#hope I was able to pull the Rotundness off

[feathered-moths-ablaze]

Alright, which one of you forgot to take the loaf out?

[full-loup]

Big, Bad Krystal

More fat Krystal with an associated short story. This one featuring on my own take with her joining Star Wolf.

I always felt like her Command outfit was hideous and was wondering why Star Wolf doesn't have its own logo, so I rectified both issues.

Almost two full years had passed since Fox McCloud had kicked Krystal from Star Fox, concerned for his lover's safety. At the time, it had made sense to Fox, and he at least partially still believed it was the right decision. Unfortunately things didn't turn out at all as he had hoped, the vixen placing herself into danger anyways, taking mercenary jobs and eventually even teaming up with Star Wolf as though hoping to spite him for what he'd done.

After hearing of this, Fox had reached out to her and Star Wolf, the teams engaging in a rare joint effort to take down the newly forged Anglar Empire, a threat that had boiled out of the seas of Venom and drowned the Lylat system in the chaos of war. With Star Wolf's help, Fox managed to defeat the Anglar's forces. Unfortunately for Star Fox, Wolf had struck the final blow to their hideous Emperor, ending his reign of terror and making them heroes in the eyes of Corneria and its surrounding planets. Now with their main opposition out of the way, and much of the celebrations focusing upon their rivals, Fox had more than enough time to repair his shattered relationship. A shame, then, that Krystal didn't plan on making things easy for him.

She did not take well to his choice to remove her from the team. Not at all. He knew those feelings would change her, especially with all that time for them to stew and broil and worsen within the scorned woman. He just didn't expect those changes to be so... physical as well.

He had seen her briefly whenever she would comm him over his arwing's combat channels, but in the heat of battle and with her not desiring to keep said channels open long, he'd never got a good look at his former love. Other than that, the two had kept more to simple voice calls whenever they made contact, and while Fox had assumed she simply didn't wish to see the man who had broken her heart, he now realized things may have been more complex than that.

"Krystal!" Fox called out to rotund vulpine as she climbed less than gracefully out of her arwing, painted in the signature red of Wolf O'Donnel's mercs. His arms were held out wide in welcome as he struggled to hide the astonishment from his expression, failing for the most part, "You... You look different, but also great! New haircut!"

Turning to face him as she climbed down the ladder from her cockpit, Krystal glared at him. Fox's blood ran ice cold, knowing full well the both of them understood the vixen's hair was one of the only things that hadn't changed since they last met. She'd be able to read his true thoughts full well thanks to that damn telepathy of hers, making his comment doubly idiotic.

"Let me help you Fox. 'You've gotten fat', that's what you meant, isn't it?" The blue-furred pilot snarled, her belly leading the way as she  stomped over to him, "Let's just get it out of the way right now, right here why don't we? Or am I supposed to be as ashamed of my weight as you are?"

Fox's expression soured, his smile curling into a snarl of his own as he stepped up to meet his ex-lover and ex-teammate, "I thought you wanted to talk, but if you just want a fight? Just get back in that fighter and off my ship because we are not doing things like this."

The vixen's green eyes narrowed at that, a frown dimpling her chubby cheeks, "Kicking me out again already?" She said, before sighing and shaking her head, "But I can't pretend to be angry about that when I know how you really feel. Even now, beyond your... I'll just say it, disgust, I can tell that you still want this... Want us. More than..."

Not waiting for her to finish, Fox reached out his paws to hold Krystal's in his own, pulling her to him as he looked into her eyes, "More than anything else."

She blinked for a moment at him, then snorted, tugging her paws free and turning away, "Alright. We can try, but this time we need to be more honest with each other. Both of us do," She said as she grabbed her supplies from the arwing and began to make her way out of the hanger.

"Fine by me," Fox grumbled before calling out to her, "Why don't I start?! How long until you get back in shape?!"

A growl tore free from Krystal's lips as she stormed out the door, slamming her fist on the control before it slid shut.

For the next week or so, neither of the vulpines talked much, the Great Fox making its way back towards Corneria for the victory celebrations. The ship was large enough for the two to avoid each other, and Krystal had made it clear that she would need space for some time before she would warm up to the idea of talking things through with Fox. He was completely fine with that idea, especially after their fight in the hanger, and so did his best to give the vixen all the room she required. 

"All the space she needs? Smart move." Falco said, sitting across from Fox in the ship's canteen as he sipped his morning coffee.

Fox chuckled awkwardly, leaning back into his chair as he let the eggs he was eating through steam, "Yeah... and believe me, she needs plenty these days. Have you seen her since she got back?"

Falco gave Fox's chosen dish a brief glance, huffing to himself in disapproval before setting down his mug, "She hasn't been out of her room much, but uuhhh, kinda hard to miss her, haha. Wouldn't be so quick to blame her though, maybe that Panther guy has a thing for big girls?"

Without even realizing it, Fox's fists began to clench. He'd heard about the relationship between the two, and while Krystal had implied things didn't get too intimate between the two, he had no way to know for sure without coming out and asking her, and now really wasn't the best time for that. Add to this that Panther had made it clear that he was still carrying a flame for the vixen, despite her breaking things off to try and work things out with Fox, and just the mention of the feline set McCloud on edge.

Taking a deep breath, Fox let it out slowly as his fists relaxed and simply said, "The less said about him, the better Falco."

Falco chuckled and shook his head.

"What?"

"Well it's just, you know, you're gonna have to get over that quick Fox, you're gonna be having dinner with the guy."

Fox stared at the avian for a moment, "What do you mean?"

There was silence as Falco gulped, not sure how to continue, "Well... you know, the dinner after the awards ceremony? Slippy told me Krystal was going to eat with Star Wolf after, and, um... wants us to come I guess. I thought you kne-"

Fox slammed his fists onto the table, filling the canteen with the sound of breaking glass as knocked his plate and cup over the edge, silverware tumbling across the floor with a noise that made Falco's feathers stand on edge.

"She's going to WHAT?!"

Krystal stood in the doorway to her quarters, the portal only partially slid open as she stared daggers at the fox shouting at her, "I was invited Fox. I was still part of Star Wolf when the battle happened. Tell me how this is all a big deal?"

"Oh I don't know! Maybe because O'Donnell is scum? Because he hired the man who betrayed my father before taking a job from the man who killed my father to kill us? Because he continued to be a thorn in our side for years, even after we met! I really shouldn't have to explain all this!"

Sighing, Krystal rubbed her temples with her fingers as she responded, "And I shouldn't have to explain to you all the times he's decided to help us. The Aparoids, and now the Anglars? They've changed Fox, and Pigma's not even a part of Star Wolf anymore! They couldn't even stand him, and he's dead anyways! You bloody killed him! So why can't you put all of this behind you?"

Fox leaned in close, slamming his paw against the door frame and squeezing it tightly as he growled into Krystal's face, "If you really expect me to just sit there, sharing a meal with the likes of Wolf and..."

He stopped himself short, but it was too late. He cringed as he heard Krystal start to snort, holding back laughter.

"Panther? That's what all of this is about, isn't it? Amazing, Fox. Really."

The vulpine's face flushed beneath his red and white fur, his ears drooping as his eyes failed to meet the vixen's own, "You still never told me if he... if you..."

"Don't." She growled at him, "Don't you dare ask me that Fox... not after you kicked me to the curb. You don't have to come to the dinner if you want to, but yes, he will be there. So think about that before you decide to turn me down." She said, turning and giving him a view of her much wider backside. Her voluptuously chubby body was bulging within the confines of a dark purple flight suit with silver and black accents, and just before the door slide shut to her bedroom, Fox caught sight of the black leather jacket she wore over it, emblazoned with the Star Wolf logo.

He looked at the button for the intercom next to the door, then jammed his finger so hard against it he felt like he might break it, "Can you at least wear something else to the ceremony?"

Krystal's face flashed onto the intercom screen, the vixen sneering into the camera, "I can't actually, all my old suits don't fit, so get used to it flyboy." As her face disappeared, a red circle with a slash through the middle replaced it on the screen, letting Fox know she would not be disturbed further.

[helterskeletors]

sympathy song

heyyy rlm oomfies this is mostly for my twt followers since i have nowhere else to publish it. a short story about god and fetishes hope u enjoy if u read [crying emoji] muah!

God snuck up on me last night. I was drunk on the edge of a quarry cliff with a cigarette dangling from my fingers. Wet from rain and the sickly sweet tar of tobacco, I heard God call to me.

“May I sit with you?”

“Knock yourself out.”

He descended down from heaven and laid his rotund body on the rocks next to me.

We sat in silence. He got a glance of my wrist from my sweater.

“Have you been hurting yourself again?”

“You know the answer, Father.”

“I would like to hear it from you, child.”

I looked at him with annoyance dripping from my eyes and pulling my mouth down. “I cut myself again, yes.”

“Why?”

“Father, I am tired. I am especially tired of rhetorical questions.”

“I know.”

The silence had returned, intercut with splashes and screams from a group of kids who’d snuck to the lake. I couldn’t help but pursue his question out of nothing else but curiosity.

“Father, the answer is embarrassing. I’d rather not say why.”

“I already know what it is. I asked you to say it for yourself.”

“Admitting is the first step,” I joked, then coughed from the smoke stinging a dry spot in my throat. “I had sex with Tim last night. He said he didn’t want to choke me during it anymore; it made him feel weird- to hurt me. I said that was okay. He finished and I ran to the bathroom and sliced my arm open over and over. Then I was gratified. By the time I got done bandaging it he’d already gone to bed. I guess he’d thought I was just washing his scent off of me.”

God listened intently. He was always surprisingly patient about my complaints towards his gifts. He must’ve been used to people being upset with him.

“He said he was worried about me recently. “You look so tired,” or “How many drinks have you had?” have been his favorite phrases lately,” I shook my head. For someone reluctant to even open this can of worms, I was showing them off quite a bit now. “Whether or not I know the real answer, he’s getting the same ones every time. I can’t be bothered to hurt him now.”

“Hurt him?” God asked, a bit of shock flew out with his words.

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. “If I tell him everything, he’s just gonna leave and feel sorry for himself. Besides the obvious fact that I love him, Father.”

“You see the future?”

“You’re always so literal,” I grunted. “I mean, I’d like to think I know him well enough to where I can say something like that with confidence.”

“You’ve just finished telling me that he knows nothing about you.”

I flipped his words around my mind like the next cigarette I fiddled out of my pocket. “Father, tell me what he’ll do.”

“I can’t tell you what you’re not supposed to know.”

I feigned frustration, and some unwelcome tears collected behind my eyes. “Am I sick, Father? Is this some disease or-or a disorder?”

“What is? Sexual gratification from pain or your inability to be honest?”

“Any of it,” I spat out. “Why would you give me all of this shit if you wanted me to be happy?”

“You think I am more attentive to detail than I actually am, sweet thing.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t pick my cards, like you didn’t. I am your creator and you are my creation. To think either of us chose our role is a limited perspective that I’ve never expected you to look out from. I can’t control everything you are; you’re organic.”

He'd let me simmer in what he’d said. The kids down below continued their racket. The excitement had somehow made them able to ignore our conversation.

“Do you think you are unlovable because of your flaws?”

“No, but these are…a very different set of ‘flaws’. They’re hard to digest.”

God shrugged. “Is your life something to be understood, or something to be lived?”

I looked down at the sparkling quarry.

“For humans, all flaws are hard to digest. But if you believe Tim loves you, he would ask for seconds.”

“That’s a corny metaphor, Father.” I laughed.

“Maybe so. But it’s a truth I’ve granted you.”

He gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder and climbed back up the stairs to heaven. The kids below me ran through cycles of screaming and giggling to suddenly remembering they were breaking the law, shushing each other.

Don’t worry, I thought, I won’t tell on you.

[leetotters]

Hey!!! I love your stories and if you’re taking requests can you do a mob Tom having a thing for grabbing your face and turning it to him when he doesn’t have your attention. Light kisses while he’s like “hey love did you hear me?” Or grabbing your face to make eye contact with you which means pay attention to me baby. Him squeezing your cheeks to give you a passionate kiss when he’s jealous someone’s got your full attention. Or smh like that 😁😁

i hope this is good enough anon, forgive me for any mistakes🙏

warnings: curse words

mob!tom holland x reader (y/f/s - your favorite show)

summary: something like the request^

Tom had you on his lap, his fingers drumming the side of your waist while he chatted with his brothers about upcoming business with the mob, you weren't much interested in the conversation preferably sipping your glass of wine studying the room of people from Tom's side of family, you would occasionally nod your head when one of the boy's mentioned something asking if you agreed.

You twisted on Tom's lap feeling the sudden urge to use the restroom, you attempted to move but was ceased with two large hands grasping your sides pulling you back down on his lap letting out a squeak at the pull. "Where do you think you're going doll" Tom nuzzled his nose in your hair inhaling the vanilla scent he was always so intoxicated with, you snickered to yourself kissing the tip of his nose getting up once again.

"To go pee Tom" You placed your glass in Tom's opening hand, smoothing the fabric of your silk dress, pulling the back down so it was covering your behind fully then turning around catching the sight of the restroom, but once again you were grasped with the same hands, Tom smushed your cheeks together plumping out your lips as he pressed his thin ones to yours making the mob boss grin when you tried slipping your tongue in his mouth.

"Didn't think you won't leave without giving me a kiss now" Tom smirked drawing back, patting your cheek and taking a gulp of his alcoholic drink not even caring that his brothers were wearing disgusted looks on their faces. "Doll don't you have to use the restroom" Tom spoke up awakening you from your love sick haze, you cleared your throat wiping your lips, "Yeah, be right back Tommy"

-

You laid on the leather couch in Tom's private office, your phone in your hand watching an episode of y/f/s while Tom was skimming through important mob detailed documents, silently cursing hearing the ringing of his phone not really in the mood to answer calls, "Oh for fucks sake" Tom muttered accepting the call seeing Harrison's name, "This better be good"

Tom listened attentively to his accomplice over the phone, his eyes locked on your pajama clothed figure. "Mhm okay just deal with him, shoot a bullet through his head for all I care" Tom ended the call, leaning back on his chair passing his tattooed hand over his face. "Doll" Tom uttered trying to gain your attention, but you didn't hear, to engrossed in your show, he called out again still no answer, he got up rolling his sleeves up plucking your phone out your hand throwing it on the edge of the sofa.

"What the hell Tom" You snapped but was cut off by Toms lips latching on yours, his needy hands moving you over, sitting down and pulling you on his clothed lap, his hands brushing down the spine of your back cupping the curve of your ass. "Didn't hear me huh love" Tom teased traveling his lips down to your collarbone peppering you with light kisses, "Love when you do that Tommy" You moaned out when he sucked brutally on your sweet spot.

-

Tom scowled at the sight of drunken man seated next to you, his arm too close to yours for Tom's liking as he tried to convince you to purchase a drink which you politely denied hoping that Tom would come back soon to whisk you away, your leg bounced nervously as you nursed the drink in front of you that Tom purchased earlier, you leaned to your side not being able to bare the reek of the strangers breath.

"Hey love" an all to familiar voice spoke from behind making you exhale in relief turning around so you were now in your boyfriend's arms, Tom gripped your jaw in his hands, smashing his lips together with yours, slipping his tongue inside your mouth tangling it with your own as his hands lowered down to your butt squeezing the rotund flesh.

You pulled back at the slurred voice of the man, "She didn't tell me she had a boyfriend mate" The man gulped coming to his senses when he recognized the woman who he was trying to get in bed with, was with the dangerous London mob boss who was feared by everyone even himself, "Well she does," Tom pecked your lips, "She belongs to me, you shouldn't be interfering with pretty little things that aren't yours"

Tom interlocked your hands together, walking you away from the man to his car, where the driver was already out waiting with an umbrella in his hand sheltering you both from the droplets of rain, "You're my hero Tommy" You sweetly mumbled leaving a kiss to Tom's jawline, "I am aren't I," Tom responded seductively, "Come thank your hero then doll" Tom didn't wait for a reply, grabbing your cheeks and clashing his lips to yours once again, passionately kissing you, pulling the strings of dress to reveal your lacy bra.

Tom drew back, eyes locked on your swollen red messed lips, "Love your lips doll most 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 ones I've ever seen"

[sooblvr]

love magazine

pairing soccer player!sim jaeyun x gn!reporter!reader //  genre fluff // warnings none // word count 0.9k

“when you write something worthwhile” “when you prove yourself” “when you start taking more initiative”

you had heard it all. your pieces, although nothing revolutionary, had spent some time in the trending section and had generated a considerable amount of revenue for the company

still, everyone treated you like the new kid, giving you no task further than getting your coworkers’ coffee orders

when the olympics neared, almost every other magazine secured interviews with athletes who were gaining the highest popularity. 

twitter became a game of who could get their article trending first, who could work with the most exclusive athlete, who could stay trending the longest

perhaps this was your shot at a breakthrough

if you could get the team everyone liked the most for one piece, followed by a series of elite athletes, this could be the golden opportunity

it didn’t take long for you to set your eyes on the most sought after player: sim jaeyun from the australian soccer league. he had been trending week after week for his good looks. it was speculated that every game he played had an insane rating

it truly was a shame that his team didn’t allow interviews

your seniors wanted initiative, and you didn’t disappoint. as soon as you were done with your daily responsibilities, you searched for everyone’s information

the american rugby team, a korean swimmer, a japanese surfer, an american gymnast, the entirety of the japanese volleyball team- they were all either making their popularity increase through social media or through their games streamed on tv

you spent whole nights reaching out to the athletes themselves, looking for managers’ numbers, pulling strings from your minimal influence in the field, all so you could get exclusive pieces. some of them were quick successes, others took some convincing, and a few were rotund declines

with extensive bargaining and borderline begging you were able to sit your team down for a meeting. you gave everyone the contacts they needed, as you would never have enough time to talk to the players, write and revise, and figure out how to reach jaeyun

one of your friends from college had gone into sports journaling, so he was your first chance at even being in the same room as australia's most popular player

“c’mon, it’ll just be this one time i promise” “it’s not up to me, (y/n)” “if i don’t convince him on the first try i won't bother you again” “you sure are stubborn, aren’t you?” “you can set it up as a blind date or i can come with you and watch them train, you can come up with whatever you want” “i’ll ask… but no promises”

gratitude couldn’t encompass the sentiment you felt when you were formally introduced to jaeyun

“jake, this is (y/n), a friend from college. they’re a huge fan of yours” your friend winked at him before leaving you alone. you extended your hand, complimenting his skills

it was now that you thanked your dad for commenting through every soccer match you watched together

because you were at a popular plaza, he offered to buy you lunch. while eating, he mocked your friend’s persistency and mentioned how difficult it was to sneak off with a journalist without anyone knowing

“you know it’s really crazy that they don’t let you do interviews, especially with how famous you are” “it’s not just me, it’s the whole team. our manager always says it’s our skills that speak for us”

the meeting went smoothly, but it wasn’t very productive. it seemed like he tried flirting with you, hinting at wanting to see you again. you went along, but worried about the potential outcome. you wondered what exactly your friend had told him

days turned into weeks, and it seemed like the only place you were getting with jake was a semi platonic relationship. the more you knew him the more you developed feelings for him

on one of your “dates” he tried to get you to play soccer with him

“i can’t believe you missed the ball like that” “oh i’m sorry mr professional player” “let’s try penalties- you’ll kick wherever you want, and i’ll be the goalkeeper trying to read your mind so i can catch the ball”

he definitely let you win, but that didn’t mean he didn’t compliment you and called you the next face of the nation’s olympic soccer team. it kept you up at night to imagine his reaction when you came clean about your intentions

so when your boss began holding you accountable with your goals, you decided you couldn’t avoid the conversation anymore. you sat jake down, showed him all your research, and hoped your explanation made sense to him

his reaction was oddly positive, which you didn't expect. he knew from the beginning you were a journalist

“i played dumb so i could spend more time with you, hoping you’d go along with me”

and just like you convinced your boss, coworkers, and college friend, you convinced jake to talk to his manager. with the help of his coach, you were sure you could get the team to agree on something. even if it was a small piece

after you suggested you did a piece on the team’s routine as they prepare for the olympic games, jake brought you to practice so you could talk to both the coach and the team’s manager. you were thankful for jake’s influence, as you were certain that he was a key factor in their agreement

jake reached out to you as soon as you published the article,

“you missed one detail in my routine” “no i didn’t, i checked the rough draft with you” “please just ask me what you missed” “fine, what did i miss, jake?” “the part where i take you out on a formal date”

[five-rivers]

I hope I haven't sent this yet: idea for a Fenton-family-roadtrip fic, maybe Doorways: The Fentons stop at an inn that is allegedly haunted. And indeed there is a ghost there that tells them to "GET OUT!" Either Danny or Jazz thinks there's something off and they investigate. Long story short, the owners are killing guests to enslave their ghosts. The one who told them to get out was WARNING them (the only one not enslaved) but was too fresh dead to do more than repeat one phrase.

This doesn't quite get to the payoff, but I think it's a good start.

(Also for Dannymay 2021 Day 5: Doorway)

.

Danny pulled himself out of an uneasy but necessary nap as the GAV came to a stop. Last night's encounter with Superbia had left him drained, and, unlike his battle with Gula, he didn't have the advantage of being at home, in his haunt, near his portal, the other expression of himself.

“Time to wake up, everyone!” said Dad. “We’re here.”

Danny wanted to just go back to sleep, but Dad opened the door, so he peeled himself off the car seat and stumbled out. He smacked his lips loudly, yawned, and looked up at the building they had parked in front of. It was a pretty house. Three stories, painted blue. White trim. A wraparound porch with a swing bench.

“Where’re we?” he asked, rubbing one eye. Fighting Superbia had taken a lot out of him, and he’d only been able to doze on the subsequent drive to… wherever this was.

“Borden Bed and Breakfast,” said Dad, with only a shadow of his usual enthusiasm. “You don’t, er, sense anything, do you, Danno?”

Danny blinked sleepily at the building. “No,” he said, finally. “Need to look around t’make sure, though.” He yawned again. “Sleepy.”

“Wait, wait,” said Jazz, “this’s another one of your friends? Already?”

“Well… Yes? Eliza and Bethany own the place.”

“They’re twins. They were interested in telepathy and other psychic abilities,” said Mom, pulling luggage out from the back of the GAV. “At least at first. Later, we were able to turn them on to ghosts, a little but they were… How would you describe it, Jack?”

“Wishy-washy,” said Dad. “Always had an excuse not to do work. Fun to be around, though.”

Mom leaned in conspiratorially. “They were the two laziest people I’ve ever met,” she said. “Wanted to use ghosts to, I don’t know, make bargains with to do chores. Like they were some kind of, I don’t know, demons that could be summoned to do things.” Mom snorted. “Completely wrong-headed. Even if they got their hands on something real, they wouldn’t put the effort in to use it.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, dubious, but too tired to argue. He really didn’t sense ghosts, or anything else for that matter, so it was probably fine.

“Come on, we’ll introduce you while we check in. Don’t be surprised if things are a little… dusty.”

Jazz muttered something about cleanliness and beds. Danny had stopped listening and was now just following along behind his parents, almost blindly. Everything just sort of buzzed in the background.

They went up the stairs on the porch and Mom rang the doorbell. Was it normal to ring a doorbell to get into a bed and breakfast? It wasn’t normal for hotels. Danny rubbed his eyes and endeavored to be a little more self-aware and less zombie-like. Even if he was a member of the living dead.

A rotund woman opened the door and greeted Mom with surprise and joy.

“Maddie!” she said. “We weren’t expecting you for another two days.”

“Sorry, Eliza. Our plans changed,” said Mom. “I hope it isn’t a problem…”

“Not at all! We’re having a bit of a slow stretch. You’re our only guests right now. We’re wide open.” A smile stretched across her face. “Come on in.” She stood to the side.

“These must be your children,” she continued, as Danny and Jazz passed her. The entryway had a set of stairs and a little balcony on the second floor. Danny watched idly as one of the doors clicked closed. Eliza’s sister, maybe?

But, then, another woman, identical to Eliza in all particulars walked in from what looked like a formal dining room. He frowned. The wind, maybe? A draft?

He still hadn’t felt anything from his ghost sense.

His parents and the Bordens negotiated something about dinner and eating together as Danny had a staring contest with the doors on the second floor. Dad had to prompt him to follow the rest of the family upstairs.

“We all have our own rooms,” said Mom. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Not really,” said Jazz, in a low tone.

“But you always want your own rooms,” said Dad.

“Yeah, and then I get attacked,” said Danny. “Jazz, can I share with you?”

“Okay,” said Jazz, who was also listing to the side. “Whatever.”

The room was clean, as far as Danny could tell. Not a spec of dust anywhere.

He dropped face-first on the bed, Jazz hitting it soon after. He didn’t stay awake long after that.

.

Jazz woke up groggy and disoriented, the dregs of her dream still lingering in the back of her brain.

Get out.

She sat up, blinking. That hadn’t been Danny’s voice. He was still out cold. She looked around the room, edging towards their bags. They had ectoguns, which weren’t effective on everything, but still packed a good knockback, if nothing else.

But nothing else jumped out at her, and she tentatively concluded that she must have still been dreaming. Anything dangerous would have woken Danny up.

She sighed. She wanted to go back to sleep, but… She was awful and grimy, and this was a prime opportunity to avoid getting edged out by one of Danny’s marathon showers later. Regretfully, she levered herself off the bed and dragged her feet as she walked into the bathroom.

Still feeling bleary, she groped for the light switch.

The words get out were drawn on the mirror in soap. Something moved. Jazz brought the ectogun she was still carrying up and fired. The blast bounced off the mirror (for reasons never clearly explained to Jazz, ectoplasm behaved strangely with regards to reflective surfaces and especially silver) and hit the lintel of the doorway.

There was a silent, tense moment where Jazz realized she had shot at her own reflection.

She was becoming her parents.

Danny groaned from the bed, breaking the silence. There were some thumps from the other side of the wall as Jack and Maddie burst through the door.

“Okay, spook!” shouted Jack, “you have five seconds to… There’s no ghost here.”

“Um,” said Jazz, weakly.

“What happened, sweetie?” asked Maddie, swiping hair out of her eyes.

“I just… Was a little tense, I guess, and—” She turned back to the mirror, expecting to see the writing.

There was nothing there.

“Huh,” she said. “I was going to take a shower and I… Thought I saw something,” she finished, lamely. She must have been more tired than she thought.

Danny made another muffled sound and rolled over, taking the blankets with him and turning himself into a human burrito.

“Okay,” said Jazz. “That’s… Usually he’d wake up.”

“He’s used to ectoblast sounds,” said Maddie. “I know I don’t wake up for every one. We’re always testing new weapons after all.”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Jazz. “Normally, he wakes up. It’s kind of a self-preservation thing.” She walked over to the bed and poked him. “Danny?”

He let out a small grunt but otherwise didn’t respond.

“This is weird,” said Jazz. “This is weird, right?”

“Do you think he’s being effected by something?” asked Maddie.

“Definitely,” said Jazz. “Is it something here? I don’t know. I mean, that was only the second time he’s fought one of those… things.”

“You think he’s just recovering from that?” asked Maddie.

“Maybe,” said Jazz.

“I don’t like this,” said Maddie. She stepped closer to the bed and shook Danny’s shoulder, obviously hoping to wake him. After a few seconds, Danny turned intangible, forcing Maddie to let go.

He did not show any signs of wakefulness.

“That really isn’t normal,” said Maddie, biting her lower lip. She looked to the door. “I don’t like that Eliza and Bethany haven’t said anything, either…”

Jazz winced. They had made a lot of noise.

“You don’t think something got them, do you?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know,” said Maddie. “But we should probably check.”

“We won’t be able to move Danny if he’s phasing through us,” said Jazz.

“Right,” said Maddie. “You and Jack stay here, and I’ll go downstairs.”

“No, you girls should stay here, and I’ll go downstairs,” said Jack.

“Really, Jack, that’s…”

Jazz tuned out her parents’ argument. As much as she hated to say it – because it wasn’t fair to put so much pressure on Danny – the real problem was that the only person who could reliably deal with… things was out of commission, and for who knew how long.

The three humans would have to solve this by themselves.

[gnocchighoul]

Operation Hot Potato

Summary: 

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

(You bring home a kitten and try to hide her from Lucifer. Unfortunately for you, nothing gets past the House of Lamentation’s resident pet-hater.)

Word Count: 3.6k

AO3 Portal

You found a kitten.

Well—kind of. It’s debatable.

You think it’s a kitten. She certainly looks like one—fluffy little thing with snow-white fur, blue eyes, a poofy little triangular head, and the most perfectly pink toe beans you’ve ever had the pleasure of squishing. 

The reason why you’re so hesitant to call her a kitten? 

She breathes fire. Hiccups fireballs. Sneezes flaming hot streams of… well, flames.

You learned that firsthand ten minutes ago, when you nearly got your eyebrows singed off by a particularly dangerous sneeze. All you wanted to do was give her a smooch on her wittle pink nose, you weren’t expecting to get blasted in the face with an orangey-red inferno.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter if she’s a little strange. You’ve sworn your everlasting love to your newfound daughter—your secret daughter that the demon brothers can absolutely not know about under any circumstances whatsoever, because you just know that Lucifer will make you put her back in the wild where you found her.

Your fire-sneezing, bouncing baby girl wouldn’t last another day out in the harsh wilderness (aka the dumpster that you retrieved her from). In the forty-seven minutes that you’ve had her, she’s grown accustomed to belly scratches, sleeping in your bed, and gnawing on only the finest tortilla chips in the Devildom. 

Her name is Tater Tot.

She sticks out like a sore white thumb among your colorful assortment of pillows. Not that she cares. She’s living it up in the lap of luxury. Tater Tot stretches—turns around with every paw in the air, proudly showing off her rotund little baby belly, and mrrps at you.

Its the cutest thing you've ever fucking seen. You just wanna SQUEEZE her. Ugh, who would've guessed that a little trash fire baby would steal your heart so quickly?

And it’s not like you broke the rules and brought home a pet on purpose. Tater Tot had chosen you. By choosing to rummage around in that specific dumpster that you just so happened to walk past on your way home from RAD, Tater Tot had effectively decided that you were to be her new caretaker. 

It’s fate. Kismet. You’ve wanted a pet for so long—dog, cat, dragon, gremlin, doesn’t matter. You’ve spent hours upon hours bitching and moaning to anyone that’ll listen about how badly you’ve wanted a pet to smother with your love. Nobody has been able to escape your woe. Everyone—the brothers, the angels, Solomon, and even your good buddy Diavolo (somehow, Barbatos has managed to evade you) have all been forced to listen to your lamenting about the pet-shaped hole in your heart. 

But finally—finally—your prayers have been answered.

With a fire breathing kitten. 

Oh yeah. Kismet.

You’re fairly certain that Tater Tot has never lived in a house. She had been perfectly content to snuggle up in your school uniform like some kind of tiny, pouch dwelling, heat seeking creature, until you had snuck into your bedroom and closed the door behind you. 

The second you set her on the floor, it was like a switch flipped. Tater Tot had shown off her unnatural strength by flinging her little puffball body around the room like a possessed tumbleweed, spastically crashing around the room and knocking over furniture and keepsakes alike.

You had finally cornered her under your bed and sat peacefully nearby, humming quietly to calm her. It didn’t take long for you to coax her out with snacks—she liked the chips, but passionately disliked the gummy worms—and within twenty minutes you had Tater Tot lounging with you on the bed, rubbing her soft little cheeks into your palm for rubs and scritches. 

You need to come up with a plan to hide your beloved child ASAP. It’s only a matter of time until either Lucifer hauls you off to his room or one of the brothers decides to camp out in yours for the night, and if word gets back to Lucifer that you’re harboring a fugitive animal… Well, favoritism or not, it won’t end pretty.

Though perhaps there is one person who can help you with this little secret.

Satan. The cat-loving fourth brother. 

Man oh man, he’s going to be thrilled with sweet little Tater Tot. You have to be careful though—you reckon that there is a 96% chance that he’ll try to steal her away from you. Trying to juggle custody battles and harboring your secret daughter from Lucifer all at the same time sounds like such a pain.

But… That would still be better than having to put Tater Tot back on the streets.

With the threat of big-meanie-Lucifer looming over you like a particularly gothic and pet-hating phantom, you come to a final decision. You’re just going to have to pull on your big girl pants and accept the soul crushing truth of the situation.

Satan is your only hope. 

But how are you going to sneak your daughter all the way over to his room?

You look around your own room for something, anything that can hide your beloved dumpster pet and—ohohoho.

 ~

“Darling?” 

You freeze midstep.

Busted.

“What’s up, Lucifer?” You try so hard to keep your voice calm and normal. So hard. 

Judging by the way Lucifer looks at you, you’ve failed. And you were so close. Satan’s bedroom is literally right there! Only a few yards away! If only you’d just had ten more seconds to yourself in the dark hallway... Alas, the warden your beloved Lucifer aka the resident pet hater stands between you and the dusty salvation that is Satan’s library of a bedroom.

You shuffle your feet a bit nervously. Readjust your grip on the cardboard box. A bit warily, Lucifer eyes it.

“What’s in the box?”

You panic. “What box?” 

Fuck.

Lucifer cracks a smile, though it doesn’t meet his gaze. He gestures to the cardboard box that you are currently holding near to your chest like some sort of ugly, cubic liferaft. 

“Oh!” You laugh. It’s too high pitched. Suspicious. “This box? It’s just some books for Satan, it’s nothing—”

The box sneezes.

Your mouth snaps shut and you thank all the fucking stars in heaven that this sneeze didn’t flambé you.

Lucifer’s eyes narrow accusingly. Tone icy and sharp, he says, “Books? Is that so?” 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

You wilt a bit under the intensity of his gaze. “They’re… cursed books? Yeah, so cursed and dangerous and only Satan knows how to nullify the evilness of these books so I’m gonna just slip past you—”

Lucifer takes a step to the left, planting himself firmly in your path and effectively thwarting your desperate grand escape. A single blade of moonlight cuts through the curtains and slices through the shadows, Lucifer now caught in the spotlight and—oh that fucker did that on purpose. Ugh, what a drama queen.

Red eyes practically glowing in the dark, he nods menacingly at the box. “Go on then. Open it.” 

“I dunno, I really shouldn’t because of the curses and—”

Clearly not in the mood to entertain your scheming-slash-rambling, Lucifer takes matters into his own hands. Before you can twist away, one of his hands darts out to knock the lid off of the box and—

Books. It’s filled with books.

He frowns. Lifts one up and—nope, there’s just more books underneath. “...What?” 

“Happy? Now if you don’t mind I really should get—”

“Let me help you with that.”

Your reflexes aren't fast enough. Before you can leap back or Sparta kick him away, Lucifer plucks the box right out of your arms… and reveals a squirming lump beneath your sweater, right inbetween your breasts. The box hits the floor. Lucifer stares at your newly acquired mass with a very particular sort of horror that you’ve never seen before. 

You panic. Again.

“...I grew a new boob. I think the Devildom air is toxic or something, but it’s okay! The more the merrier, right? We can still—gET YOUR HANDS OFF MY TIDDIES—”

Lucifer presses one hand to your lower back, trapping you, and yanks down your zipper, revealing the purrito that is wrapped kind-of-securely to your chest with a scarf. He recoils backwards, looking equal parts horrified and peeved off.

Time for Plan B.

93% sure that you can still recover from this situation that is rapidly soaring downhill, you stuff your hands into your pockets and then throw them outwards, flinging fistfuls of rainbow confetti into the air. “Surpriiiise! You’re a daddy! Say hello to our daughter.”

“No.”

“Her name is Tater Tot. Personally, I think she takes after you.”

The Tater in question shimmies out of her silky prison and tumbles nose first into your palms. You hold her right up to Lucifer’s face, grinning like a goddamn sociopath when he takes an alarmed step backwards. Little puffball paws desperately try to swipe at his nose. Lucifer looks downright offended by the assault of pink toe beans.

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the noodle-limp kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

“As fun as that sounds, we have a perfectly good one right here!” 

“That thing is not a baby. Where did you find it?” 

There’s a concerned little scrunch in his brow that you wanna smooth over with your thumb, but when you try to close the distance between you two, he moves further out of reach. Frowning, you hug Tater Tot to your chest. She snuggles her face into the crook of your neck and purrs like the smallest biodiesel engine in all of the realms.

“I found her in a dumpster!” you say, perhaps a bit too proudly. 

Lucifer’s eyes widen. “In the city?”

“Why is that so shocking? Does the Devildom not have stray cats?” 

“That’s not a cat.” 

“Well yeah I kinda figured, what with the whole fire breathing thing and all, but—”

“It’s a chimera.” 

You stare at Lucifer. Try to gauge how serious he’s being. Tater Tot nibbles on your thumb with little needle-like teeth. 

Surely he’s joking. 

“...Like the lion-goat-lizard thing? That chimera?” 

Lucifer nods. 

Like you’re in some twisted version of the Lion King, you hold Tater Tot up in the beam of moonlight that Mr. Doom and Gloom had previously been occupying. Examine her totally normal kitten-features. The distinct lack of goat hooves. Miss Tater licks her nose. A Chimera? Her?

Surely he’s fucking with you.

But… it would explain the whole fire-breathing thing. Kind of. You’re not fully convinced he’s lying, but the truth doesn’t make much more sense.

But if she is a chimera… that’s so badass.

If Lucifer thinks for one second that Tater Tot being a nightmarish Hell creature is going to scare you into giving her up, then he is sorely mistaken. (You did choose to date him, after all. You're an expert at loving on Hellish beings.) At the end of the day, whether Tater is a chimera or a cat or whatever the hell else, you’ve already bonded with each other. She’s your baby and you are not going to let him get rid of her. 

If he gets Cerberus, then you get your funky little Tater Tot, dammit.

Lucifer watches this journey of emotions play out on your face. His eyes narrow. He says your name slowly, strained—a thinly veiled warning in his voice.

The grin that overtakes your face can only be described as evil. 

“We’re keeping her.”

“Absolutely not.” 

 ~

“You can’t be serious.” 

From the depths of your blanket fort, your hand emerges to flip Lucifer off. He scowls. 

“This blanket fort is only for Tater Tot and me.”

“Then perhaps you should relocate to your bed.” Lucifer growls.

You snuggle further into the black sheets cocooning you. With impressive speed, you had raced back to Lucifer’s room and stripped every piece of fabric from his bed in record time. From there, it was simply a matter of combining the dark sheets with a bunch of pillows and voila. You had created your very own anti-Lucifer fortress, right in the middle of his bed. 

Tater Tot army-crawls across your thigh and worms her way into the sheets, vanishing like a ninja.

"What?" You peek at Lucifer through a small opening in the fabric. “But then you would just ignore me and Tater Tot.” 

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”

“No! We’re not on the same page at all,” you scowl. “I’m not moving until you bond with her.” 

“Then I suppose you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

“Maybe I will!”

You can’t see him right now, but you know in the depths of your heart that Lucifer is rolling his eyes at you. 

Which, y’know. Fair. You are being a little bit ridiculous. But what choice do you have? The confetti didn't work and Lucifer needs to form an everlasting bond with Tater Tot. He needs to experience how lovely and precious and wonderful your little baby is, so that he won’t make you put her back in the dumpster where you found her.

You have one last tactic. It is by far the absolute worst. 

Talking to him. Like some kind of functioning, responsible adult, because apparently that's what you're supposed to do in a healthy relationship. Blegh. 

While you agonize over stooping to this final resort, Lucifer climbs into the bed without a word and settles himself in like he owns the place. Which he does. But that’s beside the point. 

One of your arms emerges from the blanket shield to poke at his pajama clad thigh. He doesn’t react. So naturally, you poke him again. And again. And again, until finally he sighs, “What?”

You squirm your way out of the stuffy blankets, gulping down air once you're free—sweet baby Jesus, fresh air has never felt so good—and Tater Tot flies out after you, rocketing across the mattress at the speed of light and tumbling around like a little white pom pom. While she does her own thing, you worm your way into Lucifer’s side so that you’re halfway on top of his chest. He huffs and lays there like a board, refusing to hug you, so you grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulders yourself.

Here goes nothing. 

“Why are you so against having a pet?” you ask, dancing the pads of your fingers over his chest.

Lucifer cracks one eye open. “The first and last time I allowed pets in the house, Satan brought home 48 cats. In one hour.” 

...You really should have seen that one coming.

“Oh. Well, I mean… Is that reallyyy a bad thing—ow! You jerk, I was just kidding.” You pout. “You didn’t have to pinch my butt that hard.” 

Lucifer snickers and pats your butt consolingly. “Mmm, no, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

Briefly, you consider headbutting him right in the chin. But alas, that wouldn’t solve anything, so you settle for pressing a kiss to his collarbone, then reach a hand up to play with his hair, just how he likes. It’s not very ~vengeful~ buuut it’s bound to put him in a better mood. 

You trace cutesy little heart shapes on his right pec. “You know what I want?”

Lucifer closes his eyes—lets his head fall back onto the mattress. “We’re not keeping her.” 

You snuggle into his chest with a happy little hum. “Yes we are.”

“...Just for the night. Tomorrow you're putting her back where you found her."

 ~

You wake up in agony. 

It feels like you’ve had a lung ripped out and replaced with serrated knives. Or shark teeth. Each breath drags oh so painfully at your—just kidding. 

You wake up well rested and tangled in the bedsheets, your head hanging off the side of the mattress. You’re a little hazy-brained and your skull feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, but that’s probably because of all the blood rushing to your head. When you roll over and haul yourself back up onto the bed, a noise escapes you that is definitely not fit for polite company.

The murky depths of slumber threaten to take you again, so you pat around the bed with your hand, looking for your favorite demon-slash-body pillow. You pat. And keep patting. Where the hell is Lucifer?

You crack one bleary eye open, trying to find Lucifer and—

Where the hell is Tater Tot?

Your heart jolts in your chest as you realize a few things all at once.

One: Lucifer is missing. 

Two: Tater Tot is missing.

Three: You slept through breakfast, but that’s less important. 

You’re off like a shot, wrestling yourself out of the sheets and flinging them to the floor, then stumbling across the room to get to the door before your brain can even fully wake up. It’s fine, you don’t need 100% brainpower, you just need to find your baby. 

You’ve barely taken four steps into the hallway when you slam nose first into Mammon. He catches you, saving your face from becoming acquainted with the floor, and you grab him by the leathery lapels of his jacket. 

“Where’s Lucifer?!” you hiss.

Mammon desperately tries to squirm out of your feral grip. You shake him like a polaroid picture.

“Geez, knock it off would ya?! He’s in his office, what the hell is up with you? Wh—HEY! I’M NOT DONE TALKIN’ TO YA!”

Whatever the Weenie has to say to you is less important than finding your child, so as soon as you acquire Lucifer’s location, you haul ass to Lucifer’s study.

 ~

In a raging fury that could rival Satan’s existence, you fling open the door, ready to tear Lucifer a new one for not even letting you say goodbye to your beloved kitten and—

And your heart melts into a warm, gooey puddle. 

Lucifer is sitting at his desk. Tater Tot is draped across his shoulders.

Lucifer glares at you, but there's no real bite in his gaze. “Keep it down, Phobos is sleeping.”

You blink stupidly, your brain racing at a thousand miles an hour to catch up with whatever the hell you’re currently feeling that has you all mushy and moon-eyed. “Phobos? What the hell? That’s not her name at all.” 

“My love, we are not naming our daughter after potatoes. Her name is now Phobos. She and I came to a mutual agreement that it is far more fitting of a name for a creature of her pedigree.”

...You’re so torn. On one hand, you want to argue that Tater Tot is a lovely name for your dumpster kitten-chimera-thing, but on the other hand… he called her ‘our daughter’. As in your guys’s daughter. This can only mean one thing, and you clutch at your heart when you realize what’s happening.

They bonded.

It damn well might bring a tear to your eyes.

You make your way over to Lucifer, shove aside the papers on his desk, and perch your happy ass right on the hardwood.

With a bone deep sigh, Lucifer leans back in his chair. “Why do you always do that? My lap is available, you know.”

Tater Tot wakes up and lifts her heavy little sleep-addled head to meep at you.

You grin—hook your ankles around the armrests of his chair and pull him closer. “So… does this mean we’re keeping Tater Tot?” 

“... Yes, we’re keeping Phobos. But that’s it, no more pets.”

“Okay, wait. Hear me out. What about a dog?”

“Absolutely not.”

Lucifer plucks another white hair from his RAD uniform and holds it up to the moonlight, scowling at the offensive thing. Why in all the realms did you have to find a white cat? The damned thing has only lived with you lot for two days and yet somehow its hair has already gotten over every article of black clothing in his wardrobe. It’s infuriating.

His gaze wanders across the courtyard to where you’re sitting pretty on Beel’s shoulders, clawing at his face with your fingertips and screaming in terror at how high up you are. He grins. 

He can put up with the shedding fur, so long as he gets to see how your eyes shine like the stars when you see Phobos.

Still though. Why couldn’t you find a black kitten? 

“Lucifer! There you are!” 

Lucifer flicks the cat hair—lets the breeze catch it and float it away. Before he can even get a proper greeting in, Diavolo is pulling him in for a bone crushing hug.

“You’re here a bit later than usual. How’s life with the new kitten treating you?” Diavolo asks.

Lucifer steps out of the hug and eyes Diavolo warily. “Just fine, thank yo—wait. How do you know about the cat?”

Diavolo blinks innocently. “Surely you told me about her, didn’t you?” 

No, he definitely did not—oh no. 

Lucifer stares, slack jawed and horrified, because in that moment, he realizes something that he refuses to accept.

No.

No. It can’t be.

Diavolo would never do that to him. He would ne—oh fuck, he absolutely did.

Diavolo planted the cat. He knew that you would find her in that dumpster and take her home.

Lucifer has never known a betrayal quite like this. Diavolo says something about heading off to his office, but he doesn’t hear him over the rushing in his ears.

“Diavolo.” 

The demon prince in question pauses in his escape to look back at Lucifer. “Yes, Lucifer?”

“Why did you have to pick a white cat?”

And oh, Diavolo laughs. A full belly laugh that quite honestly kills Lucifer. Just a little bit.

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,  alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it�� Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

[sea-and-storm]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #12: Miss the Boat

“Have you any clue who it is that stands at my counter?”

Her employer’s voice was a low, annoyed hiss when he took Ghoa by the arm as she perused the rack of herbs and ingredients. Even though he wasn’t a particularly strong man, more rotund than rugged, it did not take an Arkasodara to cause the petite Xaela to fumble out of place;  moreso whenever she had been caught so off-guard as such, nearly causing her to drop the small sheet of parchment she held within her hands.

Careful to remain subtle enough not to pull the older woman’s attention their way, Dinesh all but dragged his apprentice out of both line of sight and earshot of the customer she had been dutifully waiting upon.

How should I know? I’ve been here less than a full moon, she wanted to spit right back at the man, having to restrain both her tongue and the hateful narrowing of her eyes. And you certainly haven’t taught me anything about this city. You’ve barely even taught me anything of alchemy.

Whenever Ghoa had set her sights upon Thavnair as her next destination, it had been with the determination to find a mentor under which she could expand upon her existing knowledge of herbalism and poison-making. Yet she had misjudged just how difficult of a task that would end up being for one such as herself.

The Crucible would not take in just any stranger off the street, especially not a foreigner only newly arrived. No matter, she had thought. There were plenty alchemists yet in Radz-at-Han and surely she could find at least one in need of an apprentice. Yet while that much was certainly true, she had failed to remember that this was a trader’s town above all else. Of the few masters of the craft that had even deigned to meet with her, all had demanded not insignificant sums in payment made up front towards lessons. Coin that Ghoa did not have, by far.

Out of desperation, the Mankhad had come here to Dinesh’s old, hole-in-the-wall apothecary after one such master alchemist had suggested she seek him out. He was in need of an apprentice, he had told her, and he would certainly be glad for any help that he could get. 

Thinking back on it now, that bastard must have had a good laugh at her expense once word made it back to him that she had took his 'advice' at face value.

Indeed, it hadn’t been difficult at all to get the portly hyur to agree to take her on as a pupil, and at first it had seemed like just the turn of luck for which she had been searching. Dinesh had agreed to teach her in exchange for her assistance in running the apothecary. He’d pay her a wage for it, he assured her, and from that he would subtract the cost of his tutelage.  A fair deal, she had thought then, only to look back on it now with no shortage of bitterness. 

To even call him a ‘teacher’ would’ve been several magnitudes a stretch. Dinesh was a businessman, first and foremost.. And truthfully, Ghoa wasn’t even certain that he was any more alchemically skilled than she was herself. She’d never so much as seen him touch an alembic and all the books in his collection from which he assigned readings were covered in layers of dust thick enough to make a person burst into sneezes at merely the sight of them. Not to mention that most of the more advanced potions and tinctures they sold she knew for a fact were produced by other alchemists that he had bought at a discount for resale.

It had become readily apparent in short order that Ghoa’s employment here would get her nowhere, much less to the heights to which she aspired. But what else was she to do, given that it seemed she had already turned over every rock and leaf out there already?

And so the Xaela had resigned herself to the long hours spent tending shop, filling customers’ orders and selling potions of questionable quality all for a pittance of a wage. All she could hope to do was to save of her earnings what she could and perhaps one day in the distant future she would be able to afford the tutelage of an actual Hannish alchemist. Until then, studying the dusty old tomes in Dinesh’s paltry library would just have to do.

“I do not,” Ghoa replied coolly and evenly, though perhaps the rough manner in which she jerked her arm out of his grasp belied her roiling temper. “She only said that she had need of certain herbs before she departed by ferry to tend to a patient of hers and minced no words in bidding me to hurry, so if you’ll excuse me..”

She turned to start away and once more, the ring-covered hand shot out to yank her back. It took everything Ghoa had within her not to wheel around on him like a coeurl snagged by the tail, all claws and fury. But this time, she didn’t bother to hide the glare that narrowed her silver eyes.. For all the good it did, for he neither seemed to notice nor care.

“Give me that list,” Dinesh growled as he plucked the parchment the customer had given her from Ghoa’s hands. As he pulled down his spectacles over his nose to begin reading, his voice continued in an impatient huff. 

“I suppose you’re to be forgiven for your ignorance.. It is not often that the Crucible’s black karakul herself descends from her estate, after all.” His brows furrowed as his eyes scanned further and further down the list. “We’ve the honor of Sarasvati Parikh’s custom. It’s a rare occurrence, that. Usually it’s that hunched apprentice of hers that runs her errands, the poor fellow.”

Finally, the man seemed to find what it was he was looking for and shoved the list back into Ghoa’s hands. A meaty finger reached over, jabbing at one of the items on Sarasvati’s list.

“This,” he began as he tapped the paper she held and the Xaela struggled not to push his hand out of the way so she could actually read what he was pointing towards. For a mercy, his hand fell away but a second later as he turned back to the shelves, hunting for something. “Tell Master Parikh that we are sold out of that reagent and offer her–” He paused as he plucked a sachet free and returned his gaze to his apprentice. “–this instead.”

“I thought we still had plenty..?” Ghoa questioned hesitantly, looking back towards the shelves she had been pulled from just a moment prior. “I bought more of it myself in the markets only the other day. Has there been a large sale of which I was not made aware, or..?”

A long, low groan of impatience left Dinesh, a hand rising to wipe over his face in exasperation.

“We do have plenty, you fool. There has been no large purchase,” he ground out between his teeth, tone heavy with condescension. “But Master Parikh must be in dire straits if she has come now to do her own shopping. It isn’t often that we’ve patrons whose pockets run so deep – so dig into them.” He roughly shoved the sachet into her hands. “Convince her to buy this instead. If she is truly in such a hurry then she will not have the time to waste bartering, much less going to seek it at another shop.”

Of course it did not surprise her that Dinesh was shoving his unscrupulous business practices upon her. It was far from the first time he had enlisted her aid in ripping off the more affluent of his customers. It reminded her far too much of Kugane to be comfortable but, once again, she had little choice but to go along in her present circumstances.

She at least needed to see what it was that she was supposed to be offering as alternative if she wanted to have half a hope of selling it to the prickly alchemist. Ghoa tugged open the sachet to see what was inside, but upon realizing just what it was, her protesting look turned back up towards the man.

“You cannot be serious,” she began in an imploring whisper. “For her needs, this would be thrice the cost for half the potency.. If not less, after just how long it’s sat here on the shelves. If she’s going to be traveling out to an island where supplies are scarce, then–”

“Mrga take you, woman!” Dinesh snapped, almost too loud in his frustration, as he snatched the pouch again. He continued in a quiet seethe, jabbing a finger in Ghoa’s face.  “I’ll do it my bloody self! I won’t miss the boat on a windfall like this because of your bleating.” That hand in her face now waved her off impatiently as he made for the storefront. “Now, go! Sweep the floors since that’s all you’re bloody good for around here.”

For a long moment, Ghoa stood in simmering silence in the man’s wake. Her hands clenched into fists at her side as she watched him turn on his charming salesman act upon the decidedly unimpressed Sarasvati. But true enough, just as Dinesh had predicted, the woman only offered up her complaints alongside a healthy pouch of coin.

And that made Ghoa’s temper flare even hotter.

As Sarasvati made to depart, the Mankhad wheeled around back to the shelves with a renewed fervor. With Dinesh thoroughly distracted counting out his beloved coins, Ghoa grabbed a bottle of the reagent that Sarasvati had asked for – no, two. After a moment of thought, she plucked another vial of ground herb from another spot as well. The master alchemist hadn’t requested this one, but Ghoa suspected it might be of use to her. And after the small fortune she just paid to Dinesh, she certainly deserved a little extra showing of customer appreciation.

Stuffing the reagents into her pocket, Ghoa made for the door with nary a look towards her supposed teacher. She had almost slipped out entirely before he seemed to notice her leaving, a squawk of dismay rising from him just as she reached the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he snapped. “Did I not just tell you the floors need sweeping?”

“Sweep your own gods-be-damned floors, Dinesh!” Ghoa finally snarled back, the words like the strike of a coiled serpent for their venom. And gods, were they satisfying. “I quit!”

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Sharing Her Attentions - 1/1

Summary: When Anthony married Kate he didn't realize he'd be sharing her attentions with her pet corgi.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1901

A/N: The prompt Jealousy for KatexAnthony Week

Anthony never considered himself a jealous man.

After all the root of jealousy is the fear of losing something precious to you. And Anthony had intentionally led a life where beyond his family he didn't hold such connections with anyone.

In particular when it came to the women in his life. Most of his dalliances had been done in secret and never in the confines of his home. He drew firm lines over certain parts of his life that he never let anyone cross.

Then Kate entered into his life like a force of nature.

In short time Kate had broken through his carefully crafted defences. Being with Kate meant opening his heart and he surprisingly found himself more than willing to do so. For a man who convinced himself he didn't need anyone he quickly realized he couldn't live without her after a few short months of marriage. He had no doubts in his mind that they loved each other to distraction.

Luckily for them jealousy never factored heavily in their relationship. No one could ever compare to Kate in him, and he had a great deal of confidence no man lingered in Kate's heart or thoughts the way he did.

With one exception that Anthony had to deal with on a daily basis.

His wife's rather rotund and enthusiastic corgi.

With a scowl furrowing his brow Anthony lowered his newspaper to glance across the room.

His wife sitting on a settee opposite from him barely looked in his direction. Her entire attentions were focused on the porgy corgi sitting beside her. Kate had recently taught that insufferable mongrel how to do a couple of tricks that she never seemed to grow sick of. Anthony was too proud to admit out loud that his chest clenched at the sight of Kate's beaming smile or delighted laughter every time that dog raised a paw or barked on command. But not too proud to silently stew in annoyance while watching them.

His ire only growing since he forgo joining his parliament colleagues at White's to go home to his wife. On most days Anthony much preferred being with Kate then anyone else. In the early days of their marriage Anthony had foolishly avoided his wife in the hopes to suppress any feelings he could have for her. Now months after she recovered from the carriage crash and their true feelings confessed Anthony had every intention of making up for lost time.

Or he would if Kate would stop playing with that blasted mongrel.

“Anthony? Is everything well?”

Kate's voice broke his brooding and brought his attention back to her. He could see the amusement in her dark eyes. A smile pulling at her lips while she absent mindedly petted Newton between his ears. At least she was finally focusing on him again.

“Its nothing,” Anthony glanced at Newton in distaste. “Should the dog be sitting on the settee?”

Kate rolled her eyes but still coaxed Newton off the settee and back on the floor.

“Are you ever going to warm up to Newton?” Kate playfully scowled at him. “I didn't realize you disliked dogs so much.”

Anthony didn't have anything against dogs. Back in his youth when his family spent most of the year at Aubrey hall they always had several dogs. In truth he rarely came across a dog he didn't like. Even the tiny balls of fluff that older ladies of the Ton often had sitting his their laps with bows tied in their fur.

Newton however Anthony struggled to connect with.

From the first day he knew Newton would be an agent of chaos. Because of this dog Anthony had once ran across the length of a park and ended up knee deep in the serpentine. He also hadn't completely absolved Newton's role in the carriage crash that caused Kate to break her leg. The moment Kate brought the dog to their newlywed home Newton had become a terror in the house.

For such a relatively small dog Newton caused a lot of problems. From tearing down curtains, eating half of the meat pie that had been cooling on the window sill, and in general pouncing and jumping on the servants as they went about their duties. Anthony knew for fact that his butler had murderous designs on Newton.

But for Anthony the difficult part of living with Newton is them having to share Kate's attentions.

On more than one occasion Anthony couldn't cuddle close to Kate in their bed because Newton already beat him to it. Or the times Anthony came home in the afternoon hoping to spend time with Kate only to find out she had taken Newton out for a walk. Or when Anthony and Kate were engaged in conversation only to be interrupted by Newton toddling over and distracting Kate every time. All Anthony could do is sit there scowling as Kate cooed and petted the blasted beast.

Anthony would never say he was jealous of the mongrel. He had far too much dignity for that.

“No I don't hate dogs,” Anthony he argued before bringing his newspaper back up again.

“You're impossible,” Kate groused but lucky for him he could detect a note of fondness in her voice.

From behind his paper Anthony could hear Kate getting up and walking over to the tea service to make herself another cup of tea. Which would mean Anthony wouldn't be able to coax her into sitting in the chair with him if she had a cup of tea in hand.

“Kate?” Anthony peered over the paper to where Kate had just finished adding sugar to her tea. “Can you come here for a moment?”

Immediately Kate's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion but she put down the tea cup to walk towards him. Anthony took the moment to take in and appreciate his wife. She wore a simple light lavender dress that contrasted beautifully against her brown skin. Her thick, curly black hair had had been pulled up in a bun but tendrils curled gently around her face.

The minute she drew close enough Anthony reached out to grab her.

“Anthony!” Kate called out as she felt herself be tugged down.

Anthony couldn't help but grin in satisfaction when his wife landed in his lap. He took a moment to savour having her close to him. The warmth of her body seeping into his own. His senses becoming overwhelmed by the scent of soap and lilies. His hand drifting over the soft curves of her body.

A big part of him debated standing up with her gathered in his arms to take her upstairs to their room. Not the first time Anthony had found a way to steal his wife away to their quarters to have his way with her in the middle of the afternoon. He couldn't deny that his desire for his wife made it difficult for him to wait until evening to be with her. Especially when she looked this stunning in the afternoon light.

“You're ridiculous,” Kate huffed but Anthony made a note she made no move to get off his lap.

“Don't deny you love it,” Anthony smirked as his finger gripped her chin to pull her into a kiss.

Kate further melted against him. Her hands moving up to grip the lapels of his jacket to keep his close. His one hand gently brushed up her back causing a shiver through her body and a soft moan.

Anthony quickly became lost in his wife. The whole world fading away to nothing until all her could feel, and taste, and hear was Kate.

Except in the distance he could hear the familiar sound of paws scraping against hard wood floor and a high pitch excited bark. Anthony already knew what would happen next, Newton with surprising agility would jump into their lap and interrupt them. And he would not allow that to happen.

Anthony quickly pull away from Kate and with his most firmest Viscount voice called out to Newton.

“Dog no, sit down!”

Kate winced sympathetically as Newton skidded to a halt then plop his big bottom back on the ground. His big brown eyes gazed sadly up at the two of them, his fluffy ears flat against his head.

A low and sad whine emitted from him that even pulled at Anthony's heart strings.

Normally at this point Kate would have given in and let Newton do or have whatever he wanted. She couldn't deny she had a soft hand when it came to Newton.

Anthony on the other hand completely disagreed. He never hesitated to say to her how badly Newton behaved. Once they started living together Anthony had then taken it upon himself to try 'correct' Newton when possible.

One thing Anthony refused to budge on is letting Newton join in when they were cuddling.

“Anthony just this once let him come up,” For good measure Kate ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. She learned very quickly that Anthony melted when she did that, especially when she lightly dragged her fingernails across his scalp.

“Absolutely not,” Anthony held firm, his arms tightening around her. “He's had his time with you now its my turn.”

Kate taken aback at those words took a moment to process them. As she did Anthony watched the puzzled expression on Kate's face turn into one of self satisfied amusement.

“Why Anthony are you jealous...” Kate leaned in closer smirking a little. “Of our dog?”

“No, that's complete nonsense.” Anthony scowled at Kate who continued to smile at him far too knowingly. “Why would you think I ever be jealous of a dog?”

“Call it hunch,” Kate giggled which only caused Anthony's scowl to deepen.

Deciding to take pity of him Kate pressed her lips softly to his own. She could already feel the tense line of his shoulders relax. His hand on her waist becoming less of a grip and more of a caress.

Kate tilted her head at a perfect angle as her teeth bit down on his lower lip to deepen the kiss. A warm haze descended on Anthony at the feel of his wife's body completely pressed against his own. All thoughts of Newton melted from Anthony's mind as Kate's lovely fingers carded through his hair.

That is until his wife pulled back with a teasing grin on her lips.

“See, no need to be jealous darling,” Kate said while lightly kissing his lips.

At the mention of his name Newton's ears perked up and he let out another needy whine. Anthony shot him a reproachful look before Kate's fingers on his jawline had him turning his attention back to her.

“Good thing for both of you I can share my attentions,” Kate let out a sigh but Anthony could see the laughter in her dark eyes.

Anthony didn't know how he felt about Kate saying he needed to share her attentions with a dog. But since he currently had the upper-hand over said dog he decided to take the advantage.

“Well either way its my turn right now,” Anthony said pulling her into a kiss fully intended to hold her attention for as long as possible.

[ladymercysletters]

You’ll Do Nicely

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Prequal 1 of the If You’ll Have Me Series

Word Count : 1952

Warnings: some trigger warnings including: Alcohol abuse, Gambling addiction, child abuse, spousal abuse. It’s not overly heavy but if you’re triggered by any of these, proceed with caution

A/N: This is the first prequal chapter of the If You’ll Have Me series. It doesn’t actually have any Y/N x Benedict content because it takes place before they meet. This is the chapter on how Y/N became a Duchess.

The summer season of 1809 was, it seemed, to be yet another uneventful one, with no suitors… yet again. At your coming out last year you had received the attentions of a fair few of the younger gentlemen of the ton, in fact your dance card had been almost full until they realised who your father was. Since they had realised that you were one of those Buxton’s your dance card had remained almost empty in its stead.

It had always been a burden to you and your family; your father was a gambler and a cad, he owed almost everyone money, and the ones he didn’t owe still knew about it. You were sure he had not paid one bill at his club, but you could have placed a fair bet yourself that he had drunk more than his share of whatever they stocked.

For as long as you and your siblings could remember he had come home drunk and empty of pocket most nights; taking his anger out on any one of you he could lay his hands one. When you were very small your mother used to get in between you and your father, covering you all and taking his rage for you. As you grew older your mother lost her will, instead slumping against the wall in defeat as he took your brother over his knee and lashed him. His excuse was always that it will teach him not to do as his father does, and after the first few times you all relented; your brother would stand in front of his two little sisters, and you would quietly usher your little sister away and out of his reach as your brother took the punishment.

The sober fact of your family’s reputation was enough to pull you back into the present. Dinner with your family was never a joyous occasion; though you all ate together talking was never allowed between you and your siblings and your parents never much mingled beyond greetings and farewells. Your mother sat at one end of the table, taking the tiniest of mouthfuls of soup with an unreadable expression; whilst your father sat at the other end, slurping each full spoonful with his napkin tucked into his collar. With a cough to clear his throat, all eyes flitted up too look at him.

“The Duke of Pembrokeshire was at the Devillier’s ball the other evening.” He said into another spoonful. “He asked after Y/N.” at the mention of your name, eyes turned to you.

“The Duke of Pembrokeshire?” your mothers asked “Portland? Isn’t he…”?

“WHAT?” your father snapped, dropping his spoon into the soup with a clank. “He is a Duke. He has shown an interest in our otherwise plain daughter. Am I to refuse him?” he spat. The silence of the evening returned and your mother receded back into herself. You were sure you remembered the name Portland from somewhere, but for the life of you, you just couldn’t place it.

Later that evening it dawned on you, you sat bolt upright in bed at the memory of you and your brother: looking through a crack in the door at your father and his friends, all sat around a moss green table playing cards. The stench of alcohol in the air and the sound of snuff sniffing constant. That’s when it hit you; Portland was your fathers friend, a large rotund and red man that you and your brother had nicknamed Porty because his face always seemed to be the colour of port. He couldn’t be who your father expected you to marry, he must have died and left his title to a son or a nephew. With that lingering thought you dropped back onto your bed and tried your best to get some sleep.

The next evening you and your family arrived in Hampstead, somewhere. Yet another ball that you had only just managed to find a dress for. Your brother always managed to escape these events, being twenty-two and fresh from university, he often made his excuses and escaped off into the night. Preparing yourself for another evening as a social pariah you steeled yourself as you entered the grand ballroom. No sooner had you exchanged pleasantries with your host and a few surrounding families than the dragging of feet drew your attention.

“BUXTON MY OLD MAN” cried the almost fully spherical man; the bulging buttons of his overstuffed waistcoat straining with effort. This must be Portland. Your father seemed almost afraid of him and you rather suspected he was. Once he had finished greeting your parents his attentions turned to you. His lecherous eyes crawled over your skin, and an even worse laugh - somehow wet and dry at the same time as he coughed into his fist made your little supper appear in your throat whilst he inspected you like some prized heifer.

“Yes. You’ll do nicely” he leered, circling you and clearly leaning over your cleavage. You felt sick to the stomach at even being looked at by him. You smiled politely, trying to pull your lips so tight no-one could see them trembling, and made your excuses to find sanctuary on the other side of the room. You swiped a glass of punch from a footman’s tray and stole behind a large bouquet in one corner of the room, content to become part of the foliage for as long as possible.

“You’re doing an awful job of hiding you know.” A deep voice rang from the other side of the arrangement. “For starters you’re not even the same shade as the wall.” You peaked out from behind a rogue frond to see Henry Granville, one of your only friends in the room: he was, as usual, immaculately dressed in a darkly patterned waistcoat and burgundy jacket that matched his new wife’s elegant chiffon trimmed gown. They truly were a balm to your horrible evening.

“I was trying to blend in with the foliage if you must know, though in a blue gown I do suppose that is difficult.” You muttered, stepping out from behind the column. “In truth I am hiding from one of my father’s friends.” You gestured to your parents across the room, your father hunched over with the old duke as your mother stood abortively aside.

“I’m sure whatever they’re discussing has nothing to do with you.” Henry said, trying to cheer you up.

“He was inspecting me like cattle. There is no doubt in my mind that my father is selling me off.” You sighed, taking a strong swig of your decidedly non-alcoholic punch.

“You are only twenty years old, surely your mother will want you to at least stay for another few years yet?” Lucy asked comfortingly. You sighed dejectedly as you looked back over at your mother, taking absolutely no interest in anything and looking rather far off.

“I doubt my mother would care whether I stay in society or not, just as long as she doesn’t have to deal with my father any more. Please Henry.” You turned to face him and his new wife. “Tell me about your latest commission or something, before I slip into further despair.” Granville continued to relay you with the latest he had heard whilst behind his easel. The wonderful thing about being an artist by royal appointment, was that one was always within earshot of some rather salacious gossip.

By the time you returned home from the ball you were exhausted. You went straight to bed, furious with your father and not able to look anyone in the eye as you sat on what could be your future.

An hour later and you still weren’t able to settle, even going over your conversation with Henry and Lucy, trying to fool your mind into thinking all was well, before deciding on some warm milk to quell your thoughts… and possibly a snack. Sneaking down the staircase and down the hall, you spotted the light in your father’s study still on and you could hear your mother’s voice. You moved closer to peak through the crack in the door.

“He is Two and Forty years her senior! What on earth were you thinking?”

“Do not question me you bitch, he is a Duke, I thought you would be happy for our daughter.” He said, taking a swig of his drink. “Or would you rather me make him wait until Barbara is out in Society, perhaps he would like her better?”

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped. “He is older than you, how do you expect her to … AAhh. Gabriel, stop! No! Please!” you stepped away from the door at the sound of cracking skin; tears in your eyes as you ran to the scullery before your father realised you had heard.

***

A tradition that you and your brother had started a few years ago, and eventually brought your younger sister Barbara into, was the midnight drinking of claret in the little used small parlour. You would sit around the small room, only the candles you brought down from your bedrooms to light it, as you poured yourselves a glass and talked.

“You cannot sister, I will not allow father to marry you off like this.” Your brother stated, after you recalled the argument between your parents several days earlier.

“Sebastian is right sister. Portland is ancient and this is only your second season!” Barbara said hopefully, her innocently hopeful voice breaking your heart further.

“If he does not marry me off, he will wait for Barbara! And I will not allow that!” you said, cutting her off before she could say anymore. Your siblings shouted their surprise and horror as you tried to shush them. “I heard him and mother arguing the other night, father threatened to marry you off to him as soon as you are out.” You concluded. The silence in the room was deafening as you all mulled over your fate. Hardening yourself to what was about to happen you continued. “I will marry Portland: however old and drunken he may be. I will not allow you to come to any harm because of father’s gambling.” You said, stroking Barbara’s cheek. “There is no chance of me marrying anyone else, fathers’ debts have seen to that, and perhaps now that I am to be a duchess your fortunes may be brighter than my own.” Your brother shook his head in disbelief; your tone remained calm, through out your decision, as though you had already closed yourself off from any other emotions.

“Well.” He sighed. “Let us hope the scabby old goat cocks his toes soon after.” He raised his glass in cheers to his little speech, smiling when both of his younger sisters berated him for his candour before joining the toast anyway.

***

Not six months later, in late January you found yourself walking down the aisle of the small chapel on the Pembrokeshire estate. Like everything else on the estate, the décor was ostentatious and overly gilded. You felt much like any other object the duke owned in that moment; your dress was overly laced and flounced, and the train was far too heavy for you to pull with your head down the aisle. Speaking of your hair; it was piled high on top of your head, thick forced curls in layers making you look like a profiterole tower, as your father’s arm tightened around your shaking hand dragging you up the aisle quicker than your feet managed to move. A half an hour later you were no longer Miss Y/N Buxton, daughter of the 3rd Earl of Upshire – but her grace, Lady Y/N Portland, Duchess of Pembrokeshire.

[madsthewordclown]

Fire Lily Pt. 1

warnings: none

Eventual Zuko x Reader, ~1500 words

summary: Y/N has been on the run for months, and is making her way to Ba Sing Se for a new beginning. Meanwhile, she struggles to remain undetected and hide her secret from her newfound friends, while struggling to hide the truth from herself. 

This is my first ever series!! I’m a bit nervous, and I have to warn you that my updates might not be very frequent. I’m finally back to in-person classes, but I’m hoping to update more over my winter break!

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 |

“Bihun, stop it!” Y/N giggled as her brother chased her around the garden. Their mother watched on as she stood on the steps, smiling at her children. Y/N and Bihun stumbled to ground, giggling up at the clouds. A man in green and yellow robes walked out of the house, his mustache and beard unable to hide his scowl.

“Papa, papa, papa!” Bihun laughed, running to grab on to the man’s legs. Y/N’s father gave a weak smile and patted Bihun on the head.

“I need to speak to your mother, son. You stay out here and play, and Sava will fetch you when it’s time for dinner.”

Y/N watched her mother stand up, and she looked a little sad as she followed her father.

“Race you to the panda lilies!” Bihun yelled, and Y/N got up to chase him, not looking back at where her parents had been standing.

“Where are you from, pretty lady?” A greasy-looking man asked.

“Omashu,” Y/N answered sweetly. No one asked questions if you were from Omashu. “I’ll give you 3 bronze pieces for that bread.” She wasn’t one to bargain with random strangers, usually, but her stomach was twisting from the lack of food. She’d traveled two days on foot from her last village to get to Full Moon Bay, and the bread looked good.

“Only if you give me your name, too,” the man grinned. Y/N held back a grimace.

“Nama,” Y/N lied. It was the name on her fake papers. Y/N felt the lightness of her coin pouch as she exchanged the coins for the bread. She had paid an arm and a leg for those papers.

“Fuang,” the man introduced himself.

“I’ve gotta go,” Y/N interrupted before he could continue, and didn’t wait before walking away, getting in the end of a long line in front of the passport attendant’s podium. She watched as the crotchety old woman sent away a pregnant woman and her partner. Suddenly, the forgery she had purchased seemed a lot less convincing. Either way, she was out of options. Ba Sing Se was the only safe place left.

“Passport!” The attendant yelled when Y/N finally reached the front of the line. Her bread was gone—she had somehow managed to eat the whole small loaf while waiting. She cursed herself for not rationing it. She didn’t have that much money left.

Y/N handed her papers to the attendant and held her breath. The old woman squinted at the document, before taking out a large stamp and loudly slamming it down on top of the paper. She pulled out a ticket and handed it to Y/N along with her passport.

“NEXT!” The woman yelled, and Y/N quickly shuffled out of line. No turning back now, Y/N thought as she got ready to board the ferry. Ba Sing Se would be a new start. Ba Sing Se could be a permanent home.

It turned out that ferries weren’t overly comfortable. Y/N sat on the ground, leaning her back against the edge of the boat. The boat was packed with refugees, all of them looking just like her—dirty, hungry, and exhausted—but she recognized the little sliver of hope in their eyes, and knew it was reflected in her own. She wondered how far some of these people had traveled.

“Hey.”

Y/N looked up. A scrappy-looking boy about her age was standing above her, chewing on a blade of wheat grass.

“Hi,” Y/N responded cautiously. The boy seemed to sense her tension.

“I’m Jet,” he introduced himself. “Over there,” he motioned to a group off to your left, “are my friends, Longshot and Smellerbee. We’re the Freedom Fighters. Want to come over and join us?”

“I’m okay,” Y/N answered curtly, “but thank you.” Y/N had learned the hard way that you couldn’t just trust anyone.

“I understand,” Jet said, nodding knowingly. “It’s hard to know who to trust. You’re always welcome if you change your mind.” Y/N swore she saw the boy wink at her as he walked away.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was her nerves, or the hard wood floor of the boat, or the gentle rocking from the water, but her eyes refused to stay closed. She had half a mind to be paranoid about having her things stolen. She would’ve liked to believe more in the goodwill and kindness of her fellow passengers, but they were desperate. She knew what being desperate was like.

She checked her pack to make sure it still had all of its contents. A small knife, her map, a miserably light coin pouch, and a small golden chalice from home, which she hoped would be enough to secure a bed in Ba Sing Se.

Y/N looked up, sensing movement. She watched as two shadows moved through the darkness of the ship. I shouldn’t, Y/N thought to herself. She couldn’t afford to get in more trouble.

Y/N once again tried to get some sleep, to no avail. It seemed some other passengers were also struggling, and the ones who had managed to get some shut eye were restless, murmuring and shaking in their sleep. It made her shudder to think of the things they must have seen before they had arrived in the Bay.

Only a few minutes had passed before Y/N saw the shadowed figures once again. Jet. As the figures came into the light, she saw the defining arched brows and wheat grass hanging from his lip. And she could smell the food.

Jet and another boy were handing out food to the other passengers from large sacks that were stuffed full. She hadn’t even been able to stomach what they were served earlier, and since she was a lone traveler, she had gotten the scraps that were left after everyone else was served. The smell of food was almost overwhelming. Y/N felt her stomach growl as the two boys approached.

“Hello, again,” Jet said as he and the other boy finally reached her. The boy he was with had dark hair and a large scar over his eye—it looked like a burn. It made Y/N’s stomach twist, knowing what must have left that there. Firebenders.

“Hey, Jet,” Y/N responded. She eyed his bag of food. “Where did you happen on all of this?”

“What’s important is that we have it.” It wasn’t an answer, but she supposed she wasn’t one to ask questions. “I didn’t catch your name last time.”

“Y/N.” You held out your hand for him to take, and he shook it. “Who’s your friend?” You nodded to the other boy, who seemed to be giving you a grouchy glare.

“This is Lee,” Jet responded for him. “He’s traveling with his uncle, Mushi.” Jet motioned to a rather rotund old man with an impressive grey beard, who was chowing down from a bowl they must have given him.

“Hi,” Lee greeted. It seemed he wasn’t one for words.

“My offer still stands,” Jet said, smirking at you, “if you’d like to come over and join us.”

She really didn’t have a reason not to, Y/N realized. She wouldn’t have to run once they were off that ferry. And she had to admit she was getting tired of traveling alone.

“Sure,” she answered finally, and Jet smiled, helping her up with one hand. The scowl never left Lee’s face.

Jet led the way over to where Mushi was sitting. As they approached, a kid stormed away, followed by a boy with a bow slung over his shoulder. Mushi seemed to be trying to apologize for something, but quickly forgot his troubles when he saw Y/N approaching with Jet and Lee.

“Who’s this?” Mushi asked, grinning despite the food still stuck in his teeth. Y/N didn’t miss the raise of his eyebrow and fought down her blush at the implication as Mushi looked between her and his nephew.

“This is Y/N,” Lee said flatly. “She’s Jet’s friend.” Y/N felt like pointing out that they had only just met, but maybe this wasn’t the time.

As they sat down, Jet handed both her and Lee bowls of rice and roast duck. Y/N dug in right away, while Lee picked politely at his food.

“From what I’ve heard, people eat like this every night in Ba Sing Se. I can’t wait to set my eyes on that giant wall.” Jet said, tilting his eyes up to look at the stars overhead.

“It is a magnificent sight,” Mushi chuckled in agreement.

“So, you’ve been there before?” Y/N couldn’t help but ask. She had no clue what to expect in Ba Sing Se—all anyone ever talked about was the strength of its wall, and the safety it provided.

“Once.” Mushi wasn’t seeing them anymore, looking through the faces in front of him at some long-distant memory. “When I was a different man.”

“I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of,” Jet admitted. He turned, looking at Y/N. “But that’s why I’m going to Ba Sing Se: for a new beginning. A second chance.” Y/N smiled warmly at him.

��That’s very noble of you,” Mushi told him, before turning and giving his attention to his nephew. “I believe that people can change their lives if they want to. I believe in second chances.”

Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5

[sunnysviolin]

Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.

Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys. 

TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives

In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor. 

It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side. 

The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick. 

Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife. 

Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it. 

He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in. 

The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent. 

The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist. 

Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man. 

“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut. 

“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”

Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero. 

“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,” 

Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t. 

Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.

“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago? 

Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward. 

“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game. 

Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in. 

“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”

Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real?  Hedonist was speaking again.

“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him. 

“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon. 

“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.” 

Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up. 

Please wake up. Please wake up.

“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,” 

A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach. 

All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood. 

Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red. 

Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused. 

He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him. 

Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him. 

“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?” 

Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done 

Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed. 

Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same.  Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe. 

Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them. 

Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.

[thecncitygirls]

I had this saved in my drafts for months 😅

CJ, aka Gloria Glory aka Columbia Junior, was the little sister of All American Hero Major Glory. You see, from the time they were little ldear older brother took his role very proudly but as they grew up, CJ wanted to follow in his footsteps as a superhero. Big Brother denied her the chance. In his eyes she was still young, still innocent. He couldn't lose his only sibling to the big bad ugly bad guys out there, or have her soul corrupted by the more...seductive ones like HIM. So every time she brought up the subject he'd shoot her down with the excuse that she didn't have what it takes. That girls need to stay and learn to become perfect housewives, play with dollies, shop, fashion, whatever normal teen girls liked to do.

That pissed her off. Storming off to her room and slammed the door.

The Major didn't mean to come off as sexist he truly had CJ's best interests at heart. But the world was dangerous, he was just being honest.

The younger Glory sulked in her room. That jackass! After everything she did to help him further his career he had the nerve to deny her a chance to pursue one of her own?! In her anger the cogs of her mind turned as a lightbulb appeared over head. Hmph! Who needs him? She had the money and talent she could create her own Hero Persona on her own! But where to start, she wondered.

Everything came into motion by the time the third AWSM assembly took place.

"There it is," she whispered. "My future."

CJ scratched her long wig as the bus bumped over the rocky road towards the mountain range. Flying would've been easier but she didn't want to risk being caught by the supers least of all her brother. She hoped no one was able to recognize her in her Valkyrie get up. She wasn't the only one: the whole bus were filled with Rock-God cosplayers hoping to catch Val Hallen's attention. She met him a few times, even thought of asking him out but her brother put a veto on that.

The bus stopped at the visitor center and everyone got off. The hidden redhead whistled at the sight of the grand mountain.

She saw where people were alresdy climbing up the stairs. She groused noting the number of steps. "Ugh this will take all day! The meetings probably gonna be over before I make it halfway!"

She could fly just a little but that still would draw attention. Sighing, she began her trek up the flight.

"Yes!"

***

In the district of Odaiba, Japan, a young woman and a much older man was sparring inside their dojo. The woman hollered as she tried to strike him only for him to side step. She struck again, bamboo sticks clacking loudly as he countered the blow. A few seconds and she finally managed to swipe him off his feet!

She began to do a little wiggle happy to have finally beat her master at something!

Before she knew it she was on the floor in a daze. What...just happened???

"You must always keep an eye out for your opponent Sakurako" the old man chided. She huffed but allowed him to pull her up.

After washing and getting dressed she went into the living room, put on the TV and went to the fridge to grab a drink. The reporter was talking about some big meeting, the camera zoomed up high showing a big white monument where multiple supers flown into.

***

Sakura shrugged. Who need all that glitz and glamor to fight crime? Besides she was pretty sure having a giant palace smack dab on top of a mountain wasn't the best idea. Her father came into the room stopping briefly to glance at the TV. "Maybe you will be up there on day," he mused.

"All those heroes and not a single woman up there," she scoffed. "They'd probably kick me out."

Back in the states, sunday school was in session at Townsville Baptist Church. Children stood on the benches singing their hearts out as a Black woman in purple and gold robes led them.

"Sing for me! Higher! Higher!" The instructor, a petite rotund woman named Goss instructed them. The altos rose their voices to an glass-shattering rate, holding the note before silencing, gasping for breath. Goss clapped her hands in satisfaction. "Wonderful babies! Massive improvement from last time," she complimented them. She looked at her watch. "Y'all have a few minutes to relax in the dining room before your parents pick you up! You've earned it!"

All the kids cheered (elated to not bear a single other moment of singing) and scurried out the room. Sighing Goss began picking up their papers off the floor. Competitive choir was no laughing matter. Being the proud teacher that she is she wanted every student to be in tip top shape for when they head to the Big Leagues. As she gazed around her sanctuary making note of every scratch and chip, she sighed. They need the money to save this church she can't let it go after it been in her family for generations. Sighing again she went into the dining room for a bite. There her students were huddled around the tv.

"Maybe we'll get to see Major Glory!"

"Glory is boring Krunk's where it's at!"

Their chatter died down as the announcer began introducing the Heroes. Goss watched with interest - that Nordic rock god was pretty cute - as she began thinking. Maybe she could do something that? Working with superheroes, she knew a lot of them had wealth hidden on the side. Not to sound like a gold digger, but she was willing to work another job if competitive singing didn't work out.

But how would she convince one of them to consider?

AN: OOOOK so first up we have our three main OCs: CJ, Sakura, and Gospelle. As much as I liked Members Only I disliked how OOC they made M.G. and Val for the sole purpose of making the PPG look better (something of a pet peeve of mine in crossovers). So I want to rewrite the episode so they'd act more in character, replace that ridiculous "Girls Are Better Than Boys" with something more in line with feminism/equality, and also Krunk will be there bc where the shell was he in that episode??

[jadekitty777]

Ain't Your Ordinary Tinkerbell

Seems like I’m not getting out of these FG shipweeks with every one being a fully completed work (*eyes the unfinished soulmate one from March*). 

This one is a story that’s been on the backburner for awhile, but I do intend to finish it. I got inspired to do this one from Shana340′s Dark Fairy AU... the minute the first picture was posted I fell in love and wanted to write something but couldn’t think of anything concrete. Leading to the piece that really got my storyline cogs going this one, which was the collab done between her, Chi and Kyra. So I hope you’ll all like this... admittedly short beginning!

Day 3: Fantasy AU

Dedicated to: @shana340artblog with side credit given to @chiherah and @narwhalish

Rating: K

Words: 3.5k

Summary: All fairies, except one, are welcome to Feywood.

This is the story of Qrow, the only fairy to be unwelcome, and his desperate journey to find a place he belongs. [Dark Fairy AU]

Ao3 Link: Chapter 1:First and Second

~

His life was over.

“Qrow Branwen! By order of the Queen you are to return to – ack!” Whatever else Tukson was about to command was mercilessly cut off by one of Tai’s ruthless punches to the gut.

Tai left the woodland fairy on his knees before hopping back to stand on the railing of his treehouse’s porch. “There’s more where that came from, so all of you back off!”

“Tai-!” Qrow tried to go back for him, but Summer’s grip on his arm was stronger than spider thread.

“He’ll be fine, come on!” She shouted as she pulled him inside.

Qrow’s last glimpse of his best friend was the proud, protective way he fanned out his feathery, yellow wings as he faced the oncoming Queen’s guard, before Summer shut the door and she started to throw up magical wards.

They wouldn’t kill him – he knew that with as much certainty as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. No one was foolish enough to eradicate a phoenix fire fairy. The nightmarish stories of their vengeful rebirth were things of legend; tales of burnt down forests and wiped out colonies. Still, Queen Salem would punish him severely for his defiance. His friend was making a great sacrifice for him – and Qrow would never be able to pay it back.

His eyes fell to Summer, still working her magic, her silver butterfly wings emitting a soft light every time a spell was cast. She, likewise, would be receiving retribution for her actions today.

Guilt weighed his wings down, until they nearly brushed the floor. “Summer, I…”

“Don’t just stand there!” She cut him off with a snap. “Dust is in the second drawer to the right. Hurry!”

He bit down the protest that wanted to ring out, turning on his heels and running to the hutch. He ignored the knickknacks of lost things the three (four) of them had collected over the years, for the memories they would have brought forth would stall him yet again when there was no time left for him to delay. He yanked open the requested drawer and pulled out the satchel, the edges of it glowing sunflower gold, nearly spilling out as he carried it across the room.

Summer met him in the middle, taking the bag and undoing the clips. “There’s just enough for me to get you to the human world. You’ll be out of reach there. You’ll, be safe there.”

He could tell she was trying to be strong, but the shake told him she was barely holding back tears. It left his own eyes stinging. “I’m sorry. If only I hadn’t been born with these accursed wings.”

“No.” Summer seemed to pause for the first time since they’d fled from the Queen’s castle. Her gaze on him was open and earnest as it always was. “Qrow, what all she was saying – that you’re a harbinger. That you caused the drought. I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” He told her, unconsciously folding his wings over his arms. As if the dark things actually had the power to protect anything.

She shook her head adamantly. “I’m sure of you. Your magic is beautiful but misunderstood.”

A thud against the wall made them both jump. Time was running out.

Summer upended the satchel over him, the fairy dust spilling over his head and clinging to his clothes and feathers. Despite its warmth, Qrow felt none of the normal elation and joy that came with being touched by the dust’s power. Instead, he was left shivering and empty as he realized this would be the very last time.

“I,” The dam he’d held finally broke, spilling down his cheeks. “I love you both, so much.”

She clutched the back of his head, bringing him close and touching their foreheads together. The diadems they both wore clinked together, the mystical jewel in the middle of hers tapping the hollow hole where his had once been before it was stolen away. For a second, he felt touched by her magic.

“No matter where you are, we will always be your family.” She swore to him.

“I know.” He would never forget.

She pulled away, taking two steps back and cast her final spell.

It layered over him like ivy vines, immobilizing him so effectively, there was nothing to he could do – not even shout – as he saw the wards shatter along the door and get thrown open, the Queen’s guards rushing in.

He was plummeting before they could even hope to reach him.

Everything fell away. The floor underneath his feet, the walls of the house around him, even Summer herself warped out of existence as he was thrown through the magical plane. Nothing was left but a kaleidoscope of color and noise, so chaotic it was impossible to grasp at anything defined. And then he was out the other side, the chill on his skin immediate as a constellation of stars surrounded him.

Though not a novice by any means, it took him longer than usual to recover from the jump, so that he was already falling through the clouds before he finally willed his wings to open. A few steady flaps were all it took to right himself and control his flight and soon he was wheeling round and round, descending through the darkness of night to the human world below.

All the times before when he’d visited, he approached with wonder and curiosity. Humanity had many creations, from their giant fireflies on poles to their noisemakers on wheels. Each item was fantastic to consider their use – or if they had one at all. The species was frivolous like that, creating things of beauty simply for the art of it.

But now he could hardly focus on the landscape below him, taking in only the most minute of details like the shimmer that implied a lake a winged creature such as him should best avoid and the many small abodes that ringed around it. He was drawn to the one that still had its fireflies lit, too distressed to think of much else beyond a place to hide.

He landed on the rooftop, entire body dragging as he lumbered about for something raised high enough to slip in-between. But it was made of a material he was not used to, flat and gravely. When he tried to pull at one, he found they were held in place by silver tacks. Without magic, he’d never be able to pull them up. No magic, no home, no family. Everything was gone.

Qrow gave a noise that sounded too close to despair, sitting down on the edge of the roof and burying his head in his hands.

How had things gone so wrong? He’d awoken this morning with expectations to get to work. Harvest was soon and the plants needed careful tending by all hands this time of year. Yet, instead, he found himself belayed on his flight, called away by an urgent message by their queen. What would have happened to him had Tai not spotted him being detoured and grew suspicious? What would he have done, had he been alone in that throne room when Salem decreed his disownment to her court before she plucked the ruby gem from his diadem and stole his magic away? He would have been helpless and dead, if not for Tai and Summer rushing in at that moment to intervene. And now here he was, lost and alone.

Perhaps a fate worse than death after all.

A few seasons ago, Raven had warned him before she had left that this was what all those stray, accusatory looks from their fellow clanmates would build to. He’d brushed off her concerns, claimed them as nothing but excuses for her true desire to run away from a place she never felt she belonged to – what an incredible fool he was! If his sister could see him now, she’d mock and jeer at him and it would only be what he deserved and more.

If only he had believed her. Had gone with her. At least then they’d be together. Did he even have any hope of finding her, on this vast and massive world?

A screeching noise jerked him to attention immediately, unconsciously flattening close to the roof as wariness overtook distress. There were many ways he imagined he could go out from this world; to be a meal for an owl was not one he particularly liked to entertain. He could feel sorry for himself once he was properly hidden.

He searched the sky and trees with an attentive eye, trying to spot something staring back – and that was how he noticed it. A little, green home hung from the branch of a tree, not unlike the ones back home.

Why would a human have a fairy house?

Another screech in the wind reminded him he did not have time for such trivial thoughts, so he swooped down quickly, landing on the little platform leading to a decently sized hole. He took note of its shape, finding it wasn’t perfectly round, and shavings of wood jutted at strange angles, as if it had only just recently been carved.

As he climbed inside, he found there was nothing inside but a nest of moss, sticks, and leaves with one portion particularly more rotund than everything else. It was there he rested, finding the bed suitable for now as he drew his wings about himself and resigned himself to his new home.

~~~~~

On the third day, at dawn, whistling awoke him just like it had the days before.

Qrow sat up from his nest, stretching his arms above his head and flapping out his wings, stirring the loose bits all about. He leaned out of the hole of his shelter, watching the single human who lived in the house pass by underneath him. He was going fishing yet again if the pole resting on his shoulder was any indication. It seemed to be a daily chore – or maybe a pleasure. He would not be back until the sun had evaporated the morning dew from the grass.

It was a consistent, reliable routine and one Qrow would use to his advantage.

Once the man had disappeared on his boat, Qrow got to work. By the handful, he begun to shove out the pointy sticks, pieces of smelly moss and crinkly leaves out the hole, letting it litter the floor far below. Once complete, he plucked one of his own feathers, sweeping up the dirt and pebbles that had been lying underneath it all, tossing it out by the handful until his temporary home was decently clean.

Job complete, he moved onto his second mission, climbing out through the hole and swooping down towards the man’s larger version. He needed at least a few things – something to gather water, something sharp to cut plants, and some soft, proper bedding. He may not have plans to stay forever, but he certainly did not need to live uncomfortably in the meanwhile.

He fell down to the door, landing on the knob, considering how he might open it. Had he had his magic, he could have willed it to turn itself or transform to his full size to just grasp it in his own hand. Neither were on option, so he’d have to be creative.

He tried instead to hop up and then back down, putting force into his legs. Rather than causing the knob to budge, his shoes merely slipped on the smooth surface, and he gave a cry as he fell right off. A few frantic flaps kept him from hitting the ground and back to the knob he went, considering again. He eyed the space between the door and the frame, before wedging himself there and trying to push his feet against the knob, leveraging all his weight in hopes it would turn.

Yet, it barely budged.

Qrow grunted, frustration welling within him at his limitations, before giving up the venture. Instead, he circled the home in hopes of finding an easier way in. His hope came in the form of a window, open just a crack. He gripped the side of the open pane, planting a foot against the jamb and the other on the sill, and started to pull. It slid by the millimeter, painfully slow, his body straining with the effort.

And then, quite suddenly, it slid open several all at once. He lost his balance and fell again, only to wearily make his way back up, pleased to find the opening had widened considerably. He sidled in sideways and hopped down to a large wooden surface just underneath, plopping down for a sit and taking stock of his new surroundings.

At this size, it was easy to say everything looked quite grand, but experience told him this human lived quite modestly. From the writing utensils nearby, Qrow knew he sat upon a desk. Directly across the room, was the kitchen with its many metallic oddities to craft meals. Two doors, both open, were to his right one yielding a bedroom, the other a washroom. To his left, a small sitting area with a comfortable looking chair and a low table with an unfinished ship-in-a-bottle placed upon it. Adjacent that, angled against a wall, was also a tall bookcase, full to the brim with texts that all looked well-read. There were other decorations upon the walls – pictures and paintings that were all pretty green landscapes, wild oceans and colorful sunrises.

Had he been able to grow, he could have explored the home more fully. All the drawers and cabinets were certainly well stocked with things he could certainly make use of. With the knowledge his excursion would certainly be more restricted, he stood with a sigh and flew to the thing that had most intrigued him.

He landed upon the table, eyeing over the strewn parts of the unfinished ship that gave off a glint or shine, knowing they had the highest chance of being sharp. A laugh almost left him when he noticed the embellishments that were meant to gussy up the whole thing and found a small, fairy-sized cutlass among them. Retrieving it, he found its weight to be acceptable and its sharpness to be true. He flew it back to the desk before beginning his search anew.

His water container was much less glamorous – nothing more than a bottle cap that smelt of sweetness retrieved from the kitchen counter. Still he added it to his small pile before heading to the washroom for what he knew would make a perfect bedding.

The rectangular box he was looking for was set on the corner of the sink, little white tissue sticking out from the top. He pulled out a few, folding the large sheets over and over until they were easily transportable squares. Once done, he carried them to the rest of his collection of stolen things. He placed the sword in the notch of his belt before hefting the cap and tissues under either arm and squeezed back out the window.

Qrow was back home and already laying in the softness of his new bed well before the whistling of the man returned.

AS he ponded over his unknown future, he fell into a restless, exhausted sleep.

~

Qrow was awoken instantly by a violent rocking that tumbled him from his bed.

His back impacted a wall, disorienting him as his vision swiveled, and he turned his head about to figure what was going on. A scratching noise had him looking to his entrance, only for his heart to leap into his throat as he was faced down by a pair of black, beady eyes.

The bird knocked its beak against the edge of the hole once again, the noise rattling the walls of the home and shaking him to his bones. In the streams of light that filtered in every time it pulled its head back, he caught the red crest along its crown. Between that and the chips of wood beginning to litter his newly cleaned floor, the species name came to him.

Woodpecker.

Suddenly, the misshapen hole and the empty nest had connotations he dared not give full thought to.

Breath coming in rapid pants, he flattened himself into the furthest corner he could while scrambling blindly for his sword. His terror only heightened as the woodpecker squeezed its way inside and in the light that followed, he spotted the glint on the other side of the room. Well out of reach of saving him.

With alarming speed, the bird thrust its beak at him. Qrow ducked low, narrowly avoiding the attack and dove to the opposite wall, scrabbling along it to try and reach the exit. His fingers curled around the edge of the jagged hole, freedom moments away.

It was ripped from him as that beak latched around the top of his left wing as the woodpecker yanked him back. He shouted, agony lacing like lightning through him, and he desperately twisted and struck out with a fist, delivering a swift sucker punch right between those hungry eyes. It released him with a squawk of surprise and maybe pain, jerking back.

Qrow wasted no time, clambering out the exit and taking to the wind.

The problem was immediately realized as his injured wing buckled and his other flapped wildly to compensate, sending him into an uncontrolled downward spiral. Everything meshed together into a confusing motley, and he braced himself for the inevitable impact.

He didn’t hit the dirt – didn’t even come close to it – because the house got in the way of his chaotic flight. He caught only the briefest glimpse of his own, panicked face, before glass was shattering around him in a great, explosive sound. His shoulder took the brunt of the next impact and he went rolling along a hard surface, stopping just short of falling off the edge.

In the moments that followed, all Qrow knew was anguish. It quaked along his entire body, every nerve on fire. But the pain was most splitting on his lame wing, lances of it shrieking through the delicate, hollow bones and zipping with unforgiving ferocity along his spine. He knew without having to test it that it was broken.

Gingerly as he could, he sat up, a hiss escaping him as his shoulder also protested movement. His hand fell to it, grounding himself with a few deep, slow breathes.

“Great stars.”

The sudden voice had him jerking around and for the second time within ten minutes, he was confronted by a face larger than his own. It was the fisherman. Deep set green eyes stared back at him, mouth slightly agape with shock.

Qrow’s chest froze with fear and he leapt to his feet only to immediately stumble back to his knees when the pain became too great to handle.

“Hey…” The human’s tone lilted with concern. “Are you alright?”

A hand as large as his torso reached for him. He flinched back, instinctively trying to curl his wings around him, only to cringe as his broken one protested violently.

The man drew back immediately, eyeing him in quiet worry. When he spoke again, it was even softer than before, “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to check on that wing of yours.” He rested his palm out, open and inviting, before him. “Please don’t be scared.”

Tiny as he was, Qrow offered his fiercest glare in return.

“Alright.” The man seemed to get comfortable, hand never moving from its spot. “I’ll wait.”

Incredulity filled him. He seemed certain Qrow would bend to his will. Was this man overconfident or simply foolish?

Knowing humans, it could easily be either one.

Then, even more unbelievably, the man smiled. “I’m Clover by the way.”

“I didn’t ask.” Qrow snapped. A useless endeavor, as he knew humans could not understand him in this form.

Clover arched a brow in return, replying anyways, “I’ll take that as a ‘nice to meet you’.”

He rolled his eyes, pointedly avoiding his gaze, and instead considered his options. He was on an empty shelf that was next to the kitchen, with nothing close by to climb down to. Not that it mattered. With the window broken, he wouldn’t have too much trouble leaping out of it.

But then what? Even if he survived the drop without further injury, he was grounded until his wing healed, at the mercy of every predator sharp enough to snatch up an easy meal. And even if he did escape and managed to survive the grueling two months of mending such a break would take, without a proper healer to bind it, his wing wouldn’t set correctly.

He’d… never fly again.

Was that a price he wished to pay for stubbornness? His friends didn’t risk everything for him not to do the same.

He looked over to Clover, read his earnest and hopeful expression.

Defeatedly, he rose to his feet, took three steps to what might possibly be his greatest mistake yet, and plopped back down onto his palm.

Clover gave him another beaming grin, rising with all the care of a man who knew he held a very delicate gift. “Don’t you worry, fairytale. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Already familiar enough with his surroundings, he didn’t bother to look around, merely accepting what was certain to be his next new home.

Well, third time’s the charm, right?

[ticklish-touch]

I’m With You in the Dark

Last year, I made a poll seeing who would be interested in reading a story about my tickle monster Rags meeting my favorite character in Deltarune, Jevil. Even though I got a very positive response overall, I... chickened out. :’D I've always felt very self-conscious about writing fanfics, especially ones involving my OCs with canon characters. I grew up with other weeb friends who thought fanfic in general was very cringey and taboo. But at the end of the day, as long as people aren't writing about shipping real-life people or kink shit with minors, they have the freedom to write what they want if it helps them express themselves. Ever since last year, Jevil has become a very important character to me. There are hundreds of wonderful creative interpretations of him and his possible backstory; and, as someone who has depersonalization spells, existential thoughts about reality & the universe, enjoys making other people laugh even at my own expense, and a chaotic inner voice that constantly tells me "AREN'T YOU TIRED OF BEING NICE, DON'T YOU JUST WANNA GO APESHIT??" this little gremlin has become a comfort character; one that I also highly enjoy cosplaying. And, frankly, what better year to post a story about nihilism than 2020?  👍   So, this is just a "what-if" scenario, if someone else besides Gaster with some degree of omniscience was able to show the poor jester that there's more to life than just waiting for the Void to take over. And if anyone takes anything away from this, I just want it to be the hope that things will get better. You are allowed to be hopeful, and happy, and make positive connections with people even if you've had harmful experiences with people over past mistakes from either side. We're in this together; you aren't always going to be alone, your suffering won't be in vain. This, too, shall pass. So please, stay determined. Happy Halloween, everyone!!  🎃 🦇 👻 🤡 Story below the cut!

       The mischievous Nightmare felt a peculiar pull at his mind as he lurked through the foggy darkness in search of another playmate: A chaotic soul resonating with nearly as much feral playfulness and craving for laughter as his own. But there was something...Off. This mind, this essence, was splintered and broken, re-mended into something different... A shadow of its former self. Joy and mischief and enthusiasm for the world, replaced by existential dread and loneliness...

         The silent cry for help brought Ragaeli to a reality he'd never been in: One of the many infinite parallel dimensions to Earth that existed in the endless void of spacetime. At a brief glance, he could see there was a race called Darkners. They seemed to be the joy of childlike imagination brought to life; living, breathing checker and chess pieces, puzzle pieces, stuffed toys and squeaky mallets and lego blocks.

         And, within a card castle not unlike the story of Alice in Wonderland, deep within a huge cell locked by powerful magic, a rotund little jester with a black and purple wardrobe was bouncing about, creating myriads of dazzling diamonds, spades, hearts and clovers. He appeared to be an imp with a J-shaped tail, a round noseless face, pointy ears, deep black pits for eyes and serrated, lemon-yellow teeth stretched into a smile as he laughed gleefully to himself.

        The Nightmare split open a doorway of crackling energy, leaping through, landing on the indigo striped ground with a THUD. The floor was very plush and unsteady, like the inflated floor of a bouncy castle. "Weellll now, it sure seems like a party in here~ But what kind of party only has one guest, hmm?"

        Immediately, the small jester jumped, his head launching out on a spring coil like a Jack-in-the-box. "AIYEEE-!! What, what?! Who are you? Did...Did you escape too??" He glided over to the tall figure, eyeing him over. At first, his lips twitched and seemed as if they were going to form into a frown. But instead he responded with a forced grin. "Uee-hee hee, I see, I see... It seems they've finally replaced little old me~!" He bounced up on his tail to flick playfully at Ragaeli's chest bells, spiraling around him to tug at his flaps, hair and spandex. "Hmmm, not bad~ And you can't go wrong with being a stripey lad; I guess the Kings have some taste after all! But where is your hat?? A jester with no hat is like a witch without their cat!" He glided around behind Ragaeli and his eyes widened. "A hand on your tail?? Now that's just excessive!!"          "I must say your rhyme scheme is really quite impressive~" Ragaeli giggled, his head turned 180 degrees to look down at the jester.          Jevil couldn't help but giggle too. "Uee hee hee, why thank you, thank you~!" He hovered upside-down in front of the larger monster, summoning a deck of cards, shuffling them up. "The tales must be true, that each suit has two. A black and a red...I always assumed the other must just be dead!!" He snickered, making the cards disappear up his sleeve, then turned back upright, folding his arms, his purple tail lashing about behind him like an agitated cat, his tone twinged with jealousy. "Well since they've decided that red suits their court more, you'd better not be a bore! To replace me is to replace the wittiest of all the players in this castle full of nay-sayers!"

         "Hehehe, now, don't get your tail in a twist, I'm no replacement," Ragaeli playfully flicked one of Jevil's bells. "Name's Ragaeli, but you can call me Rags, Ragdoll, Ragtime, Rag-Tag, just don't call me boring, heheh~ I'm not even from this world, you see. Would you believe me when I say there are other worlds out there? Other dimensions?"          Jevil giggled at all the nicknames, then his face lit up, his annoyance quickly shifting to curiosity. "Oh yes, yes, I know it to be true!! He chuckled. "Your world, it is a game too? Or is it more "real" than what we can perceive?"          Ragaeli raised an eyebrow. "A game, hmm? I suppose you can say that," He smirked. "My world is, in a sense, "Not real" as well. Not to the people of Earth anyways. It's thanks to their thoughts and emotions, their hopeful desires in the depths of their darkest thoughts, that I exist at all. And because of that," His grin turned devilish and he rapped his fingers together in a comically villainous fashion. "I can appear to any of them that I want. I can play all kinds of games with them~ I have no limits to what I can do in my realm, and Earth itself is my playground, a game that will never end~"

         The jester listened with fascination, then cackled again, seeming elated as he bounced around in midair. "Oh I'm SO happy!! Someone else finally sees!! There is another who's been set free!!" Then his giddy tone turned to a snarl. "THEY didn't believe me!! THEY were all blind, blind!!" Magic energy crackled around him. "I ONLY wanted to HELP them!! I only wanted them to be privy to the danger, danger they would face if they didn't try to free themselves of this pointless rat race!!"         Ragaeli's brow furrowed. "Who's them? Who put you in here? A jolly little hellion like you shouldn't be locked away like this, 'specially if you think your castle's in danger."        Jevil quickly shook his head, puffing his chest out indignantly. "It is not I that has been locked away! They chose their own prison, they dug their own graves! The court wouldn't listen, they didn't want to play, and now for their bullheadedness THEY'RE the ones having to pay!!"

        The Nightmare latched onto the images flashing through Jevil's mind, learning bits and pieces about the royal court that ruled the dark castle. It definitely appeared that things were in disarray, and the court jester's loneliness bubbled into a well of resentment...         The continued rush of memories manifested into the image of a strange entity that came to the jester before his imprisonment: A ghostly creature, cloaked in inky blackness, with large round holes in his skeletal hands and a twisted grin frozen on his skull-like head, a single white pupil glowing out from the cracked eyesockets with a sickly light. Even the Nightmare, who had seen every hellish iteration of fear and hatred, knew that this...thing, was bad news. He existed, yet was nonexistant. He was fractured across all of time and space, yet remained trapped unmoving inside the Void. He was filled with hopelessness, bitterness, egoism, an unyielding ambition to drag anything and everything down into the same all-consuming darkness. An unfortunate victim of his own hubris, now a sociopath with cold disregard for individual worth except the desire to dissect everything and everyone he could latch onto. And it happened that Jevil, who craved mischief and adventure and purpose in his seemingly small role in the kingdom, was the latest test subject.         Ragaeli's hair stood up on end and a low, near demonic growl rumbled in his throat. "And what, exactly, did this thing show you?"         The growl made Jevil gasp, stopping him in his tracks, looking up at the large entity with trepidation. "H-He showed me everything, everything!! He showed me the beginning, the end of all things, he showed me the truth of this world and all worlds in the cosmos, that nothing is as it seems, nothing means anything, but because anything can be nothing, nothing can be everything--"          "Alright, enough, I'm stopping you right there, Lovecraft," In a swift movement, he tugged the rim of Jevil's hat over his face.         "YEEE- H-HEY!!" The frazzled jester fixed his hat, puffing his cheeks out at Ragaeli, his tail whipping about even more wildly.          "Whoever this Wing-dinged handy-man is sure isn't very handy if all he can do is fill your head with nihilistic nonsense," Ragaeli stuck out his tongue. "Sounds like someone who had a rotten time of it is now trying to ruin everyone else's fun."         "No, no, not at all!!" Jevil leapt on top of Ragaeli's head and perched like a cat. "Because of him, I can have more fun than I ever thought possible!! You'll see, you'll see!! They're bringing back the key!!" He giggled madly. "Three visitors, all questing in vain to bring an end to a game that doesn't matter, and once I am back inside their world of lies I will spread my truth everywhere and everyone will thank me!!" He cackled. "But first I should thank you for keeping me company~" He leapt off and glided in front of the Nightmare. From the center of his dark eyes, yellow irises began to glow brightly. "It's been so long since someone has lent an ear, so I'll show you my favorite game~"  In a flash, he launched a glowing diamond, sharp as a sword, at the speed of a flying bullet into Ragaeli's stomach.

         But the diamond disappeared on contact. Instead of yelping in pain, Ragaeli shrieked and doubled over as the energy shot a ticklish burst through him. "GYEEEE-HEEHEE!!"         Jevil looked baffled. "...What, what?? Laughter?" He tilted his head, summoning a spinning barrage of clubs that shot at Ragaeli's legs, chest and sides like machine gun ammunition.         And again, the Nightmare was bombarded with a barrage of ticklish electricity, causing him to crumple on the plush floor with cackling laughter. "AIYEEE-HAHAHAHA!!" After the sensation wore off, he continued to let out giddy laughter as he saw Jevil's incredulous expression. "WHOOO-WEE, now that was a good one!!"          Jevil couldn't help but snort back his own laughter at the Nightmare's comical reactions, but he seemed even more puzzled. "Is someone ticklish, ticklish? That isn't how I'm trying to play, but it makes things interesting, needless to say~" He giggled a bit. "But then...How am I supposed to play my game if you've got no numbers to claim??"          Ragaeli shook his head, jumping up into the air to recline as if laying back on a sofa. "You silly little imp, do you really think that's the only way to play with others? Taking this "HP" until they're gone for good? What would you do then when there's no-one left to have fun with?" He gave a pout.         Jevil shook his head quickly. "No no, they're not really gone!! Weren't you listening, listening?? It's all a game!! They can come back!! Losing is just a minor setback~!"

         The Nightmare raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"         "Because the Stranger showed me!! He can mess with the code, he can change--"         "How do YOU know that?" Ragaeli barked. "Forget about him, can YOU bring them back??"         Jevil shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not, but if they lose then that's just how it goes~ Such is the way of this game we all play!"         The Nightmare rolled his eyes. "So... you wanna play by the game's rules, huh? How boring."

        The jester's malicious snickering immediately stopped, and he stiffened up.          Ragaeli narrowed his gaze, prying at the jester's mind a bit more. "What is it you've said? You can do anything? So why not shake it up and take this game into your own hands? If you're really free, then PROVE it!"

        For once, the manic jester took pause.

        "Think about what it is YOU want in this game we all call life!"

         Jevil lifted a gloved finger, unable to answer at first. Then his bright yellow irises faded again. "What I want...?" He lowered his head. "What I want..." A quiet giggle bubbled up from inside him. "I just want them to be free, free with me..." He hovered higher, seeming to vibrate with an intense magical aura, and raised his arms. The room began to spin around the central pole, as if it were revolving around the world's axis. "To break their cage and create a NEW stage, where everyone can play, play to their heart's content!! Free from this kingdom of rules and lies!!" He snarled. "I want them to PAY for making me play in my freedom all alone, every night and every day!!" He bellowed. Carnival music began to emanate from all around them, starting quiet then gaining in tempo. "I want them to say, "To HELL with rules, I will break these chains and embrace the chaos, CHAOS!!" He laughed maniacally, and from every curve of the rounded ceiling, more of his symbols appeared; Hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs, all aimed at Ragaeli, launching toward him like speeding bullets.          The Nightmare answered with his own giddy laugh. "Ohhh, how interesting! Well then, let's play for a while and I might just help you make your wish come true~!" He nonchalantly bounded away from the trajectory of the magic, dodging, swooping, teleporting and even dancing and pirouetting away. Occasionally they would hit, and once again he would shriek in surprise and burst into laughter. "GYAAAH-HAHAHAHA!!"          Jevil giggled, no longer bothered that his attacks weren't causing any 'HP' damage. "I wonder; How long will it take before you finally break~?"          The Nightmare smirked dangerously. "I could ask you the same thing!" His hair suddenly jumped to life, tendrils leaping forward and bombarding the jester's chubby belly, sending electric pulses of ticklishness through him.

         "UEEEE-HEE-HEEEE!!" Jevil shrieked with laughter and flailed for a moment before poofing himself to the other side of the room. A bright purple blush filled his cheeks and he clutched his belly, gawking at Ragaeli. "N...NO FAIR, NO FAIR!! IT WASN'T YOUR TURN YET!!"          Ragaeli giggled. "You really think a tickle monster is gonna play fair? Now what's the fun in that~?"          Jevil huffed and his pout shifted to a malicious grin. "Uee hee hee; Fine, fine, I also won't play fair!! Let's see you laugh about THIS!" With a flash, he summoned a large ornate striped sickle, teleporting close and taking a swift swing at Ragaeli, catching him in the middle of the striped pattern on his leotard.          The Nightmare's torso came clean off his legs, not with any blood or guts but with a cartoonish POP. "WHOA!! Caught me off guard with that one, took my top clean off ya did!!" His tone went cockney, and he grabbed his legs and re-attached them as if he'd been de-pantsed.

         Jevil balked, then doubled over backwards with laughter. "HYEE-HEEHEE HAHAHAH Oh my stahahars, you're a fun one, you are!!" His scythe disappeared with a flash, a new wave of glee bubbling up in him. "You really are like me!! Your body cannot be killed!! That means you can stay here and play as long as we want!! I'm so THRILLED!!" He laughed with jubilation and raised his arms, and from the walls emerged a bizarre set of carousel horses, with the bodies of rubber ducks, all of which began to circle rapidly around the room. "Go ahead, hop on~! But better watch out, these horsies have a mean bite~"

         The Nightmare snickered and dove into a cartwheel, throwing himself onto the back of one of the figures, which tried to toss him off like a bucking bronco. "Piece of cake, I've wrangled a few horsies in my d-AAGH!!" He was swiftly knocked off by a flying duck ramming him at full force, sending him careening into the spinning walls of the room. He bounced off of the squishy surface and lay crumpled in a heap, cracking up with hyena-like hysterics. Jevil, too, giggled hysterically at his opponent's prat-fall. It felt so grand to finally have someone to play with again!!

        And so, their antics continued. Jevil came at Ragaeli with everything he had, and the Nightmare almost effortlessly parried it away with his meaty hands or flexible limbs. As Jevil revealed more and more tricks up his sleeve, from his ability to shapeshift into his own scythe, to a downright unfair barrage of clover-shaped bullets, Ragaeli revealed that his tail could multiply into three, which crackled with red sparks; They lunged forward and managed to ensnare the manic jester, slithering against his round belly and backs of his knees, even slipping one of his shoes off to entwine their prongs between his clawed toes.         "AIYEEE-HEEHEEEE UEE-HEEHEE NOOOHOHOHOOO-HEEHEE!!" The ticklish shock to his system surprised the jester enough that his head launched out on its spring coil, before retreating back for him to grab the ends of his hat and hide his flushed face and goofy smile.

        The Nightmare snickered fiendishly at his reactions. "What's wrong~? Surely the court-appointed master of laughter can handle a little tickling?"         The playful taunting just flabbergasted the thrashing imp all the more. Not because he hated it; but because he, the clever jester with an unholy amount of magic energy had never been so easily bested by something that wasn't a physical fight... And on some level, it was thrilling. It felt so good to laugh with such passion; Real, true laughter, instead of a hollow imitation of happiness. Being unable to focus on anything but their game, on the consequences of each other's "attacks", took his mind off the dreadful, existential thoughts that plagued him, and made him think that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his and this world's existence after all...

          But in the meantime, it was his turn, and he was ready for revenge. He poofed himself out of the nightmare's tendrils and re-appeared underneath him, turning his scythe into a rubber mallet to send Ragaeli flying up near the ceiling. He smiled wickedly, summoning a barrage of attacks that started to morph into vaguely hand and feather-like shapes. With a clap of his hands, they rocketed up to the Nightmare, burying into his belly, ribs and armpits, slithering down the wide collar of his leotard, trapping his ankles into cuffs so that they could saw between his toes and whirl against his soles like fuzzy sawblades. The onslaught caused the monster to howl and screech with hysteria, thrashing and swatting at the symbols in vain. "GYEEEE-HEHEHEHEHEH WHY Y-YOHOHOHOUUU-HAHAHAHA~!!"         Jevil giggled devilishly. "Uee-heeheee, what's wrong, what's wrong~? You're the Tickle Monster, are you not? Or were you lying all along? Can't handle being at the wrong end of your own fiendish plot~?"         Ragaeli snarled in his laughter, attempting to swat at the jester with his tails. "GRAAHH-HAHAHAH SH-SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUP YOU L-LIHIHITTLE-!!" And yet, despite his protests at the unbearable attack, the Nightmare's laughter, too, resonated with excitement and elation. It echoed through the vast cell, emanating with such unbridled joy and wild abandon that it stirred something inside of Jevil. Something...Warm, and oddly reassuring. And finally, from the depths of the jester's scrambled mind, memories started to return to him...

         He once knew laughter as well, and more than that, making others laugh. The four Kings, laughing at his antics in the court; young Rudinns and Jigsawrys and a baby Clover, all laughing gleefully at his dazzling displays of card symbols, dancing ribbons and fireworks. The dancers in the halls laughing as the court jester pulled prank after prank on the uptight dolt Rouxls Kaard. The Spade King, telling him how eager he was for his son to be born, so that Jevil could teach him how to spread joy through the kingdom. And Seam, his dear friend, letting out a rare gem of laughter whenever he said a silly joke or snuck up on the wooly cat and tickled his sides...

         Before long, Jevil's magic was no longer set to kill mode; a fact that wouldn't have affected the reality-bending Nightmare made of laughter either way, but others caught in the crossfire would no longer be in danger of a "game over". His will began to shift, and now his projectiles were imbued with the overwhelming urge to make their target crumble into a heap of elated laughter.         Perfect. Ragaeli grinned gleefully, snapping his fingers and poofing himself out of the hold of the magic symbols, standing to face Jevil, folding his arms behind his head. "Well now, seems like something's getting through to that polyvinyl noggin of yours--"         That brief moment was all Jevil needed to re-appear behind him, lunging to rapidly scribble his fingers and prod his tail along Ragaeli's belly, snickering to himself. "You so easily let your guard down!! I thought I was the clown!!"         "GYAA-HAHAHAHA!! TH-THAT WAS ON PURPOHOHOSE!!" Ragaeli slithered his pronged tail up to scribble against Jevil's 'neck' and pointy ears, sending him flying back on his spring-coil with a yowl.

        Jevil wasn't sure how long their game went on. Minutes, hours, days? Time never meant much of anything in his personal freedom; But now, he never wanted it to end. If those three adventurers did ever come back with the key, this would be quite the sight to walk in on...         Before long, though, the jester's 'attacks' were weakening, and his large tongue hung out with panting breaths; it became harder for him to levitate, or to tap out from the tickle monster's ruthless attacks; Ragaeli could sense his growing fatigue and eventually stopped, letting Jevil collapse to the bouncy floor.

        "H-Hee-hehehe...That was fun, fun!! But enough is enough, you tired me up!" He giggled, but his grin turned to a pout. "But I don't want to sleep yet, I still want to play with everyone, everyone..."         "Ohh, I think that can be arranged~" Ragaeli's hand sparked and crackled with magic, making Jevil instinctively squeak and flinch. But he shook his head. "Hehe, don't be worried~ This will give your energy back." But he closed his fist and extinguished the magic. "But hear me out first. If you play to take away everyone's HP, they won't want to play with you. They'll just put you down here again."         Jevil snorted and folded his arms. "Well at least I wouldn't be caged in their prison again, again..."         Ragaeli could still sense negative thoughts plaguing his mind.

Not real. Meaningless. Trapped. Just a game. Not wanted, not needed. Afraid of me. They'll leave me again, again. Seam will leave me again.

        At the very least, these thoughts weren't as loud as before, and were being dulled by the hope that perhaps he could be welcomed back by everyone... Ragaeli narrowed his gaze and snuck his hair tendrils over to prod along his round belly and sides again. "UEEE-HEEEHEEE!!" He rolled over to the other side, hiding his flushed face again.         "Heheh, come on now, no need to hide that face every time I get a laugh outta you~" He managed to tug the jester's hat off, revealing short, dark curly hair and a small pair of horns. Jevil gasped, his eyes going wide and he reached over frantically trying to grab his hat back. "HEYY!! Just because you forgot yours doesn't mean mine's up for grabs!!"   Ragaeli chuckled. "Relax, you'll get it back, if you listen to me first. There's no use letting those thoughts get in the way of your fun, now is there? Even if you live your life 'confined' with the others, at least you'd still have playmates, right? You still have the chance to make amends and show your friends you're not going to let your story end. ...See, now I've been hangin' around you too long. You're turning me into a natural poet~"         The sulky jester couldn't help but snicker. "Even if I did, even if they want to be my friend, I can never see this world the same way again, again..." He trembled. "The vision, the prophecy... The skies will darken, the world will crack, the calamity will sweep away all in it's path...No matter how many broken bonds we try to mend; Whether we play or flee, everything will end!!" He choked back a wail, hiding his face in his palms, his pointy ears drooping back.

        Ragaeli rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, scratching his head thoughtfully for a moment. "Look; Of course things aren't gonna be the same. Of course things end someday. That's the point of LIVING!" The Nightmare barked and jumped up, causing another loud THUD as he stooped over on his haunches like an agitated mountain lion. "You change and you grow and you LIVE, despite how tiny or messed up you think your existence is. You CHALLENGE anything or anyone who tries to tell you that you can't find your way outta that dark tunnel. Fake? Real? Who CARES?? You're HERE! Your life is only meaningless if YOU choose to live it without meaning!!"         Jevil peeked out from under his hands as the deity ranted. He then scoffed, taking his tail and fiddling with it as he avoided Ragaeli's eye contact. "That's easy enough for you to say. Your existence, your world, isn't made to be a game for OTHERS to play."

        Ragaeli calmed down a little, patting his hair sympathetically and tweaking one of his horns. "Listen, Jev-In-The-Box. You're right about one thing. You can't change the circumstances that brought you into being. And sometimes, that really sucks." He frowned. "It sucks for those little mortals who have such little control over the society that keeps 'em prisoner. And even for someone like me...I can't change the fact that I come from a world that wouldn't exist without mortals. Any Nightmare can disappear in the blink of an eye if they aren't remembered by enough people."         "Really..??"         Ragaeli nodded. "That's why some of 'em try so hard to be remembered, even if it means playing with humans like cats torturing mice before they eat 'em. And I can't make them value life. But I also can't let them freely roam the world that imagined us up, or reality as we know it would fall apart. I can't even stay in other timelines or realities too long or I risk fading away for good."         Jevil listened curiously, a hint of a concerned frown crossing his face.         The deity shrugged. "So I just make the best of it, y'know? I have fun showing other people that their world isn't as small and hopeless as they think." The thoughtful expression left the entity's face as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a devilish grin. "So YOU had better not let me catch you moping about in those gloomy thoughts of yours again," he poked Jevil's plush belly, making the jester squeal and bat his hand away. The Nightmare snickered. "And if I see you trying to end other people's game instead of finding ways to make laughter and excitement a part of your reality... Then I WILL be back, and I'll show you what it really means to be ticklish~" He narrowed his gaze and cracked his knuckles loudly, his body emanating with an aura of electric energy, his hair tendrils raising into the air like cobras poised to strike, wriggling their fingers and forming into bristles.

        Jevil shrieked and quickly scrambled back. "YEEEP-!! ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALREADY, I GET IT I GET IT!!" The jester first pouted at being told what to do. But something about the strange monster's words...Felt to be true.

        Ragaeli chuckled, his hair calming back down. "Of course, that doesn't mean there's no fun to be had in a bit of harmless chase," he flashed a devious grin. "You can make them pay, without making them go away, so that way you can all play again and again~ The eventual catch can be the best pay-off of all~"         The implication of the tickle monster's words started to sink in. A Grinch-like smile started to spread across the imp's face as terrible schemes came to his mind. He could play a game of 'Surrender' with anyone, anytime, and they wouldn't have to lose their HP over it. It could be one big game of hide-and-tickle, or tickle tag, or a test of endurance, or another way for the King to interrogate outsiders about Lightners...         Sensing that his thoughts had changed their tune, Nightmare gave him back his hat...And transferred a surplus of magic energy fueled by laughter, adrenaline and mischief to replenish his strength.

        Jevil gasped as if surfacing for a breath of fresh air, then giggled and sprung to his feet. "Fine, you've won me over, I hope you're happy! But I think we'll have to wait until the Lightners return with that key. Once they do, I'll wreak havoc in that boring little prison of theirs and this Joker will be the one to have the last laugh~!" He giggled fiendishly and rubbed his hands together, bouncing impatiently in place.

        Ragaeli smirked. "Hehe, no need to wait for a key. Prisoners break themselves out all the time, so why not just break in~?" He hopped over to the door, grasped his large hand around the bars, his hand emanating with crackling magic again... And the lock popped open with a click.         Jevil went slack-jawed. "Wowee!! You really are strong! I can't even best Seam's magic enchantments at full strength!" he then cleared his throat. "That isn't to say I couldn't have broken in all along. I just didn't want to is all," he shrugged and stuck his tongue out. "So now it's time to say...SO LONG!!" He cackled maniacally and shot like a bullet out of the door.

        When he flung himself from inside the cell, he saw the three travellers from earlier, now gawking up at him incredulously.         "W-What the-?!" Susie and Ralsei's eyes went wide.         Jevil instantly pounced them, rapidly bombarding them with scribbling fingers, rapid pokes and his tail slithering between their limbs. Shrieks of startled laughter answered him, even from the quiet, stoic one. They were too preoccupied with trying to flail away to notice the jester snatch the key out from under their noses. As soon as he had it, he stopped and hovered above them.         Susie panted for a minute. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT!!" she snarled, brandishing her axe.         "H-How did you get out?!" Ralsei questioned. "I thought you needed the key??"         Jevil merely answered with a wild grin, focusing his power in his hands until the key sparkled and crackled with his magic...And shattered into hundreds of tiny shards. Without another word, he rocketed up the winding stone steps, laughing incomprehensibly.         "WH...WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Susie shouted.         "I don't...think that was supposed to happen..." Ralsei scratched his head through his hat.         Kris just shrugged, and Susie grumbled. "We went through all that shit just to get the key and he didn't even NEED it!! I'm getting real damn sick of this stupid castle!!" She pounded the handle of her ax into the ground, huffing loudly.         Ralsei frowned. "Well, don't worry about him. I think it's time we go find Lancer, yeah?"         At this, Susie calmed down a little, sighing. "Yeah, you're right. We've kept him waiting long enough. Some mystery prisoner isn't any of our damn business."

        It was already too late, regardless of whether the heroes tried to go after him. The jester's second reign of chaos was swift and sudden. He ricocheted through the castle, his manical laughter echoing through every hallway, his bursts of magic visible like fireworks in the distance, his devilsknife and his magic attacks shapeshifting into other "weapons" like giant featherdusters, scrubbing brushes and makeshift hands. At first the guards were horrified that the infamous prisoner had escaped. But once they were reduced to shrieks of laughter and pleading and apologies, and Jevil declared victory before bee-lining to his next target and eventually leaving the castle, the denizens of the Darkner world were left flabbergasted, nervous, and perhaps even amused and curious to see if this "dangerous criminal" would return for more...

        Ragaeli watched the commotion smugly as he started to fade back to his realm. "Oh dear, it appears I've created a monster~"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        You make your way back down the elevator and stairs. You double-check your items, use the save point, and....         What the hell? The dungeon door is gone! Is this an easter egg of some kind? Did the game glitch out? You check your items again... The key is gone too.         Okay, something must be wrong. Before you make the decision to replay the whole game just for the hidden boss, you head back to Seam. Maybe talking to him again will re-trigger the events needed for fixing the key?

        But when you go inside the "Seap", it isn't just Seam anymore. The secret boss, Jevil, now has a full sprite, grinning gleefully at the player.

        [ * UEE HEE HEE, WELCOME, WELCOME LIGHTNERS! SO SORRY WE DIDN'T GET TO PLAY, PLAY. MAYBE ANOTHER DAY! ]

        You talk to Seam first, triggering his usual dialogue about how Jevil ended up in the dungeon, and how the heroes would eventually have to face the Knight. And, interestingly, an additional bit of dialogue explaining how the heroes just missed Jevil's "escape", and how his reunion with his old friend was filled with a great deal of laughs...         Talking to Jevil afterwards brings up more dialogue. You ask him how he got out of the dungeon.

[ *YES, YES, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD EXPLAIN THAT KEY. I HAD ANOTHER STRANGER COME TO ME! ]

[ *BUT THIS ONE DID NOT MAKE ME FEEL SO AIMLESS. IN FACT, HE SHOWED ME THAT I WOULD HAVE MADE QUITE A MESS! ]

[ * THIS MAY ALL JUST BE A GAME, AND YOU... YES, YOU OUT THERE...]

        His sprite momentarily came closer, his yellow irises seeming to bore right into you through your screen...

[ * -MAY HAVE MORE SAY IN WHAT RIGHTS WE CAN OR CANNOT FLAUNT. BUT I THINK, EVEN IN THIS PRISON, WE CAN STILL BE HAPPY, HAPPY, AND PLAY AS MUCH AS WE WANT! ]

[ * WHO IS REAL, AND WHO IS NOT? I DON'T THINK THAT MATTERS ANYMORE, ANYMORE. ]

[ * THAT SILLY RED MONSTER, WHO LAUGHS AND LAUGHS AND REMINDED ME THAT THIS WORLD DOES NOT HAVE TO BE A BORE...]

[ * THE STRANGE WORDS HE SAID HAVE STUCK INSIDE MY SPRINGS. NOW MY VIEW ON THIS WORLD HAS BECOME JUST A LITTLE LIGHTER... ]

[ * AND I'M CURIOUSER, AND CURIOUSER, TO SEE WHAT THE FUTURE BRINGS~! ]