#then after I got a bit lonely and then kind of thought of Joey and just got sad

[animazed]

.

[ziracona]

is there a chance we'll ever get a oneshot or something on Kate's roadtrip with Legion? cause I was really hopeful about that and then it didn't happen :( I really wanted a bit of a resolution for Kate's feelings towards Legion (I really adored her talk with Joey, and Frank's with Meg), and tbh I imagine that trip would have been /interesting/ and as an added note: Kate is so epic, when she killed the Cannibal... oof, she's scary and gorgeous and wonderful and I love her character

Yeah, that’s actually one of the most likely things to get a little ficlet from ILM! The road trip was actually in the original outline for Rainbow Connection, and got a partial draft, but it didn’t work out with the chapter flow for multiple reasons. I wished I could have included it, and if ILM was a tv show, where I could largely cover the same events through a montage with instrumentals and a few breaks for scenes along it, it would have stayed, but it just didn’t execute the right way to make it into the last chapter. I’m tempted to tell you stuff I know happened on that trip because even though it only got a partial draft, I have a fairly decent idea if the facts, but since I plan to write it at some point, I probably shouldn’t haha. Glad you liked those two scenes! The one with Joey was one of the last additions to the chapter outline, because I knew he and Kate both needed resolution in the areas they get in that conversation, but there were a couple choices for how to do it. It’s one of my favorite segments in Rainbow Connection now though. : )

Also ah!!! Thank you! I’m so happy when I hear people love Kate. Poor girl never really gets center stage in a relationship or plotline, which is part of thematically what she’s dealing with—until, there at the end, that conversation with Joey anyway, which gives her a kind of hopeful maybe at least at significance and peace. She makes me sad though and I love and empathise with her a lot.

[the-phantom-ender]

okay serious entity assignments time now because i said i might yesterday and i am better rested now.

first off, ill say that like... i dont know everything about every empire, i might be a little off base with some of the members i know less about.

second, the thing about aligning characters with entities is that it doesnt tend to be as easy as just something they fear. they also have to thrive in it. if all it took was fear, there would be lots of people marked directly by the web, if all it took was the ability to thrive, most introverts would be marked by the lonely. it takes a careful balance of both (unless the characters hand is forced, which we do technically see in t.ma canon at least once) for someone to be effectively marked by a fear, much less be an avatar (which is... a loose term at best but i digress because the explanatory bit is getting long dfjkhdf)

stuffs under the cut because it got. long. and feel free to share your own thoughts about them!!

shelby: an interesting case where my gut said corruption but upon reflection i think aligning her with the eye makes more sense? she definitely is shaped by corruption, but her arc thus far has mostly revolved around her desire to learn and her fear of what that knowledge might reveal. after her encounters with xornoth, she also seems very nervous about the idea of being watched.

lizzie: the vast is obvious for her, but it does make sense. its the fear of heights and deep waters and human insignificance, infinity. lizzie absolutely thrives in the depths and holds no fear for the waters but she does show hesitance when it comes to leaving. the danger comes from the outside, the other. which seems more like the lonely, sure, but the vast and lonely link greatly.

joel: im a little biased with the desolation alignment for joel because of 3l. i still think it could work for empires, but... the stranger might work better. i dont think theres anything quite as 'stranger' as filling your home with statues of yourself, giving workers your face, but everything is just slightly... wrong. be it that they dont fit quite right or that their limbs are leather and wood. Unfamiliarity, the uncanny.

gem: so id originally said eye for gem but @loganprobably (i hope the tags cool sjgkhdfh) mentioned the lonely and... both work i think. gem has an appreciation for knowledge, for awareness and learning. but shes also in a position where she both isolates herself and gets overly involved. being one of the people to try to ally with everyone but having a clear side picked. the welcome and the shunning. whats a girl gotta do for some peace and quiet?

scott: scott is... hard. itd be so easy to just throw lonely or eye at him because he stays to himself and knows a lot. id wager the web might work better, though. he keeps his distance, keeps an eye on all that goes on, and... makes no moves. he waits, plans ahead. if war brews he needs to be able to side with the winners. he shows a distain for the idea of being controlled and avoids situations where he could be. hes careful with his choices when theyre made.

jimmy: jimmy. lonely, but for a different reason than gem would be. he is friendly and kind and cares deeply for others, yet hes so clearly... the outcast, even within his own circles. hes the picked on, the betrayed. a friend to all but loved, respected, by none. in his times of need he is forgotten, silenced. yet he doesnt seem to hate the loneliness, just the fact that no one came.

joey: oh god here we go. joeys hard to pin down. the hunt might work? he could fall into the lonely but being lost doesnt inherently mean lonely (it actually ties more in with the vast). i say the hunt, though, because he refuses to back down from his stances, even if theyre objectively wrong, and will do so by whatever means necessary. hell instigate the death of others for the sake of getting what he wants.

fwhip: the slaughter. sacrifice and destruction follow him in everything and he thrives in it. his violence isnt entirely mindless but he has a penchant for war and the things that go into it. heres where my stuff starts getting less cohesive as i watch these members much less ;^^

sausage: the corruption and the desolation lay equal claim on sausage. in everything he plays tricks and feigns niceties and makes himself out to be the one in the right. all the way he makes it seem as if hes kind and just in his actions even if his motives are chaos and destruction. he still holds a fear for things going wrong and holds tight to his alliances.

pixl: the end. his vigil is very very 'end' to me. death, to him, is inevitable, a fact of life, and he choses to honor it and give it respect. in all things he does he knows death to be a cause and an end to the means. even if his trickery may just be a signal of the spiral... whos to say?

katherine: okay. bear with me for this one, yeah? the flesh. no im not only saying this because of the bone garden. the fear that we are just meat and bones, the realization that animals go to the slaughter. i believe its a fact that many involved with the flesh become vegetarian after encounters and her whole thing is plants. she shows a distaste for killing animals but a desire to use them in projects.

pearl: the dark. yes, this is the obvious choice, but i do have reason beyond it. pearls character in empires is directly contrary to her name. she revels in the light and lives around sunflowers and growth. despite this she will let herself work into the night, she will let herself turn a blind eye to damage being done. what she cant see cant hurt her.

bonus:

xornoth: the extinction. i know there are no actual avatars of the extinction in the source, however: it makes sense, right? more than this creature is corruption or the end it wants mortals gone. it wants mortals gone and to be released and freed to do this deed.

[impala666]

The One With The Candy Hearts Part Two (Bryan)

Bryan may or may not be loosely based off of Jared Padalecki, sorry not sorry. But that is who I am imagining, you are free to imagine anyone. We are here to have fun and enjoy ourselves! 

Last Part (Part One), Series Masterlist

It was later in the evening; Ross was off doing his own thing, Chandler was with Joey on his stupid date, and you were over at Monica and Rachel’s with Phoebe and instead of going out the four of you decided that it would be more fun if you all cooked, so as Monica and Rachel got the salad ready you were over at the stove stirring so the delicious smelling meal that you had wouldn’t burn while Phoebe set the table. As you four got everything ready, some how to topic of horrible ex-boyfriends came up. “Okay, okay, Roger was creepy but he was nothing compared to Pete Carney.” Rachel said to all of you.

“Which one was Pete Carney?” Monica asked her as you made your way back over to the table to take a sip of your beer. 

“Pete the weeper. Remember the guy that used to cry every time we had sex? ‘Was it good for yooou.’” Rachel played back as she pretended to be Pete Carney, which made you cringe. You could not even imagine how awkward that would be. 

“Yeah, well I would take a little crying any day over Howard the “I Win” guy.” Monica told her as she thought of her own awkward experience. “I win! I win!” Monica threw up her arms as she deepened her voice to mock the man of her own. “I went out with the guy for two months. I didn’t get to win once.” She complained as she turned to get something. You were never one to share what went on when you were in the bedroom but you didn’t find yourself caring if Rachel, Phoebe, or Monica knew. The four of you were just that close. 

“You know, Joey never really had any issue when it came to that kind of stuff. Actually, he was amazing.” You told them as you smiled at the many many memories of Joey and you in his bed, you bit on your bottom lip but immediately shook it out of your head when you remembered what happened in the coffee house that morning. “But then he has the audacity to go out with another girl not even a week after he broke up with me because he “wanted to do the right thing.” You quoted but found yourself rolling your eyes as the girls scoffed and shook their heads along with you. “I mean give me a break.” You scoffed as well. 

“But he did treat you really well,” Phoebe tried to get you to look on the bright side when you looked back on how much of a jerk he was today, which you found yourself agreeing with her on that one. 

“How do we end up with these jerks!? I mean we’re good people.” Rachel woed as she shaved the carrot into the salad bowl. 

“I don’t know, maybe we’re like some kind of magnets.” Monica joked as she joined the three of you back at the table as she shook and opened the salad dressing. You and Rachel nodded with her, acknowledging her joke. 

“I know I am. That’s why I can’t wear a digital watch.” Phoebe ended up speaking literally, even though it still made no sense. Which was why Monica, Rachel, and you found yourselves just staring down at her in confusion. 

“There’s more beer, right?” Monica asked, realizing that she wasn’t drunk enough to take on Phoebe. 

“God, I hope so.” You spoke as you walked back over to the pot and deemed what was in it good enough to be done, so you turned off the flame. You and Rachel looked at each other as she started to wash her hands in the sink, smiling and shaking your heads at your dear friend Phoebe. 

“Oh! You know my friend Abby who shaves her head?” Phoebe asked as she had gotten an idea. The three of you nodded. “She says that if you want to break the bad boyfriend cycle you can do, like, a cleansing ritual.”

“Pheebs, this woman is voluntarily bald.” Rachel told Phoebe, as her way to tell her friend that she was still skeptical. 

“Yeah,” She nodded and smiled up at Rachel. “So, we can do it tomorrow night, guys. It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s perfect.” 

“Okay. Well, what kind of ritual?” Monica hesitantly asked, hoping that it wasn’t going to be too crazy. 

“Okay.” Phoebe stood up. “We can burn the stuff they gave us.”

“Or?” Rachel asked, since it seemed like Phoebe had more to offer. 

“Or...or we can chant and dance around naked. You know, with sticks.” You looked up at Phoebe with fear of that one wondering where it came from.

“Burnings good.” Monica, Rachel, and you agreed. 

“Wait a second guys,” you started before they all went back to their small tasks for dinner. “Joey wasn’t that bad was he?” You asked, because you didn’t think Joey was that bad of a boyfriend, sure there were stuff about him that got on your nerves but he wasn’t bad.

“No,” they all said. “Just the way that he’s dealing with the break up in front of you is left to be desired.” Monica said for all of them, which was good. At least you weren’t the only one who thought that he had moved on very quickly considering how much Joey said that he was in love with you.

*********

It was a little bit later and you had left Monica and Rachel’s, and Phoebe was at the coffee house with you but she was off in the bathroom, so for now it was just you sitting at the table since the couch area was taken. Your butt was uncomfortable, but hey a seat was a seat you guessed. While Phoebe had been in the restroom you had been going through your books and studying for your exam that you had at the end of the week. You were studying, but knew you were probably going to be fine because you had aced the other ones you had taken, who knew that you would do well in this. Well you did of course.

“Excuse me?” You heard a deep masculine voice ask from right next to you. So you went to look up at who walked up to you, but all words were immediately lost when you saw the tall and very, very handsome man standing above you and smiling at you with the most beautiful hazel eyes. “Is this seat taken?” The man asked, gesturing to the seat across from your own. Phoebe’s stuff was still there, and you even saw her come back out of the corner of your eye. But it seemed your lady parts was doing all the talking here, (why did I just think that?). You shook your head at yourself at how lame you sounded, but the man just looked confused at you.

“Sorry, no it’s not taken.” You told him and he sat down. You didn’t notice Phoebe’s jaw dropping in surprise, but then she decided that she would let you have this one so she just went over to the counter for now. “But you can take a seat.” You smiled sweetly up at him.

“Thank you, I’m Bryan, by the way.” The man introduced himself as he sat down across from you. His legs were so long that he couldn’t fit them comfortably under the table. Which made you smile to yourself and cast your eyes down for a second.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself and took the hand that he held out for you to shake. 

“So, I was sitting over there with my friends,” he nodded over to where he and his friends were sitting and you looked over as he did an adorable thing where he smiled and chuckled a little when he saw you look over to see if it was true, which checked out.

“Uh huh?” You questioned with an eyebrow raised as you looked back over at him waiting for him to continue.

“And they saw me looking over at you so they kept hounding me to come over here and talk to you,”

“Which is going very well, I must say.” You chuckled and rested your hand on your chin. He smiled so brightly at you, you swore you got lost. 

“So, would you like to get dinner or something some time?” He asked you.

“Wait a minute, this isn’t like some Valentine’s Day thing where you hit on some girl to get her to go out with her when she’s feeling her most lonely day and then never call her again?” You asked jokingly, but you were serious about it in the back of your mind. 

“What? Of course not?” His face dropped, totally serious. “But if it makes you feel better we could do it on not Valentine’s Day.”

“I think we can definitely do that, thank you.” You smiled at him, but then he started to get up.

“Awesome, I’ll see you then, Y/N.” Has he like never asked a girl out before. 

“Uh, Bryan?” You called and he turned around to look down at you and put his hands in his jean pockets. “You might need to actually call me, so we know where we’re going and stuff, you know?” You told him as you lifted a piece of paper with your phone number on it. 

“Right, sorry!” His hand shook as he took the paper from you. “Just really nervous.” Bryan told you under his breath which made you chuckle. “I’ll call you then?” 

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Have a good night, Y/N.” He smiled at you.

“You too,” you told him and he walked away to join his friends once more as Phoebe came back over to sit by you.

“Ooh, who was that?” Phoebe asked as she couldn’t help but check him out herself. 

“Bryan.” You told since that was all you knew.

“He asked you out, for Valentine’s Day, can’t believe him.” Phoebe already thought what you were trying to prevent that. 

“Oh, no. I already said no Valentine’s Day. Plus we have that burning ritual thing tomorrow.” You told her as she nodded her head at you and your smartness. 

“I don’t think Joey’s going to like it.” Phoebe muttered trying to get to worked up, she wanted to help you move on.

“I don’t care, he wanted me to get to know New York, and you know what. I’m going to get to know it, I am SO going to get to know it!” You yelled. “Oh, but not like that.” You told her not wanting to look like slut.

“Not that there would be anything wrong with that,” Phoebe spoke even though she agreed with you. 

“I’ll drink to that.” You nodded as you and Phoebe clinked your coffee mugs against the others.

Taglist:

@vampiregirl1797​

@kellysimagines​

[josiebelladonna]

1. selfie 

2. what would you name your future kids?

don’t really want kids tbh, especially not now. i don’t want a child to go through what i did growing up, and i especially don’t want them to grow up in a world that’s trying to kill the kids we already have.

3. do you miss anyone?

i miss my dad and his fiancee: they live up in reno and i haven’t seen them since thanksgiving 2018

4. what are you looking forward to?

seeing eddie in february and my dad’s wedding after christmas (last night alex told me he wants to do something for my birthday): in times like these, though, it’s admittedly hard to look forward to things.

5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?

this guyyyyyyyy! (he had me laughing last night - and i had him laughing, too!)

6. is it hard for you to get over someone?

yes. i will admit to it if no one else will. i’m an emotional person and when someone new comes in my life, i value them to the ends of the earth. when they leave i’m sad, i’m almost like a dog that way.

7. what was your life like last year?

lonely (hated how dry everything was, too).

8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?

all the time. when anger drives me to tears, you know it’s bad.

9. who did you last see in person?

new next door neighbor from the midwest.

10. are you good at hiding your feelings? 

nope. i try but it’s ultimately pointless 🤷🏻‍♀️

11. are you listening to music right now? 

yes! the only true christmas music: the lost christmas eve from trans-siberian orchestra.

12. what is something you want right now? 

a new place to live? a new place to live. get me out of rural california please.

13. how do you feel right now? 

(physically) cold and slightly determined. hungry, too.

14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you? 

god, i don’t know. i often dream of hugging boys.

15. personality description 

filled with contradictions, soft but fiery, intelligent but sensual, innocent but mature, girlish but also quite tomboyish, i’m also hard on myself; some days it feels like i’ve been alive a thousand years. i have a darkness in me that even surprises me.

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t? 

CONSTANTLY!

17. opinion on insecurities. 

be careful with whom you share them with.

18. do you miss how things were a year ago? 

absolutely not.

19. have you ever been to New York? 

no, i want to, though! one of the main places on my “travel-to” list is the big apple

20. what is your favourite song at the moment? 

florida man blues // alex skolnick trio *laughs maniacally* bleeding me // metallica (i played that on loop as i was wrapping up cold embrace so i’m eternally associating it with that final battle scene 🔥) life is killing me // type o negative time is coming (and also absence of light) // testament fight ‘em ‘til you can’t // anthrax deadly nightshade // joey belladonna wizards in winter // trans-siberian orchestra (everyone is just on fire in that, especially alex)

21. age and birthday? 

28; april 15 😘

22. description of crush.

he’s... an older gentleman. he’s got a ton of character to his face: he’s one of those people who raises his eyebrows and it says a thousand words. he’s tall (compared to me, especially). a little bit of a weight problem, like he’s got bit of a belly just from getting older and having a love of eating (do not blame him in the least for it: i love him with a chubby little tum). he’s very intelligent and well-spoken. he’s jewish: not practicing but definitely in behavior and heritage. oh! and he’s... well. he’s kind of. kind of. just a tiny little bit... going gray. 👀👀👀👀

23. fear(s) 

elevators. that’s it. one of my specialties in writing is gothic horror which exploits the primal fears of humanity: there are some things you just cannot be afraid of.

24. height 

5′7″. if i’m in high heels i’m closer to 5′8″ (when i was growing up my parents thought i was going to be closer to 5′10″)

25. role model 

my grandpa. he was a nuclear scientist and an artist. any questions?

26. idol(s) 

frida kahlo, madame curie, joey belladonna, and chris cornell

27. things i hate 

hypocrisy, plagiarism, lying, not respecting my space or my privacy, reading too much into my words when i’m as straight forward as they come with writing (my brother pulls that shit on me all the time and it drives me nuts), and also: not listening. don’t make me repeat myself, please?

28. i’ll love you if… 

you’re just nice to me? you don’t seem like you’re uncomfortable around me?

29. favourite film(s) 

monty python and the holy grail, midnight in paris (say what you want about woody allen, that movie’s excellent), erin brockovich, ginger snaps, jennifer’s body, once upon a time... in hollywood (one of, if not THE, best movie to come out of the pre-pandemic realm), lady bird, pulp fiction, blazing saddles, night shift, blues brothers, clueless, ghostbusters 1 and 2 (the 2016 one was okay: haven’t seen the latest one but it looks awesome), ratatouille, corpse bride, edward scissorhands, the first wreck-it ralph, scary movie, ferris bueller, american pie, superbad

30. favourite tv show(s) 

forever the simpsons, family guy, bob’s burgers, over the garden wall, ed edd n’ eddy, snl, the office, i guess i’m fucked in the head forever because all i watch is cartoons and comedy 🤪

31. 3 random facts 

i got on tv when i was 9 years old (my dad and i built a trebuchet catapult for the science fair that year; we didn’t win because the judges were cross-eyed but we set it down on the floor and let ‘er rip. this boy with a camera and a young woman came over to me and interviewed me for a show on pbs kids, which i don’t think is on anymore but. still.) i wrote my first short story when i was 6 years old i’ve been making my cartoons 15 years now!

32. are your friends mainly girls or guys?

a little bit of both but i’ve always got on well with fellas better and no, not for the reason you think so put a sock in it. i’ve always been tomboyish and i have a very masculine personality: it allows me to get in that way.

33. something you want to learn 

i want to learn how to knit and how to play bass, too. i can never get back into that academic setting with it, but i’d like to polish up more on my science-y skills. been studying it most of my life but that doesn’t mean i want to stop, though, you know?

34. most embarrassing moment 

*laughs in homelessness and almost od’ing on ibuprofen*

35. favourite subject 

i was always partial on the shop classes (woodshop, metal shop, and my old stained glass class)

36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill?

legitimately publishing a book being able to live as a freelance artist without worrying about whether i’m going to eat tonight or have a home next month travelling to places i actually want to travel to

37. favourite actor/actress 

keanu reeves, al pacino, daniel day-lewis, heath ledger, brittany murphy

38. favourite comedian(s) 

dean delray, jerry seinfeld, lenny bruce, jim gaffigan, jeff dunham

39. favourite sport(s) 

to watch: ice hockey, baseball, f1, tennis, fencing, figure skating, and cycling to take part in: field hockey, lacrosse, softball, skeet shooting, archery (fuuuuuuuuck i miss doing archery!)

40. favourite memory 

meeting chris. right behind that is alex telling me he loves me.

41. relationship status 

who the hell even knows?

42. favourite book(s) 

🖤 dorian gray 🖤

43. favourite song ever 

fade into you by mazzy star, also echoes by pink floyd 

44. age you get mistaken for 

17/18 - my bangs take about 10 years off my face (which is amazing to me because well before i had them, people always mistook me for being the age i am now!)

45. how you found out about your idol 

frida and marie, i had books on when i was a kid: i always thought both women were such badasses. joey, i looked into his brown eyes and saw myself. and chris’ voice lured me in like the venom of a scorpion.

46. what my last text message says 

“k” *burns everything*

47. turn ons 

true intelligence, being musical/artistic, oddities/things that aren’t conventionally attractive like a certain gray stripe, carrying your weight nicely (if you know what i mean)

48. turn offs 

(see things i hate)

49. where i want to be right now 

crater lake! it’s snowing up there as we speak ❄️

50. favourite picture of your idol 

51. starsign 

aries (triple aries, too: my sun, mercury, and venus are all there, plus the asteroid ceres and part of fortune). my moon is aquarius and my ascendant is cancer - have fun astrology nuts!

52. something i’m talented at 

hahahahahahaha

53. 5 things that make me happy 

the aforementioned this guyyyyyyyy! art books the ocean being out in nature

54. something that’s worrying me at the moment 

will i ever get off this fucking mountain?

55. tumblr friends 

...next question...

56. favourite food(s) 

i’m real partial on vietnamese food. all the pho and the ginger: i have a really delicate stomach so i’m always down for something with ginger in it.

57. favourite animal(s) 

owls, ocelots, and orcas

58. description of my best friend 

*sigh*

59. why i joined tumblr 

i wanted to be a part of something greater than myself and knowing my reputation on here, i ponder this constantly.

[bittywitches]

I’m obsessed with the college roommates concept— maybe you’re feelings lonely and kinda sad abt ur love life one night and Grayson offers to take you on a date just for fun as friends but then ~feelings~ happen ☺️

Umm do you mean that one episode in season 8 of friends where Joey takes out pregnant Rachel and gets his crush on her??? Bc yes :))

It’s probably just been one of those weeks, you know? An assload of assignments, tests and exams every other day, most of which you’d completely bombed and were feeling shitty about. You hadn’t had more than 5 hours of sleep a day in like a month, you’d been living off of microwavables and instant noodles, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a sip of water since all your energy has been from coffee. And the kids in all your group projects this semester? Idiots. Selfish pricks. Every single one of them.

So it was needless to say that you were just in one of those moods. It was a Friday night, so things had slowed down enough, finally, but it also finally gave you some time to let yourself think, and god it was not great when you had to think.

It had started as just one of those basic thoughts; “What am doing? Where is this going?” which lead to “Why am I even in college in the first place?” Ending with “Oh my god I’m wasting my life and I’m gonna be alone forever”.

By the time Grayson had made it home that night, you were huddled up in the living room sofa under a blanket, your laptop open in your lap and snacks all over the table a couch while “Isn’t she lovely” by Stevie Wonder played on your phone as you tried your best not to burst into tears at the thought of never finding a boyfriend.

“Whoa, I don’t remember getting my invite to this slumber party.” He laughed, kicking his shoes off and throwing his bag onto the single sofa next to yours.

You slumped your shoulders. “It’s not a slumber party, it’s a pity party.”

“Oh?” He sat himself down on the sofa. “Who for?”

“Me, who else?” You wallowed, stuffing some more popcorn into your mouth.

“Why, did you get marks back?” He asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, a bit concerned at the volume of popcorn you were putting into your mouth with each bite.

“No, but what’s the point? I already know I’m doing bad.” You slumped backwards into the couch, just wishing you could be swallowed by the pillows and cushions.

“Hey,” He placed a hand on your knee, looking at you seriously now. He knew you. Your general melt downs he was used to, but this was different. He could tell something was wrong. “You okay?”

You sighed, grabbing your phone off the counter and pausing the song so you could think straight. “You don’t wanna hear about it.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You sighed, slipping your legs out from under you and dangling them off the couch. “Okay, um..” Grayson’s hand had fallen away, and you suddenly felt like rubbing the spot on your leg where it had been. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been so busy lately, and it’s just gotten me thinking about my life in general. And how I haven’t gone out on a date in like…” You had to stop and think, and started laughing after a few seconds. “In so long I can’t even remember. Wow, god.” You sunk back into the couch. “I miss dating.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Yea?”

“Yeah, you know,” You waved your hands around vaguely. “The whole excitement of it. Getting to dress up and look all nice. Feeling all pretty.” He tilted his head at you, and you shook your head and laughed. “But you know, not that I need the reminder. I’m obviously hot as fuck.” You gestured to yourself, highlighting your nest of hair and your stained sweatshirt. You waited for him to laugh, but he just continued to look at you with that weirdly deep expression.

“What?”

“How about I take you on a date?”

You blinked at him, then started to chuckle, confused. “Huh?”

“You know, as friends. But I’ll give you like, the whole experience.”

You almost spit at that. “The ‘whole experience’?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. We’ll get all dressed up, go out to a nice place for dinner or something.”

You sat up now, your eyes narrowed at him. “Why?”

“Why not? It’s a friday. If you have stuff to do you can always do it later.”

“You know where that mindset gets me, Dolan.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” He smiled. “Plus, you deserve a fun night.”

You scoffed. “Yea, but not with a boyfriend or anything. With my roommate.”

“You think you could do better?”

“Incredibly.”

“God just shut up and go change.”

You laughed. “I— You know what? What the heck.” You got up, and he did with you. “Ah, okay!” You gave him a quick squeeze before running to your room, and his eyes followed after you, a gentle smile on his lips.

…

He’d done the whole shebang. He got dressed in a nice dress shirt and clean black jeans, something you’d actually never seen him wear before. He’d somehow gotten you a bouquet of flowers, which, you weren’t even sure where or how he’d gotten them, because you couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes to get ready. Nonetheless, he truly was the gentleman you had never expected. This was Grayson, the guy you watched old disney movies with and cried with during finals. He was the one you’d eat whole pints of ice cream with and play The Last of Us with and helped you master. He certainly wasn’t the one who was supposed to be complimenting you on your dress and taking you out to nice dinners. But here he was, doing just that.

He’d parked his car and was now escorting you inside this tiny but upscale italian restaurant, simple but elegant. As you entered through the glass door, the dazzling chandelier above the waiting area along with the gorgeous red sconces blew you away.

“Grayson how did you get a place like this on such short notice?” You whispered to him, gripping his arm, a bit intimidated by all the fancy folk waiting inside.

“I know some people.” He responded, a small smile on his lips.

You slapped his arm. “As if, you don’t even know the name of the Starbucks barista on campus.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t you let me be cool?” You stared at him waiting for the response, and he sighed. “This place is fairly new. Not that many people know about it yet, so it’s pretty easy to get a reservation.”

“How’d you know about it then?”

“Found it when I was looking for a place to take Sarah to.”

“Oh my god that girl from your Kinesiology class?” You looked at him with wide eyes and a grin on your face. “No way! I didn’t think you’d grow the balls to ask her out.”

“Hey,” He said, but you laughed. “Well, I haven’t exactly asked her yet. I was just checking it out.”

“Well either way, she’s going to love this place, it’s so extravagant.” You made it to the front and Grayson informed the woman standing there of his reservation. She escorted you both inside and brought you to a table next to one of the windows. She’d dropped off two glasses of water and menus for you both to look at in the meantime. You peaked at the one in front of you, and your eyes grew again.

“Gray, did you happen to look at the prices before coming here?”

“Don’t worry, I’m buying.” He flipped through his casually, as if he wasn’t exasperated at the large numbers printed on the cards.

“Are you serious? What are you, made of money?”

“Hey, I promised you a fun night, right? I can make a few sacrifices.”

A young man came up to your table, and you both gave him your order. You ended up choosing the cheapest thing on the menu, because a) you didn’t want to be too much of a burden on Grayson, but also b) you barely knew what any of it was anyways. He left, you both chatted for a bit, and he returned with your meals, both of them being some sort of pasta that you were a bit embarrassed about not knowing the differences between.

Grayson didn’t really know that much either, to be quite honest, but for some reason he felt the need to impress you with this place. And he was pretty giddy about the fact that it was working.

But throughout this, you had kept staring at him, frankly a bit shocked at the whole situation you both were in. You had to shake your head to get your thoughts straight, but ended up giggling. “So, you always this sweet with the girls you take out on dates?”

He bit his cheek, but decided to play along, lowering his fork and leaning in towards you to hear you over the chatter in the restaurant. “Why, you interested?”

“No, just curious what it is that Grayson Dolan pulls to get a girl.” You crossed your arms on the table, on elbow propped up with your chin resting on your hand. “Tell me, you have any moves?”

He laughed. “What, that I just use with every girl?”

“Don’t act so modest. There’s gotta be something. What gets them drooling?” You asked a playful smile on your lips.

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food. “Okay fine, um.” He cleared his throat. “It usually starts out the same, I ask them about themself. Where they’re from, what they do— like, okay. What do you like to do in your spare time?”

You snorted. “Are we doing this? Are we playing this out?”

“Yesss, go with it.”

You laughed. “Okay, uh well. I like to paint sometimes.”

“Yea? What kind of stuff?”

“Well I used to do more traditional stuff, my parents were really into those pretty realism paintings. I’d do flowers and fruits and whatever, but every since, I guess junior year of high school, I’ve been doing more pop art pieces? And a lot more self-indulgent stuff. And I…” You trailed off, realizing you were rambling, but also realizing that Grayson had his soft eyes fixed on yours.

“What?”

His eyes widened a little, as if you’d shook him out of a daze, and he chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, uh... “ He smiled. “Your eyes are really pretty.”

Your face flushed a little bit, and you looked away from him, taking a sip of water to use it as your excuse. “Ah, thank you.”

He shook his head. “Anyways, so do you still do pop art now? Or has it changed since you’ve started college?”

You blinked at him, then covered your mouth as you opened it in slight shock. “Wow, that was really good.”

He laughed. “Yea?”

“The eye thing was good on it’s own but to know you were actually listening to me? I’m impressed.” You nodded in approval.

He tilted his head, chuckling. “Thank you, thank you.” He took another bite of food before continuing. “So what about you? You have any moves?”

You snorted again. “Gray, I barely go out on enough dates in the first place, much less enough to establish any moves.”

“Why are you always so modest? You can tell me you know.”

You laughed. “Yeah duh I know, but I’m genuinely serious this time. I don’t get asked out all that often.” You shrugged. “It’s why I get excited when I do get to go on dates. It’s fun.”

Grayson was the one who couldn’t help but stare now. He blinked at you, unable to really comprehend what you were saying to him. How could people not want to ask you out? You were incredible. Looking at you now, your hair up in a dainty bun, a few curls falling down the sides of your face; your pretty off the shoulder dress that matched your deep magenta-maroon lipstick. And he wasn’t lying about your eyes, they really were so pretty. They sparkled, even more so when you were laughing. Which was usually accompanied by your scrunched up nose, making you look like a cute little bunny. He smiled at the thought, as he loved seeing that expression on your face.

“Huh.” he said out loud then, not realizing when it was he had starting noticing your small actions like that so much.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him, and suddenly, seeing those same eyes he always saw staring at him, he felt almost light headed. His face felt warm, seeing you look at him like that. He was almost afraid that you could see what he was thinking. But why would that be a problem unless…

Grayson slowly widened his eyes. Did he seriously have feelings for Y/N?

“Nothing, sorry.” He said with a smile, looking back down at his food. Sure, he’d always thought you were amazing. You were gorgeous, sure, and you made him laugh. And yea he loved hanging out with you, watching movies and playing video games, and he adored being your roommate, having late night conversations and spending all your free time together…

He wanted to mentally smack himself in the face. Shit, he had feelings for you.

This was going to be a long night.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Foresighted

[Wing AU; Tour!Verse]

i was thinking about this duo again and just poor tour!Joey dealing with her shitty future sight, so i whipped this up super fast while eating cookie dough!!

EB belongs to @spooner7308! I am really sorry if I butchered her 

Word count: 1311

-------------------

Joan awoke crying.

She stared up at the ceiling, perfectly still, as if she were afraid that the bonds of her nightmare would pounce on her and snare her in its hellish grasp once again if she were to move.

Her vision bled at the edges, darkness seeping into the corners, the scarlet splatter of fresh blood burned into the back of her eyelids. Her breathing hitched, a whimper escaping her mouth unwittingly.

It was all she could see. Blood. Blood and a body, crumpled at her feet like a broken doll, throat slashed open wide and goddesses it’s too real, it’s too familiar--

Joan curled into a ball, pulling her wings over her head like a feeble shield. She knew, though, that they could not block out the visions. Nothing ever stopped them from shoving their way into her head, tainting her mind with their horror, warping her thoughts until it was the only thing she could think about.

Well. There was one thing that helped…

No. Their friendship was still so new. She couldn’t do this to her, trouble her with her nightmarish power. 

But-- 

Goddesses, she couldn’t be alone. Not after what she saw.

So, so lurched out of bed, ran out of her apartment, and flew to the vulture’s nest.

------

EB was not one to get scared. Not after she had been tortured and hung. But a stick-thin hybrid slamming into her window at two in the morning? That was enough to make her nearly jump out of her own skin.

She had approached the window cautiously, claws brandished and feathers standing on end, but loosened up when she saw who was outside.

  “WHAT the FUCK.” 

Joan’s thin, awkward body spilled in through the window like a puddle of hybrid, weird wings stretched out on the floor, even weirder tail lying like a dead snake behind her. Then, her big ears folded back and she whimpered sharply.

  “Oh no,” EB snapped. “You are NOT getting out of this by crying. Not this time!” She wouldn’t be admitting that saying that kinda rude statement made her heart clench up slightly in guilt. Nobody needed to know that part. “What the HELL are you DOING?! It is TWO in the GODDAMN MORNING! Some of us are TRYING to SLEEP!!”

Apparently she wasn’t thinking about her neighbors at the moment.

Joan made another woebegone noise on the floor. EB thought she wasn’t going to move, but then the hybrid lunged at her, threw her arms around her, and buried her face against her stomach, which was enough to make her flare her crest in surprise. She could feel growing wetness on her nightshirt, and that was enough to snuff out her irritation and replace it with worry.

  “Woah, kid,” EB set her hands on Joan’s shoulders to try and push her back so she could look at her face, but Joan audibly whined and dug her claws into her back. She winced. “Hey. It’s alright.”

A great, shuddering sob wrenched from Joan’s throat, and EB instinctively wrapped her wings around her, hoping it would be able to hold her together when she was so clearly falling apart.

  “I’m going to move you to the bed, alright? It’ll be a lot more comfortable than the floor.”

Joan didn’t answer, but she also didn’t say no, so EB took it as a good enough sign to scoop her up and make the short trek over to the bed. Upon climbing in next to her, Joan burrowed into her side and sobbed again.

  “Talk to me, love.” EB urged gently. She was still new to this comforting thing, but Joan’s crying hadn’t gotten any worse, so she thought she was doing well enough. “Let me help.”

  “Don’t--don’t--” Joan’s entire body heaved as she tried to speak. Her frail lungs couldn’t take both crying and talking at the same time. Hell, they could barely function when she was flying (EB had learned that she avoided going on flies with her because she actually couldn’t fly for long periods of time and also made “weird wheezy noises that she would make fun of”). 

  “Hey. Take a breath.” EB said.

  “Don’t go to work tomorrow.”

EB blinked. “What?”

Joan took a shuddering gasp, then broke into a coughing fit. EB thumped her on the back to help her along, maybe patting a bit too hard.

  “Don’t--work-- You can’t--”

EB blinked again, and then realization dawned on her.

  “Did you have a vision?”

Joan whimpered and nodded.

  “Aww. It’s sweet that you care about me, but I’ll be fine.”

  “NO!!”

Joan’s shrill tone of voice made EB jump. Stubby, chewed down claws dug into her arm and side as Joan clung to her for dear life.

  “You can’t! You can’t go! You can’t, EB, you’ll-- you’ll--” She broke down into sobs once more.

EB frowned. She knew how false visions were after hers got her killed, but then again she wasn’t exactly a Vesper, which could legitimately predict the future… But she also knew damn well what she saw was real... 

She shook her head. No. Those alleged ‘moon powers’ were bullshit and made up by pretentious Vespers to try and seem better than everyone else. Nothing was set in stone.

But maybe she should stay home. Just for Joan’s sake, of course.

  “Please, please, please, please,” Joan wept.

  “Hey. Hey, shh,” EB wrapped a wing around her, which she nuzzled into. “If it messes you up that bad, I’ll stay home.”

  “Please, please,” Joan begged.

  “I am. Don’t worry.” EB pulled the small hybrid in closer. “But you can’t always believe what you see. You’re going to stress yourself to death one day, I swear.” She grimly remembered when Joan didn’t eat for a full week because she was too busy trying to track the exact moment some random event would happen when she wasn’t performing. She pushed everything aside, even EB herself (which she would NOT admit that it stung a little; she just wasn’t used to not having the company of the scrappy little thing after her trailing after her like a lost duckling for awhile now, that’s all). “And what for, kid? Your visions aren’t exactly very accurate most of the time.”

Joan paused her crying to look offended. “Th-that’s not true!”

EB snorted. “Remember that time you said a freak storm was going to hit and the show would be cancelled but then it never happened and half of the crew was late to a performance because they slept in?”

Joan blushed. “Umm--”

  “Or that time you kept me from getting a new tattoo because, and I quote, ‘the bluebird doing it is going to hit on you and then stab you in the neck once you’re vulnerable.’”

  “I-I don’t--”

  “Or that time you INSISTED on staying at my apartment with me because you had to make sure there was no homeless guy underneath my bed, but I, personally, think you were just lonely and wanted to stay over for company.”

  “Okay! Okay!” Joan shielded her bright red face in her wings. “My visions are bad, okay…”

EB chuckled. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Visions suck anyway.”

Joan looked a tad bit wounded at that. “Yeah…” She mumbled. “I just-- I thought they made me special...”

EB bumped her gently. “You don’t need visions to be special, dumbass.”

Despite the swear, Joan smiled weakly. Then, it faded in a near instant and she said, “B-but what if something I see comes true?”

  “Well, did you see me smothering you in my wings right now?”

  “No?”

  “There you go.” EB said, and then smothered Joan in her wings. In the mass of feathers, Joan giggled softly. 

  “Ooh, are you growing mammary feathers?” 

  “OKAY--” EB flung the little hybrid out of her wings, causing her to giggle again, this time louder. 

  “No, no, I definitely saw something!” Joan said, then rubbed her temples like she was some kind of stereo typical psychic on TV. “Yes. I see very fluffy wings in your near fu-- OOF!!”

EB whacked her onto her back with one of her wings. “Oi. None of that shit. It’s stupid.”

Joan crawled back over to her side. “I won’t be wrong this time.” She said, flashing her a grin. It was wry and thin, but a grin nonetheless.

  “We’ll see about that.” EB said. “If you’re staying, get comfortable. And don’t steal my blanket this time!”

  “Now THAT is a future I know won’t happen.” Joan said.

EB groaned. “Great. Now the psychic jokes begin.”

  “You love me.” 

EB squinted at her. “Somehow.” She said. “You’re going to have to pay for your crimes against humanity the more you steal my shit, though. I’m going to start charging you for rent.”

  “I don’t see that happening in the fu--”

  “Enough of that!”

[swimyghost]

Possum Chemistry

A backstory about Martha and Steve nobody asked for yet here we are. Rubi and Marie belong to @self-insert-nonsense so fuck yeah.

---

Rubi grunted as she tossed the garbage bag into the bin. She rolled his shoulder a few times before making her way back to the painting awaiting her in her studio.

He can work with dead bodies but garbage? Noooo, that's too 'unhygienic'. 

She sighed. Rubi genuinely loved her husband despite all the crimes against humanity that took place in their shed on a daily basis and the aura of superiority he always liked to exude, but his lack of care for basic household chores was starting to get on her nerves.

She opened the backdoor to get back inside when he heard a pair of happy squeaks. Rubi turned her gaze behind her. In the distance was a pair of opossums happily walking side by side. One of them was considerably larger than the other and had a tired gaze while the other one had a tuft of hair in front of their eyes. The larger one suddenly ran ahead, leaving the tuff-haired possum by her lonesome. The possum disappeared into the bushes and reappeared with a fresh daisy in their mouth. A series of happy trills exploded from the other possum as they happily accepted their gift. The two briefly touched noses, causing a bashful stare between them, before they continued their walk into the forest, this time with the flower in tow. 

Oh my fucking God, that's the cutest thing I've ever seen. Rubi thought, her mind growing fuzzy at the idea of her husband Herbert doing something similar.

"It is, isn't it?"

Startled, Rubi leaped to the side, afraid someone had broken into her yard. Instead, she saw that a dirty blonde-haired teen was leaning over her fence, their arms crossed with their head resting between them. Several possum joeys scurried all over their worn red sweatshirt, eagerly looking at their surroundings. Rubi sighed before glaring at the teenager.

"It's not nice to scare people, Neighbor... Or read minds for that matter," Rubi said, hesitantly adding the last part of that sentence.

"I'm sorry and I can't read minds," Neighbor corrected, "I only knew what you were thinking because your face was like an open book."

Rubi blushed but Neighbor continued, "Though I have to agree with you, Martha and Steve are adorable. Yeah, they're adorable all year round but they get extra adorable on this day."

"What's today?" Rubi asked.

Carefully hopping the fence, Neighbor answered her question, "It's their anniversary. That's why I'm watching the joeys."

The aforementioned baby possums eagerly reached out to grab Rubi's black locks as she blinked in surprise. "It's their anniversary? Why didn't they tell me? I could've drawn something for them!"

If you would've told me three years ago I would be upset that I didn't know the anniversary of a pair of possums, I would've called you crazy. Rubi said internally, slowly realizing how weird the situation was. She was brought back to reality as one of the joeys yanked on her hair.

"They probably forgot and it's not my place to share their personal business so I didn't say anything," Neighbor explained.

Rubi nodded, glancing back at the forest. She wished she would have taken a picture of that moment so she could shove it in Herbert's face. Was it so wrong that she wanted her husband to be just as romantic as Steve?

"Wanna know how they got together?"

"There's a story behind that?" Rubi questioned.

"Yes, but it's long so I think you should sit down." Neighbor said. 

Rubi did just that, letting herself be overwhelmed with baby possums. Neighbor took their place beside her and let out a smile.

"It took place a couple of years ago..."

---

Martha knew she wasn't young anymore. That was not implying she was ancient, but her younger sisters from an even younger litter already had begun courting some jacks while she barely found any man tolerable. Her mother had told her that she was too picky but she couldn't help it; she wanted a real man, not a scoundrel. It also didn't help that human television had ruined her idea of love. She wanted a jack to sweep her off her paws and be there to tend to her every whim. Martha knew she was being too demanding, but seeing Mr. Darcy fall deeply in love with Elizabeth after spending so long trying to be the type of snobbish man both she and Elizabeth loathed filled her heart with joy and a desire to have that type of romance. 

Her mother had called her a cotton-headed fool, but Martha thought of herself as a hopeless romantic.

The jill had already made a home for herself in an old badger set, filling her home with human trinkets and flowers. Every day was the same routine: wake up either when the sun was high or when it had set and began to forage or hunt, bring the meal back home and get, go back out and forge some more, stop by the nearby creek and get a drink, see if any of the nearby humans are watching something interesting on the television, then go home. It was a simple routine, but it made her happy. The only part of her day that she dreaded was drinking from the creek.

The creek was often the gathering spot from hotheaded jacks. As most possums her age and younger were burdened with the task of single-handedly raising the joeys, she was often the lone female in a cloud of raging testosterone. She felt appalled by the sort of things they would discuss, such as having slept with multiple jills, attacking humans for the fun of it, and purposely starting fights with the possum's rivals, the raccoons. All that talk reminded her of her brother, who was single like her but it was his own decision. 

That all changed one day when she met a special jack. 

It was a warmer night and the sun was still barely peeking out from beyond the horizon, but Martha was rather thirsty. The heat was getting to all of the animals of the forest, including her. She decided to make a quick detour to the creek to simply drink and wash up before going to forage for grubs. Martha was careful not to be out in the open as it was dangerous for any marsupial to be seen by a predator such as a coyote or a fox. Once she reached the stream, the peaceful lull of the swift waters slapping against the rocks were shattered the high-pitched, crude laughter of nearby jacks. They situated themselves atop a nearby hill and were acting like hooligans, shoving each other and daring one another to leap into the waters below. They would occasionally tear into a vole or squirrel, letting bits of meat and blood drip from their jaws and onto the floor. Martha viewed them as savages. 

The jill quickly began her descent into the creek and let the water rest on the bottom of her stomach. The chill was relaxing and even though she had to tune out the immature calls from the males above, Martha was still enjoying the refreshing sensation. As she was trying to quickly finish up her bath, she saw him.

He was an older jack, probably only a moon or two older then she was. He was much larger than the other jacks, both in size and in weight, and held a sleepy gaze the entire time he padded towards the shore across from Martha. Although he held a tired demeanor, once he plunged his muzzle into the waters, Martha could see the kindness and intellect behind his brown eyes. His lovely gray and white fur was well groomed, not like the jacks that were sneering at both him and her above the pair and other males Martha had met. He seemed so gentle, carefully sitting himself down to get the best drink he could. Martha was instantly smitten.

She kept her eyes on him longer than she intended to as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Embarrassed, the jill dove out of the water and raced away. She could faintly hear the taunts of the other males, but the look the larger male had given her set Martha's heart ablaze. She had done it, she finally met the one she was destined to be with. Her Mr. Darcy. Her Jack Dawson. Her Rick Blaine. 

But she knew she couldn't just rush these things. Human television had taught her she had to be slow, but affirmative. That's why she arrived at the same time the next day, eagerly to meet her potential suitor. She ignored the calls of the jacks who happened to appear as well and only waited for her beloved. However, despite the fact she waited almost an entire evening, he never showed up. Martha was puzzled. Perhaps he was busy doing something else? The forest was a large place after all so it wouldn't be surprising if he got caught up in other affairs. So, after having a quick bite to eat, Martha returned home hoping tomorrow would give her something different. But it was the same thing that day too. Same as the next day, and the day after that, and then the next. Five sunrises had passed and Martha still hadn't met her soulmate again. Her mother's words rang in her head: a cotton-headed fool. Perhaps she had invented the jack to fill the void in her heart. Martha was even more lonely than she started out with. On the sixth day, she decided to start her regular routine up again, although she was much more somber. When she finally reached the creek, she was surprised to see that the subject of her affections was laying across the creek nibbling on a circular human food item. It looked like bread but the jill wasn't too sure. Whatever he was eating didn't matter to her, the jack was here and she was going to make a good first impression. Well, a good second impression, Martha remembered had awkwardly fled the first time they met. She groomed herself to perfection behind a tree before stepping out. Martha tried her best to seem nonchalant yet interested at the same time, like a human jill in one of those human television programs where everyone wore fancy suits and dresses (Martha hoped to one day wear a dress as pretty as those jills wore). Martha made her way to the creek, one eye on the jack, and started to drink. Although she tried to appear uncaring, she couldn't help but grow flustered every time he laid eyes on her. It was like her body was set ablaze by the fires of passion.

This went on for several days. The jack's odd schedule never made any sense to Martha, but she loved the days when the two would sneak looks at each other from across the creek. While the forbidden love aspect was romantic at first, the invisible border between them was growing larger and larger every day. Martha was confused about the next course of action. All of the human stories told her that their relationship would form naturally but it just felt stagnant. Martha didn't wanna lose this jack. She barely knew him, yes, but that's why she wanted to get together with him, to know everything about the lovely man she had fallen in love with. That's why she had decided to turn to The Old Ways. In the Deep Forest was said to house a being older than time itself. It heard all and had the answers. All it asked for was one thing: a vegetable. 

Martha, desperate for answers, found herself a wild radish and began the trek into the deep part of the forest, deeper than most animals dared to venture. The sun began to rise and she knew that predators would rise as well. The forest grew thick with ancient trees and plants twice the size of her. Every noise set her heart racing again. The scent of a fox, coyote, and other strange creatures filled her nostrils once she padded over a log that was a natural bridge over a stream. Mud caked her body and she could feel herself heaving. A cotton-headed fool was the only type of animal who would do something like this, search for a being that might not even exist. Martha thought about turning around for the several hundredth time that whole journey but she couldn't. Not after all this time.

A crack of a twig shot her back to the present. Martha dropped the radish from her jaws and let out a long hiss, but it felt fake; the exhaustion was too strong. Martha was afraid because if she needed to run, she'd be dead.

Instead of a fox or coyote, a long-legged deer with the largest antlers Martha had ever seen stepped out. He looked young, but he had an aura of wisdom that radiated off him. He was bulky, but not overly muscular. His green eyes were teeming with hidden knowledge. He lowered him to Martha's level, offering her to climb on his back. Martha eagerly scrambled onto him, making sure to grab to radish before they took off. The deer didn't run, more liked glided across the forest floor. Leaves were kicked up in the air and floated around them like dancers. Martha was amazed by how bright everything suddenly became once they reached a circular pond surrounded by mossy trees and stones. The deer lowered itself, letting Martha slide off his back. Her body moved on autopilot. She walked towards to edge of the bottomless pool of water, dropped the radish in, and waited.

What is your question, marsupial? A voice erupted from the ground. 

Martha leaped back in terror. Was it a monster? After a few moments, the rumbling stopped and carefully crept back to the edge and asked her question.

Your love will blossom only if the boundaries are shattered and words are spoken. Gazes hold little to the power of speech. That is all.

The voice disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Martha was left with more questions than answers but the strange deer already has lowered back down, signaling it was time to go. Martha more hesitantly crept back on and the deer took off once more. The possum watched the unusual pond until it disappeared from sight. Martha noticed it had become dark and was surprised to see the moon and the stars. She wanted to ask the deer if time had really passed so fast but felt like she was already messing with something beyond her understanding.

The deer stopped at a certain point in the forest as if it were blocked by an invisible force. The jill thanked the deer, stepped off, and made her way home. It was midnight when she finally reached her den. Too exhausted to bother with appearances, Martha collapsed in her nest of moss and ferns. The only thing on the jill's mind was going to see the jack of her dreams. She would go to the creek once she did two things: make herself look presentable and find him a gift. Once she awoke to the sun high in the sky, only then did she notice a faint glow around her. Martha was worried, but not worried enough to miss her chance. She didn't care if she was a cotton-headed fool or blinded by love, Martha was going to make him her's and become his jill. After savaging around, she found a strange human food item by their silver cans of waste. A folded-over piece of flatbread with cheese, meats, and other cut vegetables. The scent made her mouth water, but she grabbed it and rushed over to the creek. She was ready to cross when someone strange was standing by her usual spot.

It was the jack, equally as well-groomed as she was and holding a gift, a branch covered it ripe wild berries. He too had the odd glow around him as well.

The two stared at each other. Martha's heart was pounding. Everything was perfect; the sounds of the creek, the sunlight cutting through the tree branches, the lack of anyone else, animal or human. It was perfect, all of it was. She just needed to step forward. However, the jack moved up first, setting the branch down and nosing it toward her. Martha nearly fainted on the spot. 

The two began to talk. Well, Martha spent most of the time talking. The jack, who she learned was named Steve (a wonderful name for such a handsome man), was a quiet soul but every time he spoke it was with purpose and he always added something to the conversation. Martha learned that his strange schedule was due to his strange sleep affliction in which he often found himself unable to sleep but when he could, would sleep for a long time. Steve had asked if she disliked him now. Martha was surprised as she had no reason to dislike him, he was perfect in her eyes. After their several hours-long chat, they simply sat pressed against each other, watching the water run by.

This became a common occurrence as the days slipped into weeks and into months. The time spent together was wonderful and Martha wanted it to last forever. However, spring had come after fall and winter became almost like a distant memory when she learned of her pregnancy. jills always knew when they were expecting, Martha's mother told her, and Martha was no different. All the signs had been there. The only problem she had was with Steve. It wasn't technically Steve, but males of the possum species had little to do with their babies. The jacks on creek's hill had all had babies but did nothing for them. Instead, they chase the next pretty face they saw. Martha knew it was selfish, but she wanted to stay with Steve. She didn't want him to leave her. So, despite wanting to see him, she decided to stay home and prepare a nest. Although her babies would go into her pouch and stay there for two and a half moons, she felt it necessary to be ready for anything. Besides, she needed to keep her mind off of Steve.

But the day soon came where she needed to visit him. She knew it wasn't fair for Steve to be left in the dark, especially since none of this was entirely his fault. So, on a calm spring morning, Martha nervously made the trek to the creek. Of course, Steve was waiting for her. He had been waiting for her all this time. The usually rational and collected Steve began to fret over the expecting mother, worried that something had happened to her. Martha's heart broke when she saw the worry in his eyes. Finally, once both of them all calmed down, Martha began to speak. She told him about the pregnancy, how far along she was, and her fears. She told him how she dreamed of meeting a man just like him and how she was so afraid to lose him. However, Martha told him that she couldn't make him stay and that, if he wanted to leave, he could and that she wouldn't hold it against him. Silence filled the clearing. All Martha could feel was his gaze on her. Her breathing grew louder but she tried to remain calm.

Suddenly, Steve pressed himself against Martha. Although he didn't say anything, the message was clear. Steve was going to stay, no matter what. Martha let out several happy squeaks and trills and buried her muzzle in his fur. Even Steve let out a couple of excited chirps. Once the two pulled away, the pair touched their noses together, excitedly waiting to see what the future held for the both of them.

---

"Wait, why was their love forbidden? And I never thought you'd be so... Detailed." Rubi said once the story came to a close.

"Well, blame Martha," Neighbor explained. "She's the one who always said it was forbidden because of the symbolism of them being split by the creek or whatever. Personally, I'm just happy Steve stayed. Martha is such a happy possum and I'd be sad to see her sad."

"Me too." Rubi agreed, stroking the back of a black-tufted joey. 

As if it was their cue, Steve and Martha slipped under the fence with Martha calling out to her babies. The joeys let go of Rubi and Neighbor and eagerly rushed towards their parents. Steve didn't make any noise as his children began to climb all over him. Martha chirped at Rubi and Neighbor, seemingly smiling at them.

"What did she say?" The older woman asked.

"Martha says thank you for watching her babies and that it was a wonderful anniversary. They have to go home though, it's growing late for the joeys." Neighbor translated.

The possums said their goodbyes (according to Neighbor) and left the yard. Neighbor stood up and stretched.

"I need to go home too. Mom's making a pot roast tonight. Don't you have to take care of Marie?" 

"Marie's with her grandmother," Rubi said, waving to Neighbor. "Have a good dinner! Thank you for the story."

"It’s no big deal. Later."

With a quick hop over the fence, Neighbor was gone. Rubi took this time to enter the shed. It was covered with science equipment and tools such as hammers and bone saws, but Rubi already knew how to maneuver around the well-lit area. Her black-haired husband didn't look up from his work, but already knew who it was.

"Hello, dear. What did you do today?"

"Painted mostly," Rubi said, wrapping her arms around Herbert's neck in a loose hug. "With Marie gone, it's easier to work without having to worry about her eating something."

"Well, that's certainly a plus," Herbert said, glancing up at Rubi before looking back down at the dull gray-skinned body in front of him.

"It was also Steve and Martha's anniversary today. Neighbor told me the story of how they met."

"Martha?" Herbert quickly looked up after hearing the name of his favorite possum. "Is she upset with me?"

"No, she and Steve didn't tell us and they weren't upset when I saw them. They looked very happy, actually."

"That's good. I was afraid I needed to whip up a hastily made gift for them." Herbert sighed in relief.

Rubi made a noncommittal hum, making circles with her finger around her husband's collar bone. "Herbert."

"Yes, dear?"

"I wanna have another baby."

"Well, I think that can certainly be arran- Wait, what?"

[quaylinsims]

I was excited to meet Mr. Baldwin's family. I was sure such a kind and gentle man would have wonderful children, and I was looking forward to putting a face to the lovely lady who had been writing to me for months.

Mr. Baldwin had sent me extra money for travel expenses and some train tickets that would take me to upstate New York. I silently thanked the gods I didn't believe in that I didn't have asthma in this life and cursed them that I had to ride in a train pulled by a coal-powered steam engine. Gross.

The trip was long, and I was relieved when I found myself on a station platform again.

Mr. Baldwin sent Lizzy Baden, the governess, to greet me. She was a stern and capable governess, and she was chiefly involved with tending to the youngest Baldwin, as the others were advancing in their studies to where they would need experienced tutors. I rarely saw her without seeing Joseph, the pre-school aged son (though the time didn't have pre-school).

When we got to the house, I was immediately taken into the parlor where I finally met Mrs. Baldwin. We sat and talked for a little while before she sent me up to bed. Maggie, the housekeeper, had shown me the way.

It wasn't until the next day that I met Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin's children. There was William, the oldest. He was a bit of a perfectionist and a bookworm, but too serious for a child on the verge of adolescence, in my view. Joseph, or Joey, was a cute little boy, sweet but also quite shy.

And then there was David. He was a few years younger than William, about my age, or rather, the age of the child's body I inhabited. I could tell he was clever, but he had a knack for mischief. I quickly learned that his target was almost always William, who just tried to ignore him.

But when I came, I became a frequent target of his less than gentle side. I enjoyed the feel of the grass between my toes, and he took that opportunity to make fun of me, asking: "Didn't my father buy you any shoes?"

He proceeded to insinuate all sorts of horrible things, always coming back to the fact that I was there and taken care of due to his father's generosity. He always said these things out of earshot of the adults.

At first, I was hurt and angry at his bullying. But I remembered that bullies usually bully because of something they feel lacking in themselves. I wondered if he was feeling jealous of the attention I got from his father. I never asked, and I kept his cruelties a secret.

I did my best to steer clear of him that summer, mostly enjoying the company of Mrs. Baldwin.

Occasionally, Mr. Baldwin would invite me into his study, which no one was allowed into without permission. Noting my successes at school (I would have to purposely get some answers wrong to avoid being made fun of by some of the girls), he would let me borrow books and teach me to play chess.

Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin noticed I wasn't exactly having fun at their home that summer. To my knowledge, they never knew about David picking on me. I believe they merely thought I was lonely without other girls to play with.

They tried inviting their friends and their daughters over for play dates, but I never found the girls very interesting. They were, after all, children. And girls in the 19th century. None read the newspaper or cared about it. They wanted to play with dolls and talk about what kinds of husbands they wanted. I asked one, Becky Hanson, whether she wanted to have a career. She gave me a look like I was crazy, and she and her mother left early.

I mostly read outside in the yard, thankful that I didn't have allergies anymore. Or I would walk into town with Maggie or Mrs. Baldwin.

When the long summer ended, I made the decision that I would not return for a while.

The school eventually gave me my own room as I got older. It provided plenty of breathing room and light to read by.

I continued trying to find a way home, but my visits to the bookstore were more frequently to find entertainment than anything else, and I rarely read the newspaper for anything other than current affairs.

They brought in a piano and a tutor, and I took up playing. When I wasn't reading or pretending to study, I was playing the piano. Eventually, I began teaching the basics to the younger girls.

Then I began tutoring the girls who needed extra help. Eventually, by the time I was "17," I was teaching entire lessons, bringing in some of the experience I'd had before landing in this century.

Look at me looking all teacheriffic!

Anyway, that year, Mr. Baldwin sent me a letter:

Dearest Emma, Mrs. Baldwin and I wish you would come around more. I understand it can be a taxing journey, but we do so miss you. We will be staying at home for this year's Christmas festivities, and we would enjoy it immensely if you joined us for the celebrations. Oh yes, William has decided to join me in my investitures. He is so serious, though. I wonder if he will be able to take any worthwhile risks. But that is between you and me. I hope to see you soon, Mr. Henry Baldwin

I sighed. It had been over eight years since I had last been there, and I was still the recipient of the Mr. Baldwin's generosity. I had kept exchanging letters with him and Mrs. Baldwin, and they nearly felt like family. Returning for Christmas wasn't too big an ask.

I made sure to have some nice clothes made. I still did not like the styles women wore, so I often persuaded the seamstresses to make my skirts smaller, more Edwardian. They didn't need to know I was basing my own personal style on a later time period. I made an exception for the dress I would wear on Christmas and to any holiday festivities I would be invited to.

There was already some snow on the ground when I arrived. It was much more beautiful than the dusty, dirty city snow in Philadelphia, though at least there weren't any gas and/or oil-powered engines running down the streets yet.

I had seen myself from the train to the house, and I was greeted warmly by most of the Baldwins. William was now a young man, and Joey was much bigger than I remembered him being. Almost a teenager! David mostly kept a distance. At least he didn't mock me anymore.

The first time I sat down to play the piano in the living room, everything else seemed to go quiet. When I was finished, three Baldwins and Lizzy Baden all applauded.

"I'll get a man in here right away to tune that piano," Mrs. Baldwin promised.

The man came just in time for Christmas. There were a few different parties held at the Baldwin home: one for friends, one for Mr. Baldwin's colleagues, and a more intimate one.

I played for all of them, much to the delight of Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin. I even got a "Not bad" from David! That in itself was a gift.

I returned to Philadelphia in January and continued teaching.

[puzzlebros]

How to Keep a Pharaoh

So, a Yugioh How to Keep a Mummy au. Credit for the original idea of this goes to @gamebro-advance

So Yugi, is the main character and Grandpa is always out exploring the world and sending weird and often dangerous gifts back to Yugi. Yugi lives with his Aunt Mai.

So Grandpa sends a huge version of Golden Sarcophagus to Yugi. It’s delivered on it’s side. Yugi’s ready for something dangerous to pop out, but the lid falls to the ground and there is a tiny Atem, dressed in his full pharaoh regalia, looking up at him with a challenging expression.

Even though he’s tiny, Yugi is still half expecting him to be dangerous so he tries to prod Atem back into the sarcophagus, but Atem is having none of it and keeps escaping.

Atem through gestures shows that he’s willing to help with chores in order to stay and Yugi’s like, you’re a bit small, but I guess you can try, which Atem does but he’s unable to life a broom or wash the dishes and he seems so dejected that Yugi finds a way for him to help cook.

Finally Yugi accepts that I guess this tiny person is going to stay, so he needs a name, which is when Yugi’s pet Kuriboh, another one of his grandpa’s finds comes bouncing in and demands Yugi’s attention. Atem isn’t pleased and crawls all over Yugi trying to get Yugi’s attention back on him.

Eventually Yugi gets them both settled down and names Atem, well, Atem, cause didn’t grandpa mention that was some great pharaoh’s name?

Mai comes out and claims the sarcophagus for herself. She sleeps in it.

Then Yugi’s childhood friend, Seto comes over. Hear me out. In this universe his and Mokuba’s parents don’t die, so Seto still has his smarts and his slightly cool demeanor, but he hasn’t had the influence of Kozuburo Kaiba. Yugi approached him as a kid and he decided he needed to take care of this smol, innocent child.

Anyway, Seto shows up and Yugi shows him Atem. In the anime the friend tries to unwrap the mummie’s bandages. Atem doesn’t have that, so instead Seto tries to take him millenium puzzle. Yugi scolds Seto so he stops. Seto and Atem still have a few glaring matches though.

So, Yugi adopts Atem. At first he leaves Atem home when he goes to school and Atem tries to be strong, but he just misses his aibou so much so he ends up crying himself into severe dehydration every time. After a few days of this, Yugi starts bringing Atem to school, which makes Seto want to smack him, because you’re going to get caught, idiot.

Yugi tells Atem that when people are around, he needs to act like a doll. Tea sees Atem, thinks he’s a doll, gushes over how cute he is, and asks if she can have one. Yugi, unable to say no, says he’ll make her one. So he makes several fake Atem’s. Atem is investigating them when Tea shows up so of course he pretends to be a doll. The problem is Tea grabs the real Atem.

After a lot of shenanigans, they get Atem back. And give Tea an actual doll.

A few days pass and a duel spirit, Blue Eyes White Dragon, a smol version, starts following Seto around. Seto is having none of it, but blue eyes is determined. Seto is all tsundere about it, but after the blue eyes sneaks into his house several times he basically lets it hang around.

Seto doesn’t like all this “mystical” stuff. His excuse is that it’s not scientific, but a major reason is that when he was a kid he tried to save a duel spirit, but these duel spirit hunters found and chased him and the duel spirit and he wasn’t able to save the duel spirit, or so he thought. So he’s kind of traumatized.

Dueling is still a thing and it fascinates Atem, so Yugi makes some mini cards so that Atem can play.

One day, Yugi is passing by Tea’s house and hears commotion within. Turns out a duel spirit, Happy Lover, and Tea is freaking out. Yugi helps her calm down and explains about duel spirits. Tea adopts Happy Lover (the same duel spirit that Seto tried to save all those years ago) and Tea gets to meat Blue Eyes and Atem.

Then they meet Joey. Joey has a bad temper and is angry all the time so most people avoid him. Turns out he has night terrors and gets very little sleep. Yugi befriends him anyway. Joey’s confused because this little shrimp is insisting on being friends even after Joey accidentally hit him because he got startled (Seto was not happy).

A bit later Joey calls Yugi panicking because there’s something in his house. It turns out to be a Scapegoat. It has the ability to eat bad dreams so it was attracted to Joey. Yugi explains everything to Joey and Joey joins their has a tiny companion group.

Blue Eyes keeps eating all of Mokuba’s snacks so Seto gets mad at it and they have a tiff. Blue Eyes goes a way and doesn’t come back. Seto refuses to look for her because she left onher own, it was her choice and he doesn’t want to admit he’s worried, but the others insist on looking. They find Blue Eyes stuck in a fence.

All the duel spirits get lonely while their humans are at school so Yugi contacts his grandpa’s friends the Ishtar’s and have the Ishtar’s watch the minis while the others go to school. It becomes a kind of duel spirit day care.

Yugi receives another package from Grandpa which induces the whole “oh no is this something dangerous” feeling. Yugi tricks Seto and Atem out of the house, which leaves both of them upset with him and they find another way back into the house.

It turns out to be an Anubis statue who can talk and claims to be able to see the future. They call him Shadi.

One day they’re on a hike, when suddenly everything goes quiet and starts to feel odd. Yugi realizes they’ve stumbled into the entrance for the duel monsters’ festival, which doesn’t allow humans unless they have a special invitation. Dark Magician always invites Yugi, but he hasn’t gone in a while because he asked Seto to go with him once after Seto’s incident with the duel spirit hunters and Seto said he shouldn’t mess with that stuff and refused to go.

The greeters for the festival show up and are about to punish them, when Yugi asks that they only punish him, and everyone’s like “Yugi, no!” The greeters don’t agree and are going to punish everyone anyway, when Atem finds the tickets in Yugi’s pocket which somehow appeared in his pocket.

Now with tickets they are welcomed into the festival. Seto punches Yugi for his self-sacrificing stunt and is cold to Yugi for awhile. They help out two duel monsters who are in a similar situation. One tried to sacrifice itself for the other. Through helping out those two, Yugi and Seto work out their own disagreement.

Duel spirit hunters somehow manage to get into the festival and they get Atem. Everyone chases after them and work together to get allow Yugi to catch up and he is furious. He tackles them and everything. Then the Egyption God monsters speak from the heavens and shoot lightning down at the hunters for trespassing on the festival and trying to kidnap duel spirits.

They are all hailed as heroes by the duel spirits and receive gifts, which is a mini festival kit, which is good because Kuriboh and Shadi are put out that they missed the festival. They enjoy a mini festival and all is right with the world.

I headcannon that they all go on to become full time protectors of duel spirits. Working as a team to protect and save duel spirits in the human world.

Anyway that’s it. Thanks again to @gamebro-advance for the idea. Also @allorana @ravengrangergirl I think you’ll enjoy this.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Wicked Child | Feeding Habits #2

Hey People of Earth!

I’m back with another writing update for Feeding Habits (Moth Work #2) at last!

A few things since the last update: this project is 100% going to be a novel and also has a title (Feeding Habits)!

Chapter two has been sort of strange to write as I actually had written a majority of it before starting over after realizing the events I’d written needed to happen later. This is why it’s taken me a while to update on this book, but I’ve finally completed the chapter and am now here to share it with y’all! 

Here’s a scene breakdown of this chapter, which is probably the longest chapter I’ve written in years (6300 words). Buckle up, this update is THICC.  TW: lots of religious content in this one.

Scene A: 

We go through Lonan’s lonely morning routine (lol) that’s interrupted by Anya, a neighbour he vaguely recognizes. She’s there to take him up to her apartment to paint her kitchen as her husband is away and can’t do it, a plan he was not aware of! (Eliza’s voluntold him to hopefully distract him from wanting to help his friend which is outlined in update #1). 

Scene B:

Anya dips before the scene starts to grab some extra supplies to make Lonan some sourdough so Lonan is tasked with watching her young son Joey while he tapes up the baseboards. This is where the “wicked child” aspect of this chapter comes in as he compares the wickedness he feels he and others in his life possess to the full innocence of Joey.

Scene C:

Anya gets back from running errands and at first, seems to be a *chill mom* but as she and Lonan interact more, we get to see that something isn’t fully right with her. From some observation, Lonan finally figures out Anya’s husband is actually dead and she’s struggling with grief.

Scene D:

Lonan is back in his apartment, filling up his bathroom sink. We know from Moth Work that one of Lonan’s hobbies is holding his breath underwater, and he does this in this scene to think. In the middle of this ritual, Eliza gets home and speaks to him as she unwinds, reading rather cryptic notes from fortune cookies she’s brought home with takeout.

Scene E:

Unbeknownst to her, Lonan’s not staying for dinner as Anya invited him to her place as a thank you! However this news doesn't break well and the two bicker until they’re both successfully upset.

Scene F:

Instead of going to Anya’s for dinner, Lonan finds himself at a church confessional. He stumbles through reconciliation in a bit of a haze and eventually heads outside where a concerned mother and her two kids ask if something’s wrong. His thoughts from scene D overwhelm him and he eventually sort of gives himself up to the moment in a bit of a chokehold with the sun.

Though this chapter took a while, I’m happy with the threads I introduced and really got to see Lonan’s mind at this point in time--a sort of lonely state of living. There’s also a lot of religion related stuff in this chapter which is always interesting to write as someone who grew up Catholic, and I was surprised at how pertinent these themes are in this book.

Excerpts:

Here’s the opening bit:

The next morning, Eliza leaves two energy shots on the counter for him, along with a slice of sourdough she bought from the bakery across the street. Both sit on a breakfast tray, room temperature from sitting out too long, icebergs of ginger floating along the glass’s surface, butter on the bread gone pallid and spongy. Next to it, she’s left a note, as she usually does: green casserole in the fridge, running low on OJ.

Lonan retrieves the television remote from the nook between the knife block and flicks the TV to life as he drinks the first shot. Gingerroot—and this morning, a new addition, carrot stems—mush against his incisors, and he swallows just as the TV brightens to an image of some amphibian, a leafy looking treefrog. The crank of their calls bulge like each red eye, the familiar husk of narration outlining the workings of mating. Lonan scoops up the second shot with his pinky and the saucer of sourdough with his index finger and thumb, takes both to the couch where he sits.

Classic Lonan (TM) interaction:

He’s mid chewing the stale crust when he opens the door, expecting a package delivery, an unaddressed sympathy card. Instead, a woman stands in the door, her hair damp and smelling like the coconut salve Eliza rubs onto her kneecaps. He recognizes her face in a fleeting, neighbour-like way, someone he might’ve held the door open for, or let step off the elevator first.

“Breakfast?” She points to the crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Lonan swallows the remainder of the sourdough quickly, combing off the crumb with a shallow smile.            

“Sourdough.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.”

The woman laughs at this, though he’s not fully meant for it to be a joke. 

Apparently a new motif in this book is the word stunning that both serves as a descriptor for something magnificent/dazzling and the process of subduing an animal (love being heavy handed about this lmao):

She peers at their half-bloody kitchen wall. “You’re doing red?”

“Eliza’s vegetarian.” At the woman’s blank stare, he turns to look at the wall, examining each plane of his throat as hot embarrassment makes him red like the paint. “Her favourite colour. We’re trying something new. Avant garde.” All things he’s heard Eliza say.

“That’s unique. Very. So unique,” she says, adding, “It’s so kind of you to offer some help while you’re in the middle of painting your own kitchen. When Eliza told me about your offer, I danced in my living room. Is that weird? I danced because I’m going to have a green kitchen—a green one.”

Lonan nods, and steps farther back into the apartment, toward the stack of paint rollers, one of many rolls of tape. “Of course,” he says.

“It makes you feel alive,” the woman says. He forgets what she’s referring to, doesn’t know her name, only vague details like the jeweled bangles she wears on one wrist, the shiny cast of hair gel stirruped around her curls, her teeth, white, like the canines of a wolf. But she doesn’t seem to notice, a starriness in her gaze as she says, “The paint. The green. It’s stunning. Isn’t it?”

Anya’s initial dialogue is some of my favourite I’ve written. Probably because of the moon mention lol. Also Joey’s just chillin and I love him for that!!

The woman’s name is Anya, and she lives three floors up. He finds this out at the same time he finds out Eliza offered to paint her kitchen on his behalf, though what Anya says sounds more like “When Eliza told me you’d paint the wall, I could’ve—what is that saying? I could’ve jumped over the moon. I would’ve. The entire thing. All its phases.”

Anya’s got a toddler named Joey. He’s turning two next month, a little boy with a curly halo for hair, two dimples Lonan sees whenever he glances up from his tape-job of the baseboards. Joey eats apple slices dipped in almond butter and watches cartoons with both feet propped onto the couch cushion, too short to dangle down. Ever so often, he laughs, a shimmery sound, like the inside of a snow globe. Lonan half-watches him, as Anya’s asked—He’s good, don’t stress—if he cries, he wants you to turn up the TV—because she’s out of bread flour and insists on making Lonan two loaves of sourdough.

Some Joey:

“Joey’s good, isn’t he?” she asks, her fingers curving around the tape company’s logo. Lonan inhales. Anya smells like Eliza sometimes does, vaguely floral, like jasmine, or cherry blossoms. “Children are little blessings. Powerful little blessings.”

Of course, he should say. There’s no other way to describe a child—he’s a blissful little thing, his only purpose to keep his feet in his two-inch socks, to stare wistfully at a television like it’s telling his fortune in a language of pictures. Of course a child is a blessing—soft cheeks like the belly of bread dough, pinchable, kissable, thumbable, hands dipped into glittery tempera paint and fingers that make chicken scratches that will never be anything but art. Of course, he should say. He knows that, he should say. But Lonan’s vision fuzzes. He sees little of the TV colours projected on the walls like a hypnotic, technicolour exorcism; he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be that small, what it’s like to have his hands expand right in front of him, like seedlings. 

Here’s the title drop ft. a rewritten Bible verse (Revelation 21:8):

He wants to believe children are always powerful little blessings that stay good. He doesn’t know why he doubts her. Joey is just this—a blessing on her couch, smiling at a screen because it’s all he needs to do. But he knows better, knows the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable exist, where they all live, and how they all start—as little blessings. He’s met murderers, liars, sorcerers in the shape of his father, sisters, mothers, all the wicked things that emerge from their second deaths unscathed. He doesn’t know what makes a child wicked. If he is one. If he’s been one. How many wicked children he knows. 

Eliza hasn’t returned any of Lonan’s phone calls since he tried dialling somewhere between the first and last half of the wall. It’s obvious Anya knows he wasn’t aware of the plan, which is why every few minutes, she states new reasons for her forgetfulness with the time. “Eliza ran into me in the hallway, and I’m so bad at hallways,” she said, while rolling the dough between her knuckles. “So many turns.” Brushing her benchtop with more flour: “Time as a mother is such a commodity. It’s like, what’s the down payment for five minutes alone? But Joey’s worth it. Joey’s always worth it. He’s just magnificent. Can’t stay away from magnificence.”

More interactions I adore:

“You want some OJ?”

Lonan looks up from the paint blankly, focusing on Anya in an embarrassingly slow haze. “What?”

Anya reaches over to the fridge and tugs on its stainless-steel handle. It gives with a haunted sound, a subtle sort of groaning, and emerges with a glass bottle of orange juice.

“OJ,” she says, and shakes the bottle so the liquid froths.

“Oh,” he says. Green casserole in the fridge. Running low on OJ. “We’re low on that.”

Okay sorry but I’m so in love with Anya and Lonan’s interactions lol:

“Where are you from again?” She undoes her apron from the back with one hand. It falls, a lilac clump, onto the tile, and she leaves it there, only nudging it slightly with her toe.

Her eyes are golden too. Everything in her apartment. Even the silver parts are somehow gold. How much she could pawn off for eyes like those, like individual buttons of solid gold. Anya squints, and there the gold goes, focusing on him until she leans forward and plucks a strand of hair from his jaw. It sags with green paint, and before he blinks, she’s clipped it with a pair of kitchen shears.

“You got some paint on you.”

“Oregon,” he says. “Boston. New York.”

“What?”

“You asked where I’m from.”

Anya pockets his hair. He’s sure it’s a subconscious tick—she hasn’t even realized—but still, he wonders what she’ll do with it. If she’ll send it somewhere to get scanned, bagged, tested. How much you can find out about someone with just a nib of hair.

“That’s a lot of places,” she says. “You’re basically transcontinental.”

From her pocket, Anya’s hand twitches. He wonders what she’s doing, if she’s touching the hair, or flaking off its paint, or simply flattening out her pocket.

“Are you going to clone me?” He gestures to her pocket.

Anya doesn’t look.

“I could.”

“Why?”

“You paint walls fast. You’ve got nice hair.”

“Do you collect hair?”

“Just from the people I like.”

We get to see Anya unravel a little here as she and Lonan share a drink:

He’s always been good at watching. This is what he does as Anya pulls a miniature bottle of a deep amber liquid from her fridge along with the orange juice, mixing them together so what he pushes toward him smells like ammonia. She drinks half, an easiness as she swallows, and then slides the glass to him.

He leaves it there for a while. He watches Joey, how he claps when more animals show up on screen and gets quiet during the wrangle of commercials. He’s gold just like his mother, with a gap tooth that matches the man’s who grins in every photo hung neatly on the walls. A face he doesn’t remember, not even in the hazy slots he reserves for what he remembers working the hardware store. No evidence of him anywhere else, the shoes on the front mat only women’s heels or child-sized sneakers. One hook that holds one set of keys. Only the photographs.

“Where is your husband right now?” he asks. One wine glass in the sink. One coffee mug. One saucer.

“Businessman. Very busy.”

“I don’t remember him coming into the store.”

Anya takes another sip of the orange juice even though it’s Lonan’s turn to drink. Anya looks at Joey, a desperate fondness that answers Lonan’s question for him. She looks at him like she’s searching for the face of the man in the pictures, searching because she hasn’t seen it in years.

Anya really unravelling:

Anya’s face is bloated and red, a soreness in her eyes like she needs to blink but can’t. Lonan instinctually reaches for her hand, and it’s then that he notices it—two wedding bands on her ring finger. Her fingertips jolt him, but her palms are warm, the skin there taut, like she’s been clutching it for years.

“I thought the wall would help. Green means new life. Doesn’t it? I read that in a magazine. That it brings new life, I mean. New beginnings. New, new, new.”

Lonan getting existential ft. the first Harrison mention so far tho I’ll probably cut it because I want it to be a little more impactful and also half of this makes no sense oops:

His father is a dead man. Just like Anya’s husband is a dead man. Lonan knows so many dead men. Some that matter more than others, some names he revisits sometimes at the graveyard when Eliza thinks he’s out to run an errand as innocent as replacing a bad container of cottage cheese. He knows of men who are dead but still living, like Harrison’s father who no longer exists as a person in his dimension, but a corpse, hanging around in unnecessary things like a last name, an eye colour. Beyond men, he knows of many other dead things: dead pets, dead street names, dead countries, dead houseplants, dead first ladies.

He knows what a dead father does, what a dead heart does, that these things are meant to die—an inevitable thing; a sort of giving up of flesh, burying, toiling into new soil.

This is basically a monologue:

Lonan is in love with Eliza. He always has been. He always will be. There is nothing better than being in love with Eliza. There is nothing wrong with being in love with Eliza. There is no reason to not be in love with Eliza. Eliza is intelligent. Eliza is driven. Eliza is sensitive. Eliza tries to listen. Eliza knows how to take care of him. Eliza knows how to spell words like zolpidem, wears lipstick in the shade Very Vermillion and is delighted when it rubs onto her teeth. Eliza is lucky. Eliza is hypnotic. Eliza is a holy woman, a sacred woman, a careful woman, a wicked woman. 

Lonan gulps water. Too much to keep himself controlled; he sputters, splatters the mirror. He hooks his fingers over his waterline, tugging until water falls out. He paces, chews his palms like Anya did, and steadies himself slowly from the counter to the tile. He is a wicked child. Eliza is a wicked child. Everyone he knows—all wicked children.          

“Accept what comes to you each day,” Eliza says, which means she’s opened three of four of the cookies. “That’s truthful. That’s raw. That’s all you need to do.”

Some Eliza dialogue I like in reply to Lonan’s statement that he can’t do things since she bars him from driving:

“You don’t need a car to do things, Lonan.” She stirs her bowl of congee, the plastic spoon scraping against the Styrofoam. “You need hobbies. Like cross stitch. Pickling. Painting neighbours’ walls.”

Lonan and Eliza being Lonan and Eliza:

Lonan secures his fingers around the tin of madeleines and shifts once more, only for her to mimic his movement. They dance like this for a moment—his shuffle left matched by her shuffle left, his step up matched by her own. More of her mascara has smudged from where she unclumped her lashes, a lazy slash of colour like a samurai belt. Even their stares match each other—as he bores through her with a nimble focus like it’ll move her somehow, she does the same.

Here’s a line I like:

As she reddens, he adds this to his list of synonyms for baptism: to tame. 

Here’s an excerpt featuring self indulgence and proof I miss Harrison:

The confessional smells rank, like rotting paper and expired cologne, all of its corners seedy with overuse. Scratches mar the fabric he rests his elbows on, like someone clawed into it while reliving their sins, track marks on the floor from a rainy day. He can’t imagine anyone else but him in this small box, caged in by the lattice, mumbling incoherent sins to the priest he hasn’t even committed. Stealing a set of glass eyeballs from a garage sale. Forgetting his wedding anniversary. Missing Easter Sunday mass to go whale watching. He doesn’t sign himself at the right times or speak at the right times or thank the priest at the right times. He lies when he’s asked if he’s lied since his last confession. He mentions nothing of drinking with Anya, of not saving the sheep or the bunnies even though he knew the outcome of their lives without finishing the program. Of being a wicked child, of knowing wicked children, of not knowing the difference between wickedness and innocence, and which one he learned first. He says his name is Luka. He works at a law firm. He’s married to a Harriet, a seamstress or a stock broker or an antiques trader—he doesn’t know. He likes golfing, parcheesi, drinking martinis on yachts. He’s never overindulged, he’s loyal to his woman, he wants three kids and a house with finished floors and no neighbours. He’s a good father, a gentle father, a careful father, no wickedness, just an empty shell of goodness, like a father should be. His father is retired, and visits him on weekends—they play checkers, paint birdhouses, keep a distance but toast with spirits he can’t pronounce. Everything is good—it’s all good, all good. That’s not a sin, the priest should say but they laugh—it’s good to be good. Children are good, marriage is good, fathers are good, everything an iteration of good. By the time his confession is over and he’s well on his way out of the church mumbling I am heartily sorry, he believes his lies are true—he’s absolved into someone new, Luka married to Harriet, three kids, an empty shell, dreamily stumbling through a house with finished floors that’s actually just the sidewalk until a woman passing by with a two small children has to help him sit on the curb.

This image gives me Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves vibes (music video was def inspo):

She asks if he needs something to drink, if he needs someone to call, and emerges with a half-empty bottle of sparkling water and a cell phone. She asks what’s wrong with his eye, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with anything—with eyes, with children, with sins, with confessions, with baptisms, with orange juice, with madeleines, with wickedness, with practicing how long he can breathe underwater because he knows it’s possible just like walking on it.

One of the children, hair pulled into two plaits secured with pearlescent butterfly bobbles, pokes at her mother and asks if he’s crazy. Her mother shushes her at the same time her older sister shows him a cool trick she learned with a toy convertible. Its wheels whir. Lonan gasps. The girl says, “Even crazy people think I’m gifted,” and wheels the car again. People stop to watch. Church bells gong an elegy he’s sure he’s heard before. The woman’s sparkling water dribbles from his mouth and dampens his dress shirt. Sun eclipses his face and eats at his throat like a parasite, like it knows all the unclean things about him, a watcher, an eyeball, a scorching little thing that bullets through his neck like the tooth of a wolf. The woman shushes her children and asks if he’s got a health problem, a drug problem, any problem, and he could say yes to all three but instead keeps repeating I am heartily sorry, I am heartily sorry. And when she does call someone, no one he knows, he leans against the cool pavement, cranes his neck to the sky, and parts his lips so the sunlight fills his mouth.

So that’s it for this update! I haven’t really been drafting lately, but I hope I can get more of this written because I love sharing!

--Rachel

[boleyn-falcon]

Unlikely Shepard

So here it is! i finally finished the one-shot for @moan-jeutas with the prompt “you’re bleeding” with reluctant caretaker Jane and Joan!

synopsis - Joan is sick and the Ladies in waiting call in a very reluctant Jane Seymour to handle it while they are doing the show for things to just take a bad turn. 

Trigger warnings - Vomiting, illness, blood/pus, open wound, skin picking/scratching - tell me if i need to add anymore!

words - 3012

 Joan had been insisting that she was fine for about a week, that was clearly a lie. For the past few days she's been running fevers,aching, having headaches, all of those kinds of things but still came to work as if she was right as rain. She was about as “right” as a category five hurricane on a small island. Joan thought if she didn't show up to work they would fire her and everyone would hate her, so she had never missed a day of work. She woke up around 7 as normal, but right as she began to get out of bed a searing pain shot through her abdomen. She was taken aback by this, literally and metaphorically and fell back onto her bed. ‘Shit that's not good’, the pianist thought, she tried to stand once more but all she managed to do was fall face first onto her carpet. All that came out of her was a low grunt and pained “Ow-damnit”. She laid there for a solid five minutes to see if the pain would subdue but it just got worse and worse.

She eventually, but very slowly, made it to the kitchen to see Maria making her morning coffee. She stumbled past her and to the cabinet to grab some ibuprofen but was stopped by the drummer in her tracks. “Are you okay Palomita? You don’t look well, should we call in the-”, Maria was stopped mid sentence by the blonde. “No no! Heh don’t worry, im fine, yep completely okay to work”, right as she finished her sentence another wave of sharp pains hit her like a truck, causing her knees to give out. She hit the tile with a small whisper-like attempt at a shriek that just came out as a pained squeal and wrapped her arms around her torso. Maria was quick to grab her bridal style and get her to the couch with the pain killers and a glass of water.

Right as Joan is settled onto the coach Bessie and Maggie finally decide to come down stairs. “Shit is Joey okay?”, Maggie said worriedly as she picked up her pace and found her way to her friend’s side on the couch. “No, i'll call in and say that me and her need to stay home today”, Maira stopped as she heard a groan to her side, “No i promise i'm fine just-”, “No Joan, your staying whether you like it or not”, Bessie said firmly. Bessie turned and walked into the kitchen as she began to call someone. “Hey Seymour you know how you have a lot of free days saved up?... Yea so do you mind coming over for a  day and watching Joan?.. Okay thanks, she was just ill and all, yea text me when you're on your way over”. The rest of the ladies looked to the black haired bassist with confusion, waiting for her to explain. “Jane is going to stop by for the day to take care of Joan while we are at the show”, Bessie said nonchalantly. “Wait”, the drummer started. “ how’d you convince her to do that so easily?”, “Well she owed me one so yea she was hesitant but she didn't really argue it” .

You would think the timid blonde would love the idea of Jane coming over to take care of her right? Well sort of, Joan loved to idea of spending time with Jane, but she doesnt wanna be clingly or say somthing stupid to make Jane hate her. The anxiety bubbling in her stomach only got worse a few minutes later as she heard knocking at the door, she knew exactly who it was. All Joan could really do is curl up in a ball with her blanket over her head like a child hiding from a monster under her bed. She thought if she just imagined Jane wasn't even there it would make things better, she was wrong.

Maggie got up from her friend’s side to answer the door, she only hoped the Queen could help. She opened the door to see the Blonde queen with a duffle bag and an unreadable expression. “Heh heeey Jane, come on in..”, the burnette opened the door more to let her in. Jane immediately went over to the bassist who was sitting on the floor next to the couch. “So what symptoms does she have? Anything like fever or vomiting?”,Bessie got to her feet to get eye to eye with the taller women, “All we really know is that she’s in pain and as pale as an egg shell”, a small groan came from the mound covered in blankets on the couch from being compared to an egg. Jane just tilted her head and gave a confused look to the raven-haired woman. “ Wait wait, so you called me over to skip a day of work to take care of some cramps and her complection?”, Jane asked with an unamused tone,looking over to the pile of pianist on the small couch. Bessie gave a disgruntled look to the queen, “well she’s obviously in pain and needs to be looked after so nothing bad happens and you have the most vacation days… and remember the streetlight Seymour”. Jane gave a defeated look as she set her stuff down on the floor near the coffee table. Maira and Maggie just gave confused glances but decided not to question what ‘the streetlight’ was.

The next few minutes was just the Ladies in Waiting, minus Joan of course, getting ready for the day and Jane setting up the living room for the day. Maggie slyly shuffled into Bessie’s dimly lit room and gave out a small ‘ahem’ noise to signal her presence in the room. The shorter girl turned around and shot her friend a small smile, “Hey Mags what's up? Need a hair tie or something?”. Maggie gave a worried look to her bandmate, “Do you think Joey will be okay? I know Jane will be here and all but I'm still a bit worried..”, the bassist walked forward to put a reassuring hand on the guitarist’s shoulder, “Don’t worry yourself Mag, she’ll be okay, trust me okay?”, Maggie gave a slight nod and a small smile as she left the room to continue changing.

Maria was having her own little bit of worry. She finished her hair and clothes as soon as she could so she could check on her little dove. She knew how Jane and Joan’s relationship was, Jane was cold towards the clingy girl most of the time but she knew there was some part of the queen there that loved the girl dearly, she just had to let it out. The drummer also hoped Joan wouldn’t get too anxious and make herself even sicker and make things worse. She saw it before on Cathrine’s deathbed, the more worried she got, the more her sickness consumed her. She just didn’t want a repeat of what happened all those centuries ago. She quickly walked down the stairs to find Joan still in her small blanket caccoon and Jane in thier pantery. Maria walked over to the pantry where Jane seemed to be searching for something. The curly haired woman reached over and shut the door to the pantry and guided the queen over to the fridie and pulled out a container of soup. The taller woman gave a confused look as she was handed what she was looking for, “It’s broccoli and cheddar, her favorite” Maria then  grabbed a lone spoon from the counter and handed it over. “Huh funny, it’s Anne’s favorite too”, Maria cut her off slightly, “Maggie’s too, I guess Anne and her ladies all had a similar taste in soups”. Jane poured the container as the gears in her head started to turn, ‘oh yea Joan was one of Anne’s maids of honor’, she finished warming up the soup and walked into the living room to find the rest of the band waiting. “So”, the Bassist started, “We are off but make sure to take good care of her Seymour, if not you know what will happen”, both women gave a knowing look, still leaving the other two muscians confused as ever.

Maggie bent down to the bundle of blankets and gave it a nudge. A mess of blonde hair popped up from the blankets with a grumpy look that quickly changed as she saw who had disturbed her. “How you feelin’ Joey? Any better?”, Joan only gave a small huff and a sad look back at her friend. Maggie then revealed what she had in her hand to her sick comrade, a teal hoodie with a black guitar on the front. She handed it out towards the sickly girl who quickly grabbed it. “We’ll be back soon, little Roo”, Maggie gave a smile as Joan held the hoodie close with a barely audible ‘thank you’.

The band finally left with a choir of ‘Love you’’s and ‘get better’’s. Jane finally got a chance to sit down and assess the situation. She sat the hot soup bowl down with a napkin and a spoon on the coffee table in front of Joan, ready to get to work. “Okay Joan, how are you feeling? Can you let me feel your temperature so I can see if I need to give you anything for a fever or not?”, Joan anxiously sat up from her blanket cocoon to finally address Jane. She bit her lip shyly as she decided to actually speak to her queen. “W-well I've been having waves of really bad pain in my stomach a-and I’m kinda nauseous, oh yea-yea you can check my temperature”, the pianist gave a worried glance to the older woman as she leaned forward and touched her lips to her forehead. Jane’s head shot back in surprise, “Joan you're practically on fire! You gotta take all of those blankets off, and go change out of those fuzzy pajamas and into a tank top and shorts”. The pale girl got up carefully and slowly made her way up the stairs to her room so she could change.

‘Jeez’ Jane thought, ‘It can't be that bad, I mean colds happen all the time she could have probably handled this herself, yea she completely could’. Jane places all of her cold medicines on the coffee table and walks into the kitchen to find an ice pack to put on the younger girl’s head till her fever let up. Right as she reaches the freezer she hears a large ‘thunk’ come from up stairs. Jane first thought nothing of it till she got back to the living room with a mickey mouse ice pack in hand, realizing Joan has been changing for 8 minutes now. She put the ice pack down and walked up the stairs to Pianist’s room to find the girl sprawled out on the carpet. She had only some navy athletic shorts on and a sports bra with a white tank top a few feet away from her body. As Jane bent down to get the girl up she noticed she had begun shivering like it was below freezing. She quickly scooped the girl up in her arms and speedily got her to the couch to lay her down. Her eyes were half open but also seemed pained. The now concerned caregiver put the small ice pack on the girl’s burning forehead and nodged the girl’s shoulder. “Joan..? can you talk to me at all?”, the sickly girl only gave a small whimper as she closed her eyes and dozed off. The motherly queen was originally very reluctant to help the clingy young girl, but her worsening state made her a lot more concerned for the poor girl’s health. She was slightly glad Joan could get some rest for that would surely help.. Right?

About 3 hours passed and the pale MD was still passed out. Jane had eventually put the soup back in the fridge and started reading a book on her phone, waiting for the girl to wake. The queen finally took a break from her novel and started to give the sick girl a good look to find anymore concerning symptoms she may have when she spotted something odd. She got closer to get a better look to only find a gnarly scab right above the girl’s hip. The area around it was raw and red, with even a hint of green and white showing infection. A lightbulb finally went off in her head, ‘This isn't a normal cold, it's an infection caused by this wound, but how did it happen?’. The older woman was put out of her train out thought by Joan stirring in her sleep. The stirr soon turned into thrashing as her legs started to kick and silent tears streamed down her face. Jane quickly jumped into action, she took the sick musician by the shoulders and shook her. “Wake up Joan! C’mon wake up!”, Joan’s eyes shot open and she started to trash even more to break out of the blonde’s grip. Her hands found their way to her damaged hip and began to scratch relentlessly.

Jane quickly grabbed the girl’s wrists and pinned them above her head, but it was too late. “You’re… bleeding”, the wound on Joan’s hip had been reopened by the scratching and started to bleed and ooze pus. The MD began to sob uncontrollably and hyperventilate. The blonde queen finally let go of Joan’s wrist to grab some antiseptic and large plasters. Before Jane could stop her, Joan got up and attemped to get to the bathroom but collapsed half way there and threw up onto the wooden floor. Jane was extremely overwhelmed, she set the medical supplies down and walked over to joan and tried to sit her upright so she wasn't lying next to her own bile on the floor. She grabbed the napkin in her pocket and cleaned Joan’s mouth, she carried the ill girl over to the toilet in case she needed to get more out. The older blonde quickly walked back to grab the medical supplies so she could clean up the infected wound as soon as she could.

The choked sobs of the pale girl continued until she felt arms wrap around her. “It's okay Little Lamb, you’ll be okay just calm down for me”, Jane’s soft voice made Joan’s sobs slowly diminish and just turned into a silent cry. The pair sat there for a solid ten minutes, all Jane did was whisper comforting words and keep her hold on Joan, making sure she had time to calm down.

The queen carried the MD back to her spot on the couch and handed her Maggie’s jacket to hold while she cleaned up the bile from the floor. When she returned she had a bottle of antiseptic and a towel in her hands. Joan gave a confused and worried look to her caregiver. “Okay Joan can you turn on your side for me sweetheart?”, the pianist hesitantly obliged, Jane put the towel on the couch and Joan’s lower back area and sighed. “This is going to hurt a bit Little Lamb.. I promise it’ll be over soon but i have to do this ..”, the concerned woman poured the antiseptic on the infected gash and Joan let out a heart wrenching shriek that shook the house. The wounded girl squirmed and held tightly onto the teal hoodie in her arms as she tried not move even more than she already was. Jane continued to clean the bloody and pus covered wound to the best of her ability and finished it off with a large plaster.

After a few minutes Jane sat next to the ill girl and put a comforting arm around her,“I know that you probably don’t wanna talk about it but i'll ask anyway, but why Joan? What caused you to do this to yourself?”. Joan shuffled uncomfortably but she figured she might as well tell the queen the truth, she did just clean up her throw up after all, she deserved the truth. “I...I just get so sacred and so anxious, it just happens I guess, it's an outlet of sorts”, Jane gave a concerned glance, “But why are you so scared and anxious? Is something going on Little Lamb?”. The pianist paused but decided to spill her guts, “Everyone hates me i just know it, I’m too helpless and too clingy… and if i can’t do my job right people are gonna hate me even more then they will fire me and then i'll be useless…”. Jane stared silently at the girl next to her for a moment and thought, ‘Had Joan really been suffering this much? Was her coldness making this all worse? This needs to change and it needs to change now’.  Jane wrapped Joan in a bear hug as the sick blonde began to silently cry again.

“Joan”, Jane started slowly, “You need to listen, no one hates you, I promise, not any of the queens and especially not your girls. We all love you very much Joan, we care about you so very much, we will always be here for you”, she finished with a soft smile. She held Joan tight and kissed her temple as the ill girl began to calm down. “So how about we watch some movies? Will that help at all Little Lamb?”, Joan nodded and looked up at the queen, “Can we watch Aritocats..?”, Jane nodded and turned on the Tv and put on the movie. They laid back comfortably and started to watch. Joan moved to lay on Jane’s chest and that's how she stayed till her bandmates came home to find her sleeping while Jane continued her book.

“Good job Seymour, thank you”, Bessie whispered as she moved the tired blonde from Jane to her room. The Taller women gave a small smile as she left, thankful that she helped the ill girl when she needed it most.

-----------------------------------------

wow okay I stayed up till 5AM to finish this while also drugged up on adderall and I think it actually turned out kinda good, i mean i still suck at writing but hey what can’ya do? and its my first angsty kinda fic so it prolly sucks more lol

[letarasstuff]

Triptleting

(A/N): This little one is dedicated to @agentshortstacc and our matching hats! I hope you like it Joey, though it turned out pretty short :) (Also, I love the emoji pancakes emoji in the tag 🥺)

Summary: A lost hat at Comic Con and an extra photo op ticket.

Warnings: Mentions of phone anxiety

Wordcount: 0.4k

___________________

I walk around Comic Con, an everlasting smile is painted onto my face. Months of working hard after school and on weekends and saving up I’m finally here, the tickets for the photo ops in my hand.

Originally my best friend would come and accompany me, but she got sick last minute, so I’m walking around alone, clutching a second ticket.

My eyes spots a lonely hat on one of the tables in the food court. Confused, I take it to inspect it further, my pseudo Sherlock Holmes skills kicking in.

The color is a dark blue with the Captain America Shield on the front. Before I’m able to think about any deductions I notice a number written on the inside on a bit of white fabric. I assume it’s a telephone number.

Though my phone anxiety immediately kicks in, I put myself into the person’s shoes, who is missing their hat. I would be more than devastated. So I gather all my courage and put the number into my phone before pressing call.

“Hello?” The other person answers after just one ring.

“Uhm hi? This may be weird and uh uhm my name is Lea. I found your hat with the number in it and I thought you lost it and want to have it back. If you are still here”, I stutter into the phone.

“Oh my god, thank you so much for calling. My name is Joey and I’m still at the Comic Con. Where do you wanna meet?” They sound so happy and relieved.

I look down onto the tickets in my hand.

“I was heading towards Chris Evans’ photo op. Would it be fine with you to meet me there?” I ask hesitantly.

“Of course, I’m nearly there anyway. See you in a few!” Before I can ask Joey how I will find them, they already hung up.

I rush to the designated place, standing there awkwardly.

“Uhm, excuse me, are you Lea?” A kind looking human being asks me. I automatically nod.

“Perfect, I’m Joey!” I give them the hat. We talk for a bit, finding out we have similar interests.

“This may sound awkward, but do you want to come with me to Chris’ photo op?” I explain to them my situation. Needless to say, Joey immediately agrees.

Not long after this, both of us stand in front of THE Captain America. He promptly grabs his left boob, laughing out loud. Not only are Joey and I twinning with our hats, we are also tripleting with Chris’!

[youllallriseintheink]

Through this Together, chapter 1

So, this was a long time coming. And I mean a long time. As in, I made a few of you wait weeks while I screwed around with bit projects instead of focusing on this. But, here’s the first chapter of a Grant x Henry fic. I hope you guys like it.

---

You can do this. You have to do this. He's the only one I know who can answer this. And anyhow, it's Henry.

And if Grant was going to get this information from anyone, it might as well have been one of the friendliest, mellowest, most reasonable people in the studio. He could still remember being interviewed by Henry and actually believing that this would be a nice (not to mention conventional) place to work. If anything, Grant had thought of Henry as a little too friendly at first- back when the studio had only been a couple dozen people, Henry had wanted to get to know everyone at least a little. Grant had admittedly been resistant- being as shy as he was, Grant really preferred to keep things strictly professional. And yet, Henry had become one of his favourite people at the studio all the same. This question, though, was a bit beyond their current relationship to say the least. Still, Grant had to know, so he gave the door to Henry's office a tentative knock.

Henry opened the door. "Grant. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Stein. I have something to ask you. Something rather personal, but very important. You might want to close the door. Or we could do it in my office- whatever is comfortable for you." Grant's voice and face were perfectly businesslike and emotionless, and partially because of that Henry could tell that something was up. He ushered him in and got him to sit down.

"What is it?" Henry asked, a little worried that the studio was in financial peril.

Grant broke eye contact. "Well, see, my brother recently shared certain information about himself, and I'm worried about him. And well, I don't mean to offend, but you've told me about your relationship with Mr. Drew, so could I ask you something? To reassure myself about my brother's safety, I mean."

Henry eased right up. So it wasn't about the studio. "Of course. Ask away."

"Well, I- have heard that a lot of homosexual men hit each other. Like would be considered abuse, normally. That it's normal for them. Is it true?"

Henry smiled gently. "You know, I've heard a lot of homophobic nonsense, but that might just be the most ridiculous one I've ever heard. No, that's not normal, any more than it is for a straight couple. Your brother is going to be fine."

Grant gave a fake smile and looked away. "That's- relieving. Thank you, Henry. You mean Joey never laid a hand on you?"

Henry stifled a cringe. "People don't hit people they love. So... no."

"Great, just what I wanted to hear!" Grant looked like he'd been stabbed through the heart and was trying to hide it. He got up quickly and left. Was Henry crazy, or was Grant limping just a little? Henry dismissed the thought and turned back to his work. A couple drawings in, it occurred to Henry that Grant had once mentioned being an only child. No. No, it couldn't be.

You knew that Joey would move on to someone else if you didn’t go to the police. Kind of karmic that it ends up being someone you know. Well, don't just sit there, talk to him! You would have benefited from the same.

But Henry froze. Memories of Joey's abuse kept tormenting him, and a part of him wanted to just leave it all in the past. Plus, he didn't know Grant that well, and it was just a hunch, and Grant was a grown man- he could handle things, just as Henry had.

But should he have to? Would you have chosen to?

Henry quickly found himself at the door to Grant's office. No time for knocking- every second was a second where he might lose his nerve. "Mr. Cohen," Henry asked, "is Joey hitting you?"

Grant turned from his desk, wide-eyed. "N-no. Why would you ask that?"

"I just-" Henry sighed. There was no getting through this without revealing his secret. "Joey used to hit me, and I noticed you were limping. I just want to make sure everything's okay."

A million thoughts flew through Grant's head. Sure, it was Henry, but who's side would Henry take if he admitted to being abused by his exceedingly close friend, business partner, and ex-lover? And if Joey found out...

Still in a rush, Henry got tired of looking at Grant's owlish frozen stare. He closed the office door. "He used to make sure to hit me places my clothes would cover. No one ever noticed. Can you, for my peace of mind, either tell me with a straight face that he's not hurting you, or show me that your back isn't covered in bruises?"

Grant knew he couldn't lie to Henry and make it seem realistic- he was too wound up. So, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and began to pull off his shirt as Henry had asked, showing some dark, ugly bruising. It wasn't halfway off when Henry said, "Okay, I've seen enough. Come with me," in a low, serious voice.

Henry led to Joey's office, walking quickly. Grant was too scared to ask what was going on. He felt ready to panic. "You aren't going to tell him, are you?" Grant asked.

Henry was too angry to respond. Once they got to Joey's office, Henry told Grant to stay put before slipping inside. Grant could hear what Henry was saying through the door.

"Joey, I found out how you're treating your boyfriend. He didn't tell me about it- he was actually trying to keep it a secret, so don't you dare punish him for this. You will not lay hands on him again. I repeat, do not fucking hit him. I'm letting him know that he can come to me if you do. And if you do, or if you fire him for no reason but spite for this, well, I'm going to leave this company and take the rights to my characters with me, you hear? I put up with enough of this shit when we were together, and I don't want to have to worry about who you might be battering. Understand?"

There was a long pause. "I understand. I also understand that if you do try to separate me from those characters, I'll take you to court, and I'll win. I can afford to drag things out until you're flat broke and have no choice but to hand them over to me, hear? So don't take me to court. Not under any circumstances." Another pause. "But I won't make it come to that! Promise!" he chirped, a completely different person than he was five seconds ago.

Henry emerged looking emotionally exhausted and took a brief look at Grant before turning back to his office. What was he supposed to say after all that?

---

Grant didn't interact much with much of anyone when he'd started working at Joey Drew Studios, aside from Norman. He generally found it more comfortable to stay in his office most of the time. The one benefit to working late was that the studio was quiet, and Grant could go the breakroom to work without having to worry about being interrupted. Henry was also frequently working late, especially around deadline season, and at one point Henry had asked if he could join him in there. No particular reason other than the fact work had been heavy and all the late nights had left Henry a little lonely. And the breakroom was a comfortable place to work, anyhow. Since, they'd made a habit of working there together. The two of them had had some deep conversations in that breakroom, and had gotten into this awkward place of being confidant to each other while rarely seeing each other elsewhere.

Henry didn't exactly need to work late tonight, but awkward as it was, he ought to see if Grant were there after what had happened that afternoon. And if he wasn't there, well, getting a little ahead on these storyboards wouldn't kill him. Grant was already there, leaning over a variety of ordering forms spread out over the table. He caught Henry's eyes immediately, almost like he was hoping to see him. "Uh, hi. I just wanted to thank you for back there. I was too stunned to tell you at the time, but that was incredibly brave of you."

Henry nodded and sat himself down at the little artist's desk in the corner. "No problem." They worked quietly for a few minutes. "I'm glad you're not upset that your relationship with him is over," Henry thought aloud. "I mean, I'm not sure I would have wanted to be saved like that, when I was in your position, so I'm glad you're thanking me, I guess."

"Well, I knew how it looked. I wouldn't have asked to be saved, but I can't very well blame you for intervening or see it as anything other than you doing me a favour. And... I guess I knew that it was for the best."

Henry sighed. "Let me guess: he made you feel special, gave you what you thought you needed more than anything. And so you were willing to deal with it when he starting using you as a punching bag."

Grant felt himself getting emotional. How was Henry staying so calm? "Nail on the head."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Less than anything in the world. Grant felt like he'd start crying if they were to keep talking about it. "No thank you. I- I just can't believe he'd do that to you. He talked about you like you were the light of his life. He wished I were more like you."

"He probably would have done it to anyone. Y'know this could have been prevented if I'd just taken him to court when I had the chance. Of course, I don't have any evidence- not even bruises anymore. So I can't. You’re probably not going to be the last any more than you were the first."

"Well, I have evidence. I have bruises- even the odd threatening letter. If you want-"

Henry snapped the pen he was holding, spilling ink all over the storyboard he'd been working on. "Maybe, but consider the consequences. Joey is a public figure, Grant- if we do that, we'll be accused of lying, we'll get death threats, we'll probably get outlaywered, and then what? Once Joey is back out and handling the company again, we'll both be fired. I- I know that he shouldn't go unpunished, but this serious, Grant."

Grant looked down solemnly. "You know something, Henry? You stuck your neck out for me, so I'm going to pay it forward. You don't have to come with me, but I'm going to the police, right now. Thank you for the warning."

With that, Grant gathered up his things and left, and Henry went to chase after him, eventually catching up and grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Hey, you know what? If you go to the police, I’m still going to get implicated. I don’t want to stop you from doing what’s right, though. And if you're going to put us through it, we might as well go through this together."

[sad-lonely-and-bad-at-math]

Sad, Lonely and Bad at Math Chapter 3 Scene 2

ao3 link

masterpost

(<-) last scene - next scene (->)

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, flipping on the dim light, trying to swallow down the knot in his throat. Where should he begin? Where had he stopped before the party? Why did he let Joey drag him away from his very important work in the first place?! He leaned against the door, gripping the knob as his nerves threatened to drown him out, crashing over him in dreadful waves. It was too much, too much—

The sound of knocking forced his spiral to a sudden stop. He took a moment to breathe before shakily standing back up and opening the door. Jack peered in, a hesitant smile on his face and a little box in his hand. The air seemed to clear. “…Jack?”

“Grant!” He paused, seeming to try and reign in his excitement. “Good morning.” “Good morning… U-um, come in! Not a lot of room, but, you… you’re welcome.”

Jack gladly took the offer, slipping inside and beaming as he set the box on his desk in one of the only clear spots available. “I hope you’re well! I, um, I thought I’d come by and drop off a little something sweet for you. I told you I like to bake after all, and I was just so energized when I got home last night I couldn’t help but make a little something that I thought you might enjoy.” He paused. “Or, um, a couple little somethings.” He was fiddling with something between his fingers, silently debating whether to slip it in the box or give it to him himself. “I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’re busy especially with all the after-party catch-up. Granted—pff, Granted…” He reddened significantly at his pun, “Sorry, I… I don’t know if I could help you at all, but I don’t have any big projects yet, if you’d… I don’t know, like an extra pair of hands… or eyes…”

Normally, Grant Cohen wasn't one for puns. He found them a waste of time and breath, childish and immature, especially if they came from Joey Drew. But this time? A snort escaped him, followed by a little laugh, so surprised was he by his silly little wordplay. Once he'd calmed again, he smiled up at Jack, blushing almost as maroon as his hair. "If.. if you're sure Mr. Lawrence won't miss you at the music department? I wouldn't mind a second pair of hands and eyes... even if you don't know jack about this..?" he hesitantly spoke, growing more unsure at his own silly joke.

Jack had never loved a laugh more. He could barely contain himself, pure delight at the snort and the pun in return. The shock of such a positive reception made him laugh as well. “O-oh, that’s a good one! I... oh gosh...” It took him a bit to recover from it, rubbing a hand through his hair. When he felt like he could speak without giggling again, he softly spoke, “Oh, I’m sure he won’t as long as I’m back by lunch. He’s going to want as little noise as possible this morning... the less people in the department the better,” he said with a little wink. “So um... I’m free!” He glanced at the box on his desk a moment as a sudden thought hit him. “Oh! Um, also, the things I made are kosher. S-So you know. I did some research.”

Grant's blush worsened, grinning like a fool at how much Jack seemed to like his pun. But the next part caught him off guard again, leaving him stunned. "Y-you remembered that?" he mumbled, suddenly even shyer. Unable to keep looking at the other man, he instead busied himself with opening the box - gasping when he saw the pastries inside. "Jack these look amazing!"

“O-of course I did...” Not like he spent most of the night replaying their little outing over and over in his head, no way. He hesitantly stepped closer to the desk, blush worsening at the praise. “I’m glad they look appealing! I hope th-they taste good to you too.” How many trays of burned pastries were currently sitting on his counter, victims of tiredness and daydreaming? He'd wanted them to be perfect.

"I- Thank you. Really Jack, so much work just for me..." He wasn't sure if he should try one right now or if he should wait until later when Jack was gone again. How could he even thank him enough for this gift? He had nothing in return! "Offering to help me with paperwork and spending your free time baking for me... What did I even do to deserve all this kindness?" Oh that came out wrong, he didn't mean to sound ungrateful-

“What you did?“ he repeated, mostly in disbelief, stepping forward again. “Grant our- our conversation last night was by far the best thing that happened to me that day...” ...Wait, that was way too forward. But he couldn’t take the words back; could only push forward and hope they were unnoticed. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve kindness.”

His face must be rivaling a stoplight by now. In vain he tried to hide behind his hands, a shy mumble escaping before he could physically hold the words in. "It was the best thing for me too..." He couldn't look at Jack, no way could he make himself look up…

“O-oh...?” Grant liked it too. He enjoyed their time together as much as he did. His heart drummed hard and fast in his chest, unable to look down at him. “I... I’m glad... w-we’re in agreement then...” he mumbled in reply. “We should... definitely do that again... um...” Maybe if he changed the subject, that’d help release the tension. “C-can you tell me what paperwork you have?”

"W-we should..." The change of topic was much appreciated, giving the shorter man an excuse to focus on something else. Going through the new papers on top of the pile, he started explaining. "Most of the leftover paperwork from yesterday are all the bills from the party and somewhere in there is a letter to the bank we took a loan from to even afford that whole thing that I was working on. Paychecks aren't for a while, it's only the 11th after all... These new papers seem to be the usual, mostly bills and the likes, but... Hmm." He grabbed a paper out of the pile, the logo catching his eye. With a frown, he adjusted his glasses as he examined it more closely. "GENT? Why is there a new proposal from GENT, we finished all the renovations and additions already..." Trailing off, he let himself fall onto his chair, slowly raising his hand to his forehead in the universal gesture of 'Joey Drew what the fuck did you do this time'.

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

“Award Ceremony: AKA; Old Director’s Revenge.”

Hunter smiled, sitting in the darkness by a table, under a lone spotlight-the only one she had ever been in in her life-and folded her hands in her lap patiently. “Come on, buddy! I’ve done a lot for ya, ya can spare one eensy weensy, tiny winy, miniscule timepiece, right?” Hunter asked, voice slowly slipping into insanity. Hatkid shook her head no.

“I need them to get home, Miss Burkes. If ya don’t mind, I need that timepiece now and I’ll be outta your-” Hatkid started.

“Oh? Truly? After everything I’ve done-Everything I’ve given you despite what LITTLE my section of this studio has to offer-you can’t part with one timepiece depsite already having-what, 15?! Sorry, buddy, But if ya want it back, I’ll have to be COLD AND LIFELESS ON THE FLOOR, CAUSE I SURE AS PECK AM NOT HANDING OVER THE ONE THING THAT COULD SALVAGE MY CAREER. JOEY, TIME FOR PLAN B!!!!!” Hunter snapped, eyes almost looking like kaleidoscopes.

“B-But you said that was in case of emer-” Joey started.

“PLAN B, NOW!!!!!!!” Hunter yelled.

“But-” Joey started.

“FINE!!!! I’LL DO IT MYSELF!!!! WHY ARE ALL CROWS SO PECKING USELESS?!?!?” Hunter snapped, shutting the lights off once again, eventually being replaced by a singular bright light alternating between blue and red.

“A-A-A-A b-b-b-bomb?!?” Hatkid yelped.

“RECOGNISE THIS LIL’ BOMB~? I, *HEHE* ‘BORROWED’ IT FROM THE CONDUCTOR’S SET~!! THIS TIME THOUGH, IT’S ATTACHED TO YOU INSTEAD OF HIS WORTHLESS TRAIN~!! IT’S GONNA BLOW IN A FEW MINUTES, SO YA BETTER HURRY AND EITHER USE ONE OF YOUR BELOVED TIMEPIECES TO REWIND BEFORE THE BOMB WAS WIRED AND AGREE TO LET ME KEEP THE TIMEPIECE OR FIND A WAY TO DEFUSE THE BOMB~!! YOUR CHOICE, ‘LASS’~!!!!” Hunter cackled.

The Conductor peeked out of one of the sides at the arena. “Hunter?!? What’s The Meaning Of This?!?” he snapped.

“CROWS, KEEP ‘EM AT BAY WHILE I HANDLE THE KID!!!!!” Hunter ordered, eyes still rippling with anger and emotion.

Grooves peeked out the other side of the arena, shocked at the events occuring before him. “Hunter, darlin’, I’m sure we can talk this out if ya would just calm dow-” Grooves started.

“SHOVE IT, TUNA BREATH!!!!!!!” Hunter snapped.

“LASS!!!! THAT IS NAE HOW WE-” The Conductor started.

“SHOVE IT, DI!!!!!!” Hunter yelled.

The Conductor’s heart stopped for a moment. “Conductor darlin’, get your head in the game! We need to help the little darlin’ out!!!” Grooves called.

“Aye, but how...?!?” The Conductor called back halfheartedly. Grooves tilted his head in concern.

“Darlin’, are you okay...?” Grooves called.

The Conductor shook his head. “Aye, ‘M fine. Yer on figuring out how to apprehend Hunter and I’ll find a defuser for the bomb.” The Conductor said.

(Timeskip a bit!)

Hunter hopped back onstage as Hatkid fell to one knee, catching her breath. “Awww, what’s wrong, ‘Darling’~? Ya can outrun a train set to explode, but ya can’t outrun a crow whose growth was stunted~? How sad can ya get~?” Hunter taunted.

“NOW, CONDUCTOR, DARLIN’!!!” Grooves ordered. Hunter yelped in surprise as The Conductor hopped over the side, rolling into the arena and over to Hatkid, defusing the bomb with ease.

“YOU LITTLE PECKNECK!!!” Hunter growled. As Hunter was about to run at The Conductor, two flippers grabbed under her arms, holding her back. “HEY!!! WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA?!?” Hunter snapped.

“Not this time, darlin’!!!” Grooves said, holding her back. Hunter flailed her legs around in an attempt to get lose, but it wasn’t working.

“Lass-” The Conductor started, but Hunter didn’t make any motion or anything to show she was listening. “Lass-” He started over, still the same result. “HUNTER PLATINUM BURKES, STOP YER SQUIRMING THIS INSTANT BEFORE I BREAK YER LEGS SO THAT YE DO!!!!!!” The Conductor yelled, voice echoing slightly. Hunter stopped at the voice raise, having heard him raise his voice before, but never to THAT level.

“Yes sir.” Hunter squeaked.

“Good. Cause I wouldae, had yer not stopped.” The Conductor snapped. He squatted down to her height, scowl clear as day on his face, despite the lack of eyes. “Now then; START. TALKING. NOW.” The Conductor growled.

“How much do I need to dumb it down?” Hunter scoffed, rolling her eyes. Hunter yelped as The Conductor grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to make eye contact despite not having eyes.

“LASS, DONNAE PUSH ME BUTTONS. THIS IS SERIOUS. YE ALMOST MURDERED A CHILD. THAT COULD GET YER IN LEGAL TROUBLE.” The Conductor growled.

“Like YOU TWO are any better.” Hunter scoffed.

“LASS-” The Conductor started.

“What does she mean?” Hatkid asked, confused.

“Oh, that’s right!! They never told ANYONE HOW I split UP FROM THEM!!” Hunter said, faking cheerfulness.

“Lass, that was years ago, we’ve apologized for it multiple ti-” The Conductor started.

“YOU GAVE NO WARNING, CONNIE!!!!!! AT LEAST GROOVES WAS GONNA PUT IT NICELY!!!!!! BUT NO, YA HAD TO BE A HUGE PECKNECK ABOUT IT AND NOT SOFTEN THE BLOW WHATSOEVER!!!!!” Hunter barked.

“What does she mean?” Hatkid asked, worried.

“Lass, it doesnae mat-” The Conductor started.

“They cast ya in REBOOTS, kid~!!” Hunter butted in.

Hatkid’s thoughts went spiraling. “What...?” Hatkid gasped. Hunter giggled, sounding more unhinged than joyful.

“Yes sir-ee~!!! I helped them out with the originals, but then I got my own studio, so I got kicked from them in fear of-what were your words again, Conductor~?” Hunter taunted. The Conductor’s gaze fell to the floor. “Oh yeah~!!!! ‘we donnae want yer to be stealin any of our story ideas lass, so yer getting removed from our projects’~!!!!!!!!” Hunter grinned maliciously.

“Darlin’, me and The Conductor here have grown past that-besides, the darlin’ there did as fine a job you did, maybe even better!” Grooves grinned.

“Ooooooh, so I wasn’t good enough?!” Hunter barked. Grooves frowned.

“Ya know that’s NOT what I meant, darlin’.” Grooves scolded.

“Oh really?” Hunter growled.

“Lass, that’s-” The Conductor started.

“I’m sure the only reason that your movies got such a high rating was because penguin representation is so low nowadays that penguins were happy to see themselves in the entertainment that they enjoy~!!” Hunter mocked.

“Lass-” The Conductor repeated.

“Peck, I bet that if ya didn’t take the ‘little darlin’ ‘s debt away, she wouldn’t have helped ya to begin with~!!” Hunter teased. Grooves frowned slightly.

“Lass-” The Conductor growled.

“I’m sure she only helped ya outta pity~!!!” Hunter sneered.

“LASS, THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH FROM YOU!!!!!!” The Conductor snapped. Hunter frowned. 

“It’s the truth and ya know it, Con.” Hunter grumbled.

“What HAPPENED to ye, lass?! Ye used to be so kind, caring, upbeat-even yer colours were brighter...! What happened...?” The Conductor asked.

“What happened...? What HAPPENED? What HAPPENED?!?!? MAYBE WHAT HAPPENED WAS THAT AFTER TAKING CARE OF MY FAMILY SINCE I WAS SIX, I WAS LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO BE PROUD OF ME!!!!!! GROOVES WAS EASY TO PLEASE, BUT YOU-THE ONE PERSON I HAD THAT WAS CLOSE TO A FATHER FIGURE-I COULD NEVER MAKE YOU PROUD OF ME, NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED!!!!” Hunter barked. “I JUST wanted to amount to something, and I did, for a few months, but then ya went and ripped it away from me....! It DEMOLISHED my mental state, but therapy never helped. I always thought it was my fault-that I did something out of line-but soon enough, I realized that I wasn’t to blame, but it was you two. So I held a grudge...And that all was kept bottled up until...well, now...” Hunter explained.

“Ye...wanted me to be proud of ye...?” The Conductor gasped.

“Stupid, I know...” Hunter scowled.

“Wait, you never had parents?” Hatkid asked sadly.

“No, all I had were lumps of feathers that were poor excuses for parents. Like, yeah, they’d do stuff to keep me alive ‘n’ stuff, but only the bare minimum.” Hunter scoffed. Hunter chuckled darkly. “At least I kept the Hookshot I got from Train rush...!” Hunter chuckled sadly. The Conductor’s heart stopped.

“Lass, ye didn’t-” The Conductor started.

“I did....! It didn’t work though...Darn low ceilings...” Hunter chuffed. The Conductor nodded at Grooves and he put Hunter down gently.

“I trust ye not to do anything dumb.” The Conductor said, kneeling down to her height. “Donnae break that trust.” He warned. He pulled her into a hug, patting her on the back.

as The Conductor got up, Hunter got up, pulling out a knife. “CONDUCTOR, LOOK-” Grooves started before getting interrupted by an electric zap sound. Hunter dropped onto the floor, out cold.

“Sorry I had to do that, Lass. Sometimes, ye cannae reason yer way outta things.” The Conductor lamented.

“A zap disc...?” Hatkid asked.

“Leftover from one of me older movies; Eggtrocities up on spy tower. I kept ‘em in case I’d need ‘em in future. Wish I didnae have to use it on her, but some people just donnae wanna see reason.” The Conductor sighed.

“What’re we gonna do when she wakes up, Conductor, darlin’?” Grooves asked.

The Conductor took a deep breath. “Apologize.” He stated. “Apologize, and make it up to her.” The Conductor said.

“It’s....a little late for that, darlin’.” Grooves winced. The Conductor giggled and Hatkid smiled, recognizing it.

The Conductor pulled out a timepiece. “Is it now~? Lass, do ye mind if we~?” He asked.

“Nah! You’re all fun to be around! Besides, it’s for Hunter! She deserves better!” Hatkid beamed.

“Aye, that she does, Lass.” The Conductor smiled.

Hunter curled up into a ball, snoozing softly.

“That she does....” The Conductor smiled softly.