#things that I wrote

[vilevenom]

This fic started out as a little 3K word ficlet, inspired by the smarmy little Hickory in a suit, drawn by the amazing @em-doods. It then turned into this 15K+ beast when we starting chatting about his other outfits.

Hope ya'll enjoy ❤️

Hold Me Tight, or Don't

Fandom: Dreamworks Trolls

Pairings: Gen, Hickory/John Dory

Summary:  Since leaving the troll tree, there was only one troll that John Dory kept unintentionally running into. Unfortunately, they weren't always exactly pleased to see each other.

Excerpt:

"John? That's it? Pretty plain name for a troll such as yourself," Hickory said with a smirk, arching an eyebrow as they were dealt a fresh hand.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, wrinkling his nose as he checked his cards.

"Oh, not much," Hickory said with a light laugh and a shrug, "You're just a real, hm…rugged looking troll. I figured you'd have a more interesting name."

John scowled as he tossed chips into the pot, shooting Hickory a glare. "It's John Dory. Happy?"

"Like the fish?" Hickory laughed, adding his own chips to the pot, "Well. That shouldn't surprise me."

John bristled, sitting up in his seat with a low growl. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Hickory shrugged, easy smirk on his face as he flipped over his cards. "I've got a straight. What about you?"

Link to fic on AO3

John hadn't really known where he was going when he'd wound up stumbling upon a grand building situated at the edge of the funk troll territories. He'd just been exploring idly, hoping he was heading in the right direction to get to where he'd been told the country trolls lived, so finding such an especially tall and extravagant building in what was basically the middle of nowhere had been startling, but intriguing. It rose up towards the sky, higher than any troll made structure he'd seen before, and its glass and metal walls glistened brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight. The huge neon sign declaring "Jazzy's" was also something John hadn't seen before, so much like a moth to a flame, he wandered towards the building curiously.

"Woah there," an older, rather gruff looking country troll grunted at John Dory as he approached the front doors of the building, holding a hand out to stop him before he could go inside. He halted in his tracks, slightly on edge as the larger troll looked him up and down. "Haven't seen you around here before. What's yer name an' tribe?"

"Uh…it's John Dory. And I don't know what you mean by 'tribe'?" John offered, absently fixing how his goggles sat on his head as the other troll frown at him. He'd been to some of the other kingdoms. Was that what this troll was talking about?

"Y'know, yer tribe. Your genre? We don't take kindly to certain kinds of trolls 'round here," the troll practically snarled at John, rising up from his seat, as John took a step back and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hey now, Axel," a well dressed purple troll came waltzing out the double doors of the building, a lazy grin on her face. She was wearing a loose, flowing red robe that practically hung off her frame, and wild blue hair seemingly floated around her face. "You tryin' to scare away fresh meat?"

"Meat?" John echoed quietly under his breath, suddenly very much wishing he hadn't even tried to approach this place.

"He won't tell me his tribe," the troll named Axel growled, still glaring down at John, only to deflate as this new troll placed her hand on his arm.

"You know that anyone who wasn't actually wanted around here would come up with a better lie than 'I don't know what you're talking about'," the blue haired troll said with a laugh, before turning a sharp eye towards John, who bristled slightly at the attention. "Besides…I'd say it's pretty obvious he's some kind of pop troll. Look at him, Axel. He's harmless." She chuckled and floated over to John, who swallowed thickly and suddenly wanted to be very far away from this place, but couldn't get his feet to move. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"John Dory," John found himself answering before a thought could pass through his brain.

"What a peculiar name," she hummed, a placid little smile on her face. "My name's Jazzy, like it says on the building," she said, gesturing vaguely at the sign shining down on them, while stepping next to John and wrapping her arm around his shoulders, "And this is my casino. Have you got anything worth trading? Coins, you know?"

John frowned, but nodded a little, reaching into his hair to pull out a handful of assorted coins from the various areas he'd passed through on his travels so far. "Sorry, but…what's a casino?" John had a feeling he'd asked the wrong question when Jazzy's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, well now!" she cooed, tugging John in close to her shoulder and pulling him along with her into the building, "Don't I have a treat for you!"

Jazzy steered him through the casino, and John quickly realized his earlier feelings of trepidation were probably well founded. He spotted some rock trolls who looked like they were about to rough up a couple of country trolls over a card game, a handful of trolls who just looked like they were on their last legs, and others who waltzed around in the most glamorous outfits John had ever seen. The whole place just had a general uneasy energy that John was not pleased to be in the middle of. Jazzy assured him that he was perfectly safe when she noticed that he was looking a bit on edge, though he had a feeling that she was lying through her teeth as she took the coins from his hand, spoke quietly to a troll behind a barred off counter, and handed him back some colorful plastic chips.

"Now…You know how to play cards, don't you?" Jazzy asked, steering John in yet another direction.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," John said with a small nod, grunting as he was pushed into a seat at a table with several other trolls already sat around it.

"Perfect! This is Lonesome Hold 'em. Real easy to learn. You get two cards that my dealer here will toss you," Jazzy gestured at a young looking techno troll sat at the top of the table, with a rather nasty looking rock troll stood just behind them, "Don't let anybody see them, alright? Then the dealer will flip over five cards, one at a time. You need to make a good poker hand out of those cards. Best hand wins. You've played poker before, haven't you?"

John nodded quickly, as he was garnering glares from the other trolls sitting around the table. He'd never been so happy about his grandmother having an addiction to five card Rummy as he was right now.

"Excellent! Now, you boys have fun!" Jazzy cheered, waving at the table before whisking off to somewhere else in the casino.

"Minimum bet is a tenner," the dealer said, nodding towards John, "The blue chip. You need to put one in to play."

"Oh! Right," John quickly tossed one of his chips into the pile on the table, offering a nervous smile to those around him, only to have glares returned to him.

The first few hands went rather abysmally, with John quickly losing a good handful of his chips as he figured out how the betting system worked, along with the tells of the other players. But, once he'd worked out the reactions for good and bad hands for each of the trolls sat around him, and what hands he should bet high on, he found himself starting to win. He could really see why his grandma had loved gambling so much; it was a thrill when you were winning.

Unfortunately, that did mean that the other trolls at the table were getting tired of losing. Some got up and were replaced by other trolls who wanted to test their luck against John. They would win one or two hands, until John figured out how they played, and he'd start winning again.

Luck truly seemed to be on his side, and he was beginning to think that perhaps this casino place wasn't so bad, right up until he showed up. A rather sleek looking green troll, with a smarmy little grin on his face, slicked back orange hair, and a sharp suit. He sat down across from John Dory at the table with a friendly little nod, though John immediately got a sense that this troll was not one to be trifled with. It was relatively obvious from the way he held himself that this was not his first time at the table, and John had a funny feeling that this troll thought he'd be an easy mark.

They played a few hands, with John losing the first couple as he got a feel for how this new troll played, until he began to win again. But then something seemed to shift, and the trolls playing style changed. Which was strange, since most trolls had a set way they played and superstitions they followed, and those were not something most gamblers would alter on a whim. It was something his grandmother had taught him when he was young, telling him that being able to pick up on tells and playing styles wasn't just good for cards, but something that would come in handy throughout his life. He already knew this would be one of those times.

A few more rounds passed, with the rest of the table clearing out except for John and the slick troll who offered a wide grin as John won another hand.

"My, my. Can't say I've ever seen someone pick up a game so quickly before," the slick troll hummed, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table.

"My grandma was real into cards," John offered, stacking his winnings up carefully in front of himself.

"Is that so? She must be quite the lady."

"She is."

The slick troll nodded, rocking back in his chair for a moment, before dropping the legs back onto the floor with a loud thud. "The name's Hickory. Figured I should be properly introduced to one of the first players to give me a run for my money."

"John," John stated bluntly, a little more aware of himself this time around, and not quite as willing to give him name freely.

"John? That's it? Pretty plain name for a troll such as yourself," Hickory said with a smirk, arching an eyebrow as they were dealt a fresh hand.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, wrinkling his nose as he checked his cards.

"Oh, not much," Hickory said with a light laugh and a shrug, "You're just a real, hm…rugged looking troll. I figured you'd have a more interesting name."

John scowled as he tossed chips into the pot, shooting Hickory a glare. "It's John Dory. Happy?"

"Like the fish?" Hickory laughed, adding his own chips to the pot, "Well. That shouldn't surprise me."

John bristled, sitting up in his seat with a low growl. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Hickory shrugged, easy smirk on his face as he flipped over his cards. "I've got a straight. What about you?"

John blinked, not having noticed that the hand was even over. He flipped his own cards over. "Two pair."

"Looks like I win," Hickory hummed, scooping up his winnings. "Want to go again?" John scowled but nodded, tossing in his bet.

Hickory won a few more hands that way; riling John up to make him lose focus until the hand was over so he hadn't realized he was betting on garbage cards. But grandma Rosiepuff's voice rang in his head the third time he lost due to his own irritation, telling him to breath deep and calm down. He used to get riled up the same way when she'd beat him at Rummy when he was a little kid. She'd told him that if he didn't calm down, he'd never win, since anger would only ever lead to loss. Wise words that he should have listened to sooner, really. But that wasn't something he could focus on at the moment, with Hickory smirking at him infuriatingly across the table.

After taking a few deep breaths, John began to steadfastly ignore the barbs and jabs Hickory shot his way to try and get a rise out of him, and slowly he began to win again. As his pile of chip began to grow, Hickory's smirk began to fade, slowly being replaced by a scowl.

John lost track of time in the large, windowless room the poker table was in, so he wasn't sure how much time had passed before his pile of winnings was quite sizable and Hickory was down to a a small handful of chips. Enough, really, to get him through one or two hands more.

"I'd probably give up now," John said with a smirk, earning a sharp glare from Hickory, "I don't think your luck is going to drastically turn in one hand."

"You'd be surprised," Hickory snapped back, shoving his remaining chips into the pot as the cards were dealt, while John shook his head with a low chuckle.

But surprised John was. Hickory won the next hand. And the next. It didn't seem to matter what cards John was dealt, Hickory always had something better. Until, finally, John was down to his last few chips.

"I'd probably give up now," Hickory mocked, a cruel gin on his face as he flipped a chip between his fingers, "I don't think your luck is going to turn in one hand."

But Hickory made a fatal mistake as he flipped his chip in the air, causing his sleeve to shift just enough for John to spot a card tucked into it.

"You're cheating!" John shouted, slamming his hands onto the table and swiftly rising from his chair, causing it to fall behind him with a clatter.

"I… what?" Hickory choked, dropping the chip he'd been playing with, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I can see the cards up your sleeve!" John snapped, pointing at the offending sleeve, while the rock troll behind the dealer began to shift and move towards Hickory.

"I-what? No, I-" Hickory glanced between John and the rock troll, swallowing thickly as he slowly rose from his seat. He shifted on his feet, shooting John a glare that made the teal troll freeze where he stood. "I'll get you back for this," he growled, before tossing a handful of chips into the air, gaining the attention of several trolls in the vicinity. They began to swarm the table, half blocking the rock troll from getting to Hickory, who began to run from the table. John watched as he dodged other rock trolls scattered around the casino floor, before ultimately booking it out the doors.

John slowly picked his chair up from the floor and sat heavily into it as Jazzy swept over to him and several trolls dispersed the crowd that had gathered to scoop up the fallen chips.

"Thank you for alerting us to that crook, John Dory," Jazzy cooed, reaching across the table to pull what was left of the chips over to John while patting him on the shoulder. "These are all yours, sweetheart."

"Thanks," John muttered, quickly pocketing the chips. "I think I'm done playing, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Jazzy nodded slightly, "Would you like a room? We've got lots upstairs that are open."

"I-No thank you, ma'am," John said, offering her a strained smile as he rose from his seat. "I think this was a bit more excitement than I was really prepared for. I should get going."

Jazzy made a face at him, but ultimately nodded. "All right. You can exchange your chips at the cashier cage," she said, gesturing towards the barred off counter she'd gotten his chips from earlier. "Be mindful of which coins you ask for. Some will cost more chips than others," she added. With that she turned to the trolls that had followed her to the table, leaving John to his own devices. Quickly he scurried to the cashier cage, exchanging his chips for country troll coins, since that was where he'd been planning on going before he'd found this place, and headed out the doors.

He didn't mange to get too far from the lavish building, before he found himself being tackled face first into the ground and sat on by none other than Hickory, though he looked distinctly more disheveled than he had inside the casino.

"Not very wise to be heading out all on your own after pissing someone off during poker," Hickory hissed, digging his knee into John's back, making the teal troll wheeze.

"M-maybe you shouldn't've cheated then," John gasped out, wriggling beneath Hickory to try and get his arms free.

"Maybe you should've minded your own damn business," Hickory growled, grabbing at John's wrists to pin them against his back, wrenching his shoulders in the process and making John yowl in pain. "I've been working that place for months, and then you come along," Hickory grunted, his weight shifting against John's back as the teal troll kicked his legs up to try and dislodge his attacker, "and ruin everything."

"Again," John wheezed, Hickory's weight shifting just enough that he could roll onto his side, dislodging the grifter entirely from his back, "Maybe you shouldn't have cheated!" He quickly scrambled to his feet, heaving for air as he rolled his now sore shoulders. "It's not my fault you decided to do something stupid and got too cocky while doing it."

Hickory didn't even respond to John Dory this time, simply letting out an enraged bellow as he ran at the teal troll. He tried to tackle John again, but this time he was ready, quickly side stepping the grifter while swinging his arm down into his back, causing Hickory to stumble and fall with a shout as his momentum worked against him.

"Look, I don't want to fight you," John said quickly as Hickory pushed himself up, turning to John with a scowl.

"No. You don't," Hickory snarled, raking his hair out of his face and shifting as though he was going to run at John again, only to freeze at the sound of his name being shouted from off in the distance. He groaned, then spat at the ground near John's feet, making the teal troll recoil slightly. "You're lucky," Hickory snapped, straightening up and fixing his rumpled jacket. He then turned on his heel and dashed off into the underbrush, leaving a rather bewildered John Dory behind.

Time passed, and soon John had mostly forgotten about the odd troll who'd tried to beat him up outside the casino. However, he most certainly avoided the area where he'd come across the opulent building in the first place. Although he'd found Lonesome Hold 'em somewhat fun, he didn't particularly fancy getting caught up in whatever was going on inside that building. He had enough worries in regards to keeping himself alive in the wilderness, he didn't need to unnecessarily add to them by getting into trouble with the trolls he'd seen hanging out in there.

After a couple of years of roaming around and through the country and funk kingdoms, he found himself coming across the rock troll territories. When he had first started exploring the different areas the various genres called home, he hadn't wanted to try traversing through the volcano ridden territories of the rock trolls, especially not after hearing the stories that the other nations would mutter about the rambunctious and rowdy kingdom. But, now that he was a bit older, and had his sweet Rhonda at his side (who was nearly as tall as he was already, so he was fairly certain most other trolls would leave him alone if she was with him), he felt more at ease about crossing into and exploring the rough terrain.

Happily, John was quick to note that what the other trolls had said about the rock trolls seemed to be untrue. As he reached what he'd been told was Volcano Rock City, the main settlement of the territory, he was approached by a grinning red troll, who thrust a piece of paper into his hands, declaring an invite to a party.

"Hey, man! Wicked critter. You should, like, totally come to this party that's gonna be a total rager later," they said with a laugh, before trundling off to hand his flyers out to other trolls nearby. John watched them walk away with a confused little smile, before looking over the paper he'd been handed.

"Huh," John offered the flyer to Rhonda, who sniffed at it and churred, earning a chuckle from John. "What do you think, girl? Wanna go check out a rock troll party? It might be fun." Rhonda simply growled in an excited manner, her back end wiggling as John scratched at the back of her head. "Yeah, okay. It couldn't hurt to check it out."

John would later come to regret saying that.

He arrived to the party as it seemed to be getting into full swing, with music blaring from huge speakers next to a stage where a band was playing, and trolls milled about in nearly every available inch of space. Some were dancing near the stage, while others were trying to talk over the music, while still others gorged themselves on the swathes of snack foods that seemed to be floating around the party in random bags and bowls. It wasn't quite like the parties he'd attended when he was younger, but it was similar enough that he felt right at home. Rhonda, on the other hand, seemed to become somewhat skittish and agitated at all of the loud noise. John cooed at her to try and calm her down, but when that didn't work, he left her near the outer edges of the party, where there were fewer trolls, and the music was a little quieter. He promised he'd be back for her in a couple of hours, tops, before heading back into the crowd.

Admittedly, John's first taste of the rock genre was going pretty smoothly, in his opinion. One troll commented on his goggles, noting that they'd be cooler with spikes, while another told him that his fur lined jacket was 'sick', but it would look better in black. And the music, oh, the music. It was so different from anything else John had heard before, but something about it really struck a chord with him. He found himself head banging along with a group near the stage, and a rather gnarly looking blue troll showed him how to throw up 'devil horns' and 'rock out' appropriately. It was absolutely fantastic.

That was until a green troll with wildly curly orange and black hair appeared in front of him.

"John Dory," the troll shouted over the music with a rather unwelcoming grin.

"Uh, do I know you?" John asked, frowning slightly as he backed away from the troll as he stepped further into John's space.

"You sure do, fish boy," the troll snapped back, grabbing the front of John's jacket and yanking him close. John's eyes widened as he realized exactly who he was currently faced with.

"Hickory?!"

"Got it in one."

John made to pull away from Hickory, but the grifter's grip on his jacket was unyielding.

"I think it's about time I paid you back for the trouble you made for me, back at Jazzy's," Hickory said, grin widening at John's obvious struggle to get away from him.

"What are you even doing here?!" John asked, grabbing at Hickory's hand to try and pry his fingers from his jacket.

"None of your business," Hickory hissed, before turning his head and bellowing out, "MOSH PIT!"

John gasped as a rush of trolls started to crowd in and around where he and Hickory stood, jostling them roughly. John could feel Hickory's fingers loosening in his jacket, but the grifter's gaze snapped back to him quickly as he began to slip away.

"Nuh-uh. You're not getting away so easy this time," Hickory snapped, using the commotion and rowdiness of the crowd around them as an excuse to toss John to the ground. He shouted loudly, grinning as the trolls around them echoed the noise, before he pounced on John as he tried to scramble away.

They tussled through the crowd, Hickory obviously enjoying himself as he continuously shoved John into trolls who took no mind of him as they elbowed him, kicked him, and generally battered him ruthlessly as they moshed to the music blasting from the stage. Finally, John managed to stumble his way out of the crowd and fell to his knees, very much worse for wear, and fairly confident he had bruises littering about 90% of his body. Hickory, meanwhile, strode out of the crowd with nary a scratch, obviously quite used to the nature of mosh pits, and knew how to get out of them relatively unscathed.

"It's someone's first day in the scene, isn't it?" Hickory mocked as John staggered to his feet, clutching at his rather sore ribs.

"It was going fine until you showed up," John growled back, glaring at the grifter, who simply laughed at him. He bristled as Hickory approached him casually, an easy swagger to the way he was walking telling John that this troll didn't have a doubt in the world that he could and would get away with whatever he wanted here.

"Go home, pop troll," Hickory seethed at John, before reeling his arm back and punching the teal troll squarely in the face.

John stumbled back, spots already forming in his vision as he raised his hand to the now throbbing bridge of his nose, while Hickory smirked cruelly at him. The last thing he registered was the sound of Rhonda 's bellow over the din of the party, and Hickory quickly disappearing into the surrounding crowd, before his world went dark.

When John awoke, Rhonda was hovering over him, a worried little coo leaving her as he blinked up at the late evening sky. Slowly, he sat up to find that she had dragged him from Volcano Rock City into what looked like a forest. There were no other trolls around, though in the distance he could see the massive volcano that stood in the center of the city they'd left behind. He sighed and gave Rhonda a grateful little pat as she nuzzled up against his side, while gingerly touching his very tender nose.

"Maybe we keep avoiding rock trolls, huh?" he asked Rhonda, who churred unhappily next to him. "Yeah. I think it's probably best if we don't go back there."

And avoid it he did. John spent the next couple of years exploring the Neverglade trail, rather than continue through the troll kingdoms. Although exploring other genres was fun, a break from other trolls was more than necessary, he figured. Especially after his last run in with Hickory, which had really soured his urge to meet new people. That wasn't to say he didn't run into other trolls and sentient creatures while out on the trails, of course. He met many interesting characters over the years who had plenty of stories to share with him. Which did eventually lead to him learning about the various and notorious bounty hunters that roamed around; one of whom was described quite similarly to Hickory. A rather nasty sounding yodeling troll, who was one half of a pair of brothers with quite the reputation. Hickory was apparently known for his disguises and charming trickery, gaining the trust of his targets and drawing them away to somewhere secluded, where his older brother would inevitably ensnare them in a trap.

According to the hiker who had casually mentioned all of this to John, the brothers had a staggering track record with very few, if any, misses on their hit list. Which just made John somewhat confused as to why Hickory had let him go not once, but twice. Though, he supposed, that might have something to do with the fact that their encounters had little to nothing to do with Hickory's 'work', and capturing John wouldn't exactly be profitable to the bounty hunters. He decided to simply be thankful that he was unlikely to see Hickory again, and moved on with his life.

Eventually, John did find himself back in the kingdoms, with Rhonda now just big enough for him to ride inside, so long distance travel was much easier. He figured the coast would be the best place to check out, since he'd heard techno trolls lived just offshore and were pretty chill, and Rhonda loved a good beach. What he wasn't expecting to find was a community of trolls, who claimed themselves to simply be 'surfer trolls', living near the seaside. Their music was an odd sort of mixture of pop and rock, but it was catchy and fun, and John couldn't help but find himself humming along to the melodies.

They were friendly, too, inviting John to join in their dances and offering to teach him how to surf. He happily agreed to the surfing lessons, pleased when Rhonda jumped into the water after him to swim alongside their surfboards, much to the delight of the other trolls in the water. Anytime John began to wobble on his board, Rhonda would surface just below him, throwing him off and into the water, earning laughs from everyone around. John was fairly certain she thought she was helping, so he couldn't exactly get mad at her for accidentally sabotaging his lessons.

After roughly the tenth time Rhonda dumped him into the drink, John decided it was probably best if he leave surfing to the surf trolls and just enjoy the beach. So, he dragged his soggy self out of the water and propped his borrowed board up in the sand, as the other trolls had shown him to do, and turned to watch Rhonda continue to frolic in the waves. As he turned, however, he spotted a relatively familiar looking green and orange troll that immediately had his hackles rising up. Although he looked slightly different, with dreadlocked curls and baggy beach clothes, he just knew the troll he was looking at was Hickory. After all, hadn't that hiker told him that Hickory disguised himself frequently? It would explain why each time John had run into him, he'd looked different. The bounty hunter was casually chatting with a couple of other trolls just down the beach from where he'd gotten out of the water, and John had no doubt that Hickory was here for a bounty on one of the surfer trolls.

He decided that, for now, it would probably be best if he stayed back and just watch the bounty hunter. He was relatively certain that Hickory knew he was here, since Rhonda was sort of hard to miss. However, he did wonder if Hickory even remembered her, since he was also rather certain that the bounty hunter would've approached him by now if he had any sort of inkling that John was nearby. After all, they weren't exactly on the best of terms.

So, he sat and watched, noticing how Hickory kept gravitating to one rather pretty pastel green troll in particular. She had wavy pink hair with flowers nestled throughout, and appeared to have a rather easy going attitude, along with an absolutely phenomenal singing voice. John wondered, briefly, if perhaps Hickory was simply pursuing her in some sort of romantic sense. However, that idea was quickly squashed when he happened to spot a smaller green and orange troll half hidden in the beach scrub not too far off from where Hickory and the girl were. Likely the infamous older brother, Dickory, he'd heard about. That had to mean they were there for a bounty, and based on Hickory practically sticking like glue to the girl, it was most likely her.

A slow smirk crept across John's face as he watched Hickory and the girl chat, an idea forming in his mind. Another miss on the yodelers otherwise near spotless track record would certainly put John Dory in an even better mood than he already was.

John drew himself up from his seat on the beach, whistling for Rhonda, who bound out of the water with an excited trill, drenching the trolls around her on the beach as she shook herself off. He grinned as her antics drew the attention of everyone on the beach, including Hickory and the mystery girl he was following. A satisfied little chuckle escaped John as he spotted the way Hickory's expression soured upon spotting him. He eagerly waved at the bounty hunter, which only served to confuse Hickory, as he frowned and tilted his head, watching with dawning horror on his face as John practically skipped across the beach, Rhonda hot on his heels, towards the two trolls he'd been keeping an eye on.

"Hey!" John chirped, slapping his hand down on Hickory's shoulder and giving it a not so gentle squeeze as he reached the two, "It's been a while, man! How've you been?"

"John Dory," Hickory feigned cheer through gritted teeth, adjusting the yellow sunglasses perched precariously on his nose, "It's goin' swell, bro. Been real chill. What's brought you out to the beach?"

"Oh, you know," John let Hickory go, waving his hand through the air, while Rhonda flopped down into the sand behind him, "Just adventuring. Been out on the Neverglade trail. Heard some really interesting stories while I was out there." He glanced over to the pastel troll who was observing the two with open curiosity on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry," John said with a light laugh, "How rude of me. I'm John Dory. You are?" He offered the pastel troll his hand, earning a soft giggle from the girl.

"Aquata," the troll hummed, taking John's hand and shaking it gently, "It's, like, totally righteous to meet you. It's wild to meet someone who knew Reef from before he came to the beach. How long have you two, like, known each other?"

John shot Hickory an amused look, earning a sharp glare from the bounty hunter from behind Aquata's shoulder. "Oh, I've known 'Reef' here for a few years. Met him pretty shortly after I started adventuring. He's always been a real character." Aquata simply laughed at John's anecdote, while Hickory fumed just outside her line of sight. It was incredibly entertaining to John, to watch the way Hickory's face contorted at John's antics.

"That's so rad! Reef is always so quiet about his past," Aquata sighed, turning a lazy smile on the bounty hunter, who quickly plastered a calm little grin on his own face.

"It's 'cause none of it matters, man," Hickory hummed, stepping up next to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, "The past is, like, unchangeable. Why bother dwelling on it?"

"Deep," John commented, barely able to keep a laugh from escaping him at the way Hickory's expression twitched, like he wanted to scowl at John but knew he couldn't. "But, y'know, the past sort of defines who we are, so it's kind of important."

"Wow! That's so true," Aquata said, patting at Hickory's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, why don't I go get us some drinks? And you two can, like, catch up for a minute?" She twirled easily away from Hickory's hold with a breathy laugh. "I'll be back in a sec!"

The two watched her sashay away, before Hickory turned a sharp glare on John Dory. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," John hissed back, hackles up. "I can only assume you're here to kidnap that poor girl."

Hickory scrunched up his nose, placing his hands on his hips. "Kidnap is a pretty strong word, fish boy."

"It's accurate though, isn't it? That's what you do. Kidnap trolls and deliver them to whoever pays you the most coin. I heard all about you and your brother," he nodded towards the tall grass along the far side of the beach where he knew Dickory was hiding, "while I was out on the Neverglade trail. You two have quite the reputation."

Hickory snarled quietly under his breath, before sucking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. "All right, fish boy," Hickory grunted, "What do you want?"

"I want you to leave this beach and that poor girl alone. I doubt she's done anything especially nefarious that would justify you and your brother dragging her away from her home."

"I can't do that," Hickory groaned, pushing his sunglasses up to rub at his eyes, "My brother would not like that."

John arched an eyebrow, an idea striking him as he reaching back to gently pat at Rhonda, who lifted her head with a curious trill. "Would your brother prefer it if I let Rhonda eat you, instead?"

Hickory blinked, quickly taking a step back as he eyed the armadillo bus, who stared right back at him. "What?!"

"You heard me. You can either take off, and haul your brother along with you, or I'll let Rhonda swallow you. She's eaten a few bigger critters out on the trail, so I know a troll wouldn't be much of an issue," John said, as Rhonda rose to her feet behind him and shook herself clean of the sand that clung to her carapace. He watched as Hickory eyed the critter, his demeanor quickly becoming more nervous and agitated. Of course John wouldn't really let Rhonda eat Hickory, though he did know she could. He'd just get her to store the bounty hunter in the weird pocket dimension trunk she'd developed over the last few months and drop him off somewhere in the woods. Not that he needed to know that, of course.

"You wouldn't," Hickory said with a shake of his head, swallowing thickly as a slow grin spread across John's face.

"Are you really willing to test those waters?"

Hickory looked between Rhonda and John once more, his gaze fleetingly darting off in the direction his brother was hidden, before finally settling back on John. "Fine. Fine! It's not like this was a big job, anyway. Just some rich arschloch who wanted a private, captive singer. We'll leave."

"Great," John hummed, his grin turning into a genuine smile. Even after Hickory had beaten him up a few years back, he really couldn't say he held a grudge against the other troll. As a matter of fact, he was growing just a little bit fond of the only troll that kept circling back into his life. Messing with him periodically was starting to be a bit like a game he got to play every couple years. "You know, this little game of kitty critter and mouse we've incidentally been playing over the last few years has, weirdly, been kind of fun. I hope you don't mind that I won this round." He offered Hickory his hand, at which the bounty hunter stared in mild confusion. "C'mon, man. You can't tell me you've never shook someone's hand before."

"…Not usually right after they've threatened to have their pet eat me," Hickory scoffed, though he did tentatively take John's hand.

"First time for everything, I suppose," John laughed.

"I guess that's true," Hickory hummed thoughtfully, gaze focused on their hands until he pulled his away. "You are a much more surprising, and dare I say tenacious troll than I gave you credit for, John Dory."

John's grin brightened considerably, another joyful little laugh escaping him. "Thanks! I'll take that as a compliment."

Hickory simply snorted quietly at that, a slight smile on his own face as John chuckled.

"Looks like you two had an excellent catch up," Aquata said merrily as she came trotting up to them with three cups in hand. She then offered Hickory and John each a cup of what looked to be fruit punch.

"It was pretty good, I think," John offered, shooting Hickory a cheeky wink, to which the bounty hunter simply rolled his eyes.

"Like, yeah, man. Wicked good," Hickory added, easily slipping into his laid back surfer persona. "But, like, totally bummer news. Johnny here reminded me of some family business I, like, totally forgot about. I'm gonna have to take off. Sorry, Aquata."

"Oh," the pastel troll seemed to deflate a little, though an understanding smile settled on her lips. "That's a drag, but I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll catch you on the flip side," Hickory offered, handing his cup to John so he could tug Aquata into a quick hug. He then gave John a short nod, before turning and walking off into the beach grass where Dickory was hiding.

"So lame," Aquata sighed, rolling her cup back and forth between her hands, "He was gonna, like, take me on a trip to see Vibe City."

"I'm sure he's just as sad as you are that he can't take you there anymore," John consoled the pastel troll with an understanding frown, though inwardly he was quite pleased to have completely thwarted the yodelers mission. As well as, perhaps, come to some sort of understanding with Hickory. Or, at the very least, gotten more on his good side. Somewhat.

John hung around the little beach community for a good few months, both because he quite enjoyed the energy of the trolls that made their home there, but also to ensure that Hickory and Dickory were not planning on suddenly reappearing. Once he was well and truly certainly that Aquata was in no danger of being spirited away, John decided it was time to move on. He debated on visiting Volcano Rock City again, but ultimately decided he had his fill of socializing for a while, and headed back to the Neverglades to explore the trails once again.

Another year or two on the trails passed him by, with John eventually coming to realize that he'd been gone from the troll tree for roughly ten years. Far longer than he'd ever planned on, but time he felt was well spent, learning about the world at large and also about himself. Working out and past all of the issues that he'd let get so intricately wrapped around him that he'd lost sight of who he really was. He hoped that the time that had passed was long enough that his brothers would perhaps even forgive his past actions, and be at least somewhat happy to see him again.

And so, John Dory gathered as many supplies as he could fit into Rhonda, before taking off towards Bergen Town. He had hoped, over the years, that he'd hear news from one of the kingdoms he visited that the pop trolls had relocated somewhere outside the tree. That they'd somehow managed to escaped their prison. Unfortunately, no one had apparently seen any signs of other pop trolls until John Dory had come waltzing through. It didn't exactly fill him with joy to go back to his child hood home, knowing that his family had gone through so many Trollstices without him, all while he'd been galivanting around the world. But his grandma had always made sure they had the best possible hiding spot. Especially after what had happened to their parents.

He was sure they were fine.

Or, at least, that had been what he'd thought, right up until he scaled the wall of Bergen Town and spotted the decaying remains of the troll tree. His heart plummeted.

"No…"

Rhonda made concerned little churring sounds from where John left her near the base of the wall as the teal troll fell to his knees, but he quickly turned to shush her and tell her he'd be back as soon as he could.

Quickly, and as quietly as he could, he made his way through the town, making sure to stick to roof tops and shadows to keep any wayward Bergens from spotting him. Soon enough, he landed on the shriveled grass that surrounded the tree, dread and guilt rapidly filling his chest as he took in the carnage around the base of it. There wasn't a single soul anywhere to be seen, with pods laying shattered on the ground, scattered pieces strewn everywhere, alongside long rotted wooden carvings of what John assumed were supposed to be trolls. He hurried to scale the tree and ran to his grandmother's pod, hoping for some sort of sign or indication that his remaining family had somehow gotten out of this damnable place.

John was at least somewhat relieved to find his grandmother's pod still hanging securely amongst the branches, though the front door was limply hanging open, brokering no illusion that anyone was still living there. Gingerly, John crept towards the pod, not even conscience of the fact that he was holding his breath as he crossed the threshold.

The pod was a mess. Whatever had shaken the other pods from the tree had caused the cozy looking furniture to fall over, while any picture frames that had previously been hung on the walls lay scattered across the floor, the protective glass shattered into sharp shards. The thick layer of dust settled over every surface brought to sharp focus that whatever had happened to the tree had happened a long time ago, which only served to make the guilt in John's chest grow until he felt like he just might throw up. He should have been there to protect his little brothers. To make sure that whatever had befallen the tree didn't claim his family among the casualties.

Slowly, John picked his way through the pod, making his way to the bedroom he'd once shared with Spruce. Upon entering the room, he found it barely changed since the night he'd left. The beds were neatly made, as their grandmother always insisted, their posters were, surprisingly, still tacked up to the walls with little pins, and although any possessions that had once been on shelves and the dressers were scattered across the floor, John couldn't help but feel like he'd just stepped back in time. Seeing nothing of note that could tell him what had happened, he then moved on to the slightly larger bedroom that his three youngest brothers had shared.

What he found shocked him slightly. Where he'd been expecting a bunk bed and crib, he found a single toddler bed, and instead of two small desks crammed into opposite corners, he just found one, pushed up against the wall. He frowned as he approached the desk, finding childish little drawings that, frankly, didn't look like anything any of his brothers would've drawn. At least, not while he'd been around. The drawings were rough, like the artist had been pushing down on the crayons too hard. Simple little words like 'RUN', 'HIDE', and 'NO' were featured rather frequently throughout the drawings, while little figures that John assumed were trolls were being scooped into the mouths of what appeared to be Bergens. The drawings were dark, and frankly more than a little graphic and disturbing, as some of the crudely drawn trolls were being crushed between the teeth of the Bergens.

John felt tears welling in his eyes as he flipped through the plethora of drawings, a broken little sob escaping him as he came to a drawing at the very bottom of the stack, obviously from before all of the other scribbles, with a happy little blue signature that read 'Branch' across the bottom corner. Only two trolls were depicted in the drawing, labeled as 'Grandma' and 'Me'. The way Branch had drawn himself lead John to believe the sketch was from well after the band had broken up. There were no other drawings on the table, nor any scattered across the floor that depicted any of his brothers. It made John's heart twist in his chest. What had happened to his baby brother? And where were his other brothers when it had happened?

It was as John turned to leave the bedroom and explore the rest of the pod for clues that his heart stopped in his chest and all of the air left his lungs. There, carved into the wall and door of the bed room were the words 'THEY ARE GOING TO EAT US'.

It felt like the world was tipping as John fell to his knees in front of the display of complete and utter paranoia and despair that stood boldly in front of him. It was most likely that Branch had been the one to take a knife to the wall, since the lack of any other beds in the room and the drawings indicated he was the only one to dwell inside. But what had happened to their Grandmother? There was no way she would have let Branch near the knives, let alone take one to the wall and door. And if any of his other brothers had been around, surely they would have stopped him.

John's head spun, heaving as he emptied his stomach onto the floor of the bedroom, gagging as his body was wracked with shivers and tears fell down his cheeks in a torrent. His family - they had to be dead. It made so much sense, now, why not a soul in any of the kingdoms he'd travelled through had seen hide nor hair of another pop troll, besides him.

He didn't know how long he drifted around the pod in a daze after that, collecting up everything that wasn't broken or moldy into as many bags as he could feasibly carry. He then stumbled out of the pod, considerably less careful than he had been on his way up. But that didn't really appear to matter, as most of the Bergens roaming around the streets didn't seem to be looking for trolls. John vaguely thought that perhaps it had been so long since the troll tree had died that they didn't think there were any trolls left to even bother looking for.

Somehow, John made it back to Rhonda without being spotted, although he could barely recall the trip through Bergen town. She cooed at him worriedly, and he managed to scrape together enough wherewithal to give her a pat and tell her to head back towards the Neverglades, before he climbed inside. Once inside, he reverently set the bags of memories he'd collected down, crawled into his bed, and buried himself under a blanket. The near constant flow of tears had finally stopped, though where sadness and despair had only just had a chokehold on him, empty numbness had begun to take over. He felt like someone had pried open his chest and scooped out his heart, leaving him bereft.

After a time, though he truthfully wasn't sure how much, John could feel Rhonda come to a stop. Slowly, he dragged himself from the huddle of blankets he'd been bundled under and stumbled to the door, dehydration and lack of food making his head swim slightly. He'd definitely been cooped up in Rhonda longer than he'd intended. Which meant that the poor girl had been going for far longer than John Dory had ever driven her before. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest for his negligent behavior, and tumbled out the door, forgetting just how high it really was. John fell face first into the dirt, earning a churr of despair from Rhonda as she turned to watch her caretaker push himself up onto his knees. She turned to nuzzle at him, which John quickly returned, raising his arms to give her his best approximation of a hug.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," John murmured, the emptiness he'd been wallowing in slowly ebbing away to allow sadness to creep back in as he felt tears well in his eyes once more. "I'm so sorry. I promise I won't hole myself up like that again, okay? You deserve so many treats for being such a trooper." He hiccupped, a sob following shortly after. "I gotta make sure to take care of you. You're all I have left."

And take care of her, he did. She was a little worse for wear after having run what John would later figure out was nearly three days straight without stopping. He cleaned her up and made sure she had as many snacks and treats as she could eat, and let her rest where she'd stopped in the middle of the Neverglades for a week straight. Once he felt that Rhonda was well rewarded for dealing with his breakdown, he steered her to the nearest town and filled as many cupboards as he could with fermented juices, nectars, and barley. Anything and everything that he could get his hands on that would allow him to temporarily forget about his family and the state of the tree, when he wasn't taking care of Rhonda. Because as much as he wanted to drown himself in alcohol to forget what he'd seen, she needed him to take care of her, and he vowed not to fail another soul that relied on him.

Months passed before Johns supplies began to run low enough that he needed to venture back into a town to stock back up. Still feeling less than social, he decided to stick to the outskirts of most settlements, and avoided the larger cities all together. Rhonda seemed to love meeting new trolls who gushed over her, though, so John would stop in the little towns for a few days at a time so she could get her fill of social interaction. Meanwhile, John would fill his cupboards with whatever alcohol the town had to offer, and drink himself stupid, before the two would spend the next couple of weeks roaming the country side again.

It was during one of these spans between towns that John and Rhonda came across a little band of nomadic folk trolls, near the border of the desert where the country trolls lived and the forest that separated the rock kingdom from the others. The group was rag tag at best, their patchwork tents endearing in the way they were cobbled together in a multitude of materials and colors, while nearly every troll looked like they had rolled around in a meadow, with twigs and flowers sticking out of their hair that John could see even from a distance. Rhonda seemed especially interested in them, so John brought her to a stop near their encampment, and decided it was about time that he try to fill his social interaction quota once again. He was doing his best to get back into the swing of talking with other trolls again, but so far it hadn't exactly gone well.

"Hey there," he called to the camp, waving his arm above his head while trying his best to feign a smile.

Truly, the very last thing he'd been expecting was for a troll near the center of the camp to perk up at the sound of his voice and call back a confused, "John Dory?"

"Uh," John said rather eloquently, suddenly wishing he'd showered at some point in the last few days. He probably looked a mess and smelled just as unpleasant. The troll in question strode across the camp, John's eyes slowly widening as he took in the scruffy orange hair and beard of the familiar green troll he couldn't seem to stop running into. He didn't want to call the bounty hunters name, unsure as to what he'd even be doing with such a group. Surely a folk troll wouldn't fetch him much coin?

"What in the world are you doing here?" Hickory asked as he finally made it to John, a small frown on his face.

"Exploring," John offered bluntly with a small shrug, "What about you?"

"Trying to get away from my brother," Hickory replied with a shrug of his own, "You reek."

"Haven't showered in a few days," John sniffed, tugging absently at the bottom of his jacket. "What're you going by?"

Hickory scrunched his nose up and tilted his head, reminding John of a confused cuddle pup. "My name?"

"Yeah, but," John leaned in to Hickory's space, the bounty hunter gagging quietly at his smell as he did, "Can I call you Hickory? Or are you going by 'Reef' again?"

Hickory blinked, then snorted a quiet laugh, nodding his head slightly. "Oh, yeah, right. You can call me Silas. But, how about you go and take a shower, and then I'll introduce you to some of the group? You smell like you slept in a pile of garbage."

"Yeah, alright," John said, turning on his heel to head back into Rhonda. He did not miss the mildly concerned look Hickory shot him at his short, somewhat stilted answer. However, he really couldn't bring himself to care that much. Although he'd grown to think fondly of the bounty hunter over the years, they didn't really know each other. His apparent concern was appreciated, but John didn't really feel like he'd earned it.

John showered quickly, then took a moment as he dripped dry inside Rhonda to clean up a little. When Hickory had said he smelled like he slept in garbage, he hadn't really been that far off. Piles of food and drink containers had stacked up over time, and several dishes had been languishing in the sink, growing mold. John filled the sink with soapy water to let the dishes soak, and tossed all of the trash into a couple of bags to take out the next time he went through a town. Finally, he opened all of Rhonda's windows to let her air out, since her cabin was starting to smell a bit musty. It was while propping open her front window that he overheard who he assumed was Hickory talking to his baby girl.

"You're a good girl, aren't you? Does John Dory take good care of you? You certainly look nice and healthy. Would you eat me? No, you wouldn't. Noooo. You're too sweet for that."

John snorted into his hand at the babying voice the other troll was using on Rhonda, though it was obviously winning her over as she churred happily and audibly licked someone.

"Ah! Ew…Uh, thank you. I think," John heard the other troll say, mild disgust dripping from his tone, prompting the teal troll to slip back inside to stifle his laughter and get dressed.

Once he felt he was at least mildly presentable, he hopped back outside, finding Hickory covered head to toe in Rhonda's glittery spit, confirming that it had, indeed, been the bounty hunter talking to her while John was cleaning up.

"Making friends?" John teased, nodding towards the sparkly troll with a crooked little grin.

Hickory snorted, brushing glitter from his shoulder. "Trying to. I think I succeeded? She didn't eat me, at the very least."

"She might be marking you as prey," John offered, though he knew she definitely wasn't. She only licked people he liked.

"Well, isn't that a comforting thought," Hickory laughed, reaching out to wrap an arm around John's shoulders, effectively half covering him in drool as well.

"I thought the point of me going to take a shower was to get clean? Now I'm covered in slobber and glitter," John scoffed, following along with Hickory as the other troll began to steer him towards the camp.

"The shower was more to make you smell better. And you do! So now you have to suffer my glittery fate with me."

"That's fair," John said with a quiet laugh. He blinked at the sound as it left him, fairly certain it was the first time he'd actually, properly laughed since he'd gone back to the tree. He felt a little squeeze in his chest as he glanced at Hickory, who had an easy going little smile on his face as he lead John to a small group of trolls loitering by the camp fire.

John barely paid attention as he was introduced to several of the folk trolls, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries on auto pilot. Finally, he was lead to a log set somewhat near the camp fire, just the right distance from everyone else meandering around the camp to be somewhat secluded. A bowl of stew was pushed into his hands as Hickory sat down next to him with a sigh.

"They seem friendly," John commented idly, before taking a sip of his stew and immediately perking up. "Wow! This is delicious."

"Thanks. I made it yesterday, so the flavor's gotten better. Wasn't as good then," Hickory said with an easy smile, "And, yeah. They're real nice. Took me in without asking a single question. I've been traveling with them for a few months now."

"Oh, yeah? And you promise you're not trying to snag one of these poor, unfortunate souls to sell to some high paying douchebag?"

Hickory sighed, swirling his stew idly in his bowl for a moment, before shaking his head. "I swear to you, I'm not. The last year or two of bounty hunting was just…It was getting to be too much. My brother was taking worse and worse jobs for us, and I was getting tired of the constant run around. I also realized one day that I really don't know who I am."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Every time you've met me, I've been someone different. In the early days I could at least still go by my own name here and there, but I don't think anyone but Dickory has called me 'Hickory' in years. I don't even know my own likes and dislikes at this point, having to change my personality to fit whatever persona my brothers come up with at the time. I wanted to figure out who I am, without Dickory breathing down my neck, or our job putting pressure on me."

John felt suddenly stricken at Hickory's response, memories of his own little brothers complaining about the parts he'd forced them to play flashing in his mind. The only one who'd never complained was Branch, but he was only a toddler, so that was to be expected. He had always just been happy to be included. Which then brought the realization to the forefront of his mind that Branch would only be fourteen this year. The same age as John had been when they'd started Brozone.

He hadn't even realized Hickory had continued talking until the sound of his voice suddenly stopped.

"…John?"

John startled slightly, his nearly untouched bowl of stew almost falling to the ground as he lifted his head. He blinked, feeling tears he hadn't registered catching on his eye lashes. "Sorry," he breathed, setting his bowl aside quickly and rubbing at his face. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to ignore the way Hickory was looking at him. "I gotta…Sorry, I just remembered something," he floundered, yanking his goggles down over his eyes as he rose from his seat. He then quickly took off towards Rhonda, ignoring her worried trills as he ducked through her door.

Perhaps if he'd been paying more attention, he would've noticed Hickory following close behind as he went inside. Instead, he pulled open one of his cupboards, grabbed a stout bottle of the strongest liquor he'd managed to find in the last town they'd passed through, and began to unceremoniously chug it down.

"Woah there!"

The half empty bottle slipped from John's fingers as he jumped at the sound of Hickory's voice, mildly irritated with himself at being so easily startled twice in a row by the same troll in such a short amount of time. He turned to glare at Hickory, forgetting his goggles were obscuring half of his face. "What?!" he snapped, stooping to scoop the bottle off the floor and putting it back to his lips to finish off what was left.

"Look, I know we don't really know each other that well, but you have to understand that this is concerning behavior," Hickory stated, hesitantly reaching towards John, "You just suddenly ran off and started trying to drink yourself into oblivion. What happened?"

"None of your business," John hissed, finishing off the bottle and reaching for another. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Hickory really didn't deserve his terse behavior, but all he wanted to do right now was forget.

"Hey, now," Hickory stepped forward and placed his hand over the top of the new bottle, frowning lightly at John, "You have every right to tell me to leave, but you've got to know that I'm worried. I've seen trolls do some awful things to themselves over the years, and drinking themselves to death isn't really that uncommon, or fun to watch. Believe it or not, you've been one of the only trolls I've managed to run into more than once over the years that didn't have anything to do with my work, so I've grown kind of partial to the idea of getting to run into you more. C'mon, John Dory. Talk to me."

John sniffed, tugging the bottle away from Hickory's hand to take a swig, though he didn't try to upend the bottle like he had the last one. After a moment he let out a slow breath, shoving his goggles back up into his hair to reveal his watery, red rimmed eyes. "You reminded me of my brother."

"And that made you need to drink an entire bottle of fermented nectar?" Hickory asked, taking a step back from John, now that he was less worried he was going to dump another bottle down his throat.

"Yeah. It did," John sighed, shortly followed by a sardonic little laugh. He gestured for Hickory to follow him over to the couch, flopping himself down onto it as he took another swig of his drink. He watched idly, tears slowly dripping down his cheeks, as Hickory gingerly settled himself down on the couch next to him. "My youngest brother would be fourteen now," he stated, as though it wasn't out of left field and a rather confusing thing to mention, given the situation.

"Good for him?" Hickory offered, shooting John a confused look.

John gave another hollow laugh, shaking his head as he sipped at his drink. "He's dead."

Hickory reeled back in surprise as if he'd been slapped, one hand going to his chest, while the other moved to hover in the air over John's shoulder. "Oh. I'm so sorry," he breathed, obviously not quite sure what to do with himself now.

"Yeah…I finally decided to go back home. It'd been ten years, y'know? I'd been running from my responsibilities for a long time. So I tried to go back, but…no one was there," John paused to swallow down more of his drink, the liquor just starting to make his head go a little bit fuzzy, "Not a single soul was anywhere. The tree I grew up in was rotting from the inside out, and our pod was in shambles. I thought, for just a minute, that maybe my family had escaped, or run away, but then I found-" he choked on tears, covering his mouth to stifle a sob.

"It's okay, John Dory," Hickory said softly, letting his hand settle on John's back to rub gentle little circles there, "Let it out."

A moment passed before John managed to suck air back into his lungs, coughing quietly as he struggled to get the next words out. "My youngest brother, he was only four when I left. I found drawings of his on a desk. They were so fucked up," he wheezed, tipping the bottle back into his mouth once again. He hiccupped and shook his head as he continued, "Drawings of trolls getting eaten. And then I found words carved into the wall. There's no way, if anyone was around, they'd let him do that. My baby brother had to have been left all alone, before he probably got eaten, too." Another broken sob ripped itself from his chest as he doubled over his knees, clinging to the bottle in his hands like his life depended on it. He barely even registered Hickory still rubbing at his back and murmuring quiet little reassurances at him. "I should've been there," he finally wailed, sitting up and turning a wild look on Hickory, who sat back in surprise, "If I'd been there, maybe I could've done something. Maybe we could've escaped together, and-and…I don't know." He slumped back down, the bottle slipping from his fingers, allowing him to bury his face in his hands.

A few minutes passed, before he finally registered the feeling of fingers carding through his hair. Slowly, he lifted his head to find Hickory giving him the most sympathetic look he could muster through his stupid scruffy beard, his fingers gently combing along John's scalp before slipping through his hair. John wiped at his face, sitting himself up and somewhat lamenting the loss of Hickory's fingers as the bounty hunter tucked his hands back into his lap.

"Feeling any better now?" Hickory asked quietly, watching as John pulled his goggles off his head and tossed them aside.

"Got a bit of a headache," John admitted, rubbing at his forehead.

"That'll happen when you drink around a bottle and a half of booze, then cry your eyes out, without eating," Hickory said with a sad little laugh, watching John intently.

"Yeah," John sighed, grabbing a random rag from the floor to blow his nose, ignoring the way Hickory scrunched his face up at the action.

"Have you been doing this a lot? Drinking yourself silly when you think about your brother?"

"Brothers," John corrected idly, tossing the rag towards the rough proximity of his garbage can, "I had four younger brothers."

"I'm sorry…but that doesn't answer my question."

John sighed, rubbing at his eyes, noting that his vision swam minutely at the action. Apparently he'd managed to drink a bit more than he'd thought. He grunted quietly, shifting to sit back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. "For the last few months, yeah. I ran away from my family when they needed me most, and they all died before I could get the chance to make anything right. You can't blame me for not wanting to think about that. Booze helps."

Hickory shifted on the couch next to him, making a quiet humming sound. "I get wanting to drown your sorrows, I do. I've done it once or twice. But, I can tell you from experience, it'll only make things so much worse in the long run."

"Pretty sure you're younger than me," John muttered idly, tilting his head so he could watch the bounty hunter from the corner of his eye, "Shouldn't I be the one giving you sage advice?"

Hickory chuckled, combing his fingers through his wild, foliage filled locks, a few leaves cascading down to settle on John's couch. "Probably. Got any advice for someone currently running from their family?"

"Try giving them a chance," John sighed, reaching out to take Hickory's hand in his own. "You never know how much time you have left with them."

Hickory watched John with a pitying sort of expression for a moment, before giving a small nod. "Yeah, okay. I guess I can give my brother another shot."

John simply nodded, a sad smile on his face, before he tipped his head back and let his eyes slip shut. The two of them sat together on the couch with their hands entwined for quite a while, until someone came knocking on Rhonda's door looking for 'Silas'. Slowly, Hickory extracted his hand from John's and got up from the couch, the teal troll watching through half lidded eyes as he walked towards the door.

"I'll see you in the morning, John Dory," Hickory said as he got to the door, before disappearing through it.

John didn't stay until morning.

Once night fell, and all of the trolls in the camp were asleep, John crept through the tents until he found where Hickory was sleeping. As stealthily as he could, he tucked a small note under the edge of the bounty hunters pillow, simply stating 'Thanks for listening - JD', before sneaking off.

Back at Rhonda, he quietly urged her to move, leading her away from the camp, before climbing aboard and driving her away. As much as he appreciated Hickory offering an understanding ear, he didn't think he could really face him come morning. Or anytime soon, really. These burdens were his to bear, and it really wasn't fair of him to dump them on Hickory, who had his own issues to deal with.

And so, John spent the next several years roaming around anywhere and everywhere that Rhonda could go, trying to get a handle on his sorrow and work on being himself again, while also actively avoiding any green trolls with orange hair that he happened to spot. Something deep in his chest yearned to try and find Hickory again after that fateful evening spent in companionable silence, but he just couldn't bring himself to face the other troll until he could truthfully, and with his whole chest, say that he was doing okay again. And, perhaps then, they could actually start to properly get to know each other.

Everything seemed to finally be working out for John Dory, nearly ten years after discovering the troll tree in shambles. He managed to get himself sober, he was taking care of himself and Rhonda, and he was finally having fun travelling again. At least, he'd thought everything was going well, until one day while driving Rhonda through the funk troll territory and humming along to the radio, he suddenly felt like all of the joy was sucked out of him. He gasped at the jarring sensation and slammed on Rhonda's breaks, watching his hands on the wheel as they turned grey.

"What?" he murmured to himself, his heart jumping into his throat in a panic at the sight of his grey fur. He'd heard stories, when he was a child, about trolls turning grey, but he'd never actually seen it. He'd always chalked it up to being some sort of cautionary tale, especially after he'd fallen so far into the pits of despair all those years ago and had only ever dimmed in color.

He jumped from the drivers seat and hurried to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, finding what looked to be a ghost of himself staring back. He gingerly touched his face, feeling tears starting to well in his eyes, before he heard something on the radio. Someone declaring that the queen of pop had caused all trolls to lose their music. But that couldn't be right. All of the pop trolls were supposed to be dead.

But then something else came on the radio. Something that wasn't quite music, but had a bit of a beat to it. John all but ran to the radio to turn it up, listening as beat boxing, clapping and odd techno sounds soon changed to a single, clear voice singing a slow, but hopeful tune, which was shortly joined by a second. One that was distinctly older, but John could recognize any of his brothers singing voices.

"…Branch?"

John cranked up the radio even further and hopped back into the drivers seat, steering Rhonda towards where the radio station was broadcasting, all previous worries about his grey fur going out the window at the prospect of his baby brother being alive. He barely even registered when his colors came back, too focused on the prospect of seeing any of his family again.

It took longer than John would have liked to get to the rock troll kingdom. The drive typically took a handful of days, but with the right route and treats for Rhonda, he figured they could make it in roughly three. However, on the way, he found a rather startling note taped to his door. The signature said it was from Floyd, but it obviously wasn't, as his hand writing wasn't nearly so fancy. The note changed things, though. It made John realize that he'd wasted so much time wallowing in guilt ridden sorrow, when he could have been out looking for his brothers. And now, with the dire nature of Floyd's note, he'd have to put his plans to find Branch on hold until he figured out if his second youngest brother was truly in danger.

Mount Rageous was not a place John had ever explored before, given how much larger the inhabitants were in comparison to trolls. But he'd gone and found Floyd, trapped just like the note had said.

When breaking the bottle proved to be impossible, and Floyd brought up the perfect family harmony, John was hesitant. Not in saving his brother, of course, but to the idea of presenting the thing that shattered their family apart as the only way to rescue Floyd to their brothers. Not to mention, he still had no idea if Clay and Spruce were even alive, or where they might be if they were. But he agreed, and left Floyd to go and collect his brothers.

Now he really needed to find Branch.

Finding his baby brother had sent John's heart soaring to the moon. Getting him on board to help save Floyd brought him back down to earth. The itching feeling slowly crawling up his spine as they stood amongst a crowd of Bergens made him feel like crawling into a hole. But eventually, and with much cajoling from Poppy, Branch agreed and John steered Rhonda as quickly as he could away from Bergen Town and off in search of his remaining brothers.

Finding and convincing Spruce and Clay to join in their rescue mission had been tedious, but thankfully successful. John had his family back! All of his brothers were alive and well (for the most part). Sure, they'd fought, with John falling back into terrible old habits, almost breaking them apart yet again, but they were alive. Though he'd just about had a heart attack when Floyd nearly died in front of his eyes, even after they managed to pull off the perfect family harmony. But, somehow, they'd brought him back from the brink and John's heart hadn't felt so full in years, even despite the heart breaking news of his grandmothers death.

Eventually, his brothers did have to go back to their own lives. Reluctantly, after spending a few weeks in Pop Village (HOW had he never found it?!) while Floyd recovered from the worst of his injuries, John drove Bruce and Clay back to their respective homes. He then debated on staying out in the wilderness with Rhonda for a bit, before ultimately deciding that the best place he could be was in Pop Village, offering any help and support he could to his two youngest brothers.

Upon returning to Pop Village, he was surprised to find Hickory, of all trolls, chatting up with the Queen of Pop and his youngest brother. After the initial burst of joy he had at seeing the other troll after so long, knowing he could finally tell him how much their last talk had meant to him, he quickly became suspicious. Hickory was decked out in a cowboy hat and jeans. Certainly not what a yodeler would be wearing. The last time John had spotted the bounty hunter through a crowd a few years back, he'd been wearing lederhosen and a stupid little hat that John had immediately hated. It made John worry that Hickory had been dragged back into working with his brother, and that Branch or Poppy could be in danger. He hoped with every fiber of his being that that wasn't the case, but he had to be sure.

"Hickory!" John shouted as he jogged towards the trio. Unlike the last time John had approached the bounty hunter, he had no qualms in calling his name. If he was trying to trick the queen and his brother, he wanted that out in the open immediately. Even if it meant he'd have to save Hickory from the pop trolls, instead of the other way around.

Luckily, though, instead of panic or anger at his name being called, Hickory perked up and grinned widely upon seeing John approach. He lifted a hand in a wave, stepping forward eagerly as John came to a stop in front of them. "John Dory," Hickory said with a laugh, pulling the teal troll into a friendly hug, "If it ain't my fishy friend! It's been a dogs age."

John had to keep himself from melting into the hug, overjoyed that someone would be so happy to see him. The cold shoulders he'd received from his brothers had nearly broken his heart. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Hickory with an awkward laugh as Branch's voice asking, "Fishy friend?" caught his attention.

"Because he's named after a fish," Hickory offered, turning to Branch with a grin. "Call it a bit of a runnin' joke between us."

"I can't believe you know John Dory," Poppy chirped next to him, "What a small world! How did you two meet?"

It was Hickory's turn to look awkward, as John let a wicked grin split his face. "Hickory tried to fleece me at poker."

"Well," Hickory was quick to cut in, rubbing at the back of his neck bashfully, "I feel like that's a bit of an oversimplification of what happened."

"Is it, though?" John snorted a laugh, enjoying the way Poppy giggled behind her hand at Hickory's obvious discomfort with how bluntly John described their first meeting. "As I recall, you were pretty confident that you'd be able to beat me. And then when you couldn't, you starting using cards tucked up your sleeve."

Hickory flushed, letting a stilted little cough escape him as he scuffed his heel on the ground. "I was just gettin' the hang of the whole gamblin' thing," he offered in way of explanation, but John wasn't having any of that.

"And the whole swindling thing, too, apparently," John added, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm having a hard time believing that John, of all trolls, beat you at poker," Branch cut in with a snort, arching an eyebrow as he looked between the two.

"Grandma taught me Rummy before you were hatched," John said with a light laugh, reaching over to ruffle Branch's hair, much to the younger trolls chagrin, "I'm great at poker."

John couldn't help but notice the way Hickory was looking between him and Branch, seemingly completely bewildered at their interaction as his little brother shoved him away. John was tempted to let Hickory stew in his curiosity for a while, but was far too elated at being able to share his news with the other to bother trying to be coy. "He's my little brother," John said, realization dawning on Hickory's face, quickly followed by joy.

"That's fantastic!" Hickory crowed, yanking John into another hug, much to Poppy and Branch's blatant confusion, "I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah," John laughed, squeezing Hickory back happily, before pulling away, "All of my brothers survived! My second youngest brother, Floyd, he's also in town right now. I just got back from taking the other two back home. They're all spread out, but they're alive."

"I, uhm, think it might be best if we let you two catch up for a bit?" Poppy interjected, leaning in towards where John and Hickory where practically huddled together.

"Oh! Excuse my manners, Miss Poppy," Hickory offered, sweeping his hat off his head and looking contrite, "That was mighty rude of me."

"Not at all," Poppy waved her hands in front of herself, smiling brightly, "I'm really happy to see you two reunite! You obviously have some catching up to do, so we'll just meet up with you again later, yeah?"

"That's mighty kind of ya," Hickory said, placing his hat back on his head, "I'll come an' find ya when we're done chattin'. How's that sound?"

"Sounds great," Poppy hummed, taking Branch's hand and tugging him away, even as he protested against leaving the two behind when he had questions, "Have fun!"

"We will," John called after them, waving until the royal couple were out of sight, before arching an eyebrow at Hickory. "Okay, spill. What's the cowboy get up for, and who are you after? I thought you were done with bounty hunting?"

Hickory blinked in mild surprise as John immediately launched into an interrogation, before chuckling quietly. "I am all done with huntin'," he sighed, wrapping an arm around John's shoulders and steering him towards the market, "Took a real long time, but I got out. I've got Poppy an' Branch to thank for that. In return, Miss Poppy asked that I visit Pop Village at least once a month to check in, an' make sure everythin' is still hunky dory. Mostly 'cause my brother wasn't too keen on me steppin' away again."

"So…you did find him again? After the folk trolls?" John asked, letting Hickory lead him to a set of table and chairs, outside a little cafe.

"Sure did," Hickory hummed, gesturing for John to wait as he trotted over to the counter and quickly placed an order. When he returned it was with two milkshakes in hand. He then sat across from John and slid one of the glasses across the table to him. "Picked up a real sweet tooth, hangin' out with Miss Poppy," he explained as John arched a perplexed eyebrow at the shake, "But, anyhow…yeah. After you vanished on me- thanks for the note, by the way- I kept to my word, an' went to go find Dickory. Didn't take too long, since apparently he'd been trackin' me. I told 'im I didn't wanna do huntin' no more, but he wasn't havin' any of that. Got real uppity with me, an' we had a pretty big fight. He apologized, but still didn't get out of huntin'. I spent the last nine or ten years bouncin' back an' forth like a yo-yo, tryin' to get out of the business. But then Queen Barb hired us to capture the Queen of Pop, an', well…here we are."

"So," John drew out the 'O' sound, his fingers curled absently around the cool glass of the milkshake, "That doesn't really explain why you're still in disguise."

Hickory let out a guffaw, shaking his head slightly. "Ain't no disguise. I spent a good bit of time with the country trolls, an' I finally figured out who 'Hickory' is. He ain't no bounty huntin' yodeler. He's a pretty laid back country troll, if I do say so myself. Which I do."

John felt a pleased little smile settle on his face as he reached across the table to place his hand over Hickory's. "I'm really happy you got to figure yourself out. And that you get to be yourself. And I'm sorry your brother never let you, before. Speaking as a bad older brother, myself, he never should've done that to you."

"I appreciate that," Hickory hummed, turning his hand over to give John's a gentle squeeze. "Now…tell me, where'd you run off to in the middle of the night, an' what've ya been up to since I last saw ya?"

John laughed heartily, drawing his hand away from Hickory to lean back in his chair. "I didn't really run off to anywhere in particular, honestly. I just didn't want to pile all of my baggage on top of what you were already dealing with. I just wound up back in the Neverglades. I sort of wished I'd stayed, though."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that? Picked up a taste for folk music?"

"No," John snorted, idly stirring his milkshake with his straw, "I should've stayed for you. I was only thinking about myself, but you probably could've used someone who actually knew who you were around, I'm sure. Plus, maybe then I could've helped you get away from bounty hunting sooner. Or, maybe-" John froze as Hickory reached across the table to flick him gently in the nose.

"Hey, now. Ain't no reason to go dwellin' on things we can't change," the ex-bounty hunter said with an easy smile.

John chuckled, tilting his head slightly with a smile of his own. "Yeah, but the past defines who we are. So, it's kind of important," he echoed his past self, causing Hickory to roll his eyes with a snort.

"That may be true, but what's really important are the decisions we make now. That way we can make sure that our future selves don't have no regrets about their past."

"You got so wise in your old age," John teased, propping his chin in his hand as he took a sip of his milkshake.

"You're one to talk, old man," Hickory shot back with a grin.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying their milkshakes, before an idea struck John and he reached across the table to flick Hickory in the nose, both for retaliation for earlier, and to catch the country trolls attention.

"May I help you?" Hickory laughed, rubbing at his nose.

"Yeah, actually. I was just thinking-"

"Don't hurt yerself."

"Shut up. I was thinking, if you come by Pop Village once a month to visit Poppy, where do you stay?"

Hickory frowned slightly, but shrugged. "Around. Usually someone's willin' to put me up for a night or two."

"Well, why don't you come stay with me?" John asked, drumming his fingers absently across the table. "Rhonda's even bigger than the last time you saw her. It'd be nice to actually get to know each other properly. And, y'know, see one another more frequently than every few years."

A slow smirk curled Hickory's lips as he steepled his hands in front of himself and leaned his chin on his fingers. "Why, John Dory," he hummed, "Are you asking me out on a standin' date?"

"What? No!" John sat back, nearly falling out of his chair in his haste, "I just thought it'd be nice! You can say no, if you think it'd be weird."

Hickory's expression softened as he dropped his hands back down to the table. "Never said I was opposed," he hummed, taking a sip of his milkshake, "I think that's a right fine idea. I usually come mid month, every month. It's when Miss Poppy has the most free time, in between all of the crazy holidays the pop trolls have."

"Great," John said, absently rubbing at one of his blatantly flushed cheeks before chugging down half his milkshake in one go. He let out a little breath as he set the glass down, glancing at Hickory who was simply watching him with a tender little smile. "It…it's a date, then."

For the next six months, Hickory arrived in Pop Village every month, just as he'd said he would, and spent the day with Poppy and Branch, catching up and gossiping about the goings on between Lonesome Flats and the village. He would then meander to where Rhonda parked at night, and spend the evening with John, swapping stories about anything and everything they had done in the years they hadn't seen each other, and generally getting to know one another. Frequently, Hickory would bring little gifts for John; simple little knickknacks or art he found and thought the teal troll would like, while John always made sure the food and snacks he had on hand for Hickory's visits were exclusively things the ex-bounty hunter declared were his favorites, or things he'd casually mentioned that he wanted to try. Both were always pleasantly surprised by the fact that the other had thought of them while they were apart.

And then one night, quite unexpectedly, Hickory slumped into John's lap while they'd been watching a movie, quiet little snores escaping him, and John felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. He'd never expected to develop feelings for the troll that had once punched him so hard that he passed out, but here he was, his face flushed the darkest teal it had ever been as he shakily let his fingers card through curly orange locks. He swallowed thickly, not letting a thought pass through his mind as he quietly whispered, barely audible above the movie, "I think I love you."

When the movie ended, Hickory woke with an undignified snort, earning a quiet laugh from John. "Have a good nap?"

"Yeah," Hickory grunted, sitting up and rubbing at his face, "Had a weird dream, though."

"Oh, yeah? Care to share?"

Hickory stretched his arms above his head, letting out a quiet groan, before turning to John with a curious little look. Hesitantly, he reached out and took John's hands in his own, brushing his thumbs gently over them. John simply watched him, slightly perplexed at the fact that Hickory was just staring at their hands, anxiety clearly growing in the ex-bounty hunter as his shoulders slowly started to creep up towards his ears and his expression began to scrunch up.

"Hey," John tried to soothe, tilting his head to try and catch Hickory's eye, "If it makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to tell me. I was just teasing."

"I know," Hickory was quick to reassure, lifting his gaze to meet John's eye, "I'm just pretty sure it wasn't really a dream. But, I can't be sure, an' I don't wanna freak you out."

John blinked, a tiny frown on his face, until it dawned on him what Hickory could be talking about. Slowly, he extracted his hands from Hickory's, ignoring the near inaudible noise of protest that left the ex-bounty hunter as he did it. Gently, and with mild trepidation, he cupped Hickory's face in his hands, doing his best to swallow down his nerves. "You can totally punch me, if this is out of line, okay?" he said, smiling crookedly at the way Hickory shook his head quickly at the offer. He then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hickory's, taking mild satisfaction at the surprised, but pleased little sound the country troll made.

When John pulled away he licked his lips and quirked an eyebrow at Hickory, who looked a little dazed. "Was that…was that okay?" he asked, his thumb absently stroking along Hickory's cheek bone.

"Hooweee," was Hickory's only response for a minute, his gaze slightly unfocused as he lifted his hands to hold John's to his face. "Oh, uh…yeah. Yeah, that was great," he finally said, blinking to focus on John with a dopey little smile on his face. "I think I love you, too, by the way."

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #hickdory #trolls john dory #trolls hickory #trolls band together #trolls world tour #trolls fanfic #things that i wrote

[ekebolou]

Kostas: Academy Days, The Butcher, pt 1

Hey @astronicht here you go. If there was some other prompt that was more interesting to you, let me know, because I kind of started this one because it hit my brain funny.

I don't know how many parts this will be, and I'm still working on the last bits, but this was one of the prompt ideas discussed and I went with it. The dubious prize for snagging my 1,000th like, which for a blog this old is probably a really sad number but we celebrate here instead of dwelling.

This is set somewhere early in the Third Year. I was going to split it up into more parts but I got lazy (~5,000 words for part one, so not on the short side, since I usually aim for like ~3,000 to a post, but kind of awkward to up)

“And for you,” Cole said, laying one dried, paper-wrapped sausage on Nika’s chest, like one might law a long-stemmed flower on a lover’s grave.

It could have been Nika’s grave, very easily (it was his bed) for he was lying in it (distinctly alive) as if he were dead, and wishing just slightly (previously it had been somewhat sharply, but Cole had walked in (and given him sausage)) to actually be dead. For a little bit, at least (like an hour or two, tops – he had things to do).

Nika wanted desperately to say it wasn’t his fault, the fatigue and stinging back, but it really was. He wasn’t going to get leave anyway, as it wasn’t his turn, so he had felt absolutely free to correct a classmate’s verbiage by nearly suffocating him with grass. It WASN’T his fault that his classmate was not better at grappling, or at least good enough to avoid being pushed face first into the ground for long enough he almost passed out. It was really the length of the time that was Nika’s fault, which the grappling ollamh knew very well (thus, punishment), and that it was rather too dangerous to be throwing anyone head first into anything when they were practicing on hard ground (thus, non-trivial amounts of punishment).

That the grass was so verdant as to be suffocating was the fault of rain, and therefore up to God. If the Ainjir had a problem with that they could come to faith and take up their own arguments.

Cole threw himself into their one intact chair and started picking at a piece of flatbread ragged with the bits he had already taken out, pinching and flattening and taking fingertip-shaped crescents out to press onto his tongue. It was barbaric (but it did make it last longer, which was probably the only reason he still had sausage to give to Nika). And, really, given their mutual lack of funds, it was impressive he had gotten the sausage at all.

“Well,” Cole sighed, taking a haphazard bite out of the remainder of his bread and slouching down, casting his head over the hard chair back, face turned upward so that he, too, looked a little dead, “that was a waste.”

Nika sniffed deeply.  The sausage didn’t smell right. Or, rather – “This is Servan’s?”

Cole lifted himself up so as to not choke on his next little medallion of bread.

“Yes, I did try, and I did try to be very discreet…” Cole insisted, quite unnecessarily (he didn’t realize or had not conceded to the fact that Nika had, from the moment he had said it, ceased giving any thought to Cole’s utterly mistaken notion that he could possibly be discreet enough for it to matter),

“…but the first time I went ‘round the butcher was too distracted to serve anyone. Just utterly preoccupied with some problem with his hooks, or his supply of meats, or something – I���m afraid I didn’t catch any familiar words.”

“You don’t know any,” Nika said, picturing (he could only see the ceiling) and ignoring the collapse of Cole’s face and the start of his protests. To give him something else to say, Nika asked, “And then?”

Cole had another bit of bread and said, “Closed.”

Nika sat up (he caught the sausage).

“–quite early, but I suppose that’s what the fuss was about in the morning – must have run through his supplies.”

“You went?” The badly formulated question Nika blamed on his surprise, but luckily Cole understood.

“In the morning?” Cole said. “I would say around ten.”

“And you returned?”

“Around three?” But this one, Cole did not understand – but that wasn’t his fault, even Nika had to admit. He meddled in matters beyond even his considerable comprehension.

Nika’s exclamation was not a result of curiosity, but of shocked disbelief. Shocked disbelief that Cole did not understand the gravity of the slight to which he had been subjected. Nika’s eyes narrowed as he watched Cole contentedly nibble his bread (he knew something had upset Nika, but would wait to see if it was something in which Nika wanted to involve him. Both because he was lazy, and because Nika hadn’t approved of the whole mission to try a new butcher’s wares anyway).

And No – Nika wouldn’t involve him. In part because he was already involved, he just didn’t know. Because it wouldn’t be Cole who had been insulted – how, after all, could a Midraeic butcher expect a faithless Ainjir to behave politely and respectably? – it would be Them.

Better that Cole didn’t know it was Them, or he would be reacting much more severely. As always, Cole said nothing, but as if Nika didn’t know Cole had broken another cadet’s nose just last week for some unwise comment (he, too had lain on the bed as if dead (but not because he had been punished for that. He had been punished for some other thing – not, inevitably, for any actual rule he had broken, like sneaking down to the cellars to steal food, but for being in a place he shouldn’t have had access to or some such lesser trespass he was continually committing). No – Cole also had a happy talent for convincing, intimidating, or somehow shaming those whose impudence he corrected into not wanting to admit to the correction, even if such a confession should see him punished for it. He also had a happy talent for not doing things as forthright as smashing someone’s face into the ground for a near-fatal period of time in front of an ollamh in the middle of class.

…Why Nika bothered with and endured the punishments for such correcting idiots he had no idea. It’s not like anyone learned anything – anyone who hadn’t, by now, stopped running their mouth at Nika was never going to – it was just personally satisfying. (And Nika sometimes called Cole a fool!)).

Better that Cole not be involved, anyway. What could he do? Cole didn’t understand, and Nika doubted he ever really would. Even Nika didn’t want to understand. It was incredibly stupid. But then, it felt incredibly stupid that Nika was so compelled to fix the situation (a disturbance in the community was a threat; Midraeic food, in addition to being good, was also some of the only food they could afford). So they were all incredibly stupid together, as a community should be.

“Do you want your sausage?” Cole asked.

In answer, Nika shoved half of it into his mouth in one ferocious bite. With a disappointed frown and delicate noise of discontent, Cole let his head fall back again.

**

“Faer.”

Two weeks later, the time had come. Faer started as his name was called, probably out of surprise and not fear. If there was anyone who didn’t jump when Galen called out his name with purpose, it would be Faer.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t (very wisely) somewhat hesitant in answering. 

“Galen,” Faer said, to the fearsome figure stalking up to him before the gates.

“Come with me,” Galen said.

“Well, such invitations you give!” Faer said, but jovially, shoving his hands in his pockets and falling into step beside Galen as he strode out the gate. “Will this take all day?”

“No,” Galen said. “I need two favors.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the perspective, but Faer almost looked disappointed that these tasks would not take all day.

“The first is very awkward,” Galen admitted.

“More or less awkward than the second?” Faer asked, still cheerful.

“I don’t know yet,” Galen said. He glanced up again at Faer walking beside him. “I don’t know what the second favour is yet. It could be very awkward.”

“Intriguing.”

He waited, but Galen didn’t seem to want to actually ask his favour. Unlike every other Ainjir Galen had ever met, though, he was not inclined to fill silences with chatter. It was probably very smart, but at the moment, Galen had trouble appreciating it.

“I need you to buy something for me,” Galen said. 

This was very serious indeed, and the bounce to Faer’s step departed for a long, sombre stride, which was also slightly annoying since Faer had much longer legs than Galen and it made their pace all funny. But Galen couldn’t complain – almost all the not-rich cadets knew that Faer was the one to ask for purchases outside their means, as his father’s law practice had generated considerable credit among the city merchants for the family. Despite being not at all rich, his reach was, in practice, second only to the most wealthy of the noble cadets. And he wasn’t a dick about it.

“So… like, how expensive? What is it?”

“A sausage.”

Faer stopped. A few moments later, Galen stopped as well. Then a few more moments later, he walked back to where Faer was.

“Is it, like, a very special sausage?”

“No,” Galen said, not certain Faer would understand the nuances of the situation, and slightly embarrassed that he felt compelled to add, “I don’t think it will be better than Servan’s, anyway.”

“But you need me to buy it?” Faer asked. He did not offer to lend Galen the money; he was, in fact, very smart.

“Yes, and it’s far – across the city.” Time was precious – they only ever got a few days of leave, and really only hours in each day.

“Sure,” Faer said, and resumed a position beside Galen, so they could continue walking. “Is this… related to the second favour?”

“Yes.”

“Is it… well, do I need to change, or like…I don’t know…”

“No,” Galen said, after a moment’s thought. “Better to be in uniform I think.”

They took a few more steps in silence.

“Is this going to get me in trouble with Servan?”

Galen scoffed, but because it was Faer, had the decency to look apologetic as he explained. “You’re Ainjir, it’s fine.” He paused, “but go to him next.”

Faer nodded, tension easing. “So, go buy sausages at two places and save one for you? That’s the mission? Honestly, I was going to go to Servan’s anyway. Anything else?”

“No, but don’t go to Servan’s now,” Galen said. “I need to speak with him.”

“Meet up later, then?”

Galen nodded, and all Faer’s cheerfulness returned.

**

A little more than an hour later, Nika sat at one of the high, tiny tables perched just inside the wall of Servan’s open storefront. This part of the wall backed to the tiny alley, in the depths of which Servan and his wife did their slaughtering, carving, grinding, and casing (at least part of this illegally, but that was none of Nika’s business). This half of the front of the shop folded up into an awning – much needed for the sun was bright today – but Nika had chosen the relative privacy of the smaller table and the shelter of the wall. There he drank tea in a leisurely fashion, all the various accoutrement of herb, citrus peel, sugar, the little dishes and spoons and sticks, arrayed before him, pretending (or not having to pretend so hard) to be too tired for much more strenuous activity on the first day of his leave.

Nika never allowed himself to be served all of the accoutrements of Midraeic tea. He also never sat inside the shop – not if he could help it – if there weren’t others with him to force his hand.

Servan knew when the gates opened to let cadets out on leave, so Nika had dallied as to not show up too early. They had passed their usual greetings, which had taken probably a half an hour – relatively brief, but Nika had the excuse of having the much reduced volume of letters from his family meaning there was not much to share that was not awkward, even for the canvassing of a butcher.

Now, Nika waited. Not because Servan was busy – it was not a particularly busy morning, but that didn’t matter, because Nika would always get a second slice of his time. Usually, if he was alone, he tried to leave before the second canvassing and would be caught, taking tiny steps backward out of the shop, having pastries or new medicines or herb bundles or off-cuts stuffed into his hands for at least another ten minutes (God help him if he ran into anything because he would be made to sit to be examined and served more tea (a whole pot!) and Servan’s wife would inevitably emerge and then all the Midraeic ladies would come to offer their opinions of his grievous injuries and really mostly gossip about everyone over his head occasionally clucking at him and telling him to sit and rest like he was an infant and it was a whole extra half-to-full hour).

Staying after of the second canvassing (never quite as long – perhaps only fifteen minutes at the most – and again, only when he was alone, and the social rules reverted back to all Midraeic rules), was an even clearer signal; Servan would present himself again, ready to stay.

“Puer, it is a fine day,” Servan said, bringing down the serving tray shielding his eyes as he moved from sun to shade around the edge of the wall.

This was not a pleasantry (‘ah,’ the voice of his father cautioned, ‘maybe not only, not only, not “not”’) – not only a pleasantry, but also an accusation. It was a fine day, why wasn’t he out enjoying it? It was a fine day, he should be spending it improving himself. It was a fine day, worth thanking God over, why wasn’t he observing while he had the chance?

“It is,” Nika said, but volunteered no more, as Servan had already settled himself into the tall chair across the table. Preoccupied with cleanliness, like a good Midraeic butcher, he kept a second set of pockets, protected by his apron, tied around his waist, from which he now took a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, and which he carefully replaced, making sure he wasn’t sitting on it. 

“Ah,” Servan said knowingly, “you are having a hard time with your lessons?”

This was a bit silly. Servan always clucked sympathetically but never said anything about classes at the Academy, not even that he knew nothing about them – he would say, that was how much nothing he knew! – despite surely having heard enough years’ worth of complaints to be able to sketch the curriculum, if not pass the tests.

“Eha,” Nika said easily, “no more than usual. I know my sermones already, what else should I know?”

“A good boy, fili’s skola,” said Servan.

Platitudes – but then, so had been what Nika said.

“Not all would say so.” Nika said, switching to Midraeic.

“Let them say it to me!” Servan said, switching over himself as he thumped a fist on his chest, then tucked his serving tray under his arm.

“They would, if they were done eating,” Nika said with a deferential smile, “but then, they might not want to.”

“A loyal boy – you warm my heart, you know, in this place, it’s not like your towns – eha, your villages,” he corrected, in deference to the tininess of Nika’s home community. “We have to compete!”

While he was never rude, Nika was – even he had to admit – not usually this polite, which Servan’s self-correction noted. Servan was not fooled by this politeness (cooperation, maybe? Nika would like it termed cooperativeness instead of politeness), either. Of course Servan knew that Cole had visited some other butcher. Of course Nika knew who buttered his bread – or cased his sausages, rather. Truly, even more than a regular butcher, Nika was under Servan’s loving thumb.

“Compete for what?” Nika said. “The Ainjir?”

Servan made a wry face and waggled a finger at Nika, who sipped his tea. “You laugh, but every half-trained fool with a sharp enough knife tries to set up here, in the Capitol, where all the people are!”

“Why? Everybody’s settled, who are they going to take in?”

“Eha, clever boy,” Servan said, seeming to scoot towards the edge of his stool as if he might leave, “you just want to know who the new butcher is.”

“I have the word of God, I want for nothing,” Nika said quickly, “and anyway I can’t know who the new butcher is.”

At this, Servan pushed himself back onto his stool, but Nika took another sip of tea rather than continuing directly. He didn’t even look at Servan. The ‘can’t’ was doing work it could only do in Midraeic, when paired with everything else he did. Nika’s staunch and utter lack of interest in the new butcher – or Servan’s acceptance of such – meant that they could talk about him. Gossip was, after all, forbidden (a claim disputed in the commentaries, as it was not direct speech of the Prophet (obviously a result of the recorder’s hysterical grief (also disputed, several other tenets – some for which the punishment was death [citations of historical events to prove it] – were also so recorded (also disputed, definition needed: what is a tenet?))) look, was any of this really needed when the People exist in a perpetual state of sin? (disputed) Or was gossip inevitable, like sex outside wedlock? (disputed, disputed, disputed, and so on…)

“I only get leave every three months.” Nika set his teacup down. “What should I know, anyway?”

“Well,” Servan said consolingly, “not everyone understands.”

Ah, thought Nika, dully disappointed but not surprised – it was his relationship with Cole.

“It’s a posted schedule,” Nika protested, knowing very well that wasn’t what Servan meant, and also that Servan knew that Nika knew that wasn’t what Servan meant.

“Eha,” Servan said, almost as a grunt, waving away this protest, “everyone knows the cadets.”

“They know all the cadets?” Nika said, brows raised over his teacup. About as close to ‘have you gossiped about me outside of the acceptable radius of your couple hundred customers to the unacceptable radius of the whole city – I am a very private person’ as he could ever get.

Servan raised his shoulders and readjusted the tray under his arm as he made an equivocating gesture. He said, in an (insincere) apologetic voice. “They probably learn more things than they should really know, and think they know more than they really learn.”

“Prophet guide us, our neighbors’ fruit isn’t ours to taste, even if it falls into our hand.” This was, perhaps, the most annoying thing Nika could have possibly said, not only because it was (in context) an intensely vague parable, but because it was, technically, part of the teachings, though it was the kind of part that only a teachers’ son would bother to quote, and only in a bad argument (it wasn’t disputed but ALL of the later commentaries stopped by to make fun of it).

“What should I say?” Servan asked, in that kind of conversationally pleading tone one takes up when they won’t admit to a mistake. “I can’t stop my ears like a rabbit, to sleep.”

See – said Nika to the shadow of his father observing in his head – this is what I mean. Servan was a very good Midraeic butcher. He was the kind of Midraeic butcher that argued with you in your own voice (and he always argued) and put lesson up to lesson like a card player matching suits. But the Prophet willed it, had he gone to Academy instead of Nika he would have excelled. Their butcher back home had been a comparative idiot, and he only had so many families to track and they were all intermarried anyway.

“So they gossip?” Nika said, dropping the word in his best ‘teacher’ voice, making Servan blameless in this insidious practice.

“The Ainjir gossip,” Servan corrected, as if no Midraeic person had ever in their life gossiped. “The Ainjir gossip about all things.”

“What ‘all things’ do they have to gossip about,” Nika said, genuinely disgruntled. Of course, he already knew that (Cole had told him of the things they not just talked about but published, might God be blind). He meant it more as a rhetorical complaint, but Servan only raised his brows and looked away, at the ground.

“Eha! They do not!”

“They do,” said Servan.

“And this is all the way across the city?” said Nika, meaning, of course, only the Midraeic people in the city. It was about sex (and it was only more proof of their godlessness that the Ainjir would gather up, typeset, and print about it. Cole had told him not to worry – it wasn’t that Nika had worried, but he had been certain there was nothing truthful to put in about HIM, at least).

“You know all it takes is one visiting sister and opa,” Servan made a little explosion with his fingers, like a dandelion head bursting in the wind, “all over town.”

“So, what – they believe the little books and gossiping sisters about my business?”

“Child, your business?” Servan shook his head, then tilted it and held out mirrored hands. “Your friend, though?”

This time Nika really was caught by surprise. “Cole?”

“He has a bad reputation,” Servan continued. “It’s not for me to say, but it’s being said, you know.”

“Whose business is that?” Nika asked accusingly. (The answer being, of course, that it was his business, and his business alone. True, Ainjir were always open for discussion, but among the people certain niceties should be observed).

Servan turned his hands out as if to defend himself, then took the tray out from under his arm for a fan. “You’re a nice boy. You’re sacrificing for the people. You could be married ten times over, have twenty little children, and have your own skola, but you have this Ainjir, and, oof, this Ainjir.”

“This Ainjir what?” Nika said angrily, at some point having passed over into just genuinely complaining to his butcher.

“The mind dances and the heart stumbles,” Servan said with a sigh. “You know you’re smart, they know you’re smart, but you wouldn’t be the first! Not even the first with just this one.”

“Oof,” Servan said again, for emphasis, as Nika stewed.

It was a testament to his investment in Nika that Servan waited for him – fanning himself all the while with his serving tray – to get a grip on himself.

Nika, for his part, felt both the gentle, early stab a headache and a ferocious, aching, emptiness in his chest. He rubbed his forehead and tried to ignore both.

“I am not a fool,” Nika said.

“I know that,” Servan said, pointing emphatically at himself, then at Nika. “You know that.” He gestured expansively out with his tray at the city at large. “Them? They only know this boy is no good for you.”

“Eha,” Nika sighed, dropping his hand back to his tea, “no good? What do they know about no good? Isn’t the whole thing no good?”

Servan shrugged with divine complacency. “The holy seek to drown in the ocean of being loved, and loving.”

That was some Ainjir-Midraeic bullshit (it wasn’t, it was a near quote of a very well respected Comidrian poet-theosopher blessed to know the Prophet in visions soon after His death; Nika couldn’t even say it was disputed. It was just… argued about heavily between branches).

Nika grunted, arms folded. “Maybe they should think I’m no good.”

“Never, my child.” Servan laughed, heartily, and slapped Nika on the shoulder as he pushed himself off the high chair. “Even if you were no good, could they admit it?”

Nika smiled as Servan went, waving him off, then leaned back against the wall to rest.

He shouldn’t be so upset. It wasn’t the worst problem.

They thought Cole was a slut.

This was not an issue he had been expecting. The issue he had been expecting was that Servan’s uncanny protection would not withstand public knowledge of his taking up with Cole in the first place. That Nika would be rejected, perhaps not from the whole, but from significant parts of the Midraeic community in the city. It was nigh miraculous to Nika it had lasted at all. Even now his face heated the way it had when he had come to Servan’s knowing that Servan knew.

Because of course Servan would know, eventually. There was no way to hide from a Midraeic butcher. Even with the Academy walls. Not for long, anyway.

And had Nika wanted to?

Maybe. A little. For all it felt like home now, he had hated the whole system of butchers for most of his life. He hated the roundabout words, that his business wasn’t his own, that any little thing became the whole town’s concern (and big things – actual sins – sometimes these fell to the butcher before to the priest, IF they even came to the priest at all (lay your sins at the feet of the Prophet! (the patient face of his father rose before his mind, holding his hands up like Servan had, asking for peace (and HAD Nika laid his sins at the feet of the Prophet? (his face burned even more now)))).

Back home, it would be different. With his siblings behind him, he would have marched to the other butcher and accused him of passing tales of no significance. It would have been a great row; Catillia and Ursula would be delighted. Nothing would be concluded, of course, but he would have had his say – directly, the way he wanted to.

Because then, his mother would have reported on the whole town’s reaction and settled any lingering disputes in quiet teas with neighbours. His father would disapprove of the whole thing, but only say so if things got so that he actually heard about it from someone else. But his father would studiously avoid hearing anything, because he, too, would only want to hear what Nika’s mother would have to say and hope that settled it well before it got to him.

(Would they now, though? Would his family – his siblings – be behind him?)

Servan had done well by him. To a degree second only to his father, Servan grasped and believed in what Nika’s purpose at Academy had been (and what was it now?). He didn’t have to be as supportive of Nika as he had been, but he was, even in the matter of Cole (he wasn’t pleased – nobody would be pleased, would they? – but he understood).

Many things were different for the people of Midras in the city, who lived so close among the Ainjir. Just… Not, apparently, this:

IF Nika was a Good Midraeic Boy, Son of a Teacher, etc (which he was, thanks in no small part to Servan’s patronage)

AND the people Must Accept he was courting Cole (a severe disappointment – they had daughters!),

AND Cole was an Ainjir (less trustworthy at the base of it),

THEN it was clear that the Good Midraeic Boy Nika had been Fooled by the Licentious Ainjir (eha! A familiar tale!).

THEREFORE Cole was an Unfaithful Slut Who Would Break Nika’s Heart (this was Not Allowed because it would be a blow to the pride of the city’s Midraeic people).

In this, Nika was doubly an innocent, because his father was Geronese Midraeic. A teacher, even, whose teaching was, in their kindest estimation, of a tradition they would ascribe to only the most ascetic penitents (ludicrous, and anyway, he had his mother, too (God, they knew fucking everything)). This only made the situation more tragic.

And what could the people do? They couldn’t say anything to Nika – it wasn’t any of their business(!), one didn’t meddle in affairs best left to family(!!) – but not only did Nika have no family here to protect him (!!!) they were under no obligation to the Ainjir.  But, as Ainjir, Cole wasn’t privy to the business of the people so it’s not like they could just talk to him, either. So, Cole was being gently ostracised for his amorality in community affairs.

Honestly, this could have carried on for years without them noticing. Except that Nika wasn’t willing to have his access to Good Food threatened, and thus was interested enough to try to solve the issue.

At least, that was the reason at first. If he and Cole wanted to live on suspicious meat pies on leave, they could.

But this was still a slight against Them.

If Cole and Nika were a Midraeic couple, the people in the city would understand it that way, too. To question Cole’s faithfulness – to pass stories about his reputation in anything but the Most Hushed tones – was to insult Nika. They were insulting his fidelity, insulting his intentions in the relationship, insulting his judgement and partnership, to act as if he would not respond to aspersion cast upon his partner. Nobody would tolerate gossip that labelled their daughter unfaithful, promiscuous, and nobody would expect the one courting her to accept such a thing.

The people should understand that he viewed it that way. They should see it that way.

Because they didn’t get to apply some Midraeic rules and not others to Nika’s relationship. They didn’t get to pick and choose how Midraeic he was, or in what ways. That wasn’t the way It Worked, or it certainly wasn’t the way he was going to allow It to Work.

And, purposefully or not, Servan had given him an idea for how to Make His Point.

#kostas stuff #things that i wrote #stories

[etriva]

Poker Face (1259 words) by fabrega Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt Characters: Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt Additional Tags: Season/Series 03, Bisexuality Summary:

They're talking about Keeley and her new girlfriend when Jamie asks Roy: "D'you ever think about being bi?"

#ted lasso #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy x jamie #things that i wrote

[stephrabig]

Hell yeahhhhhhh

#western #weird west #horror #books #wihm #scary stories #horror tree #things that i wrote #on stolen land

[bluuscreen]

one of the chocolate guys videos appears on your dash. you pause your scrolling to watch it, trying to guess what he’s making because this doesn’t seem to be one you’ve seen before. as the video goes on you get more unnerved and impressed — he seems to be making a whole human being this time, and it’s uncannily realistic. it’s even filled with candied fruit and sweet pastries in place of organs, red velvet cake and a cherry reduction making up flesh and blood beneath the chocolate. but something feels off. the person he’s making seems strangely familiar. upon the final reveal, you know why. amaury guichon has created a perfect replica of you

ETA:

#.txt #chocolate guy #unreality #edit: deleted the other tags they were too harsh #generally though it is a little annoying to have a thing i wrote on my own #based on something entirely different #[ie chocolate guys videos] #constantly compared to a piece of media i’ve never interacted with #just because they apparently share a similar formula #does not mean it’s inspired by/a reference to it #and i’d prefer if this was just taken as the shitpost that it is lol #i know this is the fandom website but also like. it’s my post i’m allowed to be a little peeved

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

#almost wrote the champagne line as ''effervescent'' but legit could not write it without saying ''effervescent like a snail'' #ah tumblr... #writeblr #warm up #idk . having trouble writing rn #ps i don't like to talk about it . it is my medical information. but before you ask. yes this is about being on the spectrum #i really don't like when ppl make my writing about how im [whatever ID]. i want it to ring true for the people who it rings true for #i don't want it to be like ''awwwww look at this person!!! she's the EXCEPTION!!! :)" ..... #no.... not really..... #idk something gross happens whenever i admit to certain conditions and i turn into like inspiration p*rnography #like yes they actually let us use keyboards these days #furthermore i just... dont feel comfortable talking about this part of me. i had too bad of a childhood. adhd is one thing... #this one im like. still coming to terms with. which is like. my own journey. #idk. just please be kind. some things are more private than others. this one feels private to me. #i do not know how to help others w/this . and i do not know how to help myself. i will talk about it if im ever ready. idk if that will #actually ever happen #ty in advance i love u im kissing you we are kissing somewhere on the spectrum

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

#due to the Great Data Decay academics write viciously argumentative articles on which episodes aired in what order #at conferences professors have known to engage in physically violent altercations whilst debating the air date number of household viewers #90% of the couch gags have been lost and there is a billion dollar trade in counterfeit “lost copies” #serious note: i'll be honest i always assumed it was english imperialism that made shakespeare so inescapable in the 19th/20th cent #like his writing should have become obscure at the same level of his contemporaries #but british imperialists needed an ENGLISH LANGUAGE (and BRITISH) writer to venerate #and shakespeare wrote so many damn things that there was a humongous body of work just sitting there waiting to be culturally exploited... #i know it didn't happen like this but i imagine a English Parliament House Committee Member For The Education Of The Masses or something #cartoonishly stumbling over a dusty cobwebbed crate labelled the Complete Works of Shakespeare #and going 'Eureka! this shall make excellent propoganda for fabricating a national identity in a time of great social unrest. #it will be a cornerstone of our elitist educational institutions for centuries to come! long live our decaying empire!' #'what good fortune that this used to be accessible and entertaining to mainstream illiterate audience members... #..but now we can strip that away and make it a difficult & alienating foundation of a Classical Education! just like the latin language :)' #anyway maybe there's no such thing as the 'greatest writer of x language' in ANY language? #maybe there are just different styles and yes levels of expertise and skill but also a high degree of subjectivity #and variance in the way that we as individuals and members of different cultures/time periods experience any work of media #and that's okay! and should be acknowledged!!! and allow us to give ourselves permission to broaden our horizons #and explore the stories of marginalized/underappreciated creators #instead of worshiping the List of Top 10 Best (aka Most Famous) Whatevers Of All Time/A Certain Time Period #anyways things are famous for a reason and that reason has little to do with innate “value” #and much more to do with how it plays into the interests of powerful institutions motivated to influence our shared cultural narratives #so i'm not saying 'stop teaching shakespeare'. but like...maybe classrooms should stop using it as busy work that (by accident or designs) #happens to alienate a large number of students who could otherwise be engaging critically with works that feel more relevant to their world #(by merit of not being 4 centuries old or lacking necessary historical context or requiring untaught translation skills) #and yeah...MAYBE our educational institutions could spend less time/money on shakespeare critical analysis and more on... #...any of thousands of underfunded areas of literary research i literally (pun!) don't know where to begin #oh and p.s. the modern publishing world is in shambles and it would be neat if schoolwork could include modern works? #beautiful complicated socially relevant works of literature are published every year. it's not just the 'classics' that have value #and actually modern publications are probably an easier way for students to learn the basics. since lesson plans don't have to include the #important historical/cultural context many teens need for 20+ year old media (which is older than their entire lived experience fyi)

[regicide1997]

"No more Mr Niceguy!" —Ms Niceguy, coming out as trans

Give me your money:

#flop era #i wrote a thing

[adriles]

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

#book 22 #im verh drunk #hi #greatest hits #not really sure why this one resonated. are u all ok #is everyone just at the shiva #yall need to stop saying you arent gonna eat then in the tags #i love that a lot of you are getting beautiful things out of this #but some of yall need to know i wrote this while incredibly drunk #this isnt meant to be all that deep this is just shitty iliad posting #more comments like this is just judaism. surprise surprise im jewish #but again this isnt about sitting shiva #this is me drunk talking about the last 3 books of the iliad #idk what to tell u man

[caramiaaddio]

all this talk about goncharov but i dont see anybody posting the soundtrack??? like how are you gonna talk about this movie without the music

#goncharov #goncharov 1973 #i cannot fucking believe this is the best thing ive ever composed im so fucking mad #wrote a whole ass composition for a joke and its better than my serious shit lol

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

you’ve been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember.

sure, he had never outwardly called you his girlfriend, but when you were both seven years old, he came up to you. chest heaving slightly from running up and down the hill where he had gotten you a freshly plucked out bouquet of flowers. the roots were still clinging to them and he got dirt all over your hands from forcibly grabbing them and shoving the bouquet in them before you could even form a sentence.

“since you accepted the flowers, you’re mine now.” he mumbled, his little hands tightened into fists at his sides and chubby cheeks a cute shade of pink, staring at you as confidently as he could.

a grin grows on his face when you respond with a simple “okay !” and a bright smile. the grin on his face never disappears even as his mom scolds him for getting you both all dirty.

you were katsuki’s in middle school too, when the boys in class decided to play kiss, marry, kill and he had somehow gotten dragged into it. the girls in your class tried their best to seem uninterested, claiming the boys were being childish, but you noticed how hard some of them were straining their ears trying to hear what the guys were talking about in their own little corner of the room. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious as well.

katsuki was as ruthless as you’d known him to be, choosing to kill any girl that wasn’t to his liking, which ended up being all of them. much to the other boys’ chagrin, claiming he had no taste.

then your name was brought up.

at that, his eyes widened and he turned in his seat to see if you were watching. you had never turned your head away so fast in your life and you were pretty sure you heard something go “crack”.

he clicked his tongue. mumbling something about how stupid the game was before muttering out a “kiss yn, marry yn and kill that other bitch.” before getting up and stomping away, claiming he had to go to the bathroom followed closely by the whoops and hollers of his two friends behind him.

you both made eye contact when he walked out and you think you’ll never forget how red his cheeks were.

you were katsuki’s when he was the one to walk you to and from school everyday, claiming you would somehow get lost without him. you were katsuki’s when he had begrudgingly shoved homemade valentines day chocolates into your arms, mumbling something about how you had been upset nobody had gotten you anything last year, conveniently leaving out the fact he had scared off all the other guys trying to offer you anything.

you were katsuki’s when he grabbed your hand during the winter because he said you’d “end up dying of hypothermia with the way you’re chittering over there.” and you were his when you were the only person he laughed around. loud, genuine laughter that you and only you could squeeze out of him. you were katsuki’s when he randomly kissed you goodnight at your door one night and he’s been doing it ever since, and gets all pouty when you turn away from his kisses to tease him.

“are we dating ?” you had asked him. you’re both in high school now and you’re in his dorm room. your legs are on his lap and he’s got a comfortable grip on your leg, which tightens after he registers your questions “hah?” he looks utterly confused and a little insulted as he looks back at you, his entire face scrunched up in confusion. you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand.

“are we dating ? like—am i your girlfriend.” you say again and katsuki’s face scrunches up even harder. he huffs and looks back at his phone, landing a little smack on your leg still placed in his lap. “ ‘course yer my fuckin’ girlfriend.” he spits out, obviously irritated. then he looks back at you “I haven’t made it obvious ?” he says sarcastically. one of his eyebrows lifted as he pokes at your leg still very much in his lap.

you simply shrug “s’not that. it’s just because you’ve never actually asked me out before, so i was a little confused on where we stood.” you mumble. he stares at you while you speak and he stares a little longer before sighing. then he leans towards you and flicks your forehead.

“ow !”

“dumbass.” he murmurs. there’s a slight pout on his face and his cheeks are light shade of pink when he looks you in the eyes again. he grabs both your cheeks with one hand and smushes them together to push your lips out and presses multiple wet kisses onto them that have you squealing and squirming. his wet lips are pulled into a smirk when he pulls back and you try your best to at least look a little angry, you really do. but it’s useless when he looks at you like that.

“of course you’re my girlfriend” he reiterates. his smirk’s been replaced for something softer, something more sincere as he gazes at you with so much unadulterated affection it makes your head spin a little. “you’ve always been mine.” he says it in a teasing tone and his hand is still smushing your cheeks out and it hurts a little but his eyes are still the same. they’re warm and soft and so, so enamored with you and only you.

when he finally let’s go of your face and pulls you fully into his lap, you realize katsuki’s been yours for as long as you’ve been his.

you smile brightly at him but turn your nose up when he leans in to kiss you again. “i still haven’t heard what i wanna hear though, mr. bakugou.”

he rolls his eyes and pinches at your thigh as he mumbles out a “don’t call me that.” sighing, he looks at you intensely and you suddenly feel very shy.

“will you be my girlfriend, ya shitty girl ?” and he says it as a joke, you both know it is cus his lips are already forming into a smirk the second he finishes his sentence. and you’re pulling at his nose the moment you register it, but you’re both smiling hard. he laughs and you’re sure you’ll never get tired of the sound. “what’s your answer, pretty ?” he asks playfully and you pretend to really think it over just to mess with him, and giggling out a “yes!” when he suddenly pounces on you. flipping you both over and tickling you mercilessly, calling it revenge for you “taking too damn long to answer.”

you’d been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember, and you hope you can be forever.

#just a silly little thing i wrote in record time in the bus #i love him sm yall dont get him like i do #just silly boyfriend katsuki tingz #him n my oc r childhood friends in my canon so thats why i made this #i love my boyfriend #I didn’t know how to end this one either #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x female reader #bakugo x oc

[vilevenom]

This bad boy is dedicated to @em-doods, because her adorable sketches of Hickory and John Dory meandering through the woods 100% are the reason I wrote this. (She also helped push me through a rather rough patch I had while writing the first bit, so a super extra special thank you there!!)

If given the chance I will write Hickory and John Dory getting together in every conceivable fashion. In this fic, they go camping.

Enjoy!!

"I've never been campin'."

"What?!" John stared wide eyed at Hickory, who looked somewhat bashful at his admittance.

"Well, I mean…I've been campin', but not, y'know, camping," Hickory unhelpfully tried to clarify while John Dory continued to stare at him in disbelief. He sighed, scratching at his cheek as he tried to think of a way to better explain himself. "Dickory an' I would need to camp out once in a blue moon, y'know, when we were out on a hunt. But it was never the kinda campin' where you get to roast marshtatoes or go swimmin'. It was just basic survival."

"Well, I can't let that stand," John said, smacking the table they were sat at with gusto, making Hickory jump. "No way. Camping, proper camping, is one of the best experiences in the world! I don't think I can let you go another second without experiencing the wonders of camping."

And that was how Hickory found himself staring out Rhonda's front window as John drove her into wilderness unlike any he'd seen before. The troll kingdoms were beautiful and unique in their own ways, but this place was truly something else. Rhonda ducked under gnarled branches and crawled through twisting vines, with John confidently at her helm, a broad smile on his face as he described to Hickory where he was taking them. The Neverglade trail, apparently, had all of the best camping spots, and he knew just the one that Hickory would enjoy.

Hickory felt like he was going to be sick, though he plastered a pleasant smile onto his face and nodded along every time John glanced at him while he excitedly spoke about where they were headed. It wasn't that Hickory didn't want to go camping with John. Oh, no. It was the exact opposite, really. He'd been looking forward to this trip since John had declared they were going a few days prior. It was the fact that it was just the two of them. Alone. Together. It made Hickory's heart jump into his throat and his palms sweat.

Thinking back on it, Hickory came to realize that he and John Dory had only really known each other for a handful of months. They'd met when Hickory had gone to Pop Village with the intention of visiting Poppy and Branch, only to find the royal couple surrounded by a group of trolls quickly revealed to be their siblings. Swiftly, Hickory had been introduced to all of Branch's brothers, and Poppy's sister, all while beginning to feel a touch overwhelmed by the new mix of personalities. Not quite sure what to say or how to act, Hickory began to flounder, when one of Branch's brothers had tugged him aside with an easy smile.

"We're a lot, huh?"

"I mean, I dunno if I'd say that, exactly," Hickory had started to demure, only to grunt in surprise as John Dory slapped a hand to his back with a guffaw.

"You don't need to be shy, man. We all know we're a lot. Big personalities," John had reassured, sliding his hand up to rest on Hickory's shoulder. "I know you're here to visit with Branch, but how about we get out of here? I happen to know that everyone else will be buggering off here pretty soon, so you'll have a chance for some one on one time with him and Poppy, but probably not for a couple hours. You can show me around town? I assume you've been here before. I've been here for a whopping three days, so I have no idea where anything is."

Hickory hadn't even realized his shoulders had been tense until they began to relax as John spoke to him. He let a slight smile curl his lips and gave a little nod. "Yeah. I can do that," he easily agreed, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops as they began to walk away from the cluster of trolls.

They'd spent the next couple of hours getting to know each other, and, quite frankly, Hickory couldn't help but to be charmed. John Dory was brash and confident in a way that made him laugh, but was also, somehow surprisingly, incredibly kindhearted.

As they were walking through town, a couple of young trollings had dashed in front of them, only for one to trip and fall directly in front of John Dory. Hickory had fully expected John to, perhaps, help the trolling up and for them to continue on their way, but instead he'd crouched down to the child's level to make sure they were okay. When it was revealed that the trolling had a scrape on their knee, John dug into his hair, pulled out a band-aid, and applied it to the injury without batting an eye. Hickory then watched in amusement as John scooped the kid up into his arms and spun around while theatrically wondering where the trolling's friend could have gone. They, of course, had been right behind John, giggling manically as the teal troll continued to spin and pretend he couldn't see them. Finally, he placed the injured child down, and the two all but begged John to go play with them.

"Sorry, I can't. See this guy behind me," John thrust his thumb over his shoulder towards Hickory, who gave them a little wave "He's my tour guide. And I can't just let him go on touring by himself."

The children whined at him while Hickory chuckled at their antics, but John ultimately encouraged them to continue on with their game, which they reluctantly did when it became obvious that John was just this side of too stubborn for them to persuade.

"That was mighty kind of you," Hickory hummed as they began to walk through the village again.

"Hm? Was it? I dunno," John said with a self depreciating little laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, "Just seemed natural to me. But, that probably comes from being the oldest of five. Lots of bumps and scrapes to take care of when they come running to you for comfort."

Hickory decided to side-step the comment about John's brothers going to him, rather than their parents. He was sure there was a story there, but it sounded like one for another time. "So…Yer the oldest brother, huh?"

John snorted, shoving Hickory playfully with an sheepish grin. "Yes. What's it to ya?"

"Not much. Just didn't much figure Branch havin' a silver fox for a siblin'."

"Silver-?! I am NOT that old. Do you see any grey hair here?!" John huffed, puffing out his chest and pulled his goggles up to show off his very teal roots, earning a laugh from Hickory. "If you must know, Branch is about fourteen years younger than me. The rest are all in between."

"Ah, can't remember with yer ancient brain? Ya need help rememberin', old man? I can always go find one of yer brothers, if ya need assistance."

"That is just uncalled for," John sniffed, looking affronted. Hickory worried for a moment that he'd taken a step too far in his teasing, when John snorted and deflated a bit. "I am getting old, aren't I?"

Hickory clicked his tongue, quickly realizing he had hit a nerve, but not the one he'd thought. "John, if I may, an' if my math is right, yer only thirty-eight. That ain't that old," Hickory reassured, offering a warm smile to the teal troll, "Yer only a few years older than I am, an' I certainly ain't old."

"Oh, yeah? And how old is the whipper snapper?" John joked, obviously lightened a bit by Hickory's reassurance.

"Thirty-two."

"Ah, you're between Clay and Floyd," John hummed, though the comment was obviously directed more towards himself.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed easily as they continued to walk through the village, Hickory occasionally pointing out landmarks or buildings he knew, while John Dory made comments here and there about how different the village was from the tree he's grown up in. He also made a point to let Hickory know that he'd obviously need to get another tour through town, what with his poor old memory not being quite what it used to be. Hickory was fairly certain he'd never had such entertaining conversation with another troll.

Eventually, they wandered back to Branch's bunker, where John bid Hickory adieu with a rather ridiculous and dramatic bow before going on his way, while Hickory descended into the bunker to have his intended visit with Branch and Poppy.

Their catching up truthfully didn't get very far before the topic of the royal couple's recent adventure and estranged siblings came up, and Hickory mindlessly blurted out, "So…what's yer brother like?"

"…which one?" Branch said with a snort, arching an eyebrow at the ex-bounty hunter.

"John Dory."

Branch seemed to think for a moment, while Poppy gave Hickory an awkward smile. "He's an obnoxious, self-centered know-it-all."

Hickory blinked, quite taken aback by Branch's opinion of his brother. "Really? I never woulda guessed that by the way he was actin' today…"

"Well, to be honest, he may be my brother, but I don't really know him that well. We haven't seen each other in twenty years, but that's the impression I've gotten of him so far," Branch said with a quiet sigh. "He'll be staying in Pop Village for a while, since Floyd is recovering. Maybe if I give him some time, my opinion will change? But, that's what I've got for now."

Hickory hummed thoughtfully, and decided he would give it some time, as well. He bounced back and forth between Lonesome Flats and Pop Village over the next few months, and never once did John Dory give Hickory the impression of being self-centered, nor did he ever become obnoxious. In fact, he continued to prove the exact opposite. Nearly every time Hickory visited, John was with Branch, Floyd, or both, supporting his younger brothers in whatever they might need. And whenever Hickory made himself known, John offered to make himself scarce so Hickory could visit with Branch unimpeded. Eventually, however, Hickory had to reveal that he'd been intending to visit John the entire time, and that had been something of an awkward chat in and of itself. The sheer surprise that had shown on John's face when Hickory admitted that he wanted to spend more time with John had certainly made his heart twist in an unexpected way.

In the end, the longer Hickory spent with John Dory, the more he seemed to develop a rather inconvenient crush on the teal troll. Especially when he did things as sweet and thoughtful as remembering Hickory had casually mentioned once that he had a soft spot for a particular cupcake made by one particular stand in the market, but he was never early enough to get one. John had presented one to Hickory with a proud little grin on his face the next time the country troll visited. Or the way he obviously thought about Hickory even when they weren't together, as on one occasion when he'd trotted up to Hickory and presented him with a rather fancy looking silver belt buckle emblazoned with intricate little flower patterns. He'd said he'd picked it up in his travels and was going to toss it away, but perhaps Hickory would like it, instead?

Now, most trolls would probably consider such actions to be relatively basic indications of friendship. However, Hickory had had so few friends, or trolls who cared for him (and not a character he and his brother created) that he couldn't help but feel special when John gave him his undivided attention. And he had a sneaking suspicion that John Dory was much the same.

He mentioned the incidents to Poppy and Branch the next time he sat down with them to chat, the former of whom cooed happily at the revelation, while the later gagged quietly.

"I…I think he's got my heart all a flutter. What do I do?" Hickory asked, head in his hands where he sat at Branch's kitchen table. He felt like a little kid, telling his friends about a crush he had on some troll well out of his league. He felt especially foolish that said friend was his crushes younger brother, who was watching him with a wrinkled nose.

"Why are you asking me? At this point, I'm pretty convinced that you know JD better than I do," Branch said with a slight grimace.

"Oh, that's so cute," Poppy gushed, waving her hands at Hickory as he glanced up at her with a long suffering sigh. "Don't give me that look. It is! I've seen you two walking around town together."

"We certainly get along like a house on fire, but I don't know what to do. I haven't done this in a while. Least, not properly," Hickory sighed, slumping onto the table they were sat around.

"I don't know, man. Talk to him about camping? That seems to be one of his favorite things," Branch offered with a shrug. "Maybe that'll help lead the conversation into something?"

And Hickory had, which did indeed lead to this whole escapade in the first place. Perhaps it would allow him the opportunity to talk to the teal troll about his feelings. If he could work up the courage to do so, that is. Especially with the discouraging little voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that if the conversation went south, he was either going to be left in the wilderness on his own, or have a very awkward trip back to Pop Village.

"How much further are we gonna haveta go to get to this mysterious campin' spot a' yers?" Hickory asked, arching an eyebrow as John turned Rhonda down yet another trail.

"Oh, not too much further, I don't think," John hummed with a smile, shooting Hickory a wink that made the ex-bounty hunter need to immediately step away to try and hide the blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

They drove in relative silence for a few more minutes, before John finally pulled Rhonda over, and Hickory managed to calm himself down enough that his cheeks were no longer enflamed.

"Here we are!" John declared, as he spun the drivers seat around to grin widely at Hickory, who offered a slightly mollified one of his own. "Now, grab your gear, we've got a bit of a hike."

"Wait, this isn't where we're campin'?" Hickory asked, watching John pull an overstuffed backpack with a sleeping roll tied to it from atop his loft bed.

"What? No, of course not. You can't get a full and proper camping experience if we're staying in Rhonda. That's, like…'glamping', or whatever. No, if you want a proper camping trip, we gotta hike a bit further in and set up tents!" John exclaimed excitedly, pulling the straps of his bag over his shoulders.

"If ya say so," Hickory said with an awkward chuckle, grabbing his much smaller bag and sleeping roll from where he'd stashed them and following John out of Rhonda.

"Now, you be a good girl," John cooed at Rhonda as Hickory stepped up behind him, "There are lots of berry bushes here, so there's loads to eat. You make sure you're back here in a couple of days, okay?" Hickory watched in amusement as John half wrapped himself around the armadillo bus's face in the closest approximation of a hug as he could get as she churred at him happily.

"Y'sure it's okay t' just leave her here?" Hickory asked as they began to walk away, the ex-bounty hunter shooting Rhonda furtive glances the further away from her they got.

"Oh, yeah. She's a good girl. Even if she's not there when we get back, she usually comes when I call, or we'll just need to wait a day or two when we get back," John reassured, as Hickory watched the energetic bus dart off into some bushes.

"…right."

And so on they went, Hickory diligently following along behind John, until he inevitably got distracted by the massive trees and flora they were hiking past. To the rather unfortunate point where John disappeared beyond a bend before Hickory had even realized he'd been left behind.

"Hey, John, have ya ever-" he'd begun as he turned from staring at a large, drooping orange flower, only to find himself completely alone. "…John?" Hickory tentatively took a few steps forward, glancing this way and that to see if he could spot the teal troll, without luck. "Sugar," he grumbled to himself, unsure if he should proceed forward, or wait to see if John would notice his absence and turn back around to find him.

Just as he turned to sit himself beneath the flower he'd gotten distracted by, a rustling in the bush startled him into pulling a knife from his pocket and brandishing it with a snarl on his face. John had warned him, at one point on their drive here, that wild critters of all shapes and sizes roamed the Neverglades, and that he should be wary of being snuck up on, lest he be eaten. John had said it like it was a joke, but Hickory had noticed the scars John's fur hadn't quite fully grown over. He had no doubt there were plenty of critters who would like nothing more than to get a taste of troll out here, and he was not eager to give them said taste.

So, he stood his ground and waited, until finally John Dory came stumbling out of the brush, leg half tangled in a bramble.

"There you are!" John laughed, shaking the bramble off his leg as Hickory quickly tucked his knife back away, "I turned around to point out some funky looking moss and you were gone."

"Sorry 'bout that. Got caught up admirin' this here flower," Hickory admitted abashedly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.

"No worries, man! Just gotta make sure I keep a better eye on you," John chuckled, reaching out and unexpectedly taking Hickory's hand. The country troll felt his cheeks heat up, but luckily John had turned to start tugging him along down the trail, and so missed it entirely. "Don't want you getting lost on me!"

"No, no. Don't wanna get lost," Hickory muttered mostly to himself, his gaze stuck pretty strictly on their clasped hands now, rather than the gorgeous scenery they were walking past. Occasionally John would point something out to Hickory, which would pull the country trolls gaze up for a short period of time, before inevitably trailing back down to their hands.

John didn't let go until they reached a rocky path that lead up what most creatures would probably consider a small foot hill, but was nearly the equivalent of a mountain to the two trolls. The path wound up along the side of the hill, and was only just wide enough for them to walk up one at a time. Hickory did his best to hide his disappointment as John let him go and began to trek up the hillside.

"C'mon! If we're where I think we are, there's a great spot at the top of the hill where we can stop and have lunch," John said, glancing back at Hickory with a bright grin.

"Alright, I'mma comin'," Hickory chuckled, shifting the pack on his shoulders and following along after John.

The two managed to make it about halfway up the hill when they came across a slightly wider spot on the trail, overlooking a rather picturesque little area of the Neverglades.

"Too bad there's not more of a plateau here," John lamented as Hickory stopped next to him, "This would be a great spot to stop for lunch."

"Yeah. S'real pretty," Hickory hummed, turning to look out at the view.

"Wish I'd brought my camera," John added with a despondent sigh, "But I left it in Rhonda."

"Well, ain't that just lucky for you, then," Hickory said with a smile, reaching over his shoulder into his pack, "Because I just so happen to have brought one along." He pulled a little instant camera out of his bag and handed it to John, who snatched it eagerly.

"Awesome! Say cheese," John said with a grin, holding the camera out in front of the two and snapping a photo. Hickory blinked at the flash that went off, trying to get rid of the little flare in his vision.

"Some warnin' woulda been nice," he groused quietly, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't have gotten such a great candid shot," John hummed, pulling the photo free of the camera and waving it slightly. He snorted once the image developed, holding it out to Hickory. "See? Perfect moment."

Hickory wrinkled his nose at the photo, which showed a happily grinning John and Hickory looking like he was, perhaps, about to sneeze. "Yeah. Real flatterin'," he muttered, reaching for the photo.

"Hey now, nuh-uh," John said quickly, pulling the photo back to hold against his chest, before quickly stuffing it into his hair, "This one's mine."

"Aw, come on, now," Hickory grumped, reaching for John's hair, "We can take a better one. You don't need t' keep that."

"No," John quickly took a step back, while shoving the camera into his hair as well, "I like it. It's mine, and you can't have it."

"Don't be childish, John," Hickory sighed, reaching for the teal trolls hair again as John quickly took another step back and snorted.

"Have you met me? I'm the least childish troll out there."

"Mhmm, you keep tellin' yerself that," Hickory chuckled, taking another step after John, only for both of them to freeze at a rather ominous cracking sound that emanated around them. "What was-" Hickory barely managed to get the words out, before he felt his foot beginning to sink as the path beneath him began to give way, and the sound of tumbling rocks hit his ears.

"Hickory!"

The ex-bounty hunter gasped as his footing slipped, quickly scrambling for John's reaching hands. The teal troll had his hair wrapped around some roots that were sticking out of the side of the hill, anchoring him as he grabbed for Hickory as he began to fall.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," John chanted as Hickory managed to grab hold of him, using his hair to pull them both away from the crumbling section of path. Once they were both on a more stable spot, Hickory opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realized he'd clenched shut, to find himself practically nose to nose with John Dory, both of them panting like they'd just run a mile.

"You okay?" John quietly asked after a beat, grip still tight on Hickory as he stared up at him.

"Bit shaken up, but I think I'll be right as rain here right quick," Hickory murmured back, glad that the adrenaline of his near death experience and lack of breath were more than enough excuse for how dark his cheeks must be from their proximity. If he just moved his head ever so slightly, he could kiss John Dory right then and there.

"Good," John's voice shattered Hickory's momentary daydream, a short pat on his shoulder telling Hickory to move away. Which he did, taking a quick step back to give John space. "I think we're close to the top now. I'd definitely say we earned our lunch."

Hickory let out a little laugh, hoping it didn't come off as nervous or anxious. "Well, you certainly did," he said, following after John, "All I did was nearly fall down the hill."

"Yeah, but you didn't," John said, glancing briefly back at Hickory, "Doesn't that also deserve celebration?"

Hickory smiled to himself as he followed after John, mentally telling his heart to shut up as it did a little summersault in his chest at John's words.

They reached the summit of the hill rather quickly after that, not stopping until they knew they were on completely stable ground, neither wanting to risk a repeat incident.

"Here we go," John sighed as they reached the top, swinging his bag off his back, "This looks like a great spot to stop for a bit."

Hickory let out a little whistle as he also set his bag on the ground, turning in a small circle to take in the views. "It's a mighty nice spot, that's for certain," he hummed, only turning back to John when he heard the tell-tale click of his camera. He snorted a quiet laugh, arching an eyebrow at John as he pulled the photo from the camera and began to wave it in the air. "Whatcha got there?"

"Memories," John stated, a little smile curling his lips as the photo developed.

Hickory felt his heart skip a beat at the look on John's face, before he cleared his throat and stepped over to take a look at the snap shot. It was a bit of an odd angle, obviously taken hastily while Hickory had his back turned, but it was a nice photo all the same. The rolling hills and vast trails stretching out into the distance could be easily seen just past Hickory's shoulder.

"S'not a bad shot," the ex-bounty hunter hummed, reaching for the photo, only to find it disappearing into John's hair to join the previous one.

"Sure is," John said with a cheeky grin, before turning to start pulling a blanket and some food from his bag.

"Cheeky," Hickory laughed, joining John on the blanket once he had it all rolled out.

They ate in relative silence for a bit, simply enjoying each others company and the view, until the camera came back out of John's hair.

"I regret givin' that thing to ya," Hickory snorted after John snapped a photo of him while he was about to take a bite of his sandwich.

"You can't blame me for wanting to document your first camping trip," John said, sticking his tongue out at Hickory, who simply rolled his eyes and continued to eat, "It's a big deal, y'know. You're trying to start fresh, try new things, be a different troll from who you once were. Taking these baby steps, even just going on a camping trip for fun, it's a lot. You said it's something you've never done before, right? You should have something to remember it by."

Hickory stared at John for a long moment, a slow smile working its way across his face. "Why, that's real sweet of you, Johnny." His smile widened into a cheshire grin as as he watched John's cheeks darken at his comment.

"Shut up," John grunted, a smile betraying his grumpy tone as he flicked a small rock at Hickory, who easily dodged it with a laugh.

They finished up their meal while chatting amicably about the trail thus far, with John animatedly regaling Hickory with stories about the first time he came up this way, long before he'd had Rhonda. He admitted it was part of the reason he'd wanted to bring Hickory to this particular spot, as it held a certain amount of nostalgia for him, since it'd been one of the first spots he'd stopped while exploring the trails.

"Ya certainly do got a lot of good memories out here, dontcha?" Hickory hummed as they packed up their bags, a soft little smile on his face as he listened to John hum to himself while retying his bag shut.

"Sure do," John chirped, before pulling the camera from his hair again and walking over to Hickory.

"Aw, what now?" Hickory snorted, somewhat wary of the camera, now that he knew John was going to take every opportunity he could to snap unflattering photos of him.

"Nothing. Come here," John said, turning Hickory so his back was to the view. He opened his mouth to protest as John stole his cowboy hat and set it aside, only to snap it closed as John wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tugged him down into his shoulder. "There. Plenty of warning this time," John chuckled, cheek practically pressed to Hickory's, "Say 'cheese'!" He held the camera up and the flash went off. Hickory blinked to get ride of the afterimage, rubbing at his eye in mild irritation as John pulled the photo from the camera. "Nice," the teal troll hummed, a warm smile curling his lips. After a moment he offered it to Hickory. "You can have this one, if you want."

Hickory took the photo with mild suspicion, knowing full well the caliber of photo John had been taking thus far, only to be pleasantly surprised by what he saw. John was grinning widely in the photo, his arm blocking the lower left corner of the frame, while Hickory looked a little dazed, with a slightly crooked smile on his own face, and his cheek squished against John's. In the background over John's shoulder the spectacular view from the top of the hill could be seen, with the sunlight speckled across the trees at just the right angle.

Hickory was pulled from his admiration of the photo by John chuckling practically in his ear, just over his shoulder, pack already strapped to his back and bouncing on his toes. "You struck speechless by my excellent photography skills?"

"Somethin' like that," Hickory said with a quiet laugh, carefully tucking the photo into the inside pocket of his vest before scooping his hat up from where John had set it and slinging his pack over his shoulder. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The trek down from the hilltop was far less perilous than the trip up had been. To Hickory's great disappointment, John did not take his hand again once they'd reached the bottom, and in what felt like no time at all, John lead them to what he declared would be their camp site. It was a rather sizeable clearing, with bushes and tall grass most of the way around it, with only two trails leading away from it, aside from the one they'd come down to reach it. John explained that one lead to a little lake they could go swimming in, while the other lead further into the Neverglades.

"Alright," John declared, dropping his pack onto the ground with a thump, "Did you bring a tent?"

Hickory flushed, setting his own bag down more gingerly. "'Fraid not. Not gonna lie, I thought we'd be stayin' with Rhonda," the country troll admitted, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "But, it wouldn't be the first time I've slept under the stars, so I'll be just fine."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes as he began to unpack his bag, tossing tent pegs and ropes onto the ground in front of him. "Don't be ridiculous. My tent is plenty big enough for two. Besides, you never know what critter might come across camp in the middle of the night. A tent gives us at least a bit of cover."

"Ah," Hickory's brain froze for a moment, the idea of being tucked up close to John in a tent sending a little shiver down his spine. "Uh, yeah," he cleared his throat, ducking his head so the brim of his hat would hopefully hide the blush that was yet again creeping across his cheeks, "Yeah, that'd be right as rain."

"Good," John grunted, pulling folded up tent poles from his bag, "Well, since that's settled, how about you start setting up a spot for the fire while I put up the tent?"

"Sure thing," Hickory said with a quick nod, turning to wander around the camp site to pick up some stones to mark a space for a small fire pit. He paused and glanced up when he heard the soft, tell-tale sound of a pile of fabric hitting the ground, fully expecting John to have tossed the tent from his bag, ready to offer his help once again, only to bite his tongue at the realization that it was his jacket that John had tossed aside. The teal troll was busy setting up the tent poles, a little frown of concentration on his face while he worked, completely unaware of Hickory staring at him from across the clearing. "Sugar," Hickory breathed, jerking into motion quickly as John glanced at him from where he was working.

"Hey, how about, after this, we go for a swim."

"A swim?" Hickory echoed, tucking a rock into the small collection in his arm while turning to arch an eyebrow at John, only to nearly drop them all at being presented with John leaning against one of the erected tent poles, a little smirk on his face and sweat beading on his brow.

"Yeah! It's kinda humid today, and setting up this tent is making me sweaty. I think a pre-dinner swim would be nice, don't you?" John said with a little laugh, shoving himself off the pole to start gathering the fabric of the tent up from the ground. "Work up a bit of an appetite before we eat."

Hickory swallowed thickly as John tossed the fabric over the tent frame he'd set up, his brain taking a moment to catch up to what was being said to him. "Oh! Yeah! Yeah, that'd be a right fine idea," he agreed, shaking his head quickly to try and get his mind off of the sweaty, half naked troll across from him. "C'mon, Hickory. Get yer act together," he grumbled to himself, walking to a spot he thought would be good for the fire and dropping his collection of rocks.

"I think you might be too close to the tents."

"Sugar, honey an' iced tea!" Hickory exclaimed, whipping his head in John Dory's direction, who grinned sheepishly at him.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to catch you off guard. What's got your head in the clouds, anyway?" John asked, propping his hands on his hips and tilting his head at Hickory, reminding the country troll of a particularly adorable cuddle pup.

"Ah, y'know, just , uh, doin' a mental checklist. Tryin' to remember if I brought my swim gear," Hickory offered with an awkward little laugh. "Sorry. What were ya sayin'?"

"Even if you forgot yours, you can always borrow mine. I don't mind swimming in my regular shorts," John offered with an easy smile, "And I was just saying that I think where you're setting up the fire might be too close to the tents."

Hickory looked between where John had most of the tent set up, barring the tent pegs being hammered into the ground, and the pile of rocks he'd dropped on the ground to find that he was, indeed, just a bit too close. One good breeze in the wrong direction could carry embers onto the fabric. "Oh. Beggin' yer pardon," the country troll apologized quickly, bending to pick the rocks back up, "I really was too lost in my own head just then, wasn't I?"

"Hey, happens to the best of us," John laughed, shrugging a bit. "Just move it a bit over there," he gestured vaguely away from the tent, "And it should be fine. I think I saw a decently sized stick over there, too. We can move it into the clearing to sit on later, by the fire."

Hickory nodded, dropping his rocks where John had gestured. "This whole campin' for fun thing is turnin' out to be a lot like campin' for survival," he noted, arching an amused eyebrow at John who snorted and trotted back over to the tent.

"Set up is always a pain. Same with take down. But all of the in between is great," John shot Hickory a charming smile, completely unaware of how it made the ex-bunty hunters heart flutter, before crouching down to hammer in the tent pegs. "Just you wait!"

"Sounds like a plan," Hickory muttered, though he very much doubted he was heard over the sound of the hammer. Which was probably for the best, as he had to shake himself out of staring after the teal troll once again.

In relative short order, Hickory set up his little circle of rocks while John finished up with the tent pegs. He then shoved his way through the brush surrounding the clearing to see about gathering up some wood for the fire they would be building when they got back from swimming. He deposited his selection of twigs, sticks and bark next to his rock circle once he figured he had enough for the night, just as John finished tying off a large tarp above where he'd finished setting up the tent.

"Y'all set?" Hickory asked, trotting up to John as the teal troll wiped his brow with the back of his hand, dislodging his goggles so they sat askew on his head.

"I think so. We're looking pretty good!" John chirped, grinning up at Hickory.

"I'd say so," Hickory agreed easily with a quiet little laugh, reaching out to fix John's crooked goggles. John looked startled by the gesture, Hickory barely catching a glimpse of a dark flush creeping over John's cheeks before the teal troll turned away from him once his hands dropped away. He took a quick step back, watching as John swiftly moved across the campsite to dig into his bag. Intrigued by the reaction, Hickory made a mental note about it for later.

"Did you bring your trunks?" John's voice snapped Hickory back to reality.

"Pretty sure," Hickory hummed, shuffling over to his bag to dig into it and pull out his swim shorts.

"Great! Then get changed, and we'll head down to the water," John said, staring at Hickory expectantly.

Hickory stared right back, slowly arching an eyebrow at the teal troll. "You gonna stare at me the whole time I'm changin', or just for the first little bit?" He snorted quietly as John's face lit up as he turned on his heel to face away from Hickory. The ex-bounty hunter shook his head with a quiet laugh, setting his hat aside and quickly changing into his swim trunks. He then dug into his bag and pulled out the beach towel he'd packed, draping it over his shoulders as he cleared his throat. "All set. You gonna change, too?"

"Nah," John hummed, glancing at Hickory over his shoulder, though he did pull off his goggles and glove to toss them into the tent. "I'm just gonna go as is. These shorts are already sweaty and dirty, may as well sorta wash 'em by swimming with them on."

"All right," Hickory chuckled, stepping up next to John, "Lead the way, then."

And so John did, after grabbing his own towel from his belongings. The path down to the lake was relatively short and straight forward, but John seemed to take pride in leading Hickory around, so he diligently followed along with an indulgent smile on his face. The lake itself was relatively small, as John had already mentioned, but that didn't make it any less picturesque than the rest of the Neverglades had been thus far. The shores were soft slopes of jutting rock and densely packed dirt, surrounded by drooping trees with their branches and leaves barely grazing the water, causing little ripples every time the wind blew. Early evening sunlight was dappled across the surface of the lake, making it sparkle.

"My," Hickory breathed, almost feeling like he shouldn't be there. Like he was intruding on sacred ground.

"It's real pretty, isn't it?" John hummed quietly next to him, "Almost makes you not want to swim."

Hickory opened his mouth to agree with the sentiment, only to jump slightly as John let out a whoop of a shout while tossing his towel aside, before running towards the water. Hickory couldn't contain his laughter as John jumped from the shore as he reached the waters edge, canon balling into the lake with a large splash.

"Well, that's one way to do it, I s'pose," Hickory chuckled to himself, tossing his towel next to John's. He let out a shout of his own once John surfaced further out into the lake, running and tossing himself into the water with gusto. He surfaced to the sound of John's laughter, followed shortly by a splash of water to the face. "Hey now," he laughed, returning the splash blindly, figuring he'd hit his target based on the sound of John sputtering. He wiped water from his face and grinned at finding John coughing and blinking water from his eyes. "That's what ya get for tryin' a sneak attack," Hickory stated, self satisfied smirk on his face.

"I'll show you sneak attack," John grumbled to himself, before launching himself through the water at Hickory with a yell. Hickory let out a startled shout in response, flailing rather uselessly in the water before John tackled him around the chest and dragged him under the surface.

The two tussled in the water like that for some time, with John using any means necessary to try and catch Hickory off guard as they swam back and forth across the lake, waging war with sweeping splashes. Hickory finally called it quits when John tried to use a handful of slimy lake weeds to retaliate against Hickory for managing to dunk him underwater.

"All right, I'm think I'm done," the country troll sighed, pulling an especially long piece of weed from his hair and tossing it aside.

"Aww, but we haven't even been out here that long," John practically pouted, earning a fond smile form Hickory.

"Never said we had to go back. Just that I think the war is over," Hickory hummed, kicking his feet off the bottom of the lake to float on his back. He watched John continue to pout for a minute out of the corner of his eye, before the teal troll began to swim towards the shore. "Where are ya goin'?" he called, turning to tread water with a small frown on his face.

"If you're done," John called back, walking up onto the shore, running fingers through his water logged locks, "I'm gonna work on my canon balls."

Hickory was quite certain that John had no idea the kind of sight he made as he trotted along the lakeside, looking for a good spot to use as a pseudo-diving board. He kept absently running his fingers though his hair, which supplied a steady supply of water droplets that cascaded down over his torso, which Hickory had to fight with every fiber of his being not to watch as they made their way down to the ground. The country troll had never been so happy to be submerged in water as he was just then, letting himself sink so his nose was barely above the surface as he watched John Dory pause at a particularly large rock and nod to himself. The teal troll climbed up onto it and shot Hickory a winning grin once he was at the top, waving enthusiastically, before letting out a bellow and tossing himself into the water. He was completely, stupidly endearing and Hickory knew that if he didn't say something by the end of this trip, he might just go insane.

John continued his cycle of climbing out of the water and jumping enthusiastically back in for some time, Hickory not even noticing that the sun had began to set with how enraptured he was with watching. That was, until the teal troll finally scooped his towel up from the ground instead of running off to his chosen diving rock.

"Hey, it's getting late," John called out to him, gesturing that he should swim to shore, "We should probably go get started on the fire and make some dinner."

"Oh! Right. Dinner," Hickory muttered to himself, before he began to swim back to shore, shivering as he climbed out of the water and a cool breeze swept across the lake.

"C'mon. We'll get a nice big fire going, and get you toasty warm," John said with an easy smile, handing Hickory his towel.

Hickory bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something stupid like 'Or you could warm me up', and instead murmured a quiet thanks as he took his towel and rubbed at his sopping hair.

"I brought some classic camping food," John hummed as he began to lead the way back up to their campsite, Hickory hot on his heels, "Hotdogs to roast over the fire, and marshtatoes for later!"

"Sounds swell," Hickory said with a little nod, draping his towel over his shoulders as they reached the campsite. "By the by, where did ya say that stick was? The one we could use as a bench near the fire?"

"Right! We should move that first," John said as he snapped his fingers, and pointed towards a patch of grass near the tent.

Moving the stick was only a small struggle when they discovered it was actually much larger than they had anticipated, as part of it was buried in the dirt. Luckily, what Hickory lacked in tenting supplies, he made up for in random assorted other items that John, apparently, neglected to bring along. Such as a hatchet. He made rather quick work of hacking into the stick and cutting off the portion John had indicated would make good seating, and if he happened to flex a bit more than he normally would because he caught John watching out of the corner of his eye, well, who could blame him?

The two of them managed to drag the end of the stick over to the little circle of rocks without much trouble after that, and Hickory promptly dropped himself onto it once it was settled where John thought would be the best spot.

"Gonna need to go for another swim, after that," the ex-bounty hunter joked, kicking his feet out in front of himself as John crouched next to the rocks and began to set up the bits of bark Hickory had gathered.

"If there are enough glow flies in the area we can go for a night swim, if you want," John muttered, half distracted as he struck a match and lit the kindling he'd set up. Gently, he blew into the small pile of bark and twigs until the flames began to grow, a proud little smile on his face as he slowly fed twigs into it until it was large enough that he could put a couple of the larger sticks on. Once it seemed like he thought the fire wouldn't need to be babied further he stood with a pop of his knees and a crack of his back, a low groan leaving him as Hickory winced in sympathy.

"That sounded like it hurt," Hickory commented idly as John dropped onto the stick next to him with a grunt.

"Don't get old," John joked, laughing as Hickory shoved him lightly.

"I'll remind ya, since yer memory's apparently goin', that I'm only a few years younger than ya. Yer knees ain't the only ones that make noise when ya stand up," Hickory said as he rolled his eyes. "Anyhow, d'ya really reckon we could go swimmin' at night? Y'don't think that'd be dangerous, with all the critters roamin' around?"

John shrugged, watching the flames as their fire slowly grew. "I mean, I don't see why not. Like I said, there just needs to be enough glow flies so we can see. The stars out here are pretty bright, but it's better if there are glow flies. They're a really good, obvious, first alert system if something is close by."

"Cause they'll fly away," Hickory hummed with a nod, "Smart."

"Yeah. It's something my dad taught me, a long time ago," John sighed wistfully, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, his gaze distant. Hickory took that as his queue to go and fetch the hotdogs from John's bag, as well as grabbing a couple of sticks from their little stash to spear the hotdogs with.

"Here," Hickory gently nudged John in the shoulder with his own, offering the teal troll one of the sharpened sticks as John visibly blinked himself back into reality.

"Oh! Thanks," John chuckled, gingerly taking the stick from Hickory, "Sorry. Sort of zoned out there. Didn't mean to get so lost in thought."

"It's alright," Hickory said with a small shrug, cutting open the package of hotdogs to spear one on the end of his stick, "Happens to the best of us. Mind if I ask what ya were thinkin' 'about?"

"Just family junk," John offered with a little shrug of his shoulders, taking a hotdog of his own and stabbing it a bit more violently than strictly necessary.

"I assume 'bout yer dad?"

John clicked his tongue, a wry little smile turning the corner of his lips. "Yeah. A bit. More about my brothers, though, I guess. I never did this with any of them," he gestured vaguely at their campsite. "I got to go camping once with my dad, and he taught me loads. But none of my brothers got to. And then things just sort of got crazy out of hand, and I never got to take any of them." He paused, sitting up and shooting Hickory an apologetic smile. "Sorry. This is supposed to be a fun trip, you don't need me babbling about family drama."

"I don't mind," Hickory reassured, gently resting his free hand on John's elbow, "Don't got much family, myself, aside from my older brother, an' that's a whole can a' worms on it's own…But, I don't mind hearin' 'bout other folks family. If ya need someone with a willin' ear, I'm always here."

John turned his head to look at Hickory, his gaze almost searching as his brow furrowed slightly. "That means a lot," he murmured, shifting so he could take the hand on his elbow into his own, entwining their fingers together. "I really…I really like talking to you, Hickory. I know we haven't known each other that long, but you mean a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to me, too, Johnny."

John seemed to think for a moment, watching Hickory intently, before he leaned down to prop his stick between two of the rocks around their fire. He then took Hickory's and did the same with it, before turning sideways on their make-shift bench and taking Hickory's hands in his own. He visibly swallowed, thumbs brushing the backs of Hickory's hands, which sent little shivers up the country's trolls spine.

"You okay, John?" Hickory asked, leaning forward slightly with a concerned frown.

"Can I kiss you?"

It was said so quietly Hickory thought, perhaps, he was hearing things. "Pardon?"

John flushed, his ears drooping slightly as he gave Hickory's hands a little squeeze. "Can I kiss you?" he repeated a little louder, gaze fixed on their hands. "I might've been reading you wrong, but I think…I think you want to kiss me, too? It's okay, if you don't. I won't be offended, and we can pretend this never happened, I just…" He lifted his gaze, letting out a little breath, "I really want to kiss you."

"John Dory," Hickory stated, tugging John's hands closer so the teal troll was forced to lean further towards him, "If ya don't kiss me right this instant, I will be madder than a wet hen."

"Can't have that," John chuckled, before tilting his head and pressing his lips to Hickory's.

It was like pop rocks were poured down Hickory's spine, little tingles igniting what felt like every nerve ending as John shifted closer on their little bench so he could kiss the country troll more deeply. Their hands parted from each other, only to slide into hair and cling to shoulders, earning little shivers and soft sighs each time their lips parted for a moment for air.

"C'mon," John breathed after a time that Hickory's mind could hardly fathom, though the world was distinctly darker than it was before he got lost in John's lips. John stood, a hand outstretched towards Hickory in offering.

Hickory took it without hesitation, letting John lead him to their tent, anticipation twisting in his gut, their dinner and plans of swimming long forgotten.

~

When Hickory woke the next morning, it was to a tent distinctly devoid of John Dory. Groggily, he rubbed at his face as he sat up and looked around, finding what he assumed was John's silhouette on the outside of the tent, puttering around their campsite. He grunted as he shoved away the blankets he'd gotten tangled up in during the night and somehow managed to locate his pants and belt, tugging them on quickly before he stumbled into the morning light.

"Good morning!" John's voice was chipper and loud, making Hickory cringe slightly as he finger combed his hair.

"Mornin'," the country troll drawled, squinting against the sun until he found his hat and tugged it on, letting out a contented little sigh. He turned to find John Dory hovering over the fire, poking at what appeared to be eggs cooking on top of a flat stone. "Yer up mighty early."

"Habit," John said with a shrug, "Once the sun is up, I'm up."

"Disgusting," Hickory snorted, earning a light laugh from John.

"Yeah, well, can't be helped," John hummed, grabbed a large leaf and scooping one of the eggs from the stone onto it with a knife. "Forgot to bring plates, so you're going to have to deal with eating off a leaf with your fingers."

Hickory took the leaf happily, trotting over to their stick bench and sitting down. "I think I can live with that."

"Good, 'cause there wasn't much in terms of other options," John snorted, taking up his own leaf and egg before knocking the flat rock off the fire and walking over to the stick to sit as well.

They ate their breakfast quietly, John staring off into the fire, while Hickory let his eyes drift shut, smiling slightly to himself as he let the early morning sounds of the forest wash over him. He felt peaceful and calm, a warm little ember in his chest growing steadily at the knowledge that the troll his heart chose to beat wildly for was sat next to him and felt the same. Or, so he assumed.

"Hickory," John's quiet but serious tone shattered the tranquility of the forest, and drew Hickory from his revere. He blinked and turned his gaze towards John, who was still staring intently into the fire.

"What is it?"

"About last night…"

Hickory frowned, his posture stiffening at the words John spoke. He had to force his fingers to not tremble around the leaf he held. "What about it?"

"It doesn't-…Look, I know I dragged you all the way out here, and I'm your only way home, so just in case," John rambled, speaking without taking a breath, "It doesn't have to mean anything. We don't…If you felt obligated, I'm sorry. We can pretend nothing happened and go home right now, if you want."

Hickory stared John down, absentmindedly crushing the leaf in his hands. "Ya think I'd feel obligated to sleep with ya, just because we're out in the woods?"

"I mean," John flushed, looking up at Hickory, anxiety clear as day on his face, "…maybe?"

"I would sooner stab any troll that tried somethin' that I didn't want, then go willingly off to their tent," Hickory practically growled, before taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, listening as John shifted and squirmed on the stick next to him. "I ain't mad," he said after a beat, letting out another breath.

"You sound like it."

"Only 'cause you implied I was easy."

"Sorry."

Hickory opened his eyes, taking one last deep breath in, before turning his gaze to John once again, arching an eyebrow at finding the teal troll practically curled in on himself in his seat. "This been buggin' ya for a while?"

"I couldn't sleep," John admitted, and upon closer inspection Hickory could see the bags under John's eyes.

Hickory sighed quietly, letting his irritation slowly seep out of him. He reached out, his heart twisting as John flinched slightly at the movement. "I ain't gonna hurt you," he reassured, gently taking one of John's hands in his own, "I'd never hurt ya. John…I was so happy, last night, when ya said ya wanted to kiss me. I've been wantin' to do that for quite a while. Just didn't quite know how to go about sayin' anythin'. I like you, John Dory. A whole lot."

John's posture loosened as Hickory spoke, his hunched position straightening as he unconsciously leaned in towards the country troll. "Really?" he breathed, and Hickory could almost describe his expression as being starstruck.

"I don't have a tendency to say things I don't mean."

Hickory let a crooked little smile settle on his face as John slowly shifted closer to him, turning slightly so he could wrap both of his hands around Hickory's. "I'm so sorry. For thinking I'd taken advantage of you. For implying you would do anything you didn't feel comfortable with. I just thought that, if you didn't want it, or felt bad for me or something-"

Hickory cut him off with a snort of a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Why on this green earth do you think I would feel bad for ya?"

John blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Uh…'cause I'm a washed up ex-boyband member with a laundry list of family trauma issues and no friends?"

"Who's also mighty handsome, talented, a skilled survivalist, and who seems to be completely blind to the admirers that watch 'im every time he goes to the market?"

"…You think I'm handsome?"

"Not the take away ya should be focusing on here, Johnny," Hickory snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry. Go on."

Hickory chuckled, cupping John's cheek in his free hand. "You think pretty little of yerself, an' that's a real shame. I wish ya could see yerself the way I do."

"And how's that?"

"Like a shootin' star in the night sky. So beautiful an' bright, but burnin' out so fast most folks can't appreciate ya for yer true magnificence," Hickory hummed, enjoying the way John's cheeks darkened, just before he gently tugged the teal troll into a kiss.

They parted with a quiet gasp between the two of them, John looking a bit dazed.

"So…you're my boyfriend now, right?" John asked bluntly after a beat, earning a surprised burst of laughter from Hickory.

"You bet yer bottom dollar, playboy."

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #trolls world tour #trolls hickory #trolls john dory #hickdory #trolls fanfic #things that i wrote

[ekebolou]

A Haunting, pt. 5

Five parts because I'm a wordy bastard.

Also, Gaelic is a living language and it's important not to imply it's some kind of dead or fantastical cultural artifact by using it as a 'fantasy' language, but I used it this time because I want you to be able to drop it into a dictionary and at least have some idea of what's being said, while maintaining the sense that knowing exactly what's being said isn't how the characters are experiencing it and isn't vital to the story. So I did use some Gaelic.

Latin is fair game.

and I dunno, maybe I'm crap at endings.

Cole’s hand squeezed the back of his neck in confirmation, and he lingered just long enough to brush lips against Dominicus’ cheek before the feeling of his body’s nearness dissipated in the dark. Dominicus heard only the slightest shuffling as Cole passed on the plan, and finally, a sliver of light let them all find each other long enough to grasp hands, before being closed off again.

Cole was in the lead as they crept up the stony hall, all the way back to where the path split. They curled like a worm around the fork, Odhrán at the end with the lantern backing them into the rightward path, so their line still ‘faced’ the exit path, Dominicus at the head. Shuffling back to be well-hidden by the split, pressed against the wall, Cole broke away for a moment. Dominicus’s heart pounded unusually fast until he returned, hand searching out hand in the dark.

This time, Dominicus pulled Cole in, but for reasons unclear even to himself, instead of explaining his plan, Dominicus kissed him, before pushing him into second place in line.

Well, it was very dark. That was a good moment for it, wasn’t it? Anyway, Cole had kind of kissed him first, earlier, back in the little cavern. And nobody could see.

Each hand’s grip tightened on the others when the faint glow of distant light broke the shadows’ hold.

The Second Years’ were closer than the light made it seem, because the whisper that broke the quiet was as loud as if directed right into to each of their ears.

“Hsst!”

The light bobbed to a stop, then swept, low and slow, over the ground.

“I didn’t see that the first time we went past.”

“Well, it’s hidden, isn’t it? By the wall.”

There was a pause.

“There should be some light – it’s not that far.”

“I fuckin’ hate this place. It’s still creepy.”

“Maybe they’re not that dumb.”

There was an incredulous snort, but another pause.

“They would have signalled, up the other way, if they had caught them.”

Dominicus’ stomach slightly dropped when he heard a third voice break into this whispered conversation between two.

“I hope this isn’t a waste of fucking time. I’ve got a test tomorrow,” it yawned.

Three was a lot. There were six of the First Years, but surely they were expecting no more than five. The way the Second Years spoke suggested more than one waited at the entrance accessible from the Second Year dorms, which meant their numbers were, at the very least, supposed to be evenly matched. But with the differences in experience, in training, between First and Second Years –  at even numbers, the Second Years outmatched the First Years considerably. If the odds were any worse than that, the First Years’ situation would be dire.

This made Dominicus very angry – and his hand hurt. Anger had tightened his grip, but that wasn’t why; it hurt because Cole had tightened his.

“We made them scared shitless of being caught. I bet they put out the light before they reached the cavern. It’s a good sign.”

“Dim the light,” came the order, and the rosy glow of the Second Years’ light dimmed. Apparently they hadn’t had time or access to a shuttered lantern, and were relying on some kind of drape, because some light remained, definitely more faint, but like the sun in such pervasive darkness.

Dominicus squeezed then pulled his hand free, crouching low, but soon he felt the hand that had been in his rest on his back, hearing the shuffling as Cole crouched beside him. Together, they snuck towards the break in the passage.

“Bring the torch – ‘my enemies’ gifts’ you know,” said one of the Second Years, followed by a dark laugh and the sound of wood scraping against stone, then lightly smacking skin.

The Second Years passed the break. Galen felt for Cole, then felt past him tugging whichever of the four it was in the lead to pass them both, and head back to the entrance. In a passage so narrow they could feel each other go by, the thought that the Second Years’ must have heard them or felt them too was agonizing, but the rosy light, blocked by shifting bodies, continued to sink further into the left hand passage, towards the little cavern.

Again finding Cole’s neck, Dominicus pulled him close, and since he apparently wasn’t going to leave, shared his plan. He felt Cole’s grin against his cheek.

But they had to move quickly, and quietly.

There was, of course, the opening of the path, just before the little chamber, that had so unnerved them – here, the Second Years, if more familiar, would know to completely shroud their light lest they lose the element of surprise. Dominicus, facing the path towards the exit and relying on the echo, started to whisper indistinct Midraeic, breaking in now and then with his most precisely pronounced Ainjir words.

They heard the shuffle of the Second Years to a halt, but the Second Years didn’t turn back – they resumed heading for the cavern. Creeping up the passage behind them, Dominicus continued his whisper, doing his best to make it sound like more than one voice, aided now and then by Cole matching his tone, slightly farther away. And every second word, Dominicus dropped his volume lower, and grew closer to the edge of their dim circle of light, the twisting passages turning their words into a confusing blanket of near-far echoes.

“…hate this fuckin’ place…” one of the Second Years mumbled, followed by a soft thud.

On cue, the group reached the widening edge of the cavern, and the faint light disappeared into darkness.

And this was stupid – Dominicus knew it, it had been stupid when he planned it – but luckily, Cole was at least as stupid as he was. The moment the light disappeared, a voice boomed through the dark:

“FEALLTÓIR”

Though the startle was enough to draw the shade from the light, it all happened too swiftly to do anything but blind the Second Years, who found themselves barrelled over as something crashed into their knees. The fallen lantern smashed in smothering darkness.

The voice had not stopped, either, but continued, wavering between a growl and a shriek

“DÚNMHARFÓIR DUBH, NA DÍCHREIDMHIGH”

The shouts of surprise from the Second Years first gave way to curses, first on the First Years, then on the caverns, and then to each other, to shut up and stop panicking and find the speaker – it had to be one of those little snot-pebbles, those self-satisfied little pipsqueaks. But by the time they had calmed themselves, and regrouped, and at least one of them had slipped and cracked his tailbone and been persuaded to stop cursing the fact, they found themselves alone, in an increasingly silent, velvety darkness.

Now it was a game of who would blink first – they (the First Years) had to be here, there were only so many ways to go – but as the Second Years stilled after bouncing fruitlessly off the walls and each other looking for their prey it grew increasingly cold, and increasingly, it seemed, lonely.

And it was only after total silence had fallen, and even the injured one had quieted his panting breath that they heard a gentle whisper – not quite low, not quite high, bouncing softly down the passages, as if moving from first this one, then that one…

And it was speaking more Old Ainjir.

Dominicus, shivering uncomfortably in the puddle by the wall, could only understand about every other word or so, but he assumed the Second Years knew more. At any rate, it was a lament, a sad and pleading tale, a searching and loving and losing tale. And in the dark, in the quiet, melding with the voice of the waters that murmured through the tunnels, it was chilling.

And so was the water. He meant to be here, thinking if the stumbling Second Years heard a splash when they stepped, they would move away rather than towards it. But still – it was cold as Hell. So it was mostly because he thought he was otherwise going to die of the cold if he stayed in the puddle that Dominicus slowly stood and tried his best to edge his way out, moving with painful slowness to neither stir the water nor barrel into someone, one hand holding the wall to his back and the other outstretched to at least, perhaps, sense the warmth if he was getting too near to anyone....

But it didn’t work that way. His cold hand could feel nothing – Hell, he could hardly feel he still had a hand – yet by sheer uncontrolled fate, the strange blessings of the Prophet to his faithful – his cold hand caressed the jaw of the injured one, who leaned half-over his own knees to try to ease his bruised back.

The Second Year screamed.

The Second Years all screamed.

And they ran.

It was a miracle Dominicus wasn’t trampled, and Cole wasn’t discovered, for which Dominicus promised to be duly thankful if he ever made it out of this freezing hole. Cole had been hiding just past the break, which all of the Second Years at least had the sense to feel for in their desperate scramble to get out of the caverns, so they could take the branch that would lead them back to the dorms.

Dominicus finding him wasn’t as miraculous; once the Second Years passed, Cole stood in the center of the passage that would lead them back the way they had gotten in until Dominicus, wet and shaking, ran into him.

They dared not speak until they found the others and were out of the blasted passages, but kissing was mostly silent, and, ostensibly, warming, so they did do that. At least a little bit.

They shuffled their way carefully down the passage until the faint promise of light turned into the four cadets, bravely but with utmost reluctance, waiting in the same alcove they had been at the start of the night.

“Yes, they lived, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” Murry intoned as Galen and Cole came around the corner again.

“No!” Glasan said, hand held out imperiously, only shaking a little bit, “You heard the fuckin’ thing – we’ve angered it!”

“Glasan,” Taig sighed, running a hand over his face, “That was obviously them.”

“I don’t fuckin’ believe it,” Odhrán said, chewing his free thumb while clutching the lantern as high to his chest as he conceivably could without burning himself. It was not at all clear to anyone what it was, exactly, he didn’t believe, but he also wasn’t moving towards the exit.

“You said we could ask!” Glasan insisted.

“He doesn’t know Old Ainjir!” Odhrán said, pointing to Galen.

“You don’t know Old Ainjir!” Taig said.

“None of us know Old Ainjir!” Glasan cried, “That’s the fuckin’ point!”

Galen looked at Cole. Cole smiled at him, but said nothing.

“We saw the ghost.” Galen muttered. “You are fine. It is… happy.”

“Didn’t sound happy,” Glasan muttered. The four cadets exchanged glances. Then they looked at Cole.

“Don’t look at him,” Galen snapped. “He is useless. Look at me. It was mad at the Second Years for tricking you. You are fine. Let’s go, you have the only light.”

They didn’t move, but at least switched their staring to Galen.

He sighed. “I have… asked the Prophet to reach the spirit and… touch it back, or whatever.”

“…Are you su—”

But before Odhrán could finish, Galen stepped back from the group, clapped a fist to one side of his chest, and drew a line from one shoulder to the other, then a vertical line in the air, then again, with the other fist, in the other direction. The whole time, he muttered continuously in Midraeic, clearly intoning a reference to each one of the four in a sing-song mess of syllables, indicating with each the vertical line gesture.

“If there is any lingering curse, the Prophet protects you. The ghost is appeased. You have touched the dead. By proxy. And are, uh… cleansed.”

The four again exchanged glances, smiling. Odhrán finally lowered the lantern; Glasan let out a theatrical sigh, and patted Murry on the back. In spite of his protests, Taig seemed relieved.

“And if we do not fuck off out of these tunnels I will ask him to curse you and invite the spirits back.”

Now they moved.

And Dominicus let himself shake again – it was ungodly cold being wet in these tunnels. Cole stayed close – Dominicus saw him fingering his coat buttons, loosening them quite slowly, as if contemplating offering it to replace Dominicus’ soaking one – but, of course, that would be a step too far. How? Dominicus wasn’t sure, but was in equal measure sure he would have to refuse it, or possibly insult him, or start a fight. Why?

…There were witnesses. That would be… tender. And all of the sudden, Dominicus shivered violently. Cole grabbed his hands and started to rub them between his own, bringing them up to breathe on them as they slid through the dark after the pathetic gaggle of other cadets.

Once again on the surface, they had to stagger their leaving, so as not create too big a target for any eye that happened to catch them – after all, unlike trespass into forbidden areas, cadets sneaking off into bushes after hours was something only the most hardened officers cared about. They had all been young once, after all, and most of the First Years were still four to a room. It was certainly better for morale not to keep one’s roommates awake.

Galen and Cole, of course, were the last to go.

“I think he was trying to thank you,” Cole said, watching Taig crouch-run (totally unnecessarily) off into the dark towards the First Year dormitories.

“What the fuck kind of thank you is that? He just mumbled about it being a nice night,” Galen said, unable to keep the slight chatter of his teeth down.

“Tits, you’re ashen.”

“Eha! Fuck! What are you doing?” Galen slapped Cole’s hands away from the buttons of his coat.

“You have got to get rid of at least some of those wet clothes – cut it out, you madman. This wool will dry fast if only you get the water out of it, just give me a moment. If you don’t, it’ll be wet all tomorrow, too.”

And, of course, Cole had Galen’s jacket unbuttoned almost the moment Galen stopped getting in his way – he did, after all, have a lot of practice. Galen looked ready to fight about his shirt, but Cole sighed at him – sighed! Like that! At him! Like his mother! – and he got that off, too.

It was, Dominicus had to admit, much warmer under Cole’s jacket.

“Don’t touch my pants,” Dominicus said, watching Cole twist his jacket as if trying to break it. “Be careful with that.”

“I do have other interests, you know. Your pants are your own trouble,” Cole said, “and if anything this will make it more pliable and less scratchy, and you’ll owe me thanks. They make these pieces of shit out the cloth cows wouldn’t tolerate. If I can do the work to break the cloth without pilling you might actually want to thank me, even.”

That was a ridiculous assertion – imagine, him thanking Esras Cole for anything, but still.

Dominicus sat and watched him; above ground it was actually fairly warm, despite nightfall, especially sheltered from the wind. Of course, Cole’s jacket – definitely too big for Galen – was warm from his body, too, and that was a warmth Dominicus had learned to appreciate, even if he wasn’t particularly happy about it. But it wasn’t the warmth that was making him sleepy – not sleepy, perhaps content? It made him sink his back into a deeper curve, let more of the bushes support him despite their poking branches, so he could watch Cole bent over his task, hair shining in the moonlight, sleeves pushed up so every twist of the fabric brought cords of muscle out in his forearms like it forced silver streams of water from the cloth. Absent everything else – absent the Academy, absent their contest, absent the pressure of his faith and the strangeness of the Ainjir – he could watch that for a long time.

But thanking Esras Cole?

“I didn’t know you knew Old Ainjir,” Galen said. It had been clever; he could admit Cole could be clever.

But Cole smiled and it was fake. “I don’t. I know some poetry – some poetry knowing requires some Old Ainjir – and it seemed appropriate.”

Galen wished he had said nothing, or Cole had ignored him and not replied at all, but he didn’t know what to do with that wish. It just sat on him, like a walnut too big for a squirrel’s mouth, and he was the stupid squirrel that wouldn’t let it go.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dispel ghosts,” Cole said, holding up the coat to see his work – thank fuck, Dominicus thought, a little more squeezing to do. “Your Prophet doesn’t do such things.”

“What do you know about it?” Dominicus snapped, and while it was infuriating, at least this time the smile was real. The stupid bastard must have done some reading. Or… listened to him. Possibly.

“What did you say over them?” Cole asked, this time ignoring Dominicus, as he occasionally (very occasionally) should.

“Bread recipe.”

Cole stopped his work and looked at him.

Dominicus shrugged. “Bread recipe. Bonum panem fert. Panis plana allium…”

Cole laughed – loud enough to cause Dominicus to start, but really, what if they got caught? Who cared? He was comfortable. All the leaves were falling in Cole’s jacket, which was warm, and not his, and would fall all over Cole’s floor when he shook it out. It almost made up for the fake smile, that laugh.

It almost made him want the leaves to fall on his floor.

And maybe they would.

At some point, anyway.

“Thank you for coming,” Dominicus said, surprising himself with how painless it was. That had nothing to do with anything. It was only proper, the little Catillia-voice in his head agreed, probably insincerely.

Cole paused his squeezing a second time, a smile that seemed just as surprising passing quickly over his face before he buried it – he buried it so very deep. “You pursue interesting entertainments.”

“Can’t fuck all the time,” Dominicus said.

Cole lost it, this time struggling to smother it. He fell back on his butt, chucking the jacket at Dominicus. “Virtue’s Tits, Galen – how they would love you, if they weren’t so scared of you.”

“What is scary?” Dominicus scowled.

“That face, for one. It was remarkably brave of your little tentmate to get up the balls to ask for your help.”

“Then he is at least as stupid as he is smart.”

 “If you say so,” Cole replied.

“I do,” Galen snapped, infuriated to find himself doubling back to defend his idiot tentmate to his idiot… “Why are you so…?”

But he couldn’t finish that thought either, instead just fiercely bundling his damp jacket in his fists and holding it out in Cole’s direction.

Cole, the absolute bastard, said, “Be careful with that.”

Dominicus flung the bundle aside, shrugged himself out of Cole’s coat, crawled the short distance between him and flung himself into Cole’s lap. Straddling him, Dominicus seized Cole’s shirt and kissed him ferociously. Cole’s hands first found his back, then butt, then hips, drawing him closer.

Just when Cole thought he might drown, Dominicus let the kiss go, yet Cole dragged after him, desperate to drown. “Shit – Galen–”

“Shut up,” Galen said. “You have nothing good to say. Nothing good will come of this.”

Then, completely bafflingly, he kissed Cole again, though more gently, every bit as hungry. This time, he released Cole and stayed close, forehead pressed to forehead, hands cradling Cole’s jaw to keep his face turned up towards him. Cole, who had closed his eyes – like a normal person – was as he found himself so often when they kissed, forced to confront Galen’s gaze fixed on his face, inches away, seeing everything, always seeing everything, probably seeing more than Cole ever wanted anyone to see. It made his chest burn, and he wasn’t sure whether that was good or not but he knew he hated it, and never wanted it to go away.

It was terrifying. Why was it always terrifying and exhilarating and…

“I have made my pants your trouble,” Galen said softly – and indeed, wet as he had been, sitting on Cole like he was, soaked a very warm area in shivery cold. “Now tell me of your other interests, Esras Cole.”

Cole had never been as good a talker, once certain other things were in play, but, if only to defend his own honor, and because it didn’t require much thought, he repeated a few lines of the poem he had used earlier, to help chase their enemies away.

He wanted desperately for Galen to start kissing him again, but instead Galen said, “Tell me what it means.”

For many reasons, not least of which he was very ready to be fucked, thank you, Cole had difficulty bringing up the right words. “It was what it sounded like. Like the story. The lovers parted, unable to find one another, in danger apart.”

“Eha,” Galen smiled, “you do know Old Ainjir.”

“I know poems,” Cole said, quite against his will. “Just enough Old Ainjir to get by with them.”

“Then say more poems,” Galen replied, “and less stupid shit, and you will be easier to like, too.”

Cole might have liked to fight back – or at least defend himself – but Galen was kissing him again. And he would say all the poems he liked, as long as Galen kept kissing him.

#kostas stuff #things that i wrote

[etriva]

"You know, Ikora suggested a state marriage," Zavala says. He and Caiatl are enjoying each other's company over another working dinner, time they've deliberately carved out of their busy schedules for each other. Zavala's statement probably feels like it's out of the blue, but he's been thinking about it a lot since Ikora mentioned it again, about how so many people saw the relationship between him and Caiatl before he did.

"State marriage? You and Ikora?" Caiatl asks, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh, no, no. You and I. She suggested it for us, to solidify the alliance between our peoples."

Caiatl laughs. "Why would I buy the cow when I am getting the milk for free?"

Zavala, who had just taken a sip of tea, does a spit-take. The spray only narrowly misses Caiatl, but the rest of their working dinner is not so lucky.

"Where did you--" Zavala begins, mopping up his mess.

"Valus Forge."

Right, that makes sense, Zavala thinks. But wait, no. "In what context could that possibly have come up?"

"There have been... discussions," Caiatl says carefully, "On my War Council. Given the various splintering Cabal factions, it was suggested that we further strengthen our coalition with the Vanguard. I asked Lord Saladin about it privately, and he... explained the phrase." Seeing the look on Zavala's face, she continues, "He gave me real advice as well, of course. But the human phrase, it stuck with me."

"I can see why it would."

"Although, if I am being honest, I am not entirely sure that I know what a cow is," Caiatl admits. While this is the least surprising thing she's said this whole conversation, it still surprises a laugh out of Zavala. This makes Caiatl laugh too, and then they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

#zaiatl #zavala x caiatl #empress caiatl #caiatl #commander zavala #zavala #destiny 2 #destiny #things that i wrote

[lazylittledragon]

'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel

#stranger things #platonic stobin #mombin™ #robin buckley #steve harrington #i blacked out at 2am last night and wrote like 25 pages #i don't write fic so i do this instead and get to call it my job #incredible #i have No excuse to not finish this one bc i'm not at school anymore #there has to be an existing gay club called passionfruit right #cw pregnancy

[a-rabbit-obsessed-queer]

Aspec men deserve much more respect and recognition in the aspec community than they receive. They often face a different form of aphobia specific to them ("men are naturally sexual they can't be ace" "all men are unromantic that's not unique") this rhetoric is spouted by many, even members of our own community and I hope for a day where that is no longer the case. As an ace and demiro woman (demigirl but that's beside the point) I want to encourage folks to take the time to give the aspec men in their lives support and to the aspec men reading, you are who you say you are no matter what people say and you deserve the world. I'm sorry for the ways in which toxic masculinity has harmed you. You are a valued member of the aspec community and the queer community as a whole. No ace or aro person is broken and neither are you. I'm sorry if anyone has ever told you otherwise.

#asexual #asexuality #ace stuff #actually ace #ace culture #acespec #ace men #aromantic #aro #aro stuff #aro community #arospec #aro men #aspec #aspec stuff #aspec community #aspec culture #ace pride #aro pride #aspec pride #lgbtq+ #lgbtpride #lgbtq rights #lgbtqia #I make a post about this annually on april fifteenth #why you ask? #a couple years back I'd come across some people saying the type of things I mentioned about aspec men #the hateful monstrousness of what they'd said pissed me off and I wrote a rant about it #I've since gone on to make a post once a year on the day I'd made the first #btw last year's really gained quite the traction I still get notifs about it! I'm glad this message has reached so many people this year