#THIS WAS A LOT OF FUN TO WRITE

[fluffypandabun]

Lee Casey jr ler Leo raph don Mike and April?

(Decided to just limit it to one two lers sorry!)

Casey crept as silently as he could down the hallway, near the end of it he could hear voices talking. He knew the latest scout group was there getting ready to depart on another scouting mission, a scouting mission that Casey should have also been on thank you very much.

His leg wound had healed ages ago and he was sick and tired of just sitting around the base and taking up resources that other people could use way more then him.

He knew he was getting better at his ninja training, he wasn't anywhere near his Master yet but to the untrained person he could be hard to spot if he so desired. And right now he certainly desired.

It would be simple, he'd creep in, blend with the group, and by the time they noticed him there they'd already be to far gone to turn around. It was foolproof! Perfect! It was-

Casey turned a corner and ran face first into the hard shelled chest of his Master.

"And just where do you think your going young man?"

Casey swallowed nervously , allowing a timid smile to creep across his face as he looked up to meet the stern gaze of his Master Leonardo. The turtles arms were crossed and his gaze was stern, quirking a brow as he waited for an explanation.

"Well?"

“I was well….uh….”

“Planning on sneaking out on patrol?” Leo filled in the blank, brow raising even higher on his wrinkled forehead.

Casey winced;”Nooooo…?”

Leos eyes narrowed further and Casey managed to last a full three seconds before his whole body deflated and he let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping as he suddenly became interested in staring at the floor as he nodded.

Leo let out a very long and tired sigh; “Case why? You know weve told you; your not healed up enough for patrol yet.”

When the kid didnt give any further answer the elder turtle simply shook his head with a huff.

“Alright then; back to the lab with you.”

Despite his stern tone the hand he put on Caseys shoulders was gentle as he guided the boy back down the hall and towards the lab where his own medical bed lay away from the main medical room which was lined with multiple beds; many which were full.

Upon entering the lab; the door opening with a soft woosh, they were greeted by Donatello, who sat in his large work chair. Upon their entering he turned around dramatically with his hands pressed together, like some sort of Bond villain, Leo snorted.

“Casey Jr.”

“Uncletello” Casey muttered in return, sounding utterly miserable, Donatello raise a brow.

“I’ll admit you got pretty far this time, I wouldn’t have even noticed you’d managed to sneak out….that is of course if I didnt have cameras all over the place which of course I do. I commend your effort however, you’re stealth skills are improving.”

Casey perked up a bit at the praise while Leo pinched the bridge of his nose “Don’t encourage him Don, he shouldn’t even be sneaking out in the first place, he could have gotten hurt on that patrol.”

“I would have been fine.” Casey grumbled, hunching his shoulders in on himself, Leo gave him a look.

“No you would have not been “fine”, Casey jr you are still healing.”

“But I’ve been healing for ages! Besides Ive seen people go out injured before!”

“Only in emergencies Casey, and those are grown adults were talking about not kids. Even then I don’t like doing it.”

“But Im not a little kid anymore!” Casey burst out in frustration, finally pulling his shoulder out of Leos grip and whirling around to face him.

“I’ve been working so hard to train and be ready for this! I’m not some helpless little baby anymore Leonardo!”

Donatellos tattooed on eyebrows rose in slight surprise at the use of the turtles full name coming from the boys mouth, meanwhile Leo closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

“Casey.” He began, “It’s not just you I have to consider.”

He knelt down further to Caseys level and placed a gentle three fingered hand on his shoulder.

“If you had gone on that patrol not only would you be risking yourself, but the whole mission and everyone on it. Going out while injured isn’t a show of skills; its a show of lack of care of others on your team…and for yourself.”

Casey clenched his jaw,”But I do care.”

Leos gaze softened as he gave Caseys shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know you do buddy, which is why I need you to understand that I also care. I know you’ve been training hard and you’re doing a good job, but I still cant, and wont, send you out injured. For your and everyone else’s sake.”

“I…I just…” Casey voice shook slightly as his body finally deflated. “I’m just tired of sitting around and doing nothing, I feel like I’m just wasting resources while everyone else is out there fighting to earn theirs.”

“Wha-Casey what are you talking about?” Leo asked, genuinely taken aback.

“Where is this coming from? Has someone said something to you?” He offered, behind him Donnie, who had mostly been pretending to only be half listening to the conversation, turned in his chair to start typing on his keyboards. No doubt getting ready to search security footage to find whoever had put the idea into Caseys head.

But Casey quickly shook his head,”No one I just….I just feel bad…your supposed to earn things and all I’ve done is sit around and ‘heal’”

Leos gaze softened as he reached out a hand to cup Caseys face. “Case…” he began softly “Kiddo you aren’t a waste of resources, I don’t care how long you have to sit around and heal for, you’d never ever be a waste of resources to me or anyone else on this base.”

“But-“

“Casey Jr.”

The boy startled a bit as Donatello suddenly called his name and he turned to face the purple clad turtle who was now turned back around in his chair.

“….Uncletello..?”

“Casey Jr, there are currently ten people recovering in the med bay; do you see them as a waste of resources?”

“I-Of course not!”

Donatello hummed approvingly; “Good, then logically, as you are among those ten that are recovering, you should not be considered a waste of resources either.”

Casey paused at that for a second, before he sputtered “Thats-Thats not…Thats not fair!”

Donatello looked smug as he turned back around in his chair. “It is quite fair actually, Casey Jr.”

Casey sputtered for a moment more while Leo chuckled, bringing Caseys attention back to him.

“Donnies right Case and you know it, you are in no way a waste of resources, no on here is. We take care of each-other here, remember?”

Casey sighed and nodded, seemingly somewhat convinced by Leonardos words.

“Yes Sensei…” he muttered, Leo offered him a smile, gently pulling him into a hug, of which Casey happily leant into.

“Atta boy”Leo hummed, before his smile widened into something a bit more mischievous. “Now….” He began as he lightly tightened his hug, squeezing the boy and making him squeak.

“Wheres that smile~?”

Casey let out a little huff, burying his face deeper into Leos shoulder, the turtles grin widened, eager to lighten the mood.

“Come onnnnn.” He teased, lightly shaking the boy back and forth in his arms and drawing out a faint giggle from him. “Wheres that smile at? Let me see!”

Casey clung to Leo tighter, grinning against his shoulder as he shook his head. Leo raised a brow, smirking.

“Ohhh I see, your hiding it from me.” He chuckled. “Thankfully I know exactly where to find it.”

He suddenly scooped Casey up into his arms, holding him easily in one arm leaving his other free.

“Your hiding it rightttttt here!”

The turtles three fingered hand descend down to dig into Caseys belly, forming a claw and shaking around; drawing out peals of childish laughter from the boy.

“Aeheheheh! N-Nohoho! Sensei hehe!”

“Aha!” Leo grinned. “There it is!”

He carefully pinched and prodded at the soft flesh of Caseys belly, chortling at all the silly squeaks and snorts it drew out of him.

“Now…..where else are you hiding a smile from me? Here? Or how about here? Oooo or maybe…here!”

With each word Leo switched spots, goong from pinching up his sides to skittering under Caseys neck, each new spot sent Casey into more fits of wild happy laughter as he fought to try and grapple with Leos much bigger hands, smacking at them lightly as he cackled. He squealed when Leo pressed his muzzle against his cheek and blew a raspberry.

“Ahem”

Leo paused for a second at the clearing of a throat, looking over to see his brother staring at him unimpressed.

“Really Nardo? I expected better from you.”

Leo raised a brow, ready to ask what the purple turtles problem was when suddenly he wheeled his chair over to the two. Plucking Casey out of his arms and dropping him giggling into his lap

“This is the proper way to do it.”

With that, Donatello lifted the boys shirt and leaned down to blow a raspberry onto his belly, prompting him to shriek before bursting into loud happy laughter. Donatello pulled away smug, fingers still tapping out a tune against the boys sides.

“Really, I expected you to be better at this Nardo. “

The blue turtle sputtered, laughter in his voice “Whahat? Are you serious?” “Well of course im serious, I take Caseys happiness very seriously.”

Leo snorted shaking his head, “Alright then, you called that a raspberry? I’ll show you a raspberry.”

He leaned down to scoop Casey back up, taking a big deep dramatic breath that set Casey off into a fit of laughter before the turtle even lent down to blow a massive raspberry onto his belly, letting out playfully little growling noises.

Donatello scoffed, reaching to take Casey back, “Psh, please, that was nothing. Give him here.”

Leo pulled the boy away and out of his twins reach “No way, get your own hes mine.”

“Statistically speaking he belongs to all of us, now give him here.”

“Nah”.

“Leonardo.”

“Nope.”

“Don’t make me get anglo.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Caught still laughing his heart out between the two bickering turtles , Casey found himself feeling better already.

Maybe healing wouldn’t take as long as he thought.

[rattkachuk]

you know i'm gonna do it

“ are you going to kill me? ”  mattdrai

single handedly inspired 3.6k of a wild west au <3

mattdrai cowboys!!!!

A tall figure is leaning against a tree, gun pointed directly at Matthew's head. There’s a bandana across the lower half of his face, but that can’t hide those broad shoulders and the all too familiar glint of his eyes. Matthew knows immediately. He would know him anywhere. “Leon."

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

The Question

For @bellygunnr. I asked him for a prompt, he delivered, and it devolved into this. This questions can destroy friend groups so tread carefully. Here's 1700 words of Roland making Miller's life hard ft guest appearances by some of our Fireteam Crimson.

-

Miller was enjoying a cup of coffee in one of the messes when Roland popped up. Key word: was.

Fresh coffee too, barely scorched to the bottom of the carafe, with liquid (!) not powder creamer. And then Roland had to come ruin his morning.

"Spartan Miller, Fancy meeting you here!" Roland says with a flourish of his avatar. He's grinning like he's already pulled one over on Miller. His mood and coffee sour instantly and he swallows with a grimace.

Miller takes a full second to debate how to respond. He opts to save himself the trouble and cut through the mind games. "Morning, Roland."

The words are drawled over the rim of the mug, his one shield between them, as Miller leans on the counter and waits. He's punished for his patience as Roland smiles at him. He doesn't like the smile.

"I heard something that certain crew members were talking about-" Oh no. "-something of a philosophical debate, and I wanted your opinion on it."

"Uh huh..." He takes his time. Roland's grin does not falter. Miller doesn't like that. If he's not so impatient to hurry him along then he's already decided on the outcome. He's just here to fuck with him and it is too early for that. "This isn't another body part conversation, is it?"

"Spartan, I would not be so gauche as to ask about that at breakfast."

Miller sighs and shifts his footing. "Then what?"

"Do you consider milk a snack?"

What?

"What?"

"I want to know your thoughts. I've been privy to some heated debates around the snack status of milk. Some even went as far to say it could be a meal, in certain situations."

"What?!" Miller's voice goes up and he grumbles. Pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you hanging around marines? This is the kind of stuff that marines argue about."

"There were some others involved. Some people with more credentials weighed in and lines were drawn." Roland is eerily somber as he delivers that line, but it's gone in a flash as he perks up to say, "That's why I want to hear your thoughts!"

"Is milk a snack?" He echoes. This was not where he thought the line of questioning would go.

"Could it be considered one?"

He's vaguely aware of his face doing something. He's mad at himself that his arms are crossed and he's invested so quickly. Who was arguing this? Milk's a drink. Who is spending their free time arguing about this? And the more important question; What does Roland want? What does he get out of this?

Miller eats his five food groups plus the extra ones they made up for the IVs. Milk is not a snack, it's a drink. Right? Roland knows this. He has to know this. The care and feeding of humans probably came with his instruction manual of the ship. Miller's heard him remind people to eat and drink when he's feeling particularly snippy and points out bad habits to (try to) win arguments. Roland's just messing with him. Unless that's what he wants Miller to think so then Miller would say it's a snack and then Roland would call him an idiot for thinking that. There's no safe answer here, but the best option Miller has is to say that no, of course not. Milk isn't a snack, and it's illogical to consider otherwise.

"You've been quiet for a bit, didn't know this was such a tough question."

He feels his eye twitch, but he doesn't rise to the bait. Miller sniffs, it’s a loud and abrupt noise, and puts his mug in the dish return. "Milk's not a snack, Roland." He says with the deep calm of the utmost paranoid.

Roland raises his chin and tilts his head to the side, looking at Miller with a face full of polite indifference. It's almost funny seeing him try to look down his nose at him from a holotank a meter off the ground. "Oh really?"

Cold sweat collects on the back of his neck. Miller had not avoided the mind games.

"Why not?" Roland mirrors him, arms crossed head tilting back to eye him.

"It's not!" He blusters and then remembers himself. "You asked what I thought and I told you."

"Yeah, but why?" Roland turns his hand to check his nails. "I heard some pretty compelling arguments."

Miller's eye twitches again. The door to the mess opens and shuts without him bothering to look at who's entered.

"From who?!"

"People."

"’Snack’ means food. Milk is not a food, it's a drink."

"It's a thick drink. Could be a snack in a pinch."

"What are you even saying?"

"Milk snack."

"It's too early for this. Are other drinks snacks?"

"I don't know, are they?"

"Are you mad at me? Did I do something recently? To deserve this?"

"Hey now, are you mad at me? You're looking upset there, Spartan. Heart rate is up too."

"Roland! You-! You're the one seeking me out to ask me if milk is a snack!"

"Do you draw the line at milkshakes? Oh, or maybe an egg cream?"

"You're making that last one up."

"I am not! It’s a real thing, look it up."

"Anyway, you're trying to distract me. Milk is not a snack."

"Well, that's your opinion. What do you think, Captain Lasky?" Roland smirks, barely dragging his avatar's eyes from Miller's as awareness hits him like a grenade. 

There’s a second before the captain responds, enough time for Miller to glance over and take in Lasky in his front row seat to the Roland and Miller show. The Captain. Of the whole ship. Sitting there watching Miller’s sanity erode in real time.

"Oh, I'm good. You two have fun." Captain Lasky smiles at them and raises his own mug of coffee as he goes back to his datapad.

"Sir." Miller nods robotically. The cold sweat is back. So is the unpleasant flush of heat on his face.

"Spartan." The Captain nods back. He even smiles. Is that sympathy or pity in his eyes?

"He came in about halfway through our discussion." Roland stage-whispers to him. It is definitely loud enough for Lasky to hear because he grins into his mug. "I would have warned you but you seemed so intent on this topic."

"Roland."

"Yes, Miller? Something you care to share?"

"No..." He doesn't deflate, but the fight's gone out of him. There's no winning.

"Captain." Miller nods and leaves the room. He's dreading Ops now. There's no way Roland lets this lie.

-

"Hello Crimson, Roland here!"

Miller doesn't mute in time and hot mics an exasperated groan straight into Crimson's TEAMCOM.

"Spartan Miller! I know today's mission is a lot of standing around and waiting for things to happen, but a bit of decorum, please! What would Commander Palmer say?"

"Clear the line and let the Spartans work, Roland."

"That is a very good impression of her, have you been working on that?"

Miller ignores him and tells Crimson their mission. It is in fact a “standing around and waiting for things” mission. Four Spartans from Fireteam Crimson are guarding Site Req//7848-2328 codenamed “The Refuge” because it’d been the site of enough problems already and Commander Palmer wanted it covered while Infinity Science packed their bags.

“So we’re babysitting again?” Crimson 4 asks. Crimson 2 elbows him hard enough his shields flicker. Miller watches this unfold from Crimson 3’s helmet feed and sighs. It’s not his day today.

“You’re guarding the scientists and marines who are finishing up doing science stuff in the area.” Miller explains. “Before anything else bad happens.”

“And we drew the short straws.” Crimson 4 says to himself.

“Gunny, your mic’s on.” Crimson 2 chides.

“Oh I know.”

“You know-” Roland interjects.

“No.”

He ignores Miller. “-there’s a question going around and no one can agree on the answer. Miller here didn’t like me asking him, but I bet Crimson could tell me their thoughts.”

Crimson 2, 4, and 5 exchange glances. Crimson 3 continues napping from a spot in the nearby greenery, seemingly asleep until he flashes green. 

“Is milk a snack?” Roland asks and silence falls on the team of highly-trained, combat-hardened super-soldiers. 

Miller groans and hides his face in his hands. “Roland, we can't keep doing this.”

“What kind of milk?”

“I like making Pilk!”

“It could b- Gunny, what the fuck is Pilk?!”

“‘Cause it could be a snack, depending on the animal or nut it comes from.”

“Sometimes in the old country, all I had for dinner was milk.” Crimson 5 nods sagely, his accent clipping his words through the mic.

Oh you know, pilk!”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

“What is happening?”

“Research, Miller. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Miller, what’s your opinion?” Crimson 4 chimes in.

“It’s not- it’s not a snack.” He sounds absolutely despondent. This mission was supposed to be simple, but now thanks to Roland, it’s gone completely off the rails.

“Really? Too good for milk snack?”

“It’s a drink!”

“It could be a snack. Glass of milk between meals?”

“Are you guys okay?”

“I don’t know, our mission handler is acting weird. Too high and mighty for milk snack.”

“Yesss! Join me! Rhodes, when we get back, can we make pilk?”

“I still don’t know what that is.”

“Milk and soda!”

“Sounds almost like an egg cream.”

“Aha!” Roland cheers and his avatar does a little fist pump in the Op center.

“There’s no way egg creams are real!” Miller explodes. Dalton looks at him from his station with his usual level of concern. He likes to let Miller know he’s here, but he’s not intervening.

“Focus Crimson, you have a mission.” Miller tries to regain control but it’s long gone.

“We are on mission. Stand around watching the trees and radar. Don’t let anyone touch Forerunner buttons and become the science. Listen to Roland ruin Miller’s day. Standard operating procedure so far.”

Miller doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Roland does.

“I don’t ruin his day! I brighten it and yours with my charm and valuable tactical advice!”

“Shoot the door gunner, Crimson. Touch the button, Crimson. Ooh a big locked door, let me open that for you, Crimson.”

Miller blinks in surprise as Roland is, for once, speechless.

The silence is broken by Crimson.

“Do you think Murphy considers milk a snack?”

“I don’t want to spend our trip home arguing.”

“I bet he would like pilk.”

“You’re not listening, are you?”

“No <3”

[hells-greatest-performers]

Husk and Angel: Not that this is the most important thing right now, but ...

who asked who first?

And where was your first date?

Husk: What’s going on outside?

Angel Dust: That’s not important! What is important are these lovely questions!

Husk: Seriously? *goes to window* Why do I see Alastor—?

Angel Dust: Well I we have only been dating for a few months, and we’ve managed to keep it on the down low. Pretty sure Charlie was not too thrilled about residents and employees dating. Something about “ corrupting the path to redemption.”

Husk: Holy fuck! Is that Lucifer flying after him?!

Angel Dust: Husk! I’m almost finished! So anyways! We haven’t really had a first date because that would be too suspicious ya know? Plus Valentino wouldn’t be too happy to see me dating ya know?

Husk: Angel! LOOK! ALASTOR IS LIKE A GIANT MONSTER RIGHT NOW!

Angel Dust: *joins in looking out window to see giant demonic radio demon and Lucifer trying to calm him down* Oh that? That’s just Al. He’s probably pissed that someone recorded him giving birth.

Husk: *all sorts of confused* GIVE WHAT NOW?!

[sneezingfetishftw-fics]

Guessed it on the nose

At last, the Kink!Husk fic is here! Angel tries to get Husk to admit he has the kink. Sequel to a previous fic of mine (https://www.tumblr.com/sneezingfetishftw-fics/744412486700285953/done-tagging-zensations35-since-you-were-like), but you can understand this one without reading that one.

Angel Dust had been warned there might be lingering aftereffects of the sneezing powder. So he couldn’t exactly be too surprised when he got back still a tad congested. “Husk, baby, I’b hobe!”

Husk greeted him at the door, concern flitting across his features. “Are you alright? You don’t sound too great.”

“Excuse you, by voice is egseedigly sultry,” he replied in a voice that was indeed lower than usual.

“You know what I mean,” Husk responded, feeling Angel’s forehead. Normal temperature, that was a relief.

“I’b fide,” he insisted, grabbing a tissue and blowing vigorously. “Just a little congested from work today.”

Husk raised an eyebrow. “What did they have you do, crawl around in a dusty closet?”

Angel laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, I’m back and…” he froze, breath hitching a little. He felt Husk’s eyes on him, perhaps just a bit more intently now. “Het’CHIEW!” Did Husk’s ears perk up? Maybe for a split second, but they were back to normal again. “I’ll be fine, I promise. How about we just relax with some cuddling on the couch?”

“That sounds great.” It barely took any time for Husk to begin purring. Usually it was a bit further into their cuddle session before he got that happy.

Wait a minute. Angel Dust thought back to earlier today and replayed Husk’s behavior for the last few minutes. Was it possible? Unlikely perhaps, but there were definitely signs. But then how hadn’t he noticed them before? To be fair, signs are much easier to find when you know to look for them. Angel hadn’t even heard of a sneezing kink until today, and now he was starting to suspect that Husk might be into it. But how would he know? There’s no way Husk would just outright confess - the man was far too guarded, especially about things this intimate and embarrassing.

Husk hadn’t woken up yet, so Angel took the opportunity to send a text to the person he saw earlier. “Thanks again for yesterday! Can you tell me a bit more about what you like about sneezing, and also what it’s like to be in public and try to keep your kink secret?”

“Sure! But there’s gotta be a reason you’re asking lol. What’s up?”

Angel sighed. He supposed that was a fair question. “I think my boyfriend might have the kink? Not sure though, I wanna test the waters.”

“If so then he’s a lucky man, your sneezes are incredible!”

Angel laughed. The idea of being someone else’s “type” for sneezing was so silly but hey, who was he to turn down free arousal?

After some discussion back and forth, Angel was armed with plenty of ideas. He put the first idea in action while making breakfast. Husk was in the bedroom getting dressed, and Angel was in the kitchen making eggs, using a bit more pepper than was really necessary. This suggestion had come with the caveat that pepper would probably just make his nose burn and no more, but Angel knew from his own experience how sensitive he was to spices. And sure enough, his nose was tickling. “Hah’TSCHHH! ITSSCHH! TCHIEW!”

Husk stumbled out of the other room, one leg still not in his pants yet. “You alright over there, Ange?”

“All good, Husk, just got a little carried away with the pepper. Sorry if I startled you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Least I’m definitely awake now.”

If the angle had been better, Angel would have had an easy way to check if Husk was enjoying this, but unfortunately the pants were pulled up before Angel could get a good look. Still, the fact that Husk had practically come running from the other room had to count for something. And the way Husk kept glancing at Angel from the corner of his eye as if hoping for more.

Later, he felt a sneeze coming on and he tried stifling it, pinching his nose with two fingers. “Hhhh’gnxt!”

Husk looked at him like he had three heads. “What’d you do that for?“

“It’s pretty late and the bar can get kind of echoey - I was just trying to be quieter so I didn’t wake anyone up is all.”

“Screw the rest of them,” Husk replied fervently. “Take care of yourself. That looked like it hurt.”

“It did, yeah.” No more stifles, then. “Thanks, Hu-hu… huh… Huh’TCHIEW! Husk. Thanks, Husk.”

Husk smiled. “Much better.” Hmmm, yeah, Angel was adding that to the list of “evidence that Husk is totally into sneezing”.

His next opportunity was a fortuitous one. Charlie brought him hand soap as a gift, offering that “everyone deserves to smell nice, and I’m guessing your hands could get quite unpleasant after work.” It was a nice sentiment, but peppermint really didn’t agree with him. Specifically, with his nose. Normally he would have flat out refused, but this time he had a plan.

Right before he and Husk went to get intimate, he went to wash his hands as usual. But this time he pulled out the soap he’d been hiding for this occasion. It only took one good sniff and soon his hands were no longer clean. “Heh’ITSCHH! TCHHH! Hit’CHIEW! ATSCHHH! Heh’huh’hih’HitSCHIEW! Heh’IT’shue! Heh’it’SHUE! Hah’TCHH! Hetschh! Itschhhh! Snff….”

Husk made it to the bathroom just as the fit subsided. “Woah there Angel, what happened?”

“Ugh, id’s the soap,” he pointed weakly. All that sneezing had taken a bit more out of him than he expected. “Forgot I was allergic to peppermint.”

“Let’s get that off your hands, then,” Husk said gently, taking the soap. Angel didn’t catch where Husk put it, but it didn’t look like Husk was taking it to the trash. Another addition to the list then, for sure.

He came back a moment later, as Angel was washing the soap (and snot) off his hands. “Ugh, sorry I’m such a mess,” Angel said.

“You are not a mess, Angel. You are beautiful,” Husk said, gently lifting Angel’s chin.

“Thanks. But I did still make a mess…” He gestured toward the mirror coated in spray, and the wet patches on his own chest.

Husk chuckled. “I suppose you did. We can clean that later. How are you feeling?”

Angel rubbed his nose. “A little sniffly, but otherwise ok. Not sure how long it’ll take the effect of the peppermint to fully wear off.”

There was a pause, and Angel could see Husk’s mind working, probably doing a cost benefit analysis in his head. “No worries if you’re not up for it, but do you think you have the energy? You know, for what we were about to start?”

“Sure, but I should warn you… I can’t promise I won’t start sneezing again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Maybe to cover up his enjoyment? This whole incident was the strongest evidence of all.

Angel had thought that sneezing during sex would give him more proof that Husk was into it, but in reality it was impossible to distinguish moans of pleasure about sex from moans of pleasure about sneezing. What he did know was that the one time Angel had accidentally sneezed on Husk, the man had carried on enthusiastically as if nothing had happened. So that actually did count as more damning evidence, although all it proved for sure was that Husk wasn’t disgusted by Angel sneezing on him.

By now, Angel was quite convinced that Husk was into sneezing. The only problem now was how to get him to admit it. Right before sex would have been the obvious time, but Husk hadn’t said anything then. He could offer to dust the place? No, Nifty had that covered. What options were even left? He turned over the question in his mind, but nothing came up.

A few days later, Angel woke up with a raging head cold, and a plan emerged. After Husk had had plenty of time to fuss over his symptoms, he went into another room and placed a call, making sure Husk was still in earshot. “Yeah I’m free today. How about… Heh’ITCSCCH! Haha, yeah, you’re welcome. How about this afternoon? Ok perfect, see you then!”

“Going somewhere?” Husk asked, entering the room.

“Oh, yeah, just a quick work thing. I should be back pretty soon.”

Husk stared at him. “You are NOT working today.” It was not an observation, but a demand.

“I’ll be fine, I’m not even that sick.” A few stray sneezes immediately undercut that point.

“You are not working today. Whatever it is can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“Ok, but actually it can’t. That’s, um… kind of the whole point.”

“What?”

“This person has a sneezing kink. They want to see me when I’m all sick.”

Husk stared. “They want to see you… they want you to… what?”

It hadn’t escaped Angel’s notice that Husk had avoided saying the word “sneeze”. Twice in fact. Guilty! “It’s no big deal, I just have to hang out with the… he… heh… het’SCHH! Them and sneeze for a bit, then I can come back right home to you. Easy money, and I barely even have to do anything!” He grinned.

“You are not working today,” Husk insisted for the third time. Only this time, it sounded a little more like begging.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Angel continued, determined to wring the confession out of Husk through sheer stubbornness. “I won’t be gone long, and it’s not like I’m so sick I need bed rest.”

Husk frowned, trying to come up with a rebuttal. “Can’t I just want you to stay with me? Isn’t that enough?” The frustration was clear on his face.

Wow, an admission of feelings! Not quite the confession Angel was waiting for, but progress nonetheless. “Of course you can, Husk,” Angel said, taking his hand gently. “I’m just confused because you’ve literally never given me this much pushback about going out before. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No,” Husk said a little too quickly. “There’s nothing.”

“Oh, but I think there is,” Angel replied, a smug grin forming. “Is it possible that you’re jealous?”

“Of what? I’ve never had a problem with your work before.”

“Therein lies the question,” Angel returned, pacing. “Whatever could have poor Husker all worked up?”

As luck would have it, Angel felt a sneeze coming on. He leaned into all the hitching breaths, taking note of Husk’s laser focus. And then, the urge faded away. “Ugh, the sneeze went away. Such a shame, isn’t it?” Husk remained motionless. “Hmmm, I know what to do. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you…”Angel returned with the soap, which he had found underneath the sink as he suspected. “Angel, what are you doing? No!” But it was too late. Angel took a deep sniff, maintaining firm eye contact.

The effects were as intense as they were predictable. Countless sneezes barreled their way out of Angel for what felt like eternity but was probably more like ten minutes.

“Now then,” Angel said, staring directly at the bulge that Husk could no longer hide. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

Husk sighed, knowing there was no way he could prolong this. “Ok, fine. You win. I like it when you… when you… goddamnit why is this so hard to say? I like it when you sneeze. And that’s why I want you to stay home today. Happy now?”

“Of course! I believe I have an appointment to cancel then, since it’s been replaced by time with my won… wuh… uh… uh’TSCCHH! My wonderful partner.”

[lilac-ravenclaw]

50 OC Questions

These are questions are from @localravenclaw ‘s post. Thanks so much for reading; I would love to read about other MCs!🪻

1. Describe your OC's physical appearance in detail.

She is both Latina (on her father’s side, he was from South America) and British (on her mother’s side). She has long black hair that is usually in a French braid and draped over her shoulder. It’s very wavy when out of the braid. She has lilac color eyes, honestly I haven’t decided from which parent she got them from. She has tan skin and a tiny freckle high on her left cheek, just below her eye. She is petite and has a hourglass figure. She does have a few light scars on her back. The caretaker at the orphanage would verbally and physically “discipline” the children. Raven would try to step in so none of the littler kids would be hurt. She is self conscious about anyone seeing them.

2. Why'd you choose your OC's name?

For most RPGs, my character is always named “Raven”, so for HL it wasn’t any different lol. For her last name, honestly, it was an inside joke. I love the 70s show Fawlty Towers, with John Cleese. It only ran for about a dozen episodes but it’s hilarious. It was the first last name I could think of😄

3. How does your OC feel about their birthday?

Her birthday is Jan. 29, 1874, and she only cares about to a bit because her favorite poem, The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, was first published on that day in 1845. She only starts to care more when Sebastian gives her a birthday gift in their sixth year, which are tiny gold snake earrings. It was her first ever birthday gift ever. (Side note: my birthday is also Jan. 29. I tried to think of another day but making her an Aquarius too just felt right ♒️)

4. How does your OC and their parents get along?

Unfortunately, Raven doesn’t know who her family is. She lived at the orphanage as long as she can remember. She won’t go looking for them, as she figures they would’ve already have come back for her at some point. In my story for her, the caretaker gave her the last name “Fawlty”, (and yes misspelling it on purpose) as another way to torment her. Though she keeps the name to prove to others that she isn’t “faulty”.

5. What's something you'd never put your OC through again?

Being alone. She has too many people around her that genuinely cares. Especially with having Sebastian in her life, she will never be alone again.

6. What's your OC's go-to comfort meal?

Breakfast foods. All kinds, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and toast. There’s just something about a nice breakfast that makes Raven feel warm and cozy. It’s the simple things in life🍳

7. What career path would your OC take?

Though she feels it’s expected for her to be an Auror, Curse Breaker or working for the Ministry. Ultimately she has a love for music, specifically singing. She does try out for the choir at Hogwarts. The only person who knew was Poppy and she gave Raven the courage needed to try out their sixth year (now that she wasn’t in the middle of stopping a goblin rebellion!). She also knows how to play the piano too, and taught herself to play, however, she doesn’t know how to read sheets of music. 🎼

8. What's something your OC can't do?

Can’t say no to someone who needs help. Since no one was really there for her growing up at the orphanage, she believes that no one should feel helpless no matter the size of the problem. If she can help, she will!

9. What is your OC's ideal romantic partner?

Someone who will stand by her side and love her no matter what. They make her feel like she does belong and won’t be judged. They believe in her and encourage her to do what makes her happy.

10. Does your OC like to spend time alone or with others more?

Honestly, Raven can go either way. She loves spending time with her friends, especially Sebastian, and does prefer her close circle of friends. Though she is content with taking time for herself by either reading a good book, or practicing her music in the Room of Requirement.

11. What time does your OC usually go to sleep?

Depends really, school nights she’ll try to go to sleep at a decent time, if there isn’t too much homework. On weekends or summertime she’ll stay up late with Sebastian or hanging out with other friends.

12. Where in the sibling order is your OC?

Unknown, as far as she’s aware she is an only child.

13. What's the worst thing your OC's ever done?

Harming the orphanage caretaker. The caretaker was “disciplining” one of the smaller children and accusing them of stealing something from her room. Raven had just about enough of it with her and wished a bookshelf to fly across the room and slam into her. Everything had happened so fast and it took a moment for her to realize that’s exactly what happened. All the other children had looked at her with wide eyes and she quickly grabbed what few possessions she had and ran away. That was a few days before Professor Fig had come to the orphanage to gift Raven her Hogwarts letter. He was able to find her hiding out at a near by in a couple days later.

14. What would it take for your OC to kill someone?

By them hurting someone she loved/cared very dearly about.

15. What item does your OC hold most dear?

A copper cameo brooch given by Sebastian. It was a Christmas present, and was surrounded by little pearls and had the Ancient Magic symbol engraved in the center. She has worn it everyday since.

16. How does your OC unwind?

Practicing her singing and playing piano. She does want to learn how to read sheet music, but ends up just playing from the heart. Of course reading! Broom flying as well, as she finds it therapeutic. Even just relaxing with Sebastian in the Room of Requirement or Undercroft.

17. What's your OC's star sign?

Aquarius! Aquarians are intellectual, curious and can be deeply social. They are represented by the Star card in the tarot. They are determined to make a powerful difference in the world. ♒️

18. What kind of drunk is your OC?

She doesn’t normally drink, but she would be very chatty and giggly.

19. Who does your OC end up with?

Sebastian Sallow. He is her whole world and everything comes naturally with him. Her day doesn’t feel complete until she’s shared it with him. With him she feels anywhere they go, she’ll always be home.

20. Who is your OC's role model?

Professor Fig. He was her first father figure and the first to believe and guide her through such a challenging time. Not only with simply learning how to be a proper witch, but helping her learn about Ancient Magic and taking on a goblin rebellion.

21. Is your OC big on revenge?

Not necessarily. If she can, Raven will tell said person how she feels right then. If it’s minor she won’t go out of her way to get back at them. If it’s critical then she will do what it takes to get back at them.

22. If your OC ever got the chance, would they go back in time? When would they go?

Ultimately no she wouldn’t go back. Through her hardships growing up she believes it made her the woman she is. Though if she could go back, it would be to try and save both Lodgok and Professor Fig.

23. What's your OC's favourite memory?

Getting her Hogwarts letter would be one. She always felt there was something more to her life but didn’t fully understand what. The picnic her and Sebastian went on the summer before their sixth year. They had finally confessed their feelings for each other and had their first kiss.

24. Will your OC ever admit to being wrong?

Always! No one wants to admit they’re wrong but Raven knows it’s the right thing to do. She feels it’s better to put her feelings aside and admit when something is her fault and go from there. Except with Imelda, because she finds it funny to get her all riled up over nothing, especially when it comes to quidditch.

25. Is your OC doomed by the narrative?

Possibly. Not sure where the next game is going to go. All these little things I wrote about Raven is for me only and I fully look forward to see what will happen in the sequel!

26. Would your OC get along with you?

I would think so!☺️

27. What's one thing your OC will never get over?

Her fear of being alone and losing everyone she loves. She went from having no one to having a family in such a short time. To have that all taken away would be heart breaking.

28. Is your OC going to make it?

I’d like to think so. She’s been through so much but each time becomes stronger from it. Plus it helps to have the love of her life by her side. Sebastian gives her that extra boost of strength she didn’t know she needed.

29. Does your OC look their age?

Yes!✨

30. What weird pet would your OC have?

She has a pet Flying Fox Bat named Agnes since her seventh year. They can have a five foot wing span, and she’s basically as long as Raven is tall. So it took a bit for Sebastian to come around with her keeping Agnes. But Agnes is a bit sweetheart and loves being part of the family. Mini story of Agnes was she was living in captivity at the London Zoo and escaped one day. Making her way to the Forbidden Forest, Raven found her alone while taking a hike late one evening. They had an immediate connection and she’s taken care of her ever since. 🦇

31. Does your OC care a lot about their appearance?

Yes and no. Personal hygiene of course. Brushing a braiding her hair, definitely. If it’s a regular day then she does not mind wearing a casual outfit. Going out on a date with Sebastian, then she’ll put on a little makeup and get dolled up more because… why not?💄

32. What's one food your OC can't stand?

French Onion Soup. It was what was mostly served at the orphanage. Yuck!

33. What animal do people associate your OC with?

Probably the same as her Patronus, which is a black bear. That animal is known for their adaptability and resourcefulness. Others will see her as a fierce opponent who will protect herself and those close to her. Only those close to her will know of that softer side she usually keeps hidden away.

34. What's your OC's "thing"?

Depends on what the “thing” refers to… 😅🤔 if it’s behavioral then it’s fiddling with her braid when she’s nervous and can’t figure out what to say, thus being an awkward mess. If it’s material then probably her cameo brooch. If it’s physical then her lilac eyes of course!

35. Random fact about your OC

Despite being Latina, she doesn’t speak Spanish. Because Raven doesn’t know where part of her heritage comes from she never learned.

36. Would your OC sleep with a clone of themself?

…no…🫣

37. What part of yourself do you love in your OC?

Her loyalty to her the people she loves/cares about the most.

38. What's the lowest point in your OC's life?

After being “disciplined” crying herself to sleep and feeling so alone. Wishing and dreaming of a better tomorrow.

39. What's your OC's biggest achievement?

Finding a family. She believes family isn’t about blood, but finding people who will always be there no matter what and accept you for who you are.

40. Does your OC ever go back home?

She considered her “home” to be wherever Sebastian is. The orphanage was never her home.

41. How would your OC adapt to the modern world?

Since she loves music so much I think so. There’s so much emotion to express through music. With that I think she can adapt pretty quickly.

42. Does your OC have any unique talents?

As stated, she sings and plays piano. 🎤🎹 Though it takes a long time to finally share that passion with others.

43. Does your OC exist in canon or AU timeline?

Canon, I think.

44. Is your OC a people person?

Only with those in her inner circle. She will be cordial to others, unless they’re rude to her and then they won’t be worth her time anymore.

45. Did your OC ever have an alternative name?

Whatever her birth name was, but she’ll never know.

46. Does your OC possess any special powers?

Just being able to wield Ancient Magic.✨

47. Is your OC allergic to anything?

Just to people who are rude and mean to others for no reason.

48. Does your OC have a lot of uncommon knowledge? How do they know it?

I guess knowing able everyday muggle things that would seem weird to other people only growing up in the wizarding world.

49. Does your OC have any scars or birthmarks with an interesting story?

She has some scares from being “disciplined”, thankfully she can cover them with everyday clothes.

50. What do you love and hate most about your OC?

I hate that she isn’t real and that the wizarding world isn’t real😆 Otherwise no, I don’t nor can I hate Raven. I love her courage and kindness. That she’ll fight no matter hard things may seem, and always get back up after falling down. She’s had to overcome so much and was alone for so long but now she has a family.🪻💜

If you have finished reading then thank you so much!💜

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

A Budding Conspiracy

Ao3

Summary: Best friends Ziggs and Skud didn't mean to stumble into what is possibly the biggest conspiracy in Hatchetfield. Upon learning what happens to the Honey Queen every year, the duo have to figure out who they can trust as they decide how far they'll go for answers.

It's been a while, but here's my entry for the @hatchetfield-bang this year!

-

The sun dips low in the sky, casting a cozy orange glow over the town of Hatchetfield. Main street is busy as citizens of the town prepare for tomorrow night. 

Deep in the heart of Witchwood Forest, a small green pickup truck sits outside an old farmhouse. Ziggs sprawls out on the ground, soaking up the sun.

They should be working, the thought has crossed their mind. But Emma is spending the weekend in town with her boyfriend, so Ziggs is going to take the opportunity to relax.

The rumble of an approaching engine makes Ziggs crack open an eye lazily. Their bare toes wriggle in the soft blades of grass as they watch a beat up black sedan roll into the yard.

The car comes to a halt, the engine shutting off. The driver's door opens. “Hey, Ziggy,” Skud calls as he climbs out. 

Ziggs grins, propping themself up on their elbows as they watch their friend approach. “Sup, man?” They greet, eagerly eyeing the case of hard ciders Skud carries.

“Not much. Glad to have a fucking break from rehearsals,” Skud replies as he plops down on the ground next to Ziggs. He brushes back his long, wavy hair. “Shouldn't you be, like, working right now?”

“Perky's not here,” Ziggs answers as they open the box of ciders. The bottles rattle slightly before becoming still again. “Besides, I don't think she'd be mad if I took a little break.”

Smirking, Skud reaches into his pocket to pull out a bottle opener. “Perky seems like a chill boss. Better than Thrash anyway.”

Ziggs holds out a bottle, letting Skud pop the top off before asking, “He still being a dick?”

“He's just mad cause Maevis Lyn has been super successful since breaking up with him and starting her own band,” Skud explains as he grabs himself a bottle from the box.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. A light breeze washes over them as they sip their ciders.

“Wanna go to the Honey Festival tomorrow?” Ziggs asks finally, “I wanna get some honey to infuse with weed.”

Snorting slightly, Skud replies, “Of course you do. I'm down, as long as we don't have to go to the Honey Queen pageant.”

“Yeah, no, fuck that,” Ziggs agrees. They drain the rest of their bottle before setting it in the grass between them and Skud. They pull out another bottle. 

Before they can get Skud to open it for them, a stronger gust of wind blows over them, making the field of cannabis sway.

Ziggs retches, tugging their shirt up over their nose to try to block the smell the breeze carries. “The fuck is that gnarly smell?”

Nose wrinkling in disgust, Skud shrugs. “Maybe a timberwolf didn't finish eating something.”

“Nah, if a timberwolf left it, the nighthawks would have picked it clean.”

The wind dies down and Ziggs lets their shirt drop as the scent fades. “Probably the Metzgers and something weird over on their property.”

Skud nods as he opens the fresh bottle for Ziggs. “Probably,” he agrees.

The sun finishes setting, casting them in the glow of twilight. They head inside before the mosquitoes start to appear.

In the farmhouse, Skud raises the windows for the fresh air, the screens keeping the bugs out. 

Ziggs emerges from the kitchen, a brownie in each hand. “Me and Perky baked them fresh earlier,” they inform Skud proudly.

“Are they left handed?” Skud asks even as he reaches for the one Ziggs offers.

“Brownies don't have hands.”

Skud takes a bite of brownie. “I meant do they have weed in them, dumbass.”

“Oh. Yeah, they do,” Ziggs laughs.

The moon slowly rises. Stars twinkle and shine down on the farmhouse. Inside, Skud and Ziggs lounge lazily on the couch, their brownies kicking in.

It happens again: a strong breeze filters through the window screen, carrying the same smell as before.

“Okay, what the fuck is that?” Skud demands as Ziggs gags.

“One way to find out,” Ziggs manages to get out.  They stand, swaying slightly as they walk to the kitchen. They return shortly with two flashlights.

Skud stands unsteadily, taking one of the flashlights.

They venture past the fields and into the trees of the woods. The lights cast eerie shadows as they illuminate their way.

“I hope it's not a dead animal,” Ziggs says as they stumble over a tree root, bumping into Skud. “Fucking hate seeing dead animals.”

“I know you do.” Skud clumsily pats them on the back as they continue making their way.

After a bit of walking, they can hear voices up ahead, as well as see lights.

Instinctively, Ziggs switches off their flashlight, prompting Skud to do the same. They creep to the edge of the trees to see a clearing.

Torches cast the space and several figures in black robes in a hazy light.

In that light, they see the cause for the smell: A large pile of pig carcasses.

Ziggs claps a hand over their mouth, trying to fight the urge to vomit.

“-prepared for tomorrow night,” one of the robed figures says to a tall man with a thin mustache.

“...isn't that Roman Murray?” Skud whispers, leaning towards Ziggs.

It takes Ziggs a moment to focus, but when they do, they recognize the only figure not draped in a cloak. They nod, frowning at the scene.

“Excellent,” Roman replies, “I'll be here tomorrow night with our new Honey Queen. Hopefully she enjoys the ceremony.”

Dark laughter ripples through the clearing, sending shivers down both Skud and Ziggs’ spines.

Skud bolts first, his flashlight flickering to life as he tries to put as much distance between himself and the clearing.

It doesn't take long for Ziggs to follow.

The beams of their flashlights bounce and jerk as they race through the Witchwood. Ziggs feels like they don't breathe until they burst out of the trees, back in the safety of the farm.

Ziggs drops to the ground, panting heavily. Out of their peripheral, they see Skud doubled over, leaning against a nearby tree.

it takes several moments, but once they get their breath back, Ziggs’ first words are, “What the fuck?!”

“I… I don't know,” Skud admits. He straightens up,  glancing over his shoulder. He pushes off the tree and reaches a hand out to help Ziggs off the ground.

They make it back into the farmhouse, collapsing on the couch. The air feels heavy, the weight of what they saw and heard hanging over them.

“Why do you think they have dead pigs for the Honey Queen?” Skud finally asks after several minutes,  breaking the silence.

“Fuck if I know, man.” Ziggs shudders at the memory of the pig carcasses. “You think that's why she leaves every year? They scare her off with dead pigs?”

Skud contemplates this. “We could always go back tomorrow night. See what they do.”

“...yeah, we could,” Ziggs hesitates, “But, like, do we want to?”

More silence. Ziggs grabs their open cider and chugs the rest of it.

Yawning, Skud shrugs. “Maybe we decide tomorrow. Right now, I think it's time for bed.”

“Yeah. Come on up,  the guest room is all made up for you.”

They make their way up the stairs, saying their goodnights at the landing before going into their respective rooms.

Ziggs changes into a loose tank top and a pair of sweats before climbing into bed.

It feels like they're asleep before their head touches the pillow.

The next morning, sunlight shines through the window of Ziggs’ room, falling across their face. Wincing, they slowly open their eyes, cringing back from the light.

Their whole body aches, like they got hit by a truck. Groaning, they roll over to climb out of bed.

Their bare feet pad down the stairs and they make a beeline for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

By the time it finishes brewing, Skud enters the kitchen, his bandana missing, leaving his messy curls hanging in his face.

Ziggs grabs two mugs, pouring them each a cup before passing one to Skud.

He gives an appreciative little grunt before taking a sip, hissing at the heat.

They settle at the kitchen table, snacking from the box of donuts sitting between them.

Finally, Skud speaks. “You remember last night?”

Memories flash through Ziggs’ mind: the smell, the pig carcasses, the conversation they overheard.

They swallow the donut they were eating, quickly chasing it down to a swig of coffee before answering, “Yeah. I'm guessing you do too.”

“Yeah,” Skud replies. He stares down at his coffee.

The silence feels uncomfortable. Ziggs reaches for another donut. “We could just forget it,” they suggest.

“We could,” Skud agrees, “But… what's one of the most powerful men in Hatchetfield doing in the woods late at night with people in robes and dead pigs?”

“... I don't know.”

Skud finally looks up from his coffee, brushing his hair back from his face to look at Ziggs seriously. “I say we, like, Scooby Doo this shit.”

Ziggs chuckles at this before seeing the look in Skud's eye. “Wait, for real?”

“Yeah, for real,” Skud confirms, “You in?”

Taking a sip of coffee, Ziggs considers it before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm in. Where do we start?”

Skud hums thoughtfully. “Roman Murray said they were going to bring the Honey Queen there…”

“...so we should probably go to the pageant,” Ziggs finishes with a groan. “I hate beauty pageants.”

“Same,” Skud agrees, “But, like, if we're going to find out what they're planning, I think we need to go.”

Another frustrated groan escapes Ziggs. “Fine.” They stand to go refill their mug. “We go to the Honey Festival, hit up some stalls, go to the pageant- wait, how are we gonna find our way back to that clearing?”

Skud blinks as if he hadn't considered that. “I mean, we found it last night. It shouldn't be too hard.”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Ziggs agrees. They check their watch. “Festival starts in a few hours. Imma have a brownie. You want one?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Skud stands as well, grabbing his mug on the way up. 

-

Downtown Hatchetfield bustles with life. Vendor stalls line the streets, along with food trucks and carnival games. 

Ziggs and Skud walk down the road toward the Starlight Theater. Ziggs carries a brown paper bag holding a jar of honey they bought earlier in the afternoon.

Next to them, Skud snacks on some cotton candy, the sugar turning his lips blue.

“Do we know anyone competing in the pageant?” Skud asks curiously. 

“Dude,  I don't even know who is competing,” Ziggs admits, “We weren't going to go, remember?”

They walk up the steps to the doors of the theater. Ziggs looks around. “You know, I don't think I've ever actually been in here.”

“Me either,” Skud admits. 

They find seats near the back of the house. Almost all of the rows in front of them are full, crammed with citizens eager to see their new queen get crowned. 

The lights over the auditorium go dark as a spotlight illuminates Professor Henry Hidgens, microphone in hand. “Welcome, Hatchetfield, to the Honey Queen Pageant!”

Avid applause fills the chamber, complete with some hoots and hollers. Ziggs rolls their eyes, reaching over to steal some of Skud's cotton candy.

“We have twenty very beautiful, very talented women here to put on their best for you folks,” Hidgens proclaims once the clapping has died down. “First-”

Ziggs tunes out the names as they stare at the stage. One name in particular catches their attention though: Charlotte Sweetly. It catches their attention because Skud smacks their arm when it's announced.

“What?” Ziggs hisses, rubbing their arm.

Skud looks at them seriously. “Isn't her husband a cop?” He asks before glancing around. “See, right there.”

Following Skud's gaze, Ziggs sees a uniformed officer clapping albeit half heartedly at the announcement of his wife's name.

“Yeah, so?” Ziggs whispers.

“I dunno, do you think the police are in on this too?”

Ziggs considers this before shaking their head. “Nah, man. I think this is bigger than small town cops. Much bigger.”

They go quiet as the question round begins. All of the answers seem generic: world peace, betterment for children, etc.

Then comes Charlotte's turn. Ziggs finally recognizes her. It's unusual seeing her in a royal purple evening gown instead of her usual knitted cat sweaters. She's transformed from frumpy to dazzling, with her curls framing her face.

“Okay, Charlotte, your question,” Hidgens starts before pausing for dramatic effect. “What is your biggest fear?”

Charlotte gives a dreamy smile. “I'd have to say my biggest fear,” She responds, “Is leaving Hatchetfield, because I know nowhere else could be as great.”

The crowd eats it up,  going wild for the answer.

Skud frowns, leaning in towards Ziggs. “Isn't she usually, like, super timid when you see her around town?”

“Yeah,” Ziggs confirms before glancing at the cop again, who is applauding much more enthusiastically at his wife's reply. “Maybe she's trying to prove something to someone.”

After a few more questions to other participants, Hidgens announces the talent portion of the pageant.

Ziggs and Skud both groan lowly at this. It's a new kind of torture, listening to a grating violin that clearly hadn't been practiced in years. The rest of the acts that follow are equally as mediocre.

Then Charlotte comes onstage to perform Just for Once from The Barbecue Monologues. The pain In her voice, the utter desperation bleeds through every note. Ziggs isn't sure If they're imagining it, but it seems like every now and then throughout the song, she's looking directly at her husband instead of performing to the judges and audience.

By the end of the tune, Skud discreetly wipes away a couple tears. “I think she is trying to prove something,” he manages to croak out quietly.

Ziggs pats him on the back.

Once the talent portion completes, Hidgens returns to the stage. “Now, we're going to take a few minutes to let the judges deliberate- oh? You're ready?”

One of the judges stands, passing an envelope to Hidgens.

Straightening up,  Hidges places the microphone in the stand. “Okay, Hatchetfield. Your Honey Queen this year is….” he pauses dramatically as he pulls the cars from the envelope. “...Charlotte Sweetly!”

Thunderous applause greets Charlotte as she comes back out on stage, beaming as Hidgens places a sparkling silver crown on her head.

“C'mon, we need to get back there,” Skud mutters as he nudges Ziggs.

Nodding, Ziggs stands.

They hurry from the theater, back to Ziggs’ truck. Once they're safely in the cab, Ziggs lets out a breath they didn't realize they were holding.

It's not until they're on the road, driving through the dark back to the farmhouse that Skud speaks. “What do you think they're going to do to her?”

“Fuck if I know, man,” Ziggs answers, voice shaking. They spare a glance over at Skud. “Last chance to back out.”

Skud shakes his head firmly. “I gotta know what happens.”

“Okay.” Ziggs presses their lips in a thin line.

The truck rolls to a stop next to the porch. The pair climb out,  heading inside to grab flashlights before heading for the treeline.

“Maybe they just pay her to leave town,” Ziggs suggests as they cross the field.

“Why would there be dead pigs then?” Skud questions as they break step into the forest, stepping over gnarled roots.

Ziggs doesn't have an answer for that.

Silently, they wander through the trees, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

After several minutes, Skud flips off his flashlight, prompting Ziggs to do the same.

Several yards ahead, Ziggs can make out the glow of torches. Swallowing heavily, Ziggs follows Skud almost to the treeline, trying to stay hidden in the shadows.

The seconds stretch into minutes. Ziggs feels like they're suffocating from anticipation.

Finally, a fancy car rolls up,  headlights cutting through the trees. Skud and Ziggs both duck to avoid being seen.

As they stand up again, Roman Murray and Charlotte are climbing out of the car.

The ground rumbles slightly, making Ziggs and Skud both hold onto a tree for support. Hissing and popping fills the air as the pig carcasses begin to writhe.

Ziggs retches, covering their mouth with a hand as the pigs begin to stretch and meld into one another. Even from this distance, they can see the teeth from the bodies falling into neat rows until a huge, gaping maw appears, licking its lips.

A loud shriek fills the air as Charlotte turns to try to run. The figures in robes grab her, dragging her back over to the mouth. 

“Hello, Charlotte,” the mouth greets with a smile. Its voice grates Ziggs’ ears. “Yum, yum.”

In horror, Ziggs and Skud watch as Charlotte gets lifted and devoured by the mouth in one bite.

Skud steps back first, his foot crashing down on a large branch with a sharp crack.

“What was that?” Roman demands, looking towards the trees.

Ziggs doesn't wait, turning and running as fast as they can. They can hear Skud behind them. They're halfway back to the farmhouse before Ziggs even remembers to turn their flashlight back on. 

Once they break through the trees, the pair both drop to the dewy grass, panting heavily.

The moon shines down on them as they attempt to catch their breath.

Skud speaks first. “What… the ever loving fuck… was that?!”

“I dunno, man,” Ziggs gasps, “That…” They shudder as the scene replays in their mind. “We gotta tell someone.”

Nodding vehemently, Skud glances back at the trees, as if expecting someone to be following them. “...what about your dad?”

“My dad is an artist, the fuck is he gonna do?” Ziggs asks.

“No, not Russ, your other dad,” Skud clarifies, “The military one.”

Ziggs considers this before shaking their head. “No. He's busy. I doubt he'd come back for this,” they say bitterly. They push themself to their feet before reaching out a hand to help Skud up.  “Come on,  let's get inside.”

Once they make it back inside the farmhouse, they collapse on opposite sides of the couch. “Where do we even start with this?” Ziggs asks, pulling off their beanie to run their hand back through their hair.

“... maybe the mayor?” Skud suggests slowly, “If people in town are being ritualistically sacrificed, he'd probably want to know.”

Ziggs considers this before shaking their head. “I don't think so. For all we know, he was under one of those robes. We gotta think smaller, find someone who can actually help.”

The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence.

“... what about your dad? Hasn't he lived in Hatchetfield all his life?” Ziggs finally questions. 

Skud nods. “Yeah. Yeah we can try asking him, see what he knows.”

The next morning, Ziggs and Skud head down to the docks. The pair steps out of Ziggs’ truck, heading down to where a houseboat floats in the water.

A man with long, curly, sandy hair, not unlike Skud's, stands on the deck. His tanned skin broken up by various scars on his hands.  Busy coiling a length of rope around his arm, he doesn't notice the two approaching.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” Ziggs calls once they're close enough to be heard. 

The man looks up, smiling slightly at the sight of them. “Ziggs! Scott!” He hangs up the rope as they walk across the gangway.

“Hey, Dad,” Scott replies. 

Ziggs waves. “Hey, Harold. We have a couple questions.”

“Questions?” Harold raises an eyebrow, the scar running through it made more prominent by the action. “What kind of questions?”

Glancing around nervously, Skud suggests, “Let's go inside first then we'll ask.”

Frowning, Harold leads them inside to a small sitting area. Skud and Ziggs squeeze onto a small loveseat while Harold settles into an armchair. “What's going on?”

Ziggs and Skud exchange a look. “Dad.. does anyone know what happens to the Honey Queen every year?” Skud finally asks. 

“She leaves town,” Harold replies with a shrug, “Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, but do we know for sure she leaves town?” Ziggs asks, “Does anyone stay in touch with her after she leaves? Or does she just go missing?”

Harold laughs lightly. “People seem to go missing every day around here,” he answers, “Besides, almost all the Honey Queens have been young, single women. They probably just leave after winning to get out.”

“...what if-” Ziggs starts, stopping abruptly when Skud shakes his head before standing. 

“Thanks, Dad,” he says.

Harold doesn't seem surprised by Skud suddenly wanting to leave. “Of course. Are you still coming over for dinner next week? Gabe and your Uncle Barry will be here.”

“Yeah, I'll be here.”

Ziggs follows Skud off the houseboat. “What the hell, man?” They finally ask once they're back on the dock.

“He wouldn't have believed us,” Skud says with a sigh. “We-”

“Well, if it isn't Ziggs MacNamara and Scott Swift,” Roman Murray's voice comes from behind them. 

They both jump, turning to see Roman standing in front of a large boat, dressed in linen shorts and shirt.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Murray,” Skud says awkwardly. His eyes dart to the blonde woman waiting impatiently on the boat as four blonde boys run around.

“What's up?” Ziggs asks, feeling dread creep up their spine.

Roman smiles widely. “Just seeing what you two thought of the Honey Festival last night. Did you enjoy the show?”

Swallowing nervously, Ziggs starts, “Yeah, the pageant was gr-”

“I'm not talking about the pageant.” Roman's eyes seem to glint as he takes a step towards them. “Who have you told?”

“N-no one,” Skud manages to get out,  reaching blindly for Ziggs’ hand to give it a squeeze. 

“Let's keep it that way, shall we?” Roman's sharp grin looks more like a predator baring its teeth.

One of the boys from the boat calls, “Grandpa, hurry up!”

“Coming, Trent.” Roman turns.

A sudden burst of courage fills Ziggs' chest. “We'll stop you.” They squeeze Skud's hand back.

“Stop me?” Roman turns back, shaking his head. “By all means, stop me. But you'll never be able to stop Nibblenephim.”

Without another word, he heads up to the boat.

Skud jerks Ziggs’ towards the truck, glancing back anxiously. “What the hell, Ziggy?”

“I-” Ziggs shakes their head, suddenly aware of how fast their heart is beating. “I don't know.”

Once they're back in the truck, they watch the boat Roman is on sail away from the docks. “How does he know your name?” Ziggs finally asks.

“My dad is part of the Hatchetfield Boating Society,” Skud explains, “I've seen Roman Murray at their events. His daughter is the president.” He glances at Ziggs. “How did he know your name?”

Ziggs racks their brain for an answer. “I-I don't know,” they admit, “Maybe something with Pops working at the school? I think he's a donor or a school board member or something?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

An uneasy silence falls over them. They watch until the boat fades from view, too far out in the lake to be seen from shore.

“I need to smoke,” Ziggs mutters before cranking up the truck.

When they arrive at the farmhouse, there's another car parked beside Skud's. 

“Looks like Perky's home,” Skud comments as they climb out of the truck.

“Perfect! She'll believe us!”

Ziggs races up the porch steps, Skud close behind them.

Inside, Emma Perkins and her boyfriend, Paul Matthews, sit on the couch. A movie plays on the TV, not that Ziggs cares. They stand in front of the TV.

“Ziggs, can you move?” Emma asks as she pauses the film. “We were watching something.”

“And now you're going to listen to me,” Ziggs says urgently.

Emma blinks, surprised at this tone from her farmhand. 

“So you know last night was the Honey Festival. Skud and I went to the Honey Queen Pageant-”

Paul interrupts, “Oh yeah. My coworker Charlotte won. Well, ex coworker. She sent in her resignation after she won. We didn't go to the pageant though. People singing and dancing-”

“Makes you uncomfortable, I know, I've heard a million times,” Ziggs snaps. They fidget anxiously.

Emma sits up straighter, “Ziggy, what the hell is wrong with you?” She demands, “Are you sober right now? Do you need to smoke?”

“Yes and yes, but this is more important!”

Skud rests a hand on Ziggs' shoulder in an attempt to soothe them. “We saw what happens to the Honey Queen.”

Paul and Emma share a look. “What do you mean? She leaves town. She always does,” Paul responds.

“No, she doesn't! She gets eaten by some fucking monster mouth made of dead pigs!” Ziggs exclaims, flashes of the night before running through their mind.

Silence as their outburst hangs in the air.

“...Ziggy,” Emma starts slowly, “What have you been lacing your blunts with?”

“I- nothing!” Ziggs practically shouts, “I know what I saw!”

Emma frowns. “Really? Cause it sounds like you were doing ‘shrooms or smoking salvia.”

Next to her, Paul shifts. “Yeah. That seems more likely than whatever the hell you just said,” he agrees.

“I- forget it!” Ziggs throws their hands up in frustration before storming back out of the farmhouse, Skud right behind them.

Ziggs jerks open the door of the truck before climbing in. Skud slides into the passenger seat. He stays quiet as Ziggs starts up the truck once more.

They drive around Hatchetfield in silence for several minutes. They pass by the high school before entering a small neighborhood.

Out in front of one of the houses stands a small sign that reads yard sale. Tables littered with 80s memorabilia fill the yard.

Skud points to it. “Should we stop?”

“Yeah, why not?” Ziggs huffs as they pull the truck over to park by the curb.

As they climb out of the truck, a familiar voice calls their names. They both look to see a familiar man with dark curls and warm hazel eyes.

“Hey, Duke,” Ziggs greets as Skud nods. They look around at the displays. “Finally get tired of the retro?”

Duke gives a sad smile. “It's not mine. I'm selling it for a friend who sadly passed away.” He gestures to the items. “Take a look around, see if anything catches your eye.”

Another potential customer comes up to Duke, holding a bright purple leather jacket.

Ziggs doesn't wait to hear the offer the person makes, choosing instead to follow Skud through the maze of tables.

“Whoever Duke's friend was really seemed to like the 80s,” Skud comments.

“Yeah,” Ziggs replies vaguely, their mind far from the yard sale. Their eyes land on a table covered with candles and crystals. They frown slightly as they approach the table. 

Amongst the candles and crystals, there's a rectangular something wrapped in a red cloth.

Without thinking, Ziggs picks it up,  pulling back the cloth to reveal a black book with some unfamiliar symbol on the cover.

“A book?” Skud asks, raising an eyebrow.

Nodding, Ziggs flips it open to show a map of Hatchetfield. They frown as they notice certain places marked by stars. “Look at this,” they say as they hold the book out for Skud to examine.

Skud takes the book, examining the map. “That's the Starlight Theater,” he says, pointing to one of the stars. “Then Lakeside Mall… CCRP… Hatchetfield High… and the old Waylon place.”

“What do all those places have in common?” Ziggs wonders as they take the book back. They flip a few pages in, eyes widening as they catch sight of a certain word. “Isn't that the name Roman Murray said?” They ask urgently, showing the book to Skud once more.

Skud's bright blue eyes widen. “Yeah… yeah I think it is.”

The book closes as Ziggs quickly wraps it back in its cloth. “We need this book. You got any cash on you?”

“Uhh…” Skud pats his pockets before pulling out his wallet. He fishes out a five dollar bill. “Think this will work?”

“Worth a shot.” Ziggs takes the money from him before heading back to Duke. “Hey, any chance we can get this book for five?” They ask, holding up the book as they offer the money.

Duke frowns slightly, as if trying to remember something. The moment passes and he shrugs. “Sure.” He takes the bill. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that's it. Thanks, Duke!” Ziggs calls, already heading back to the truck.

Skud waves before jogging to catch up with Ziggs.

Once they're in the truck, Ziggs passes the book to Skud before they begin to drive. “What is that thing?” They ask, “Some kind of spell book?”

“I dunno,” Skud says nervously. He opens the book, flipping through the pages slowly. He frowns as he scans the words on the page. “It looks like it though.”

Ziggs’ thumbs tap against the steering wheel as they come to a stop at a red light. “You think this is how we find out about what happened?”

The book shakes slightly as Skud's hands tremble. “Do we want to know that bad?” 

“Dude, looking into this whole thing was your idea!” Ziggs reminds him. 

“Yeah, I know! But like…” Skud swallows thickly as the book flips shut once more. “This is big. Bigger than us, bigger than this whole town.” His eyes dart to Ziggs. “Are you sure we shouldn't get your dad involved?”

The light turns green. Ziggs starts driving again. “I already told you, he's probably too busy to deal with this,” they snap a little harsher than they mean to. “We have to figure this out ourselves.”

“Alright, alright.” Skud stares down at the cover of the tome. “First we gotta figure out exactly what that means.”

“I think it means stopping Nibb- you know,” Ziggs answers, “Maybe that book has a way we can do that.”

Reluctantly, Skud opens the book once more, turning the pages slowly. “What if we could talk to that thing?” He asks, pausing on a certain page. “This one is called ‘Holding Court with the Void.’ That sounds promising.”

Hands tightening on the wheel, Ziggs asks, “Okay, how do we do it?”

“Looks like we need a Black Altar,” Skud reads from the page. Paper rustles as he flips back to the map. “That must be these places marked on the map.”

“Remind me what they are again,” Ziggs requests. 

Nodding, Skud's eyes scan the map. “Lakeside Mall… CCRP… Hatchetfield High… the Starlight Theater… and the old Waylon place.”

“Well, we're not going to the old Waylon place,” Ziggs says with a shudder. “I think the mall is our best bet.”

“Yeah. Easiest to get into, for sure,” Skud agrees before flipping the book closed.

Silence fills the cab of the truck as they make their way to Lakeside Mall. Ziggs feels like they can't breathe. Their hands grip the steering wheel so tightly their knuckles turn white. 

Once the truck comes to a stop in the parking lot, Ziggs lets out a breath they didn't realize they were holding. 

In the passenger seat, Skud looks pale. “We really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are,” Ziggs confirms before opening their door.

They cross the parking lot, Skud close behind them.

When the pair enter the mall, Ziggs frowns. “Where are we going to do this?” They ask quietly as they look around at all the shoppers milling about.

“I dunno,” Skud answers. “Maybe we just walk around and we'll find a place?”

“Sounds good.”

After about ten minutes of trekking through the mall, Ziggs stops, grabbing Skud's arm to jerk him to a halt as well. “What about the Cineplex?”

Skud's eyes dart to the entrance of the theater. “Think that's still considered part of the mall?”

“One way to find out.”

The teenager at the ticket booth doesn't notice them approaching. Behind his glasses, his eyes flutter shut as he leans against the counter, bored.

Ziggs crouches, sneaking past the booth with Skud close behind.

Once they make it into the lobby of the theater, they straighten up again. “So we just pick a theater?” Skud asks as they slip past the empty concession stand.

“Yeah, why not?” Ziggs walks through a large door labeled with a 1, trying to ignore the way their heart hammers in their chest.

The silver screen looms large above them as they enter the theater. Ziggs looks over all the empty seats. “Okay, find that spell.”

“Uh…” Skud flips the book open, pages rustling as he searches for the spell once more. “Here we go: Holding Court with the Void.”

Ziggs leans in, meeting Skud's eyes. “Ready?” They wait for an affirmative nod before they begin to speak. “We invoke the names…”

Shakily, Skud's voice joins theirs, “Pokotho…”

Whispers seem to seep out of the speakers, only getting louder with the next name.

“...Bliklotep… T'noy Karaxis…”

Were the lights that shade of yellow when they entered the theater? Ziggs can't remember.

The next name they only know how to pronounce because they heard Roman Murray say it.

“...Nibblenephim…”

Pink light bathes the pair. Ziggs hears Skud take a sharp breath next to them. Their own voice cracks as they say the last name.

“...Wigogg Y'wrath.”

The lights turn green for the briefest second before the room plunges into darkness. Ziggs grabs Skud's arm, squeezing tightly.

“Did it work?” Skud whispers.

“Hello, friendy-wends.”

The lights flicker back to life, revealing five figures lounging in different spots of the theater. Ziggs and Skud stumble back together in shock, their backs hitting the wall.

“How boring,” one of the figures, dressed in a yellow and orange hoodie and orange cargo pants, with messy yellow hair, says as it fidgets with a yellow cube in its hands. It has its feet propped up on the seat in front of it,  ignoring the pair.

“Now, now, Tinky,” the figure wearing what appears to be a green American Eagle button down with the sleeves rolled up and the collar popped scolds. “We don't know what our paly-wals here want yet.”

Ziggs can hear Skud gulp. 

The sound attracts the green figure. He smiles wide, his teeth appearing razor sharp. He smooths back his perfectly styled dark green hair.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” The figure in a purple sundress with matching purple sunglasses giggles. The figure holds up a cell phone, as if taking a selfie.

“I know,” a figure in a blue beret and leather jacket responds.

“Yes, yes, Johnny’s kid summoning us is very funny,” the green figure says with an amused chuckle.

At the sound of their dad's name, Ziggs swallows. Their eyes dart from figure to figure before landing on the only one who hasn't spoken yet.

The pink beanie on the figure’s head has been pulled down so Ziggs can't see its eyes. Instead, all they can see is a wide, pink mouth that stretches into a hideous smile.

Ziggs’ heart plummets to their stomach. “It was you.”

“Yum yum,” comes the reply, followed by a biting motion in Ziggs’ direction.

“Yes, you saw Nibbly's sacrifice,” the green figure speaks, its emerald eyes glinting.

Ziggs finally finds their voice. “Yeah, what the fuck, man?”

The figures erupt into a chorus of giggles at the response. 

“Is that why you've called us here, Ziggy?” The green figure inquires. Its long fingers wiggle as it crosses its arms.

“How-” Ziggs starts, only to be interrupted.

“Oh, we know all about yours and Scotty’s noble quest to try to find out what happens to the Honey Queen,” the green figure chuckles, “I commend you for coming this far for answers.”

Skud speaks, his voice shaky. “How do we make it stop?”

Manical laughter echoes off the walls of the theater. “Stop? It won't stop,” Nibbly answers.

“Indeed,” the green figure agrees, turning those bright green eyes back on the pair. “If Nibbly doesn't get his sacrifice, he'll consume the whole world. The Honey Queen is doing a service, really. Sacrificing herself to keep the world safe.”

“But she doesn't know she's going to be sacrificed if she wins!” Ziggs argues as they squeeze Skud's arm tighter.

The figure in green shrugs. “So what? You can't stop it, Ziggy. Not unless you want the end of the world on your hands.” It cracks a wide smile. “And I don't think you want that.”

The lights go out once more. When they come back on,  Ziggs and Skud are alone in the theater.

-

That evening, Ziggs and Skud sit on the couch in the farmhouse. The rays of the setting sun filter in through the open windows.

They've been there for hours, silently passing joints back and forth until they've been smoked down to roaches.

Finally, Skud speaks, his voice cracking slightly, “So what do we do now? How do we, like, deal with knowing this happens every year?”

“I say we just forget,” Ziggs answers. “Like your dad said, people go missing in Hatchetfield every day. The Honey Queen is just another one of them.”

“Yeah, but those… Those things we summoned-”

Ziggs cuts him off. “Don't let it eat at you, man.” They reach for the pack of rolling papers on the coffee table, swearing when they find it empty.

Their eyes drift to the book. They reach for it, opening it and tearing out a page.

“What are you doing?” Skud asks, blue eyes filled with fear.

“The paper is thin enough to use for rolling,” Ziggs answers with a shrug as they begin ripping the paper into smaller sheets.

“Do you think that's a good idea?” Skud questions nervously.

Rolling their eyes, Ziggs reaching into a plastic bag to pull out some weed so they can roll the joint. “You're being paranoid, Skud. What's the worst that could happen?”

[2manyfandoms2count]

Back to Life (Back to Reality)

Toxinelle and Griffe Noire really have been living in my head rent free for the past week, I just think they're extremely interesting characters 👀 This is more of a character study than an actual fic with a plot, I wanted to get into Toxinelle's head! Maybe I'll revisit their world at some point, I do think it's quite cool to not have a lot of knowledge of what's going on in their world, it's that much more intriguing...

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

Back to Life (Back to Reality)

Although the world they entered was the same they’d left behind, crumbling buildings lining the streets she and Griffe Noire had targeted time and time again in their quest to retrieve the Butterfly Miraculous, Toxinelle couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t look quite as hopeless as it had when they’d left it. The rising sun, which only a short time ago she might’ve found obnoxiously bright, pleasantly warmed her cheeks as she came to a halt next to a beaming Hesperia. 

“It’s been an eventful night, hasn’t it?” he commented once Ubiquity landed at his side, the glow of her power receding to reveal Alya Césaire. 

If she’s the other Marinette’s best friend, she can’t be that bad, Toxinelle thought, already considering a strategy to get closer to her at school. 

“I suggest we all take a little time to process what’s happened, and regroup later.” Hesperia smiled, interrupting her mental meanderings before she could overthink anything. “You know where to find us, take your time.” Watching him, Toxinelle found herself realising that she’d never realised how approachable he looked, unlike most adults in her life. And if the other Marinette’s world had seemed better in many ways, she really didn’t envy her for the presence of Monarque in her life; she wasn’t sure who of him or the Supreme was worse, but she liked the idea that she’d have a heroic adult on her side to fight for a better world.

Hesperia extended his hand, a gesture that made Toxinelle realise she was still holding Griffe Noire’s. She cleared her throat as she let go of it, before shaking her ex-opponent’s, who then turned towards her partner— no, that didn’t sound right, was it teammate, that the other Marinette used as a term?… It was probably more accurate. Had somebody asked her earlier that day, she might’ve described their relationship as one of “reluctant allies”, but there had been a shift in their dynamic from the moment they’d positioned themselves against the Supreme, which would have to draw them closer. 

At least she hoped so— it was one thing considering going against him as a team, an entirely different one to face him on her own. She didn’t think she was strong enough for it; not physically, the newfound feeling of health she’d retrieved from the other timeline being just a flicker next to the flame she’d once possessed, before it had all started, but least of all mentally. Not now, anyway.

“See you soon,” the man said, waving as he and his ally made their way back to their base. 

Just like that, Toxinelle found herself standing alone with Griffe Noire in the empty street.

“Bed–, I mean, um… Ladybug? Is that really what I’m supposed to call you now?” the tomcat raised an eyebrow.

“What about you? Have you landed on a good name?” she parried. 

“Hey, at least I was creative with mine, you’re just a– a copycat!” He pointed at her, laughing. It was the first time she heard him laugh genuinely, and she had to admit, it sounded pretty good.

Toxinelle stuck out her tongue at him, hoping it would distract from the blush creeping up her cheeks. She wasn’t entirely sure, but something told her that the thick layer of pale foundation she conscientiously applied every day, and which had until then stuck through her transformation, hadn’t made it back from their journey to the other world. 

“Anyway, what?” she asked rather abruptly, out of habit. She didn’t like that her sharp tone was coming back so quickly. She winced, and quickly added, more softly: “did you want to say?”

“Oh, er, well, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to meet up at some point? To discuss… this.” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings.

Toxinelle thought about what awaited her at home, and the panic that started washing over her made her feel like she was already losing grip on the thin thread of hope the other Marinette had started weaving for her.

“How about now?” she blurted out.

Griffe Noire was speechless for a second, but quickly pulled himself back together with a smirk. “Well, well, well,” he said, “look who can’t get enough of Adrien Agreste now.”

Toxinelle rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat up again. “For someone who’s so gloomy and silent without a mask, you sure are chatty with one on,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Griffe Noire paled (she noticed now that his make-up had gone during his costume change, too; his complexion was quite nice when it wasn’t painted over) and he cleared his throat. “As if you don’t change your attitude either.”

“I’m sorry, how do you know me again, exactly?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re my baker girl.” He shrugged, looking down and kicking a stray pebble. “I mean, not my baker girl, more like, the baker girl. Or whatever,” he mumbled quickly, blushing.

Toxinelle frowned, racking her brain to remember meeting him. Even without being a fan, she’d still recall serving the famous Adrien Agreste. She probably even would’ve been annoyed by his presence, knowing it would probably bring more people to the bakery, not to buy, but to stalk around in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. People could be so shallow. “You’ve never come inside the shop, though, have you?”

“No,” he admitted. “My bodyguard gets my chouquettes for me.”

“Wow, so you’re really that famous person.” She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I’d like to see you face crazed fans any time you set foot outside.”

“Not likely to happen.” She walked away. If she shared an interest in fashion with the other Marinette, she clearly didn’t have the same support, or even the same time to dedicate to what she could only describe as her hobby, rather than a more serious career aspiration. And if she didn’t get the practice now… well, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get around to it.

“It’s always you, serving clients at the bakery. Never your parents,” he called out after her.

She turned back towards him, guarded. If he’d noticed that much from just waiting around in a car, who knew what else he’d noticed. “They’re very busy people.”

“And you’re still in school. And a Miraculous holder, even if I guess they don’t know about that. That’s one thing my dad is incredibly annoying about: making sure I don’t overdo it in modelling hours because “I need to lead a normal life”.” Griffe Noire air quoted.

“It’s nice that he cares, though,” Toxinelle let out with a sigh. 

“It’s exhausting, he’s positive all the time .” Griffe Noire threw his hands up. “It’s unnatural, if you ask me.” 

“Oh boo-hoo. He should meet my mother, nothing’s ever good enough for her,” she muttered, immediately regretting her words and the can of worms it might open.

There was a beat of silence, which felt unbearable to her, before Griffe Noire cautiously asked: “Want to talk about it?”

She considered her answer carefully. On the one hand, something told her that talking about what she was going through, the constant pressure of life at home, in some ways feeling more isolated in what should be the comfort of home, never being able to rely on anyone, might help her. Talking to the other Marinette had made some things click inside of her, after all. On the other hand, as much as she wanted to trust that Griffe Noire wasn’t going anywhere, she was afraid to crack the door open if it would just come back slamming I’m her face.

“Not now, if that’s okay,” she finally said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready.” Griffe Noire nodded. “You know where to find me. If you still want to talk, that is, if you want to be my…” he trailed off, as if looking for the right word.

“Friend?” she suggested, holding out her hand.

“Friend,” he repeated, shaking it, as if tasting the word. His face lit up with a bright smile.

His baton beeped just then, and he looked at her sheepishly. “I think that’s my cue to leave. I’m going to be late for dinner with my father— another thing he’s very peculiar about. But we’ll have to meet again, we didn’t get to discuss our whole situation with the Supreme, Hesperia and everything.” 

“It’s alright, we can set out another moment when I bring you your chouquettes tomorrow.” She smiled.

“Are you really going to turn me into the type of famous person who gets them delivered directly to the window of their car? I would’ve thought you’d despise that.” He winked.

“It’s fine if I’m the one who suggests it.” She laughed. 

“Aright, then, looking forward to it.” He bowed. “See you tomorrow, Bug.”

Toxinelle had to admit that she could hardly wait.

[ninthfeather]

Fandom: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Harvey Dent, The Tailor (DCU) Additional Tags: fake newspaper article, Fashion & Couture, Zine: Gotham The Centennial Issue, Italian Mafia, POV Outsider, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Present Tense Summary:

An enterprising reporter attempts to ask Two-Face about his wardrobe, and gets significantly more than she bargained for.

Written for Gotham: The Centennial Issue: A Gotham Fashion Zine. 

[wolfsbanesparks]

Hey y'all! This fic was written for @lurkerviolin for Fandom Trumps Hate 2023! Thank you so much for this prompt! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: With mounting rumors circulating in the media about his family, Bruce Wayne makes the reluctant decision to do a tell all interview with the whole family to put the rumors to rest and hopefully give them all a little peace of mind.

And Clark Kent is the perfect reporter for the job.

[seas-of-silver]

"Okay, have a look around."

Thanks, anon! And because your quote didn't have any characters attached to it, I really got to play with this idea, which was a lot of fun! Thanks for sending it in! I hope you like it!

~/~

'Okay, have a look around.'

Harry opened the doors to the Great Hall for the students in front of him, and watched as their eyes widened in awe. Walls and floor of stone were hidden by green rolling hills, a small forest, waterfalls and ragged cliffs.

'Today's combined class is all about focusing on your environment,' Harry announced, leading the gaggle of stunned students into the room, the occasional student having to be herded back to the group by one of the other professors to stop them from wandering off too early. 'Us professors decided that while the classroom environment is all well and good, sometimes seeing and experiencing things in a more practical way helps us remember lessons better.'

He paused, letting the students take in everything, before regaining their attention.

'Now,' he continued, 'there will be multiple components to today's lesson, and each of your professors will explain what you all need to look out for each subject: I, of course, will discuss Defence Against the Dark Arts; Professor Granger-'

He was cut off by a sudden burst of excited giggles from the students as they looked between him and Hermione conspiratorially. The Hogwarts rumour mill was alive and well with whispers of a secret romance between him and his fellow teacher, his best friend, Hermione Jean Granger. For once, the rumours were right, but neither of them were going to confirm anything, taking amusement in the students' lack of subtlety as they tried to get them to confirm the rumours; some of them were very creative in their methods...and Hermione wasn't one to stifle creativity.

'Professor Granger,' he repeated, 'will cover Transfiguration; Professor Longbottom will talk about Herbology; and Professor Flitwick will explain Charms. And, to help us out later in the class, we have a special guest instructor.'

The children all gasped and started murmuring amongst themselves, and he let them speculate for a moment before gaining their attention once again.

'We are very lucky to have with us today... Auror Ronald Weasley,' said Harry, who fought the impulse to turn to where Ron was hiding under his invisibility charm in favour of watching the students' reaction as he revealed himself; they did not disappoint. Gasps, squeals and awe-struck exclamations filled the air, and Harry could practically feel Ron preen under the attention. Harry had never been one for the fame and the spotlight, but that didn't mean he wouldn't prevent Ron from having his moment to shine.

'Yes, it's very exciting to have Auror Weasley present,' Harry conceded with a chuckle, but we still have a class to learn from, so pay attention and grab out your notebooks.'

As the students all scrambled for their notebooks, Harry greeted Ron with a grin and stole a glance at the ring on Ron's finger. The war had a profound impact on everyone, including friend and classmate, Lavender Brown. Being on the verge of death awakened a more mature side of her, and her terrifying interaction with Fenrir Greyback drove her to go on a deep dive investigation into werewolves after her extensive recovery at St. Mungo's. Her investigation led her to requesting information from the Auror department, where she reunited with Ron. They worked together for months, and their relationship rekindled and bloomed over time, leading to their marriage last month. Harry had never seen Ron happier than he was that day.

'Starting with Defence,' Harry began, once all the students were ready, 'I want you guys to observe the terrain and think about: how it can be used to your advantage in a fight; what are the pros and cons to each environment; what creatures might inhabit these environments; what spells would work best for you in each environment; and what non-magical skills or actions could be beneficial in each environment.'

Harry waited patiently for them all to write down his instructions before he passed it over to Hermione. He couldn't help but watch how she lit up as she gave her brief to the students. Over the years he had known her, he had come to love how she would become delightfully animated when she learned something new, how she puffed up with giddy pride when she got the chance to share the knowledge she possessed to others, how her eyes would sparkle when someone asked her a tough question, and how moved she would get when a student grew under her tutelage. She had really grown into a most wonderful woman, and Harry was helpless to do anything other than admire her.

'So, when are you going to pop the question?' Ron muttered from beside him. Harry elbowed him.

'Don't let the kids hear you,' he murmured in response, keeping a keen eye out for any distracted students that may have overheard that damning comment. 'If they hear it, I'll never hear the end of it - many of them would probably volunteer to help plan it out.'

'I don't see what the issue is,' Neville teased, eyes glinting with mischief behind an innocent facade. 'I thought you wanted your proposal to Hermione to be a big flashy event.'

'Betrayal,' Harry hissed, mock glaring at his friend, causing Ron and Neville to snicker at his reaction.

'Leave Harry be,' Filius lightly admonished, before smirking. 'Oh Harry, I thought I'd let you know that Irma has granted you and Hermione access to the library after hours on Saturday, but asks you kindly keep any candles and rose petals away from the books.'

Harry grimaced at the way Ron and Neville got boisterous, cheering and slapping his back good-naturedly, but had to stifle his grin when his friends froze at the impeccable glare Hermione sent them for disrupting her, just like the old days. He could still sense her curiosity about what caused the reaction, but her curiosity would have to wait for three days more, and once she knew, he hoped she’d answer with “yes”.

~/~

Ask game: Give me the first sentence and I'll write a short piece for it!

[enbyleighlines]

flower

Ena

:3

Ena, like most Goldoans, didn’t care much for flowers. She didn’t hate them or anything, but their existence was as unremarkable as the innumerable other plants of the world. Castle Goldoa had been built high in the mountains, where the air was thinner, and vegetation was sparse. The few flowers that grew there were small and pale, hidden within the cracks of the mountainside, easily overlooked.

When Prince Rajaion suggested they install a garden within one of the royal courtyards, Ena assumed — like many others — that it was one of his jokes. Rajaion’s sense of humor had always been odd, but harmless. Charming, even.

But Rajaion had been serious.

King Dheginsea was flummoxed, as were they all. Flowers were such delicate, finicky things, in full bloom one day and then gone the next. No one thought them worth the effort.

Ena was inclined to agree.

But then came the day she found Rajaion in the courtyard, with fragrant soil caked up to his wrists, a serene smile on his face as he dug holes with his bare hands. Surely such a task was beneath the crown prince. There was even a smear of dirt across his cheek. Yet Ena could not help but think he had never looked so handsome.

That was the day that Ena fell in love with flowers.

[thatgirlwithasquid]

I can't stop thinking about black cat heather and witch chrissy 🥹

oooh!! yes! a fantastic concept 💕💕

A patch of sunlight had poured through the cloudy glass of Chrissy’s apothecary. It caught on specks of dust in the air, making them shimmer like specks of silver and dance like the very magic she sought to tame as she worked here. The desk below the window was captured by the glow, shadowed wood framing the square of warmth where her beloved lay.

She was laying on her side, the black cat that had claimed one of her (thankfully) less cluttered work surfaces in the room. Face towards the light, back to Chrissy. Just basking in the moment and the sun. It lay across her form, draped like a blanket of contentment, casting her black fur into a glow of warm browns and breathtaking ambers.

It was moments like this that Chrissy was glad she was a late riser, and that Heather woke with the sun. The bed may be lonely when she woke, alone atop her downy pillows and beneath cotton sheets, but then she would be treated to moments like this. Moments where she could stop still and watch as her shapeshifter’s tail flicked idly back and forth.

Maybe it wasn’t the type of domestic her parents had imagined for her. Maybe her mother had pictured her marrying some local merchant (or, if she was very lucky, catch the eye of some Lord) and becoming his personal healer. But there was no questioning that this was better; this was the domesticity she wanted, finding the woman she loved enjoying the benefits of her own magic and utterly at peace in their cottage.

A glance at her other worktable—the new one she had commissioned from a town craftsman after Heather had first discovered this particular spot—revealed that her moonwater had been brought in, her vials washed and dried ready for her, and her basket and journal set aside for later foraging and note-taking. It widened the indulgent smile on her face.

Heather always took steps to help her, and make her pursual of her magical career that much easier. It was no wonder that she loved her so much.

Chrissy’s slippered feet were quiet on the cool stone floor as she crept over to her desk. The wood was worn smooth and soft under her fingertips when she reached it. Heather’s fur was softer, and sun-warmed too.

Her head turned and bright eyes opened to meet Chrissy’s own. If a cat could smile, Chrissy is sure that is what Heather would be doing.

“Good morning,” the shifter sighed.

“Morning,” Chrissy returned softly, petting a hand along her side.

Heather purred.

[boo-cool-robot]

Fic: Another Word for Righteousness

Pairings: Orth/Ibex, background Jace/Addax

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of violence, dehumanization of refugees, manipulation, and Orth’s miserable self-esteem, all canon-typical

Summary: 

He expects Rose to question him about Scrupulosity’s capabilities, to urge him to join the fleet again. But instead, Rose asks, “Did you pick the name Muntjac yourself?” 

No one has asked him a question about himself in ages. Orth is used to essentially being treated as an interface for Scrupulosity. 

Scrupulosity says, He’s put you off guard. 

“Ah, I kind of became a Candidate accidentally.” 

“Huh,” Rose says. He blinks.

An Orth/Ibex roleswap AU where Captain Attar Rose of the Kingdom Come courts Candidate Muntjac of Scrupulosity to join the allied fleet.

Read on AO3

Secret Samol 2022 for @waveridden! AU where Orth is the Candidate and is even more miserable and Ibex is the Oricon captain and is basically the same.

Thank you @wellnoe for betaing!

[skitter-kitter]

Ghetsis and the rest of Rainbow Rocket have teamed up in Pasio. In their first attack, they destroyed hundreds of buildings and took even more lives. Ever since that day, Ghetsis’ Kyurem has been transforming the man-made island into a tundra.

Now, years later, Lear stands as the final survivor.

As they take their final stand Hoopa finds itself with a choice. It could watch its best friend die, his friend could watch it die, or… it could send him away. It could transport him to a world where this never happened.

A world where Lear could be happy.

[im-not-a-virgo-im-a-lesbo]

There was nothing wrong with the hotel.

It was a fine hotel. Perfectly functional hotel, no monsters, or broken window locks, or creepy murder hallways.

It was just.

Well.

It was just that there was only one bed.

(Or: Jason and Percy find themselves in a predicament that involves, you guessed it, only one bed.)

A request given to me by the lovely @chaotic-and-mentally-ill