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#and nearly 15k likes on my post about that prove I’m right

alfredolover119 · 3 years

Note

I looooove your zukka rec lists! I recently became Avatar-obsessed, never got a chance to watch it as a kid and only just got through it all! I was wondering if you'd consider doing a specifically angst rec list? I love fluffy zukka everything, but sometimes you just gotta have your heart ripped out of your chest and put back in after being thoroughly blended.

thank you! i relate heavily to “recently became Avatar-obsessed” haha. as for the angst list, i sure can try! warning: all of these have happy endings because im a crybaby who can’t read unhappy endings. also, p much all of the fics in the completed section were featured on my other lists but this is specifically the ANGSTY ones >:^)

angsty zukka wips

first, most obviously, feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

-currently at 102k with 19/27 chapters posted; rated teen

-the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. you know. i haven’t actually read it yet because, as previously mentioned, i’m a crybaby and am waiting for it to finish up but, from my understanding, this fic will murder you in a dark alleyway with no remorse. if u like zukka angst, you’ve probably already read this, but just in case!

An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. // But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

-currently 38k with 6/8 chapters posted; rated mature

-holy shit. holy SHIT. modern au based on the “my cat likes my fuckbuddy and i am falling in love” trope(?). maybe it’s just because of how the last chapter ended, but oh my god. this one made me cry. made me want to commit violence. when it’s not angsty as hell, it’s pretty funny, but holy shit. ao3 user nebulastucky please.

It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. // But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

Violet Blossoms and Celestial Objects by @hollypunkers

-currently 15k with 2/? posted. rated teen.

-this is the sequel to blue (an angsty, zukka rewrite of book 2-- go read it if u havent!)! !! this is a book 3 rewrite. only two chapters in and mrs hollypunkers is really abusing the miscommunication tag, as zukka writers seem to enjoy doing. im excited to see how the world and story develops with the changes to the story! you should be too!! its very good! obviously spoilers for blue lmao

Having sided with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se, Zuko not only must navigate his new relationship with Sokka but returning to the Fire Nation as a banished enemy. His own journey of self discovery and personal growth must now coexist alongside the personal struggles of every other member of the Gaang as together they blaze a treacherous path toward an unsure victory against Zuko's own father and nation.

breakable heaven by @fruitysokka

-currently 71k with 9/11 chapters posted. rated teen

-swt ambassador zuko! soon to be chief sokka! fake dating ur best friend to get out of an arranged marriage! what could go wrong!!! i also haven’t read this one ((see: i’m a crybaby who is being hurt by too many zukka wips already)), but it has been hanging out in my marked for later for months. from what i understand, this fic has: angst.

With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? // Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

angsty zukka fics (completed!)

(i’ll put these in wc order)

lighthouse beam by @incorrectzukka

-7k, rated g

-a modern college au!! zuko’s inner-monologue is very angsty in this fic. typical zuko. also per usual, theyre both fucking dorks. they sort themselves out in the end, but not before The Angst. zuko is semi-deaf in this fic and also he has a bit of internalized homophobia.

Sokka’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s smart and makes other people laugh. Zuko has a half-burnt face and a deaf ear. It’s not rocket science. // Or, Zuko falls in love with the boy in his Philosophy class.

This Isn’t My Idea of Fun by @khaleeseas

-9k, explicit

-moon spirit/nwt prince!sokka, no war to be found here! admittedly this isnt THAT angsty but like. the angst IS present. zuko is still the prince. a lovely childhood friends (though they hated each other for a minute haha) to lovers story.

If you asked Zuko, he and Azula saw far too much of Chief Hakoda of the Northern Water Tribe’s children growing up. It wasn’t until they were older, and Azula pointed out that - duh - their families were trying to set them all up, that he realized why. // He was told by his mother to be polite. These people were their friends and allies, and though their nations were as different as they came, harmony between nations was the most important thing. // It wasn’t his fault the Chief’s children were so annoying.

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don’t touch) by @celestialceci

-9k, teen

-modern au! zuko and sokka are college roommates. zuko goes to spend the summer with sokka. again,, not really that angsty but-- its there!! the detail and feeling of Home in this story make me happy. zuko is insecure as hell here too. if ur into that.

Zuko hates his home. He likes college alright, but he likes Sokka even better, his assigned roommate turned best friend. Spending the summer with Sokka will be fun, a welcome change of pace he desperately wants. It probably won't awaken anything in him... right?

the thing about dancing by anodymalion

-9k, teen

-yes. this one right here officer. it makes my heart ache. also trans sokka! which is cool. but the zuko angst in this one. hurts me. not so much relationship angst as it is zuko learning he deserves happiness angst. i’m sure u know The Type.

The first time a attendant spills Zuko’s tea and doesn’t immediately fall to her knees, begging the Fire Lord’s forgiveness, it is not anger but a resounding warmth that fills his chest.

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

-10k, mature

-OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH. boys please learn to communicate im begging u. also zuko.. zuko, dude. as the tags of the fic say, hes “really going through it” in this one. YOUCH. post-canon.

Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second. // Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how. // But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by @meliebee

-18k, teen, major character death

-i lied. THIS is the one, officer. found family.. good mai and zuko and toph friendships.. . ozai escapes prison and tries to overthrow zuko. OBVIOUSLY angst ensues. poor boy. he Does heal in this but it gets worse before it gets better. angst angst angst angst.

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

Anything for You by beersforqueers

-23k, explicit

-istg. this is probably one of my favorite zukka fics. its PAINFUL. modern au where theyre broken up but sokka hasnt told his family yet so zuko goes home with him for kataang wedding. a bit smutty, but the plot oh my god ohgm y fuvk. made me cry the first time i read it. (see: crybaby!me) insert that one picture of the horse with the caption PAIN.

In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. // Things don't go as planned.

Moving Mountains by @thefangirlingdead

-64k, mature

-so. when i read this the first time it was in one sitting. soulmate au set within canon era / the comics, to an extent. soulmates can hear each others thoughts. i will happily say this is slowburn, jesus christ. champagne without the cham.

Soulmates are chosen by the spirits and can hear each other’s thoughts. Sokka thinks it’s cheesy and dumb. Zuko thinks it’s poetic justice that he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t deserve it. Cruel irony is finding out that the prince of the Fire Nation (and the person currently hunting you) is your soulmate.

In the Soft Light by @voidcenturyscholar and @romancedawning

-83k, teen, graphic depictions of violence

-moon spirit!sokka living in the northern water tribe. zuko is sent to the northern water tribe as a cultural liaison. iroh is the fire lord but while he is away taking care of lu ten after his injury ozai steps up. i cannot express how many emotions this fic made me feel. background yuetara. i would almost say found family?? but. anyway. plenty of angst to spare here with a healthy dose of enemies to friends to lovers.

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.

That Midnight Sky by @zukkababey

-103k, teen

-now now now. tms... modern college au where sokka agrees to tutor zuko in physics because zuko has to maintain straight a’s and physics is just not doing it for him. so. thats cool but THEN azula moves in, randomly, with zuko. to hide the fact that sokka is tutoring zuko, they fake date! what could go wrong!! the mutual pining in here combined with the angst... wonderful, tasty. everyone read it rn. also SLOWBURN

In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret. // When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her this definitely isn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend? // Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?

#zukka #zuko #sokka #angst #zukka angst #atla #avatar: the last airbender #fic recs #zukka fic recs

392 notes · View notes

letsjustkeepitbetweenyouandi · 3 years

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Buddie Recs For You

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Don't Take My Sunshine Away

Eddie is in a coma, and Buck blames himself. He should've been there to protect Eddie. The least he can do now is to be there for Christopher, even if Buck doesn't know if he has it in him to be a parent without Eddie. Buck makes Eddie a deal: he'll fight for Christopher in the real world, while Eddie fights to wake up.

Eddie's come a long way since those bleak days in El Paso, listening to his parents comments about how he's not fit to be a father. How Christopher doesn't deserve to be dragged down by the likes of Eddie and Shannon. Eddie thought after moving to LA, he and Chris had escaped that. When he wakes up and finds Buck neck-deep in a legal battle with his parents for custody of Christopher, Eddie must face his own mistakes, and find the confidence to stand up for himself against his absolute worst nightmare.

113k - 21/21 Chapters

Leading with the Left

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

84k - 18/18 Chapters

Six Different Ways To Mark Your Territory

Or "5 times Eddie was a possessive bastard, and Buck (being the oblivious puppy he is) didn't notice. And the one time he couldn’t help but notice."

5k - 6/6 Chapters

Tread Lightly

Healing after a truck bombing, breakup, pulmonary embolism, tsunami and lawsuit is a slow process when you're afraid to talk to your team when it feels like the world is crumbling in on you. Finding your way out of the crippling darkness is a lonely process when you're afraid you'll get benched again for something beyond your control. Learning to love again is a terrifying process when you're not sure your best friend will ever truly forgive you.

151k - 36/36 Chapters

Accidental

It was an accident. He slipped. That doesn't mean he isn't going to take advantage of the opportunity that presents itself.

---- Post Lawsuit, Buck accidentally cuts his arm. He decides that maybe not getting help is best for everyone.

--- TW for suicidal idealization and injury that turns into a suicide attempt.

36k - 14/14 Chapters

Left Unsaid

A woman shows up at the station with a picture of Buck on her phone.

It goes better than last time.

The discovery of a small facebook group full of tsunami survivors rocks station 118.

33k - 7/7 Chapters

If The World Was Ending

Eddie doesn't realise how badly he's destroyed his friendship with Buck until his former partner has swapped stations, changed phone numbers, and moved homes without warning. It's nearly impossible to track Buck down and it's clear that Chris is suffering too. After Eddie is injured on the job, he has to start piecing together the broken pieces of who he is with the help of family and friends. Under those sorts of circumstances, a chance to repair his fragile friendship with Buck might be possible - but it won't be easy when Buck has a new boyfriend.

121k - 25/25 Chapters

Commentary: Right, I've read this one before, and I have conflicted feelings about it... the writing is really good, but well, they deal with Eddie getting amnesia, and there's not a real resolution of him getting al of his memories back, only some of them. Now, for me, that didn't really work out just as I wanted it, but I still liked the story, and like it's written really well with good character driven story and whatnot... So yeah, read at own risk

a leaf falls on loneliness

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

The Space Between Sleep

It all started innocent enough but Buck can no longer deny it.

He has a stalker.

Someone so obsessed with him that they would spend hours and hours following him, unnoticed, taking pictures of him, taking notes of his habits.

But life has been so good lately, and Buck doesn’t want to worry anyone. So he tells no one about it, he can deal with it on his own.

38k - 11/11 Chapters

Reaching In The Dark

It all started innocent enough but Buck can no longer deny it.

He has a stalker.

Someone so obsessed with him that they would spend hours and hours following him, unnoticed, taking pictures of him, taking notes of his habits.

But life has been so good lately, and Buck doesn’t want to worry anyone. So he tells no one about it, he can deal with it on his own.

38k - 11/11 Chapters

Commentary: Okay, so, I think I've read this one before... and I can't remember if it's like quality or what it is... but imma leave it for you to figure out, cause there's a lot of other ones that I wanna read for you to make sure they're good, so... read at own risk!

I'll Be Your Arms, I'll Be Your Steady Satellite

Buck couldn’t believe how quickly the day had turned. When he had been thinking about what came next, this hadn’t been what he expected.

--- The 118 takes a call that changes everything, turning Buck's world upside down and pushing his life in a new direction.

54k - 25/25 Chapters

Commentary: So, this was the one where he had a kid, and like, man, dad!buck was a thing I didn’t know I needed that much, but apparently I did, cause man I love it so much! Also, now I really wanna read more dad!buck kid!fic’s, preferably where like Buddie is together, and they want another kid, and so they decide to do surrogacy with Buck this time, and like, have most of what happens in this fic happen, but with some additions to it that I wished they added, with there being more Christopher being a big brother... anyhow, read it! It’s very good and adorable!!!

Like We Never Loved At All

Prompt: The lawsuit is all a front to protect the team but they don’t know so they treat Buck harshly. Buck bares all of it until Eddie or Bobby just breaks whatever hope he has left. By the time the truth comes out Buck is gone. Fast forward to a year or more later Eddie and Christopher are out with the team when Chris sees Buck. He’s got longer hair and cold eyes but most importantly he’s pushing a baby carriage with twin babies. He’s loving to Chris but frosty towards the team. What happened

22k - 6/6 Chapters

Commentary: Right, read it, and like it’s good, but the writer said herself that she was thinking of continuing it (But she has yet to do so) so though it has an ending to it, it’s not really a resolved one... more like a very very open-ended one... So again, read at your own risk.

Of Bikes and Concussions

Buck gets into an accident on his way to work in the morning, and before he can explain why he's late, he gets thoroughly chewed out and the rest of his day goes way downhill from there.

7k - 1/1 Chapters

Mistletoe

After Buck grabbed the mistletoe and kissed Hen, he decided he wouldn't stop there. After making the rounds, he reaches Eddie, and nothing is ever so easy with that man.

9k - 5/5 Chapters

Rewrite the Stars

Buck is struggling with nightmares weeks after he has returned to work after the tsunami. He is struggling to sleep, and distancing himself from everyone-- most of all, Eddie.

39k - 19/19 Chapters

Bury Your Dead

If you had asked Edward Buckley to describe his parenting style, he would’ve told you that he was a “disciplinarian.”

28k - 13/13

Commentary: Stumbled upon this one, and I’m pretty sure I’ve read it before, it sounds familiar, and as far as I can remember it was rather good!

it’s okay

Finally back with the team, Buck isn’t going to let anything tear him away again. He has to prove his place, his part in the family, even if that means smiling through the pain.

Or, Buck gets hurt on a call and doesn’t tell anyone.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Oh, it has a lot of angst and it will warm your heart!

Broken Silence

combined prompts asking for quiet Buck trying to stay out of everyone's way after the lawsuit--he and Maddie get hurt but he thinks they won't care, because of how they've been treating him lately, so he doesn't say anything, but does request time off, and then comfort ensues!

2k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Listen, I know that it’s shorter than what you usually read, but man, it’s so heartbreaking and gooooooood

Comfort of Strangers

"I don't want anyone else to have your heart, kiss your lips or be in your arms. Because that's my place."

Buck and Eddie grow closer, one kiss at a time.

15k - 15/15 Chapters

5+1 Times People Call Them a Family

5 times someone points out that Eddie, Buck, and Christopher make an adorable family and 1 time where they say they are family.

4k - 6/6 Chapters

Stay

Buck’s voice was soft and hesitant, but full of patience when he finally spoke again. “Did I do something to upset you, Chris? I can leave—”

“No!” Chris whirled on him, a complete shift from the standoffish vibe he had been giving a second ago. The tears he bravely held back finally broke free from his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks from behind his glasses. He shook his head vehemently, the yellow crayon falling to the table. “No, I’m not mad. Please…” His words turned to whimpers, his lip trembling. “Please don’t leave me too.”

31k - 10/10 Chapters

Commentary: This was the one I linked you too on messenger. It has like a minor supernatural element to it, that they don’t warn you about, cause it’ll like spoil it, but it should not make you shy away from it, because it’s a thing that makes the story fits so well together and makes it so heartbreaking and good! So yeah, check it out, and be prepared for the angst!

All Bets are Off

"Enough!" Bobby sighed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously exhausted. "Alright, I'm gonna need everyone to be completely straight with each other from here on out. No more fighting. Okay?"

Hen rolled her eyes but nodded. "Okay Cap."

"I'm always straight." Eddie called defensively.

Bobby's mouth opened to respond when they heard a strangled chain of coughing behind them. When they turned, they saw Chimney, choking on a bagel.

"Oh man…" Chimney coaxed through his wheezing. "That's the biggest lie you ever told."

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

35k - 6/6 Chapters

Commentary: So it’s a 5+1, but it’s a lengthier one than the other one, and it’s so good! It’ll both satisfy your buddie need, but also your Bobby being a father to Buck need!! And like a lot of other good stuff, so yeah, should definitely give this a go

you working?

a request for some jealous!Eddie

Summer is winding down and the 118 is out for one last event at the local park before kids are back at school. Buck attracts attention, Eddie glares at the world, and Hen is honestly having a blast.

4k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: In reality, it’s a part of a series that’s 18k words long, but like 10k of it is a lot of smut, and like some of it’s plot driven, other very much isn’t, and then like the last part is an engagement one, so like, if you’re prepared for the smut, then sure, otherwise, you could just enjoy the first part of it, with a very adorable jealous Eddie Diaz

am I coming out of left field?

5 times it was obvious to literally everyone that Buck and Eddie are in love, and the one (first) time Eddie actually admits it.

3k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Short, but cute, though the last part could be better

Can't Stay Away

“Long story short, your kid is too damn smart," Buck began. "Seriously, Eddie, maybe you need to pull him out of that fancy school and send him back to public school. Dumb him down a bit so he’s easier to handle.”

Buck’s words became so tangled in his anxiety that he couldn’t really process what he was saying. “What the hell are you talking about? Is Chris okay? Is he in trouble?”

“He’s fine. Safe and sound, happy as a clam, but I’d say he is definitely in trouble.”

...

In which Eddie's parents hate Buck, and Christopher is too damn clever.

6k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Oh this is a good one... Like, proper whump and Christopher being the captain of our ship!

There It All Is (What's Always Been Mine)

“You alright Buckaroo?” Hen asked and Buck shrugged. “You’re not worried about hosting this sleepover, are you?”

“I just don’t want to screw this up,” Buck said. “Like, I’m the one who’s not a parent here. Am I really qualified to be in charge of three kids?”

---

Or, when a sleepover becomes the sight of a dangerous emergency, Buck learns what his friends and family knew all along; he’ll do anything for the people he cares about.

8k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: I said I wanted Buck with kids, and I got it. Basically, it’s cute, and I luv buck with kids, and this is a good one.

TO ADD MORE

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A Dive Into My Bookmarks

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light me and i'll burn for you

In which an old friend of Buck's joins the 118, and Eddie does not like him. At all.

31k - 3/3 Chapters

all the stones and kings of old

Edmundo Diaz, King of Calder, does not want a husband.

He had a wife, he has a son. He doesn’t need anyone to try and fill the void in his life Shannon left when she died—he is perfectly content with an empty bed, with Bobby and Athena advising him, with household staff taking care of Christopher when he can’t.

But. Apparently he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

(Theirs is not an auspicious start.)

36k - 14/14 Chapters

Commentary: So this is the AU that I talked about, with it being medieval, and like, something out of Merlin, only I don't really think there's magic in it... i can't remember if there is... So I don't think there is. Anyhow, it's pretty good!

Everybody Knows

The five times someone assumed they're together, and Eddie had to correct them, and the one time it happened and he didn't have to.

14k - 1/1 Chapters

You square all the corners, I straighten the curves

Five times Buck and Eddie pretend they're dating (and one time they don't)

11k - 1/1 Chapters

The things we lost in the fire

Commentary: Now, this is a two part story, I'll add the summary for both parts.

Part 1:

Evan Buckley left his past behind when he left home for good at age 19. But an unexpected phone call on a quiet shift disrupts the life he's built for himself: forcing him to confront his past in order to build a new future.

Part 2:

It was fall at the 118. That was supposed to mean pumpkin spice lattes, Athena’s world-famous pumpkin pie, and the yearly tradition of getting bullied by children at the annual firehouse trick-or-treating.

Instead, it was a disastrous cornucopia of Maddie’s pregnancy, the Buckley parents visiting, and a sexuality crisis for good measure.

Oh, and?

It was wildfire season.

204k - Part1: 10/10 - Part 2: 22/22

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The Ones I Need To Read First

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waiting on the sunrise

When Buck left home, it was a rushed decision. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do, but he had a high school diploma and enough street smarts to make it as far from his father as possible.

It's been nearly ten years since then, and now his father is in town. Buck quickly learns that some things haven't changed. But other things have, and his family will help him realize that.

28k - 10/10 Chapters

Two Weeks Noticed

With Christopher away at camp, Eddie finally has a chance to catch his breath after the hellish year he's had. Meanwhile Buck is still reeling from the sudden reappearance of Abby. On a routine night of movies and pizza, Eddie and Buck discuss some feelings and stumble into something that may just take some time to figure out. Good thing they have two weeks to get a handle on it.

148k - 15/15 Chapters

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

68k - 15/15 Chapters

the weekly bet (but the forever kind)

When the squad bets on how long it will take for Buck and Abby to get back together when she comes back to LA, Eddie is forced to reconsider keeping his feelings for Buck a secret. “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, hiding his face deep in his pillow, even if Buck can’t see him in the dark. “What for?” Leave it to Buck to be confused about something so obvious. “Being you, idiot.” “And again with the name calling,” he answers, content and sleepy. Nights like this, Eddie feels like asking for a miracle. But to the team, it wasn’t a matter of if Abby would take him back, but when. A matter of days.

49k - 9/9 Chapters

Guess We'll Just Have to Adjust

No, Buck does not have a damn crush on Eddie fucking Diaz. No, Buck is not thinking about Eddie's stupid smile or his stupid hair or that obscene sound he made when he pushed the couch the way he did.

Having a crush would be weird. And dumb. And the last thing Buck needs in his already fucked up life.

36k - 12/12 Chapters

Speak Now

Fake Dating AU idea from a tumblr post that got out of hand the minute I started writing.

Eddie lies to Shannon about being in a serious relationship when she wants to re-enter his and Christopher's lives, and of course the person he asks to be his pretend significant other is none other than Evan Buckley, because what are bros for?

25k - 3/3 Chapters

Pack a Bag, Say Goodbye

It wasn’t the first time he felt unwanted. In fact, it was an all too familiar feeling. But the last time he felt this way, he had left. Run off to South America and wherever else he could find himself. But the one thing that had helped him stop feeling lost, the place where he had found himself, had been ripped away from him.

So, why was he still there? What was the point in sticking around? ---

After the lawsuit, Buck is struggling when he realizes how unwanted he is at work. When he makes the decision to leave, how will everyone react? And to what lengths will they go to get Buck back?

61k - 30/30 Chapters

According To You

“He’s gonna’ be fine, they did scans, they said it’s just a scratch--”

“Just a scratch?” Eddie blinks incredulously. “‘Just a scratch’ doesn’t require stitches Evan! God, how could you be so irresponsible?! How the hell were you not watching him at the park?! How could you let him get all the way across the street without you?!”

5k - 2/2 Chapters

When it comes to an end (I will want you to plea)

After the lawsuit, Buck and Eddie are casually sleeping together. Eddie tells himself it doesn't mean anything more than that. An unexpected incident at work brings up something Buck thought he'd long buried behind him and makes Eddie re-evaluate his feelings for his best friend.

26k - 8/8 Chapters

Protector

He didn’t know who he could contact.

Even though it had been months since he had returned to work, there was still an awkwardness that could not be cleansed. There had been a chill at the start, he had been confined to the station, knowing that his decision to reveal personal information to his lawyer had truly been a mistake. Eventually, the team went back to how they once were in the field, working together to save lives without hesitation. They would share meals, the comradery slowly showing once more.

Outside of work, Buck felt alone.

21k - 10/10 Chapters

Helping Hands

Everyone wants Buck to heal from the past year, and they think getting laid will help him. Buck doesn't want to revert back to Buck 1.0, but he also doesn't want his friends to worry about him. So Buck enlists the help of his best friend Eddie in fooling his friends.

55k - 9/9 Chapters

Next To Me

Buck and Eddie started off in different places but eventually they ended up in the same. Eventually, they ended up in love.

Told from Buck and Eddie’s perspectives, a canon-compliant take on Buddie and how they could realistically get together.

Buck had never had a friend like Eddie before. Someone that burrowed under his skin and wrapped around him and became a part of him — like an extra limb, someone he couldn’t do without.

He loved him. Eddie loved him. Eddie was in love with him. With Buck. With his best friend. But it didn’t matter…loving him meant that the only thing that mattered was being able to keep him in any possible way even if that meant that Eddie could never tell him.

93k - 17/17 Chapters

burn 'em up and scatter their remains

A serial killer taunts L.A., targeting first responders. Fear creates tension among the 118, at the station and outside of it, but they’re going to need to come together stronger than ever to survive this.

50k - 25/25 Chapters

Eddie's Not-So-Secret Feelings

5 times Eddie says sweet things about Buck in Spanish so Buck doesn't find out he's in love with him +1 time Eddie realises Buck speaks Spanish and knew all along With special guest stars: Eddie's entire family

17k - 6/6 Chapters

More Than You Know

Eddie's forgiven Buck, and things are back to normal between them. By normal, we of course mean they are in love with each other but haven't confessed to anyone yet. After a bad call, Buck goes over to Eddie's to keep him some company. Except Eddie isn't home. And when Eddie does arrive, he bruised and bloody.

44k - 17/17 Chapters

a christmas miracle

The 118 are discussing their plans for the holidays, but Eddie's plan has Buck reeling with hurt.

38k - 4/4 Chapters

i think i might've inhaled you

How do you tell your best friend that you're actually in love with them? If you're Evan Buckley, you don't.

25k - 2/2 Chapters

You're Standing Here Beside Me

In the beginning, May doesn’t know much about Evan “Buck” Buckley.

Also known as my 1 + 5 + 1 Buck & May sibling fic or "1 time May finds out she has a big brother, 5 times Buck and May are totally siblings and 1 time May and Buck spend time with the rest of their family.

14k - 1/1 Chapters

The 118 Quarantine Chronicles

A look at the 118 during Quarantine. Featuring cooking competitions, tirades against math, parades, idiot boys in love, prank wars, and happiness.

16k - 11/11 Chapters

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger...Right?

Behind the Scenes: What we didn't and should've seen when the screen went black.

Four Times we could've seen so much more Buck Whump, Eddie caring and 118 protectiveness and one time it could've been a lot worse.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

Now when do I start to feel again?

Buck's first call back with the team doesn't go as well as Bobby and Eddie hoped. It leads to Eddie having to make a tough decision. A decision that only gets made after a very emotional day.

Buddie fic, pre-slash, 3x06 Coda, Bobby is clearly not only Buck's emergency contact but also his dad. Re-edited for typos 11/11/19

11k - 2/2 Chapters

Nothing to Lose

A simple trip trip to the bank ends badly when the robbery crew takes a firefighter with them.

Will his family and friends be able to find him before it's late. Will he realise everything he has and fight to get back to them.

Buck always needs to be the hero, even if he doesn't think he is.

Pre-Buddie because I am absolutely not confident writing how that would even unfold. There are hints of it of course because that's basically canon.

15k - 10/10

now that it's over (and i'm sober)

Eddie felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue.

It was a wildly inappropriate thought, given that they really were trying to rescue this girl from a fly-away hot air balloon, running at it with all the speed their legs could muster.

Even digging his heels into the ground and wrapping his hands tightly around one of the drop lines couldn’t stop him from staring slack-jawed at his best friend.

13k - 1/1 Chapters

and the winner is......

When Maddie convinces Buck to join her and the rest of the couples of the 118 on a couples game-show with Eddie as his partner, he does so hesitantly, if only because he knows that by the end of it -- the rest of the team will realize he and Eddie are way more than best friends.

18k - 1/1 Chapters

Drift Away

“You’re getting a call tomorrow from the Chief. You’re being reinstated to active duty. The city gave me the option of transferring you to a different station...I declined.”

“You won’t regret it”

“You might”

He did

18k - 3/3 Chapters

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

Note

Hi so I've read 2 my chem sports AUs recently (All We Need Is Daylight by Helena_Hathaway and Getting the Gold by frankiesin) and I loved them surprisingly a lot because My Chemical Romance and various sports are not something you'd expect go together. I'm wondering if you know of any other sports AUs?

Hi Nonny!

There's a few Sports AUs I know and if you don't mind High School Sports AUs, there's quite a few of those as well!

Sports AUs

All We Need is Daylight by Helena_Hathaway, Frank/Gerard, 240k [WIP], Explicit. Frank is thrust all too suddenly into a new life, one where he's not warmly welcomed. He's the best goddamn hockey player he knows, though, and he's not going to let anyone take that away from him. Or at least, not until his world comes tumbling down.

Getting the Gold by frankiesin, Mikey/Pete, 9k, General Audiences. It's Mikey's first time as an Olympic coach, and he's navigating the new role pretty well until he meets the men's swim coach. Pete's gorgeous, funny, and entertaining as hell, but Mikey's pretty sure he's already got a boyfriend. Also featuring Mikey and Lindsey being Super Bros, and way too many baby athletes in need of supervision.

you wanna get it for free by akamine_chan, Ray/Mikey, 2k, Explicit. Ray's a wrestler, you see...

Pages In Your Passport by inlovewithnight, Mikey/Pete, 15k, Explicit. Pete pursued soccer instead of music. He has a good long run in the game. Then in 2010, he meets this guy in a band.

The Circuit by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 24k, Teen And Up Audiences. In the world of competitive motorcycle racing, nothing is more prestigious than the Grand Circuit Tour. Americans everywhere gather to watch as the twelve best racers in the nation compete for the title of Circuit Champion and $100,000. Gerard Way is no stranger to the race. When he was a teenager, his name was practically legend - but after disappearing without explanation six years ago, he's become little more than a relic of the past. Now, at age twenty-six, Gerard is back on the Circuit with something to prove. It's Frank Iero's first year on the tour, but he's more than ready. No one has seen a kid blast through the ranks so fast since Gerard Way first appeared on the scene a decade ago. With a cocky attitude and the whole country swooning over him, nothing can slow him down. The stakes have never been so high. Welcome to the Fourteenth Annual Grand Circuit Tour.

Down And Dirty by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. Gerard's own beloved cherry-red Harley has pedigree in fucking spades, sure, but she's seen better days, and she just doesn't have the power to outrun Iero and that revolting custom paint job. The matching helmet painted to look like a jack-o-lantern is just too much. An AU wherein the boys are dirty bikers, inspired by the recently-released photos from the Japanese Rolling Stone shoot.

shut up and drive by Trojie, uglowian, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 139k, Teen And Up Audiences. Pete Wentz is the grid girl, Andy Hurley loves him (not like that), and Jared Leto is the bad guy. A.K.A.: the bandom The Fast and the Furious AU that literally no one asked for.

Another Cog In The Murder Machine by ace_writez, Ray/Mikey, 3k [WIP], General Audiences. Mikey's life is set. He's going to get a basketball scholarship for university and then play in the big leagues. All he has to do is get team captain his last year of high school. But he runs into some competition when another good player also tries out. Suddenly he's not so sure he's going to make it. Ray is also trying for a scholarship. As the star quarterback of Belleville High for three years, he's gunning for a fourth. When a situation at home suddenly drags him down, and a certain boy at school catches his eye, he finds himself at a crossroads. Two boys. Two sports. One school, and one story.

Day Seven: Half Dressed - Frerard by LeatherlipsIero, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Mature. Frank reached out his hand for the stranger to shake, "I'm Frank, let me buy you a drink as an apology?" He smiled again when the stranger grabbed his strong and callused hand with his own soft one. "Thank you, but it's my fault, honestly." The strange and pretty man tried to explain but Frank didn't care. "I insist." He said and sent the beautiful stranger a half smirk with half-lidded bedroom eyes, which had the poor boy blushing in seconds. Score.

Olympians by krissykane, Frank/Gerard, 3k, General Audiences. Frank is a shooter who has (somehow) made it to his second Olympic games. There he joins the crowd at a fencing event and sees a certain Team USA fencer for the first time.

Take One For The Team (Excuse Me If I'm Rude) by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), Mikey/Pete, 25k, Explicit. “So, your coach,” Gabe started, change of subject, thank god. “Yeah, what about him?” Mikey asked and glanced over at Pete who was heading towards the coach locker rooms, dragging a net of footballs after him. “You never told me he was hot. I’m pretty sure that’s withholding indispensable information. I should’ve signed up for the soccer team.” He said halfway jokingly, and William scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What, he’s not-“ “He so is. He’s like totally – small and handy,” He made a smooth explanatory hand-motion. “I want to fit him in my pocket.” * (Or; twenty eight scenes about skipping school, douchebag friends, post-college parties and way too much soccer)

Boxer!Fic by iamdali, Frank/Gerard, 47k, Explicit, General Audiences. After med school, Gerard had this idea of what life would be like. The idea now probably seems more than ridiculous, but still it’s what he clung to in order to drag himself through those gruelling morning hours after an all nighter of studying or writing some preposterously long paper on some disease or medical break through or why whatever part of the human body does whatever it does, and what happens when it doesn’t.

It's Not A Side Effect Of The Triple Axel (I'm Thinking It Must Be Love) by mizubyte (b_dsaint), Mikey/Pete, 10k, Teen And Up Audiences. If not for Alicia, Mikey never would have stepped on to the ice, let alone become a figure skater. Now, over 15 years later, Vancouver is Mikey's last chance for Olympic Gold. If he doesn't get distracted by snowboarder Pete Wentz, that is.

If The Skates Don't Fit by halfeatenmoon, Lindsey/Gerard, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Lyn-Z thought her rollerderby team might have a chance of winning some games this year, until she discovered that the new girl she'd recruited to the team was actually a man named Gerard. With a week to go until the first match against their long-time rivals, the Cobras, Lyn-Z and her teammates instead steal one of the Cobras' players - Maja, who has been feeling underappreciated since her side was joined by a new star. Maja's a great player, but it's a challange to learn to skate with a new teammate with only a week to go, especially when she still has some unresolved issues with her old captain.

Split lips hurt by toxic_fox, Frank/Gerard, 769 words, Teen And Up Audiences. Every Thursday, at six o’ clock sharp, frank goes boxing. He loves the adrenaline, the rush he gets from fighting, the blood, the pain. He kind of likes the kind medic as well.

Uppercut by mcrhomo, Frank/Gerard, 3k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Frank is dealing with a lot in his life, including body dysmorphia. When he signs up for a boxing class to lose weight, he meets Gerard, and his whole life is turned several different ways (for better and for worse).

I Believe You're The Enemy (Game On) by imanemostan, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Mature. Constant affairs kept secret by frank and gerard, on different laser tag teams playing against each other. weirdly enough, both their schools have an official laser tag team. How will they ever be able to keep this a secret?

I Just Want You by Bridgetti, Frank/Gerard, 2k, General Audiences. Frank teaches Gerard to skate.

It's All In the Game by happilysurviving (orphan_account), Frank/Gerard, 46k [WIP], Mature. Even jocks have issues. Especially the closeted ones who have friends they have to kick off their football teams. And it gets even worse when they have to kick them off because of a homophobic coach. But of course that's only the beginning as this is Dan Howell and he always has to have larger problems on top of the ones everyone else would believe to be impossible to handle. Having Frank as his best friend certainly doesn't help or the head gossip guru in town as his mother but it could be worse, right? I mean he could be in love with an opposing team's quarterback... Oh wait.

Frerard Football Team AU For Which I Could Not Think of a Title by franks_hands, Frank/Gerard, 5k, Teen And Up Audiences. In the locker room and at practices, Frank was noisy, bordering on obnoxious. He seemed to bounce off the walls sometimes. He didn’t know about personal space.

of cute boys and rollerskates by etselec, Mikey/Pete, 1k, General Audiences. “I’m teaching you how to skate,” Mikey nearly fell as he removed Pete’s arms away from him. He squeezed his hand instead, “so our next date it won’t be as awkward.” “Date?” Pete asked. “Well, we’re holding hands already, aren’t we?” Mikey smiled at him.

Hand in Mine, Into Your Icy Blues by sundrowned, Frank/Gerard, 28k, General Audiences. Gerard is the captain of the hockey team and his overbearing father is the coach. When a new boy named Frank joins the team, Gerard has to decide weather to follow his father's orders to stay away from the boy or choose his own path.

Skating In A Ttutu by runaway_killjoy, Frank/Gerard, 51k, Teens And Up Audiences, Explicit. Frank has to move towns with his mom. He's disheartened to realize that teenagers are judgemental and manipulative no matter where you go. And no one gets judged quite as bad as the ballerina/skater boy who isn't even 5ft. Skater boy AU prompt, Frerard

Powderpuff by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. It isn't like Frank's opposed to powderpuff football. The timing's just kind of bad.

Get Up And Go by inlovewithnight, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey Way: Ultramarathon Runner.

#fic rec list #frank/gerard #mikey/pete #ray/mikey #patrick/mikey/pete #lindsey/gerard #alternate universe #sports

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drarry-with-a-side-of-wolfstar · 5 years

Text

Drarry Fic Recs

My Favourite Drarry fanfictions from the past two years.

Stop All the Clocks (This is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by @firethesound [E, 44K] Major Character Death

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

You open always (petal by petal) by birdsofshore [E, 65K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Lumos by birdsofshore [E, 41K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Touch by @bixgirl1 [E, 44K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

When Harry is referred to a professional cuddler for the soothing power of touch, he’s dubious — even more so when the Cuddler who shows up turns out to be Malfoy. But in the years since the war, Malfoy’s changed, and over the next several days Harry is confronted by how much he still doesn’t know about this new version of his old enemy — and by how much he wants to learn.

Draw a Line From Your Heart To Mine by CreateImagineWrite [T, 40K] Creator Not To Use Archive Warnings

Being Harry Potter's best friend isn't always fame and beating off raving fans. It's also the anxiety of hearing your best mate's been cursed by another Dark Lord, or love potioned by some crazy woman. Or having his boyfriend you knew nothing about turn up on the Burrow's doorstep. Crime/Mystery fic.

My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding Series by QueenyMidas [E, 306K] No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage

Chaos ensues after Harry proposes to Draco on their three-year anniversary. The two must plan a wedding around their fighting friends, warring families, and each other's stubbornness. EWE, post-war, disregarding Remus, Sirius, and Colin's deaths and the fact that gay marriage is not legal in the UK.

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There by @magpiefngrl [E, 16K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest desires come true.

Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Nearly Lost Things, Carefully Tended by SquadOfCats [E, 46K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Three years after the war, Harry is lost, drifting, and feeling left behind. In an effort to get control of his life, he commits to cleaning out Grimmauld Place top-to-bottom and forcing it to be a home, whether it likes it or not. The rotten old house is stuffed full of antiques, and Harry is shocked to discover none other than Draco Malfoy running the local antique shop. Malfoy is polite -- too polite, and Harry soon finds himself with a mission: to annoy and bother Malfoy with the most hideous, absurd antiques he can find. But along the way, Harry comes to appreciate Draco, his work, and the power of connecting to the people who came before him. It's a hard lesson, but Harry learns that if he wants to build a future, he has to reconnect to his past, and Draco might just be the one to help him do it.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound [E, 149K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Kiss the Joy (Until the Sun Rise) by ICMezzo [M, 37K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The Room of Requirement was severely damaged in the war, but not so much that it could not provide for one lost student and another young hero—especially when they needed each other most of all.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood [E, 21K] No Archive Warnings Apply

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Lost Boys by Dahlia_Rose_83 [E, 32K] No Archive Warnings Apply

On his way to meet Voldemort in the forbidden forest, Harry ran into Draco, who kissed him. Now they're both back at Hogwarts for their eighth year and he doesn't really know how to act towards the blond.

Wish Upon a Star (as Dreamers Do) by ICMezzo [M, 27K] No Archive Warnings Apply

There’s plant magic and celestial magic and dark magic and the normal magic that allows Harry to use a spell to clean his socks when Myrtle’s taken up in his laundry room again. Then there are wishes, and dreams, and love, and those are even more magical still. Career Choices: Harry: Hogwarts Consultant; Draco: Wishmaker

At The Crossroads There We’ll Meet by @firethesound [E, 24K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Potter keeps dying; Draco keeps saving him.

Solder by Oakstone730 [E, 34K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Seven years ago, Harry disappeared out of Draco and Scorpius's life without a trace after Harry's addictions destroyed his and Draco's marriage. Now, Harry’s back, and Draco wants to believe he’s changed. But Harry isn’t the only one haunted by the past.

The Devil’s White Knight [E, 64K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

When Harry wakes up in an alternate timeline--a timeline where Voldemort was defeated long before the first war--he discovers everything is different. His parents, his godfather, his friends--and him. Harry must deal with the consequences of who he would have been if he had been raised by his parents, and figure out where he stands with his casual hook up, Draco Malfoy.

Teach Me by @xx-thedarklord-xx [M, 34k] No Archive Warnings Apply

"If you can’t learn Occlumency, then you can’t become an Auror.”

No. All of this couldn’t be for nothing. Harry hadn’t spent so much time proving himself, proving that he was more than just a famous name for all of this to go to shite. “This can’t be the end.”

"I have someone in mind that could teach you if you are willing, but I can't guarantee he will help, especially considering your... past."

"You don't mean Malfoy, do you?"

Running on Air by eleventy7 [T, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

The Light That is Blinding Me by Leontina [E, 22K] No Archive Warnings Apply

After Flourish and Blotts stop stocking the books of Harry’s favourite author, he is directed to a queer bookshop and discovers it’s owned by none other than Draco Malfoy, who has more in common with Harry than either of them realise.

Another Mask Behind You by @letteredlettered [E, 116K] Rape/Non-Con

Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity. Harry unknowingly hires him. And then there is porn, questions about identity, domestic bliss, more porn, and truth as seen through a web of lies. (And then more porn. Seriously, if you don’t want sex scene after sex scene you probably shouldn’t read this. And please read the warnings.)

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin [E, 127K] Graphic Depictions of Violence

When they first meet after the end of the war, Draco doesn't want anything to do with Harry. But as time goes by, Draco's growing love may be the only thing that can save them both, because after a serious accident in the Forbidden Forest, Draco's personality begins to undergo subtle changes. At first, Harry credits this to a new enthusiasm for life. But as the days pass and Draco's behavior becomes more and more mysterious, Harry begins to suspect that something bigger--and darker--is at work.

Any Instrument by dicta_contrion [E, 131K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

And Back Again (Where You Belong) by @eidheann [E, 15K] No Archive Warnings Apply

He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.

And I Know the Spark by @firethesound [E, 15K] Graphic Depictions of Violence

All Draco cares about is keeping Potter alive, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

The Light More Beautiful by @firethesound [E, 81K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him.

Of Wands And Trees by Omi_Ohmy [E, 45K] No Archive Warnings Apply

All Draco wants to do is be a wandmaker, but to do so he needs to understand the soul of trees. Of course, the only man who might be able to help him is the one man who is more of a mystery to him than any tree.

My Little Berserker by @aelys-althea [E, 105K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Eighth year was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right?At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce some additional members to the student body of the fluffier variety. Hagrid doesn't do moderated - where's the fun in that?

Paradigm by dysonrules [M, 57K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry Potter is an Auror and Draco Malfoy is a rentboy, but this is not a typical rentboy story.

Tear Out The Pages by alphinski [T, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco didn't do things by halves. Instead of just walking out on Harry, he left the country. He's back now with a book and half the Wizarding World fawning over him. Harry refuses to join that number.

In The Hand by aideomai [T, 28] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by @bixgirl1 [E, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

The Frisky Furnishings of Malfoy Manor by @writcraft [M, 19K] No Archive Warnings Apply

The course of true love never did run smooth.Or: Hermione has a crafty plan, Harry and Draco are fake boyfriends and wizarding traditions have a lot to answer for. Featuring awkward dates, mince pies, a saucy sofa and a line of sequined house-elf haute couture nobody asked for but got anyway.

The Arrangement by RurouniHime [E, 65K] No Archive Warnings Apply

It's worked for years. Why change it now?

The Truth is in the Rain by aki_hoshi [E, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

It rained, and Harry Potter was his friend. There isn't any hard and fast rule for friendship, or even love. It comes, sometimes as unwanted as the rain, and its effect lingers long after it's gone. Draco struggles to understand why this is all happening to him, and why Potter can't just go bother someone else.

Adventures in Solitude (Are You There Sirius? It’s Me, Draco) by oceaxe [E, 25K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war... and secrets about Harry Potter.

The Standard You Walk Past by @bafflinghaze [E, 46K] No Archive Warnings Apply

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened. That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

I could be wrong, I could be ready by @harryromper [M, 57K] No Archive Warnings Apply

At first Harry wonders if they’ve managed to destroy his vaults and are trying to tell him in the most oblique way possible. But when he turns the page he realises they’ve found a vault. A vault in the name of Lily and James Potter. The parchment trembles a little in Harry’s hand. He takes another gulp of wine. Harry Potter left Britain after the war and didn’t look back. Ten years later, when Gringotts discovers a vault containing his parents’ belongings—including their badly spell-damaged wedding rings—he’s forced to face up to friends and family who’ve grown in ways he could never imagine, a wizarding London rebuilt beyond his expectations, and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the entirely unforeseen problem of Draco Malfoy. Featuring pureblood wizarding traditions, ancestral magic, open mic nights, marriage equality, a diner in Brooklyn, and the return of Fleamont Potter.

I’ll probably keep adding to this list as I find/read more amazing fics!

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ragecandyfics · 5 years

Text

Archanea Week Day 3: Loyal/Heart

Characters: Ogma, Caeda, some Samuel Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, torture Word count: ~15K

Ogma is more than willing to put his life on the line for Princess Caeda; she did save him from a terrible fate, after all. But Caeda doesn’t want anyone’s life to be on the line; that’s why she saved his in the first place.

Notes: Due to Tumblr's ridiculous refusal to show posts with links in them in search results, I’m going to paste the whole thing here. Due to Tumblr’s inability to keep my formatting, italics and bold won’t be preserved, and, due to Tumblr mobiles disregard of read mores, mobile users are in for lots of scrolling. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll put the AO3 link in the notes for those who want to see the fic in its intended format.

Loyal

Ogma wasn’t a reckless fighter by any means. He wasn’t quite so cautious and guarded as many of the younger soldiers, either, but that was only because he had years of experience behind him and could usually judge danger very accurately. Besides, with his skill level, he could afford to throw some caution to the wind now and again. He rarely did, for fear of incurring Princess Caeda’s wrath―but he could, theoretically, afford to.

When he spotted the archer nocking an arrow towards the sky, though, he didn’t stop to think about it. The fear of his lady’s anger; his own instincts he’d honed over the years; the swarms of Macedonian soldiers around him―none of it even registered. Ogma moved. He plowed through their ranks, weaving between hulking suits of ebon armor and flashing lances that nipped at his heels, and the lucky few enemies who reacted quickly enough to step in front of him were only met with the edge of his sword.

By the time the archer heard his fellows’ screams and glanced away from the pegasus he’d been about to shoot down, his head was already toppling off his shoulders.

There. One less archer; one less potential threat.

Only then did Ogma stop to consider the situation. And he quickly came to the conclusion that, having accomplished his goal, he was now essentially trapped behind enemy lines, completely surrounded, and still riding a wave of adrenaline that made his hands shake and his vision go dark around the edges.

‘Princess Caeda is going to kill me,’ he found himself thinking as the Macedonians broke out of their stupor and turned their weapons towards him. ‘Or,’ he amended after a moment, ‘she’ll kill my ghost.’

Physically impossible, but she would find a way.

Then the soldiers fell upon him in a confused flurry of steel, and Ogma could do nothing but drop flat to the ground. One weapon whistled over his head―he couldn’t see it, but it sounded like an axe―and he sent it flying with a deft twist of his sword, clearing up just enough space to get his feet back underneath him.

Seeing little choice, he took three haphazard stabs at the soldiers nearest to him in quick succession, still crouching under the wild singing of various weapons overhead. All three men hit the ground, and he heard a fourth man scream as―Ogma risked a glance to check―the pinwheeling axe from earlier caught him in the shoulder, sending him stumbling into the mage behind him. Ah: a rare stroke of luck. Taking advantage of the brief confusion, Ogma rolled forward, barely evading what would’ve been a fatal stab to the neck, and skewered both the grunt and mage at once.

He allowed himself exactly half a second to marvel at the quality of his newest sword. Not many blades could pierce two bodies in one go, even with Ogma’s considerable strength behind them. Then he sprung back onto his feet, knocking aside a clumsy sword slash, and the fight began in earnest.

After that, he didn’t bother keeping tabs on each individual attack. The way he moved was mostly instinct, combined with some simple on-the-fly assessments―those halberdiers are a real problem; I should take care of those next. This swordmaster has no idea what he’s doing, so it’s probably safe to leave him alive for now. That archer might decide to go after Princess Caeda―there we go. Not anymore, he won’t. It was a tried and tested formula that he’d developed back in the gladiator days, and it had yet to fail him.

(But there was, of course, a first time for everything.)

Ogma couldn’t identify the attack which finally broke through his defenses. That was the nature of being attacked from behind: you either noticed it beforehand or you just wondered where that sudden stabbing pain had come from.

Whatever kind of wound it was, it hurt, and Ogma faltered, letting out a sort of choked growl that fell just short of a shout. Then something jostled inside of his newly-injured shoulder―the weapon hadn’t yet been removed, he supposed―sword? Axe? Too shallow to be a lance; too much movement to be an arrow―

He barely even realized that his own legs had buckled underneath him (the traitors), but that was definitely dirt beneath his knees. And a quick, bleary-eyed glance proved that, as he’d suspected, he was still completely surrounded. A dozen soldiers on their feet versus a wounded mercenary on his knees. It was a fool’s wager.

With one last burst of adrenaline, Ogma buried his sword up to the hilt in the closest target―some poor chump’s thigh―and then the weapon in his back twisted very deliberately and Ogma lost his grip, both palms hitting the ground.

Belatedly, he snarled in pain, fingers gouging into the dirt. The Macedonians tightened around him as if he wasn’t already hemmed in, hastily dragging away the swordsman he’d injured―and, with him, Ogma’s sword, still embedded in his leg. Even if he’d managed to keep his grip on the damn thing, he still would have been done for, but the added helplessness of being disarmed was enough to make his throat constrict in an uncharacteristic moment of panic.

‘Princess Caeda is going to turn to the dark arts,’ he found himself thinking nigh hysterically (and rather incongruously, given the circumstances). ‘Princess Caeda is going to defect, and have Gharnef teach her forbidden magic, and bring me back to life, solely for the purpose of killing me again, but slower.’

Then, as he began to lose coherence, his muddled brain added, somewhat more rationally and much more distressingly:

‘Caeda’s gonna cry.’

The weapon in his shoulder drove down until his vision went white and his ears rang, and Ogma screamed, slamming against the ground as his limbs crumpled uselessly underneath him. Blade scraped bone, pushing through flesh long since torn asunder, and a jolt of white-hot agony vibrated through his entire being, tearing another choked gasp from his lips.

He was dead. He was a corpse. His mind was already severed from his body, hovering on a separate plane of existence as he waited for his chance to pass into the afterlife. Waiting to see whether he would be admitted into paradise or consigned to a much less pleasant fate.

Perhaps, he thought, the gods would judge him kindly for his meager years of service to Princess Caeda. Surely, if they even spared a glance at his soul, they would find it sorely wanting for virtue. But perhaps the Princess’ overabundance of virtue would reflect well on him. She may yet manage to save him a third time.

Agony―a sudden burst of it, centered around his shoulder―and Ogma’s mind writhed even as his body remained inert and lifeless. No such luck, then―he’d already been found lacking. Understandably so, perhaps. Caeda’s command had been the best part of his life but, ultimately, the shortest part as well. It wouldn’t hold much weight in the value of his soul, even though it felt as if his life hadn’t truly begun until he’d looked up through bloodied eyelashes and seen a puny girl with deep blue hair standing over him.

Another jolt of pain, followed by the strange sensation of being moved. Ogma wondered why he could still feel his body if his soul had already abandoned ship. An incomprehensible cacophony of unintelligible noises wormed its way into his ears, overpowering the shrill ring that hadn’t yet faded, and he surprised himself by physically squirming. Was this Hell? Did the damned have bodies that they could move? Perhaps his corpse was simply still twitching.

He didn’t notice that the pain in his shoulder had receded somewhat until it came back again full-force. A sharp jab against his chest was all it took to jostle the wound, and he surprised himself again by groaning out loud. If this was Hell, then it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected―yet―but even this was probably enough to merit the title of “damnation”.

Another jab, another groan, and another squirm. Ogma wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know what was prodding him or not. It was too blunt to be a trident like the ones that demons traditionally carried, and, other than that, he didn’t have even a guess. But, when it pressed insistently into his chest, he decided that he probably had no choice―this would continue until he relented and looked.

With monumental effort, Ogma managed to pry his eyes open. He could barely see anyway, the light nearly blinding him, his vision blurry and unstable, but something about the few vague, pulsing colors he could make out gave him pause.

Finally, the world came into a shaky sort of focus. The colors solidified into something more tangible―shapes; figures; wings?―and Ogma wondered if this was an angel coming to spirit him away. Then the image sharpened―blue hair; red clothing; white wings―not on her, but a pegasus―and Ogma thought, ‘Oh, I was half right.’

Princess Caeda―it could be no other―was hovering over him, mounted atop Tempest, but they weren’t airborne. The butt of her wing spear was pressed lightly against his chest, pushing his wound into the ground, which explained why it hurt like hellfire. In her other hand was a blood-crusted axe.

Briefly, Ogma entertained the idea that Caeda had, in fact, resurrected him so that she could kill him herself. Then she tossed the axe aside, urged Tempest into a sharp turn, and thrust out her hand in a desperate grab for his arm. Ogma couldn’t really hear what she was saying, but he definitely saw his name cross her lips as she leaned further out of the saddle, still too far off the ground to reach him.

He wasn’t sure whether to classify the feeling that overtook him as nostalgia or deja vu, but, either way, it was intense enough to drive some of the cotton from his skull. Staring up at Princess Caeda, gritting his teeth against wave after wave of pain, trying to piece together the fact that he wasn’t yet dead as she stretched a hand towards him―it was all very familiar.

Well, his soul might still be forfeit, he mused to himself as comprehension finally dawned on him, but Caeda would get the chance to save him a third time, anyway.

Ogma forced a bit of feeling back into his numb extremities. He wished for all the world that he could just lay there until his shoulder stopped screaming for mercy, but that was no longer an option.

He was still alive.

Caeda had passed her judgment.

Clawing into the deepest chasms of his body, Ogma managed to scrounge up one last scrap of adrenaline. It was just enough for him to stifle the pain and throw out his arm in an inelegant grab for Caeda’s. Luckily, at the same time, Caeda lunged towards him, nearly unseating herself in the process, and they each managed to clumsily wrap a hand around the other’s forearm.

The Princess’ grip was bruising, and Ogma’s shoulder strained when she rocked back into the saddle, tugging him halfway off the ground. Tempest reared―he noticed, only now, that they were still encircled by Macedonian soldiers, albeit far fewer than before―and then Caeda jerked his arm with all the force of a killing blow, pulling his limp body off of the ground entirely.

For a split second, he was airborne. He spent most of that split-second on a strangled but vehement curse that he hoped wasn’t loud enough to sully the Princess’ ears. Despite his pained shout and Tempest’s distressed whinnies, though, the nauseating sound of his shoulder popping out of socket was still audible.

His forehead ricocheted off of Caeda’s pauldron with a clang that sent his head spinning, and the rest of his body made contact an instant later, his torso colliding with hers and his legs ramming up against Tempest’s side. All three yelped on impact, and the two humans immediately clung to each other as the pegasus underneath them reared once again. Ogma thoughtlessly scrambled for a foothold, boots scraping against Tempest’s hide, which only exacerbated the situation.

Caeda didn’t give them time to get situated. As soon as her grip on Ogma was secure enough that she could be reasonably sure he wouldn’t fall, she spurred her panicked pegasus off of the ground, and they took off. The Macedonians shouted, but Tempest was too fast for them to catch, even when she was throwing a fit.

Half-delirious with pain and panic, Ogma clawed for purchase against both Caeda’s armor and Tempest’s side. Already, he was beginning to slide dangerously downward, gravity doing its damnedest to pull him back to the ground, and Tempest’s desperate thrashing wasn’t exactly helping matters.

Before he could fall, Caeda tightened her grasp on his torso―he hissed in pain, but she wisely didn’t relent―and heaved him up, both of them teetering precariously. Through mostly dumb luck, Ogma’s kicking legs hooked over the side of the saddle, and, with a bit of flailing and a few near deaths, Caeda managed to settle him behind her on Tempest’s back.

Without his feet in the stirrups, and with Tempest still bucking and neighing, Ogma had no choice but cling to the Princess for dear life, stifling an agonized cry into her shoulder for lack of anywhere else to stifle it. For a moment, her hand alighted on his, and she turned to say something over her shoulder―Ogma thought he might have heard his name, and perhaps a ‘hang on tight’―before she leaned forward to take Tempest’s reigns in both hands.

A sharp yank had the pegasus whirling around, and Ogma seized the leather strap of Caeda’s breastplate between his teeth rather than letting himself scream. The wind was whistling past them, now, as Tempest picked up speed, and he was becoming progressively surer that Caeda had, in fact, warned him to hang on. It seemed to be sage advice.

The thought of tightening his grip―and therefore pulling at the wound on his back―was enough to make him flinch in breathless anticipation. Neither of his shoulders was in particularly good condition right now―one bleeding profusely, the other dislocated―and trying to ‘hold on’ with his arms injured like this would be... perilous, to say the least.

This was going to hurt, he acknowledged numbly. It was going to hurt far more than that petty little wound he’d gotten earlier. And he was fresh out of adrenaline to drown it out.

‘Rise, Sir Ogma of Talys. From this day forward, you will serve as my personal retainer.’

‘As you wish, Princess Caeda. This body is yours until it breaks.’

With the last of his strength, Ogma clung to Caeda as tightly as he could, instinctively taking two fistfuls of her shirt as his arms locked around her torso. As he’d expected, the motion made his back and shoulder scream like the souls of the damned, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a choked gasp. The more it hurt, the tighter he held. The tighter he held, the more it hurt. If he was even somewhat aware right now, he might worry that his grip would suffocate her.

But he was not, so he just held on, his eyes still tightly screwed shut, his entire body taut and trembling, his breaths coming fast and unsteady.

He maintained his tenuous grasp on consciousness just long enough for Tempest to land. Then, his duty completed, Ogma let his head loll forward against his liege lady's back and surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

Samuel had concocted the plan.

For all the kid’s faults, it was a pretty ingenious idea, and he’d already gathered all the information they would need before he made his proposal. They would slip out after tomorrow’s tournament ended; Samuel would lift the keys from one of the guards after his bout, which would be second-to-last. Once he’d been escorted back to his cell, he would free himself and the others. As always, Ogma would be given the last and toughest opponent; when the guards led him back to his cell, the other gladiators would ambush them and get Ogma unshackled. They would fight their way out to the back entrance, where they would close the gate and sever the ropes used to open it, effectively locking it shut. Once it was “locked”, they were home free―they’d simply split into small groups and vanish into the city.

Other than the obvious, unavoidable issues, such as the high likelihood that they’d stand out from the crowd here in Knorda and quickly be recaptured, it was a very solid plan. Samuel had taken almost everything into account, from the length of the patrol routes to the number of men who could feasibly go unnoticed in a crowd. He’d even managed to pilfer a weapon from the arena: a single iron sword, which, by unanimous vote, would be given to Ogma.

There was only one problem.

Not everyone could make it out.

No one else seemed to notice the fatal flaw in their little scheme―or, if they did, they didn’t point it out. Ogma, however, saw it immediately.

The plan called for Samuel himself to hold back any remaining guards while the others escaped, then quickly slide under the gate just before it could close. And, gods, the kid was good with a sword, but not that good. He was underestimating how quickly the guards would mobilize. One man couldn’t hold the lines on his own; he would be overcome quickly, and then the entire thing would fall apart. But they couldn’t afford for more than one person to stay inside; their plan revolved around as many men as possible making it into the trees before the gate was even shut.

The idea was good on paper, but putting it into practice would probably meet with failure. Sure, one or two people might escape, but the rest would be captured and punished severely for their rebellion―tortured, probably, and then executed for good measure.

But this was the best chance they were ever going to get.

So, as he and his co-conspirators sat in a tight circle, whispering amongst each other as they laid out each and every second of the escape in excruciating detail, Ogma placed a hand on Samuel’s shoulder and muttered, “You should stay with the rest and make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ll hold off the guards.”

He was fully aware that he was unlikely to survive that encounter―and, if he did, he would just find himself in the gallows―but it wasn’t as if he was likely to survive if someone else took up the job, anyway.

Besides, Ogma had only ever been good at one thing―fighting―and his years of nearly non-stop combat in the colosseum had destroyed what little conversational skill he’d had before. Even if he did make it out, he wasn’t sure what he would do with his newfound freedom. Probably just go looking for a fight. Samuel and the others were... different. Most of them were very young―teenagers, even―with some real talents and dreams. They had a whole life’s worth of possibilities ahead of them.

That was something worth dying for, he supposed.

To Samuel’s credit, up until the guards started pouring in, the plan went off without a hitch. After his unsurprising victory in the arena, Ogma allowed himself to be led back to his cell, only for Samuel to leap out from a dark corner and knock the guard out cold. Ogma’s wrists were freed and he took the proffered sword, and then they were off, their fellow gladiators quietly slipping out of their unlocked cells to join them. They encountered only the two patrols they’d expected to encounter, both of whom they dispatched of with ease, and, soon enough, they were working together to hastily raise the back gate. Freedom was just a short sprint away.

Then the first wave of guards surged around the corner.

Samuel cursed―he hadn’t expected anyone to realize they were gone―but Ogma just drew his sword and lunged, lopping off the first guard’s head before he could even raise his lance. “Hurry!” he snarled―as if that wasn’t a given―and the other gladiators frantically cranked the gate further up.

The first group of guards was small and unprepared, and Ogma cut them down effortlessly, like wheat at the harvest, though he quickly realized that the sword he’d been granted was incredibly dull and far too light. That would have been a problem, he suspected, if he was planning on surviving this battle. For his purposes, though, it would do just fine. Even a rusty old iron sword like this could at least last long enough for the others to escape, and, once the gate was jammed shut, Ogma couldn’t care less what became of the sword. He wouldn’t need it where he was going.

As the second wave poured in, followed closely by the third, the gate finally rose far enough for everyone to duck underneath, and Ogma shoved Samuel away when he stepped forward as if to help fend off the guards. “Go,” he urged, his voice deathly calm. Knowing with some certainty that you were about to die was strangely soothing. “Lead the others to safety. You’re the one with the plan.”

Samuel, for some gods-forsaken reason, actually hesitated. “But―but there are so many of them,” he stammered, gesturing to the guards who were almost upon them. “You can’t take them all on at once―you’ll die!”

A sweet sentiment, but ultimately meaningless; Ogma had already concluded that he was only leaving this room in chains or a coffin. Not that a rebel gladiator would be afforded a proper burial. “Go,” he repeated firmly, kicking Samuel one of the dead soldiers’ swords. “I’ll be alright.” A blatant lie. The kid would have to forgive him.

One more moment of hesitation; then, with a resolute nod, Samuel turned and released the mechanism holding the gate up, ducking through the door before it could fall down on his head. Just cut the ropes, Ogma wanted to say, but he doubted the fool would listen; he was still convinced that Ogma would be escaping with the rest. The gravity of the situation hadn’t quite hit him yet.

Ogma just hoped that, when he did figure it out, he wouldn’t make a scene. He preferred to die with as little pointless fanfare as possible.

Then the guards were upon him, and he couldn’t afford to watch any longer. He would just have to hope that Samuel would realize what was happening and cut the cables before he left. Ogma had his own things to cut―mainly throats and tendons―and he couldn’t waste time on the gate.

To their credit, the soldiers that patrolled this place weren’t exactly half-rate. More like... three-quarter-rate. Sure, Ogma sliced through their ranks easily enough, dodging clumsy thrusts of various weapons and aiming for the parts of the body which they foolishly left unprotected, but it wasn’t as effortless as it could’ve been. As the last of the second wave fell at his feet and the third wave crested over them, Ogma even found himself thinking that, under different circumstances, he might be proud to serve alongside men like these.

Circumstance was everything, though, so he still cut them down without hesitation.

It was only part-way through the third wave that Ogma felt himself begin to tire. He hadn’t taken any direct blows, but there had been several scrapes and brushes with various blades and spearheads, and his lungs were beginning to beg for air. It wouldn’t be long before he was overwhelmed and either killed or captured.

Numbly, as he ducked under a clumsy sword swing, Ogma decided that he should double-check to make sure that Samuel had cut the cables before he left. If he ended up pinned and the guards opened up the gates, then this would all be for naught; the others couldn’t outrun an entire arena of soldiers with only a minute-long head start. He would just have to wait for a good opportunity to turn around.

The choice was taken away from him almost immediately. “Ogma!” Samuel cried, way too close to be anywhere near the treeline, and, against his better judgment, Ogma risked a brief glance over his shoulder. Simultaneous waves of fondness and irritation crashed over him when he caught sight of the kid kneeling on the cobblestone, his shoulder braced against the underside of the gate, fists white-knuckled on the bars. He was holding the heavy cast-iron up on his own―keeping it propped open just enough for Ogma to, theoretically, take a running start and slide to freedom.

Of course, theory wasn’t always reality, and, in reality, several soldiers swerved around Ogma, using his distraction to their advantage, and made a beeline for Samuel with lances drawn. The kid hastily let go of the gate with one hand―the extra weight visibly bore down on his shoulder, and he grunted in pain―and unsheathed the sword that Ogma had tossed him. Any fool could see that the sword was useless, though. Half-a-dozen soldiers on their feet versus a burdened gladiator on his knees.

A fool’s wager.

Without pausing to think about it, Ogma knocked a man silly with the hilt of his sword, swept several off of their feet with a swing of his leg, then completely disregarded every ounce of combat instinct ingrained into his mind and threw his sword across the room. It pinwheeled clumsily through the air, not properly weighted as a throwing weapon, but his aim was true enough; the blade hit one of the soldiers across his shoulders, and he stumbled with a pained yelp, his comrades pausing and whirling around to face this new threat.

Ogma met Samuel’s wide, surprised eyes and bellowed, “Drop it!”

Naga be praised, the kid didn’t stop to argue; he let go of the bars and managed to get out just in time, the gate hitting the ground with a clang right as the first soldier’s lance pierced the space where his head had been seconds earlier.

Relief flooded Ogma, and he allowed himself a fleeting moment to be grateful to the gods for letting this crazy, harebrained scheme actually work. Everyone who had intended to escape had already escaped. The gate was closed. In a moment, it would be closed for good. They’d done it. Samuel had seen the plan through.

They were home free.

Then several guards piled on top of him, grabbing him around the neck and under the arms, hands twisting in his ragged clothes―boots kicking at his knees, fingers scrabbling at his throat―and Ogma could do very little but snarl like a caged animal as he was wrestled onto the ground.

Unfortunately, as intelligent as he was, Samuel apparently hadn’t foreseen this, because he gasped, lunging forward and wrapping both hands around the iron bars between them. “Ogma―!”

Gritting his teeth, Ogma braced himself against the floor and managed to throw one of the soldiers off of him, startling the kid into scrambling back. The guards’ lances slipped through the bars, and Samuel danced out of the way, but he didn’t run. Idiot―idiot, idiot, idiot― “Go!” Ogma snapped, even as two more soldiers took the last one’s place, weighing down on him as he struggled to get his feet underneath him.

Samuel, damn him, still hadn’t caught on. “Wh-what―?!” he spluttered, eyes wide and almost affronted; as if Ogma had just asked him to slaughter an infant in the cradle.

“Go!” he repeated without hesitation as another soldier jumped on top of him. Even his strength faltered under that much weight, and his knees banged painfully against the ground. The real agony, however, was watching two more guards rush towards the levers to reopen the gate while Samuel just stood there, staring like an idiot, mouth agape and sword limp at his side.

“But you―” the kid started.

Ogma didn’t give him a chance. “Go without me, you fool!” he practically screamed.

By now, the guards had managed to get him on his stomach, his cheek pressed flat against the cobblestone, but he could still see the shock and denial play across Samuel’s face. Damn it. “This was the plan!” he yelled, hoping that the admission would jar him into action. “I knew I wouldn’t make it out! I never planned to make it out! So stop playing the martyr and go!”

And, yes, Ogma did see the hypocrisy in that statement, but he was already functionally dead, and Samuel still had a fighting chance―a fighting chance that Ogma had essentially died to win for him―a fighting chance that dwindled with each passing second―

“Hurry!”

This damn kid and his bleeding heart―right at the verge of being home-free, yet he hesitated, eying the swarm of guards warily, as if he was sizing them up―as if he had any chance against them―as if saving Ogma was worth forfeiting all of their lives. One guard was working each crank, the ropes straining as the gate began to inch up again, and Ogma’s heart pounded. “Go, damn you!” he bellowed one last time, a rare note of desperation coloring his voice.

(Get out of here, you stupid kid, or else I’ll have died for nothing.)

For a moment, Ogma feared that his words, spoken and unspoken, would fall on deaf ears. Then, in one quick, fluid motion, Samuel unsheathed his sword, slashed the wrists grabbing at him through the gate, and severed both cables, sending the gate crashing back to the ground―this time, for good.

Ogma could just barely hear a quiet “I’m sorry,” over the clang of cast-iron bars hitting cobblestone and the myriad of curses as the wounded guards stumbled back. When the soldiers bent to the ground and frantically tried to lift the gate back up, Samuel was nowhere to be found.

‘Dumb kid,’ Ogma thought privately to himself, even as his shoulders slumped in both relief and resignation. ‘Say ‘thank you’, not ‘sorry’.’

Of course, the guards were trained well enough―they’d managed to overpower Ogma, which was impressive even given their vastly superior numbers―but they were no Samuel. They hadn’t been forced to fight for their lives nearly every day for years, and manually lifting the gate off of the ground was much more difficult than stopping it from closing, anyway. After a few minutes of futile heaving, they gave up.

“No use,” one of them grunted, letting go and clambering back his feet. “That thing’s right stuck.”

His fellows quickly followed his example, wiping the sweat from their foreheads. “Damn lowlives did well to jam it like that,” another admitted begrudgingly. “We’ll have to send scouts to sniff ‘em out.”

The first man snorted derisively. “Gimme a break―those mutts don’t stand a chance out there. Stick out like sore thumbs, they will. And no way they’ve got a plan on what they’re gonna do now. Bet they’ll come crawling right back here once they realize they got no place else to go.”

Ogma had stayed silent until then, but, at that, he couldn’t quite stifle a snort of his own. “Yeah, sure,” he rasped as the guards turned to scowl at him, “I bet they’ll give up a life of freedom and come back here to be beaten, imprisoned, and killed. That’d make sense, wouldn’t it?”

One of the guards gave him a warning kick with a newly-polished boot. “You’d be smart to shut your mouth, prisoner.”

Ogma shot the lot of them his most smug, condescending smirk―he was dead anyway; might as well raise their hackles for the hell of it. “Well,” he drawled, “I never was the brightest―”

“Clearly,” a deep voice cut in, and the soldiers snapped to attention.

Ogma refused to react on principle, but he couldn’t quite help the slight twinge of dread in his gut as the guards scrambled into some semblance of order. Only two stayed down to keep him pinned. It didn’t much matter to Ogma, but he was a bit insulted that they thought two men were enough to hold him―though he wasn’t exactly planning on proving them wrong. No point, really.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the now-silent corridor, and Ogma grit his teeth to keep from growling. “What happened here?” the voice continued in a heavy accent, and the soldiers visibly shrunk back.

After a moment of silence, one of them cleared his throat. “The prisoners mounted an escape attempt, sir!” he said with false certainty, despite the nearly imperceptible quiver in his voice. “They jammed the gate and ran into the forest! Sir!”

“Escape attempt?” The anger dripping from his voice was enough to make even the guards on top of Ogma squirm. “I think you mean ‘successful escape’. Unless you’ve already got them all back in their cells.”

There was a collective cringe from the room as a whole. “S-sir!” one of the guards cried after a moment, snapping to a sharp salute. “Most of the prisoners escaped, but we managed to catch this one, sir!”

At those words, the grunts who’d tackled him each grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet, eager to prove that they hadn’t failed completely. Ogma grunted quietly, but didn’t bother struggling as they dragged him across the room; he could probably wrench himself free, but it wouldn’t last long. He would just end up on the floor again, this time with even more guards on top of him. Anyway, he’d known that he would lose; might as well take it gracefully.

With a well-placed kick, the guards forced Ogma onto his knees, though they didn’t release their grip on his arms. A boot landed between his jutting shoulder blades, pushing him into a deep bow, and his shoulders strained. Nevertheless, he craned his head back as far as it would go, meeting his captor’s eyes with fierce defiance.

“Oh,” the colosseum’s owner growled from above him. “It’s you.” He drew his thick eyebrows down in a glare, which only made his bulbous eyes seem to pop even further out of his head. “I should have known.”

Ogma grinned up at him like a wild dog and congratulated himself when the craven dastard cringed away, taking a reflexive step back. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you should’ve known. But you didn’t, didja?” He tilted his head to the side, grin not wavering. “You got any idea how long I’ve been planning this? Months. Months, and you didn’t even notice.” Less than a week, actually, and Ogma had only been let in on the plan maybe thirty hours ago. But the enraged, humiliated look blooming across the owner’s puce-colored face was way too satisfying to pass up.

“You―” His word devolved into a growl, and Ogma had a moment to brace himself before a boot landed directly in his face. His head tried to snap back, but it was already craned as far as it could go, so it just fell forward; his pained grunt sprayed red-tinted saliva onto the ground. Quickly probing around with his tongue, he determined that the worst of the damage was his split lip and the small cut where his teeth had snapped shut around his cheek.

Before he could lift his head again, his owner’s foot pressed down on the back of his skull, pushing down until his already-aching neck strained. “Don’t pretend that you won,” the owner spat, grinding his foot down. “If your plan was so foolproof, then why are you here?”

It was hard to say whether he gave the guards a silent gesture or they were just following his lead, but, either way, a flurry of kicks suddenly rained down on Ogma from both sides, and he locked an elongated snarl behind his teeth. Nonetheless, he couldn’t stop his body from jerking in the soldiers’ hold, and his owner laughed at him, loud and mocking. “Not so clever now, are you?” he gloated, the tread of his boots rough as he leaned a little harder on Ogma’s head. “We foiled your little escape plan, prisoner.”

Ogma managed to crane his neck back just enough to grin at the bastard, blood dribbling sluggishly through his teeth. “Yes, good job,” he slurred; “You captured the decoy.”

A scowl crossed the corpulent man’s face, and he kicked Ogma hard enough that the guards holding him almost lost their grip. Another few seconds of pregnant silence followed as all the soldiers held their breath. Then― “Well, what are you waiting for?! You―alert the other guards! The rest of you, out through the front entrance and after them! Every prisoner that escapes, one of you idiots takes his place in the gallows!”

Immediately, there was a mad scramble to follow his order, the guards pouring out of the room at top speed. Some bent over to scoop up the discarded weapons that their friends had left behind; others just clutched their own weapons to their chests and ran. Within maybe ten or twenty seconds, only the owner, Ogma, and the two guards restraining him remained.

“Sir, what about him?” one of those guards asked tentatively, nudging Ogma with his foot as if it was unclear who he was referring to.

The owner looked down his long nose, curling his lip as if Ogma was something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “Call up a crowd and have him flogged out front,” he said simply after a moment of deliberation. “Hang him when you’re done.”

“How many lashes?”

“As many as it takes.” Neither Ogma nor his owner broke eye contact. “Don’t grant him death until he begs for it.”

To his credit, the guard cringed sympathetically. “And if he doesn’t?”

The owner grinned sickeningly down at Ogma, eyes sharp and borderline gleeful.

“Keep going,” he drawled, “until he does.”

Ogma just smiled grimly, having anticipated such a fate. “Your threats can’t touch me,” he rasped.

His owner―whose name Ogma had never bothered to learn―scowled. “We’ll see about that.” He huffed harshly through his nose, then snapped his fingers and waved the guards away. “Take this maggot out of my sight. I don’t want to see him again until he’s dying or dead.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers replied, and they immediately tugged Ogma off of his knees, though not quite all the way onto his feet. As his bare feet scrambled for purchase on the blood-splattered cobblestone floor, his arms were jerkily maneuvered in front of him, one guard holding him still while the other removed a set of iron manacles from his belt.

Cold metal closed around his arms with a clang and a click, and Ogma wasn’t sure whether the sinking feeling in his gut was dread of his impending death or just resigned acceptance at the familiar weight of shackles on his wrists.

Either way, he didn’t put up a struggle as they dragged him away. Might as well face death with what little dignity he had left.

The plan had worked; the others were safe. That was all that mattered.

Neither of the guards spoke a word as they led him through the winding corridors, still full of panicking soldiers trying to get ready for a manhunt. Ogma didn’t really mind. Nothing they could say would change the situation at all, so he was glad to be spared any further mockery―or, worse, meaningless sympathy.

Being dragged outside, however, was... strange. In a way, it was a good feeling―he imagined that, after years spent in dingy cells and death matches, anyone would be relieved to feel the open air on their face again. He was almost tempted to rip himself out of the guards’ hold just so that he could properly enjoy the grass beneath his feet and the wind in his hair, but... well, to be frank, he didn’t want to run and, therefore, seem afraid. No; he wouldn’t give his owner the satisfaction.

Still, Ogma decided as the sun warmed his face, this wasn’t a bad way to g0 at all. Out here, he could die with a lungful of fresh air, and his body would be quickly discarded, rather than being left to decay until the guards couldn’t stand the smell anymore. He had no intention of begging, so he would be whipped until his body gave out, which was significantly less pleasant, but it was better than bleeding to death in the colosseum or rotting alive in his cell.

He had a lot to thank Samuel for, he supposed, even if their plan hadn’t exactly proceeded flawlessly like he’d promised.

A crowd was already gathered around the raised platform used for public beatings and executions, and Ogma marveled at the speed with which they congregated when they were promised something juicy like a flogging. He wondered if any of them cared who he was and what he’d done to warrant this, or if they’d just come running at the word “scourged”. Probably the latter.

Then he was lifted onto the platform, his already tattered shirt roughly torn off of him, knees forced to the floor for the hundredth time today, and Ogma barely even registered the painful scrape of splintered wood against his chest as he was slung over an old, blood-stained block. Rusty chains were hastily hooked to his bound hands, stretching them out before him, and his legs were similarly shackled to the ground, keeping him pressed firmly against the block with his bare back fully exposed.

“This prisoner,” one of the guards announced to the restless crowd, “incited a riot that killed and injured dozens of innocent guards! In retribution, he shall be lashed until he repents for his crimes!”

An excited murmur rippled through the crowd―everyone knew that “lashed until he repents” really just meant “lashed to death”―and, for the first time in this whole ordeal, Ogma felt his stomach turn. At the very least, some of the people watching seemed uncomfortable―he even saw a few leave, curiosity sated―but the majority were visibly enthusiastic.

This was just a show to them. Their weekly entertainment. A bit rarer than fights in the colosseum, and therefore significantly more exciting.

He wondered if any of them recognized him from the tournament that had just ended, less than an hour ago.

He wondered if such recognition would make them more or less excited to witness his last few agonized hours on this miserable earth.

Cold fingers clamped around his face, tugging it up until he was staring directly into the face of his executioner. The man already had a long, nasty-looking whip in one hand, though Ogma was at least relieved to notice that it was not the cat o’ nine tails. He still had some time to prepare himself for that particular torture.

“Any last words, cur?” the executioner asked, sounding distressingly sadistic and almost bored at the same time. As if this was an exciting but utterly mundane occurrence. Yes, a flogging: how fun, yet how truly unspectacular.

Ogma spat out a mouthful of blood. “My life is well-spent,” he croaked, “buying the freedom of my comrades-in-arms.” Then, eyes flickering down to the crowd, he added, “And this was no riot. It was a daring escape. If you plan to kill me, at least do so for the right reasons.”

The executioner released his chin, and his head flopped back down to hang between his bound arms. “The prisoner refuses to repent!” he shouted, and the crowd cheered. “He must be shown the error of his ways!”

Ogma closed his eyes and breathed deep. He’d known that this would happen. He’d chosen this. No sense struggling; these manacles offered very little slack. Besides, there was nothing to hold out for―no reinforcements were coming; no specific number of lashes would be deemed “enough”; there would certainly be no sudden mercy. The quicker he bled out, the better. Until then, he would just have to endure the pain to the best of his ability.

‘Everyone else made it out,’ he reminded himself as the executioner circled around him to loom over his vulnerable back. ‘They have their whole lives ahead of them,’ he reminded himself, even as his instincts bubbled up and his body jerked futilely against the chains keeping him laid out like an invitation.

‘You chose this,’ he reminded himself as the executioner raised the whip over his head, but the words rang hollow.

Then the crack of the whip rang throughout the clearing and Ogma’s body jolted.

‘You chose this.’

Through the first five lashes, each one its own distinct, sharp sting against his back, Ogma remained dead silent, his teeth clamping down tight on his lower lip. The sixth drew a low, stifled grunt from him before he quickly regained his composure and locked another noise deep in his throat.

‘You chose this.’

By the ninth, his silence ended for good; each subsequent lash dragged a sharp gasp from his lips. He grabbed onto his chains in an effort to ground himself, fingers white-knuckled against the cold, corroded metal, but his body still jerked every time the whip fell.

‘You chose this. You chose this. You chose this.’

He lost count at fifteen. They came so quickly and steadily that they were hard to distinguish from one another, each wound layering over the last, criss-crossing over his back from shoulder to shoulder, neck to hip. The endless firings of his nerve endings were beginning to lose coherence. The endless wave of blows was beginning to drown him.

‘You chose this you chose this you chose this you chose this you chose this you―’

He didn’t start screaming until at least lash number thirty.

His body was on fire. His skin was melting away. The fractured bones beneath his skin were shifting; poking up through his flesh like jagged teeth emerging from a beast’s mouth. The boiling blood inside him was solidifying into a sea of tiny needles, pressing out against his veins insistently; trying to destroy him from the inside. His mouth tasted like rust. The chains got tighter every time he thrashed.

He could hear the crowd go wild.

‘It’s almost over,’ he thought to himself, half-delirious with pain. ‘You’re almost dead. You’re almost dead. You can rest soon.’

Or, he acknowledged numbly as another lash landed on his flaming back, perhaps not. After all, if the gods spared even a glance at his soul, surely they would find it sorely wanting for virtue. He couldn’t possibly be worthy of paradise. Which meant he would be consigned to a much worse fate.

Or perhaps such a fate had already befallen him. Perhaps he was already dead and simply had yet to realize, because his eternal punishment would simply continue the punishment he’d been given in life. Whipped over and over, without rest, until he was blinded by the pain; until he couldn’t remember how to do anything with his mouth besides scream.

It would certainly explain why his back was writhing in multiple different layers of agony, as if someone had peeled back his tattered skin to whip his bare tendons, and then peeled back his tendons to whip right down to his bones.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed. If he was dead, then it made no difference. If he was alive, then he wouldn’t be for long. Whether he was still breathing or not, this would be the rest of his pitiable existence. Thrashing in the shackles holding him down, screaming his throat raw, and waiting for an end that would never come.

‘Kid,’ he found himself thinking in one last flicker of lucidity, ‘you’d better be enjoying your freedom, you hear me?’

It took him a long moment to realize that he’d stopped screaming. He’d long since stopped hearing his own voice, the ringing in his ears and the roaring of the crowd overwhelming all other sounds, so he only really noticed when he managed to suck in a deep breath without it hitching. Maybe ten seconds after that―or one second, or three years; he’d lost all grip of time however-long ago―he realized that the crowd wasn’t cheering quite so loudly anymore, and the agony painted all over his back wasn’t growing. There were no more cracks of the whip.

He felt fingers grab him by the hair, and he felt his head be yanked back, but he couldn’t see anything. His eyes were still closed, he realized after a moment, and it took another moment to remember how to open them.

The executioner swam into view. Ogma was cognizant enough to see his lips move, but the sounds jumbled together in his brain until they were unrecognizable, and he just stared blankly. A sharp smack to the cheek jolted him back to relative awareness, and he blinked away stars.

“Beg,” the executioner said gruffly, voice distant and quiet despite the closeness of his face. “Beg, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

Ah―still alive, then? Or just a ruse by the devil to lure him into a false sense of security before starting on another wave of torment?

Either way, his response was the same. Ogma licked his lips and, in absence of his trademark insolent grin, conjured up a pained grimace. “No,” he croaked, lacking the spare breath or brainpower for anything cleverer than that.

His hair was released, and he allowed his head to fall back down, chin bouncing against the edge of the block. “The prisoner refuses to repent!” the executioner said again, and the crowd cheered. Ogma blinked a few times in a futile effort to stabilize his vision, then just closed his eyes again. He could use this brief respite to collect his composure; steel himself for the next wave of lashes.

‘You chose this,’ he reminded himself one last time, breathing slowly.

The whip fell upon his shoulder this time, curling down to stretch down his back, and Ogma grunted, but didn’t scream. Another blow, on the other shoulder, earned a similar reaction. Ah―so his tormenter was switching it up a bit. Whipping him from the front, rather than the back. Flaying him alive vertically, rather than horizontally. Would the next blow land on his face?

The singing of the whip as it whistled through the air. The enthusiastic cheering of the crowd below. The loud clanking of Ogma’s chains as he flinched. The crack of the lash meeting skin.

A soft cry of pain. Not his.

A chorus of gasps and screams.

Ogma barely realized, at first, that the blow had never connected. A minute ago, he wouldn’t have noticed at all, but the brief lull had cleared his mind a bit; he could distinguish between each blow again, and there was no new pain this time. Just the throbbing welts on each shoulder and the absolute inferno that was his back.

Confused enough to be curious, Ogma sluggishly cleared the ringing out of his ears, trying to tune in to the sudden, strange silence around him. The crowd was no longer cheering; the whip was no longer singing; even Ogma’s chains had gone quiet as he held still and tried to listen.

There was a thunk as something hit the floor, followed by a few faint murmurs that were far too quiet for Ogma’s muddled brain to make out. He thought he heard the executioner stammer out, “My―my lady―”

Then the cotton in his ears finally cleared enough for Ogma to make out the soft, trembling breaths, bordering on sobs, right in front of him.

Caught off-guard, Ogma pried his eyes open and tilted his head back, blearily blinking up at the blob of colors standing before him.

There was some deep blue, but it was mostly pink and peach and white, vaguely arranged in the silhouette of a person, and Ogma wondered if this was an angel coming to spirit him away. Then his vision cleared a bit―enough for him to realize that those weren’t wings, merely a fluttery white gown of some sort―and he thought, ‘No, just a noble.’

Of course, that elucidated very little, in the grand scheme of things, so Ogma wearily glanced around for any other clues as to what was happening. The executioner was standing a few feet away, stock-still, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open; the whip was laying on the platform at his feet. Ogma couldn’t really make out the crowd, but they seemed to be similarly frozen, still dead silent.

After a moment, a couple of armored figures shouldered through the crowd and clambered up onto the platform, their movement so jarring in the otherwise still tableau that Ogma’s eyes snapped over to them immediately. “My lady, get away from there!” one of them cried, hurrying towards Ogma, while the other rounded on the executioner with an enraged “How dare you strike Her Highness?!”

The cogs in Ogma’s head turned very slowly. The executioner had... attacked someone else? The noble girl standing in front of him―was that who he had attacked? But why on Earth would he―?

Wait.

Her Highness?

At that moment, the noble girl took a step back from the armored man, putting Ogma’s face inches from her back, and shouted “No!” with such vehemence that everyone froze in place.

Ogma tilted his head up so he could see over her shoulder, his confusion only growing by the second, as the armored guards sputtered, disregarding the executioner entirely. “M-milady,” the woman stammered, “please, don’t be reckless―I know it’s scary, but executions are a necessary part of―”

“No!” the noble girl―the ‘highness’―cried again, and Ogma only then noticed that her arms were extended to either side, as if to shield him from harm. “I won’t move!”

“Princess Caeda―” one of the knights tried again, but the girl―the Princess; Princess Caeda―disregarded him completely, instead twisting around to meet Ogma’s unfocused gaze. He startled, and some instinct urged him to bow his head―not because he’d overheard that she was royalty; there was just something about her demeanor that made him think ‘important person’.

Naga only knew why; in that moment, she looked nothing like a princess and every bit a little girl. Her eyes were wide and misty, her lip quivering, and he even saw a bit of snot leaking from one nostril. Only her elegant pink and white clothing hinted towards her status.

It was then that Ogma saw the angry red welt that marred her otherwise pale skin, staring at her collarbone, slanting across her bare shoulder, and then curving around to trail down her back, where it vanished under her dress.

Finally, his mind pieced the puzzle together. Yet all that came out of his mouth was a faint, slurred, “You’re bleeding.”

That startled a laugh out of the girl―the Princess―Caeda, though she remained teary-eyed. “You’re bleeding more,” she whispered softly, as if it were some great secret.

Ogma stared for a moment, struggling to formulate his thoughts into words. “I’m supposed to bleed,” he eventually settled on.

At that, the Princess―Caeda―scowled. “You’re not,” she said fiercely. “No one is supposed to be hurt. Not ever.”

A pause; then she quietly added, “My blood, at least, is useful for one thing.”

With that, she turned back towards the executioner, her knights, and the crowd, and loudly announced, “I will not be moved until this man is freed!”

The executioner floundered. “Wha―but―Princess Caeda, you can’t―we can’t just... let him go!”

Princess Caeda glared at him until he shrunk back. “Will you disobey your Princess, then?” she demanded. “You can’t hurt him anymore! I won’t let you!” As if to prove her point, she spread her arms wider still, standing on her tiptoes to block his view of Ogma entirely. Their proximity was so close that her gauzy skirt draped across Ogma’s chained arms like a bedsheet, the fabric no doubt soaking up more blood and sweat and grime the longer it touched his absolutely filthy skin.

For a moment, the entire world seemed dumbstruck. Then the guards and knights began to whisper furiously amongst themselves, shooting the Princess uncertain glances every few words. Ogma saw them gesture towards him, and the female knight kept making aborted grabs for her sword, but he couldn’t make out a word they said over the persistent ringing in his ears and the low murmur of the crowd.

Princess Caeda, meanwhile, remained firmly planted before him, chin held high and arms still outstretched, even though he could see her teeter unsteadily on her toes as her wounded shoulder trembled with exertion.

Her dress was stained, now, he realized, and not just where it had come into contact with him; the welt on her collarbone was bleeding sluggishly, crimson trickling down her back to leave dark, ugly blots on her frilly silk collar, and, before he could stop himself, Ogma croaked out an incredulous “Why?”

For all intents and purposes, the question was completely meaningless―too vague to communicate much of anything other than general bafflement. Yet, somehow, Princess Caeda spared him the trouble of trying to articulate when she glanced down at him over her shoulder, her face not hesitant and helpless but sure and resolute.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, with the tone of a statement. “Just let you die?”

Ogma had no response.

Luckily, the Princess didn’t prod him for one, and they both waited wordlessly for the guards and knights to come to an agreement, Caeda keeping rapt vigil over Ogma in case anyone worked up the nerve to attack him again. An eternity of heavy, pregnant silence seemed to pass before, at last, the executioner threw his hands in the air and gestured to the other soldiers, setting his weapon aside.

As the guards approached, the Princess moved with them, trying to keep her petite frame between them and Ogma. In the end, her knights ushered her aside, mollifying her with a whisper he couldn’t hear, but the gesture was enough to make his throat thicken with―something. Gratitude, perhaps, for the girl who’d tried to save his life. More than even that, respect―for the girl who’d faced down a squadron of trained soldiers unflinchingly, even after she’d gotten her first taste of the whip.

‘It would take balls of titanium to disobey a Princess like that,’ Ogma found himself thinking. Yet, somehow, he still managed to be surprised when the guards knelt, unhooked his arms from the block, cut his legs free, and heaved him to his feet.

The rough handling hurt like all hell, reigniting the agony etched into his back, and he let out a strangled cry without really meaning to. The reaction was immediate. “Stop! Be careful, or you’ll hurt him more!” the Princess snapped, and the guards hastened to comply, taking most of Ogma’s weight without jostling his wounded back. “And unchain him at once―all the way!”

Oh―he hadn’t even noticed that his wrists were still shackled before him, like usual. Clearly, this had been a conscious decision on the guards’ part, because they sputtered once again under her demands. “B-but―Your Highness, we can’t―”

“You can and will,” she interrupted before they could even try to make their case, a note of authority in her impossibly young voice. “I will hear no arguments. He has been pardoned, so he shall be freed.”

One of the knights―a tall, well-built woman with a wicked-looking scimitar at her hip―placed a cautious hand on Caeda’s shoulder. “Milady, it’s not that simple,” she said, not unkindly. “He was already a gladiator before he did any crime. The pardon of every princess in Archanea wouldn’t change that.” To the knight’s credit, Ogma detected a hint of righteous anger when she continued, “Pardon him, and he goes back to being property. And you can’t seize private property without a lawful reason.”

Ah. So that was the catch. He would return to the colosseum, the Princess would be appeased, and, in her absence, he would simply be dragged back to the block, once enough time had elapsed for this novel occurrence to fade from the public consciousness. As soon as he’d regained his relative anonymity, he would end up right back here again. Or, perhaps, he would simply be pitted up against opponents that he could not beat so that his death could be claimed “accidental”. With his back injured so heavily, it wouldn’t be difficult to find a foe who could best him.

‘Or,’ Ogma found himself thinking, ‘maybe I’ll survive. Live to die another day. Help some more people escape―maybe even manage to escape, myself.’

It was one hell of a long shot, but something about the gutted, distressed look on Princess Caeda’s face made him want to believe that her fears were unfounded. More than anything else, he wanted to reassure her; at the very least, she’d delayed his death significantly―but, somehow, he doubted she’d be happy to hear as much. It felt... wrong, though, to not even attempt to console her, after she’d given him some concrete hope to cling to in his dying breaths―not just hope for himself, but hope for the world to which Samuel and the others had escaped.

(Talys couldn’t be too bad with an heir apparent like this.)

Apparently, though, the heiress in question was perfectly capable of generating her own hope, because the despair in her eyes was short-lived. “Let’s say, then, that I don’t pardon him,” she said, her voice beginning to wear thin, unused to maintaining an air of importance for so long. “Instead, I find him guilty and sentence him to a lifetime of community service. This would not be considered seizing property, just claiming my natural right to...”

She glanced at the other knight―a short, burly man in heavy armor wielding an imposing polearm―for assistance, and he cleared his throat. “To ‘render the supreme judgment of the crown’, my lady,” he tentatively filled in, “but I’m afraid that criminals charged with murder and violence cannot be given community service.”

“Exactly!” the executioner cut in from the side, stepping forward with unwarranted confidence, only to immediately quail when both knights and their liege leveled him with icy glares. “I-it’s... that is to say... it’s just public safety, Your Highness. A mongrel like him could get somebody killed―somebody innocent.”

It was a perfectly reasonable argument, and it would have been perfectly reasonable for Princess Caeda to subside and send Ogma away to whatever gruesome fate awaited him―to save herself the trouble, if nothing else. At this point, though, Ogma was hardly surprised when she stood her ground without ceding a single inch. “But the... the reasoning is sound, yes?” she pressed, eyes darting back over to the burly knight. “I don’t have to pardon him, I can just... change his sentence?”

The burly knight considered this. “There is precedent for such a thing,” he said slowly, “but, in extreme cases such as this, the only appropriate sentence would be jail time, and he would still be considered property of the colosseum’s owner upon release. Unless you gave him a life sentence―”

Before he could finish that thought, the other knight pulled Princess Caeda a bit closer and stooped over, bending low to murmur in her ear, “Do you think life in prison would be a kindness, milady?”

The Princess visibly started, as if this question was a new and alarming thought that hadn’t occurred to her, and her eyes flickered over to Ogma, who couldn’t quite contain his own startled jolt. Watching the three interact, he’d almost forgotten that they were talking about him. Now, under the full weight of the Princess’ regard, he found himself wondering the same thing―which would be better: life as a gladiator with a probable execution incoming, or life as a prisoner with no end in sight until he eventually wasted away?

To her credit, Princess Caeda was only struck silent for the briefest of moments before she wiped the shock off of her face. “Very well,” she said, the slight tremor in her voice belying her stoic countenance. “What... what is your name, good sir?”

A strange question, if she was going to ask one, but he wasn’t complaining. “Ogma,” he answered simply, his voice rough with under- and overuse.

The Princess nodded her understanding. “And what are your charges, Ogma?”

Ah―a much more reasonable question. And, unfortunately, one with an answer that didn’t paint him in the best of lights. The correct response was “Inciting a riot”, but Ogma threw caution to the wind and instead replied, “I helped my fellow gladiators escape the arena. I was a diversion.” Then, because he might as well be completely honest if he was going to tell the truth: “I killed the guards to keep them from recapturing everyone.”

One of the guards made a triumphant noise. “You see―he admits it!” he tried, but immediately fell silent when the female knight shot him a warning look.

Princess Caeda didn’t react to either Ogma’s explanation or the soldier’s words; she just continued to stare at Ogma with such intense scrutiny that it was almost enough to make him squirm. After a long while that felt even longer, she nodded again, acknowledging his words as truth. “For these charges,” she began, her voice tender in sharp contrast to the hardness of her eyes, “what do you feel to be a fitting sentence?”

Shouts of protest arose from the guards and crowd alike, but the Princess quelled them with a wave of her hand and a responding brandish of her knights’ weapons. “I will hear his plea, then render my judgment,” she said firmly, leaving no room for complaint or compromise. With that, she returned her piercing gaze to Ogma. “Well?”

For a moment, he could summon no words. He had to remind himself to swallow, rather than letting the spit pool up in his mouth, and his stiff muscles strained against his throat.

Finally, he managed to string the syllables together as coherently as he could. “I had resigned myself to death when I decided to help the others escape,” he said simply. “Any other fate is preferable, but I’m not scared to face the block. If you want me to die, then I’ll die now, without regrets.”

Surprise flickered across the Princess’ face for only a moment before she hastily swallowed it down. She searched his face again, and, whatever she was looking for, she must have found it.

“What if...” Her tongue swiped across her lip, and she began again, her voice steadier this time. “What if I want you to live?”

She’d struck him speechless before with such frequency and in such quick succession that, this time, Ogma wasn’t even surprised so much as he was bemused. Still, he didn’t speak for a good long moment, taking the opportunity to scan her face as thoroughly as she’d scanned his.

Caeda’s eyes were fierce and unwavering, her posture impeccable and her shoulders thrown back, but there was a gentleness there; not naivete or clinical pity, but a genuine empathy that was rare to see in nobles―much less nobles with that kind of fire in their eyes.

He made his decision.

With some difficulty, Ogma wrested himself from the guards’ grip. The crowd gasped, and the Princess’ knights drew their weapons, but he didn’t lunge; he merely lowered himself slowly, his back screaming in protest, until one trembling, bruised knee was pressed against the floor. Then, breathing through the pain, he raised his head to meet Caeda’s wide eyes.

She looked even younger now, and Ogma allowed himself a moment to marvel at how strange it was―that this was the first person he’d willingly bent his knee to in years.

He swallowed a mouthful of dirt and blood and said, as clearly as he could, “Then I’ll live for as long as you want me to, if I can.”

(He was always thinking about how he needed a reason to live―a reason to fight―more than anything. And, well, she’d spared his life, anyway―it practically belonged to her, now.)

This time, there was no sudden determination that broke across Caeda’s face to cover her surprise; she remained wide-eyed and open-mouthed, even as she gulped and shakily nodded her understanding. “I see,” she said faintly. Then her eyebrows drew down and her lips thinned, though the rest of her expression remained guileless and stricken.

“Dame Aiveen.” Her voice no longer trembled. “Your sword, please.”

For all that he’d come to understand Caeda in the brief interactions they’d shared, Ogma still considered for a moment that maybe she’d decided to remove his head, after all. Then she accepted the sword her knight offered and nearly dropped it to the ground immediately, arms quivering under its weight as she struggled to lift it without losing her balance, and he felt like a fool for thinking, even for a moment, that she had a cruel bone in her body.

The sword wavered noticeably as Caeda raised it with both hands, shakily holding it before her, with the tip less than a foot from Ogma’s face. “In repentance for his crimes,” she declared, loud enough for all to hear, “Ogma shall serve the Crown of Talys until his dying breath.” She met his eyes. Her confident stare, which he had already come to think of as her “true” expression, was finally back. “He shall swear his fealty as my vassal and pledge eternal loyalty to me and me only.”

Ah. So that was her game. Swearing himself as a vassal to the crown would rid him of his status as ‘private property’ permanently. Vassals, after all, could own land, and you couldn’t own property if you, yourself, were ‘property’. What a simple solution. A truly elementary idea.

Ogma was certain that he was supposed to respond with some specific line, but he had no clue as to what such a line might entail, so he simply bowed his head and said, “Yes.”

No one seemed particularly concerned with the informality of his words―or, at the very least, no one stopped her from leaning forward and touching the flat of the sword to Ogma’s shoulder. It landed with a thunk as she failed to manage its weight, but he was able to completely smother his hiss of pain, so it was of no consequence. When it moved over to his opposite shoulder, though, it was much gentler, the blade’s quivers intensifying as Caeda struggled not to put too much of its weight on him, so she must have noticed his pain, anyway. Naga only knew how.

The sword withdrew from his shoulder, and Ogma raised his head on instinct, meeting his new liege’s eyes. Her expression was mostly blank, save for the certainty and confidence that she exuded as a default, but that was fine. Ogma couldn’t even wager a guess as to what his own face looked like right now, anyway, so he was in no position to judge.

Caeda took a deep breath and lowered the sword to the ground, placing both hands atop its pommel. “Rise, Sir Ogma of Talys.” Her voice rang loud and clear and certain, like a church bell’s toll. “From this day forward, you will serve as my personal retainer.”

Lacking the strength to stand on his own, Ogma just bowed again, even as the tattered skin on his back strained. “As you wish, Princess Caeda,” he replied, dead serious despite the near-giddy glee welling up in his chest. “This body is yours until it breaks.”

Without warning, her hand shot out and clamped down on his shoulder, nowhere near the welts but still tight enough to elicit a flinch. He looked up to find a teary glare bearing down on him.

“It best not break any time soon,” Caeda said, her tone threatening despite the thick emotion dripping from each word, “because breaking my heart is against your vows. Understand?”

Despite himself, Ogma let a small, sincere smile slip onto his face―and, against all odds, when he softly replied, “I understand,” he was telling the truth.

He awoke to a dry throat, a bone-deep grogginess that he couldn’t quite shake off, a faint but insistent pain in his back, and the familiar sounds of soft humming and metal scraping against stone.

Over the years, he’d grown to recognize the medical tent almost immediately by scent alone, and, by the time he’d managed to pry open his eyes, he already had a decent idea of what was happening. The sensation of a wound completely healed by magic, leaving huge patches of too-new skin that twitched and tingled at the slightest touch, was easy to recognize when you’d had so many wounds fixed in such a manner. A thin sleeping pad, damp with sweat but much cleaner than his usual cot; light sheets draped across his body, and a thick duvet on top, rather than his thin woolen blanket; bandages squeezing his torso, but only his trousers covering him otherwise.

He must have been badly injured, and the clerics must have narrowly saved him.

Once he reached that conclusion, his memories came rushing back to him. The archer; the Macedonians; the unseen injury; Princess Caeda’s intervention; the perilous flight back through enemy lines; losing consciousness just as they arrived.

It appeared that Princess Caeda, as always, had gone for the most daring save imaginable, and, as always, her harebrained scheme had succeeded.

Torn between a fond smile and a pained grimace as his freshly-fixed injury tingled uncomfortably, Ogma settled for a soft groan, slowly blinking his eyes open. Sure enough, the tan canvas of the medical tent swam into view, although it was far less crowded than it tended to be directly after a battle. He must’ve been out for a while, then. It made sense, he supposed; his wound had been bad enough to temporarily convince him that he was dead, so it must’ve taken a while for his body to recover. In that time, the rest of the wounded had evidently healed and returned to their own tents, leaving him seemingly alone in the middle of the tent.

That also meant that he’d either suffered the most grievous injury out of the Archanean troops, or else those who’d suffered worse injuries had passed away before he could wake. Given the sheer number of troops they’d faced, the latter seemed more likely, but Lord Marth was a cautious commander and the thought of his allies dying because he hadn’t been there to protect him made his stomach roll, so Ogma optimistically chose to believe the former.

Breathing out heavily through his nose, he experimentally rolled his shoulders, feeling his new scar tissue strain with the movement. Lena, Wrys, and/or Maria had done an admirable job; other than the obvious stiffness and aches, the pain was almost nonexistent. With a week or so of rest, it would likely fade entirely. He would have to remember to thank whoever had fixed him up at the first opportunity.

With that thought in mind, he breathed deep through his nose and slowly began to sit up, using his good arm to support himself and trying not to strain his injured back or shoulder too much.

“Ahem.”

Ogma startled, accidentally jostling his wound, and whirled around. Sitting a few feet behind him, with her back against the canvas tent wall and her legs crossed daintily beneath her, was Princess Caeda, wearing only her undershirt and an old pair of trousers, yet somehow twice as intimidating as a Macedonian soldier in full armor.

As he stared, instinctively shifting his legs underneath him so that he didn’t have to twist over his injured shoulder, she slowly looked up from the wing spear in her lap, which she appeared to be in the middle of sharpening. Or perhaps she’d been sharpening her eyes, instead, because the cold look on her face pierced Ogma with the ease of a ballista shot and the force of a rampaging wyvern.

“You’re awake,” she observed icily, and Ogma wondered how likely it was that she’d gone to the trouble of saving his life a third time just so she’d have the satisfaction of killing him herself.

That was a ridiculous thought only born of apprehension, though, so, rather than frantically try to explain himself, he just swallowed and warily responded, “So I am.”

Caeda made a noise that acknowledged she’d heard his words but imparted no other information about her thoughts or current level of anger. Slowly, she set her whetstone aside, though her grip on the wing spear didn’t falter as she leaned forward.

“How is your injury?” she asked, her voice still perfectly impassive, though the question seemed genuine, not just a way to fill time.

Ogma gratefully accepted the transition into a much easier conversational topic. “Much better,” he said, turning to face her fully so he could demonstrate his improved range of motion without letting on how strange and tight his skin felt. “Whoever healed me did a da―a good job.”

Caeda caught his cut-off curse and rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. “Let me see,” she said instead, shuffling forward without waiting for a response. She sidled into his blind spot with complete nonchalance, and he allowed her to quickly and carefully unwind his bandages to get a better look at the afflicted area.

Of course, observant as Caeda was, there was no chance of her catching something that the healers had somehow missed, but he knew that it eased her fears to see the scar tissue with her own eyes, and who was he to deny her that paltry comfort?

After a brief moment, she hummed again and carefully redressed his wound, though Ogma seriously doubted that it was necessary at this point, since it was nearly completely healed. “Looks fine,” she said neutrally, without her usual relieved ‘I’m so glad you’re alright’ or ‘We should both count ourselves lucky’.

Right. It was easy to forget that she wasn’t pleased with him when he couldn’t see the clear signs of thinly-veiled anger in her body language. Clearing his throat, Ogma turned himself around once again to face her. “Yeah,” he began, “it doesn’t hurt any―”

Then he saw the bandages wrapped around her right shoulder, nearly blending in against her pale skin, and abruptly forgot what he was saying.

“Princess,” he interrupted himself, the urgency in his voice enough to make her look up at him immediately, “your arm―”

Understanding crossed her face, and she raised a hand to silence him―it didn’t escape his notice that she raised her left hand, rather than her dominant right, which stayed limp in her lap. “Peace―it’s already mostly healed.”

“Mostly?” With the extensive healing magic they had at their disposal, only grievous wounds like his would be only ‘mostly’ healed this long after the fact―and, even though she had to have used both hands to sharpen her spear or untie the bandages, Ogma couldn’t help but think, irrationally, that he hadn’t seen her right arm move yet.

Caeda simply shrugged, reaching up subconsciously to wrap her left hand around the bandaged area. “Arrow wound,” she explained. “Didn’t hit Tempest, thank the gods. Lena and Wrys got me patched up, but I wouldn’t let them waste their magic on such a minor injury―a vulnerary each morning for a week without strenuous activity, and I’ll be fine.”

Ogma had no good reason to feel like the breath had been knocked out of his lungs by those words, but, well. Here he was. ‘An arrow wound.’ Clearly, his efforts in clearing the battlefield of archers hadn’t been enough. Of course they hadn’t―one man alone couldn’t protect the Princess from harm when she often found herself on the front lines in the middle of a war―but some irrational part of him was still shocked that something had slipped past him.

Caeda snapped her fingers, and he startled back to attention. She frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”

Ogma opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He didn’t think it prudent to mention that the entire reason he’d nearly died in the first place was that he’d rushed into the middle of an enemy platoon just to take out a single archer. Nor had he ever admitted that he always targeted archers first, even when they weren’t currently taking aim at her.

Unfortunately for him, Caeda seemed to glean all of these things without being told. “Ogma,” she said dryly after a moment, her face frosting over again, “this may surprise you, but you are not physically capable of incapacitating every archer in Macedonia, no matter how many times you charge into a huge group of enemies without backup. Actually, as your liege lady, I’m afraid I’ll have to forbid you from doing so again, since this incident alone has already removed a good three years from my lifespan.”

Ogma winced. The rebuke hurt all the more for its accuracy―worrying aside, his recklessness had very nearly gotten his Princess killed. If Tempest had bucked just a bit harder while Caeda had both hands off of the reigns, busy trying to get Ogma situated, then they both would’ve fallen. And, if the impact hadn’t killed them, the Macedonians would have. Either way, these reckless charges had to stop.

“Of course, my lady,” was all he could say, bowing his head slightly, both in apology and recognition of her orders. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Caeda didn’t reply. When she did, it was uncharacteristically soft―a quiet, uncertain mutter of “As long as you don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Ogma responded immediately, less as a conscious thought and more because he couldn’t stand to hear his liege sound like that. Raising his head, he tried to impart some of his sincerity through his eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him.

He hesitated for a moment, then gestured to her bandaged shoulder. “May I?”

She nodded her affirmative, brushing her hair back with her left hand, and he reached forward to undo the bandages as carefully as he could, just in case she’d exaggerated how much she’d already healed. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case: all that was left to indicate she’d been wounded was a dark scab. It must not have been a very deep injury, he supposed.

“Like I said, it wasn’t even worth the magic,” Caeda murmured after a moment, and Ogma quietly hummed his agreement, glancing over to see if she was still refusing to meet his gaze. Halfway there, though, his eyes caught on her collarbone, and his whole body stilled.

By this point, the scar had become faint with age, even harder to pick out against her naturally pale skin. It curved around from her collarbone to her back, thicker and bolder along the top of her shoulder where the whip had struck hardest, but thin enough in the back that it was almost difficult to see if you didn’t know what you were looking for. Mainly, though, it wasn’t the color that set it apart, but the slight puffiness of the scar tissue; the marks that the welt had left behind blatantly raised from the rest of her smooth skin.

Ogma swallowed thickly.

He still remembered how she’d refused to allow the clerics to attend her first. ‘Sir Ogma is hurt far worse,’ she’d said, stomping her feet petulantly even as she exerted her authority over the royal attendants with ease. ‘You can’t heal me until you heal him! That’s an order!’

They’d warned her, as they set to the nigh-impossible task of mending his back, that it was likely to scar quite noticeably if she didn’t allow them to see it at once. If anything, though, she’d taken that as a challenge. In the end, by the time she finally gave in and let the medics approach, at her knights’ and Ogma’s behest, it was too late to avert or even lessen the scarring.

She’d never seemed particularly ashamed of the scar, which Ogma was endlessly grateful for―it wasn’t something she should be ashamed of, by any means. If anything, it was a badge of honor that displayed her courage and sense of justice for all to see, and she was right to wear it as proudly as she did. Naga knew he held more respect for anyone who’d felt the whip before.

Still, every time he saw it, he couldn’t help the vague guilt that collected at the back of his throat.

Without thinking, he reached forward and touched the scar with the tips of his fingers. Caeda didn’t react, and he hastily yanked his hand back once he realized what he’d done, but there was no way she hadn’t noticed, and he coughed awkwardly into his fist. “Erm, sorry, Princess,” he muttered gruffly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

No response. After a moment, Caeda reached up herself and wrapped her hand around the mark, rubbing it like an old wound that still ached. Like Ogma sometimes caught himself rubbing his own shoulders, because he couldn’t reach far enough to rub his back in a useless attempt to sooth the scars that lay there, hidden under his shirt.

Ducking his head, Ogma deftly did up the Princess’ bandages again, carefully working around the slim fingers wrapped around her shoulder. When he moved to knot it off, though, Caeda’s hand suddenly slid down to cover his, grip tight enough to make him jump.

He glanced up, but she was still facing away from him, the small visible portion of her face unreadable. Shifting uneasily, he kept his hand carefully still underneath hers, even as he fumbled with the bandages. “Princess Caeda?”

“Do you remember what I told you that day?” she asked suddenly, voice not betraying her emotions.

Ogma couldn’t help but huff out a half-chuckle at that. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Princess,” he replied, not unkindly, although he was reasonably certain that he remembered just about every sentence that left her mouth that fateful day―if not by word, then certainly in spirit.

The silence was fleeting. “I told you not to break your body,” Caeda elaborated after a moment, “because that would break my heart―”

“―and breaking your heart meant breaking my vows,” Ogma finished for her, matching her quiet, solemn tone. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “...Yeah. I remember, Princess.”

Abruptly, Caeda twisted to look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his with a vehemence that was, at once, startling in its ferocity, completely incongruous with the mood in the room, and so typical of her that it was hardly surprising at all.

“Then act like it,” she ordered, her voice firm despite the unmistakable quiver of thick emotion.

At that, despite himself, Ogma really did laugh, his eyes squeezing shut and his free hand automatically rising to cover his mouth. When he regained himself and looked back, Caeda’s gaze hadn’t wavered, though her expression had softened considerably. She didn’t relinquish her hold on his hand.

Well, what was there to say? He couldn’t stay somber and downtrodden in the face of the girl he’d sworn his life to.

“As my lady commands,” Ogma said with a grin, and carefully knotted the bandage into place without wresting his hand from Caeda’s grip.

#Fire Emblem #FE Ogma #FE Caeda #Shadow Dragon #archanea week #FE11 #angst #hurt/comfort #Angst with a happy ending #but they have to earn their happy ending #oneshot #THE WORD COUNT GUYS #I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED #scene 2 somehow turned into 10k???#blood tw #violence tw #torture tw

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 8: "Foul Play in Funland"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 8)

AKA "An Actual Zoinking Robot, For Real"

As the episode opens, the gang are on a beach near dark, finishing up digging for clams, since it’s 1969 and there’s nearly nothing for young people to entertain themselves with. Although he happily helps with the digging, Scooby astonishingly is revealed to hate clams.

My mind is blown. There’s a food that Scoobert “Scooby” Doo dislikes? The moment passes without any commentary on how mind-blowingly bizarre it as Shaggy looks out towards the nearby Funland amusement park, wishing that it was open... so he could eat park food, with actually going on the rides a distant third.

Daphne’s not interested in going now, though, and in a rare bit of her showing any outright fear, she thinks the place looks “spooky, even haunted!” with its lights out. Even as Velma tut-tuts her, the lights come on at the park! It’s a simple visual of colored dots on black shapes over a blue background, but something about it always stood out as charming to me. Even the gang’s shock that “that place won’t be open for weeks!” doesn’t ruin the image, the romance of the old-fashioned boardwalk amusement park.

As the gang watch from the distance, the rollercoaster comes to life, and a close-up view reveals a rider in the first car. What sort of spooky figure is about to menace the gang at an evocative locale like an amusement park on the beach? Is it a scary clown? A pirate ghost, or a mutant fisherman to draw on the marine locale?

No, it’s a robot. A sophisticated android is enjoying VIP privileges on the rides, eyes blinking amber light with all the excitement his expressionless face cannot convey. The gang can’t see him in the distance, however, and Shaggy and Scooby distract themselves by playing at ordering food... which actually arrives via an unseen hand! When Freddie actually manages to win the notorious stacked bottles game, someone invisibly restores the glass bottles he’d knocked over, and a prize appears while his back is turned!

If that’s the prize for knocking down all the bottles, what cheap garbage do you get if you only knock down one? As Freddie tosses payment for playing the game down on the counter, Daphne observes that this is a Kewpie doll... and the register automatically rings up the two bits Fred paid!

Meanwhile, Shaggy and Scooby are enjoying their mystery meals, when Shaggy notices someone running by.

Was it hard to get this screencap because of the speed at which the robot was moving? Jinkies no, because the robot is only moving as fast as Shaggy usually runs. The cast consistently react as if he was moving inhumanly fast, coupled with his “invisible” actions supposedly done at lightning speed, but the animation never bothers to make him move along any faster than any ordinary human character, and none of the scenes of things mysteriously happening are rendered in a way that would suggest the same machine is responsible. Were other thins in the park meant to be automated, or were the artists just unable to think of a way to convincingly show superhuman speed?

In any case, Scooby thinks it must be Superman, but this is a man of steel inside and out. The duo try to track him, but...

Horror-stricken, Shaggy concludes he must be a ghost, but Scooby catches sight of the tin terror entering the Hall of Mirrors... at an even slower walk. Not a ghost, Shaggy concludes, “he looks more like a man from Mars,” and follows him inside. After a few of the requisite visual gags of distorted reflections, Shaggy realizes he’s not alone in the mirror.

HE SAID THE THING!

Scooby and Shaggy flee, and the next time we see the robot, he’s climbing onto the Ferris Wheel in view of Fred, Daphne, and Velma. The ride stops with his carriage at the very peak of the wheel, and Fred operates a hand-cranked manual override to bring him down... but the car is empty, and the lights start going down around the park.

So... the only conclusion one can make there is that the robot rode the Ferris Wheel to the top, and jumped out before going to shut everything down. It seems absurd at first, but, to be entirely honest, if I had superhuman durability? I’d totally do the same thing, just because I could.

The gang regroup and discuss their strange visitor, and then notice another building in the distance.

Now, that is a hell of a house. Maybe it’s just my under-15K-per-year lifestyle, but i live near some pretty affluent suburbs and a place like that would qualify its owner as solidly wealthy. The gang suppose it must belong to the park caretaker, meaning either they have no concept of the earning levels of amusement park employees, or this is a magical universe where that’s the kind of job that nets you a seven figure income.

Mr. Jenkins and his sister Sarah, an elderly pair who cast doubt on everything the gang says they saw. Maybe the moonlight was playing tricks on their eyes, there’s no-one else on this island, the—wait, island?

An amusement park not only by the beach but on an island, and the villain they went with for this episode is a robot? Thematic consistency is not the strong suit of this series. In any case, the gang decide they won’t be dissuaded, except for Shaggy, who just wants to go home.

Daphne.

Daphne Blake. You have known Shaggy since you were children, why would you ever assume anything but that Shaggy would rather eat pizza?

The gang return to the park and find that the machines are all running again, but wrong. For some reason, this includes the hot dog stand, which is now pitching out an arc of ready-to-eat dogs, buns and all. The antics include the robot, who puts on a show of juggling plates, tossing out dozens of game prizes, and... going into the Tunnel of Love.

He’s just trying to have a good time, y’all!

More carnival antics ensue, including Scooby demonstrating that his tail is strong enough to ring the bell on the strength test game.

Mind you, this also involves demonstrating that his tail is prehensile.

Scooby is a talking dog with retractable claws and an inhumanly strong prehensile tail. Again, i ask: WHAT ARE YOU, SCOOBY-DOO?

The later reveal in Mystery Inc that Scooby is a descendant of godlike aliens starts to make more and more sense.

Amidst all the antics of chasing him and being chased, it’s strange that the gang never identify the obvious robot as a robot. He’s a “torpedo man”, or “that character”, or “the traffic cop”.

Oh, yeah, about that last one.

This episode shows off something weird about how Velma is written when she loses her glasses. It’s not just that she can’t see, she seems to enter some kind of delusional state where she concludes things about the world around her that would make no sense at all if she remembered what was happening to her before her glasses were lost. It goes beyond “Mister Magoo” antics: the instant her glasses are off, Velma assumes she’s out driving her bumper (or “dodgem” as she calls it) car on a regular street, which she had no earthly reason to conclude.

Eventually, the gang encounter Mr. Jenkins again, and he confesses the truth: the being the gang have been chasing around is a robot. An actual robot. Not a person dressed up as one, which the gang never seemed to even guess at, instead thinking he was just a weird, super-fast and invulnerable human being.

Jenkins tells the gang he intended to run the whole park with his robot creations, proving he either has no sense of the value of his creation, or is just really dedicated to following his bliss.

After a brief attempt at getting the gang to help capture Charlie is thrown off, it’s revealed that the culprit behind the robot going haywire is none other than Sarah Jenkins. Why?

Oh, so it’s a concern about safety and the reliability of untested artificial int—nope, as the gang agree with her, it becomes apparent that this is just anti-robot bigotry and they agree with Sarah that children need to have human contact and would not prefer fully functional automata over creepy carnies.

“I never thought about that,” says Mr. Jenkins. “I just wanted a perfect robot.”

But, whatever! Jenkins rebuilds his creation as “Charlie the Second”, and this episode ends on a bizarre, uncharacteristic note:

the gang met an actual, super-powered, intelligent nonhuman entity and no doubt was ever cast upon it as being genuine

the real culprit behind the mayhem, Sarah, receives no punishment and it’s even agreed that she was in the right

in spite of all this, Charlie is rebuilt, with no indication that he will be replaced by humans after all

Oh, and now he can smile. Or at least, his face is made to appear to smile.

So, Mr. Jenkins, the elderly amusement park caretaker, built a sophisticated android with both superhuman strength and speed, and the delicate sensitivity needed to provide a pet with pleasant stimuli.

What is the backstory, here?

Why is the best roboticist in the world working at an amusement park?

And why isn’t there any actual resolution to Sarah’s sabotage?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

#scooby doo #KRAOSD

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theworldoffostering · 6 years

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How the heck will/do you afford those kids: private schools, special diets, complex medical issues, HOW?From what you've posted you and DH aren't in exactly lucrative careers?

Am I️ misinterpreting this post as accusatory? It sounds a bit like, “You can’t afford this many kids!” Whatever. Here’s the longish version…

I’m a teacher. DH is a teacher right now too although that’s not always been his career path. When we were both working full-time, we lived on my salary and saved his. I make about $44k/year. DS was making $39/year I think.

DS is on my private insurance but has secondary insurance because he was adopted through foster care. He also receives an adoption stipend. (He’s our only child with a college fund so no judgement on where that money goes.)

Baby will have secondary insurance. So will Ms. 6. Ms. 6 will get some break on her FASFA because her adoption will be after she’s a teenager. I think she essentially claims only her income so hopefully that will make college affordable for us for her. DS has his college fund. Not sure how DD is gonna make it through college financially, but we will find a way.

I bought a house in foreclosure for $150k many years ago as a single mom of two kids. I sunk another $20-$30k into it. We now owe less than $65k on it. Because we are uber responsible financially. Until this year we were debt free, except for the house. However, this year we bought a new vehicle and now we still owe $15k on it.

We find a way to make it work. Baby has a stipend that covers his stuff. Nothing is beneath us. DH signed up to drive for Uber. He has a masters degree, but if he can make extra cash driving drunk people home from the bars, he’ll do it. He’s working a month long full-time sub gig right now. In addition, he works some hours as a ropes course facilitator. I teach summer school to make extra money. It all works out in the end.

There’s more to say, but it’s late. I’m tired. I hope I’ve proved to the Internet that we are financially stable.

ETA: I came back to say, I think people do what they need to do to get their kids what they need. If a special diet is what is going to help DS, then I’m going to figure out a way to make that work for him. Maybe that means I keep wearing clothes that I’ve had for a decade. Oh well. I still look professional enough to go to work every day. There are ways to afford thus many kids without making a ton of money. Is it super easy? No, but it’s also not impossible. We try to live within our means. We budget. We watch how often we eat out. We rarely do things for “entertainment” beyond traveling to FL over spring break where we stay with my parents. However, my kids also don’t want for things. I bought DD a ticket to FL for a week as her Christmas gift. It was $120 round trip including her baggage. Checking the bags cost more than the ticket. She’s staying with my parents so I’ll give her a bit of spending money and my parents will cover whatever they do while she’s there. They got her tickets to see the ballet there as her Christmas gift. She’s going to be so stoked and it’s going to cost me little in comparison to what she’s getting. I’m going to a training this weekend and my hotel room is paid for. It comes with free passes to a huge water park. I’m taking my big kids with me so they can have fun (for free) while I attend the training. I assure you, they are not deprived.

Edited again: private school is prorated. I believe it’s about $1300 for the semester so nothing crazy, over the top expensive. The principal assured me we could have tuition help if needed. In our state, DS would qualify to go for free as part of a state funded program (it’s controversial politically). Ms. 6 may not qualify based on her circumstances, but I told her worker that they were going to have to kick in for it because Ms. 6’s team is stating she needs a smaller environment. Even though technically foster care can’t pay for it, they will figure out a way to put it in the rate (I think). This kid needs placement. They really need to do whatever it takes at this point. Rate will be the last thing determined, but I’m also signing her up for horseback riding lessons, and I’m nearly positive there’s a voucher that will kick in for that too. Frankly, that’s the way it should work.

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gymviralscom · 7 years

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This Womans Butt Proves Weights In the Gym Mean More Than Weight On the Scale

Last July, Claire Maxwell, a twenty-eight-year-old registered nurse from Durham, North Carolina, fainted at work and broke her jaw when she hit the floor.

via: Instagram

As you can imagine, eating was nearly impossible when your jaw is wired shut, and she lost thirteen pounds from her 5-foot 9-inch frame, bottoming out at 117 pounds.

Given our often warped society’s view of thinness, it didn’t initially bother her to lose weight, even though she knew she was perfectly healthy before the accident.

“I knew I needed to gain back the weight but I didn’t see the hurry,” she admitted. “I didn’t think I looked unhealthy. I thought I looked fine…lean even. It wasn’t until I saw this photo that I remember thinking, ‘Oh, sh*t…definitely do not have a butt anymore.”

via: Instagram

It wasn’t until her jaw was unwired six weeks after her accident that Claire was able to dive into an aggressive weight-gain plan derived by a personal trainer friend, eating a high-carb, high-calorie diet containing more than 1,000 excess calories per day.

She also went back to a slightly tamer version of her old fitness routine involving weight-training andsome plyometrics.

Within a month, Claire gained roughly ten pounds, returning to her starting weight of 130 pounds.

via: Instagram

But because she was still recovering, she couldn’t lift that heavy and some of the weight she gained came in the form of fat.

A few weeks later thought, Claire had recovered enough to start lifting heavier weights with the goal of regaining her strength. Within two months, Claire’s body began to look and feel like it had before her fall. The only thing that changed was her body fat composition and muscle mass not her weight, which remained steady at 130 pounds.

But she still wanted to get that butt back, soshe stared doing a total of 4 1/2 hours of butt work at the gym each week.

I'll always take the days when I can have a killer leg day in my @womensbest As you guys know for the last few months I have really been focusing on growing my legs and booty. I decided not to do a true bulk since the wedding is coming up, but I increased my carbs and spent over 4 hours a week working out legs Growing up I was really awkward and gangly aka putting on muscle wasn't easy, and it still is difficult but I have to say that I feel pretty happy about my progress. I'm finally starting to feel a little more "solid" #whereisthedeadliftemoji . But now that the wedding is coming up in a few months, I'm going to cut my carbs a little bit to just lean out some. Don't get me wrong, i have been feeling great and love the progress but my abs aren't quite as defined. I know–I get that abs aren't everything. But for my wedding, I want to feel the best that I can in every aspect and if I can get a little more defined than I will put in the work to get it done I won't be in a true cut though, so my carbs aren't decreasing by that much which is nice. Between now and then I also won't have the time for 2 hour leg days so the decreased carbs helps balance that out . Just thought I'd update you guys! Also a full day of eating is now up on IG stories For anyone that asks, @paosfitworld calculates my macros. She my little macro queen #macrosbypao #legday #womenbest

A post shared by Claire (@cguentz.gofit) on Mar 19, 2017 at 6:11pm PDT

��I know it’s a lot,” she said. “But for someone who has a lean, delicate build, and given my fall, I had to put in a lot of work at the gym.”

Claire’s leg workouts consisted of bridges, cable-machine work, leg presses, split squats, weighted walking lunges, band work, hamstring curls, deadlifts, kickbacks, hip thrusts, kettlebell swings, and more, including 45-minute StairMaster sessions three times a week.

…AND GETS ALL UP IN YOUR FACEBOOK

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Her weight didn’t budge, but seven months later she got that booty back.

I know I've shared this before but I'm sharing it again because it seemed to resonate with a good amount of people. . On the left was a couple weeks after I had broken my jaw, and had lost over 10 lbs. initially. On the right is a week or so ago. Now, I have never been someone to fixate on my actual weight, I didn't even own a scale until last year. But, for whatever reason, seeing that lower number on the scale messed with my head a little bit. I knew I needed to gain back the weight, but I think there is this automatic association that weighing less is somehow better. Obviously this is not true but I think that has been engrained in us by society. And to be honest, I knew I needed to gain back the weight but I didn't see the hurry. I didn't think I looked unhealthy. I thought I looked fine…lean even. It wasn't until I saw this photo on the left that I remember thinking, "oh, shit…definitely do not have a butt anymore" Which yes, is funny to an extent…but it's also a little scary how something can be so engrained in us (a lower number on the scale) and us embody that without even knowing it. . Even for someone who doesn't use a scale (I just weigh myself for macro adjustments), I do understand how the number on the scale can have a big impact on someone. So I just really encourage you guys to adjust your goals based on what you see in the mirror and how you are feeling about your body (if that makes sense). Yes, the number on the scale CAN be an indicator of progress, but it is NOT the only indicator. I look at these photos and on the right is someone who is healthy, happy, confident, and those are the things that I strive for. Those are what will make your progress meaningful, not the number on the damn scale #screwthescale #gainingweightiscool

A post shared by Claire (@cguentz.gofit) on Apr 3, 2017 at 6:08am PDT

“A lower number on the scale is not necessarily an indicator of being healthier, more confident, ‘looking better’ etc.,” she said of times when she’s weighed more, but felt healthier, happier, and stronger.

“Those are the things that I strive for,” she wrote in a caption. “Those are what will make your progress meaningful, not the number on the damn scale.”

And that’s something we can all get behind (pun totally intended.)

Via: Cosmopolitan

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