#so who knows. we shall see what actually ends up in my cart tomorrow.

[six-improbable-things]

me, two days ago: I don't know if I like Slay the Spire very much. Rogue-likes aren't really my thing, and there's some things about the game that annoy me...

me, today: [has played 5.5 hours of Slay the Spire just this afternoon.]

[casicroaks]

At the insistence of his new friends, Woody finally opens up about his life previous to Andy. Meanwhile, as Bo discovers there was so much that was left unsaid between them, she resolves to follow his example -and tell him what she truly went through, between being taken to a new family and finding her own capacity for independence.

CHAPTER 1

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 ]

The carnival was moving to a new town. The toys were staying at one of the carts –one where the main pieces of machinery were kept, filling the place with nice little nooks and corners to sleep and sit and lean onto. Bo, having parked her skunk-cycle safely against a couple of iron beams, lit a small lantern she carried for these opportunities, and so her gang gathered around the light. Ducky and Bunny were trying to play cards without letting the other see theirs (which, being joined at the hands, was not an easy task) while Duke Caboom, who had found a little forgotten tube of lipstick, was attempting to repaint some parts of his motorbike. In the meantime, Bo and Giggle talked excitedly about what the new town would offer, what type of children would be there –and new emergency plans in case of dogs, which were much more common than cats and, if they swallowed Giggle or found Bo Peep, could start a whole situation that could easily end up in disaster.

As they did all this, Woody kept his distance, staying against the wall, gazing through a crack in the wood of the cart walls at the clear night sky. Despite the speed of the train the stars could be seen perfectly, twinkling bright against the pure dark blue. The trees raced along them, their leaves lit silver by a beautiful full moon. He moved away from the wall and wandered around, lost in thought. Bo noticed, and walked up to him, her sheep following her close by.

"Hey… You okay?"

"What?" Woody snapped out of his daze. "Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I'm doing okay. You okay?"

Bo chuckled. "What's on your mind, cowboy?"

"Nothing, I was just…" Woody let out a little laugh, petting Goat (or was that Gruff?), knowing how corny he would sound. But with Bo, he was never really afraid of being a bit corny once in a while. "I was thinking of Andy again. When I went on car rides with him, I never looked out the window. I didn't care what was outside. But now, out here… The trees are so beautiful in the moonlight, and so is the lake… I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I'm noticing all I've been missing out on."

Bo rubbed the back of his neck. "You sure you're okay, honey?"

"Yeah," Woody said, smiling at her. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay, alright then. Hey everybody, gather up!" said Bo, and her sheep bounced back to her side. "Let's plan for tomorrow, shall we?"

"Yeah, there's no fun in this. Ducky's a serial cheater," said Bunny, throwing his cards down.

"Don't you dare call me that!" cried Ducky. "My eyes just happened to set on your hand! It looks a lot like my hand!"

"Sure –main difference being that my hand's looking a lot better than your hand!"

"Guys, c'mon," said Giggle. "That's a silly thing to argue about."

"Silly? Imagine your partner being a serial cheater, then tell me if that seems silly to you."

"I have never cheated! In my life! I am absolutely honest and… Hey, wait a minute. How did you know your hand's a lot better than my hand?" said Ducky, and gasped. "You've been the cheater all along!"

"How dare you!"

"Guys!" said Giggle. "Please!"

They both left their cards and hung their head in shame. Bunny sighed. "She's right. I'm sorry, Ducky. I never meant to hurt you. You know I love playing with you. No matter how hard it gets."

"No, I'm sorry, Bunny," said Ducky. "I shouldn't have been taking cards out the deck each time you looked at your deck. That's too close to actual cheating, you know. And I'd never do something like that."

"What are we gonna do, Peep?" asked Duke. "Plan the next playtime?"

"I've thought so…" Bo looked at Woody, who had sat on the floor around the lantern, staring at her. Bo then had an idea. "But I'd also like to do something different tonight. You all know Woody, of course."

"The ex-sheriff," said Ducky.

"Were proud of you for leaving the pigs, comrade," said Bunny.

"Hey!" cried Giggle. "You know I'm head of pet patrol!"

"Aw, you know you're different, Dimples," said Ducky.

"Yeah," said Bunny. "You're like a vet –a pet cop –a vop –a pop –copet –vetpetcop –pet enforcer..."

"No," said Giggle in a deadpan. "That's even worse."

"What would you prefer, then?" asked Bunny. "Animal catcher?"

"I thought copet was the best one," commented Ducky.

"What I mean to say," continued Bo. "Is that we all know each other pretty well –but I bet you still have some questions about Woody."

"Yes, I have one –what is Woody short for?" asked Duke. "Woodrow? Woodbert? Woodinson? Woodpecker?"

"How did you get to be a sheriff?" asked Ducky.

"Have you ever jailed anyone?" asked Bunny.

"How many years have you on the job?" asked Giggle.

"I meant more like questions of who he is," said Bo, trying to stop the flurry of inquiries. "Many of us spent a long, long time not being played with, but for Woody playtime comes natural."

"Well," smiled Woody, quite flattered. "I wouldn't say natural..."

"Hey –hey –I still have a question," said Ducky. "How did you get to be a sheriff?"

Woody sighed, but it was at least a question he could answer. "I was made as a sheriff. I've had the role and my badge for as long as I can remember."

"I knew it," said Ducky to Bunny, lowering his voice. "He's inherited the job. Dang nepotism..."

"What else can you remember?" asked Giggle.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, what's your real story, cowboy?" she insisted.

"I already told you," smiled Woody. "And I've made my best to add as much detail as I could recall."

"No, I don't mean that… I mean the before. How did you get to Andy's room in the first place?"

Woody, still smiling, looked up at Bo. She looked back, with a questioning glance and a slightly worried look on her face. Woody took a deep breath.

"I don't think… It's not a very interesting story. It's long, and tedious, and boring, and long…"

"Come on!" said Giggle. "How long could it really be?"

"Yeah, sheriff," added Duke. "I mean, look at me! I'm an old boy like you, made for the Great Christmas Demand of 1975—"

"I was made in 1952," said Woody quietly.

Everyone turned at him in surprise. Woody wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Giggle let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh my," she said. "In that case it's truly crazy that you've gone so long without some real wear and tear. Am I right, Bo?"

"Why don't I know that?" blinked Bo, confused. "Did you… Did you ever tell me, Woody? Have I just forgotten…?"

"Well –Jessie and I told you, we and Bullseye were originally characters from a TV show..."

"Yes, but I thought you were reproductions," said Bo. "You know, newer toys made to look just like the originals…."

"Oh, yeah," said Duke proudly. "Beware the knockoffs. Marge had to send me to a specialist historian to make sure that I was the real deal."

"But –did you ever tell us you were made so long ago?" Bo asked Woody.

"No, no, it's just…! I never told anyone."

Giggle glanced at Bo. She didn't return the glance.

"Alright. I mean, it's not like we haven't seen some serious elderly folk at Second Chance…" said Giggle.

"Yes, Woody," said Duke sympathetically. "No prejudices here. We won't judge you on your age."

"Thanks, guys," said Woody. "Well… Do you really want to know? I'm more interested in what you all did before getting into Second Chance –like, what about you, Duke? How did you get here all the way from Canada? And you, Giggle? I bet you've got quite a story—"

"Just tell us, Woody!" said Bo. "We got time. If we get bored, we'll tell you."

"Yeah, don't worry about that," grinned Giggle.

"Alright. Alright," said Woody. "I… Gosh, it's been a while since I haven't… It was a very long time ago…"

Sunlight streaming through clear windows, specks of dust floating around –that was the first thing Woody remembered. There was the gentle twang of guitar music from a radio, and an old man wearing a striped shirt by the cash register was reading a newspaper. There was an assortment of blurry colors in the store, of brightly painted dolls, cars, guns and soldiers, all type of figures and shapes, made irregular by the layer of slightly-crumpled, see-through plastic between him and the outside. He was still, in his box, watching everything silently. As the sun left and the store went dark, the old man left too and locked the door, and some toys –those who were not firmly packed in their respective boxes –ran across the checkered floor, chatted among them, went to the window and gazed out of it, to the twinkling world outside, just like Woody –just like the other toys still in their packaging. And then morning came –everyone went back to their places –and the old man would unlock the door and the store would open.

And every day, like clockwork, just by the time the shadows in the store became long and the sunlight was particularly yellow, children –shorter, smoother-skinned versions of the old man that guarded the store –pressed their faces against the window glass, watching in, excitedly. Some of them pointed at the dolls, at the hula hoops, at the toy guns –and some, several in fact, pointed at Woody –and he felt a twinge of pride, of satisfaction. For some reason, those children seemed so happy to see him. And he realized how happy that made him –their glee felt contagious. Sometimes children would rush inside, making the little bell by the door ring relentlessly, and they grabbed at everything, and crowded around the brighter, more colorful toys, and looked around and called each other's attention; and many gazed at him longingly, and Woody felt like a million bucks.

A few weeks went on like this. People –truly, mostly adults –came and purchased boxes of Woodys that looked exactly like him, and they were put into a bag and left through the ringing door, hopefully to some loving home. Finally a tall man in a suit came into the store, glanced around, and as he came across Woody he smiled. He asked the striped-shirt man to pack and wrap it for a present, and so Woody's box was taken from the shelf, was wrapped in darkness and taken on a bumpy ride somewhere that would become his new place.

The box was opened by a short, stout freckled boy, and as soon as his gaze fell on Woody, his face lit up and he let out a delighted gasp.

"Sheriff Woody! He looks just like he does in the show! Aw, thanks Pops!"

The boy gave his father a big hug, as the mother laughed.

"Now, Davy, there's one more gift for you..."

But the boy, Davy, only had eyes for Woody. As soon as he was excused he went to his room, clicking his tongue to make the sound of a galloping horse. He pulled Woody's string to hear him say in a clear, resolute voice, You're my favorite deputy!

The following years were some of the happiest in the young pair's life. Davy didn't have the whole set of Woody's Round Up toys, but he did have a tin toy horse named Applebite, which became Woody's new steed. Davy also had several small papier-mache figurines he made himself, of different little critters Woody was often saving from some dastardly plan concocted by the evil Professor Atom –an old, flaky wooden puppet covered in shiny crumpled tin foil. And, of course, Davy also made amazingly detailed sets of cardboard locations for playtime: a saloon with a working door, several tables and stools made of real balsa wood, a bar with tiny cups and bottles, and a functioning toy piano on the end of the room, next to a set of stairs leading nowhere; a lair for the villain, full of shelves where he kept his weapons –all made with papier-mache as well; and he painted them all with careful strokes of leftover chalk paint.

Davy always took Woody with him when he watched TV, always at the announced airing time, each week, to catch the latest episode of Woody's Round Up or The Lone Ranger. Mom didn't allow him to watch too much TV, "it'll rot your brain into mush", she always said, and when he was alone Davy repeated the phrase, and even made it the concept behind one of Doctor Atom's super-rays. As Mom didn't have a job like Pops did she stayed almost exclusively at home, doing at least two of her usual activities, which would include cleaning, washing, vacuuming, ironing, cooking, talking through the phone, sitting by the window, staring at the wallpaper, drinking, and giving orders to Davy. Davy would read his Frontiersman comics strips, trying to ignore his mother, receiving the orders in silence. And this would make Mom even angrier.

"Wash your teeth, stand up straight, chew with your mouth closed! Stop mumbling, stop running around, stop complaining all the time!" mocked Davy when her mother wasn't nearby, when he came home from school and was playing with his toys. "You should be happy you don't have a mother, Woody…"

And Davy always talked to Woody as if, for some reason, he knew Woody could listen. He commented on his friends and parents' behavior and told him about his day almost as if they were lifelong friends. When he had nightmares and couldn't go back to sleep, late into the night, Davy told Woody about his fears and held him tightly, either until his tears dried or until he fell asleep again.

The other toys –Applebite and Professor Atom, especially –were the most helpful at understanding how to be there for Davy. Applebite had been around since Davy was a baby, and knew exactly what comforted him and what made him anxious. Usually, as Woody found out, Davy liked having something soft to hold on to when he was nervous, angry or scared, whether it be a pillow, a piece of cloth or even Woody's own soft ragdoll body. When Davy was happy, he liked having everything in sight, easy to spot and move as he saw fit. He became distressed when his room was too messy, and Woody never discovered whether it was because of his own desire for order or because of a fear of being punished by Mom. Not even Applebite knew.

Professor Atom, on the other hand, hadn't been around for so long, but he was incredibly attentive and had a good ear and eye (metaphorically speaking; both features' factory paint was peeling quickly) to detect things not even Applebite could notice. Professor Atom was an old puppet that Davy had fished out of a garbage bin on the street; he used to be called Marvelous Merlin, a wizard for a puppet show depicting King Arthur's adventures. Time had not been kind to him, but his naturally chipped and rotting wood were perfect for a supervillain; Davy had only needed to wrap him up with tin foil and repaint some of his features to have a terrifying puppet to serve as the antagonist to Sheriff Woody's heroics. Despite the absolute change of his identity, Professor Atom was grateful for his second chance at being played with; as he laid on that garbage tin, wet by rain and eaten by bugs, he told Woody, he had truly expected it to be his end. And even if he could be rather noisy when trying to spy on the family's exchanges (wood limbs are not nearly as quiet as plastic nor rag), he had a worldliness that made Woody deeply admire him.

"Mom has some deep underlying issues," Professor Atom used to say, perched on Davy's bedroom window, watching the street. "Look at her. Look how she's staring down the road."

"Is she missing Pops?" asked Woody, sitting beside him. He knew Davy often missed his father; as soon as he arrived from work, Davy would run up to him and tell him everything Woody already knew, how class had gone, what games he played, what happened in the latest TV episode.

"Pff. Of course not," said Professor Atom. "Look how she keeps glancing at her watch. Look how she taps her heel. She's gonna whoop his ass as soon as he brings it home."

"Oh, that's bad news," said Woody. Davy was very sensitive to when his parents argued –which was pretty often. All toys could hear the rumble going down in the kitchen, the yelling and the cursing, and Davy would try to cover his ears and shut his eyes as hard as he could. In these moments, the need to silence the world was so strong that he couldn't even hold Woody for comfort. "But why is Mom so angry at him? What did Pops do wrong?" he asked. "Or is it like with Davy –she just likes nagging for nagging's sake?"

"Beats me. But I do have a theory," said Professor Atom. Mom was now lighting a cigarette, as the light faded and the street turned dark. "I think Mom's not happy here. I daresay she doesn't even love Pops."

"But why wouldn't she?" insisted Woody. In the TV shows, Moms and Pops usually loved each other. Yes, they often squabbled, but by the end of the episodes they usually made up. "Pops' the best, Davy says so. He's smart, he's strong, he's crafty, he's a hard worker…"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's a good partner," said Professor Atom. "Listen, sheriff: I remember clearly, King Arthur and Guinevere. On stage, they were as lovey-dovey as can be. But off the stage… Whoo, these two were impossible. King Arthur was a complete diva; it was as if everyone else was there to serve him. Jeez, he treated me like a damn butler," he grunted. "But with Guinevere… It was different with her. He actively tried to sabotage her, to win the affections of children. You see, Guinevere was one of the most beautiful puppets ever, even prettier than Iseult. And she knew it. When she appeared on stage, accompanied by this enchanting flute theme, all the kids had eyes only for her. And Arthur was green with envy. He wrecked Guinevere's dress, forcing her to sleep outside the box, prey to the moths. He insulted her every time the show ended, criticizing her performance, telling her how she had overacted, how she was barely fit for her melodramas. And once, in pure anger, Guinevere shattered Arthur's crown."

Woody stared at Professor Atom, holding his breath. Besides being quite knowledgeable, Professor Atom was also really good at keeping others on the edge of their seats.

"Arthur almost destroyed Guinevere after that. And I don't mean destroyed in a symbolic way. He destroyed her in the only way he could ensure he would stay the star of the show; he grabbed a thick branch, while our owners were sleeping. He went to Guinevere… And smashed her head until she was nothing but a bunch of splinters. Her body remained, but her head, her beauty… There was nothing left. In the end, our owners had to cut out her character completely. And Guinevere… Who knows where and in what state she is now."

Woody tried to imagine it, but he couldn't. The process from puppet to nothing… It was something that his mind couldn't fathom yet. "So do you think…? Do you think Mom's going to destroy Pops?"

"No, that would be illegal. You know, like in the TV? No, she won't bash his head into tiny pieces, but Mom's gonna try to do something similar –destroy him in a symbolic way. She'll make sure Davy doesn't like Pops any longer –she knows how Pops wants Davy to like him. And if Davy doesn't like her, well…"

"Woody, look what I've bought!" Davy's voice reached them from the hall.

Professor Atom and Woody went limp. Davy picked Woody up, a huge grin on his face, and showed him his purchase. "Look, it's a little guitar I saw on discount at the store today. Isn't it perfect? It's just like the one in the show –now you can play and sing us your songs –and look!" Davy strummed the little strings. "It sounds like a real guitar too!"

Davy sat on his bed, put Woody on his lap and the small guitar on Woody's lap. Davy let out a chuckle. "It's… A little bigger than what it should be, but I think it'll work just fine. So, why don't you sing us a song, sheriff?" Davy pulled the string, and Woody said I'd like to join your posse, boys, but first I'm gonna sing a little song…

Instead of a song, though, there was the sound of heeled footsteps approaching. Davy looked up, and his mother was there, looking tired, with a cigarette between her fingers.

"Well, bucko, looks like you father's not coming for dinner tonight –again," muttered Mom, dropping the ashes on Davy's room floor. "Come on now, before the stew gets cold."

"But –I wanted to tell Pops all about how I won today as baseball –and about Johnny's trip to Hawaii –and –and…!"

"He don't care about any of that, David," said Mom. Davy's excitement went out like a candle. "If he cared about anything you do, about anything I do, then he'd have the decency to come at the time he is supposed to come home, to eat the meal I prepare for him. Of course, if I'm the one who's late on the dinner roast I'm the lazy one, I'm the one who's done nothing for this family, despite—"

Davy stared at his mother. Mom sighed.

"Just… Come have dinner," she said. "And wash your hands. I'll know if you haven't."

Davy looked down at Woody. He sighed, and followed his mother out of the room.

"See? I told you," said Professor Atom to Woody from the windowsill. "Divide and conquer."

Situations like these were common, and became even more frequent as Davy grew older and Mom and Pops' patient grew thinner and thinner over the years. They began arguing in front of Davy, something they didn't dare do before. Broken dishes, flying insults and slamming doors were something to be expected nightly.

Davy, despite how excitedly he played with his toys and how jolly he seemed, was truly a very sad boy. He would sit on his carpet quietly, listening to the hurtful words his parents hurled at each other. He couldn't focus on playtime. Sometimes Davy told Woody about how the other kids would tease him for being short and chubby; he told him how he wished he was a strong leader like Woody was, unafraid of facing adversities, of putting his life on the line for others. He wished to be heroic, but there was no chance for him to try to be so. He was not as confident as he wanted to be, and the kids at school knew that and took advantage of that; he wasn't as strong nor as bold to dare confront his bullies.

"I wish I could take you to class with me, sheriff," Davy told him, before leaving him to catch the school bus. "Then you might help me be a bit braver."

Woody wasn't allowed to be taken to school with him; and so he stayed home, like Mom, and could easily listen to her talking to her friends, complaining about the boy and the hubby, as she sometimes called Pops in a scornful tone. And other times, paying no attention to Applebite and Doctor Atom's warnings, Woody climbed down the stairs, out of pure curiosity. More than once he saw nothing truly interesting, besides Mom sitting on the couch, completely still. Woody was then reminded of one occasion in which Davy went to a carnival for his birthday, and among many prizes there were some very pretty dolls that he asked Mom for –Woody wondered at the time if he had the intention for the doll to be his "damsel in distress", like pretty girls were often in the TV shows. Mom said certainly no, very angrily, but then Davy took Woody closer to his chest and muttered, just low enough so Mom couldn't hear him:

"Mom looks just like one of those dolls though, doesn't she? All pretty-looking but with nothing to say… With those glassy, empty eyes…"

Woody hadn't understand what he had meant then until he had seen Mom alone, in the kitchen, meaning to finish frosting a cake but having dozed off, lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she just stayed like that for almost an hour, petrified, barely blinking. Woody recognized this same strange sort of trance that Davy sometimes slipped into. He wondered why they did that: he knew he simply had to keep still sometimes, like the rest of the toys, when there was a person nearby. But why, exactly, Mom and Davy had to do that was still a mystery.

Once, Woody remembered quite clearly, Davy had been playing on the living room. It was a rainy Saturday, and as such everyone was inside. Mom was fixing supper and Pops was watching TV, a show Davy didn't care for. So Davy had been playing with Woody, sitting him on Applebite, humming the Lone Ranger theme as they explored the cupboard, the coffee table, the carpet, the mantel, whistling as Applebite galloped next to the ornamental porcelain birds that hang from the wall. Both Mom and Pops glanced at Davy from time to time, but neither wanted to be the one to start the scolding. So they let Davy go on playing.

"Look, Pops! Look what Woody can do!" cried Davy. He had found a piece of cord he had practiced using as a lasso for Woody to brand. Davy tied the knot, put the end of the cord on Woody's hand, and began swaying it around, over his head. "Look! It's like a real lasso! Johnny taught me how to do it…"

"That's nice, bucko," said Pops, glancing at him briefly, then looking back at the TV.

"No –Pops –you missed it!" said Davy, as the knot had slipped. "I'll try again –but please, look! Look –now, Woody's got it, and he's gonna catch something, just you see…!"

"Don't shout, Davy," said Mom, whisking something blueish in a bowl, making an annoying little noise.

"Leave the kid alone, Doreen," groaned Pops. "Let him play…"

"Look, Pops, look!" Davy threw the lasso and, by a stroke of luck –Woody liked to think it was due to their shared lassoing skills –the cord wrapped around the glass figurine of a swan with wide open wings, that rested on a shelf next to the old family photos. "I've caught something…!"

"Good, well done," said Pops in a monotone.

"Pops, you're not looking…!" insisted Davy, and he pulled the cord –and the swan came down its doily –and made an awful, high-pitched crashing sound as it shattered on the floor. Davy gasped and jumped back. Pops immediately raised his head to see what had happened, and Mom brought a hand to her mouth. Davy looked at both of them, still, in shock. He looked down at the tiny sparkling shards of the glass swan. Its long neck was still hanging from the lasso in Woody's plastic hand.

"David, come here," said Pops. "Now."

"I… I'm sorry –I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not gonna repeat myself, David," said Pops, now in a threatening tone. For some reason, he began unbuckling his belt.

Davy gulped. He left Woody on the couch and walked to his father, avoiding stepping on the broken glass. Mom hurried and brought a broom and a dustpan to clean the mess. While she swept the tiny pieces, making a soft clinking sound as they hit one another, Woody could barely see where Davy was going. From the sound of their footsteps, and by the sound of the closing door, Woody assumed they were in Pops' studio. And then, as Mom threw the remains of the glass swan into the bin, there was a loud noise –like something soft being slapped hard –and a quiet sob. It repeated over and over, and Woody became nervous. After a while the footsteps were heard again, and Davy picked Woody up from the couch pillows. His eyes were red, his nose wet with tears. Woody's heart broke at the sight of his boy in such a state of despair.

"You better think about what you did, David," said Pops, behind their back.

With his head hanging, Davy went to his room and closed the door. Outside the rain was still pounding against the windows. He pulled the sheets of his bed aside and crawled in, and covered his head, and cried, hugging Woody tightly. Woody wished he could hug him back, find some way to comfort him better, to let him know everything would be alright. But in the end, he knew well, the best thing was to let him cry it out.

"I'm… I'm such a knucklehead," sobbed Davy. "Pops was right, I shouldn't be playing around with fragile things… Mom will never forgive me. I'll be grounded til Christmastime, and who knows if not for even longer…"

Davy looked down at Woody's smiling, unwavering face. The boy smiled, straightening his toy's cowboy hat.

"Y'know? We could make it on our own. We don't need no one else. I could pick some cheese, some bread, some wieners… A few Rocky Roads… Pack my lunchbox and never look back. We could go west. Whaddya say, partner?" he asked Woody, pulling his string, and he said Yee-haw! Giddy-up partner! We've got to get this wagon train a-movin'!

Davy let out a small chuckle, wiping his eyes.

"It's still raining, though… Bad weather for journeying through the desert," said Davy. "But tomorrow's when the sun'll come out, surely. Tomorrow, then. Is that alright by you, sheriff?"

Woody, as usual, didn't answer. It was alright. Davy was smiling now.

"Tomorrow'll be a new day."

And tomorrow came indeed, and the next day, and the next.

One golden autumn day Mom left home, for some reason Davy wasn't made aware of. When he came back from school, she simply wasn't there, not in the living room, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom, nor in her bedroom. Next day she wasn't there either, and to confirm what was already obvious, Pops quickly told Davy that Mom wouldn't come back. Professor Atom had his theories, but Woody only knew that Davy, while being annoyed that he had to do even more chores than before and had to learn to cook for him and his father, didn't miss his mother very much.

"Do you think she had another family?" Davy asked Woody, as he laid awake in his bed. "I heard something like that in the news. Some woman had two families: two husbands and two sons. Imagine having to clean and cook for so many people," he chuckled. "It's weird, though. Now I kind of realize how much she did. You know, Pops always called her lazy. And yeah, she'd be stuck yammering on the phone all afternoon, but… I keep my room clean, because I like it that way, but…" And he lowered his voice. "Pops isn't very much like that. He kind of expects someone else to take care of his mess."

Davy sighed. He took Woody's hat off, left it neatly on his nightstand and turned off his bedside lamp.

"When I marry, Woody, I'm not gonna leave all the messes to my wife," he said, quietly, in the dark. "I'll be a good husband. Heck –I'm learning to cook already. Good thing Mom left her recipes on the cupboard."

Woody, wrapped by Davy's arms, could feel the boy's racing heartbeat.

"I hope I can be a good husband," said Davy. "Otherwise… I guess my wife'll get someone else to be a wife to. Don't you think?"

Davy looked down at Woody, and let out a little laugh. "Of course, you don't have to worry about it. You're a sheriff –a cowboy –a lone ranger. Nothing ties you down. You don't have to worry about things like wives and cooking and cleaning and taking care of someone… Dang," said Davy, taking a deep breath. "Wish I was as free as you are."

Woody didn't feel as free as the boy believed he was. It was undeniable that, when Davy felt sad, he couldn't help but feel sad, too, and a strong desire to make it all better. Sometimes, even though Davy often insisted that Pops was the best, Woody thought that if Pops was really as good as his son claimed then he wouldn't make his boy cry; Woody was certain that, if he was a father, if he was Davy's Pops, he'd always keep him happy, and tell him what a great, creative and funny kid he was.

Since Mom was no longer around, evenings became awfully quiet. When Pops came home from work, he didn't need to tell Davy to be quiet; Davy knew what would happen to him if he raised a ruckus. So he'd take Woody to the living room, sit beside his father and watch TV. Then they'd had dinner, and sometimes, if Pops was in a good mood, he'd complain about something from the office that Davy usually didn't understand very well, and then Davy would carefully choose which daily occurrence he'd share. Woody didn't miss the arguing at all, and yet something was clearly missing in the Oakley house. Davy complained much less, even to him; and since a good portion of his conversation was venting and voicing his fears and feelings of anger, Davy became a much quieter boy. Pops had caught Davy talking to Woody more than once, and he had told Davy that he seemed positively bonkers, talking to his ragdoll, and that he was too big to keep doing stuff like that. And so, as the days went by, Davy talked to Woody less and less, until he only talked to him –or more precisely, talked for him –during playtime, which was also becoming more and more infrequent.

Playtime altogether soon was a thing of the past, as Davy finished elementary school and was close to beginning high school. It surprised Woody, how long it had been since he had first arrived to Davy Oakley's life –and how quick time had gone by, to the point the short freckled boy that had been so happy to have him was now a studious, serious young man. Since Davy had stopped playing with him and with his other toys, everything had subtly changed: Davy had gotten a part-time job, and spent less time in his house; he got himself a girlfriend, which was also something that kept him away from home; and then the girlfriend left him, so he tried to keep himself as busy as possible as to not think of her and to not feel how his heart was aching. The cardboard saloon and the evil lair, with all the hand-made balsa wood furniture, were thrown in the garbage. Professor Atom was left in the bottom of a drawer, along with a bunch of children's storybooks and Davy's paintbrushes and sketchpads. Applebite remained untouched, gathering dust, in a dark corner of the bedroom, almost hidden behind the bookshelves. Woody was the only toy that was still more or less present, if only because Davy had moved the cowboy from sleeping in his bed to sitting on his nightstand –and, in the few opportunities Davy had friends over, a shelf that kept Woody out of sight.

Since Davy was no longer in the house so often –and his father had become almost a ghost –Woody and Applebite spent some time talking, wondering what Davy was doing in high school, and playing poker –Woody had found a set of cards in Davy's backpack, and for some reason Applebite knew how to play. Whole afternoons passed like this, with Applebite often talking about what he thought about what little he could manage to see through the bedroom window. Woody, being a bit more mobile, began venturing more often into the living room, and a few times even dared to watch TV without Davy. There were new shows –a lot of them –that Woody really enjoyed, like Zorro, Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Lassie, Mister Ed, The Phil Silvers Show and I Love Lucy –and afterwards he'd go back to Davy's room and tell Applebite all about the latest episode, running gag, cliffhanger and plot twist. Once he had opened Professor Atom's drawer, and asked him if he'd like to go down and watch TV with him; but Professor Atom, as a respected thespian, thought that television was a low form of entertainment and insisted that, for some unexplained reason, he preferred to stay locked up in that dark drawer. Woody thought at first that Professor Atom was just bitter because Davy had put him in there, but Applebite told him that he thought it was because Professor Atom simply didn't find a reason to stay out of it, since the result was the same. Davy simply was not going to play with them.

Woody felt bad for Professor Atom, of course, and for Applebite and especially for all the papier-mache critters that were also dumped some months ago. But no matter how it embarrassed him to admit it, there was a sense of pride on being still kept on Davy's nightstand, and even on his shelf. He felt like Davy wasn't ashamed of having Woody, and that even if he was probably not going to play with him –and Woody did really want to have one more opportunity to be played with, as unlikely as that seemed –just by keeping him around, available, Davy might just pick him up, one fine day, and be Woody's favorite deputy one last time.

But that was a wish Woody held deep inside, and while nothing could stop him from hoping, even against his better judgement, the truth was evident. Davy was no longer a child.

David Oakley, a teenager now, spent his last few days of high school cleaning his room and choosing what he'd keep and what he'd throw, as he entered adulthood and was expected to behave as such, and do away with any useless things. He'd gotten brand new sheets, painted his bedroom walls white, got a few different pieces of furniture that he considered more proper to a fella his age. Davy was getting rid of the books he no longer wanted, when he happened to open that forgotten drawer where Professor Atom had been for these last few years. And when Davy saw him, making a little grimace at noting how damaged the old puppet was, he brought a bigger cardboard box and put Professor Atom and Applebite in it. He threw some storybooks and a couple children's encyclopedias in there, too, but kept the Frontiersman comic strips, and saved them in another drawer, where he would surely forget about them for the next few years.

Davy left the room for a moment. As soon as he disappeared behind the doorframe, Woody jumped to the bed and peeked into the cardboard box. Among all the old junk and dusty books, Professor Atom and Applebite sat and looked up at the cowboy.

"What's happening?" asked Woody. "Why did Davy put you here?"

"We're leaving Davy, sheriff," said Applebite. "And it seems like this is when we say goodbye."

"But… Why? Why are we…?"

"No, Woody, we," said Professor Atom. "Applebite and I. You're a lucky one. It seems Davy's got a soft spot for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Children grow up… They grow less interested in their toys."

"I know –Davy doesn't play with us anymore," said Woody. "But that doesn't mean you should be taken away!"

"That's just the way it is," said Applebite, giving a strange horse version of a shrug. "This moment was to come, sooner or later. We've come to terms with it some time ago."

"That doesn't mean you'll never be played with again," said Professor Atom. "Nor Applebite. You two are still in mint condition; you'll stay with Davy, Woody, and Applebite will probably be sent to a charity shop or to a garage sale."

"A garage sale?"

"I'll be given a new life, with a new child!" said Applebite, excitedly. "And I'm gonna be played with again. I just can't wait."

"As for me…"

Woody gazed at Professor Atom's ancient eyes. Just then did he notice how long it had been since Davy had given him a fresh coat of paint, or wrap him in new tin foil. Professor Atom now looked more like a pile of driftwood than like a puppet. Woody realized what this meant.

"No. Please, Professor Atom…"

"That's just the way it is," sighed the old puppet. "I was living on borrowed time, ever since Davy found me and took me in. But now… I've been a piece of trash for several years. It's time I leave and be gone forever."

"You're just being dramatic," said Applebite, but Woody knew when Professor Atom delved into theatrics, and when he was deadly serious. "You're just going to be alright, probably in a new puppet company…"

"Look at me, you silly horse!" cried Professor Atom. "Look at me and tell me if you could see me, in this state, on a stage."

Applebite lowered his head. "Well… Perhaps with some paint and a new arm…"

"Cheaper to be thrown away than to be rebuilt," muttered Professor Atom. "Cheaper to be replaced."

Woody gulped. Would Davy ever replace him? Would he ever be so damaged that it would be easier to be thrown in the garbage?

"But don't worry, sheriff," Applebite hurried to say. "That's not gonna happen to you…"

"At least not soon," added Professor Atom. "So enjoy every playtime like it's your last. You never know when it could be, after all…"

Applebite neighed in frustration. "Why you gotta be so intense? Woody's the chosen one. We should be happy for him. You should be glad Davy's gonna keep you!"

"I don't feel glad," said Woody miserly.

"Imagine, you'll get to play with Davy's kids…" said Applebite. "And Davy's grandkids… And Davy's grandkids' kids… And Davy's grandkids' grandkids…"

Footsteps. Applebite gasped.

"So long, sheriff! The best of luck to ya," said Applebite, disappearing into the box. Professor Atom reached out his crumbling carved hand for Woody to shake.

"Goodbye, Woody Pride," said Professor Atom. "It was an honor to play your villain."

Woody nodded. He had to be glad. He had to be strong. "It was an honor to play your hero, sir," he said. "Thank you for everything."

Professor Atom gifted him a small smile, and went inside the box. Davy came into the room and without giving it a second look he closed the cardboard box and taped it shut. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Woody. He picked him up, turned him around, as if it was the first time he saw him. Davy pulled his string, and Woody said Reach for the sky!

Davy smiled. "Yeah, pictured you'd say something of the sort."

It turned out that Davy had been planning to turn his father's old office into his very own studio. There, on a shelf just above his desk, Woody was carefully seated with his hands on his knees, his polished sheriff badge and his hat firmly set on his plastic head. From that vantage point, Woody could see clearly how Davy spent every afternoon working of house designs. Friends came over to see his sketches, said he was going to be a great architect, and Davy smiled, and Woody felt happy for him. Every few weeks Davy would dust his studio, vacuum the carpet, clean the small window, and in that moment he'd pick Woody up for a moment and clean the spot where he was seated, he'd clean the dust on his hat and nose and hands, made sure the badge was properly pinned and he would sit Woody again on the shelf, and he'd go back to ignoring him until the next time. As much as Woody wished for it, for one more chance, that brief moment of contact awoke nothing in Davy. Sometimes he would let out a little smile, possibly remembering how they used to play. But most of the time he'd be with his eyes on his work, on the girlfriend that occasionally entered the studio, on letters and homework and essays and books, on the things that adults had to be focused on. Years passed like this, having a brief moment of Davy's acknowledgement, then going back to the shelf, left to watch his boy as he grew older and taller and more tired.

But one day, one marvelous, special day, Davy's girl –whose name was Lillian, if Woody's memory was to be trusted –walked into the studio with an unmistakable bump on her belly. At the sight of it Woody felt his hopes rise in a way they haven't been for what felt like centuries. TV had taught him that if a lady had a bump in the belly, that meant a baby was on the way. A baby meant someone who would have to be distracted, played with, and comforted. Woody thought of what Applebite had told him before leaving, about him having the chance to stay and get to play with Davy's children…

"How're my two darlings?" Davy asked Lillian, kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her belly. Lillian smiled.

"Kicking already. I tell you, it's a rowdy one," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on. "How's that coming?"

"A bit late… But hey, better late than never, I guess," sighed Davy, scratching his head.

"It's gonna turn out great, dear," she said, and kissed his temple. "Don't worry so much."

Lillian looked up and around the studio. Davy glanced at her. "What're you thinking?"

"This could be the baby's room, right? When they grow up enough to be in a room of their own…"

"Yeah, it's a bit small…" said Davy, embracing her girl –her wife, more precisely, as Woody could see a wedding ring on Lillian's hand. "But if it's a small child…"

"They're not staying in our room forever," smiled Lillian. "Just promise me that."

Davy laughed. "Yeah, just the first few years…"

"Years?"

Davy and Lillian left the studio. It was nice to see them so happy together –compared to Pops and Mom, Davy and Lillian seemed like the most loving relationship there could be –and Woody was of course very happy to learn –albeit probably a bit late –that Davy had married, but nothing could really distract him from the fact that a baby was coming, and that his days on the shelf would soon be over, and he would be played again, loved again, and so he began to imagine how this new child would be, whether they'd be a boy or a girl, what games they'd like to play, whether he'd stay a cowboy or he'd go through a transformation like Professor Atom did –this was the only thing that rather unnerved him –and this pondering and dreaming became his new favorite distraction.

Every time from then on that Lillian came to the studio, either to call him to dinner or to just have a chat with him, the bump got bigger, to the point she had to walk with a hand on it just to keep balance. Woody wondered when the baby would finally come, and so he listened more closely –he had become used to keeping an open ear, either to listen to the TV or to the radio as a way to amuse himself –and finally –finally –he heard gasping and groaning, and a rush through the stairs, and the car starting, and soon they left the house.

They returned home some time later with a swaddled bunch of soft blankets in Lillian's arms, what Woody guessed was the baby. They weren't allowed in the studio yet, so all Woody knew about them was that their name was Jenny and that she loved to scream and cry to the top of her little but powerful lungs. The fifth or sixth night that the baby was already home, and by the joined efforts of Davy and Lillian their daughter had been put to sleep, Woody decided he needed to see the baby for himself. Of course, it was dark in the studio and while Davy was still very neat that didn't make climbing down the shelf any easier. There were many papers, books, pencils, all carefully aligned and prepared –but so many things could go wrong, he worried. Even a little tumble may wake Jenny up. Woody took a deep breath and, grabbing onto the edge of the shelf, dangled his legs down until he could be sure he was stepping on something sturdy. Then, it was a matter of grabbing the next shelf down from him, descending slowly, and then finding something else to step on that wouldn't fall and make enough noise to wake either the parents or the baby. It took him a while, but luckily he managed to get onto the desk, and from there to the chair, and from there to the floor.

He went to the living room, which under the dim moonlight seemed so different from when Davy was a little boy. The lamps had a strange shape, there were new paintings framed on the walls, and the TV was new and slightly bigger; there were no photos of little Davy on the mantel, as they were replaced by smiling pictures of older Davy and Lillian together, including one where she was dressed all in white and he was dressed all in black. The radio was also new, and very different than before. There was a record player now, too, also much more modern than the one Pops had that Davy wasn't allowed to touch as a boy. And the magazines on the coffee table showed people dressed in extravagant fashions –colorful stripes, circles, flowers, plaid and checkers. Woody wondered how many years he had been stuck in that studio.

Woody climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. He reached the first floor, and heard the snoring from the bedroom, and stepped into the dark bedroom, which was still and silent beyond the snoring. There was another sound, though. A soft low music, coming from a device suspended over the baby's crib. The cowboy looked up. From the device dangled yellow felt stars and blue and white felt clouds, which turned around in a slow-moving circle. It was a hypnotic, gentle sight.

Woody reminded himself what he was doing there. He approached the baby's crib and peeked at her through the bars.

Jenny was a big-headed pale creature, chubby and rosy, her small hands closed in little tight fists. Woody gazed at her, holding his breath, wondering what she was like, who she would become. So far she seemed like all the babies he had seen on TV or through the window –small, slightly smelly, a bit weird looking compared to adults or children. Her round, almost bald head appeared to be so heavy, and she was so plump that she was surely quite heavy, and yet Jenny also appeared terribly fragile. Davy, and probably Lillian too, had looked like this someday. Woody certainly didn't; a baby was a curiosity to him, as were many things that often seemed like they belonged to the world of the comic strips and television shows, things that just didn't happen to him or to any other toy. Woody stretched his hand to touch little Jenny's hand. She let out a little whimper but continued sleeping, to Woody's great relief. Her fingers wrapped around his plastic hand, squeezing tightly. It reminded him so much of when Davy held him, so long ago, for comfort. He smiled. That little baby would soon be his world.

Just then he noticed a small fluffy thing set by the other side of the crib. Woody frowned. The fluffy thing produced a pair of black eyes, which stared at him in horror. Woody gasped –as the fluff ball swiftly climbed over Jenny and frowned at him.

"What on Earth you think you're doing, cowboy?" hissed the fluffy thing, that just then Woody could see was a pink puppy plush toy, with black beady eyes and a little red felt tongue just peeking out of her furry mouth. "This is my turf. Why don't you go back to your ranch?"

"What?" said Woody. He thought the baby wouldn't have a toy yet –if she did, he would be that toy. "I'm just –I wanted to see Jenny."

"You've seen her, alright," said the pink puppy, climbing down from Jenny's chest and putting her paws on the baby's hand. "Now leave! This is my baby…"

"She's not yours!" cried Woody in a whisper. "At least, not only yours!"

"I'm here in her crib! You're probably some old forgotten thing that saw an opportunity, and tried to take it from a hard-working toy like me. You surely heard the cries and thought you had a chance. But look at you! You'd poke a baby's eye out with that nose."

"Hey!"

"Mom and Dad made their choice," said the pink puppy. "This is my baby, and my place is with her. Your place is wherever you came from –so go back there."

Woody knew that the puppy was right, and slipped his hand out of Jenny's grip. But the plush toy had been incredibly rude, and as an older toy –Davy's favorite, no less! –he thought he deserved some respect.

"Listen here, you…" Woody interrupted himself. "What's…? What's your name?"

"What do you care?" said the pink puppy. "I don't have one. I don't need one. Babies don't speak, you dunce!"

"Who do you think you are?" said Woody, growing angrier. "Listen here, pup, I'm not arguing that you are Jenny's current toy. But what do you have against me also being played with?"

"What do you think? You think you can replace me –yeah, I can see it in your greedy bug eyes," said the puppy. "You want the baby all for yourself. You want to take the playtime away from me… But I have it now!" And then the puppy grinned –or seemed to grin –it wasn't easy to know under all that pink fur. "If you even think of staying here in the crib, I'll wake Jenny up. She'll start crying and Mom will see you're here! And she'll take you away –she'll throw you into the dumpster!"

"Shh!" cried Woody. "Alright –alright, there's no need to wake anyone up. If you're Jenny's current favorite, then there's nothing I can do about it," Even though he really wanted to take that unbearable plush toy's place. "I'll leave, okay?"

And so Woody walked away from the crib.

"Yeah, you leave, you plastic-head," muttered the puppy. "You'll get your chance, and who knows if I… Let others have fun too."

Woody turned to the puppy. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Go on, leave."

"No, you said—"

"Plastic-head," smiled the puppy. "Why? Does that push your buttons?"

"No –well, a bit –I mean, you said 'and who knows if I…'"

"… Yeah. So?"

"So what did you mean by that?" asked Woody. "You're Jenny's toy, you'll always have a chance to be played with."

The puppy huffed. "You don't know anything, plastic-head. I'm a baby's toy –I'm small and soft and just perfect for her age. Afterwards? Who knows if she'll still keep me. Surely she'll want dolls, with those brushes and dresses and shoes, and other plastic-heads like you…"

Woody thought it over. It was true that Davy had had a few plush toys that he had met not long after being first brought to his boy's life; but those toys were eventually forgotten and also disposed of. Perhaps she was right. He did want to be part of Jenny's playtime –desperately –but if Davy hadn't given him to his daughter, then it meant it was not yet the right moment. No matter how much he wanted it to be, Davy –now renamed Dad, apparently –was the one who decided who Jenny would play with.

The pink puppy didn't look as angry anymore –just frustrated.

"So let me be happy for a while. Okay?" she said, snuggling against Jenny. "I don't have much time with her, you know. By the time she's four… Or even earlier, maybe."

"Alright. Just remember… She's not yours. Not yours alone," said Woody sternly, just to make sure she understood, still trying to keep whatever authority he remembered once having. "Who knows –maybe one of these days Davy –I mean, Dad –will drop me into that crib."

"Yeah –keep dreaming, cowboy," barked the pink puppy, but her voice sounded unsure. "Let us sleep. Go back to the shelf."

That last phrase felt so deeply hurtful that Woody briefly considered entering the crib and pull the pink pup's furry paws off Jenny. But he had no choice but to obey, go down the stairs, into the studio, and back to the shelf, where he had to sit and wait, and wait, until his playtime came.

[mommyg2013]

2022 F***-Ups and Flops

Rounding up a few 2022 F***-UPS. Limiting it to TWO lest the world feels sorry for me. 

 My Weight

Glorious! I am ending the year with more cushioning than I began it with.

I  signed up with Orange Theory Fitness in December 2021. They have a  leaderboard with NAMES AND CALORIES BURNT. I was at the bottom three days in a row. I could’ve lost more  calories making rice at home.  The instructor pulled me aside to check if my Fitbit thing was working. YES, IT’S WORKING. I’M JUST A SLOW RUNNER. OKAY, FINE. I’M NOT A RUNNER, I’M A WALKER. A SEDATE WALKER. It was plain embarrassing.

Then I bought a rowing machine. Unfortunately, I can’t ROW. I can CRUISE though. I’m a make-a-beeline-for-the-buffet-on-the-cruise-ship kinda gal. Those petitfours aren’t going to eat themselves.

Succumbed to weight loss supplements (again). THWACK me with something dull if I ever look at another “miracle weight loss” jar again.

And     I “dieted”.

 He who shall not be named returned from a brief visit to India, over the summer, WITH NO SWEETS. That’s like returning from Moscow and saying you didn’t bring back any Vodka. Or going to Switzerland and not buying chocolate….I don’t know!!! His luggage had NO SWEET BOXES. Upon inquiry he said “I thought you were dieting. I want to support you”

WOW

 I have been dieting everyday for fifteen years. Let that never stop you from bringing me sweets from India.

  Sports

Sports remains our Achilles heel. The girls can spell, count, sing, dance, read, write, do Kumon packets nine ways to Sunday but SPORTS………….. I blame my apathy. I’m that Mom who on a Saturday morning at the bleachers is burrowed in a book I brought along, while the other Moms are cheering themselves hoarse. 

 Soha recently asked me “Guess what’s my favorite unit in PE?”. To understand the magnitude of that question, one must fully appreciate the context.

 This is the kid who worked herself into such anxiety before a ONE-MILE race that she woke up with an actual fever the day of and had to skip the run.

This is the kid who in basketball had 20 minutes to shoot rapid-fire hoops, she shot ZERO. I mean, if I gave her extensible arms she’d still miss.

 Hmmmmmm Soccer?

Basketball?

Swimming?

Running?

Sitting on a bench?

Counting sheep?

Twiddling toes?

 Soha’s favorite unit in PE is *major drum roll* 

CUP STACKING

 I thought I heard wrong but then she repeated it. Apparently  CUP-STACKING is a thing  - it improves hand-eye co-ordination. I have never laughed harder than I did that day.

 Y’all be sure to sign up my Soha. We may not be able to score goals but we sure as hell can stack those cups.

  Speaking of goals, Side story –

 I was at the Indian grocery store the other day when AUNTY walks in. You know, the ones wearing a housecoat, masquerading as a winter coat. The Indian grocery store is a safe haven for Aunties. They show up in whatever shit they want. IT HAS FLOWERS ON IT. EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU’RE WEARING A HOUSECOAT. With boots.

 First I see her in the fruit section, squeezing and weighing the papayas.

 Then at the ready-to-eat counter she loudly inquires (in Hindi) “Were these samosas fried this morning or this afternoon?”

 It turned out that the samosas were from the previous day. Aunty likes her samosas FRESH and didn’t buy any.

 Then she asked for help wheeling out her cart. The cart with two papayas.

 LONG TERM GOAL: I want to be Aunty one day – high maintenance and giving a f***. And eating only same-day samosas.

  Two weeks to go, grateful for so much this year. For everything else, I quote my second favorite heroine (Elizabeth Bennet is first), “Tomorrow is another day”. Plus our hand-eye co-ordination is on point. We're ready for 2023.

[mrsgiovanna]

Buon Compleanno (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

It's as the name says... This fic is close to my heart and I really enjoyed writing it for our Golden king's birthday. Mostly fluff, it does contain mentions of alcohol consumption though. I hope you all enjoy. ❤️🎊🎉😘🐞💭

P. S. Let the fluff ensue 💐

Word count: 2.5k

“So Mista... Fugo, are things ready on your end? I’ve got confirmation from North Island that everything is ready for us on their end. We have to stagger our arrivals so that Giorno doesn’t actually see you guys there until the party. All our villas are ready for our arrival and his presents are being safe guarded there until we arrive,” you beamed as you secretly went over the final checklist for Giorno’s birthday get away with the team and Trish.

Your friends had ever so thoughtfully come over to see you and Giorno off… well more so to iron out the last details of your master plan, but your boyfriend didn’t need to know that. Attempting to keep your plans for his birthday hidden from him was a near impossible feat. Trying to get him to take some time off and just live for himself was an even bigger task, but being who you are, you managed to plan everything down to the finest detail.

Trying to get the entire island to yourselves and plan the party of a century for your closest allies was a mammoth task, but it was what you felt Giorno deserved. In the years that he’s spent running Passione, he had always placed his own needs secondary to the needs of the organization, which is why you resolved to give him the best experience imaginable for his 21st birthday.

“Hi Giorno! We were just talking about you,” piped up Trish in a voice loud enough to alert everyone to the young don’s looming presence. Eyes widening for a split second, you manage to compose yourself without him catching on and flashed him a pleasant smile. You were taken aback by how handsome he looked dressed down in an azure linen Armani suit, hair braided loosely and cascading down his shoulder. He took his place at your side, casually circling his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Morning everyone, what’s this about me?”

“Oh, we’re just discussing what we’re going to be doing when you’re away… you know, cats and mice and the like,” joked Fugo, earning him a worried look from Giorno.

“Gosh, relax my love… come on, we have to go, it’s a pretty long flight,”

“Alright, alright, let’s go bella. Well, I’ll see you all in a few days’ time,” leaving to the collective goodbye wishes of your friends you set off to catch the private jet which would take you to the little piece of heaven in the Seychelles.

Upon landing at the airport, you were just one short helicopter flight away from your destination. Giorno’s demeanor was akin to that of a child on Christmas eve, taking in his beautiful surroundings on the helicopter. Stepping onto the helipad, you were greeted by the wonderful fresh scents of the salty sea air, clear blue seas and white sandy beaches for as far as the eye could see. After the welcome, you were lead to the main villa, given your golf cart and allowed yourselves to get settled in for the rest of the night, choosing to spend a quiet night lounging on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

Giorno couldn’t help but stare at your beautiful form. The way the moonlight bounced off the ocean behind you and illuminated your skin mesmerized him. He had known you ever since he had taken over Passione. You served as a valuable ally when it came to weeding out the members who were still unwilling to adopt his ideals. As the years marched on, he started seeking out your company more and more, until it became apparent that he was at his happiest when he was around you… and once the realization had dawned on him, he wasted no time in making you his. You fell hard, and fast, and it was so easy fall into step with each other’s lives, as if you had been created just for each other.

“Bella, this is incredible, I know I put up a bit of a fight but I’m so glad you did this…” he uttered with a dreamy look on his face.

“I’m glad you think so my love, you’re going to love the day I have planned for us tomorrow… Ah! Actually, later on today," you say, glancing at your watch, "it’s just past midnight! Happy birthday my love! I hope you know how much I love you, and I’m incredibly proud of you and all you have managed to accomplish at such a young age… you’re… you’re pretty amazing you know,” the emotions swirled around in Giorno’s eyes while listening to your heartfelt speech.

“(y/n) … I… you’re… I just love you so much tesoro, you’re everything I could ever want,”

“I love you too Gio… come on, it’s late, let’s get some rest,” you say while leading him to bed.

You rose early, just as the sun made its glorious appearance over the ocean. As early as you had woken up though, Giorno was already awake, nursing a cup of coffee as he stared pensively at the brilliant blue water.

“Good morning handsome, penny for your thoughts?” you greeted your lover, wrapping your arms lovingly around his shoulders and nuzzling into his soft hair.

“Good morning principessa… I’m just thinking about how much I love you…”

“Oh? Is that so, Mr. Giovanna? Well prepare to love me even more, go get ready, we have lots to do today,” you say, a lovely light, lilt coloring your voice.

“Any hints?”

“Wear something comfortable, something that we can walk around in,”

With that, your day had started with a guided hike through the island. Between Giorno’s life-imbuing ability and your affinity for adventure, you were both mesmerized by the flora and fauna you encountered on the hike. Once that was over you looked forward to coming back to a special couple’s massage which eased your sore muscles and relaxed you both into a dreamlike state. Finally, after your last treatments, you could get ready for your “dinner” at the piazza. Feeling a sense of pride as you put on the last of your accessories, you smiled at your reflection in the mirror while inspecting your stunning outfit, and grew even happier when you saw Giorno walking out in a casual charcoal grey Dior suit which matched your dress, but not his expression unfortunately.

“What’s the matter my love? You look great by the way…”

“Thank you tesoro… you’re quite the vision yourself,” standing behind you, sharing the mirror, he raked his fingers through his uncooperative hair, sighing in annoyance.

“Gio, stop- here, sit down, I’ll help you,” you say as you gently brush out the tangles and scrunch the wave back into his lovely golden hair. You carefully braid the length of his mane but leave his signature triad of ringlets out, admiring how beautifully the shorter sections of his hair framed his face.

“There…” you leaned back to admire your efforts, acknowledging the fact that you had a particularly exquisite model as well.

“Are you sure this is fine my love?” there was a hint of doubt in Giorno’s voice, but you made sure to banish any such thoughts.

“Of course, I love your hair like this,”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Shall we leave my princess?”

“Yes… but can I drive the golf cart?” you ask, extending your arm to him, gesturing for the keys.

Speeding past the rest of the villas, you just wanted to make sure that everyone was already at the piazza ready to surprise the young don.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place my love? Or should we be at a different entrance, this looks like it’s closed,”

“Yes caro, come on, I’m sure the staff are inside… I’ve picked up on your habit of wanting to dine in solitude,” you explain as you walk towards the entrance hand in hand. Stepping into the restaurant, the lights dipped and instantly got brighter revealing your closest friends jumping out of their hiding spots with a collective, rambunctious yell of “surprise”, startling your unsuspecting boyfriend.

“Happy birthday my love,” you softly say once again, as the lively music started to play in the background.

“You… did all of this? For me?”

“Of course bello mio, well, I did have help though” you gestured behind Giorno, pointing out Mista, Trish and Fugo walking towards you both.

“Oi, happy birthday Giogio, haha, you look like you need a drink, I’ll be right back,” said Fugo as he went to order the first round of drinks for your little group. Between flitting amongst your guests, dancing with your handsome beau, and stealing moments away to be alone him, you almost forgot to give him his gifts, which were safely stored in the wine cellar of the establishment.

“Well, what do you think my love?” Giorno’s eyes widened when he saw the glass-encased, white Fender Stratocaster signed by just about every rock star, most importantly, his favorite guitarist, Jeff Beck.

“I’ve been looking for this for the longest time… how did you find it tesoro?”

“I also know some people… that’s not all, look next to it…” you motioned towards 5 Morocco solander boxes that housed a rare first edition of the complete 10 volumes of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.

“I thought that might look quite beautiful in your study… adding something especially meaningful to your collection,”

“I’m speechless (y/n) … you’ve gone to such great lengths…” you hush him with a passionate kiss preventing him from gushing about your efforts as you were determined to make this night about him.

“I’m sure we’ve been gone for too long, lets rejoin our guests my love,” you started to walk towards the staircase exiting the wine cellar, but you were pulled back against Giorno’s broad chest, grasping your face in his hand, he kissed you with so much fervor this time, leaving you flustered and battling to calm your racing heart. Noticing the effect, he managed to have on you, he gently coaxed you back upstairs with a wicked smirk.

“Hey, you’re back, we’ve been looking all over for you two. We have one more person who wants to say hello,” with a soft smile, Trish reaches behind her to pull out coco jumbo, which meant only one thing…

“Signore Polnareff! Even you…”

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for pretty girls Giorno… Joyeux anniversaire! You’re a brave young man with a good head on your shoulders and integrity in your heart, always hold on to that,”

“Thank you signore Polnareff, it means a lot coming from you, considering…” cutting him off before Giorno could complete his sentence, Polnareff attempted to lighten the mood.

“Non non non, no sad thoughts tonight, get this man a drink someone, you’re all slacking here,” he said looking at you as you mouthed a small thank you in his direction.

“(y/n), you’ve really outdone yourself. Giogio, you’re a lucky man,” said Mista as he brought a special bottle of champagne for you all to raise a toast with. “Alright, while we’re all here in the same place, I just want to say that you’re all important to me…”

“Mista’s drunk guys, prepare yourselves,” Trish says with an eye roll resulting in hushed giggles as the gunslinger tried to (unsuccessfully) arrange his sentimental thoughts.

Unable to stand it any longer, Trish takes over and pays homage to Giorno, as well as the special people who had given everything in order for them to live, enabling them to carry on their will.

As the party raged on, you took a small break in a dim corner of the piazza, and took a moment to marvel at the fruits of your labor. Everybody was having the best time, including Giorno. After being called away by one of his associates, it filled your heart with fluttery sensations watching the man you loved finally able to act his age for once.

“May I sit with you, carina?” startled out of your musings, you find an old friend standing over you.

“Lorenzo, of course, please, have a seat,” you offer emphatically.

“So, how is one half of Passione’s power couple doing?” his question earning a loud giggle from you. You continued to make conversation with Lorenzo, until Trish came to inform you that one of the service providers needed to confirm a few details with you, so you politely excused yourself and followed Trish. You were confused as she lead you to a secluded part of the beach, where you find Giorno standing alone, staring broodingly at the ocean for the second time that day. You realized that she just made an excuse draw you away to check on Giorno, being slightly concerned yourself after seeing the expression on his face.

“Gio? My love, what’s the matter? Did you just need some fresh air?” he turned to faced you with the softest smile.

“You know bella, I’ve loved you so deeply for years now… you always know what I need… even before I do. I never really feel complete anymore unless you’re with me… which is strange because I’ve always been content on my own. And then it hit me, you will always hold a part of me, and I’ll always seek you out because of it… You’ve given me probably the best experience of my life tonight, but, there’s just one more thing I would like from you to make the day perfect…” you felt light-headed when you saw Giorno moving to kneel down on one knee, pulling out a little trinket box, opening it to reveal the most beautiful ring.

“(y/n), would you give me the greatest gift and agree to spend the rest of your life with me as my wife?”

Emotions tugged at your pretty features, as you whispered a breathy affirmation, while nodding excitedly. Exhaling sharply with a stunning smile, Giorno got back to his feet and placed the elegant ring on your finger, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss thereafter. You threw your arms around his neck, and held him tightly, before the realization dawned on you.

“Wait! How long have you been planning this, Gio? Your question was met with his soft, exasperated laugh.

“Oh! For the longest time amore, I’ll admit though, your plans had forced me to adapt my own, but I had some help in achieving all of this… Trish is a lifesaver,” explained your new fiancé with a hint of pride in his voice.

“I love you Gio, but you managed to hijack your own celebration… I don’t know what to do with you!” the mock exasperation dripping from your voice drew a small laugh from Giorno.

“That’s your problem now tesoro, you already agreed to marry me, no take backs,” with that, you both decide to return to the festivities. Intertwining your fingers with his as you slowly walked back, you both stole loving glances at each other, communicating your intense affections for each other through your eyes alone… perhaps it was as he said, you mused… that a part of your soul resided with him also, and so you always sought him out to feel complete too, just as he did with you.

[hajimes-erect-ahoge]

Death Should Not Have Taken Thee!- Chapter 1

Shuichi Saihara. 22. College graduate. Works at his uncle's detective agency. Known on MonoQuest as Blueberry97.

Kokichi Ouma. 23. Didn't go to college. Works at the local supermarket. Known on MonoQuest as Princesex69.

Both boys live in the same town but have never met, due to their different backgrounds. However, they play a popular MMORPG called MonoQuest together, and become guild partners for almost a year. When Blueberry97 asks to meet Princesex69 in real life, they find out more about each other than they had ever expected.

Also, Ouma's MonoQuest avatar is a girl. Confusion ensues.

~~~~~~~~~~

An MMO au based off of adiazrue's au on instagram! Please go check out their art it's amazing!

Check out my Tumblr @hajimes-erect-ahoge for updates and if you want to talk ideas! (please talk to me about this fic i have no idea where I'm going with this lol)

don't take the title too seriously no one's gonna die I just wanted to do a vocaloid reference

ao3

9:57 pm.

Ouma groaned as he looked at his watch, anxiously waiting until his shift ended. Just three more minutes and he would be free to do as he pleased, leaving the supermarket’s duties to the other workers.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed an older lady with short, dark hair settling her items onto the checkout belt. With the most insincere grin plastered on his face that he could muster, he began scanning and bagging her items while his mind drifted off.

A fantasy world filled with monsters and dungeons, available to anyone with a working computer! The world of MonoQuest awaits you!

The jingle of Ouma’s current obsession- a video game called MonoQuest- echoed in his head as he helped the woman check out.

MonoQuest was Ouma’s place to freely be himself, letting loose and having fun in a fantasy world. The lush gardens, the sparkling rivers and the spooky monster-ridden caves were all ever so enticing, but one aspect stood out above all the rest: his guild partner, Blueberry97. True to his name, his avatar was mostly blue in color, except for his light green eyes that stood out effortlessly.

Ouma’s own avatar, however, was mostly decorated with a lavender color, bordering on pink. With long hair tied up in two ponytails and a frilly dress, his avatar was undeniably female, despite him being, well, not a female. Not like it mattered anyway, as Ouma was perfectly content with his avatar being the way it was.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Ouma rang up the woman’s total for her purchase and helped her load the bags into her cart.

“Have a nice day!” the woman chirped, leading Ouma to respond with a short nod. Noticing that it was just past ten o’clock, he placed the closed sign over his aisle and made his way out from behind the counter. It didn’t take long for him to clock out of work and start his drive home.

----------

Ouma entered the apartment hurriedly, tossing his keys onto the counter. Kiibo was already asleep by now since he tended to go to bed early, and Iruma was still at work, meaning Ouma was basically alone in their shared apartment.

Sparing no hesitation, he made his way to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He sat down at his desk and started up his computer, his hand gliding over the mouse. Within minutes he had successfully opened up MonoQuest, typing in his username, Princesex69. Spawning in the plaza of the town, it didn’t take long for a message to appear on the side of his screen from his guild partner.

@Blueberry97

Hey! Wanna go on a quest together? I picked up a new side quest together and I wanted to try it out with you! :) 

Ouma smiled at the message and began typing quickly.

@Princesex69

Only if you promise to be my knight in shining armor if things go bad! TT

@Blueberry97

Of course, princess! Meet me in the forest by the village and I’ll be there to protect you!

@Princesex69

Omw!

Moving as quickly as possible, Ouma dashed over to the forest outside of the village to meet his guild partner. He spotted him waiting right by the entrance, his familiar blue avatar standing in contrast to the green of the forest.

“Princess!” Blueberry97 jogged up to Princesex69, greeting her eagerly. “You made it!”

“Of course! Who do you think I am?” She grinned smugly at him, twirling one of her ponytails between her fingers.

He smiled warmly at her, “Shall we get going?”

She nodded and walked into the forest with him, the two of their avatars standing in close proximity to one another.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before…” the princess mused, looking up at the trees towering up above them.

“Me neither…” Blueberry97 responded, “I think they added this forest in the new update.”

Princesex69 hummed in agreement, continuing to walk with her guild partner.

Suddenly, an arm was thrust in front of her, preventing her from walking any further.

“Princess, watch out!” the young knight shouted in alarm, bringing the princess out of her daze.

She immediately looked forward, noticing a particularly angry group of forest goblins standing a few feet away from them.

“Stay back!” he shouted, preparing to fight them off.

The princess contemplated joining him in his endeavors- she wasn’t helpless, after all- but he had eliminated the goblins in the blink of an eye.

“Wow! How brave of you to protect me from danger! I guess you really <i>are</i> a knight after all!” she gushed.

The knight blushed, turning to face the princess. “I-I’m still in training, you know… I don’t really consider myself a full-fledged knight.”

The princess thought to herself for a moment before responding, “Hmm, whatever you say, I guess! But that was toooootally heroic of you to save me like that!” She tilted her head innocently, noticing the way that the knight’s blush deepened at her words.

“I, uh, I guess so…” he stammered.

“Now come on!” She pulled on his arm, leading him deeper into the forest. “We’ve still got a bunch more monsters to kill!”

He smiled and nodded, following the princess into the depths of the mysterious forest.

----------

“Whew! That was sooooo much work! I’m totally beat!” Princesex69 groaned, sitting on the ground next to the river. Blueberry97 followed suit, sitting cross-legged by the edge of the river.

“Me too…” he looked over at the princess, who was gazing into the distance over the river.

She looked beautiful like that, the knight thought. Spending time with her was truly exhilarating, and was completely different than spending time with the other guild members. They were partners, after all, but there’s more to it than just that. He felt like he was exceptionally close to the princess, and he wanted to know more and more about her. If only…

“What’s on your mind?” Blueberry97 jumped at the sudden question, clearly startled. “You’ve been staring at me for the past few moments. It’s getting kind of creepy…”

“Ah, sorry!” he apologized.

“Just kidding! I’m used to it by now! All part of being a beautiful princess in a magical fantasy world!” She smiled cheekily at him, causing him to chuckle.

“Actually, there is something on my mind.” he swallowed, hoping it would help in getting rid of the nervous pit in his stomach. He stood up slowly, grabbing the princess by the hand of helping her up as well.

“It’s been a year since we’ve become guild partners. I’ve had a lot of fun playing with you, but… I want more. I want to meet you in real life!” He clenched his fists, looking at her with determined eyes. “Please! I want to know the real you!”

The princess stood there in stunned silence, not exactly sure what to say. She hesitated to speak, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet in order to dissipate some of her nervous energy.

“I, uh…” she stammered.

“I’m sorry, princess, I…!” Blueberry97 apologized, “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m…”

“N-No, don’t apologize! It’s just…” she paused, still unsure of herself. “I have to go! I’ll talk to you tomorrow! Bye!”

And just like that, Princesex69 logged out of MonoQuest. Blueberry97 stood there, taken aback by her sudden disappearance. He sighed to himself, looking down at the ground.

“...See you tomorrow…”

----------

Ouma flopped down onto his bed, promptly screaming into his pillow. How could he do that? He just left his guild partner hanging, without even giving him a proper response to his offer. How could he be so stupid?”

He lifted himself up from the pillow, turning himself over so that he was laying down on his back. Staring at the ceiling in the pitch black darkness, he cursed himself for being such a coward.

Why did I have to log out so fast? Why didn’t I tell him that I wanted to meet him in real life too? It’s not like I don’t want to meet him, it’s just…

Ouma sighed, balling his hands into fists.

Everything is all my fault… I should’ve never made my stupid avatar a girl in the first place… that way I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit…

The truth was, Ouma did want to meet Blueberry97 in real life. Hell, he wanted it more than anything. But he was almost certain that he would want nothing to do with him after finding out that he wasn’t a beautiful young girl and instead a short and immature boy with a penchant for mischief.

He rolled over in bed, closing his eyes in an attempt to force himself to sleep. He could deal with this tomorrow, or whenever the next time he logged onto MonoQuest was…

Or not.

[doctors-star]

13 and/or 17 (... cowboys 🥺 pretty pls?) (but totally fine if u wanna do smthin else)

prompt list

cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

It’s a warm day out, dusty and dry under an impossibly large, impossibly blue sky. Now that it’s early afternoon and the worst of the midday heat has burned off and dissipated, the town is bustling out again into the streets, in and out of shops and ducking around riders and carriages. It sure isn’t the ideal time to unleash a room’s worth of unruly children who’ve all been cooped up since lunchtime upon the town in the vague hope they’ll make it home in one piece, but in all honesty there’s no good time to do that and they’ve got to go eventually.

Ainsel will get ‘em reading and writing, but they sure as hell ain’t some kind of charitable institution for bored youths.

Opening the door on such brightness and warmth requires serious blinking and squinting and no small amount of internal sorrow as the wall of heat hits Ainsel square in the chest and invades their cool, shaded front room. Not for the first time, they consider the merits of simply opening one of the rear windows and posting the children out of it one by one; not for the first time, the idea is dismissed. The kids would enjoy it entirely too much. Said children are presently scrambling up off the floor and making a break for the door, slates and tin lunch pans hastily shoved into small satchels, baskets, or simply jammed under one arm, and Ainsel steps neatly to one side to allow them free access to the door. For all that the kids bullied Ainsel into teaching them, they sure are always glad to get out at the end of the day.

“See you on Monday, then,” Ainsel says easily. The elder Diaz boy and Mary Wilder both twist to wave at them over their shoulders, but then they’re back to corralling their littler siblings and trying to get them to hold hands nicely for the walk out of town and up to their family ranches. The other kids pay him no mind at all - just tumble out into the street and turn their faces to the sun like little sunflowers. Little Jesse Rainey turns a little circle in the dust, swirling her skirts carefully so as to show off the new printed calico to best effect; she’s a little too used to being the saloon’s darling, if you ask Ainsel, all dressed up in pink with blonde hot-ironed ringlets, but she’s also one of the brightest kids in the class at only six years old. Ainsel reckons she could be the next schoolteacher in ten years or so, if an established schoolmaster could be prevailed upon to examine her and find Ainsel’s informal schooling up to scratch.

Two of the boys have immediately begun a small scuffle, the way young boys are apparently wont to do; Ainsel sighs, and steps forward to separate them (curse all, if one of them isn’t a loose Wilder at that) - but is beaten to the punch. There’s a sharp whistle and the clink of spurs as boots go from horseback to street, and to Ainsel’s great surprise Max Wilder jumps back and sticks his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky as his bare feet scuff at the dirty street. Were it not patently absurd, given the quantity of eye witnesses, Ainsel would say the boy was attempting to look entirely uninvolved.

Ainsel, amused, turns to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer. Will Williams catches their eye for a fraction of a second - enough for Will to roll his eyes, barely, in commiseration - and then he turns his unimpressed gaze upon the Wilder boy.

Max feigns surprise and delight well, for a nine-year-old of no particular theatrical bent; he beams at Williams with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Hiya, Doc,” he says through a gap-toothed smile. “How d’ya do.”

“All the better,” Will says, all dry and proper, “for knowing that you are safe at home after school and not fighting with the other boys, just like you promised me you would be. After all, we agreed on good behaviour if you were to come out to Plum Creek with me tomorrow. Didn’t we?”

Ainsel presses the knuckles of their fist to their mouth to ward off a smile as Max darts apologetically forward, spouting apologies and promises of better behaviour for ever and ever if only the Doc - that is, Mr Williams - wouldn’t tell his pa and would still take him out to the river to look for tracks. It’s more grovelling than Ainsel’s ever managed to extract from a pupil for bad behaviour, but then, Ainsel only ever promises letters and numbers, and Max seems under the impression that Williams is going to provide frogs and snakes and half a dozen other natural wonders, so.

Will scratches the back of his neck. “Well, alright,” he relents. “I - I am going to tell your pa, mind, but if he doesn’t say otherwise I don’t see why you shouldn’t come.” Max does a little victory dance and then returns to his classmates, bragging all the while about the things he’ll see out by the creek. Will himself tips his hat politely at Ainsel. “Afternoon.”

Ainsel is aware that they make Will Williams nervous. Many things do, but Ainsel reckons they do a better job of it than most folks; this is somewhat ironic, in many ways, as a fair few things make Ainsel anxious too. If they could get the measure of each other, Ainsel thinks they oughta be friends - they’d like a person to commiserate with about being thrust into a job they ain’t really qualified for, and not-a-doctor Will Williams seems like a good choice - but Williams keeps careful distance from Ainsel, even in broad daylight in a street full of children, and Ainsel ain’t hopeful. They offer a smile anyhow. “Afternoon, Williams. What can I do you for?”

Will nods gently at Miss Rainey, his own face turning gentle. “This one’s wanted at home,” he says with a smile and Jesse blushes and beams, pleased with the attention. “She’s to pick out a new ribbon at the store if she can keep tally of how much we spend and write it up neatly in the saloon books. How’s that, Miss Rainey?”

Jesse puffs up her chest with pride. “I shall have a blue ribbon like Mary Wilder’s,” she says with certainty.

Will offers Ainsel a flicker of a grin. “Jayne Rainey figures your schooling ought to be good for something,” he says, and if anyone else in the town had said it Ainsel would have winced - but Will’s got more books than clothes, same as Ainsel, so they offer a quick grin back. If only Ainsel could remember what they were doing before they woke up in Danser some years back: that way, they could say for sure if they went to college like Will, and Ainsel might feel a little less like, maybe, the local nice, nervous naturalist oughta be taking classes instead of the local amnesiac with a scary-clever horse and the books which they may or may not be qualified to own and read. Knowing that kind of thing, actually, might go a long way towards some kind of friendship with Will Williams, too.

“I figure so too,” Ainsel agrees, instead of voicing that, or anything like it. They beat down the impulse to seek answers, confess worries, force a confidence - to say hey, Williams - you wanna take a look at Edelweiss? Nah, nothing’s wrong; only, sometimes I don’t reckon she’s really a horse. You know anything about that? Only Will wouldn’t. Ainsel knows as much as they reckon they’re gonna, honestly - there was a trade, and for whatever they gave up they got Edelweiss in exchange. And maybe something else, too, but they’ll be damned if they know what.

Ainsel tries very hard to unthink that particular thought.

“Ainsel says I could keep a school,” Jesse is telling Will with pride.

“I’m sure you could,” Will replies with a little smile. Ainsel hadn’t figured Will as one for children, but then Jesse Rainey and Max Wilder are small forces of nature; if they take a liking to a person, it’s hard not to be endeared. And Jesse is the saloon proprietor’s daughter, and Will rents a room in the saloon, and Jesse is the saloon’s darling. Will shoots a glance at Ainsel. “You’re - you’re training up a replacement already?”

Ainsel inclines their head at Max Wilder, who is crouching in the dust with a stick and drawing around the hooves of Will’s square, broad-chested stock horse. Ainsel remembers Will defending his choice to Finn - Will’s horse looks more like a small draught horse than a good or fast rider, but she’s quiet and she stays still while he’s out watching animals - and indeed, though the horse is gently nosing at the boy, her hooves are staying obediently planted as he natters away at her about prints. “Should say you were, too.”

Will huffs gently at Max, who entirely fails to notice. “It was an accident. Alright, let’s get going before your parents come after me wondering where you kids are. Max, are - are you going to walk us home?”

Max bounces up, catching up the horse’s reins and bringing her over with the practised ease of anyone born and raised on the Wilder ranch. “Sure! Can I ride?”

Will carefully lifts Jesse up into the saddle. “Ladies have to ride, Max,” he corrects. “When I was little, my brother always-”

And though Will stutters into silence, Ainsel - sort of hears the rest of the story anyway. Their cards have made their way into Ainsel’s hands without them noticing and the odd paintings are switching and shifting before their eyes as they shuffle idly, and then stop. The card is of what might be a tower, and what might be a cart, and what is almost certainly a lady; the colours twist the eye and every line slides into the next until what had started as one thing is something else entirely by the end.

If you were going to play poker with these cards, you’d probably call this one the Queen of Spades.

Do not play poker with these cards.

But Ainsel looks at the cards, and the strange, illusory lines that leave only impressions, and sees with odd and abrupt clarity a young man with Will’s face but without his glasses and with a shadow of unruly stubble. He is perhaps broader than Will, too, but the resemblance is clear. And in the card, the young man grins and sweeps a small child up into a massive bear hug. He kisses the child’s hair - once plaited, Ainsel thinks, but now entirely loose and wild after a day of playing - and places them with great care and reverence on the back of a tall, thin black horse. The child, the little girl, giggles as the boy kisses her hand, says she is a princess, and runs an affectionate hand through her loose, dark hair to tidy it away before placing his hat on her head. The girl’s hands push the brim up out of her eyes - eyes which are doubtless, doubtless, Will Williams’ eyes - and Ainsel closes their own eyes, and wishes they had done so sooner.

When he opens them again, it’s just the Queen of Spades once more. Like nothing ever happened.

“Well, I, I guess you can ride behind and keep Miss Rainey steady,” Will is saying when Ainsel folds his fingers over the painted cards and looks up once more. He doesn’t seem quite so steady as he did before as he hoists Max up onto the horse’s back.

There’s no way to tell him what Ainsel knows. They wouldn’t, anyhow - Will never said, and wouldn’t thank them for disrupting the life Williams has carefully built for himself. But Ainsel would like, somehow, to communicate that Will’s big brother had seemed nice; that Will, as a kid, had seemed happy with him; that Will didn’t have to give up on his childhood and on the nice boy who had run his fingers so gently and fondly through his kid sibling’s hair, just because he’d changed over the years.

Ainsel kinda misses the memory of their own childhood, sometimes. Maybe someone had once been so affectionate with them, too.

Will catches Ainsel staring and tilts his head in query. Ainsel shakes themself and offers a small smile. “Y’all ride safe, now,” they say. “Oh, and Max Wilder - you tell your ma you’ll need shoes for the walk before the next week is out, ‘cause it’ll be getting colder and you can’t have Will Williams carting you home every day.”

“Sure will,” Max calls back, grinning and swinging his bare feet from high up on the horse’s broad, grey-dappled rear. “Bye, Ainsel!”

“Goodbye!” Jesse says, holding firm to the pommel as she shifts to look back. “I’ll show you my ribbon on Monday.”

Will just inclines his head and takes the reins in one hand.

Ainsel fidgets the cards in one hand. “Be seeing you, Williams,” they say carefully. As the party moves away, heading for the general store, the Wilder ranch, and home, Ainsel flips the top card over and over in their fingers, and hopes against hope that they wouldn’t be seeing Will Williams at all.

--

There are days, Ainsel knows, that they don’t sit fully right with Finn Holden. It’s a different kind of discomfort to wrong-footed Will Williams, but it’s there nonetheless - sometimes they catch Finn trying to look at them without looking at all, out of the corner of his eye or in a mirror or in the eyes of someone else who is looking at Ainsel, and they know that he knows that they know.

Like now: hunched over a little table in the saloon littered with glasses and an incomplete set of dominoes, just the two of them, and Finn’s looking over Ainsel’s shoulder. Ostensibly, eyeing up the liquor behind the bar; in reality, examining the back of Ainsel’s head in the smokey mirror behind the glasses. Ainsel prods the double six morosely and tries not to let it bother them. It does seem unfair, really, that Finn doesn’t bother people the way Ainsel does. That Ainsel bothers Finn, but not vise versa.

They think maybe choice comes into it. But Ainsel doesn’t even know if they made a choice, way back whenever they did whatever it was to land them in Danser Town with a horse and cards and no recollection at all of how this came to be. They might have been totally helpless to their fate, same as Finn had said he was, when Ainsel had cornered him after two weeks and demanded to know what, exactly, the fuck had happened to Finn to make him smell permanently of clay and sawn pine planks and blood.

(If Ainsel is honest with themself, they suspect that they did have a choice. They suspect they made a deal. The knowledge that their fate has been entirely self-wrought is not helpful.)

“Hey,” Finn says, looking at the table rather than Ainsel and tacking a domino on the end of the six. Is that better? Ainsel isn’t sure. “You been...well, lately?”

Ainsel regrets that Finn has cause to have concern for him. Unfortunately, there are only so many times a person can be seen screaming blue bloody murder at a horse for being a demon in passive, judgemental mostly-horse form before people start taking that person aside and asking about how things are going at home, and that number of times is one. “Grand,” Ainsel says levelly. They’re not wholly lying, either; they haven’t found themself lost and memory-less in a forest for nearly three weeks, Edelweiss hasn’t tried to bite them for their many and varied sins today, and Johnny McPherson had offered them a friendly holler across the street that had actually done disproportionate wonders for Ainsel’s mood. But, also, Finn isn’t looking at them straight. He’s looking the way that Will says you oughta, when you’re a little too close to some creature that can kill ya but hasn’t tried yet; with the kind of caution which is always recommended in old wives’ tales about ghosts and devils and the fae.

Finn nods. “Glad.” Then, abruptly, as if bored of being careful (not unlikely) Finn slumps back in his chair and eyeballs Ainsel straight on. It’s - oddly comforting, actually. “I’m sick of dominoes. We don’t even have half the damn pieces.”

They have all bar two. Ainsel sweeps the tiles together into a pile and starts dividing them into two sets of seven and a discard pile, pushing them across the sticky table with long, pale fingertips. “You want to play that Matador game Johnny was trying to teach us?”

Finn huffs. “Tryin’ is the word. If you can remember the rules, then I’m Saint Bridget. I sure as hell can’t.”

Ainsel tips their head, conceding the point. Something about sevens, and it being annoying that their set lacked the five-two; Ainsel had been a bit drunk at the time. “Well? We’ve got to play something. I ain’t gonna just sit here and talk to ya, no-one’s got that patience.”

Finn laughs, loud and inelegant, and Ainsel grins. “Aw, you ass,” he says cheerfully, spinning his glass on the table with careful flicks. “Let’s play cards or something. I’m a demon at rummy.”

“The saloon hasn’t got any cards any more, remember?” Ainsel points out.

Finn frowns. “It don’t? Why not?”

“Jesse Rainey nicked ‘em and gave out the picture cards to the other kids as favours. And, also, as a kind of basic hierarchy system, far as I can figure it.”

“Aw, hell. Why does that kid get away with everything?”

“Y’all reckon she’s cute.”

Finn grins. “She is! It’s like being mad at the kid on the Pear’s soap ads, or a gopher.” Ainsel spreads their hands - well, there you go - and Finn laughs. “Alright. You got cards, though, right?”

Ainsel rides the sudden lurch of horror at the idea of anyone else even seeing the cards, let alone using them. But - they want Finn and Will and everyone else to see them as normal folk, they gotta Be Normal. Have a normal horse, and a normal life, and normal playing cards. Any number of things can cause amnesia - hitting your head real hard because your horse, which maybe hates you, kicked you or bucked you or something. Trauma. Heatstroke. Normal shit, which ain’t magic no matter how much you side-eye it or examine it in mirrors. Finn might’ve just - imagined it, or had a vision like some religious folks do. Ainsel could have dreamed up any number of things and thought them real - what he’d seen of Will could be nothing. Probably says more about Ainsel than it does about Will anyhow.

Be Normal. Ainsel reckons they can do that. Most all other folks seem to.

Ainsel brings out their pack from the inner pocket of their duster, shakes out their wrists with a confident movement, and manages two whole shuffles before dropping most of the pack. The beautiful cards flutter and spin as if caught by some wild, summer wind and scatter over the table and floor in an unstoppable cascade. Finn tips his head back and laughs like a hyena.

“You’re the clumsiest fuckin’ card shark I ever seen,” he says delightedly.

“I am not a card shark,” Ainsel says rather absently as they scrabble to collect up the cards on the table.

Finn snorts. “I believe it! But what else you carryin’ all these damn cards all the damn day for, huh?” He gets off his chair and drops to the saloon floor, hunting down Ainsel’s precious cards before they get trampled or lost between the boards.

“I don’t know,” they bite back rather crossly; one of the cards, the Jack of Hearts, has just jumped away from Ainsel’s grasping fingers and they have to stand and lean over the table to snatch it up from Finn’s chair. Ainsel glances at it habitually as they sit back down and briefly forgets how to breathe.

The card, like every other, is not a standard face card. The young knave depicted always seems to form out of the swirling lines upside-down, no matter how Ainsel looks at the card, with an inverted heart on his chest like a drop of ruby-rich blood. And for a moment, whilst Ainsel watches, the Jack looks out at them with Finn’s eyes that are not Finn’s eyes. The heart pulses, once, and slides away and dissipates; the eyes go dark and glazed; and Ainsel is looking at a dead man in a churchyard. Some shadow oozes into the edges of the card and at the same pace blood leaks thick and dark from the man’s chest. There is no helping him; he is gone. Ainsel knows it. And then, he sits up. Abruptly, like he’s awakening from a nightmare. He inhales hugely, or tries to, as though he had been drowning, but chokes on his own blood. The man spends quite some time on all fours, coughing and retching and hacking up blood, but this slows and he sits back on his haunches to assess the pool of blood. He wipes at his chin with the back of his hand and grimaces - not with pain, more like disgust. And then he looks up - and this time, it is Finn with Finn’s eyes who is looking straight out of the card at Ainsel.

Ainsel’s fist closes around the card, barely managing to avoid crushing it. They look up in time for Finn’s head to appear in triumph over the edge of the table, clonking his temple gently against the underside as he does. Finn brandishes a handful of cards at Ainsel with a grin, and Ainsel sees him bleed out and wake up over and over in their mind.

They take the cards. Slide the pack back together. Tuck them deep down in an inner pocket.

Finn blinks at them for a moment. “So no cards today, then.”

“No,” Ainsel says shortly.

Finn nods solemnly. “You wanna talk about it?”

Absolutely fucking not. Ainsel slides the dominoes back across the table a little too violently, sending ivory tiles skittering against their empty glasses and shoves a couple Finn’s way. Finn, who is alive and well and not all that damn normal either, so damn it all; maybe no-one in this town is normal enough to start shit with Ainsel, and everyone ought to fuckin’ remember it. Ainsel fixes their gaze on the base of a glass, in whose curving reflection they can watch Finn without actually looking at him. “Come on, Saint Bridget,” they say roughly. “Double six starts.”

There is a short pause, and then Finn’s hand closes over the glass which Ainsel is using to look at Finn without looking at him, and they can’t see Finn’s reflection anymore. “Alright,” Finn says quietly. “Matador it is.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Bad Vegetarian | Feeding Habits #1

Hey People of Earth!

As you can see from the title, not only do we have a new series of writing updates, we have a new series of writing updates for a whole new novel that was! not! supposed! to! happen!

For any of my friends who miss Moth Work (aka myself), guess who started writing a sequel literally no one asked. :)

I’ve had ideas for spinoff stories for Moth Work (as if MW wasn’t enough of a spinoff) and was peer pressured into starting this novel by @sarahkelsiwrites​ and I’m really happy about it! I have yet to come up with a title, but the moment I do, shall inform you, but for now, we’re calling this MW2!

This book (if it even ends up being a book) starts with chapter one, Bad Vegetarian. Unlike MW, MW2 starts in Lonan’s POV (not sure I’ll switch but I’m sure it’ll be inevitable), and I’m here for it!

I’ve been wanting to explore Lonan and Eliza’s relationship in more detail since having them come together in MW by complete fluke, and oh! is the tea piping!

This chapter really illustrates how truly dysfunctional this relationship is on both sides. Here’s a break down by scene:

Scene A:

Lonan is paint shopping with Eliza who has just gone vegetarian (which is the def the most normal thing she’s spontaneously done lately). Eliza feels like celebrating by painting their entire kitchen red.

Lonan particularly is drawn to blues, but since this ain’t what Eliza wants, they go with a brilliant red.

Scene B:

Lonan lines the kitchen with painter’s tape as Eliza bothers their neighbours for paint rollers, while trying to convince himself this relationship is still somewhat okay.

While doing this, he gets his weekly call from Unknown Woman who he’s been in contact with for the last few weeks. What for? We don’t know! They talk in code, and he realizes Unknown Woman’s situation is getting worse, and impromptu, tries to do something about it.

Scene C:

Lonan and Eliza bump into each other as he’s exiting the apartment and she’s entering, and have a short, strained conversation about why he’s leaving (she’s not aware of top secret phone calls that make this book feel lowkey like the old dystopians!)

Scene D:

Lonan attempts to drive to Unknown Woman but only knows she lives in Arizona (not great for directions lol). While in the car, he realizes it’s essentially impossible to get there without knowing where he’s going, and eventually gives up and heads home.

Scene E:

TW: blood

Lonan re-enters the apartment only to find Eliza “bleeding” in the kitchen. She’s actually just being wild and this “blood” is wall paint.

Scene F:

If we haven’t already seen the dysfunction, oh does it get worse! As Lonan and Eliza try to have a *moment* Eliza has a conversation by herself and gets a lil gaslighty.

Halfway through this, Lonan gets a phone call from Unknown Woman who we finally find out is his ex-girlfriend Glenne. Sounds like tea but he’s genuinely only helping her out of her toxic situation (which will be clarified later) though Eliza’s skeptical.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I wrote a majority of it today, and am really happy to have a *chill* project. While I love my other books (the three I am apparently now working on at once), it’s nice to have a place to dump my ideas with characters I know very well in situations I’m comfortable in whenever I feel like writing but don’t have tons of time/ideas/energy.

Excerpts:

Here are the opening three paragraphs! The first sentence sets up the POV a little weirdly, but I think it works with a later sentence that sort of mimics this “reminder” kind of style:

There are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian. She’s into earth tones, neutral tones, leafy greens, root vegetables. It’s all new. The day she announced her diet change, she also announced a desire to repaint the kitchen, to fit the new aura, to fit the new ethics, but she wants to paint the kitchen blood red, and Lonan is still a meat-eater. He reminds himself: there are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian.

In the hardware store he thumbs paint chips. They’re set up in an array, almost like checkers, dissolving in a gradient from reds to purples. Eliza wants red, “Not necessarily earthy, but the root of organism, of life,” so Lonan looks at the blues. They’re all a variant of a seaside theme—Sea Breeze, a cloud-like blue, Beach Umbrella, a wispy aqua, Seafoam Serenade, muted like the soft side of a turquoise. Repainting the kitchen matters little to him, and so do the blues, but the red section, devilish, makes him shuffle his blue deck faster.

Radio from the store’s intercom tins through the speakers, dampened by the hustle of carts, the thud of bodies against the concrete flooring. He holds many cards up to the light, Secret Getaway and Parisian Summer almost the exact shade, but still he flicks through, until half the pile is indistinguishable, and the other half are blues he likes and not reds, like Eliza’s asked.

The next excerpt sort of highlights the last six months of Lonan’s life as he’s been on this whirlwind of keeping up with all the things Eliza has tried. I have added kudzu pudding and other kudzu food just for my pals @sarahkelsiwrites​ and @shaelinwrites​ (rlly want kudzu pudding):

Her sudden vegetarianism is not confusing to him. Eliza tries new things all the time, something he’s learned after living with her for half a year. One time, she brought home four different kinds of dried beans to make into tea, and together they drank it atop the balcony, the Vegas strip across them somehow tasting better. One time, they ate a variety of kudzu foods for a week because Eliza said invasive species had to be killed somehow, and so they spooned kudzu pudding into their mouths, kudzu root powder into their water, kudzu salads with salted almonds. One time, she put them on a warmth ban, and they ate only frozen peas, potatoes, raspberries, turned the thermostat down until every surface crackled. She liked the feeling of subtle frost on the countertops, how it jolted her when she touched it accidentally in the morning. He found her many mornings awake before him, transfixed to the table with both palms soldered to its surface, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t a part of it. One time, she paid to have the furniture in the house rearranged, not good enough for her spirit, and then reverted it two days later. “The couch doesn’t like being so close to the refrigerator,” and he could’ve asked “did you ask it?” but said, “Understandable. It shouldn’t be forced to catch a draft.” So her vegetarianism is normal. Already, she’s switched their meat supply to beetroots, chickpeas, tofu she rips apart bare-handed. For the last three mornings, they’ve both taken a shot of spinach and gingerroot, a liquid that burns to make you feel alive, as if you weren’t already.

The next excerpts kind of surprised me with their amount of humour! Not something I expect from Lonan, but I’m glad he has some sass back lol (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

There is nothing wrong in this relationship. Everything is Eliza’s new favourite adjective—stunning. Everything is scrubbed with kitchen bleach, glittering like a plasticky pool float in the shallow end, stunning. Everything is planned, put in a calendar, a notebook, a flitter of receipts, but always planned, stunning. Everything is better, even better than better, a better that can only be described as stunning.

Lonan uses this word frequently now, rolling out a strip of blue painter’s tape and trying to find different ways it stuns. Sticks when he sticks, peels when he peels, keeps its edge when it needs to keep its edge, so it’s stunning. The bubble television is turned onto a channel about sheep, and as he lines the baseboards, outlets, catches glances of a sheer buzzing against skin, sometimes a hunting knife slicing until there’s blood. 

Eliza is asking a neighbour for paint rollers because they bought four cans of wall paint, two paint trays, a box of garbage bags, three rolls of painter’s tape, and a small paintbrush each for both of them but forgot the rollers. Stunning.

The following excerpt highlights that Lonan has a cellphone! Is Fostered just a bizarre alternate reality of a time period that doesn’t exist? Perhaps! (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

Today, they’ll prime the cabinets, the walls, and tomorrow, scroll a coat of red onto both. The kitchen will look more like the inside of an anatomical heart, the sinks and drawers like ventricles, but this is Eliza’s vision—her tastes come alive.

The sheep are being herded by a collie. As Lonan rips another strip of tape with his teeth, he stares at the screen mounted in the corner, at the almost-naked sheep dashing across a field. How many will be slaughtered, he doesn’t know. The narrator must’ve said that, but there is no plan, really, for death. Even for sheep.

He kneels toward the kitchen vent, the tape roll linked around his wrist, and smooths a line of tape down. Eliza doesn’t want to paint the vent—it wouldn’t complete her vision—and so it will remain the original wall colour, a square of cream so worn, it’s almost grey.

Here we have some hints at Eliza’s weirdness:

He straightens and looks at her. She’s bundled in her fur coat even though she has always insisted she’s good at even Vegas’ warm winter. Since going vegetarian, she’s insisted it’s fake, even though he’s read the lining tag—100% mink. He doesn’t know why she’s needed her coat when she’s only walked up a few flights of stairs but doesn’t care to ask.

She approaches him with her thumb out, and when that thumb presses into his eye socket, he flinches.

“What happened here?” she smooths the dip of his under eyes, her fingertips cold. He smells her perfume, different today, always different, a smell like cloves and lavender. “Are you sleeping?” She presses onto her toes, examines the other side, and her frown deepens. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.”

“I’m sleeping,” he says, though they both know this is a lie. It’s taken her two weeks to notice.

“I can run to the pharmacy,” she says. “If you need a refill.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I didn’t notice this morning—I would’ve given you another energy shot.”

Here’s a line I like because of a) skin and b) sun:

Lonan goes nowhere. This is not his plan. Asphalt whips under the skin of each tire, the setting sun wringing him blind. 

Fully sharing this for the verb zags (and also because I accidentally roast cities tho I love them I am one of these blink-less people):

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Arizona is the only thing he knows about her, doesn’t know if she lives in an apartment, a duplex, a house—fully detached, semi-detached. As he pulls into a residential neighbourhood somewhere along the vague line he’s drawn on the map from Las Vegas to Arizona, he watches for all these options. In the distance, a jogger zags across the street with her golden retriever, children play basketball on a driveway, still in their school uniforms, another woman clips the wilted stems off a magnolia bush. 

It’s when he gets closer to the apartments that the sameness is noticeable. High-rises with pearlescent windows that go pinkish in the sunset—all of them identical. Each building evenly spaced, more like a board game than a place to live. Even the space around each building is the same—the same rose hedges, the same iron fence, the same people bustling in and out, all wearing some variation of the same pantsuit, all holding some other hand—child, partner, lover. The same haircuts, smiles, eyes like marbles, as if there’s a store somewhere that sells copies, a catalogue for eyes that don’t blink. He’s been looking into the sun for too long, there must be a difference, but the longer he looks, the more indistinguishable they become.

To get out of explaining where he wants to go when he and Eliza bump into each other, Lonan says he’s visiting his sister (Reeve), and because she’s iconic and must make an appearance, here’s a line ft. our queen:

He could make the lie true. Reeve is somewhere in the country, he imagines, dancing in a faceless city, living in a motel room, tipping everyone well. 

(^^ all true)

Here we have Lonan identifying with the animals more than anything else for the second time in one chapter (TW for more blood imagery):

Lonan hooks the car keys onto the lanyard by the front door and slings his coat across the couch. The television is set to the same channel as before, though the program has switched from sheep slaughter to birdwatching. On screen, a heron perches by a riverbed, opalescent in the sunshine.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, the heron now frisking up the white bark of a tree. He glances at the fluorescent red dripping between her fingers, pattering against the tile.

“I was opening the paint cans.”

“With a kitchen knife?”

He gestures to the blade on the counter, blood-free, newly sharpened.

“It’s all I had on hand.” She pulls her wrist closer to her, runs her index finger along the injured area.

“It’s clean.”

“I washed it, Lonan.”

This next one has some blood imagery so TW for that!

The heron has moved closer to the riverbed. It watches the water knowingly, its subtle simmer of movement, and after a moment of watching, strikes its beak down so it spears a trout. He misses the part where it eats. Eliza’s clicked off the TV from behind him.

She slams the remote onto the counter so hard, its back clatters off and onto the tile. “I cut my arm with a kitchen knife while opening paint cans. It happens.”

“I don’t see a cut.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t see a cut.”

She walks toward him. He expects her to shove her wrist in his face, but she doesn’t. She just holds it, some of the blood fluorescing pink, splashes onto her toes.

“You got to see your sister?” she asks.

“She cancelled.”

Eliza clucks her tongue, examining her wrist, and then she extends her arm, revealing the full patch of pale skin gone red.

Lonan takes it, and with his fingernail carves a line through the red to reveal the healthy patch of skin, painted, uncut.

And finally, here’s the last line of this excerpt that essentially explains where the title comes from ft. predator VS prey symbolism:

He’s reminded once more of the heron, how it plunged into the riverbed with ease, and the trout dangling in its beak, its commitment to life most fervent the moment before being consumed. 

So that’s going to be it for this update! I don’t know how frequently I’ll be writing this, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I’m excited to explore more relationships I haven’t turned over in a while as a little side project while I do other things! Hope y’all enjoyed!

--Rachel

[perspective-series]

Lilliputian Perspective (5/10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, threats, and mention of injury

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

—————————————————————————————————-

 Roman finally reach his cave, the sun setting fast but still giving bits of light. He was pulling several carts behind him, panting all the while. “This better be enough food for you!” He shouted as he entered the cave.

Logan smiled, touched by Roman’s efforts. “Do you need a hand?” He asked, noticing how the Lilliputian struggled.

 “...Yes, please.” Roman said, moving out of the way so Logan could grab them. He looked over towards Patton and nodded at him. Might as well be civil if he couldn’t get rid of him.

Logan took the carts one by one, moving them towards the back section of the cave that could be considered his area. He looked them over, finding a large assortment of meats, veggies, fruits, and cheese. “This is impressive, how did you manage it?” Logan raised his eyebrows, digging into one of the carts after giving the meat a sniff. It there were any bones, Logan found them easy enough to chew.

 Now that they knew, Roman didn’t bother hiding the fact he stole them. “It was difficult, but I ended up having to do each cart one at a time. And from different areas, as to not raise too much suspicion.” Roman explained.

 Patton frowned. “So you did steal it.” Patton sighed at Roman’s grin.

 “Yep! You’re welcome!”

“I do appreciate your effort,” Logan admitted, pausing between mouthfuls. “But this isn’t exactly what I meant by a sustainable source of food. Surely you can’t do this forever. Or very long at all, in fact.”

 Roman frowned. “I can do it for as long as I need to.” He huffed. Though...Logan did have a point. What were they going to do?

 His thoughts were halted for a moment though when he noticed something on Logan’s arm. “...What’s that?” He asked and Patton tensed.

Logan glanced at his arm, only now remembering the tent that had been balancing there. “Oh, right. I do apologize, but Patton suggested I use your tent.”

 “What? Why? What happened?” Roman turned to Patton, expecting an answer. Patton bit his lip.

 “Well...I needed some water. And so did Logan, so we went out and got some...and then we may have...run into the bandits that had been chasing after me.” Patton explained, looking down. Roman blinked.

 “I’m sorry, what?” He asked.

“I have a slight wound.” Logan cut to the part about the tent, pointing at his arm.

 “Not that! You bumped into more people! And you just let them go!” Roman yelled and Patton winced.

 “They said they wouldn’t tell anyone!” Patton tried to defend but Roman just glared.

 “And you believed them?!” Roman glanced between Logan and Patton at that.

“Not particularly,” Logan admitted. “But I trusted Patton’s judgment.”

 “I didn’t think it was right to keep them trapped here,” Patton admitted and Roman groaned. 

 “Well, get ready for the freaking army to come through because they definitely told the king already!” Roman exclaimed.

 Patton paled. “An...An army?”

Logan stopped his eating, beginning to grow concerned. The singular sword had not harmed him terribly, but a Lilliputian army would certainly possess enough firepower to do him harm, especially if he kept trying to harm no Lilliputians himself.

 “What? You think the king would ignore something like this? Even coming from a couple of criminals, he would send people to go and check it out.” Roman explained.

“Well, it’s possible we will remain unharmed here, considering the incident happened at the lake.” Logan reasoned. “Although we’ll have to find a new water source.”

 “We can only hope.” Roman huffed. “No one is leaving this cave though, that’s for sure. We can’t have anyone finding us.”

 Patton nodded. “Right, okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “...Sorry.” He whispered, looking down. Roman blinked and sighed, going over to awkwardly pat Patton’s back. 

 “Look, you can’t help that you have one of those pure hearts or whatever. Just be more careful next time.” Roman said, before taking his hand away and moving away.

“What would you have recommended?” Logan asked quietly, keeping his voice down. “For future interpretation.”

 Roman thought for a moment. “...I don’t know. I mean, taking them back here doesn’t sound like a great idea either…” He hummed. “Probably should have thrown them in the ocean. You could probably throw pretty far, right?”

 Patton’s eyes widened. “No! We can’t kill them!”

 “I never said kill, I just said throw them in the ocean!” Roman tried to defend himself.

“It’s not a terrible idea, assuming Lilliputians can swim?” Logan looked to the two in front of him for confirmation.

 Roman grinned a smug grin towards Patton. “Yes, we can...usually.” He added as an afterthought.

 “No! We are not throwing anyone into the ocean!” Patton exclaimed, not believing he had to actually argue this.

“Actually, on second thought, that would still be impractical.” Logan pointed out. “They would either drown, which would be immoral, or they would swim back, and we would be back to square one.”

 Roman pouted as Patton sighed in relief. “Well then, I’m out of ideas,” Roman admitted. “You shouldn’t have been seen in the first place.”

“Well, I cannot just stay in this cave forever.” Logan sighed. “But there is no way to guarantee that I avoid detection.”

 Roman sighed. “You make a good point...we need to work towards actually getting you out of here and back home.”

 Patton frowned. “But...how?” 

 Roman bit his lip. “I...don’t know. Logan, any ideas?”

“Well, with the right lumber I could build a raft.” Logan suggested. “Although it might be difficult to find enough trees large enough, and it wouldn’t be a subtle process gathering it all. Not to mention, it would take me quite some time to build it.”

 “Well...that might be our only option. Cause it’s either that or you stay here forever, eventually, get caught and probably chained up as some sort of war machine for the kingdom.” Roman said and Patton whined at that, not liking the idea of Logan being put in that situation.

“...I prefer the raft.” Logan said, setting down the cart in hand with a few remaining vegetables. He suddenly had lost his appetite.

 “So do I,” Patton whined and Roman sighed.

 “We all do. Look, I don’t want to see you get caught, Logan. You’re a...good person. And while I usually don’t hang around those kinds of people, I’ll admit it’s kind of nice.”

“You hardly know me, but the sentiment is appreciated, Roman.” Logan gave him a soft half-smile.

 Roman smiled back and then yawned. “Well, we can think up some more plans tomorrow. I am exhausted.” 

 Patton nodded, also yawning after watching Roman. “Yeah, I am too. It’s been quite the day, wouldn’t you guys say?” Patton asked, chuckling a little.

 “Absolutely.” Roman agreed.

Logan gave a large yawn of his own, already beginning to lie down. 

 Roman made his way to his bed but Patton hung back, biting his lip. “Uh...where can I sleep?” He asked and Roman blinked.

 “Oh, right, um…” Roman looked around and went over to a pile of his things, digging through it. He pulled out a sleeping bag with a grin. “Knew it was here.” He handed it to Patton, who took it.

 “...Did you-”

 “Yes, Patton, I stole it.” Roman cut him off with a sigh. “I thought we already established this.”

 “Right, sorry,” Patton said. He didn’t really feel comfortable using a stolen sleeping bag but he didn’t have any other choice, apparently. He set it at the foot of Roman’s bed and climbed into it after setting his backpack up like a pillow.

 Roman climbed into his own bed. “Logan, feel free to lie down anywhere...just as long as you give us enough space.” Roman didn’t want to become a pancake due to Logan rolling over.

“Relax, I’ll be back here.” Logan scooted further into the cave, away from the Lilliputian dwellings. He was not known to rock in his sleep regardless. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could use to prop my head up?”

 “Uhh…” Roman looked around. “...You could use that pile of gold?” He pointed with a shrug. 

 “Roman, that wouldn’t be very comfortable,” Patton said from the floor and Roman huffed. 

 “I don’t know what he usually sleeps on, maybe he likes that kind of thing!” Roman exclaimed, although even he highly doubted that.

“I’m not a dragon.” Logan rolled his eyes at that suggestion. “No matter- I expected not. I shall just use my arms.”

 “Sounds good.” Roman yawned. “Well, goodnight.” He said, before lying down and curled up under the covers.

 “Goodnight!” Patton said back, doing the same. There wasn’t a lot of cushion between the hard cave floor and his sleeping bag but it did the job.

“Goodnight,” Logan repeated the sentiment, settling in. Despite the relative uncomfortableness of the cave floor, and the slight chilly draft floating in from the ocean, Logan found the setup quite suitable. After all, he was still exhausted, and within just a few minutes he was fast asleep, peacefully snoring away.

***

 Virgil rode through the forest, atop his horse along with several of his knights. Er, his father’s knights. They weren’t his, of course, not yet anyway. Night had fallen already and yet they saw no sign of the giant the bandits were talking about. Virgil sighed, he should have no it was some sort of joke or something. Now, he just wasted his knights’ time and they would all see him as a bad ruler.

 Virgil was just about to tell everyone to turn around and head home, when a nearby night stuck his arm out, effectively stopping Virgil and his horse. “What? What is it?” Virgil asked and the knight looked at him.

 “You don’t hear that, Sire?” The knight said and Virgil blinked. He was about to say no, he didn’t, when he paused. A deep, rumbling sound echoed around him, shaking him to his core. So much to the point he couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it before.

 Virgil gulped, that didn’t sound good. With his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, he motioned for the knights to follow him as they hopped off their horses and went closer to the sound. Soon, it was clear the sound was coming from within a cave, a...rather large cave, Virgil couldn’t help but notice.

 Hesitantly, he led the Knights towards the mouth of the cave and looked into it. Everyone froze as they took in the sight before them. A giant, just as the bandit’s had said, sleeping inside the cave. Virgil’s mouth went dry at the sight and he took a step back in fear.

 “Sire? What should we do?” A knight whispered to him and now all the attention was on him to make a decision. He let out a shaky breath. 

 “We...We need the army.” Virgil spoke, doing his best to remain calm. “And-And something to tie the giant up with and we need it before he wakes up.” As Virgil said this, no one moved. He turned to them. “That means go!” He whisper yelled at them. They got into gear, running back towards their horses and heading back to the castle. Only Virgil and one knight stayed behind to keep watch of the giant.

 “...Please don’t wake up.” Virgil mumbled as he stared at the giant.

Logan moaned, his body feeling sore from the way he slept but at least his mind was well-rested. However, as he began to try to get up, Logan was puzzled to feel his legs were...restrained? 

Logan opened his eyes, gazing in surprise as what had to be at least several hundred Lilliputians stood in front of him in the cave mouth, all frightened and all armed. Well, so much for secrecy. In the crowd, Logan could also pick out Roman and Patton, who were both bound and gagged. 

Looking down, Logan’s hands were bound at the wrists, with what appeared to be many layers of tiny ropes all braided together. With a flex of his wrists, Logan could tell it was relatively sturdy, but he imagined if he tried he could break through. Logan Imagined this was the same sensation keeping his ankles tied together, and wondered how the Lilliputians had managed all this in the night while Logan remained asleep.

 Roman yelled but it became muffled due to the gag in his mouth. Patton, who was on his knees next to him, had tears in his eyes. He had one knight watching him, while Roman needed two to keep him still. His eyes widened, suddenly, when he saw the prince walking around the cave.

 “Sire! The beast is awake!” A guard shouted, backing away from the giant. Virgil swallowed as he looked up and met the giant’s gaze. Okay, he could do this. He could do this. He took a step closer and immediately regretted it, but he didn’t move back.

 “...D-Do you speak?!” Virgil asked, wincing as he heard himself stutter. Hopefully, this giant didn’t catch that.

“Yes,” Logan answered, watching as a more regal-looking figure in black and purple approached him. He kept his answer short, wanting to stay cooperative.

 Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise. Okay, that made things easier...right? “Okay, then tell me why you are here? And who are they?” He motioned towards the two lilliputians tied up as well. “Are they your captives?”

“Ah...no.” Logan decided, thinking back on it. “This is Roman’s cave, and he allowed me to stay here. Patton has been assisting me as well. I come in peace, I washed up on your shores sometime in the night yesterday.”

 Peace? Could that be true? 

 “Do not listen to it, your highness.” His advisor came up to him and spoke. “It is a beast and cannot be trusted, do what is best for our people.” Virgil winced but nodded.

 “R-Right.” Right, he couldn’t let the beast trick him. He curled his fists, gaining the courage to look back up at the giant. “Beast, you are hereby under arrest! You and your lackeys will be coming with us.” Virgil spoke, happy to note he didn’t stutter that time.

“Alright, first of all, not a beast,” Logan said, remembering Roman and Patton’s fears upon first meeting him. “I do not, and will not, consume any Lilliputian. Secondly, your highness, with all due respect, how do you intend to take me under arrest without my assistance? After all, I do believe I have done nothing wrong.” Well, aside from trespassing on the island, but Logan could not help that.

 “You being here is wrong!” A random guard shouted from the giant’s right. 

 “Yeah!” Another agreed. Virgil’s advisor stepped forward, glaring at the beast.

 “We are not going to wait around for you to do something.” The advisor spoke. Virgil bit his lip, he knew they were waiting on him to give orders but the giant was also right. How were they supposed to get him out of here? His eyes glanced towards the lilliputians who had helped this giant and he got an idea. Not a very...nice idea but he had to do something.

 “If you do not come with us.” Virgil began to speak. “Then we will hurt your partners in crime.” He hoped this worked.

 Patton’s eyes widened in fear, while Roman’s narrowed in rage. He started to struggle more and another knight had to come to hold him down.

Logan frowned. “Why would you hurt one of your own? They’ve done nothing wrong, and I hardly know them.”

 “They committed treason, helping you, you beast.” His advisor spoke. “It was a nice try, Sire, but this beast does not seem to care for its slaves.”

 Roman practically growled at that. He was no one's slave! Least of all Logan’s! Unfortunately, he couldn’t even struggle anymore due to how many men were holding him down.

“Well, that’s a bit harsh.” Logan darkened his gaze, not liking that particular Lilliputian. He turned back to the regal figure. “What are you, the king? Do you often let your men speak for you? Where I come from a leader like that is called a coward.”

 Virgil ducked his head, cowering at the giant’s look. “I-I’m the prince…” Virgil murmured in fear, taking a step back.

 “And you, beast, have no right to speak to him in such a way!” His advisor said back and Virgil winced. Why was he still talking? Couldn’t he see that it was just making the giant angrier?

“I do believe I’m done speaking with you,” Logan informed him, his eyebrow twitching. What an insufferable man.

 The advisor looked livid and like he was about to speak again anyway, when Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Please, I-I can handle this.” Virgil lied. His advisor huffed but stepped away, turning his back towards the giant.

 Virgil turned to face the giant again. “I’m...sorry about him.” He never did like his father’s advisor.

“Apology accepted,” Logan assured him, wanting to remain civil. He looked out amongst the crowd. “But are all these theatrics truly necessary? It seems the only thing that’s been created is tension.”

 “How can we know that you are telling the truth?” Virgil spoke, feeling a bit more confident now that the giant wasn’t glaring at them. “The people-er, my people are afraid and I-I have to do what is best for them.” Virgil let out a shaky breath once more. “If...If you truly don’t mean any harm, then come with us willingly.” Virgil tried, despite not thinking it would work. It at least gave him more time to come up with an actual way to get this giant locked up.

“Well, I would, but you’ve tied up my legs.” Logan reminded him, glancing back briefly at his feet. “And regardless, I am more than willing to cooperate, but I will not come as a prisoner.”

 “Um, well, you really don’t have much of a choice in that,” Virgil said hesitantly. “The people would feel safer if you were locked up, at least until, uh, we...figure this all out?” Oh geez, this was quickly falling apart on him.

“Do you even have a cell large enough to encase me?” Logan asked, always of a logical mind.

 “Uh, well not a traditional one,” Virgil admitted. “But we’re making...arrangements.” Arrangements being metal chains big enough to hold the giant in a more open cave that was closer to town.

“What sort of arrangements?” Logan pressed.

 “...chains?” Virgil revealed, although due to a few glares from a few of the knights, he figured he probably shouldn’t have revealed that. Or anything. He was really bad at this.

Logan considered this. He wanted to cooperate with the Lilliputian government to show he meant no harm, and this prince seemed willing enough to cooperate in turn.

“Alright, I will come with you.” Logan finally agreed. “But, in exchange for my compliance, I have conditions.”

 Virgil blinked and stood up a little straighter. “What sort of...conditions?” He asked hesitantly. He glanced back towards his advisor, who was back to glaring at the giant.

“First, you release Roman and Patton.” Logan nodded towards the two who had helped him. “Second, my legs will need to be untied so that I can have the mobility required to cooperate.”

 “Sire, I don’t think-” His advisor tried but was quickly silenced by a look from Virgil. He then glanced between the giant and the two lilliputians. 

 “...Okay. Untie his legs!” Virgil ordered, before turning to the guards holding the lilliputians. “Let them go.”

 The guard did as told, though it was clear they didn’t like it. As soon as Roman’s hands were free, he ripped the gag off. “Finally! How dare you silence me!” He shouted, glaring at the guards. Patton was glad to be free but he was looking at Logan worryingly.

 The guards ordered to untie Logan’s legs were far more hesitant, slowly inching closer to do just that.

“No need,” Logan assured them, noticing how nervous they were to get close. “I can manage myself.” He shifted slowly around, trying not to terrify the army too terribly as he sat up. Though it was a bit difficult with his wrists still tied, Logan found the correct pocket easily enough. He pulled out his swiss army knife, taking the blade and sawing at the ropes entangled around his ankles.

 Virgil, along with Patton, Roman, and everyone else in the room, stared in terrified awe at the sight of the giant knife. Most took several steps back, even more wary of the giant than before, knowing he was armed, despite not even needing to be.

 Virgil slowly realized the giant could have gotten out of the bonds at any moment. And yet he had waited specifically for Virgil’s permission. 

 Virgil didn’t know what to make of it.

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 17

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~5100

Rating: R (language, implied inability to consent)

Summary: Drake goes to Ramsford while he figures out his next steps, Leo has something to ask Liam, and Hana is at her wit’s end

Author’s Note: I’m just gonna throw a trigger warning here that there is an interaction in this chapter where a man is clearly looking to engage in sexual activity with a woman who is not able to consent at that time. There is no actual sexual assault or violence, but it’s the type of thing that may hit close to home, so I thought I’d give some warning. It’s in the third and final “section” of this chapter if you wish to avoid it.

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

“Hello?” Drake called out, glancing around as he stepped into the foyer of the Ramsford estate. He wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t any staff to greet him, given the Beaumont’s current financial situation, but he figured he should announce his presence somehow. Not just lurk around until someone found him. He was pretty sure he was the only person invited for dinner tonight, after all.

He hadn’t really wanted to come for this dinner, but when Savannah had called him, excited that he was still around and inviting him over now that she was settled at Ramsford, he just couldn’t bring himself to say no. He’d seen so little of his sister over the past couple of years, and even before then, he’d always found it hard to tell her “no.” So here he was, hoping that Maxwell and Bertrand had enough whiskey to get him through the evening.

“Drake, is that you?” Maxwell’s voice called out, echoing through the halls as he rounded the corner, “Hey, glad you could make it!”

“Yeah…” Drake trailed off as Maxwell came over. Maxwell was clearly going in for the hug, but thought better of it when he saw the look on Drake’s face. 

“So, yeah. Dinner might be a bit yet. Savannah is cooking but Bertrand has decided to ‘supervise’ as this is ‘their first dinner party’ as a couple or whatever. I wandered through the kitchen about 20 minutes ago, and it was not exactly going great.”

Drake just shook his head, “I hardly qualify as a dinner party.”

“Yeah, well… try telling Bertrand that. Do you want a drink while we wait for whatever the hell we’re gonna get for dinner at some point?”

“What do you think?”

“Right, stupid question. Come on, I’ll get you some whiskey.”

Drake followed Maxwell through the halls to the private lounge and took a seat on one of the couches as Maxwell wandered over to the bar cart and preparing a whiskey on the rocks and a glass of white wine before he joined Drake on the opposite sofa.

“So, has Riley been having a good time with Hana?”

“What?”

“Hana told me they were going to check out Riley’s favorite place for Chinese take out today and that she was going to see how it stacked up to authentic Cantonese cuisine. I was wondering if you’d heard the final verdict.”

“Maxwell, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Hana’s in New York,” said Maxwell, squinting slightly as he took a sip of his wine. “Drake, did you not know that?”

“No, she uhh… didn’t tell me that.” Drake downed his whiskey in one, pushing himself up off the couch and stalking over the liquor. That information warranted another drink.

Hana was in New York with Riley. Riley couldn’t be bothered to text him, but she was taking Hana out and keeping Maxwell posted about everything they were up to, apparently. It just was him she wanted nothing to do with. 

It was like every other time, and this time, he knew it was his own damn fault that she left him. He’d fucked everything up. He drank his second glass in one swig. He just wanted to go back to his quarters and be alone with his pain, but he could hardly duck out of a family dinner where he was the only guest. Pouring himself one more whiskey, he took a deep breath and rejoined Maxwell. He was gonna have to get through this night somehow.

Maxwell glanced up, tapping his finger on the side of his wine glass as Drake sat down. The silence was tense for a few moments before Maxwell broke it. 

“Drake, I wasn’t trying to pry, I swear. I’m just worried about Riley and I thought maybe-”

Drake jerked his head up and stared at Maxwell, “Why are you worried about Liu?”

Maxwell tensed for a second, “Look, I’m not trying to butt in where it’s not my business or anything-”

“Really? Since when have you had any sense of boundaries?” Drake snapped

“Hey! I’ve given you plenty of space! I get that you and Liam had to work through your… issues, or whatever. But she’s like my sister, and I have a right to be worried about her, too!”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s all my fucking fault. I already feel like shit about it so-”

“Oh come on, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what’s your fucking point?”

Maxwell let out a sigh, “I’m just trying to make sure that both of my friends are doing okay and not isolating themselves and being all lonely and mopey and deciding that it’s better if no one knows that they are actually hurting.”

Drake took a deep breath, “Since when did you get so fucking insightful?”

“My greatest strength is that everyone underestimates me. It let’s me see things,” he said with a shrug.

“Huh,” was all Drake could muster, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“So, if you can promise not to jump down my throat, I’d like to ask how you are.”

Drake grimaced, “I’ll be fine. It just sucks right now because all I can do is wait for the other shoe to drop.”

Maxwell frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you could probably guess from my reaction, Riley’s basically ghosting me. I’m just waiting for the inevitable breakup text.”

“Or, she’s mopey and isolating herself, you know, like I said,” countered Maxwell.

“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”

“So go back and talk to her. The people behind the attacks are behind bars and you, Liam, and Olivia all said that things are looking good from that standpoint. You took care of what you needed to here, time to go take care of things with one Riley Liu.”

Drake shook his head, “It’s not that simple, Maxwell. I don’t even know if she wants me there.”

“I never said it would be simple. But you don’t know what’s going through her mind right now, right? So maybe she wants you there with her or maybe she doesn’t. There’s really only one way to find out.”

Drake bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to keep calm. He couldn’t let Maxwell know that he didn’t know if he could deal with the possibility of face to face rejection from Riley. Not now, after he’d come to think that she might be the one woman who would stay. When Savannah left, it had nearly broken him completely. If he had to watch Riley leave him, too… well, he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Hey,” called out Maxwell, forcing Drake to divert his attention away from his spiraling thoughts, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think she wants to leave you. But even if she does, wouldn’t it be easier to move forward knowing you did everything you could to try and make things right?”

After a few seconds, after processing the fact that Maxwell could apparently read him like a book, all Drake could say in response was, “Damn, you’re right.”

Maxwell smiled, “I’m fucking insightful, remember?”

Drake laughed at that, raising his glass to clink against Maxwell’s.

After taking a sip of his wine, Maxwell pulled out his phone, “Speaking of being insightful, what do you think the odds are that dinner preparations have completely fallen off the rails?”

“I’m going with about an 80% chance.”

“My thoughts exactly. So shall we preemptively order some pizza?”

Drake smiled and nodded as Maxwell called the restaurant he always used for late night sustenance at Beaumont Bashes. It was strange to think that Maxwell was now a close enough friend that he felt okay about talking with him about anything he was feeling. More than that, he realized that he had misjudged Maxwell a lot over the years. But if the past year had taught him anything, it was that Maxwell had pretty decent awareness when it came to a lot of things. He’d seen the value in Riley before any of them, after all. 

Drake knew he probably should apologize for some things he’d said in the past, both to and about Maxwell, but maybe bringing up his past intolerance of the man was not the best way to go. So instead, he waited until Maxwell finished placing the order and hung up the phone before he got up and walked over to the liquor once again.

“You need a refill, best friend roomie?”

The subsequent shriek of joy was loud enough to bring Savannah and Bertrand running.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he scanned through the final reports on all the interrogations. Starting tomorrow, some the initial hearings were happening in public court. Liam had pushed for expedited trials, knowing that the people had been through enough with these attacks and didn’t need the court proceedings to drag at a glacial pace. Of course, this meant he was giving himself less time to develop a firm grasp on the details of the three men whose trials were starting this week for when the press inevitably asked for comments. Still, he knew the prosecutors had it worse, and he was grateful the team of attorneys had agreed with his plan yesterday, even agreeing to meet with Bastien’s agents on a weekend.

He’d slept in his office last night, reviewing the files well past midnight. When he woke up with his head hanging over the arm of his sofa, he’d scurried off to the Monarch’s Quarters, quickly getting freshened up before heading back to his office. He chose his desk this time, hardly able to risk drifting off to sleep again, but it was still hard to stay focused. The reports were full of so many conflicting details, it was hard to keep who said what straight, and he’d been at if for hours at this point. He was about to get up and stretch his legs for a few minutes, but heard a couple of knocks on the door. Before he could call out a greeting, the door swung open, Leo walking straight in and over to the side cupboards.

“Why hello, Leo. Please, come in.”

Leo paused to turn to Liam. “Why, thanks brother!” he said in an exaggerated manner, winking as he looked back towards the wall units, “I was thinking of fixing myself a drink; would you like one?” 

Liam glanced at the clock on the wall. “Leo, it’s not even noon,” he chastised, “and you won’t find the whiskey in that cupboard.”

Leo stopped rifling through to cupboard and walked over to Liam’s desk, a wide grin spread across his face. As he plunked himself down in one of the chairs facing Liam, he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. After a moment, Liam sighed and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the Highland Park whiskey and two glasses.

“Keeping it close at hand, nice. I have to say, I like your style. Dad always kept his booze tucked behind the books. Your way is much wiser,” Leo said, accepting the glass from Liam.

“So what brings you by my office? We haven’t seen much of you around the palace the past couple of days.”

“Well, it seemed like things were pretty hectic around here. I thought I would give you some space while you dealt with all the official business. Besides, the casinos worry that something has happened to me if I’m around for more than two days and don’t make an appearance,” he joked. “Anyway, I just came by to let you know I’m flying out tomorrow.”

Liam took a sip of whiskey and nodded. He’d been expecting this since the funeral. He was actually kind of surprised Leo had stuck around Cordonia as long as he had. “Where are you heading this time?”

“I’m spending the next week in Havana, then it’s on to Rio.”

“Of course. Well, you know you’re welcome back anytime. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah…” Leo said, trailing off and looking down at the surface of the desk. It seemed odd to Liam. Usually, when Leo said he was leaving, he appreciated a light-hearted goodbye. Liam figured years of Father attempting to guilt him into staying had taken their toll, so he always tried to show Leo that he understood his need to explore, to go elsewhere. But today, that seemed to bother him, and Liam wasn’t sure why.

“Is something wrong, Leo?”

Leo paused for a moment before he spoke, “You’re doing okay, right?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, you’re okay with the fact that I don’t spend much time in Cordonia, right?”

“Where is this coming from, Leo?”

Leo shook his head, “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t hear what Drake said to me the other day. I know you overhead us.”

Liam nodded slowly. He hadn’t heard everything, but he’d heard enough. And while the fact that Drake had mentioned being torn away from his life had been of more interest to Liam at that time, the fact that Drake had told Leo that he was a bad brother was also something that had stuck in his mind.

“It didn’t seem like the type of statement you’d put much stock in, if I’m being honest.”

Leo tensed at that. “He called me a shitty brother, Liam! Of course it stuck with me! Do you think so little of me that you thought I wouldn’t care about that?”

“Of course not. I just thought that you knew better than to hold Drake’s anger as a source of universal truth, not to mention you never seemed to mind being told you weren’t living up to expectations in this building.”

Leo gave Liam a small smile, “So, you don’t think I’ve been a bad brother to you?”

“No, I don’t feel that way.”

“But Drake was right. I haven’t really been around, I tend to get caught up in my own interests. I definitely have failed you in some ways.”

Liam shook his head, “I don’t expect you to care for me in the same fashion as Drake. He has his way of doing things, you have yours.”

“He called me your drinking buddy.”

Liam chuckled at that, “That’s an interesting perspective. It lacks some nuance, but yes, I suppose you do get me to let go of certain stressors temporarily by encouraging me to indulge in a variety of vices. It’s helpful at times, so I wouldn’t be so dismissive of it.”

Leo just shook his head, “Come on, you don’t need to shield me. If you need to get pissed at me, I get it.”

“Why would I need to get pissed at you?”

“I abdicated, for Christ’s sake! I left you with all the responsibility.”

“And didn’t I encourage you to take that course of action?”

“Yes, but Drake said-”

“Forget what Drake said. His interpretation of our relationship is highly irrelevant, and Drake is going to think what he’s going to think. I am telling you, I do not resent you for abdicating. Being Crown Prince was killing you; you were miserable. I love you, and I want to see you happy. How could I ever hold you taking an action that greatly improved your happiness against you?”

“But I want to see you happy, too.”

“I know you do. I presume that’s why you are very willing to take the full blame for indiscretions conducted by either of us.”

Leo scoffed a little, “Sure, when we were little.”

“And now. I heard Regina had some choice words for you after our night of drinking before the funeral.”

“She said she was amazed that after all this time, I still found a way to be a bad influence on you,” Leo said with a little smile.

“Exactly, and you let her believe that. Leo, you’ve always shown you care about me in your own way. I’ve never felt like you didn’t love me just because we want very different things out of life.”

“Still, the weight of the crown-”

“Is something that I don’t see as a barrier to my long-term happiness. It’s a responsibility, sure, but I am honored that our people trust me as their leader.”

Leo stared at Liam for a few seconds before throwing the whiskey back and finishing his drink. “You’re a good king, you know that right?”

Liam smiled gently, “Thank you, Leo. I appreciate that.”

“And I don’t just mean better than I would have been. You are a good leader. Cordonia is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you. But I think you would have been a better king than you give yourself credit.”

Leo just laughed, “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.” He stood to leave and strolled over to the door, but before he opened it, he spun back to face Liam.

“Do you mind if I give you a piece of advice?”

Liam inclined his head, “I would be a bad king if I couldn’t handle friendly advice.”

“Right, well this more personal than professional.”

“If it’s about Madeleine, give your history, that seems like a rather awkward topic-”

“Nah, it’s more general than that. Just... you need to be selfish sometimes. Not often, let’s say once a week. But you need to do something, no matter how small, that’s just for you.”

“Leo…”

“Promise me you’ll at least consider it. Remember, I love you, so that means I like seeing you happy. And I know you well enough that you might forget about your own happiness if things get hectic. So add it to your schedule or something, but remember, once a week, one thing, just for you.” And with that he was out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hana felt... well, the only way to describe it was gross. She knew that her plan for the evening was not something that was completely acceptable, morally speaking. But she hadn’t known what else to do.

All weekend, Riley had been completely uninterested in talking about anything of substance. She’d listened to Hana just fine and told plenty of amusing anecdotes. However, anytime Hana asked her how she was doing or if she needed to talk about anything, Riley had just brushed her off, saying she was fine before suddenly remembering a story about a funny customer or something of that sort. It was always lighthearted and superficial. There was never one iota of depth to anything she said. It had been shopping and restaurants and tourist attractions before Riley scurried off to get ready for work both Saturday and Sunday, and Hana was done with it. 

Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Both Saturday and Sunday evenings, when she’d been alone, trying to devise a strategy to encourage Riley to open up, she’d come to the realization that most of the weight that she’d felt in their friendship had come from her opening up, not so much the other way around. While Hana had discussed her distorted dynamic with her parents, her failed engagement and romantic inexperience, and her very lonely and isolated childhood, there was very little Riley had told her. She briefly mentioned that her father was long gone and her mother dead, but it had been Maxwell who told her that her mother had died of a heroin overdose. She wasn’t even sure if Riley had any family beyond that, any aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. And Riley certainly hadn’t confided in Hana about her growing feelings for Drake at any point during the social season or Liam and Madeleine’s engagement tour.

The fact that her friendship with Riley appeared to be fairly lopsided filled her with both pain and guilt. It certainly hurt knowing that the first person in her life she saw as a best friend had probably not felt so connected with her. But more than that, she felt guilty for depending so much on Riley for emotional support and strength without offering anywhere near enough in return. But tonight, that was going to change.

Hana had tried being friendly and open. She’d tried asking gentle questions. She’d point blank asked Riley if she’d heard from Drake while they were at the Guggenheim. But Riley had deflected every single attempt. So tonight, Hana was getting her drunk. She hated thinking of it that way. It sounded so predatory, so malicious. But her intent was merely to use a bit of alcohol to help Riley feel comfortable enough to actually let her guard down and communicate openly. 

Her plan had been simple to execute, at least initially. Riley was off Monday, and given her apparent desire for all things fun and frivolous, it had been very easy to convince her that while in New York, Hana really wanted a little taste of the nightlife. Riley had been thrilled, offering to lend Hana club wear and taking them to a small little lounge after dinner before they headed to a nightclub. She hadn’t been out dancing in ages, apparently, and was very enthusiastic about the idea.

At first, it had gone exactly as Hana had hoped, with Riley downing vodka sodas while Hana just sipped on an amaretto sour as they sat in a little booth at the lounge. When they’d paid the cover to enter the nightclub, the bass from dance tracks resonating through Hana’s entire body, Riley appeared to be tipsy. Hana figured a couple more drinks, an hour or so of dancing, and then they could head out and actually talk.

What she hadn’t accounted for was the swaths of men who didn’t seem content to let them dance without butting in, invading their personal space without even saying hello. All of these men came with offers to buy them drinks, and while Hana always declined, Riley seemed keen on taking every single one of them up on it, wandering over to the bar time and time again, dragging Hana along with her.

Currently, Hana was standing there, watching as a tall man with very blond hair ordered Riley yet another Long Island Iced Tea. Riley was well passed the point of tipsy and was incredibly intoxicated, leaning heavily against the bar, the words she was practically yelling over the loud music slurred into a giant mess. The man in question didn’t seem to mind at all, though, handing his credit card over to the bartender.

“Excuse me!” Hana called out, the bartender pausing to look at her.

“Sorry!” yelled the blond man, leaning close to Hana so he could speak directly into her ear, “I didn’t know you were drinking. What do you want?”

Hana just shook her head and rolled his hand off her shoulder, leaning over the bar to speak directly to the bartender, tugging her skirt down as she did so. The length was not something she was used to, and she was feeling self conscious of how high it would ride up her thighs with her movement.

“Cancel that Long Island Iced Tea, please. She and I are leaving.”

The bartender glanced between the three of them, but after just a couple of seconds, he nodded with understanding. Hana then spun towards Riley,  hoping that she would be a cooperative drunk.

“Riley, sweetie,” Hana said, leaning to speak directly in her ear. 

Riley spun to face her, stumbling slightly on her heels as she moved, grabbing Hana’s arm. “Yeah?” she said, a concerning glazed looked to her eyes as she seemed to struggle to meet Hana’s eyeline.

“It’s time for us to leave.”

“I think she can decide if she wants to leave for herself.”

Hana rolled her eyes. She had hoped that the blond man would have moved on, but it seemed like he had set his sights on Riley. Ignoring him, she linked her arm through Riley’s and started to navigate them toward the coat check, but the man grabbed Riley’s wrist and tugged her back towards him.

“Riley, why don’t you tell your friend you’re having a good time and that I can get you home.”

Riley just looked dazed, her gaze unfocused, so Hana stepped forward and tugged her towards her side. “Riley, come on,” she said before looking at the man, “You are a disgusting excuse for a human being if you think that she is in any state to go anywhere with you.”

“Bitch!” the man spat out, but he seemed to decide that having this fight with Hana was not worth his time as he turned away and walked away from the two of them, probably looking for some other woman to ply with alcohol. Shaking her head, Hana wrapped her arm around Riley and moved them towards the exit. When they were waiting for their coats, Riley seemed to gain a little awareness of her surroundings.

“Where’d Peter go?”

Well, Hana had a name for the blond man with ill intentions now. “He had to go, and so do we,” she said, trying to guide Riley’s arms into her jacket.

“Oh,” said Riley, “Is Peter, I mean, where’s he, yeah, you know?”

Hana just blinked, not really having any clue what Riley’s drunken ramblings were supposed to convey. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get a cab back to my hotel.”

Hana was able to shepherd Riley out onto the sidewalk, but when she attempted to flag down a taxi, Riley batted down her arm, almost falling into the gutter in the process.

“No taxi, only three blocks,” she slurred, stumbling away from Hana and down the sidewalk with surprising speed.

“Riley, wait!” Hana cried out, “Where are you going?” But Riley didn’t give any response, so Hana took off after her. Any efforts to redirect her were met with groans and slurred grumbles and complaints, so after a few attempts, Hana just followed along. Riley was clearly on some sort of drunken mission, and Hana was going to be along for the ride, apparently.

It was a tricky route to wherever Riley was going. There were numerous other bars, clubs, and restaurants in this part of the city, and even though it was after midnight, there were still many people on the sidewalk, many of them just as drunk as Riley. Trying to prevent collisions, dodging cat callers, and keeping Riley upright was taking a lot of effort. Hana barely felt like the sidewalk was any less of an overwhelming place of noise and bodies than the dance club. Her ears were ringing and she was exhausted. She just wanted to get Riley safely into a bed and then go to sleep herself.

After a couple of blocks, Riley stopped in front of a small market, veering towards a side door. Hana was about to correct her that not only was the market closed, but that she was trying to enter what was clearly an employee entrance, but Riley fished a set of keys out of her pocket and fumbled with them, trying to unlock the door. At that moment, Hana realized that this door wasn’t to the market, it was to Riley and Drake’s apartment building.

After a couple of tries, Riley got the door unlocked and open, so Hana followed her into what appeared to be a mailroom for the building and then up a flight of stairs. Hana didn’t know what she had pictured for where Drake and Riley lived, but it certainly wasn’t this. She was trying hard not to be judgemental, but she’d never been inside a building so run down. It had probably been an adjustment for Drake compared to living at the palace.

As Hana trudged up several flights of stairs behind Riley, catching her from falling twice, she couldn’t help but think about Drake and Riley, not only living in this building, but in this neighborhood, in this city. Riley she could kind of imagine, out at a different bar or restaurant everyday, trying new foods and drinks, charming different people left and right. She was so bubbly and outgoing and had a definite wild, impulsive streak.

But Drake? Nearly agoraphobic, routine loving, scoffed at the new and unknown Drake? She just couldn’t see it. He would have punched at least five people on their walk back from the club alone. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture him in a place that was so loud and with so many different people. It seemed like the type of thing he would avoid at all costs. She didn’t know what to make of that. Did Drake have some secret, social side that he only let Riley see? Or was he just miserable and surly all the time? Hana felt like it was probably the latter. It made her sad to even think about. Here he had made a grand romantic gesture, moving to be with the woman he loved, and it was probably draining and stressful beyond his wildest dreams.

Eventually Riley turned down a hallway and made her way to a door labeled 4B. She tried to use her keys, but was struggling to figure out which key went into which lock. After a few seconds, Hana stepped up to grab the keys herself, but before she could even offer her help, Riley started crying, sinking to the floor.

“Riley!” she cried out, crouching down and grabbing her shoulders and rubbing circles against them. “It’s okay; I can unlock the door. It’ll be okay.”

“S’not that,” Riley mumbled. “I jus’ wanted t’forget t’night… T’not feel so bad…”

“Shhhh,” hummed Hana, sitting down on the floor next to Riley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so lonely. But no one cares,” Riley slurred, head thrown back against the door, “He’s never coming back and I’m gonna always be alone.”

“Riley, plenty of people care about you,” Hana said, trying to provide words of reassurance, but it was like Riley was just giving some sort of emotional speech, and she just kept mumbling the same thoughts over and over again. That she was alone. That she had no one. That everyone would always leave her. So Hana did the only thing she could think to do. She sat there with her, letting her ramble and release her pain. She wasn’t going anywhere, and hopefully that fact would provide at least a little comfort.

Permatag: @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019  @sirbeepsalot  @texaskitten30  @princessleac1  @ladyangel70  @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @notoriouscs @butindeed  @addictedtodrakefanfic

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd  @feartheendlesssummer  @ao719  @ooo-barff-ooo​ @sunnyxdazed

[spam-monster]

helsa week 2020 day - modern

Objection! Hold it! Wait, what?

Or

I was going to write a nice story about Elsa bumping into her sister’s asshole ex at Disney World but he’s carting around a bunch of kids (his nieces and nephews) and is clearly exhausted and terrible at this so she ends up tagging along just to make sure one of the kids doesn’t end up falling over a railing or something when he’s not paying attention and they end up bonding…how the heck did I end up writing an ACE ATTORNEY AU?!?!

(still might write the theme park au at some point, but not today apparently)

(warning: this will probably make zero sense if you aren’t familiar with the plot of the first Ace Attorney game.)

 ---

Lobby 2, before the trial of Olaf Oaken

Prosecutor: Elsa Arendelle. Defending Attorney: Anna Arendelle.

“Quite melodramatic, isn’t it? Avoiding your little sister for years, only to end up facing off with her in court?”

“Are you doubting my abilities, Prosecutor Westergard? Sister or not, I can assure you it will not make a difference to me. I shall get the criminal declared guilty, as always.”

“Just checking. Wouldn’t want my big brother’s favorite protégé getting distracted and making a mistake.”

The blonde woman turned to glare at the smirking red-head next to her.

“Ah, yes. There’s the famous ice queen-glare that makes witnesses shake in their boots!”

“Would that it worked on fellow irritating prosecutors as well.”

The door to the lobby slammed open as a large mousey-blond man fell through followed by a large brown dog barking excitedly, interrupting the two. “Oof – I have the reports you wanted, ma’am!” He motioned excitedly as he looked up, then stopped as he saw the other man. “Ugh, what’s he doing here?”

“Detective Kristoff, you’re late.” She said. Then “Hello, Sven” as she turned to greet the dog warmly. “Hans was just leaving.”

Hans sighed. “Fine, I guess I am. Good luck out there, Elsa.”

“That’s Prosceutor Arendelle to you-“

“Yeah, yeah.” he waved, already out the door.

---

Lobby 1, after the trial

“Anna…I hadn’t expected to see you again after all these years…in retrospect, it would have been better that we not have met.”

---

Police Department, a few cases later, the day before Elsa Arendelle’s trial…

“You’re really taking Elsa’s case?”

“Of course I am! I know she didn’t kill that guy! And why are you prosecuting her, aren’t you guys supposed to be buddies or something?”

“Buddies? Hah! Just because Mister Westergard’s big brother is her mentor doesn’t mean they’re buddies! Guy doesn’t even have buddies, he’s just a big jerk-“

“That’s Prosecutor Westergard to you, Detective Kristoff. And although we are…acquaintances, I have been assigned to prosecute Miss. Arendelle’s case, and that is what I intend to do. If you truly believe her to still be innocent after hearing all the facts tomorrow in court, then I expect you to prove it.”

“…You think I’m foolish for believing in her, don’t you?”

“I think you’re so desperate to believe that the sister you remember still exists somewhere inside her that you would defend her from anything, even if she stabbed you through the heart herself.”

“Well, you’re wrong, mister! Anna’s gonna kick your butt in court tomorrow, and then you’ll be sorry, you big meanie…meanie!”

“It’s okay, Olaf. Prosecutor Westergard…I am going to finish my investigation. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then, Miss Anna.”

---

Detention Center, Visitor’s Room, Two days later…

“…What are you doing here, Westergard?”

“Prosecutor…no, Elsa. Did you do it?”

“…Does it matter to you what my answer is? You’re still going to try to get me declared guilty tomorrow; I’m sure your brother is already upset that Anna’s been able to drag out the trial for this long.”

“Elsa…”

“…Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re having second thoughts.”

“What if I am?”

“You’re not. I know you too well. You love lulling people into a false sense of security and then betraying their trust and turning everything against them.”

“…Well, I wouldn’t say I love it…”

“…”

“…Alright, maybe I do enjoy it a teeny bit too much. But only when I’m actually sure they’re guilty.”

“You’re always sure everyone you prosecute is guilty. You have no reason to believe any differently of me.”

“…Just…just please. Answer me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“…No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“…Okay…Goodnight, Elsa.”

---

Next day, in court, just before the verdict is declared…

“That time in the elevator, seven years ago…I still have nightmares…your honor, that man did not kill my parents! …I did.”

“Elsa, no!”

---

Lobby 2, a few minutes later…

“Ha! Finally, a chance to redeem yourself, little brother! Let us see that foolish girl try to defend her sister from this!”

“…”

“…Why so glum, Hans? This is your chance. Haven’t you been waiting for an opportunity to finally defeat Elsa Arendelle and take her title as King of Prosecutors?”

“Yes, but…not like this. And isn’t she your protégé as well? Why are you so eager to have her declared guilty?”

“Are you…questioning me, little brother?”

“I…no. Of course not. I’ll…go start preparing my case.”

---

An hour later, Lobby 1

“Wooo! Did you see that! You verbally kicked his butt, Anna!”

“Yeah, pal! That was great!”

“Thanks Olaf, Detective Kristoff!  At this rate we - …Elsa? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Hans. Why…would he be trying to make himself look this bad?”

“…You think he’s doing it on purpose?”

“Anna, I’ve known him for years. Even when he first started taking cases, Hans was never this clumsy and unprepared.”

“Maybe…is it possible he’s…trying to help you, somehow? I mean, I know it sounds ridiculous, it’s Hans after all, but…Kristoff?”

“…The bailiff just told me…apparently Prosecutor Westergard isn’t feeling well. Chief Prosecutor Westergard will be taking over for him.”

“His big brother? The guy who was Elsa’s mentor? But why…Elsa, do you know?”

“…Hans…he got himself kicked out on purpose. He acted so incompetent that the Chief Prosecutor had no choice but to step in. Anna…he was there that day, wasn’t he? Maybe…maybe Hans thinks he know something we don’t, and this was the only way to get him into court.”

“…Right. Well, we’ve gotten this far. Let’s do this.”

“Be careful, Anna. If Hans is ten times more ruthless than I am, his brother is ten time more ruthless than that…”

“It’s okay, Elsa. I’ve got you. I won’t let you down!”

---

The next day

Headlines: CHIEF PROSECUTOR WESTERGARD FOUND GUILTY OF MURDER

The Chief Prosecutor, known for being undefeated, has been found guilty of the murders of the late defense attorney Iduna Arendelle and Detective Agnarr Arendelle. It was said to be a crime of passion, revenge against them for tarnishing his almost-perfect record in court. It seems he tried to frame their eldest daughter Elsa, who was trapped in the elevator with them at the time, for the crime; but their younger daughter and Elsa’s sister was able to reveal the truth about his heinous schemes…  

 -----

So yeah. Basically Anna = Phoenix, Elsa = Edgeworth, Kristoff = Gumshoe, Hans = like a weird mix of Franziska and Klavier, Olaf = Maya (and Larry?(I mean as in person Anna and Elsa both knew when they were kids)), Sven = Missile the police dog

I was going to do Elsa as the defense attorney and Hans as the rival prosecutor at first, because if you’ve ever played an Ace Attorney game you know of the…”tension” between these characters, but “believing in a person so much even though you haven’t seen them in years that you defend them on blind faith against all odds” is just so Anna that I had to do it this way.

Maybe after Elsa gets her name cleared she ends up becoming a defense attorney and redeems Hans in the same way? Who knows. Also, I seem to have a running theme of “Hans’ asshole big brother is the real big bad” going here.

...Maybe the quarantine has got me a bit loopy, and that’s why I keep coming up with all these ridiculous au’s this year lol.  

[prettywordsyouleft]

Could You Marry Me? - Part 4

Summary: Marriage was something you dreamed of reaching after falling in love with the man of your dreams. Yet the romantic in you is thrown out the window when you end up having to fake your engagement with your personal assistant.

Pairing: Son Hyunwoo x reader

Genre: office au / ceo x personal assistant / co-workers to lovers au / romance / fluff / fake dating

Warnings: none

Index: Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Perhaps you did have the luck of being like a drama couple on your side. Dinner had gone well; you had everyone convinced that you and Hyunwoo had fallen in love within the office. It helped that he knew little nuances about you that could cement parts of your storyline, and even you hadn’t been aware that he had picked up on your little habits like twirling your pen in your hair mindlessly when working at your desk.

Your surprise was genuine and so the reaction was positive.

“We need to get together again soon!” Mina gushed and you nodded happily, holding her hand in yours and feeling entirely warm. Normally you had been kept at arm’s length, not having the ability to quite match her playing field. Now that you were engaged however, you wondered if becoming closer friends would be possible with her. You didn’t realise you had wanted to be a part of her circle until now.

This desire fuelled you on. From what had been one dinner date was now having lunch with Mina a couple of times a week and you even started planning your wedding together.

Which didn’t seem as scary as you believed it would be.

“You really don’t have anything planned yet, do you?”

“Well, we just recently got engaged,” you reminded Mina over the phone, twirling your pen in your hair and catching yourself in the act. You glanced out your office window towards Hyunwoo’s desk, smiling lightly when he caught your gaze. He blinked before smiling back, returning to his work and you swung around in your chair. “We have plenty of time to plan a wedding.”

You had briefly discussed with Hyunwoo about this when you went over the contract. Knowing you were the only daughter of an affluent family meant you couldn’t just skimp out and have a private wedding. But you had proposed having the wedding sooner rather than later. It would mean most of the more expensive venues would be fully booked out and you would save costs by limiting the time you had to plan. Whilst you knew your parents would be thrilled as long as you had a husband at the end of the day, you also knew giving your mother the opportunity to plan for a long period of time would be disastrous for keeping this marriage contained.

Considering it was a fake marriage as well, you felt guilty enough for even allowing them to pay for the ceremony.

“What date did you decide on?”

“Uh, well we’re hoping to talk to my parents this weekend about it,” you started, staring at the small desk calendar where you had pencilled in ‘meeting with family’. Forcing a smile despite being on the phone, you tapped at your desk for an answer to crop up. “But maybe a spring wedding?”

“Spring is only two and a half months away, Y/N! You don’t have time if you want to plan everything! Oh my goodness, that’s it! I’m putting myself in charge of helping you with this. As someone who is already married, I know what needs to be implemented immediately.”

“Oh, no I wouldn’t want to ask that of you.”

“I insist! So I’ll come around to your apartment after dinner tonight to get some of this inspiration really flowing, okay?”

So that’s how you ended up rushing through your final meeting for the day, dashing home and standing awkwardly in your front entryway letting Mina into your apartment soon after.

“It’s so cute!” she enthused, smiling brightly at you as she placed down her bag, looking around. She then turned to smile again at you. “I remember the days before Jihwan and I lived together. Though we moved in before our marriage because we couldn’t handle being apart from each other.”

You smiled as she giggled, and then you realised Mina was subtlety asking why you and Hyunwoo weren’t living together yet. You cleared your throat. “We have decided to move in after we’re married. Since we work side by side so intimately now, we already know we’ll be able to live together as well.”

“That makes some sense, though there’s always so much more to learn about the person once you start sharing the same space,” she agreed and you relaxed at her acceptance. “Oh! Can I use the bathroom? It’ll be the first time I get to go without an audience. My son tends to think the bathroom is public domain when Mummy is in there.”

Chuckling, you directed Mina to the right door and then set about making some tea whilst she was in there. When she returned, she was frowning. “Do you see Hyunwoo out of the office?”

“Of course I do, he’s my fiancé after all.”

Mina sat down and took the mug you held out to her, still perplexed. Then she turned to you for answers. “Does he not stay over?”

“He… he does.”

“It’s odd that he doesn’t see the convenience of leaving his toiletries here. I noticed there was no toothbrush in the jar next to yours and no sign of his skincare either. Come to think of it, there were no slippers in the doo-”

“He’s a little particular about these things,” you interrupted with a laugh that sounded desperate to regain her confidence. You were unsettled, feeling this magical world she had encompassed you in start to darken around the edges for the fake you truly were. You attempted to smile. “I’ve been trying to convince him to just keep a set of everything here for practicality for weeks now but he likes to use his own things from home and cart them over when he stays.”

“He sounds rather efficient.”

You relaxed, nodding with ease over a word you used to describe him often.

It was a shame that you yourself weren’t nearly as onto things as you thought you had been. Once Mina was gone, you rung Hyunwoo in a frantic state, barely stopping to listen to how sleepy he sounded on the other end. You glanced at the time, cringing at how late it was.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Tomorrow after work, we need to go shopping.”

“Is this necessary?” Hyunwoo asked as you grabbed from the shelves and dumped multiple toothbrushes into your cart. He eyed your excessive number of items and then sighed. “I’m sure your explanation has eased her mind and it isn’t as if you will often have her over to your apartment.”

You nodded mindlessly, looking at shaving cream and then at Hyunwoo. He pressed his lips together in a firm line before stretching above you for the brand he preferred. He placed one into the cart and you reached for two others to stock in the cabinet under the sink. “I don’t think it was a once off, Hyunwoo. She’ll be back over again and this time I’ll be prepared for her.”

“With the way you’re preparing, it’s going to be overboard,” he commented with a sigh, shaking his head along with it.

And yet he humoured you.

He allowed you to grab for things you needed, chiding you for the items you didn’t. Soon, he was replacing your ill-informed choices with his own, laughing at you constantly. He even shunted you playfully when you reached for couple clothing. And unlike every other boyfriend you had tried this tactic in the past with, he didn’t object to it, smiling down at the matching outfits. You decided you had uncovered that Hyunwoo had a softer side to him than all the smarts suits and capable assistance you were too used of.

It made your heart skip without you quite understanding it.

“Shall we go get coffee?” you suggested and he nodded more freely than usual, smiling warmly at you as he pointed to a nearby café. You grinned and once your purchases were in the trunk of his car, you followed him into the coffee shop.

And then you stared up at him blankly.

Why didn’t you know what he drank? He could list off your order every time without missing a beat, and yet here you were trying to decide if he was an Americano or latte kind of guy.

What surprised you was Hyunwoo actually waited for you to decide. At work, whenever you hesitated, he would be prompt in sweeping in to speak for you, to direct the conversation in a way that you could effectively continue after his save. Right now, he was remaining tight-lipped, albeit with a ghost of a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

You let out a small indignant breath at him playing coy.

“Ma’am, your order?”

With a final glance in Hyunwoo’s direction, you ordered two drinks and then took the number handed to you by the clerk, firmly spinning around and moving to a table along the far wall. Hyunwoo chuckled when he sat down. “You don’t know anything about your fiancé.”

“Excuse me?!” you responded immediately, guilt filling your chest at his statement. He was entirely right but with the uncharacteristically playful expression still evident in his eyes, you didn’t want to back down either. “I happen to know some things about you.”

“Like?”

“You look really good in suits,” you admitted and you were certain his ears reddened at your compliment. It gave you instant confidence to continue. “And you look just as good out of them.”

“Huh.”

You smirked. “See, I know some things.”

“I guess you do,” he agreed, taking the drink the clerk handed to him and staring in at the contents. You were hesitant, hoping that an Americano was the right pick. Hyunwoo lifted the drink to his lips, smiling when he put it down after taking a sip. “Not bad.”

“You don’t drink it? I thought you’d be a simple coffee drinker. Nothing too fancy.”

“I’m actually fond of caramel macchiato,” he replied, surprising you at his choice.

You eyed him carefully, wondering if he was teasing you. Hyunwoo’s emotions didn’t betray him. You huffed. “So maybe I need to learn more about you then.”

He merely smiled, not denying nor agreeing with you. And the longer you stared at him smiling like that, you found yourself grinning back.

And then you giggled. “It’s like we’re dating, don’t you think?”

You hadn’t meant to blurt it out and cringed immediately at such a foolish remark. You weren’t deluded or anything, you knew Hyunwoo was here with you, going through all of this because of you. To assist you. And yet, when he smiled so easily like that, for the smallest of time, you wondered why you hadn’t seen this side to him until now.

You kind of liked it.

He didn’t seem put out by the statement, in fact, he was still smiling. Hyunwoo then glanced up at you, his eyes full of warmth. “Let’s class this as our first date then.”

_________________

Part 5

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[caracalfeather]

WARNING- Cats and Birds is a mob AU fanfiction of the Arcana game, and is not meant for young audiences and is not meant to offend anyone. Some writing choices were made so characters are out of their canon way of acting and thinking. Please do not be offended by character choices made by the authors and content creators, this story was made for fun and in the way we wanted it to be. The story was not hijacked by any of the authors to make any ships or characters overshadow any other. All content contained in this story has been agreed upon and accepted by all parties in it’s creation.

TW- Cats and Birds contains scenes that may not be suitable with some readers, including themes of violence, smoking/drug use, sex, cursing and various other strong themes. Special warnings for scenes will be posted with chapters. Proceed with caution and Reader’s discretion is advised.

12 part 1

The streets seemed to be crawling with mobsters that hot day, some blended well with random crowds while others were obviously searching for something. Three families were in the raven’s territory, all armed and ready for a fight.

Portia got word first, Julian was out for the entire day. She ran to Bèa and ordered a full scale lockdown of The Nest. 

“Lock everything! I don’t care! No one gets in or out!” She barked. 

Everyone followed orders. No one questioned Portia. She opened the door to her brother’s room. 

The one thing he held dear jumped up startled by the sudden blaring of alarms. 

“Wh-what’s going on?” She asked, Madeve standing up with her. 

“We’re on lockdown, some goons are trying to overrun The Nest. Just stay here, turn off the lights and stay hidden.” Portia said, pulling out her keys, Lyra nodded. 

“Madeve come! You’ll guard outside.” Portia waved to the dog and he followed, giving Lyra a short woof of encouragement. 

As soon as she heard the key turn the lock Lyra followed instructions and hid  in the actual bedroom of the large room. 

Outside, trucks and cars had surrounded the nest, many armed men with gold ram symbols stood around, yelling and throwing bricks at the windows, one fired his gun at the door, sparking rage in the men as they surged forward.

“HOLD THEM BACK!” Bèa shouted. Not noticing the group that was starting to make their way around back. The siege was all a distraction. 

Portia called her brother to tell him the situation. “Ilya! We’re getting raided! You better get your ass down here fast otherwise we’re all gonna die!” 

The front windows shattered as the door was rammed, more firing sounding outside. Some men had started to aim for the higher levels while one revved a truck.

Lyra tried to keep calm, rubbing the sapphire on her collar. 

“Stay calm….” she breathed

“Stay calm.” 

Portia retreated some of the forces inside, deciding they had to pick them off one by one. Portia cocked her pistol and hid behind a wall. Waiting for the trespassers to enter. 

The door was busted down and a surge of men entered, carrying heavy artillery and revolvers. Antonio had made sure they were well stocked with vests and guns. Some immediately surged upstairs as the others opened fire.

“CAN WE COME TO A COMPROMISE?!?!” Portia shouted over the gunfire. “You obviously want something from my brother and he’s not here right now! But why don’t you tell us what you want!” 

Madeve paced  like a lion between the two other guards who stood at the ready. 

The men didn't care about portia or the others. They simply were told to kill and grab the target from her nest. Upstairs a group began to shoot the guards and yell for lyra.

Madeve barked and charged avoiding bullets best he could. The other guards dodged a few but were no match. Portia hasn’t expected them to get that far. 

Lyra heard the muffled gunshots outside, she covered her mouth and gasped into it.

Curling up on the bed in fear. She hoped Julian would arrive soon.

 It wasn’t looking too good for the Raven’s nest. 

Outside, Antonio watched from his seat on a car hood, chuckling to himself “That's it my boys.” Next to him two slender white hounds emerged and ran inside, his hunting dogs were going to fetch a new fur coat for him. He knew they could do it. He smirked “Fetch my babies. While I wait for the main show to come home.”

She could hear the handle. The game was up.

Lyra stood up and ran down the list of all the other places to hide. This was the safest room, the locks were complex but not invincible. If they were here to see Julian he would’ve shown up already. What were they here for? She knew it couldn’t have been her. The Nest was sworn to secrecy. 

Portia called a fast retreat into the basement of The  Nest. Hoping that the locks wouldn’t fail her on any of the doors. She called her brother again, practically screaming into the phone. 

The hounds howled as they got to Madeve and outside, Antonio lounged, loading his gun and mumbling “Any day now raven. Come home to your nest.”

The massive dog growled as the two other hounds met him in the hall. Madeve barked but waited to charge. Blood dropped from his maw as he growled. 

The dogs launched and circled him, snapping at him with sharp fangs and growling as they tried to corner him.

Madeve stood his ground, this wasn’t going to be an easy fight. But it was his job to protect his master, and his master’s mistress.  He barked at the two, trying to see which was weaker. 

Portia sealed the door to the basement. Everyone who was alive, was safe. They just had to hope that Antonio came in for what he was after and left. 

After what seemed like hours, everyone was gone. One of the men had knocked out madeve, while the others had napped the precious jewel of the nest. Lyra’s room was empty, and the cars had disappeared towards Antonio’s base in the deep rich part of the city.

Portia took a headcount and surveyed the damage just as her older brother was pulling up in the driveway. 

“Damn.” He looked around at all the blood and corpses. “Well, Monty was desperate.” 

Portia came outside to greet him. 

“Do you know what he took yet?”  Julian asked his sister. She shook her head.

“We’re still looking. But Madeve was knocked out.”  She sighed. 

Julian frowned and went inside, seeing his beloved dog limp on the floor. With a sharp grunt he lifted the dog. Madeve whined, arousing from his sleep. 

“C’mon let's go see Lyra.” He sighed Madeve scrambling in his arms as his body came around. 

He set down the mutt and he took off barking.

That….wasn’t good. 

Julian’s eyes grew wide and he ran after the dog. He saw what he feared, the door to his room was ajar. He threw open the doors.

“LYRA! Lyr! Are you here!?” He called out in the empty space, he searched his room frantically searching for her. 

“Dearest! If you're hurt please say something!” 

He opened the door to the bedroom, and there sitting on the bed was the symbol of Antonio’s mob. 

Julian shouted in rage and ran down stairs to his men. He held up the ram’s head to his best Men. 

“I know what Antonio stole.” He growled, “he took what is MINE.” 

Lyra was blind folded and tied up. A goon set her on a metal chair. They were in Antonio’s condo, it was bovious from the smell of sex, champenge and the sound of beethoven from the other room. Antonio laughed at the sight of her “This is the raven’s pretty little jewel? Im almost applaud that he was the one who stole the blue blood’s prized possession.” 

She didn’t say anything. If there is anything Julian had taught her than it was to stay silent. The less she talked the more he would stay safe, no matter what happened to her. 

Antonio slapped her with a hiss “Im talking to you little songbird.” he leaned down and ran a hand under her jaw with a smirk “I have some questions for you.”

She had rehearsed this line so many times in her head. “I am The Raven’s plaything. He uses me for pleasure. I have no information to give you.” It was a bold faced lie, but it got her out of some previous situations. 

Antonio smirked and took off her blindfold “We both know that's bullshit.” He held up the photos a goon had taken. Pictures of her and ilya together, one even a little scandalous from a club only taken last week.

Her eyes flashed, they were so careful. “You think he tells me what happens in his work? As I said, I am his possession, that’s what all women are to you. I’m used as pleasure for him.” She nodded at one of the photos. “Clearly.” 

“And that's why he gave you this?” he yanked the sapphire from her neck, examining it “And why you've been at the hospital so much before? Little song bird was trying to have a family with the raven?” He laughed

Lyra narrowed her eyes, “you’re a dead man walking.” She spat at his feet, “you’ll be dead by the end of the night once he knows what you’ve taken.” 

“Oh doll i'm aware of what's going to happen.” he tossed the jewel away and smirked “So for now, you and i are going to have a little chat.” He snapped and a goon brought in a cart of sharp objects and hot metal “And if you don't talk? Well i guess i have a new toy.”

Torture. Lyra’s mind started to race, she wouldn’t survive. She had to compromise, to her there was no option. “You’re trying to get under his skin? Hurting me will anger him.” She swallowed hard, “but if you want him furious….you already have what’s his…” 

“Maybe. But I could take more…” He squeezed her thigh and circled behind her, tracing her skin way too close to some areas “Now… you gonna tell me anything i need to know? Or shall I use you until he gets here?”

Her heart started to pound. Her wrists flinching against the binds. “I. won’t. Talk.” She stammered, she was trying to sound fearless, but on the inside she was trembling. 

Julian had gathered  his men. “Alright listen up. Antonio is expecting us to show up tonight. He has what’s mine and that won’t stand.” He growled. “ we need to get in and get out. We’ll wait until tomorrow, we’ll catch him off guard and his defenses will be low.” 

Portia nodded, “it will give us some time to gather resources.” 

The men were dispersed quickly and Julian sat back in his chair, all he felt was rage. If that bastard laid one finger on her, Julian would Seaver his head off himself. 

Antonio spent the night torturing lyra with minor things like tasers, groping and slapping. He was furious by sunrise, soaking her with ice cold water before going to give his men orders for the day.

Lyra hardly said anything. She refused to talk, she knew Julian would come for her and all would be fine. She couldn’t fail him now, there was no way. Her collar was a reminder of the love she had, and who she wanted to be with. If Lyra had to die tonight  then so be it, Julian was worth dying for and the engraving in the back of her collar was proof of that. Even though now after years of wearing it, Julian’s name was duller and looked a little cheap. 

Julian made sure security was tight before returning and sitting at eye level with Lyra, quiet for a moment before smirking “Bold choice by the way. To try and have kids in this life.” he was trying to mess with her.

“He has to pass down his line to someone.” She averted his gaze,“not that it matters anyway. As you already know, there aren't any children.” 

Everything was ready, it was just a waiting game as Julian sat a few blocks from Antonio’s turf. He was watching the guard looking for inconsistencies. Scouting the easiest way for a rescue. 

“I wonder who’s fault that is.” Antonio smirked and stood “ I mean the raven is a fine specimen. I wonder… did he choose a lame mate?” He laughed “Cant even produce a sire.”

Antonio wasn’t fighting physically, now he was fighting with words. That was something Lyra hadn’t had the crash course in. She tried to shove down the guilt. “I’m loved...despite my ability to have children. We haven’t given up, just you wait.” 

Outside, the guard shift changed. Antonio smiled and grabbed lyra’s chin “But just imagine all the heartbreak and disappointment that you caused. I wonder why he kept you around?” He dropped his grip and sighed “Must just be a useful cocksleeve.”

“I am more than that. We both grieved that day.” She muttered, her eyes threatened tears but she couldn’t let him see that he was winning. “He loves me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be wearing his name with pride everyday.” 

“Right.” Antonio grabbed a sharp cutter and walked behind her “Maybe it’s time we took his name off, Hm? That way you no longer bear his name. Just like your inability to bear his sire.” He was just being cruel now, but he yanked the collar.

She flinched, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Julian sighed and saw what he was looking for, a pitfall in the system. With a satisfied chuckle, he drove out of his hiding place and returned back home. 

Antonio did dare. He was going to prove a point. That same day, an unmarked package arrived at the nest. Inside was Lyra's torn and cut collar and it’s broken sapphire. This was Antonio’s push at the raven.

Julian punched a nearby wall looking out the window, dusk was starting to arrive.

“THAT'S IT!” He shouted. “IT'S CLOSE ENOUGH, PASHA! Rally up the men!!! We’re GOING.” 

Portia tried to talk some sense into Julian but his mind was made up, he wanted his precious star safe. He wanted her NOW. 

At Antonio’s condo it was already a heated zone. The Pride had shown up to confront Antonio on his stupidity. All he wanted to do was show off his bait.

Julian arrived as darkness was starting to fall, everyone was hiding in the streets waiting for the right moment. Portia had a bad feeling about all of this, but she trusted her brother enough to let him do this. Even if it was reckless love blinding him in the moment. 

[peachesandfiction]

As a Date?

Pairing: Lisa x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

“Hey there.” You glanced up to see a man leaning on the cart of the women who was standing on the other side of the fruit display. The way her shoulders had risen against the advancement told you that she wasn’t really okay with what the man was doing. “What’s your name, pretty thing?”

Her eyes seemed to search for someone, landing on yours as if to beg for help. Without a second thought, you dropped the orange you had been looking at and hurried around the other side. The man looked on in confusion until you wrapped your arm around her elbow, asking, “Who is this, babe?”

There was a moment of fear as annoyance seemed to flash in the man’s eyes before he just silently walked away and towards the other side of the store. The woman standing next to you seemed to sag in relief against her cart as she smiled at you. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem at all. Just helping out a fellow woman.” You smiled back, holding your hand out towards her, “I’m Y/N.”

“Lisa,” she answered, taking your hand and shaking it. “So, is there anyway I can repay you for getting that man away from me?”

“It’s really nothing. Don’t worry about,” you answered, finally realizing you still had one hand on her elbow. You pulled away and gave her a quick wave. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Lisa grasped at your hand, still smiling. “How about some lunch? Maybe we could be friends.”

You nodded, “that would be nice, but-”

“Or it could be a date.”

“What?”

She scratched the back of her head, her cheeks glowing a soft pink. “Well, you know. I kinda liked how your voice sounded when you said babe.”

“Really,” you blinked at her in utter shock. “Unless you don’t actually-”

“It’s fine,” you rested your other hand on the one she was grasping with. “Sure. I’d like that, but how about dinner instead?”

“Yes,” she answered. “That works for me.”

“Great. I’ll see you around 7?”

“Sure,” she nodded before shaking her head, “wait! Should we exchange numbers?”

You gave a soft chuckle before holding your phone out towards her, watching as she punched in a number and handed it back towards you. With a quick text, the two of you had each other’s numbers and were on your way back to finishing your grocery shopping. When you had reached the line, she was standing just before you, the two of you gave a shared silent laugh, diving into conversation when the tone seemed to change. Her eyes were watching the area behind you and when you followed her gaze, the man stood there at the end of the aisle. He didn’t look too happy. Leaning over your basket, closer to her, you softly asked, “Would you like me to walk with you to your car?”

She nodded, turning to the cashier to pay for her things. Once she was finished, she pushed the cart out of the way, but stayed close enough to wait for you.

Your eyes seemed to bounce between the man and Lisa, waiting to see what he will do. When he didn’t move after you had finished paying your things, you took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t move at all. Slipping your bags into your cart, you headed towards Lisa and the two of you walked out the store and into the parking lot under the hot sun.

“Thank you,” she said again once the two of you had reached her car. You stayed by and helped her pack her groceries into her trunk. Once it was closed, she smiled at you. “Will you be fine to walk to your car?”

“I think I should be,” you nodded, glancing at your car that wasn’t that far away.

She followed your gaze before turning back to you. “So 7?”

“Yep, should I pick you up?”

“No,” she giggled. “I’ll pick you up. Is there anything you would prefer, or I could cook for you.”

You raised your eyebrows twice. “Cook for me?”

“Well, I mean…”

“I would like that.”

“Oh! Cool,” her cheeks darkened. “I should let you get back to your car. I’ll call you later?”

“Sure thing,” you said, leaning towards her and pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. “See you later,” your voice swept away in the light summer breeze that had started up. Lisa’s smile now took on a dopey approach as she watched you walk away. It took her a moment to pull out of her daze and hope into her car. Pulling out, she was slow to drive by where you were, waiting until you had gotten into your own car before she finally pulled out of the parking lot and made her way home.

Later that night, she had slowly pulled up outside of your home after she had finally caught sight of your address next to your door. Her fingers had bounced around on her phone, trying to decide if she should text you that she was there. She shook her head and dropped her phone back into her purse, hopping out of the car and making her way up to your door in the light of the setting sun. Her knocks echoed into your home.

You slipped open the door, smiling at her as you opened it wider. “Would you like to come in for a moment? I’m just trying to find my jacket.”

Lisa nodded. She followed you in and slipped onto the soft couch near the door in the living room. You had stepped into a door that looked dark inside even after the light was switched on. The sound of searching rumbled on.

Then came a, “There you are,” and you escaped the dark room with a soft brown jacket, slipping it on over your arms and shoulders before turning back to her. “How do I look?”

Lisa’s compliments were jammed up her throat that her lips only opened until she finally said, “Beautiful.”

“Do you really think so,” you asked, adjusting the jacket again.

She nodded, standing up and feeling more confident. “Yes, you look stunning.”

“Well, thank you, ma’am. Shall we get going?”

Lisa led you out to the car, the two of you driving under the darkening night.

When the first star peeked out at you, you asked, “Would you like to go for a walk after dinner?”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere and everywhere, just walk under the pretty night sky?”

Lisa finally pulled up to her house as she answered, “That sounds nice.”

The dinner was wonderful, the delicious aroma had hit you the moment you had stepped into the house and left you still savoring after exiting it. You leaned against Lisa’s arm. Her warmth was comforting as the two of you laughed. With a soft whisper, you told Lisa, “You know? I was just planning on not leaving my house this entire weekend.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded against her shoulder. “I’m glad you asked me to a date.”

“I’m glad, too. I don’t think it would have felt the same if I had just bought you lunch.”

“Actually, tomorrow, could I take you out for lunch?”

“As a date,” she asked, the hint of humor in her words.

“Nope,” you answered, smiling. “Just as friends.”

Lisa gasped, then the two of you broke out into laughter again. Reaching around the end of the block, Lisa led you back around to her house, standing the in the door way for just a moment. Only silence filled the air. There was a sudden nervousness slipping between the two of you before she finally asked, “Would you- would you like to stay the night?”

Processesing what she just asked, you nodded. Her smile was radiant, bringing on a heat that was hotter than the sun had been that afternoon as she pulled you into the house and shut the door behind her. The giggles of new love echoed out in soft and easy whispers.

[thestormlionessmemes]

Mary Queen of Scots 2013

Tomorrow there will no longer be two queens in ___.

I find I bear you no grudge.

I know you are as powerless to change your role, as I have been to change mine.

l am frightened, Your Majesty.

Don't be.

I thank you for staying with me.

I'm not going to let them take you.

I will protect you.

For you must be allowed to have your own life.

You will be the queen, they never let me be.

When I think back ___ years ago in ___, I realize neither of us had an easy start in life.

I could barely move my tiny hands, yet politics was already clawing at my unsuspecting soul.

Pay attention, give me your hand.

Hold your dress.

Concentrate, keep your head up, look straight ahead.

Mine was not' a very settled upbringing.

As you must know your father was so determined I should marry his sickly son he sent troops to ransack my country.

Many ___ lost their lives in my rough wooing as an infant queen.

When I was being carted from one stronghold to another, sometimes I couldn't tell whether what I was seeing was real or a nightmare.

Farewell, my child, and may God grant you safe passage to a more peaceful land.

They will protect you.

You are feverish again.

That's good, my dear, the fever will take away your fear!

The only way my mother could protect me was to dispatch me overseas.

Overnight' my destiny changed.

Packed off like precious merchandise to spend a lifetime with another mysterious bridegroom.

It's lucky for you I took that' boat'.

If I'd have stayed, you wouldn't be sitting on the ___ throne today.

What is your name?

But which one is the Queen?

I can kill just by moving my finger.

Come back.

Come and look!

She is dead.

She is Queen now...

l am the Queen.

That's impossible.

You should have said so right away.

And there you will stay.

Why do you laugh?

I thought we were cousins.

I will reply to her immediately.

We will be the best sisters in the world.

I shall send her my portrait.

Better yet, let me go and meet her in person.

We understand each other, she and I.

We are like twins.

You cannot address her as Queen.

That woman is a bastard.

Have you forgotten what the ___ have done to your country?

They burned and destroyed it.

It is frightful to think that I was the cause of a war.

Do not succumb to your womanly instincts and kindness, do not let them cloud your reason.

There can be no dialogue with that... that pretender to the Throne.

When she dies, you shall be the ___ Queen.

Why should she die?

You and you alone can restore the true faith in that blasphemous land.

Carrying three crowns is a grave responsibility, but impossible as long as that illegitimate heretic is alive.

She has to go.

I will not crush her, I will win her over.

A delightful conundrum.

But not everyone here approves of me consorting with a foreign power.

I have been advised that my claim for the ___ crown is based on legitimate descent.

Accordingly, I am having the ___ coat of arms added to my royal portraits.

You need not' fear for your person.

I have no wish to disturb you.

But if you do ever respond to me, you should address me as Queen of ___, ___ and ___.

What an enchanting voice.

You are charming.

You make me tremble.

Come up and join us.

That hurts.

Tomorrow I will join the hunt.

Isn't it a little too early?

I feel strong again.

For the first time this year, I will lead the hunt.

I am confident that I still have a life to discover.

You of all people will appreciate that once born a queen, one must be a master of one 's own destiny.

If I can no longer be Queen of ___, I am still and will remain Queen of ___.

Let us sing our song.

It's so cold here and my subjects seem to hate their Queen.

That is because your subjects don't know their Queen yet and the Queen has to get used to sharper blades.

How does my cousin do it?

You cannot simply behead everyone who contradicts you!

I could throw ___ into the dungeons, but that would merely make matters worse.

Tolerance can easily be misinterpreted, Your Majesty.

At least you're beautiful.

She is really ugly, they say.

Even if they do write erotic sonnets about her...

No wonder! She has no husband, but countless lovers!

And she's seven inches shorter than you are.

And look at my bump.

Mine is worse.

Come closer.

My heart and my pride have just been stabbed by this rabble-rouser.

I'm frightened, dear cousin.

Why do men of god seem so afraid of women?

___ and ___ living in peace, guided by the example of our sisterly unify.

Oh, I wish I'd seen her face to face.

Believe me, she is as curious about you as you are about her.

Does she really bathe in warm milk?

Is it true she has bad breath?

They say she beats her lovers.

Off you go, ladies, we wish to discuss political matters.

I promise to divulge more gossip later.

Could you perhaps suggest the prospect of a meeting between the two Queens?

She extends to you any help you may need in making preparations for a future match.

I wonder who she will recommend to be my husband.

What of her empty matrimonial bed, your Majesty?

At least, you know what it's like to be married.

I'm delighted to hear you are interested in the possibility of me marrying again.

I 'm rather excited at the prospect of receiving a queue of young suitors.

Alas, I seem to lack the good fortune to meet any man capable of stirring my blood or touching my heart.

Have I not the right to choose whoever I want.

I, too, shall be free, free to stand by my own choices.

I must confess I'm not completely satisfied with my new husband.

I'm worried about his extreme views.

Likewise I hope I can count on you to disarm my treacherous lords and stifle their fanatical plots against me.

The heir to both of our kingdoms is growing safely within me.

Above all, it will heal this country's wounds.

Mama will do everything.

l am a prisoner now.

The child of this traitor is growing within me

and I do not know how to bring it to safety.

How will I know when I'm really in labour?

How can I possibly maintain a pose as serene and confident as you, when inside I feel like screaming?

You cannot know what it feels like to be a mother surrounded by vipers.

Maybe you are right' never to marry.

You can be absolutely certain that the future King will be in good hands.

In my end will be my beginning.

I have a healthy son and a secure future.

I'm besieged by a new force that I do not know how to meet.

Should I surrender or should I resist?

Can I count on my ancestors?

I have found something I never dared hope for.

I know everyone will turn against me and condemn me.

Don't call it sin.

It is true I conceived a child with my husband.

I've always had to make my own decisions and act on my own instincts.

I've been waiting all my life for a man like you.

For him I have risked dignity and conscience, for his sake I have come to regard my friends as less than nothing. For his sake I would fain

renounce the world, I would gladly die that he might rise.

It pleases me to see my husband suffer.

His very being has repelled me for so long now. But how can a wife get rid of a husband?

Careful - the people want to punish you for what you've done.

Some deeds are done by doing nothing.

I'm pregnant.

I know you must resent my sudden marriage, but surely you will appreciate that a pregnant queen must be married to the father of her child.

You cannot imagine the anger and desperation I feel to have my new husband blamed for the murder of my previous one, but I can declare that we are innocent a hundred times and there will still be slanderous voices condemning us.

To fight them would be madness, Your Majesty.

I have no wish to fight them.

They must submit to the Royal Lion and there will be peace again in ___.

There will be no single combat, no negotiations, only surrender.

You must send him away. You have no other option.

I lose count of the springs and the winters.

Has she killed me already?

I am actually more alive than she is.

She can do it! She can chop off the crown.

But she is the crowned sovereign now, and I am just a poor woman, without a crown, a country.

I can't bear it any longer I wish she would kill me.

Two great Queens, caught in a deadly stalemate. In an endless purgatory.

No way out, until one of you fades away.

This could go on forever.

Please don't leave me alone!

Don't hesitate to do what has to be done.

I would only be too pleased to get out of this bed and face your headsman.

And when that secret moment finally comes, will you then have the courage to face me?

With or without you by my side, I long for a new, for the chance to return to my beginning.

Oh, my dear ___, I would be deeply grateful for a sharp ace.

[chrysalispen]

ii. sullied, the whole world's fountains;

AO3 Link

In the wake of the primal's fury came the rain.

Hail and icy water, more suited to the autumn months than midsummer, beat down upon the ragtag remnants of the command pavilion, dripping in chilly rivulets from the slick oilcloth of the tents and turning the ground into freezing sludge. The back end of the storm cell that had set a raging blizzard upon the whole of Coerthas had ripped open from the influx of aether, confounding most serious rescue efforts.

The leaders of the realm's city-states and their military commanders huddled beneath the windbreak (for at this point it was little else), each in their turn staring out over the near-opaque haze of mist and smoke that blanketed what remained of the Carteneau Flats.

No one spoke in a voice louder than a murmur, rousing themselves only when messengers entered the area to deliver news. Dalamud's descent had disrupted and disabled most linkpearl communications, so the Grand Companies were in most cases reduced to runners on chocobo relaying messages from post to post.

Though none were thus far willing to say so aloud, most of the assembled were waiting for the storm's fury to lessen sufficiently that the Flats could be safely traversed and the dead could be cleared from the blasted wastes below. Any observer passing might notice that no voices were raised-- but just as was the case among the rank and file, the tension was so thick one could practically cut it.

Presently an elezen man in the bright yellow of the Twin Serpents knelt before Kan-E-Senna, proffering a sealed envelope. Conversation among the Padjal's circle faded from a subdued buzz to silence as they watched her take the document, crack open the seal, and unfold the parchment.

Pain twisted its way across her face as she read its contents, tilting the corners of her lips into a trembling downward arch.

"Seedseer?" Raubahn Aldynn said gently.

The big Ala Mhigan had a voice that carried and a laugh she could pick out in a room of thousands, but even he had been reduced by sorrow and shock to a shell of himself, forced to watch the endless parade of death along with the rest of them: the corses of friends and countrymen and adventurers who had fought beneath his banner, bundled into sackcloth and laid on a cart. There was some small hope for those who had been in the drop zone, but it was very small indeed.

He tried again.

"What news from the Twelveswood?"

Kan-E-Senna released a sigh that carried the weight of an entire nation.

"The Twelveswood burns," she said. "And Gridania fares little better. Fully half the city was destroyed. This missive is from Brother E-Sumi-Yan; he and the others go to quell the Greenwrath as best they are able. The Shroud will become nigh-uninhabitable in short order, I fear."

"Bloodydamned imperials," Raubahn swore, slamming one heavy fist on the nearby table. After a moment to collect himself, he continued in a quieter tone: "Will it spread, do you think? The fire?"

"The Wailers have protocols to build firebreaks. They are deploying 'round the large settlements." She folded the parchment and tucked it into her robes. "The worst of it is near the border with Mor Dhona, but this rain may serve to hold it at bay---provided the wind does not change course."

"If we need to deploy-"

"We have no one left here to spare as it is. I will have Vorsaile send people back to the Shroud as we are able, but we must needs take stock of what numbers remain." She turned to the runner, her kind smile strained at the edges. "Send word back to Bowlord Levin: Pray have the Black Boars aid in evacuations, and bolster all defenses at the firebreaks. They must hold, at all costs."

Timidly the youngster queried:

"What of the Garleans? They-"

"Will cause us no mischief now. The imperials have their own worries, likely to match our own. Now go, with all haste."

Hastily sketching a salute, the runner scurried out of the pavilion and back towards the post where he'd tied off his chocobo. She waited until he was out of eyesight before sinking into her chair and burying her face in her hands.

"Would that Louisoix's binding had worked," she murmured. "We won the day, but the cost..."

"I know."

"What should become of us all, if the Black Wolf--"

She didn't need to finish her question. They had brought their combined strength to bear against one, one imperial legion, and it was all the Grand Companies had been able to do just to hold them at Carteneau while the adventurers (which ones? her mind cried, overtaxed and frustrated and on the verge of panic. which adventurers?) had confronted Nael van Darnus at Rivenroad.

All here were painfully aware that the Eorzean Alliance had fought the Empire to a draw only because the XIVth Imperial Legion had elected not to take the field alongside her steel and magitek-clad brethren. Should they now choose to take advantage of the decimation Dalamud had wrought, Eorzea was in no position to offer even token resistance.

How will we recover? We have barely the means to see to the pieces that are left, much less-

Kan-E-Senna forced herself to push that thought away.

Time enough later to worry about Gaius van Baelsar. As she had said to the boy, the Black Wolf had his own problems, and she would not compound their woes by inviting trouble.

"Our own numbers were badly culled by the primal, and I don't doubt that Nanamo will have a damage report of her own for me soon," Raubahn said, into the prolonged silence. "But if there is aught the Flames can do to help, you have merely to say the word. U'ldah repays her debts. You know that."

"I know, General. Thank you." Her hands dropped into her lap, where they fidgeted anxiously for lack of Claustrum's smooth, reassuring grip. She'd propped the staff against the side of the tent where it stood still alongside the assortment of weapons from the others. "...I will be taking a unit into the Flats at cockcrow to search for survivors and heal the wounded."

"The storm will make it slow going."

"Even so, it is the least I can do. I would not sit here in relative comfort whilst others die in our names."

He did not protest further; both of them knew it would fall upon deaf ears.

"Very well. Merlwyb and I will take count of our people and our supplies while you do that," he said, glancing across the tents to where Admiral Bloefhiswyn stood in hushed conversation with her storm marshals. "We do have one more important matter to discuss before we adjourn tonight, and that's what to do with any prisoners."

"We are taking imperial prisoners if able, yes? That was what we decided?"

Raubahn grimaced. Her question was pointed, and for good reason; the argument on this point had been much louder when it had actually happened, and Kan-E-Senna had won only because Louisoix Leveilleur and the others had backed her (no doubt hoping for further intelligence-gathering), and now-

Now the wise old Sharlayan was gone.

Thal's balls, he thought dismally. So many faces gone or missing since the drop. And no time to take stock of the dead right now, much less scrape together the personnel for search parties.

"Aye, that's what we decided, right enough. You already know my opinion of it and Merlwyb's likewise, but we gave our word and we'll not go back on it now. She's passed the order along down her ranks and I've passed it down mine. For better or worse, if we find any of the enemy alive, we'll take them into custody where possible."

"Good."

"Mind you, I've told them if there's any too far gone or too hostile-" He stopped at her pained expression. "...I know, I know. But you are well aware these are likelihoods, Kan-E, and I'd rather not risk getting more of our people killed than we already have."

"Don't see what the point is in taking prisoners," Merlwyb said flatly, joining them at the table at last. Her storm-grey eyes fairly snapped with ire and her gait was a long and decisive stride; just as Raubahn's laugh could be heard in a crowd, Admiral Bloefhiswyn's very presence could fill a room on its own.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a waste of manpower, if we're just going to have them all swing from the hangman's noose the second they get back to the cities," she continued, leaning her weight against the other side of the war table with one hip and folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose it's not very honorable of us, but lining up the VIIth Legion on a gibbet is as good a warning shot as any to fire across van Baelsar's bow."

"No, Admiral," Kan-E-Senna said firmly. "I will not be a party to any such thing. No public executions."

Her blunt statement of dissent, as calm as it was quiet, cut through the agitated chatter of the gathering. As ever, she rarely raised her voice, but then she rarely found it necessary. Though the Padjal appeared young and delicate, all assembled in this room knew that the impression was a false one.

Even so, Merlwyb's expression grew positively thunderous.

"The White Raven dropped a swiving moon on our heads and we're supposed to what--let his forces frolic through the fields all the way back to Garlemald? To regroup so they can finish the job? You've seen the devastation!"

"I will be receiving a very close and personal view of it tomorrow morning. Far more than I shall ever want to see." She looked at them all in turn, her leaf-green eyes solemn. "I still say no. These people are prisoners of war and will be treated accordingly."

"War criminals, more like," the roegadyn snapped. She shoved her seat backwards in a gesture of frustration and braced her arms on the table's surface as she leaned forward. "And the distinction hardly matters."

"Seedseer, as much as I'd like to argue otherwise, she has the right of it. 'Tis not like the people of the realm will see it the way you do." Raubahn's rough-hewn face was pale, drawn, and haggard, for all that his words were carefully measured. "Should the enemy not suffer some consequence for the havoc they have wrought, we will be seen as ineffective--if not outright sympathetic to the Empire. Well you know that could cause trouble for all of us down the line."

"The majority of these soldiers were conscripts given little choice in the matter. To force them to-"

"People are going to expect-"

"...To force conscripts, Merlwyb," she repeated patiently over the angry interjection, "to pay with their lives for a circumstance they could not control goes beyond mere dishonor. It would be naught but cruelty, not to mention the very barbarism of which the Empire accuses us so freely. Such an act would only play into their propaganda."

"If Limsa gave a tinker's damn about the Empire's opinions of any of us," came the flat, matter-of-fact response, "we'd not have spent the last score of years and more harrying their patrols on open water."

She'd half expected that answer and couldn't help a smile. Still, it faded quickly as she returned to the matter at hand.

"Very well, then can we not agree there has been more than enough bloodshed on Nael van Darnus' account? On both sides?"

"Surely you don't believe the VIIth would have shown any of us the same compassion?"

"Of course they wouldn't ha-"

"Or," Merlwyb continued, "that the people suffering and dying for this folly will be satisfied with anything short of Garlean blood? Reparations must be made."

"And they will be made. But not like this, I beg you. Both of you." Kan-E-Senna cast a glance over Raubahn's shoulder, peering through the partially open tent flap to the cratered wasteland that had once been such an open, fertile field. Wreckage and earth were still burning in places below the cliffsides despite the pouring rain. "I harbor no more love for the Empire than either of you. But I look to what must be done in the wake of this disaster. What our people will need most desperately now, and in the coming days and weeks, is food. Shelter. Medical attention. What they do not need is a violent public spectacle, no matter how much their anger demands it."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Work-release, of course," she said simply, as if the answer were obvious. "We make of them wards of the city-states and set them to a labor of our choosing, then free them once their time has been served. They can help with rebuilding efforts. I suspect we shall need all the hands and backs we can find, and now is not the time to be selective."

Silence fell over the tent, then-- but Merlwyb was finally offering a slow nod of acknowledgement.

"A certain justice in that," she said, her concession somewhat gruff but no longer heavy with outrage. "They helped break Eorzea, so their punishment would be to help fix it."

Kan-E-Senna was far from ignorant of the particulars of statesmanship, and she knew that they should at least understand that aspect of her proposal, if naught else. As she'd hoped, it had struck true. The Admiral was, if not exactly mollified, a bit less eager for vengeance, at least in the immediate sense.

"That said, it's not likely that all of the prisoners are going to be conscripts," Raubahn pointed out. "There'll be purebloods among them too- true Garleans, not just the poor sods forced to fight under the ivory banner. Most of that lot aren't going to be grateful or cooperative no matter what we do, and I can't say I'm comfortable with the notion of a bunch of zealots walking free."

"I said nothing about letting any of them walk free, much less those like to remain loyal to the Empire regardless of circumstance." Kan-E-Senna left out a soft exhalation, relief lessening the furrowed lines that worry and fatigue had carved into an otherwise youthful face. "However, even in their case I do not think it fair-minded to condemn all for the obstinacy of a few. We will do what needs must, of course, but I would not put them all to the sword sight unseen."

The big man shook his head, but his expression was one of capitulation. Merlwyb wore a wry smile.

"I think you're being dangerously softhearted," she said. "But for the sake of argument, I suppose we can make the attempt."

"An attempt is all I ask. Despite our differences, they too are people." Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was serene. "And if I have learned naught else, it is that sometimes people can surprise you."

~*~

"Miserable bloody weather," Bryngeim Ahrmbraena muttered.

With an annoyed sigh the Seawolf woman braced one heavy boot against a mud-covered rock and wiped away a mixture of sweat, grime, and rainwater from her brow. In this weather about all the gesture did was move the dirt around her face. Mor Dhona's humidity was harsh enough in midsummer, but she'd vastly preferred the cooling canopy of the rainforest to the blasted waste it had become in so short a time.

As she took a moment to catch her breath, she watched the faces of the half-dozen men and women who followed her, their own faces pale and pinched with exhaustion -- all of them were running on next to no sleep, herself included -- and squinted into the smoke and mist and the sheets of cold rain to scry for any signs of life. For the last four bells, every now and then someone would catch a movement out of the corner of one eye only to be disappointed when it was just a battle standard or the bloodied ruff of a dead chocobo that had caught the northerly winds.

"Ma'am?" asked the yellow-clad Duskwight archer at her side, taking note of her scowl. Bryngeim glanced back over at him, then once again to the sorry lot trudging at her back, and wiped another handful of cold water from her face before adjusting the heavy axe resting on her shoulder.

"Ah, 'tis naught, Idront, pay me no mind. I was woolgathering for a moment. You haven't seen anything?"

The man's brow furrowed and he shook his head. Drops of cold rainwater flickered off the corners of his ears with the motion, but he barely seemed to notice. "No, ma'am. Nothing yet. Might be a good idea to spread the search out a bit."

"Hm. See if we can find anyone we might have missed? Not a bad idea."

"Yes'm. There's a sector a few yalms off-" he gestured to the vague suggestion of a shape through the mist, "-that isn't tagged yet."

It had been her idea to take a strip of bright-colored cloth from... repurposed Grand Company tabards, tie them to a piece of wood or any other bit of debris that might serve as a marker, and thrust them into the ground at set intervals to mark areas that had already been searched and cleared.

Some had thought it ghoulish, but to Bryngeim's mind the dead were hardly able to make use of the fabric; better they be used to enable the survival of the living.

"All right. Just keep your eyes open. Don't stray from line of sight." For all they knew the enemy was still out there, looking for likely 'savages' to cull. "Call if you need us. And if you come across anyone too far gone..."

She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Idront looked away from her, the protrusion in his throat bobbing visibly when he swallowed at the implication of her words- but he gave a short, resolute nod before striding off into the wet haze. While they all agreed that it would be the height of cruelty to give anyone false hope, that didn't mean any of them relished the idea of putting down one of their own.

Of all those who had survived the crimson moon's descent, a few hundred survivors among the combined Grand Company units were able-bodied enough to take on active duty. Bryngeim's captain in the Foreign Levy had relinquished his command; his last act had been to suggest that each squad should take quadrants of those portions of the field that were still passable and search for survivors.

The surviving commanders in the Maelstrom had enthusiastically agreed to the notion, and for the last twenty-seven bells they'd been sending units out in shifts. What had truly amazed her was the way all of them, without really much discussion, had cobbled together what functioning units they could until further notice.

Thus far, they'd only managed to clear a small segment of the area a quarter-malm beyond the cliff where the interim camp had been struck. All of the reformed units were now taking turns looking for more survivors, with mostly middling success. They were to check every corse on the field for signs of life, without exception. Many allies had been trapped underneath destroyed machina, or beneath the dead themselves: too injured to walk under their own power but perhaps still able to be saved by the few remaining healers if their hurts were tended quickly enough.

It was dirty, grim, and thankless work, for all it was necessary. Every minute of every bell counted: every breath spent in idleness a breath that might be stolen from an injured ally awaiting rescue.

And further searches were becoming nigh impossible, now that the weather had taken such a poor turn. The temperature had plummeted in the space of the last eight bells, and a supercell had blown over Silvertear Lake, part of a massive front that scouts said was dumping snow on Coerthas in the middle of the damned summer, seemingly out of nowhere.

Worse, the storm had broken open over the Flats on the latter side of their shift. Had there been a better outcome they'd all be back at the campground seeking shelter in the mess pavilion with a pint and a bowl of whatever currently passed for rations until the worst of the storm had passed. But the sky wasn't going to stop pissing rain just because she didn't like it.

In the meantime, night was falling fast and the haze from the rain and lingering smoke had made visibility even worse.

By the Navigator, we'd be that lucky to find even one person as things are now-

There was a tug on her sleeve.

"Oi, Bryn."

"Hn?"

K'luhia Zhisi, a fellow privateer in the Limsan navy and sergeant as of twelve bells past via dead man's boots, was leaning in a conspiratorial sort of fashion towards her. The rogue's gaze drifted briefly towards the newcomers to their group before they settled on her friend's face.

"Guess I should've asked before, but... ye never said what the higher-ups wantin' us to do with the ruffmans?"

"Eh?"

"Garleans," she clarified. "Should we find any still breathin'. Are we supposed to... you know..."

Bryngeim faltered.

"Ah. That."

"Aye," K'luhia said with somewhat exaggerated patience, "that."

Shite. Obviously she'd meant to say something to the others as part of their briefing, since it was just as likely they'd find survivors from the enemy ranks as their own and they all needed to be prepared for that eventuality. But in the rush and the unending grind of the search and her haphazard attempts to fill her superior's shoes, compounded by encroaching exhaustion, she'd just... well.

Godsdamn it all, she'd forgotten to brief them about prisoners. Of all the basic things she could have forgot-

Twelve, L'sazha, why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?

Bryngeim pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head with a weariness that was in no wise an exaggeration, pushing past her grief. She had her orders regarding the imperial soldiers, all right---and she misliked them heartily, and she knew the others were like to favor them even less, but there was no help for it now.

"Brass says put down any that're too hostile or too wounded, but otherwise we're to take prisoners back to the camp and hold them until they can be moved."

As expected, a fierce scowl creased her underling's brow, nearly matching her own. "What- why?"

"You never mind the 'why', Lu. Ain't ours to be asking."

"The hells are we saving 'em for?!" K'luhia fumed, her ears flattened against her head with her displeasure. "They're murderers, thousands of times over! They deserve worse than death! If I were in charge I'd-"

"Sergeant." She saw the woman's twitching tail and ignored it. "You have your orders. Don't make me repeat them."

The rogue made something like a feral growl in the back of her throat but otherwise kept her retort to herself, sheathing the dagger in her right hand with an almost savage thrust.

In truth, Bryngeim wished she could agree aloud, but doing so would only undermine what little authority she had. She could not fault her subordinate for her anger. The breadth of her own grief and fury seemed nigh boundless and she didn't for a moment think she was the only one.

How many good men and women had they lost? Her own captain and best friend lay dying slowly and painfully in the Alliance's makeshift infirmary, his body burned nigh beyond recognition by Bahamut's unholy fires, beyond saving even by magical means, and he was but one of many. Scores more had died to the Empire's damnable war machine. Already there were rumors trickling down from the command pavilions that debris from the fallen Dalamud had laid waste to entire villages, that parts of the Twelveswood were on fire, that Limsa had partially collapsed in on itself--even noncombatants hadn't been safe.

How many more were they going to lose? To weather? To time?

"Lu, look-" she began, but before she could continue there was a shout some few yalms distant:

"Ma'am! Captain Ahrmbraena, ma'am, come quickly!"

[fontainebleau22]

Director’s Commentary

Thanks to @whereverigobillygoes who requested the end of Sweet Cider by the Fireside, and thanks more generally to the wonderful Mag7 fandom for being so tolerant of the gloomy stuff that I wrote. I reread this fic a few weeks ago and was astonished that people were kind enough to be enthusiastic about it when it has a female OC at the centre and is so sad.

---

The next morning Mr Robicheaux pushed back his chair after breakfast, announcing, ‘Today we’ll tackle the orchard boundary fence: that corner post is rotten right through, and it’s a job for two to replace it.’

‘It will be a boon to see it mended,’ she said, glad to see him in good humour again, and he replied easily, ‘We’ll have it done in no time.’

They went out, Mr Rocks stretching in the morning air, and she heard him say jokingly, ‘We?’

‘Job for two, cher,’ grinned Mr Robicheaux, clapping him on the back.

‘Job for one working man and one lazy one is what you mean,’ said Mr Rocks, and they laughed together like boys as they gathered tools and wood.

I was trying to get the contrast, now that Billy is better again, between Goody’s exaggerated formality when he’s with Martha and the freedom and intimacy of his relationship with Billy.

She was glad to see matters mended between them, and when she went out to pick the last of the tomatoes for their dinner Mr Robicheaux left Mr Rocks at work planing the post into shape and came to greet her.

‘You should have turnips and carrots aplenty in a few months,’ he said, nodding towards the new planting, and she replied cheerfully, ‘It will see us well through the winter, God willing.’

A tiny reprise of the autumn motif: what Martha thinks is preparation for the future turns out to be a dead end.

He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, then raised his eyes over her shoulder. ‘Your swallows are preparing to leave.’ He nodded towards the neighbouring barn, and she turned to see that he was right, the swallows lined up along the gable, gathering to begin their journey south with the sun. ‘And Billy and I should do the same.’ So casually said, yet the words caught her like the flick of a whip.

I wanted the reader to feel the abruptness of this: in fact Goody has only ever said that they would stay three weeks until Billy was well, but I hope the reader has been lured into Martha’s point of view so this comes as a shock.

Her stomach plunged: she stood there, hands full of tomatoes, struggling to make sense of it. Leave? She tried to school her expression, conscious that she was gaping at him.

‘I hope my work has been of some small worth to you, but if we stay longer we shall become a burden.’

‘You would not - that is, I thought…’ She searched his face, but there was nothing in it save calm good nature.

‘I shall walk out to Ingalls’ place this afternoon and speak to him about reclaiming our horses. It will take a little time to prepare, if we may trespass further on your goodwill.’

‘Of course,’ she said, still too taken aback to frame a proper reply, ‘although …’ but he was already turning away.

Leaving? After his attentiveness, the shared confidences and laughter, the touch of his hand? After all he had said? She had seen them dancing together at Grace Carter’s wedding, sitting by the fireside on a winter’s night, under the apple blossom in spring… Leaving? Why should he announce it so suddenly? And with the thought came the answer, in a flash: it must be because she had behaved so timidly the day before. She had shown disapproval and fear, had made Mr Rocks think himself unwelcome: she had precipitated this. But if that was so, could she not remedy the misunderstanding? All easily mended, she had said, and it need not be otherwise.

This is one of the sad things, that Martha’s immediate reaction is to blame herself for what’s happened. Partly it’s deep-rooted internalised guilt, and partly a way of clinging to hope. I hope as well that at this stage it’s clear that no one is actually to blame, but that two very different interpretations have been made of the same events, and Goodnight really doesn’t understand what Martha has come to think.

She found no opportunity to speak to him at dinnertime: Carrie Brooke stopped by with a request from her mother to spare some sorrel tea for her younger brothers, and when Martha came back, true to his undertaking Mr Robicheaux had gone out, the fence duly mended and Mr Rocks engaged in some silent occupation of his own. At the end of the afternoon, however, the rattle of a cart and shouted thanks brought her to the door, where she found Mr Robicheaux bearing a mound of saddles and harness which he laid carefully on the step.

‘It’ll be an evening’s work to attend to these,’ he announced cheerfully, and she drew breath to speak, but before she could, there was a gentle brush at her sleeve; Mr Rocks had come out silently behind her, his face for once wearing a bright smile.

‘I’ll get the oil,’ he said, and Martha had to retreat and leave them to work, sitting on the stoop and talking softly as they checked and mended their bridles and straps. 

But there’s one person who does know what’s going on, and he’s delighted that Goody is finally up for hitting the road...

She cooked their supper, served it and sat to eat, though the words unspoken in her throat robbed her of any appetite; Mr Robicheaux, though, was as talkative as ever, recounting the news he’d hear from Mr Ingalls. When supper was done and she gathered their plates she saw that he cast her a glance of concern, but she did not wish to speak in Mr Rocks’ presence, so busied herself at the sink, letting the two of them retire.

And there it is, the fatal misunderstanding, seeing Billy as an inconvenient adjunct to Goody. At the start of the fic Martha was seeing him as a child-figure, and then later as a subordinate; she’s about to get a glimpse of the real balance between them.

Once she was alone, however, anxiety and hope warring in her, she regretted her timidity: she must speak to him, and it would all be resolved, and tomorrow they would go to church just as usual. Seized by a sudden determination she laid down her dishtowel and went through the main room to knock upon their door.

The door was ajar, the lamp lit within, and she raised her hand to tap and announce herself, but what she glimpsed through the doorway stilled her to a statue. The two of them siting in the rosy light, too absorbed to notice her, Mr Rocks holding one of Mr Robicheaux’s hands in his, the jar of salve open on the quilt next to him, rubbing it into his palm with concentration. And Mr Robicheaux, face bright with an affection she’d never seen, reaching out his other hand to stroke through his friend’s hair, Mr Rocks raising his eyes with a look of amused fondness.

I wanted this to be an intimate scene but an innocent one at the same time; the contrast is (I hope) between the studied formality of her fireside chats with Goody and what real intimacy looks like.

Shame scorched her from head to toe: shame at the act of spying on a private moment, at what she was witnessing, at what she had thought and done. She closed her eyes lest she see more and backed away without a sound, placed the jug noiselessly on the kitchen table and crept up the staircase, like a thief in her own house.

I’m proud of this, for catching the whirl of emotions, of betrayal and bad behaviour on her part all at once.

Alone again in her bedroom, one emotion beat in her in time with her thumping heart: thankfulness. That she had said and done nothing to expose her hopes, her folly, to public view; that the town need not gossip or look askance; that no one could say that she had not shown the decorum appropriate to a godfearing widow.

This is frustrating: I know I took the ‘no one need know’ idea from another novel I’d read, most likely a historical one, but now I just can’t place it. And I wanted thankfulness to be uppermost in her mind because it’s worth bringing out what small town life was like then, how difficult it was for a poor women to move somewhere else, and hence how powerful fear of gossip could be.

She could not claim that she had been deceived. Mr Robicheaux’s actions, his willing work, his amicability, all were as though seen through coloured glass: unchanged, yet their meaning entirely altered. His often-stated gratitude, his enthusiasm for the community, the companionship he had offered: if he had feared to lose what he held most dear to his heart, how could he have acted differently? And the words he had spoken, words she had treasured, emptied out and refilled to become anodyne. She had heard what she wished to hear, seen what she hoped to see, spinning for herself a picture of a future with Mr Robicheaux at its centre, and the blame was solely her own.

He might not know. God be praised, he need never know. They would continue their arrangement, the three of them, until it was concluded, and there would be no indication from her deeds or words that she had ever entertained a different idea.

I’m quite proud of this too as a way of showing what goes on inside an outwardly very dull character. God-fearing widows aren’t often seen as good fictional material, but I hoped to show that Martha was an interesting person precisely because her reactions are very different from modern-day women, entirely conditioned by the society she lived in. If there is a message in the fic, it’s that historical women don’t have to be unconventional to be interesting.

She stood before the glass, red spots burning on her cheeks, and plucked the brooch from her collar, returning it to its box with trembling fingers, and closing the lid of the chest silently. She reset her cap, drawing the strings tight around her hair and bowing her head.

I spent a lot of time describing head-coverings and hair because they really were tremendously important in the culture. Martha brushing out her hair when she thinks about marrying Goody is the polar opposite of this section.

Eyes squeezed tight and hands pressed to her chest, she swallowed hard to conquer the lump that rose in her throat. God sees all, the weakness and the vanity, the foolish hopes and the empty dreams, but God understands. God forgives.

I read an interesting article recently about loneliness, which is much more commonly reported these days than in the past, and the writer made the point that in a devoutly Christian environment people were never truly alone because God was always there. I think that’s really interesting, and here I was trying to show that while Martha’s religion is a demanding one, making her put aside her own desires to act in particular ways, it could also be a comfort to her; even if she keeps what she hoped for a secret, she doesn’t have to carry it alone.

Thanks so much for letting me talk about this!