#friend's oc: shrub

[stormbreaker101]

Wiztober Day 28: The kids are not alright - There is far more to Shrub than Flare's first encounter with her led him to believe.

I was planning on just drawing Shrub. Showing Flare's reaction was kinda an afterthought which is why it's so simplified.

Shrub is @klaraflamez's OC

[twogyuu]

baby, it's cold outside

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

Synopsis: You'd think after two years of being by his side, moments like this would get easier.

Genre: Fluff, mild angst, heir!seungcheol, best friend's younger sister!reader, older brother!jihoon

Warnings: One mention of champagne, reader is insecure, unedited, very very very mildly suggestive at the end?

WC: ~2.5K

A/N: For my sugar daddy, mingyu @nu-replies 😘🤣💙 I do apologize at how angsty this turned out (like fr reader needs to stop being so doubtful but honestly same if it was rich hot cheol), but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless 🥺 Best of luck - I hope you get cuffed by Choi Seungcheol this year! Rooting for you, bestie ✊🏻

Drabble to my series, Terrifyingly Innocent! (this takes place about a year and a half since the ending, i think? i cannot math rn LOL - OC's back from Greece, in her senior year!)

Can be read as a stand alone.

These events never got easier no matter how many of them you attended with Seungcheol. 

Grateful for finding an empty balcony, you threw one last glance over your shoulder, back at your boyfriend chatting with Wonwoo and another heir named Minghao. You figured someone must've cracked a joke as Seungcheol was chuckling into the back of his hand, his lips pressed together tight to prevent himself from spitting any champagne out. Similarly, Wonwoo had that constipated expression on his face where his lips were pulled between his teeth and he looked anywhere but other people. 

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the tall balcony window, draped in purple silk, stepping into the cold night. Goosebumps rose on your arm, but you welcomed the breath of fresh air compared to the stuffiness inside. Your heels clicked against the concrete deck, coming to a halt at the stone railing, slowly drinking in the view beneath you. 

You had imagined that this was what it was like standing from the balcony of Buckingham Palace. Wonwoo’s family had rented out a Victorian mansion on the outskirts of the city for a New Year’s celebration. They had invited several business partners and other elite families – many who you recognized from tabloids, but also many you’ve never seen before. The exterior was largely made of sandstone, including the balcony you were standing on, other parts that have been remodeled were constructed with concrete. Despite the cold weather, the lawns on either side of the stone pathway that you had used to come in earlier, were perfectly green and well-trimmed. The shrubs were empty of leaves, but the branches perfectly clipped – you’d like to think that they had purple flowers spotted amidst them in the spring. For miles and miles were just rolling hills, the occasional oak tree interrupting the perfect curves every now and then. The city skyline was well-defined in the dark night, white and yellow lights flickered in the distance, alive for the festivities. 

The serenity of the night was eerie, but oddly comforting. The cold air pierced your lungs with each breath, but it was better than the humidity of so many bodies packed into one building inside. Part of you wanted to stay by your boyfriend’s side, but the lack of lingering eyes from jealous heiresses or disapproving relatives felt like a weight off your shoulder. You were grateful to spend New Year’s with your boyfriend finally after a year abroad, but smiling when it was forced made your cheeks hurt and made you tired. 

You knew to expect this – dating the one and only heir of Sebong Holdings. Since Seungcheol graduated and started taking on more responsibilities in his father’s business, he had slowly been working his way back into the public eye. People whispered behind his back, awaiting his downfall like five years ago when he made the front cover of magazines with Kyungsoon. Others watched him in awe at how he commanded the room whenever he walked in. Mothers had their daughters lined up at his father’s door, awaiting any minute for a chance to make him their son-in-law. You were thankful that Mr. Choi was supportive of your relationship, but the pressure to be a model girlfriend was overwhelming at times – especially when you were only a senior in university, without a business or a fancy title behind your name. According to Wonwoo, news of Seungcheol seeing a “normal person” had spread among the wealthy, but no one seemed to know your name or status quite yet. 

Yet – that was the keyword. 

“There you are,” Seungcheol mumbled as he engulfed you in a back hug. Still with his suit jacket on, he pulled you into his chest, trying his best to cover your bare arms with either sides of the polyester material and shield you from the night. A chill shot down your spine when he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. 

“What are you doing?” you chuckled, shifting from foot to foot, your heels growing uncomfortable. You twisted to get a better look at him to no avail. 

“Hugging you – what does it look like?” he mumbled. 

You chuckled softly, spinning in his hold to face him. Your hands rested against his abdomen, the fabric of his white collared shirt warm from his skin. You peered up at him through your lashes, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth. Despite being together for almost two years now, Seungcheol being this close never failed to make your heart skip a beat. 

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice just low enough for you to hear. His hands rested on your hips. 

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Nothing.”

He cocked an eyebrow at the way your voice shot up an octave. 

“Y/N.”

“It’s fine really,” you looked down at your feet. 

Gently, Seungcheol grabbed your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, tilting your face up to look at him. His brows were crinkled together, the space between them creased in concern, a soft pout taking over his cherry lips. 

“Did someone say something to you?” he asked, his tone rising – you could see his mind spiraling with hypothetical scenarios. “Do I need to talk to someone?”

“No and no,” you pushed his hand off.

“Then what’s bothering you?”

“It’s New Years, we should be happy,” you sighed, “Let’s just . . . forget about it and talk about it later?” A hand perched on his arm, you turned to face the railing again, waving off in the distance. “It’s almost midnight, isn’t it? We’re gonna miss the fireworks.”

He spun you back around into him.”We should be happy, but you’re not, and therefore, I am not.” He tilted his head to the side. “Now, what’s bothering you? We promised to be honest.”

You did – it was stupid promise, but one that the both of you lived by in order to better communicate with one another. You were stubborn and shy with your feelings and Seungcheol hated burdening you with his own. The constant reminder of the promise was one of the few ways you’d get one or the other to talk.

Your eyes flickered up to his face then back to your fingers that were fiddling with buttons on his jacket. You opened your mouth and then closed it again, formulating the words in the back of your mind. Seungcheol was patient, knowing you always needed a minute or two before expressing your thoughts. 

“It’s . . . all of this,” you mumbled.

“This?” Seungcheol cocked an eyebrow at you. 

You let go of his jacket and spread your arms to your side, gesturing at your dress, his suit, the party inside. “This – I don’t know what to call it . . . your . . . lifestyle? These big events with these big names.”

Seungcheol nodded, slowly understanding what you were getting at. “And what about this?”

“I’m . . . truly grateful I get to attend them with you every now and then, let alone be invited on New Year’s Eve in a literal castle,” you looked up, the peak of the building towering over you. “Only a few people could imagine being at an event as beautiful and lavish as this,” You sucked in a shaky breath. “But it gets overwhelming sometimes.”

“Like you don’t deserve it?” Seungcheol pressed further, a hint of sorrow in his tone. 

“A little,” you said in a small voice, “I feel . . . mediocre? By your side. Small – like I don’t matter. Like . . . I’m not good enough for . . . your people.”

“Y/N,” Seungcheol hummed. His hands came up to rub your arms, as if to warm them up. He proceeded to wrap his arms around your shoulders, nesting his chin on your shoulder. 

You chuckled half-heartedly. “It’s stupid – I told you . . . same problem, different day.”

“It’s not stupid, okay?” Seungcheol was quick to remind you. “Even if it is the same problem.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You felt tears pricking at your waterline. You silently cursed yourself for ruining a perfectly beautiful evening – let alone, New Years Eve. 

“What are you sorry for?” Seungcheol chortled. “I’m sorry for not noticing sooner tonight.”

“No,” you whined.

“I am,” he pulled back, frowning at the tears glistening in your eyes. He raised a hand, caressing your cheek, quick to swipe at the first one spilling over. “I love you and that’s all that matters, okay? Big names, rich aunties and uncles – don’t mind them. I want you to be comfortable by my side, but I also know stepping into that role takes time. I’d buy you the whole world if that’s what it takes.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you choked. “And . . . I don’t want the whole world . . .”

“I am, but I would try if you really asked for it,” the corner of Seungcheol’s lips twitched up into a smile. “But I also know,” he slipped both of his hands into your own, “That even if I tell you that right now, it doesn’t really help anyone, so . . . do you wanna get out of here?”

Your lips fell agape at his sudden offer. “The . . . party? And the fireworks?”

“We’ve been here long enough,” Seungcheol tugged at his sleeve, revealing the silver Rolex around his wrist. “As exquisite as you are to look at, I’d rather be comfortable and watch the fireworks with you at home than here. It’s also only eleven – we can make it home in time.”

“Your dad?” you frowned. You didn’t want to disappoint the elder Choi either, not being able to hold up the role as his heir’s soon-to-be-betrothed (in a few years that is.)

Seungcheol shrugged. “Doubt he’d bat an eye – it’s New Year’s after all,” he stepped towards you, the leather soles of his shoes pattering softly against the pavement. “Jihoon can hardly look at us when we talk about kissing . . . you really think he wants to witness what do lover’s do at midnight on nights like this?”

“Wonwoo . . .?”

It’s not that you didn’t want to experience his offer. To this day, he still made you anxious – the good kind of anxious, where butterflies flutter in your belly no matter how hard you clench your abdomen, your throat closes up, and your heart beating erratically. 

“Baby,” Seungcheol threw his head back and stomped his feet playfully. He knew you were just trying to delay the intimate moment longer. “It’s cold outside,” his hand slipped into your own. He flexed his fingers, tightening his grip the second time as he slowly pulled you back towards the balcony door. He smiled at you, saccharine dripping from his eyes, the dimple on the left side of his cheek deepening. 

“Let’s go.”

. . . .

The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling window of Seungcheol’s penthouse were drawn open. The lights of the evening, artificial and natural, spilled into his bedroom, mixing together and casting a haunting blue hue across the floor and his bed where you sat on the edge dressed in one of his hoodies, fuzzy slippers warming your feet. You swung your legs back and forth, admiring the skyline up close now. 

Just exiting the bathroom, Seungcheol quickly clambered onto the bed and sat behind you, his legs on either side of your body. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing your back into his chest – except this time, there was no suit jacket: just Seungcheol in a plain white t-shirt and his reading glasses, his hair still well-combed from the event earlier. 

“Ten seconds,” Seungcheol whispered into your ear excitedly, peering at his watch sitting on the nightstand next to you. 

“Ten seconds,” you repeated after him, voice equally soft. 

Ten.

“Are we gonna count down out loud or . . .?” his voice trailed off. 

Nine.

“Let’s just . . .” you replied, settling into his body.

Eight.

“Stay like this,” you finished. 

Seven.

“You like the silence?” Seungcheol asked.

Six.

“It’s comfortable.”

Five.

“With you, that is,” you added.

Four.

Seungcheol smirked. “I have something to say though.”

Three.

You hummed softly, letting your head naturally tilt to the side. Seungcheol took it as an opportunity to nuzzle his chin into space. 

Two. 

“Can I say it yet?”

One. 

“So much for silence,” you chuckled. 

The fireworks exploded from a distance, a brilliant gold glittering the sky, followed by a burst of purple and blue. Though the pounding of the fireworks rumbled through your apartment, car horns honked on the streets below, he was the moment.

This was a different Choi Seungcheol you knew from the one clad in a slick black suit earlier. He pouted frequently and couldn't cook well. He was physically affectionate, spending every minute he can laying his head in your lap or his limbs tangled with yours, instead of the shy hold of your hand or the press of his fingers gentle in the small of your back at formal events. This version of Seungcheol preferred spicy tteokbokki from the vendor down the street from your internship to filet mignon on cold days. He felt most content walking down the street with you, hands locked in his pocket and wrapped around a hot pack, rambling about his day and letting his heart lead his words rather than his brain.

And for him, you were the moment. The girl that he might have loved a little longer than he was aware of it. The one who adored cherry blossoms and couldn't dance well. He took photos of without her knowing under the willow tree. She loved him, but she hid it in the depths of the many layers of clothing she wore on the coldest days. She would listen to him until it was dark and her older brother called nagging for her to come back home, mindlessly running her fingers through his hair. It was a burden for anyone to stay by his side, but you stayed nonetheless - even if it was your first relationship.

(He hoped he could also be your last.)

You unraveled yourself from him, Seungcheol willingly released you as you turned around, now standing in between his legs. 

“I’m glad it’s you – whenever, wherever, and always,” Seungcheol said softly. 

“And me, you,” You leaned down, hands resting on his shoulder. “Thank you, truly.”

Smiling into the kiss, your lips locked. Seungcheol was quick to lay back, pulling you down with him, eliciting a small yelp from you. He chuckled heartily, quickly slotting his lips against yours again.

“Happy new year, Y/N,” he whispered between breaths.

[ax-cx]

INTOXICATING

Luke Castellan x Fem!OC

slight Pervy!Luke and Toxic!Luke

Warnings: swearing, heavy make out, mentions of slight stalking, super obsessed Luke, mention of drugs, flirting

Just pure fluffy love really

“You can’t keep dancing with the devil and ask why you’re still in hell.”

Intoxicating

adjective

- (of alcoholic drink or a drug) liable to cause someone to lose control of their faculties or behaviour.

- exhilarating or exciting.

- "an intoxicating sense of freedom"

Laila was intoxicating. Just looking at her made my mind run miles. Her beautiful brown hair, falling down over her shoulders. Her beautiful green eyes, glinting when she looks up at me. Her beautiful smile, contagious and bubbly.

Fuck man, I’m so done for. The way she says my name, gods help me.

“Luke.” soft, sweet and silky. Just imagine how it’d sound beneath- no shut up Luke. She’s perfect. Don’t ruin her.

“Yes sweetheart?” oh gods, stop looking at me like that dollface. Can’t you see me melting here?

“I need your help.” her cheeks reddened. Like strawberries and summer sun.

I can’t be this crazy for a girl, right? I’m just Luke. I’m the best swordsman at camp, son of Hermes, and a silly little Demeter girl can’t make me feel this way. Even though she picks flowers everywhere she goes, and the roses greet her like an old friend; even though the shrubs and plants seem to bloom brighter when she walks past, nature pouring from every pore of her pure soul.

“Of course Laila, what do you need?” my voice was shaky, of course it was. She was so fucking stunning my heart hurt. She gave me a headache and a high I couldn’t chase anywhere else. So I was her little servant instead.

She wanted help? Always. Can’t choose an outfit? Sweetheart you look perfect in blue. Someone giving her a hard time? I’ll fucking kill them. She wants food? I’ll get her anything. That bracelet’s cute? Bought it already.

I followed her like a wolf trailing behind a little lamb. All I wanted was her aura, her devilishly inducing soul. I’d do anything she asked. I’d burn the goddamn world to the ground. Just to make her happy. Anything to see her smile.

Chris told me I was obsessed. Maybe I am. Just a little. Just a lot. She takes up my every waking thought, tying up my mind in flowers and thorns, sweet smiles and sugary sounds. The way she walked. The way she talked.

I found myself hidden outside her window, looking in on her dressing once. Like a child outside a candy shop, my face was pressed to glass so hard I nearly fell through. The curves of her body, the scars on her knees, the freckles across her shoulders and clavicle. She rivalled Aphrodite, the fucking beauty she is.

“I need a new bikini and I don’t know which one to get.” fuck. How am I meant to hold myself back now? Surely she’s trying to kill me.

“Laila you look great in anything. But-“

“Blue’s your favourite colour, I know Luke, I know.” Laila I’m begging you, don’t put a blue bikini on, I might fuck up this perfect relationship. “So I picked out two blue ones but I don’t know which ones better.”

Oh god. I could feel my blood going south already. I watched as she slipped into the changing room, drawing the curtain, metal scraping metal. I listened as she shuffled, watched her clothes hit the floor and the shadows of her curves pulling the material on. I hated how long I waited, I was dying to see her.

I was dying to see my girl.

Metal scraping metal, and a soft whisper. “Luke?” my eyes met perfection.

Shamelessly letting my eyes wander, the blue fabric was tastefully perfect on her sun-bronzed skin. I’d forever be grateful for Apollo for how he made her shine. Her hips, her breasts, smattered with freckles and battle scars, marred in its most perfect form. Glowing and radiant. A princess in its finest definition. My beautiful drug. Little shells and gold trinkets were looped into the mesh, woven into the blue and trailing down her ribs and thighs.

Her hair was tucked behind her ears, her face on full display. Strawberries and summer sun dancing across her cheeks. Playful freckles smeared on her skin, full lips pulled into a meek grin. I stood up, and took her chin by the finger, lifting her embarrassed eyes to meet mine. I saw her curl in on herself.

“Laila you don’t need to be ashamed. You look great.” great. A disgusting understatement for how ethereal she looked. Aphrodite worked her magic and worked hard on her. The word felt filthy on my tongue. A princess like her needed to be praised and showered in the filthiest compliments, degraded by affection and ruined by attention. She glowed, and the world stopped.

I couldn’t hear a thing but my heartbeat. Racing, trying to tear from my chest and embrace hers. Her eyes gleamed, and I felt my resolve crumble. My confidence, my senses, my mind and soul falling to bare parts of who I am.

A man so effortlessly infatuated with a woman.

Losing all my thoughts, all my being, I melted into her. I gave up, finally leaning into my instincts and pressing my lips to hers.

They say your first kiss with a person you love is like fireworks. Your lips ignite and everything feels right.

It’s a lie. It’s like a fucking war. Winning and losing, fighting and failing. Kissing the girl I’m completely besotted with. Fuck. Her lips were heaven on earth, soft and plump, the perfect fit to mine. Gods this girl was meant for me. I truly must’ve been blessed, for finding a girl that just fits effortlessly, lips the missing piece to my fucked up puzzle, is a one in a billion girl.

I reluctantly pulled my lips from hers, immediately missing the warmth that bloomed in my chest, the warmth of her lips.

“Laila I’m so sorry.” she blinked, once, twice, still processing what is just done. I’d fucked it, I’d royally fucked it. “I couldn’t, I just couldn’t help my-“

My breath cut short, her fingers pulled on my belt loops, pulling me in, roping me further into her spell. She kissed me. Crashing our lips together, all teeth and tongue, all love and war. My perfect girl perfectly kissing me. My eyes were shut so tight, sight a pathetic sense when compared to her taste, her smell, her feel. Like the world was put right.

My hands swallowed her hips, kneading the supple bronze flesh. She was gold personified. Glowing, valuable and just stunning. Her skin was putty in my hands, the perfect golden feeling against my calloused hands. Soft and untouched. All mine to ruin.

I almost felt bad. Touching something so celestial, with my broken and damaged hands. With my plans and my anger. With my disgust and falsified details. With my wrath and rage. With my betrayal and my suffering. But I didn’t care. My care was out the window as soon as she kissed me. I finally got to be selfish for once. Thinking only of myself for once.

She was pure sugar. Addicting, intoxicating. Like my own personal cocaine.

Her hands were woven into my curls, like the soft curves of a tapestry twisting a timeless tale. This is a moment to remember for as long as I live, something I don’t ever want to forget.

She pulled her lips from mine, and my lips ached for the contact again. “So this one?” she grinned, her beautiful beautiful smile on her beautiful beautiful lips.

“I’ll get you both princess.”

My beautiful drug.

[minecraftbookshelf]

Marriage of State AU: Masterpost

My WIP Empires S1 AU featuring a completely different timeline, some canon problems are not issues but we've given them all new ones to make up for it.

At this point the arranged marriages are more of a minor plot point because I have gotten lost in the worldbuilding of fantasy geopolitics, religion, and agricultural commerce, but the name stuck long enough that we're just rolling with it.

Standard Disclaimer that this is about the Minecraft DnD Characters, not the creators who play them.

This series is also on my AO3

You can find all the posts for this au in the #marriage of state au tag, which is the first one on this post, for your convenience.

Index of links below the cut

(I am in the process of reformatting this and setting up new tag systems specifically for the AU eventually it will all be nice and neat again)

Xornoth's POV Trigger Warning

Fic

In the Hall of the Ocean Queen Arc:

In the Age of Icons Arc:

Mistakes Are Made [AO3] [Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3]

Into Ash Arc:

Character Oneshots:

Art

The Ocean Queen The Codfather: Version One // Version Two The Mad King of Mezalea The Elven King of Rivendell The Copper King Shrub Berry the Gnome The Prince of Rivendell The Lost Emperor The Farmer Queen The King of Mythland The Great Wizard The Count of the Grimlands The Faerie Queen

Joel Takes A Nap

This Amazing Joel Detail by @heliostheperson

Important Posts

Where It All Started

Character Design Posts: Lizzie || Jimmy || Joel || Xornoth || Pixlriffs || Shrub Berry || Scott || Joey || Pearl || Mythical J Sausage || GeminiTay || Fwhip || Katherine

Tags

Marriage of State AU (new to old) // Marriage of State AU (old to new)

Character Tags: Fwhip || GeminiTay || Joey || Katherine || Lizzie || Sausage || Pearl || Pixlriffs || Shrub Berry || Scott || Joel || Jimmy || Xornoth

Empire Tags: The Grimlands || The Crystal Cliffs || The Lost Empire || The Overgrown || The Ocean Empire || Mythland || Gilded Helianthia || Pixandria || The Undergrove || Rivendell || Mezalea || The Cod Swamp || Mangrovia

Grouping Tags: Seablings || Rivendell Siblings || Roseblings || Ocean Alliance || WRA || ShadowBeans (I refuse) || Flower Husbands || Jornoth || Nature Wives || Ensemble || Gods & Monsters || Hermits & Friends || OCs (all two of them with their .05 seconds of screen-time)

MoS AU Fic

MoS AU Asks

MoS AU Fic Snippets and Previews

MoS AU World-building

MoS AU Art

I also tag all asks with the url of the asker and HERE is a cheat code to search for posts filtering for more than one tag (only usable on a browser)

[theantivoid-3]

So one last oatd oc I promise

This ia shrub bush!

-Their the Embodiment of plants (basically their nature and such) and are a deep hermit. It's completely mute and will use ze vines or well sign language to communicate to the other entities. They may seem scary but it's the sweetest hermit you'll ever meet!

- fun fact their actually a therapist as being so intuned with nature and plants made them a complete empath and such

-it personality type is infj

-ze eyes move around their body a lot as it's always paying attention a lot

-shrub is agender which means they use it/its/they/them/ze/zem pronouns also their bisexual

-Ok so basically shrub is a bit of an odd ball

-Also fun fact shrub sleeps upside down like a bat so just imagine some big ass mf hanging upside down from a tree lol

-they have mushrooms and such they take care of a lot.

-shrub is about 14ft tall. Roughly

-as yall can see shrub is a bit pray mantis like with the arms. But fun fact the long leaves covering the body are actually wings. Lol

-fun fact shrub and debby/unexpected noises are for some reason are rlly good friends.

-later on shrub eventually becomes dark's therapist

-shrub does knitting and crocheting a lot

Anyway HAVE SOME MEMES

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The President’s Son (Part 2) - Bob

Pairing: Bob / Fem!OC

Word Count: 2.6k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only!

Warnings: Bodyguard AU; Sassy Bob; Referenced Past OC Death; Excess Sarcasm; Tension

Summary: Bob and Venus spend their first day in the safe house together.

Part 1

Master List

Bob stared out at the bare Montanan landscape as he stepped out of the safe house.

Yesterday, it was just a normal day. He went to his lab, took a nice long walk through the park on his lunch break with Mickey, did some more research for his paper, and then went out for drinks with some of their friends from undergrad. And everything was so perfectly normal.

But now, he was in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a safe house with a personal bodyguard that he was about ninety nine percent sure hated him and hated her job even more, and without any connection to the outside world beyond the extent of his personal sight. All because someone wanted to put a bullet in his head because his dad was the President of the United States.

So, yeah, Bob had better days before.

Bob closed the glass door behind him and padded down to the small patio that was hidden in the curve of the house. It was still a bit chilly since it was early morning, but the patio area was blocked from the wind. At least the Secret Service agents who packed his bag thought to put a sweater in there.

Sitting down on the wooden bench, Bob pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and a lighter. It used to be his mom’s, but now it typically lived in the deepest depths of the drawer of his nightstand. Bob slowly sat down while lighting his cigarette and greedily inhaling. Letting out a puff of smoke, Bob glanced over the landscape again.

He wasn’t proud of the fact that he smoked, but he couldn’t find the energy to give a shit right now. And anyways, he didn’t do it frequently. And he hadn’t done it for a long time. It was just a habit that he picked up for when life threw a curveball at him that he really didn’t need.

And maybe he wasn’t the Golden Boy that the media depicted him as.

Letting out a breath of smoke, Bob turned to the Montanan landscape. When that random Maverick guy said that the safe house was in the middle of nowhere, he damn well meant it. The bright blue sky hung overhead and there wasn’t a cloud to blemish it. There also wasn’t a damn thing to look at. Not even a mountain, since the range ran at the front of the house, not the back. No, there wasn’t even a fucking shrub for Bob to look at as he sat there.

He was already so bored of it all.

“You know, those have a tendency of killing people.”

Bob let out a low sigh, plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, and turned around. Venus, his new personal bodyguard, stood behind him with her arms folded across her chest. She wasn’t dressed in the suit that she wore on the flight over, but a simple sweater and pair of jeans. She looked like she worked for some home design firm, not the FBI.

Bob let the smoke seep out from between his lips, but he didn’t move to put his cigarette out. They took away his phone, his laptop, and everything else that gave him any sense of joy. If they wanted to take his cigarettes, he was going to run. And he wasn’t kidding. She would have to drag him back by his hair to this shithole.

“I’m more worried about the bullet that someone wants to put in my skull,” Bob replied bluntly, turning back to the dismal landscape. “I think that’ll get me faster.”

“I don’t remember it saying that you smoke in your file,” Venus stated, walking around to sit on the other side of the bench. Bob glanced over at her, not necessarily looking pleased to see her, but not looking unhappy either. Venus leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs. “So, did you lie or is the file wrong?”

“I think that I’m entitled to one private vice,” Bob muttered dryly, shifting in his seat. He brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Besides, I only smoke when I’m stressed.”

Venus picked up the pack of cigarettes that Bob placed down beside him and opened it. The pack was about half empty and she had to wonder how many he went through in the last day alone. And about how many he packs that he had in his bag.

“And that happens often?” Venus asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Depends on the week,” he muttered with a shrug.

“So, I should request more for you in the next supply run?” she inquired, placing the pack down.

“We’ll see how I do,” Bob stated, tapping his cigarette. He turned to Venus with a deadpanned expression. “But I have to tell you, it’s not looking good so far.”

“Did you read the file?” Venus asked him, getting straight to business.

She made it clear from the get-go that she was not his babysitter. She was not his maid, she was not his servant, she was not his chef, and she wasn’t anything anywhere close to any of that. Her job was to make sure that no one put a bullet in his head and that was it.

“Yes, I read the file. There’s nothing else to do out here,” Bob sighed, staring straight in front of him.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I quizzed you on it?”

“Go right ahead,” Bob replied sarcastically, taking another drag.

“What name are you supposed to call me when we’re in public together?” Venus started off with, poised to correct him.

“Emma.”

“Emma what?”

“Emma Jones,” Bob stated, turning back to her. “But that’s not your real name, is it?”

“How did we meet?” Venus asked, changing the subject.

“We went to college together, were in the same lab group in chemistry, and then we reconnected at a charity event in DC ten months ago.”

“What charity event?”

“One for an anti-animal cruelty charity that your ‘uncle’ is on the board for and one that my mom used to be involved in,” Bob retorted, like Venus was requesting him to list off basic facts that anyone off the street knew. “We met by the stairs. I complimented your dress and you told me to buy you a drink and we spent the rest of the event together.”

Bob turned to Venus with another deadened expression.

“And we’re so in love that I wanted to hide you from the paparazzi and journalists because of what happened with my last public relationship,” Bob drawled sarcastically, causing Venus to purse her lips together. He quickly brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Thanks for the reminder about that, by the way. Really was the icing on the shit cake that I call my life.”

“I’m impressed,” Venus commented, causing Bob’s expression to sour even further.

“I’m working towards a Ph.D. I think that I can memorize some basic facts,” he replied, slightly offended. “What else did you want to test me on?”

“Where did I grow up?”

“New York City.”

“Which borough?”

“Brooklyn,” Bob recited, before adding, “Your dad was a public defender and your mom was a school teacher. You got into Princeton because of a project that you did when you were sixteen where you redistributed the leftovers from some restaurants in Brooklyn to the homeless shelters as an after-school project.”

“And what about my parents now?”

“They’re retired and live down in Florida.”

“Do I have any siblings?”

“No, you’re an only child.”

“What was my major in college?”

“Political Science with a minor in Environmental Science,” Bob stated, bored with the whole thing. “You love trees and you want to protect them, sort of thing.” Bob turned to Venus and let the cigarette hang from his lips. “Anything else or can I smoke in peace?”

“No, you passed the test,” Venus replied, tilting her chin up a bit. “The first one, anyways.”

“Anytime,” Bob muttered, leaning back in his seat. “Because I have literally nothing better to do right now than sit here and read the file.”

“Actually, I’m supposed to burn the file once you’ve memorized it.”

“It’s in my room, which I assume is bugged and full of cameras anyways, so be my guest,” Bob muttered, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Hell, add some more. Put a camera directly over my bed so that I get to stare at it as I try to fall asleep at night. Read all my personal shit too while you’re at it.”

“Your room isn’t bugged,” Venus informed him, standing up. “The outside perimeter is and a few around the entrances but none in the bedrooms or the bathrooms. You’re not a prisoner.”

“Then why do I feel like one?” Bob asked Venus, turning to her.

“I’m not a psychologist,” she returned after a moment, folding her arms over her chest. “And I’m sure that your Ph.D. brain could figure it out just fine on your own.”

They had a bit of a staring contest before Venus stood up and headed inside the house, leaving Bob to smoke in peace. But Bob wasn’t granted any peace as the emotional turmoil started to take hold of his stomach. He could practically feel the smack on the back of his head that his mom would have delivered if she caught him speaking to someone with that tone.

Let alone a woman who was just as much of a prisoner as he was in this goddamn house.

“Fuck,” Bob sighed, leaning back in his seat.

*~*~*

Venus walked into Bob’s bedroom, grabbing the file and headed into the office on the property. Opening a discrete looking drawer, she dropped the file inside and closed it. Pressing a button on the desk, she waited patiently for the file to be destroyed before moving to check in.

There was a simple computer in the corner of the office that wasn’t even hooked up to the internet. It has a direct messaging system to Maverick and the other operatives working on the case. It was also the only way for them to have any contact with the outside world. She was supposed to put in requests for their food every three days and check in every twelve hours.

Typing away at the computer, Venus prepared her first status, which she had to assume was going to be very much like all of the statuses that she prepared for this mission.

Safe. Test passed. File burned.

Simple. Easy. Straight to the point. The less of a trail, the better, as Maverick said. Get to the point. They didn’t have time for the details. Sending out the status, Venus waited for a moment for confirmation before turning off the computer and heading out of the office.

She busied herself getting familiar with the layout. Noting the exits and entry points. Noting where the cameras and sensors were located on the property and the edge of the house. Walking through the house again, conducting her checks, Venus paused when she smelled something odd.

Was that . . . freshly baked bread?

Heading down to the kitchen, Venus paused in the hall when she spotted Bob standing in the kitchen. The sleeves of the flannel shirt he wore were rolled up and there was flour all over his white tee shirt and the top of his jeans, but he didn’t seem to mind. The countertop was covered in a thin layer of white flour and his hands were absolutely caked in it.

“What are you doing?” Venus asked, causing Bob to look up for a moment.

“Baking,” he replied, as if it were obvious.

“You know that I can just order bread, right?”

“I know,” Bob stated calmly, seeming much more at ease than he was out on that bench a few hours before. “Just felt like doing it.”

“You bake often?” Venus asked curiously, stepping over to the countertop.

“I did. Not really much anymore,” Bob explained, kneading another set of dough to put into the oven. “Didn’t really the time or the motivation.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?” Venus questioned, resting her hands on the table.

“My mom.”

Bob picked up the bread dough and turned away from Venus to put it into the tin, which was probably a good thing because he never did well when he saw people’s pitied gazes. Venus, like just about everyone who didn’t live under a rock, knew about what happened to Bob’s mom. Michelle Floyd. The tragedy that wrecked his family and catapulted his father to the national limelight.

“I’m sorry,” Venus replied quietly, not really sure what else to say.

“Don’t be,” Bob returned, squatting down to check the progress in the oven. He stayed down there for longer than he needed to, running through that same old spiel that Dr. Rothman banged into his head about it. Slowly standing up, he brushed his hands together before turning back to Venus. “And besides, I, uh . . . I should definitely apologize to you.”

“For?” Venus asked, sounding confused.

“I . . . I wasn’t exactly the nicest this morning,” Bob replied, turning back to the counter. “And I know that you’re just doing your job and everything.”

“With all due respect, you’re going to have to do a lot more than say a couple sarcastic comments to actually piss me off,” Venus stated, tilting her chin up just a bit. “And you didn’t assign me here. That was Maverick. He’s the bastard I need to have a nice long chat with.”

“He does seem to rub a lot of people the wrong way,” Bob murmured with a chuckle, glancing down at the flour-covered countertop. “Well, bread should be done in about . . . fifteen more minutes give or take. And I was making some food to go along with it, if you wanted any.”

“You can cook?” Venus asked, sounding more than a little surprised.

“Yeah . . . I do live on my own,” Bob replied, like Venus should have already known the answer.

“You don’t get food brought to you? At your apartment?”

“I mean, me and my friends get take out every Wednesday together,” Bob returned, now sounding like he was the one who was confused.

“You don’t have a private chef or anything like that?”

“No. I’m pretty sure that the news would be all over me wasting taxpayer money if I did,” Bob stated, shrugging his shoulders. “And I like being as independent as I can. I mean, my dad can’t run again, so in two years it should all be over.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Venus agreed, her eyes flickering down to Bob’s hands as he cleaned the countertop from all the flour. Clearing her throat, she took a step back and glanced at the ground. “I have a few more things to check . . . but, uh, I’ll be back.”

Bob nodded to show that he heard her and Venus slipped out of the room to continue on her way. She missed, however, the way that Bob’s blue eyes flickered up to watch her walk off before eventually dropping back down to the countertop when her footsteps started to fade.

[kankuroplease]

OCs and Who they’d give Valentine’s Day gifts to (not all of it is shippy. Friends can get valentines too~)

Chiha (TSAU)

Sakura - buys her Strawberries dipped in Chocolate

Sasuke - force of habit as it felt weird giving Sakura a gift and not her bf. Usually a random pack of trading cards she picked up while getting Sakura’s strawberries.

Naruto - the other pack of trading cards

MinaKushina - a foot long sandwich and sodas from her workplace

Michi - Uchiha bestie! She knows she can’t afford anything Michi would buy for herself but she also knows Michi is a sucker for homemade things. So, homemade chocolate

Michi (TSAU)

HashiMadaMito - pays for their Valentine’s brunch

Tsunade - buys her a spa day

Obito - buys him a watch

Shisui - buys him cuff links

Elder sister - buys her chocolates and flowers

Middle sister - buys her preferred brand of sunglasses

Neji - buys him a tie and opera tickets

Tenten - custom dress she ordered for her (it has pockets!)

Lee - box of roses and chocolates

Chiha - Gift Card and a pair of sneakers

Ryu (TSAU)

Rin - finger painting of the family and bead bracelet that matches Daddy’s (Kakashi)

Kakashi - bead bracelet and a card heart

Obito - finger painting of him winning a fight + a card heart

Aori (Main Timeline)

Shizune, Kurenai, Gai, Yamato, and Iruka - A Bouquet

All the pals are getting flowers

Katsura- her favorite meal

Katsura (Main Timeline)

Shino - chakra infused jelly for his kidaichū and wife cakes

Okami - stickers and castella

Yuuta - warabi mochi or a rock. Depends

Okami (Main Timeline)

Kiba - doggy treats

Katsura - crushed and dried lily of the valley shrub leaves

Yuuta - Kunai

Naruto - candy

Yuuta (Main Timeline)

Everyone - brochures for his families restaurant

It’s him being lazy and efficient

If with Hanabi - flower room + home cooked 5 course meal

If with Tenten - breakfast in bed + Scavenger hunt for the weapon he made her

Gou (Main Timeline)

Kankuro - wood + attempted homemade chocolate

Temari - nail stains 💅

Gaara - a cactus + homemade fulgurite

Haiiro (Main Timeline)

Shizune - chocolates + nail polish (iykyk)

Founders Au bonus

~~For those that have ships~~

Katsura for Madara - inarizushi + sparring date

Aori for Tobirama - fishing date + dinner with their catches

Okami for Kawarama - gives him the new robe she’s been working on

Miu for Kagami - dresses up and acts like a lady for a change

Sora for Rei - sensual massage + a free use pass for the day

Rei for Sora - flowers, dinner, and a new robe

Kōmori for Sakumo - a new haori she thinks feels good

Suzaku for Erika - a LOT of streamed barbecue pork buns, makeup, hair pin, and robes

Suzaku for Aja - Gulab Jamun (he had to write her mother to find out how to make these), jewelry, and silk fabrics

Tora for Orochimaru - salamander skull

Manda for Nisshoku - wild flowers, chocolate, and any snake jewelry he’s come across

Nisshoku for Manda - nail polish, matching tattoos, and a copy of Icha icha because she heard it’s a good story

Megumi for Suigetsu - switchblade

[doyoubelieveinwhateverr]

Hades Oc: Chloe, Pomegranate Nymph & Head Gardener of the House of Hades

Extra doodles, screenshot edits and excessive character lore below the cut

Chloe is the Head (only) gardener of the House of Hades and one of the few underworld nymphs in existence, specifically borne of a pomegranate tree.

Taking the form of a young girl, Chloe is soft-spoken and keeps to herself, content to carry out her gardening duties. She will indulge in light conversation with whomever approaches her (usually Zagreus) but will rarely initiate interactions.

Giving her nectar will prompt her to give Zagreus the Pom Parer, which would allow him to upgrade two boons of his choice once per floor when he gets a Pom of Power.

Completing her bond will earn Zagreus the Chthonic Companion, Pom Pom. Using this summon allows Chloe to plant spiny pomegranate shrubs on the field that can ensnare enemies and inflict chip damage. Completing her bond involves having the House contractor build a rooftop garden for her next to the training area. (Garden could also be used for "date" interactions with other characters, much to her chagrin.)

It would probably never come up but she is capable of fighting, her gardening sickle as her main weapon and a switch made of a thorny branch as her back up, as well as some magic with her pomegranate seeds.

The tree Chloe was born from was one accidentally planted by Persephone when she choked and coughed up a pomegranate seed she was eating and lodged into the grounds of the garden. Thanks to Persephone's power, it had the magic needed to spawn a nymph, making Chloe Persephone's daughter and Zagreus' half sibling on a technicality. However, Chloe formed long after Persephone left and thus no one seems to have made the connection; as far as anyone is concerned, Chloe just appeared in the garden one day and became their gardener, and she would prefer it to stay that way.

Relations:

Zagreus: One of the few members of the House she regularly speaks to. She respects him as her Prince but also considers him a friend. She has her own opinions on how the people of the house speak to and of him.

Hades: Respects him as a god and master. Her personal opinions are best remained unsaid.

Persephone: Has mixed feelings towards the queen of the Underworld. On one hand, Chloe's glad she has returned but on the other, the fact she ran away in the first place makes Chloe believe she is irresponsible and unreliable.

Skelly: Very pointedly tunes him out

Dusa: The mutual respect had for a fellow tender of the House.

Achilles: Likes his voice and how he calls her 'lass'.

Megaera: Doesn't get to speak to her often but admires her whip proficiency. Often practices similar moves in secret with a thorny branch.

Hypnos: Always seems to be sleeping when she sees him.

Thanatos: They sometimes exist in the same space in companionable silence.

Nyx: Greet each other respectfully when passing in halls and Chloe ensure that the flowers in Nyx's corner are always fresh.

Charon: Business partners, they have a shared side hustle involving Pomegranate Wine being "exported" to the surface. Hades does not know of this.

Olympian Gods: Keep those things FAR away from her! (Her words)

Major Dialogue:

First interaction: Oh, you're back. Didn't go well?

Give Nectar: You're giving this to me? Thank you, your highness. It's not much but you can have this, I hope it's helpful. (Pom Parer get!)

Give Ambrosia: I don't think I can finish all this by myself but I'll try! Here's something I think you'll like, too. (Pom Pom get!)

Max Bond: I was never fond of the way that... certain members of this House spoke to you, or of you. It seemed so unfair when you had done nothing to deserve it beyond just not being what they wanted. As just a gardener, there was never anything I could do to help but for what it's worth; I was always on your side, Prince.

Chthonic Companion Summon: A bountiful harvest!

Chthonic Companion Summon (Hades): Ah! Sorry Prince, but not happening. / I better not get yelled at for this.

[hazmatmaid]

I just had a thought, if all darkners are based off of objects in the real world, then what else could become a darkner?

Pardon me for not getting to this right away, I was hoping to draw something up to accompany it.

Firstly, I think I should try to recap what a Dark Fountain does when it's opened:

In Chapter 1, it turned the unused classroom (which I think was implied used to be Gerson's) into the Card Kingdom (though it should be acknowledged that non-card Darkners were there too, like the chess pieces and Jigsaw Joe & the Puzzle Pals), and in Chapter 2, turned the library computer lab into Cyber World.

Some notes of interest in Ch1:

The checkerboard was not made to be alive, it was simply a location within the kingdom where the pieces for checkers and chess resided

Several scattered plastic bricks (not Lego, but whatever the in-universe DR equivalent is) were made into the flora, like trees and shrubs, not counting Bloxers

Some notes of interest in Ch2:

Darkners are not limited to being physical objects, and can in fact be computer programs

While the NEO body was in fact created by a Lightner (drawn by MTT's DR counterpart) and takes on a form in the Dark World, it has no will of its own, and is more like an empty suit of armor (something Spamton was going to take advantage of to cause all manner of violence)

Some notes of interest for both (if not the game as a whole):

Certain objects can be transformed in the Dark World, but are not Darkners (as with the Great Board above). This would include the weapons (pens & pencils → swords), armor (adhesive bandage → Amber Card), and healing items (chalk → Light Candy).

Kris' phone stays the same in both the Dark World and the real world, it just doesn't work in the Dark World (or at the very least cannot make or receive calls).

Castle Town expands to accommodate any additional Darkners you bring into it at the end of each chapter, but as of writing, there is not an explanation (that I know of) for exactly how this works.

With all of that said, it's a little hard to say what can become what (and if it'll be alive), but as a general rule of thumb; if you can personify it, it can probably be a Darkner.

Things that are likely to become Darkners:

Toys (dolls, plushies, cards, puzzle pieces, game pieces, etc)

Computer programs (any running process, Tasque Manager, adware, computer viruses, antivirus, drawing software, etc)

Electronics (electrical outlets, computer mice, computers themselves, etc)

Speculative: decorations & knickknacks?

Things that likely won't become Darkners:

Pens & pencils

Phones

Any handheld tool/utensil probably

Artwork

Game boards

Food (unless it's shaped like a friend...or enemy)

This is not a strict guide on what is and isn't allowed to be a Darkner (if OCs are what you had in mind), since there's probably going to be something in future chapters that will prove to be exceptions to the above. My suggestion is to let your imagination run wild and personify inanimate objects to your heart's content.

[bubble-masquerade]

Pt. 2!! of the oc project with my sister @bogwatertrash

Sylvie

Name Meaning: From the forest

Turtle Species: Southern Painted Turtle

Southern Painted turtle Average adult size ranges from 4 to 6 inches with a lifespan of 30 to 40 years 

It is an subspecies of the painted turtle, and is the smallest of the painted turtle sub species 

Semi aquatic and can be found close to swamps, marshes, ponds, lakes, and rivers. 

They also prefer slow moving waters They can also be found basking on partially submerged logs on water bodies

Red middorsal line on carapace

Omnivorous. Various invertebrates, aquatic vegetation

Plants, small animals, such as fish, crustaceans, aquatic insects, and some carrion.

Young painted turtles are mainly carnivorous, acquiring a taste for plants later in life

Southern Painted turtles generally enjoy being left alone, whether that means they are in the wild or in a tank at home.

 It is possible to handle a Southern Painted turtle, and the more you do so the more likely your new friend will become used to being held

Because of their size and instincts, Southern Painted turtles tend not to like it when other animals or creatures get too close to their head. 

If you make quick movements near their head, you can expect them to flinch away or even try to bite you

Personality/Other Info 

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Gender: Cisgender Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Introvert

How she was found: In a bag as a tot in an alley way 

Some Knowledge of basic magic. Craft specialty is Plant magic 

Support swapper 

Has a cute tooth gap 

Prefers to be with her siblings/parental unit, especially when it comes to going out to places where large groups of people will be attending

Terrified of Jurassic park. Got traumatized from the t-rex scene as a tot and hasn’t watched it since

Gets in to chaotic messes with Klee (in which Klee is leading)

Loves quality time with her siblings when they aren’t all together doing something/getting in to trouble. Also enjoys parallel play

A sweetheart and a savage. Head in the clouds and she sometimes gets distracted 

When she hyperfocuses it can be hard to get her attention 

Favorite movie/show genres are dramedy/disaster films. However she cannot stand horror 

She ADORES her plants. From her flowers to her shrubs, and has even grown stuff for Pedro and Caly to work with in the kitchen. Has a terrarium that absolutely nobody is allowed to touch tho. She will cry. Also, expect small houseplants everywhere

Enjoys warm weather and the fall. Doesn't like it when it gets hot 

Wears a stim bracelet on each wrist, beaded and colorful, almost never takes them off 

More of a follower than a leader in the shenanigans with Klee. is the one to say “it was almost a great idea” knowing everything usually goes wrong

Does swear, surprisingly. But its mostly softly under her breath 

Has a habit of taking naps in the greenhouse. So there's now a large beanbag, pillows, and blankets in there 

Is okay with affectionate touches as long as she’s not overwhelmed/over stimulated 

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Klee 

Name Meaning: Clover

Turtle Species: Bog Turtle

Orange/Yellow/Red Spots behind/above ears

Shell- Usually brown, grey, mahogany. Sometimes has Amber/Dark colored lines

Plastron- Usually pale yellow with irregular black blotches

Diurnal and secretive, it spends most of its time buried in mud and – during the winter months – in hibernation.

They are very timid and like to stay hidden

The bog turtle is one of the smallest living turtles.

Personality/Other Info

Pronouns: Any she/he/they 

Gender: Agender

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Ambivert

How they were found: Climbed on the back of a mexi-boys food truck as a tot and made their way to New York. Found kung fu panda style. Scared the shit outta the poor truck driver/worker unfortunately 

Still Learning about the magic system. Craft Specialty is Necromancy

She can be blunt, childish, forgetful, secretive, and pretty impatient at times

Whenever given the chance, will only wear odd socks (One longer than the other / Two different colors). A sock gremlin if you will

Very adventurous and bold. Very active and energetic at times. Unfriendly to certain people they come across

They get pretty careless when it comes to chores and basic at home duties. Baby sibling attitude

Is constantly fidgeting with something. HATES eye contact

Favorite movie genres are horror/thriller. Knows Sylvie doesn’t enjoy those kinds of movies so during family movie nights he doesn’t suggest them. Waits till they know Sylvie is busy to watch them with the others or warns her ahead of time if they want to watch the movies in the living room

Should seriously not be allowed to handle any money

Loves clowns. Don't know why, but they do. Every Halloween they go as a clown. As a tot, it was very cutesy stuff. But the older they get the more unhinged they look 

Loves rainy, foggy weather. Silent Hill vibe type stuff

Collects bones. Cleans them as a hobby and is also getting in to making jewelry out of them 

Sleeps with a plushie still. Needs it to fall asleep

Tries to get away with everything. Hates being grounded

Isn’t really the touchy type. As a tot though you’d find her napping with Sylvie

[txemrn]

Hii 🥰

I saw this picture for Valentine’s Day and thought maybe it’ll inspire a fic or an edit (no pressure 🥰)

Thank you so much, @peonierose , for this pic prompt for Valentine's Day! I kinda sorta broke the rules... as usual... lol what I wrote is more than likely NOT what you had in mind when you sent me this pic. 🙈 And also, this story happens on Valentine's Day, but it would be a stretch to call this a Valentine's Day fic. Either way, hey! New story! Thanks again for the inspiration! Enjoy! 💚

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson-Ramsey); relationship implied, but limited interaction in this fic; they have been married for 4 years at this point

Summary: After receiving horrible life-changing news from the hospital's lab report, Tatum is overcome with worry with having to be the bearer of bad news to the couple. In her poor attempts to cope, she turns to a decadent treat.

Word Count: ~2475

Warning: Mature themes; angst; depiction of dysfunctional eating; a few curse words; mentions of pregnancy and delivery

A/N: Some of the characters and plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry; this was not beta'd, please excuse any errors

~🖤~

Looking at the STAT result of the ordered lab test, a cold chill crawls down Tatum’s spine. The thunder of her heartbeat rings in her ears as her chest begins to heave.  With her vision growing hazy, she quickly shoves her phone into the pocket of her white coat, turning to hastily leave the crowded nurse's station.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dr. E–”  Wanda stops in her tracks, her friendly gaze shifting into worry.  She recognizes the agony crashing across Tatum’s features. “Uh…Dr. Erikson, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she waves, giving a cordial smile; but Tatum can feel the color draining from her face. She cradles her abdomen as bile teases the back of her throat.  This can’t be happening.

She hated this part: having to deliver bad, life-altering news to happy couples–especially when they're not expecting it, especially when they are living their best lives, especially when it would force them to make unimaginable decisions that could possibly haunt them forever. 

This news is hitting her hard; she is already devastated for them.

Fresh air. I need fresh air.

“I’ll be back in twenty,” she hurries past the nurse's station.

“But Mrs. Simpson is 8 centimeters,” Wanda calls out after Tatum, her hands on her hips with a shocked expression.

“I’ll be back in time,” Tatum reassures, heading for the door. “I promise.”

Her power walk turns into a run as she enters the emergency stairwell. She bolts down the five flights until she reaches the door on the bottom level that leads outside to the ambulance bays for the emergency department. A burning gurgle rises in her chest as a sour pang reaches her jaw as she swings open the door. Clenching to her stomach, she stumbles to a nearby bush and vomits. 

Taking a moment, she hovers over the green shrubs to drink in the chilly Boston air as it soothes her clammy skin. She wishes she could indulge in something to take the edge off of her nerves, like a Xanax or alcohol, but those weren’t an option. 

You’re fine, she inhales deeply. Everything’s going to be fine. You're an expert at this.

Feeling the nausea die down, she adjusts the snug fit of her scrub top before quickly retreating back into the hospital. A shiver ignites goosebumps across her body as she power-walks to the staff elevator. But something catches her eye as she passes the hospital’s gift shop: a refrigerated display case, filled with flowers and decadent cakes. 

And suddenly, her stomach growls.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ramsey.”

“Good morning, Ms. Edna.” Edna Blakenship is an 82-year-old volunteer that works in the gift shop on Tuesdays. Tatum loved getting coffee from her; she was hilarious and still quite sharp for her age. Plus she would pray to Saint Raphael, the patron saint of healing, for healthcare workers that stopped by to visit her. Tatum isn't particularly religious, but Edna's kind sentiments and positive energy always made for a great day at work. And today, she needed all the good vibes for this news.

Tatum also loved how Edna loved Ethan, treating him like the son she never had… and the mother he deserved.  She is one of the few people that can make Ethan smile with his rare, but genuinely beautiful, toothy grin.  She is also the only one in the hospital that calls Tatum by her married name; ‘Mrs. Ramsey.’ ‘The name people call you should serve as a reminder of who you are. Family comes first, my dear; then career.”

Tatum chews on her lip, pulling down her snug shirt again as the old woman’s words course through her memories. Family comes first…

“Are you thinking about getting a sweet treat for your husband for Valentine’s Day?” Edna notices the obstetrician staring at the cakes in the glass case. "You know? We got an order of these boozy dark truffles–" she grabs the box opening it up for Tatum to see. "I know Ethan would enjoy them."

The pungent odor of woodsy hops mixed with dark cocoa stings her senses, shooting an offsetting churn of uneasiness to Tatum's belly.

“Um…” Tatum nonchalantly covers her nose, feeling the back of her cheeks salivate what felt like acid. "You are so sweet to offer–" she swallows thickly, turning away from the unwelcoming odor before she hurls. "I already got him something, but, um–" she retreats frantically, stopping to look at the different cakes. "I need to get something for my nurses working today, and I was thinking a cake would be perfect. Which one would you recommend?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she smiles mischievously. “I’d get the lemon sponge with raspberry buttercream. It has a raspberry compote filling inside.” She points to the top of the cabinet. “See that? It’s three layers, plenty for you and all of your staff to enjoy.”

Tatum’s mouth begins to water at the sight of the beautifully designed cake, complete with fresh raspberries and roses on top. The uneasiness of her anxious stomach is replaced by hunger as it comes to life, rumbling as an unexplainable need to taste the cake overwhelms her. “I’ll take it.”

Edna boxed the cake, slipping it delicately into a bag before finishing the transaction with Tatum. “Come here, dear.” The old woman steps out from behind the register, taking Tatum’s hand before bowing her head to pray.

“Thanks, Ms. Edna,” Tatum breathes a sigh of relief, “I could really use St. Raphael’s guidance today.”

“Oh,” she giggles, “I didn’t pray to him. For you, we need St. Gerard to intercede.”

"St. Gerard?" Tatum gives a curious look. “What’s he the patron saint of?”

Edna smiles kindly, a knowing glint in her eye before turning back to her counter. “Have a good rest of your shift, Mrs. Ramsey.”

Tatum eyes her suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she pulls her white coat closed around her body before taking her purchase and heading back to the labor and delivery floor.

To her relief, the laboring patient was not ready to deliver upon her return to the unit.  She checked in with the nurses before heading to the physician’s lounge to clean herself up from getting sick. 

Her phone pings; looking at the alert, her mind is brought back to the present and the difficult conversation she is going to have later. This would surely be one of the hardest reports she has ever delivered, and once again, her thoughts begin to spiral.

She sets the cake down on a table, preparing to take it out to the nurses. But the decadent scent of the citrus and berries kindle a voracious desire in her that seems to quiet her anxiety.

Just one bite.

Tatum steals a raspberry from the top, a dab of the buttercream frosting clinging to the side of it, and pops it into her mouth. 

Oh. My. God.

Tatum’s eyes roll back into her head, the sweet taste satisfying her craving. Sorta. Suddenly, she needs more. She digs into one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a knife and a fork. She cuts herself a small sliver.

The girls wouldn’t mind a small piece missing. Shoot, they don't even know there's a cake for them yet.

Licking the frosting off of her fork, she begins to plan out how she needs to deliver the bad news. In person would be better. Should she call or send a message that she needs to them meet in person?

She cut herself another piece, not wasting anytime before digging into the moist layers. Her mouth hums in delight as the sweetness relieves her uncharacteristic and unnerving appetite for something sugary.

Call. Definitely call, but could she keep herself calm and collect? She'd hate to strike panic before she can spill the truth.

She cuts a third piece. 

She would practice what to say.

A fourth piece.

As Tatum’s mind swirls, her thoughts begin to play every what-if scenario in her head.  Would there be tears? Screaming? Anger? Hurtful words? Would she be blamed for this?

She pulls the cake box closer to herself, eating straight from the container. Swipe after swipe of her fork, she engorges herself, sometimes swallowing before chewing, making way for the next bite. Unable to be tamed, unable to be satiated. Chaotic. Madness.

Until suddenly, her fork drops, clanging carelessly against the table.

A twinge of pain bores into Tatum’s head while queasiness sloshes in her stomach. She looks down at the cake box. 

And freezes.

Save for a few morsels and swipes of icing, it was gone. 

Before she can make sense of what just happened, the sugar rush of consuming an entire cake crashes into her body all at once. Her eyes refuse to focus, rolling back into her head. She wraps her arms around her bloated belly, her shirt now pulling uncomfortably tight across her midsection. She unbuttons her pants before laying her head on the cool metal table, moaning in agony.

“Dr. Erikson, we’re going to start pushing–” Wanda freezes after seeing a pitifully wilted Tatum with the remnants of the dessert next to her head; some of the cake was haphazardly smashed across her face while other chunks clung to her blonde hair. “Um...” Wanda shuts the door for privacy.  “I know it’s none of my business,” she quietly starts, “but…”

“Oh God, Wanda!” Tatum moans tearfully, interrupted by a hiccup, then a burp. “You don’t want to know.”

The seasoned nurse cautiously walks over to the physician, taking a seat. “Try me,” she playfully challenged, “I’m a good listener, and I can guarantee you I’m better than that insulin-resistance you're trying to achieve,” she chuckles.  Tatum slowly lifts her head off the table, cradling her forehead in her hands. Wanda gently rubs her back as they sit for a moment in silence. “C’mon, baby, it can’t be that bad.”

Tears sting the backs of Tatum’s eyes as she looks to Wanda. “I’m just… so stressed and-and overwhelmed. I don't think… I don't think I can do this..”

“Do what, baby–?”

Tatum quickly covers her mouth in a panic as a greenish-gray hue spreads across her skin. “I’m gon–I’m gonna–” Wanda grabs a large trashcan, placing it underneath Tatum while collecting the strands of her blonde hair to hold it back. Tatum grips onto the sides of the can, her knuckles blanching to white as she begins to wretch again and again.

Finally, the urge dissipates as Tatum lays her arm along the rim of the basket before resting her sweaty head on her wrist. Wanda grabs a nearby washcloth, dampening it with cool water. She presses it to Tatum’s skin as she sits down next to her.

“Sweetheart,” Wanda starts, combing her fingers through Tatum’s damp tresses. “You and I both know you can’t cope with stress like this. Now, I don’t know what’s going on, and I know–I know–what you’re going to think. But this is coming from an old, decrepit woman, you hear?” This earns a pained chuckle from Tatum. “Stress and worry? It’s part of life, and it makes it hard, unbearable at times. The burden is hard in our line of work–I know. Believe me, I know. But if you haven’t noticed by now, each problem that we come across in life… it doesn’t last forever. It has its own lesson for us to grow from, and then before you know it, the season is over.” 

“I just–” Tatum sits up, dabbing at the wetness in her eyes. “--I don’t even know how I’m going to go about this.”

“You’re not supposed to know how,” Wanda’s lip curls as she begins to wash the cake residue from Tatum’s mouth. “We don’t go through hard times because we are experts at it. If you already knew what to do, you wouldn’t think it was so hard, now would you?”

“Dr. Erikson, we’re starting to see head.”

Tatum nods as the delivery nurse exits the room as quickly as she entered. Still feeling queasy, Tatum slumps back in her chair, laying her head back with her eyes closed. She arches her back, stretching in hope to create more room from her binge.

“Well, I better head back out there, but think about what I said, baby, and–” she winks at Tatum as her tone turns lighthearted, “no more cake.”

A rage of nausea ravages through Tatum’s abdomen at the mention of the word ‘cake’. “Noted,” she holds her fist to her mouth as gas bubbles retreat to her mouth, the richness of the taste of sugar uncomfortably unappetizing. She clears her throat. “Wanda?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Do you know who St. Gerard is?”

The older woman snickers. “You’re an obstetrician, and you don’t know?” Wanda pulls out a chain from around her neck, revealing a silver charm of the saint.  “He’s the patron saint of childbirth and pregnant women and mothers. Why?”

“N-no reason.”

With the door closing, Tatum swiftly throws the cake box into the receptacle. Standing up slowly to maintain her balance, she shuffles slowly to retrieve from her locker a bottle of Pepto, her second one to nurse this week.

Her phone pings again. Another text from Ethan. She had ignored his message earlier. She isn't sure if it was her nerves, her overdose of sugar or maybe a mixture of both, but her trembling hands fumble to even reply.  Rather than respond now, she leaves her husband’s message unopened, clicking out of the messaging app. 

And there it is again. The last page she had pulled up on her screen before she spiraled into this nightmare.  And the test result stares strangely back at her.

hCG                137,000 IU/L

Tatum's thumb traces over each letter and number, ensuring she is reading the lab value correctly. Damnit.

She walks into the physician's private showering area to splash cool water from the sink on her face. She pats dry her skin, then turns on her heel to attend the delivery, but not before she catches her reflection in a full length mirror.

Tatum notices she forgot to button her scrub bottoms. As she lifts up her shirt, she can't help, but take in the surreal sight: it’s there. It really is there. She gently glides her hand over her lower abdomen, feeling the tiniest swell of a belly. 

Her now confirmed pregnant belly.

"Dr. Erikson. We need you for delivery."

“Coming!” Tatum manages to fasten the button to her pants before shimmying down her scrub top. Giving herself one last look over, a strange spur of confidence hits her. And she pulls out her phone to contact Ethan, but before she fires off a quick text, letting him know she needed to talk him, she quickly reads his earlier messages.

And she gasps.

Ethan: We need to talk.

Ethan: I saw Edna today.

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you wish to be added/removed)

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[stormbreaker101]

Wiztober Day 19: For Better or Worse - What should have been a simple recon mission and fetch quest quickly spiraled out of control, for better and worse.

This fic was made in collaboration with @klaraflamez! It takes place in her Wizard101 postcanon/rewrite, the Cleaved AU. Things aren't quite as they seem in this Spiral...

Content warnings: multiple instances of swear words (so it's not PG-13), and both canon-typical and canon-atypical violence.

If you want to read the fic with font variation for flavor (and maybe a secret or two in between the lines :3), here's the fic in its original format.

Word Count: 7866

It was supposed to be a pretty simple quest. Sneak into a heavily secured Schismist fort in the middle of the day, take the blueprints for an incredibly dangerous machine they’ve got, and hightail it out of there. No harm, no foul, no need to use that license to kill they gave him.

Unfortunately for Flare Rouge and Jane Doe, the young Wizard that (for better and worse) the Arcanum assigned to him to watch over, the fort was in a world that nobody had a key for. The elusive and fascinating Novus, a world said to only be about 25 years old, a world that didn’t exist in Flare’s original spiral! What a joy would that be to see! 

Alas, getting there was another story.

And it still is another story. Sorry Flare, I know you and Jane probably have a ton of good memories you want written out, spending so long adventuring. But there’s a lot to get through.

Moo Bu was fantastic company on the long trip from the Jade Palace to Catmandu, over which hung one of Novus’s shards. He had a thousand stories to pass the time, open ears for Jane and Flare to share their stories with as well, and many a wisdom to dispense. Moo dispensed his final wisdom as their journey split (him up the scarlet Stone of Heaven, and them to Conatus, where the fort stood): “Be careful dealing with the people in charge there. The governors are egoists first, leaders a distant second. And your… Arcanum also sound like bigshots. Do not let them use you.”

Flare nodded slowly. “Thanks, but we’ve got this.” He didn’t like the implication that Moo was hinting at, but there wasn’t time to argue. Jane was already rushing to the pale blue leyline gate. “JANE! WAIT UP!”

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO WAIT!” Jane shouted back. Then to Moo Bu she hollered, “BYE! THANKS FOR EVERYTHING!” before disappearing through the gate.

Flare rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a laugh. Ms Whisperwind had warned Flare that Jane was flighty as a pup and needed overseeing. Jane’s impulse and determination were why Flare enjoyed questing with her. Sure, she was his responsibility and 10 years his junior, but she was also a friend. They both ran at a million miles an hour and often ran together, an unstoppable duo of Sorcerers! He hurried after her, zipping through the leyline gate.

~

Conatus sprawled out in front of Flare and Jane, a sight unlike anything the two had seen before. Stone cliffs wide, smoothed, curved, and jutting out like way too many fingers on a pair of palms. Soft white loamy sands down below. A massive indigo waterfall from what almost looked like an eye, tumbling into a massive waving lake. Many tents, gardens, markets, and camps for the other five nations that Novus’s shards hung over. Karamelle, Marleybone, Polaris, Monquista, and Valencia. 

Notably, there was no Schismist fort to be seen, but that only made sense. Why would a secretive cult have a major base of operations where everyone could see? It’s a good thing the Arcanum provided Flare and Jane with some particularly convenient maps: of Conatus, and of the base’s interiors, including the location of the Schismists’ lab, where the dastardly plans lay.

Jane opened the map of Conatus up, and Flare peeked over her shoulder. “There’s no way we can go through the main entrance,” she said, pointing at the entrance marked on the map. “Even with the Arcanum promising to keep the Schismists’ attention, we’d be spotted super easy by whoever stayed behind. Is there some side entrance we can go through?”

“Yep, they’ve got that animal sanctuary,” Flare said. He took out the other map and laid it out on the floor. “Thing is, that’s pretty darn far away from the lab. We might get caught the longer we stay and move around.”

“C’mon, we can do it! I’ve got experience sneaking about back when I was a pirate. And you can… well…” Jane’s train of thought trailed off. Flare was not stealthy in the slightest.

“I could polymorph into a ninja pig-” Flare spitballed.

Jane snort-laughed at the idea. “YES.”

Flare laughed as we,,. “Pogchamp! That’s our plan!”

“More like pigchamp?”

“YES!” Flare cheered. He gathered the map and hopped up to his feet. “I’ve trained ya well in the art of the pun. Now, let’s get going.”

~

The two of them made their way down to the sanctuary entrance, tucked between some cliff walls that at a distance looked like one surface. Flare put his hand against the door and made a portal to the other side. Portals were one of the magics that he had carried from his home, outside every Spiral, and thus were a tad shakier to use here. (This Spiral seems to resist every magic that isn’t its own.) 

Even riskier still to try and make a portal to a place he had never set foot into. The furthest Flare could trust his portals into unknown territory was a few feet. In other words, safely past this wall but not more.

Jane put on her mask and helmet. The portal opened. Flare polymorphed. The two hopped through. The portal closed behind them.

For better and worse, they’re in.

Jane scurried to the shadowed edges of the sanctuary, and Flare hustled up a tree with newfound ninja agility. A peculiar mustache-bird of some kind flew up to Flare. Flare fought back the mounting panic of him being discovered already. It’s just a harmless bird. Not an enemy. He held out a hoof to gently pat the bird. There’s a good birdie. Calm. Friend, he thought at it. He also decided to spare a moment to magically *Check what the bird was, get some more information.

A 2D textbox appeared in front of Flare, with a splash of flavortext explaining the little creature. [Follicle Falcon (Star-Balance, rank 21 Elite): Native to the Stone of Heaven. Well known as therapy pets for their Empathic Abilities.]

So thinking at ya was the right call, Flare realized. There’s a good bird. Kinda wish I could adopt one of y’all from these guys… You deserve better than being raised by cultists, y’know?

In the meantime, Jane had made her way across the sanctuary to the door without any of the other creatures spotting her. Got the door open! Lockpicks :> she Whispered to Flare.

Perfect. Flare crept through the tree cover and climbed on the sanctuary walls, making his way over. I’ll go in first in case anybody’s right inside. Maybe they’ll miss me slipping into the rafters or something.

Jane gave a thumbs up.

Flare nudged the door open and swung inside. The room was thankfully empty, and also a bedroom? Furnished and decorated, with Life motifs everywhere. A fuzzy moss-looking carpet, a soft bed nested in bookshelves, walls lined with various supplies that Flare couldn’t investigate too closely, and a closed wardrobe. Not what he was expecting, but then again… what had he been expecting in the first place? He hadn’t really come into this plan with… any preconceived notions on what a violent apocalyptic cult’s base would look like. He wasn’t one for judging someone based off how others portrayed them, a trait that had caused him to butt heads with this Spiral’s Arcanum many times. Always considering the other perspective, never taking something as face value, save for the Arcanum itself. Because he knew the Arcanum from his own Spiral. But all this debate he got into for his differing views was all in good faith, right? A compromise could be reached eventually. Besides, if they were truly evil, he’d be able to see it for himself.

Maybe the Schismist’s base would show its true colors outside of what was obviously a personal bedroom.

Room’s empty. We’re clear, Flare Whispered to Jane.

Jane stepped in and paid little heed to the room’s decor, heading straight to the other door. She tested the doorknob- it was already unlocked. Hey, weird question, does this feel too… easy for you? she asked.

Not yet, Flare admitted. We’re only two rooms in. It’ll probably ramp up the further we go in. Leah’s not the kind of person to just throw us in the deep end immediately, he reasoned to himself. The story needs time to build, right?

Right.

Jane nodded and opened the door to the halls. She slipped behind a potted plant by the door and Flare climbed up into the rafters above the hanging lights. The floors were lined with neat runner-rugs, a very pleasing blue and purple palette that reminded Flare of his favorite sweater, and distinctly not the dark malachite green and gold normally associated with the Schismists.

The Arcanum had warned that the Schismists were fickle foes. Changing their name and their faces, but carrying the same dangerous ideologies across the ages. They’ve supposedly done it before, posing as the otherwise noble-intentioned Chronomancers in maroon and white in Mirage maintaining the Sands of Time, or the Dark Cloud Agents in grey and purple and silver harassing the Nimbari of Empyrea. Of course they’d do it again, especially after the Wizard had lain waste to those Schismist offshoots 25-odd years ago. This particular chapter of the Schismists, at the heart of Novus, called themselves the Astral Alliance.

Flare and Jane snuck their way through the fort. It was suspiciously quiet. The two of the only caught sight of some folks hanging out in what looked like a library similar to the Arcanum’s Repository, and a lemur-person checking on the sleeping Rainbow Eucalyptus tree planted down the way.

A door opened right underneath Flare! An impossibly tall moose-person stepped through the doorway, speaking to someone inside the room he had just come from: “All we can do is hope, Chancellor.”

Flare held his breath. Leah, don’t leave me hanging. Please. 

The moose’s ear twitched. He hesitated for a moment, hand to his muzzle, then straightened up with a snap of his fingers. “Er, actually, I remembered one last thing on my mind,” he said. “If I may.”

“Oh?” responded this Chancellor figure from inside. “What is it now, Manti?”

“That newest recruit-” Manti closed the door, muting the conversation too quiet for Flare to hear.

THAT WAS WAY TOO CLOSE, Jane screamed in the Whisper.

Flare nodded. We got real lucky. Anyway, next door over is the lab. Jane’s earlier comment about this quest being too easy rang in his mind again. That was so close to leading to a disaster! Had this Manti fellow heard him? Did he think it was just the wind? Did he- god forbid- know? Leah, please. Prove my worst panicking wrong. Save us. Help.

No, no there’s no way Manti knew. If he knew Flare was sneaking around, surely he would’ve sounded an alarm of some kind! Or made ANY sort of move, an attack or a word of acknowledgement like ‘I know you’re there. You came far but now you’re found out. You made a mistake coming here’ or some other archetypical monologue! He wouldn’t just know and say nothing about it.

Of course. Right. Yeah, we’re in the clear. Thanks.

Flare was overthinking.

Oh, come on, you didn’t have to say that.

Jane came out of her hiding spot and tried to pick the lab door open. However, none of her picks seemed to work. “Stupid- dammit- C’mon- Why are you harder- than the fucking outside door- you bastard-” she cursed under her breath, getting more agitated with each repeat attempt. This lock must’ve been enchanted, or just more heavy duty. Flare I think we might just need a portal past this son of a bitch.

Flare dropped down from the rafters and unpolymorphed. One portal past this son of a bitch coming right up, he Whispered back, echoing the vulgarities back because sometimes you just have to call a door a son of a bitch. Hand to the door, he tried to project a portal just barely past the door. No more than… six inches in. That’d still be well in the doorway and thus well without the odds of portaling into some furniture.

The two stepped in, expecting to be the only ones inside.

Instead, there was a hippocampus girl inside, wearing a true Schismist uniform of green and gold, and holding a batch of blueprints in her arms. “Arcanum,” she hissed upon seeing the two.

Flare closed the portal. 

“Hey bastard!” Jane jeered. “You’ve got something that we can’t letcha have!”

“These plans don’t belong to you.” The stranger backed up towards the open window on the back wall.

“We have to take them, for the sake of the Spiral!” Flare countered, stepping forward. If she dared to fly out that window, he could chase after her.

“You know nothing about the matters you’re meddling with,” the woman spat, “nor any understanding about what the Spiral needs!”

Flare dismissed the stranger’s words, and *Checked her. Mercy was rarely an option in the Spiral, and it was painfully obvious to Flare that there was no choice but to defeat and collect here, and he’d like to know what kind of enemy she was before jumping into a fight. [Shrub (Star, Rank 20 Elite) - the Old One’s daughter. Schismist like him. Raised to be a prodigy Wizard. Dangerous.]

A Wizards’ duel circle sprung up at his feet. The circle pulled Shrub in, and then Jane joined Flare. Jane noticed the textbox in front of Flare. “What’sit say?”

“Star school… which could mean just about anything,” Flare answered. “And she’s the Old One’s daughter too. Whoever that is.”

“Ah, so she’s geezer the second.”

Shrub was visibly taken aback, insulted even. But she said nothing more.

Both sides wanted this fight to end quick. The longer they stayed, the more chance there was that someone would come in and discover them. Unfortunately, Flare and Jane made a dynamic duo with him as support to her offense, and Shrub was a pesky foe with all of the worst utility a foe with Myth and Balance mastery could have. Whenever Jane had too many blades, Shrub would Earthquake them off. Whenever Shrub dared to summon an aura on herself, Flare would pop it with a Supernova. Plays upon counterplays. Neither side went down easily.

Shrub’s health ticked down slow and eventual. She had no heals of her own, while Flare was able to keep Jane’s health stable with Availing Hands, and his own health up with the occasional Dark Shepherd. Jane grinned as she looked down at her spread of cards and pip count. “You’re going down!”

“What the hell’s going on in there!?” a voice shouted through the door. The handle rattled. “Shit. ALICE!” The person ran off to find this Alice.

Flare broke the duel ring apart. God fucking damn it. Of course you wouldn’t let it be so easy, Leah. One hit away from defeating Shrub or no, the two of them HAD to leave. Alice was a foreboding force, if she had access to this room that a typical anonymous soldier wouldn’t. 

“What the hell?!” Jane protested. “We had this!”

“That was before god put us on a timer of BASICALLY ZERO,” Flare countered. “We need to go.” He made a portal to outside, the indigo lake visible.

Shrub shoved Jane aside and barreled through the portal as soon as it was large enough for her to fit, like there was a fire at her heels too.

“HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Jane shouted at her, rushing after.

Flare ran out last, closing the portal behind him. As he stopped to catch his breath, he watched Shrub run… and couldn’t help but wonder for a moment why a Schismist warrior would be so desperate to flee the Schismists’ fort too.

Jane’s shouts crashed through Flare’s pondering. “FLARE! COME ON! WE CAN’T JUST LET HER GET AWAY LIKE THAT!”

Flare huffed and stretched his arms and wings out. “I’m coming!” Whatever weird infighting and sabotage and subterfugue there was plaguing the Schismists would have to wait. Flare and Jane had a job to do.

~

The two chased Shrub down to another leyline gate, but by the time they appeared on the other side, Shrub was out of sight. “SHIT!” Jane cursed. “MOTHERFUCKING DAMMIT! SON OF A BITCH!”

Flare draped a wing around Jane. “We’re not gonna give up,” he promised. “We just gotta look around for a bit. We don’t even have to rush anymore. We can just… take a breather. Maybe some snacks?”

Jane’s eyes brightened up at that. She was always up for a snack. Could you blame her? She was a growing kid, always hungry. “Y’know what, yeah. I could go for something.”

Flare looked around. These buildings all seemed very… official. Legislative. That’s the word. Not much of a place to get snacks. He approached a hamsterman in a suit and tie. “Excuse me, sir, would you happen to know where we can get something to eat?” he asked. “We’re, uh… tourists. This is our first time here.”

“Tourists, ja? Welcome to Wunderland! Karamelle’s wondrous bite of Novus, discovered by the renowned Alice von Wunder,” the hamsterman said. “You’ll find the lovely Shopping Town on the other end of the shard. Just follow the West Path!” He pointed to a brick path winding past an open gate. “Though, if the cotton candy storms are still over the bridge, you’ll have to go the long way round instead, down to Karamelle itself und sailing up from the Candyrock Summits.”

“Thanks, mister,” Jane piped up.

“Of course, of course!” the hamsterman assured. “Oh- also, are you alright, darling? You swore very loudly when coming out of the leyline!”

“Sprained my ankle,” Jane quickly lied.

“I was able to heal it,” Flare added, letting his hand glow with magical healing light, the Helping Hand spell out of combat. “Magic.”

“Ah, ja, of coure. Wizard types,” the man said. “Well, I won’t hold you here any longer! Have an Olde-Fashioned Delightful Day!™”

~

The West Path was a beautifully curated trail among the woods. The brick road lined with candylike flowers. Gumdrops and peanut-buttercups and fondant roses. The trees were dense around the path, but occasionally there was an opening. Suppose if someone wanted to take a hike or have a picnic, or a boss battle in peace.

If I weren’t used to Wizard101 logic I’d say that’s completely oxymoronic. A boss battle in peace. As if.

You know what I mean.

Yeah yeah.

“Hey, do you think the Alice here and the Alice that other guy was calling for are the same person?” Jane asked, interrupting the banter between an author and his character. 

“Not really. Do you?” Flare asked.

“It’s just… kinda weird. Coincidental?”

Flare shrugged. “Alice isn’t that rare a name.”

“Yeah, but… isn’t the whole deal with the Schismists that they’ve snuck into everywhere? Including politics? Like claiming the shard?”

“That is fair, but… sometimes a political figure is just that. Political. Not a cultist. We shouldn’t be trying to see more people as enemies than we have to.”

“Yeah, yeah… mercy and all that,” Jane sighed. “I just… don’t wanna be blindsided. Because I’m supposed to be the next Wizard… not to mention all the pirating… I gotta keep my eyes open, y’know? Like Ione said.”

“Ione’s always been a bit of a hardass.” Flare knew the Iones in both this spiral and his well. They mean well, but can sometimes get a bit… tunnel visioned. This spiral’s Ione was worse about it by leagues. “You can keep your eyes open for more than just enemies to fight.”

“I guess. I just… don’t wanna end up on a prison galleon in Polaris or something, you know? Or worse.” 

“Yeah, I know…” Flare nodded. It’s unfair, Jane has a lot of expectations on her shoulders at any given time. He could only do so much to alleviate the stress that everything piled up on her. “Can I ask why ya said Polaris specifically? Have you been, before?”

“Not in Polaris, that was just at the tip of my tongue for some reason. I had been in Skull Island, but a pair of pirates helped bust me out bef-” Jane stopped walking. She looked up at the sky in front of her in fear. “Flare.”

“Yeah?” Flare asked, now worried. He looked to where Jane as looking. “Oh-” In front of them roared a massive pink windstorm, engulfing the edges of the land. He tried to *Check the monstrosity.

[KLorem Ipsum Hamster Cinnamon Mole Hurdy-Gurdy]

“Leah,” Flare muttered, unable to keep his irritation at me silent. “Kindly. What the fuck.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Who the fuck is Leah?”

“I said that aloud?”

“Yep.”

Flare pinched the pridge between his eyes. “Oh.” Shit how do I explain that we’re characters being written out without giving you an existential crisis!? “Well… he’s basically the Raven, Spider, and Bartleby of the universe I came from.”

“Huh.” Jane hesitated. “His name sounds like just some guy.”

“Yeah. He kinda is. He’s also a massive troll, like what the fuck kind of flavor text is this, man??”

Cinnamon flavor text.

Flare sighed heavily. “I walked right into that one. Son of a bitch.”

“Wait, he answered you???” Jane asked, staring at Flare in utter bewilderment.

“Oh. Yeah. He does that, for better or worse… Usually better.”

“Huh.” Her voice was hollow, Flare’s attempts to stave off the existential crisis had failed. Her friend can just… talk to God. Casually. Damn. If only she could talk to any of the Big Three. But as the existentialism sank in, a miracle unfolded itself in front of the duo. The cotton candy storm parted, like Moses at the Red Sea. 

Flare stared at the storm in bewilderment. “... Son of a bitch rescinded. Doubling down on the ‘what the fuck’, though.” 

“... if I think about this too long I think I’m going to go crazy,” Jane resolved, shaking her head briskly. “But why did- wait nope. That’s thinking about it. Nope nope nope. Can’t do that.” She pushed ahead.

Flare, however, could think about it for longer without going crazy. This meta talk was his normal. So… why this whole cloud thing? Why’d it part for us? Is reality just… kinda fucky? Shitposty? Is this… I can’t think of a better word, normal for this Spiral?

Normal is a meaningless word in Novus and its many shards. This world is Nothing that Flare had ever seen. Magics that never had the chance to surface in his Spiral dance freely in this one. Storms that feast upon existentialism are just one of the ways the fuckiness manifests. For better and worse, there’s more to come.

~

Flare and Jane breached the far edge of the cotton candy storm. The marketplace sprawled out in front of them, with shops advertising sweets galore. The docks were quite busy as well, with one grand ship coming in right now. But right now, there were more important things to pay attention to.

“So… whatcha thinking?” Flare asked, gesturing to the motley of market stands.

Jane looked around, scanning the shops for what exactly she was in the mood for. And then she found it: the holy grail of snacks, the El Dorado of Wunderland. “Chocolate. Over there.” She hurried along, and Flare followed close by.

The hubbub of the market and docks seemed to get louder and louder. Flare glanced out at it, trying to see and hear what was going on. Two voices clamored above the din, though Flare couldn’t see who was shouting it: “... of eVERYTHING DON’T LET IT BE WHAT I THINK IT IS!”

“THEY SAID, AND I QUOTE, ‘GOOD LUCK KICKING THE CALAMARI’S ASS’!”

Flare laughed. “Damn, what the fuck? Jane, you hearing this?”

“Yep. I’m also hearing my stomach growl like crazy! C’mon!” Jane called. “You’ve got the money!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Karamellian candy hit different. Of course a world that’s an entire candy pun would specialize in some downright magical treats. Flare and Jane found a nice shaded spot to sit, chill, and snack. Flare kept his eyes on the skies. That Shrub… After this snack break, he and Jane would have to hunt her down. She probably had to fly around the cotton candy storms. That is… if she was even here. There was a chance that she was headed to some place in the middle of the woods, on the other side of the cotton candy storms, not having to fly at all.

Jane had much less serious things on her mind for now. She heard the mechanical whirr of some sort of… incredibly smooth clockwork come up to her. She looked down and gasped. A small mechanical cat sat in front of her. A bright red coat of paint on its face and body, its ears and tail segmented and silvers, its legs replaced with small wheels under its body. It stared up at Jane with the brightest digital (OwO) expression on its screen of a face. “Flare,” Jane gasped, staring at it as well, completely enamored.

Flare glanced down. “Oh! Where’d this fella come from?”

“No idea. It’s adorable, though.” Jane pet the metal kitten  on its head. It stretched its head up to meet her hand. A digital “Meow!” rang from it. “I’m keeping it,” Jane resolved.

“It’s not owned, is it?”

“It’s not wearing a collar.”

Flare decided to *Check it just in case. [Kit_10. The purrfect pet of Tomorrow! This one isn’t currently owned :3] “It’s your lucky day.”

Jane picked the Kit_10 up and hugged it close. “Hell fuckin’ yeah! I just gotta figure out what to name ya…”

“I’m sure a name will come to ya soon enough,” Flare said. He went back to watching the skies. Where could Shrub have possibly gone?

THERE! On a building by the docks! Leaning against the roof, the greens of her skin and suit almost blending in with the green rooftiles. Key word, almost. There was no way she was just… chilling up there. Flare could see the blueprints in her hands. She must be watching, or listening, or both. As much as Flare wanted to get up and see what was Shrub was espyin’ upon, he knew he’d be spotted if he moved.

Maybe that’d be to his advantage.

“I’m gonna see what’s up with the crowd,” he told Jane. “I’ll be back.”

Jane nodded. “I’ll be trying to come up with names for this guy.”

And down Flare went. Casual, unassuming, he tried his best to not look at Shrub. If she saw him looking at her, she’d know he knew she was there. These sorts of mind games were really dizzying to spell out, but not too hard for him to actually grasp and act upon. Meanwhile, the crowds were talking. Through all the hubbub, Flare couldn’t quite make out what any one person was saying, aside from a few key phrases that seemed almost entirely nonsequitur: Calamari, eldritch putty, Stallion Quartermane, Astral Alliance, Lemuria.

Lemuria was an incredibly… touchy point. It was why Flare was in this second Spiral in the first place. The Schismists of this Spiral had somehow come over to his own, stole an entire world, and brought it here. Flare had come over to this Spiral to warn its Arcanum that the Schismists were making these big moves, while his Arcanum had sent Maulwurf von Trap, ex-Schismist and skilled spy, to infiltrate the Schismists’ ranks and perhaps devise a way to bring Lemuria back?

Now that Flare thought about it, he hadn’t ever had much of a chance to check in on Maulwurf. Every time he actively remembered his friend, there’d always be something else that he HAD to take care of. But right now, there was no such rush. Flare tried to send a Whisper: Hey! Checking in. You safe? How’s Lemuria?

No response. 

He must be busy too, Flare realized. Sadge.

He glanced up towards the building, and just barely caught sight of Shrub’s tail slipping into the window. Damn, perfect timing. Had he looked up a second later, he would’ve missed that. Thank god I saw that. You’re welcome. That building had to be a meeting point of some kind, why else would she have snuck in? Trying to go inside, then coming out through the front door, then sneaking her way into another building would only risk her being noticed by the other people in the crowds.

Flare went back to Jane. “Whenever you’re ready, I found Shrub. We can go yoink the blueprints.”

“Oh shit!” Jane gasped. She stood up. “You bet your ass I’m ready! Let’s go!” She put her helmet on, then picked the Kit_10 up. “I’ll name this guy later. Haven’t had anything good come to mind.”

~

Flare and Jane went down to the building. It was a quaint three-story tower looking out over the docks. Makes sense the Schismists would want a foothold in a busy port, keep an eye on who comes and goes. There was a sign on the door saying “Authorized Personnel Only” in a handful of languages.

“Think we can just portal in?” Jane asked.

Flare looked up to the third floor. “It’ll be risky. We dunno the layout inside. I don’t wanna open up a portal into the middle of the room.”

“We kicked Shrub’s ass once before, we can do it again. This isn’t the entire fort. We won’t get swarmed”

“Meow!” the Kit_10 seemed to agree.

Flare mulled it over, but finally relented. “Alright. Prepare for the worst but hope for the best.” He opened a portal, and prayed that there’d be cover.

The portal opened up to the top of a stairwell. There was a hall and a bend between it and the main room. Perfect.

The duo crept in. Jane put the Kit_10 down. “Okay kitty, I need you to be quiet,” she whispered. “No meows, okay?”

The Kit_10 nodded its mechanical little head.

There was talking within the main room. Voices heard, but faces unseen. “- did not go as smoothly as we had planned, sir.” Shrub’s voice. “The Arcanum sent two of its soldiers to interfere and attempt to retrieve your works as well.”

“I trust you disposed of them?” an older man asked.

“I could not. They were too coordinated, and able to heal back the damage I cast. I only escaped because they fled as soon as we heard an Alliance grunt fetch a senior member.”

“I see. A botched mission that you succeed in is better than one you fail, but moving forward I expect you to do better.”

“Of course, sir.”

A silence.

“... Father,” Shrub amended.

A chill ran through Flare as he put two and two together. He made a text box, silent. [the Old One himself.]

Oh shit, Jane mouthed. She glanced down, to check on the Kit_10. It wasn’t at her feet. She tapped Flare’s arm and pointed down at where the Kit_10 no longer was.

Oh shit, Flare mouthed as well. Fuck, where did it go?!

The Old One made but the slightest ‘hm’ of recognizing his other title. “I trust these two soldiers didn’t track you.” As if the Arcanum would ever resort to tactics that low! Flare and Jane had followed her themselves, they were just that good, no extra trackers required!

“Of course not,” Shrub assured. “They made no physical contact with me, and I was airborne and past the treeline by the time they came through the leyline gate. Additionally, the cotton candy storms are swarming, and only one of the soldiers is winged. With how coordinated they were, I doubt he would have chased after me alone, especially considering he was merely support to the other.”

“Meow!” 

OH SHIT. THAT WAS FROM THE MAIN ROOM.

Silence, and then “Meow! Meow! Meow! Meeeow! Meeeow! Meeeow! Meow! Meow! Meow!” 

“There goes stealth,” Jane grumbled. “Fuck it.” She charged to the main room, Flare right behind, to see the Kit_10 desperately shaking its head and whipping its tail around, as if struggling in the grip of… the Old One. An imposing figure, standing some seven foot tall, his piercing pale gray eyes, immaculate suit (classy top hat included), and posture all radiating an aura of cold command. That was one hell of a B.B.E.G. a la modern video game design if Flare had ever seen one.

Shrub reacted to Jane and Flare barging in first, however. “YOU! How did you-”

“As if we’d ever let you know, Shrub!” Flare retorted. “You ran into the wrong Wizards!”

“You gave them your name?” the Old One asked Shrub.

“I would never!” Shrub insisted. “They- I won’t let you two show me up again!”

The Old One stretched a wing to Shrub’s shoulder, the claw at the tip poking at her skin. “You are being rash. Your judgement clouds.”

“Meow!” the Kit_10 screeched, releasing a spark from its body. The Old One flinched and dropped it, and it rushed right over to Jane.

“… I see the Arcanum’s judgement has clouded over as well, if they think they can send two of its pawns to properly meddle,” the Old One continued. “I suppose you had chance abound to turn back, but mercy is not an option within the Arcanum.”

Flare hated how the Old One ripped that philosophy out of his soul and turned it against him. But… he was right, wasn’t he? There’s no way this can end peacefully now. There was no way the Old One and Shrub would let them leave, with or without the blueprints. There was bound to be a fight. Flare tightened his grip on his spelldeck, and Jane on her wand. 

“Your deaths are entirely your fault,” the Old One warned. He snapped his fingers, and into battle he dragged himself, Shrub, Flare, and Jane. 

Flare quickly *Checked the chthonic man. [The Old One (Myth-Life, Rank 20 Boss) - Secret author of history. Always watching, always nudging. Actually dangerous.] “Oh, this is gonna suck,” Flare groaned. Good luck kicking the calamari’s ass, indeed!

“How bad?” Jane asked.

“Myth-Life. He can heal.”

“Motherfucker.”

Even though the duel circle had declared that Flare and Jane would move first, the Old One had a cheat up his sleeve. A Wyldfire sprung around them all. The Old One didn’t make any scoff or taunt about how apparently he had even more than just two schools of magic at his command.

Flare handed Jane a Blade, and Jane wasted no time attacking Shrub. She had learned from the first fight with her, trying to stack multiple buffs was a waste of time, a pesky Earthquake would just toss it to the wint. This fight would have to be won by a thousand papercuts, and hopefully they can outdamage the Old One’s heals.

An aura sparked to life at the Old One’s feet, and Shrub cast a Spiritblade upon her father. And then the damndest thing happened: the Death portion of the Spiritblade popped, and a second set of Myth- and Lifeblades took its place.

“What the fuck?!” Jane shouted. “That’s bullshit!”

“Now I get what the ‘actually’ was for,” Flare muttered. “He’s gonna sweep us.” But for now, the two of them were still standing. Flare used a cheeky Donate Power, Jane would need all the pips she could get for attack spamming. Jane bid her time with an aura of her own. The Old One cast a pesky weakness on Jane, and Shrub once again lent a blade to her father, which once again burst into a Myth- and Lifeblade pair.

Flare’s heart sank deeper. What was that… six different blades on the Old One in two turns?! If he hit, then the two of them would absolutely wipe. There’s no way Jane could take a triple-bladed hit, and Flare wouldn’t be in good shape either! He cast a Spirit shield on Jane, and Jane lobbed another attack at Shrub. Her attacks weren’t the strongest as is, and that extra Weakness from last round DID NOT HELP.

Finally, the Old One sent an absolute behemoth of an attack. Tatzlewurm, a nasty AOE that neither Jane nor Flare had ever seen, let alone been on the receiving end of! Shielding Jane was the right call! Holy shit! Shrub then cast an attack of her own, at Jane! Just to pile on the pain.

Only three rounds in and this fight was already going bad. Flare chose to heal himself with an Availing Hands, and Jane picked out a Tower shield to also help Flare stay on his feet- but before either spell could come out, the Old One had yet another cheat?! Out of absolutely NOWHERE, a DoT burned into existence at the two Wizards’ feets, then a frigid Balefrost took Wyldfire’s place. 

Flare was damn glad that he and Jane both went on the defensive!

The Old One decided to go defensive as well, casting a Tower Shield of his own- that glitched and became an absorb for- 

“EX FUCKING CUSE ME?!” Jane shouted out of turn. “FIVE FUCKING THOUSAND?!”

“You made a mistake trifling in Schismist affairs!” Shrub taunted on the Old One’s behalf. “Now you see what you’re messing wi-”

“Enough!” the Old One scolded Shrub. “You make yourself seem a fool with your banter.” 

Admonished, Shrub simply cast her spell, a Balanceblade like before. Strangely, this time, it didn’t split. Did the Old One’s abilities depend on which Global buff was up?

“Jane, try casting a bubble,” Flare suggested. “We could use the extra edge, and… I’ve got a theory.”

Jane nodded and cast out a Balance of Power while Flare healed himself again. The bubble took over the Balefrost for a moment, then faltered.

“Alright. That solves nothing. Good to know,” Flare grimaced.

“Playing by this bastard’s rules…” Jane growled. She glanced down at the Kit_10 at her feet. This was all the damn pet’s fault! If it hadn’t rolled out here, then there would’ve been a chance that they could’ve avoided this fight! If Jane hadn’t taken it in the first place, then it wouldn’t have been anywhere near here! Mad at the damn pet, mad at herself. But it’s not like she could do anything about it now! She’s in a fight! And… she doesn’t have the heart to leave such an itty bitty weird clockwork kitty all alone. A captain doesn’t abandon any of her crew, not even the kind that gets her in danger. She made a damn commitment to the Kit_10, for better and for worse.

The fight dragged on, Flare and Jane both struggling to keep themselves and each other alive. Flare began to rely heavily on Dark Shepherd to sustain himself, but even that wasn’t enough. They hardly had the chance to properly attack, and what damage they did do to Shrub and the Old One was quickly healed back up, either by Healing Currents that the Old One just happened to be able to use as a Darkwind crackled around them, or with a healing spell Flare had never seen before, Never Say Die, when the Old One’s own Balance of Power shone.

Flare couldn’t see a way out. Everything he tried to think of felt like it would fail, either thanks to his own exhaustion or the Old One’s power or the Spiral itself enforcing its rules and rejecting every other magic. He couldn’t break the duel circle apart because he wasn’t the one who summoned it this time! He couldn’t summon portals while in combat, and even if he could, it’s not like he could go through them! The duel circle kept him right where he stood. The other nonSpiralian magic he had didn’t translate well into Spiral combat, plus how much could it even possibly do, as spent as Flare was already? How much determination did he really have, in the face of certain doom? His hands were tied. Perhaps he’d be a braver and foolier martyr who could say ‘fuck it’ and try some desperate gambit, if it weren’t for the fact that Jane was here. He had to keep Jane safe. He was bound to that duty.

Jane didn’t have her own ‘Jane’ to keep safe. She was getting pissed. Trying to help Flare heal the two of them was getting nowhere, Wizard heals were nothing like the heals a Pirate could use! She looked to the spells in her hand. One card appeared all sorts of fucked up. Torn, blurred, covered in glitches and blocks of black static. She had been avoiding using that spell because using a fucked up spell like that simply… felt dangerous. Like using a sparkthrower that clearly wasn’t maintained, or a busted shield. But at this point, she had no other option. She cast it, a hail mary.

The attack spun itself together, taking the form of a… pillar? A tree? Before she could even tell what the fuck it was, though, it glitched and fell apart. A waste of however many pips she had. 

Dread strangled her like handcuffs and an ill-fitting necklace. What the actual shit was that? Are you fucking kidding me? No. NO. I’m not letting my turn be a fucking waste! Her absolute rage cut through whatever bullshit laws of magic forced this entire song and dance. A dagger through tough ropes. To hell with ‘turns’ in the first place! Jane grabbed the Kit_10 and stormed forward. “HEY, MOLD ONE! EAT SHIT!” And she threw the Kit_10 at the Old One with the fury of a thousand fucking suns.

The Old One brought his arms up to try and catch the Kit_10. However its momentum barreled it past his hands, and it crashed into his sternum, his windpipe, his spine. Like a cannonball tearing through a flimsy ship hull. Absolute shock and indignation. How did this child-

His body collapsed under the weight of the Kit_10, and his spine failing. For better and worse (though mostly for better), the Old One was as damned as dead.

Shrub stared at her father’s corpse. Terror ate at her bones. Her stomach churned at the sight of some of of her father’s blue blood trickling out from his mouth. “You…”

“Geeettttttt dunked on!” Jane crowed. “Hey, Flare, how’d I do?”

Flare blinked, getting out of his shocked stupor. “Uh- You did great! Let’s get out of here.” He had no idea how Jane had done… any of that, but good for her! And what the fuck! But mostly good for her! He broke the duel circle apart and picked up the blueprints Shrub had left on a small desk in the corner.

“Meow!” the Kit_10 said, chipper as ever, despite it still sitting on a bloody corpse.

“And you did great too!” Jane said, scooping the Kit_10 in her arms, babytalking it. “I am so proud of you!”

Flare made a portal to the Arcanum. “Let’s get that cleaned up before you cuddle it,” he told Jane with a slight chuckle. He wanted to get out of here. He didn’t do well with corpses. Especially not fresh ones.

“NO,” Shrub screeched, all the grief and hatred bursting from her in a moment. “No, I will not let you get away with this! Don’t you dare think you can get away with this!” She glared at Flare and Jane, her eyes as smoldering hot as her late father’s had been piercing cold. “I am what you two could never be. What neither Arcanum nor Alliance could ever understand. Neither you nor Manticore can stop the Spiral’s true fate!”

Jane opened her mouth to deliver one last scathing clapback, but Flare stood in the way and gently nudged her through the portal. She was grieving, snapping, they should at least give her the mercy of quiet. He closed the portal as soon as the two were through.

“Awh come on, are ya seriously gonna let her have the last word?” Jane asked. “I had a helluva jeer for her, too! I’m already what she is, just some girl with a dead dad!”

Flare took a deep breath. How the hell to explain this. “We cannot take another fight. We’ve got like… what, maybe two hundred HP apiece, was it?”

“And what’re we supposed to do, just let her ramble and diss us like that?”

“We rest. We recover. And who knows, maybe she’ll find us and we get a chance to fight her again.” Those words dropped from his mouth and settled in his gut like lead. He did not want to face her again. He hadn’t wanted to be accomplice for murder. He hadn’t wanted to force Jane into a position where she had to murder. But for better and for worse… it happened anyway. “You should wash yourself and the Kit_10 off. I’ll hand in the blueprints and report to Ione.”

~

A few hours later, after the not-so-simple quest had been turned in, Flare found Jane and the Kit_10 over by Sybil, the sleeping birch of the Arcanum. He still had no idea what its name was. “So, got any ideas of names for it?”

“Meow!” the Kit_10 mewed as Flare approached.

“How about Stabbington the Squidslayer?” Jane asked. “They did help, after all.” She gave it a pat on the head.

Flare sat down next to Jane. “Someone might get mad,” he warned. “Y’know, given that’s literally us admitting our crime. And accomplice.” Technically the Kit_10 was a weapon, not an accomplice, but technicalities.

“So… not a great idea in the slightest. Gotcha…” Jane looked aside. She was used to being proud of her crimes. Having to keep silent about her accomplishment, especially with how kickass it was, felt stifling. 

“But… we can make a pun out of it so convoluted nobody will guess?”

“Oh yeah!”

Flare rushed to the Arcanum’s Repository, grabbed a encyclopedia of marine life, and hurried back to Jane. “Let’s see… what puns can we come up with for…” He flipped over to the page for the common squid. “Loligo vulgaris?” He then did a double take. “Wait. Vulgaris? Really?? What the hell, scientists???” What’s so vulgar about a squid?

“What about… Grim Bubbles?” Jane then suggested. “Grim like the grim reaper, and bubbles because sea life?”

Flare gasped and slammed the encyclopedia shut. “That’s GENIUS.”

“Why, thank you!” Jane tried to bow, overdramatic and proud. It just looked like she was folding herself over Grim Bubbles, gloping it in an armless hug. She then straightened up. “I do have a wonderful teacher, after all.”

“That ya do,” Flare admitted, letting himself have a moment of pride too.

“Meow!” Bubbles said. It wheeled around, mechanical zoomies.

“Aww, they like it too!” Jane cooed. 

It was rather nice, being able to play with Bubbles. A moment of lightheartedness and peace. Jane didn’t have any regrets today. Flare had a few, but that’s simply to be expected. He could never take something as face value or absolute. 

~

This quest happened for better and worse, and the two of them were certain it was ultimately for the better.

[dyed-red]

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick hc/fic you're NEVER explored before

i got two of these asks and i'm ACTIVELY struggling because photos on my phone literally all fall into one of the following categories:

my cat (or other cats)

screenshots of text (posts to show others or work stuff)

friends and family or relatively identifying stuff

food (typically that my partner cooked)

doodles (typically of my OCs)

flower/tree/shrub

And I can't find a single one to bridge a fic off of 😩

[pacificwaternymph]

What do you think are some of your au characters stims

Or your ocs idc

I think Shelby (any version of Shelby, but especially season 2 and wolf mother) does this thing that I do where she kind of bounces on her toes. She probably rocks or bounces in her chair whenever she's seated too. I am completely, a hundred percent projecting here. Wolf Mother Shrub also chews on the sleeves of her shirt when anxious. She probably has one of those chewy necklaces.

I think wolf mother Xornoth does hand flapping. No idea why, I just do. I think he likes doing sweater paws and then flapping them (again, this is something I do and it brings me so much joy). They also take a lot of joy in wearing really swishy skirts and spinning around in them.

Wolf Mother Katherine most definitely has a ton of stim toys for both herself and for her friends and will just absentmindedly play with them during meetings. She will just, at random intervals, start humming, not any song in particular, just notes. She makes it up as she goes.

Wolf Mother Scott wears a lot of bracelets because he likes the noises it makes when the metal clinks together. He also really likes the noise of heels clicking against the floor, so he'll wear heels whenever he can.

[camelliacats]

flowers in springtime

These three constantly occupy a smol part of my brain and I'm delighted I'm finally writing an idea with this concept. TTwTT

Fic: "flowers in springtime" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: pre?Pansy Parkinson/Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, & OCs (Pansy's parents & the twins' parents)

Rating: K+

Words: ~4,440

Additional info: romance, light/implied femslash, angst, fluff, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Pansy, just a few years shy of Hogwarts, makes a new friend. But making and keeping friends are two completely different tasks.

      Their house is a flurry of activity one afternoon in late spring. Yes, Pansy was woken and fed and amused briefly that morning, but the house-elves abandon her after that and Mother and Father barely spare her a glance the closer the hands on the grandfather clock get to closing around the twelve.

      It's enough to leave a nine-almost-ten-year-old girl huffing and walking around with a steely grip around a wing of her stuffed screech owl (stuffed, because the real thing is too smelly and messy to bother with), waiting for someone to drop everything and beg forgiveness and realize—not ask—what's wrong. But, sadly, today of all days is not one of those days. Today, Pansy puffs up her cheeks until she catches her reflection in the glass of the family grandfather clock on the first floor and releases her breath because she's turning a sickly shade of blue.

      Mother scurries past her, almost stepping on her because Mother wears one of her nicer set of robes and it's easy to miss a tiny thing like Pansy beyond those full skirts. But she halts when she spies Pansy's complexion, and she stifles a laugh. "Oh, Pansy, darling, whatever is the matter with you?" She bends down and pinches her daughter's cheeks to return some proper ruddy color to them.

      Pansy bats Mother's hands away. "The better question is, What's the matter with you? You and Daddy have wasted the morning and now it'll be the afternoon—" She doesn't get to finish her rant.

      "They're here!" Father calls from the second sitting room (the second of many—the Parkinson Manse is an old and storied home). He steps into the foyer with them and smooths the lapels of his waistcoat and fiddles with the fitted sleeves of his robes (suddenly in style for wizards these days—Pansy thinks they look silly, but since when do parents listen to their children?). He gives his wife and daughter a once-over, and his grim expression is replaced with a smile. "Pansy-Dancy, Daddy's having a work colleague over, to hash out some business."

      Pansy harrumphs.

      "He has daughters your age, you know. It'd be great if you could play with them while I meet with their father."

      She crosses her arms in front of her chest, nearly losing her stuffed owl in the process. "Not even if I got to have Florean's for supper," Pansy declares. Then she twirls on one foot and tacks on, "I will be out in the garden."

      Her parents exhale behind her but don't have time to handle her last-minute tantrum. Instead, Father mumbles to Mother, "With any luck, I can haggle a deal with him and they won't stay for lunch." It earns him a commiserating "Mm" from his wife, and those are the last things Pansy hears for now as she shuts the glass doors in her wake and tunes out the nonsense of adult witches and wizards.

      Pansy meanders to the middle of the small, grassy backyard, and suddenly her anger is punctured. She deflates as she dwells on Father's idea to mingle with unknown children…honestly! All she needs is Draco, really, and their meager garden is a reminder that it's been a little while since she last went over to Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys have bushel upon bushel of roses and other flowers she's yet to learn the names of, and a maze to boot! Now that's a garden.

      The Parkinson daughter heaves a sigh and takes in all that surrounds her: the large tree at the center of their garden court (Father says it's a sy…a syca…sycamore, that's right), the square shrubs lining the perimeter and dotted with unopened buds (Mother's fond of summertime blossoms), and the few dying rosebushes they have (they were beautiful at the start of the season but now are withered and beyond help for another year). …this will never be the sort of garden worthy of a maze or even praise, and Pansy's cheeks grow warm at the sudden realization.

      She squats down and sets her stuffed owl aside to poke at the dirt. She can't wait for her letter and her wand and to finish Hogwarts lightning fast. Father and Mother say that school takes seven years, but they also say Pansy's a bright girl, so surely she'll be a bright witch? She won't need all seven years. Still, it's frustrating that she has to wait even a few more years before she can control her magic, before she can start practicing it. If she had the skill now, it'd make this bloody task so much simpler, she wouldn't stain her pale hands with damp earth, wouldn't get dirt and grit under her fingernails, nails that need to look prim and proper and becoming of a Parkinson, and—

      Her thoughts quiet, though, when a long shadow falls over Pansy and her work. "What are you doing?" a high-pitched voice asks.

      Pansy doesn't lift her eyes immediately from the ragged hole she's been digging. No, first her eyes land on the frilly socks before her. Not the shoes or the hem of the pinafore, but the socks. They're white with eyelet lace on the edges. Pansy thinks she has the same pair, actually, somewhere upstairs in her room.

      The person with the same socks as Pansy clears her throat. "Um, hullo?" Then she bends to the right ever so slightly to catch Pansy's eye. Behind her, there's a copy of her, but that copy of her (in a matching outfit, no less, right down to the socks) snickers.

      Pansy reddens and pushes off from the ground, slapping her hands together to wipe off as much dirt as possible. "Who are you?" she blurts.

      "I'm Padma Patil," the not-snickering one says. Padma gestures to the other girl. "This is my twin sister, Parvati. Our parents are with yours right now and suggested we come out to meet you." Padma shrugs, but she does it with a soft, small smile that lifts her brown cheeks.

      Pansy takes in the sight of the Patil twins. The girls are unlike her in having dark skin and being two inches taller (Mother keeps promising a growth spurt will happen), but…oddly enough, Pansy finds so many startling commonalities. They've got jet hair and Pansy's fancy socks, and their purple pinafores are cut from a fine cloth. Their pinafores, though, have a pretty design stitched on the pockets; the design, in shimmery thread, moves with magic, so the animals play out a scene on the twins' clothes. Their shirts and scents are strange to Pansy (are those new fads, too, like Father's robes? Pansy's got to keep up), but then Pansy notes Padma's and Parvati's fancy, matching, gold pendants.

      Oh. Perhaps…perhaps these are her sorts of people.

      She certainly can't shake hands right now, but Pansy's glad to be wearing a black dress today as she hides her filth behind her and tips her head in a loose imitation of the curtsy her mother taught her a while back. "Pansy Parkinson," she says.

      "Nice to meet you," Padma replies.

      Huh. No one's ever said that to Pansy. Not that she's met many people before, but she wonders if she'd believe it the way she does, hearing it from Padma. As if testing the waters, Pansy glances to Parvati.

      Parvati gives her a tight grin. "You've got dirt smudged on your chin," she informs Pansy.

      No, Pansy decides, perhaps no one says things like Padma Patil.

      And perhaps, on some level, the twins understand this. Padma shoots her sister a look, Parvati rolls her eyes, and then Parvati eyes the sycamore. Bored of the garden, Parvati lunges for the lowest hanging branch and catches it; then she scales the tree as high as she dares.

      Down on the ground, Pansy stamps her foot and risks wrenching her ankle, since she comes close to stepping in the hole she made. She whips a finger in Parvati's direction but scowls at Padma. "Is she always like this?" she spits.

      "A little blunt? Yes," Padma answers. She thumbs her pendant—a P (for Padma and Parvati? for Patil?)—and tucks her pinafore's hem around her knees before she squats. "So, I'm curious, since you never answered—what are you doing?"

      Pansy glares up at the tree, but Parvati's moved impossibly higher and can't be spotted amongst the foliage. As if it's just the two of them, Pansy takes a breath and kneels in front of the hole. "…I'm planning to redo the garden, starting here."

      "Near the base of the tree?"

      Padma's question catches her off-guard. Pansy furrows her brow. "It's where we have the most space," she states. Her knuckles itch as her fingers make way towards the comfort of her stuffed owl.

      Padma scans the garden. Pansy's been in shade, but Padma squats in a handful of sunlight spilling between branches, so Pansy glimpses the richness of the other girl's eyes. They're a deep brown, like the trunk of the sycamore after it rains.

      Pansy frowns the longer Padma remains quiet. "No good then, huh?" she grumbles, annoyed but, to her surprise, disappointed, too.

      Padma turns back then, but she smiles once more. "Most flowers will need more sun than this spot will allow…but there are some plants that like the shade," she says.

      Her disappointment vanishes, and her fingers back away from her stuffed owl. But, still cautious because the last time (the only time) she made a friend was Draco and that was ages ago, Pansy doesn't jump on the bit of encouragement. "You know about these things, do you?"

      And then Padma laughs. It reminds Pansy of the wind chimes Father refused to buy her last year ("You'll break them," he insisted), and Pansy rather forgets her father's implied insult and that there are two Patil twins and that she hadn't even wanted to entertain these girls to start. She forgets it all with this laugh and Padma's smile as she says, "A bit. Want a hand?"

      Luckily for Pansy, their fathers don't get along as well as the fathers hoped. Pansy and Padma while away the afternoon, digging strategic holes and helping Pansy's ideal garden take shape, much to Mother's horror.

      But the Patils' parents are embarrassed while Father brushes it off. "If anything, I know Pansy, and she most certainly started this," he assures Mr. and Mrs. Patil. He laughs while Pansy turns bright, carnation red.

      (At least some color arrives in Padma's cheeks, too, but it's not so glaringly obvious on her. Lucky thing.)

      Father's good mood dims when he walks the Patils to the door, though. "Another time, then, Parminder. You'll come around to my side of the argument, I'm sure."

      "Hmm" is all the twins' father offers, coupled with an arched eyebrow. Then he escorts his family outside, and the day is behind them.

      "Bastard," Father spits the moment the door shuts.

      Pansy's eyes widen. She hears all sorts of language from Father—sometimes, depending on who visits Malfoy Manor while she's playing with Draco, she even hears worse things from Lucius Malfoy's and company's mouths—but this instance stops her.

      Mother frowns but places a hand on his shoulder. "He's a tough one, but everyone has their weak point, dear," she insists.

      Father shakes his head. "If only he didn't hold sway over the Ministry committee that I—" He stops short, as if remembering Pansy's still present and hasn't disappeared upstairs. "That's right. Pansy-Dancy, how was your day with your new friends?"

      Pansy frowns. "I'm hungry," she points out.

      "Yes, yes, we adults ate while we discussed business, but you can have whatever you want, darling." He picks his daughter up, never minding the dirt on her hands and dress, despite Mother's fussing. "Well?" he prompts.

      "And I don't like Parvati," she adds as he carries her to the kitchen.

      Father gives a great big laugh. "Why am I not surprised? And, really, what kind of child did they raise, for her to just climb someone else's property like that?" He shakes his head and sets Pansy down in front of the sink to wash.

      She lathers her fingers and wrists with soap and hesitates. "…Padma's nice, though," she admits in a small voice.

      Mother follows them in, but one wouldn't know it, given how quiet the room turns after Pansy's words.

      Pansy finishes and turns to her parents, wondering if she said something wrong. She furrows her brow, a pinch between her eyebrows that only deepens in confusion when her father kneels before her and shows her his business smile.

      "…huh. So you liked one of them, did you? Well…that we can work with."

      The next few weeks, the Patils become frequent guests of the Parkinsons. Pansy doesn't understand Father's business and why the twins' father won't make it easy for him, but she could care less. She doesn't feel Draco's absence as much, either, and she's already decided to ignore Parvati's presence as much as possible.

      All that matters is Padma, and that smile, and that laugh.

      Their mothers decide it's more productive to supervise the girls' gardening than to listen to their husbands bicker, so the new plans take true shape. It's still a messy endeavor, but at least it's condoned this time. Plus, having two full-fledged witches on call to conjure the flowers you want absolutely makes things a walk in the park.

      Or so Pansy hoped. "What do you mean, we're not just going to conjure them?" she asks their mothers point-blank shortly before summer arrives.

      "There's something to be said for tending to flowers by your own hand," the twins' mother asserts. She shares a secret smile with Mother before nodding to Padma and Pansy. "So plant something now. See what blossoms later and continues for years after."

      "But magic—it's instant. It—" Pansy's shoulders fall as the women walk away to chat, and she pouts at Padma. "Isn't magic always better?"

      Padma offers her an appeasing smile (not her favorite kind, but she'll take it). "I've told you, I do a lot of reading," she says as they turn towards the line of shrubs at the back of the garden court.

      "You read, I play—go on," Pansy says.

      Padma narrows her eyes but ignores the small jab. "There's a lot to conjuring magic, apparently. You can conjure food, of course, but it should already exist somewhere else."

      "What, you can't pull it out of thin air?"

      "Rarely, yes. But it won't stick with you then. You'll just be hungry or thirsty again right away."

      Pansy sighs as they weed and trim with hand tools. "Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful."

      Padma chuckles. "I know you've given your ideal garden some thought. You want roses the Malfoys will envy… You want to keep the sycamore… What else?"

      "Ivy. I want ivy. I love the sight of it crawling up walls. Can I plant ivy?"

      "We'll have to ask. I don't know enough about it."

      Pansy thinks about the flowers. She'll leave Mother's summer blossoms alone, she supposes, but… "I'd like a shrub of my own. One or two. The hijangja thing."

      "You mean—hydrangea?"

      Ooh, she really needed to stop teasing Padma for reading and read a book or two herself…! Thankfully, Parvati's favorite spot is up in the sycamore and the adults don't mind her lounging in there anymore, so she didn't overhear and can't snicker this time. "Y-Yes, that," Pansy mumbles. "Why, what would you plant?" The question is a stupid one, because this is her garden, not Padma's, but she needs the attention elsewhere.

      Padma hums while she thinks. "…well, hydrangea change color depending on soil, but they've got a pretty blue–violet color. Reminds me of another flower." She smiles and stifles a chuckle when she glances at Pansy.

      "What?"

      "Pansy."

      "Yes, what?"

      "No, I mean—pansy, the flower." Padma sighs, her smile dimming a little. "Violet pansies. They're pretty."

      "Oh." Pansy knows the flower, of course (it's a recurring motif in her room), but she's actually never received the real thing as a gift nor seen one on their property. But then she wonders, too, if maybe her garden plans have room for violet pansies.

      That's the last they see of each other in person for a long while. Father and Parminder Patil absolutely will not agree on their Ministry politics, and that spills over into their family get-togethers.

      Mother tells Pansy it's all right to write Padma, if she wants, because Father will understand, but to do so quietly, privately please.

      But Pansy is nine-almost-ten years old. She's got no experience writing letters except sending very glib thank-you notes to her grandparents after holidays and birthdays because Mother says so. Nevertheless, the first few weeks without Padma's companionship prove quite boring, even with one visit from Draco, so eventually Pansy picks up a quill.

      She pens a garden update, that the court is a bit tidier than they left it and some things are peeking through the dirt.

      Padma replies with delight and a little doodle of a pansy flower.

      The girls carry on for months. Pansy tells her that only one of her hydrangea shrubs blooms later that summer (the other gets waterlogged because English summer rain lingers), and the blossoms fade but the green holds on as long as it can through the autumn, nearly to the twins' birthday in late October.

      The holidays are quiet. Winter is cold, stark, and too white. The sycamore is the only comforting sight out in the garden court, but that doesn't seem like enough to waste the parchment on, so Pansy hangs her head and stays indoors, huddling inside for warmth.

      Spring breaks through the winter like a defiant flower determined to bloom here and now. With the new season, Pansy picks up her quill again—but she stops.

      She searches for her mother instead and finds her lounging in the small sunroom off the dining hall. When Mother puts her teacup down, Pansy asks, "Will I get to see Padma again?"

      Something strange flits across Mother's pale features (the same ones she gave Pansy). She stiffens and takes another sip of her tea before clearing her throat. Then she folds her hands and sets aside the newspaper. "Pansy…I…darling, oh, I don't know."

      An intense heat flares in the middle of her chest, and she scowls at Mother. "Well, why not? I like Padma. Just because Father and her father aren't friends doesn't mean—"

      But Mother shakes her head and beckons Pansy come close with a curl of her hand. "Pansy, sweetheart… Not everyone in this world is equal, you know."

      Pansy grimaces up at Mother. "They're not purebloods?" She freezes. No, Father would never have—

      "The Patils are a half-blood family but a long-standing one in Wizarding history, especially in the Ministry." She purses her lips and narrows her eyes, as though deciding how much to explain to her daughter. "They…they're important in some ways and not in others. But we've got to learn how to deal and live with people like them."

      Pansy's shoulders droop. She doesn't see how any of this applies to her. "Will I get to see Padma again or not?" she reiterates, more adamant this time.

      Mother says nothing but gives her a tight smile. That tight smile says, "We'll see."

      Pansy doesn't like the way she says that, making a promise without saying a thing. And it's a painful reminder of one detail she thought the year before:

      No one says things like Padma Patil.

      "Oh, it looks lovely here."

      After a month and a half of eavesdropping on Father and Mother bickering behind closed doors and Father swearing up and down that "no matter how lovely you think Gita is, I will not have Parminder back in this damn house unless he gives me the votes I need," Pansy hears a favorite, familiar voice one fine spring day before the season's over. She turns on her heel and can't help the smile that lights up her face.

      This time, Padma alone greets her. That's delightfully odd.

      "No Parvati?"

      Padma laughs. "She's hanging out with the house-elves. Caught whiff of whatever they're cooking and—oh!" She blinks rapidly but lets herself be tugged along when Pansy grabs her hand out of the blue and pulls her through the garden court.

      Pansy pulls Padma along, starting by the far corner. "This is the hydrangea that survived, see? And Mum's flowers live through thick and thin—" She forces herself not to run with Padma behind her, but it's so hard not to, especially because there are so many more flowers, so many more colors here than previously existed. And, best of all…

      They come to a halt on the other side of the glass doors, where a surprise hides behind the waiting bird bath Father promises to install when he's in a better temper. But Pansy's not thinking of birds, and neither's Padma, when they admire the half dozen flowers preening up at them. "Purple pansies," Padma breathes as she kneels before the blossoms.

      Pansy puts her hands on her hips and puffs up her chest. "I planted them myself, you know. I didn't ask for help with them at all."

      Padma nods and touches the petals of the nearest flower. Pansy understands the desire as well as the excitement; the petals are soft to the touch. Padma peeks behind her at Pansy, and the Indian girl's plaited hair falls over her shoulder. "Are they…for me?"

      Pansy smirks. "They're not for Parvati."

      Padma pouts for a beat—no, that's not quite right, her expression is one of scolding—but a thankful smile emerges in the end. When she stands, she faces Pansy and takes back her hand in hers. "Pansy, close your eyes."

      Her pulse picks up. She's not very partial to surprises (her parents give grand ones, but Draco and the Nott boy who sometimes hangs around him have been known to prank her), but the idea of a surprise from Padma thrills her. So Pansy closes her eyes and waits.

      Padma takes her other hand and presses them together, side by side and lying flat open. Then something heavy weighs Pansy's hands down, and Padma says, "Open."

      Pansy holds…a glass bowl. It's filled halfway with water, but flowers and leaves blanket the surface. The flowers' petals are a soft, purple–pink and— "That's your perfume?" Pansy realizes, meeting Padma's eyes.

      The other witch beams. "It is. And it wasn't easy getting this here, you know. Mum put this special Expansion Charm and—well, that's magic talk for another time." Padma glances at the bird bath. "That's going where the flooded hydrangea was, yeah? Why not just keep lotuses instead?"

      Pansy stares in wonder at her gift. Lotuses… She's read about them (she's had so much time with Padma not coming around, she's had to pick up a book or two). But her curiosity is too much today. "Why lotuses?"

      Padma's cheeks flush that lovely dark color she's only seen once before. But the twin points to herself and explains, "Because that's what 'Padma' means."

      Suddenly, the garden court feels all but complete.

      Pansy interrupts their parents and pesters until Father groans and lumbers out into the backyard to move the bird bath that very same day. He returns inside and grumbles about demanding daughters, a sentiment with which Parminder agrees, and the fathers might finally be getting along by the time Pansy and Padma put the finishing touches on things.

      Pansies, for Padma.

      Lotuses, for Pansy.

      Their mothers were right. They have blossoms now, and they'll continue for years to come.

      But the lotuses are a parting gift, in the end.

      Parminder Patil not only never turns over the support Father needs on his Ministry committee but takes some of Father's votes away.

      Mother utters the phrase "those people" around the house on a daily basis afterwards.

      Pansy's letter arrives, in December. But she's not thinking of Hogwarts. She's thinking only of next season.

      Only of spring.

      …by spring, the garden court still looks amazing. The pansies are strong and beautiful.

      Only one of her lotuses remains in the bird bath…stone fountain…garden display… (She never did decide what to call it if it's not meant for the birds.)

      Before summer ends, Pansy asks Mother to look after the garden court for her while she's at school.

      Mother says nothing and gives her a tight smile. That tight smile which, as always, says, "We'll see."

      Pansy doesn't like that, doesn't like that lack of a promise and more than ever doesn't like the reminder:

      No one says things like Padma Patil.

      (No one gives her hope like Padma Patil.)

      Pansy is elated for a heartbeat to see the twins on the Hogwarts Express, but Parvati keeps Padma away from her, so Pansy finds Draco and Nott to sit with on the way to the castle. Even at the boats, Pansy again tries to join Padma, but Parvati keeps them separated.

      The Sorting is the final straw.

      Pansy happily goes off to the Slytherin table without a second thought and watches as Padma follows her to the Hat.

      But Padma's smile is gone, replaced by regret when she locks eyes with Pansy. Padma's eyes drop for a second and—is it Pansy's imagination or is Padma now judging her by the color of her robes?

      The Hat splits the twins, not only from Pansy but from each other. Parvati goes to Gryffindor (ah, so much makes sense about her now), and Padma's within reach behind Pansy at the Ravenclaw table.

      But…Padma feels further away than ever before. Their parents aren't here, but they might as well be, for all the girls keep away.

      Pansy tries one, two, three, half a dozen (as many pansies as she planted for Padma!) times to get close to Padma again, to no avail. House distinctions create divisions or worsen ones already there.

      And they only get worse as the year goes on.

      When Pansy goes home for Easter holidays, she wanders into the garden court without a second thought.

      A sight by the hydrangea jars her, though: The bird bath is broken, damaged and not repaired, the ground bone dry. What transpired while she was away took place long ago. What's more—no lotus petals are scattered across the ground. No, there are no hints of lotuses anywhere in the garden at all.

      But, by the glass door, growing stronger and more resilient every day, her tiny little pansies stand proud.

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #12: socks) in the HPFC forum on FFN, as well as for minifemslashfeb 2023 (scenario 1: first time meeting) on tumblr. This…exceptionally got away from me, and it's been a while since a fic did that. X'D I thought I'd legit only cover their first meeting, but then this covered an implied mutual crush while dealing with the parents' social politics (and Pansy's parents' bigotry) in the bkgd, and then just. I'm actually v happy with how I used the flower motif (as object, as descriptor, etc), and my heart just breaks. That's actually my mindset these days for Draco and Pansy mainly—they could've been just spoiled brats up to a point before they rly picked up their parents' mindsets and hatred. And since it's canon that the Patils knew Pansy pre-Hogwarts, I got to work in some hcs for the Patils' parents (whom I've only briefly written before, I think!). -w- *iz a big Patil fam fan* I just. Oof. Deffo need to write smthg happier after this, *lol*.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[starship-squidlet]

In celebration of @vikingsevents ‘ Winter Solstice event, I’m finally getting around to posting for what has come to be my biggest fandom of the year!!! I’ve been obsessed with Vikings: Valhalla all year, and have been writing a ton for it—I just haven’t posted anything to Tumblr until now 😅 I’ll be posting a few chapters of the (extremely long) fic I’ve been working on this year, but you can find the full story on AO3 at any time, if you want to know who Brigid and Sveinn are, and how our characters got to this point. This chapter is for the prompt Snow—I know it kind of also meets body heat , buuut I have something else in mind for the 23rd, so stay tuned for that! As always, please let me know what you think of this chapter, and if you wind up checking it out on AO3, feel free to leave a review there and let me know what you think and how you found it!!!

Summary: After the attack on Kattegat, Leif and Harald find themselves on the run—along with their friend Brigid, and baby Sveinn—and spend some time camped out in the mountains while Harald begins to heal from his wounds. As winter snows loom on the horizons, they finally start the next leg of their journey: heading to meet Freydis in Uppsala.

Word count: 3,718

Disclaimer: I do not own Vikings Valhalla, or anything you may recognize from it, but I do own my OCs and this story itself! Also posted to Archive of our Own under the username ChocolatteKitty-Kat.

The morning after Harald woke up, Leif was once again woken by Svein stirring between himself and Harald. In an attempt to make sure Harald wouldn’t fall ill again, they had slept in the same arrangement as the previous nights—Brigid on Harald’s right, Leif on his left, with Sveinn between the two men. Leif picked Sveinn up, careful not to wake the others, and slipped out of the cave, taking the horses with them. They were running out of grass and shrubs to graze on; they’d have to start taking them further from the cave soon. He was walking back with an armful of firewood when the snow began to fall. He stopped and frowned up at the dark grey sky, then looked down at the baby. “Looks like we don’t have much time left, little one,” he sighed, adjusting Sveinn on his hip. The baby whined in response, waving tiny arms and chubby fists and grabbing for Leif’s beard. “I know. You don’t care about snow. Let’s get you breakfast.”

By the time Brigid woke up and joined Leif and Sveinn in the mouth of the cave, there was a dusting of snow on the ground. By the time Harald woke, the earth itself was no longer visible. Leif took two of the blankets to cover the horses with when he went to check his traps. When he returned to the cave, Harald and Sveinn were both asleep again, and Brigid was placing fresh wood on the fire. While he had been gone, she had made a small pile of firewood at the back of the cave. “I don’t want to run out of dry wood,” she shrugged. “We need the warmth from the fire.”

Leif nodded and sat down to skin the rabbits he had snared. He was still working when Harald woke and joined them at the front of the cave, still wrapped in an extra blanket. The prince scowled at the snow, falling heavier now than it had that morning. “We need to leave. This will block the passes, and we don’t have time to go around the mountains.”

Leif shook his head. “No. Not today. You’re still not strong enough.”

“We can at least get started,” Harald argued. “We can’t just sit here waiting around. We need to get to Uppsala, and meet Freydis.”

“I want to find her, too, but if we leave now, it will only be worse for you in the long run,” Leif insisted. “It would be far worse to leave early and have you get sick again, without somewhere safe and sheltered to hole up against bad weather and the cold.”

Harald’s scowl deepened, but he stopped arguing. As Leif skinned and gutted the rabbits he had caught, he passed pieces of meat to Brigid, who stuck them on skewers around the fire to cook. The last of the vegetables she had found were roasting in the coals at the edge of the flame, and she used a stick to keep them rolling and turning so they wouldn’t burn.

“We’ll spend another two days collecting food and preparing for the journey,” said Leif. “The hunting is good enough here, and it’s cold enough now to keep the meat from spoiling. Harald, you keep an eye on Sveinn; I’ll go hunting and fishing, and, Brigid, you can keep foraging.”

“I’ll have to go out further into the forest,” said Brigid. “Out of earshot. I’ve dug up everything edible around here.”

“I’ll stay as close as I can, in case anything happens,” said Leif. “Being so close to the stream helps; what few animals are around frequent it.”

Harald seemed decidedly unhappy about being left behind with the baby, but didn’t argue. He knew he would be no help anywhere else, and that, as Leif kept reminding him, pushing himself would only be worse in the long run. So, for the next two days, they settled into a routine. After breaking fast in the morning, Leif and Brigid would melt away into the forest, leaving Harald and Sveinn alone with the horses. By midday, they would be back with whatever they had managed to catch and gather, and after lunch they’d be gone again. Harald would skin and gut Leif’s findings, roasting meat and roots in and over the fire, and making broth with bones and vegetable skins for Sveinn. He cleaned the pelts thoroughly and laid them out to dry on the floor of the cave, stretched and pinned in place with rocks that they gathered; they didn’t have the time or materials to properly tan the hides, but the cold would help preserve them so they could make use of the pelts, even if only temporarily. Leif used the guts and inedible meat to bait his traps, hoping for larger animals like foxes, and spread the rest as far from the cave as he dared go to keep bears and wolves away.

At night, they continued to sleep in their little huddle. Leif came up with the idea to place rocks heated in the fire under the blankets by their feet and along his and Brigid’s backs for a little extra warmth, as they had to give up two of the blankets for the horses as the temperature dropped even further during the long nights. They wrapped Sveinn in the shawl to sleep in order to keep him warm enough through the night. Harald fashioned some crude needles from small bones, and the three of them used scraps from their old bloodied clothes, the bandages Brigid had managed to scrub at least mostly clean of blood in the stream, and threads unravelled from the edges of these fabrics to fashion a rough shirt for Leif to wear as an extra layer. It didn’t provide much warmth, with seams that gaped between the patchwork pieces, and made of thin cloth as it was, but at least it was something.

The third morning dawned grim and grey, but Sveinn woke them all with his crying. Harald built a final fire in the mouth of the cave to heat up the skin of broth for the baby while Leif and Brigid saddled the horses. They fastened the bags of provisions to Leif’s saddle and rolled up the dry firewood into two of the blankets to strap behind the saddles. The skins Harald had cleaned were laid over the bundles, fur-side up, to help keep them dry. Once they had eaten—a poor breakfast of cold meat and mashed vegetables, chased down with the last of the lukewarm broth so that they could wash and fill the waterskin—they mounted the horses. Brigid sat behind Harald now, letting him guide the horse, but with her arms firmly around his waist just above his wound in order to keep him from losing his balance, a blanket around each of their shoulders, while Leif took the smaller horse, Sveinn fastened to his chest with a harness made from the last scraps of stained cloth, and the final pair of blankets wrapped around them both.

They set off, leaving the cave behind, as the sun began to climb the sky above the clouds. The snow had died off slightly, now only flurrying, but had left enough of a coating to dampen the sounds of the world around them. All that was left to hear was the sound of the horses’ hooves crunching the crisp snow, and their own breath as it left their lungs in clouds of frost. They followed the river for a while, even its soft whispering as it flowed over rocks and other detritus dampened by the snow. It wound up the side of the mountain, but they soon had to abandon its path, not wanting to climb too high.They crossed at a naturally wide and shallow section of water, and then set off due east, planning to use the pass that Kelda had recommended, praying that the snow hadn’t blocked it just yet.

For the first few days, they stopped frequently—every two hours or so—to allow Harald to rest. During these stops, they would forage for more roots. At night, they sheltered at the base of cliffs or under trees, where the snow hadn’t covered the ground as deeply so that it was easier to clear. They used the dry firewood from the cave first, but that went quickly. After that, they gathered what wood they could at night and let it dry near the fire, then bundled it up in the morning for use the next night. Harald tended to fall asleep first, Sveinn nestled in his arm, while Brigid and Leif stayed up later to roast whatever roots they’d been able to gather during the day and mash them to eat later. Leif set snares overnight, often waking to find a rabbit or squirrel caught in them, but they weren’t able to replenish their provisions as quickly as they were eating them.

Harald was strong enough to ride through most of the day by the time they crossed the mountains, and no longer needed Brigid’s help to stay on the horse, so he and Leif switched mounts. Leif found himself grateful for the warmth of another body against his as the days grew nearly as cold as the nights, the snow falling more heavily now. Still, he spent most of the time shivering, and developed a cough that he couldn’t shake. Brigid made tea with the last of Kelda’s herbs, and forced him to sip it throughout the day, even when it had cooled. It helped a little, but Harald made him take the place in the center of their sleeping huddle to make sure he stayed warm at night. Now, they slept with Brigid pressed against Leif’s side, his arm around her back and hers across his stomach, and she would spread her heavy skirts over as much of him as she could. Sveinn would be nestled between Harald and Leif, tucked in the crook of Harald’s arm. The only time they unwrapped the baby from Brigid’s shawl was when he needed to be changed, and they did their best to do that next to a fire whenever possible.

It was over a week before the snow finally stopped, and the weather warmed up ever so slightly. The sun came out again, warming them during their long rides and melting at least some of the snow. This, unfortunately, came to be a problem, as it created dangerous slews of mud under the remaining snow that caused the horses to slip and slide. The only solution they could find was for Harald to ride the destrier, as it was stronger than the gelding, with Sveinn, and for Leif and Brigid to lead the horses, moving slowly to try and find the safest path through the slippery mud. They did their fair share of falling, and wound up covered in mud, soaked from the melted snow, and thoroughly bruised from the falls—not to mention horribly cranky. Overnight, the melted snow would refreeze, turning into even more deadly patches of ice, often invisible under the snow. Brigid slipped on one of these and nearly took the horse down with her when she fell, cracking her head on the frozen ground and slicing her cheek open on a rock.

That night, after Harald and Sveinn were asleep, Leif and Brigid sat by the fire, arms around each other and wrapped in a blanket. Brigid’s cheek stung where it had been cut; Leif had done his best to clean it with a scrap of wet cloth wrapped around snow, but that had mostly just hurt and left the wound raw and aching in the cold. She felt a single tear escape and swiped it away before Leif could see it. Almost as if he knew anyways, he tightened his grip on her, squeezing her even closer to him, and kissed the top of her head before resting his chin on it.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked abruptly.

Brigid snorted. “Hardly.” She remembered the last time Leif had asked that question, and a small smile played across her lips, a flash of warmth blooming in her stomach and chest at the memory. She pulled the blanket more tightly around them, even as Leif shuffled around, wrapping his legs around her hips and resting his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her jaw and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“Better?”

“A little.” Brigid could feel the heat of the fire on her face, and Leif’s body heat against her back, but she could also feel him shivering against her. She pressed herself back into him, trying to share as much of her own warmth as she could, and he seemed to still slightly.

Brigid rubbed her hands slowly over Leif’s legs, draping her skirts over them where they peeked out from under the blanket. He turned his head away and coughed, then turned back to bury his face against her back, his forehead resting in the crook of her neck. A few moments later, he began to hum. Brigid smiled to herself. It had been so long since she had heard his voice like this, and she listened for a while before finally pulling away. Leif released her reluctantly, and she stood, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to stand with her, before reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him down into a kiss. He rested his hands on her waist and stepped backwards, pulling her with him, until they had faded back in the trees, just far enough for a little privacy and tucked under a huge evergreen tree with boughs so dense that the ground beneath it was dry. Leif had to crouch to keep his hair from getting tangled in the tree’s branches and dropped to his knees, pulling Brigid with him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

When they broke apart, Brigid rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the cold air to float away in puffs of steam. She hiked her skirts up, fumbling to unlace her trousers. Leif helped her, and helped her push them down off her hips. She pulled away, squirming around as she struggled to get her pants off under her skirts and over her boots. Leif had to stifle a chuckle as she grew frustrated, finally falling back on her rear as she lost her balance. She finally got them off and tossed the offending garment aside, then rolled back onto her knees in front of him.

Slowly and carefully, Leif laid back, guiding Brigid on top of him so that she was straddling his hips. Fingers trembling between the cold and her nerves, she hiked her skirts up around her hips, shoving the bulk of the material behind her, then set to work on the lacing at the front of her bodice. While she did so, Leif unlaced his trousers, lifting his hips up to push them down. When he was done, he pushed her hands away from her bodice and finished unlacing it himself, then grabbed onto it and pulled her down until their lips met, hard enough to bruise, as he kissed her hungrily. Brigid felt something sharp against her lower lip and tasted blood as it split.

Leif slipped a hand under Brigid’s bodice and her layers of clothing to take hold of her breast. He massaged it, rubbing his thumb gently over the nipple, and she moaned softly against his mouth. He responded by swiping his thumb over it again, earning another tiny sound.

Brigid’s hands found their way under Leif’s shirt, roaming his torso. She rocked her hips gently, feeling him growing hard between her legs. She pulled away from the kiss, resting her forehead against his to catch her breath for a moment, then kissed him on his cheek before moving lower, tracing a path down his jawline and neck. She paused to pull his shirt aside so that she could continue moving lower, nipping at his collarbone before moving to press kisses along the scars over his heart.

Leif reached down and grabbed Brigid’s legs, pulling them in to squeeze around his hips, then wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her body firmly against his. A moment later, he had rolled them both over, so that Brigid found herself suddenly on her back on the hard ground, staring up at the bright stars peeping through the tree canopy above them. Leif’s hands explored her body, working their way down from her open bodice to under her skirts, where they roamed her bare thighs. He found the heat and wetness between her open legs, and she bit back a moan as his calloused fingers probed her there. She grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled him down into another rough kiss. His teeth scraped over the fresh split in her lip, and she responded by biting his lower lip and tugging on it as they pulled apart. His eyes sparkled with some combination of laughter and something more mischievous as he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth, then down her jaw and neck. She gasped as he bit down where her neck met her shoulder, sucking on the skin hard enough to bruise. One of her hands found its way to the back of his neck, and she tugged out the tie that kept his hair back, tangling her fingers through his curls once they were freed.

She was so preoccupied with everything else going on that she almost didn’t notice Leif slide his finger into her—almost. When he added a second, it was like everything else was gone, and all she could feel was his hand between her legs, fingers curling inside her, hitting all the right places to make her moan and arch her back and grab a fistful of his hair, tugging harder than she exactly meant to.

Leif spared a glance back towards the campsite. The bundle of blankets that was Harald and Sveinn was just barely visible as a silhouette in the firelight. He saw no sign of movement, and didn’t hear anything to indicate that either Harald or Sveinn had woken up, so he turned back to Brigid and kissed her again. He wrapped an arm behind her shoulders, cradling the back of her head and pulling her up to bury her face in his shoulder. “Quiet,” he whispered, using his other hand to line himself up with her entrance. “Ready?”

Brigid nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on Leif’s hair and shirt as he entered her. He was bigger than she had expected, and moved almost agonizingly slowly as he worked his way into her. While she knew this was to allow her to adjust to him, she almost wished that he would just hurry up and get it over with. She whimpered slightly into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair gently. “Tell me to stop.”

Brigid shook her head, biting her lip to keep further sounds from escaping. Leif pulled away and looked down at her. “If it hurts, I will stop.”

“No,” Brigid managed. “Just… slowly.”

Leif nodded, pulling her close again. Once he was fully inside of her, he stopped, holding them both in place while her body relaxed around him. His other arm settled around her hips, hand splayed across her lower back to give him more support. “Are you alright?”

Brigid nodded. “Yes,” she managed a moment later, her voice shaky. Her grip on his hair and shirt relaxed slightly as the burning stretch she had felt as he entered her faded into something far more pleasurable.

Leif began to move, slowly at first, keeping his movements small and gentle. As she grew more and more wet, he increased the speed and length of his thrusts, now sliding in and out of her easily. Brigid moaned into his shoulder, eyes watering as something built in her, below her stomach. He shifted his grip on her hips, letting them rest on the ground again, his hand settling on her thigh and gripping it firmly. Brigid released her grip on his shirt and ran her hand down his side, tugging the shirt up so she could rest her hand against his bare, warm skin.

The knot below her stomach grew taut as Leif began to lose his rhythm, panting in the frigid air. She began to whimper and gasp as the tension inside her built, before it finally burst and she cried into Leif’s shoulder, the muffled sound impossibly loud in the still night air. As she pulsed around him, Leif came, letting out a groan as he finished with a final few thrusts before he finally stilled, still clutching Brigid to him, both of them clinging to each other for dear life and warmth, bodies trembling as their breath rose in clouds of steam, both of them gasping to catch their breath.

Leif loosened his grip on Brigid and pulled out of her before rolling over, letting her lay on top of him. The heat they had created between them was beginning to abate already, and he could feel Brigid shivering on top of him, but he didn’t want to move. Eventually, the fire began to die, taking its light with it, and they reluctantly separated and climbed to their feet. Leif stopped to relace his trousers, and Brigid did the same with her bodice. Once they were collected, and with cold and exhaustion rapidly setting in, they snuck over to Harald and Sveinn, slipping under the blankets with them—and feeling oddly guilty for doing so—to settle in for the night. Leif stared up at the stars as Brigid pressed herself against him, wrapping her body around his. On his other side, Harald was snoring lightly, and Sveinn cooed in his sleep. Overhead, the stars wheeled in the dark sky. Despite the cold and discomfort he felt, he was oddly at peace. If this was their lot in life, at least for the time being, he was glad that they were together for it. Being alone would have been far worse.