#also today i drafted the official Moment of Realization and i am very excited

[vinelark]

happy friday! here is a little bbts chapter 5 proof of life

When Tim comes down again his mouth is full of blood—bitten cheek—and his whole head throbs, an almost fizzy numbness flooding through his jaw in the sudden absence of pain. He struggles through another wheezing breath, wincing at the familiar sensation of torn muscles around his rib cage. “Ah,” Checkered Shirt is saying. “There does seem to be a localized paralytic effect. That last placement may have been counterintuitive; my mistake. But as we discussed, that’s the beauty of mistakes in a setting like this. The opportunity to learn from them.” Tim tips his head. Clumsily spits a mouthful of blood on the metal floor—evidence, he thinks hazily, if he moves me—and finds his tongue. “Funny how you still haven’t gotten what you want,” he half-slurs, “considering how many opportunities you keep having.”

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 3

Enjoy @kriskukko​ and @punkhorse96​ 

Blood For Gold

Part 3

Wednesday morning came all too soon. Out of everyone in the Morrigan family, you and Jane were closest, since you were only older than her by a mere five years, she only 17 and you, only 23, but she was incredibly sweet and kind and you insisted that Jane also get a new dress or two for the occasion. 

“This was supposed to be all about you Audra.” Jane gently argued from her spot in the next dressing room in the back of the shop. 

“Who says I can’t share my limelight- at least a little. I would much prefer to see you married off and matched with someone who would treat you like the treasure you are, than myself.” You told her as you peeled your first and frankly hideous dress off your frame. 

“But not for another two years at least, I do not think I’m ready yet.” She meekly replied. 

“Then that is what you should hold to. Do not marry until you are ready, too much disaster can happen when you are not.” You advised. 

“But I don’t think you can last that long.” She murmured quietly. 

“We shall see,” You answered her with a heavy sigh. 

“I was mistaken for you when I came back from Kent.” You informed her nonchalantly. 

“By who?” She asked. 

“Duke Voyambi and Count Jabire.” You answered. 

“But I do not know them personally. I know of them, but not them.” Jane frowned. 

“But what do you know of them?” You asked curiously. 

“The Count only recently became a Count, I believe that title has only been in his family for less than three generations, it was given to them when their grain storehouses were full enough to go through the mill and make enough flour to get the whole of London through a hard winter after a bad drought of the summer, but otherwise it’s a humble family and according to Father, they are nowhere good enough for a Morrigan.” She murmured quietly. 

“And Voyambi?” You asked. 

“Oh, he’s a purist, he’s for union, which Father says is foolish, he’s very involved in making sure all orcs get better… everything, from treatment, to housing, to wages, to food and clothing. Father says he’s the only nobleman foolish enough to throw the classism that brought him so high away and in his efforts to raise all orcs up, will lower himself, but yet we still buy his soap because it’s the best quality around and to buy any other made outside the country is unpatriotic.” She repeated. 

“How did his family get the Duchy?” You asked. 

“Oh his grandfather was the king’s personal body guard and saved the king’s life repeatedly in the last war, he was made a Duke and his family has had the Duchy ever since, the soap had just been a family thing they always made for themselves that the king also enjoyed and when they received the Duchy, the king made the family the official soap makers of his realm, the Voyambi’s and Jabire’s both got their nobilities at the same time, along with the other half of the new money, a great many fortunes have been made and lost since industry has taken off. And both owe their wealth to their industries, that can come today and be gone tomorrow, their fortunes are not stable. So they are also not good enough for a Morrigan.” She answered before you both came out of the dressing rooms in the new gowns. 

“Besides, to lay with an orc is to kiss your cunny goodbye because they’ll destroy it and rip it to shreds, or so I’ve heard.” Jane whispered into your ear as you did your best to not burst from trying to contain your laughter. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Well, Mother always says that the bigger the cock, the smaller the brain too.” She continued to breathe into your ear. 

“Ah, ok. Thanks for letting me know.” You thanked her. Oh, if only she knew that it was an orc cock that finally rutted you right but just thinking about it sent a shiver down your spine. Demsey Draft’s orc cock had been just what you needed, and his mouth, and hands, and amazing body and passionate spirit. And he had smelled like that Duke’s soap too and he was remarkably clean for a male prostitute, even dressed nicely too. Well he had been a moura, all moura’s liked to keep clean at all times in all things and always dressed resplendently. 

“So what do you think of the dress Audra?” Jane asked, pulling you out of your reverie. 

“It’s beautiful.” You answered as you looked down and appraised it. It was much prettier than the last dress as you walked out into the show room to see none other than Duke Voyambi come in with a few orc women with him and your excitement at recognizing a friendly and familiar face died in your chest as Jane’s words were recalled into your mind. He would most likely only marry an orc woman, you didn’t stand a chance as you looked away just as Duke Voyambi noticed you were here and froze at the sight of you at seeing you there in a new and very fashionable dress, your gold moura marks a sharp contrast of the dark and rich burgundy magenta of your gown and especially to see them around your chest and your back, neck and shoulders and down your arms as you had been turning away from him, he was reminded of his own rutting the night before which he had tried to put out of his head and had hoped that his rutting had been the end of it, but now, all it did was fuel his own flame of desire for you to burn brighter and fiercer. 

“Countess Morrigan.” He greeted you which pulled your attention back to him before you smiled politely at him.  

“Yes Duke Voyambi?” Agnes greeted, thinking he had greeted her, curtseying in place as she plastered on a pleasant smile as you stood just a little straighter before you and Jane also curtsied respectfully to the Duke and his party who also curtsied in response as Jane came to stand closest to you as the Duke could now clearly see the difference between you and Jane, while Jane was also blonde, and fairly pretty in her own right, she was just a little plain next to you. 

“Audravienne, this is Duke Demsey Voyambi, his sisters, the Duchesses, Amara, Kiera and Callie Voyambi.” Agnes introduced as she practically dragged you over to them, her fist tight like a vice over your forearm before she let you go once you were close enough to them.   

“Your Graces, allow me the pleasure to introduce you to Sultana Audravienne Saharrazat, Divana of Kilan of Dorierra,” Agnes introduced you with quite the flourish as your eyes got wider as you looked at Jane who had come with you and was now flanking your left side as you two shared a meaningful look as your cheeks flushed and your ears burned while your moura marks flashed a rose gold for a moment as Jane stared in shock at her own mother. Normally her own mother turned her own nose up at them, but now she was practically pushing you onto them and no longer doubted her parent’s insistence that they needed to get rid of you, she thought they meant only get rid of you to who they deemed worthy, not just...anyone. 

Meanwhile the Voyambi’s were giving each other meaningful looks too as they looked you over curiously while Demsey tried to keep his composure as he realized all mouras must have marks like yours, he just never noticed. You had been stunning in black on Monday but now in brighter colors you were even more ravishing. 

“What beautiful tattoos you have Sultana,” Callie, his youngest sister praised as she noticed them. 

“They aren’t tattoos, they are my moura marks,” you gently corrected her as your marks pulsed rose gold again. 

“You’re a moura?” Callie asked, her eyes and her sister’s eyes growing wide with excitement as smiles bloomed on their faces. 

“Yes, that’s what Dorierra is- is a Moura country.” You answered, letting your moura accent become thicker than usual, since you had worked for the last two years stomping it down to try to sound more English but you could tell Agnes was going to “resell you” as pure moura, so you were sure your moura accent would probably be accepted again in this instance, instead of punished the way it usually was with the Morrigans. 

“Oh, do all mouras have marks like these?” Callie asked curiously. 

“No, most have markedly less, usually just the collar, maybe a feather or two on their backs and shoulders, I am one of the few remaining ‘true mouras’ the purer a moura’s blood, the more gold moura marks they will have, these moura marks would have been my moura cloak and wings before the Gold Death a hundred and sixty seven years ago- that wiped out the entire heavenly moura population and killed off roughly 80% of the world moura population, my family line was spared because we were mixed with human and elven races, but any purer, we would have died out too. So instead of flying the heavens, I just get to wear the reminder of what mouras used to be and what we used to have.” You answered somberly as Jane held your hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“Sultana, you really shouldn’t be so dark, especially with new acquaintances,” Agnes tried to pleasantly chastise you with a forced lighter laugh. 

“Forgive me then your Graces.” You offered as you gave the Voyambis an apologetic smile as Demsey and his sisters were doing their best to remain composed as Demsey’s heart practically crushed inside of his chest as he wondered how a moura as decked out in moura marks as Audra's had been could be found in a brothel of all places. 

"Let's try some more dresses on Ladies." Agnes encouraged as she pulled you away and practically pushed you into the dressing room as she whispered some harsher criticisms to you along the way. 

"Your Graces, I really should apologize for her. She spent her whole life in Dorierra and she hasn't learned our manners and customs as well as she should have by now. But surely your Graces will forgive the Sultana's rudeness." She soothed as she came fluttering back over to them. 

"Oh she wasn't rude at all, she was just being informative. She's really very lovely." Amara reassured her. 

"Well I must say the Sultana would still make the ideal bride. She is so incredibly sweet and kind and caring." Agnes tried to praise.

"Is that the way she was with the Late Count Edward then?" Kiera inquired, doing her best to hide her suspicions from her tone so as not to openly offend the Countess. 

"Oh absolutely, she never left his side and she made sure his final years were spent in the greatest of comfort because that's what she has been bred to do- to cater to a husband and make him feel like a king or a sultan or an emperor even. No one can do better for breeding or brains or beauty than a moura. And the Late Count Edward even afforded her a dowry for her upon his death of 50 thousand pounds. She'll be the catch of the century and her mourning period ends in only twelve days, barely a week and a half from now and she'll be free and clear for the taking." Agnes informed them brightly. 

Now upon hearing that all the Voyambi's practically had their eyebrows shoot up into their hair line. 

“Don’t most people usually have to pay handsomely to the stables for a moura bride?” Kiera countered as in her own mind, red flags were being thrown all over the place.  

“Oh she just fell in love with England, she didn’t want to return.” Agnes lied as the Voyambi’s looked at each other meaningfully again but were discrete about it. 

“Yes, that’s why the Sultana is such a fantastic find!” Agnes insisted.

“Was there a reason why she didn’t return to the stables? I thought most mouras always return to the stables, especially in the case of widowhood.” Kierra probed, trying not to sound too suspicious. 

“Well then it’s a shame that the Duke is already attached to Lady Whitesale, but I’m sure you’ll find an overabundance of suitors for the Sultana.” Kiera urged firmly, even though that was in itself a white lie also but the last person she wanted the Morrigans to prey on was her brother, wolfish people as they were.  

“Oh, I didn’t realize that, forgive my interference then, I would just hate for someone who would be exceptionally worthy to miss out on such a prize as the Sultana,” Agnes offered to save face before she left to return to the dressing rooms to see how you and Jane were getting along. 

“I’ve never seen a trap so firmly set or a more falsely appetizing bait in my life.” Kiera muttered to her brother. 

“It does make me wonder why she didn’t return, the mouras always return, even if they have children, especially because they have children, mouras only leave the nest for a time before they return, they always return,.” Amara mused. 

“Maybe they are waiting for her to marry another and then have a child to bring her back then. Edward was older but not ancient, he could have had another ten or even fifteen years. But he only lasted barely a year with her. Besides, a moura’s beauty is always outmatched by their greed for wealth and power, of which we have little of either, especially compared the wolves of Broadcove. She would probably burn through such a fortune in less than a year because there are no greater golden leeches than mouras, there’s good reason why only royalty have them, for they are the only ones with enough funds to upkeep them, for however long or short you get to have them around.” Kiera practically sneered as they walked over to one of the displays, not knowing you were just on the other side of the very thin wall and could hear every word as you pressed your back against the wall as your gold moura marks seemed duller than usual as you simply pressed your head back against the wall and tried to blink back your tears as you did your best to remain composed. 

“Audra? Are you alright?” Jane asked as she came out to the other dressing room in her next gown which caused the Voyambi’s to gasp softly and hush themselves from over the small wall. 

“Yes of course,” you sniffed and put on a brave smile for her sake. 

“You should definitely get that dress Jane, it’s so becoming, blue is definitely your color, it brings out your eyes, and if your mother will not buy it for you then I insist I will. You deserve to look just as pretty as I do, if not prettier and I have the perfect jewelry to match at home.” You insisted before you brought her closer. 

“For who knows how long your parent’s generosity will last.” You murmured to her which made her erupt into a giggle as she readily nodded in agreement. 

“If it ever stops, promise me, whatever happens, you’ll come visit me yes? Our family ties are about to be broken but hopefully our bond of friendship never does.” You implored her as she eagerly nodded yes as you walked each other out of the dressing room to see the Voyambi’s in the process of discretely scattering away. 

You weren’t sure why you cared so much of what the Duke and Duchesses thought of you, but you hated for them to believe lies, even though you were sure that even if you could scream the truth, they wouldn’t believe you now. They were set against you. 

But at the same time, Callellea’s words still rung in your head, beware of who the Morrigan’s introduced you to, even though you technically already had met at least Duke Voyambi earlier while Jane’s words also weighed heavily on your mind. If the Morrigan’s would not approve of the Voyambi’s, even if the good Duke was interested, if anything happened further, there would be no way for you and Jane to remain friends, for you were sure Agnes and Richard would never let Jane visit you if you became a Voyambi. You had to admit that it was a bad fit all around as you looked over to see the Voyambi’s looking at stockings from across the dress salon’s sales floor as the Duke turned his head to cast another glance your way and your eyes met again. He did not look dangerous to you though. He looked...kind, and pleasant and amiable and a gentle-man, and now all you could do was hope that Lady Whitesale would be good to him and help him build a proper empire and not tear it down as fast as he could build it. 

“Ugh, don’t waste your time or your thoughts on the Voyambis Audra, they’re purists, and would only ever want an orc bride or groom, and Whiteales is one of the very few orcs in high society they are not related to and she is a piece of work and you’ll see that for yourself at the ball at Havenfield.” Agnes urged you as she puffed out the sleeves on your shoulders as you nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t worry Audra, we would never part with you over anyone not worthy and the Voyambis are a far cry from. Come, we will get these gowns too.” She insisted as you could tell it was her feathers that had gotten more ruffled than yours because her plan of dumping you on the first available gentlemen had practically spit it back into her face. 

“Of course Countess, thank you.” You thanked her softly before she grabbed your chin to have you look up at her but the action caused you to rear your head back and out of her reach, looking at her with frightened eyes, fearing she was going to smack you again and that was observed by Demsey and his sisters, all of who had their eyes widened at the implications of that. 

“Like a head-shy horse she is.” Callie breathed as she tried to discretely stare at you from around her brother.  

“Horses only get head-shy when they’ve been hit or hurt. She’s clearly been hurt.” Amara realized. 

“And maybe it’s that- that is the reason she is not welcome back to the stables, head-shy horses are nigh impossible to get into gear. If she’s head-shy, that means she may have been broken beyond fixing and no longer usable by the moura stables, they are a stable after all, they’d sooner turn a horse to glue than rehabilitate it.” Callie empathized. 

“All the more reason not to have anything to do with the Morrigans and especially the Sultana.” Kiera insisted before her brother and other sisters turned to glare at her as Duke Voyambi was ready to march across the shop and take you away from Countess Morrigan in that instant so you would no longer suffer at her hands because you were a victim in all of this, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know how to help as he just watched as Agnes gathered you and Jane up and left before his sisters felt comfortable to try on dresses themselves before Amara took the dressing room you had occupied and found your purse on the floor next to the chair and grabbed it and tried to catch you again but the note from Callellea fell out of it as Kiera practically pounced on it and ran with it after Amara. 

“Sultana!” Amara called after you as you were about to get into the carriage as Agnes was losing patience for you to actually climb into it so she could. 

“You forgot your purse Sultana,” Mara said as she finally handed it off to you once she caught up with you. 

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much.” You thanked her as you readily took it back. 

“And this flew out of it?” Kiera said as she held up the note from Callella from her spot several paces behind her sister which made your eyes go wide in fear which Amara definitely noticed. 

“Uh, that is only a receipt, you can throw it away Duchess, thank you so much for returning this to me,” you thanked them before you quickly got into the carriage as Kiera looked from the note and back to you with a frown. 

“What was that all about?” Kiera asked. 

“Here, give it to me,” Agnes insisted as she reached out for it.

“Oh it’s only a receipt. We’ll throw it away for her, it’s the least we can do.” Amara said as she took the note and discretely threw an actual receipt away into the garbage bin next to her while she pocketed the note herself before they waived you all off as Amara noticed you seemed relieved yet saddened by it, giving the trash bin a longing glance as you passed it before Amara ushered Kiera back into the store. 

“Did you not see the way Aurdra became white as a sheet at the prospect of the Countess having this? It’s important that the Countess not have this.” Amara insisted as she pulled the note out of her pocket to see what it was before all of her siblings gathered around her to try to read what was written on it. 

“I knew it, those Morrigans are wolves.” Amara whispered hatefully as she read it. 

“It still doesn’t explain why the Morrigans are so eager to push the Sultana off.” Kiera argued as she took it and read it for herself before Demsey took it and read it too. 

“I know why.” Demsey volunteered before his sisters looked at him eagerly. 

“When Count Edward died, he left a living for the Sultana and that living which I heard a rumor Count Richard contested, and is most likely how she can afford to keep Mirador on her own as a widow. I don’t know how much it is, but it must be enough for the Morrigans to not want to pay it any more than they absolutely have to, they’ve been stuck with having to pay it while she’s been in mourning. The Count and Countess Morrigan hoard wealth and resources like the world is ending tomorrow, and the Sultana is obviously a leaky drain they wish to stop up. They’re going to be pushing the Sultana off on anyone they can and they’re hoping that putting a price on her head as high as fifty thousand pounds, that it will be enough to tempt anyone and everyone, come that ball and every other social event from now until the end of the season, the Sultana will be the bait in a dog fight.” Demsey realized. 

“But that is not our fight,” Kiera insisted. 

“If she was a jewel orc, which is what one gets when they mix orc and moura together- which we all know are one of two breeds of orcs allowed in the stables, your tune would be completely different Kiera. You’d be the first one to push me towards her and rescue her from them because you don’t like Lady Whitesale any more than I do which she is barely tolerable at best. But because the Sultana is human, elf and moura, you’re against it when she is still, obviously, the victim in all of this. Moura brides have no say so in who they marry, she was married for a year, widowed overnight and then immediately shipped off because it took less than a week between Edward being known as having passed and her moved into Mirador. There is obviously interference between her and the stables for other letters from them to go awry before they reach her. Mouras are social creatures, you isolate one, you weaken it. She’s clearly been on her own for two years by my calculations.” Demsey firmly countered.  

“How would any of us fare if we were isolated from our own kind, shipped off to a country that was alien to us, match us with a stranger and expected everything to be ok? The fact that she is just now learning she has a people here, and it is probably that- that has her fearing Countess Morrigan. It’s what abusers do, they isolate their victims, then make them completely dependent and then dump them and leave them devastated. That is what is happening here. And it also means someone other than the Sultana is keeping her from the stables and other mouras and my bets are on the Morrigans because if she was to go back there, they would not be able to silence her so effectively, you saw her, she couldn’t breathe without the Countess correcting her and breathing fire down her neck. The mistreatment she has obviously endured at their hands must be so great that it threatens what is left of the Morrigan family honor. But the Morrigan’s are obviously fed up with paying for it and because they are old money and old nobility, even if the Sultana and us were to speak out about it, who would believe us let alone her? But it must still be- threat enough, for the Morrigans to try to play nice for now.” Demsey reasoned. 

“So what we are going to do, is we are going to get whatever ribbons and lace and whatever else we need from here, we are going to get lunch, and then we are going to wait for the Sultana to return home, we are going to give this back to her, because this is the only touchstone she has of home she has because while she’s in mourning, she can’t reach out to others, as are the customs here, and then we are going to ask if we can help in any way. Because she obviously needs our help. If she is going to be bait in a dog fight, at least we can deter a dog or two if we can’t pull her out.” Demsey insisted as he folded the note back up and put it into his breast pocket for safe keeping as that seemed to settle the matter as Callie and Amara were proud and pleased for while Kiera simply huffed in annoyance. Her brother’s bleeding heart was going to get him in trouble one of these days.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//nine years time. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Hello can you write royal kuroo promising y/n when he comes back they will both marry. But it has been 9 years and y/n married someone else to finish their duty as a royal. Then a month later kuroo comes back.

Warnings: none???

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: hi yes i love you. please drink lots of water, okay?

“I won’t be long, I promise.  A year at the most and then,” he raised your hand up towards his lips, placing a lingering kiss against the skin of your knuckles before continuing, “we can finally get married, just like we’ve always wanted.”

The war had been waging for far too long, but with the kingdom’s final move on the horizons, it was only a matter of time before this would all be settled and an air of peace would once again fall over your home.  You should’ve been happy, ecstatic even, that everything would go back to how it used to be before this entire conflict started, but the young man in front of you, that you had been so captivated by from the first time that you met, was about to leave to stand with his military.  After all, some member of the royal family had to be present to negotiate the peace treaty and with his father becoming too old and frail to make the journey, it only made sense that the prince should take his place.

But, the goodbyes and the warm feeling of Tetsurou’s hand engulfing yours nearly brought tears to your eyes.  He was still going away to war and that title of “prince” just added a bigger target to his back.  And even if it was only going to be for a year, those days would seem like an eternity as you waited for his letters and counted the weeks to his return.  

“You’ll wait for me?” Tetsurou asked, raising his hand to lay it gently against your cheek.

“I’ll wait as long as I must to be with you, my prince.”

But, that first year had ended with a letter announcing that things had not gone to plan.  They would be staging a siege to cut off the supply lines of the enemy, but there was no telling how long they would be there, waiting for a surrender.  

Hopefully they will see that their efforts are futile and I will be able to return to you quickly.  I miss you more with every passing day and I want nothing more to have you in my arms once again.

Take care, my love, and I will see you soon.

K. Tetsurou

By the end of the second year, the letters had slowed.  Monthly letters now came at a snail’s pace of one every few months.  And by the third year, they had stopped all together.  No matter how many letters that you penned to your prince so far away, there was never anything in return.  It was only after the fourth year that you stopped trying to reach him, giving up and letting the worst possible outcome consume you.  

It was really the only logical outcome that your brain could come up with.  If he was still alive, he would’ve written to you.  He wouldn’t have just ignored all of your letters.  He would’ve gotten in touch with you somehow.  The loss of the kingdom’s prince, your first and only love, was the only explanation.  And it tore you to pieces.  He was meant to come back to you, officially make you his.  Tetsurou was supposed to meet you in town when he rode back in with the rest of the troops and give you the kiss that you had been waiting so long for.  But, there was none of that and there never would be any of that, because he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  

The fifth year without him was the worst.  You found yourself struggling to carry out your day to day tasks, unable to see the purpose in carrying on if he wasn’t able to be there to give you tender kisses on your temple at the end of the day and hold you tightly within his arms.  There would be days when you would see something that was so distinctly Tetsurou that you would quickly turn around and hastily walk in the opposite direction so that no one could see the way your eyes glistened with tears that wished to fall.  You would lie awake and read his final letter to you over and over again, skimming your fingers across his name as if that would be enough to bring him back to you.  You would anxiously wait for the mail every single day in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day in which a letter would come announcing his return.  But there was never anything apart from the occasional invitation to a ball or a letter from a friend that only brought sorrow to your heart when you realized that it wasn’t the letter that you were hoping for.  

But, it was year six when you met him.  The man with the bright smile and the shining eyes.  The man with the most cheery laugh that you had ever heard.  He had spun you around the ballroom for what seemed like hours, telling you stories about his travels, cracking jokes in an effort to see you smile all over again.  Yes, Bokuto Koutarou had made you feel something that had been void from your life since the letters stopped coming.  The way that he gripped onto your hands in excitement as he asked you for yet another dance had your heart fluttering as you nodded your head.  You were barely able to get a yes out before he was dragging you back out towards the center of the dance floor, giving you a low bow as the music began.  

In that sixth year, he had made you happier than you had been in a very long time.  There wasn’t a moment of sadness when he was there to brighten your day, his smile more contagious than the plague, and a heart that had the capability of producing such raw and honest emotions.  He was so intoxicating that you found yourself thinking of the prince that had originally stolen your heart far less than usual.  Whether you were awake or asleep, Bokuto consumed your thoughts, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain one bit.  

Because in the seventh year, when he was given your parents’ blessing and he asked for your hand in marriage, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying yes, thoughts of finally being able to marry a man that you loved so wholly bringing a smile so wide that it pained your cheeks.  But, it was also in that year that you found yourself sitting down at your desk in front of a piece of parchment, a quill sitting next to a bottle of ink.  In year seven, you drafted your final letter to Kuroo Tetsurou, a goodbye to set your mind at ease, to be able to guiltlessly move forward with your life.

Tetsurou,

I hope that this letter finds you well.  It has been much too long since I have last had the pleasure of hearing from you.  Perhaps the war has needed your full attention over these past few years and, if that is the case, then I cannot blame you for not taking the time to write to me.  But, there is something that I wish to tell you.  

Seven years ago, I made a promise to you.  Do you remember that?  I promised that I would wait as long as I must to be with you, to finally be able to marry you.  But, I am afraid that today I have broken that promise to you for I have accepted a marriage proposal from another man, one that makes me as happy as you did.  He brings me a feeling of happiness that I only ever felt with you. 

My prince, I waited as long as I could.  But, the silence had worn down on me to the point that it was unbearable.  I had waited in sorrow for a letter that never came and when I needed a light the most, he was there, shining brighter than any star in the galaxy.  I hope that you will forgive me and I wish you all of the best in your future.

Best,

Y/N

And you had folded up a letter with the name of a man who would never read it, but still, when the day broke the horizon the next morning, you met the postman at the door, a piece of folded parchment in your hand, a letter that would fall on deaf ears.  

It wasn’t until the eighth year after Tetsurou’s leave that you took a new last name.  You found happiness in Koutarou, a sense of peace that only he could offer.  His joyful laughter echoed through the walls of his manor as he lifted you from the ground, spinning the both of you around and around until he was sure that he would collapse as the room continued to spin even after he was sure that his feet had stopped.  But, he couldn’t have been happier.  Being here, in a home that had felt so lonely for a long time, now with someone that he loved more than anything in the world, Bokuto wasn’t sure that there was anything that could’ve made his life better.  

It was also in that eighth year that Bokuto realized that there was one thing that could make his world even brighter and it came in the form of a small bump that you carried with you everywhere you went.  His little bump.  A child that unified you better than any wedding band or string of vows ever could.  Everytime that he would look at you with your growing stomach, he could feel his heart swell, a new sense of pride filling his chest at the idea of becoming a father to his beautiful little baby.  

In year nine, the two of you became parents to a precious baby girl that had Koutarou wrapped around her finger from the very minute she was born.  With his wide golden eyes and silver locks, she was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined.  It was as if after all of your years of turmoil, the gods were blessing you with the perfect life that you had always envisioned, but a different man was by your side rather than the one that you had always pictured as the father of your children, your loving husband.  Yet, despite your life not turning out exactly how you had planned, there was nothing that you wanted to change.  You were finally happy and at peace with losing your first love.

But a letter had arrived in the mail.  One that announced that the war had finally drawn to a close and that the troops would be arriving home the following week.  

“It would be nice to go.  We could see the soldiers back and then we can go visit the shops downtown, stop for lunch, and do whatever else you’d like for the rest of the day,” Koutarou suggested, laying the letter down on the dining table.  “But, we obviously don’t have to go!  If it may upset you, then maybe we shouldn’t,” he added quickly.”

“Koutarou, please.  You have nothing to worry about.  I’ve come to terms with his death a long time ago.  I think a day in town would be perfect.”  You smiled warmly, laying your hand over his, letting him lace his fingers with yours.

There were very few things that you were expecting after nine years, but the look on Kuroo Tetsurou’s face when he laid eyes on you that day, the returning troops at his back, was unforgettable.  There had been an all too familiar sense of longing in his expression when he had initially recognized your form, but when his brain registered the man who had a protective arm wrapped around you and the small bundle of blankets in your arms, the adoration had fallen from his eyes only to be replaced by a sad look in his eyes, one unlike something you had ever seen cross his face.  The prince that you had fallen in love with all of those years ago, now looked like he had aged 20 years, whether it be from the stress of war or from the realization that his one love had continued moving forward in their life, even he wasn’t sure.

Yet, despite everything in his body telling him no, Tetsurou dismounted from his horse, long legs carrying him easily over the distance that kept you from him.  It was in that ninth year that Kuroo Tetsurou was careless and crashed his lips against your own, a desire to pull you closer to him and finally feel your body against his that had been stopped by a baby.  A baby that started crying when Tetsurou’s body bumped against it.  A cry that snapped him back to reality and had him pulling away from you.  Remembering that the child in your arms was not his.  Remembering that after nine long years, you were no longer his.  

[yossariandawn]

Tagged by @astarkey and @alwaysupatnight , thank you! I do love interesting questions! I’m combining these because it would take me days to think up 22 questions. Here are the rules:

Rule 1: post the rules Rule 2: answer the questions the person who tagged you asked and write 11 new ones Rule 3: tag 11 people and link them to the post Rule 4: actually tell them you tagged them

Edit: I didn’t realize how long this got, so I’m fixing it so I can put some of it behind a cut. My questions first so people can decide if they want to play along!

My Questions:

1. Set two fictional couples you love on a double date, and tell me how would that play out? One word answers are acceptable if you prefer.

2. Do you like candles? If so, what’s your favorite candle scent?

3. What’s the perfect fic you’ve been craving that wish someone else would write already?

4. If you could have an 15 minute conversation with any fictional character, who would you choose?

5. Above question continued, what would you talk about?

6. What’s one weird thing you loved as a child?

7. Any songs that make you always think of a character?

8. How well can you swim, and do you enjoy swimming?

9. Recommend me a new show, movie, or song!

10. What’s your favorite food that you make?

11. Draft the perfect Zombie Apocalypse Survival Team, 5 characters from any show or movie.

and now I’m tagging @sandalaris, @fortysevenswrites, @starkidmack, @captain-k-jones, and if you follow me and want to be tagged in this kind of thing in the future, just tag yourself and I’ll know to send them your way! I never know who wants to play, and there’s never any pressure to do any I send, I promise! 💖

EDIT: adding @alwaysupatnight​ YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY TAGGED

and now for my answers behind the cut:

@astarkey’s questions:

1. Favorite fall activity? Anything outside, to be honest. It’s my favorite time of year! I do love reading in my hammock with a blanket before it gets too cold, though I’m not sure that counts as an activity.

2. Favorite song at the moment? Well, the one I’m most obsessing on is one I’m vidding right now, so I’m keeping that a secret. BUT, I’ve been listening to Setting Sun by Lord Huron a lot recently ever since @alwaysupatnight mentioned it in an ask about Culebra Seth. I hadn’t heard it before and I fell right in love with it. 

3. Last movie you saw in theaters? Oh, it has been awhile since I actually went to a theater. I wanna say it was the first IT movie, cause I remember taking my brothers to see that. If I went after that I guess it didn’t leave an impression on me.

4. Favorite emoji/smiley? I really like 🥳 cause look how excited it is! Close second is 😎 because it makes me think of the Geckos when I use it.

5. Cold weather or hot weather? Cold weather, as stated above!

6. Are you a past, present, or future person? Hmm, I’m going to say present. I am a bit of a worrier by nature, so I intentionally try and keep myself grounded by staying in the moment as much as possible, so I’m not obsessing over what I did or about what could happen next. I’m reasonably successful with it. 

7. From where you’re sitting, what’s the closest object on your right? Water bottle.

8. What’s something you’re weirdly afraid of? (For example, a hair dryer, airplanes, a microwave, etc.) Ok, so this going to sound very weird, but it’s grasshoppers.  don’t mind spiders, hornets, bees, any of the normal creepy crawlies, they don’t bother me at all, but I have such an intense irrational reaction to grasshoppers, like a real fight or flight thing kicks in for me. I understand they can’t hurt me, but I don’t trust those little sideways hoppers AT ALL. Also, I used to spend a lot time catching (and releasing) bugs when I was a small child, and one day one BIT ME, which I didn’t know they can do, and the betrayal was so great that I have never forgiven them. And then if you want to see something that’s even more untrustworthy, google the spider cricket sometime. I don’t see as many of those, but my friend had some living underneath her porch one year, and they are terrible. (also harmless)

9. Favorite snack food? Soft pretzels with cheese are always a good time. And now I want one, dang it.

10. Favorite color to wear? Blue! I love blue so much.

11. Stargazing in an open field, watching the ocean tides on a lonely beach, or late night drives on the highway while listening to good music?  I’m going to pick stargazing in an open field, because that sounds the most relaxing to me at the moment! But the other two also sound lovely.

@alwaysupatnight‘s asks:

1. Have you started any new hobbies this year? Vidding. if I’m allowed to stretch the definition of a year about 1 month past haha.  I’ve also done a ton more “creative" writing since joining tumblr, all these asks and tag games are the most I’ve ever organized my thoughts and put them out there for others to actually see (excluding non voluntary things like schoolwork and work) It’s been a lot of fun to do both, and really allowed me to push myself out of my comfort zone.

2. Read any good books lately? Not recently, I have several checked out I need to get to soon before I have to return them.

3. Favorite color of nail polish to wear? Or if you don’t wear nail polish, the color of the laces on your fave pair of sneakers? I don’t wear nail polish most of the time, though I will let children paint my nails when they want, since they seem to love doing that. And my favorite sneaker laces are just the standard white they came with. I’m pretty causal and laid back fashion wise.

4. Faerie, mermaid, angel, or vampire? This is so broad! Am I reading/watching something they’re in, fighting them, auditioning them as room mates?! I’m going to go with Vampire (Mermaid as a second choice)

5. What is your MBTI type?  INFJ

6. What does your phone case look like? (Describe or post a pic) It’s black, no design. I’m so boring an practical!!!! I picked it out based on reviews, I drop my phone way to much.

7. What is your dream vacation? Camping, with people I like. Maybe a road trip out west.

8. Would you tell us a little about your current WIP? (writing, art, gifset, whatever the project!!) Working on a new vid, I’d let myself get stuck finishing one up, and realized maybe I needed a break from that one. It’s a SethKate one I’ve wanted to do ever since I heard the song, and I’m just going to do it. It’s not AU? That’s all the spoilers for now.

9. What is the best movie you’ve seen this year? I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE, BUT YES. Prospect was amazing, and does when that title! Runners up would be Priest, Crawl (I love disaster movies so much) and Knives Out.

10. What are your opinions on the child from The Mandalorian series? Really cute! I have only seen like 3 episodes, but I have seen all the gifs, (especially today 🤣) and look at the tiny adorable space baby with powers 🥰

11. What is your zodiac sign, and do you think it fits your personality? I am an Aquarius, I have no idea honestly. Maybe? Is there an official description I can read somewhere?

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure.  “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.  

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

[howveryheather]

good time (the 2010s + me)

10 years of Heather... YESSSSSSS.

I mulled over various drafts of what you’re going to read today.  

There was a draft where I summed up everything, literally everything, that happened to me over the last 10 years. The more I read that draft, the more it felt increasingly like a diary entry that did not warrant publishing of any kind. 

I had a draft where I was only going to recap the good things that happened to me. That read like I had the world’s worst blinders on. 

I weebled, I wobbled, I tried to organize my thoughts using bullet points. None of it worked and all of it sounded like noise, even though I was technically going in order of the last 10 years. So, I’m just going to keep it simple and focus on the basics.

I went on two pivotal journeys in the last 10 years. The first is the start of my writing career and the second was repaying my student loans. Note that the latter half of that sentence is written in past tense. In 2019, after nine years in debt, I paid off all my loans in full! 

I want to talk about the loan journey first because it had an expiration date, even though I did used to think I was gonna die with those loans. Rather than sound like a broken record rehashing the story of how I paid everything off again, I want to share two aspects of paying off student debt that nobody talks about online. 

The first one is that once it happens, after your debt is paid in full, you’re not rich. You have a little more money every month, but you can’t go out and change your lifestyle radically. If anything, you have to remain in place a little bit longer and remain on a budget. There’s certainly irony in debt repayment. The debt is gone, but you are not exactly free yet. You have to recoup the losses. 

The other aspect of student loans is how quickly you forget about it once it’s paid off. And I mean all of it — the emotions and experience associated with loan statements and making monthly payments. I spent years lying in bed unable to sleep at night stressed out about my loans. I never think about it now. 

Paying off my debt alone was really difficult, but deep down I think I always knew that this was going to be my journey. My debt was not going to disappear, no matter how much I wished for a genie’s lamp or hoped a dead relative would throw me some bones in a will or I could magically find a spouse to marry who would assume the payments for me. I made a lot of lifestyle sacrifices to get out of debt. I prepared a few years in advance because I knew that what was ahead was going to be miserable. I remained disciplined, I treated my life with a Spartan mentality, and I crawled my way out under the 10-year deadline to freedom. Sometimes that’s what freedom looks like. It’s not a climb or a sprint to a finish line. It’s a crawl.

Onward to writing!

I was still in college at the start of 2010. Back then, I was an extremely green writer with few clips under my belt outside of an internship at the Ventura County Star and a column in The Echo (CLU’s newspaper). As a post graduate, every writing experience I have had has been a combination of good luck, timing, location, and the willingness to push myself and work hard.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to write in the entertainment space. I always loved reading the pop culture section of the USA Today and soaked up my subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly and Premiere Magazine like a sponge. I was determined to break into entertainment however I could, and I got in on the ground floor of BettyConfidential and HelloGiggles as a contributing writer in 2011.

The early 2010s was a short-lived timeline before most of the major media moguls began buying these sites out. I remember this time as one — and everyone who started during this time will say the exact same thing, trust me — where everyone really was each other’s friend in the media space. Content felt fresh. It was new. It was also really kind. There was a lot of room to share your story and experience and receive incredible, positive feedback from readers. 

BettyConfidential... What a wonderful group! Was there anything better than waking up at 5 AM the morning after the Golden Globes to email over my best-dressed picks? (Sometimes emailed over the night before, I must admit.) I wrote my heart out in that LA Correspondent gig, covering fashion and celebrity news. It gave me so many opportunities to lead the kind of life most people who move to California never get the chance to have. I had the good fortune to go to red carpet events and awards ceremonies and gifting suites and sit in on movie sets and chat with celebrities (often in more candid spaces than is the norm) that I would never have had otherwise. Betty gave me a much-needed glimpse behind the camera of celebrity and the etiquette for how to be a reporter in this space. My experience at HelloGiggles differed from Betty in that it was much more social media driven. That was definitely the site where you earned your following and found your people in the Twitter space. 

Collectively between Betty and HG, my favorite memories were...

1) The first time I went to New York City to cover Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. I went to as many shows as I possibly could in Lincoln Center, took photos with my iPhone, stayed up writing and writing with my photos at the hotel afterwards, and did it all over again the next day for 3-4 days. I also packed very poorly for February 2012 weather. A trench coat and flats in 20 degree weather with snow... but I still looked good!

2) I went to an event celebrating L’Oreal’s 40th anniversary of their “Because I’m Worth It” tagline (an early foreshadowing of my future in writing in advertising). I wrote a nice article about the event, shared the story, and went about my merry way into the rest of my workload. A few weeks later, I received a gift in the mail from their team: a huge gift card to Saks Fifth Avenue! There has never been a Cinderella moment in my life quite like the way I spent this gift card. I went to the Saks Fifth Avenue in Beverly Hills and bought a beautiful designer day dress that I wore everywhere (and still have in my closet).

3) The first time I went to, and covered, the Pillsbury Bake-Off for HelloGiggles. (Look at all that foreshadowing!) The Pillsbury Bake-Off is such a delightful experience and not just because there’s a life-size Pillsbury Doughboy walking around either. The events are held in hotels with convention-sized rooms where one can fit 100 ovens. 100 finalists all bake at the same time and compete for a chance to win a million dollars with their recipe. Bake it like you mean it! I even had dinner one table away from Martha Stewart at the Orlando Bake-Off.

I tried not to decline any opportunities. I made everything work, as much as I could. As far as regrets go, the only event I turned down was an opportunity to go backstage and cover the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. The logistics and timing were really off. There was absolutely no way I could have flown to New York in time for it... but I will always wonder what if!

In a post-Betty and HG world, which is where I was in 2014 when both gigs wrapped, I began pivoting toward a new vertical: advertising. My discussions with Advertising Week began in late 2014 and I started writing for the website in 2015. Initially, this was a situation where I filled in the gaps with whatever content I was asked to write. A lot of it had pop culture tie-ins with Mad Men. (Shout out to my brain for already being a fan of the series and intricately understanding the ins and outs of its characters that tied in with advertising’s heyday!) 

The first major series of articles I worked on were sponsored by Adobe, so there was an increased expectation to go above and beyond in the manner I wrote, the amount of research conducted in each article, and understanding the audience. I was ready to meet the challenge and was met with high praise for this hard work. During this time, I also briefly worked in transcription for Flaunt Magazine. I transcribed interviews for one of their writers, which made me feel as though I came a little full circle yet again to entertainment.

In March 2015, I received the opportunity to go to Chicago to the Museum of Broadcast Communications. It was for an event called “A Salute to Advertising’s Greatest Icons” which honored 10 of the greatest brand mascots in advertising. My favorite character, the Pillsbury Doughboy, was one of the honorees. Even more exciting, the creator of the Doughboy Rudy Perz would be in attendance. I immediately asked AW if I could cover the event and they agreed. However, a great tragedy occurred days before the event. Rudy passed away. I was completely crushed. As a lifelong Doughboy fan, I realized I would never get the chance to tell him how much of an impact that character had in my life.

In the 24 hours I spent in Chicago, I got to tour the museum space, meet and spend time in the studio of JoBe Cerny (the voice behind the Doughboy’s giggle!), and attend the event and its dinner. Each menu course was inspired by the 10 brand mascots. It was so much fun! I promptly wrote up the article and gave it to my bosses. 

This article sparked the beginning of how I have carved a name out for myself in advertising. Brand mascots. We started discussing how to create content about characters, which I jumped at the chance to write. Before long, I had written so many character-based articles that the content spilled over the website. It required its own platform, PopIcon, which officially launched in 2016.

The greatest joy of my writing career so far has undoubtedly been PopIcon. There is so much to cover that I have gone through stages in writing. The initial stages of introducing the character to the world, the stage of updating everyone on the character’s current events (these critters are more active than you think!), and the historical narrative behind the mascot. There is only so much information a PR person can provide you before you can’t work with a one-sheet condensed timeline anymore. You have to get out there and behave like a journalist, finding creatives to talk to and share their stories. My favorite thing is when someone tells me that they have nothing to say. Then, they launch into a narrative of what life behind the scenes was like animating Lefty from Hamburger Helper or recruiting a voiceover actor for an ad campaign. That’s a lot to say! There is no absolutely story that is too small. Every bit of it is history and it has a place to be shared.

I struggle to pick my favorite PopIcon piece. At any given point, every article I have written has been my favorite. They are all jewels in a crown to me, which is a unique way to view your writing. Really, it’s how I hope every writer views their body of work as it grows and progresses.

However, if you must read anything... try these pieces on for size!

Leo Burnett’s Oral History, As Told By 8 Former Creatives (Part One & Two)

Putting The “Kool” Back In Kool-Aid

How Seth Werner Turned A Cluster Of Grapes Into The California Raisins

Monsters! A Brief History Of The Monster Cereals Icons

Ken Stewart, Creator Of The Coca-Cola Polar Bears, Reflects On Their 25th Anniversary

AW has been responsible for sending me back to New York City. In 2017, I went to New York to attend my first #AWNewYork event. My articles ran in their print publication, I hosted a panel, and I appeared on NASDAQ’s Closing Bell ceremonies live on CNBC and HLN. In 2018, I did the same rounds plus an Icons Gala which I worked on at the same time I was paying off my student loans. The Icons Gala was a massive success and I am so proud of it because it was really tough work. And in 2019, I came back for another #AWNewYork event and celebrated with all my mascot buddies once again. 

Outside of PopIcon, I have my hand stuck in a series of freelance honey pots. I always like to keep the wheel rotating, as a means of avoiding stagnation and growing my work. It never ceases to amaze me where the wheel naturally rotates next. I wrote for Brit + Co when I lived in Orange County in 2016. I had a few pieces run on The Drum. I wrote for Ed2010 for two years, which felt like a return to my roots because Ed was the reason I got in with BettyConfidential. I still write with Business Insider, Coin, and Fairygodboss, all outlets I’ve been with for a few years now (minus Coin which started in 2019). Weirdly enough, I was fact checked in an obituary this year in The New York Times.

“Dabble in something new” was my fortune I received from a fortune cookie in the spring of 2019. Good timing. What could I do next that felt new? Where could I start to grow?

I have had my eye on weddings for awhile now, in more ways than one. You can’t help but notice when everyone you know is getting married. You really can’t help it when you’ve been a bridesmaid three times. When I think of the last frontiers of verticals where pure joy exists, it all goes back to basic life rituals. Marriage is one seeped in love, history, and etiquette. I started writing with the aptly-named wedding app Joy a few months ago. Finally, I was able to break into modern wedding editorial.

That has been the last ten years of my writing career, in a nutshell. Upon writing this out, I realized just how lucky and fortunate I am that everything looks so neatly tied together. The gaps have been few and far in between. Regardless of what was going on in my personal life or when things were difficult, doors kept opening for me. And I did everything I could to walk in when it happened.

Doesn’t it look like the land of Oz over here sometimes? It has been 10 years. If you juggled this much writing on top of a full-time job, nonstop for a decade while aging from a twentysomething into your thirties, you would probably run into some issues keeping your self-sustained sausage factory running. It’s not a realistic story if the heroine isn’t facing growing pains.

I am not a perfect writer. I’m never going to act like the Heather cup of tea is for everyone to drink up because it’s not. 

I have had countless nights where I have been up late writing, researching, or editing drafts. My interviews with creatives sometimes last for a few hours. I have procrastinated my workload until the last possible minute, leaving me frantically pinned against a wall pushing all the puzzle pieces around until they fit in the eleventh, in the twelfth, hour. 

I’ve had my brain switch completely off into a “duhhhhhhhh” setting. In this setting, I shut myself in and watch reruns of TV shows I have already seen before. I have to mentally peace out from the world. This is because operating at eleven every single day takes a lot out of you. 

I have been rejected by a few outlets. Totally happens. I have also been told I am overqualified on more than one occasion. 

In 2019, I finally seized the opportunity to buy my domain, which was not previously available, and create a space for my work. 

I’ve learned a lot about one other person in the last decade: myself.

I know exactly who I am. I’ve hit reset on my life multiple times over the last 10 years, switching jobs, cities, and freelance work. I can reinvent some of me, but I can never leave myself behind. Nor would I ever want to do that. I love myself. She is still a work in progress, but it is progress I will do anything for, even if it means crawling alone for years on end. I do it for her.

Everything is up to timing. In time, everything will be as it is supposed to. That time will be the right time. 

If you are ever unsure of what to do next, look to the past for guidance. Everything I loved as a child is coming full circle into my life as an adult. 

I think the greatest thing I can do, now and in the next decade, is to continually work at making the younger version of me happy with her adult self. If the 10-year-old version of you could see you now, what would she think? Would she be proud of the person you grew up to become? Certainly I think the younger version of me is probably a little upset I don’t read as many books as I did in my Scholastic book club days (I’m working on it!). But, I do think she would be pleased with the woman I am in 2019. The things I have already accomplished and feathers in my hat. My personality and work ethic. The dreams ahead of me and the goals I still have left to achieve. 

While I have no idea where I will go in the next 10 years, I am excited to see everything that comes my way in 2020 and beyond. I will keep writing. I will keep working. And I will continue to keep not telling anyone what I’m doing until it happens. I have found life is a lot more fun when you whip out a good, unconventional “surprise!” on everyone that nobody saw coming.

Keep your pen at the ready. It’s gonna be a good time.

[dahl-my-life]

Awakening

I should be resting before class but I wanted to go through the chapters of Awakening I had from 2017 to form a good plan before rewriting it. (For the 12th time...) Since I’ll be reworking the story to better fit the route I want to go I figured I’d share one of my favorite chapters from the 2017 version. It may or may not appear in the 2019 draft. Either way, I wanted to share a bit of the story I have been working on for about 12 years now. I plan on posting the proper chapter one for Awakening this Saturday as well as chapter three for From the Shadows.

(This was chapter seven in the 2017 version by the way. I normally don’t catch spelling or grammar mistakes until the second read through which this draft never got.)

Despite the steady glow of his magic, Atem could see that Nakeya had only paid his room a visit once or twice from the way the bed sheets were tossed on. He could only chuckle before sending bits of the glowing water that circled in his palm to the crystal orbs hanging from the ceiling. They shared a warm yet gentle glow. Atem always sent a silent thanks to his mother for designing the orbs—they served as a way to light the way but also to calm him down when his patience ran short.

Taking a moment to examine his room, he heaved a sigh; Shanu had woken from a nightmare the moment he had started to leave. He was just about to bring her to his room but Sandra had managed to know what was wrong. So Atem had left his cousins in silence. Sandra’s haunting lullaby still echoed softly in the corridors. Visiting Kadahl had been a horrible decision on his part yet something good had come from it…

“Why were you in here Nakeya?” He whispered as he ran a hand through his dark hair. It was not uncommon for her to stay in his room while he was away with the other Guardians but something was different this time. “I suppose I should ask: why are you not here this late at night? You had always shown nothing but distrust and fear of the Guild.” He pulled out a leather bound journal from his bag. The cover held the Galdorian Coat of Arms and the symbol of the Guardians but it meant nothing to him until he looked inside. It was filled with Nakeya’s handwriting.

“Is this a joke of some form?” He muttered before flipping through the pages until something caught his eye…

‘Somedays I wonder—what would happen if I simply disappeared? Would anyone mourn for me or would they be glad to finally be rid of me? I know I cannot change what I am but I still find myself looking at the others and feel jealous. Jealous of what they have being mortals and not a monster like me, but I suppose…we are all some form of a monster aren’t we? In the end…we all bleed the same color…’

A voice startled him. “When did you get back?” Nakaya's silver eyes glowed with blue energy out of frustration. From the state of her hair and the dirt on her clothes—it had been a long day for her. She was the very description of exhaustion though she would never admit needing sleep like the rest.

Nakeya glanced at something behind him that caused her to scowl; however, she remained silent as if waiting for him to answer.

“A few hours ago I would guess.” Atem closed the book, standing with his arms held open. “I apologize for not warning you though I suppose one cannot always plan on a peaceful night, hm?”

She relaxed her stance and the glow faded from her eyes as she accepted his embrace. “You have no idea the kind of night Alicia and I had, love. I had to try and crawl through a window but I had gotten stuck halfway! Alicia nearly fell off the roof from her laughter—the little…”

“She’s taller than you,” Atem corrected.

“Everyone is taller than me!”

Atem had only a chuckle in response. He tried without much success to smooth down her hair in an effort to calm Nakeya down. It worked in a sense but he couldn’t help his own worry about being watched. “If you do not mind, what exactly were you and Alicia doing at the Assassin’s Guild?”

Nakeya stiffened at the question. “Who told you that?”

He merely shrugged and gave a wink, “I have my sources.”

“If you truly must know: Alicia and I were looking for something very important.” The way he sighed before making his way quietly to the sturdy wardrobe made her feel a little guilty.

“So have you taken care of the report then?” He paused to investigate a dimming crystal hanging close to the windows.

Nakeya hesitated, “more or less.”

Whatever he thought of her hesitation—he kept it hidden behind the indifferent expression as nimble fingers set to work on repairing the broken crystal. Adding a thin layer of water around the surface, he flexed his fingers: urging the water to solidify within the cracks. There was a long pause; its soft light flickering ever so often before steadily growing bright as a star. Giving a small smile Atem stepped back to examine his handy work.

“Perhaps there is still hope in my healing magic.” Atem breathed out.

Why not tell him the truth? He, as the Prince, deserves to know what is happening to his people. Karima observed with her back turned to Atem. Her pale eyes stared sharply into Nakeya’s downturned gaze when she wasn’t given a reply. I thought you cared for him.

I do… Nakeya shook her head; he has enough to worry about being the prince.

Karima pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. As the future rulers of this kingdom, I would have expected more trust and understanding between you two.

Then you know nothing…

“Nakeya?” Atem gently cupped her face with a faint worried smile, “what’s wrong? You seem distracted and tired as well.”

She tried to smile but with the first lights of the morning already showing, they both knew Nakeya would not be allowed any rest. “I was just thinking about what you said. We could always visit the Healers’ Temple if you want to continue your healing magic training. Besides I just realized I never planned who I want where today…” The guards would be changed from the Night Watch to the Morning Watch and she would have to be the one to hand out the daily orders before making any reports to his father. Once she figured what to do with everyone.

Nakeya rested her head against his chest, “Alicia suggested I take the day off but when she is not my official Second, I cannot truly put her in charge just yet. I’ll be fine though.” She stepped back with a smile not quite true, “Get some rest, love, I am certain His Majesty will want to hear about where his son has been for the past month.”

He pressed a light kiss on her brow, “Just be safe alright?”

With a quick Jump, Nakeya stood at the doorway looking somewhat amused. “And miss out on the excitement of messing with your father’s annoying worm? Nah, I love making him bustle with annoyance.”

She was gone, leaving only a trail of faint runes that danced in the air for a few moments after each Jump before fading. Atem could only shake his head and worry over what kind of hell she would cause his father today. Falling onto his bed with heavy lids, he had decided that rest would be best before having to deal with his father…

There was something off about Nakeya that concerned Atem as he watched her train with her fellow recruits. The way her eyes blazed, her restlessness despite being perfectly still beside Ryan—the only true movement was her fists, being balled and relaxed numerous times, but the emotionless gaze she held stood out the most. It was that quiet storm inside of her that put her apart from the other sparring recruits.

Some called to her, followed by laughter and turning his gaze, Atem saw that the same filth of a man, Vain, was taunting her again. About to rise from his spot he felt the calmness of his mother's hand as she grasped his. Sapphire met cobalt for a moment as his mother sent a silent warning not to interfere. Swallowing his annoyance Atem nodded mutely.

One wrong step from either of them and his father would have Nakeya executed for what she was. They were already on thin ice due to his mother claiming Nakeya as not only his personal guard but as her Right Hand in court.

The Weapons Master silenced the harassment with a quick bellow informing both Nakeya and Vain that they were next to spar.

Ryan gripped Nakeya’s shoulder as she spied the princeling near the railing of their booth. She could feel him watching her. As much as she tried to push him away, Atem always found his way back to her rooms or was waiting for her in the library. Part of her was touched that he tried so hard to befriend the kingdom’s most “deadly” assassin—not enough to accept his company but enough to keep him alive.

Keeping her sword strung to the belt under her red sash, she calmly walked to the chalk ring—her steps silent despite the storm brewing behind her eyes.

Vain gave a toothy grin, drawing his sword to hold at the ready. “What’s wrong runt? Upset that you got beat? A girl of your age is better off in a…” He paused when she strolled closer unarmed.

Nakeya caught the blade little more than a few breaths from her face.  Her grip merely tightened as blood began to ooze down her arm. “Finish that sentence,” she tore the sword from his grasp and hurled it across the room. She didn’t need to finish her threat—her eyes told all. Her foot quickly collided with Vain’s side, knocking him down before she dealt a blow between his shoulder blades.

Purring, she stalked around him, “Oh what’s wrong? Did the big bad wolfy get tired? I thought you wanted to play with me.” Her expression was nothing more than a hunter stalking its prey…

Vain growled in irritation before he lunged at her, “He trained you for this, didn’t he?”

Spinning to dodge his sudden advance, Nakeya finally swung her sword up to meet his new blade with a vicious crash. “I didn’t want it. I had never wanted any of it.” Her eyes narrowed as a blue glow blazed around her silver eyes. Breaking the stalemate with a nasty cut on his chest, she moved fast—striking where she found pauses in Vain’s movements.

He watched in amazement. Atem had never seen someone move quite as graceful or a fast as Nakeya did. Every attempt made by Vain to land a hit on her was met by two hits of her own. Occasionally she would call out to her opponent in the same taunting matter that had just been used on her own self. “Mother…” Atem looked back to see his mother proud of Nakeya. “She truly lives up to the title.”

Adrianna gave a shallow nod, “a title that she never asked for though my son. Remember, she was in the Assassin’s Guild by Lady Jeanne’s request so that Nakeya would learn to survive and be hidden.”

“Then why is she here mother?” Atem looked down at the fighting that clearly was about to end. Vain was a breathless and sweaty mess while Nakeya had yet to even break a sweat.

“I chose her as my candidate for Captain of the Royal Guard.” The Queen shrugged lightly before she lowered her voice, “besides...it was getting far too dangerous to have her at the Guild any longer. The palace seemed like the best place for her.”

Atem frowned but sad nothing in turn. His mother had a point—the kingdom was slowly beginning to die while his father did nothing.

“Weapon’s Master,” a strong voice pulled Atem from his thoughts; “here is an idea. Fill the Guard with those who truly wish to defend the people and the royal family and then…” Nakeya glared, “perhaps the Water Folk will have a reason to keep living this miserable thing they call life. Until you realize how utterly useless it is to train filth perhaps then I shall be bothered to try.”

Reaching down to take a fistful of his greased hair, she stared hard into Vain’s fading eyes. “Everything here could happily kill you, but only I will do it the most efficiently. If you ever mention the Assassin’s Guild again…I will end you. I will end you in the most violent way I can think of. The dead wouldn’t even know what to do with you when I’m done with you. Understand?”

Despite what had happened, Vain chuckled. “Oh, but runt, you can’t erase the past…even if you don’t want to remember it.”

***

A harsh flash of light pulled Atem from sleep. Looking around, he could just barely make out the remnants of a Jump and he pulled aside the blankets to see just why Nakeya was back. Thunder crackled from beyond his windows as rain tried desperately to find a way inside.

“You know,” he looked down to see her passed out on the floor and sighed. “What did you do?” Bending down to move her to bed was when he noticed how her back was soaked with blood. Frowning, he laid her on her stomach and gently pulled back the worn shirt before swallowing hard. Atem saw the angry welts from several new lashes cover the ones that had just begun to heal.

Karima watched in silence when Atem gave a tired, quivering smile as he brushed away some of Nakeya’s hair. She wanted to explain that the lashes were not from today but he would have never heard her. The Old Queen was only heard by those who could see her—her eyes narrowed; she would rather not be seen at the moment.

“A normal person would at least mention they were bleeding. But no, you had to go and bleed all over the place before passing out, hm?” He tried to joke but his words were bitter. Setting to work on reapplying the filthy bandages, Atem began to hum an old tune from their childhood. While he had always wanted to be a healer as a child—there was still something nerve-wracking about having to piece your loved ones back together, even when there wasn’t much to work with.

You have seen her at her worst and at her best, Prince. Is that why you trust her despite when it is clear she lies to you? Karima mused while she examined his steady process.

Nakeya shifted, I suppose…don’t move? There was a faint trace of humor when the Captain finally came to.

Unless you want to tear open your wounds again. Otherwise stay still. He is almost done mending your back.

How did I get here? Nakeya blinked away the fog and tried moving her stiff fingers.

“Finally awake I see,” Atem pointed out as he pressed the last piece of cloth to her back. “Care to sit up so I can fully bandage you? Those strips will not stay on their own and,” he paused when Nakeya struggled to push herself upright.

“I,” she paused, “cannot feel my legs at the moment. Mummify me in a moment?” She could feel her face warm when Karima sighed and Atem chuckled.

What do you mean; you cannot feel your legs? Karima exclaimed.

I was brought back to life and my body likes to think I should return to death. If I remain still long enough my body will do just that. I have had days where I could not uphold my duties because my body decided to stiffen! Nakeya snapped.

Karima blinked away her surprise. That was always something she had overlooked when she first met the Captain. Her pale “birthmarks” that delicately spun and wove down her arms, torso and across her neck like flowering ivy. It was those marks that had labeled Nakeya as different but somehow Karima had overlooked them. She bore the same marks. To pass judgment on Nakeya would be as if insulting her own self.

“I think I can sit up now but I’m still concerned.” Nakeya finally broke the silence with a whisper.

She looked so frail and sad. Atem could only nod before helping her sit up. “I wish there was something I could do to help with that.”

Nakeya could only shake her head, “There is nothing anyone can do to help. One day I will simply not wake and that is that.”

Cobalt met silver before Atem smacked the back of Nakeya’s head. “The sooner you stop that the better. How many times must I remind you that we will find a way to fix you?”

“Atem,” sharp knock on the door made her pause, “our time, for now, is done…”

His eyes soften before he kissed the top of her head, “but I will be like the sun.”

“And like the stars: I will never leave your side.” They shared a grin. It was a phrase they had said since the day Atem had finally broken through her defenses as children. A way of saying: no matter what happens, I will return to you.

Nakeya watched him walk to the door and chat calmly with one of their friends. She had guessed it was Faria from the gentle way the elder Godling spoke. Glancing over to Karima, she shrugged before tracing a Jump entrance and allowed herself tumble through.

“I should have thought that one through,” she hissed in pain when she fell back first into her bed. The searing pain raced through her veins and clouded her mind. Nakeya traced the details in her ceiling, slowly breathing away the pain before the tears began to fall.

Was that really necessary? You might have reopened the wounds!

“I’m fine—just give me a minute or twenty.” Nakeya waved away the pestering wraith before closing her eyes. Before the storm had hit, she had been training a handful of the recruits with the Weapon’s Master. When he decided that Nakeya would be the better opponent to spar with, her back and Karima voiced their disapproval. Pretending that she wasn’t in pain had become an easy mask to wear over the years but it was those few times when she was alone did the masks fall away, leaving the true Nakeya Naruca to pick up the pieces.

Karima followed Nakeya’s gaze, she noticed the flowering vines and plants that hung from the ceiling. It was a beautiful arrangement: brilliant colors glowed softly against the water crystals, trinkets for the vines to grow around hailed from anywhere and everywhere the younger humanoid had traveled, and they filled the room with a calming scent. It reminded Karima of home. Following the path the plants grew, her eyes traced over a few paintings and tapestries before she noticed just how many books Nakeya had collected. They were everywhere! Several bookcases were filled and a few piles lay in the corners and on either side of the messy desk. Two even were lying open on her bedside table.

“Reading was something that calmed me when I was a child and has stayed with me since. I can remember Adrianna reading us to sleep as children.” Nakeya pointed out softly as she closed her eyes.

A soft smile graced Karima’s features while she carefully pulled a raggedy quilt over Nakeya, “Rest well my friend as I repair the seals and your wounds.” Working quickly, Karima willed a red ball of thread to appear in her hands. It began to glow and move towards the troubled areas of Nakeya’s back, covering the lashes gently only to move when nothing but a scar remained. The threads made their way to the smaller cuts and scrapes in the same manner. While they appeared to have been healed Karima’s magic could over provide healing to the surface. If Nakeya was to move wrong or push herself too far the wounds stood a high chance of reopening.

Finally pleased that her friend was healed, Karima closed her eyes, moving quickly to where Nakeya’s magic laid dormant until needed. Reopening her silver eyes she was met by a freezing rush of air and shadows. Mended poorly by the last the seal bore a large crack down the center.

“You should not be here…” a voice taunted Karima, its words dripped with venom.

Squaring her shoulders, she met the blood red eyes that glowed from beyond the seal with a lethal smile of her own, “at least I am not trapped here demon. Remain silent and I will not have any strife with you.” Karima willed the threads towards the barrier.

The creature pressed against the seal, “do you not believe that if I wanted to escape I would have already? No, I am merely buying time and studying this girl.” As if to prove a point the creature changed its features to match Nakeya’s, even its voice became her friend’s gentle voice. “I will strip away all that you are, all you have ever known, and all that you have ever loved and I shall let the whole world know just how much of a monster you are!”

She willed her features to remain neutral, “what is the meaning of light without creatures such as you?” All she needed was time so that her threads could heal the tears in the seal.

“Do you honestly believe that? Darkness cannot be beaten by the likes of you. Evil will never stop. You of all should know this. It lives on in the hearts of people like you…”

“I believe that no matter what you may try I will always be here to stop the likes of you.”

It chuckled with eyes returning to their crimson glow. “You don’t seem to realize…I’ll get her in the end. Just as my master got you in the end…”

Karima slammed the seal shut out of anger. She seethed in rage at the creature for bringing back such painful memories when a part of her wondered just how it had known that. “I pray you burn if not by my hand then by hers.” Her voice echoed against the newly refined seal as if to prove a point. She could come and go as was seen fit but the creature would remain imprisoned until the end of time.

The creature merely laughed.

[docholligay]

A Crack of the Heart Crystal

@rhiorhino YOU WERE MY SPARKLEE...and I’ve had this in my drafts since before my trip whoops, so I hope it serves, I used your “Haruka fucks up in an early days mission” There were many things Michiru Kaioh quite enjoyed about her new partner. Partner, no, that perhaps seemed a bit intimate, considering the fact that they had been forced together by fate. Comrade...that seemed either a bit Communist or a bit jovial, and she couldn’t decide which she liked the least. Colleague. Yes, that seemed to fit the best, at the present moment, whether the relative distance of it pleased her or not. Her colleague had a number of very positive attributes, some of which, Michiru was pleased to say, she had noticed long before she’d realized Haruka Tenoh was Sailor Uranus.

Her raw athleticism, her keen sense of physicality, her kinesthetic grace--these things benefitted them in the field, and also, strangely, seemed to lower Michiru’s requirements for the heating bill, though this particular benefit she thought best kept to herself.

But for all of Haruka’s gifts, both practical and aesthetic, there were certain things that worried her.

For one, Haruka had a hero complex. Michiru recognized that this would not be seen by most as a negative for someone, who was, in fact, a superhero, if they could be called that. But Michiru saw things differently. Courage and impetuousness and commitment to duty were all very well in the storybooks,  but in the context of an intergalactic war, she simply saw it leading toward an even earlier grave.

Discretion is the better part of valor, she had told her once, after Haruka had charged unthinking toward an enemy, the shot from its arm digging deeply into her shoulder.

Haruka had simply shrugged, and mumbled something about how she knew that.

“You don’t understand a word, I don’t believe.” She had snapped it dismissively, and leaned forward. “I mean to say it’s more heroic to avoid danger than to run straight into it like some...foolish cowboy. Do you understand that?” Haruka’s brow had knitted in embarrassment, her shoulders riding up. In later years, Michiru would look on this moment of condescension with great shame, wondering how she ever ended up with Haruka lying beside her, but in this moment, all she felt was irritation.

Haruka pulled away from her ministrations, the edge of the bandage flopping with the movement of it.

Two inches, maybe? From her heart. We can die, Haruka, if we are injured too gravely, too quickly. Do you know that? Do you know that I have no wish to see you, pale and quiet, on the ground?

However, heeding her own advice, she thought it better not to ask Haruka what she did and did not know.

The tension of that moment had passed, replaced by new and constant tensions between them, and in several months it had developed into an uneasy partnership, bound together by the twin ropes around their necks, placed there long before birth, waiting together for the drop.

__

She’d been in the bathroom half an hour, which even she had to admit seemed excessive. She was meeting Michiru at a cafe downtown in...too soon. To discuss business. Official business. Official SENSHI business.

Her hair seemed unwilling to lay down and accept the meeting in either a business or an official capacity, however, and it this only added to her frustration. She tried, always, to give off some air of respectability when she met with Michiru, particularly after seeing the circles she ran in, and the girls who courted her.

She assessed herself in the mirror. Her jacket was clean and she had mended it reasonably well, and the vest, she thought, did not match, but it did go, and both looked like something she might have seen in a discarded GQ, and covered the thinness of her shirt. She tugged at the edge of it. It isn’t too much, with jeans, is it? No, there was a shoot that had something llike this, pretty sure. Maybe not. No. Yes? I mean yeah.

Her hair sprung up again, and she sighed heavily as she headed to the cafe.

For all of her concerns over her looks, Michiru did not seem to notice one way or the other, and Haruka felt an immediate disappointment and relief, looking at her elegance and beauty, a silver bracelet hanging from her delicate wrist, smelling softly of roses and jasmine.

“Haruka, I believe I’ve found our next target.” It was a difficult guess, always, but then again, Michiru had a way of relishing in the times that life was difficult, for, at the very least, they confirmed her suspicions about the larger world.

Haruka leaned forward over the picture of the girl and bit the inside of her cheek. Oh god, not her. Whoever they took the Talismans from would die. But many would live. You must sacrifice them for the greater good, Haruka. You must sacrifice yourself.

She was a sweet-looking girl, grinning brightly over her many cooking awards. Her name was Emi, and she had gone to school with Haruka before this whole talisman mess. She gave Haruka leftovers after school, a lot. Begged her to take them, said her family would never eat them. She did that for other people, too, and pretended like she didn’t spend her free period cooking for it.

She was kind. It made sense she would hold a pure heart.

“You’re sure?” Haruka mounted as a weak defense.

“Of little in life am I absolutely certain, but it seems a fair assessment.” She took a sip of her tea, and looked over at Haruka. “Is there any particular reason she seems a poor choice? Some scandal of which I am unaware?”

“No.” Haruka shook her head and touched the edge of the photograph. “Not at all.”

Michiru looked over at her kindly, a sudden sadness seizing her as she studied Haruka’s woebegone gaze.

__

If occasionally, life gives us gifts, today’s gift was that, as the pure heart was pulled from Emi’s body, it seemed clear to Haruka that it wasn’t a talisman.

She would have conceded the point that she wasn’t entirely sure what the talismans were supposed to look like, and Michiru had not seen fit to share that information, but she was fairly certain that it would at least look different, and Emi’s pure heart looked the same as all the others.

She threw a swing at the daimon, but it was quick, and dodged nimbly around her, catching her in the side. Michiru came around the back of it, her small fist drilled in behind its ear, and she took Haruka by the hand, leading her to the side for a moment’s breath.

“It isn’t a talisman, Uranus, we may as well leave the daimon to it.” She brushed a piece of imaginary dirt off her skirt and began to walk away, her earlier kindness forgotten amidst the realization of how tough this particular foe could be.

Haruka shook her head firmly, a tin foil covered dish appearing in her mind. “No.”

Michiru looked at her, annoyed to be directly disobeyed. “I beg your pardon? You are aware, I hope, that we are a finite resource.”

Haruka did not meet her gaze. “I can’t let Emi die. She’s nice.”

“This is madness.” She threw her hands in the air. “I will not back you.”

But she was ignored, denied even the dignity of a response, and Haruka headed back into the fray, silently wondering why the daimon couldn’t just return the heart crystal, and then Haruka would detransform and take Emi home, and no one would be the wiser. If it wasn’t a talisman, all of this was unnecessary.

She reflected on these things as she whirled around the daimon, but quickly realized why Michiru had been so reluctant to fight it--it was swifter and more agile than others they had fought, and as quick as Haruka was, she struggled to match the creature.

There was also the question of the spears it carried, which added an exciting tone of doom to the affair.

She was caught out, and she had overplayed her hand, and she was exceedingly aware of all of these things, and yet she could not compel herself to stop, could not join Michiru and forget about Emi lying there. She knew the world depended on their lives. She knew that someone would have to be sacrificed, and oh, how she wished she were strong enough to have it be someone who had showed her kindness. Michiru had that strength. She did not. She was nothing next to Michiru, in every sense.

The spear was coming.

Haruka closed her eyes, and prepared for the sharp blade into her ribcage.

Instead, there was a strong shove from the side, and Michiru snatched the spear out of the air, whirling it and stabbing it deep into the chest of the daimon. She did it with the elegance and grace with which she strolled down the sidewalk, and Haruka was not sure she had ever seen her fight with such ferocity. It was as terrifying as it was dramatic, and if Haruka knew as much about art then as she would come to know, she might have compared it to Judith slaying Holofernes, remembering how it felt to stand in that room with the huge painting and bask in its terrible beautiful violence.

Haruka tenderly scooped Emi’s pure heart up from the ground and placed it into her chest, ignoring the pain, just pleased to see her stir, even slightly.

Michiru turned to Haruka, her face dark.

“I hope you’re pleased.”

__

In later years, the seesaw of justice and discretion settled, and Michiru and Haruka read each other well enough that the arguments on matters of military strategy were rare. In those times, after a battle, they would gently bandage each other’s wounds, drink tea or hot cocoa, and wrap up together, gently adjusted into the most comfortable position for them both. It was warm and intimate and it almost made the battles themselves worthwhile, for Michiru.

But that time was still years off, and all Michiru felt right now was the sour mix of relief and anger in her mouth. She set her purse down on the table in the entrance, just hard enough that the chrome feet of her Hermes back cracked against the cool tile of the small table.

“I apologize the girl was your friend, but her life is only one, Haruka. We are the only ones who can stop what is going to happen. We two. If you throw that away for some--”

Haruka had limped in weakly behind Michiru, but the accusation found her with a renewed vigor, breaking through the exhaustion and fear into pure bellicose frustration.

“I KNOW YOU THINK I’M STUPID!”

Michiru whirled around and stared her in the eye. “I think you are foolhardy and impetuous and that you believe these things pass for gallantry, but they most certainly do not.”

“JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN FOR FUCK’S SAKE”

“I AM AFRAID YOU WILL DIE, HARUKA.” Her voice cracked, just the smallest, most fragile twitch, like the miniscule line in the glaze of an old pot, barely visible to the naked eye.

But there it was, laid just a little bare.

Haruka recoiled as if she’d been bitten, taking a step backwards, her eyebrows knit in confusion. Her mind flickered to the hopeless, terrible thoughts she had dreamed, that MIchiru could ever look on her with anything other than passing tolerance, that she might ever know what it was to really touch MIchiru, in the soft way that cherry blossoms caressed her cheek as they fell to the ground, unconscious of the gift they had been given.

And for a moment, just one lost moment, she thought she saw that hope reflected in Michiru’s eyes.

But of course, Michiru’s eyes were an unending sea, and she saw only herself, as Michiru shook her head.

Haruka cleared her throat. “The mission’d be harder with one.”

Michiru looked up and gave a soft huff.

“Yes. The mission.”

[oddolddogs-blog]

Hippo’s Best Last Day

Well, it’s happened. Something that I made has gone (kinda) viral.

As someone with very few, very specific talents, I never really anticipated that anything that I created or did would be exposed to 1.5+ million people. But it has happened. So, I suppose I should probably say something. And strap in boys and girls, because I’m about to say a lot.

I won’t talk about myself much. Let’s just keep it simple- just an introduction for those of you who may just be joining us. My name is Sophiane Nacer. Many of you have already sent me friend requests. I probably won’t accept, just because most of things I post are either also posted to the rescue’s official Facebook (because they’re pictures of the dogs), or they’re about how my life-size Severus Snape from Amazon just arrived or how, according to a Buzzfeed post, I am a Chinstrap penguin. Anyways, I digress. I founded Cayleb’s Kindred Senior Dog Rescue five years ago, when I was 14 years old. A childhood filled with feral cats and other animal oddities culminated when I rescued Cayleb, who I had for a month until he passed suddenly from advanced liver cancer. Realizing just how many senior dogs were being overlooked and euthanized in local shelters, we decided to continue to rescue dogs like Cayleb- his kindred spirits, you could say (see what we did there?). So I drafted my unsuspecting mother and my extremely dog-and-everything-else allergic father into the strange, wonderful world of old dog rescue.

It’s been five years of mostly just my mom and me tackling the insurmountable task of not only rescuing senior dogs from euthanasia, but convincing people that senior dogs deserved to be rescued from euthanasia. The first few years were difficult. We were frequently accused of “wasting time and resources” on these “lost causes”. These accusations didn’t just come from uneducated members of the public, but from fellow rescuers. Luckily, in the past year or so we’ve seen a definite change for the better. We have more support than ever, and more people (fosters and adopters) looking to share their lives with amazing old dogs, no matter how long (or short) that time may be.

Hippo was one of those amazing dogs.

Hippo was brought to Adams County Animal Shelter- the same shelter we got Cayleb from five years back- as a stray. Anyone who looked at him could see that he was severely neglected. His face was misshapen and ulcerated from what appeared to be aggressive tumors. His skin was infected and raw. His nails were unkempt and curling into the pads of his paws. Whoever had Hippo before didn’t deserve him and he certainly didn’t deserve to suffer through what they put him through. So I offered to take him. I was under no illusions as to his condition. Just looking at his intake photo it was clear that medical intervention would be of no help to him. The kindest thing would be to make sure that he passed easily and peacefully. And if that could be accomplished in a home, where he would be loved, then I was more than willing to do that for him. Of course, I didn’t really know if he would want that. The rescue coordinator, a friend of mine, didn’t know either. He was suffering so much, and had been for so long, that nobody would blame him if he didn’t want to be touched. If he didn’t want to move. If he didn’t want to interact. If that was the case, I wouldn’t force him to get into another car and go to yet another place. But I would’ve stayed there for his passing and hoped that he knew he was loved.

Of course, like all of our dogs, Hippo exceeded all my expectations.

When I met him, he was gently wagging his tail from behind the chain link of his kennel. He happily walked out into the play yard, even though he would bump into things as he went because of the tumors growing over his eyes. When we were out there, he peed on everything like a typical boy (though a lot more than any dog without nearly complete kidney failure would’ve ever been able to muster). He trotted around and sniffed all the smells. He came up to us and asked to be pet. He tried to climb into the shelter vet’s lap. He had a lot of life left in him, but his body was failing him, and there’s nothing worse than watching a dog who wants to continue to live and love and romp be dragged down by their own shut-down body. But I decided that if today really was to be his last, we were going to make it a really, really great one. The best one. Filled with only the best things.

Best thing #1: drive with the windows down. I rarely let any of our dogs stick their heads out the window, due to a perfectly justified fear of them rocketing out of the car at the next sharp turn. But for Hippo, well, how could I say no? Hippo stuck his head out and his little Shar-Pei ears twitched in the most adorable way only really happy little Shar-Pei ears can. After five days in the shelter for a legally-required stray hold (during which nobody came to retrieve him), he basked in the feeling of a warm breeze on his face.

Best thing #2: we stopped at Starbuck for a puppuccino. They gave us an extra puppuccino after hearing his story. He devoured them both with an unparalleled gusto. Picture a pre-teen girl drinking the first pumpkin-spice frapp of the season, and you’d still be failing to grasp the sheer enthusiasm.

Best thing #3: go to the park. It was beautiful weather (thank you, global warming, for giving us such a nice day in October). We found a spot underneath a still-leafed tree, sat down on the grass, and opened a can of tripe. For those who may not know, tripe is one of the strongest-smelling (read: worst-smelling) things on earth, but I have not met a single dog that can resist it. Hippo certainly couldn’t. That entire 13.2oz can was finished in less than a minute, though a fair amount was smeared all over my hands (Hippo was unable to eat on his own due to the painful and disfiguring nature of his facial tumors) and the grass around us. If you ever walk your dog in Wash Park in the next few months and find them inexplicably drawn to a patch of grass in the North side of the park, it’s because the pungent smell of tripe is clinging to the blades with a death grip.

Best thing #4: drink from the lake. This is something I never let our dogs do, as I shudder to think about the havoc the bacteria would wreak on their delicate systems. But for Hippo, long-term consequences weren’t really a consideration. So he got the go-ahead. In five years of this, I have never seen a dog drink as much water in one go as that dog drank. As impressive as it was, it was also sad to know just how damaged his internal system must’ve been for him to be drinking that much and peeing completely unconcentrated urine in equal volume. But we didn’t focus on that. Instead, we focused on not ending up in the lake itself- Hippo was quite perturbed when the water had the gall to lap at his toes and I was not particularly looking to wade any time soon.

Best thing #5: make some friends. At first, I didn’t try to introduce Hippo to any other dogs. I was worried that if they happened to bump into his face, or another sore spot, he might react. But when an over-excited, wiggly, off-leash Golden Retriever rushed over to us, Hippo was so happy. His tail began to wag faster than I had ever seen it. He let his face be sniffed, and sniffed right back. After that, I tried to find other friendly dogs to introduce him to. It was difficult. People who began to make their way over to us with the clear intention of letting their dog visit would quickly turn the other way when they got close enough to see Hippo’s condition. I can’t imagine what they thought- that I was a monster who was abusing my dog, that he was infected with a horribly contagious disease, etc. And I could somewhat understand- after all, it is our job to make sure our dogs are kept safe and away from horrible people and horrible diseases. But it also broke my heart because every time Hippo knew a dog was coming (either by seeing them enter into his limited field of vision or by hearing the clinking of their tags), his little tail would start wagging. And when he heard them leaving, it would stop. Luckily, we met a wonderful woman and her older Golden Retriever. Both her and her dog stopped to say hello to Hippo, and the two of us talked about him while the dogs happily visited. When she heard that it was Hippo’s last day, she went over to him and pet him and told him how glad she was to have met him. If you are reading this, wonderful woman (or her awesome dog, in which case wow- good job learning to read, awesome dog) I want you to know how much it meant to me (and Hippo, of course) that you stopped and said hello.

Best thing #6: cuddle. We sat in the grass for a while, just watching and smelling and hearing all the things going on around us. With his tummy full and his initial exploration done, Hippo and I got to know each other. He was an extremely soulful dog- the type of dog that would approach you gently, quietly, with everything he had. The type of dog that had eerily human eyes. The type of dog who stands right in front of you with his head bowed, just waiting for a kiss or ear scratch. Just for a moment, when he allowed me to rub his ears and under his chin, trusting me entirely despite how close I came to his painful sores, I started to cycle through that unavoidable thought process. ‘Maybe,’ I thought ‘I could take him to CSU’s Teaching Hospital. Maybe they would know of some miracle cure. Maybe I could raise enough money to do all the fancy new procedures that exist in the hopes that one would fix all his ailments and give him the time he deserved.’  But that wouldn’t have been fair. I think oftentimes we become so overcome with love and the feeling that “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my dog” that we forget dogs live in the moment. They don’t think “well, if I go through this painful, exhausting treatment for a few months I’ll have an extra year”. All they know is that, in that moment, they’re painful and tired. And after three hours in the park, Hippo was both. He began to slow his trot to a stumble. He began to paw at his face, breaking open two of his sores despite my best efforts to prevent it. He became less interested in the things around him.

So we headed home, with his head out the window once more.

Best thing #7: eat a roasted chicken. Dr. Erica Rambus, the veterinarian who generously does all of our in-home euthanasia, brought a chicken for him. We spread a blanket out on the floor of the living room and sat down with him, overcoming our delicate vegan sensitivities to tear off pieces for him to munch on as he drifted off to sleep. I laid down beside him, rubbing his tiny little ears and kissing his wrinkly cheek as he began to snore louder and louder. And then he was gone.

Hippo’s passing was very peaceful, filled with lots of gentle kisses, whispered words of affection, and lots of tears.

He’s home again now, this time in a wooden, flower-engraved urn next to the ashes of my own two hospice dogs Annie and Gremlin (whose ashes are mixed in with his best friend, Soze the old albino rat). He’s right next to the head of my bed, where I wish he could’ve slept- he would’ve been quite the snorer, but after five years of sleeping through the assorted noises old dogs emit during sleep that would’ve been just fine.

With all that I loved him, I can’t help but feel angry. I try to refrain from judging the former families of the dogs we get- after all, you can never really know the circumstances that led to an old dog being a stray. But in Hippo’s case, I don’t think there is an excuse good enough to justify his state. The video I took doesn’t show the magnitude of Hippo’s sores, overcoming his face so much that he could no longer see out of one eye or eat without assistance. How his nose was all but destroyed. How there’s blood on the inside of my rear window where he rested his head. How his folds of skin were raw and infected. How his nails hadn’t been trimmed in ages- if ever. What makes me even angrier is that, through all of that, Hippo was an amazing dog. It is unimaginable to me how someone could let any dog suffer, much less a dog who must’ve still loved them despite their total neglect.

But it doesn’t do to dwell on that anger. What we should dwell on is how loved, spoiled, and happy Hippo was on his last day. He left this world having felt grass under his paws, the wind in his face, and a smorgasbord of goodies filling his tummy. And as much as I wish I could’ve known him for much, much longer, I feel so overwhelmingly lucky that I met him. And I’m so glad that you all have met him to- even if it is after he passed.

His circumstance is one of the worst we’ve seen, but his story one of the best we’ve ever been a part of.

So thank you- so, so much- to all of you who have cried over his video. Who have donated to our cause so we can continue to help dogs like Hippo. Who have shared his story with your friends so they too can see how special old dogs like Hippo are. 

One day, there will be a dog that you too can give a best last day to. And when that happens, remember this: you literally cannot go wrong with a puppuccino in the park.