#to be sensible and pay the money for herself even if her daughters have to never live with her again or affirm her family even if she dies?

[writesailingdreams]

Watched a reaction video for eps 35–36 (Nami’s backstory) and whoa was not expecting to be so put out by it

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 19

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: some violence

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

Chapter 19

The bike ride home through the chilly December air helped calm Alba down somewhat. Luckily, the bakery was packed with customers shopping for Christmas, so there was no time for her to dwell on what had just happened with Derwin. Despite her dislike of manning the counter, she stood by Beatriz's side and served the customers late into the evening without complaint, happy to lose herself in work.

But that night, when Beatriz was snoring in bed, Alba found that there was no escaping the feelings that had been swirling around her insides all day, making her stomach feel hot and unsettled, almost as if she'd eaten something that didn't agree with her, and leaving a heavy weight on her chest. Alba realized she wasn't exactly angry with Derwin. She was disappointed in him, which somehow was worse than anger. She thought she'd made herself very clear when she told him that their relationship had nothing to do with the debt, yet now he had to go and do something like this. She thought he knew her. That was what hurt her the most, more than the cancellation of the debt itself, the fact that he was so blind to her thoughts and feelings and only did what he thought was right, without talking to her at all.

But you didn't talk to him either, a small, sensible voice, sounding rather like her mother's, piped up in her mind, gently admonishing. It was true. She may have told him to keep their relationship and the debt separate, but she never told him how she felt about the debt, about the slight but persistent feeling of shame she'd always get in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought of it, the shame that had only intensified ever since she and Derwin got together. No matter how well he treated her, no matter how kind and considerate he was, she couldn't help feeling that they were not equal, at least not until the debt was paid off.

Alba got up and went to look at the dress, the lovely yellow dress that she'd been so proud of, but now it only reminded her that she'd bought it with money Derwin had paid her. Everything reminded her of how different their circumstances were—the books he'd given her, the shoes he'd bought for her, the movie tickets she'd kept as mementos of their dates. He could afford these things so easily, but what had she done for him? Even her Christmas present for him—a leather-bound book of Goethe's collected works—had taken her an entire week's salary, and it still seemed to her rather inadequate.

She knew there were plenty of girls who would think she was being a fool—after all, the man is supposed to always pay for the woman. And truly, she wouldn't have minded the little gifts. This, however, was too big to consider a mere gift. She couldn't help feeling as if Derwin was holding the debt, and his wealth, over her head.

What could she do? If she asked him to keep the debt, he probably would, but would it make him resent her? Yet she could not in good conscience accept the cancellation. Perhaps she could talk to her father and ask what she should do. But how would she explain when Papi asked why Derwin had canceled the debt?

With a sigh, Alba returned to bed. Her eyes landed on the manuscript sticking out of her bag. In her hurry to leave the Grunauer place and the flurry of work at the bakery, she hadn't had time to mail it. Now she pulled it out and smoothed down the pages. Well, it was the least she could do for him.

Something dropped from her hand to the floor. There was a thinner manuscript stuck to the German translation. She must have grabbed both of them by mistake. Picking it up, Alba happened to glance at the cover. Under the dim light coming in through the window, she could see that it said, in English, "To my Herzchen, my dawn, my muse, my love."

Heart beating faster, she brought the manuscript over to her bed, switched on the bedside lamp, carefully shielding it to avoid waking Beatriz, and started reading. It was a collection of poems, all about her, the two of them, and the love they shared. It was all there—the first time they met, the storm, the garden, the trip to the beach, the spoonbills, even the alligator. She didn't understand all of the poetic imagery and the metaphors that he used, but the beauty of the words, and most of all, the love behind them, shone through.  

A tear splashed on the page, and Alba realized she was crying. He loved her. He'd told her that he loved her, and she, with her stubbornness and her stupid pride, hadn't listened. She hadn't even said she loved him back. How could she have doubted him? How could she have accused him of such ulterior motives, such horrible behaviors? It was all for love. He did it all for love.

"Alba?" said Beatriz's sleepy voice behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Alba quickly put the manuscript down and turned off the light. "Sorry I woke you."

"Are you—crying?" Beatriz sounded alarmed. She must have heard Alba's sniffing.

"No, no. Go back to sleep. Everything is fine."

Yes, everything was fine. She would call Derwin in the morning, or better yet, she would go to his place and apologize. As for the debt, they could talk and work it out together. Alba fell asleep, clutching the manuscript to her heart, which was now as light as a feather.

***

The next morning, Alba came downstairs at five as usual to help open the bakery. It was their last day before Christmas break, though most people had finished their shopping already, so there shouldn't be as much of a crowd. All the better, though Alba. She should have no problem dropping by Derwin's.

Papi and Frank were outside, bringing in some supplies from the truck. Alba was picking up the telephone to call Derwin when she heard Papi bellow from the back room, so loudly that she almost dropped the handset. "Alba! Beatriz! Ven aquí!"

Alba ran into the room, already warm from the heat of the ovens. Beatriz came trotting in behind her. Papi stood by the back door, holding something small in his fist, his face white with rage. Alba and Beatriz exchanged frightened glances. Frank trailed in, looking confused.

"Frank, go open the front," Papi said in English. "And shut the door."

With a worried glance at the girls, Frank went out.

"What is it, Papi?" Beatriz asked.

"I was hoping you girls can tell me," he said, switching to Spanish. "I found this wedged in the seat of the truck." He tossed the thing in his hand to the ground, like some disgusting piece of garbage. Alba's heart stopped. It was one of the prophylactics. It must have fallen out of the paper bag when she drove home on Sunday. ¡Mierda! She knew she should've brought the tin!

Beatriz frowned at the little package. "What is that?" she asked.

"If you don't know, then I guess you're innocent after all," Papi said, fixing his scowl on Alba. "What about you, Alba? Only you girls and Frank have driven the truck in the past week. Maybe I ought to bring Frank in, see what he has to say for himself."

Alba had intended to keep silent or feign ignorance, but she couldn't bear the thought of Frank getting into trouble.

"No," she said quietly. "Frank has nothing to do with it. I bought it."

Papi's eyes popped, and Beatriz also turned to stare at Alba, though more in confusion than shock. Then Papi said, in a deadly whisper, "Beatriz, go and help Frank."

"But—"

"I said, go."

Hearing the anger in his voice, Beatriz quickly retreated, after giving Alba a sympathetic look. She went to the front, shutting the door behind her. Already Alba was sweating, though it had less to do with the heat from the ovens and more with Papi's white-faced, wide-eyed stare at her. She had never seen him so angry, not even on the day of the coup and he lost his position as secretary to the mayor of Cienfuegos.

"Why did you buy such a thing?" he said, still in that deadly whisper. "What could you possibly need it for?"

Alba thought of the poems Derwin had written for her, and calmly met her father's eyes. "I'm an adult woman, Papi," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I don't think I need to divulge every detail of my personal life to you."

It was the wrong thing to say. Papi's face twisted with anger. "You may be an adult, but you're still my daughter, living under my roof," he bit out each word. Alba fought the urge to point out that technically, it wasn't his roof. In fact, it was Derwin's. Papi was angry enough without her pouring fuel on the flame. "Who have you been—dallying with?" he asked.

Dallying? Despite her fear, Alba had to roll her eyes a bit. Papi could be so embarrassingly old-fashioned at times. But she might as well tell the truth.

"Derwin Grunauer," she said.

"WHAT?!" shouted Papi, before remembering the customers outside and lowering his voice again. "So this whole time you were going to his house to work, you two have been... Did that bastard force himself on you?!"

"No! And it hasn't been this whole time, only in the last month or so. We were going to tell you at Christmas." Alba found that, strangely enough, the more Papi raged and ranted at her, the less afraid she was. He was being ridiculous, like a Victorian father in one of those costume flicks who just discovered his daughter had been out with a man, unchaperoned. "What do you have against him?" she asked. "I told you, he's the perfect gentleman, and that was even before we started seeing each other. In fact, he asked me to marry him the other day, but I turned him down because I don't want to get married just yet. What do you want from him? Does he need to ask for your blessing first? Would that make you feel better?"

But Papi would not be placated. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child!" he hissed. "How dare you flaunt your—your—sin like this? What would your mother say?"

At the mention of her mother, Alba lost her patience as well. "Sin?!" she exclaimed. "We love each other, how is that a sin?"

Papi's face went rigid. Then he grabbed Alba's arm and dragged her toward the staircase leading to their apartment. "You're not to see him again," he said. "And don't think you can use the debt as an excuse to go back to him. I'll pay it off, even if we have to sell everything."

"You can't do this!" She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was relentless. "What are you going to do, lock me up for the rest of my life?"

"Yes, until you learn to respect me and my rules!" With that, he pushed her into the apartment and locked the door behind him.

Alba went into her room and plopped down on the bed, tears of anger and frustration stinging her eyes. She could only hope that Papi's fury had more to do with her attitude and not with Derwin himself. But she honestly hadn't thought that, in this day and age, she still had to ask for her father's permission to start dating. Perhaps she should wait until Papi calmed down and apologize...

Downstairs, the telephone rang. Her heart leaped. Could it be Derwin calling for her? She heard Beatriz answer, but couldn't make out the words, and then Papi shouted something, of which she only caught the word "bastard". It really must have been Derwin then. Dear God, please don't let him come here, she thought. Papi would kill him.

The morning had never crawled by so slowly. At lunch, Beatriz brought up some sandwiches, but Alba was too upset to eat. When she asked about Papi, Beatriz shook her head. "He's still very angry," she said. "Really, Alba, what were you thinking, talking back at him like that?"

"I know, I know!" Alba clawed a hand through her hair. "But he made me so angry! It's just bad luck. If he hadn't found the prophylactic, we could've told him at Christmas and I'm sure he would've accepted Derwin..."

Beatriz's round face turned pink. "So you've really—with Derwin?"

Alba blushed as well, but she tried to look nonchalant and nodded. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

"What's it like?" Beatriz asked.

"Bea! Now is hardly the time to discuss my sex life!"

"Sorry."

Since there was nothing else to do, Alba picked up the sandwich and stuffed half of it into her mouth. "Was it Derwin that called earlier?" she asked.

Beatriz nodded. "He asked for you, but I told him you couldn't come to the phone," she said miserably. "And then Papi said, 'Tell that bastard not to call here again' and yanked the phone out of my hand and hung up."

"My God."

Alba ran a hand through her hair again. Then a horrible realization hit her. Derwin didn't know about her change of heart. For all he knew, she was still angry with him for canceling the debt, and now so was Papi. What could Derwin be going through now, thinking she had refused to talk to him on purpose?

"I have to talk to him," she said, getting up.

"To Papi?" Beatriz looked at her, perplexed. "I wouldn't risk it just yet."

"No. Derwin. We—we had a fight yesterday. Now he must be thinking I'm still angry with him. I have to explain."

"But you can't," said Beatriz. "Papi won't let you near the telephone. And he's sitting in the back room keeping an eye on both doors like a hawk."

Alba was already thinking about that. She looked out the window, and an idea formed in her mind. Their bedroom window opened onto the roof, where she and Beatriz used to sit and watch tiny Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler on the drive-through screen. From there, she could climb the pipes down the side of the house. The back room had no window, so Papi would not see her.

"I need you to cover for me," she said to Beatriz, stuffing the manuscript into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and opening the window. "If Papi asks, tell him—just tell him something. I'll try to be back as soon as possible."

"Do be careful," Beatriz said.

"I will. Thanks." Alba swung herself over the window sill, stepped onto the roof, careful not to make too much noise, and edged toward the large drainpipe running along the wall. Feeling a little ridiculous, like a teenage girl sneaking out of the house to meet her boyfriend, she took hold of the pipe and slid down inch by inch. Once her feet hit solid ground, she took off running down the lane. Her bike would've been faster, but it was chained up in the backyard, and there was no way she could get to it without Papi noticing. But it was only three miles, and walking would give her time to prepare what she was going to say to Derwin. I love you, certainly. I'm sorry. I've been a stubborn fool. By the way, my father knows about us and he doesn't approve, but that's OK because I love you, I love you, I love—

Alba was almost at the turnoff in the lane when the roar of a car engine cut off her train of thought. She just barely managed to jump out of the way when Grant's Aston Martin came to a screeching halt next to her, boxing her in, almost pushing her into the ditch by the side of the lane. Great. As if her day couldn't get any worse.

Unusually, Grant wasn't driving. Sitting at the wheel was the rotund man with the watery eyes Alba had once seen, the one Grant called Bozo. As Grant jumped out of the passenger's seat to face Alba, she realized why he wasn't driving—he was sporting an impressive black eye.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Sugar Ray Robinson," said Grant, his lip curled up with none of the showy flirtation he used to put on for her. Now there was nothing on his face but contempt. Alba found it almost reassuring in a way, because it meant she no longer had to pretend to be polite to him.

"Get out of my way," she said shortly, "or do you want another black eye to match?"

"What a mouth you got, Alba," Grant snarled. So the stupid pet name was gone as well. "I should have you arrested for assault, you and that cripple of yours. See how big you talk then."

"There are hundreds of witnesses to say you started it."

But Grant was no longer interested in litigation. He turned his attention to her bag. "And where are you hurrying off to? Some secret tryst with your crippled boyfriend? What's this?" Before Alba could stop him, Grant snatched the manuscript out of her bag.

"Give it back, you bastard!"

Grant grabbed her wrists with one hand and flipped through the manuscript with the other. He frowned. "It's all in German," he said. It must be the Robert Frost one, which she had left in her bag. Well, at least Grant couldn't use it to make fun of her or Derwin...

Grant, however, seemed strangely excited. He flipped to the cover. "To Professor Fredrick Bauer, Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures, University of Florida, Gainesville..." He glanced at Bozo. "Fredrick Bauer. That's a Kraut name if I ever saw one," he said, before turning back to Alba. "What's the cripple doing, corresponding in German with a Kraut?"

"That's his former professor, you illiterate," Alba said, trying to snatch the manuscript back, but Grant held it out of her reach. "They're collaborating on a poetry translating project."

"Poetry, is that right? A good way to hide secret codes, if you ask me." Again, Grant gave Bozo a meaningful glance, and Bozo nodded.

"What?" Alba said, bewildered.

"He's German as well, isn't he, your cripple? Lots of Germans are coming here now, for some sort of intelligence operation, I heard. A load of bullshit. Only gives them more chances to spy on us." Grant held up the manuscript. "And here I got the proof."

Finally Alba understood. "Are you stupid or something?" she said. "You think Derwin is a German spy?"

"And you probably help him. Oh yes, I got you now." Grant sounded crazy, but there was a flinty, calculating glint in his eyes. "We'll see what the good people of Cypress Grove have to say about this."

Alba's heart sank. Grant may be a fool, but people listened to him. Nobody in Cypress Grove could read German, so if Grant told them it was some sort of secret code, she could see the likes of Mrs. McLeish believing him. And what would happen to Derwin then?

"Leave him alone!" she shouted, straining to reach for the manuscript one more time. "What has he done to you? Why do you hate him so? Are you just jealous because I'm with him and not you?"

"Oh, I'm not as petty as that, my dear Allie," Grant said, and the sweetness in his voice chilled her a thousand times more than his contempt. "I have nothing personal against the cripple. Well, maybe a little. But the main thing is that he's standing in the way between me and my highrise, and therefore has to be removed. Isn't that right, Bozo?"

"Yes, Mr. Grant," Bozo eagerly agreed.

And everything became clear to Alba. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place—Derwin's refusal to sell his land, the rumor about him killing a fellow soldier, the vandalism on the house, the red paint she'd seen in Bozo's car that one time.

"It's you, isn't it?" she said to Grant. "You've been trying to drive him off his place."

"Yes. And now, thanks to you, my dear Allie, and this little poetry project, perhaps I can finally convince the people of Cypress Grove to drive him away for me."

With that, Grant turned and gave Alba a hard shove. Her feet went out from under her, and she tumbled down the ditch, rolling through the dirt and mud and grass, until a tangle of willow and cocoplum forced her to a stop. Above her, the Aston Martin roared to life and away.

By the time Alba managed to crawl her way back to the lane, the sound of the car had died off. Her hands, elbows, and face were all scratched from the bushes, but she was thankful, because if it hadn't been for them, she would've fallen all the way into the alligator-infested water. For a moment, she stayed on the lane on all fours, trying to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. She had to warn Derwin. But in her current state, by the time she got to his house, Grant would have already gathered a mob. And how could she convince them to listen to her? She couldn't face them alone. She needed reinforcement.

Something fluttered to the ground next to her. It was a Grant's Land flyer, bearing the same picture of the highrise that she'd seen on the billboard outside the office when they came back from the beach. As Alba looked at it with new eyes, she finally realized what had bothered her about the billboard.

She'd got Grant now. Him and his lies. She could save Derwin. 

With great difficulty and equally great determination, Alba pushed herself to her feet and stumbled back the way she came.

Taglist: @kitkat80, @hahahafucku

[meowww-ffxiv]

#FFXIVWrite2024

Prompt 2: Horizon

Borrowing Eyrie from @impossible-rat-babies ! <3 Thanks for letting me write about them!

.

"Minana!"

Her mother's panicked cries did not slow the girl's pace. For a wee thing of only six years, and a Lalafell at that, she was a fast scamperer. Peddlers along the rim of Horizon watched, amused, as the bob of bright pink hair bounced past their stalls, its owner rushing with such purpose to her goal by the stairs that she seemed like an arrow seeking a legendary beast--

But she drew to a sharp, precise stop the moment her tiny feet touched the edge of the chocobo's shadow. Bright green eyes gazed intently into black. The imposing chocobo stayed perfectly still; so did Minana. For a tense moment, they regarded each other.

Then the great bird turned away, if only because her rider had put a hand on her flank with a gentle murmur.

Minana didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on the towering, majestic bird, like it was a phoenix given life and not something she saw everyday, albeit in a different hue.

The intensity of her gaze made her quarry's Vieran companion turn and take notice of her. They smiled, too, a gentle expression. "What is your name, little one?" they asked.

Minana pointed at their chocobo. "She's not Thanalan breed."

The bird snapped her beak, and the girl shied away. At six years old, a Lalafellin child barely came up to the knees of this Vieran traveler, and their impressive chocobo could very easily pluck that tiny hand off like a berry. But her handler stroked her beak and soothed her, so Minana's confidence was quickly restored, and she skirted around towards the Viera.

"She's not La Noh-scean either," she declared. "Not bulky."

"No, indeed not," the Vieran stranger agreed, amused. "Would you like to know what she is?"

Minana thought to herself for a long, intense moment. "She's--"

"Minana!"

A Lalafellin woman with similar pink hair and ruddy cheeks from running swooped in. She plucked her daughter up in her arms, then bowed near double at the traveler Minana had accosted. "I'm so sorry. She's just... She loves chocobos."

"It's quite alright," the Viera said kindly. Before they could get another word in edgewise, however, the girl had been dragged away kicking and screaming by her mother, who hissed something about a late dinner and getting grounded. Sensitive ears could pick up on the missus saying, That bird could have lamed you! Did you not remember what the other one did to your cousin?!

The entire situation resolved in under fifteen seconds. Eyrie stood where they were for a moment, blinking. Then they shook their head as though to clear the confusion, and led the mildly miffed Gingko to the shaded area.

"Eyrie," another peddler greeted them. "Good to see ye traveling by foot through the area an' not riding them fancy aethercurrents or whatever adventurers of that incline do. The usual?"

At Eyrie's nod, the peddler started laying out packs of ration, though unlike the fare she would sell to most of these travelers, these included far more dried fruits and berries. As she did so, Eyrie asked, "Who was that pink-haired girl and the woman?"

"Minana's the tyke, Mifana her mother," the peddler replied. "Lost her husband during the Calamity, she did, but she was a resourceful and indomitable woman. She done good for herself. Too bad the lil 'un is now old enough to run amok." She chuckled. "Might even have a future adventurer on her hands someday. No offense."

The dried berries and nuts looked too appetizing for a chocobo's sensibilities. Gingko slowly moved her head towards the treat, and Eyrie quickly pulled her away. "Do you see Minana often?" they asked the peddler.

"Everyday. What for?"

As they fetched the money to pay for the order, Eyrie also drew out something -- a long feather in Gingko's hue, indeed one of the ones she recently shed. It had been made into a sort of bauble by tying delicate dyed strings of green and blue towards the end, weighed by a hollowed marble. They had intended to gift it to some indeterminate person, but this seemed where it was destined to part from their possession.

The peddler's sun-wizened face softened as Eyrie held the feather out to them. She pulled a strip of cloth and swiftly wrapped it up, keeping it out of sight of fellow peddlers -- something made by the Warrior of Light would surely fetch sixteen times its weight in gold, and she was one of the few who would rather not weight gold with a little girl's joy.

"Do I tell her who it's from?" she asked Eyrie.

The vaunted Warrior of Light smiled. "It's from the adventurer whose chocobo she liked, obviously. And do tell her that her name is Gingko, and that she is a spoiled Ishgardian bird."

Gingko nipped at their ear for the insult and squawked, earning a bark of laughter from the peddler.

[torreshalstead]

Words like knives

Summary - Strolling through the grocery store on a Saturday with Tim, running into her mother was the last thing she would have expected. And yet there she was.

Notes - Just my little take on Lucy’s moms reaction to finding out about Tim and Lucy. Hope you enjoy! AO3 Link

Lucy couldn’t help the smile tugging on her lips as she strolled through the grocery store arm in arm with Tim. There was something about the mundane domestic tasks that she used to do alone, having a partner to do them with made them so much less mundane and so much more enjoyable. Tim had decided he wanted to cook for them tonight at his place, however as they normally ate at hers, his cupboards were bare meaning that a trip to the store was required. Lucy wasn’t going to complain. Tim was quite a cook so tonight’s meal was sure to be delicious, even if they did have to spend the time getting everything for it.

‘Damn, I forgot… I’ll be right back’, Tim said with a quick peck to her cheek before he headed back down the aisle they had been in previously.

Lucy smiled to herself as she slowly meandered down the current aisle, glancing at the shelves but choosing instead to daydream about the man who was the reason behind her smile.

‘Lucy?’

The recognition of that voice pulled her out of her daydream with a jolt.

‘Mom?’

Her mother was standing in front of her; she was the last person Lucy expected to see today. She hadn’t seen her since she had kicked her out of her apartment when she had become a P2 and had been told her career was worthless. She had spoken to her since then, but could count on one hand how many times that had been, usually just wishing a happy birthday or Mother’s Day via a quick phone call.

‘I didn’t know you shopped here? It’s far from your apartment, unless you’ve moved?’ Vanessa Chen always had a knack for asking the questions that her daughter would have preferred not to answer.

‘Umm, no I haven’t moved. I, umm, just like it here’, Lucy said quickly, hoping her answer would appease her mother and prevent any further questions. However that appeared to be wishful thinking when Vanessa doubled down.

‘But surely the travel costs here mean it’s more expensive to shop here. You must be sensible with your money Lucy. Your chosen career’, her mother had to stop to swallow at this, almost as though she was actively disgusted with her daughter's profession, ‘doesn’t allow much room for promotion or pay rises.’

‘There’s plenty of room for promotion being a police officer’, Lucy said, slightly softer than she normally would when talking to her mother. She was attempting to avoid confrontation and also to end the conversation as quickly as possible before Tim returned.

‘Well if you went back to school, like your father and I suggested, you’d be able to get a much better paying position and be able to move out of that apartment and you could shop here all the time.’ Her mother reached across to smooth out an imaginary crease on Lucy’s jacket and dusted down the sleeve. It was a way her mother continued to assert her power in situations, demonstrating not only her distaste of Lucy’s job but also of her fashion choices and clearly by the tone of the conversation, her living arrangements as well.

‘Mum, we’ve had this conversation before. I am not going back to school’, Lucy huffed whilst her mother brushed off the comment with a wave of her hand.

‘It would be the best thing for you Lucy. Your father and I have always thought so.’

Just as Lucy was in the process of biting her tongue to prevent engaging in a full blown argument in the condiments aisle of the store, the thing she had been dreading happened.

‘Hey babe, I found it.’ Tim had returned from his excursion to source whatever he had forgotten but was glancing at the label when he walked up to Lucy, not noticing who she was talking to until it was too late. ‘Oh, umm, Mrs Chen, lovely to see you’. He said nervously, depositing the items in the basket Lucy was holding and shooting her an apologetic glance. If he hadn't called her babe, they may have been able to brush off the fact that they were shopping together on a Saturday, but unfortunately, that was now impossible.

Vanessa shot a glaring look at Lucy before her gaze returned to Tim, looking him up and down in a disparaging way before her eyes locked firmly on her daughter.

‘So, the way to get promoted in your profession is to sleep with your superiors to get ahead. I thought we taught you better than this Lucy,’ her mother spat at her with disgust. Lucy’s jaw hit the floor. She knew her mother disapproved but never did she think she would accuse Lucy of sleeping her way to the top. She spluttered but was unable to get a word out before Tim stepped in.

‘Apologies ma'am, but I am not Lucy’s superior and I can assure you that any promotion Lucy receives in the future will not be as a result of who she is having a relationship with. Your daughter is an exceptional police officer and deserves every accolade she receives’. Tim said calmly, resting his hand on Lucy’s back in an attempt to calm her and show support.

‘Well you would say that seeing as you’re the one clearly having an affair with her!’ Vanessa said loudly, causing the other occupants of the aisle to look over before quickly making their way to another part of the store.

‘Mom!’ Lucy tried not to stamp her foot like a child but her mother’s reaction was causing her anger to bubble up inside. ‘Tim and I are not having an affair. We are in a loving, committed relationship!’

‘Of course you are’, Vanessa scoffed and turned her attention to Tim now. ‘I always had my suspicions but this just confirms them. You use your position of power to intimidate and coerce young innocent women into thinking they are in love with you. And then you’ll just discard them and move on to the next one!’ Vanessa's voice had returned to a more acceptable level however her tone was laced with venom and anger as she hurled the accusations at Tim. ‘Such a great example of the LAPD you are,’ she let out a harsh laugh as Lucy felt Tim’s palm tighten on her back, ‘taking advantage of those under your command’.

‘Mom, I am not under Tim’s command anymore and he’s not taking advantage of me, nor has he ever taken advantage of anyone. Just because you think all police are evil and corrupt, does not give you the right to talk to my boyfriend or me that way.’ Lucy squared her shoulders and grabbed Tim’s hand off her back, squeezing it tightly. ‘And I have no more to say.’ Tugging Tim behind her, she walked with purpose to the end of the aisle and took a left but before she had a chance to take more than a step or two, Tim had pulled her into a tight hug and she felt herself collapse into him.

‘I’m sorry’, he muttered into her hair. ‘She shouldn’t say things like that to you’.

‘I’m sorry too,’ she said but her words were muffled as she was pressed tightly against his chest. ‘She has no right to speak to you that way’. She pulled back so she could look at him but kept her arms firmly around his back. ‘You know nothing she said about you is true, you’re not taking advantage of me and I know you’d never abuse your position like that’.

Tim nodded, he knew that but he would be lying if he said Vanessa’s words hadn’t touched a nerve. He knew how he felt about Lucy, knew how she felt about him but was aware that to the outside world, if they knew the history, or at least parts of it, it might come across that way. A TO dating his Rookie. But their relationship was nothing like that, and anyone who knew them, knew that. And they were the only people who mattered.

‘I know Luce, I know,’ he said as he bent down to drop a kiss to her forehead, giving her a gentle squeeze before releasing her. ‘I know,’ he repeated, taking her hand in his and continuing onwards to the next aisle, hoping to put what had just occurred in the rear view.

As the pair continued to wander through the store, collecting the various ingredients they would need for that evening’s dinner, the conversation with Lucy’s mom was playing on both of their minds. Neither said anything but continued to maintain contact just a little bit more purposefully than they normally would do in public, nothing that would cause any raised eyebrows but keeping at least one point of connection at any time.

Lucy was reeling. She had become used to her mother’s opinion of her and her profession but had hoped that seeing her daughter in a happy and loving relationship would have brought her mother a sense of joy. But instead, it seemed to make her less approving of Lucy. Her mother had been on at her for years to get a boyfriend and settle down, she had even paid for her to freeze her eggs for god's sake. And here she was happy and with someone she could actually see a future with and her mother had insulted him.

Tim was equally angry but his anger was mixed with sadness. He knew Lucy wanted approval from her mother and that even though she tried to brush off the comments she made, it hurt Lucy when she insulted her career. He was so proud of Lucy and everything she had achieved, he wished her mom could see her for the person and the cop she was, rather than the idealistic version of her daughter that she had created in her brain.

Reaching the check out, Tim spotted Vanessa entering the household cleaning aisle and decided he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

‘I’ll just be a second’, he said as he strolled towards the aisle Vanessa had just walked down, leaving a confused Lucy in his wake.

‘Mrs Chen’, he said loudly as he approached her. Vanessa turned around, disapproval still etched across her face. ‘I don’t need you to like me, or even approve of the relationship I have with your daughter. But I have to tell you that by not accepting Lucy as the person she is now, you’re going to lose any chance of knowing the person she is going to become. She is a great cop, one of the best I’ve ever trained. She’s gone on undercover missions, taken down drug cartels and stopped murderers and has never asked for praise for any of it. She does it because she loves it, helping people, keeping the city safe. It’s who she is. Now I know that being a police officer is not what you had in mind for Lucy, that you want something different for her. And I understand that. Being a cop in LA is not easy, and it’s not always safe. But it’s who she is. And asking her to change, would be asking her to lose a part of herself, and that would crush her.’

‘One day Lucy will become a detective, or a Sergeant, or a Captain, and if you were there to celebrate those achievements with her, it would make them all the more special. But just because you don’t support them, doesn’t mean she is going to achieve them. Some day, I hope, she will become a mother and she will be exceptional at that too. She will want her kids, our kids to get to know their grandparents. But she won’t, if you aren’t proud of the woman that she is. Your words hurt, Mrs Chen. And I have promised to never let anything hurt Lucy, I love her. And that means I can’t let you hurt her either. So please, Mrs Chen. Just think about it.’ Tim didn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and heading back towards Lucy, leaving a baffled Vanessa standing alone in the middle of the aisle.

He hoped that she had taken his words to heart, he meant every word of them and he didn’t want Lucy to go through anymore pain and upset where her parents were involved.

—————————————————————————

As they unloaded the groceries into the truck, Tim spoke up, ‘I went back to speak to your mom’.

Lucy turned around quickly, ‘you did what? Tim-’

‘I know, but I had to let her know that what she said hurt you and that if she kept it up, she’d lose out on the opportunity to know the incredible woman you are. I’m sorry if I overstepped but I had to’, he looked sincerely at her, trying to gauge her emotions.

‘It’s okay’, she said after a moment, reaching out to hold his hands. ‘I do appreciate you standing up for me’. She smiled.

‘You do?’

Lucy nodded, ‘I can stand up for myself, and I know you know that’, Tim nodded as she smirked. ‘But it can get tiring, so sometimes it’s nice when someone else does for a change.’

‘Well we’re a team, so sometimes we have to share the load’, Tim squeezed her hand as he leaned against the tailgate of his truck, tugging her to stand between his legs.

‘What did you say to her?’ Lucy asked curiously.

‘I told her how incredible you are, and that someday you’ll get a promotion at work and you’d appreciate it if she was there to support you. I said someday you’ll be an amazing mother and would want your kid-’

‘Our kids’, Lucy interrupted him with a smile which Tim returned happily.

‘Our kids, to have a relationship with their grandparents but if she didn’t accept you for who you are then she would miss out on that chance.’ Lucy’s eyes started to glisten with the hint of tears but the smile hadn’t left her face so Tim continued. ‘I told her that I love you and I promised to protect you from anything that hurt you, and if she hurts you that means protecting you from her as well.’

‘Thank you’, Lucy whispered as she pulled herself into his chest and hugged him tightly.

‘I meant every word of it Lucy’, he whispered against her cheek as he pulled her further into his embrace, not caring that they were in the middle of the parking lot, not caring who saw that a tear may have escaped the corner of his eye. Just being present in the moment that the woman he loved was in his arms and he would never have to let her go.

[captainjimothycarter]

let's ignore just how late this is because my brain and body decided to tank the last few days of Steggy Week. This will be counting towards Day 5 (Inspired By) & Day 6 (WIP). @steggyfanevents & @dirtydoctorwho none of this would exist without you and all your help.

Having known Angie since she was a teenager, Peggy trusted that girl with her life. Even if they'd only met once in person in their early college years, Angie was still her best friend. It turned out to be a lifesaver when she called her in hysterics because Peggy had found herself in an impossible situation.

The impossible of impossible, her life was turned upside down because of one simple mistake and her parents would not hear her out.

She was pregnant, pregnant by some mysterious one-night stand that was a self-proclaimed traveler, so there was no damn way she would have contacted him (weeks later) to tell him that she was pregnant with his child.

Worst of all, her parents had found her positive pregnancy test when they were snooping through her trash and had demanded answers from Angie. To give her credit, her friend did hold out, feigned ignorance, until they stole Peggy's phone under the guise 'you are our child and we pay for your bill and you live under our roof' manipulation tactic.

They'd found more solidifying, concrete proof that their precious, angelic daughter who could do no wrong was pregnant. Pregnant out of wedlock.

Harrison and Amanda Carter did the only sensible thing and cut off all support with their only daughter and kicked her out of their home.

Forcing her to drop out of college, mid-semester.

Peggy did the only thing she could think of in her hysteric state and ran away to America, right into Angie's protective arms.

Angie's family comes from good, old-fashioned folks. Very hard-working folks who worked hard to get where they're at today. They adopted, and welcomed Peggy with open arms, meanwhile putting a curse on her family for ever kicking out someone just because they were pregnant.

Abandoning their flock because they're afraid of being judged. Afraid of how society would see them because her father is a well-known pastor and everyone knows that pastors are free of any sort of sin.

It takes a while for her to settle down, Angie's family insists that she must keep her feet up, and stress-free, to not worry about a thing for the sake of the baby.

Peggy brushes off their concern, saying that she needs to earn her own money and there's only so much of a handout she can take before pride gets in her way. She's as stubborn as they come.

Angie knows that well, so once Peggy is settled, a doctor clears her for work (because neither Granny Loretta nor Angie would allow her to do so until she sees a doctor), she gets Peggy a job at a local diner.

Peggy recognizes this one right away, it's a diner that's been in New York since the 1800s. More importantly, it's a Martinelli-owned diner, that's been handed down from generation to generation, kept run by Martinellis and their trusted friends and family.

Plus, it's in all of the Martinellis' family photos that hung

Angie might not mention it's a family-owned business and that's how she got Peggy the job, but she knew and thanked her friend for not outting this fact to help her keep her pride from being hurt.

Just like her studies, Peggy does what she does best and throws herself into her work. The work wasn't easy (not that she expected it to be), she wanted to make Angie and her family proud, and she wanted to provide for herself, not to mention the little one that depended on her to survive.

She wanted to let Angie's family know that she wasn't taking their help for granted.

The customers are rude, they yell, they throw things, and they speak their minds and stupid opinions when they're not even asked.

Unlucky for them, Peggy is rude back. She doesn't take no for an answer and refuses to serve customers who think of themselves better or think she's just some 'silly server' so they could sexually harass her.

The last fella who did that a few dribbles of hot coffee in his lap the last time he slapped her ass. Call it right time, right place.

No one knows that incredibly handsome but shy-looking man who comes into Martinellis's every so often enough to be known as a regular but is missed when he's not there.

Steve is sat in her section during an easy, light shift. Early, before the breakfast rush, where Peggy normally shines because she doesn't have to deal with assholes and can communicate with her customers.

She's told that he's a known regular, and sees the other server eyeing her with slight jealousy (but that's [person Steve kissed], she's jealous quite easily over the littlest of things). She knows the regulars by now but hasn't seen him around.

At first impressions, he's polite. The politeness that's old fashioned, that's taught by the older folks. He's sweet and kind. Yet, he's not old fashion like the men who use it to sexually harass her. He's kind, offers her a seat when he sees her approach, and says her feet must be killing her. (They are)

He's polite but not in an 'I've never done wrong' sort of way. It's just the old politeness. He might look like an American Boy with his blonde hair and bright blue eyes but she sees the scars on his fingertips, the charcoal and lead that stains his fingerprints. The black bags under his eyes indicate he so rarely slept.

He introduces himself first, says his name is Steve and he's been a regular here for a long, long time. (His Ma used to wait tables in between shifts at the hospital, he had spent his childhood drawing at the tables.)

He asks Peggy about herself if she's enjoying America, and the cultural difference (his knowledge of London seems almost old) but she notices that he cleverly avoids asking what brought her here, instead asks about her enjoying Angie's family and says that they've helped him out a lot too in 'this day and age.'

(More under the cut, just didn't wanna bug people with how long this is)

He speaks in an old-fashioned manner, whimsical. Like he's longing for something that is so far out of reach but he can't help but to want it. A time before that she wasn't privy to knowledge but witness the pain it brought this handsome (very handsome) gentleman before her.

She tries to imagine what he's thinking when his voice gains that whimsical note, tries to imagine what's behind those glasses but doesn't lose too much time to it. It's not up to her to learn these things, until she's told.

While they talk, she watches him, like she does any of her customers. He's kind to strangers and that's a rare thing nowadays (it's sad to say, even in her very pregnant state, people won't even give her a seat on the bus.) He picks up a kid's toy countless times, and the kiddo enjoys the game. It gave the exhausted-looking mother a break, a small smile shot their way because of it.

He makes sure to greet everyone he knows but follows her conversation, makes sure to ask questions. He's engaged, but not in a manner that seems forced. He doesn't seem like he's bored and just making conversation, he generally wants to know about her.

Most of all, Peggy notices, there's a distant yearning in his tone. That he needs /something/ to create a balm for him, to ease the pain that burns inside of him.

It's obvious there's something there, they click more easily than Peggy has to say that she has with anyone before. The talk is pleasant and when he smiles at her, it's genuine.

They talk so much that it's well past her shift, the sun has risen over the city, and Peggy is sitting with Steve, nursing a cup of ginger tea. She's exhausted but she doesn't want the conversation to end

After Steve leaves, Peggy returns from the bathroom and clocks out to see Angie with an envelope. Her name is on it, in fancy script. Angie stuffs it into her bag for her and tells her to open it once she's home.

Curiosity eats at her until she's home and inside she finds a bouquet of tulips, after she'd told him that roses were so overrated and tulips were beautiful. And how she wanted to see the Tulips in Holland one day but that was put on hold.

Another portrait inside is of a fantasy castle in the clouds, with beautiful stars sprinkling above. There's the backside of a woman (she has suspicion or perhaps wants it to be) who is holding a babe above her, letting it reach for the stars.

Seems like their talk of fantasy books and the slight mention of the nursery being a fantasy setting really rubbed off on Steve. Her smile faltered as she pulled out the large bundle of cash that Steve had stuck in there, with a note. That boy and his notes -

I know what this looks like, it's not illegal. I'm not framing you from my recent robbing of a bank. This is yours. To do as what you want with. - Stevie

There had to be well over a few grand in here. How the hell did a simple-man like Steve come by this amount? Despite his note, she was not settled and worried.

She asks Angie about it when she comes by later with dinner and Angie just shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, yeah, that's just Steve. He's really loaded. No one knows how or why, but we're sure it's not some sort of illegal blood money. Like 90% sure. Gram-Gram says it's old money, that he made some sort of sacrifice and deserves every penny and more. I wouldn't normally believe her but Gram-Gram never lies."

"I just don't understand why. Why would he give me this much?"

Angie shrugs. "Because he wants to. Steve likes to give big tips, loves to help people out. He must see something in you - what did you two talk about? It looked like you two were old friends."

"I can assure you that we are not. That was the first time I've ever met him," Peggy sighs, staring at the bundle of cash like it might bite her. "Only thing I told him was I was excited to start on this little one's room soon."

"Well," Angie hums, picking up the drawings. "He clearly is just as excited."

Notes:

HC that Steve had saved a Martinelli (most likely Lortetta’s immediate family) during WWII and because of that, they believe they are forever in his debt. They unofficially adopt him and help him adapt to society when he wakes up in the future.

Loretta encourages Steve to drop the Shield, to learn what it’s like to be Steve Rogers again

Legend has it that she gave Director Fury an earful over how he was treating Steve like a puppet. Fury’s ears are still ringing to this day.

Only Loretta knows that Steve was Captain America. No one else knows. Steve had dropped the shield once he woken up in the 21st century, feeling like he could no longer do the job that he’d once loved.

He only agrees to go on missions if they’re world ending biases. So far he’s only gone on two in the time he’s woken up in the future

Each time he had, he returned feeling like he was falling apart, mentally and physically. It took weeks of Loretta tending to him, cooking him meals before he started to feel like himself again.

WIP Graveyard

Steggy Week Day 6: WIPs and updates

[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."

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7,  Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. 

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story. 

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier. 

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.  

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence. 

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other. 

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable. 

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too. 

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless. 

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots. 

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered. 

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand. 

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway. 

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry. 

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together. 

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well. 

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though. 

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal. 

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened. 

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin. 

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though. 

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest. 

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes. 

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food. 

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much. 

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set. 

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky. 

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted. 

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air. 

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her. 

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed. 

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and  his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied. 

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions. 

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm. 

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more. 

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her. 

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up. 

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand. 

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier. 

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz  @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon  I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BTHB: Traumatic Touch Aversion

@comfy-whumpee​ requested “Traumatic Touch Aversion” for Antoni and here it is! Antoni’s first meeting with Nat when he came to stay at her safehouse. Also listing @wildfaewhump​ who loves all things Antoni.

CW: Referenced burns/scarring, touch aversion, conditioning, pet whump reference, box boy, self-injury (reopening wound at the end)

They meet in what was supposed to be a brand new subdivision, back before the recession scattered the developers and contractors to the wind and left this grassy cleared patch of ground just outside the city, complete with poured paved little road and a few poured concrete slab foundations, like grave markers for the homes that were never built here, the people who never had the chance to move in.

A reminder of the world where you can do everything right and the whim of a few individuals, who live so far away from you, can create an avalanche that buries your plans. Nat is old hat at that, of course - she’s buried her plans twice now, and built new ones right on top of the old. She was going to work in journalism, and then she was going to be the best marketing director WRU ever had, and then…

And then she walked away.

Bought a house with some of her inheritance from her dad, fixed it up for a few months, and... started over.

She likes this life just fine, because it leads her here, to places like this, to clandestine meetings after dark.

Nat’s truck is parked in a cul-de-sac that loops around empty grass, where they might have built a playground, if the neighborhood had gone up. Or put in a pool. Ahead of her is the SUV of the man she’s meeting, so far out in the sticks that she doesn’t worry about being seen, not here. Not in the evening light, with the sky burning down to night. 

She hops down from the truck, short and strong, her long brown braid smacking in the middle of her back as she goes, in her signature flannel over a t-shirt and jeans. You look like Kurt Cobain’s mom, Jake had told her once, and she’d pointed out that she’d be Kurt Cobain’s little sister, thank you very much, she was in Driver’s Ed when all that happened, and hadn’t that blown his mind for a while. 

She’s smiling, a little, as the breeze picks up. It’s the time of year when the hottest winds blow, licking through her hair and over her skin. Like living in a kiln. Nat feels like she cracks a little more each year in the heat.

Still can’t give up her flannels, though. She’ll be cold in the ground before she wears anything else, ever again. Flannels and sensible sneakers or work boots, and that’s the farmer in her that just refuses to fade away.

Those years wearing suits and heels, she felt like she was playacting, wearing a costume picked out by someone else that didn’t fit. This is who she is, and she can’t be anything else. She wouldn’t be, not ever again, anyway.

“Evening, Nat,” One of the two men she is here to meet calls out, and she raises a hand in greeting. Paul is in his fifties, ten years or so older than Nat herself. He’s been living the lib life for decades, was the one she used to call fifteen times a week with a thousand crises she didn’t know how to solve. 

Now she’s the one the younger safehouse owners call, and it’s kind of funny… in a lot of ways, 42 still feels like 24 felt, only she’s less confused and gives a lot less of a fuck about fitting in or following the expectations set out for what makes a good life.

The other man standing next to him is younger, and doesn’t look up. That’s the one that Nat is really here to see. That’s the rescued runaway pet she’s here, in the end, to try and save.

Nat moves to the older man without hesitation and crushes him tightly to her in a hug, listening to his deep, rumbling laugh. “Paul! How was the drive? Was it good weather all the way?”

“Long,” Paul answers, sardonic as always, patting her back. “Started out rainy, as Washington likes to be up by the coast, and I don’t think I’ve seen an ounce of precipitation since we stayed overnight at the hotel. You’re starting to sound Californian, you know. That Midwestern accent’s slipping away.”

“After twenty years, you’d think it’d be gone.” She laughs, unbothered. “You’re grayer than last time, too.”

“Look, at my age, you’re just happy the hair is there at all, Nat. Where’s Jake? He didn’t want to ride along this time?”

“Hm? Home with the others. He’s talking about going back to college, and so he needs to study, and then we’ve got this new rescue who’s still healing up from some serious injuries he underwent, so Jake doesn’t want to leave... and I don’t blame him. Our newest rescue’s a flight risk in a big way. He wanted to send his greetings, though.”

“Well, tell him I said hi in return.”

“Will do. I was surprised to hear from you, I didn’t think you did out of state drives anymore.” 

Paul clears his throat. “I don’t. But we’ve got a situation, and we had a donor step in and pay for the gas and hotel money.”

Nat nods, her smile fading and moving back to seriousness, as she looks around Paul at the second man, just younger, standing hunched against the side of the SUV, clutching a single small backpack that hangs off one shoulder. “This is the situation?”

“Yeah.” Paul sighs, rubbing at his face with one hand. “This boy popped up at my door a couple of weeks ago, half-starved and pretty clearly abused, and he’s being strenuously hunted. We’ve had three close calls in a week. I had to make a choice, and… you know, I trust you to keep him safe, and I had to get him out of state, as far as I could go. I hate to uproot him when he hadn’t even settled yet, but…”

“Yeah, no, yeah, I get it. I just had a bed open up, Trevor moved in with some roommates in Nevada, did I tell you? All of them former rescues, too, so he’s got good support right there. There’s a coffeeshop owned by someone whose daughter is in the movement who agreed to train him as a barista.”

“Good, good. Trevor’s a good kid, I liked him. This one…” Paul takes a deep breath. “He’s sweet, Nat. But... he’s scared.”

“They all come to us scared,” Nat says, unbothered, giving a shrug and putting her hands in her pockets. “Any memories?”

“Nope. He’s blank, still. I haven’t… he hasn’t even been with us long enough for therapy. But, here, let me introduce you.” Paul steps back, and the young man with the backpack steps forward. He’s wearing the rescue uniform, more or less - sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, nearly every ounce of skin covered, only his neck and face visible, the backs of his hands. “He named himself a couple of days ago. This is Antoni.”

He’s like them all, in his way - nervous and wide-eyed, young and beautiful, afraid of her and drawn to her. She can see the signs without even having to consciously notice them - the mop of dark hair in bad need of a good cut, the fear in his eyes, the way he’s skin and bones even underneath the baggy clothes designed to hide a body that didn’t belong to him for too long. 

“Hello, m-ma’am,” The boy says, quietly, his dark, slightly feline eyes flickering from her to Paul, seeking reassurance or praise for making the right choice. 

Nat’s head cocks to the side, and she notes the way the boy flinches a little at the quick movement. He’s a skittish one - that usually means violence was a part of his daily life, and he’ll need to learn how to live without fearing it. “Does he have…”

“An accent? Yeah. Eastern European or Russian or something. Says he only speaks English, but... sometimes he speaks something else. He doesn’t seem to notice when he does it.” Paul turns, and holds out his hand, gesturing the young man forwards. 

Nat watches the boy give a wide berth to Paul’s hand, the way his long fingers clutch more tightly at the backpack strap on one side and the hem of his shirt. He turns to look towards the entrance of the subdivision that never was, watching for cars who might have tracked them, and Nat’s eyes widen - and then she forces her expression back to neutral before the boy can notice - as she sees the bright red, still-healing circular burn on the side of the boy’s neck. “Paul, are we dealing with-”

“Don’t know.” Paul sighs. “Hasn’t even been safe long enough to get a doctor out to give him a checkup. We’ve kept him moving from house to house to house without even taking a deep breath, so… he could use a rest.”

There are deep, deep shadows under the young man’s eyes, settling above his starkly carved cheekbones, and she… she can’t argue with Paul’s assessment. This is a boy who needs a week of sleep, a month of safety, to even begin rebuilding. “Fair enough. You go on ahead, we’ll give it ten or fifteen and then head out.”

“Perfect. I’ll give you a call in a couple days, see how he’s settling in. That sound all right?”

“Works for me.” Natalie watches the new rescue - Antoni - as Paul climbs back into his SUV, turns the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to nearly-silent life. Antoni doesn’t look back at him like some rescues do, desperate for a final glance. He only steps away, to give the vehicle more space, as Paul gives them one last wave and drives away.

The boy’s expression is unreadable, as Paul’s SUV turns left out of the subdivision, and he disappears into the growing night. She can’t tell if he cares, and she can’t tell if he doesn’t care. There’s nothing in his eyes at all but that same darkness.

Nat sighs. Well, they’ll figure it out as they go, or they won’t. “Okay, Antoni, my name is Natalie Yoder. I’m house mom for a safehouse you’ll be staying in from here on out.”

The boy looks back at her, and his dark eyes are fathomless and deep. “Okay, Natalie Yoder,” He says, and yes, that’s definitely an accent that softens his vowels, changes the consonants a little. She can’t quite name the accent, but… he definitely has one. 

“Call me Nat. I live down in the city-” She gestures behind her, vaguely. “And I’ve got a house there with some others like you, all right? We can keep you safe here. You did the first big thing, you walked away. Now it’s up to us to help you with the rest.” She holds out her hand, and - just as she thought - the young man jerks violently backwards, nearly tripping on himself, his shoulders hunched defensively nearly up to his chin.

Nat lets her hand drop.

“I, I do not… touch,” The young man says, clinging to his backpack strap. Nat lets her hand drop, watching the fear tightening his features, setting his jaw to trembling, flashing a hint of his teeth. “Please, please, I do not-... I do not touch.”

Nat puts both hands up in an I’m innocent gesture, taking one step back and then another, giving him some space to get around her. “That’s okay. You don’t have to, not with me and not at the house, not at all.”

The boy stares at her, and the sun is setting rapidly this far up in the hills, taking the hint of golden light that falls across his face and dimming it. “Please,” He whispers, and the sound barely carries to her. “Please, I, I cannot-... please-”

“That’s just fine,” Nat says, pitching her own voice lower, soothing. “You’re still fine, Antoni.” When he doesn’t relax, Nat swallows against her own reflexive distaste and adds, “You’re still a good boy.”

There it is. His shoulders relax, and he lets out a breath, an audible exhale, stepping a little closer to her. “I am? If I do not touch, still?”

Nat presses her lips together, wondering if Paul’s report that this new rescue was a Domestic holds water at all. Not that designations mean shit to people with no empathy and total control over another human being… “Yes, Antoni. You’re still good. Let’s get in the truck and head back, yeah? Can you get in the truck for me? I’ll stay right here.”

Simple, easy directions, and a safe distance. Antoni moves around her to the passenger side of the truck, and she gives him the time he needs, pulling her phone out from her back pocket to text Jake that the new rescue is here, and she’ll be heading home with him shortly.

Cool ok, comes Jake’s fast reply. Kauri’s a mess. Fever’s up and he took all his clothes off and got in bed.

Please don’t tell me your bed.

What do you think? He’s back on the couch and dressed though. I gave him something for the fever. Call Masood in the morning? This shit isn’t strong enough.

Nat knows how that feels.

By the time she gets into the driver’s seat, Antoni has himself settled, seatbelt buckled, hands in his lap, and… his backpack is firmly stuck between the two of them, right in the center of the seat, a slight barrier but a barrier nonetheless. 

He’s only been out for two weeks. He probably has some toiletries and a change of clothes or two in there, and that’s it. Maybe a book if he was allowed to remember how to read. But any way of giving himself space is better than no space at all.

When she reaches down to shift gears, Antoni flinches away, pressing himself to the inside of the door, his dark eyes locked on her hand.

“It’s a stick shift,” Nat says, softly. “I’m going to do this a lot. I’m not trying to touch you.”

His eyes move, reluctantly, from her hand to her face. “Please,” He says, and his voice is soft, and perfectly pitched. He’s been trained to beg, Nat thinks - she’s seen that before. She’s heard this voice before. “Please, please do not touch me. I will be good, whatever you need, just… do not touch.”

Nat takes a deep breath and rests her foot on the gas, cautiously moving out of the cul-de-sac and back onto the road, leaving the subdivision that never was, with its overgrown grass and brambles and the hot autumn winds blowing hard enough to rattle the dried-out leaves in the trees, behind. 

One new rescue, still sick from an infected wound, who can’t stop trying to touch everything that moves and has tried to talk Jake into bed at least three times - and one new rescue with an unmistakable cigarette burn on his neck who is so scared of being touched he starts begging before Nat can even get him home.

“This should be fun,” She mutters, not aware she’s even spoken aloud.

I am sorry. Antoni mouths the words, but Nat isn’t looking at him, and she doesn’t see him do it. As they drive down the hills towards the city, with its twinkling lights, he watches out the window, looking he hopes towards the north, wondering if he can ever apologize enough to earn forgiveness for the choice he made to leave the woman behind and run.

His right hand moves, pressing into his left arm, rubbing his thumb again and again over a certain spot just inside his wrist, rubbing right through the ribbed knit of the cuff of his sleeve, pressing and pressing and pressing until he feels the healing burn break open again, the bright flash of pain.

He relaxes a little, eyes closing, leaning heavily against the door as Nat turns on the radio and grumbles about what counts as classic rock now. 

It’s not that the ashtray, who has chosen the name Antoni, hates being touched.

It’s that he doesn’t deserve touch that doesn’t hurt.

---

Tagging @astrobly​, @finder-of-rings​, @burtlederp​ @slaintetowhump​ @moose-teeth​ @dhiabori @oofowouchies @doveotions​

[ethelphantom]

My Every First Will Be Yours

Would you look at that, I’m back on my bullshit. This time it’s Maribat March. Am I the only one who’s like, way too excited for it? I am? Oh, okay. This one’s for day 1, firsts though, and it took me embarrassingly long to realise that the first day was firsts. Oh well.

Anyway, I think there's going to be something during my Maribat March for everyone, because I'll at least have a lot of Timari and Dickinette, rather much Jasonette, some Daminette, one StephMari (well, the last two are there if I manage to write them in time), and some platonic prompts. There's going to be AUs, angst, fluff, my horrible attempts at humour, big sister Mari, BartAdrien, Mari meeting the Amazons, friends teasing (and making fun of) friends, more angst (what did you expect? It's me we're talking about), and yeah. Also yes, I can tag you to the month (or all Maribat content, but specify, thanks) if you ask me to, either in the comments or via an ask or message. Anything works. 

Ao3

This is Maribat -- don’t like, don’t read

_______________

❋❋❋

And this was precisely why she despised getting into fights, especially out of suit. It wasn’t like she couldn’t do it, or that she minded injuries that much, but her knuckles were hurting after she delivered a punch a bit wrong because she’d been cornered and didn’t have enough space to get into a good position.

Besides, there were multiple people that were trying to attack her. Her best guess was harassment or an attempt at kidnapping or rape, but she couldn’t be too sure. Regardless, whatever it was, they were there, she was alone against four or five people, and she was scared, and a scared person too used to having defend herself in a fight against people (or things) bigger than her fought back without really thinking about it more than that. So, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise that once Marinette cleared her way past them and away from the alleyway and someone tried to grab her, her first reaction was to punch them in the face. The person backed off immediately to hold their nose that was now bleeding (and oh god, she’d probably broken their nose, but then again if they were trying to help those other guys, they did deserve it), and there was no way she was risking anything by staying.

The obvious thing to do was to run away, and run she did.

❋❋❋

Oh god. Marinette was ready to murder Dick, no doubts. He’d told her that he had a date organised for her and someone else he knew, assuring her that the person was a good person. While she trusted Dick, meeting the person whose nose she’d broken a few weeks earlier was not a good basis for a date.

Because no, while she hadn’t actually recognised the person sitting in front of her, he had, and he’d just immediately blurted out something along the lines of “oh shit, you’re the girl that punched me in the face a few weeks ago.”

So yeah. That did not go too well.

She ended up finding out that he’d witnessed the fight and tried to help her because she’d been trembling on her feet and looked ready to pass out but she had just freaked out so she'd punched him (miraculously, Tim didn't even blame her for it), Dick was his brother, his name was Tim Wayne, and it took her an embarrassingly long time to realise that yes, Tim was in fact the third son of that Bruce Wayne, and if Dick was his brother, then that meant he too was a Wayne. Tim had simply laughed when she brought that up.

Regardless of how awfully their first meeting had gone, Marinette ended up having a wonderful time. Tim was a wonderful conversationalist, he was intelligent, a good person, and was the CEO of his father’s company already at the age of 19 — had apparently been for quite the while already. They exchanged numbers and decided when they’d go out again, though both agreed they’d prefer a place more quiet and peaceful.

They met only a few days later again, and Dick positively beamed when he heard they got along well.

❋❋❋

Clutching Tim’s dirtied jacket in her hands, Marinette cried and buried her face in Tim’s chest. Tim brought his arms around her and held her tight, rocking her in his embrace as she sobbed. One would have imagined it was Marinette that had gotten hurt.

Tim had been kidnapped. He’d been gone for five weeks and they weren’t able to find him. World’s greatest detectives, her ass — Marinette could hardly like Tim’s family when most of them just let the fact Tim had disappeared be for two weeks until they realised there was someone asking for a ransom, and even then it took them ages to pay said ransom because they were determined to use the following two and half weeks trying to find him on their own, perfectly well aware that there was a chance they’d kill him. They never did find him, the kidnappers were too good, so they were forced to pay the money when they found Marinette freaking out and ready to commit homicide because she was going crazy when no one could find anything and no one seemed to care, either.

But now he was back. He was back, alive, mostly uninjured aside from the few bruises he had gotten, nowhere near the brink of death. And Marinette couldn’t have been happier at that moment, even if she was sobbing helplessly.

Tim cupped her face with one hand and brought it closer to himself before he pressed a kiss on her lips. It took Marinette a second or two to realise what was happening, but when she did just as Tim was backing off, Marinette lunged forwards and claimed his lips again. She clung onto Tim desperately, like someone would take him away from her again if she let go, and so she didn’t. She was not going to risk it. She couldn’t risk it. Not again. She couldn't handle losing Tim twice.

And so she stayed there, letting herself melt against the one she’d realised she loved when he had been taken away, hating the fact it had taken that to happen before she understood the love she felt for him.

And he let her melt against him, holding her tight, both hoping they’d be able to make one another whole again, or at least fit their broken pieces so that they wouldn't break more.

❋❋❋

It might have taken them a few sleepless… days? Perhaps? but eventually they had fallen asleep. Together. They had, in their exhausted and barely functioning states crawled under Bruce’s desk and just… cuddled up there and fallen asleep.

It certainly made an amusing story for Bruce, Dick and Jason to tell later on, because when Bruce had found the two in his office, it had both been so amusing and so adorable that he had had to call his oldest son to look at them (and preferably take a picture of them while he was at it). As it was, Dick had been with Jason at the time so Jason had also tagged along, and they were all amused (especially Jason who had to go outside the office to laugh because even he didn’t dare to wake up the two that were finally sleeping.)

At least he had had the sensibility to get a blanket and two pillows while he was at it, so they managed to make the sleeping place a little more comfortable for their precious, hardworking brother and future sister-in-law.

Tim and Marinette ended up receiving a printed picture of the moment in their mail a few weeks later when they’d mostly forgotten about it all.

❋❋❋

They had fought. For the first time. It felt horrible, but neither Marinette or Tim could bring themselves to go to the other and apologise. No, instead, Marinette had holed up in the guest room she was occupying, and Tim had run from the Manor completely. She had no idea where he was.

It was just that— god, she never realised that bringing up the fact Tim kept disregarding his own health for everyone else, doing WE work, helping his family, trying to make sure everything was as they should, that it would lead to something like this. She had been right, he wasn’t supposed to sacrifice himself for everyone like that, she hated it, she'd seen it happen once before with another person and hated it back then too, and Tim knew this, but then he’d brought up the point that he was doing it because that was the only way he could ever be worth anyone or anything. It had shocked her, because she hadn’t realised this was also a question of self-worth.

But at that moment both their feelings had been heated so neither stopped to think the other’s points and pushed back even harder until it had just exploded and it had led them here.

And Marinette couldn’t do a damn thing about it because she knew Tim had left his phone back as well. She was so scared this was the end.

(It wasn’t. After about a week, Tim had come back (not home, because it wasn't really a home to either of them) from wherever he'd been with his friends, and both of them had apologised, looking like someone had died. Or possibly, like they were scared someone would break and die if they didn't. It took them a lot of time to figure out everything, but they reached a compromise. Later on Dick pointed out that technically Marinette punching Tim was counted as their first fight, but then Marinette had threatened to punch him as well because that didn’t count, and they both knew she hated being reminded about it unless it was Tim himself, and Dick backed off, thankfully.)

❋❋❋

So, in the end, maybe they should have let Barbara come along and help them choose a house because maybe deciding to buy a house based on what kind of coffee machines there were that the owner had said they could give away wasn’t their smartest idea.

Then again, the coffee machines were great and they had not been able to come to a decision otherwise. Tim was used to mansions, huge manors, while Marinette had lived nearly all her life in a relatively small house, above a bakery. It was difficult deciding even the size of the house, let alone anything else. It was a little problematic when the parties of the relationship were a rich ass boy and a baker’s daughter — their standards differed greatly.

Besides, in the house they ended up choosing there were like ten different coffee machines, two studies, a wonderful kitchen Marinette had instantly fell in love with, a huge bath, and it was on a good spot as far from the Arkham Asylum and the Wayne Manor as humanly possible considering neither no longer knew how to leave Gotham.

They were barely 21 at that point and had known one another for 2 years, but that was fine. This was the best they could ever ask for.

And when on the day they finally moved in Marinette got on one knee because she wanted to surprise Tim, they both knew there were so many more years to come.

Yes, they celebrated their engagement by testing every new coffee machine they now had.

❋❋❋

____________

@freshbark @maribat-march2020 @kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, November 9

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Duchess Kate sets the record straight on Prince Harry and Meghan Markle 

Page 2: Ben Affleck is wasting away and friends fear he’s taking his new health regimen too far as the six-foot-four star usually weighs 208 pounds but has shriveled to a spindly 165 -- a nutritionist put him on a sensible meal plan but he’s altered it with his own fantastical ideas such as he won’t go near bread and he’s ditched pasta and he’ll eat cantaloupe and blueberries one day and nuts and seeds the next and he’ll only drink boiled water and green tea for 24 hours then break his fast with a small bowl of quinoa -- instead of pumping iron he does exercises using his own body weight like ten-minute planks -- Ben thinks he looks great but his pals fear he’s traded one addiction for another

Page 3: Love-hungry Katie Holmes is thrilled to have a new man in her life but she’s breaking the bank to keep him happy because Katie is picking up the tab wherever she goes with Emilio Vitolo Jr. because it helps her feel she’s in full control of the relationship but Emilio may be taking advantage of Katie’s generosity because Katie has been showering him with designer clothes and jewelry and even paying for a personal trainer to whip him into shape -- Katie enjoys giving her guy things he can appreciate because he’s made her so happy but she may go broke doing it and it’s not like he doesn’t have any money; he’s worth a cool $1.5 million himself

Page 4: CNN rocked by sex scandal -- Jeffrey Toobin’s sleazy sex scandal has rocked CNN but it’s just the latest in a string of scandals at the network 

Page 5: Axed Fox News anchor Ed Henry fought back against his co-worker’s rape charges in a blockbuster lawsuit by handing the court explicit selfies and texts in an attempt to prove their tryst was consensual 

Page 6: Ryan Seacrest is downplaying his latest shocking absence from Live with Kelly and Ryan but the TV dynamo is battling a mystery illness that may force him to sign off for good -- the co-host who is a well known as a workaholic skipped out on the daytime show for the third time this year and used the coronavirus pandemic as his excuse -- Ryan was suffering badly from flu-like symptoms on the weekend before his absences but came back negative for coronavirus however doctors remain baffled by Ryan’s ongoing battles with exhaustion and weight loss and stroke-like symptoms, disgraced perv Bill Cosby’s latest mug shot shows he’s a shriveled shadow of his former self and the fallen funnyman flashed a maniacal grin while refusing to look into the camera in the picture snapped behind bars in September and he’s unshaven and his hair is ratty

Page 7: Lizzo has embarked on a radical vegan diet and extreme exercise program to save her life -- doctor warned the 350-pound singer that her daily intake of 5000 calories a day was a dangerous path to self-destruction and she needed to change her life or lose it and Lizzo finally got the message and is committed to this program but it’s been a living hell for her 

Page 8: After surviving a fiery crash at the Daytona 500 NASCAR hero Ryan Newman is locked in an ugly $50 million divorce showdown with his estranged wife -- Ryan and Kristina Newman split in 2019 after she was caught having an affair with another man and paying her love $450,000 and now Ryan’s lawyers are trying to freeze Kristina who was once referred to as the First Lady of NASCAR out of his fortune -- court papers reveal the two split in July 2019 when Kristina went to live with her boyfriend U.S. Army Captain Joe Schwankhaus who is the Chief Operations Officer of Kristina’s company VRX USA 

Page 9: Ellen DeGeneres debuted a high-flying pompadour hairstyle on her new talk show but the makeover still doesn’t get to the root of her recent problems and although her hair may be rising her show’s ratings are falling 

Page 10: Hot Shots -- pregnant Kelly Rowland, Andy Cohen took his son Benjamin for a stroll in NYC, Will Smith held court in L.A. while shooting King Richard a biopic about the dad of tennis greats Venus Williams and Serena Williams, Angela Bassett caught a drive-in screening of One Night in Miami in L.A. 

Page 11: Grieving Lisa Marie Presley has broken her silence over the suicide of her beloved only son Benjamin Keough saying her heart and soul went with him sharing her heartbreak on what would have been Ben’s 28th birthday and she added she’s dedicating herself to raising Ben’s twin half-sisters and actress sister Riley Keough, Chaka Khan refuses to duo with Ariana Grande again saying she’s not gonna do a song with no heifer -- Chaka and Ariana worked together in 2019 for the Charlie’s Angels soundtrack

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- DWTS pro Emma Slater kept a handle on her coffee while steering her e-bike (picture), it pays to be Brad Pitt’s girlfriend as his new squeeze Nicole Poturalski has doubled her modeling fees, dancing siblings Derek Hough and Julianne Hough are out of step over her sloppy personal life and his hot new judging career because these two were supposed to be the next Donny and Marie Osmond but his solo career is exploding while hers is falling apart, Madonna has always been a big believer in astrology but now she won’t even meet with people if it’s not written in the stars and she’s spending a fortune to have an army of people read her charts 

Page 13: Losing his beloved son to cancer has sparked new fears for fragile Robert Redford because Robert has struggled with his own health over the years and losing his son to bile-duct cancer is extremely worrying; he’s already frail and this has friends fearing the worst, Jeff Bridges is confident he’ll win his battle with lymphoma by coupling medical care with a strict vegan diet and chanting and spiritual healing techniques

Page 14: Convicted wife killer Scott Peterson may soon walk out of prison and grisly photos lawyers say could set him free -- following years of appeals California’s Supreme Court overturned Scott’s death penalty and now another appeal is forcing a lower court to reexamine his conviction for murdering seven months pregnant wife Laci Peterson and their unborn son Conner -- if Scott gets a retrial his legal team will be allowed to introduce new evidence including crime scene pictures that Scott’s former defense attorney said suggests Laci’s disappearance was an abduction by a satanic cult 

Page 15: Former child star Zachery Ty Bryan of Home Improvement was jailed overnight and released on $8500 bail following his bust for a fight with a galpal at an apartment complex in Eugene in Oregon -- the drama comes on the heels of Zachery’s split from wife Carly Matros the mom of his four kids

Page 16: Ryan Reynolds can’t wait to film a new rom-com with close pal Sandra Bullock but it’s causing tension with wife Blake Lively even though Blake trusts Ryan and would never forbid him from taking this part but the idea of him getting cozy with Sandra again still makes her uneasy -- now Ryan and Sandra are signed up to do The Lost City of D and despite Sandra’s denials they ever had a romance Ryan is gushing about them getting back together 

Page 17: Isolated and overlooked Today show host Hoda Kotb is being bullied off the morning show because of tepid ratings and the absence of former sidekick Kathie Lee Gifford and Mean Girls treatment by co-hosts Savannah Guthrie and Jenna Bush Hager have pushed the disillusioned anchor closer to the door -- Hoda recently filled out paperwork to adopt a third child and she’s clearly putting more emphasis on family than her career and it sends the signal she isn’t happy with her role and is not thinking of Today as her top priority, trainwreck Matthew Perry is holed up in his new Pacific Palisades beach pad  pounding out an explosive tell-all and his former Friends are quaking about what secrets he may reveal -- Matthew wants to rush the book out while interest in the Friends reunion special which was postponed by the COVID-19 pandemic remains high -- he knows an uncensored account of his time on Friends and his drug issues would be a bestseller and he intends to blow the lid off his on-set romances and address rumors he and Jennifer Aniston were more than friends 

Page 18: American Life -- her tall tale: I have the longest legs in the world 

Page 19: Jessica Simpson has been flaunting her body after dumping a shocking 100 pounds but buddies worry the drastic drop in size isn’t natural and suspect she’s been taking diet pills again and they’re worried this could escalate into a big issue

Page 20: Devastated Reese Witherspoon was hit with a depressing double whammy -- the death of her dog Pepper from cancer and the delay of her long-awaited sequel Legally Blonde 3, Hollywood Hookups -- John Cena and Shay Shariatzadeh wed, Ashley Hebert and J.P. Rosenbaum split, Cardi B and Offset on again

Page 21: Bruce Willis is back in another Die Hard but this time it’s a commercial for Advance Auto Parts and Die Hard batteries and it’s a clear statement on the state of his career that Bruce has to revisit his amazing past to make a fast buck in the present, Giada De Laurentiis has been given the green light to get married by her 12-year-old daughter Jade -- Giada has dated TV producer Shane Farley for five years and he’s been living with mother and daughter for five months during the pandemic lockdown which gave Jade a firsthand look at what it would be like to have a new daddy and Shane’s passed the test with flying colors 

Page 22: Cover Story -- Prince William’s heartsick wife Kate Middleton is breaking her silence about the royal family’s tumultuous bitter break with Prince Harry and Meghan Markle to set the record straight and save Britain’s monarchy and she’s tired of all the rumors and lies and backbiting and after all the drama and negativity she wants to get the truth out there and end this unprecedented crisis that’s endangering the monarchy’s survival -- friends are trying to convince Kate to do an official sit-down TV interview about what really happened between once-inseparable William and Harry and how Harry and Meghan tore the family apart even before they moved to America but Kate is resisting because she fears that could backfire like Princess Diana’s TV tell-all about her marriage to Prince Charles 25 years ago -- Kate had to turn the other cheek often after Meghan joined the family and she offered to help Meghan adjust to royal life from the start but Meghan rebuffed her and Kate in tired of Meghan painting her as the bad guy especially when it was Meghan’s antics that tore the family apart -- Kate also is upset that Harry and Meghan are portraying themselves as victims of a world that’s against them while she and William take on a phenomenal workload to cover the responsibilities the Sussexes left and losing precious time with their own three children and it’s hard not to be bitter but Kate is trying to take the high road and forgive Meghan and move forward

Page 26: With their marriage hanging by a thread Tori Spelling fears Dean McDermott will cheat on her again while filming a new TV show in Canada for six months; Tori wanted to bring their 5 children to Canada with him but Dean put her off saying it would be too distracting -- she’s been a jittery mess and he can’t stand to look at her and he only took this job because they need the money, Melanie Griffith is frustrated with Chris Martin and wants him to put a ring on her daughter Dakota Johnson’s finger -- the couple have been dating since 2017 and Melanie’s fed up with waiting for Chris to pop the question -- Melanie began to lose her patience after the couple reunited following a split last June when Chris won Dakota back with promises to settle down 

Page 28: COVID Vaccines: What you need to know

Page 32: Miley Cyrus claimed she once spotted a spaceship over Hollywood and even locked eyes with an alien but she also admits she’d bought weed wax from a guy in a van in front of a taco shop, whiny Kris Jenner is blaming social media for killing off Keeping Up with the Kardashians after it helped the reality TV clan make a mint

Page 34: Ozzy Osbourne is terrified a doll has cursed him -- Ozzy told son Jack Osbourne on their Osbournes Want to Believe show that Robert the doll was responsible for his recent bad luck and failing health, Tom Cruise and his Mission: Impossible 7 team caused chaos at an Italian hospital by filming there during the COVID-19 pandemic -- Tom and his crew including 100 security staffers plus trucks and other equipment descended on the Policlinico Umberto I in Rome for a week and legions of fans also flocked to the filming creating even more commotion in the streets outside the hospital and adding to the bedlam the production commandeered an elevator drawing criticism as hospital staff were treating 140 coronavirus patients with 12 in intensive care -- filming was done in an administrative section of the hospital but still sparked an official protest as well as complaints from trade union members

Page 36: Health Watch 

Page 38: Superhero screen pals of Chris Pratt rushed to rescue the actor’s reputation after he was mercilessly dragged into a silly social media meme when a Twitter user posted pictures of Chris Pratt and Chris Pine and Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans captioned with the instruction one has to go but a flood of responses slammed Pratt as the worst Chris causing his Marvel co-stars to prop him up such as Zoe Saldana and Robert Downey Jr. and Mark Ruffalo and Jeremy Renner and Guardians of the Galaxy director James Gunn and Chris Pratt’s wife Katherine Schwarzenegger also bashed the social media bullies, Matthew McConaughey kept saying alright alright alright to making romantic comedies until the day he was so fed up he turned down $14.5 million to do another one -- Matthew revealed in his memoir that he didn’t mind making a string of mindless rom-coms because their paychecks rented the houses on the beach he ran shirtless on but he eventually wanted to try something else so he turned down a big payday so he could get more serious 

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Drew Barrymore 

Page 47: Odd List

[stylishanachronism]

*Wakes up from my endless slumber of like two hours* 👀

"Dearheart! There you are, what on earth have you been up to down here, of all places?"

The elven woman who's just taken his elbow is very pretty, all dark hair and bright eyes and the sort of smile that makes him want to crawl into a hole and die before Iselmyr can do anything terrible, her tone fond and close, like he's her very best friend in all the world, but he's never seen her before in his life. She drops some coin on the counter, enough to pay for the drink he hasn't finished, turns that smile on the barman, who seems a little shocked at her presence, she clearly knows who this is, and drags him off his stool before he can get so much as a syllable out.

"Nevermind, you'll never believe what Engferth's been up to, he's more trouble than you are sometimes, I swear to Woedica I don't know what I'm going to do with the pair of you."

She's got a very firm grip, Iselmyr laughing too hard in the back of his head to be of any help for once, as she whisks him out the door without so much as a by your leave.

"I mean, you keep getting yourself into wild straights, and then forgetting to write, honestly half the family's been sick with worry, and he, well, he went and proposed to Miss Elafa again, then told her it was Ma's idea, which it was, don't get me wrong, but she's made her conditions clear, and all he's going to do is annoy her into refusing him entirely, and I like her just fine but Grandmother'd have all our heads if I made a match like that, and you!"

They're headed up the hill, to the nicer part of town, outside what he can afford at the moment, and he'd really like to know what's going on but she hasn't let him get a word in edgewise and he doesn't think he could get away from her if he tried, and he desperately doesn't want to make more of a scene than he's part of already.

"Well, you've done much better, no matter what Ma thinks, and anyways I'm pretty sure she'd strangle you in half a minute, I could strangle you in half a minute, please stop gallivanting off in all directions, or at least let us know you're alright, the things we heard about your trip south, oh, I nearly had kittens, you didn’t really say yes, did you? Papa thinks you did, and you’d think he’d know, but you’re the sensible one, and he’s horrid, really, you hated him in school, I really don’t understand how he’d even think to ask!”

She shoots him a sidelong glance, even as she turns them into the sort of eccentrically ramshackle villa that means old money, the gate guard giving them a smile but otherwise staying focused on the road, like they’re allowed to be here without an invitation, so she must be part of the family, and drags him in through an elegant archway into the main compound like it’s nothing.

“I mean really, you’re the favorite, even if you did knock your head or something and agree, there’s no way anyone else would, you didn’t knock your head, did you? I was told you’d fallen straight through the floor, but you weren’t hurt, but Ma heard differently, and someone told Wolle that you’d straight shattered you leg, which obviously isn’t true, you really need to write and tell us you’re fine, darling, gods only know what made it back to everyone else.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, just as she hasn’t since she dragged him out of the inn, rapping at the first solid door they’ve passed and letting them in without so much as a pause.

"You’ll never guess where I found him."

The woman sitting behind the desk lifts an eyebrow, but merely shakes her head.

"Go fetch your father, Aelere."

It’s oddly formal, given the woman who’d dragged him here clearly doesn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony with a complete stranger, much less her- employer? matriarch?, but she pushes him into a seat and takes herself off with a cheerful "Yes, Grandmother!"

Matriarch, then, whoever this family is.

She’s considering him as the door closes, something familiar about her posture, very straight and still, though she must be nearing 300 if she’s a day.

"What am I going to do with you, my dear?"

That’s a question he’d like answers to as well, he has no idea what’s going on. Given her own informality, he’s of the firm suspicion they’ve mistaken him for someone else.

"Well." She gathers the papers off the far corner of her desk, tapping them together and laying them out facing him. His name’s on all of them, more or less, though some of them appear to be addressed to or regarding Alys instead, and some of them merely refer to 'your grandson' in the abstract, and one of them is actually addressed to his mother for some reason, though how this woman got her hands on it is as much of a mystery as anything else. "You've caused quite the stir."

"I'm sorry?"

She waves his apology away, though he doesn't know what he's apologizing for either, and half turns to reach for something off behind her.

"I had understood it from your sister that you had no desire to be married?"

The only person who's been mistaken for his sister ever is Alys, and there's clearly something there, given what he's looking at, but how that particular misunderstanding made it here, across an actual ocean, and how this woman knows about it, he has no idea.

"Ah- Well. No, not really."

"Then what were you doing with Lord Beltin's boy?"

"I- The position was as a research assistant?"

"Mm. Well, that's one way of putting it, I suppose. The same with the Maitwyr girl?"

He doesn't remember any of the daughters of the house being involved with that particular trip, but he did sign up with them, it's not like he could afford to spend three months in the Living Lands on his own, and he got paid for it, so he nods.

"You really need to learn to read a contract, my dear. Your father will see to it, but in the meantime..." She turns back around, holding more paperwork, some of it awfully official looking, though he's utterly distracted with dread by the fact she knows his father, and well enough to refer to him so informally, too.

"Here. My condolences, but you've theoretically been widowed. Twice."

--

This is from the middle of ‘Memory is Fallible’, which is more of a collection of scenes than a proper thing (I’ve been working on it for at least three years, if that’s any measure of what it looks like), centered around the idea that A. Aloth was a lot more popular than he thought he was (which was confirmed canon in Deadfire, much to my delight), B. Telephone is a hell of a game to get away from once a group gets the wrong idea, and C. repurposing my own family lore gets really weird, really fast. It’s also built off a couple of things from my own first playthrough, in which I accidentally built a sprite that looked enough like Aloth’s I couldn’t tell them apart, and eventually resorted to putting one of them in Kana’s hat, except I also then couldn’t remember which one was wearing it, so it didn’t even help.

There’s a little more to this particular bit, bookending it, so context is that Aloth is back in Aedyr proper, on the wrong coast to see his mother, gearing up to go find another weird cult and end it as best he possibly can, and a bunch of people who knew Alys, because she lived in the area for a couple of years not that long ago, recognize him and go tell her family, who are local to this coast, that she’s rolled up and is hiding in a shitty inn for some reason, not realizing they’ve got the wrong kid. Her family, who took Alys’ joke that they were twins now and said ‘hey you know what’s a really good idea?’ and stole him from his dad via trickery and intimidation, puts two and two together, and having no idea he doesn’t know he’s been adopted, send Aelere, one of the cousins, and technically actually his oldest sister now, who again, has no idea he hasn’t gotten any of her letters, to go fetch him, because why should he waste money when the house is Right There, and also there’s the whole thing about how he got married and didn’t tell anyone and now he’s been widowed, whoops. So he thinks he’s been kidnapped and they think he’s being shifty about the weddings, and it really is all about to blow up.

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All is Fair

Oh, Dear God. I’ve had an idea for a fic. Tommy is bored with his OBE, MP life. In an attempt to cheer him up, Ada invites him to a fundraising soiree she has organized, and Tommy becomes horny intrigued by a bright young thing.

“I’ve lined up Picassos, Muchas, a couple of Lalique glass figures — lots of up and coming artists.” Ada paced back and forth before Tommy, counting on her fingers the artists whose work would be shown at the charity auction she’d helped to organize for the Grace Shelby Institute. “I snapped them up for a song, but with the crowd I’ve invited all trying to outdo one another they will bring in thousands…” Ada stopped mid-step and stared at her brother. He had insisted on meeting her before the start of business, and after summoning her at such an ungodly hour he didn’t seem to be listening to a single word she said.

 “Tommy. Oi, Tommy! Are you listening to me?”

 Tommy had been listening. He absorbed every word spoken in his presence, even while he seemed a million miles away. Smoke from a dwindling cigarette curled in a graceful column before his eyes. He was mentally weighing how much money the auction would bring against the amount in his charity reserve account. Of course, he could singlehandedly fund the Institute with the stroke of a pen and skip this whole event, but that wasn’t the point. Publicity was important, and Ada had arranged for all the right people to be seen at his party. That was the point. He knew the rules of the game, but it weighed heavily on him. He was bored with pretending to care about the issues and opinions of the upper-middle class. He craved the gritty realism of Small Heath; the honest observations of the working class meant more to him than the relentless droning of his new peers.

“Yep, Ada, got it,” he sighed as he stood up from his desk and pulled on his jacket. He crossed the room to where she stood and lit another cigarette, seemingly forgetting the one he left burning in the ashtray on his desk. “It should be a resounding success. Thank you for all of your hard work.”

 In the clear light of day, Ada could see the strain of the last few years playing out on her brother’s face. His pale blue eyes used to snap with electricity, but now they were slower, deeper, and more contemplative. Not quite sad, but worn and weary.  “I know it’s hard for you to go to these things, Tommy, but I’ve invited some bright young people who will make it a bit more bearable. Who knows? You might have fun,” she shrugged and smiled hopefully.    

The energy that it took to keep up the façade of a legitimate businessman and Member of Parliament had sapped every ounce of fun from his life. “That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” he mumbled as he stepped out into the hall and out the door. 

 ***

“Lia, wake up!” 

Sunlight streamed in through the window, painting the backs of Lia’s eyelids pink and warming her face. She had stayed up late talking with her cousin the night before, catching up on family gossip and getting the lowdown on her new job.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled and pulled the sheet over her face. Her mind lazily drifted to thoughts of the upcoming day. She was to train as an assistant librarian; a position made possible by her cousin’s connections at City Hall. Even though she was grateful for the job, the temptation of a few more minutes’ sleep was tough to resist.

“Now! It takes a while to get across town. I stuck my neck out to get you this job, and I won’t have you being late on your first day.” 

The rapidly approaching clacking of high heels on hardwood let Lia know that her cousin Jenny meant business, so she threw back the covers and groaned. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” 

“You’d better be,” Jenny called. “I’ve got fresh scones and tea.” 

Jenny’s two up two down in Small Heath, Birmingham was like all the others in her street, except where the other houses were filled to capacity with large families, hers was all but empty. Her mom and dad had moved back to the country, and her brothers were off with their own families, so in order to stave off loneliness, she wrote to invite her favorite cousin to come live with her in Birmingham. “It will be great fun, and there’s a position coming open at the library. They promised to hold it for you. After receiving the letter, Lia and her family decided that the change would do her good. The country was stifling Lia. If she stayed, she had no prospects for anything other than marriage to a local farmer and a brood of children. Birmingham meant freedom and adventure for the restless young woman, so she went.  

The pale yellow frock Lia wore stood in sharp contrast to the sooty dark patterned wallpaper in the kitchen. At one time it must’ve been green with pink flowers, Lia mused as she sipped her tea which was the approximate color of the flowers on the wall. 

Jenny laid a plate of scones down on the table and eyed her cousin. “You’ll need to get darker dresses, Lia. The mud and soot of Small Heath will make a hash of that.”

Lia rolled her eyes and smiled, “I plan on doing just that with my first paycheck. In the meantime, maybe I should help myself to your closet.” 

“Not with those knockers you won’t,” Jenny teased. It felt good to have her cousin in the house, and despite the early hour, they were both in the mood to laugh. 

Jenny sipped at her tea and flipped through the morning post until one envelope, in particular, caught her attention. Her lips moved as she whispered under her breath, and her eyes read and reread the writing on the heavily embossed card.  

 “What’s that?”

“My boss has forwarded an invitation to me. It’s for an art auction at the Grace Shelby Institute.” Jenny’s eyes were wide. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe I’ve been invited!” 

“That’s great! Wait, do you have to go with your boss?” 

“No, it’s my own invitation, and I get to bring a guest.”  

The name Shelby rang a bell with Lia. Jenny read the look on her face and lowered her voice as if Arthur Shelby himself were lurking just outside her door. “Yeah, those Shelbys. But they’ve gone legit. The leader is even an MP now.” 

Lia arched an eyebrow, “Legit? How exactly does a razor gang go legit?” 

“The Shelbys can bloody well do whatever they want, and we are going to this event. It means a lot to get invited to these things, and I need to show that I can fit in.”  

 ***  

 The pale blue dress that Lia wore had a low cut back and fringe at the knee, not at all the stuff of a librarian’s wardrobe. She had worn it to a formal engagement party the year before and had been pining away for a reason to wear it again. In a room full of tweeds and sensible shoes, she was a flash of blue sky on a stormy day.  Her cousin dressed to blend in with the crowd—perfect for a work event, and Jenny was certainly all business tonight.

While Jenny circulated around the room, Lia availed herself of several glasses of champagne and studied the paintings on offer. As the daughter of a farmer, she had not had many chances to go to museums and galleries, but she loved art and soaked up everything she could read about it. There was an amazing selection of work at the Institute including a cubist piece by Picasso, but what really caught her eye was a group of Art Nouveau paintings by Alphonse Mucha. She stood, sipping her champagne and smiling at a depiction of a woman in a gracefully flowing gown on a backdrop of stars. 

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” A sweet feminine voice with a Brummie lilt drew her out of her reverie. Lia turned around to see a woman with porcelain skin, dark bobbed hair, and piercing blue eyes extend a hand toward her.

 “Ada Thorne, and you are…”

“Lia Montrose,” she managed to answer in a relatively confident manner. Jenny had mentioned the Shelby’s sister on the way there, but Lia never thought she’d end up in a conversation with her.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You know, at most of these things people only glance at the paintings and then try to make business deals for the rest of the night. It’s nice to see someone actually appreciate the art for a change.”  

She held up a perfectly manicured finger in the direction of a waiter who immediately brought over a tray of drinks. “Champagne?” She handed Lia a fresh glass without waiting for an answer and then took one for herself. She smiled conspiratorially and raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the Max Ernst yet?”

“You have an Ernst?” Lia asked, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she realized and closed it. 

“Yeah, it’s in the next room. Come on.” She hooked her arm in Lia’s and led her to the next room where, indeed, the promised painting hung. 

“It’s bloody amazing,” Lia whispered. 

 “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m sure you could have it for a song. None of the tossers here will recognize its significance.” Ada gently shook her head, and the rubies around her neck caught the light. Lia blushed and looked down. She had not near enough to even make a starting bid on any of the artwork. Ada led Lia around talking about the various works up for auction. She was genuine and warm. Not at all what Lia imagined a Shelby would be like. When Lia explained that she couldn’t actually buy any of the art because she had just started a job as a librarian, Ada commiserated with her about the low pay.

“I was a librarian myself for a time. If it weren’t for my brother Tommy… well, let’s just say I know what it’s like to live on a librarian’s pay...and much, much less” 

Ada didn’t expand on her role at Shelby Company Limited, except to say she dealt in imports and exports, and Lia didn’t pry. Even though Ada spoke with a candid ebullience, it seemed safer not to ask questions. As they were discussing the merits of public reading rooms a man entered by a side door and motioned for Ada to come over. “Oh, dear. If you’ll excuse me, I should go to make sure that everything is running smoothly.  It was so nice meeting, you Lia.”

“Likewise Mrs. Thorne.” 

“Call me Ada,” she warmly smiled and was on her way. 

Lia was positively buzzing. She had lost track of time and of how much champagne she had quaffed while talking to Ada. She squinted across the hall into the main room and scanned the crowd for Jenny, who was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to her, someone had been watching in admiration as she strolled along.  

 Another Picasso caught her eye, and she stood squinting and biting her bottom lip as she looked at it. She was so astonished by the colors and lines that she hardly noticed the gentleman who had come to stand beside her and ask her what she thought of it.

“Vastly overrated. I much prefer his blue period...”  

As she spoke, she turned to find herself under the gaze of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He took her in with an intensity that was slightly lessened when he raised one corner of his mouth and tilted his head a bit. His voice was a low, raspy rumble and Lia felt it in her gut when he tutted and spoke again.

“If our Ada were here, she’d tell you all about how it represents the chaos of war and the destruction wrought by the powerful…how mechanization renders people obsolete…turns us into interchangeable parts.”

Lia stared at him as her mind lurched toward the realization that maybe she shouldn’t have been so candid. Our Ada? “Are you…” 

He turned his whole body to face her. “Thomas Shelby. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs…”

 As he kissed her hand her breath caught in her throat. She was toe to toe with the most powerful man in Birmingham, and his warm soft lips were currently on her skin. Tommy did not fail to notice the little shiver of electricity that passed between them.

“Miss… Miss Lia Montrose, and the pleasure is all mine.” The heat from his lips on her hand made its way up to her cheeks. She cleared her throat and swirled the champagne in her glass.  “Great party.”

“Party, event, fundraiser, no matter what you call it it’s all about separating this lot from their money. Since my Picasso is shite, tell me, which ones do you like?” There was a hint of mischief in his voice as he spoke.  

Tommy liked that there was something different about her. She was younger than the usual patrons of local charities, but the difference seemed to do more with the light in her eyes as she surveyed the room. Bright. The word Ada had used to describe their special guests sprang to his mind. She was one of those bright young things who Ada invited to try to make him have fun. There was a distinct lack of pretense in the way she carried herself. She had spent the evening looking at and chatting about art instead of business, and her honest reaction to his question did not surprise him in the least. 

Lia giggled a little and apologized. “I didn’t mean to insult your taste in art, Mr. Shelby…” 

“Call me Tommy.” He lazily caressed her body with his eyes.

“…I didn’t know who you were when you asked me.” Lia’s voice quivered, betraying her surprise at the bold way he was looking at her. After all, he was Tommy Shelby, and she was taken aback by the open way in which he was flirting with her.

 He took a step closer and raised his eyebrows. “Had you known, would it have changed your answer?” 

Lia bit her lip and fought back a smile before answering, “Well, no, but I would have used a bit more tact.” She looked up through her lashes at him.

Tommy held her gaze and waited for her to answer what he had asked previously. She seemed a bit dazed, so he repeated the question.  “Which ones do you like?”   

She glanced around the room, gathering her thoughts and began, “I really like the Mucha paintings. They are much more organic in how they reflect the beauty found in nature and…” As she trailed off, she realized that Mr. Shelby was still looking directly at her. His unwavering attention coupled with the champagne made it very hard for her to concentrate. 

Tommy could see that she was having some difficulty in expressing herself, and he was having quite a lot of fun teasing her. He narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue along his lips. “What makes you think the Picasso is shite?” he asked in an exaggeratingly sincere voice.  

She drained her champagne. Liquid courage could only help her current situation. “Personal preference, I suppose. It’s ridiculous,” She leaned closer to him in a conspiratorial manner.  “It’s overwrought and pretentious.”

 As soon as the words left her mouth Jenny came into view. Her eyes were huge as she gingerly approached Lia and Mr. Shelby.

“Oh, Jenny, let me introduce you to Tommy. We’ve been discussing his art collection.”  

Tommy offered a warm greeting to Jenny, who hid her surprise as best she could. “Mr. Shelby, thank you for extending an invitation to my cousin and me.”

“My pleasure. The fine work you’re doing for our city has not gone unnoticed, and I’m happy to show my appreciation. Do you have opinions on art, Miss Montrose? Your cousin is partial to Mucha.”

Lia giggled and smiled up at Tommy, “Well, yeah, of course, I prefer him to Picasso.”

Jenny’s eyes shifted from Lia to Tommy and back again, as she could hardly believe what she was seeing. There was an obvious attraction between them. Lia was fresh from the country and had no way of knowing the gravity of the situation she’d stumbled into. But Jenny did. 

She took the empty champagne glass from her cousin’s hand and placed it on a passing tray, “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. Shelby, but we must be going.” 

Lia frowned, and Tommy’s demeanor cooled as he turned to face Jenny. “Won’t you stay for the auction?”  

“We would love to, but…” Jenny’s excuse was mercifully cut short by an announcement that the auction was beginning. 

Tommy shifted his attention back to Lia and slowly shook his head, “It’s a shame, you know. I could use your expertise to run up the bids.”

Lia looked over her shoulder as she walked toward the door and smiled sweetly, “That wouldn’t be fair, now would it, Mr. Shelby.”      

[rosesareviolentlyread]

‘Saving’ the Rainy Day

TW: implied slavery, implied abuse, argument, crass language, mild self-harm due to panic attack, selfish/unqualified caretakers, its actually pretty tame all things considered

Special thanks to @wildfaewhump for letting me play in their Path verse and encouraging me to post!! Check out their stuff for the verse origins and the cinnamon roll that is Fern, its amazing.

“I thought you’d be happy I was trying to get involved. You’re always railing on me about ‘understanding what it means to be a Path’“ The girl crosses her arms, narrowing eyes with confidence even as she looks like the most expensive drowned rat in posh clothing drenched in rain, hair clinging to her face as her impeccable makeup melts away. 

“Yeah, Cass, I meant like maybe realizing how dangerous it is to carelessly use your ability in public, not bringing home an agency mess. This isn’t a safehouse, god knows who saw you,” 

Oren is trying to stay calm. Really, he is. But Cass had shown up at three in the morning giddy as can be, tipsy from whatever party she’d been to and practically tipping over as she piggy-backed a drenched blonde girl dressed in nothing but Cass’ overcoat and a torn silk slip. Babbling excitedly to him about how she’d saved her, saved a Path and was part of the resistance or some bullshit he couldn’t quite hear over the screaming his head had at realizing what the spoiled cat had dragged in now. 

And now, now Cass was mad. Mad that he’d stopped her victory parade to ask her if she was out of her goddamn mind. Stopped to ask her what the hell she was thinking, and where she’d gotten this Path. 

“Well its my house” 

“Its your fucking parents’ house Cass. They own it. How do you think they’d feel about their daughter starting a safe house for Paths from god knows where after all they’ve done to hide your identity”

“Like they’d ever check. I do my job, I’m the good corporate daughter. I go to parties, I occasionally date the guys they want me to, I help them keep the ‘family business’ image. They stay out of my shit. That’s our deal”

“Yeah? Well I thought you staying out of shit like this was our deal” 

“Our deal? For what? What the hell do you provide that gives you so much power over me Oren? A dick? I can get that anywhere, anytime I want. Your cooking is shit, you don’t pay rent, and newsflash, but you haven’t exactly done anything to teach me about ‘being a Path’ besides being a giant prick about ‘responsibility’.  You just sit on your ass and write your ‘book’, and act like staying out of trouble puts you somehow above everyone else who’s just trying to actually live a goddamn life worth living“

Oren feels the heat rise in his features, his jaw clenched tight in anger. He didn’t know what he expected, when Cass had offered him a place at the bar, after he mistook her for a fucking sensible Path, not one raised ignorant and spoiled of everything people like him suffered through. 

Cass had always been a spoiled rich girl. Clueless about consequences that couldn’t be solved with money, or a sweet touch from her Class-C powers that were actually one misstep away from landing her in shit she wasn’t prepared for. 

Oren had been trying to tell her that. That he couldn’t introduce her to the few contacts he still had in the movement. Couldn’t tell her where to find rallies. Because she wasn’t just a danger to herself, she was a goddamn danger to any Path. 

Cass was selfish, and Oren knew if she was caught they probably wouldn’t even need to use another Path on her. She’d give anyone and everyone up for her freedom. 

At least, that’s what he’d thought, until she dragged some poor blonde Path in the door, saying she’d ‘rescued’ her. 

The same poor Path Oren realized was now huddled in a corner of the kitchen, hyperventilating, fingernails digging crescents into her arms, small-red half moods bleeding down her arms already littered black and blue like a stormy sky. When his dark eyes met her wide blue ones, they widened and all her movement stopped, including the flutter of her chest. 

“Oh fuck” Oren pushed passed Cass who spun, angrily. 

“I’m not fucking done Oren you always-“ 

“GODDAMIT Cass can you shut up for once and just let me deal with the mess you made?!” He hisses at her, and sees the girl begin to scramble away in fear out of the corner of his eye, a mess of thin limbs drowning in Cass’ coat. Bruises peak out beneath its edge along her legs, an ankle that’s far too swollen to be healthy dragging along the floor and Oren has to breathe for a second as his limbs refuse to move, stuck just watching as he feels himself scramble away from strangers who’d dragged him away from his safe little cube, he was so safe and good and

He blinks and in that second Cass has pushed past him to grab the girl who is pressing now against the wall, crying out in fear. 

“Cass NO-“

But it’s too late and he sees it the second she touches the girl and falls to the ground shaking. Whimpering. Fuck fuck FUCK FUCKFUCKFUCK but Oren needs to calm down as he rushes over hands hovering. 

He hasn’t tried in so long. He was supposed to be safe here, to have Cass do the work, to teach her without having to do this because he isn’t sure he can. The places in his mind that feel broken, pieces he wants to use but feel like they’re slicing himself open even as he touches, as he tries to form them into a wall as he reaches out and pulls the two girls apart. 

It’s like a battering ram of please don’t hurt me I’m scared I don’t want to hurt I’m bad I’m always bad I don’t know what’s happening please please no I can’t oh god oh god I can’t do this why did I do this who is doing this who is she who is she who is he who is this what’s happening why is this happening why can’t I stop please make it stop make it stop make it stop as their thoughts and feelings meld together, two Class-C’s caught in a loop as the shivering girl feeds into and off Cass’s inexperience.

And it’s like pulling apart two strong magnets, held tight by attraction of their own making. The separation is violent, but Oren’s just happy it happens as he’s able to push Cass backwards, so hard she slides against the slick floor, slamming into the couch.

But now he’s stuck, and he can’t let go. He can’t let go oh god this place is too big I miss the cubby I miss being safe and good I miss Handler I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry make it stop make it stop make it-

STOP. He screams into her mind, a command for everything to stop. A slap of white void in his own mind, in hers, and he feels her go limp somewhere far away from this place he drags himself out of like hot coals. The breath is like a gasp after drowning, and he feels himself shaking as he holds the girl, laying in his arms like a doll with its strings cut. 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck no, no, not again he thinks as trembling fingers reach out to her neck to feel- Its there. A low beat, fluttering but evening out as he feels her mind slip into unconsciousness, the unconsciousness he’d meant but hadn’t been sure if he’d commanded right. Forced right. Because he’d forced and oh god. He can feel himself shaking, his breath in stuttered gasps, as he runs a hand through his dark hair trying to calm down, knowing this isn’t her panic still shaking him. 

This is the memories of white rooms and needles and tell him to stop breathing, I know you can do it and feeling the praise in his gut even as the man’s eyes go dark in front of him, even as he struggles beneath the way his mind becomes like knives as he feels the air gasping in his lungs. 

No. He forces himself to look away to count the paintings. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. To count the three couches, the one table, the one Cass currently staring at him, and hugging herself. Cass.

“Cass, you alright?” 

“Y-yeah just…just give me a minute. What the fuck was that Oren?” His gaze relaxes as he sees her usual entitlement creep into her posture as she leans back, one hand over her heart he’s sure is still hammering away like his. 

“Class-C right? She’s a lot stronger than you Cass, been working for…well I pulled out before I looked, but I’d guess a lot, and hard. She panicked, and her Path sense made you panic too. She overwhelmed you, fed off the panic she created in you, the panic you started to feed back to her…it’s a loop, dangerous. Made worse because, like I’ve told you, you’re inexperienced. Weak, compared to a lot of us who’ve spent our lives stretched to the limit.” He tries to make his voice sound strong, authoritative. More like the person Cass will listen to than the one he feels on a daily basis, the one who’s weak and scared and hiding from everyone. He shifts, moving the girl so she’s laying a bit more comfortably, head resting in his lap as he combs his fingers through wet dirty blonde hair.

The storm is still raging outside, pouring and wiping away the trash of the city’s streets. Wiping away all the hustle and bustle, the constant thrum of people now contained in their cars and their apartments, or staying out later than they expected in bars and parties hoping the rain will let up, but Oren knows. It doesn’t rain, but pours. 

And as Cass closes her eyes, leaning back against the far too expensive couch she’s probably ruining with how soaked she is, Oren wonders how he ended up back in the rain. 

He’d thought this was shelter. That teaching Cass the basics about what it’s like to be a Path would be easy, wouldn’t make him use his powers. That he could live here, in her far too big apartment rent free. That he could work on the book deal his pseudonym had, the one that’d net him enough money to really get somewhere, somewhere far away from everything to do with Paths, to do with the sharp shards left in his mind that hurt to touch, to use. The ones people had tried to help him heal but only made worse, the ones he’d hurt those people with, the people who’d just wanted to help. Oren had learned then, learned that he had to help himself. 

Yet somehow, here he was. Sitting on the floor of an apartment no normal person could afford, the resident fuck-boy-toy and Path-teacher for a spoiled Class-C rich girl who’d grown up ignorant of the horrible things her ability inextricably made her apart of, holding a girl he’s so fucking glad he didn’t accidentally kill and hopes he didn’t send into catatonia who came from god knows where, but is far too out of control right now for what a broken Class-A he is. 

So he’s here, back in the rain, and hoping maybe if he figures it out he can still find his fucking rainbow, somewhere far away and alone, at the end of this. I might make this a series, since I kinda love the shitty caretaker dynamic these two have going on for the poor thing they’ve ‘saved’, so let me know if you want to be tagged!

[doof-doofblog]

"Honey! Can You Hear Me?!"

Thursday 29th October 2020

Good evening everyone! I apologise for this post being so late, unfortunately I was away from the TV and my computer/laptop over the weekend. I know I've missed so much recently but I'm hoping this week I'll be able to make up for it and catch up as much as I can before next week. Please bare with me! Thank you all for your patience and support. Before I jump into the episode, I want to share with you some news that has been announced this evening. It's been confirmed that the week commencing of 16th November, we will see Kim Fox return to the Square! Kim has been off our screens for over a year now due to actress Tameka Empson going on maternity leave, and also the slight delay of her return to the Covid-19 outbreak! I am absolutely thrilled to see Kim return! She is an absolute gold gem in the soap, she lights up the Square and gives the soap the comedy it needs, as well as some drama and a bit of sass! I absolutely love Kim and I am SO excited to see her return! Are you guys looking forward to seeing Kim return to Walford?!

Anyway, let's get to it! This episode begins with Honey responding to a message from her date, Paul, which read that he was looking forward to seeing her. It appears that this will be the second date he's asked her on. While she's smiling down at her phone, Jay and Lola enter the Minute Mart and are eager to know all about the hot date she's starting seeing. Lola is eager to hear all the gossip, Jay on the other hand seems to have the sensitive and sensible approach, informing Honey that she shouldn't be rushed into another relationship if she doesn't feel ready, she can take things slow if she wants to. Of course Lola and Jay are happy for her and want her to be happy, I guess none of us want to see Honey's heart broken again! 

Meanwhile, in the Café, Ruby finds Kush and approaches him about nicking money from the till of the club. To be fair, she didn't approach him in a rude way, just informed him that if he pays the money back, there'll be no more said about the matter. But instead of coming clean and admitting his wrong-doing, he denies all knowledge and acts quick to defend himself, leaving Ruby stunned by his reaction. On the Square, as Shirley and Tina are discussing Mick, Peter is wowed over Sonia's new car. As they continue their conversation, Shirley and Tina begin to ask Sonia questions about her new car, how she got it and how much it may cost, they're surprised to hear when she confesses that a co-worker offered her £2,000 for it! The topic of conversations turns again to the subject of Mick and Tina tries to persuade her sister to talk to her son, she makes the point that she can't be staying with Gray forever. Suddenly, Ian emerges and Peter is less than impressed to see his Dad, making comments about him sleeping on the Chippy floor, Ian admits that he stayed with Sharon after being kicked out, but the most big-headed thing he can say is that he's ready for Peter to apologise when ever he's ready, I almost feel like from Peter's reaction, he wants to go mad at his Dad, what has he got to apologise for? Ian put himself in this position in the first place and it was only a matter of time before Kathy found out about him re-mortgaging in the Café and forging her signature.

At the club, it looks like Ruby have called in the Slater girls in for some kind of meeting. Before she enters the room, Jean is concerned that something has happened whereas Stacey is convinced that Ruby will want to have a go at wrapping her hands around her throat. When Ruby appears, she informs them all and shows them the CCTV footage of Kush nicking £200 from her till. Kat is quick to defend her boyfriend and denies that the figure on the laptop screen is him, accusing Ruby of playing mind games. As much as Ruby has played games in the past, she tells Kat the hard truth that Kush has a gambling problem, Kat cannot believe a word she is hearing and is having none of it, she's calling Ruby all names under the sun, until Jean admits that what Ruby is saying is right. Kat is completely stunned and rushes out of the room. As she does so, Ruby turns to Stacey and sacks her on the spot, but in all honesty, what has Kush's stealing got to do with Stacey? It's fair to say they haven't been the best of buds lately, but what's the reason behind her sacking? - I don't quite understand that one?! 

At the restaurant, Walford East - FINALLY remembered the name of it! Honey is looking gorgeous as she enjoys her date with Paul, things are looking good so far. Honey seems to be enjoying the gentleman's company and she even confides in him about being cheated on in the past. As much as she appears to be enjoying herself, she asks Paul whether he would mind taking things slow, which he is more than happy to do so it seems. Paul even looks like he's enjoying himself, showering Honey with compliments and admitting he was looking forward to seeing her again. But - and this is a BIG BUT - once Honey is out of sight, as she leaves to use the bathroom, everything changes and the whole atmosphere goes dark, eerie music is playing as Paul pulls out a sachet of white powder from his pocket, and while no one is watching, he pours it into Honey's drinking! Spiking her drink! Is Honey's date about to take a terrifying turn? I have a very bad feeling about this Paul! 

Meanwhile, back at home, Kush is once again seen on his laptop gambling, he quickly hides the screen on the laptop as Kat enters the room. She confronts him dead on about him nicking money from Ruby's till, Kush's face drops as he realises he's been grassed up. Kat is completely disappointed in her boyfriend, telling him how he was the one who was supposed to be good, and not turn out like Alfie! As the conversation continues, Kat asks her boyfriend straight out whether he had a gambling problem. Kush shrugs it off and tries to convince her that he hasn't. He explains that he did have a bit of wobble after getting himself in a bit deep but he tries to reassure her that he has it all under control. Kat instructs him to pay Ruby back and she gives him one warning, in a way - she'll trust him and take his word for it, but if he makes her regret it, things will never be the same for them. Back at the club, Martin is devastated by his friend's actions, he wishes he could've helped him with his money issues. But when his wife tells him not worry as she has sorted it, Martin seems a bit confused how she has sorted the situation by outing him to the family and sacking the rest of them, as he points out - how are they going to be able to pay her back? This is an interesting scene, they haven't been married five minutes and things are already going wrong for the couple and it all seems to come down to the Slater's. Martin reminds Ruby that Stacey is the mother of his kids and - he can't just pick a side - he kind of needs to remain civil and see both parties and both points of view, but Ruby is adamant he needs to choose! 

At the Vic, the Slater girls look like they're drowning their sorrows, and coming to terms with what they've learned. Jean comes up with the idea of Kush writing a letter of apology - the next line made me giggle, Kat responds with "He could write it in Stacey's blood and it wouldn't make a difference!" - suddenly Kush rushes into the pub, completely ecstatic and full of excitement shouting for his girlfriend. Of course he first reaction is "What have you done?!" but he then informs his girlfriend that he's won 10 grand online. Kat is shocked by her boyfriend's outburst as she specifically instructed him to cash in and stop gambling, today! As Kush is eager to celebrate his win, Kheerat and Vinny happen to mention that they play poker for real, whereas Kush hides behind a screen. But Kat is quick inform them that Kush is no longer gambling, she tells Kush that he just got lucky this time and informs him if he hasn't got a problem, he needs to prove it to her! 

Back at the restaurant, it's clear to see that the stuff Paul spiked Honey's drink with has started to take affect. Honey is slurring her words and she seems to have no control over her actions and what she saying. As she appears to be enjoying herself, Isaac and Sheree walk in to find her on her date, Honey smiles and giggles as Isaac jokes about not being able to take her out on a date, he wishes both Honey and Paul luck as they go to their table. As the drug seems to take a stronger affect on Honey, she admits she's feeling hot and slowly stumbles her way to the bathroom. Paul watches on without any kind of emotion on his face! 

Back at the pub, Shirley is watching from a distance at Mick as he looks at his phone, he's still longingly waiting to hear from Frankie after messaging her asking if she was okay. I believe that Shirley is still unaware of Frankie being his daughter. She decides to give it another go and tries talking to her boy. She gives him a peace offering with a bottle from the bar, but Mick just doesn't seem interested at all! What he says to her is really harsh and it cuts her right through the heart, "You never were a Mum, and you never will be a Mum!" - as he walks off, you can see in Shirley's face that she has had enough of him speaking to her this way, she shouts for him and tells him to stop playing the victim - this speech I feel is quite an important one, as these words might come back to haunt Shirley, as she is completely unaware about Mick being sexually abused by Frankie's Mum, Katy. We know that that is what's playing on Mick's mind right now and is basically the reason why he's lashing out and pushing his loved ones away. Shirley is telling him that people have had it worse than him and that what she did, she did for him. She tells him that putting him into care would've given him the best life compared to the life he would've had with her - oooooh if only she knew what Mick is having to come to terms with. I feel this will be the big Christmas reveal, what do you guys think? I'm sure I read somewhere that it was going to be a sad Christmas for the Carter family - could Mick's abuse as a teenager be revealed?! 

Returning to the club, Dotty seems happy to have been given the choice of who to hire as the new cleaners of the club. Oh ... as this conversation continues I feel Dotty is putting an awful idea into Ruby's mind. Ruby informs Dotty that she can hire whoever she wants as long as it's not a Slater. Dotty then happens to mention that Suki is wanting the Slater family out of their house as she's wanting to refurbish the building into a HMO (A house in multiple occupation). Ruby smiles and seems very much interested in this information, we see her reach for her phone. What the heck is she planning?! 

Meanwhile, on the Square, Honey appears to be stumbling as she's walking round the corner after finishing her date, it looks as if she wanting to get home. The sound around her becomes completely fuzzy as she tries to call Jay but she can't quite seem to get her words out. Paul is acting all nice and friendly as he's gently offering to take her home. As this is happening, Jay and Lola are looking at properties in an estate agents. Jay seems to realise that he has a voice message from Honey, however as he listens to it, he reveals to Lola that she sounds drunk. Lola tries to persuade him that she's just having a good time, but something doesn't sit right with Jay. He admits that they don't really know anything about the guy she's on a date with. He goes off to find her. Back in the Vic, Shirley is sat alone as she's reeling from her confrontation with her son earlier. Mick is seen sat on the other side of the Vic. Shirley approaches Sonia who is sat alone and offers her £3,500 for her new car. Sonia seems surprised at first by her offer, but suddenly Mick pipes up and once again insults his mother. Saying that she's a disgrace for even asking to buy her car while she's been on the front line during a global pandemic. Or does that also make Sonia a victim to?! Ooo I don't know about you lot, but I really don't like seeing Mick and Shirley falling out. They've been through so much and I feel like this is one of the worst times I've seen them not talking. It's horrible to watch isn't it? As Mick and Sonia leave, Shirley notices that Sonia has left her car keys on the table, she slyly takes them. Can anyone enlighten me as to why Shirley wants the car so badly? What interest would she have in buying a new car?! 

Meanwhile, Ruby has taken upon herself to give Suki a visit. Something tells me that this isn't going to be a good thing. Ruby informs her that they both share a mutual problem - The Slaters! Suki seems intrigued as Ruby informs her about her Dad and what kind of character he was. She explains to Suki that the Slaters have robbed her and that that she's been made aware that they're stopping Suki from expanding her property portfolio. It's then that Ruby gives Suki the most damaging information she could, that Kush has a gambling problem. She proposes that if they work together, they could run the Slaters out of Walford for good! Now - I doubt that EastEnders is going to get rid of the Slater family, but I do fear that things are going to get hard for the Slater family before things can get any better. 

The final scenes we see in this episode is Jay searching for Honey. He pops into the restaurant asking whether she's been seen, it's hear that Isaac and Sheree inform him that she looks like she's had a good time but the date was more of a liquid lunch. Jay is visibly concerned for his friend and goes rushing to find her. As he does so, the next shot is of Honey lying unconscious on the floor in an alleyway as vile Paul is taking photographs of her. Suddenly, it looks as if he's unbuckling the belt of jeans, in all honesty, I was beginning to panic - it was clear he was going to rape her while she vulnerable position, especially while unconscious. Thank God, Jay called her before Paul could act upon his vile actions. Jay chases after him and finds Honey on the floor in the alley. Has Jay managed to save Honey? Or could she have already been attacked?! A brilliant and yet shocking episode this one I found. Thank you guys for being so patient with me, I do appreciate it! There will be another post tomorrow reviewing Friday's episode, if I have time I'll try my very post to do Monday's episode also. But we shall see what the day brings. Enjoy the rest of your evening folks! Love you all! xXx

[whirlybirdwhat]

Daughter of the Sea, Daughter of the Storm (Pt 1)

The Viking Nami Au inspired by @onepiecehcs now fully written for your enjoyment. Two more pieces should be coming in the next two days as well! Enjoy!

Ao3 for better quality!

-

Nami doesn’t know this, but she was born on the coldest night of the year, in the eye of a storm.  She doesn’t know this, because her mother (unnamed and unknown save for the roaring thunder above) dies three days later due to the struggles of childbirth.

Nami survives, because her father places her wicker basket in the midst of a battle (a slaughter) where another young girl, hair like blueberries, picks her up. Nami is born from blood and storm, and brought into battle and sisterhood.

(Nojiko won’t let her go.)

In this battle, a lightning strike watching over head, a woman finds her. The woman, Bell-mere, does not care for the lightning marks running down Nami’s back, or her (currently) nameless state. She cares instead for the blood staining her blankets and the dirt settled on Nojiko’s face – she cares for these two children, one kingdom born and one sky born – and Bell-mere takes them home.

This, Nami knows, for her mother (Bell-mere) raises her and her sister on the snow-littered island of Cocoyashi, where the winters are tough and the people stronger, where stories are told every night and the sweetness of oranges grown in ice and cold dance on every tongue.

This is Nami’s truth.

-

Cocoyashi is about three degrees past “too cold” and one away from “uninhabitable” but its people make it work. Nami (Daughter of the Storm, Daughter of Bell-mere) grows up with furs and boots and twenty ways to keep out the cold when you are too poor to get proper heating. She knows the way animals flee in the colder months by the time she is four, and can hunt half of them by the time she is six. When she is seven, she knows how to tough out a winter by the spit of her mouth and the grit of her hands – Bell-mere teaches her how to make baskets that keep the food from rotting, and the cloth patterns that keep the devilish cold out.

In between survival, Nami learns from Nojiko (who learns it from the older kids down the street) how to two weave thirteen different types of braids, and pin up thirteen more.  Her hair isn’t long enough yet, but it will be. In the meantime, she threads beads and glass into it, to make it shine like the gold she knows her family doesn’t have.

On her own, Nami maps the island and learns from the sky. Thunder rumbles her to sleep, and wind guides her map-pencil to the right points.  Piles of books are formed and read next to her bed, speaking of meteorology and altitude and wind pressure – things any (good) navigator should know.  Two axes (small but sturdy, fit for a warrior child’s hands) find their way into her hands and into furrows in mountain sides, helping her climb and climb and climb, till she, all of eight years old, stands atop Cocoyashi highest peak in the midst of a raging tempest.  She maps her island home from this peak, and then ventures into the woods to practice her aim.

(Bell-mere says that she became a Marine to put her skills to the test. Instead, she was forced to use a musket and strike down those unworthy to be apart of the World Government. Now,  Bell-mere has her musket by the door, next to her axe, and a dagger by her waist. She’s welcome in town, but she listens to no chief.

Nami loves her mother, and she listens well. She won’t make the same mistake.

She’s going to be free, and if Bell-mere has taught her anything, it is to fight for the things you hold dear.

Every target hit is another day lived, another treasure kept, another lesson from Bell-mere in Nami’s mind.)

Cocoyashi’s cold, but its people are strong, and care for the trees and hunt the beasts. Nami, despite the storm she was born in, is no different.

-

Arlong comes in the summer months, and so does the axe.

Its longer than her, made of wood stronger than sea stone and sturdier than the mountains, with a metal that Nami has never quite seen before for its blade, hooked it seems, for easy grappling

Oska, Nami whispers the name that’s carved in its handle, (Thunder), when she finds it leaning outside her door, scorch marks (lightning marks) all around it.  

Nojiko likes to poke at it, and Bell-mere just nods in blind acceptance before gathering them in to eat.

Later that day, Bell-mere starts training Nami in its use.

Later that month, Bell-mere smiles at Nami before Arlong shoots her through the skull.

-

Arlong’s brutal in all the way her people aren’t. He can stand the cold just as well as any of them, without needing any fur (fishmen, apparently, live in the depths of the sea where the sun never sheds it warmth. The ice bothers them, but does not stop them from terrorizing her people) and the way he orders her people about makes her shrivel inside.

His mark is now on her shoulder, where Bell-mere told her she could have her first tattoo when she was old enough. (It was going to be a mix of all the things she loved – tangerines and storms and pinwheels and family. But she can never have that anymore, can she?)

Everything’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?

(Nami makes it for the pyre, the Viking funeral they give for the funeral that is her mother, her Bell-mere. Nojiko holds her tight and Nami takes the pain that her hug presses down on her shoulder (she deserves it) because that’s their mother in that pyre, and that’s her favorite axe and her musket.

Is she smiling while she’s getting devoured by flames? Nami can’t tell.

(All she feels is cold and electric all at once.))

-

Nami cries every night, but every morning she ties her hair into a knot and slips on her boots and meager armor. She’s ten and all but mastered her smaller axes, but the new one Oska eludes her still – and Bell-mere isn’t there to help her, so she has to do it all alone, training and pushing her body til Arlong drags her in to draw another map.

(Are the lines she draws born from ink or blood? She can’t tell anymore.)

She manages to get out one month in to her imprisonment. A small sailboat is all she has, and provisions enough for a week – two if she only eats once a day.  Tenancity is all she has left to hold her up, so she uses it all to sail away for the first time.

Cocoyashi fades into the fog and the axe on her back weighs heavier than ever.

-

(Nami faces a storm at sea, on her first voyage. It is a tempest, a hurricane, a thunderous rain of ruin, but no lightning touches her. Instead, the sea parts before her as she knots her hair and ties up her dress, fingers gripping the rope of the sail. Her face is wet but it feels more like platonic caress than a rainy whip and the way the lightning flashes (heat lightning, her books called it, a blessing, Bell-mere said instead) illuminates her way out.

She places her feet on land come morning and faces a trio of pirates – men bigger and stronger and more ruthless than her – on the shore. There’s a pull from her side and her hand reaches for Oska, leaning against the boat. The men laugh at her ten-year-old form, but she slams the handle down and suddenly they aren’t laughing any more. Suddenly they are very burnt and Nami is glowing blue electric.

Suddenly, there’s lightning.

Suddenly there is hope.)

(Thunder smiles and heads away – his daughter is well.)

-

Life goes on, and Nami steals gold after gold after gold. Necklaces start to lie around her neck and cloths from around the East are threaded to make her dresses. She learns more braids and learns that even warrior women can lure men in to traps. She’s fifteen and strong enough to lift up her boat (The Tempest) and then sixteen and strong enough to lift a (small) sea king head.  She carves her own weapons and makes more maps stained with blood.

She’s a thief and she’s a warrior, a map maker and a navigator. Her family’s far away and she has a quarter of a million to free them, but she won’t falter, she won’t.

(The thunder won’t let her.)

Then, she stumbles upon Orange Town and a map to the Grand Line.

Then, she meets Monkey D. Luffy, who looks at her axe and her face and her claim to be a navigator, and asks her to join his pirate crew.

She hates pirates.

(But once upon a time she wanted to be free.)

-

Here are some things that Nami knows: her (temporary) captain is an idiot, she can outdrink the swordsman, both are stronger than even her strength but she’s more sensible than both of them.

This is evident by the way she has to haul the two idiots out of a bar fight while carefully avoiding the orders for them to pay for the drinks.

The money has better use anyhow.

“What were you two thinking! You idiots! We don’t have that kind of money!”

30 plates and 30 drinks. Luffy was a bouncing ball of rubber two seconds ago and Zoro is leaning heavily on her shoulder, muttering about swords and axes and who believed that people got weaker as they grew older, damn witch, and she’s about to dump both of them in the mud.

“But Nami! We have you!” Luffy cheers despite the painful hold she has on his ear.

“No – you don’t!”

“But you’re super strong! You shoulda seen all their faces when they realized that you weren’t drunk after all those drinks!” She might have lied when she implied Zoro was the only one drinking. “ And then you brought out your axe and did the slammy thing with all the thunder rumbling all around – and you’re the best! I have the best navigator! Zoro, did you know I have the best navigator! She’s so cool!”

Nami misses Zoro’s reply because she still busy standing dumbstruck by Luffy’s too honest words.

She doesn’t even fight against being his navigator this time.

(She might even feel like flying if it weren’t for the ink on her shoulder.)

--

At Syrup they meet a boy who wants to be brave and a girl who wants to heal. Luffy helps them do both as Nami helps dismember pirates with cat ears with Zoro.

There’s a kind of hope in this town that Nami wish she had for herself, the kind of hope that comes from the miracles Luffy brings, the kind of hope Cocoyashi brings.

But Nami doesn’t think about that when she’s using her twin axes to climb rock faces and trees for treasure, or when she has to fight a pirate crew who even the Demon of the East Blue and a boy made out of rubber have trouble with.

When the battles over, Demon and Rubber Captain wounds tended too, Zoro nods at her, respect in his eyes.

It’s something Nami hasn’t seen in a while, not from anyone but Luffy (and Bell-mere and Nojiko). From one warrior to another. She hefts her axe over shoulders and nods back, before claiming a room for herself aboard the Going Merry.

-

Its at the Baratie she leaves, and on the Merry she cries. She sails alone, as she has for years, (The Tempest crashed four days before she met them) but now it feels so much more lonely than it ever has been.

The wind keeps pushing back against her but she forges on. She’s so close to being free, so close to killing the fishman that kept her chained to that damned map room for eight years that she can’t bear anything else.

-

It turns out Arlong is not a man of his word. It turns out her former crew cares to much about her – that her village cares too much about her – and that Nami can’t stand this any more.

The treasure carefully hidden and kept safe so that even the dangerous winter months couldn’t stop her from getting it is gone and her people are going to get themselves killed.

(Axes aren’t always strong enough to break fishman skin, not when they had to have been carefully hidden. Nami knows this, she’s tried many times. )

Her hands are bloody from where she stabbed the end of her axe into them, but the dagger she holds in her hand is steady as she tears at her sleeves, hair slipping out of its knot.

Then – there’s Luffy standing before her, catching her hand. “Luffy… Help me,” She cries, never feeling weaker, but there’s electricity in the air and a hat on her head.

“OKAY!” He shouts, and there’s freedom in the air.

Nami knows, because this is a feeling she’s never known before.

-

She leaves Cocoyashi one necklace heavier (a gift, from Nojiko, one of Bell-mere’s) one crew stronger, and a shoulder hurting with the familiar sting of a tattoo. Arlong’s gone and so is that room and she’s free.

(Her room has been half transformed into a map making room of her own design, Zoro sits with her when she sharpens her blades, Sanji brings her drinks strong enough to kill a man, Usopp has been helping her make a weapon that will let her make more than thunder and lightning, and Luffy has smiled at her every day while leading them onward to a new adventure. After every new island, he asks to see the map she made of it, and its in such a different way from Arlong she wants to cry.

She loves this crew, this crew of the future Pirate King.)

-

The way out of Loguetown is the first time she shines, reveling in the storm that bows to her will. She guides them through the waves, keeps them safe enough so that they can make their vow together.

“I’M GOING TO DRAW A MAP OF THE WORLD!”

Light flashes so that she can see her crewmates faces, her captains face, grinning wild and relentless against the storm. Oska is a steady weight in her palm, anchoring her to the deck, and she knows that there is no place she would rather be than in this storm.

Thunder rumbles approvingly, and they surge into the Grand Line.

-

In Paradise, they meet a man with flowers for hair, a whale that has lost its family, and two bounty hunters, one of whom is the most beautiful woman Nami has ever seen.

So, if she casually uses her axe a bit more leniently than she would before, or moves more crates than ordering them moved, its nothing but her stretching her muscles, that’s all.  

(And if she rolls up her sleeves, so far up that the tattoo of an axe, wreathed in lighting and tangerines  in the shape of a pinwheel is visible on her left shoulder, then its no ones business that she smiles a bit brighter.)

Still – her axe has never been for show, and she will put it to use if these bounty hunters try anything.

-

At Whiskey Peak, Nami outdrinks Zoro and fakes falling asleep. This is, of course, not before depleting the people of this horrible town of near all their alcohol. It’s pitiful that they don’t see that Nami’s still awake, or that her axes are still resting next to her.

Pitiful, but not unwelcome if she wants to steal any of their gold.

-

Miss Wednesday’s real name is Nefertiti Vivi, and she is the princess of Alabasta who became a bounty hunter to save her country.  

Nami already feels a kindred spirit with her.

She talks and laughs with her, whispers to her in their shared cabin, spars with her and lifts her up on her shoulder’s. Vivi’s smile is like the pearls that washed up on Cocoyashi’s beaches, beautiful and more common if you know what causes them. She teaches Vivi how to braid her hair and hold an axe, and Vivi teaches her the stars above the Grand line and how to use the loge pose and her peacock whip.

Nami could get used to this.

(She thinks Vivi could too.)

-

Nami wakes up on Drum, tosses Vivi her heavy fur cloak, and starts making with the mayhem as Luffy starts to liberate another island simply because they hurt someone and got in his way. Drum is her element, the snow and wind casting flurries around her, and her braid (Vivi must have braided it for her while she was out of it-) whipping about her head as she uses her twin axes to help Luffy with the henchmen.

Later, as she sits on the sleigh and watches the sky erupt in cherry blossoms, she feels fingers interlink with hers. A glance to her left is Vivi, still wrapped in Nami’s own cloak, cheeks red and face cheery as she looks to the sky. Nami thinks her own face must be a mirror of Vivi’s, and shifts her own hand to hold the princess’s tighter.

-

At Alabasta, Usopp gives her a new axe. Tempest, he has named it, and Nami can’t help but think of her old sailboat that carried her everywhere till she met this crew.  The blade is sharp and almost as long as Oska’sbut it’s not forged like Oska was, its’ been crafted to collapse, to be hidden, to make her seem like a summoner and warrior all at once.  Teary eyed, she hugs Usopp and goes off to practice with her new weapon.

She could summon Lightning and thunder all on her own with Oska, what can she do now?

--

Tempest is a weapon that Nami has never held before, never heard of before, never trained in before, but that’s okay, because Oska hadn’t been familiar to her either but she learned.

And if such learning must come in battle, so be it.

Tempest splits in three parts with a chain linking the three – a blade is at one end, and its designed so that it can fold in in a feat of engineering that Nami could not possibly comprehend.  That’s not the important bit though –

No, the important thing is that Tempest has the technology to create heat and cold and energy that Nami can direct any weather she can at an enemy. She’s sure it can be upgraded in the future, but this – this is the start of something great.

Miss Doublefinger doesn’t stand a chance.

-

Before she even sets foot on Merry, she knows that Vivi is going to stay. The way she stares at the desert and her people, with such fond love and duty that has only ever been mirrored in the Strawhats is something that cannot be faked.

So she gives Vivi a necklace, one of her own, her favorite one that she made with Cocoyashi pearls and sea glass and iron, and wraps it around Vivi’s neck. Then she kisses her, putting all the love she possibly could into it. Vivi smiles as she kisses back, but her cheeks are damp.

(Nami’s are too)

Nami’s a warrior and Vivi’s a queen. This won’t ever change, not to Nami, but nor will her feelings change.

She looks Vivi in the eye. “Four years, love, then I’m kidnapping you.” She’s a pirate after all, and Pirates love treasure. She’s sure the crew won’t mind, and they are all going to mope anyway if Vivi stays.

Vivi barks out a laugh then kisses her on the cheek before sliding her own braclet (gold and carved with Vivi’s name) on Nami’s wrist. “I’ll be waiting.”

-

The last view Nami has of her love is her in the desert sun, dressed in white and looking like the sun and sea came together to create something that the world could never quite keep. She has her hand in the air, X proudly shown, and Nami wasn’t supposed to look but she did anyway. Her own wrist stings because she made the local tattoo artist tattoo it on, but her eyes sting more and its don’t because of the salt air.

It is going to be a long four years – but at least she has Vivi’s den den mushi number locked away.

Once Alabasta is in the haze, everyone is moping. Zoro tries to put on a façade that he isn’t, but everyone knows he is.

“We should have kidnapped her.” He says, and everyone agrees. Nami smiles, laughs, and unveils a promise.

She can’t wait.

[teamhook]

A Chapter a Day... Savage Heart CS AU

Yes, a chapter a day.

This story will be finished by the end of the month. :)

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the lovely @ilovemesomekillianjones​

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 5: Catch and Release

Flashback - The Road of Redemption

Once the betrothal is arranged, David Nolan decides he must leave his family in order to seek out a way to rebuild his own fortune. If he's able to, he won't have to see his daughter entered into an arranged marriage. As a young man, he had been betrothed to Kathryn Midas. His father George thought that it was the best match for the family.

He had hoped to never put Emma in that position. He had gotten lucky because Kathryn had fallen in love with Frederick Knight, a business partner of her father, and she married him instead.

David had met Snow not long after, and he is forever grateful to have had the fortune of meeting his true love and marrying her. Snow tries to stop him, but he refuses to stay. He wants his daughter to marry for love not to save them. He still has time.

Torn, David Nolan travels north. He has been hearing an awful lot about a booming port town called Arendelle. David Nolan soon arrives at Arendelle in search of a chance to redeem his family's good name. All he wants is to be a hero for his daughter, his family. There is one benefit of traveling so far, James' reputation didn't follow him.

The climate there is so different from Misthaven. It's cold and somber, there's no color. Or maybe, it isn't the town at all.

He misses his family, his beloved wife, and precious daughter. Milah too, Even without knowing her that well he misses the opportunity to be there. His desire was never to take his brother's place, but to enrich her life.

He soon makes friends with a kind woman named Ingrid Foster. He only approaches the woman at the market when one of her daughters runs straight into him. The girl reminds him so much of his little duckling, his sweet Emma.

Goodness, he is so homesick. He misses his love and his little girl. She is blonde too like his princess but a little more platinum than golden, with blue eyes. He hears a woman say the young girl's name, Elsa.

Elsa is chasing her younger sister Anna. Anna is a little bundle of strawberry red hair and blue eyes with an energy that never seems to end. Young Anna can talk for what seems like hours without taking a breath.

Ingrid apologizes profusely for the two young girls, but David just smiles softly. He then finds out that the lovely young girls are actually her nieces. That reminds him of Milah. He regrets not spending more time getting to know her better before leaving Misthaven.

Ingrid and David bond over tales of family and lost loved ones. He mentions the loss of his brother, and she talks about her sister and brother-in-law's passing.

Ingrid had never found love herself but gladly accepted the responsibility of care provider to both girls when their parents had perished. That is how she became Anna and Elsa Frost's appointed guardian. She has been raising the girls alone for the last two years. Anna is 9 years old and Elsa is a year older, like his Emma.

His longing for his family isn't as bad when he is around the young girls. His Emma would love Elsa and Anna. Someday he will be able to introduce them in person. In his letters, he tells her stories of both young girls and their antics.

Ingrid introduces him to some amazing connections and not long after his arrival, he has started a small trading business. David never knew he had such a knack for this type of business.

He imports anything from silver and silk to spices. Exporting goods include honey, wheat, wool, and various types of furs.

He is truly happy with the success of the small business. Sadly though, the business is growing and prospering a little too slow for his taste. He wants to go home. He sends letters and money to Snow with Archie Hopper's help. He lives very modestly and has no need for any luxury. No sacrifice will ever be too considerable if it meant his little girl's happy ending.

Arendelle Present

David Nolan has slowly amassed enough money to live comfortably. Would that be enough? He knows Emma and Snow have never desired riches.

Milah, on the other hand, has taken to the privileged lifestyle quite well. She enjoys luxury and craves more. Whatever he sends, it's never enough. That thought breaks his heart.

Throughout the years, each time he had sent money to Snow he would ask Archie if it had been enough for their needs. Archie would simply say, "Snow and the girls are fine." Then in the space of seconds, he would always add some sort of remark about Milah wanting to go on a trip or a new wardrobe. His niece's thirst for riches was unquenchable, and Snow always gave in, the money was eventually spent on something for Milah.

Sometimes it was for trips and others for jewelry or whatever she must have. Archie keeps telling David that even his guidance is not enough to deter Snow from granting Milah all she desires. Snow and Emma are extremely sensible when it comes to their expenses. However, the guilt Snow feels because of Milah's lack of a happy childhood leads her to just about squander the little bit of extra money he was able to provide them with.

His friendship with Ingrid has endured through the years. He happily takes the role of Uncle to both girls.

Anna has found love at the young age of seventeen, his name is Kristoff and he genuinely adores Anna. He seems a little eccentric but it's clear that he is an honorable young man. Soon they will marry. That is the kind of relationship David so desperately wants for Emma.

David and Kristoff bond soon after their introduction and David even offers Kristoff a job at Nolan Importing & Exporting.

The threat of the business becoming a target for pirates indicates the success he has accomplished. There have been rumors of a pirate captain from Misthaven making a move towards David's company.

That is how David crosses paths with a dashing Navy Captain by the name of Liam Long. Liam has an impressive reputation at a young age. He has been successful in his counter attacks towards all acts of piracy so far. David befriends the young man and introduces him to his adoptive family.

The young Captain takes to Elsa quite rapidly. Elsa, on the other hand, is a little more closed off, but it's obvious the attraction is not one-sided. Elsa and Liam start by being friends and are slowly moving towards more.

Soon enough, all these lives, near and far, will be intertwined.

~~~~~

KPOV:

In a dark corner of the local Arendelle tavern, Killian is deep in conversation with some of his associates. His eagerness to conclude the transaction has blinded him to see the officers arrive. To be honest he had stopped paying attention to any sort of officials long ago. He was so used to the corrupt Misthaven legal system that would gladly look away in exchange for a small contribution.

He's finally wrapping up the once in a lifetime endeavor and soon will be able to return to his love. Suddenly chaos broke loose, and it becomes apparent that Killian Jones has become overconfident in his excitement to get back to Misthaven. There is an eruption of swords clashing, chairs breaking, and even some cloth ripping. The yelps of the injured are heard throughout the room as swords pierce skin.

The aftermath is bloody and devastating. There are losses on all sides. The dead pirates, civilians, and military are scattered on the floor. In death, nothing differentiates the men.

This is how Killian Jones finds himself rotting away inside the Arendelle prison. He was so close to returning to his love. He no longer feels the need to pillage and plunder. The infamous scoundrel had finally given his heart away.

He had found an odd familiarity to the arresting officer, and had asked one of the guards for the officer's name. The answer was a simple Captain Liam Long. He had felt a connection to the man and for some reason, he had thought of his mother.

He had been so young when his mother died, and the memories, although faint, had stayed with him. To satisfy his need for the connection and trying to never lose her completely, a total stranger had made him pause and now he was rotting away.

He should have killed the Captain when the opportunity had presented. His death would have easily guaranteed the escape of what was left of his crew on his beloved ship and he would now be back in Misthaven.

Killian comes to the realization that love only makes you weak. He had fallen in love, and now he is in a prison far away from where his heart longs to be. Weakness or not, he will find his way home, to Milah.

~~~Liam's POV:

Captain Liam Long was the pride of the Arendelle Navy. He had come from a modest upbringing. He was sent away for his best chance by his parents. He had been almost six years old when he had arrived at his Aunt Annie's house.

She had always talked so fondly of his father, John. She barely mentioned his mother. Every time he would ask if he could send a letter home she would simply say, "Sorry Liam, but your mother is very ill and she will not be able to respond."

Then not so long after his arrival, his aunt told him his mother had died. That is something a child doesn't forget, no matter how young. His father would send letters for years until he also succumbed to death.

Liam had grown up to be an exceptional young man. He was seventeen years old when he joined the Arendelle Navy. Pure dedication drove him to rise in the ranks and became Captain at 28 years old.

Now Liam and his men find themselves walking into a seedy tavern on a tip. Quickly surveying the scene and coming to the conclusion there is, in fact, a big deal closing gives them the reasonable cause they need. Liam acts fast and gives his orders, detain everyone, dead or alive.

Soon he comes face to face with a man that he feels an instant camaraderie with, it makes no sense to him. The man is a pirate; he stands for everything that is bad form. The battle is quick, and Liam gets the upper hand, he captures the notorious Captain Killian Jones.

When Liam visits his Aunt, he tells her of his latest capture. The look on her face when she hears the name Killian Jones gives Liam pause. "Why did the mere mention of that name make you white as a fresh sail? Who is he?" He asks over and over to no answer.

Finally, she gets up and reaches in the cupboard in her small kitchen. She pulls out an old letter and hands it to him. Liam takes a breath when he recognizes the handwriting, his father's.

He slowly starts reading it, and the name Killian Jones takes a new meaning for him. He has a brother. Now he remembers his mother's maiden name, Jones.

"Why are you giving me this letter now? Growing up you never once mentioned Killian to me, ever. Father didn't either in any of his letters until this his last letter. I could have gone to Misthaven to look for him! He grew up to become a pirate. He had no one!"

"I only followed my brother's instructions. He wanted you to forget about Killian. You were young enough that the memory would eventually fade," Annie sobs.

"Yet, somehow I find myself holding a letter that was meant for me to have read after his death. The telling of a sordid tale. He is still my brother and you kept it from me, why? Oh yes, I read that too. My mother made a mistake and Killian was born from it. For someone that has always told me how important doing the right thing is and to be kind to the less fortunate, you sure did not follow your own teachings."

Annie simply answered, "My brother, while on his deathbed, grew a conscience. What are you going to do?"

Liam smiled and answered, "Be an older brother and release him. My record is impeccable; I will get away with a slap on the wrist." Liam leaves his Aunt's house and heads to the prison while still holding the letter. Once he arrives, he tells the guards he needs a word with the prisoner.

Liam is guided to the well-known cells, and when he finally reaches Killian's, for the first time since they had been separated, he looks into the eyes of his younger brother.

Liam asks the guard for a bit of privacy.

"Captain Jones, I remember hearing you mention to your associates there was a very specific reason for your urgent return to Misthaven. What was that reason?"

Killian looks at the Captain who captured him, and for some reason, he knows this man will appreciate a story of love.

"I was heading back to my betrothed. I am to marry once I return. I will be leaving this life to become an honorable man." Killian answers honestly as he has nothing left to lose.

"I will personally escort you to your ship so you can make the trip. Better late than never. Before I let you go I would like for you to read this letter."

Killian looks at Liam suspiciously before agreeing. Taking the letter to the most lit section of the cell he begins reading.

Killian cannot believe what he's reading. He has a brother, and finally knows the reason why his father, no, his stepfather hated him, though the identity of his real father is not revealed in the letter.

Not long after the cell door is opened, he is quickly engulfed in a hug from his brother. He returns the hug awkwardly.

Liam explains to the guard how everything was a setup and that Killian, in reality, was the victim of foul play. It doesn't take a long time for the guard to finally agree to let Liam leave the prison with Killian in tow. His excellent military record is the reason why his explanation is not doubted.

Once back on the deck of his ship, Killian thanks his brother Liam and sets sail. Soon he will be with his love.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones  @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke  @superchocovian  @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian​ @andiirivera​ @djlbg​ @nikkiemms​ @jennjenn615​ @scientificapricot​ @officerrogers​