#and their triple eyes and tail were just an absolute delight to draw

[h-didanart]

:D

Alright!

It’s the Blood triplets!

hello

Uhhh

do you accept fanart?

Yes I do!! Any art of my silly guys are always welcomed 😌

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 23: Shuffle

Wrote some silliness in the hope it makes friends smile. Featuring the ever wonderful characters from the even more wonderful friends of mine, @foewreckem‘s Aoife Mahsa, @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, @karoiseka‘s...Karoiseka O’dayla, and @nuclearanomaly‘s Ninira Nira

Uthengentle just wanted his stars read, not a dissertation on why it’s pointless to do it.

Word count: 2,036

It was a relatively quiet day. Quiet enough that the group had made camp for lunch, taking a rare opportunity to enjoy the mild weather. 

Hyana and Ninira tended to the fish that had been freshly caught, grilling over the fire. In a pot, they added fish stock and vegetables to the rice they had only just cooked and fluffed, the smoky, rich scent of the cooking meal enough to inspire hunger even in the most stoic of the group. Karoiseka strummed lightly on her lyre, shaded in the tree as she was. At her side, G’raha dozed on and off peacefully, intermittently humming along to the tune his dearheart plucked out. Even not knowing the song necessarily, Aoife managed to harmonize on her own lyre, her voice soft as she joined G’raha in humming. Once he had laid out a folded up blanket as a smooth surface for his triple triad board, Uthengentle held out a deck of cards in offering to his sister, and at her nod, started to cut and shuffle the deck as she produced hers and did the same. 

By all rights, it was a blessedly mundane day, where they were beholden to nothing but the road, basking in the quiet calm, hard won after the chaos and strife they had endured.

That was usually when the trouble started.

“Why don’t you ever read people’s stars?” Uthengentle asked his sister offhandedly as he looked over his hand of cards.

“I don’t see the point to it,” Serella told him with a shrug. She laid her Moogle card on the bottom middle tile of the Triple Triad board. “I can, but whatever I could say is vague and doesn’t help anyone with anything.”

“Don’t you read stars to heal and shite?” He pressed, tossing down a Morbol card on the bottom right.

Serella’s Moogle next to it turned from blue to red, lost to her. She sighed.

“That’s different,” She replied, half mumbling into her hand of cards. “That would be more akin to pulling from the stars rather than reading them.” 

“Sure, sure,” He half heartedly agreed, eyes sharp as she laid her Tonberry in the center tile. He placed down a Griffin card to its left to steal it, motion swift and decisive. “But couldn’t you, I dunno, just put up a stall when we hit towns, help people out for a bit of extra gil?”

“I’d just feel like I’m lying to them. I assure you, card reading is just unhelpful in the best of times, outright harmful in the worst of them.”

After a moment’s deliberation she decided her Moogle was utterly lost to her, and instead opted to play her Ixal card on the middle right space to reclaim the Tonberry in the center as hers, and stealing his Morbol card in the process. Uthengentle glared at her.

“Cheeky.” He clucked his tongue. “And anyway, isn’t it something useful for people anyway? If you can predict a possible future for them and all? That’s what they do, right?”

“You’d think, but it’s so vague that there’s naught to be gleaned from it,” she answered, though let out a defeated grumble when he played Hraesvelgr on the left middle slot and all three cards flanking it turned red— with all but one tile his, his victory was secured. “Absolute bastard, you are.”

“And a sore loser be ye!” Uthengentle replied in a mock pirate accent, his arms scooping the not insignificant amount of gil they’d been betting, sat in a jar, and curling around it, held to his chest as he cackled like a gremlin adding to his hoard. When he was sufficiently with her flat, unimpressed staring, he put the jar away and asked, “So why can’t you get aught from a reading?”

“It isn’t helpful,” she huffed, even as she took her cards back from the board, “the most detail I might glean from reading the cards is that something might happen, but whether that thing is good or bad depends on how the card is facing.” 

“I don’t follow.”

“The best reading you could hope for would be me saying, “hey, in the morning, something might happen to you!” She wiggled her hands in front of her. “And then, in the afternoon? Surprise! Something else might happen!” She leaned across their makeshift table as a show of mock dramatic tension, hands on her knees as she rocked forward enough for her backside to leave the grass. “And then...in the dark of night…”

“...Something might hap—?”

“Something might happen!” Serella exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and flopping back dramatically. With a huff, she let her arms slump back to her sides. “So yes. Very vague. Unhelpful. If I charged for it, I’d be a swindler and a crook.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Can’t do it.” Serella handwaved him as she tucked her deck back into her pack. “Stars say no.”

“Can you show me?” Uthengentle asked, and she could tell that his enthusiasm would not be sated with aught less.

“Really need a demonstration of how useless it is?”

“I like judging things for myself,” Uthengentle answered, leaning back in his chair and slinging an arm over the back. “Besides, sounds like it’d be interesting.”

“You have a strange idea of, ‘interesting,’ but sure,” Serella capitulated with a sigh, “I’ll read your stars— on the condition that you don’t complain when you’re disappointed.”

“Deal,” he agreed, already shuffling the Triple Triad board to clear it of his cards and flipped it over, blank side facing up on the folded over blanket. 

“May I watch?” Ninira asked, coming over to take a seat between them. “I’m curious on how this works.”

“Ah, is Ella on her bullshit again?” Hyana called over from the fire. 

At Ninira and Uthengentle’s confirmation, she dusted her hands on her pants and moved to sit right next to Serella. When the Astrologian turned a playful quirk of her eyebrow at her, Hyana shrugged and offered only, “If one or both of you is being stupid, I at least know it’ll be entertaining.”

“Cards?” Aoife asked, standing and peering down at their little makeshift reading board.

“I’m gettin’ my fortune read. Want to see?” Uthengentle asked her over his shoulder, gesturing for her to join them.

Aoife took a moment, eyes dancing between him and Serella. After a moment, she crouched down in place, not joining the unfinished circle that was forming, but not excluding herself.

“I will watch.” She said, tail twitching behind her. “From here.”

“As you like!” Uthengentle beamed at her.

Karo joined on the other side of the makeshift table, opposite of Ninira, between Hyana and Uthengentle. G’raha, equally curious for how little he had been able to witness of Astrology in practice, sat on his knees and pressed against his beloved’s back, hands on her shoulders, peering over her shoulder, tail swishing behind him excitedly.

Even as she laid her arcanima deck on the board, Serella could only shake her head at the group’s dogged curiosity.

“I can’t stress this enough: the only prediction I’ll make today that’ll be right is that you’ll all be disappointed. Now then.” Her hands were practiced as she shuffled the cards. “Let’s see what hand fate has dealt you.”

When the group groaned collectively, she laughed out of sheer delight, as she always did when she told her puns.

“Had to get one in, didn’t you?” Hyana grumbled at her side, half into her shoulder.

“You’re smiling.” Serella mused without even looking at her; she could feel it pressed into her shirt.

“I am, and I hate it.” Hyana groused, even as it was obvious in the way she tried to hide her face entirely that her smile had only widened.

“Now then— I will draw six cards. A full sleeve.” Serella dictated her actions, laying the six cards face down on the board in two rows of three. “I will reveal them one by one, and read the stars’ intent for you.”

The first card on the top row was overturned. The group collectively leaned in ever so slightly to peer at it.

“The Bole, upright.” She gave a pleased hum. “Your immediate future is filled with potential. The energy it turns into is dictated by the energy that you put into it.”

“Explain this to me like I don’t understand it.” Uthengentle said slowly. “I do, though. Understand it. Just...just for the group, y’know?”

“Try to have a good day, and you probably will.”

“Seems a fairly straightforward reading,” Ninira noted, tapping her chin in thought. “Though I can see why it would be unhelpful.”

“Hey now, there’s five more to go!” Uthengentle insisted, pumping his fist. His optimism would not be denied.

Serella turned over the next card, and frowned as she laid it out.

“Balance, reversed. Uncertain times approach you, and you will be made to make difficult decisions. Hard though they may be, stay the course. To flounder is to spell doom.”

“For...what…?” Karoiseka asked, a ponderous tilt to her head.

“A nondescript decision of uncertain import.” Serella replied, shrugging. “As I said: unhelpful at best, harmful at worst.”

“I’m starting to understand— this is primarily meant as a guideline, rathar than a strict edict from the stars, yes?” G’raha guessed after a moment’s thought.

“Generally, that’s the way of it. The idea is that it informs you of how things can go, if—” Serella pointed her finger up. “—You play your cards right.”

Another collective groan.

“I can’t stand you.” Hyana huffed, even as she leaned bodily into her.

“I know.” Serella gestured back at the cards. “Shall we?”

At the group’s murmured agreement, she turned over the next card. As she lay it out, face up, she hummed.

“Arrow, upright. I could wax more poetic about it, but more or less, what you’re doing is working, so keep doing it.”

“What...am I doing…?” Uthengentle asked, scratching his head.

“Exactly.” Serella turned over the fourth card. “Spear, upright. Your confidence works to your favor, but avoid growing arrogant, else your luck with take a turn for the worst.”

“How do I know when I’m arrogant and not confident?” Uthengentle asked helplessly.

“How indeed.” To prove her point, she didn’t answer as she flipped the fifth card. “Ewer, reversed. Your energy is finite, and you would do well not to run yourself dry of it over useless endeavors. Save something of yourself for yourself.”

“Wh—”

“No idea.” Serella replied, already knowing what he was going to ask.

As she flipped the last card with a dramatic flourish, she held it up, and as her eyes roved over the art, her face paled. The group leaned in even more, their attention hung on her reaction.

“What...what is it?” Aoife asked from just outside the circle of people.

Wordlessly, Serella laid the card down.

“The Spire. Reversed.” She said, tone grave as she laid the card down. “Your struggles will turn against you. Everything you’ve done will be for naught.”

Uthengentle swallowed heavily, though after a moment hesitantly spoke up, “Wait...didn’t you say this only pertained to the immediate future?”

“Oh hey, you’re learning.” Serella dropped all pretense of dramaticism, posture going lax as she shrugged. “And thus your fortune predicted itself: all your anticipation led only to disappointment.” Another shrug. “Or something else might happen. Who knows?”

“Coulda just said that in the first place.” He grumbled, puffing his cheek in annoyance. 

“I did, you gullible maroon.”

Peace returned to the late morning. Ninira and Hyana dusted themselves off and returned to the food, soup now happily bubbling and fish pleasantly cooked and crispy with the perfect amount of flavorful char. Aoife took to happily rummaging around for bowls and cups, replacing the bubbling soup pot with a kettle of water and tea leaves. Karoiseka and G’raha returned to sitting against the tree stump, the former now playing a brighter song with an amused smile on her face as the latter rested his chin on her shoulder, watching Uthengentle chase his sister down the hill as he lobbed stale muffins at her head. 

Mundane, exactly as they had fought for.

[heartwoodventures]

Father and Son

Papachimo Bobochimo steps into the hall, but the air around him seems different. Gone is his usual arrogant confidence. He pushes his glasses up by the bridge, and turns to greet the company. “Greetings, everyone. I trust the last….hunt went smoothly?”

"Not as smoothly as we might have liked. It turns out the beast was a man, who transformed each night into a corrupted monster that devoured corpses. It was... grisly,” Rolanda Deschain says as she shakes her head slowly. ”We were hardly able to injure him, but we were able to use the sedative to temporarily subdue him. He is currently held captive downstairs."

"Show me to him. I can't in good conscience let him be,” Papachimo directs.

Ifoux, the ‘crystal man,’ is laid out on a stretcher, deep asleep. Papachimo approaches him cautiously, gently takes Ifoux’s hand in his own, and watches the sleeping elezen with a razor sharp focus.

“We must take this man back to our labs. Only there, can he receive proper treatment. What did you say his name was?” Papachimo demands.

"The man's name is Ifoux. While he was himself he seemed like quite a kind man. Please make sure he is treated well,” Rolanda cooly responds.

Haila glances quickly at the slumbering man before interrupting even if just a little. "I don't know the details of his condition too well yet. But will your resources be enough to treat this person?"

“As the creator of the crystal beasts, I am best equipped to reverse the condition,” Papachimo declares. Rolanda sighs, the lalafell’s demanding demeanor putting her on edge.

"Papachimo...I'm sure that you've noticed that many of our companions are not here to receive you. If I'm honest, it's because many of them didn't want you to leave here today alive. I convinced them that it was best to let you live, but they refused to meet you face to face. Frankly, I am inclined to let them do what they will with you," Rolanda half threatens, her body shifting forward with thinly veiled annoyance.

Papachimo doesn’t bat a lash. “Hmph. I did notice the room looked emptier compared to last time. A shame they could not keep their reservations in check and be professional about this,” he retorts.

"Yes, this whole affair reeks of professionalism. I am disgusted at how detached you have become. I hope your son will still recognize you when you get him back,” Rolanda fires back.

Papachimo Bobochimo points his nose up at the comment, but maintains a steady, cold glare. “...Regardless, I would offer one last job for the company. I am to meet the Amal’jaa today, and would be pleased if Heartwood could escort, and guard me during the encounter. The company is martially skilled...despite an overall lack of wit.”

"I can't guarantee anything, naturally. But I think it is best that you take your...test subject...with you and leave," Rolanda answers, annoyance growing with every passing second.

Wyda had been following along with the conversation silently so far. While she agreed with Rol’s sentiment, to let him meet with the Amal’jaa alone would be condemning the man and his son to death. “Rol, let’s go along. One last bitter pill to swallow, and then we’ll be done with it.”

Rolanda relents, and nods at the Sea Wolf. "It has been a confusing time for me lately...I'll be happy when this is all behind us. If you want to go, I'll help."

“Then we are to meet at the fringes of Zahar'ak at sundown. In exchange for potent crystals and the crystal beast recipe, the Amal’jaa will return my son to me. As discussed last time, instead of providing the real recipe, I will hand over a fake.” Papachimo shoots a glance at his assistant, who rolls out two thick scrolls on the table. “This one is the fake, if anyone wants to review it beforehand. And this one is the real deal.”

Rolanda Deschain looks to Haila. "You know what you're doing, maybe you could take a look and see if it looks like a realistic fake?"

Haila Wetyios nods, coming close to look down at the scrolls. The range of her expressions went from amused, to confusion, to surprise. "Both can be taken as the real, but the basic ingredients and processing of the real one-" she said, tapping her finger on a few of the lines. "Clearly will do a number on you. The fake, will do something alright, but not enough to create a crystal beast."

Rolanda Deschain nods. "Sounds good enough to me. Are we ready to head there straight away, or is the meeting later on this evening?"

"We meet at sundown. That gives us a few bells to travel to the meeting grounds," Papachimo answers, his eyes growing dark. "I have a feeling that the Amal'jaa have something up their sleeve."

As the sun glimmers at the edge of sand and sky, the whole landscape is bathed in an orange glow. A large Amal’jaa donning a bone headdress watches the sun sink slowly beneath the horizon. His snarl grows as the sun lowers, and he turns as the party approaches. He raises a clawed hand, and Papachimo similarly raises his own, motioning for everyone to stop.

“Javekk Gah. I see you are looking as soft bellied as ever,” Papachimo spits out with a scowl

“Let’s not make this any longer than it needs to be,” the Amal’jaa spits back. “Keep your mangy dogs back. We will exchange where all may watch, but none can interfere.”

Papachimo nods at the party, and steps out onto the open sands with the bags in tow. Javekk does the same, his own lackeys kept a good distance back. A blonde lalafell youth trails behind in the Amal’jaa shadow. Papachimo hands off the bags, and Javekk does the same with his prisoner.

“Chachachimo, it’s me! Your father. Let’s leave this behind and go home,” Papachimo urges his son the moment he gets close. The boy looks up, eyes clouded and confused. Papachimo repeats himself over and over, but to no avail. His son’s confusion only grows, and finally, he mutters something that sets his father on edge.

“Javekk...don’t tell me the boy is...tempered?” Papachimo stammers. The Amal’jaa priest sighs, but a devilish grin remains in place.

“Papachimo, your son is as dumb as a doorknob. Couldn’t even keep his mouth shut for ten blazing seconds...but yes. There’s no problem with this, is there? A deal’s a deal, and we fulfilled our end of it,” Javekk jeers, as his tail whips back and forth in delight.

Rolanda Deschain tenses, her hand slowly moving towards her bow. "This is horse****!" she mutters, so only her companions can hear. "Haila, you got my back if I start this?"

"Absolutely,” Haila whispers back without thinking twice.

Papachimo looks back at the party, a raging fire burning behind his eyes. “Whoever brings me the head of Javekk gets double - no, triple - pay!”

"Damn it old man, did no one ever teach you about the element of surprise?" Rolanda unsheaths her bow and nocks an arrow quickly, pulling back the string with Javekk's forehead in her sights.

Wyda rolls her eyes and dashes into the clearing, fists raised. “Damned lalafell...don’t get the wrong idea about this. I fight for what’s right, not because you’re paying me!”

Haila quickly draws her gun, ready for blood. As Papachimo turns, Javekk lets loose a fireball at the lalafell, which hits him squarely in the back. With a yelp, Papachimo hits the sand and flails about.

"Well shite," Haila mumbles under her breath as she reaches for a switch on her gun, quickly firing several spread beams meant to slow any advances made at them before being able to reach Papachimo.

Papachimo lets out a long groan, his backside thoroughly roasted. The left lens of his spectacles is shattered, and his once immaculately styled haircut is now tousled like a birds nest. He sees a fight raging on above him, and flumps back in the sand. May as well play dead for the time being.

The Amal’jaa lancers and gladiators rush out onto the sands, but are barraged by a flurry of beams. They’re knocked back by the impact, and one lands face first into the ground. Backed by Haila’s surpressing fire, Wyda continues to charge in, making a beeline at Javekk. But her steps are impeded by the sand, and her strikes come out clumsy.

In the commotion, Rolanda lets loose her arrow. It flies straight and true - sinking directly into Javekk’s shoulder. He hisses in pain and grabs the shaft of the arrow. With a single breath, he rips it out, blood gushing from the now open wound. “These dogs still have a bit of bite in them, do they? Brothers and sisters of Ifrit, let us show them the true might of the eternal flame!”

The Amal’jaa lackeys push forward with a rallying cry, with some making a mad dash to the backline. Javekk raises his staff and lobs a series of fireballs at Haila and Rolanda, but the two manage to dodge the majority of the spell. 

Haila doesn't waste any time to launch a counter attack as she aims directly at Javekk, hoping to disarm him as soon as possible. Her shot hits Javekk in his arm, and he crumples to the ground, sand billowing in clouds around him. Something flies away from him, and lands on the ground with a thump…. It’s his arm, still clutching the staff. Javekk howls in agony and immediately turns tail. “Blast! My kin, destroy this filth. I must retreat!”

"We can't let that son of an Amal'Jerk get away!" Rolanda looses an arrow at the retreating, one-armed Javekk. The arrow hits Javekk below the knee, and he turns to give the Au ra a nasty glare as he collapses onto the ground - still breathing, but otherwise incapacitated.

Distracted by the spray of blood and sand, Wyda can’t quite land a solid punch on her target. “Curses...I hate sand. It’s coarse, and rough, and gets everywhere,” Wyda murmurs. At the worst possible moment, Wyda feels the still recovering wound on her gut give way to fresh jolts of pain. She keels over from the sting, and leaves herself open to the Amal’jaa lancer’s attack. Steel rips through armor, and blood sprays out from the gash. With a gasp, she steps back, one hand clutched at her stomach, the other raised in a defensive position. 

Rolanda notices and nocks another arrow. Aiming carefully, she unleashes a shot that lands directly between the eyes of the enemy. For a moment, the lancer shivers and brings a hand up, as if unable to believe what had just occurred. Then he falls back, dead as a doorknob. "Two scum down, one to go," Rolanda breathes out.

The last foe, a tempered gladiator, closes in on Haila. Much to the gladiator's dismay, she isn’t caught off guard a single time. The woman neatly dodges blow after blow, and then aims a clean punch to the gut to stagger and gain the upper hand. For a split second, she thinks of simply aiming for the head and ending it right there, but a small part of her hesitated, as if realizing how cold blooded she would become if she allowed herself to let go. Grunting, she instead opted to kick the gladiator away. The tempered gladiator, a hyur man, lands on the ground with a huff. Dizzy, exhausted, and injured, he stares up at Haila in disbelief, before sprinting for dear life.

Rolanda readies another arrow, but seeing the Amal'jaa flee, decides there has been enough bloodshed today. "Let's make sure everyone knows whose body parts are whose, and clean up this mess." 

The battle was over. Haila visibly relaxes a little, but doesn’t put her gun away for the moment. Instead she walks over to where Papachimo is playing dead, briefly assessing the charring on his back before speaking. "I trust you have no business left with Javekk?" she said to him, knowing that the man was still conscious.

Papachimo cracks open an eye at Haila, then stands up suddenly. He looks around and lets out a breath of relief. “Javekk, that son of a...let me give that oversized lizard a piece of my mind.”

"Papachimo, you seem... surprisingly unhurt," Rolanda dryly notes. "Couldn't lend a hand a bit sooner, could you?"

“I am a man of words, not swords. And I’ll have you know my back is quite roasted, thank you! Now, where is Javekk…” Papachimo walks over to the Amal’jaa and looks down at him, a smug expression on the lalafell’s face. He hacks up a wad of saliva and spits on Javekk’s face. “Tell your god Ifrit to never mess with us Ul’dah folk again. Oh, though I suppose you won’t be able to tell him anything, not while you’re bleeding all over the sands.”

The lalafell cruelly kicks the downed Amal’jaa in the ribs...and a low, rolling laugh bubbles up from the Amal’jaa, eventually erupting into explosive cackles that shake his entire body. Papachimo jumps back. “W-what’s so funny? Explain yourself, lizard. I command you!”

“The last laugh...is mine and mine alone,” Javekk manages between breaths. He extends a claw directly at Papachimo’s son, and then goes limp. The beastman was no more.

Wyda gave a hesitant look at Rol and Haila. She had heard that a swift death was the kindest, and only, option for the tempered. But it felt wrong to simply execute Papachimo’s son.

"Well, Papachimo, you got your son back. I hope it was worth it," Rolanda stated.

Papachimo looks to the ground, the mood suddenly somber now that the Amal’jaa were well and truly dealt with. “So many, I’ve lost to primals. To Bahamut, and now to Ifrit.” He glances over at his son, who simply stood there out of earshot.

“Please, I bid you keep one last secret for me. Ul’dah would execute him on the spot if they learned he was tempered. Even if there’s no way to get to him…” Papachimo stares at his son with a tenderness not yet witnessed from the man prior. “I must try.”

"Far be it from me to tell another man what to do with his kin. I hope you're able to find some happiness in all of this," Rolanda says with a shrug.

Wyda opens her mouth for a second, then closes it. As much as she disliked Papachimo, the situation was sad. Hopeless, yet hopeful. She winces as blood trickles down from the open gash on her abdomen. “Papachimo, I...wish you luck. May Llymlaen’s wind be at your sail,” Wyda manages.

Haila lowers her weapon, approaching the lalafell until she is right before him. "You lost today, but you're not done." she says, quickly glancing at his son before looking back at him. "We all have a job to do, yourself included." she pauses once more, as if reluctant to be kinder to the lalafell. "Find a way to turn him back, you've a longer road than just treating the ones you've also corrupted."

Papachimo simply gazes into the burning sun, his golden eyes glistening with tears that betray his otherwise orderly composure. “...That will be all.” he finally says, and steps forward to grab his son’s hand. Together, the two lalafell walk away and began their long journey together.

[raisindeatre]

loved your project runway fic! do you have any more crack fics written for atla?

Darling anon - I do now! Also that Project Runway fic continues to and I suspect always will haunt me, but I’m glad you liked it, and I hope you like this one as well. (I would like to add as a caveat that I do not know anything about Dungeons and Dragons! I remain flagrantly unaware of the rules of the game! It is used here merely - and shamelessly - as a plot device.)

roll the dice (Some Zutara, some gen, 100% crack)

“D and D in the D,” Sokka says, spreading his arms dramatically - Katara can just catch a glimpse of the movement, the excited gleam of his eyes. “Dungeons and Dragons in the Dark!”

“Really?” Suki asks him. “That’s what you want to do right now?”

“What else are we supposed to do during a blackout?” Sokka says. “Our options are kind of limited here!”

“It sucks, not being able to see anything, huh?” says Toph.

“One day, these blind jokes are going to get real old, Toph! And by one day, I mean six months ago!” Sokka retorts, as Toph cackles.

“Hold on,” Katara says, because she’s still kind of lost. “Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Yeah,” Toph says. “We’ve been playing it for ages.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, not me,” Suki says diplomatically. “I’ve only played… what, three games?”

“Mmmm, something like that,” Sokka agrees. “But me and Zuko and Toph have been playing for about a year now, I think.”

“Wait, what?” Katara repeats indignantly. “How come I never got in on this?”

“Because,” Zuko’s voice says from behind her, and Katara has to quell the urge to stiffen in surprise, “You were always with Jet then.”

She looks up at him over her shoulder; from this angle she can’t see the candle she knows he must have cupped in his palms, so for one strange heartbeat it looks like he’s cradling a handful of flames, the small, wavering light bathing his face in orange, shadows chasing their way across his aristocratic features.

It’s a well-established pattern, by now - how Katara can only ever appreciate those features for one second before he opens his big mouth and ruins it. “Katara can’t play D and D with us,” he says, lowering himself to sit on the ground next to her, and any vague thoughts about how warm he feels is extinguished by the indignation that roars to life inside her.

“Why not?”

“Well, you don’t know how to,” he says. “You don’t understand the rules.”

“I’ll pick them up,” she retorts. “I’m a fast learner. And how hard can it be?”

He glares at her; she can feel it even through the dark. “You can’t just barge your way into a game - you don’t know anything about the dynamic we’ve set up, or the mission objective -”

“Mission objective?” she echoes incredulously, and really, the nerve of him. Zuko’s always been this way, all arched eyebrow and gentle disdain, like being her older brother’s best friend gives him any right to act superior over her. It’s infuriating, and - “I’ll show you mission objective!”

A beat. “What does that even mean?” Toph asks.

“Okay!” Sokka cuts in hurriedly. “Zuko, I get where you’re coming from, but I don’t think it matters if Katara joins us now. I’ll make it work. Besides,” he says, as Zuko opens his mouth to protest, “do you have any other suggestions as to what we can do until the lights go back on?”

Zuko glowers, then says grudgingly, “No.”

Sokka rubs his hands gleefully. “Okay, then! Let’s get started!”

“Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Your mission: to find and defeat the evil Fire Lord Ozai, and restore peace and balance to the world.”

“Wait. Why is this bad guy named after Zuko’s dad?” Katara asks.

“Because Zuko’s dad is a bad guy,” Sokka says, dropping his dramatically deep voice, and Katara finds herself nodding - they all know the story behind Zuko’s scar, why he moved in with his uncle three years ago. “We name all our villains after him, and then we spend four hours each game trying to kick his ass. It’s like therapy, but free.”

“Very true,” Toph says. “Sometimes we put Azula in as well. In fact, I think she’s in this particular game, right, Sokka?”

“Dungeon Master Sokka,” her idiot brother corrects. “And yeah, she is.”

“Mmm, we don’t name all our villains after Ozai, though, do we?” Suki says thoughtfully. “Remember that one game, on the Islands of Kashykk? Zuko insisted the villain be named after Jet.”

“You did?” Katara asks, swinging her head around to look at Zuko. “Why?”

Zuko shrugs, looking a little flustered. “I - After dumping you the way he did? The guy was a douchebag, Katara. It seemed only right.”

“We played that game before Jet dumped Katara, though,” Suki points out, and Zuko says hurriedly, “Anyway! I thought we were getting started?”

“Right,” says Sokka, arranging his features into a Very Serious Dungeon Master face. “If you guys remember, the last time we played a storm hit the ship you guys were on. You have all been scattered across the globe, washing up on the shores of…” He points at Zuko. “Shu Jing!” Suki. “Kyoshi Island!” Toph. “Gaoling!”

Katara clears her throat.

“Oh, right. Uh, Katara, you’ve been washed up with Zuko.”

“What?” they exclaim in unison, turning to glare at each other.

“Hey, Dungeon Master’s rules,” Sokka says sternly. “What I say goes. Alright, everybody, let’s go!”

“I call Druk, and get him to fly me to the Fire Nation Capital,” Zuko says.

“What the hell is a Druk?” Katara says.

“He’s my dragon.”

“You have a dragon? Hey, Sokka, I want a dragon.”

“You can’t just get a dragon! Do you think it’s that easy? I’ll have you know I raised Druk myself, all the way from when he was a hatchling! Found his egg eight months ago in the Dungeons of D’Qar -”

“Sokka, I want a dragon.”

“Sorry, sis. You heard the man. Dungeons of D’Qar.”

“Fine. Then I get on Druk as well. Let’s get to the royal palace and kick Ozai’s ass already.”

“Druk’s a one-person dragon,” Zuko informs her haughtily. “There won’t be room for the two of us.”

“So you’re - what, ditching me? You can’t do that!”

“Actually, I can. See ya later, Katara! Guten adios!”

“Unfortunately,” Sokka cuts in, “Druk has been hit by the storm as well. You guys won’t be reunited for another three turns.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Katara, your turn.”

“I attack Zuko!”

“WHAT?”

“Try to ditch me, will you -”

“Uh, you guys are on the same side so -”

“I swing at him with my sword, Sokka!”

“You don’t have a sword.”

“He gets a dragon, and I don’t even have a sword?”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to join last-minute. I had to draw up a really simple character sheet for you.”

“So what do I have?”

“You’re a healer, so… poultices.”

“What? Sokka, I don’t want to be a healer, I want to be a warrior!”

“Dungeon Master’s rules, Katara.”

“Fine! Then I poultice his face!”

“WHAT?”

“Oooh, naughty.” This coming from Toph.

“You can’t - okay, okay, whatever. What did you roll, an eight? Congratulations. You succeed in poulticing Zuko’s face, which does absolutely nothing, only now you’re one poultice short.”

Katara juts her chin out defiantly. “It felt good, though.”

“Oooh, naughty.”

“Shut up, Toph.”

“Toph, you reach Omashu where you see Fire Nation soldiers have constructed a blockade, restricting supplies to the village behind it. Do you: a) bypass the city entirely, and concentrate on getting to the Fire Nation as quickly as you can, or b) try to break down the blockade?”

“Don’t insult me, Wolf Tail. When have I ever turned my back on people who need me? Also, when do I ever run from a fight?”

“If you try to break down the blockade, you’ll be delayed by at least five turns. You won’t be able to rejoin the others for a while.”

“Eh. Need a break from them, anyway.”

“Hey!” Katara says.

“So how do you plan on breaking the blockade, Toph?” Sokka interjects smoothly.

Toph rests her chin on her interlocked fingers for a while, staring gravely into the tiny candle flame - although how Toph even knows it’s there, with her sightless eyes, Katara has no idea. “How many Fire Nation soldiers are there?”

“At least forty. Each one capable of delivering 10 damage.”

She frowns. “I’m good, but not that good. I can’t take them all by myself.” She pauses for a while longer, before a grin creeps across her face. “I’ve got it! You said Omashu is home to a bunch of badgermoles, right? I call them. I summon my badger buddies!”

“You have earthbending abilities, not the ability to talk to animals.”

“I SUMMON MY BADGER BUDDIES.”

“What is the point of being Dungeon Master if no one’s going to listen to me?”

“Okay, Mister Dungeon Master, how about this? If I roll a twenty, I get to summon the badgermoles.”

“You’re on! You’re never going to get - THAT WAS A FLUKE!” Sokka says, as Toph punches the air in delight.

“Has it been three turns yet?”

“Yes.”

“Great, I call Druk and get him to fly me to the Fire Nation capital.” A clatter of the dice. “That was a six, Sokka.”

“Okay. You succeed in calling your dragon and the two of you rise up into the sky.”

“I poulti -”

“He’s out of range, Katara.”

“Damn.”

“Pirate attack! Suddenly a ship pulls up on the riverbank next to you and a horde of pirates swarm out. You are surrounded!”

“Water whip!”

“Water whip, with.. 7 damage! Wha-pow! Wham-bam! Three of the pirates are knocked out of commission! But that leaves nine more!”

“Water whip again! Double water whip! Triple wat -”

“Katara, you gotta roll the dice.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, too bad! Only 3 damage! Not enough! The pirates overwhelm you. They tie you to a tree!”

“Oooh, naughty.”

“Shut up, Toph.” This from all four of them.

A heavy sigh, an eye-roll, a thunderous beat of wings echoing in the sky as a shadow looms on the horizon, a great beast with a rider on its back. “I turn back, and help Katara.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Clearly you do. Don’t worry,” Zuko says, and even in the dark she can feel him smirking. She wants to wipe it right off his face. “I’ll save you from the pirates.”

“You’re captured! The bandits put you in a cage, and are now en route back to Gaoling.”

“I bust my way out!”

“You have earthbending abilities. This box is metal.”

“Then… then I invent metalbending!”

“You can’t just invent metalbending -”

A clatter of dice, a series of gasps.

Suki. “I can’t believe it - she rolled another twenty -”

“I INVENT METALBENDING!” Toph shouts, and Sokka throws his hands up in surrender.

“Suki, you’re being held prisoner in the Boiling Rock,” Sokka intones, and Suki watches him solemnly, eyes intense. Katara is biting her lip; beside her, Zuko looks like he wants to get up and start pacing. “The situation is dire. You are alone, far from friends, in a prison that no one has yet to escape from. You have no companions, no weapons. You have nothing but yourself.”

There is a heavy silence, then slowly, so slowly, Suki smiles.

“Then I don’t have nothing, do I?” she says, then straightens up, posture knife-sharp. “I distract the guards.”

“How?”

“I start a riot!” Suki declares, and rolls a ten.

“You start a riot!” Sokka agrees. “The prison is thrown into turmoil! Prisoners are throwing punches! Scuffles break out everywhere. The guards are suitably distracted.”

“I use,” Suki says, “my level 20 agility and my level 30 strength to somersault my way across the crowd! I vault up the walls of the prison and get to the head guard, where I grab him by the hair -”

“Oooh, naughty -”

“- and demand the key to the shuttle that leaves the Boiling Rock.”

“Hell yeah, you do!” Sokka cheers, and Katara can see it all in her mind’s eye - Suki’s graceful figure whirling through the air as she leaps up the stone wall, her fierce grin as she looks the head guard in the eye. “That’s my girl! He surrenders the key, and you -”

“I make my way to the shuttle and start the mechanism, jumping into the train compartment as it makes its way across the lava.”

“And the people behind you?” Sokka says urgently.

“I dismantle the winch with, uh, a sword I stole from the head guard so nobody else can follow me!” Suki rolls an eight, and blanches. It’s an ambitious move she’s proposed, and they all know it. Sokka’s face is grave. They wait, nerves stretched to breaking.

Finally Suki breaks the silence. “Is that enough?”

“An eight,” Sokka says solemnly, and then: “Yes, but you don’t get out scot-free. You take an arrow to the ribs. 14 damage. Severely injured.”

Suki nods grimly, and the others hold their breath. Sokka looks around. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“Man, that was intense,” Katara says as she follows Zuko into the kitchen where they’ve volunteered to get some juice. It’s his apartment they’re in, his and Iroh’s, so Zuko is perfectly capable of navigating it in the dark, but Katara has to just lightly grip his elbow to stop from bumping into anything. Zuko hasn’t grumbled about that once, which strikes Katara as a little strange. “Are they all like that?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Zuko, just a shadow next to her in the dark. His voice is familiar, though, always familiar, his smoky rasp just as warm as the skin she can feel through the sleeve of his shirt. “You should’ve seen the game at the Islands of Kashykk. We just barely got out of that one alive.”

“That sounds like it was a lot of fun,” Katara says, as they emerge into the kitchen. Zuko bends down to open the fridge, and icy blue light radiates into the room, casting a frosty glow across his face. She has a strange, fleeting thought that this would be what he would look like if he ever came to visit her and Sokka at the South Pole: his eyes turned silver by the ice and his dark hair so windswept. “Why didn’t you ever invite me?”

“I told you,” Zuko says, still looking into the fridge. “You were spending a lot of your time with Jet, then.”

“Right.” A pause. It’s no secret that Zuko and Jet hate each other, and it’s even less of a secret that Katara hadn’t been the most attentive of friends when she and Jet had been dating. She’s long since apologised, but she knows it must still be a little sore. “I’m still sorry about that. About, you know, not being around as much back then. I was a pretty crappy friend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko says. “You’re here now.”

“I am,” she agrees, and something about the moment feels so strange and tentative - and hopeful, somehow, although Katara has no idea why that’s the word that comes to mind - that she feels compelled to break it. “Hey, whatever happened to you and Mai, anyway?”

“We broke up. You know that.”

“I do, but not the details. You know, what happened? How did it end?”

“It ended…” Zuko says, then laughs a little, almost self-deprecating. “Before it even started, I guess. I don’t know.” He shrugs, his back still to her, still peering into the fridge - although how long he needs to take just to choose some juice is beyond her. “We just weren’t right for each other, you know? It was never some big thing. Just a lot of little things.”

“Like what?” Katara says - and some part of her knows this is probably crossing the line, but the other, larger part of her has to know.

“Like…well, if she was here tonight, for example. She would never have agreed to play D and D. She’d think it was beneath her, just too nerdy.”

“D and D is nerdy, Zuko.”

“Says the girl who almost cried when she managed to summon a tidal wave back at Ember Island.”

Katara sighs. “I just didn’t think I could do it, you know? Sokka says I had to roll a twelve or higher - what were the odds?”

She still can’t see his face, but she can just hear his smile. “Yeah. Well. Mai wouldn’t have been up for that, you know? It was just stuff like that. The little things. You want to be able to hang out with your girlfriend and your friends at the same time. You don’t want to have to keep those parts of your life separate. It gets pretty tiring after a while.”

Katara thinks of Jet. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”  

“And…” Zuko pauses. “It’s, like. Remember when you saved me back at the Western Air Temple?”

“I love that you say it like it actually happened. Like it was a real thing that happened in real life. You know it’s not, right?”

“Don’t blaspheme.”

“Okay, okay. You mean when the temple crumbled, and you were falling through the air -”

“ - and you grabbed my hand and pulled me onto Druk, yeah -”

“- at which point we promptly proceeded to plummet like a thousand feet because your stupid dragon can’t even carry two people? I remember.”

“Don’t blaspheme! Druk was trying his best, I told you he’s normally just a one-person dragon -” Zuko blinks. “Wait. What was I talking about?”

“Mai,” Katara reminds him, and his face clears.

“Mai, right. It’s just… you saved me.”

Katara shifts uncomfortably. “I figured I owed you one. For the pirates. And for knocking me out of the way of the falling rocks.”

“Right,” Zuko says, and finally he turns to look at her, straightening up, a carton of orange juice in his hand. “But I guess I mean… look, this is going to sound a little dramatic.”

“You? Dramatic? Perish the thought.”

Zuko smiles at her, just a little. “I just mean,” he says, and his voice is softer, suddenly, in a way which means Katara has to step closer to hear it, “that… Katara, I would follow you into battle. And I would always have your back. And - and I know you would have mine. I trust you, you know?”

“I know,” Katara says, and she does.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, rubbing the back of his neck absently. “I just think… that’s kind of the litmus test of any relationship, you know? Trust. It sounds small, but it really isn’t. And if I can trust you to save me, even when I know you don’t like me, that’s just something to think abou -”

“Is that what you think?” Katara says. “That I don’t like you?”

Zuko blinks at her; backlit against the blue light of the still-open fridge door, the planes of his face look so young.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Katara continues, taking another step forward. They are very close now, and like he can’t help it, Zuko tilts his head down, so that he is looking right into her eyes. “I like you, Zuko,” she says, very softly. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Katara,” he says, his voice so warm -

“How long does it take to get some juice?” Sokka hollers from the living room, and the moment is gone.

“The Great Divide,” Sokka says solemnly. “The world’s largest canyon. To get across it, you guys will need to reconcile two warring tribes: the Zhang and the Gan Jin, and -”

He breaks off, frowning. “You know, maybe we should just skip this one. It sounds like it might be kind of boring.”

“You think?” Toph says.

Here they are, the final showdown. Katara watches from the pillars of the palace as Zuko and Azula square off. He keeps his eyes solidly on his sister, tension etched in every line of his shoulders. Her heart is hammering in her chest.

“She shoots a bolt of lightning at you!” Sokka says.

“I redirect!” Zuko fires back, and rolls a seven. “Ah, yeah!”

“Lightning successfully redirected! It’s your turn now! What’s your next move?”

“I… I trash-talk her!”

“What do you say?”

“I say…” Zuko hesitates. “Uh, sorry but you’re not going to become Fire Lord today. I am!”

A pause. Then Toph: “Sparky, that was terrible.”

“So bad,” Sokka agrees. “It has zero effect on Azula! In fact, it helps her power up! Azula gains one level from having to listen to the worst trash talk in all of human history!”

“What?” Zuko yelps. “You can’t do that!”

“She firebends at you, level 10 damage! You’re going to have to roll a nine or higher to counteract this!” Sokka says, and Zuko rolls both his eyes and the dice.

It’s fraught. The only sounds are Sokka and Zuko’s voices, low and terse, the clatter of the dice, the barely stifled gasps as Toph, Katara and Suki listen in. The candle is burning low, so everyone’s face is just barely illuminated in the tiny orange glow, strange, sharp shadows thrown over their features. Then:

“Azula prepares to shoot lightning -”

“I deflect,” Zuko says, but Sokka continues -

“ - at Katara.”

Shock fills the room; Katara can feel it suck the air from her lungs.

But Zuko leans forward, jaw set, and says without hesitation, “I jump in front of Katara.”

“What?” she exclaims, staring at him, but he refuses to meet her eye. “No, no he doesn’t!”

Zuko rolls the dice, squints at the number that comes up. “A five. Come on, Sokka, I jump in front of Katara.”

Katara snatches up the dice, rolls a six. “He un-jumps in front of me!”

“I do not un-jump,” Zuko says irritably. “I take the lightning bolt meant for her.”

Toph’s eyebrow is raised sharply; Sokka is blinking, but Suki - Suki is looking right at them, something like a sneaky delight on her face.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Katara snaps at him. “You’re the one who’s going to be Fire Lord after we defeat Ozai, you can’t die now! It’s just simple strategy! We’re almost to the end, at this point I’m expendable, okay, we don’t need me -”

“I need you,” Zuko says, and something in Katara’s throat closes up; her pulse stuttering. His voice is so intense. In the dark, she cannot see his face. “Katara, I need you.”

Everything is quiet.

“… okaaaay!” Sokka says. “Um, what’s done cannot be undone, I guess. Zuko jumps in front of the lightning bolt. Takes a hit -” He rolls the dice, winces. “Oooh, 12 damage. Zuko, you’re pretty much out of commission.”

Zuko nods grimly, pressing his hand to his stomach as if he’s really been shot. Suki reaches forward, pats his shoulder in comfort. Any other time Katara might laugh, or roll her eyes at the drama of it all, but right now all she can think about is the sound of his voice in the dark. Katara, I need you.

“Katara? What do you do now?”

Rage rises up in her, fury white-hot. Somewhere before her Zuko is lying prone on the cobblestones, twitching in pain as electricity courses through his veins, sears his nerves. “I attack Azula!”

“How?”

“Oh my god, Sokka, I don’t care. I just bring her down! This ends now!”

“If you’re going to end it now, you need to roll at least a twenty,” Sokka says.

“I thought we agreed to call it a Toph,” Toph says. “Like, you need to roll a Toph.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of dying here,” Zuko points out, and Katara rolls the dice -

- she gets a Toph, and Suki and Toph and Sokka break into cheers, but Zuko is looking at her, and she knows it’s not over yet.

“Sokka, where did the lightning bolt hit Zuko?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. Does it really matt -”

“Where?” she snaps at him, and her brother blinks at her in surprise.

“Uh - his stomach!” Sokka says, and Katara draws herself up, breathing in deeply. The dice rattles loosely in her closed fist.

“I poultice his stomach!” she declares and rolls another twenty, and somewhere under her palms, Zuko gasps back to life, his amber eyes blinking, his heart unsteady but alive in his chest. The emotion that washes over Katara is almost unreal in its intensity; a joy so big it feels almost like terror; a relief so vast it feels almost like grief. For a moment she cannot speak for the tightness in her throat.

“Sure, okay,” Sokka says. “Zuko, you’re, uh, not dead, I guess.”

Zuko looks at her, and she can just barely make out the gleam of his eyes in the dark, the wonder on his face. “Thank you, Katara.”

“I think,” she says softly, “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

The lights flicker back on.

The blue fire around the palace fades away; Druk disappears; Katara’s waterbending abilities vanish. Abruptly, they are back to where they started: five kids sitting cross-legged in a circle, in the living room of an apartment. They blink at each other in surprise.

“Well,” Sokka says. “That was, uh, intense.”

Suki checks her watch. “Wow, have we really been playing for three hours?”

“Three hours?” Toph repeats. “That’s it! Time for me to get some beauty sleep.”

“Wait,” Katara protests. “But we haven’t defeated Ozai yet! The game’s not over yet!”

Sokka yawns. “We’ll get around to it, sis. That’s the beauty of D and D, you know? The game can last as long as we want it to. But right now, it’s 2 in the morning and I agree with Toph - it’s bed time, kids.”

Sokka, Suki and Toph get to their feet and call their goodnights, disappearing into the bedrooms they’ve been allocated for the sleepover tonight (Sokka and Zuko in Zuko’s, and Suki and Katara and Toph all bundled in the guest bedroom.) Zuko and Katara are left sitting on the floor, studiously avoiding eye contact.

“Well,” Katara says at last. “I guess we should go to bed too. I mean!” she says hurriedly, as Zuko starts to cough, his neck turning red, “not together! Just - oh, you know what I mean.” What she wouldn’t give for the lights to go out right about now.

“Yeah,” Zuko says, blinking rapidly. He clears his throat. “Yeah. I, uh, yeah. Um. Goodnight, Katara.”

“Night, Zuko,” she says, getting slowly to her feet. His voice halts her at the doorway.

“Hey, Katara.”

When she turns to look back at him, he is on his feet as well, looking right at her. There is embarrassment on his features, but also a kind of determination, a stubborn tilt to the jaw she knows so well. “I, uh. I got Druk eight months ago.”

Katara blinks. There are non sequiturs, and then there’s Zuko. Honestly, this boy. “I, uh. Yeah, I know. Dungeons of D’Qar, right?”

“Right!” he agrees, nodding vigorously. “But what I meant was… that was eight months ago. Which is a pretty long time.”

“It is.”

He winces. “I guess what I’m saying is, Druk must’ve gotten pretty big. I feel like he’d… he’d easily be a two-person dragon by now. Or by the next game. Whenever that is. If you, uh, wanted to… join us.”

Katara bites her lip for a second, trying not to laugh at the way Zuko is looking at the floor, at the ceiling, at anywhere but her. “You want me to take a ride on your dragon?”

“OOOH, NAUGHTY!” Toph yells down the corridor, and Zuko flushes.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just - Oh, whatever!” he huffs, and tries to push past her, but Katara grabs hold of his elbow.

“Zuko,” she says, and then: “Yes.”

He stills, then turns to look at her, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, and throws a smile at him over her shoulder as she makes her way to her room. “Yeah. Save me a seat. Say hey to Druk for me.”

“I will,” Zuko says, and waits until Katara closes the door behind her before he lets himself punch the air in delight.  

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 245

Christmas is coming closer, and everyone prepares in their own ways for the holiday season!

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull <3

“Come on! Just taste it!”

“Are you sure it’s good?”

“I promise.”

Ruby looked at Max with doubt in her eyes, the brit smiling brightly, the man unusually enthusiastic. They had been at the animal shelter, Ruby somehow volunteering there now with Max twice a month, the man’s smile and his gentle eyes able to talk her into anything, but with this she wasn’t so sure. They had walked by a bakery near Ruby’s flat, Max stopping dead in his tracks when he noticed a dessert in the front window, a monstrosity that was unlike anything Ruby had ever seen before.

“It’s one of the best dessert britain has to offer.” Ruby raised an eyebrow, the black mass on her plate looking anything but delicious, but Max had insisted that a plum pudding was the best thing in the world.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take a bite.” Ruby took the spoon from her boyfriend, the word still creating a pool of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She bit into the cake, the overwhelming taste of raisins and rum filling her mouth, and Ruby wanted to spit it out, but in that moment she looked at Max, his eyes bright like a kid on christmas morning, and she realised that she never wanted to do anything that could ever disappoint him. She swallowed, the cake making it’s way down her throat.

“It’s delicious.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

***

The meeting with Aja’s old housemate and proposed drummer, Nina Brown, had gotten off to a very weird start. First of all, the bitch had come in wearing cat ears and a tail like some kind of furry meets Josie and the Pussycats fucking

“Don’t worry about it,” Aja had murmured to Adore, “She’s a little…off, but she’s good drummer and super creative.”

And then when Adore was explaining her vision for the band - a group of free spirited, supportive musicians, gay women who all wrote music and gave creative input, all got their chance in the spotlight regardless of their role in the group, Nina cut her off.

“I don’t write music. So, I guess this isn’t the band for me. Sorry to waste your time.” She abruptly got up from the table and began to walk away.

Aja grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Nina! Breathe for a second, god. Why don’t you show her some of your art?”

Nina rolled her eyes, sighing. “Fine, but I don’t really see what that has to do with–”

“Please?”

“I’d really like to see it,” Adore added. “Aja was raving about how talented you are.”

Nina pulled out a thick sketchbook and opened it. Intricate, detailed line drawings filled the pages, covered with swirling text. Adore read some of the text. The read like poetry. Or…lyrics? “Are these words original? Or are you quoting from something?”

“Original. Just…you know…a bunch of random nonsense…” Nina sighed, head propped up on her hands.

“Dude…” Adore read some of the words. It was free verse, a little disconnected, but there was so much there. “Nina, this is amazing. We can DEFINITELY use this as inspiration for song lyrics. I mean, if you’re cool with it.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Totally.”

“Huh. Yeah, I mean…sure. You haven’t heard me play yet.”

“True. Wanna jam? I assume you got the songs that Aja sent you?”

“Yup.”

Adore smiled. “Alright them. Let’s play for awhile and see how we all feel. Sound good?”

Nina nodded. “I won’t feel bad if you hate me. Don’t worry.”

“I already love you, but let’s just make sure you can keep count,” Adore laughed, slinging an arm around her.

Aja poked Nina in the side. “What did I tell you, Neens? It’s gonna be impossible to keep that stormcloud over your head with this little precious muffin around. She’s too fucking cute.”

“I can see that,” Nina agreed, picking up her drumsticks. “Seems exhausting.”

“So Nina will be in charge of team spirit,” Aja explained.

Adore giggled, slinging her guitar strap over her shoulder. “Hey, as long as she can play, and keeps writing that fucking sickening poetry, I don’t give a fuck about team spirit. You do you, girl.”

Nina finally cracked a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“How about we try ‘I Can’t Love You’?”

“Copy,” Nina said, counting them in, “5, 6, 7, 8…”

***

“That’s the last of it!” Pearl smiled as she carried the final shipment of boxes into Trixie’s office. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this years ago.”

Two nights ago, Pearl and Trixie had been home alone, when they had both realised over their fifth beer that online shopping was the answear to all of their christmas prayers.

“Did you remember my doughnuts and triple venti?”

“For the last time, I’m not your assistant dude.”

“You know I don’t have one.” Trixie sat down on the floor, Ivan happily playing with Trixie’s keys, the heavy metal more interesting to him than any of the ergonomically correct properly designed baby toys his mom had bought for him. “I’m the cool boss, I don’t need an assistant to fetch me coffee.”

“You keep telling yourself that dude.” Pearl smiled and sat down on the floor as well. “So, do you want to be on wrapping duty or not? Because I’d just like to remind you that I-”

“Not that box!” Trixie practically jumped up, the man snatching the box Pearl was holding from her hands, the brown cardboard not betraying anything.

“What the fuck?”

“Just, not this one okay, I’ll do the unpacking and the wrappi-”

“Nu uh!” Pearl sat up on her knees, reaching for the box, but Trixie was fast and fell on his back, keeping it out of Pearl’s grasp. “Come on! Let me see, who is it for anyone!”

“None of your business!” Trixie tried to worm away, but Pearl grabbed his pants, the woman jumping him, the two adults fighting each other on the floor, Pearl shrieking with laughter as they fought.

“Pearl! Come on- It’s private!”

“You’re my best friend! Nothing is private!” Pearl finally won, Trixie’s months of maternity leave not helping his fitness at all, Pearl yelled triumphantly as she tore the box from Trixie’s hands, and then, the unthinkable happened, the packaging broke, and a huge, purple silicone dildo floated through the air followed by a sea of packing peanuts, it flew across the room, the thing like a missile, straight for baby Ivan’s face, the dildo hitting him, and both Trixie and Pearl froze as Ivan started crying, his cheek bright red after the smack from his mother’s christmas dildo. Pearl looked down at Trixie, horror painted on her face.

“I’ll pay for his therapy. I promise.”

***

Fame heard the door to her office click, her brows wrinkling in annoyance. She was on the phone, overlooking the streets of Manhattan through her window as she talked, so she held up a to indicate she was busy.

“Yes, yes. No, yes. Yes we can discuss it next week. Goodbye.” Fame hang up and turned around in her chair ready to tear into whoever had wandered into her office unannounced “Roxy, I have told you several tim- Patrick?” Fame looked at her husband, the man standing in the doorway, a smile playing on his lips.

“Hello my love.”

“What are you doing here?” Even though they worked in the same building, Fame and Patrick rarely saw each other on workdays, both of them busy running their respective companies.

“Can’t a man come see his wife?”

Fame felt herself flush, her pale scandinavian skin betraying her as she could see the smile bloom on Patrick’s lips. Sometimes it felt like they were newlywed once again, any mentions of their marriage making warm delight curl in Fame’s belly, a childish feeling that only belonged to teenage girls and blushing maids, but Fame couldn’t deny that it was nice.

“And why has my husband come to see his wife?”

“Maybe he was hoping she had a little bit of extra time, and maybe, your husband saw his wife leave the house this morning, and remembered how luck he was.” Fame saw reach behind himself, a single flick of his wrist clicking the lock on her door, and when Fame looked up, there was a predatory smile on Patrick’s lips, once she hadn’t see in months, and it was directed directly at her. Fame lifted her foot and pushed against her desk, her chair rolling up against the window, leaving her vulnerable, but she had never felt more secure.

“I’m yours.”

***

“This is boring!” Raven sighed.

“We’re almost done.” Violet smiled and laid a gentle hand on Raven’s arm. They were in Raven and Raja’s kitchen, the livingroom filled with noise as a carpenter had come to redo the entire floor. Violet didn’t personally think it was necessary, but who was she to judge what Raven wanted to spend her fiancée’s money on. “We only need to find a seat for Fame’s mother in law.” Violet looked down at the gigantic seating chart in front of them, small pins in gold, silver and white representing if the name attached was Raja or Raven’s or common guests for the pair, along with red for industry people they had to invite, even if Raven complained loudly about it.

“What about here? I’m sure she’ll do fine with Nina Garcia.”

“No way.” Raven grabbed the white pin, only just saving it from a table almost entirely made out of red. “She’s not going anywhere near that cunt.” Raven pressed Patrick’s mom down, safely securing her at a table of bankers. “There. She’ll be happy with all the attention, and I won’t have to speak to either of them all night. No one is going to ruin my special day.”

Violet couldn’t help but smile, Raven as always looking out for herself first. “Of course.”