#good old fashioned OC nonsense

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

Chapter 2

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

[scary-pixie]

November 1st = New Tina Year! (secret diary entry and upcoming goals)

I'm mainly writing this down so I don't slack off! Cause if I slack off I can look back on this and think, "wow, you failed terribly. dingus."

Ahem.

Anyways, I am in the process of thinking up some new short term goals now that:

2024 con season is over (with the exception of some smaller events)

Spooky Season is almost over (I like posting non-stop spooky stuff during this delightful time)

Twitter is going inside the toilet

Magazine troubles (more on this below)

I have met the famous man whose inspiration played a big role in both: a) getting back into drawing my old OCs after 15+ years (little round glasses are a bad influence), and b) getting brave enough to be on video after saying I would never do this for god knows how long. (secret: I watched a certain music video with one of his characters the morning before I made my own). BUT HE WILL NEVER KNOW ABOUT THIS AND I WILL NEVER TELL! I AM FULL OF CRINGE!!!

This is what I'm thinking at the moment, in terms of my next creative direction. I appreciate any thoughts or advice!!:

My OC art was an absolute flop in terms of gaining new social media followers. Bluesky seems to be a LITTLE bit better, but it's still early to tell and I haven't posted too many of my OCs there yet either. For the time being, though, I plan to get back to my Schoolism subscription assignments since I've been neglecting them for a bit!

good lord I need to flatten my stomach somehow, as I cannot fit into my preferred fashion choices. I quit watching TV for a while in the summer, which helped a bit (I tend to eat everything in the house while I watch), so I may try this again soon.

arm workouts are going alright I guess, I am gaining a bit of muscle in my armes so they do not look so much like noodles.

Tempted to get back into posting video game screenshots and mini-reviews on social media since people really liked this stuff, but I'm worried it might just add more to my plate.

I'm really enjoying doing videos now, I'm just not sure which direction to take them (or if I even should take them places). I tend to film a lot of myself and a long-time friend in the car just saying stupid shit, but I don't really want to post all of these.

I wish to read more books without falling asleep, jesus christ this is tough.

On a similar note: the magazine I used to write book and comic reviews for has SHUT DOWN GOD DAMN IT so maybe I'll write some new stuff here?? Not sure yet!

I need to get back to my Japanese studies!! I used to do them at lunch and dinner but now I get distracted by all the awful political shit online! Aaaaaaaa!! I really hope America doesn't combust in the next few days but I guess we'll find out soon...

Finally, I need to be more active HERE! It's the best place for longform writing and art that might be a bit too "cringe" for the general public. Let's see if I can stick to it!!

I think that's all I have to SAY for NOW. Wish me luck in sticking to my goals instead of spiralling into ADHD Twitter nonsense, aaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Tagging a couple frands: @prometheus-ghost @fadingdreamerdream @thewebspinner @autolykiss @draganwhorror

Also anyone who actually wants to watch my shitty ass videos, the link is below. I have a bunch more but haven't posted them! https://www.instagram.com/kittensoft39/reels/

[godspeedviper]

Saturday Night Fever - Jack Delroy x F!Reader (SFW)

𖤐 Requested by Anon: Politely requesting some Jack Delroy x OC hurt/comfort. MAN AM I A SUCKER FOR some good old fashioned caretaking – a bad day, a cold, something has our intrepid host down but trying to push through and the OC makes it their task to cheer him up.

𖤐 Synopsis: Jack Delroy wakes up the day after his fated Halloween Special in 1977. Pure fluff.

𖤐 Type: Fluff || Comfort || Caretaking || Sickfic || Fix It fic || Post Canon

𖤐 Word Count: 1848

𖤐 Rating: Gen || SFW || Mentions of Medication

𖤐 A/N: Sorry this took so long! I had a real bad month (chronic illness) and as a result i've been listening to a lot of ASMR whilst bedridden and writing this kinda helped me through the weeks as well. ALSO the inspo for the "plot" came from this commercial and a comment on that video that said they, and i quote, "hated the dissonant piano at the end". It got me thinking of how surreal it would be to wake up to that while sick. Additionally, the described furniture in this fic looks like this. Final note, the NBC nightly news anchors at the time (1977) were John Chancellor and David Brinkley. ANYWAY i just want to see Jack happy and taken care of :(

  Jack stirred in his bed at the sound of strange dissonant piano keys in the distance. His eyes fluttered open, catching a blurry glimpse of the tail end of a commercial. He had a violent headache and his whole body ached. He tried to speak but his throat felt scratchy and sore. 

“Hey there handsome!” said a voice “Shh… There there now, try and take it easy.” 

“Minnie?” Jack croaked out. 

“If you’d like me to be, sure.” Replied the voice with a smile. 

  She reached out to the coffee table in front of them and picked up a small hand towel. She dipped it into an adjacent bowl filled with water and then used the damp cloth to gently pat Jack’s clammy forehead. He let out a relieved sigh in return as the cloth felt cool against his feverish skin and soothed his headache. Each muscle in his body slowly relaxed, sinking back into a curved chartreuse sofa.

“Oh you poor thing you’ve had a real long night haven’t you.” 

“What happened?” Jack mumbled. 

“You caught an autumn cold and went on to do your Halloween special, but the heat from those TV lights in the studio made you start running a real high fever.” She said, unfolding the damp towel and placing it flat across Jack’s forehead. “The fever was so high it started messing with your head on set and you began to talk nonsense about the devil and all live on your show!” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, everything had seemed so vivid and felt so real that it seemed unlikely to have all been a hallucination. 

“Then… How did I end up here?” He spoke cautiously, both from the ache in his throat and out of fear. “And where is ‘ here’ exactly?” 

“You’re at the big boss’ penthouse atop the UBC building. He has this place for when he stays working late, comes up here to catch a few zzz’s then goes right back to meetings and the like. Figured it would be easier to keep you from the prying eyes of tabloids here than in a hospital.” She said in a very matter of fact voice, as if Jack should have deduced it all. 

  Jack tried to make the effort to sit up and look around, but his body felt far too weakened and pained to complete the task. He only managed to raise his head and lift his shoulders a few centimeters off the sofa before collapsing back onto the cushy furniture. 

“Oh you poor thing,” Jack heard her say as he shut his eyes and groaned in pain. 

“Wait…” He mumbled. “If… if the fever was that bad? Why am I not with a doctor or in the emergency room or an ambulance?” 

“That’s what I’m here for silly!” She laughed, shrill and dainty like the ringing of a small bell. “I’m a home caregiver hired by the big boss. You can call me Nurse Minnie if you’d like, since that’s what you blurted out earlier. It’s my job to make sure you’re right as rain in no time.” 

“Uh-huh…” Jack nodded slowly. He was still in disbelief, but he had no other explanation for how he was feeling or for what he remembers experiencing. 

Regardless, his fever and headache were very very real and so, he tried relaxing his tense muscles, slowly shifting into as comfortable a position as possible. 

“Would you like some tea now that you’re awake?” She asked, daintily batting her lashes at him. 

“Um, yes please.” It sounded almost like a question coming from Jack, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“Alright then, wait right here Mr. Delroy and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

 Jack’s large, dark eyes followed her as she stood up from the sofa and took her leave. He then turned his attention to the coffee table on his right side and looked over all the items laid on top; a thermometer, some small hand towels, some medication, the television remote, and the aforementioned bowl of water. He reached out for the remote – the buttons were rubber but the body was made of sleek wood that felt cool to the touch – turning up the volume and flipping through the channels until he saw a picture of himself on the nightly news with a headline ‘Is Television Going to Hell?’

“After last night’s heartstopping broadcast, Night Owls with Jack Delroy has skyrocketed to the top of the Nielsen charts as viewers everywhere proclaim this to be the most frightening thing put to screen since The Exorcist hit theaters back in ‘73.” Said a man in a sandy colored suit jacket with a matching color tie. 

“That’s right, David.” Replied the man sitting to his left. “A spokesman for UBC kindly let us know that the entire night was scripted and to rest assured that no one was harmed in the making of the program.” 

“Now hold on a minute, John. That isn’t entirely true!” The man in the sand colored suit interrupted. 

“Correct,” His co-host replied with a swift synchronicity rarely seen outside of tennis matches. “That same UBC representative also made it clear that while the entire broadcast was scripted the titular host, Jack Delroy, was running a high fever that night, resulting in his erratic behavior towards the end of the program. However, he has since been hospitalized and is on the mend.” 

  Jack sat there with his mouth agape, trying to wrap his mind around what the newscasters were saying. His thoughts were quickly interrupted as his caretaker returned to the living room, placing a tea cup and accompanying saucer on the table right in front of him. 

“Here you are,” She said, sitting on the edge of the sofa near his hips and helping him slowly sit up. “Please be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Oh, oh thank you.” He replied, slowly reaching for the teacup. 

“I see you’re catching yourself up to speed.” She said, nodding towards the television set. “How does it feel to be at the top?” 

“Hot.” He said with a chuckle. 

“Was it worth it?” 

Jack froze, unsure of what to say. His eyes flitted down towards the teacup, then back up at her, but she was giggling along with his statement. Jack nervously smiled, fully doubting his senses. 

“Oh Mr.Delroy, even when you’re not on camera you still have a sense of humor.” 

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly as his cheeks started to blush. “I can’t help it… And please, call me Jack.” 

  She smiled back at him in earnest, mindlessly reaching for the discarded hand towel which had rolled off his forehead and onto his lap. “Don’t be sorry about that, Jack.” She gave him a poignant look. “Most people let fame get to their head. They become rude, ungrateful, and just plain old unpleasant. I will happily take your bashful apologies and polite sense of humor over all that any day.” 

“Thank you.” He said, blush spreading to the whole of his face. 

  Jack finished his tea in silence as she lay back and watched the remainder of the news broadcast with him. The anchors had moved past Jack’s news story and onto the Son of Sam, whose court date had just been set for May of the following year. Once he finished his drink, Jack tried to stand up and take away the used porcelain, but he was quickly stopped by his nurse. 

“Please, let me take care of you Jack. It’s what I’m here for.” She held the teacup in one hand and used the other to gently press against his chest, lowering him back onto the sofa. “Trust me, you are not a burden, this is no bother.” 

“A-alright.” Jack reluctantly lay back and let go of his worries. 

  She set the teacup back on the table for a moment to reach for the blanket draped over Jack’s legs and pull it up towards his neck, tucking him in. Once he was comfortable she grabbed the thermometer off the table and brought it to his lips. Jack complied without words, allowing her to place the item into his mouth and under his tongue, holding it there as she lifted the teacup and left the room. She swiftly returned, taking the instrument from his lips to read the temperature, reacting only with a soft disappointed sigh. 

“That bad, huh?” Jack tried to laugh but choked out a cough instead. 

“Shh shh let your throat rest so the tea can do its work.” She cooed, reaching out for another hand towel. “You’re doing much better but your temperature is still within feverish range. I’m going to apply another damp towel to your head and then let you rest. Unless you need anything else?” 

“An aspirin perhaps?” Jack whispered. 

“Oh, does your head hurt? I’m sorry, I should have thought to offer you some sooner so you could have taken it along with your tea. I’ll go get you a glass of water for that and then I’ll massage your head to make up for it.” 

  She stood up and quickly left the room before Jack could try and protest the unnecessary apology. Instead, he slowly propped himself back up into a sitting position, ready to receive her offerings of care. Upon her return she smiled at the sight of him, waiting and ready like a good little boy. She picked out a pill from a small bottle and handed it to Jack. Much like with the thermometer, Jack submitted to her care and took it without protest, like a good boy indeed. He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, while she picked up the remote and turned off the TV. She stood back up and Jack could hear her walking around the room. He then heard the sound of her rustling through a shelf of records, followed by the unmistakable scratch of the needle over the vinyl disc. David Bowie’s Space Oddity began playing softly in the background, and she returned to once more sit on the edge of the sofa alongside Jack. 

“I’m going to place another damp towel on your forehead to help break your fever, alright?” She whispered. 

  Jack nodded and settled into the sofa. Her gentle whispers made his ears tingle, as did the slightly spongy sound of her dabbing the damp towel along his face before laying it across his forehead. She then put her fingertips onto the edge of his scalp, right where it met the skin, and began rubbing them in as a gentle massage. Jack sighed in relief, causing her to giggle under her breath. The droning melody of the music in combination with the head massage and medication was causing Jack to feel as if he were melting directly into the furniture. He began to moan as the overwhelming relief began to feel almost erotic in nature. As Jack was slipping back into oblivion, he swore he could hear her whispering ‘good boy’ every now and again, until he succumbed to sleep. 

Ao3 || Request || Ko-Fi || WiPs

[rosietrace]

Errand Boy

Divider by @cafekitsune !

[ This short story is important to the main story of the central character ]

⊱───────────────⊰

Central Character ; 『 Sumeragi Yuuta, “The Golden Rule” 』

Mentioned (Central) ; 『 “Rei-Rei”, ‘The Secret Silly Symphony’ 』

【 This is both a short story important to the central character's story; All Ocs belong to their respective owners and will be credited at the end. 】

Synopsis: Crowley's favorite errand boy just can't catch a break, can he? Well, at least it isn't most of his errands Yuuta has to run.

Warning(s): Angst, comfort at the end(?), backstory spoilers, nobody knows it's his birthday :(, not proofread because grammarly sucks now and we die like men

⊱────────────────────⊰

Whatever they were talking about, Yuuta wasn't putting in any effort in listening. It was just how he operated most of the time.

Disassociation; a brief hum and nod as though he were paying attention; a snarky comment thrown in when he gets asked the age-old “are you even listening?”— all culminating into one of the most mundane ways for Yuuta to start his day.

Well, maybe that was a little cruel to say; Ellis and Circe seemed to be enjoying themselves just fine. Something about the former trying on a new shade of pink she, quote on quote, invented.

Yuuta sat on the couch he'd recently helped implement into Ellis' eyesore of a room, his eyes focused on the ceiling to refrain from rolling his eyes so far back they'd get stuck.

Are they done yet? Yuuta asked himself, completely disassociating from whatever conversation Ellis and Circe were currently having. He felt a little bad for being so inattentive; fashion was one of the few things he had in common with the duo.

Yet there he was, barely even paying a sliver of attention to whatever nonsense they were talking about. Something about ‘inventing new colors’, but he was too busy thinking to actually listen.

“Yuuta?”

He blinked, his gaze flitting between the pink ceiling — that he painted for Ellis — to Ellis herself. Seemed like while he was occupied with… anything other than what they were talking about.

“Hm?” He quirked up an eyebrow. “What?”

“We were just asking what you thought of this new design Ellis came up with,” Circe took hold of Ellis’ sketchbook and went over to Yuuta, handing it to him.

Yuuta got a good look at the sketch. It was good, he believed. Then again, Ellis always did have a knack for design.

“Well?” Ellis strode over to them, tilting her head to the side with a smile Yuuta couldn't dare break.

“What do you think?”

Why do you always ask me that? Yuuta thought. The praise Ellis received for her talent in fashion and all things related to it weren't unwarranted. She didn’t need to ask him, or Circe, or anyone about if a design looked good or not— there was no need to.

It was Circe's turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yuuta?” It was as though Yuuta couldn't hear them, hear anything.

Circe snapped his fingers twice, that hint of concern plastered on his face barely even comparable to Ellis’, who seemed to take that wave of concern and multiplied it by tenfold.

Yuuta couldn't stop thinking. About the day it was, about how nobody will know about the significance of it; about the errands he'll have to deal with today to keep Ramshackle afloat, about…

The buzzing noise of Yuuta's phone gave him that opening to leave as soon as possible. Better for him to complete his everyday tasks than to deal with the concern his friends had over him.

Yuuta stood, towering over Ellis but not quite doing the same for Circe. “I have to go,” he said in such a way that implied that whatever conversation they were going to have, it wasn't going to happen anytime soon, if at all.

“Huh?” Circe scrunched their nose. “What are you- No, where are you-”

“Errands,” Yuuta dismissed far too quickly than necessary, already making a break for the door before Ellis could intercept.

At least, he would have. Not until a thought popped into his head. So much so that he stood with his body halfway out of the door, frozen in place.

Circe's face contorted from silent concern, to surprise, to just straight up befuddlement. Ellis wasn't doing much better, tucking her arms behind her back with a similar expression on her face.

“What's he doing…-?” Circe whispered to Ellis, his nose wrinkling.

“I’m…” Ellis took a slight step forward, “... Not too sure.” Hence, from there, she walked up to Yuuta, tapping his shoulder with a featherlight touch to bring him back to his senses.

She could only hope that he wouldn't be like this for the rest of the day. The mere thought just made her even more worried than she already was.

“Erm… Yuuta?” Ellis called out to him, shaking him gently; body halfway out of her room, with his head hanging low. “Yuuta, are- Are you okay? Do you need a break, or something? I'm sure if we asked Crowley, he could let you take a bre-”

“Ribbon.”

Ellis blinked. “... Pardon?”

Ellis watched Yuuta turn his head to look her directly in the eye, his expression devoid of emotion.

“I'm gonna have to ask for some ribbons. Black, purple, and blue.”

⊱───────────────⊰

Crowley had been kind in the number of errands Yuuta had to run for today. Try as he may to hate the pathetic birdbrain, he could — at the very least — feel thankful.

Though…. If he continues to go on and on about his ‘kindness’, I might just punch my way through this goddamn maze.

Yuuta had already been in a questionable mood ever since the incident with Ellis and Circe earlier in the day, it just seemed like his mood worsened when he had to perform the tasks bestowed upon him by his “enigmatic” headmaster.

“Something on your mind?” Juvia asked, noting the grumbling Yuuta's been doing for the past few minutes while they assisted in painting the roses in Heartslabyul.

Juvia, bless her heart, knew that Yuuta wasn't going to be able to do everything himself, and out of the kindness of her blot-covered heart, had convinced Yuuta to allow her to help him out; well aware of his stubborn nature and his utmost refusal to receive help most of the time.

“I'm fine,” like everyone else, Juvia played victim to the dismissiveness of Sumeragi Yuuta. May the Great Seven bless her with more patience than anyone in NRC could muster.

Yuuta picked up another bucket of paint, heading for the next bush of unpainted roses with a look so nonchalant it almost disturbed Juvia to see him in such a state.

“You're clearly thinking of something.” Juvia climbed up a ladder to reach the upper parts of the rose bush she was painting; which just so happened to be next to Yuuta's. He wondered if that'd been intentional on her part.

But that thought faded very quickly. “Well, whatever I'm thinking of, it isn't any of your business.”

“I feel like as your roommate—”

“I'm basically your landlord.”

“No you're not! Crowley's the landlord!”

“Yeah, and he's a shitty one, too.”

He let out a tsk, proceeding with the tedious task of painting the roses red without staining his uniform.

Juvia’s frown deepened. “You're clearly thinking of something, y'know.”

Yuuta's eyes rolled. “And why’re you assuming that, of all things?”

“Because,”— Juvia pursed her lips in hesitation —“you have that look.”

He blinked. “What look-?”

“Y'know! The look!” To try and prove — as well as emphasize — her point, Juvia mimicked the expression currently worn on Yuuta's face.

Yuuta merely deadpanned, unimpressed by her feeble efforts at trying to get his thoughts out of him. She's too much like her.

He shook that thought away faster than the last one. No. She isn't her, and it isn't good to try and pretend that she is.

Bad, Yuuta. Bad.

Ignoring whatever Juvia had to say next, Yuuta finished his last batch of painted roses before he could leave to fulfill the rest of his errands of the day— not without taking two deliberately unpainted white roses from the bush, of course.

That was when Noriko ‘You must not bring dishonor to Lady Victoria's name!’ Dolion intercepted him on his way out.

“Where do you think you're going?” Noriko challenged, crossing their arms in disapproval. “Housewarden Rosehearts won't exactly be pleased if he saw you with those… it violates the conduct of the Queen of Hearts.”

Yuuta chortled, brushing past Noriko and retorting back, “As if you didn't plan on doing the same thing for your favorite Fae in Pomefiore.”

And so, Yuuta left Heartslabyul with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; with Juvia falling from her ladder, caught into the arms of a blue-haired Spade, and Noriko red in the face in shame.

⊱───────────────⊰

“You didn't have to do this, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I insist,” despite all of the errands he had to deal with earlier in the day, Yuuta had graciously offered to help Miren with two of his latest concoctions.

Some pastries, mostly cupcakes; as well as a creation so spicy it could potentially challenge Miren’s spice tolerance if he wasn't careful.

What confused Miren was Yuuta's insistence on making cupcakes while he was making that spiced up monstrosity.

“Didn't take you as much of a cupcake person,” Miren narrowed his eyes. Skeptical, and almost intrigued. At least until Yuuta got some frosting on his cheek.

Yuuta clicked his tongue. “What made you think that?”

“You don't eat sweets that much, clearly.”

“Well you clearly haven't seen me during a Heartslabyul unbirthday party.”

“That's only because your schedule's so jam-packed, you barely have time to attend them anymore,” Miren groaned out a sigh.

“Seriously, I'm starting to think you're only running so many errands for a better paycheck.”

That's one of the reasons, an unsaid reply from Yuuta. At least for today.

“Come to think of it…” Miren hummed. “You've been…. Busier, today.”

Yuuta arched up an eyebrow. “Hah?”

“You know what I mean. It's like you're overexerting yourself on purpose,” it had, very clearly, occurred to Yuuta that Miren Lockhart wasn't going to back down from this topic; possibly more so than stubborn Ellis, sassy Circe, and worrisome Juvia.

Miren leaned against the kitchen counter. It was hard to take him seriously with that smudge of frosting on his cheek, Yuuta thought.

Wanting nothing more than to just leave, Yuuta did just that. Taking the two of the dozen cupcakes he'd made, one with purple icing and the other with light blue icing, he held them with one hand to focus his free hand on lifting Miren's chin.

Once he'd done so, Yuuta had teasingly licked the frosting off of Miren's cheek. Which… just happened to be the same time Carol came in, with Mayuu and Chizuko in tow.

Carol wasn't even the least bit surprised. “I'm not even going to ask,” she said with a disapproving huff of breath as Yuuta brushed past her, Mayuu, and Chizuko.

Chizuko squinted her eyes, thinking it relevant that the look on Yuuta's was most uncharacteristic for him, indeed, but not putting in the effort to say anything about it. Simply crossing her arms and shaking her head.

Mayuu went over to Miren, slightly disgusted at Yuuta's embarrassing display. “What's going on with him?”

Miren looked off at the kitchen's doorway, his hand covering his right cheek, his face reddened with blush.

Miren just sighed, letting go of his cheek and shrugging his shoulders. Whatever bothered Yuuta about today, it was clear he wouldn't tell any of them about it.

⊱───────────────⊰

Finally, it was night. Yuuta liked late night walks; he'd indulged in them every so often with Ellis, often encountering ‘Tsunotarou’ on their walk around campus.

But tonight was a special night. A night where he wasn't burdened by a constant demand to help those around him, where it was just him. Alone. No Tsunatarou, no Ellis, no anyone.

He sighed to himself, his eyes fixated on the glimmering lights in the dark midnight sky. Gods….

He cursed to himself, far below his breath. Why had it come to this? Why was his persistence in pretending today wasn't special getting him to such a sad, pathetic, point?

He didn't know the answer to that. Yuuta didn't know if he'd ever know the answer to that. And maybe he'll know one day, and maybe he won't.

Clearly, it wouldn't be tonight.

“Maybe in some alternate timeline where I'm not… me,” Yuuta murmured, taking out a ring of keys from his pocket.

He unlocked the doors to the botanical gardens, making sure to not make the doors creak too much; Crowley had been surprisingly easy to bribe to get the keys, the old coot was even ‘generous’ enough to give Yuuta full ownership of the keys.

He made sure not to wake any of the others when he snuck out. And any opportunities to run into Malleus were quickly evaded with, in his words, “some impressive maneuvering skills”.

But that wasn't as important as what he was to do next. Other than the keys to botanical garden, Yuuta had brought a small bag containing… stuff.

He'd gone to the most secluded part of the garden, one where the glass walls couldn't see him, and a spot not even Leona knew about. A spot personal only to Yuuta.

He sat down, setting everything up with a forlorn, almost sorrowful smile on his face.

Two cupcakes with purple and blue icing respectively, with candles of the opposite color stuck on the top; two unpainted white roses with purple, blue, and black ribbons crudely tying them together.

And finally, a black rabbit stuffed animal with a blue ribbon bowtie, and bracelet.

The stuffed animal, in particular, had the added consequence of getting Yuuta relentlessly teased by his friends when they found it in his room. He never elaborated on why he got it, or where he got it, because it simply wasn't their business.

They didn't need to know any more about him than they already did.

Besides, Yuuta sucked in a breath, his throat tightening. it was her favorite animal…

Lighting the two candles of the two cupcakes together, Yuuta held in a breath, singing a soft, melancholic version of the birthday song. He sang it in such a short, hiccupped manner, that he knew — he just knew — he was on the brink of tears.

And he didn't fight them. He never fought those tears. Not when they were for her. His only true friend, his truest, kindest, friend.

A friend — a girl he saw as a sister — he'll forever miss.

“Happy birthday,” he breathed out, tears barely wiped, “to… me.”

Yuuta looked up at the glass ceiling, crying his little, broken heart out. Things couldn't be changed. He couldn't change the past for what it was, and he knew he couldn't change the way he treated her.

He wondered where she was, often. He cried himself to sleep, sometimes, at the idea she could be hurt. She didn't deserve that, she never deserved that.

Yuuta sniffled, closing his eyes after making his birthday wish. A wish he'd been making ever since her departure from his life, all those years ago.

I want to see you again, Rei-Rei. And just like all the times I've said it before, I'm sorry.

⊱────────────────────⊰

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Ellis Clawthorne — @starry-night-rose 💖

Circe Erfinderin — @geminiiviolets 👾

Juvia Yuyi Espejo — @jasdiary 🧡

Noriko Dolion — @terrovaniadorm / @hallowed-delights ‼️

Victoria Shard — Me! 😈

Miren Lockhart — @authoruio 💙

Carol Ann — @fumikomiyasaki 💚

Chizuko Minato — @sakuramidnight15 ⛓️

Mayuu — @nem0-nee ⏰

“Rei-Rei” (UNRELEASED) — @jasdiary

|| @twsted-princess || @mystery-skulls-ghost || @abyss-wonderer || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @spadecentral || @oseathepebble || @valse-a-mille-temps || @twst-stupid-ocs || @mintychocolate04 ||

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @sabewebb!

OC Questionaire

My questions:

If you were a cocktail, which one would you be?

You’ve been chosen to represent your home/planet/country/etc in a global competition. What sport or activity are you doing?

What’s the last thing you did for the first time?

Is money important to you?

What is the worst nickname someone gave you?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

What genre of story would you rather be in? (as opposed to the one they are currently in)

Do you think you'd survive the movie A Quiet Place? (must stay as silent as possible or alien creatures hunt you down)

What's your idea of a quiet get-together with a close friend?

That's a looootta questions. I'll answer for Ivander :)

1) If you were a cocktail, which one would you be?

"Hmmm, what a curious question. I suppose I'd be a gin and tonic. Bitter, with a certain air of limelight elegance."

2) You’ve been chosen to represent your home/planet/country/etc in a global competition. What sport or activity are you doing?

"If I'm representing Illaros for anything, then we're truly in dire straits. Oh gods, what even are my talents? I'm a decent detective, I suppose. There aren't really competitions for that though. Given that, I'll go with sharpshooting. I'm no Shuari deadeye, but I've got a fair sense of aim."

3) What’s the last thing you did for the first time?

"Don't call me out in such a manner. I... I guess I tried orcish food for the first time a few weeks ago? I'm not really the Go Out and See What the World Holds type. It's hard enough to find comfort within my routine, so why would I go out of my way to break it?"

4) Is money important to you?

"Very. The pursuit of it might’ve ruined my life, but that's the funny thing about money; you always want more. To be perfectly frank, I grew up in the lap of luxury and I don't think I could survive anywhere else."

5) What is the worst nickname someone gave you?

"Do you know how many times I've heard someone call me blueboy? I swear, that was all I heard for my first three years at the BAI. I'm not even blue, really - I just have blue blood. Usually, I'm in too high of a tax bracket, but I've also heard a good old-fashioned cripple from time to time."

6) Are you an early bird or a night owl?

"Night owl. My curse gives me trouble sleeping, so I tend to stay up late reading rather than stay up late laying miserably in bed. I'm about the furthest thing you could get from an early bird. Left to my own devices, I'll usually drag myself up sometime after noon."

7) What genre of story would you rather be in? (as opposed to the one they are currently in)

"This whole 'Mystery' of the Mortal God stuff is bull. I have one chapter of detective work, and the rest is adventuresome nonsense involving far too much camping for my taste. Give me a real mystery, preferably with lots of juicy secrets and semi-legal meddling."

8) Do you think you'd survive the movie A Quiet Place? (must stay as silent as possible or alien creatures hunt you down)

"I'm not surviving any apocalypse, I assure you. Not making sound wouldn't be easy, but I could wrap the end of my cane in something soft and be fine. Once I can't order take-out anymore is when I starve to death. Monsters are one thing. Societal collapse is another, far more frightening, thing."

9) What's your idea of a quiet get-together with a close friend?

"Oh, I suppose that's the only sort of get-together I really enjoy. Ceyrel and I go out for dinner quite frequently. We talk shit over appetizers, then move on to baseless rumors by dessert. When we're both caught up on some choice gossip, we'll go out to see a play or opera or somesuch. I usually have to explain the opera to her - the uncultured meathead - but she sneaks in popcorn, so it's alright. By then, I'm usually rather exhausted, so she drops me off at my apartment, and we part ways amicably. ...These nights really are the highlight of my week, but I could never tell her that. I'm sure she'd rather be out dancing late into the night. It means much that she humors my limited stamina."

I'll tag @theink-stainedfolk @elsie-writes @honeybewrites and anyone else who wants in :)

Your questions:

What's your favorite summer activity?

What does home smell like?

What's your favorite thing about your favorite person?

[sidesteppostinghours]

also 2 for cyrus, 10 for caine, 14 for cecilia annnnd… 23 for cynthia please 😌

round 2 baby!!! lets go!!

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

hmmm,,,, i think people would be surprised to find out how patient he is. his style is grungy and during retribution he purposefully made himself look off-putting/aggressive to discourage people interacting with him, but hes more tolerant of nonsense than he comes across. i mean,, you kind of have to be to be friends with ortega for as long as he has. its just that when he loses his patience, he loses his patience. oh, and i also think people wouldnt initially guess how flirty he is, but hes trained for that stuff! he knows hes pretty, and its an easy way to garner connections. hes the type to casually slip an innuendo into a sentence with a completely straight face and move on to leave the other person wondering if he meant it like That. again, another reason hes managed to live with ortega for so long.

10.What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

my aus for cyrus, ceci, and cynthia: oooo wouldnt it be fun if i changed this or put them in that cute little scenario? haha!

my aus for caine: ok so how else do i psychologically torture this man.

there are. So many aus i have of him where every event is nearly the same up until a singular point that changes the trajectory of the rest of the story. but personally, im partial to the one where ortega doesnt find him in the diner, and instead they get discovered by chen during the dog park. its a Fuck ton of fun because it involves chen and caine building the most awkward camaraderie, chen lying to ortega even more (because you bet your ass caine would be begging him not to tell ortega that hes alive), and probably the worst way to reunite with your dead best friend: finding them walking out of your nemesis layer, getting them caught in a car crash, and having them be kidnapped before you get a chance to have a singular conversation with them. all three of them are having So much fun over there.

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

as both cecilia and lupin, shes always seen as friendly and a little untouchable, and thats exactly how she likes it. it makes it easier to talk to other people while giving herself a modicum of protection from anybody who might think to go against her. not to mention, being feared and loved at the same time is doing Wonders for her ego, and only encourages her to play more into the role that she cultivated for herself.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

oh definitely anger. on both counts. she was always taught that anger would land her in trouble, that it was too destructive of an emotion. in both the farm and hero work, it was discouraged. she well and truly doesnt know what to do with all the rage shes been given, so she just. represses it. maybe express it in the form of sadness, since that comes easier to her. heartbreak giving her the revenge scar dug up those feelings as a persistent itch, so when the good old fashion repression stops working, she turns the rage inwards. this is what healthy and moral people do, she is sure of it.

questions from here!

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Our Place

Summary: Michael Gavey was gone from school for a good two weeks being sick. He gets back to find out that the most horrific of things have happened: someone has claimed his favorite spots in the library and the cafe.  And spanish class. She was American.  Worst of all…she was pretty and he could definitely grow to like her. Maybe. 

Word count: 1260

Rating: T for swearing, i guess

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Gavey, he belongs to the Saltburn universe created by Emerald Fennell

OCs:

Amy Ryan (face claim is the fantabulous Elena Kampouris)

Professor Julio Sanchez (face claim is the sexy, sexy Taika Waititi)

Michael didn’t understand why people were looking at him like he was the one out of line.  During mealtimes or when studying in the library, you can’t really lay claim to an area.  He got that.  Classrooms were different, though.  Everyone sat in the same spots.  The new girl had already parked herself at his favorite library table and at his favorite lunch seat in the cafe. He had acquiesced both times and gone to sit somewhere else.  This Spanish class seat was his.  He was asking nicely.  It was his seat and everyone knew it.  Everyone, that is, except for the new girl.

Her name was Amy and she was very pretty but that did not matter. Women like Amy who dressed in what was known online as “cottagecore goth” did everything they could to avoid even breathing in direction of guys like Michael.  Well, women who wore anything.  Any woman, really. Men too. That was not the matter at hand, however.  Seat. His. Pretty or not, she had to move.

“I sit there. I always sit there.  Please move?” he asked again. 

“Dude, there’s like a million other empty seats.  I’m not gonna move.” With that, she continued to set up her section of the desk bench, taking out her laptop and a notebook with some pens. 

People kept staring and some even started to laugh as Michael stayed put.

Don’t let them see you upset.  Don’t let HER see you upset.  It was time to enact some good old fashioned psychological warfare.  He would annoy her away from his seat.  HIS seat.  It didn’t really require any effort on Michael’s part.  Being himself seemed to work just fine, usually.

“You know what?  You’re right.” he said, taking the spot right next to her.  He pulled out his own laptop and materials as she stared.  “Change is good.  Variety is the spice of life.  Good enrichment for my ‘enclosure’, so to speak.” He grinned at her, his hands clutched together on top of the table area where their seats were.  

“Dude…”

“Listen, I know it might seem like I’m following you around but I promise I’m not.  It’s just that, in a freakish set of coincidences, you’ve managed to take all my usual spots.”

“Hmm.  ‘Your’ spots?  All of them?  What are the odds of that?” Amy asked. She crossed her arms, leaning back. 

Michael smiled. Time to annoy! “You’re asking the right man! It's really quite a mathematical anomaly, actually.  To ha-”

“Me hacen el favor de callarse el hocico!?” Came the shout from the pit below.  Amy and Michael turned to attention.  

Professor Sanchez had arrived. Speaking English was forbidden in his classes.  It helped with the immersion.  “Hay que empezar con el trabajo de hoy.  Ustedes bien saben que los Viernes son para CALLARSE EL HOCICO y aprender los nombres de lugares famosos.” he said, with a clap of his hands.  He turned to scribble on the blackboard.

The class got busy copying the words onto their laptops (Professor Sanchez insisted that students either write or type the words themselves, no pictures and no recording.) Michael snuck at glance at Amy.  Her laptop was covered in stickers.  Band stickers.  Restaurant stickers.  Tv show stickers.  Most were worn and faded, a couple were glossy and clearly new.  You name it, she had a sticker on there. 

Amy noticed him looking, pausing to stare back.  “What’s up?” she whispered, no-nonsense in her voice. 

Michael gave a small chuckle and pointed at her computer. “You’ve got some laptop on your stickers.” he murmured, attempting to keep his voice low and out of Professor Sanchez’s hearing range.

Amy smirked…but to Micheal, it didn’t feel mean.  “Really?  That’s the best you’ve got? Corny. Corny as hell.” she whispered back, shaking her head and returning to her typing.  She was still smiling.  It sounded like she had accepted an invitation to play a game. Maybe dodgeball.. Did Americans play a lot of dodgeball? Oh well, time to keep the annoyance going.

“Don’t think there’s a whole lot of corn in hell.” he continued, also typing away at his laptop. He felt a bit nervous. This was way more than they had talked earlier in the day.  

“Ok, what would you suggest as an accurate threshold for corniness?”

“Depends.  Are we talking per capita?”

“Sure.”

“America itself is pretty corny. Literally.  They’re the top corn-producing nation in the world. China is second and they produce almost ten percent less tha-”

“Michael, que rayos les dije hace unos minutos?” Professor Sanchez had turned around, hand on one hip and the other hanging with the piece of chalk still in it.  He was staring straight in Michael’s direction.

Spanish was Michael’s worst subject when speaking it.  He did perfectly well writing and could read it no problem as well.  Speaking it? Bloody hell. “Um...que me..que me..” Michael struggled for a few more seconds, some snickers peppering the classroom’s air.  They wouldn’t be laughing if this was Mathematics, he thought.

“Que nos callarmos el hocico.” Amy spoke up, trilling that ‘r’ perfectly. 

“Muy bien.  Dale las gracias a tu novia por salvarte, si?” With that, Professor Sanchez turned around.

Michael was burning with shame.  He knew perfectly well what ‘novia’ meant and doubted that Amy wanted to be considered that.  He opened a new document, quickly typed out “Sorry about that.” and motioned for Amy to read it.

Amy read it and smiled.  She opened a document as well and Micheal read it as she typed it out. “No worries!” it began.  “Listen, if it really means that much to you, you can have your spot back next time. I don’t give a shit where I sit here.”

Michael quickly typed back “It's fine, actually.  It’s not as if I’ll die if I don’t sit in that particular spot.  I’ll sit somewhere else next time.  Broaden my horizons. : ) “

Amy was still grinning when she typed and Michael was quick to read it, curious as to why she was smiling. “An emoji in a word document? Really?? CORNY.  Anyways, you can stay.  I don’t own the damn place.  Sit wherever you like. I’m fine with it, I promise! ;)”

“Cool. I’ll just sit next to you, then. 😀 “

“Cool cool. 👍” she typed back. “So what do you say we meet at our place in the library after I’m done with my classes at like 3? I can tell you all about the non-corny side of America (fuck yeahhhhh)!”

Michael happily typed back, trying his best to act non-chalant at her mention of “our”.  Americans were overly friendly.  It probably didn’t mean anything.  “Got it. Our place at 3!”

“See you there! Don’t bring actual corn.  I feel like I can see the cogs in your head physically turning, trying to come up with something as corny as possible. 😂 “

“Will do.  No corn, only maths.  To explain the whole debacle of you being every place that I also like to be.” 

“Sooooo you like being wherever I’m at? 😜” Amy typed out, smirking as he read the text.

This was a game. It didn’t mean anything.  She wasn’t flirting.  She would say this about anyone, she’s American. “Yep,  You caught me.” he responded. 

“Knew it! 😂 Welp, see you there then.” 

They settled into a comfortable silence, the gentle clacking of their keyboards punctuating the air.  The conversation had come and gone like a car quickly driving by.  He didn’t know how it had happened, but Michael Gavey was pretty damn sure that even if Amy didn't consider herself his girlfriend, he had just gotten himself a date with her.

[peachesgarden]

also random fun facts about my ocs from princess royal force that i wanna talk about bc shut up let me ramble

amanda;

she talks in her sleep; she either talks complete nonsense or something really scary

she has a huge fear of bugs (except for butterflies she likes em)

she makes friendship bracelets and gives it to pretty much everyone who is her friend

reads a lot of yuri/GL (she's a hopeless romantic ok-)

SPAMS heart emojis like there's no tomorrow

kezia;

she doesn't known how to handle compliments, she gets flustered easily

she's a perfectionist (she gets stressed quite easily because of that)

she's a dry texter (not even in a rude way she's just dry lol)

good at subjects that involve math

she often says she doesn't fear anything, but secretly she's kinda of a germophobe

she loves pearl and gem necklaces

she also likes collecting perfumes, her personal favorites are floral and sweet scents

her favorite animals are birds, and birds always seems to like her back (like in a disney princess way)

she can play the violin and the piano

she can sing as well, many people describe her voice calming to hear

her and Leo are childhood best friends, they met when they were around 7-8

leo;

he expresses himself through his wings (per example if he's scared or anxious his wings will be open and stiff)

similar to kezia he's also the brain of the friend group but he's more chill and laidback

he's very athletic, he can exercise for hours and not get tired

doesn't own any pets but he's a cat person

he may look like he's zoning out all the time but he's a fast thinker, like if you throw a rock at him he will grab it before it hits him (dont throw rocks at people btw)

dominic;

he's a gymnast, more specifically for rhythmic gymnastics

because of that they're flexible

they really like painting their friends' nails

if someone has their self esteem low around dominic, he WILL lift up your self esteem no matter what it takes

is a huge fan of horror movies (selene gets scared by the movies he chooses on sleepovers lol)

amanda and dominic are best friends, they met in 7th grade

they're a huge fashion fan, sometimes they like styling their friends outfits

i will write more about lily soon but for now here's a tiny lily for you

a little bonus

the friend group calls themselves "the magical squad" (amanda came up with the name)

dominic and leo are the two oldest of the group, both of them being 16 going to 17, and lily is the youngest, being 12 years old

and technically lily and leo aren't fully humans. leo is an angel, and lily is a puppy-human hybrid

kezia is a witch, but in my story's world, a witch is a human born with an uncommon power or ability, so she's a human lol

[miblue]

Kikue honeybee

Okay so here's some context for kikue. She is a old oc of mine. She was first created in 2014, she is the second oldest child of one of my oldest ships with a friend of mine (we meet during out big adventure time Fandom phase and we shipped our oc)

Kikue is the second oldest of 5. There's her older brother lucien, middle twins sage/ash, and then youngest bby sister Hana.

Kikue is a very confident high fem girl, she is very a type personality and very good at keeping to a schedule. High achiver, always with high expectations for herself. She's a sweetheart but has a sharp tounge (very will insult you with a very sweet gental tone). In school for high fashion/design and buisness (she more wants to run a fashion industry rather then just do pure design). No nonsense and takes no slack (especially from her less driven brother), she has no problem telling you to your face that your wrong and why your wrong.

I've had her for a long time and I love me a good strong women who is kinda a bitch (if I told you some of my fav female characters, you would see what I mean. I love Me a bad bitch) and I really wanted to have her in a story, and to get her in another relationship after the ship I had with her fell apart when me n that person stopped being friends. So I figured instead of hoping one of my current friends would fill that slot, I said fuck it and did it myself xD. She is canonical pansexual but her type tends to be very phyicaly strong types, and dos like to lean more twords women.

Warning old art of kikue coming in from 2018-2019

If anyone wants to know more, or of any other older ocs I have, pls ask, I love to talk about my babies.

[hotcocoaandstripedsweaters]

OC-tober Day 10: Kisser in a different time period

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Once again, this has run long--longer even than the last one--so it's under a read more. I just couldn't resist writing a cute little fic cliché with everyone's favorite womp rat.

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

Din Djarin has gotten used to rolling with the weird stuff that comes from having a Force Sensitive kid.

Well, he certainly likes to think so, anyway.

Right up until his kid triggers a lightshow in some old ruins and a young Boba Fett falls out in unfamiliar armor.

“Karking shit hells,” Boba groans, face down on the stone floor.

Din has to agree.

Grogu burbles happily, slapping at the symbol he’d touched on the wall. Fortunately, there are no more light shows.

Boba looks Grogu and smiles, lighter and freer than Din has ever seen. “What’s a tubie like you doing out of the creche?” he asks as he sits up.

Grogu babbles happily, toddling over to Boba and gesturing at Din. Boba almost dismisses him, then does a double take.

“Heyyyyy, Mando,” he draws out the greeting uncertainly, in a distinctly un-Boba-like fashion.

“Fett,” Din greets.

Boba tilts his head in confusion, even as he holds a hand out to Grogu–palm open, relaxed, and not poised to grab. “Sorry, you got the wrong guy. Name’s Kisser.”

It’s Din’s turn to tilt his head. Grogu babbles and slaps at the proffered hand happily.

“Buuur,” Grogu coos.

“Yeah, your buir’s got me mixed up with someone,” Kisser says, nonchalant despite not taking his eyes off Din. “Why’d you bring me here, youngling? Need some help?”

“He likes old Temples,” Din says, as if that explains anything.

Kisser glances around. “Ah, Force Nonsense.”

“You’re familiar with Jedi magic?” Din’s surprised. He doesn’t know many people who sound so confident when it comes to Grogu’s magic.

Kisser laughs and confirms, “Yeah, enough to know most of them will reflexively tell you it isn’t magic. Why? You need one?”

Din shakes his head. “The kid chose to stay with me, rather than his teacher.”

“Aww,” Kisser coos, turning to Grogu, “You really love your buir, huh?”

Grogu shrieks happily, tugging Kisser’s fingers as though to pull him closer to Din.

“Kid,” Din scolds, “Give him a minute.”

“Nahhh, it’s alright,” Kisser waves off Din’s protest, standing in a crouch so that Grogu can drag him over to Din. When Grogu lets go of his fingers in favor of clinging to Din’s shin, Kisser stands. He’s a little taller than Boba is, and younger. He doesn’t have the same scars, and his attitude is completely different as he smiles at Din. “Seems like your kid wants me to meet you properly.”

“Seems so.”

“Think I can head back the way I came?”

“Probably not.”

Kisser sighs, “Thought you might say that.” He opens a panel in his vambrace and taps at some kind of navigation unit. “Looks like we’re out in Mandospace too. You don’t happen to be on good terms with Kryze, by any chance?”

Din shrugs, “We didn’t part on good terms. You know her?”

“Not personally,” Kisser says casually, “But I heard a rumor my General was pretty close with her once upon a time. Thought she might be able to get a call out to him.”

“I got comms on my ship,” Din offers slowly.

Kisser looks up from his nav in surprise. “You sure?”

“Why not?” Din counters, curious.

“Mandalorians don’t like Jedi and Mandalorians don’t like Vode,” Kisser says, confident as though he’s listing simple truths of the universe. “Figured with a kid on board, you wouldn’t want me there.”

Grogu makes an affronted noise and starts crawling up Din’s leg. He snorts and picks up the little womp rat.

“There are a lot of different kinds of Mandalorians,” he says, as though he has always known this and it isn’t at all a recent revelation. He turns to lead the way to his ship.

“You know Jango Fett,” Kisser protests, even as he keeps pace. His tone is light, but the way he glances around for another exit betrays his hesitation.

“Don’t know a Jango,” Din corrects him, “Just Boba.”

Kisser looks startled, “How?”

“He took over Mos Espa on Tatooine.” Din shrugs.

“They let kids take over cities out there?”

“Kids?”

“He’s not even fourteen standard yet, is he?” Kisser protests, doing a quick count on his hands.

“He’s older than you,” Din says, baffled.

“Well yeah,” Kisser scoffs, as if it’s obvious, “But I know some Vode decanted around the same time as him, and they said he ages like a Human.”

Din eyeballs him, “And you’re not Human?”

“I’m a Vod,” Kisser eyeballs him right back. “A clone. Do you not get Republic news out here?”

“Which Republic?” Din says tiredly. There were so many ridiculous little governances since the Empire started shattering, how was he supposed to keep up?

“Which–?” Kisser splutters, coming to a stop in his shock. “The one that standardized Galactic Basic, also known as Republic Basic? The language we’re speaking?? Right now???” 

“I thought that was the Empire?” Din tries to reach back to the history lessons he got before he was adopted by the covert, but it’s too fuzzy.

“Empire?!” Kisser shrieks. Grogu makes soothing noises, a toddler’s imitation of what Din does to calm him down. His adorableness is wasted on the distracted adults. 

Din tilts his head. “They’re the largest single government in the galaxy?”

“The Republic is the largest single government in the galaxy!” Kisser says despairingly. 

They stare at each other.

“Clone like…the Clone Wars?” Din finally asks. He doesn’t really want him to answer.

Kisser, blessedly, doesn’t. “How old is Boba Fett, exactly?”

“Let’s go ask.”

The walk is tense and quiet, but they get back to the ship. When Boba answers the call, Kisser takes one look at him and is gone–armor falling to the floor, letting out a small puff of dust.

“What the hell was that, Djarin?” Boba demands.

“A Vod,” Din says, completely bewildered.

Grogu bursts into tears.

~+~

Day 11

[salvadoerena]

hey! this is chance & here’s this week’s prompt. what websites or resources do you use while you write or develop a character/story? what do you think of them and would you recommend them?

OOOOO GOOD QUESTION!!

Funnily enough, tumblr is one of the main ones. My characters tend to develop from ye olde tumblr oc ask/rp blogs, so I got in the habit of reblogging a lot of funny posts tagging my characters. It still happens even if I'm not tagging them. For example if there's a post like "every friend group has the chihuahua, the yorkie, and the borzoi" or like, a picture of someone holding a giant mouse or something, in my head I go "haha, yeah Andy is tooootally a yorkie. Too much energy and slight diva tendencies" or "oh man giant versions of little things would be rad. is there a way I can worldbuild on that? more oxygen in grounded islands means bigger bugs?"

Sometimes, if I'm looking for inspiration regarding character designs/fashion references, I might go on picrew or pinterest and just look and see different styles people might have or mess around with doll makers. Usually picrew doesn't have what I'm looking for exactly, but it'll be something like "oh there's a fishnet top in this one. i think Mareilli would absolutely wear this" or "oh this is a fun hairstyle. i should give more of my characters long hair so they can do more updo's," you know? So if you're looking for character design/inspo, highly recommend!!

If you wanted my biggest website inspiration though, it's probably youtube. I spend a lot of time on there watching speedpaints/character designs/costume builds/etc and it's a HUUUUGE inspiration. A lot of dichotomies I make between Grounded/Aerin islands comes from listening to people like Bernadette Banner regarding like...okay so like she made a video re: the costuming choices in Game of Thrones and that REALLY sent me on a spiral into looking at what differences in fashion and textiles you would find in islands that...float...and have windstorms haha;;;

This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would so the rest is under the cut! (Please read under the cut there's some writing programs and editing services I recommended under there).

And I know everyone says this but seriously: consume as much media as possible. I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much television, music, film, books, anime, manga, comics, podcasts, and video games have either driven me to better my writing or have inspired me to make certain creative choices.

A lot of things from Seraetia were heavily inspired by Black Sails, from things like costume design to obfuscating certain characters' motives to me deciding to go whole hog on including polyamory as an end-game relationship status for some characters. Reading The Locked Tomb series and the Percy Jackson and the Olympians (plus literally everything else in that series haha) really pushed me into forcing myself to work on my imagery and prose, while also forcing me to think about pacing and how/if I should write it as a saga or how arcs should work. Nonfiction stories and documentaries also help!! Though, I'm pretty biased as I'm more into animals and psychological research, but I have definitely referred to those things when thinking up like, units of measurement and cuisine and things.

Also do NOT underestimate the power of infodumping and word vomiting with friends. When I write out my acknowledgements, @okiedoki and @miscbeary are going to be front and center "Thank you guys so much for letting me speak nonsense for hours on end and just nodding along." Roleplay with friends!! Even silly little inconsequential things or alternate universes or iterations upon iterations will help you to flesh out your characters! I've come up with so much about James and he's gone through so much development because I would go "Haha what if he was in the modern world he'd probably own an iguana that would be funny. Why an iguana...? You know, it's probably because he likes to be seen as different, but also because he just thinks they're cool. They're dinosaur-like and he enjoys the fact that something so unconventional and kind of scary can love and be loved--OH MY GOD JAMES SEES HIMSELF AS A MONSTER AND USES THE IGUANA TO PROJECT AND TEACH HIMSELF HE'S WORTHY OF LOVE."

*cracks knuckles*

Now in terms of actual programs you can use to write stories!!

Google Docs tends to be my go-to, but ever since I discovered StimuWrite 2, I tend to switch between both. Since I do most of my writing at night, Gdocs is really harsh on my eyes (even with f.lux, blue light glasses, and darkreader), so I like that you can set a gentler background on StimuWrite. Even better, it makes my ADHD brain happy and actually stay on task bc there's so much stimulation in there lol The only downside is that it doesn't really save your work (there's an emergency back-up it creates, but it's only for the last couple of writing sessions I believe), so I'll use it to write out a bulk portion and then transfer it to Gdocs.

If you're planning on writing a serious novel and want something with a little bit more organizational prowess, I would go with Scrivener. It has a lot of bells and whistles that are actually pretty neat, like being able to save reference documents/photos and putting it in the same "container" as the actual writing passage. Honestly? It's a lot. But!! It includes a built-in tutorial that does a REALLY good job of going through everything, so highly highly HIGHLY recommend following it because it explains the features very well and I do quite like them! Unfortunately, it does cost $60, but it's a one-time purchase and genuinely very useful.

If you're more into screenwriting that novels and the like, cannot recommend FadeIn enough. We had to use that in my Creative Screenwriting class and it was SO easy to use and made exporting scripts SUCH a breeze. In fact, Welcome to Irth was entirely developed in FadeIn, haha.

If you're looking for more like, art resources I would go with things like Clip Studio Paint/Paint Tool SAI. I used to use FireAlpaca like a decade ago, and I really enjoyed it! Can't say how well it's held up, though. PureRef is great too!! It helps you keep track of your reference images, and you can set it to "float" on top of other programs.

FINALLY LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!!

If you're looking for an editing service, please please PLEASE look into RoseLark Publishing. I had the privilege of working with them this past summer getting a Manuscript Assessment and I'm so glad I did. They're very professional and are great at communicating their timelines and everything! They might still be accepting editing assessment applications at this time, but you can shoot them an e-mail on their contact page!

Anyways, I am going to stop myself here or I will literally not shut up. Thank you for asking!! I looooooove love talking about my writing and apparently about the writing process as well, lol.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

OLLO!

I have an oc x oc ask for you!

(If you're still accepting, I accidentally missed you during my sending of asks 🤣)

I'm giving you... Tali (tali'ktar) Techtar to ship 👀

Tali is a light purple Twi'lek with grey eyes and is in her mid- late 20s, and is starship mechanic for the GAR. She got nicknamed "tar-tar" by the clones she's been around, which pisses her off.

She's sassy, honest and forthright. A bit "old fashioned" due to her elderly parent upbringing. She tends to make mostly empty threats with her wrench. Tali has and will stand between a clone and an asshole, zero hesitation. She doesn't care what your statues, age, gender, race, etc is...you're not getting away with that behaviour. She will call the manager.

Platonic or Romantic ship, your choice 😘💜

Here's a drawing I did of her!

Sorry for the lack of colour, I haven't digitally drawn her yet 😅

Moonlight, my beloved 💚 Thank you so much for sending in an ask! I hope you like the ship!

I'm giving Tali a bf:

Brett is my beloved grumpy boy. I don't usually ship anyone with Brett, because he has such a specific personality that rubs people the wrong way. But in this instance, I think it would work out well. Brett is a no-nonsense kind of guy that can't stand stupidity. Tali seems pretty similar. He's also extremely blunt and not afraid to tell you exactly what he is thinking, which I think Tali would appreciate. He also would enjoy listening to her threating people with the wrench.

The other half of Brett's personality, is well, a little different. Behind closed doors, Brett is an unapologetic brat-tamer. While Tali seems to have her head on straight, I can definitely see her sass and forthright personality rubbing him the right way, if you know what I mean. He love's a good challenge, and she fits the bill almost perfectly. But, what I think is more important is the honesty. Because of who Brett is, his relationships revolve around brutal honesty and open communication. As long as they have that, it would work beautifully.

💙 OC x OC Ask Game💙

[artstar1997]

Here’s my Jak and Daxter OC, Jakleen.

Name: Marella “Jakleen”

Age: 15 (in the Precursor Legacy), 17 (in Jak II), 18 (in Jak III), 19 (in Jak X)

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Jakkie, Princess, Nightingale, Desert Rose, Miss Starshine in Light, Little Miss Starshine

Birth Date: ???

Race: Human

Occupation: Leader of the Demolition Team

Affiliation(s): House of Mar, Underground, Brutter’s lurker tribe (honorary), Wastelanders, Sky Pirates (honorary) The Character’s Appearance Appearance: She has a curvy, athletic build, dark tan skin (compared to Jak’s tan skin), and signature long, green-blond hair. She wears a golden yellow top or shirt, beige pants or shorts, a steel ring in the center of her chest held up by leather straps, a large right shoulder plate, and a pair of goggles.

In The Precursor Legacy, at 15 years old, Jakleen has a more youthful look, with her hair in Afro puffs and she wears a backless turtleneck top and beige capri pants. In Jak II, her hair grew longer and she wears a midriff-length tank top with pants, shoes, and fingerless gloves. In Jak 3, she wears a customized crop top with precursor armor, fitted pants, and a matching sarong with her hair in twist braids. In Jak X, she wears her hair in pigtails, a midriff-length corset with a leather jacket, skinny jeans, and knee-high boots. In The Lost Frontier, Jakline wears a yellow long-sleeved jacket with a matching bikini top, and several arm accessories, and her hair is tied in a half-bun.

When she was young, her hair is fixed in an afro, and she wore a yellow and beige dress. She notably wore the amulet as a necklace, which allowed others to identify her as Damas' daughter.

Height: 5’6” (TPL), 5,7” (Jak 2), 5’8” (Jak 3-Jak X)

Weight: ??? About the Character

Personality: Jakleen is confident, hardworking, generous, open-minded optimistic, caring, ambitious, and a strong leader, but she balances it with her love for beauty, music, arts, and fashion. She is the born leader of the team because of her integrity, self-awareness, courage, respect, empathy, and gratitude, despite Jak being five minutes older than her. She is also organized, with a knack for forming strategies, studying and applying different tactics, how to act in control, and take calculated decisions without getting carried away. Her traits and skills in being the leader of the team made her good friends with other characters with strong leadership skills like Captain Phoenix, Torn, and Ashelin. She is also talented and she would try different talents to see which one fits her but all in all, she just wanted to try new things. Don’t let her good girl side fool you, Jakleen is also protective, fierce, courageous, and hotheaded, especially with her loved ones, her friends, and family.

Fear(s): Being attacked by or becoming a dark eco monster like Dark Jak, failure, and being rejected

Likes: Music, art, fashion, singing, teasing Jak, hanging out with Keira, Ashelin, or Tess, boys, shopping, organizing, keeping things in order, arranging her weapons based on the eco colors

Dislikes: Anyone who hurt, tease or harm her friends and loved ones, Daxter’s constant bragging, Erol or Razer’s advances on her, her suitors, drab colors, the lack of style, art or color

Habit(s): Styling her hair, humming songs, customizing her outfits, and throwing insults at enemies.

Flaw(s): She can be vain and egoistical, often centering herself as the main attraction. She is also arrogant, dramatic, sharp tonged, often puts others down due to being bossy and stubborn and is prone to losing her temper. Certain annoyances like Daxter’s ongoing storytelling nonsense would lead to her knocking him off Jak’s shoulder or any high platform like a bar table or Jak’s short temper would made her snap him out of him by slapping. Many enemies end up being insulted by her when she fights them.

Talent(s): Singing, dancing, fashion designing, painting, hairdressing, cooking, baking, and organizing

Hobbies: Singing, dancing, fashion designing, painting, hairstyling, doing makeovers, shopping (much to Damas and Jak's annoyance), spa days, makeup, and pranking anyone (including her brother, Jak).

The Character’s Relationship With Others

Reputation: Jakleen is an empath who loves helping everyone. She finds joy in assisting others around her, and becomes popular because of her optimism.

Love Interest(s):

Captain Phoenix - Jakleen is smitten with Captain Phoenix when she first saw him because of his well-mannered and level-headed personality. He had a clear attraction to Keira, at first and showed frustration when she favored Jak over him, but he later moves on to Jakleen, who returns her attraction to him and they became an item, something that Jak tried to prevent from happening until they decided to put their differences aside for her sake. She was able to save Phoenix when the Phantom Blade was about to collide and they are able to continue their relationship.

Friend(s):

Daxter - Jakleen had been friends with Daxter for years but not as close as Jak. Despite her occasional scolding or slaps, she cares for him and would keep him safe from danger with her psychic powers whenever they go on adventures.

Keira Hagai - Jakleen had been friends with Keira for years, ever since they live in Sandover Village. She was also there for her when she started having occasional nightmares and migraines due to the pain she felt in Jak when he was subjected to the dark eco experiments. Keira was horrified when she found out that Erol was just using her to get closer to Jakleen, but this made their friendship closer than ever.

Ashelin Praxis - She was unsure about her at first because of her relation to Baron Praxis, being his daughter. After getting to know her more, Jakleen slowly warms up to her and becomes friends with her.

Torn - She was intimidated by him at first but later warms up to him when she helped him organize strategies and tactics.

Tess - She became very close friends with her when she and Keira first arrived in Haven City. She also comforts Jakleen when she is in pain from the occasional nightmares and migraines due to the pain she felt in Jak when he was subjected to the dark eco experiments.

Vin - Jakleen would use her telepathy to communicate with Vin but she would occasionally visit him when needed. He was forever grateful to her for saving him from the crashing metal head.

Enemy(ies):

Gol and Maia Acheron - She only heard of them until she encountered them in the Red Sage’s hut. She became furious when she heard their plan and wanted to even the score.

Baron Praxis - Jakleen hates him for his tyranny and because he experimented on her brother. Despite the hostility, she is willing to forgive him when he was dying.

Erol - She has a love/hate relationship with Erol due to the fact that he tries to flirt with her. When he was turned into Cyber Errol, she is glad that their relationship is over.

Krew - Jakleen doesn’t trust him, not even once because she could see what his intentions are through her psychic powers.

Count Veger - She hates him for banishing her brother and slinked off with him to the wasteland, where she met the wastelanders. She called him a monster for his misdeeds when he revealed himself to her and her family. When he was turned into an ottsel, she snickered at his new appearance and thought of selling him to Kleiver.

Razer and the dream team - Jakleen finds them abhorrent because of their infatuation towards her.

G.T. Blitz - She has been keeping her eye on G.T. Blit, Kras City Racing Commissioner and host of the G.T. Blitz Show, who is constantly accompanied by floating cameras. She often uses her psychic powers to know more about him until she knew that he is Mizo.

Duke Skyheed - Jakleen never trusts him at all because she used her telepathy to read his mind and find out earlier than Jak about what he is doing.

Klout- She never trust him at all and she wants to warn Captain Phoenix about his upcoming betrayal.

Relationship(s):

Jak - Jak is her twin older brother, because of the seal of mar amulet on her neck and the psychic link she shares with him. Despite being younger than him, Jakleen would boss him around and try to keep him in line but he is also protective of her. He would let her join the racing circuit but he would try to keep her away from Captain Phoenix, whom she had a relationship with. Jakleen would style or braid his hair, and she often has a playful attitude towards him.

Damas - He is Jak and her father. She was scared of him when she first arrived in Spargus but she is able to hold her own, even if she defended Jak, Daxter, and Sig in the arena. She is able to save him in the catacombs and reveals the truth to him by showing her amulet. Jakleen loves him and tries her best to make him proud.

Hera - She is her and Jak’s mother. She first encountered her when she arrived in Spargus, where she is disguised as a servant. When the twins revealed themselves to their parents, they were happily reunited.

Sig - She sees him as her uncle figure due to their encounter in Haven City.

Jinx - Jakleen doesn't like him due to the fact that he tends to flirt with her.

Samos Hagai - Jakleen respects him and listens to his advices a lot.

Pecker - Jakleen trusts him because he has been trafficking information and advising important people. She had been snickering about how he is at odds with Daxter, as both have tendencies towards sarcasm and a short temper.

Seem - She respects her for her knowledge of the precursors. Despite the mistrust at first. She eventually grows to respect them and displays several signs of gratitude and impression.

Kleiver - Jakleen is on neutral terms with Kleiver because of his rivalry with Jak. Despite this, she would threaten Count Veger by saying his name.

Rayn - She is neutral at first, due to the shocking fact that she heard about the poisoned wine that she knocked off the table while she slept during the meeting.

Tym - Jakleen was wary of him for his laugh, but she slowly becomes friends with him for his knowledge and for being compassionate and level-headed.

The Precursors - Jakleen was able to hear their voices through her telepathy until she was surprised to see their true forms when she, Jak, Daxter, and Count Veger arrived at the precursor core. The Character’s Abilities

Fighting Style: Hand-to-hand combat, weapons proficiency, martial arts skills Eco Channeler: Yes

Other Power(s): Psychic powers, healing powers, telepathy, telekinesis, light eco psychic shields, dark eco psychic blasts, teleportation

Weapon(s): Eco weapons, morph gun, gunstaff, precursor sword

Extra(s): None

(On a scale of 1 - 10, 1 being terrible and 10 being the best)

Eco Channeling: 10/10

Hand-To-Hand Combat: 10/10

Weapon Handling: 8/10

Defense: 7/10

Offense: 10/10

People Skills: 9/10 The Character’s Familial/Biographical Information

Birthplace: Haven City

Family:

Jak (twin brother)

Damas (Father)

Hera (Mother)

Familial Background:

Marella is the last to be born among the twins. With their eco powers, Jak was the heir to Mar's legacy, and believed to be the Chosen One, one of the privileges that Jakleen shared with him. When her parents were banished, Marella's teleportation powers went haywire and transported her to the place where her brother was held. She was able to escape with him when her untapped powers transported them to the streets.

Character Background:

She and Jak were found by a young Samos, who found him wandering the streets and recognized them for the amulet. The Underground kept Jak hoping both that he could be placed on the throne to depose Praxis, and in the hopes, he could open the Tomb of Mar and find the Precursor Stone. Meanwhile, as Damas ruled Spargus his banishment from Haven, Damas hoped to one day find the two again, keeping an amulet identical to Jak's, and preserving Mar's armor for when they met again. She was kept safe by her older self throughout the ordeal. After the old twins defeated Kor, the young Samos took her and Jak back in time to Sandover Village, where they would be trained to have the skills he used to defeat Kor that day, completing the cycle.

Growing up in Sandover Village, the twins became best friends with Daxter and was watched over by Samos and the Explorer, called himself Jak's uncle. Jakleen was adopted by a beautiful singer who taught her music and other talents and skills that she would later use when she grew older. She also became close with Keira, who would go on to become her brother's love interest. Over time, Jakleen saved young Jak from the wumpbee nests on his ninth birthday.

Jakleen first appeared when Jak and Daxter returned to a disappointed Samos, who directed them to seek help from Gol Acheron, the dark eco sage Keira offered to help, providing her zoomer to travel north to see him provided they could find power cells to power the heat shield needed to cross the Fire Canyon. Venturing up north, they witnessed Lurkers' increased attacks on the villages, with Rock Village under siege, and both the blue and the red sages were kidnapped.

At the Red Sage's hut, Gol and his older sister Maia arrived to taunt Jak, Daxter, Jakleen, Samos, and Keira, revealing their plan to open the dark eco silos and reshape the world to their liking. Daxter was dismayed that the one they had sought for help was now the foe they had to defeat, but the group persevered; no longer trying to cure Daxter, but to save the world. At the silo near the citadel, four surrounding pipelines opened up and an accident light eco appeared, which Daxter believed could have changed him back, but reluctantly gave Jak permission to use it to stop the precursor robot and save the world, causing Jak to nod enthusiastically in agreement. When the four sages and the group celebrated, Jak leaned in to kiss Keira, only for Daxter to interrupt them, which caused Jakleen to snicker in response. Using their 100 power cells, the two found the Rift Gate and Rift Rider, hidden behind a Precursor door.

Jak, Jakleen, Daxter, Samos, and Keira activated the Rift Gate, opening a portal for the Metal Head leader to appear. In desperation, Jak then activated the Rift Rider, following its preset coordinates to Haven City, many years in the future. There, Jak was captured by an already waiting Erol, and sent to be experimented on for Baron Praxis' Dark Warrior Program while Keira and Jakleen escaped with Samos and Daxter. Jak remained there for two years, which caused Jakleen to have migraines and nightmares, thus gaining psychic attacks of her own. Upon escaping, Jak and Daxter reunited with Jakline, who found Kor and his younger self (unbeknownst to him) outside, and after protecting Kor from the Krimzon Guard, the three were directed to work for the Underground and ask for Torn.

Torn refused to let Jak speak to the Underground's leader, and sent Jak, Jakleen, and Daxter on increasingly dangerous missions out of his dislike for them. While Daxter protested this, Jak revelled in the opportunity to hurt the Baron, more-so than to help the Underground but Jakleen elbows him to keep him in line. Torn's missions led them to work for Krew in order to gain favors with Krew and leverage his connections, something Jak was willing to do in his quest against Praxis, and was rewarded with the Morph Gun and upgrades. Torn and Krew's missions also led the team to meet Vin, Ashelin Praxis, Onin, and her interpreter Pecker, Sig, and Tess with a reunion with Keira at the Mar Memorial Stadium. Jak competed for her NYFE racing team and she provided the JET-board, although the two were at odds due to Jak's friendship with Krew and Erol’s attraction to Jakleen. Meanwhile, an oracle taught Jak to control his dark powers.

Shortly after, the trio discovered Dead Town, and realized Haven City was in fact his own world's future. Furthermore, the Underground's leader finally agreed to meet with Jak, Jakleen and Daxter, only for them to find the leader was Samos, but a younger Samos, who did not recognize them. Between Samos and Onin's missions, Jak now directed efforts to find the Tomb of Mar so his younger self could obtain the Precursor Stone; when they did so, his younger self was forbidden from completing the tomb's tests of manhood forcing him and Daxter to take them instead, only for Baron Praxis to capture most Underground members and take the Precursor Stone for himself. Jakline was able to run into her younger self, who managed to escape with her untapped powers, so that she can give them the location of the Underground members.

At Torn's direction, Jak and Jakleen freed the Underground members from the fortress; in there, Kor and the child Jak were missing, but the older Samos of his time was found locked up beside his younger version. Learning from Samos that the Baron's plans to use the Precursor Stone with the piercer bomb against the Metal Heads would destroy the world, Jak raced in the NYFE championship to enter Haven Palace, in the meanwhile helping Keira rebuild the Rift Rider, as the two reconciled. Jak's win helped him reach the palace where he clashed with Ashelin; revealing his stake had gone above mere revenge. Jakleen, on his behalf, pleaded with her for help to save the world, which she obliged when Vin confirmed Samos' vision. Jak defeated Krew at the weapons factory and stopped the piercer bomb, after which the city was invaded by Metal Heads, entering when Kor sabotaged Haven City's Shield Wall and Sig opened a door in the Underport at the behest of Krew, double-crossing the Baron.

At the construction site, Jak, alongside Jakleen, who is trying to protect her younger self, learned that Kor was the Metal Head leader, having used a human disguise to infiltrate the Underground. Kor then killed Baron Praxis, who with his dying breath called Jak the "supreme weapon" and revealed to him a second piercer bomb, and the Precursor Stone. Jak, Jakleen, and Daxter took the stone and, with the Metal Heads preoccupied with attacking the city, used the opportunity to storm the nest, and after using Mar’s Gun to blow a hole in it, revealed his intention to stay and fight for Haven rather than abandon it with Keira's Rift Rider. When confronting Kor, Kor revealed to Jak and Jakleen that the twins were their younger selves, and they defeated Kor. He and Jakleen sent the twins alongside the younger Samos to the past using Keira's Rift Rider, completing the cycle and ending the three-hundred-year war with the Metal Heads.

Jak and Daxter were banished to the wastelands by Count Veger but Jakleen slipped off to join them using her teleportation powers. When Jak came to, Damas ordered that he and Daxter prove themselves worthy to gain citizenship of Spargus, or be cast aside.

In spite of an antagonistic relationship with Kleiver, one of the high-ranking Wastelanders, Jak performed well and proved himself in his missions for Spargus and his performance in the Arena of Death. Damas also warmed to Jak and Jakleen, showing (but attempting to hide) paternal pride in him and concern for their safety, and giving them fatherly advice. The relationship soured when Jak encountered Sig at the Arena of Death, and both Jak and Sig refused to fight one another, defiling the arena. Damas threatened to exile both, but Jakline defended them. He gave them a chance for redemption due to Sig's service as a spy in Haven, which both were able to achieve by destroying a nest of metal-pedes nearby. The twins also met Seem and the Precursor Monks, who showed hostility to him at first, but through their temple in the Wasteland he was able to obtain light eco powers and gained the ability to transform into Light Jak, much to her amazement.

Partway through Jak's time in Spargus, Ashelin arrived and pleaded Jak to return to Haven, only for Jak to harshly defy her, consigning Haven to doom due to their treatment of him and Jakleen tried to convince him. Nonetheless, Jak and Jakleen eventually did return via the catacombs in the war effort, motivated by vengeance against Veger. Jak and Jakleen linked up again with Samos, Keira, Torn, Tess, and Ashelin to battle both the Metal Head and KG Death Bot fronts, fighting for the Freedom League. During the war, they learned that a now-cybernetic Errol, working with fallen Precursors known as the Dark Makers, was behind the war and commanded both forces.

The war against the Dark Makers required the two to find artifacts to use the Astro-Viewer, learn more about his new enemy. While in Spargus to find the artifacts, Sig told Jak and Jakleen that Damas had planned to ensure Spargus survived the war, believing Haven was doomed. Jak rebuked him and Spargus for "playing with peoples' lives", and continued to fight the war against Errol. The twins confronted Errol at the KG War Factory, where he declared he would stop Errol and the Dark Makers' plan destroy the world, before shutting down the factory and weakening the KG Death Bots front. After this, when the Dark Makers attacked Spargus, Jak and Jakleen fended them off, earning their citizenship of Spargus, receiving a piece of Mar's armor that Damas was saving for his own son (not knowing Jak was his son) as well as a war beacon that he could use to summon Wastelanders whenever he needed it.

She and Jak then went to the catacombs to reach the Precursor core so he could activate the Planetary Defense System and stop the Dark Makers. The path to the catacombs was riddled with Metal Heads, causing Jak to use the war beacon to summon Damas. Damas helped Jak fight through, only to be fatally wounded by a missile and Jakleen was able to heal him with her powers. Jak realized that Damas was his father, and he and Jakleen revealed the amulets they carry, but they were also met by Hera, their biological mother, who was disguised as a servant in the palace when they came. Veger taunted them for this, causing Jakleen to call him a monster but Hera held her back to prevent her from causing more harm. This caused Jak and Jakleen, with Hera and an injured Damas to chase him there down the catacombs in anger.

When he reached the Precursor core, the Precursors offered Jak and Jakleen the opportunity to transform into a Precursor themselves, only for Veger to take it himself and be transformed into an ottsel against his will. The three Precursors then sent Jak to the Dark Maker ship to prevent Errol from awakening its cargo and told Jakleen to conjure a portal to send herself, a recovering Damas, and Hera back to Spargus, before the leader privately expressed lack of confidence in them and wish for a "backup hero".

Jak successfully stopped Errol and the Dark Makers from destroying the world, turning the tide in the Precursors' universe-wide war with the Dark Makers. Jak and Daxter returned to the place where Jakleen and Ashelin were waiting. As soon as Jak arrived, Jakleen ran to him and they both hugged. The Precursors, after thanking the people of the planet, told them there were more adventures in the future, asking him to join them in fighting the Dark Makers in other worlds. Jak obliged at first, but declined last minute due to his loyalty to Jakleen and Daxter, choosing to stay in his world. The now-reunited family was happily spending time together, catching up with the times they lost.

A year later, Jak, Jakleen, Daxter, Keira, Torn, and Ashelin traveled to Kras City on the invite of Krew's daughter Rayn, to attend the reading of Krew's will. Jakleen slept throughout the toasting of his death, and knocked down the glass of wine. She woke up when they were informed they had been poisoned, and that the only way to obtain the antidote was to win the Kras City Grand Championship for Krew's racing team. The group turned on Rayn, who claimed to be unaware as she had drank from the same bottle, though Jak chose to believe her, and agreed to race for their survival. When the team learned that Krew and Kras City crime boss Mizo had bet each other's business against who won the championship—meaning they were unwittingly caught in the middle of a gang war—Jak told the team to sit tight and keep racing while pledging to think of a way out. Jakleen would drive in Keira’s place due to not being allowed to race.

Jak got off to a slow start, berated by the show's announcer G.T. Blitz poor ratings on his first race in spite of his win, but gained notoriety as he racked up good points for the season, eventually attracting the attention of veterans of the sport, something that Jakleen is worried about. When Pecker became Blitz's co-host, in addition to investigating the crime ring behind the sport, he tended to hype up Jak on-air, only for Blitz to discredit him. Jakleen became more worried about her brother as he continued to race but she continued to race with the team.

In the race against Razer, Jakleen became more angry when she heard that her brother's car was sabotaged in a race preventing him from firing weapons; but nonetheless, he won anyway. She even complained about it. When Jak won the final race, G.T. Blitz revealed he was Mizo, and stole the antidotes, leading Jak to chase and destroy his car. Mizo chided Jak's tendency to leave his foes to die, which Jak shrugged off as Mizo's car exploded.

After celebrating his win, Rayn ran off, leaving behind a note that she had betrayed them all as she had never been poisoned, but had been using them to take over Mizo's business, meaning Jak's trust in her had been misplaced. Nonetheless, the group agreed not to worry in the short term, and after the celebration, Jakleen screamed in excitement as she watches Jak (with encouragement from Daxter) kissed Keira.

In the future, an eco shortage caused Jak, Jakleen, Daxter, and Keira to travel to the Brink a Hellcat IV search of new eco. Along the way, a group of sky pirates by Captain Phoenix, attempted to raid them for their eco, causing Jak to try to transform into Dark Jak to defend them, but doing so unsuccessfully due to the eco shortage making it unstable. Captain Phoenix therefore mistook Jak for one of the aeropans, his enemies, and tried to kill him, but Daxter scared him away with the gun turret placed on their aircraft, inadvertently forcing them to crash land on the Brink.

Keira was able to repair the ship, and after another run-in with the Sky Pirates where they attack the ACS Behemoth, Jak fought them off and was welcomed to Aeropa by its leaders, Duke Skyheed, and Chancellor Ruskin. Despite Jakleen being distrustful towards the duke, Skyheed gave Jak the eco seeker to help them find more eco, though the device was broken.

Then, Captain Phoenix attacks the building and steals both the Eco Seeker and Keira but Jakleen sneaked in the Phantom Blade. Jak and Daxter were able to get to them but, on board, Jak and Phoenix argue and tip the Eco Seeker overboard accidentally, so both return to the island once more to retrieve it from a volcanic crater. Keira intervenes and makes them call a truce and shake hands. Jakleen fell head over heels for Captain Phoenix, who became interested in her, and Jak would try to prevent it, only to cause tension and a sour relationship between the twins.

While working to repair it, Jak and Jakleen learned that the Aeropans had their own Dark Warrior Program creating dark mutants, causing him to become vengeful as he remembered what had happened to him. A castaway named Tym, whom they had met earlier, remembered that he had once worked on the program and regretted it, and told Captain Phoenix that Jak was not one of the Aeropans' dark mutant experiments but evidence that dark eco could be controlled. Jak and Phoenix then put aside their differences entirely for Jakleen and to fight against the Aeropans to stop the experiments, which made him reconcile with his sister.

In a siege on Aeropa, Jak finally met up with Skyheed, who also turned into a massive Dark Warrior while Jakleen stayed with Keira. Jak's battle with Skyheed forced him to retreat to his shielded flagship, where he attempted to drain eco from the eco core. While Jakleen used her teleportation powers to save Captain Phoenix, Jak was finally able to kill Skyheed, using a new light eco weapon made by Keira. The storms were then calmed due to the realigning and activation of the eco core, and the world was no longer in want of eco.

[liminevator]

Basic terminology list

(This is just a quick rundown of terms you may see a lot here on this blog, just so everybody's on the same page about things)

"The Outer Bounds" - This is the name of the realm The Liminevator was designed to traverse, the name does also apply to every world within it but purely by itself it is just a void of nonexistence in between the different floors.

"Floors" - What good is an elevator without floors? Floors are the nickname for the different worlds in The Outer Bounds that the Liminevator goes to, these worlds are often strange, nonsensical, and have a strong sense of being woefully incomplete no matter how large they may be, they can either be terrifying and a woefully regretful experience to visit or leave you with a strange calm and an odd bittersweet feeling that you have been here before, even if you haven't. Floors are the bread and butter of the Liminevator.

"Elevator Denizen" - This is the most commonly agreed upon term for those from reality who now reside in The Outer Bounds and The Liminevator, although some Anomalies can also be considered Elevator Denizens.

"Anomalies" - A blanket term for all living beings that originate within the Outer Bounds, although it's primarily used for things that are not known to be sapient it does technically apply to some denizens too.

"Home Floor" - A "home floor" is a concept not always fully understood by denizens, but the long and short is that it means once you have grown emotionally attached enough to a certain floor for one reason or another The Liminevator will recognize it as your new home, and should anything happen to you on another floor (usually death) it will bring you back there through unclear means (almost) completely unharmed, having a home floor is extremely important due to how dangerous using The Liminevator can be, the process can't be forced though- the connection has to be organic.

"LEET" - This is an acronym that stands for "Liminevator Exploration Team." The LEET are a group thats formed in hopes of understanding and cataloging the various happenings of the Liminevator, it's especially been important in helping explore and better understand most floors that wouldn't have been otherwise, as well as helping discover new anomalies. Yes they are well aware that their name sounds silly.

"LEDAXT" - This is also an acronym that stands for "Liminevator Destruction and Exit team." LEDAXT are a group dedicated to finding a way to somehow deactivate or destroy the Liminevator, believing this is the key to freeing everybody trapped inside The Outer Bounds. They are not often seen because the Liminevator tends to try and actively avoid floors with members located there, so members of LEDAXT usually have to traverse between floors the old fashioned way.

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(And for clarity, some extra terms not exclusive to this place but worth clearing up for readers sake continuing past here)

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"Crafengoverse" - The name of my primary OC project, in the context of here it's primarily a blanket term for the reality almost all elevator denizens come from, it's an incredibly flawed reality and these crack and flaws within it are the reason The Outer Bounds even exist to begin with, like a cell undergoing a cycle of aggressive cancerous growth.

"Phonian" - Earth does not exist in this world- or well, not in the same way it does for you the readers, Phonia is a planet with its own long history too long to summarize here but the long and short of the info needed here is that it is where the origins of The Liminevator reside as well as where many of the denizens come from. (Other terms along this vein also just mean they are from another planet besides Phonia)

(I may add more terms here as needed but for now this should be alright)

[fellpyrean]

Advent Statement 8 - Flirting with Death

And now we get to full off the rails mode HA. This one is the one that had the most reshuffles, rewrites, full reworks of them all, and I ended up losing my full week of buffer time trying to wrangle this one into a semblance of A Shape. 

So it ended up extremely indulgent OC nonsense, as you do when you’re a week before Xmas with four more statements to write and the energy of a particularly exhausted pinecone. 

This one I think has the most warnings out of any of them, so please take note. 

CWs: Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical the Stranger Content, suicide (more than one), skinning, main character death, flagrant disregard for the End

___________________________________________________________

They were skinning me, you know. Rather gruesome, isn't it? Oh no no, I'm not upset about it, just, it really is something to see yourself peeled. I think they're more upset about me than I am, to be honest! They tried so hard to get me, even made this body and stuffed it all nice, but who could have expected that my years of flirting with death would end like this? 

Oh you're curious. Archivists are so cute. All those questions on your tongue, I can almost taste them myself. Probably could if you gave me a kiss. I'm very good. To die for. 

Haha, oh, I'm not sorry. You're kind of cute, you know? No no, I’ll behave, don’t fret. 

Hm hm, how do we begin? The beginning would be a good point, yes? 

I met my first Death when I was a teen. 

Those years are a little hazy, what with all the depression and doom and gloom of, you know, being gay in a very Catholic family and looking forward to my eternal damnation, so it wasn't really that surprising to anyone who paid any attention when I tried to End myself. I took my first time very seriously; I was alone and I had looked up the best ways to do it, but I wasn’t fond of blood, so I went for an overdose. Really can’t recommend, I mean, who could have guessed that dying feels so miserable? I took a little comfort in the fact that at least my corpse would be pretty as I imagined laying there in the big old cathedral, desecrating it with my presence one last time, and then I saw Death. 

Skeletal, dressed in, hm… Well I can’t recall it, so it must have been appropriately bland and thematic. They’ve all got terrible fashion, you know. I remember staring at them with a vague sort of interest; mostly I just hoped that Hell would be nicer than the description, since this kind of confirmed that some of the bullshit was real? I realized they were speaking, but I couldn’t quite hear them as I laid there, as the seconds stretched into an eternity as I died. They must have run out of patience and decided to off me, but when their bony hands reached for me they just passed through me - annnd then I blinked and I was in the hospital. And I was very alive, though I absolutely felt like chewed up garbage. 

Maybe I should have gotten existential over seeing Death come for me, but, hahah. I figured since I’d not literally been smote walking into church, even when I did visit after my attempted suicide, I kind of wrote it and the whole Death thing up as a hallucination and forgot about it. I’d joke about it in truth or dare, that kind of thing, but mostly my friends just called me a bullshitter. 

I didn’t have to deal with any of this again until I got a job at a funny, funny little place. I’d thoroughly disgraced myself by that point, or my family depending on who you asked and how much you care about boys kissing boys, so I’d ended up disowned/traveling and, aha, who could have expected such a fancy institution would be willing to take in someone like me? Oh I know why he hired me now, but at the time I was just thrilled to have an actual Income and thought taking care of ‘artifacts’ would be intimidating but relaxing. I imagined a lot of moisture controlled air and gloves and dusting, and, well, I suppose two of those were right.  

Nobody had bothered to tell me about the book-that-kills-you until I’d found it outside its shelf. It wasn't in the orientation, which was really an oversight. It’s not like it was labeled ‘book-that-kills-you, do not touch!’ So I picked it up, and it killed me. Nice and straightforward like.

And there I was, laying on the floor as my heart did something Upsetting, and there came Death again! It was a different one this time and I remember it; this skeleton wore sweatpants, and it immediately reached for me. Terrible at their job. Impatient when they’ve really got all the time in the world. Their loss. I’d kind of wanted to chat this time, but I figured anyone who wore sweatpants to their big important Death job probably wasn’t someone who’d be a good conversationalist. 

Then I woke up in a hospital again which surprised everyone involved, especially because I did wake up in the morgue and it was all very, very exciting. Everyone at work was also very surprised! The book-that-kills-you hadn’t managed the job, which was a first, and so my wonderful, slimy little man of a boss put me in charge of all the flavors of books-that-kill-you. And gave me a raise. That was a plus.  

The first thing I did was label all the books-that-kill-you. I included methods! Not personally researched of course; I flirted with death, I didn’t call its number all day long. There were records, so I used them. It really cut down on requests for the books when people could read in nice, lovely detail exactly what it would liquefy in what order. I got them a nice, enclosed shelf, with nice little alcoves for each of them and three separate locks with three separate keys and I took very good care of all the sweet little darlings. 

Such good care that when it came time for the HR suggested non-denominational holiday party, my dearest, darlingest boss got me a free weekend spa trip gift certificate. It included a massage and an exquisite skin treatment and the gift basket it came in had some wonderful lotions. 

He was testing me, you know. He was curious, so, so curious, especially since the books weren’t doing a great job of killing me again, so he outsourced. 

I was very excited for my weekend spa trip. 

It was even in a very cute building! There was nothing off putting at all about the outside, and so the doors had already swung shut with that cheery little jingle before I felt the chill up my spine. Everyone at the desk was very nice, but also. Hm. Well, ahaha, they were a little strange, and I’d had enough time around my job that it seemed very sensible that the first thing I asked was if this was a murder spa, and they were delighted to inform me that yes, yes it was and they did so hope I would be satisfied with their services.

This was objectively a bad answer, but they all had very nice skin and I really did want to try out their treatments, so I sighed, said that sounded about right, and asked if my gift certificate was still valid since I’d, you know, mentioned the murdering. 

And then I thought about it and said no, actually, could you bill my boss for the full amount? 

How about, I said, I come back in and we start from the top? I won’t mention the murdering, and we can have ourselves a fun little weekend? We can upgrade to deluxe. Like an escape room where you give me a manicure and have real knives and I run from you in a cute little bathrobe. 

They liked that a lot. So, that’s what we did. I walked back out, closed the door, and popped back in and complimented them on their nails, which really were very well done. 

This might have been a slight miscalculation. 

See, it made me fun, and made them fond of me, made them want to keep trying outside of just natural murderousness. It definitely did not stop them from killing me, but see, ahaha. I was really very bad at dying. How did they do it? This wasn’t the skinning, no. See they were rather playful with me for the first, mmm… five times? It wasn’t until we hit ten and kept counting that they got deadly serious about it; I think it was a matter of pride, then. But ah, the spa… I think I may have racked up a couple deaths honestly, but I remember having a lovely massage, if you ignored the blood and horrors - which I did not because they were putting on a show and it was only polite to be appropriately terrified -  and as I lay immobilized on the table, feeling those too-stiff fingers work at my muscles, slowly, deliberately up my back and to my neck, her fingers cradled my throat so tenderly before she snapped my neck like a twig. Quite quick and polite! 

It kept my skin quite flawless. They wanted it nice and whole and undamaged for one of them to wear! 

But it didn’t stick. 

Have you ever seen a desperately confused mannequin pretending to be a person look at you with fear? She had lovely makeup and very well done eyelashes, but when I got up from the table she’d just killed me on and thanked her for the excellent massage, she, hahah, oh, poor girl. She called her boss. They thought I was an, you used 'avatar' I think?, messing with them and got rather more murdery for a bit, including having one of the two big guys strangle me as I waited for my facial, but none of them worked for long. It was probably supposed to be very traumatizing, but after the first one I spent the weekend in a very pleasant post-death haze and really felt very relaxed and floaty. Like a pleasant dissociation? 

My skin was glowing by the time I left on Sunday and I smelled of nothing but sweet lavender atop the blood and I could hear some very intense phone conversations happening behind me as I drifted on out, which I could swear got even louder and maybe even panicked as I heard a ‘thud’ right before the door closed, and then I met my Death. 

His name is not Dr. Death but I really think he should consider it. He’s, ahaha, drop dead gorgeous honestly! 

Anyway, I recognized the exact look on his face because he had a face and I had seen that expression many times over the weekend, and it was precisely an astonished, bewildered “why is he not dead?” and a moment, maybe, where he debated trying his hand at it. 

It was kind of thrilling! I felt like someone had called the sexy manager to deal with me, and I was still rather out of it, so I laughed and held out my hand to him. 

Your turn? I asked with a wink, and he went from confused to utterly bemused, and did, in fact, take my hand. 

He was very cold, and the second his skin met mine, it felt like I snapped back into myself. And then he asked me, looking very intensely at our joined hands, if anyone like him had ever offered me a game? 

I took this to mean any skeletons even though he wasn't one himself and told him no, but I hadn't quite heard what the first one had said, so maybe they did! He was very interested in this, and then said he’d see me ‘next time’ and walked away, looking from me to something I couldn’t see inside the spa as he left. 

And, well. Then I went home! I don’t think my weekend really sank in until I got through my front door and took off my jacket and then I had myself a little breakdown, and also decided I was going to find out if my boss knew it was a murder spa and, if he did, I was going to put every book-that-kills-you related to bugs in his office and lock the door. 

He did Know about the spa, but he did not Know about my little plan. They regrettably did not kill him, but at least the bugs wrecked his nice jacket. 

Really, the murder spa was one of the nicer places. My survival only seemed to encourage whatever deal my boss and my new murderous acquaintances had, because every single work party and gift giveaway, I got a new gift certificate. I’ve probably been to every strange place in London by now; do you think they’d like it if I left reviews on them? Oh I really should. The natural history museum they have is a delight. Such life-like taxidermies. Looked just like the real thing as they hunted me down! They even let out the archaeopteryx they’d made! Absolutely terrifying and such a creative use of parts!

I saw my Death that time too! It was a messier death for me and I was quite embarrassed to be seen with my guts all over the floor, but he was a gentleman about it. He knelt down and watched with rapt fascination as my blood and organs oozed everywhere, until I said he could at least take me to dinner first, and I remember very well what he said to me, because well, now that I know, I can’t blame him. 

He said, “Do you know what I see? I see the End trying to claim you. Wrapped so thickly around you I can barely see your skin, tangled around your intestines like a skein even now, but it can’t… grasp you. Somehow, you just keep slipping through, and so it…” He looked away, following the strands I couldn’t see. “And so it grasps what it can.” 

I remember him smiling, and I think my heart stuttered. 

“Don’t touch him when you wake up.” 

It must have been enthralling to see. I can’t blame him for staring and staring and grinning until my vision got very spotty when he reached out to touch either my ripped stomach or the tendrils, and his fingers stroked my flesh. I woke up in a pool of my own blood, with my stomach only slightly sore, and his coat draped over my exposed body. 

I took it as a ‘no’ on dinner. I- oh that’s right! I was very upset about this, so I did burn down that museum. Have to cross it off the review list, then. It’s fine: the curator was already dead when I found him splayed on his office floor, so nobody was hurt. I stepped very carefully around him as I poured the gasoline! After all, Dr. Death told me not to touch ‘him,’ and while I’m not 100% sure on mannequin or whatever he was gender, I think he was a he so I played it safe. 

Our playdates got a little more, mm, aggressive after that! Spas, museums, a couple very impressive gymnastic and theater performances, a fair that came through a town I just happened to be visiting that weekend, and more scattered conversations with Dr. Death. He only ever showed up when I was probably supposed to be dying, and I think he said it was because he was not actually there; that this was something like a dream I entered, my brain desperately struggling against the End, and he just grew more and more fascinated as those tendrils continued to slide away from my skin to somewhere else. To someone else. 

Oh yes, he told me that. He was very curious that it seemed to always land on one of the avatars that had to do with my death, and yet it appeared I had no say in exactly who they would entangle and smother. I couldn’t see them. Couldn’t interact with them in any way. As my deaths piled up though, I began to feel them. 

By the seventh, they were ghosts brushing against me, light as feathers. 

By the twelth, I heaved through the ethanol burning its way through my flesh and eating away at my stomach as I lay sprawled in a dark warehouse beside my kidnapping/hostage chair, but I could feel the cold, cold touch coiled tight and real around my throat. Slick and, well, terrifying! Like ice as I felt it leave residue behind on my skin, as I wretched and cried and really felt fear in a way I never had before in these dreams. I thought I really would die that time. So did he. 

They were so tight. So inescapable. So much worse than ropes. I think he really enjoyed watching me struggle against that relentless thing that was so, so eager to claim me at last. His eyes were so bright, his breathing faster than usual as he brushed the hair off my clammy forehead. When the familiar cut to black didn’t happen at his touch, we both knew it. I’ll never forget the way he smiled, then. That I, this strange, slippery little thing that had dodged the inevitable for so long, would finally be properly entangled. He was enraptured, and I’d never seen him look so gorgeous. 

I couldn't speak, but I could move my arms, so I did. I grabbed at my Death's fancy coat and pulled him in and he let me kiss him. We'd danced around it every time, and I thought if this was it, well. I could at least get a kiss. It was not pretty or delicate. I was actually flattered he let me do it, since, well. I was a little disgusting at the time, but when I gagged again, he just pet my hair and then, ah. Then he kissed my forehead, so softly, so tenderly. 

His hands cradled my cheeks, and, mm. Then it got a little awkward, because quite suddenly, I was back in my apartment. It was morning. I had the worst hangover of my life, and could still feel the cold, lingering touch of his lips on my forehead and I felt like an absolute scumbag. 

‘Hey sorry, really thought I was actually dying there, I swear I wasn’t leading you on!’ 

‘Hey we still cool after that fake out haha?’

I would have texted him if he’d ever thought to give me his number on any of the numerous occasions I asked, but the intense chill that closed around my body seconds after I stumbled up from the couch made me realize I wouldn’t have to. It felt like him, so I assumed it was. 

“I promise I didn’t do anything,” I said to the cold air, and felt it clench around my throat. I swallowed, and kept talking. “I thought I was going to die just as much as you did.” 

It just clenched harder. Hard enough for me to wheeze as I breathed through it, and a thought popped into my head. 

“What if next time,” I gasped. “What if next time, you offer me a game? What if that’s the reason I can’t die right? What if that first Death offered me a game but never followed through, and something got all messed up?” 

It felt like an age, but the pressure let up. He’d agreed. We both knew there’d be a next time - both knew the Strangers must have been absolutely furious, however the hell I’d managed to wriggle free, and it would be thoroughly unpleasant when they got me next. I think that’s the only reason my Death calmed down. He couldn’t kill me either, through whatever stupid rules lawyering I’d gotten tangled in, but he could be patient. 

He didn’t have to wait long. I didn’t even go anywhere that time. 

The Strangers came to me, and didn’t give me a single chance to run. 

They lashed me down the second they dragged me through the warehouse door. In under a minute, they had my skin bared, and that horrible, crescent-shaped knife began to cut. 

They began to skin me alive and conscious, and I could feel so, so many horrible glass eyes watching me as they did it. As the worst pain I’d ever felt made me scream into the gag in my mouth, as I felt them tug it off, piece by piece, and that cold swarmed in to fill the bloody holes. 

When I realized the room was oddly silent, I could barely even lull my head to the side to see Dr. Death standing there, eyes bright and firm as he held out - a revolver. 

An old fashioned six shooter. It matched him. The metal was cold and gray and just a little too dull in the weird half-light of this dreamy nightmare room. 

“Your game,” he said. “Russian Roulette.” 

Honestly all I could do was giggle. I could still very much feel the agony, and thinking was simply not going to happen. Not anymore. My muscles burned in the cold air, the scent of blood thick enough to choke on as I weakly reached up a hand for the gun, and only felt grateful he’d picked something easy. 

All I had to do was point the gun to my temple and pull the trigger. He helped. 

His cold hands wrapping around the bloody mess of my own, steadying my slick fingers on the trigger. I felt nothing but sweet relief as I pulled it. 

I knew without a doubt that every chamber of that gun was full, but in that moment, the End would be more than welcome. I pulled the trigger and heard a deafening… click. I felt the doctor’s hand on my own go still and very, very tight. Felt him force my bloody fingers to pull the trigger again and heard that click and all I could do was laugh. Half broken with pain and disbelief, but the doctor was very quiet. 

The gun had jammed. Impossible, isn’t it? 

But it meant that I won, and so. The doctor sighed, long and low, and gave me my chance.

He offered for me to become part of it, like him. Said I was already so tangled in it, I just needed to wake up and kill the first thing I saw with that gun. He had a feeling, he said, that it’d be more eager once pointed somewhere else. 

Ahah, oh you’ll never guess what I did. I did admit I am very vain, didn’t I? And they’d made such a nice body with my skin, and I didn’t really like the idea of one of them using it. 

So I took it back! It’s a bit strange, being filled with sawdust and whatever else, but the End never said I needed to take my body back. It just said wake up, so I woke up in something a little prettier! And then I shot every Stranger in that room and watched them collapse like the awful puppets they all were and my gun had a bullet for every single one of them and the End was very, very happy. You should have seen the doctor’s face when he came in, ahaha! I think he’d thought I’d rejected him when my original body went limp and empty!

Mhmhm~ 

It all worked out quite well, I think! The good doctor finally gave me his number, after all. And took me out to dinner. 

So! Do you want that kiss? 

No? Ah, alright. Take care, little Archivist. I’m sure we’ll meet again some time. 

[experimentalmadness]

A Bad Bet

Heyo, back with more Harvey/Jacky one-shots. Y’all have been so nice in sharing and liking these little stories. Thank you! :D If you’re looking for more content with this bonkers OC you can check out her tag here. 

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“What is it that you want to do, Jacky?”

She was busy cleaning off the espresso machine before getting started on wiping down the counter. Most of the lights were off except for the ones in the front. She could hear rain coming down from outside, one of those sudden summer downpours. The AC was on high in the bakery and it was a rare Gotham night that actually made her happy to live in this city.

“Break into this whiskey after I count out the till?” she smiled to herself, casting a glance at the one lone customer left in the shop.

Harvey Dent sat at a corner table, surrounded by papers, books, and a laptop. He’d been held up in that position since he’d come in from his office three hours ago. “That’s not what I meant,” he clarified, wagging a pen in her direction.

“You’re using me to procrastinate, Harv,” Jacky countered, ducking down to get at the cabinets below the register.

“C’mon, humor me.”

She grinned at the sound of his voice, even though she couldn’t see him. “I dunno,” she said as she cleaned. “Keeping this place together is about all I can handle.”

“You told me this was always your sister’s dream, and Miri’s clearly better at it.”

“Excuse me?” Jacky popped her head back up, glaring at the smug man across the way. “Who exactly has been making you coffee for the last few hours?”

Oh, the crimes she was capable of committing to get a smile out of that man. He’d been so stressed recently with the DA elections, the move to get Maroni behind bars, the only time she saw him now was when he was using her shop as a work space after hours. And then only because Gilda was already drowning in his paperwork that he left around their apartment, and he knew full well Jacky would ply him with better coffee than whatever he was getting in his office.

“Okay, alright, I’ve thought about going back to school sometimes. Not sure for what, but...nah it’s stupid.” Jacky shook her head waving off Harvey’s renewed enthusiasm at her answer. “When would I have time to do that, anyway?”

It took most of her extra funds just to keep the place running, not to mention Miri’s medical expenses. Something told her Falcone wouldn’t be too keen on funding his hitwoman’s college funds. Even the idea seemed absurd.

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Harvey’s voice cut through the despairing thoughts rattling around in Jacky’s head. “Take some courses at Gotham U at night if you have to.”

Sure, only doing prime working hours. Jacky rolled her eyes, grateful she had the distance of the counter as Harvey came over. He had that conspiratorial look in his eyes.

“No way,” she said, poking him in the chest “And stop procrastinating so I can close up.”

Harvey pulled out the silver dollar he kept in his pocket. She knew instantly what he was going to do. That little coin flip routine of his was so incredibly cheesy. And charming. He leaned over the counter. “Make a little bet with me, Jacky.”

“Seriously, Harvey, I’m happy with the way things are,” she lied through her teeth as those blue eyes trapped her in place.

“Heads you’ll at least put in an application. Tails, you win and you can stay working in your sister’s place and I’ll never bring this up again. Ready?”

“You’re not getting any more free drinks from me, Harv,” Jacky teased, watching him toss the coin up in the air.

Harvey didn’t even watch the coin, opting instead to give Jacky a wink as he caught it one-handed. He kept his hand closed tightly around the coin as another devious smile stole across his face. “What do you want it to be, Jacky?”

The bell over the door to the shop chimed and Jacky’s good mood vanished as Carmine Falcone flanked by two of his men stepped into the shop. She dropped the rag and immediately straightened up, leaning away from the counter where she had been inches from conspiring with the new would-be DA. “Mr. Falcone, I was just about to close up for the night.”

Taking his cues from Jacky, Harvey also stepped aside. She watched an unnerving illusion steal across Harvey’s face, wiping away any visible markers of her friend. Those bright blue eyes went ice cold. The smile vanished into a thin, hard line. He pocketed the coin, but his hands were still balled into fists.

Falcone did not seem phased in the least. He assessed the other customer in the shop with a cursory glance and a civil nod before reverting his attention back to Jacky. “You’re closed now. Tell your last customer to get out.”

“Of course. Mr. Dent, I apologize for the inconvenience, but if you would—?”  

“Like hell,” Harvey snarled.

Oh no, not here, not now. Tension gave Jacky a spine of iron as she stepped around the counter. “Let me just help you gather your things.” Her voice was impossibly even, calm, and devoid of all emotion.

Harvey looked as if he was about to haul off and clock Falcone across the face. Jacky saw every outcome in between those seconds of her moving towards the table. The two men with Falcone would pull out their concealed revolvers and shoot Harvey, multiple times, even though they were good enough to kill him with one bullet. Then she’d be told to clean up the blood, and at this distance she’d be coated in it herself. Or, Harvey would swing, and they’d only kneecap him and she’d watch as he’d be dragged into the car that was no doubt out front. Then she’d be getting in. They’d go to a warehouse on the docks, somewhere secure where Falcone would tell Jacky to kill him. To make an example of him. Jacky could not make her mind imagine the look on Harvey’s face.

Mechanically she swept up the papers, closed the laptop, took the books and shoved as much as she could into his briefcase, all the while watching as Falcone and Harvey stared one another down. “Mr. Dent, if you would?” her teeth were going to break if she had to keep talking to him like this. “I’d hate to damage something valuable,” she held out the case.

A small line of tension released as Harvey took a step towards her, breaking contact with Falcone. He took the briefcase, grabbing her wrist at the same time. “Please,” Jacky whispered as quietly as she could, keeping her face neutral, impassive. She did not know this man, he was just a customer, and if Falcone so much as saw her twitch in recognition they’d both be dead tonight. “Go.”

Harvey’s grip tightened on her arm, his head gave a small shake. “Jacky…”

“Thank you so much for coming,” she pulled out of his grasp and opened the door for him. Every second he hesitated she saw new ways he’d die tonight. He hadn’t even been elected DA yet and every crime family in Gotham knew Harvey Dent. Falcone had been ranting about him for weeks. Even if they both did everything right tonight Falcone could still decide the timing was too perfect. He was alone. And Jacky was right there, and she had her gun under the counter. All Falcone had to do was give the word.

But Harvey was going to walk out of here tonight and she was going to see him alive tomorrow if it was the only decent thing she ever did in her life.

He walked slowly, mechanically towards the door. Murderous intent radiating with every step away from Falcone. In his eyes, she saw the promise of violence and worry, raw and palpable for her. He didn’t know this was only a surprise business meeting. He’d think the worst. On any other night, if it were any other scenario this city had to offer, Jacky would let that tug on already vulnerable heartstrings. The second he was beyond the threshold she slammed the door shut, bolting it. He lingered at the window while Jacky frantically tried to tell him to leave with only her eyes.

“It’s late, Mr. Falcone,” she said, turning back to her boss with a friendly smile. “I can still get you something if you’d like.”

He never came to the shop after hours.

He or his boys would come by during the day and Miri, smart as whip, knew it was in her best interest to keep them happy. She never questioned why Falcone’s men frequented her little bakery. It was Gotham.

“Take a seat, Miss Ripley,” Falcone gestured to her own table as he pulled up a chair.

This wasn’t a business meeting.

Jacky sat down as the two other men took up space on either side of her. She recognized them both, but they wouldn’t make eye contact. Falcone rifled through a briefcase of his own before he pulled out yesterday’s paper and laid it flat on the table. And Jacky felt real fear lock her limbs into place.

The splashy page six spread had a picture in black and white of her and Harvey Dent dancing at Wayne Manor. Jacky had cut a clip of it and stashed it in a shoebox under her bed in her room. She liked the woman in that photo, happy, carefree. She liked how the photographer managed to get the shot where Harvey was laughing at a stupid joke she had told. She liked how Harvey had been right and that getting her name in the Gazette had been leading to a slight bump in customers. It almost looked like a little window into a world where a girl like her belonged with a man like Harvey Dent.

“You’re moving up in the world, Miss Ripley,” Falcone said, reminding her exactly why a girl like her could never belong to a man like Harvey. “You’ve gotten some friends in rather high places.”

“Mr. Falcone, I had to accept that invite...it was good for the shop—”

“What have you been telling that lawyer?”

“Nothing! Jesus, sir, I wouldn’t do that after all you’ve done for me and my family. Look, he comes into the shop. We’re near the courthouse, what can I do? I gotta make nice when I’m helping Miri out.” Somehow Jacky managed to keep her voice calm while her heart hammered through her ribs.

“You see why this makes me nervous?” Falcone sat back, eyeing her with a look of disappointment.

“I do, Mr. Falcone,” she nodded a little too vigorously.

“And then I come in and see him here,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Jacky, what are we going to do about this little problem?”

“Look, you want him gone, boss, I’ll tell him he can’t come back to the shop.”

“I suspect that’s not going to work the way you think, Miss Ripley. Your knight in shining armor is still watching us.”

Jacky forced herself to turn around slowly. Sure enough, there was Harvey, looming in the rain-soaked night under the street lamp. What was the idiot thinking? “You know what that tells me, Ripley? It tells me you and Mr. Dent have a rather cozy relationship. And that’s what troubles me.”

“Mr. Falcone, have I ever done you wrong?” She was betting on a lot here, punching way above her weight.

“No,” he replied, settling back against the chair, folding his hands on his lap.

“Ever had a job go bad? Ever compromised your family?” Jacky turned back to face him, locking eyes with him, feigning something that tasted like bravery. Falcone shook his head to each of her questions. “Then why would I do something so phenomenally stupid now? He’s a customer, Mr. Falcone, nothing more.”

“While we’re keeping score here, Ripley, do me the courtesy of not lying to me.”

“Sir, I’m—”

“He’s not just a customer.”

Jacky’s impassive eyes went wide ever so slightly. It was enough. “...no…” she whispered.

“You’ve been quite friendly for...two years by my count. Now, Mr. Dent wasn’t much of a problem until his recent forays onto the political stage. I could overlook your dealings with a prosecutor because, as you said, your loyalty and work have always been impeccable. You’re a smart girl, Ripley. You know what happens next.”

Jacky sagged in the chair. “Don’t...don’t take it out on the shop, Mr. Falcone. This is Miri’s place, not mine. She’s been nothing but good to you and she doesn’t know...she doesn’t know, Mr. Falcone. Now look, I’ll sit here and take it. I know it’s business. I’ll fix this after, you know I will.”

Falcone stood up from his chair, rapping his knuckles on the wooden tabletop. “You see that’s why I’ve always liked you, Ripley. You have a sense of honor, however small,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll leave the shop as is. Your sister’s a fine woman, none of us want to upset her, do we boys?”

The two men on either side of Jacky shook their heads. Falcone made his way to the door. “Your knight seems to have left you, Miss Ripley,” he remarked as he stared out onto the empty street. “If he comes back I’m afraid we’ll be revisiting upsetting that sister of yours. Good night, Jacqueline.”

***

It wasn’t as bad as she had thought.

The men had only broken one table.

And Jacky guessed they’d only broken two of her ribs. Fair deal.

She sat, slumped, against the wrecked table legs, blood dripping from a cut above her forehead. Her nose was broken. Again. She poked her tongue around her mouth. No missing teeth, at least. All things considered, she’d gotten off easy. She’d have a nasty black eye and a swollen jaw for a few days and the rest of Falcone’s crew would know exactly what happened to her next time they saw her. Lesson well learned.

She was just contemplating getting to her feet and cleaning the place up before Miri could come home when she heard a bang from the back door. It repeated in quick succession as Jacky hauled herself upright, on hand clutching her ribs as she hobbled to the counter for her revolver. This night just didn’t want to end. The banging turned frantic as the door suddenly crashed over, hanging off its hinges, leaning awkwardly against the baking trays stacked up on the sink.

Jacky already had the gun out. If it was Falcone’s men coming back for the actual jump, she’d fire first, beg forgiveness later. If Falcone wanted her dead he ought to have shot her while she was still sitting in the chair expecting a business deal.

She dropped the gun as Harvey Dent came careening into the shop.

He was soaking wet, panting, and looked about as unhinged as the door. Jacky had enough time to back up against the counter as Harvey lunged for her. “You have to get out,” she choked through gritted teeth.

Not even an hour ago she would have killed someone herself to get him to so much as accidentally brush a finger against her. Now he had a whole arm around her shoulders as he pushed her into a chair. “How in deep are you, Jacky?”

“Harvey, get out, go home, I’ve got this under control,” she waved his hand away as he reached out to assess her injuries.

Someone was probably still watching the shop. The lights were all one, the blinds open. Anyone could see right in.

“Falcone’s got most of the businesses in Gotham paying protection, you don’t think I know that? Why didn’t you tell me he’d gotten a hold of this place? Jacky, I can help—”

“Help me by going home and telling Gilda I have to cancel our plans tomorrow,” Jacky grunted. She wasn’t going to be making any outings anytime soon. And she still had to come up with a story before Miri got back from the movies with her friends.

Harvey fumbled for the cell in his pocket. “What are you doing?” Jacky groaned as he put in a call. “I’m not going to a hospital if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Hey Jim,” Harvey said, ignoring her, “Yeah I know it’s late, but I need a squad down on 9th and—”

Jacky surged out the chair, ribs screaming as she knocked the phone out of Harvey’s hands. “Falcone gets even a fucking whiff of cops around my place and you’ll have killed me sure as the gun he gets to off me.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Jacky,” Harvey retrieved the fallen phone, the call having already been ended, thank God. “I’m going to get them off these streets. Falcone, Maroni, I’m taking them all down.”

“Yeah, but not tonight,” Jacky sat back in the chair. She’d heard the speech before, but never with this much bite. She doubted this much anger would play well with voters.

“This is our city and we’re gonna show them exactly what happens when they go after what’s ours.”

Jacky didn’t think the knock she took to her head was that bad, but that did not sound like Harvey’s voice. It was a guttural growl, a nasty little threat that was league’s away from the man who had been teasing her about going back to college. He shook his head, a hand going up to his brow as if he was shocked by what he had admitted.

“Go home, Harvey.”

Those blue eyes were looking to trap her again, make her say things she barely cared to admit to herself. She’d never seen them look that helpless. Harvey had a plan for everything, had to help everyone, always ready with the magical solution making life seem easy. And in a perfect world if she was just a down on her luck working class gal who had made the wrong deal with the wrong guy she’d leap at the chance to have a man like him solve all her problems. But the solution here was that neat little jail cell she knew was coming. Selfishly, she just wanted a few more days where he looked at her like she was someone worth saving.

“I think you should come with me, we’ll call Miri, and you two can stay at Gilda’s and mine’s until—”

“You know what I think?” Her ribs hurt too much to start crying. “I think...maybe it’s better if you don’t come by the shop for a few days.”

“You can’t let that man dictate your life, Jacky,” Harvey took a step towards her as Jacky flinched back in the chair. If he touched her now she’d crack, fall apart like a house of cards and ruin everything.

“It’s not for my life that I’m asking.”

She let that hang between them as Harvey slowly nodded, turning to leave. “I’ll...I’ll, ah, get the door fixed for you.”

Jacky laughed so hard her chest heaved and tears fell down her cheeks. “Harvey?” His face was blurry in her washed out vision. “Just so you know...I really wanted it to be heads.”