#my cats name is whittles if anyone was wondering

[paleo-cafnir]

Two mimir

#what if we had non avian dinosaurs as pets? #artists on tumblr #dinosaurs #my art #3d art #palaeoblr #3dblr #paleoart #prehistoric animals #cats of tumblr #cute cats #cats #my cats name is whittles if anyone was wondering #zanabazar junior #velociraptor

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x sigyn #funny little ups and downs #cozy writes

[shadow--writer]

Hi!! I LOVE your writing!! may I request something for modern! Muriel where he goes to a school, never talks to anyone and maybe still lives in a hut, so he doesn’t really know all the modern stuff. He sees the MC (fem would be nice) and develops a crush on her. One day he sits in like a library and he’s on his laptop and the poor guy just doesn’t know what to do with it, so the MC offers him help and he’s a big blushing mess. She invites him to come to her house to study and she has this small apartment with like lots of flowers and animals so he feels right at home and they talk about plants,animals and stuff? it’s so much I’m sorry, I thought it’s cute 🥺

awwwww omg thank you so so much! I’m still super surprised people like my writing and like me enough to follow just I love y’all. 

So these are in headcanon form and I went a little wild. Also this counts as a little birthday present for @tabbybells​ since I thought of Bink and Muriel the whole time I was writing~ Lov u and your amazing artwork. You’re super fun and very sweet, if y’all have the time go check them out! Wonderful art of Muriel and a super adorable MC cat bastard named Bink. (there is a bonus with Bink and Muriel too after the other headcanons just for fun! Lmfao hope I got Bink right XD)

Muriel x MC modern au. Made it college, he’s a Veterinary Science Major MC is not specified with gender and major (you two have science classes together tho ;3)!

~~~~

Muriel is the more reserved student, SUPER DUPER smart and really good at what he does but more reserved 

Hear me out here but: he has glasses. Thick black frames, he pushes them up his nose with his shoulder a lot when he gets distracted 

He does struggle to use his new laptop because he was just fine with his old one until it broke on him. 

You found this kinda funny. You’re studying in the library for a science test and this really big dude is just pouting at his laptop with the blue error screen

Of course this gets you out of studying so you go over to help him. At first he waves off your help, until you show him you have the same laptop and know what you’re doing

Then he gives in

“Good luck trying to fix this mess. Ugh my old laptop was better than this junk.”

...he had a 10 year old laptop that was the size of a brick and ran like a 94 year old woman with arthritis it was not better

He’s smart just not super tech savvy. Think ye old dad’s asking their kids for help with tech kinda not tech savvy. 

It’s okay because he’s freaking adorable when he pouts over his laptop not working for the eight billionth time

You two start to chat a little bit after helping him boot up his laptop, and it’s goodbyes from there when you’re done

But he started going to the library pretty often after that in hopes of seeing you again

You come in every day to study and check out something new (or pester the librarians.)

So the two of you run into one another a bunch. Each time he has a new problem with his laptop (sometimes they’re real other times it’s an excuse to talk to you. O-Only to get help of course!)

Depending on you it might take a few days or a few months to catch on to his plan

And once you do, it makes you smile and laugh a little because gosh he is quite the dork

Of course you developed a little crush on him too during this time, but one day he comes in to actually study 

You two have a science exam together to you invite him to come study over at your house

He tries to hide it but he lights up at the idea of spending more time with you, so of course he accepts (after...a moment of pretending to think about it. He didn’t want to seem too eager and scare you off)

When he first sees your apartment he’s....in shock to put it lightly 

So. Many. Things.

He likes it a lot. The amount of animal stuff you have on your walls, plants hanging from the ceiling and a bunch on every window sill. Birds/cats/dogs/hamsters etc chattering around 

It’s very bright and warm he feels at home immediately

You make warm drinks while he sets up in your living room, looking super large in this almost dollhouse couch and coffee table

It’s quite a sight, but he accepts the drink eagerly. You two study for a bit before the books get forgotten and you just...talk

About anything. Everything. The weather. Your classes. And it moves to animals. 

He gets all excited and lights up when he starts talking about Inanna (met her injured in the woods outside of town when she was a pup. He nursed her back to health and she’s never left his side since)

When he talks about her he gets all animated and opens up a lot more. Still soft spoken and shy

If he notices you staring he’ll blush red and go quiet

But when you ask questions and ask for more stories he’ll slowly warm up to being animated again

You’re...really easy to talk to like this

When it gets late and he has to go home you kiss his cheek and send him off

Bright red he is.

But he can’t wait to see you tomorrow. 

MODERN BINK AND MURIEL HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT. This is what im good at so Happy Birthday Tabby! 😎👉👉

Modern au Bink feels like a cat person to me. All the cats. Any cat he runs into he gets. House is filled with cats. It’s hilarious 

Muriel calls him Grandma because of this. Bink in turn calls Muriel Grandpa due to his troubles with tech

Asra knits them both matching ugly sweaters

They wear them every time they see Asra

Bink and Faust have gotten into staring contests when they go over. Muriel finds them amusing and they can go on forever 

Bink loses every time but he will not give up

“...you do know she doesn’t have eyelids right?” “I DON’T CARE I’LL BEAT HER”

Bink (to me) seems like a reigning champ of roller skating. Super graceful and finds it fun (gonna add Maeve in here real quick because this hit me: Bink and Maeve are the power couple of roller-skating.)

Muriel is uhh...not that. Clumsy, and VERY out of his element. Bink takes it upon himself to hold Muriel’s hand and guide him around

To outsiders it’s hilarious as Bink is 5′5 and Muriel is 6′10 and looks like he can bench press a truck 

Muriel whittles Bink little presents and cat toys

He keeps the wooden animals on a shelf dedicated to them. You could map out their relationship through the wooden carvings.

Muriel lives on coffee. Bink is banned from drinking coffee

Asra has a polaroid camera and a cork board of pictures of Bink and Muriel 

Faust and Inanna are good friends

Inanna and some of Bink’s cats are not friends 

Inanna is banned from Bink’s apartment due to this fact 

Bink and Muriel go on a lot of late night dates. They both like to nap with one another in a sunbeam on a couch 

Muriel is the dad that passes out when he sits in a comfy chair. Bink is the cat that curls up on Muriel’s chest to soak in the warmth 

Said cats will gather around them as well if they can

Asra has taken to calling them the oldest married couple

They are an old married couple, sinking into home like routine 

Muriel carries Bink on his back when they go out into town because Bink does not want to walk

Bink and studying don’t go together well due to poor attention span (FAIR) Muriel has created a reward system for him (yes Muriel still has his glasses, and yes Bink steals them and wears them himself. yes he has gone blind in them. Yes Muriel has lecture him. yes Asra has a picture of this)

#the arcana #the arcana game #muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #bink #muriel headcanons #the arcana headcanons #fluff #college au #Muriel is an old man #HAPPY BIRTHDAY TABBY! #friend's apprentices #mc x Muriel #muriel x apprentice #muriel x bink

[passionate-hedgehog]

Hooked (Damien Haas x Reader)

Damien and his producer girlfriend just wanted to update their fans on a SMOSHcast after he posted a picture to his instagram account indirectly outing them as a couple. So, why are Sarah and Shayne singled out at the end?

Damien Haas x OC

5020 words

ITALICS are flashbacks

AN: I wrote this in 5 hours so if it sucks, it’s because I rushed. I tried really hard not to delve into SMOSH fanfiction but fuck me, I’m here. and I hate it. I had to pee the entire time. I have zero clue how VIDCON or any fan convention works. It is what it is. Mythical are assholes kinda in this.

AN2: Find my first Ian Hecox fic here.

AN3: I’ve rewritten it to be a Damien x Reader

m.list

“Welcome to another SMOSHcast. I am Ian Hecox from SMOSH.” The host of the podcast looked into the camera put off to the side to record video. “We have a few guests today. Right next to me is producer Sarah Whittle…”

“Isss meee!” The producer proclaimed in her cute tone. “I’m Sarah Whittle from SMOSH.”

The host continued, “And next to her is Shayne Topp, actor extraordinaire.”

“Heeeeyyyy. I’m Shayne.” The actor whispered weirdly into the mic.

As the group at the table giggled and/or rolled their eyes, Ian did the next introduction. “And then we have our video game professionalist: Damien Haas.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, man. Thank you.” Damien replied to the host and then looked into the camera. “Yes, I am Damian Haas, an actor from SMOSH. Disclaimer: we ALL play video games. Don’t let them fool you, listeners.”

“Mmmm...not quite.” The final guest commented from the left side of Damian. “Unless you count merge games on the phone. Not that you haven’t tried to hook me into them.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shayne piped in. “Y/n, you’re not a fan of video games.”

 Damien and Y/n were sitting on his couch with controllers in their hands and cats by their legs. Damien was working on loading Smash Bros onto the tv while Y/n scratched behind Zelda’s ears.

“I know our thing is you watching me play, but I think you might really like this one. I promise.” Damien tapped at his buttons to work through the settings.

“When I gave you that business card back at VIDCON that said ‘I’d love to watch you play games sometime,’ I meant it. YOU play. YOU.” She pouted.

He shrugged as if it was out of his hands. “It’s already been decided.”

“Do we gotta, though? Like, I’m totally content watching you play and using my hands for more important things...like loving on the felines. So important.

”“Super important.” Damien nodded in agreement.

“Super important.” Y/n repeated, feeling as if she won.

“Too bad.” Damien looked back at the screen. “What character do you want to play as?”

Y/n groaned in despair and threw her body backward against the cushions. “Fuck me.”

Damien looked at her with raised eyebrows. “What’s up?”

The look on Y/n’s face told him not to push it.

 Damien turned his head to the new producer. “You just can’t be hooked.”

Ian chuckled. “Well, I think we’ve proved that you can, as a matter of fact, be hooked.”

She looked at the host with a playful glare. “You really ready for this conversation?” 

It was Y/n’s first VidCon and, honestly, still her first month at Mythical. Her job was to engage the attendees that walked past the Mythical booth in conversation. She was meant to talk about things pertaining to the people and things in the videos. She was still fresh at her production assistant role and didn’t know much about Mythical’s behind the scenes things quite yet. She’d had a few people stop by, and she was able to amp up the hype for the projects she knew were coming up. That was a thing she could do, and she did it well. She loved Mythical so far.

When a small group of people around her age started walking towards her booth while laughing and what looked to be recording, she started to feel a little shy. She was an extrovert, which helped with what she was supposed to be doing. But there hasn’t been an actual group of people to approach her. The closer they got, the more nervous she got. She ended up deciding to take the L and make herself look busy in hopes that they’d just keep walking. It worked in the end, but she felt bad about purposefully not doing her job. She promised herself she wouldn’t let herself do that again and made sure to engage with anyone she could while at her station.

When it was Mythical’s turn at the panel, she stood off to the side and took pictures of her bosses and co-workers. She filmed a little for future needs and made sure to enjoy her time overall. She also made sure to listen to what Rhett and Link talked about and store it away for later and made mental notes on things she had questions about.

It was when she was going through some of her pictures during the fan Q&A that she noticed someone was watching her. She had glanced up for a second while being in thought when they locked eyes. She squinted while trying to figure out who he was really looking at because there was no way he was looking at her. She wasn’t even a producer that the fans knew. It took a minute, but he eventually looked away, while looking like he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

The next day, she was able to explore a little bit more. One of the OG producers took over the booth, and she decided to go and see what else was out there. She ended up stumbling upon interactive video gaming booths. She wasn’t a fan of video games, but she always liked watching people play them. Those that really enjoyed video games would be the most entertaining. It always pulled her in.

She scanned the games that were being played and caught sight of the group of people from yesterday. Feelings of guilt from not doing her job hit her, and she gnawed at her lip. She knew she had to start going easier on herself, but there was still a fear that the company would one day realize she was some incompetent girl from the midwest that didn’t belong in California or the industry.

“Hey, are you okay?” A voice spoke from in front of her.

She looked up and noticed the guy from the day before looking at her with scrunched eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You looked like you were trying to give yourself snakebite piercings with your teeth, and your foot was tapping faster than Thumper. Do you need anything? Or is there someone I can get for you?” He looked around the area.

She shook her thoughts from her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I didn’t realize I was that lost in thought.”

“Do you...do you work for Mythical? I saw you yesterday taking pictures of the panel, and I noticed you were at the booth. So yes...you do work for Mythical. That was a dumb question, never mind.” The guy scratched his face awkwardly.

Y/n assessed the situation. Was this guy a fan of Mythical? Like one of THOSE fans that she needed to be concerned about? Or was he just trying to make conversation? Y/n was at a disadvantage. She was alone at VIDCON (and California altogether, but that's for a different day), and she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Hey, Damien! I thought you were going to play the Halo campaign?” A blonde guy came up to the two. There were a few others with him; Y/n recognized them as the group from earlier.

The guy, Damien?, looked to the group as if forgetting that they were there. “Oh. Yeah. That slipped my mind entirely. Guys, this is...uh…”

“Y/n. My name is Y/n.” She smiled her work-place smile—the polite one she saved for when she didn’t know what else to do.

“She works for Mythical. Isn’t that cool?” Damien smiled as if he really thought taking pictures of the panel at VIDCON was the biggest dream job anyone could ever have.

“I think you’re way too excited about what I do for my job.” She laughed in response.

“It’s probably because he relates to it a little. We work for SMOSH.” The blonde friend supplied.

Y/n tried really hard not to let her face control the conversation. “Forgive me, but I don’t know what that actually is. And by the looks on your faces, I feel like maybe I should….”

“Oh, it’s ok!” Damien interjected. “If you haven’t gone to a panel yet, ours is later tonight. You should come by and check it out. Our channel has a few different things.”

One of the other group members stepped in. “Yeah, there's sketch comedy, video games, things like that. You’re at the video games booths, so I’ll assume you like video games?”

That made her chuckle. “I actually don’t really like video games. I was just wandering around because I got a break from the Mythical booth.”

When she looked at the group again, she noticed they were all staring at Damien with raised eyebrows.

“Oh. Right…” He said while looking shocked. “Well... as Noah said...there’s sketch comedy?”

“Well, who doesn’t like to laugh??” Y/n shrugged. “I’ll try to make it to the panel! Thanks for introducing me to something. I have to actually make it back to my booth to help with cleaning up. But I’ll be waiting for the panel!”

On the last day of VIDCON, Y/n was exhausted. She was just thoroughly exhausted. When she went to get herself a snack from the food service area to refuel for breaking down the booth, Damien was there as well. His group wasn’t with him, which made it easier for her to approach him.

“Damien?” She called when she was a few feet behind him. He turned around and held a pleasantly surprised expression. “Hey, I ended up missing your panel, but I hoped it went really well.”

“That’s ok. It means a lot that you found me and told me that. Thank you for the consideration.” The look in his eyes was earnest. He really meant what he said. “How was your first VIDCON?”

“I wasn’t really sure what to expect, to be honest. I don’t know a lot about any of this. I’m completely new to the industry. But I’m excited to see where it takes me. I hope to see VIDCON next year. Maybe you’ll be here too?” She licked her lips, wondering if that was a little too forward.

“I hope so, too. I’d really enjoy that.” He gave a smile that melted Y/n’s insides.

“Oh! I have a thing for you!” The PA reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a small card. “It’s the industry, and one of the rules is to exchange business cards, right? Here’s mine.”

He looked at the white cardstock in his hands, noting that something was scrawled onto the back of it. “I gotta say. You’re super prepared for someone new to this. I don’t even have one. But thank you. I gotta get back to my group so we can head back to Sacramento. It was nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Y/n watched him reach a hand out to her, and she took it to shake. “It was nice to meet you, too, Damien.” 

The host sighed. “And our final guest, today, is SMOSH producer: Y/f/n Y/l/n. This is her first cast, and we’re very excited to have her on.”

“Aw, thanks, Ian. I almost forgive you.” She said with a glint in her eyes. “Yes, I am Y/n. I’m a new producer for SMOSH. I currently work under Sarah until I can get my feet more settled on the ground here.”

Shayne chimed in. “Have you noticed a difference yet? Between here and Mythical?”

The producer looked to be in thought before she replied. “Hm. The obvious difference is the job title. I was just a PA there, but I did a lot of producer side work because there were opportunities. I didn’t ever actually produce, but I still did a lot. I’m not complaining; I loved it. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. But because I am currently working under someone, it’s mostly the same.”

The host closed his water bottle after taking a swig from it. “Are you excited to start as a producer on your own soon?”

“Uh, oh! Trick question!” Shayne called in his Aunt Carolyn voice before going back to normal. “You gotta say yes. Or you get fired.”

“Listen, bruh. I’ll take you. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Fighting you is like fighting three people right now. I’d have absolutely no hope!” The actor threw his hands into the air.

“OOOH nice segue, Shayne! It goes right into today’s first topic.” Ian looked into the camera. “We’ve always considered SMOSH as a...a family. We’ve had good times and some really awful bad times together. There are a few different kinds of out-of-the-workplace relationships amongst all of us.”

“Yeah, like Y/n has become my complete best friend. I mean, it started while she worked at Mythical, but it hasn’t changed since she moved over here. And right now, especially right now, we’ve grown even closer.” Sarah cut in while motioning to the new producer.

Y/n excitedly jumped in. “Yeah, I’m super thankful for Sarah just existing in the first place. I don’t have any family here in California, as you guys here at the table know. So, during everything that’s been happening, it’s been really...uplifting to have her support through it all. I couldn’t imagine the past year and a half without her.”

Sarah’s sweet smile held as she reached her hand out across the table and Y/n grabbed it to hold for a second. The men around the table let out a chorus of “aw’s.”

“Yeah, Damien, are you being replaced?” Ian asked. Jokingly.

The actor chuckled. “Listen, if Sarah wants to replace me, that’s fine. She’s got more cats. I completely understand.”

“That’s true.” Y/n looked into space. “She has quite a few more cats than you. But Freya and Zelda have become my children. I could never leave them behind. I’d have to take them with me!”

Damien looked at her for a second before he gave a simple “no.”

“I tried. Sorry, Sarah.”

The older producer giggled and shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t know how many more cats Claudio will be okay with me having.”

“You just see Claudio coming home one day to an apartment full of six cats, and he’s super confused. ‘Sarah Whittle???? Do you even live here anymore? Sarah?’” Shayne laughed after giving a very bad mimic of Claudio’s accent.

“And then there’s just one giant cat because I’ve become one myself. ”

“But it’s like a cat from the movie ‘CATS,’ so it’s super terrifying.” Damien chuckled his way through his addition to the joke.

“Oh, my God. No. My poor husband. I couldn’t. OKAY, no more cats. I give I give! Damien, you can keep your girlfriend.” Sarah laughed.

There was a quick hush that spread across the studio. Ian raised his eyebrows and nodded. That just made his job so much easier.

“So, back to today’s topic…Some of our guests have an announcement to make.”

“It’s not really an announcement, though, Ian.” Damian began but stopped when the girl to his left gently put her hand on his arm.

“It kinda is. The photo from earlier wasn’t like...an official announcement. The caption you gave was a little vague. I also don’t know why I’m even arguing. My bad, babe.”

Damien turned toward her as best as he could with the surrounding equipment and table. “No, don’t worry about it. You’re right. This morning’s photo wasn’t an official statement.” 

If there was one aspect of being in Y/n’s current life situation that she detested the most, it was the constant migraines. Without fail, she would develop a headache when she first woke up.    

Damien learned to be prepared for the morning routine. In the first few months of their new lifestyle, he had grown to realize that mornings weren’t going to be the easiest. He would be the first to wake up, take his shower, and start the coffee and tea. Y/n had been a heavy coffee drinker until recently.  

After the actor got his morning routine out of the way, he went to wake up his girlfriend. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a morning person...but that she had difficult mornings. As he walked into their shared bedroom, he noticed she was sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while. Without wanting to miss out on the opportunity to express how happy he was at seeing his partner in a relaxed state, he pulled out his phone and snapped a pic. He opened Instagram to edit the picture, adding a grayscale filter. The caption was kept short, simple, and mildly vague; they did have a SMOSHcast announcement to make later that day, after all. After making sure that the blankets covered her body, he posted the picture for all of his followers to see. He proceeded to put his phone back into his pocket and get on with the rest of the usual morning routine.  

 Y/n pouted. “You’re so good to me.”

Damien gave a gentle smile and tapped her bottom lip so she’d stop. “It’s because you deserve the world.”

“I remember now why I made that rule about you two showing affection in the office. Y’all are gross.” The host shivered.

“You don’t have to lie, Ian. We know you dig it,” Shayne interceded.

“Yeah, when I first started a few months ago, I really believed my job would have been in jeopardy had Damien and I been caught in anything other than a respective distance apart from each other as co-workers. But, now that I’ve been here for a minute, I can tell how much you like to see your kids happy.” Y/n winked at her boss.

The president of SMOSH nodded in agreement. “The rules were for you two, honestly. I knew that you wanted to keep things private, so I was just trying to create a safe work environment for you. I’d never, well...at least now that I’m in charge of it all… I’d never ask you guys to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. When we agreed that you’d be coming over to SMOSH, Y/n, I knew that your privacy as a person and a couple would be at the top of your concerns. It wasn’t necessarily your choice to be a part of SMOSH, and I’ll never stop apologizing for that, but I want your experience here to be worth it. You’re worth it just by existing.”

“God, Ian. You know I cry easier these days, man. Don’t do this to me. Don’t be that ho. Fuck.” The girl was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her SMOSH merch hoodie. “It’s fine. I didn’t actually put makeup on today. It’s cool. Whatever.”

“But I mean it. You were thrown to us when we needed it the most, and I’m, and the rest of us, are extremely grateful for you.”

 There was a jovial nature to the lounge that everyone was in. The SMOSH cast hung out in between sketch takes and were gathered for an impromptu meeting that Ian had called earlier that day. No one thought anything of it when Y/n walked in and made herself comfy next to Damien on the couch. Shayne was originally next to him, but he automatically got up and sat on the arm instead.

“How’s today been so far?” The Mythical PA asked as she settled in.

“Not bad. We knocked out a few sketches. We have some Pit stuff to record after this meeting.” Her boyfriend’s best friend responded.

“OH Y/n!” She heard Courtney cry from across the room. “Them boots! They’re so cute!”

“Thank you, Courtney! I found them on a resale Facebook shop. I’m not mad at them.”

Everyone in the room fell into their own conversations about this and that. Y/n took the time to look around and really take in the SMOSH members surrounding her. A year ago, she didn’t know ANYTHING about SMOSH, but she was happy for the relationships she built and the opportunities that being affiliated with the channel gave her. When SMOSH was bought by MYTHICAL, she found herself wandering over to SMOSH once or twice and did some side work. They’d borrow her occasionally, and she loved it.

Ian had walked into the room during her reverie and was attempting to draw everyone’s attention. Y/n missed the first part of what he was saying but eventually caught on.

“So, because we’re down a producer, we’ve been able to pick up a new one full-time. I think we’re all pretty excited that Y/f/n Y/l/n is officially joining our team as a SMOSH producer.” Ian kept going, but Y/n tuned him out to work through what he just said.

“Wh...what?” She asked, completely confused. “What did you just say?”

“You moved to SMOSH?” She heard Jackie ask from her right.

“Babe?” Damien looked down at her with scrunched eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were leaving Mythical.”

“I...I didn’t either.” The girl started floundering. “I...what? When did I move here? What do you mean I work here now? I don’t...What? I love Mythical...I would never leave.”

The president of SMOSH sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Well, fuck. This is not what was supposed to happen. I was given the green light from Mythical to make an official announcement. I would not have had this meeting if I, at any point, didn’t think you would know…”

“So...just like that...I work here now?” The girl was close to tears.

The room was quiet.

“Right. Right...I uh…” she got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I guess I have an office that I gotta cleanout on the other side of the building. If you’ll all excuse me…”

No one said anything as she left. Everyone looked at Damien, who then looked at Ian. Ian sighed heavily and walked out of the lounge.

Y/n was in the office she used to occupy putting things in boxes and trying hard not to cry. She loved working at Mythical. There hadn’t seemed to be any problems that she could see, but maybe she was so blinded by all of the good things in her life that she missed something.

“Do you want some help?” Damien stood in the doorway, wearing a sad smile.

That’s when she lost all composure. He must have caught the second she was about to start sobbing because he was right next to her chair, holding her as she kept sitting. He whispered words of love and encouragement as she cried.

“I don’t understand! I thought I was doing so well. I love it here! I got so much out of being here. What did I do?!”

Damien was crouched next to her at this point, wiping her tears. “Did you talk to them?”

“For like a minute. They said that I’d see more opportunities at SMOSH. They said that they could see me becoming something better over there. But they didn’t tell me that before they talked to Ian? I’m the one that essentially got fired! How can they just make these decisions for me?! I’m not…” She stopped.

“You’re not what, Baby?” He had his hands cupping her cheeks.

“I’m...I’m not ready...I don’t want to be a producer yet. I’m not ready to leave the nest yet. I don’t want it to change.”

Damien nodded in understanding. “That’s what’s really upsetting you, isn’t it? You don’t feel you’re ready to make this career change. Yes, and about being traded to SMOSH.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love all of you. I love SMOSH. But I belong at Mythical. This is my home.” The woman sniffled. “It’s not time to leave.”

“Baby, you’re going to flourish at SMOSH. I know you’re terrified. Especially since this isn’t something that was discussed with you. And you’re right. It’s not fair. I’m sorry that they didn’t say anything to you.” He brushed some hair out of her face. “Love, it’s your choice if you want to work at SMOSH, but Baby, it’s time to leave Mythical.”

The next day at SMOSH, the couple found themselves at Ian’s desk. They were called in first thing, but Y/n wasn’t quite sure why. Ian was in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee while the two looked at each other.

“I think...we need to talk about somethings now that you’re both at SMOSH together. I know that you guys have been keeping everything private dealing with your relationship.” Ian took a minute to think through his thoughts.

The two nodded to show that they were listening and agreeing, so far.

“I couldn’t be happier that you two found each other. You’ve somehow managed to find your perfect other halves. It lifts the spirits here when you’d come over and visit, Y/n. You were already one of us before this week happened. I mean it.”

Y/n gave a sweet smile. “I know you do, Ian. I love you, too.

”Ian sucked in a breath. “So, I’ll have to lay some rules down in order to protect your privacy, because that’s my concern. What you do out of office hours is whatever. If you decide to come out as a couple, then I support it one hundred percent. But for now, with your wishes to remain unknown to the fans as in a relationship, there can’t be any PDA. We gotta nip that in the bud. I know this place is our home, but you never know. And when we’re on location or on a set, just please be careful. Okay? We’re a small company. We don’t have that many PR resources. Okay? Does that sound fair?”

The couple looked at each other. They seemed to be conversing with just their eyebrows and head movements. It took a minute or two before Damien spoke up.

“Yeah, about that...We do want to keep it as private as possible, but that might start to get a little hard.”

“Please don’t tell me that one of you posted something and that I’m too late.” Ian tapped the desk, anxiously.

“Oh, don’t worry, Ian.” Y/n bit her lip. “You’re not the one that’s late.”

The president couldn’t keep the deadpan expression from his face. “You kids are gonna put me in an early grave.”

 “Keep it up, Hecox, and I’ll quit. I swear it. I’ll just sit at home all day with the cats whilst judging OG SMOSH videos and why that weirdo with a bowl cut acts the way he does.”

“Okay, claws in, tiger.” The table laughed with Ian trying to fake-placate the girl. “I’ll hold in the nice things for the rest of the cast.”

“Thank you.” Y/n blinked. “No, wait!”

“Hey, Y/n,” Shayne called. “I like your hoodie.”

“Oh, this ol’ thing?” She pulled at it. “It’s borrowed, and it’s super soft. I’m LIVING. I wanted to ask if there was some vault or something where I could get my own.”

“No, no…” her boyfriend patted her shoulder. “You can wear this one. You can just wear all of my hoodies. Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t be able to fit in them forever. I was already bigger than you to begin with. I don’t have long until I’ll get stuck putting them on. I need bigger ones, babe.” She turned to Ian. “Honestly, I don’t care what they look like. I just know I’m quickly running out of time before nothing fits anymore.”

“Yeah, of course. You’ll get your own to pick from. Don’t worry about it.”

It was Damien’s turn to pout. “But I like seeing your tumtum. Don’t put it awaaaay.”

“I love you so much, Damien, I do. But I’m about to suffocate in this.” She tried pulling at the bottom hem of the shirt to prove her point.

“If I may ask, how far along are you?” Ian spoke. “Also, as I ask this, I can see Shayne in the corner of my eye, giving me a look because he knows this answer.”

The blonde gave a suspicious smile. “I’m like the pregnancy stalker. I wasn’t trying to be weird about it. I was trying to give them their space, but like, Damien is my best friend in the entire world. I admit I have a problem. It hasn’t reached the point where I show up to doctor appointments, however.”

“Yet.” Y/n chimed in. “But uh to answer your question, Ian, we’re about...6 months? I think? Honestly, anything with numbers is gone from my head. Pregnancy brain is real. I talked to my best friend back home, who has two children, and she said sometimes, pregnancy brain never goes away. So...I’m SUPER excited for that. I can't wait to never do math again. THANKFULLY my man is super smart. He just has to be smart enough for the both of us from now on until we die.”

“That’s the most pressure I’ve ever been under. Thanks, babe.”

Shayne laughed. “Yeah. Having a kid? Easy. Being smart? Oh, man. OOOOOOH MAN. Whole other level.”

The SMOSHcast went on and drifted away from Y/n and Damien’s relationship to other topics. They talked about upcoming projects, future trips, and movies that were coming out. Shayne and Damien threw out jokes. Sarah and Y/n shared looks pertaining to things that were between just the two of them. Ian made sure to keep the talk flowing and always had something to say to stir the pot.

Finnerty called out that they were winding down to about fifteen minutes left of recording. Ian looked at the couple across from him and gave a slight signal that Sarah and Shayne didn’t miss. They shared a look but waited for the expecting couple to start. Y/n and Damien looked at each other to decide who was going to start. Y/n shrugged and sat up straight.

“So there was something else we wanted to share. But it’s actually for the two of you.” She faced Shayne and Sarah. “We were wondering if you’d do us the honor and be our kid’s godparents?”

Sarah’s face lit up, and Shayne gave a simple and quiet “what?”

Damien picked up where Y/n left off. “You two are our best friends, respectively. While yes, we wanted to discuss everything and make this cast an honest statement to the fans, we wanted to ask you something important to us. We love you guys, and there’s no one better for it.”

“OH MY GOD YES! REALLY?!” Sarah yelled but immediately apologized into the mic to the editing team. “You really want us to be godparents?? It’s a total, yes from me! I could never turn that down!”

Everyone turned to Shayne, who was busy trying to hide his tears behind his hands as he tilted his head back. They let him try to collect himself for a minute before Damien tried again.

“Buddy? You good?” He put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“Oh, my God. You really trust me with that?” The blonde actor ran his hands through his hair while still looking at the ceiling.

The look in Damien’s eyes was softer than what Y/n was used to seeing aimed at anyone but herself. But she understood it. It was Damien and Shayne, after all. She winked at Sarah as the two giggled softly.

“Of course! Who else do you think I’d ask? You’re the only one I’d ever pick for that, man. I love you. And I’d be honored if you’d just say ‘yes,’ you dingus.”

“Well, duh! You think I’d say no? Oh, my God.” Shayne and Damien awkwardly hugged as best as they could.

Ian nodded at the whole thing. “Yep. Well, that’s a good place to leave that. Thank you, guys, for listening. If you enjoyed this SMOSHcast and want to know when we post more, then hit that bell. Subscribe. And hey, watch the rest of the videos we’ve uploaded. Stay safe out there. We love you.” 

#smosh fanfic #kill me #i keep falling to depths i never i think ill reach #smosh #what have i become #damien haas #damien haas x reader #shaymien friendship #is this another smoshcast #smoshcast #family

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 12

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 4629 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nami, Chopper, Usopp, Brook, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Doflamingo Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

The nickname Doflamingo uses for Law in this chapter is a nod to the story “Worth” by Doctor_Cyance.

Warning: This chapter contains the description of a panic attack.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

After leaving the control room, Law followed the echoing cacophony of the fully collected Straw Hat crew through the halls of the lab. Smoker trailed behind him, tension on the acrid air surrounding him. The moment Law had realized what he’d let the vice admiral hear about his past, he’d debated whether to let Smoker return to the Marines with that information. But the feeling of Vergo’s heartbeat stopping in his hand was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t particularly feel like ending yet another life today after everything that had happened.

If the other man tried to talk to him about it, though… Well, Law couldn’t make any promises then.

As he walked, Law considered his situation. With Vergo dead, the main source of the rumor of Law’s disloyalty was gone. Law had the dead man’s Den Den Mushi in his pocket, and even if he had recorded Law’s words, Law would simply destroy the recording. For a brief moment, Law considered ending his partnership with the Straw Hats since he’d taken care of his main target, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind. Law could pretend he’d never seen Vergo on Punk Hazard, but Doflamingo would hear of Vergo’s death eventually, and, considering the cause of death, there would be no mistaking who had killed him.

Not to mention, Law had obviously failed in the mission he’d been sent to complete—and he couldn’t imagine finishing it now. Not when he couldn’t shake the startled recognition that had struck him as he and Straw Hat had shaken hands that the pull in his chest had gone still, as though Law were where he was meant to be.

No, even with Vergo dead, Law was still just as stuck as he had been the moment Vergo had arrived on the island. He had no choice—either for himself or his nakama—but to continue on the path he was on.

Laughs and shouts bounced off the lab’s metal walls, and, as Law and his stewing shadow approached the source, Law recalled the blueprints he’d been provided; this must be the Biscuit Room, he thought as he stepped into the large, colorful space. He’d wondered at the name as he’d pored over the schematics on his way over, but now he understood. Smoker stepped up next to him and made a disapproving sound at the sight of what was clearly a space for children—children who had become science experiments for a mad clown.

Law narrowed his eyes, assessing the scene in front of him. It seemed the Straw Hats had taken care of their enemies with alacrity. Both Caesar and Monet were wrapped in what Law hoped were Seastone chains (he had warned them) and slumped against the wall. The cat burglar stood not far from them, hands on her hips and a small smile curving her lips as she watched the antics of her crewmates. Smoker’s second stood on the other side of the captives, clearly having taken it upon herself to guard them. G-5 soldiers milled about close to the swordswoman, refusing to fully engage with the pirates.

“Oh, Torao! You’re here!”

Law looked up to see Straw Hat across the room. He was perched atop the back of a couch next to Zoro, who appeared to be dozing. Long Nose sat across from them, his slingshot in hand. It looked like they’d been in the middle of a lively conversation before Law had caught the other captain’s attention. Nico Robin sat next to Long Nose, one leg crossed primly over the other and her hands clasped in her lap. She was smiling, as though enjoying whatever her nakama were discussing. The cyborg sat on the floor next to her. The skeleton, for his part, was wandering around the room, playing a jaunty tune on a violin. (At this point, Law didn’t have it in him to question where that had come from.)

That left the tanuki, Black Leg, and the samurai. Considering none of the children were present, Law had a feeling he knew what the little doctor was up to, anyway. Law idly wondered if he was having any luck treating the children before shoving the thought aside; he didn’t like thinking about his own history with looking to other doctors for help.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law replied, stepping further into the room.

“What happened to that Verto guy?”

Law tightened his grip on Kikoku briefly. “Dead.”

Straw Hat simply nodded, but outraged noises erupted from the other side of the room. Law turned to look at the prisoners.

“What?” Caesar gasped loudly. “But he’s—”

“So, he was right,” Monet said, the quiet betrayal in her voice more painful than Law had expected it to be. “You were a traitor after all. I didn’t believe him when he told us.”

Though he hated the Family as a whole for what they had taken from him—and continued to take as they held his crew’s lives over his head—Law had spent years with people like Monet once he’d been brought to Dressrosa. And he didn’t hate them all as individuals. Monet was a lot like Law himself, having been rescued by the Family after an unspeakable trauma along with her sister. But, unlike Law, she hadn’t been freed from the corrosive influence of the Donquixote Pirates. She’d been fully indoctrinated and would never believe the truth of who Doflamingo truly was that Law had witnessed on Minion Island. Doffy had her undying loyalty.

Law’s jaw tightened. “He didn’t give me much choice.”

“I can’t believe you teamed up with these… idiots,” Caesar said, lips curling in disgust as he looked at the Straw Hats.

“Idiots?” the cyborg called. “That’s super rude.”                      

“These idiots kicked your butt,” Long Nose reminded him, aiming an empty sling shot in his direction. “So, what does that say about you?”

Caesar made some incomprehensible frustrated noises in response, but Monet simply looked at Law, her usually placid expression tinged with hurt. “Why, Corazon? After everything the Young Master’s given you?”

Law snorted, an ugly sound that caused Monet to recoil. He knew exactly where he stood with Doflamingo—the Warlord’s tool and plaything and the means to an end—and none of it was for Law’s sake.

It was never for anyone’s sake but his own.

Doflamingo liked to act like he was generous with his Family, but all he really knew how to do was take. He gave but took twofold in return—his gifts came with strings, literally and figuratively. The cost was unflinching allegiance to a madman, pieces of one’s soul irreparably damaged by every act of loyalty, every drop of blood spilled in the name of a man who believed himself a god. And the Family was happy to pay the price; Law once had felt the same before he’d been saved.

Doflamingo was also unflinching in taking from those who refused to pay fealty. He’d taken Cora-san all those years ago for saving Law. He’d taken Law’s and his friends’ freedom on a no-name island in the North Blue. He took the very existences of his enemies in Dressrosa, using Sugar’s abilities to erase them from memory and enslave them as toys.

It was fitting, Law had thought when he’d first learned of the scope of the operation in the kingdom; Doflamingo was a puppet master, literally pulling strings. He saw others as his toys to play with as he wished. Law was nothing more than another one of those toys, though a supposedly privileged one, sitting on the Heart Throne. But it was nothing more than a gilded cage. Law’s eventual purpose was still to die for Doflamingo’s immortality. After everything else he’d taken from Law, he also intended to take Law’s life. And he expected Law to give it willingly; anything else would break the illusion of Doflamingo’s complete control.

“He’s given me nothing,” Law replied coldly. Nothing that he hadn’t taken back countless times over as he whittled Law down into the shape he wanted as his Corazon, anyway.

Monet opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a loud wail as the Straw Hats’ little doctor came out of a side room.

“Chopper, what’s wrong?” the cat burglar asked, hurrying to his side.

“I’ve tried everything I can think of,” he said, “but the drugs in their system are just too strong, and I don’t fully understand their interactions.”

“Of course, they’re strong,” Caesar sniffed. “I made them, and I’m a genius.”

“Shut up, clown,” Nami hissed before turning back to her crewmate. “So, what does that mean?”

“If I can’t get the drugs out of their system, they won’t get better,” the tanuki sniffed. “I can treat the symptoms, but I can’t cure them.”

“Let Torao take a look!”

Law jerked in surprise as rubbery limbs wound tightly around his shoulders and the too-loud voice rang in his ears. (His concussion complained with a painful pang in response, and Law winced.) He hadn’t even noticed Straw Hat moving from the couch. Law prodded at him with Kikoku’s hilt in a futile attempt to dislodge him, but Straw Hat just grinned at him.

The Straw Hats’ doctor eyed Law uncertainly. “I don’t know, Luffy…”

“He’s a good doctor,” Luffy said with a decisive nod. “He saved me.”

After several failed attempts to detach the other captain—the freaking limpet—Law sighed and satisfied himself with the biggest eyeroll he could manage.

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Luffy?” the cat burglar asked. Her suspicions remained, and Law could respect that. Someone on this crew needed to exercise some common sense.

“Torao can look at them,” Straw Hat said, unswayed.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Law demanded. Being talked about like he wasn’t present was one of his (admittedly many) pet peeves.

“Shishishi,” Straw Hat chuckled. “You’ll look at them, won’t you?”

In hindsight, as Law followed the tanuki to the room he’d been seeing the children in, he’d like to say he agreed because disagreeing with Straw Hat over it would be too much trouble, and, with his head injury, he didn’t have it in him to argue. But the truth was that there was something in the wide, trusting grin Straw Hat effortlessly threw in his direction and the responding warmth in his chest that made the agreement roll off his tongue before he could stop it.

He listened with half an ear as the tanuki explained what he’d already tried with the children and what he’d found. Though Law wasn’t privy to the exact goings-on in the lab, he had a sense of how ugly some of the projects Doflamingo had his fingers in were, so nothing he heard surprised him.

“L-look, Corazon,” the little doctor said once he finished his recitation, voice trembling slightly as he turned to face Law, hooves on his hips. “These kids have been through a lot. They’re scared and in pain and want to go home. D-don’t make it worse, okay? O-or I’ll kick your ass myself!”

Law had never seen anything less intimidating—and his best friend was a polar bear mink, which said something—but he still respected the sentiment. That protective instinct toward a patient was the attitude a true healer should have, one Law had seen in his parents as they fought for the people of Flevance while it was ravaged by plague. And, despite all the blood he’d spilled over the years, it was a feeling he could feel stirring deep, deep within himself, too.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Law replied. “You probably shouldn’t be here while I work, though.”

“What? Why?”

“My methods are… unorthodox,” Law settled on. Though the Ope Ope no Mi’s effects were bloodless and painless, that didn’t make them any less disturbing to most people who saw them.

The tanuki hemmed and hawed for several moments, and Law felt his impatience growing until he just opened a Room and approached the kids. The little doctor yelped and followed him.

“You’re that man from outside,” one of the kids said as Law approached, frowning at him.

“I am,” Law agreed.

“What are you going to do to us?” another child asked, arms crossed defensively.

Law felt his eye twitch at the assumption he was there to hurt them, but Law had attacked the people who were trying to help them escape. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say—he knew a thing or two about being a traumatized child, but that didn’t make him an expert on dealing with others.

“Corazon here is a doctor,” the tanuki said, coming up next to Law.

That piqued the interest of some of the children.

“A doctor?”

“Like you?

“What kind of name is Corazon, anyway?”

“Law.” Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. “That’s my name,” he clarified, startling even himself. “Corazon is a title, but…” But he didn’t work for the Donquixote Family anymore now that he’d sided with the Straw Hats, did he?

He glanced down to see the Straw Hat doctor looking at him curiously. “What?” he demanded, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, like he was being looked through rather than at. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Bepo when looking at the small creature, and Bepo had always known Law better than anyone—often better than Law himself.

“Nothing,” the little doctor squeaked before looking back at the kids. “Doctor Law here is going to look at you. I’ll be just outside if you need me!”

With that, he glanced back at Law once more then left the room, closing the door behind him. Law, curious at the tanuki’s sudden agreement to leave Law and the kids alone, turned back to the children. He took a breath and unsheathed Kikoku to perform a Scan.

-----

Once Law was finished his work, he left the delighted children chattering to each other about what it was like having their body parts removed and opened the door. The Straw Hat’s doctor was sitting just outside, and he perked up at Law’s appearance.

“Well?”

“I was able to remove all traces of the drugs from their system,” Law said. “But most of them will be dealing with the effects of long-term exposure. With rehab, they should all be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Law said, slightly annoyed at having his professional opinion questioned. Though he didn’t truly blame the tanuki; whatever Caesar had been experimenting on with these children, he’d given them some incredibly potent drug combinations that Law had never seen. Anyone without the power of Law’s fruit would have had a hard, if not impossible, time treating these children.

As Law had initially Scanned the children and seen the degenerative effects of the drugs they’d been exposed to, he’d been reminded of the charts he’d seen in his parents’ clinic of patients with Amber Lead Disease and the devastating effects on the body; he’d had to forcibly shake himself from the memory to continue working.

He started as the tanuki hurled himself at Law and wrapped his little arms around Law’s legs. The Straw Hats were far too affectionate for Law’s comfort.

“Thank you!” he said, looking up at Law with teary eyes. “I didn’t know what I was going to do for them!”

“It’s nothing,” Law said, lightly shaking his leg in an attempt to remove the other doctor. He was finding himself saying that a lot around the Straw Hats, he realized. He wasn’t sure he wanted to examine that any more closely.

The tanuki finally released Law’s leg and wiped his eyes with a hoof. “Luffy was right.” He gave Law a weak smile. “So, thank you for this. And for saving Luffy when I couldn’t. Law.”

Law opened his mouth to wave off the thanks again, but he shut it when he heard his name. Looking at the little creature, he felt his chest clench as he was reminded of Bepo when he’d called earlier. “I knew it, Captain. I knew you were still in there.”

He thought of the small feeling of satisfaction he got from healing Black Leg’s fracture, from knowing his hands could still heal after everything else they’d done.

Maybe Bepo was right, and the boy he’d sworn to follow no matter what thirteen years earlier was still in Law somewhere. Law had long thought that boy dead in the North Blue, but Bepo had always been the wisest of the Hearts.

“They’re your patients, Tony-ya,” Law said, recalling the doctor’s name from his—frankly ludicrous—wanted poster. “I was just helping out.”

Chopper’s face lit up at Law’s use of his name, but he tried to hide his pleasure. “That doesn’t make me happy, you bastard.”

Law’s lips twitched as he left Chopper to deal with the children now that they were no longer poisoned and headed back to the Biscuit Room.

When he entered, Straw Hat perked up immediately, as though he had a radar for Law’s presence. “Oi, Torao!”

“How are the children?” Nico Robin asked, eyes following her captain’s gaze.

“I removed the drugs from their systems,” Law said. “They should be fine with some long-term treatment.”

“What?” Caesar squeaked. “You shouldn’t be able to—”

Before Law could open a Room to shut the clown up, the cat burglar smacked him on the head. “Shut up, you slimy bastard. You’re lucky Torao here was able to help the kids. If he hadn’t been able to…” She trailed off, but the implication remained.

“Still not my name,” Law muttered.

“Still doesn’t matter,” the cat burglar replied in a singsong.

Law sighed and rubbed a hand over his face then looked back up at the other Straw Hats. “Now what?” He had no idea how long he’d been working on the children, but if his waning stamina was any indication, it had been a while. It must be getting late.

“The Marines called for backup,” Nico Robin said, “but the closest ship won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“Captain Tashigi will be taking charge of the children,” the cat burglar added, a softness in her expression. “She’ll take good care of them.”

“And our next stop is Dressroba!” Straw Hat said.

“Dressrosa,” Law corrected automatically, stomach tightening at the thought.

“From the maps, Dressrosa seems to be fairly close,” Long Nose said, pointing to some maps spread out on a table between the sofas.

“It is,” Law agreed. “Maybe half a day.”

Half a day to figure out how to extricate Law and his nakama from Doflamingo’s strings.

It wasn’t enough time.

The cat burglar nodded thoughtfully as she came up next to the table and looked at the maps. She was their navigator, if Law remembered correctly. “It’s too late to set sail tonight,” she said. “We thought we’d leave in the morning.”

Law nodded curtly. “Fine.”

“So, you want to tell us what we’re walking into when we get there?” Zoro asked, arms crossed and eye narrowed.

Law opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the muted sound of ringing. Law reached into his coat pocket and found his Den Den Mushi waiting to be answered.

There was only one person that could be.

“Shit,” Law cursed.

He had no interest in letting the Straw Hats or Marines overhear this call, so he quickly formed a Room and Shambled into the first space that came to mind: the control room. He landed on the couch in place of a pillow he’d switched with.

He set Kikoku to his side and stared at the snail for a moment before answering.

“Doffy.”

“Corazon,” Doflamingo replied. Law tried to listen for anything off in his voice, any sense he knew Law had really betrayed him after all. “How is the mission going?”

Law hesitated only a moment as he calculated the best response to give. “It’s done.”

“And there were no… complications?”

Law knew he was imagining it, but he couldn’t help but feel like Vergo’s corpse was staring at him from across the room.

“No. The intruders were taken care of.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ve been trying to call Monet but haven’t received a response.”

“She was injured during the fight,” Law said, the lie falling from his lips without a second thought. “I treated her wounds, and she’s currently sleeping.”

Doffy hummed in response. “I see. And Caesar?”

“The clown is locked away in his lab,” Law replied, allowing his disdain for the scientist creep into his voice. Doffy wouldn’t be surprised by it. “I don’t know how Monet puts up with him.”

Doffy chuckled. “She does it for me.”

“Of course.”

“And when do you plan to return home?”

“I’ll set sail in the morning.”

“Excellent. I knew you were the right man for this mission. Until tomorrow, little bird.”

Law grimaced at the nickname as he hung up the call. The Birdcage haunted Law’s nightmares to this day, and he felt like nothing so much as a caged bird in Doflamingo’s service—and the man knew it. The nickname had become more regular since he’d started bringing Law into his bed, an act that had truly felt like clipping his wings.

And now the little broken bird was going to try to fly again.

It would never work.

Law could feel his heartrate picking up as his thoughts started to whirl.

Like he’d told Violet that morning—had that only been this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago—he was Doflamingo’s creature, possessed by the man inside and out.

He lifted a hand to his chest, only to find his entire arm shaking.

Doflamingo was a Warlord and a former Celestial Dragon.

Heat rose in his face.

Who was Law?

Bile rose in his throat.

Doflamingo was a dragon to Law’s bird.

He was going to throw up.

What was Law doing?

Law pushed himself to his feet and took a few unsteady steps forward and managed to round the couch, but his vision spun in front of him.

What was he thinking?

His feet tangled under him with his next step, and he crashed to the floor behind the couch.

He was going to get his nakama killed with this futile venture.

His breaths came in jagged pants, his tight chest struggling to inhale and exhale, and all he could hear was rushing in his ears.

Everything Law had done for the last nine years had been to keep his nakama safe, and now he was going to fail them completely.

Law’s entire body shook, and he curled in on himself.

And now he was going to get Luffy’s crew killed, too.

He screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears as he struggled to breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He could feel the wood of the treasure chest beneath him and the treasure they’d shifted to fit Law into the chest at his back. The lid of the chest wouldn’t move since Cora-san had placed another chest atop it to disguise Law’s hiding place.

Law tried to summon a Room to escape, but his powers refused to cooperate, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Cora-san was going to die because he’d helped Law…

A cold sweat clung to his body.

The deafening cracks of gunshots, one after another, rang through Law’s ears and tears streamed down his face.

Law couldn’t make a sound because of Cora-san’s powers. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out except for ragged breaths.

He flinched hard as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

Wait, a hand? Law was alone in the treasure chest.

The hand withdrew, and Law slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, all he could see was a blur in front of him—then red came into focus.

Doflamingo had worn red that night.

Law jolted backward until his back ran into something solid. He hissed through clenched teeth.

“—orao? Can you hear me?”

Law blinked slowly as a voice started to form words amidst the rushing in his ears. He felt the hand return to his shoulder, but he didn’t fight it off this time. Who—?

“Hey, Torao. It’s me. Can you hear me?”

It was Luffy.

Luffy hadn’t been on Minion Island.

Right.

Law wasn’t on Minion Island. He was on Punk Hazard.

Law wasn’t a sickly thirteen-year-old boy anymore. He was twenty-six and one of the most feared pirates in the New World.

Luffy squeezed Law’s shoulder when it was clear Law wasn’t going to freak out again.

Gradually, Law felt his heartrate slow, and his chest loosened, allowing him to take deeper breaths.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law finally managed, voice rasping from his struggle to breathe. He pushed himself up off the floor, but his limbs felt like jelly, so he simply leaned against the back of the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

Shame started to creep up the back of his neck as he realized he’d let Luffy see him having a panic attack—he hadn’t had one in years—only hours after making an alliance. He’d shown his allied captain how weak he truly was on the eve of taking on one of the most powerful men in the New World.

But Luffy simply smiled when Law acknowledged him and sat down next to Law, mirroring his position with his knees up to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and turned to look at Law.

Law resigned himself to questions about what had happened and was already considering how to reply, but Luffy surprised him.

“I used to get them after Ace died,” he said quietly. “Out in the forest alone when I trained with Rayleigh. I’d remember what happened and then I couldn’t breathe. I’d feel Ace dying in my arms and the fire in my chest all over again.” A soft smile returned. “But it got better when I saw my nakama again. They got easier to deal with when I wasn’t alone anymore.”

Looking at the other captain, Law realized that despite the grin that seemed permanently etched into Luffy’s face, he’d been through a lot in his short years. They had that in common. But where Law had retreated into himself to cope, Luffy turned outward. After coming to Dressrosa, Law had been too afraid to show any sign of weakness around the Donquixote Family, so he bottled everything up until it exploded. And the explosions tended to be violent.

“Doflamingo called,” Law said after a few silent moments by way of explanation.

“That Mingo’s a bad guy, huh?”                      

Law’s lips twitched tiredly at how simple Luffy made the situation. He rested his chin on the top of his knees. “Yes, he is.”

His eyes were getting heavy. Between the extended use of his fruit today and now the panic attack, Law supposed it was amazing he was even still awake. It was nothing new, though; working himself into unconsciousness was his preferred method of sleeping, despite the frequent protestations of his crew.

Law swallowed at the thought of his nakama back in Dressrosa.

“We’ll get him,” Luffy said confidently. “We’ll get Mingo, and we’ll save your nakama, Torao.”

Law grunted a response, and that seemed to be enough for Luffy.

They sat like that for a time, Luffy quieter than Law would have expected he could be. Despite the way Law’s thoughts had been a whirlwind before, they were quiet now. Gradually, Law’s eyes drifted closed, and he thought he might have felt an arm wrap around his shoulders before he went under completely.

Next chapter

#As an apology for taking so long with this one #Have the longest chapter yet #Trafalgar Law #Monkey D. Luffy #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction #One Piece fanfic #Caitlin's fic

[redroseinsanity]

Don’t Be A Hero - IwaOi Day 2020

Part 1 of the IwaOi hero/villain series, Meet me in the grey area

This is my spin on this wonderful hero/villain prompt from @one-lonely-whumperfly​ (I hope you don’t mind what I did with it) for IwaOi Day! 

For once I am not late can you believe it? Pulled myself from the clutches of MDZS to get this out because my heart will always belong to Haikyuu~

---

Hajime doesn't know how he got here. And no, by here, he doesn't mean his living room. Here, meaning sponging his enemy's forehead and trying his best to ignore the teeny voice inside that wonders why his nemesis would hide such a lovely face behind a mask. 

To say that he's having a slight crisis would not be a stretch. 

Let's start from the beginning. 

Contrary to popular belief, The Ace of Seijoh city is a very normal person. Anyone would say he's the picture of a regular guy; works a nine to five in a small cubicle, doesn't talk much, is overall a decent person and can be relied on to help fix the photocopying machine when it's down, that sort of thing.

Iwaizumi Hajime is a man of routine; he wakes up at an ungodly hour every morning for his workout before breakfast and then work, after which, it's home to his one-eyed cat and a quiet dinner before sleeping. Rinse and repeat. 

The only thing that breaks his routine is any, and every, form of emergency the city of Seijoh can contrive to suffer from. For Seijoh, Hajime has taken bullets, single-handedly unseated corrupt politicians, taken on murderers and saved the mayor at least three times. But most of the time, he's busy thwarting the nefarious Grand King whose schemes keep him on his toes but tend to be more annoying than colossally damaging unlike some other villains he's gone up against. 

It's not easy being The Ace of Seijoh, but Hajime knows his powers give him the chance to protect people and so, protect people he does. 

Iwaizumi Hajime is having a Very Normal evening. He's had an extremely ordinary dinner of homemade pasta and is watching a popular show on Netflix in his very normal pyjamas. 

Yup, totally normal. In fact, the last time he jumped out of a burning building while holding a child was oh, about a week ago. 

His Very Normal evening is abruptly cut short when three uneven knocks sound on his door. Slowly, warily, Hajime approaches the door, placing a weapon within reach from where he stands. Hajime doesn't have friends, relatives or anyone who is likely to visit and certainly not at this hour. 

Squinting at the visitor screen, Hajime frowns when he recognises the glitzy get up, the aqua trimmings on white, and frowns even more when he sees rips on the suit, blood and scuff marks marring the usually pristine appearance. 

It can't be, he's got to be mistaken but as The Grand King raises his head, Hajime comes face to face with his nemesis and his Very Normal night shatters.  

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he presses his thumb to the scanning pad, a security measure that allows only him to open the door and it swings open to reveal a slumped figure.

The villain is barely upright, even raising his head seems to be an effort and he sways, toffee eyes drifting shut before opening again. Instinctively, Hajime raises a hand to his elbow to steady him and through the material, he's surprised by how bony the other man is. 

At the touch, Grand King's eyes clear slightly and they fix on Hajime, blinking a couple of times to focus. Underneath the fog of disorientation, there's a measure of fear and uncertainty that has never been there before. He's shaking in Hajime's grip, whether from the cold or something else, Hajime isn't sure, but he's on Hajime's doorstep, bleeding and afraid. 

It’s a trap. How does he know where I live? What happened to him? 

Even in this state, he's able to read Hajime the way he always seems to do in a fight and the edges of his lips quirk up in an attempt at a smirk that slides off like oil on water, the fatigue overpowering him. 

"...didn't know where else to go…" Is all he gets out before he's slumping, his tall frame folding straight into Hajime's stunned arms. 

Read on AO3 or...

There are a billion questions clamouring in Hajime's mind but he shoves them aside along with all common sense, when he hauls the person who's technically his enemy into his house. 

Hefting the man,who the city has christened 'The Grand King', into his arms, Hajime lays him carefully on the couch - a move that warrants an offended look from Captain, his ginger cat. 

"I know, this is insane, that this could be a trap, and no, I don't know how he knows where we live," Hajime tries to explain himself to his cat, because that's what all heroes do, reason out questionable life choices with their pet. He casts a doubtful look at the crumpled figure on his sofa and sighs. 

"But I don't think so," He murmurs, more to himself than to Captain, "I think he really needs our help."

Having had his fair share of scrapes, Hajime makes quick work of cleaning and bandaging Grand King's wounds and then sits back, taking a good look at the man he's been fighting with for years. 

Normally, he's too busy fending off multiple attacks or rushing to prevent a building from crashing on tourists to really look at his opponent. But in the low light of his living room, in the stillness of the late evening, Hajime finds that underneath the gaudy mask of this pesky villain is a gorgeous man not much older than him.

Without the mask and the banter that Grand King usually keeps between them, he's all creamy skin, long lashes and his mouth is soft, vulnerable in sleep. There are shadows under his eyes and sweeping a gaze over the various bruises and lacerations, it's easy to see someone hasn't been kind to him. 

Hajime wonders who. And then he tells himself it’s none of his business. 

Without warning, Hajime is struck with the horrifying feeling that The Grand King is someone who needs to be protected more than he needs protecting from and it leaves him utterly discombobulated. To avoid the struggle of trying to reconcile this man with the one who had most recently tried to flood a press conference with piranhas in the water, Hajime decides to hook him up to an IV bag to try to flush out whatever it was in Grand King's system that made him so sluggish. 

He wakes as Hajime is cleaning grime off his face and Hajime doesn’t know who is more startled. His hand freezes mid-motion, too caught off guard to snatch itself back and the Grand King’s eyes dart around the room, the sharp gaze whittling down to something like padded caution as he finally stops on the very hand that had been dabbing off smudges of dirt. 

A slow blink that has the dark edges of lashes grazing a rapidly swelling cheek. Hajime tells himself he's looking at the bruise, not the other man's eyelashes. 

Just like that, Hajime has no idea what to do with his hands, if he should wipe that last smear of dirt off or get into a battle-ready stance. He watches as The Grand King's lips tilt up. 

"So you didn't kill me," There's a wheezy rasp in the voice that usually rings clearly across buildings and town squares and Hajime doesn't like it. He hands a glass of water over, scowling. 

"Did you come here expecting me to kill you?" He demands. 

After carefully peering into the glass, Grand King takes a tentative sip before shrugging and immediately, wincing as he jostles the wound that runs across his ribs. 

"It was a gamble," he says lightly, as though delivering yourself to your enemy's door carries the same risk as trying a new brand of peanut butter. 

Hajime says as much and Grand King raises an eyebrow, managing to look regal even though his hair is a mess and Hajime desperately wants to comb his fingers through it so it would stop being so distracting. 

"Are we really enemies though, Iwa chan?"

Hajime cycles through ten different variations of rage before reminding himself that Grand King probably can't sustain a duel right now. 

"What did you just call me?" He says slowly, deliberately, prying his fingers from the indents he's made in his coffee table. 

"You think I would find out where you live but not your real name?" Grand King asks, chuckling. Hajime feels the indignation subside slightly at the familiar sound, the way the air seems to have properly returned to the other man's lungs. 

"If I wake up one day to find piranhas in my house, I really will kill you," Hajime threatens even though they both know this is not the implication that he should be most concerned about. 

"Of course n- Oh," The Grand King breaks off when Hajime's absolute traitor of a cat crawls straight into the villain's lap and starts purring. 

The betrayal continues when The Grand King begins cooing to Captain and Hajime's absolute traitor of a heart does a helpless flop. 

"Who knew a stern old man like you would have such an affectionate kitty, Iwa chan?" Those caramel eyes are soft now and Hajime suddenly feels disconcertingly out of his depth. 

"I told you to stop calling me that," He grumbles, shooting a glare at Captain who responds with a smug look. 

"Aww, don't be such a sourpuss, Iwa chan! Look, you can call me Oikawa and we'll be even," Oikawa grins cheekily, scratching Captain under the chin in the way that has the feline's eyes closing in contentment. 

"Is that even your real name?" Hajime raises a skeptical brow and is met with a knowing grin. 

"Don't sound so suspicious, Iwa chan," Oikawa teases as he sits up and begins taking the IV out. 

"Wait," Hajime hears himself say before realising he has one hand out, his body moving faster than his mind can filter, "You shouldn’t- You’re not in any condition to move around."

The look that Oikawa gives him is undecipherable and Hajime sees him hesitate before he gently moves Captain out of his lap. But he stands and Hajime watches carefully, relieved when he doesn't sway even though he moves with an unnatural heaviness. 

"Do you-" Hajime struggles with himself before he decides he will regret not asking more than he will asking, "Are you in trouble?"

This time, Hajime catches the flash of surprise ripple across Oikawa's elegant features before his confident smirk is back in place. 

"Why? Is Iwa chan worried?" He leans in close, Hajime can see gold flakes swimming in brown, illuminated by the warm light of the lamp, can feel Oikawa’s breath skim his cheek.

"Are you going to protect me if I am?"

Yes, the response rises in Hajime like a wave swelling in the sea, yes. That's what I do. And I want to do it for you. 

"Just wondering if I'm going to get more surprise visits or if this is a one-off thing," Is what he mumbles gruffly. 

"So forward, Iwa chan!" Oikawa gasps and slaps him playfully on the arm, "If you want me to come over more often, you should've just said!"

"Really? I've tried to get you arrested five times this year and we aren't even in April yet," Hajime fixes Oikawa with an unimpressed stare, "You, a self declared villain of Seijoh, want to visit me, the most commonly called for hero in the city?"

They've reached the door and Hajime isn't even surprised when Oikawa reaches for his hand and guides his thumb up to the scanning pad so that he can leave. 

The night air is cool and crisp, and the moon is extraordinarily bright, shedding milky light in layers over the empty street. Oikawa turns, still holding Hajime's hand and Hajime fights the urge to curl his fingers and hold on to the other man. 

Stay, let me take care of you.

"Then don't be a hero," Oikawa says quietly and Hajime's brain scrambles to orientate himself in the conversation, "Don't be a hero and I won't be a villain. I'll come over and you'll just be you, and I'll just be me."

Hajime is still processing that statement when Oikawa lets go and steps back. 

"See you later, Iwa chan." A glint of teeth as Oikawa smiles, a gentle smile, a soft smile.  

And then he's gone, melting into the darkness despite the fact that he was in his hideous white outfit, and Hajime doesn't strain to find him. He just stands in his doorway and listens to his carefully constructed world crumble in the silence of the night. It sounds like Oikawa’s laughter.

Nothing is going to be the same after this, he thinks, I’ve lost my goddamn mind, and then he smiles, gently and softly. 

"See you soon, Oikawa."

#iwaoi #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa torū #haikyuu fanfiction #villain x hero #redwrites #iwaoi day

[zacklover24]

Forgotten west chapter 9

Summary:  The west was a forgotten place, a time when the land said to be untamable and untouched. A time of gangs and outlaws, a time when the law both good and bad ruled. A time when people did good and bad thing. They lived and they died and time went on, the west was soon forgotten and the gangs that though to rule were long gone and no one could tell who really ruled the land. But this story is about the survival of one gang, and there will and desire to live in changing times. But that didn’t last long soon they were gone and all that was left was broken dreams and broken hope. Time travel au, dealings with the devil, a coming of age story.

Tagging: @dolphinitley, @lokighost, @deputyoneill, @naromoreau, @thotful-writing, @outranks, @trashmouth-skywalker, @nykamito-x

Warnings: Blood, injury, animal injury

It was official angel was bored out of her mind. It had been a few weeks since , she was back, and she was bored Her, pa was off helping her uncle john and uncle john, aunt abigail and jack had gone to town. Uncle dutch and herr Strauss were also in town something to do with trying to con some big cattle owner, uncle javier and uncle hosea were out doing only lord knew what, swanson was passed out drunk, uncle was sleeping, bill was sleeping, lenny and sean were off on guard duty, and uncle charles was out hunting. And aunt Susan and the ladies were doing there chores, and angel had asked to help and they said no. Micah was off by the fire, while kieran was tending to the horses.

“I’m so bored.” Angel moans as she was staring up at the ceiling of the tent, she didn’t want to read, or draw. She let out a snort as she sat up right as frost came back with something in his mouth. It was elk fur,

“Did you find some elk?” She asks the wolf, who nodded his head yes. Angel had wanted to draw elk, for some time now, ever since she heard her uncle charles talk about the big things. But she had a feeling that the elk were pretty far from camp, since frost was pointing his head  for them to leave  the camp.

“I could get into so much trouble.” She whispers looking at frost, frost let out a soft bark as if say to let’s go. Angel looked over at micah who was busy whittling a piece of wood and wasn’t really looking after angel. Not that anyone would ask him to, frost nudged her to leave. With a gleeful smile she slide off her cot and grabbed her hat and satchel and and her tan jacket, as she snecked over to the horses, the only one she could barrow was kaiern horse. With a smile she led the horse away from the camp, away from sean, and lenny and got on once she was save enough away.

In the back of her mind she knew what she was doing was wrong but she wouldn’t be gone that long right? Frost led angel away from camp, down the river and up past some falls  and into the woods. Angel got off the horse and followed frost into the woods, she spotted the elk and smiled. There was a bull elk, a female elk and a calf.

“Good boy.” Angel praises climbing up and into the nearest tree, frost hide himself away as to not be seen. Angel let out a soft sigh as she started to draw,  but angel  didn’t hear the growling the feline growling that  was coming from the bottom of the tree. But frost did, the wolf let out his own growl, as angel looked down. And then she screamed loudly. There was a cougar, a hungry looking cougar.

The cougar in turn roared loudly trying to find a way up and into the tree, but angel was not having it. She threw her satchel at the big beast which only looked mader.

“Get out of here.” She yells at the cat, who could only growl at her. Angel could hear her heart beating loudly against her chest as she thought of a way out of this mess. Thankfully, frost let out a deep growl as he tackled the cat to the ground. Angel let out a cheer as she hurried down for tree, but her jacket got caught and in a fit she threw off her jacket, which along with her satchel got torn up. Angel watched in horror as blood and fur flew everywhere as her satchel and jacket also got blood on them.

Frost had the cougar preoccupied, and angel ran. She ran as fast her legs could carry her, up the hill, past the animals. She whipped her head side to side, opting to not go to the train station. But up the second hill, she fell to the ground trying to settle her breathing.

“Why hello there little one.” Angel looked up at the man, and could only smile, maybe her luck was turning around, just maybe.

Arthur arrived back to camp, feeling very happy. He had stolen the oil wagon and didn’t get caught, and the plan to rob the train was coming along. Sadly the mood at the camp was one of fear and panic. He caught sight of hosea yelling at someone, as Swanson and uncle were trying to get sober.

“Mister Morgan!” Miss. Grimshaw yells running up to him looking panicked and flustered.

“Yes, miss. Grimshaw?” He asks, notting how everyone looked panicked, fuck not again.

“You didn’t happen to spot your daughter did you?” She asks very carefully. Arthur eyes went wide. She didn't, go off on her own again did she? Angel leaving camp was nothing new, she could go off, as long as she stayed in ear and eye sight.

“What do you mean? Did angel wander off again?” He asks seeing that frost was also missing, fuck not good.

“Yes, no one can find her and it looks like she took a horse and dutch, took sean and charles out to look up at the falls.” Miss. Grimshaw quickly explains.

“Who the hell was suppose to be watching her?” Arthur yelled,  trying to keep his temper under control as he spoke.

“I don't know. Arthur you need to be calm, you know angel is like you. She has your adventuring spirit.” Miss. Grimshaw says trying to keep him calm and settled his mind.

Arthur could only shake his head, as he went back to his horse, “After everything that happened, you would think she would have learned her lesson. I'm heading out to look. JOHN!”

“Coming arthur.” John yells running over to old boy, “Were going to find her, it's going to be okay.”

“You better be right marston. I had hopped she had learned her lesson in Blackwater.” Arthur mutters, as they rode off. Fear and panic bubbled in arthur chest, there were too many what if running through his mind. He was hoping to God that none of those damn pinkerton's had gotten her.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Tracks end here.” Charles tells dutch hopping off of taima as he was looking at the tracks on the ground, “Looks like she got off here, and headed this way.” Charles tells dutch pointing to the deeper part of the woods.

“This isn’t like her dutch.” Sean comments feeling nervous and anxious, if and when arthur found out that he and lenny had let her run off, he was a dead man, “She would have told one of us where she was going.”

“I know son, I know.” Dutch tells him getting off the count, something about this didn’t feel right. “Look around there might be some sort of clue as to where she could be.”

Not a minute later, charles was holding up angel bloody satchel and jacket, sean and dutch heart stopped, the satchel and jacket were torn to pieces and there was blood all over the items,

“Dear God no.” Dutch whispers, fear and panic bubbling in his chest.

“ANGEL!” Sean yells starting to run off, “Where are you lass?” Fear was starting to set in, if angel was dead then arthur was going to kill him.

“ANGEL! Sweetheart where are you?!” Dutch calls out, there was no way in hell that this girl was dead, she couldn’t be.

“ANGEL!” Charles called out, and they he heard it, growling, “I think I hear something.”  Charles led dutch and sean to the growling it was frost, the wolf was licking his wounds. Frost once prosince white fur was coated in blood with deep claw and bite marks, littering his whole body. The wolf was laying in a pool of blood with a dead cougar next to him with its throat ripped out. Frost was giving off a low warning growl.

“Hello frost.” Charles greets in low and calm voice it was calm voice used to settled startled animals, frost was growling but was also whimpering in pain, “Your okay, your okay. Here.” Charles tells him pulling out a piece of jerky from his pocket and giving it to the wolf.

“Dear god.” Dutch gasps seeing the sorry the state frost was in.  Frost look pitiful as he lay there eating, “Did-did- did he just kill that thing?” Dutch questions looking at the coguar.

“Seems so, and it also looks like that angel went that way.” Charles tells dutch pointing to the hill, “I think she got out here right as frost started to fight.”

“She’s alive?” Sean asks with a hope in his voice and a hopeful look on his face. Charles nodded his head yes. Dutch let out a sigh of relief as they mounted back up, with frost following/ limping after them. Charles stopped and with the help of sean put frost on the back of his horse.

The tracks led up past the train station and to small camp at the top of the hill it look like to be a trapper camp, and there was angel, sitting at the fire making something.

“ANGEL ELIZABETH!” Dutch yells getting off the count and marching over to the girl. Angel winced hard at the mention of her first and middle name as she stood and ran over to dutch,

“Hi uncle, dutch, uncle charles, sean.” She greets in a small voice, dutch picked angel up and gave her a hug.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?” He asks hugging her tightly.

“Alot, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to wonder that far from my camp, honest.”  Angel explains, as she saw the state was frost in. “oh no.” As she wiggled out of dutch hold and to frost side, the wolf gave her a weak lick and nuzzled her best he could.

“He’s going to be okay angel, we’ll get him back to camp to treat him.” Charles tells her as angel hugged frost neck best she could. Sean went up to the girl and placed a hand on her head and angel said she was very sorry.

Dutch looked over at the man who was in the camp, “Thank you so much for finding our girl.”

“Thank nothing of it, she found me. Just glad to have helped. That wolf belongs to you?” He asks.

“Yes, he’s my niece pet.” Dutch tells him.

The man let out a hum, “If you want my advice mix some honey, ginger and ginseng with some echinacea. It will help with the pain, and help with an infection he might get.”

“I thank you sir.” Dutch tells him.

“Call me theo, he’s a good looking wolf.” Teho tells dutch.

“Yes, thank you.” Dutch tells him heading back over to charles and repeating what theo told him, charles nodded his head saying say some echinacea on there up here.

Back at camp angel got a lecture as she sat with frost who was all bandaged up with  honey, ginger and ginseng with some echinacea on his wounds.

End of line

#forgotten west #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #Red Dead #red dead 2 #red dead fandom #rd2 #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #sean mcguire #charles smith #susan grimshaw

[wonduhhwoman]

Backbone - 3 - valley of barbarians

Read on Ao3

“Aw,” Ochako whined, gently patting her face in the mirror that was hung up in a tiny village shop just outside of Fyre, “I forgot what a bitch the sun is!” Her skin was red and giving off heat. It didn’t hurt too badly now, but she knew that she’d really be feeling it tomorrow if she didn’t find someone who had a magical remedy for it. She pouted at herself in the mirror, silently scolding herself for not using the salve that Todoroki had given her.

She lived in a place where the shadows of the trees and brush protected her skin from the sunlight—once she and Tsuki had exited the thick of the trees and began their decent into the Valley of Barbarians, it had slipped her mind that she should even worry about the sun.

Glancing to her right, she saw an entire shelf of the exact potion she needed. She grinned excitedly.

“Excuse me!” She called over to the little lady at the front of the shop who was whittling away at a hunk of wood with a knife.

The lady turned to her with a scowl, raising a brow through long strands of white hair. She huffed impatiently when Ochako didn’t immediately continue.

“How much for the sun-potion?” Ochako inquired, pointing at the specific potion amid the variety adorning the shelves.

“Fifty onti of gold,” she barked, and then jabbed her thumb towards the outside of the tent where Tsuki was wagging his tail in excitement at the hustle and bustle of the little village, “And its twenty onti of gold to park your wolf there."

Ochako’s eye widened before her brows drew down in outrage.

“Twenty onti just to leave my wolf outside!?” She squawked, putting both her hands on her hips, “That’s ridiculous!” She wasn’t going to even think about buying the sun-potion now. She only had one-hundred onti of gold total on her—which she had wagered would have been a reasonable amount to carry around on a journey like hers!

“Every minute is another five,” The lady shrugged, turning back to her whittling and discreetly gesturing to her blow dart hanging up behind her that Ochako didn’t want to find out whether or not was laced with tranquilizer magic. Not that it really mattered—Ochako was confident in her abilities in stopping this grumpy lady from hitting her with the crude weapon. And Tsuki could take care of himself if the shopkeeper decided to aim the weapon the wolf’s way.

Ochako’s eye twitched as she unfortunately remembered that she was supposed to be gaining the favor of these stingy people. She dug through her bag for her money and counted out twenty onti of gold and slammed it on her wooden table, making sure the old lady knew how unhappy Ochako was with this entire situation. She left the shop without another word, potionless, sunburnt still and with a much lighter wallet.

She huffed as she climbed onto Tsuki’s back.

“What a hag,” Ochako complained to the wolf, tugging on his fur until he started down the road lined with all sorts of overpriced shops. Both her and Tsuki’s ears twitched as they meandered down the street and the throng of people got thicker and harder to maneuver through. There was some sort of commotion up ahead—despite the rude demeanor of literally every citizen she’d run into so far, these people at least knew how to have a good time.

Two dancers—one an exotic looking girl with pink hair and pink skin and dark eyes, and the other was a plain looking man whose quirk was apparently to eject some sort of sticky cloth from his elbows. He was using his quirk to spin the girl around gracefully—when Ochako looked closer she noticed a slimy substance that was oozing from the girls bare feet. It slicked up her path, making it easier for her to spin so rapidly and gracefully like she was actually skating around on ice and not solid stone.

It was an impressive show, despite the crowd not bothering to offer any of their money. There was nothing but a few senines in their wooden box obviously meant for tips. Ochako wondered why they even bothered to perform.

That is, until she saw a floating sack making its way through the crowd and somehow pulling out ontis of gold and silver from people’s pockets. Ochako watched with amusement as the sack slowly filled itself up. Perhaps this was the work of someone with an invisibility quirk?

Ochako smirked, clapping along with the crowd as the performing couple got to the grand finale all the while keeping an eye on the floating sack as it made its way towards her.

Tsuki snapped at thin air as the sack got close—Ochako’s ears twitched when she heard the shrill sound of a girl’s ‘eep’. The sack of money nearly fell to the ground, but it looked like the invisible girl managed to catch it at the last second. Ochako hopped off Tsuki quickly, grabbing blindly for the girl and managing to grasp her wrist before she could get away.

“Not so fast,” Ochako whispered to her, being wary of not drawing attention to the two of them now that the crowd was dispersing, “You working with those dancers?”

“Uh huh,” The invisible girl affirmed, squirming in Ochako’s hold.

“You working with anyone else?” Ochako pressed, holding more tightly to the girl’s wrist.

“What do you want?” The invisible girl deflected, never giving up on her attempts to escape.

Ochako grinned, “Some damned sun-potion.”

-----------

Ochako kept her grip tight on the invisible girl as she was lead through the alleyways of Ashton Village—she did not trust her enough to let go. Tsuki trailed behind them, comically taking up a large amount of space in the narrow passage and acting as Ochako’s shadow (and perhaps making sure that the mage wasn’t getting herself into trouble).

“You’re not going to snitch on us, right?” The invisible girl asked.

“To these pompous assholes?” Ochako shot back, “As if.”

“Then why should we help you?”

Ochako grinned, knowing full well that she could con a merchant out of a sun-potion herself—this was just more fun, not to mention that these con artists seemed to be the most tolerable citizens in town. “Think of it more as me helping you,” She said cryptically.

“Boss isn’t gonna be happy that you’re travelling with a Dragon wolf,” She said. Despite her words, she continued to guide Ochako through the alleys until they exited the narrow passages into a side street that was shrouded in shadows due to a large tree taking up the middle of the street. The tree pulled at her senses, causing her mouth to gape stupidly—but she couldn’t be blamed really, because she’s never read a magical aura from a tree before.

“It springs healing magic,” The invisible girl explained as Ochako continued to gape, “Not much, but it’s still pretty cool for a tree, huh? It would take a while to heal just your sunburn—you’d probably have to sleep at its roots all night long for it to get the job done—but the people who grew up in this part of town that are old as hell now probably won’t be dying anytime soon.”

Tsuki barked happily at the tree with a wagging tail, likely getting the same magical readings from it that Ochako was.

“Whoa,” Ochako marveled, shaking her head so that she could take in some of the other surroundings, and immediately taking note that the streets were empty save themselves and a few stray cats. She bit her lip, confused. “If that’s the case, then why isn’t this place full to the brim with people?”

The girl snorted.

“Those barbarians aren’t scared of death.”

“Ha,” Ochako chortled, unconsciously letting go of the girl’s wrist as she settled into the comfort of conversation, “Guess ya got a point. Hey. Does that mean you’re not from around here? What’s your name anyways?”

Ochako blinked, realizing her mistake. But the girl didn’t drop the sack of money and run.

“Hagakure,” The girl giggled, pulling a pair of gloves from the sack and waving at Ochako to follow her towards some of the shops adorning the cobblestone sidewalks.

Hagakure made a beeline to a shop advertising a variety of spellbooks and potion recipes. There was a display of different crystals in the window, and at the center of the display was a clear orbuculum set up on an ornate base of gold. It was a shop based off of magical lore widely established as being outlandish and unrealistic, although Ochako knew better, even found herself drooling at a few of the crystal shards hanging from what looked like finely crafted threading.

It looked like the kind of shady place that promised adventure, and at the least promised the pleasure of interacting with interesting people. Hagakure pushed the door open, leaving it ajar for Ochako to follow behind.

“Stay out here, Tsuki,” Ochako murmured to the wolf, rubbing behind his ears affectionately. Tsuki licked her face, before turning around and laying his bones down at the base of the tree. She smiled at the wolf before following Hagakure into the shop.

The smell of honeysuckle encased her like a cloud, and Ochako’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the incense burning from the shop’s counter. Hagakure stomped up to that counter and dropped the sack of gold and silver onto it before pulling back the curtain of beads to the right of the counter and disappearing through it.

Ochako hummed, stepping toward a display of animal figurines carved from stone. The selection of animals ranged from cats and dogs to elephants and bison. They were carved rather crudely, but that only made them all the more endearing to her. She picked up one of the bear figurines and smiled at the little tuft of hair carved at the base of its rear end.

“Spirit guides,” A deep voice announced from behind her, startling her, “Two bronze senines.”

Ochako jumped, the bear slipping out of her fingertips and her hip ramming into the table holding the display and jostling the whole thing. Thankfully nothing was jostled too much to break anything, but Ochako still found herself rubbing the back of her head sheepishly.

She peeked open an eye at the man and found that she had to crane her neck quite a bit in order to make eye contact with him. He looked to be about her age but had deep bags underneath his eyes that reflected either an ailment or an insufficient amount of sleep. His purple hair sat on his head with chaotic order. His magic aura wasn’t weak by any means, but it certainly wasn’t all that strong. And yet something about the man had the hairs on her arms erect.

“Want one?” He inquired, reaching around her and picking up the bear figurine that she had dropped.

“I’m good, thanks,” She replied, stepping away from him.

“Hmm,” He hummed, his eyes flicking out the window, “I thought not.” He glanced back to her, eyes calculating, “You’ve already got a guide it seems—how’d a foreigner like you manage to bond with a Dragon wolf anyways?”

“With my wits,” Ochako offered, raising an eyebrow.

Her response didn’t elicit any sign of amusement from the purple haired man. Ochako wondered if she was losing her touch.

“Well,” He said, walking away from her to sit at the chair behind the counter, “You’ve got a lot of nerve parading that thing around.”

Ochako frowned in confusion.

“Why?”

He snorted, kicking his feet up on the counter lazily, “This country prides itself in a lot of things, if you haven’t noticed. They’re a bunch of entitled assholes and they claim that the Dragon wolves chose their land because of their ancestor’s fortitude—which might even be true.” He glanced up at her from behind the plumes of smoke rising from the burning incense, “They don’t take well to foreigners naming their wolves—especially since a Dragon wolf hasn’t bonded with any natives within the past thirty years.”

Ochako frowned further, “But I ran into an asshole that looked plenty bonded with a Dragon wolf earlier.”

The man raised an eyebrow, “Did you?”

Ochako nodded.

“He was the one that told me to name Tsuki in the first place!”

“Did he?” The man looked thoughtful, but after a moment he shrugged it off, “No matter the case, you’re better off hiding out in the forest or seeking out the King for clearance in his country. Hagakure told me what you wanted. If you’re looking for trouble, you’re gonna find a lot more than what you bargained for s’long as that wolf is with you.”

Ochako pouted, not liking how logical his logic was, “You wouldn’t happen to have any sun-potion, would you?”

The man shook his head.

Ochako cursed, but dug through her bag anyways for some gold.

“How much for the crystals?” She inquired, nodding towards the necklaces hung up nicely near the window.

His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“Seventy onti of gold.”

“What!?”

“I’m just kidding,” He said, really grinning now, “Twenty bronze senines.”

-----------

Ochako bought two crystals, one turquoise and one obsidian, from the man—she learned that his name was Shinsou—and left his shop pouting. Her skin was really starting to sting, although the salve that Todoroki had given her helped a little.

She walked with Tsuki back through the alleyways on higher alert too, jumping at every little thing and expecting to get arrested just for breathing and not paying the proper fine for it. Now that she thought about it, that lady from earlier probably came up with that stupid fine just in the event that if she couldn’t pay she could get Ochako arrested.

She growled in frustration.

“Stingy barbarians,” She grumbled to Tsuki, “What kind of brutes adhere themselves to an economical system like this anyways? Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

Tsuki gods honest shrugged.

Ochako meandered back to the marketplace, pouting and planning on getting out of this shitty village immediately.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the fastest way to the palace?” She inquired of Tsuki. The wolf’s ears pricked up and his tail started wagging. Ochako grinned, “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Foreigner!” A nasally voice called out to her, just as she was getting ready to climb on top of Tsuki’s back. Ochako groaned, turning to the owner of the voice and snarling.

“What?” She snapped.

“Is your wolf licensed?” The blonde man asked, a sneer on his face.

Ochako placed a hand on her hip, absolutely fed up with this kingdom, “The hell you think?”

“I think that you’ve come into this country to try and make a mockery of us!” He exclaimed, “You’ve clearly ignored the proper rituals in challenging a Dragon wolf. Did you come to this land to look down on us?”

Ochako whistled, “You people sure have a lot of ego, dontcha?”

“We’re proud of our heritage!”

“Uh huh,” Ochako nodded, glancing behind the man and noticing that the village guards were beginning to close in on them no doubt because this or some other asshole snitched on her for something she didn’t even do, “Is that why you strung your last king’s head up on the highest mountain for the entire realm to see?”

The man narrowed his eyes, “Our previous king was a great conqueror so mind your tongue, foreigner!”

Ochako quirked her head at him in confusion. Izuku and Iida had made it sound like it was the country’s collective decision to execute their king and hold a tournament to determine the new one. Did they not have the whole story?

Whatever the case was, she had to scoot. The guards were only a few paces away from them.

She huffed, tapping the man’s face and making him float. While the guards were distracted with that, she climbed onto Tsuki’s back and pulled on his fur and never bothered to release the pompous blonde from her quirk. The wolf bounded forward, his sights set on the palace. Ochako laughed as they made a mess of the marketplace, reaching her hand out to one booth in particular as they passed by and snatched a sun-potion off its display and immediately downed it.

“Blegh,” Ochako coughed, tossing the empty vial over her shoulder and conveniently smacking a guard in the face with it, “That’s disgusting.”

They bounded forward towards the village’s gate—Ochako groaned, still coughing, as she saw the barricade they were barreling towards. Tsuki skidded to a stop, putting all his weight on his hind legs before spring forward down another direction. Ochako’s mind reeled as he insides rejected whatever the hell she had just ingested.

“Shit,” She groaned as more guards rounded the corner. Tsuki jumped over their heads, and it took everything Ochako had not to throw up then and there. God, what the hell was in that sun-potion? And why did it make her sick so goddamned quickly?

“M’not feeling good, Tsuki,” She muttered to the wolf, his running motions jostling her in such a way that was not helping matters, “Ugh. Stop runnin’.”

Tsuki came to a stop, guards surrounding them in seconds just as Ochako slid down her wolf’s fur and threw up all over the ground. Once the contents of her stomach were lying comfortably on the cobblestone path, she wiped the back of her mouth and smiled shakily at the guards.

“Hey boys,” She laughed nervously, “I don’t suppose we could talk this through?”

Her answer was two of them grabbing her roughly by the elbows and forcing her into chains. Which was honestly whatever. What pissed her off more than that was the way that they forced a muzzle over Tsuki’s snout and dragged his head down roughly. Even as they forced her to her knees, she was snarling in the wolf’s behalf more than her own.

She growled at the guards as they forced her face into the dirt.

-----------

They threw her and Tsuki into the back of a cargo carriage unsupervised—which made her roll her eyes. If these people are so possessive of their damned Dragon wolves then they ought to know how that it’s not exactly easy to bond with one. Not only is Tsuki capable of escaping, more capable than her that was for damned sure, but they also didn’t even know what her quirk was. At least they had the sense to confiscate her bag.

She wiggled her hands until she got all five of her fingers on the chain of her shackles. From there all she had to do was pull at her magic and use it to expand the material until it shattered around her and then do the same to the other shackle. She rubbed her wrists, glowering.

She turned to Tsuki to free him from his bonds as well.

“Well,” She said as she shattered the last of his bonds, “At least these bastards are giving us a free ride to the palace.” She slapped her face to clear the last of her nausea and groaned as it stung, “What even was that piece of ass potion? Tasted like shit and it didn’t even heal my sunburn.” Not entirely true—it actually tasted like an entire flower: petal, stem, dirt and all. But still didn’t even heal her sunburn.

Tsuki only stared at her.

Ochako giggled, reaching over and rubbing Tsuki behind the ears like the giant dog he was. He leaned into the touch, pawing at her playfully until Ochako saddled up next to him. She laughed when he butted his head against her shoulder and she leaned her weight against him in return.

“A nap wouldn’t hurt right about now, right?” She mumbled into Tsuki’s dark fur before she dozed off.

-----------

Kirishima collapsed on the ground, panting. He waved his hand at Bakugou as the King was lowering his weight into another fighting stance.

“Please,” He got out between breaths, “No more! I’m exhausted. We’ve been training for hours!”

Bakugou huffed, straightening up before falling down next to him with a roll of his eyes.

“We’ve done nothing you can’t handle,” He argued, “Aren’t you supposed to be the General of my troops, Shitty Hair?” He thrust a skin of water into the redhead’s hands and leaned back on his elbows, “Must be doing a shit job if you can’t keep up with me.”

Kirishima huffed, “That’s mean, Bakugou. You know just as well as I do how tenacious these people are.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, “They can’t be more tenacious than me.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima grumbled, just as Bakugou’s attention was taken elsewhere, “No one’s more tenacious than you.”

Bakugou said nothing in response, but Eijirou took note that his friend had tensed up and that his ears were twitching. His eyes were shut in concentration and Kirishima could see the hairs on Bakugou’s arms standing at attention.

“What’s up, bro?” He inquired, curious.

Bakugou grunted, “That damned girl. She sure made it here quick.”

“Does she really have that strong of an aura that you can tell where she is in the kingdom?” Kirishima pondered.

Bakugou rolled his eyes again, ignoring his friend’s question because the answer was blindingly obvious, “Come on, Shitty Hair.”

-----------

Ochako hadn’t even been asleep for thirty minutes when their carriage was brought to a halt and the curtains at the back were thrust open, waking her up. She squinted into the onslaught of light and her head hit the bottom of the carriage with a thud when Tsuki abruptly stood on all four legs to growl at the guards who were prepared to haul their asses into a cellar or some other shit.

“The hell?” She grumbled, eyeing up their tranquilizer blow darts warily, “Shouldn’t you have used those before you threw us in here?”

Two of the guards exchanged a glance. One elbowed the other, muttering a peeved, “I told you so.” The other guard elbowed back petulantly, saying, “Don’t listen to the captive!”

Ochako lifted her hips from the floor of the carriage as they were distracted, making a bridge of her body and using her abdomen and arm strength to rock back and then spring forward. Her body careened through the small space between the two guards’ heads and she smacked the blow darts out of their grasp just as they were registering what exactly was happening. Tsuki followed her loyally, tackling one guard to the ground as he went.

Ochako landed behind them, bending at her hips to ease the impact on her legs and throwing an arm forward to keep her balance. She only had a second to take in her surroundings—this place looked more like a war garrison than it did a palace, only with better landscaping—before she was pivoting out of the way of a striking sword.

Something sunk into the back of her leg, and she hissed as she reached down to pull a tranq dart from her calve. Her fingers glowed as she activated her magic to pull out the effected blood before it could spread to the rest of her. She’d be amazed if she managed to get it all, but it at least dulled the numbness.

She stabbed the offending dart into the neck of an attacking soldier, satisfaction rolling off her in waves as he blacked out and hit the ground. Tsuki promptly took down the soldier who had managed to hit Ochako with the dart in the first place.

“Shit,” Ochako murmured, staggering forward as she really began to feel the magic from the dart take its toll on her, “I can’t catch a break, huh? Gods, what is with this country?”

Tsuki whined at her. Thinking that the wolf was offering her an arm of support, Ochako placed her hand at the top of his head.

There weren’t many soldiers left in the courtyard, but Ochako could sense that more were on their way. And those were just the ones with a magical aura that were strong enough for her to read—who knew how many there actually were?

She groaned as she was able to pinpoint that one particularly large magical force was also closing in, albeit a little father along. Her hand shifted on Tsuki’s head as she readjusted her weight, and all at once she could feel the Dragon wolf’s magic flowing through her again—overwhelming her. And as if an invisible barrier were being thrust out of their very beings, the guards and even the damned carriage were tossed away from them. Ochako saw the pulsing of magic through groggy eyes. It was as if Tsuki’s possessive gaze was physically warding off their enemies.

Ochako removed her hand from Tsuki, and the pulsating magic dissipated.

“She doesn’t know how to wield the beast!” A soldier shouted, his ornate armor indicating to her that he was probably the asshole in charge here.

She couldn’t hold back her snort at his statement—it felt a lot more like the beast had just been wielding her and certainly not the other way around.

“She makes a mockery of our ancestors!” He continued, raising his spear to the sky. The other soldiers bellowed out their affirmation, sneers decorated their faces like war paint. “Break their bond!” The man declared resolutely, only to be followed up with war cries from his fellow soldiers.

Ochako, who didn’t really want to find out what breaking their bond would entail, had already been reaching out with her magic to summon her bag from where it was hidden away in the front of the ruined carriage and grabbed the damned thing as it zipped back to her. She pulled out a potion blindly, praying to every god she knew of that it was one of her force fields. She crushed it in her hands and breathed out a sigh of relief when the translucent hexagons began to wrap around her and Tsuki—barricading them away from these assholes just as more of them arrived.

The ringleader smirked at her as he squatted down and reached for the earth. Her eyes widened as she realized too late that she had no idea what his quirk was—but if he was looking at her that confidently like he was about to feed her to wolves, then it couldn’t spell out good things for her.

“Enough.”

The command rang through the courtyard, causing the soldiers circled around her to stop in their tracks. Even the ringleader stopped—although Ochako could see that he was gritting his teeth like it took everything he had to listen to this voice. His arm was still outstretched to the earth, even as he glanced over his shoulder to eye up this newcomer. Ochako eyes never strayed from that outstretched hand, not trusting this man to hold back despite someone of apparent authority ordering him to do so.

“What’s the meaning of this, Captain?” The new man said, striding over to the ringleader with confident steps.

The Captain’s effervescent glare turned back to her, and she couldn’t quite comprehend where the authentic hate that was shining in his eyes was stemming from. What had happened to this people to make them like this?

“My King,” The Captain grit out, begrudgingly standing to his full height before bending at the waist in respect.

Ochako’s eyes boggled. Her gaze ripped away from the Captain to land on the King.

“Aw, shit,” She groaned, cursing her luck.

It was the asshole from earlier—from the forest. That had been Bakugou Katsuki, King of the Barbarians. God—she had told him to piss off.

And he was still shirtless.

Based on the smirk that was adorning his face, even as he kept his eyes on the Captain, Ochako could tell that he was reveling in her plight. She resisted the urge to throw up her middle finger at the man; it would fulfill a prideful desire, sure, but it probably wouldn’t help her much in her quest in gaining his trust.

“Well?” Bakugou prodded when he received no answer from the Captain.

“This woman has made a charade of our customs,” He ground out, pointing at Ochako accusingly, “She is bonded to one of our protectors and has obviously ignored the proper rituals required to—”

“Tell me, Shindou,” Bakugou interrupted, stepping around the man so that he could fix his red eyes on Ochako’s brown ones, “You’ve gone through the proper rituals to face a Dragon wolf…how many times?”

The man—Shindou—looked like he wanted nothing more than to stab Bakugou while the blonde’s back was turned to him.

“…Four.”

“Four times,” Bakugou humored, his voice drenched in sickly sweet sarcasm, “And…how many times has a Dragon wolf challenged you?” He turned back to Shindou with a raised eyebrow, clearly unafraid of the Captain’s rage boiling over. “Well?” Bakugou pressed, kicking the man in the shins to get his attention, “Answer the question, dipshit.”

“Zero, you asshole.”

Bakugou’s responding grin was manic.

“Is that anyway to speak to your King?” He questioned, cocky. The muscles sitting on top of his scapulae rolled underneath his skin as he clenched his hands into tight fists, “Should I remind you that I whooped your ass in the tournament for that title?” He opened one fist so that his palm was cupped upward and Ochako could only barely see the way it was lit up like it was threatening to explode.

It looked like Shindou was quite literally biting his tongue.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, lowering his hands and shooing him away with the wave of his hand.

“Leave us,” He ordered to the room, “I’m handling this.”

Ochako watched the courtyard empty itself of soldiers, and the grogginess induced from the blow dart that she had somehow ignored until this point began to catch up with her. She slid to the ground and leant against Tsuki with a groan.

“What’s your name, mage?” Bakugou inquired, stepping towards her enchanted barrier and regarding it with interest.

“Uraraka Ochako,” She rumbled, glaring up at him.

He hummed, “You guard the land east of Brasko?”

She perked up, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, ��Have you heard of me?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

Ochako couldn’t help but preen a little.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Bakugou barked, “You look like shit—and how did you manage to get captured by my soldiers, anyway?” Ochako’s smile only widened—she could hear the underlying compliment disguised as an insult. He was surprised to find her cornered after having seen her display of strength.

She groaned dramatically, slapping a hand to her face as if to remind herself that she was still sunburnt, “All I’ve wanted since stepping foot into this valley is a damned sun-potion.”

“No shit,” He remarked, eyeing up her burnt skin.

“Well that was the biggest error in my life,” She continued, her fingers slipping into Tsuki’s soft black fur.

“Don’t tell me you drank it.” His tone was incredulous—like he respected her before but now he just thought she was a flaming idiot.

“Uh,” She coughed, “No? Ha, that would be…stupid of me!”

“You drank it.” Bakugou determined, crossing his arms over his stupid bare chest, "Then these bastards got you while you were down." He stared at her for a moment, probably debating whether or not he should kick her out of his country for her stupidity. Then, to her shock, he snorted. “Kirishima!” He barked, seemingly to no one. Not even a moment later, a red head was rounding the corner and marching towards them.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” He teased.

“Fuckin’,” Bakugou growled, “Quit it with the stupid titles.” He jabbed his thumb towards Ochako, “Get this idiot to the baths to deal with her shitty sunburn.”

“N’please get this meanie a shirt,” Ochako slurred, the numbing magic finally making it to her head.

Kirishima laughed, “Yes, ma’am!” The redhead’s arms hardened like a rock before he swung a fist at her force field and shattered it around her.

“N’ don’t take me ta’tha baths ‘til I wake up,” She grumbled as the man lifted her into his arms, “Fuckin’ pervs.”

#kacchako #kacchako fic #my writing #bnha fic #bnha #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #mha #mha fic

[fanficsofmine]

Swipe Right - Jongdae Fluff

Here is our first contribution from our guest writer- my sister, @watermonkey0!! She graciously took this prompt that I started and helped me finish it and make it 200% better than when I started it haha! Hope y’all love it! -T✨

Oh! He’s cute!” Trinity hovered over my shoulder. I swatted at her like she was a mosquito and rolled off her bed with my phone.

“Can I make my own Tinder decisions, please?” I snipped as I propped myself up at the end of her bed. Newly single, I had been adamantly against online dating. But after what felt like a lifetime of nagging on my best friend’s part, she whittled me down and my phone suddenly had four new apps.

“Stop being such a Debbie downer! You’re the one who said you were ready to get back out there.” She swung a pillow wide and smacked me in the back of the head.

“Ow! But this is stupid!” I whined and crumpled to the floor in a pile of pitiful moaning. “I wish I didn’t have to go through the ‘dating’ process again.” I lamented as she peeked over the edge of the bed. “It was nice having a stable boyfriend.”

“A stable boyfriend who treated you like crap.” She muttered.

“Hence the newly single.” I mouthed off, earning a kamikaze pillow to the face. For a short moment, it was okay. I wasn’t lonely, or cold, or bitter. I didn’t need a man when I could cuddle up with this squirrel shaped pillow. I’d sleep under Trin’s bed like a Hobbit and celebrate when she dropped Doritos on the ground…and I ignored the notion that eventually Hobbits turned into Smeagols. But like I said, the moment was short. “But I don’t want to start over!” I wailed as I sat up suddenly, knocking heads with Trinity.

“Ow!” She snickered and retreated as I climbed back up onto the bed.

“Sorry.”

“Look,” she sighed and grabbed my phone, “I know everything that happened was a little intense, but you deserve to be happy. The perfect guy is out there waiting for you, I know it. But you’re going to have to put in the effort. You can’t just skip to the happy ending.” Her thumb swept across the screen a few times, discarding some suitors and matching others. “What about this one?” She held the phone out for me to see and I hiccupped at the frightful picture. There was a mullet involved.

“No!” I cried and grabbed the phone before she could swipe right.

After that, I dutifully picked through the men while Trin watched Family Feud and fed me potato chips. I was nearly about to give up and demand that we break into her emergency stash of wine flavored ice cream when a final face popped up and grinned at me.

“Kim Jongdae. 26 years old. I love to sing and laugh. Swipe right! Don’t be afraid!” I mumbled to myself. The bio was cringe worthy, but he had a bright and honest smile.

“What about—” Trin snatched the phone as I tried to hand it to her. Apparently I couldn’t go fast enough for her ravenous matchmaking.

“He is super cute! And look, he loves to sing! You love music! It’s perfect!” She swiped right before I even had a chance to protest, although with those dimples, how could I refuse? “Oh my god!” She shrieked immediately and shoved the phone in my face. ‘It’s A Match!’ appeared on my screen, meaning he had swiped right on my as well.

“What do I do now?” I cried, flinching when she dropped the phone in my hand.

“Now you message him!” She laughed, but I tossed the phone back to her like a hot potato.

“You message him!”

“No! It’s not my profile!” She served it right back, and we devolved into an extreme game of telephone tennis before my phone chimed an unfamiliar tune.

“What was that?” It dropped between us before Trin grabbed it.

“He messaged you first!”

“What’s it say?” I threw myself into her lap as she opened the notification.

‘So, great news: I too have enough hoodies to call it a collection. But, while Iron Man is cool, Batman is way more badass.’ I read the apparent attempt to relate based on my profile three or four times, not meaning to, but memorizing every word.

“Ugh, he’s a DC kid.” Trin scoffed and relinquished the device.

“But, the fact that he knows…” I defended, blushing.

“Means he’s your kind of nerd, yes I know.” She waved it off, going elbow deep in the Doritos again, leaving me to struggle with my reply. Did I open with a joke? Did I discuss the finer points of the philanthropic playboy superhero? Did I ask about his singing? Did I beg him to keep me company at night when my cat abandoned me?

‘That is great news!’ I typed finally and hit the send button before I lost my nerve. It was a pleasantly neutral response, one I could stand behind should Trin, who was shooting my sidelong glances, say anything. But she kept quiet.

The eternity long seconds it took for him to reply were agonizing, and when the chime finally came again, I had it open before it was even finished.

‘So…Hi :) I’m Jongdae.’ I grinned to myself at his silly emoji. I quickly replied with my name and asked where he was from. ‘I’m from here, born and raised. What about you?’ I said I was as well, and we delved into our surface backstories; not wanting to give away too much because it was still new, but wanting to get a good enough feel as to whether or not to continue. As it turned out, we knew some of the same people, which made me feel a fraction of a bit better.

Not that it mattered really, because…I liked him. He was charming and funny, and not at all pushy. This was a dating app after all, my standards were already exceeded when he hadn’t asked for nudes by the 10th message.

‘So, are you doing anything Friday night?’ The question set butterflies free in my stomach. Was I free? Technically no, I told my mother I’d help her put up her Christmas tree, but Baby Jesus was going to have to wait!

‘I don’t have anything planned.’

‘Would you be up for a completely platonic non-judgmental dinner with a guy you met on Tinder?’

I wondered if maybe I should have waited a few more seconds before I replied, to at least make it seem like I considered it before accepting. But we were passed it now and my, ‘I would like that’ blazed on the screen. He sent me a time and a place, a casual restaurant on my side of town. I’d been there before and knew it had good food. So if he turned out to be a creep after all, at least I’d get decent leftovers out of it. I beamed back up at Trin in triumph, but she only grinned and told me to start planning my DC themed wedding.

~

The days between then and Friday were peppered with bursts of excitement and anticipation, sprinkled with just a dash of wild abandon. Meet up with a random man who could be an axe murder? Why not! When Thursday rolled around, I was just finalizing the last touches of my outfit in my head when my phone chimed that irresistible tune. Jongdae and I spoke often, every day in fact, always through the app. He was now synonymous with the Tinder ringtone. There was one time it dinged and it wasn’t him. Some random dude I had matched with tried to start something with a ‘Hey’. Psh, like that was ever going to be good enough again. Much to Trinity’s chagrin, I didn’t even open it. If singing Batman fell through, then yes, I’d move on down the list, but I was far too excited for our date tomorrow to entertain anyone else.

I clicked open the message I’d just received with a delighted hum…only for it to come out more like a sob.

‘Hey, I am really sorry. Something’s come up tomorrow. Can we rain check?’

I texted Trinity immediately, telling her we had an emergency meeting, and to bring some wine because I was about to—

‘Can I take you out on Saturday instead?’ I gazed down at my phone unhappily. I wanted to say yes, of course, but I had to work Saturday, and I couldn’t very well blow that off as easily as I had Jesus. Friday was kinda my only free night. I typed in a short response but a text from Trinity interrupted me.

‘Ask him what came up!’ It said, and then was directly followed with, ‘Ask him if it’s worth jeopardizing his Batman themed wedding.’

‘I refuse to have a Batman wedding.’ I shot back. It seemed too invasive to ask why he was cancelling. We weren’t so close that he owed me an explanation, but…I was dying to know.

‘I actually can’t Saturday, work. Can I ask what came up?’ My knees jumped up and down as I waited for his reply. It felt like he was taking an unusually long time to answer and I wondered if I’d just ruined everything by being nosy. What finally chimed in was unexpected:

‘Do you like soccer?’

And this was how I came to find myself, Friday afternoon, sitting in Trinity’s passenger seat, debating every single one of my life choices.

“Sit still, you’re shaking the whole car!” She grabbed my knee as it bounced to still me. We’d come almost an hour early to scope out the target and it was making me a nervous wreck. His request had been odd: meet him at a crowded sports complex. Trinity thought it was cute, but I was more worried that he was going to ask my uncoordinated ass to play soccer with him.

“It’s just running!” She argued.

“Do you not remember what happened the last time I ran the mile?” I paled at the memory of falling flat on my face.

“Okay, so maybe you should cheer from the bleachers?” She chuckled unapologetically. “Oh wait! Oh my god! That’s him! Is that him?” She smacked at me repeatedly before pointing at a sleek black sedan that was sliding into a spot a row over. Sure enough, a familiar face stepped out of the driver’s seat. He wore nice jeans, a slim leather jacket, and a fluffy cowl scarf. He opened the back door to grab a gym bag before locking up and heading inside.

“That’s probably his murder kit.” Trinity joked but I rolled my eyes.

“Just be here by 8:00 to pick me up.” I told her and climbed out.

“Ha! We’ll see.” She replied humorlessly before speeding off, leaving me with no alternative but to go inside. Trin’s car had been nice and warm, and now as I shivered in the sudden cold, I realized that I left my coat in her back seat. Frustrated, I turned tail and marching into the main building where I had seen Jongdae go. It would be fine. It was only December.

Through the sliding glass doors, I could see Jongdae’s back standing in the line at the concession stand. The murder kit was nowhere to be seen, but he had a nervous energy about him. I moved closer and was about to say his name when a man around our age joined him in line. I was near enough to hear their conversation and it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

“There you are, what took you so long?” The man asked. Jongdae turned to him shyly and I saw his ears turn pink.

“I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“Oh that’s right, that girl is coming…the one you met on Tinder.” He said disapprovingly. I scowled openly at his distaste. Maybe he should try finding love in this day and age.

“Come on, it’s not like that. She’s smart and beautiful.” Jongdae listed and I felt my own ears go pink.

“And bold apparently.”

“You didn’t exactly ask if I had any plans before you signed me up for this.” Jongdae snickered.

“Sorry not sorry.” The man shrugged flagrantly.

“She was nice enough to compromise with me.”

“Where is she anyway?” The man asked and I hunkered down, just in case he glanced around and saw me leering at them.

“I told her to meet here at 6:00, so she should be here any minute.” Jongdae pulled out his phone.

“If she’s still coming, that is.” The man teased, poking Dae in the chest, who scoffed and smacked his hand away.

“Don’t jinx me. You know my luck is—” Suddenly, my phone rang loudly, and I haphazardly tried to silence it before…

The two men glanced back and Jongdae caught my eye. “—not as bad as mine apparently.” I muttered.

~

The air was cold as I sat on my hands in the bleachers. Stupid phone, stupid mouth, stupid gaping. When Jongdae saw me standing there like an idiot, I was caught off guard by just how gorgeous he was. His pictures did absolutely no justice to his soft features, or his bright smile. If I hadn’t been struck dumb by the sight of him, I could have played the whole thing off, like I simply hadn’t seen them. But by the way I was staring, it was pretty obvious I knew who he was. He had politely greeted me, and we stepped out of line.

“I uhh…I’m sorry—” I started but he waved it off.

“No it’s fine. You’re early!” His grin was genuine and it blinded me every time he flashed it in my direction. “Anyway, thank you for meeting me here. I know it’s probably not what you had in mind but…”

“Please tell me we’re not here to play soccer!” I blurted out before he finished. His eyebrows shot up in surprise before he let out an adorable laugh.

“No! Do you see the shoes I have on? I’d fall on my face!” He beamed. That alone made me feel better about myself, when the man who’d stayed in the line reappeared with an armful of food.

“Here, hold this.” He said as he tossed me ten boxes of Cracker Jacks.

“Hyung, don’t make her carry stuff!” Jongdae whined, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Brothers, I should have known.

“We need all the help we can get.” The older man said as he juggled a stack of Nacho trays.

“I don’t mind.” I added quickly, and Jongdae seemed to accept it, sighing as the three of us headed for an arena. The complex was large enough to have indoor fields, and I assumed that was where we would go, but instead, Jongdae guided us outside to a field covered in children. He must have seen my confusion because he rearranged the Hotdogs in his hands to gesture for me to follow.

“So, it’s my nephew’s first game. Jongyul wanted to make a good first impression with the other parents, so he volunteered to get the food.” Everything made a bit more sense now as I saw Jongyul—the brother—happily pass out the food to a green team of hungry kids.

“Which one is your nephew?” I asked as other parents came to help us with our loads. A group of boys dashed by and Jongdae snatched one up. The little boy squealed in delight as his uncle tickled him.

“This little monster!” Jongdae growled playfully, before setting him down and telling him to introduce himself.

“My name is Junseo!” The boy announced. I happily bent down to his level and told him it was very nice to meet him. I did conveniently leave out the part where I was on a trial date with his uncle, though.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Five!” He shined, and held up his hand to show me proudly.

“Wow! And you’re already on a sports team? You must be really good!” I charmed. The same gaggle of kids from before came back around for another pass and Junseo joined them, waving goodbye to me. I waved back. As I turned, I caught Jongdae’s eye. He seemed to have been looking at me rather deeply, but he quickly cleared his throat and gestured towards our seats.

And now I sat on my hands between a platoon of parents and a beautiful boy in leather. I would have been perfectly content to shiver all day, because there was just too much unbridled joy around for me to be miserable, but Jongdae caught my shaking. He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, then draped it over my shoulders. I was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of him—fresh aftershave with a hint of peppermint. He smelled like Christmas. His jacket was big on me and still wonderfully warm from his broad back.

“But won’t you get cold?” I asked even as I pushed my arms through the sleeves.

He wasn’t getting it back.

“I should have told you to bring a coat, sorry. Don’t worry about me.” He assured me sheepishly, like the winter weather and my forgetfulness were both his fault. “Jongyul!” He called abruptly to his brother who was a row down and a few seats over. The man stood at his name and the two started to signal to each other in some forbidden brotherly language. A moment later, the gym bag was sailing through the air. Dae caught it easily and sat back down to open it.

“Oh, the murder kit.” I recalled and he stopped what he was doing to give me a weird look.

“The what?”

“It’s the bag where you keep all the stuff you murder your dates with.” I snorted, silently hoping he hadn’t actually been offended. It took him a moment, but then he chuckled.

“Nah, I left that one in the car. It’s heavy.” He winked. “This one—” He unzipped the bag and whipped out a fluffy yellow blanket, “—is what I use to woo the ladies.”

“Oh goodness,” I feigned, fanning myself dramatically, “I am wooed.” He leaned over and tucked the blanket over my lap, and then paused, as if debating. After a second, he’d decided and he sat back down, securing the cover over me alone. I stared hard at my tucked legs, not believing that he’d opt out intentionally. Surely he wasn’t going to—

He shivered. He tried his best to hide it, but I was hyper aware of him. With a theatrical sigh to make it less awkward, I pulled the blanket free and laid it over his legs as well. He sat still as a statue as my fingers accidentally brushed over the top of his thighs.

“I am wooed.” He whispered to himself. I probably wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t hanging over him, tucking him into the blanket burrito. Trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that I had, I slid back into my seat and curled myself into his jacket.

In the safety of his inner lining, I checked my phone. Just a text from my mother, wondering when I was going to decorate her tree for her. I typed a quick message to Trinity, telling her to be late. Knowing her, she was going to show up right on time only now that I’d asked her not to.

By the time the game was coming to an end, the sky was darkening, and the temperature was dropping. I don’t think Junseo won, but they were five year olds. It was more herding them from one side of the field to the other than any goals being scored. The heat emitting from Jongdae was exhausting, as I refused to let myself relax for even a second. He was too fun, too inviting for me to let my guard down. The whistle blew on the final play and I let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a ‘great it’s finally over’ feeling. It was more of a ‘if I don’t get out of here I’m going to jump him in front of all these children’ vibe. I expected him to move or get up to gather his things, but he was as still as I had been.

“Thank you again for coming.” He said suddenly. “I know it wasn’t really a date or anything…” He trailed off and I saw the tips of his ears go pink again. But that could have been from the cold.

”What more could a girl ask for than Cracker Jacks and kiddie sports?” I shook my popcorn box at him, making him smirk.

Do you need a ride home?” He asked next, but his words were at odds with his posture. He wasn’t getting ready to go or making any indication he was going to uproot himself. Did that mean I shouldn’t either?

“Is this it?” I asked, puzzled. Maybe he was giving me a chance to run before he went for the murder kit, or—the worse of the options—he didn’t like me and was trying to get rid of me.

He jumped to his feet at my question, breaking the seal of the blanket. “That came out wrong,” He grimaced, “I wasn’t trying to…what I meant was…” The pink in his ears started to spread across his face the longer I stared at him, more than willing to wait for an answer. He took a breath before explaining, “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take you home. I can, I will, I would love to, but we would have to go like right now because I have to be back for the viewing to pass out the—”

“The viewing?” I interrupted.

“Oh, yeah. The complex shows movies after all the games are over for the kids.”

“Outside?” I cried. “But it’s freezing!” I glanced around at the other groups of people, realizing that they had dressed for the occasion. Mothers were in full length winter coats, fathers were bundled in long scarves, and one little boy was even wearing snow boots.

“It’s kind of a tradition.” Dae said, but the cold was getting to him. Out from under the safety of the blanket, I saw him rub his hands together and glance at the warm seat he’d jumped out of.

“Oh man, now I really wish I would have grabbed my coat.” I muttered and bit my lip. Should I call Trinity and ask her to bring it? She was on her way already, wasn’t she? No, because I’d asked her to run late. I sighed.

“Do you want to stay?” Jongdae asked, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him before this very moment.

“Do I look like I want to leave?” I returned, a little flabbergasted. So what if I had been trying to control myself all night? That was for the children’s sake.

“Even though I brought you to a kiddie soccer game on our first date?” His smile was growing the more he spoke, and I’m sure I was matching it.

“I thought you said it wasn’t a date.” I teased. He squeezed his eyes tight for a moment before leaping forward, grabbing my head and planting a kiss on my forehead.

Then he was off— “Stay right there! I’ll be right back!” He sang as he took the stairs two at a time up the bleachers back into the building. Dazed, I reached up and touched the spot where his lips had touched me. Resisting was a lost cause, I realized. I was going to date this kid and I was going to enjoy every single second of it.

#jongdae #kim jongdae #exo #exo chen #exo chen oneshot #chen oneshot #chen fluff #exo chen fluff #kim jongdae oneshot #kim jongdae fanfic #kim jongdae fanfiction #jongdae fanfiction #exo chen fanfic #exo chen fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo fluff #exo oneshot #exo imagine #exo chen imagine

[ink-splotch]

hi! i'd love to hear what you think would have happened if wyldon hadn't let keladry stay after her first year!! love your writing :^)

“Mindelan, it may be that the best thing said of my tenure is that you were my student. Should that be the case, I am the wrong man for this post. I did all I could to get rid of you. Your probation was wrong. You know that, I know it. I was harder on you than any lad. Thank Mithros I remembered my honor and let you stay when you met the conditions—but it was a near thing. Next time, I might not heed the voice of honor.”

– Wyldon of Cavall (Squire)

Kel sat and thought about it all through the long summer– thought about joining the Riders when she turned sixteen, or going back to the Yamani Isles with her parents, or running away to become an unlawful bandit hunter. 

She drank tea with her mother and accepted her quiet sympathy. She wondered what was going to happen to Peachblossom. She did her morning glaive practice dances in the heady air of the tiny courtyard garden of her parents’ townhouse, where the cook grew herbs and spices in big overflowing boxes.

Summer rolled on. She sat, and she thought, and she did not tell her thoughts to anyone. On the first day of what would have been her second year of page training, she woke before the sun and had a quiet breakfast with her father, and then she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds.

When the pages trailed out of the building to the practice yards with dubious enthusiasm, she was waiting just outside their ground. Her chin was high, her shoulders loose while her hands gripped her weighted staff.

“Probationer,” Wyldon barked out her, when one of the boys went to fetch him. “Was I unclear in the spring?”

Kel stared him down, fingers white on her staff, and said, “I’m not a probationer anymore.”

“She’s a private citizen, just enjoying the fresh air,” Neal called from the other side of the practice yard fence. He got armor cleaning punishment for a week for his cheek and Kel lifted and lowered and struck with her staff to the call of the masters. Her staff hit thin air. The clack of the pages’ staves colliding hit her ears.

“That’s palace property,” Wyldon said ten minutes in, and plucked the staff out of her grip, so Kel followed the lesson with empty hands and brought her mother’s spare walking stick the next day.

They started calling her trespasser, after that, and Kel stood calm on the public grounds just on the other side of the practice yard fence, practicing her high blocks.

While the pages had riding practice, she sat in the dirt outside the riding yard and did the homework Neal smuggled out for her. He handed the finished assignments in for her, too, even though only Myles and the one Mithran priest who had never learned anyone’s names graded them. She took notes on what riding exercises the masters were assigning the pages and watched Neal where he sat on Peachblossom’s back like a sack of mulish peanuts.

“When I heard you weren’t t’ be coming back,” Stefan the hostler told her. “I wasn’t sure what would happen to the old lad.”

“Me, either,” said Kel, looking down at her math and trying to keep her face smooth and still.

When the pages went in for their seated classes, Stefan let her take out Peachblossom to try to exercises herself. Days the gelding was too tired, he found other mounts for her and Kel learned all their names– gentle Aubrey and fastidious Starfall and distractible, clever Redding and poor anxious Terence, who almost threw her more than once. “He comes by the fidgets honest,” Stefan told her and Kel brought extra apples for Terence when she could.

She still took on Lalasa when Gower found her feeding the sparrows in the courtyard beside her old rooms and asked her. Her parents’ townhouse had the funds to hire another maid, though Kel didn’t need or want a personal servant.

Lalasa pinched Kel’s torn clothes from her room all the same and returned them better hemmed and beautifully mended. Kel barely saw her, though she tried to leave a coin from her allowance on the piles of clothes she thought the young woman was most likely to steal away next.

She didn’t ask for the help and she told herself she didn’t want it, but she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds every day with her weighted harness weighing on her shoulders.

She stood just outside the low fence of the practice yards and ignored Joren’s comments and Zahir’s sneers and the rebukes of the swordfighting teachers– distraction, they said. Lump, waste, failure.

The sun beat down on her aching shoulders and she thought I could stand here forever, thought you are just noise and wind, I am a mountain. I will be here long after you cease howling.

Neal landed blows on Joren’s fingers, apologizing blandly to the masters for his clumsinesses, because Kel had ordered him to get in no fights for her honor. The sun beat down on the careful stitches of Kel’s cotton shirt, which fit as perfectly as Lalasa could manage from a shy distance.

She told herself she didn’t want the help, didn’t need it. Her harness weighed down her shoulders, her makeshift staff weighed down her arms, but the cotton laid light and kind on her back.

Read More (Ao3)

She climbed up to the palace each day for training, but the city was where she lived. She met a battleworn mutt stealing sausages and brought him home to her parents’ townhouse. Jump befriended the kitchen rat-catchers and napped out with them on the cobblestones in front of the house, the cats purring with their bellies bared for the sun.

The palace carpenters wouldn’t make Kel practice swords and staves weighted with lead pellets, no matter the coins she offered or the errands she ran. She found a carpenter down by the Goddess’s temple in town, instead, who had shoulders even Kel envied.

The carpenter set her to whittling buttons while she crafted her a sword to employ on the dusty air just outside the practice yards. Kel paid in carefully counted coins and tipped in chores and favors, and slowly she collected what she needed– a practice sword, a staff, a lance.

She helped the cook carry vegetables and cages of chickens home from market, helped the delivery men lug massive bags of flour from the backs of their carts, and called it strength training. Her shoulders grew broad, twelve and straining at the seams.

When she found Lalasa cornered behind the kitchens by a handsy grocer’s lad, she still chased him off and bullied Lalasa into learning some self defense, if she wouldn’t let Kel report him. But they held their lessons in the little kitchen garden and the kitchen help and the maids drifted out to watch from among the rosemary. They called out encouragement among the mint under the apple tree. The youngest stepped out to join them, and then the oldest, and soon Kel was pacing between them all, correcting their stances and the twists of their wrists in the herb-heavy air.

-

Kel planned to spend the week the pages were away in the field catching up on her studying, taking tea with her mother, and hauling stones to pave the front walk of the townhouse, but Eda Bell had other ideas.

Most of the fighting masters ignored the bulky twelve year old standing just outside the training yard, but both Shangs liked to linger by the fence and drawl loudly, “The foot extension on that high kick is just tough, isn’t it, Eda?”

“Oh, yes, one of the commonest mistakes, but to correct for it–”

Eda caught her on her way down the hill, one evening. Kel was tacky with dried sweat and itchy with horsehair, but she turned and waited for Eda to speak. “You should pack,” Eda said. “I told Wyldon I needed an aide for the trip, to fetch and carry for my poor old bones.”

“But, ma'am–”

“Don’t call me ma'am, child, honestly. He said that’s what pages are for, but I told him that of course it’d be improper to have a lad attend me.” She smiled, crinkling up her wrinkles.

“He doesn’t know you’re bringing me,” Kel said.

“If you’re not part of this program anymore, then he doesn’t get any say in what you do or where you go.”

“I think he thinks he might,” Kel said, but she packed a small bag and they rode at the back of the pages’ party, into the hills. Wyldon spotted her early on and Eda Bell smiled.

Last summer, Kel had climbed trees until she vomited behind bushes. She had fought spidrens standing shoulder to shoulder with her friends. This summer, when the boys set out to map and explore, she squared her growing shoulders and went after them. Merric cast a wary glance over his shoulder at her while Faleron nervously ignored the crunch of her feet in dry grass behind them. “The royal forest isn’t your private property, or Lord Wyldon’s,” Kel said levelly, into their silence.

“Yeah, and you’re not who he’ll give punishment duty to,” Merric snapped.

“I’d take it gladly,” Kel said and Merric shook his head. Owen stared back over his shoulder, wide-eyed, the same way he’d been staring over the practice yard fence all year. He almost tripped over a tree root with all his eager questions piled under his tongue.

They climbed down into the narrow valley, the cliffs curving around them, and they found the bandits there. Faleron froze– Merric scrabbled for a knife– and Kel stepped forward with orders in her throat.

She’d been calling out drills in the kitchen garden all year, trying to imagine she was Hakuin or Eda. She’d been watching each of her women for the way they stood, or struck, or twisted away from a hold, the places they flinched. She had been watching the pages from over the low practice yard fence, every hit, every blow, while she struck empty air– her feet stirring the same dust as theirs, her stance light on that same ground, except for the fence between them.

“Faleron, the horn,” she snapped out, snatching a spear from Owen’s hands. “Owen, they’ve taught you how to make mage light, yeah? Get in the back, blind them all you can. Merric, with me–”

They fought their way out and up the high narrow path to the clifftop cave. Kel borrowed his bow while Owen tried to remember his basic healing lessons from magic class. She didn’t look down, just shoved her shakes to the back of her head and got to work.

“We would have died without you there,” said Faleron, in that quiet way of his, when it was over and Wyldon and the local bandit hunters were riding into the canyon below. “I don’t know if Wyldon will believe it, or admit he does, or if even the other boys will have the guts to say it, but that’s what I’m going to tell him, Kel.”

“Of course we will,” said Owen hotly.

Merric glared over his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my guts, Faleron.”

Kel sent them all on ahead of her– the injured first, and then the whole. Owen was ashy, shaky, and grinning. She went last, her legs jelly below her as they hadn’t been for the whole fight, her hands pressed tight into stone. At the base of the cliff, she threw up beside the body of a man one of them had killed and Wyldon said something smug and dismissive she didn’t even bother hearing.

“No, sir,” said Faleron. “It’s just the heights.”

Kel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand while Faleron described the fight with Owen’s “jolly” interjections. Wyldon shook his head and she watched her feet, already looking forward to riding home at the back of the train with Eda. Her stomach curdled and curled in her belly– she could stand the blood, the calluses and the shouts, but the heights, even just the heights– she was still the only one of them who’d puked at the end of it all. She was still the only one among them who would go back to her parents’ townhouse, not the pages’ dormitories. She was still not strong enough.

She put a hand to Faleron’s elbow, in a quelling thanks, and then headed back to camp in silence.

In this world, Wyldon was not ordering her up trees or dropping punishments on her head that forced her up stable loft ladders or the palace walls. She had very little interest in forcing those same trials on herself, but as Kel rode home from the forest, she wondered– was that why he had told her not to come back?

She knew it wasn’t fair. She knew he had asked things from her he hadn’t of the boys, and she knew she deserved to be on that practice court. But she wondered– if she had been better, had been braver, would he have let her stay?

While the pages left their last class of that next day, their yawns and chatter rising in the air, Kel climbed slowly up to the lowest palace wall and stood there at the edge of it, sweat-soaked and shaking lightly.

She sat up there and did her homework. She was as many feet as possible from the edge, but the wind picked at her papers. Some of these papers would be handed back with Miles or the math professor’s corrections, but she knew many would end up in trash bins or tossed into hearthfires. She wrote two pages on the tactics of the Immortals war in a careful even script, trying to ignore the wind and to will her hand not to shake.

She still went up to the palace daily in the summer, to use their archery ranges, feed her sparrows, and ride Peachblossom, but she spent as much time as she could in the kitchen garden. The maids stopped by on their off hours and dropped off friends on theirs– local seamstresses who bent close to admire Lalasa’s beautiful stitchwork, candlemakers and trainee priestesses of the Black God and flower sellers.

Early in the morning, when the cooks were setting the day’s dough to rise and the maids were just lighting the fires, Kel would do her glaive dances under the pale sky and they would pause in the doorways to watch.

-

When Kel came down to the practice yard the second week of what would have been her third year of page training, there was a woman waiting for her. She was short and dark, with wide strong shoulders. Kel gripped her weighted sword, stepping into the same place she stood every day.

“Sorry,” the woman said and Kel, finally, placed her– Commander Buri, of the Queen’s Riders. “I’ve been out in the field with barely enough time to rinse the mud from my teeth. You know about mud in your teeth?” She smiled and she must have had time to rinse them after all, because her grin was sharp and gleaming. “You will.”

“Commander?” said Kel.

The swordsmaster was glancing balefully in Buri’s direction. “I’m palace-bound for a spell,” she said. “I could use a little practice to keep these old joints oiled properly, and I was told there’s a kid who comes down here every day to fight empty air.”

There was a wooden practice sword hanging easy in Buri’s grasp. Kel took a long slow breath and thought about still mountain lakes and the tall old stones that towered above them, unbending, unbowed.

“Unless the fighting with empty air thing is on purpose,” Buri said, and it was kind, smiling and kind, and Neal was watching them over the low fence and the swordsmaster was watching them over the low fence and the weight of Kel’s practice sword was pressing into her calluses.

“No, ma'am– sir, um… ma'am?”

“Buri,” said Buri, and lifted her weapon as the swordsmaster called first defense.

-

Buri came most days when she was stationed in the palace, but Kel fought air as often as she didn’t. The Riders got sent out to the north to help with raiders, and Kel thought about hauling in a standing cloakrack or something, just so she’d have something to hit.

But the week after Buri left she came down to find a mountain of a man slouching against the low fence and joking with the swordsmaster.

“Keladry,” said Raoul of Goldenlake and Kel managed, “Sir.”

“A little birdie– a little Buri? She is little, isn’t she– told me if a fellow wants to get bruised in the early morning this here is the place to be.”

Sometimes it was Raoul, sometimes it was other Riders– she learned their names: Evin, who plucked coins from behind her ears, and Miri, who talked of the sea. A Bazhir man in Own’s livery came with his pockets full of birdseed and dried berries for the sparrows who lined up on the fence to watch her– Qasim, who had listened to her on the spidren hunt, back when she had been a real page and not a stubborn trespasser.

Kel wondered, every time she stepped out to see a figure standing there, if she would be short and broad and red-haired and purple-eyed– but the Lioness stayed a legend, and a ghost. Kel wondered if she had disappointed her. If it had been the Lioness in her stead, surely she would have been good enough Wyldon would have been forced to let her stay.

-

After the pages’ seated classes and Kel’s own riding practice, she’d come down to the pages’ wing to feed the sparrows and do her mathematics homework with Neal, who craned over her shoulder to see how she did them.

“Here I thought abandoning my noble academic pursuits would save me from this sort of headache,” he said, squinting at her even script. Crown was preening herself on his shoulder and for all his scowling and whining Neal was almost frozen, trying not to jostle the sparrow. “I thought– bruises, blisters, yes, but only to save me from mathematics.”

“I believe bravery’s a rather important skill in a knight,” Kel said. “Be strong, buttercup.”

Neal snorted. “Hardly. Look at the Stump.”

“Lord Wyldon’s a fine knight,” Kel said softly.

“He’s a coward and a–”

Kel’s face didn’t move much, but Neal had been watching her for years now, and so he stopped. Crown hopped down his arm and took off for the tree in a flutter of speckled brown. “Kel,” he said, after her quill had paused over the page for long quiet moments. “You belong here, and he’s a fool and a coward for fighting that– for not fighting for it.”

“He’s the training master,” Kel said. “It’s his call. I don’t want to talk about it, Neal. I just want to learn.”

He sighed. “Alright, well, learn by teaching, will you, young one? Explain number five to me before I set it on fire and go back to university.”

-

Other pages found them, sometimes, where they had clambered into the courtyard, or tucked away in Neal’s rooms (with the door still open), or in a corner of the library. Even if she spent her mornings fighting air most of the time, or doing drills with conscientious adults, she went to sleep with bruises. If they didn’t come to her and yank her papers from her grasp, then she went out looking for them. She wondered if the younger boys would have taken her defense better or worse from the Girl than they did from the trespasser. Neal went with her, groaning and griping, and took punishment duty that Kel tried not to envy.

So when she heard footsteps nearing their library table, she did not assume they came in peace. She put down her quill because she was tired of having to cut new ones and she pushed back her chair so that they couldn’t trap her in her seat.

“Um,” said Owen, peering over his books the same way he peered over the yard fence at her.

“Jesslaw,” said Neal with a cheery boom and Owen took that for invitation.

“Um,” said Owen. “So, you’re, um, good at fighting, Kel. Ma'am.”

Kel watched him from over her open book.

Owen stammered, “I’m– not? You’re there, in the mornings, and you were there, with the bandits, so you might know that. But, um, do you think you could teach me?”

“I’m not even a page,” she said.

“But you’re the best,” he said, in a rush of speech that was closer to his normal cadence. “You’re the best that won’t– laugh at me.” He messed with his papers and looked at her eagerly. He reminded her of her nieces and nephews, whose puppy-dog-eyes she was well practiced at defying. But she could see the wanting in his little, stubborn frame– the way he wanted something he couldn’t have, the way he wanted to learn something they wouldn’t teach him.

“The first bell before dawn,” she said. “Mindelan house, in town, I teach fighting in the kitchen courtyard if you can get there. You don’t mind learning among girls, do you?”

“No, sir!”

She warned Lalasa that evening and Lalasa warned the others, because somehow she had ended up in charge of organizing this all. When Owen showed up shivering in the morning cold, the more social of the women pushed him to the front with the beginners and patted his cheeks. “I’ve been a page for almost two years now!” he protested. “I’m not a kid.”

“Then what do you need us for, little soldier?” one of the maids asked and faded back to practice holds and escapes with Lalasa.

That night, Kel went to sleep to the smell of rosemary through her open window, and woke to grey skies and familiar birdsong. For a long uncertain moment she thought she was back into the page dormitories, her narrow bed and her uniform folded up on the spare chair, the sparrows’ courtyard full of chirping life just outside her window.

But then she pushed herself up to sitting. Her flock of sparrows flitted through the trees and flower beds of the parents’ kitchen garden. Crown set down, lightly, on the bedspread.

“You found me,” she said, and the sparrow gave a sober little peep and hopped up onto her knee.

The year rolled on, through summer and to what would have been Kel’s fourth year of page training. She should have been fretting about the final exams, except she was just sitting with Neal and studying with him for a test they wouldn’t even let her fail.

She should have been worrying about four years of squireship, and who would choose her– if anyone would take that step and choose the Girl– but instead she just tried to decide if she was going back to the page grounds that next autumn. Would she just keep pummeling empty air on the other side of a fence from children? Would she grow old there, too stubborn to give up on a dead dream?

She didn’t talk about it, and Neal didn’t ask, just came by for cook’s pastries and bullied her into letting him heal up her bruises. (“I have my bruise balm,” she said.

“Yes, your mysterious benefactor, praise be. Why do you only accept help if you can’t see the whites of their eyes?”)

“But what if no one chooses me?” Neal moaned over teacakes in her mother’s parlor. Gladys, who had thrown Kel halfway across the garden that morning, hid a giggle as she bustled by the maudlin scene.

“Someone will choose you,” Kel said. “And regret it the moment you open your mouth, but all the same.”

-

In a different life, Cleon would have kissed her at Midwinter– but Cleon had never been brave, at least not for the sake of Kel’s dreamer’s eyes, and anyway Kel spent Midwinters with Lalasa and the other girls.

While her parents dined high and fine up at the palace, Kel walked the streets with a pack of giggling young women, toasting mulled cider in their best shoes, the city so lit by torches it almost seemed like day. Lalasa held Tian’s hand in the cold, and if Kel checked every alley they passed by for trouble, she noticed that Gladys and Portia and Hanna did, too. It was almost like patrolling with Neal– and Owen, too, these days– listening for bullies in the corridors and corners of the palace.

They stayed out until late those nights, until the sun rose up against the hills and they toasted and cheered to greet its arrival. The whole lower city slept late the day after, but Kel dragged her bones out of bed and up to the pages’ practice yard.

After years, Kel knew Buri’s tricks and tells, her belly-deep laugh. She knew now that when Raoul really struck the impact would shake straight through her weapon and rattle every bone in her body. He liked to ask about her classes, her family, her sparrows and Jump, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when he asked her one cold morning what she was thinking of doing next. “Given a little fieldwork,” he said, wiping his sweaty face on his sleeve after drills. “You’d make an exemplary bandit hunter.”

“She already is one,” Owen called from where he’d been panting and eavesdropping, and she glared at him until he waved and hurried off to riding class.

“He’s not wrong,” Raoul said, smiling at her. “And there’s not much more for you to learn here.” He waved a hand at the dusty yard around them.

Kel wet her lips. “I was thinking– the Riders,” she said. “I’ll be sixteen in a few years, and if I stay here and keep in practice.” Slowly growing older than the boys on the other side of the fence– too tall, too stocky, but somehow still too female, still not enough.

Raoul nodded, slow. “You’d do well in the Riders,” he said.

She nodded mutely, watching her toes and trying to remember her peace.

“You’d do well there,” he said, and it was hesitant in a way she’d never heard before, so she looked up. “But the Own could use you. I could use someone like you. If you’re interested?”

She lifted her face and saw him standing there, anxious, like he was afraid she might say no. “It’d have to be– as a standard bearer, or an aide, or something, but you’d see action as much as any of the men. And then if, after two years, you want to join the Riders–”

“I have to– I have to think,” she said, and turned and left him standing there beside the low practice yard fence.

She went out to the stables. She’d known what she wanted since she was seven, kneeling behind her mother amid burning paper and laminated wood. “It’s not about the shield,” she told herself, and it was as true as she could make it be. “It’s not fair but I knew that,” she whispered into Peachblossom’s side and he blew at her shortly. “What happens to you, if I go, old man?” Her hair was sticking up in sweaty clumps and she pushed it off her forehead. “The Own,” she said. “They go out there. It’s real. They fight for people, and isn’t that the point?” She had almost turned away from this all, once, before any of it had started– chewing through the word probation on a rivershore until a she had a run in with a spidren and a half-drowned bag of kittens and her mind had made itself up for her.

“Miss Keladry?” said a voice and Kel turned to see Stefan. “So you’re leavin’ us?”

She blinked at him slowly, trying to let her mind catch up to the question. “I hadn’t decided yet,” she said. “Lord Raoul…”

“It’s just– the bill of sale,” he said. “Peachblossom? He was bought, this morning, in your name– four years of stabling and feed. He’s yours.” Kel was standing very still, not moving, so Stefan added, “There’s note– here.”

She unfolded it in her hands. Stefan fed Peachblossom an apple while Kel unfolded it and steadied her breathing. Gods all bless, Lady Kel.

When she stumbled out of the stable, she went to find Neal. She would talk over tea with her mother and father, later, cradling warmth in her palms and trying to lay out all her choices. But she wanted to see Neal now, and listen to his sensible sarcasm, hear him laugh when she took things too seriously.

He opened his door and the flutter in her chest went still for a moment. “What happened?” she said.

“A knight– a knight came by,” he said. She pushed into his room when he didn’t usher her in and he turned and followed her inside like a puppet.

“I told you one would.”

“She,” he said, and Kel’s head snapped up.

“The Lioness,” she said.

“What other female knight is there?” Neal asked, breathless still, and Kel turned to fiddle with the little waving cat on his desk, her face shuttering closed.

“None,” she said.

“Kel,” he said.

“You going to take her up on it?”

“Kel, it should have been you,” said Neal. “She’s– she’s never taken a squire before. If she– if it was anyone, it should have been you.”

“I’m not a squire,” she said. “I’m not going to be a squire.”

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, that’s all. None of this is fair, and this, I just feel like I’m stealing something from you.”

“You’re not,” she said.

“Someone is,” he said.

“But it’s not you, so, please, just, don’t,” she said. She sat on the edge of his rumpled bed. “Lord Raoul asked me to join up with the King’s Own, as an aide.”

Neal sagged back against his desk and whistled. “Lord Raoul,” he said. “An aide, in the Own.” He laughed, color flooding back into his cheeks. “Kel, he’s basically making you a squire in all but name–”

“All but name,” she said.

“Gods, the ruckus this will stir up. The conservatives, Wyldon– MIthros, even the king.”

She shrugged.

“You going to take it?”

She looked at the cat waving from his desk, right beside his hip. “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

He was smiling in a long slow slide, like he couldn’t help it. “Kel, this is wonderful.”

“And what about you?”

“You really don’t mind?” he said. “The Lioness…”

“I mind,” she said. “But I don’t mind you.”

“She said she’d teach me healing,” Neal said. “More than just the basic stuff the pages get, you know.”

His voice was soft and Kel swallowed down a million old jokes about going back to university. Instead she pushed off the bed, grabbed one of his hands in hers, and said, “Neal, that’s wonderful.”

-

That summer, she did not walk down the long corridor to the Chamber to try her mettle against it. Not every squire did– Neal thought it was a silly custom– but she wasn’t a squire.

Kel rode out with the Own not in Silverlake livery but in royal colors like the other men. Laurent hissed and spat about charity cases– it took one to know one. When they came back to the capital after months of mud in their teeth, the Own went to their barracks, Raoul to his rooms, and Kel to her parents’ townhouse.

They had tracked and captured the Haresfield bandits, Kel on the main field, attached to one of Third Company’s squadrons as amateur field medic and messenger. Flyn had called it non-combat and snubbed her at firesides, but Kel had cleaned her sword and dagger of other men’s blood, after.

Buri had greeted her in the command tent with that same big sharp smile and a warm clasped hand, when Kel came in with messages and missives. Qasim had teased her and passed her boiled eggs or jerky if she got excited and forgot to eat in mornings. He and Dom had teamed up to teach her all of the Own’s handsigns, and Dom tried to get her to laugh on their long dusty rides– but when they reached the capital again Kel left them at the stables, after she’d brushed and fed Hoshi and Peachblossom, and headed down to the city.

Her blisters had gotten blisters, those long months, but they’d all healed over and gone hard and tough in her sturdy shoes. She felt sturdy, with her saddlebags thrown over one shoulder, walking down this same old path from the palace grounds back to her parents’ home. The sparrows napped on her shoulders and the perches of her bags, except for the few who had chosen to stay with Hoshi and Peachblossom in the stables and pester Qasim for treats. She had walked this way every day for four years, away from a page training where she had never been welcome.

She wondered what card games Third Company would play tonight, what jokes and stories. She wouldn’t miss Wolset’s snoring or Lerant’s unhappy glare or the constant need to prove herself in the eyes of Flynn and everyone else. Even Raoul– he was the one who had taken her on and so to him more than most she felt the need to prove her worth.

But they’d wash the road’s grime from their faces and feet, flick water and tease the ones who slipped off to meet their sweethearts. They’d drag each other out, cleaned and coiffed. There’d been talk about swimming in the river, on the hottest days of the marches, and Kel wondered if they’d go through with it. Qasim had a favorite pub, with a shy chef who would sneak out to ask him for stories about all the places he had seen that she had only ever heard of. Kel had fought and slept beside them for months, but they’d turned left going out of the stables and she’d turned right. Her feet thudded against the familiar path and she watched pebbles run down the slope before her.

When she got close enough to the townhouse, the sparrows lit off of her in a flurry of beating brown wings. They swooped over the eaves to kitchen garden to rejoin with the larger flock, but Kel took the front door instead and found herself with an armful of teary Lalasa.

“Mistress Kel! Bethy said you’d arrived up at the palace, and oh, look at you, bursting out of every seam like I knew you would.” Behind Lalasa, Tian was smiling, and together they both pulled her out into the kitchen garden to look her over in the light. Maids peeked out see her, and the fishmonger’s daughter on a delivery, and the local seamstresses who were all trying to steal Lalasa away to their shops– they poked at her and remarked at her biceps and her new scars, called her pretty and teased her for not writing home more.

“Kel!” Owen came in with a shout from where he’d been working on his etiquette paper in the scullery.

“Don’t you have a whole palace to study in?”

He stuck his little blunt nose up in the air. “A growing boy’s gotta have wide horizons.”

“A growing boy’s got to have Cook’s teacakes,” Lalasa whispered to her.

“You’re all still holding the lessons in the morning?” Kel said, and Lalasa blushed prettily.

“Oh yes,” said Gladys. “Lalasa runs them. You should hear her drill sergeant’s voice, shakes the rafters.”

“Oh, shush, shoo, all of you, Lady Kel needs to clean up and to rest,” Lalasa said, flapping her hands at the gathered crowd– and they went. Lalasa blushed a bit more and then shoved Kel through the halls towards a hot bath and a fresh set of clothes. “They won’t fit right,” she said mournfully, but Kel turned and took her hands warmly in hers. Steam rose from the tub and she could smell lemon and lavender.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”

-

She asked Lord Raoul why, once– why he had taken her on. Why he had shown up to dawn practice for years, on the other side of that low fence, and tried to make her laugh. She flicked the beads of the abacus, juggling budgets and supplies in her head while she waited for his answer.

“There’s more than one kind of warrior,” said Raoul finally. Sixty pallets of dried venison, Kel thought, while Raoul talked about soldiers, knights, and Alanna the Lioness. Twenty five cases of clean bandages, she thought, and Raoul said, “Commanders, good ones, they’re as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do.”

Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. Sewing kits, emergency water rations, twenty-five sacks of flour. “You’ve shown flashes of being a commander. I’ve seen it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still-untamed pockets, too cursed many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown should use you. We’re too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that”– he pointed to the slate– “and you can stop for tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“I don’t know if we deserve you, Kel,” he said, as she packed up to leave. “Tortall hasn’t done right by you, over and over, but we need you.” She stood in the door of the tent, gripping her papers and not speaking. “As long as you are willing to fight for us, as long as I can, I will give you a place to stand and do so.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank you, Kel. Sleep well.”

She didn’t, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

-

On the progress, Raoul knocked conservatives out of their saddles when they challenged him, but it was Lerant who helped him into his armor. Kel helped Flyn argue logistics and housing with the progress quartermasters, standing shoulder to stubborn shoulder. She didn’t ever learn to joust, which seemed a rather silly pastime to her, but in her third year with the Own, Raoul taught her how to do that speedy, efficient stitch of his, and Qasim taught her how to walk quieter over leaves and broken ground, and she taught all Third Company a few moves with the glaive.

She raced Hoshi against speedy Bazhir horses while Peachblossom nibbled dry delicacies of desert grass. She buried Crown and Freckle in Persepolis. Yuki watched Neal across rooms, and Neal watched Yuki, and neither of them were driven to poetry.

Third Company built the yet-unnamed Fort Giantkiller up in the frigid north. The raiders were getting bolder, and more unified. Kel got kicked off construction duty early on, so Flyn snapped her up for logistics and scouting details.

Earthquakes, fires, bandits, pirates, hard winters– Kel’s shoulders were filling out further, her equipment getting caked with dust and mud from every corner of Tortall.

The leaves turned color again and Kel buried herself in an audit of all of Third Company’s gear. Raoul settled down beside her with a sigh and she kept the count of arrows going in the back of her head. “Four years,” he said. “If you were a squire, I’d be sorry to see you go now.”

Lalasa had gotten her hands on Kel’s King’s Own livery, stitched them up to fit her perfectly. She stood under their weight now, willing her hands not to curl into fists. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “That’s kind, and all, but I think I’d rather have my shield.”

“I didn’t mean–”

“That’s alright. Excuse me, sir.”

They headed back to Corus the next week. Raoul had reports to deliver in person, and Kel wanted to see Neal step out of that Chamber as a living knight. Her first stop when she got home was her parents’ house: for tea in the drawing room, and cookies and storytelling in the kitchen garden. Her second was Neal’s rooms, just off Lady Alanna’s. She and Yuki plied him with games and favorite foods, and tried to distract their friend and his tendency to overthink.

The morning of Neal’s Ordeal, Kel arrived at the Chamber’s waiting room before the sun rose. She had never been there before, never pressed her hands up against the cold stone door and asked for nightmares. She sat in the back, with Owen, but at the front of the room a stout red-haired woman waited, silent. Kel watched the back of Alanna the Lioness’s head and tried not to wonder, tried not to want the things she had already failed to earn. The stone bench was cold under her thighs.

“Neal will be fine,” Owen whispered to her. “Right? I mean.”

“Holding his tongue for a whole night?” Kel whispered back, squeezing the young squire’s hand as comfortingly as she could. “It’s gonna be tough, but I think he can do it.”

When Neal stumbled out of the Chamber– pale, shaken, but alive– alive– Alanna was the first up, with a blanket and some low comment that made Neal snicker. She squeezed his hand on top of the wool.

“Sir Meathead,” said Dom, grinning from the second row. Things were curling and curdling in Kel’s gut– pride, relief, and a festering of exhausted, bitter jealousy.

“You next,” she told Owen, trying badly to hold a smile, but everyone else was smiling too hard to notice where she failed.

-

In Neal’s first year as a knight and Kel’s fifth year with the Own, the war began in earnest. Stormwings circled the long ranks of men and supply wagons as they rumbled north, and Kel met a stableboy named Tobeis Boon. She’d never have a dowry, but she had years of wages and she bought Tobe’s freedom while Neal healed him up and Peachblossom stood guard.

“Taking in strays?” Raoul asked, raising a careful eyebrow with it.

“I learned from the best, sir,” she said. “You going to help me talk Flyn down about the lad, or not?”

“I suppose Third Company could always use another standard bearer,” Raoul said.

She grinned. “Lerant can take him on as a trainee.”

She didn’t have Haven holding her back from chasing down Blayce the Nothing Man– but she had never met the Chamber and it had never told her the Nothing Man was her job. She was one more soldier marching between the supply wagons, leaving long even tracks through the sludge and muck. Whenever Raoul could manage it, he’d lead the Own off to scout afield from the trudging ranks.

Kel was assigned to Dom and Wolset’s squad– an “aide” officially still, she couldn’t be promoted to anything, but in a fight Wolset and the others looked to her for direction. They fought a couple skirmishes from Giantkiller (the sight of Raoul’s face upon hearing the fort’s official name was something Kel would cherish forever), but then they were assigned on to help found an unnamed refugee camp a half day’s ride away. Tobe went where Kel went, and Raoul sent Lerant along with them “to continue standard bearer training,” which mostly meant learning his letters and eating full meals. When Tobe had nightmares he found Kel, and when he had questions he tended to find Lerant.

Wyldon had made Neal commander of the camp, to the confusion of everyone but Kel. “It’s because you’re kind,” she said.

“What,” said Neal. “I’m not kind. What is this slander? And this is the Stump– he’s not going to care if I’m kind. He’s going to care if I’m– obedient. And dead on the inside. That’s why he’s doing this– he’s trying to kill me, have you seen this paperwork?”

Kel, who was already halfway through Neal’s stacks of paperwork– putting them into piles of “trash,” “not time sensitive,” and “regarding something that is literally on fire, right now”–said, “He wants someone here who cares about the people. Who isn’t going to call them ‘commoners’ and just dally and dream about the glory of the war front. You’ll do the work, and he respects you for that.”

“You live in a weird fantasy world,” Neal told her.

Dom got her banned from any construction work, so she signed herself (and Neal, too) up for extra latrine duty. She took sentry watches, joined the patrols, and got assigned crossbow and combat training duties. Neal worked at setting up both the camp and its infirmary, dogging the steps of the head healer until the woman kicked him back to his study. “You need aides,” Kel told him, and then found out that what she was actually looking for was something miraculous and extraordinary called clerks.

She met Fanche in the dusty lane outside one of the barracks, where the woman managed to have a yelling match with Neal in which neither of them raised their voices above short, cutting snipes. Kel stood on the sidelines with a fellow who introduced himself as Saefas and who confided, “I’m going to marry that woman.”

“Oh, good,” said Kel. “One of these days I’m likely to strangle him.”

Kel went walking in the evenings, just like she had through the libraries and hidey-holes of the palace at home. When she found raised voices, she listened and stepped in where she could. When she found raised fists, she stopped them her drill sergeant voice if she could and her hands if she couldn’t. “You need a council for each of the housing blocks,” she told Neal. “Elected judges, something like that. They’ve got grievances and you can’t answer them all, no matter how many clerks we find you.”

“And you can’t answer them all, no matter how many strolls you go on, whistling,” he said. “Go find some Scanrans to kill, Kel, I’ve got this.”

There were children here the way there weren’t in Giantkiller. Tobe looked so much like a very small old man sometimes that when she first saw him racing through the main square with Loesia and Gydo Kel barely recognized him. He would still barely let her out of his sight for more than a few hours, and he’d gotten no better at asking for things he needed, but he cornered her at one breakfast to explain that Loesia and Gydo wanted to learn how to fight.

Kel thought about her latrine duty and Neal’s meetings with his new clerks and her nightly walks, listening for trouble, and how little time she had to sleep. She thought about being twelve, on the wrong side of the practice yard fence. “The first hour before dawn,” she told him.

Whenever Third Company made its berth in Corus, Kel would get up in the early mornings and make her way out to the kitchen courtyard. She always meant to lurk in the back and stretch out her limbs, but Lalasa would drag her to the front, smiling, and introduce her to every new young woman. Kel tried and failed to learn all their names and livelihoods, but Lalasa knew every one. Owen, who remained an unattached squire at the palace until the war started in earnest and he became an unattached squire at Giantkiller, had been Lalasa’s demo partner for years.

Loesia and Gydo were smaller than anyone Kel had ever taught. As she moved between them in chill morning air, adjusting stances and giving advice, she tried to decide if it made her miss Lalasa less or more.

When her squad was called back to Giantkiller, Kel thought about leaving Tobe with Neal, but the kid refused. “It’s safer here,” she told him. “And you’ll get to stay with your friends.”

“It’s safer with you,” he said and Kel sighed and told him to pack his things. She didn’t want him trying to trek on foot from Haven to Giantkiller in the dark of night if she left him behind.

She found him housing with the stable boys at Giantkiller and left Peachblossom and Hoshi to his care. Dom told her over a shared sentry watch that Tobe had taken it upon himself to look after the rest of the squad’s horses, too. “If they were cats, they’d purr when he stepped into the stable, but instead they just get snot on our shirts.”

She had missed the rest of Third Company, who welcomed them back with equal parts insults and warmly squeezed shoulders. Wolset dug up some rye from some friend of a friend, and she and Lerant ended up giggling into each other’s shoulders while Dom tried to hold a tune.

-

Neal was at Giantkiller, delivering reports, when the news came– Haven had been overrun. Passersby had seen the smoke rising and sent word on to the fort. Neal packed his bags with hands that shook, and Raoul sent Dom’s squad with him to assess the damage. Kel and Tobe fought with hissed whispers in the stables until she got him to stay in Giantkiller with Lerant. “I don’t want you seeing this, okay? You don’t need this, kiddo. Please, for me, stay here.”

“C'mon, Boon,” said Lerant. “I’ve got a hundred gauntlets to clean and mend, come help me out.”

Kel couldn’t imagine, as they rode down that long empty path and listened ahead for ambushes, what use they would be when they got there. “We can bury them,” Dom said when she brought it up at the fire that night. “Bear witness.”

“We should have been there,” she whispered. “Dom, the children– I taught them how to fight and then I went back to my big sturdy walls and trained patrols and war mages who can do more than light a candle–”

“Kel.”

“They deserved better,” said Neal, who Kel hadn’t realized was close enough to hear them.

“Not from you, Meathead,” said Dom. “They deserved better from the commanders and the Crown and all the rest, but not from you, okay? You did everything you could.”

“Not enough.”

“Get some sleep, both of you,” Dom said. “I’m both of your elder here, alright?” Kel shrugged and went off to lay out her bedroll in the dark.

They came upon Haven early the next morning and Kel could hardly say its name; it felt like a jinx on her tongue or some sort of cruel joke she’d unwittingly delivering the punchline for. Like Dom said, they buried bodies. They bore witness to the burned-out, mute stories of dozens of deaths– the unmarked Scanran bodies that lay around the body of a healing mage who had always fought with Neal over treatments; songbirds curled up in the eyesockets of dead killing devices; a corporal Kel had hated curled over a young brewer’s apprentice she’d taught to hold to a bow; craftsmen who had built Haven’s walls and cooks that had filled its bellies and stubborn hotheads who had given Neal so many headaches.

They dug through wreckage, dug deep trenches, and Kel kept count in the back of her head. “Neal,” she said, when her numbers kept coming up wrong, because Neal wasn’t keeping count of anything. “Neal, they’re not all here. Neal, the civilians– the children– we aren’t finding the bodies.”

“Do you think they got away?” said Neal, but Kel was already shaking her head.

Their orders were clear– clean up, bury the dead, report back to Giantkiller. There was a war on, and any Haven captives would be far into Scanran territory by now. This was a tragedy, but there was a war on and they were meant to be knights, not nursemaids, not shepherds or heroes.

They cleaned up. They buried their dead. They rode back towards Giantkiller and found twists of red yarn along the way, plucked from Meech’s balding doll.

“Neal,” Kel said, when she dismounted to pick up the first red breadcrumb. “You go on ahead with the soldiers. We’ve got some Own business, don’t we, boys?”

Wolset had dismounted, too. “Yes, sir, Lady Kel.”

Dom looked around at his squad. “Volunteer mission only.” Every man nodded and made no step to move on.

“I’m coming, too,” said Neal.

“You’ve got to report back to Wyldon,” said Kel. “Get the injured home. And it’s treason if you go, but Lord Raoul will back us up. If nothing else, we can’t let the Scanrans get materiel for a hundred new killing devices. He’ll understand.”

“Well, Wyldon will have to, too,” Neal snapped, and it was a sign of his shellshock that together Kel and Dom managed to bully him into riding on. They made it all the way to the river border with Scanra before Neal caught up– with Owen, Lerant, and Tobe in tow.

“You try talking them into staying home,” he told Kel when she nearly glared a hole through him.

“I won’t go back,” Tobe said when she turned to him. The Own were trying to hide their snickers around her. “And I can help with the horses.”

Neal and his Whisper Man connections got them over the river, and the motley crew of Own soldiers, knight, squire, aide, and standard bearers crept through the empty countryside. It was land like this, ravaged and abandoned, that Neal’s refugees had come from– the same land, just on the other side of the river.

Every step of the way, they found signs of the refugees fighting back. When they found the adults, they got weapons into their hands and headed on to find their children. A peculiar seer child, the last child left in all of Blayce’s home domain, said something about a prophecy, but Kel had never heard the Chamber hand her this mission. Fanche spat and sharpened her weapons. Dom napped in every spare moment, and Tobe whispered to the horses while Lerant shivered and complained of the cold.

Kel caught Lerant’s arm, before they went up to the keep, and said, “Keep an eye on him in there.”

Lerant scowled at her and it was so familiar an expression she almost smiled. “The kid’s not just yours, anymore.”

“I know,” she said. “Thank you.”

They snuck up to the keep through dark paths and illusory stone. When they found Haven’s children they barely recognized them, clean and coiffed, but they got them shoes, and weapons, and fought their way out. When it was all over– Blayce dead, and Stenmun, too– they left the enemy dead for the Stormwings. Neal healed wounds and counted heads, but Kel led them home.

-

Three months later, after Neal’s pardon and the convicts’ too, the king called Kel for an audience and she went. Tobe refused to let her go anywhere without him, so she dragged him south with her and left him to be fed, prodded, and mended in the hands of Lalasa and her parents.

She wasn’t sure what Jon wanted– if she was getting a condemnation or a commendation– but it turned out to be a medal and an invitation to face the Ordeal.

“How gracious of your majesty,” said Kel, which was something like a yes.

“I don’t think anyone could argue with that decision, after your service in the north.”

“Oh,” said Kel. “I’m sure they still will, your majesty.”

On her way out of the room, Wyldon caught her elbow and she let him. He had been hovering the back of the chamber, listening with his face full of something she didn’t bother identifying.

“I was stubborn, Mindelan,” said Wyldon, and she could tell it was like pulling teeth. “I should have listened to the voice of honor.”

He had more to say, curdling in his gut, she could tell, but she shrugged and moved past him. “My life should never have depended on the quality of your honor, sir,” she said and went on through the gates and out to the city.

-

They had her re-take the page end-of-year examinations for all the ones she missed. “Missed,” she said, as she repeated the news back at Giantkiller with a quite shake. Neal threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Ha, but you’re still barely older than I was when I took them,” he said. “Standing among all those children, reciting conjugations over the tops of their heads– are your sympathies for me soaring?”

“No,” she said, but she squeezed his hand.

She passed with flying colors, of course, returned for a few weeks from the ongoing war. Most of Third Company stayed in the north, but conflict was sparser with the loss of the killing devices, so Raoul came to Corus, too, with Dom, Neal, and Lerant in tow. Owen had seized Neal very seriously before they rode out and told him, “You cheer so loud for her, when she gets that shield.”

Like in other lifetimes, Raoul was one of her knight mentors for the vigil before the Ordeal. Wyldon came to her to offer to be the other, but she turned him down, and the king, too. She asked Neal, instead, and he had the audacity to be surprised by it.

“If you survive the Ordeal of Knighthood, you will be a Knight of the Realm. You will be sworn to protect those weaker than you, to obey your king, to live in a way that honors your kingdom and your gods. To wear the shield of a knight is an important thing. You may not ignore a cry for help. It means that rich and poor, young and old, male and female may look to you for rescue, and you cannot deny them…”

Kel sat through that long, cold vigil thinking of the realm– that dusty word that sounded in people’s mouths. She had ridden its hills and valleys with the Own, from mountain to shining sea. She had filled the larders of tiny villages with venison, leaned into Peachblossom’s shoulder as they shifted ruined timbers after fires and earthquakes, seen men bleed out on dry soil.

She knew the mountains, and she knew the scared, fierce refugees she had led back across its border. She knew the dusty streets of the Tortallan capital, and she knew the seamstresses and carpenters and fishmongers and blacksmiths’ apprentices who walked them. She had known for a long time who and what she was fighting for. When she stepped into the Chamber, darkness fell around her and she tried to hold on to that.

It was still a nightmare machine, and she still spat that name in its face, scared-certain she would not leave it alive and bitterly angry about it. She had had so many more nightmares, now, this protector of the small. She would not be going off to war with the paint still wet on her shield, and she recognized all the fears the Chamber was laying at her feet.

It took her to the top of the tree outside Fort Giantkiller, and it brought the wind while she clung white-knuckled to the branches. It dropped her in the canyon, twelve again but this time tongue-tied, trembling, to watch Faleron get an arrow to his right eye– Merric fall with an axe in his spine– Owen bleed out in the dirt–

She was walking Haven’s streets again, but this time they were her people– not just living in walls she had defended and abandoned, not just faces whose names were on the tip of her tongue– she felt like she carried all their stories and their squabbles, like she’d stood on a box in the eating hall and given them a speech about how she would keep them safe. They were her children and her clerks and her convicts, her burden and her ball-and-chain– except where were the children, where–

In the halls of Blayce’s hold, she saw Neal hit ground, silent and slack-faced in death. She plucked the bodies of sparrows from the blinded eyes of killing devices. Fanche took five arrows in the stomach before she went down to her knees, then her hands, then her side, curses bubbling red from her lips. Jump lunged for a killing device and Kel was too small– her hands fragile on weighted weapons– her reach all wrong–

She was standing on the wrong side of the low practice yard fence, her grip white-knuckled on her mother’s borrowed walking stick. “Was I not clear, probationer?” Wyldon demanded. Answers swarmed over her tongue. Her fingers ached.

She was clinging white-knuckled to a tree, too high above a wide featureless plain to be able to survive the fall. She was no good at letting go of things, but it didn’t matter– everyone got tired, even Keladry of Mindelan. Anyone’s hands could weaken. Anyone could be ripped from their high perch and die frightened, dashed down onto hard dirt and cold stone. What would it look like, when they pulled open the doors of the Chamber?

The wind screamed in her ears, and she closed her eyes. She did not scream back.

Are you trying to make me afraid? she thought. I am afraid, I have always been afraid–

The streets of Haven, silent; the whispering of bullies in the library; her feet pressed together in Wyldon’s office, that last day of that first year; Dom going down in the forest with an arrow to the shoulder, the first killing device stalking out of the shadows–

I am afraid because they matter, and I am small. There are so many ways I could be stronger, but I’m not. There are so many ways I could be braver, but I’m not. I will fear and I will regret, but I owe none of that to you.

She was no good at letting go of things, and she had sunk her fingers into this life, dug in her heels, roped herself to the mast of the ship and refused to plug her ears with wax. The wind screamed in her ears, the tree whipping back and forth. The ground was so far below. She remembered her brother holding her over the balcony, on a sunny childhood afternoon he didn’t even remember now. She remembered. She had been afraid for so long.

I did everything I could, she thought. I fought with everything I had, and it was enough, gods damn it. I was good enough. I was better than enough.

You can kill me here, you ugly bit of stone, and they will think it means that girls aren’t meant to be knights. But I know, and you know, and gods I hope the girls in the city know– that we belong here.

She had killed the Nothing Man. She had not given up on the Haven people– she had gone after them, over rivers and through stone, and she had brought them home safe. She had sweated four years on the same beaten-down dirt as the pages, performed every drill, parry, and strike. She had saved a bag of kittens from a spidren. She had had her mornings in the kitchen garden, in the pale light, and those would go on and on without her.

You can kill me, she thought. But nothing I did will die. It was enough. It was everything I had, and it was always enough. Loesia whipping a spear in front of her, like a glaive, like she’d spent dozens of pre-dawn hours practicing that smooth downward stroke. Lalasa in her shop, pins in her mouth and her hands busy. Tobe tucked up at a desk with Lerant, both of them leaning over his slow careful letters. Her mother’s low voice and her father’s steady hands and Raoul a lump in the curtains at formal events– Buri standing outside the pages’ practice yard, back when Kel still had to look up to meet her eyes. Meech chasing after Gydo’s ankles and Fanche with her hands on her hips; Dom cooking bacon over the fire and Jump waiting at his feet. She had fought for these things. She had gotten to see them, to live in their warmth.

I am afraid, she thought. She let go.

The tree vanished, and the wide plain, and the wind. Kel was in a still, dark room made of big stones. The grimacing face carved into the back of the door said You did well and she spat at its feet. Its laughter still ringing soundlessly in her skull, the door swung open and she stepped out into the light.

-

She stepped out and the realm was waiting in the antechamber– Raoul dabbing his eyes, Neal and Dom with Jump at their feet. Fanche was scratching Jump’s ears and Saefas was smiling beside Kel’s beaming mother and father.

When she got back to Fort Giantkiller and the new refugee camp they were building down the river, there would be cheering in the streets– ex-convicts and refugees, King’s Own and soldiers, nobles and knights– but for now there was Gladys and Tian, leaping to their feat. There were Corus fishmongers’ daughters and seamstresses and priestesses of the Black God who had been apprentices when she first met them in herb-heavy morning light. Here was everything she had spat in the Chamber’s face, everything she had prayed for in that long cold vigil, everything she had stood for in that practice yard dirt, ready to fight forever for something they told her she could not ever earn.

Lalasa sat at the very front, her fingers pressed up over her teary smile. Kel was smiling back, shivering, when Tobe hit her sternum with a thud. “I knew you’d make it,” he muttered, squeezing her tight, so she wrapped her arms around his still growing frame and lied, “Me, too.”

There was a soft touch at her elbow, so she lifted her head from where she was pressing her face into Tobe’s soft hair. A short, red-headed woman was standing in front of her, so proud her grin nearly split her face. Kel stared down at her, one arm still around Tobe, part of her heart still twelve beside the practice yard fence and sure the Lioness would have done better.

Alanna squeezed her elbow gently and said, “Gods all bless, Lady Knight.”

#raoul and jon have shouting matches throughout this #the sort where they call each other spoiled children #and thayet sends them both to their rooms #jon is trying to make compromises and keep peace and think about the big picture #and raoul is like there is TWELVE YEAR OLD KID down there who disarmed me wheni didn't meant her to #who's withstood so many things and words hurled at her #who keeps coming back and back #because she believes in what knighthood is supposed to be #more than any of those spoiled brats on the other side of that training yard fence #and you won't let her fight for you #it's not just cruel jon #it's stupid

[behindthemasksrp-blog]

Below the cut is an example of Admin Connie’s application. This gives roleplayers an idea of what is expected. This is just one example, you’re welcome to message the main and discuss any questions you have after looking at this sample app.

OOC INFORMATION:

Alias & Pronouns: Connie & She/her

Age: 21+

Timezone & Activity: GMT, I’m on daily and as the admin I will do my best to be around as much as possible. I don’t have much roleplay wise going on so I have plenty of time.

Additional: Nope, I wrote it.

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Desired Role: Simba

Character Name: Leo James King

Faceclaim: Michael B Jordan &  Ricky Whittle

Sexuality preference: Bisexual

Gender & Pronouns: Cis Male & He/Him

Character Age: 27

Anything Else:

CHARACTER INFORMATION:

BIGGEST FEAR: Leos biggest fear is spending the rest of his life like it is, stuck in the village and suppressed. He feels like there should be more to life, that the world around them is wrong somehow. He fears he’ll always be forced to submit, when every inch of him is saying to fight. Something he’s crazy, not being afraid of the woods, but he's curious. He fears he’s not being true to himself, he feels like a scaredy cat. This can’t be his life, running away at the sight of a monster when every inch of him is saying to turn around and fight, to win.  

THE THING THEY DREAM ABOUT: Things were easier when he was younger, he always imagined following in his father's footsteps. There was no other option, it's how everyone in the village lived their life. That changed over time, Leo realized he was nothing like his father. Leo dreams of doing something great, being mayor or maybe something more. He dreams of helping, of protecting. More than his job as a guard, doing something that truly matters, something people will talk about for generations.

IF THEY WENT INTO THE WOODS: If Leo went into the woods he would fight, he would use every ounce of strength to fight the monsters because he’s not afraid. The only reason he leaves when the alarm sounds are to save the other people. he knows the monsters punish those that wonder to far into the woods, he doesn’t want to be the reason people die.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Optional, this can be a biography, a graphic or anything you want to add. This section can be left blank, its completely up to the writer.

Leo grew up in a small family, a mother than fussed a little too much and a father that was always at work. His parents cared, but Leo always felt some disconnect with them. It was the small things, mostly. No one ever said ’I love you’ in their house. It was just words that no one had ever spoken. His father was quite the stereotype man, telling Leo to ‘man up’ whenever had any problems. So, Leo did his best to gain his father’s approval. He worked out hard as a teenager, becoming bigger and stronger than most of the men in the village. He took pride in his body, in his strength. He felt more distant from his father as he grew, they shared nothing in common. Leo got the impression his father was scared of him, the stronger he got, the more his father seemed to fear him.

The village of Fae is all Leo has ever known. He grew up hearing stories from his mother and father, being told about the monsters that lay in the forest. As a child, Leo used to have nightmares, waking up crying whenever he heard a noise. His mother used to comfort him, always telling him she would protect him, no one would get him. He was always wary but felt more powerful as he’s grown bigger and stronger over the years. There was never much to do in the village, except working out and reading the same old books.

At the age of twenty, Leo’s father passed away. The town nurse called it a heart attack, but Leo saw claw marks on his father’s throat when he saw a glimpse of his body being taken away. It didn’t add up, but Leo had been taught never to confront anyone in the village, no back answering. So, he let it go but kept it in the back of his mind. His mother never spoke about it, crying whenever his father’s name came up. She was always too fragile to ask questions, so Leo tried to keep his fathers name off his lips.

Leo took his fathers place, guarding the line of the woods, keeping the people safe. It’s a dull job and its grown Leo’s curiosity more than anything. He sees things sometimes, and some strange urge inside him wants to go into the woods and find out what exactly is out there. Gone is the small boy that used to cry himself awake at night. Now, Leo’s a man, one that’s powerful and no longer fears the darkness. He follows the rules, for now, but rules were made to be broken. There was once Leo saw something in the woods while guarding the villages. There was a sound of growling deep within the trees. A flash of fur and Leo saw a monster, but unlike the fairytales, his mother had told him. It looked like an animal and Leo was prepared to fight, until another guard pulled him back.

#new rp #skeleton rp #oc rp #original rp #fairytale rp #sample #simba #accepted

[raindropsonroses123]

ScotSwap Entry

@fandom-frenzy

Hello! I was your person for scot swap and here is my story! It's not very good at all (and sort of late), for which I'm sorry, but I hope you like it!! :P I decided to use your camping prompt, although tbh I’m not sure exactly what is going on, I just went with it. Enjoy <33

Much thanks to @kerowyn-ankh for organizing this whole thing!<3

Thanks to @penguins-united for editing!

September 2016 A.D.

Virginia

It was, Jerrot thought, an insipidly delightful trip. The weather was glorious, the food decent, and everyone was sort of getting along. The only bad thing about the entire adventure was that it was so short. Despite his best efforts and intentions, Jerrot was rather enjoying himself.

He was even beginning to forget why he was so gloomy in the first place. It had been one of the vicious arguments he was always having with Lymond, probably about Marthe or Gabriel or Philippa or politics or religion or whatever stupid comment one of them had made. Afterwards Jerrot always felt a little mixed up, as though a hurricane had swept through all his carefully organized thoughts and principles and left them in disarray.

He sighed, resigned to cheerfulness, and went off smiling to look for Archie.

In his subsequent search he found himself looking all around camp. Adam had also mysteriously disappeared, but Fergie Hoddim and Randy Bell were passionately arguing about the proper way to make s'mores. Or, at least, that was how the argument had started; at some point it had shifted to the Mexican-American war and then to the affect oil prices had on the economy. Either way, they were neglecting their one task, which was to build the fire.. Lancelot Plummer (Jerrot had tried to think of him simply as Lancelot once, and it was just wrong. He was the sort of person who needed two names) had taken over, which was lucky, because he actually knew how to build a fire.

Lymond, who had organized their expedition into the terrifying world of northern Virginia camping grounds, was supposed to be getting out the ingredients for s'mores. Or building tents. Jerrot was positive he was supposed to be doing something. Instead, he was sitting on a big blue cooler Hercules brought, plucking away beautifully and maddeningly at a guitar and humming Neil Young songs under his breath. Lymond was consistently the most beautiful and maddening person in a group, Jerrot thought. It did not help that Jerrot was positive Lymond wasn't really as unthinking as he seemed. He probably had a great scheme in his head for the rest of them to carry out.

Meanwhile..

Archie and Adam had been gathering firewood by the little creek. "Had been" because Archie had declared that it was pointless to gather firewood and had tried to convince Adam to wade in the stream and catch minnows. Archie knew a lot about minnows. Adam let himself be distracted, reluctantly at first, and then enthusisastically, as he felt the sun beam down and the lovely weather whittled away at his resolve, until he was happily picturing landscapes to sketch and listening to Archie prattle on about squirrels.

The sun sank resolutely behind the trees as they wandered along the path. Adam realized suddenly that it was quite dark, his bad leg was aching, and he had no idea where they were.

“Archie? We aren’t lost, are we?” he said.

“Ohh” said Archie. He was probably the only person in the world who could say ‘oh’ in such a disapproving and decidedly Scottish tone of voice. “Oh. No. Not really. Just a wee bit, maybe,”

“Glad to hear it,” said Adam flatly.

Later…

“Has anyone laid eyes on Fergie or Adam?” said Lymond commandingly. He was standing on the cooler now, like a politician on a soapbox.

Jerrot was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Fergie coughed discreetly. “I believe they were looking for firewood,”

“That was an hour ago,” said Lymond coldly. “And neither brought a cell phone. Well. Everybody grab flashlights. We’ll meet back here in half an hour. Fergie and Randy, you go to the creek, I’ll go to the path, Lancelot, watch the camp. Jerrot, you head south to the lake,”

He sprung down from the cooler like a cat, and ran off to get flashlights. There was a brief silence, all too familiar an experience after some of Lymond’s declarations.

Jerrot scoffed, loudly. “It’s like he thinks we’re at war, or something,” he said. “The woods aren’t even that big,”

The others nodded sympathetically and agreed with him, but went about their respective tasks anyway. He was half-tempted to simply declare he was going to stay at camp, but it was getting sort of dark. And perhaps he wasn’t ready to face Lymond’s verbal whiplash again...

It took an hour or so of stumbling about in the woods until Jerrot found Archie and Adam. Adam was sitting on a rock, bored out of his mind, his leg aching. Archie, on the other hand,was extremely energetic. After realizing they were lost, he had apparently chugged a few powerful energy drinks he had packed. He said it always pays to be prepared. He didn’t respond when Jerrot asked why he didn’t bring a cell phone.

“What’s going on, then?” he had asked instead, pretending not to hear.

“Lymond’s been organizing search parties,” said Jerrot, resigned. “I think he’s rather enjoying himself,”

Another hour or so later, and the stars were out and ridiculously bright. Archie and Adam had  prepared to face a lecture by Lymond, but he had taken pity on them- probably because Adam looked pathetic as a kicked puppy and Archie was still bouncing around like a monkey on steroids. Fergie was carefully toasting marshmallows and Archie was eating them amid his bouts of spontaneous dancing. Randy and Lancelot Plummer were listening to Adam tell a ghost story. Jerrot, bored by the idea of dead people and phantoms, and spurred on by some alien self-destructive impulse, sat down cross-legged by the fire next to Lymond, who was staring at it darkly.

He had been going to say something to provoke a fight, or to apologize, but all he managed was a rather lame comment on how nice and useful the fire was.

“For the night is dark and full of terrors..” said Lymond.

Jerrot blinked. “Was that a game of thrones reference?”

“Yes, Jerrot, it was,” said Lymond lightly. “Now how can I help you?”

“I’m not always trying to start a fight, you know!” said Jerrot.  “Maybe I just wanted to make conversation!”

“Sorry,” lied Lymond, grinning. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I don’t know,” said Jerrot. “Camping is nice, but don’t you ever feel small, looking at the stars?”

“Bright star, would I were as steadfast as thou art, not in lone splendour hung aloft the night…” said Lymond. “Not really. I’ve always felt a little too important, frankly,”

Jerrot turned to him with something bitter on his lips about arrogance, but Lymond was, for once, laughing, and without reason, Jerrot was suddenly laughing too.

He was still planning on being melancholy and sulky, but then Fergie caught a marshmallow ablaze, and nearly burned an outraged Archie, and Adam very nearly had to stop a brawl, while Lancelot Plummer was laughing so hard he could hardly speak. Lymond sprang up from his seat, eyes sparkling, and Jerrot wondered with a sinking feeling if he was going to make some speech about taking themselves seriously and ruin their fun. But instead, Lymond picked up his ridiculous guitar once more, and began to strum. Archie, high on the twin pagan gods of caffeine and gatorade, began to sing in a surprisingly operatic voice.

Yes, thought Jerrot with a strange feeling he thought might be contentment, he was enjoying himself.

#im rly sorry this is late! #and also not v good #i hope u like it anyway! #my writing #lymond #scotswap #thanks to penguins united for editing #the lymond chronicles

[waxandwanemusic]

Primer #7 - Guided By Voices

The Primer is our column wherein contributors compile a 60 minute playlist of a band near and dear to their heart. Using personal listening anecdotes, notes about specific tracks and a brief overview of each artist, The Primer is both a way for our contributors to trace their musical genealogy and for our readers to gain a new perspective on an artist they may have missed or dismissed.

Installment seven of the Primer series features drummer extraordinaire Joel Kuiper preaching the Gospel of Dayton, Ohio's Guided By Voices.

Be sure to listen to the one hour podcast episode we recorded with Joel about his Guided By Voices Primer.

It must have been early in the summer of 1994 when I first heard about Guided By Voices (Dayton, OH). The source was the now long defunct Grand Rapids area zine "Slak" Magazine. One of it's writers gushed on and on throughout the issue about the bands then new release, "Bee Thousand". He also gushed about seeing them on a side stage at Lollapalooza that year. He described the music as pop rock melodies that sound both timeless and fresh at the same time, and are at once both sophisticated and completely raw. The lead singer was a 4th grade teacher. That did it for me. 

On the occasion of my next trip to East Lansing record shop Flat, Black & Circular (a multi weekly event at this point in my life), I purchased a CD copy of "Bee Thousand". Listening as I drove home, I liked what I heard. The songs were poorly recorded, but had the sheer energy and enthusiasm to easily overcome any fidelity issues. Melody after melody poured effortlessly out of my Subaru wagon's speakers. I could hear The Beatles in there (Robert Pollard is the Blatz to John Lennon's Two Hearted Ale). I could hear R.E.M. in there. 

Even though there were similarities to what I had heard in the past, there was a freedom to this music I had never experienced before. And then came Track 9. "Gold Star For Robot Boy". I remember it clear as day. I was on Foster Street heading south towards Michigan Avenue.  Then Pollard sang - "If I waited for you to signify the moves that I should make - I'll be on the take - Gold Star For Robot Boy - well then that's OK". Genesis 1:1. The heavens opened. I heard it - and it was good. No - actually it was fucking great! 

This had only happened to me once before - when I was 9 years old and heard The Beatles for the first time. But the Beatles record had came from my Aunt Carole - this band was mine. And they still are. 

Guided By Voices are my favorite band. Robert Pollard is my favorite singer. He is my favorite songwriter too. He has written a few. Like over 2000. That is not a typo. And at least1000 of them are good! The fact that Pollard exists at all is the real story. As I mentioned - he was a 4th grade teacher for cryin' out loud. Making music in the basement with his buddies, having trouble getting gigs in his own hometown and releasing record after record of great songs that no one except the band and their families ever heard. (Sound familiar anyone :) ????) As a matter of fact, GBV was about to call it a day on the doorstep of its breakthrough way back in 1993 after a decent 7 year run. 

Then someone sent a tape to Cleveland. And then from Cleveland to NYC. The rest is history. GBV is not The Beatles. Pollard can't lounge in the French Riviera collecting paychecks. But he has carved out a great and lengthy career - which shows no sign of letting up - by doing things his own way and creating great music for himself - whether anyone actually heard it or not - which is endlessly inspiring to a lifelong musician like me. 

When Matty asked me to do this - he told me I had time for an hour long playlist. GBV has 23 proper records - and twice as many EP's and other assorted goodies. And I am not even going to touch Robert Pollard's solo records (He has over 20 of those too). Thousands of songs whittled down to these 26 standouts. Get ready to rock!

Listen to all 26 songs on Joel Kuiper's Guided By Voices Primer in the YouTube playlist below.

1. Over The Neptune/Mesh Gear Fox

Alright Rock N Roll! GBV! GBV! Is anybody ready to rock? This song does not rock. These very words are spoken as this track begins - and you'd better be ready to rock - cuz your gonna. From the arena rock swagger in the songs beginning, to the weird progish middle section through its melodic conclusion, "Over The Neptune/Mesh Gear Fox" is the archetype for what GBV is all about, fitting most of its many influences into just one song. No wonder it clocks in at over 5 minutes which qualifies as an magnum opus for these cats. And yes, the song does rock.

2. Your Name Is Wild

Truthfully I was sold by the title alone ( GBV has the best song titles), but the minute the song kicked in I was hooked by the uber hooky hook. Even though I can still barely figure out what he is singing - the melodies are brilliant and I can't stop mumbling along! 

3. When She Turns 50

Just Bob and an acoustic. Simple and clear recognition of one of the great voices and songwriters in the history of recorded music. And those lyrics...........sigh.....

4. Things I Will Keep

My favorite track from the Ric Ocasek produced Do The Collapse, which was GBV's attempt at major commercial success. Even though "Hold On Hope" and "Teenage FBI" are two of the bands most well known songs - both have been featured on TV shows and in Movies - the band never achieved the success they (or the record company) was hoping for with the release. It still holds up well however.

5. Hank's Little Fingers

Great title. Great execution. Great lyrics (Unless you've got the answers - don't patronize the mountain men". Great Chorus. Totally irresistible. Try and resist. I dare you.

6. Dodging Invisible Rays

As good as Pollard is - and he is that good - his main foil in the early classic years of GBV was one Tobin Sprout - who is himself good enough to shame most songwriters. Despite his thin voice, Sprout shines in all that he does with a gifted sense of melody and song craft as evidenced in this catchy number. He is worthy of his own separate career - and he has achieved just that. Sprout has released multiple impressive and acclaimed solo efforts. Without question Sprout should get his own highlight someday here at Wax & Wane. I'll start begging Matty now. Sprout is also an accomplished and successful painter - he had a gallery in Leland, MI for years and is renowned throughout the world in those art circle thingys.

7. Secret Star

 This was the tightest and most talented lineup GBV has had (so far). Sounding like something The Who could have recorded in the early 70's, the song is complex and compelling. The payoff at the end is sublime. "To wish for you to fall. To wish for you to burn. To wish for your return". 

8. Gold Star For Robot Boy

1:39 of pure bliss. The first time I ever heard it I listened to it 27 times in a row. 

9. If We Wait

One of my favorite Pollard vocals. What he does with the single word "anymore" alone is worthy of rock glory. A genius at work. In the basement.

10. Everyone Thinks I'm A Rain Cloud (When I'm Not Looking)

An easily overlooked (in GBV's massive catalog anyway) gem from the bands last record preceding its 10 year hiatus, which began in 2004. The band toys with the arrangement like the pro's they are and create plenty of magic to accompany Bob who never disappoints. Well almost never. For 90% of bands - this would be the best they have to offer. Its just another day in the office for the Wizard from Dayton.

11. Non-Absorbing

Oh. it's gonna absorb all right. "Do you see me dee dee dee deedeedeedee - Like I see you do do do dodododo" You'll never get it out of your heard again. Ever.

12. Atom Eyes

Tobin strikes again! See what I mean? His damn songs are soooooo good. This one is jangle pop heaven. "There's a million heartstrings ready to fly - let's pull them now" Pull away Sprout!

13. Planet Score

A song reminding us all to go to the record before they are "like the ghosts of Motown you just don't see them anymore" or "like the spectres of L.A. haunting the buildings of New York". One of the best tracks post the reunion of the classic lineup.

14. Indian Fables

This quick 43 second toss-off perfectly illustrates the simple musical magic that ensues when the golden throated Pollard easily whips up yet another charmer.

15. Fly Into Ashes

This is a B-Side on the "Hold On Hope" single. A better song, in my opinion. I can't believe it didn't make the record. GBV's throwaway's are most band's prime rib. Doug Gillard - wunderkind guitarist and musical foil for Pollard in GBV's second act - really shows his mettle here. That guitar solo really flies!

16. Dayton, Ohio 19 Something & Five

Nostalgia never sounded so good. We are not worthy.

17. Little Whirl

A delicious Tobin Sprout rave-up. You can't not like this. "I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE"

18. Girls Of Wild Strawberries

Gorgeous. Better than the fruit - but not better than Girls.

19. Echos Myron

Usually coupled with "Yours To Keep" (both are from the seminal Bee Thousand), "Echos Myron" has been a staple of GBV's legendary live shows (The Best live band in America for two decades now) -  and is guaranteed to have the whole house doing the pogo up and down from the first chord. "We're finally here - and shit yeah it's cool!" Bass Player/Lawyer/Wearer of the Striped Pants Greg Demos offers a great final argument as he shreds his way through the last part of the song as rock n roll nirvana is reached.

20. 158 Years Of Beautiful Sex

Sounds good to me. The song is great too. A drum machine never sounded so good. Notice how Pollard drops the bass out of the song at the :54 mark of the song and then brings it back in at 1:04. Are you fucking kidding me? No joke. "Loads of creamy music - and lots of time to make it". Indeed.

21. The Hard Way

In lesser hands this early standout could potentially be just another generic rocker - but when The Prince of Northridge (the Dayton neighborhood Pollard hails from) adds that damn voice of his - it's like when the color hits during The Wizard Of Oz.

22. Not Behind The Fighter Jet

The last song the classic lineup recorded before its 18 year hiatus (1996-2014). Love those keys at the end. Glad it didn't end!

23. Universal Truths & Cycles

The title track of "Universal Truths and Cycles" is a slinky number with a great chorus (aren't they all?) with some standout bass work by Todd Tobias. "And the lost hierarchy of land - and land owners - and down will go back up forever more - I must try to believe this". I believe! Hallelujah I believe!

24. The Other Place

 First song. First record. First classic. Pollard shows us from the very first seconds that he is a force to be reckoned with. Already 30 years old, it is not dated at all and seems even more fresh today than it must have in Dayton in the mid 80's. The first of many Pollard songs that R.E.M. wish they had written. Again - those damn vocals. Sweet lord.

25. Game Of Pricks

Maybe GBV's finest hour. A tale of the death of a relationship that is so damn catchy that the CDC is still working on an antidote some 20 plus years after this rock n roll virus was unleashed. "I climb up on the house - weep to water the trees - and when you come calling me down I put on my disease". Take that Dylan. The band would re-record this for the Tigerbomb EP. While it was recorded better - and had some nice new guitar parts - the original version cannot be matched. This song is so good it inspired at least one book (Perfect From Now On) and just may be the most played song in my personal collection. 

26. The Ascended Master's Grogshop

Sure the title is weird - but the song's melody is devastating. A melancholy masterpiece - that's less than a minute long. Sigh with me.

Joel Kuiper owns and operates a non-emergency medical transport service called Outpatient Express. He also plays drums in The Stick Arounds, Scary Women and Icey-Dicey.