#Me locking this / using the sensitive material tag from my pinned post / throwing it to the wolves without official fandom tags like

[fountainpenguin]

"As I breathe into our silence, there's a voice that comforts me... It's a voice of understanding... It's the voice of empathy." (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Prerequisite: "All I Ever Wanted"

❤️ Kisses Full of Broken Glass

Rated M - 4 chapters - 32k words

Look… Who her partners’ counterparts turned out to be wasn’t anything she could control. Tens of thousands of Fairies and Anti-Fairies had twinkled through life since the dawn of Fairy World. Goldie did her research; she picked a drake she liked whose counterpart seemed to be a fair and reasonable guy. She tracked their nights together and gave Anti-Marigold full calendar access. What more could she do? I can’t throw my life at my opposite’s feet, and I won’t do that any more than Poof should turn his life over to Foop just because Foop holds high status in Anti-Fairy World. So she’d stick to her choices just fine, thank you, actually.

Goldie's poly lifestyle reflects back on her terrified anti-will o' the wisp counterpart. Foop makes those nights as easy on his girlfriend as he can.

It's fine, by the way... really. Anti-Fairies take care of their own. They've only been doing this since their species began.

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Cloudlands AU

Story Arc Navigation

More Fairly OddParents 'fics

Contains exactly what it says on the tin; mind the tags.

All 130 Prompts are G and T works; you don't need to read these non-Prompts to understand or enjoy the main story arc.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Kisses Full of Broken Glass

Wednesday January 15th, Aurora 178

Year of Water; Winter of the Shattered Lake

Anti-Fairies took care of their own. No one else was going to do it for them (Least of all in Fairy World). Massive oversight, really. Ever since the Barrier separating Hy-Brasil from Tír Ildáthach came down, well… You can’t go three streets anymore without tripping on an Anti-Fairy beneath the dawn-painted skies. Some Fairies went the other way, but not as many as you’d think. They should make their own safe places in Anti-Fairy World. No one else will do it for ‘em.

All this to say, it’s not like Anti-Marigold didn’t trust a well-vetted damsel healthcare center. She did. Actually, growing up, she’d been in and out of one. Anti-Primrose (who didn’t deserve the title Mum) had a nasty habit of getting in trouble with Anti-Fairy Council and leaving her kids hungry at home in the process. First there were drinking problems. Then it was late-night sex work that lost the “work” aspect somewhere along the way. Then came pyramid schemes dressed up in fluff and lace.

Anti-Primrose wanted all of it. Forget black cats, spilled salt, and broken mirrors… You could bait a literal trap in the park with a few bills and coins to lure her in. She hung in a tangled-up corner of the family tapestry, and Anti-Marigold snipped her out the day she got her adult wings. Changed her crystal ball number that week and never answered an unknown call again, no matter how the clouds inside stormed. Honestly, she would’ve stayed in school longer just to keep away from her, but when the offer of sandwich shop work hit the table, the thought of turning profit across the Fairy World border - where Anti-Primrose wouldn’t dare step - caught her by the throat. At home she had two little brothers to look after (No thanks to Anti-Zinnia being absolutely no help). Making time for homework didn’t come easy. Sometimes she slept in class.

So she quit. “Dropped out,” or “Bought the farm” or whatever. Of course, Foop slumped at the thought of never helping her through labs anymore, but his mother pulled Anti-Marigold aside and told her very seriously that sandwiches were “Good business,” and hell; the High Countess had never steered anyone wrong before. Even her husband took her advice, and he hardly listened to himself. It’s a freakin’ miracle Foop turned out so well-adjusted. He should play the lottery. Takes after his mum hardcore.

Which she’s grateful for. Seriously, she’s grateful! This isn’t about not trusting the healthcare centers and it isn’t about wishing Foop would do more when he’s already doing all he can. Flip, if Anti-Wanda ever gave her son The Talk on how to treat a damsel in distress, he must’ve locked in and hung on each no-nonsense word. Did my name ever come up during that conversation? Like, ‘Wait for the right place and time’ or ‘Make sure you treat that sweet girl right.’ Surely it must have. After all, she’s an anti-will o’ the wisp… Their Seelie counterparts are sort of known for getting around (If you know what I mean).

Anti-Marigold did stare after him sometimes (Foop). He just had that sort of face. And hair. And neck. He twitched his nose like a squirrel when grading papers, reading glasses slipping from his ears. Mystique and charm wreathed that open-book nature of his.

How many hours had she passed working on her knitting, sighing at tangled yarn, just to look up and see him lounging like a regal wolf in the sofa cushions, safe and untouchable from the world. He marked papers like he thought them equal to his own. He finished every project ahead of time and cracked open his study books for more. Nothing could catch him off guard. He wouldn’t let himself be anything less than the most intellectual powerhouse he could. She hadn’t told him this (because it wasn’t his business anyway), but Anti-Marigold liked it best when Foop wriggled close and lay his head against her chest. And those eyes, when he looked up-

They were the softest eyes she’d ever seen. She could push her lips against them. She could nuzzle her cheek up with his. She wouldn’t, though. It wasn’t her place. Not when he… Plus his family. Y’know?

Except she had touched him like that. Only sometimes. When they wouldn’t get caught (or sometimes when they would). Real talk? Foop seemed to live his life chasing punishment. He craved it like an ice-cold soda thick with syrup and bubbly carbonation. She saw him crumble - hit the floor - after that first night in the Castle, when his father floated past her with a book under one arm and his mind on politics, saying something to the Head Pixie without turning to Foop for any more than a ruffle of his midnight curls.

He tries harder now (Nearer, louder, more often and more desperate) to draw his father’s ear. Anti-Marigold said nothing about it, of course. She just leaned against him while he buried his face in his hands, heaving sobs that would not bring his father’s ire. They’d go unheard.

“My life’s a joke, Kelsia! How can he tell me stories of how badly he wanted a child if he can’t be bothered to set me straight when I mess around? Does he even remember how young I am? That we aren’t married? Does he know? What else doesn’t he notice? It’s like he’s missing all over again, and we’re still in this smokeforsaken war-”

“You’ve told your mum about us, right?”

“Bloody heck, I couldn’t keep a secret from that woman if I tried. She knows. I just wish he’d yell at me again… He treats me like an egg in his hand. I just want my Da back… I want him back, Kelsia…”

She could understand that, actually. She’d never met her own father. Anti-Quince, apparently. Not to be confused with Anti-James, who’d fathered Anti-Zinnia… Anti-Marigold had two full-wisp brothers through Anti-Quince, and both still too young for their adult anti-names.

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