#back yard botany

[robotwrangler]

I got really inspired so I drew my favourite kind of weevil as a Hollow Knight character!

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— to tame a demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: none

summary: a new mid-semester arrival in the face of the gloomy addams girl meets the resident demonic student who's all witty remarks and tusked grins, and something inhumane draws her in

word count: 4.8k

"There are many flavors of outcasts here," Enid began, hands behind her back as she guided Wednesday through the yard, "but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales," she counted, pointing to the table where a group of neat-looking students sat, sipping at some bottled red liquid, "Those are the Fangs, a.k.a, vampires. Some of them have literally been here for decades."

The girl moved on, and Wednesday's unimpressed glare flicked to another group of students.

"That bunch of knuckleheads are Furs, a.k.a, werewolves. Like me!”

The fuzzy-haired teens sitting at the table howled at the mention, greeting their kin.

"Oh, you see that girl? That's (Y/n) (L/n). She's not a werewolf, but a close thing. An oni demon.”

The young woman was sitting at the table next to the Furs, hitting her werewolf friend in the shoulder to get him to stop with the loud noise. She didn't really stand out — the girl wore a set of the standard issued uniform, her jacket and a few top buttons of her shirt unbuttoned. But one thing about her appearance really did catch Wednesday's eye — her canines, both top and bottom, crooked at the ends and big enough to protrude from a small slit between her lips. Despite the effect they had on her mouth, the tusks didn't make her face look inhumane, and, as the demon looked up to wave at Enid, Wednesday noticed a pair of snake-like slits in her (e/c) scleras.

The ravenette caught herself thinking of how pretty those eyes were.

"A close thing?" She wondered out loud, making a show of gazing somewhere away from the face of the oni girl, as if she was asking the question out of sheer curiosity.

"Yeah, well, she doesn't exactly "wolf out", per se. Think of her as... a girl with unresolved anger issues who lets her inner demons out every Blood Moon. So like, basically all of us," the blonde said, giggling at her own joke, "Dunno if it affects her looks, though... No one has ever seen (Y/n) during one of her demon furies."

Wednesday looked back at the oni, catching sight of the girl talking with her friends, a small grin on her face as she listened to their energetic rambles with amusement.

What an interesting creature.

Wednesday wasn't extremely enthusiastic about botany lessons. Thanks to her mother, she was practically an expert in the field of carnivorous plants. But skipping just wasn't her style, and she walked into the classroom, hoping the disinterest she had in the subject was clear on her pale face.

As the girl looked around the class to find herself a seat, her eyes quickly traveled above the heads of her classmates. She noticed Enid next to Yoko, so sitting with a person she was at least a bit acquainted with was off limits. Wednesday felt far from sad about the fact - having to neighbor with the hyperactive blonde in the dorms was enough excitement in her life.

Her gaze then suddenly fell on the two half-empty desks in the second row. One of the vacant seats was right next to Xavier, and mulling her decision over she realised she would prefer to sit next to a wolfed-out Enid rather than the miserable artist. Quickly making up her mind, Wednesday walked up to the other desk, and felt Xavier's gaze on the back of her head as she sat down, taking her backpack off to place it at her feet. She still had a few minutes before the class started, she could indulge in some macabre reminiscings of hers before the actual torture began.

"Oh. Hey," the gloomy girl heard a voice call out on her right, and turned to look up at her neighbor. Her breath hitched as she realised it was the oni girl, her cheek leaning against her fist as she smiled at Wednesday lazily, her top lip rising to her gums slightly to bare the intimidating tusks. If she was trying to scare Wednesday away, it certainly didn't work, "You're Wednesday, right? Enid wasn't exactly secretive about her new sombre roommate. I was hoping I'd get a chance to meet you."

The girl offered a clawed hand as a greeting, "I'm (Y/n)."

Wednesday took a moment to look the demon over. Her (h/c) hair was put up in a messy ponytail, some of the locks falling in front of her pointed ears, framing her face, and her (e/c) cat-like eyes were staring down at Wednesday with a playful glint. She was wearing the same uniform as the rest of the class, and the undone buttons exposed the top of the girl's collarbones.

What an annoying habit. Didn't she know what formal dress code was?

“Huh. The teeth don't seem to affect your speech, despite their uncomfortable positioning,” the ravenette noted, shaking the taller girl’s outstretched hand, finding it rather warm in contrast to her own dead-cold skin. If the demon found the temperature or the rather rude comment off-putting, she didn’t show it, “I hope I didn’t intrude.”

“No, no, you’re good,” (Y/n) reassured, leaning her elbow back against the seat, “And those? Yeah, I’m not an orc, you know. You should see how big they get when I... on second thought, you probably shouldn't." She stopped her rant bashfully, cheeks warming slightly at the realization of a rather sensitive topic not being suitable when meeting someone new.

"Not a pretty sight?"

"Outrageous."

"Hm.” Wednesday looked away from the other girl’s face, staring at the board in front of the class.

“I think I'd love to see."

That made (Y/n) chuckle, “You do seem like the type to enjoy outrageous and hideous things.”

Their conversation came to an end when Ms. Thornhill entered the classroom, holding a big pot in her gloved hands, and both girls turned their attention to the teacher.

(Y/n) had to admit that hers had seemed to switch to her new intriguing neighbor a few times. She watched Wednesday from the corner of her eye, taking in the girl’s frigid expression as she listened to the lecture without any interest, and found it hard to refocus on the lesson again.

It was the early hours of morning as Wednesday walked to the dining hall, completely devoid of any appetite but having nothing to do in this ungodly time. Most of the students were still asleep, and the halls were empty, letting the gloomy girl enjoy her solitude, her platformed shoes the only sound accompanying her.

Seemingly enjoying the peacefulness too much, she didn’t notice another person coming down from the other side of the stairs, and bumped into them, the collision powerful enough to tear her out of her thoughts.

Ready to put the culprit into the hospital for the rest of the school year, Wednesday looked up, and her emotionless gaze met the (e/c) - colored one.

“Good morning, Wednesday. Up to tackle people to their deaths so early?” (Y/n) chuckled, straightening her jacket before looking the smaller girl up and down, “You alright?”

“Peachy.” Wednesday deadpanned and turned around without another word, continuing on her path to the cafeteria. Much to her disappointment, she heard the other girl follow her, catching up to her smaller strides with ease.

“Were you walking to breakfast too? What a coincidence. A perfect morning for an early snack, I’ve been feeling hungry myself.”

Wednesday didn’t answer, and it was silent again, for which the ravenette was thankful. She could even say she enjoyed walking in the presence of the demon, as long as the latter kept her snarky toothy mouth shut.

"So, do you prefer your human flesh rare or straight from the limb?" The smaller girl asked suddenly without looking at her companion.

"Why, you got some to share?" (Y/n) chuckled, "Nah. I'm more of an animal meat kinda girl. Some of my ancient ancestors did have their man-eating tendencies, but they didn't exactly wear uniforms or went to school either."

"Sounds about right. Otherwise Nevermore would be an all-you-can-eat restaurant for you. Maybe even the whole Jericho town."

The oni laughed at the statement, a loud rough guffaw that almost made Wednesday’s ears bleed. Except it didn’t.

Wednesday found herself standing in the center of the dorm of her demon friend, hands dutifully by her sides as she looked around, catching the smallest details of (Y/n)’s lair. Her bed was made neatly, and some of her notebooks and papers seemed to had been hastily put in a messy pile on her desk, an obvious last-minute measure to make her working space look presentable.

Before she left to get the textbooks she had forgotten at Yoko’s the last time she had a sleepover with the vampire, the girl pulled up a stool to the desk, inviting the other girl to sit down and make herself comfortable, then, before Wednesday could utter a single world, sputtered some nonsense about her awful hospitality and gestured at her own, admittedly much bigger and softer chair, kicked the stool away, and left the room as fast as she could, promising to be back in a flash.

The girls had agreed on studying for the upcoming exam period, and, considering Wednesday was in no need of preparation, let alone tutoring, she made it the most heartfelt gesture to help the (h/c) – haired demon not fail any subjects. The ravenette told herself that she had no choice, that the oni wouldn’t stop whining and pestering her about how much work there was to be done and how little time she had left, but in reality (Y/n) had to only ask once.

Wednesday agreed, but not without grumbling about how annoying and tiresome the demon’s presence was.

Addams moved to take off her backpack and placed it on the desk, taking some books out of it before she took a seat in (Y/n)’s chair. She looked up at the opposite wall, examining the different posters and trinkets hanging on it. A small bonsai tree was sitting on the table that stood against the wall, obviously tended to caringly every single day, if the flourishing green leaves were anything to go by.

Noticing a much more imposing decoration, the girl stood up to get closer to a stand where two samurai swords were displayed in a matching daisho set, a katana and a smaller wakizashi sword. The sayas were of black waxed wood, golden kashiraes mounting both in peculiar bows. Wednesday moved to take a closer look, noticing a face of an oni demon neatly engraved into the scabbard of the katana.

"Something caught your eye?"

Wednesday turned around and away from the sword stand to look at the oni who had managed to sneak up on the other girl, but didn't scare her in the slightest.

"It's nice craftsmanship." Wednesday deadpanned, staring up at her.

(Y/n) looked somewhat pleased with the comment.

"I'm glad you think so," her slitted gaze moved from Wednesday's face to the kake, and the (h/c) - haired girl sighed, her hands behind her back and her shoulders tense, "It's been a while since I've last touched the blade. Don't exactly have a reason to train right now. Peaceful times." She said, almost with a hint of sorrow.

"Why didn't you join the fencing club?"

"Because I deem my swordsmanship a resemblance of my bloodline's ancient traditions, not a sport or a hobby." She answered firmly, but her tone held no offence.

"Strange. I'd see it as an opportunity to be undefeatable at something."

And to outdo Bianca again, no less. What a pleasurable thought.

Wednesday watched the other girl chuckle sheepishly and move her hand up to scratch at the back of her head.

"Well... My thrusting speed has been slacking lately. I'm more into powerful crushing slashes, you know."

"Hm." Wednesday seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant, before she turned to the taller girl again, "You and I should fence sometime. To keep you in shape."

The demon looked taken aback, both at the proposal and the intensity of the ravenette's gaze that wasn't there before. Then she smiled, her eyes warm.

"That'd be an honor. And you know I how I feel about that thing."

Wednesday stared up at the top shelf, aggravated, as if the glare adorning her face would make the book budge and fall into her hands.

She was at the library, looking for the Nightshades book, or anything that would lead her a step closer to the mysterious society. She wished she had brought Thing along. Tall bookcases wouldn't be a problem for him.

Frowning deeper, the ravenette tried to raise her hand a bit higher and jumped, the tips of her fingers barely grazing the spine of the book she assumed was the one she was looking for. She huffed, crossing her hands on her chest and looking around the room for some stool or a ladder.

"Wednesday, good evening. Up to some late night reading?"

Wednesday looked up at the entrance of the library to see (Y/n) going down the stairs, a smirk on her toothy lips as she observed the scene in front of her.

"Yes, I am, actually."

"Which one do you need? I'll get it for you."

Wednesday pouted for a few seconds, then pointed at the top shelf where the dark - purple book was sitting, taunting her.

The demon raised her hand to reach for the book, "Honestly, how are you so tiny?"

"(Y/n), I'm at a perfect height for breaking your kneecaps. I won't hesitate."

"Mhm, I'm sure you won't," grabbing the book, the taller girl took it off the shelf, but didn't hurry to hand it over to Wednesday, "Now, what's the magic word?"

"I don't have time for -"

"Wrong, Addams. Try again." The oni grinned, clearly enjoying herself.

Wednesday glared at the girl, her gaze murderous, but after a few moments she complied.

"Would you give me the book, (Y/n). Please."

"There, was that so hard?" (Y/n) pressed the book into the ravenette's hands, and the shorter girl quickly looked over the cover, exasperated when she realised it wasn't the one she was looking for, "Are you up to a research or something? Do you need an extra pair of hands, maybe?"

"Why would you want to help me?"

"Isn’t that what friends are for? And maybe it's the lack of anything better to do."

"You're such a slacker. I have no idea how you're still in this school," She put the book on the first shelf she could reach for, then turned around and headed for the exit, "Let's go."

The (h/c) - haired demon shook her head with a small smile before moving to follow the busy girl.

"I want to punch Xavier in the face," (Y/n) grumbled, her hands folded on her chest, a brush covered in yellow paint sticking in between her clawed fingers as she stared daggers at the pair of young people a few feet away from her.

"Huh? Why?" Enid looked up from the boat she was painting on, crouched on the ground, confused at her friend's sudden violent statement.

"Because he's a creep and he has a stupid face with that pitiful look of his." The oni muttered, furrowing her brows as she watched the young man bother Wednesday, the ravenette's expression and body language doing little to tell whether she was irritated by his presence, which pissed (Y/n) off even more.

Enid followed her gaze and smirked when she realised what the source of the demon's sour mood was, "If you think he's giving her a hard time, why don't you come over and talk to him?"

"I'm pretty sure Wednesday isn't the type to be sly and subtle when someone's vexing her." The oni huffed in reply.

"Well, doesn't that mean that... On second thought, I shouldn't be the one to judge the situation," the werewolf quickly stopped herself, noticing (Y/n)'s scowl now directed at her, turning away to continue painting the boat nervously.

The (h/c) - haired girl sighed, "You're right, actually. Maybe that means she doesn't mind his company. Or maybe she doesn't want to kill a guy in broad daylight," the brush the demon was holding finally snapped under the pressure of her grip, and she gnashed her teeth, seething, "I could."

"That's the third brush today, (Y/n)," Yoko chided from Enid's side, clearly tired of the oni's behavior.

"Sorry," (Y/n) turned her gaze away from the scene she was watching, her eyes like that of a kicked puppy's as she sat on her knees next to the vampire, taking a new brush from her outstretched hand, "Thanks."

Yoko hummed and resumed painting, "You should really talk to her, you know. Before it's too late and she's snatched from under your nose."

"Yoko's right. You jealously watching her like a hawk won't do either of you good. It's kinda weird that Wednesday herself hasn't noticed the heart-eyes you constantly have whenever she's around."

The demon grunted, trying to busy herself with lining out a yellow cat eye on the side of the boat.

"Seriously, (Y/n). Tell her. What's the worst that could happen? You don't seem like the type to be afraid of rejection," Enid grinned at her friend, winking, "Personally, I'm rooting for you. I’m sure you can make my roomie happy, well, to an extent, you know.”

Except the demon was afraid of rejection her whole life. And considering Wednesday wasn't the type to give any signals, (Y/n) wasn't sure where she and the gloomy girl stood.

She tolerated her presence, at least. That was a start. But she seemed to tolerate Xavier’s, too. God, what an enigma Wednesday Addams was.

The Rave'N Dance was at its peak. The music was loud, and most of the students had long since hit the dance floor, enjoying their time in groups and pairs.

Wednesday herself was feeling rather out of breath, the collar of her black vintage dress clinging to her neck uncomfortably as she stepped into a closed-off room to escape the noise of the party for a bit.

She was alone as she sat down on one of the couches, a sigh of relief escaping her mouth as she felt the pressure leave her sore feet.

Well, despite the abruptness of it all, Wednesday would lie if she said she wasn't having at least a bit of fun.

“Hey.”

Wednesday looked up to see (Y/n) come into the room, moving the blinds out of her way carefully. She smiled at the smaller girl, and the ravenette realised she was seeing the oni for the first time that evening.

The demon was wearing a black and white haori over a crisp white high-collared blouse paired with black hakama pants, and the combination of formal wear in different styles made the girl look very dapper. She had winged eyeliner on her face, (f/c) eyeshadow framing her lids gorgeously, and her lipstick was smudged on her canines just a bit, no doubt from all the talking and drinking the oni had done throughout the evening.

(Y/n) walked over to take a sit next to the smaller girl, letting her back slump over the couch with a grunt.

“Out of your notorious inhumane stamina already?” Wednesday asked teasingly.

“Uh-huh. Thought the girls were gonna dance me to death. I needed a breather,” the oni opened her eyes and straightened in her seat, looking around the small closed-off space, “Where’s your date?”

“You could say I needed a breather too. These shoes are killing me, and not in an enjoyable way.”

The demon hummed, her eyes moving from Wednesday’s legs up her face. Their gazes met, and (Y/n)’s didn’t falter.

“You look deadly beautiful yourself, Wednesday. Very much so.” She muttered quietly with gentle admiration, and Wednesday felt her stomach flip.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from you this whole evening, was what the demon wanted to say. I wish I was the one to share the dance with you, wish I could tell you how much I adore you, and how badly I want to hold you close, to feel your touch. Me, not anyone else.

The girl averted her gaze again, moving to stand up, "Gotta go before they think I've ditched them. No patience with the vampires. Ironic, huh?" She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes, and went to the exit, looking back at Wednesday one last time.

"Have a good night, Addams."

"Is there something on your mind? You've been very quiet for the past hour, I've gotten a lot done. It's getting unnerving."

(Y/n) smiled slightly, huffing out a laugh through her nose, her elbows resting on the stone railing of the balcony as she turned her head to look at the ravenette, "Nothing much. Just... things, I guess."

"Are they bothering you?"

Never. When I'm thinking of you, it's never a bother.

"I think I'm in love with you, Wednesday."

For the first time ever, (Y/n) saw the gloomy girl get caught off guard. Her eyes were wide open, but she didn't say anything. Her gaze traveled up to the face of the demon girl, and she stared at her, unblinking, like a hunting cat expecting a sudden attack.

"You'll get over it."

"You think so?" (Y/n) chuckled, looking out at the dark scenery in front of her, "I never thought I'd get to say that you might be wrong."

It was silent between them again. Wednesday seemed to be lost in thought as she observed the side profile of the taller girl, noting all her features lit by the dim moonlight.

"When have you started to feel this way?" She asked at last, as if a doctor examining her sick patient.

"A while ago, I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was afraid of... how you'd react. And I didn't want to overwhelm you. You seem to have a different type of obsession going on." (Y/n) looked at Wednesday, eyes gleaming with honesty.

"I hate you." Wednesday deadpanned, unconsciously moving closer to the taller girl.

"Really? Why?"

"I hate the way you make me feel. Your mere presence is what constantly overwhelms me."

Barely any inches were left between them as their gazes met, electicity going through the sudden connection.

"Do you want to stop feeling this way?" The oni whispered, barely audible through her heart thumping in her ears.

"No."

(Y/n) froze, and Wednesday leaned forward on her tip toes to meet her, pressing her plush lips against the demon's. The kiss was soft and warm, and (Y/n)’s stomach was instantly swarmed with butterflies, the heaviness leaving her shoulders. She felt the hand of the smaller girl move closer to hers, and Wednesday pressed a finger on top of her palm gently, before the cold touch engulfed the whole hand of the oni as their fingers entwined.

“It’s been an hour already, Wednesday.”

“I know.”

“It’s getting late. We should get to bed.”

“Do as you wish, (Y/n). I’m not finished yet. Good night.”

The demon groaned at the words, standing up from the bed to walk over to the smaller female where she was typing away, the clicking sounds almost enough to lull (Y/n) to sleep. But she couldn’t, not without the presence of the other girl.

Draping herself over Wednesday’s shoulders, she watched the typerwriter print the letters at a steady pace, Wednesday’s brows furrowed in focus.

“Come on,” the oni whined quietly, “This can wait until tomorrow. You have to rest.”

“(Y/n), I’ll suplex you out the window if you don’t stop bugging me.”

(Y/n) sighed, burying her face in the smaller girl’s shoulder, “You’re so mean. You know I can’t sleep without you.”

The typing paused, and Wendesday turned to face the demon who was still mumbling something into the fabric of her sweater, blunt tusks scratching at the clothed shoulder as her mouth moved. The shorter girl exhaled tiredly before turning back to the typewriter, finishing her last sentence and taking the paper out before putting it into a neat stack next to the device. Then she turned to (Y/n) again to press a light kiss on top of her head.

“Fine, you big baby. Let’s go to bed.”

Raising her head, the demon smiled, straightening her back and taking Wednesday by the hand, pulling her up and to the bed they shared now that (Y/n) was allowed to sleep next to Wednesday instead of the hardwood floor. It was a long process, but the ravenette was able to get used to the presence of the other girl, comfortable enough to push her boundaries to an extent.

“Want me to do your hair?”

Wednesday nodded, and (Y/n) sat down on the bed, taking a black brush from the nightstand before motioning for the smaller girl to sit between her legs. When they were situated comfortably, the demon started to unbraid Wednesday’s dark hair, careful not to tangle her claws in the tresses, before brushing it gently. Wednesday closed her eyes at the feeling of the oni’s hands in her hair, goosebumps raising up her neck as she leaned back into the bigger girl’s body.

This was nice. She could get used to this.

Skipping was never Wednesday's style. She was a responsible student, dutifully attending every single class and never missing on her extracurricular activities. Not like she'd ever want to, anyway. She liked spending time with the bees, even if the girl herself would never admit that.

So what was Wednesday doing, away from her class during school time, hidden inside a barely lit broom closet as she pressed her mouth against the resident demon's, kissing her feverishly and licking over her tusks?

Oh, if only her parents could see her right now. They'd probably be ecstatic.

"Fuck, Wednesday," (Y/n) sighed against the smaller girl's mouth, hands on her waist as she pressed the ravenette closer to herself, wanting to leave no space in between them.

"Make no sound," Wednesday scolded the (h/c) - haired girl, biting at her lower lip and sliding down to place a chaste kiss along her jawline, "We don't want to get caught, now do we?"

The only response she got was a quiet whine, and she smiled against (Y/n)'s neck, pressing a few kisses there, right by the jugular, and feeling her pulse quicken under the cold touch, the demon's clawed fingers digging sharply into her hips.

The ravenette moved away, and the taller girl breathed in sharp sighs through her mouth, skin tingling and positively on fire.

Wednesday kissed her again, just for the lovesick look in her eyes.

"I'm afraid we have to go before someone notices our absence and thinks I've kidnapped you to torture for fun."

The oni girl huffed, running her hand through her (h/c) hair both to fix it and to relieve the tension that was clearly still there, her other hand resting on Wednesday's waist, rubbing her thumb against the cloth of her uniform affectionately.

"You're such a tease," she sighed, lowering her face a bit, slitted eyes glowing and hopeful, "One last time?"

Wednesday pressed her palm against (Y/n)'s cheek and got on her tip toes to gently kiss the other, lingering there before pulling away completely, leaving a small but noticeable mark of her dark lipstick color.

"There. Let's go."

The oni grinned, cheeks still red, and Wednesday couldn't fight the warm feeling bubbling in her stomach at the way the taller girl looked at her.

"Let's hope Ms. Thornhill doesn't get too mad," (Y/n) chuckled, moving to open the door of the closet, letting some bright light in through a small slit. Then she closed it with a sharp twist of her arm, eyes wide and panicked.

"Wednesday, we've skipped the whole period here."

"And?" The ravenette deadpanned.

"The class is over!"

"And?"

"What do you think! The halls are filled with people right now. There's no way in hell we're getting out of here unnoticed."

"Why would we need to do that?"

The demon girl tore her gaze away from the door, looking down at Wednesday as if she was mad, making the ravenette roll her eyes.

"You're stupid. Come on."

Grabbing (Y/n)'s hand, she opened the door and led the girl forward, tugging when she felt resistance and heard the oni groan.

"I can't believe you sometimes," (Y/n) muttered, embarrassed.

"For someone who seems to always act so cocky and aloof, you care too much about what others think. Besides," she turned around to glance at the frustrated girl, a small smirk on her lips, "the color looks good on you."

(Y/n) didn't answer, too busy avoiding the amused stares of her fellow students passing by.

Oh, they were certainly not going to let her live.

[missdaytonawrites]

light shower • a. anderson

summary - a pleasent lil' domestic evening with abs. :)

WC - 853

cw/tw - none! just a fluffly take on evenings with abby, still 100% MDNI. afab!reader, domestic!abby, kissing, teeth-rottingly sweet fluff, gendered pet names (pretty girl, my girl etc.) just a whole lotta love here.

A/N - ..heeeey people... heres another fic for my abs!!! i promise theres a POTO fic comin.. bear with me lol. i love everyone elses love for "kintsugi" so i wanted to get somethin' out that gives ya' a taste of abby on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. just a little refresher after this weeks previous smut. hope yall eat this up!

"i was surprised to see heaven in your eyes."

an extremely loud “crash” noise comes from the slammed-shut screen door, it follows the squeal leaving your lips and the thumping of your footsteps against soft soil. as you full-sprint into this spring's greenery, your senses are flooded with the pine-y scent of the season.

not much time passes before you hear the screen door creak and then loudly slam again. but this time, its abby, ever-burly and beautiful as she barrels down the back porch and into her yard to get you. “can’t hide from me, pretty lady!” you hear her shout from behind the bush you're using as camouflage, “gonna find you and get you!” she triumphs.

you were current reigning hide n’ seek champion, having won three games more than abby just today! always finding new or adventurous spots that would have her searching for hooours. you were typically the one who insinuated these seemingly childish games, practically begging for abby's attention as you whined and tugged at the neck of her shirt.

abby, on the other hand, secretly loved this. the domesticity of it all? her absolute favorite, she loved coming home from work and playing a couple rounds of tag or hide n’ seek with you. pretending she was a kid again with her person was the best part of her day. she never really could let the stress of work bother her when she knew what was waiting at home.

exactly where she was right now, looking high and low through the botany to find you. hoping that this time, you’re in a spot she can actually get to you in. you were infamous for climbing up into trees or into hidden cabinets when you really wanted to win. at this point, abbys ready to give up! feeling as though shes looked in every bush and behind every tree, just as she hears a faint rustling and… umph-

in the blink of an eye, she’s got you in her arms bridal style and has damn-near tackled you to the ground. boy, was it a sight to see. the two of you stumbling about, like a pair of idiots, trying to come back from the giggling fits you’ve both fallen into. once abby has safely caught her balance and has you secured in her embrace, she erupts with giggles again as she lets you both clumsily fall to the ground. “can’t believe ya’ got me!” pouting as she pulls you close to her, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “dunno what you want me to say,” she shrugs against the grass, “i got a knack for findin’ pretty girls hiding in my backyard.”

you scooch even further into her. “yeah, yeah. you do this time.” abby brushes you off her shoulder and leans over your lying form, plucking a longer piece of grass from the earth. rolling back over, she props herself up on her elbows and begins to trace your features with her freshly picked possession. the blade of grass traces up the bridge of your nose and over one of your eyebrows. it goes down and over your cheekbones, then brushes your lips. the faint texture of the plant sending you into an all-encompassing nirvana.

now she twirls the grass, just barely, against your cheek. letting it drop while she closes the distance between you two, her lips grazing yours for a fraction of a second then passionately pressing into yours. abby couldn’t ever get enough of your kisses. she would kiss ya’ till she ran out of breath if she could! your lips were so plush and typically moisturized, you always smelt like fresh fruit. getting absolutely lost in the intimacy, she begins to alternate between kissing and nibbling on your lips. practically sucking a hickey onto your lower face, she takes a deep inhale of your scent and then pulls away. slowly detaching her lips from yours with a dreamy sigh.

“such a pretty lady i got beneath me..” she sits up and your head sorta naturally falls on her lap. “love comin’ home to my pretty girl.” these parts of your evening, where time feels sticky-slow and the hot air starts to cool, make your heart swell. life with your abby was everything and more, something you’d wish for twenty times over in another life. so there you and abby sat, wrapped up in one another while you softly hum into her leg. she whispers sweet nothings as her fingers rake through your hair, and it doesnt take long for you to start to doze off in her lap. she doesnt let you drift too far off into sleep though, scooping you up and courting you in the house.

she gets you into bed and mutters something about being right back before leaving to go turn out all the lights and lock the house up. once she returns, there you are. the sweetest thing to ever walk gods green earth sleeping peacefully amidst her sheets. clicking out the bedside lamp, she climbs in next to you and makes sure your tucked in. “g’night pretty girl.” and then, same as you, she's out.

i hope you liiiike! im such a sucker for sweet gf abby maybe you are too, i promise there are more fics to come!!

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 25

A Niche Narratives Fanfiction

last | first | next

25. Lackadaisy Austerity

Even in his youth, Mordecai was never an athlete, struggling to keep pace with peers and often the last to finish even after those with weak chests. As with most innate insufficiencies, the nine year old tom had refused to accept he wasn't athletic and instead turned to his strengths, studying how to become a fit and healthy young man who could rival an Olympian on the track. The scrawny tom believed he could do it as well; books had yet to fail him, from botany to mathematics, so was certain all he needed was to buckle down and understand, to flourish here too.

Though he was aware of his intellectual differences well before fourth grade, the discrepancy between Mordecai’s attempt to overcome this challenge with applied research, compared to how his teacher and peers responded, would ultimately skew any future interactions with others for the worse. Attempts to discuss his physical limits or potential adaptations to optimise both his own and classmate’s development were met with irritation; his notes stuffed into a desk, he was escorted out by the ear and deposited back into the school yard roughly, a reminder to respect his tutors ringing in the sore appendage.

To wit, he was pushed harder in gym class, until an inescapable physical exhaustion claimed his body and he fell. This was received with amusement by his peers, especially when it was usually followed by a yardstick to the rear and accusations of laziness. For the rest of the year he was at the epicenter of his tutor’s storm, miserably exhausted and never able to improve his physical state. Yet adult Mordecai would look back on those months as an important learning experience, one he subscribed to even neck deep in the Savage Family Corporation.

If he wanted something done right, he should remove the middleman and simply do it himself.

While he hadn't been particularly successful with an extracurricular exercise routine - life seemed to develop an uncanny ability for throwing proverbial spanners in those particular cogs - a discernment of keen proprioceptive capabilities in adolescence allowed Mordecai to ‘hack’ his biological malleability. 

According to the physiology books, proprioception is an awareness of where one’s appendages remain in space without thinking. Realising he’s acutely aware of this sense, preteen Mordecai would consciously engage his entire body’s muscle framework while he undertook mundane tasks like paperwork to enforce an almost ambient regime into his schedule. 

The initial results were as expected; a deep seated exhaustion and a dread of repeating it all tomorrow, which he almost surrendered to on a monthly basis. Every night, he’d collapse into bed, his entire body aching but thankfully too exhausted to be kept awake by pain. He'd sleep fitfully and awaken with residual soreness in his core, both a physical and mental battle of wills to overcome and rise before the day even began, but he persevered regardless.

Until one day he realised the pain was simply gone his mind and body finally in sync as both analysis and reaction became a seamless response to any stimuli. While Mordecai never became the Olympic contender he'd envisaged as a kitten, he gained something more useful; a finely tuned core strength that enabled swift, precise movements within a tiny window of inaccuracy, a margin of error easily rectified with basic calculations.

It still bothers the tuxedo that he can't pinpoint a day his muscles adapted. Applying tension upon waking eventually became automatic, as much a part of the mask he wore to sequester his emotions. This skill is what made him an exacting amateur surgeon for interrogations, a formidable foe with a firearm and a swift, decisive hand in high tension altercations. 

It likely saved his life the night Fiores attempted to murder him also, though as he sprints through the back alleys of Queens in driving rain, path heralded only by the cloud-crested moon, the unanticipated limitations of his biological hacking quickly become apparent. Already fatigued from constant flexion, his core muscles reject the sudden exertion and begin to ache as they drown in an excess of lactic acid, low base energy stores swiftly exhausted.

His legs feel immensely heavy, his chest tightened by an underdeveloped lung capacity, but as a shot whistles past his ear the tuxedo forces himself on through sheer willpower, towards the station he can see a few blocks away. A small part of Mordecai's mind agonises over his missing satchel, but there is no time to return for it; he has no money or papers, just a pen, a pocket watch, and a useless safe code wrapped around a dime in his pocket.

An awkward step on the cobbles and he stumbles. Mordecai gasps and barely prevents a fall onto the glistening streets by grabbing at the nearest wall in desperation, claws digging into the mortar with an unsettling scratch across brick. He pauses only long enough for the moon’s shine to glint off of the barrel of a pistol and pursuer’s eyes before pushing off the wall, ignoring the growing stitch in his side and the burning in his lungs, hellbent on survival.

The station is barely fifty feet away when a thought hits him. I can't purchase a ticket. A revelation that is swiftly accompanied by a trajectory shift towards the unfenced tracks extending from the southern side of the illuminated building. It troubles Mordecai to know riding the train without procuring a ticket is theft - something he refused to indulge even in the depths of poverty - however, he decides imminent mortality is an effective extenuating circumstance to allow it this once as by divine doctoring, a train pulls out of the station when he's a mere twenty feet away. 

With a grunt and a final surge of energy, Mordecai sprints the distance with a burst of speed before he leaps forward, jumping for the nearest carriage as the rear stairs draw level.

Time seems to stop when airborne. Breath caught in his throat and heavy body suddenly weightless, his heartbeat becomes a rapid, dicotical metronome in his ears and throat as hot smoke envelops his body. Suddenly blinded, the tuxedo is forced to have faith in his calculations and physical reflexivity, reaching through the choking gray smog with little more than a muttered prayer to a god abandoned years prior.

When his hand closes on a cold metal railing, time resumes with a sudden explosion of sensation; rain raps heavily on his bare head and chugging engines are thunderous in his ears as he clings to the railing for dear life, soaked loafers slipping on metal steps before finding purchase. Exhausted but relieved, he clutches onto the guide rail and sucks deep breaths into aching lungs, unstable legs threatening to give as he casts his gaze out in search of his pursuers.

Between the darkness, smoke and driving rainfall, viability is poor. Mordecai squints towards the alley he'd fled from as the train begins to pick up speed, pulse still hammering and breaths drawing deep. He can see nothing; lanterns eaten by darkness, smog too thick to dispel. Assuming they can’t see either, the tuxedo finally sags against the guide rail, acutely aware of the patter of rain on his head and the deep thrumming of engines rattling through his teeth.

As the adrenaline surge begins to wane, his body comes alive with aches and pains. Both his throat and lungs burning with exertion, his thighs aching almost as much as his blazing calves, a stitch in his right side flaring with each heavy breath. Whipping winds and unsteady legs mean he dare not release the guide rail lest he simply fall into the tracks, so he remains steadfast as they gain momentum, taking a moment to recover from-

A bullet pings off the train car barely a half inch over his head. Hair waving wildly in crosswinds between carriages and eyes startled wide, Mordecai ducks behind the guide rail with a gasp just before another shot dings off the metal right where his head had been moments before. The tuxedo peers around the edge of the carriage behind his own and squints in the smog, until he sees two dark figures hanging off a guide rail two train cars down, attempting to fire as the rails jostle their aim.

His second adrenaline rush is more like a trickle, a heavy delay between noticing the danger and acting on survival impulses. He jerks back being the train car between them as a third shot pings off the metal guide rail and with the last of his remaining strength, Mordecai wrenches open the rear door and throws himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

The air within the train car is still, the trundling of the train and heavy rainfall muted by thick window panes and thick metallic architecture. A couple of yellowed or green pairs of eyes turn to observe their belated fellow passenger before they return to their books, newspapers or work. None take interest, nor inquire of his arrival mid transit, merely sneaking a covert glance as he stumbles down the middle aisle to an empty pair of seats at the front of the carriage and collapses against the window.

Finally safe, if only for a short period of time with his pursuers just two carriages down, Mordecai allows olive eyes to flutter closed as he can truly catch his breath. He barely feels the usually uncomfortable sensation of soaking clothes on coarse fur or the way his hair sticks to his face, his mind distracted processing the events of the night with the clarity of a man aware of his imminent demise. There's no time to dwell on misfortunes when it's at a premium.

He shuffles through data, from limited inventory to loose ends, until finally, the tuxedo has a course of action to follow. Sitting straighter in his seat, he first pulls a pencil from an inside pocket and digs it into the inner lining of a coat pocket, destroying stitches he'd added the week prior to extract the dime, and paper wrapped around it containing the safe code in his apartment bedroom.

Using a tissue from another pocket, he soaks up the worst of the water from his right knee and folds his right leg over the left. It's only as he begins writing he truly notices his left glasses lense is cracked, but it does not stop him from transcribing his last words.

Mother,

Forgive my unannounced departure. Circumstances relating to my employment have required me to travel on short notice. It may be some time before I am able to correspond again, but you will find savings in my rented room above the dry grocery adequate for living. Give Mrs. Kovitz the name Ezra and she will allow you upstairs. There is a safe hidden in the southeast corner behind the baseboard.

He makes sure to outline the safe code where it had faded slightly from formerly hurried penmanship. He may have sat there for hours procrastinating the end of the hastily scrawled letter were it not for a sudden  and short lived increase in engine noise and driving rain. The rear carriage door opening and closing, a shuffle of fabric as someone silently takes a seat, an additional passenger changing carriages amidst the rainstorm worrying for the pursued tuxedo. Incensed to finish his letter, Mordecai carries on.

Please use some portion of it to relocate to more suitable living space, expeditiously. Purchase somewhere if you are able. The building is poorly ventilated, molded and unhealthful.

-M

Before he can sign his name, a thick drip of red falls to the crumpled page. The tuxedo pauses to stare at it, distracted brain struggling to comprehend what it is and where it might have come from, before a thick warmth oozing down his lip preludes an accompanying second drip of blood joining the first. Mordecai rubs at his snout with the back of a hand and pulling back, is greeted by a smear of red on dark fur. His own body betrays him, coating his only note paper in blood of all things, which he cannot send his mother lest she worry or ask questions of unsavoury people in the city.

“Damnit, damnit.” He rubs his nose roughly on his sleeve, inadvertently smearing the blood across his muzzle, before ripping the bottom of the letter away to remove both his blood and the laments regarding Mother’s current housing. Casting a glance over his shoulder as he crumples the soiled paper in hand, he spots Brady’s sour face immediately beside a man Mordecai recognises as Gabriel’s chauffeur. 

They don't meet his gaze, but Brady smirks for the briefest of moments, hand thumbing something in his pocket. Dark ears folding flat as time speeds past, the non-stop train journey to Missouri rapidly closing in on its, and his, inevitable end.

Fatigued adrenals activate a final time when he turns forward to find an unfamiliar man in a flat cap also observing him over the back of a seat. This man watches him openly, a lit cigarette dangling from thin lips and a brow quirked in a question the young tom cannot decipher. Noticing the three men briefly sucks the air out of the carriage, a suffocating sensation making it nigh impossible to draw breath.

Fear isn't an emotion Mordecai entertained often in recent years. He'd become as adept at masking that weakness of character as any other, sequestering it beneath a stony façade and severe tone most were themselves too intimidated by to query. In the face of death however, a young tuxedo cannot prevent bile churning in his stomach any more than the rapid jittering of his leg, an outlet for the intense anxiety created by knowing his time is running short.

Mordecai inhales and the spell is broken; the man in front turns away and lights a cigarette, the train still trundles along its track, rain beating mutedly against thick panes of glass. With a ragged exhale, he digs in an inside coat pocket for the blank envelope that so recently held a thick wad of cash and presses the folded letter to his mother inside. The sealing glue is bitter on a dry tongue, taste lingering as he scrawls her name and address on the front.

This very envelope previously had once contained a payout, monies accrued through sanctioned abuse, suffering bloodshed at his own hand. 

As a kitten, Mordecai was enraptured by fairytales not for their whimsy and wonder, but the dichotomy of good and evil so frequently portrayed. Black and white, heroes and villains, light and darkness. The concept had made perfect sense; that badness was as inherent to a soul as was blood to a paper cut, to know even as a child whether you were good or evil. It was a comfort in an otherwise difficult childhood to know he was good and that would never change. 

Joining the Savage Corporation had congealed bad and good into various shades of malignant gray. In order to benefit his family he was forced to entertain fixed odds, inflated prices, lying and stealing his way to middle management in an organisation with its very foundations rooted in moral debauchery. The kitten so sure of his integrity had become tainted by shadows and soon, was no better than those who now sought his death.  

All before one final, poorly conceived embezzlement endeavour had left Mordecai staring down the barrel of his own pistol. He grimaces, pencil stilled on the last digit of his family address, his grip on the shaft so tight his hand shakes. It's almost poetic that the former vessel of such funds should deliver his final words home but the prospect that money tainted by moral ambiguity required his untimely demise before Mother could discover and utilise the funds?

In hindsight, that is nothing short of zemblanity, but now is not the time for lamentation. The tuxedo tom tucks his pencil away safely and leaning forward, he speaks softly to the man sitting in the row in front of his own. “Excuse me,” Mordecai begins, then clears his throat softly to attract more attention. Though his eyes never leave his paper, the man’s head turns toward him, which is enough for the desperate tom. “You wouldn't happen to have a postage stamp, would you?”

“Sorry kid, I don't.” The man goes back to his paper without pause, leaving Mordecai to mumble half hearted thanks and lean back in his seat, ears flat to his skull and tail tucked beneath his legs. While the response is polite, it's useless; even if he manages to alight in St Louis and find a post office, he can't afford to buy a stamp with just a dime to his name. 

Resisting the urge to surrender to anxiety he casts his gaze around and spies a finely dressed woman reading, one seat back and across the middle aisle. Suppressing the growing anxiety in his chest as the train speeds towards its destination, Mordecai turns in his seat to try a more direct approach. “Pardon me, uh… perhaps I could impose on you to post a letter? I wouldn't ask a stranger, except that it’s-”

The carriage plunges into darkness as it enters a tunnel, a cavern of semicircular bricks and mortar that couples as an echo chamber, exponentially and rapidly increasing the thrumming of metal wheels on tracks. A clamber of engines and a heavy trundle of bolts and divots of very carriage pulled forthwith all join the cacophony of screeching couplings, rattling window panes and screeching horns that only grows by the second, a locomotive thundering through a wonder of modern architecture with all the disruption that seemingly accompanies industry.

With the accumulation of these sounds, the carriage interior almost becomes intolerable. Yet Mordecai does not notice intense auditory stimuli that would normally cause him great discomfort. Instead, the sight of a man standing in the aisle, a glimmer of something in his hand catching tunnel lighting as it flashes past, has his blood run cold. White fingers tighten on the pivotal envelope still in his grasp as desperation devolves into desolation, for as Close as he came to achieving his objective, this is where it must end.

The figure takes a step closer, the cover of darkness and intermittent flashing of passing lanterns keeping his identity shrouded in mystery. The glinting in the figure’s hand comes closer and the tuxedo flinches, eyes squeezing shut and head turning away. Final breath caught in his throat, he awaits an inevitable oblivion as overt peril draws his overwhelmed mind inwards, to a nauseatingly empty vacuum sans the rapid biological metronome drumming in his ears.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Chest burning with depleting oxygen, his body tense for anticipated pain, it takes until early morning light falls on his face as the train exits the tunnel for the tuxedo to date squint as his executioner. Mordecai is not met by the barrel of a gun however but rather, a visage he will remember for decades to come as a moment his life changed forever; a gray tabby with pure white across his muzzle, a glinting cane under one arm and a newspaper under the other, the pale tips of his fur illuminated like a beacon of hope by the sun’s tender morning rays.

While not a particularly spiritual man, Mordecai is captivated by the imagery even as the tabby takes a seat directly opposite, placing his newspaper down out of sight before resting his cane against a hand. Impeccably dressed; a sharp three piece of better quality than anything Mordecai could dream, fitted leather gloves and manicured whiskers, he's flawless even as he stoops to spark up a cigarette, a habit the tom holds with a deep level of scorn as a wasteful vice.

As if feeling the young tom's gaze upon, the man tilts his head to regard Mordecai in return. Despite his obviously ruffled appearance, this businessman looks upon him without distaste or irritation, but a curious interest. Dark ears turn forward as yellow eyes meet olive across the gangway, a long moment of mutual, silent study before the gentleman turns his gaze to the rolling Missouri fields outside.

Time speeds past and soon, the train is pulling into its final stop in St Louis, Missouri. Palms slick with a nervous sweat, Mordecai watches as the gray tabby stands and disembarks without a second glance, leaving the newspaper on his seat. Mordecai’s only respite is seeing the unfamiliar man in a flat cap at the front of the carriage follow, after briefly meeting his anxious gaze. Not another assassin then, but a concerned third party, or perhaps a bored traveler concocting gossip for his next tiresome meeting.

The relief is short lived, for when the well dressed woman also stands to depart, it leaves him alone with Brady and his chauffeur. The tuxedo feels his nerves fray as they stand, wordlessly reaching into their jackets, cold eyes and wicked smiles telling of their intentions. Breath so heavy yet fruitless, the young tom feels he might faint. He clutches onto the seat in front of him and murmurs a quiet plea to the God he’d lost faith in years prior. 

One last chance, that's all I ask. One more-

It's surely coincidence alone that he notices the glint across the aisle at that moment, a metallic shimmer catching the sun’s still virgin rays. Wide olives settle on the newspaper the gray tabby left behind and finally sees the gift wrapped within; a revolver with an ornate handle, ivory or bone to contrast a brown casing and the sleek sliver of a metallic barrel. A custom piece, one not left behind easily, and a clear direction for a lost kitten to take.

Mordecai dives across the center aisle just as a shot embeds in the seat in front of the one he'd occupied. He crouches between one bench seat and the backrest of the next as he retrieves the revolver, a heavier kind than he's used to. A swift check of the chamber to know precisely how many practice shots he has before he can't afford to miss - four shots, far more than necessary to recalibrate - and he's ready to take this final chance seriously.

With the swift mobility he's come to rely upon, the tuxedo rises, aims and fires at the chauffeur within a second and a half. As expected, his aim isn't sure with an unfamiliar weapon; a shot intended for the chest instead rips through the chauffeur’s left bicep. Mordecai ducks just as Brady curses and takes a shot, the bullet searing a path through air so close to his face, the tuxedo feels the heat of expulsion graze his face before the bullet embeds in the seat behind him.

The proximity doesn't phase Mordecai now he has a tool to wield. He takes a breath and makes a swift stab at ballistic trigonometry. Intersecting axes, angles and calculations overlays the memory of his failed shot behind sharp olive eyes until the basic math completed, Mordecai once again rises, aims according to estimated mathematical adjustments, and fires. This shot lands just shy of his intended mark, striking the chauffeur in the lower right lobe of his heart for a fast, fatal wound.

Blood blossoms on a white shirt as the strong scent of iron fills his nostrils. The man screams in terror, a gun clatters to the floor as shaking hands clutch at a punctured heart, desperate wails swiftly suffocated by blood rising up his esophagus. Brady hesitates, his gun raised but eyes averted to the chauffeur. It's all the time Mordecai needs to reload the chamber, adjust his aim and finish the job.

Only once Brady hits the floor beside his compadre does the world flood back into focus; screams and shouts echo beyond the train car, fluffy of shadows in all directions as panicked passengers scramble to flee the platform. A whistle screeches over the noise as calls for police cut through the chaos, orders for men to surround and search each carriage issued in short order. Mordecai has to get out of here, before he's apprehended holding the murder weapon in a strange city, with no papers or credentials.

Pocketing the ornate revolver, Mordecai skulks low between the seats to the rear exit, diligent as to not step in the rapidly widening pools of crimson around his former pursuers. Unseen from without as chaos unfolds, Mordecai unlatches the door and slips into the masses, joining civilians fleeing the gruesome scene of a double homicide that will make the papers in just a few hours. 

A Shadow in St Louis: Double Murderer Disappears Without Trace from Overnight from NYC!

[anonymousewrites]

A Good Day for Death (Book 1) Chapter Four

Wednesday Addams x Reaper! Reader

Chapter Four: A Good Day for Death

Summary: After Wednesday and (Y/N) are accused of lying for telling the truth about seeing Rowan get killed by the creature, they decide to begin investigating on their own to discover the truth.

            “Do you know any good clubs to join at Nevermore? Weems is requiring me to join a club,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) considered. “Well, I’m part of the poetry club, but you’re not big on getting in tune with feelings, so that’s out. There’s the fencing team, which you know about, but your pride might not let you join that one. Judging by your ability with the cello, you have a knack for music, so maybe choir? I mean, Bianca’s a part of it so that could be annoying, but it’s up to you. There’s archery that could be fun. You were pretty good at the darts game, so you might have fun with that.” They shrugged. “I wouldn’t recommend the Poe Cup since it involves a lot of teamwork.” They smiled. “We have some other organizations too, but those are the bigger ones. I’m sure you’ll find one that lets you avoid others.”

            Wednesday crossed her arms. “The Poe Cup?”

            (Y/N) nodded. “Canoe and foot race with no rules. Each dorm chooses an Edgar Allan Poe work as a theme and competes against each other. I love the themes. It always gets so creative with the allusions to his stories and poems. Enid is always involved. She’s determined to win against Bianca this time.”

            Wednesday nodded. “And if I wanted information on Rowan?”

             “I think Enid interviewed him when Bianca and Xavier broke up to try to figure out why they did,” said (Y/N). “I’m pretty sure they were roommates. Xavier is a part of the archery club, I think, so you could check it out.”

            “I suppose I’ll have to consider it for my club, then,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Oh, and watch out for Enid. She’s obsessed with the Poe Cup right now.”

            “Noted,” said Wednesday.

l

            “So? Have any luck with the club business?” asked (Y/N), pulling on their gloves in botany class.

            “I am a member of the Hummer’s,” said Wednesday, sitting down and looking at their actions. “Eugene Otinger runs the club.”

            “Oh, the bee kid,” said (Y/N), nodding. “Quiet and out of the way. Plays to your strengths.” They noticed Wednesday’s glance at their gloves. They were only having a lecture in class, not doing any work with plants, so it was strange they were wearing them. (Y/N) grinned sheepishly. “I can get a little over-excited and drain the plants. Miss Thornhill is protective of them, so now I wear gloves to make sure I don’t touch them, even accidentally.” (Y/N) said it jokingly, but they were a little hurt that even a teacher made them refrain from contact with simple plants due to their abilities. It made them feel even more disconnected and “strange” compared to their fellow students.

            Wednesday looked at them. “Have you ever hurt someone with your abilities?”

            “I’ve made people sick because I’ve taken their energy. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid killing anyone,” said (Y/N).

            Xavier sat down on Wednesday’s other side. “You can’t blame people for being worried, though.”

            (Y/N) cleared their throat. “Right,” they murmured.

            “Some find death comforting,” said Wednesday. “My family has a graveyard in our back yard. We celebrate their deaths with seances.”

            (Y/N) smiled slightly. Wednesday was being her usual dark self, but it was nice to hear someone be so strangely positive about death. She wasn’t trying to be comforting, but it did happen to make (Y/N) feel a little better.

            Xavier bit his cheek and fell silent at Wednesday cold reply.

            As class started, Thornhill smiled at them all and strolled in front of her desk. “Wednesday, we’re thrilled to have you join us on our journey into the world of carnivorous plants.” She clapped her hands. “Now.” She looked at the glass display case on her desk “Who can tell us the name of this beauty.”

            Bianca raised her hand, but Wednesday spoke first. “Dendrophylax lindenii.”

            “Otherwise known as the ghost orchid,” continued Bianca, glaring at Wednesday.

            “First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1854,” said Wednesday. They were now in competition.

            “Very good, Wednesday,” said Thornhill, impressed. “You may have competition for first chair, Bianca.” Some fellow students snickered at Bianca’s stricken face. “Wednesday, perhaps you can identify the ghost orchid’s greatest qualities.”

            “Resilience and adaptability,” replied Wednesday coolly. “It’s able to thrive in even the most hostile environments.”

            “But it’s mere presence can change the ecosystem, causing the established plants to reject it,” said Bianca.

            “Usually because the native species is allowed to thrive unchecked,” responded Wednesday, unperturbed. “Nothing a weedwhacker couldn’t fix.”

            Are they using this as a metaphor? As a poet, I’m impressed and a bit inspired, thought (Y/N), jotting down the idea in their notebook for later.

            “You can certainly try,” said Bianca challengingly.

            “Thank you, ladies, for those illuminating insights,” said Thornhill. “Clearly, the plants aren’t the only carnivores in class today.” She smiled. “Now, who can tell me about what the ghost orchid can be used for?”

            Wednesday tuned out Thornhill, already knowing all the information on the ghost orchid since Morticia had a garden, and looked at (Y/N). “I need to get back to the woods. I need to see if there are any clues where Rowan died.”

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. “Weems is watching you. How do you plan to sneak away this time? I don’t think Weems will be tricked by me again.”

            “You can ask Enid to cover for me in beekeeping club. She’ll listen to you,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) coughed. “Slight problem with that. Enid is busy with the Poe Cup, she hates bees, and apparently you insulted Thing so Enid’s mad at you.”

            Wednesday looked out at Thornhill as she lectured. “He had it coming. He lost Rowan in a bathroom without windows.”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “Enid’ll be more inclined to help if you apologize to him, and she’s pretty much your only chance to get out from under Weems’s eye.”

            If Wednesday was more expressive, she’d probably sigh in exasperation. However, seeing as she knew how to keep her face impassive, she simply looked more annoyed than usual. Wednesday needed to apologize if she was going to sneak out, but it hurt her pride to do so.

            (Y/N) could tell Wednesday was reluctantly going to apologize and smiled. “Meet you at the Hummer Shed?”

            “You want to go into the woods?”

            “Rowan tried to kill me, too.” (Y/N) looked at Wednesday fiercely. “I want to figure out what’s going on.”

            Wednesday nodded, respecting the determination and the logic of their decision. “Then we meet after classes have ended for the day.”

            “Right,” said (Y/N).

l

            “Wow, Enid Sinclair is going to be here?” asked Eugene excitedly.

            (Y/N) glanced at him. “Uh, yeah. But don’t get your hopes up. I think she already likes someone.”

            “Well, I gotta stay positive,” said Eugene

            “Sure,” agreed (Y/N), if only for the sake of saving his feelings. He was not Enid’s type.

            “Oh, god. Bees,” muttered Enid as Wednesday opened the shed door and brought her in.

            “Yes. This is beekeeping club,” said Wednesday. She held out a beekeeper outfit. “Here. If Weems comes sniffing around, keep your distance, look grim, and don’t say a word.”

            “Payback is going to be a bitch,” said Enid with more fear of the bees than anger.

            “I’d expect nothing less,” replied Wednesday. She turned as Enid began to done the protective gear and leered over Eugene’s shoulder. “Blab and I will squeeze you like a honeycomb.”

            “Snitches get stung,” replied Eugene. “It’s hive code. Besides, I should be thanking you. This is the most girls I’ve ever had in the shed. Other than bees.”

            (Y/N) snorted unceremoniously. Eugene was sweet and relatively harmless, but it didn’t really surprise them.

            “Shocking,” said Wednesday.

            “I’ve always had a thing for werewolf chicks,” admitted Eugene.

            “The chance that Enid ever becomes romantically interested in you is less than one percent,” said Wednesday bluntly.

            “So I’ve still got a shot?” said Eugene excitedly. “Yes!”

            Wednesday didn’t dignify that reaction with a response and just walked out of the shed. (Y/N) said bye to Enid and followed her out.

            “What do you think we’ll find?” they asked as they walked.

            “Whoever did this is thorough, so not much,” said Wednesday. “But any clue to Rowan’s death is enough for us.”

            “I don’t think we’ll find blood or anything. The police would have found that,” said (Y/N), keeping their eyes on the ground for any hints of a struggle as they approached the area where the attack occurred.

            “No. But a scrap of clothing does just as well,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) nodded and opened their mouth to respond when a twig snapped in the distance. They whirled to look around, and suddenly, a hand reached around Wednesday and pulled her back into the bushes. (Y/N) pivoted to attack, but finding it was just Tyler, they frowned in confusion.

            “Get down,” he whispered.

            (Y/N) ducked down next to them as Wednesday removed herself from Tyler’s grasp and peered around the trees. Sheriff Galpin was walking by with a tracking dog, clearly still hunting for a monster that he refused to admit he knew existed.

            “Sorry,” said Tyler once they passed. “I didn’t want Elvis to pick up on your scent.”

            I was literally thrown to the dogs, but that’s fine.

            “Thanks. How’d you throw him off?” asked Wednesday.

            “Uh…” Tyler pulled a package of coffee grounds from his pocket.

            “Coffee grounds?” observed (Y/N).

            “Deer-hunting hack,” said Tyler. “One of the perks of being a part-time barista.”

            “I assume your father didn’t bring the bloodhound to play fetch,” said Wednesday.

            “He doesn’t tell me shit,” said Tyler. “You must think it’s weird I’m stalking him.”

            “No. I consistently stalk my parents,” said Wednesday. She began her trek through the woods again, and (Y/N) went alongside her.

            Tyler followed them (really, Wednesday) like a lost puppy. “Hey, wait, what really happened the other night at the festival? Look, I swear I won’t say anything to my dad.”

            Wednesday turned and addressed him plainly. “I thought Rowan was in danger. (Y/N) followed me. Turns out I was wrong. Then he proceeded to use his telekinesis to try and choke me to death.”

            “Holy shit. Wh…Why would he do that?” asked Tyler.

            “No clue. A monster came out came out of the shadows and killed him before we could really get to interrogating him,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “So…So you really saw it?” asked Tyler incredulously. “And it didn’t try to kill you?”

            “It actually saved us from Rowan. That’s the part I’m trying to figure out,” said Wednesday.

            “We need to find proof he was murdered so we know we haven’t gone crazy and show everyone something did happen,” said (Y/N). They froze as they saw something glint in the grass. “Wednesday.” She looked at (Y/N). “I think those are glasses.”

            Wednesday followed their gaze and crouched by the frames. “They are Rowan’s. I knew it was a coverup.” She reached out to pick them out, and as soon as her fingers made contact with the glasses, she was thrown into a vision.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they watched Wednesday go into another fit like they had seen during the fairgrounds. “Wednesday,” they said urgently, kneeling by her. “Are you okay?” Tyler was quick to come to her side in concern as well.

            Wednesday looked at (Y/N). “We need to find a book.”

            (Y/N)’s face brightened. “Like where that page he had is from?”

            “Precisely.” Wednesday stood and started back towards Nevermore.

            “Uh, bye!” called Tyler as he watched the outcasts go.

            (Y/N) gave him a polite even though they knew he was trying to get Wednesday’s attention. ((Y/N) suspected she hadn’t realized that two boys already had a thing for her, but to everyone else it was fairly obvious). Wednesday, on the hand, gave him no reaction.

l

            “What type of book are we looking for?” asked (Y/N) as they arrived in the library.

            “Purple with a skull inside a flower and phases of the moon on the cover,” said Wednesday as she began looking through covers. Thing crawled into the shelves looking for the right volume as well.

            “Got it,” said (Y/N). They began looking and glanced at Wednesday. “How do you know? I mean, I trust you, you wouldn’t derail your own investigation, but this is the second time you’ve known something you shouldn’t. Does it have to do with your attacks?”

            “I have visions,” said Wednesday concisely. “They occur when I touch something of importance at unpredictable moments.”

            (Y/N) nodded. There were a few mediums and seers at Nevermore, so it was not unheard of, but Wednesday’s seemed strong and a little bit disturbing to her, so that’s why (Y/N) had been a bit concerned about what was happening. As they went through books, they also pulled out a few poetry books and set them aside for later.

            “I don’t usually find students in her looking for actual books,” chuckled a friendly voice. Thornhill appeared on the staircase entrance of the library and walked towards them. “Most sneak in to make out.” She glanced between (Y/N) and Wednesday. “And while there are two of you, I don’t think it’s either of your styles.”

            (Y/N) coughed and turned pink. “Uh, no.”

            “We did walk in on two vampires fanging,” said Wednesday. “We can’t unsee that.”

            “No, we can’t,” said (Y/N), staring into space as if haunted.

            “Is there something I can help you find?” asked Thornhill.

            Wednesday held out a rough sketch of the watermark from the book page Rowan had on him. “It’s the watermark from a book I’m looking for.”

            “I think it’s the symbol of an old student society,” said Thornhill. She smiled as she recalled the name. “The Nightshades.”

            “Like the flower,” said (Y/N). “Very Nevermore.”

            “Color me intrigued,” said Wednesday.

            “I was told they disbanded years ago,” said Thornhill.

            Wednesday went to her bag and slipped the sketch back into it. Clearly, they weren’t going to find anything in the library, not if Rowan’s book came from a secret society. (Y/N) gathered their books up and put them into their messenger bag.

            “I’ll see you back in the dorm, Wednesday,” said (Y/N), waving goodbye. They didn’t get a response, but they weren’t expecting one anyways. They turned and went back to their dorm.

Taglist:

@strawberriesareprettycool

@im-making-an-effort

@champagnewitnocham

@simpcreator

@ksunoosworld

@dot-and-co

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@itsyapeepkiri

@daza1s-w1fe

@tired-writing-reader

@mary-jinx

@ognenniyvolk

@under-kitty

@colezb

@simp4natasha

@emily-roberts

@left-and-right-up-and-down

@star583

[scarlettlillies]

Hetalia - Tulips

At long last! A new fic! \ o /

It's been so long since I last posted any stories. Writing has been such a struggle these last few years. In addition to my work life keeping me busy, my perfectionist ways were preventing me from finishing something as simple as a paragraph and it really killed my desire to do any writing. But the spark recently returned a few weeks back and it felt so good to write again! I'm hoping it sticks around for good this time. I'm still very rusty but I'm very happy with how this fic came out!

This story isn't entirely new. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for the last 10+ years and has gone through multiple rewrites because I couldn't settle on how things should progress. Whether or not you see their relationship as friendship or romantic is sort of left up to you.

If you prefer to read this at Ao3, you can click the link here.

Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: When Netherlands found out that Estonia liked to garden, he was skeptical. He thought Estonia was just trying to make conversation. During a quick phone call on a warm September evening, Estonia had one favour to ask him: bring some tulip bulbs. Turns out, he really did like to get his hands dirty.

----

No matter how many times Netherlands stopped by Estonia’s home, it was always a shock to see him covered in dirt.

Their friendship was very new. His impression of Estonia was slick, neat, and modern. When their paths would cross, he was always well-dressed in expensive suits and noticeably owned the latest devices available on the market. Estonia seemed to be stunned when Netherlands shared his observations about him over coffee. It was their first time sharing a table together during a brief morning recess at an EU meeting in Paris. Estonia admitted he had a bad habit of changing his devices regularly and was struggling to break it. He was conscious of how others perceived him, therefore being known as an IT nation was important to him. He had convinced himself that being seen with a device that was more than a few years old would tarnish his reputation. His clothing, however, he insisted was fairly cheap. He was no different than anyone else; he shopped at one of the local malls nearby his home and bought what was within his price point. Netherlands found his words hard to believe but when he wanted to press him for more questions, they were called back to continue with the day’s agenda.

That was some time ago. Five? Maybe ten years ago? He doesn’t quite remember. Time was always a strange concept for their kind anyhow.

Over their short time together though, Netherlands had begun to learn more things about him. He had an interesting palette for alcohol, was a natural when it came to music and technology, and liked the outdoors. But most importantly he was business-orientated. He knew how to sell you on anything — whether it was a wacky dish at his favourite restaurant that you just had to try or you needed help selling your hand-made crafts at the local marketplace —m aking a quick buck seemed to come naturally for him. Netherlands liked that in a man.

But when he found out that Estonia liked to garden, he was skeptical. They had been sharing drinks in a Brussels jazz bar after a long meeting and thought Estonia was just trying to make conversation. He didn’t look the type to get his hands dirty (then again neither did he), especially to those outside of his main friend group. Even when Estonia shared his knowledge of botany, he chalked it up to just being the intelligent guy that Estonia was known for.

“You should come to my place in the spring! I think you’ll like the setup that I’ve got.”

Netherlands took him up on that offer. To his surprise, he definitely liked what he saw.

His yard wasn’t very large but it boasted enough room to hold a patio set that was perfect for entertaining a small group of guests. A wooden shed that was painted dark brown was tucked away in the far left corner of the yard. A small rectangular glass table had been placed next to the shed where several mason jars containing herbs were growing happily in the sunlight. Each jar had its own white sticker label with all of the names written in Estonian. Everything was connected by a winding path of large stepping stones. Flower beds were decorated all around the perimeter of a classic white picket fence. A small plot of the yard was wired off for growing vegetables like lettuce and cucumbers. Various other pots were scattered around and contained different kinds of berries, tomatoes, and peppers. It was a cozy sight that made him feel right at home.

He had been back only a small handful of times since then. Their schedules just never seemed to align. Dates that did would always end up getting cancelled last minute. But a phone call on an unusually warm September night during a listening session of Rita Hovink’s first album would connect them once more. Estonia was very adamant about seeing him no later than next Saturday. When Netherlands circled the date in a red marker on the calendar hanging up on the wall of his tiny kitchen, Estonia made sure to include one last request before their call ended:

If you can, can you bring me some tulip bulbs? About three dozen or so? I’d be willing to reimburse you for it.

That seemed easy enough.

Netherlands gave Estonia a slight nudge against his right shoulder with the two brown paper bags he was carrying. With his knees deep in topsoil and dressed in messy blue overalls that were covered in grass stains, Estonia looked up with a big grin and a sunburnt nose.

It really did feel like Estonia was a whole different person.

What other sides of you are you hiding?

“Perfect timing as always!” he said cheerfully as he grabbed both bags. They crinkled loudly when he pulled them open and proceeded to tip each bag over to dump the contents onto the grass. He began counting each bulb carefully by putting them together in groups of ten. When Estonia got closer to the number thirty, he became more vocal in counting each number in his native tongue. Finally, at thirty, Estonia made a delighted grin and immediately began planting each bulb. He had two small plots with holes for each one all set to go. Netherlands crouched down at Estonia’s level and carefully watched him work. He noted how quick but delicate Estonia was with his hands.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be planting these? I usually wait until October.”

“It gets pretty cold here at this time of the year compared to most of Europe. I’ve already lost some of my berries to frost so I spent the last few days salvaging what I could.”

Ah, so that’s where those came from. When he had passed through the kitchen to get to the yard, he remembered seeing several glass containers and mini woven baskets spread out across the kitchen counter that were overflowing with various kinds of fruit like blueberries and strawberries.

“Fair enough.”

Despite the cool breeze, Netherlands was too warm with the sun’s rays beaming down on him and was forced to walk over to the patio set to remove his coat. He hung his brown trench coat over one of the chairs, which were noticeably one of the few items left in the yard that hadn’t been covered with a black tarp. On the table, he noticed extra gardening tools, gloves, and multiple clear bags of different types of flower bulbs and seeds. Just like the mason jars from before, the bags had white sticker labels on them, all handwritten in Estonian with a black marker. Netherlands didn’t bother asking and immediately put on the spare gloves, which were a size too small for the Dutch man’s large hands, and took the items to an empty plot next to Estonia.

Estonia jolted at the sound of the tools being picked up off the glass patio table and his eyes grew wide. Having guests work in his home was a big faux pas to him that he had to put a stop to.

“Wait! You’re a guest in my home. You don’t need to—”

Netherlands was quick to cut him off and delivered Estonia a stern look, “Quiet. I want to help.”

Estonia’s lips had parted as if he wanted to protest but the words just wouldn’t come. With an audible sigh, he immediately dropped the conversation and returned to planting the bulbs. Estonia was not the type to waste time arguing with others and Netherlands had picked up on that quickly when they first met. The men continued on in complete silence, with Netherlands only speaking up when he wanted to know what the labels on the bags translated to in English.

But the extra pair of hands proved to be more helpful than Estonia would have liked to admit. What he could have accomplished in a few hours had been cut in half.

Estonia ripped the gloves from his hands and tossed them to the ground. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He could already feel the aches settling into his back and knees.

“I appreciate the help. But you know you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine.” Netherlands stressed, “I wanted to help so don’t worry about it. Gardening is a hobby that helps me relax.”

“How can I repay you?”

“Some of those berries in the kitchen would be a good start.”

Estonia caught Netherlands’s soft grin and he couldn’t help but snort.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

----

In the early morning hours, Netherlands decided to go for a bike ride.

He had been staying in the town of Lisse, one of his favourite vacation spots. He had made it a tradition to visit once a year as a reward for surviving the cold winters in the city; although these days it seemed like winter was non-existent. It’s been some time since he had last seen a genuine snowfall on the streets of Amsterdam.

The town was famous among locals and tourists alike for the endless sea of tulips that filled the land. The scenery continued into the outskirts of town where more tulips lined the fields and the stereotypical Dutch-style windmills towered the skies. Each row sported a colour of its own: red, orange, yellow, and white respectively. Netherlands made a quick pit stop at the side of the road to take in the sights. With the morning sun fully risen, it was moments like these that served as a reminder of why spring was his favourite season of them all.

Recalling the conversations he shared with his siblings weeks prior, Netherlands decided to capture the sights. However, he had to be quick. The mornings were still cool and he knew his hands would freeze quickly if he stood by the fields for too long. He could see his warm breath in the air when he tossed his black leather gloves into the metal basket on the front of his bike. He reached into the right-side pocket of his orange puffer jacket and quickly began snapping photos. After taking the fourth shot, a notification popped up on the screen with a bell-sounding tune following after. It was a message from Estonia, who he hadn’t seen in person since their gardening escapades last autumn. There was no text attached, just a photo of light pink peonies. Before Netherlands could reply, another photo popped up, this time of yellow daffodils.

The photos kept coming; one of red roses that hadn’t fully bloomed, one with a mixture of red, purple, and yellow pansies, and one of light and dark blue cornflowers. The final image though made his heart soar. It was a shot of the tulips they had planted together. When he had brought the bulbs over, he had no idea what colours they would bloom into. They were extras he had picked up from a bin labelled ‘Assorted Tulips’ from a downtown shop. They hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but he could see the beautiful colours of red, orange, and yellow all mixed together.

Finally, a text had come through.

They’re coming along nicely. Thanks for your help.

Netherlands wasn’t sure if it was intentional but Estonia slipped in a red heart-shaped emoji at the end of that sentence. He found it both cheesy and somewhat charming . He’s once again learned something new about him.

So when are you inviting me over to see the rest?

A minute had passed and a reply came through.

How does next weekend sound?

He cracked a smile and typed a quick response.

It’s a date. I’ll bring us some gin.

[0803s]

hi everyone! it's javi (he/they) back at it with my 5th muse, sunny! she's a rebranded muse and one of my absolute favorites, so i hope you all love her! as always, you can reach me through ims or discord (preferred) upon request. i'm usually always around and respond pretty quickly to plotting. under the cut, i'll have more info about her, if you're interested!

tldr bio from her app --

sunny is from california originally and lived there until she was in 7th grade, before moving to korea and going to an international school in seoul. her father died when she was young and her mom basically blew all of his insurance policy payout bc she thrived on living the high life. she then married a wealthy korean man who moved her and sunny back home to seoul where they could "start anew".

she ended up leaving the city when she graduated high school and instead of going back to california, decided to explore more of korea. she ended up loving the small town of yuseong bay and got a job at daeyanghwa florals. when the owner learned she was essentially homeless, she took sunny in and the two became really close. tragically the owner would pass away, leaving her home and daeyanghwa florals to sunny since she had no other living relatives.

sunny never wants to leave yuseong. she's quite content here, although the resort encroaching on the small town's blissful sort of untouched environment is ruining her vibe and she's very vocal about it.

personality --

sunny's very chill, friendly, and super intelligent. she is very easy to get along with because she generally never has a bad thing to say about anyone (mostly because she's someone who thinks deeply before saying anything). depending on the person, sunny can be quite outspoken or very unresponsive. it's not surprising that someone could either find her very intimidating or her presence very warm and alluring.

other --

other than gardening and arranging flowers, sunny's spent time studying botany and plant biology. she grows her own garden, started and maintained by the previous owner, but is pretty self sustaining just based on the various types of fruits and vegetables found in her yard.

she also maintains a medium sized green house, where she grows plants of a certain illegal variety, which she dries and sells to trusted customers only.

she also can be found baking and selling her local goods at the farmers market.

[myfanfictiongarden]

Home is where the Heart is- Tarzan 1999

Looking back at her childhood, Jane knows, it was a beautiful and loving one. For the longest while, Trevor Square, Knightsbridge, was her home and her world. The house they lived in didn’t look any different from all the others in that part of town just a few minutes south from Hyde Park, yet she firmly believed it must have been that happiness radiated from it more than from anywhere else. The little windows always like cheerful looking eyes, the red entrance door impossible to miss, and the tiny garden in the back yard always a paradise in bloom. 

They were a merry sight to their neighbours, their little family, mother, father, her, and old Nora. Were the windows open one could sometimes hear mother playing piano or catch sight of another tropical bird father would bring home escape. Her mother never stopped in the street to gossip with other women in the neighbourhood, her father never came home in ill humour, she preferred playing with her dolls outside rather than inside, and her nurse Nora had as much needed patience for all the brushed knees and torn petticoats as if she were a saint. Weekends would find them going on picnics to the countryside all four of them, holidays visiting family, summers at the coast. There was no room for idleness among them. Her parents had fought and worked hard for this life they shared.

Her father was the only son and child of a very respectable lawyer and barista of the Temple guild. His parents, especially his father, were keen on their intelligent son to follow in these footsteps, but left in utter despair when he in return, instead of rejoicing in the glory of human made law found comfort in the invisible light of spiritual revelation. His time studying theology found him on bad terms with his family, only too worsen when inspired by the natural beauty on earth he went on to the natural studies focusing at first on botany.  Now, with the prospects of having a penniless scientist in the family, the already strained relationship cooled down to nothing. Hurt by their lack of sympathy and understanding, Archibald Q. Porter soon found peace with this new freedom focusing from now on all energy on solving the mysteries of science. Meeting and earning the heart of his dear Cathrine though he always considered his greatest achievement. Cathrine, born into a merchants family, and being the younger of two daughters, had taken up on herself to continue in her family’s tradition in finding value in honest work, becoming a governess before considering starting a family of her own. Taking her young proteges out one morning to the zoo had led first to her new bonnet being ruined by a sudden heavy downpour, then to the arm broken of one of the boys, and lastly to coming across one of the most charming and considerable young man she ever beheld. He had managed to quiet down the sobs of the six year old by occupying his child's mind with stories of exotic animals while she took the hands of the other two, and together they made it safely back home before parting all wet and muddy at the entrance door. Somehow their paths continued to cross in the park or zoo, and soon her heart was taken with the young scientist five years her senior. From her parents side there was not much to say against her choice, except the fact that he was only a professor with a building good reputation and not a doctor within a wealthy circle. His parents were much less welcoming of her, but that did not stop her for trading the name Price for Porter.

Jane knew her parents wished long for children before she was born. She didn’t have any siblings, except for the younger sister that was laid to rest only a few hours after entering this world. Some might have despaired by the loneliness of being an only child, but not her, for she gladly took up paper and pencil to draw, having been gifted her mother's artistic talent, or would roam in her fathers study or laboratory, having inherited his scientific curiosity. There was also their first neighbours young son, Bobby, with whom she would often times find herself in mischief of one sort or another, he throughout childhood a true friend in game and play. 

Something had changed though when she was eight, something she as a child hadn’t been able to grasp fully. 

“Nora, is mumsy very sad?”

“Why, how could she be with a little chirping bird like you by her side?” Her nurse answered tickling her under the arms and being instantly met with laughter. 

“No, I mean, she rarely leaves her room and always sits by the window, staring outside with such a queer look in her eyes.”

“That’s because she likes to dream a bit.”

“During the day even?”

“Ay, even during the day. There is no harm in a bit dreaming I would say, isn’t it?”

There is no harm in dreaming certainly, and yet, Jane knew something was off, for this was so much different from the mother she had had until now, the one who would play and roam with her all day, run and stroll through parks, spend hours in the garden tending the hothouse or planing social gatherings or dinners at home. 

“Mumsy, do you like dreaming now more than going outside?”

“Dreaming?”

“Yes, when you sit by the window.” Like most days now since winter her mother was sitting half upright on the deep green couch in her room upstairs, leaning her head on the right hand and looking outside into the gloomy sky. It was a nice room with wallpaper painted in elaborate tropical flowers, wonderful velvet green curtains and a window looking out over their garden and many others. It was actually both her parents bedroom but her father oftentimes slept on a cot bed in his study.

“You are right, I do dream at times while sitting here.”

“About what?” Jane asked, now sitting on a small footstool by her mothers side.

“What about? Lets see, about a many things. About people in the neighbour houses and how their lives may look like, about the seasons changing, about what lies down the Themse and ever further, about all the magical places that are somewhere out there.”

“Like India!”

“Yes, India or Africa. Or South America and the Polonaise Islands. It may not be easy to travel there but one likes to imagine seeing all these places.”

“We could go with daddy, he has seen so much already so he could show us.”

“Yes, we might one day. But for now we are happy in our little home, aren’t we?”

“We could take things with us so it’ll be like home. We can take your bed and this couch and your dresses and daddy's bottles and books and everything!”

“And everything! And what would we do about Nora? Could you imagine her in the jungle? Or about you? Would there be enough room to squeeze you into some trunk?”

“I'm small and can fit into anywhere. And Nora is brave, she could even fight a lion!”

“Oh yes, she would teach any wild beast manners if it came to it.”

From that day they dreamt together in that pretty little room, dreamt of all the adventures they would go on, and very soon that little room wasn’t so small anymore but wide and wild, holding all of Africa's wonders within its walls. Their minds would form mountains and rivers and plains and where their imagination couldn’t fill out the jungle they took to aid books on botany, geography and travel journals published by those who had dared to step into the wide unknown. Sometimes Nora would join their fantasies while bringing tea and scones, pretending to have battled savages and climbed steep hills in order to supply them with refreshments, and then at other times her father lead the way through dangerous terrain while accompanying his theatrics with a variety of animal noises. In those days nothing was missing that couldn’t be compensated with a few gentle words. They did go on outings, although not as big ones as before, Hyde Park becoming the very real substitute for the African jungle and Jane running wide circles around the old oak where her mother would sit, like the little child decided to enjoy the freedom of movement for them both. But most precious of all, in the few more years that would follow, were the hours spend on the deep green couch, at times reading, at times dreaming, and at other times in an embrace.

“My darling, it is so nice dreaming with you. Please remember always that none of the furniture or dresses or dolls or even books are so important as the people you love. Because Home is where the Heart is.”

-

Many years later those words would come back to her, as would all the little things she didn’t know then but did understand now. What a cold thing walls out of brick and mortal are when laughter is missing, what use in books and paints or hats and dresses when harsh winds are ever blowing. Seasons may change but the clocks stay quiet.

In the jungle time flies differently. Being located so close to the equator the days are all similarly long, the nights similarly dark, no changing seasons indicating the years progress, the only difference being between season of more rain and season of less. There are no parliament meetings, social gatherings or cricket tournaments to mark certain dates in the year, nor are there any church bells toiling to tell the hours or days. Putting up camp again, now with not that many human hands to help, had taken some time, but being at last set up it did form a nice place to stay and allowed Jane leisure to study some more her new surroundings. She took her studies up with vigour, eagerly followed the gorillas as close as possible, eagerly listened to everything Tarzan tried to teach her about life in the jungle. And yet, she must have without realising taken up the habit of talking about London, talking so much she one day she stoped embarrassed when finally noticing the confusion on Tarzan’s face. After that she avoided any mention of her previous home for a while.

Then the day comes when he brings her to his parents tree-house, his birth parents tree-house. It is unexpected. He had until now only vaguely mentioned his human parents, his knowledge of the English language not yet enough to express such sensitive matters and she hadn’t dared to push. She is filled with so much wonder when realising where he had brought her to, realising where they stand, her mind endlessly impressed by the sheer ingenuity that must have been at work here, the unending power of will that managed to create something of a home in the midst of so much wilderness. Two people with a new-born build this, their love and will to live unmatched by anything she’d ever witnessed, and both love and grief for such remarkable people wash over her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Jane could live here. In real house like in London. Live with Tarzan.”

“Here?” They are now both standing in the center of the main room, dead leafs and tangled canopies around them, a gripping hole in the roof above them. She had entered alone, careful, like treading on sacred ground, but he must have followed her in, soundless as he could, now standing to his full size inches from her, looking at her face trying to read her expression.

“Yes. Jane like it?” He asks after a while, taking her hands in his.

“I love it.” She answers truthfully before embracing him with vigour.

[trilliumtriffid]

Fuck petty bourgeois suburban conventions. Give your yard back to its local ecosystem. Be gay. Kill lawns. Rewild!

[the-great-donatello]

Alright my dude- Oh, did I ever tell you that I like botany? It's, like, one of my special interests- that and being totally radical! But, yeah, I really like plants- especially the ones you can safely eat that grow in the wild- you ever had dandelion tea?

Once, when I was like, super young, I heard you could make it into tea so tried making it with some from the front yard- except it was recently sprayed with pesticides so I got real sick! Was awful in the moment but funny to look back on -Slang

.

[ch0697]

NAME: Laurel Candace Crow A.K.A.: Bug, Loorel AGE: 30s GENDER: CIS female OCCUPATION: Self owned catering / baking business. BIRTH TOWN: New Orleans, LA CURRENT LOCATION: New Orleans, LA BIRTHDAY: October 1st RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, VD EDUCATION: Highschool diploma, Bachelors in Culinary Arts VERSES AVAILABLE: main; With the decision to move back in with her parents, Laurel is beginning to understand why her mother has decided to step down from Coven leader. It is very apparent that what is taking place with their father is a curse, but from who or where they aren't sure? Laurel works to figure out a potential cure or way to break the afflicting illness before its too late. ----------------------------------------------- PERSONALITY: Subtle and Confident, Laurel navigates life with a sureness that makes you doubt yourself. She has an air of arrogance almost like she may know more than you, but rest assured it is simply the security she has in her self radiating outward. She does struggle however with connecting with others due to this energy she gives off and it can at times make even her hesitate. HOBBIES: Botany, studying bugs, raising bugs, tending to the living garden in her mothers back yard, studying anatomy and assisting her mother in mortuary duties, baking and cooking, fencing, swimming, playing piano, etc. LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, Cajun French, Spanish, French. SEXUALITY: Demisexual, Demiromantic HEALTH: Laurel physically is thin, a waif as her grandmother used to say and its not entirely by choice. She has struggled with her health since she was born, but makes due with the concoctions her mother and coven aunts help make. Mentally Laurel is strong, so much so that she doesn't have much of a burden when it comes to anxiety and or depression. It is there but in a small amount. ----------------------------------------------- HAIR COLOR: Black, with a grey streak that grows out of the nape of her hair. EYE COLOR: Brown nearly black CLOTHING STYLE: Soft and refined, a more classic gothic look that has a delicate touch. Ribbons, frills, soft fabric's and almost grandma like patterns are in her closet. Skirts and flowing pieces that make her feel ethereal are what she leans toward. FACECLAIM: whitney peak, gugu mbatha raw ( just faces that resemble how she appears in my head ) DESCRIPTION: Haunting. Laurel tends to appear rather ghost like in her movements and how she holds herself, silent as she walks and delicate as she presents herself. Her movements are subtle much like she is, but she commands attention even with her soft toned voice. REMARKABLE FEATURES: Large eyes, long hair and her grey streak proudly shown off, full lips and a lovely smile, an unsettling stare that she can unleash without warning.

[iamlostintime326]

Once upon a time

There was a little girl who dreamed of wild things and a kingdom of freedom

She didn’t live in a castle and it took her many years before she ever thought of Prince Charming

She was content

Happy to be on her own but enjoyed the company of others

She had her scars here and there, as we all do

But her fourth grade teacher told her that she didn’t just wear love, she did love

And those words stuck with her always

Slowly she grew up, and began to shake off the childish things

And one day she noticed a boy

It wasn’t love at first sight

It was her gaze seeing him in crowded place and somehow having the feeling that he would mean something to her

A whisper of a promise of what could be

She still didn’t want a prince, just someone to spend time with

Someone to talk to, to enjoy life with

And somewhere between the coincidental classes and the after school hours, the text messages and the stolen glances

She found what she was looking for.

Even when she was whirled away from all she ever knew

He reached out a virtual hand and she held on tightly

To every whispered word, ever virtual letter, every spoken phrase sent from miles and miles away

And when he let her go

She didn’t know how to fall.

And she’ll never know what could have been

But she found her way, slowly

Back to the sky

And she began to dream.

The girl stumbled into something unexpected,

The stuff every teenage romance is made of

Hard and fast, popular overnight

And that’s how she met him.

The one with eyes like ice blue waters

So deep, she knew she’d drown in them

And it may have taken years of hurt and missteps and failed relationships

Of scars and journeys and life

But she did find her way back into those blue blue eyes

For better or for worse

Until death do us part

To whatever end.

She hasn’t been back to that place since she grew her wings

All that’s left for her there are echos of times past

And yet

Sometimes she feels the pull to go back

Back to the beginning

And remember.

To remember the ice cream trips and family laughs

To remember the McDonald’s ball pit and what it felt like to grab a movie from blockbuster and nachos from sheetz

To remember a house on a hill, a house with a yard so big you could lose yourself, a house on whisper lane

To remember a summer of loneliness, bordering on new beginnings

Filled with bright days of leeching WiFi

To remember a humid room, filled with water and laughter

To remember a campus covered in red maple trees and rainy days

To remember days lost in textbooks and libraries, laboratories and chem notes,

Planted friends, and a few new found ones too

To remember days of Pokémon battles in botany lectures and passing old test notes

To remember the days of late night library sessions, trying to let it go

To remember practice first dates and summers spent on a bay

Learning to trawl to memorize Latin

To remember a long drive twice a day

And quiet nights held together by new found friends

To remember drives across the state just to see one or two

And to remember the feeling of finally accomplishing something so big

And to not remember the places I won’t go back to

Where she was small, crazy, terrified…

And a little bit lost.

To remember the place where she fell in love for the first time

And the place where her scarred heart fought ti get out

To remember the home she once had, and the dreams that could have been

Maybe if things had been different.

She often thinks about the places near her too that hold so many memories

Nostalgia for times past

Of nights when all that mattered was a friend, a lover, a stranger, starting up at the stars with her in the late night hours

Worrying about the little things and dreaming about all they could be

Wondering where they would go someday

And then someday was yesterday

And this is her life.

And perhaps she wishes she could find a way to reconcile those days with her life now

To find a way to bring back those moments

The ones where she felt free and the world felt endless and the stars and conversations were common occurrences

Instead of finding herself feeling stuck and lonely, doomed to the hamster wheel of adulting

Chasing whatever experiences she can

Because she can

And dreaming of connections deeper than the surface

Of pushing beyond the barriers of these cages they’ve built around themselves

After all

You could rattle the stars

If only you dared.

Once upon a time

There was a little girl who dreamed of wild things and a kingdom of freedom

She still didn’t live in a castle and she found a prince

And all she really wants is find an adventure.

[whataboutmysanity]

Thinking about high school botany class when we planted seeds in small pots to grow at home. Had mine in the kitchen windowsill for the good lighting. After about a week I had a little sprout with a cute lil leaf coming in. Then my mom finds a Facebook post showing how to cut a sweet potato so it’ll sprout roots. She took my project out of the window and replaced it with a sweet potato suspended in a jar of water. One of the cats ate my plant. I told my teacher but wasn’t allowed to replant it. Nothing ever grew back. I failed the project. Then our final came up. We had to gather leaves from various plants in our area and at least 5 had to be native to our state. I told my parents multiple times in needed to go to parks and other places around cuz there’s like 3 trees in my yard. They said they “never had time” even though they’re both retired. I failed that project too. Then I got pulled from the class.

The second semester of that class was zoology, including trips to the zoo and several dissections. I had wanted to be a veterinarian my entire life and I knew getting a good zoology grade would be great for colleges. Instead I got thrown into remedial chemistry and barred from taking any advanced science my senior year. So I didn’t apply for vet schooling. And I couldn’t follow my lifelong dream.

I realize my parents didn’t care then and they don’t care now. And yet, it’s entirely my fault.

[scrumpledorph-writes]

Koben’s Final Lesson (Jaxon Becomes A Man)

I

Contract’s almost over. I’ve really come to like Jaxon. I hope I’ve managed to impress Huxley enough to get hired on for more permanent work. It would normally feel awkward to ask a former client if they wanted to be friends, but Jaxon is easy to get along with. Maybe we can exchange holovid info if things don’t work out.

‘Good morning Jaxon. Today we’ll put everything I’ve taught you into practice with a trial patrol around town.’ ‘You know I’m not actually training to be a soldier, right? What’s there for me to patrol?’ ‘Nothing, but I’ll have you pointing out potential threats as we walk. Think of it like a speeder license test.’ ‘You need a license to drive a speeder in the core?’ That explains some of the driving I’ve seen around here.

‘Meet me out front when you’re ready, I’ll be in the yard.’ He takes a while to wake up, I hope he doesn’t miss the sunrise. Going out at least lets me pick up my weapons. These training ones are too light – they don’t actually ingrain the right muscle memory for things like quickly drawing them. ‘Jaxon and I are going out today, I’d like to withdraw all of my weapons.’ No visible changes to their condition, and I doubt there’s any reason for them to have been tampered with. At the very least, it’s next to impossible to covertly sabotage a knife.

Gardeners manually watering the lawn, and the guard rotating at the same time. The system runs well, even if keeping a garden on a desert is ill thought out. The sun is just cresting now, I wonder if he has the gardeners time it to simulate morning dew? ‘Ah, warrior. We have had little time for one another, both occupied by our own pursuits as we are. How fares yours? I know that my son is a meager offering as a student, but if you are as good as he says then that should be a trifling obstacle to overcome.’ Everything he says tends to drag, but I have nothing else to do until Jaxon shows up.

‘It’s going well. Slow at first, but once we got to know each other he took to my instructions well. I think you should give him a bit more credit.’ ‘Credit, do not speak to me of credit when he is involved. He does nothing but spend my credits, refusing his birthright. I fear for my legacy once he takes hold of its reigns, with only the cold comfort that I won’t be around to see it brought to ruination.’ Not even trying to feign that sweetness while he talks about Jaxon. I can see why he spends so much time in his room.

‘He’s smarter than he looks. Quick on the uptake when he’s interested. Already learned things that took me months of work back in the academy.’ Maybe he just doesn’t like crime, but that’s not something Huxley would be happy hearing. Best not to upset my employer. ‘This is surprising, but I welcome it as an unexpected boon. If he takes well to a martial lifestyle, perhaps the guileful machinations in which I find myself further steeped by the day can be cloven in half with raw brawn. That would be a worthy succession. I shall ruminate on this at a later time. Enjoying my little oasis, I trust? A slice of home I couldn’t bear to part with when I came here.’

‘Waiting for Jaxon, actually. I’m planning to test how well he’s taken in all the training with a mock patrol through the city. The garden is impressive though.’ Impressive how many credits he can afford to throw away, at least. Imperial training’s only interest in botany is in what’s forageable. ‘Prudent. Even if you merely celebrated his passage into manhood with a day of revelry, getting him to leave that room of his and see the world that exists outside of my domain would be a use of your time I would deem sufficient for the rate I pay you.’ Maybe we could spend a little time celebrating. My squadmates always seemed to spend half their pay on bar crawls.

‘Speaking of payment: I assume that will be ready tonight?’ ‘Yes. I have a celebration planned for Jaxon. This is an occasion that only happens once, and I want it to be memorable. I apologize for not putting it in the contract up front, but I trust with how well you two have gotten along that it would be no trouble to ask you to attend it? You will receive your payment then.’ ‘That’s fine.’ I would’ve asked to come if I wasn’t being told to. Definitely want to see Jaxon off into adulthood at the bare minimum.

‘Hey Koben! Hi dad. I’m ready to go whenever.’ ‘I hope you two make the most of the day. My works require constant maintenance, and I alone am fit to attend them. I look forward to tonight.’ Glad he’s gone, those two have a colder relationship than most officers do with their subordinates.

II

‘Potential threat report.’ ‘Uhh, there’s a few blind alleyways, rooftop overhangs I can’t see the tops of, and a fair number of people wearing cloaks that could be concealing weapons.’ ‘Adequate. You neglected to mention the closed windows that could be concealing snipers, but the vectors you identified are the most common.’ ‘I figured those weren’t worth mentioning. I mean if you want to get that technical, everything you can’t see could be hiding a threat, couldn’t it?’

‘They could, and if you want to stay alive when your enemies are everywhere, it’s important to stay aware of them at all times.’ ‘I guess the Empire is pretty unpopular in some places. Still sounds a little excessive.’ ‘You’re the heir to a criminal empire Jaxon, you have enemies. People who want to kill you won’t announce themselves.’ ‘We will if we want to make him suffer first.’ Oh this has to be a joke.

‘Look who wandered down the wrong alley. Your daddy doesn’t have this whole city under his-’ Not in the mood for this today. Blaster bolt to the gut should put him down, five to go. ‘Jaxon, take cover.’ He learned that lesson well enough. They seem to have gotten the message too. Killing five men hunkered down at the other side of a tight corridor will be difficult. But not impossible.

‘Fuck! Koben, what do we do?!’ ‘You stay here, if any more appear, shoot them like I taught you. That blaster pistol handles well.’ ‘And you?!’ ‘You’ve watched me work enough times by now.’ Footsteps, one rushing toward us. Stupid. Barely need to push the knife into him, just hold it steady while momentum drives it home. Blaster shots rippling against his back, saves me the trouble of confirming my kill.

His blaster pistol is garbage, but it’s better than trying to one arm a rifle in such cramped quarters. He’s big enough to provide me full cover, at least until there are holes blown through him. Should close the gap before that happens. Next closest is halfway down the alley, behind a dumpster. He’s keeping his head down, probably can’t hear me approaching over the sound of blaster fire. Of all the injuries this line of work can cause, nobody ever thinks about hearing damage. He might have at least gotten a shot off before I reached him. Oh well, one to the chest, one to the head. Halfway there.

Might as well take the other side of the cover he was using, pause to reevaluate. They’re on either side of the alley, which means no matter what I’d likely end up shot if I advanced on their position. Blind firing with barely their wrists exposed, I can give them credit for that. Except that they’ve stopped firing.

‘Alright, whoever you are: we clearly bit off more than we can chew. You made your point – we’ll leave you two alone.’ Imperial Force Guidelines dictate total obliteration of enemy forces, but I’m not in the Empire any more, but they tried to kill Jaxon, but – Oh to hell with it. ‘Fine. Leave, now. If I ever recognize any of your faces in a crowd I’ll kill you on the spot.’ Footsteps, fast ones.

Glad to resolve that without getting shot, would have put a damper on the festivities later. Jaxon looks unharmed. ‘Are you alright?’ ‘Holy shit Koben, that was...’ Here it comes. The disgust, the rejection. A screen between you and the violence is one thing, but being brought face to face with it is another. I’d hoped he would be different, but that was naive. His father might be a crime lord, but he’s sheltered enough to be just a regular civilian.

‘Fucking awesome! You were so cool, the way you knifed that guy without even looking, charging down the alley, that threat at the end sending them running like a pack of dogs! I wish I’d had my recorder, but I saw the whole thing! Seeing it through a screen is one thing, but it doesn’t come close to the full sensory experience of watching it happen live. You’ve got a little blood on your, uhh, whole front of your suit – by the way.’ Oh.

‘That’s not how people usually react to my work.’ It’s certainly a nice change of pace though. ‘Really? What do they usually do?’ ‘Scream at me. Start crying. The specifics vary, but those two are a constant.’ ‘Well, it was either that or they were going to kill me, so I mean, c’mon – what kind of an asshole would I have to be to not appreciate it?’ ‘It just tends to put people into shock. Death is hard to process without training.’

‘I guess. I used to be that way, but then dad made me sit in on an interrogation he was doing to try to toughen me up – and everything you do feels pretty tame by comparison.’ It would be irresponsible of me to let that comment go. ‘I know I’m one to talk, but I don’t think that’s quite healthy.’ ‘Yeah, well, it is what it is I guess. Not like I can go back and undo it, so whatever. We should find you a towel or something before that blood crusts over.’ Maybe he is his fathers son.

III

That was a better test of his skills than anything I had planned, and getting into cover quickly enough not to get shot is a lesson a lot of soldiers never pick up. He’s passed all my expectations. Not sure what to do with the rest of the day, but don’t want to take him home just yet. We do seem to have stumbled close to the red light district though. ‘I can’t think of any other tests for you. We’re near the adult district, and you are an adult as of today. It wouldn’t be inappropriate to visit, if you’re interested.’

‘What? Well, I mean, it’s kind of a tradition, so I guess it’d be disrespectful of us not to.’ He’s trying to play it cool, but I saw his body language shift at the mention. ‘Are you sure? The girls probably look nothing like me, so it would be pretty disappointing.’ ‘Alright, alright, no need to bust my balls about it. You like girls too y’know. Let’s go.’ We should stay on a main thoroughfare, no need for another shootout.

‘Ten credits for a fortune reading. Put your trust in The Force to guide your way.’ What a waste of credits that would be. Either he can use The Force, in which case he’s a Jedi – and therefore a liar – or he’s just some old man scamming people. Jaxon’s looking over at him. I can tell he’s considering it.

‘Hey Koben, you wanna? Not like it’ll break the bank, I can pay for yours. I wanna hear what he has to say.’ ‘Fine, I will if you do.’ ‘You two cast a long shadow. Deep within the Dark Side of The Force do you reside.’ Absurd: I’m two meters tall, of course I cast a- He has no eyes. Even more off-putting than that tall head of his, but maybe he does know a little of what he’s talking about. No, he just felt it get cooler when we blocked the sun.

There goes twenty credits we’ll never get back. ‘Hold out your hand, if you would, boy.’ All a performance, and Jaxon’s buying it. I guess this isn’t strictly something my training covered, so I can’t be too hard on him. ‘You were born into a gilded cradle of darkness, swaddled in violence. You shut your heart to it long ago, retreating inward to a virtual sanctuary and barring the door. Now you find yourself outgrowing your cradle, and hesitating to face what lies without – not for fear that it is too different, but for fear it is too much the same. If you choose to follow the path set before you, you will be condemned to cast a long shadow, yet straying from it will bring much tumult as well. I do not envy the choice ahead of you.’ That...does feel oddly specific for a charlatan.

No, that’s ridiculous. Jaxon’s practically a minor celebrity around here with how much pull his dad has. Some of the guards must have gossiped in a bar, and this guy just got lucky turning those rumours into a convincing story. Considering how torn up he looks over it, Jaxon could do with having all this explained to him when we’re done. ‘Hey, yeah, that’s uhh, not bad old man. Your turn Koben.’ I’ve only been in town a couple weeks, and he won’t be able to read my body language through my armor. This whole sham will fall apart.

‘I’m not taking the gauntlet off.’ ‘There is no need. The Dark Side flows so deeply within you that I can nearly read it from here. Oh. You poor woman. My apologies, the waters of your past run deep. Allow me to begin again.’ Really trying to pull me in, but I’m not giving him a thing. Good luck old man.

‘For all the darkness that surrounded them, your parents did all they could to raise you into the light. In the wake of a newer, deeper darkness they left you, and it swallowed you whole. The light within you was buried in layers of shadow, and yet it still burned. Even as you were seduced by The Dark Side. Now you try so desperately to run towards the light, but you have gone so long without it that it blinds you. When you fall, you let the shadows loom long over you. The comfort of their cool shade is a falsehood. Though you will stumble, you mustn’t stop running if you ever wish to live in the light again.’ Enough of this.

‘Who are you old man?’ ‘My visions trouble you. They bring to light truths you both would rather leave buried.’ He really must be blind to be so calm with a blaster rifle pointed at him. ‘Answer my question.’ ‘Now I am nobody. I know that is not the answer you seek. Long ago I was a warrior of peace. A guardian of The Force.’ He’d better not say it if he knows what’s good for him. ‘A Jedi.’

Shooting him would draw too much attention. Those gangsters were a matter of self defence, but even I couldn’t intimidate a crowd this size into letting this slide. Better holster it. ‘You’re lucky I don’t get paid to kill your kind any more, old man.’ He’s laughing. Typical Jedi, completely out of touch with reality. ‘My luck ran out long ago, as you can no doubt see. I gave up my ways. Even this was taken from me.’ He’s reaching for a lightsaber. ‘Jaxon, step back.’ Even with his powers, if I shoot the instant he presses that button he’s done.

It’s not turning on. ‘Now it’s only a relic of days gone by, and yet I can’t bear to part with it.’ ‘Why are you telling us this?’ ‘You asked. Why has The Force brought us together is a far better question, I think. Would you begrudge an old man his idle musings?’ ‘Say your piece.’ ‘I can no longer fight for a better galaxy; only guide others. You both, as do all beings, may find the light if you keep searching. I hope my words will help you reach it.’ ‘Goodbye old man.’ He’s earned those credits.

‘Hey Koben, if it’s all the same, I don’t really feel like going to a club any more. Kinda wanna just walk for a while. Think about stuff.’ ‘I feel the same way.’

IV

That was a melancholic afternoon, but Huxleys festivities are doing a good job at making up for it. The food is fantastic at least, and he’s hired mercenary guards so all his regular staff could attend. Needed a few extra tables hauled out to seat them all, and it’s nice to be near the head with Jaxon.

‘Now my friends, trusted retainers, and devoted staff: the revelry shall be brought to a focus. My son Jaxon. I will not taint the record with saccharine reminiscing, the two of us have had our squabbles, as all fathers and sons do.’ He can even manage to make his sons birthday party about himself. ‘But those were the squabbles of a boy and a man. It would hamper his new beginning, and smear my own pride, to hang onto them.’ I wonder if Jaxon will even get to say anything?

My son, please rise. My many allies and tributaries have brought you gifts befitting of your ascension to manhood. Please, take the time to sample them.’ Most of these are a terrible fit for him. Cultural ornaments and knick knacks, safe bets for someone whose interests they don’t have a clue about. ‘Yeah, these are all really, uhh, great so far, thank you.’ They’d be lucky to get a place on his shelf.

‘Hang on, what’s this? Whoa, a quickdraw blaster pistol and holster set?! That’s actually pretty sick, Koben’s been teaching me some moves the last few days, like this – wuchaah!’ His form could use some work. The crowd seems impressed, or at least know that if they don’t pretend they are Huxley won’t be happy.

‘Oh no way, Koben come look at this!’ This should be good. No way, that is impressive. ‘Someone got a little replica of you in your armour made! Cast in Imperial Steel and everything!’ ‘A good likeness.’ A really good likeness, tons of little details I wouldn’t expect anyone to even have seen from looking at footage of me, never mind reproduce. Should do a surveillance sweep when I get home.

‘That’s the last of them. I can’t help but notice there’s nothing here from you, dad. I mean, unless hiring Koben to train me was an early one, because if that’s it then don’t even worry about it, that’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. No offence to the rest of these, of course.’ Shit, I should’ve gotten him something. Can’t believe I didn’t even think of it.

‘I am glad that you appreciated my investment in your future, but no. That was not my gift to you, my son. Perhaps it is cliche, even sentimental, but I have prepared as a gift for you: a lesson.’ He snapped his fingers. Blaster bolts rippling across my armour. All his guards were in on it. They’re good shots. Can’t stand, can barely focus on what’s going on. Ears are ringing, but Jaxon’s loud enough to get through it.

‘What the fuck are you doing?! Koben’s my friend!’ ‘Your dear preoccupation; Koben. The Trooper adorned in black. Veteran of a thousand battles. Killer. Destroyer. Wanted criminal. My son, did you think someone of her repute would go unnoticed by the law? You, did you think I would not find out about you? That I didn’t know before you ever stepped foot into my manor how lucrative it would be to cash in on your egregious affronts to The Empire?’ Whole body’s on fire. My hate’s burning hotter.

‘It crossed my mind.’ ‘Yet you persisted into my waiting maw because you saw a glitter at the back of my throat. This is a lesson on many subjects, my dear son. Lesson one: mercenaries can only be trusted to do one thing, and that is to chase credits. Lesson two: whenever possible, get as much out of someone as you can take before you toss them aside. Lesson three: childish attachments such as yours to her will only bring you pain.’

Jaxon’s on the edge of tears. Maybe if I click off a plate I can put all my strength into throwing it, take Huxleys smug fucking grin off from here. Can’t lift my arms, there goes that plan. ‘Her bounty is valid dead, my dear boy – and she is far too dangerous to leave alive. That blaster pistol was my suggestion. I can think of no way more fitting to take your first steps into manhood than by casting aside the object of your most infantile fixations. She must be in such agony right now. Her armour can surely take little more, just one well placed shot and you can end her suffering. It is the kindest fate that awaits her.’

If I could reach for my helmet to look him in the eyes at least, I would. ‘Whatever you do Jaxon, I understand. I figured I’d die taking a few people down with me, but this is fine.’ His tears are dying down, his brow is steeled. I don’t have enough strength to hold my head up any more. One crystal clear shot ringing out. No pain.

[everbloomingsoul]

( dangerous touch of divinity | pjo v. )

she gets six blissfully unaware years. six years of happiness toddling around behind a doting father as he works, always eager to help or at least play. anthea is the kind of kid who can't be convinced to wear shoes no matter the weather, who will find the one patch of uncovered dirt to get covered head-to-toe even if it means a bath every night. luckily her father's work means being outside a lot of the time, and despite some of the jokes about laundry mountains he never seems to really mind how involved or messy anthea is. six years was never going to be enough. but its more than he thought he'd ever get. the closer it gets to her seventh birthday, the weirder things around her get. the plants brighten, some practically glow when she touches them. but rumors of creatures tearing up yards enters town. far away at first, but within weeks the radius gets closer and closer to their home. the day after she turns seven, father and daughter wake to a completely destroyed garden, and deep scratches embedded across the entirety of their porch. like bears tried to break in but couldn't seem to make it. anthea's never seen her father scared before, but he was at that. she was upset, about the destroyed work and the damage to their home, but he was almost shaking in fear. he ushered her back upstairs to her bedroom to pack as quickly as possible. when she asked what she was supposed to pack he just said to take whatever she could fit in her backpack while he packed a suitcase for her. he wouldn't let her leave his sight for a second, making her wait in the doorway as he went into his own room long enough to grab a couple changes of clothes. it was less than ten minutes between the discovery and the pair of them heading into the car to drive off. to where, he never says. the longer time passes without an explanation, the more anthea is also scared. they'd never gone far out of town before, but this time they drove for hours. hours and hours, only stopping long enough for bathroom breaks and refueling the car, or acquiring snacks to eat while back on the road. she'd also never seen her father go so long without sleep before, she realizes sometime after dozing off near dark and waking up the next day with the sun high in the sky. when they do stop, it isn't where she thinks they would go. its just a green hill, an empty stretch of road. but her father makes them both get out, carrying her and the suitcase up as far as he can. thea can feel when it gets harder for him, even though the hill didn't seem that steep to her, but he has to stop before he can get them both to the top. he hugs her tighter and longer than he ever has before in her life, silent for most of it before apologizing that he couldn't and didn't explain about where they were, but explaining that she needed to go over the rest of the hill by herself, and that there would be people on the other side to help her out. he never says how long she's staying, but the fear in his eyes is enough to make the seven-year-old agree without argument, and he promises to stay until she made it to the other side safely. she doesn't ask about what that meant either. she slowly ambles up with her things in tow, every few steps turning back to make sure he was still there and stopping at the very top for a long look. there was still nothing but him, and the car on the road. it looked like a normal day. like every day. but, eventually, she remembered it wasn't a normal day, and started an even slower trek down the other side, noticing a man in a wheelchair already on his way to meet her at the bottom...

this is a verse for anthea as a demigod daughter of demeter and a mortal man with a passion for gardening and botany. her timeshift ( also named antheia ) is unlike in most verses here almost fuzzy. like knowing you dreamt something but not quite being able to remember what when you wake up. it's sharp and clear until she switches back, leaving her with little more than vague imprints or stray lines that have no context anymore.

this timeshift is the goddess antheia (an attendant of aphrodite, amongst other things), making thea essentially a reincarnation rather than the usual timeshift weirdness. this will be getting a separate post for further explanation.

note: this timeshift's clarity can be affected in specific threads or with specific plotting-partners.

[toadeyes-miqote]

A Moon Cat was here

Backdated – A month or so before ARR

She slid out of the huge serpentine roots of the ancient giant forest into the front yard of the stone building that the city folks so highly regarded. She had watched the gnarled branches that formed a canopy over a well-worn path to the bridge and yet there was no sign of her quarry. Neither tracks nor puzzles left as a trail to follow.

It was already long past the intended hour they were to meet. He was never a tardy one, a disappointed sigh and she slips back into the trees keeping an eye on the road back to the community she resided in.

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The hut was oddly empty, skins that were left outside to dry were not taken in when it should be. A hearth fire had died out and a pot of stew burnt, he had such great pride in his stews to ever let them go wrong. Tools on the table unkept from a partially done project. No sign of a fight nor hidden signals for help. Valuables and coins still hidden where it should be. The dark hair Miqo’te slid out of the hut.

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Two weeks and still no sign, her most likely rival for his affection still regarded her with disdain. Other known suitors had yet to shown sign of awareness of his disappearance much less approach her with anything more than the usual courtesy of a joint hunt.

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With her coin and valuables gathered, she locked up her hut and disappeared into the night. Her aunt, the head of the village was no stranger to young men or women vanishing in the night or whether they return years later and wiser or not at all. She would make her way to Fallgourd and see what news she can find before heading into Gridania like they had intended.

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Original intention for the couple was to head into Gridania for info as to where else to go, earn coin, get into relevant guilds where their skills could be used in trade (leatherworking, carpentry and botany). Find ways to travel to this frontier like place - Idyllshire, stay a while to make more coin. If they end up not having Miq'ttens like they originally planned, again travel.

The Calamity made them postponed their plans and then 5 years later ARR happened and he vanished. And by 6.3 when he came back, she has PTSD and is not keen to have Miq'ttens yet (Thanks Zenos) or at least until she's sufficiently calm.

Utterly hilarious if Hythlodaeus chose to be reborn as their kid(sans memory or restricted memory) and somehow dragged Hades in as a younger sibling. See what the whole fuss about being Miqo'te is that fascinated Azem that much.

And no, no Zenos soul child much less DNA child, enough trauma thank you.