#I do like the idea of wares (or is it weres?) have this notion of first love

[thecandywrites]

Monster March 2023 Day 26- Werewolf Part 2

Puppy Love? Or the Real Thing?

Because we all know that besides the super hot werewolf sex- it's the whole 'you're my mate' thing that draws us in to werewolves in the first place. At least, for me it does. And this is also where the story leaves reality and enters fantasy. And where, I wish things could have gone, had I the courage to actually ask any of those way too fucking hot farm boys- to bend me over between the northern highbush varieties of blueberries (we are talking a single blueberry bush the size of a small car) and plow me better than the fields ever got to be. And I could have gotten just as knocked up as my mom always seemed to be when we would go. The fact that she did it twice and we did it regularly enough that the actual Leducs recognized my mom, watched the belly bump grow during summer and would come back with a little baby the next year? And they would hold my little sisters and tease them that they were almost Leduc babies the same way we have the Gerber Baby. That was fun.

Also, as you can see, I just had to face cast Tim Allen- aka- any 90's kid would recognize Tim- the Tool Man- Taylor as Sasha's dad. And then because my husband loves Justified, I couldn't help but have Nick Searcy, who played Art Mullin on Justified as Tristan's dad. Because in Justified, he played a character who I would have loved to have as a dad or even a father in law.

So even though the Leduc's sold the blueberry part of their berry farm over to the Berry Brothers a few years ago (for nealy 20 million, which, good for them.) But it let them focus on the Leduc Strawberry Farm. And the Berry Brothers turned that barn that was once just purely there for U-pick stuff and sales of the blueberries the migrant workers picked. And they upgraded that barn. And when I say upgraded, like, UPGRADED. It's all enclosed, air conditioned, it has a bakery, a restaurant/cafe. All blueberry goods and products for sale, including blueberry wine and hard cider. And you can still buy the actual Leduc Blueberries. Granted, they are A LOT more expensive than what they used to be, but, in my humble opinion, still the best and worth every penny. Like my sisters who still live in Michigan, when they come down to visit, they actually drive all the way out there just to get me a 10lb box. I think it costs them like $30 bucks now. But to me? Priceless.

But, the Leduc blueberry is a northern highbush. At least to my knowledge. Which means that bush gets huge but it also has very high chilll hour requirements. And where I live, the weather does not give me those chill hours requirements. And blueberry bushes are finickey enough, that if it's NOT cold enough, they die. Everything else- if it gets a frost, it dies. But not blueberries, they're practically polar bears, they're out there going "Bring it on! You call that cold? It's still above 0, I need that negative numbers baby!" Or at least, that's what it's like for the true northern highbushes.

Which is why I planted Kabluey blueberry bushes, which are southern lowbush crosses which need low chill hours. So I'm not without entirely. It's never going to be the same or as good as Leducs. But damn it, southern Ohio just doesn't have the chill hours to support the northern highbush varieties of blueberries. So southern lowbush with low or no chill hour requirement I must go. Not the same. But better than nothing.

Part 2

The next day, Tristan woke up extra early and braved the cold shower in order to get clean and actually dressed in his nicer work clothes and even worked out a little so he would be good and strong and ready and primed when Frank and hopefully Sasha too would come and was downright antsy all morning. 

Right at 10, a huge box truck, with Wright Plumbing written on the side came into the driveway and Tristan nearly shifted so he could wag his werewolf tail to see Sasha again. She was wearing a Cabella’s baseball cap. And…overalls and even a baggy long sleeved shirt and not a flick of makeup. But she didn’t need it, if anything she was just as pretty now as she had been when he saw her last. But she had a little tupperware container in her hands as she went up to the door, where Tristan and his dad were ready.

“Hello Mr. Leduc, I’m Frank, this is my daughter Sasha who brought you some Kabluey blueberries?” Frank said as he gestured to her before she offered the small tupperware container, opening it up for them as she did so.

“Why thank you, so kindly Miss Sasha.” Chuck smiled happily as he opened it up and took a few and threw them into his mouth as Tristan thrust his hand into the small tupperware container and got some. 

“Oh, oh these are good. Really good! Damn near perfect for a blueberry.” Chuck praised as Tristan nodded in agreement. 

“Tristan said that you know a thing or two about blueberries?” Chuck asked Sasha. 

“Not as much as your son does, obviously. I’m just getting into them. But this place has always had the best blueberries. And so we have a little farm and we worked on the orchard last year  and this year, we’ve been working on the berries, specifically the blueberries and so I got containers for all of them and I’m trying to grow them up to see which ones I like best and then figure out where I want to plant them where they’ll get the right amount of sun and best soil conditions and when which variety will be in season so we can have blueberries throughout the summer, just like you do. So if anything, it’s you and your farm that inspired me and mine. And I’m honored that you would even entertain the idea of trying them. Thank you.” Sasha explained and Chuck was ready to take Tristan down to the jewelry store to buy him an engagement ring right then and there for Sasha. He could see what his son saw- plain as day. And Tristan had been right, just meeting her in person was like being in warm sunshine. Very sweet and very personable. 

“Well I’m honored too. That’s mighty fine praise Miss Sasha. Where’d you find ‘em?” Chuck asked. 

“Oh, I brought the catalog with me. I’ll be right back.” She offered as she put the container into Chuck’s hands before she left and got the catalog and turned it to the page they were featured on and handed it over to him to look over. 

“Huh. Well how about that.” Chuck appraised as he looked it over as he invited them into the house while Tristan got another handful of the blueberries that were practically like candy to him. Because they were- in all honesty, a really good blueberry. But they were also might have been little sapphires- for how precious they were to him. 

“So did your mom go into labor yet?” Tristan asked before Sasha barked a laugh. 

“No, I wish, but the baby did drop, so now my mom can breathe a bit easier. But the other things that are precursors to labor have already happened. So she’s due any day now. But knowing her, it could either be today or a week, if not two weeks from now?.” She shook her head no with a shrug. 

“But I’ll bet you’re still relieved you didn’t have to worry about getting EMT’s into your blueberry field huh? Although nothing feeds fields like blood does. They don’t sell blood meal for nothing. Plus, you guys would have a new kind of Leduc baby on your hands eh?” She offered. And it was when she said the ‘eh’ was a very…Canadian sounding ‘aye’.

“Girl, where’d you get an accent like that? You Canadian?” Chuck asked and Tristan wanted to face palm himself. 

“Oh, she gets that from her mother. Her mother was raised in Alaska.” Frank explained. 

“And all Alaska is- is Canada to the left. So, yeah, strong Canadian accent. And he was stationed at Eielson Airforce Base- right outside Anchorage. So once he finished his servitude, he met my mom and had me and Autumn up there. So technically I’m from there too. But we moved away and moved here once Ellis came along and Grandma and Grandpa needed the help with their declining health.” Sasha explained with a dismissive wave. 

“Ellis?” Chuck asked. 

“Short for Amaryllis. She’s out of her terrible twos and has gone head first into terrorizing threes.” Sasha explained with a light laugh. 

“Mmmhmm.” Tristan hummed and nodded his agreement because his youngest brother just turned four and was just as much of a terrible terrorist as he was when he was two and three, but now was big enough to do real damage when he could and would. Especially when he shifted. 

“So yeah, that makes me Sasha-Sabine, Autumn, Amaryllis, and now Arianna. A single S in a sea of A’s. Like you Dad, living in the middle of the estrogen ocean?” Sasha teased her dad with a crinkle of her adorable nose as her dad barked a laugh. 

“So four, and still not a single boy?” Chuck asked Frank. 

“Nope, my wife says if we have another girl after this, she’s done. What about you?” Frank asked. 

“Oh, I’m on the other end of that spectrum. Four boys. Each one,  even more rough and tumble than the last, we barely got the last one house trained. We kept trying for a girl and after four, my wife just said- no. And little Tyson is four now. And those terrible twos and terrorist threes have compounded into the fearsome fours.” Chuck laughed as Tristan’s cheeks darkened because being ware- house training was a big thing especially once kids would shift at an early age. 

“They’re eating you out of house and home huh?” Frank teased which got Chuck to bark a laugh. 

“You have no idea. I keep tellin them, there’s more than enough blueberries right across the street, just for the picking.” Chuck said as he gestured to where the blueberries were on the other side of the road. 

“Well this one is trying to turn our little farm into one of those self sufficient homestead farms Renee had when she was growing up in Alaska, it’s been their pet project since we built the place in the first place.” Frank listed off as she gestured to his daughter Sasha.  

“Oh, nice.” Chuck smiled approvingly as Sasha started looking more and more like the perfect daughter in law material, especially for Tristan right about now. 

“Well with her gift for it, you better be keeping a good eye on her, or she’ll get scooped up and swept up off her feet by any other farmer, especially the blueberry farming families. I know just about every blueberry farmer from Maryland to here in Michigan all the way out to Minnisota would give just about anything to have a girl like her in their family. Most kids can hardly name their fruits and vegetables, let alone know there is a difference between the different kinds.” Chuck goodnaturedly teased as he gestured to Sasha with the magazine rolled up in his hands as Tristan wanted to die as his cheeks and Sasha’s cheeks went strawberry red. 

“Well that’s why parents should introduce kids to where their food comes from. Like blueberry farms like yours so they can find out for themselves and find out just how much work goes into it in the first place.” Sasha managed to tactfully reply with a polite smile. 

“Aw shucks Miss Sasha, you’re buttering me up like I’m a dinner roll.” Chuck waived off with a fond grin. 

“Speaking of rolls, that’s quite the southern drawl you have, Sir.” Sasha noted. 

“That’s because I’m from the hills of Tennessee. Grew up only a stones throw away from where Dolly Parton built Dollywood.” He explained. 

“Then how’d you get up here?” Sasha asked curiously. 

“Oh this is my wife’s family business. They’re the Lauschs.” He explained. 

“Oh that’s wonderful. And especially from the biodiversity that you guys have on your farms, between the different varieties of blueberries. Not only do you get a longer season, but should one kind fall prey to either a disease or other pest, at least you would have the others to fall back on. So not all your eggs are in one basket, even if all the baskets themselves are blue.” Sasha praised. 

“Girl, you keep talking about that, and Tristan’s kin will hear you and come running from a 200 mile radius, each with an engagement ring, bigger than the last.” Chuck teased Sasha. 

“Ha! Well they need to get in line. She already made a lot of friends in the apple orchard community last year with making her orchard so we can have apples from August to November. But I have a firm- bachelor’s with a degree before bachelors with a T.” Frank insisted before Chuck outright busted up laughing a deep belly laugh. 

“If she was my daughter I’d feel the same way too!” Chuck laughed.

“But enough about me, let’s get a look at that water heater.” Sasha urged her dad and his. 

“Right this way.” Chuck had the pair follow him into the basement where it was as Sasha pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen and started writing things down as Frank started to list them all off and once he was done, Sasha repeated it all back to him to make sure she had heard her dad correctly before double checking which tools he would need first before Frank confirmed that she had heard him right and once he gave her the nod, she left and got to work as he continued to inspect the basement and told them that he was going to shut the water off for a while before Chuck urged Tristan to relay that message to everyone else in the family. 

But when Tristan left the house, he saw Sasha talking to an orc who was also in a Wright Plumbing truck for a moment before she smiled nodded and patted his arm before he drove off again with a waive. 

“Your boyfriend?” Tristan asked. 

“Huh?” She asked as she opened up her dad’s work truck to get the supplies she needed. 

“The …other guy in the Wright Plumbing Truck?” Tristan asked as he gestured to where the orc had driven off to. 

“Oh. No that’s Kihro. That’s my cousin Brianna’s boyfriend. He was just asking if my family was going to be with Brie’s and go to the beach with him and his family this weekend or not. And I told him, I had no idea, it depended on whether or not my mom went into labor or not. So no, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one of those myself, obviously, the whole bachelors with a degree before bachelors with a T is a real thing with myself, my sisters and my dad.” Sasha admitted as she got what she needed from the various compartments in the truck and put them into the five gallon bucket that served as her basket for all intensive purposes. 

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry if my dad embarrassed you with all that, farmers from here to Minnisota with engagement rings…thing. That was a bit excessive.” Tristan offered even though he would have given anything for one right to magically appear in his pocket. 

“It’s ok. Every father who sees plumbing as a respectable profession and sees me as a shoe in with my dad’s business, usually tries to see what it takes for their sons to date me, even when the sons have no personal interest in the first place, so if anything I’m sorry your dad did that and put you on the spot like that, you poor thing. Is he so desperate to get you married off that he tries to pawn you off on every girl who comes to the farm who shows any interest in farming herself?” Sasha asked as she sorted through the coupling attachment bags to get the right ones for the brand new water heater next to her in the back of the truck. 

“Actually no, thank goodness.” Tristan shook his head no. 

“Well, you’re lucky then. Because I get all the time, not from my dad, but every other one I meet who sees me and sees daughter in law material. If it’s not the other contractors, it’s the other businesses owners period because my dad is part of not just the Plumber’s Union, but with the Business Owner’s Association. Trying to make all the business connections they can. And it’s the home shows that they tend to come out in droves.” She muttered rather irritably as she continued to go through the various bins to get what she needed as Tristan felt a sense of panic and a sense of possessiveness try to come over him as he had to reach out and clutch the edge of the door to ground himself to keep himself from shifting to keep himself from scenting her so she at least wouldn’t have an issue with other wares at least. 

“Or the issue that came up with Kihro when he expressed an interest in Brie was that his dad was a partner with our dad’s. And he wanted to make sure it was known that he was doing so because he was genuinely interested in Brianna herself, not because she’s the boss’ daughter or that she has a stake in the company, same as me and same as all of our sisters do too. And the hoops he’s had to jump through to prove that have been quite numerous. Because that’s always going to be an ulterior motive for any other plumber, especially other plumbing outfits who want to either take us over or infiltrate or whatever. It’s something that Brie and I have simply grown up with and gotten used to. Because we are both the ones who get it the most because we spent just about every summer with our dads since we were old enough to read a tape measure. Especially when we’re both our father’s right hand girls and firstborns, and firstborn daughters to boot. Even when we both want nothing to do with plumbing as a career for ourselves.” Sasha explained. 

“Well, I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Must be exhausting having your guard up all the time and always wondering or assuming everyone has an ulterior business motive.” Tristan offered, damning himself with every word as he couldn’t even bring himself to look up at her as Sasha paused and looked at him thoughtfully and couldn’t help but smile crookedly as she subtly shook her head while biting her lip, damning herself for going off like that. Her and her tongue were going to dig her own grave one of these days before she sat down on the end of the truck in the middle to more or less be eye level with him. 

“I’m sorry your dad just practically offered you up to me on a silver platter even when you weren’t even interested just to get immediately shot down and slapped away. That was rather cruel, and I’m sorry.” She offered. 

“Oh, psh, don’t worry about it.” He tried to waive off. 

“Are you saying that to save what’s left of your pride and to ease the discomfort? Or do you really mean what you say when you say that?” Sasha practically whispered. 

“That obvious? Am I actually bleeding?” Tristan sniffed and rubbed at his nose before he tried to joke and look down at his shirt. 

“Ok, let’s clear the air and back it up a minute. And pretend like the last… half an hour didn’t just happen.” Sasha insisted as she did a reverse rolling gesture with her hands. 

“Last week we were friendly acquaintances. Do you want us to stay that way, or would you like for us to actually be friends? Or are you actually, genuinely interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me?” She asked. 

“Well I was hoping for at least friends.” Tristan offered because at least from there, he could build from there. 

“And seeing where it could and would go from there?” Sasha questioned. 

“Yeah.” Tristan nodded. 

“I’m ok with that. Friends for now, and we’ll see how and where it could go from here.” Sasha smiled as she pat him on the shoulder and then used her touch to help herself to stand up again and finish her task at hand. She was happy he had at least braced himself to lean into it and help her up. Which she appreciated the silent ask and wordless assist, which she took as a very good sign. 

“So beach this weekend? Which one?” Tristan asked hopefully. 

“South Haven. We were getting there in the late afternoon to swim and then grill dinner right on the beach. You and your family could always come there and just happen to run into us there. Because coincidences do occur and you live right off 43 that takes you straight there. That is however, unless my mom goes into labor before then, but if that happens, I could always give you a call.” Sasha offered with a wink that brought a small, but hopeful smile to Tristan’s face at the chance she was giving him as she handed him her phone with a new contact page already brought up on it. 

“Sounds like a plan.” Tristan smiled happily as he happily put his name and number and all other contact information into her phone before he used it to call himself so he would have her number on his phone and add her to his contacts that way. 

“So how are things going on The Wright Birthing Plan homefront?” Tristan asked, trying to bring the focus back to her and back to something he knew she would be more comfortable discussing and the bright, happy smile she gave him was better than any rainbow after a pop up thunderstorm, which he could tell was in the cards for today. 

“Good. I put that 10 dollars into a fund for monogrammed scrubs.” She smiled happily as she took her phone back and slid it into her pocket. 

“My mom works at a maternity center, has been ever since we moved from Alaska to Michigan. Because in Alaska, she was practically on her own besides her own mom and other sisters. And it was my mom who was my aunt’s midwife back in Alaska. And because my dad and his brother George were Irish Twins- when George went to leave home and join the armed forces, my dad went ‘don’t leave without me’. And when my uncle met my aunt, and they got together and got pregnant with Brie, my aunt hired my mom as her midwife and because my dad and my uncle were the only family they had and that’s how my parents met. And by the time my mom delivered Brie, she was already seven months pregnant with me. And when my uncle’s father in law practically adopted my uncle, he adopted my dad too. To the point he’s practically my grandpa too. And when my dad’s biological parent’s health went downhill, my dad and my uncle both moved their families down here and took Granny and Papa with them. But my Mom has been taken it easy and specifically didn’t take on any other new clients since she found out she was expecting, because she didn’t want to be in the middle of labor herself while helping another woman in labor too. Plus Autumn called dibs on staying with my mom today anyway. But it worked out. Because when your dad called last night, I was just testing the Kablueys and they were just right about perfect today. Plus your dad was just teasing anyway. I can take a joke.” Sasha smiled fondly before she took down various pipes down and put them to the side to cut up and use later. 

“He wasn’t joking. That may have been his delivery. But he wasn’t saying that just to tease, he was trying to warn you in all seriousness.” Tristan revealed. 

“Yeah, I got the sense of that too. I can’t blame him honestly. With Corporate Farming taking more and more family farms and turning and burning the land growing only winter wheat, or feed corn or soy just for pork or beef industry. Small family farmers are having to get creative with ways to stay afloat and keep the farm, let alone their livelihood. And the old ways of tending to the land and instead of spraying weedkiller and pesticides to make the soil practically toxic and unable to grow anything other than what you very carefully plant right there all while chopping down habitat, draining lakes to make more fields or outright diverting whole river systems because they’re “inconvenient” to their big corporate plans that look great on paper but are shit in practice. And with the consumer so far removed from where their food comes from. Most of my friends can’t comprehend that that cheap hamburger meat you buy at the supermarket wasn’t born that way and have no idea that red delicious apples are actually supposed to be delicious when you pick them right off the tree when they’re ripe. And not weeks and months before and have to spray wax on them and hope they ripen up and rot before they can ripen in storage while they’re being transported to cities. And that a lot had to happen to get it to that point. And then you have retards on the other end of the spectrum who are all about ‘I only eat organic non GMO’s’ when organic farming can be worse for the environment than traditional or “old fashioned” farming. GMO’s are not the end of the world, GMO’s are the reason we have food supplies year round. Hell every domesticated dog is a GMO. And to get people to realize that with everything- there’s a damn spectrum. And neither side is necessarily “wrong”. But that don’t make ignorance about any of it “right” either. But that’s just my humble opinion. Don’t have to like it or even agree with it. I’m sure you could probably talk my ears off about it yourself.” Sasha appraised. 

“Actually, you and I see eye to eye on…everything you just said about it. I absolutely agree, there’s a spectrum to farming. And while monoculture is dangerous. Because if every house in the neighborhood has the same lock to their doors, and the burglar has the key to the lock, the whole neighborhood is compromised. But the big corporate farms don’t care. It’s all about what’s on paper and what the stock market does, without a care at all about the land and the surrounding area itself. GMO’s have their place, as long as it’s within reason and there’s a balance between them and the heirloom varieties of things. Hell I don’t think anyone would even recognize what corn, or watermelon or anything else used to look like before civilization got ahold of it. Because I can tell you, I know of several farmers tried to go full organic and they get people who drive hours just to come and get their non-GMO - organic whatever. But those people are flakey at best and while they preach Non-GMO and only organic. It’s not always what they practice, and will usually fall back on the comfort of the familiar and convenience. And honestly, in my own humble opinion, it’s usually not worth that fancy sticker they like to put on it.” Tristan offered. 

“Well I’m happy we can agree on that much at least and we definitely see eye to eye. And a lot of people have no idea, that in order to get that produce for door buster deals, it’s either mechanized farming or someone is getting underpaid to pick it in the first place. So what I like to ask those uppity snobs is- what’s worse? Abusing people or abusing the land and the environment? Because the only way to not do either- is to do it yourself. And frankly those same people are just way too lazy to do it themselves, from the comfort of their Lazy-Boy while their foreign and underprivileged housekeeper sweeps under their lazy asses.” 

“Amen!” Tristan practically crooned before they gave each other a high five which got them to both laugh. 

“But I still appreciate your dad’s warning all the same. Every really good mom tends to want to adopt and look out for every child within line of sight and earshot or hell, a five to fifty mile radius and every good dad tends to do the same. And if you don’t have any sisters. I probably represent what he would want most in one if he got one himself.” Sasha shrugged. 

“You do.” Tristan nodded in confirmation. 

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first to give that kind of warning, I’ve heard it way too many times already and I’ve heeded it best I can. Last year when I was picking out apples to plant in my own mini orchard, I had the same thing happen with all of those families too. Every dad in the business who had kids who wanted nothing to do with the family farm had the same reaction that your dad just had. So, again, I’m used to it. It happens to me, every time I interact with anyone my parent’s age.” Sasha sighed as she waived it off while she double checked her check list off as her shoulders sagged a bit and Tristan worried that himself and his dad probably pushed things too far and suddenly in Sasha’s eye, let alone mind and heart got grouped in with all the others, and in trying to get a chance, they blew it as Tristan took a step back before Sasha turned her attention back to him. 

“Hey Tristan?” She asked. 

“Yeah?” He asked as he took two steps forward. 

“Are you expected to stay in the blueberry business? Or was there something else you wanted for your life instead?” Sasha asked him. 

“Oh, technically I don’t have to. My older brother Gabe says he’s gonna take it over for my dad.” Tristan answered. 

“Well do you even like it? Or is it simply just - all you know?” Sasha asked thoughtfully, without a hint of judgment. Which helped Tristan feel comfortable confiding in her. 

“Eh, it’s ok. But I feel kinda stupid because it kinda is what I know most about.” He admitted. 

“Well you could always go into an adjacent field or be the bridge between this one and something else.” She offered. 

“How do you mean?” Tristan asked curiously. 

“Well, last year, when I was researching what apples to get for my little hobby farm. I talked to a lot of the apple orchard farmers. And how they feel like they have one kid to pass on the family farm to. But another one who has no idea what to do but they don’t really want the farm itself, just something of their own, related but not the same. So because Saint Julian has their winery close by. You could always partner up and make a blueberry wine. Or you could even join a micro brewery or even start your own and do something akin to hard cider but with blueberries. Because a lot of the apple orchards are getting into the hard cider business with a lot of their excess from the traditional U-pick style. You could always do something like that. And with my family and our business, we service a lot of other businesses so we were able to make some introductions. So there’s always that. Although this year, the apple guys are getting their feet wet so to speak and at least will be making small batches of hard cider. Which they promised me and Brie at least a cup of.” Sasha shrugged again. 

“How old are you?” He asked in astonishment. 

“I’ll be 18 in September, why? How old are you?” She asked. 

“Just turned 18 last month. But you talk and act like you’re twice as old as you are.” Tristan praised. 

“Yeah, first born daughters get that. Because first born sons are their mother’s little princes half the time. My Cousin Brie, the middle child in her family is a boy- Gavin- and you’d think he was the prince of his principality, spoiled brat, damn addicted to fortnight and roblox. But that’s better than him being addicted to porn I think.” Sasha grumbled before Tristan outright choked on his spit. 

“You ok?” Sasha asked. 

“Yeah, just…wow, you have no problems speaking your mind. And I wasn’t expecting you to go there. But you did and I respect it. And admire it, it’s refreshing. I like it that you don’t mince your words or beat about the bush. I like it that you’re pretty frank at least it’s easy to tell where anyone stands with you.” Tristan once he regained his own composure even though he was sure his ears were as red as rhubarb. 

“Yeah, I get in trouble for it a lot too. Because I lack “tact” and “discretion” and I usually offend people about two seconds after I make them laugh.” Sasha admitted. 

“Well I ain’t offended yet. Not even close.” Tristan reassured her which earned him another appreciative smile. 

“Thanks. Anyway, what I was trying to say before was that first born daughters are the second mothers- to the younger siblings. They’re the second wives to their fathers as far as domestic labor goes, like doing dishes and laundry and cooking and all that. They are therapists, confidants and assistants to their mothers. And while boys are encouraged to go out and play and do sports. It’s girls who usually have to be inside and learn how to fold more than just their own laundry, but everyone else’s. And how to fold towels and blankets and how to get various kinds of stains out and all that too. So what you see as a mature, is in reality, our childhoods are simply taken and replaced with more responsibilities than anyone else and we are forced to grow up and be mature faster than every other child in our age group because we’re expected to, and things go to shit if we don’t.” Sasha expounded. 

“And more and more, you’re seeing women having to join the workforce on top of doing all the domestic labor too, which for me, is bullshit. Because if you share your home with someone, it better be as someone who is an equal in all things. If you’re hungry? Learn how to cook. If your clothes are dirty? Learn how to wash them. If things are dirty, clean it up. Especially if it’s your own mess. Men have two hands too, learn to do that shit too. And don’t think that just because a guy has a 9-5 that gets them out of doing any of the domestic labor in the first place. And more and more women are realizing that men need to bring more to a relationship than a penis and a paycheck. Because women deserve the same pay for the same work and vibrators are totally a thing.” Sasha stressed before she looked pointedly at Tristan. 

“Still not offended. Still in agreement.” Tristan nodded which got her to smile victoriously. 

“So what most don’t think to realize is - is by doing that to girls, firstborn daughters especially, you make incredibly strong, independent, entirely self-sufficient individuals who expect the same of their domestic partners. And the reason you saw me talking to Brie’s amazing boyfriend, is because he is also one of those kinds of people. He may work with my dad and my uncle, but by the gods in heaven above, he is his own man in every respect. He could start his own plumbing business tomorrow if he really wanted to because he helps his dad run the downtown branch in Kazoo. How he got out here, is he went to get Brie some blueberries because she’s down again because her health isn’t the best. But he does his own laundry in addition to the family’s laundry, he does dishes, helps his siblings with their homework and cooks. And not just cooks, like finger licking- stick to your ribs- soul food kind of cooking too. And my cousin and I are both pretty good cooks, but he can cook us both practically under the table, when he’s not drinking us under the table in the process. Now granted he ain’t perfect. But he’s my gold standard for guys. But he’s like the one in a million kind of guy. And while I’m happy for Brie, I just wish the universe made, like a second one of him. Because my luck with guys is dismal at best and that’s why I am doing by best to cling to that bachelor’s with a degree instead of a T thing- no matter how tempting any guy usually appears for all of about five minutes before I say just the right or wrong thing and I get to unlock that ugly, self entitled, selfish prick asshole side they try to hide from me.” Sasha grumped as she managed to get the toolbox her dad would need out from under the bench where he had practically shoved it into place last. 

“Because usually when fathers ask what kind of guy it’ll take to court myself and my sisters and cousins, when we answer that it’ll be a guy who is grown, independent, completely self sufficient and is willing and capable to cook his own meals, clean his own dishes, clean his own house instead of just his vehicle and only his vehicle. And keep it that way and keep a house the same as any female homemaker is expected to- on top of their own secular work. Because that’s the bare minimum every single mother is expected to do and be. And if he can’t be the same. He’s not worth my time, or any of my sister’s time or any of my cousin’s time.” Sasha explained and Tristan suddenly felt the strongest, most intense self possession to do and be exactly that. And now he had goals to make and reach for himself. Because that was the standard a real woman like Sasha wanted and needed for himself and he felt he needed to rise to it. 

“I agree. So the brewery and the winery things sound great. You’ve done me and my family a great service, not just with this and the Kabluey blueberry thing. But those both sound like great ideas. How much would it be for an introduction into those ventures?” Tristan asked as Sasha was impressed he hadn’t argued with her about the whole domestic chores- thing. Most guys usually did. Or usually backed off and backed away at that point. But if anything Tristan had taken a strong, confident but still relaxed stance and his body language showed he wasn’t trying to hide or conceal anything and not put on a front either, which Sasha really appreciated. 

“Oh, it’d be free, you just would have to be in agreement with your brothers and your dad about it. Because you said they have the farm right?” Sasha reminded him as she began to really appraise just what kind of man was before her. He was strong like she expected any hard working farm boy to be. But he had modern and forward ways of thinking and seemed to strike a nice balance between the two. No wonder she was drawn to him as much as she was and she found she was desperately trying to grasp at straws here trying to find something, anything that would be something to make him not look like the damn fine young man he seemed to be when they saw each other last.  

“Well, not all of it. I currently have my name on about fifty acres myself. It’s where my parents are trying to cross breed a few varieties so we will have an official Leduc variety of blueberry.” He revealed. It was supposed to be a super top secret family secret that had been the last few years in the making. But for Sasha, if it was something that could make him stand out and separate himself in her mind from all the others, he was going to take it and use it.  

“Now that is what you need to bring to the table when you meet with the wineries and other microbreweries along with a variety of blueberries and their different characteristics because they may see something different in what you have than you do.” Sasha encouraged him. 

“What about breweries?” Chuck asked as he and Frank joined them outside before Sasha handed her dad the bucket of items she had collected for him and gave him the corresponding toolbox he would need. 

“Oh I was asking Tristan what he wanted do with his future. And when he mentioned that he wasn’t entirely sure, I suggested to him the same thing I told all the other kids of the orchards I visited last year, to go into an adjacent field. So a lot of the orchards are getting into the hard cider business and starting their own microbreweries to go with it. And with blueberries, they have plenty of sugars. You could totally make a blueberry hard cider or even go to the wineries. Saint Julian is pretty close to here, you could meet with them and make a blueberry wine or learn how to make your own. Or you could take Leduc farms and really make it- it’s own destination. Not just a u-pick farm. But Tristan clued me into the fact that you’re trying to cross breed different varieties, he didn’t tell me which ones, but you were trying to make your own official Leduc blueberry. So take it and either come out with a line of blueberry goods, more than just the whole- pies, muffins, scones and other baked goods, candies, fruit snacks, jellies and jams. But things like pancake mixes, salsas, wine, beer. The possibilities are endless really.” Sasha explained. 

“If you don’t mind me saying so.” Sasha added when she had a hard time reading Chuck’s surprised and floored expression.

“Sorry, did I overstep my bounds again and tell people their own business again Dad? I’m sorry. I do that. It’s not very professional…” Sasha began to apologize before Tristan and his dad both immediately interrupted her.

“No! No! Not at all! That’s brilliant! Frank, seriously. You need to be paying her the same wage you pay yourself for the hard work she does. And, Young Lady. You need to be charging by the hour to give that kind of business advice. Most business experts would charge thousands of dollars for what you just did. In fact, Miss Sasha, let me get you my checkbook, and write you a check right now for that.” Chuck insisted. 

“No, no, it’s ok. We were just bouncing ideas off of each other. It’s not meant to be business advice like that.” Sasha immediately put her hands up to stop him. 

“She even said she has contacts she could put us into contact with- for both the winery and the microbreweries.” Tristan added to his dad. 

“Well, shoot. Little Lady, you do that, I’ll give you every variety of blueberry bush we have here and every one you could ever want from here to the U.P. to Maryland to Minnisota to Indiana and even Ohio and Pennsylvania. Hell, you put us in touch with those folks and we’ll name a beverage after you and give you the royalties to it too.” Chuck offered and for once Sasha’s pretty blue eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

“Deal.” Frank agreed before he urged Sasha to pull her phone out and make those phone calls to get Chuck and his family in touch with her other contacts while Tristan helped Frank with what he needed while learning all they could from him while Chuck and his wife Crystal and their son Gabe talked to Sasha at the kitchen table as she made phone calls and set up meet and greets for them. 

“You like Sasha don’t you?” Frank asked Tristan as they worked in the basement as Tristan got to learn the names of different kinds of tools and learn what fittings were what as he helped Frank since Sasha was busy with his dad and his eldest brother.  

“I do.” Tristan confirmed. 

“Sasha has a lot of boys after her. Always has since she became a teenager. So I’ll give you the same advice I gave all of them. Sasha has had to grow up fast, not entirely by choice either. And while I regret I took a lot from her childhood early on because my father in law and my brothers were trying to start this business, because she’s had to grow and mature so early- it means she won’t put up with any immaturity in anyone else. She has no tolerance for abuse of any kind and won’t put up with any shit from anyone for anything, traditions and customs be damned. She’s a very driven individual and has always had a clear vision of what she wants for herself and all the steps she has to take to get there. So she’s going to probably want someone similar to herself in those respects. And while she can be spontaneous and fun loving, she’s also pretty serious about a lot of things. And she won’t like to take something that is a hobby for her, and have all the fun she has doing it- taken out of it- by always thinking about money and the bottom line and making a fun hobby into a side hustle and grind. She doesn’t do anything half assed and she goes head first into everything she wants to do. She’s an all in kind of girl. So beware ok? Don’t let those big blue eyes, blonde hair and cute button nose fool you, I’ve seen her cut people down to the core with a look and a remark. That razor sharp wit she has, can be either hilarious or hurtful and not much in between.” Frank honestly warned him. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Tristan nodded.  

“Our family has had to go through some hard times so I’m pretty sure the reason why she’s so hell bent on having a homestead farm is because in Alaska there was a lot of food scarcity because of the 9 months of solid winter. So ever since she’s been in charge of cooking and keeping track of our pantry. She keeps it full at all times. And it almost borders on food hoarding. But we are a big family and we go through it pretty well. So I know there’s a saying that ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’. That’s true for her. The way to her heart is through hers, at least what I’ve seen. Her cousin Brie is dating an orc and Sasha has turned greener than the orc Brie’s dating ever was- with jealous and envy that he cooks for Brie when she can’t even get her own mother to make more than a salad or her own sister to bake anything other than cookies from a tub of cookie dough and while her and I do a lot of BBQ together, especially on the weekends. Through the week, it falls to her most of the time. So maybe start there.” Frank revealed in a low murmur. 

“Duly noted.” Tristan nodded in understanding. 

“Oh and she’s into horses too. She wants to get a blue roan and call it Kabluey just like those blueberries.” Frank added. 

“Blue roan horse, food, self sufficiency and independence, got it.” Tristan repeated. 

“Good, now, hand me that coupling.” Frank urged as he pointed to it before Tristan handed it over. 

It took most of the morning, but once Frank got everything cut out and unhooked, then all the guys loaded up the water heater onto a dolly and got it out of the basement and out of the house so the new one could get put back in as Sasha was relieved to get the help and simply get the doors for them to help with getting the old out and the new put back in and turned it on and it worked like a dream before Frank and Chuck settled up while Crystal, Chuck’s wife and Mandy, Gabe’s wife, gave Sasha a bunch of recipes for blueberry baked goods while Sasha swapped them for other recipes she had picked up from the orchards she had worked with last year that she had memorized as Crystal seemed practically enchanted with Sasha and the fact that Mandy and Sasha immediately hit it off and got along as Sasha was keen to see Mandy’s little baby bump and talk pregnancy stuff over because of Sasha’s midwifing background.

Then Crystal got Sasha in touch with a family friend who had horses, specifically those blue roans that Sasha seemed keen on getting and insisted that if Sasha’s mom wasn’t in labor, she needed to come to these meet and greets too, which Frank urged Sasha to attend which seemed to surprise her, because surely the family van would be in service elsewhere during. But Frank waived off that he would see to it that she’d have transportation for the events which caused Sasha to look at her dad curiously but not put up any other argument but simply agree that she’d be there to make the introductions in person. 

“She’s perfect.” Crystal told Tristan the moment they saw Frank and Sasha off. 

“Mom!” Tristan immediately ducked and flushed in embarrassment. 

“Hey, when it’s the one, it’s the one. And if she’s your mate, she’s your mate, don’t let anything or anyone else get in the way.” Crystal urged him. 

“Mom, she may not even be my mate, this might just be puppy love and puppy love never lasts.” He contested. 

“Yet your eyes shifted every time you looked at her when she wasn’t looking at you and you thought no one else was looking.” Crystal insisted before his dad put the catalog to his son’s chest. 

“Why are you giving me this?” Tristan asked. 

“Don’t turn into a stalker, but that’s her address, Son. Take a drive, check it out and see just how high the bar she’s set up- is.” His dad encouraged him as Tristan looked at the address on the catalog and suddenly cradled the catalog to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. But he had to play this, very, very carefully and not fuck it up. 

[genderisareligion]

My darling! Your reply to me made me remember of an article written by Celestine Ware, a black radical feminist erased from the story by the academia. Look at a snippet of her analysis of the contempt black men have towards black women and how it isn't something apart from the unbalanced male/female relationships in a male supremacist society as many black militants (even black women as Angela Davis) approach this complex question:

“The rejection of black women by black men is a phenomenon best explained by the black man's hatred of blackness and by the need to dominate that underlies male-female relationships. As such, this rejection is an excellent study for feminists. The strength of the resistance to women's independence is shown by the strong epithets directed against black women. The black male's reaction is the forerunner of what all feminists will face as they grow in strength. As women begin to assume positions of equality with men, they will meet virulent abuse, much like that endured by black women now. They will also discover that men will reject them for more "feminine" women.”

As we have been saying, behind the anti black women rhetoric about us being ��manly” rely the notion of our independence, freedom and humanity getting in the way of black men own sense of manhood, because even when men don't have the prerogatives of more powerful males, they still believe they're entitled to women and see ourselves as enemies if we strive to be more than their objects.

I strongly recommend to you to explore articles made by second-wave black radical feminists because they defied the idea that protecting black men's misogyny is somehow being protective of black community, instead of being complicit with our own dehumanization. I love how these women are able to approach many complex issues w/o downplay the importance of sex, race or class.

Do you have any links to her works? You’ve mentioned her before and last time I tried to search for her I was unsuccessful

You’re right though it’s never been about “masculinity” cause LBR that don’t real, it’s about what men attribute to it such as freedom and independence. The “strong independent black woman” stereotype has become negative and/or a joke in American society because some black men were threatened by us also finding our voices during the civil rights movement of the 60s and slightly further back carving out a place in society outside the white home/whatever Jim Crow’s options were for us when men went away to measure their dicks in WW2 and black women made up a significant portion of the Rosie the Riveter workforce.

The black second wavers are who peaked me at 19. Peak misogyny, peak coomer nation, and eventually peak gender. bell hooks isn’t a radical feminist but she was my gateway drug into Audre Lorde lol soon after them I was digging through my college library reading every black feminist anthology I could find full of diverse schools of thought. Alice Walker is another one where I’m not sure she’d use radical today but learning about womanism changed me forever and she wrote/worked with black radical feminists

Others I’ve read or need to read more off the top of my head (anyone else please feel free to add)

Barbara and Beverly Smith

Everyone in this anthology Barbara edited

Flo Kennedy

Pauli Murray

June Jordan

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 22: Worthwhile Confrontation

Summary: A rough encounter at the market leaves Loki feeling guilty.

Word Count: 2,896

Author's Note: Some cursing in this one. I realized we haven't had any cursing in this story so I thought I should mention it.

Masterlist

Loki had been attending the market with you in the past weeks. Today, unfortunately, his princely duties took priority. He and Thor were meeting with Brynjar and some Midgardian journalist. An Æsir crafter was joining the market in town, and this was seen as the ideal opportunity for the press to do a feel-good piece about the progress of the Asgardian refugees. Loki had not been terribly keen on the notion, especially the idea of him participating, but Thor assured him this would reinforce the support for the Æsir building their community here, as well as allowing Loki to be a part of it. Thus, the afternoon found Thor and Loki dressed in their traditional Asgardian garb as they walked into town.

Brynjar, the stout grey official, was waiting outside the city hall. He smiled brightly. "Thor! Good morning!" He shook Thor's hand before turning to Loki. "Loki, it is good to see you again." It wasn't a lie. Loki restrained his surprise as he shook his hand. "And you as well." "Come, come, they're already inside and we can get started." He was bubbling with excitement as he opened the door.

The interviewer seemed a little star-struck to be speaking to Thor, but was generally pleasant. The brothers spoke about how grateful they were to find a place to rebuild on Earth. How kind and accommodating the locals had been. How much progress had been made and plans for the future. A photographer took some photos of the gods with Brynjar, first at the city hall, then again at the market, where they met with the Asgardian vendor. They took a quote from him about how well his first day had gone.

The press took their leave, and Brynjar and the brothers meandered through the market. By the time they reached your booth the day was coming to an end, vendors were beginning to pack up and customers were gradually drifting towards the exits. Khadija was on her way out, Thor was disappointed to find that Hani didn't attend today. Brynjar mentioned a particular vendor he wanted to introduce Thor to. Loki lingered in front of your booth as they ambled away.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the corner post while you were packing away your wares, sleeves once again pushed up to your elbows. "Quite a lot left over today. Did you really fare so poorly without me?" "Strangely, this was the best day I've had in weeks. Maybe it was because I had fewer distractions." "No, truly, I'm concerned." His brows were knitted in feigned worry. "Will you be alright, financially? We may be able to arrange a loan...." "You might have a point. If I can't put food on my table, you and Thor might starve to death." You grinned. He broke character with a smirk. "Well-"

"YOU!" An enraged shout cut him off. Loki straightened and looked down the aisle of stalls. A large man stood at a distance with tight shoulders and balled fists. He continued shouting as he began stalking toward Loki. "You son of a bitch! I'd heard you were here but I didn't believe it!"

He was speaking English. His accent sounded like it was from America. No. Loki realized as cold dread washed over him: His accent was from New York.

Loki squared his shoulders and kept a calm expression as the man hurled expletives and stomped forward, red-faced. He was running through scenarios to avoid a physical confrontation. Then a figure stepped between him and the charging man. It was you.

You stood with your feet planted firmly and your head up, staring down the stranger. The man slowed his advance. "What the fuck is this?" "BACK OFF!" You shouted in response.

You shouldn't be doing this was all Loki could think as he watched you confront this man who outmatched you in every dimension. The man spewed vulgarities at you and Loki was startled by the ferocity in your voice when you replied. Ash was by your side, hackles raised, but the stranger didn't seem to take notice as he began forward again, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. Loki grabbed you by the shoulder and pulled you back while raising a shield of seiðr between you and the would-be assailant.

"You fucking coward! Hiding behind little girls like it'll save you?" The fool actually struck against the wall of magic. You flinched. "Come over here! Come take the beating you deserve!" "You're a fucking idiot!" You yelled back at him on Loki's behalf. "Back off! Go home!" Loki pulled you back another step, despite the fact that the seiðr was in no danger of giving way. The man's temper flared at your response. "You bitch! I should-"

"Is there a problem here?" Thor appeared, calmly striding into view. The man immediately deflated at the sight of the Avenger in his full regalia. "He... he shouldn't be here." Thor nodded, glancing at Loki before returning to the man. "I understand your concern. Come, let us take a walk." He motioned for the man to join him as he began walking. The stranger gave Loki one more resentful look over his shoulder before reluctantly allowing Thor to lead him away from your booth, back the way he had come.

Loki spoke your name and dropped the seiðr. You didn't respond. He circled around in front of you. Your eyes were fixed in the distance, watching them leave. You let out a slow, shaky breath and Loki could now see that your pupils were constricted. You had been terrified. Guilt sank its teeth into his heart. He set his jaw and wordlessly put an arm around your shoulders, leading you back behind your booth. You let him, and when he gently pressed you to sit down onto one of your crates you allowed that as well, placing your hands in your lap. Naturally, Ash was glued to your side.

Loki noticed you absentmindedly tracing your scar with your fingers while you watched the ground. He wondered if you knew you did that. This was not the time to ask. Instead he knelt down and stilled your hands by taking both of them in his. You didn't make eye contact but he was reassured by the fact that you didn't pull away. He looked up at you and couldn't stop the frown that drew across his face as he observed the state you were in. This was his fault.

"I'm fine." You offered. It wasn't true. "You shouldn't have done that." He tried to keep his tone soft, but bitterness still crept in. "He was going to attack you." Your voice was quiet and your eyes seemed to look anywhere but his face. "He's a mortal. He couldn't have caused me any harm." "Yeah, but what would the headlines have said?"

That gave him pause. It was an aspect he hadn't considered. Even if he hadn't thrown a single punch, "Loki of Asgard in a physical altercation with a human" was a story that could easily be twisted to his detriment. There were plenty of people who would love to tell that story, he was sure. "Two humans in a yelling match", on the other hand, wasn't even remotely noteworthy.

"I suppose you have a point." He admitted. "When are you going to realize that I'm always right?" You looked at him now, with just the edge of playfulness returning to your voice. "I wouldn't say you're always right. Perhaps half the time. At best." He smirked and squeezed your hands before he released them and stood. "It's definitely more than half the time." You spoke mostly to Ash, who had now placed his head in your lap.

There were still a few items out on display, Loki began packing them away. "You don't have to do that, I can get them." "I can say with complete confidence that, for today, you have done quite enough."

You didn't fight him on it. He finished packing up your wares as Thor approached the back of your booth, placing a concerned hand on your shoulder.

Thor looked at you, then to Loki. "Is everything alright?" "I'm fine." You repeated. It still wasn't true. Thor looked to Loki skeptically. Loki put on a nonchalant tone. "The poor mortal has been overwhelmed without my assistance today. Just entirely lost." "It's true." You smiled weakly. "I'm completely useless." "I think it's only right that I help her pack her things home." Thor gave him an understanding nod. "Very well. Do you need my assistance?" "No, I think we have things well in hand now that I'm here." You scoffed a laugh. "I suppose, then, that I'll see you at home." Thor gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, then left.

"Shall I go fetch Breidr, then?" It wasn't actually a question. "I'm okay. I can go get him." You put all the confidence in your voice but Loki could see the uncertainty in your eyes as you looked out toward the market. "Darling, you've already admitted to being completely useless. There's no sense in putting on airs now." Every flimsy laugh he pulled from you felt like a victory.

He left you at the booth with Ash. As the distance grew between him and you, his confidence flagged. He found himself nervously watching every movement nearby. He couldn't afford to step into another confrontation. Eventually, he simply decided to wear another face. It was a nondescript human that led Breidr back around the market. He dropped the disguise as he drew close to your stall. You were sitting on the ground now, hugging Ash close to you, your face buried in his neck. Perhaps he shouldn't have left you there. Loki made a show of being very focused on the horse as he approached, giving you plenty of time to hear him before he saw you, and by the time he brought the wagon level with the booth you had stood and straightened and made yourself presentable.

He packed the wagon and allowed you to help to a certain extent. Being busy seemed to ease your mind. Soon he was sitting on the bench seat with you and Ash and Breidr was slowly drawing the wagon home.

The ride was quiet, which gave Loki the space he needed to wallow in his guilt. He had put you in that situation. His presence at your booth, his presence in this timeline, had caused you this grief. He looked at you, with your eyes still distant, and couldn't help but feel shame. If ever there was a sign that he did not belong here, it was seeing someone like you suffer for his sake. He did his best not to wear these thoughts on his face. You would be sure to console him instead, which was the last thing he deserved.

The wagon was stowed and Breidr set loose in the field. After the work was done you drifted over to the low stone wall on the far side of your property, away from the road. You looked out over the hills, the glinting sea visible in the dwindling sunlight. You had pulled your sleeves down, either from the bite of the cold or because your activity no longer called for it. You still didn't speak as you leaned forward against the wall. Loki needed to say something.

He stood next to you and cleared his throat. "Thank you, for putting yourself in harm's way on my behalf. Even if it was terribly foolish." "I didn't put myself in harm's way." You looked up at him with a slight smile. "I knew you wouldn't let him hurt me." That was true, he wouldn't have allowed it. "Regardless. I shouldn't have put you in that position. I apologize." "You didn't put in that position." You said it sternly, you were finally starting to sound like yourself. "The guy who decided to deal with his feelings by attempting to fistfight a god put me in that position." "I caused the situation." He struggled to keep his frustration contained. After a moment he let slip, "I shouldn't be here." You frowned. "You have just as much right to be here as anyone else." "That's just it, I don't." Loki lost his grasp. "I don't belong here. Fundamentally, I am not meant to be here." You scowled and crossed your arms. "That's bullshit." Loki sighed and looked out over the hills, at this world he had selfishly thrust himself upon. "You don't understand." "So explain it." Loki looked at you with a mix of frustration and fondness. "You wouldn't believe me if I did." "You would be surprised."

Perhaps it was the challenge, perhaps he wanted to prove a point, or perhaps he simply needed to say it to someone in this moment, but Loki found himself telling you everything. Taking the Tesseract in New York, the TVA, He Who Remains, the timelines breaking free, and finally his coming to this particular branch of the multiverse. He was surprised that you seemed to accept everything he said. Even the alligator. You listened quietly, nodding, occasionally asking a question, but never seemed to doubt.

When he was finished, you stood against the wall with your arms crossed over yourself biting your lip in thought. The sun had dropped below the horizon, as it did earlier and earlier this time of year, but the sky was still illuminated by the remnants of twilight.

"Thor, our Thor here, he watched his brother die?" You looked up at him, wearing an expression of pained sympathy. "Yes. Then I intruded into his world instead." Loki said grimly. "When I said I'm not meant to be here I wasn't being poetic. I was speaking literally." "Loki." Your voice was sharp, it startled him. "You've lost someone you loved before. Yes?" One face immediately filled his mind. "Yes. Yes of course." "Is there anything you wouldn't give to have them back?" "I- I suppose not." "Just because someone took you from where you were, it doesn't mean you aren't meant to be here." Those words struck him deeper than you could know. You shook your head in disbelief. "You came here and brought Thor his brother. That's more than enough. You belong here, if for no other reason than that." You wrapped your arms closer around yourself. "I won't speak for you, but having some asshole yell at me for a minute is definitely worth that." He breathed a quiet laugh. "I suppose if it's framed that way...."

Silence stretched between you for a moment. He looked at you and noticed you were straining. Practically fighting against yourself, your arms grasping tightly at one another. He realized what it was. You were holding yourself back. He briefly watched you with amusement. He was in your debt, to be certain. At least, that's what he told himself was the reason for what he did next.

"Alright, enough if that." He straightened from the wall and stood to face you, opening his arms. Your eyes widened. "Loki, you don't have to-" "Nonsense. I can see your turmoil. You're on the verge of hurting yourself with the strain. Besides, it's the least that I owe you for today." "Really, it's okay-" He rolled his eyes. "Stubborn mortal."

He took you by the shoulder and pulled you into an embrace. Your reluctance vanished and you wrapped your arms around him in return. You squeezed him and sighed, and he could feel your tension release. A weight was lifted from him as well, he hadn't even been aware it was there.

You stepped back with a sheepish smile. "Thanks." He leaned back against wall. "No trouble. I'm quite used to women being unable to keep their hands off me."

Your laugh was bright, and the sound brought him a second wave of relief. You wore a smile as you looked out over the hills again. The dark had crept in, the sea was now only discernible by the lights of passing ships.

"I'm glad you came here. Even if there are some humans who aren't." Loki hummed. "When I first arrived, I had intended to avoid all such nonsense by simply remaining sequestered for a hundred years, waiting for Midgard to forget me." "Well, I'm happy you didn't stick to that plan. I'd be long gone by then." It was a mere statement of fact, an obvious consequence of your mortality which Loki was well aware of. He wondered why it stirred a flash of panic in his chest. "Yes. Also, could you imagine? An entire century with only Thor for company?" You laughed. "Stop it!" You tried to quell a shiver, then nodded toward your house. "Come on. There's probably something in the kitchen we can eat." He and Ash followed as you started toward the cottage. "You know, I've always liked the idea of the multiverse." You looked back at him. "How many versions of me so you think got the chance to meet you?" He smirked. "Only the lucky ones." You rolled your eyes. "Fine. How many versions of you do you think I convinced to be my friend?" You opened the door, bathing the both of you in the warm light of your kitchen.

His smile softened as he repeated, "Only the lucky ones."

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[archivewilliamrikerstblog]

"And You Love Every Second of It” - William Riker x Reader

Summary: The hour is later and Riker wants to cuddle, luckily for him that is not something his partner will complain about.

Word Count: 680+

Rating: SFW

Warning(s): You're in bed together. Riker is flirting. Clothes are on.

Author's Note: Maybe one day when I am less of a coward I will write an extension for this.

- - - - -

Climbing into bed and settling with your back supported by a pillow and the headboard; you reach for the PADD on your nightstand, hoping to get a couple chapters into your favorite book before having to retire for the night.

Swiftly becoming completely engrossed by the literature, you fail to hear the soft slide of the door. Very few had the ability to enter your quarters without command - and only one who would do so with the hour so late.

William Riker takes in the sight in front of him as he steps unimpeded into your quarters. Warmth floods his chest at the comfort this place - you - give him. The quarters are well-kept, not messy by any degree; yet they were clearly lived in, decorated and arranged to your liking. 

You had very clearly made a home out of the Enterprise; and Riker was thrilled to be a part of it. 

Riker does take notice that you don't seem aware of his presence, a notion that plants an idea in his head and with only a little more thought springs him into action. Trying his best to remain unnoticed, he makes his way across the small room to you.

"Will!" You exclaim, the small lilt of amusement in your surprised tone rewarded you with a deep chuckle as Riker plucks the PADD from your hands and tosses it onto the nightstand.

Riker dips down to press his lips against your forehead in a quick apology while you try to still your racing heart. It is now that you take the time to notice that Riker is out of uniform. Instead having chosen change into the blue silk sleep-ware that the both of you seemed to favor.

More than amused himself, Riker is quick to crawl into bed with you. His arms slip around your waist, tugging you down the bed slightly. Riker's weight is comfortable against you as he rests his head against your abdomen. A wide smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he innocently peeks up at you.

"So needy." You breath an exaggerated sigh as you feign annoyance, but the shake of your head and own soft smile betray you. Almost as if on impulse you reach out and start carding your fingers through his soft dark hair. 

"And you love every second of it." Riker counters after a moment or two, giving a gentle squeeze to your waist before releasing. Supporting his weight on his hands, Riker raising himself to hover over you, bringing himself closer to you.

"I must, otherwise I wouldn't have let you in here." Quickly catching on to this little game, you pull back just enough to fix Riker with a skeptical look.

Both of you can only contain your composure for so long before you break and the room erupts into shared laughter. Riker regains himself quicker, trailing off as he watches you with eyes full of warmth.

Slowly Riker leans closer, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes close and he breaths a sigh of pure contentment. You reach up to cradle his face, thumbs gently smoothing over the sides of his beard. Eventually, one of his hands comes to rest on your hip almost mirroring the movement of your thumb with his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes more, simple basking in the presence of each other. Once more Riker pulls away and finally settles himself next to you in bed. Following his lead, you reach for the blanket that has pooled at the end of the bed.

You do your best to cover you both; Riker reaches out to distribute more of the blanket over you - knowing that if he gets cold that is simple a good excuse to hold you closer. Why else would he have opted to stay in your quarters when his own could have more comfortable housed two people? There are some perks to a smaller bed.

Comfortable nestled in with your head against the silk covering his chest, you throw an arm around his waist to hold him in return.

"Love you." You mumble, but the sincerity of your words are not lost. You can feel the rumble in Riker's chest as he give a small hum of acknowledgement. Resting his chin atop your head, you hear Riker breath out:

“Love you too.”

[spiraldancing]

you know, i’ve been watching the whole explosion over the AO3 board of directors voting thing and what really really really gets to me is all the antis who are trying to decry AO3 over and over for the fact that it hosts “pedophilic” content or “it has rape/non-con fic!” really not understanding it.

yes, i know antis are stubborn and that you can point out over and over and over that just because people write or draw this stuff does not mean that people want to see it happening in real life. i myself have written non-con & incest & very gory things over the years. but does that matter to antis? no. because i like to write/read non-con & incest fic, it obviously means that that’s something i actually support in real life. it obviously means that i am someone who should be told “go kys” as i have seen antis do over and over. i’ve never seen a proshipper harass someone; i’m not saying it hasn’t happened, it possibly/probably has, but the discrepancy here is that i see antis being the ones to throw around death threats, harassment, and more much more often. the amount of times i’ve read “proshitters” by this point just has me sigh so loudly.

but here’s the thing.

the reason why the whole thing with Tiffany G is so fucking huge for we humble peddlers of our ships and wares is that it is indeed a fucking censorship run. i know that many antis are too young to remember the purging of FF.net when they suddenly struck down the whole notion of NC-17 fics ( though you can still absolutely post them on FF.net the site is a wasteland and i return there only to reread really old favorites of mine ) and now those fics must be posted as M. or, hell --- the whole fucking thing with livejournal which was also censorship. there were many communities on livejournal which i loved because they had such great content.

and then the banning of queer content began to roll out.

why did that happen? russia bought the rights to livejournal. and we know that russia has a very deep seated history of censoring LGBTQ+ content. they host the servers, they declare what can and can’t happen on the site even now, and it is very literally proof that a foreign nation can absolutely influence the way a website is run and dictate what is and isn’t allowed on it. and if that means that queer content is going to be sanitized from a place that had hundreds of communities of all kinds, from fandom to writing to roleplay and the sharing of doujins and ships and more? well, that’s a big reason why it’s so concerning.

i used to love the community weepingcock on livejournal which was a hilarious place to go read professionally published writing that involved smut. it was great. i have no idea if it’s still alive or not but the point is that when russia acquired it, there were justifiable fears over what it meant for the sake of censorship. those fears panned out as well. there are many dead and defunct communities on livejournal now. i haven’t ever looked at dreamwidth which is where i know many livejournal users migrated, but the point here is is this.

that for every anti going and saying that people who are very pro-fiction and pro-ship and more are overreacting to this? no, we’re not. i remember livejournal. i remember ff.net. i remember them both thriving and then the censorship began to roll through and that is why the Tiffany G situation is so concerning. just because you want to strike down those fics holding such content and you want to sanitize it doesn’t mean that that is going to ever stop those from being written. it doesn’t mean that we’ll ever stop making the works we want to see.

the fact that she is also basing her platform on very easily disproven lies is something else as well. i am very aware that media in china is strictly controlled and that the Great Firewall of China is very much a known thing; the fact that people from China are speaking out against Tiffany G should say everything in how they believe she’ll enforce the censorship. censorship is how people want to enforce the ability to control things. i don’t mean by fic in general. i am talking broad strokes here; there’s a reason why there’s always lists of banned books circulating around. there’s a reason why books such as 1984, Fahrenheit 451, To Kill A Mockingbird, Lolita, Maus, and more are on those lists. these are books that are beloved and books that involve subject matter that can and does make people in positions of power uncomfortable.

but just because you think that the censorship should be enforced or that the fics should be taken down doesn’t mean anything. all it means is that the works which get removed start with what’s seen as “socially unacceptable” and it moves on from there. if the censorship strikes down our works, then it will strike down your works too. and if you think that your way of doing things is so much better because you claim that you’re morally superior for the fact that you condemn someone for wanting to see two fictional characters kiss? then i am sorry for you. i am sorry because you are deliberately remaining insular against so much potential.

i understand there are likely many antis out there who may feel trapped into things, that they want to get out of it - and you can. but for those who want to remain stubbornly in their position? please, go experience life. there’s so much more to it than trying to berate people for what they enjoy consuming in fiction.

life is so much more nuanced than people want to believe. fic and art explore those nuances. i fully respect anyone who looks at something and goes “that is not my cup of tea” because, let’s be honest -- everyone will have different reactions to the same movie or show or story. that’s the beauty of creativity. the ability to see the nuances of how someone has interpreted something is brilliant; it’s a wonder to behold. and censorship would strip that away from us. AO3 is a godsend of a website. it is wonderful for archiving things. there has been so much fic lost out there because archives have gone down. there has been so much artwork forever vanished to the sands of time because websites have died.

so even if you disagree with the site, even if you disagree with the content that’s hosted on there, even if you want to yell and scream about AO3 and the things you can find on it? you should at least respect it for what it represents, especially to those of us who understand the very real danger of censorship and the removal of things from the internet. because if it can happen to us? then it can and will happen to you.

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

———————��

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[wildcorries]

relax

word count: 3.3 k

pairings: dogma x reader, stone x reader

summary: you're still getting used to communal living, and all that it entails - including how loose and fast relationships can be.

warings: 18+ only!!! as always!!! f!reader, oral sex (f! receiving), allusions to piv sex

"...and it's not that I'm not satisfied, because, believe you me, I am. I just was sort of wondering if it would be okay or if you'd be mad or think less of me and if you did I wouldn't do it."

"That's all," you add lamely, hands balled into fists, the cottony fabric of your skirt curled in your fingers. Dogma stares at you, bewildered, and you find yourself cursing Sweetness for convincing you that this idea wasn't completely ridiculous.

"That's, uh, that's all?" Dogma repeats, clarifying. You nod minutely, refusing to budge more than an inch, as if a gesture too large will scare him away. He's sort of strange, Dogma, doesn't think too well of himself and all. You're almost certain this request will make whatever confidence he has dwindle to nothing.

Dogma lets out a sigh, scratches at the back of his neck, and then honest-to-god, laughs.

"Are...are you angry?" you ask in concern as he shakes his head, chuckling.

"No," Dogma tells you, holding out his hands for you to take. Despite your confusion, you thread your fingers in his large, calloused ones. "It's not...we're not...well, you know how I feel about you, babygirl. But the others, I imagine they get lonely."

"I know I did, before you," he admits, squeezing your hands. "It's alright. Really. I'd never...you know."

"What?" you ask him, relief flooding through you. Dogma smiles, a shy thing, and releases your right hand from his, reaching up to cup your cheek. You cover his hand with your own, turning and pressing a kiss to his palm.

"I'd never think less of you," Dogma says, quiet but warm, a gentle truth laid bare. "You're quite a woman, babygirl. I like you as you are."

"Besides," he adds as you rub your cheek lovingly against his hand, "I, ha, you probably won't believe this, babygirl, but I sorta thought you already were."

-

-

-

Your bloomers are sticky against your skin, no matter how many times you try to detach them from your thighs. The night air is hardly oppressive - as autumn creeps in, and the days get a little colder, the worst parts of summer begin to fade away. You shouldn't be sweating at all, really, but you can't help your nerves tonight.

Feels like you're always nervous about something or other. Kaipo says that's just life on the run, but to be completely honest, the robbing and killing and always hiding doesn't twist you up inside the way you thought it would, and that frightens you a little. What does twist you up is the idea of approaching the some of the folks in camp with the scandalous notions you've been turning over and over in your mind. Funny how the mind works. Sweetness says you have a lot of issues that need working out - and you're beginning to think she may be right.

Stone's laughter bubbles up from the campfire. He calls the boys sitting there a few choice words, and dusts himself off, rising from the log he was perched on and making his way over to the tent. He's handsome in an intimidating kind of way, though you suppose that has to do with his being older and all. Thorn and Fox are the same kind of frighteningly attractive to you - experienced and cocksure in a way that's never arrogant. They just are, capable, and deadly, and probably more than familiar with the ways of pleasuring a woman. Not that Dogma isn't familiar, of course - he's an eager student, quickly surprising you with his tricks and ideas he'd like to try. It's just that, well, you wonder about some of the older men. And if Dogma doesn't have a problem with you doing a little more than wondering, what's stopping you?

Stone removes his hat, scratching at his shaved head and looking back at the fire, shirt loose and only partially buttoned. His spurs jangle as he makes to call it a night. It's now or never.

You leap over to Stone on tiptoe, moving out of the shadows and startling him enough that his hand goes instinctively to the revolver at his side. When he squints, though, and gets a good look at you, the older man breathes a sigh of relief and chuckles softly.

"You get lost, little Nightmare?" Stone asks you easily, reaching out to take your hand and kiss it, like he does just about every time you arrive in his line of sight. The action steels you some, reminds you that you're not here chasing a foolish dream, but merely following the path Stone has laid out for you time and time again. You want to know where it leads.

"No," you tell him, and, lurching up onto the balls of your feet you, quite bravely in your opinion, press a single chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. You fall back to the ground heavily as Stone levels you with a confused look. Almost like he's asking question, Stone draws you slowly, gently to him, giving you plenty of opportunity to duck out at the last moment, until he finally kisses your chapped lips with the sort of hungry curiosity you imagine sits just as plain and desperate on your tongue.

He lets you go, even slower than he'd brought you to him, and only once you've both opened your eyes, blinking beneath the moonlight, does Stone's face break out into a lazy grin.

"Well, alright then," he says, voice low and gritty. Stone pulls aside the canvas opening to his tent, a hand on your waist as he guides you inside. "Ladies first."

-

-

-

"Goddamn these pins are tricky." Stone's fingers move deftly through your hair, gently prying each pin out as you kneel facing away from him, nervous hands clasped in your lap.

"Well I told you you don't have to take my hair down," you remind him, unable to keep the edge of irritation out of your voice. You and Stone generally have an easygoing friendship, an appreciation for each other's sense of humor. Right now, though, you're not sure if you want to get on top of him to fuck him or to kill him.

"Just being gentlemanly," Stone tells you, his words coming out funny on account of the pins currently settled between his teeth. "You girls hate losing these things, isn't that right?"

"You gonna hang onto them as a memento?" you ask him, irritation growing for some reason you can't quite place as you hear the pins clatter into Stone's hand. "Or are you gonna get a move on, because I am starting to lose my patience-" Stone cuts you off with a swat to your ass. You yelp in surprise, the faux smack too light to be remotely painful, but Stone lets out a satisfied hum at the sound.

"I'm trying to help you relax, Nightmare," Stone tells you, mouth real close to your ear, his broad chest pressed up against your back and practically caging you in. You close your eyes, not bothering to hide the way your body reacts in delight to his closeness, to his deep, dark voice. Stone presses a tender kiss to the shell of your ear, and you sigh, falling back against him. "You're more jittery than a feral cat. Don't know why, but you are. So calm down and let me fix it."

"I'm not jittery," you say, lying through your teeth. Stone doesn't even entertain the idea of responding, just humming a slow tune you've heard a few times as he picks out the last of your pins. "Maybe I am. I don't know. I don't...I don't do this kind of thing."

"Mhm," Stone murmurs, reaching forward to show you his hand, now full of hairpins. "You got somewhere you like to keep these, or should I put them with my things?" You shake your head, holding out your own hand to take the pins back and depositing them into your tiny coin purse for safe keeping. Before you can even begin to think about turning around and kissing him, Stone begins threading his fingers through your hair with great care, gently undoing all the knots. You lean forward to give him better access.

"It's all new to me, you know," you continue, mostly thinking aloud as Stone expertly helps you to wind down. "I mean, not the more intimate things. Just, um. Sharing in them, I guess."

"You don't have to share in them," Stone reminds needlessly. It's a nice sentiment, anyhow.

"I know that," you tell him. "Of course I know that. You're the most honorable band of thieves I've ever met." Stone barks out a laugh, gathering your hair up in one hand and letting it rest over your right shoulder. You begin playing with it restlessly, even as Stone's large hands find themselves kneading at your tense shoulders.

"I want to do this," you say quietly. "I mean, of course I want to. I'm here, aren't I? Maybe it's guilt. My parents taught me that you find someone who you love and you stay with them, and I'm in love with Dogma - don't tell him I said that, not yet - and we may not be married but it feels about the same, and I just sorta...I feel like..." Stone does not try to fill in the spaces where you trail off, doesn't do anything except keep at the steady, firm rhythm he's developed along your shoulders and at the base of your neck, waiting patiently for you to find the answer yourself.

"It's not a worse sin than any other," you whisper. "Why am I so knotted up about it?" Stone sighs, something heavy and full of tired affection, and presses another kiss to your skin, this time at the back of your neck, just above where he is currently massaging.

"I'm not a very religious man," Stone tells you, uncharacteristically candid. "I'm not religious at all, really. But I don't think love is a sin."

"But I'm not-" you catch yourself, cutting yourself off before you can say something rude. Is Stone in love with you? Have you read this all wrong? Your body tenses up again, ready to dart out of the tent, because if he feels that way, and you can't return those feelings, it's too cruel to stay here and see this thing through. But Stone just laughs softly, hands firm and heavy at your shoulders, keeping you right where you are.

"I know you're not in love with me, Nightmare," Stone tells you with a playful sort of warmth. "And I'm not in love with you, thanks very much for assuming. But I love this gang, and I love the people in it, and that includes you, don't it?"

"I guess," you agree hesitantly, even if it sort of feels like you're stretching things a little to suit your needs. Then again, you suppose that's what being in this gang means from time to time.

"So this is love, which means it ain't a sin," Stone says simply, finally moving down to your upper back, thumbs pushing out from your spine, knuckles rubbing in sure circles at your shoulder blades. "Nice and simple. Lie down for me, will you, Nightmare? You're tense as hell, in need of a proper back rub." You do as Stone asks without thinking about it, too busy mulling his reasoning over, but when he settles himself just below your hips, thick, muscled legs straddling your own, the world comes back into hyper-focus.

"Comfortable?" Stone asks you, picking up on your body's momentary freeze. You inhale deeply, and then let the breath out.

"Yes," you tell him, tired of overthinking and overanalyzing and just wanting to enjoy the moment. "I'm comfortable."

"Good, that's good," Stone says lightly, lifting up your camisole ever so slowly, slipping it up and over your head with just a bit of clever maneuvering. The old blanket beneath you is chilly against your bare chest, but Stone's hands are warm, if a little weathered. He grinds his palms into your back, slow, repetitive, just beneath the shoulder blades, and you let out a contented sound at the feel of it. Stone chuckles, letting his hands move down, down, down to your hips, pushing expertly at the meaty flesh there, massaging your tired body and making the tension evaporate. Your eyes flutter shut, and you're on the edge of sleep when his fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of your bloomers, teasing the undergarment off your body.

"Still comfortable?" Stone asks, heat at the edge of his voice that had not been there before. His hands rest, large and heavy, atop your ass, not moving, taking no liberties, just making their presence irrefutable. You push back with your hips, lining up the place where your thighs meet with the hard line in Stone's trousers. Stone groans, pushing back against you for a minute, hips doing a slow rotation, and then he draws back.

"I'll take that as a yes," Stone murmurs, removing your bloomers entirely, shrugging them down off one foot then the other. Crickets chirp loudly outside the tent, the stream nearby rushes after heavy rainfall earlier today, and you settle in, sure that the sounds of your intimacy will be drowned out by the nature around you.

But Stone doesn't reach between your legs, and he doesn't ask you to turn over. He just keeps on kneading at you, hands pushing and pulling at your ass, spreading your cheeks almost experimentally. You crane your neck as far back as you can, curious, but Stone isn't in your line of sight at all. He's low to the ground, somewhere behind you, and before you can put together what he might be doing back there, you feel the unmistakable sensation of a tongue dragging itself leisurely between your legs.

"Oh!" Stone laughs into your cunt, a devilish, deep sound of amusement that has you squirming, has your legs closing around his head. Stone doesn't let it happen, planting his shoulders firmly between your thighs and spreading you, open and aching, with his large hands.

"Shouldn't be so squirmy after all that tender care," Stone mutters, nipping playfully at your ass. "Wanted you boneless. Relaxed."

"I am relaxed," you gasp, unprepared for Stone to dive back into his work, his tongue circling your entrance in long, leisurely rotations, occasionally slipping inside of you entirely and making you grasp at the cotton blanket just to keep steady.

"Then hold still," Stone says, half-garbled as he refuses to remove himself from your pussy, now soaked through. You twist and squirm without meaning to, the things his tongue is doing playing you like a fiddle, and though it's entirely on accident when you shove your cunt forcefully into Stone's mouth, he moans so loud you fear he'll wake the whole camp, so it would seem he doesn't really mind.

"Stone," you whine, trying and failing to escape the all-encompassing pleasure he delivers to your cunt. No one's ever tasted you like this before - frankly, before Dogma, no one had ever tasted you, period - and the separation of it all, the way you have to just lie there and let Stone devour you, is as overwhelming as it is electrifyingly sweet. "Stone, I - I need to-"

"I told you to hold still," Stone says without an inch of sharpness, amusement lacing the order and softening it, even as he forces your bucking legs to the ground. "All this time I thought you was a good girl, Nightmare."

"I am," you insist, and you're not sure why you say it so fiercely, because what does it matter what kind of girl Stone thinks you are? But Stone just laughs against you once more, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cunt that leaves you shivering.

"Yeah? 'Cause I thought good girls did what they're told," Stone reasons, somehow squeezing his broad shoulders even closer to you, keeping your legs nice and wide with his frame as he finally lets go of them, his fingers teasing at your slick sex. "You gonna do what I tell you or not, Nightmare?"

"Yes," you tell him, chasing after his fingers, willing for him to slip them inside you and fuck you with them, give you some kind of release. "Just let me - I need to -"

"You need to goddamn be still," mutters Stone, stretching his neck and, apparently getting it in his head that the only way to make you do that is blank out your mind completely, finding your clit with his mouth. All the air in your lungs rushes out when Stone sucks furiously at you, leaving you breathless. The tent disappears from your vision, replaced with a hazy kaleidoscope of colors, and you must stop bucking because Stone says something that sounds suspiciously like "that's more like it".

"S-Stone," you whisper, toes curling, stomach dropping, and then - pressure, two thick fingers curling inside of you. He's barely done a thing, and suddenly white hot pleasure is bursting out from deep in your belly, all the way down your body and out through your feet. Your legs shake and jerk again, but this time Stone lets them, satisfied with his work.

Your chest heaves against the thick blanket, Stone's confident hands returning to your lower back, his fingers damp now as they dig into your waist. It's a long while before you find the strength to turn onto your back and face him, normally so bashful about your nakedness during sex, and now not even having the energy to care.

"Jittery as all hell," Stone says, deeply affectionate, tracing the curves of your body with one hand. "You oughta drink more, Nightmare. Y'need to take the edge off."

"I'm sorry," you tell him honestly. You're not usually this jumpy with Dogma. You wish you knew how to just put a lid on it. Stone, however, shakes his head, smiling lazily at you and letting his hand wander back down to your cunt.

"Got a nice meal out of it, didn't I?" he says lowly, a crude sort of joke that, from anyone else, would have you laughing all the way back to your tent, but Stone has a way of making even the corniest lines light a fire in you. He licks his lips, savoring the wetness still clinging there, and you bite yours in anticipation. "All I wanted was for you to calm down some, girl. Seem pretty calm to me now."

"I think so," you agree, because he's right. Stone's heavy-lidded eyes and serene expression feel like a mirror image of your own. He could pick you up and haul you over his shoulder right now, drop you naked in front of the whole camp, and you imagine you wouldn't even care until your ass hit the cold dirt. "I feel good. I'm relaxed."

"I believe you. Finally," Stone says, his voice thick and rumbling, thumb finding your clit again. His free hand chucks your chin, knuckles pressing against your lips. You kiss them once, twice. At last, Stone reaches for his belt buckle, but you stop him, committing to the act, choosing this all for yourself.

"Are you as good with this as you are with your mouth?" you ask him, taking his cock out of his jeans, heavy and firm in your hands. Stone laughs again, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat, grinning at you as he lines himself up with your cunt.

"Well, I don't know, little Nightmare," Stone murmurs, pressing into you with maddening slowness, stretching you little by little. "You tell me."

[my-writings-and-musings]

Here's my latest commission from another wonderful and amazing person! A human reader is secretly a pyrokinetic, but an attack on Rodimus forces them to reveal their powers, and the more they unleash the more their appearance changes...

Warning for some violence and angst!

In the back of your mind, your relationship with Rodimus had been oddly perfect and ironic in ways you'd never dare tell him. The Autobot's love of heat had extended well beyond a simple temperature preference; he had a power over fire you'd never seen the likes of before. Even his own species didn't seem to understand how naturally he wielded flames for combat, nor how he possessed such an incredible resilience to temperatures that would have been painful for most. For his part, the cocky captain took the peculiarity in stride, emblazoning himself with fiery motifs and embracing his nature using an adorable mixture of puns and catchphrases.

It was something you loved about him, and while it perhaps explained some of his adoration of the seemingly unremarkable human that had plopped into his life, it also made you a little wary for his sake. If he only knew how attuned with fire you really were...

The thought of him discovering your greatest secret was a daily intrusion, but for today, you decided that it could go on the back burner. The Lost Light would be docking on a planet safe for humans, and you wanted to enjoy the time off to the fullest of your ability. No worries, no paranoia, no thoughts of past rejection... just you and Rodimus exploring a vibrant alien city together. It was going to be perfect.

"Got your debit chip, Y/N? I'm planning on doing a lot of shopping, and I don't want you to feel left out!" Rodimus said, exuberant even by his own standards as he stepped out onto the landing pad. Giggling as you kept your balance on his shoulder, you let the warm light of a foreign star cascade over your body with a sigh, the sight of a bustling alien port making your heart accelerate in your chest. All around you were races from a hundred different worlds, selling their wares and taking rest stops to relax during long intergalactic trips, and the flurry of sounds and sights and smells was intoxicating. You almost forgot to confirm the device Rodimus mentioned was indeed secure around your neck in a makeshift necklace.

"Got it right here! Show me where we should start, Captain!" You held the tiny black square in between your fingers, unable to imagine something so small holding so much value. Evidently it was the spacer equivalent of a debit card, as the name implied, and after a purchase it would simply be scanned and the necessary amount deducted from your account. Its simplicity was almost as hard to grasp as the fact you'd been gifted a ludicrous amount of money for this trip by Drift. In his own words, the ninjabot had told you to spend it on having a fun day with his best friend. The kindness of the entire crew was still so foreign to you...

"Let's check out the surf shop! My last board melted on an especially high power asteroid, so I need a new one." Rodimus said cheerfully, hefting you a little higher so you were right beside his helm. As a somewhat taller than average individual from a naturally towering species, he had an ideal view over everything in sight, resulting in you having the same. Between the packed landing strip and the notion of a store that sold surfboards for space, you were a little too overwhelmed to speak. Rodimus had no such difficulty. "Oh, or if you're hungry, we could check out an interspecies cafe! They've always got lots of earth food, even out here. Especially the extra spicy stuff you like so much."

For an instant, you were taken aback by his mention of your preference. Had he truly been paying so much attention he noticed such little details? On the one, more dominant hand, you were flattered. Rodimus had to care deeply to have noticed you preferred your food as hot and zesty as physically possible.

"I'm not hungry just yet, but thanks." you said in genuine gratitude, hiding some wariness that you desperately wished would go away. In the past your unnatural preferences had been the first clue most had to your "peculiarities", and it had never taken long from that point for things to come together in the worst possible way. Holding on tight to Rodimus for more than just balance, you quickly returned to the wonderful present, refusing to fall into the belief that the past would repeat itself. "I just want to start wherever you think is best. You're the experienced one, show me what's fun around here!"

"Well, if it's fun you want..." he said in a fake contemplative voice, having obviously had an idea he was preparing to spring on you. Taking long strides through the narrow path left by the many other denizens of the spaceport, he gave you an eager and barely restrained grin. Something almost like childish glee seemed to twinkle in his brilliant blue optics.

"There's a holo-suite lounge in some hole in the wall locale by the bay. I've heard nothing but good things about it, and it's all above board. Want to go on a vacation in a vacation?"

Thinking over your limited knowledge of the virtual reality establishments, you knew more than anything how your beloved bot adored the experience of risk free adventure they offered, finding it to be relaxing due to his day to day life. You were more than happy to let him show you one at long last, and chuckled happily as you leaned against his helm. "I'd love to, Captain."

"Yes! I have got to show you the coaster simulation, it's totally wild!" he said in victory, pumping his arms so suddenly you were nearly cast off his shoulders. Recovering quickly and catching you, he let out an abashed cough as he made sure to resettle your tiny form before proceeding far more carefully. In the moment it took you to realize the lack of leg room would make it rather hard for him to trek it anywhere in good time, Rodimus gestured to a narrow gap between skyscrapers. "We can cut through some alleys to get there faster. I plotted it out on the satellite map before we landed."

Though it didn't seem especially smart, there wasn't anything to suggest the move would be dangerous, as the planet had been cleared entirely as a secure zone. The few whisperings of anti-Cybertronian bias were too small for anyone to be worried, so you nodded your assent to use the shortcut. Careful to stick to the narrow walkways for beings of his size, Rodimus kept you secure with one hand as he hopped an underwhelming barrier to access the alleyway, chatting the whole time about all the possible simulations the two of you could try. He's talking so fast it's actually impossible to keep up as he walks between two superstructures and down the alleyway that feels more like a canyon. As the hubbub of the crowd fades to the gentler din of the machinery keeping the city going, it's easy to forget your surroundings entirely, all to allow the other's excitement to wash over you. You don't even notice how the alleyway has tiny side sections for maintenance and smaller species to traverse safely.

Until you see one pop out right in front of you.

Rodimus stops politely, assuming initially he's just met another traveler that he plans on letting pass so as not to be rude. But the alien doesn't move. Though you can't read their expression, the none too tiny organic immediately sets of your alarm bells, and a hot knot of anxiety twists in your stomach as you tense atop your partner's stiffening shoulders. As awkwardness morphs into tension, the Autobot speaks with an even and cool tone.

"There a problem here?"

An answer came not from the insect like being in front of you, but from another stepping out in the space behind, their clawed hands curled about a weapon of unknowable function.

"Typical tin man, cutting corners and plodding around like it owns the place." they said, rasping voice echoing through the translator in your ear. Before you could even guess what they meant by a phrase that was probably intended to be an insult, more began to slowly emerge from splintering alcoves and alleyways, and in moments the two of you were surrounded. Skillful as Rodimus was in a fight, there had to be enough firepower between them all to make this far from an easy win. As heat crackled instinctively to your palms, the Autobot remained calm.

"Look, if this is your filthy back alley, I'll happily leave you to it. I've got better places to be and far more attractive company to enjoy." he said glibly, making you want to kick him for not being diplomatic. For his sake he needed to be, and as for you, situations like this one had never gone well in the past... Your heart began hammering as the lead alien replied with what was likely a glare.

"Bit too late for that."

Like sharks, they began to close in on the much bigger bot. You wondered how things could have taken a turn so quickly. This was a reputable port on a stable planet, how could it be unsafe? Had the two of you not just been planning a day of fun? These aliens had to have been waiting to be this prepared, and as the next one spoke you started to understand.

"Should have stayed in your own corner of space, tin man. We're not gonna let your kind set up shop here."

"Last I checked, this was a bot friendly planet." Rodimus replied, still unnerved but tense as a rock beneath you. He was getting ready, you knew, but for what was anyone's guess. As you held onto him you prayed the plan was solid, because the heat in your body was starting to grow to levels he might notice, and that couldn't be allowed to continue. Hopefully his need to stall wouldn't last long...

The circling group, that you counted at twenty or more, took the bait. "For now, until the beauracracy gets its priorities straight. In the meantime, we're here to make sure you don't bring your trouble to our home, like your kind always does."

"Plus, can't hardly expect the authorities to prosecute what they don't know about, can you?" another said, now so close Rodimus could have kicked them. The hatred in their eyes was beyond you, and their words made the heat in your gut twist into nausea. "Your kind is easy to clean up afterwards; melt down what you can and sell it all offworld."

Rodimus, one hand still steadying you, tightened his grip possessively. Time felt like it was slowing down as you looked about madly for an exit, swearing that the enemy seemed to double every time you blinked. There had to be over twenty of them now, and the high but narrow space gave your partner little room to work with you in the mix, something he seemed well aware of as he next spoke. "What about the human? They're innocent in all this, and organic. Let them walk away."

"They chose the wrong side." the apparent leader clipped.

Bright blue optics looked to you, and a hushed voice whispered at impossible speed.

"Y/N, when I say now, be ready to tuck and roll and run. No looking back, understand?"

There was no time to say you agreed, let alone to argue.

"Now!" he shouted as a high energy weapon began to hum in preparation, followed by so many others. Before you knew it you were being moved in a wild blur. Rodimus made good on his plan, moving as precisely as he could with your comparatively fragile body to toss you over the heads of the enemy. Using the reflexes you'd honed in his company, you did as you were bid more or less subconsciously, curling up and moving with the momentum so that your landing was less than disastrous.

"Rodimus!" you choked out upon catching your breath, turning to see the group advancing with their weapons glowing hot and ready.

I said run!" he shouted, not looking at you before taking care of the first row of attackers with a wide arcing kick. More seemed to be emerging every second, but the Autobot only looked concerned for you as he swiped away another batch. "Get the others! I can hold them off until-!"

With a screech, the first weapon fired, but there was no energy beam or bullet. Instead, Rodimus was ensnared in a tangled mess of high voltage cords, their arcing metallic webs circling his upper body like a snake. Crackling electricity seared across him in a blinding burst, and he was on his knees in moments, crying out at the agony that left him helpless. In rapid succession several more shots were fired. The Autobot was left to scream on his hands and knees, the electronic pulse weaponry having been specifically designed to cripple Cybertronians in seconds and kill them in minutes.

You knew he wouldn't last long enough for you to get help.

In last ditch desperation, you grabbed the cord on your neck and pulled, snapping it so the microchip in your palm could be held aloft. "Please! I have a debit chip worth thousands! Just take it and leave him alone!"

"Just something else to make this more worth our while." the alien you'd begged to sneered, giving you a kick straight to the gut with a deceptively powerful leg. The wind was knocked from your lungs, and you were left trembling on the ground. Vision spinning, you caught sight of Rodimus barely clinging to consciousness, his flaring optics pleading for you to run. Clawed hands had a hold of your arms before you could attempt to fight back, and the leader gave a casual order as they continued to fire pulse after pulse through the metallic web. "Grab the sympathizer; we'll take care of them after this one's fried."

It was clear that survival hinged on the unthinkable. Heat in your gut became molten as you summoned what you knew was your only hope, the air about you filling with the scent of smoke as you looked up Rodimus one final time as his partner. You'd always hoped it would never come to this, but fate, it seemed, was determined to be unkind.

"I'm sorry..."

The aliens on either side of you yelped and released their hold on your arms as the skin went from hot to searing, their confusion turning to fear as the heat only continued to intensify. Your clothes singed and the air thickened, and while it only took moments, the remaining attackers became aware of the change far too late. Shouts of alarm didn't register amongst the crackling sparks that started dancing up and down your body. It had been very long since you'd used these gifts, but you knew the steps far too well to ever forget.

A jet of flame erupted from your palms with the force of a rocket leaving the earth, blasting back numerous aliens from the sheer power. You heard screams but they hardly dissuaded you, as they'd all more than earned what was coming. The heat began to reach levels high enough to clear the air of any moisture, making those still alive after the first blast cough and struggle to breathe, all the while rendering them incapable of fleeing.

You should have just ended it there; cut the flames and told the survivors to get lost, but you weren't done. It felt far too good for you to stop.

A literal ring of fire encircled the gathered aliens, trapping them all in with you as they tossed aside their white hot weapons and tried to find a way out. Rodimus was immune even to the extreme heat, but dazed enough from his shock not to truly be conscious. You stepped over to him as the fire danced at the command of your fingertips. After the fear of the ambush, the choking heat and crackling flames felt like a breath of fresh air. You were at home in the inferno.

Hearing a scream, you realized rather quickly that payback was still due. Smiling softly, you beckoned the fire to move, controlling it with mere gestures and the simplest of thoughts. It danced like a snake would for a master charmer, coiling about the enemy and suffocating them. You were far too busy indulging yourself to notice how the waves of heat washed over your skin, particularly how the flesh hardened and patterns began to emerge like the scales of an otherworldly being. Similiarly, the sharpening of your teeth and the rise of claws from your fingertips drew no trace of concern. All that mattered was how good it felt to make your attackers pay.

There were more than enough of them for you to take your time, and so you did, keeping them corralled in the fire as you picked them off one by one. Had they expected anything like this when they'd made you a target? Had they prepared for the possibility that not everyone would just lie down and die? Had they even bothered to consider the Autobot wasn't the most dangerous being here?

As one body crumbled to ash, you got your answer in a way that made you smirk; clearly they hadn't.

As you began to run low on targets, it occurred to you that keeping up your wall of fire might draw unnecessary attention. Frowning around canines you realized had developed a lovely point, you decided to finish the fun. Clawed fingertips snapped together to command the flames to converge, and they did so in a heartbeat, jumping upon the survivors like rabid dogs on a meal. You barely registered a scream before ash and cinders began drifting past on a hot breeze. With another smile, you recalled their comment on crimes going unpunished when they were properly cleaned up. Dismissing the fire with a wave of your hand, you thought smugly on how these piles of soot would hardly suggest what had happened here.

Rodimus stirred from his daze, groaning in discomfort and shifting beneath the web of deactivated electric pulsers. Frowning at the sight, you summoned a thin jet of fire from your fingertips and got to work. The metal coils turned to red slag with very little effort, which melted down the heat resistant bot's body like wax before dripping to the ground around him. In no time you had him free, and while the flames actually seemed to perk him up a bit, the Autobot was clearly not in a good way. When he failed to awaken after you said his name your confidence started to dissipate. Heart hammering once more, you dropped to your knees beside his helm, hoping to wake him with some gentle encouragement to get him moving.

It was when you laid your hands on his helm that your thoughts shifted to horror, but not for his sake. The normal human hands you had once possessed were now tipped with wicked claws, and as your eyes trailed upwards you saw that your skin was patterned with scales of an equally inhuman nature. Sharp fangs registered with proper horror in your mouth now that the adrenaline of the moment was gone, and you realized that unlike every single time before, you weren't turning back to normal. You must have gone too far this time... How could you not have, killing dozens of people, as desperate as the situation may have been? You had liked it too, and even now you couldn't bring yourself to regret what you'd done...

"Y/N?" a raspy voice spoke up, startling you with good enough news that you momentarily forgot your panic. Rodimus stirred more effectively, groaning in pain but appearing otherwise stable as he lifted his helm off the ground and looked to you. His expression turned to fearful concern before you could speak. "Are you okay? What did they do to you?"

"I..." You didn't have the words. No doubt you were a horrifying sight, twisted as you were and smoking in your burnt clothes... It was a miracle he recognized you at all.

Rodimus narrowed his optics, perhaps thinking everything he'd seen was the result of processor trauma from his shock. "You burned them... I saw... but you don't have a weapon."

"I am the weapon." you blurted out, baring your fangs without meaning to. At his confusion, you tried to explain, a sinking feeling pulling you down as you did so. There was no way you could be with him like this... Appearance aside, you'd awoken a part of yourself you couldn't trust. Still, he deserved to know. "I never told you... I've always been able to do this, but could never go too far, unless..."

"You saved me." he whispered in awe, weak but insistent as he reached for you. On reflex, you pushed his hand away.

"I killed them. All of them. I finally lost control and now..."

Rodimus perked up a bit, looking desperate when your intent became clear to him. Even after a beating, he could read you well, and your decision to leave for his sake was clear in your face. "They were going to kill us both! You didn't do anything wrong-"

"Look at me!" you shouted back, curling clawed hands into fists as each grabbed at your head. You swore you felt newly erupted horns crowning your brows, and that discovery drew sizzling tears down your cheeks. "I burned them, and I liked it, and now I look like this! I'm a monster, and I'd do it again!"

"Y/N-"

Wiping away the wetness from your eyes, you stood up sharply, knowing he wouldn't accept what was best for him. "You can't be with me like this, Rodimus. I'm not even human..."

"I'm not either!" A gentle but insistent hand looped about your middle, turning you back around to look at him before he nearly collapsed from the effort of the movement. Wide blue optics pled to you as he did the same, baring his spark with every single word. "Please, Y/N, I know this is a lot for you but please... don't leave me... I can't lose you."

"Haven't you already?" you said bitterly, optimism nowhere to be found as you surveyed a clawed hand. Rodimus didn't flinch at the sight.

"You think a new look will scare me away? Plus, I'm fireproof, remember? You can't hurt me." he said with his best attempt at a winning smile in his current state. Losing it in an instant, he hugged you closer, optics betraying the depths of his pain and desperation as he did so. The Captain was holding on to you like a lifeline. "I need you, okay? Please, just give me a chance to work this out with you. I love you, no matter what."

It was the first time he'd told you that, but you knew he meant it. A softer heat, like a pleasant campfire, filled the space around your heart. Holding a digit of his in your hand, you gave a gentle squeeze. "I love you too..."

"So stay with me?" he said softly, pulling you in for something like a hug. Getting down on your knees, you cuddled close to his helm, a few stray tears dripping down onto his armor. Rodimus didn't even flinch as he whispered into your ear. "We'll figure this out. I don't care if this is the new normal, as long as you're with me."

"Okay..." you replied, nodding as you recalled the thoughts of irony you'd had just that morning. How perfect he was for you, a fireproof being so enamored he didn't see what a risk you were to everything... But if he was willing to try? Well, you couldn't deny how much you wanted this to work either... Holding him tight, you replied with the best promise you could give at the moment, but like him you meant it.

"We can try..."

Like this? You can commission me for a story of your own here!

[passionate-reply]

This week on Passionate Reply: We all know “Don’t You Want Me,” but the early Human League is a totally different beast, featuring a different line-up, and songs about killer clowns and wanting to be a skyscraper, on their debut LP, 1979′s Reproduction. Transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums. In this installment, we’ll be investigating one of the most surprising debut LPs around: The Human League’s Reproduction, first released in 1979.

Pretty much anyone with a general understanding of Western pop will already know the name of the Human League, and associate them, rightfully, with their early 80s hits like “Don’t You Want Me.” For many, the Human League were the first genuine synth-pop that they had ever heard, and their work in the 1980s has been immeasurably influential in bringing the notion of electronic pop into the mainstream. But before they were hitmakers and game-changers, the Human League were a very different band.

Music: “Being Boiled”

“Being Boiled” was the first thing the Human League would ever press to wax, way back in 1978. In most respects, this track is everything that “Don’t You Want Me” is not: its pace is languid, its structure is shapeless and meandering, and rather than a simple and relatable love story, its lyrics offer us a strange and opaque condemnation of the tortures endured by silkworms during textile production. While fascinating, and endearing in its own morbid way, “Being Boiled” does not exactly scream “hit record.” The Human League were not only a different band in a stylistic sense, but also with respect to their personnel, driven by a creative core comprised of budding synthesists Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh. Prior to the release of the breakthrough album Dare, Marsh and Ware would abandon the group over creative differences, and go on to form Heaven 17 instead. It was vocalist Phil Oakey, and producer Martin Rushent, who would create the sound that their name is now so strongly associated with, and this early incarnation of the group is probably best thought of as an entirely different entity. This album, Reproduction, was their first full-length release, and is perhaps the best introduction to their pioneering sound.

Music: “Circus of Death”

“Circus of Death” had appeared as the B-side to “Being Boiled,” and was included once more as the second track on *Reproduction.* It has a lot in common with the other track it accompanied: a plodding pace, a dark and obtuse lyrical theme, and a sparse, fully electronic instrumentation. The Human League were among the first British groups to utilize a totally electronic sound, devoid of any traditional instruments besides the voice, though in this underground and more experimental context, it doesn’t present a threat to the status quo of pop the way that Dare would a few years later. Alongside fellow proto-industrial acts associated with "the Sound of Sheffield," like Clock DVA and Cabaret Voltaire, they dwelt on the fringes of good taste, crafting subversive music for subversive people. “Circus of Death” introduces us to a demonic figure called “the Clown,” who controls, and torments, human beings by use of a drug called “Dominion,” in a scenario that sounds a bit like Huxley’s Brave New World. It’s worth remembering that while younger generations are quick to think of clowns as icons of evil and terror, clowns were unironically beloved as bringers of joy for most of the 20th Century, and these early portrayals of clowns as killers were indeed shocking at the time. Preceding “Circus of Death,” and opening the album, is “Almost Medieval,” a track with some similar themes, but a rather different composition.

Music: “Almost Medieval”

While “Circus of Death” is slow and dirgelike, “Almost Medieval” showcases the more aggressive side of *Reproduction.* It opens the album with a starkly simplistic tick-tocking beat, reminiscent of an unaccompanied metronome, before bursting into its punk-like sonic assault--a musical representation of how seemingly predictable and deterministic machines can also create something outrageous and unexpected. The lyrics of this track seem pointed towards the past, with the narrator exclaiming that they “feel so old,” and as if they’ve died many times before. Juxtaposed against the thoroughly modern setting of an airport with tarmacs and jet engines, it might be taken as an expression of the horror a person from the past might feel if they were shown the world of the future, created by capitalism and high technology. While it isn’t very accurate, we have a tendency to think of the “Medieval” world as a barbaric, unclean, and uncivilized era, full of witch hunts, chastity belts, and the deliberate erasure of “ancient wisdom.” “Almost Medieval” turns that idea on its head, suggesting that perhaps our world is the one that’s truly barbaric. The image of its narrator, “falling through a rotting ladder,” can be taken as a rejection of the notion of a “ladder” of progress. Similar themes of open-ended symbolism, and the sorrow of modernity, can be found on “Empire State Human.”

Music: “Empire State Human”

Like “Almost Medieval,” “Empire State Human” is lively and faster-paced, with driving percussion. With its straightforward rhymes and repetitive structure, it readily encourages the listener to sing along, almost as if joining in some sort of ritual chant. It’s an idea that Marsh and Ware would return to in their Heaven 17 days, with tracks like “We Don’t Need This Fascist Groove Thang.” “Empire State Human” was the album’s only single, and thanks to this exposure, and its (relative) palatability compared to the rest of their catalogue, it remains one of the best known tracks from the early Human League. “Empire State Human” makes its concept pretty clear, with less ambiguous lyrics and an easy to follow mix that brings Oakey’s voice to the fore: the narrator wishes to become a building, and a mighty skyscraper no less, which might rival the achievements of the Pyramids of the ancient Egyptians. While it is clear that that’s what the song’s about, what we do with this once again high-concept subject matter is up to us. I like to think that this is some kind of perverse commentary on the unnatural and alienating experience of urban living, which may come with the feeling that the concrete and rebar structures that surround us are more significant to our lives than the people who may live or work in them. City life is addressed more directly by the track “Blind Youth.”

Music: “Blind Youth”

“Blind Youth” is probably the most “grounded” track on the album, in terms of its theme, making pointed remarks about “dehumanization” and “high-rise living.” It’s tempting to think of it as a sort of parallel to “Empire State Human,” with a broadly similar musical backdrop, and a more literal expression of the theme hinted at more obliquely by “Empire State Human.” With its focus on the experiences of the titular “youth,” “Blind Youth” can also be contrasted with “Almost Medieval,” whose narrator keens about feeling old. Where “Almost Medieval” deals with the disgust an older person feels at the decrepit state of the human race, “Blind Youth” shows the demented, unthinking joy of the youth, who have grown up in an industrialized and urbanized world, and don’t know different--or better.

While there have been many classic underground albums whose covers aimed to shock and displease polite society, the cover of Reproduction is one of the few that I feel would still be seen as offensive, over 40 years later. It was allegedly the product of a miscommunication between the group and the illustrator commissioned to create it; the band requested a scene in which people are dancing above a ward of babies in glass-topped incubators, and the striking angle, which seems to show people crushing infants underfoot, is an unintentional aspect of the design. Unintentional or not, this crudely violent aspect dominates the final composition, and lends it vileness and immediacy. Like the lyrics of many of the songs, the combination of the cover and title can be interpreted a number of ways. Perhaps it’s a glib commentary on human reproduction as fun and games: we partake in the “dance” of courtship and sexuality, and babies drop beneath our feet. Or perhaps it suggests a contrast between life’s enjoyments, like dancing, and its stressors, like the responsibilities of parenthood. It’s hard not to see so many crying, seemingly distressed infants without becoming upset oneself, and I think the deep instinctual revulsion that this piece inspires is part of why it’s remained so resonant in its subversiveness.

As I mentioned in my introduction, the Human League have gone down in history chiefly for the music they made later, which has largely buried this early period as part of their legacy--at least in the public eye and outside of the dedicated diggings of motivated enthusiasts. If you’re a fan of what you’ve heard from this album, you’ll probably enjoy their 1980 follow-up Travelogue, as well as their EP, Holiday ‘80. Given the emphasis on long-form albums among music aficionados, EPs and their exclusive tracks are quite frequently missed, but Holiday ‘80 is a gem from this short-lived line-up, featuring the fragile “Marianne” as well as a cover of the stadium favourite “Rock ‘N’ Roll,” made famous by Gary Glitter. Thumbing its nose at everything the culture of “rock and roll” stands for, and transposing this hymn to its greatness into an abrasive and sterile lunar landscape of synths, this is one of my favourite covers of all time, and seems to prefigure how a very different Human League would later become the archnemesis of all that rock fans held holy. It was also one of very few tracks to be performed on Top of the Pops, and subsequently see not a rise, but a drop in the singles charts!  

Music: “Rock ‘N’ Roll”

My favourite track on Reproduction is one that appears on its second side, unlike the other tracks I’ve talked about so far: “Austerity / Girl One.” Side Two of Reproduction is mainly focused on longer and more narrative-driven tracks, and this is no exception. Like the opener of the second side, “Austerity / Girl One” is a medley, albeit one of two pieces that are original compositions and not covers, as medleys usually are. This track’s story is both timeless and modern, a bit like a contemporary King Lear: the “Austerity” half deals with an aging father, incapable of understanding his children, dying alone and ignored, while the “Girl One” half puts us in the mindset of his daughter, a New Woman whose life is hectic, but also bleak. It’s a story that many of us will relate to, about people who try their best with what they’ve got, but still feel as though they’ve failed in life. Its simple, but effective musical backdrop of wan synth pulses allows the narrative, and Oakey’s evocative portrayal of it, to take center stage. That’s everything for today, thanks for listening.

Music: “Austerity / Girl One”

[merryfortune]

Beloved by Bronze

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth 

Prompt #07 Bronze

Ship: Hilda/Marianne

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Word Count: 2,784

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags:  Alternate Universe - Pygmalion & Galatea, Fairy Tales, Fluff, Minor or Implied Gaslighting (Hilda to Ignatz)

   Bronze was Hilda’s least favourite material to work with.

   It had so many steps to be used. It wasn’t just a mere assembly of smaller pieces, like with the clay beads she usually made to make jewellery, it was a lot more work than merely rubbing something down until it was tiny and firing it in a kiln. Or even just loosening fine steel to make intricate chain links so encoil into bracelets. It was so much more effort. Especially when the expectation was to create something huge, not just what Hilda usually made in her pursuit of jewellery.

    Bronze meant moulds and castings and sandblasting and fiddling around with wax which rarely smelt of honey. But it was all worth it in the end, Hilda had to admit, if only to get to the part of working with it that Hilda did like. That was the act of polishing.

   She enjoyed polishing across all her craft hobbies - and even some that didn’t involve craft. There was something about beautifying things, making them shine to their truest potential, that resonated with Hilda to the bottom of her soul. It was the only kind of hard work and effort that she liked to pour into things, rubbing them down with a rag, going as hard in with the elbow grease as possible. It worked up a sweat but the result even blew Hilda away and she was the artist.

   This particular project was no different in the regard that Hilda liked polishing it but it was exceptional in how she felt when she finished.

   She had been commissioned by the city to create a new statue to install close to the plaza. When she had first heard that, Hilda assumed that the city council representatives had meant for her to create bits and pieces to go towards a new statue, accessories for it, but no. They wanted her to make the whole statue and she had been ready to whip out a crate of marble but no, it had to be bronze since the fountain it was meant to adorn was slightly saline and marble had a weakness to salt. Hilda had tried to worm herself out of this commission but the time they gave her was generous and as was the offer that it could be a statue of whatever she pleased was enough to mute her.

   The only real condition was that she had to be finished by the time of the next Festival of the Goddess next year sans one day so there was time for the installation to go up. Hilda nodded and even though she had been initially reluctant, she did get to work almost immediately as her early process did require a few days of sloth for her to think.

   But if it was for the Goddess, Hilda did come upon an idea that she liked and thought would be well received by the cityship. Thus, Hilda toiled for months and months to create her statue. She drew up plans and concepts and once they solidified, she began to tinker with the wax moulds, dicing up her idea into more manageable pieces and soon enough, time began to fly for Hilda. She was nothing if not passionate about beauty and she was endeavouring to create the most beautiful woman to stand romantic watch over the plaza and fountain she was intended for. Someone who could take the breath away from any man, woman, or child and Hilda was certain she had succeeded.

   The famed jewellery maker of the city was now about to become a famed artist who would be remembered for eons by everyone, not just the select few who had bought her wares and retained them for future generations. Her name would be carved at the pedestal the statue was to be erected upon and that did excite Hilda somewhat. She had never considered herself fame hungry but it was a temptation none could resist. Especially when Hilda knew to be rightfully proud of her work.

   “You're done…” Hilda murmured to herself, starstruck, as she removed her cloth from the statue’s face.

   It was late in the afternoon, with an orange sunset filtering into the clutter and clamour of Hilda’s work studio and the light complemented the statue’s complexion immaculately. She - not it, but she - looked sublime. She looked better than Hilda could ever have imagined and she could hardly believe that this statue was the product of Hilda’s efforts and toiling. Now, she just needed a name and from thin air, Hilda managed to pluck one.

   “Marianne…” Hilda murmured. “Your name will be Marianne, my beloved.”

   Hilda took a step back from her creation and smiled softly. She, the statue, her dear Marianne stood with a delicate pose and small, gentle hands. Her lips slightly parted, perfect for a surprise kiss, and her eyes were wide, doe-like. Every hair upon her head looked realistic and came together with a braid at the back like a clothed crown of old. Her clothes were modest but elegant: frugal but timeless. Hilda felt the pace of her heartbeat quicken the more and more she admired her statue, poring over it, ensuring she was nothing less than perfection and finding no flaw even though her eyes were weary from the last of the polishing.

   There was no doubt this bronze statue could stand and stand for centuries at the plaza, she was sturdy and firm but Hilda’s swiftly beating heart wrenched. She swallowed. And she realised something. She didn’t want to give up this statue to the very city council who had paid for the materials and more for it. The very city council whose representatives would be here tomorrow to collect her from Hilda and she felt this streak of stubbornness flare.

   Hilda stepped closer to Marianne once more and Hilda had no doubt that were anyone to see her creation, they would feel the same. An attraction that was deep and enamouring. And so, anyone would do the same.

   Hilda put her hands atop of Marianne’s, cupping them slightly. The bronze was stiff, unhuman but Hilda minded not. She sighed before she kissed Marianne’s mouth. Her lips, too, were stiff but Hilda kissed passionately against her bronze lover regardless, savouring the fleeting warmth from being polished. She dearly recalled the hours that she had been put into Marianne and no wonder they had came so easily to Hilda, it was because they were expended in the name of love, not money or fame or anything else like that.

   The kiss was wonderful and Hilda was hesitant to pull away. Unfortunately, she had to breathe whereas Marianne had no such need to. Bronzed and in eternity as she was; the notion, Hilda mulled over as she pulled away, was bittersweet as that meant her lover could not fully feel at all.

   Something like regret clouded Hilda’s emotions. She was tired. Hungry. Had been working long hours as joyful as they had been, polishing the imperfections from Marianne and ensuring her beauty. She needed to get some sleep so Hilda left her studio with rue in her footsteps.

   She ate a sweet pastry by herself in her room, thinking about Marianne. The Festival to the Goddess was the day after tomorrow. On one hand, Hilda wanted to bask and praise, she wanted Marianne seen by all and appreciated for her beauty. On the other, the creation could only truly and purely be loved by the creator and Hilda did not want to relinquish Marianne to the masses who may see her as spectacle or novelty for a handful of times before just becoming part of the scenery of the city, nothing particularly special or extraordinary. The thought of that happening distressed Hilda so she offered a prayer.

   Hilda was not typically the type to pray, let alone as earnestly as she did in her room, over food and by her bed. She pleaded with the Mother Goddess for her love unto Marianne. For it to be made as precious as the very metals that Marianne was made of. She drifted off into a dreamless sleep, still with her hands clasped in prayer over her breast.

   In the morning, Hilda woke up and felt well rested. She almost felt as though the day before, completing Marianne and kissing her on that romantic, artistic impulse, had been a dream but Hilda knew her sleep to be empty of such imaginations. She took her plate from last night to her room, clandestine proof that yesterday had happened, and returned into the kitchen. Through the window of it, she glimpsed her studio.

   She wondered when Ignatz or whatever his name was and his posse of similarly downtrodden and mousy public servants would come. They usually arrived after lunch but they were so pesky with how bright eyed and bushy-tailed they could be. Completely unlike Hilda who had, she realised by the clockface on her kitchen wall quite idly, had slept to mid-morning once more. She sighed. It could even be sooner but ultimately, these were all rationalisations for her own whim to visit Marianne in her studio.

   She was still there, funnily enough. Still a statue; still as a statue. Hilda smiled as she circled Marianne. It hadn’t just been an illusion, her hard work had truly paid off and the gratification was immensely satisfying. Marianne was as perfect as a person could be. Or as perfect as a person could make.

   “Good morning, my love.” Hilda greeted her, stood in front of her, playful and even flirting. “I thought about you all night and yet… I slept so brilliantly.”

   Marianne smiled. She smiled the same smile that Hilda had sculpted onto her.

   “I hope you thought about me all night.” Hilda murmured and she invited herself to a kiss on that cue.

   Hilda kissed Marianne and she could swear that she could hear the saints singing at that but, more likely than not, it was just the sweet twittering of birds outside. Hilda sighed into the kiss and Marianne kissed back. Her lips were soft and supple. Hilda gasped and pulled back.

   “Marianne?” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

   Marianne’s head shifted and her expression, it turned bashful, “Yes, Hilda?” she asked. “Is, um, something the matter? D-Did I displease you, somehow.”

   “Displease me?” hilda echoed back and her hands flung out in joy. “Oh, Marianne, you could never.”

   Hilda kissed Marianne again. Wild and excited and giggly. She caressed Marianne’s cheeks as she kissed her and everything about her was soft and warm and human. She was hardly bronze at all. Marianne kissed her creator back: glad to be alive, even gladder still to be loved.

   “Oh, Marianne,” Hilda murmured, “how did this happen?”

   “We were blessed by the Goddess.” Marianne replied quietly and she touched back at Hilda’s face.

   She admired everything about Hilda, as though she were the work of art, not Marianne. Hilda didn’t mind at all. She marvelled at how Marianne touched her, explored her body and the sensation of touch at all. Marianne was ecstatic with this newfound freedom of her human body now freed of bronze.

   The newness of it all made them both giddy but somehow, they managed to retreat from the studio. There were so many more pleasures than just kissing and touching that Hilda wanted to show Marianne and she was eager to learn so they broke their first fast together, having an early lunch of sandwiches and pikelets, whatever either of them wanted and if Marianne could, she would want it all.

   Their feast and merrymaking, however, was eventually interrupted. Just as Hilda thought they would, in the early afternoon, the city council representatives came and it was the teeny-tiny, bespectacled one who led the horde. He smiled sheepishly at Hilda’s front door and she let him in, smiling mischievously to herself as she thought he would be all too easy to dupe.

   “It;s good to see you again, Miss Goneril,” he said as he politely shuffled through her kitchen, having visited numerous times before, he was aware of its attachment to Hilda’s art studio, “it’s been far too long since we’ve last seen each other.”

   “I’d say.” Hilda snickered as she opened up the door to the studio for him.

   Ignatz vibrated as he adjusted his glasses, “The day of the Festival is tomorrow and we’ve got all the preparations to unveil your sculpture tomorrow, we’re very excited.”

   “Yeah… about that…” Hilda murmured.

   Ignatz glanced, confused, at Hilda but his confusion only thickened as he glanced around her rustic workspace. Everything was in a clutter but there was a pattern to it, he noticed, it was clean enough without being minimal. Things had places, purposes, but what he could not find was the thing that should be most obvious of all.

   “Miss Goneril…” he began, concerned, turning his head to Hilda who toyed with a strand of her hair in seemingly absent thought but her pink eyes were vivid with a scheme, he could tell. “Where is the statue we commissioned? It should be finished, should it not?”

   “Yeah, I got bored and gave up.” Hilda shrugged. “Spent all your money and stuff, it was much more fun than working with that stupid bronze, ugh, it was so hard to use.”

   “Miss Goneril!” Ignatz exclaimed at the top his lungs whilst Hilda giggled devilishly to herself. “There will be repercussions for this, I can promise you that! Hearings, fines, returns. You will never get work again in this city for such a gross misuse of our resources and trust.”

   “Whatever you say, glasses.” Hilda shrugged.

   The door to the studio jangled and Ignatz could have jumped out of his skin. He watched with a slack jaw as the most beautiful young woman walked into the studio. She was slender and pure with hair of blue to rival that of the morning sky and eyes of a winter grey. Her demure presence would be enough to capture the attention of anyone, not just Ignatz. However, it was the bronze jewellery that she bedecked herself with that most caught Ignatz’s curiosity as such accessories were most certainly would have been made by Hilda.

   “Is everything alright, Hilda?” asked Marianne. “I thought I heard a commotion.”

   “It's alright, Ignatz was just scolding me for wasting governmental money but its no skin off my back.” Hildra shrugged.

   Marianne gave Hilda a solemn glare, it seemed she thought that was a bad idea as well. At least the pause in conversation gave Ignatz time to recover from seeing such a striking woman in a place - and time - like this.

   “Hello, ma’am, I don’t believe we’ve met before…” Ignatz said and he had the strangest inkling that he had seen her face somewhere before, stranger still, not in a person but perhaps in a drawing or in something else similarly arcane.

   “Ignatz, you rude little man,” Hilda scolded him now, hands on her hips, “this is my partner, we’ve been courting for about a year now.”

   “O-oh, my apologies.” Ignatz said and he decided now would be a good time to go before he further stuffed his foot in his mouth. He straightened up his coat and glared, rather ineffectually, at Hilda. “We will be sending you a very strongly worded letter quite soon, Miss Goneril,” he softened, “but I wish you the best between yourself and your beau.”

   Hilda smiled and she reached out for Marianne. Their hands entangled lovingly in one another with Hilda snuggling into the side of Marianne’s slender frame.

   “Thank you, Ignatz.” Hilda said. “For the well wishes, not the letter.”

   “Good day to you both.” Ignatz said firmly and with that, he left.

   However, Marianne still called out to him, “Have a lovely day, may the Goddess be with you.”

   Hilda chuckled to herself and she kissed Marianne’s knuckles. Marianne smiled and she felt her heart flutter. What a lovely yet peculiar sensation in her chest, she was eager for more of it. To know life beyond that of her origins as a cast of bronze.

   “I love you.” Marianna whispered.

   “I love you too.” Hilda replied to her.

   Hilda was still holding Marianne’s hands and she had marvellous hands as an artisan, Marianne thought. They were hands firmer than those of a statue;s but it further assured Marianne that she was in the company of a very capable woman to love and be loved by. Truly, by the Goddess, a mere statue could not be more blessed to have an artist as her lover and creator, Marianne found herself thinking as she kissed a grateful kiss onto Hilda’s loving mouth.

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 26

[I had so much fun writing this. I got to do wholesomeness and I’m so happy. Time to break the shit(?) out of canon! :D]

Nabooru

A few months passed since Nabooru put her people to rest in what she deemed a more proper ceremony befitting of their race. She spent much of her time training alone, spurred by the promise she made herself that night to maintain her agency and never let anyone call her weak again. Her regimen equal parts traditional training techniques as well as simply surviving off the land. She stuck mostly to the desert, the shallow cave serving as her shelter, with quick jaunts to other regions for a change of scenery or to bathe and wash her clothes in the secluded pond she used before. More than once she considered raiding a secluded homestead or returning to Capsule Corp. for certain supplies, but resisted the urge. Due to their circumstances, her people had been reduced to thieves for survival. Even if it would not be anything particularly missed, her pride blanched at the idea. Though the Gerudo were unknown here, it was time she reclaim their identity as warriors rather than thieves as most of Hyrule came to refer to them as. She wanted to make her own way. A proper home at the very least.

With that in mind, she scraped up whatever information she could about how society operated on the planet, namely in how they made a living. In nearby villages, which better resembled what she had grown used to on her home planet, people had their own shops and businesses, and farmers set up stalls to sell their wares. She read scrapped newspapers and found job listings and other news. As with many places she visited, she needed to make money. The issue became how she could. On Hyrule she had been a warrior, born and bred a soldier for the Gerudo and later forcefully drafted into Frieza's army. Earth had its armies, but from what she could tell, they operated with far different combat styles and strategies than she excelled in. And with power like hers, she could only imagine what they would try to use her for. She had no interest in being someone's weapon for world domination just for some money.

She considered asking the farmers if they needed an extra hand around their farm, but with how they operated based on what they sold, she wasn't sure the ones she passed by in the villages or in her travels could spare enough money to pay her. Most seemed to be family farms, after all, and she would rather they kept their profit than worry about paying her. Not to mention her knowledge of farming was scarce, and while she doubted she would have trouble with the manual labor or other tasks set to her, it still didn't feel right.

With little to go on and no more sure of the potential prospects out there for her, she decided her best bet was to venture to one of the cities to get a feel for different jobs she could potentially take on. She didn't care for the hustle and bustle of the cities. Hyrule's Market paled in comparison to the cities on this planet and many others she had been on, and that had never appealed too much to her either. At least in the force she grew more used to them, and found them entertaining from time to time and a convenient way to meet her needs. But if she went into the venture with one sure notion it was that she would definitely not live there. Her time at Capsule Corp. and on the resort planets of the Empire more than convinced her that wasn't what she wanted. Too many people, too much noise, and no space for training.

A tourist ad in one of the newspapers she pilfered led her to South City, its proximity to the beach and claims of the best of them drawing her to it more than other options. Tourism meant a plethora of job prospects, and she never got much of a chance to experience the ocean to the fullest. On the force she at least saw them unlike on Hyrule, but that was where experiencing them ended in most cases. Thus, once she ran a short training session and cleaned up, sure to try and make herself look as presentable as possible considering her living arrangement and her somewhat tattered clothing, she directed herself to the southern coast and the sprawling cityscape resting upon it, breaking up the rural landscape with massive buildings and industry.

Knowing that most Earthlings couldn't fly nor knew that others on their planet could, she chose to land on a portion of the beach far enough down from those already setting up to begin their day of relaxation. She took her time wandering along the shoreline, soaking in the already warm sun reflecting off the gently rolling waves. Too soon, she reluctantly veered off her path and turned her back on the aquamarine waters and headed toward the towering skyscrapers.

Just off the beach, she stepped onto the cobblestone paths lined with stalls and a wide variety of shops catering to tourists and beach activity as well as entertainment centered businesses such as bars, restaurants, and other attractions that typically had a tropical theme. She took note of any signs that suggested they wanted help and their locations before venturing further into the city, cobblestone switching to traditional pavement and traffic switching from almost solely foot to a combination of it and motor vehicles.

Taking a similar approach, Nabooru found herself window shopping along with searching for work more often than she likely should have, also noting the styles of clothing that appealed to her and considering anything else she would want to purchase once she made some money. Apparel was certainly a must, but she made sure to figure out where she could purchase soap and makeup as well. She didn't feel she needed it necessarily, her beauty natural, but she had come to like wearing it and the extra pop it gave her look. She felt it served as a link to her heritage as well, making it all the more important to her.

She turned a corner to delve further into the city to find a crowd of people gathered at the other end of the block, the object of their attention obscured by the line of buildings. Curious, she approached, reaching the boundary of people just as they erupted in cheers and applause. Her height allowed her to peer over most of their heads with a slight shift to the balls of her feet. The crowd gathered around a pair of men at the center of a makeshift ring. One scooted toward the edge of the circle with his hands held up in surrender as he blubbered about giving up. He eventually found his feet and scrambled off through the gap the crowd made for him, many booing and laughing at his defeat.

Nabooru turned her attention to the victor. A burly man who rivaled her in height flexed and grinned for the crowd of onlookers, dressed in a white tank top and red shorts. His crop of dark hair was pulled into a bun at the back of his head, and his green eyes sparkled with the pride of his win. He then raised his arms and rotated in a circle, addressing the crowd, "Who will challenge me next?"

Another scurried into the ring with the fighter. Far shorter and squatty, dressed in a fine suit and a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes, he too accosted the onlookers. "Come on! Someone here should be able to last at least a minute with the mighty Cleemo!" He raised a stack of paper above his head and waved it. "Or do I need to sweeten the deal, huh? How much zeni do I offer, Cleemo? Greedy bastards! Is 500,000 not enough for you to risk life and limb for fame and accolades? These riches will more than pay your medical bills if you can win it!"

Zeni. That was the name of the money here. People around her mumbled about how they would kill for that kind of cash, that it was comparable to winning some martial arts tournament but easier since it was just one guy. Most talked their more excited friends out of it, reminding them of the rest of the fallen contestants and the array of injuries they sustained from broken limbs to knock outs in a single blow. Others said anyone was crazy to fight this up and comer who apparently fought on the same level as the planet's greats. Unless they knew how powerful Goku was, she doubted this guy held a candle to him. Or any of the Earthling warriors she knew. Unless he hid it, his power level was insignificant.

"I'll fight him."

Heads whipped around to stare at her, many either incredulous or snickering. The ringleader gestured for the crowd to part in order for him and his fighter to get a good look at the challenger. Both took a moment to give her a once over before sharing an amused glance.

"Sure we're doing this for fun, but we're not out here entertaining jokes," the shorter man said, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "These people want a good show, not a helpless woman getting beat up!"

Nabooru stepped forward, rolling her shoulders. "Sounds to me like you're scared your prized fighter might lose to a woman." She rested her hands on her hips, sizing Cleemo up with a thoughtful hum. "I bet I can take him out in one hit. Two, tops."

This time they outright laughed, Cleemo doubling over and holding his middle for show. The crowd followed suit and despite the urge to show them immediately, she wanted to be sure her winnings were secure. Instead, her pleasant smile only widened. She would have too much fun putting these misogynistic men in their place. They reminded her of drunken Hylian men in the inns and pubs that didn't believe a race of women could be warriors. They always learned quickly that the claim wasn't just for show.

"This isn't your jazzercise or yoga class, red," Cleemo said, straightening at last. His frame still shook with laughter. "This is the real deal. I've already made a fool of four other men who thought themselves strong enough. I would hate to see a pretty thing like you break a nail or get her face messed up by my fist."

His partner wiped a tear from his eye. "You know what Cleemo, who cares? If the dame wants to fight, let her. I'll even waive the entrance fee for her." The crowd clapped and cheered at his "generosity."

"In fact, I'll sweeten the deal." He stepped forward and instead addressed the crowd. "If this girly beats Cleemo in two hits or less as she claimed, I'll double her winnings! A fat one million zeni in her pocket if she triumphs!"

The audience whistled and cheered, and the man in the suit waved both hands for silence. "But, if she loses, she becomes my personal secretary! I've been looking for a pretty girl to replace that broad Cheryl for months!"

Amidst the laughter and wolf-whistles, Nabooru rolled her eyes. Though she searched for a steady job, she had no intention of throwing the match for one. Working for this man sounded about as pleasant as sleeping on a bed of spikes when he spoke of his current employee in such a disgusting way. She had half a mind to teach him a lesson once she finished with Cleemo.

"Do we have a deal?" The man held his hand out to her.

Nabooru shook it. "Deal."

He gave her another up and down glance and grinned wolfishly. "Excellent! You heard her Cleemo! Get me a new secretary!"

He returned to the crowd as Cleemo squared up in the center of the ring, poised for battle. Nabooru stood across from him, remaining upright and standing tall. Part of her wondered if this would be considered stealing, considering the likely very large difference in their strength, but decided to continue considering them the same way she viewed the men--civilians and soldiers alike--who challenged her back home or in the force: fools who underestimated her for one reason or another and needed to be taught a lesson. She simply needed to be sure she didn't kill him by accident. She knew how to hold back, but had very little experience doing so to this degree since learning to harness ki. She would have to make sure she kept it low and away from her blows.

"Ready?" The man brought an arm down in a chopping motion. "Begin!"

The crowd cheered as Cleemo charged, already opting for the offensive. Nabooru sidestepped the man turned bull with ease and allowed him to skid back around to face her. He threw punch after punch, each one easily dodged by the Gerudo. He swung his leg for her head and she ducked to whirl around behind him, a move too quick for his eyes. His foot slammed back into the ground and he searched in confusion for his opponent. While she could easily end the fight with a blow to his back or a swift kick to his side, she wasn't quite ready to end their fun.

"Behind you."

He whirled around and threw another punch. She caught it with one hand. "Not the smartest, but you're faster than I expected."

Cleemo growled, vein in his temple pulsing. "Shut your mouth!" He punched again, the hit avoided by a tilt of her head.

"Don't let her get in your head, you oaf!" The suited man called from the sidelines. "Don't get sloppy!"

Cleemo growled and followed up with a flurry of aggressive punches and kicks, each once more evaded. His hand shot out to grab her, but instead, she gripped his wrist instead. "Alright. I think I've let you have enough fun."

He pulled back, but he couldn't compete with Nabooru's strength. She yanked him forward and sank her fist in the center of his belly. She let him go and he stumbled back one, two steps, and doubled over holding his stomach. A mirror of his humor from moments ago, save for his dropped jaw and wide eyes as he wheezed to catch a proper breath. With the deal in mind, Nabooru did not allow him to recover. Sure to keep it punishing but on the weak side for her, she slammed her heel straight down into his back. He slammed into the ground with a short lived wheeze before going still. Scared she overdid it, she crouched and rested her fingers against his neck, sighing in relief when she found a weak pulse.

The stunned hush that fell lasted several beats, enough time for Nabooru to stand and straighten her clothes before the crowd cheered and applauded. She found the ringleader glancing between her and his fallen warrior. She took one step forward and he bolted, his short legs and stature turning his run into more of a hurried waddle. He shoved past the onlookers while brandishing a handgun, threatening to kill anyone that tried to stop him. The crowd scurried out of the way in his wake.

Nabooru frowned and started after him, determined to make him hold up his end of the deal. He made it to the sidewalk only to slam into a gargantuan form. He stumbled backward, but before he could fall over, a large fist gripped the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet.

"Nice try, rat. But I think you owe this spectacular fighter some zeni."

Nabooru hardly noticed the captured man shakily aim his gun at his captor, only to have it ripped from his grip and crushed in the other free hand. She didn't notice the crowd dispersing in panic around them. She was rooted to the spot, too focused on the bald head and familiar, mustached face with the malicious grin the large man wore as his victim squirmed and pleaded with him, the tall and muscular frame dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. She would have deemed the similarities to her fallen comrade a coincidence, a trick of her own mind, had she failed to notice the furry appendage wrapped around his waist disguised as a belt.

"Okay, okay! I'll pay her!" The man hastily withdrew a few bundles of cash from his pockets and thrust them toward Nabooru. "Please just take it! Make this guy let me go!"

Mechanically, she took the money. The taller man released Cleemo's partner. The second his feet touched the ground, he took off at a sprint again to put as much distance between him and the other as possible.

"Heh, well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes. Looking a little ragged, but I'd recognize that hair, face, and body anywhere."

It was all she could do to keep from socking him in the arm like she always used to when he made lewd comments like that. "N-Nappa?" She despised the quiver in her voice but couldn't find the will or care to fix it. "It can't be. My mind is playing tricks on me again. I thought you were--"

"Yeah, me too." Nappa's grin faded, and his eyebrows pinched together. "I definitely was. And with you looking so confused, I'm guessing me coming back wasn't your doing."

She shook her head and stuffed the money in her pockets as well as she could, a distraction to keep her from flinging her arms around him like a sentimental sap. Some of the onlookers slowed their exit to gawk at the two of them, whispering among themselves over her fight and Nappa's show of force. Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing nearer to their location.

"We should go," she muttered. "You know a place we can talk?"

The Saiyan nodded and headed up the street. Nabooru followed. "Yeah, my place ain't far from here. It ain't much, but it'll give us some privacy."

Nabooru's eyebrow lifted. "Your place?" she asked, falling into step beside him. "How do you have money to have a place to live?"

"I'll tell you everything soon enough," he replied, turning the corner. Another turn and he entered a several storied building, and led toward a set of stairs. He began his ascent. "You might even be interested in the answer."

Nabooru hummed but bit her tongue on pressing him further until they reached his quarters. After three flights, they entered a carpeted hallway. Paintings of landscapes and doors lined the walls. It reminded her of hotels they stayed in on their jobs.

Nappa stopped in front of a door marked 319 and fished a key out of his pocket. He slipped it into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open, arm extended to allow her first entry. "A bit cramped, but I don't plan to stay here forever. It's got what I need, at least."

A small entryway opened up to a sparse living room with a couch, a chair, a coffee table, and a TV set perched on an overturned box. Wide windows with the curtains drawn stood behind it. A doorway to her side opened up to a small kitchen, and a hallway at the opposite side led to the rest of the apartment, likely his bedroom and the bathroom.  The floors were carpeted, clean save for a few aged stains here and there, and the walls were almost too white.

"May not be much, but it's better than a cave," she said at last, making her way over to the chair. "Stone doesn't make for the most comfortable bed."

Nappa ducked beneath the doorframe and closed the door behind him. "You're living in a cave?" He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the couch. "And here I thought I had it bad."

"Better than mooching off a rich heiress and her family." Nabooru picked at the frayed hem of her shorts. "Though that offer may have expired when I nearly blew the place up."

"Tch, speak for yourself." Nappa rolled his shoulders. "How the hell did you end up on Earth, anyway? Frieza send you?"

"Not exactly. It's...a long story." She observed her former comrade for a long moment, deciding where to begin with her own questions. How much more could he lend Vegeta's sparse explanation of what happened on Earth? She decided less specific was a good way to start. "One I'll give you all the details to once I know where to start. Tell me what happened on Earth first."

Nappa folded his arms over his broad chest. "I can't imagine there's much you don't already know if you were keeping tabs on us," he replied. "We landed and everything was working out just fine for a while. Kakarot's friends fell one by one until only the Namek, the short, bald one, and the kid were left standing."

Piccolo, Krillin, and Gohan. That made sense. "But you killed Piccolo? The Namekian?"

"Sure did. Sacrificed himself to save the brat. Vegeta had already decided we didn't need him any more when there was a whole planet of Namekians out there who probably had their own dragonballs. So, we were going to finish off the rest and Kakarot if and when he showed up."

"And that's where things took a turn. He got there right before Vegeta destroyed his scouter." She cast the Saiyan a disapproving glance. "It was that conversation that convinced Frieza to go to Namek and try and get the dragonballs for himself."

Nappa's dark brown eyes widened, and he sat up a little straighter. "Shit, did he get them? What did he wish for?"

"I'll get to that. From what Vegeta told me--and it wasn't much--Kakarot beat you and then…"

"Vegeta killed me, yeah." Nappa's expression darkened, jaw tight as his curiosity and fear from before faded to silent rage. "The little bastard. I was nothing but loyal to him since he was a damn baby."

The Saiyan scoffed and stared into the blank TV screen. "Can't even fully blame him, though. I was basically paralyzed, and it's not out of line for one Saiyan to kill another when he's fallen in battle or can no longer fight. In fact, it was almost preferred, and to some degree, I know that maybe it was best in the long run."

His fingers curled into his palms on his knees. "Still, there were only three of us Saiyans left. An attempt to get me back to a healing tank and in fighting shape or just a damn say in it would have been far more appreciated than being blown up immediately. I know he's always been violent. Not one for coddling or letting anyone or anything stand in his way." He swiped at his nose and met her gaze. "In fact he could be downright terrifying and cruel. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Saiyan, really. But there were times I saw too much of Frieza in him than I liked much, and this is a prime example. Even Saiyans looked out for their own kind to some degree. We were hard on each other, made sure we didn't rely too heavily on such things and become soft or weak from it. Maybe that's the part I should have drilled into him a little better."

"You didn't deserve that, Nappa," Nabooru told him, shaking her head. "That was the reason he gave, and I don't care if it made some sense. I fought with myself over it, too, but it was messed up. And maybe we're hypocrites because we've both done our fair share of killing, but on that scale, based on the relationship between the two of you, you deserved far better. A say in it, like you said."

The former general grumbled, the intensity of his expression lessened a touch but not fully. "Yeah...I see his logic but I still want to kick his ass for it."

"You'll have to do a whole lot of training to manage that. He's gotten much more powerful," Nabooru said with mild annoyance. "Maybe this will make you feel a little better. Vegeta got beaten soundly several times since he killed you. He wouldn't tell me much about Earth, but he was almost dead when he left."

"Heh, guess Kakarot got him, too, huh? Serves the bastard right." He chuckled. "Hell, I might have to thank him for it before I clobber him."

"That will take even more training for you. And stand in line. You're going to have to wait until he comes back, too."

"Of course," he huffed. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

Nabooru leaned forward, resting her folded arms on her knees. "Well, you remember how I said Frieza decided to go to Namek for the dragonballs?" The Saiyan nodded. "He wasn't the only one. Vegeta turned up as did the Earthlings to undo the damage you guys did."

She explained the tumultuous events that transpired. The race to obtain all seven dragonballs. Vegeta managing to take out Zarbon, Dodoria, and Cui and how the first nearly killed him. About her decision to aid him. The Ginyu Force showing up and Kakarot's arrival, along with how he dealt with them with ease. Their eventual face off with Frieza. There, she had to pause. She hadn’t given the events of Namek much thought once she laid her people to rest. Not consciously, at least, and the avoidance of such memories was on purpose. And living on her own, she certainly hadn’t discussed it with anyone else. The idea made her tongue feel heavy in her mouth and words died before they formed. Her heart raced and her palms dampened with sweat. Reasonably, her death shouldn’t mean much to her when she lived again, was offered a second chance whether she truly felt she deserved or wanted it at the time. Though she had found indifference to those thoughts for the most part, the gruesome memories of the moments before haunted her still.

"We...we fought Frieza with the Earthlings. Even pushed him to transform to his final form. But he was too much for all of us. He killed Vegeta and me."

A multitude of emotions swept over Nappa's visage, but it halted on a mix of shock and anger. He sat back and swept a hand over his face. He didn't say anything, so Nabooru pressed on.

"Obviously, it wasn't as permanent as it should have been. We were both wished back along with the Namekians that were killed by…" She trailed off, gold eyes lighting up and widening in recognition. She whipped her head around to her former comrade. "Wait, how long have you been back?"

Nappa blinked, confused by the sudden change of topic. "Hrm, dunno. If I've got this planet's calendar figured out, I guess about half a year? Give or take."

"That's it." Nabooru's lips curled up in a smile and she clapped her hands together. "It's been bugging me since you found me, but now it makes sense. You were wished back by the same wish that brought me and Vegeta back to life."

"Are you saying one of these idiots intentionally wished us back to life? I know they're a bunch of softies, but that seems stupid even for them."

She laughed. "No. Our revivals definitely weren't intentional." She regained her composure, oddly elated considering the weighted topic of conversation. "From what I understand, they worded the wish so that everyone killed by Frieza and his men would be revived so they could revive the Namekians and their leader and use the last wish from Namek's dragon to bring everyone on Namek except Frieza and Kakarot here. Apparently Vegeta was still considered one of Frieza's men, which means you got to come back, too."

"Well, I'll be damned," Nappa boasted, roaring with laughter. "Guess that's another thing I have to thank those pesky Earthlings for."

"I'm guessing they don't realize what they did. I wonder how many others were brought back? On planets the force was conquering during that year…" She pondered it for a moment, wondering how those that were conquered would use their second chance. Or if they would get to. If the planet was occupied by Frieza's soldiers, would they just be killed again? She bit the inside of her lip; she couldn't think about that. She had to share the best news that came out of the Namek debacle.

Her smile returned and she straightened up. "If that makes you happy, I've got even better news: Frieza is dead."

Even after all these months, it still felt liberating to say it aloud. Nappa stared at her in disbelief for a beat, rubbing next to his ear as if he didn't hear her right. Then, a grin slowly spread across his features. He jumped to his feet and whooped, pumping a fist and nearly putting a hole in his ceiling. Nabooru found his joy contagious, and for the first time, truly felt the impact of that news. When they found out about his defeat, she had been too numb to take much pleasure in it and her freedom. She did her best not to think about that sordid part of her life for the last several months to spare her fragile rebuilding. But now, seeing Nappa rejoice after a lifetime of servitude to the prejudiced tyrant that killed his race and enslaved the last three remaining members, she beamed along with him. It felt like old times, like they completed a particularly convoluted or challenging job, only better. She supposed this was her last mission for the force: informing Nappa of his freedom.

"Dreams really do come true," said Nappa, returning to his seat with a dramatic flop. The sofa groaned under his weight. "But hold on…"

He rubbed his chin and gestured to her with his hand. "If you and Vegeta were dead and brought here, and that left only Kakarot and Frieiza behind...are you saying Kakarot beat Frieza?!"

Nabooru nodded. "He did. And you were right: it did take a Super Saiyan to kill him. The very legend he feared that drove him to destroy your planet. Vegeta said Dodoria confirmed that for him."

"Not my first choice for who should get the honor in that case, but at least it was a Saiyan that did it." Moments of silence passed as he mulled the news over, and she was sure that smile might be plastered to his face for days. He deserved it. "Makes me feel a little better being beat by that third-class, at least. Sounds better to say I got whipped by the first Super Saiyan in centuries and who killed Frieza than some no name raised on Earth, huh?"

"It does. But maybe that should teach you a lesson about being so caught up in that dumb caste system."

He waved her off and she grinned. "Aw, come on. Save the lecture. You did enough of it when Raditz was around. And it's not like it matters now, anyway." Nappa tilted his head to one side and hummed. "Does put a bit of a dent in my plans, though. But, if Frieza's not around and you got away from him, why didn't you head home? I figured you would take the first chance you got to go."

The air in her lungs froze and her expression fell. She glanced away and rubbed her hands over the top of her thighs. "Because I...I can't." She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Counted. One. Two. Three. "Frieza told me before he killed me. Said the Gerudo betrayed him and he decided he didn't want to deal with them or the planet any more."

She heard Nappa exhale a deep breath. "Damn, Nabs…" he muttered. He shifted in his seat, and she started to reassure him that he didn't need to console her considering it wasn't something he was particularly predisposed to, but he spoke before she could. "You know I ain't much for the mushy shit, but I've been there. So if you need someone to vent to, scream at, even beat up, I think I can manage that."

Her breath hitched, and her smile returned with an ease she didn't expect. "Thanks, Nappa," she said, swiping at her eyes. Gold eyes found his gaze again. "I'm doing much better than I was, but I appreciate the offer. It has been a while since I've fought anyone else. I've been training by myself."

Nappa snorted. "The way you and Vegeta went at it, I figured he would be running you ragged trying to become a Super Saiyan since you were back together. He is on Earth, too, isn't he? Thanks to that wish?"

"He was. He stole a ship and took off to look for Kakarot a few months ago to make him tell him how to become a Super Saiyan." She dragged her fingers through her ponytail, his voice and his claim of her weakness ringing through her mind. "I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't come back. Unless he fails to find him."

"Sounds like him. Once he has his mind set on something, he won't stop until he gets it or he dies trying."

"What was your plan, anyway? You said it wouldn't work now with Frieza dead. You weren't going to rejoin the force, were you?"

Nappa folded his arms. "I had planned to save up money to get a ship or find where <i>I</i> could steal one to get back to at least Vegeta, but if he's here or likely bound to be here, Frieza's dead, and I'm out of a job, guess it's not really worth all that trouble. And I wanted to get revenge, of course." He got up and wandered to the kitchen. He retrieved two glasses and a bottle of amber liquor. "I ain't a huge fan of sticking around on this mudball, partially because the booze I've found so far might as well be water, but it's not the worst place ever. Earthlings are fairly dumb and definitely weak, so making something of myself here would be pretty easy."

"What, are you going to conquer Earth or something? That's awfully ambitious. And ruling always looked like too much work to me."

The Saiyan handed her a glass and resumed his seat, taking a generous swig of his. Nabooru took a tentative sniff of the contents, her left over paranoia from Nappa and Raditz shoving a drink in her hand that didn’t agree with her quite as well as it did the Saiyans in the past kicking in. The aroma reminded her of plenty of other planets’ liquor, including the whiskey from her home planet. Deeming it safe, and remembering that most beverages he and Raditz deemed as strong as water had been tame enough, she took a measured sip. She winced at the strong alcoholic taste with little else to temper it and swallowed, the burn in her throat feeling almost brand new after...she couldn’t remember the last time she had a drink.

“Nothing like that. Guess I get a chance to just start over. Do whatever I want.” He rubbed his chin, swirling his liquor in the glass. “Maybe I’ll try to start a business. Be my own damn boss for once.”

“I think you deserve that. It’s about time you do something for yourself.” Nabooru smiled. While Nappa seemed to deal with and accept his lot in life with far more grace than his charges or herself, he, too, had most of the agency in his life ripped away when Frieza destroyed his home.  On top of ensuring he kept a menace of a prince pleased, he had to keep himself and two young Saiyans in check to make sure the emperor didn’t find reason to kill them. Like her, it was time they wrote new chapters in their lives. “You’ve spent your whole life working for and serving someone else. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do on your own.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, grin returning. "Yeah, shouldn't be too hard. I'm making pretty good money now to get started. Which reminds me. That million is a good start, but you're going to need more than that if you plan on staying here." He finished off his drink and set the glass on the coffee table. "I know a way you can make money fighting. It's not the most legal gig for whatever reason, but it's more fun than some shitty office job. You could basically come fight whenever you wanted to and earn some cash for your wins."

"Sounds a bit cheap considering we're a whole lot stronger than the average Earthling," she replied with a soft laugh. "But...a place where I can fight, earn money, and make my own schedule so I can keep training does sound pretty tempting."

Nappa nodded sagely. "I had my reservations at first. The guy that recruited me off the streets was as shady as I've ever seen, and fighting a bunch of weak Earthlings didn't sound at all fun. But now that I've made a pretty good name for myself on the underground scene, I can make a killing in a single night. So if you're interested, I could take you next time I go."

"It does sound more exciting and accommodating than anything else I've seen. Waitressing, bartending, secretary work, delivery driver, exotic dancer...I don't think I would like any of those. And I would have to work the hours they give me." She hummed and took another swig of her whiskey. "I would much rather fight, even if it won't exactly be a challenge. I could always find ways to make it fun. Return to my roots before I learned to fight with ki as much as I can. I won't have to kill my opponents, will I?"

Nappa snorted. "Not if you don't want to," he answered. "It's not specifically a rule but killing is frowned upon. You can mess your opponent up as much as you want, but outright murder isn't all that approved of. Makes no sense to me. Someone can torture a guy for three hours but if he kills him, he could be banned. Not officially but that's a crowd of tough customers. When they don't like you, they know how to keep you out of the ring. Guess because they're down there for a show and to gamble, and killing other fighters shrinks the pool of talent."

"Good to know," she said, repressing a shudder. "With income out of the way, I guess I'll try to spend this zeni on other things I need. I've been wearing two outfits for the past few months and they're about to fall apart. I could use some soap and stuff like that, too."

"You can get that just about anywhere in the city. I would suggest getting a bank account so you can save your winnings. The place I found doesn't ask questions." He pulled a rectangular device out of his pocket. "You should get one of these too. They call it a cell phone. Kinda like a scouter in a way with communication. Can't sense power levels as far as I know, though."

Nabooru finished off her drink, nose scrunched for a brief moment. "I can teach you how to sense energy. It's the least I could do since you're helping me out." Nappa shot her a baffled look, and she added, "I heard you and Vegeta discussing how the Earthlings could do it, so I taught myself. I had a feeling I would need any edge I could get on Namek, even if I was fairly convinced I would be killed there. If not by Frieza, by Vegeta since he stubbornly decided I had betrayed him."

"Too bad I couldn't be there. I'd've loved the excuse to crack some skulls of those uppity soldiers and generals even if it would have gotten me killed." Nappa's dreamy expression shifted, his brows knitting together again. "You're probably right though. He was pretty pissed about that and didn't seem to care to rethink his position on your promotion. I tried to tell him I doubted you wanted that, but...you know how he is. And you saw how he did me dirty."

Nabooru shrugged a shoulder. "I guess it doesn't matter what he thought about that anymore. Frieza's dead. The only thing I plan to prove to him is that I'm not weak. And if I have to surpass him and Kakarot to do it, I will."

Somewhere deep down she knew she shouldn't care about the Saiyan prince's prognosis of her. Or anyone's for that matter. She was a ridiculously powerful woman with near unmatched combat prowess. But his words as he slammed the ship's door in her face and took off into space struck a chord deep within her that reverberated day in and day out despite her efforts to drown it out with affirmations and personal praise. In the end, she surmised that it was because she agreed. She was weak at that point. Physically, for she wouldn't be able to take even him on if he decided to subjugate her just as Frieza had. Mentally as she was more than ready to crumble beneath the weight of her grief and return to the afterlife. Thus, at the very least matching Vegeta in strength again would be a fair start to truly accepting that she was no longer weak for herself. Him witnessing it would simply be a bonus.

"Heh, I always knew you might as well be a Saiyan." Nappa rose to his feet and stretched. "But let's go get you a phone and see about a bank account. I know you can handle yourself, but you're just askin' for trouble with your pockets bulging with cash like that."

The Gerudo stood herself. "This is kind of like old times, you know. When I first joined the force." She laughed. "Somehow, I get to be your pupil again. And before you ask, I'm still not calling you master."

"Damn." Nappa strode to the door and held it open for her. "At least this time there's less danger that I might get caught up in the crossfire of your blasts."

"I can't guarantee that," she teased, joining him at the door. "I still have quite the temper. One wrong move by you or someone else and you might have another ticket to Hell."

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Nappa, waving his hand. "Get going before I change my mind."

Nabooru laughed again and stepped out into the hallway. She waited for Nappa to lock up and followed him through the hall and down the stairs. It still felt surreal that her former teammate walked in front of her and struck up conversation as if no time had passed and neither of them had died in the past year. She feared that at any second he would fade away, or turn out to be someone playing an elaborate prank on her. Even so, she was grateful for his company. Grateful he had gotten a second chance after his murder at the hands of the prince he had been loyal to for decades. It made her miss Raditz all the more, his presence commonplace when they toured cities like this one on other planets. If she ever found a way to revive him, she would do it. He, too, deserved a chance to make a life for himself without Vegeta or Frieza looming over him. They had all committed horrific atrocities in Frieza's name and, though she didn't fool herself into thinking that her Saiyan cohorts possessed as much of a moral issue with it as her, they all deserved to find happiness in her mind. Whatever that looked like.

[js589]

WIP Wednesday

Haven’t done one of these in a while, but I’m working on a big canon-era AU (well, big for someone who usually writes < 5k word fics) and I am trying to kick my arse into gear and write the damn thing despite my muse up and deserting me.

The fic explores the idea (concocted during during a late-evening cackling session with the lovely @practicallyasleep) that a possible reason for Winifred to go along with Gilbert courting her was that her dad was a conman and, for whatever reason, they needed a fall guy.

This particular passage has a university-aged Anne and Gilbert meet quite by accident after Gilbert has found out just what his role is and doing his best to get the hell out of dodge. Of course, as in every universe, Gil is instantly smitten. As for Anne... she put it best when she said “remains to be seen”.

"May I help you, sir?" a polite voice asked from the middle of the store. Gilbert didn't dare look, but he hoped he could give the young woman it belonged to enough time to run if things got ugly. Having Bash on his conscience was already more than he could handle. An innocent bystander… he'd turn himself in.

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

The door to the shop opened again, and Gilbert looked up, only just stopping himself from cursing as he ducked down. Of course Mr. Rose would send Theo—the biggest, nastiest brute in his employ—after Gilbert.

"I saw my cousin duck in here. A bit taller than you? Dark hair? Looks a bit rumpled? He can't resist a bookstore—must've run all the way here." Gilbert could hear the sneer in the man's voice.

"I'm sorry, sir; I've been sitting here staring at the door all morning, and you're the first patron I've had in the last three hours. Perhaps he found his way to the tavern next door?" Gilbert was almost positive the young woman had placed her own slight, snide emphasis on 'tavern'. Was she telling him where he should go, or where she thought he belonged?

"You're certain he couldn't have snuck in while your attention was elsewhere for a moment? He's a light-fingered fellow, and I'd hate for you to find your stock a few rare ones short." Gilbert clenched his fists. It sounded like Theo was pretending concern, but Gilbert couldn't be sure he wasn't threatening the young woman.

She was unruffled, however, responding brightly, "Oh, I'm quite sure, sir. My hearing and eyesight are excellent, and I've taken after more than one thief with a broom and gotten my wares back every time. I appreciate your concern, though. If I do see a man matching your cousin's description, I'll be sure to let him know you were looking for him. Have a good day, sir!" She said it with such cheerful finality that Gilbert wanted to laugh.

"Good day, miss." Gilbert could tell Theo was confused, but he seemed to believe the young woman, and the door opened and closed once again. Still, Gilbert stayed crouched down. He couldn't be too careful.

He was just about to stand when the young woman spoke again. "He's out of sight." Gilbert heard her turn, and her voice was directed at him now. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what that was about? Yes, you—there's no one else in here anymore. I turned that man away because I know the look of a bully in search of a victim, but if you make me regret that decision, know that I wasn't exaggerating about the broom or my track record with it."

Gilbert straightened up and turned to look, only to have to catch his breath for a third time. He'd had the notion that he could kiss his rescuer, and now that he saw her red curls and stormy blue eyes and how her light green skirt and crisp white blouse served only to highlight her features, the idea held significantly more appeal. "I…"

"You…?" The young woman crossed her arms as her eyebrows lifted.

Gilbert shook his head. "Ah—sorry, miss, it's just…" He sighed. He knew how suspicious this was going to sound, but he couldn't help feeling compelled to answer.

[mikeo56]

Zayner, who has a PhD from the University of Chicago, worked for NASA researching the terraforming of Mars, and is the inventor of a musical instrument called the Chromocord that creates sound when light reacts with bacteria, was and is one of the world’s leading “biohackers.” He defines the term to mean “constantly pushing the boundaries of science outside traditional environments,” which he certainly did in this case, taking a radical approach to combating longstanding intestinal troubles. In layman’s terms, his plan was to nuke his natural bacteria with antibiotics, and replace them with bacteria from the feces of others.  

“I wanted to see if, by transplanting different bacteria in my body, they would change the way my gastrointestinal system was functioning,” is how he explains it now. “Because, at the time, it wasn't functioning very well.”

On that May, 2016 podcast, neither science reporter Liz Lopatto nor Arielle Duhaime-Ross, who wrote the story for The Verge, had much that was positive to say about either Josiah or his experiment. In fact, in an eerie preview of the anger of self-proclaimed “experts” that would become ubiquitous among pundits after the arrival of Covid-19, they sounded downright furious.

“Extremely dangerous, possibly stupid,” said Lopatto, of Josiah’s gambit.

“In his mind, it made sense to tell people about it, and inspire them to take their health into their own hands,” said Duhaime-Ross. “The risk of copycats is really real with this.”

“This is one of the things that does bug me about biohackers,” agreed a put-out Lopatto. “I don’t want people playing with pathogens in their bedrooms. Like, I’m not interested in that, personally, as a person who lives in this society.”

A less judgmental New York Times later produced a short film about the episode called Gut Hack:

Whether it’s Zayner gulping down a massive antibiotic cocktail in a WU-TANG FOREVER t-shirt, or repeatedly grimacing as he swallows home-crafted feces capsules in a hotel room, the short documentary is a parade of scenes make your eyeballs pop out in shock and amazement, cartoon-style. Zayner, by any measure, is an extraordinarily interesting character. He has a mind almost perfectly engineered against obedience: brilliant, fearless, and not accepting every assumption but checking the validity of each. He alternately bristles at or ignores judgment, seeming to draw inspiration from it in either case. At the end of Gut Hack, we see him standing on a subway platform, shaking his head as he listens to the two Verge journalists denounce him. We hear their audio:

“Not putting your life in danger unnecessarily is pretty basic,” they complain, adding that his experiment was “not even a blip in the scientific radar.”

“There’s a fine line,” Zayner later sighs to the Times, “between being crazy and knowledgeable.” He goes on to talk about growing up poor, and different, in the Midwest. “When you grow up on a farm, you have all this freedom,” he says. “We don’t have any neighbors or anyone to interact with, so we’re used to just doing what we want. And when you get to this environment were people don’t do that, you’re immediately pegged as, you know, a weirdo.”

Some weeks after, he’s shown feeling better, but he wants more than a placebo result. The film ends with him receiving the results of genetic sequencing tests that appear to show his “gut hack” experiment worked. He bursts into tears. The Times reporter asks, “Do you feel vindicated?”

He seems surprised by the question. No, he says, it’s not about that. “It’s one of those things,” he says, “where you’re so moved and impressed by how science works.”

Zayner went on to claim his battle with irritable bowel syndrome had been won, only to be replaced by a new malady. “My physical signs of IBS were gone,” he said recently. “But so was my privacy. This is when the deplatforming began.”

Around the same time Gut Hack was being made, Zayner founded ODIN, which he describes as “a company that sells science and genetic engineering supplies to people so that they can do science experiments in their homes.”

ODIN’s product line, which includes CRISPR gene-editing kits, seems designed to give ordinary people the tools to experience science as Zayner does, almost more as artistic expression than means to any end. He describes his Chromacord, for instance, as “something more purely inspirational, just outside the average notion of what science even is. In a manner of speaking, it was simply magic.” Or, as he said in another interview, “People having access to this technology allows them to do crazy and cool shit.”

Unfortunately, after the notoriety he gained from Gut Hack, bringing the “magic” of genetic engineering to the layperson suddenly proved a little beyond what science-journalism scolds or the faceless executives at tech platforms felt comfortable allowing.

Amazon and Facebook began delisting his products, and Patreon, PayPal, and Square all shut him down in short order. Sometimes he was told why, sometimes he wasn’t. He was forced to move on, and doesn’t want to jinx his relationship with his current payment processor by mentioning their name.

In between, the State of California brought a case against him on the somewhat preposterous charge of practicing medicine without a license. He won, but California state authorities were so peeved that they passed a law appearing to target his company alone, declaring that firms must append their wares with labels announcing “not for self-administration,” if they’re in the business of selling home “gene-therapy kits.”

In a piece called “Don’t Change Your DNA At Home,” the MIT Technology Review noted with amusement that, even if one includes ODIN, “We’re not sure any such kit exists.” The sponsor of the law, Republican State Senator Ling Ling Chang, appeared to think ODIN’s products were a lot more Frankensteinian and terrifying than they are.

“It was really weird,” Josiah says now. “It’d be like, I don’t know, labeling a computer: ‘You shouldn’t eat this computer.’ I mean, obviously.” Regarding ODIN’s home experimentation kits, he adds, “How would you use it on humans? I don’t even understand. I guess somebody crazy enough could just take some of the DNA that we sell and try to inject it into their body, but it wouldn’t even work in humans because it was meant for other organisms.”

Zayner didn’t comply with the law, and instead just moved to Austin, Texas (“Land of the free, home of the brave,” he laughs) and set up shop there. Then Covid-19 arrived, and Zayner’s biohacking got him in trouble again.

In May, 2020, he read a scientific paper that claimed a DNA-based vaccine against Covid-19 had been successfully developed and tested on macaques.

“I was like, ‘Why isn’t anybody working on this or trying this?’ Why don’t I go and order up the same DNA vaccine, have the company produce it for me and actually test it and see if it works on humans?” he said. “It worked on monkeys.”

Zayner followed through on his idea, contracting with a company to make the vaccine described in the paper. Then he and two other scientists/bio-hackers live-streamed the process of injecting themselves with it. He claims they all had antibody responses, but even at the time — his experiment was covered by Bloomberg — he said, “I’m very suspicious of my own data.” Here is how he describes the results, and his thinking, in a recent essay:

I’m hesitant to say it worked because vaccines are complicated and we’d need further testing to confirm our results. But, even if it didn't work, the fact that someone could have designed a vaccine, and contracted a company to manufacture that vaccine in June 2020 for under $5k is fucking profound — and that is what, at the time of releasing our video, I felt people needed to know.

At the time, there was no action taken against him. But just as mRNA vaccines began to be distributed across America and other parts of the world, he abruptly received notice from YouTube that he’d been banned for “severe or repeated violations of our community guidelines.”

[valeriethepussycats]

Assemble

Chapter 9

Pairing- Loki x Reader x Steve (one side)

Warning- cursing

Your thoughts and other characters are in italics.

Fury gathers Tony and Steve back into the briefing room everyone there has a look as if in a daze. A look of numb shock is shown on their devastated faces.

“These were in Phil Coulson's jacket.Guess he never did get you to sign them.”Nick throws Coulson's Captain America trading cards  on the table towards Steve. Steve picks them up, stained with blood.

“We're dead in the air up here. Our communications, location of the cube, Banner, Thor and I don’t know if Y/n will recover from this....I got nothing for you. Lost my one good eye. Maybe I had that coming.Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number though, because I was playing something even riskier.” Nick told Steve and Ton. “There was an idea, Stark knows this, called The Avengers Initiative. The idea to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea, in heroes.”

Tony gets up and walks off, not wanting to hear it anymore.

“Well, it's an old fashioned notion.” Nick finished.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor walks out far into the meadow. He looks down. Mjölnir.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Banner wakes up, in human form with Y/n words echoing in he’s head. He looks around and sees he is in a pile of rubble and looks up at the open ceiling he crashed in and is completely naked. A Security Guard stands there, amazed. “You fell out of the sky.”

“Did I hurt anybody?”  Bruce asked coming to.

“There's nobody around here to get hurt. You did scare the hell out of some

pigeons though.” The Security Guard  answered.

“Lucky.” Bruce replied.

“Or just good aim. You were awake when  you fell.”  The Security Guard told Bruce.

“You saw?”

“The whole thing, right through the ceiling. Big and green and buck ass nude. Here...”  He throws Banner a pair of big pants. Banner pulls on his pants. “I didn't think those would fit you  until you shrunk down to a regular size fella.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you an alien?”

“What?” Bruce asked.

“From outer space, an alien?” The Security Guard wondered.

“No.” Bruce answered.

“Well then, son, you've got a condition.”  The Security Guard disclosed.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Barton is strapped down. Natasha watches over him as Barton tries to shake off Loki's mind control.

“Clint, you're gonna be alright.” Natasha told him.”

“You know that? Is that what you know? I got...I gotta go in though. I gotta

flush him out.”  Barton stated.

“We don't have that long, it's gonna take time.” Natasha stressed.

“I don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in? Do you know what it's like to be unmade?” Barton questioned.

“You know that I do.” Natasha replied.

“Why am I back? How did you get him out?” Barton asked.

“Cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard in the head.” Natasha answered.

“Thanks.” Barton stated then Natasha unfastens the restraints. “Tasha, how many agents?”

“Don't. Don't do that to yourself,  Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.”  Natasha explained.

“Loki, he got away?” Barton wondered.

“Yeah. I don't suppose you know where?”  Natasha asked.

“I didn't need to know. I didn't ask.  He's gonna make his play soon though. Today.”  Barton answered.

“We gotta stop him.” Natasha declared.”

“Yeah? Who's we?” Barton questioned.

“I don't know. Whoever's left.” Natasha replied.

“Well, if I put an arrow in Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better I suppose.” Barton  remarked.

“Now you sound like you.” Natasha sits next to her partner and friend.

“But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Loki do to you?” Barton  asked.

“He didn't, I just...”

“Natasha.”

“I've been compromised. I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out.”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n is in Coulson’s office or more like he’s room trying to calm the raging storm inside of her revenge and anger is never a good combination with her. She Angrily swipeseverything off of his desk breaking the laptop. Automatically feeling guilty Y/n been down to pick up the laptop and sees a briefcase under the desk Curiosity taking over her she pulls the briefcase out and sees that it has her name on it.

“What are you?”

Y/n opens the briefcase and see A sticky note that says play me. Y/n then moves the sticky note and play on the video. At first all you could hear is rumble and the  screen is black. Giving up on the video Y/n  moves to pick up the stuff she knocked off the deck. 

“You should cover up because it’s going to Rain.” Said Coulson’s voice.

Y/n turns to look back at the briefcase and see Coulson on the screen.

“No um time to bundle up because it’s going to rain no. Ohhh how about the  Red Wing Black bird soaring through the sky. Get it  because of the color of the wings  it reminds me of you and the Phoenix....The point is I had this uniform made for you because your a hero and every hero needs to dress the part and have a name. Now go save the world.”

The video stops an a Second part compartment from the briefcase opened up revealing a bodysuit that’s Blue, Red, with a Yellow. It’s like Funky and Radiant. The base of the suit is blue and it’s had a red vertical line going down the middle and two yellow diagonal lines on each side of the vertical line, and the sleeves and legs have the same design as the stomach but the sleeves go all the way down to Cover the two middle fingers. The top of the suit makes an ‘x’ separate each side of the chest, leaving the neck and a little cleavage showing.

Oh Phill this is beautiful

When Y/n turns the suit around to look at the back she see a Metal plate on her upper back.

What are you for?

Just as the thought ran into Y/n’s mind a small Wood sheath attached to the Metal plate. Y/n gaps in shock. She knows exactly what that is

Y/n goes to pull the handle of the Sword out of the Wood sheath  and see a small dagger that slowly start to unfold into a 65 cm Katana Sword.

“Oh my god...how could he had this made.” Y/n wondered as a slow smile creeped on to her face. She knew she could do it and so did Phill.

Red Wing has a nice ring to it

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Tony look at the hatch. He stands not saying a word. Steve walks in.

“Was he married?” Steve asked.

“No. There was a uh...cellist, I think.” Tony answered.

“I'm sorry. He seemed like a good man.” Steve  answered.

“He was an idiot.” Tony remarked.

“Why? For believing?” Steve asked.

“For taking on Loki alone.” Tony stated.

“He was doing his job.”  Steve voiced

“He was out of his league. He should have waited. He should have...” Tony said looking at the spot where  Coulson die.

“Sometimes there isn't a way out, Tony.” Steve started.

Tony walks away from Steve. “Right. How did that work for him?” Tony asked sarcastically

“Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?” Steve asked.

Tony turns around sharply. “ WE ARE NOT SOLDIERS! I am not marching to Fury's fife!”

“Neither am I! He's got the same blood on his hands as Loki does. Right now we've got to put that aside and get this done. Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list...”  Steve trailed off.

“He’s in Manhattan and if I’m not mistaken I think he’s at your tower Tony. It’s the only power store in Manhattan that I can think of.” Y/n chimed in.

Tony and Steve turns around and see Y/n standing in the door waring a black and white suit.

“Y/n.” Steve said staggered.

“What do you think Phil had it made. I’ve never had a suit of armor before but this is kind of bad ass.” Y/n proclaimed while she was checking herself out.

When Steve saw Y/n’s suit he had to check himself. He know of Y/n’s powers before the rest of the team so he knows if he let’s he’s mind wonder it would go to ungentleman like place  and Y/n could pick up on that and he doesn’t want to make things awkward between them. Steve can really see Y/n being an important person in his new life. Steve clears his throat then asks. “Where you going?”

“To stop Loki but first I’m gonna find Thor.” Y/n answered.

“What about Banner?” Tony asked.

“I sent Bruce to Manhattan.” Y/n answered.

“Are you sure your ok to do this?” Steve asked in a  concern voice.

“Yes. Im 75% sure I can do. I just  had to take some time to clear my head because before fighting Loki To keep my emotions in check.” Y/n answered.

“Or you’ll  go Super Saiyan got it.” Tony remarked.

“I am so sorry about that...” Y/n trailed off.

Steve waves his hand. “It’s ok we understand anyone would be upset finding out that kind of news.”

Y/n smiles at Tony and Steve then opens the hatch. Clueless to what’s going on Steve and Tony backs up from the hatch.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony questioned.

Y/n smiles. “You guys need to suit up I’ll see you there.”  

Y/n jumps in the hatch then it closes behind her. Steve and Tony look at the hatch wide eyes and their mouths slightly open.

“Did she just?” Steve asked.

“Yes. Yes she did.” Tony answered.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Erik works around the CMS device that has already been set-upon the rooftop of Tony's tower.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Steve walks in full uniform. Natasha looks at him, unprepared.

“Time to go.” Steve announced.

“Go where?” Natasha wondered.

“I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly  one of those jets?”  Steve asked.

Barton walks out of the restroom. Looks at Cap. “I can.”

Steve looks at Natasha and she nods her head to confirm Barton's on their side.

“You got a suit?” Steve asked Barton.

“Yeah.”

“Then suit up.”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n is flying in the sky searching the ground to see where Thor landed until a massive lightning bolt all most hits her, Y/n flys out the way and looks down and see Thor.

“Really you couldn’t killed me!” Y/n shouted as she flys down to Thor who is standing in a meadow of flowers.

“I know about Phill.” Y/n said with a hint of sadness.

“I’m sorry. I know he meant  the world to you.” Thor said as he gives Y/n a hug then placed his forehead on her for a moment of silence.

“I’ll deal with Loki I gave you my word.” Thor declare.

“What happens if you get hurt?” Y/n asked.

“You will not risky your life me Y/n not again.” Thor disclosed getting upset for his friend.

“I won’t but I won’t yet you get hurt knowing I can help...come on I know where Loki is.” Y/n voiced leaving  no room for an argument.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Captain America pulls on his Helmet and Shield. Tony welds his Iron Man helmet. Light slips down over Iron Man's eye holes. Black Widow attaches a glove gauntlet  with her rounds on her wrist and a blue light charges. Hawkeye slips on his quiver of arrows.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Cap, Widow and Hawkeye walk towards and into the Quinjet. A Young Shield Pilot looks and stands in their way.

“You are not authorized to be here...” The Pilot stated.

“Son... just don't.” Steve told the The Pilot.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Fury looks the window of the ship, contemplating. Agent Hill

walks up to him, knowing. “Sir.”

“Agent Hill?”

“Those cards, they were in Coulson's locker, not in his jacket.” Agent Hill disclosed.

“They needed the push.” Nick said  holding Coulson's cards.

A loud noise screeches. Fury looks out to see Iron Man flying off as well as the Quinjet.

“They found it. Get our communications back up, whatever you have to do. I  want eyes on everything.” Nick ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Part 10

Kuddly Krab: @aesthethickks​

[enchanted-prose]

#9 On the Horizon

two in one day I’m sorry, I just had to do it, plus I’m excited to see everybody else’s reactions because I’m posting to fanfiction.net and I have one reviewer who has some good theories on the overarching plot. . .

Word count: 5,433

Characters: Tobias, Mott, Feall (Original character), Renlyn Karise (Original character) The Faola (Original creation)

Notes: Edited!

Enjoy!

Tobias wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the summer heat piercing his long sleeved tunic. He loved his work. He loved being able to see results, being able to visibly help other people. It was his mentor, the castle’s official physician, who’d suggested Tobias set up temporary clinics in the poorer areas of the city.

It would give him good practice.

The temporary clinics were nothing like the pristine physician’s suites in the castle, but it was certainly better than a pigsty. It was always set up in the morning by the earliest patrol. A large striped tent was set up in the middle of a large space surrounded by dying buildings. This kept patients out of the heat.

Due to his dedication, Tobias had climbed higher than many of the other apprenticed physicians. He was the one telling the others to get patients clean, keep a steady supply of water, and clean up any mess.

Power felt good. Power over a group of people with a similar cause.

The truth was, he liked not having to sweep floors, he liked cleaning people up. He liked stitching them back together.

That was what his ‘power’ brought him.

In the heat, Tobias requested that canopies be set up in addition to the central tent. It would be easier to work that way. He gently patted his current patient’s shoulder after bandaging the patient’s infected wound. The instructions were clear: Keep clean or he wouldn’t survive.

The new trend of cleanliness was creating a string of new businesses.

Or at least that’s what Renlyn Karise said. Everyone was racing to build up their own bath houses. Racing to supply water to people who could pay for it.

Renlyn played her cards well.

She was one of the few members of the gentry providing water for free, in turn, she received a new wave of Carthyan employees.

Supposedly she was setting up an office in Drylliad dedicated to building structures.

Business to Renlyn was like medicine to Tobias.

The patient thanked Tobias profusely, and walked away. With a grin, Tobias handed his used instruments to the nearest assistant, and moved on to the next canopy. A new bag of tools and a new patient were waiting for him.

“You see, Mott, I was able to track down the doctors that healed Imogen after she was shot through her shoulder,” Tobias said as he opened up his bag of instruments. “Because that kind of survival? Nearly impossible. He wouldn’t tell me his name, though, it took a lot of string pulling on both my part and Amarinda’s part.”

Mott, who often accompanied Tobias during a temporary clinic, scratched the back of his bald head. “Right. I have a feeling you’re going to tell me all about it no matter what my answer is, what did he say?”

“Cleanliness is key. He did a study in which he followed doctors with used instruments as well as doctors who used clean ones. Those with dirty instruments had a higher mortality rate.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mott nodded. “Dirty cities tend to have higher plague rates, or at least they did.”

“I’m glad you- please stick your tongue out, ma’am-  noticed that,” Tobias squinted at his patient’s throat. “It appears that you have white pockets on the back of your throat, you told me it’s quite painful? Do your ears feel jammed too?”

The patient tilted her head left and right.

Tobias nodded, and stepped away when the patient hacked into the open air. “Good, it’s not an infection of the ear, rather an inflammation of the throat. You can get better if you sleep, drink plenty of- absolutely no ale, I’m sorry- water, and make sure you’re coughing often. Come back in three weeks if symptoms don’t subside.”

“You’re very good at what you do,” said Mott as he leaned against one of the canopy poles.

“Plenty of practice, and my wife is an ambassador, she has a lot of access to the best books in the realm. Thank the Saints for the printing press.”

“Rumor has it that you’re single handedly responsible for the lack of bloated corpses in the streets.”

He didn’t mean to make a face.

There would always be people he couldn’t save, and that didn’t sit well with Tobias.

What he’d chosen as a profession differed from what Roden did.

Medicine didn’t label anybody. You were supposed to use it to help everyone in need.

When a person died under a physician’s care, it was far different from taking a man’s life in battle. It was different because steps had been taken to try to save the patient. Because no matter who the patient was, they were being cared for.

In battle, it was a contest to see who was strongest.

Battle crushes compassion.

Medicine exercised as much compassion as it could.

Death never sat well with Tobias, he wanted everyone to have the chance to see another sunrise.

“That’s not true,” Tobias insisted. “Jaron’s the one who's mostly responsible, and I’d put a lot of credit to Imogen and Amarinda. Roden, too. And Renlyn. It’s never the work of one person, it’s the work of a lot of people with good ideas and respect for another human being.”

“Have you been reading books on philosophy too?”  Mott arched an eyebrow.

“How did you know?”

“Because I read the same book.”

Tobias opened and shut his mouth several times. A wide grin spread across his face. “Really? I absolutely loved it, though there were some situations where I- please take a seat, sir, I was told you have an injury on your foot and you mustn't put any more pressure on it- didn’t agree with the author.”

“That’s the point of philosophy, is it not?” Mott narrowed his eyes at the patient’s wet boots. “I don’t make a habit of philosophy, but that book was certainly worth my time.”

“Good, good! I thought- sir, can you remove your boot please?” Asked Tobias, trying his best to juggle both conversations.

To his dismay, he couldn’t carry both.

As gingerly as he could, Tobias removed the patient’s boot, and kept a straight face as the smell assaulted his nose.

The foot seemed normal, but Tobias knew better to dismiss a patient’s concern based off of appearance only. Shifting around in his bag of instruments, Tobias withdrew a cloth, and used it to cover his hands while he touched the patient’s foot.

There weren’t many things Tobias disliked, except for feet.

But his love for what he did helped him overcome that loathing in order to help people like his current patient.

“When did you begin feeling pain?” Tobias asked after thoroughly touching the foot. “Does it ever flare up?”

The patient held up his hand and tilted it from side to side. “Fales up on occasion, usually after I’ve worked a long day.”

“And when did this pain start?”

“Er, ah, I took up a second job hauling metal for the blacksmith. My foot started hurting a week or two after I began.”

Ah, that second job would certainly contribute.

So many of the patients Tobias saw had afflictions that could be cured with a little rest, and a little less consumption of liquors. Renlyn’s attempt to provide fresh water to those who couldn’t get any was helping, but as people were working themselves to death, there was only so much water could do.

“You mentioned that the pain flares,” noted Tobias, suddenly very aware of the fact that the cobblestones were hurting his knees. He rocked back onto his heels, “Can you tell me when they get unbearable? And when they’re not painful at all?”

“I, ah, let me think,” the patient’s shoulders twitched. “They don’t get so bad on the Saints’ day. I think they’re the worst on the last working day of the week. I suppose it builds up over time.”

All it took was that explanation to confirm Tobias’s diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the patient likely wouldn’t like it.

He cleared his throat, trying to pick out the best words to describe what needed to be done. “Sir, you don’t have any fractures of the bone, nor any growths or other bad things. . . But you’re working yourself to exhaustion.”

The patient was silent. Tobias could feel Mott’s eyes lingering on the scene, taking in the utter disappointment. Asking the patient to work less was asking him to starve. Asking him to let his family starve.

And that notion made Tobias’s heart begin to whimper. It made his heart break in two.

His patient should be allowed to rest.

He should be allowed to build up his strength.

Allowed to take a moment to ease his aching feet.

“Sir, if you want to make the best recovery you can, you’ll-,” Tobias heaved in a breath, panic crawling up his spine in tiny steps. “Your feet aren’t broken in any way, but they’re tired. Your body is tired. You must take more than a day of rest in order to prevent further injury.”

The patient hung his head.

Behind him, Mott stiffened. Tobias could sense the sudden change in the atmosphere around them. He was preparing to defend Tobias in case the patient grew violent.

It had been several weeks since the last patient tried to hurt him, but it wasn’t something Tobias could ever forget.

After several moments of silence, the patient nodded. “How long would I be unable to work?”

“Depends. If you completely take the pressure off of your feet, I suppose you could recover in a few days. You’ll want to eventually build up strength, but you do that in small increments, not by lugging metal and other wares around for nearly a whole week.”

“I, ah, I have my family to think of.”

Tobias didn’t mean to wince. He’d known that was coming, and he wished with all of his heart that he’d solve the-

“Lord Branch, it truly is a nice afternoon,” said a familiar, catlike voice.

“Lady Karise, I was just meeting with a patient. We’re discussing the best way for him to recover,” Tobias glanced back at the woman behind him.

“Oh?” Renlyn shielded her eyes against the sun. She had to be blistering hot in her gown and veil. “Is there a price to be paid?”

“Not necessarily,” the patient bowed his head, murmuring the appropriate titles for the woman before him.

“Then why is both patient and doctor so disenhearted?”

As subtle as he could, Tobias nodded at his patient. Renlyn wouldn’t have him flogged for speaking to her. Or at least he didn’t think so.

There was an air of nervousness as Tobias’s patient brought his eyes from the ground to Renlyn’s face. Reverence filled his voice. “My lady, Lord Branch has asked- has informed me that my pain will go away given a little rest. . .”

Renlyn arched an eyebrow, both she and Tobias were waiting for the outcome of their discussion.

“My family depends on my, my lady, that’s all I have to say on the matter. I will not let them starve,” the patient finished by bowing his head once again.

“True dedication,” Renlyn mused.

Something mischievous was sparkling in her eyes. Tobias could see it from where he sat. He could see that glimmer as clear as the daylight illuminating Drylliad.

“What are you implying?” Tobias tried not to frown, there were all too many possibilities about what Renlyn was trying to get across.

“I promise you, dear sir, that you will be taken care of.” That twinkle still hadn’t left Renlyn’s eyes. “If you swear to rest for a week.”

The patient stuttered to life, “But how? What-”

“You will simply have to trust me, my friend.”

Tobias wrinkled his nose, but said nothing.

He still didn’t know Renlyn well enough to understand the multiple games she was playing.

The games she was playing and winning.

“Goodbye then,” Renlyn clasped her hands behind her back. And yet, despite her farewell, remained planted where she stood.

Tobias and his patient exchanged a look. There were many things to be done around the temporary clinic, it would be foolish and inconsiderate of Tobias to toss aside Renlyn’s quiet offer to help.

“Ah, there’s many patients who need water, if you wouldn’t mind helping them,” Tobias said, and then he looked at his patient’s wet shoes. “And if you could spare a-”

“Pair of boots?”

“Yes, actually. These ones aren’t suitable, they’re soaked and worn full of holes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Renlyn tipped her head, and retrieved the discarded boot.

Tobias flashed a bright smile at his patient. “Stay here for a little while longer and rest.”

“Sir, I- ah, thank you,” the patient shifted. “But it’s a lot to ask me to go on blind faith. The nobles aren’t exactly. . .”

“Kind?”

“Exactly.”

There was something stirring in Tobias's chest. Something hot and ready to fight. He heaved in a breath, knowing that this was a deciding moment.

He was deciding that yes, he did trust Lady Renlyn Karise.

“I can promise you that Lady Karise doesn’t go back on her promises,” he held a hand over his heart. “I suppose that’s why she doesn’t make many of them.”

“Then I’ll take your word for it, Lord Tobias.”

“It’s alright, I try not to throw my title around while I work, sir-”

What a fool. Tobias had never asked for his patient’s name. He hadn’t expected to get so involved in his patient’s life.

“Derforgall,” the patient flashed a grin. “Calagan Deforgall.”

“Any relation to Alistair Derforgall? One of the king’s knights?” Tobias scratched the back of his head, curious about Derforgall’s answer.

He nodded. “Alistair is my son.”

“He’s a good man, I’ve heard a lot about him.”

A smile crossed Derforgall’s face. “I couldn’t be more proud of Alistair, he’s my oldest son, and he does what he can for us. It’s not much, and I don’t expect him to provide for me while I can still work. He’s too foolish in trying to give us things. My wife, she, ah, she has a habit of kindness. Alistair learned that from her, and I take pride in knowing he is in a place to use that kindness for good.”

Tobias caught himself nodding. Kindness was perhaps the most valuable currency in the realms. There wasn’t much of it following the Avenian War.

But many people were trying to prove otherwise.

And Tobias would do all that he could to contribute.

The temporary clinics remained standing well into the evening. Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and the others had their hands full with various different tasks, varying into all sorts of forms. Renlyn brought water, Mott helped with settling rambunctious patients, and Tobias patched up as many people as he could.

And to top it all off, Derforgall got a new pair of boots.

However, Renlyn was nowhere to be seen when he was given the boots. In fact, Tobias didn't see her until Derforgall had left, promising that he would rest for a week.

He didn't bring up her promise to Derforgall until they were dismantling the canopies.

"That was very kind of you," Tobias noted as he untied part of the canopy.

Renlyn made a face. "I don't see why it has to be discussed. Many people would do the same."

"Some people argue that it's in man's nature to be kind," said Mott from the opposite end of the canopy. "Shows that you're human, Lady Karise."

"Shame, I was hoping that I was secretly a fairy for the longest time."

"You sure do look like a fairy," chipped in a new voice. Lord Feall was watching from his position on his horse.

No retort came from Renlyn, she only scowled and continued untying parts of the canopy.

"Lord Feall!" Tobias grinned. "What brings you here?"

Feall waved his hand, "I was in the area, just completed patrolling the upper streets. Missed

helping you lot earlier today, I figured I could make up for it by assisting with the cleanup."

"You have a height advantage, mind grabbing the center of the canopy?" Mott gestured to the aforementioned spot, which was threatening to drop into the cobblestone street and dirty itself.

With a nod of his head, Feall slowly walked his horse forwards, grabbing the center of the canopy. He held it up with both hands as Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and another attendant scrambled to untie the canopy.

Tobias held his side of the canopy as high as he could, and instructed the others to go to Mott's side. Mott, catching on, began to roll the canopy.

It was all rolled up and stored within a matter of minutes.

They repeated the process for multiple canopies; Tobias profusely thanked Feall for his assistance, to which Feall responded that it wasn't him who needed to be thanked, it was his horse

On the third canopy, Tobias once again mustered the courage to speak to Renlyn.

He could no longer deny his curiosity.

“Lady Karise, I-,” Tobias began.

“My name is Renlyn, you’re allowed to call me that.”

“Right, ah, Renlyn? You promised Derforgall he’d be taken care of.” He paused, untied the string before him, and continued. “You never specified how he’d be taken care of.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to,” Renlyn frowned at the post in front of her. She glared at the other assistant who’d been looking at her. “I have many ties.”

“To what kind of people, Lady Renlyn?” Mott chimed in, his own eyes glued to the post before him.

“People who have more of an ability to take action.”

“I have many reasons to distrust you, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Is that because I’m a woman of business, sir Mott?”

“Partially, yes.”

Feall cleared his throat. “You can’t be too harsh about the stereotype. Renlyn has proved herself to be as unpredictable as the weather in late summer.”

“First I am a fairy to you, and now I am a storm with human skin,” Renlyn narrowed her eyes at Feall. “Am I something pretty to look at or something you fear?”

“Is it wrong of me to say both?”

Once again, Renlyn had no biting retort, and instead continued with freeing the canopy from the posts it was tied to.

“I believe Lady Karise,” Feall said as a small smile flitted across his face.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Right, ah, uh,” Tobias stuttered. “I think we should go to the Dragon’s Keep once we’re finished. Roden says there’s a new series of pastries we need to try.”

“I haven’t got anything planned,” shrugged Feall. He then looked to Mott and Renlyn. “What about you two?”

Renlyn tilted her head from side to side. “I’ll make that choice once everything is cleaned.”

Tobias tried to suppress his grin.“And you, Mott?”

“Haven’t got anything better to do.”

The thought of pastries split between his friends warmed Tobias's sore back. The work went much quicker, and Feall provided many insights on how to correctly weave a lattice for a pie. In turn, a debate sparked between Feall and Mott about which type of lattice was superior.

It didn't take long for the conversation to grow heated enough to make Renlyn crack a grin.

Altogether, Tobias decided that he'd had a victory over the day's passage. He'd managed to set up and take down the canopies in less than a few hours, stitched up several patients, helped a good man, and even managed to see Renlyn grin at the ground.

If there had to be a loss, it was because Mott argued that a pie lattice was much better over the pie crust in general, ensuring there was more pastry to eat.

Seeing the pie filling guarded by artfully placed dough was always a positive in Tobias's eyes.

With the supply wagons slowly headed back to the castle, Tobias decided that it was appropriate to make their way to the Dragon's Keep.

A sweet, warm pastry was calling his name, he simply knew it.

Feall fell into place beside Renlyn, and Tobias found himself squished in the middle.

Even Mott was in oddly cheerful spirits.

Unintentionally, they all pressed together as they passed one of the dark entrances to the ever mysterious Vaults.

Pastries were the goal, not an agonizing death in a place that rivaled the Devils' Lair.

Days later, Tobias would wonder what would've happened if they'd never decided to get pastries.

The attack came out of nowhere.

Nothing could've warned them about the cloaked bandits launching themselves out of hidden crevices.

They poured out from alleyways, from doorways and from windows.

Mott and Feall reacted much sharper than Tobias did. They faced outwards, keeping the unarmed Tobias and Renlyn safely sandwiched between them. Hooded heads surrounded them all.

One stood out from the rest.

Patched cloak.

Shorter than the others.

"Get his sword!" Bellowed the figure in the patched cloak.

Tobias was able to put the pieces together the second his mind calmed down.

The shrieking figure before him was a Faola. A fugitive Tobias had managed to trust. Had managed to talk his friends at court into trusting.

And here they were, abusing that trust.

“If we make enough noise, Captain Harlowe will come,” Mott said firmly, he’d dug the ball of his foot into one of the cobblestone crevices.

“This place is empty,” explained Feall. He jerked his head towards one of the buildings, “How else would they have gotten here?”

“I still think if we make enough noise, we can-”

“Get his sword, Devils have you!” The Faola barked, gesturing to Feall. When it became evident that nobody wanted to go near him, the Faola began to approach. “And get a rope. They can’t take us, we have higher numbers, we’ll hold the-”

“We’re not supposed to touch nobility,” mused another Faola. This one was short too.

“I don’t-”

“You should care,” Feall argued back, swiping at the Faola approaching him. “It’ll destroy your reputation here. And you don’t want that now, do you-?”

Tobias flinched as Feall’s sword met the Faola’s.

“You will speak when spoken to,” growled the Faola.

“Aren’t you speaking to me now?”

“I will get the captain myself!” Roared the other Faola, he drew his sword. “You’re putting us all at risk for something we don’t even stand for!”

“There is no-,” grunted the Faola fighting Feall. He swung at him again. “There. Is. No. ‘We’!”

“This is madness!”

“This is accomplishing a goal more important than keeping the peace!”

The second Faola wasn’t convinced. “Get the captain. You two, down the main road, you two up the low, and you two up the high-”

The cloaked Faola suddenly stopped fighting Feall, and hurled himself at his fellow bandit, taking the second Faola completely by surprise.

It was entrancing. Absolutely captivating.

Feall lunged forward to attack the cloaked Faola while he was distracted. However, the Faola predicted his move, and spun out of the way, leaving Feall’s sword to clash against the second Faola. The pair exchanged several blows before Feall realized he was attacking the wrong opponent.

The cloaked Faola continued his odd dance. Always spiraling away at the last moment. Always putting himself in the crosshairs and yanking himself free before he was hit.

Mott grabbed Tobias by the wrist, and yanked him as far away from Feall and the fight as he could. Renlyn lithely stepped away, her pale hands clenched into fists.

The Faola who’d been told to find Roden had long since ran in their appropriate directions. The others remained.

They didn’t contribute in any form, they only stood like hooded judges watching a trio of cockroaches fighting over a crumb.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Yelled the Faola fighting beside Feall.

“On the contrary!” Retorte the other as he once again spun out of reach. “I’ve been plotting this for ages!”

Feall nearly managed to swipe at his opponent’s middle, but his sword only met open air as the Faola melted into the crowd. He instantly stood tall, looking for his missing foe. “What is his name?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” the Faola panted. “I-”

A blood curdling howl interrupted the short conversation. Tobias’s gaze was drawn to the shrieking, but all he found was that unbreakable line of Faola.

The distraction worked all to well.

The cloaked Faola materialized out of the crowd, just behind Feall and the other Faola.

Tobias looked away as the cloaked Faola brought the hilt of his sword crashing down on the other Faola’s head, knocking him unconscious.

Feall barely managed to block a blow aimed at his neck.

Another harsh clap of metal meeting metal shattered the air, followed by another, and another, and another. Mott held his ground, and shifted his way to best defend Tobias and Renlyn.

It didn’t seem like Feall was trying to overpower the Faola, or at least that’s what Tobias was trying to believe. The shared blows were much too short. Feall parried each one of the Faola’s advances, and did his best to push the Faola’s blade out of his grip.

A second Faola joined in trying to dispatch Feall, followed by a fourth.

Mott knelt before the fifth Faola, and put his hands behind his head. He then motioned for Renlyn and Tobias to do the same.

Was this really happening?

It was difficult to wrap his mind around it. They’d all been walking in a straight line to get pastries, yes, but the atmosphere changed. Tobias screwed his eyes shut. The swords hitting against each other over and over and over again pounded in his head.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

Saints.

All he wanted was to go home.

This was only a bad dream.

Unfortunately, when Tobias cracked his eyes open, he and Mott were being guarded by a few of the Faola.

How much time had passed.

“Keep your eyes down,” Mott muttered. “They’re not here for us.”

“How do you-, oh,” breathed Tobias.

The Faola in the patchwork cloak.

The one fighting Feall.

That had been the Faola who’d led the attack in the woods.

Oh, oh saints.

Tobias had allowed for this to happen.

He couldn’t bear to watch as the clashing of swords grew faster, faster, faster.

He couldn’t bear to watch because he knew that Feall had no chance fighting off three of the Faola at once.

And it was all his fault.

Just out of the corner of his eye, Tobias could see the fight. He watched it just as he’d watched the snow falling lazily to the earth just months before. Ever so slow, ever so graceful. Sword hit sword, Feall dodged, all three Faola took a turn kicking at him. Feall tumbled to the ground. His hands and feet were pinned down. The cloaked Faola raised his sword high above his head.

They were watching an execution.

Unable to watch the scene any longer, Tobias turned his head, hoping that Renlyn would offer him the slightest shred of comfort.

But she was nowhere in sight.

All at once, everything came back to speed.

With a roar, Mott threw all of his weight into the nearest bandit, stealing his sword in the process. Tobias frantically looked for Renlyn, for Feall, for a way out, but he saw nothing.

Everything was rapidly filling with chaos.

The Faola, once so serene in their judgement, were fighting soldiers dressed in blue and gold. A tall man hacked through the crowd, bodies falling as he did so.

It seemed that Roden saved the day after all.

And all Tobias could do was watch.

Watch as the Faola tried to keep a protective circle around their patched friend.

Watch as they slowly ran for the shadows.

Watch as Feall scrambled to his feet, Renlyn holding a glittering dagger not far from him.

Watch as Roden demanded to know who was responsible, and be pointed to who was responsible.

The hood was torn off, revealing a young woman with scarlet hair.

Words were being said, but Tobias didn’t hear them.

He’d covered his ears to block out the sounds of unnecessary deaths.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Roden said gently, leaning ever so casually against the fireplace in his office.

Renlyn, Mott, and Tobias all sat in comfortable chairs, and each had their own mug of something warm. Feall was being looked over by the royal physician.

Tobias was still reeling from the attack.

Still trying to put the pieces together.

They’d been walking to get pastries, passed the Vaults, nearly made it to the Dragon’s Keep, a horde of Faola appeared out of nowhere, they attacked Feall but left the others alone, and the perpetrator was arrested.

He’d been told her name was Ayvar, and she was vehemently denying her involvement.

Clearing his throat, Mott told the story. Details fell from his mouth, but Tobias wasn’t listening.

Tobias had seen the entire scene on his own.

Too much blood and anger in one place.

“-there was a promise made,” Roden explained. “Jaron swore we would take care of the Faola if Feall allowed us to.”

“The attack was rushed,” Mott said.

“I know, there’s much more Faola here than were there at the attack. I was on patrol just a few streets over, too. If they’d been planning this, they would’ve done something much more inconspil-inconsnipu- much more quietly.”

“Is inconspicuous the word you’re looking for?” Tobias provided, his ears finally clear of the sound of flesh being sliced open.

“Ah, yes, yes it is,” a deep blush spread across Roden’s face. “It’s been a long day.”

“I agree.”

Renlyn sat straight up. “Is anybody concerned by the fact that they didn’t actually hurt us three?”

“Very much so, actually,” Mott answered.

Spin, spin, spin.

Tobias had been fascinated by several different clocks Renlyn had brought to court to sell. He loved watching how the gears had taken on different shapes.

His mind was just like those clocks, except his gears had frozen up.

Renlyn’s observation spun them back into action.

Think, think, think!

Connect the dots Tobias!

“It doesn’t make sense!” He didn’t mean to stand up. Tobias kept his blanket draped over his shoulders, much like the philosophers of old. “There were too many of them, too many opportunities to slit our throats. I mean, we’re not the best fighters, no offense Mott, and one of the Faola was very adamant about not touching us. They didn’t use any- any- they didn’t hurt- they ah-.”

Mott’s voice brought Tobias back down to his feet. “Take a breath, it’s alright to take things slow.”

Take things slow.

Tobias began to drum his temples, “It doesn’t make sense that they’d leave us alone, but try to cut Feall’s head clean off his shoulders.”

“Beheading is punishment for treason,” Renlyn chirped. She made a face when all eyes flew to her. “What?”

“I’m only slightly concerned,” announced Roden. He was beginning to pace. “Maybe they’d been paid to kill him.”

“But there was an entire group there,” Mott pointed out, a scowl settling on his features.

“It’s quite possible that only one of them was singled out and paid,” Tobias said. “Roden, can I ask how you found out the Faola’s name?”

“I’ve met her before, in the Vaults. I didn’t think she was a killer.”

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

The dots were coming together bit by bit.

Tobias began to pace in the opposite direction of Roden. “Then maybe she was paid to do so.”

A single question lingered in the room. Mott was the one to give the question a voice. “Who would want Feall dead?”

“I’m sure several people would,” Roden answered. “I know there’s dozens of people who want me dead.”

“You grow used to it,” muttered Renlyn.

Used to people hating you so much they wanted you to die?

The prospect made Tobias frown.

He’d have to wait until he could talk things through with Amarinda. He’d be able to see and hear all the details then.

Put them all together and listen to what Amarinda had to say.

There was more to this than just an attack on Feall.

Tobias refused to believe the attack was simply based in money.

You don’t attack a man out in the open with the captain of the guard nearby. Unless you were a fool.

No, this had to be a warning.

A storm of blood and bone lingered on the horizon.

And it was coming all too soon.

[margdarsanme]

NCERT Class 12 History Chapter 2 Kings, Farmers and Towns Early States and Economies

NCERT Class 12 History Solutions

Chapter 2 Kings, Farmers and Towns Early States and Economies

NCERT TEXTBOOK QUESTIONS SOLVED : Q 1. Discuss the evidence of craft production in Early Historic cities. In what ways is this different from the evidence from Harappan cities?

Ans. Widespread and deep excavations in the early historic towns have not been possible due to the fact that these towns are still inhabited. In Harappan Civilisation, we have been fortunate enough that excavations have taken place widespread. Despite this shortcoming, we have found many artefacts in the historic towns. These throw light on the craftsmanship of those days. There are other evidences too, that throw light on the craftsmanship of those days. The salient features of such evidences are as follows:

1. From the sights the fine pottery bowls and dishes have been found. They are glossy too and we call them Northern Black Polished Ware. It looks they were used by the rich people.

2. There have also been evidence of ornaments, tools, weapons, vessels and figurines. There are a wide range of items made of gold, silver, copper, bronze, ivory, glass, shell and terracotta.

3. The donor inscription tells who all lived in towns in terms of professionals and craftsmen. It included washer men, weaver, scribes, carpenters, goldsmith, ironsmith, etc. It is notable in Harappan towns there are no evidences of iron use.

4. The craftsmen and artisans built their guilds too. They collectively bought raw materials, produced and marketed their products.

Q 2. Describe the salient features of Mahajanapadas.

Ans. Mahajanapadas were states that existed between 6th and 4th BC centuries. Buddhist and Jain texts mention sixteen Mahajanapadas. The name of all these are not uniform in all texts but some names are common and uniform which means they were the powerful ones. These Mahajanapadas are Vajji, Magadha, Kaushal, Kuru, Panchal, and Gandhar.

The important features of the Mahajanapadas are as follows.

1. Most of the Mahajanapadas were ruled by powerful kings. However, there were some Mahajanapadas where rule was in the hands of people, we call them republics. In some states the king and the subject had collective control on the economic resources of the state.

2. Every Mahajanapadas had its own capital. The capital normally would be surrounded by fort. The fortification of the capital was needed for protection and economic resources.

3. It was around 6th Qentury BC, Brahmins began to compile scripture called “Dharmshastra” which states rules of morality including that of monarch. Herein it was mentioned that the king should be Kshatriya.

4. The main job of the king was collection of taxes from farmers, traders, craftsmen. They also accepted donations.

5. It was considered fair to plunder neighbouring countries for riches.

6. Gradually Mahajanapadas began to have full time army and officials. Soldiers were from the ranks of farmers. Q 3. How do historians reconstruct the lives of ordinary people?

Ans. Ordinary people could not leave behind any historical evidence about their life. Hence, the historians use a variety of sources to reconstruct the lives of the common people during the ancient times. The important sources are:

1. Remains of houses and pottery give an idea of the life of common men.

2. Some inscriptions and scriptures talk about the relation between monarchs and the subject. It talks about taxes and happiness and unhappiness of the common men.

3. Changing tools of craftsmen and farmers talk about the lifestyle of the people.

4. Historians also depend upon folklores to reconstruct the lives of the people during the ancient times. Q 4. Compare and contrast the list of things given to the Pandyan chief (Source 3) with those produced in the village of Danguna (source 8). Do you notice any similarities and differences? 

Ans. The gifts given to Pandya chief included things like ivory, fragrant wood, honey, sandal¬wood, pepper, flowers, etc. in additions to many birds and animals were also given as gifts. On the contrary, items produced in the village of Danguda included grass, skin of animals, flower salt and other minerals, etc. In both the lists the only common item is flower. Q 5. List some of the problems faced by the epigraphists.

Ans. The specialists who study inscriptions are called Epigraphists. Some of the important problems they encounter when they try to decipher inscriptions are as follows:

1. Many of the inscriptions are not found in proper shape, they are partly damaged, hence deciphering them becomes a knotty problem.

2. The inscriptions are written from the point of view of those who have created it. Hence, in order to get an impartial understanding, we need to go beyond the written words, get into its interpretations.

3. Many of the inscriptions have descriptions in symbolic words. Hence deciphering them have become difficult.

4. Sometimes the inscriptions are engrafted in very light colors. Hence, deciphering them becomes difficult. Q 6. Discuss the main features of the Mauryan administration. Which of these elements are evident in the Asokan inscriptions that you have studied ?

Ans. Asokan inscriptions mention all the main features of the administration of the Mauryan Empire. Thus, the features of the administration are evident in the inscriptions of the Asokan age. The important features of the same are as follow:

1. The capital of the Mauryan Empire was Pataliputra. Apart from the capital there ‘ were four other centres of political power in the empire. They were Taxila, Ujjaini, Tosali and Suvamagiri.

2. Committee and subcommittees were formed to run the administration and safety of boundaries. Megasthenes has mentioned that there were one committee and six sub-committees. The six subcommittees and their areas of activities are as follows:

(i) The first sub committee looked after navy. (ii) The second sub committee looked after transport and communications. (iii) The third sub committee looked after infantry. (iv) The fourth sub committee had the responsibility of horses. (v) The fifth had the responsibility of chariots. (vi) The sixth had the responsibility of elephants.

3. Strong network of roads and communications were established. It is notable that no large empire can be maintained in the absence of the same.

4. Asoka made an attempt to keep the empire united by the philosophy of Dhamma. Dhamma are nothing but moral principles that actuated people towards good conducts. Special officers called Dhamma Mahamtras were appointed to propagate Dhamma. In fact Romila Thapar has made it the most important element of the Asokan state’s governing principle. Q 7. This is a statement made by one of the best-known epigraphists of the twentieth century, D.C. Sircar: “There is no aspect of life, culture, activities of the Indians that is not reflected in inscriptions.” Discuss. 

Ans. The statement of eminent epigraphist D.C. Sirkar has highlighted the importance of inscription as single source of information that touch upon all areas of our life. Following are the main areas we get information about from the inscriptions;

1. Determination of state’s boundaries: the inscriptions were carved in the territories of the kings and even more important is not often close to the borders. This help us find out boundaries of kingdoms and their expansions thereto.

2. Names of Kings: The names of the kings are mentioned in the inscriptions. The names and titles used by Asoka the Great got revealed through inscriptions only.

3. Historic events: The important historical events are mentioned in the inscriptions. The best example is how the event of the Kalinga war is mentioned in the inscription and how Asoka takes to Dhamma.

4. Information about conduct of Kings: Inscriptions describe the conduct and character of the kings quite well. It is through the inscriptions only that we know Asoka worked for the welfare of the masses.

5. Information about administration: Inscriptions gave information about administration. It is through the inscription. We know that Asoka appointed his son as a Viceroy.

6. Land settlement and Taxes: inscriptions mention how land were granted or gifted. It also talks about various taxes imposed by the ruler.

There is hardly any area of governance of our life that is not mentioned in the inscriptions. Hence, we are inclined to agree with D.C. Sirkar who says, “There is no aspect of life, culture, activities of Indians that is not reflected in the inscriptions.” Q 8. Discuss the notions of kingship that developed in the post-Mauryan period.

Ans. In the post-Mauryan age, the idea of kingship got associated with divine theory of state. Now, the monarchs began to talk about divine sanction to rule the people. Kushan rulers propagated the idea of the same at the unprecented scale. They ruled from central Asia to western India. We can discuss the kingship based on the dynasties.

1. Kushan Kings: Kushan Kings called themselves Devputra and hence, godly status. They built great statues of themselves in temples.

2. Gupta Rulers: Second development of kingship is found during Gupta dynasty. It was a period of large-sized states. Such states were dependent on Samantas who sometimes became powerful enough to usurp the power of kings too.

3. Literature, coins and inscriptions helped us in creating history of those days. Very often poets would describe the monarch often to praise them but giving insight into the history and kingship too. A good example is of Harisena who praised Samudragupta, the great Gupta ruler. Q 9. To what extent were agricultural practices transformed in the period under consideration? 

Ans. The demand for taxes increased in the post 600 BC. In order to meet the demand of excessive taxes, without taking lesser produce, forced the farmers to increase productivity. This resulted in the use of new tools and practices of agriculture. The important ones are as follows:

1. Use of plough: Ploughs became commonplace. They were hardly heard of in the past. The use of ploughs began in the Ganga and Cauvery basins. In places where rain was abundant, the plough was used with iron tip. This increased the paddy production manifold.

2. Use of spade: Another tool that changed the system of agriculture is spade. Those farmers who lived in the areas of harsh land used spade.

3.  Artificial Irrigation: Apart from rainfall, the farmers now began to look at artificial form of irrigation. This prompted farmers to build wells, ponds, and – canals often collectively. This increased the agricultural production.

The production increased due to new technology and tools. This created a new strata in the society. In the Buddhist literature, there is a description of small and big farmers. They were called Grihpatis. Similar description is given in the Tamil literature too. The position of village head was often hereditary. In such a situation the ownership of land became very important.

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