if she had, and maybe… maybe it was good enough as a start. The flight back to Coruscant was a long one, and there’d be plenty of time to talk more if he really wanted. Theron wasn’t really sure if he was ready for that yet — so best to let things rest where they landed for now.

He watched her exchange some parting words to both of the Jedi that remained, before sending him one last look as she made her way back to the shuttle that would take her back to the Dauntless. 

Realizing that it was now just the three of them, Kira gave a slow, wandering glance at her present company, before clearing her throat. “You know, I think Teeseven probably needs some help with those preflight checks. Make sure we’re ready to leave this Dark Side infested place for good.”

“If there is an issue with the ship, I can help—”

“Nah, I got this,” Kira said, tipping her head in Theron’s direction. “It’ll give you time to wrap up things.”

Grey gave her grateful smile. “Thank you, Kira.”

“Anytime.”

They both watched her departing form, the silence hanging in the air almost as if it was a physical thing. Theron shifted on the balls of his feet, glancing back out at the valley and jungle beyond, bathed in the red light of the sunset, before glancing back to see an expression directed at him, caught somewhere between irritation and amusement.

“Were you ever planning on telling me that was actually your shuttle?”

The laugh he let out was only half nerves, half relief that she’d broken through the barrier of quiet. He wasn’t meaning to stall, but… yeah. Yeah, he totally was. He didn’t want to do this.

“I did tell you,” Theron’s protest was about as weak and transparent as his attempts at delaying the inevitable, “you just didn’t believe me.”

She just shook her head, still unable to make up her mind whether she wanted to laugh or sigh in exasperation. In his head, the chrono that had been counting down from the moment he’d woken up hit zero, and with it, a feeling of some finality settling deep in his bones. As unexpectedly amazing as the day had turned out, he now had to face the worst part of it: the fact that it was now over.

“I’ve never been a fan of goodbyes,” he said quietly.

“We are on the same task force, Theron.” Grey cocked her head slightly, giving him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Do you really expect we won’t see each other?”

“No, it’s not that,” he tried, “I’ve just… usually I don’t work such long stretches with the same people like I have this time… what I mean is…” Hell, why was this so difficult? “I don’t usually see the same people day-to-day, and despite how much fun this planet has overall not been, I...”

“I’m going to miss you too, Theron,” she said gently. “For however long this next time apart will be.”

He shot her an awkward smile, trying to shrug off his chagrin over being unable to actually say those words aloud. There was a part of him that hated how she was able to so effectively reduce him to this rambly state without doing a damned thing, and how she seemed to always see right through it to the heart of the matter. Or rather… just to him.  Which was… not something he was supposed to want or like. But he did. 

More than he should have, considering that most spies would recoil at having anyone be able to see the real person underneath all of the layers carefully presented the world — but she wasn’t just anyone. She was… her. And maybe it was a dangerous thing, a liability even, to not just place his trust in someone like this, but allow himself to get lost in them. 

But he was Theron Shan, and he thrived on danger. When he looked at her — and the way her smile reached her eyes when set his heart racing like all of the best adrenaline rushes he’d ever chased  — he knew that she was the furthest thing from a liability. 

So this whole thing, whatever it was, was fine. Good even. Really and truly.

“I don’t exactly have a good track record with this sort of thing,” he admitted.

“It is new for me as well.”

“What I said before,” he said a bit clumsily, “about finding time… I still don’t know what my schedule looks like. But if our paths do cross again, sooner rather than later…”

She reached across the distance between them, twining their gloved fingers together. “I suppose we will just see what happens when that moment arrives.”

“I guess so,” he let out a half-laugh. “Sorry, I suck at this.”

“You are not as bad as you think,” she said gently, before sobering, “but Theron?”

“Hmm?”

“I meant what I said earlier too,” she looked him straight in the eye, as if it was important that he understand her, “about Vitiate. He’s dangerous.”

“I know,” he reminded her, “but we’ve got this. It’s going to work out in the end, I’m sure of it.”

Even if he had to turn the galaxy upside down to keep his promise. Whatever it took.

“And here I thought you were calling me the optimist.”

“Hey, I learned from the best.” He gave her a cheeky grin. 

She gave him that look again that he adored, the one where she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or smack him. It was something special — and more importantly — it was his. And he’d do everything in his power to protect it.

“Stars, I really want to kiss you again,” he murmured.

“What’s stopping you?” She looked almost deceptively innocent as she peered back at him, but he caught the hints of an impish smile forming. 

“Might land you in a world of trouble if someone saw us.”

She made a show of looking left. And then right. Up to the empty watch towers, then at the blazing sunset filled with ships leaving the atmosphere, down to the jungle surrounding them, before looking back at him. The mischievous smile was fully in place now, all traces of that serene mask fully tossed away now that they were alone. That perfect Jedi was gone, leaving this ridiculous dork in her place.

“I don’t see anyone watching,” she said lightly.

That was all the invitation he needed, and without another word he pulled her in for one last, slow lingering kiss. He still didn’t have the words for whatever this thing was, but he did know one thing.

It was worth fighting for.

[anarcoqueer1994]

First Date

(Note this is chapter two of a fic I wrote during the hiatus. If you want to read the whole thing, the link to my AO3 is in bio. The only background you may need to know for this is that TJ and Cyrus are dating and haven't told anyone. Also Kira is being terrible)

Cyrus Goodman had asked TJ Kippen to be his boyfriend one month ago today .

TJ still could not believe it. Cyrus was everything he has ever wanted. He was sweet, smart, cute, and he cared for TJ in a way no one has before. But TJ would be lying if he said this month hasn’t been an emotional trip. On one hand, things with Cyrus have never been better. In public, it seemed like their "friendship" was just as strong as it has always been. The only difference being that both boys seemed more aware of their own bodies.

They were more self conscious of all the little touches that come so natural for them. They would notice their arms swinging too close together, their hands lingering a little too long when they would touch, and even their eyes staring at the other boy. This used to seem so normal for them, but now that they were dating, it became almost scary to do these things. Both of them were not ready to come out. The only people that knew Cyrus was gay were Andi, Jonah, Buffy, and obviously, TJ. For TJ it was even less, as the only people that knew were Cyrus and TJ’s older sister, Amber. And absolutely nobody knew that they were dating.

After what Kira started, neither one of them wanted to accidentally out each other by acting like more than friends. That’s why their little touches and lingering eyes became such an issue. Kira could obviously tell how the boys felt about each other within moments of hearing them interact with one another. What if others could tell too?  They decided that the best thing they could do to keep their secret was to place boundaries between them when they are with other people.

On top of this, Kira is also not letting up on TJ. She is constantly trying to get into TJ’s head. The coach told her that since there is girl’s team, she cannot be on the boy’s team. So now instead of putting her energy towards getting on the team, she is focusing all her time on tormenting him. She will wait for him to be alone and remind him that he is different. She will sometimes bring up how weird it is that he and Cyrus are so close. She would do little things to hurt him. Anything she does in front of others is so subtle, that others don't notice. For example she brings up cute girls while talking to him around other students, and puts him in awkward situations. For a random onlooker, it would look like small talk, but TJ knows she is doing it to get a rise out of him. He doesn't know why she enjoys making him feel bad. The one upside is that Kira has no proof that he and Cyrus are together, so for now at least, his bullying is private. TJ prefers that to the whole school knowing.

He doesn't tell Cyrus that Kira is still bothering him either. TJ does not want  him to worry. Besides Cyrus had his own things to deal with. For one, since they haven't told the GHC(+Jonah), that they are dating, they could not really explain what led to them being friends again. He could feel their glares whenever he would hangout. Part of him gets it though. To them, he was a jerk who keeps letting down their best friend. But nevertheless, Cyrus is now stuck in the middle. He has to keep their secret while defending TJ. Cyrus wanted his boyfriend to be able to hangout with his friends without them hating him, even if they did not know that they are dating. TJ kind of felt guilty for putting Cyrus in this situation in the first place by ever giving them a reason to be mad.

Despite all of this trouble, TJ would not trade this past month for anything. No matter what was happening with other people, when they were alone, it made it all worth it. Sometimes they would escape to the swings, and just spend hours talking, and if they were sure no one was watching, they would steal gentle kisses. Sometimes, they would take over TJ's apartment when both his parents and sister were at work. They would cuddle on the futon in the living room and binge TV shows together. It really didn't matter where they were, as long as they were alone together, it was like they were the only people who existed.

Cyrus really did make him the happiest he has ever been. His beautiful, dorky boyfriend always knew the right thing to say to make him feel like he really mattered. That is why today, on their one month anniversary, he wants to make Cyrus as happy as Cyrus makes him feel everyday. It is a Saturday but he put the first part of his plan into action the day prior.

************

Yesterday had been a particularly hard day for him. Kira was in his math class. Usually she ignored him and waited until after to torment him but that day she started at him early. She had sat behind him. They were assigned some in class problems to do. She was pretty good at math and wanted him to feel even worse. Whenever she noticed he was struggling, she would say stuff like “Only an idiot could mess up this problem” and “Wow these are so easy!” She would only say it loud enough for him to hear.He had been working so hard in math and she was able to dash any confidence he may have felt about being able to do a problem. He ended up losing his temper, crumbling up his paper, and turning in nothing. He could not even look at Coleman as he left.

He had walked home with Cyrus, Buffy, Andi, Marty, and Jonah. Cyrus’ friends didn’t help his mood, but to not worry Cyrus, he pretended to be oblivious.  He could tell the others did not want him there but Cyrus kept smiling at him with his big brown eyes glowing, so he could ignore the annoyed looks. Eventually everyone broke off heading to their respective homes, leaving him to walk with Cyrus the rest of the way to Cyrus’ stepmom’s house. As they stepped onto the porch, TJ nervously smiled.

“What is it, Teej? “ Cyrus said as he swung his hand up gently to take TJ’s as they stood across from each other. Both boys instinctively looked around to make sure no one was watching.

“Nothing, Muffin.” He noted the way Cyrus still blushed when he called him that. He liked that he had that effect on the guy that he cared so much for. “I am so happy whenever I am around you.So…” He let his words han in the air for a moment. ‘I was wondering if you would go on a date with me, tomorrow?”

“Like a real date?” Cyrus furrowed his brow in a way that makes TJ swoon every time. Cyrus’ voice though was unsure as he continued. “Aren’t dates out in the public? What if someone sees us?”

“Don’t worry, I have that covered, just be at the bus stop on Main Street at 9am tomorrow, “ TJ saw the look of curiosity in Cyrus eyes as they've stared at each other. “It is going to be a surprise, I know you are going to love it.”

Cyrus smiled and nodded. “Alright I trust you. I have to head in. See you tomorrow?”

“Yea, tomorrow." TJ grinned like an idiot, before placing a light kiss on top of Cyrus’ head, and turning to walk away.

************

The big city nearest to them was about a 30 minute bus ride from Shadyside. That is why TJ asked Cyrus to meet him here at the bus stop.  Cyrus had gotten there at 9am sharp, to find TJ waiting on the bench. He took a seat next to his boyfriend, careful not to sit too close in case someone was watching. TJ turned his head and smiled at the other boy.

"Hey Underdog," He lowers his voice. "Happy one month of officially being us."

Cyrus liked the way that TJ remembered something as small as a one month anniversary. He loved that TJ wanted to make today special for him. He whispers "Happy Anniversary Not-So-Scary Basketball Guy."

Both boys sat in a comfortable silence as they waited for the bus. TJ knew Cyrus wanted to ask where they were going but both boys knew TJ wasn’t going to budge. All he wanted to do was surprise Cyrus with the best date ever. When the bus pulled up to the stop, both boys got on with TJ paying both their fares. He had saved all his money from the gym(he only worked 12 hours a week) the past month to pay for this date. Cyrus was usually picking up the tab because he knew the Kippen family wasn’t nearly as well off as him. But today TJ wanted to handle everything.

As they took their seats in the back, TJ slid into the window seat. He looked out the window and noticed clouds overtaking the sun. Great, rain . He thought sarcastically. He thought about what else may come if it storms. He was a little nervous, but brushed it off. He turned to Cyrus, who was smiling obliviously, and said "There goes that sunny day."

"It is okay, as long as I am with you, it doesn't matter. Today will be great." With that, TJ melted. Cyrus always knew what to say to make him feel better.

************

When they got out the city, it was still so cloudy. It looked like it would storm any moment. TJ pleads with the weather quietly to hold off until they get to where they are going. The bus stop is a block away from where are heading. No one knows them here and TJ is excited to actually go on a real date with Cyrus. He smiles at the shorter boy as they step off the bus. As they stand on the crowded sidewalk, TJ takes Cyrus' hand. He stares for a moment to make sure it is okay. When Cyrus does not pull away, TJ takes that as a hint to start walking. Both boys felt a little braver out here where no one knew them.

TJ pulls Cyrus down the street, weaving in and around people coming towards them. As they get closer to the mystery place, TJ gets more excited, and by the look on Cyrus' face, he feels the same. After a few minutes, the place comes into view. TJ stops at the bottom of a large set of steps. Cyrus' eyes grow large as he looks up at the building before them; The Natural History Museum.

Teej! Really?! I love this place. I haven't been here in years." His eyes light up as he gets more excited. "You are amazing."

"I'm glad you are happy. I figured you could show me all your favorite dinosaurs." TJ smiles softly. "Let's go." TJ pulls him up the stairs. He pulls the tickets out of pocket and hands them to the man near the door.

As they enter the museum, they are immediately surrounded by large skeletons of animals that long been dead. TJ doesn't think he has ever seen Cyrus look so excited. He begins to talk about all the different types of dinosaurs, and the time periods, and everything else that at one point TJ wouldn't of cared about. He is pretty sure Cyrus could make him care about anything.

They wander around the museum for about an hour. Rain had steadily started hitting the rooftop,  the small droplets working together to echo through the museum. It was raining pretty heavy now, and TJ silently began to get nervous again of what will come next. Cyrus noticed the tension in TJ's face and stopped talking about the Allosaurus skeleton they were staring at.

"What is it?" He said quietly to the slightly older boy.

"Nothing..." He lies. Right as the word leaves his mouth, a loud burst of thunder sounds, shaking the museum. TJ instinctively clenches his eyes shut and squeezes Cyrus' hand harder than intended. His cheeks turn red as he notices Cyrus staring.

"I'm sorry..." he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. TJ looks away while still holding Cyrus' hand. Another burst of thunder sounds, making TJ tense again.

"Teej" Cyrus reaches up to his face to get him to turn his head. When he sees TJ's eyes, he recognize fear in his beautiful green eyes. He hates to see his boyfriend afraid. "Are you afraid of thunder?"

TJ looks embarrassed. He can't bring his mouth to form the words he wants to say. He knows Cyrus won’t judge him for something like this. But he is not used to being the one with irrational fears. He wishes he wouldn’t wince every time the thunder boomed. He can’t help it. He has been afraid of thunder for as long as he can remember. He doesn't know what about it makes him feel so helpless. Most of the time, he finds himself hiding under his covers with his eyes shut, waiting for the storm to end. But he can’t do that now. All he can do is try and put on a brave face and ride it out.

Cyrus interrupts his thoughts. “It's okay to be afraid, you know?” His voice is soft and understanding. “I’m afraid of a whole lot of things. Remember the flamingos? That is way weirder” He laughs trying to cheer TJ up. TJ wishes Cyrus wouldn’t put himself down, though. This day was supposed to be all about Cyrus, but here he was trying to make TJ feel better. TJ felt a little bad about that but could not focus on that very long.

The thunder hits again, this time even louder. The storm must be pretty bad. TJ wishes he could disappear so Cyrus wouldn't see him like this. He was supposed to be the cool, fearless jock but right now he felt like a wimp. He wanted to always be brave in front of his boyfriend. Cyrus doesn't seem to care though. He is only concerned with being there for TJ.

Cyrus runs his thumb soothingly over the TJ's strained knuckles. He whispers "I have an idea…", before pulling TJ to a little bench off to side of one of the large skeletons. He pulls out a pair of earbuds from his pocket and plugs them into the jack in his phone. Cyrus flips through his Spotify with his free hand as TJ sits apprehensively by his side, squeezing his hand with every boom from outside. Cyrus settles on a playlist called "Songs That Make Me Think of TJ".  TJ sees the name, and for a moment he smiles, before the thunder outside reminded him of its presence.

"Put these on, sweetie." Cyrus says quietly, careful not to draw attention to them. He would hate to embarrass TJ. He knows the other boy is feeling self-conscious about his fear. TJ takes the earbuds and puts them in his ears. TJ trusts Cyrus more than anyone in the world, so he will do whatever Cyrus says. With that, Cyrus hits play and turns the volume all the way up. He takes his other arm out of TJ’s hand and wraps it instead around TJ's waist pulling him close to him, and holding tight like he will never let go.

The loud, bubbly music blocks out  a lot of the noise from the thunder. Cyrus’ arm wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly close, gives him something else to think about.They sit their for a while. Though the museum is full of people, it feels like they are alone there. His heartbeat is still crazy fast, but the reason is much different now.It was no longer pounding because of fear. Instead it is fluttering from the nerves he feels because of Cyrus. He feels so lucky to have him in his life. He blushes as he listens to the songs that he know Cyrus picked out for him.

What he doesn’t notice, is how happy Cyrus seems to be because of him. Cyrus is just staring at  him, smiling as he holds the taller boy against him. Cyrus hopes that TJ knows that this relationship is not one sided. TJ truly makes him happy. That’s why he was so worried when TJ was scared. He never wants fear to cloud over those soft, green eyes. He will personally fight away any fear for his boyfriend.

After about forty minutes, the storm has seemed to pass. TJ had taken to leaning his head against Cyrus’ shoulder, even if some slouching was involved to get into that position. Cyrus almost hates to end this but know TJ has other plans for them. He softly shakes TJ o get his attention. The boy takes out the earbuds and sits up. Cyrus grins and says “The storm is over, how are you feeling?”

“Much better…” He blushes and looks at the ground. “Thank you...for..um...making me feel safe.” TJ internally rolls his eyes at his own words. Why did he say that out loud. He sounded so weak.

“No need to thank me. What are boyfriends for, right?”  Cyrus’ smile could light up the entire room.

“Right.” TJ really can’t understand how Cyrus manages to make him feel so great, even when he wants to feel bad about himself. He thought about telling Cyrus about what was going on at school. He decided against it though. He already made too much of this date about himself. He stands up, and grabs Cyrus hand again. “Let’s get back to these dinosaurs. There are so many you still have not told me about.”

************

After spending a few more hours at the museum, the boys headed to a restaurant around the corner and had lunch. They strolled through the city for a bit before realizing it was close to 5 and that they should be at least heading back to their town. On the bus ride back, Cyrus rested his head on TJ’s shoulder. Usually Cyrus would be worried about this but today he was feeling a little braver than usual.

TJ walked Cyrus home after they got off the bus. Cyrus’ street seemed vacant when they turned onto it, so they risked locking their pinkies together as they walked. TJ felt like he was on top of the world. Even with the thunder earlier, today had felt like the perfect day. He kept shooting glances over at Cyrus, taking in every detail. He memorized the way Cyrus looked right now with the late day sun shining through the trees onto him. He almost looked angelic, like he was too good to be a mere human.

Without thinking, TJ stops and cups Cyrus’ cheek, making it so they are staring at each other. He just needed to get a better look. TJ surveyed every part of the shorter boy’s face. It was like everytime he looks, he finds something else to love about it. He felt like the brown eyes staring back at him could peer into his very soul. The boys stay frozen in this stance until they hear a soft rustle of some bushes. They both immediately retract from each other, and look around. Neither of them see anyone, but they keep their distance the rest of the walk home, just in case. TJ silently beats himself up for slipping like that. He can’t be so careless.

As they step up onto Cyrus’ front porch, they can finally breathe again. They are covered by a large tree in his front yard that blocks parts of the porch. “Thank you for a wonderful time today, Teej.” Cyrus smiles.

“I should be thanking you, You really came through for me today.” TJ used this as opportunity to show Cyrus how thankful he really was. He leans in and brushes his lips against Cyrus, waiting for permission to deepen the kiss. Cyrus responds by pulling him closer, pushing their lips together more. They eventually had to come up for air, and pulled apart.

“Wow, I don’t think I am ever going to stop being nervous when you do that.” Cyrus said blissfully.

“Right back at you, Underdog.”

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Seven): There’s a dog in your heart

Notes:  Okay, I hate to do this, but I think following this chapter there will be a hiatus for this fic. This chapter took a lot out of me and left me drained, I’ve fallen behind on writing chapters. So, I think I’m going to take a break, get some motivation back, and get some more chapters done in advanced. Thank you all for the support and I hope it won’t be too long before I’m coming back to you with some more chapters. 

Word Count: 13,273

Warnings:  POV Switches, Panic Attacks, Angry Outbursts, Drinking, Drunk Kisses, Masturbation, Wasted Pastries

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

Tsuneko sighs as she takes a seat on the bus, mostly empty at this early hour. She checks her texts; two from Chisato and one from Sakiko. No messages from Shinobu, this is the longest he’s ever ignored her. She shakes off the thought, bigger problems. 

2:25am

Chisato: Np I’ll take care of kiyo, is something wrong tho? Are you working this late???

7:35am

Chisato: Is something up, you’re never been this late.

7:29am

Sakiko: where r u? erika is pissed u ok?

They must have been working or in a meeting when they messaged her, they didn’t have to check on her. She made Chisato take care of Kiyohito in the middle of the night and made them both worry. She sighs and sends them both quick messages. 

Tsuneko: Thanks so much, sorry for the trouble. I’m fine. I’ll be there soon. 

She searches for a moment before choosing an animated Cinnamoroll sticker that says sorry with the little mascot looking down in shame. 

Tsuneko: I’m headed that way, I’ll deal with Erika, don’t stress.

Sakiko gets another animated Cinnamoroll sticker of him flying that says on my way. It’s something small but the little stickers make her happy, kill her in micro-transactions, but it’s worth it to make her conversations that much cuter. 

Her stomach growls and she slumps further into her seat when a few people stare. Once she’s back she needs to check on Kiyo again for the morning and then hurry her ass into work before Ichinomiya can call her out on being late. 

She opens up Monster Lovers, romancing her favorite snake boy as she waits for the bus to reach the stop nearest the Tres Spades. He’s still acting cold towards her, he’s a kuudere brat and she’d hit him if she didn’t want to kiss him. 

The bus reaches the stop just as she’s reaching a rare soft moment with Tatsumi in his story. She tucks the phone away and gets off, her movements are slow and groggy. Lately, her life just seems to be just one panic attack after another and it’s taking a toll. 

She’s exhausted, it’s like she’s trudging through tar with leaden limbs. Everything is just a half-hearted slow drag of movement. 

A heavy yawn escapes her as she makes it into her dorm to check on Kiyo. He’s sleeping and has plenty of food to last him, Chisato made sure he’d be taken care of just in case. 

She’s content to head back to the hotel when something catches her eye, a bright pink sticky note on her counter. It’s not one of hers, it’s the basic kind found at dollar stores over the cutesy stuff she keeps around. The little note is stuck on top of a large pack of raspberry Kit-Kats. 

Sweets to keep your energy up!~

-Chisato

Chisato thinks Tsuneko is just working extremely late shifts for the penthouse guests, she was texted randomly in the middle of the night and not only took care of Kiyo, but wanted to watch out for Tsuneko too. She didn’t have to do that. Neither of them had to check in on her or worry. Tsuneko isn’t sure what they see in her and it’s only a matter of time only they realize she’s not worth the energy, but for now she’ll enjoy it. 

She’s not sure when she started crying, but her face is wet as she devours the food. The taste soothing and sweet, she swallows down what’s left and guzzles down a soda. 

Tsuneko grabs a quick shower, tears washing down the drain with the water, and throws on some clothes before rushing back to the hotel. The candy seems to have done the trick, if only for a moment she’s able to run and bustle. 

The locker room is vacant, Ichinomiya didn’t schedule or mention any events, so at the very least it’s a normal workday. She throws on a uniform and pulls her hair back. She’ll go to the penthouse first, make sure Ichinomiya doesn’t think she skipped out on work. 

She closes her locker with a harder slam than needed and jerks back when she nearly runs into Erika. The head maid is alone at the moment, not a twin in sight, eyebrows furrowed and hands on her hips. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

Tsuneko’s nerves are already frayed and Erika’s shrill voice is only making matters worse. 

“Look-”

“Do you think just because Mr. Ichinomiya likes you that you can just start slacking off?!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m late, but I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.” 

“You’re not in the mood for this!?” 

“I said I’m sorry, can you just let go, right now.” 

“You just got a major promotion, you can’t afford to stop pulling your weight around here!” 

“If you’re that fuckin’ worried, stop bitching at me and go do your own work!”

“Excuse you!?” 

“Oh my god, would you get off my dick!? I’ve literally never been this late before! I’ve never taken sick days, I’ve never taken a vacation day, and I work over time and cover everyone else’s shifts when they need it! I had one bad day out of a year, excuse the fuck out of me.”

Erika chews her lip and the tension in her face seems to ease for a moment, her eyes soft but her voice stays sharp. 

“What the hell is in your tongue?” 

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, confused for a second, then she feels the metal of her tongue piercing click against the roof of her mouth. Shit, shit, she forgot to take that out. 

“Uhhhh…that would be my tongue ring, which will be removed right stat now.” 

“Don’t be so careless, what if a guest had seen that,” Erika grumbles, her face turning red with irritation as Tsuneko removes the piercing. 

“So, we’re good now?” Tsuneko sticks her tongue out after dropping the piercing in her pocket. 

“Whatever, just get to work.” Erika turns, her cheeks turning a slightly deeper red, and starts to rush out. 

“Would have gotten to work ten minutes ago if someone wasn’t yelling at me,” Tsuneko taunts as she trails after the head maid.

“Yeah and someone would have saw that ring in your tongue.” 

“Still would have been working.” Tsuneko shrugs as they leave the locker room, going their separate ways to work. 

She grabs her work schedule and a cleaning cart. The penthouse is notably vacant when she arrives, Kishi is the only person she sees and he’s sleeping on a couch. She’s able to quickly clean the lounge, the only noise is the old man’s chainsaw volume snoring. While irritating, it’s still preferable to the teasing and threats of the bidders. 

The lounge and suites are clean, she manages to escape the place unscathed for the day. Just a small comfort in the hell of her life. She leans her weight against the back of the elevator as it descends downward, fiddling with the good luck charm still in her pocket. She’ll have worn a hole in the fabric by the time she gets it back to its owner, if she ever manages to do that. 

She needs to apologize to Chisato and Sakiko properly, she made them worry. Maybe she’ll treat them to that bakery at lunch. She’ll need to apologize to the Hatter too, for running out in the morning without any notice. He still hasn’t shown her anything to do with the auctions either, other than rambling about a few items. 

Her throat tightens for the millionth time it seems. Her gaze lingers to her hand, she didn’t bother to bandage it this morning, the skin has closed and she was in a hurry after all. The small cuts across her fingers are just a faint pink mark away, almost nothing than but a memory. As expected there still a large angry red scar across the middle of her palm. The bruises on her face are mostly gone as well, having turned to a faint yellowing color. She doesn’t bother paying special attention to it with makeup anymore. 

A lot of the physical reminders of that night are fading, but just the thought of the auctions puts her right back there. It’s cruel of them, to make her go back to the place and event that ruined her life. But, she can’t expect anything less than cruelty from them, now can she. 

She has to see this as just another part of work; compartmentalizing and burying her feelings are key points in her limited skill set. Maybe if she tried walking the stage without the auctions going on it would help? Just having a memory of it not attached to that night, or at least get the initial panic attacks out of being there again. 

The elevator comes to a stop and she gets back to work. It’s the usual monotony of her job, that lets her just focus on doing things without those dangerous hurtful thoughts creeping in. Making beds, cleaning bathrooms, restocking amenities, delivering brochures and answering guest questions. It’s all muscle memory at this point, allowing her to block out every intrusive thought and operate on autopilot. 

She gets through to lunch break; Chisato and Sakiko are getting in line to buy food. Tsuneko tentatively walks up behind them, poking them both in the sides, snickering when they both jump. 

“Tsuneko, you made it in!” Sakiko is the first to talk, as usual. 

“Yeah, sorry for the worries, and,” she looks to Chisato, “thanks for taking care of you know who.” 

“It’s no problem, but were they making you work that late?” 

“Uh, not quite don’t worry about it.” 

“Tsuneko, you already work a lot, even V.I.P’s can’t expect you to work that late. You’ll run yourself ragged.” 

“I’m fine really.” 

“Hmmm,” a smug grin pulls at Sakiko’s lips, “Mr. Ichinomiya wants you working late into the night, hmm.”

“You want me to treat you for lunch Chisato?”  

“Wait, what?” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“Hey, I’m invited too, right?” 

“You hear something, Chisato?” 

“The A.C must have kicked on.” 

“Don’t ignore me!” 

“C’mon there’s a bakery I wanna go to.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Tsuneko and Chisato start the walk out of the lunchroom, not paying mind to the flustered Sakiko. 

“Hey! I want free food too,” Sakiko whines before following after them, knowing despite their jokes she’s more than welcomed to come along. 

Tsuneko leads the two of them to Parolee, there’s a cute girl at the register. She doesn’t see the cute boy from last time, but there are worse things in life. They each pick out a treat and a drink before tucking themselves away at a table. 

She’ll finish up her shift, walk the stage, and then take a visit to Wonderland. She’s memorized most of the items; she figures the Hatter will be taking over most of the descriptions given that’s more of his expertise than hers. She doesn’t want to go near that stage, but there’s no way to fight it. She’s been getting bold enough as is given that Oh is more than willing to end her life. 

She’d rather die on her own terms. A silly distinction it might seem, death is death after all.  But it’s important to her. That’s the one thing she’s sticking to, no matter what. If she wins the bet….she knows making a genuine attempt to get her life back on track is the best choice, logically. But, even when she was in University, even when her life was on track she wasn’t happy. She hasn’t been happy since she was nine, a few bright spots now and again, but she can’t say she’s ever been a happy person.  If she’s going to be miserable no matter what, is there any point? She always thought if she graduated top of her class, passed the bar, became a lawyer, and finally made something of herself she’d be happy. But, now she’s not so sure. Every setback and time her goals get crushed, she feels like it’s all for nothing. 

Maybe the gloomy situation is just getting to her, she’s been like this before, and she thinks she’s been like this since the expulsion.  The bet and kidnapping just cranked it up to eleven. It was during that time between university and the Tres Spades that she first bought the rope. 

If she does make that decision, she’ll take care of everything she needs to first, make sure everything will be taken care of before she goes. She doesn’t want to leave a mess behind her. She’d have to find Kiyo a new home and have some uncomfortable talks with her family. There a lot of things her dad deserves to know, from her directly and not from some posthumous investigation. Some final words to those she cares about, lots of apologies for being who she is. 

Once that’s taken care of it shouldn’t be too hard on anyone, most people will probably be thank-

“Tsuneko!” 

Sakiko’s yell makes her jolt in her seat, knee banging against the table. Sakiko and Chisato are looking at her like she’s a wounded puppy and her stomach knots. They’re both half way through their desserts, Tsuneko’s tiramisu is mostly gone and the taste of espresso in her mouth tells her that she’s been mindlessly eating with every depressive thought. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t said a word; you’ve just been zoned out and jittery.” 

“Seriously, your leg has been bouncing nonstop. You were making the table shake so much I thought my drink was gonna spill.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tsuneko rubs a hand over her face, “I’m fine, just thinking.” 

“Maybe you should consider taking tomorrow off,” Chisao offers as Tsuneko downs her water, when did her throat get so dry?

“No can do. Big promotion, can’t slack, all of that jazz.” 

“Tsuneko, I’m saying this as your friend,” Sakiko’s voice is soft, “you look like shit.” 

“Thanks asshole.” 

“She’s right Tsuneko, you’re getting bags under your eyes and, I mean, you look like you’re a second away from a breakdown.” 

“Pffft, I’ve been a mess since day one, it’s nothing new.” 

“You need to take care of yourself Tsuneko, I know the penthouse guests must expect a lot from you, but running yourself ragged isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Hey, Yayoi still owes you for taking over the day you got hurt right?”  

“I guess,” Tsuneko grumbles, she wasn’t even meant to be working the day she was sold. How she has such shit luck is a mystery. 

“She’s on night shift tomorrow, why don’t you switch with her. You can relax tonight and sleep in tomorrow, but you’ll still be working.” 

Night shift in general is easier, given most guests are sleeping. It’s mainly cleaning the lobby, halls, etc. It’s quieter and minimal customer interactions. Would Ichinomiya call that avoiding work? As long as she cleans the penthouse suites when she first arrives in the late evening, it should be fine. 

“If I say yes, will you shut up?” 

“For now,” Sakiko offers before taking another bite of her cake. 

She ordered the strawberry shortcake the same kind Ichinomya and Tsuneko had to share last time they were here.  The red strawberry on top has been put off to the side, before Tsuneko realizes what she’s doing she’s grabbed it and takes a bite. 

“Hey! I was saving that!” 

“Snooze you lose.” 

“I didn’t even say anything stupid!” 

“Everything you say is stupid by default.” 

“That’s not even fair.” 

“That’s life.” Tsuneko shrugs, eating the last of her dessert. 

“You two ready to head back?” 

“I wanna buy some stuff to go, you wanna get something for Itsuki? I’ll buy.” 

“Sounds good.” Chisato’s smile brightens at the mention of treating her girlfriend. Tsuneko has only met Itsuki a few times, but each time her and Chisato are together they’re nauseatingly in love. 

Tsuneko looks at the display of treats, she prattles off the name of everything that catches her eye. If she’s going to be forced to take a break, possibly earn the ire of Ichinomiya, then she’s going to spend the night stuffing her face and drinking. 

She’s still looking, about to just settle on what she’s picked, when fresh cupcakes are being placed into the display. Soft yellow cake with white meringue frosting, the little placard says lemon chiffon cupcakes. The Hatter would probably like those, given his like of the pie, maybe if she bought a few he’d forgive her for just bailing this morning. 

She starts to look up, meeting soft brown gray eyes. It’s the boy from last time, tucking sweets away into the case. A smile pulls at her lips, seeing a cute familiar face. His face flushes up to the tip of his ears and he jolts to stand up. 

“Do you know her, Rin?” The cashier asks him, smiling as he tries to cover his ears. 

“She’s just the girl who came in here fighting with her boyfriend over cake.”

“Hey,” her face twists in disgust, “he is not-“ 

“Tsuneko, we’re gonna be late, hurry up!” 

“Okay, that’ll be all then.” 

Tsuneko gets out her card as her order is all boxed up, pays, and they head back to the hotel in a hurry. She’s a little upset she couldn’t clear up the misunderstanding about Ichinomiya or grab the cupcakes for the Hatter. 

They make it back to the hotel, Tsuneko hands Chisato the box of macaroons she picked out for Itsuki, tucking the rest into her locker to take home later before heading back to work. The rest of the work day passes by easily enough; a few guests point out she looks sick, but nothing else of note. 

She’s finished the last room on her schedule and takes a deep breath, calming her nerves before she ventures to the auction stage. Her hands wring together, her heart is already racing. 

She counts off seconds to track her breathing as she takes the stairs to the lower level. Tsuneko focuses on her senses, the only way to push through the panic, to stay off those trains of thought. 

The in and out of her breaths, the click of her heels against each step, her uniform clenched under her fists, and her eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Her chest grows tight when the scenery gets more familiar, the path she was pushed along that night. 

Gilded bars, yelling out at strangers who don’t care, fresh blood seeping through her palm and being trapped; memories and phantom sensations flood her brain. 

She digs her nails into the scar on her palm, pain grounding her to reality as she pushes forward towards that stage.  

Her heart beat is like a pounding drum beat in her ears, drowning out every other bit of noise. She can’t even hear herself counting seconds. 

The backstage is a ghost town, not the same bustle of activity. A quick glance up shows her the hook and suspension system that was used to hang her over the stage and bile rises in the back of her throat. 

There’s no gilded birdcage and she wonders if it’s back in storage, is it still stained with her blood or did it get washed off? It must have been someone’s job to mop up her blood and remove all traces of what was done to her. 

Another deep breath and a stab of her nails into her hand, a burst of pain to lead the way onto the actual stage. 

No lights or audience now, just rows upon rows of empty red velvet seats. There’s well over a hundred, maybe closer to five-hundred or so, she’s not sure. It would take her too long to count. 

All of those seats that night were filled, hundreds of people watching her torment with pride. Hundreds of possible buyers, each watching and thinking of just how they could use her if the money was right. 

What if someone else would have bought her? That creepy man from that auction night or god knows who else. She could have ended up in someone’s basement, dead or worse and those people would have just moved on like she’d never been there.  

And for what fucking reason? 

It’s all so fucking senseless. It’s just rich pieces of shit getting together to waste money on things they’re not supposed to have, because it makes them feel special. 

She’s a mess, suffering, struggling, hurt and looking for any escape because a hoard of rich people wanted a thrill. 

She was already fucking up her own life, but apparently not fast enough, because the rich assholes came in to speed the process up. 

Fuck, she can still feel them all looking at her, staring and gawking. Hundreds of people waiting and eager for the chance to hurt her, own her. Her greatest value has been just how much someone’s willing to pay to break her. 

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

The Hatter hums, the sound soft and cheerful in his throat. He’s ventured outside of Wonderland, in search of Cheshire. She’s gone for one of her walks and he’d like to have her back in time for the tea party. The floor where the auctions are held are the furthest he’s willing to stray from his safe haven of Wonderland. That is when they’re not being used for other events. 

He likes the storeroom, looking over every potential item and finding the perfect description. Connecting to the items, letting them tell him their stories. It’s like magic, bringing every little thing to life with nothing but his words. 

He likes being on stage for auctions, performing and everyone’s eyes on him. Seeing their intrigue, how they hang on his every word. He can feel every emotional shift, the impact of his words on every person in the crowd. The stage is his second home after Wonderland. 

But, he can’t say he likes people in any other context, not really. He knows he’s odd, strange and unwanted by everyone’s standards. 

Except Alice’s. 

There’s an extra bounce in his step and his humming gets louder, just the thought of her makes his entire being lights up. 

He waited so long for his Alice, someone who’d accept him. 

He was sad to see her gone this morning, but he knows she has other responsibilities. He’s found his Alice, but she’s not his alone. A part of him, the majority of him, wants her to stay in Wonderland with him forever.  Wonderland is always beautiful, filled with only the best of things, but it seems to brighten up even more when Alice is there. 

For that fact alone, he’ll accept sharing her. He’d rather have her some of the time than none of it. Despite her responsibilities, she always returns and as long as that continues, he can be happy. 

He’s always preferred and sought out eternal joys. Painted roses never wilt, in Wonderland he can have the best parts of life with none of the pain or hurt regular life comes with. But, perhaps he can learn to appreciate more temporary forms of happiness. Maybe cloudy days make the sun shine brighter? 

Maybe going without her just means he’s that much happier when she comes back? 

He’d still prefer to have her forever, the sun, the roses, and everything else beautiful forever. But, some compromises must be made he supposes. 

He finds himself wandering near the auction room, perhaps Cheshire got curious about where he goes for those nights and wanted to investigate it, she’s a curious girl after all. 

The Hatter nearly avoids tripping over the steps to the back stage when the sobs echo from the main stage. He freezes, his entire existence seized in an ice cold grip. Someone else is here. Who else would be here? Should he leave? 

The wails and whimpering cries sound like a mix between a banshee and wounded animal. Pure pain echoing through every noise as he inches close to the curtains, to see who it could be. 

Sitting curled up with knees to her is a woman in a maid uniform, from behind he can see a tied up mess of chocolate brown hair but not a face, despite this he knows who it is. 

“Alice….?” 

She doesn’t respond, just sniveling and whimpering against her own knees. Her body trembles with the force of her cries. He walks closer, her hands are clutched tight to her temples, leaving angry red lines across the skin and knotting her hair. 

Why is she so upset? They had so much fun in Wonderland last night; she should be happy, right? It must be something else; she left Wonderland and got hurt. His heart twists painfully in his chest. If she stayed in Wonderland with him, this wouldn’t happen. 

He gently brings himself down on one knee in front of her and brushes his fingers over one of her hands. That forces a response, Alice jolting like he’s burnt her and the pain in his chest doubles. Why would she not want him to touch her?

She looks up at him, the pain in her heart triples, no quadruples. He can’t keep track, he just knows it hurts. Her face is red and splotchy; her eyes swollen, her nose is running, her lip is quivering, and a waterfall of tears run down her face. 

Wet amaranth eyes stare up at him; she blinks a few more tears join the downpour. He doesn’t like this, seeing her like this, it hurts. There’s a vice grip around his heart. He stares back for a moment, just taking in the pain on her face. He touches her again, placing his hand against her cheek. The warmth of her skin seeps through his gloves and she leans into the touch this time, like she’s desperate for the contact. 

“What’s wrong Alice? Why are you crying?” He asks, a pout on his lips and his head tilting just so. 

“I-uh…” 

Her voice cracks and she breaks eye contact. His Alice isn’t beautiful, not right now, her brightness dimmed by pain. Bile churns in his stomach, he doesn’t like this. Everything is supposed to be happy. Wonderland is meant to be happy, even happier with Alice, but she’s suffering and he doesn’t know why. 

“Your tears are not beautiful.” 

Her entire body tenses, her knees curling closer to her chest, like she’s trying to be smaller.

“What….?” 

Her voice has never sounded so fragile, as if the softest of touches could shatter her very being. 

“They’re like fake diamonds, cheap pearls. I...can’t bear to look at them.”  He looks away from her, grimacing as bile builds in the back of his throat. 

“I-“ 

“Tears do not belong in Wonderland.”

He doesn’t have time to take another breath before she pushes him back onto his butt. Alice rises to her feet and stands over him. He swallows hard staring up at her; her eyes aren’t soft or sad anymore. They’re harsh and angry, his skin feels hot, like the fury and hatred in her is burning through him. 

“Is that what you care about?!” 

He tries scooting further away as she steps closer, feeling like prey about to be devoured. It’s been so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to be looked at with so much hate and disgust.  He can’t speak, every word caught in his throat. Even if he could speak, she has no intention of listening. 

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry, that I can’t be pretty while my life is falling apart. Do you even get that? Or are you so deep in your own bullshit that you can’t even understand that you helped destroy my life!” 

Tears start falling again. She rubs them off, forceful enough to leave red marks across her eyes. She crouches down, hovering over his sprawled out body, so she can look him in the eyes again. There’s a shift, hot rage becoming cold fury. She’s a viper about to strike. 

“You were so excited, weren’t you? That night, when you finally met me, your Alice, the chance to complete your little fantasy, right?” 

Her tone is saccharine and she pauses like she’s waiting for an answer. He nods, softly, unable to speak. 

 “That was one of the worst days of my life,” she snarls at him, “Everyone involved, including you, ruined my life…and no one cares… “ 

Her voice breaks and a fresh outburst of tears make their way down her face. She sniffles and stands up straight before rubbing the heel of her hand to her eyes. 

“Fuck, you’re no better than those penthouse assholes. The only thing you people care about is yourselves; I’m just another person to use. You don’t give a damn about me, the only thing you wanted was someone to play Alice. Someone to feed into your bullshit and look pretty while they do it. That’s all you fuckin’ wanted…and I actually thought- I’m an idiot.”

A heavy sigh escapes her  and with it all the emotion seems to drain, a tired shell standing where Alice once was.  Her heels click against the stage as she turns to leave, heading back off the stage. 

She’s leaving. 

She’s leaving him. 

She’s leaving him and he doesn’t know how to stop her. 

“Ali-!” 

“Tsuneko! For fucks sake, my name is Tsuneko! This is exactly the shit I’m talking about; you can’t just rename me and expect me to fall in line with your fantasy crap! You just do whatever you want, expect everyone to play along, then pout if you don’t get what you want!  There’s a reason you’re alone, dumbass.” 

She disappears back behind the curtain to the backstage, her steps echoing as she leaves. His eyes sting, tears streak down his face and fade his makeup. He tucks his knees under his chin, hugging himself tight. 

He finally found his Alice and he’s already driven her away.  Maybe he was stupid to think anyone would want to stay with him. 

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

The door to Tsuneko’s dorm slams shut behind her and she throws the box of desserts down on her counter, which shakes when her foot collides with it. She screams out and kicks it again, her hands knot and pull at her hair. Her body feels like it’s on fire, tears and anxiety replaced with rage. She knocks her fists against her own skull, the pain and feeling of hurting something even herself is cathartic in the moment. So, she does it again and again. 

She’s an idiot, a fucking idiot. Clinging to the idea that some stranger in makeup gave a damn about her, how could she be so pathetic? The second she was vulnerable, the second she wasn’t pretty enough, the second she wasn’t what he wanted he insulted her. Her tears don’t belong in Wonderland.  She rips open her fridge, she needs alcohol, something to shut her down. 

Tsuneko isn’t supposed to cry when everything is crashing down around her because god forbid she’s ugly for second. She cracks open a bottle of honey flavored vodka, what right does he even have to criticize her appearance? He runs around dressed up in some harlequin Tim Burton costume, but her tears are ugly. 

She takes a heavy swig of her drink; it’s sweet on her tongue and burns down her throat, before putting it aside to get Kiyo out of his cage. It’s best to take care of him before she’s completely out of her mind drunk. She makes sure to keep her movement gentle and steady, coddling him before putting him down. He scurries out, finding a stuffed animal to play with. She cleans up his cage, restocks his food, and water. 

He bounces after her as she walks back to the kitchenette area, bottle in hand. Another gulp and swallow, before she unboxes the goodies. She opens the top of the box with her fruit sponge cake roll and her eyes widen, just next to it in the corner is a little lemon chiffon cupcake. It’s nowhere on her receipts and she knows she didn’t buy it, Rin from the shop must have thrown it in because she was eyeing it. 

She runs a hand back through her hair, tugging out the knots she finds. The cupcakes she wanted to give to the Hatter.  A huff of hair escapes her lips, it’s a sweet gesture on Rin’s part, but it pisses her off.  She swallows down vodka until she needs a breath then puts the desserts away. 

Tsuneko crams the bonus cupcake in her mouth; her feelings keep it from tasting as sweet as it should. But, as long as the Hatter doesn’t have it, she’s fine with it.  Eating a cupcake out of spite, that’s what she’s become. 

She sits down on her little living room floor and washes the cake down with another gulp of vodka. Kiyo plops down in her lap and she idly scratches him as she drinks. 

“Uhhh,” she groans out as the burn of it settles in her stomach, “I’m fuckin’ stupid, you know that Kiyo.” 

He makes a soft dooking noise and chews on her sleeve, she takes another drink. 

“I let him see me like that and I actually thought he’d comfort me, fuckin’ stupid. No one likes a crybaby…Not allowed to cry, can’t break down, can’t be ugly, can’t be pathetic.” 

She takes another drink, her face is starting to flush and she’s nearing the bottom of the bottle. Her head lolls back against the seat of her couch, a soft sigh escapes her lips. 

“I just wanted someone I could be comfortable with even just a little bit, but no. No one wants a crybaby, no one wants a burden.” 

Kiyo nuzzles against her hand and she thinks about the Hatter, alone with only Cheshire as a friend. It’s been just him and Cheshire for four years. It’s just been her and Kiyo for almost one year. He hid himself away in Wonderland away from everyone and he’s desperate to keep his little fantasy world intact, hurting her for it. She thought she could be safe with him…because he’s so disconnected from reality, barely human.

But, that’s wrong to think, isn’t it? 

Of course he’s human and just like every other human; he doesn’t want to deal with her bullshit. To have expected any different, isn’t really fair is it. 

She thinks to this morning. The second there was a chance of seeing him underneath the costume she ran…she didn’t want her part of the fantasy world ruined….

Is she any better than him? 

He doesn’t want to see her ugly; he wants pristine pretty Alice who suits his Wonderland fantasy. She didn’t want to see the real him, she wanted her fake Hatter who couldn’t hurt her. 

And that went to shit real fast. 

But, she never made him behave differently and she never insulted him for not being what she wanted, so she’s not as bad is she? 

Her bottle is empty; she tosses it and grabs a different bottle, marshmallow vodka this time. She takes a few more bottles with her as she gets back to her seat, so she won’t have to move again. 

He didn’t have to insult her, tell her she didn’t belong in Wonderland. But, it’s her fault too. Expecting people to comfort her is ridiculous, she’s an adult and she should know better. Should have just wiped her eyes and moved on.  She needs to be stronger. 

Of course, he’d be disgusted by her. Anyone would be, seeing her sniveling and pathetic.  Expecting him to act any different isn’t fair.  There’s a reason she keeps her guard up, she let it drop and she got hurt, that’s just life. 

There’s a reason she’s alone, too.  

Keeping everyone at arm’s length suits her best; hurts less when they decide they don’t want her anymore. 

People only want someone for as long as they serve a purpose, what that purpose is of course varies from person to person. No one wants to deal with the gross, emotional garbage crap.

The next bottle of vodka is drained before she realizes it and she starts her third soon after. Her thoughts are getting hazier, lighter, the beauty of alcohol.  Only for the night, or however long her vodka fueled stupor lasts, the deep pain in her heart is forgotten. 

Kiyo nudges his hand against her hand, after she’s taken another gulp of chocolate vodka. He’s so sweet, a precious good boy trying to be here for her. She scoops him up in clumsy drunk hands nuzzling her cheek against his head. 

“Ah, you’re suuuuch a good boy,” she kisses his nose, “good boys get kisses.” 

He makes soft noises and she snuggles, giving him more kisses. Her body relaxes against the couch, it’s a shame Kiyo is the only good boy or girl she has around. She doesn’t have anyone else to give- 

Rapid knocks against her dorm door catch her attention, making her glassy eyes go wide.  

“Tsuneko, are you home?”  Sakiko asks from the other side of the door. 

“We came to check on you.” Chisato adds. 

“I’m right here! ~” Tsuneko waves at the door as if they could see her. 

“Uhh, we’re coming in.” 

“Ohhhhhh kaaaaay~” 

Sakiko and Chisato push open the door. They’re both in casual clothes, they look so cute, as they step into her dorm sort of apartment deal. Both of them go wide eyed when they see Tsuneko in her little vodka bottle nest. 

“Hullo, Sakay and Chisaw! ~” Words slosh and slur in her mouth. 

“Tsuneko, how much have you had to drink?” 

“Uhhhhh,” she looks down at the bottles around her, “one….two….threee…five…two…eight, a lot.” 

“This isn’t exactly what we imagined when we told you to take care of yourself,” Sakiko comments as they throw away the empty bottles. 

“Why are you here?”  

“We were worried about you, obviously.” 

Chisato sits down beside her once they’ve cleared away the bottles. Her body is warm and comforting, Tsuneko leans her head against Chisato’s shoulder. The soft scent of fabric softener tickles her nose. 

“Ahhhhhh,” she whines, “you’re toooo nice.” 

“You weren’t even this drunk at your welcome party,” Sakiko says as she takes a seat. 

“Well, Erika got her out of there before she got too bad, why are you nuzzling me?” 

“Mmmm, warm and nice,” Tsuneko mumbles before looking up at Chisato. Tsuneko’s face is completely red, eyes glassy, and her hair a mess. But, Chisato is so pretty, short and tidy blue black hair with warm doe brown eyes. She’s beautiful and nice.   

“Okay, it’s time for-AHHHH!” 

Chisato yells and scrambles backwards when Tsuneko leans over to kiss her. The two of them fall back, Tsuneko still trying to steal a kiss.  Chisato presses her palms against the shorter woman’s shoulders, keeping her and her lips at bay. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“You deserve a kiss! ~” Tsuneko beams, big smile and dimples showing. Why is Chisato so confused? It makes perfect sense. Kisses feel good, Chisato is a good person, and good people deserve good things. 

“I’ll get some from Itsuki, okay?” 

“Buuuuut, I wanna giiiiive kisses?”  

Why doesn’t Chisato want her kisses? Aren’t her kisses good?

“I think that’s enough of that,” Sakiko hooks her hands over Tsuneko’s shoulder and pulls her back toward her chest, away from Chisato. 

Tsuneko cranes her neck to look up at Sakiko, her chest is soft and warm against Tsuneko’s back. Sakiko is pretty too, long brown hair and bright honey brown eyes. She’s nice too, always sweet and bubbly no matter how much Tsuneko picks on her. 

“Why are yo-MMMPH!” 

Tsuneko’s lips muffle Sakiko’s question, she’s managed to twist around and throw her arms around Sakiko’s neck.  Her tongue slides in easily, rubbing against Sakiko’s as she deepens it. Tsuneko shifts and pushes against the sober woman’s lips, they’re soft and her mouth still tastes faintly of sweets. A small noise, a cute soft moan, escapes the back of Sakiko’s throat and she grabs at Tsuneko’s shirt. Whether the gesture is meant to dissuade Tsuneko or anchor herself, is unclear. 

The drunk half of the pair isn’t deterred, she’s intent on tasting every part of Sakiko’s mouth, delivering her reward. She tastes sweet, she’s soft, and it all feels so nice. That’s all Tsuneko wants, to feel good and make someone else feel good. She tilts and moves her lips against Sakiko’s, finding new angles to work her tongue in deeper and find any little spot she hasn’t run her tongue over yet. 

A different pair of hands grab Tsuneko’s shoulders and yanks her back, disconnecting her and Sakiko’s lips. Tsuneko’s eyes open at the loss of contact, Sakiko is still on the floor, seemingly frozen. Her face is a vivid red, honey brown eyes glazed over, and her lips are spit slick. She looks so pretty and needs more kisses, Tsuneko decides in her drunken haze. But, she’s being held back by Chisato.  

“Uhhh, Sakiko, you okay?” Chisato asks, voice soft and close to Tsuneko’s ear in this position. It’s pleasant, but it would probably sound even nicer if she was moaning like Sakiko did. When Tsuneko goes to twist around in order to steal a kiss from her other friend, she finds Chisato’s hands are gripping too tight for her to maneuver. 

“Um, uh,” Sakiko stutters and blinks, touching her slightly swollen lips, “fuck.” 

“Earth to Sakiko? You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, um, I’m just shocked,” her voice cracks. 

“Okay…?” Chisato grins, “Are you still straight?” 

“Um, uh, I’ll get back to you on that one.” 

“Ahhhhh, I want more kisses,” Tsuneko whines as Chisato drags her towards her bed. 

“No more kisses, Tsuneko, you’re confusing the straights.” 

“Buuuuut, I wanna kiss pretty girls! ~” 

“I get that, but no more kisses tonight.” Chisato clumsily puts Tsuneko into her bed, pulling a blanket over her. 

Her bed is warm and soft, nice, it feels so nice. Tsuneko pulls her pillow close to her face nuzzling against it.  Her eyelids and limbs feel heavy, Chisato’s voice becomes a murmur of white noise before fading away into silence. 

Warm light on her face and a dull pain in her head is what wakes Tsuneko up.  She yawns and swallows, her mouth is dry. A few blinks help clear her vision and she sees a glass of water on her side table with aspirin next to it. That’s right, she groans into her pillow, Chisato and Sakiko came in while she was drunk last night. 

She swallows the pills and gulps down the water, before she falls back onto her bed. It’s her warm and snuggly safe haven at the moment.   Physically, she feels better after getting some decent sleep. Long easy sleeps are few and far between for her, alcohol is the easiest way to kill any dreams. But, the entire situation still makes her sick mentally and emotionally. 

She knows she was too cruel with the Hatter, lashing out like a wounded animal. But, that doesn’t change the fact that any semblance of a friendship she thought could be built with him is gone. Any hopes she had of letting her guard down around him have been shot to shit. He was still an asshole and no matter how she looks at it, he saw her tragedy as a chance to benefit. 

But, she was using his little fantasy character to make herself feel better, to give herself a safe place. Isn’t that kind of taking advantage of his mental illness, or problems at the very least, for her benefit? 

Ugh, she doesn’t want to think, that’s the whole reason she was drinking. Her memories of last night are fuzzy, as always. She knows Chisato and Sakiko showed up, already an awful thing. Tsuneko is a messy drunk and doesn’t like other people seeing her like that. She closes her eyes and thinks on it for a bit, foggy memories of Sakiko’s lips and the sweet taste of her mouth, the warmth of her body. 

“Ahhh!” 

Heat shoots up Tsuneko’s face and she burrows into her pillow. She kissed Sakiko, on top of all of this bullshit, she kissed Sakiko. She must be furious. Tsuneko not only acted like a pathetic loser, she was super gross and forced a kiss a Sakiko.  

She grabs her phone off the charger, bringing it under the blankets with her, back into warm safety. Sakiko and Chisato would be at work, she sends quick apologies. She seems to be apologizing a lot lately, a heavy sigh escapes her. Additionally, Shinobu still hasn’t texted her back. He’s never gone this long without talking to her, maybe he’s finally sick of her. 

“Ugh.” 

She tosses her phone until the floor, sick of looking at it, and looks into Kiyo’s cage from her bed.  He’s sleeping, food and water still filled. At this point it feels like Chisato and Sakiko take better care of him than her. She’s beyond fucking useless. 

Another groan and sigh slip out as she burrows back into her nest of comfort. This is supposed to be a self-care day, or some shit. 

Tsuneko only knows a couple coping mechanisms for when she's desperately trying to shut off her brain. It's too early for more alcohol, plus she has to work tonight. Eating her emotions is nice, but she'd have to get up out of bed to raid her fridge, which sounds like a fate worse than death at the moment. Same thing with going for a run or going to a nearby gym. Her other favorite coping mechanism keeps coming to mind. 

Drowning her brain in pleasure sounds a lot better than driving herself insane for the rest of her down time. Her body already feels primed for, alcohol turns her on enough to demand make out sessions, but she always wakes up feeling like her body wanted more.

She pulls her favorite soft pink body pillow under her, wrapping herself around it. Her sleep clothes are thin. The seam of the pillow case is thicker and presses against her sex through the fabric of her shorts. She's already a little wet and the first grind of her hips against the pillow sends a jolt of pleasure through her body. 

Her fingers tighten around the pillowcase and she buries her face into the plush of it. She can almost imagine she's grinding against someone, hot friction against her swollen clit. 

A little imagination is all it takes to feel like there's someone underneath her. Her mind turns the plush of a pillow into the firmness of a body, the thick seam into the grind of someone's hardening cock. Her hips hump harder, a steady pleasure building between her thighs and tension winding tight in her stomach. 

She can envision her nails digging into someone's back, firm muscle instead of soft give. Pants and whines of pleasure muffle against her pillow. Her entire body feels hot, sweat beading across her skin, the heat amplified by the blanket covering her.

Her nipples rub against the pillow, her tank falling off her shoulders and revealing more of her. She can almost convince herself her chest is rubbing against someone else's, firmer than her own. 

The fantasy partner in her head grows clearer and clearer with every frantic grind of her hips. Someone much taller, hard muscle where she's soft squish. She can just picture, a man beneath her, letting out low groans, as she grinds her slick cunt against him. 

Dark hair falling into his face as sweat makes a mess of it, a flush over his handsome face, dark stormy blue eyes shut tight as she-

"Ahh!"

She kicks her pillow away like it's burned her, realization of who her fantasy man was hits her like ice water. 

Oh, the man who threatened her with a gun.

She was actually fantasizing about grinding on the cock of a sexist asshole who was going to shoot her over candy. 

No, no, no. 

Tsuneko scrambles from the bed, she's not that fucked in the head. She can't help he's attractive and if anything it's his fault for taking his shirt off in front of her that first night. He’s confused her damn brain; it's getting it's fear and lust wires crossed.

She needs an ice cold shower, something to clear her mind and cool her libido. The sound of an engine, closer to the dormitories than usual catches her attention before she can reach the bathroom. She pushes up her window and peeks out, what’s going on? From her window she can look down at the backlot of the Tres Spades. 

There’s a truck just outside the back entrance, parked but the engine running. The back trailer is open with a ramp. Two men loading items onto it, she can’t clearly see everything from her vantage point.  Something glints, catching the sunlight and her heart drops. A bronze goddess statue that she’d recognize anywhere, the one with a nice rack that he showed her. Why are they loading up his stuff?

She barely has enough sense to grab her phone and shove on sneakers before she’s out the door. The elevator is too slow, she runs down the stairs jumping over several steps at a time desperate to reach the lot as soon as possible. She narrowly avoids tripping as she leaves the dormitory. 

The truck trailer is closed and it’s pulls out with wheels squealing just as she reaches the lot. She tries to take a picture of the license plate. It drives off too fast for her eyes to catch it and when she checks the photo it’s too blurry. She curses under her breath as she darts into the hotel. 

The Mad Hatter rarely leaves Wonderland, which means he must have run into those people. Did they hurt him? Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

She cuts a path to the stairs and sprints down towards Wonderland. Her foot catches on the second to final step and she goes tumbling forward, she manages to break her fall with her hands. An ache goes through her hand, but she rushes back to her feet and keeps running.

Her heart rabbits in her chest as she throws open the door to Wonderland. It’s a whiplash of relief than pain when she sees the Hatter is safe then sees the look of pain on his face. He’s sitting curled up in his chair with his knees to his chest, completely despondent, the tea room is now practically barren aside from the table and chairs. Cheshire is standing near him, mewling softly. 

“Hey,” Tsuneko calls out as she rushes near him, “hey, talk to me.” 

She crouches down in front of him, trying to make contact and get him to talk to her. His eyes are sad and there’s a pang in her heart. 

“Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?” 

He slowly shakes his head no, at least some sort of response. She chews her lip, they need to try and get this figured out. There are security cameras near the backlot, around the majority of the hotel. It might have gotten a clearer look at the truck. 

She dials up Kenzaki’s phone number, her phone has a few more scuffs from her fall, at this rate it won’t be long until she needs a new one. It takes a few rings, but finally Kenzaki answers her. 

“Tomori, is something wrong?” His calm complacent voice greets her. 

“Yeah, um, the guest in the tea room,” Tsuneko chooses her words carefully,  “he was just robbed, I saw them leaving the backlot. We have security camera there, right?” 

“Hmm, that is concerning. Yes, we do, but I’ll have to contact Mr. Ichinomiya about this.” 

“Uh, oh, I don’t think-“ 

The phone clicks as Kenzaki hangs up on her, great, now she has to deal with Ichinomiya. She lets out a heavy sigh, the Hatter’s artificially blue eyes are looking at her. There’s a mixture of pain and curiosity in her eyes. Just yesterday, she was tearing him down and now she’s trying to help him.  She has to be giving the poor man whiplash from hell. 

She’s still not quite ready to apologize for her outburst yesterday, especially considering he hasn’t apologized for his own comment.  But, that’s not the most important thing right now. Regardless of how she feels about the Hatter, this is wrong; no one has a right to just take his things. Even if she truly hated him, she wouldn’t want him to suffer through this alone. As recent a development as it might be, she does have some empathy. She grabs a chair and pulls it up to sit next to him. 

“Okay, sweetie,” she talks low and calmly, like she’s speaking to a child, “do you know who the people were that took your stuff?” 

“The Dormouse and March Hare…” 

Heat simmers under her skin, she’s not sure how long those two had been here, but they were here before her. They must have just been waiting for a good chance to take everything from him. The Hatter saw them as friends too, despite their despondent nature, he saw them as crucial characters in his Wonderland. He must have. And then the assholes go and rob him. 

“This is why you never trust a furry,” she tries to joke, not even earning a smile from the Hatter, “or at least not the half-assed ones. I mean if you’re gonna be a furry commit, right?” 

He looks up at her from his curled up position and she gives him a little smile, hoping to get him to crack up even a little bit. He’s usually so jovial, but between her verbal assaults yesterday and this, it feels like he does nothing but frown lately. After a moment, a soft smile pulls at his painted lips. 

‘That’s better, now, do you know what the Dormouse and March Hare’s real names are, outside of Wonderland?” 

He shakes his head no and her breath catches in her throat, he doesn’t know who those people really are? At all? This entire time he’s allowed strangers into Wonderland and just trusted them not to hurt him… He really is like a child, who puts that kind of blind trust in strangers?

“Sweetie, how exactly did you meet them?” 

“They were selling dropping off items meant to sell at the auction, I offered them roles in Wonderland.” 

“And they just accepted…?” 

“I offered them payment.” 

“You were paying them to be here?”  

She bites her lip, that’s so fucking reckless. The fuckers must have gotten greedy and decided they wanted more, so they robbed him blind. They saw someone vulnerable and they jumped to take advantage. She runs a hand through her tangled mess of hair. 

“Look, you can’t ju-“ 

“What’s going on here?” 

Tsuneko’s nose wrinkles, her face contorting in disgust at that familiar voice. She managed to be free of him for a whole day and she wishes nothing more than to have stretched that time out longer. 

She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how thin her pajama shirt is. Ichinomiya strides into the room and the other penthouse guests trail after, why are they all there? She avoids looking at Oh, given recent…events. 

“He was robbed, I saw the truck leave with his stuff, but I couldn’t get a look at the license plate.” 

“And you were here, dressed like that?” Kisaki is the one to pipe up, staring at Tsuneko’s outfit. 

She wishes she would have had the foresight to at least grab a jacket. Her white top is cropped, white, low-cut, and her lack of a bra isn’t doing her much favors. The pajama shorts are embarrassing in a whole different way, pink gingham and little strawberries decorating them. Her face burns hot with shame, but there's something far more important to worry about. 

“I have the later shift; I was at home when I saw them taking his stuff from my window. Somehow trying to stop a robbery was more important than throwing on jeans.” 

“And we’re all blessed for it,” Baba says with a wink and her stomach churns. 

“If we could shift our focus from my tits to the crime that’s been committed, that’d be great.” 

“Who would have been able to rob him?” Oh asks, his disdain for all things feminine working in her favor at the moment. 

“Guys who were part of the whole Wonderland spiel. He doesn’t know their names, though.” 

“What did they even take?” 

Kisaki is poking around looking into rooms, his face contorted into disgust, over what she’s not sure. His face is particularly punchable at the moment. 

“They took the decoration for the tea party and the stuff from my room…” 

“Is that all?” 

Ichinomiya’s voice is harsh and cuts like a knife, what little bit of happiness had returned to the Hatter’s eyes leaves. Her nails dig into her arms. 

“Seriously, he’s just been robbed and you wanna be an asshole?” 

Ichinomiya meets her glare, neither breaking eye contact. 

“And what would you suggest I do?” His condescending tone makes her nails dig harder into her skin. 

“Literally anything, you have security cameras for a fucking reason. Figure out who took his shit, get it back. Be nice for half a second, something.” 

“If it was serious enough, he knows how to contact me.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re just so easy to talk to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What would have happened if I didn’t see them taking his stuff away? Would you have ever found out?” 

“I’m not his babysitter.” 

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?!” She stands from her chair, nearly knocking it over and clenching her fist tight as she glares at him, “What if he got hurt? Just gonna find him down here dead, next time you needed him?” 

“Pff,” he scoffs, “you’re being dramatic.” 

“Am I? Do you know who those men were, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t! All he knows is that they were involved in one of your auctions.  So, you know, real stand up guys. I mean the men who sold me were just so kind when they bashed my skull against the ground and threw me in a cage, I’m sure no one like that would hurt him!” 

Her throat feels raw and Ichinomiya breaks eye contact for a moment. Whether because of annoyance or she’s managed to actually break through his thick skull, she can’t be sure. After a moment his eyes meet hers again and steps forward. She meets his gaze and stands her ground. 

“I have more important things to do than watch him every second.”  

“So, you’re just too damn busy to keep an eye on who’s in your hotel. What if they had gone upstairs, robbed some guests while they were at it! Or, maybe since they know about the auctions, they manage to get into the storeroom and steal some shit from there! How careless can you be?!” 

“You sound like parents arguing over how to raise a child,” Baba teases and bile rises in the back of Tsuneko’s throat.  Kisaki snickers and Kishi chuckles, Oh even looks vaguely amused by the comment. 

“Gross.” 

“Enough of this,” Ichinomiya sneers, “we’re having a dinner meeting with the Buccis, now go make yourself presentable. If you’re capable of that.” 

He starts to stride out of the room and Tsuneko groans, gritting her teeth and clenching her fist tighter. 

“Seriously!? You aren’t going to do anything!?” 

“Don’t waste your time worrying about this, be ready in ten minutes.”  

He leaves the room and Tsuneko pinches the bridge of her nose. Is he serious? His event matters more than the Hatter being robbed? Oh’s gray suit passes by in her peripheral and she focuses her eyes on the ground. 

“What a waste of time.” He scoffs before leaving the room and Tsuneko bites her lip, they don’t even care about one of their own. 

“I’m not staying in this creepy place for another second.” 

Kisaki leaves and Tsuneko flinches as Baba puts a hand on her shoulder;why is he touching her?

“Don’t worry, just go ahead and get ready pretty lady,” he tells her before leaving and Kishi starts to follow after. 

“Aren’t you a cop!?”  

“Not my department.” 

And just like that, the Hatter and her are left alone in Wonderland. She wants to scream, do they seriously not care? He’s a part of their little group, even if only tangentially, then again she’s not sure how much they all even care for each other. Baba and Kisaki are clear friends, same for Oh and Ichinomiya. Kishi and the Hatter are outliers. The Hatter is the weird man in the basement that none of them seem to bother with until they need him to host auctions. Kishi is some boring old guy who sleeps up there and…he has to have contributed something at some point, she assumes. 

“Okay,” she spins on her feels to look at the Hatter, “they’re useless, but I’m going to try and get this sorted.” 

“But…you have to help Eisuke.”

“Unfortunately, yes, as much as I wanna skip out on, that would be breaking our bet. But, I will be finished with that at some point. And in the meantime I need you to do something.” 

His eyes widen and blink a few times. He tilts his head as she rummages around Wonderland, finding pen and paper in his room. 

“While I’m dealing with his bullshit, I want you to write down everything you can think of that you know about the March Hare and Dormouse. The date you met them, what items they were selling that night, anything. Can you do that for me?” 

“Yeah…I can do that.” 

He nods and starts writing stuff down. Tsuneko’s heart feels heavy and she has to resist the temptation to hug him. She needs to get this figured out for him. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” 

“Promise?” He offers his pinky finger and she hooks her own around it. 

“Promise.” 

She reluctantly leaves the Hatter alone in Wonderland and ventures back to her dorm. Tsuneko showers and throws together an event outfit as quick as possible before heading back to the hotel 

Her brain keeps straying back to the Hatter and the robbery; if she had gotten out of bed sooner maybe she would have caught them? Maybe, if she’s lucky Kenzaki will let her look at security camera footage. But, even if she did what could she do about it? Would filing a police report even be an option? They’d probably question a strange Hatter in the hotel basement and it could lead to them discovering the auctions which are a whole different kind of shit show. Maybe, she can pretend it’s her stuff that was stolen? 

“You’re late.” The curt voice of Ichinomiya makes her stop outside the hotel, in front of his limousine. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Tsuneko shrugs, her mind still wandering, and Ichinomiya sighs. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Then he’s in her space, the scent of his cologne tickles her nose and his hands are gripping her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders.  His hands are warm where they brush against her skin, heat floods her face. 

“Hey!? What are you doing!?” 

“It’s inside out, do you not even know how to dress yourself?” Ichinomiya sneers as he takes off her jacket, sure enough it’s inside out. Her face flushes a deeper red and she fiddles with her earring.

“I wasn’t paying attention, shut up,” 

She reaches out to grab the blazer back, but he lifts it above her head and she stumbles forward, nearly falling into his chest as she tries to reach it. He smirks at her feeble attempt to get it back. 

“It looks better without it.” 

“Fine, whatever.” 

She rolls her eyes and starts to move away when he places his other hand on her hip, pulling her tighter against him. Tsuneko presses her hand against his ribs, trying to increase the distance. 

“Having fun, you two?” 

Mr. Bucci’s voice rings out and Tsuneko is finally able to squirm away from the smirking Ichinomiya. Mr. Bucci is smiling pleasantly while Carolina is glaring daggers at her. 

“Sorry about that,” Ichinomiya says, not a hint of remorse in his voice. 

He opens the limousine the door, putting her blazer out of the way, before keeping the door open for the rest of them to file in. Ichinomiya slides into his seat, close beside her. She tries to make herself smaller and avoid any contact. He hands her his tablet, fingers stroking over her wrist as he asks her to take notes for the night.

“So, what were you two talking about earlier?” Mr. Bucci asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, like he’d caught two lovers flirting. Meanwhile Carolina is glaring at her in disgust, fair enough, the thought disgusts Tsuneko just as much. 

“Nothing much, I had to correct a minor wardrobe issue, it would have been done sooner but she was running a little late.” 

Tsuneko glares at him; he didn’t miss a chance to throw her under the bus, that’s for sure. 

“Can’t dress herself or be on time, you should just fire her already,” Carolina huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“That reminds me,” Ichinomiya reaches into his jacket and produces a neatly wrapped box, “a gift to thank you for all your hard work, Tsuneko.” 

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, he’s laying it on thick and she forces a smile as she takes the box. He watches her with that fake soft look as she opens up the box, the cat shaped watch she was looking at during the shopping trip with Carolina.  The band is a soft pink color and the metal is a rose gold. It’s cute but subtly so. 

“I saw you looking at it the other day; I figured it’d be practical as well.” 

“You’re too nice,” Tsuneko forces a smile but she’s glaring, “I couldn’t possibly-“ 

“It’s the least I can do for all the work you do for me.” 

If she doesn’t accept it, he’ll give her hell, this is all for his business agenda. She murmurs half hearted thanks as Ichinomiya fastens it around her wrist, making a point of skimming his fingers across her skin. Every bit of contact makes her want to lash out. They’re sitting in the back of a limousine with Ichinomiya making fake goo-goo eyes at her while the Hatter is sitting in Wonderland hurt and suffering. 

She’s not sure what the relationship between the Hatter and the other bidders is exactly, but shouldn’t he come before some networking event. Carolina is still glaring as Ichinomiya steers the conversation with Mr. Bucci back to business. 

Tsuneko tries to stay present enough to keep coherent notes, but they’re less detailed than last time. Her mind continually wanders back to the Hatter and what she can do about getting his stuff back. 

She’s sleepwalking through the rest of the evening, she’s just focused enough to do what’s asked of her, but she doesn’t talk or respond unless absolutely needed. She tries not to bristle or avoid Ichinomiya’s fake lovey dovey too much, so not to earn any extra ire. Tsuneko doesn’t properly taste any of the food as they go through the dinner, running completely on autopilot. Mr. Bucci and Ichinomiya prattle on about business while Carolina glares daggers, getting in occasional insults at Tsuneko’s expense. Her brain continuously wanders back to the Hatter. 

What if she can’t get anything back for him? 

What if those robbers come back? What if he gets hurt?

She’s running through every what if and disastrous possibility and before she knows it the dinner is coming to a close and they’re all leaving the restaurant. 

“Oooh,” Carolina’s eyes go wide at the sight of a designer store, “c’mon Eisuke, you can pick me out another dress!”

“I’m afraid that I have work to do back at the hotel, so Tsuneko and I will have to end the evening here. But, I’ll arrange for my driver to come back when you’ve finished your shopping.”

“Understood,” Mr. Bucci says despite Carolina’s pouting. 

They go off into the store and Ichinomiya opens the limousine door for Tsuneko to slide in. He follows suit and the second the door has closed his fake smile falls away. Hazel eyes glare at Tsuneko, she digs her nails into her thighs as the car starts to move. 

“That was pathetic.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“A brick wall had more personality than you tonight.” 

“Are you actually complaining about me being quiet?” 

“Your moping ruined the evening for everyone, are you still worrying about the Hatter?” 

“Yes, obviously! While we’re eating some five star meal, he’s down in the basement scared, hurt, and miserable!”

“He’s an adult, he’ll be fine. I’m not going to stop everything for one incident.” 

“I’m not asking you to stop everything, you dramatic fuck. I asked you do something, anything! I asked for the bare minimum and you still disappointed me!” 

“I disappointed, you? Who do you think you are?” 

“Someone who’s disappointed in you,” he huffs and looks away, “have you even thought about him this entire time? Those people know where he is, what if they come back, what if they hurt him?!” 

“Working yourself up into a panic attack won’t help anything.” 

“I’m well aware of that, so why the fuck, aren’t we there doing something that will help? Oh wait, because all you care about is your own business!” 

“Yes, my business is more important than a few trinkets being stolen from the Hatter.” 

“It’s not just what’s been stolen; did you see how hurt he was? He’s in a bad place and you don’t give a shit. God, I knew you were a jackass, but don’t you have an ounce of empathy?” 

She rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. Ichinomiya doesn’t respond now, but the frustration and anger radiates off of him. Tsuneko understands that he needs to make money and run his company, but he just dismissed the Hatter without another thought. He could have worked something out, done something. But, no, nothing, not a single shred of kindness or empathy. The Hatter was already in a bad place, thanks to her lashing out, she thinks back to the hurt look he had as she tore into him. At the time she didn’t care, but now it’s eating her alive. 

She’s hurt a lot of people in her life. She doesn’t want to do that anymore. What the Hatter said still hurts her, that he saw her vulnerable and decided to tear her down further. But, her reaction wasn’t right either. He called her an ugly crier and she tore apart his entire being. Someone pinched her and she tried to rip their throat out. 

 Tsuneko notices a few familiar buildings passing by the limousine, they’re near Parole and she remembers the lemon chiffon cupcakes, maybe those would lift the Hatter’s mood? 

“Hey, can you stop up here?” Tsuneko asks the driver. 

“What are you doing?” Ichinomiya gives her that all too familiar look of annoyance. 

“I need to go to the bakery.” 

“We just had dinner, are you that much of a glutton?”

“Just stop the fucking car.” Tsuneko’s voice is clipped, he’s such an asshole. 

She swings the door opens and hops out before the car has come to a complete stop, but close enough and rushes to get in before they close. All she wants to do is something nice for the Hatter, even a little thing that might brighten up his garbage day. 

The cute guy, Rin, is behind the counter when she comes in. He raises an eyebrow at her as she rushes over.

“You’re cutting it close again,” he comments.

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you have any more of the lemon chiffon cupcakes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Great, can I get like a dozen of those?” 

“Sure, you must have really liked them,” he says as he starts packing the sweets away in a box.

“They’re for my…” what exactly is the Hatter? No word she thinks of feels right, friend is too familiar. Acquaintance or someone she knows from work are too distant, “there for someone, he’s had a bad day.” 

“I don’t really care,” he tells her as he rings it up, is everyone an asshole? She thinks for a moment and decides to add an iced frappuccino concoction, extra sweet stuff. Maybe that will lower Ichinomiya’s asshole threshold and he’ll be more likely to help the Hatter, catch more flies with honey and all that. She’s not fond of the idea of extending an olive branch to that man and perhaps it’s more manipulative than peaceful. 

“Well, thanks for putting up with me coming in late all the time.” 

She pays for the order and picks up the large box; these should bring a smile to the Hatter’s face if nothing else. 

“You remind me of someone,” Rin says suddenly, staring at her for a moment. 

“Really, who?” 

“This stray calico cat that’s always here begging for food and is always fighting the bigger cats.” 

Tsuneko’s face falls, Kisaki compares her to a dog and he compares her to a stray cat, what kind of bullshit is this?

“You’re no longer cute.” 

His face flushes red up to his ears again and he tries to cover them, irritation clear. 

“I’ve never been cute, shut up.” 

“Are you done wasting my time?” 

Ichinomiya’s voice makes her jolt, he’s standing in the doorway and glaring at them with his arms crossed over his chest. Everything about his body language makes her blood boil, she’s been here maybe five minutes. 

“Yeah, I’m done, asshole.” 

The insult makes Ichinomiya rolls his eyes and leave the store, she follows after him after waving a bye to Rin. The door nearly hits her in the face where she’s carrying the box and drink. Ichinomiya is walking away to where the car is parked, no concern for her. 

“Do you have to be so impatient?” 

“I don’t have the time or desire to watch you flirt.” He doesn’t bother to turn around, like she’s not even worth the energy to do so. 

“I was trying to buy something for the Hatter, because I want to make him feel better, god why are you such an asshole!?” 

“I don’t owe you any explanation.” 

“Can you at least turn around and talk to me, if you’re gonna be a dick!” 

“Go back to being quiet, you were less annoying.” 

“You know I got this drink for you, right? As a peace offering.”  Her nails dig against the cup. 

“Pfft, are you so stupid you think I can be won over with a drink, pathetic.” 

“My mistake,” she says before throwing it at the back of his head. 

He freezes in place as it bust into a mess; whip cream, chocolate, and iced coffee slush matting in his hair before running down the back of his fancy suit. She’s reaching into the box for a cupcake as he starts to turn around. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” 

The dessert splatters against his chest as the question ends. Whip cream from the drink somehow made it into his bangs, threatening to drip into his glaring eyes. 

“I’m sick of your shit,” she tosses another cupcake, smashing against his cheek before he can smack it away, “you’re a condescending rude asshole!”

“Are you done with your tantrum?” 

“Don’t patronize me!” 

"You're a child," he spits back.

"You're a selfish prat, all you care about is your damn self!"

"Maybe so, but I won’t stand for you trying to make me look like an idiot.” 

"Yeah, I'm just humiliating you in front of everyone," she gestures at the empty streets, "you know, maybe it's my fault for actually expecting better from you! I should have known that someone who bought me can't show kindness to anyone, even the people in his little fucked up circle."

"Is that how you see it?"

He steps closer, glaring her down. He'd be intimidating if not for the mess of icing and whip cream smeared over his face.

"Yeah, that's how I fucking see it. You're nothing but a heartless bastard."

"Believe it or not, buying you was a kindness," he's in her space, looming over her, "do you know what kind of people could have purchased you that night?"

"I-"

His hand on her chin cuts off her words, his nails pressing into her skin as he keeps her head in place. He leans his own down, keeping eye contact. A panicky thought he might be trying to kiss her rushes through her brain. But he stops just before their noses touch, his breath hot on her face.

"Would you have been happier in some pervert’s cellar?” he pauses for a moment, “You should be thankful, I found you pitiful enough to help."

"But not pitiful enough to let me go free."

"I'm not stupid enough to throw away things I can find a use for."

"Don't act like you gave a shit about saving me that night. I don't buy it. I could drop dead tomorrow and all you'd care about is your precious little deal."

She smacks his hand away from her face and walks off, she's done with this. He seriously wants to act like he's some fucking savior, he's the reason her life has gone to such shit lately.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm walking back to the hotel."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Fuck off."

She ignores anything else he says and starts heading towards the hotel. There's a hum of an engine and slowly she sees Ichinomiya's limousine driving at a snail’s pace so the back of the car is beside her as she walks. The window rolls down, messy Ichinomiya glaring at her.

"Enough of this, get in the car."

She throws another cupcake, but he rolls up the window before it can hit him, coating the fancy car's door and glass. It rolls back down smearing and streaking the mess.

"Fine, be stubborn."

The window goes back up and the limousine drives off. Such an asshole.

Her feet are aching and she pulling off her heels to walk barefoot when she reaches the back lot. The walk isn't that far but in high heels it takes longer and leaves her with blisters.

She hobbles down the stairs to the sub-basement and knocks on the door to Wonderland.

No answer.

She knocks again, harder and faster. Her throat is tight.

No answer.

Did those people come back? Could he be hurt?

She wrenches the door open and pushes her way in.

"I'm coming in, are you-"

Her yells die in her throat as she lays eyes on a startled man. A towel around his waist, water clinging to the exposed skin. His thick dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, but the style is mostly familiar, as is his height, thin figure, and he's around the same age...as the Hatter. His dark eyes are wide as he stares at her.

Then he's gone. 

[comicteaparty]

January 22nd-January 28th, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 22nd, 2020 to January 28th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

How do you react to comics going on hiatus, and how does that affect your readership for it?

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Being a webcomic artist, I'm always very understanding when an author needs a break. Life happens, and most of us are hobbyists. I will wait as long as it takes for the comic to come back, even if that means years. I'll keep checking in every few months unless the artist makes a post saying the comic is dead and they're moving on (and if 'moving on' means starting a new comic, I'll usually start following it). I have quite a few life circumstances that have forced long hiatuses of my own comics, so I feel it would be a tad hypocritical of me to give up on a comic that needs a long break or has to update very infrequently for a while. Also since I have trouble following a lot of comics at once, my reading list is fairly short and it's easier for me to be very dedicated to and patient with the comics I do read.(edited)

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

Even before I started doing webcomics, I knew it wasn't the end of the world when a comic went on hiatus. Like, it's free entertainment, I don't blame the author for not sticking to a specific schedule. As for if it affects my readership... yeah? I usually stop checking in after a year or so if a comic hasn't had any updates, and even in that time I don't check up very often. And I don't often re-read hiatus'd comics until they come back off hiatus (as a sort of refresher) so they don't usually get my readership that way either.

varethane

I don't have any hard feelings when creators go on hiatus, whatever their reasons; life happens, webcomics are a lot of work for (often) little compensation, and people's priorities change over time. It's fine. I am one of those readers who is often prone to having a short attention span, though, so I confess that if a comic goes on hiatus and its creator isn't active on social media, there's a pretty good chance I'll lose track of it. And if the comic returns after a hiatus of more than a year, it may take some months before I will come back as a reader, just because I would need to reread the story in order to catch back up with what's going on.

SAWHAND

I don't tend to keep up with webcomics on a day-to-day basis anyway. I prefer to wait and then be able to binge-read a whole chapter or at least a few pages at a time. I actually really like when comics do a brief hiatus in between chapters to build up a backlog of pages and then post a lot of pages quickly (more than someone usually would do anyway) and then go back on hiatus. Kind of like seasons on tv.

Deo101 [Millennium]

I just had a hiatus that went longer than a year so I can't really fault an artist for needing a break. I understand, and also it doesnt bother me too much because I just read whenever there is an update, it's not like I'm checking at the scheduled time or anything! When it updates, I'll be there.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Life happens, circumstances change, people grow. So many of us are making webcomics at very transformative times of our lives - we can outgrow the stories, get tired of them, or begin to associate them with bad memories (poor artistic partnerships, commercial failures, etc). If a really good webcomic I follow goes on hiatus, of course I'll be disappointed. But behind every webcomic is an author with a life. If the webcomic is keeping their life from improving, then screw the webcomic. I'm always far more concerned about the person.(edited)

I get SO much joy watching webcomics come back after a long hiatus. It's worth any sadness felt during the hiatus itself. And I'm not happy just because the story is back - but because it's a sign that the author has taken care of themselves. You can often feel it in the new pages. It's really cool and good to see.

2

January 23, 2020

Kabocha

I think it depends on the comic. I prefer it when a creator can say, "hey, I'm going on hiatus" so I know to stop checking (or to set my expectations accordingly). They don't necessarily have to post an end date, but if they can, that's always good! Sometimes creators just stop updating, and that's fine too. But one's comic's site is going to be the central hub for anything regarding your comic's news, too. There are some comics where... I'm a little less understanding of hiatuses with complete silence -- and these are usually ones that have an actual publisher backing them and paying for the project's completion. Like, I get that life gets in the way, but when making said comic is your job -- or you have a perceived contractual obligation, maybe your publisher ought to step up and say something if the project is on hold or delayed or something. There's something about the line between "I am doing this project for free and the occasional donation" versus "I am getting paid for this project's completion as a product" that kind of... I dunno, makes the whole thing feel a little different? Like, sure, it might be up for free online, but like... when there's an actual publisher or platform paying the creator to make it it and they've got editors and stuff... It's less like someone's brain baby and more like a product. I actually have a folder in my favorites for comics on hiatus, but ArchiveBinge also tells me when they updated last, so... Not a huge deal. My ability or desire to read a project isn't hugely affected by a comic's status on hiatus, but I have found with some comics that come back years after going on a break... Well, I've changed enough that I'm no longer their target audience. And it can suck to realize that.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

@LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) Oh man, your comment about being able to feel that an author has taken care of themselves after coming back from a long hiatus reminded me of when I once returned a comic from a 3 year long hiatus. I had put it on hiatus after a ‘friend’ completely ripped it apart and essentially called it trash. I was already going through some really bad stuff IRL and I lost all motivation to keep going. But three years later I came back, and the colours in the pages were so much brighter and more vibrant. The change was so obvious a reader actually gave me an impassioned speech about how the previous muted, greyish palette was a a better fit for the story. But only a few pages later they changed their mind and said they were wrong; the more vivid colours worked after all. I think maybe they could see how happy I was to be working on it again.... and maybe just how much happier I was in general. Sorry for the long anecdote; that second paragraph just really hit home for me. (edited)

MJ Massey

I think it depends on a few factors for me. In general I am pretty understanding of hiatus in general - it can be really good for the creator to take a break and set things in order for themselves as well as putting out work they enjoy rather than rushing to get a page out. Especially if this is someone's side gig. I appreciate it all the more if the creator can be honest. Even if they can't give a return date, coming out and saying "I can't work on this comic right now" is enough and perfectly fine

I get annoyed if someone who is PAID to make a comic just disappears and won't take responsibility. If it's your job, then you can't just run away from it. Again, even saying something like "I cannot work on the comic for now" is fine, but don't just run off and make some vague remarks on your social media that's not even where your readers normally engage with you.

I also agree that any partners, like a publisher or editor, that might be employing said artist could also step up and let readers know what's going on. If any of that happens, I am happy to wait as long as it takes

Readers are more understanding than you think, it's okay to just come out and say you're gonna miss updates, need time off, etc. You don't need to say anything more than that.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I'm not quite understanding the hostility towards people who get paid for creating webcomics, but hiatuses aren't something i could really call our personal business to make any calls regarding their obligations. Like @LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) said, life happens and circumstances change. I'm pretty sure whomever the creator is with has their own reasons as creative projects evolve differently for everyone and that their parties concerned have dealt with it in a necessary way. That is just the nature of them, we won't know or understand the full picture, and while i get being disappointed, it's not something that can be helped! I encourage hiatuses in fact, because webcomics are A LOT of work!! It can give the creator time for revisions, writing the story, and general self reflection of the project. I've stated this before on twitter, but ppl tend to forget that webcomics are typically made by 1-2 ppl and can produce the quality/quantity easily created by a small studio. Take a break!

Kabocha

It's not a hostility thing necessarily, but I do think that when, like, an actual publisher is involved, there should be some sort of expectation of... I dunno, communication? Traditionally published books and such get delayed (and canceled), but usually there's some form of communication as to the change in release dates or if it's going to come out at all. I think that's more or less the expectation with something that's being paid for by a publisher: That there's some form of communication between the audience regarding the story's state or future. It doesn't have to be a total "HI THIS IS MY LIFE" just more of a "hi the comic's on hold". But hiatuses, I think, are maybe different than a break? As a creator, I traditionally take a break between chapters to do editing and such, but I think a hiatus tends to be more... unplanned for. (and I'm not exempt from going on hiatus - I've had issues this winter that made it necessary for me to tell my readers "hi I'm not updating until april". So I'm sympathetic to health/life -- but I do think a "hi the comic's on hold" on the comic's site is warranted in a lotta cases.)

(or hell, even a "the comic's canceled" is fine too hoo boy, I just saw one that I wasn't aware of that got canceled for life issues... I feel for the creators.)

RebelVampire

I'm kind of on the higher standard for creators who are being paid to do it as a job train. At least a higher standard of communication. Cause I never really consider the hiatus itself the problem, but how the author communicates about the hiatus. Cause again, when being paid to do something, I just kind of expect more professionalism, and communication is a huge part of professionalism.

Kabocha

I think webcomics with a publisher -- like, an actual "hi we are paying you to produce this work" that isn't just patreon -- it's more of a commercial work. In one of the cases I have in mind, they're paid to do it per-page, through a well-known webcomics publisher. Sure, the creator loses out, because they're not being paid, but it is also a commercial work in the end. They have an editor, ostensibly someone to communicate with them and the manager, and went through some sort of acquisitions process to sell the work to that publisher. Kinda like the difference between "hi this is my fanfic" versus "hi this is my book that I got put through a small press pub"

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I agree. Ghosting your paying customers is very unprofessional. Just informing readers that there’s a break or cancellation feels necessary if money’s involved. I‘d feel pretty burned if a comic I was pledging for on patreon just stopped updating for more than a few months without any communication whatsoever. A quick note that says ‘Hey, my comic is on break for an indeterminate amount of time because I need to take care of some things / am creatively exhausted / whatever other vague reason’ and I would understand. But if I’m paying the creator and they just vanish without a word, you can bet I won’t trust them enough to pay them again even if they come back later.

RebelVampire

Yeah. Those are my feels too. That it doesn't even need to be some essay message. It's just the giving a heads up so you're not sitting there staring wondering if someone fell into the abyss.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

You can say Tessa Stone, it's okay.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I... I don’t know who that is?

Nutty (Court of Roses)

She was the author of Hanna is Not a Boy's Name. Very popular webcomic, did a kickstarter for a book, then vanished with the money, and reappeared four years later working for another company.

Kabocha

That's... Not who was in mind.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Oh wow that’s scummy.

I’d read the comic waaaaay back but dropped it long before there was a KS.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

Yeah. Other than that, I always understand when hiatuses happen, we all have lives outside our comics.

RebelVampire

Professional comics aside, overall, for me, my reaction to a comic going on hiatus depends on a ton of factors. I will preface this first part, is that I'm always understanding of it. Life happens, interests change, etc. etc. etc. I would never tell a creator not to go on hiatus or that they were magically a bad creator or something for needing to stop for a bit (or indefinitely). People should take care of themselves both physically and emotionally first, so I get why hiatuses happen. That being said, I as a reader also have my own life. And the fact of the matter is, there are thousands of comics out there to read - many of which are not on hiatus. So I'd be lying if I said a hiatus had no effect on whether I'd continue to read a comic. That being said, it's not like a hiatus will make me instantly drop a comic either. This is where the many factors come in. Like how much do I love the comic? Has the creator communicated about the length of the hiatus and given a heads up? Does the comic have a very unreliable history of hiatusing and coming back and then immediately hiatusing etc.. Which again, I get and sympathize with creators and hiatuses. But there's a point where you just gotta move on if the comic's updating isn't to your liking.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

also i just want to chime in and say that as one of those people who get paid to make my comic i don't appreciate it being called commercial work. It's still the creators property and honestly the money earned doesn't change the product, nor should it change the 'merit' of a hiatus. Hiatuses are also planned and not planned. They are both breaks and unseen stops in work, they are necessary and needed- much like vacation time or sick leave at other jobs. Having been paid for making comics shouldn't differ with who is more worthy of one. Again, they all happen with reasons the public doesn't need to fully know bc even if the work is produced 'free to read', it's still not an obligation to the readers for any full disclosure. I get being dissapointed, it's a work you enjoy, but like any type of work, schedules change, lives conflict, and projects get canceled.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I don’t think anyone is saying that we mind hiatuses when comic artists are being paid, we all explicitly stated we mind poor communication about it from the creator

Big difference

varethane

the main thing I look sideways at is a creator who ghosts their existing audience and goes incommunicado for years, and then returns with either the same product or something very similar. I'm not so much mad, as.... unlikely to keep reading their work, even once it's back? Or I'll have trouble convincing myself to dive back in, even if it still looks like it should be my thing. I'm thinking of a specific comic I used to read called Astray3, which stopped updating with no news updates sometime in like..... 2011? And then after a year or so the website went down, and I assumed that was just.... it, the creator had left comics. Then just this year I was thinking about it while talking to friends and did a google search, and discovered that it was back On a new webhost, totally rebooted and fresh, with gorgeous new art

I had no idea, lol. I guess it had been back for maybe a year or two? It's really beautiful, and if I'd found it fresh I'd probably be super excited to dive in, but I haven't gotten around to it yet and that's the only real reason I can think of as to why.

This is a personal thing though. I don't know why all that happened or what led the creator to shelve the comic, I bear them no hard feelings. I just..... may or may not start reading again (maybe I will when I get some time!! Who knows lol)

keii4ii

@varethane I gotta say I'm sort of guilty of that. I stopped working on my previous comic after I'd gotten pretty far in the story. Things happened IRL and I just couldn't keep working on that story. My main site host died (the hosting business closed), and I didn't leave a proper goodbye on my SJ mirror. Then a few years later, I came back elsewhere with a new comic. X'D I don't really have a point here (yet?), just waving a hand from the other side of the fence.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

@Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios) im responding to the commercial work comment

varethane

I don't even really think there IS a fence, lol. There are so many reasons why I may or may not read a comic, up to and including how I happen to feel on a given day; when I read something really often has more to do with my mood than with how much I feel like it 'should' appeal to me, so long breaks in updates are just one more ingredient in the big old soup of 'will I jump into this story today'

keii4ii

Yeah, readers come and go all the time, for all sorts of reasons

Deo101 [Millennium]

I'd also like to wave my hand from the side of the fence of "basically going completely radio silent" I did it because I had an incredibly difficult personal experience, that I didnt really want to share with all of my readers, and I don't think I should HAVE to share what happened in order for it to be valid for me to have dropped off like that for a while.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Exactly what Deo said

varethane

while I agree you don't need to say why, a quick news update saying 'hey something came up and this won't update for awhile, maybe forever' would be appreciated in a lot of cases

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

but the thing is, nobody said you have to say what happened It doesn't have to be a total "HI THIS IS MY LIFE" just more of a "hi the comic's on hold". like it's the difference between saying "there won't be updates for a while" and just leaving the comic hanging on the latest page with no comment.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Yeah, I don’t think anyone needs to leave a reason. But if people are paying you, just a ‘Hey this is on a break’ to the audience.

Deo101 [Millennium]

I did say "hi I'm gonna be on hiatus!" and people did still get upset with me for being gone so long so :/

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

well they were rude

varethane

I don't read anything as obsessively as I used to, but one of the first webcomics I ever read trailed off forever with 'see you next week!' as the last news update lmao

I went back to that homepage like a million times

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Theres no winning with it honestly. I haven't had a hiatus with my comic im working on now, but a previous one earned us threats when we had a break

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

People getting upset isn’t your fault. You communicated, and that’s all you needed to do. We all know some readers can be fickle or downright rude.(edited)

Deo101 [Millennium]

IN THEIR DEFENSE i did say "brief hiatus" cause the situation around it was really weird, and then it was a very not brief one

varethane

no excuse for bein rude about it tho >:U sorry to hear about that!

keii4ii

Yeeeah

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

The threats that we got and harassment definitely made me realize that you don't owe ppl any thing. It's your work, and at the end of the day, you're the one in charge. We literally don't know the reasons to the breaks of a fave creator, it could be something as simple as boredom to something dire. I again i understand the want for communication but there are times where it just doesn't come first or at all.

I think in the situation of finding a ks or something u paid for directly? Yes, you deserve that right to know. But a project that isn't going to affect u in that way, well, it's a mystery we're not owed sometimes

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah I'm just gonna get back to making it, and if people are going to leave and be upset with me I... cant control that... so I shouldnt try or worry about it. just offering the perspective of someone who p much did drop off the face of the earth

oh yeah for something youve paid for its different

Kabocha

Allow me to say that when I say commercial work, I mean it strictly in a "This is a thing that you are making money or aiming to turn a profit from." That's it. There's a difference in expectations, I think, for something where the creator is doing it as their job vs the creator doing it as a hobby. (but also -- like, if you have a publisher or an agent, they should be stepping in to help you field things like communication!!)

But also yes -- my essential point is that communication is key.

And yes, there is an overlap between hobby and earning money off said hobby, but once a thing is available for consumption as something you're earning income off of, I think the expectations ought to be slightly different. I think it's fair to expect someone to say "hi I'm taking a break" on the comic site. Edited to clarify the "income" part of this -- I mean like, a significant portion of your income. Tips are always appreciated, but don't generate an obligation in any sense of the imagination imo. Or like. Yanno, a publishing deal? I dunno. But that gets into contractual stuff.(edited)

spacerocketbunny

As long as someone didn't literally run off with your money, I think a bit more empathy and compassion can be exercised, even if the only communication that's provided is radio silence. It just happens man, sometimes life sucks and you don't get to have a word in edge-wise. There's just so many factors as to why it can happen, it's not a divide between who does and doesn't get a paycheck for their work. Stuff happens and at the end of the day it's still free content that's available to you.

Like @RebelVampire said too, it's totally up to you what you do with your engagement when hiatuses come up

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Agreed

Basically, i hope that if ever the case a creator drops from their project without notice or any word, readers express concern and compassion

Kabocha

That is a fair expectation -- and readers need to remember not to be jerks about it.

Mei

Reading through all of this was super interesting. I think hiatuses are just something that in a medium like webcomics is something to almost 'expect'? if that makes sense? Whether it's because of personal reasons, or work reasons, or any reason that we as readers are not privy to, I think it's part of the process. Of course it's great when creators mention they're going on a hiatus, but I suppose it's also having that understanding that sometimes creators may lose the drive or motivation for what they're creating, and they need a break from it. But yeah, I think it'd be awesome for readers to show understanding for webcomics going on hiatus for a short while or indefinitely. They're a LOT of work and most of the time life takes precedent over that?

RebelVampire

I just want to add myself that jerk readers are a diff issue all together and they are legit not the readers you should care about. Cause at the end of the day, you will never ever make them happy whether you communicate or not. So ignore them and do what you need. The communication is for everyone else who isn't rude and likes your comic (whether a vocal fan or a silent fan). Cause frankly, I think it also shows a certain amount of respect as well for readers when the author communicates their status. But just to clarify in case it wasn't clear in my own statement, you are not obligated to share your life story. TBH, I don't even read people's life essays for their reasons in a lot of cases cause it's their personal business. The reasons for the hiatus are largely irrelevant. But you can still leave a small message that says "Hey I'm not gonna be updating for a bit." Like that's not an exaggeration. That's all you have to say. XD Last, I do want to add, of course there are exceptions to this with extenuating circumstances. Like I know a few people who have had all means of communication break for them - and that of course is understandable then. Since it's not that they didn't want to communicate, it's that they literally had no choice in the matter.

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #6

Hello again and welcome to our sixth interview. This time, it’s the turn of @ashockinglackofsatin to put @sunken-standard ‘s writing under the microscope. Together they chat about the early days of the Sherlock fandom, how music can influence writing, and why the I Love You scene helped end sunken’s own great hiatus.

For those who don’t know me: I am @ashockinglackofsatin on tumbr, satin_doll on AO3. My test subject...erm, sorry - interviewee - is the notorious sunken_standard, probably most famous for her two epic, novel-length stories Longer Than The Road That Stretches Out Ahead and Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, which can be found on AO3 (along with her other wonderful stories) and should be required reading for anyone aspiring to write fanfiction.

 You should know, first off, that I’m crap at doing interviews, which I discovered years ago when I had to interview musicians and various personalities as a job. I didn’t last long at that job.

 So here is Kat’s Idiotic Interview with @sunken-standard.

  satin_doll:  You’re very good at writing Sherlock’s emotional cluelessness without making him seem like an idiot or an ass. Can you talk a little about the way you see Sherlock’s character that allows you to do this?

 sunken_standard: Thank you :D  So the answer to this is going to carry through to some of the other questions, but basically, I write Sherlock as a version of myself.  I feel a kinship with the character, a highly intelligent person surrounded by idiots and so, so frustrated by it, but even more frustrated by his own brain and the inability to control it.  Probably autistic, just like I'm probably autistic (and I don't want to get into it but I'm not trying to co-opt an identity here or anything; I've tried to get a diagnosis and found out that's just not possible with my current healthcare options).

Anyway, one of my probably-autistic things is being hyper-aware of other people's emotions, but also having trouble identifying them and the appropriate responses.  At times I do lack empathy, like I honestly can't understand why someone is feeling what they're feeling because I wouldn't feel that way in the same situation and it doesn't make sense.  Sometimes I can empathize so much that it's overwhelming and I just kind of short-circuit, especially when it comes to grief or loss, and I end up being insensitive or just not saying or doing what a normal person would.

 So basically, I approach his responses to other people's emotions the way I would my own, only stripped of female socialization and self-awareness.

  satin_doll:  How much do you draw on your own life and experiences in your fics?

 sunken_standard: For scenarios and specific scenes, not a lot.  For emotional and sensory experiences, more. I haven't done very much or lived to my full potential, so it's not a very deep well on either account.  Every now and then anecdotes or details creep in (like Mars Cheese Castle and the “call me Daddy” during sex thing [which, for the record, was skeevy as fuck irl]), but most of it just comes from nowhere or stuff I saw on TV.

  satin_doll:  Both “Longer than the Road…” and “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” are novel length stories. “Road”, however, is written without breaks/chapters. Did you ever consider breaking it up into parts or chapters? How hard was it to keep it all in one piece and how long did it take you to finish it?

 sunken_standard: When I write, I usually just start and then go 'til it's done or I burn out.  I got through three or four chapters' worth of FTE (and was on the verge of giving up until maybe_amanda convinced me not to).  Since the story wasn't nearly finished and I wanted to start putting it out into the world (mostly because I have no patience, but also because I knew there was a window to stay relevant and a large number of people were looking for a longer, meatier [cough] post-TFP fic), I decided to start posting what I had and just write as I went because I was, in hindsight, probably hypomanic and I was keeping a good pace at that point.

 I dunno, I think there was a lot more of that long-format thing happening in fic back then, where you'd have a 40k piece that only had breaks because of the word limit per post on LJ.

 As far as how long it took, I don't remember.  I know I started it February of that year and had probably a good 75% of it finished (all written at a tear, over the course of probably ten days or so, because when I was still smoking actual cigarettes I could and did do 3-5k words/ day), but then I dropped it and went on to try other ideas.  I went back to it when those other stories fizzled, and I finished it in maybe another 2-3 weeks with editing and beta reading.  I had some real problems with the ending and it was never good enough for me, but I just got to a point where I was sick of it and it was good enough.

 So basically, it's harder for me to work in chapters than it is one long piece.  There's more discipline to a chaptered work; each chapter is its own story, in a way, and each one needs to end on a certain kind of beat.  I still don't feel like I have a knack for it, and I think if I did anything long like that again I'd have to write most of it without breaks and then shoehorn them in where I could later on.

  satin_doll:  You took a long hiatus from Sherlock fic after S2, and came back for S4. What was it about S4 that sparked your writing again?

 sunken_standard: I don't really know.  I mean, the ILY was a big thing, but I think S4 gave me more to work with for the kind of things I write (all the angst and inner monologue) than S3 or TAB.  I had mixed feelings about S3.  I didn't like Mary much for a long time because she was one of Moffat's women (and anyone who's seen my tumblr knows how I feel about that), but I finally unclenched after a while because I like Amanda Abbington a lot and Mary was preferable to Sarah Sawyer (who I'm more ambiguous about now, but really didn't like for a long time because there was something about her that I read as smarmy, though now I see her reactions as more subtly uncomfortable and kind of like “what's going on/ this is weird/ John's a nice guy but is everything around him always this weird?”).  Anyway.

I did try writing a bit after S3, but I never finished any of it; I didn't really feel like there was a place in the fandom or much of a community at that time, either—at least, not like what I had been used to from the early days.  The tribe that existed wasn't my tribe (any of them).  I think I need a certain degree of shared enthusiasm to motivate me to keep writing.  Like, I have a lot of ideas for fic in other fandoms, but they're dead or never existed in the first place.  And I know I'll have some audience for the small fandoms and people will read and kudos and everything, but there's no one around to geek out with or bounce ideas off of, so it just isn't as appealing.  If I'm going to be miserable and alone while writing something, it's going to be something I can at least make money off of, y'know?

  satin_doll:  Do you edit as you go or finish the story first and go back over it to edit?

 sunken_standard: Edit as I go.  When I get stuck, I break that cardinal rule of writing and go back over what I've written and nit-pick it to death.  It's a bad habit, but at the same time, small changes have led to big developments in the course of the story later on.  I mean, I think sometimes this is why I have so many unfinished things, but I've tried just writing through and that doesn't work for me either. Once I get to the end of something, I've already made most of big cuts and done a lot of the reworking, so the beta polishing isn't as labor-intensive.  I'm one of those people that when I feel like something's finished, I don't want to have to go back to it again.  And if I didn't edit as I went, it would kind of feel like redoing the whole story and that's extremely unappealing to me.  It's kind of like baking—it's always better if you clean as you go, rather than waiting until the cake's out of the oven to do the dishes and put stuff away (which I do when I'm low on spoons, but it ends up seeming like double the work).

 satin_doll:  Do you proof it yourself or rely on someone else to proofread it for you? I’m talking technical details here, proofing as opposed to simple beta reading.

 sunken_standard: Mostly proof myself, since I edit as I go (and proofing is inevitably part of that when the mistakes just jump out).  My beta catches everything else (and she's amazing; I misuse words and just legit don't know spelling differences for a lot of things [stationary vs stationery] and I'm not great with grammar and prepositions because I'm an ignorant fucker with no education).

  satin_doll:  When did you first start writing? When did you first discover that you COULD write?

 sunken_standard: I remember writing stories as a kid, but I burned them all when I was a teenager so I don't even know what most were about or anything.  I do remember that I wrote one when I was in like 4th or 5th grade that was ST:TNG self-insert fanfic and I think the plot was me working with Data to bring Lal back. I know it was Data, because I had a huge crush on him as a kid.  I really thought I could grow up to write ST:TNG novels at that point.

 And as for CAN write—jury's still out on that one. Ask my 12th grade English teacher, who laughed in my face when I told him I was thinking of pursuing English so I could be a writer.  But before that, I had some other teachers that used to give me A+s on my creative writing assignments (despite all the spelling and grammatical errors).  In 11th grade, I had a really great teacher, Mr. Lansing, who turned me on to the good parts of American lit and really encouraged me to read (and write) what I liked, not just what other people told me I had to.  He encouraged me when I applied for the Governer's school, too. (The Governer's School is this program in PA for kids who excel; it's like a summer camp for the elite nerds.  They have a bunch of them, each for different areas—math, science, medicine, I think one that's like history/ government/ civics, and then one for the arts.  For creative writing, they take a total of 20 kids—10 for poetry and 10 for prose.  I tried for the poetry category and made the first round of cuts and went for a regional interview (with about 50 other kids, so like maybe 150 kids state-wide); long story short I didn't make it.  I was the first alternate, meaning if somebody couldn't attend, I would get their spot.  #11 out of 10.  I was so crushed, because it basically reinforced what I'd been told by other people—I was a big fish in pond too small to even piss in and there were always going to be people better than me.  I was already mostly checked-out when it came to academia and aspirations; after that there was just really no point to keep going.)

 Anyway though, I did write bits and pieces here and there even after school, thinking one day I'd get my shit together and write my own Confederacy of Dunces and then off myself (it's still a viable plan). Then, in 2008 I was recently unemployed and everything in life was shitty, so I wrote a big happy-ending fic for The Doctor and Rose.  It was kind of the right bit of media at the right time that inspired me.  More about that later though.

  satin_doll:   What/who do you think has had the biggest influence on the development of your style?

 sunken_standard: I've been asked this before, and I always feel like I'm a little pretentious and I trot out the same names (both fanfic authors and book authors), but I had a realization a while ago that I'm always missing one person—Vonnegut.  I think he's got this kind of no-bullshit way of saying things that still manages to be poetic and delicate and that's what I most aspire to.

I think a lot of my style is influenced by film, too. Some influences are probably Todd Solondz, Richard Linklater, Kevin Smith, and John Waters, as far as the way I approach the reality within the story.  I think I tend to focus on a lot of the same things—the weird, the mundane, the mildly uncomfortable—but I don't go nearly as far in any direction.  I think even the way I string scenes together and the shifting of focus within my scenes between action, dialogue, and inner monologue are influenced by cinematography.  I always say I'm just transcribing the movie in my head, so I mean, there's bound to be some kind of influence.

  satin_doll:  You’re noted for the banter between your characters, humorous and otherwise. Do you have rules/profiles for characters that establish their voices for you? Are there things, for example, that you think Sherlock or Molly simply would never say/do or would always say/do? How structured are these characters in your head when you start writing?

 sunken_standard: It varies slightly from story to story/ universe to universe, but I think I have patterns for the banter (and I have a different set for Sherlock and John, and Sherlock and Mycroft, but there are common threads throughout).  As for comedy, it's not quite straight man/ funny man, but I tend to default to Sherlock being more literal and deadpan and Molly being more expressive and emotive. I use the scraps of the dynamic the show's given us and just build on that.  It's kind of formulaic, actually: Sherlock does a not-good thing (degree of severity varies), Molly reacts with a blend of annoyance and amusement while going along for the ride.

 I have a kind of mental file for things I think would be out of character for each of them, but sometimes I like to try to find a way to get to one of those things and slip it into a fic organically.  One of the reason I liked doing the one-line prompt fics so much was that so many of them could easily have been intros to the kind of fluff that makes me gag; I'm no fool, though, and I love me some low-hanging fruit, so I just adjust it to my tastes.  I'm a never-say-never kinda gal.  Mostly.

 That being said, there are a lot of things that I think would take a lot of doing to make them be in-character.  I don't think they'd ever use pet names for each other unless it was through gritted teeth or with at least a bit of irony (like how I used “yes, dear,” in FTE, and I think in some of the universes in Ficlet Cemetery).  I can't see Sherlock ever doing housework unless it was for a case (though dishes and sanitizing surfaces are an exception, because both those chores are tangent to the kind of cleaning up after oneself one does in a lab setting, and imo that fits with his logic).  I can't see him being very affectionate in public, except under rare circumstances when he might do an arm around the shoulders or a guiding palm to the small of the back.

 And as for structure, I think they all start with the same scaffolding, but in every new universe they get draped slightly differently according to variations in backstory or tone or genre or whatever. Or like, they're already sculpted, but the lighting changes.  I think that as I write, they take on different nuances and acquire more depth, though.  Like it wasn't really until a few chapters in to FTE that I got a fuller picture of the Molly I was writing, even though I had the rough idea of her backstory from pretty much the beginning.  Same with Longer Than the Road, too.  As I come up with details of someone's past, I experience those scenarios and it makes me rethink and fine-tune everything about them in what I've already written, and adds more texture as I keep going.

  satin_doll:  You’ve listed a playlist for “Longer than the Road…” Do you write to music? How much does music inspire your writing? Does every story have a playlist?

 sunken_standard: It's funny, but I don't listen to music nearly as much as I did even 5 years ago.  Not sure why, honestly, maybe something to do with my mental health and overstimulation?  So I don't write to music much anymore.  Not every story has a playlist or songs attached (I don't think any of the FC stuff does, at least not in any significant way), but it seems like my best work is inspired by music in some way.

 FTE didn't really have a soundtrack, but I listened to a lot of the music I had in common with the version of Molly that I was writing—very 90s alternative and pop rock.  Lots of Pulp (which I picked as Molly's favorite band because I think they're Loo's favorite, or one of her favorites).  For the proposal, I had “Dreams” by The Cranberries on a loop as I wrote.  There's just something musically about that song that's full of anticipation and the wavy kind of guitar (I don't know the music terms and it's been so many years since I was into anything instrument-related that I'm not even sure how the sound is made, like a whammy bar or wiggling their fingers on the frets or whatever but anyway) just has this kind of wavering emotion that makes it feel like it's on the cusp of something.  And also it's the big romance song from every coming-of-age thing ever, and so just hearing it is like an auditory shorthand for breathless, adventurous romance, at least for women of a certain age (namely, my age, and I'm only a year younger than Loo/ Molly).  There was another scene—I can't remember what it was without rereading the fic—that I spent like three days listening to nothing but “The Way” by Fastball.  It might have been the thing with the drink testing and then the sex on the sofa and the cake baking.  (As an aside, I just started listening to the song and immediately got hit with a sense memory of night-wet spring air blowing in my window, because that's what the weather was when I was writing to this and it gives me a weird yearning pull in the back of my throat, like nostalgia almost but something else in it. Like, did you ever hear a pop song that taps into some deeper part of the human experience, both musically and lyrically, and you just feel like there's some universal truth in it that's too much to totally grasp?  That's how I feel about both of those songs.  Anyway.)

 Another story that had a few songs attached was Stainless, Captive Bead.  Radiohead's “Creep” was what they were listening to in the tattoo parlor, and a lot of the sex bits were written while listening to Nine Inch Nails' “Closer” (look, if it's set in the 90s and there's fucking in it, I'm going to find a way to relate it to “Closer,” because that song is just dark sex and angst set to synthesizers and a high hat).

 Also, sometimes when I write I listen to ambient noise stuff, cityscapes or rain or whatever fits the tone of the piece and my mood.  I can't listen to anything for too long, though, because I get listener fatigue and I burn out faster.

  satin_doll:  Have you ever considered self-publishing your stories as a book or series of books?

 sunken_standard: I've tried to file off the serial numbers on the Girlfriend series, but it was harder than I thought it would be so I back-burnered it.  I still like to think that one day I will, it's a life goal, but if I put too much pressure on myself I only make it worse and nothing gets done.

  satin_doll:  You seem to have a detailed backstory for every character in your stories, from Janine to Molly’s mother. Do you work these out beforehand or do they just happen in your head as you write?

 sunken_standard: Both?  I kind of touched on it earlier, but I usually have an idea of the backstory, the bones at least, and then as I write it gets richer.  I have multiple headcanons for every character, so I just start off with one of those.  Like I have five different families for Molly, all things I was coming up with when I was writing other stories.  Hell, I've got like five different Uncle Rudys (most of them highly unpleasant and most likely triggering).

I have a habit of just sitting and thinking about a character, like “what would make them this way?” armchair psychoanalysis stuff. And if I can establish a plausible-sounding backstory, I have a better foundation for introducing non-canonical traits or details.  I think that's the downfall of a lot of fic authors—they just write a canon character as they would an OC and expect us to play along without demonstrating any internal logic.  Maybe I'm just picky; there's certainly an element of that, too.

  satin_doll:  How detailed is the story in your mind before you start writing it? Do you work from plans and outlines with every story?

 sunken_standard: It all depends on the story.  Sometimes I have a whole series of detailed scenes just waiting in my head to be written out.  Sometimes I only have one thing and I just keep going.  I say I use an outline, but it's not a proper outline.  More like a collection of notes and bullet points of what I want to happen and what kind of beats I want to hit.  I usually keep it at the bottom of my working document so I don't have to switch to another doc to look at it if I need to.

  satin_doll: Where does a story begin with you? What constitutes the “urge” to write? You once mentioned (in a comment reply I think) that you know the ending of the story first and then write the rest of the story to get there. What do you do when a story goes off track? How do you get it back to the way you planned it, or do you even try to do that?

  sunken_standard: (I don't know why my document formatting went tits-up here, so I'll answer 1 & 2 both here)

 So stories are a visceral kind of thing.  I always have ideas.  Seriously, give me a theme or a title or something and I can spit out a summary and details in as long as it takes to type it out.  But actually crafting prose (can I sound more pompous?) is best likened to the urge to poop.  Classy, right?  I said it was visceral.  Really though, it's that same kind of state of heightened awareness/ arousal (in the strictest medical sense of the word, not sexual arousal), something is happening and if it doesn't things are going to get weird and I'm going to be very uncomfortable for a very long time.  Also, like pooping, if it's not ready, no amount of grunting or straining is going to make it happen, and it might even make it worse in the long run.  As you can tell, I've been very, very constipated for the last year.

 Anyway.

 Stories going off track... a lot of the time I just let it happen because it's taking me to a better place than where I thought it was going to end up.

  satin_doll:  Quote from you: “I spend way too much time thinking about who Molly is as a person. Writing porn and comedy both have their appeal, but I really like sitting down and thinking about what makes any given character tick and how they might feel about what's happening around them. 30s and single has so much baggage to it, even if all the women's magazine articles and whatever-wave-we're-up-to-now feminist thought pieces say it's a myth or a stereotype or whatever. It's a truth we don't want to be true because it's not fair. I mean, it's not the thing that solely defines any woman, but it's there, just like cellulite and brand new and worrying moles and our favorite brand of whatever suddenly being discontinued (or significantly changed) because some marketing person decided it was too 'old.' But anyway, such is life. And I like putting that in fic.”

 Do you write character studies to use as a reference for your stories, or just wing it for each individual piece?

 sunken_standard: The character study is dead, isn't it?  Like, as standalone fic.  Never see them anymore, which is a real pity.  I used to write them (or, well, start them, heh) before I took a break from writing/ fandom, mostly to try to get some of my headcanons down in some kind of usable way.  But I haven't really written a character study (in prose, at least) since 2012 or so.

 So when I write, I keep two documents open—the working copy that's a first-through-final draft and a “notes/ cut bits/ things to work in somehow” document.  In the notes document I usually keep any character details (backstory or how I want them to react to something later, whatever).  There are themes I go back to over and over, like a cluster of traits I reuse in some fashion because I think they fit the character (Mycroft and disordered eating, Molly as a middle child in some fashion, John as the child of alcoholics, etc.), so a lot of that just lives in my head. Any bits of characterization specific to a story go in the notes doc for that story, while any generic thoughts or something that I think I might want to use later gets stuck in another document full of random ideas, snippets of dialogue, jokes, AUs I'll never write, that kind of thing.  I've got a few of those docs from different writing periods.  They're mostly just a way to externalize a thought so I don't lose it; I hardly ever go back to them for anything.

  satin_doll:  What was your first involvement with fanfiction? Where did it all start?

 sunken_standard: I started to answer this in another question; basically, fanfic's been in my wheelhouse in one way or another since I was a kid (Star Trek novels are fanfic, period).  I discovered fanfiction back in the days of eXcite searches and webrings while looking for translations of Inu Yasha manga scans; I stumbled upon an English-language fancomic/ doujinshi called Hero in the 21st Century and it was so well-written, funny and poignant and well-researched I was just drawn in.  I still think about it and the author's other works to this day.  I did pick at the idea of writing myself, sometimes even put down scenes or outlines and did hours of research, but never did the thing.

 And then, in 2008, the stars aligned and I started a thing.  Journey's End spawned a ton of Doctor Who fic, and that was good, because I could just kind of slip mine in there and I probably wouldn't get a lot of criticism or attention.  So I wrote like two chapters without any idea of how it was going to end, and I submitted it to Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which was the Doctor Who fic archive at the time; it was curated/ moderated and where you went when you wanted to read something you knew would be good, or at least conform to certain standards, unlike The Pit [which is still garbage today]).  And I got rejected.  My grammar and spelling were awful (I didn't even have spell-check in whatever program I was using) and they said the whole thing had good bones, but I really needed to work on the English before they'd look at it again.  Getcherself a beta, they suggested, and I think they had a forum where writers and betas could connect.  So I got myself a beta and she stuck with me for like 30 chapters, answering questions and keeping my characterization on-track and basically re-teaching me the rules of written English.  I tried to email her a few years ago to thank her again, but her email bounced back. Her name was Julia and if she sees this, thank you Julia.  You're a wonderful person.

 Anyway, I wrote lots in that fic universe for like 2 months, then got another job and tapered off.  I abandoned it completely after a year.  Life got in the way of a lot of things, and the next time I was really inspired to write anything was a couple years later, for Supernatural.  I only put it on my LJ, never posted to a community or anything, and no one read it.  Literally, I don't think the post got any hits at all and for sure no one commented.  I sometimes think about putting it on AO3 just because.  And then Sherlock happened and here we are.

 satin_doll:  Do you think writing fanfic has hurt or hindered your original work? Why or why not? (that looks like a high school test question - sorry!)

 sunken_standard: Lol @ test question :D

 I'm not really sure, tbh.  On one hand, I only have so much creative energy—it's definitely a finite resource, and a scarce one—and devoting it to fanfic diverts it from any original work.  On the other hand, all writing is practice.  The only way to improve is to keep doing, no matter what it is.  So in that sense, fanfic's certainly helped me to find a comfortable voice and a prose style that works for me.  There are still problems to solve, figuring out the best approach to a scene or story from a technical standpoint (stuff like tense and perspective and all that), so I'm always learning something as I go. Mixed bag, really.

  satin_doll:  What was it about the Sherlock/Molly dynamic that got you started on a piece like “Longer Than the Road…” What did you see there that made you want to explore it in such detail?

 sunken_standard: So I always talk about how Sustain was my come-to-Jesus moment with Sherlock and Molly. Here's something I've never told anybody, not even maybe_amanda (because I was kind of ashamed, but not for the reasons people might think): before ever reading Sustain, I started a story that was Sherlock/ John and Sherlock/ Molly.  I had it roughly outlined and a few pages written, but I just kind of lost the feeling of it and it was starting to get problematic for character motivations, yada yada, so into the scrap heap it went.  It had a passing similarity to Sustain because of a platonic-sex-for-pregnancy element (hence why I never talked about it), but the major difference was that it was going to end up as a kind of polyamorous arrangement, Sherlock loving both of them and having a kind of co-parenting triad.  In mine, John wanted a baby, and Molly wanted her own baby, and Sherlock thought “best of both worlds!” and why do IVF when you can write awkward angst-fucking instead.  But yeah, I never finished it.  

 Anyway, I always saw something there, but I couldn't make it work in a way that was consistent with my own characterization of Sherlock until after Series 2.  Even in Series 1, he looks at her with a kind of fondness and a sort of bewilderment that just lends itself to nerds in love.  At the time (and even now, tbh), I kind of attributed that to BC having a crush on Loo (and oh man do I have theories, which are gossipy and gross and not the kind of thing I usually even bother having opinions about, but have you listened to the S1 commentary and some of the interviews around that time? there's something more there) and that kind of just spilling over onscreen and it working for the editor because it makes BC look sexy.

I mean look, I make no secret of the fact I started off shipping Sherlock with John almost exclusively (though I'd read just about anything), and after S1 aired it was just a different time.  I get really annoyed when people talk shit about the pairing and the people who still ship them, because most of them weren't even in the fandom at the time and didn't have the same experience as the OGs. When Series 1 aired, hardly anyone knew who BC was, and Martin was just the guy from The Office and some other shows that were kind of unremarkable; most of the fandom was composed of old-school ACD Sherlockians and a few stragglers (like me) that got there from Doctor Who or were just general mystery/ thriller fans that got sucked in. We had a different perception of it because we weren't led into it by Star Trek or Hobbits or MCU; the characters didn't have that baggage attached for us.  A lot of us already had a perception of Holmes and Watson as some shade of gay, so it was no great leap to see the very obvious romance (and yes, they all called it that in interviews at the time) onscreen as a romantic one. Martin, when asked, said basically that he'd play the next series (S2) however they wrote it, and if romance was there he'd go down that road.  Whatever, I don't need to defend it because people think what they think anyway.

.

Anyway, getting back to the actual question instead of a million tangents and rants, I think I saw a lot of the things that have since become like backbone tropes of the pairing (even in canon, with the whole “alone, practical about death” thing).  Their interactions in S2 were great; everything hinted at more than what was on-screen.  And I really liked the idea of exploring the dynamic that was pretty much already there, as far as Molly having both a crush and self-respect and Sherlock suddenly having to rely on this person (that he picked because she was reliable to begin with) who's a friend, but also kind of a stranger in the way that a lot of the people we consider friends are (at least, friends made in adulthood; work-friends, church-friends, club-friends, gym-friends).  Past that, I really saw the potential for character growth stemming from their interactions, but not like her humanizing him or whatever; both of them gaining insight about themselves, with the other person (and their relationship) as a vehicle for those realizations.  I think I could have done better on that front, but hindsight blah blah.

  satin_doll:  How familiar were you with the Sherlock Holmes character before the BBC series aired, and what made you want to write about him?

 sunken_standard: So I wasn't very familiar at all.  Just what was in the general cultural lexicon, maybe a few episodes of the Granada series on PBS as a kid, a few of the stories that I just couldn't get into when I tried to read them because I hate Victorian prose (hate it, everything about it, I won't read anything written before 1920 or so because I just hate it [Wilde being the singular exception, but I even get bogged down by him]).  Oh, and the RDJ movie, which wasn't really Sherlock Holmes to me, but just like a Victorian-era action movie.  After S1, I just devoured canon (though, full disclosure, I still haven't read all of it, probably only about 80%), then moved on to other adaptations and canon-era fic and pastiches, read a bunch of extra-canon material on the internet.  So as far as that goes, I'm very much a poseur and newbie in the greater Sherlock Holmes fandom.  At least I did my research?

 Anyway, it really took the modern adaptation and BC's performance to make the character resonate with me.  The aspects he chose to play up—the frustration and impatience and frantic mental energy—just hit a nerve.  He really channeled the “gifted” experience (which I suspect was just a lot of BC himself bleeding through).  Finally I could use a fictional character to bemoan how stupid everyone around me was and sound like a complete asshole and be completely in-character!  The heavens smiled upon me.

 Really though, I was initially attracted to how cerebral it was and how smart the fandom was overall.  It was the early fandom (and I mean early, like days after episode 1 aired) that drew me in, at least to a participatory (vs. consumptive) level.  Lots of very clever, very educated, very queer people having these deep, insightful discussions about everything (sometimes only tangentially related to the show).  When I did start writing, I didn't have to dumb anything down; the challenge was to sound smarter than I actually am.  And, I mean, I got to dredge up a lot of my own emotional baggage from being a perpetual outsider, which is always cathartic (and probably not very healthy, long-term, because it's not resolving anything, just exploiting myself, but that's a can of worms).

  satin_doll:  Are you more drawn to Sherlock or Molly as a character, or both equally? Why?

 sunken_standard: Sherlock, I think, for the reasons described in the last question.

I don't generally identify with female characters in fiction, since my own identification as female is tenuous (and in general they're poorly written and poorly realized, but that's another story). I mean, I can draw from my own experiences as a (mostly) female-shaped person with female socialization, but I have a hard time intuiting feminine and it's harder for me to write a “normal” woman.

Paraphrasing something I read in an interview with another fic author I admire, writing a woman is always a self-portrait, and how much of yourself do you really want to reveal?  Since I don't know how to woman correctly, I'm always afraid I'm going to slip up and hit the wrong beat for what a normal woman is and end up ruining the characterization.  I do manage to channel a lot of my own frustrations with men, relationships, being a single and childless woman over 30, and the patriarchy into Molly's character, though.

 I mean, don't get me wrong, I really love Molly (and always have—I was one of the first to use her as a main character and not just a punching bag or a punchline).  I love her sense of humor and her job and her fashion sense, all of it. She's not one-dimensional.  It's just easier for me to write Sherlock than it is to make decisions about who Molly is.

  satin_doll:  You are “internet famous” for Longer Than the Road (rightfully so!) What about that story do you think is so affecting for fans? How has “Road” influenced subsequent work you’ve done in the Sherlolly ship?

 sunken_standard: You know, I'm really not sure why it seems to resonate with people.  Maybe the homesickness or the exhaustion that comes with impermanence (and I mean, we all feel that on an existential level, everything's always changing and it's faster every year, just existing is like trying to walk in an earthquake).  Or the healing/ recovery aspect of it (I tried to balance both sides, the affected and the caregiver).  Or maybe I just wrote it at the right time (when there wasn't much else out there) and people kept coming back to it because it was familiar.

 As for how it's influenced subsequent work... I'm sure it has, but I don't know how, exactly.  I still think it's the best thing I've ever written and the closest to something literary I'll ever get, so in a way it's an albatross (no one ever wants to be reminded that they already peaked).  I get frustrated when my newer work doesn't live up to the standard I set for myself with it.  That frustration doesn't make me a better writer, it just makes me tired, so everything I do now is paler.

 One thing it did do was cement my characterizations of Sherlock and Molly and the dynamic between them.  I tend to write them a certain way and don't deviate from that, and that all has roots in the push-pull, love-hate thing I established in Longer Than the Road.  I can't write Molly without a degree of contempt for Sherlock and I can't write Sherlock without a degree of shame and contrition in his feelings toward Molly.

  satin_doll:  How does feedback affect what you write? How important is it? Is it more important that a reader “get” the point of the work or just that they like it? What kind of reader do you write for?

 sunken_standard: I try not to let feedback affect my writing.  I mean, I only get positive feedback, really, so it's a high.  I'm not trying to brag or anything; I count myself lucky that I don't get the shit others do (though I honestly think anybody that posts on The Pit is opening themselves up to it because it's a garbage dump, but I've never liked the site, so).  I try not to let it go to my head or anything though.

 I also try not to let it influence the direction my writing takes; I might do a comment fic or write a silly HC or something, but I like to keep my substantial pieces pure, so to speak.  Though sometimes a comment sparks something and a whole other fic grows out of it, so I fail there, I guess.  Sometimes it's a lot of pressure when people say they want to see more of something, or want me to write a kind of specific scenario, so I usually just don't, and then I feel bad about not giving nice people what they want and it starts this whole weird spiral of guilt and obligation and then swinging the other way and getting (internally) belligerent over not owing anybody anything.  I uh, have a complicated relationship with my work being acknowledged in any capacity.

 As for people “getting” it...  I don't know if they really do or not.  Sometimes I get comments and I can tell they're definitely on my wavelength and they picked up on an allusion or a detail or just saw or felt everything in the scene like I did when I was laying it out.  Once in a while I get a comment that has a different interpretation than what I was trying to get across, and that's really cool because it makes me re-examine my own work and see it from a different perspective (which I think makes me stronger for the next thing).  It's really validating when someone “gets” it, but at the same time, I write to entertain other people (as well as myself), so as long as they like it, I feel accomplished.

 It's cliché, but I write for an audience of one. I've tried to write outside my taste and it doesn't end well.  Sometimes I write tropes that aren't my bag (like the Wiggins “the Missus” thing, or kidfic/ pregnancy), but it's kind of like a nod and wink to people who do like it, rather than outright pandering.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  Sometimes you need to try on every bra in your size, even the ones you know you hate, just to make sure you're getting the right one, y'know?

  satin_doll:  Do you think fanfic has changed since you began writing it? If so, how?

 sunken_standard: Yeah, but I don't think it's a good or bad thing. And it depends on where you look and what you consume.  

 In the last like five years, Tumblr's purity culture has shamed a lot of kink back into the closet, I think, and people (in my fandoms, at least) aren't really writing on the edge.  I see darkfic, but it's about as dark as the night sky over Hong Kong.  I think people are afraid to go really dark anymore because they don't want the backlash from a generation fed on a diet of pink princesses and promise rings.  And I think everyone's desire for happy-ending escapism has ratcheted up because the real world is shit and TV shows are all playing Russian roulette with surprise deaths to add drama (thanks, The Walking Dead, for making that element so ubiquitous that the rest of the mainstream picked it up and ran).

On the other hand, I'm not seeing near the amount of badfic as I used to.  It was never as much of a problem on the old platforms and AO3 (compared to The Pit), but there were always some.  I mean, there are still lots of turds out there, but they all seem a bit more polished these days.  As far as the English goes, at least.  Maybe my fandoms are just maturing.

 I think people interact a lot differently now, too. This is going to kind of tie into the next question, but the types of feedback are different now and I think authors have changed what and how they produce to kind of chase the dragon of positive feedback.  Like, when I started, most public archives (read: not just one author's own website with all their fic, like you found in webrings a lot)—both completely open and curated—had some way to submit comments and allowed author replies. There was really no other way to let an author know you liked their work.  I mean, some sites tracked numbers for bookmarking features or hit counts, but those weren't as... active(? I guess), they weren't really participatory for the reader.

 Then AO3 came along and started the kudos thing (which people still bitch about because they think they get fewer comments; like be happy you get anything, ya fuckin' ingrates).  Kudos count became a de facto rating system, thanks to the sort feature. Whenever I start reading for a new fandom, I pick a pairing, pick a rating, and sort by kudos.  Sure, popularity isn't the best way to find good fic, but in any decent-sized fandom you can assume that the stuff on the first page is going to be written to a minimum standard.  Anyway, one of the ways to game the system a bit on kudos is to do a multichapter fic; I've seen works that are like 80+ 200-word chapters (don't get me started on omnibus fic across fandoms).  They aren't the best fic by far, but they pick up kudos every chapter, often from guests that are just people not signed in or on a different device.  I'm not knocking it, exactly, since it front-paged me for more than one fic. Part of me still feels like it's disingenuous, but I also recognize that I should pull the stick out of my ass. Anyway, the kudos count was kind of the death of the one-shot longfic (which, when I wrote Longer Than the Road, was a pretty common format).

And now, it seems like the Tumblr fic culture is writing ficlets (under 1k words) and posting without a beta (and I do it too). Fic consumption has become a social activity.  Reblogs aren't always about one's personal taste, they're a social signal of group affiliation.  If you don't reblog certain things, you're suspect and given a wide berth.  Woe betide the poor fucker that crosses party lines and posts one of the verboten ships.  And I mean, this isn't just one fandom, I've seen complaints about it from all corners—Supernatural, Star Wars, MCU, Steven Universe ffs.  I think when you have predominantly female spaces, you're always going to have an element of Mean Girl culture, y'know?  I'm probably going to get my fingernails pulled out for being misogynistic or some kind of -phobic for saying that.

Whatever.  It's true that a kind of hive-mind develops and all kinds of tropes and HCs get repeated until they become fanon.  I mean, that kind of thing's always happened, but the whole culture of Tumblr forces you to identify yourself and your group affiliation by what fanon you subscribe to, probably because it's harder to find your tribe without dedicated community spaces like LJ had.  With Tumblr, you basically have to trawl tags until you find your echo chamber.

I'm old and I fear change.

Tumblr ain't all bad, though.  It's very collaborative, kind of like the old-school round-robin fic people used to do.  Authors and artists riff off each other and a lot of really cool stuff comes out of these casual collaborations.  And I do like the prompt lists; I remember kinkmemes and prompting communities back on LJ, but it feels more off-the-cuff and spontaneous to just give someone a numbered list and let them roll the dice for you.

You know what else has changed?  We're kind of in a new era of epistolary storytelling with memes and shitposts; stories emerge that aren't prose (though might contain a prose element).  I mean, people did mixed-media epistolary in 2008, but it was a lot harder then (create graphic, hand-code into text piece, hand-code all the italics and bolding and font changes to denote various media types, if you're really a wizard add in-line text links to audio clips to add ambiance).  It's a lot easier to add a new thing on each reblog now, like someone does a video, followed by a 3-panel comic sketch, followed by a ficlet, and then a gif, you get the idea.  I like it; it's just a shame that it's so ephemeral.  Maybe that's part of the charm, though.

  satin_doll:  You’ve talked a bit about your experience with LiveJournal in the “old days”; what other platforms have you used in the past? Which ones did you like best?

 sunken_standard: I went into it a little in another question, but I first posted fic to A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (www.whofic.com).  Honestly, I don't remember much about it.  I'm not sure, but I don't think they had a richtext editor at the time (2008) and I had to hand-code some or all of it.  I vaguely remember having to do HTML for italics and paragraphs.  I know I had to do that on LJ sometimes because the formatting from whatever word processor I was using at the time did some hinky shit sometimes on a copy/paste.

 Next came LiveJournal (and DreamWidth, but I really only used that to back up my old LJ blog).  It wasn't better than Teaspoon, just different.  Teaspoon is niche, only fanfic and only for one fandom (well, one universe of fandoms, really, with all the spin-offs), where LJ was all kinds of stuff under one roof—personal blogs, communities with various intents and levels of participation, fanfic, fanart, gossip blogs, you name it.  I liked the friendslist view thing; it was like proto-Tumblr.  And you could talk to people on the threads; even personal blogs were like a forum.

 I joined AO3 in 2011, after waiting like six months for more invites to open up, but I didn't post anything there until 2012.  I'm really happy with it as a platform for posting fic.  I like the editor and I like the tags, ratings, and sort features.  I never even considered posting to ff.net because I'm a snobby fucker (and they can blow me with their whole “adult content ban” that still continues to be selectively enforced).  Anyway, I preferred having my fic on AO3 before I even left LJ, since I didn't have to split my stories into parts because of character limits.

 And then Tumblr took over and I kind of hate it, since you can't have conversations anymore, it's like leaving passive-aggressive post-its and there's no editing something once it gets reblogged, so typos and bad links and all that are always there.  And even when the original is deleted, the reblog keeps going, which I really hate from a creator's standpoint (though the archivist/ curator part of me likes it because it doesn't get lost in the ether [the recent purge notwithstanding] like so much of the early days of the web did). Tumblr's really bad for posting anything but ficlets and links to fic on other sites.

  satin_doll:  What would your ideal fanfic publishing platform be like?

 sunken_standard: Honestly, AO3 is just about as close to ideal as I can think of.  I just wish you could directly upload images instead of having to do code jiggery-pokery to link to something hosted elsewhere.  I've tried a million times and followed all the tutorials in an attempt to add the cover art to Longer Than the Road (gifted to me by @thecollapseinwonderland), but it just never works.  It shows on the preview, but not on the live version and it's frustrating because I'm computer literate, goddamnit.  Anyway.  And I mean, in an ideal world there would be better ways to find quality fic to my taste, but there's no real way to add a rating system (like 5-stars) independent of kudos without discouraging authors (and I mean the potential for abuse and bullying is just too great).

 Additional reader questions from @ohaine:

 Stylistically, Longer than the road is quite different from the other fics at the top of the AO3 Sherlolly ratings; stream of consciousness at the beginning, and the nested internal thoughts. How much of that was a deliberate departure, and how much was you just channelling the story as it came out of you?

 sunken_standard: At the time I was really influenced by a Sherlock/ John fic (I can't remember the title or author, it was 7 years ago, but I feel bad about forgetting). It was originally on LJ and their journal was a lightish blue color and the font was small (if anybody remembers this... there was something with an EKG and I think something with shooting up blood as a romantic gesture?). It was Sherlock POV and the author had a really unique way of presenting internal monologue. Anyway, at that time there was a lot of experimental writing going on on the slash side of things, it was great. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't read a lot of Sherlolly fic at that time because what did exist (as far as happy-ending/ happy-for-now stories vs like darkfic/ angst) was really, really not to my taste (the exception being Sustain). So it was only deliberate in that—even when I wasn't being experimental—I didn't want to write Harlequin books.

 I wish a story like that would just come out of me. I mean, to a degree it did, but doing the thoughts and sub-thoughts was work. I mean, I've always been a brackets-and-footnotes kind of person because I like reading it, but the way I did the thoughts was more like writing HTML than a regular rambling narrative.

  I think I read recently (maybe on a blog post?) that Riders on the storm was the original inspiration for Longer than the road. Was the scene in the storm your starting point with the story, or where did you begin?

 sunken_standard: That was the first scene I wrote; at that time I had a really nebulous idea of the story. The imagery was really clear in my head, though the very earliest concept took place in the desert—the classic American image of the road going on forever and rusty sands and the heatwaves rising up off the asphalt. I'm not sure how it morphed into North Dakota, I might have seen a picture of lightning over the plains or something.

 So after S2 aired, I just kind of sat and chewed it over for a month before any really strong ideas emerged for a story. I had to find the internal logic for the kind of plot I wanted to write—namely, them on the lam together. Making Sherlock have a breakdown seemed pretty natural at the time; in ACD canon (and many, many pastiches) he was always having them and going off to the country to recuperate. But he was supposed to be dead and he was all over the tabloids, so it's not like he could just move to some sleepy little village and hope no one recognized him.

I thought about sending him to Europe, using the places ACD Holmes went after Reichenbach (and I did start more than one with them in Florence, a few incarnations of which were Molly/ Irene wanklock PWPs, I actually think one of the Rusty Beds stories came from that, but I digress). The only problem with Europe is the language barrier; I thought it was too convenient to make Molly fluent in another language (she might have some conversational Spanish from a holiday or something, but that's it), so I had to make them go somewhere where English was common enough. I also didn't want them too far from the UK; I wanted Sherlock to be able to get on a plane and be back within half a day (I realize this isn't the reality of flying, but deus ex Mycroft, so). So Asia, Australia/ NZ, and even South Africa were out, leaving Canada, the US, or parts of the Caribbean. I didn't want them to by happy, so they didn't go to the Caribbean. Canada's great, but it's too nice and they also don't have deserts. America it was; it also really added some background tension because I think a lot of non-USians have a love-hate with us. Movies are okay, music too, and of course the tech and consumer innovations, but everything else is garbage and we're all just rude, ignorant, obese Yosemite Sams. For someone like Sherlock, I think the US is the last place he'd want to go (even though canon ACD Holmes was really into America). And I mean, write what you know, so that was that sorted.

 Once I got them here I needed them to do something; I wanted to tell a very intimate story, and that would be boring if they were just living in a 2BR cape cod in Jersey. And I mean, what city would really suit Sherlock? Where could he have a life that wasn't London? Anyway, the inside of a car is just about as intimate as two people can get, and the greatest tradition in American literature and film is the road trip, and that was when I knew I had a solid foundation for a story. After that, it just kind of flowed as I planned the route.

  Perfect, not perfect-perfect is a beautiful, brave piece that I think has a real air of authenticity to it. It was a very tough read, purely because of the journey the characters are on, and I wondered how difficult it was for you to write? Was it catharsis or an emotional black hole?

  sunken_standard: You know, I'm not really sure if it was either catharsis or black hole. A lot of the particulars and even the emotional places in that story aren't mine, but an amalgam of some other friends' experiences with polyamory. My own experience with it was pretty shit and pretty unremarkable, but I learned a lot about the human heart and how some people can lie to themselves because they can't let go of their ideals and their identities (I'm also still a little bitter), but that's got nothing to do with the price of tea in China, so moving on.

 Since a lot of those experiences weren't mine, it wasn't raw, so it wasn't very hard on me, personally. I think I wrote it in like three days? I don't think I wanted it to be a slog, so that's why it's in present tense and very sparse and matter-of-fact. Dispassionate, even. There are times when I'm writing really emotional stuff that I'm disconnected from it (which is a fuckin' mercy, because most of the time I'm right there going through it, over and over for days sometimes until I get the scene right and can move on to the next thing), and this was one of those times. I was writing this alongside the Girlfriend series, so there was some overlap there; I'd already done the emotional labor for everything up to Mary's death and I was thinking of different angles of approach for later installments of the series.

The most “me” part of it is near the beginning, writing my way around the bisexual experience from someone else's point of view. I don't have a lot in common with any of the characters; they're a higher social class, urban, products of a more liberal culture, yada yada, but there are some things that are just kind of universal and misunderstood about bisexuals, the stereotypes that we have to contend with and end up internalizing.

Oh, and the perpetual alienation is all me, too. Molly's feelings of being left behind are mine, how I felt every time friendships drifted apart or when female friends got married and then had kids. So a lot of the fatalism and insecurity are me projecting how I would feel or react. I kind of like depressed Molly, more than the perpetual ray of sunshine/ cinnamon roll at least.

 *********

 Many thanks to sunken_standard for taking the time to answer these questions!

 And many thanks and much love to OhAine for all her hard work putting this project together! It’s been fun and enlightening!

Next week, Friday 29th March, it’s the turn of @ellis-hendricks and @geekmama 

[coffee-scribbles]

A Kingdom of Ash

Chapter Five, The End of the Beginning

Guess who’s finally back from hiatus!! :D

(Ao3)

The broad crown of his father glinted in the limelight as a five year old boy giggled madly, the pilfered ringlet of gold held tight in the vice-grip of the prince’s tiny hands. His father would definitely be searching the castle for both his son, and his precious crown. But Bruce had decided his father could not have it.

Prince Bruce, in all his five year old wisdom, had decided that he did not like his coronet. It was small and silver, and his parent’s matching pair of bright gold always seemed to garner so much more respect!

So, he’d decided that for this gala, he would be the king, and Dad would be the prince!

The five year old smirked triumphantly at his plan, not noticing his mother enter the room, nor that she noticed the crown almost instantly, as he tried to set it atop his head.

Unfortunately, he had not accounted for the fact that this crown would be bigger, to suit his father, who was also bigger.

So, from the top of his small head to around his collar, the golden circlet fell, hanging loose around his neck.

He blinked, baffled.

This had never happened to Dad before.

His mother barely stifled her laughter.

Bruce tried to once again place the crown on his head, only for it to hang down around his neck once more.

He pouted.

His mother gave a slight, gentle laugh that Bruce had not expected at all; whipping around at the sound, his tiny legs stumbled, and fell to the shock. The golden ringlet clattered around at his neck.

His large blue eyes met the matching gaze of his mother.

Even so young, Bruce always had a flair for the dramatic.

Thus, is pout grew deeper.

“Mama!” The little boy exclaimed, extremely indignant.

Martha failed to hide her giggles as the sound spilled from her hand.

“Oh my darling,” his mother knelt before him, flowing gown curling around her with the etherial grace of a weightless petal, drifting from it’s blossom.

“I don’t think that fits you, just yet.” Queen Martha spoke just as sweetly as she smiled, even as her son’s pout deepened somehow further.

But she could tell he was simply acting by how the edge of his pout twitched, and by the smile that broke just a second later, falling into his own set of childish giggles, that turned to hiccups, that turned to a simple smile; to match his mother’s.

Martha lifted her husband’s crown from her son’s small neck, and placed it to the side, expression falling forlorn at the day she knew would come, someday, where her little boy would wear his father’s circlet and bear it’s tremendous weight.

Bruce seemed to sense the shift in moods for his mother, and did not do much else but wait, head steady and eyes concerned, as his mother revealed his own smaller crown. The familiar ringlet of silver, incrusted with sapphires and emeralds alike, replaced his fathers, settled gently upon his head.

Far smaller, the weightless ringlet stayed.

“My darling,” Martha whispered, voice willowy and faded, hands drifting from the crown to her child’s shoulders, she pulled him close and tight; she whispered.

“Don’t you ever become king.”

She pressed a feather-light kiss to the six year old’s forehead.

“Promise to stay my little prince forever.”

Into his mother’s shoulder, the small boy nodded, arms reaching out to hold as much of his mother’s warm, steady form as his little arms could grasp.

In a young, gentle voice, he replied.

“I promise.”

Bruce awoke to the nothingness, which, for him, was quite odd.

The dream, or memory, or whatever might lie in the blurred absence between truth and thought, still flickered, visceral and steady in his mind.

Bruce threw the covers from his form with purpose, and slid out of bed, an elegant movement that was only slightly hindered by his broken and bandaged ribs.

In two steps he’d grabbed his robe from it’s hook on the wall, tying it’s matching blue sash around his waist, the thick soft fabric combatting the chill of the morning air.

He threw back the deep mahogany curtains, greeted by the tail end of the rising sun. Wincing, his hand moved to block the light.

A moment later, with eyes adjusted, he watched out over the horizon, toward the dance of light beyond.

God, he hadn’t seen the sunrise in years.

A good few minutes later, a familiar sound caused him to turn from the sight.

“Master Bruce,” the familiar voice spoke in time with the large, mahogany door sweeping mostly open.

Alfred turned from where he had pushed the door with his hip, the tray holding Bruce’s morning tea clinking ever so slightly, and his charge’s event clothes folded over his arm.

“It is time to-”

Alfred took pause at the sight of his charge, still dressed in his bedclothes, seemingly contemplating the view from his bedchambers.

A view he had surely gotten used to… though, its majesty never failed to awe Alfred, so he supposed he should not judge with such haste.

Still, it was very unlike Bruce to not sleep in at least another hour or so.

“Oh, hello Alfred,” Bruce said, his voice was… melancholy, which was an odd sight on him.

Bruce was not one for casual emotion. It was either open sadness, or cold nothingness.

Quite honestly, Alfred was unsure if this was an improvement.

“You are awake.”

Alfred still stood in the doorway.

“I thought I was supposed to be the detective here,” Bruce said, his joke flat and smile low.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but little more.

“Of course you are, sir,” Alfred moved as if he had not missed a beat, kicking the door closed with his heel and strutting inside, tray of hot tea set to his bedside, and laying Bruce’s clothes out onto the sheets.

“This morning we have an earl grey imperial, two sugars, just as you prefer.” Alfred spoke, turning from the clothes and lifting the tea cozy from the pot of tea.

He lifted the top, gulfs of steam rising into the slightly chilly air, wafting with sweetness and gentle flavor. He added two spoonfuls of sugar, before replacing the top with a gentle clink, and in the same motion, he poured the tea through the strainer, and lifted the now full tea-cup to Bruce.

Or, where Bruce should have been.

Alfred blinked again, meeting the eyes of his charge.

“Come, sit,” Alfred spoke slowly, evenly.

He set the tea down onto the side table.

Bruce moved with an odd trepidation, taking a moment to untie his housecoat and hang it on its hook, before taking his normal seat at the edge of his bed.

Alfred held out his dress-shirt to him, which he took and slid over his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs as Alfred lifted his tea; Bruce took it, inhaling the aroma in movement that was far less unsure.

“Thank you,” Bruce whispered, voice gentle and oddly… young.

Alfred simply nodded, grabbing Bruce’s plain white stockings from where he had set them on the bed, kneeling down in front of him.

“As to your schedule for today; this morning you have been requested to meet with the council, concerning the state of your knight, or lack-there-of.”

Bruce’s expression soured. Alfred pulled the second sock over his knee, and gestured to the bandages wrapping his torso.

“I have already declined on your behalf, stating excuse of illness,” Alfred took Bruce’s tea just as he held it out, moving to sit back for a moment as Bruce grabbed his trousers and pulled them on, buttoning them.

“As per usual, they send their regards.”

“I’m sure they do,” Bruce muttered distastefully, handing Alfred the shoes as he grabbed his cufflinks and fitted them through the small holes.

Alfred smirked slightly and rolled his eyes, holding out one boot as Bruce stepped into it, following the second one, he buckled the belts across the dark leather.

“Commander Gordon, as per monthly routine, he will be here at eight to discuss kingdom affairs.”

Alfred stood, brushing off his knees.

“Normally we would be sharing breakfast with the commander,” Alfred lifted his waistcoat from the bed, Bruce turned to help him slide it over his shoulders, “but as we are running a tad early-“

“No, no, I can wait to have breakfast with Jim,” Bruce smiled as Alfred came around to his front, clasping the jacket closed. “Besides, it’s only an hour or so. I have a few files I can busy myself with until then.”

“Ah, more on this ‘Red Jack’ character?” Alfred asked, handing Bruce a pair of short, white gloves, before grabbing the last item from the bed, a half cape, that he then pulled around Bruce’s broad shoulders.

“Last night I ran into him again; or rather, his handiwork.”

Bruce’s expression turned to a dark grimace; one more befitting Batman than himself.

Alfred hummed as, using a pin with the engraving of the Wayne crest, he pinned the half-cape in place.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Bruce adjusted his gloves, glaring at the poor cloth as if it were this mysterious ‘Red Jack’.

“Looking at it, these scenes; they look like an open autopsy preformed at gun-point. There’s no rhyme, no reason behind them. The deaths seem completely random as well.”

His eyes narrowed, Alfred straightened his jacket.

"It's causing a great deal of panic; no one knows who could be next. No one knows why."

“Well, I suppose you will be in your cave, then?” Alfred asked.

Bruce nodded, lifted his cup and took his last swig of tea.

“Alright, I shall alert you when the Commander gets here.”

Alfred bowed, and bruce nodded; seeming bright with purpose, his half cape flittering as he strode from the room.

Alfred sighed.

At least his charge was feeling more like himself.

Alfred moved to the curtains to draw them more fully open, watching the skyline for a long moment.

He was proud of Bruce, of all he had accomplished, all he had saved.

Quite frankly he hated the reasons it had to be done. He hated the city that needed him so.

He hated, not what Batman didn’t, but how he, how the world had failed Bruce, such that the Bat was forced to rise.

Alfred pulled the curtains closed.

WOW that took a long time, sorry for the wait :/ Classes kinda grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go - hopefully I’ll have more out soon,,,,, hopefully :)