#sometimes its kinda confusin....

[selfship-confession-box]

hi im actually rlly new to selfshipping (i think its just been a week?) and Sometimes the whole community daunts me. everytime I see a thing like "anti-antis dni!!" "antis dni!!" I just get. augh. bc I don't like this ship discourse at. all. and i also started selfshipping because of how much I just. felt Welcomed upon seeing the posts. n all. it just Confuses me completely because all I wanna do is just. smooch my f/o but I see a bunch of discourse (kinda) and stuff 😭😭 i don't know if I wrote this right bc I'm Not good at coming up with words

(i might come back here sometimes,, is the 🩵 signature taken alrdy or)

yyyeah the community is a lil confusin. uhhh anti means anti-proship, and anti-anti means the opposite of that i thinl. i havent seen anti-anti before

and yeah i. dont really know abt the shipping discourse. i tend to stay away from it on blogs other than this fjdghdfj

[jojodelaguerras-wooden-stick]

Can I ask for Newsies teaching the piano headcanons?

OH YES

Obviously I feel like Davey knows how to play the piano

So Davey kinda grew up learning classical piano and all and he has a piano in his house

Les learns a little piano from Davey but their parents made him learn the violin

Anyway

There's a piano at Jacobi's deli because his wife (who sadly passed on) knew how to play the piano and would play it at the deli

he just kept it there in memory and open for others to play

So during strike meetings, if the newsies kind of come early, Davey (who always comes early) would play a lil piano

And also some piano for the boys to dance about after the meetings when it's casual and all

When he plays, some of the newsies, usually Smalls and Finch, would kinda stand around him/sit next to him and watch him play

They sometimes ask him how he does it

"How'd you know what to press? It's like yer fingers dancin all about its so confusin"

As time goes on, Davey started bringing scores from home to show them

Mr Jacobi even offered some pieces he had stored in the back of the deli

He'd be pointing at all the notes and just teaching basic music theory

"guys Remember FACE"

"I'll be thinking of Mush's face when I play the piano"

"I'll be thinkin of my face on the front page when I play the piano!"

the deli opens at like 7am so the newsies haven't woken up yet

BuT

JoJo usually wakes up earlier from growing up with the nuns and waking up early to have a proper and fixed routine

And because he doesn't live with them anymore, he just walks down to Jacobi's to say hi, maybe help out a bit

But that day JoJo finished cleaning the tables and decided to play a little piano

He learnt from a very nice nun back at the church (church? Or cathedral I'm sry idk uH) and during leisure time decided to teach him

So he knows how to play

And after watching Davey teach the newsies piano, he wanted to pick it back up again

Mr Jacobi just sort of watches JoJo play as he prepares the deli

And then when the shop opens JoJo just decides to continue playing since he was in the mood and it's also a nice morning welcome for people

The newsies come in and they're like oH

"did Davey teach you alone or something?"

JoJo's like "uh... Nuns?"

"Davey's a nun?"

And now Davey and JoJo work together to teach the newsies how to play

Some of them would sometimes wake up early to go to the deli with JoJo to watch him play and learn a little (and also help out at the deli)

But obviously it's just fun enough for them to play and let the newsies vibe

:)

[berrodarmstrong]

Exchange.

Osric Melkire || Someone knocked on the front door, thrice, each rap closely following the last. There came the signature creak of a door slowly opening, then a silence... a pause... punctuated the words which followed. "Ain't ever known a doghouse what's had its own candlestick. Or kitchen, for that matter."

Berrod Armstrong: "I'm a fancy dog now. Come on in to the back, second room." There was a grunt as he adjusted himself on the mattress.

Berrod Armstrong laid there, slightly inclined on a pair of pillows. He wore his training slops -- though they were quite clean this time. Bandages were wound several times about his middle. He seemed in good enough spirits, give or take some dark circles under his eyes. "Ey."

Osric Melkire pulled the curtain that served as a makeshift partition aside and stepped into the small room. He glanced about at the very modest accommodations before turning his attention to the man on the bed. The midlander went still... except for his eyes. Those roamed all over Armstrong, taking in the highlander's condition to an extent that far surpassed a cursory inspection... 'twas more like the Lominsan was cataloguing each minute detail. "Lo, Berrod."

Berrod Armstrong was marked with a fair few new scars for his troubles across the wall, but most of them were minor and already fading. He hadn't lost any weight, at least. The scruff on his face had gone just a little wild. A smile was embedded in the ruddy half-beard though. "You look healthy. That's good. Been awright?"

Osric Melkire did look healthy; not much had changed for the other man. Osric smirked, a faint snort belying his supposed amusement. "Better'n you, by the looks o' things." A hand gestured to the bed. "Mind if I sit?"

Berrod Armstrong nodded and gestured with a very carefully moved arm. "Help yerself. Probably gonna rinse yer ears out with all the news I got."

Osric Melkire hesitated, brought up short for a moment by Berrod's apparent fragility. He nodded, though, and walked up to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Given what it'd take t'lay you out flat, 'n' how y'weren't keen on speakin' about it o'er the shell, I've a few guesses as to the news. But you first. Doin' alright y'self, or...?"

Berrod Armstrong nodded hastily. "Yeah -- yeah, I'm awright. Just need to finish mendin' and get back out there." He took a deep breath and squirmed a bit to adjust himself on the pillows again. "Things are comin' to a head with our man. He's makin' some strange moves, an' I dunno what he wants anymore. He posed as my Master -- dead ringer, head to toe, then made a big bastard come outta paper to run me through. Bondin' ring's the only reason I survived it. Caleb spent a night an' a day takin' care of me."

Osric Melkire listened attentively, but winced at the mention of the bonding ring. "Must've come as a nasty ruttin' shock, that. For him, I mean."

Berrod Armstrong chuckled quietly -- the man did his best not to heave too much. "Can't count the number of times Caleb's saved my arse, but this was the first time I used the ring for it." He exhaled and paused, "I dunno what to do. I think I was wrong about everythin', about what he'd do. I dunno if my Master's alive or dead -- or where he is. But if that bastard was willin' to see the end of me, then I don't think anyone's safe."

Osric Melkire grunted as he shifted on the edge of the bed to stare down at the floorboards. "...if he'd been deceivin' you the whole time, if it wasn't -ever- your Master... then he knows you better'n you know him. So aye, safety's gone right out the window. Piss 'n' shite."

Berrod Armstrong frowned. "He was pushin' for open war too. Against...himself, I suppose. I knew it wasn't like Master, but men change sometimes so I just...well I disagreed, but I respected the choice. I didn't want to involve my students in a war they didn't sign up for." He swallowed, "But now it's gonna happen anyway, and I ain't even -told- some of 'em what's been goin' on. I...buggered up real bad on this one."

Osric Melkire snorted, loudly this time, as he glanced back at Berrod. "Not as bad as all that. You've still a few hole cards. Can thank your own Twelve-be-damned paranoia for that, aye, sure as the sun rises."

Berrod Armstrong: "Ah? What do y'mean?"

Osric Melkire straightened. "He might've gotten more familiar with your own style 'n' techniques than we'd like, but isolatin' your students? We're unknown quantities."

Berrod Armstrong nodded slowly. "True enough. That, and he's still got a public face, so it ain't gonna be -open- war at least."

Osric Melkire nodded along. "Speakin' of, I've somethin' what might help you 'n' the others with that."

Berrod Armstrong: "Open to anythin' right now, bein'n honest."

Osric Melkire raised his right hand. He splayed and folded his fingers in a flourish... once, twice... the third time he opened his hand from a fist, a small orange crystal was nestled between two fingers. It glowed with the gentle light of a hooded lamp waiting to be revealed. Osric leaned closer to Berrod and held it out for his master to take. "You gave this t'me when I needed it most. Now you're the one with the need. Kept the damned thing on me for just about everythin'. Figure it's got enough memories 'n' such of everythin' I've learned 'n' everythin' I can do, from makin' proper use of the Lowers to the... ah... techniques y'forbade me t'use."

Berrod Armstrong frowned slightly as his eyes lingered on the crystal. Slowly, he reached across to close his calloused fingers around it -- then paused. "Take mine in the meanwhile, so you won't be goin' without."

Osric Melkire raised an eyebrow. "No offense, Master, but I'm not sure what for. In uncharted waters, I am, unless you've been forgin' ahead of me when it comes to the sect that ain't your own." Berrod Armstrong shook his head. "No. I'm still in the same place I was when I finally got -some- kinda hold on it. I just don't like the idea of you goin' around without one, is all. Not just for what's on it, but to mark you as one of the fold." Osric Melkire bit into his cheek, but he nodded. "Aight, fine. Take this 'n' give me yours."

Berrod Armstrong nabbed the crystal, and slooooowly reached under his pillow for his own. Cut identically to the other and marked in the same fashion, the thing was almost indistinguishable. He held it out on the palm of his hand. "Here."

Osric Melkire reached out... and paused, his fingers less than an ilm from making contact with the soul crystal. "This... is goin' to be damned temptin, y'know, 'specially if you've had it on you all this time. Gettin' t'see what y'do 'n' how you do it...."

Berrod Armstrong: "He taught me everythin' he knew. I wager it was before Bloodblade took over. It's all there. I still gotta master a lot of it but...it's all there for the viewin'. Things about Earth, Wind and Fire we ain't even dreamed of. Meditation techniques, trances, mantras. What I knew was so little."

Osric Melkire 's fingers closed down and over the thing, his fist enveloping the little treasure trove of knowledge. The midlander stared at that fist. "Six... six is fine for now. Gods know that if I go for the seventh 'n' get unbalanced, I won't be any good t'you and the others. I'll stick t'what I can use." And with that, Osric's hand withdrew. There was another flourish, and when that hand opened again, the crystal was gone.

Berrod Armstrong chuckled again, though this time it came with a wince. "Likewise. Haven't gone for openin' any more than I already got. I'm...good where I'm at. I wanna master that lot and that lot alone." A snort raspled through his nostrils, "Probably why he decided to kill me."

Osric Melkire frowned. "That doesn't make any kind o' sense. The hells could he be after, anyroad? Snatchin' up students? Ought t'know that yours won't turn on you. Killin' the lot of us? No motive for it, more trouble than it's worth. So what?" Berrod Armstrong: "That's what I been trynna figure out. We're a threat, I suppose, but if he's gettin' what he wants, we wouldn't matter. Then again, if he's gettin' what he wants, we're loose ends to tie up." A slow frown folded the Highlander's lips, "If...he's..." The frown intensified. " He's gettin' what he wants."

Osric Melkire 's eyebrow went up again, but he smiled this time. "Work backwards from that, bow t'stern."

Berrod Armstrong: "That's why he's trynna get rid of us -- it has to be. He's found what he wants so he don't need to keep the rest handy anymore."

Berrod Armstrong squinted. "...as a guess."

Osric Melkire: "Guesswork's better'n nothin'. Right, so... take what he's found from him 'n' he'll have t'come after it."

Berrod Armstrong nodded once, then twisted his mouth, "It's gonna be a person. Somebody strong, willin' to train up to thirteen. We take them, he'll come." Osric Melkire 's face fell, and he was somber as he went back to staring at the floorboards. "Anyone seem a likely candidate?"

Berrod Armstrong took a moment to think things through. "I thought it was gonna be either Ulfarr or me. Definitely ain't me, an' Ulfarr's not it. I think. Maybe. Will probably have to find out."

Osric Melkire buried his face in his hands and groaned. "I still owe Ulfarr a spar. Three nights from now, I think we said."

Berrod Armstrong: "Good opportunity to find out if he knows anythin'."

Osric Melkire chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. The man sounded more rueful than pleased. "Aye, that'll be a discussion t'die for. 'Oi, Ulfy, how's your trainin' goin' as o' late? Found a new master, maybe? Promised 'em somethin' you shouldn't have, perhaps? Send you 'ere t'keep tabs?' Hells, Berrod, this is /Ulfarr/ we we're talkin' about! Innocent as a ruttin' babe, 'less you put him 'longside his brother!"

Berrod Armstrong: "...actually, it's the opposite. I uh. I asked -him- to keep tabs. But I think he's got in too deep. See-- Ulfarr was 'fodder' to him I thought, since I was so sure I was the end target. But...I dunno, maybe the apple of his eye's changed. Urgh -- it's so damned confusin'."

Osric Melkire ... stood up. He turned and stared down at Berrod, horrified. "You sent Ulfarr of all people t'play at bein' a spy? Sweet Matron's teats, Armstrong, what in the seven hells were y'thinkin?"

Berrod Armstrong looked at the partition curtain as if making sure that there was no one else about. "Don't think any less o'me when I say."

Osric Melkire eyed the curtain. He walked over to it, passed through. The interior door creaked open, then slammed back shut as Osric returned. "Just you 'n' me, and I'll do m'best."

Berrod Armstrong exhaled. "...he has a talent for disruptin' and messin' things up wherever he's at, intentional or no. I was hopin' that applied to the enemy too."

Osric Melkire 's eyes fell shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes, I have t'remind m'self that not everyone's had an Askier Mergrey t'run around after." He sighed. "Folks like him 'n' Ulfarr tend t'backfire on those what try t'use them or steer 'em aright."

Berrod Armstrong huffed sharply, then winced. "I realise that now. Serves me right in a way. People ain't tools. Never shoulda asked it of him."

Osric Melkire squinted. "Did y'ask him 'cause he was your first choice... or because your first choice wasn't one y'wanted to go with?"

Berrod Armstrong 's eyes flicked away from Osric and held to the ceiling. He said nothing.

Osric Melkire grunted. "For what it's worth... your students would love 'n' hate you for that."

Osric Melkire stepped forward and leaned out far enough to gently pat Berrod on the shoulder. He gripped the man tight and smirked. "Focus on gettin' well. If you need me or Kanaria t'lock up Caleb in here with you, jus' give us a holler."

Berrod Armstrong bit the inside of his cheeks for a moment, then nodded. "Ayeah. Can't do nothin' if I ain't knitted up again. I'll behave." His own hand moved to clap over Osric's rather feebly. "For what it's worth, m'sorry. "

Osric Melkire snorted. "Don't be. Ought to be thankin' you 'stead of actin' like some young upstart lookin' t'get killed. Hells, Kanaria can actually breathe easy these suns."

Berrod Armstrong 's face lined with guilt. "I don't want them hurtin'."

Osric Melkire 's own face softened. "Course not. I'm an idiot 'n' you're a good friend." He squeezed one more time, then he let go and pulled back. "I'll fill you in on the spar if y'don't end up makin' it. 'til then, I'm mindin' the store."

Berrod Armstrong: "Fair 'nuff. Urgh. I gotta catch up on so much. But everythin' in it's time. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Osric Melkire: "Likewise. I'll send up a prayer to Thal for you, 'n' bark at Wichard 'til he assigns someone t'guard your door." The midlander waved a farewell as he pulled the curtain aside to leave.

Berrod Armstrong: "May the Destroyer smite all in yer way," He offered. Then more quietly, "And forgive me for my nonsense."

Osric Melkire didn't hear that last as he left. Good thing, too. He might've rolled his eyes at the notion.

(( @cfs-melkire ))

[ask-the-harlem-newsies]

25 and 30 for everyone please

25: Insecurities and 30: Something they treasure 

*All the newsies seem to tense up at the first question*Doc: I’ll start, I guess. Uh- I worry sometimes that I dont pass as guy well enough. Cause Im a guy, but my body isnt an’ I don’t want people thinkin’ Im a girl. And somethin’ I treasure? Bein’ able to be me, an’ bein’ lucky enough to have support. Mellow: *crosses her arms* I dont like people seein’ my drawin’s cause I think they’re crap. Or when people think Im we- I cant look after myself. *she grumbles*  An’ I treasure when I win a fight, ‘specially if I get money for it.

Beans: I- uh. I ‘ave dis thin’ where I go from real loud to real quiet, an’ sometimes Ise worried that people f’rget tha’ Im ‘ere. I really like bein’ with you folks. *he glances at Mellow* Even when Mel’s tryna kill me. *he laughs as a pillow hits him in the head*Booker: I dont like my legs. They’re too… splotchy. They have all these weird shapes on them and I just- I really dont like them. Thats why I wear long pants because I dont like people seeing them.*he fiddles with some loose thread on his shirt.* And I treasure… these people. *he looks around the room* My family- I dont know where I’d be without them. *he laughs* That’s really- mushy and gross I know. But its true. I- Whos next? Someone talk so I can stop talking-Marcus: I dont like using the wrong words in the wrong places. Like instedd- instead of ‘were,’ I accidentally use ‘was’ and- I know plenty of people here use words in the wrong order or in the wrong way and I just… I was kinda- kind of- *he clears his throat* I was… taught- not to use words in the wrong order. and everytime I do it just- makes me feel- not okay. *he hides his hands, which are shaking* I treasure everyone who stops and buys a pape..r- paper- from me because more money means I can keep sleeping under a roof. Benny:  I w’rry my voice is too ‘igh, that I don’ sound like a fella, yanno? ‘Cause I gotta a real ‘igh voice and I don’- I ‘ate it. I ‘ate my voice. Its jus’- its too damn high an’ girly an’ puttin’ on a voice hurts  an’ I don’ know how ta- not sound like a goil. *he pauses, closing his eyes and breathing in, and then out* Im real fond of all-a-yall for helpin’ me an’ my brudders out, ‘specially wid me bein’ kinda useless for the first couple-a weeks. I jus’- thanks.  Sketch: *fiddling with a spoon* I dont like my nose, its crooked an’ wonky an’ weird lookin’. I like havin’ a place to stay, food to eat most of the time, an’ a warm- well, ‘part from the hole in the roof- *she laughs* -a warm place to sleep. An’ even though I keep company with a bunch a fleabags, its- good company. *she nods as if confirming her words*Jazz: I dunno, I guess I’m too loud. *they laugh, a little bit of sadness hidden in it* Hell, my parents found out I wasn’t a-hundred-percent their daughter because they came home and heard me talkin’ to myself from upstairs. And I love dancin’- makes me feel free, yanno? Oh, and bein’ able to come off the street and back to a place where I can just feel safe is a real bonus. Pike: I sometimes feel like I get in the way? Like- I know that Im tryin’ to help people but I dont wanna help ‘em if they dont want me there! An’ I dont wanna help ‘em if they dont need it, yanno? I just… *a lot more quiet, looking at her hands* I really don’ wanna get in the way. *she shakes her head quickly, like she was shaking away the thought, before snapping her head up* I really really like when we get to have food at Frankies! ‘Specially her pies- Frankie makes the best pies in all o’ Harlem, I’d reckon! An’ her cakes are amazin’! Sam: Ise worried that I won’ figure out whether Ise a boy or not- or if I like fellas or not! Everthin’s real confusin’ an’ I don’ like it none. I like havin’ a fam’ly like this one. They aint really my brudders an’ sisters but I love ‘em like they is. Eric: Ise don’ like my belly- its real squishy an’ I aint ‘sposed ta be squishy. Sammy aint squishy, an’ Benny aint that squishy. But…I know Booker don’ like his legs much but I don’ see anything wrong wid ‘em! Cause they’s just like my arms an’ my legs! But- I uh. I like that even though we aint livin’ wid our old Ma anymore, we’s still got a Ma. But we call ‘er Cap’in most o’ da time.Ash: …Ise scared that Ise too slow. I don’t like bein’ slow. I wanna be fast like the others. An’ I like that even though they don’ really know much about me, the newsies let me stay an’ treat me like fam’ly. It’s real nice. *he plays with his hands. Benny pats him on the back and he shuffles a little closer to him*Shorty: *she wipes at her nose* Sometimes I really don’ like how small I am- it aint too big a deal, but its just sometimes people won’ take me seriously an’ it makes me real annoyed. But I do like my name, so Ise stickin’ with it no matta what! Oh, an’ I like Halloweens- *the other newsies seem to echo an agreement* cause we get to dress up an’ people give us candy jus’ for lookin’ scary! An’ I really like sharin’ the candy with the other newsies from all over New York, cause it means we get to go visit ‘em! *The newsies start to chatter about Halloween when Captain walks into the room.* Captain: Hey, shouldnt ya’ll be out sellin’? Whaddaya sittin’ around here for, huh?Sam: Answerin’ questions, Cap! An’ this ones for everybody! Yous part-a everybody! *he hands her the piece of paper with the questions on it* Captain: *she reads the paper and frowns* Insecurities, huh? Well I’ll answer these when you get ta sellin’, which you better go get started on if ya wanna be able to pay Price the rent tomorrow. Go on, get goin’.*they all stand up, groaning and moaning about being interrupted during breakfast, even though they’ve all finished eating.*

Captain: *she looks at the paper again*  …Pretty deep question there, kid. *she shuffles uncomfortably as a lot of the newsies leave* Aite. Fine. Ise worried that the other leaders- ‘specially the big shots like Spot Conlon an’ Jack Kelly- dont think Ise good enough. Or, yanno- strong enough to look after my newsies. An’ somethin’ I treasure?-Doc: *he turns, looking back at Captain* Hey, I’ll meet you at Frankies later? Captain: Yeah, ‘course. *she pauses, watching Doc leave with a small smile on her face.* …I dunno. 

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

A Different Sort of Possession

The second Ira walked into the house, he knew something was wrong. 

 The air felt different. Tense, devoid of the sense of calm that usually occupied the space. In its place was an ominous feeling thick enough to cut with a knife. It immediately set him on edge as he moved further into the home, walking softly so as not to alarm…whatever was off here. 

 Above his head he could hear voices. Not very loud, but one of them–Azazel?–sounded angry while the other was laughing. This confused him because Azazel was the second calmest person in the house next to Daemon. So whatever had him riled up must be pretty serious. As he inched a little closer to the stairs, he could just barely make out what the voices were saying.

“Get out!” Definitely Azazel’s voice and definitely angry.

“Aw, c'moooooon, Ace. It’s been soooo looooooong since I’ve felt anything. Give us a kiss, huh~?“ Unfamiliar, almost unintelligible voice. But familiar with Azazel it seemed.

“No. And you don’t get to call me that!”

Curiosity piqued, and never one for patience, he decided to take the east route and merely teleported upstairs. Which nearly earned him a bite on the leg from the startled hellhound he appeared next to. He yelped, the dog yelped, and the ruckus effectively silenced the other voices. 

 “Sorry, Rommy,” he mumbled, scratching behind the hound’s ear to appease him. 

 Rommy nuzzled Ira’s hand and whined, turning his attention to the door the voices were coming from. Jacqueline’s room. And whatever was on the other side was making the hellhound very visibly nervous. This, in turn, only made Ira more nervous. 

“Ira?” Another voice–Daemon’s–called from the other side of the door.  

“Yeah?” He called back. “Can I come in?”

“Might as well join the ‘party’,” came Azazel’s voice again, sounding exasperated. 

The first thing Ira noticed when he opened the door was Jacqueline’s disembodied arm lying on the floor not far from where he stood. He’d seen her remove body parts before as a “party trick”, but the heavy atmosphere in the room made the sight of it almost sickening. 

The second thing he noticed was Jacqueline…or what he assumed Jacqueline would look like if she stepped out of one of his nightmares. 

Her eyes, normally a vibrant orange, were now so black they resembled empty sockets, reflecting no light as they gazed in his direction. Her smile was too wide, too toothy, looking as though her face would tear in two at any second if it continued. 

And she was dripping with inky black ichor. Her eyes, her mouth, her nose. Every loose seam of her stitching oozed and bled black pitch that pooled around her feet onto the equally black floor. Smoke drifted from between her teeth and the stitches at her throat, hovering above her head like a broken halo. 

 It was like looking in some kind of fucked up mirror, and it scared the hell out of him. 

“IIIIIrraaaaa~” She drawled in a voice that was not her own, somehow grinning even wider at him.

“Jaaaaqueline??” His voice lilted with confusion and apprehension, instincts keeping him firmly rooted by the door.

“Jacqueline” just chuckled, another wisp of smoke drifting from her mouth.

“There is no Jacqueline, only Zuul,” she smirked, looking very self satisfied as she tilted her head to one side.

Azazel made a noise of disgust and rolled his eyes, jostling her rather roughly to shush her. It was only at that point Ira realized Azazel was gripping her still intact arm.

“She’s possessed,” he said flatly before Ira could ask just what the hell was going on. “It happens sometimes.”

This did absolutely nothing to clear up Ira’s confusion. Frankly, it just raised even more questions and made him more concerned. Especially since neither Daemon nor Azazel seemed particularly worried about it.

“Possessed? What, like ‘the power of Christ compels you’ kinda shit?”

Whatever had control of Jacqueline just laughed again and tilted her head to the other side, leaning forward towards Ira. 

“Oh, hun. I’m not something you can wish away with salt and pretty words,” they smiled with ink stained teeth. “I’m her anxiety, her self doubt, her ever present shadow.”

“A pain in MY ass,” Azazel interjected with a growl, jostling them again. “You’ve had your fun, Shadow. Give her back. NOW.”

“No can do, buckaroo~. She LET me under her skin and I ain’t done playing ‘pilot’ just yet.“

“Shadow,” Daemon spoke up, voice low but stern in a reprimanding parent sort of way. “Enough.”

Shadow turned to grin at Daemon for a moment before their face dropped into a mock pout.

“I’m sorry I’m so broken, Daddy Dearest. Are you disappointed in me?”

“What? Oh, sweetheart no,” Daemon frowned, looking genuinely heartbroken by Shadow’s words. “Never. We’re just worried about you, Jac.”

Shadow paused, a flicker of emotion crossing her face, and Ira swear he saw the orange light return to her eyes for a moment before they scrunched her face in disgust and turned away.

“Ew. Sentiment. You’re no fun. I’d rather Azazel rough me up some more.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Alright, wait a damn minute!” Ira finally took a step into the room with a frustrated huff. “Before things get any more confusin’, I have some questions. Number one, WHY is Jacqueline’s arm on the floor?”

“Shadow threw it at me,” said Azazel.

“I threw it at him,” grinned Shadow.

“Well, that’s one mystery fuckin’ solved,” Ira muttered, running a hand through his hair before pointing at Jacqueline. “And you. ‘Shadow’. You’re Jac’s bad emotions?”

“A-yup~” they chirped, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“You’re literately her negative thoughts and shit?”

“Correctamundo~”

“So, this is basically her having an anxiety attack or something right now?”

“Three for three champ~!”

And that was all the information he needed. Without another word he walked across the room, went right up to Jacqueline…and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Shadow put up a fight for maybe a few seconds before her body went limp and leaned heavily against him, her face buried in his chest.

“Um, your feelings are valid,” he mumbled, feeling a little awkward. “And whatever it is you’re goin’ through, you don’t have to do it alone. These doofuses care about you, I care about you, and your dog probably thinks you’re a goddess or some shit. And we all think you’re pretty rad. So…yeah. We’re here for you and all that cheesy crap.”

There was a long pause, several moments of tense silence before Jacqueline’s shoulders started shaking. Ira was afraid she was crying at first, but then she threw her head back and laughed a normal sounding laugh. The smoke had stopped pouring from her mouth, tears had replaced the ichor, and there was an audible sigh of relief from everyone in the room.

“That WAS really fucking cheesy,” she said between giggles, wiggling herself free to wipe her eyes. “But good gods I needed that laugh. And that hug. So thank you.“

“You okay now, kiddo?” Daemon asked gently, taking her by the shoulders and looking her over. “You need anything?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured him, waving her hand dismissively. “I just need a long, hot shower. I feel gross.”

“You look gross,” Ira grinned, earning him a playful jab in the ribs.

“Gee thanks,” Jacqueline snarked as she made her way towards her disembodied arm. “Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind, I’m going to wash off this funk and then pass the fuck out for a day or five. Please kindly show yourselves to your own respecive rooms.” As she spoke, she waved her unattached arm around like she was directing traffic, obviously trying to lighten up the previously serious space.

The men did as they were asked, Azazel saying nothing as he stalked off to his room as quickly as possible. Ira could have sworn he gave him a dirty look as he passed, but Daemon lightly grabbing his shoulder distracted him. It took all his will power to not punch the older man out of instinct.

“All this time, it was that easy?” He asked, looking genuinely impressed and even thankful.

Ira just shrugged. “I mean…not always. I’m no expert on dealin’ with other people’s anxieties. But yeah, sometimes it’s just that easy.”