#i dunno i just think this is a larger conversation than what people might be ready to have? who knows

[uncanny-tranny]

Sometimes, it's really frustrating when people say that trans men (and transmasculine or otherwise) don't know what it's like to be treated as predatory because we're "treated like women who need to be saved."

I don't think I have ever been treated like anything other than a potential predator because I am a trans man, you know? I see it in the way I am treated like a contagion, like something that must be eradicated in order to protect the interests of others. You see it in the way that "masculinizing" transition is demonized - the idea that testosterone makes you a roid monster, that we're ruining any chances of being an incubator.

I just think it's insensitive that people assume what trans experience entails, you know? I think it's insensitive when people talk over other people's experiences with transphobia... are some trans men or otherwise transmasculine people sometimes treated like damsels to be rescued? Yes, and I've seen it firsthand. But that isn't the only way we can face transphobia, and to act like that is the only "real experience" we have of transphobia is missing the point.

[herelieskrisy]

We need more tlou3 ellie x reader

There are two tropes I’m an absolute bitch, whore, and slut for. Ellie x reader as mothers and ellie x reader after the events of the last of us part two!

My bored and lonely brain was thinking as usual and I realized we don’t have enough ellie x reader post-epilogue. Which is like… why? The amount of angst and eventual fluff that could be added is insane. Watching Ellie grapple with the gut-wrenching aftermath of grief and slowly finding her new purpose. Becoming her old self again and healing with a new lover along the way.

I started thinking of story ideas and settled on this one being my favorite. It might be crap or it might be genius, I dunno.

(just imagine how desperate and passionate the smut would be)

————————————————————————————

!!!THIS IS JUST A SUMMARY NOT AN ACTUAL FIC!!!

౨ৎ Ellie’s spent months in Jackson trying to make amends with Dina and JJ. There are hard consequences she has to face, being that betrayal isn’t easily forgotten, and every single street corner and creaky saloon reminds her of Joel Miller. This town used to be a safe haven, a sanctuary where she was met with warm people and even warmer memories. Memories turn to bittersweet shackles that tug her back from being full, leaving an empty shell of what once was. She thought her new purpose was getting her family back, but that wasn’t enough. There’s no fairness to her finding comfort in the arms of a former lover she hurt so bad, left to rot just like all the other lives sacrificed in the name of her living. Talks of fireflies banding together to build communities and restore humanity leave Ellie curious as she’s reminded of the cross-country journey that brought her to this position in the first place. Jerry Anderson is dead thanks to her, so there’s no hope for a vaccine, but there might be a sliver of light for a second chance. Ellie yearns to be apart of something greater. A journey that could once again fill the void that is her soul. She’s taken enough from this barren Earth already, why not give back? Setting off for the fireflies, she’s met with a familiar face from her past, the murderer of Joel Miller.

Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams share two things in common. They have the same goals of building a larger group of survivors, and they’ve taken a liking to you.

You who became close friends with Abby soon after she found the fireflies on Catalina Island with a scrawny scar-faced boy accompanying her. She might be the most genuine person you’ve ever met, which makes it shameful when you start giggling a little too hard at a certain auburn-haired girl’s jokes. The same auburn-haired girl who’s constantly mentioned in Abby’s tales of the crazy immune chic who used to be set on killing her.

Ellie wasn’t looking to make friends on this mission. She wanted to seek the fireflies and support them in whatever greater goal they had in store. However, she feels this sweet tangy guilt when she finds herself admiring the way you laugh at her jokes. The way your lips quirk up in a grin that’s all too amused to be friendly. With Dina and JJ still hot on her mind, she insists that you’re nothing but a friend crush. But it’s been months and Dina still hasn’t taken her back, understandably so… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Ellie to seek comfort in another’s touch. Maybe the fear of not being good enough for her former family can be set aside. Just for now, while she’s knuckles deep in your cunt. She swears to herself it’s a fling and you’re nothing more than a placeholder. A placeholder who Ellie happens to hold very, very dear to her heart. We change people like seasons change color, and as seasons pass the old is replaced with something new. A fresh start might be what this crazy immune chic needs.

Stolen campfire kisses, deep late night conversations, and talks of the stars reignite a spark in the pits of Ellie’s core. If you light a match in front of a moth, it’ll chase it. And baby you’re a whole wildfire.

————————————————————————————

I wouldn’t plan on this being an ellie x reader x abby love triangle, but after writing that summary out I’m realizing it has potential to be one. Love triangles are just a bit cliche to my liking and I’d want this to be super Ellie focused. Like from her pov and everything. It’s about her emotional rollercoaster and learning to love/be loved again.

Exploring Ellie’s dynamics with different people is so yummy and I feel like this wouldn’t just be a romance for Ellie x reader, but also an enemies to friends for Ellie x Abby.

Once again, I’m not a writer so I’ll probably never turn this into a series. If there ARE any writers out there who are interested in this idea and would wanna work together I’d be so down.

[mansionofhaunts]

I think the timing on this would have been more well-received had FCG not done his big move last episode, but also...I think they'd locked this in a while ago, and they couldn't really back away from it? Like, this is meant to get Dorian back in with the group for a bit, and probably explain what he was up to, since we haven't seen him for like...two years, at this point.

I do feel like they should have...probably just done another EXU miniseries sometime after the solstice, but...I dunno. I guess they probably prioritized getting Candela off of the ground, and Kymal was...underwatched, I'll say. I dunno! Feels like they're experimenting with how to expand their offerings, but, like a lot of brands built around personalities...it's hard to really expand that core group without alienating some fans. I think that's most clear with Kymal, but it looks like Midst isn't really breaking out, and interest in Candela seems to be dropping pretty steadily as well.

I do think about...a lot of the conversations around diversity and the Critical Role table, and I think they're all very much aware of that criticism and it seems like they want to address it. Their biggest hurdle to clear there is getting people to care when the main eight core cast members aren't there, and having a cast that large means adding anyone becomes a logistical nightmare.

I dunno! They're in a weird place, because they're pretty clearly still the big dogs in the space (nobody else has Amazon deals, for one, and nobody is currently doing livestreams to movie theaters (Acq Inc did that like...ten years ago, I think?)), but I think you can also see...I won't say the downfall of Critical Role, but you can see possibly a big slide in popularity coming, as the industry changes a bit. I think they're addressing what they can, but some of the things that are now limiting their growth are things that made them as big as they are in the first place. They can't really change the cast; people will be upset at who isn't there. They can't really add to the cast permanently; there are already arguably too many people there. They can't make the episodes shorter; their fans love that the episodes are unedited. They might be able to get away with shorter campaigns, given the drop in viewers over time (I know people like to do thinkpieces about why this is that coincidentally confirm their own opinions about the series, but I think it's mostly because it's very easy to fall behind after you miss one four hour episode)

Anyways: that was longer than I'd planned, but I've been thinking about the...larger bts stuff for Critical Role for a while, and tonight's episode was the first live one I've watched in months.

[wolfislost]

Hello there, I dunno how to actually start this conversation but, you caught my interest since that otherkin training post

I just wanted to ask you, a fellow werewolf to another fellow werewolf, what things would you suggest me to do in order to feel more like myself?

It's been a long time since I've felt really *alive*, my actual self.

Every time I try to feel more like myself, I get hit with this pain... that I cannot actually be myself, I cannot transform, especially when I go in dark places, where I feel like I should run away in the dark, but I actually can't.

So, what would you suggest to help me feel better?

Going through your tumblr reveals certain limitations that have to be taken into account.

Limited access to gear, unknown proximity to nature, currently living with others.

I don't know what your relationship to your wolf is like, so I'll have to assume it's similar to my own.

Okay- all that boring admin stuff out of the way. Here are my suggestions:

Get Outside

It seems obvious but there's a method to this, even if you can't go as far as the woods- there is nature a lot closer than you think. For me that means stalking birds, feeling the rain on my face, and occasionally getting into stand offs with animals like foxes. I don't exactly recommend the last one since you guys may have significantly larger wild animals- but interacting with other species and experiencing the weather can be great ways to reconnect.

Lunar Tracking

The stages of the moon are a pretty important influence on me. They can trigger shifts, and sometimes alter my behaviour in the days around a full or new moon. Even if the moon doesn't cause the same reaction in you, it can be helpful to pay tribute or have a routine for full moons. I like to track the full moon on my phone's calendar, rather than using a separate app. It's really straightforward, you can just look up the last full moon and mark it as a repeat date every four weeks in your calendar. You can also do this with a physical wall calendar if you prefer. As for tribute or routine ideas, it can be a form of whatever hobby you prefer. You might listen to a specific song or playlist, draw what the moon looks like, make a journal entry to mark the occasion, or sing something. It's up to you, and should ideally be personalised. For you, that might mean a specific videogame at a certain time of day, since you enjoy those. The key here is to be intentional, and actively mark the day or time as something important.

Instincts

Not all of our instincts can be acted on. I think most werewolves can tell you that. That said, these instincts are a great way to get in touch with your wolf side. I think of them as my wolf communicating with me. Since I can't transform, it makes it even more important that I listen to my wolf when it expresses itself. That means finding safe ways to follow my instincts. That can mean stalking wildlife, feeling the wind on my face, winding down the window on a car trip, staring at the moon, stretching the parts of my body where the need to shift is felt the most, eating higher protein foods when I crave meat, and avoiding people or places that make the wolf uncomfortable. That last one is also just general safety. I trust my instincts, so if I see someone that makes that part of me uneasy- I follow that feeling. The more you follow those instincts, the easier it gets to "hear" them. Figure out how you can compromise with the wolf.

Social

Take this with a grain of salt, as it's completely up to you and your circumstances. It can be helpful to normalise your wolf among your human friends. This is NOT the same as coming out as a werewolf. People are remarkably accepting of my odd behaviours as long as they don't know WHERE they come from. When I get asked about my jewellery, I just say I like werewolves. It's true. It's not the entire truth, but it's enough that they can accept it and move on. I follow my instincts around friends. They make fun of me, but they also play into it- and they never look any deeper because it's "just what I'm like". You don't have to do this, but it's easier to stay in touch with yourself when you don't have to pretend around your human friends. I'm the same with my closest family members. If I'm going to spend a lot of time around you, I'm definitely not going to hide what I am for your benefit. You know what's safest for you, so again- grain of salt.

Clothing

Gear isn't all paws, tails, masks and fangs. All though I do love my fangs, they really help with the teeth shifts. Gear can also be something as simple as a comfortable shirt that matches your fur colour. It can be a bracelet that reminds you of the pine forests you call home. It can be shoes that help you walk on mud or dirt. It can be anything that makes your body feel more like home. I like to draw wolfsbane and lunar phases on my arms with pen or eyeliner. When I look at them i'm reminded of what I am. I have a full moon necklace, I wear leather bracelets. Find some stuff that you can wear without raising suspicion, and if it does then have a half truth ready to placate people. I suggest looking for materials that are comfortable and similar in colour to your fur. Grey and white are a fairly available colour combination, so it should be relatively easy. Jackets, shirts, trousers, t-shirts. Whatever you wear, I guarantee you can find a comfortable version that matches your fur colour. If not, you're also allowed to customize your clothing by hand. I have a brown jacket with a fur hood that I wear everywhere, no matter how cold it gets, because it's really euphoric for me. Find the right clothing for you.

Don't Panic

Sometimes it feels like our identity is slipping through our fingers. We can go through long stretches where we question if we made it all up. Don't panic if things seem more human than wolf at times. It's normal for your connection to your other side to fluctuate. For me- I know that the week of the new moon, and periods where i'm super busy with human tasks, lead to my wolf being more dormant. Let yourself ebb and flow. We're shapeshifters. Skin dancers. We're more song than stone.

Closing Thoughts

We're strange creatures in a strange world, but we don't have to surrender ourselves to it. If you need help or more ideas, or something in here needs tweaking to fit your life better- then send another ask or dm me. My blog will always be open to you.

[simlit]

3, 6, 7, 9, 13, 19, 22, 24, 25, for VEN

What is your OCs fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

In his current state? Probably his selflessness. He gives too much to people and has a hard time drawing lines if it's someone he deeply cares about. Case in point, letting Naida more or less railroad the entire family into chasing the Fountain of Youth. In his defense, Naida isn't really someone you can win fights against, but considering the dangerous nature of the voyage, one would think he should have fought against it a lot harder. I do think he's aware of it, but not in a way he can actively check, because it's a lot of him overcompensating for the way he used to be and the things he's done. So I guess a larger and probably more fatal flaw is the fact that he carries around so much guilt and does a lot in the name of reparations.

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

Easily, but tbh I feel this is one thing Ven shares with Kato. His morals can be bent depending on who is involved and the consequence of the situation. Ven isn't standing on moral highground in the first place, despite understanding right and wrong well enough. He certainly doesn't care enough about authority not to break rules, and as far as life or death is concerned, a life will always matter less to him if they're at odds with someone he loves. That being said, I think he's resourceful enough to find ways around making risky choices.

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Also a really fun question, cuz I haven't thought about it in years LOL. Though Ven stayed mostly the same from conception, he was supposed to be a bit more "roguish" even after his Reaper years. More of the typical pirate: loose, unkempt and thieving. But he ended up being way more charitable and straightlaced than I'd initially planned, but that ironed itself out almost immediately so I don't really consider it to have been "the plan" just "what I had had in mind at some point" lmao. Now the idea of Ven sleeping around with literally anyone is goddamn baffling to me.

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

Every single word of his theme song, "The Balancer's Eye" by Lord Huron, but all of this: Nothing's waiting for us in the great sky Life is equal to dust in the Balancer's eye Now I know that I can't lift an old curse Tell me, how does a man change the universe? Will I ever be forgiven for the crime of my life? Will it haunt me till I die? To the end of time?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

I think Ven is one of the few characters I can genuinely answer "yes" to this question lmao. Just because Ven is hands down the least judgmental of my OCs, not to mention packing all that charisma, he can literally talk to anyone. Although I probably would just be dead on the floor so it wouldn't be a very interesting conversation.

How does your OC behave when enraged?

We so rarely see Ven angry. Honestly, a bit like Kyrie, Ven has a quiet temper. He's good at restraining himself now, because he knows intimately well just how horrible of a person he can be, so he makes a concerted effort never to let anything get him that upset. Mostly, things don't anger him as much as he may be disappointed or saddened. There is one scene in OST:O I've had planned for years that actually showcases Ven's true anger and it is very much "silent and lethal" lmao.

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

Oof, I dunno, somewhere between neutral good and chaotic neutral. Hard to pinpoint lol

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone done? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Oh, this one is interesting. I think Ven could have easily continued down the path he started on when he got the sight. That is, had he not been able to pull himself back from that maniacal person he'd become as consequence, he'd be unrecognizable today. That's not to say he isn't already because he absolutely was that person for a moment in time. The Reaper King wasn't just a persona, it was his entire essence. He was ruthless, violent and he did very literally kill dozens (I won't say 100s but it's up there) of people. We like to imagine him as the loving father and perfect husband he is now, but outside of maybe Elsera he's my OC with the highest bodycount. And while in a way you could justify he killed people because "they deserved to die" he was never in the right to pass that judgement. Had he not eventually woken up from that state of trauma and derangement, he'd still be a completely unstable murderous lunatic .-.

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

How hot he is. The end.

[cuppajj]

Uh - dunno if you are still doing the ask game, but I recently made a new OC for my Counterfeit Paradigm AU and was wondering how Drillburst would think of them!

Some information about my (sort of) therapy OC, Silverfall!

He is very, very small. He only goes up to Karma's mid-thigh when it comes to height, and he is a land vehicle of some sort. Very thick, stocky build as well. Lots of round shapes.

Silverfall is a very open individual: warm, and exceptionally patient. If nobody else seems to be listening to you- he probably is. Also, he smiles a lot. It's small and inviting, but suits his face well.

He's not exactly a therapist per-se, but he acts that way a lot around the people he talks to or meets. Maybe he ends up being one later on, I honestly haven't decided lol. He's a really understanding guy, so I could see it being a possibility.

Due to his size, he got ignored a lot when he was younger, which contributed to the listening skills that he has. He's alright with being alone, but he prefers one-on-one convos a lot more.

His size doesn't make him afraid of another bot who's larger than him. Considering that a lot of bots are larger than he is, he's just used to it being a part of his life. It doesn't get in the way of conversations as much anymore, though there are understandably still a few things that might restrict who he talks to. He's a small guy! What else can he say. Most people look right over him.

A few things that he likes are softer, warmer music, and he very much enjoys listening to people sing. Seeing people in their element is always a real treat for him. Oddly enough, he also really loves the smell of lavender and sweeter scents. Okay maybe that's not super odd lol

He doesn't particularly care for bars, but he will go there once and a blue moon with some buddies. Not to drink, just to watch them and be there for them if they need him. Some of the people there get on his nerves or just off-put him a little- mostly because they had so much Engex that they aren't even really conscious anymore.

Alright, to end it off, Silverfall likes places that are open with nice views and are overall a relaxing, serene environment. Think of earth waterfalls or other such areas and you'll get the idea of what he likes. He also likes forests- he thinks that they are really pretty.

ANYWAY sorry that was a lot- and if these aren't open then I'll just keep all this stuff on a google doc for later lol

Have a wonderful day/night!

Drillburst would think he’s pretty neat, once he realizes there’s a bot directly below him (I don’t know how tall Karma is for reference but I’m gonna assume Silver is ~knee height for Drillburst?). He’s always nice to bots that are nice to him, so if they met somewhere like a bar after one of his gigs, he’d be in a good mood and open to talk. Honestly, Silver’s patience would be a nice change of pace from the usual high-energy (and/or heavily intoxicated) bots he usually deals with this time of night, and it’s refreshing! Honestly something they could agree upon XD

the only problem I could see is that Drillburst has a feeling of hesitation/reluctance when it comes to therapy, because he believes he doesn’t need it when he has music as a coping mechanism for his trauma. So unless Silverfall is really, really stealthy about how he gives Drill his advice, any form of therapy-like exchange will make Drill just a little guarded (he doesn’t openly share his trauma either, and he can say something like ‘I don’t think you understand’ to whoever is helping him if they don’t know what happened to him). It’s not Silver’s fault, it’s just something Drill might not want to hear. He’ll still appreciate him comforting him on whatever it is that’s bothering him. It’s a minor caveat though, and I could see them getting along ^^

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt 2

Pairing: Eventual Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Length: 1.5k words

Warnings: Too many commas, some extra ‘u’s in words as I’m Canadian..., not enough time spent world building. Hope y’all got an imagination.

Notes: They meet! They meet!  (Tags at the end.)

PART ONE

The morning sun saw Frankie already awake and amidst his trees. He knew that most people thought him stubborn by wanting to run his little orchard himself. He had heard the whispers, seen the side glances, the quirked eyebrows. The odd reputation he was gaining was worth the solitude and peace he had found.

The reputation of Town Recluse was better than That Ex-Cokehead Murderer. A small part of his brain knew that he was being too hard on himself but a larger part was convinced he deserved it. 

So, he worked his penance here. Frankie nursed the trees back to fruition, his sweat and blood sacrificed to bring forth life; refusing to use pesticides or any form of agent that might harm another living thing. Deer, rabbits, mice, and bugs were the bane of a harvester’s business but Frank had decided to find joy in their presence. If he didn’t have to see another death until his own, that would still be too soon.

It had taken him three years to get anything more than a few barrels of apples. Most asked why he didn’t just cut them all down and start anew. They didn’t understand, hell he barely did, but in his soul, Frankie knew he needed to prove that he could do good. He had made his own baskets, built sheds, mended fences, and slowly built the business and a small loft for himself in the old barn.

Looking down the rows and rows of trees, Frankie was starting to get the feeling he might need help this harvest season. It wasn’t easy for him to acknowledge this but if he didn’t get at least one helping hand, more than a few bin-fulls would go to waste. Frankie decided he would put up a flyer on the notice board the next time he went to town and pray that only quiet people would apply.

The trees were his pride and joy. A variety that had been lost and forgotten until he had bought the aging orchard and a man named Tom Brown had come along asking about the fruit.

He felt at peace when he worked as it let his mind focus on the job at hand and was tired enough to slip into a deep slumber at night. Previously plagued by nightmares, long days of pruning, fixing, or working in the mill proved the cure for a dreamless sleep.

“I’m sorry, how much did you say the total was?” you asked while rapidly trying to do some math in your head. If you purchased everything you needed at the hardware store that would only leave you forty-seven dollars left in this week’s budget. And it was only Monday. “Ermm, on second thought, I don’t know if I really need the plaster and trowel just yet. I’ll just take the drywall and screws, please.”

Leaving the store, head down, you were feeling like such an ass you didn’t even notice the two older ladies watching your exit and whispering madly to each other. The owner of Hank’s Hardware, whose name was oddly Allan, kindly helped you pile the drywall into your truck box. You were too busy with the tie-downs to notice him join in on the developing whispered plot.

Unable to resist, you purchased a bouquet of sunflowers. They were your favourite and, once you mentioned that you were new in town, the sweet older gentleman selling them gave you an extra bunch for free. The bright flowers lightened your heart enough to almost, almost, make you forget your even lighter wallet. 

The laden-down truck was nearly out of town when you spotted an open-air market down a side street. It had a surprising number of booths set up and looked so welcoming that you couldn’t resist.

Slowly walking between the stalls, you smiled at each vendor and complimented their handiwork. A few you recognized and thanked for the delicious foods they had brought by when you had first moved in.

You wished you could have supported more of the vendors, you respected their ability to create and be confident enough to share their wares. Taking one last look around, your gaze was caught by a familiar logo: it was the same one you had seen scattered across your porch a few weeks ago. ‘Catfish Cider’ in bold script framing a picture of a gnarled old tree. Maybe you should buy some and have Jacquie over for a less depressing girl's night? But could you afford it, even with leaving behind some of the reno items at Hank's?

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there staring at the display until a voice called out.

“You gonna buy something or just wanted to block off my stand?”

Whipping your head up you noticed the man standing behind the stand for the first time. His face, for the moment, set into a grimace you assumed was due to him being upset at your loitering.

“I dunno,” you fired back, annoyed by his annoyance and too tired to stop yourself from saying a bratty, “is it actually worth the money?” 

His grimace turned into eyebrow-raising shock, the tan skin of his rather attractive face reddening a shade or two with anger.

“Oh, you have such a discerning pallet to know better?”

“I- what? No! I just want to make sure I’m spending my money on something worthwhile.”

“Like flowers?” He challenged, his stance widening and arms crossing across his chest. 

You’d seen that pose too many times in the past; Brad used to tower over you posturing himself just like this asshole at the market. He liked to hover over you menacingly any time you had mustered up your courage to state an opinion or to belittle your ideas. It made you inwardly flinch, making you angry at yourself for still acting like a meek victim, and then, in a show of great maturity, you projected that anger onto the stranger who initiated the exchange.

“Like it’s any of your business!” You cried out in a shrill voice you didn’t even recognize as your own. “But yes, these flowers make me happier than anything else I’ve seen today could.”

“I’ll have you know-” he ground out, jabbing his finger at you.

“Nope!” You interrupted him, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m done listening to men like you!” 

“Men like me? Men like ME?” He crowed, “Pray tell, what the hell do you know about men like me?”

Had you been acting like a functioning adult you might have realized that your voices were beginning to get noticeably loud. A small crowd around the two of you had stopped what they were doing to listen while also trying to look like there weren’t eavesdropping.

“I know all I need to,” you proclaimed, not quite able to stop the tremble in your voice. “and I’m not going to waste any more of my life listening to one.” With that, you sharply turned and made your way through the suddenly thick crowd of people.

Once the adrenaline from your encounter had worn off, you found yourself crying in your truck and regretting the way you had snapped. The hot guy at the stand might have been a bit brash with you but he hardly deserved you taking out all your inner turmoil on him like that.

Frankie winced again, thinking about how quickly out of hand the conversation had gotten. His remark was supposed to come out light and teasing but he was out of practice talking to people. Pretty people. People who were framed by armfuls of sunflowers, whose skin glowed in the Autumn sun, who had a ready smile for everyone she talked to. 

He had found himself craving one for himself, and when she had stopped at his booth, looking lost in thought, he silently begged for her to look up. Impatient, he just blurted out the first words that came to his head and instantly regretted even trying. His cheeks grew red from embarrassment and Frankie just stood there looking at her blankly, not sure how to salvage the situation.

Before he could open his mouth to apologize though, the woman responded with a retort of her own. While it could have been interpreted as teasing, there had been a fiery glint in her eye that had pushed his pride button. Frankie was suddenly ready to throw down or at least regale her with the accolades of his cider and how it came to be.

What a mess he had made. He had riled up the beautiful stranger to the point her voice had wavered with barely repressed emotion. Not to mention the stir he had caused in front of half the town.

Once the market quieted down and everyone was closing up shop, Greg from the stall next to his, called over, ���Know who that was?”

Even though it had been over an hour since the spat, Frankie knew he was referring to the woman with the sunflowers.

“Hopefully just some Leaf Peeper, I’d hate to run into her again.”

“Oooooh I dunno,” mused Greg, “A woman with passion in her blood like that can be a boon to crusty old men like us.”

Frankie noticed the gleam in Greg’s eyes and felt an odd burning in his stomach because of it. It was not jealousy at the unbidden image of Greg and the woman together. Definitely not.

PART THREE

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov 

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Genre: Crackhumor, fluff Warnings: A little spicy and some course language Rating: 16+ for some spiciness  A/N: This is a collaboration for the crackhead sanctuary discord server. You can find everyone else’s work here. So Please enjoy this super fluffy and fun quarantine collab!

“We’re out,” Shigaraki had said.

You looked up from the bar stool you were sitting at. You were scoping out the newspaper on the counter, trying to find any updates on the global pandemic, anything that would calm your nerves. “Out of what?”

“Everything.” You watched as he chucked the empty cereal box in his hands at Dabi, who was asleep with his arms folded over the bar counter.

Dabi grumbled and rubbed one of his eyes with his charred fingers. “It’s too early for this shit.” He nuzzled his head back into his folded arms on the counter.

“Ash tray,” Shigaraki said. “I need you and (Y/n) to run to the store and get us some food and I need you to do it without getting caught.”

“Why?” Dabi’s muffled voice whined.

“Because Twice and Toga did it last time and because I’m the boss and I say so,” he demanded. “Now get up, put on a mask and a disguise and get out there.”

You didn’t like arguing with Shigaraki. It was never worth it to pick a fight that he always ended up winning. With you obliging easily and Dabi too tired to pick a fight, the both of you ended up at a crowded supermarket. People wearing safety masks scrambled around the store to try and get their items as soon as possible. So much for social distancing.

“Where should we start first?” you asked. You wore a black cloth mask over your mouth and chin. You figured it was disguise enough incase anyone regularly watched the news and might have seen your picture floating around. black gloves were fitted onto your hands and a larger than average pocket knife was hidden in your jacket pocket in case something went wrong.

“Well what’s for dinner, doll?”

Hit language hit different, and you weren’t sure whether or not you should be offended. “Excuse me?” A faint blush spread across your face. You hadn’t interacted with Dabi much since joining the league. It was usually Kurogiri you spoke to, being the only other member who could cook and had some responsible edge to him.

“It’s your turn to cook tonight, right?” Dabi’s bright blue eyes bore into you from under the shadow cast by the big hood he had up.

You faced away, refusing to look at him. Mumbling, you said “It isn’t much of a turn when it’s just between me and Kurogiri.”

Dabi chuckled. The deep and raspy sound of his voice sent shivers to your spine. “In any case, I haven’t had a hot meal in a while, so you better have something good planned, doll.”

Your face grew more flushed. “S-stop calling me that,” you said, irate with how he was acting. “Now grab a cart and get whatever non-perishable, healthy foods you can find.”

Dabi rolled his eyes but you could still feel his smirk under the cloth of his masking digging a hole right through you. “Whatever you say. I guess we’ll meet back here in, I dunno, half an hour?”

You nodded, keeping your composure and a straight face. “Half an hour.” You grabbed a cart and busted your way through the over-crowded store. It was a nightmare of people wrestling over the bare-bones of the produce section, boxes and cans of soups and non perishables, and of course the few rolls of single-ply toilet paper that no one wanted when the first wave of ransackers came through the store.

You were in awe of how undermanaged the store was. It was like the Hunger Games. You swore you saw an old woman stab someone for the last box of Cheerios. Mustering up the courage to wheel your way through the store, you found yourself dragging through aisle after aisle of nothing but a few torn up boxes littering the shelves.

You did find yourself chucking a few dented cans of tuna, dusty boxes of whole grain cereal and near expired medication into the cart. Who knows, it could be useful. It was slim pickings, but in all honesty it was better than you expected. Maybe there was a little mayo left at the hideout you could make some tuna salad with. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

You walked through the aisle of baking supplies, hoping to find a small bag of flour, when you felt a hand grasp your shoulder. Thinking fast, you grabbed the strange hand, pulled the knife out of your pocket and turned around, bringing the blade up to the stranger’s throat. But it wasn’t a stranger.

Dabi looked down at you with a deadpan expression. His mouth slowly turned upward to a smirk. “Someone’s a bit feisty today,” he said.

You looked down, hiding the blush you could feel coming through the mask over your mouth. “Don’t scare me like that,” you said, glaring back up at him. “I could have slit your throat just then.”

His eyebrows raised and his smirk grew upward. “You wouldn’t have.”

“And why not.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against your ear. “Because I would have stopped you.”

Your spine visibly contracted as you felt shivers move through you. “Have you found anything substantial?” you asked, trying to move the conversation along.

“Yeah,” he said, pointing to a cart behind him nearly filled to the top with snack food, cans of soups and vegetables, boxed foods and instant ramen. There were also two six packs balanced on the sides of the cart.

You were shocked. How could he find so much while you were stuck with the bare bones of dented cans and healthy cereal that no one wanted. “How? How could you find so much stuff?”

Dabi just shrugged. “Found some guy’s cart. Took it when he wasn’t looking.”

You looked back at your own pathetic cart and frowned. “This is nice and all but I don’t know how we would be able to afford all of that. We barely have ten dollars combined.”

You looked up at Dabi, waiting for him to come up with some genius way for the two of you to make it out with only paying the measly few cents you carry around.

“Who said anything about paying for this?”

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean? We can’t just walk out the door. Someone will stop us.”

He smiled under the black mask. “Take the cart and go to the front entrance. Wait for me there.”

You quirked an eyebrow up at him but followed his orders. You took the overflowing cart and made your way to the front of the store, shoving aside anyone who tried to take anything out of it. You eventually found yourself at the store’s entrance. With nothing else to do, you watched as the madness unfolded around you. The store had been ransacked entirely and the remaining people in the store were willing to fight one another for the smallest ounce of anything.

“Alright, let’s go,” you heard Dabi say as he approached you.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

He yet again pointed behind him only to reveal the smoke and the tips of blue flames which were rapidly spreading across the aisles.

“Fire!” a bystander yelled. Everyone was quickly making their way towards the entrance.

“We better run,” Dabi said, grabbing your wrist with one hand and the cart with the other. He pulled you out of the store and the two of you ran outside to a nearby hill, far away enough to not be caught but close enough to see what was happening.

“I can believe you set the fucking building on fire,” you said through heaves as you tried to catch your breath.

“You gotta admit it’s a little funny.” Dabi cracked open a beer and you could hear the bubbles inside sizzling. He tossed you one, which you caught but did not open immediately.

“What else is in that cart?” you asked. The pile of snacks was much bigger than you first believed it to be.

“Let’s see.” Dabi thumbed through the different boxes and bags of snacks hiding the more substantial foods at the bottom. “We got some chips, a couple chocolate bars, some cereal, popcorn and crackers–”

“Ooh pass the popcorn.”

Dabi tossed you the bag of popcorn and you smiled at the satisfying sound of the bag bursting open. Pulling down your mask, you delicately tossed a piece in your mouth.

The two of you sat on the hill eating snacks and drinking beer, watching as the blue flames slowly rose further up the building. The smoke swirling along with the orange sunset looked pretty, and you didn’t even mind when Dabi put his arm around your shoulders, edging you closer to resting your head on his chest.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 12: The Truth

All cards are laid on the table. Everything ends tonight.

Read on Ao3

"How far do these go? Are we even under the Institute anymore?"

Melanie trailed behind the group, peering down each turn they passed. Jon wasn't sure if it was curiosity or concern they wouldn't find their way back that kept her dragging her feet, but supposed either way he couldn't blame her. It was profoundly disorienting down here.

"Dunno, honestly," Martin said. "Jon uncovered them a while ago when Jane Prentiss was hiding here, but they've been locked off since then. Safety or liability or something."

"I've come down to look a bit. Mostly just near the entrance, never too deep," Sasha added. "We really ought to make a proper attempt to map them, but Tim is so set against it."

"Because there's dangerous stuff under these old buildings," Tim said darkly. "Not to mention this place has been buried for who knows how many decades without any maintenance. We don't know anything about the structural integrity. Who's to say it won't come down around our heads at any moment?"

" . . . Cheerful thought." Melanie observed.

"Could we save the talk of being buried alive for when we're not actually down here?" Martin asked. "Jon? Are we almost . . . wherever it is we're going?"

"We are going somewhere, I assume?" Melanie called. "Not just wandering in circles because you got lost?"

"We're nearly there," Jon pointed to a turn ahead. "Just down that corridor, it should be far enough in."

"Far enough in for – oh."

Melanie's question was cut off as they rounded the turn, ending in the small chamber where over the past few months, Jon had been slowly been smuggling in crates. At the far end was a shoebox-sized container, which he sifted through until he found what he needed – a small, unlabeled cassette tape.

"All right . . . I know you all have questions for me," he took a breath and turned. "Hopefully this will– Christ Tim, don't lean on that! It has plastic explosives in it!"

With a start, Tim jumped back from the crate he'd been slouching against, blinking at him with surprise. Sighing, Jon gestured to one on the other side of the chamber.

"You can lean on that one if you like, I suppose," he said. "It's just a bunch of eyeless doll's heads."

" . . . Should I even ask?"

"Gertrude used them," he said. "Eyeless dolls, eyeless photographs. Wards to keep Elias's gaze off her. The tunnels help too . . . it's disorienting down here, hard for him to see."

"Elias is our boss. Head of the institute." Sasha supplied for Melanie.

"Jon's been going on lately about him spying on us with some kind of supernatural powers," Tim added. "Honestly I believe it. He's been sending files to me that feel . . . personal."

"You're saying he's, what, psychic?" Melanie asked.

"If you have to call it that, I suppose," Jon said. "What's important is that he has ways of finding things out. Meaning once I explain things, we're all going to be in very immediate danger. If any of you aren't ready for that, you should probably speak up now."

The four of them looked back at him, silent. For the best, he supposed. He pulled a tape recorder from his pocket – it had been purchased this evening for this purpose, and hopefully wasn't supernatural – and placed the tape inside.

"I'll let Gertrude start. She tells it fairly succinctly," with a rueful smile, he held it out towards Sasha. "Would you like to do the honors? It was meant for you."

Sasha glanced at him, stepped forward and pressed play. The dead woman's voice filled the chamber.

* * *

Jon stopped the tape after the explanation, before Jurgen's voice could be heard. It would be hard enough getting everything across without that conversation derailing things.

"Wh – all right." Melanie held up both hands. "So the woman on that tape, she worked here before you. I got that. All that she was saying about – gods and rituals, being supernaturally compelled –"

"That part's true. I've tried," Tim said. "We can't quit. As in can't."

"Fine, all right. But what does it all mean? If this is some sort of cult thing –"

"It's not," Jon said. "You've seen manifestations of the powers with your own eyes. The thing that called itself Sarah Baldwin was an extension of what Smirke called the Stranger. One that hides itself inside human skin."

"What about the thing that attacked her?"

"You already know it better than you think . . . all your subsequent searches have focused on sites of violence – bombings or massacres, military hospitals. You've been following the scent of blood. Maybe you found something in that presence that resonated."

Absently, Melanie's hand went to her shoulder where the scalpel in the Rotherham scrapyard went through it. She looked profoundly sobered.

"So . . ." Sasha said. "Gertrude left this for you, and I'm guessing you found it around the time you started acting so cagey about everything?"

"No. By the time I heard this tape, I‘d already learned all of this the hard way," Jon sighed. "Fourteen months ago, I woke up with memories of years I hadn't lived through . . . ."

He told them everything. The broad strokes at least, the larger things that seemed relevant. He avoided personal details, but tried not to take out the parts that made him look bad. He wanted to be as honest as he could. He explained the ritual – leaving out the truth about the fears being connected, the fewer minds that held that knowledge the better. He explained his role in it, the end of the world, the plan to send his memories back.

Several times the others stopped him to ask questions – pressing in one direction or another, telling him to go back and elaborate. He ended up explaining a great deal about the thing that had replaced Sasha, about Melanie's experience with the Slaughter, about the Circus of the Other.

Surprisingly – or maybe not, really – Martin asked very little about himself. Sasha recognized Peter Lukas's name from the statements, and her subsequent questions led Jon into a more detailed explanation of the Lonely. His gaze kept flicking involuntarily to Martin, as he went through it, and he saw his face slowly change. When he mentioned a moment later that Peter had taken an interest in him, Martin didn't need to ask why.

He told them that Martin had tried to keep Peter occupied. That in the end Peter pulled him into the Lonely, and Jon managed to get him out. That was all they really needed to know.

And then, that was it. That was everything.

". . . I know it's a lot to take in," he finished. "But hopefully you've all seen enough to believe me by now."

"Why didn't you tell us this to begin with?" Melanie asked, an edge in her voice.

"Would you have believed me?" An edge came into his voice to join hers. "You dismissed me when I tried to warn you about dangerous specters, would you have listened to anything I said about memories from a post-apocalyptic future?"

"You could have tried," she muttered.

He nearly matched her tone, tempted to to push back with irritation, but he hesitated. Something in her was struggling against itself. Her fists had been clenched at her sides since he explained the bullet, the Slaughter and all that had happened to her. Her knuckled were white, but she hadn't raised her voice. She was trying. He softened.

"I could have. Maybe I should have . . . but now you know," he looked at the others, pleadingly. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Tim was the first to nod, Melanie was second. Sasha looked at him thoughtfully.

"It's certainly bizarre, but I believe you," she said. "Though I don't understand why you wouldn't send your memories back earlier?"

"Actually yeah," Martin frowned, realization striking him. "Did you just let me get trapped by Prentiss?"

"Of course not! I didn't choose where the memories went," Jon protested. "If I could have done that I'd have gone back before I took this job. Probably years back . . . there are so many things I might have prevented. Tried to, at least."

He sighed heavily, leaning back against one of the less-dangerous crates.

"The past isn't some pristine country with every moment in a living diorama. Time is just one more thing for the powers to twist and distort, and the Beholding shows you what you least want to see. Those memories wouldn't mean as much to the person I was five or ten years ago, and the man I would later become might have even been relieved to have actionable knowledge." He folded his arms. "Even thinking of it as time travel is misleading, really. More accurate to call it regret."

"So . . ." Martin paused. "After Prentiss. . . ."

"Yes. Letting that happen to you is one of many regrets that I have, and it was also a turning point." He closed his eyes. "The night after you came back, I had a breakdown. I was sitting at home, and it was sinking in . . . what had happened, and what it meant. The things I knew where hiding in the darkness weren't going to stay there, and there would be no sitting on the sidelines."

He looked up, smiling sadly. "A mind perfectly readied for the knowledge that would destroy it. Already trapped in the Institute, already attached to people I'd later watch suffer and die. Still hiding in denial, even after it became horribly clear it wouldn't save me."

"Jon . . ."

Martin looked conflicted, and as he drew his arms around himself Jon had to push down the urge to reach for him. He had to be calm. Steady. If he let himself start to break down, that would be it.

"Okay – okay, yes," Martin breathed, "I believe you. But what do we do about it all?"

"We have to destroy the archive," Jon said solemnly. "Finish what Gertrude started. And we can't wait. It's not impossible he already knows what we're discussing, we'll have to act before he can intervene."

He watched Martin take a deep, shaky breath, likely still processing it all. Tim seemed to notice his nerves, coming up beside him and throwing an arm over his shoulder.

"I'm game," Tim said, smiling grimly. "You guys ready for some light arson this evening?"

Martin flinched at first, startled by the touch. Then he let out a weak laugh, shaking his head as Tim jostled him in a comradely fashion. A wave of gratitude swept over Jon, seeing Tim so ready to comfort him. He was still there, Sasha too . . . he hoped they'd be there for Martin when it was all over.

"Putting a pin in committing to any felonies here," Melanie said, "won't your evil boss come after us?"

"That won't be an issue. Jonah Magnus's original body is down here . . . between the explosives and the gas main, collapsing the tunnels will be easy –"

"Sorry, gas main?"

"Oh!" a laugh spilled out of Jon, and he shook his head. "Lord, I nearly forgot. Jurgen Leitner is living down here."

"Excuse me?!" Martin sputtered. "Evil librarian Lietner?"

"He's . . . not as evil as I thought." Jon sighed. "Leitner was a fool who meddled with forces beyond him, hoping to protect the world from them while playing into their hands. But given the path my own life's taken . . . I don't think I've much room to stand in judgment of him now."

He waved a hand and continued. "He has a book that can alter these tunnels. I've already contacted him, he should be moving the buried gas main into place now. When it all goes up in flames, Jonah's body will be immolated and he – Elias – will die." Jon's tone became serious. "Now, I realize some of you may object to what is essentially an act of murder, but--"

"I'm good with it," Tim interrupted.

"Yeah," Martin nodded. "I think we're okay. Guys?"

"I've got no objections," Sasha agreed.

Melanie sighed. "In for a penny, I guess."

". . . Oh." Jon had prepared a speech on why this would be necessary, and was a little disappointed it wasn't needed, apparently. "All right, then."

"Or, one objection, actually." Sasha continued. "Didn't you say that killing him means killing us? Along with all the other employees at the Institute?"

"I have a plan for that." Jon said. "For the people outside the archive it should be simple, assuming you can get into the computer in Elias's office."

"Can, and have before." Sasha confirmed. "It's upsettingly easy. I mean, our bank information is on there."

"If they can quit, they can be fired. You'll just need to change everyone's employment status before we set the charge off."

"What about the rest of us?" Tim kept his tone light, but even Jon could tell there was something darkly serious behind it. "You planning for us all to go down with the ship?"

"No . . . that won't be necessary."

He didn't want to have this conversation, he really didn't. More than once he'd thought about lying, pretending he was going off to perform some elaborate ritual while the others were upstairs. Letting them believe he'd just been caught in the explosion – an accident, unfortunate but natural in its way.

But no. He'd tell them the truth.

"I probably should have told you this sooner, though it hardly matters now. The three of you are connected to me – when the Archivist dies, their assistants are freed," he continued quickly, not leaving room to respond. "I – I'm not needed for most of this plan. When we're finished here the rest of you can go upstairs, I'll stay behind and – well at any rate you should place letters of resignation on Elias's desk to be sure. ‘I quit' and a signature should be enough, just confirm you're no longer bound here before setting off the charge."

"In one night, we'll rid the world of Jonah Magnus, his knowledge, and –" Jon placed a hand on his own chest, gesturing, "–and his tool. The world will be as safe as it can be, for a while at least."

Minutes of silence. The cool air of the tunnels bit through him as he watched the others' faces, trying to glean something from their expressions. Jon couldn't fathom what was going through their heads, he wasn't even sure what he was hoping for.

"Well we're obviously not doing that," Tim said eventually. "So let's brainstorm plan B's. Sash?"

"Oh! Um, well, off the top of my head, I can try changing our information in the computer as well . . . ."

"I very much doubt that will work . . . ." Jon sighed.

"Shall we at least try it before going for the plan that involves death?"

A quiet, frustrated noise came out of Jon. He didn't want to fight them on this. But what did he want from them? What did he expect? It was unfair, he knew, impossibly contradictory – not wanting to hurt them, but wanting to be mourned. Wanting them to care, but not to ask him to live. It could only be one or the other.

"Wait." Melanie said. "You said that I ‘got out' in that, whatever, alternate timeline you remember. Obviously you didn't die then. So there's another way, isn't there?"

"I suppose I could try gouging my eyes out," he said. "That might be enough. If it wasn't, all of you could gouge out yours, that would definitely work--"

"Um--" Sasha began, but Jon continued

"But it's about more than just getting you out. It isn't just this place, it isn't even just the Eye. It's me. There's another power that may still have plans for me, and if it does . . . ." He looked at the others pleadingly. "The Web is insidious, it feeds on the fear of being controlled, of being trapped without knowing it. By the time I even know what it's planning, my will might not be my own any longer."

"But if you don't even know what it's planning –"

"If there's one thing I've learned in all of this, it's that no matter what I do they're always one step ahead. I've told you all what I know, as this point I can only be a liability." He laughed hollowly. "I think, truly, the most good I can do for the world right now is ensuring I can't do it any more harm."

". . . That's a horrible thing to say."

Martin shouldered his way past Tim, stepping closer. His voice was hurt, and angry, and it cut through Jon just as he'd known it would.

"Martin . . . ."

"It's hideous," Martin continued, his jaw tight. "And it's not true. It's a lot of nonsense, Jon."

Jon stepped forward, heart pounding, and reached for Martin's hand. Martin only hesitated a moment before taking it, and it was all Jon could do not to sob in relief. He was hurting him, he was hurting him and he wasn't going to stop, and still Martin accepted his hand. Despite whatever pain or anger he felt right now, he wasn't pushing him away, and the maelstrom of warmth and gratitude and sorrow and regret that rose in Jon threatened to overtake him entirely. He pulled himself closer until there were inches between them, and looked into Martin's eyes.

"I love you," he said, clasping his other hand over Martin's. "More than you will ever know. I wish that we could have a life together . . . but we won't have that either way. If we try, the powers that shape this world will tear it away from us, just as they did before."

Martin breathed in sharply and Jon lowered his gaze, looking at their intertwined fingers. Now dotted with identical scars.

"I – I can't watch that happen again. I'm sorry. I can't." Still looking down, he did his best to give an encouraging smile. "But you won't be alone. You'll all have each other this time, when it's all over. Just . . . take care of each other. And remember that you're loved."

Jon kept his eyes down, afraid to look at him. Already he feared that he'd made a mistake, that he shouldn't have told Martin how he felt. It was cruel to give him that now, to leave him with another reason to feel hurt by his absence. But it was done and out now, and too late to take back. Jon would just have to hope that he'd be all right in the end.

Then he did look up, and met Martin's gaze.

Oh. Yes, it had definitely been a mistake to say he loved him.

What he saw in Martin's face wasn't the expression of sorrow and devastation he'd been afraid of. It was hard, fixed determination. The face of stubborn, blind certainty that had smirked back at Jon when he'd said that they couldn't fight the whole world. A beacon that could rival the dread powers in its brilliance.

"You can remind me yourself, Jon," his voice had no unnatural compulsion behind it, still it demanded to be heard. His grip on Jon's hand was iron-clad. "Because we're finding another way."

Jon's heart tightened painfully in his chest, and he truly could not say whether it was with fear or hope.

[cardsthings]

The Kidnapping of Goro Akechi

The courtyard was bathed in a bright orange glow, so much so that the flicker of candlelight drowned out the stars. Goro stared up at the blank sky. In just under an hour, guests would start to arrive. He grimaced at the thought. A full night of mingling with nobles he didn't even know or care enough to recognize. It was a joke. The entire masquerade was nothing but an excuse for disgusting people to indulge in vices without causing a scandal.

"Is something the matter my Lord?" Goro turned to the masked woman in front of him. One of the many servants at the palace who was being forced to attend to the wretched event. He felt sorry for her, no doubt she would have a far worse night than he ever could. Dealing with entitled drunks who thought, no, knew they could get away with whatever they wanted... He suppressed the urge to tell her to run far away. No doubt, it would have ended poorly for both of them. "You seem... distracted."

"Oh no," He carefully smiled. There was no point in letting some random servant know his true thoughts. At best, having someone to listen would be a mild comfort, at worst, word might get back to his father. If he ever got the idea that Goro was ungrateful in any way, well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. "It's just a shame that you can't see the stars tonight."

The woman nodded with a clearly fake smile. Before she could continue the conversation with some meaningless platitudes, the sound of broken glass and his father's angry shouts drew her attention. She left in a hurry to placate the raging king. Goro turned to look, Shido's cheeks were flushed, whether with anger or alcohol he couldn't tell. At least four people were attending to him, trying to prevent an even larger outburst.

Goro quickly turned away when Shido set his eyes on him. He didn't need that sort of attention right now. He just needed to keep his head down and wait for the horrid night to be over.

*****

The hours passed by painfully slow. Even with the minor indulgence of wine, Goro's barely buzzed state hardly soothed how horrendously boring everything was. Maybe if he could let himself go safely... but as it was, every fake smile he had to give to some masked idiot just made him feel like he was dying inside a little more. At least the effect that the flowing booze had on others worked to his favor. The drunk crowd was more interested in gossiping among themselves and harassing the staff who hadn't yet managed to slip away instead of trying to get on the good side of the crowned prince.

Goro spent some of his down time scanning the crowd. He noticed Okumura however, his young daughter was conspicuously absent. Likely because even someone like him knew not to bring her to these sorts of events. Especially not when Goro had heard rumors of her engagement. Although, the other subject of said rumors was right at Okumura's side. Honestly, Goro pitied Haru despite having met her once. From what he could tell, she wasn't yet like the vile nobility that plagued the land. Of course, yet was the key term. No one decent ever rose to power.

As Goro continued to search through the crowd from afar, he caught sight of Shido. His father was predictably drunk. It's not like these parties served much other purpose than to allow him indulge in every vice he could think of under the cover of "high class mingling". When Shido suddenly turned to face him, Goro turned away, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. It was unlikely he'd be punished for something so simple but still... When his father was drunk he could be particularly petty and unpredictable.

He sighed and gave up on looking at the crowd. Most of them were complete strangers to him anyways. Instead, he entertained himself with thoughts of Shido's downfall. The idea of slitting his father's throat and stealing his crown and throne while he looked on, choking on his own-

"Hellooo~" Goro took a deep breath. The person behind him absolutely reeked with alcohol. It was clear they'd been drinking all night. He pretended not to hear them, hoping that they would go away on their own. "Hey, hey!" The drunk grabbed his shoulder. If they stained the white shirt he was wearing with their filthy hands, he'd be pissed.

Goro turned around with a polite smile as he shrugged off their hand. "Good evening sir." He used a more pleasant voice to address them. What a night it would be if some random drunk ran off to his father to tattle that his son hadn't been the perfect little prince he was always supposed to be.

"You're a cutieee~" Goro tried his best not to glare at the man. He simply gave a polite chuckle.

"I think you're drunk sir." The man grabbed Goro's wrist as he tried to disengage. "Maybe you should have some water and sit down."

"Aww, that's no fun! Come on, why don't we go somewhere..." He leaned in. Goro wrinkled his nose as the smell of alcohol became even worse. "A little more private."

Goro leaned back. Did this man not know who he was? He certainly didn't know who the man was. "As... lovely as that sounds... I'll have to decline. Now, please let go before I-"

"Come oooon!" The man attempted to yank Goro forward but he resisted. Suddenly, the man's expression darkened beneath his mask. "What?! You think you're too good for me or something!"

Goro tried to push the man off him but his grip on his wrist tightened until it was painful. "I'd rather not cause a scene-"

The man yanked Goro in close again, this time succeeding. "Then fucking-"

"Excuse me." Goro craned his neck to see over the drunk man. A handsome young man stood behind him with a confident smirk. "I think you're bothering him."

The drunk whipped his head to see the newcomer, letting go of Goro's wrist as he did. Goro immediately put some distance between himself and the man. "Who the hell're you!?" Goro had similar thoughts. He didn't quite recognize him but he still seemed somehow familiar. Maybe it was the alcohol or the dimming lights that were causing such an effect.

The young man tilted his head with an amused expression. "I'm just a concerned bystander." He looked past the drunk directly at Goro. His eyes widened slightly beneath his black and white mask. "And I'd appreciate it if you left my friend alone."

"Go fuck yourself!" The drunk attempted a sloppy punch but it was easily dodged. The young man used the drunk's momentum against him to knock him to the ground. As the drunk struggled to get back up, the young man walked past him. He stopped in front of Goro and smiled.

"Are you okay?" The young man offered him a gloved hand for a handshake.

"I'm fine. And I had the situation under control." Goro turned away. "You have no idea what trouble you could have just caused for me."

"I'm sorry," Somehow Goro didn't think he was being genuine. "Let me make it up to you."

Goro turned to him with an unimpressed look. "How exactly?" He crossed his arms.

"I dunno, I guess you'll just have to find out." Ren reached out his hand again, a mischievous smirk crossed his face. "I'm Ren by the way, and you are..?"

Ren. Goro looked him over. The bright red gloves served as a pop of color in his otherwise black outfit. It seemed almost more suited to sneaking than to partying... Maybe it was the miniscule amount of alcohol or maybe it was genuine curiosity (Goro wanted to blame the alcohol), but he was tempted. It was something that would let him not focus on the horrendous party going on around them.

"...I'm Goro." He kept his expression even. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ren."

Ren smirked and gave a dramatic bow. "I wasn't aware I was mingling with the prince himself."

Goro huffed and turned away. A strange feeling made itself known in his chest. He really didn't know? Had he really helped without thinking that it could have gotten him a favor from the prince? Or was it that he was lying and simply waiting for an opportunity to use the whole event against him? "There's no need to make such a big deal out of it..."

"Of course not." Goro's eyes flicked back to Ren when he began to speak again. "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I can't exactly leave right now, if my father saw me..." What conclusions would he draw? Ren was about his age and he was undeniably handsome...

Ren smirked. "Not even for a second?" Goro looked him over once again. He looked harmless but looks could be deceiving. What did he want? What was his motive here? "I'm sure I could find a way to sneak you out if you really wanted me too, come on, I'm trying to make things up to you."

Goro sighed. "I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt..." It was probably a stupid idea but he was curious. There was something strange about Ren and he wanted to know more.

Ren grabbed Goro by the hand. He quickly looked around the courtyard before he pulled Goro in a darker area. He kept Goro closer to the wall, using himself as cover to compensate for Goro's bright white outfit. It didn't take long for Ren to find a door that Goro hadn't even seen in the dimmed lights. He pulled it open and quickly entered right after Goro. After that, they made their way through the halls and out to the front of the palace.

Once outside, Goro took a deep breath of fresh air. He felt a smile creep onto his face as a nice breeze blew through the air. He took a moment to look up at the stars. The lights from the palace behind them still dimmed them but now they were at least visible.

"Much better." Goro turned to Ren. His mask was off and away. In the dim light of the moon, Goro suddenly realized why he had seemed so familiar. Before he could call for help or say anything, he felt a sudden horrible pain explode on the side of his head. He fell to the ground as black spots filled his vision. Vaguely, he could make out Ren walking towards him. Someone else grabbed him while Ren approached.

"Sorry your highness..." Were the last words Goro heard before the world drifted into darkness.

*****

A light breeze blew Goro's hair into his face. The smell of the sea surrounded him. In the distance, he could hear a few assorted voices. As he opened his eyes, he could see a blur of brown beneath his feet. His arms hurt but when he tried to move them into a more comfortable position, he met painful resistance from what must have been a rope around his wrists. His head was absolutely pounding.

"-ink he's awake." Goro looked up. A blurry figure stood above him, their bright yellow hair stood out. Slowly, they came into focus. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"Where-" Goro's question was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his head. He winced as a shadow blocked out the sun. The sun... how long had he been out?

"Good morning, your highness." Goro's eyes shot up to the source of the familiar voice. Ren stood there with an annoyingly smug smirk. Immediately, Goro tried to lunge at Ren. He would have wrung his neck if he wasn't stopped by the stupid rope. "Nice to see you're doing well."

"Let me go you piece of shit!" He struggled against his restraints to little success. Either he was too weak, the rope was tied very well, or both.

Ren simply laughed at him. "I wasn't expecting the prince to be so vulgar." He leaned down so that he was eye level with Goro. "I think it suits you."

"Fuck off." Goro glared at him, if looks could kill he'd be dead a hundred times over. "Whatever the hell you think you're going to get from me-"

"Don't worry, I don't want anything from you." Ren smiled. "You should actually be back home pretty quick. We already sent word to the king that we have you, as soon as he pays the ransom, you'll be returned completely unharmed."

"You already attacked me last night."

"Mostly unharmed." Ren amended. "But don't worry, nobody wants to hurt you... again. As long as you don't try anything, you'll be fine." He flashed a smile and gave the same bow he had the night before. "You have my word, your highness."

Goro's eyes were drawn to the dagger that poked out slightly from Ren's belt. He struggled against his restraints one more time but found his hands thoroughly stuck in place. He sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"Glad you understand." Akira turned around and addressed his crew. Goro kept his eyes trained to the ground but strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately, the sounds of the ocean drowned out their already quiet conversation. It was fine. Everything was fine. Goro could be patient. He could learn what he needed to know. It wouldn't be long before he escaped.

Crossposted on AO3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/32254492

[hazymultiverse]

I need child au for La Squadra please let me hold child Ris :')

In a timeline where your teammates have been turned into children by a stand, only one hero is left to rise above and triumph, forced to endure the most grueling task of them all...

Babysitting.

Let’s get to it.

~~~

Risotto Nero: oh boy. The moment he realizes that you genuinely aren’t going to say anything mean about his eyes, he’ll be clinging to you for the rest of time. He’s not used to people wanting to get along with him, so he takes the experience for all he can. He can’t be pried off your side for the rest of the day, and it would probably be a lot cuter if he wouldn’t just stare at you, completely silent and wide eyed for far too long for anyone to be comfortable. A real sweetheart though, he has a weakness for sweets.

Formaggio: One of those kids who just screams out of the blue and when you ask why he did it he’s just like “I dunno :)”. He has a near endless supply of really dumb jokes, only half of them make sense, but he’s just so happy to tell them, you can’t help but to laugh. But don’t laugh too hard, because he’ll see it as an invitation to tell more and you’ll never get away. Also, don’t trust him near any pets, he’s a dumbass kid who doesn’t realize you can’t pick them up like you do stuffed animals, he’s gonna get bitten, even by the most mild mannered animals.

Prosciutto: A bit of a crybaby, actually. But he never admits it, he’s too tough! He tells you. He’s “a grown boy, and doesn’t get upset about dumb stuff”, he says, while tearing up because someone called him a mommas boy. He insists on doing anything you are, so you’re really gonna have to watch your mouth and your actions. Buy him some candy cigarettes and he’s the happiest kid around. Says he’s too old for cuddling or hugs, but actually gets upset if you don’t insist on giving him one.

Pesci: A huuuuuuge crybaby. But, will calm down shockingly easy if you hold him. He’s the type of kid to genuinely believe you can ‘kiss it better’, and insists that any scrapes hurt far more than they do if you don’t. Overall he’s a really easy kid to take care of as long as you can keep the others from teasing him too much, he’s quiet, will watch pretty much anything on tv, read any books you give him, whatever. Though, he’s gonna come up and shyly ask you what some larger words mean if you don’t have anything simple enough for him.

Illuso: Bitch is rude as hell. You know how kids can insult you in the most painful, accurate ways? That’s Illuso. Unfortunately, the only way to keep him from assuming control of the house is to beat him at his own game. Show him a taste of his own medicine and he shuts up for the rest of the day, he’s not used to people standing up to him. Also, you’re gonna have to force him to bathe, he’s a greasy haired mess and probably was out finding bugs to sneak down the back of your shirt, so he’s covered in dirt.

Melone: A real quiet kid, doesn’t really want to do anything but read. Wicked smart, and smiles like he knows something you don’t. He’ll gladly talk about what he’s studying, but you won’t wanna listen for long, he might be a prodigy and a promising future medical student, but that doesn’t always make for a comfortable conversation with a child. He’ll ask you random, weird questions about human sciences. Not necessarily anything sexual, like you’d expect from grown Mel, but just something really weird like “what do you think humans would be like if our bones never fused as babies?”

Ghiaccio: a know it all. Anytime he learns some new fun fact he tells you about it like he’s the smartest kid on earth, “did you know that? I didn’t think so.” Gets super mad if anyone calls him four eyes, and will absolutely screech about how he still has the same amount of eyes, he just has glasses. He also will sometimes refuse to wear his glasses just because he doesn’t feel like wearing them. But then he’s squinting and running into everything, but insists he’s fine.

Sorbet and Gelato: Do not let these two together alone, or even supervised. You know how in crime documentaries they talk about serial killers childhoods and everyone watching is like “That’s not normal, I would have noticed there was something wrong with that child”? That’s what it’s like watching these two. If you keep them inside, expect things being broken and general havoc. Whenever you try to scold them they just stare at you, then at each other, and grin. You walk away with a bad feeling, and you really gotta watch what they’re doing. Don’t even let them in the kitchen, too many knives, too many hazards. Sorbet never smiles except for when he’s looking at Gelato, Gelato doesn’t stop smiling unless he’s looking at you.

[heartofether]

Episode 15 - Elderberries TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[LOWER-PITCHED AND SLOWER THAN NORMAL] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE POPPY GARDEN MOTEL, AGENT MAY AND JUNES’ ROOM, EARLY MORNING.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, is it on? I dunno how this recording device works. Would have been, like, ten times easier to just record on our phones, but, eh.

Anyways, it’s just me right now, which means I get to do all the talking. Guess I should, I dunno, talk about the mission? Daughtler?

Oh! I know. There’s this candy store downtown that displays massive gummy bears in the window, only it’s so hot outside that the bears have started melting. It’s some mix of disturbing, but also hilarious? Seriously, those bears look so sad, I can’t help but laugh.

Let’s see. Say, what’s that stupid thing he always says? [DRAMATICALLY MOCKING AGENT MAY] This is Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are property of the—

[AS AGENT JUNE TALKS, THE DOOR IS HEARD OPENING AND CLOSING. THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS AS AGENT MAY WALKS IN.]

AGENT MAY

Here’s your coffee.

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged! Oh, you got it with oat milk, right?

AGENT MAY

[SLIGHTLY BITTER] It cost extra, but yes.

AGENT JUNE

Aw, hell yeah.

[AGENT JUNE TAKES HIS DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

I’ve never understood the excitement behind alternative milks.

AGENT JUNE

Hey, I’m lactose intolerant. Not that that would stop me from consuming dairy in most scenarios, but oat milk hits, alright? You should give it a shot.

AGENT MAY

I don’t put milk in my coffee, just sugar.

AGENT JUNE

Mm. Gross.

AGENT MAY

[HE HUFFS A SIGH.] Well, I’ll stop judging your coffee order if you stop judging mine.

AGENT JUNE

I’ll agree to that, sure.

[HE TAKES A SIP, THEN] See anything of note in the coffeeshop?

AGENT MAY

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Maybe. There was this girl sitting at a table. She was wearing all-black, which is strange considering the weather.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, ever heard of fashion? Dude, you literally wear a suit every day! No wonder you overheat. I mean, why do you think I skip the blazer?

AGENT MAY

[IRRITATED] At least I wear my tie correctly.

AGENT JUNE

I leave it undone on purpose, alright? It’s a statement.

AGENT MAY

Do you know how to tie a tie?

AGENT JUNE

[DEFENSIVE] Yes!

[AN UNCOMFORTABLY LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

So, there was this girl in the coffeeshop.

AGENT MAY

She seemed fairly young. Must have been in either high school or college. She was staring at me over her laptop the whole time. Like she was, I don’t know, stalking prey. It was like her eyes were knives, and she was trying to carve my flesh off.

AGENT JUNE

So, she defo wasn’t just idly looking or whatever. Like, you’re pretty sure she was thinking about killing you?

AGENT MAY

Well, there’s no way I can know for certain, now, is there?

[A BEAT.] She was wearing a black fabric surgical mask, though.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Do you think she was—?

AGENT MAY

I can’t say for sure.

AGENT JUNE

I mean, it might have been an accessory, but we’re in Daughtler, Washington—

AGENT MAY

I’m not going back there to check. Okay? If we see her again, maybe we can consider interviewing her, but I don’t feel comfortable going back to see her.

AGENT JUNE

[UNDERSTANDING] Alright.

[AGENT MAY SIGHS.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] Alright. I won’t force you.

AGENT MAY

I—I appreciate that.

[THERE'S A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Uh, how’d you sleep?

AGENT MAY

About as well as I could in a car seat.

AGENT JUNE

Okay, I can’t just keep letting you sleep in the car. It was kind of funny at first, but now I just— [HIS SENTENCE TRAILS OFF IN VAGUE STUTTERS.]

AGENT MAY

[BEAT.] Well?

AGENT JUNE

I feel bad! Alright? I mean, look at me, I have this whole room to myself, and meanwhile, my partner is sleeping in a company vehicle that may or may not have bloodstains in the backseat.

[BEAT, THEN] Actually, I’d love to talk about those weird dark stains later, because uh, what, but I’ll let it slide for now. It’s still gotta be super uncomfortable, though.

AGENT MAY

We could always take turns.

AGENT JUNE

No, what I’m saying is I don’t think either of us have to sleep in the car! There has got to be a better solution.

AGENT MAY

The Foundation already declined giving us a second room, or trying to transfer us to a larger one. Trust me, I tried.

AGENT JUNE

Dammit.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

It's king-sized, you know.

[ANOTHER LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT MAY

Do you think the motel has spare blankets? I think I could try sleeping on the floor.

[THOUGH UNSEEN, AGENT JUNE LOOKS INTO THE CAMERA LIKE HE’S IN THE OFFICE.]

AGENT MAY

…I’ll go down and ask later.

AGENT JUNE

Good idea.

[A BEAT. THERE'S SUIT RUSTLING AS AGENT MAY CHECKS HIS WATCH.]

AGENT MAY

We should head out soon.

AGENT JUNE

You’re really glued to that watch of yours, huh?

AGENT MAY

Excuse me?

AGENT JUNE

Not that it’s bad, you just check it a lot. I don’t really know what watch etiquette is, but I think you look at it more than most people do. I’ve also noticed you tend to look at it more around specific times? Is there a reason, or—?

AGENT MAY

[MORE SERIOUS THAN THE CONVERSATION WARRANTS] It’s none of your business. Perhaps I simply prefer to keep on schedule. Let’s go.

AGENT JUNE

[SLIGHTLY CONFUSED] Oh, um, okay. Sorry. [UNDER HIS BREATH] Jeez. Let me just—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER BEEP.]

[INT. THE OPEN EYES BOOKSTORE BACKROOM, EARLY, EARLY MORNING.]

HOLLY

Are you recording?

PHOEBE

Yes, yes, I am.

HOLLY

Kind of weird to be doing this so early in the morning.

PHOEBE

I’m sorry, I know it’s super early. Night just felt…well, it felt more dangerous, I guess? Even Grandma Doe recommended not doing it too late. I wanted to get it done before the shop opened, though.

HOLLY

Oh no, I don’t mind. I guess people usually just consider night to be “the witching hour.”

PHOEBE

This isn’t really witchcraft, though, is it?

HOLLY

Guess not. Most modern witchcraft is a lot more…chill, I guess?

PHOEBE

Right. [A BEAT.] Do you think it’s really a good idea to be doing this in the back room?

HOLLY

Well, it’s not like we have anywhere else. It’d be super shady if we did it right outside, and your forestry friend would be pissed if we went out into the woods to do it.

PHOEBE

[NERVOUS] There’s so much paper, though. I mean, we could easily set the whole thing alight. My apartment’s really small, I know, but maybe we could—?

HOLLY

Don’t worry about it. We did a pretty good job clearing stuff out to make space, I think. It should be fine, I mean, a lot of the most flammable stuff either got moved out or shoved against the wall.

Besides, didn’t she say that it might be good to do it here for like, symbolic purposes?

PHOEBE

Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. [SHE CHUCKLES.] Maybe this will finally give me incentive to organize everything.

HOLLY

[SHE LAUGHS, SOMEWHAT NERVOUSLY.] If this works, then hopefully you’ll be able to do that anyways.

PHOEBE

That’s true, yes. I, um, guess we should get started. Can you read the directions?

HOLLY

Of course.

[HOLLY IS HEARD UNFOLDING A PIECE OF PAPER.]

HOLLY

[READING] The purpose of all of this is energy. You are lighting fire to produce energy. You are grinding berries and eating them to produce it as well. Ether functions under this key desire for vitality. If you can understand this simple principle, this keen need it has, it will treat you much more kindly.

By designing this ritual for you, my hope is that it will spell out as clear as day to Ether what you are trying to achieve. It rarely gives people what they want, rather it gives what it sees fit for them. You must steer it in the correct direction, or else it will choose a different fate for you.

These instructions are similar to what Valencia and I did, as well as symbolic for what you hope to achieve. However, nobody has ever developed an exact science for how these rituals function. We may only rely on guesswork and hope. While I would like to develop more specific procedures and instructions, I do not know if I ever will. Perhaps that could be your task.

[BREAKING READING] Could I skip her whole monologue? We already read it, and I don’t think it’s important in-the-moment.

PHOEBE

Sure.

HOLLY

Cool.

[SHE FLIPS THE PAPER.]

HOLLY

Materials needed: Yarn or string to create a casting circle. Some people use salt, but it produces an awful mess. Several circles of yarn around you and your workspace will work just fine.

PHOEBE

We did that already.

HOLLY

Yup. [READING AGAIN] Three white candles with words carved into them. It does not matter what the words are, they simply have to be legible and completely cover the candle. No numbers. I just wrote out song lyrics on that one.

PHOEBE

Oh, that’s neat! I, um, did poems I like.

HOLLY

Cute. [A BEAT.] A lighter or match of some kind. Someplace to safely burn paper—we got a metal bin, so we’re good. Did you turn off the smoke alarm?

PHOEBE

I did, yeah.

HOLLY

Let’s hope the place doesn’t burn down, then. [CHUCKLE, THEN] I’m joking, I promise. It should be fine. [SHE CLEARS HER THROAT.]

A book—you will be tearing out each individual page, so to save time, I suggest a children’s book. A bowl or container of some kind. Elderberries, I recommend you cook them beforehand, but make sure none of them are pre-mashed. Something to mash the elderberries with. Finally, a few drops of your blood, or something to draw blood with. That’s what the sewing needle is for, right? You sure you don’t want a blade? I have a pocket knife.

PHOEBE

[UNCOMFORTABLE] I get nervous around knives, but thank you for the offer.

Oh—actually, I wanted to ask, um, where did you find elderberries? I couldn’t find them anywhere.

HOLLY

I asked the bartender down the street.

PHOEBE

Huh.

HOLLY

Yeah, they make all sorts of weird cocktails. Are you ready? Once we start, we can’t stop until it’s complete.

PHOEBE

[WITH WEIGHT, NERVOUS, BUT DETERMINED] I’m ready.

HOLLY

Okay.

[HOLLY FLIPS THE PAPER AGAIN. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

Phoebe?

PHOEBE

Yeah?

HOLLY

Whatever happens, I—we’ll be okay, alright? No matter what. I’ll make sure of it, I swear.

PHOEBE

[TENDERLY] Thank you.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY ARE HEARD KISSING. HOLLY TAKES A DEEP BREATH.]

HOLLY

Create a circle around— Okay, we already did that. Um, Start by lighting the candles.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD LIGHTING A MATCH AND LIGHTING ALL THREE CANDLES.]

HOLLY

Tear each individual piece of paper out of the book. One by one, burn each piece of paper using fire from the candles. Once you have burned each page, burn the cover. Do not attempt to put any of the fires out. This tedious process shows care and dedication. The blood in later steps is there for a similar purpose.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD TEARING PAGES OUT OF A CHILDREN’S BOOK AND LIGHTING THEM ON FIRE. THERE’S A LONG PAUSE AS SHE DOES SO.]

PHOEBE

Good thing this book only has twenty pages. [A BEAT.] What’s next?

[PHOEBE IS STILL TEARING PAPER IN THE BACKGROUND, AND THE BURNING SFX GOES ON FOR SOME TIME.]

HOLLY

Uh—place your elderberries in the bowl and begin mashing them in a clockwise motion. As you do this, speak out loud and ask Ether to grant you knowledge and the ability to see what others do not. There should be no misunderstanding in what you are trying to achieve, and if you have garnered Ether’s attention, it should have already decided what it shall do with you. [MUTTERS] Fuckin’ weird.

[PHOEBE CEASES HER PAGE-TEARING.]

PHOEBE

The book is done. Pass me the spice grinder with the berries?

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE SPICE GRINDER.]

PHOEBE

Thank you.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD GRINDING THE ELDERBERRIES.]

PHOEBE

[WHISPERING TO HERSELF] Ether, um, whoever or whatever you are, if you are listening to me, please grant me knowledge. Grant me the power to see what others do not. Let me see and know everything.

[THERE IS A RINGING HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND AS HOLLY SPEAKS.]

HOLLY

If this works, the words on the candle should begin to—holy—God!

[HOLLY STUMBLES BACK.]

PHOEBE

Glow?

HOLLY

[FREAKING OUT] Yup? Uh—they’re actually glowing, what the—

PHOEBE

[OVERLAPPING] What’s next?

HOLLY

Sorry, sorry. [SHE RUFFLES THE PAPER IN HER HAND.] Mix a few drops of your blood into the elderberries.

PHOEBE

Pass me the sewing needle.

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE NEEDLE. SHE PRICKS HER FINGER.]

PHOEBE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Ow.

[SHE LETS A FEW DROPS COME OUT, SUCKS ON HER FINGER BRIEFLY, THEN MIXES HER BLOOD IN.]

HOLLY

Drink the elderberry mash. You must consume every bit of it, or at least as much as you can.

PHOEBE

[GROWING IN A MIX OF PANIC AND EXCITEMENT] This is it—I mean—wait, I’m about to consume my blood, that’s weird, but—this is really it.

HOLLY

[ENCOURAGING] You can do it.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD DRINKING THE ELDERBERRY MASH. THERE IS A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

If successful, the candles will—

[THE CANDLES ARE HEARD EXTINGUISHING.]

HOLLY

…blow out.

PHOEBE

[SLIGHTLY SICK] I think I got it all.

HOLLY

How do you feel? Is—has anything changed?

PHOEBE

I feel…I feel like there’s a part of me that was never there before. Like, my internal self expands farther out than my physical self, like I’m floating, it’s—I need to go lie down.

HOLLY

I’ll take you upstairs. It worked, though?

PHOEBE

I think it did. I mean, Grandma Doe said I would feel some sort of immediate change, but the rest of it would trickle in slowly. I feel different, though.

HOLLY

[SLOWLY, CAUTIOUS] Does this mean you’re not human anymore?

PHOEBE

[A BEAT.] I haven’t thought about that. I mean, I think I might just kind of be human plus? I’m not sure. Grandma Doe was still mortal, after all—she felt pain, she got ill—her mind was just super advanced. Does that make me inhuman?

HOLLY

I…I don’t think so. I think you just have mind powers or whatever.

PHOEBE

I’ll think about it later. I’m just going to try to get some sleep before the shop opens.

HOLLY

You don’t even have to open today, you know. People will understand if you just say you’re ill. Or I could run it for today, since there’s usually less traction on weekdays.

PHOEBE

[SINCERE] Thank you.

HOLLY

Of course.

PHOEBE

[SHE SIGHS.] Okay, time to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

IRENE

I just got home from work. Apparently, Phoebe did that ritual early this morning. It went well, from what Holly told me, though Phoebe’s been taking the day off to rest.

Oh, and they also posted that advert on the bulletin board yesterday. You know, for someone to develop Valencia’s film.

That’s not important right now. You know what is important?

This morning, at work, I opened up a folder on my computer and guess what was in it? A new audio recording where there shouldn’t be one. Guess the technological gods have decided to be generous today.

I decided to wait until I got off to listen to it. It’s dated shortly after the incident, so I think it might be important.

Besides, work has been…well, different, since the Spread. I haven’t told Carol or Aden that’s what it’s called, though. The whole incident brought us closer together, but I think that’s a double-edged sword. They know me well enough, now, I think they can tell I’m hiding something. Aden definitely knows I am—I mean, what I told him was pretty cryptic, but Carol I think just…knows. She’s just like that. [SCOFF] Maybe that’s part of her motherly instincts.

Right, that’s beside the point. Back to the recording.

Here goes nothing.

[IRENE CLICKS ON THE FILE.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. DRIVING, LATE AT NIGHT.]

[THERE IS THE AMBIANCE OF DRIVING DOWN A DESOLATE FOREST ROAD AS THEY TALK.]

UNKNOWN GIRL

Does it work?

ROSE

I believe so.

UNKNOWN GIRL

[SHE SNORTS.] About as well as a cheap cell phone from Walmart could, I imagine?

ROSE

It just has to be able to record and make emergency calls. I’m not too worried about it. Thank you, again. Really, I owe you.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Hey, I didn’t buy it. I just walked into the store and handed your money to the guy behind the counter. It’s not a big deal.

[DULLY SKEPTICAL] You’re trying pretty hard to cover up your tracks, you know. Destroying your phone, not wanting to be seen in public to go get a new one, only paying in cash. Almost makes it sound like you’re a criminal or something.

ROSE

[FRANTIC] I’m not! I swear, I’m not.

UNKNOWN GIRL

No need to get defensive. Look, I get it. We all have reasons to want to disappear. I’m surely in no position to judge.

You know, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I feel like we might actually have a lot in common.

ROSE

Why is that?

UNKNOWN GIRL

We both don’t know where we’re going, or why.

ROSE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Oh, I know why.

UNKNOWN GIRL

So you do have a reason?

ROSE

It’s not a big deal.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Your secret’s safe with me, you know.

ROSE

It’s nothing. Really. Just…do you have to know or—?

UNKNOWN GIRL

Well, do I have any reason to?

ROSE

No, but do you even have a reason to be helping me?

UNKNOWN GIRL

[DEADPAN] What can I say? I’m a generous soul.

[A BEAT.] Say, why did you want something to record with, anyways?

ROSE

I, um—it’s stupid.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Try me.

ROSE

It’s—well. I guess I don’t want to be forgotten? I want some way for people to find out what happened to me when…if…you know. There’s…if something does happen to me, there’s at least one person who deserves to know.

UNKNOWN GIRL

You think you’re going to get yourself killed?

ROSE

I don’t know. I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry?

UNKNOWN GIRL

But you have someone you know will want to listen. [CONNECTING THE DOTS] You weren’t a loner before you left, were you? You left someone important behind, and now you feel bad. You owe them an explanation.

ROSE

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Yes. Right. I guess.

[A BEAT.] I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Who did you abandon?

ROSE

[RAISING HER VOICE SLIGHTLY] I said I’m done.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Alright, alright.

[A BEAT.] If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you prod at me a bit.

ROSE

[HESITANT] Where did you get your name? Wednesday is such a unique name, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it outside of stories.

WEDNESDAY [UNKNOWN GIRL]

It’s certainly no ‘Mary,’ is it?

ROSE

I mean, obviously. My name’s pretty basic.

WEDNESDAY

I actually chose it after I left home. Not like that, just never liked the name my parents gave me. Kept the last name ‘White,’ though. It has a ring to it.

ROSE

Was there a reason for it, or did it just sound nice?

WEDNESDAY

When people meet someone with a weird name, that tends to be the thing that most grabs their attention. “I met a girl named after a day of the week today, isn’t that bizarre?” I didn’t want to be remembered for anything I didn’t want people to see. If one thing was going to stick with them, it would be my name, but not quite the face that goes with it. Just the girl with an odd name.

ROSE

So you want to be forgotten?

WEDNESDAY

Not forgotten, but I want control over the memory of me. I want to fade away into obscurity, but not obscure enough that it’s suspicious.

ROSE

[KIND OF UNCOMFORTABLE] You’ve thought about this a lot.

WEDNESDAY

When you’re like me, you have to.

ROSE

Wh—what does that—

WEDNESDAY

[OVERLAPPING] Do you need me to stop at the gas station up ahead?

[THERE’S A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

ROSE

Um, yeah, I have to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, EARLY EVENING, THE SAME DAY.]

[THERE’S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[STILL PROCESSING IT AS SHE SPEAKS.] Okay. Okay! This is definitely a start. A great start, actually!

Okay, let’s see, uh—after you ran away, you destroyed your phone—no wonder the police couldn’t track it—and then you went with some person named Wednesday.

That’s definitely a start. If I can figure out where Wednesday—White, was it?—yeah, Wednesday White. I know Wednesday probably isn’t her legal name, but I might still be able to find her somewhere. If I can find Wednesday White, I might have a good shot at finding you. That’s great news!

[A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[HER ENTHUSIASM DYING] I don’t trust Wednesday, though.

[A BEAT.] Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical. I mean, you’re not an idiot, Rose. You wouldn’t hitch hike with just any random stranger. Would you? Doesn’t even seem like you gave her your real name, she called you ‘Mary.’

[SHE HUFFS A SIGH.] Maybe I’m just being defensive. Still, she seemed off, didn’t she? That whole thing she said about her name just kind of rubbed me the wrong way. She prodded a lot, too. Almost as if she wanted to make you uncomfortable.

I could be reading into it too much. I guess I won’t know until I find her. Hopefully, she didn’t fade into obscurity too much. There’s gotta be some record of her existence online. If I’m lucky, she might be on social media or something. Who knows? Lots of time has passed.

[A PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY] That person, you—were you recording for me? You wanted me to know you hadn’t abandoned me on purpose. [HURT] And here I was, thinking you would just leave without reason. That you had betrayed me in some way. I’m—Rose, I’m so sorry—

[JUST AS SHE SAYS “SORRY,” HER PHONE BEGINS VIBRATING. SHE PICKS IT UP.]

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] There’s an unknown number calling me.

[SHE ANSWERS.]

IRENE

Hello?

CALLER

Hello? Is this the person who posted an ad outside of Open Eyes Bookstore?

IRENE

Oh! Um, yeah, that’s me. Wow, I didn’t expect to hear from someone so fast.

CALLER

I’m an observant person. I like to make my rounds throughout the town. You’ll never know what you’ll find, after all. Or who.

Anyways, you have some film that needs to be developed, right? Well, it just so happens to be your lucky day, because I have a dark room.

IRENE

That’s fantastic. I can pay you however much you want, just—

CALLER

[OVERLAPPING] Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m studying photography, so the experience is payment enough. No worries!

IRENE

That’s very kind of you, thank you.

CALLER

Of course!

Oh, where are my manners? My name is Sadie. Sadie Creed. And you are…?

IRENE

Irene.

SADIE

Irene! How cute. Where do you want me to pick up your film?

IRENE

Um, I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I would prefer to meet out in the open? Is that a problem?

SADIE

Not at all. How about Lemongrass Park?

IRENE

That’s actually perfect, yeah.

SADIE

Great! I’m happy to meet you tomorrow night at 8:00, if that time works for you? I know that’s a bit late, but I work at the candy shop until then.

IRENE

That should be fine, yeah.

SADIE

Looking forward to it! Pleasure doing business with you, Irene. Bye-bye!

[SADIE HANGS UP.]

IRENE

Huh. Well, I guess that solves that.

Time to go find Wednesday White.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: A wave of grass engraves upon the stone: ‘There is more than one good way to drown.’

Sylvia Plath in "Epitaph in Three Parts," 1955.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

MICRO-COSMOS PROMOTIONAL AD [written by Jesse Smith]

[THERE ARE STATIC NOISES.]

ATHENA

This is Communications Athena Romero of OEC #0137-F recording from a… still, unknown location on the infant planet Ophiuchus-22. Though I have my… well, rational, doubts, something in me feels as though this transmission might actually be reaching someone. Might just be desperation, though. Most likely just desperation. Regardless. We would appreciate any and all OC representatives or employees, or individuals otherwise receiving this transmission, to please send a response. We have been recording mandatory and otherwise necessary emergency chronicling logs for days now. Please.

[WE HEAR MILES'S FOOTSTEPS APPROACH.]

MILES

(distant) Athena, are you sending out another transmission? They’re not going to-

[C41 APPEARS WITH THEIR USUAL PING.]

C41

Shhh, let her do her thing, Miles. She needs to set her character up correctly for the new listeners that are hearing this promotional advertisement.

MILES

The new— what?

C41

What?

MILES

What are you talking about?

FELIX

I believe what Cal is doing is called “breaking the fourth wall,” my friend.

MILES

Breaking the what now?

C41

Oh, just forget about it.

[MILES GROANS; WE HEAR ALEX APPROACH.]

ALEX

What about a promotional advertisement?

ATHENA

Guys, could you… [SIGHS] I am trying to finish this log, so could you please give me a moment?

ALEX

Sorry, Starshine, I just got a little caught up in the whole “self-aware and breaking the fourth wall” thing.

ATHENA

It’s… fine.

C41

If I were you, Athena, I would close your log out by telling the listener to tune in to Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast, wherever you get your podcasts! The show is created by a crew of LGBTQ+ people, and features strange infant planets, brief romantic scenes before epic tragedy, cool sci-fi terminology, and adorably talented AI units, like myself!

ATHENA

Micro-?

C41

More information on the show can be found on its website: “microcospod.space”, OR its Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, or TikTok, which all have the handle “@microcospod.”

MILES

… uh huh.

[THE CREW SITS IN SILENCE FOR A SECOND.]

C41

That’s just what I would say, though.

MILES

… Cal, we really need to figure out what is going on with this new phase of yours.

[dissonantdreamer]

I find that I align on the white stripe too. This entire time I didn’t think it was trans. Just kind of in between. It’s shaken my world and I feel insincere. I don’t agree that I was born a certain way but I do not wish to be the opposite either. I like the physical aspect of my reproductive organs but nothing beyond that. I’m attracted to members of what would be my same sex but the thought of losing the only thing that made me, me is terrifying. I feel a huge dissatisfaction when seeing myself, yet losing that identity feels, different. Not wrong but just empty? I love the idea of loving those who identify themselves so easily as my old identity, I wish I could match them because this thought while comforting, feels as if I am on the precipice of a steep cliff. There is a strong pull to jump and feel bask in knowing that this is me, yet there is a larger side that wants to go back to safety. To what I know. I’m so confused.

The white stripes meaning gets over looked in a lot of conversations i feel, which makes people who aren’t aware feel lost. But it is the part of the design for those who are intersex, those who have an undefined gender, or those who are in the process of transitioning.

Identity is a strange beast, we as a society put so much on individuals to identify in a way that fits these neat little boxes that one can tick off. It’s supposed to make things easier but there is so much diversity that cannot be separated into little boxes that it does damage, it leads to others policing who belongs. That thinking isolates those who don’t quite fit into the box.

It’s like instead of having that fancy color picker you get in photoshop, you only have the most basic color wheel to go by, there are going to be colors you need that aren’t on the wheel. How can you complete a picture when to do so you might have to combine some colors to make the color you need? By design, human identity and expression is all part of a spectrum, and you can’t fit the brilliance of that into boxes.

That being said: I can promise you, you aren’t going to lose part of yourself, you’re gaining new things to love about yourself. You’re finding new things that make you, you. You’re going to find a new way to love, to express that in a way that is unique to you. Nothing you do will change who you are at your core.

You are what makes you. Who you love and how you love is not going to lessen because you decided to jump into this new unknown. The people that hold that against you are not people you want to associate with. Because they don’t see you, they see boxes they can’t check and you are so so much more than that. You are you, you get to define who you are and how you love. It’s your life and your self. You are worthy of love from others and from within. It’s that simple.

I dunno if that helps if it doesn’t at least take away that you are not alone and that it’s okay to be confused, it might take some time but you’ll figure out all those feelings and you’ll feel full one day <3

[ranboo5]

The obligatory thought out Twitter discourse post (this is hopefully a conclusive take so like yeah): 

The worst thing I think abt Twt discourse and all that is like. Because of the way it happens -- largely I think bc of the platform itself, the mechanical aspects like the chara limit and how trending tags work -- what it encourages is mass outrage and dogpiling, and the most incindiary takes are the ones that get spread rather than those from people qualified to talk about it 

And what this does is that it encourages backlash rather than acceptance. When cancel tags get trending, even if at the core there is something that does require accountability, it doesn’t encourage accountability and conversations about why something happened and how to stop it at all -- it encourages defensiveness. Not just from the individual (although from them too) but from the general system 

People who might otherwise have been critical are going to respond to the response instead of the issue at hand because the response creates another issue, especially when the form of the response immediately overhauls into harrassment, incredible vitriol, and a slew of overblown or outright fabricated stuff to pad out the actual problem; people who see this response react to this as the violent overreaction and attack bandwagon it is and criticize that instead. This isn’t an individuals thing it’s a thing about how these arguments work. It is, mechanically, about how Twitter works as a platform. It is, fundamentally, about how for a take to spread it needs to appeal to lots of people, and for lots of people to accept its appeal it needs to strip away nuance  

The flavor of both sides of this echo chamber of escalating backlash and backlash to the backlash changes as the general Discourse Zeitgeist does but ultimately it continues to be the same thing. And because definitionally minorities are. Well. Minorities, even when the general zeitgeist makes it #trendy to say Listen To Minorities, minorities inevitably get drowned out by the news cycle 

It makes the entire concept of backlash seem like a bad-faith harrassment train because in its biggest and most apparent form that’s ultimately what it becomes and that’s what the systems of not just social media but gossip, in general, encourage and support. It activel discourages accountability because responses usually only fuel the train because, again, when it gets bad it’s not about good faith criticism anymore 

It’s a whole unknowable beast (literally unknowable! Humans weren’t meant to process societies of more than 150-200ish people at most! This is literally Eldritch in the original sense of the word!) that can really only be waited out and all we can do as individuals is try not to perpetuate it and try to actually boost nuanced takes and cultivate an atmosphere of discussion 

And discussion is important because a lot of these things are again systemic issues and they’re bad! They make people uncomfortable and for good reason! They’re representative of larger problems and in a kinder timeline the platforms at play here could actively help in dismantling those problems by addressing these manifestations! But instead it’s a bad-faith loop of whatever take is the hottest and whatever lets people get their anger and desire to enjoy mob mentality out 

The main core pts of this iteration are I think “saying the right thing is more important than doing the right thing,” the concept of sin equalization (“saying a bad thing” is one big category that everything from genuinely vile shit to something said in cringe taste is included in and requires the same nebulous “accountability” for), the prioritization of purity and irredeemability, and also, yeah, parasocial relationships (you’ll notice a lot of discourse involves a discussion of whose faves are better, or who “cares,” and how that’s shown, as well as what these personalities “owe” people). You will note that the former three are very very Christian morality based and the latter is especially prone to crop up in a community (and I use that term broadly) around people literally marketing personalities 

And it really really sucks. Because not only does it discourage actual discussion but it also, bc of that equalization and priority of “saying the right thing,” actually makes people weaker to actual dogwhistles and cringe rhetoric. Because that evolves. You can’t actually tell it on sight solely by what words are in what order. You can’t actually gauge how bad something is if all you have are Bad Words To Say. And this isn’t to say that recognizing specific phrases or smth is bad, just that relying on it and assuming that everything that’s loosely superficially similar is the Same Kind Of Thing and must be treated the same way + has the same implications betrays a lack of understanding of how it works, and that when the words that bigots use to coach their agendas in change and adapt, the same people that railed against something said in poor taste will boost that candy coated hatespeech uncritically 

I see it here All The Time. Not just in fucking block game discourse, either -- in discourse in general. Awful, regressive, reactionary ideas, either from too-young and too-inexperienced people who don’t know better or from actual malicious actors and bigots and cryptoreactionaries of all kinds, being spread uncritically because they’re coached in progressive language. The Cancellation Cycle and how it operates absolutely contributes to and betrays the existence of this system as much as anything

Just. I dunno 

Tl;dr (you were right): - The mechanisms of how Twitter and also society works create a system where the hottest, not the best, takes get circulated - In this system accountability is disincentivized and minority voices usually stifled more than anything  - Bad things happened and discussions absolutely need to be had but the reality of how the Cancel Cycle works actually discourages that  - It also makes people hypersensitive to Bad Words which blinds people to the mechanisms of actual cryptobigotry

[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.

[agree-to-love]

This fic is dedicated to @my-littlewritings for the BNHA Spring Time Event! I have had fun getting to know you during these past couple weeks! I do hope you enjoy! I hope everyone who has stumbled upon this enjoys it! It is for any and all!

Bakugo x Reader SFW

Boom boy wants an invitation

Word count: 3.1k

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

The sky, much like the park below, was bustling. Clouds danced around the sun. The park was beaming with people as they gathered to partake in the festivities. Food stands stood along a pre determined path. Filling the air with the delectable aromas of batter frying. Grills sizzling with fresh meat. People gathered around the grassy steps of an amphitheater. On the concrete stage, the band was setting up instruments. Chords occasionally strummed to test the sound quality.

“Over here, Kirishima!” Mina exclaimed, “I found the perfect spot!” Waving from the top of the amphitheater.

Kirishima grinned as he jogged over to her. Bakugo lazily followed behind, a scowl carved into his brow. They stopped in an area that was away from the larger groups, who had laid claim to other steps. It still held a noticeable view of the stage, but tucked off to the side. Bakugo groaned and dropped down, to sit on the soft grass. It was still cool from the rains the night before. It did it bother him, it had a soothing effect on his hands.

“Hey, Bakugo! You can help too, ya know?!” Mina shouted as she gave him a kick.

He scoffed, “Whatever. Don’t see why you need those.” He said as he closed his eyes and laid back. Intertwining his fingers behind his head to keep it propped up.

Mina growled and huffed as she spread out the blankets with Kirishima. Who laughed awkwardly, not wanting to get in the middle of their argument. He was the one who dragged Bakugo along. Not aware that Mina wanted it to be just the two of them. He was dense to her hints. However, Mina was quick to react and had a plan in mind. One that Kirishima would never had envisioned. It was easier than telling Bakugo to just go back home.

“You know, Bakugo.” She said with a sly smile, “I invited, you know who to join us.” She turned slightly to see Bakugo peek an eye open. She giggled, “Yeah. That’s right. She should be here any minute now. You wouldn’t want to seem like a lazy, good for nothing friend when she’s around, would you?”

“Tch. Whatever…like I care.” He said nonchalantly, closing his eyes again.

Mina frowned and sat down on the blankets. Pouting over Bakugo’s insensitivity. She looked over at Kirishima who just shrugged.

“Oh, you’re no help.” She said with a wave of her hand.

“Well, what do you expect?” Kirishima asked as he sat down next to her, “I mean, did you think he would jump around like a school girl?”

Mina rolled her eyes, “Well, no but…” She turned to Kirishima and whispered, “…they totally have something. I mean you saw it too, right?”

Kirishima chuckled, “Well, yeah. But you know him, he isn’t exactly a Casanova.”

“Yeah. I’m aware, but I think she made an impact and I am here for it.” She said with a smile.

“What are you two dumb-asses whispering about?!” Bakugo exclaimed, hearing bits and pieces of their conversation. Only partly paying attention. He kept his eyes closed and choose to ignore them. It was easier than trying to deal with their idiotic tendencies.

“Whatcha doin’?” You asked in a chipper tone.

Bakugo’s eyes shot open when he heard the familiar voice. He stared up at you and could not control the way his mouth slowly gaped open. Your hair flowed freely, blocking the sun that was once beating down on him. It gave you a heavenly glow. You smiled at him, then sat down on the section between Bakugo and the blankets. The rays now beaming back into his eyes. He turned his head to better follow your movements.

“Hey, girl!” Mina exclaimed, “You don’t have to sit in the grass! Come join us on the blankets.” She said while patting the soft, dry fabric.

You shook your head, “I’m good. The grass feels nice.”

Mina shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

You smiled at her and turned back to catch Bakugo staring at you. He instinctively turned away. Closing his eyes, as though he had no care in the world. You laid back in the grass. Unbothered by the coolness that condensed in the small of your back from the grass. You gazed up at the sky. The clouds passed by lazily above you.

“Are you watching the clouds?” You asked, turning to see if Bakugo was.

Again you caught him staring at you. Once more he looked away. Back up at the clouds that were now blocking the sun’s unforgiving rays. You smiled softly, but kept your gaze on him. His eye flickered back to catch a glimpse of you. His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink when he discovered he had been caught. Again he looked away. You chuckled and turned back to look towards the sky.

“What are you laughing at?” He asked sharply.

You brought your hand up to point at a passing cloud, “Does that cloud look like a duck or a bunny to you?” You asked, avoiding the real answer to his question.

He scoffed, “I dunno.”

“Aww come on…use your imagination.” You said, “What do you see?”

Bakugo looked up at the cloud. He could make out the wings, but not much else. “It looks like…” He said, trying to decipher what his eyes saw, “I just see wings.”

You smiled, “Yeah.” You turned your head and gazed at him, “I see a duck.”

He turned his head and instead of pulling away from your stare, he kept the hold. Your eyes were now locked and his intense stare gave you chills. It may have been the breeze. However, goosebumps covered your skin the longer he stared. His brow was furrowed, but there was a calmness in his eyes. You smiled warmly at him. Although it was for only a brief moment, you could see the subtle change in his expression. His brow loosened and his mouth opened slightly. It faded just as quickly as it came. His expression returning to its normal scowl soon enough.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Mina. Who was exclaiming about the first band going on stage. You propped yourself up on your elbows. Getting a better view of the stage as the band ran out to greet the crowd. They were fired up. You could feel the excitement of the crowd as it roared to life. As the first song rolled through the speakers, Mina stood up. Grabbing Kirishima from his seat. The two began dancing to the upbeat rhythm and hyped up beats.

“Idiots.” Bakugo scoffed.

You peered back at him. This time you did not catch his glance. Although, it still lingered when you turned back to check out the band. He did not like how often his eyes trailed over you. It was like this the last time you met. Mina had invited you to his birthday party. One he did not wish to have, but Kirishima once again insisted. You were intoxicating to him. So calm, cool and collected all the time. You never flinched when he shot off his blasts. Your eyes were always watching and he could never seem to shake off the feelings that gave him.

Moving his knee up, he placed his hand on it. Using his left forearm to keep himself upright. Still trying to give off the fact that he did not care. However, he could not deny that the music, and the company, were actually good.

You peeked over at Bakugo when he changed his position. It seemed he did not catch you. Which was good. You could not look at him for more than a few seconds. It was unfair for someone to look so good. The black shirt he wore, looked two sizes too small. In that position his muscles were flexed and it looked like he could rip the shirt at its seams.

You tried concentrating on the music. However, you could not release the mental image of Bakugo’s thick arms. Your thoughts began to run wild with wonders of what his shirt might be hiding. It was eating away at you. If you were to keep your sanity and composure, you had to do something. You stood up from your position on the ground. Wiping off the grass.

“Hey Mina!” You shouted over the music, “I’m gonna go get something to drink!”

She gave you a thumbs up and continued dancing. You turned to look down at Bakugo. He glanced up at you.

“Want anything?” You asked.

To him the question had many answers. To your surprise, he stood up. What came next almost sent you to the moon. He interlaced his fingers and swung his arms above his head. Then, stretched and arched his back. The contours of his muscles were mouth watering. Your eyes trailed down to the hem of his shirt. That was now hiked up. Revealing the rim of his underwear and the bottom of his smooth and taut abdomen.

“What you lookin’ at?” Bakugo asked sharply.

You shook your head and adverted his gaze. “Nothing. I was just thinking about…what I should get to drink.” You said, hoping he did not catch you staring so blatantly at him. You turned and headed towards the food stands.

Bakugo was only a couple steps behind. You could not see the smirk that formed on his lips. It was quick to disappear. He was confident that he saw where your gaze had drifted. It was a silent gesture. During the walk to the food stands, he got a sight of his own. His eyes once again trailing over your body. Your choice of a crop top was perfect. The way your back moved and arched was a sight to behold. However, nothing compared to way your hips and thighs moved in your tight jeans. He wondered how you could even get into them. Did you paint them on? Would they be hard to take off? His wild thoughts were interrupted by your voice.

“Let’s try this place.” You said as you abruptly stopped in your tracks.

Since Bakugo’s attention was elsewhere, he did not stop soon enough. Instead, he stepped into you. Throwing you off balance. His hand quickly grabbed your waist, preventing your fall. As he held firm to your waist, a group of people walked by. Tightening the space between both of you. You had no choice but to squeeze into his body as the crowd moved forward. You were unsure where to put your hands, but they somehow ended up on his chest. Unwilling to look up, your eyes stayed on your hands. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours.

The crowd was gone, but Bakugo had yet to release you. His rough and calloused hand still firmly gripping your supple skin. However, he knew keeping hold of you was not the right step now. So he released his grip. You pulled away at the speed of a snail. Your eyes found the strength to gaze into his. His brow was relaxed, but his gaze still gave you goosebumps.

Bakugo turned away and walked over to the food stand. You breathed a sigh of relief. Unaware that you had even been holding your breath. You both ordered drinks and proceeded back to the amphitheater. The journey back was just as quiet as the one before. However, the atmosphere was different.

“I love this song.” You said, as a way to break the silence and tension between you.

All Bakugo did was grunt in reply. You took the straw of your drink in your mouth. It was easier than your foot. The sweet concoction was enough to distract you during the walk back.

Once again, you both laid on the grass. Watching the band unveil more stunning pieces of music. You could have sworn on your life, that Bakugo was now closer to you this time. Both of your positions, same as before, were now less than a foot apart. Your heart was starting to speed up the pace. Making you lose your composure was something that Bakugo seemed to excel at. His affect, effortless.

As the band continued, so did your thoughts. You two had only known each other for a short time. However, you wanted to know more about him. His likes and dislikes. His dreams and desires. What he had been through and what he planned for his future. He was a closed book and you desperately wanted to flip through his pages.

You turned to gaze at Bakugo, “Do you like the music so far?” You asked. Another attempt at breaking the tension.

“Yeah.” He said quickly.

You pondered on how stupid a question that was. A closed ended question like that would yield no results. You glanced over at Mina and Kirishima. Who were laying on the blankets together. Singing to the song. Neither of them were any good, but they looked so happy. They held each other close and you could not stop that tinge of jealousy that crept into your heart.

The rest of the afternoon continued on as before. Occasionally, you would ask Bakugo a question. His answers were short and to the point. Even open ended questions yielded short responses. Eventually, you gave up and just listened to the music. You hummed along and periodically sang a line or two. You did not want to appear like some obsessive freak. So as you sang along, you kept your distance. Giving him the space you felt was necessary.

As you occasionally sang the ins and outs of the various songs, Bakugo watched. His focus on your soothing voice. You were no Sinatra, but you carried the notes. You did not waver and your tone stayed true. It was much more entertaining to watch than the band. At least, to Bakugo. The conversations you were having were very one sided. It was not that he did not want to talk. However, it was that he did not know what to say. Although, now a question was burning inside him.

“Do you sing professionally?” He asked.

You stopped your melody and turned to look at him. Your cheeks and ears stained pink. Was he asking you a question? Did he just ask, if you sang professionally? You were not a singer, at least not a good one. Singing casually to songs was something everyone did. Did you really sound that good?

You chuckled, “Oh no. No way. I’m really not that good.” You said, waving your hand. A means to brush off the anxiety you felt.

His red eyes drilled into yours, “I think you sound nice.” He said, turning his gaze to the band, “Better than these guys.”

“Thank you. Really, but I’m no professional. Singing in the shower is the only stage I perform on.” You said with a chuckle.

“Then, where do I buy tickets?” He said with a smirk and a side glance in your direction.

You took in a sharp breath. This man was surely going to be the death of you. You could feel it. The tension that was hanging in the air before, was palpable now. If there was a doubt in your mind before, it was out the door now. You glanced over at him and decided to see how far he would go with this. You flipped the switch.

“My performances are invitation only.” You said with a coy smile.

His eyes widened, a thin lipped smirk quickly shifted into a toothy grin. Baring his impressive canines. Not only could you see the excitement start to boil in his eyes. You could also feel it growing inside yourself. You were playing with fire now. He leaned in closer and you stood your ground. Your own smile unwavering as he inched closer. His eyes were swimming in yours. The moment, however, was short lived.

Kirishima once again was unobservant and could not read the situation. He jumped up from his spot on the blanket and exclaimed, “I’m starving! Bakugo lets go get something to eat!”

Bakugo pushed back from his position and slowly pulled his eyes from yours to glare at Kirishima, “I’m not hungry.” He said in a deep growl.

You sighed. Unsure if it was out of relief or frustration. Could you have stayed collected if the moment continued? What was he going to say next? What was he going to do? The remark he made was bold and it took you by surprise. However, you could tell that your comment was also not something he had anticipated.

Kirishima shrugged and walked off to the food stands with Mina in tow. Bakugo turned his attention back to you. Making contact with his gaze sent a chill up your spine. You inhaled quickly through your nose. He placed his hand in the grass next to yours. His thumb sitting gently on the top of your hand.

“So…how do I get that invitation?” He asked as he slowly rubbed circles into your skin.

You could not help but lick your lips as you contemplated what to say. The simple act caused Bakugo to break his gaze with yours. Only for a second. His other hand found its way to the ends of your hair. He trailed his fingers up the strands, then tucked them behind your ear. The tips of his fingers brushing the skin of your neck. You drew your next breath in, slowly. The exhale, twice as long. His thumb rubbed your cheek while his fingers grazed along your jawline and neck.

You wanted to move, you really did. Only your head wavered as you leaned into his hand. Your eyes fluttering. With your face in his hand, you gazed back up at him. Your stare was too much. The tension snapped.

“Fuck it.” He said sharply.

Before your brain could register what he said, his lips were on yours. You grasped his forearm to prevent yourself from falling back. He hit you with more force than you could have anticipated. However, he was a step ahead. His hand ripped away from the grass to wrap around your waist. Pulling you in closer.

You let a moan slip out as you also removed your hand from the earth. Finding its way up his arm. Pausing at every curve in his flexed muscles. Until it found a place in his hair.

In all reality, the kiss lasted seconds. However, in that moment, time was nothing but a construct. It held no place. You both pulled your lips apart. Your hand trailed along his neck and onto his chest. You placed it there as a means to stop yourself. Your heart was beating faster than the drums of a battleship.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” He said through a long breath.

You smirked, “That definitely earns an invitation.”