#i want to be nonchalant and chill in front of creators

[vnknownmc]

im sorry to say but Leviathan is not crazy enough about Simeon being the writer of TSL. If i found out my friend is the creator of my HYPERFIXATION OF LITERAL DECADES I fear that is the only thing i would ever talk about. either that or i would immediately kill myself

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 10/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

Notes at the end!

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Lucifer should've known that even in his sleep, his torment would not stop.

He should have been wiser, but exhaustion dulled his senses, making him lower his guard.

He thought that maybe, maybe, the universe would give me just this little moment. And at the beginning he really thought that. He felt weightless. Like he's not the Morningstar, the fallen angel, the King of Hell, the Sin of Pride, a father or a lover. Like for the first time in a millennia, he simply existed.

So forgive him for his surprise when darkness swallowed his dreams before he could savor them fully.

Roo: Hello, fallen. Been a while, hasn't it?

Lucifer: Roo.

Roo: Don't look at me like that. Our deal is still in effect, you know. I can't do anything more than this even if I wanted to.

Lucifer: You saying you want to do more then? Like harm me?

Roo: Ugh, you silly creatures, always so pessimistic. Can't someone just chill and have fun?

Lucifer: I highly doubt the root of all evil and chaos embodiment just wants to 'chill'.

Roo: Believe what you will, fallen. I am many things, but I am no liar.

Lucifer: Your sister surely is.

Roo had to laugh at that. 

Roo: Yin in every Yang or so they say.

Lucifer: What? You're telling me you have good in you?

Roo: I would think the fact that you get to keep your soul was a sign in and of itself.

Lucifer: That's less than the bare minimum.

Roo smirked and rested her head on her hand, a gesture that grated Lucifer's nerves. He couldn't help but think he should take a page from Adam's book and wipe that shit-eating grin off her face.

Roo: Had the old man never told you to not look at a gifted horse's mouth? 

Lucifer: Enough. Why are you really here?

Roo: If you must know, I merely wanted to ask how you are doing! After all, meeting The Fates must have been quite the experience.

Lucifer: You were looking?

Roo: I wanted to see if my vessel works well. It's not my fault I can see everything you see, hear every thought you think, feel every pain you wish never happened but also desire to inflict onto yourself. I wanna ask, does your pity party ever stop?

Realistically, Lucifer knows that Roo is messing with him; she was deliberately provoking him, reveling in his inner turmoil. She's luring him in, and he's taking the bait.

There's a creeping cold that's getting worse the longer they talk. He thought nothing of it at first but he's now starting to feel it under his skin.

He's well aware of the threat in front of him but doesn't mean he's not going to bite back with force.

Lucifer: I think you're forgetting who delivered the final blow in the first war. You know, the blow that led to your defeat?

Roo's nonchalant and playful facade cracked just a bit that Lucifer knows he struck a nerve.

Lucifer: Hell, shouldn't you be more thankful to me? Without my actions in offering the fruit to humanity, you wouldn't have gained the power you so desperately craved to rise again. And now, here you are, benefiting from my influence once more.

The Sin of Pride couldn't fathom where this sudden surge of confidence came from, but he refused to cower any longer. Roo had expected him to tremble in fear, to bow before her as if she were someone superior to be revered on.

He's sick and tired of everyone assuming he should be the one on his knees, begging for mercy.

Lucifer: How are you the root of all evil when I'm the one who started sin. You should be worshipping me! Now that I think about it, in some twisted way, I was your creator-

His mockery was short lived when the dreamscape glitched and suddenly it wasn't Roo in front of him; it's The Root of All Evil.

Laughter erupted from the shadowy figure, a grotesque sound reminiscent of a rabid hyena's. Refusing to be intimidated, Lucifer continues to put oil in the fire.

Lucifer: Bringing out the big guns for a little comment? Insecure much?

He's bullshitting at this point but damn him if he's going down without an ounce of victory. He also thinks he's lucky to have said as much at all.

The abrupt stop of laughter sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, and then gravity seemed to solidify around him, pressing down with an oppressive force.

Push.

Michael: All you had to do was listen.

Push.

Lilith: You're exhausting, Lucifer.

Push.

Charlie: He's defending this hotel! How come he could have faith in me but my own father can't.

Push.

Y̵̛̞̝̳̥͍̏͛͊ö̴̼̭̜̖́͗̒͝ü̴̩͚͆͑ ̵͎̉̒̄̄ả̶̭͈͍̟̳ṙ̵̡̲͙̼͎è̸̮̳̲̊͂̔̍ ̴̠͔̯̘̬̑͝s̵̜̪̗̯̚è̴͇͌̇ṅ̷̘̝̀t̶̛̹̝̄͘ẻ̶͓̱̬͔̅̉ͅn̵̥̽̋̌̓ĉ̴͜e̶̯͇̤̺̤̅̀̅d̵̝̰̬̗̋ͅ ̶̝͕̩͇̱̎̋͝͝ẗ̶̢̊͠õ̶̡̦͖͒̈́̍̍ ̸̧̏F̸̧̬̪̂̋a̸̞͈͍͇̔̓͘͜l̶̬͙̤͈̝̑̕l̵̼͂.̴̱̘̣̽̏̕͜

Lucifer screams. But instead of despair, he feels anger bubbling within him. What the hell is happening to him? He's been snapping more. Why did he snap at Michael? Why did he tell him that he can't wait for Heaven to be destroyed? He never wanted that. All he wanted was to give Eve free will. All he wanted was to love Lilith. All he wanted was for Charlie to be safe. All he wanted was for everything to STOP!

Roo: What's the matter, little devil? Never seen real evil before?

The cold is becoming unbearable now. The lake is frozen and all the greenery had been turned into crystals, consumed by the creeping frost that made them look like solid darkness.

Lucifer gritted his teeth, feeling the chill seeping into his bones, threatening to overwhelm him. He refused to give Roo the satisfaction of witnessing the King of Hell tremble; regardless if it's in fear or not.

Roo: Let me show you just how good of a person I can be. 

Then she's suddenly up on his face and brings a finger to his forehead.

Lucifer can feel Roo's corruption going further inside him and at the same time, a lot of somethings are coming out. It must be his remaining divinity because that's the only reason he can think of on why his Father's tether is screaming and clawing at him. 

He feels himself choke from everything happening all at once but he can't move. Roo has him locked in place and he never felt so helpless.

'Am I going to die here?'

No. Roo said that she won't be the one to deliver him to his demise. Nevertheless, he thinks that this is it.

Roo: Remember these words, fallen. A message from The Fates that you did not get to hear.

Charlie. He wants Charlie.

Roo: With the first soul's ascend, all began to unfold.

Tears begin to form in The King of Hell's eyes. Be it from the pain or fear, he doesn't know. 

Roo: It will end at a star's fall, as the threads have foretold.

Michael! Where is he?! He promised Samael he'll always protect him!

Roo: Trumpets will sing, as the sky recites a prayer.

'Father. Help me.'

Roo: An instrument of Heaven shall come down and be the devil's slayer.

He struggled to remain conscious; he fights to stay awake but he can't even move a finger but his efforts were in vain as he collapsed to the frozen ground, utterly drained. Through hazy vision, he can see Roo staring down at him with a gleeful smile.

Roo: See you soon, my fallen~

He wakes up to the smell of Marigolds.

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In Nifty's voice: How was that?!!

You have no idea how long I spent making that rhyme prophecy thingy.

As always, your kind words and actions are greatly appreciated!

My DM's are always open for theories and introspections <3

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[beautifulchris]

trainwreck

pairing: choi lia x gn!reader

summary: sometimes, relationships are meant to end

genres: angst, lovers to exes!au, good ending?

wc: 1,1k

tw: lia is a bad girlfriend, swearing

notes: hello everyone! this fic is part of my collection of fics! indented are the lyrics (ignore the mentions of a dress and 'boy'), banner made by me on canva. also!! idk if you'll notice, but this one is also based on two other songs from anne-marie c: happy reading!

listen to the song for a more immersive experience: spotify link | youtube link

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @kwritersworld @whipped-kpop-creators

permanent tag list: @soobin-chois @exfolitae @linos-catnip @prettymiye0n (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You meant to say this for a while now, and today was the day you finally gathered the courage to verbalize the thought.

“What do you mean?”

The words that flew past her lips were nonchalant, like she was completely relaxed. Sitting up, she had her arms and legs crossed and a seemingly emotionless face. At least, that was the face you knew she made when unimpressed.

“I mean… that I want to break up with you.”

In contrast, you were so nervous you could feel your heart hammer in your chest, and sweat was running down the sides of your face. Her reaction didn’t ease you either.

“Okay.”

Was it all you meant to her? After everything, it looked like it didn’t faze her at all. Saying you weren’t hurt would be a lie.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What? Did you think I’d get on my knees begging you to stay? If you want to leave, go, the door’s wide open” she stated as she gestured towards the front door of her apartment. “I’ll wait for you to come back. Cause I know you will eventually. You know what? I give you two weeks at most.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did those hostile yet detached words really left her lips effortlessly?

You grabbed your bag and left her place without delay, whispering to yourself: “I won’t.”

Choi Lia has been an important person in your life, yes.

You loved her intensely and sincerely for many months, but soon, mostly thanks to your friends, you started to acknowledge the little details. Minimal at first, but, over time, they grew bigger until you couldn’t ignore them anymore.

She’d look into your phone whenever you’d leave the room without it, subtly mock you in front of her friends, cancel numerous dates to go to parties instead, order take-away when she was aware you cooked for her…

You always put up with it because you loved her, but letting her go, albeit painful, was the best thing you could’ve done for your own health.

Called up my friends, took their advice Put on a dress, I'm out tonight I can't believe I said goodbye Oh yeah, this time you know, I finally let you go, yeah

It had been three days since you put an end to the relationship. Of course your friends would take you out on a Friday night.

The party was chill. There were around twenty people, refreshing cocktails, good background music and board games.

Lia didn’t come to mind once, much to the delight of your dear friends. 

You actually made some new acquaintances, which was nice.

Spending more time with your friends, they saw the difference in your behavior.

“You look happier, Y/N,” one of them informed you.

“You smile and laugh more, you seem more alive,” another one added.

You felt it, too. You felt free from her. Her claws. Her grip on you.

I don't know why you thought that I'd be sheddin' a tear When I'm chillin' at the party, and I'm glad you're not here And I don't know what to say, but the pain disappeared And I'm sorry Bet you think I'm a trainwreck, upset Friday night, layin' lonely in my bed Truth is, boy, I'm so fuckin' happy Without you

Life went on.

A month later, Lia was on her couch, a drink in hand. It was dark in her apartment.

“Why haven't they come back already?”

She was fidgeting, her lips pressed together and her brows furrowed.

“They should’ve been back by now.”

Her phone rang in the deafening silence, making her flinch. Her eyes widened and she laughed. “Of course, Y/N would call instead of coming unannounced.”

She answered the phone with a confident smirk, ready to hear your begging.

“I put all your stuff in a bag. Do you have a moment this week so we could trade?”

Lia’s smile disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Also, don’t forget to give me back the keys to my place. I feel uneasy knowing you still have them. Not like you came often, anyway.”

It was her turn to be too stunned to speak. How could you be so apathetic? It wasn’t like you to use this tone when talking to her. She stared at the wall with an open mouth.

“I’ll wait for your message, then. Hanging up.”

Before Lia could protest, the call was over. She sat there, not moving for a while, thoughts twirling in her mind.

So pour yourself another drink Sit on your couch and overthink In all your lies and arrogance, I've been alright, you know So glad you let me go, yeah

Your ex-girlfriend finally gave you a time and place to meet. Without much surprise, it was at her place. Seeing her again after so long was not as painful as you thought it would be—not as painful as Lia hoped it would be.

She had to face the fact you changed. You weren’t the easily manipulated, sweetly naive and blindly in love person anymore. Much to her dismay.

“Here,” you handed her the bag, expecting another one in return.

Instead, she took a step back and offered for you to come in. “Want something to drink?”

“No?” With furrowed brows, you crossed your arms. “Give me back my stuff, please.”

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin with your free index finger. “As a matter-of-fact, no, I don’t. I just want my stuff and leave this place forever.”

“Well… I…” Not finding anything concrete to say, she sighed loudly. 

Reluctantly, she grabbed the bag from the ground behind her and put the handle on your outstretched hand, before taking hers out of your other hand.

“You don’t mind me checking, right?”

She slowly shook her head, eyes unfocused, even if you didn’t wait for her approval. The key was there, that was all you cared about. Wait, no, there was a cute outfit you forgot about, too.

You thanked her and left. She called out for you, but you didn’t turn around. “Erase my number!”

It wasn’t said with a negative tone, but Lia took it like a stab in the back. Which was really audacious coming from her.

She just couldn’t believe you left her without a second thought and didn’t come back like she was convinced you would.

And now we're at the final stop And I'm the one that's gettin' off I know you hope I'm cryin', but I'm doin' just fine

She was now part of your past. Unerasable, of course, but peaceful.

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated :) masterlist

[austarus]

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader - Integrated Revelations (2/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me.

*Tbh, I was attempting something and I don’t I feel like I’m getting really bad at writing Eobard.. I’m trying ;-; bear with me things will deviate from the plot. Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

Part 1  Part 3

Word Count: 4687

You shut your eyes, upon reopening them you soundlessly shifted over to your boyfriends’ side as he spoke with a raspy, chilling voice. Like a Queen should to a King. “I mean, who are you really?” Eobard questioned skillfully; one leg crossed over the other. You glanced between both men before your blank gaze settled upon Barry.

“Dr. Wells, what are you doing?”

Eobard’s demeanor did not falter at Barry’s question. The villainous speedster dropped his leg from where it was and sat forward. He hunched himself, elbows pressed onto the edges of the armrests. “None of it adds up. The interference with the comms, the speed equation, the Time Wraith.” You pressed your lips into a thin line as Eobard shook his head while continuing. Barry eyed the dark-haired scientist closely. “That's what we call them. Time Wraiths. Scary, aren't they?” Eobard chuckled darkly to himself. “I thought, ‘Oh, no, a Time Wraith has found me.’ But then I thought, ‘No, no, no.’ You know what you're doing.” He snapped for emphasis. You dropped your gaze, running your fingers over the back of his chair before deciding to take a step back and lean against the pebbled wall. No matter how many times you were in the Time Vault, it always unsettled you the amount of power and knowledge and secrets Eobard can keep within it “Now, the Time Wraith is after someone who's travelled through time...” Eobard tilted his head at Barry, “and doesn't know what they're doing.” A smirk remained plastered on the Wells imposter while Barry’s eyes flickered up at you momentarily. His apprehensive green hues met Eobard’s icy gaze.

Your speedster boyfriend’s words clicked. This version of Barry doesn’t have the faintest idea of how to manipulate time travel like Eobard. He can easily get caught by those monsters. You crossed your arms as you observed the two speedsters. One in control- potent, as always, and the other rendered helpless in those meta-dampening cuffs. Unlike the other version we met. The one who knows about my powers, who denied me an answer.

Barry looked incredulously at Eobard. Choking out a nonchalant laugh, Barry glanced away while feigning his innocence, but the two of you knew this was not your Barry Allen. “Dr. Wells come on. It's me. It's... it's Barry. I don't...” Barry reached out to touch the cool metal of the cuffs. You wanted to step forward to help him out, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to trust this version of Barry either. At least this one’s not giving me headaches.

“Really? You are good.” Eobard puffs out a curt laugh, shaking his head one more and clapping mockingly. “You are good, and I would believe you, except that…” The scientist sped off from his chair, icy blue eyes with a piercing gaze as he towered over Barry. You took a step forward at Eobard’s sudden display with a frown grazing your features and eyes widening a fraction. Intimidation exuded from the older speedster. But your eyes quickly flickered to see Barry’s response. Nothing. “Nothing? I move like this, you barely flinch.” Barry glared up at Eobard with such abhorring emotions in his eyes. “You know who I am. Don't you?” You watched Eobard taunt Barry as he stepped back beside you, leaning back as well. Tension hung thickly in the air. Barry crinkled his nose at you and Eobard then attempted to phase his hand out of the cuffs but to no avail. He should have known better than to try that with those cuffs on. You cleared your throat as Eobard snickered at the younger speedster. “Oh! And you're from the future. Do you know how I know that? Because I haven't taught my Barry Allen how to phase through objects... yet.”

Barry laughed mirthlessly dismissing your existence, but the speedster knew he was defeated. He wasn’t as skilled in the art of deception as you and Eobard were. “Let me out of here, Thawne.”

You heard Eobard sigh at the utterance of his name. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you eyed the speedster while he pushed off the wall. “I know. You're upset.” Eobard dragged his white chair to take a seat once more. The genius deceiver coyly grinned at the scarlet speedster, bound to the wheelchair. “But it does me good to hear that name again. Now, onto the bigger question.” He fumbled with his fingers, anticipation- ideas- possible reasons on exactly why The Flash had decided to take another detour to the past whirled inside his mind.

“Why are you here?” You piped up unfurling your arms, instead tucking your hands into the back of your pants pockets. “You’re from a different time obviously, couldn’t you figure out your own problems from there? Why bother looking for solutions in a past you clearly despise?” Barry refused to answer you. “Or do you always need to run to Dr. Wells whenever little Barry Allen gets stuck?” Eobard glanced back at the venom dripping from your words. The hard look on your face, the sheer coldness settling within your eyes at his archnemesis. It made his heart swoon yet… Eobard felt worried at just how frigid you can be. How easy it was for you to turn off those positive emotions that you carry on inside. Would you do the same to him?

“Because I want to go faster,” Barry’s sneered, an abrupt response after your malicious tone caused Eobard’s head to snap back at towards him. “And he’s the only one who can teach me.” The forensics scientist forced out the statement, a steely expression on his face. Barry narrowed his eyes from you down to Eobard, a hint of curiosity in those hazel-greens. “You're the only one who's figured out the equation. The Speed Force. You've manipulated it. How did you do that?”

Before you could say anything, Eobard stood up with crossed arms, whispering to himself. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No.” The older speedster locked his gaze at the wall, running the tips of his fingers over the pebbled half-spheres. Curiously, you quirked an eyebrow before your eyes met with Barry’s, who only slightly shrugged at you. Eobard circled Barry, like a predator circling its next kill. Instead… you sensed something was off by the way his shoulders tensed. “You'd only come here if something went wrong.”

You uttered; a wave of uneasiness flooded over you, “What-but-”

“-If you're still alive, then that means...” Eobard turned to Barry with a grimace. He was one the other side of the room now. You were between the two men, a good distance between each. Your fingers fidgeted as they now remain beside you, heart clenching that all of this wouldn’t work. Dread began stirring inside you, fueling the headache you head earlier, and a sense of insecurity snatched your heart. So, the other Barry was onto to something, he just didn’t want to tell me… I don’t-We don’t get our happy ending. “I haven't beaten you. If you're still alive... that means my plan fails.” Eobard swallows thickly as the words escaped him, avoiding your gaze as a pained expression crossed his face. I don’t go home. I don’t end up taking her with me, making her my bride like I promised all those nights ago. Living far away together from The Flash robbing me from anything else that brings me joy. He blinked a few times, his moment of realization that he would fail turned to pure ballistic intentions in milliseconds. “And if my plan fails,” you shuddered at Eobard’s frustration flourishing as he kicked the chair over. You felt stunned in your place. You felt small. You hated whenever he was in these rage fits, especially when they were about Barry. “I don't get to go home, and if that's the case, well, then-” Eobard had aggressively rounded in quick strides to the restrained speedster, a phasing hand slicing through the air to strike Barry.

“No, no, no! Hey, hey, hey! It's the opposite! It's the opposite!” Barry shouted rapidly to stop the futuristic speedster, holding a hand out to protect himself from Eobard’s phasing hand. His other arm reflexively pulled at his restraint, wishing he could phase out of the cuffs and manifest his speed again. “It... you trick me. You harnessed my speed. We turn on the accelerator to create a path for you to go home. I go back in time. You go back to yours.” The scarlet speedster nodded his head in your direction as he spoke up again before letting his eyes meet Eobard’s heated gaze. You dare say that you saw a hint of sadness in the young speedster’s eyes when he looked at you. “She goes with you. You won. Yeah.” Barry took a breath in, muscles taut at the prospect of his enemy killing him before he got the chance to stop Zoom and his reign of terror.

“Eobard, stop.” You didn’t know when during the exchange you had found yourself right by his side, maneuvering yourself to stand in front of him, promptly blocking his view of Barry. “Eo, look at me.” He did. The dark-haired man gave you a dangerous look, jaw clenched while you reached out to hold onto his raised arm. Your fingers touched his wrist gently. “Breathe,” you spoke intently, searching his eyes for any sign of reason that he normally held. “Anger blinds even the strongest of people- the smartest of people, including speedsters.” You told us that. The phasing hand subsided as you lowered it with ease. Eobard shut his eyes, his hand slipping into yours as he reopened them. The speedster knew what you were saying, knew that he needed to rationalize before acting- before he executed this version of The Flash.

A disposable version, if it means anything to you.

Barry ran a hand over his opposite shoulder, his arm was beginning to numb in place, but his eyes never left the two of you. He clenched and unclenched his hand to circulate the blood. As volatile as Harry is back in his time, Eobard was on equal par. The only difference being that you never knew exactly when the Reverse Flash would bite back, or to what degree. Barry made no comment when you linked hands, but the brown-haired CSI caught the flicker of change in Eobard’s eyes. The yellow speedster’s anger dissipated behind those baby blue hues as his gaze softened for you. Barry observed how you and Eobard deeply cared for each other. All over again. He almost felt bad for the events that would surely lead to Eobard’s removal from existence and your forever broken heart. How the two of you would be forever separated. Almost.

You were conflicted. Hurt. Frustrated. You dad no clue what to think. Barry’s your best friend. He wouldn’t… intentionally hurt you, would he? But then a way future version of Barry seemingly dismissed your existence and your concerns over Eobard. Now this version treated you with the same dismissal, if not with even more loathing. Both versions clearly knew you were with the man in the yellow suit, but… Your heart is a kind one, no matter how damaged or twisted it could get. Deep down, you knew that whatever version of Barry you meet along the way, he’d always be your best friend. Even if Eobard did despise the young speedster and his existence.

“Then why are you here? Why are you here now?” The yellow speedster reverted to a more defensive stance; eyes now locked with Barry’s. You turned to look at this version of your best friend.

“Because when I got back, a singularity had formed. And now the only way for me to learn how to get faster and stop the singularity from happening was to come here. Now.”

“Well, that's good to know.” Eobard sighed to himself, icy hues glancing to yours as a twisted smile greeted his features. Barry looked up at you for any indication that you would help get him out. You pursed your lips regretfully with hesitation. Eobard walked over to his chair, setting it back before pacing once more in the Time Vault. The heroic speedster was increasingly growing uncomfortable on the cold ground. “There's just... Just one thing that occurs to me. I don't need you. Do I?” You watched him turn to Barry, dismissing the look you shot him. “Not this you certainly. Oops. You probably should've thought of that before you came back here. Shame...” A malicious laugh left Eobard as he slowly approached Barry’s helpless form, his fingers twitching to use the powers of the negative speed-force to end Barry Allen. “You ran all the way back here just to die.”

“You can’t be serious,” you hissed at the man you love, side-stepping in front of Eobard. The corner of his lips twitched in an unsettling manner; amusement slightly present in his eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt him!” A quiet air of relief left Barry. He didn’t… He never knew of the promise you had made with Eobard. That his life wouldn’t be in the hands of death in any way. But he could use this.

“This isn’t your Barry,” Eobard protested in a low voice.

“This is a future version of my best friend, whom you promised me you wouldn’t hurt, maim, and/or kill! Our promise includes any version of Barry Allen.” Eobard chewed on the inside of his cheeks at your words, a sour planted itself on his face when he glanced once more at Barry. The man in the yellow suit knew he would honor his promise to you in the end. He keeps his word, after all.

“You heard her, I’m untouchable.” A cocky smile crossed Barry’s face, shooting it right at Barry. You threw a glare at him, shut the fuck up Barry. I’m the only one holding him back from phasing a hand right through your heart. Any version of you. For once, think before you do something like speaking, especially when you aren’t in a state to be taunting an evil speedster that has you bound. “But by all means, you kill me... Barry... this Barry, your Barry, he learns it all.” He gestured to you and Eobard. Dread filled Eobard as Barry continued to tout out words confidently. The speedster had carefully planned this out, just in case he was to get caught by Thawne. “There's a hidden letter telling him how it ends, how to beat you, everything. Anything happens to me; you never make it back home.” Barry turned to you with stoically cold eyes. “She never sees you again.” Take those words as you will, Thawne. Your hands fell limply beside you as you Eobard clenched his hands into tight fists. You heard your heart drum loudly in your ears at the prospect of this Barry’s threat. With heavy feet, you padded away from Barry before turning to eye him with cautious eyes. Eobard’s face was devoid of any emotion as he took a seat while you settled beside him. “Go on. Kill me, Thawne. See how this all ends.” Eobard held his breath, weighing his options. Pros and cons. Gains and losses. “Now, you're gonna help me get faster.” Resting a hand on Eobard’s shoulder you squeezed it, trying to use your touch to convey ease into him while Barry smirked triumphantly at the two of you. Eobard’s face twitched in silent fuming.

“Dr. Wells, Ms. (L/N),” Gideon’s voice cut through the deadly second of silence, “the time wraith has appeared.” The AI broadcasted a screen of Cisco and Caitlin running to the Pipeline, entering the cell that Hartley resides in and sealing it. Its grotesque body swayed in the air. Half-formed limbs scratching the glass as your friends screamed for any indication that this thing can be yoinked away and out of existence.

“Barry! (Y/N)! Dr. Wells!” Caitlin shrieked as the Time Wraith pounded on the glass, shattering a segment, but not piercing through into the cell. Ghostly fumes emitted from the hauntingly decaying figure. Cisco and Hartley were fumbling with the gauntlets while another piercing scream echoed throughout that sector of the labs.

“Oh my god, we have to do something! It’s going to kill them!” You whipped your head to the two of them. They’re the ones with speed.

“You let it track you here,” Eobard turned with a pointed look at Barry.

Barry shook his restraints, with an anxious look, “Get me out of here! Come on!”

Eobard sneered in a gruff tone, “If that thing comes after me and messes with my plans, you're all dead.”

“Now’s not the time to be making death threats, especially when he’s the one with max speed-force in his veins!” You reprimanded Eobard, who threw you a look while rolling his eyes at you before setting Barry free. Standing up, Barry felt his speed return to him as he shook his numbed limb. The two men nodded at each other, yellow and red electricity crackling in the air. Eobard wrapped a lithe limb around your waist, his other hand firmly grasping the back of his wheelchair. Both speedsters sped out of the Time Vault in a torrent of lightning.

***

“I'm sorry that we didn't come sooner,” Barry apologized, for the 2nd time as he stepped quickly into the Cortex with you trailing behind him and Eobard. His heart was heavy at the prospect of his presence here was causing his friends more trouble than he intended. Caitlin and Cisco took their respective seats at the main Cortex monitors while you and Dr. Wells lingered a bit behind.

“It's all right, Inky's gone. I don't see anything,” Cisco breathed out, eyes focused on the computer screen. He flipped through all the camera footage before turning his head to Dr. Wells. “You know, we'd be toast if wasn't for Hartley and those gauntlets.”

“Well, self-preservation is a very strong motivator, but he stays in the cell until I say otherwise,” Eobard starkly dictated, subtly out of breath from the little run around the labs to the Pipeline. Your eyes raked over him worriedly. He didn’t have all his speed, especially since he used up a good amount on Christmas. Eobard’s body’s still feeling the side effects of his speed-force in a state of flux.

Cisco turned back to the monitors, “Okay, I'm just saying.”

“So, the two places this thing has attacked are here and CCPD.” You took your tablet and ran scans over the Labs then the city for an abnormal particle signature. You also had Gideon secretly run a scan over Barry’s lab, just in case it decided to make a reappearance there. Particularly ones of tachyons or from the speed-force.

“The common denominator being...” Caitlin trailed off, swiveling her chair towards Barry.

“Me. Yeah, I know. I just... I don't know why.” Barry let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, you must have done something to piss him off.” Cisco added in; his computer pinged negatively after a couple of scans. “Satellite hasn't found anything.”

Eobard nervously wrung his hands, eyes meeting yours for a moment. “We need to find a more permanent solution to this problem.” He gestured when he continued to Caitlin and Cisco. “Start by repairing Hartley's gauntlets. That's about as good a first step as any.”

“I got some parts for it.” Cisco nodded at Dr. Wells, glancing at you. You already knew what he was about to ask.

“I’ve got any vitals and scans for the city until you two come back.” You held up your tablet with a little smile on your face. “Don’t worry, I’ve go your back.”

“Let's go for it,” Caitlin grinned, turning to Cisco. The two of them took their leave. Once they were out of earshot and out of sight you whipped around with an incredulous look on your face.

“You don't know how to stop a Time Wraith?” You and Barry both quired, which irritated Eobard at the sync.

“None of us do.” The speedster responded roughly. You felt bad for Eobard, his entire plan to get home is in jeopardy because of a future version of Barry. “That's why we always try and avoid them in our travels.”

“‘We’?” You and Barry just gave each other looks, simultaneously responding together once more. The scarlet speedster sneered at you, that was enough to shut you up and take a seat back at the monitors.

“‘Speedsters’... we're not the only two out there, you know?”

“This isn't the first time I've time traveled. How come I've never seen one of these until now?”

Eobard stood up, his demeanor clearly showed he was pissed and exasperated, but he kept his emotions in check. Especially with the Time Wraith looming around somewhere. He stepped closer towards Barry. “Because you ran out of luck.” You watched Barry lean against the railing, shaking his head when Eobard continued before grudgingly meeting your eyes. You offered him a sympathetic smile, he reluctantly returned it. “And Time Wraiths hate it when speedsters manipulate the timeline, and now that thing's gonna do everything it can to end you.” You wanted to say something but decided against it. Barry scoffed at Eobard, rolling his eyes when the man turned away from him. “Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna go to CCPD. You're gonna see what you can find to help us stop this thing-” Eobard nodded at you. You collected your things and got up, ready to work. “-We'll do the same here.”

“Well, what am I supposed to be looking for?

You started, “Barr, You're in forensics-“

“-Figure something out.” The man in the yellow suit only sent a warning glare to Barry, pulling his damned wheelchair along with him.

“Hey, what about the equation? Me getting faster?” Barry’s nostrils flared, stepping forward and gesturing to the clear board that held the speed equation.

“If we don't stop this thing, there's gonna be no point in me teaching you anything.” With that the two parted, Eobard sat back in his chair and he wheeled to his side lab whereas Barry let out an exhausted sigh. He rubbed his face, eyes meeting yours once more. Grabbing his coat, the young speedster pushed past you, his shoulders bumping yours. The action didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who narrowed his eyes from afar then turned back to his work. Your eyes lingered for a moment before an idea popped into your head.

“I think I should go with him,” you turned towards Eobard, running a hand over your hair and loosening your hair out of the hair tie. Maybe that’ll help with the headaches.

“What?”

“With Barry”

“No, absolutely not!”

“Why not?” You pouted, taking a seat beside him. You subtly wanted to see how many buttons you can push while this version of Barry was here.

“Over my. Rotting. Corpse.”

You froze at his comment, his body was already turned away from you. A mental image of Eobard’s corpse vividly plagued you. Blinking a few times, that phrase echoed in your head. It’s like I’ve heard that before… but where? You needed to shake the feeling off. “Don’t say things like that! If anything happens, I’ll let you know what’s going on.” You lightly slap his arm. The corner of Eobard’s lips turned up slightly then he leaned over for a kiss. You gave him a chaste one to finish your defense on the situation. “Plus, you and I both know you can handle things here at the lab. You don’t need me around.”

“I will always want you to be around me, even if I’m working. Besides the point- stay away from Barry.” He emphasized. “The Time Wraith is here for him; it hasn’t detected me. I don’t…” Eobard sighed through his nose, his gaze locked onto yours and you felt your breath hitch. “I can’t lose you to that monster.”

“…”

“Please, kitten.” He looked at you desperately.

“Only because you said ‘please’,” you kissed his cheek fondly, giving in to him. You didn’t miss the way his voice strained at the thought of losing you or the fact that he asked. Eobard generally never asks, not until he met you. The speedster glanced at you when you were recalibrating the satellites, he noticed the fake grin that you plastered on your face at his corpse comment. He made a mental note to ask you what’s wrong later. It hurt his heart to see you put up a wall right now, but it was understandable, to say the least. “You know, I always like watching you work.”

“Why is that?”

“Dunno, maybe I just like watching you work your magic with those capable hands of yours.”

“I can show you just how capable these hands are tonight.” Your speedster wiggled his eyebrows at you, eliciting a deep blush and giggle. His hand left the device on the table, resting on your thigh. You felt your body temperature spike up even more at his touch.

“Eobard, you can’t say things like that at work!”

“Why not? I’m the boss.” The speedster whispered to you, his blue eyes hypnotizing you. Eobard leaned close, slotting himself to kiss your neck a few times.

A sweet sigh left your lips. “What if the others walk in on us?” You pressed a hand against his sturdy chest. Eobard pressed a kiss below your ear before a chuckle left his lips.

“I’m sure they’ll allow me a free pass, just this once.”

***

After a few hours or so, Cisco and Caitlin came back with the gauntlets. The two explained how the managed to save every piece and analyze their potential. Cisco and Dr. Wells remained in a heavily – mechanical engineer type of conversation that you and Caitlin stayed silent for.

“So, can these gauntlets be salvaged?” Dr. Wells questioned, wheeling closer to the displayed Hartley’s sonic gauntlets.

“Their electron guns are fried,” Cisco shook his head.

“So, it shorted the wave tubes-“

“-And destroyed the amplifiers.” They both finished the thought.

“Yeah, but to be honest with you, I don't know how to manipulate the frequency variance.” Cisco spoke, glancing at the three of you.

“Hartley would know.” Caitlin added in, hands on her sides, “He's the one who did it.”

“As much as a dick that he was, he seems to be an expert with sound waves and frequency variance of such caliber,” you mused, nodding with Caitlin.

“See if he can help, but he stays in the cell,” the genius scientist instructed,

“But then what? That thing's gonna come back.” Cisco retaliated

“I don't know,” Dr. Wells stated exasperatedly. He didn’t know what to do, Hartley’s guns were the only thing he’s known to deter the Time Wraiths. If only the electron guns weren’t fired then he would have been able to dissect and adjust the gauntlets.

“Hey, its going to be ok,” you tried reassuring everyone, mainly Eobard. “We always end up crossing over these kinds of bridges. We’ve got the smartest minds and the most skilled scientists here.” Cisco and Caitlin smiled a bit at you. But you saw the calculating look on Eobard’s eyes. The futuristic villain was taking this harder than Barry himself, walking on eggshells particularly with concealing his speed. Taking any precaution to ensure his safety as well as yours. Your boyfriend explained that if you had gotten closer to the Time Wraith it would sense you. You blushed slightly at the next thought Theoretically, he said his speed-force signature particles had rubbed off on me… Probably from one too many nights of-

“Where is he? Where's the other Flash?” A different Barry demanded. Your version of Barry demanded, out of breath and pissed as hell. Your eyes widened at the sudden appearance of this time’s Flash, mouth open for a bit before closing it. Eobard just covered his face, silently counting to 10 before he choked a bitch.

Well shit, I totally forgot about our Barry.

“Right here.”

Well fuck

[nemo-draco]

The First Step

Hi all! Bit of a crossover piece here, courtesy of some amazing art on behalf of @rose-junk-junky on Tumblr, and @a-rae-of-sunshine, whose characters feature here along with my own. Long story short, saw some amazing animatics and art with Rae's characters in a Frankenstein-like scenario, and my guys jumped in with a cry of 'new friend!'.

To read off our cast, Whimsy, Fancy, and Whimsy's 'creator' (this AU's version of the Mayor of Burnsville) are the characters of a-rae-of-sunshine. The AU itself was thought up by rose-junk-junky, who I also have to thank for showing the Frankenstein Musical album in the animatics. All the rest are mine.

Hope you enjoy!

A First Step:

"If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind!" Adam Frankenstein, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Their dreams were racing, blurred things, fraught with frantic energy and a sinking sense of wrongness that made them feel sick to their stomach. It was like they were stuck on a top, whirling from images of crackling electricity, to fire, to the ripping of stitches, to the sounds of people screaming in both anger and fear. But rising above it all was that one face, that one person, who's attention they had coveted the most, and the one they hated all the more for what HE'D DONE TO THEM-

"I should never have given you breath…"

-Awakening in a dark room, empty, filled with books and beakers, devoid of anyone-

"You're a beast to be feared…"

-Wandering in the wilderness, cold and alone, seeing others but always being met with screams and vitriol-

"By heaven we'll drag you…"

-The brief respite of the blind woman and her company, ruined when the others came and saw-

"And haunt you…"

-Fire leaping, climbing higher and higher, growing out of control-

"And banish your soul…"

-His face, their own creator, staring at them with such revulsion and hatred-

"From this earth!"

The nightmare went from formless to something concrete, Whimsy all but slamming down into their own body just in time to feel a rope slip around their neck. Immediately it tightened, yanking the reanimated faerie towards…

…A creaky, rickety platform of wood. One that somehow filled them with more dread and fear than they'd ever thought possible. The fear became something real, forming fire that leapt around the construct like it was some specter summoned up from Hell. A shadowy crowd appeared in the billows of smoke, voices like howling wolves as they screamed.

"Kill it!"

"It's a demon, a monster!"

"Be rid of the awful thing!"

They spun, pulled, tried everything they could to get away from the noose's pull, even slipping their fingers around the rope to try to yank it off, but nothing worked. And worse still, a numbness was seeping into their body, starting from their feet and working its way up to their ankles.

A face in the crowd leapt out to them, their eyes widening as they recognized their creator standing among the throng. Before they could even think, or read into the neutral, blank expression on their maker's face, they cried out like a drowning man casting about for a lifeline.

"Help me! Help me, please!"

Their legs grew stiff and cold, only weighing them down as they struggled to escape the noose, the fire, the awful drop...

"I'm alive!" They screamed, eyes tearing as they sought out their creator's emotionless stare, as cold as the deadening sensation creeping up their body. They were being pulled up the stairs, up to the gallows...

But somehow, even over all the screaming, the jeers, the fire, and the creaking pull of the hangman's rope, they could hear their creator whisper as though he were right next to them.

"No, you aren't."

"You made me!" Whimsy cried, feeling a slight give in the boards under their feet, hinting at the presence of a trapdoor. The fire climbed, the crowd howled for their death, the feeling of the end pulling their hands away from the lethally light weight of the noose. "YOU MADE ME!"

But with no inflection, no emotion, came the cold response.

"I reject you."

And with a snap, then came the short drop...

...And the sudden stop as their body thudded against the floor, thankfully a carpeted one that masked the noise.

Not that Whimsy, for the moment, had much mind to be thankful.

For the time being, their mind was frozen, limbs shakily drawing in to curl out of some instinctive reaction as they tried to figure out whether or not they were once again dead.

The feeling of their heart galloping in their chest, as well as the frantic gasping rushing in and out of their clenched teeth, contradicted that idea. Well, that and a slight sting radiating through their hip given that had smacked into the floor before the rest of them.

Sitting gingerly up and untangling themselves with a trembling set of arms, Whimsy sat in the dark for a spell, before deciding that this wasn't helping and stumbling to their feet. Their hands only shook a little as they found the doorknob, though as they stepped out into the hall the faintly cooler temperature jolted them to something that felt a little more in control...and drew their eye down to a plate that had been left next to their door. A quick sniff brought the scents of beef, some kind of vegetables, maybe bread? All of it was a little dulled though, the plate itself cool to the touch. This had been left a while ago, that was for sure...

It made them realize that they weren't even fully aware of what time it was. The most they could say was 'night' but the house around them was dead silent. Everyone else must already be in bed.

The notion was surprisingly relieving, Whimsy picking up the plate and deciding to head downstairs. Even the faintly chilled food was somewhat appetizing, especially since this would be the first time they'd eaten all day. Or…night? Whenever.

Despite their height, the reanimated (corpse) faerie was able to move stealthily down the hallway, to the stairs leading down to the larger part of the house. The…guy, Cab, who had brought them here had said that it was an old firehouse. When they'd gotten it set up, they'd moved the pole, somehow got a spiral staircase, and made the whole downstairs open to co-join the garage with the rest of the first floor, barring a little section for a bathroom and closet. That was a design choice that Whimsy'd been a little confused by, Cab's words that it was for 'Bee's benefit not really helping to illuminate much.

At least, not until the car sitting in the garage space started talking, during which that little mystery was cleared up in short order.

Whimsy had just come down the stairs when a faint noise caught their attention, their head jerking in the direction it had come from to see a very small figure sitting at the table. The most eye-grabbing feature was a small streak of silver running through a head of otherwise black hair, a tired shadow in the tailor's face despite the brief flash of nerves at the sight of the towering, stitched-together faerie (reanimated corpse). The pair stared at each other, Whimsy belatedly remembering that this was the person who owned this house, what had Cab called him again?

Either way, they couldn't exactly ask with their mouth full, so they made an effort to swallow a rather large mouthful of chilled beef and bread. He ended up beating them to actually talking though, voice quiet with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Glad to see you liked the food. We did have dinner a while ago, but you were asleep. We didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks," Whimsy muttered, once their mouth was free to reply, though they realized that they didn't really have anything to add or say. Funnily enough, Fancy seemed to have the same issue too, drumming his fingers on the table for an instant as his eyes cast around before lighting on the softly steaming mug in front of him.

"Do, you want some tea?"

Tea. Whimsy had a vague memory of it from when they'd spoken to the blind woman. A bit bitter, but warm. And, if something were to go wrong, then they could just leave, right?

So, even with the mistrust nudging at the back of their mind, Whimsy edged cautiously forward, carefully watching for some sign of underhanded play. It was a nervousness that was echoed a little in the tailor, Fancy looking up to meet Whimsy's eyes and, consciously or not, huddling down a bit like a fox that had come too close to a bear.

The faerie themselves edged quietly into the seat, nearly approaching calm before a metallic, humming voice spoke up from behind them.

"'Ey Whims."

Oh, right, and the car, the thought of which immediately had Whimsy changing seats to keep both Fancy and 'Bee' within view (and noticing with a silent shiver of bracing tension that the sleek, not all together large but still not small black car had rolled closer). Not that Bee himself seemed to take much offense, given his next, calm words.

"Thanks for switchin', by the way. Easier to talk when I'm not hollering over someone. Guess it's the exterior, dunno. Not many people expect the car to hold a conversation." Despite the easy tone, Whimsy couldn't feel relaxed, like there was a trap somewhere that they needed to keep an eye out for. They might not have been run out on a rail yet but it had barely been twenty four hours.

"People…ignore you?" Whimsy still asked, faintly piqued by the implication. Though they really couldn't guess what was worse, to be shunned or ignored. A faintly vindictive part of them hissed that to be shunned was worse, an ignored person could at least live among other people.

"Eh, sometimes. Though bein' innocuous enough to escape notice does have its perks. It's how I was designed after all."

Immediately Whimsy's brain got stuck on that last bit, to the point where they couldn't help asking.

"…Designed?"

"Originally I was made to be what you'd call a 'cursed object'. Maker just decided to be more ambitious and cursed a car rather than something like a toaster or doll or whatever. Demonically-charged rituals can be a mite bit unpredictable, apparently, 'cause I ended up with enough 'me' to say I liked the guy I was supposed to be causing trouble for a lot better. 'Course I couldn't stay when I kinda revealed I was alive, but, y'know, nice while it lasted."

"We're glad to have you either way, Bee." Fancy spoke up, it just striking Whimsy then and there that the tailor didn't seem surprised by any of what Bee had just said. Granted that could make sense, considering they had known each other longer. Things like this had probably come up before. It definitely seemed like it considering that Bee's tone was casual, even wistful in some spots, when talking about this person that he'd supposedly been sent to cause trouble for.

"Same. Great to be in a house where I can actually talk to people."

It was almost relieving for Whimsy to drop into the role of a spectator, but inevitably, the talk had to turn back to the last conversation partner that was sitting at the table.

"So, Whimsy, were exactly have you been? Thought I knew all the myths around here. Granted, most of them live in this house, but, well…" Though Bee trailed off, and certainly didn't sound like he was anything but calm and faintly curious, Whimsy couldn't help but feel the edge of an interrogation in the words.

"I, I've been…traveling…" Even to their ears, it sounded incredibly feeble. But they didn't know what else to add so they stayed quiet. At least, what they could say without getting into some worrying territory.

"Blew in from outta town?"

"Yeah." The faint grumble from the reanimated faerie completely contradicted the easier, flowing tone that the car employed, Whimsy remembering what they'd just learned about Bee and feeling…a sort of discomfort. Bee had sounded like he'd at least known something about what they went through, at least on some level, how on earth could he sound so put together? So calm?

It wasn't fair.

"What made you decide to come here? It's not exactly a prime tourist spot."

"…I wanted to meet someone."

"This a myth or a person?"

"Person. Didn't work out." To put it mildly, their memory flashing to a twisted, destroyed frame hidden partially under a sheet, sightless eyes staring up at them as that voice screamed about how they would not be tricked or cowed by a demon, a shambling wreck of a faerie-

"Sorry to hear that."

Whimsy didn't have an answer, and looked down as Fancy came back with a mug of tea. It was too hot to drink, but the warmth from the mug was more than enough to create a comfortable heat, soaking into their hands and driving the memories away. At least for the time being.

"Do you have anywhere else to go? I know Cab's probably said you could stay, but… do you have someone that might be waiting for you?" Bee asked, the somewhat quieter, hesitant tone a definite tell that this was a question that the car was aware might be difficult.

"…No."

Alone. All alone. Anything they might've had gone in a blaze of fire and all because of some bad timing. Anything they could have had gone because of a selfish, stupid creator that only cared that they'd taken their first breath, and not any of what came after.

A flash of pain went through Whimsy's temple, causing a wince that had them bringing their hand up before they realized what they were doing.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

The sound of something rustling off to the side caught Whimsy's attention, the reanimated faerie nearly jumping out of their stitched skin as they looked in the direction of the noise, only to see Fancy having reached to the center of the table for a napkin. The sudden movement on their part made the tailor jump too, though something in Whimsy's face seemed to catch his attention.

"Whimsy?"

They weren't fine. This wasn't fine. They felt horribly off kilter and the questions and constant presence of people were starting to take their toll. If it was just Bee, or just Fancy, Whimsy felt like they could have handled it better. But the fact that there were two relatively sharp individuals here, moving around and poking at them, stoked their nerves. Even though they knew that there was no immediate danger, that no one had lit fires or gathered up weapons, a part of them was consistently on edge, looking for some sign of trouble.

And they didn't want to! It was making their jaw clench, their head zinging with overstressed aches and pains. They were jumping at shadows and it made it hard to concentrate.

They knew that the full answers would only provoke suspicion, and perhaps an eviction. It wasn't like they'd told everything to anyone here. Though, the memory of the blind woman, and the distinct difference in how that had felt versus this, tugged at Whimsy, making them wonder both just what had changed in them to create such a feral anxiety, and also knowing exactly why.

How long before this ended too…

Another faint pain twanged at the muscles in their temple as a result, the feeling making Whimsy wince and murmur to themselves as they tried to knead the sensation out.

"What's, what's wrong with me...?"

There was a pause, Fancy seeming to shore up his nerve before taking a seat next to the steadily devolving faerie, a hand tentatively resting on their arm.

"I think, that there's a lot you're grappling with, and you need some time to process it all. I could be wrong about this, but it doesn't seem like you've really had anyone before Cab brought you here, and part of that might be due to your appearance. Which, isn't fair to you, you can't control that sort of thing, not completely. I would say it's normal, even expected, for you to feel angry, to feel hurt, and... perhaps even a little afraid."

The notion that they were, or had ever been afraid caused Whimsy to recoil, turning a hard look Fancy's way as the tailor jumped and also withdrew, his face a mask of tension. Bee too remained quiet, though Whimsy could just faintly hear the noise of his tires rolling closer by a half-inch. The standoff lasted for all of a few moments, before Whimsy remembered that Fancy did not have to let them stay in his house. Besides, he had drawn off, and didn't look ready to try touching the reanimated faerie again.

So, Whimsy let him be, and turned back to stare into their tea.

But the sight of their own reflection merely stirred those thoughts up again, the defiant bark of why would I be afraid answered with a smaller, insidious whisper of because your existence is singular, and you will always be alone. You don't even like the sight of yourself in the mirror, remember? Your creator wanted nothing to do with you, you were a mistake from beginning to end...

And when death finally claims you, who will even bother to mourn?

A small droplet of water splashed into the tea from above, Whimsy's grip on the mug handle so tight it was quivering.

"Whimsy...?" Fancy's voice came from the side, still worried sounding but there was a new edge of care to it that still felt so alien for Whimsy to hear directed at themselves.

"Oh geez…" Bee's voice murmured, with the same sort of softer, concerned tones.

"Damn that stupid, selfish..."

It was quick, a hissed few words on Fancy's part, but Whimsy had heard them clear as a bell.

They weren't able to move, much less address those words, and Fancy didn't acknowledge them either. Instead, he rested his hand atop their arm again and continued to speak.

"Whimsy, I need you to take deep breaths, just a few. Can you do that for me?"

They tried, but what came out were hisses that turned into gasps that felt like far too much effort for the simple act of breathing.

"Alright, that's a good start. Now I want you to try breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, Whimsy. It'll help you feel better, I promise."

Though there was that instinctive nugget of mistrust, there was also the part of Whimsy that was starting to believe that they were being smothered somehow, and the way Fancy had spoken before tipped the scales in favor of trusting the little tailor.

And, in spite of everything, the advice was helping. Whimsy found air coming easier and easier after a moment or two. But the whole experience had left them winded and exhausted, which made it a little difficult to hear what Fancy asked at first.

"How are you feeling?"

"I," Whimsy started, swallowing around a dry throat. "I feel…"

It took a moment to really parse through their physical symptoms, though eventually words came to describe the strange mix of light-headed and completely worn out.

"Dizzy. Air, I need, outside…"

"It's alright, there's a window next to you, I'll open it. Just stay sitting down, please. I don't think I could carry you if you fall."

Whimsy glanced to the side as Fancy moved to the window in question, getting it open with only a small bit of effort. The rush of cool air was a balm, Whimsy turning in the direction and leaning as much on the chair as their towering frame would allow.

"Just take deep breaths, it'll pass." Fancy's voice came, the faerie's eyes fluttering open for a moment and locking straight on the tailor's gaze. There was a slight flinch that went through Fancy as their eyes met, Whimsy frowning and looking away first.

Something in their face must've leaked to Fancy, because he spoke up again.

"Do you, want to try drinking some more of your tea?"

With nothing else to do, Whimsy did take a sip, the lukewarm liquid still having a soothing edge to it. There wasn't much left, but the whole episode had taken a lot out of the reanimated faerie, leaving them rubbing at their eyes and blinking blearily as they set the mug down.

That eventually turned into them letting their head rest on their folded arms, though they still tried to remain turned towards the window. It was later in the year, but the faint chirping of crickets was still prevalent over the dark nightscape outside. The sound was a calming, and vaguely relieving one, reminding the faerie of those times when they'd lived off the land and spent long nights under the stars.

Before they realized how…different they were. It was definitely an easier time.

They must've dozed off at some point, because a new voice speaking up brought them back to reality.

"Aww, lookit that. All tuckered out."

It was a voice they only somewhat remembered, given that the person in question had been present when they had been brought in to be introduced. A concealingly-dressed figure that had been quietly leaning back in his chair, looking them up and down with a set of luminously colored eyes that flickered through bright, sharp hues. Everything about this otherwise gray shape was nonchalant, from the way their frame settled to the way a similarly colored smile flickered into being over the wrapping covering the lower half of the face, there and gone. After everything Whimsy had been through, it was a different way to be greeted, and they still weren't sure if that was a good thing.

So, carefully, they opened their eyes and turned their head in the direction of the voice, and immediately caught sight of the same figure simply lounging in the chair next to them, even going so far as to tilt it onto its back legs.

"Tagger, please don't break the chairs." Fancy's voice came, the tailor gathering up the mugs before stepping away.

"Alright, alright. No fun," 'Tagger' replied, and performed the somewhat odd feat of dropping the chair back on all four legs with barely any noise. Though, as it landed, those oddly-colored eyes happened to see Whimsy's, and immediately there was a flicker of that smile again.

"Oop, guess somebody is awake. Hey, Whims. Think maybe you wanna catch some 'z's in your own bed?"

On some level, that should have been a good idea, though there was a part of Whimsy that definitely remembered why they'd come down to the kitchen to begin with, and therefore was not so ready to just head up to lie in bed, jumping at more shadows and quite possibly have more nightmares. So, instead of acquiescing, they settled in and closed their eyes, turning their head away.

"No, good here."

"But, you're gonna go back to sleep." Tagger pointed out.

"Maybe I will," Whimsy growled back, still refusing to open their eyes.

"Inna chair."

The rather frank observation did get a more venomous look from the faerie, though Tagger didn't look the least bit worried by the much taller Whimsy staring him down. It was such a strange switch to what would usually happen that they honestly weren't sure what to do, so they ended up breaking off the impromptu contest first to stubbornly shut their eyes, huddling in their arms like it was some sort of impregnable fortress.

And they knew exactly what Tagger thought of that given that the sound of him chuckling to himself wasn't long in following.

"Oh, you are just a treat, aren't you? Can see why Cab liked you."

Cab being the one that had brought them here, that had opened the door to his home. Admittedly, he'd neglected to mention the presence of folks like Tagger, or Bee, but he did mention the fact that he knew two faeries. They'd already made the decision, but it definitely helped things along. Still didn't endear them much to Tagger right now though.

"Bit of a backstory moment here, Whims. I was the first."

"…What?" The reanimated faerie couldn't help asking, their gaze turning back to Tagger just to see if they could spot some falsehood. A bit hard with a mostly concealed face, but for the most part it looked like he was telling the truth.

"The first one Cab made friends with. The very first. We've been paling around together for years! Think after that it was Patches, then we found Bee, then Sunny, and finally Manny. Oh, and then Fancy." Tagger elaborated, just as the tailor walked by and glanced over with a fondly sardonic look.

"Thanks for remembering."

"Welcome. Anyway. Guess we can add you to the list. That's if you plan on sticking around, a'course." Whimsy honestly wasn't sure if the implication that they would just up and leave was insulting or not, and ended up giving off at least half a surly glare which was probably why Tagger continued. "Well, you don't gotta make a decision just yet. It's only your first night. Plenty'a time if you decide you're sick of us an' wanna split."

Yeah, that language really wasn't helping, Whimsy's stare towards Tagger turning a touch more spiteful. Though, instead of being bothered by that, he gave a theatric shiver before slipping back into his seemingly normal, at ease persona.

"Yeesh, if looks could kill… Tone down the eyeballs kid, it's casual conversation." Then a brief flicker of that same, glaringly colored smile appeared over the wrappings covering Tagger's mouth, further conveying the mischievous smirk in his following words. "Though I guess someone does need to go back to bed. A certain grumpy someone."

And back to this again, Whimsy growing fed up enough with the whole encounter to just resettle their head on their arms and close their eyes. Though, in doing so, they completely missed the somewhat conspiratorial, and equally impish grin that Tagger flashed to both Fancy and Bee.

It made the feeling of being swept up into a pair of arms all the more jarring, Whimsy left blinking as Tagger arranged the reanimated faerie in a bridal style carry and spun on his heel for the stairs.

"H-Hey! What're you-?!"

"Wouldn't squirm too much, Whims, the staircase is only so wide."

A very good point, and while Tagger was apparently strong enough to carry someone that definitely was a good few inches taller that didn't mean that the stairs were necessarily going to alter their proportions to make it easier.

So, out of a perceived sense of self-preservation, they scrunched in their towering frame as much as possible, warily eyeing the metallic edges as Tagger easily ascended. After what felt like a harrowing few minutes, they both made it to the upstairs hall, though to Whimsy's surprise and more-than-slight annoyance, Tagger kept going until he was standing next to the door of their room.

"…You can put me down now."

"Whatever you say, Whims," Tagger replied with shadows of that same amused chuckling, to the point where Whimsy had the honest impulse to just scramble away and figure things out from there. Tagger's approach to them may have been novel, but the novelty was quickly turning sour. They weren't a child!

Still, Tagger was both deft and careful, setting them down on their feet and heading past them to a door down at the furthest end of the hallway.

"Night, Whims. See you in the morning."

And he was gone, leaving Whimsy standing like a silent sentinel in the hall. With nothing better to do, they went back into their room, quietly clambering onto the bed and staring at the night sky they could see from their window. The sight brought to mind the window downstairs, from which those familiar sounds had emanated that had provided a brief spark of respite.

Whimsy got up to crack the window open, sliding under their covers and looking in the direction of the small square that looked out to the outside world. The sound of crickets and the rush of wind through the trees accompanied them as the world grayed out, and they slid into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

A knock at the door snapped Whimsy awake, though it only felt like they'd just closed their eyes. Blinking bemusedly, they stared in the direction of the window, seeing a blue sky and trees losing their red and yellow leaves, not quite sure what was going on before the knocking came again.

Yeah, they…probably should answer that, shouldn't they? The thought of which was what teased them up, causing Whimsy to reel to their feet and plod around their bed for the door.

A familiar face was there, a more unique set of features given the black and white, checkerboard-like pattern that was stamped into the other person's skin. Cab was wearing the same primarily white pinstriped suit as yesterday, a not-totally open grin on his face that somewhat disguised his teeth, which Whimsy couldn't help noticing yesterday given that they'd resembled the sharper ones in their own mouth. Cab was tall, lean, though even a six-foot-tall frame didn't have much when compared to Whimsy's eight feet in height, and therefore he'd had to crane his neckless head back a little to look them in the eye, reaching up to hold his boater hat on his head.

Not that Cab seemed to mind, an ever-present grin on his face that sharply contrasted Whimsy's barely awake stare.

"'Ey Whims! Sorry for wakin' you up, but I figured you'd wanna get some breakfast. Ever had pancakes before?"

It took their wakening brain a few moments to figure out, firstly, what had been asked, and secondly, that no. Pancakes were a somewhat foreign concept.

"It's a food…right?"

"Yep, it's a food, a breakfast food. Wanna come down an' try some?"

Their curiosity had been piqued, so they did say yes and made to follow Cab. Whimsy found themselves waking up a little bit more, enough that they couldn't help noticing the confused look Cab passed them just before making it to the stairs.

"…What's wrong?"

"Nothin', nothin', it's just…did you sleep in your overalls?"

Were they being insulted? It was a little hard to tell, though from what they saw Cab wasn't the sort to just poke a beehive just for the sake of it. But, if it was sincere then what was even the point of the question?

"…Yes?"

"We could try givin' you some pajamas if you like."

"What are… pa-jamas? Is that even a word?"

"It is too a word! They're clothes you wear when you're sleepin'."

"People wear special clothes just for when they sleep?"

"Well, yeah, they're meant t'be comfier. Fancy could make you some if you like!" Cab's offer was nice, though Whimsy was decently sure that if they tried to go to the tailor to ask for anything they might end up giving the poor guy a heart attack. Hopefully, they thought as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, Cab wouldn't bring it up with Fancy because they sure weren't about to.

"What're we talkin' about Fancy makin'?" The sudden presence of Tagger's voice made Whimsy jump, head swinging around to see the whatever-he-was in question leaning on the railing like he might as well have been there all along. Even though Whimsy knew he hadn't been just a moment ago.

"Hi, Tagger! We're talkin' about pajamas! Fancy could make Whimsy some!" Cab replied, as though the sudden appearance just didn't bother him.

"Oh, are we?" Tagger's reply had Whimsy preparing for more demeaning mockery, though they were somewhat thrown when Tagger instead looked them up and down before coming to a decision.

"Green or red. Maybe blue. But not light, definitely darker colors."

"You think so?" Cab's frank question was also somewhat disarming, to the point where Whimsy finally had enough and decided to break in.

"Wait, wait, what are you talking about?"

"If you were gonna get new clothes, those colors would probably look the best on you. Your fur's darker, so lighter stuff would just clash. And make you look pale. Paler. You get what I mean."

"Tagger's an artist!" Cab jumped in, the 'artist' in question looking more flippant.

"You can see my work around town sometimes. Usually at night. I've, ah, 'tagged' a lot of buildings." Tagger's expression clearly hinted at a joke, though as to what the actual joke was, Whimsy couldn't help not knowing. And Tagger didn't seem too primed to explain, muttering about how 'it didn't land' and turning away, heading out to the kitchen.

The kitchen at which Fancy was quietly helping a much taller figure, a similarly patchwork shape that was handing him plates to put on the table. Whimsy had seen this one too, back when they'd first come in. They'd been given a name, they knew, but the sight of a figure even remotely similar to them had caught them off-guard.

Though, as the moments of that first meeting had worn on, it became clear that there were differences.

This other creature, this other faerie, did not seem to need to blink, for starters. Pale blue eyes ringed in black faintly glowing and constantly staring, almost as if their owner had been trying to pick apart Whimsy by sight alone. They, no, she, was also considerably shorter, with the top of her head coming up to the middle of Cab and Tagger's faces. In physical shape, she resembled a doll with a simplified face, jagged-edged mouth and all. But, much like a faerie, she had more animalistic features mixed in, namely small but noticeable claws, legs that resembled a dog's or a cat's, along with two points coming out of the top of her head that resembled a pair of ears. Though, given that her skin appeared to be a sort of canvas material, Whimsy wasn't sure exactly how well they worked. Then again, maybe they did, faerie logic being the way it was. Whimsy had tried to read into it, but the general consensus was that people generally didn't know how faeries worked. At least, not inside and out.

Their creator might've known. But the ship had sailed on asking.

Before Whimsy could even have a hope of sitting down, a pair of fast-moving shapes dashed past their legs, hurrying to the table with the same frenetic urgency of a starving animal that had just been presented with the prospect of food. And they were both chanting 'pancakes' like the apparent breakfast would need some sort of summoning ritual.

"Hold on you two." Fancy's calmer tone hinted that he had no fear of either, despite the fact that one was a literal skeleton but dressed like a child they might see walking down the street, and the other looked like an uplifted wolf puppy, dressed in what looked like some sort of medieval garb. A tail wagged through the seat of the canid creature's pants, mirroring the flicking movements of a pair of batlike wings poking through the wrap covering the upper part of the small body. Somehow Whimsy knew, without being told, that this was another faerie.

Granted, they had the same feeling that they did when first looking at the canvas-made fae, that, just maybe, they might be too different to fit in with another faerie. The fact that this little one was so bouncy, full of life, didn't help that notion any.

They felt like a note in a song that didn't fit, Whimsy's feet already sliding back before an arm at their back caught their attention. A glance to the side revealed that Cab was the culprit, the sharp-toothed grin turning softer at the edges as they gave the reanimated faerie a little nudge; it's okay.

So, taking a deep breath, and feeling like the act of moving their own limbs was a momentous thing, Whimsy put one foot in front of the other and started moving towards the table. They weren't exactly making a lot of noise, even with their larger size, so they weren't sure what exactly made the little faerie-puppy's ears swivel around to them. Her head followed the movement, cherry-red eyes growing wide as she looked up and up…

I should say something, right? Whimsy couldn't helping thinking, the feeling of something squirming in their stomach as they stared down at the faerie-puppy's face, the mask-like fur around her eyes starkly contrasting with that bright scarlet.

"U-Uh, h-"

"You're tall…"

This hadn't come from the faerie-puppy, but from the little skeleton who had turned around while Whimsy had been focused on what exactly they were going to say. The small, child-sized skull had bright lights set in the sockets, glowing blue pinpricks that also stared up and up at Whimsy with the same stunned shock.

"Yep! This is…" Cab started, before trailing off and gesturing with theatric dramatics to Whimsy, inviting them to introduce themselves.

"Whimsy."

"…Whimsy! They'll be stayin' with us ferra bit, so, don't give 'em too much trouble, okay?" Cab continuation may have been meant well, but it seemed to hammer in the notion that Whimsy had done their introduction wrong. Not that they had much experience, but the emotional knife had already been pushed in, and twisted all the more by who exactly they were being introduced to. They didn't exactly have the best luck when it came to people, never mind children…

An image flashed through their mind, of a small child clutching his arm as they tried to skitter away from the faerie, eyes wide and liquid-y at the edges as they stared at Whimsy with nothing short of complete fright.

"Why did you do that? I-I was trying to help you!"

-a limp little figure in their arms, before a CRACK-BOOM rang out and pain blasted through their shoulder-

They blinked, hard, the images vanishing though the sight that greeted them when they opened their eyes didn't seem much easier. Both the little skeleton and the faerie-puppy were still staring up at them with frankly unreadable, worrying awe, and Whimsy felt fresh out of possible conversation. Thankfully Cab came to their rescue, though the reanimated faerie felt like a coward as they accepted his reminder of pancakes as an excuse to get away from the pair, and actually sit down.

However, the trials for the day were not done, as the one that slid in to sit on Whimsy's other side was the other faerie, the taller one with the staring eyes. It didn't help that once the dishes were all laid out, this faerie was taking over the actual doling out of the pancakes, and while Whimsy was trying their best to mirror what they saw the others do, it didn't keep them from feeling a twinge of nerves when those unblinking, unreadable eyes turned to them.

It seemed to take an inordinate while of them staring at each other for the other faerie to figure out that Whimsy needed a little help, a much softer toned, feminine voice speaking up and somehow very audible to them despite one of the children laughing about something nearby.

"Did you want one pancake or two?"

"…Can I get three?" Whimsy's request was answered as she doled out three pancakes, though they couldn't help the brief glance at the plates around, mentally doing the math as to whether or not they'd taken too much. It seemed fine, but their brief spate of figuring was interrupted as they realized that the other faerie had not stopped looking at them.

"…Wh-What is it?"

"You never mentioned your name."

Though the specific language wasn't used, this still felt like a request for a name, and not in just the 'what is your name' kind of fashion. Whimsy had certainly not forgotten that this was a faerie, a faerie that, even with their more placid demeanor, probably held to at least some of the old standards when it came to behavior. So, squaring their shoulders a little, they replied.

"You can call me Whimsy. I don't think I got your name either?"

"Do you want to know it?"

Wasn't that why they were asking? Maybe they should have phrased themselves differently…

"…Yes?"

"Then you can call me Patches." The frankness with which the words were delivered made it hard to tell if the other faerie was upset or angry about what they'd said, Whimsy feeling that uncomfortable, cornered-animal-type squirming settle in their gut as they maintained eye contact. Patches was the one to look away first, turning to her two pancakes and leaving Whimsy to awkwardly consider their own three. The pancakes themselves were warm, the smell more than appetizing though the sight of the faerie-puppy trying to slice hers with her fork while partially shoving them in her mouth caught their attention briefly. Fancy's efforts to get her to use the knife something that Whimsy paid close attention to. While there was a surlier, more combative part of them that groused who cares how we eat it, a part of them couldn't help pointing out that if they wanted to avoid attention, they'd at least have to give some semblance of good manners.

Though when they finally tasted the pancakes for the first time, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate impulse to scarf them down. They were good, the one with the little dots of blue in it quickly discerned to have blueberries and wasn't that just a completely welcome surprise.

Non-sarcastically meant. At this point they were seriously considering asking for more, though a quiet chuckle from Tagger cut through the euphoria.

"You enjoyin' the pancakes, Whims?"

Of course, their mouth was full when he asked, leading to them throwing the neon-eyed figure a glare as they considered the notion of whether or not they could rush through swallowing this. Deciding that no, they wanted to savor the pancakes, Whimsy instead made to turn their attention back to their food, and ended up having another distraction in the form of Cab proffering what looked like some kind of jug.

"Syrup's real good on those. Here, give it a try."

Whimsy watched with a growing-less-wary sense of curiosity as the golden…liquid (?) was poured onto what remained of their pancakes. And a hesitant taste turned into pure bliss as Cab had been proven completely right. The rest of the pancakes were quickly scarfed down, though a quick glance around the table showed that there were other things to pick at. They recognized the small bowl of berries, snagging a few and quickly eating those, though the one with the bacon going too quickly for them to have a hope of getting anything and with everyone reaching for some they weren't too sure they wanted to bother.

But, just as Whimsy had dropped back to more or less consider their empty plate, Cab reached over and placed down a few strips of bacon. At their surprised look, he pointed to his other side, to where the little skeleton boy gave a bright wave to go with his fixed grin. Whimsy's lips twitched, though the sight of the relatively normal-looking teeth brought to mind their own, sharp-toothed grin, and they kept their smile small. It didn't seem to deter the little skeleton at all though, the small bones clattering as the child jittered around with pure happiness at the simple show of gratitude.

It did help, a little, though Whimsy found themselves drifting towards a silent backdrop, more listening to the words of the others rather than contributing. They didn't think they would have very much to say anyway. At least, not things you said when everyone else was talking, laughing, telling jokes, and overall being far more light-hearted.

Was this what it was like? To be…normal? To have a home and a family? It was vaguely reminiscent of what they saw through the cracks in the walls of the blind woman's family, the strangeness of the current cast aside, and it made the role of the watcher feel all the more fitting and familiar. Safe.

"Whimsy," someone started, the faerie feeling like that veneer of security just tumbled down around them as they were yanked into the conversation. The source turned out to be the nearly silent Patches on Whimsy's other side, their eyes yanking to her like she'd brandished a knife. "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

Their brain stuttered out a little, because they knew the answer and also had the very certain knowledge that perhaps telling the whole group in any detail how that went likely wouldn't end well.

"I, uh, yes. A long time ago."

Not so long though, the reanimated faerie avoiding everyone's eyes as they drew inward, closing off from the rest of the group. It didn't stop them from hearing the somewhat awkward pause in their wake, the conversation stuttering to life with some sort of joke from Tagger that blurred in their ears. They didn't really feel like paying attention much anymore, the earlier, calmer feeling gone by the wayside as things seemed to move on around them. Before they knew it, everyone was getting up, doing their respective parts to gather up the dishes as Cab took over the washing of said dishes.

It felt like the rest of the group moved on like a hurricane, taking their warmth and energy with them. Whimsy was left clumsily fumbling along in the aftermath, glancing around in askance before handing their plate off to Cab who'd practically all but entreated the reanimated faerie to give it over.

Just as the porcelain left their fingers, a tug on their overalls caught their attention, Whimsy looking around before dropping their gaze even further, and finally catching sight of the faerie-puppy staring up at them.

"Y'smell really funny." Her voice had such an odd accent to it that it took Whimsy a few moments to realize that the words weren't altogether flattering.

"Uh…"

"Y'smell like a lotta different things. It's weird."

"Uh, Sunny…" Cab tried to interject, though he was still up to his elbows in the dishes from breakfast.

"They smell like apples, Cab!" Sunny insisted, before closing her eyes and taking in another deep breath through her nose. "An' trees. An' dirt. An'…"

Another inhale, and Sunny's eyes opened again, looking more puzzled.

"…Lightnin'. You smell like dead things an' live things. Which one are you s'pposed t'be? Are you like Manny or are you like me?"

It felt very much like the child was asking the question 'are you alive or are you dead?'. It was one that Whimsy couldn't help asking themselves sometimes, especially given the fact that the only side of the spectrum they'd ever see were the people in the villages, the towns. The very much alive, and the dead things were lying in their worm-infested, decomposing beds. Seeing Manny was definitely a first, but Whimsy knew that they weren't the same as the little skeleton.

"I, I don't know. I don't think I'm…either…"

"Why don't you know? Wasn't anyone there t'tell you?"

No, but the word wouldn't come to their mouth, as it came with ranting about how their own creator hadn't wanted them, had taken one look at them and fled, leaving Whimsy to deal with the world alone. Even with distance, and cares, that still stung worse than physical wounds. But, as they tried to figure out how best to answer, Sunny seemed to come to her own conclusion, reaching out from her perch and pressing a hand to Whimsy's front.

"…It's okay. No one told me either. But if you're smart, you won't need tellin'. You'll figure it out. That's what Tagger said. But Patches said I could ask an' so did Cab an' Fancy. Maybe they can tell which one you are." Sunny said, with the gravitas of someone delivering a prime solution, punctuated in the conciliatory pat they gave the leg of Whimsy's overalls. It was the sort of thing that they really didn't have any words for, but in lieu of just sitting there like a dullard Whimsy did try to add something to the conversation.

"That's…that's some nose you have."

…Didn't mean that it didn't sound any less lame to their ears. Though, thankfully Sunny didn't seem too off-put by the switch. If anything, she seemed proud that Whimsy had pointed it out.

"I've got the best nose. Ask anyone."

"It's the best. Can find a rabbit in the whole forest." Cab pointed out, Sunny grinning happily at the support.

"Yep!"

But, even with the lighter switch, the question that the little faerie-pup had asked stuck in Whimsy's mind, beating like a drum.

Are you alive or are you dead?

It was one that, for all their efforts to wrangle an answer, they couldn't quite manage it.

They ended up retreating to the couch again, settling down on the leather fabric with a quiet sigh. Was there a right way that that was supposed to go? It hadn't felt right at all…

The faint sound of someone walking caught their attention, their head turning to see Cab approaching, a somewhat nerve-edged smile flickering over his face as he came near.

"'Ey, Whimsy. You doin' alright?"

"Yeah, fine," they mumbled, looking away to consider their knees and feet yet again. It seemed to provoke something in Cab, his tone changing from moderately upbeat to quietly apologetic.

"…Hey, just wanted t'say sorry. Forgot the kids can be a lil' inquisitive sometimes, realized that y'prob'ly didn't want t'deal with that just after wakin' up. And don't worry about Sunny, she's just curious. An', hey, Manny seems t'like you."

Which was, reasonable, and a little bolstering, but Whimsy couldn't help a recriminating thought from slipping out.

"…Don't think most people would want their kids being around me…"

"Hey, hey no, none of that now," Cab suddenly murmured, sitting down on the table in front of the sofa just to be within the reanimated faerie's field of vision. "Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person, y'hear?"

Whole mobs of people felt differently, Cab, Whimsy wanted to say, though the more biting thought wouldn't quite make it to their tongue. Instead, something a bit more lame slid out, the faerie letting their chin drop even more as their shoulders rolled inward.

"…yeah, sure…"

"Whimsy, look at me? Please?" Ordinarily, they might've rankled a little at the thought of anyone telling them what to do. But Cab's behavior, his tone, everything felt like he was actually trying to be nice, like he thought of them as a person. So, even though they didn't quite relinquish their hangdog, beaten-down demeanor, Whimsy did look up to meet Cab's eyes. The look they saw there was enough to give them pause, only having seen something like it once before. Beaming sincerity and emotion, to the point where the eyes glimmered faintly at the edges. Cab's hands came up to grasp Whimsy's shoulders, the touch only getting the faerie to look away for the briefest instant before their gaze immediately snapped back to Cab's, somehow sensing that what he was about to say was something that he wanted them to properly hear and absorb.

"Trust me, I know. This is hard. And it's okay to be freaked out about it. But, Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person. And, if you want to, you don't have to be a bad person. You don't have to be. You can be just as good as anyone else, just as good a person as you want to be. Nobody can force you t'make a choice, only you do that. And, Whims, I don't know a whole lot, I'll admit it. But, anythin' anyone said, anythin' anyone did to you, it's not your fault, okay? That's on them, what they do, what they say. Not on you."

It was nearly everything they'd wanted to hear, but somehow, there was doubt. There was a part of them that couldn't help looking for falsehoods and tricks, that thought that what Cab was saying couldn't apply to them. And maybe it didn't. It wasn't as though Cab knew about what happened to the blind woman's house, or that child's arm, or a similarly patchwork shape underneath a sheet…

"…Why do you care? Why, why does this…matter so much to you?" It was an honest question given how suddenly Cab had come in and just started, offering them things like friendship and a place to stay. Though while Whimsy couldn't fault themselves entirely for asking it, a part of them couldn't help feeling just a little like they'd done something wrong as Cab's hands fell away, his eyes glancing around as though for help before he just seemed to decide to come out with it.

"…I, I've been there, before, Whims. Maybe not exactly where you are, but…I've been somewhere near it. And, in a lotta cases, what I'm tellin' you was, I didn' exactly have that many friends to start out. Pretty much none, actually." Cab's eyeline dropped, his whole, lanky frame drooping as though held down by weights. But he didn't stay that way for long, quietly looking back up to meet Whimsy's eyes though there was still a careworn shadow in his face as he smiled. "Kinda, y'know, when you see someone goin' through somethin' similar, makes you wanna stick up for people like that. T'help them out. Heh, sorry, prob'ly not makin' much sense."

"No, I, I think I get it." Whimsy replied, feeling a faint, nearly involuntary grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. "Thanks…Cab. Thank you."

"Welcome. Also, Whims, we're goin' out, by the way. Just takin' a walk. Wanna come with?" As Cab spoke, his hand reached out to Whimsy, gloved palm up with the fingers a little outstretched. There, if they wanted. But...

More crowds, more people, more feeling out of place.

"...No." They should say something else, right? "No thank you."

Though there was a slight downturn to Cab's smile, he nodded in that understanding sort of way before heading back into the kitchen.

"Okay. I'll see you later, okay, Whims?"

"…Sure." Whimsy more murmured back, a faltering feeling in their stomach that Cab probably couldn't hear them. The thought that the group would have to come back through the room, and would therefore have to walk past them, forced Whimsy up and back to the spiral staircase. Not to mention, Bee was right beyond the door, and if he were to come back…

Well-meaning or not, Whimsy didn't want to deal with really anyone right now.

They were nearly to their room when they saw a faint ribbon of light playing across the floor, from a door that was a little further down the hallway than theirs. A wary sort of curiosity pricked at Whimsy's conscious mind, the reanimated faerie skirting down the hall with a stealth that was a little disarming given their eight-foot-frame.

It was a skill well honed, though, and put them right next to the door in question. And, with the way it opened, they got a rather good view of the room beyond. It was a space filled with color, different reels of fabric here and there, gatherings of sewing material, a rack full of completed and partially completed clothing. There was a desk directly across from the door, a familiar figure there and quietly at work. Fancy was bowed over what looked like a mess of warm colored fabrics, hands a constant blur of motion as he carefully stitched one of the seams. Whimsy honestly could not have said what it was, both because of the angle and just by looking, they were hardly any sort of expert on clothing.

But, the more they watched, the more they found the motions, and the overall atmosphere of the room, soothing. Perhaps it was the fact that it was quiet, but warm, and perhaps it also had something to do with the stitches running through their own frame, but somehow it was enough to keep Whimsy rooted there, quietly watching, for what felt like a good few minutes, their eyes quietly roving over everything from the clothes themselves to other things scattered about the room.

On one of the upper shelves of the desk, standing out because it was different from the other nooks and crannies filled with sewing supplies, were a bunch of what looked like random objects. Small stones, what looked like some sort of porcelain figure of someone dancing, an apparent amulet with a piece of some kind of crystal, a small mechanic's wrench, and a folded piece of paper with a smaller, colored piece pinned to it.

They were too far away to really look at any of the other objects, but the wrench immediately brought to mind Bee. Had Bee given Fancy that? Were the other objects all gifts too?

With the added layer of detail, the view into the room almost became a mirage, something that Whimsy could almost imagine themselves stepping into and claiming as their own. Someplace warm and inviting, with objects here and there that had their own stories, their own place.

Their own home…

Though unfortunately, the spell was broken with a too-loud creak coming from the hallway, Whimsy not sure if they'd accidentally shifted or not but seeing Fancy pause and make to look up. Without thinking, they turned tail and tried to hurry back down the hallway as quietly as they could, closing the door of their bedroom behind them.

For a brief instant they stood there, listening, before realizing that there was light coming in through the window behind them, which would illuminate the fact that they were standing there. Stepping back, Whimsy moved closer to the window, and happened to catch sight of movement in the yard below.

Out of instinct, they drew back, but it still didn't mask the sight of Cab, Tagger, Patches, Sunny, and Manny all heading off for their walk. The younger children skirted around the older three, clearly in good spirits with Cab more readily following along. Tagger and Patches were going at a more sedate pace, though were clearly part of the group. Despite the strangeness of the people, it was much like what Whimsy had watched from a distance.

What would it have looked like if they had gone too?

It felt foolish, not to mention horribly vulnerable, to just stand there staring out the window, so Whimsy instead turned to the bed, still rumpled from the nightmare-fraught sleep of last night. It looked just as lonely and forlorn as they felt, the reanimated faerie letting their eight-foot-tall frame thump onto the mattress. They didn't want to sleep, for a multitude of reasons, but, really…they had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go.

It was…frustrating. Wasn't this supposed to be better? Were they doing this right? Was there a right way? They didn't want to go on the walk. Cab hadn't tried to force them, but he'd seemed… not bothered, but maybe a little put out. Had he wanted them to come?

But, they hadn't wanted to. Should they have agreed anyway?

The thoughts were more maddening than helpful, and getting tumultuous enough that Whimsy forcibly cut them off with an irritated growl as they pressed their face into the pillow.

Of course, cutting off their own air really didn't help much, so after a few seconds the reanimated faerie quietly pulled their face away and looked to the side instead, fixating on the blue and the tops of the trees they could see through the window. They had the thought to open the window again, to hear the sounds of the nature outside given that so far, it had been the only comfort. Though the thought was in their head, and they could easily picture getting up to do it, for some reason, they couldn't make themselves move. Instead, what happened was that Whimsy rolled onto their side, eyes lazily focusing on the trees outside as they gently swayed in a breeze.

Time melted by like that, and they easily could have slipped into a doze that thankfully was too light for dreams. But, as they flopped onto their back, a knock came from the door.

It brought to mind Cab, though in a twist, the one standing there when Whimsy opened the door was Tagger.

"Hey, Whims!"

"Hi." Whimsy wasn't about to force more than a politely neutral tone, though Tagger's voice still kept that calm, devil-may-care lilt that showed he wasn't the least bit intimidated by anything, never mind the eight-foot-tall faerie staring him down.

"Missed you on the walk, but Sunny and Manny wanted to get you some stuff. Think you might be able to come out and play next time?" They weren't sure how it happened, but somehow Tagger moved past them, setting down a few objects on the dresser across from the bed. Two rocks, one lighter colored and with rounded edges, the other jet black with sharp angles. As Tagger placed down the little souvenirs from the hike, it struck Whimsy just how plain and bare the place was. Fancy's room had been littered with personal touches, but for them the only thing in the room was the furniture.

Well, it wasn't like they'd set up shop anywhere long enough to really acquire things of their own. The fact that they had an actual bed still felt like a marvel. Tagger was currently sitting on it but it still counted.

Still, Tagger's tone, and words, rankled enough that now Whimsy actually felt a rebuke coming to their tongue.

"I'm not a child, you know."

"…Funny you should say that. T'me, pretty much everyone in this house is young. Well, younger." Tagger's tone had softened a little as he turned back, the look in those oddly-colored, glaring eyes easing down to something a little less blinding. It brought to mind the conversation that Whimsy had sort of participated in, where Tagger had divulged that he had been the first one that Cab had befriended, and more or less kicked off the formation of this strange group. Perhaps then would have been a good time to actually dig in and find out more, but, well, they were here now. No time like the present, right?

"…How old are you?"

"Rude." Given that it was more than a little hard to read Tagger's face, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate apology that leapt to their tongue. It didn't help that Tagger's body language could have been either mock-affronted or real-affronted, his arms crossed and upper body turned away with his head back a little. Had they said something offensive, it wasn't like they would know…

"I, wait, I wasn't…"

Thankfully, Tagger seemed to get that facing in the opposite direction wasn't helpful, turning around and actually facing the reanimated faerie as he replied.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm kidding, Whims. Don't be so serious. And, honestly? Couldn't give you an exact, numerical answer. I just know that, in terms of age, I pretty much rank ahead of everyone, Fancy included."

The notion was honestly a bit of a shocking one, though it stoked to life Whimsy's curiosity. And, if Tagger hadn't been too bothered by that one question…

"What exactly are you?"

"Well…you know that feeling you get when you're out at night, alone, and you keep having the feeling that someone's behind you even though you're pretty sure no one's there?"

"…Yeah?"

"That's kinda in the same ballpark as me. 'Course, you might be a little more familiar with the rest of the family. The Call of Cthulhu mean anythin' t'you?"

"…No, not really."

"Don't worry about it. For reference's sake, think of it like the blackness between the stars, or like when you're swimmin' in deep water an' just happen to look down at all that nothin'. Just, all the stuff out there that's too big to know that might keep you up at night if you think about it too much because, as it turns out, there's either no answer, or there's one you might not like all that much. Point bein', there's a reason I keep all this paraphernalia on."

Well, that was something of a revelation, even though Whimsy felt they really could only guess at exactly what Tagger was eluding to. Something unknowable, something too old to really pin down a proper age to, something that couldn't even show its true face or form around anyone. How on Earth did Cab even befriend something like that?!

"So, now that you know somethin' about me, can I ask somethin' about you, Whims?"

Seemed fair, though they weren't too certain they'd like where this was going.

"…Sure."

"Y'can sit down by the way, not gonna bite. Alright, my question is…where've you been, exactly? I can tell you're a faerie, at least on the outside and before whatever happened there, but somethin' like you doesn't just sprout up overnight."

"…I, I was, I've been traveling. Around. I…I spent some time in a village, a good ways north of here." Whimsy haltingly replied, sinking down to sit next to Tagger.

"Yeah? Spent a while up there?"

"Yeah. I, I was staying with a family…they didn't really know I was staying with them." This felt like the start of a chain reaction, Whimsy fully aware that this was, while not the worst of their crimes, a good lead into the destruction they'd wrecked.

"Guessin' the family might not have reacted well to their house guest, huh?"

"…One did. There was an older woman who lived there. She was blind. I thought if I could make my case to her, then, maybe they'd let me stay…"

"Didn't work out?"

"No. Her family came back, and they saw me, and chased me away, and when I'd gotten back they'd left and I-" Fire, fire had happened as the little cottage that they'd been so fond of burned up around them like some portion of Hell had risen to devour it. Whimsy had been angry, true, but there'd been something so soul-chilling in the sight that it had sapped them of their anger like a bucket of water to the face. Their efforts to put out the flames had ended in burns, burns that hadn't stopped stinging until they'd been able to douse it with water from the well and despite their best efforts, the whole thing had gone up. They'd had the thought in the back of their mind before, but especially now as they relived the memory, they couldn't help wondering what happened to the family. Did they come back? Did they see what the faerie had done?

"…I burned their house down."

"You don't sound proud of that."

"I wasn't, I'm not, I just…I got angry." A deep sigh, before Whimsy went with the first thought knocking about in their stitched-together head. "Doesn't matter anymore. Wouldn't have worked."

"Maybe you didn't find the right people."

"There aren't any right people. Nobody cares about me."

"You sure?" Tagger's voice had started to take on that semi-teasing lilt again, the reanimated faerie finding that they had barely any patience left for that nonsense, thank you.

"…Look, whatever you want to say, just come out and say it."

"Don't know the specifics, but Cab didn't have to say he'd be your friend, right? Fancy didn't have to let you stay in his house. I didn't have to carry you back up to your room last night. But we did. Kids didn't have to get you presents either. But they did. Know your experience is a little skewed, but…what'dya have to lose in tryin' again, Whims? Besides, you're not dealin' with some run of the mill, salt of the earth types. We're all pretty weird. Think I just demonstrated my own case decently well. And, if you're runnin' around with a crowd of folks that're weird, d'you really stand out?"

It was a good point, Whimsy going quiet as they considered it. They were, unique, for sure, and they were pretty sure that there wasn't anyone else in the world like them, but, considering what they were learning about their new housemates, maybe someone exactly like them wasn't needed.

"We're a stubborn bunch, Whims. You ain't gettin' rid of us that easy." The words, in and of themselves, were something to think on, but what grabbed Whimsy's attention was the fact that Tagger, did something. Made some sort of motion like he was going to reach out to the reanimated faerie, but as Whimsy stared and leaned away, Tagger pulled back.

"Alrighty then, suit yourself," he murmured, almost sounding dismissive. Though as Tagger made it to the door, he glanced back to the faerie. "And, if and when you're ready, c'mon down. We'd like to see you sometime."

They'd all like to see them. There was nothing in Tagger's voice that suggested a falsehood, which made the knee-jerk, resulting thought that no, no one wanted to see them, feel very much like a double-edged sword. Keeping anyone else away, but cutting deep somewhere inside.

"Oh, by the way, Whims," Tagger spoke up, twisting around in a way that didn't look altogether right as the neon pie-cut eyes glimmering from underneath the hood glanced back at the reanimated faerie. "Left you a surprise on one of your gifts, but you gotta turn the lights off and close the curtains to see it. Anyway, see you 'round!"

And with that, he was gone, leaving a somewhat confused Whimsy in his wake. Bemusedly their eyes turned to the little stones that were now sitting innocently on their dresser, the faerie even resorting to going over and picking them up for a closer look. Left something on them? What the heck did that mean?

Though there was the added stipulation of the lights, Whimsy quietly putting the stones back down before going to the light switch and then crossing the room to get the curtains.

It was when they turned back to the stones that they saw the glimmers of light, almost like paint, dotting the surface of the darker one. But it was only when they got close and picked it up that the reanimated faerie could read what had been scrawled over the rock.

A simple message, written in brilliantly neon colors with ever letter being a different shade: Hi Whimsy!

And a sort of design underneath it that, as they turned it around, looked like a small, simplified face winking at them.

It was such a small thing, the kids not having to think to get them a present but Tagger also had not had to add in the extra message. But it felt both lightening, and a little worrying. Like Whimsy was standing on the edge of a precipice and couldn't see the bottom of the pit they were looking to jump into. They'd seen groups of people, both friends and presumably families, that looked to have that perfect happiness.

It had been a strong lure, as perfect and content as it looked, to tease Whimsy from the trees and pique them to try talking to the people they saw. But it had never worked. Even when the other person couldn't see how they looked, it never worked.

Whimsy was weird, Whimsy was wrong, Whimsy was disgusting, a monster, unwanted, not supposed to be…

In a snap, they realized that they had started to squeeze the little stone, and immediately loosened their grip with a worried grimace. The present, and the message written upon it, were thankfully unharmed, Whimsy looking down at it for a moment before carefully placing it back on the dresser.

Their attention was grabbed by a brief shuffling noise in the hallway, Whimsy wondering for a brief instant if Tagger had come back to see if his gift had been warmly received. The door had been left open a crack, a few strides taking them over to it and a brief nudge opening it enough for them to look out into the hall.

Which was empty. Whimsy peered left, then right, seeing no one.

They pulled back into their room, thoughts turning to what Tagger had said before. Maybe, maybe they would try to go downstairs in a little bit. Just to maybe explore the place a little more, though they couldn't help a mental block on the notion of what they would do if they actually encountered anyone. Maybe better to tackle that in the moment rather than try to plan ahead, planning ahead didn't seem to do them much good…

Whimsy ended up being so engrossed in their own thoughts, that they missed seeing the door to Fancy's workroom, which had been open a crack, surreptitiously slid shut as they returned to their own room.

It took a few hours before Whimsy felt ready, heading down to the landing and ending up a little relieved by how quiet the main area was. Bee, it seemed, had left, and though the sight was calming, they were still on-edge given that just because the more-visible car had apparently stepped out didn't mean that the others weren't here somewhere.

Though, thankfully, at least from the higher-up vantage point, Whimsy could safely say that they couldn't outright see anyone wandering around in near the couch below, or in the kitchen. Listening around revealed that things were quiet, though a quick glance to the windows drew Whimsy's eye to the fact that the sky had gone gray, the first of a rainfall pattering against the glass.

It did kill the fleeting impulse to actually wander around outside, though Whimsy was loath to just return to their room. Not after they'd come this far. Maybe, even with the possibility of someone coming along, they could just sit for a while.

So, with that thought in mind, they slipped the rest of the way down the stairs, walking past the little kitchen area to the sort-of living room.

It was a good thing that Whimsy had gotten into the habit of watching where they were putting their feet, otherwise they might've traipsed all over the two little forms simply sprawled on the living room floor. As such, they simply stood there for a moment, a foot handing in the air as they stared. Sunny was predictable enough, the little canine-gargoyle faerie arranged like a sleeping puppy, but Manny was…more interesting, to say the least. At least, Whimsy was fairly sure that when things looked all disjointed and, spread out like that, they were supposed to be dead. Actually dead, but then again, Manny being a little skeleton, maybe the rules were different?

Either way, this was a little more weird than they felt equipped to handle, especially from children, so the reanimated faerie turned on their heel. Thankfully, Patches was just coming out of the back room, though the other faerie's lighter tread meant that Whimsy nearly ended up running into her when they peeked out. Immediately both recoiled, Whimsy with an apology on their lips, though they ended up truncating it, given that Patches had that ever-present serene look as she considered them. The kind that barely seemed to get ruffled, it was almost maddening given that it made it difficult to tell what she was really thinking.

But it would be…wrong, to simply judge the other faerie for a trick of her demeanor, something not able to be really helped, so Whimsy simply bit their tongue and stayed quiet on their internal thoughts. Instead, they turned, gesturing to the scene in the living room as they tried their best to convey the issue at hand.

"I just, I found them like this, is Manny supposed to be…?"

Patches peeked around them, pale, unblinking eyes immediately lighting on the slumbering pair. Perhaps it was relieving, in a way, that the cloth-made faerie didn't immediately blanch, or scream, but that calm serenity was a little maddening. This was precisely why they'd been so slow to integrate with anyone, Fancy was easy to read, Cab was too earnest to have ulterior motives, the children were children, Bee was a demon, if not an easy-going one, and Tagger was…Tagger. Whimsy still had yet to figure that one out, but at least he had more visible moods, unlike Patches who seemed to skate through life with a strange sort of distant coolness.

"This happens sometimes," she was saying, lightly skirting over with barely a noise. "You can just pick up Sunny. I'll show you what to do with Manny. Just watch my hands."

"If you just give him a little help, he'll come together on his own." To illustrate her point her gentle motions of picking up the somewhat discombobulated skeleton caused Manny's bones to jolt back into place, Patches carefully scooping up the small monster and tucking him close, like Whimsy had seen mothers handle their children. Manny himself barely woke up, automatically snuggling in to Patches's shoulder, though the reanimated faerie felt themselves bristle as those unblinking eyes turned to them.

"You can try picking up Sunny. As long as she's comfortable, it should be fine."

Though there was a part of them that bristled at the notion, especially since Sunny could easily fit in an arm, Whimsy still knelt, reaching carefully out to the small, winged body. It was only after they'd carefully plucked the wolf puppy-like faerie off the ground that they realized that Sunny had been sleeping on top of something. It was a sheave of paper, along with some pencils, though what drew Whimsy's attention was what was on the paper.

"Sunny likes to draw," Patches said by way of explanation as Whimsy picked up the paper, though something in their expression caught her eye. "Is something wrong?"

"I, she drew me."

And it was so, Whimsy able to more feel than hear Patches coming around to look, but for the moment they had no space left for their knee-jerk guardedness. They only had eyes for this, picture. This child's creation that had them as a part of the group, standing under a bright sun and blue sky, amongst what looked like long, yellow grass. Strangely enough, Tagger was the tallest of the group, Whimsy competing with Cab for second-tallest, and what was probably Bee looked like more of a jumble of red and black than a proper car, Sunny, Manny, and Fancy looking similarly blobbish, but it was all recognizable. And they were a part of it.

"Patches told us," Sunny spoke up through a yawn, having woken as Whimsy had picked her up, ", 'bout the fields she used to live in, when she scared the crows. She said it was like a dream, when it was sunny, and the winds blew through the fields. It's her best place. She said I could use it. Wanted you to be there too. No more bad people, just us. All of us."

"Wh-Why…?" Whimsy forced out, their mouth feeling very dry as something about the word, or perhaps the emotions behind it, stuck in their throat. But Sunny merely looked up at them with her cherry red eyes, beaming that sort of empathetic heaviness that most children didn't have. Maybe Whimsy might've considered it more, though right now, their emotions were bubbling up their throat, coming out in a soft sob at what had simply fallen in their lap.

"If I had known…I would never have given you breath!"

"You're an object of shame, without soul or a name!"

"You…no place but…THE GRAVE…"

"No," Cab had said the other night, when they'd first met. "You don't need him! You don't need someone that don't want you! He's hurt you, cut him out of your life! If you need somewhere to go, you can come with me, with us."

"You're a little late offering me friendship," Whimsy had replied, a sneer curling their lip as they glared at the bizarre…thing, a creature dressed very much like a man, that stood before them. But, a strange thing was happening, had happened. Even as Cab had spoken, tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, like he'd meant every word of what he'd been about to say.

"But I'm doin' it. Late or on time, the point is in the doin' of the thing! An', if'n you saw someone who you know felt as lonely and as hurtin' as you do now, would you just stand by? Knowin' what you know, and havin' been through what you've been through, would you, would you just let them suffer?"

They hadn't an answer, but when Cab had held out his hand, they'd taken it with only a faint bit of hesitation. Cab had tried more to steer them along, but the way he'd been keeping a grip on Whimsy's hand made them wonder if he thought they might bolt if he let them go. But then he'd turned to them and said something that had been sitting quietly at the back of Whimsy's mind.

"Everythin' in life is a choice, an' while you've gotten one hell of a raw deal, you don't hav'ta stay there, you hear? You won't be alone, not with us."

A choice. Whether they'd been aware of the significance or not, they'd made a choice. And it had brought them something small, but heartfelt, and precious. This, not small, but simple life that accepted them so readily as one of their own. That accepted them as…

"Whimsy, it's okay, I just meant that we're family now, see? Patches, Cab, Tagger, Bee, Fancy, Manny, me, you, we're all a family now." Sunny's voice trembled with upset, though Whimsy felt completely unable to answer. But, like a calm wind, a ray of sun in darkness, Patches's calm, whispery quiet voice spoke up.

"I think Whimsy needs a hug, Sunny. Can you give them a hug? One of your very best?"

The small arms wrapping around what they could of their frame snapped the last, delicate thread holding back the emotional floodgates, Whimsy doing their best not to crush the smaller faerie as they cradled her, and cried. Deep, heaving sobs that came from somewhere far down inside as a wail stayed locked behind a set of clenched teeth, their stitched together frame feeling like it might shake itself to pieces from the maelstrom raging inside.

We're a family…

"No soul or a name!"

You don't have to stay there…

"Corruption of biology…"

You won't be alone…

The feeling of another small frame, this one bonier, coming to hug them caused Whimsy to start, wide eyes finding the equally tumultuous ones of Manny. They must've woken up the little skeleton, but before they could even think to apologize the boney little arms were wrapping around their own arm, Manny tucking in in his own effort.

Whimsy looked up just in time to see Patches kneel in front of them, something beaming through as they made eye contact. That calm serenity swirled with a compassion that loomed as large as the open sky, Patches quietly reaching out to the reanimated faerie, and carefully brushing their tears away with a hand made of course cloth. They were quickly replaced by more, though for the moment Whimsy only bowed their head, shoulders helplessly shivering as they tried their best to ride out the storm.

What they weren't expecting was for Patches to reach out, gently easing them to lean into her shoulder. Her hands, with their faint suggestion of needle-like claws, carefully combed through the topmost layer of their curly mane. Their head rested against Patches's shoulder, folded down enough that even their eight-foot-tall frame could rest comfortably while still not crushing the two children doing their best to give the overwrought faerie a hug.

A soft hum caught Whimsy's attention, Patches's whispery tones rumbling low in her ribcage before it blossomed into a lulling song.

"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, 'pon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we walk in fields of gold…"

The 'best place', a field of pure gold that rippled in the movements of wind like something alive. But peacefully so, like the soft rise and fall of breath. It felt so antithetical to what they had known before, the shouting, the strife, the loneliness, the abandonment…

Though there was a part of Whimsy that wanted to push back, to withdraw until they felt safe, they found they couldn't. It felt so foreign, and yet there was a part of them that couldn't help staying right where they were. It was also the part of them that seemed to be the center of the emotional storm, this screaming, wailing, crying thing that grasped at the physical comfort like a lifeline. Patches's voice blurred in their ears, a lulling hum as their mind moved away from the images of darkness, lightning, mobs, screaming…and to a field of softly waving gold.

The thought caused a soft, near-involuntary sob to rattle through Whimsy's frame, Patches briefly breaking in her song to murmur some soothing words that was probably meant to be nonsense, but somehow, Whimsy couldn't take it that way.

"Shh, shh, we're here, we're here…"

A few moments of that, and carefully rocking them a little, and the scarecrow faerie went back to her tune. Whimsy listened, holding onto it like it was a part of the stitches running throughout their skin as the world dissolved into an exhaustion-dulled haze.

"I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken, but I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold…"

"Hey, Whimsy…" A voice spoke, piercing the calm stupor that had drifted in. In the moment, Whimsy had no other thought apart from that they particularly liked where they were and didn't want to move, burying their face in the material as they tried to get away from whoever this was.

"G'way…"

"Would, but you're kinda pinning Patches to the floor. Wanna try gettin' up on the couch, probably be comfier?" At first, Cab's words were confusing, Whimsy's eyes blinking groggily open before they realized that, well, he was right. Turning their head brought Patches's face into view, the calm, even stare a little softer as she looked down at the reanimated faerie. With a somewhat sheepish flutter in their chest, they realized that they were still using Patches's shoulder and upper body as a pillow, with Sunny and Manny still held close in a careful but firm grip. Whimsy straightened, pulling away from the relatively vulnerable position, but they couldn't make themselves let go of the pair just yet.

With nothing else they could do, and a glance around telling them nothing, they couldn't help asking a somewhat hesitant question.

"H-How long was I asleep?"

"About ten minutes. Not very long at all," Patches replied, stretching now that the weight of all three had been removed.

"Hence why we're bringin' up the couch." Cab pointed out, about to reach down to help Whimsy up before Tagger nudged him aside.

"They got two heads on you, noodle-arms. Lemme do it."

Though Tagger was definitely more than ready to haul Whimsy up, it was a little difficult given that their hands were full of sleeping children. Patches and Cab tried to make it easier by taking at least one per each of them, but Whimsy had a moment of conflict as they looked between the offered hands and the little forms nestled against their front.

"It's okay," Cab spoke, catching Whimsy's hesitation. "They're pretty much out. You wanna take five with 'em?"

The question provoked a shy, eye-avoiding nod, though no one seemed to begrudge Whimsy an iota as they clambered up onto the sofa, and quietly scooted inward to make room for the sleeping Sunny and Manny. Instead, there were just quiet words on the part of Cab and Tagger, varying levels of affection in the pair's voices as Cab handed Whimsy a blanket and wished them a good nap, and Tagger's neon grin rife with rough warmth as he said he'd see the faerie later.

Sleep well, see you later. Was that normal to hear, and to feel like it was being meant? They weren't sure if they wanted to ask, but it definitely was a first for them. But, as Cab and Tagger were moving away, it suddenly struck Whimsy that Patches was still standing by, and apparently had something to say.

"You can come to me again if you need to talk, I don't mind. Also," she murmured, kneeling down next to the couch to look Whimsy in the eye. "You have brambles in your hair. I got about three out but there's probably more. We can try to fix that later if you like."

The faerie in question wasn't sure they could offer much to that, but Patches thankfully didn't seem to need an answer, getting up and leaving without any prompting. Whimsy was left blinking in the wake of that, before deciding that, well, they didn't need to really decide anything now and settling into the pillow with a sigh.

The slight movement made both Sunny and Manny move around, twitching and squirming for a moment or two. Without thinking Whimsy reached out and placed an arm over the pair, mostly for the sake of keeping them from rolling off the couch, but found themselves surprised when Sunny turned to huddle into them, Manny's arms reaching over Whimsy's and wrapping around like the limb was a stuffed animal.

It made the realization hammer in all the more that these little creatures, these kids, trusted them. Trusted them enough to sleep peacefully next to them, trusted them enough to let them into their home, draw pictures of them like they were one of the, the family.

The thought had Whimsy swallow another lump in their throat, a prickling at the corners of their eyes stubbornly forced back down because they were sick and tired of feeling miserable. Besides, if they started up again it might wake the kids.

"Shh, go to sleep, you're safe with me." They found themselves murmuring anyway, a faint tremble eating at their voice as they huddled around Sunny and Manny.

The sounds of the rain pattering on the windowpanes formed a soothing backdrop, Whimsy's eyes lazily drifting to see the water as it ran in rivets down the glass. It didn't quite banish the sounds of fire, of screams, that lay burned in their memory, nor the ghostly feeling of a noose tightening around their neck…

…But it was some space. It was a start. Maybe that would be good enough for right now, the thought bringing enough peace to the reanimated faerie that they let their eyes slip closed, breathing growing slow and deep as they slipped into slumber.

It made them miss when, a little while later, a much shorter figure came round the sofa to look at the little huddle gathered there. Fancy looked upon the otherwise sweet scene, a slight furrow in his brow as his eyes turned to the hand and arm Whimsy had used to keep Sunny and Manny close, covered in stitches that he knew so very well. Because he'd sown them with his own hands, slaved for hours over the eight-foot-tall frame that now belonged to the sleeping faerie on his couch.

Briefly, the tailor reached out for the fingers in some knee-jerk impulse to inspect them, before the thought of what if Whimsy woke up, how on earth he would explain what he was doing made him draw back. Thankfully none of them moved, but it left Fancy standing there, awkwardly staring, and wondering what on earth to do.

The sight of a light flashing from behind the sofa, out in the garage, quickly caught the tailor's attention, and he followed the nonverbal signal all the way to the car innocuously parked in the far corner of the garage. The door opened silently in an invitation, Fancy climbing into the driver's seat with an exhausted sigh and feeling more tired than he'd felt back when Cab had simply brought his 'new friend' right to their doorstep.

"You gonna tell them?" Bee's voice spoke from the radio, quiet but questioning. Not accusing, or forceful, but like a nudge on your shoulder to get you in gear. But right now, Fancy very much did not want to 'get in gear'. Instead, one of his arms folded over his front, his hand coming up to knead at his forehead to dispel the growing ache there.

"Okay, different question," Bee started, "what'dya think of them? It's been a few days, you gotta have at least some thoughts."

"I think…they've had to deal with far more than they should have. That that stupid idiot…made some very big mistakes in handling them. That they've probably been alone for a while. I'm glad they're connecting with people though, be it Cab, or Sunny and Manny, or Patches. It should be good for them."

"Alright. Gonna let 'em stay?" Bee asked, the sudden question catching Fancy off-guard.

"Huh?"

"Whimsy. It's your house. Is it okay if they stay?"

He could tell that this wasn't meant to cast doubt on Whimsy or their character, but if the tailor were to be any judge he would say that this might be a way to make up for the downright shock that Cab simply bringing the reanimated faerie home had been. Especially given that it was practically unannounced, which was something that tended to throw everyone when it came to Cab. In a group of supernaturals that had to adhere to some strict etiquette rules, the one that behaved the most like a mortal, with all of the spontaneity that came with, tended to stand out like a sore thumb. Even if, to this day, Cab was something of a mystery. A mystery that tended to be danced around, given that telling someone like Cab that they were 'different' was usually a recipe for the checkered-skinned toon to just avoid the issue and then for him to burn out a few days later from how much he tried to avoid dealing with it.

And, either way, it wasn't like Whimsy had destroyed his house or anything, so Fancy didn't feel too much conflict over his next words.

"Don't think I could throw them out now even if I tried. The kids would be too upset if their new playmate left. Cab wouldn't like it either." It also probably wouldn't be very good for Whimsy to be just acclimating to a new place and then be thrown out. If anything, it would likely undo that bit of progress that Fancy had just seen. And, though Fancy might not admit it to anyone other than himself, there was a slowly growing sense of responsibility for the reanimated faerie. If the mayor would not look out for his own creation, then maybe the only other person aware of the circumstances behind said creation should.

"Good point." Bee's voice rumbled through the speakers, before taking on a somewhat more hesitant air as he asked his next question. "You, uh, holdin' up okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're not worried, are you?"

"Think Tagger an' I have been sorta worried since you called us to come get you. First time I saw you that freaked out by anything. Second might'a been when Whimsy came in."

To be fair, Fancy ruminated, both instances had been firsts for him too. The fact that a reanimated myth had simply been brought to his doorstep was a shock in and of itself, but the fact that it was the same myth that he'd been more or less forced to slave over, put together from dead bodies, and whose creator pushed him to the point of a nervous breakdown, now that was enough to perhaps add to the gray streak in the tailor's hair.

The nervous breakdown itself had been something, given that while Fancy could say that he'd had rough points in his life before, there was nothing quite like the experience he'd had when one of the bodies that Whimsy's creator had been working with turned out to be a little more rotten than previously thought. Mostly because trying to take anything from it had resulted in a horrid, absolutely putrid smell filling the room, Fancy having gotten a glimpse enough of the rotting features that he'd about lost whatever little he'd been able to eat beforehand. He'd run out, managing to get a call home and getting Tagger, and of course he'd come with Bee for expediency's sake.

The ride home was an ordeal, given that by the time Fancy had been sitting on the curb for a good fifteen minutes, trying to banish the stench and sights from his mind, he'd become uncomfortably aware just how acquainted he'd become with the dead. The sight of dehydrated, blackened flesh no longer enough to sicken him but in retrospect it was all the more horrifying. He'd tried to focus, tried to buckle down, tried to tell himself that it was just a job and he'd make it through, and the mayor had definitely been paying good money that could be put to good use.

But in the end it wasn't enough, and Tagger had been coming just shy of outright putting his foot down in stating it. It wasn't enough to justify poor sleep and worsening health. It wasn't enough to make up for the fact that Fancy knew, in his heart of hearts, that what the mayor wanted wouldn't be so easily obtained. Some 'conditions' just weren't curable, and death was unfortunately in that category. And while the tailor had been able to ignore the niggling concerns in the back of his mind about just where these bodies were coming from, there was the part of him that wondered if they were all being obtained by 'legal' means. Or, if any family involved might be aware of what was happening to their loved ones.

There was only one body that he'd felt more or less sure about, the one that the mayor had had set up on that main table, the one that had been having the most alterations done to it. That one had clearly died not that long ago, still with a shadow of life in its features. In the right light, it almost looked like someone languishing under an illness, their face frozen in a look of quiet but poignant resignation though their neck had been a little oddly bent.

Perhaps it was to be expected, given that it was a faerie's corpse, though there had been a part of Fancy that had been a little put off by how dismal the expression was coupled with what the mayor had been doing. Perhaps it could be partially blamed on the fact that he knew faeries, Patches and Sunny, and to see either of them in this position would have been gut-wrenching. But he hadn't known this one, so looking at them had just brought a sort of melancholy irritation for their situation.

You look like you've suffered enough. Can't he just let you rest?

But then that night had happened, and Fancy had taken a break for a few days to come back to a note on the door for him, explaining that his services were no longer required. There was talk of a payment, the mayor had sounded apologetic regarding the whole incident, but Fancy's mind kept going over what had happened when he'd asked why his services hadn't been needed anymore. The mayor's exact words were that the experiment had been a failure, but he didn't elaborate.

Maybe that should have been a sign that not all was well, but Fancy had believed the whole endeavor impossible. How was he to know it had actually succeeded in creating something?

Though, as Fancy snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that he'd more or less been sitting in silence, ruminating, for a good minute now, with Bee patiently waiting for him to reply.

"…I'm doing better, promise. Startled me, definitely, but I'm feeling more…balanced. Definitely less 'freaked out', as you put it."

"Good to hear there. Though, Fancy…I get 'not now', but, be careful with that kinda secret. If anything just because it'll end up sitting like a rock in the trunk."

"Fair enough. Worried I'll get more gray hair?" It might've been a bit of an unfair thing to joke about, as while Fancy had adjusted to the streak of gray in his hair following the whole incident with the mayor, the supernatural cast of characters in his household…really hadn't. At least, not until everyone was sure he wasn't about to keel over given that they'd all made the somewhat correct assertion that 'going gray' could mean that you were close to the end of your life. It had taken at least a few weeks for them all to back off, though out of all of them, Tagger and Bee were the only ones that knew the full circumstances. Still, there was a laugh in Bee's tone as he replied, hinting that while there might be a worry it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been.

"Hey, don't even go there, mister. Not until you're at least pushin' fifty."

"Alright, alright, I'll be careful. And, I probably will tell them. Just not right now. Thank you, Bee." The words were punctuated with a gentle pat on the steering wheel, the lights flickering like a grin in reply.

"Welcome. Gotta work on stuff?"

"As always."

"Can you show me sometime? Can't exactly make it up the stairs…or wear clothes, but it looks fun." It might've been an odd request for a car to make, but Fancy was decently sure that Bee had made similar ones before now, about various things that though he knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him being able to participate he still wanted to know about. Ergo, it wasn't too hard to agree.

"Sure thing."

As Fancy was about to cross the living room, his path brought him within viewing distance of the huddle still slumbering on the couch, the tailor pausing for a moment to sort of re-take in the sight. Whimsy's face was quietly relaxed, arm still in that careful, protective position over Sunny and Manny, the pair just barely visible though Fancy could see Manny's much smaller arms still wrapped around the darker, stitched-together limb.

It was a surprisingly sweet sight, even with the unusual-ness of the cast of characters. Fancy gave a quiet, calm smile, before heading for the stairs.

[mosaicofdreamsanddragons]

Born of Denial (A Clone’s Tale)

Link on to this on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074746

His first memories was of the leftover destruction that had once been some sort of threat. The original, his creator, was talking fast to a girl beside him. Mei supplied memories that were not his. Something about a new training regimen which would take a while, and not to expect him back. Then he’d hopped off. To go train under the black monkey whispered his not-memories.

Hmm, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he had a bit of a problem with that. Something niggled at his memories. No, that was an understatement. This jarring feeling of unease was only dwarfed by the all-consuming need to chill that he was sure he’d been created from. Against his inborn nature to let things play out of their own accord, he grabbed his retreating original’s arm and opened his mouth and struggle for a bit to get language down. “Danger,” he finally managed to get out.

“I’ve never seen one do that before!” said Mei. “Is that normal?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said his creator to him. “But the danger’s gone.”

The time it took his creator to say that did such wonder for his vocal cords that he suspected magic was behind it. It did not, however, grant him eloquence or persuasion and further discussion on the matter proved to be futile. Actions also failed to sway his creator, who just shrugged off his newly born clones incessant tugging and bounced off to train with the suspicious monkey. Leaving said clone alone struggling with how to handle this leftover unease, which was clearly not his because he’d been born from the desire to chill. Clearly.

As per his not-memories instructions, he goes about the original’s day. And those wiggling anxieties don’t bother him at all because he’s the master of calm nonchalance, if he does say so himself. For evidence of his mastery over baseless fears, look no further than the reactions of the others… Mei takes him to an arcade and he manages to smile in the crowded place where there is nowhere to hide…from how cool he looks! Yep! That’s it. That’s all that’s going on.

And he’s not relieved at all when Mei decides they should head home after only one round of their game or that she walks him home to his apartment. They play video games on his couch while she texts something on her phone to… Sandy he thinks, given the cat emojis. He can’t make out anything else. He’s too busy checking the window and doors to make sure they are secure because it might be cold tonight.

The next day Pigsy greets him with a, “My kitchen is a mess. You’re on dishes.” He gets to work, periodically glancing up to watch those who come in. He would have merely listened for entries but he can barely make out what Pigsy and Mr. Tang are saying and they’re barely on the other side of the room.

“….bit of mindless work all he needs.” Says Pigsy.

Mr. Tang reply is nearly unintelligible. “something-something- Sandy.”

He watches as Pigsy moves off. Is he making the deliveries today? Mr. Tang takes the opportunity to swoop over to the counter and regale him with a Monkey King story. Mr. Tang does this sometimes, his not-memories whisper. He ignores them because he doesn’t want to have the story spoiled for him. He still watches the door but now its for Mr. Tang’s sake (and his own if Pigsy caches him).

Sandy shows up next. Mo in tow. Mr. Tang waves him and his tea pot (how was that boiling he was literally carrying it) over and proceeds to tell another story while Sandy placed Mo down. Immediately the cat jumped on the counter and started nudging at the clone doing the dishes.

He stared at Mo. Mo stared at him. Slowly he reaches one hand out and rubs it down Mo’s back. Mo purrs. Red Son does not burst in. The mysterious monkey does not come in. Even Pigsy does not come in. The boy feels himself smile. Everything was fine.

He doesn’t notice Mr. Tang’s story drop off, or see the look that passes between the two older men.

He does hear Mei and Pigsy burst in. He’s on his feet in an instant but Pigsy doesn’t even scold him for slacking off. All he says is, “We’ve got trouble.”

Upon seeing the bull demon minions he wants to scream, “I WAS RIGHT!” to the stars above. The only reason he didn’t was he knew that wouldn’t be very chill of him. Still he can’t contain the elation that comes with being proven right. He knew something was wrong, he knew it. Even the original didn’t see it but he did!!! Mei takes his elation as battle confidence and laughs. Together they lunge at the approaching demon bull minions.

It doesn’t work.

He wracks his not-memories for answers and tries again.

It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t understand. These are small fry. He takes these out all the time.

It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work.

Its Pigsy who drags him away from the battle. Mr. Tang is already driving the truck. Sandy had Mei.

It didn’t work. He threw everything he had at it and it wasn’t enough. There is nothing he can do.

Except wait for the original.

He suddenly becomes aware of his breathing. It was fast. He’s squished into Pigsy’s truck, between the door and Pigsy himself. He can just make out the demon bull minions as they pull away. They have a light blue afterglow.

Pretty.

He reaches deep into himself and pulls out the emotion he was built on, drawing it over himself like a shield. There was fear there, always had been. But he was made to relax in the face of danger. He could do this. It’s like looking thought a veil at the world.

He blinks into reality. Pigsy is upset. But his words don’t really reach him. They are thrown from side to side by Mr. Tang’s bad driving. He lets himself move with the car. It’s just like a ride at an amusement park.

The practically slam into the docks and catch air as they move onto Sandy’s boat. Neat.

He feels Pigsy pull him out of the car and half stumbles after him. He hears Mr. Tang rev the engine again and pull the truck behind some crates. He sees Sandy cradling an unconscious Mei in front of him. Pigsy’s incessant pulling draws him into the elevator and the smell of five sweaty bodies choke him until they are finally able to exit into the secret base.

The secret base is cool. Colorful gadgets he’s only really seen used in not-memories cover the walls. He really wants to explore, but he’s guided to the tv area. Mei is placed on the couch by Sandy before he runs off to find something. Pigsy place the boy at the edge and holds up his fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up kid?”

There are three. “Three,” he replies.

Pigsy lets his fingers drop and starts checking him over for something. Sandy materializes next to them and starts bandaging Mei. Huh. He hadn’t noticed she was bleeding. Pigsy starts adding bandages to him too.

The three adults are talking over him. “The kids will need time to recover…”

“Someone should stay with them. The other two might be able to do something with the tech in here.”

“Maybe we should wait for the kids to wake up….we’ll have time to rest and plan and we can go in as a team…”

Mei stirred. Good. She’d be able to show him around. That would be fun.

She does not get to show him around the base. When she’s able to move she’s mainly talking to the others about the plan of attack. He wanders the base by himself until one of them corrals him back to the main team.

They end up going out again. And again. And again. Each time they bring out some of the tech from their hide out, and every time it fails. He wonders if they are supposed to be learning something from all of this. But when he voices his musing, Mr. Tang only sighs.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the only plan we’ve got.”

Its Pigsy who insists on going out again and again. Every time they get out there he tries to get to the shop. They never make it. And every time the return he shrugs off whatever injury he has and goes to grab the next weapon on the wall. And every time its Sandy who stops him with a nod to the rest of the group.

Every time, they are a sorry sight. Mei is almost always injured; always the first to throw herself into battle. Mr. Tang fares poorly as well, often a result of covering for someone. Sandy takes the most damage from carrying one or more of their unconscious bodies to safety.

Pigsy takes more damage than any of them, save Mei, but that doesn’t stop him. Nothing stops him. Nothing but the sight of his injured companions and Sandy’s quite “I don’t know what to tell you, but we need to rest.”

There is exhaustion in Pigsy’s eyes.

The boy, on the other hand, is fine. He doesn’t do well in fights but, since he’s mastered the art of chill, it’s not like it bothers him anymore. And yeah, the headband and jacket attract trouble but Mr. Tang always pulls him out. And sure, Mr. Tang sarcasm output is directly proportional to the times he’s pulled the boy from death’s door but it’s not like he can solve that problem. Things he cannot control he doesn’t worry about. Not a bit.

After the same old song and dance with Sandy talking Pigsy down from running off on “Patrol” again, they settle into their down time activities. For the boy this means chilling on the couch and pretending the tv works. Or wandering around the base for the umpteenth time. Or trying to make a tower out of all the discarded and broken weapons. Today he sits on the couch next to Mei and tries to pretend the game system is running. It would be a survival game. One of those post apocalypse ones.

Sandy heads up to fish once he’s sure no one needs medical attention and Pigsy isn’t going to run off again. They are low on food. Which may sound bad but how big of a problem is it really if none of them are in the mood for food? Sandy never heeds this logic and instead risks daily visits to the surface for fish with only Mo to stand watch. The cat, at least, enjoys the daily fish surplus.

Mei spends her down time as she always does, staring at her phone. It’s a pointless endeavor, he knows, the bull demon minions were careful to get any transmitter and effectively downed the internet and cell service. They even went after old fashioned phone lines and radio transmitters. But Mei doesn’t stop hitting redial and a recording plays the line “I’m sorry we were unable to reach the number you dialed” over and over again.

Mr. Tang stands before the monitor, watching the destruction. Buildings destroyed, people screaming they couldn’t make it in time to help, movements of bull demon minions they can’t stop all broadcasted to the rest of the hideout. The boy had learned to tune it out, same as with Mei’s redials.

When unable to go back out on “patrol,” Pigsy often sorts through the weapons in the area for something they can use next time. He used to cook but they ran out of noodles two days ago. Used the last spices the day before that. Yesterday they ate the last of their vegetables. So today all cooking waits until Sandy brings ingredients up from the ocean. Without any food to prepare, Pigsy can only sort though the pile of broken weapons for something that might have survived their last encounter with the enemy.

Each sound from the monitor makes Pigsy tense. The screams make him flinch. The destruction makes him drop whatever he’s holding roughly back onto the ground. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are shaking.

A sudden explosion from the monitor makes them all jump. Or rather it makes the boy jump, Mei just glance up from her phone before dropping her head again to hit redial. Pigsy rises from what he’s doing and stocks over to Mr. Tang. “Stop it or let me go out again,” he almost growls.

Instead of snapping back with a sarcastic quip Mr. Tang just glances up from the monitor and says quietly, “We are going to have to leave.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying…” begins Pigsy but Tang cuts him off.

“I mean we are going to have to relocate our base.”

“Why?” says Sandy, stepping out of the elevator, smelling of fish. “We are doing pretty good here, as far as supplies go.” He holds up his catch of the day. Which they will eat without vegetables or spices or noodles. They are even down to their last teabag.

Mr. Tang doesn’t answer. Instead turns from the group and pulls up images on the monitor. Videos of demon bull king minion attacks in their area spring up. There is nothing unusual about that.

“Over the past few days,” says Mr. Tang. “They have been more and more sightings around our area. And those sightings almost all happen mere moments after we have left. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. They are hunting us, and they are getting closer.”

There is silence in response only to be broken by “The number you are trying to reach…” from Mei’s phone. She isn’t looking at it but the sound echoes over the room.

“We could try my parent’s house,” she whispers, but they all hear her fine. “Just until things cool down.”

No one replies for a moment.

“That’s an option,” Mr. Tang begins carefully. “And could be really helpful for a while but…”

“…but we’ll need a way to get there that’s undetectable,” says Pigsy quickly. “Something they won’t recognize. Like my truck.”

“How is your truck unrecognizable?” snaps Mr. Tang. Pigsy looks at him and flicks his eyes to Mei who has turned her attention back to her phone.

“We could paint it!” says Sandy quickly. “A fresh coat of paint would do the old girl some good!”

Mei perks up at that, glancing up from her phone again. “Let’s paint it green!”

Pigsy raises his hands up to ward off imaginary painters. “Now hold up,” he says. “This is my truck, and I say if we are going to do this, we are going to do this in colors that I like.”

“I have a can of orange?” said Sandy. He pulls his fingers up and ticks off imaginary paint buckets. “And black and blue, and maybe a bit of yellow.”

“Green!” says Mei, her phone dropping from her hand onto the couch.

“How about a design?” say Mr. Tang turning to her and the boy. “Something out of one of your video games, the ones with the spiky outfits.”

“Why don’t we wait until we see what Sandy has?” says Pigsy and motions for the others to follow him and Sandy. As they troop towards the elevator Pigsy leans over and loudly whispers, “Please, for the love of everything, tell me you don’t have that much yellow.”

Sandy, it turns out, does not have a lot of yellow. He barely has any at all. Undeterred, Mei tears apart Sandy’s arts and crafts supplies to see if she can find more. The rest of them find themselves staring at the truck contemplating its future makeover.

“What’s the most inconspicuous design we have?” says Mr. Tang fiddling with his glasses. “Should we draw a bull demon minion on it and let them think it’s one of theirs?”

“This is my truck,” mutters Pigsy, “And I’m not putting an enemy logo on it!”

“What if we tried subtly expressing our anger through signs that they might not be familiar with?” Sandy says. He runs his fingers through his beard. “I took a few art classes for therapy and I know a thing or two about symbols with hidden meaning.”

“Well then make something to do with noodles and down with the demon bull king,” Pigsy says with a wave of his hand. He moves closer to the truck as if surveying a design. “And I’m not all that great with art so you make the lines and I’ll fill in.”

Sandy gets to work. Pigsy joined in and Mr. Tang follows. But not before placing a brush in the hand of the watching boy.

He slowly joined in. It’s more fun than fake video games.

He didn’t notice how Mr. Tang took the opportunity to slip away once the boy was immersed in his craft. Didn’t notice how he started loading food, water, and blankets into the back of the truck. He was too busy following the lines Sandy drew and trying not to (not) splash paint on Pigsy.

Mei burst out of the boat with a shout that made them all flinch. Paint got everywhere, seagulls flew off, and Mr. Tang dropped the pillows he’d been loading into the truck. Mei seemed to realize what she’d done and covered her mouth. There were a few moments of tense silence.

The seagulls settled back on the ship.

Mei pulled her hand from her mouth and whispered loudly, “I’ve got the best idea!” And she held up her hands, which, he now realized, were full of spikes. “We can get outfits to match the truck!”

The adults exchanged glances. New clothes would be nice, but none of them had any on the boat. Except for Sandy of course. “With what?” said Mr. Tang, side eyeing Sandy.

“With this!” said Mei. “A little work on these old spiked armor and we could get it to fit us! It’ll be an apocalypse makeover! And the best part is we get to feel like we’re in new clothes without actually having to be in new clothes!”

She handed the spikes, which the boy could now see were attached to shoulder pads, over to Pigsy. Then she went running back in to return with belts and goggles.

They ended up leaving later than planned. No one cared. Mei was laughing again, excitedly trying to get their costumes to mimic her favorite video game characters.

And he would be lying if he didn’t say he joined in. He wandered next to her and provided second opinions on the costumes. And first opinions. This was his apocalypse game too. Pigsy let them put the smidge of yellow paint onto his face. Mr. Tang accepted an ammunition belt. Sandy didn’t even argue when they gave him a shirt.

But when it was his turn to get dolled up he took one look at the red headband Mei was wearing and said, “No thanks, I’m good.”

“C’mon!” she said. “You can’t just dress everybody up and then not dress up yourself!”

He looked at the red headband she had tied around her head.

In the game that was done to honor the dead.

“No,” he said. “I’ll pass.”  And he stomps into the truck. He can hear Pigsy telling Mei not to press him but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. The original isn’t dead. He can’t be.  

When the others crowd in the good mood from moments before has evaporated. Pigsy drives.

In hindsight they should have seen this coming.

“Pigsy this is the way back to the shop,” says Mr. Tang.

Pigsy’s shoulders rise up. “So what?”

“So the point is to avoid suspicion!” snaps Mr. Tang.

“I’m driving and it’s my shop, we’re going to pass by it!”

“We’ll just draw more attention to ourselves!!!”

“How about some tea?” says Sandy producing a teapot from nowhere.

“Stay out of this!” they both growl. Sandy’s teapot vanishes.

The boy fights the urge to stick his hands over his ears. It’s fine. He can handle this.  He’s chill. Everything is chill. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Mei gripping her phone. She hits a familiar button again.

He takes a breath and counts the seconds for the familiar message. One to dial. Two to dial. Three to dial.

The phone clicks.

The car is so still they can all hear the voice of two worried people through the phone. Mei drops it, and fumbles around. Tang finds it and wordlessly hands it over, fight forgotten. Mei grabs it and holds it up to her ear.

“Hi Mom, Dad.” Mei says in a happy voice, but the tears in her eyes make it come out thickly.

Pigsy keeps driving in the direction of the shop. No one comments on it.

Mei is done talking by the time they reach a familiar street. Bull demon minions crawl all over Pigsy’s pride and joy, and some poor kid is standing right int front of them. Some poor kid with an orange jacket and red headband…

Mei, Pigsy, and Sandy are out of the car in a flash. He’s to stunned to move so he waits inside with Mr. Tang.

The others explain the situation to his baffled creator. When he turns his attention to him wondering why he couldn’t prevent all this he just shrugs. There really is only one thing to say: “I don’t know what to tell you guy.”

MK feels the rush of memories flood in him, but they are blurred. His boy hadn’t really been paying attention to the details. So instead he asks for clarification. “What happened?”

Mr. Tang tells a tale that gives meaning to the images that his boy left in his brain. Also the deep aching fear leaking through shields of denial. Well no need to fear. The Monkie kid was here to save the day. For the sake of everyone. And for the sake of his boy.  

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[yukiwrites]

Byleth, Revealing the Truth

Thank you for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This is always so interesting to work on! >v<)

Summary: Coming to terms with the realization that he will never see Sothis again, Byleth finally confronts Rhea in front of the student body and reveals the truth of the deep and dark secrets the Church had been keeping for a thousand years...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -  Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8  - Part 9 - Part 10  - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

The air underground felt thicker and thicker with magical energy the closer they got to the Holy Tomb. Byleth could almost hear the memories unraveling around him, taking everything he had to simply look ahead and lead the way.

The students -- Claude, Linhardt and Ignatz especially -- explored the stones with deep curiosity, whispering amongst themselves while coming up with this or that theory about the place's origins. Once they descended through a mysterious contraption -- something Byleth's memories told him was called 'elevator' -- the awed gasps increased.

There it lay, right in front of them -- the gargantuan underground space known as the Holy Tomb.

"Are you surprised, Professor? This is the Holy Tomb." Rhea pressed her lips into a thin line, as though testing Byleth's grasp in Sothis' memories. The young Professor simply chewed his lower lip and took a short breath, seeing the young Rhea giggling and twirling around herself in every single place he directed his gaze to.

Standing on Byleth's left, Dimitri looked around with large eyes. "Incredible. To think such a vast space has been hiding beneath the Monastery all this time. I wonder what powers that giant mechanism that descends beneath the ground." He whispered the last part more to himself, taking a hand to his chin in thought.

Rhea's steps turned hastier as they approached the throne sitting on the opposite side of the entrance. It overlooked any and all who entered, centered so as to watch over the countless sarcophagi scattered all over the grounds.

"This is where the goddess who created this world was laid to rest, along with her children." She gestured vaguely from the sarcophagi to the throne. "It is said," she tried very hard to suppress her smirk, "that our creator, the goddess Sothis, sat upon this very throne." She let the words sink in for a moment, waiting for when Byleth's gaze turned to her. "Do you recognize this throne, Professor?"

"What, why would he know about this? Is that because he received the power from the goddess?" Claude blurted out from the position Hanneman had guided the Golden Deers to, crossing his arms in confusion.

"I do not think now's the time to ask such questions, Claude..." Ignatz shook his head beside Claude, whispering as low as he could, though still falling victim to the mysterious echo of the Holy Tomb.

"Now's precisely the time to ask questions, though..." Unsatisfied, but intent on staying put for the time being, Claude crossed both hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance.

Byleth looked away from Rhea towards the throne, clutching his chest and embracing the lump in his throat. "I do." He replied simply, making the Archbishop blink enthusiastically and clap her hands gracefully.

"So long... So long have I waited for this very day." Her eyes looked glazed over; her controlled smile just a step from conveying the deep-rooted madness within. "Go, Professor," she urged the young man through the steps. "Sit upon the throne. I have no doubt -- no doubt! -- that you will be gifted a r-revelation from the goddess." She bit her lower lip in anticipation.

Byleth gazed upon the throne, feeling the heat escape his body and his throat go dry.

He had just seen it inside his head, barely a week ago. He had gone up these very steps within his mind to console Sothis when she had regained her memory, just a few weeks previous. He had seen her sit upon it countless, countless times inside their shared memories.

His eyes burning, Byleth gripped the hilt of the Sword of the Creator on his hip and climbed the steps, one by one; one by one.

The more the throne approached, the more visions Byleth could see -- of Rhea, of Sothis, of her children; even of a young Seteth -- and his legs started trembling. He knew that if he had a normal heart, this would be the moment where it would be beating so loud he would barely be able to hear his own breathing.

Alas, his chest was as silent as ever, though if only his mind could say the same...

He touched the cold stone of the throne's hand rest, feeling a crackle of energy clashing with the one being emitted from his own body. Taking a deep breath, the professor slowly took a seat in the middle of the large throne, reminding him of how small Sothis always looked whenever she sat on it inside their shared mindscape.

Closing his eyes, Byleth felt a surge of memories cascading through his mind.

He could almost, almost hear Sothis' voice again, though it all stemmed from his own memories.

“You fool!! Do not go asking questions you might regret hearing the answer to!”    “Give it to her! Get away from here this instant! I cannot bear this conversation any longer!” He could hear her voice almost as clear as day, though he knew, deep within himself, that this was all just his own wishful thinking showing him what he wanted to see.

“I condone the way you forcefully try to yank it all out of me.”      “Your mind has been wandering and wandering…”      “Sothis, also known as The Beginning. I identify with both aliases, as does the goddess.”      “Am I simply a part of the goddess? The conscience once calls ‘self’? If so, is that the reason why I bear the appearance of a child?” Her voice as she condoned or comforted him made the Professor press his own lips into a thin line, a deep frown squeezing his eyes shut lest they overflowed with grief.

“Experiment? What- Did I go through such a thing in the past?”       “NO! No, no! Nooo!” “This… this is… It’s how I died.”

Byleth could barely keep himself from expressing his own grief, watching his and Sothis’ shared memories play out inside his mind.

“So that is why I did not want to remember…”      “Will you come with me?”    “Thank you…”      “I have the memories back, not the powers! Oh, why-why must this happen…!”      “What a beautiful love it must’ve been.”      “Your Father had been wary of her from day one.”

“Indeed… The wicked must be punished.”

“It was that simple, young one. She wanted to see me again.”

Byleth opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Rhea’s.

“She wanted to bring me back to life, Byleth, by using your body as a medium. I’d wager she almost succeeded this time.”       “Even though we’ve been together ever since you were born, it is a shame that I’ve only awoke a few months ago.”        “It is not the same as death, silly child. I will always be with you, quite literally.”

“We simply… will not be able to talk like this. I shall miss it.”

Rhea’s expression started to crumble. “Well…?”

“Can I be selfish just one more time?”      “Could you- hug me?”      “This will be the very last time anyway, for all eternity.”

Byleth slowly ascended from the throne, taking quiet steps down the stairs towards the Archbishop.

“Thank you… I’m glad it was with you to whom my fate was bound.”

The Professor stopped midway to the staircase, taking a deep breath and turning to the throne, bowing slightly to it. "I'm sorry, my friend... I’ll try to keep my promise as best I can, but…” He raised his gaze to the cold stone, then back to the increasingly nervous Archbishop.

Averting her gaze, Byleth tried to walk past her in a strangled silence, but she took his arm with a force that did not match her frail-looking get-up.

"W-wait, Professor? What happened? It w-was supposed to be just a step away..." Her voice derailed as her eyes shook -- the color seeped out of her face with each breath she took. "Answer me!"

"L-Lady Rhea, pray let the Professor go-" Dimitri tried to touch Rhea's hand which gripped Byleth's arm, but was shook off by the increasingly unhinged Archbishop.

"Do not interfere, child!" She hissed, her eyes and cheeks hollowing in despair.

Byleth's brow flickered with anger, so he, too, shook off Rhea's hand. "Don't touch my students." His voice was low, but somber, full of authority and barely controlled anger.

It was as though he had the poise of a god for the entire room fell silent as chills spread around everyone's spines.

Hanneman and Manuela exchanged glances, ready to haul the students out at any indication of Rhea losing control.

"I'm not a tool for your schemes anymore, Rhea! What did you want to happen, truly? To have Sothis possess my body and live and speak through my mouth? You can't ever replicate her body! It would've been a prison just as cruel as the one they put her through!"

"NO! No- no, she would be free! She would walk amongst us again- M-mother...! She would- reconstruct herself once she regained her powers-" Rhea blabbed, her field of vision and consciousness narrowing to Byleth only, forgetting about the dozens of onlookers.

Byleth clutched his chest, "regained what powers? Through a limited vessel there was no way to channel them! She could only keep the form of an amnesic child! Haven't you realized that the power of her soul can't be contained only in her Crest Stone?! The most she could do was wish to know who she was!"

Rhea's eyes widened so, they almost bulged out of her skull. "F-form of a child? No memories...? But then, how do you- how did she give you this power- o-oh, Mother..."

The Professor's chin trembled with the overlapped version of Rhea and her child self, his eyes burning with tears -- no doubt stemming from Sothis' side of his soul. "She!" He didn't notice he raised his voice until it left his throat. "She didn't want me to resent you up until the very end. She asked me to be merciful to the child who was most attached to her." His voice trembled and he could feel that a single tear escaped, though he was quick to dry it with the back of his hand.

Rhea's legs gave out. "M-mother..." She dug her face into her hands; her entire body, that once felt imposing and all-knowing, trembled and shivered like a lost little girl who simply missed her mother.

The students watched with glazed eyes, not knowing what to think or where all of that came from, most of their mouths agape in shock.

Byleth gave his back to the sobbing Rhea, turning to the audience. His eyes met his coworkers, though he could only see their worry for him in their expressions. He simply nodded and looked away from them towards every single student. "I'm sure you all have many questions." He managed to control his voice and grip at his sword to ground himself. "What failed to happen just now was the resurrection of the goddess." He declared, noticing how the air itself started to waver due to the students' anxiety. He took out his weapon and hung it overhead.

The Sword of the Creator shone in its characteristic red glow, stealing every pair of eyes towards it. "I have been housing the consciousness of the goddess inside me, which is why I am able to wield the weapon that was made with her very own bones."

A low 'eek' was heard amongst the students, though was deafened by Claude's loud objection. "Bones? What'dya mean by that, Teach? Are you saying...?"

Byleth nodded, pointing towards the House Leader. "Failnaught," he went from Claude to Dimitri, "Areadbhar," then towards the spot the Blue Lions stood at, "The Crusher, Aegir Shield, the Lance of Ruin, Lùin..." Then, he looked back to the Alliance House, "Freikugel, Thyrsus... They were all made out of the bones and crystallized blood of the children of the goddess. That I can wield the Sword of the Creator without its own Crest Stone is the proof -- for the crystallized blood of the goddess rests within my own heart."

"B-bones?" Ingrid's grasp on Lùin faltered, allowing it to fall with a loud clang on the ground. "B-but the ancient texts..."

"The Church has been manipulating the information of what happened a millennia ago to hide the true nature of the tragedy." Byleth placed the tip of his sword on the ground, resting both hands upon its hilt. "I'm sure none of you forgot what happened at Remire village." He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Those who were behind the attack on the village, as well as behind the murder of my father... They were the ones who, a thousand years ago, murdered the goddess and her children, drank their blood and made weapons out of their very bodies." His throat itched as the information was difficult to say. His eyes fell upon Flayn, who looked down in unfathomable grief. She had also been there, back then, as Sothis' memories imbued within the Sword of the Creator told him.

Mercedes and Marianne covered their faces with horror, being comforted by Annette and Hilda respectively, while the most devout students stared at the space without knowing what to think.

Edelgard took a step forward, seeing an opportunity. "Are you saying that we should topple the Church and let the people be free to believe in whatever gods they wish, Professor? This is all SO very surprising..."

Byleth shook his head. "Topple it? No. But it needs immediate reform. The people deserve to know the truth."

"Interesting." The Imperial Princess took the same step back, glancing around to watch everyone's reactions at the same time a loud wail exploded behind Byleth.

It was Rhea.

Her grief was so deep that she completely forgot how many millennia had been since she had been a little girl.

She cried and howled with the pain within her heart. "LEAVE! All of you- leave this place! Mother's- Mother's resting holy ground!" She bellowed as she dug her face deeper within her hands.

Byleth pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing back at Rhea then towards his fellow professors. They all nodded in agreement and started to herd the students to the exit.

"Wait, wait, wait, we're leaving? I still have a lot to ask, though!" Claude scurried to Byleth while Manuela had to physically maim Linhardt out of his spot.

"I'll answer whatever you want." Byleth nodded to the House Leader, then looked over his shoulder to the aghast students. "Whatever you all want. But for now..." he clutched his chest, trying not to think of the pain of losing his one and only friend for good. "For now, let's leave her to mourn on her own." He whispered under Rhea's loud wails.

The Archbishop climbed on the steps and threw herself on the throne, hugging it as though she did her mother, crying like she hadn’t cried in ages past.

I'll protect her from the public scorn however I can... I hope that's enough to fulfill my promise, Sothis. 

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Absolute Carnage #1 Thoughts

Absolute Carnage is an Absolute Triumph!

Do not get it twisted. I will not be covering older or future issues of Cates’ Venom run. Nor will I be covering every tie in issue for this event. In fact I was not planning on covering the main book in the first place.

But after reading it I now will be and have put it on my pull list.

Cates’ Venom work has been tremendous despite the detractors.

There have been some writing issues with older Venom continuity, but those issues are the by product of Cates desperately loving this character and the symbiote franchise and wanting to make Eddie Brock and his version of Venom a viable anti-hero protagonist character going forward.

To be clear I still fundamentally oppose that direction for the character, but if it must happen (and sales practically demand it happen) then yes we should have good writing accordingly. Cates has thus reinvented Brock and Venom (without a total overhaul) and rendered them fascinating, sympathetic, but still with plenty of edge and moral ambiguity.

He has not done the same for Carnage. He has simply taken Carnage and made him true to what he always was. A force of nature, a force of chaos and death with a Freddy Krueger wisecracking personality.

However what Cates has done for Carnage is reframe him in this story.

Whereas before Carnage was a spikey, sharp obstacle heroes needed to band together to bring down, now he’s beyond that. As he says, he is a God now, or at least almost Godlike. A Red Grim Reaper that even a monster like Venom is rightly afraid of.

Heroes might be able to stall him for awhile, but never stop him.

Much like Freddy Krueger, or Jason Voorhees or any of the classical slasher villains then, Carnage has been reframed as a horror monster. But imagine Jason, Freddy or Michael Myers with the almost Lovecraftian raw power behind them.

Scary right? And that’s what Absolute Carnage is. It’s a superhero horror story.*

It gets scarier when you consider Carnage isn’t even himself the real horroer, he’s the harbinger of it. Knull, the literal GOD OF THE SYMBIOTES is the ends through which Kasady is the bloody red means. Knull has recently appeared in Cates’ Silver Surfer run and it only just struck me writing this that in a sense Carnage is to Knrull what the Surfer was to Galactus.

Carnage is the Herald of Knull.

Kasady has all the over the top immense abilities he had before as Carnage, only now they’ve been cranked up to 11. Which considering the whole point of Carnage was that he was cranked up to 11 makes Absolute Carnage 22? He’s less vulnerable to sonics and fire and injury in general. His anatomy is contorted to the point where when bonded with the symbiote his waist is as thin as his spine and he’s HUGE. He can generate other symbiotes and bond them to others making them his footsoldiers.

He’s seemingly Absolutely unstoppable.

In this sense Absolute Carnage is a true blue sequel to Maximum Carnage. Like so many sequels of the time it is BIGGER. Whereas in Maximum Carnage the question was how far should the heroes go to stop Carnage, in Absolute Carnage the question is rather how on Earth CAN they stop him?

It’s Carnage taken to his absolute logical conclusion and I love it.

Now in fairness all that is contingent upon you liking Carnage in the first place. I’d still recommend regular ASM readers skim the issue as events from it will be relevant, but if you don’t like Carnage in general maybe don’t buy this.

However the issue holds other merits.

Cates is a unique beast amidst symbiote writers because he actually seems to unrepentantly LIKE them.

In the history of all the symbiote comics writers have either approached the characters as enjoying Venom and/or Carnage or parts of their lore but being very selective. Flash Thompson’s run on Venom for instance carried an undercurrent of, if not contempt, then elitism towards Eddie Brock and all the other symbiotes hence Remender (or was it Bunn?) sought to clean the slate of them. Bendis infamously didn’t even want to do Venom in Ultimate Spider-Man, rarely used him after he did and totally reframed the symbiotes in Guardians of the Galaxy to be glorified gooey Green Lanterns.

And I will be the first to admit I fall into the cadre of people who are extremely selective when it comes to symbiote lore. My love for them is through the lens of how they fit in and enrich Spider-Man’s  mythology, not appreciating them on the basis of their own mythology.

Cates is entirely different. He is first and foremost a Venom/symbiote fan. He is someone, and there are interviews corroborating this, who as a kid had one of his formative comic book lover experiences with anti-hero 90s Venom and stories like that.

This is why so many of the Web of Venom comic books that have been setting up this event have directly or indirectly referenced those 90s Venom books, even if it’s just in the name of the comics. Unleashed. Funeral Pyre. Cult of Carnage. Carnage Born. I mean he’s the first comic book creator to have ever expressed adoration for Carnage Mind Bomb, the first ever true blue Carnage horror story that is his equivalent to the Killing Joke. It’s obscure, macabre, twists and gruesome. But it lays out for you everything about who Carnage is. He hasn’t got layers. And that is the point.

Cates’ love for those stories, for the symbiote lore oozes (pun intended) in his Venom work and this comic. He WANTS to use every corner of that lore that he can and add to it. He wants to tell the greatest symbiote epic of our time. He wants to do the ultimate Carnage story, the ultimate Venom story.

Hell he WANTS to do a Maximum Carnage tribute because he unapologetically loves that piece of hot trash.

And he wants you to love that stuff too. I don’t agree with the decision to do stories like this because I feel Venom and Carnage should be just about the only symbiotes around and be nothing more than Spidey villains at that. And yet...I feel his enthusiasm pulsing from the pages of this comic.

His love and excitement for using these characters and doing something this big is as palpable as it is infectious. And so he’s won me over. I don’t agree with doing this story but I’m so onboard for enjoying the ride.

It helps that it’s honestly very well written.

He’s done his homework (and symbiote canon is a fucking mess let me tell you so that is impressive), he throws out deep cut references to stuff like Marvel Knights or the Life Foundation. More than that when you look at this issue and his Venom run up to this point you can see how meticulous he planned it. it could go way off the rails of course, but right now he’s firing on all cylinders. Carnage was appropriately foreshadowed and built up, his escapades were well documented in various issues preceding this event. The Knull mythology was clearly established, the stakes were appropriately set up.

And just in case you disagree he spells it all out for you concisely in the first few pages of this oversized issue. I’ve been reading the run and even I appreciated the refresher course.

He doesn’t just give us a larger than life doomsday scenario though, or even a ‘a bad guy is doing bad things we need to stop him’ plot. By making everyone to have bonded to a symbiote a target it means characters we are emotionally invested in, even if they are villains we love to hate, are in jeopardy.

And at the beating heart of it all is the story of a father and a son.

Eddie Brock and his son, unbeknownst to the boy of course. On a thematic level this is relevant because Dylan and Kasady/Carnage are both the products of Brock and the Venom symbiote. But the fact that this is all about Knull, the ‘father’ if you will of all symbiotes makes this a metaphorical family drama.

And Peter Parker to my surprise and delight is a part of it. I didn’t expect him to show up or to seemingly have the starring role he will have, and yet here he is. That’s what got this onto my pull list.

If there are any criticisms to be had it relates to Spider-Man continuity.

Peter is nonchalant over Brock knowing who he is.

Spider-Man in costume refers to Normie as his Godson multiple times in front both Normie and Dylan.

Norman Osborn may or may not still have the Carnage symbiote (the art makes this a bit unclear).

Spidey is very chill with Brock.

These do bother me, they are objectively writing issues I will not deny that, even though my thrill at the rest of the comic means on a pure enjoyment level I can’t bring myself down by sweating them.

My only defences would be that Peter upon learning Brock is once more aware of who he is would probably not react that badly to the information for a few reasons. First of all he was already living with the distinct possibility that Brock already knew the truth about him. The symbiote had known for a long time and had been bonded to Brock for awhile now so it was always a possibility. Second of all the Brock/Venom of the 80s and 90s is not the Brock of the current run. That is to my personal chagrin, but nevertheless Peter knows Brock and the symbiote are nicer more moralistic folks now and if they still held a grudge they’d have come after him, with or without knowing who he was.

My other defence is that this is not a Spider-Man story. It is a Venom story. It is in essence Spider-Man/Peter Parker filtered through the lens of Venom and the needs and requirements of serving Venom’s character and narrative. Whilst a major problem in Maximum Carnage was serving Carnage and Venom at Peter’s expense, that was a Spidey story in his titles, this is Venom’s story so giving him the spotlight, short-changing Peter’s continuity for the sake of propelling the plot along, that’s fair game. I don’t like it but it’s fair game.

Similarly Peter becomes Brock’s supporting character in this story and an effective one at that.

Brock recognizes Spider-Man is his best ally to resolve this situation even though he hates him. We learn more about Brock as a person through his feelings towards Spider-Man. Where once irrational hatred flowed now there is surprisingly...jealously. Spidey often gets a bum rap in the press and yet Venom is envious of that because in and out of the costume it’s much better than his lot in life.

There is also two wonderfully poignant moments between the two. The first is where Peter learns Dylan is Brock’s son and that Dylan doesn’t know this. We see the hurt Peter feels when he relates how terrible it is to not know who your father is. The second poignant moment is when Brock is distraught that Carnage must have desecrated the body of his deceased ex-wife and Dylan’s mother. For a character like Eddie Brock who’s so often (unfairly frankly) been dismissed as lacking depth this is a shocking moment of sadness, compounded by the fact that Dylan doesn’t know who Ann was. In this same moment Spider-Man looks remorseful too, which is a subtle piece of continuity porn done right by Cates. Ann was first introduced in ASM #375 (the issue setting up Brock’s solo series actually) and later died in ASM vol 2 #19.

What follows is another Spidey/Venom team up but arguably the best, or at least one of the best ever, as they encounter the Maker a.k.a. Ultimate Reed Richards which is a historic moment as Spider-Man finally gets to meet the counterpart to his old friend. There is plenty of other connections between hem too. The Ultimate Universe is innately associated with Spider-Man more than anyone else, the Maker like him was a young genius and they were both among the Secret Wars 2015 survivors. We get Normie Osborn returning for the first time since Fresh Start, a welcome return at that as I always love seeing his relationship with Spider-Man acknowledged. Then we get a nightmarish sequence set in Ravencroft with yet more well done continuity porn. John Jameson, veteran of Carnage Mind Bomb, Carnage: It’s a Wonderful Life, Conway’s Carnage run and 90s Ravencroft stories shows up to pay off his appearance in Cult of Carnage earlier this year. Norman Osborn returns in what will hopefully fix the asinine Red Goblin story arc. Spidey and Venom have their backs up against the wall (literally) and facing down Carnage, an army of Carnage infected psychos and Norman Osborn with the Carnage symbiote.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve ended a comic thinking ‘How WILL they get out of this?’

To tie aaaaaaaall this together is Ryan Stegman’s stellar art.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, Stegman is the best new Spidey artist of the 2010s. He’s Bagley, JRJR, Frenz levels of awesome. He’s also the perfect fit for symbiotes as his art seems to be somewhat influenced by McFarlane co-creator of Venom despite what fucking fools (like RDMacQ) might think. His style here is dynamic, detailed, funny when it needs to be, scary when it needs to be, awe inspiring when it needs to be.

His double page spreads are eye candy and the one depicting the pit of bodies feels straight out of a late night drama. It’s just brilliant.

Never before has there been a Carnage or a symbiote story that’s felt this epic, this ambitious, this sheer mad and audacious in scale.

I can’t wait to read future installments.

Cates in this issue, and his run in general, has somehow managed to recapture the allure of the symbiotes that I think 80s and 90s fans felt when they first fell in love with them.

If you don’t like Carnage or symbiotes inherently I strongly recommend you skip this. If you even vaguely like them though I cannot recommend this enough. 

*Carnage has been making the transition into a horror character for awhile now. Carnage U.S.A., which is recommended reading for this event, felt very similar to a Dark Horse horror comic only with Marvel superheroes. Gerry Conway was explicit about how his Carnage ongoing series was effectively his take on Tomb of Dracula.

[d-s-winchester]

Salem

(gif credit to the creators)

Part One

Master List

Pairing: Misha x OFC Word Count: 1,963 Warnings: None? A/N: In honor of RPF appreciation day I have decided to post the first part of my new Misha series. This story is near and dear to my heart. I have put a lot into this. A HUGE thank you to my best friend in the whole world and the one person who puts up with my nonsense for betaing this for me, Nicole (aka @iwantthedean) without her this story would never see the light of day. Hope you guys like it! Anyway, feedback for this is awesome! :)

The graveyard was filled with no more than one hundred tombstones; small, much like the town where the graveyard was located. A strikingly pale, petite woman walked through the maze of graves, some fresher than others, and pulled her cardigan closer to her body in an attempt to block the early October night’s chill.

 She ran her fingers through her hair as she let out a sigh. In the darkness, her long, lavender hair appeared just as silver as the moonlight that illuminated a familiar name on the gravestone where she stopped. The freshly fallen leaves crunched under her boots as she turned to face the tombstone. She sat down on the cold, hard ground and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them.

 Running his hand over his face as he let out a frustrated groan, Misha Collins leaned back in his desk chair. He didn’t want to stare at the words he had written any longer. When he focused his gaze on the laptop screen again, the blinking cursor and stark white of the blank page taunted him. This wasn’t the first time inspiration had woken him in the middle of the night and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was what Misha referred to as The Writer’s Curse; inspiration would come and go, with no regard to the day or time. This was, however, the first time his midnight muse had come and gone with only two paragraphs to prove she had come at all.

 The glare from the computer screen was starting to give him a headache. Resisting the urge to delete everything he'd written since his muse wasn’t going to supply him with another word it seemed, he shut the laptop and got back in bed. Sleep eluded him as he continued to think about the novel he'd recently started.

 Images of his newly formed protagonist flooded his mind every time he shut his eyes, along with a white sign attached to a post that read Entering Salem. Pictures of Salem, and this woman, had been clouding and colliding around Misha’s brain for days now, out of nowhere it seemed. Of all the novels he had written, not a single one had burdened him the way this novel seemed to be doing.

 Misha spent the rest of the night tossing and turning while he tried in vain to force away the pictures of the woman and the town from his mind. It was the most restless night of sleep he'd had in a long time, but by the time he gave up on sleep the next morning, he had made the decision not to fight the images anymore. Ignoring the document where his unfinished manuscript sat, he made a reservation at a small bed and breakfast for an indefinite stay.

 After packing a bag, Misha got in his car and made way for Salem, Massachusetts. His mind felt lighter already; he wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him in the small, New England town, but he had a strong feeling that is where he needed to be to finish this novel.

***

 Ophelia Wilton adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and unlocked the door to her shop before stepping inside and turning on the lights. October was always the busiest time of the year for her, with all the tourists pouring in from around the world to take in the sights and attractions her small town had to offer, so she had taken to getting to work at least a few minutes early to prepare for the inevitable influx of customers throughout the day.

 The Hexbag was a small shop, specializing in Wicca and the occult, nestled in a cozy little spot between a cafe and bookstore on Main Street in downtown Salem. She had bought the establishment from its previous owner a few years before. The shop was somewhat of a commodity, usually frequented by tourists harboring an obsession with the Salem Witch Trials, but Ophelia didn't mind -- she loved the shop anyway.

 Just as Ophelia walked behind the counter to set down her bag, the bell over the front door jingled. She turned to the door, preparing to tell the customer that the shop wasn’t open yet, but stopped when she saw her best friend, Christine, walking through the door, carrying two lattes from the cafe next door.

 “What are you doing here?” Ophelia asked, accepting the steaming hot drink from her friend.

 “It’s the beginning of your busy time,” Christine smiled, dropping her purse behind the counter. “I figured you’d need some help when the morning rush comes in.”

 “You’re a lifesaver,” Ophelia smiled.

 Christine shrugged and took a sip of her coffee before helping Ophelia get the shop ready for the day. Once the new inventory of books and crystals was catalogued and placed on the shelves, and the other shelves had been balanced and dusted, Ophelia turned the sign on the door from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and took her place behind the counter while Christine wandered around the small shop, ready to help customers with their choices. Within only a few minutes, the shop was packed with people, tourists and regulars alike.

 It wasn’t until well after noon that the rush finally died down, and the two women were able to take a break. Ophelia did a midday count of the register, while Christine restocked the shelves. Although the subject matter wasn’t something that Ophelia was keen on discussing, she decided to bring up something that had been weighing heavily on her mind for the better part of the day.

 “I had that dream again,” Ophelia said. She kept her eyes on the register, an attempt to appear nonchalant about the dream, as though it didn’t bother her. With her eyes on the money in front of her, she didn’t see Christine tense up momentarily before her friend let out a sigh.

 “It’s been six months since he died, Lia.”

 “I know, and I was starting to feel like I was moving forward,” Ophelia said, jotting down the midday numbers. “Thing is, last night was the third night in a row that I dreamed about going to Chris’s grave, but it wasn’t his name on the tombstone.”

 “Then how do you even know it’s his grave?” Christine frowned.

 Ophelia slammed the register drawer shut, feeling frustrated with her friend for the first time in a long time. “Because it’s in the exact same spot. Every single night, I see myself taking the same path from my house, to the cemetery, and then to his grave. It’s the same spot, I know it. It’s getting to a point where I’m not sure if I’m dreaming it or sleepwalking.”

 “Well, you said it’s not his name on the tombstone, so that’s how you know it’s a dream.” Christine shrugged and continued shelving the books customers decided not to buy, as though the dream was not any sort of cause for concern.

 “Still...you don’t think it’s a little weird?”

 Now it was Christine’s turn to sound frustrated. “No,, I think you’re stressed out because your boyfriend died and it’s the beginning of your busiest season. You need to just breathe and not overthink the things you’re dreaming.”

 Ophelia stared at her friend, mouth slightly agape. She couldn’t understand why Christine was acting this way. If anyone could understand the grief she was feeling, she was sure it would be Christine; Christopher was her twin brother after all.

 ***

 Misha parked his car in the small lot of The Henry Derby House Bed & Breakfast, and breathed a sigh of relief. The trip had gone smoothly but seemed to go on forever; finally, he had reached his destination. He got out of his car, grabbed his bags and went to check in as quickly as possible. The moment he had driven past the “Welcome to Salem” sign, ideas for his novel had started rushing through his brain; he wanted those ideas on the page before they disappeared back into the parts of his grey matter he couldn’t voluntarily access.

 He didn't bother unpacking his suitcase when he found his room. Instead, he propped the suitcase against what he presumed to be a dresser door, dug out only his laptop, and set the device on the small desk. He adjusted the chair for comfort, settled his fingers over the home row of keys, then waited the tortuous amount of time it took for the laptop to power on, boot up, and open the document where the manuscript was waiting. With his manuscript displayed on the screen, Misha’s fingers seemed to fly over the keys of their own volition.  

 “Jason,” she said, taking a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, “I miss you. I know it's been a while, but you being gone hurts just as much as the day you left. I wish --” she paused to swallow down the lump in her throat. “I wish there was some way I could bring you back to me.”

 She swiped at the tears that had started to fall as she continued to speak to the sunken grave, marked by the tombstone with the too familiar name. A few minutes felt like hours as she stewed in her sadness, but the trance grief had drawn her into was broken by twigs snapping on the ground behind her. Quickly, the woman stood, turning first and then staying rooted to the spot until the source of the sound revealed itself.

 From behind the trees, a middle-aged woman walked toward her; the smirk on the woman’s face set the younger woman’s heart to racing. She took a few steps back, bumping into the stone behind her. The sudden appearance of the strange woman had her so tense that the sudden contact with the granite stone caused her to startle.

 “I have a way to help you,” the woman said, stopping only a few feet away from the younger woman.

 “What do you mean?”

 “You want to bring your boyfriend back,” the stranger said, as though the answer to the younger woman’s question was plain as day, “and I have a way for you to do that.”

 The young woman looked at her, her wide, frightened eyes now forced to a smaller size by the perplexed frown that burdened her expression. “How? It's impossible. No one can be brought back from the dead.”

 “You think that way because you don't know what I know.” The strange woman’s menacing grin set off alarms in the younger woman’s head, and caused a strange tightness in her chest.

 She swallowed hard as she looked at the woman, a vain attempt to slow her breathing, before answering. “Then tell me.”

 “It's all possible with simple witchcraft, darling -- but it comes at a price.”

 Fear and panic were replaced with an odd sense of hope. Consumed now by the idea of having Jason back in this life with her, she didn't hesitate. “What is your price?”

 “It will cost you your soul.”

 That was as good of a stopping point as any, Misha supposed. He could feel his fickle muse once again pulling away from him, so perhaps it was better to stop before she left him in the middle of a sentence without so much as a possible resolution in mind. After quickly unpacking his personal things from his suitcase, he found his mobile phone, car keys, and a small, wire-bound notebook that fit in his back pocket -- in case he came across anything worthwhile to jot down on-the-go -- and left his rented room to discover more of Salem and, in the process, more of his novel.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co