#i almost had that portrait done and scrapped it

[goldheartedsky]

I drew a little piece of art for a missing coda between chapters 16 & 17 of North Star and ended writing a little drabble for it! Enjoy!

“How long do I have to stay like this? My back hurt already but now it's fucking killing me.”

Andy can hear the soft scratch of a pencil on paper and groans when she hears Joe chuckle from the table. “Five more minutes and then I’m done—I swear,” he promises earnestly. “Though it would help if you would fucking smile.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to give her friend a thoroughly unamused look. “I’m nine months pregnant, Joe. Between the acid reflux and the ligament pain, there isn’t a whole lot for me to smile about.”

“Well at least try and pretend like your ancient body isn’t falling apart? I want this to look nice,” Joe grumbles. “Now look back out the door.”

As much as Andy wants to make a quip about how he’s drawing on the first piece of paper he could find in a spur of the moment portrait when Joe decided that the light was too good to pass up, but she bites her tongue. It’s been a good couple decades since anyone—Joe included—had drawn or painted her and now that she’s in the final stretch of her pregnancy, Andy honestly needs the ego boost.

“What are you even going to do with this when you're done?” she asks, staring out at the rising sun spilling gold across the hazy blue fields and stables. “Squirrel it away in some safe-house until you forget about it and one of us comes across it while digging for our shit like you usually do?”

Andy can almost hear the shit-eating grin in Joe’s voice as he teases, “I’m gonna stick it in that closet you cleaned out yesterday—just to be an asshole.”

“Like hell you will,” she shoots back. “I spent four hours on that goddamn closet. Pregnant or not, I can still kick your ass.”

Joe huffs out a feigned sigh of exasperation as he picks up his white pencil and begins highlighting his sketch. “Fine, I’ll give it to Booker. You might not appreciate this, but I know he will."

A soft, fond smile tugs on her lips as Andy imagines Booker's face when he sees the sketch—imagines him framing this tiny, insignificant piece of scrap paper like it was a work of art worthy for a gallery.

In a single second, she can see through time and into a future where Booker's most precious keepsake is this little snapshot of time and the memory of the most impossible of miracles they were blessed with, even long after she's gone.

"That," Joe whispers, slowly reaching for the abandoned eraser on the table. "Stay just like that..."

Andy closes her eyes and shifts her weight back to her heels as Joe picks up his pencils again.

This will be worth the wait.

[freddythewatchdog]

@janitorlarry7

(Previous) "..I'm turning twenty-nine this October." "Got recruited when I was around nineteen years old. But I decided on being a janitor last minute." Larry looked up at the ceiling of the vents and shut his eye as memories of him joining the Hater Empire started coming back to him. A lonely, tall watchdog who just wanted to make a living out of something and to have something to do in his life to please his parents. A watchdog who didn't know what he was signing up for until it was far too late. But he ended up making new friends after so long. And sooner or later, He started to enjoy being a janitor and cleaning things in general. He started to enjoy being super independent in himself. Sure, he missed his parents and his home planet. Sure he developed a terrible working nature as years went by. Sure, Commander Peepers and Lord Hater were both super rude and evil and had no basic regards over their underlings, but- Being here has done him much more good than being at home, alone and isolated with only his parents to rely on and constantly baby him to his constant frustration and dismay. And he's been starting to work on his problems and struggles little by little thanks to his friends and boyfriend helping him realize and giving him great advice. He couldn't help but shed a couple of happy tears as he went along.

...Huh... wonder why Larry was shocked about him joining at eighteen then. Freddy was about to turn around and ask when he got distracted by a glimpse of his room ahead.

It was an odd intersection formed long ago when someone discovered that five ducts almost met. Except instead of redoing the ductwork itself and adding bends to join them they haphazardly welded a box together out of scrap sheets.

Freddy had taken advantage of the unintended room by claiming it as it's own. He then made good use of the corner the airflow didn't reach by cramming everything he owned into it.

A folded comforter made for a large alien worked well as a good makeshift bed, with a worn blanket draped over it and the pillow Giuseppe made proudly displayed. Behind it was a stack of cardboard boxes, and the top ones had hand-sized flaps cut into them for easy access. Not but not least were the assorted pictures (mainly portraits), drawings, and even mini posters spread across the walls.

Once Freddy had emerged from the vent hole he stood up and slowly stretched. Then he beamed at Larry as he turned around and widely guestured at the room.

"Welcome to my-!" Freddy stopped and tilted his head when he saw Larry's tears. "Wait, what's wrong?"

[thestrikingtm]

Chapter: The Fire and it’s Aftermath

Year: 1016 Narnian Years

Trigger warnings: fire, death, graphic details

I was lucky.

As was my father, and my two elder siblings, Elmer and Rumi. The three of us were out helping my father with his trade - my mother and three younger siblings, Lottie, Brody, and Katherine, were not so lucky.

The fire was thought to have broken out within an hour after we left that morning. Though no official cause has been determined, it is thought that the cook’s son clumsily left a towel near the fire - as he has done before -, and it sparked into flames, spreading quickly throughout the kitchens, then throughout the entire house.

According to witnesses, who stood fear-rooted on the hillside looking onto our beautiful home, the screams of my family and servants echoed throughout the air, mixed in with the sounds of the waves crashing angrily against the rocks and nearby cliff, and the greedily calls of seagulls, soaring through the sky, looking for food.

The house remained ablaze for three long, fearsome days while the townspeople finally came together, helping my father and brother try to put the flames out, and comforting my sister and I. Three days of knowing my family was trapped inside, and various staff that I had known since birth.

When the flames turned to ash, our horrors took on a new shape - for as we sifted through the remains of the house (for many rooms on the bottom floor had escaped the flames, but were crushed by the top floors of the house falling in), saving every scrap of our scattered memories that was found, the gruesome discoveries of bodies were found, as well. My mother’s body was found, clutching Katherine’s body, on the bottom floor, crushed under debris - we will never know if they had died from the smoke, or from the debris. My siblings Lottie and Brody were found holding hands, on top of the debris field, terribly burned. The servants that were pulled have become a blur, their fates mixed in the ghastly memories that took up the forefront of my mind from this day forward.

Not much survived those terrible, long flames, but we did manage to recover a family portrait - with just the frame broken, a necklace of my mother’s, and Lottie’s beloved doll that almost never left her side.

Our island townspeople were kind - even those who did not know us personally reached out - for my father was a great lord, and was well respected among the islanders. My mother and younger siblings were buried in the great family vault, and the remains of our lovely home was cleaned up, swept away, the grief of that land haunting the area for many years to come.

My father, siblings, and I moved into our new house - trying desperately to make it feel like a home. It was small - my brother sharing a room with my father, and my sister and I sharing a room together. We no longer yearned for space to ourselves - we stuck together like one wouldn’t imagine. My father hid his grief from us, though we knew his heart had been ripped out, torn in half, and stomped on. Rumi and I poured all of our energies into being ladies of the house - we saw no need to hire much staff, for we preferred to pour our grief into work. We soon became very efficient at running the household, and in the kitchen as well. We prepared a small feast for us to celebrate my brother’s knighthood - and we gathered up our small belongings to bring with us to Narnia - for the knighthood was to take place at the great castle of Cair Paravel.

The royal family was lovely and kind - they held a small memorial to my family who had been lost in the fire while we were there. Because of our titles of Ladies, and our father being a great Lord, my sister and I were invited to stay at Cair Paravel, and take up positions as ladies-in-waiting once our period of grief had officially ended.

And that’s how my love story began.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

old tired lonely place | jefferson

PAIRING: ouat!jefferson x babysitter!reader

WARNINGS: age gap (jefferson is older than reader)

A/N: the brainchild of my concept and @starbuckie​ has arrived. this is dilf!jefferson at its finest. warnings, i did stray away a bit from canon by making grace/paige a toddler (2-3) and a few other ways that will be seen lately. this is also inspired by ms. taylor swift’s enchanted because i guess i am now beatrice taylor’s version. 

next part

She looked at the clock on the living room, the ticking reverberating inside her head like a bomb. Tick, tick, tick. She’d never been this nervous for an interview before, yet again she’d never been a full time nanny before. She had gotten a degree in Childhood and Youth studies wanting to work in a nursery yet plans had changed, times had changed and in this town, her only choice was to either stay in line waiting to work at a daycare or look around for a better opportunity. The better opportunity came around once she saw a poster at the inn she was staying at for a full time nanny. She had studied children, so how hard could it be to adapt? In all honesty, she’d never done the nanny gig before but she had experience working in primary schools back home. 

Nevertheless, the nerves were eating at her, the ticking merely exacerbating that feeling. This town just made her reckless, feel uneasy with everything that was happening. It was almost too perfect in a way that seemed fake. It looked as if someone had crafted this town from its layout to its people. Yet, she was merely an outsider, maybe it was just the nerves. 

She looked up from her baby blue dress as the mother walked into the room, carrying a silver tray with a tea pot and a couple of tea cups. She stood there, smiling like a fool as the woman poured down the liquid into a cup, sliding it over to her. 

     - So, Y/N ... - she looked at the paper file in her hand, her CV printed in black ink. - You have a really nice CV.

     - Thank you, m’am. 

     - I’m gonna be honest with you, Y/N. We’ve been looking for a nanny for a while now and we really need someone who’s gonna be here all the time.

     - I’m the person for you, m’am. I just moved to town by myself so I can dedicate to the job as little or as much as you’d like me to.   

     - Would you like to meet Paige?

     - I would love to.

She was once again left in that living room; looking around and trying to appear as calm as she could. However, she doubted she looked anything but calm. Her eyes looked around the small house, slightly moved out of town and closer to the deep woods that surrounded the town like some sort of fairy tail. The mother returned, hand in hand with a brown haired 2 year old who was sucking onto her blanket, looking around with the same confused eyes she had. Y/N smiled at the toddler who shied away with a child like guideness before letting go of her mother’s hand to walk up to her with those messy, fast and guiddy child like steps. Y/N leaned down to be at her level, a kind smile as the child hugged her leg as if they had known each other for ages. 

     - Hi, I’m Y/N, what’s your name?

     - Paige. -  she looked up from her leg, her curls bobbling up and down as she smiled with that toothy smile which made everyone light up. - Do you wanna see my toys?

     - Sure. 

The three year old held her hand, pulling her deeper into the house. It was a house like every single upper middle class house in any country painted in beige and white colours with embroidered portraits of sweet sayings. The little girl’s bedroom was painted in soft pinks with various toys from dolls, plushies to little wooden toys yet she ignored all those shiny, brand new toys to run to a plush bunny on the corner of the world. It was home-made, at least it looked like it with all the scraps of fabric and the buttons for eyes. Nevertheless, Paige ran up to it like an old friend, her chubby arms wrapping around the plushie. Y/N leaned to her level, standing on her knees, watching her hug that plushie like her life depended on it. It was quite sweet. 

    - Who is this dapper gentlemen? - she straightened the bunny’s jacket.

    - Mr. Bunbun, this is Miss Y/N. - she said with a sheepish happiness. - She’s gonna be at our tea party today. 

    - She likes you. - the mother smiled from the door. - Can you watch her for a few trial hours while I do some grocery shopping?

    - Of course. We’re gonna have fun, won’t we Paige? 

The mother whose name she still hadn’t been told, left the two in the bedroom. Paige was a sweet girl, mostly playing around with her bunny and pretending to serve tea using a very small porcelain set of a tea pot and tea cups. Y/N enjoyed the time with the young girl, mostly playing along with her fantasy world and answering unasked questions from her plushies. Yet, she couldn’t shake this odd feeling, the same weird feeling she had felt the moment she had entered the house. Her eyes moved from the play table to the window. There was nothing there, there was merely the sight of forests and tall trees. There was nothing there but she felt watched, maybe the trees and animals were watching her. The twilight merely made the feeling even more overwhelming, as if something was glooming over the house.

The young girl started to get mellow, her arms wrapped around the bunny, her lips buried in the soft fur as her baby blue eyes started to flurry close. Y/N got up from the chair she was sat in, her arms wrapped around Paige as she picked her up to lay her in the equally soft pink bed. She pulled the comforter down, laying her down on the mattress before tucking her in. The bunny laid next to her as she fell asleep. Y/N remained by her side until the mother returned, then she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

   - What did you think? - the woman asked as the two of them stepped away from the room. 

   - Paige is a lovely girl. She’s very sweet, congratulations.

   - In that case, me and my husband would love if you could be Paige’s nanny. We will put together the paperwork and Paige’s routine tomorrow. If you could pass by at 9AM, it would be lovely.

   - Yes of course. - she smiled, shaking her hand. - Thank you for the opportunity.

She left the house with a spring in her step, even if the weather was pouring down rain into her navy blue cape. She had found a job, working with a lovely young girl and not even the rain coming down on her could break that happiness down. Y/N entered her car, putting the key on the ignition before driving into the small road through the woods which led to the centre of the town and to the small inn she was staying at. 

Her eyes were on the road, windshield wiping at the water droplets, the road merely illuminated by the headlights. Normally, she would be listening to the radio, yet nothing was being picked up and the only thing she could hear was the rain and the wind. The wind was strong enough to almost rock her small car, and as she drove down the road surrounded by the forrest, a loud noise caused her car to stop. She twisted the key again yet her car refused to start up again.

   - No, no. - she put the hood of her cape over her head, stepping out of the car.

The rain drenched her cape, running down her legs and arms as she made her way to the front of the car to lift the hood up. Smoke came out and while she realised that meant something was clearly wrong. She mumbled a few more no’s to herself before entering the car again. She fished for her phone, hoping this town had road side assistance; however, it didn’t matter if it did as her phone caught no signal at all and there didn’t seem to be a roadside phone for her to call emergency services. 

Her fists punched the steering wheel, her forehead leaning on it as her brain rushed through what she could do. There was nothing she could do. She could try walk back into town but there were no lights and she didn’t know the way, she could attempt to walk back to where she had come from but she couldn’t. She remained there for what felt like hours until a knock on her window startled her. She couldn’t make up who it was and as she rolled down the window, the face of a handsome man came into view. He couldn’t be too old, probably in his early to mid 30s, wearing plums and burgundy fabrics. 

   - You alright there? - he flashed her a white smile. 

   - My car’s broken. - she fully looked at him. Jefferson was taken aback as he completely looked at her, her hair wet and clung to her face but she still had this look of someone painted by a book illustration. The short blue dress covered by a navy cape. - Is there no signal in this town?

   - This is the woods, darling. 

   - You don’t happen to be a mechanic, do you? - she had soft eyes, the eyes of a dreamer. It almost made him forget it. 

   - No, darling, but you can try call roadside assistance from my house if you want. 

   - How do you know I can trust you? - she furrowed her brows at this stranger; yet again, the town had this weird hospitality. 

   - It’s either that or standing here isn’t it? - he watched the cogs in her brain turn, her teeth munch of her lip as she pondered the offer. - I promise I’m not some weird serial killer.

   - That’s what a weird serial killer would say.

She pulled her window up before unlocking her car door. Stepping out, he understood why the love sick couple had hired her, she looked like the stereotypical nanny in light blue and white Mary Jane shoes. Even her hair was pushed away from the face, the hair tied in a black piece of satin fabric. She definitely looked like she was good enough to watch over a child.

   - I’m Jefferson.

   - Y/N. 

   - I live just a few minutes into the forest, just follow me.

This was the best option she had of getting somewhere and not perishing inside her car. Nevertheless, she kept her distance behind him, following like a scared rabbit but still investigating him, almost copying his likelihood for her mind to keep. He looked detached from everything else, like the perfect, perfect town hadn’t decided to tell him of the colour palette or the silhouette. If everything was pastel and spring/summer, he was dark and reds. It was almost like he walked the line between darkness and warmth. She felt like he was capable of warmth, of care yet everything was kept hidden and locked away.

His home reflected it but also spoke of a longing, of a design which was lacking something. The house was certainly beautiful, like something out a gothic romance or maybe the type of home Mrs de Winter described. Like a hidden Manderley with the same amount of tragedy to it. 

   - Do you want anything to drink?

   - No, I’m fine. - she messed with her found, finding she had enough signal to call for assistance with the car. - Do you mind?

   - No, go ahead. 

Jefferson watched her from his kitchen, examining her microscopically. She sure fit the description of the sweet, innocent woman but he still didn’t know if to trust her, if to believe she was the best. Nevertheless, he felt an odd magnetic link to her, as if he needed to keep watching her. Well, he did, after all she was a stranger looking after his young daughter. His, not that couple’s, his Grace, not Paige, not anything else they called her. This woman was as much as his enemy as that couple was. Yet, there was magnetism. She lowered the phone, happy with her resolution.

   - They’re coming to get my car. - she told him from the living room. - I should get going.

   - Of course.

   - Goodbye, Jefferson.

   - Goodbye, darling.

[re8-drabbles]

Some RE: Village Relationship Headcanons?

The Duke

Saved you from a pack of lycans when you accidently strayed into the village.

Started off on the wrong foot.

Duke: Found yourself in a pinch, haven't you?

Y/N: Fuck off...

Duke: Now, now, if you would rather stay out here and continue to play with lycans and get yourself killed, be my guest... but, if you would rather survive... You'd best change your tone.

Y/N: ....

Duke: That's better.

He allowed you to stay in his cart until you healed, but started falling for you the moment he got to know you.

Duke: So you have just been wandering all over Europe in hopes of finding a cure?

Y/N: ...Yeah pretty much. I know, it's pretty stupid.

Duke: I wouldn't call it stupid, as much as adventurous. Is that why you found yourself in the village?

Y/N: Yeah... I wasn't planning on being greeted by lycans when I first set foot.... I never properly thanked you for saving me or apologized for how I reacted, I'm sorry about that.

Duke: It's all water under the bridge, love. I'm just glad I happened to be at the right place, at the right time.

Both came to conclusion after the heart to heart that you both were enamored with each other.

Duke: ....Would you be interested in being more then friends?

Y/N: I thought you would never ask.

Loves it when you slip under his arm, get comfortable at his side, and cuddle.

Loves it even more when you give him suprise hugs from the back when he's looking stressed or uncomfortable.

Finds it sweet, but ironic, how much you fret over him.

Y/N: "Are you sure you are not cold? The lycans do not bother you, do they? Are you feeling well? You are not hurt, are you?"

Duke: I'm perfectly fine, my dear. Now you, on the other hand, need to come inside. Your finger tips are turning blue.

Hates seeing you upset or scared, but loves how your first instinct is to grab and hold his hand.

Y/N: I am not scared! Your hands are just really warm...

Duke: Of course, love.

Secretly gets a little jealous when others flirt with you, but he'll never admit it to you.

Will also passive aggressively hike up the price of items for the individual who flirted.

Heisenberg: 900 Lei?! That's ridiculous!

Duke: These have been hard to come by lately.

He knows you believe that even the worst person can change, and he loves that about you, but it makes him sick with worry.

Y/N: Are you okay, love?

Duke: I'm fine, just a little tired. Could you do me a favour?

Y/N: Anything.

Duke: Please stay by my side? You are too important for me to lose, and this village is swimming with enemies you are not ready to take on.

Y/N: ... I don't want to be a burden.

Duke: You could never be a burden to me.

He will protect you from everything and anything.

Keeps a lot of books and hobby items on hand for you.

It melts his heart when you give him one of your rare smiles.

He hates how the Lord's like to call you his "pet", but allows it, if it keeps you safe from their wrath.

Heisenberg

First time you met, he had trapped you under Mother Miranda's orders.

Karl: Long way from home, aren't we?

Y/N ... I like your glasses, can I try them on?

Karl: Uh.... No.

Mother Miranda allowed him to do what he wanted with you, as she assessed that you were no threat.

He decided to keep you around.

He became enthralled by how bold and eccentric you are.

Realized he had fallen for you when he came back from a meeting with the Lords, and caught you wearing his clothes in the mirror mimicking him.

Karl: I should be mad... But you do a damn good impression and they look good on you.

Y/N: *surprised shriek*

Loves how you only show your soft side to him.

Sometimes, he is taken aback by your agressive side.

Karl: Did you just threaten to choke out that lycans with the disemboweled intestine of its friend?

Y/N: maybe.

Karl: I don't think they understand our language-

Y/N: Fear is a universal, Karl.

He loves watching you tinker away with the scraps in his factory and will sometimes animate your creations

He will do anything to protect the childlike wonder you have somehow managed to retain, regardless of everything that has happened

Adores the way you seem to know when he needs a little bit of physical connection.

Karl: How do you always seem to know when to do that?

Y/N: Hmm... Who knows?

When you are sick, he will track the Duke down and pay him double to get medicine from outside the village.

He will often run his fingers through your hair, as you fall asleep.

He will stay until he is sure you are asleep, before slipping out to his lab.

Dimitrescu

Was given charge of you, after Mother Miranda's experiment on you was a success.

She started off as your mentor, but quickly became fond of you.

Your passionate nature was what drew her to you.

Loves to tailor clothing for you and spoil you with the finest of silks and fabrics.

She loves to invest in your hobbies, especially painting. She will place completed works around the castle.

Being much older and taller than you, she feels the need to protect you from the horrors outside the castle walls.

Y/N: Alcina, I must do my rounds of the village. Mother Miranda will be furious if anything slips by.

Alcina: Nonsense! That fool Heisenberg can do the perimeter check. You still have much to learn before you can go outside, even more so before you can go alone.

Y/N: That's not fair to Heisenberg, Alcina. How much longer before I can go outside alone, anyways?

Alcina: Until you reach my age.

Y/N: So....

Alcina: Never.

Gets angry when Heisenberg or the Duke share too many sweet words with you. Heisenberg does it to annoy her and the Duke just enjoys pleasant and polite conversations, but it drives her mad.

Loves to steal kisses from you when you are working.

Y/N: Alcina, please, I'm almost done this portrait and then my attention is all yours.

Alcina: Hmmm, it is much more fun to pester you when you're working though.

Loves to use Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to pry information from you.

Alcina: So... What did you learn girls?

Bela: Y/N feels a little ignored lately.

Daniela: Y/N is out of titanium white and cadmium red paint.

Cassandra: Y/N finds that the scenery is a bit bland and would love to grow some snowdrops.

Alcina: Ah, thank you girls.

Alcina is usually the first to engage intimate moments; hugs, kisses, touches, and more.

The rare moments you engage in intimacy are her favourites.

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Christmas Now (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Their first Christmas as a family of four. Underwhelming gifts, naughty kitchen counter shenanigans, being suspicious of Santa Claus, baby kissies, oat milk. 

Author’s Note: Baby bub is here! I’ve been so excited to finally be able to write about them, and I’m even more excited that you all get to read about them! This is the second part of my Christmas bits for this year. Unlike the last one, this one is obnoxiously adorable and no where near as upsetting (I really hurt my own feelings with that one). Reblogs, likes, tags, and feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated! If you don’t see me before the year is up, I want to wish you a Happy New Year! Enjoy, take care, and tpwk.

“Two.”

“No. One.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Four.”

“Now that’s just bein’ greedy,” Harry spoke in a wounded tone with his brows furrowed together as if he were genuinely offended.

“But if Santa’s coming tonight and bringing more presents, why can’t I open these ones right now?”

Tallulah was on her knees in front of the sofa, fingers laced together with her chin resting on top of them. She was quite literally begging her father, who sat above her with one leg crossed over the other and an arm slung around his wife, to allow her to open the gifts that were prematurely nestled underneath the festive fir tree in their living room. Well, they weren’t married yet, but Harry couldn’t help that he preferred how the word felt rolling off of his tongue than “fiance.”

“Because they’re Christmas presents,” he stressed.

“Makes no sense t’ open them the day before.”

His freshly six-year-old daughter clearly didn’t like that answer - the pouty jut on her lip and subsequent huff told Harry all he needed to know.

“I already told ya, sweet pea. You can open one tonight. That’s it. The rest are for tomorrow.”

“Fiiiiiine,” the small girl said, although it was implied in her tone that it very much was not.

Tallulah hobbled over to the tree whilst still on her knees, and began riffling through the small litter of perfectly wrapped boxes to inspect which one would elicit the most satisfaction on her end. She seemed keen on a rather large one, decorated with tartan print and a red gift tag that read, “To: Lulah, From: Daddy & Mummy.” What she hadn’t realized, though, was that Harry had already made the selection for her. 

“Not tha’ one,” Harry reprimanded over the steaming mug of coffee in the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on Y/N’s shoulder.

He typically strayed away from caffeine this late in the evening, but he knew he was in for a long night of waiting up until Tallulah was fast asleep so he could take on the role of Santa and deliver all of the gifts he had promised her for being good enough to make an appearance on the Nice List. Knowing how much shit he had packed in his office that stayed locked this time of year, he really wasn’t sure how he was going to do it successfully.

Another exasperated sigh left his eldest child’s lips, to which she replied, “But this one’s the biggest.”

“But it’s not the one we want yeh t’ open, Lulah. ‘S the one with polar bears on it,” Harry stated, though not with full confidence.

“It is the one with polar bears on it, right?” he whispered to Y/N.

This earned a laugh from Y/N, who muttered a quiet, “Yes,” in return. She laid her head in the crook of Harry’s neck, basking in the warmth that radiated from his body. He smelled like cinnamon and the nutmeg-flavored coffee beans he’d ground up just a few minutes before, and maybe a hint like baby barf.

Tallulah scavenged the space under the tree like a predator hunting its prey - all on the lookout for the present fitting the description Harry had given her. Harry and Y/N found themselves thoroughly entertained by watching her overturn almost every gift, and shared a similar giggle when she narrowed in on the box in question before letting out a victorious, “Aha!” into the room only lit by a firelog in the chimney.

“Grab the one for Olive too, please. Don’t want her feelin’ left out,” Harry called out to Talulah. 

“Okay, daddy!”

Her small arms stretched to the limit, trying to grab both packages without toppling over onto the others. Tallulah noted that they both felt the exact same underneath the wrapping paper, only her baby sister’s was much smaller than the one addressed to her.

“They feel like clothes,” Tallulah stated matter-of-factly as she took back her place on the floor with both presents in hand.

Harry sighed, leaning down to rest his mug near his feet against the sofa.

“Good grief. Just open it, will yeh?”

She needed no further instruction. Her fingers dug into the paper, piercing it with her nails and ruining the pastel blue parchment that was covered in dozens of cartoon polar bears partaking in various yoga poses. When Tallulah was able to tear the gift away from its wrapping, her hands grasped something soft.

“It’s....pajamas.”

Her tone was flat and unamused. Harry sensed her disappointment, though in his heart he certainly felt like he’d done a great job concocting his plan to have her open this particular gift on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah, but they’re Christmas pajamas. Don’t yeh want t’ look nice when Santa comes to visit tonight?”

This seemed to...disturb Tallulah. That was really the only way to describe how she looked at her dad - with her eyebrows scrunched up and her normally-plush lips pressed together in a thin line.

“...He’s gonna come in my room when I’m sleeping?”

Y/N hadn’t meant to, but a loud cackle erupted from her chest, which jostled the four-month-old baby girl that had the beginnings of sleepiness settling into her body. In contrast to the laugh from Y/N, Olive let out the tiniest of shrills, obviously upset that her mother had interupted the peacefulness she’d felt whilst being curled up against her chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, bubby,” Y/N cooed quitely, quickly moving to pat her daughter’s bum and comfort her.

“Mummy didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to the sparse tufts of hair atop Olive’s head before returning her attention back to Tallulah.

“Lulah, I promise you that Santa will not come in your room while you’re sleeping. What your dad means,” she snuck a glance in Harry’s direction in which he smirked back at her, “Is that you want to look nice on Christmas morning, don’t you? You know Nana’s gonna take a thousand pictures of you and Olive tomorrow, so now you don’t have to change when she gets here, yeah?”

Tallulah nodded, though it didn’t do much to lift her spirits. She fumbled the cream-colored thermal set adorned with gold stars between her fingers, the motion she was always somehow doing whether it be to her dad’s t-shirt while she laid next to him during a movie, Y/N’s lotus pendant when she was smaller and could fit on her chest, or otherwise.

“Plus,” Y/N added, a hint of irony in her voice, “I’d imagine the presents Santa’s going to bring you are much less boring than this.”

They shared a knowing smile, Tallulah’s cheeks growing rosey and her eyes twinkling at the mention of the magical, bearded man.

“I’m offended,” Harry scoffed.

“Really thought those pajamas were proper cute.”

“They are cute, daddy!” Tallulah chimed in, “I like them a lot. Thank you.”

It appeared that the young girl had realized her moping about not receiving the nail polish kit she’d asked for didn’t do her any good. And whether Harry was joking about being upset or not, she’d never want to hurt her dad’s feelings. He’d raised her too kindly to do otherwise.

“You’re welcome, bug,” Harry smiled at her.

“Let’s help Olive open hers, yeah?”

“I bet it’s pajamas,” Tallulah mumbled under her breath.

That earned her a light tug on one of her two braided plaits on her head from Harry. The two of them chuckled at each other, their faces almost looking like identical portraits of each other.

“Humor me for a second then, Lulah. ‘S your sister’s first Christmas.”

Tallulah scoots over on the floor to stand on her knees, this time by Y/N’s legs as she turned Olive around to sit up straight in her lap. Olive, who was once determined to fall asleep right there on the couch beside her mum and dad, was now awake and had taken an interest in the crinkling sound of the wrapping paper on the gift her big sister placed on top of her chunky thighs.

“Here, Livvy,” Tallulah cooed, “You tear it like this.”

She tried to show Olive how to tear away the present by ripping it halfway open, but her effort proved to be unsuccessful the second Olive managed to get her fingers around a scrap of paper and immediately placed it in her mouth. It appeared that Olive was much more interested in the gift wrap than she was her early Christmas present.

“Well, there goes that,” Harry said as he fetched the then soggy parchment from his infant daughter’s lips, making somewhat of a disgusted face as he wiped the excess drool on the leg of his pants.

Tallulah takes the honor of opening Olive’s present for her, and is unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes when her eyes meet a set of thermal pajamas like the ones she’d just received herself, only Olive’s were green with tiny, silver stars. She’d parted her lips to make an undoubtedly flippant comment, but Harry cut her off before she even had the chance to mutter the first syllable.

“Don’t do it, stink head,” Harry quipped, reaching for the discarded paper that was scattered on the rug beneath him so he could put it in the bin later.

“How about you go put on your lovely new pajamas so we can get everything set up f’ Santa to come, alright?”

“Okayyyyyy,” the small girl grumbled before snatching the thermal set from the floor and darting off to her room.

“That didn’t really go the way I hoped,” Harry mumbled as he reached over to take Olive from Y/N.

“It’s Christmas, baby,” Y/N reminded him.

“Kids want toys, not pajamas.”

“Yeah but,” Harry focused his attention at worming the tight-fitting pajamas up his baby girl’s abnormally chubby legs.

“’S what mum used t’ do for us when we were little. Always got pajamas on Christmas Eve. Figured it’d be nice t’ do it for the girls, too.”

“It is sweet, Harry. Just wouldn’t expect a six-year-old to be that enthused about it,” Y/N snickered.

Harry hummed in agreement, his tongue poked out as he fed Olive’s arm into the tight sleeve of her top, struggling a bit to get her balled up fist through the other side.

“Ahh, there we go. Thank god ya only have t’ wear these tomorrow, Chunk. They’ll be too snug by next week.”

“Leave my fat baby alone,” Y/N scolded.

“There’s nothing wrong with being well fed,” she added, leaning over to lightly pinch on her daughter’s round tummy in an attempt to get her to smile at her.

A gummy grin took over Olive’s features at the sight of her mother, a true mummy’s girl at heart. She was much like Tallulah in many ways, but so different at the same time. Olive was still nearly bald, whereas Tallulah’s hair grew like a sprout when she was Olive’s age. Tallulah had always been teeny tiny, no doubt due to her premature birth, and Olive clearly made up in weight for what Tallulah lacked when she was a baby. They both loved cuddles with Harry and listening to the sound of his voice as they fell asleep, but it always puzzled him when Olive didn’t respond to some of his antics in the way that Tallulah had. 

“‘M not bein’ mean. I’d jump on the chance to suck on your tits all day if I could, too.”

“Har-” Y/N began to reprimand him about how she can’t say that because there are little ears in the room, but was stopped short.

“I’m back! Can we set out the cookies now?”

Tallulah breathed heavily as if she just sprinted a marathon into the living room. 

“Sure can,” Harry responded.

“Come tell Livvy good night first, though. Mummy’s gotta feed her and put her t’ bed.”

She smiled at the mention of her little sister, whom she was always keeping at an arm’s reach. If Tallulah was awake, she was in the same room as Olive. It made Harry’s heart ache in the best way to watch the two of them interact with each other. The feeling he felt when he first saw Olive in Tallulah’s arms at the hospital never subsided. He was absolutely besotted for his girls.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite soeur,” Tallulah whispered to Olive, reaching down to hug her sister and kiss the crown of her head, which she happily accepted in the form of weaving her pudgy fingers into Tallulah’s braids and pulling them rather harshly.

Before he handed her off to Y/N to be fed and put down for the night, he gave Olive a kiss of his own.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite chérie.”

//

“‘How do you know Santa likes oat milk? Did he tell you that? Luna at school told me he likes chocolate almond milk.’ What kinda shit is that?!” Harry exclaimed with a mouth full of sugar cookie and in the quietest voice he could muster.

He’d just spent the last hour with Y/N, silently digging Tallulah’s gifts from Santa out of his office and placing them underneath the tree. Thankfully, he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and woken her up or else he would have cried right there on the spot.

All Y/N could do was giggle back at him from where she sat on top of the counter, bare legs swinging as she had a mouthful of the very same oat milk in question swishing in her mouth.

“She’s asking too many questions n’ I don’t like it one bit.”

“Think she’s just growing up, babe. The magic doesn’t last forever. She’s about at that age. Probably only have one or two more Christmases before she figures it out.”

Harry stared at the remaining half of the frosted cookie Tallulah left for Santa in his palm, eyes quiet and sullen.

“Don’t like that one bit, either,” he muttered.

“I know you don’t, bubby,” Y/N cooed, pulling Harry into her so he stood between her parted legs on the countertop.

“But you’ve still got Olive.”

He seemed to perk up at that, looking up at her through thick lashes with a smirk.

“Just Olive? We stoppin’ there?”

“I mean,” Y/N pursed her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind trying for a boy.”

Harry placed his hands on either side of her thighs, stroking her skin with his thumbs.

“Might not happen on the first go, though,” he tisked.

“Could take havin’ a few more for that t’ happen. Yeh alright with that?”

“As long as you’re not tired of me by then, then sure,” Y/N jested.

“’M never gonna be tired of you.”

He leaned in close to her, touching his forehead to hers. He was a split second away from kissing her, but then Y/N spoke up again.

“Harry,” she called out.

“Hmm,” Harry’s voice oozed with desire and darkness beginning to turn his eyes a deep shade of juniper.

“Can I please have a bite of your cookie?”

He softly bumped his forehead against hers as they both broke out into a fit of chuckles.

“Allumeuse,” Harry uttered, raising the sickeningly sweet cookie to her lips.

She chewed the baked good tantilizingly slow, making a scene of rolling her eyes back and moaning as if the taste was euphoric.

“Tu aimes ça,” she snided.

“Je fais.”

The two sat in silence after that, finishing up what was left of the small plate of sweets Tallulah had left by the chimney. It wasn’t often that the house was this quiet. Normally, there was a crying Olive to attend to or a needy Tallulah begging for one of them to get more paper out of Harry’s office printer so she could draw pictures of the plants in their garden out back. It would have been eerie, had the multi-colored lights from their Christmas tree not illuminated the majority of their open living space. The twinkling bulbs brought a sense of peacefulness about them. Maybe it was the season, or maybe it was because they’d been feeling so grateful for their small family as of late.

“Honey,” Harry broke the silence.

“What?” she looked up from where she’d been fussing with the hem of her shorts decorated with tiny snowflakes.

“Yeh got a little,” he gestured to her mouth before bringing his thumb to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Harry swiped a rogue dollop of blue frosting that rested there and pressed it onto her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking lightly to remove the sticky icing from his skin. Her eyes met his, not once straying as he applied just the slightest bit more of pressure with his thumb. He noted the way her breathing slowed and how she gently shuddered when he tightened the grip of her jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“So pretty,” he purred, marveling at the sight in front of him.

God, how Harry wished it weren’t just his finger resting on the soft, welcoming warmth of her tongue.

Y/N slid off his thumb with a calculated pop of her lips, licking them to ensure she’d rid herself completely of any stray crumbs.

“Kissy?” she posed, smirking.

“I’d be pretty rotten if I said no,” Harry replied before pressing his mouth against hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to stand flush against the counter and even closer to her body. He teased her with this tongue, gliding it along the plush skin of the inside of her lip. Y/N welcomed him and parted her lips enough for Harry to get through. Both of them taste the saccharine remnants of the cookies they’d shared, and soon all that’s heard in the house are the suckling noises and heavy pants coming from Harry and Y/N. It’s not loud enough to be a disturbance, but it’s just enough to have them both yearning for more.

“Talk t’ me, lapine,” Harry broke away from her for long enough to mumble one sentence, still pressed against her lips.

“Tell me what yeh want.”

“Want you,” Y/N said in a shaky exhale, chasing Harry’s mouth to reconnect with her own.

“Yeah?” he taunted.

“Want me right here in the kitchen?”

“Ideally, no. But I wouldn’t stop you.”

She parted her legs even wider, attempting to rut against the thick fabric of Harry’s fleece sweatpants. Her center met something stiff and Harry pulled her even closer by the flesh of both bum cheeks, massaging them with his massive palms in a manner that he knew drove her mad.

“That’d be pretty naughty of us, wouldn’t it? Not sure if Santa would approve of that one.”

Before she’s given a chance to respond, Harry snuck his hand between their thighs and began softly petting Y/N over her shorts. Her head fell back in pleasure, temporarily detaching her lips from Harry’s. She knows she can’t make a single sound or else she’ll wake up the entire house so she just sits there with her brows furrowed, silently gasping and letting these sweet, broken moans spill from her throat that spur Harry on even further.

“Can feel you even through your fuckin’ shorts, Y/N,” he grunted, slowing grinding against his own palm that was the only thing separating him from her heat.

This time, it’s Y/N that reached between them, feeling for the stifness that lies between his legs. She wraps her fingers around him through his sweatpants, leisurely tugging at his cock. Harry’s all but forced to begin sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck to keep himself from crying out at the contact, working at blossoming deep lilac and mulberry colored bruises there.

“Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” he muffles into her collarbone.

Y/N hummed, crossing her legs around Harry’s back as he began to focus his attention to rubbing her clit over the material of her shorts.

“Bet you could too,” she whined.

“’S that what you want, hm? Want me t’ make you cum without even touchin’ you right?”

“‘M not gonna have a choice if you don’t do something else pretty soon.”

She sped up the work she’s doing near Harry’s crotch, paying mind to what she can make of his tip between his boxers. With her thumb, she rubbed expert circles around him, massaging him in the way that he’s doing to her. Both of them could feel it, the slow build up of pressure deep in their abdomen - a coil winding tighter and tight with the threat of snapping.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N.”

He was biting her neck now, completely consumed by the feeling of both the damp patch seeping through Y/N’s shorts and onto his fingers and the precum dripping onto her more delicate ones through his sweatpants.

In an attempt to not embarass himself like a horny teenager, Harry withdrew his hand from in between her thighs and places it around her bum all in the same breath. Y/N sighed defeatedly at the loss of friction against the place she needed it most, dropping her head into Harry’s shoulder and whining rather noisily. Before she even has the chance to curse him for stopping, he scooped her off the counter with all of his strength and began walking both of them to their bedroom so he could fuck her properly.

Their lips detach when Harry drops her onto the bed and a woosh of air leaves the down comforter, causing the hem of Y/N’s top to fly up and expose her tummy. She still wore the deep, almost-metallic stretch marks she’d acquired when she was pregnant with Olive, but it wasn’t with shame. Her and Harry had a talk not that long ago about how much he loved them because it reminded him of how much he cherished watching his baby girl grow before she made her grand, earthside appearance. She’d not mentioned the slightest bit of disdain for them after that.

Just as Harry tugged his jumper over his head and threw it off somewhere that he’d worry about in the morning, his eyes caught the digital clock that rested on the wooden night stand on his side of the bed.

“’S past midnight,” he said with a lopsided grin, climbing on top of the girl he vowed to spend his last dying breath beside.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, for the life of her unable to understand why that was relevant when just minutes ago, he was rutting into her hands and aching for release.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled against her lips.

He pulled up once more to add, “Happy Christmas.”

She had half the mind to smack him, but all she did was shake her head and smile.

“Happy Christmas, Harry. Will you please fuck me now?”

“Think I can manage that.”

It was the first of many Christmas presents for Y/N.

[wlntrsldler]

hi love! i was wondering if you could do “false god” + cedric diggory? i hope you are having a great day ❤️

anon: omg can you do a cute little one about cedrics ghost watching over you during the battle of hogwarts (you’re part of Harry’s friend group) and then you die and reunite 🥺

A/N: i combined these two requests. i hope you guys don’t mind!

PROMPT: Cedric and Y/N finally reunite years after his death.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, major character death, angst

WC: 2K+ 

HP MASTERLIST

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false god (c.d one shot)

When Cedric thought about the afterlife, he never once expected it to be like this. He thought that he would be calm and serene, surrounded by white clouds and sounds of harps softly playing in the background. But the afterlife that Cedric was exposed to, was nothing like that. 

Now, he spent his eternal days, with his heart crumbling in his chest as he watched you lose a part of yourself everyday since he died. He wanted nothing else but to yell and call out for you. He wanted to say, “My darling, you’re better than this. Don’t lose your life just because I’m gone.” It wasn’t fair of him to ask that of you, he knew that. Cedric knew that if the roles were switched— if you were the one in his shoes, he would be acting the same way as you. 

Sometimes he felt selfish because he was relieved that he didn’t have to go through the pain of living life without you. Cedric lived his entire life with you by his side. Since you were kids, you were beside Cedric as your parents were friends with his. You took your first steps together, rode your brooms with one another, entered Hogwarts together. Merlin, both of your first words were a variation of each other’s names. Cedric knew, deep down in his heart, that he wouldn’t know how to live without you. 

Cedric watched fondly as he saw Harry approach you. He was thankful that Harry looked after you after his death, no doubt knowing how close you and Cedric were when he was alive. You looked up at Harry, leaning against his chest as he wrapped a protective arm around you. Hermione and Ron stood off to the side, smiling sadly at you. The start of the year only reminded you more of Cedric’s death and in honor of it, you had a portrait of him hung in the Hufflepuff common room. You were made Head Girl this year and your first duty— which all of the Prefects and Head Boys and Girls agreed to— was to tell all the Hufflepuff first-years about Cedric. 

Now, three months into the start of term, you saw many Hufflepuff students, both first years and older students who had known Cedric when he was alive, talk to the portrait. They sat there for hours, not caring if the image never spoke back. You understood why. The mere sight of Cedric’s contagious smile, the crinkles by his eyes, was enough to put anyone at ease. And if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough, you could hear the sound of his glorious laughter ringing throughout the common room. 

“You ready?” Harry asked quietly, taking a quick glance at Cedric. 

You nodded, ready to enter the Room of Requirement to train for Dumbledore’s Army. You pulled away from Harry and smiled at Cedric, “We’ll talk later, Ced? I love you.” 

Cedric smiled to himself, wanting nothing else but to reach down and touch you. He replied, though you couldn’t hear him, “I love you.” 

As the years passed, Cedric continued to watch over you. He saw you fight and grow into an amazing witch. You learned curses and charms that would’ve thrown Cedric’s head in a frenzy. And all Cedric could do was grin from above and clap his hands happily when you perfected casting your Patronus— a beautiful, Black Swan. He of course had to look it up— who knew there were books available in the afterlife?— and knew that it was perfect for you. You were passionate, driven, and kind with a heart so full of love, Cedric sometimes thought he was undeserving of it. 

He watched you become a Healer St. Mungo’s, living off on your own in a humble flat, not too far from where the both of you grew up. He would listen intently as you talked to him before you went to bed, as if he was right there beside you the entire time. Cedric felt his heart flutter in his chest when he saw you putting up the Christmas ornaments that he made for you when he was 7 years old, too fond of muggle clay for his own good. The ornaments were wonky, and truth be told, they were ugly, but you put them up every year, without fail. 

Cedric watched you live your life but he saw something that most people never saw— he saw you were tired. You were tired of fighting, tired of walking into work to find beds filled with witches and wizards of all ages— some were children— trying to get better because they were attacked, tired of living a life where you were alone, all the time. Despite how tired you were, Cedric knew you were going to keep fighting as long as there was a fight to win. 

When the Battle of Hogwarts came around, there was this feeling in his stomach that told him everything he needed to know. He knew not everyone would make it out alive. For Merlin’s sake, look at him! He was killed like he was just a scrap of rubbish in the way of the Dark Lord, and perhaps, he was. Cedric watched as Sirius Black, Mad-Eye Moody, and even Professor Dumbledore, joined him in the afterlife. It was clear that the Dark Lord and his followers didn’t care who was hurt. 

Cedric watched you limp into the Great Hall, bloody and exhausted, as you pushed past students running around trying to get to their loved ones. He saw you nearly throw up, when you saw the sides of the hall lined with bodies— bodies of students you knew during your time at Hogwarts and some who looked too young to even be exposed to a war like this. You walked down silently, saying prayers for the ones you lost in the battle. 

To your left, you saw Professor Lupin and his wife, Tonks, on the floor, lifelessly, with their fingertips half an inch apart, as if they were trying to touch one last time before the end. You remembered how Professor Lupin teased you endlessly over your crush on Cedric. He was the first professor who noticed it, or maybe he was the first one to have the courage to say it out loud. You weren’t really discreet with your feelings and you were almost sure that Professor McGonagall was aware of it too, but Professor Lupin was the first one to tease you about it. He was the first one to hug you and welcome you into 12 Grimmauld Place when you joined the Order. You were the second person, after Harry, to find out that Tonks was pregnant with Teddy. 

Ahead, you saw the Weasley family gathered around a body. Walking into this war, you knew you were going to lose some people, but never once did you expect to lose a Weasley. You knew that no matter how many of them there were, not one of them could be replaced. As you walked closer, you recognized the body as Fred Weasley. Beside him was his twin, crying quietly into the shoulder of Ron. It was Fred Weasley on the floor— the same bloke who made it his mission to make you laugh once more after the life was sucked out of you when Cedric died. You stood off to the side, an arm wrapped around Hermione. 

Cedric remained silent, looking down at the casualties. Professor Lupin, Tonks, Fred Weasley, young, Colin Creevey with his camera still around his neck— they were all gone. Cedric hoped that he could promise them that the afterlife brought peace, but he knew he couldn’t do that, because ever since he arrived, he found no peace until he knew you were alright. 

A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see a smiling Fred Weasley. The redhead spoke, “You alright there, mate?” 

“Yeah,” Cedric chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. “I appreciate you looking after Y/N.”

“No worries. It seems like you’ve been looking after her too,” he commented, peeking at the display in front of Cedric. “Godric, Georgie’s a bit of a sap, isn’t he?”

He laughed because only Fred Weasley would make a joke during a time like this. Fred gave a goofy smile and patted Cedric’s back before he walked away, leaving Cedric alone again. As the war picked up again, Cedric focused on you, making sure that you were safe— whatever safe meant in a war zone. When Harry leaped out of Hagrid’s arms, he saw the relief wash over every single person’s face. People fought harsher than before, knowing that the war would soon come to an end and it seemed that young Potter would rise as the victor. 

The Deatheaters knew it too. Many of them began to retreat as they saw the Dark Lord stumble under Harry’s magic. For a split moment, Cedric was entranced by the fight between the two wizards, before you caught his eye again. You were smiling sadly, happy that the war was almost done. Harry was going to win. The fight was won. 

And that’s Cedric saw it. You broke down your walls. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

You didn’t move or try to counter it. You let the curse hit you and you drifted away with the same smile on your face. You knew you weren’t needed down there anymore. The war was finished. Now, you needed to take care of yourself and join the others. You had to pick up the pieces of yourself that you lose over the years. 

When the display ceased to be nothing, Cedric frantically looked around, afraid that he had lost you. But it was the opposite, because not more than a second later, your soft touch landed on his back and there you were. He breathed out a sigh of sadness because you deserved to live, a long and happy and fruitful life. You didn’t deserve to be here so early. He shook his head in disbelief and pushed you away, refusing to look into your eyes. 

You were patient, of course, you always were. You kept your distance until Cedric had the courage to look at you. In your face, he saw you— the person that you were before his death. You were smiling with the smile that made Cedric fall in love with you in the first place. The burden of the war was no longer on your shoulders. You stood tall, finally breathing calmly instead of gasping for air to survive. Cedric understood then that your decision to not fight back was not because you wanted to die, but because you wanted to live. 

The life that you had on the ground was not a life you saw for yourself, but this afterlife, was everything you could wish for and more. He approached you, hesitantly, afraid that you might reject him and Merlin, if you rejected him in the afterlife he wouldn’t know what he’d do. You were here for eternity. You made no moves to get away, instead you melted into his touch when his hand cupped your cheek. 

“I should’ve said it when we were still alive,” Cedric confessed, whispering, hoping that if this was a dream, his quietness would cause it to last a bit longer. He continued, “I love you. And I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew what it meant to be in love. And I’ll continue to be in love with you until our life here comes to an end. I’ll love you even through this other lifetime— especially through this other lifetime.” 

“Cedric Diggory, I’m so in love with you,” you replied, your lips touching his. “I know heaven's a thing. I go there when you touch me and this is the feeling I’ve been yearning for, for years. I’m so glad to be here with you, finally.”

He closed his eyes, pushing his lips against yours. And for the first time in years, you and Cedric finally knew of peace. 

[weaver-z]

Birthmark

A short horror story by B.E.

The women in my family have port-wine birthmarks, but none ever had any as strange as mine. 

Not even my mother, who had one that stretched across her forehead like a bloodshot eye, the pale sclera-white of her skin visible under the glaze of reddish violet. She told me, when I was very young, that my grandmother had one, too, along the back of her head--she, unlike us, had been lucky enough to have one that could be hidden under a bonnet, though her blonde hair still revealed it in the summertime.

“Can I see the ones on the legs?” Thomas asks, chewing the inside of his cheek like a cow chewing its cud. I allow it, even though I am a girl, because Thomas and I are friends, alone in the center of a field of tall summer alfalfa. I can feel his eyes boring into the marks on me in fascination, as he moves around me to see my arms, at the marks on those.

“I like the winter best,” I say, pulling my skirt up. “Pa hates it. But I like it, because I can cover all of ‘em up with my clothes, even the ones on my arms.”

“They’re not so bad,” he says. “They’re not on your face, at least.

“Guess so.”

He sits in front of me in the clear space between the eden-green strands of the grass, looking down at the marks on my legs. They are strange, wobbling lines, not blotches or patches--the lowest two are at my knees, lines that wrap around the joint like the borders of a county. 

There are two more on my upper thighs, though I don’t show Thomas those--he’s still a boy, and even though he looks at my markings with nothing but fascination, I still feel a little kernel of shame rubbing at the walls of my chest. The arms are easier to show to him--there are only two marks, just too low to be covered by my short sleeves, broad and awkward unevenly-stamped lines.

“So you’ve got more? On your back?” Thomas asks, sitting on his haunches, looking at me with intent, dust-brown eyes too large for his face.

“Yes. Almost like a corset,” I say, “like a nice corset, the kind rich ladies wear with their jewels. One on my waist, like a belt. One below my shoulders. Oh, and a line down my back, a kinda wobbly one.”

“Like the laced-up part of the corset,” he says, and I nod, happy that he understands. Most boys who live in these parts wouldn’t. He moves around me, and I sit straight, lifting my long frigid-blonde braid so that he can see the very top of the line that travels down my spine, the source of the splotchy red-and-purple river. 

“You ever wish that you could have them wiped off?” He asks. “I heard that God sometimes grants big miracles if you pray for ‘em enough.”

“Maybe,” I say, doubtful. “I’ve tried it. Pa makes me pray each night, but nothing seems to work.”

“Shame about that. Real shame. Maybe God’s busy with somethin’ else--” he says, and suddenly a gunshot rings out in the distance.

He freezes, pupils dilating like a rabbit that hears a hawk, and I scramble for my boots, forcing them on over the crumbles of mud on my feet. We can both hear Pa, coming through the brush, forcing his way through it with snaps and tears and nearly inarticulate grumbling. Thomas is off like a shot, running almost on all fours as he crouches, and by the time my father reaches me, panting and huddled in the grass, my friend is nothing but a mole-trail disturbing distant strands.

Pa is a tall man--though I inherited his height, I’m only 13, and he towers over me, so broad and heavy that I am thin as grass and summer wind below him. I stand, looking up at him with a look that must look shameful, and he lowers the rifle to point at the earth, face still and steely with malice.

“I told you I didn’t want no boys ‘round,” he says, voice thick, like smoke from a bonfire. “Told you I didn’t want you foolin’ round like a little whore.”

“He didn’t do nothin’,” I say, arms wrapped around my chest. “Honest.”

“Who was it, then? And why didn’t he come see me, an’ ask if he could talk to you?” He takes my arm--not tightly, but with such strength that I couldn’t run if I tried. 

“He and I met while I was out with the chickens. He was on the road going up to town.”

“Sure he was.” Pa shoves my arm away and laughs, the sound like metal clattering to a dirt floor. “Sure, the devil ‘e was. I heard him talkin’ bout your legs, girl. Didn’t hear much, but I heard that. You think you’re the pick of the meat at the market, don’t you?”

“Pa--”

“Don’t talk, pretty girl. Don’t talk, and don’t you ever try and do this again. You’re gonna pray as long as you can tonight. I want your damn tongue to fall out before you stop praying,” and he begins to move, and now the pain comes as I stumble half-backward with him, held in a vise by my arm. 

“Pa, I’m sorry--”

“You ain’t sorry yet, Lu,” he says. He looks back at me, from under the shadow cast beneath his brows by the white sun overhead. “You ain’t sorry, yet.”

---

He makes me pray, that night, for hours and hours, for forgiveness, for something I never did. But the praying he makes me do that night is only meager practice for the praying I do during the winter.

Our chickens die when a coyote pack rolls through in the late days of fall, snarling and barking with a sound like mocking laughter. We salvage what corpses we can, and for a while, we eat well, but not well, because while we dine on fresh meat, the knowledge that something terrible to come hangs over us like the fog of their blood. The cattle start to go soon after, the first to a weak cover over a well (it falls in, it screams for hours), the second to a river, the third to disease, the rest tumbling like the articles like a rotting shelf soon after them. 

When winter comes, we have little, so little, and my father tears into his meager dollars to buy us what we can. I am grateful to him, even as the food dries up, even as he becomes silent, frighteningly silent, staring at me above the candle that lights our dinner-table with a face like a haunting.

I am not allowed to leave the house anymore.

I only cook--clean--mend--read the scraps of old newspaper used to patch the walls of the house as best I can. I make what food he finds for dinner, if he finds any, and I give more to his portion, and he says almost nothing to me except to remind me to stay in the home, to keep house and to keep out of the snowstorms and the paths of wild things. He fixes the roof and sharpens the knives--those are the only tasks he does around the house, besides force me onto my knees beside him to beg God for something for our stomachs.

And it is in cleaning that I find the box.

It is a small box, barely as long as my forearm and as shallow as the length of my hand, and it is under his bed, dislodged from a long stay deep in the shadows beneath his cot by a storm that shook the house.

I pull it slowly from beneath--it is unpainted, made of thin wood that leaves little splinters in the flesh of my thumb-joint. I remove its lid and look inside.

My mother is there, first, as I remember her--thin, short, with a look in her eyes like the hollow of a tree, unexplainably empty. The mark is clearly visible in the photograph, as she stands next to my father, mottled and dim. Neither of them are smiling. They are younger in this photograph--it is blurry, hard to make out.

Beneath that is a scrap of newspaper that I have a hard time understanding for a moment. 

Mrs. Mary J. Letts, 68; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Letts, wife of Mr. Roger Letts and mother to Mabelle Letts, which took place last Thursday due to a tragic accident involving an injury sustained to her head while riding. She is survived by her husband and daughter. 

The paper cuts off there. I don’t recognize the name of Letts, and the paper is old; I continue reading as I find another scrap.

Mrs. Mabelle Dawson, 36; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Dawson, who is survived by her husband, Mr. Arnold Dawson, and her young daughter, Lucy Dawson. Their family has our greatest sympathies. She was killed accidentally as she was cleaning a weapon owned by Mr. Arnold Dawson, who claims deepest regret that

I feel my mouth run dry and my pulse hammer against my skin like stone against a drum. That is my mother’s name--that is my name, too, faint against the paper. I don’t understand why these things are in the box, among other pictures and portraits of my mother, and, unmistakably, my mother’s mother, whose mark is just visible in one small portrait of her, clearly done by an amateur hand. I can imagine how it stretched across the back of her head, branching along her skull--I can see my own mother’s mark, clearly, in the center of her forehead.

I feel cold as the wooden floor under my feet as my eyes trace the border of the mark on her forehead for the first time. 

“Lu?” my father calls, from downstairs. “Lucy? Lu-cy?”

The starburst on her forehead is strangely jagged. Unsteady. The shape that a bullet hole would make, if someone were shot close in the head. An accident while cleaning a gun. A trauma to the back of the skull. I hear a footstep on the stairs, almost hesitant, its weight barely masked by the slowness with which my father places it down.

“Lucy?” he says. “I prayed to God for a miracle, and he told me what we ought to do. I need to see you, now.”

I can’t breathe. My throat is choked by a snare as I throw myself back, scrambling across the floor and away from the box. My skirt flies up--my legs are exposed, the lines on them obvious in their purpose.

Summers ago, I went to the village with Pa, and we went to a stall hung with pig carcasses. There, there was a picture of a sow, her legs and sides and ribs marked with uneven lines where the different cuts of meat came from. Here was the thigh--here was the shank--here was the cut you made along the spine and the stomach.

I hear a slow, low rumble of creaking wood as he stops outside the door.

“Lucy?” he says, his voice more paternal than I have ever heard it, and I begin to cry--begin to pray to anything, anyone that will listen, pray that something else kills me before he enters, and nothing does.

And the door opens--slowly, too slowly, as though I’ve had a nightmare and he’s coming to check on me like a good father should--and he sees me with the box, with the tears flowing down my face, with my chest heaving in great stops and starts.

He takes a step forward. In his hands, he holds a sharpened butcher’s knife.

[viastro]

areum | lee seokmin

ミ★ synopsis: in which you’re trying to draw out a scene in the park, but end up meeting a lost, gorgeous, dog. who just so happens to have a cute owner with a beautiful smile to match.

ミ★ genre: first meetings!au, artist!reader, pure fluff

ミ★ warnings: none! unless you’re allergic to dogs or something who knows

ミ★ word count: 1,907

ミ★ pairings: seokmin x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys! this was a really cute prompt i thought of as i was staring at my dog’s microchip HAFKWLANGLK i was going to use a gif from the left & right mv but then i saw this gif and started crying because he looks so soft i cant do thisheLP !!! but i hope you guys like this as much as i do <333 

You sit on the bench as you stare at the falling leaves from the maple trees. Pursing your lips, you glance back down at your drawing, letting out a sigh once you realize it looks nothing like what you originally wanted to create. You rip out the page, crumpling it in your hand and shoving it into your backpack. 

You’ve been assigned a project to draw a portrait from your favorite season in the year, and it’s due in a month. Since it’s Fall, you thought it was fitting to draw out the leaves falling from the trees in the city park. However, your instructor told your class that it had to feel personal, he had to be able to look at your creation and feel the emotion you wanted to come out of it.

So you planned to just draw like… a family having a picnic or something to spice things up. Unfortunately, there is no family out having a picnic due to it being 50° F. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been trying to draw the leaves falling from the trees for the past hour and it just hasn’t worked out. You let out a sigh, placing your journal beside you and just looking up to stare at the cloudy sky. 

That is, until you feel something… wet... nudge your ankle. You glance back down, finding a happy golden retriever staring at you with no leash. You let out a smile, raising an eyebrow as you reach out to the bright dog. 

“Hi baby! Where’s your owner?” You ask in a high-pitched voice, and the dog just tip taps on its feet excitedly as you move to check out its collar. You let out a sigh of relief when you find a dog tag, finding that the sweet golden’s name is Areum. You turn the tag over to find the owner’s number, and you quickly pull out your phone. 

“Areum, stay here baby.” You say, holding onto her(?) collar. You quickly glance down again to check their genitals, to find that Areum is, in fact, a female. You pet her head as you type in the number, before placing the phone close to your ear once it rings. After a moment the person on the other end answers.

“Hello?” Your eyes widen at the sweet voice, having not expected that. “Hi! I think I may have found your dog at the park. Do you perhaps own a golden named Areum?” 

You hear the person let out a happy cry, and you laugh as they start thanking you vigorously. You nod your head, “Of course! I’m currently at Yongsan Park, do you want me to meet you or should you come here-”

“I’m already on my way! I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes!!” The owner tells you, and you smile. You say your goodbyes before hanging up the phone, turning to Areum who is just happily tip tapping her feet once again. “Now why did you leave your owner? They sounded worried sick over the phone.” 

Areum just barks in response, reaching up and licking your face as you giggle at her. You pat her head fondly, finding her to be the prettiest dog you’ve ever seen. You lift up your phone to take a picture of her smiling happily at you, tongue out and all. 

“I wonder if your owner is as cute as you.” 

oh my god he is as cute as her. 

You stare in awe as the owner happily hugs Areum, giving her plenty of kisses. He quickly puts on her leash before continuing to coo at the golden retriever. His hair is brown with blue highlights in the front, which would typically look ridiculous on an average person. However, who we have here is not average in the slightest. 

He has a sharp nose and kind eyes, ones that become even sweeter once he smiles. He has a cute little mole on his cheek, and it makes you cry inside because it somehow makes him even prettier. He lets out a laugh once Areum licks his cheek, and you squeeze your fist at how beautiful it sounds. 

You tilt your head to the side when you feel your hand itch with the urge to draw out the scene in front of you. The leaves fall softly from the trees as Areum licks her owner, causing him to laugh loudly. All while the sun is breaking out through the clouds behind them, shining light onto the two. You remind yourself to not forget the visual so that you can paint it later.

“Don’t you ever run away like that! You made me so worried. You’re so lucky that this prett—this nice person found you!” You feel your cheeks aflame at the fact that he almost called you pretty, and you watch as the tips of his ears turn red. Seokmin curses for almost outing himself, but he can’t help it.

you really are quite beautiful.

“Thank you for calling me when Areum came up to you, she ran out of my house as soon as I opened the door and I couldn’t catch her. I almost peed my pants out of fear that I wouldn’t find her.” Seokmin tells you in complete and utter honesty, causing you to let out a laugh. You shake your head, waving a hand at him, “It was no biggie. She’s an absolute sweetheart and I knew her owner must’ve been worried sick.” 

Seokmin smiles, before sticking his hand out for you to shake, “Let me properly introduce myself. Hi, I’m Seokmin.” 

You grin, reaching out and grabbing a hold of his hand, “I’m yn, it’s nice to meet you and Areum.” 

The two of you stare into each other's eyes for a moment, the handshake being long forgotten as you both have gotten distracted by the sight before you. Seokmin tilts his head to the side, smiling softly at the sparkle in your eyes. While you take notice the softness to his eyes, hair falling over his forehead.

“How about I take you out to coffee?” He asks suddenly, and your eyes widen slightly. He releases his grasp of your hand, watching as your arm slowly falls back to your side. “To thank you, because I wouldn’t know what I would’ve done if Areum wasn’t found.” 

You let out a breath, having to remind yourself that he wasn’t asking you on a date. Seokmin grins at your reaction, finding you to be rather cute. You nod your head after a moment, brushing your hand through your hair. “I’d love to.”

Seokmin bites his lip to hold back another smile from forming, and glances down towards Areum, who is happily sitting beside him. The golden looks back and forth between the two of you, and she lets out a tiny bark. 

“I’ll just have to pack up my stuff here first, I was doing an art project.” You tell Seokmin, walking over to the bench to place your art supplies into your bag. A crumpled piece of paper falls from your bag, and he walks over to pick it up. 

“You dropped this.” Seokmin says, about to hand it to you when his eye catches a drawn out leaf. He unwraps it, and you’re about to open your mouth in protest, but the drawing is already unraveled. His eyes widen in surprise at how beautifully drawn the scene is, and he wonders why you would ever throw it away.

“This is amazing! Why is it all crumpled?” He asks you, and you reach up to rub the back of your neck out of shyness. You shrug at him, turning back to shove your art journal into your backpack. “It’s not how I wanted it to look. I’m supposed to make the drawing personal, and have a clear emotion be shown through it. I was going to add a family having a picnic, but I ended up scrapping the whole thing in general. It’s not what I wanted.” 

Seokmin nods his head in understanding, still glancing at the crumpled up artwork. He hands it back to you, and you give him a smile, shaking your head and nudging it back towards him. “You can keep it, it seems like you like it a lot.” 

“Thank you.” He mutters quietly, and you zip up your backpack, turning back towards him. Areum barks excitedly once you show that you’re ready for the impromptu coffee date, and Seokmin grins. 

“Let’s go get coffee and a puppuccino for Areum.” Seokmin states as the two of you walk side by side out of the park, and you chuckle.

“Not from Starbucks though, right?”

“Definitely not.” 

“Epic, they’re problematic.”

“I think this is the start of a wonderful relationship.”

“I think so too, Seokmin.”

“Hi Professor Kim, here’s my project. Thank you for letting me turn it in a bit late, I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” You say as you carefully place the wrapped painting onto his table. He looks up with a smile, removing his glasses and standing up to greet you. “Of course, I know that artists always like to add last minute details.” 

You grin, and you watch as he unwraps your painting. You bite your lip anxiously, watching his reaction as he takes it in. It’s been a month since you first met Seokmin, and the two of you actually became a couple.

he also became your muse.

Your teacher lets out a soft smile after a moment of staring at the piece you created, glancing up at you. You watch as the sunlight hits the orange of the falling leaves on the painting, coordinating with Areum’s golden fur. Seokmin’s face isn’t detailed, but you can see the bright white of his smile as he hugs the beautiful dog. 

“It’s beautiful yn, your use of watercolor really brought out the softness and beauty of this scene. Are these two close to you?” Your professor asks, and you grin. “Yeah, I love them.” 

“I can tell, it really shows through this creation of yours. This is a wonderful painting, yn. Your grade should be in by the end of the week.” You nod, giving him your thanks before stepping out of the classroom. You hug your arms as you turn the corner, seeing Seokmin standing by the brick wall on his phone, waiting for you.

“Seok!” He glances up at the call of his name, a smile immediately breaking out onto his face when he sees you walking over to him. “Yn! Did he like it?” He asks once you’re right beside him, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple in greeting.

“I think so, and it’s all because of you.” You tell your boyfriend, and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Nah, it’s because you’re great at what you do.” You smile, before wrapping your arm around his waist. The two of you walk down the steps, with you explaining how your professor reacted while Seokmin nods. Once you both pass the maple trees, he glances down at you to see you grinning happily. He squeezes your shoulder, smiling softly. 

what a blessing to have you.

“What do you wanna eat, bub?” 

“Hm, pork belly!” 

“You just wanna look at my arms as I grill the meat, don’t you?” 

“And what of it?”

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Fiesta!!!

The date was May 30th, one of the days that fell into the month that celebrated Quetzalcoatl and some of her fellow gods. The human master of Chaldea, Rex, decided that it would be the perfect day to celebrate a birthday for her. Following that, he worked with many of the other servants to help make it a special day for her. Starting first thing in the morning.

Quetz, waking up and stretching: mmmm!

Rex, hugging her: feliz cumpleaños, mi corazon!

Quetz: ah mi amor! Muchos gracias!

Rex: are you ready for the greatest day ever! Or atleast here in chaldea anyways!

Quetz: si! I can't wait to see what you planned.

Quetzalcoatl, was a very smart goddess. Under normal circumstances, it'd be pretty much impossible to keep a secret from her. But for the sake of her celebration, she turned a blind eye to Rex's birthday plans.

Rex: well good! Cause they start now! *finger snap!*

And with a snap of his fingers, the robotic ninja, Kato Danzo appeared! With a tray of food.

Kato: hello, Quetzalcoatl! I bring freshly made breakfast in bed for you and your husband!

Quetz: oh my! Muchos gracias, Senorita Kato!

Kato: of course!

She placed the tray onto the bed and disappeared as quickly as she first appeared.

For Quetz, a traditional meal of huevos rancheros! And for Rex, a breakfast burrito. And a BIG stack of pancakes for the two to share. Along with a cup of coffee for the goddess, and orange juice for the master.

Quetz: rancheros! One of my favorites! Gracias mi amor!

Rex: of course mi corazon!

After they ate breakfast, the two got dressed for the day!

Quetz: what else do you have planned mi amor!

Rex: oh just wait and see!

Not long after

Quetz: WOOOH! This looks amazing!

Rex: of course mi corazon! Anything for you!

The two were flying on Quetz's pterosaur, right above a very unique environment. As per Rex's request, a special simulation was made. A patchwork of the various jungles from all throughout the world. You could see the jungles of the Lacandon, the Amazon, the Congo, the Backcountry, the cloud forest, the sinharaja, and so many more!

Quetz: wow mi amor! Flying through these jungles is amazing!

Rex: anything for you mi corazon!

Throughout the flight, they'd slow down and get lower to get a good look at the various plants and animals that called these forests home. In every patch, completely unique but very similar animals could be seen.

Quetz: so many animals... so different but also so... similar!

Rex: yeah! It's convergent evolution! Y'know about it?

Quetz: maybe... but explain anyways!

Rex: ok then, mi corazon! Convergent evolution, is when we see very different and unrelated animals evolve the same adaptations because they fill the same niche in similar environments. Like how in the jungles you would've called home, there's Jaguars, while in the Congo, there's Leopards!

Quetz: ooooh! How efficient!

Rex: yeah! You can even see it throughout various time periods! In place of animals like Grizzlies in North America, there was T-rex!

Quetz: you really like this stuff huh, mi amor? You seem almost as excited as when you talk about me!

Rex: yeah... animals are interesting to me...

After they ended the simulation, they returned to their room for the gift giving!

Many other servants had gifts for the goddess. Pretty much everyone manged to get her something. Some gave more simple gifts, such as clothes and accessories. Others gave more practical things, like appliances and the like. The more extravagant ones, like Ozymandias and Gilgamesh piled on a few riches. But a few did give more personal gifts.

Some of the stand out personal gifts included: a book of various fighting techniques from Murasaki, a portrait of the couple from Da Vinci, some beautiful jades from Ishtar, an amazing golden cage with flowers inside from Ereshkigal, some new training weights from Penth, a very big snake plush from Gorgon and so on.

Even other masters gave gifts. Vy and her servants baked a cake that resembled one from a very popular game. Val gave some good snake print socks. Julius and his servants gave the couple some gift cards. Quin gave Quetz a scrap book of her adventures, the last 5 pages of it was filled with just pics of the couple together. Quin also gave new training dummies for practice!

Then there was Quin's wife BB

BB: there should be a portal opening to somewhere full of danger and excitement soon! Along with those other "special" gifts for night-time.

Quetz: wait what?!

Rex: huh?!

A portal opens up behind the pair, and they fall in.

Both: aaaahhhh!

BB, from outside the portal: don't worry! I'll use my time powers so you'll still have plenty of time once you're back!

The couple ended up on a tropical island, filled with creatures that shouldn't be around any longer.

Rex: uh... do those fences look... familiar to you?

Quetz: si... from a... movie I think?

RAAAAAHHH!!!

Rex: what was that!?

Quetz: I'm not sure!

They were sent to the fictional island of Isla Nublar from the jurassic park series! They had interesting and wild adventures before coming back to Chaldea!

(That adventure deserves it's own story tho, so stay tuned for that!)

Quetz: wooh! BB was right! Very dangerous.

Rex: yeah... but now it's time for the Fiesta!

Quetz: yay!

They went to a huge room, reserved specifically for the party! Every chaldea servant was there! There was food, drinks, music and everything you need for a killer Fiesta!

Rex, on stage with a microphone: Hola everyone! We are here today to celebrate the birthday of the greatest goddess in chaldea, Quetzalcoatl!

The crowd cheered! Everyone was hyped for the party!

Quetz: yay! I love seeing everyone happy for mi Fiesta!

Rex: so let's get this party started!

Crowd: YEEEEEEEEAH!!!!

It was one of the biggest parties chaldea ever had! Everyone danced and drank and had a roaring good time! But of course, Quetzalcoatl had the best time! She spent the time with her husband, eating delicious food and getting absolutely wasted!

Rex: mi corazon, don't drink too much now. You'll need a clear head for later.

Quetz, blushy: I'll be fine mi amor! Where's the cake?! I want my cake!

Rex: wait just a bit for that!

Then one of the more recent servants, Kijyo Koyo, came with the piñata she made!

Kijyo: hey! It's piñata time!

Quetz: ohhhh! A piñata!

Of course, as the birthday girl Quetz got first swing at the piñata! As tradition, she was blindfolded and spun around a bit before she was let loose on the piñata!

Rex: that's an interesting choice for a piñata Kijyo, why that?

Kijyo: well I know Quetz hates her brother, so a piñata like that will let her anger loose!

Rex: how if she doesn't see it?

Kijyo: oh she doesn't know? I thought I told her already!

Rex: seems not.

Kijyo: ok then! Then I'll tell her now!

Rex: wait a se-

Kijyo: Quetz! The Piñata is a black jaguar! So you can let loose any anger!

Upon hearing this, Quetz dropped the sitck.

Rex: mi corazon? What are you doing?

She also removed the blindfold, and pulled out her sword.

Rex: n-no no! Quetz you don't have to do it like that!

She then swung at the paper mache cat with her macana! Knocking it on the ground, as she proceeded to continue on with that for some time. Once she finally finished there was no piñata left to speak of. Just the candy that came inside!

Quetz: gracias Kijyo! That did help!

Kijyo: ...right! Glad for that!

Rex: mi corazon... you seemed to have sobered up already.

Quetz: the rage I feel for my brother is more powerful then any alcohol.

Rex: ok then...

After the party was another event! Of course, as Quetz loves lucha libre, she loves sparring with her fellow fighters! So Rex set up a lucha tournament! Quetz was to face a gauntlet of other servants in hand to hand combat! After each match, she'd have as much time to rest as she needed before the next! BB needed to use her time powers a bit more to make sure there was plenty of time.

The order for her to face was Ishtar, Bradamante, Medusa, Musashi, Nyalter, Raikou, Lartoria, Scathach, Penth, Martha, and finally Astraea!

Every match was a spectacle! Every opponent Quetz faced was a forced to be reckoned with!

Some matches got pretty close but in the end, Quetzalcoatl came out victorious!

Rex: Quetzalcoatl takes the victory!

Quetz: yay!

She was awarded a wrestling belt for her win!

After that, the day started to wind down. It was night, and many servants were partied out!

Quetz: mi amor, I've loved all that you've done! But... what about your present for me?

Rex: oh that!? I'm saving that for last! Just the two of us, in private. You know I like doing things between us in a more intimate fashion...

Quetz: oh! Now I can't wait!

A/N: there's Quetz's birthday Fiesta! I've tried to make it the best day I possibly can for her! Soon I'll write the more personal and intimate one between just me and her!

(And no I don't mean intimate as in dirty ok!)

Tags

@hasereshdoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @hasnightingaledoneanythingwrong @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong @renmeo @kazosaurus @exmeowstic @grievouslyxorvia @writer-and-artist27 @averaillisa

[stars-self-ships]

So, a new trailer for Shovel Knight: Pocket Dungeon released today as a part of Nintendo's latest Indie Showcase, and I'm SO excited for it to release this Winter! Maybe there's a chance it'll even release on my birthday (King of Cards released two days before it, so it's definitely a possibility)!

And as jam-packed as the trailer was, naturally there are a few things that I wanted to show and talk about in a post! I debated on whether I should post this on my main blog or this one, and I ultimately chose this blog for reasons you'll soon see...💙🤍💙

That said, let's dig in!

I think one of the trailer's most noteworthy features was the blink-and-you-miss-it introduction of a new knight to the Shovel Knight universe— Scrap Knight!

... I genuinely can't tell what gender they are. I think they might be female judging by those lips, but I'm going to stick with gender neutral pronouns until we get official word on the matter. Looking at their portrait, it looks as though Scrap Knight just grabbed whatever junk they could find and made armor out of it, which is nothing short of hilarious; that is a rope shoulderpad they're wearing.

It's a little tough to tell here, but it kind of looks to me like Scrap Knight has a huge burlap sack over their shoulder in this image. Now I'm just imagining Scrap Knight having to stop a battle halfway through so they can rummage through their stuff and find a makeshift weapon. Also, Mole Knight is clearly exhibiting best boy material here. I wonder if he ever roasts marshmallows using the flame on his helmet?

I think what steals the show for me in this image is everyone at the table. Treasure Knight looks like he's trying to plot out a mission plan, and on the other end of the table, King Knight looks like he's trying to plot out which of his ten capes he's going to wear to the battlefield. And Tinker Knight's in the middle of all of this, just trying to get some reading done.

Then there's this scene, featuring a whole bunch of familiar faces (And Scrap Knight in the bottom left, if you look really closely) as well as another new knight we've seen once before in key art, Prism Knight.

Man, Pocket Dungeon has a really cute visual style. That opening sequence near the trailer's start looks AMAZING— the spritework in this game is no joke! But do you want to know what one of my favorite parts of the entire trailer is?

TINY SHIELD KNIGHT MY BELOVED

Back when the first Shovel Knight: Pocket Dungeon trailer rolled around, Yacht Club released a Press Kit with a whole bunch of key art and in-game sprites, and amidst them was Shield Knight's in-game sprite and her portrait, which looks like this—

Look how PRETTY she is!! The whole chibi art direction of Pocket Dungeon make a lot of the Shovel Knight cast appropriately adorable, but I think Shield Knight takes the cake of being the cutest looking playable character.

Just look at her here! I think what this moment of the trailer was hinting at is some type of 'summoning' ability; my guess is that the one shown here is a variation of the Ichor of Renewal which can fully restore a character's health (There's a giant depiction of the Troupple King behind her. That HAS to be somewhat close). I still can't get over her little smile, though, it almost makes me wish that she had an alternate portrait with that same smi—

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ❤️❤️❤️

I skimmed through Pocket Dungeon's little exhibition section after the trailer was shown in the original Indie Showcase livestream, and I'm REALLY glad I did, otherwise I would have missed this A D O R A B L E frame of Shield Knight!! She is just so BEAUTIFUL!!

But I saved the absolute best part for last... as I mentioned earlier, YCG's Shovel Knight: Pocket Dungeon Press Kit revealed a whole slew of character portraits, both of playable characters and the enemies you'll face. The selection had portraits all eight Order of No Quarter knights, Shovel and Shield, Black Knight, and a few others!

Though what I was kind of bummed out about was that there was a particular lack of anything relating to The Enchantress. For a while I had a faint feeling why she didn't appear, though since seeing Pocket Dungeon's visual style, I've REALLY wanted to see what she would look like if she were to appear in the game, if she had any part in it at all.

And then...

I— no joke— screamed "CHANTY!!!!" when I got to this part. The fact that they intentionally cropped the footage to show only a fraction of The Enchantress's portrait is absolutely killing me, but knowing that she's officially in the game is just WONDERFUL news!! I really like how big her horned headdress is in her in-game sprite, and I'm digging (Comedy + 100) her colored text.

Even if The Enchantress somehow winds up being the big bad of this adventure, that's only motivation to see Pocket Dungeon through to the end just to see her!! REALLY excited for this game to release!!

[flowerbloom-arts]

A rather unneeded apology, don't you think?

Progress shots and thought process below the cut (warning, it gets heavy on pshycological analytical nonsense and spoilers for Exploits of Moominpappa/'s Memoirs, and it's really long):

Ah yes, Muddler angst, something that should be one too many yet you can't quite get enough of it-

So it all started with this little metaphor from this post I made a while back and I thought "Hmm... I should really make a follow-up for that!" so I did, and here it is.

This was originally gonna be a lineless painting but then when I started to do that I thought about how much of a drag it would be and scrapped that for my regular style but with cooler shading and coloring. I'm happy with it, it's been a while since I've done a full illustration and I'm proud that I managed to make this in like... (Checks timer on my drawing app) 2 hours and 25 minutes? Huh.

Anyway, this whole illustration is more or less just a metaphor going on in Muddler's head when he's cracked under stress, it's the "boat floating on your own personal ocean" metaphor like the post I linked above, it is indeed a constantly raging sea of stress and change and mental/lifestyle instability that's going on in Muddler's head and he's on a houseboat floating on it trying to balance and protect itself from the tides. It's always rocking back and forth but it's been doing that all the time for so long that it barely registers for him anymore, so he's living in this unnerving calm where the calm is not serenity perse but a lack of terror, yet, sometimes that raging sea manages to break through a window or two and flood the place as a good reminder that he isn't immune, he can and will drown for as long as things are like this.

The sea isn't a place of good memories for Muddler in either version of the book, like, the sea is so big that it's general emptiness on the horizon tickles his eyes. Before that he painted the boat red and got it all over himself and then painted his tin with the leftover paint, needless to say he had a rather traumatic night where the paint never dried and it got all over his food and bed and whiskers which drove him insane (or plume crazy I should say). He also had a rough time in his tin while packing for the riverboat and being swept away by the flood caused by Edward the Booble, he said his nerves (and his button collection) were all unsorted after the rest of the crew managed to get the tin on board. Then other stuff happens- an awful Hemulen Aunt boarding the ship (he literally wished death upon her, a rather extreme gesture especially for Muddler), the Hemulen Aunt being taken away by the Niblings (and the ensuing guilt he felt when he felt that it was his fault since he wished for her to be eaten), a rough and sticky night, being the first to realise the boat was setting off to sea unintentionally in the middle of the night, having to sit through a gale in which he got very sick- and that's just stuff that happened on the boat! He also had to suffer the likes of the revenge of the forgotten bones! The Ghost painted Muddler's tin and he cried about it, thinking it's a warning sign that he'll never marry! And he's the only one who was legitimately terrified of the Ghost, imagine being one of like, a 4 person friend group and being the only one scared of a real scary thing that directly affected you in one of the worst ways possible- vandalism of your own home. And don't even get me started on the fact that he lost his parents during spring cleaning and still believes they're alive.

With that being said, I believe we all understand that Muddler has been through alot, he had a revelation that adventures cause nothing but trouble for the poor guy in the middle of the book. And seeing how he cried at the idea of never getting married, we can presume he just wants a normal life after that. Thankfully, Fuzzy provided that through marriage and kids, even though they lost one of them by accident.

Now with this in mind, I have implemented a few elements from the book into the illustration. I've also followed some color-coding rules I've made up for myself;

Blue=Safety and comfort (Hodgkins is his uncle and is canonically blue-colored for the most part, not to mention that his Maxwell House Coffee tin is blue aswell, both are sources of safety for Muddler)

Green=Protection (Joxter is usually depicted in a green dress/hat, he stood up for Muddler atleast twice in the book and we can presume these weren't the only times he does it. Joxter is rather confident in his abilities despite being lazy and Muddler would rather admire that)

Yellow=Achievement/accomplishment (nothing much here, just uhh... Gold is yellow-ish and gold usually means you've accomplished something)

Red=Stress/general negativity (This is mostly coming from the red paint incident)

I've also added some small references and details. I've avoided using the ruler tool on my lineart to give it less solid feel to the backround and everything, showing how it's not supposed to be a full representation of reality, the pictures being faceless also adds to that. I drew an interpretation of the Muddler and Fuzzy wedding photo found in the moomin theme park, the gold medal on Hodgkins' portrait says "you helped" and it's supposed to be the medal that Hodgkins said Muddler deserved for helping him figure out the propeller (accidentally) in the Exploits version and I like to think he has that thought always in the back of his mind as one of the few times he's felt genuinely useful since he got so happy from it. Oh! And the picture almost completely hidden by the curtains is a portrait of his father and that's Joxter at the bottom looking like he's peeking over the curtain when really he's not. The curtains are green because they protect him from the red outside world, the suit and yellow dead flowers being darkly colored are supposed to represent a sense of meaninglessness or general distain, the red liquid is supposed to be red paint, not blood aaaaaaand the window is a slight shade of blue with a screen overlay.

"Apologies for being weak-minded" is supposed to be a rather insincere but tired quote from Muddler, he doesn't really want to apologise for cracking under pressure and having a literal breakdown but he feels like he has to because I think he just feels like a nuisance alot of the time and being so negatively emotional just makes things worse, so he has to come up with an apology rather than tell the person he's talking to the reason why he broke down, and belittling his own feelings by calling himself weak-minded. He knows himself to be "too" sensitive.

Anyway, that was too long a ramble. Just know that I'm not trying to take myself too seriously here, it's a silly amount of thought put into this but eh, I enjoyed it, and I thought you might want to read about it and if you made this far; thank you.

[chilling-seavey]

Penelope painting Daniel a portrait for his birthday!! ~T

I think this is the perfect day to write this! 🧡

Monday, April 2, 2035

Penelope had spent almost two months constantly asking to stay later at school nearly every day. She claimed she wanted to get extra work done and which parent was going to say no to that? She was responsible and quiet so Daniel and Florence didn’t worry much about giving her extra time at school of all places anyway. 

The last Friday in March, Penelope came home from school right on time, getting off the subway and beelining it right up to her room without so much as a greeting to her mother in the kitchen. Florence didn’t question it and the rest of the weekend progressed as usual. 

Daniel’s birthday was on the Monday so he was sent to work like any other weekday. His girls greeted him sweetly in the morning; showering him in hugs and kisses and birthday wishes as they sat down to eat breakfast. Then it was off to school and work for the day. 

Daniel managed to get home a bit earlier that afternoon, just in time for the girls to get out of school so they were all home at the same time. Florence had taped up a little ‘happy birthday’ banner in the living room and a few streamers around the place as a surprise and the family of five sat around the living room the earliest moment they could. Their backpacks and bags were still haphazardly left in the foyer in their rush to celebrate and the coffee table was moved to the side so they could all be closely grouped together. Daniel was on the couch with Florence tucked up on his right and Clementine taking his left and the youngest two were sat on the carpet right in front of them. 

Florence and Daniel never really exchanged formal gifts for each other’s birthdays or Christmas; rather choosing to spend their money on their girls. But the girls always loved to spend their allowances on little gifts for their parents on their birthdays. 

Clementine always wanted to go first and she curled herself up sweetly on Daniel’s shoulder as he unwrapped the small box she handed him. The girls were nearly hanging right off him with adoration as he opened his gifts but Penelope was a bit quieter than normal, hugging the large wrapped thin box to her chest. She watched as her sisters gushed over their little store bought or personalized birthday gifts for their father and he beamed at each one, thanking them with plentiful kisses. 

“Ok, Penny, your turn!” Lucy smiled over at her older sister. 

Penelope pursed her lips nervously and clutched the present a bit tighter to her chest. 

“Come up here, bug.” Daniel said. 

Under the orders of the birthday boy, Clementine shifted off the couch without a complaint and Penelope switched spots with her. The middle daughter sat down on the couch beside her father and shyly held out the wrapped present to him. It was quite large, around 20” x 24” and the soft blue wrapping paper was taped with perfection around whatever was inside. 

Penelope bit nervously at her bottom lip as she watched him unwrap it carefully. She was so scared he was going to hate it. 

Daniel passed the wrapping paper to Florence to tucked them with the rest of the scraps on the floor at her feet and he turned over the canvas in his hands. 

The room fell into silence for a moment as he stared at the painting and Penelope flicked her eyes between the portrait and her father’s blank expression anxiously as she waited for any sort of comment. 

“Penelope Magnolia.” Daniel breathed ever so quietly, his voice wavering as he admired the soft brush work and calming colours of the painting, each careful impressionist style stroke forming the shapes of him and her from a photograph years prior. She was only a little girl then, a mere toddler in a little pink bucket hat and pigtails perched in his arms and pointing out across the lake on the deck of the ferry boat. It had always been one of Daniel's favourite pictures of them, the sweet innocence in his young daughter’s smile and big blue eyes and the obvious adoration spread all over his face as he looked in the direction of whatever she was pointing at. 

Her painting captured it all perfectly, right down to the soft pink of her shirt and the stripes of sunlight across their similar faces. Daniel was quite literally stunned into silence. 

“Do you hate it?” Penelope squeaked out. 

“Hate it?! Penelope, how could I- no way. Oh my God, baby, this is beautiful.” Daniel stumbled out, tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t stop staring at it. 

“Lemmy see!” Lucy jumped up and the two sisters joined them on the couch to see the painting. 

“It’s incredible, Penny.” Florence whispered, draping her arm around her husband’s shoulders to run a loving hand over her middle daughter’s cheek. 

“You did this all yourself?” Daniel questioned as if he couldn’t believe it, looking to his left to meet her nervous gaze. 

Penelope nodded, “Why I’ve been staying late at school for a while.”

Daniel pulled her close to press a kiss to her cheek, “I love it. So much. I don’t even know where I want to hang it.”

“Oh, gosh. You don’t have to hang it anywhere.” Penelope said quickly. 

“Are you kidding?” Daniel sniffled as he turned back to the painting, blinking back his tears. “I might take it to work with me. I think it will look nice up in my office.” 

“I think so too.” Florence added. 

Penelope blushed shyly at the praise her family showered her with over her artwork. Daniel leaned in close to his second daughter, resting their heads together and she smiled softly as they stared at her painting. 

“Thank you, bug. This is really, really amazing.” Daniel whispered. 

Penelope only smiled and cuddled into him shyly. 

“Way to show us up, Nell.” Clementine teased, giving her younger sister a playful nudge. 

[svnflowervol666]

Hey!! Could you write an imagine where the reader is an artist and wakes up early, Harry is sleeping next to her and for a few minutes she's there watching him and then decides to draw him while he sleeps and when she's finishing Harry wakes up? Thank you so much ♥️

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of smut

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request! Like always, if you’re interested, let me know what you’d like for me to write next. Take care and tpwk.

Y/N wasn’t very sure how she’d managed to wake up before Harry considering how hard they partied last night. Her head pounded in her ears and she felt an overwhelming sense of dehydration in her throat. The events of the evening were somewhat blurry after Harry handed her a shot of something wretched and led her immediately to the dancefloor to work up a sweat. She knew judging from the fact that she was stark naked in the bed she shared with Harry and the fact that she could see her dress from the night before shimmering in the sunlight off in the corner of the room haphazardly that they’d at least made love to each other when they got home. Aside from that, her mind was drawing a blank.

Seeing as the blinding light from the harsh, early morning sun made it impossible to go back to sleep, she carefully removed the limp, ringed hand that was draped around her waist and wriggled her way over to her nightstand to grab her phone. Fuck, she thought to herself. Her battery was dead and she couldn’t be arsed to lean all of the way down to the ground to reach for her charger. After lying there for a moment and contemplating how to proceed with the morning, in which she decided she certainly would not be getting out of bed to start the day just yet, she reached a bit further past her phone for the sketchbook and pencil that Harry had gotten her for her birthday last year.

It was almost completely full of her drawings and doodles, something she prided herself in. Often times, she’d lose her sketchbook or spill her coffee on it before she could finish drawing in all of the pages. Maybe it was the fact that Harry had gotten this one for her which meant it was special, or maybe it was just luck, but she’d managed to hold on to this one almost down to the very last page. 

In an attempt to soothe her hangover without getting out of bed, she began drawing away. She started by finishing up the flower she had started the other day after saw the most beautiful bunch of daisies while on her daily walk with Harry. Sure, they were technically an invasive weed that took over greenery like wildfire, but Y/N always thought they were beautiful. 

When she’d perfected that one enough to her liking, she flipped the page and started another drawing. This one was also unfinished, and it was a landscape portrait of the bungalow she shared with Harry while on their vacation to Bora Bora last year. She’d been on many vacations and stayed in many nice houses since that trip, but this bungalow she’d never forget. It was where Harry took her to tell her that he loved her, though she hadn’t known that at the time. They had been having the time of their lives, drinking sugary, alcoholic beverages all throughout the day and lounging lazily by the ocean. Harry finally told her while they watched the sunset on their third night there. It slipped out faster and not as smoothly as Harry had imagined the moment in his head, but the overwhelming, swooning sensation he felt in his chest whenever he looked at Y/N made it impossible for the words to not spew from his lips. She’d never forgotten that trip because it was where she fell significantly more in love with Harry than she already had been.

There wasn’t much that needed to be done on the portrait of the bungalow, just some shading on the roof and a bit more detail on the waves that surrounded the structure. She finished that one fairly quickly then moved on to her next blank page. This one, she fucked up. What she had tried to draw one of her old pets from memory, but for some reason, it wasn’t looking right. She quickly scrapped the piece of paper and moved on to the next page, which was coincidentally the final page in her sketchbook.

She pondered for a moment on what idea in her head would earn the final spot in her book of drawings. She could try to draw her pet again? No, she shook her head softly to herself. Hers and Harry’s favorite table at the coffee shop that was down the block from their London apartment? No, she’d need to get a better look at the place before she attempted something like that. She looked around the now bright and sunny space of their bedroom, trying to find something that would shoot a spark in her brain and cause her to think of the perfect thing to draw. As she turned her head towards the sleeping, seemingly unconscious body that burrowed itself into the gigantic, down comforter beside her, it struck her.

Y/N propped herself up on her side so she could get a better look at the scene in front of her. Harry was sleeping the morning away, though she couldn’t say she blamed him since she didn’t even remember coming home last night (or was it technically this morning?). His face was completely covered by the huge down comforter that he’d hogged from her, but she didn’t mind. All that was visible of Harry was the top of his head, adorned with messy, chocolate-colored waves, and the outstretched palm of his left hand. That was it. His hand.

Her hangover had more or less subsided by now without the need of a greasy diner breakfast or a handful of headache medicine, so she was able to work diligently on her newest and final sketch. She traced over every crease and dip of his long, slender fingers, making sure no detail went unnoticed. Every ring, including the large, gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings on his ring and pinky fingers got their own moment in the spotlight. His bright yellow nail polish, the color that she’d picked out for him last week, was slightly chipped at the corners, but it only added to the uniqueness of the piece. Each knuckle she shaded with the closest attention. Unlike her old pet or the table at the cafe, she was almost certain she could draw this from memory, but a little reinforcement never hurt. Plus, she felt like she could stare at Harry’s hands for days on end without growing tired of them.

Harry’s hands were miracle workers for her. They’d held her through both her darkest and brightest days. They’d made her feel safe in times when she’d never felt so alone, and during big moments when she couldn’t be sad even if she tried. Harry’s hands cooked her breakfast on Sunday mornings, carried her to bed when she’d fallen asleep watching Netflix in the living room, massaged her tired feet after a long day of work, brushed her hair out of her eyes before kissing her goodnight each night, made her see stars as he pleasured her over and over again with his skillful fingers. So many times people overlook what hands do in a relationship, but not Y/N. 

It was right when she was shading the corner of Harry’s cross tattoo that was barely visible from beyond the comforter she felt the bed sheets rustle and the sweet creature beside her come to. The peaceful silence of Y/N doodling away was broken when Harry moved his hand, the one she had been drawing, towards his face to rub harshly at his emerald green eyes.

“Wha’ ‘re you doin awake? ‘ts so early,” she heard his groggy, morning voice pierce the walls of the room.

“It’s almost noon, Harry,” she responded softly, letting the sketchbook fall gently into her lap.

“Oh, shit,” the lanky brunette chuckled, “Wha’ did we do last night?”

“I was actually hoping you could tell me.”

“‘ve got no idea, princess,” Harry groaned before reaching over to pat her thigh, feeling the hard material of her sketchbook instead.

“You drawin’? Lemme see.”

He plucked the open notepad from her lap to examine what she’d been drawing while he was asleep. She didn’t feel embarrassed or like she needed to snatch the book away from him before he could see that she’d been drawing his hands whilst he slept. That was another thing Y/N loved about Harry, how she never felt shy or that she needed to hide her art from him. He always praised her work whenever he crossed paths with it, so she was always willing to share her latest masterpiece.

“M’ hand? You drew my hand while I was asleep?” Harry was still delirious from a combination of his hazy, half-asleep half-awake state.

“I love your hands,” she stated firmly but softly, “plus, it was the last page in my sketchbook so I wanted it to be of something important.”

“Hmm,” Harry pondered as he cased over the drawing once more, “I like this one, but I think I much rather prefer the one you drew of my co-”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Y/N interrupted his sentence and yanked the sketchbook from his grasp before placing it back on its home on the nightstand.

She took her rightful half of the comforter back from Harry and nestled herself back into bed, making sure to cozy right up into Harry’s warm, bare chest so they could have a proper, conscious cuddle before dreadfully starting their day. The two of them were adults now and while they were still granted the privilege of being able to party, they couldn’t stay in bed and waste the day away after a long night of drinking like they used to.

Harry traced soft circles on Y/N’s back with the same hand that she was drawing just minutes ago, almost lulling her back to sleep. He watched as her breathing evened out and her eyes began to droop despite her awareness that they had a late lunch planned with Anne and Gemma in a few hours. 

“Baby,” Harry beckoned her back to consciousness.

Her eyes blinked open quickly, unaware of how she’d almost went right back to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got to meet up wi’ mum and Gem soon. ‘Need to get up.”

“Ten more minutes.”

This made Harry chuckle, seeing how she was acting like a grumpy teenager who refused to wake up for school in the morning. God, how he loved her.

“How about I show you just how important my hands are to you and then we hop in the shower, yeah? Sound like a plan?”

She opened one eye just slightly enough to see that Harry was giving her his iconic smirk that caused one of his dimples to shine through. Leave it to Harry to squeeze in a shag before lunch with his own mum.

She supposed she really couldn’t say no to that.

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Vengeance and Ambition

This was supposed to be a full story with Fawful and King Boo being victorious in the end. I was super excited for it because it's my 2 fav Mario villains teaming up and winning. But then it slowly dawned on me that no one would care in large part because Fawful's not a popular character. And while I have no issues writing solely for myself (I stopped expecting any kind of substantial interaction with my writing a while ago now) how hard Fawful's dialogue is to write (I don't even know if I did it right but I tried my best) makes the fact that virtually no one's gonna read it quite demotivating, killing my enthusiasm. So, because I still really like the idea and worked hard on this part, I decided to just upload this.

~

Fawful came to as if waking from a long sleep, slowly regaining consciousness. Which… wasn’t right. One would expect oblivion on the other side of exploding what was left of the Dark Star’s power within themself. He’d been dying anyway so might as well go out with a bang and bring his enemies down too. But nope, he opened his eyes to see that he was in the courtyard of Peach’s castle, very much still aware. Which included awareness that something was wrong with his body.

A quick look down at himself confirmed his growing suspicions. He was transparent and floating, his body tapered off into a tail instead of legs. He was a ghost; dead but not gone… free of the Dark Star’s power though. Presumably it had dissipated, leaving him here, powerless and defeated again. … Maybe not entirely though; his foes could still be dead, he had to exploded himself right in front of them, there was no possible way they’d escaped… right?

What if they’d also become ghosts though? … He’d deal with that problem if and when it presented itself. He didn’t even know the criteria for when or why someone turned into a ghost upon death.

So, eager to know the full outcome of his last-ditch efforts for at least a partial victory, he started for the castle. Floating along was quite simple, it was just a matter of wanting and choosing to move forward. He could even ascend and descend freely; so much more convenient than his usual means of levitation.

Where the final encounter had gone down, he wasn’t sure, but judging based off the position of the sun in the sky it was late morning. In his last clear memories, it had been past sundown. Meaning he’d lost some time and thus whatever or whoever was left after his explosion would’ve likely been cleared away by now. With no clear leads on where to start looking for what he wanted to know, he’d head for the throne room first.

He was in luck, Peach was there. Along with her elderly Toad advisor and… the red and green plumbers. They were alive and well, seemingly undamaged by Fawful’s explosion. Ugh! Twice now they’d beat him down and took away everything he’d had, coming away unscathed from it. How? He’d worked and planned so hard to get them out of the way while he took over the Mushroom Kingdom. It had been the perfect plan and should’ve worked… it would’ve if Bowser hadn’t far surpassed Fawful’s expectations for him.

And now he was back at square one. Less than that actually because he was dead. He didn’t have even an ounce of the Dark Star’s power anymore.

Holding back the urge to curse and shout, he floated closer, intending to eavesdrop on his enemies’ conversation. He was too late though, they were already getting ready to separate.

“See you later,” Peach said with a smile as the brothers walked away.

They strode right past where Fawful floated invisible. Green slowed down as he looked around, pulling his arms in a little as if he were cold. His eyes slid right over Fawful of course but it couldn’t be a coincidence, he had some sense of Fawful’s presence and possibly of the hate Fawful was glaring at them with too.

“You okay bro?” Red asked.

“Uh… yeah, I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

With that, Fawful turned away from them as they moved on.

The throne room was still a mess from when he’d forcefully taken it over. Many of his statues were still up in here as well as outside. He’d had it in his grasp, he’d been so close. … Too close to just give up. He would take out the plumbers and he would take over the Mushroom Kingdom, he just needed a new plan.

 -

First things first, he went back to his workshop hidden away in the sewers. He got lost for a while phasing through walls and thus eventually settled on following the paths the way a living person would have to. He’d been so sure he’d never have to venture down here again but… ugh. Failure was even worse when he’d been the sole person in charge.

Maybe if he’d still been working with Cackletta things would’ve gone better. Two heads were better than one after all, right? It was impossible to say though and it wasn’t worth dwelling on; she was dead and gone, even her ghost had been destroyed. … He’d have to be careful to ensure he didn’t suffer such a fate.

By the time he reached his hidden workshop behind his mostly failed attempt at a shop – he’d had to settle for sneaking out to steal things instead until he got a bit more clout – he was equal parts anxious and furious again. He’d lost Midbus and his entire robot army that he’d spent so much time and effort building, how was he supposed to rebuild from here? He’d thrown everything he had at his plan and it wasn’t enough. How could he possibly have done anything more? Why did fulfilling his ambitions and getting vengeance have to be so hard?

 -

He may have allowed himself to wallow around in his workshop for a while. He deserved a bit of self-pity at this point though, didn’t he? And it wasn’t like anyone was around to see anyway so who cared? In the process though he found he could no longer sleep which sucked really hard because it meant no more breaks from his thoughts or anything else. It meant he had to get up and get to work sooner than he otherwise would’ve too because lying in bed unable to fall asleep was the worst.

What should he do though? Maybe look for Midbus, it was possible he’d survived and if so trying to patch him up was probably a good idea; he’d been a good minion. And if he was dead, Fawful was a ghost so maybe Midbus would be too and thus the same principle still applied.

 -

If he’d still had blood it would’ve been boiling at the sight of what was left of the Dark Star extractor. A group of Toads was dismantling it with all the technological grace of a particularly stupid mountain goat headbutting a brick wall until it finally broke. All the many, many hours Fawful had put into designing, building, and perfecting it – not to mention everything else that had gone into this plan as a whole – and they were just ripping it apart like it was worthless scrap. And to top it off, there was no sign of whatever had become of Midbus anywhere in the room.

He floated over to grab one of two the spare hammers left on the ground and flung it at the nearest Toad. Unfortunately, it missed, sailing right over his head, but he screamed anyway, drawing the attention of the rest of the Toads. Oops, maybe Fawful shouldn’t have done that. … Oh well, he was too mad to really care.

“The hammer levitated and flew right…” the Toad was saying, cutting off with a small yelp as Fawful lifted the other hammer to throw as well. This one hit the Toad squarely in head. He teetered for second before going limp into the arms of the Toad beside him who, along with the other two, screamed and bolted for the door, dragging the unconscious Toad with them.

Fawful zoomed over to grab the hammer again and throw at them. It hit the door right as they closed it though. Ugh!

He snapped back around to face his invention again. It was almost entirely dismantled, there’d be no saving it. Not that he had any further use for it anyway, the Dark Star had been destroyed and it was all Bowser and the two wretched fink-rat plumbers’ fault.

But… as angry as he was, he should focus on finding Midbus. His help would be nice for whatever Fawful’s next plan would end up being.

 -

After searching the whole castle and the ground surrounding it, there was still no sign of Midbus. He was either dead and gone, a ghost who’d decided not to stick around the way Fawful had, or alive and recovering from his wounds elsewhere. The latter two might be because Midbus had figured Fawful had been completely destroyed or as was more likely the case that he didn’t care enough to even think to look and was choosing to abandon Fawful.

It didn’t really matter though because no matter what Fawful for sure no longer had Midbus. Which was… fine, he didn’t care, why should he? He’d been on his own before and risen so far, he could do it again. And he’d be successful this time, third time’s the charm after all, right? … Hopefully.

***

Being trapped in a portrait was in some ways worse than in a vault and in some ways better. In the vault he could move even if there wasn’t much space to do so, and speak freely even if no one could hear him, but he couldn’t see anything that was going on outside. In a portrait though, while trapped and unable to move, he could see what was going out in front him.

E. Gadd could’ve easily put something over him, depriving him of even that. But he didn’t. Instead he’d hung King Boo up in the front part of his lab. There wasn’t much to see most of the time but it was better than nothing and he could bide his time here. He’d been dead for a long time so time meant little to him. … Except he’d always been impatient compared to how long he’d existed for.

One could only cycle through all the ways he could’ve improved his prior plans to make them more likely to succeed or about possible new plans and what he’d do to his enemies if/when he finally defeated them before even that got old. And now he was just thinking about being bored for the umpteenth time, making it a boring thing to think about too. Truly one could not get any more bored than that. And yet there was nothing else to do but think and think and be bored and hate the people who’d done this to him and be bored some more. If only something would fucking happen.

As if the thought had brought it about, the doorbell rang. It was most likely just Luigi coming for a visit because he did that sometimes or a door-to-door salesperson but it would break the boredom of staring at an empty room for a little bit at least. And if he was really lucky, Luigi might even glance his way with a nervous expression before following E. Gadd into the lab proper.

As was often the case, it took three rings before E. Gadd came out of his lab to answer it. He didn’t spare King Boo a single look as he walked over to open the door. “Oh hello,” he said in a tone that indicated that it wasn’t Luigi at the door. Which could only mean it was someone new. Awesome! Too bad King Boo couldn’t see them from this angle.

“This be the residence of E. Gadd, yes?” The voice had an odd quality to it almost as if it might be coming over a speaker or radio.

“Yes, now might I ask why a…” He cut off as a cloud of thick purple smoke engulfed him, centering on his head. “What is…” Another cloud puffed in from outside. Whatever was going on here was getting more exciting by the second.

Before the smoke had cleared, a little green drone flew into them room. It looked around for a bit before it seemed to freeze looking at King Boo. It zoomed over for a better look.

“Aha!” whoever was controlling it said through it. “I have success! … I think. It could be being a painting that is normal. Hopefully and probably not because why would E. Gadd be having a painting of King Boo if it is not being actual King Boo?”

Weird way of talking or no, whoever this fellow was had just made King Boo’s day. … Assuming he was here to rescue King Boo anyway, it was possible he just wanted to steal the portrait. But even that would be exciting and changing hands would increase the likelihood of his boos being able to come in and free him.

The ghost of a beanish person with swirly eyes, wearing a cape and holding what had to be the drone’s remote control floated through the still open door.  “Stay in corner,” he snapped at E. Gadd who was kind of just standing around now. “Fawful has no time for the gloating yet, in humans mind control spray be wearing off faster than the joy of eating the last cookie in the jar.”

“Yes, right away, Lord Fawful,” E. Gadd said, his cadence almost normal as he moved to obey.

Fawful then looked down at the controller to neatly land the drone on the desk. He placed the controller next to it before zooming over to pull King Boo’s portrait off the wall. He poked and prodded at it a bit before turning it over, presumably do poke and prod at the back too for a few seconds before flipping it back over.

“E. Gadd! How one be freeing King Boo from the frame?”

“Shine a dark light on it.”

“Where is dark light? Fetch it for me, quickly.”

The sound of E. Gadd walking out of the room indicated that he obeyed. He returned a few seconds later to hand one of his flashlights to Fawful. “The switch on the side turns on the dark light.”

“Good, go back to corner.”

King Boo was mentally vibrating with anticipation as Fawful leaned him back against the wall. Next, he floated back to shine the dark light squarely on the portrait. The sensation of being pulled out of it was odd and uncomfortable as always but as soon as he free, he was laughing with exhilaration. Freedom at long last was his!

The very first thing he did with this newfound freedom was levitate the now empty portrait out from behind him and float over to E. Gadd to put him inside it instead. It was harder to do without an enchanted crown to channel his magic through and lacking its stored power to assist him but he got it done. E. Gadd, still affected by the mind control spray didn’t fight it, resulting in a rather calm looking portrait of him. … Expressions of fear were preferable but whatever; King Boo was free and E. Gadd was trapped and that’s all that mattered right now. He might try to fix it later but for now…

Leaning the portrait against the wall to be retrieved later, he snapped back around to face Fawful again. “I appreciate the rescue. I know you didn’t do it for no reason though. What do you want in return?” As long as it was reasonable and within his means, he’d probably grant it. He was that grateful and being generous had gained him many loyal followers in the past and he was always open to more followers.

Fawful grinned wide, even chuckling a little as his ghostly tail curled in visible anticipation or perhaps nerves. “I have the wish to offer an alliance.”

King Boo had been down this road before with Hellen and that had turned out terribly but it didn’t hurt to hear him out. “What kind of alliance?”

“Well… as new ghost, Fawful was wondering around Peach’s castle unseen, hearing many things, seeing many more. Whispers about King Boo were common, your hatred for the red and green plumbers clear as a glass of wine after one has found nothing but sorrow at the bottom of. So the alliance: Fawful will be helping take down plumbers and at the same time, King Boo will be helping in the conquering of the Mushroom Kingdom for my taking.”

“You want to conquer the Mushroom Kingdom, huh?” King Boo wasn’t into kingdom conquering himself, he was perfectly content with the land he had and didn’t desire any more especially if it was infested with living.

“Yes.” Fawful nodded. “I be wanting a kingdom and I don’t be liking the red and green plumbers so I will be taking their kingdom. With our alliance like the icing on the cake, I leave the vengeance of them to you.”

Given how many times Luigi had sucked him up into that wretched vacuum of his, King Boo might actually be willing to go along with this even if to an outsider looking in, Fawful would appear to be getting much more out of it. But really, a good chunk of the work in taking over the Mushroom Kingdom would be done with just taking out Mario and Luigi. If it worked, King Boo desire for vengeance was more than strong enough to make assisting with the rest of it worth it. But… “How do I know you can carry your weight in such a scheme?” No way was he going to be doing everything himself with his supposed ally barely helping.

“Because if was not for a certain spiky snack being much spicier than expected, Fawful’s last plan would’ve been success.” With that, as if eager to share his tale, he launched into it explaining his last plan and how close he’d gotten to succeeding.

Honestly it was a rather entertaining tale, especially the way he told it. King Boo had been around more than long enough to know about the Dark Star so that gave credibility to his tale because few living knew of it by now. He had gotten rather close to succeeding though.

“And so,” Fawful said after his tale had winded down, “I be thinking in terms of evil schemes we are near equals. Our goals don’t align but they be overlapping like multilayered cake of ambition and vengeance. Working together we could perhaps be making a plan that is unstoppable like large boulder made of vengeance and knives rolling down steep cliff crushing any daring to be standing in its path, including nasty plumbers.”

Maybe King Boo should take a bit to think about this, confirm Fawful’s tale of near success over the Mario bros with one of his castle spies, but after spending who even knew how long trapped in a portrait after his third defeat, he was rather eager to set in motion some vengeance. Besides, he was starting to like Fawful, he was odd but in a way that made him interesting, far more so than Hellen – not that that was too difficult to do. And who knows, maybe all King Boo’s plans had been missing was a horde of killer robots. So… “All right, I’ll agree to an alliance.”

With an excited snicker, Fawful extended a hand out of his cloak to shake King Boo’s hand – something that stubby boo arms always made weird but he didn’t say anything about it – sealing the alliance. If this didn’t turn out well then so be it, it wouldn’t be the first plan or even first failed alliance King Boo had attempted. But it was worth a try in case it worked and regardless it should at least make for an interesting time. “First though, I need to free my boos. Then we can go somewhere to discuss the finer details.”