#what a mountain of a man. I would climb him like a kitten getting stuck in a tree

[mylowmilo]

when the women on Letterkenny grab Wayne by the top of his pants right where a belt buckle would be if Wayne wore belts (he doesn’t; he buys pants that fucking fit)

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Fuckin' magnets, how do they work?

Warning for cursed smut and improper use of magnets aka sounding

You heard a noise and noticed that your phone had went off. You checked it and saw that it was your boyfriend messaging you on discord. "Hey kitten, I was just looking at the green m&m and thought of you. Do you want to be daddies little pogcham tonight?" You eagerly responded back "Sure babe. I'm coming over to your place right now." Your phone went off again. "Don't forget to bring Doritos and mountain dew. Being the epic gamer that I am, I'm in constant need of gamer fuel." You decided to stop by Wal-Mart on the way.

You eventually arrived at Monsoon's place.  You knocked on his door and he soon opened it. "Welcome to my gamer pad! Oh, you brought the Doritos, thanks babe." You closed the door and then watched him sit down in one of those chairs designed for gaming. He then took out a vape pen. "How about a smoke?" You passed on the offer. "Alright, more for me." He then took a fat rip on the juul. "What a minute, this is red phosphorus." You were sure that vape pens had destroyed what little brain cells your boyfriend had left.

You sat across from him on a bean bag chair. "So any plans for tonight?" He stroked his metallic chin. "I was going to pwn noobs on fortnight but now that you're here, I have a better plan." He detached his arms so that he could pick you up and bring you to his bedroom. You noticed all the posters of the joker. "I take it you're a fan?"

He soon seemed like he was deep in thought. "We live in a society. Gamers rise up." You were confused. "Memes! The DNA of the soul! Let me show you." He went on spotify and selected Miracles by insane clown posse. He then sat next to you on the bed. "Fire, water, air and dirt. Fuckin' magnets, how do they work?" You had no clue what was happening. "Babe, you have electromagnesis powers." He blushed. "Oh yeah."

"How about I give you a demonstration?" He detached his hands and sent them flying. They soon pinned your wrists to the bed. "I need to show you something." He took of his helmet. On his forehead in place of a cyborg barcode were the words "DAMAGED" in large letters. You were turned on. "That's so hot." He chuckled. "Glad to hear you think so."

He climbed on top of you and gave you butterfly kisses. Or he would have if he still had eye sockets. He had small tubes protrude outwards so it was like being felt up by a snail. He called his hands back. "Let's see what we"re working with!" He took off your pants and noticed that you were wearing a thong with nothing but a minion on it. He then took them off. "That reminds me, I'll need to send these to Karen on Facebook. We'll see who has the better minion memes now!"

He saw your large member and then was reminded of his beloved Steve Rambo. He placed his hand on your length and began to quote one of said man's films. "It gets bigger when I pull on it." You couldn't believe that he was doing this right now. You wanted to complain but he gagged you with the minion thong. "Sometimes I pull so hard, I rip the skin!"

You let out a moan of pain. "Does it hurt!?" your boyfriend asked mockingly. You gave him a look and he relented. "Fine. And I was just getting to the good part!" He took the gag out. "Hey kitten, remember when I asked if you wanted to learn about magnets?" You nodded. "Well I think it's time."

He pulled out a box of magnetix. "I've been hoarding these since the recalls. Now I can put them to good use!" He took out some magnetic balls. "Ever heard of sounding?" You watched as he pushed a magnet down your urethra. Damn. You really hadn't been expecting that. He then started to place some more marbles down and you could hear them clink together. Eventually it become long enough for a chain to form.

He tried to pull it out but there was a problem. "Shit!" You glanced over. "What's wrong?" It turns out that the magnets had become stuck to his hand. If he tried to lift his hand then your dick would be pried off. "I have an idea." He detached his arm and then left the room. He returned with some emp grenades. "Hopefully this should work. Here goes nothing!" He pressed the trigger and his body soon fell apart like sliced meat. "Fuck."

You tried to put your boyfriend back together but it was no use. "Just get the magnets out before the grenade goes to waste!" To your horror, nothing came out. "WHAT SHOULD I DO!" You were panicking. "How the hell should I know, it's not like I have a dick myself to practise on!"  You screamed.

"Wait! What about an operation!" You groaned. "Are you telling me that I need to go to the hospital!?" He shook his head (while it was still on the floor so he looked like a dying fish on land). "No silly, we'll do it here. Just think of it like that board game, operation." You fainted on the spot. "Well that takes care of needing to knock you out!"

Sometime after Monsoon's body had formed back together, he had placed his shower curtain on the bed and then laid you on it. "How do children these days even play this?" He was looking through an operation manual. For some reason he decided to pick up the shrek edition. "Screw this, I'll just perform it myself!" He then took out his sais. "Alright, I'll just make an insertion here and then move this out of the way." He found the magnets pooled in your insides but now there was a new problem. "How am I supposed to put you back together?"

It was a few days later and you woke up on your boyfriends bed, smelling of cheeto dust. "What happened....?" You soon noticed Monsoon who was wearing a slutty nurse uniform. "Ah, good. You're awake. Would you like the good news or bad news first?"You swallowed nervously. "Good news please."

"Well I was able to remove all the magnets from your body so that situations solved. And here's the bad news.. I didn't have the tools to sew you up so for now I put a makeshift cock ring around your genitals to hold everything in place. My powers are currently holding it together but you should really get to a hospital..."

You broke down. You were never hooking up with old men you met on 4chan again.

[nationalharryleague]

Acts of Service

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: FLUFF

Word count: 2K

A/N: This is a fluffy love letter to Harry’s love language definitely being acts of service. Feedback is always appreciated and loved! More of my work can be found in my masterlist! 

***

You hadn’t wanted to go out in the first place.

The club was hot and sticky and the pounding of the music was giving you a headache between your eyes. Blisters had begun to form from the rubbing of your heels and your boob prison of a push up bra was beginning to pinch in all the wrong places. You wanted to go home.

At home, you knew the green-eyed, curly-haired god of a man you had somehow trapped in your own spell was waiting up for you. You pictured him curled up on your couch in your apartment, where you had begged him to stay so he would be there whenever you were released from Girls Night. You smiled at the thought of him fighting off sleep with your dog burrowed into his side and your kitten curled up on his chest. A smile pulled it’s way to your lips thinking of how you would collapse next to him and be enveloped by the smell that could be described only as Harry that filled your apartment whenever he was there. You hadn’t been with him for long, but you knew you never wanted to be without him again.

Miss you. Be home soon :), you typed out to him and pressed send before your phone was ripped out of your hands by familiarly manicured fingertips. Your objections were met with laughter and playful scolding from your friend, Sarah.

“No more phone!” she giggled, slipping your device into her own back pocket. “More dancing and drinking,” she insisted, grabbing your arm and pulling you from the depths of the red velvet booth. She held her iron grip on your hand as you were dragged through the cramped dance floor to the long bar. Soon shots were placed in your hands of some clear foul smelling liquid that Sarah assured you ‘didn’t burn too bad.’ On the count of three, you found out your friend was a dirty good-for-nothing liar and the fiery alcohol slid it’s way down your throat, feeling it’s intoxicating effects only minutes later.

Dancing didn’t sound too bad anymore. Dancing actually sounded great. And dance you did. You felt your normally self conscious and slightly awkward self melt away as it always did when you had a couple drinks in you and you had the time of your life. When the club turned its lights up, the universal sign of ‘get the fuck out,’ your friends piled into the back of your designated driver’s car. You were usually DD, but you were glad you passed up the opportunity for once.

“There’s my man!” you shouted out the back window as you pulled up to the apartment building, finding Harry waiting for you, leaning against the front doors. He loved it when you called him ‘your man;’ letting out a light chuckle but fighting a blush from finding its way to his face in front of the gaggle of girls. He looked sleepy, understandable since it was nearly 3am, but a smile didn’t leave his lips as he gently rubbed his eyes.

“Hi my girl,” his voice graveled back, thick with the sound of sleep. Clumsily climbing out of the back seat, you wobbled your way to his waiting arms, finally feeling steady supported by his firm hold on your waist.

“I missed you,” you whispered, only stumbling over your words a little and puckering your lips slightly, silently asking for a kiss. You watched his eyes flicker quickly up at the watching car full of your closest friends before giving into your request. When your lips met, you were cheered on by a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs,’ your girlfriends determined to embarrass you both. You pressed your now pink cheek to his chest as you waved your friends off into the night, saying your goodbyes and feeling a light peck to the top of your head.

“Come on, let's get you upstairs party girl,” Harry spoke softly, his hand securely wrapped around you and a finger hooked into your jeans’ belt loop, steadying your slightly swaying body. The elevator ride up to your apartment was short, filled with your drunken blabbering about whatever came to mind; topics varying from how soft your kitten was to how bad you wanted to eat the tub of cookie dough in the back of your fridge. Your thoughts were met with sleepy chuckles and his adoring gaze.

Walking inside your home, after a considerable fight with your key, you surveyed the sleeping animals curled up into their beds and raised their heads for only a moment before they deemed sleep more important than their mother. Looking around your cramped living room, you were greeted with a spotless apartment, far cleaner than when you left it for your night of mayhem. “Oh, you didn’t,” you accused as your shocked face met his smug one.

“I got a little bored and I thought it would be nice for you to come home to a clean house,” he smiled. Throw pillows were set on the couch in perfect alignment, tops and bottoms of potential outfits you had chosen from had long been folded and put away, and your carpet looked fluffier like it was freshly vacuumed. “There's also something for you in the kitchen.”

A whisper of ‘oh my goodness’ left your lips when you saw the plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on your counter in the tiny kitchen. You were an emotional drunk and you didn’t even know you were crying until Harry wiped your tears away.

“You didn't have to do all of this for me,” you whimpered as he pulled you into another hug, leaning up against his warm frame to balance your own.

“I wanted too,” he assured you tenderly. “You know my love language is acts of service, or at least that’s what you told me it was,” he said, your head vibrating from the laugher in his chest.

Harry made you feel loved more than anything else in your relationship. You had only been together for a few months and they had been some of the happiest of your life. You two had met in a bookstore, however chiche it was, and had gotten coffee together. It was your treat (gift giving was your own love language) and very soon after you decided you never wanted to live a life without him in it. You loved him and you knew it, but you had not reached the point in your relationship where you were ready to tell him that. You hoped the gifts you brought nearly every time you saw him were already doing that for you.

You had never been in a relationship that you saw a clear future in. Sure, there were a few people here and there but you had always been known as the single friend. The friend that would always lend an ear, give unfounded relationship advice, and curse exes until they evenvitabily got back together.

Everything about Harry was different. You had met your match. You could spend days on end curled in each other's arms, only leaving your bed to grab snacks, and never run out of topics to discuss or want some time apart. You talked about your careers (he was a middle school music teacher and you were a law student), the meaning of life, childhood memories, your favorite colors, and so on. It was all just so easy with him.

He was also the first man you had ever been fully comfortable with. Overtime, your walls came down (or he knocked out a couple bricks and stuck in), and your usually self conscious demeanor began to twist into this new and improved version of yourself. Even if down the line you and Harry went your separate ways, you knew you would be better for knowing him.

You were brought out of your adoring haze when Harry asked if you needed help getting into pajamas. You agreed, knowing that getting you out of those jeans was going to be a two person job.  

Soon you were laying back on your (now perfectly made) bed, naked from the waist up; both of you fighting with the skin tight fabric, your inebriated hands being absolutely no help to the efforts. Your body shook with giggles watching your saint of a boyfriend tug on each leg of your pants, willing them to move, as he swore about how he was going to have to cut you out of them.

“Your neighbors are going to think we're going to town on each other,” he grumbled as he inched them down your legs.

“Nothing out of the ordinary then,” you laughed and wiggled your legs when you were finally free from their hold.

“I’m assuming you want this?” he asked, moving to take off his large tshirt, revealing first his ferns, then his butterfly, and then your favorite little swallows. After a feverish nod, you lifted your hands up and he slipped his shirt onto your smaller frame, enveloping you in the soft fabric and your favorite smell in the world.

“Smells like home,” you mumble while burying your nose in the fabric, unsure if he heard you.

“Oi, you’re going to stain it with your makeup,” he scolded. “Let’s get all that off.”

Sitting you down on the edge of the tub, you watched as he shuffled around the bathroom, frequently looking back to your face to examine his task. He looked at you like your face of makeup was a puzzle to be solved or a mountain to scale.

“I can just sleep in it and deal with it in the morning,” you said in between bites of the chocolate chip cookie you had stolen off the kitchen counter.

“We both know I’ll get in trouble if I let you sleep in it.”

“Probably,” you shrugged without paying much attention to him, mainly enamored by the cookie that was beginning to disappear.

Kneeling down in front of you, wielding a wash cloth soaked in makeup remover, Harry began to softly rub at your makeup. His touch was delicate and tender, careful not to get any in your eyes or hair line. He took his time, moving in soft circles, cleaning away the mask you had put on for the occasion. His breath handed softly on your face and you scanned his face, appreciating this time to take him in.

He was so beautiful. His eyebrows were gently brought together and his tongue would swipe over his lips every so often in focus. His eyes were deep and green, flecked with brown and blue, and framed by long black eyelashes you would kill for. Your eyes swiped around his face connecting his constellation of freckles and you reached up to brush your hands against the light stubble that had begun to show against his jaw line. You let your hand fall to his bare shoulder, stabilizing yourself against his strong build. His skin was soft and tan and perfect.

Your lips had a mind of your own when you said it. A verbalized moment of sheer honesty and adoration. You didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out.

“I love you, H.”

You could take it back, but that would be lying and probably hurt his feelings. You could double down and keep talking, but your hazy thoughts couldn’t come up with anything else to say at the moment. Your third option was saying nothing. You picked the third.

He paused for a moment when he processed what you said, his eyebrows shooting up and giving you an amused look. A closed lipped grin played on his lips and he continued on with his task, wringing out the towel over the tub and going back in to dry your face.

If you had been sober, you would have absolutely panicked. You would have run out of the bathroom and buried yourself under your sheets, embarrassed of what you just did. But you were hanging on for dear life to your buzz, pretending like everything was perfectly peachy and you didn’t just accidentally tell your boyfriend of only a few months that you loved him.

“That’s good. Because I love you too,” he beamed, all exhaustion gone from his voice.

Hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it :) My ask box is open with any feedback you may have! 

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague  some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

-----

Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

[hhyacinthy]

sawamura daichi x reader

day 5: favorite captain

summary: fluff. you recognize that pretty lil’ fireman from somewhere. 

t/w: n/a

a/n: you realize i had to, right? fireman daichi > policeman daichi.

There is a word for people like him. You imagine it while the bus lurches underneath you and his eyes are focused on a man with his nose buried in a book. This man is a mountain. Not that he’s tall, but he looks insurmountable and unapproachable nevertheless. His hand clings tightly to a pole, somehow keeping himself afloat with the way the bus lurches back and forth. You’ve seen him squared away, always in that same position for a couple days now, though you met him no more than a month ago.

Lights flash outside of your home, blinding as you stand idly by. You are almost frightened that the wailing will cause a disaster, not that you aren’t already drowning in one. Leaves crunch under foot soon after the noise has died and your eyes are torn from the tree to view the man cautiously inching closer.

His eyes are on the kitten when he speaks, “is she yours?” Your cheeks burn when you come to the realization that he has come from the fire truck. A black shirt is pulled taut across his muscles and baggy pants are tied tightly around his waist in what must be his uniform. And your flagrant staring has pulled his focused gaze from that of your cat.

“Uh, yeah, he is,” the breath you exhale is quiet. A reply he can barely hear when the wind picks up and a neighbor’s recently raked leaves are scattered.

The two of you are silent. And to be fair, he rarely has to fish cats out of trees. Had the child across the street not felt compelled to call it in, he would not have shown up nor crossed gazes with the odd person in front of him — barefoot and wrapped in a thick blanket whilst parked outside of a small apartment complex.

As the silence grows insurmountable, your mouth draws open almost instinctively, “he’s not . . skittish.” Your brows furrow and you can see the man’s face grow pink. “His name’s Kuroo and he’s just obstinate.”

It is just like that that a bout of laughter escapes from his lips. A torrid, lively laughter that sounds like it has been building for years and has only now sprouted a fountain. All for you to see: doubling over, holding his gut. As odd as it is, the cold you are hiding out from beneath the weight of fleece is no longer quite as unbearable. And yet, you wonder what must be so funny — as the stirring of Kuroo amid the branches echoes your own curiosity.

The handsome stranger regains his kindly nature only after a few more moments, and you find that when he throws his head back up, his eyes glimmer with humor and bliss, and his dark hair needs a hand to sweep it out of the way of his beautiful features. “I’m so sorry; I know someone with the same name is all.” There is an instant that passes between the two of you then. When your eyes hold his for a second too long. You think that this must be that electric spark people speak of, but instead it makes you shiver — the autumn’s chilly weather finally sinking back into your bones. And he is moving, to pretend like it didn’t happen.

You smell him when he walks by. The scent of smoke and sweat and chivalry. It is not a pleasant smell, but you don’t turn away from the scene unfolding in front of you. Gentle cooing and clicking spilling from between the man’s lips, discolored elbows and arms reaching up to coax the grown cat from the tree. He must have fallen a lot as a child, but somehow watching him, you doubt this man could be clumsy.

“You’re not going to —“ grab a ladder or something.

No, you suppose he isn’t. At least not when devious cats jump into his arms like he’s some kind of feline messiah. Must be why he became a fireman.

“Easy enough,” he grunts, turning to lift little Kuroo into your embrace, “you really should be careful about letting your black cat out this time of year.”

Clearly, you had not meant to get him stuck in a tree. In fact, had moving not been such a feat, you wouldn’t have allowed him the chance to escape at all. But whatever banter you’d be delighted to share is paused by the warmth of his bare forearms when you scoop Kuroo up. Your heart stops, then restarts and you find that he is already looking at his watch. Of course he has somewhere to be. Fires to douse. Damsels to charm. Kittens to sweep into his beautifully sculpted arms.

“Can I give you my number?” The suggestion slips past before it fully forms in your mind. Your brows furrow, mouth hung gently ajar. How you let that slip out, you’re uncertain.

“Are you sure?” He returns cautiously, reading your expression like you are a children’s picture-book. And had your heart been frozen, he would have thawed it with that simple, gentlemanly question. He just looks like someone you’d want to fall in love with, concern written across his face.

You only stir from your thoughts when Kuroo does. Maybe eager to climb back into a tree that is too tall for any normal person, or to dive into the firefighter’s embrace. “Yeah, of course. My name’s (Y/N). Is it alright if . . .” and you continue on, till he hands you a slender phone and your fingers are deftly typing in numbers and your devilish cat is attempting to escape and his dark, honest eyes are broken from yours to jog back to the large truck he must have known would have been no use being as compassionate as he is. It is minutes after the truck has turned a corner and Kuroo has been shuttered away that you realize you typed the wrong number in.

It's this act of remembering that forces you to squeeze past the old lady tucked on your right and nearly plunge headfirst into the aisle -- had a handsome stranger not so kindly softened your fall. Not knowingly, of course. And though it’s the same, you’re worried you might have hurt him, tumbling into his back and using him as a life preserver. You do no mistake the groan of pain for anything more, not when he turns about almost robotically to view the flustered, number-challenged cat-owner he had met not long ago.

“I -- I think I gave you the wrong number,” you breathe out and despite the bruise that must be forming on his back, his brow knits into concern again. That same caring expression that you couldn’t seem to wipe from your mind. “Also, I never got your name.”

You hope he might reward you with laughter, as he stares down at you, still folded against him when the bus suddenly stops again. “Oh, yeah, of course,” and there it is, his darling chuckle, “it’s Sawamura, Sawamura Daichi.”

[phantoms-lair]

I wish you would write a Fic where Sissel saves Lewis.

I did not know I needed this in my life

**MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE END OF GHOST TRICK***

Lynne pulled up in front of the cave. “This is the place.” 

The small kitten in the passenger’s seat blinked lazily at her, flicking his tail.  This is certainly an ominous looking place. Sissel’s familiar voice echoed in her mind.

“Yep,” Lynne said brightly. “The ambulance took a girl in shock and guy missing an arm earlier tonight. There’s a third person who’s missing.”

And you want to go in by yourself?

“Well, the third kid might be dead. And if I waited for backup they might object to me bringing a cat into a potential crime scene.”

Fair Sissel stretched and jumped on her shoulder. If this ended in a fatal accident for Lynne, well. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or the fifteenth.

“This cave feels just like a horror movie. Like something spooky is about to happen.”

Please don’t tempt fate Sissel pleaded. You know it doesn’t like you

“I don’t know, I got to meet you, after all.” She reached up and scratched Sissel behind the ears. 

He purred loudly, leaning heavily into her hand.That is true. All levity left them though, as they turned the corner and saw what they assumed to be the body of the third member of the group impaled on a stalagmite.

Lynne’s hand flew to her mouth. She’d seen a  number of deaths and died a fair few times herself, but this was just gruesome.

“You’re going to fix this, Sissel, right?” Lynne’s normal exuberance has dissipated.

Of course,that’s why I’m here. Sissel jumped down from her shoulder and tried to make it to the body without stepping in the blood. Well, at least when he was done he’ll never have had any blood to step in in the first pace.

Sissel switched his perspective to the ghost world. Yikes  There was a familiar energy radiating from Lewis and several more cores in the cave walls and on the stalagmites than there should have been. Was there another Temsik meteor?  Maybe this cave system was formed by such a meteor crashing into the mountain?

A problem for later. Right now he had to save this guy. Sissel reached his soul outside his body and into the dead guy’s. 

“ARRRRRRRTTTHHHHHHUR!”

Sissel flinched at the bellow. This ghost was certainly awake already. “Keep it down would you.” 

“Wait, who’s there?” The purple man started. “A kitten? You can talk like Mystery?”

“I don’t know who Mystery is, but I can’t really talk. I can project my thoughts into people who have died.” he explained.

“Died…I’m dead… He killed me…” Rage seemed to overflow the ghost. “Arthur, you piece of shit, when I get my hands on you-!”

“Easy there big guy. Let’s work on fixing this first.”

“What’s there to fix!” the purple guy demanded. “I’m dead. You can’t fix that.” 

“You can’t, but I can. You see, certain people are gifted with certain powers in death. Mine is the ability to go back in time four minutes and try to change the course of fate.”

“You…you really can do that?”

“Watch me.”  Sissel concentrated and felt time beginning to rewind. The body, the cave, the green hand that was about to grab Lynne, all of it dissolved into the past.

~

The van pulled up to the cave entrance. “We’re here!” a girl in blue proclaimed, jumping out of the passenger door with a small dog on her heels.

Vivi his guest said wistfully.

“Lewis, Arthur are you coming?”

“Calm down Vivi.” The living version of his tagalong laughed as he exited the driver’s seat, along with a sullen blond man.

Arrrrrrhur his guest growled in hatred.

I supposed that would make you Lewis? Sissel inquired, but Lewis didn’t answer, focusing on this ‘Arthur’.

The four living people entered the cave. They split up at the fork, Vivi and her dog going down and Lewis and Arthur going up, though not before Vivi gave him a kiss on his cheek that made Lewis turn red and Arthur grumble. The two made their way to the top of the path which let out over a cliff.

“Man, those are a lot of spikes down there. It looks like the jaw of some monster. Doesn’t it Arthur?… Arthur?”

Lewis turned around just in time to see his best friends hand shove him off the edge. He toppled down until the stalagmite pierced his chest, ending the recap.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. He was my best friend and he just killed me in cold blood. Why? Was it Vivi? Damn you, Arthur. If it wasn’t for you, Vivi and me could have lived our lives happily.”

“I don’t know why he did it.” Sissel answered honestly. Though it didn’t seem as out of nowhere as his fellow ghost seemed to think. The other man had clearly been upset the entirety of those four minutes. What was the saying? ‘If you think someone goes from 0 to 60 in a second, it means you’ve failed to notice how long they’ve been at 59′. Lewis probably wouldn’t appreciate him saying that though. “Maybe we can find out, but the important thing is we change it. But first we have to get up there.”

“Up?” Lewis realized they were on the tip of the stalagmite that would kill him. He tried to move, but found himself stuck.

“We need to climb up the cores.” Sissel reached out with his soul and snagged a taller stalagmite before grasping onto one on the cave wall.

“Are we going to have enough time?” Lewis asked, worried.

“I wouldn’t want to waste a second.”

By the time they reached the top of the cliff, past Lewis and Arthur were already there.  “Man, those are a lot of spikes down there. It looks like the jaw of some monster. Doesn’t it Arthur?”

There’s not much time Sissel jumped to the torch in Past Lewis’s hands

The fire looks different Lewis commented. 

It didn’t look any different to Sissel.  Maybe it’s your ghost trick? Try something?

Apparently Lewis did, because the torch suddenly flared, startling his living self and causing Arthur to take a step back and cover his face with his hand.

Lewis, I’m going to assume that’s not normal.

No, it’s not Lewis gulped.

Half of Arthur’s body was covered in an insidious green and a black and green eye was peering at them from his palm.

There’s a core in that hand, like the one in your body Sissel observed.

Is that what we need to focus on? Lewis asked.

Cores like that only appear in the dead. And it’s always in their heart, not a hand. So it’s at least worth checking out. Sissel  jumped to the core, Lewis right behind him, and entered the ghost world of whatever was in there.

“What is that?” Lewis asked in horror at the souls they found there. It was a green twisting thing, shifting between things that looked like a bat, a rat, with some of Arthur himself.

“I am the god of this cave. I can take any body I please, but I’m so tired of vermin. A living human has walked into my path, and I can’t just let that go!” it said in a voice that sounded like several talking over each other.

Sissel felt a feeling of revulsion. In all likelihood this was someone who’d died in the cave and gained the ghost trick of manipulating living bodies. That this was something his Yomiel could have become frightened him.

“You think you can just replace someone?” Lewis accused.

“Of course not!” it laughed. “First I’ll have to kill everyone close to him, so no one will come looking. Then I’ll be free.”

“That’s why you killed me!” Lewis roared. “You killed me and made me think Arthur did it! If I had that fire here I’d burn you to ashes!”

The ghost world seem to shudder. “What did you do?” The invading ghost screamed as things began to destabilize. Sissel jumped back into the torch to see what had happened.

The torch had been flung to the ground. Living Lewis had flung it aside and was standing over Arthur, shaking him.

Get away from him Ghost Lewis pleaded. It could be a trap from the monster.

It’s not, said Sissel. Look, Arthur has his own core now. Right where his heart was, radiating energy like Lewis had been. You mean Arthur’s- Lewis flung himself from the torch into the newly formed ghost world. By the time Sissel followed Lewis was cradling the unformed ghost in his arms. “Wake up, wake up, buddy . Please it’s me, it’s Lewis.” A far cry from those screams of revenge only minutes earlier.“Lewis?”  the newly formed spirit questioned. “Am I Lewis?” The unformed soul expanded until it was a duplicate of the man holding him.

“No, he’s Lewis. You’re Arthur.” Sissel corrected.

“Arthur I…oh…” The ghost shrunk back to Arthur’s normal size.

“Is that normal?” Lewis asked concerned,

“It is,” Sissel assured. “The newly dead are easily confused. Trust me.”

“Dead?” Arthur looked confused. “I’m dead? How did I die?”“I don’t know. We were talking to the thing that was controlling you-”“Controlling me? What are you talking about?”

“Being controlled by a Manipulator can mess with your memories.” Sissel explained. “I’ve dealt with a case like this before, and that was common among the victims. A Manipulator is a ghost who can control living bodies the way I can turn back time and Lewis can manipulate fire.”“So I was possessed?” Arthur clutched his head. “What did it want?”

“To steal your body and kill anyone who’d miss you. It pushed me off the cliff once. Sissel here rewound time to save me, but for some reason you died instead.”

“Oh. Mission Accomplished, I guess.” Arthur seemed to close off.

“What do you mean ‘Mission Accomplished’? You’re dead Arthur!” Lewis seemed on the verge of panic.

“And if it didn’t happen in front of you would you even notice?” 

Lewis flinched back as if struck. “Of course I would notice, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Arthur said defensively.

“You thought it. That’s the same thing here.” Sissel stretched. “Shouldn’t we get to fixing things?”

“Seem pretty fixed to me.” Arthur shrugged. “You wanted to save Lewis. Lewis is saved.”

“And you’re dead in my place, that’s not ‘fixed’.” Lewis sounded frustrated. “And what was that about not knowing you’d be dead if it didn’t happen in front of me?”It was obvious from the look on Arthur’s face he didn’t want to talk, but as Sissel said, thoughts were as good as words. “You’ve barely even looked at me since you started dating Vivi. Neither of you have. I’m just there in the background. You’d probably be happier if I just vanished and you could just live happily ever after with Vivi.���

It was almost word for word what he had said earlier. Lewis’s guilt was further compounded by a tiny ‘I knew it’ from Arthur, revealing just as he had heard Arthur’s thoughts, Arthur had heard his. “That doesn’t count. That was when I thought you’d murdered me.”

“You’d still be better off without a third wheel dragging you down.” Arthur refused to look Lewis in the eye.

Sissel sighed. This felt like Jowd all over again, believing his death was the ‘right’ thing for those who loved him. Well he didn’t take it from the detective and he wasn’t taking it from Arthur.

“I assume we’re going to save Arthur too,” Sissel asked, knowing the answer.

“Oh yeah, I’m not coming back to life without him.” Lewis was filled with determination.

“As you wish,” Sissel smiled as the world dissolved again. The ghost world, Arthur’s body, the green spirit leaping from his arm to Lewis’s, Mystery growing in size as he charged forward. All were erased as time rewound to four minutes earlier.

~

This was the second time Arthur and Sissel watched the van pull up, and the third time for Lewis. It was strange how different Arthur seemed each time to him. The first time he hadn’t noticed him much at all, which sadly fit into Arthur’s belief they didn’t want him here. The second time his bearing had seemed so sinister, colored as it was by his presumed murder. Now though, Arthur seemed so sad. And Lewis couldn’t help hating himself a little for how long he’d let it go on.

The scene followed past the split-up, up to the path.

There Sissel pointed out as the other ghost jumped into Arthur and he began to turn green. Lewis growled, but Arthur just seemed to observe, having no strong feelings on his own possession. At least not until his body began to advance on Lewis with a clear stance to push him over the edge.

“Man, those are a lot of spikes down there. It looks like the jaw of some monster. Doesn’t it Arthur?”

Past Lewis turned around and suddenly his torch flared up.

That still happened? I’m not touching it now? Lewis wondered.

Past you is. We’ve already changed your fate, so we’re going from the new timeline.

The monster in Arthur’s body reared back, startled by the light. Past Lewis likewise froze at seeing the inhuman color and extra eye on his friend. 

“Arthur? What’s going on?” Past Lewis asked nervously. He swung the torch halfheartedly, as if he wanted to ward off the monster, but still concerned for his friend. Suddenly the flame gushed out, hitting Arthur and the invader right in their face.“NO!” Past Lewis screamed, throwing the torch aside as he ran to his friend. Arthur tried a few rattling breaths before his burned lungs gave out.

Glad I don’t remember that Arthur said dryly.

Why did the torch explode like that? We were talking to the evil spirit at the time? Lewis wondered

Sissel winced  You were talking about burning the spirit to nothing. I’m guessing you don’t need to be touching the fire to affect it

You mean I killed Arthur? Lewis sounded like he was going to be sick I…I just wanted to stop the thing possessing him. I never meant-

Lewis focus. We’re saving him. Sissel reminded. And at least now we don’t have to climb a cliff

It was true. They had begun on the spot Arthur had died. There were still cores on the walls, but nothing they could manipulate or change. Let’s get going.

I might as well stay here Arthur shrugged again Not like I’ll be much use.

Stop talking about that. Lewis chided. And besides, we might need your trick.

My what?

When you die you get a trick. Sissel can turn back time and I can amplify fire. I don’t know what you can do, but we’ll need all the help we can get

Fine Arthur sounded resigned.

As they jumped from core to core, a green bat, also with a core, flew overhead.

I think that’s our Manipulator. Probably scoping out his new body Sissel observed

But how do we stop him? Lewis wondered.

Footsteps echoed through the stone path. Past Lewis and Arthur were coming down the way. They passed under the bat, which spread its wings, ready to take flight.

Lewis now! Fire up that torch Sissel commanded.

The flames leapt up, flash frying the bat, which collapsed with a small screech. 

“What just happened?” Past Lewis exclaimed as Past Arthur jumped back. “Oh no, poor thing.” Lewis started to move towards the bat.Stay away from it! Arthur called out in panic, not wanting to see Lewis get possessed by the creature.

“What was that Artie?” Past Lewis turned his head.

“I didn’t say anything,” Past Arthur protested.

“You didn’t tell me to stay away from the bat?”

“No, but you probably should. It might have been rabid,” Past Arthur pointed out.

The three ghosts were stunned.

Your trick is being heard by the living Sissel said in disbelief. Do you have ANY idea how useful that would have been?

You saved us Lewis cheered. Now the Manipulator can’t steal my body

You burned the guy in the first place Arthur sounded pleased with the praise, even as he tried to deflect it. 

Sadly, we’re not out of the woods yet A sickly green spirit jumped from the dead bat’s body into a another one, which took off after their living selves.

Oh hell no. Lewis growled, trying to take off after him.

And now he’s going to be on the look out for fire Arthur bemoaned We’re not going to catch him like that again. What can we-

He was interrupted by a slight jangling sound as a small dog followed the boys up the path.

Mystery! Arthur called out, causing the dog to stop

“Arthur?”

He can talk? Sissel asked puzzled. Sure dogs could talk in the spirit world, where all thoughts were connected. But in the living world?

I’m a ghost. Lewis is here too and another ghost named SIssel. There’s something in this cave Sissel calls a Manipulator that steals bodies. It killed us but Sissel can reverse time a little so we’re trying to keep our past selves alive and uncontrolled.

Sissel barely had time to jump to the dogtag and Arthur to his glasses before Mystery took off at a run. 

Lewis, jump on his collar! Sissel yelled as they ran past to the ghost still trying to catch up to the bat. He jumped just in time and the dog and three ghosts charged down the path.“Lewis, Arthur, you have to get out of here!” Mystery called out as he caught up with them.

Tell them it’s a natural gas leak Ghost Arthur whispered to him They might argue a supernatural occurrence, but no one’s staying around to inhale more methane. 

It was a fair point, and Mystery admired the ghost’s quick thinking. He did not want to take the time to debate whether or not a ghost existed and why they shouldn’t stay to study it if it did. “I smelled something strange on this path. I think there’s some build up of natural gas in this cave.“

“Oh god, that makes sense.” Past Arthur’s eyes widened in realization. “The reports of bad feelings and strange behavior were from methane poisoning. And the thing that happened with your torch earlier!”

All the color drained from Past Lewis’s face. “Vivi! I need to get to Vivi!” He took off running, with Arthur at his heels shouting for him to be careful.

There he is! Lewis shouted as a green bat curved around the group, aiming for Past Arthur’s unguarded back.

As silent as an owl going in for the kill, Mystery leapt up, grabbed the bat, and landed without a sound.

You’ll do it cackled, reaching from the bat to the dog.

Their Past selves never saw, they had already turned a corner, but in that instant Mystery grew several magnitudes his normal size, snout lengthening and several more tails popping up. He let loose a surge of power that knocked the green spirit bat into the bat and rattled the three riders.

Um, I was under the impression Mystery was a dog. For the first time nervousness filled Sissel’s voice. Because as far as I know dogs don’t change in size and can’t do that to ghosts.

No, that was our understanding too. Lewis sounded as shaken as Sissel sounded.

Mystery kept the Manipulator pinned beneath his paw. Listening to Past Lewis and Arthur find Vivi and the three of them heading upward. He then grabbed the now injured bat and flung it off the edge, before shrinking back down.

“It should be sealed in that form. Hopefully it’s helpless to harm anyone else.” Mystery said, shrinking back down.

I have several questions, Arthur mumbled.

Let’s head out. Once we know your past selves are safe I can collapse the timeline and set this as the actual events.

Arthur relayed this to Mystery, who shuddered. “Sissel, your powers are terrifying.”

Right back at him

Mystery ran back to the entrance, meeting up with his humans at the intersection. They ran out the entrance as fast as they could.

That should be good. I’m going to return to my present which should set the timeline

Sissel let go and found himself shooting through time, to the couple of hours in the future, the same time Lynne had brought him to the cave.

~

“You can’t still be sulking,” Lewis chuckled as he drove.

“I really thought when might find something this time.” Vivi pouted. “Instead it was just a hazard zone,”

“Case is still solved though.” Arthur said in a monotone voice from the back seat.

“But it’s not satisfying,” She grumbled.

“It’s not about it being satisfying.” Lewis was grinning.”It’s about - Holy crap!” Lewis slammed the brakes of the van as Arthur sat up, screaming.

“What is it?” Vivi swung her head around, trying to see what happened. 

“Did that really happen?” Arthur asked his voice shaking. “Mystery? Sissel?”

It did came a voice only Arthur and Lewis heard from Mystery’s dog tag.

An expletive slipped from Lewis’s lips as he slumped over.

“So you do remember,” Mystery said, curious.

“Can someone explain what’s happening? What’s wrong that everyone seems to know about but me?”

“There was a malevolent entity in the cave. Thankfully there was a benevolent one too, by the name of Sissel.” Mystery explained.

“Then we have to go back!” A grin spread across Vivi’s face. “Let’s check out these entities.”

“Vivi no!” Lewis’s voice was firm in a way he never was with her.

“But-”

“Vivi, Sissel’s power is to rewind time when he comes in contact with a corpse. The corpse he used was Lewis’s.” Arthur explained.

All the excitement left Vivi as that. “Lewis’s?”

“Arthur died too.” Lewis squinted at him in the rear view mirror. “Don’t downplay your own death.”

VIvi was gray by this point. “You died? You both died?” she said in a voice so small it didn’t seem like it could come from her.

Lewis hugged her, so glad he had arms to do so. “We did, but Sissel, who’s currently haunting Mystery’s dog tag, brought us back.”

“Thank you Sissel,” Vivi turned around to face the dog tag. “I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”

It’s what I do. The cat said happily. If you drop me off at a land line I can make my way back to my people. I need to tell them about the Manipulator.

“Will do.” Lewis started to get the van moving again.“Wait, Sissel said he couldn’t talk to the living. How come we can hear him now?” Arthur wondered.

“Hear who?” Vivi asked. “I haven’t heard anyone?”

“Nor I, though I vaguely sense his presence in my tag.” Mystery confirmed.

Side effect of being dead. Sissel explained. You now have cores of your own, so you can hear me, and presumably other ghosts.

“Don’t want to think about that too much.” Lewis adjusted the route he was taking. “Sorry Vi, but after all of this I think our ghost tour needs to wait.”

“You died, Lew. You really think I have a problem with you wanting to go home?” She leaned against this arm, as if making sure he was still there.

“Once we get home we’ll get you to a landline, Sissel.” Lewis promised. “And first thing tomorrow we start looking into therapy for Arthur.”

“Wait, what?” Arthur sat up straight. “Why therapy for me? We both went through the same thing?”

“Because my reaction to being killed wasn’t ‘I guess this is for the best’. This isn’t a gloomy phase you’re going through, this is depression. And I’m not losing you to it any more than I am to the Manipulator,”

Had Jowd been depressed too? Sissel wondered. Was that why he had himself locked in a cage and all but refused to save himself until his daughter was in danger. He’d after to ask.

After he told them about the second Temsik site and manipulator, of course. It would be a lot of work, but it was something his whole colony could come together on, and those were always good.

And it may be his feline curiosity, but he kind of hoped they discussed what the hell that ‘dog’ was before sending him on his way.

[saxonspud]

Some scars are visible, others aren't. You carry a lot of scars. You also have a secret. If any of the O'Driscolls discover what it is, you're as good as dead. Living on a knife edge, everything changes when you're is captured in the Grizzlies by the Van Der Linde Gang.  you expect the same treatment from Dutch Van Der Linde as you would get from Colm O'Driscoll once they discover who you are. But Dutch Van Der Linde isn't Colm O'Driscoll. It might just be possible that the Van Der Linde gang can help heal those scars.

Chapter one - Not an O’Driscoll

You hated this damn mountain. It was freezing. You hated being cold with a passion, but the cold up here was different, biting. It seemed to seep into the very marrow of your bone.

You sighed, and headed towards your horse.

"Hey...Boy!"

You snapped your head round, to see Colm O'Driscolls eyes, boring into you.

You walked over to where he was sitting on his horse. He always seemed to have it in for you. If anything went wrong it seemed to be your fault. You had the bruises to prove it.

Many a time you'd thought about leaving, but you knew it was pointless. Once you were in, you were in. You'd seen what had happened to others, who'd decided they wanted out. It hadn't been pretty. Seems the only way to get out was when you were six feet under. Either by Colm's hand or by the law, or one of his other enemies.

He glared at you, "Kieran, why are you still here?" He hissed.

"W...Well one of the boys asked..." You began.

Colm grabbed you by coat, "How old are you boy?" He growled.

"S...Seventeen," you stuttered.

"Well, If you wanna see eighteen, I suggest you do what the fuck I tell you!"

He hit you sharply across the face twice. The cold making it hurt twice as much.

Then he shoved you backwards. Thankfully you managed to keep your footing, and ran quickly to your horse.

"Now fuck off and check the fucking trail!" He hissed.

You quickly mounted, and headed off out of camp. You guessed that he wanted to be off this mountain, just as much as you did. The storm had made most of the tracks and trails impassable. Each day he would send someone out to check. Being the newest, and the lowest in the pecking order, you mostly got the shit jobs. Anything that no one else wanted to do. You should have told the other fella to check his own horse. Rather than keep Colm waiting. Sometimes it was easier to tell some one yes, than put up with the consequences of telling 'em no.

You were pretty certain that checking the trail was still a futile effort. You could see by the dark colour of the sky and the depth of the snow that the track was still gonna be pretty impassable.

You also knew, when you came back with that news, everyone was gonna be pissed. No one liked being stuck in the mountain, especially not Colm. The longer you lingered here, the more grumpy and short tempered everyone became. Not good for you, as you seemed to be everyone else's punching bag.

As you rode along, you heard hoof beats behind you. You glanced around, hoping it wasn't Colm.

You were relieved when it wasn't, but not so relieved, when it wasn't one of his boys. The fact that the rider seemed to be chasing you, scared you more than a little. You kicked your horse on, urging it to go faster. As you glanced behind you again, you realised that the rider was chasing you.

You yelled back at him, "Leave me alone, what the hells wrong with you."

The next thing, you heard the sound of a lasso. Then it pulled tight around your arms pulling you of the back of your horse.

"Shit!" you grunted, as you hit the snow.

You managed to pull the lasso off of you, as you tried to scramble away. There wasn't a great deal of point, as your horse had spooked and it had galloped off.

You felt a hand on your back as the man pushed you down harshly. Your face in the snow. You panicked as you felt your hands being yanked behind your back, and a rope being tied around your wrists. Then another piece of rope binding your ankles.

"Pl..please don't hurt me," you whimpered.

The man didn't seem to care about your pleas.

He chucked you over his shoulder, then chucked you on his horse.

"Pl...please don't..." you begged, nervously.

"We're gonna go for a little ride!" He smirked.

He climbed onto his horse, and kicked it on.

"What's your name boy?"

"K...Kieran," you mumbled.

The man hummed, "Kieran what?"

"Duffy," you responded, "Kieran Duffy."

He chuckled, "Well I ain't gonna lie, this is a real bad day for you."

You grunted. He wasn't wrong. First you got on Colm's bad side, now you were being kidnapped. You knew you were gonna have a bruise on your face, from Colm's hand. You just hoped this trip was over soon, or you were gonna have some severely bruised ribs.

It took about half an hour before you arrived at your destination. By the time you came to a stop, your ribs were aching, and you felt like puking.

Your captor chucked you over his shoulder, and headed towards a cabin. As he approached, the door opened, and he tossed you to the ground. Rolling you over, he cut the ropes around your ankles and stood you up.

"You found the little shit, did ya!"

You looked up at the man who had just walked out of the cabin. You recognised his face immediately. You realised within seconds, how much deep shit you were in. Dutch Van Der Linde. Colm's arch nemesis.

You figured, that the man who'd caught you, was probably Arthur Morgan, known to be Dutch's right hand man. The same man, now hauled you to your feet.

"You want me to make him talk," he hissed.

"Oh no, now all we'll get is lies!" Dutch scoffed.

You watched as two more men came out of the cabin. You closed your eyes, trying to stop yourself from trembling. If they noticed, you hoped it was just because they thought you were cold.

Dutch turned to look at the two men who had emerged from the cabin.

"Uncle, Mr Williamson, tie this maggot up some place safe. We get him hungry first!"

The two men roughly grabbed hold of you.

"I got a saying my friend," Dutch began.

From the look on his face, you were anything but his friend.

"We shoot fellers as need shootin', save fellers as need savin' and feed fellers as need feedin'" he hesitated, "we're gonna find out what you need!"

You watched as he turned away, he held your life in his hands.

"I can't believe it, an O'Driscoll in my camp!" Dutch laughed.

You turned your head around, "I ain't an O'Driscoll!" You yelled.

Dutch rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say son!"

The two men manhandled you into a barn of sorts. They shoved you to the ground, next to a wooden upright, and tied you to the post.

You closed your eyes and sighed, shivering slightly. Not with fear as much now but with cold. You knew your days were numbered. If you didn't freeze to death, or if you weren't starved to death they would certainly kill you at some point. You just prayed they didn't find out who you really were. Colm and his boys hadn't which was probably why you were still alive. You were pretty sure, the way they were man handling you, it wouldn't take long for them to realise, unless you died first.

You pulled at the ropes around your wrist, but they were tied tight. The only thing you managed to do was chafe your wrists slightly. You decided that you would try and get some sleep, which wouldn't be easy, not being so cold, and uncomfortable.

After two days, despite being cold, tired, hungry and thirsty, you were still alive and in one piece.

You knew full well, if you had been Colm's prisoner, you would have been tortured within an inch of your life by now. The Van Der Linde gang, pretty much left you a lone, tied to a post. If it hadn't been for the gradual thaw, you may well have expired due to lack of water. It was so cold in the barn, there were Icicles on the inside. When it started to thaw, you were able to catch the drops of water melting on you tongue. Not a lot, but enough to keep you alive. You were weak though. You had never been as strong as the men in Colm's gang, and a few days without food had left you as week as a kitten.

When the two men, who had dragged you into the barn, and tied you up came in, you were certain that this was it. Instead, they dragged you out of the barn, and tossed you in the back of a wagon. It was a lot warmer and brighter, than when you had been put in the barn. You didn't say anything, but you guessed from the idle chit chat, that you were finally gonna get off this god-forsaken mountain.

How long you'd last, you didn't know, but you were grateful that you wouldn't freeze to death.

Being grateful, didn't last long. When you arrived at your next destination, you were bundled out the back of the wagon and tied to a tree.

At least in the mountain, you had been inside. Despite it being warm, you were still open to the elements. Well for now anyway.

You were surprised by the number of women in the camp. Colm had no women, except for the ones he used for his and his men's pleasure. They were usually kidnapped, used then killed, when they got bored of 'em.

Everyone just seemed to glare at you as they walked past. With the exception of two people. Both of those were women. One of them glared, and a couple of times, when she walked past had actually spat at you, and called you a murdering bastard. The other, didn't glare. She smiled once or twice. On one occasion, when no one was looking, she gave you a drink of water. If it hadn't been for her, then you would have had no water at all.

It didn't really stop the pains in your stomach, due to lack of food. You wondered how much more painful it would get, if you starved to death.

The approach of Arthur Morgan, made you think perhaps you wouldn't starve to death. The look in his eye said he was more likely gonna beat you to death.

He'd hardly said anything, when you saw Dutch Van Der Linde, striding over, with another man. You recognised him as one of the men who had tied you up in the barn.

"Seems like the cat has got our friends tongue, I thought perhaps Mr Williamson could have a word."

You glanced between the three men, trying to swallow. The lack of saliva in your now dry mouth, making it hard."

"You ready to talk boy?" Williamson growled.

You didn't say anything, you just shook your head.

Dutch looked at you angrily, then looked at Mr Williamson.

"Hurt him!"

You watched as Mr Williamson balled his hand into a fist, you screwed your eyes closed, waiting for the hit. Colm had hit you before, you guessed this wouldn't be much worse.

"Wait!" Dutch yelled, "lets just have a little fun...geld him!"

You closed your eyes, this was it, you felt the bile rise in your throat.

You felt hands grab your trousers and yank them down around your ankles. You screwed your eyes tight, cringing.

All three men let out a gasp.

"What the fuck!" Dutch exclaimed

"What sort of freak is he!" Williamson yelled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Its not a he, Bill! Its a she!"

"And none of you noticed!" Dutch chuckled.

"Please," you whimpered, "just get on with it."

A tear trickled down your cheek, no point putting up a brave front now.

You'd seen the women in Colm's camp, you knew what was coming next.

[rmg91]

The Woes and Antics of Living Together-12

So here's a bit I've been waiting to write! It fought me a little but I think it turned out in the end c: Also sorry for any inaccuracies for the main thing this chapter's about, I did what research I could but sometimes real life experience is better for things and well...I haven't gotten a tattoo yet XD Oops? Did I just give away what happens? Guess you'll have to read and find out ;)

Enjoy!

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter; AO3/FF.net

@writerofberk The next chapter is out and Branch is a good (boy)friend to Poppy!

                                                   ~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy sat in the park one bright and clear afternoon a few days later, scrapbook laid out in front of her as she cut out decorative pieces of paper out. The last few days had been spent silently arguing with Branch by trading his shirt back and forth. She'd had given back, as much as she had really wanted to keep it, and the next day found it laying on her bed. When confronted, Branch reiterated that he had said it was fine if she kept it. Except it clearly wasn't as he wouldn't even look at her when he said it! So the two had been shuffling it back and forth and she was gonna make sure he kept it or so help her-! Taking a deep breath, she was out here scrapbooking as a stress relief after all, the pinkette tapped her phone to play some music as she mused what to do with the current page.

It wasn't long before she was pulled from her musings with a shout of her name, “Poppy!”

Looking up, she grinned at the sight of her friends coming over, “Hey, guys! What's up?”

“Look who's here!” Satin crooned, pulling one teal haired, extreme sports expert over.

“Oh my gosh!” Poppy squealed, jumping up for a hug, “Ripley! Hey!”

“Hey yourself, Popstar~” Ripley greeted with a wink.

Ripley Turner was a twenty-three year old extreme sport enthusiast and an old high-school friend of the Snack Pack. She made a living off of blogs about all the various sports and activities she did and in turn got to travel the world. It was a rare event for her to decide to show up in Bergenville.

“What you doing here?” Poppy asked excitedly.

Ripley smirked and nudged Satin, “Came to see my favorite designer of course~” Satin blushed and giggled as Chenille rolled her eyes, “And her equally cool sister.”

“Thanks, Ripley.” The older twin said with a bit of sass before sitting by Poppy. Prompting Guy, Suki, Smidge and Biggie to do the same.

Before Poppy could ask anything else, Satin was bouncing up and down, “Oooh~! Show her!”

“Show me what?”

Ripley chuckled and turned to raise a bit of her tank up, “Check it!” She had revealed a new tattoo, one of many, of a pink scaled mermaid with teal hair cradling a large gem stone.

“Wooow.” Poppy awed before grinning at the older woman, “Very nice.”

The conversation moved on from there to some of Ripley's adventures and on goings. She had been surfing down in the tropics and was heading to the mountains next to do some free climbing. Of course, she first had to come to the Couture twins, or rather Satin, before speeding off to her next quest. Poppy insisted they have a little party and go clubbing before she had to leave to which Ripley happily agreed. It was after that, she and Satin went to go skateboarding leaving the rest of the group to chat.

Once they were gone, Chenille slumped on the table and buried her head in her arms with a groan. The rest the Pack chuckled sympathetically as Biggie patted her back. It was well known throughout their group how much Chenille put up with when the sporty woman was around.

“I love Ripley, I do! And I know Satin does too,” She groaned, “But I am not looking forward to the post Ripley Departure depression.”

“Don't worry, Chenille.” Biggie consoled, “We'll help cheer Satin up, like always.”

“Yeah, we've gotten pretty good at it.” Smidge boasted, “Isn't that right, Poppy?”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Poppy distractedly replied, phone held steady in her hands as she looked at pictures.

Suki leaned over her shouldered and chuckled, “She's scrolling again.”

“I'm gonna do it this time, you guys. I mean it!” Poppy had decided a long time ago she had wanted a tattoo and seeing the newest one of Ripley's had made her determined to finally commit to have an image forever etched into her skin. If only she could choose something! There were so many great choices! Hearts, butterflies, cats, pride symbols, fish, mermaids, she could even get one of her little troll-self if she wanted! She just couldn't decide and it was driving her crazy!

Guy laughed lightly, “We've all heard that one before. What are the choices this time?”

“Uugg! Too many!” And the pinkette folded onto the table to groan into her scrapbook, “Help me.”

“Well...” Biggie started, looking pensive, “Perhaps you should first choose what category you'd want? Cute, fancy, abstract. Something with words maybe?”

“Yeah!” Smidge cheered, “You could get something with your fave lyrics!”

“With some music notes! Or a guitar?” Suki suggested.

“Perhaps maybe something immortalizing someone special?” Guy prompted, “Like Fuzzbert.”

Poppy groaned again, those were all such great ideas! She loved music but deciding on favorite lyrics? She loved too many different songs to choose just one. She liked the music note idea but thought they'd really go best with some lyrics. She loved her cat but immortalizing him on her skin...didn't feel right. “I don't knoooooow....”

“Oh!” Chenille exclaimed, “Why not get one of those cupid hearts? With the arrow going through it?” She then giggled, “With yours and Creek's names in it?”

Poppy looked up at Chenille, blush dusting her cheeks, “Oh...That's...good...” She didn't hate that idea, “But...Creek and I aren't actually together yet. I donno if I should...”

“You so should!” Cheered Chenille, the rest of their friends nodding in agreement, “It'd be so romantic.”

“And maybe then he'd finally ask out for real!” Added Smidge.

“And you could live happily ever after~” Cooed Biggie.

“Well....” Poppy bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too much. Smidge had a point, maybe it'd be the final push for Creek to finally ask her to be his girlfriend.

“You know you want to, Pops...” Needled Suki, elbowing her.

“Oh yes. You so do.” Added Guy, smirking.

Poppy whined low in her throat before crying out, “Okay, okay! I do! I want to do that idea!” She giggled happily as her friends cheered, “Think you guys can help me keep it a secret until I get it? Oh! I should ask him to come with me when I get it!”

“Yes!”

“Totally!”

“Okay!” Poppy said with determination, “I'll ask Creek to come with me when I get my first tattoo but first...Help me design it?”

                                                    ~*~*~*~*~*~

“You're going to do what?!”

Poppy rolled her eyes at Branch's expected reaction to hearing she was getting a tattoo. She had brought it up while they did the dishes that evening. Although she hadn't told him what she was getting yet, she wanted it to be kept as secret as it could before she actually got it. Not that she thought Branch would go and ruin the surprise to Creek, she just wanted to keep the final design to herself until she got it. Plus Branch always got so weird whenever she talked about Creek and she just had a feeling he'd be even more adamant she not get it once he heard who she was getting it for.

Branch couldn't believe Poppy wanted to do something so ridiculous and irresponsible...Okay he could, she'd done things like that before but a tattoo?! That was permanent! It be with her for the rest of her life! Didn't she know all the risks involved?! Then of course there was the question of what if she changed her mind? She could never change it or remove it! It was a terrible idea.

“Poppy.” He said seriously, looking her in the eye, “Don't you know what bad idea this is?! It's permanent! You can never get it removed! What if the artist does a terrible job, hmm? What if you flinch and gets ruined? What if they don't sterilize the needles correctly and you get an infection?!” He waved his hands around, “This isn't like the time you drew cupcakes all over yourself and then hour later changed them to kittens! You can't change your mind once it's there! Have you thought of that?!”

Huffing, Poppy crossed her arms and stared at her worry-wort of a roommate, “Branch. I've thought about this for a year, this isn't a random decision made on a whim. Also the artist I'm going to is very well recommended so I doubt there's any reason to worry about it getting messed up or infected.” She smirked at him, “And I am not going to change my mind. I know what I want.”

The dark haired man rolled his eyes, “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” Poppy pouted, “Plus I can always get another if I do want something different. So I'm getting this, wither you approve or not.”

Branch frowned, “Fine. Just don't blame me when you regret this. I warned you.” He then turned to go to his room.

“I'm not gonna regret this!” Poppy called after him after she stuck her tongue out at him. She wasn't, her design was perfect.

                                                  ~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days later found Poppy pacing and fidgeting across the street from the tattoo parlor she'd chosen as she waited for Creek to show up. While she was certain she wanted this, she couldn't help but be a little nervous about it. She had always thought having one would be cool and had gone back and forth with getting it throughout most of high school but just hadn't gone through with it. It honestly hadn't been since the last year that she had seriously thought about it and had been looking at ideas. And she knew this was going to be with her forever and that it could hurt but Poppy wasn't going to let that, or paranoid roommate's, stop her.

Checking her phone for the time and wondering where her not-quite boyfriend was, the pinkette sort of wished the rest of the Pack, or at least maybe Suki or Smidge, was there with her. They had all decided to make themselves busy with work or other obligations so she could be here with only Creek as to not get in the way of any official asking out. Poppy loved that they did that but she really wanted some company right now. For moral support.

She sighed and was about to steer herself into the parlor when her phone beeped. Jumping slightly, she pulled it back out to see a text from Creek.

'Can't make it, Love. Apologies.'

Oh...

Poppy unconsciously pouted, disappointed he wasn't coming but was sure he had a good reason. He always did. But now she was going to have to get her first tattoo by herself and she wasn't so sure she wanted to do that. But all her friends were busy... Well everyone except Branch, who was actually off today but was against her gong through with this. Biting her lip and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, Poppy decided to give it a chance anyway and poked at Branch's contact in her phone. If he said no, as he probably would, she'd go in anyway! She was Poppy Meadows and she never backed down!

“What?” Branch's bored voice echoed from the phone.

“Will you come join me?! Creek can't make it and everyone else is busy!” Poppy said in a rush, her nervous energy making her talk fast, “Pleeease, Branch? I'll do anything if you go with me! Bake your favorite dessert, cook dinner, not sing or play pop music for an entire night! I know you don't want me to do this but I really want a little moral support, please?!”

She waited with bated breath before she heard him sigh, “Fine...Where are you?”

Poppy jumped up and down, her bracelets jingling, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ooooh~ I'm so gonna hug you when you get here! No question!” Giggling a little she spun in place before telling Branch where she was, “See you soon~!”

“Yeah, yeah...”

                                             ~*~*~*~*~*~

It luckily only took Branch about twenty minutes to find the place Poppy was waiting at, finding her dancing in nervous excitement. He still couldn't believe she was going through with this, tattoo's were a big deal! He hoped whatever design she had was something she wouldn't mind having forever because he had looked up just how difficult it was to change certain ones. He also couldn't believe he'd agreed to be her moral support. Where were all her wonderful friends? Shouldn't they be here to cheer her on with this horrible decision? They were probably the cause of this was happening in the first place and-No. No. Branch mentally scolded himself because he knew, deep down, the Snack Pack were all good people who just supported Poppy the same why she supported them. And if he continued down that thought path he'd inevitably insult them in someway this afternoon and that would upset Poppy. Which was something he didn't want to deal with today if he could help it because he hated feeling guilty.

Approaching her, he made to say something but she noticed him first and hugged him without warning, “Oh my glitter! Thank you again!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay! Get off!” He cried, pushing her away, “Let's just go get your horrible life choice over.”

Poppy stuck her tongue out at him, “Don't be such a spoil-sport. Come on!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street and into the shop.

A little bell twinkled as Poppy pushed open the door and dragged Branch inside before looking around with awe. Shops like this never stopped to amaze her since they could be so different from other places. A glass front counter sat on the right with the register, displays of knick-knacks and pictures of past and favorite customers on the shelves. All around the shop were displays of the varying designs that this shop offered and more pictures of amazing and complicated tattoos. There were also displays around the shop holding the choices for multiple different body piercings, something else this particular shop offered. Last but not least was a curtained off area in the back where the chairs and supplies sat, waiting to be used.

As Poppy and Branch looked around by the entrance, a tall, statuesque red haired woman with tattoos all down her arms and across her chest came out from behind the curtain, where a buzzing sound could be heard, “Hey. Welcome. What can I do for you today?”

“Hi!” Poppy enthusiastically greeted, hopping up to the counter with a grin, “I was looking to get a tattoo today.”

The woman chuckled at Poppy's excitement, “Alright.” She turned to the nearby computer and started typing, “Do you have anything in mind? Or are you choosing from our collection today?”

“I-um...I have a design.” Poppy giggled, a light blush staining her cheeks as she pulled out the sketch Chenille had helped her draw. A large red heart with an arrow going through it and her name and Creek's done it fancy cursive. It even had a few colorful flowers and music notes peppered around for fun. She handed it over for the other woman to see.

The employee took a look at it with a grimace, “Ah...”

“Is-is something wrong with it?”

“No.” She was quick to assure, “It's just...tattoo's like this can be....regretted later on more often than not. What if you and you're boyfriend,” Her eyes flashed briefly to Branch, who was wandering the store, “Break up?”

“Oh!” Poppy waved a hand over her shoulder, “That's my roommate. As for my...boyfriend I don't think we'll break up.” Well, once they were actually together that was, “He's amazing.”

“Ah, well,” The worker shrugged, “Customer's always right.” She then placed the sketch by the scanner and continued typing, “Should be about fifteen minutes until the artist's free.”

Poppy nodded with a smile before looking around the shop some more. Finding a book of examples on the counter, she began flipping through, interested in seeing what else could be done. Humming a little tune, she saw lots of interesting ideas, including some that she thought fit her friends perfectly. Maybe she could convince them to get a tattoo one day, they could even get matching ones! Flipping the next page, Poppy suddenly paused, eyes being drawn to a sun design, the wavy rays stretching outward. It almost looked like the sun symbol from Tangled and Poppy couldn't help but be interested in it.

“Excuse me?” She asked pointing to the design, “How much would this one be?”

The red head looked over, “About the same.” She smiled kindly at Poppy, “Do you want a few minutes to decide if you'd rather want that one? I don't have to scan this yet.”

“Um...” Poppy bit her lip before nodding. She had really wanted the one for her and Creek but now...she wasn't so sure.

Meanwhile Branch was looking around the various displays and wondering just why people got some of these images permanently inked onto their skin. Some were just plain weird and questionable. Then there were the body piercing choices, some of which looked extremely painful. Although he did see one particular little charm that had just sung Poppy to him and he was eternally grateful she wasn't getting a belly button piecing as he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with that knowledge.

Branch was about to turn and rejoin Poppy at the register when she came rushing over, grabbing onto his arm and looking torn, “What's wrong?”

“I....Well...” Poppy stalled before explaining, “I was looking through this book of choices they have upfront and I saw a design I really like and now I don't know what to get! Help?!”

Branch sighed, of course something like this would happen, this was why he told her not to do it. At least she was having this issue now before she was sitting down with the needle about to pierce her skin, “I thought you wanted the design you and your friends came up with?”

“Our friends. And I did-Do! I just....” She bit her lip and Branch had to focus hard on not wanting to cup her face and stop her from doing so, “I saw this sun design and it reminded of Tangled and I really, really like it cause I can totally see it on me and I feel like it's calling to me but then if I do, I'll disappoint everyone by not getting the one we worked on!”

“Poppy.” Branch said, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye, “As much as I disapprove of this, it's your body. This thing will be with you forever, get something you know you want. Your friends will understand and if they don't, it's their problem not yours. Get this sun if you want it so badly and wait and get this mystery design some other time.”

Poppy opened her mouth to reply before really thinking about Branch just said. He did have a point, there wasn't anything stopping her from coming back and getting another one. And now that she thought about it maybe she should wait to get the one for Creek until after they were together. It could be an anniversary present of something! She smiled up at Branch, eyes twinkling, “You're right. I can always get the other one some other time. Thanks~”

Branch gulped and forced the blush threatening to rise down when she thanked him, “Don't mention it. Really.” He pulled back and crossed his arms, “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Too bad~” She winked at him, “You just said it's my body and I can do want I want with it.” And with a giggle, she went back to the front counter to confirm the design she wanted.

About ten minutes later the buzzing in the back stopped and a two men stepped out. One shook the other's hand before waving to the red head as he exited. The other man, one with even more tattoo's than the woman, was burly with short shaved haired and multiple piercings including one in his lip. While his outer appearance almost screamed 'bad guy' there was a kind look in his blue eyes. He grinned at the woman warmly, “Alright, Rita. Anyone else?”

Rita smirked and gestured to Poppy, “Right here.”

“Hey! How ya doin'?” The man gave his hand to Poppy to shake, “Name's Alex.”

“Poppy.”

Alex grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets, “So getting a tat today, are you? First one?” At Poppy's nod he laughed joyously, “Then you came to right place. This way, little lady.”

As she and Branch followed his toward the back, Poppy asked, “Would it be alright if we filmed a little bit of the process for my vlog?”

“Go right ahead! I'm always happy to share the artistry.” Alex said, sitting in a rolling chair and pointing Poppy toward another chair as Rita handed him a few pieces of paper. He rolled over to sit in front of Poppy as she handed her purse to Branch, “So getting a sun today, huh?” The artist grinned as Poppy giggled and nodded, “Seems like a fitting choice. So what size were ya thinkin'?”

Poppy and Alex talked logistics about the tattoo for a little while, size and where she wanted it. They also spoke about how she wanted it colored and Alex suggested making it variegate from yellow in the center to orange in the rays with a dark red/orange outline. Poppy agreed with the idea so Alex had her turn in the chair and rest her arms on an arm rest while he marked out the position on her left shoulder blade. Poppy had already decided that's where she had wanted it and had worn a halter top to make things easier. Once Alex confirmed the place for it with Poppy he pasted the template on her skin, transferring the outline before rolling over to gather the needles and ink.

Poppy grinned up at Branch, who had been watching somewhat impressed at how thorough Alex was with his questions and suggestions, “Hey? Grab my camera from my purse and start filming? Please?”

Sighing, Branch rolled his eyes, “I still don't understand your need to vlog everything.” But he still grabbed the smaller camera from her purse and fiddled with it to turn it on.

Alex rolled back over, bringing a tray with ink, wipes and the needles necessary for the process before attaching the first needle to the machine. He smiled and asked, “Okay, ready?”

Poppy took a deep breath and tried to relax her shoulders before holding out a hand to Branch. She looked up at him with pleading, amber eyes and after a second, he gave her his to hold tightly as he filmed with his free hand. At her nod, Alex turned on the machine and began drawing.

It surprisingly didn't hurt as much as Poppy had expected and she was pleasantly surprised when it was announced she had the first few lines done. The rest of the time Alex took to do the outline, he talked to her and Branch, asking questions on what they did and such. Rita eventually joined them, leaning against a wall and helping to distract Poppy from what little pain she did feel. Soon enough Alex proclaimed the outline done as he wiped away excess ink. Once done, he switched the needles and dipped it into the yellow ink before he began to color.

                                                     ~*~*~*~*~*~

All in all it took perhaps not quite two hours with the little waiting they did and the time it took for Poppy and Alex to talk about what she wanted before her new tattoo was done. Alex finished wiping all the excess ink off before pulling back and declaring it finished before pulling over a mirror to help Poppy see it. She exclaimed it was perfect and thanked him profusely before he bandaged it up and gave her a pamphlet on aftercare.

“Thank you again soo much~!” Poppy squealed, dancing in place but being careful not to jiggle her shoulder too much, it did hurt just a little.

“You're welcome!” Alex laughed as Rita cleaned up a bit, “If you have any questions or concerns just let us know. You can come in or contact us via phone or email. “ He then winked playfully, “And, of course, if you ever want another you know where to come.”

Poppy giggled, “Of course!” She then turned and started hopping out the door, “Come on, Branch. We need to make a stop for some scent free lotion.”

Rolling his eyes, Branch nodded goodbye to the artists and followed Poppy out, “No need. I already got you some.” At her surprised look, he shrugged, “What? I did some research and decided to save you a trip.”

Alex chuckled as their conversation was cut off by the closing of the door and a bell twinkle, “Cute couple. Bet you anything he decides her tattoo was worth getting once he gets use to seeing it.”

Rita laughed, “Yeah, 'cept they're not a couple. Apparently he's just the roommate.”

“If he's just the roommate, than I'm three feet tall.”

Rita shrugged, “Hey. Whatever their relationship, I'm just glad he talked her out of the tat she wanted first. Her and the apparent boyfriend's name.”

Alex groaned, “Oooh, those are horrible. Nobody should never get those.” He then chuckled, “Good on that guy then. That sun was much more appropriate for a happy girl like that.”

“Agreed.”

                                                         ~*~*~*~*~*~

“So you'll help me take some pictures of my tat later, won't you?” Poppy asked as they walked down the sidewalk, “Please?”

“Anything else the princess demands?”

Poppy elbowed him lightly, “How about we order out tonight? Or stop somewhere? You did kind of do me a big favor by coming with me so... least I can do is give you a break from cooking. Once in a while at least, wouldn't want you getting rusty.”

“Haha.” Branch glanced at her before looking away. He would do pretty much anything she asked of him because of his feelings, not that she knew that, “And sure. We can stop somewhere.”

“Yay! Let's go!” She grabbed his hand and started happily pulling him down the street.

                                                   ~*~*~*~*~*~

And there you go! Poppy now has a tattoo! Also give it up for more random OCs that came about! Anyway, not too much to say here other than I hope you liked it and to stay tuned for more~!

[mycatshuman]

Die Schere Hand (An Edward Scissorhands Sanders Sides AU)

Chapter 2

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality

Word count: 2,733

(I would like to thank @civilsounds17 for beta reading this chapter! Without your help I would not have likes this chapter!)

Chapter 1 here https://mycatshuman.tumblr.com/post/178664306472/die-schere-hand 

Virgil tried to stop himself from staring. He really did! He just couldn't help it. He had never left the hill before. He had only ever seen these things from far away. Now he was seeing them up close. It was a whole different experience. It was new, yet familiar. Almost like the Eiffel Tower. You saw it in pictures yet seeing it up close was a whole new thing entirely.

Patton hummed happily as he watched the man beside him. The look of absolute awe and wonder in those deep blue eyes was mesmerizing.

Patton cheerily tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove through the streets of the pastel colored neighborhood. He noticed, with a small frown, that many of the neighbors were staring and running off, most likely to spread the news of the strange looking man in Patton’s car.

Patton forced a smile onto his face. He wasn’t going to let some little thing like gossip get to him. He slowly turned onto his road and pulled into the driveway of a pastel blue house. Virgil stared at the neatly cut hedges surrounding the backyard.

They were so boring! They had no character. They had no originality. It was so plain! Virgil found himself already picturing himself creating something….unique out of the plants. He jumped slightly as he heard Patton open the door to get out of the car. Patton froze.

“Everything okay, Kiddo?” Patton asked as he looked at Virgil. Behind his glasses, Virgil could see the man's eyes cloud with worry.

Virgil crushed the thoughts of trimming hedges out of his head. This was Patton’s home. Not his. He couldn’t just go and try to change it. Patton might get upset. “Ye-” Virgil cleared his throat. He refused to look at Patton, lest the joyous man see the guilt on his face. “Yes,” he replied finally.

Patton wasn’t convinced but he put a smile on his face anyway and quickly exited the car.

Virgil watched as Patton hurriedly rushed to his door and opened it for him. “Come on,” Patton exclaimed with a bright smile on his face. Virgil frowned slightly as he shifted around and carefully climbed out the car, holding his dangerous hands as close to himself as possible.

“Thank you,” he whispered as Patton closed the car door behind him. Patton grinned at him.

“You’re welcome! Now, come on! Let’s show you the house!”

Virgil followed the excited man as he bounced to the front door and quickly unlocked it. Patton watched as Virgil shuffled up next to him.  Patton opened the door with a flourish. “Go ahead,” he gestured to the doorway.

Virgil hesitated before taking a small step closer. “Go on! I don’t want to block your view,” Patton giggled as Virgil slowly inched his way into the house. Patton  closed the door as he followed Virgil inside. He felt a giddy smile spread across his face as he watched the young man stare in wonder at the dwelling.

Virgil looked on in wonder. The room he was in was painted a pale blue and the furniture was a darker blue. A t.v. sat  against the wall opposite the window behind the couch.

On the wall across from the front door stood a shelf filled top to bottom with movies. As Virgil shuffled closer he noticed a considerable chunk of them were Disney. It almost seemed like every Disney movie was present. Although there were some other movies as well. Virgil felt a small smile tug at his lips as he noticed Harry Potter and Sherlock.

Patton hung back by the door as Virgil checked out the living room. A fond smile snuck onto his face as he watched the man’s eyes light up with wonder. It was almost like the man momentarily forgot about his hands. Patton felt determination settle in his gut. He would have to talk to Logan about that.

“Do you like it?” Patton asked as Virgil turned back to him.

“Yeah,” Virgil whispered softly. A grin broke out across Patton’s face.

“I’m so glad!” He exclaimed. Then his eyes lit up as he noticed something behind Virgil. He squealed. “Oo! Let me show you my friends!” Patton rushed past him as Virgil felt his heart kick into overdrive. Friends?!?! Virgil was not prepared for this. Reluctantly, he turned around to see Patton standing in front of some pictures.

Virgil frowned slightly but joined Patton, making sure to keep his hands away from the bubbly man with the grey cardigan.

Patton’s face glowed with joy as he pointed to a photo in a small rectangular black frame. The style was sleek and composed. Virgil thought it matched the man in the picture quite well. “This is Logan!” Patton gushed as he pointed to the man.

Virgil held back a laugh. The man in the picture wore a black polo with slacks and a blue striped tie. On his nose sat a pair of glasses similar to Patton’s and not a hair was out of place. “He is really smart and don’t let him know I told you this, but he really loves Sherlock. He even cosplayed as him!” Patton squealed. “If Roman knew, he would never let Logan live it down.” Patton chuckled and Virgil caught the fond look in his eyes as he stared at the photo.

Something was definitely going on there. And judging by the look on Patton’s face, Virgil could tell the man felt a little more for the tie wearing man then just friendship.

Patton turned to the other frame. This one was….extra. It looked ridiculous hanging beside the other one. The frame was painted a royal shimmering gold and looked like it belonged in a castle somewhere surrounded by tapestries and paintings of old nobles. “This is Roman,” Patton informed Virgil as he pointed at the man in the ridiculous frame.

Virgil felt a light blush warm his cheeks. The man was….handsome. He had tan skin and blonde hair. His teeth were a blinding white as he beamed at the camera and he was wearing a prince costume. Guess that explains the frame. Virgil thought as he took in the white uniform with gold accents and a blood red sash. Everything about the picture and the frame radiated a “LOOK AT ME!” energy.

“Roman loves acting and anything Disney so don’t get scared if you hear a voice belting Disney songs or the Phantom of the Opera in the middle of the night.” Patton giggled. “He gets stuck in his own little world sometimes.”

Virgil nodded absentmindedly as he examined the man gracing the frame.

Patton glanced at him and felt a small smile on his face. “Roman won’t be home for maybe a week. He’s in the mountains with his friends. But Logan and I will be here!” Patton exclaimed as he looked down at his watch. “Oh! Goodness! Logan will be home in two hours!” Patton hurried to a doorway leading to a small hall with doors on either side. He turned back to Virgil. “Come on!” He exclaimed as he waved Virgil forward. Virgil slowly shuffled forward as he followed Patton to a small bedroom with a lot of Disney posters and musical memorabilia. The bed was covered in a rich red fabric and golden curtains hung from the bedposts and surrounded the bed like it was some kind of bed from the Victorian era.

“This is Roman’s room. You can sleep here until we get a bed for the guest room,” Patton said as he looked at Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes widened. “No!” He shouted. Patton took a step back in surprise as the quiet man shouted. Virgil’s face grew pale as he realized what he did. “I-I mean…” Virgil cleared his throat. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor or couch.” Virgil looked down guiltily, waiting for the man to yell at him. When nothing came Virgil peeked up through his bangs to see a warm smile on Patton’s face.

“No, you're our guest and we can’t force you to sleep on the floor!” Patton cried as if the very idea was appalling. “It’s no trouble. I want to make sure you feel welcome. Alright kiddo?”

Virgil stared at Patton as if the man had offered him a kitten. He opened his mouth only to find that he couldn’t think of a way to properly thank the kind-hearted person in front of him.

Patton smiled warmly at him with understanding. “It’s okay kiddo. I get it. You’re welcome.”

Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. He let out a sigh of relief at not having to try and explain just how grateful he felt. He nodded to confirm that he was indeed trying to say thank you.

“Come on,” Patton said softly as he turned to leave the room. “Let’s go make some dinner. Do you like pasta?” He asked as he walked down the hall, Virgil following at a small distance.

Pasta. Virgil hadn’t had pasta for a long time. The last time he had pasta was...Virgil felt something wet slid down he face. A tear. He carefully moved his hand so he could wipe away the evidence before Patton could see. He hadn’t had pasta since his father died. It would be nice to have pasta again. Even if it was for a little bit. After all, why would these people want him to stay more than a week?

“Pasta would be good,” he replied quietly.

“Good!” Patton exclaimed happily as they entered the kitchen. “How's chicken alfredo sound?” He asked as he pulled out pots and pans.

“Good,” Virgil replied. He cringed slightly. Did he know any other word besides “good”?!?! Of course Virgil knew other words than “good”, but apparently his brain wasn’t working correctly.

“Yay!” Patton cheered as he clapped his hands together. Virgil felt a small smile pull at his lips as Patton’s joy seeped into the air, infecting him. “Alrighty, then,” Patton pulled the chicken out of the fridge, grabbing a knife from the drawer and cut open the package preparing to cut the meat.

Virgil watched as Patton froze just before he sliced through the first chicken breast. He looked down at the knife in his hands, almost as if he was surprised at what he was doing. Confusion spread across Virgil’s face as he watched the man turn to look at him.

“Hey, Virgil?” Patton started as he eyed the man in questions hands. Virgil immediately felt too big. He hunched in on himself as he tried to hide his hands behind him.

“Yeah?” Virgil mumbled.

Patton’s eyes widened as he realized he had just made the man uncomfortable. “Oh! I’m sorry kiddo! I was just wondering if you could, um….” Patton looked away in shame. How dare he try to use this man!

Virgil seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to people and any self deprecating thoughts. Before he could stop himself, he quickly shouted. “No! Go ahead and ask! What do you want me to do? I-I’d love to help!” Virgil was vaguely aware that he hardly made any sense but it was worth it to see the shimmer of hope in Patton’s eyes.

Patton shyly looked at Virgil as he thought of how to word his question in a way that wouldn’t hurt Virgil’s feelings or anything. “Well……..” Patton looked anywhere but Virgil, his eyes purposely skipping over the darker male. “I was wondering if you would like to cut up the chicken for me,” Patton finally whispered as he looked down at the chicken nonchalantly.

Virgil stared in awe at this overly excitable man. Here he was, asking Virgil! Of all things! If he would be okay with cutting the chicken. In all reality, it was the only thing Virgil could really do. Patton suddenly looked deflated.Virgil realized he had been quiet for too long and Patton probably thought he had upset him. “I just need to clean them first,” he replied as he shrugged nonchalantly.

Patton visibly brightened. “Okay!” He exclaimed cheerfully. He regarded Virgil’s hands for a moment, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “Is water okay?” He asked.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, just don’t get it up in the joints,” Virgil explained as he pointed to the very top of his hand, his “knuckles”.

Patton smiled at him. “Alright, can I?” Patton asked softly as he motioned to the blades.

Virgil nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat before he spoke. “Just, be careful,” his voice wavered slightly.

Patton nodded seriously. “I will. I promise.” Patton carefully took ahold of Virgil’s elbow and guided him to the sink and turned the water on. “What kind of temperature do you want?” He asked.

Virgil shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I can’t feel it anyway.”

Patton frowned slightly. This poor child...okay maybe he wasn’t exactly a child but Patton didn’t care. His poor son was alone for so long and he didn’t even get to have hands. Patton stayed silent as he washed the steel blades. A determined light settled in his eyes. Yes, he would most certainly be talking to Logan when he got home.

An awkward silence hung in the air as Patton, Logan, and Virgil sat at the dinner table eating the meal that Patton and Virgil had cooked. It had been quite a surprise when Logan came home from the lab and saw Patton in the kitchen with a man with scissors for hands. Logan was torn between protecting Patton and studying the man, so much so that he froze in the doorway.

Patton had smiled brightly and introduced them while Virgil hunched in on himself and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Patton explained everything to Logan before going back to preparing the meal. Once, when Virgil wasn’t paying attention, Patton had whispered to Logan: “No experiments.” To which Logan physically deflated but understood Patton’s reasoning.

Now they all sat at the dinner table while eating their meal. Logan watched in awe as Virgil used his “thumb” and “forefinger” to pick up the pasta. Patton elbowed Logan and gave him a pointed look. Logan scooped up a forkful of pasta while secretly watching as Virgil carefully moved the food into his mouth, somehow not cutting himself.

“Fascinating,” Logan whispered. Virgil jumped at the sudden noise.

“Logan!” Patton gasped as he shot the logical man a glare. “Put that scientist’s mind away! This is our guest! You will not be ‘studying’ Virgil!” Patton told Logan.

“But science!”

Patton glared. Virgil looked back and forth between the two men and felt like he was causing this argument. If Patton knew what he was thinking he would tell him otherwise.

Virgil looked down at his lap. “I wouldn’t mind answering any questions,” he whispered, his voice low.

Both Logan and Patton’s head turned towards the darkly clothed man in surprise. “Are you sure kiddo,” Patton asked slowly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Patton is right, Virgil. It really is your decision. No matter how much I would-” Logan hissed in pain as he felt an elbow stab him the ribs. “It is your choice. We are not forcing you to do anything,” He rephrased.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Virgil spoke softly as he took an interest in the table cloth. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Kiddo,” Patton started before he caught Logan’s look.

He might feel the need to prove that he is truly grateful for what we are doing. Plus, it would be an opportunity to figure out how exactly to do what you wanted, Logan’s look seemed to say.

Patton stopped short. Logan was right. There was no way they could actually help Virgil if they didn’t know how his body worked and everything. Patton sighed.

“If that’s what you want kiddo.”

Virgil nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he could do it. He could prove himself useful. “It is.”

Logan tried to keep the small smile off his face. Research. This would be fascinating. He snuck a glance at Patton, and Logan could make Patton happy in the process. Logan inwardly groaned.

They were still going to have to deal with Virgil meeting Roman. Who knows what ridiculous dramatics Roman would throw about when he met Virgil.

He just hoped that they would be able to help Virgil. 

(Thank you for reading! I hope you all have a magnificent day and calm night followed by an amazing week! As always feedback is always appreciated good or bad and you can tell me anonymously in my askbox if you want to.) 💜💜💜💜💜💜🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻🎃👻💜💜💜💜💜💜

[sage-nebula]

8 for Alain, 18 for BotW Link, 33 for BotW Zelda, 34 for Sycamore, aaand 41 for Satoshi!

Alan:

8.) Dreams

Ever since the Flare crisis—ever since all of … that … ended, sometimes Alan has dreams about Lysandre.

It’s difficult to call them nightmares, because they aren’t nightmares in the typical sense. Nightmares, as he has always understood them from childhood, usually involve something horrifying. Nightmares are supposed to consist of ax murderers, or terrifying demons, or being drowned, that sort of thing. But these dreams … aren’t like that. Instead, they’re always dreams of … they’re not memories. Even if they start out that way, that’s not how they stay. Usually they’re dreams of the present, except different, because in these dreams Alan’s present reality is that Lysandre is alive, and Alan is—for whatever reason—either working for him again, or, worse, actually living with him. It’s horrible; Alan feels with every fiber of his being that it’s horrible, that it’s wrong, that he doesn’t want it … but he also knows, in the dream at least, that it is reality. It’s inescapable. He has to accept it, no matter how ashamed it would make everyone who cares about him, no matter how miserable or anxious it makes him, no matter how much he struggles to remember how or why things ended up this way. They’re not … nightmares, exactly, but every time he has one of those dreams, he always wakes feeling shaken and uneasy, and everything about the rest of the day he has to face feels off. He feels off, in ways that hardly anyone notices, but that he wouldn’t be able to explain even if they did.

These dreams never go away. They’re often different—once he had a particularly strange one in which he had, mentally, been sent back into the past, back to the years when he was working for Lysandre, and was stuck there despite his knowledge of how things would end up—but they never go away. Even over a decade later, when it all should have been well and truly behind him, he still finds himself waking in the earliest hours of dawn, shaken in a way that makes him tug his blankets up over his head for a few minutes before he kicks them off completely so he can go spend some time with Lizardon before the day takes off.

(I have a fic on this subject here.)

Link, Hero of the Wild:

18.) Winter

Winter was, objectively, the worst goddessdamned season.

Oh sure, some would say that was a subjective opinion, that Link was speaking for himself and therefore it wasn’t objective at all, especially since all of his vitriol came from his “personal feelings.” Well, Link would say that his personal feelings held a lot of validity, thank you very much, especially since it was his personal feelings that drew him to start going after the Divine Beasts not ten minutes after throwing himself off the Great Plateau with nothing but a rusted sword, thin clothes that were poor excuses for armor, two apples, and a paraglider. That worked out real well for him when he landed and was immediately attacked by a swarm of keese, and then attacked by a camp of three bokoblins and two actual goddessdamned moblins when they heard his panicked screaming as he tried to hit the keese with his sword (which promptly broke, because did he mention it was rusted as fuck?). Yeah, that was real great, but you know what? He still did the thing anyway. He still made it through all that bullshit, and went after the Divine Beasts, and fought off the Ganon Blight within them, and did a whole bunch of other honestly suicidal, nonsensical bullshit, because his personal feelings told him that it was the Right thing to do. So if his “personal feelings” were valid enough to justify him saving Hyrule from Calamity Ganon, then Link felt that his “personal feelings” were valid enough to say that winter objectively sucked.

And you know what? He was going to say it. Winter. Objectively. Sucked. 

What good was winter? No good, that’s what. Winter was when everything got really, ridiculously cold. And you know what, that wasn’t too abnormal in certain parts of the world. Goddess freaking knows Link had to tromp through enough snow during his quest, and don’t even get him started about how many times he fell in that freezing damn river while trying to get to the frigging shrine on the Great Plateau so that he could get the spirit orb to appease the ghost of Zelda’s dead father (and honestly, if His Majesty didn’t approve of Link as a son-in-law after all this, then Link had picked up on a lot of modern day rude gestures that he would love to educate His Majesty on, because for someone who really wanted Link to save his kingdom and also his daughter, he made getting that paraglider a real pain in the ass). But in winter, everything was balls to the walls cold. Every part of the world was freaking freezing, except maybe Death Mountain, but excuse Link for not being able to spend an entire season cooped up inside a volcano because the rest of the world couldn’t handle being even halfway decent.

Farore.

And you know, some people would say he was just being whiny about the temperature. “Boo-hoo,” they’d say, “you don’t like the cold.” Well, first off, Link thinks it’s real rich for people who let monsters waltz around like they owned the place for ten thousand years to tell him “boo-hoo,” and then even more rich for them to get offended when he says this when he was able to learn how to fight them off by himself when he spent ten thousand years naked and asleep in a chamber. And oh, don’t give him that “well YOU got ten thousand years of rest” bullshit, because he only got that after he died, and he was weak as a day old kitten when he stumbled out of that cave, blinking into the sun, an apple shoved into his mouth by an old man who then gave him a stick and told him to venture off into the wilderness with no clue on what to do. He was naked, do you hear him? Naked. And yet he was still able to fight off bokoblin, so you know what, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“But you’re the Hero—” And you are people with hands, feet, eyes, and ears. You can fight bokoblin if you really try and put some backbone into it, don’t start with him.

Anyway. Where was he? Oh, yeah. Winter sucked, and the reason why it sucked was because everything was cold, and that really, really sucks when you spend 95% of your time sleeping outdoors. Here’s a newsflash: Campfires don’t warm your entire body at once. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to be huddled up in a mass of snow-soaked clothing, constantly tossing and turning so you can warm one side of your body while the other half freezes over again? Yeah, Din, thanks a whole lot for not making your fires more all-encompassing. It’s going to be real easy for Link to save Hyrule when half his body has frostbite. Oh, and when he’s half-starved, because a good portion of the world’s animals go into hibernation in the winter, and crops don’t freaking grow, and food is scarce so villages are charging an arm and a leg for it, and you know, Link would part with his limbs, he’s not too attached to them after ten thousand years of having them, but it might be kind of hard to save Hyrule with just a single arm and leg. He could probably still do it, if you gave him time to figure it out, but it just might be a little harder than it already is, and you know, it’s already kind of freaking hard enough in the dead of goddessdamn winter. 

FARORE. 

All right. Link is being a little unfair. It’s not exactly nice of him to drag the people of Hyrule for not doing anything to defend themselves from monsters when they are average citizenry who are, obviously, innately completely helpless, and incapable of learning basic self-defense. And okay, okay, that’s mean, too, he needs to be nicer to the people, but it’s just hard, you know, when he’s freezing no matter how many fucking layers he piles on, and his fingers are stuck to the hilt of his sword, and he hasn’t had a decent meal in a week because he has no food, and it’s snowing again, and do you know how much of a pain in the ass to climb mountains in snow? It’s at least possible, unlike when it’s raining (for real, fuck the rain, you can take all of your goddessdamned rain back, Nayru, take it back!), but for fucksake, climbing snowy mountains is not fun, and in winter, all of the mountains are snowy mountains.

But still. He’s being mean, and he knows it. Zelda wouldn’t appreciate that, even though Link knows she can be just as scathing as he, and more eloquent about it, too. But still, she wouldn’t approve, and he knows that, and he needs to be a little nicer, at least where the peoples of Hyrule are concerned.

He just really.

Hates.

Winter.

Princess Zelda:

33.) Safe

Her father kept a safe in his chambers when he was still alive.

There were multiple safes and treasure keeps around the castle, some known to the staff, and some hidden. There were some treasure troves, Zelda thought, that were probably unknown even to her. Hyrule Castle was a storied castle with many secrets; rumors and legends surrounded it, tales of ages past that certainly none alive today (and probably none alive ten thousand years ago) could verify. But while there were rumors of secrets the castle would take with it long past its destruction, there were some safes and treasure troves that Zelda knew to be true, and one was the safe that was embedded in the wall behind the headboard of her father’s bed.

Once Calamity Ganon is defeated, Zelda returns to her father’s chambers. She never knew what was in the safe. Once again, there were rumors; Zelda overheard some of the servants talking about it, ten thousand years ago. Some of the more ludicrous stories were that keys to the Sacred Realm were kept within. Others speculated that they were merely precious gems. Zelda didn’t know, and in honesty, she had never felt compelled to ask. Whatever was in the safe, she had known ten thousand years ago that it would not help her. If it would, no doubt her father would have given it to her. He had been just as desperate as she for her to unlock the power that slumbered within her. Had there been anything in the safe that could have enabled her to do that, he wouldn’t have hesitated to hand it over.

But now that ten thousand years had passed, and her father was long since deceased, Zelda felt compelled to check. She went by herself, without Link, to see what it was her father had kept in that safe. It wasn’t greed that compelled her, and the curiosity she felt was slim. Rather, it was the state of her kingdom. Link had done a fantastic job saving Hyrule, as she had known he would, but the Hyrule that he had to save … well, there wasn’t much of it left, anymore. There were settlements of people all across the land, but they were impoverished. They would need help to get on their feet again. And if there was any help that could be offered, any at all … if there was anything in her father’s safe that could pay for the reconstruction of the kingdom, she had to use it. 

So she returned to his quarters once the castle was safe again, and shoved the bed away from the wall. She used her telekinesis to undo the lock (such an easier feat than restraining Calamity Ganon), and pried the door open.

Her heart stilled as she saw what was inside.

There were no jewels inside the safe. There were no keys to the Sacred Realm. There wasn’t anything, except …

Drawings.

Gently, Zelda lifted aged pieces of parchment out of the safe. The drawings were simplistic, and clumsy. They were childish, as could be expected, given that they had been produced by a child.

Her.

The drawings were hers. Some were in mere charcoal, and others were in paint, but they were all … she had drawn all of them. There was a drawing of herself, her father, and her mother; there was a drawing of the stable boys tending to the horses; there was a drawing of flowers, and another of apple trees, and yet another of one of the Rito emissaries. There was a drawing of Impa, too.

Zelda went through the drawings one by one. She could still remember drawing some of them. Others, not so much. But they were there, each and every one, until she had stopped producing them altogether. She wiped her cheeks after a couple errant tears fell onto an illustration of a dog chasing an apple, and set the pictures aside as she looked back in the safe. There was one last portrait inside—a small, personal one—separated from the stack that Zelda had removed from the safe. She picked it up with trembling fingers, and stifled a sob with her other hand as she looked down at it.

It was a self-portrait, at least partially, painted by her mother. Unlike Zelda’s own artworks, this one was masterful. Her mother had captured both herself and her father when they were younger, smiling, laughing—in love. Zelda set the portrait aside and buried her face in her arms, unable to stop her sobs or tears from flowing now.

There had indeed been treasures in her father’s safe. Just not the type everyone had gossiped about.

Sycamore:

34.) Affection

Augustine doesn’t have one primary love language. He has three: Words of affirmation, physical affection, and gift giving.

The type he employs somewhat depends on the person, but it also depends on his mood. He likes picking up gifts for those he cares about while he’s out and about, on a whim. There doesn’t need to be a special occasion to give a gift, he feels, especially if it’s something small, a little token of, “I saw this and I thought of you.” (Of course, gifts are given on special occasions, absolutely. But it doesn’t have to be a special occasion.) And it isn’t at all uncommon for him to ruffle Alan’s hair, or gently give Gabrielle a hug, and if he’s upset, then he certainly loves to be hugged, and finds comfort in cuddles. And as far as words of affirmation go, well—those are normal, aren’t they? Why shouldn’t he tell his loved ones when they’re marvelous? Why shouldn’t he tell them that they’re loved? (Not that he’s always the best at communicating things that need to be communicated—he’ll always kick himself over the fact that Alan had any doubts at all that Augustine saw him as a son—but he will tell someone on a whim that they’re wonderful, that he’s glad to have them there. He can’t imagine not doing that.)

So Augustine is, at his core, a very affectionate person. He loves doling it out, and he of course likes receiving it in turn, though it isn’t always strictly necessary. But that said, he does struggle a bit with the remaining two love languages, however much of a mastery he has on the other three. When it comes to acts of service and quality time … those two can certainly be struggles.

Acts of service tend to be a struggle for Augustine in two parts. As far as doing them is concerned, Augustine is often both so wrapped up in his own duties that he doesn’t have very much time to complete someone else’s work (not that acts of service are all about work, but—), and he’s also always so focused on gift giving, or showing affection through physical or verbal affirmation, that acts of service seem a little … unnecessary, or even performative to him, not to mention perhaps a little … not lazy, per se, but … perhaps … demanding on the part of the one who wanted them? And as far as receiving goes, well, Augustine doesn’t really ask others to do his work for him (having lab assistants is different, because they need jobs, too), and when it comes to grander scale things, well … in all honesty, he would prefer it if Alan would stop risking his life to try and protect Augustine’s. It’s supposed to be the other way around, if anything (this is one act of service Augustine doesn’t feel is unnecessary or performative, given that he is Alan’s father), and really, he would be a lot more grateful just to see his son alive, happy, and well. That’s all he wants. That’s all he’s asking for.

So acts of service can be a bit difficult, and trust in the fact that this struggle Augustine has with this particular love language did cause some strife during his university years, given that his roommate Fulbert was all about acts of service, and Augustine was not, and so in freshman year in particular there were a lot of “fights” that wouldn’t have been fights at all had they realized that their hurt feelings all spawned from a misunderstanding about whether they liked each other or not. (Which they did, but Fulbert just wanted Augustine to perhaps take some initiative to clean the dorm once in a while, whereas Augustine didn’t understand why Fulbert wouldn’t compliment him, or give him a friendly hug, or sometimes bring him back a smoothie from the on-campus smoothie shop. Fulbert didn’t realize that Augustine was trying to be friendly by always trying to hug him or get his favorite snacks when he went out on grocery runs (rather than being clingy or trying to buy his friendship), and Augustine didn’t realize that Fulbert doing Augustine’s laundry along with his own wasn’t Fulbert being a neat freak, but rather was Fulbert trying to be helpful. It was just … a bit difficult, for a little while. 

(“I just don’t understand why you still hate me after all this time!”

“What the—I don’t hate you, whatever gave you that frigging idea?”

“What do you think? You never say a single nice word to me, you push me away when I try to hug you—”

“I don’t like to be hugged—”

“Who doesn’t like to be hugged?!”

“Me!”

“You’re always so cold—”

“I—I do your damn laundry every week, I’m always cleaning your side of the dorm, I make sure you get to class on time—”

“I don’t ask you to do any of that, Fulbert, and you never appreciate how I always make sure to get your favorite chips from the—”

“I don’t ask you to do that, either! And maybe it’s not about asking, maybe I just help you out because I want to—”

“Well, maybe I just get your snacks because I want to!”

“Why do you want to buy my damn snacks?”

“Why do you want to do my laundry?”

“Because I want to make sure you have something clean to wear so you don’t get yourself sick!”

“Well I want you to be happy, and I know that having your favorite snacks while you do your homework makes you happy!”

“Wha—since when do you care if I’m happy?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always cared!”

“Since when?”

“Since always! You’re the one who doesn’t—”

“If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t give a damn what you do or how sick you got because you think a cereal bowl’s still clean after the first use so long as you wipe it out with a paper towel first.”

“It’s clean enough—”

“It damn well is not!”

“… So you really don’t hate me?”

“Of course I don’t frigging hate you. Whatever gave you that stupid idea in the first place?”

“I don’t think we need to go over this whole thing again.”

“… Yeah. You’re probably right about that one.”Idiots, the pair of them. In their defense, they were ~18, but still. Idiots.)

Ash:

41.) Memory

Ash doesn’t remember his father.

He thinks he should remember his father, and sometimes, if he tries hard enough, he can almost make himself believe he does. He has pictures of him, or at least one or two; he has one in his bedroom, a framed candid photo of his dad with his chikorita (his dad’s chikorita, that is, not Ash’s own then-Chikorita, now-Bayleef), and he thinks his mom has at least a couple somewhere, though they never look at them. Sometimes, if he looks at the picture of his dad long enough, he thinks he can remember some things from when he was very small. He thinks maybe he can remember his dad holding him when he was a baby, or what his dad smelled like. He knows he … probably doesn’t. Babies don’t have memories from when they’re that small. But whenever he asks his mom, she always gives him positive answers. That’s just how his mom is, and he knows that’s a fact, because there were times when he’d go downstairs in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk when he was real small, and he’d hear his mom crying in the kitchen, but when he went to see if he could make her feel better like she always did for him, she’d smile real bright and tell him that everything was just fine, and what was he doing up so late? It was way past his bedtime. She was lying, and he knew it, and he also knew that the reason why she was lying about crying probably had something to do with the fact that his dad was never home, and they didn’t have very much money because his mom had a hard time running the restaurant all by herself, and he didn’t think his dad ever sent money home for the them. (But whether he did or didn’t, Ash really didn’t know for sure. His mom never liked to talk about money very much with him, unless she was uncomfortably apologizing for not being able to get him the coolest new toy that all the other kids and especially Gary had, but Ash never really cared about that, and he hoped she believed him when he said it. It was always good enough for him just to have her as his mom.)

But even if his mom remembers his dad, Ash himself doesn’t. He knows things that his mom has told him. He knows that his dad is a pokémon trainer, somewhere out there in the world, and he knows that his dad would be proud of him, because his mom said that his dad would be. And Ash hopes that’s true. His mom wouldn’t lie on purpose, unless she was trying not to worry him, but … well, sometimes Ash thinks about what it will be like if he ever runs into his dad on his journey. He can’t remember him, but that’s okay; he can always make new memories of him. He wonders what his dad will think when he meets Pikachu, or Ash’s other pokémon. He wonders if his dad’s chikorita is a meganium now, and he wonders how his dad’s meganium will get along with Bayleef. He wonders what it’ll be like to talk to his dad, and if … if he’ll be mad, maybe, when he meets him, if he’ll be a little mad, like how Brock was when his dad finally came home. He at least doesn’t think he’d try to turn his dad into a doll, like Sabrina did hers, even if he had that power, but he thinks … he doesn’t remember his dad, but he remembers how hard it was on his mom, raising him by herself, because even when he tried not to cause too much trouble, trouble usually had a way of finding him. He remembers the nights he’d walk into the kitchen to find his mom crying at the kitchen table, a lot of papers spread over it that he realizes years later were probably bills. He remembers that his mom was only eighteen when he was born, and that if she was on a pokémon journey herself at the time she probably had to end it, but that his dad hadn’t ended his even though Ash was just as much his son as he was his mom’s. And he thinks … maybe he would be a little mad, if he ever got a chance to meet his dad. Because maybe his dad would be proud of him, and maybe Ash wants his dad to be proud of him, but maybe … maybe Ash isn’t very proud of his dad. And maybe he doesn’t remember his dad, but maybe his dad should have remembered him and his mom, and maybe it seems like he didn’t, and maybe … maybe Ash is a little mad about that, yeah, if he thinks about it.

But it’s complicated, and Ash isn’t always the biggest fan of thinking about complicated things. And truth be told, he doesn’t need a dad, anyway. He’s got his mom, and his mom is the best mom in the world. They’re the only family they need.

Whether he remembers (or ever meets) his dad or not, that’s good enough for him.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Night Light Part 6

Lea’s PoV Lea... was in a strange place. And that was really him putting it mildly. How he'd even gotten here, he didn't know—since he was supposed to have been with Roxas, Xion, Isa, and Naminé—but it didn't look like any of them were around. But he was within what appeared to be some large, log rollercoaster with a wildcat beside him as they sailed along. And if it wasn’t bad enough that he was trapped with a jungle beast right now… but there was something about him, that made him seem… somehow sharper looking than any animal Lea had ever met before, and it reminded him of how Sora had always described the Caribbean—or even The Grid—to be. "...Okay," Lea muttered uncertainly, as he reached a hand out to try and pet the kitty's fur despite himself—trying to make a good first impression—but only for the cat to play bite him. And Lea could tell that it was a play bite—because if this guy had really wanted to hurt him, he would've—but any form of biting at all wasn’t good. Lea figured that this Prince of Heart—because of course he thought that was what this animal was, and why he was here—was stuck between being tame and going feral, and Lea didn't want to play games if he was about to lose his cool. So Lea just opted to stay in the “roller coaster” with the cat until he decided to get out… which fortunately, didn’t take much longer. About a half-an-hour later, Lea would say, the critter leaped out of the air (and Lea barely had the chance to create a Corridor of Darkness to follow him) and was running through a doggy door that looked like it was made for him. Lea followed the cat into this building—realizing right away that it was some sort of restaurant, and that the animal somehow seemed right at home here—when the two of them ended up getting stuck in the freezer! …It was really embarrassing that it had happened at all—and how glad Lea was, that none of his friends were here to witness his fall—but one moment, the kitten was going to check on some meat (and Lea was following him to see if he’d run into anyone of this world who could tell him if this was a Prince of Heart or not)… And the next thing Lea knew, these kids had run by the freezer without seeing them there, and had run into the door and accidentally locked both Lea and his new best friend away. Near instantly, this cat was upset—with his ears down and tail both down, as he growled for the situation and began trying to scratch anything and everything to find a way out of the room—and Lea could hardly blame him, as he was starting to freeze himself… He knew that he had fire magic that he could use to help out with the situation of course… but at the same time, Lea didn’t want to risk that spooking his new friend even more, either… and the whole idea of “spooking” was the same reason that he wasn’t putting the big guy through a Corridor of Darkness to try and escape that way. So, Lea did the smart thing that anyone in this situation would do… he began pounding on the door as loudly as he could—though still trying to keep some air of calm about him, so the big cat wouldn’t think he was a threat—as he hollered for anyone who might hear him, “Hey, café workers! You locked a would-be customer in here with your jungle cat! Now how about getting us out of here? Help!” And Lea kept on like that for a while—and it seemed to Lea like the cat actually seemed to be admiring him for his truth and no-nonsense attitude… or maybe the cold in here really was just getting to him—before finally, he and the cat (who had still been clawing at things) got someone’s attention and they flung the door open. And the cat, in being excited to finally tear out of his prison, bolted out the door and unintentionally somewhat scratched the man who had just let him out. “Oww, Jess!” the man complained, as both he and Lea watched the cat go. “Was that Charlie? It looks like he’s gone full-on wild. Someone stop that cat!” And despite the fact that Lea himself had earlier been worrying about this “Charlie” going feral, he couldn’t help feeling that this line of thinking was unfair on the other guy’s part now. And he told the man as much, as he, said man, and this Jess figure chased after their friend. “I don’t think he went wild! I think he was spooked from having been locked in a freezer. Hell, I was too!” But it was no use. Charlie had wandered into a construction zone, but that just scared him even more… And all the people who saw him running their way—in trying to get away from this massive unknown—assumed he was opting to attack them, so soon it became a mob chasing the poor thing (that Lea was warning them against the whole time—saying that this was a Prince of Heart, and that they had no idea what making him choose the darkness would do to the fate of the world. But no one would listen to him). And finally, Charlie had fallen into an elevator shaft that the men were making—and they were about to shoot the guy!—and it was at this time that Lea jumped in with Charlie, having had enough. Reaching out to his animal companion once more—but this time feeling as though they’d bonded a little bit—Lea scratched him behind his ears and said, “I don’t blame you for being afraid of the freezer, Charlie. I was the same. Here: do you want me to do some fire magic so I can show you that if you stay with me, you’ll never have to worry about the cold again?” And Lea did show him exactly that—though making sure to just summon some steam to his hands, rather than flames—and it was exactly when Charlie seemed appeased by this, that Jess jumped down and calmed—what appeared to be—his cat even more, and got a collar and leash on him so that they could get him back up into the crowd of people above them without them being worried about what Charlie may do. Lea rode the makeshift elevator up with Charlie and Jess… climbed out of the building that was being built alongside the two… and then finally, when they were walking back towards the diner, Lea asked Jess the million-munny question he’d been contemplating this whole time. “I gotta ask… do you know anything about the Princesses—or Princes, in this case—of Heart? And do you know if Charlie’s one?” …And it was plain to see on Jess’ face, that he had no idea what Lea was talking about… but he seemed willing to play along with him, since he’d just helped him save his cat from having to be murdered. He smiled at Lea, as he told him all about Charlie. “I’d say that Charlie’s our little prince and heart of the Cascade Mountains, yeah! Especially where food is concerned... But if you’re looking for a princess cougar… why don’t you go along with me to where I plan to drop Charlie off at? “As a father, it’s hard to admit this… but I think my kitten’s become a cat and it’s time to finally let him go. There’s this place in the wild nearby that I think will be great for Charlie, and that might have some female cougars there.” So Lea got in the car—err… was that what they were called? Lea still wasn’t entirely sure—with this Jess and his fiancée, and kept up a nice conversation with them the whole time: trying to make it not seem like he was going to kidnap Charlie, and whatever mate Charlie was going to choose for himself, the moment that Jess was away… when in all actuality, that was exactly what Lea was going to do. And it was when Lea was around the two cats in their new homeland (for, yes: Charlie had started playing with a female cougar right away, that Lea wondered was the real Princess of Heart here), that he heard the voice of the Master of Masters in his head and snarled at it. That menace was supposed to be dead! “Aren’t you, like, so glad that I sent you away from your friends, and gave you the easy job here, Lea? Now: bring these cats with you and come to me. Because if you want to stop Gula’s horrific plan, we need to act now.” Author’s Note: Sorry that this is just a Lea chapter, but I needed to get it done. I swear everyone else will be back next chapter. And this is the Disney movie “Charlie and the Lonesome Cougar”, for those who don’t know. It means a lot to me, because I just lost my dad to cancer and this was a movie we both loved and bonded over. This chapter is dedicated to you, Dad. I love you and miss you. But I know I’ll see you again.

[criticalthinkingedu-blog]

The Ransom of Red Chief by O. Henry

It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you. We were down South, in Alabama - Bill Driscoll and myself-when this kidnapping idea struck us. It was, as Bill afterward expressed it, "during a moment of temporary mental apparition"; but we didn't find that out till later.

    There was a town down there, as flat as a flannel-cake, and called Summit, of course. It contained inhabitants of as undeleterious and self-satisfied a class of peasantry as ever clustered around a Maypole.

    Bill and me had a joint capital of about six hundred dollars, and we needed just two thousand dollars more to pull off a fraudulent town-lot scheme in Western Illinois with. We talked it over on the front steps of the hotel. Philoprogenitiveness, says we, is strong in semi-rural communities therefore, and for other reasons, a kidnapping project ought to do better there than in the radius of newspapers that send reporters out in plain clothes to stir up talk about such things. We knew that Summit couldn't get after us with anything stronger than constables and, maybe, some lackadaisical bloodhounds and a diatribe or two in the Weekly Farmers' Budget. So, it looked good.

    We selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and tight, a mortgage fancier and a stern, upright collection-plate passer and forecloser. The kid was a boy of ten, with bas-relief freckles, and hair the colour of the cover of the magazine you buy at the news-stand when you want to catch a train. Bill and me figured that Ebenezer would melt down for a ransom of two thousand dollars to a cent. But wait till I tell you.

    About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with a dense cedar brake. On the rear elevation of this mountain was a cave. There we stored provisions.

    One evening after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset's house. The kid was in the street, throwing rocks at a kitten on the opposite fence.

    "Hey, little boy!" says Bill, "would you like to have a bag of candy and a nice ride?"

The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece of brick.

    "That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars," says Bill, climbing over the wheel.

    That boy put up a fight like a welter-weight cinnamon bear; but, at last, we got him down in the bottom of the buggy and drove away. We took him up to the cave, and I hitched the horse in the cedar brake. After dark I drove the buggy to the little village, three miles away, where we had hired it, and walked back to the mountain.

    Bill was pasting court-plaster over the scratches and bruises on his features. There was a fire burning behind the big rock at the entrance of the cave, and the boy was watching a pot of boiling coffee, with two buzzard tailfeathers stuck in his red hair. He points a stick at me when I come up, and says:

    "Ha! cursed paleface, do you dare to enter the camp of Red Chief, the terror of the plains?"

    "He's all right now," says Bill, rolling up his trousers and examining some bruises on his shins. "We're playing Indian. We're making Buffalo Bill's show look like magic-lantern views of Palestine in the town hall. I'm Old Hank, the Trapper, Red Chief's captive, and I'm to be scalped at daybreak. By Geronimo! that kid can kick hard."

    Yes, sir, that boy seemed to be having the time of his life. The fun of camping out in a cave had made him forget that he was a captive himself. He immediately christened me Snake-eye, the Spy, and announced that, when his braves returned from the warpath, I was to be broiled at the stake at the rising of the sun.

    Then we had supper; and he filled his mouth full of bacon and bread and gravy, and began to talk. He made a during-dinner speech something like this:

    "I like this fine. I never camped out before; but I had a pet 'possum once, and I was nine last birthday. I hate to go to school. Rats ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot's aunt's speckled hen's eggs. Are there any real Indians in these woods? I want some more gravy. Does the trees moving make the wind blow? We had five puppies. What makes your nose so red, Hank? My father has lots of money. Are the stars hot? I whipped Ed Walker twice, Saturday. I don't like girls. You dassent catch toads unless with a string. Do oxen make any noise? Why are oranges round? Have you got beds to sleep on in this cave? Amos Murray has got six toes. A parrot can talk, but a monkey or a fish can't. How many does it take to make twelve?"

Every few minutes he would remember that he was a pesky redskin, and pick up his stick rifle and tiptoe to the mouth of the cave to rubber for the scouts of the hated paleface. Now and then he would let out a warwhoop that made Old Hank the Trapper, shiver. That boy had Bill terrorised from the start.

    "Red Chief," says I to the kid, "would you like to go home?"

    "Aw, what for?" says he. "I don't have any fun at home. I hate to go to school. I like to camp out. You won't take me back home again, Snake-eye, will you?"

    "Not right away," says I. "We'll stay here in the cave a while."

    "All right!" says he. "That'll be fine. I never had such fun in all my life."

    We went to bed about eleven o'clock. We spread down some wide blankets and quilts and put Red Chief between us. We weren't afraid he'd run away. He kept us awake for three hours, jumping up and reaching for his rifle and screeching: "Hist! pard," in mine and Bill's ears, as the fancied crackle of a twig or the rustle of a leaf revealed to his young imagination the stealthy approach of the outlaw band. At last, I fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed that I had been kidnapped and chained to a tree by a ferocious pirate with red hair.

    Just at daybreak, I was awakened by a series of awful screams from Bill. They weren't yells, or howls, or shouts, or whoops, or yawps, such as you'd expect from a manly set of vocal organs - they were simply indecent, terrifying, humiliating screams, such as women emit when they see ghosts or caterpillars. It's an awful thing to hear a strong, desperate, fat man scream incontinently in a cave at daybreak.

    I jumped up to see what the matter was. Red Chief was sitting on Bill's chest, with one hand twined in Bill's hair. In the other he had the sharp case-knife we used for slicing bacon; and he was industriously and realistically trying to take Bill's scalp, according to the sentence that had been pronounced upon him the evening before.

I got the knife away from the kid and made him lie down again. But, from that moment, Bill's spirit was broken. He laid down on his side of the bed, but he never closed an eye again in sleep as long as that boy was with us. I dozed off for a while, but along toward sun-up I remembered that Red Chief had said I was to be burned at the stake at the rising of the sun. I wasn't nervous or afraid; but I sat up and lit my pipe and leaned against a rock.

    "What you getting up so soon for, Sam?" asked Bill.

    "Me?" says I. "Oh, I got a kind of a pain in my shoulder. I thought sitting up would rest it."

    "You're a liar!" says Bill. "You're afraid. You was to be burned at sunrise, and you was afraid he'd do it. And he would, too, if he could find a match. Ain't it awful, Sam? Do you think anybody will pay out money to get a little imp like that back home?"

    "Sure," said I. "A rowdy kid like that is just the kind that parents dote on. Now, you and the Chief get up and cook breakfast, while I go up on the top of this mountain and reconnoitre."

    I went up on the peak of the little mountain and ran my eye over the contiguous vicinity. Over toward Summit I expected to see the sturdy yeomanry of the village armed with scythes and pitchforks beating the countryside for the dastardly kidnappers. But what I saw was a peaceful landscape dotted with one man ploughing with a dun mule. Nobody was dragging the creek; no couriers dashed hither and yon, bringing tidings of no news to the distracted parents. There was a sylvan attitude of somnolent sleepiness pervading that section of the external outward surface of Alabama that lay exposed to my view. "Perhaps," says I to myself, "it has not yet been discovered that the wolves have borne away the tender lambkin from the fold. Heaven help the wolves!" says I, and I went down the mountain to breakfast.

When I got to the cave I found Bill backed up against the side of it, breathing hard, and the boy threatening to smash him with a rock half as big as a cocoanut.

    "He put a red-hot boiled potato down my back," explained Bill, "and then mashed it with his foot; and I boxed his ears. Have you got a gun about you, Sam?"

    I took the rock away from the boy and kind of patched up the argument. "I'll fix you," says the kid to Bill. "No man ever yet struck the Red Chief but what he got paid for it. You better beware!"

    After breakfast the kid takes a piece of leather with strings wrapped around it out of his pocket and goes outside the cave unwinding it.

    "What's he up to now?" says Bill, anxiously. "You don't think he'll run away, do you, Sam?"

    "No fear of it," says I. "He don't seem to be much of a home body. But we've got to fix up some plan about the ransom. There don't seem to be much excitement around Summit on account of his disappearance; but maybe they haven't realised yet that he's gone. His folks may think he's spending the night with Aunt Jane or one of the neighbours. Anyhow, he'll be missed to-day. To-night we must get a message to his father demanding the two thousand dollars for his return."

    Just then we heard a kind of war-whoop, such as David might have emitted when he knocked out the champion Goliath. It was a sling that Red Chief had pulled out of his pocket, and he was whirling it around his head.

    I dodged, and heard a heavy thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill, like a horse gives out when you take his saddle off. A niggerhead rock the size of an egg had caught Bill just behind his left ear. He loosened himself all over and fell in the fire across the frying pan of hot water for washing the dishes. I dragged him out and poured cold water on his head for half an hour.

By and by, Bill sits up and feels behind his ear and says: "Sam, do you know who my favourite Biblical character is?"

    "Take it easy," says I. "You'll come to your senses presently."

    "King Herod," says he. "You won't go away and leave me here alone, will you, Sam?"

    I went out and caught that boy and shook him until his freckles rattled.

    "If you don't behave," says I, "I'll take you straight home. Now, are you going to be good, or not?"

    "I was only funning," says he sullenly. "I didn't mean to hurt Old Hank. But what did he hit me for? I'll behave, Snake-eye, if you won't send me home, and if you'll let me play the Black Scout to-day."

    "I don't know the game," says I. "That's for you and Mr. Bill to decide. He's your playmate for the day. I'm going away for a while, on business. Now, you come in and make friends with him and say you are sorry for hurting him, or home you go, at once."

    I made him and Bill shake hands, and then I took Bill aside and told him I was going to Poplar Cove, a little village three miles from the cave, and find out what I could about how the kidnapping had been regarded in Summit. Also, I thought it best to send a peremptory letter to old man Dorset that day, demanding the ransom and dictating how it should be paid.

    "You know, Sam," says Bill, "I've stood by you without batting an eye in earthquakes, fire and flood - in poker games, dynamite outrages, police raids, train robberies and cyclones. I never lost my nerve yet till we kidnapped that two-legged skyrocket of a kid. He's got me going. You won't leave me long with him, will you, Sam?"

    "I'll be back some time this afternoon," says I. "You must keep the boy amused and quiet till I return. And now we'll write the letter to old Dorset."

Bill and I got paper and pencil and worked on the letter while Red Chief, with a blanket wrapped around him, strutted up and down, guarding the mouth of the cave. Bill begged me tearfully to make the ransom fifteen hundred dollars instead of two thousand. "I ain't attempting," says he, "to decry the celebrated moral aspect of parental affection, but we're dealing with humans, and it ain't human for anybody to give up two thousand dollars for that forty-pound chunk of freckled wildcat. I'm willing to take a chance at fifteen hundred dollars. You can charge the difference up to me."

    So, to relieve Bill, I acceded, and we collaborated a letter that ran this way:

Ebenezer Dorset, Esq.:

    We have your boy concealed in a place far from Summit. It is useless for you or the most skilful detectives to attempt to find him. Absolutely, the only terms on which you can have him restored to you are these: We demand fifteen hundred dollars in large bills for his return; the money to be left at midnight to-night at the same spot and in the same box as your reply - as hereinafter described. If you agree to these terms, send your answer in writing by a solitary messenger to-night at half-past eight o'clock. After crossing Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large trees about a hundred yards apart, close to the fence of the wheat field on the right-hand side. At the bottom of the fence-post, opposite the third tree, will be found a small pasteboard box.

    The messenger will place the answer in this box and return immediately to Summit.

    If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand as stated, you will never see your boy again.

    If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe and well within three hours. These terms are final, and if you do not accede to them no further communication will be attempted.

    TWO DESPERATE MEN.

I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket. As I was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says:

    "Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was gone."

    "Play it, of course," says I. "Mr. Bill will play with you. What kind of a game is it?"

    "I'm the Black Scout," says Red Chief, "and I have to ride to the stockade to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming. I 'm tired of playing Indian myself. I want to be the Black Scout."

    "All right," says I. "It sounds harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill will help you foil the pesky savages."

    "What am I to do?" asks Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously.

    "You are the hoss," says Black Scout. "Get down on your hands and knees. How can I ride to the stockade without a hoss?"

    "You'd better keep him interested," said I, "till we get the scheme going. Loosen up."

    Bill gets down on his all fours, and a look comes in his eye like a rabbit's when you catch it in a trap.

    " How far is it to the stockade, kid? " he asks, in a husky manner of voice.

    "Ninety miles," says the Black Scout. "And you have to hump yourself to get there on time. Whoa, now!"

    The Black Scout jumps on Bill's back and digs his heels in his side.

    "For Heaven's sake," says Bill, "hurry back, Sam, as soon as you can. I wish we hadn't made the ransom more than a thousand. Say, you quit kicking me or I '11 get up and warm you good."

    I walked over to Poplar Cove and sat around the post office and store, talking with the chawbacons that came in to trade. One whiskerand says that he hears Summit is all upset on account of Elder Ebenezer Dorset's boy having been lost or stolen. That was all I wanted to know. I bought some smoking tobacco, referred casually to the price of black-eyed peas, posted my letter surreptitiously and came away. The postmaster said the mail-carrier would come by in an hour to take the mail on to Summit.

 When I got back to the cave Bill and the boy were not to be found. I explored the vicinity of the cave, and risked a yodel or two, but there was no response.

    So I lighted my pipe and sat down on a mossy bank to await developments.

    In about half an hour I heard the bushes rustle, and Bill wabbled out into the little glade in front of the cave. Behind him was the kid, stepping softly like a scout, with a broad grin on his face. Bill stopped, took off his hat and wiped his face with a red handkerchief. The kid stopped about eight feet behind him.

    "Sam," says Bill, "I suppose you'll think I'm a renegade, but I couldn't help it. I'm a grown person with masculine proclivities and habits of self-defence, but there is a time when all systems of egotism and predominance fail. The boy is gone. I have sent him home. All is off. There was martyrs in old times," goes on Bill, "that suffered death rather than give up the particular graft they enjoyed. None of 'em ever was subjugated to such supernatural tortures as I have been. I tried to be faithful to our articles of depredation; but there came a limit."

    "What's the trouble, Bill?" I asks him.

    "I was rode," says Bill, "the ninety miles to the stockade, not barring an inch. Then, when the settlers was rescued, I was given oats. Sand ain't a palatable substitute. And then, for an hour I had to try to explain to him why there was nothin' in holes, how a road can run both ways and what makes the grass green. I tell you, Sam, a human can only stand so much. I takes him by the neck of his clothes and drags him down the mountain. On the way he kicks my legs black-and-blue from the knees down; and I've got two or three bites on my thumb and hand cauterised.

    "But he's gone" - continues Bill - "gone home. I showed him the road to Summit and kicked him about eight feet nearer there at one kick. I'm sorry we lose the ransom; but it was either that or Bill Driscoll to the madhouse."

Bill is puffing and blowing, but there is a look of ineffable peace and growing content on his rose-pink features.

    "Bill," says I, "there isn't any heart disease in your family, is there?"

    "No," says Bill, "nothing chronic except malaria and accidents. Why?"

    "Then you might turn around," says I, "and have a look behind you."

    Bill turns and sees the boy, and loses his complexion and sits down plump on the ground and begins to pluck aimlessly at grass and little sticks. For an hour I was afraid for his mind. And then I told him that my scheme was to put the whole job through immediately and that we would get the ransom and be off with it by midnight if old Dorset fell in with our proposition. So Bill braced up enough to give the kid a weak sort of a smile and a promise to play the Russian in a Japanese war with him as soon as he felt a little better.

    I had a scheme for collecting that ransom without danger of being caught by counterplots that ought to commend itself to professional kidnappers. The tree under which the answer was to be left - and the money later on - was close to the road fence with big, bare fields on all sides. If a gang of constables should be watching for any one to come for the note they could see him a long way off crossing the fields or in the road. But no, sirree! At half-past eight I was up in that tree as well hidden as a tree toad, waiting for the messenger to arrive.

    Exactly on time, a half-grown boy rides up the road on a bicycle, locates the pasteboard box at the foot of the fencepost, slips a folded piece of paper into it and pedals away again back toward Summit.

    I waited an hour and then concluded the thing was square. I slid down the tree, got the note, slipped along the fence till I struck the woods, and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I opened the note, got near the lantern and read it to Bill. It was written with a pen in a crabbed hand, and the sum and substance of it was this:

Two Desperate Men.

    Gentlemen: I received your letter to-day by post, in regard to the ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little high in your demands, and I hereby make you a counter-proposition, which I am inclined to believe you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and I agree to take him off your hands. You had better come at night, for the neighbours believe he is lost, and I couldn't be responsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back.

    Very respectfully,

    Ebenezer Dorset.

"Great pirates of Penzance!" says I; "of all the impudent - "

    But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute.

    "Sam," says he, "what's two hundred and fifty dollars, after all? We've got the money. One more night of this kid will send me to a bed in Bedlam. Besides being a thorough gentleman, I think Mr. Dorset is a spendthrift for making us such a liberal offer. You ain't going to let the chance go, are you?"

    "Tell you the truth, Bill," says I, "this little he ewe lamb has somewhat got on my nerves too. We'll take him home, pay the ransom and make our get-away."

    We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him that his father had bought a silver-mounted rifle and a pair of moccasins for him, and we were going to hunt bears the next day.

    It was just twelve o'clock when we knocked at Ebenezer's front door. Just at the moment when I should have been abstracting the fifteen hundred dollars from the box under the tree, according to the original proposition, Bill was counting out two hundred and fifty dollars into Dorset's hand.

    When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he started up a howl like a calliope and fastened himself as tight as a leech to Bill's leg. His father peeled him away gradually, like a porous plaster.

"How long can you hold him?" asks Bill.

    "I'm not as strong as I used to be," says old Dorset, "but I think I can promise you ten minutes."

    "Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes I shall cross the Central, Southern and Middle Western States, and be legging it trippingly for the Canadian border."

    And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runner as I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.

[readbookywooks]

PART I "THE TRIBUTES"

1. When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping. I prop myself up on one elbow. There's enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim's face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me. Sitting at Prim's knees, guarding her, is the world's ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. He hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he's a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me. Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love. I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim's gift to me on reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside. Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. May as well sleep in. If you can. Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the woods, in fact enclosing all of District 12, is a high chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops. In theory, it's supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live in the woods  -  packs of wild dogs, lone cougars, bears  -  that used to threaten our streets. But since we're lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, it's usually safe to touch. Even so, I always take a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live. Right now, it's silent as a stone. Concealed by a clump of bushes, I flatten out on my belly and slide under a two-foot stretch that's been loose for years. There are several other weak spots in the fence, but this one is so close to home I almost always enter the woods here. As soon as I'm in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Electrified or not, the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh-eaters out of District 12. Inside the woods they roam freely, and there are added concerns like venomous snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow. But there's also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run. Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most are not bold enough to venture out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep well hidden in the woods, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. My father could have made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they're as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they're among our best customers. But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never have been allowed. In the fall, a few brave souls sneak into the woods to harvest apples. But always in sight of the Meadow. Always close enough to run back to the safety of District 12 if trouble arises. "District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, even in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you. When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be? In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself. Gale. I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. The sight of him waiting there brings on a smile. Gale says I never smile except in the woods. "Hey, Catnip," says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when I first told him, I had barely whispered it. So he thought I'd said Catnip. Then when this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts, it became his official nickname for me. I finally had to kill the lynx because he scared off game. I almost regretted it because he wasn't bad company. But I got a decent price for his pelt. "Look what I shot," Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it, and I laugh. It's real bakery bread, not the flat, dense loaves we make from our grain rations. I take it in my hands, pull out the arrow, and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose, inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth flood with saliva. Fine bread like this is for special occasions. "Mm, still warm," I say. He must have been at the bakery at the crack of dawn to trade for it. "What did it cost you?" "Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," says Gale. "Even wished me luck." "Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I say, not even bothering to roll my eyes. "Prim left us a cheese." I pull it out. His expression brightens at the treat. "Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast." Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the leaping. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. "And may the odds  - " He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me. I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. " -  be ever in your favor!" I finish with equal verve. We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared out of your wits. Besides, the Capitol accent is so affected, almost anything sounds funny in it. I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread. He could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even have the same gray eyes. But we're not related, at least not closely. Most of the families who work the mines resemble one another this way. That's why my mother and Prim, with their light hair and blue eyes, always look out of place. They are. My mother's parents were part of the small merchant class that caters to officials, Peacekeepers, and the occasional Seam customer. They ran an apothecary shop in the nicer part of District 12. Since almost no one can afford doctors, apothecaries are our healers. My father got to know my mother because on his hunts he would sometimes collect medicinal herbs and sell them to her shop to be brewed into remedies. She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam. I try to remember that when all I can see is the woman who sat by, blank and unreachable, while her children turned to skin and bones. I try to forgive her for my father's sake. But to be honest, I'm not the forgiving type. Gale spreads the bread slices with the soft goat cheese, carefully placing a basil leaf on each while I strip the bushes of their berries. We settle back in a nook in the rocks. From this place, we are invisible but have a clear view of the valley, which is teeming with summer life, greens to gather, roots to dig, fish iridescent in the sunlight. The day is glorious, with a blue sky and soft breeze. The food's wonderful, with the cheese seeping into the warm bread and the berries bursting in our mouths. Everything would be perfect if this really was a holiday, if all the day off meant was roaming the mountains with Gale, hunting for tonight's supper. But instead we have to be standing in the square at two o'clock waiting for the names to be called out. "We could do it, you know," Gale says quietly. "What?" I ask. "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," says Gale. I don't know how to respond. The idea is so preposterous. "If we didn't have so many kids," he adds quickly. They're not our kids, of course. But they might as well be. Gale's two little brothers and a sister. Prim. And you may as well throw in our mothers, too, because how would they live without us? Who would fill those mouths that are always asking for more? With both of us hunting daily, there are still nights when game has to be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, still nights when we go to bed with our stomachs growling. "I never want to have kids," I say. "I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale. "But you do," I say, irritated. "Forget it," he snaps back. The conversation feels all wrong. Leave? How could I leave Prim, who is the only person in the world I'm certain I love? And Gale is devoted to his family. We can't leave, so why bother talking about it? And even if we did. even if we did. where did this stuff about having kids come from? There's never been anything romantic between Gale and me. When we met, I was a skinny twelve-year-old, and although he was only two years older, he already looked like a man. It took a long time for us to even become friends, to stop haggling over every trade and begin helping each other out. Besides, if he wants kids, Gale won't have any trouble finding a wife. He's good-looking, he's strong enough to handle the work in the mines, and he can hunt. You can tell by the way the girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find. "What do you want to do?" I ask. We can hunt, fish, or gather. "Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight," he says. Tonight. After the reaping, everyone is supposed to celebrate. And a lot of people do, out of relief that their children have been spared for another year. But at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come. We make out well. The predators ignore us on a day when easier, tastier prey abounds. By late morning, we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens and, best of all, a gallon of strawberries. I found the patch a few years ago, but Gale had the idea to string mesh nets around it to keep out the animals. On the way home, we swing by the Hob, the black market that operates in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal. When they came up with a more efficient system that transported the coal directly from the mines to the trains, the Hob gradually took over the space. Most businesses are closed by this time on reaping day, but the black market's still fairly busy. We easily trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who sells bowls of hot soup from a large kettle, takes half the greens off our hands in exchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin. We might do a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort to keep on good terms with Greasy Sae. She's the only one who can consistently be counted on to buy wild dog. We don't hunt them on purpose, but if you're attacked and you take out a dog or two, well, meat is meat. "Once it's in the soup, I'll call it beef," Greasy Sae says with a wink. No one in the Seam would turn up their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but the Peacekeepers who come to the Hob can afford to be a little choosier. When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor's house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford our price. The mayor's daughter, Madge, opens the door. She's in my year at school. Being the mayor's daughter, you'd expect her to be a snob, but she's all right. She just keeps to herself. Like me. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities. We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine. Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. "Pretty dress," says Gale. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's a genuine compliment or if he's just being ironic. It is a pretty dress, but she would never be wearing it ordinarily. She presses her lips together and then smiles. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" Now it's Gale's turn to be confused. Does she mean it? Or is she messing with him? I'm guessing the second. "You won't be going to the Capitol," says Gale coolly. His eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorns her dress. Real gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep a family in bread for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old." "That's not her fault," I say. "No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," says Gale. Madge's face has become closed off. She puts the money for the berries in my hand. "Good luck, Katniss." "You, too," I say, and the door closes. We walk toward the Seam in silence. I don't like that Gale took a dig at Madge, but he's right, of course. The reaping system is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. You become eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve. That year, your name is entered once. At thirteen, twice. And so on and so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of eligibility, when your name goes into the pool seven times. That's true for every citizen in all twelve districts in the entire country of Panem. But here's the catch. Say you are poor and starving as we were. You can opt to add your name more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year's supply of grain and oil for one person. You may do this for each of your family members as well. So, at the age of twelve, I had my name entered four times. Once, because I had to, and three times for tesserae for grain and oil for myself, Prim, and my mother. In fact, every year I have needed to do this. And the entries are cumulative. So now, at the age of sixteen, my name will be in the reaping twenty times. Gale, who is eighteen and has been either helping or single-handedly feeding a family of five for seven years, will have his name in forty-two times. You can see why someone like Madge, who has never been at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. The chance of her name being drawn is very slim compared to those of us who live in the Seam. Not impossible, but slim. And even though the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly not Madge's family, it's hard not to resent those who don't have to sign up for tesserae. Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I've listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. "It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves," he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn't reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I'm sure she thought was a harmless comment. As we walk, I glance over at Gale's face, still smoldering underneath his stony expression. His rages seem pointless to me, although I never say so. It's not that I don't agree with him. I do. But what good is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of the woods? It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make things fair. It doesn't fill our stomachs. In fact, it scares off the nearby game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than in the district. Gale and I divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money for each. "See you in the square," I say. "Wear something pretty," he says flatly. At home, I find my mother and sister are ready to go. My mother wears a fine dress from her apothecary days. Prim is in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It's a bit big on her, but my mother has made it stay with pins. Even so, she's having trouble keeping the blouse tucked in at the back. A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. "Are you sure?" I ask. I'm trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn't allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her. "Of course. Let's put your hair up, too," she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I can hardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall. "You look beautiful," says Prim in a hushed voice. "And nothing like myself," I say. I hug her, because I know these next few hours will be terrible for her. Her first reaping. She's about as safe as you can get, since she's only entered once. I wouldn't let her take out any tesserae. But she's worried about me. That the unthinkable might happen. I protect Prim in every way I can, but I'm powerless against the reaping. The anguish I always feel when she's in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my (ace. I notice her blouse has pulled out of her skirt in the back again and force myself to stay calm. "Tuck your tail in, little duck," I say, smoothing the blouse back in place. Prim giggles and gives me a small "Quack." "Quack yourself," I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me. "Come on, let's eat," I say and plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. The fish and greens are already cooking in a stew, but that will be for supper. We decide to save the strawberries and bakery bread for this evening's meal, to make it special we say. Instead we drink milk from Prim's goat, Lady, and eat the rough bread made from the tessera grain, although no one has much appetite anyway. At one o'clock, we head for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned. It's too bad, really, that they hold the reaping in the square  -  one of the few places in District 12 that can be pleasant. The square's surrounded by shops, and on public market days, especially if there's good weather, it has a holiday feel to it. But today, despite the bright banners hanging on the buildings, there's an air of grimness. The camera crews, perched like buzzards on rooftops, only add to the effect. People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones, like Prim, toward the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. But there are others, too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd, taking bets on the two kids whose names will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages, whether they're Seam or merchant, if they will break down and weep. Most refuse dealing with the racketeers but carefully, carefully. These same people tend to be informers, and who hasn't broken the law? I could be shot on a daily basis for hunting, but the appetites of those in charge protect me. Not everyone can claim the same. Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker. The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. The square's quite large, but not enough to hold District 12's population of about eight thousand. Latecomers are directed to the adjacent streets, where they can watch the event on screens as it's televised live by the state. I find myself standing in a clump of sixteens from the Seam. We all exchange terse nods then focus our attention on the temporary stage that is set up before the Justice Building. It holds three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. I stare at the paper slips in the girls' ball. Twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written on them in careful handwriting. Two of the three chairs fill with Madge's father, Mayor Undersee, who's a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit. They murmur to each other and then look with concern at the empty seat. Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story every year. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games. The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins. Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch  -  this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion. Whatever words they use, the real message is clear. "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen." To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others. The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of us battle starvation. "It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor. Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. Very. The crowd responds with its token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off. The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket. Bright and bubbly as ever, Effie Trinket trots to the podium and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have shifted slightly off-center since her encounter with Haymitch. She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors, not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation. Through the crowd, I spot Gale looking back at me with a ghost of a smile. As reapings go, this one at least has a slight entertainment factor. But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. And maybe he's thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away. "But there are still thousands of slips," I wish I could whisper to him. It's time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me. Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me. It's Primrose Everdeen.