#they did try putting all the pieces together to paint a nice picture of 'the syndrome'

[eats-the-stars]

my nephew really got nerfed here by the genetics lottery. intolerances up the kazoo. boy cannot digest so many things. child you are only 3 years old please he is on so many supplements.

[daytaker]

Hi! I'd Like to request something for obey me. So MC is an Artist Like Semi realistic or so and then they draw the brothers and themself all together Like some Kind of Family Photo for maybe a sweet gesture to appriciat them, what would the reaction be?

First of all, that's adorable. Second of all, yes, absolutely.

Everyone

The immediate question on everyone's mind is where it should be put. The suggestions are fairly predictable. Beel wants it in the kitchen. Satan wants it in the library. Belphie wants it in the observatory. Asmo thinks it should go in his bathroom, and he acts amazed when his brothers disagree.

You'll probably be the one to suggest making some copies of it if they like it so much. That way they can all have one. The brothers all like this idea, so you head off to the Devildom equivalent of a FedEx store and make some quick copies for everybody.

Eventually, the original work will find pride of place above the fireplace, where everyone will get plenty of time to admire it, including guests. The brothers are all very proud to explain to them that they have a very close friend who's an artist, thank you, and they made that piece of artwork up there for them, for free, because they love them all so much. What do you mean it's too small for that big of a space? Clearly you don't understand art, they'll tell the guest. Satan smirks; Levi rolls his eyes; Asmo whispers something to Mammon and they both start snickering. Real mean girl energy.

Lucifer

It's proved to be more or less impossible to get a photograph with himself and all six of his brothers, so this is an immediate hit with him. Plus, you're in it, which makes it even more valuable. He wonders why he didn't commission a painted family portrait earlier. It just hadn't crossed his mind, he supposes.

He'll buy a very nice and expensive frame for the picture and have it professionally mounted on a backboard. Only a museum quality display will do.

He enjoys looking at the artwork now and then and mentally noting all the details he likes. You captured Mammon's smug smile perfectly, and somehow Levi looks happy, but still like himself. Of course, his favorite part of the picture (along with you, of course) is himself. He thinks he looks very dignified, and he appreciates that you placed him in the center; the true patriarch of the family. Besides that (though he wouldn't bring it up unprompted), he thinks you made him look very handsome, and he likes the idea that you see him that way.

Mammon

You put him next to you?! I mean, of course you did! He's your number one demon, right? Obviously he belongs right next to you! He'll point out his positioning in the picture to his brothers often enough that they've gotten past feeling annoyed about it and just tease him for simping so openly.

He thinks it looks a little bit like you're smiling at him in the picture. You're not. You're staring into the 'camera', just like everyone else. But he tells himself that. He has another copy of the picture made where he cropped out everyone besides the two of you. He keeps it in his sock drawer so he can pull it out when he's by himself and admire it. Lucifer has walked in on him lying on his back and holding it up, staring wistfully at the picture, often enough that he can tell by how quiet it is when Mammon is either sleeping or staring at that goddamn picture of his again.

Speaking of extra copies, he also made some more to try and sell at RAD, but, shockingly, cheap copies of a picture of someone else's family didn't sell well. Diavolo bought one though, as did Simeon. Yeah, maybe it wasn't exactly ethical to try and capitalize on your artwork, but, well, come on, he's in it, and you gave it to him, so that kind of makes him the owner of it, right...?

Leviathan

He's pretty sure he's not breathing right now. That's... That's how he looks? To you? He looks....amazing....!! Look at his smile! His jawline! His glossy hair! His cheeks, touched with color---!!! You must think he's... like....... Ugh, it's stupid, like, who even cares? Nobody, that's who. Nobody except him. He cares. And he wishes his stomach would settle down a little bit before lunch explodes onto the rug. So he'll just take his copy of the painting, clutch it to his chest, and giggle to himself as he slinks off to his room while everyone else stands admiring the painting on the mantlepiece.

Now, to really study this thing. He lies in his bathtub and squints at the painting. He realizes, to his dismay, that all his brothers look extra hot in this thing too. Hrmm... But, whatever! The important part is that he looks amazing! His eyes are shining, his skin looks healthy and smooth, and.... well.... he doesn't look like somebody it'd be weird for you to be into, maybe. Maybe? Possibly.

He's pretty shy around you for a few days after you give them all the picture. He's not really sure how he's supposed to react around someone who thinks he's... h....ha-ha....handsome...???? And not just that, but the look on his face! Does he make faces like that in real life? Does he make faces like that in front of you?

He spends a good chunk of time in front of the mirror trying to imitate the look from the painting, but he can't quite get it right. He always ends up crumbling into a pathetic, groaning, blushing little creep and fleeing the bathroom. He hates himself. But he can cheer himself up with the knowledge that you definitely don't hate him, right? How could you draw someone you hated looking like... like....?!?

Satan

Knowing Satan is someone who admires art in general, you were most nervous about him seeing it. He has a tendency to be fairly blunt and honest, and you really hoped he'd just appreciate the thought behind the picture without subjecting it to any kind of critical analysis.

But of course he did it anyway. He'd expressed his appreciation just like his brothers had when you first gave it to them, but you'd often see him standing in front of the fireplace staring up at the picture with a hand to his chin after that.

Satan's initial thought, after the excitement over the gift and how cute and nervous you looked giving it to them all, is that the composition of the piece, while not particularly original, has definite visual appeal. While he doesn't particularly enjoy Lucifer's position in the middle, he understands why you put him there, both artistically and psychologically. Lucifer dominates almost any group he's in with his annoyingly hefty self-confidence. His ego is smeared all over the picture, but that's not your fault. That's just Lucifer, being awful and ruining things, like he always does.

When he finally gives some attention to how he looks in the painting, he's pleasantly surprised. He looks refreshingly like himself, but also like he's meant to be there, with everybody else. He can also tell you spent some time on his eyes. They look lovely. If you ever want to paint them again, he'd be happy to model for you. What, shy all of a sudden?

Asmodeus

Well, obviously he's the real star of the artwork. It's as if he's glowing, washing out his brothers with his effervescent presence on the canvas! Clearly, you know your art. Never mind he's the only one who seems to quite see the picture in that way.

He has his copy of the painting framed and hung up in his bathroom, where he thought the original should have been put all along. Now he never feels like he's alone in the tub! Every once in a while, he'll talk to the artwork while he takes a bath. Just to amuse himself. But when you go back to the human world, 'every once in a while' becomes 'almost every day'.

He has a theory that if someone stares into the eyes of Painting Asmo too deeply for too long, they'll fall in love with him. The painting version of him, that is. He knows that's silly, so he keeps it to himself, but he can't stop himself from imagining you mesmerized by your own painting of him, bewitched by the very eyes you painted...

Beel

Honestly, Beel is just happy you made a picture including him, his brothers, and you. You put him right beside Belphie with an arm slung around his shoulders. He's smiling more in the picture than he normally does in real life, but that doesn't bother him at all. He wants to look happy in this kind of painting.

He taped his copy of the picture to the refrigerator door. Everyone appreciates this, not just Beel, though he definitely sees it the most often. After you go home, he says good morning to you every day when he first heads to the fridge. It's a nice way to feel like you're still around.

Belphie

Wow... He looks adorable here. And you didn't include him drooling like his brothers always do when they draw him. Though it really isn't fair to compare this to the "drawings" his brothers have made to make fun of each other. Idiots...

You put him right next to Beel. That makes him smile. And he looks...like he's happy to be there. Maybe not grinning like a doofus, but like this is his family, and he's pretty okay with it.

He keeps his copy of the picture taped to his bedpost so he can look at it whenever he feels lonely, especially after your year in the Devildom comes to an end.

[inknopewetrust]

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

summary: you are recruited to the spider society after conducting a batch of vigilante actions against the men who killed your husband, miguel and well... their leader isn’t like the man you remembered.

pairing: miguel o’hara x spider-woman!reader [wc: 12.7k]

warnings: language. this has got everything: backstory, meeting, conflict, angst, sadness, tie-ins with the film, (i hope you're reading this in a stefon voice), ethical dilemmas, vigilante shit, violence, romantic love strains, etc., etc.

Manhattan was rainy. It was always rainy.

But let’s do this again, shall we?

The skyline was high. Muddled variants of blues and reds, the colors that had painted your life for a decade now. It was silly to imagine a world of color beyond that–it's all you knew, you had nothing left.

And all of that nothing was the consequences of the dealings of a few bad men.

You breathed in deep. They were right there, right below your feet.

Their laughter in their indifference to life was vexing. It made your blood broil and bubble to the surface where you thought your eyes may have been red and your grip on the stone building was onerous.

In the distance, police sirens blared across the city where crime did not take a backseat because their most treasure hero was rogue. People were in trouble but you saw cessation of hope with every second that passed and those in charge did nothing to avenge your husband.

Husband. Nevertheless, what you had was gone and never coming home to you. The least you could do was try to find the justice to be brought by your own hands.

"Nah, man..." One of the men–a blonde, high-tech worker from the east side of town–shook his head. "We can't go there. They've got cameras all over the place! Ain't no way we are gettin' out free."

"Well then we go downtown and hit one alongside the river. We'll set up a boat and get us to Brooklyn before they can even suspect anyone was there," another collaborator said. Blondie shook his head determined.

"You think Spider-Girl isn't gonna be waitin' for us?" He scoffed, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. You perched straighter as you peered down. Spider-Woman. It was Spider-Woman.

“She got Mikey last week, Simon two days ago… we don’t have much left and if you think robbin’ fuckin’ Wall Street is gonna save us, you’re wrong.”

A sensible criminal with blood on his hands. Nice.

“Besides, they got the police captain on her ass and while they’re out lookin’ for her, they won’t sweat the small stuff,” blondie pulled a black ski mask from his jacket.

“It’s now or never,” he slipped it on and walked to the door of the bodega on the corner. He held out his hand as if his friend was actually a true friend and not a piece to his own networked puzzle.

Your stomach turned and the sight made your spine tingle.

Outside on the sidewalk of the street in the rain of New York City, the two men who were left of the dirty dozen walked into the grocer with no intention to buy anything.

It hadn’t dawned on you that as you dropped to the pavement, you weren’t wearing your suit or mask.

The hub was quiet.

In this slick world, everything was silver and green and the headquarters were no different — yet too different for Peter to know that he wasn’t from this universe and always felt out of place.

A picture on desk that wasn’t his grounded him to a separate reality; one of love and hope and a small child’s laughter.

Spider-Byte’s was typing away on the keys beside him while he tapped away on the table top.

Nothing exciting had happened since the… glitch. It had been a long nine months without the glue that had put him back together.

That was until Spider-Byte’s computer started beeping in a manic fashion. It was a sound neither of them had heard before. A high pitched siren blaring loudly from a machine the the left of Peter, a button glowing red and flashing.

“Uh,” Peter pointed to the button, “you got any clue what that’s about?”

Spider-Byte shook her head as she pulled up a database on a screen. Her tech hands glided over the keys like music, fluid and fast and working with a purpose.

“Some system Miguel’s got here,” she muttered and Peter attempted to cover the small speaker beside the button with his hand—it didn’t work.

“Where is he? He said he’d be right back and now we’re facing the end of the wor—“

“I doubt this is the end of the world, Peter!” Spider-Byte cut him off harshly. “Now would you be useful and go find Miguel?”

As the dutiful Spider-Person he was, Peter rushed out of the central lair and into the bright white halls of the headquarters. Everyone he passed he asked the same question:

“Hey! You’ve seen Miguel anywhere?”

“Yo! Seen the big man around?”

He slid up to a group of variant Julia Carpenters as they sipped on coffee in the cafeteria. Peter gave them a sly smirk, trying to be cool, and snapped his fingers.

“Have any of you seen the boss today? Looking fine as usual.”

Synchronized, the Julia’s pointed to the empanada station and sure as shit, there was Miguel, talking with the vender who yes, just happened to also be a Spider-Man.

“Miguel!” Peter screeched from the table and Miguel’s mind went soured. A violent jolt to his instincts as the new father came barreling toward him.

“¡At no…!” Miguel mumbled to himself as Peter skidded to a halt, dropping his hand on Miguel’s shoulder with a clunk.

“Hey, Boss! Whatcha… watcha doin’ out here?” Peter chuckled nervously and Miguel narrowed his eyes. “You said you’d be right back.”

“I did,” Miguel drawled. “I told you five minutes and it’s only been three, Peter.”

Peter laughed, glancing around the space as confused gazes began to pick up on the pebbles of sweat that dripped from his temple.

“Oh! You don’t say?”

“What’s so impo—“ Miguel began but never finished. Lyla appeared out of thin air with a casual urgency unlike Peter’s frantic one.

“We’ve got a doozy here for ya, boss.”

With Lyla, everything came to life smoothly. As she snapped her fingers, holograms of screens appeared like magic and on them, an un-masked, Spider-Woman was beating the shit out of thieves in a bodega.

“Jesus,” Peter whispered to himself.

“He doesn’t come here,” Miguel replied without a smile nor a chuckle but it took Peter back.

Miguel was watching the woman carefully. This Spider-Woman was not apart of the society and was actively doing what no Spider-Person should do. However, Miguel knew the actions. He felt them deep within his bones and the mistakes he had made as a newly minted Spider-Man 2099.

“Name’s Y/n L/n… a former nurse who got mixed up in a bad batch of blood for a transfusion. This isn’t the first time we’ve been alerted about her,” Lyla debriefed and Miguel snapped.

“What do you mean, ‘not the first time?’”

“These are a group of men she’s been targeting. It’s got to do with her,” Lyla cleared her throat that was nonexistent, “canon event.”

“We have to bring her in,” Miguel began walking away from Peter and Lyla followed. “I am NOT having some vigilante shit show up on this doorstep. Peter, get Jess, brief her and get a day pass to bring along.”

“Miguel,” Peter wagered, “what if this is associated with her canon? What if she’s just an anti-hero in her world?”

“She’s not,” Lyla piped back in. “She’s a hero, hero. And this isn’t part of her canon event. You’ve gotta know how grief moves people?”

Miguel grunted, Peter sighed.

“Get Jess. I’ll wait for you,” Miguel pushed on Peter’s shoulder to send him the other way.

Once alone and down the winding halls near the center of the headquarters, Lyla spoke again perched on Miguel’s shoulder.

“Miguel, I think there’s something you should know?”

“Know what, Lyla?” Miguel’s attitude had always been sour—she had been there from his creation and it never changed. He never truly smiled, he never truly laughed.

Miguel O’Hara was a tough nut to crack in a world full of people who lived off joy and laughter.

But she could feel the sensations radiating off of him. Those strident lines of afflictions that were masked by the way he covered his face. The tense nature of his shoulders as he walked further and further away but closer to a person he’d never thought to face again.

It felt like an intrusion all over again.

“You know what, Lyla?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she defended, hologramed hand squeezing his shoulder. “But there are a million Peter’s and Gwen’s and MJ’s out there.”

“This isn’t her,” Miguel huffed. “She would never do this.”

“But she is, Miguel… and her canon event is you.”

“So a possible disruption?”

“It’s already happened,” Lyla explained, giving immediate explanation to your actions. Miguel did not know you in this way, but he could imagine why such feelings would manifest in violence.

“Good, good.”

Lyla scoffed, hopping to her feet. “I wouldn’t say it’s ‘good,’ boss. You died in her world. You were married in her world. I think she’s gonna wanna slap you for even existing in another timeline.”

“Why?” Miguel quirked a brow. “You know her or something? Keeping secrets from me now?”

To save her, Peter and Jess entered the lair with their bands glowing. Lyla simply shrugged and disappeared before they jumped into an Earth that would feel like they own but be nothing like it.

“Miguel," Jess was already shaking her head. Three months pregnant and still doing work, both Peter and Miguel would not be surprised if the child arrived wearing a suit of their own. "There's no anomaly there–there hasn't been a case in that world of a villain glitching from another."

"It's not about the bad guys," Miguel walked toward them to meet them in the middle. "What she's doing no Spider-Person has done before and what's the purpose of a society if we don't help one of our own?"

Lyla appeared between the three ready to open the portal.

"One last thing, folks!" She walked around casually glowing and pushed up her heart shaped glasses to her hairline. "She's not wearing her suit - so if you don't work fast, her identity will be known to the public and well! We just can't have that, can we?"

"Fantastic!" Peter complained as Miguel opened up the portal. "They are a bit suffocating really, if you asked me."

"Well we didn't," Miguel gruffed.

"What's her name? Just Spider-Woman?" Jess asked. "Should we just yell 'Hey! Spider-Woman! Stop it! You're actually a good person!'"

"Y/n. Her name is Y/n and don't freeze up when you see her, alright bud? Alright! See you all when you get back! Have fun!" Lyla waved, patting Miguel's leg as she walked the floor and disappeared once more.

Stretching out his legs, Peter did not miss the glare Miguel gave Lyla. His eyes cold and hardened; he knew so little of this leader but felt he knew so much. Miguel wasn't like the other Spider-People and well, he assumed perhaps you were not either.

Peter missed that he should have recognized your name.

He had been there with Miguel when the other world collapsed.

"Anything else you wanna tell us, boss?" He pushed. Miguel shook his head and slipped on his mask in more ways than one.

"She's disturbing her own canon by going rogue. I'm not going to let her destroy it because she's... upset."

Jess laughed and Miguel was indignant. "If she's a bad egg, she's a bad egg, Miguel. You can't save everyone."

"She's not a bad one!" Miguel scolded her, pointing out toward the darkness of the portal. "She's not supposed to do this and we need to fix this! Y/n is good!"

Peter smirked, wiggling his brows. He could sense Miguel's anger muddled with a nervous fear he never had. "Y/n, Miguel... first name basis already and we haven't even met her. You move fast, don't you?"

"Oh, you are so fucking annoying! She was my wife!"

Peter's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Oh no! Not again, nope!"

"She doesn't exist in this world anymore, Peter," Earth 928, "and in another timeline, she's taken the mantle."

Jess jutted her hip out as the whirring of the portal loomed over them. "So you exist in her's too then? This won't be too confusing. It's just like Peter and MJ or Gwen in the thousands of realities that exist."

"Sure, sure," Miguel said. "But there are only three realities where she exists and," he cleared his throat as he looked down the portal, "this is the last one left."

"We shouldn't risk it. We can't collapse another world."

"We won't collapse it."

"How do you know that?" Peter questioned. There was always a level of selfishness when it came to those someone loved most.

"I just... I just know! You're not in charge here, Peter. If I don't have any hesitations right now, then neither can you."

"Well then," Peter strutted through the portal and turned around before his body was completely gone, "Let's go get us another Spidey then, yeah?"

And he saluted Miguel and Jess before jumping in.

"You've been monitoring her world?" Jess asked and Miguel looked to his feet. She had never seen him so bashful. Never one to make a scene of rash emotional actions, the causation would need

"I watch over many worlds."

"Yeah but come on," She dug, "this is a lot different than those worlds. You know her."

"I don't know her," Miguel defended himself and took a step further into the portal. "She isn't my wife. She's just a version of her that I don't know."

"Mhm," Jess hummed and drummed on her arm as they remained crossed from the moment Miguel said you were his wife. "Let's go meet her then. Then you can go on and on about how she's everything you remember but not the same."

And she walked through the portal before she disappeared to leave Miguel alone.

With clenched fists, Miguel breathed in deep and appeared in a reality he promised never to interfere with.

Inside of the bodega, the two men bartered with one another in the aisle. They looked to be two friends having a conversation in the middle of the shop but their intentions were not pure.

The bell above the door rang as you entered. Shoulders and hair wet from the rain, the cashier paid you no mind as he changed the station on his portable radio sat on the counter.

There were three civilians inside. One, the cashier who was oblivious and that is the sole reason these thugs decided to hit the bodega. An 'easy' target to get in and out. Two, a woman who was going grey at her temples. And three, a teenage kid with untied sneakers.

You ducked behind a shelf as you watched them in the aisle beside you. Between the chips and pretzels they concocted their idiotic plan in the presence of innocent people as they always did–it was how their bank robbery disaster went sideways six months ago.

When civilians are present, one of them will always try and become the hero. It is what Miguel did and now he's six feet under in a cold box.

"Excuse me, Miss," the older woman pointed to the bag of chips that your hand was resting on. She turned your attention away from the men. "Could I get one of those? I don't mean to be a–"

The men began to make their moves and you were distracted by the woman. She had kind eyes. Easy and familiar and a familial feeling to them as she waited patiently for you to move.

"Yes, yes," you replied as you got out of her way. "Sorry."

You didn't know why you apologized. Maybe you felt sorry she found herself in this bodega at an hour such as this.

"No worries, dear." The boy wasn't far from her either. He was shuffling through a freezer looking for a drink that wasn't there.

As she grabbed onto the bag, the radio dropped to the floor and turned off. It startled everyone inside and the cashier filled the silence with his desperate pleas.

"Oh my," his jaw chattered, "please... I don't have anything.... I-I-I I've gotta lot of student lo-o-oans and I really n-need this job."

He was staring into a silver barrel of a gun by the hands of the blonde who orchestrated everything. The older woman screeched behind you and the freezer door slammed shut with a "oh hell no!" following its thud.

You imagined the fear they felt was the same Miguel felt that day. Sitting there, hostage on the bank floor with a check to cash from his mother for his birthday.

The check was in evidence splattered with his blood.

In the neon light of the bodega, you made a choice to never let that happen again.

The cashier kept muttering whole-hearted pleas and the friend reached over the counter to open the register's drawer but it was locked.

"Unlock it!" Blondie ordered, shaking the gun closer and closer to the cashier who looked close to wetting himself. Behind you, the older woman crouched to the floor began praying to herself.

"Unlock it now, you son-of-a-bitch! You wanna end up on the floor? Open it!"

The cashier, who now you realized had a name badge on that read 'Max', began to reach for the keys that were hooked onto the counter.

Fear in his eyes, anticipation in theirs, anger in yours.

Anger always caused the tides to turn.

You reached your hand forward in a quick motion and the web that released itself from your wrist snatched the keys from the hook. Max flew backwards in a jolt of despair and the barrel was soon pointed at you.

"Oh you have got to be kidding!" Blondie screeched and fired a shot. He missed. It was sent right into a chip bag and exploded them all over the floor. You tossed the keys to the older woman and went for the gun.

Like child's play, the gun flew across the bodega and into your palm to be crushed like a piece of fruit. It was still hot from being fired and its pieces crumbled to the floor.

"What the fuck–" the woman stuttered.

"So," Blondie spoke and you hated his tone. Condescending and mighty. "Spider-Woman has a face..."

This friend pulled a bracelet from his pocket that lit up green. It glowed as brightly as the neon signs in the window blurred by the rain.

"She does," you replied. "And it will be the last face you see."

He laughed. They always did. It was an inescapable pattern of dealing with enemies who thought they would win. They never did, and they all thought the same way.

"Is that so? I would really hate to have the Bugle's headline to read: Spider-Woman killed innocent civilians at the 6th street Bodega." He let out a series of tisks with a shake of his head. "Who knew heroes could be so bad?"

He looked to his friend. "Herman..."

The friend, Herman, locked eyes on you and approached quickly and with a heavy hand charging with the green of the gauntlet. You could hearing the whirring and the loading of the power.

Instead of moving out of the way, you turned and pushed the older woman away. She slid on the slick floor into a corner with her bag of chips still in her hand.

The shock hit you with a staggering power. It blew you backwards into an ice freezer in the back of the store. As you landed on the ground, the woman whimpered in the corner and the boy caught your eye underneath a table by the restrooms.

He couldn't have been more than fifteen.

And he wasn't going to die today.

So, you got back on your feet and brushed off your jacket. The residual sting of the shock began to wear off and the men looked at you with a challenge.

"Who knew fighting the Spider would have been so easy?" Blondie laughed. "Where were you when we started? It would have been a much more fair fight."

"Busy," you spat.

"Huh," he hummed with a nod of his head. It was like he was trying to clock you–the way his eyes squinted and he tilted his head just a bit higher than it normally would have been. "Say, have we met before?"

"I'm sure I would remember. This is certainly a pleasurable encounter."

Blondie didn't let the words sting. You weren't a Spider who stung with a bite.

"I've seen your face before..."

"Maybe I just have one of those faces," you quirked a brow and Herman charged his gauntlet again. "Is this the worst you can do? Threaten a few innocents and have your friend do all the work? What happened to real criminals, huh?"

"Funny," he walked like a villain. Hands in his pockets, shoes scuffing the floor. "I've heard that one before." His mind raked the last time he heard that.

"Well it must say something about you then."

Herman went to shock again and you shot a web at him. He went soaring into a wall, head hitting it hard.

"I know!" He snapped his fingers like a lightbulb went off inside. Clarity now in a world filled of unclear ways. "I've seen your picture before."

"So what?" You matched his movements as he moved toward the center of the store. Every tight aisle blocked your view like a shutter.

"'Is this the worst you can do?' Someone told me that a short time ago. A man who tried to get in my way."

Miguel.

He was at the bank. He had his check ready, he was at the counter. Miguel had his wallet out and prepared.

He had a photo in his wallet.

"And I think you know how that turned out for him. But here's the thing, Spider-Woman... I don't hate the idea of having that same fate met you tonight. I imagine being so deep underneath the ground it gets a little lonely."

He stopped at the center, so did you.

"I think it's time for you to join him."

But all you saw was red.

There was an intense pulsing pressure inside of the bodega. You weren't sure how much time had passed as your fist dug deeper and deeper into the man who spoke too much and had little to act upon.

Whimpers of those left inside were deferred. The begging of his friend fell on deaf ears.

In the corner beside the three civilians–the woman, teen, and cashier–a glowing hexagonal portal opened to the dimension in which they lived. It hummed like a freezer and moved like something from the cinema they watched last year but instead of aliens appearing from the abyss, three people emerged no different than the way they walked.

They were people, human. Three Spider-People in a world that already had a Spider-Woman.

In their perspective the heroes were welcome. They were terrified and huddled within one another as one robber was webbed to the wall and the other was being beaten to a pulp by a woman with super-human strength.

"Peter," Miguel motioned to the civilians in the corner, "get 'em out of here."

The humble servant Peter was, he acted quickly. His nervous high-pitched voice soothing their fears with panic and disbelief that three masked people walked through a portal as though it was any other day.

"Get the man down, Jess," Miguel pointed to the guy webbed to the wall. Jess tipped her head to the side with an amused, sly grin on her face as he wept. Chick's a badass, she thought.

A violent one at the moment, albeit, but a badass nonetheless.

Fist hovered in the air, you went rigid as the sensations coursed through you. A striking feeling that felt more like a severe headache that came on too quickly, the immense pressure your body suddenly took on wasn't unfamiliar.

You had felt them before. It happened when something in the air changed. When something you knew could disappear or when time was suddenly running short. There was no term for it nor did any other person in this world feel what you felt.

The man below you gurgled. It was, just like the sensation, a sound that awoken something within you. It cleared the vision from red to reality and suddenly the harsh lighting of the bodega and the reflections of the neon signs on the linoleum filled in the edges.

"Shit," you stammered as your grip on his body lessened with every second.

Those consistent strums of radiating itching went from the top of your head to the base of your skull. A humming in the distance turned into a whirring sound that was too extraneous to come from a small place such as this one.

In an instant, the aluminum window covers were pulled from the ceiling by a pair of red, glowing lines reminiscent of webs. It shut out the outside world and the rain that had been pouring down for hours. The neon lights no longer reflected themselves on the flooring.

A hero, a villain... at some point those had all become the same to you.

The ideas that propelled them to act were all based in something that made them feel passionate enough to target an opposing force. When a hero turns to the fragmented middle of the road and balances the line of enemy and friend, the revelations of such shame grow from a deeper place of pain.

"Let him go."

The voice in your head sounded so much like Miguel.

And once your senses stopped going wild, your heart lept into your throat at the thought.

You buried him. You buried him six feet under.

The door to the bodega's alley opened and closed.

"Come on," the voice said again, "let him go and we can clean up this mess."

"Stop," you mumbled, shutting your eyes as your fists clenched the man's jacket harder. The one that had been in the air dropped to his chest. It was wet with the mixture of sweat and blood.

"Stop it please. Please stop it."

"Those civilians are gonna go get the police," his voice was low. It was that kind of voice that Miguel would use to talk you down from a nightmare–or maybe what this dimension had made you.

"And when they get here, what do you think they're gonna do when they see you sittin' over him?"

"Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking–" you repeated again and again. A thud in the distance set the blonde's friend on the floor and a web kept him in place once more.

"Boss they're gonna take her," another voice, not one you had ever head before filled the room and suddenly you were terrified that it wasn't voices you were hearing in your head. "We gotta bring her back with us."

"Alright! Three darling innocents saved again by, you guessed it," a far too cheerful voice added to the collection, "me."

You were curled into yourself over the blonde. Peter saw a woman, not dressed in a traditional uniform, use her powers for bad. But he saw the destruction of the man and knew that it wasn't from sheer wickedness.

He had seen you care so much before. It had to come from a place of caring.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "this is... a lot." And then he blanched.

"Jess," Miguel motioned to your static figure. He turned around and walked away as if to say 'you got it.'

There was an inflection in his voice that made Jess bristle. She hated the tone; removed and vacant. He was already living a humorless existence and the idea that this dimension made you act this way fractured himself in a new way.

"You heard him," Peter went scouring the aisles, plucking a bag of dried beef from a shelf to shove his mouth with. "You got this!" He gave a half-hearted thumbs up.

So, Jess had this.

She didn't crouch down. She didn't attempt to place a hand on your shoulder or help clean off your hands.

Jess kneeled on the other side of the man and your distant eyes met hers to know you weren't alone. You weren't alone in your pain and you certainly weren't alone in this world.

Your first thought was that she was pretty. Your second thought was that this woman was pregnant and that made you sad.

"Looks like you've gotten yourself in a bit of a mess," she spoke quietly but acted quickly. She placed her fingers on the pulse of the man.

He was breathing.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Jess."

"Jess," you repeated, "and Jess comes from...?"

She saw your lip tremble, eyes welling with tears. Jesus, she thought, she wasn't ready to be a mother if she couldn't deal with a thirty-something spider-woman who happened to be Miguel's wife in three different dimensions.

"Earth–404."

"Earth?"

"You felt that, right?" She motioned to her head, mimicking a tingling sensation with her fingertips. You nodded.

"Well, a lot of us have it... and I mean people like you and me... and I know it makes no sense, but if you can fight mutant enemies, maybe you can imagine there are other worlds out there."

"Like planets?" You sniffed and your hands began to shake. Everything bubbling to the surface of pain and anger. "You're from another planet?"

"Not really, but kinda, sure," she agreed for your sake.

"And your friends?"

"Different planets too."

You breathed in a shaking breath. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the sirens begin to blare. It may have been 10 blocks or 6 blocks, but they were coming and they were coming in fast.

"Now," Jess cleared her throat, "it looks like you've gotten yourself in a little situation that needs a bit of help."

Jess was the most sympathetic she had ever been. The way your hands shook, your tiredness expanded beyond you. Maybe it was the fact she knew what made you go off the deep end that made her feel more thoughtful.

"They, um-"

"It's ok," Jess said and didn't let you finish. "We just need to get you somewhere safe, ok? Me and my friends can help you."

The sheen in your eyes was cloudy. Face wet and brushed with splatter of a man who was not yours, there was a lifeline to get you out of here and you had to take it.

You shook your head softly before it became more frantic. "I don't have anyone to go to... I don't have anyone."

"You do," her hand hovered over the man's body as Peter came back and lowered himself beside Jess. "You're gonna have a whole group behind you if you let us help."

"We'll get you all cleaned up and then introduce you. There is a whole universe of us out there."

"Us?"

"Spider-People?" He questioned, brows furrowed. Jess hadn't been explicit.

"A society," she drew back from Peter. "Like myself and Peter," indirectly introducing him, "and you and–" she stopped short.

"And you want me there?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "I mean, we could use some more badass Spider-Women around."

"But I–"

"Don't worry about all this, alright? We all have our moments."

Peter reached out his hand for you to take. There was a certain level of hesitancy you felt; perhaps it was a trick or maybe you were trapped in another nightmare. But Peter gave a small smile. He gave off a warmth that Jess had exuded and made you nearly forget that there were three voices and not their two.

You took Peter's hand.

The man was breathing, he would live even if he didn't deserve to. The sirens were no more than 3 blocks away.

"You gonna need one of these," Jess held out her hand to reveal a rubber bracelet.

"A day pass," she explained, "to help you adjust."

"Adjust?"

"It's better to ask fewer questions," Peter scrunched his face. "Less confusion for you."

You slipped on the bracelet.

"We good here?"

It was that voice again, the one from the back of your head.

"We gotta go. Time is ticking."

Except this voice wasn't the back of your head now that you've realized there were others in this bodega. As you rose from the floor and began walking as Jess led the way, the friend was passed out on the floor and a glowing hexagonal portal was lingering in the back of the store.

The sounds, the sensations... it meant something.

"All good, Boss. The robbers will live."

The man in the blue suit–from what you could tell–nodded and looked in your direction but said nothing. There was something in your body that was sending alarm bells to your mind but you ignored them.

They weren't like the sensations you had felt before. These were different in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Right let’s, ah,” he hesitated as his hands rested on his hips. You looked at him and he looked away. “Get moving then.”

“What’s going to happen when I go through that thing?” You pointed to the portal.

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t look at you. All he saw was his wife who used to laugh at his corny jokes and rest her head on his shoulder in bed. He saw, in one dimension, the mother of his child and he saw a happy, generous nurse who loved her job.

But when he looked at you know, part of that image was shattered.

You were a little bit broken and a little bit worn down by the world you lived in. You had blood-splattered clothing and tear stained cheeks and it was enough to make his heart ache more than it already did.

“It will pop you out just where we want you,” Peter said as he took a step into the portal and his body began to glitch with the moving sphere around him. “Just walk in and it will do the rest.”

“And it’s safe?”

“So far, yeah!” And he ran off before he disappeared.

“I’ll see you there, alright?” Jess turned to you, then looked at Blue before giving a smile that was as flat as a dead man’s heart beat.

She walked in just as suave as she came.

Suddenly, it was just the two of you and it felt strange.

There were so many feelings lingering that you couldn’t grasp onto. The air was comfortable but hesitant; there was a barrier of distrust and burden, but one that itched to reach out a hand to help.

“You know,” you sniffed back a chuckle, “I half thought I was crazy for a second.”

“About what?” He asked. “The fact that you almost killed a man or the portals? Both are equally crazy.”

In any other circumstance you would have thought he was being sarcastic.

You shook your head. You were beginning to feel the weight of your actions.

“I thought I heard voices… a voice in my head.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah,” you glanced at the portal.

A lull. The whirring of the portal, the sounds of police cars went mute when you looked back. Blue was looking at you but you couldn’t see his eyes. You couldn’t see a thing and indeed, you didn’t know his name.

Blue.

Miguel’s favorite color was blue.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “For coming here. I think I’m still a bit shell-shocked,” you laughed and he knew you were, “but maybe I was waiting for this… I don’t know.”

“It’s our job.”

Blue was done with the conversation at that point. He walked to the portal, his body glitching just like Peter and Jess’s did.

“Come on,” he motioned to you.

“What’s your name? The other two—they introduced themselves.”

“Spider-Man.”

“That’s not your name.”

He let out a huff. “You wanna be caught by the police? Fine.” He began walking again and the glitching became more erratic.

“Who’s to say you’re all not some group of aliens trying to kidnap me? At least the other two looked like me!”

His patience too was skating on thin ice.

“Come on, kid, let’s go.”

Maybe you weren’t crazy.

“What did you just say?”

He turned his body back to you and walked out of the portal. On the precipice of where you stood just beyond and where he did, he towered over you.

“I’m giving you a chance here. You come with me now or you’re dead here.”

“Kid. You said ‘kid.’ Why did you say that? Why did you say I was a kid?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, let’s go.” Like a rhythmic pattern, he turned back around.

“I’m not crazy. I know I’m not fucking crazy.” You sure as hell looked it. “Why did you say kid? Who told you to call me kid?”

“No one—“

A sudden banging on the door to the bodega caught the attention left in the room. Blondie started to gurgle, you stood steadfast, and Blue was agitated.

You took a step into the portal. Progress.

“Nobody calls me kid, no one. Why won’t you tell me your name? Who the hell are you people? Who are you?”

“We don’t have time for this!” The way he said your name that followed was one you had heard a million times.

It was just like Miguel used to say.

“Take off your mask.” You demanded and stepped further again.

“Take off your fucking mask or I’m stepping out of this goddamn thing and going to prison.”

The police began to feverishly hit the glass with their batons.

“Take it off,” you begged, “please. Please let me see you.”

And how could he say no to his wife who begged so mercilessly?

There was a time where you replayed that moment over and over in your mind.

You could still feel the way your breath caught in your chest. An immense wave of emptiness washed from you and filled with a jittery dismay that had no outlet.

His eyes were no different; the way his lips sat and his brow furrowed.

You felt the silent shed of tears mask your face before the glass breaking set Miguel moving toward you, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the portal.

His touch was the same.

And when he opened his mouth, what he sounded like was different from what he said and you were quick to realize that this Miguel was not your Miguel.

This Miguel despised people who lived happy lives.

This Miguel was mean and callous and demanding

This Miguel worked beyond reasonable hours and made being a Spider-Man his life’s purpose.

That was not your Miguel.

There was no making sense in that moment. You either believed it or you didn't and if you didn't, then they'd drop you back off in a world that had your face plastered on wanted posters and big screens in the middle of the city.

So you made sense of it and made some semblance of life within the four walls of the Spider Society headquarters with the Grade A asshole known as Miguel O'hara – not your husband.

The grief of that worked in waves. It came and went when life continued to move. It was strange to think that what brought you here, to this future, occurred one year ago.

Sat by a window looking out into an Earth that was not yours, you swung your legs as those thoughts crossed your mind. The chatter of a thousand Spider-people filled the space around you.

A thud sounded on the beam a few feet from you. Soft, nearly mute shoes tapping their way beside you. Green. The color of artificial grass in a children's playset, nearly blue.

"Watcha doing?"

There was never a moment of peace here. But you closed you eyes, sighed and a smile quirked on your lips.

"You daydreaming? I wonder what it's like out there..." Gwen Stacy joined the Spider-Society three months ago. "It looks so... contempo."

"Contempo? Where did you hear that?"

"I read you know," she tipped her head up in mock offense. "Kids do read when they're in school."

"Yeah, yeah," you brushed her off.

"So... what are you up to today? I was thinking we could monitor the dimensions with Jess and maybe catch a bad guy or two–" Gwen's fists mimicked boxing, "–and then Peter said he'd bring Mayday around–"

"Slow down," you chuckled. "I am up to nothing, thanks for asking and if that's what you want, sure."

Her eyes lit up when on most days they didn't.

"Really!?"

"Mhm, yeah, sure."

"Great!" Gwen got to her feet and wrung her hands. "Jess was in the control center so–"

"Control center?"

Gwen hummed, hands clasping behind her back comically.

"Yep! Just... chillin' by a screen. You know, she's got that baby on the way and all so we thought it'd be best to keep her inside for the time being and she doesn't like that but she said–" Gwen went on and on as the words came pouring out.

"Gwen."

"–that she would rather die than have to sit here and watch screens all day. I told Peter she would hate it and he agreed with me but sometimes he brings–"

"Gwen."

"–Mayday around just to cheer us up that we haven't gone on that many missions and its always well... you know... and we feel like we can't do anything to help out sometimes–"

"Gwen!" You shouted at her. She stopped her rambling; blue eyes wide and ears listening. "Just... take a breath, alright?"

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"You don't have to be sorry," a sharp breath steadied you. "I'm not going to go with you to the control room."

"Please," she begged. You imagined this is what it was like having a teenage daughter who wanted the most unattainable of things. "I promise it will be fine! Miguel's not even there so you don't have to worry about what he said last time!"

"That was three days ago, Gwen!"

"So what!?"

The last time was three days ago.

Ever since you arrived, it had been nothing but anger and hostility pushed toward you from him but you were not easy on him either. It was hard facing a piece of your past that had every connection but no foundation at the same time.

Earth 9591 was in ruins and the screens replayed the horrors of the people over and over. It was desolate. Earth was crumbling in on itself and a medieval Rhino had found itself in the mess as Earth 9591 Peter was on his last leg.

According to Miguel, this Peter was supposed to experience this.

"We can't just let him die, Miguel," you argued as he stood up on his platform above you and Peter. "There is a chance he could live and we're reducing him to nothing because of his goddamn canon?"

"We can't mess with it, you know that." Miguel's patience was running thin. "Every time we can't interfere you come here with the same argument and the answer is always no. It will always be no."

"Why?" You pushed. Sometimes just seeing his face now made you mad. The questions of why this Miguel got to live when your's didn't was something that constantly simmered within you.

"You plucked me from my Earth and brought me here so why can't we do that for him? He'd be healthy and safe here."

"This is supposed to happen to him," he huffed your name as he turned back to the screens. "Not every battle is going to be one that Spider-Man wins and if we mess with it, we threaten that whole dimension."

"Well it sure as hell looks like it's in a bit of trouble, boss," Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

"And so it is."

"But what of Rhino, hm?" He hated the way you rose your eyebrows in question. Every version of you did that. "That's not supposed to be his fate."

"One less villain we have to worry about."

You let out a frustrated groan. "When did you become so heartless? We save people here, Miguel. We don't let them suffer."

"I'm not heartless. I'm being realistic and the fact is that 9591 Peter isn't gonna live and his world will become uninhabitable. That is part of his canon, end of story."

"So my canon said to bring me here?" You asked, hands on your hips. Peter inched backwards from you because he could feel the rumblings of the volcano bubbling.

"Take me from my home and bring me here for what? To have another person go along with every decision you make? Newsflash, Miguel, that's not going to happen."

"Oh, really?" He laughed, sarcastically, and looked down at you from above.

"Yes, really. Maybe this canon bullshit is just that, bullshit. Maybe you made a mistake–"

"I didn't make a mistake," he defended loudly. "I am not letting other worlds get destroyed because of stupid decisions."

"So it's only a stupid decision when it's a reality that we both exist in?"

If Peter hadn't known any better this would have sounded like a fight between a married couple.

"That's not what I said," Miguel brought his hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezed. "We can't go around making those same mistakes. I am not putting any other lives in danger."

"But you did it when it benefitted you."

Miguel mumbled to himself up there. You couldn't hear. Peter took more steps back and Spider-Byte ducked behind her consul. Miguel's brown mop of hair slicked back with the motion of his hand.

"Well you would've liked that world too."

"I liked the one I was from."

God, some days he really disliked you.

At the same time, when Miguel looked down at you, he saw the wife he knew in a different capacity and it sent his mind spiraling. He didn't sleep, he barely took the time to care for himself because all he could think about was the dimensions of happiness that you both had and the one you've both found yourselves in now.

He hated that he loved the body of the woman he knew but couldn't fully trust the version of you that existed now.

"We're not going."

"Miguel,"

He lept from the platform and onto the level you stood on. Still as large as before, his shadow filled your space before he did and for some ungodly reason, the presence of this Miguel made your heart pump furiously as your husband had.

Miguel had that look in his eyes that made them appear red. Fist clenched at his sides and that same lingering sadness emitting from his person.

"Not another word."

He hated the challenge you took from him.

"Why is it ok that you took me from my dimension? To serve some sick purpose of remembering your wife?" You spat at him.

You were just like her... just a little more broken.

"I'm not her, Miguel."

"You think I don't know that?" His voice was nearly caught in his throat. "You think I don't know that you're not her? It's pretty goddamn obvious you're not her."

"Oh yeah?" Your voice was no different.

You hated when you fought with Miguel in your dimension and that didn't change in this one.

Peter thought he should look away.

"Well she's not here, is she?"

Miguel stared at you. He couldn't help the way his eyes moved over your face. He saw the same eyes, nose, and lips. You were his wife just as he was your husband.

"No," he said as a ghostly whisper, "she's not."

"And maybe I'm not like her but you're not like my Miguel either... so don't make this fall on me. I didn't ask to come here."

"You're here now," Miguel's voice was devoid of feeling. "So get used to the rules. We're not going."

And he stalked off with Peter following on his tail.

If you closed your eyes you could see fragments of Miguel. Now, however, this Miguel was beginning to eclipse those memories.

"Shit..." Spider-Byte snickered from behind her monitor. Her blue glow filling your vision as you looked at her. "I wouldn't take that, mama. I'd kick his ass."

Miguel wasn't there. He was off saving a dimension because canon was all that mattered and Jess was monitoring that other universes just as Gwen had said.

It was a relief.

So, you sat back and watched as Jess and Gwen flipped through the different footage from the dimensions that either lit up red for an anomaly or maintained green for a perfect balance.

Jess flipped through them quickly. Every world passing by your face within a second of seeing the light on the panel turn green. The few instances of red sent her pressing on a communication button before Gwen could complain that she wanted to go out and fight.

Gwen lingered on worlds. She looked at the images as though she wished to be a part of them.

She hesitated moving on from a boy in a black suit just a second too long.

"Gwen?" You asked her as her hand hovered over the button. She was intently looking at him as he moved about the fire escape.

"Gwen?" You reached out a hand to shake her shoulder. She bristled out of her spell and pressed the button before you could ask any questions.

It would be several months later that you'd learn that the boy was the source of it all.

Miles Morales had heard a million versions of the same story.

It all began with a name and that named person being bit by a radioactive spider that magically gave them powers and they used them to save the world, or fight street crime, or kill mice (in the case of that Spider-Cat he saw in the lobby).

They were all the friendly, neighborhood hero that the world needed.

Until the collider messed with their functions and required a society such as this to take on a much larger purpose.

And Miles was taken aback.

He had never felt so seen sans the moment he walked through the doors of the complex. Every turn he made, a new Spider-Person was uniquely fit into their world so different than his own.

Within the chamber of villains from other dimensions, he saw a Spider-Woman without a suit.

"So people like, live here?" Miles asked Gwen who shrugged.

"Some do. We can stay for as long as we like and then go back to our dimensions when we need to."

"And suits are optional?"

Hobie turned around and gave Miles as questionable gaze.

"A uniform is binding, man," he told Miles. "Use what makes you comfortable."

Gwen nearly galloped ahead to the Spider-Woman with a digital portfolio. Miles saw the way Gwen's eyes lit up just as they did when they saw each other again.

Hobie was the one to introduce you. Your named rolled off his tongue like butter–so casual and cool in a way Miles did not believe he ever could be.

"She lives here," He explained. "Can't really go back to her dimension so she does a lot of cataloguing. The main man doesn't want her out of missions... you know," Hobie spun his finger near his forehead, "little crazy that one."

"I'm not crazy, Hobie," you called out as Gwen pointed toward your group.

"No, you're right," he corrected himself. "He's the crazy one."

"That's more like it," you smiled and Miles felt a boyish crush form in his stomach. "Hi Miles. I've heard a lot about you."

You did. Gwen had been giddy in the way she reminisced about her time with Miles. Even Peter put in his two-cents about the way he trained him and it went incredibly poorly for the greater part of their journey together.

You missed a good chunk of time by not being present when they all converged on the same dimension. It may have saved you from yourself.

"Hi," he waved back nervously.

The party kept walking with your addition. Beyond the orange cells of villains captured and waiting to be returned home, a center of technology he could dream of appeared in front of him.

It was just a tour.

Lyla appeared beside you.

"Miguel's hangry," she complained as she looked at her non-existent nail-beds.

"He's probably just angry."

"No," she shook her bob, "it's the hangry kind. You should have the kid pick up something for him... a gift."

"Gift," you chuckled. Miles looked so green. He was amazed by the technology of the go-home-machine that you weren't sure how he would react when he reached the hub. Walking through all of the test technology before going to Miguel's station... he'd be on cloud nine.

"He'll be expecting the party soon."

"I'll stay behind."

You were certain Miguel would be able to hear this conversation but Lyla had a mind of her own–she was artificial after all.

"You should come with. Miles could use your perspectives."

"What perspectives?" This was the longest conversation you had ever held with her. "Oh, Miles," you mimicked, "don't beat criminals to a pulp... um, don't let your anger get the best of you... don't kill people.... yeah, good advice."

"I meant a motherly figure here."

"I'm not a mother, Lyla. Besides, he's got Jess for that."

Lyla glitched to the other side of you. "Jess hasn't taken to him like she did you and Gwen."

"He's got Peter."

"But he could use you too."

You gave a tight-lipped hum.

"Or," she countered, "maybe you need someone like him. It's always strange what effect kids have on adults... makes them... soft or something. You should see the videos of Miguel!" She laughed, you didn't.

"He liked to play soccer with her."

Her. In another dimension, you had a daughter.

"Why are you telling me this?" You asked her.

She waved her hand dissuasively. "Miguel's not going to, so I might as well."

The party began to make their exit. Down to the liar they went and as they walked, Lyla floated in the air beside you. Miles kept peaking back like a child on a holiday.

"Miles," you called out to him.

"Yes?" He turned around quickly and at attention. He was a cute kid. So nervous and out of his element. If it weren't for his merry misfit group of friends, Miguel was sure to eat him alive.

"Do you have a question or is there a reason you keep looking at me?"

He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. Miles then pointed to Lyla.

"Is she a Spider-Person too?"

"No," you told him and Lyla glitched to him. "An A.I. that Miguel created. She knows all."

"She flatters me," Lyla murmured back a smile.

Miles turned back around and continued on with his conversation that bounced between Gwen and Hobie. Lyla disappeared from the hallway as the sounds of old, tinkered experiments and Miles' struggles painted a picture of a much different boy in your mind.

While his struggles were not yours and you'd never understand them completely, his want to belong struck a chord with you in a way it did with Gwen.

There was a family that could be built here if the realities of pain could be ignored.

Above on his floating platform, Miguel slowly descended as Miles gaped in a slight awe. Yes, it was dramatic. Yes, it was unnecessary and it made you roll your eyes.

Hobie stuck to the wall in the back. Gwen took Miles to the edge and you leaned up against a pillar not far from Hobie.

"Miguel O'Hara," Gwen introduced, "meet Miles Morales."

And then Miles butchered his introduction with cheer. He offered up those empanadas which Miguel slipped right into the trash.

And like Gwen, he fumbled his words by rambling about how to catch Spot.

Miguel threw the trash can at them both only for Hobie to sneak the empanada out of the box and into his hand without blinking.

And then everything spiraled out of control.

Miguel's meter began to spike an angry red as the frantic nature of his focus within this world had been protecting the multi-verse. Here, in this room, Miles was the supposed source of it.

If it wasn't for Miles, many of his problems wouldn't exist and he'd be grateful but he can't be, simply because they are truly real.

"Hey Miguel!" Peter's voice broke through the silent seconds. Miles perked up at the sound. "Come on, go easy on the kid. He had a terrible teacher. He had no chance."

"Peter!"

The two hugged like old friends.

"Miles!" Peter put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be afraid of my friend Miguel. He just looks scary. He's got no bite."

He had seen it once. He chose to ignore it.

So he went on with his little break up of Miguel's serious moment and you watched unfold from the shadows, the orange glow of your tablet keeping you busy while Mayday swung around the room and Miles exasperatedly came to terms with Peter being a father.

"-You always say the 'fate of the multiverse' and my brain dies."

You chuckled to yourself, glancing up at Peter as he circled Miguel. Miguel was holding Mayday like he had never held a child in his life.

That was the kind of thing your Miguel did.

"You guys smell that?" Peter sniffed into the air. He swiftly picked up Mayday and swung right by Miles and Gwen and straight to you.

"You smell that right?" He held her up high. Yes, yes you did smell that.

"That is entirely your problem, Peter."

"Miles–" Miguel caught their attention again. "–You disrupted a canon event."

"Canon event?"

"The kid wasn't thinking," Peter interjected. He held onto Mayday as you strung a web for her to bounce on. Miguel was half torn between the conversation he tried to be stern about and the watching you weave a web for that little girl.

"That's not how he works."

"That's insulting," Miles commented.

Hobie got up from the floor to stand next to you. He caught Mayday in the air, saluting her with two fingers.

"Taking a crap on the establishment... I salute you."

"What are you upset about?" Miles furrowed his brows as Miguel stepped off the platform and walked towards him. The boy would be amiss if he hadn't felt his stomach drop to his feet in the menacing way Miguel O'Hara walked.

"When isn't he upset about something?" You murmured from the back.

"I saved those people."

Ah, yes. Pavitr's dimension. Miguel had been in the go-home-department when it happened.

"And that's the problem," Miguel clarified. "Lyla, do the thing."

As she always did, Lyla appeared with a semi-oblivious nature.

"Huh? What thing?"

"The thing... what do you mean 'what thing?' The information explaining thing!"

She gave a casual 'ok' and the room changed before you.

You had never seen everything before.

Jess had talked about it, Peter mentioned what it looked like, and a few others who had seen it claimed it left them more confused than anything.

It was a bright blue tree, in a sense. Woven with a variation of color that reminded you of the sea at mid-day and the sky at night, everything was a timeline of complete facts of the world. Every moment of every person's lives were tied to this one branch of 'everything.'

Expansive and high, the tree of everything bloomed over your heads and Miles was the one trying to come to terms with the sincerity of it. However, just as he had begun to grasp the idea of everything being resembled by a tree with branches that diverged from its timeline, the room changed to a red web.

Hundreds and hundreds of webs interconnected by lines that captured the very lives in that room. All of them facing convergence by multiple lifelines to different events, canons, and realities that make up a person's existence in the, as he had coined, the Spider-Verse.

"The lines... where the nodes converge?" Miles asked aloud.

"They are the canon."

Every web around him had different nodes. Some had more than others, some had barely any. He noticed a cluster of three big webs with few canon nodes.

"Their chapters apart of every Spider's story, every time. Some good, some bad... some very bad."

Miguel pulled down a cluster to showcase the very bad. You had a sinking feeling somewhere along the line the 'very bad' also included you.

A row of Spider-People emerged in the same position. He saw Peter, he saw Gwen, he recognized you, and then himself leaning over the body of a loved one who perished too soon.

Like a story, Miguel walked through varied canon events that were to occur in many Spider stories. A police captain, a lover, the event that turns someone into a hero, the struggles of the hero.

Miles looked at each of you as a fragment of your past appeared before him.

"That's how the story is supposed to go. Canon events are the connections that bind our lives together and those connections can be broken that why anomalies are so dangerous. Inspector Singh's death was a canon event."

A police captain.

"You weren't supposed to be there."

Even though you weren't there, you saw it unfold from the safety of Lyla's simulation. People running, a bridge nearly collapsing.

"And you weren't supposed to save him. That's why Gwen tried to stop you."

You could see the gears in his brain turning. He was hurt, misguided in his efforts to be a good Spider-Man because it was suddenly becoming a conflict for him. Miles tried to be good. He tried to save people and even doing so, he seemed to mess up.

It was so different from the Spider-Woman you used to be.

"I thought you were trying to save me," Miles admitted to Gwen who had turned her back from him. She kept her eyes to the ground.

"I was. I-I was doing both," she took a chance to gaze back at him only to see the hurt.

She was just doing her job.

"And now, Miles," Miguel sighed and he walked around the space. He planted his feet beside you and Miles took a glance and couldn't tell who was friend or foe.

He didn't know where he stood himself.

"Because you changed the story, Pavitr's dimension is unraveling. If we're lucky, we can stop it. We haven't always been lucky."

Miguel looked at you. He looked at you with a sheen in his eyes that you'd hadn't see from this version of him. For once, he looked as sad as he felt on the inside.

And for once, he wasn't fighting with you about what was right or wrong in that moment.

"That wasn't me!" Miles defended. "That was the Spot."

"It's what happens when you break canon."

"How do you know?"

"Because I broke it once myself."

There was a part of you that wanted out. You wanted out right that second because you had seen enough. You had seen the destruction, had been part of some destruction, and seeing Miguel's world crumble animatedly in front of you wasn't something you wanted. But your feet stuck to the floor. Planted, like mud, waiting to be freed.

It was your story too and you didn't even know what happened.

"I found another world where I had a family. Where I was happy."

In the web, the cluster of three was connected by one single strand to a much larger web with varied canon events. Whatever this was, Miles imagined, was Miguel's universe.

"At least a version of me was. And that version of myself was killed."

This time trying to catch a thief who stole a woman's purse. Not a bank robbery.

"So I replaced him. I thought it was harmless."

You looked away at the scenes. Miguel with her. A little brown haired girl who loved soccer and he did her homework at the kitchen table with her. A father who looked adoringly at a daughter who was joyous and knew no pain.

"But I was wrong."

Then the world began to collapse. In his arms, the girl disappeared as though she had never existed.

"Isn't that right, Peter?"

Your head shot up towards Peter who looked away from you. He had seen you before, in a different reality where you too were happy with the life you lived and where you were happy with a daughter who loved Miguel too.

"Peter?" You gave a weak call to him. He shut his eyes tightly. "Peter, you knew?"

Miles felt the way you felt. A shell of a hero without a purpose with people who made very choice feel like a mistake.

You walked up to Peter. Miles saw the white-knuckle grip you had on the pink robe. This was more than just friends making choices feel like a mistake.

"You knew me?"

Miles glanced back at the web. The three small webs that had little to them stuck out like a bouquet of flowers. Each their own small story.

“Whose is that?” Miles gestured as he tried to ignore the way you prodded at Peter for answers. Perhaps Miles already knew that Miguel had made this more complicated than it needed to be.

He had already destroyed one reality for happiness. Miles imagined that this man could ruin many more if it meant one more second of living.

“These ones?” Miguel pointed to the web of three.

You knew it was yours without even realizing it.

“That’s mine," you breathed in deep.

Even though you hadn't gotten along in this world, Miguel felt the weight of his secrecy fall heavily onto his shoulders.

“You see, Miles,” Miguel started, “there are infinite dimensions were we exist. All these webs here,” he pointed to the connecting lines that reappeared of many lives, “are realities were someone like you may exist. Maybe not as Spider-Man but as something.”

Miguel looked to you and for the first time since he met you in your reality, he saw the woman he fell in love with.

“And her dimensions look a bit different.”

“Why?” Miles questioned. “Why don’t ours look like that?”

“Because you can exist in infinite realities, Miles,” you told him in a voice that reminded him of his mother telling him a relative died. “And I can’t.”

“There is only three of her that exist in our… Spider-Verse, as you put it,” Miguel stated. “And one of them collapsed.”

In a hologram, he saw you in the world they had all just witnessed disappear from reality. Miles saw you running and running and he could see the destination, Miguel and that child, so close yet too far away.

And then there was nothing.

“Oh,” Miles felt sadness creep within him. Gwen wanted to comfort both you and Miles but couldn’t muster it in front of Miguel.

Peter wasn't sure what to do.

One strand of three disappeared.

“And in the other, she’s not here anymore.”

"What dimension is that?"

Miguel sighed. Hands on his hips, he met Miles' intense stare instead of yours.

"This one."

“So there is only me now,” you have a half-hearted smile.

“I thought you said you were the only Spider-Man in this dimension?” Miles asked Miguel as he tried to make sense of this world he found himself in.

“I am,” Miguel clarified. “She’s not from this dimension. Her… alternate self isn’t here anymore.”

He recalled the images of all the Peter’s and Gwen’s and Jessica’s mourning their canon disasters. Loved ones, friends, lovers.

The second strand of three disappeared.

“Does that mean if you…?”

You nodded your head at Miles. Peter put his hand on your shoulder at the admission.

Miguel focused on that hand. He saw the comfort, he saw the friendly love and knew he had wasted time. He had wasted months being angry at you when you weren’t the cause of it.

He had watched over your dimension to keep you safe while you struggled and in his own pain, he made the unity between you strained and unrealistic.

But he also knew the greater purpose.

“I guess I just have to pick the right side.”

You tried to bring levity.

You didn’t realize that you’d be picking Miles and your friends or Miguel and the person you knew because if you didn't you'd lose everything.

And you needed to save yourself in one dimension you still existed in.

Earth 42.

A/N: this isn’t proofed yet. I can totally see a million different sequels to dive deeper into the relationship between reader and Miguel.

As always, comments and reblogs are the best feedback a writer can ask for. I love reading any comments you all leave 🥺. Thank you so much for reading.

Tags:

@csmt-m @er4tous @gracielou0518

[messydiabolical]

Hi @keriweird and anyone else who might find this useful, the brushes I use on my Javik and other recent pieces (I use Procreate). Links and details below the cut:

First, outside of brushes a big way that I've made my recent pictures look like canvases is to use overlaying effects. I put together a little explainer on that a few weeks ago, find it >here< The bulk of the painting I use a brush set called 'thick paint' by Manero brushes, the gumroad to that set is >here< ($20, or he has a huge $40 bundle that includes other sets) The set includes those above mentioned overlay oil boards and canvases as well as brushes, so you can create a full oil painting looking piece with this set alone. He has a youtube channel and I got the hang of using the brushes by following along with some, such as >this one< In partcular, I like the Messy Canvas Roll brush, which has colour jitters of 2%, creating a nice dynamic when laying on the bulk of colour, and has a canvassy texture. I use the thick paints 1-4 (and especially 4) for the base/underpainting, split bristles brush for hair or crunchier texture, and fine oil sketch for sketching and highlights/fine details. The set also includes an 'experimental set' that does some weird and wonderful things, I like experimental brush 5 for scales on drell, and 11 is phenomenal for pressure sensitive application of hair highlights. Art with Flo is an old favourite, I have a whole bunch of sets from her and often return to them as my go to's. The fineliner is like my main brush for everything, and you can get that one from her free sampler set. Although I did find I needed to turn the stabilisation down a smidge on that one. Her chalk brushes are another set I use a lot especially the round chalk and blocker, and the chalk pencil is nice for sketching and for fine highlights. And while I haven't used them in recent paintings as they aren't particulary for the oil effect I've been trying out, her skin sets and illustration brushes are all lovely. Her brush store page is >here< and youtube channel >here<. She has so many useful procreate tips and tricks. Outside of paid brushes, procreate has some great stuff by itself. I use the hardbrush and various soft airbrushes all the time. Hartz is wonderful for textures like rough metals and leathers. There's one called nebula that I use as a shine on jewellery, or their water ripple one I use for biotics and such.

[julemmaes]

“hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

- the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt”

For gwynriel or nessian??? 💕💕💕

Keep them coming girl I'm having so much fun with these ones you have no idea. I also reblogged some others posts with prompt if you need inspo, but feel free to continue really

This can be considered a part two to the previous prompt you sent, but can be read separately

Word count: ~2k

Azriel was tired.

No, he corrected himself mentally, "tired" wasn't even beginning to explain the exhaustion binding his bones. Or how he felt like his eyes could pop out of their sockets at any minute with how swollen and read they were.

Surely staying in the pool the entire afternoon and swimming underwater without any goggles hadn't been the smartest option, but the surprised wows and oohs coming from Nyx whenever he opened his eyes and looked at him had been enough to convince him it was worth it.

Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. 

Everyone was crammed in Rhysand and Feyre's huge kitchen—not that anything else in their summer villa could be considered anything but—and he was keeping to himself in the corner that faced the backyard, in case he needed a fast escape plan. 

He loved his family, he truly did. But they could be a bit too much from time to time, and now that his only excuse to avoid adult interactions had been put to sleep, he felt like he had to find another way lest people started approaching him.

He sighed to himself, sipping his wine as he cracked another peanut in his fist. 

There was another person in the room that could make this less miserable for him, but he really didn't want to pull her out of that bright bubble of laughter that surrounded her.

Azriel looked to the side, glancing at Gwyn.

She was sitting on the edge of the kitchen island closer to him, her hands tucked under her thighs and her naked legs dangling. She was only wearing her bikini bottom and one of his dark blue sweaters and her hair were like a fire avalanche of beauty.

She was stunning. 

And he was the luckiest piece of shit ever.

His girlfriend turned his way, tilting her head to the side as if sensing his gaze on her. She flashed him the whitest and brightest smile she could and his heart sunk. She squinted and her freckled nose wrinkled in that adorable way of hers. 

He was so lucky.

She frowned slightly, her smile still in place, as if to ask him if everything was okay. He nodded tiredly, assuring her he was good and after a few beats where she observed him attentively, she nodded in turn, convinced, and went back to whatever they were discussing. 

He suppressed a smile and hid his chin in his shirt, hoping no one was looking at him and would catch him simping over his love. 

When he went to take another swing from his glass and noticed it was empty he huffed, annoyed. And although he was already a bit tipsy and he knew he shouldn't be drinking with how weary he was, he risked his peace to go and retrieve a refill. 

He walked slowly to the center of the kitchen, brushing a finger down Gwyn's leg and moving further before she could stop him. He sidestepped Emerie and Mor, who were sitting on the countertop, legs intertwined together, hands on each other. Mor was kissing her fiancée's jaw and Emerie seemed completely oblivious to it as she kept talking.

"All I'm saying is that this house is already big enough," she laughed, dumbfounded. "You definitely don't need to add more rooms or another gazebo, the one you have is perfectly fine." 

Cassian snorted, throwing snacks in his mouth like they hadn't just finished a five course meal. 

"But wouldn't it be nice if in, let's say, a few years, when everyone starts having kids, they could have their own smaller, cozier gazebo?" Feyre said, leaning with her elbows on the island. 

A choking sound cracked the beautiful picture Feyre had been trying to paint, and Cassian started coughing, spitting crumbles and munched up food everywhere. Nesta, standing right next to him, looked at him with such a disgusted face that Azriel had to chuckle. 

Elain patted him on the back until he was breathing normally again and at this point, Azriel was wondering how not everyone had caught up on what was going on.

He shook his head as he poured red blood wine in his glass and kept silent as he made his way to Gwyn's side, trying as much as he could to hide behind his girlfriend's frame.

"You good?" Nesta asked her husband, eyeing him with calculated calm. 

His brother cleared his throat one last time before nodding.

Azriel noticed Rhysand holding back his own laugh, trying to hide his smirk in his cup of coffee. That was interesting. 

So Cassian had told him. Making a quick sweep of the entire room, only Lucien seemed to be in on their secret, considering how shitty of a job he was doing at pretending he wasn't laughing, too.

Bad, bad choice, had his brother made. If Nesta found out Cassian had told so many people, she would have him by the balls. And Rhysand owed him fifty bucks.

"Anyway," Feyre clapped her hands, "I really, really want to build a smaller version of the one we already have."

Azriel tuned her out then, not really caring for this topic and decided to focus on the feather touch caresses his girlfriend was trailing down his forearm. 

She did that all the time. 

Gwyn unconsciously touched him everywhere. All. The fucking. Time. Didn't matter where they were, what they were doing, who they were with, his girl found a way to have her soft, delicate, slender fingers on him. 

And he loved every second of it, but he wanted more. 

With his mind fogged by the alcohol and the throb in his head due to the extended time spent with his family, all he needed was a bed and his girlfriend in his arms, but he would never pull her from this place unless she asked him to leave.

And he definitely wouldn't initiate any kind of pda. He had tried, many and many times again, to be the kind of person who could just sweep their lover into their arms and cover them in kisses in front of a room full of people. Unfortunately, he wasn't comfortable with being the one to seek out his partners for fear they would feel forced to accept what he was offering in front of others. So he waited, and waited. 

And waited for Gwyn to do more than just brush the tips of her fingers up and down his arm, but she wasn't even looking at him, her back to his chest—and she wasn't even leaning on him. 

He brushed the fabric of his sweater, down to the hem of it and tugged slightly. When his girlfriend suddenly laughed he sucked in his breath and moved his hand away, tucking it in the pocket of his shorts.

Stupid man, just touch her. 

She'd told him so many times she wanted him to. That she needed him to touch her, even in front of their friends.

He counted to ten and then chickened out again, deciding to go with his trademark request for affection. 

He pinched her sleeve and tugged with a bit more strength than before. Gwyn's head shriveled his way and then looked down at his hand, still clasped around the shirt. The corner of her lips curled and then she scoffed, pulling her hand free from under her thigh. 

She silently opened her legs, turning more his way but still keeping her attention on the conversation. Azriel knew it was so the other's wouldn't catch up on their actions, so he didn't take it at heart. 

Not anymore at least. The first time she'd appeared this disinterested in their affection he'd fallen down a rabbit hole of insecurities and fears that had lasted days. 

He took his rightful place in between her legs, letting his hands travel under his shirt and around her naked waist, pulling her closer to him. With her sitting so high from the ground, his head reached just below her chin and when her fingers laced in his hair, she pushed his face right between her covered breasts. Her legs tied around his hips.

He sighed.

Heaven.

His thumbs were drawing circles right above her butt cheeks, where they were safely concealed by the sweater and that was the only sign he hadn't yet fallen asleep. Even though he didn't deem the chance of that too impossible, with the humming rumbling in her chest and the light scratches on his scalp.

Azriel closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, enjoying their scents mixed together. The remnants of sunscreen on her skin, the perfume of her chamomile shampoo, the faint aroma of the cherries she'd been eating all night long.

He loved her.

The head massage she was giving him suddenly stopped and he felt her voice in his very brain when she whispered in his hair, "Are you tired, love?" 

He loved when she called him that.

He nodded, "Dead."

She mockingly gasped, quiet enough just for him to hear and then two fingers pressed lightly on his neck. He chuckled, not moving from his position. 

"Nuh-uh," Gwyn murmured, "still very much alive." 

His only answer was a groan. 

She shifted and her legs released him, and the cold that hit him shocked him enough that he moved away from her. Her hands fell to his shoulders and when he looked up at her, she was smiling down at him.

That fucking smile was going to be his death. 

Without taking her eyes off of him, Gwyn announced to the room, "I'm taking my big boy to bed. He needs sleep."

Azriel started shaking his head, ready to complain they could stay and force himself through another hour of this torment if it made her happy, but her hands were on his cheeks and she was kissing him before he could open his mouth.

Hoots and hollers rose from the others and Gwyn laughed in the kiss, forcing him to part from her, but he smiled nonetheless.

He didn't deign his family of a goodbye before his girlfriend dragged him out of the kitchen and up to their room, where he finally stripped and laid down for the night.

Gwyn crawled in bed after him, after having changed into just a pair of slips. They both slept naked at home, and they weren't about to change their habits just because they were on holiday. 

She curled around him, chest to chest, their legs finding their way to intricate without making it uncomfortable. Gwyn left a kiss on his collarbone before tilting her head back and looking him in the eyes, leaving another incredibly soft kiss on his chin. 

He was having the hardest time keeping his eyes opened, and he only managed to brush his lips against hers before sleep overtook him. 

[insane-arcane]

Silco's Enforcer Child

...

Chapter One

Swirling your brush in a cup the clinking sound echoes in the open space, reminding you of the click of a gun. The once red color in the cup turned a murky violet. A dark dusk of sorts. Your head spun as you tried not to focus on the color, fire filling your vision before it disappeared as you pulled your paintbrush back and dipped it in a soothing blue, some light green tipped on the now wet brush end.

Staring at a picture of a blurry silhouette with sharp clothes you hum wondering what color eyes they had. As you stir new shades and tints on your pallet you imagine what the person's nose shape was like. If their mouth was big or small. Where they belonged in the jumble that was your brain and the locked past it held. The fish swimming around the person's head was a stylistic choice but as you mixed the blue and green you wondered if there was more to it. If the person enjoyed the aquatic creatures or perhaps lived near the river edge?

"(Y/N)." Not looking up from your latest artwork as Caitlyn walked in you frowned, taking a step back to try and piece it all together. The last light of the day leaked through the giant studio windows giving your work a golden halo, putting it in a new perspective. Studying the edges and the details you'd painted they became blurry with the sunlight. Clutching your pallet knife you tilt your head, this piece had less detail on the person than your other ones. However, the colors were bolder and more defined with sharper lines. The background was the emphasis but for once you felt like you actually knew what this person looked like. You just weren't able to paint it yet, not fully committed to the details.

How strange that you remembered this outfit so clearly, having drawn it a million times but not the features of the person who wore it. Mixing a different color on your pallet without looking down you purse your lips trying to concentrate as you add something else to the background. You could faintly remember sea blue. Maybe a soft gray or green. A lighthouse or the ocean perhaps? Is that why you added the fish?

Whoever he was, he was important as this wasn't the first portrait you'd done of him. He was a lanky man in a red and black suit with a white dress shirt. The background was a blur of grays and greens with purple brush strokes that looked like fish but maybe smoke if you squinted. The whole picture was odd. Staring at it too long made your head hurt because it felt strangely familiar. He was important to you. Whoever he was. Just another piece of the puzzle that was your past.

"You know usually I'm the one obsessing." She states referring to her yellow tape and red thread board back home. "Come now you can't wear your smock to the art show tonight." Caitlyn scolds as she places a nice outfit down on the cleared part of your glass art desk. You shook your head in response tsking softly.

That was a risky move given the fact paint somehow always got on your clothes no matter what you did in this room. Briefly glancing at the ensemble you wonder if she was trying to ruin the clothes to make an excuse to skip the event, whatever it was tonight.

As the natural light began to fade the painting no longer glowing, you signed placing your brushes and pallet down. The blank face of the man you were trying to paint wasn't going to get any more detail any time soon. Though you guessed that's just how it worked. Reaching out wishing you could pull the man out of the painting, ask him all your burning questions, you paused not wanting to touch the wet paint.

He wouldn't be able to answer you anyways. Bits and pieces, never the whole picture. Always searching and wanting for more. Insatiable…

"(Y/N)." Caitlyn states again as she tries to gain your attention but your focus was elsewhere, lost in this room and your work. Taking a deep breath to try and gather yourself for whatever she was going to say next, you could feel a headache coming on and you didn't like it. Rubbing at your temples you hum indicating you want her to continue but she remains quiet waiting for you to speak.

Rolling your eyes before staring at your painting as your hands touch the glass of your art desk behind you, you try and ground yourself. To bring yourself back to a safe space. Instead you think of your endless collages, or the box of failed faces. As one hand came to press against your forehead pushing your hair back and giving you some clarity you spared a glance at said box which you'd pushed into the corner out of frustration. Another recently failed project. You'd tried placing different details from different paintings and projects together, overlapping them over one another to try and get a full person. They always came out looking horrid. Like some kind of twisted nightmare rather than a real person from a memory. Very occasionally you'd get a full face but mostly you had slightly warped portraits or very blurred places. Nothing solid if it was anything before you came to Piltover.

As your fingers touched the box observing the torn pieces of canvas and failed attempts you realized you'd crossed the room without noticing. Humming you paused, wandering if you should worry about that. About to sass Caitlyn, your words suddenly die on your tongue as your eye catches something. One of your shredded pieces that had bright pink and blue. Your hand shook as your thumb grazed the ungesssoed canvas and faintly you heard distant laughter. Echoing in an alley.

"Art… Art show?" You finally question Caitlyn, composing yourself as you let your hands fall to your sides so you could steady them and let her untie your messy smock. As you let go of the canvas and stepped back from the box slowly your mind was getting out of painting mode. You began to relax as you focused on your friend and what she was saying rather than your lost memories. The woman in question groans in exasperation before pinching her nose as she steps back letting you shrug off the apron. Noticing she's in her enforcer uniform and not a dress for what you assume is a galle event you smile and shake your head as she takes the apron from you hanging it up on its hook with the others. Stepping towards your curtains as she does that, you close them before the room's timer goes off and gas powered light fills the space with an artificial glow.

Only gone a minute and you already missed the sunlight.

"Honestly I thought I was the obsessed one. Your dad rented out the gallery again," She informs you like a mother scolding a child who forgot something important. Needing to do something not able to sit still as you come out of your trance state she begins walking around the room cleaning up things in the messy space as she tries to get you ready to go. Scraping paint off pallets and dumping them into soapy water to soak you watch with an amused smile as she places your brushes on the counter to be cleaned later. She paces nervously fidgeting with one of your brushes before turning towards you looking worried. Her Violet eyes seeming unsure.."... Don't you remember? He's showing your work tonight. He's been talking about it all week." Caitlyn states before she pushes off whatever emotions she was feeling as she crossed her arms. You briefly remember that conversation but was that really tonight? The week had been a blur of research and projects and events, flashing cameras and reporters all over the campus as you tried to study and work. There was barely a moment's rest to yourself until you locked the door to your art studio for some peace and quiet. Groaning as you pinch your nose and clench your eyes you wish one of your maids had reminded you but with how distracted you'd been lately maybe they had.

Swallowing you looked towards a vase in the room. Flowers your father had dropped off while you were deep in thought and surrounded by your artwork. Thinking back you couldn't remember the conversation but logically it was likely about the gallery. Pulling at your hair out of habit you hummed, you really were a mess as of late. With the anniversary of you being found soon you guessed that made sense. Your thoughts and feelings all being in disarray, your "spells" being worse than usual.

Staring at the water cup with the swirling purple you see the smoke again, you taste the gun powder. Thinking back that was one of your more clear memories, the first you were sure was true. Blinking you were back on that bridge again. The smoke making you choke before the rush of clear air as your dad's heavy enforcer mask settled over your face. You could feel yourself being small, feel his uniform as he pressed you into his shoulder and took you home. The question had been deeply ingrained in you for so long but you still didn't know the answer; What were you doing on that bridge?

Closing your eyes not wanting to think of that right now you took another deep breath to steady yourself. You didn't want to spiral.

"That's tonight?" You ask not sure how you forgot as you begin to take off your shirt to change. Caitlyn's face goes red and she turns away from you before tapping her foot angrily. The sound bounces around in your head and something about this feels familiar in a way you can't quite explain.

Sharp blue eyes on a stern face and crossed arms come to mind as a black boot taps impatiently away but the flash is gone as soon as it comes. Touching your desk feeling cool glass under your fingertips you swallowed. Did you take your meds today, your headaches were worse than usual, these flashes more frequent… your therapist warned the incoming anniversary of you being found could trigger some repressed memories but this felt excessive. You'd been doing so well.

"Yes, now hurry up and get dressed! I'm your escort and bodyguard tonight. Marcus tried to put me outside but I didn't want to miss anything. Just..." She hesitates and you smile softly as you put on the white shirt with the looped gold collar. The golden hoop of the white dress shirt hung heavy around your neck as it looped and clicked behind your shoulders but sliding the black slacks on you admit Caitlyn chose well, never one for fashion didn't mean she didn't have a good eye. You'd be lost without her in more ways than one. Slipping on a dress jacket that was your favorite color you hum glancing at the wall of mirrors in your studio. Doing a little spin watching seven you's spin back in response you nod to yourself.

"Just in case." You finish her thought for her as you smooth out the shirt and jacket with a blank face. Seeing your reflection she sighs and you hum smiling as you keep adjusting your clothes to look presentable. Your headaches had been at an all time low before today and despite your forgetfulness and the dreaded upcoming date you felt confident. I mean your skull was pounding and the flashes were more frequent but you knew you could handle the gala tonight, you had done it before with way worse pain and you didn't want anyone to think something was wrong.

You were fine, everything was fine…

"Just please tell me you didn't forget! I couldn't get off duty tonight to attend as a guest. To schedule myself at your gala as a guard I had to take a double shift at work and to be your personal escort and guard that was a whole nother mountain of paperwork and personal favors. A lot of enforcers like your work ya know, and all the new guards want to meet you. I mean you are your father's child. Everyone wants to show their support. Or get… favors." She states matter of factly with slight distaste making you chuckle. The both of you were no stranger to your families status and the luxuries that came with your last names.

"Right, my hero." You hum a teasing smile on your lips as you watch your friend rant getting out her emotions about these type of events and what people really wanted from them. They were meant to help people and yet help was often the last thing on people's minds unless it was them getting it. You had to admit as she lectured the wall she was cute. Her overprotectiveness always made you feel special and even as her new job as an Enforcer you were always on her mind. Maybe not in the same way as before but you could accept that. As you adjust your jacket, sticking your hands into the pocket, you send her a playful smirk.. "Oh and you do know escort has a double meaning, correct Caitlyn darling?" You ask in a sultry voice wanting to tease her hoping it'll loosen her up a bit. She turns and staring at her, her violet eyes scan your form. Puffing out her cheeks embarrassed as she understands what you mean you walk out of the studio with her following close behind.

You catch her smile in the corner of your eye but say nothing simply walking outside into the hallway and through the large manor to the awaiting carriage outside.

~~~

The ride had been quiet the last few minutes. You'd joked about opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate but Caitlyn gently informed you she couldn't drink tonight and you didn't want to be sipping alone. A rock had formed in your throat and as you fidgeted with your hands every jolt of the carriage put you on edge. What had started as a fun ride was slowly turning into your worst nightmare as the Galla got closer.

Caitlyn these last couple months had gone from your closest friend to your body guard, one of her most frequent Enforcer jobs being to watch you. As work and friendship crossed you were unsure where your new relationship stood. If you were just overthinking and if it had changed at all.

As the carriage stops suddenly you hum feeling your stomach doing flips. Adjusting your accessories and clothes nervously, you close your eyes feeling the pulsing behind your eyes worsen. The thought that you could claw your temples open to feel some relief crosses your mind but you stay silent not voicing that thought. Caitlyn frowns noticing your unsteady state before she takes your hands into her own.

Eyes snapping to look at hers at the surprise contact her thumb brushes the back of your palm. "You're not looking very well. If you're not up for it we can turn around. Say you got sick…" She suggests softly before looking towards the curtain separating you from the driver. Staying quiet not wanting to be teased, one of her hands goes to your cheek and leaning into her hold you close your eyes taking a deep breath. What a nice thought…

"I'm just tired. I'll be fine after some wine." You joke before sighing deeply as she just stares at you waiting for the truth. You shift in the plush seats and just breathe. These events could be fun or cumbersome, tonight seemed to be the later. Shifting the curtains when you no longer feel bumps you realize you'd arrived. As you watch cameras flash, high society people get their pictures taken before entering the galla. You were no stranger to being in the spotlight and yet you felt you never quite belonged there. Your art told a story, your story. And you weren't sure if you wanted to share it. Especially since you barely knew your story yourself. You don't remember how the Gallas started, only that once your first piece was put up it hadn't stopped since.

A prodigy some called you. An imposter you told yourself.

"I-" She starts but your hand is already on the carriage handle before you lose the nerve. Twisting and pushing it open light floods your eyes as your regular driver waits outside for you. Voices surround you and you feel woozy as you're transported to a different place with different sounds. Your driver bows, snapping you back before holding out his hand. Feeling disorientated you reach out, your touch going from cold metal to warm leather. As he grips your hand firmly your eyes widen. Stepping down from the carriage into his hold you get a memory of someone holding your hand as you hop down from a curb. A man in a red and black suit…

As people chatter away excited to get a glimpse of you, reporters ask questions as cameras flash. The drivers grip remains and each step down the carriage steps contains a different image but right as your about to get the whole picture, the flashes are over in an instant. Just like the camera shutters around you.

As you stand there eyes wide in surprise, Caitlyn puts her hand to your back shocking you. You snap out of it, grounded by her touch and knowing smile before you begin to walk forwards at her silent instruction. Waving at reporters from famous newspapers you act normal. Enforcers nod keeping the crowd contained but the familiar faces do nothing to soothe your feelings.

Standing tall you walk forward with practiced elegance, reminding yourself you only need to make it to the entrance. As journalists fire off their usual questions about your outfit, your art, and if you've had any recent episodes you smile and wave not answering any of them. Caitlyn stands close as she follows you, her hand pressed firmly against your back and soon you stand in front of two polished doors. The enforcers on either side glare at Caitlyn before smiling at you as they bow and let you both inside. You don't miss Caitlyn's frown but it's gone as quick as it comes, similar to your flashes.

Unable to dwell on it, you walk through the open entrance and into the large art gallery. As you hear the familiar click of the heavy doors behind you, the light changes as you go from outside to inside. Your familiar work hangs from every wall in the space and you know every guest in this room.

Breathing heavily Caitlyn opens her mouth to say something but decides against it. You're grateful, only needing a minute from her. Leaning down and closing your eyes you hum, taking a deep breath before you nod and compose yourself.

Observing the space you took comfort in seeing your work. Some of the pieces are projected as holograms lighting up the room, while others are sculptures scattered about, and elsewhere are large oil paintings and mixed medium collages. Letting out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding you let yourself relax. While the night isn't over it feels safer surrounded by things you understand. With Caitlyn's hand moving from your back to more comfortably settle on your shoulder you nod at her feeling the episode pass.

A real smile begins to overtake your face as you take in all your old work. Your father was good at asking before picking some of your pieces to sell and getting his friend who owned the gallery to hang and price them. While some were harder to give up then others you always said yes putting all the money you made towards the Undercity and the relief effort you'd started there. The orphanage and jail always appreciating your efforts. It wasn't much compared to what else you could be doing but your father liked to organize these for you to give you some peace of mind about the UnderCity and its limited resources. You know he'd much prefer you'd paint full time and let him handle the charity affairs. He didn't want you going into any dangerous job options like Caitlyn and him had.

"A full house tonight. You never cease to impress." Caitlyn states as she bumps your shoulder. Nodding as you come out of your haze, seeing a lot of familiar faces and some new ones in the corner of your eye you watch as people mingle and talk about your art. Trays stacked high with hor de vours and various selections of alcohol pass making the guests smile and laugh as they took their fill.

Searching the room you get a wide smile on your face as you see Jayce and Victor standing off to the side. They're looking at one your father insisted on displaying so he could buy it and support your cause. Running towards them you hug Viktor before he can respond. He stumbles back leg nearly buckling but hugs you back with the same enthusiasm you do him. His laugh lightens your mood as Jayce helps support his fellow inventor and you hum as he squeezes you tight. Jayce joins the hug with his own laugh before he takes you from Viktor and picks you up spinning you around.

"Show off." Viktor teases as he taps his cane against Jayces leg. Jayce simply snorts and puts you down much to the amusement of onlooking guests. He ruffles your hair before doing the same to Viktor with that same hearty smile. Caitlyn, while seeming unamused, has the tinest smile on her lips at your childish behavior.

"Look at you. You're a regular Divinchi." Jayce compliments before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and gestures to your work. Feeling your cheeks darken you lean against him happy he could make it with his busy schedule. He chuckles at your flustered expression and tucks some stray hair behind your ear as you smile up at him.

"Often insanity and creativity walk hand in hand I admit. Though Divinchi is a high title to live up to." You respond making him shake his head. His chocolate eyes shine as he squeezes you close.

"And a poet too. Viktor look at our little idealist, they're all grown up now." Viktor rolls his eyes at Jayces antics before he stares at you. Shifting his cane to be center he leans slightly forward and nods agreeing.

"You my dear have many talents. I envy them all." He says genuinely tilting his head towards the piece they'd been looking at. Staring at it you smile, the portrait of you and your father making you happy. You'd wanted to gift it to him but he wanted to support you, so here it hung with his bid already placed. A man who's actions spoke louder than any words he'd ever said.

"Oh." You state eyes widening as you notice a large canvas with the school painted on it next to your family portrait. "Is Heimerdinger here?" You question, suddenly curious about your teacher and the oldest council member. You had no idea why they came to these things but the council members always stopped by to show their support, ever since your first galla. It was only kind of you to return the gesture by thanking them for coming and catching up. Even if you didn't always want to.

"You know Heimerdinger he's… everywhere." Caitlyn lets out a snort at Jayces unhelpful comment and Jayce flicks her hats feather in response. As they begin to argue you turn to nod your head at Viktor before you slip off into the crowd to find the council members and maybe your father.

Grabbing a glass of champagne as it passes the waiter nods his head at you before he goes to service other guests. Smiling as you sip at the bubbly liquid your eyes scan the space looking for various people to say hi too.

Catching a glint of metal from across the room you pause turning your head to get a better look. Spotting Marcus you smile before waving at him, holding up your champagne to toast. His associates all have wine glasses but his hands are suspiciously empty. As he nods his head at you politely holding up his hand to give a small wave you chuckle gesturing for him to come over. He shakes his head no and waves his hand away gesturing for you to go back to your friends. Humming you take a step closer noticing he's with an odd crowd. One you haven't seen at your galas before.

Beginning to walk towards them to see what they're all looking at you pause before pushing that feeling of suspicion away. As you stop shoes no longer clicking against the tile you swallow. Caitlyn told you to have fun and the night was young, you couldn't be focusing on your delusions now. Blowing him a little kiss he shakes his head and taps his chest on the opposite side of his badge, gesturing to you that he received the kiss and was keeping it safe. An old and bit odd inside joke. But one you refused to let go of regardless. You wave before turning to disappear into the crowd. Taking another sip of champagne you do your best not to feel anxious as Marcus's strange friends stare a hole into your back.

As a hand grabs your shoulder you quickly turn eyes wide as you get ready for a fight. "You can't just wander off!" Staring at Caitlyn your body unstiffens and you once again relax as you almost finish off your champagne. Just a few hours anyone could do this for a few hours.

"Sorry, just saying hello." You hum much to her displeasure.. Smiling softly as she relaxes you once again sip at your drink trying to soothe your rattled nerves. Nothing was wrong, you needed to calm down. You could do this.

Wandering around with Caitlyn looking for various people you pause as you reach a quieter part of the galla. Someplace more in the back. Tilting your head in front of a painting with a blue haired girl your eyes trace her face. Caitlyn was usually pretty stiff during her job but she puts her arm on your shoulder leaning on you in a rare moment of loosening up. With no one around to witness this you feel more open then you had in awhile. Short blue hair that frizzed at the end and had odd knick knacks woven and tied into it.

"She's pretty." She says softly and you nod wrist shifting to bubble your second glass of champagne. The liquid swirls as you do the repetitive motion and Caitlyn frowns concerned as she studies your action and face.

"I've been calling her Sapphire." You say suddenly, your eyes flicking up to stare at the faceless girl with blue hair.

"Cause of her hair?" Caitlyn questions and for a second you get a flash of sapphire eyes staring up at you as you braid choppy hair. Laughter ringing lightly in your ears as a girl with pink hair sits close by. She's smiling as you giggle tying trinkets into messy blue locks, giving the girl little braids. Three boys sit in the room observing but not interrupting as they do their own things. A smaller one occasionally handing you little knick knacks that'll sparkle in her hair.

"Yeah something like that." Taking a sip of your drink you frown as it goes down rough and not smooth like the other sips. "Hey you saw Marcus with those people right?" You suddenly question feeling like you knew them from somewhere despite not recognizing their faces. The woman in purple especially catching your attention.

"Marcus is here? He wasn't supposed to come tonight. I guess he made time for you." Caitlyn hummed surprised before she turned towards you. "I know my boss can be suspicious but tonight is about you. Your father wants you to be happy and unlike my parents he really tries. Let's just get through tonight since we already committed before we're back to the red string and endless questions." She suggests and you nod slowly but that feeling in your gut doesn't disappear. As much as you tried to dispel it, it kept creeping in the back of your mind.

As Caitlyn goes to lead you away you pause as a familiar face greets you.

"Your art has come so far. I marvel at your talent and envy all your fans." Mel teases. Caitlyn bows her head in respect and you nod at her. The girl swallows but nods pointing to where she'll be waiting as you chat privately with Mel.

Smiling at the Council woman looking at the work she's observing you hum seeing a large canvas you'd done of her and the Council at a meeting your father had asked you to attend. It was one people had flocked too all night you observed from the bidding stickers but it was just you and Mel looking at it now.

"Mel it's been awhile. We should schedule a painting session together. I miss those." You respond smiling warmly as you settle next to her.

"Yes, well life has been busy as I'm sure your father's told you." Swirling your glass of champagne faster you hum frowning softly. Staring at your reflection in the golden liquid you look back up at the painting. He hadn't. Not lately.

He wanted you away from his work. From him. You and Caitlyn knew something was wrong but as two high Noble society children your concerns were often brushed off and not taken seriously. You were close to something big and yet…

"Dads been quiet about work. You know after all I've worked for and all he's prepared me for he wants me to switch careers. Caitlyn and I may have passed the physical and mental exams with flying colors but he... worries." You murmur quietly as you fidget with your glass. "Caitlin's dad supports her but my dad... he'd prefer I chose to continue my law studies. Or change my schooling altogether and focus on something else." You state solemnly. As much as you loved your father you felt it was unfair. Like there was something bigger that he and everyone else was hiding from you.

"Hextech?" She asks surprised bringing you out of your sprailing thoughts. Smiling at the name Jayce gave his invention, that explosion that kick started everything felt like it happened yesterday. It felt like you were found on the bridge yesterday.

"More medical field I believe but I think he'll take anything other than Enforcer at this point. Even regular old painter." You remark as you observe the details of the meeting you'd chosen to paint.

"And that bothers you?" Mel asks. Tilting your head you squint at the details of the picture in front of you. Such a different piece than your other ones which were blurry and indistinct. And yet everyone kept hovering to this one. Easier to understand and more straight forward you supposed. Something from your new life and not your old. They always seemed to prefer that.

"... Mel is something going on I should be worried about? Some kind of civil unrest? The undercity. I've heard rumors and my dads making excuses for me not to go to any of the prisons or my charity anymore. I have friends there. People I'm trying to help. I need to know the truth. You need to tell me the truth." You state.

The woman remains quiet for a moment. Her brown eyes seem to search for the right words as she sips at her drink slowly. A red wine that seemed too much like blood to you. "Perhaps focusing on work outside your father's would be good. He worries about you. We all do. With your..." She hesitates before waving her hand dismissively trying to change the subject.

"My spells?" You demand and her brows furrow as she glances at you. The silence is all you need for confirmation. Sighing you look away from the Council Meeting and towards a different picture. A silhouette of a man with a halo around his head. You see that blue green color again. You can hear a chuckle. Mel's touch brings you back as she squeezes your shoulder.

"... I've said too much. Please be kind to him. Your father loves you much more than you know. You're very lucky to have him. You know," Mel hesitates, something you've rarely seen her do. As she looks at your painting and you stare into your glass a wistful look crosses her face. "My past is tricky when it comes to family and relationships." She admits in a rare moment of sincerity, no politics, no deals. Just the truth.

Or perhaps it's manipulation. You can never tell with Mel, you do your best not to dwell. You like to think your relationship and mentorship with her is genuine, but in a place like Piltover… you never know.

Nodding you look away from your least favorite piece onto other things. Your eyes stop on a more symbolic painting, an older one. It was crudely done as you hadn't cleaned the edges or made the details fine. Fangs and claws and fur. Oh to be the fox and wolf as Mel often told you.

"... Mingle?" You question and her eyes light up like the fox in your painting sensing your planning something.

"You don't usually enjoy networking." She observes watching you carefully and you shrug before finishing your flute of Champagne in one final swig.

"Feels like a night to try something new." You state waving down a waiter to take your glass so you could grab another.

…

With Mel by your side you'd avaded Caitlyn and most of the Enforcers walking around the party. While you loved having her around having her around as an Enforcer was much harder than having her around as your friend. While you'd tried to stay calm the whole night and not make it into a conspiracy your suspicion grew every time you saw Marcus from the corner of your eye with that group of people. As you inched your way closer throughout the night you glanced around. No one was watching you…

Slipping away from Mel while she was distracted with a council member you kept your head high as you walked with purpose. As you get closer to the odd group, your focus goes to one of the people Marcus is talking to. Your eyes catching on her arm and how it's covered by a pretty velvet cape.

"No you can't talk to them-" Marcus insists, not yet noticing you as you got closer. The lights on this side of the room were dimmer as there were less art pieces. It made your curiosity burn brighter as you wondered what Marcus and this strange clinte were talking about. If they were clinte at all.

"Why are they painting him? Who are they? He's mad Marcus! He wants some serious answers." The woman snaps back angrily. Coming closer and getting more questions than answers the woman notices you staring and shifts to better cover her arm. Her friends stiffen at your presence and adjust their suits and dresses which you notice are more worn than anyone else in the room.

"They're nobody. It's a side hobby, just a thing they sometimes do-" Marcus states and you tilt your head unsure if you should be insulted or not. Was he protecting you from something? From someone?

"Marcus?" You question finally catching his attention as you take in his new friends. He immediately goes pale hearing you call his name and turns to face you. As the woman smirked you could see him getting stressed like you weren't supposed to be here. Squinting you hum as you observe the chief, what was he up to?

"(Y/N)! Why aren't you with Caitlyn?" Marcus demands and you step back at the tone of his voice. The intensity of his question. As the group continues to stare you begin to piece together that they're from the Undercity or at least a lower class section of Piltover.

"She's talking to Jayce. Marcus I need-" You start but he ignores you. Unlike his playful disposition earlier he was being much colder now. As you swallowed something about this whole situation didn't settle right with you. This clearly had nothing to do with your galla.

"I'm sorry this is a private discussion I need you to-" Marcus starts in a much kinder tone trying to direct you away but the woman ignores him. Stepping in front of him to get to you Marcus glares, his fists balling at his sides. She tilts her head observing you before she smirks. Maroon lipstick catching the limited light.

"(Y/N) Right?" The woman was tall, elegant, and walked with authority. Several scars of different sizes littered her face and shoulders. Taking in her physique she seemed like she'd had a harder life. A laborer perhaps?

Her purple slit dress with the black velvet coat stood out amongst the other dresses tonight and you found yourself intrigued. Almost pulled in by her. As you studied each other you could see Marcus gritting his teeth. Knowing you'd walked into a possibly dangerous situation you smiled feigning ignorance.

"Yes, that's my name. I guess you could say this is my Galla." Acting shy at the attention you reach up to fiddle with your jewelry and hair. Something about this woman seemed familiar. Maybe it was her voice or maybe it was her face but you had this odd itch in the back of your brain. Like when you were painting right after a flash.

"I'm Sevika." She introduces before holding out her left hand. Confused, you peaked under her cloak to look at her right only for her to take a step back hiding her arm behind herself. Shaking the left trying not to be bothered by it or ask any questions that could get you in trouble you smiled at her.

"Are you interested in this one?" You hum tilting your head towards the canvas as you try to subtly change the conversation. "I don't know if you know this because I haven't seen you at any of my shows before but my paintings are all for charity." You explain with a smile. "All funds go back to the community. As someone so fortunate I try to give back to those more in need then myself." Sevika paused for a moment before her hand wrapped tightly around yours, her grip firm but not crushing like you'd first expected.

"... I'll keep that in mind." She hums softly. "My boss, he's interested in this one." She explains before letting go and gesturing to the painting they'd been talking In Front of for the past few hours.

"Oh your boss? What do you do?" You ask curiously. It was always the same faces at these Gallas, Sevika didn't seem like an average socialite. She screamed adventure but also safety. You feel like you knew her and that wasn't something you felt often when it came to new faces. While there was a danger with interacting with her that you could sense, she knew more than she let on.

"We work in…" Glancing at Marcus amused she focused back on you, eyes seeming to study your every move. It reminded you of an Enforcer or someone running from one. "Exports." She explains and you nod slowly, not sure if you believe her or not. Looking at the painting when she does you suddenly freeze, familiar blue eyes greeting you.

"My dad wasn't supposed to grab this one." You murmur as you step forward. It was one of your favorites hidden behind a sheet so he wouldn't see, one of the only full faces from your past you'd ever been able to complete. You were working on some fine detailing and had moved it from the safety of your room to the studio. It was a bit fuzzy on the edges still and some of the detailing was blurry because you couldn't seem to decide on things like sharp or round features, smooth or bumpy skin but it was an important piece to you.

"Oh?" Sevika questions and you frown looking at the bid at the bottom. "My boss, he'll pay a small fortune for it. Guaranteed." Sevika swears and you turn towards her.

"They said it wasn't for sale. Can we continue-" Marcus tries to regain control of the conversation but Sevika seemed more interested in you than him. The people also focused on you suddenly ignoring Marcus' presence. She stepped closer leaning in to observe your face. As their eyes focused on yours, really taking you in you noticed the sudden way she stiffened. Like she was seeing a ghost.

"Think of all the people in the UnderCity it could help, that is what you're doing isn't it? Your charity?" Quirking a brow at her surprised, you turn your head suddenly. The intensity of her stare suddenly making you uncomfortable.

"I don't like to announce it because I get less sales which means I can help less but yes… That's true." You admit quietly. Did Marcus tell them that? How did they figure it out? The longer you stayed in this corner the more questions you had.

"So a small fortune to help others is surely worth this painting?" Pausing you think of the deal, of what you would be giving away. Reaching your hand out you tap the bottom of the canvas, tracing the intricate picture frame. Was this some sort of psychological test from your father? Did this even have anything to do with you or were you misinterpreting the entire situation?

Focusing on the painting to remain calm, the ravenette man with blue eyes and sharp features made you feel at ease. Swallowing you hum. You wanted to know more about this woman, about the group with her, and her relationship with Marcus.

"And this bosses name? I'd love to meet the man giving so much to my charity." You offer watching Sevikas' body language closely.

"He doesn't do names." She responds quickly and you nod.

"A picture then?" You question. "It's customary for all customers to take a picture with the piece they're buying." Before she can say no like you assume she will, you grab her hand in another firm handshake and smile wide as a flash fills the dark space. As Sevika blinks in surprise and her friends slink into the shadows you take your chance to leave back to the main party. As the photographer walks away you do the same disappearing into the crowd with stolen film in your hand.

While you had a lot of questions you're sure they could wait until that photo was printed. You think you just found another piece of the puzzle.

...

Taglist: @pinkninja200 @shadow-pancake9 @athenapspspsps @mercenarystrike @strawbebe-dk @joscelyn02 @wanna-plan-world-domination @meep-moop-mystic @ebony-wolf @shadow-pancake9 @zeros-rot @beasalmeh @ihatemylifeuwu @domoron @ackermanbitch @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression

[fernifox]

I made a box! >:)

It won me judges choice in a cosplay masquerade,,,, hit them in the feelings you know?

How I did it under the cut

First things first! I cut out 0.5cm EVA foam squares that were roughly 11 inches on each side (I used paper as a template just to make sure I get a proper right angle). It makes a decent sized box but not too big to carry around (the actual box from the episode of sabo is a little bit more rectangular but I wanted to make it easier on myself). I couldn’t find my heat gun at the time so I just flattened it out with an iron (Put some parchment paper in between to reduce the risk of leaving iron marks on it). It’s probably easier to iron it flat anyways, also be sure to put something flat and heavy over it so it will actually stay flat (I used this glass clay/cutting mat I have).

Next I sketched out where each board would. I chose to divide it into 6 boards wide (each board was roughly 2 inches, last board was a little thinner but you wouldn’t notice looking at it). There are two boards with a cross and two that are just bordered. Then you’ll want to take an exacto knife and cut semi deep cuts along each board (not all the way through!). Then a little lighter you’ll add the wood grain marks (don’t be me and forget to sharpen your knife while cutting them, if it doesn’t cut the top layer your marks will disappear when you hit it with the heat gun). They don’t have to be perfect, just simple flowy lines with the occasional tree knot.

On the other side you’ll want to figure out how you want to put your box together, the front and back pieces are the cross pieces, make sure the boarders are on the top and bottom (neater panels on the most visible sides). Your left and right pieces will have the boarders on the sides and the top piece and bottom piece will have the boarders touching the front and back pieces. The top piece and all of the edges touching it will not be cut. On the side pieces and bottom pieces you will need to measure and mark about 0.5cm away from the edge and trim it away and an angle, so when you assemble the box they’ll fit together nicely (once again do not cut away the top edges because that’s where you’ll put the hinge and Velcro so you can open it and store stuff inside!). Once you’re done you can use a heat gun on the wood grain to open the cuts so it’ll define each board and groove. Lastly you’ll sand down the pieces so the paint and glue will stick (also so you can smoothen out the edge cuts if you aren’t good at cutting angles like me).

When I glued it I used a cement glue to make it a bit sturdier and cleaner than hot glue would be and then I filled in all of the seams (on the inside and outside) with some cosplay foam clay. I decided I wanted to make it a little bit sturdier so I took a bunch of popsicle sticks I happened to have laying around and glued them together to make a frame around the inside edges of the box and then glued it in. Once the foam clay was dry I sanded down it a little to make it smoother and so paint would stick to it.

I didn’t take a picture of this but I preemptively cut slits into the back of the box where the straps would go in. I used some basic nylon straps that I got and cut them in half so they were a good length to use as backpack straps. I tried to mark where I cut on the image below. If you cut in the board seams then it makes a kind of invisible hole to slip the straps in later (try fitting the straps in now just to make sure it is the right size, this will hopefully reduce damage to the paint later).

When I started painting I painted the inside a solid brown color just so you wouldn’t just see white when you open it (you don’t have to get fancy with it tho). On the outside I mixed up a lighter brown color and placed it as the base, then I went back and mixed in darker shades of brown and some lighter shades of yellows brown to add onto the texture of the wood. It took me an entire day to do and I’m glad I didn’t run out of paint (every side is painted with texture, even the bottom).

Once I was done painting I decided that in order to help strengthen the straps I wanted to add to the box I cut of some foam bits to stick on the ends of them (that way if the glue on the straps fail then the foam bits would keep the straps in the box) and I painted them a solid brown so they wouldn’t be too visible on the box. Then I sprayed the painted box with a clear glaze that way it’d make the paint on the box sturdier (less scratching) and so it wouldn’t stick to stuff and rip off. I let the glaze dry overnight (going to continue this in a reblog because I ran out of images).

Here’s the link to the full post

[legendofzoodles]

The Chain in an Escape Room

Crackpot modern AU version of this post. 

Time helped set this up as a team-building exercise and starts regretting it seconds after the door shuts behind them. He knows most of the solutions and tries to hint at them as a passive observer but lord help him no one listens. Or if they do it’s in the complete opposite way he meant. Trying to keep things together is outside his range of skills, so whatever happens, happens. 

Warriors bragged that a friend of his did it and it was super easy, but doesn’t end up contributing much. In fact he’s the opposite of helpful. He would call the friend who’s completed it for ‘hints’, but would end up having them tell him everything and use that knowledge to mess with the team. Adding red herrings and false clues, drawing attention away from the real solutions and more importantly, wasting time. Don’t worry, the rest eventually catch on and end him, if Time doesn’t put a stop to it first.   

Twilight would be the theorist. He doesn’t actually try anything or do anything practical, he’ll just throw ideas out there based off the most irrelevant stuff and look for a deeper meaning in everything he sees. “Is that painting of a cat playing with string a clue?” “This shelf is missing a ledge could that mean something?” “That mirror has a crack in it...maybe...”

Sky, bless him, will leave helpful notes for the next group of people. He’ll have post-it notes out and ready (just because), so whenever the chain finally makes a breakthrough he’ll jot it down and leave it somewhere not to obvious. He’d also write down little compliments and motivating things like: “You can do it!” and “Almost there!” though it would get confusing when they inevitably backtrack:

Legend: [picking up a post-it note] Guys I found clue!

Note: You look nice today! :)

Legend: [scrunching it up] Dammit Sky!

Legend, will hoard anything and everything he thinks ‘might’ be useful. That random chess piece, that picture frame, maybe those marbles, all vital items. The others will help him break stuff without him even needing to ask. So long as they’re not damaging anything too expensive, Time will allow it. 

Wild will take pictures, selfies and videos of everyone suffering. He wouldn’t help since Time won’t let him cheat or break themselves out, so he’ll just enjoy himself by documenting the chaos for everyone to look back on and cringe. Or maybe he’ll live-stream the whole thing to his 10 followers.

Four will constantly remind people of the time. If they’re taking too long on a puzzle he’ll be literally counting down the seconds insisting they think faster. He won’t take any kind of goofing around because that’s wasting valuable time. When they do eventually figure something out he’ll be the one to lament how easy it was and how it shouldn’t have taken them that long.

Hyrule, the oddball, will try to get into the mind of the creators. Start psychoanalysing them from the word ‘go’, and try to figure out the thought process that went behind the puzzles. He’ll look at suspiciously places objects and clues and think, “That has Time written all over it” or “Yeah I can see him doing that”. When that predictably fails, because he’s terrible at it, he’ll ask Time roundabout questions to try and see into his mind. That doesn’t work either. 

Wind, when he isn’t co-hosting Wild’s livestream, helping Warriors mess with the chain or collecting items for Legend’s hoard, like the tiny gremlin he is, will be opening the nearest window and screaming for help into the street. 

This, to Time’s horror, actually works and a random pedestrian hears the boy and calls the fire brigade thinking they were actually trapped in the building. 

~~~

Thanks for reading!

Masterlist 

Headcanons: Parkour team, Honorary Gorons, How each member of the chain laughs, Flora is Feral, Is Malon Real?

AU Ideas: Midsommar AU, Hyrule centric idea

Short Stories: Smoke Signal (LU Wild x reader), Ancient Masonry (Sky and Wild), Blunt Crown (Wild and Flora)

[vaimetanyx]

Part three - refusal of the call

Because, and I can't stress this enough, there is no way these greaves can be worn without stabbing your own feet when you move, let alone dash. So here's my non-foot destroying version!

(Full process under the cut)

[Skull pauldron] [Belt] [Greaves] [Toga + sash] [Wig + Laurels] [Armbands] [Flaming feet] [Satyr Sack] [Stygius v1] [Stygius v2] [Nectar]

To start off with, more pattern making!

(And remember, if you don't want to suffer needlessly, make your back closure straight. Don't be like me)

Once you have you have your pattern (WITH A STRAIGHT BACK SEAM) then it's time to cut it out of foam, contact cement it together, and heat shape. This was my first time making any sort of fitted armour so I tried them on and held them closed with masking tape. Terrible Hozier socks are courtesy of @afternoon-softea

Next up, skulls! As per my previous posts, I cut out the pattern, contact cemented the pieces together, dremelled the edges and added depth + tidied things up with foam clay.

Now I made a hero's journey joke about refusal of the call at the start of this post but genuinely I had so much trouble with these bevels/ridges/whatever, and even the finished product still looks super rough if you focus. I was so mad and focused while doing them I don't even have progress pictures, but here's the end look with an unflattering closeup on the bevels.

But they ended up getting done, which meant time to heat seal and plastidip! The original paint I was going to use for them turned out to look absolutely terrible, so I had to do a late night Bunnings trip to get an actual nice metallic grey. I then did some shadows around the skull and painted the eyes black, and proceeded to forget to take photos of any of that.

Painting! late night bunnings trip to get a decent one bc the spray paint you originally picked was terrible! Black in the eyes, a little bit of dry brushed highlights and shading and that part's done! Forget to take photos again!

For the closure, I knew I didn't want to have an obvious zip so I could match the art more accurately, so I thought 'hey, I'll just super strong velcro!'

...

If your closure. Isn't even. You will have so much trouble keeping it closed properly. No matter what you use. Version 1, which I wore to my first convention in this cosplay, had an internal velcro closure and some on the edges to try and get it to sit evenly at the seam. it sort of worked. I also did this before painting and then had to redo the edge velcro since the velcro got clogged up with plastidip and paint.

I later went to modify this and still use velcro! It didn't work! so I decided fuck this all, and made it lace up using spare hook and eye closures I had lying around, held together and shaped with a LOT of hot glue.

I was originally going to use some black string I had, but it couldn't handle the tension needed to keep it closed flush, so I changed to fishing line. I also added some more highlighting and shadows on the skull part

The tension did rip off a few of my tiny hook and eye closures during the con, and I had to cut myself out of them at the end of the day, but they did end up sitting much better (and no annoying velcro sounds if I moved too much and put pressure on the closure). I kinda want to remake them now knowing what I do about making cosplay armor, but who knows when I'll have time to do that. They're good enough for now, especially considering the amount I walk into things on a daily basis.

[jowistar]

Season 1, Episode 1

Mainly Character introductions

LAYLA

At first glance, we see that Layla is very put together. You can tell that she takes pride in her appearance from the way her hair is done to the jewellery pieces she has on. She’s also very warm and welcoming showing that she is open to friendship. We get her justifying other people’s actions and trying to highlight the best in them. It is here were we get a glimpse into her trying to portray herself as perfect to some degree. Her first instinct is to run when Spencer reads into her loneliness which usually happens when someone feels they have shown a little too much of what they are hiding. She tries to downplay her wealth and deflect from talking about her house just like she did before but this time she laughs it off instead of running away. We also get introduced to her strained dynamic with Olivia. They barely acknowledge each other but Olivia seemingly has a lot to say about her [to Spencer]. Olivia introduces Layla to Spencer as ‘Beverly’s resident sweetheart’ then later tells him that she has a boyfriend while trying to convince him not to go to her party. There are undertones of a falling out between the two girls because Olivia is trying hard to paint Spencer a picture about Layla and who she is. It’s almost as if she sees Spencer’s interest in Layla and is trying to stop him from getting to know her. At the party, Layla says “maybe not all of us are as basic as you think” which stands out. From how Olivia has been talking about her, this statement shows that she is aware about how people perceive her - rich and pretty with no depth. We see her happy facade finally slip as she has dinner alone in her empty house. Despite the fact that it’s big and will put together, it’s cold and lonely. A parallel to how she’s always well dressed and put together when she is sad and lonely on the inside. She hides it so well that people don’t see it at first glance. She also deflects a lot which tells us she doesn’t really open up about this particular topic but why is that?

JORDAN

With Jordan, his first interactions are with his sister and Spencer. Immediately, there is some tension between the two siblings because he doesn’t even try to make conversation with her before walking away with Spencer [Liv confirms this in her talk with Spencer about going to rehab]. You can tell that he’s nice and he has a very confident aura to him not arrogant though. He introduces himself as team captain which is an early indication of how seriously he takes the role. We see more of this on the field when he tries to be the peace keeper between the players [mostly Asher and Spencer]. Like Layla, he tries to see the best in people because he immediately agrees to take Spencer under in wing upon Billy’s request even though he’s weary about him. You can tell that he has a lot of questions but he composes himself. This paired with his need to keep the peace on the field helps us conclude that he’s not big on confrontation. Overhearing the conversation Billy is having over the phone about no one on the team having half the potential Spencer had doesn’t help either. He’s already weary of Spencer and hearing how easy it is for Billy to discredit his role on the team and as a football player triggers him. This is the third incident that points towards trouble in the Baker home with the second being his inability to question his father. Jordan’s villain arc starts as he attempts to get rid of Spencer. The fact that he doesn’t like confrontation makes him vindictive and impulsive which is a horrible combination given how much disdain he’s holding in. He is choosing to take his anger out on Spencer to hurt his father since Billy has proven how important Spencer is to him. The way he confronts Billy on the football field emphasises how much anger has in him but he tries really hard to keep his cool. This only escalates when he hears Billy say “I’m proud of you son” to Spencer after their game. It’s very clear that he doesn’t want Spencer moving into their home but he pretends to be happy. How much pretending is he doing and how much more is he hiding?

JORDAYLA INCLINGS🤭

Jordan notices that Layla and Spencer are checking each other out and doesn’t even try to hide his disapproval as he walks away while shaking his head. He already has his doubts about his father’s intense concern about Spencer’s wellbeing and it doesn’t help that Layla is his best friend’s girlfriend.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: a graveyard PARTIES: @screadqueens (eithne) & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: eithne has been dying to meet local celebrity, emilio cortez. emilio is a little less enthused. CONTENT: parental death, sibling death, child death (mentions of past events), suicide ideation

She had not forgone her duty in her attempt to meet the legendary Emilio Cortez, because Eithne did not forgo her duty. As an instrument of fate as well as someone sent to this wretched town to ensure Saol Eile’s secrecy. And so she’d only slain those that fate was itching for and those who’d Regan and Siobhan (even thinking their names made her chest tremble with rage) had gotten too close with. Luckily, the town was filled to the brim of those for whom death waited. Luckily, Cortez was good at his job, despite the reviews.

Eithne was a diligent woman. She was a vicious woman. She had been for over a century. And so she knew how to deliver death. She knew how to leave a trail. It had been the spellcaster who’d helped Regan first, a murder done so prettily that she had taken a blurry picture with her decades-old Nokia. Then there was a woman for whom she had screamed, who she had subsequently killed and whose hand with neatly painted nails she had left boxed up and addressed to the investigator. There was the man bound to her words to enlist the help of Emilio Cortez and his admirable Yelp rating. He’d – if all went well – asked him to help find his missing partner, a man who Eithne had screamed for and subsequently killed too.

She’d left a nice trail of death leading to her. Hints, not too hard to pick up on. This Emilio Cortez did have a very low Yelp rating, after all. And so she awaited him in a cemetery where she was perched on a gravestone. It was new, the grave and the dead body in it fresh. She enjoyed it, which was a strange indulgence. She was not here for pleasure — and though her meeting Cortez was her giving into her intrigues a little, she still remembered her purpose. It was not to dig in a grave to figure out why the body in it had died.

So she waited, her notebook splayed on her knee as she went over her notes. She was something of an investigator too, or rather an exterminator. Siobhan and Regan were lotnaidí and had spread their foolish childishness around. She was the heel that squashed the cockroaches they’d left behind. She hoped Emilio Cortez would not prove himself to be part of the problem, as she didn’t want to step on someone like him just yet. 

—

Paranoia wasn’t the kind of beast you needed to feed to keep alive. It had survived in Emilio’s chest for so long now that he often forgot what life had been like before it made its home there, forgot that it hadn’t been a part of him for as long as he’d been breathing. Sometimes, he thought it should have been starving. Sometimes, there was no reason for it to remain fed, no specific event inciting it, but it remained just as lively and strong as ever, rearing its head and gnashing its teeth.

And sometimes, it was very well-fed.

Someone sent a fucking hand to his office. There was a blurry photo of a bloody corpse. There was a man at his door begging him to find his missing partner, and Emilio had no reason to think that all of these things were connected beyond that fattened paranoia that had been given a feast over the last few weeks, but he was sure they were pieces of the same puzzle anyway. He put them together, he gathered more. He started making a full picture, and he didn’t like what he saw.

It was a trap. He was pretty sure of it, and he didn’t think his paranoia was the cause of that certainty. It was a trap and it was for him and he probably should have avoided it at all costs, but people were dying and maybe there was some way for him to stop that. Maybe there was some way he could save the next one. Wasn’t that enough of a reason to try?

So he followed the clues to a graveyard, to a grave. He found a woman there, sitting on a grave marker and looking far too cheery to be in a damn cemetery. Emilio’s fingers twitched absently, though he didn’t reach for a blade yet. She wasn’t undead; that was surprising. Usually, when someone went through this much trouble to get his attention, they were undead. Still, Emilio could roll with the proverbial punches. He was good at that.

“You know,” he said slowly, “usually when things like this happen, I at least know why. You don’t make any bells ring. Did I kill a friend of yours or something?”

—

Regan Kavanagh had brought very little of note back to Saol Eile, but there had been the printed out reviews of a website called ‘Yelp’. (A bad name — who even yelped these days? It was the weaker version of a scream which meant it was vile in and of itself.) They had all flocked around the papers and laughed, cackling beautifully at this human man who was so bad at what he was doing that even other humans thought him incapable.

Eithne didn’t meet a lot of men. She killed a fair amount of them, of course, foreseeing their death and then making sure it was followed through, but that never left much room for conversation. She had tried when she was younger, to make conversation. To ask them how they felt about their impending death, if they looked forward to it and if this was they had imagined whenever they imagined their deaths. Most of them hadn’t wanted to speak to Eithne, though.

Besides that there was little need to speak to men. But this man? Oh, she wanted to know what he was about. What he’d done to make so many people discontent with him, how much death he saw as a – what did he call it? – private investigator. And also what Regan’s relation to him had been, but that was hardly a priority.

At the sight of him she hopped off the gravestone, inching closer. It was surely him. The Axis investigator. “You usually do? I have seen how people speak of you,” Eithne said. “They call you rude and inefficient.” She put two fingers in the air, quoting a review she’d learned by heart: “Do NOT use this service unless you want to be around a man who smells of whiskey and stale cigarettes who just wants your MONEY and not to help you.” 

She dropped her hands. “I am surprised you found me, considering your reputation. It precedes you.”

—

She dropped down from the gravestone, speaking in an accent that took him back to a factory he never wanted to return to and a situation he hoped to never find himself in again. It was hard not to stiffen immediately, hard not to let the paranoia ebb into his mind and flow through his veins. The fact that she’d been dropping bodies all over town in an apparent attempt at vying for his attention certainly didn’t ease the paranoid idea that this wasn’t going to end well for him, either.

Still, Emilio tried to keep his expression neutral as she inched closer, forcing himself to be as still as he could manage. It wasn’t a total stillness, of course; his fingers twitched as if searching for a trigger to pull, his left thumb brushed absently against the band on his ring finger as it was wont to do when he found himself in a stressful situation. He tried not to show any weakness, even as his leg ached with the stiffness he’d forced into it. Whatever this was, he was certain he wanted no part in it.

“People say all kinds of things,” he said, keeping his tone even. “That doesn’t mean they’re true. I am rude. I am not inefficient. I get the job done. Just not always in the way people want.” He didn’t tend to make attempts at sparing feelings when delivering the results of a case he found stupid, which tended to cause a lot of angry clients. 

People came to him sometimes wanting to be told one thing; when he told them something else, they were unhappy. And that wasn’t even accounting for reviewers who had never used his services to begin with. Plenty of people were caught, by Axis, with their pants down. There was nothing on the stupid star site that stopped them from writing a review as if they had hired Emilio and been disappointed rather than having been found out by him. 

Of course, none of that was really important right now. He had a feeling he had bigger things to worry about. “Did you really lure me out here to come at me over what people say about me online? Not a good move.”

—

She wondered how Regan had gotten to know the private investigator. What did she need privately investigated? Her traitorous ways? Where one could find bone-ios in this town, let alone a good novel? Eithne couldn’t begin to understand why the wayward banshee had turned to this apparently rude man. Not that she understood her in any other way, either. To walk away from Saol Eile as she had — well, it was incomprehensible.

She moved closer to the other, eyes inquisitive as if he was an interesting marking on a tree. She needed to decide what to do with him. To learn how much he knew about Regan. If what he said was true and if he really was good at what he did – despite being rude (which she didn’t think an unforgivable trait, to be fair) – then that could pose a threat. Would he search for the prodigal banshee? Would he privately investigate where she had gone to?

It was disappointing how invested Regan had become in the people around her. Siobhan, too, though Siobhan had done worse things to disappoint her community besides buddying up with humans and undead. It was hardly surprising any more.  

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “A rude yet efficient man, but people are disappointed with your results, is that it? Humans so often are when it comes to the truth.” They had their pitiful five stages of grief, the first one being denial. Eithne had never denied her father’s death, nor had she felt the anger, the need for bargaining or depression. She had accepted it, she had honored it, she had continuously revered it. His bones sat neatly in her home.

She nodded at his question, thought his analysis of the situation was rather boring. What constituted a good move? “I would like your signature,” she said, “And I wanted us to meet through your work.” She dug in her coat pocket and produced one of the print outs. “I brought a pen.” That too, was pulled out. It was a precious item. A fountain pen with a bone grip. “If you please.”

—

She moved closer, and Emilio watched her the way one might watch a snake in the grass or a lion circling. While his paranoia was convinced it knew more than enough about the situation, the actual facts were thinner and harder to hold. He was fairly certain, at this point, that she’d killed people to bring him here. She’d all but admitted to that, and it didn’t take a very good detective to follow the clues she’d left. It was the why that was a mystery, the why that continued to stump him. And the why was the most important part. Emilio could kill her here, could snap her neck or sink a blade into her heart, but what good would that do him if he didn’t know whether or not someone else would come along after her? He’d rather have answers. He’d rather have reassurances. 

Maybe the best way to get them was to play along.

“People think they can handle the truth,” he said carefully, “but they usually can’t.” Humans. She’d said humans. She had the accent. The pen she held was made of bone, unmistakeable. The clues were adding up in a way that made him think it wasn’t just his paranoia insisting upon the answer, made him think his first instinct might be closer to true than he’d like it to be.

(He forced himself to stay in the present as she got closer. His thumb rubbed the ring on his finger, twisting the metal around the appendage that was thinner now than it had been the first time the ring had slid onto it, and he tried to let the action ground him. He was here. He was in a graveyard. It was April. He wasn’t there, in the factory, in December. This woman wasn’t Siobhan, with her sharp knife and sharper tongue. And Rhett was dead, anyway. The last bit nearly sent him spiraling, so he pushed past it, ignored it. He was here. He was fine. He was.) 

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a printed page. One of the reviews from the internet, the ones Regan had commented on. He stared at it for a moment, the letters as good as hieroglyphs for how well he could understand them with his mind in this state of on-edge. The pen was in front of him; he made no move to take it. 

“I’m not going to do that,” he said flatly. “You’re not going to kill people just so I can write my name on a piece of paper for you. You can fuck off.” Regan said she was going to take his reviews to Ireland. Had she actually done it? Emilio’s nostrils flared in quiet fury. “All of you can fuck off.”

—

She had always lacked the sensitivity that humans had when it came to death. Eithne did not think on it much — she preferred to think of death in other contexts and frames, rather than what a pity it might be. It was around her every second, after all, from the bone that surrounded her fountain pen to the place she was calling her temporary home in Wicked’s Rest. 

That lack, though, it could only exist because something had been taken. As the oldest of her sisters, it had been her whose chéad scread had been triggered by their father’s death. And it had been an honor! Her mother had had three daughters (and one son) with said man, and it had been for Eithne that he got to die. Six years old, she’d been, and though she had screamed with a true horror when he’d died, she had felt victorious. Her sisters, they’d be activated through another death – a less significant one. And so, as she’d screamed, her sensitivity had been plucked from her like one would pluck feathers of dead chickens.

When people she had cared about more than her father (more an archetype than a true person in her life) had died, she had felt a reasonable amount of upset by her standards, but it had never upended anything. She, unlike Emilio Cortez’ clients, could handle the truth. “Can you?” Her interest was genuine, as far as genuineness went with her.

She frowned at his level of upset. He had not known any of the people whose deaths she had seen to, had he? Why would he feel this kind of indignation, when he was not affected directly by the corpses? Eithne had expected the detective to understand that sometimes people died. Very often, actually — about two every second, according to statistics. Eithne liked death statistics. They were soothing to her. “Can you handle the truth of death, Emilio Cortez?” 

Around them were the graves of people long – or shortly – gone. Surely he was at an age where he had lost one or two people close to him, if not more. “I did not just kill them. They were going to die — I saw it and then saw to it.” Eithne held out her paper and pen still. He was a rude man, indeed. “They would have died regardless.” It was a muddled version of the truth. Some of the people had been fated to die, and then some had been part of the clean up job. Perhaps he should blame Regan. “Your reviewers are quite right, I think. I’d still like an autograph.”

—

Can you? The question drew a stilted, humorless laugh from between his lips. He wasn’t sure of the answer. He and death were old friends, sometimes; he’d known it since he was a child. He’d grown up with it in his house, wearing his father’s clothes. Death was a part of their family in a way none of them ever spoke about. His father’s name was a spell scarcely whispered, a quiet acknowledgement of something come and gone before Emilio had been old enough to recognize it at all. His uncle spoke of his father fondly, his mother mentioned him occasionally in lessons with a disinterested tone. Edgar said he’d smelled like tobacco, Rosa said he was strong. Victor, with the firmest memories of him, said he was a good hunter, a good man. None of it meant anything to Emilio.

It wasn’t until he was twelve that he and death became better acquainted. Victor died, and he was more than just a story people told sometimes. He was more than descriptions of a half-remembered scent or a child’s belief that the adults in her life were bigger than they were — he was a person. He was someone Emilio had loved, someone he’d thought would always be in his life who, in an instant, wasn’t. 

And there were more after, of course. There were cousins and neighbors and friends from camp. Every other week, it seemed they were getting news of another death. That was what it meant to be a hunter, his mother told him. You held hands with death. It brushed your hair, it slept in your bed. And one day, when you were thirty-two and thought you knew everything, it tore through the streets of your home and ripped up your living room floor and hollowed you out in a way you’d never recover from.

So her question was a stupid one, he thought. It was worthy of that bitter laugh, of the way he rolled his eyes. “Some of us don’t get much of a choice.” He wondered how much of what she was saying was the truth. Fae couldn’t lie without consequence — he knew that. But they could believe things that were false. He’d seen it in Regan, in Ren. They could believe lies so wholeheartedly that they were sure they were telling the truth. If this woman was like Siobhan, like Regan, had she grown up in a community like the one Regan had returned to, the one where Nora was now? Had she had her mind twisted? At what point did you stop feeling for someone who had been forcibly shaped by the outdated beliefs of their elders and start holding them accountable for the things they did in order to uphold those same beliefs? There must have been a line somewhere.

“It doesn’t matter if they were going to die. It wasn’t on you to kill them.” And he found it hard to believe that all the bodies she’d dropped were as close to death as she was implying, even in a town like this one. He glanced down to the pen and paper again, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth. Reaching out, he grabbed both from her. But instead of putting pen to paper, he reared back his arm and tossed it as far as he could manage before tearing the paper down the middle. A childish response, he knew; the type of thing Teddy would point to when claiming Emilio was a petty, petty man. It didn’t make him feel much better, though he pretended it did. He watched the pen fly, watched it land in a nearby pond with a rush of fleeting satisfaction. “There you go,” he said flatly, turning back to the woman. “There is your autograph.” 

—

Choice. What a dull concept. It was so human to speak of choice in such a manner, as if there was any agency to find in regards to death. People died, lives were lost and the world kept on spinning with new forms of life. The choice was, of course, in the approach. Eithne had spent a good ten years when she was younger attempting to understand the intricacies of grief. She liked the local stories most, those human interpretations of banshees. Wailing women who could only express their sorrow through those keens and screams. Or the women’s laments in Greek antiquity, those women who pulled at their hair as if that would somehow pull their mourning from them, too.

She liked those, but she hated most other forms of grief. It was perhaps not for her to understand. But when sources spoke of five phases – the first of which was so disgustingly human: denial – she found herself rolling her eyes. How very dull to phase out mourning. To give death stages that didn’t have to do with decomposition or something akin to it, but terms that some kind of psychologist had determined were fitting. 

“No one gets a choice when it pertains to death,” Eithne stated. “We do get a choice in whether we accept it for what it is.” Maybe that stage of denial was true. Maybe that was the only stage humans knew. Silly, pitiful denial. Hoping that death could be evaded, avoided, postponed. Pulling at their hair and whining and crying. Writing angry reviews when things didn’t go their way. Ah, they were so frail. She’d pity them if she didn’t find it so disrespectful.

It was Fate, who shone upon the death. Who extended her arms and invited them to a different stage of life. It was her decision. To deny it was to spit on her wisdom. 

“It was,” she said simply. “It was an honor for them, to have me help fulfill their fates. It is my purpose. You are too small minded to understand, for which I forgive you.” Finally Cortez moved to take her things, to give her the thing she had come from. Eithne did not intend to scream for him yet — that might come at another time, if he proved to be part of the problematic mess Regan and Siobhan had left behind. But the investigator did not sign his autograph. He threw her darling pen as far as he could (which was far — he had to be in good shape) and ruined her paper. She heard her pen fall into the water and her body seemed to expand with rage. “You —” Her lungs were filled with air inhaled sharply through her nose and she squinted at the man. Eithne opened her mouth and screamed. Not aiming to kill, just to maim.

—

In the end, death came for everyone. Emilio knew that. It came for little girls in their living rooms with their mothers by their sides just as brutally as it came for middle aged men who locked kids in vans and killed the mothers of their children. It carved into the people it left behind and hollowed them out, turned them into shells of what they’d been before. It didn’t ask for permission, didn’t care for consent. It ripped you up into the tiniest of pieces and, when you thought you couldn’t get any smaller, it ripped you up again. It would come for him sooner than it would for most, but still later than he deserved. It would come for Wynne and for Nora, though he prayed it wasn’t across the sea in Ireland. It would come for Teddy and for Xó, for Jade. It would come for Zane again, like it hadn���t come once already. 

And someday, it would come for this banshee in front of him now, too.

There was something almost comforting about that, something nice. Death would rip into her, into Siobhan, into Inge, into everyone he’d ever seen in his nightmares. He wondered if this was why banshees were so fond of death, if the idea of their enemies rotting and decaying under the ground made something slide into place like a comforting hand on the shoulder. He doubted it. This kind of bitter thirst for vengeance was probably the sort of thing they thought of as being beneath them, wasn’t it? If he voiced it, the woman before him now would likely take offense, would claim he’d defiled the sanctity of death, somehow. It might have been funny if not for the knot in his stomach.

“You say that,” he said lowly, “but you made a choice. Didn’t you? To kill those people the way you wanted them to die instead of the way they were supposed to. You don’t think that fucks with fate? Maybe their deaths, the way they were supposed to happen before, had a purpose, too. Maybe you took that from them.” It wasn’t something he believed. Emilio had never seen death as a thing with a purpose. It was a brutal end to a sad story. It was never anything more than that. “I don’t want your forgiveness. I want you to stop killing people.” 

There was a moment, after he threw the pen, where time seemed to stand still. He eyed the banshee, and he wondered what she’d do. He wondered if she’d kill him here, the way he’d been so sure Siobhan would in that factory. He’d be lying if he said some part of him didn’t want her to. After all, if Emilio died in this graveyard, whatever happened to Wynne and Nora in Ireland wouldn’t tear him into smaller pieces than he was already in. He wouldn’t have to think about Rhett and the blood on his hands, wouldn’t have to remember Ophelia’s wails in the living room, wouldn’t have to see his daughter’s corpse each time his eyes slipped closed. He didn’t know if he believed in any kind of afterlife anymore, didn’t think he’d end up in the same place as Flora even if there was a place to end up, but it was a nice thing to hope for in that quiet moment when the world stood still, when he held his breath and waited to see if he’d finally managed to find a good way to kill himself.

The banshee opened her mouth, and Emilio took a breath. His hands shot up to his ears, too slow to block anything out. They probably wouldn’t have been very effective, even if he had gotten them up in time. The scream was loud. Far louder than the small one Regan let out in the sewers when they fought those ‘rats’ to get her stupid necklace back. He wondered if it was what Siobhan would have sounded like if she’d killed him in that factory instead of just forcing him into a promise.

But Emilio didn’t die. His body wasn’t torn apart by the sound, his bones didn’t shatter. His ears rang and buzzed, but his lungs didn’t explode. It was a little surprising. 

(He couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved.)

— 

He was speaking to her with a sense of righteousness that would never tug at her heartstrings. People were so disgusted by the concept of murder, thought it an uglier death than all the others. Eithne found it rather disrespectful to think of someone’s death as ugly or cruel — and besides, wasn’t it better to die at the hand of a banshee? To by handpicked by an agent of fate, rather than succumb to illness or be hit by a car or have your heart stop in the middle of the street? She had chosen to kill those people in the way she saw fit and it was a gift.

She let out a laugh at the idea that Emilio Cortez, a human detective with bad reviews, could make her stop killing people. “I would not ask you to stop being an investigator only because people think you are bad at it, so please don’t be so presumptuous to ask me to drop my own role.” Humans made themselves feel important with their jobs and their hobbies, but it would never match up to being what she was — a follower and agent of Fate. They could never understand.

But Cortez seemed to know something, because he covered his ears with his hands when Eithne screamed. How well had Regan known him? How well did he know Regan and what she was? It was a mess best cleaned up, even if she would not scream for him properly today. She would not waste her breath. He was not yet destined to die, that much was clear.

She cleared her throat when the scream had left her body, though it was purely performative. “The reviews are right. You are rude and you smell.” She lifted her nose in the air and gave him one more look before turning on her heel and moving to the pond where her pen had landed and subsequently sunk. At the end of the day, she cared more for that than she did Emilio Cortez. Fate would come for him eventually, that she was certain of. 

—

Fate wasn’t a thing Emilio thought he wanted to put too much stock in. It was a terrible concept, the idea that things only ever happened how they were meant to. It was worse than God, somehow, worse than thinking there was some being with a guiding hand calling the shots. There was no comfort in it, no solace in the idea of looking at the things that had happened in his life and allowing himself to believe that they were meant to be exactly as they were. Who could look back at their daughter’s face and believe it had always been destined to rot and crumble with baby fat still filling its cheeks and a bright curiosity still shining in her eyes? Who could remember standing in a basement with the blood of someone they loved on their hands and chaos around them and accept that it was always meant to happen that way? The factory, the living room with Ophelia and that note with its familiar handwriting, Wynne and Nora in Ireland, in trouble a world away…

If this was fate, Emilio wanted no part in it. If this was God, he’d claw the heavens to pieces in protest. 

The banshee was screaming and his ears were ringing, and there was something both funny and horrifying about the fact that it was happening at all. He’d been so worried about Nora and Wynne that he hadn’t thought to spare any concern for himself. And wasn’t that how it always went? Didn’t Emilio make a promise to the last banshee he’d crossed to save his brother while forgoing any attempt to include himself in the safety net? But the horror was stark, was tangible. If this was happening here, what must be happening in Ireland? What must those kids be experiencing now? His — 

The screaming stopped, and he thought the banshee might have been speaking. Her mouth was moving, but his ears were still ringing. Sound was a fuzzy, far away thing, muffled and distant. He wondered if the banshee was going to kill him, still. He wondered if it would be easier if she did. Was it cowardly, the way there might be some relief in the concept of never knowing how it ended in Ireland? Was it forgivable to yearn for that?

But no second scream came. No knife found his throat, no hands snapped his neck. The banshee screamed, she spoke words he couldn’t make out, and she left. And Emilio, left alone in that graveyard, wondered about fate once more. 

(He wondered why, if it was real, his never seemed to be what he deserved.)

[munningham]

Chrissy lives AU - what comes next Part 2 (this ended up just being Christmas Break)

Part 1 here

After the night where Chrissy showed up on his doorstep at midnight, Eddie starts sneaking into Chrissy’s room every night once her parents go to bed. He makes her laugh and lets her cry and paints pictures with his words of the amazing life they’re building in Chicago. There’s a lot of hilarious mornings of Chrissy frantically trying to hide Eddie under the bed, in the closet, behind the door, before her mom comes in.

Eddie hears it all though. How Mrs. Cunningham talks to a Chrissy, the endless stream of backhanded compliments and criticisms and always always always comments about her body. Eddie knew Chrissy had it rough and eating disorders are no joke, but actually hearing the monologue that Chrissy has been listening to every day for 18 years.....it takes everything he has to not lose his shit and start screaming. Conformity really is killing the kids.

After the first morning he promises that he won’t leave until after Mrs. Cunningham has done her morning wake up call. He sits with Chrissy after her mom leaves the room and quietly has her repeat her therapist’s affirmations. You are loved. You are enough. Your body works just the way it is. You are strong and capable. She’s a stupid mean old bitch who never deserved you. (That one is Eddie’s).

They exchange gifts Christmas Eve night. It’s unconventional, but there’s something so beautiful about the two of them sitting on her bed with just a small light on, with the moon lighting the room through the snow falling outside. The first gift Eddie gives her he swears is not her real gift, but it makes her burst out laughing. Carefully wrapped in a box is Eddie’s old Black Sabbath tshirt. “I mean, it’s already yours, I hardly get a chance to wear it anymore, I figured we should just make it official” he forlorns, putting on a dramatic show of huffing and sighing like seeing Chrissy in that tshirt isn’t the hottest sight in the universe. Eddie’s next gift is a new necklace. It’s a crystal wrapped in gold wire, on a gold chain. Eddie made it himself, twisting the wire in spirals and swirls and carefully wrapping the ends so there would be no sharp edges. “This stone, it uh, it reflects light. It’s not a flashlight or anything but I just, I liked that it could give you light. And tell me if it’s too heavy, I don’t want it to be uncomfortable.” Chrissy kisses him soundly and wraps her arms around his neck. “I love it Eddie, it’s perfect. And no, it’s not too heavy.” It is weighted, but it’s a comfortable weight. Like it grounds her, she feels its presence when the world starts spinning out of control, like Eddie is there with her. She tells him it’s the best gift she’s ever gotten, but Eddie shyly hands her a third small wrapped box. She instantly takes back her words when she sees what’s inside: a mix tape of Eddie covering her favorite pop songs. George Michael and Cyndi Lauper sung by Eddie’s earnest, raspy voice with his guitar is the most beautiful music in the world. This gift makes her cry.

Chrissy also gives Eddie three boxes. The first is a new set of guitar accessories (slide, clamp, new strings, and a tuner that actually fucking works). She teases him that it’ll take all the fun out of watching him try to tune his guitar by ear or banging his old piece of shit tuner on the coffee table. “Veronica is gonna be so spoiled” Eddie grins. The second small box is a set of shiny black dice with silver numbering. They’re not the cheap dice Eddie’s been using since middle school, they’re really fucking nice. “Where the hell did you find these?” Eddie asks. Chrissy grins. “I asked the guys from the store in Chicago. They gave me their catalogs and let me put in an order through the store.” Eddie is impressed the store employees were even able to have that conversation with her - as loveable as those guys were, they were completely inept at pulling two words together in front of a pretty girl. The third box has a framed collage. It looks like a shadow box for a sports team, but it says “Hellfire Club”. It has the yearbook photos dating back to 1981, where a sophomore Eddie Munson stands grinning with a bunch of other freaks and rebels. Over the years the other kids in the photos change, but Eddie is always there, grinning with his tongue out making devil horns. The last photo Eddie doesn’t recognize. It’s not a yearbook photo. He looks closer and sees Henderson, little Wheeler, both Sinclairs, along with the new faces of Will Byers, Max and El, posing in the theater, proudly wearing their Hellfire T-shirts. “They actually kept it going?” Eddie softly asks. Chrissy grins and nods. “Every other Friday after school. They weren’t thrilled about taking a photo until I told them it was for you. You built something Eddie, you should be proud of it.” Eddie stares at the shadow box some more, with a wide smile on face, until he finally looks up. “You’re amazing Chrissy. God I love you.” “I love you more Eddie”. “Not even possible, princess”

Eddie has to go back for work after Christmas, but Chrissy’s break lasts until the end of January, so he calls in reinforcements from The Party. Between Christmas and the end of January, the Cunningham residence experiences a never ending stream of calls and visitors. Steve drops by to visit some afternoons and charms the pants off of her parents (“You know Chrissy, he’s going through a rough patch right now, but the Harringtons are such a good family, you should ask him over again”). Steve and Chrissy have definitely had very similar experiences, they have some heart to hearts about not living up to expectations and finding your people.

Steve’s presence is also not the worst thing in the world because Jason is also home for Winter Break. Jason stops by one afternoon, but when Steve opens the door and gives him a look, Jason leaves without ever coming in. Chrissy thanks him and then awkwardly tries to explain that Jason might think there’s something going on between them, and don’t get her wrong Steve is a great guy and would be an amazing boyfriend for someone, but she really loves Eddie. Steve smiles and shakes his head and cuts her off.

“Relax Chrissy, I know. Don’t think for a second I don’t see those eyes you and Munson make at each other, Jesus it’s disgusting. I also really don’t feel like being axed or stabbed or whatever these freaks do to guys who hit on their girls.”

Chrissy opens her mouth to object, then sees the smirk on Steve’s face. She lets him continue. “Jason’s an asshole. He’s one of those assholes who’s only ever going to think of girls as property. So, unfortunately that means he’ll only back down if he thinks another guy has “staked his claim” or some other macho bullshit. So if I have to swing by every so often and eat your mom’s sugar free cookies to keep him from bothering you, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Chrissy smiles and gives him a warm hug. “You’re a really good guy Steve Harrington. You really don’t have another girl you’d rather be spending the holidays with?” Steve just hugs her back and doesn’t answer.

Robin and Nancy take Chrissy out during the day as much as possible. Nancy is also struggling with college and the pressure to live up to her own expectations and how do you find a normal when you sleep with shotguns and keep flamethrowers in the closet? Even with going to college with Jonathan, it’s still rough. Robin is living her best lesbian life at Smith. The 3 of them have lots of talks about finding yourself and being yourself and what are we supposed to do in this fucked up world anyway.

The Wheelers is still the place to hang out, so Eddie calls their house as often as he can without being annoying so he talk to Chrissy. Nancy runs interference when she needs to. (“She’s not here right now but she’s okay, Eddie, I promise.” “You don’t know what her mom is like Nance.” “I know, I know. I’ll call her after dinner tonight to check on her.”) Chrissy tells Eddie that Jason came by, but Steve scared him off. “So he’s going to uh, just like, “have a presence” I guess, to keep Jason away.” Eddie is not crazy about pretty boy Steve Harrington half-pretending to date Chrissy, but he also knows how dangerous Jason is, and Chrissy is there alone, and the whole damn town is rigged to back their golden boy, and honestly Steve is probably the one guy in Hawkins that Jason won’t take on. That doesn’t stop Eddie from calling up Steve and having a little chat with him, thanking him for helping with Chrissy and Jason but also, “just keep your fucking shirt on this time Harrington.”

[hyperbolicgrinch]

Im baaaaack 😈 Turnabouts fair play babe! Let's goooo !

1, 5 11, 12, 16, 22, 27, 29

🩷❤️💛❤️🩷

(don't ever stop!!!!!! ilysm!!! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)) (i did this instead of crying so forgive me for the mess?? 💓)

1. the last sentence you wrote -

woe, paragraph be upon you instead because that sentence alone would kinda be nothing???:

The waves are singing against the Sunny and the weather is kind. The crew lingers, their own ways to spend the day drifting on the breeze. The world won't go still, but it does, mercifully, slow down. His laughter trails off into deep, even breaths as he falls into a dream larger than you could ever know.

(messy messy messy but the zolu came upon me in the early hours and it had to go somewhere. 🤡) (ignore the second person, sometimes i have to start fics with it and then switch everything to third person later when i have a grip on it. i do not know why. 👐)

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP -

whelp, just have the whole paragraph again cause might be more mid otherwise, asdsfh:

There was another universe where, instead, Law gave in and headbutted him. Sent Eustass stumbling back, wiping the blood from his nose as he straightened from his recoil. Where they made eye contact as Eustass summoned whatever metals lay around the port and Law finally unleashed everything crushed inside his ribcage. Where they fought each other like they were taking down Emperors. Where their crews wasted themselves to get them free of each other.

(i don't know how I feel about it but hey, it's a wip for a reasonnnn. we edit for a reasonnnn. 🙈)

11. a WIP you’d like to finish someday -

not fanfic, although i have many of them i wish could see the world, but i'd love to finish my werewolves in space wip. it rattles around in my brain constantly and the actors my mind cast for the main roles are inspiration alone. i am easily spooked by my original works tho so god only knows if it'll ever be seen. 🥲

12. a trope you’re really into right now -

finding each other in every life (whether familial or platonic or romantic or anything else). it helps me sleep at night. 🥺

16. favorite place to write -

in my bed, just before going to sleep, with something chill on the tv. the words flow better there. it's peaceful. 😌

22. do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that? -

yeah. but also no, not really. by the time i'm in a position to be worrying about that, i've put so much effort and time into the thing that my delight at posting it, shuts off most of the bad what-ifs. i've been real lucky and only ever had nice experiences so far too. if i do worry about it before getting there tho, i hit up my sister or my other hype men and let them distract me from it with their biased povs. 😂

27. your favorite part of the writing process -

just the writing and editing in general, i guess. like when everything is starting to sing and you can add details and hidden gems. when you have a hole and you suddenly know how to fill it. matching words together that compliment each other and let the sentence paint the picture in a fun way. when the ideas elaborate on themselves and i just have to be the bricklayer. it's just really pleasing and calming when a piece starts coming together and you are running down that hill with all the momentum. 💪

29. how easy is it for you to come up with titles? -

90% of the time? too easily. i normally have a title idea before i start writing or just after. or there's something i wrote and when i am reading through later & i see it, i go: "👀 free title real estate mayhaps? 👉👈". at the moment i have like two to three titles for all my fics and works in progress and could come up with more without being threatened. 😂 i'm going to have such a hard time of it when i have to decide. 🫠

thank you for sending me some bangbang!! 💕💕 i'll try to get to the other ask soon. 🫶

[countrymusiclover]

4 - Henry's Theory About Fate

Part 5

His Golden Princess

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @alanaangie24

Wrapping my coat tight around me I entered Granny's seeing Henry already waiting in a booth with two hot chocolate on the table. Handing Granny the money I slide in the other side to face him. He immediately reached into his bag pulling out the storybook he always carries around. Along with some folded up pieces of paper that looked like they came from a different old book. "So why did you want to talk to me. Do you believe yet?" He asked egaer to have just one person not call him crazy even though Regina wants him to forget the book all together. "I uh - I wanted to talk to you about some - dreams I've had. Or at least I think they're dreams." He nodded picking up the new story pages flipping two of them over so I could see the drawings. Sucking in a breath I felt a chill run down my spine because they looked exactly like the dream worlds I have seen with Rumplestiltskin. "I couldn't understand how these just suddenly appeared in my bag after you radioed me. Until now I think the curse is trying to point you in a direction." Running a hand through my hair I sighed slumping my shoulders. "In the direction of what exactly. A ticket to crazy town or something...ugh I didn't mean to say that kid." He gives me a small smile snapping his fingers seeing something. "Where'd you get that necklace?"

Lifting it out from my coat I show him the necklace I was given the day we arrived here by Mr. Gold. "From Gold. Why is there a picture of it?" He shakes his head no flipping through pages of the storybook he finally lifted it around so I could see another picture. He was right on the money because the picture was a detailed dagger with the name Rumplestiltskin engraved into it. "Your necklace is in the exact same shape as his Dark One dagger. So I think the curse must have created the jewelry for some reason. Do you remember where he got it from inside his shop?" Henry eyed me sternly hoping for an answer while I tapped my fingers on the table trying to think back about a few months ago. "He pulled back a painting from the wall. I think it was the one near the register." Henry slides out of the booth grabbing his things. "Come on we've gotta check it out." Jumping to my feet I grab his backpack holding him still. "Woah hold up. That would be trust passing. You're mother's the sheriff now and I don't think she'll want to lock you up. Besides you have school." He dropped his head when I squeeze his shoulder walking him to the bus. "Hey we can talk about this later. Just have a good day at school okay." He waved bye getting on the bus.

"Oh how nice of you to walk him to school, Ms. Astrid." Turning my head in the direction of the voice I see Mr. Gold walking up wearing some sunglasses holding something behind his back. Putting my hands in the pockets of my coat I saw a man selling flowers chasing after his truck down the street glaring at our direction. "You don't have a weapon behind your back do you, Gold?" I asked taking a step away from him when he moved his sunglasses up on his head and I met the same brown eyes of the Rumplestiltskin inside my head. He chuckled giving me a smile revealing a rose I'm his other hand. "No, no, weapon. But a question. Would you allow me to take you to dinner tonight. Unless you already have plans I completely understand?" Tonight was Valentines day and I wasn't really planning on do anything. I take the rose from him with a small smile. "I'd love to. I do have a question for you though. Why me, exactly?" Gold started walking back towards his shop calling over his shoulder. "I like you, Astrid. There's a light in you and I need a little in my life. I'll pick you up tonight at the inn." Turning on my heels I kept doing my morning walking until I felt a headache coming on for no reason. "Trust in your instincts, Lady Astrid. Trust in your instincts." Grabbing my head I heard the voice of Rumplestiltskin speaking to me. Stopping in my step I try and grasp onto something but I black out outside of Granny's diner.

I squinted one eye barely open to see I'm laying on the couch the next morning in the police station. Mr. Gold is inside a prison cell as Regina came to sit on the arm not noticing that I was awake because he doesn't give her a sign that I am. Closing my eyes I see flashes of me and Rumplestiltskin staring at each other longly leaning in about to kiss until Regina's voice broke me from the trance. "Tell me your name." Mr. Gold answered her finally after seconds of silence. "Rumplestiltskin..." I heard her foosteps leave the room where he whispered under his breath. "She's gone now dearie. You can stop playing dead." Lifting my head up I hold myself up by my elbows glaring at the man or should I say Beast I have no clue at the moment. "You lied to me or at least I think you did. I mean you honestly can't be - Rumplestiltskin..." Suddenly pain shoots through my head again where I flopped back on the couch seeing those enchanted woods again with the declared Dark One.

"Back so soon, dearie." He giggled when I shot up awake laying on the dirt ground. "Not by choice. Why does my mind keep doing this!" I shouted up to the man wanting to stop losing my mind. Rumplestiltskin seems to not be fazed at my outburst when he just offered me his freehand. Reluctantly I let him pull me up to stand on my feet. A light white dress with a golden trim at the bottom falls down to my feet. My hair is loose as I spun in a tiny circle having to admit I like this dress more than the golden one. "Yep I am losing it because there's no way I would own a dress like this. My mind is letting me pretend to be a princess as a 28 year old woman." Rumple clapped his hands slowly together shaking his head. Whipping my head around I get pulled up against his chest like I saw in an earlier vision. My eyes flickered to his lips and he does the same starting to lean in. Jerking my head back I push my hands against his chest stopping him. "This isn't real. I'm going insane that's it. I mean I hit my head on the sidewalk so I have a concussion right?" Rumple reached up resting a hand to my cheek leaning finally pressing his lips onto mine.

I gasped clutching the fabric of his leather jacket in my hands. Every instinct in my head is telling me to kick him between his legs and run. Yet I felt myself slowly kissing him back. His other hand rests on my waist until I broke the kiss bending my head down blushing. "No. No I shouldn't have done that." Rumple moved hair from out of my eyes giving me a gentle look in those deep brown eyes of his. "You're not crazy my dear. You're much smarter than your sister because you still hold onto belief like that boy." Rolling my eyes I pull myself out of his hold but he holds me still intertwining my hands with his. "You Astrid are destined for more than your sister." Raising a brow I don't understand what he meant. "What destiny. The curse Henry always talks about?" He nodded yes revealing the dagger necklace from my shirt. "Go searching for this dagger and it all will become clear. Now please dearie follow your instincts this time." He waved his right hand knocking me out onto the ground softly.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[rubykgrant]

Hey, I can put all my pin-up pictures in one post now!

I spent a couple of weeks drawing these, sometimes trying multiple poses until finally they looked right, and then I had to travel to scan the pictures... and the scanner was really wonky. It washed out certain colors, while over-saturating others. It was just really weird. So, the only solution was to try to edit and fix the scanned images on my computer, and since I only have MS Paint with no layers, this was a challenge. I basically had to add the colors, then go over my lines so they would be clear, and finally erase around the edges. It took another few days to fix them all, but I did it!

(some descriptions for each character design below)

Church gave me the most trouble… and why wouldn’t he? This CHURCH, after all. He lives to be difficult. I knew I wanted him to have the “mud-flap babe pose”, but I kept messing up his face, and didn’t realize how bad I messed up until after I inked and colored it in… at one point, I tried to re-draw the face and cut out the one that didn’t work, and paste the two pieces of paper together. It wasn’t worker, so I finally just traced over my own lines, did the face all over again, and he looked half-way decent. SO, I’m done with Church! Look at that smug expression, he knows he’s a jerk. Seriously though, I love how he turned out!

When it comes to his design, I have my whole RVB story-line with a scenario in which Church and Tex get to come back with synthetic human bodies (specifically, when the Epsilon AI was deconstructed, all of the data from his memories WENT somewhere; it was downloaded back into the original AI units, which weren’t “dead” after the EMP, just deactivated. revived by Epsilon’s data, all the AI were able to reactivate, including Alpha! now HE is the one who is carrying on with the memories another part of him left behind… whoops, that’s sad, but don’t worry! he now also has the chance to feel better~). His was based on the DNA of the Director, but he’s not a clone, exactly. There’s a similarity for sure, but they’d probably look more like brothers. Church is considerably shorter, and even when he was “fresh out of the oven”, he’s more chunky too. As time goes on and he’s able to eat REAL FOOD, Church gets nice and chubby. He also wanted to be strong enough to actually pick Tex up, so that was his whole motivation for muscles. He has fairly long hair at first, and later cuts and styles it to this (imagine it feels like a silky-soft hedgehog). He wound up with some face-fuzz, and wasn’t sure of he should keep it or not… he doesn’t want to seem like he intentionally looks like the Director, but also? If he tries to avoid looking like him on purpose, he’s still letting that dude influence his decisions. Church finally asked Carolina (only fair, because she has to look at him), and she said it kinda suits him, especially since he has a squared jaw. So, the face-fuzz stayed~

*

The first rule of face-designs for RVB characters; Tucker is the prettiest. This is law. He definitely is really into the whole romantic-pose thing, so he’s both flirty and totally relaxed. “Yeah, I know, you want me. Don’t worry, plenty of Tucker for everybody!”. I like imagining his features as being a little aquiline, but still soft (he’s one of those people who looks about 10 years younger than he actually is, and even when he’s an old man, he’ll barely look 40).

He is indeed a manlet short king, thank you very much. He wasn’t always so muscular, but after training with Wash, Tucker has some definition going on (glorious calves, after all). I think the main thing with him that I keep in mind, is; yeah, in the beginning, he definitely wasn’t an “ideal fighter”, but he’s proven to not only be capable, but FANTASTIC… and it isn’t just about fighting. It isn’t just flirting, either. Tucker genuinely has so much depth, and a thoughtful side that makes him really care about people. So, even when I draw him looking strong, or confident, I want him to have a gentle touch in there~

*

When I thought about what kinda pose I wanted for Tex, I knew she had to be FLEXING, obviously. For the rest of the body, I used reference for some drawings I did many years ago in a Human Figure class, with models who posed while we sketched. I always liked the way this one sketch I did showed the line in the back follow all the way down the leg, so I elaborated on this for Tex. I really wanted something to show the full body, and standing up so you get the feel for how imposing/intimidating she is. I think she’d approve~

Like Church, I imagined a scenario in which she gets to return in a synthetic human body, hers being based on the DNA of Allison (rather than turning out identical, they simply share similarities). Ironically, Tex looks more like Carolina than Allison did (I like to think Carolina takes after a great-grandmother on her mom’s side, and Tex just kinda wound up inheriting those traits in her new body, too). Tex is very TALL, and once she was able to, she was determined to get BUFF. Tex is a built like a brick house, heck yeah!

*

I wanted to do another full-standing pose for Caboose to really show how tall he is. For a while, I wasn’t sure what to do with his hands... like, him holding them up over his head didn’t seem to work, on his hips didn’t look right... finally, I sketched them clasped behind his back, and it was perfect! Nice and casual, but also really cute. It also show’s off his arms REALLY good~

Like a lot of people, I imagine Caboose as being BIG. It just kinda fits with how strong he is, and since I made Tucker and Church both tiny, Caboose can totally life them both up on his shoulders! Little boy blue? Nah, big boy blue! Sarge is tiny too, so I love the idea of him standing next to Caboose, who is his favorite Blue (Caboose is son-boy). Caboose is also pretty comfortable with himself, so I just wanted him to calm and happy. He deserves it~

*

We never got a good look at Wash back in Project Freelancer, but at some point, somebody came up with blonde-freckle-man, and a lot of us latched onto it. I am no exception… and I really went all-out with his freckles! It was once mentioned that he grew a beard, so I decided to keep that. It is a little more full and fluffy than I usually draw it, but hey- maybe he’s growing it out a bit. That foot ticked me off, but whatever, I’m done with it. Also, yes; I gave him a catboy pose~

I imagine Wash also being tall, and fairly lean. Certainly athletic, but also agile. The dude has also been all over the map in terms of his character arc; Freelancer Dork, Mr Serious Recovery One, Villain Guy, Church Impersonator, and finally- a dork yet again, but now he’s more comfortable to be one! After living with the Reds and Blues, he’s found a way to sort of… not feel awkward about being awkward? It makes sense when you know this group. Also, I’m not sure how much I would elaborate on it in my story-line… but I kinda lean toward trans Wash~

* 

Kai was actually the first one I did (originally, the only one... but then I kept going haha). I had this specific pose in mind for her that I thought was really cute. Somehow, the sketch turned out alright on the first try, and after I added all the ink and color, it was still good! The process I used to draw her was repeated for each picture; pencil sketch, then go over the lines I like with this one almost-dry brown marker (honestly, it looks like drawing with charcoal, but thankfully it WORKS like a felt pen. charcoal is so tricky), erase unneeded pencil lines, add more defined lines with the colors I want to use for the character (for Kai, this one goldenrod pen I have), and continue with the details, mixing different pens and colored pencils for the shading. It was a WHOLE thing.

I love how her pose turned out, she really looks like she has actual form. I wanted to express the fact that she is beautiful, and she’s also chubby with stretch-marks, thank you very much. I also imagine she and her bro have like... very fine body hair that you can barely see (seriously, they have baby hair on their arms and legs). As for the hair on her head, man- I LOVE drawing hair, and hers is so pretty! I like how it almost looks like gold~

*

Sweet Caroline, bah-bah-bah! She’s one of the few characters who shows us her face, so I know what she looks like, but I still wanted to play around with my design of her. I decided short hair works for her (and although I’m just using the aqua-blue here, I imagine that she starts dying it a darker red). She’s usually very tense and tough, so I wanted to let he show a slightly more dainty side with the pose. When I finally figured out how to make legs sort of over-lap in different ways, I started having fun doing poses like this. You can still see her impressive arm muscles, though~

Carolina has definitely taken some battle-damage over the years, with a few scars here and there… also, I think she just doesn’t care about shaving, so enjoy the leg hair! She was arguably the easiest to draw. Thank you for that, Carolina~

*

I struggled with this pose for quite a while… my fault for deciding on something difficult, but come on! I had to go with a push-up. Also, a one-handed push-up at that, because Sarge has to show off. I actually showed my mom all these pictures as I finished them (and she cracked me up, she’d say “That’s a very cute naked person, honey. Now, go color another one” like I’m drawing unicorns or something haha). When she saw Sarge, she said “He looks like a big silver back gorilla”, and she had no idea how ironic and hilarious that actually is.

I imagine Sarge being the shortest of the group, very beefy and very boxy. He’s also got the most body hair of the group. Plenty of scars as well (the ones on his knuckles are from punching so hard while wearing older armor, his hands would get scraped on the inside. newer armor has better padding). I wanted his face to look smug, like he’s saying “Yes, I know you’re looking at me, I can’t blame you”. As you can see, he doesn’t have much of a butt… and what is there is a tight little brick haha~

*

Grif obviously needed to have a very chill pose, so he’s kicked-back, relaxing with his legs crossed, and arms folded behind his head. I’m so happy I’ve gotten better at drawing soft mass, because fat characters are beautiful (and as a chubby person myself, I want to do different body-types justice). Grif is indeed a big guy, and although he’s very calm here, I hope you can kinda tell he’s got some strength in that body too.

Like Simmons’ prosthetics, I wanted Grif’s limbs with the skin-grafts to be clear and easy to see. Over the years, his body has sort of “absorbed” the organic tissue Simmons donated, so Grif has evened-out (though you can kinda tell, his lighter foot doesn’t quite match the one he “grew” himself, but he’s not as lop-sided as when the surgery first happened.) Just like Kai, I loved doing the curls in his wavy hair~

*

Donut was the second one I made after Kai, because he pretty much took over my brain and DEMANDED to be drawn in a pin-up pose. What kind of pose was easy enough to figure out (imagine him spread out on a bead). I totally screwed up on his feet, and didn’t want to re-draw the whole thing… but I also didn’t have white-out, or even white paint. I wound up using this craftwork enamel stuff… which is OK, but really tacky (I don’t mean like it looks bad, but tacky as in it takes forever to dry and stays sticky for too long).

I imagine Donut is what you get if Barbie had a baby with GI Joe; totally adorable, and also impressively buff (especially his arms). His face has the scar from the grenade incident, and after having his hair lop-sided for a while, he started styling with a side-cut and letting the rest grow out. He also has a scar on one of his hands (from when he got hurt from the vehicle). His face naturally makes the cutesy kitty mouth~

*

If you want to imagine these pin-ups as being for like… and actual calendar that exists within the RVB universe, the only way they could get Simmons to be part of it was by intentionally acting like they weren’t going to include him. This would kick his fears of being ignored into high-gear, so he would INSIST on doing it too. He’s still a little uncertain… so, a shy pose for the shy nakey boy~

I wanted to make sure we could clearly see his cybernetics (and I’m so happy with how the foot turned out). Like a lot of people, I imagine red-head Simmons, and I think he probably had short hair most of his life… but around Chorus he didn’t have time to keep trimming it, and after Iris it totally got away from him. One day he pulls it back, to figure out how much needs to cut off, but instead he went “Oh, pony-tail?”. So yeah, long hair Simmons! He used to be a string-bean too, but years of running around and trying not to die helped him put on some weight (he totally doesn’t even realize he has actual muscles~)

*

When I decided to do sort of leaned-over pose with Doc, it was hard to make it work… but finally, I had something that looked decent. I also wanted to show a wink and smirk, because O’Malley is there too! He probably would have rather done some kind of pose in a graveyard to look all creepy, but Doc won with the cute pose.

I like the idea of him having really thick, fluffy, and curly hair. Also, a very defined nose. His legs are really strong (being a former track runner and all), but he not as muscular as some of the others. In fact, Grif is the tallest of the short group, with Doc just a little shorter than him (after that is Church, Tucker, Kai, and Sarge). I’m really happy with how all the shapes of his forms turned out, his tummy, his shoulders, his legs~

*

I really wanted to do an especially cute pose for Locus, because he deserves to feel pretty~ He’s probably about as shy and awkward as Simmons in certain ways (certainly confident when it comes to fighting, but social situations? he’s a dork). So, he’s sort of closed-off here, but hey- popping that leg up, because yes! Locus can have fun, too! His legs turned out really nice too~

We know what he looks like in the show, or at least, what he looked like working with Felix before Chorus. So, I had that to bas his design on. I feel like while Chorus stuff was going on, Locus actually lost a lot of weight, being so stressed-out and not even recognizing how unhappy he was. He’s always been beefy and buff, but now that he has some new friends that actually give a heck, he’s put on some weight, and is just a bit more chubby than he used to be (which is a good thing~)

[sayosweeti]

Click Read More for the first half of Chapter 1 of Order Up, my Green Eggs and Ham The Second Serving rewrite! It’s long, so be warned lol. Also feel free to check out the full chapter when its inevitably released on Ao3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48472795/chapters/122267893

—————————————————————

Sam looked at the framed photo on his wall of himself, Guy and Mr. Jenkins. He smiled as he put it into his suitcase as gently as possible. His mind began to wander as he collected his items. How was he going to introduce himself? This wasn’t like meeting a stranger, this was his mother; maybe he should practice an introduction. He shoved his luggage into his suitcase, spare red hats and loose bruckles jingled inside before he turned to his mirror.

“I’ve gotta have just the right opening line.” He said pondering his reflection, should he try his default act, goofy and personable? “‘Sup, Mom!” His heart wasn’t really in the words so he let out a chuckle to try and sell it more. “Or do you prefer Mom I-Am? Or Mrs. Mom? Or the Mother Formerly Known As Mom?” Who was he trying to fool, no one was even here. He let out a sigh “No..just be yourself.” For some reason that had become harder to do then putting on this act.

“Hi, Mom I…” he couldn’t stop his voice from cracking, he felt so nervous and he wasn’t even talking to his mother. He took off his hat- he should be polite right? He fixed his fur before looking back at the mirror, why did he feel the need to avoid eye contact with his own reflection? “I…am Sam.” He paused. “No, that's still not right.” He put his hat back on, adjusting the brim back to its proper spot. “Sam…I-am. It’s nice to finally meet you” Sam spoke, outstretching his hand to the mirror. He felt like he was about to start crying. He was so close to meeting her, so close to finally getting to ask why she left him, so close to actually having a real family. The thought almost pushed him to tears, he wasn’t sure if it was from happiness or sadness, regardless he wasn’t ready to break down now. “Put that hand away Samual I-Amual!” He said in a jokey impression of an older woman. “Where I come from Mom’s hug their sons.” His response to emotions has usually been to push them back down with some sort of humor, he didn’t have the time to waste on being sad about past events. He hugged the mirror, trying to get some comfort and imagining his mother hugging him back was at least doing something to keep his emotions from spilling out.

Guy had just come in from grabbing the mail, shuffling through the letters. All bills. He let out a sigh, he was glad that Flerz took over SnerzCo so he and Michellee had at least one source of reliable income until the shop was built. If Michellee lost her job after the Snerz fiasco they’d be in the red for sure, and he’d have to give up inventing for who knows how long. Guy glanced over at Michellee with a soft smile, he was glad that she still found some free time to paint even with her job, she was amazing at it, but he couldn’t help but notice her newest piece was a family portrait. Seeing him, Michelle and E.B. all together like a picture perfect family made his stomach feel weird, he couldn’t tell if it was butterflies or if it was twisting into knots, maybe both? He thought about really settling down with Michellee for a moment, it sounded nice, ideal even, but something about it just seemed scary to jump into. Guy chalked this up to it just being too early to consider. Yeah- that had to be it, it’d only been 5 months, there’s still plenty of time to get used to this.

He made his way to the living room, preparing to settle this new addition to the pile of bills on the coffee table. As he walked over he caught the tail end of a news segment. It seemed like two nations are going further into an ongoing conflict, something about a highly dangerous substance being stolen and they’re just blaming each other. He was never one to be interested in the news, especially segments that could easily get him overthinking and this seemed like one of them. He changed the channel to the next channel over, some basic sitcom, just for some background noise.

“I can’t believe Sam is going all the way to East—“ Michellee said while continuing to paint, before she was quickly interrupted by her daughter E.B. causing Guy to jump in surprise and drop the bill notices he had in his hands.

“I wanna go!” Said the child resting her arms on the larger stack Guy was choosing to ignore for now.

“You don’t even know where he’s going.” He replied, picking up his dropped notices.

“Don't-care-it's-not-here-take-me-there!”

“E.B., look—“

“Oh, come on. Summer vacation is so boring.” E.B. spoke in an overly dramatic manner clearly trying to get her way by prying.

“And, Mom, ever since Meepville, you’ve made huge strides in supporting my life of thrill seeking adventure!” Oh so she was going for Michellee now, man does she know how to play dirty. Guy could see it on her face, it was hard for her to say no to her only child.

“Well, yes, I’ve..uh..definitely made real…progress there.” Michellee was stuttering, she gripped her brush tight from the unexpected stress causing her to mess up Guy’s smile on the portrait and break her brush. She let out a small nervous chuckle before she walked over to her partner for support. “Well, what do you think, Guy?”

“Believe me I’d love to go on another adventure with Sam as much as E.B. would. But look at this stack of bills.” He explained, gesturing to the large pile of papers cluttering the coffee table. “First months rent on the new invention shop, bamboo for the pandog, Sam's subscription for the Egg of the Month Club…Okay I’m canceling that one, he only eats green!” Almost as if he was summoned by speaking his name, Sam burst into the room.

“Ding dong! Doorbells broken!” That overly energetic voice yelled out holding the severed remains of the house's doorbell in one of his paws; Seuss, was he trying to annoy him on purpose? He swore he heard that monotonous laugh track say an excited “Sam!!” With cheering and clapping to boot, Guy quickly turned off the T.V. he had to be serious and gentle right now. No annoying distractions.

“Operation Find My Mom begins…” Sam was doing energetic handsprings, almost seemingly bending gravity to his will as the suitcase was spinning quickly in the air before dropping to the ground upright. “now! Because me and my best bud are on our way to East Flubria. Right, Guy?” It hurt Guy to see Sam this excited when he knew he’d have to shut down his offer; it also hurt to be pulled off the couch by the wrist.

“Actually Sam, I can’t.” Guy spoke in his gentlest voice. Sam gasped. Then he gasped again…and one more time, it was like when Sam spotted the briefcase all over again. “Whew, Sorry, I just realized I forgot our toothbrush. By the way did you say something? I kinda zoned out for a second.” Guy looked down at Sam with a soft expression, he wondered if Sam did hear him but just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Fine. He’d repeat it slower. “I. Can’t. Go. With. You.” Sam's expression fell, he stared at Guy with the most pathetic, sad look on his face. “And I can’t go without you! You’re my best friend Guy. I need you! So, I’m going to go for broke here and give it one last shot. Will you come to East Flubria with me? ” Sam said, holding his paws to his chest and clasping them tight together, he was begging Guy to go.

Yip, that hit Guy in the heartstrings, it felt very…real, as real as when they were in his treehouse back in Stovepipe, and Sam was never really like that. He turned towards Michellee, she looked concerned, she clearly didn’t want him to go. Of course, it has to come between his girlfriend and his best friend, just his luck. Guy let out a soft sigh before giving a gentle yet firm “No.”

Why’d he think he could just say no to Sam I-Am and it’d just be over and done with? He should’ve learned his lesson by now ever since those stupid eggs. Sam was showing up everywhere, in his mailbox, at the construction site of the Inventionarium, the back of his car, you name it. Guy couldn’t say yes, he had a child to help provide for now and this shop would make financial woes a thing of the past. He wondered why Sam didn’t just go without him, he didn’t really need Guy that much did he? After the zillionth no he really needed to explain why, Sam wasn’t going to get the big picture otherwise.

“I’m sorry Sam, but I just can’t go with you. I’m starting a new business. I have new responsibilities. You know what opening up this shop could mean for me and Michellee.” Sam saw that expression on Guy’s face, how gently he was trying to put this. He wasn’t trying to hurt Sam on purpose. Guy just had his own life now, and that meant not being able to see Sam whenever he wanted. Guy seemed so happy with Michellee. Without him, it made his heart ache all the same. He wanted Guy to be there with him when he met his mother since Guy was the closest thing he’s had to a family in his entire life, but who was Sam to pull Guy away from his source of happiness and family? He’d be no better than his own mother for ditching him.

“You’re right. Your family needs you, Guy. Just like mine needs me! So I’m going to find my mom and do for the I-Am’s what you’ve done for the Am-I’s.” Sam swore he saw Guy wince a little when he referred to Michellee and E.B. as his family. He shook the observation away and began walking out of the Inventionarium with Am-I’s. As he walked out he saw that a huge crowd had gathered and it thrilled Sam to see Guy’s shock turn to happiness; he was finally getting the recognition he deserved. “I should’ve known this shop would be your destiny. This place is gonna be huge!” Sam said with a small chuckle seeing Guy sheepishly wave at the excited crowd. “And look! Not one of your inventions has spontaneously exploded!” With a click the sign flipped to zero, the sign reading “0 Days Until Grand Opening”.

Then almost as if Sam had jinxed it, Guy heard a loud ‘BOOM’ behind him and suddenly he and the entire crowd were shoved forward. It was like a nuke went off, a mushroom cloud of smoke came from the shop and Guy could feel the ground quake beneath his feet, cracking the pavement and flipping the nearby cars. He swore you would have felt the ground shake from Meepville. By the time it was over Guy and the crowd could hear ringing in their ears as they peeled themselves from the pavement, a rumbling settling in their bones. Guy turned towards where his shop once stood but now only a pile of rubble and ash was left.

Guy was speechless, what cruel creator would allow him such joy for just a brief moment, thinking he’d finally done it, he’d finally done something with his life, before pulling the rug from underneath him and leaving him lower then where he started. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream, to pound the ground and ask why? But all he could let out was a shaky and defeated, “My shop…my inventions..”

Guy could hear tires squealing towards the wreckage. This was it. He was going to jail for life. He just destroyed the entire yipping town so it made sense. As he raised his paws in preparation to be shackled, he saw Gluntz step out of the vehicle and jump over the hood. “Guy! I heard about what happened and I want you to know, I will find the person who did this to you.” Of course, Gluntz wasn’t really the type who would catch on that this was just the latest failure of Guy Am-I. “Thanks Gluntz…but it was me.” Gluntz just kept on looking around making binoculars with her hands. Seuss she’s worse than Sam, how was that even possible? “I swear on my life the wretched monster responsible for this atrocity will pay! Oh, that cow looks suspicious. I’m gonna go and interrogate it.” Then off she went laughing, reverse hood flipping and speeding off to a lone hill with a single cow just…munching on grass.

This ridiculous series of events did nothing to even slightly raise his mood, if anything it just dampered it more. “Guy, I’m so sorry. I know what this meant to you.” Michellee walked over to him and gently grabbed his paws, he could barely bring himself to look into her eyes he kept glancing up at her with his shoulders slumped, he felt so embarrassed. Why’d he think that he’d ever be able to do something like this? Of course he’d mess it up; just like he always did.

Michellee glanced over at Sam, his face had a subtle hint of shock and sadness on it as he stared at Guy, not a single trace of his usual over exaggerated facial expressions. She turned her gaze back towards her partner with a gentle stare and gave one of his paws a soft squeeze. “Guy…you should go with Sam.”

Guy looked up at his girlfriend with a perplexed expression, Sam doing the same. “What? No. I can’t. I have to rebuild the shop.” He pulled away from Michelle and turned to the now ruined building, balling his paw into a fist in frustration and anger as he looked at it. “Besides, I’m responsible for every smashed window and tipped over car in town right now.” He let out a harsh sigh as he rested his face in his palm. “I must have a stack of U.Owe.Me’s a zillometer tall.”

“Guy..” Michellee spoke in the softest tone she could, she hated seeing him like this. It only showed every now and then but it’d never been this extreme before. The only time he ever seemed remotely happy was around his best friend. “I mean it…you need rest. It’d be good for you to get away…have some fun.” She said as she looked up at her partner's sulky expression, gently grabbing his free hand. Guy seemed to be considering her request, he’d been extremely stressed out lately, money was short and the shop was eating up so much of their finances. Maybe it’d be good to just…relax. Yeah…that sounded nice. Sam perked up a little as he saw a small tired smile grow on Guy’s face.

“You’re sure Michellee? I hate to think this will just be another responsibility to push on you when I leave. Wouldn’t you at least like to come with us?” Michellee waved this notion off. “Nonsense, it’ll take them at least a week to clear all of this wreckage. We’ll deal with this together when you get back. Plus I’ve still got work silly, and your job is uh…” she looked back at the rubble “currently a pile of rocks- we’ll need the money to fix all this up, so I’ll stay behind. You just need to focus on recharging.” Michellee smiled as she gave another soft squeeze to Guy’s hand.

Guy turned his head to Sam, his smile growing a little seeing how excited he seemed to be. He really wore his heart on his face. Just as Guy was about to open his mouth, E.B. cut him to the chase, although her voice was muffled. “I can come too!” Guy looked down and saw Sam's briefcase wobbling a little bit. Sam quickly caught on and opened it, causing E.B. to roll out from the luggage.

“Alright, it’s not what it looks like!”

“Really? Cus it looks like you were stowing away in my suitcase.” Sam said as he looked at E.B.

“Alright, it is what it looks like, but the point is; I’m coming with you guys!” She exclaimed, raising her arms up as she approached her mother and Guy.

Michellee let out an exasperated sigh, this girl just never gave up. “Young lady, we've discussed this.” She said in the sternest voice she could muster. She hadn’t pulled it out for awhile. “And we’ve discussed you being more fun.” Yeowch, E.B.’s tone was sweet but it cut deep. Guy could see on Michellee’s face the hurt from that comment, he felt tempted to butt in, to say that she had really learned to let loose a little and that E.B. was taking this too far just for her own gain.

E.B. looked up at her mother with an excited smile, her eyes filled with a lust for adventure and the unknown. Michellee took a soft sigh, it reminded her so much of herself at E.B.’s age. Always wanting to try something new and do the next best thing. Her torn expression shifted into a smile as she crouched down to her daughter's level. “You know what…I trust you. You can go, just…just be sure you stay safe, try not to do anything that’d make me too worried.” she said to the youngster with a playful pinch to her pudgy cheeks resulting in a slightly annoyed “mooom” but ended it with a giggle and a tight hug with her mother.

Guy smiled back towards Sam who was practically seething with excitement. “Alright Sam, we’re in.” Guy could see Sam jumping with enthusiasm. “Sklergagenatpak! That’s East Flubrian for ‘I do not speak East Flubrian but I’ll do my best to respect and acclimate to their local customs and culture.’” Guy chuckled at this, Seuss he’s such a dork. This thought screeched to a halt as he felt Sam grab his hand and start pulling him along, E.B. catching up behind them. “C’mon! You guys gotta go pack, don’t worry about the tickets, it's on me!” Guy pulled his hand away but kept walking. “Sam I know where my house is, you don’t need to pull me there.” This just made Sam flash him a big smile. “I know, just wanted to hold your hand for a sec.” He then gave a mischievous finger gun and a wink, clicking his tongue against his teeth. Even though it seemed to just be a joke, it didn’t stop Guy's face suddenly feeling all flushed and hot.

It took Sam almost 3 days to find a cold air blimp to East-Flubria on such short notice, but it at least gave the Am-I’s time to pack all their essentials. Before he even knew it he was standing in front of the ramp to get onto the blimp. It felt like he got some sort of mental whiplash just standing there, frozen in his own mind and body. This was really it. No more imagining what could be, he was going to experience it. He was snapped out of this train of thought as he heard Guy talking to Michellee.

“Be careful with my baby.” She said, sounding strained.

“I promise.” As Guy said this, he rested his hands on Michellee’s shoulders for a moment before suddenly being pulled into a tight and unexpected hug. Guy froze for a moment before slowly hugging back, not squeezing nearly as tight as Michellee was. “Guy, c’mon! The blimp’s going to leave soon!” E.B. shouted from the platform, causing Sam to realize he’d just been staring at the couple.

Guy and E.B. waved goodbye to Michellee, her smile wide as she waved back. Sam took the liberty of finding their seats across from a yellow, well dressed man who was reading from a newspaper. Sam put his luggage on top of the seat, seeing E.B. and Guy walk up the aisle and plop their suitcases next to his.

“Sam you hungry? We’re going to get something to eat farther up the blimp.” Guy spoke, staring back at him. To be honest Sam wasn’t feeling hungry (for once in his life.) His stomach felt like it was tied in a zillion knots. “Nah, I’m good…Air travel upsets the ol’ tum.” Sam joked, patting his belly and Guy nodded in acknowledgement. “Oh, well take it easy. These things can go pretty fast.” Sam nodded as he sat down. Now that he really thought about it hadn’t really thought about the last time he had a good sleep. Guess he’d been so worried about booking the flight he just wasn’t able to.

Sam rested his head against the back of the seat, man they were comfy. He felt like he was sinking into the cushions, almost as if he was being pulled into a land of clouds and chickaraffee down. Sam could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, his mouth slacking open as he plunged into a deep sleep, the seat seemingly surrounding him inside a cocoon of bliss and warmth.

Then he heard an alarm clock. Son of a yip, of course he’s suddenly pulled out of the most wonderful sleep for a stupid alarm clock. As he pried his eyes open he noticed he wasn’t on the blimp anymore. Sam was lying in a bed covered in a bright green blanket. He frantically sat up, turning his head from side to side to figure out where he was. It looked like a childs bedroom. Crude colored pictures adorned the walls and plushies and toys were either strewn across the floor or half-hassardly shoved into a toy chest in the corner. The room was illuminated by an emerald green light spilling out from a nearby window and there was an unnerving lack of straight lines and symmetry. He turned towards the still ringing alarm clock, resisting the urge to hold his hands against the side of his head. The clock then began bounding, and walking out of the room, still letting out a shrill ringing that gave Sam a headache.

As the clock walked out he saw two feet walk into the door frame. He looked up and saw a figure standing in front of him wearing an apron and holding a tray of green eggs and ham, seemingly offering them to Sam. Its face was obscured by a space themed mobile in front of the figure, but deep down in his gut he could tell who it was. “…Mom?…” he breathed out apprehensively, suddenly feeling gravity shift as he began to float into the air. He tried to peek around the mobile, trying to just get the smallest idea of what his mother looked like but she turned and began running, laughing joyously but it seemed more mocking in this context. Sam moved any limb he could, trying to get closer to his mother but was always kept so tantalizingly close yet so far away. He couldn’t touch her, he couldn’t hug her to make sure she was real, he couldn't see her face. No, there was absolutely nothing for him to do but to yell for his mother, praying she could hear him and just turn around, please for the love of Seuss just turn around. No matter how hard he screamed she just kept laughing, taunting him with how happy she was without him, ignoring how tormented he felt alone.

As he kept screaming the hallway shifted, the walls seeming to melt away like wax, the wallpaper peeling away to reveal a musty abandoned smell. His mother went into the green void at the end of the hallway, fading away almost as if she went into fog. Suddenly gravity switched on again causing him to fall down into the mist, sliding down a railing of an unseen staircase so fast his hat almost flew away. All that surrounded him was that green misty vacuum that muffled his screams to the point he couldn’t tell if he was even making audible noise. Without warning the railing stopped causing him to fall beneath the fog, flailing as tears streamed down his face with broken sobs. He thought he could smell fire, smoke…ham.

The fall became less harsh, almost like a parachute was causing resistance as he was dropped into a highchair. When he blinked he could see a green egg on a spatula, hanging dangerously off the edge. He wondered for a moment how it didn’t fall. He could see his mother holding the spatula towards him, offering the egg that was once again keeping him from seeing her face.

“Here Sam, try them.”

“Sam?”

“Sam.”

“Sam!”

He could feel nudging on his shoulder as he heard Guy yell to wake him up. Sam's eyes shot open, he was breathing heavily and his fur was slightly damp with sweat and tears. “Sam are you alright?” Guy said, sitting awfully close to him, his face caked with worry. Sam continued to catch his breath for a moment before he responded. “Y..yeah yeah…just uh…just a nightmare.” He said with an awkward cough before turning towards the window. “Do you…get those often?” Guy inquired, hovering his hand in the air above Sam's shoulder as if he was deciding if he should comfort him or not. Sam shrugged. “Enough to where they’re not that big of a deal anymore.” He replied, staring deep into the glass. Guy decided against touching Sam, laying his hand in his lap. “Well…we’re almost there. Are you feeling well enough to eat?” Sam turned to Guy who had a small smile on his wrinkled face. “I hear that green eggs and ham are really good on a blimp.”

Sam chuckled and gave a small nod. “Yeah…I guess I could eat.”

Sam followed Guy towards the front of the blimp, wiping the edges of his eyes to get all the crust out. Guy glanced back at Sam everyonce and awhile before they sat down at a booth, the waiter putting a booster seat down for Sam. Sam considered the menu for a moment before ordering what you’d expect. “You're not hungry, Guy?”

“No, me and E.B. ate breakfast a while ago.” Sam nodded and glanced down at the table.

“Do you know how far we are from East Flubria?” Sam questioned, drumming the table quietly to occupy his hands.

“Can’t be long now. These things can move around a million zillometers an hour, it's really impressive actually. The fact this blimp is so large yet can move so fast is a technological marvel!”

Sam smiled seeing Guy geek out over machines, it was a clear passion of his.

“Oh please, I bet you could build something way better than this in no time. Your mind is a marvel within itself.” Sam spoke without really thinking, maybe he should’ve asked for some tea with his breakfast; his mind was still a little foggy.

Guys cheeks seemed a slightly brighter orange then they usually were, maybe it was his sleepy brain pulling tricks on him. Guy cleared his throat a little before responding.

“Uhm..well uh…thank you, Sam.”

“It's nothing. I’m sure you get that all the time from Michellee.” Sam gave a cheeky wink and a slight wiggle of his brows.

Guy shifted his gaze away from Sam as he let out a soft ‘yeah’ though he didn’t seem particularly excited about it.

“She does compliment your skills right? Cus they’re undeniable.” Guy scoffed at this notion.

“The skill to make everything blow up?”

“Guy. Not everything you make blows up.”

“Really? Name one of my inventions that hasn’t exploded.”

“The tree house.” Sam said without hesitation.

“…that doesn’t count.” Guy grumbled.

“C’mon Guy you got to be kidding me! That thing is incredible! What do you mean it doesn’t count?”

“It…just doesn’t.”

“You’re just finding ways to ignore the success’ so you can focus on the mistakes Guy.”

“I can’t keep riding on highs from my pre-teen years Sam. I’ve been inventing my whole life and the only thing I have to show for it now is a pile of ash, mountains of bills and wrinkles before 30.”

Sam was catching the drift that this was stressing Guy out, which wasn’t his intention in the slightest. Time to change the subject. “Right…how’ve things been going around the house? You and E.B. getting on well?” Guy shrugged in response, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought.

“I suppose. I don’t really know what she thinks of me. I mean I’m not sure how I’d feel if my mom’s new boyfriend moved in.”

“What about you and Michellee?” Guy froze for a moment.

“We’re…fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I mean not just fine, it’s…it’s weird. She’s a great woman but sometimes…” Guy sighed and slouched slightly in his chair. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just holding her back…”

“Guy…” Sam leaned forward and gently rested his hand on Guy’s, though he needed to crawl almost entirely onto the table to reach him. “You’re not holding anyone back. You’re not a burden on anyone.” He said trying to be as genuine as he could but the held back snickers from Guy was keeping him distracted.

“Sorry, sorry.” He said while holding his free hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “You just look so ridiculous on the table like that.”

“Wow, Guy. I’m trying to be nice and you’re laughing at my poor stature. So cruel.” Sam said while tutting and shaking his head. He was unconsciously smiling hearing Guy laugh, it was such a rare sound to hear from the knox.