#anyway. I’m making some eyes in this rope I got from the craft store and I’m gonna use it to hang my pizza peel from :)

[stewystew]

I am so powerful now that I know how to splice line

[hargrove-mayfields]

Lover, Lover, Number 9

Second day of HWOL!! Today’s prompt was Love Potion!! Read here or on my ao3 @ej_writer

Word Count: 4,593

Rating: T

Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching (Pretty much blink and you miss it and very non-explicit. It happens while a person(s) is under the influence of a love potion.)

It’s all Max’s fault, honest.

For the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, Billy’s been trying to pick the best person to be his date. Not that Valentine’s was really that important to him, per se, but he’d made a bet.

His step sister, the little brat, had made a wager that if he didn’t have himself a date by the fourteenth of February, he’d be forced to drive her everywhere she wanted to go for a whole year.

There was no way he was about to fork over that much of his time to some snotty middle schoolers, but finding someone he’s willing to go out with, a condition of Max’s bet was that it couldn’t just be a hookup, ended up being a lot harder than he anticipated.

Before he knew it, there were only two days left before he either got a date, or subjected himself to the dweeb-orama gang.

He tried to ask Carol, since Tommy dumped her right before the big day and she seemed to be into him, or at least how his ass looked in his jeans, but she tells him she doesn’t want to deal with the drama. So he tries Tommy, but he wants commitment and feels like Billy’s just in it to best Max, which, yeah, he sort of is. Everyone else follows the same pattern, can’t keep up with his reputation, can’t trust him in a relationship, on and on and on.

It’s over breakfast one morning, as he groggily makes him and his sister both a bowl of cereal, that Max asks him, “Why don’t you just ask Steve?”

Billy acts unphased, doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Steve who?”

“C’mon stupid.” His sister rolls her eyes and drags a bowl over towards herself. “Everyone knows you like Steve Harrington.”

“Do not.” He shovels a mouthful of cereal in his mouth.

“Right. Lemme guess, you don’t eat like a pig either?”

“Very funny.” He fixes her with a glare. “I’m serious shitbird, just because I like him doesn’t mean I like him.”

She nods and agrees. “Sure.”

“And just because he's nice to me doesn’t mean I have to have the hots for him.”

“If you insist.” Her bottom lip juts out as she agrees with overemphasis.

“What is your problem?” He snaps.

“I’m just agreeing with you. You don’t like Steve Harrington.” There’s a mischievous smile darkening her sweet face as she tells him matter-of-factly, “But, if you’re really desperate, I know a way to get him to like you.”

And Billy already knows what she means, of course the little shit would suggest something like that. “Nuh-uh. No way, I am not using magic.”

“Why not? Clearly you need it.”

“Because I can do it on my own, brat. Just don’t want to.” He's too defensive for it to not be true and they both know it, so before he lets a thirteen year old do anymore damage to his ego, he adds, “Can't deal with your bull this early.”

Max looks at him all smug like, her eyebrows raised as she hides a knowing smile behind her cereal bowl, but she does let it go, if not just to watch her step brother stew in silent annoyance. She’d gotten under his skin so easy, and she thought it was funny.

Her step brother, on the other hand, does not, and narrows his eyes at her, practically snarling at the look on her face. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t even saying anything!” She bites back.

Billy grumbles and dumps his bowl in the sink, and leaves to his room to avoid babysitting his sister.

He’s starting to realize that Max had set him up. The real reason she made the stupid bet wasn’t to torture him with driving her and her nerds around, but because she thought she could hook him up with Steve.

But that doesn’t matter, because he's not pining after Steve Harrington, no matter what his little sister says.

Sure, Steve had invited him over to his place a few times, but that was just a courtesy since they were friends from basketball. And it didn’t matter that he happened to be the prettiest boy Billy ever laid eyes on, with his soft hair the color of chestnut and his doe eyes just as dark, and his long nose and his pretty red lips and-

Okay, maybe he was a little into Harrington, but again, he wasn’t going out with his best friend just because his step sister dared him to.

He can’t just call the bet off, but he’s not willing to lose either. The clock was ticking, Valentine’s Day getting closer and closer, so he’d just have to settle on somebody soon.

Admittedly, it would make things a lot easier just to cheap out and use magic, after all, he’d been trying and failing to get a date for weeks, but that could be dangerous, and Billy’s been barred from using his powers for a few years now anyways.

His father was ashamed to have a freak for a son, so ever since Max and her mother came around, he wasn’t actually supposed to use any magic at all anymore, not even for the most insignificant of things. Hell, with how tight of a leash Neil kept on him, his step sister wasn’t even technically supposed to know he’d inherited the knack from his mother.

He doesn’t really listen to that rule, but there’s no way for Neil to keep tabs on that kind of thing, so he still puts a charm on his and his sisters bedroom doors every night to keep unwanted guests out, and he still uses spells for his convenience whenever he can get away with it.

In all honesty, he could do without that stuff. Incantations were boring, spells were too basic. His favorite, the one thing he misses having the liberty to do, that’s got to be potions.

Before his mother’d left him behind, ran off to live the uninhibited life of a free spirit every witch dreamed of having, she had been very proud that Billy had taken after her in his powers, and in his skill for potion making especially.

They would make them together a lot of the time, huddled up down in the basement when his dad wasn’t home so she could show him the ropes and teach him all the recipes she knew.

He’d caught on real quick, well enough that she didn’t need to hover after the first few attempts at one type. Sometimes he wishes he’d been less proficient for just a little longer, so she’d have had a reason to stay and keep helping him.

Among their most common to make though were potions of luck and protection, elixirs, anything positive really. His mother may have also, on occasion, made a more powerful potion, one to keep under the pillows, in a flask on her hip, to spike her husband's coffee with every morning, just so Neil couldn’t hurt her or her son, but Billy was sworn to secrecy on that one.

Under his bed he still had a trunk full to bursting with everything of his mothers’ he had been able to keep, including their already prepared potions. Rows and rows of intricate crystal bottles, some still full to the top while others had only a few drops left, depending on how useful they were, all neatly displayed along with the rest of the memories of his mother.

She absolutely never allowed him to make anything dangerous, the first thing she ever taught him was to always keep hate out of his magic, so she’d let him practice more complicated and powerful potions with something a little less destructive.

Something like love potions.

It becomes his sort of trademark, the earthy smell of rose hips and cinnamon clinging to his skin from hours bent over their big cauldron they kept stored away. Even now, without having brewed anything for almost a year since they’d moved houses, it still lingered, like an aura.

They made up for some of his best work, the hardest of the love potions coming easier to him than the easiest of the medicinal ones. The best he’d ever made was a platonic love potion that his mom let him use the teensiest drop of to stop a fight between his friends at school, and to this day he was still proud of that one.

His mom had always said it made sense that that would be where he excelled, loving with his whole heart was just in his nature, and his craft was the reflection of that. In the same sense, it comes as no surprise when he’d stopped being able to brew anything stronger than potpourri after she’d walked out on him and broke that big heart right in two.

He didn’t know if keeping every of the potions that he made was genuinely because of their potential usefulness, like he tried to convince himself, or if it was a way to hold onto a time when he was still good at what he did. A time when he was happy.

Were he going to use one of those potions he kept stashed away, as Max had not so subtly suggested, he knows exactly which one he would choose. Not number six, not number twenty-seven, he would need number nine.

Not that he would, because he refuses to use his magic for petty relationships. Yet another thing his mom had drilled into him from the start was to never use his gift to take advantage of other people.

But then another day passes, and Billy's got to at least consider it, if not only for the sake of him not having to provide chauffeuring services to his least favorite bratpack.

In all reality, it wouldn’t be so bad to date Steve, he was nice enough and cute enough, but he feels they were sort of of the same polarity. They could get along just fine now, but there was some force, some energy between the two that kept them apart.

For every step they take forward, say, Steve agreeing to keep his magical secret from the moment they met, they have to take one back.

That fact had been well established in his mind since the moment he noticed himself making heart eyes; he and Steve just weren’t going to work out. Not after months of oblivious pigtail pulling, not after pushing Steve out of his own social circle, and definitely not after their fist fight in November.

Billy thinks he takes rejection from Tommy and Carol and everyone else in stride, but Steve wasn’t like them. The relationship they already had teetered on the line between rivals and friends, always one argument away from going back to that place, and Billy’s unwilling to lose that constant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about rejection and ruining friendships if he used magic.

But that was wrong. Number 9 was the strongest of the strong. It was said that it was powerful enough to make oil and water mix, but even then its effects only lasted for exactly twenty minutes. The jig’d be up quick, and his pretty boy would be right back to hating him.

There was always the slightest chance too that it were brewed just right, and Steve would love him forever, the bond that would form between them the moment he drank from Billy’s magic maybe enough to last, despite their differences. It wasn’t guaranteed to turn out bad, so maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a shot.

Godammit, had Max gotten in his head.

~~~~~

Billy knows he’s an idiot, a complete and total dumbass for showing up to the party with a crystal vial in his pocket, but he can’t help it.

There’s no guarantee he’s even going to use it, it’s just in his pocket as a sort of security blanket. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve anywhere among the crowd, so he sees no harm in it.

Well, at least not until someone, he’d have to guess it was Tommy, slips a hand into the pocket of Billy’s jacket, apparently able to sense a bottle from a mile away, and steals it. Like it’s just his own secret stash of alcohol instead of the most powerful piece of magic he’d sure as hell ever owned, let alone to have ever been used in Hawkins, a traditionalist town known for its distinct lack of witchcraft.

Only he doesn’t notice that it’s been swiped, not until he catches a glimpse of the gentle pink glow that only he could see in someone else’s hand from across the room, hovering just inches above the punch bowl.

He’d like to think he’s pretty powerful in his craft, he'd been raised by a witch who’d in her time been strong enough to get kicked out of her coven for threatening the High Priest, but in that moment he just sort of freezes.

There’s an infinite number of spells he could’ve used; he knows how to stop time, how to recall objects, and about a thousand and one other handy little ways to stop the vial from being overturned into that bowl.

And yet, his brain freezes up, and before he can do anything about it, there’s a thick fog rolling off of the bowl, and the air smells sweet and sticky like ladies perfume, and the liquid is shining all bright pink.

Billy is officially screwed.

It’s one thing for a single person to drink a love potion, but mixing it with any other liquid? That shit turned into a weapon.

He knows he’s not gonna make it in time, but he’s at least gotta try to stop it, get people as far away from it as possible. He muscles his way across the room, pushing past the crowd of teenagers to try to get to it first. “Nobody fucking touch the punch.”

But his voice calling over the crowd draws their attention to him, and there’s at least fifty hollow gazes fixed right on him. Judging by the looks on their faces, the pinpoint pupils and the awe stricken smiles, he’s too late.

There’s one breathless moment where Billy realizes what's about to happen and tries to back away before all hell breaks loose, but all at once they all surge forward trying to get their hands on him.

Momma didn’t stick around long enough to teach him how to discharge a potion, and he wasn’t going to make it the whole twenty minutes in this herd. The front door is his only escape.

It’s so dark in the room, other than the light from the potion’s ambience, that he can’t make out who’s who, whose lips those are on his neck, whose hands are on his hips and tangled up in his hair, so he just trudges forward as best he can, trying to shake each person off, only to get another wrapped around him.

But, in the magic induced state, they’re strong, and they don’t want to let him go. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms wrap tight around his waist, any way they can hold onto him to try keep him from moving any closer to that door, they do.

It’s like walking in gelatin, so many people trying to stop him, and it takes him way longer than it should, but he makes it to the door.

Before he can open it, someone’s pushing his back up against it and reaching a hand up under his shirt. Another someone presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He feels blindly for the door knob and gets it in his hand after a few attempts, the ordeal being all the harder when there were so many people who wanted those hands on them, and twists it.

The rush of cold air from outside and the lights from the streetlight on the sidewalk helps a little to dilute the strength of the potion, weakening just enough the grip of those under his influence that he can wriggle out and slam the door shut behind him.

He keeps his back pressed against it, his arms holding on to either side of the door frame as tight as he could so nobody else can get out. Checking his watch, there were still about seven more minutes until the potion would wear off.

He could see the faintest glow of pink light shining from under the door and behind the curtains on the front window, and he thought about what they were doing without him. Probably talking about how he was the coolest, the ones who’d gotten their hands on him bragging.

No one but him would remember what happened anyways.

To make his escape, wait out the rest of the potion's effects, and hightail it before anybody remembered he was even here, well, that would have just been too easy. Because this is Billy Hargrove, so of course, at that very moment, who would approach the house but Steve fucking Harrington.

“Hargrove?” He looks confusedly up at Billy, and climbs a few of the porch steps to ask him, “What’re you doin’ out here man?”

“Party’s a bummer. Thinking ‘bout ditching.” The nonchalance he’s able to portray in his voice is in direct contrast with the way his hair is frizzed out and his clothes are all messy from what happened inside.

Steve doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, because he offers him a smile, and responds to Billy like this situation didn’t look weird at all, with him sprawled out over the door and in such bad shape. “Mind if I join you? Wasn’t really looking forward to all the people tonight anyways.”

“Uh, if you give me,” Billy turns his wrist, still not letting go of the door, and reads the time on his watch again, “three and a half minutes, then we can blow.”

Steve leans a little to try to see in the window. “Is somethin’ going on?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ just uh, told Tom I’d stay ‘til quarter after.” It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve already knows he and Tommy aren’t even that close, but Billy just focuses on counting down the seconds and doesn’t think too much about it. “And…. we’re good.”

“You are so weird, dude.” Steve remarks while he waits for Billy on the steps. He looks back over his shoulder when they’re walking away but visibly shrugs it off. “Did you drive?”

“You know I don’t park my baby on the street.” His prized Camaro had yet to make an appearance at one of these parties, for a platitude of reasons, but the main one being that he might have to break his mother’s golden rule and put a curse on someone if his beauty got so much as a scratch.

“Figures.” Steve remarked. He didn’t think the Camaro was all that, thought it was too loud and too fast.

His BMW isn’t too far off, showing up late meant he had to take a street spot instead of cramming into the driveway, but that only made it easier to get out.

While he starts it up, he asks Billy, “Where are we going? I picked last time.”

“Far away from here as possible.” He mutters in response.

Before he pulls away from the curb, Steve asks, “Did something happen, Bills? You’re acting all, weird.” There was genuine concern laced into his voice, none of that playfulness that they usually had.

But for Billy, anything would be better than having to own up to what had happened. He’d have to admit to the whole, desperate for love, he used a potion he made when he was seven to try to make Steve Harrington fall for him, and that was not ideal, to put it simply.

Only, he felt obligated to explain, because he knew what Steve was thinking had happened. He knew too much about the sorts of things Billy told not a single other soul.

His magic was one thing. Where nobody was really supposed to know Hawkins got a new spell caster for the first time in ages, Steve had some grandma or someone who was a witch and had recognized that shit in a heartbeat.

Observational skills like that, it was no surprise he’d figured out the truth about his father too. About where the bruises and the scars came from.

So he knows that’s what Steve’s thinking right now, that Billy’s acting off because of something his dad did, and it would feel wrong not to tell him the truth, to be pitied when nothing even happened this time. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled about having to confess about the potion.

“Someone brought a fucking Number 9 to the party.” Billy flips the sun visor down to see himself in the little mirror there. There’s kiss marks all over him that he tries to rub off with his sleeve, but the leather doesn’t do much but make the skin flush.

“Shit, not a number nine.” Steve says it like he’s confident in it, but his gaze keeps flickering over to Billy to gauge his reaction. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What's- what’s number nine?”

Billy snorts and explains, “Only the strongest love potion out there. Went straight into the punch.”

He doesn’t have much of a grip on the magical world, but he knew enough to guess that was a problem. “What kind of a dipstick would bring that?”

Billy stopped wiping at his face and looked over at Steve with that ‘come on, stupid’ look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the only dipstick who walked away from the place covered in fucking lipstick.”

“Really?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, like a parent who found out there kid had a crush, and it makes Billy want to sock him. “And who does Billy Hargrove need a love potion for?”

“For you.” It takes all the courage he has, but he admits it. His eyes flicker nervously between Steve and everywhere else, waiting for his response.

And what he gets is, “Pfft. You know I don’t need magic to get the ladies.” Let it be known that no one ever accused Steve of being the brightest.

As if he hadn’t noticed that Steve was a skeezer. As if his heart hadn’t already been broken a thousand times over because of it. “Yeah, no shit.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but maybe a little bit in denial too. “Then why’d you bring me a love potion?”

“Steve.” It sounds like a plea, an exhausted attempt to get him to understand, but Steve isn’t in on it.

“What?” Billy just sort of raises his eyebrows in response, and something about it makes it click in Steve’s head.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and when he speaks again, his voice is all breathless, “You were going to use it on me?”

“Doesn’t take a genius.” And that’s the end of it.

They don’t talk about it. Steve drives them out to the quarry in silence, occasionally looking over at Billy like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

As soon as they get there, before Steve’s even got the chance to put the bimmer in park, Billy’s out of the car and sitting on the edge of the rocky lookout.

He needs a smoke, needs the burning in his lungs to distract him from the weight of what he had just admitted to Steve. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with a match, trying and failing to light the cigarette on three different matches before he decides to give up.

Steve taps his shoulder and hands Billy his zippo before sitting down next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Billy lights it up and takes a long drag, giving Steve back his light with a cigarette as thanks, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he can before he can respond. “Have to what?”

“Try to use magic on me.” Steve’s staring down at his hands, calculating every last word he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah, I know Harrington. It was creepy. Just drop it.” There’s a sharpness in that tone that hasn’t been there for months, and it makes the both of them wince.

Steve explains himself, hurt by the coldness, “No, I think it’s sweet! I mean, that you would do that for me.”

“Get over yourself. Was just messin’ around, wanted to see if I could do it.” That’s what gives him away. Billy was too sure of his own prowess for that to be all of it, and so Steve decides to press him for the truth.

“Don’t you want to know what I would’ve said though, if you asked me?”

“Honestly? No.” He really, really does.

Steve pretends like he doesn’t hear that and tells him anyways. “I like you Billy.”

It hitches his breath to hear that, but Billy’s got to be rational. “Yeah? You like me or the cinnamon?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s an ingredient in the potion, Steve. Do you mean it or did you get a whiff of that shit somehow?” He still doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the churning water, and it registers with Steve that he doesn’t want to see absent admiration, pinpoint pupils, any sign that this isn’t real.

So he assures him, his voice as soft as it can be, “I mean it. I really really like you, and if you’re not gonna believe me, then- then I guess I’ll just have to prove it.“

Who would’ve expected Steve to make the first move? Stumbling, bumbling Steve Harrington, the one to lean in first. But he is, it’s him who uses those long fingers to turn Billy’s face towards his and presses their lips together.

If, you know, there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand, like the fact that the boy he’d just tried to use love magic on was kissing him without the assistance of said magic, Billy might’ve been a little disappointed in himself to not be the one to initiate it.

But they’d have time for that argument later, about who did what when, right now his mind was more focused on not just sitting there, on moving his lips against the other boys and

It feels like forever before Steve pulls away to put a hand on the back of Billy’s head so he can bring their foreheads together.

Steve’s breathless as he says, “Wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in the parking lot.”

“Good. Didn’t want to have to brew any more.” Billy says without a hint of seriousness.

Steve nudges him with his elbow. “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

“No seriously, hibiscus is super hard to come by around here, couldn’t afford to waste any on you.”

Crossing his arms, Steve fixes Billy with a stern look that makes him laugh.

“M’only teasin’ ya pretty boy.” He crumples his cigarette into the asphalt and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “Kiss me like that again, would ya?”

And he does. Every time Billy asks, Steve’ll kiss him just like that first time, soft and gentle and sweet in a way he’s never had, no magic required.

Needless to say, Billy definitely won that bet.

[robbyrobinson]

Gods Awaken (XX)

“So you’re telling me that even though you destroyed that book Nyarlathotep got his powers back anyway?”  

“Yes, Eda, that is what happened,” Luz answered solemnly.  

Eda sighed. “Well, I guess that means we’re dead then.”  

Luz’s eyes gleamed. “We can all agree that it is worse than my realization that my Mom wrote the Good Witch Azura books and that I’m Emperor Belos’ granddaughter.”  

Eda nodded. “Yeah, that is ba-wait, what was that last part?”  

Luz chuckled. “Yeah, that was my exact reaction as well.”  

“Makes sense now that I think of it,” Eda noted, “but isn’t it kind of...”  

“Cliche?” Luz added onto her thought.  

“What is a cliché?”  

Lilith interjected. “This is not the most appropriate time for a conversation of this caliber.”  

The Owl Lady and the human girl nodded deciding to speak more about the revelation at a later time.  

The witches of Bonesborough scrambled to obtain a state of control over the sudden wave of dark magic that rocked the town and desecrated their buildings. Houses built alongside the body of the Titan crumbled; stores were wiped clean. Most of the witches set their differences aside to use their magic to prevent debris from falling on them.  

The streets were alive with the sounds of ceaseless chattering and raving over the events. Elder witches overexerted themselves with trying to use their magic spells to keep falling columns of buildings from flattening witchlings. From the destruction wrought, the sky darkened from a sudden storm. It thundered loudly as though it were a living creature. The light from the sun completely absorbed into the vast blackness of the insidious clouds.  

“What is going on!?” one of the male witches yelled.  

Thick, sickening black clouds rolled in silently with the currents. Due to the Boiling Isles’ equivalent of weather being a series of plagues, the witches were already dashing here and forth to get under some scrap of wood or a crude assembly of broken rocks to avoid their skin getting scorched by the acidic precipitation. The cloud loomed over the town for a couple seconds. The cloud swirled and writhed in sickly fashion until they merged together to create a large figure.  

It towered over the town with its ghastly size and boding physique. It was a man, swathing with blackness even darker than the darkest of nights. He resembled a man of some high status perhaps one of the elder kings. The man had some aura to him that made the witches freeze in place out of bewilderment.  

“Children of the Isles,” he announced, “it has been far too long, has it not?”  

The witches looked at each other befuddled. They could sense that there was a twinge of hostility he had with the declaration.  

“I see that your scholars had successfully managed to completely blight my name from the records of the Isles.”  

He snapped his fingers. A large slab of rock emerged from the ground and was crafted into a throne for the large being to sit down in. He flicked his fingers drawing a huge chalice filled with apple blood. He took a large swig of the sweet nectar before speaking again.  

“It is disheartening that this is the state that I left the Isles in thousands of years ago; after literally drawing into my very being and giving your ancestors magic, this is truly the gratitude that you would give me?”  

After taking a long drink of the apple blood, he tossed the chalice away blissfully ignorant of the explosion it caused. “All of you are ungrateful; that ungratefulness lasting from generation to generation. Well, no more.”  

Massive claws surged and bubbled on the Dark Man’s fingers. Before their eyes, he tore open a portal in the space-time continuum. The way in which he tore away reality with such ease amazed the witches but also filled them with despair. Never had they seen something of this caliber in the long history of the Boiling Isles. The sheer raw power that this tall man possessed was unnatural.

Droves of crustacean-fungus like anomalies escaped the rip in space-time. Like locusts, swarms of these creatures blotted out the sun. They came upon the citizens of Bonesborough in such frenzy and lifted them into the air. Swarm after swarm arrived to abduct more citizens and fly them to an uncertain fate.  

Smirking, he opened another portal and withdrew his scepter.  The large gem in the middle of it glowed and began to twist and pull reality around it. Portions of the Boiling Isles started to fade out of existence. The fabric of reality was further ripped down to the seams exposing the backdrop of the pure darkness of the void. Strange masses of tentacular monstrosities fizzled from the darkness of the void.

Before any of the witches could react, those that were captured by the winged anomalies were seized and suspended in midair. They fought against the invisible forces holding them in place, but all they could hear was the deep, sinister, shrilled laughter of their tormentors. Invisible, inky tentacles wrapped around them contributing to more frantic movement. With each movement only strengthening the monster’s grasp, sharp suckers stabbed their way through their bodies. Splintering pain flowed through their bodies as they heard the maniacal laughter of the obscure beasts and the hideous sound of their blood being greedily sucked away. Blood was visibly getting vacuumed through the tentacles of the beasts who now were shown as having no visible face rather a large mandible surrounded by endless numbers of appendages. They were becoming bloated from the blood.  

The tall man looked at the chaos with a lack of interest. Stretching his arms, he drew from the ground again and mentally crafted it into a chariot. Once the chariot was made, he summoned more creatures from the void. They resembled birds, larger than the ones typically seen on the Isles roughly the size of an elephant. And yet instead of beaks and feathers, they instead had heads calling to mind a majestic horse; in the place of their feathers were slimy, oily scales of a reptile. They flew in a galloping fashion neighing in the presence of their summoner. Legions of these bizarre horses stopped in front of the chariot and were strapped in ropes. He got up from his makeshift throne and perched his large frame in the front of the chariot.  

“For thousands of years ever since your ungrateful ancestors locked me away, the one thought consumed my mind; that being vengeance.”  

He stared over seeing Belos’ empire at a far distance. “You are all cordially invited to a party.”

They looked at the peculiar man with worried expressions.  

“Before this day is done, the Boiling Isles will be torn down brick by brick, to its smallest atom and from that level of devastation will birth a new age. Out of the ashes of the fire, I will build a new world where my acolytes will not know of what came before them and will pledge their allegiance to me and my alone.”  

The witches screamed in unison again. “What do you want from us?”  

He held his scepter out and twirled it at them. “My star protégé will be taking on one of your witches; consider this a good show that will satiate my boredom long enough to temporarily withhold the destruction of your world.”  

He took his scepter and smacked it against the rim of his chariot. The horse monster, now recognized as being his shantaks, squealed and began to flap their massive wings. With a galloping motion, the legions of winged creatures lifted the heavy chariot off the ground and into the air.

“Come on, put your back into it,” a teacher yelled.  

One of the teachers used their finger to create the illusion of a battering ram. With it, he sprinted for the entrance only for the device to fail when the dark magic holding the barrier in place rebounded on him. He was flung back landing where the guard that Nyarlathotep merged with the lockers was located.  

The Abomination Teacher ordered his abomination to use its fists to punch a hole in the barrier. Like any other abomination, it followed his command, but the result was always the same. The magic wall was reducing the abomination down to the stumps of his hands forcing the abomination to temporarily become undone and then reassemble itself to try again.  

“Are we going to die in here?” a student whimpered.

Principal Bump put his finger against his mouth. “Now, now, calm down, everyone: we are not going to die.”  

None of the students were truthfully convinced by the Principal’s words yet they were trying to grant themselves a little sense of normalcy. The Abomination Teacher called his abomination off and he looked at the school’s principal. “Sir, is there something on your mind?”  

“Could we discuss it by ourselves?”  

The Abomination Teacher ordered for his servant to keep guard of the students and walked over to Principal Bump. Sternness manifested through his eyes. “What is actually going on? Who was that man?”  

Principal Bump sighed. “There is so much more behind the history of the Boiling Isles that was expunged from the records; one of them involved a figure who was probably one of the most evil beings I have ever encountered: now I fear he had returned to his full power.”  

“Well, what can we possibly do about this...man?”  

Principal Bump shook his head. “The magic barrier he made was designed using a powerful, dark otherworldly spell that I am afraid no ordinary witch can ever hope to make as much as a dent in it.”  

Eyes widened, the Abomination Teacher spoke again. “B-but if the students find out-”  

“Hush!”  

Principal Bump looked behind a corner making sure that none of the other students were eavesdropping on their conversation. “We should probably keep the students occupied for a while to keep them from inciting a hysteria.”  

The Abomination Teacher also gave a passing glance behind the corner. “And there is nothing we can do?”  

“Aye; either Nyarlathotep returns and removes the enchantment spell he placed on the school, or”  

“Or?”  

“Or we could get lucky and have an Elder God come to our defense and destroy the barrier.”  

The Abomination Teacher squinted his eyes. “An elder god?”  

“It’s going to be a long discussion,” Principal Bump emphasized, “so listen carefully.”  

Skara and some of the popular clique took their text books and slammed them on the outside. The books returned at full force towards their owners. Only Skara was able to narrowly avoid getting creamed by the books by ducking, but the same could not be said for the other girls.  

“What kind of magic is this?” Skara asked aloud.  

Gus scratched his chin. “Looks like something you’d see being made by the construction coven.”  

He placed his hands against the wall of the barrier, pressing his palms. “Something tells me that this isn’t even the native magic common here.”  

“I am getting really concerned for Luz and Amity,” Willow said. “There should be some way to contact them.”  

She drew a circle in the air and retrieved her purple scroll. She tried to login to her Penstagram account, but the connection was not getting through. A few more of the students saw what Willow was doing and they to took out their scrolls to call for assistance. However, much like before, the connection was terminated.  

“Somehow the magic barrier had cut us off from the outside world,” Willow observed, “we’re sitting turtle ducks now.”  

As she turned away, she caught something in the corner of her eye with her peripheral vision. One of the students had a potted plant that was pitched at a window prior to their imprisonment. It appeared to be a cross between a Venus flytrap and a tomato plant. For whatever reason, likely because of it being almost tossed out the window, it had its large mandibles wrapped around a piece of the magic barrier keeping the shield from completing.  

“Willow, squeeze yourself through the opening,” Gus said.  

Willow looked carefully at the escape route that was seemingly pre-ordained. She then looked at Willow and the others. “Don’t worry; I’ll tell Luz what happened and maybe she and Eda can help us.”  

Taking a short breath, Willow cautiously slid herself underneath the opening while ensuring to not catch the wrath of the sapient plant. Her head and shoulders successfully slid under the barrier followed by her torso. Squeezing her ribs under, she froze for a moment upon hearing a crackling sound. Purple sap was dropping onto her abdomen. Looking up to her horror, the dark magic was slicing its way ever slowly through the potted plant. It still had a strong grip on the barrier, but for how long, Willow could not say. Scrambling, Willow’s forearms bent and nudged the grass.  

Grunting, Willow ben her body in a backward motion practically falling out the school with the back of her head. Now with better maneuvering, Willow quickly drew in her legs. The barrier sliced through the plant’s mandibles like a guillotine splattering its sap on the window and its sill. The school was now completely devoid of any alternative sources of escape. Willow got up on her feet and wiped the dirt off her clothes.  

“Don’t worry, guys, I’ll be back!”  

[gemstoneconstellations]

Request: Hey Sweet Tooth

Summary: You are an Irish candy crafter, getting ready to open your first sweets shop in Japan. Lucky you, a hero was spotted eating your sweets.

Wordcount: 1957

A/N: so the person who requested this deactivated their account? so yeah. here’s an irish reader and sato fic. my beta changed swapped some words around with irish terms and slang.

“Shoot! It’s almost three!” You quickly finished frosting the last delicate rose on a small cake. Rushing, you throw off your apron onto the table, dust off your long skirt for any unseen remaining flour before running to the front of the store. Every day, you put on a little show for the children walking home from school, with the help from your quirk. With small, gentle movements of your fingers, you can manipulate the movement of sugar and sugar-based treats. Currently, you are temporarily working part-time as an assistant to the head baker, an old classmate from confectioner school in France. You decorate cakes and make intricate candies for toppers.

Today, you were excited because the store would start selling your hard candies separately from the cakes and other baked goods, advertising for your own candy shop that will be opening in a few weeks. To celebrate, you’d decided to do something you’ve never done before: making life-like candy carvings of people. You can see children already gathering around the display window. You smile at them as you start placing the hard-candy figures down. Gasps could be heard from the other side of the window as the first candy was revealed to be a beautiful ballerina made entirely of clear pink strawberry candy.

You waved a hand over the ballerina, making her come to life and bow to her audience before dancing along her stage. The children watched in awe as the ballerina twirled and leapt through the air with nearly the same grace of an actual ballerina. In the middle of her dance, you discreetly placed down three villainous looking candies; you’d mixed in several other candies to make their color muddy and cloudy compared to the beautiful, clear color of the ballerina.

You have the villains surround the ballerina, who tried to run. Small hands and faces pressed to the window, anxious for her and crying for help. Then the hero came with his cape dancing in the wind! Based off of All Might and made with his colors of red, white and blue, the hero lifts one of the villains away from the ballerina. 

The hero took on the other two, tying them up with a rope made of licorice. The third villain snuck up on the hero as he was still busy with the rope. Little voices yelled for the hero’s attention. And just like the hero had swooped in for the ballerina, the ballerina twirled over and surprised the villain with a high kick. The villain was sent flying to the ground. The kids cheered as the ballerina and the hero both stood strong in heroic poses, the villains apprehended. You had all of the candy figures bow before freezing back into their original stances.

You placed a sign up, letting people know that the café is now selling hard candies made of the same candy used during the shows. You stepped out of the café to hand out small samples to the kids who’d stayed to watch. Hopefully, they’ll come back to buy some of their own later. You were greeted by happy voices who told you how amazing the hero and ballerina were; you had to bend down to their eye level so they’d stop pulling down your skirt. This was your favorite part of the day: getting to throw shapes with  your candy crafting skills and the other things  your quirk can do. The kids’ happiness is just icing on top of the cake.

The crowd began to disperse and you waved the last child goodbye before turning around, walking right into someone. The bag carrying all the samples slips through your fingers. “Ah, gabh mo leithscéal!I’m so sorry!” You quickly pick up a few candies back into the bag and look up at the person, only to see their knees. Your eyes continue up, your neck cracking from how far you have to crane it up to look at the person in the face. Holy shite, he’s huge!

“No, it was my bad.” The man squats down with you, helping you pick up the candies. You watch this man, who towers over you even in a squatting position, delicately pick up the small candies. 

You stood up once the last candy was picked up. He gave you a smile as he held out his hand to pour more candies back into your bag. “Thank you…um, keep them, they are free samples anyways. Trying to advertise for my shop that’s still in the making. Have a good day.” You closed his palm and head inside, waving him goodbye.

“I-I watched!” You stopped, turning back to him. He scratched his blushing cheeks. “Earlier, um…when you did that thing with the candies. It was cool.”

You smiled brightly, filled with pride at your work being recognized. “If you like those, come back and buy some more.” You rushed back inside, motivated to work even harder today.

~

“Welcome, lad!” You cheered when you heard the bell jingle. The tall man from your candy show had been coming back almost every week. He’d bought so much candy that you’d started calling him Sweet Tooth in your head. You greeted him as he came to the counter. “Oh hi stranger, how she cutting? Back for more candies?”

“Yeah…” He sheepishly nodded. You should really get his name. He might have told you before but you couldn’t remember and it felt fiercely awkward to ask at this point.

You started filling a bag with your small hard candies in it and made small talk with the loyal customer. “You sure got a sweet tooth.”

He only chuckled as he paid for the candies. “Hehe, yeah. I eat them at work a lot. Really helps me out.”

“That’s good!” You handed the bag to him but motioned him to bend down for you to whisper in his ear. “I put some extra candies in there, they’re new flavors. Come to my shop’s opening to let me know how you like them, okay? I’ll have some more flavors, ones you suggested, for next time.” 

He cleared his throat a few times before giving you a quiet thank you and running out the door.

~

You and the head baker got back from lunch to a shower of people in the café. One of the workers burst into the kitchen, looking relieved to see that the two of you finally come back. “Hey! We need more of those candies!”

Luckily, you had a stash still in the kitchen; over 200 candies fully wrapped and ready to go. “What is going on?” You quickly threw on an apron as you stepped out to the front.

“I don’t know but your candies are a hit!” The worker took the candies from you and ran out into a sea of people.

You clutched onto your chest, completely shocked. “Sweet and glory. It's a candy riot.”

“Yes, I want a bag of those Hero Candies!” a customer shouted.

“Hero Candies?” You looked to the head baker, who just shrugged.

“No problem! ___ is the wonderful candy artist who created them! We are currently out of stock for today, but you can reserve a bag for you for pick up tomorrow!” Out of stock?! Did you really just sell over 200 candies in two minutes!? What is going on?!

The previous worker came back and turned you around, shoving you back into the kitchen. “Hurry and make as many of those candies as you can.”

“But why are they calling them Hero Candies?” you questioned as you gathered ingredients.

Your friend shook their head. “I have no idea, but don’t think about it. Just think about how the sales are going to help fund your own store!” Fair point; you quickly got to work.

~

Opening day was class. People were lining up around the block to get into your store. The shelves for your “fill your own bag” section was completely barren and the display case only had a few items left inside it. And the Hero Candies were completely and utterly sold out. You had back orders for them for weeks! Somehow, a bunch of pro-heroes had been spotted eating candies with the wrapper that you’d designed, which had your shop’s name on them. 

One particular hero had been seen with them more than the rest: Sugar Rush. He’d apparently been spotted eating them constantly and a fan had asked where he got them. That’s how this entire riot had happened. You haven't even had time to look up the hero you owed all that free advertisement from.

You were closing up for the night when you heard the bell over your door and you turned to see one of your most loyal clients from the café. “Oh, Sweet Tooth! What’s the story? I haven’t seen you in a while!”

Sweet Tooth chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Heh, yeah. I haven’t been able to get away from work for a bit.” 

“I feel ya. It’s been so busy.” You rush over to flip the open sign over to “closed” so no more customers would come in. You crane your neck up to smile at him; you’d kind of forgotten how tall he really was.

Just like always, he was so bashful about his love for candy and anything sweet. It was adorable. “I see…you probably don't have any more of those candies? I can go if you're closing.”

You motion for him to follow you. “I actually put some to the side for you.”

“You did?”

You hum, walking behind the counter and pulling out one of your one-pound candy bags, full of the simple round, hard candies. “Aye. You've been so helpful with giving me advice on what Japanese people like when it comes to flavors, so I made a bunch of testers that I want you to try. You know so much, I'm surprised you only bake as a hobby. If you ever are in a need of a job, come to me.”

“Really? This whole bag is for me?” You slid over the bag, nodding. He took it, holding it to his chest like it was something precious and laughing at the tag on it, where you had written, ‘For Sweet Tooth’. “Thanks.”

He turned around to leave but you grab onto his shirt. “You can stay and try them. Willya?” You were especially eager to hear his opinion on the red bean and white peach flavors. You aren't a big fan of red beans, so it's hard to tell.

“Ah, yeah.” You smiled at him, satisfied that he was staying. You went back to sweeping up the floor around you. Sugar, flour, and all other kinds of powdery substances often get dragged up front from the kitchen. You made small talk with him, just catching up from the last time you guys had talked.

You suddenly remembered the reason why you’d so busy while you were cleaning the inside of your display case. “Do you know who Sugar Rush is?”

“Wh-What?” You must have caught him by surprise because you heard him cough and pound his chest a few times.

“He’s the one who got my candy to be so popular! I haven’t a baldy notion about Japan’s heroes yet so I need to look up this guy. I know this will die down in a few weeks, but this is a great start for my brand new shop. Ahhh, I’m so delira and excita about it, I could kiss that hero right on the mouth. If I ever meet him, he better watch out.” You stood up, throwing a towel over your shoulder and looked over to him. “Why do you look so red?”

[ohmrlove]

They Meet Your Family (on Thanksgiving)

Hi everyone! Long time no see! Work is very busy, so I’m trying to get around that however I can! (≧▽≦)

I hung out with my family yesterday and one of my cousins brought her new boyfriend--then this!

🍷 Victor 🍷

Is both ready and not ready to meet your family. On the one hand, it’s autopilot business mode--keep conversation going, on the other hand, IT’S YOUR FAMILY

Is afraid he’ll come off too blunt or intimidating because he knows he has hardcore RBF (resting bitch face)

Mentally prepares himself for all the ass-kissing and gushing. Probably makes some funny jokes and bets about how many people are going to do it

If you want to join in on that bet and do something fun, say he has to pledge a dollar or whatever amount towards the next couple’s night just so you can destress from all that!

If you’re serious about putting that pledge money somewhere, he’ll flip a coin or will get someone to randomly pick a charity

Second-most likely to get into an argument with THAT family member (or members)

If he’s tasked to cook a side dish, expect him to cook it multiple times because EVEN THOUGH THIS MAN IS A BANGING CHEF, HE’S CONVINCED IT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

iT cOuLd bE bEtTeR

You finally tell him if he makes it again, and you have to eat more of it, you won’t eat any come the gathering. Suddenly the last batch is enough

Would also DEFINITELY come through and offer to get something special ordered or catered if lots of people are coming or the ovens will be tied up (or no one wants to cook)

Is actually super uncomfortable because he knows everyone’s going to kiss his ass and ask all the nosy questions for at least an hour or two

He’s the one people catch playing with kids or cats and they’re surprised at how nice and carefree he looks

If he can’t talk down or make it pointedly clear that someone’s conversation is making other people uncomfortable (or they’re just toeing the line of being an ass), there WILL be words

Or he will make it known just by leaving. That sends a pretty clear message

Wants to help set dishes or the table but ends up feeling like a bumbling idiot in someone else’s home and is shooed away for being a guest. Victor feels like a freeloader and doesn’t like it

The one who knows everyone’s name and their taboo subjects because he studied this shit (also, he’s really good with names/faces anyways

📢 Gavin 📢

Also has a milder version of RBF

He speaks abruptly but not to the point of being intimidating. Gavin’s just not one for a lot of words. Too complicated

Blushes really easy during those beginning awkward conversations? Look at his ears and neck!

Stumbles through the first few conversations and DEFINITELY has to ask people to repeat their names

Relaxes after about an hour or if he finds someone he can connect with--someone into sports or who likes a show he watches, or likes to drink.

Is way more active than Victor so he’s the perfect kid-chaser and playtime buddy. He’ll never get tired!

Tolerates kids pretty well but is in the mindset of lecturing them and/or explaining why they shouldn’t do something if he sees ‘bad behavior’ happening

Probably co-conspired with another family member to do a fake arrest or spin some story for a really misbehaving kid :o

He thought it was funny but the kid was scared to death. You’re not amused

Is proud of his cooking when it comes to you two, doesn’t want to share it with your family. Either bought something from the store to look helpful (”S/O brought ‘x’, I brought more drinks. I hope everyone likes them.”) or just left the prep to you. He bought the ingredients and carried it in though.

The one that’s ready to help set up outside chairs and tables

He’s the one that makes cooks happy because he goes back for second (and thirds)

Isn’t the best at taking pictures because his eyes end up closed or his wind blew his hair the wrong way, but they eventually get a good shot of him. Boy’s photogenic, just awkward.

🔬 Lucien 🔬

Considers it an event in people watching

It’s also a treasure hunt for your personality--where did you pick up your traits and quirks?

He’ll mentally track any strong genetics. Things like that fascinate him.

Is 100% mentally prepared for a lot of his work to go over people’s heads. He’s used to phrasing his research different ways

He’s an extremely adaptable conversationalist; he’s got a wide range of topics and knowledge at the ready! Lucien just has to want to talk about it

Very self-conscious about talking too much, and ends up doing the exact opposite

Can BS his way into looking calm, but is actually extremely shy and careful with his words. If not for his smile and kind, watchful gaze people would think he’s being stiff and short with them

Would MUCH rather chase any animals around the house or play with toddlers.

Will answer all the ‘BUT WHY?’ questions little kids have

The one who’s hungry but doesn’t want to make his plate. You sense this and make him one. Lucien is legitimately hungry but also relishes the excuse of having his face full so he can’t talk

Probably ends up getting roped into giving a few diagnosis even though he’s not that type of doctor. Would be honest and tell them he’s guessing, and that he’ll ask around his network of people for more info

Once his introvert/people battery is burnt out he’d very much like to leave (please help him leave)

Probably dozed off after all the food; I can see him sleeping with his head on your shoulder or off in a comfy chair in another room

If your family has a nice backyard or lots of trees and things, he’ll want to go on a post-meal walk to see the flora and fauna

Will help the kids try to catch bugs or teach them about animals he saw on his walk (with pictures, of course)

Overall, he made a nice impression. He’d end up being that weird but cool uncle that’s a nice hermit kind of guy.

🎤 Kiro 🎤

He knows there’s no easy or good way to include himself in your family.

Everyone’s going to freak out and gush about him, given who he is

The two of you tried to ease into things and drop hints but that ended up amping everyone up for a big reveal they DID NOT expect

He’s not super worried, given his Evol, but he will DEFINITELY come to your defense if someone accuses you of trying to be with him for money

He’s also especially sensitive and disgusted with people trying to hook up with him (they’re your family? You’re dating?! You think he’d CHEAT?!) and will call them out on the spot. No shame.

Kiro loves you--you’re his moon and sun!--and he won’t tolerate that FOR A SECOND!

Is low-key exhausted when people ask him all the standard nosy reporter questions

Kind of hates that they ask him about all his travels and other celebrities. He gets that it’s the allure of a ‘celebrity’ but he wanted to learn about THEM. They can search his name and get ALL this info!

If this goes on for too long and he starts to feel like a spectacle, you’ll get him out of there quick and just have a private Thanksgiving

Is super nice and helpful with any kids. Keeps them all distracted and from underfoot while cooking happens

Prefers the joy and company of kids way more because they’re more honest and less...back-stabby? Snake-ish? than adults who think they’re smart and clever

Records nice little messages and videos for the kids or their friends, but won’t live message anyone.

Teaches them some easy choreography in another room or open space like a backyard

Is the unexpected CHAMP of eating--can put almost everyone under the table

Goes HARD on desserts because his agent isn’t here to stop him. Also, it’s rude not to at least TRY the food he’s offered!

The type to complain about how much he ate while trying to reach for one more bite. Stop this man. He has no self control.

If the kids have a craft room (to keep them from being under foot) and they make anything for him--especially if it has his name, like a bead necklace or bracelet--THAT’S NOT COMING OFF! It’ll probably show up in some interviews.

Survives the social onslaught but definitely enjoys getting back to the quiet of the road

If it’s a really long way back or you two flew out to attend, he’s excited to get back to the hotel and relax with you.

Hope you liked it! Happy late Thanksgiving to those who celebrated it!

[bgn846]

Satum Novum Chapter 1:High Seas FFXV Gladnis

This is a repost of an older work from AO3.  Hope you all enjoy. :)

Summary: Noctis gets kidnapped and Ignis is lost at sea after he tries to thwart the plot. Now as he struggles to save himself and locate the missing prince, he stumbles upon the last person he ever expected to find.   Gladiolus Amicitia, the shield that decided to become a fisherman instead.   Will he make it in time to rescue Noctis or has he failed his one and only friend?

Chapter 1:

The idea of death had crossed his mind several times.  The odds of being rescued were extremely rare and his body couldn’t hold out much longer.  Ignis wasn’t sure what was worse, the idea of traitors in the royal ranks or his princes questionable safety.  Not that it mattered he was going to die soon and no one would ever know what had really happened.

Treading water was an interesting thing.  A human could do this action for a couple days at most, but that was under certain circumstances.  Ignis had been in the water now for about eighteen hours.  Things flittered through his mind in uncoordinated bundles.  He had been grateful at first that the water temperature had been warm.  It saved him from catching hypothermia right away, though he was shivering now as he’d been in for far too long.  

However, his traitorous brain would then tell him this was merely prolonging his death.  Dying slowly was agonizing.  He knew he would run out of energy and sink beneath the waves to eventually drown.  With no water and nothing to drink he was pushing it already.

The items on his person that were waterproof, his watch and phone weren’t much use.  His phone had run out of battery and was out of range anyway.  His watch only served to remind him of the countdown to his demise.

Continuing to stay upright he focused on breathing.  Why was he even bothering, he was a dead man playing with time.  Then he saw it, a ship in the distance.   Despite the fact that Ignis knew they couldn’t see him, he still screamed at the top of his lungs.  Waiting for the ship to steer his direction was excruciating.   What if they went the other way?  He would watch his one and only chance at savior sail away that would be heartbreaking.   

Several times it appeared the ship was turning away and he nearly cried.  Then against all odds it got closer and closer.  He waved his hands and yelled hoping someone would see or hear him.  The moment when a tall dark haired man waved back and pointed to him was overwhelming.  The rush of relief at being spotted made Ignis temporarily stop moving.  Sinking beneath the surface he struggled to get his head above water once more.  His body was reaching its limits.

The dark haired man was shouting directions to his crew as they navigated the craft closer to Ignis.  It was a fairly good sized fishing charter boat, big enough that there was no way to board without a ladder.      

He kept sinking beneath the surface due to the shock of being rescued.   Someone shouted something, a warning, and then a life ring was thrown out for him.  Swimming to the floating ring was a challenge.  Ignis swallowed sea water as he attempted to stay afloat.  Finally he was able to grasp it and he could mercifully rest his legs and arms.

As the dark hair man pulled him closer, Ignis noticed another crew member with a new rope.  It had a harness attached.  Once he was next to the hull, the second rope was lowered with instructions for looping his arms and upper body into the harness.  He complied and then he began to feel himself being lifted.  Focusing on holding on tight he closed his eyes.  Part of his brain was unable to come to terms with the fact that he was being rescued.  It was so surreal, in a panic he opened his eyes to check it was still happening.

That’s when he saw his rescuer up close.  The tall dark haired man was holding onto his arm and hauling him over the railing.  He had long hair that was pulled back away from his face, and he was talking to him.  Ignis could barely process anything, he was dimly aware of hands removing the harness and being laid down.

“Hey buddy stay with me.” A voice urged.  “What’s your name?” The man tried again.

“I—Ignis.” He managed to croak.  His voice was raw from yelling and lack of water to drink.

“How long were you out here?” The man asked.

“More than a day.” Ignis rasped.  “He desperately wanted something to drink, but wasn’t sure he’d pass out before he was able to ask.    

“Shit!” The man exclaimed. “Prompto go fetch me water now!  Hey stay with me for a little bit longer.  You need to drink something and then I’ll take you below deck and get you dried off.”

This Prompto returned with the water, but that meant he had to sit up.  His body was done moving and was on strike.   His rescuer figured this out pretty fast and helped lever Ignis up into sitting position.  Making a move to take the bottle almost worked, Ignis was tired and uncoordinated so he faltered.  The dark haired man gave up after a second and brought the bottle to Ignis’ lips.

Normally this type of action would have not been tolerated by Ignis but he needed water.  It may have been a blessing he wasn’t holding it.  The man slowly tipped the water back and Ignis knew he would have tried to gulp the whole thing down in heartbeat.

“I’m not feeling so great.” Ignis mumbled.  “I’m cold.”

“Working on that next buddy, I’m going to carry you so don’t freak out.”

The next few minutes were odd indeed.  Ignis’ world tilted as this man picked him up off the deck.  Then a blur of dark and light spaces proceeded to pass him by.  Finally they stopped and he was being put down on the floor again.

“Prompto!  Kiddo where are you?  I need those towels.”  The man yelled.

The blond haired youth named Prompto appeared with an armful of towels.  He quickly came into the room and waited for more instruction.

“Hey Ignis.” The man spoke.  “I need to get you out of your wet clothes and dried off.  Are you okay with me doing that?”

Ignis managed a nod and tried fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt.   His fingers were numb, astrals this was bad.  The stranger got his buttons undone fast and tugged Ignis up into sitting position to remove the shirt.

“Prompto help me, make sure he stays upright.”

Ignis felt the blond haired man grasp his shoulders and hold him firmly.  It helped tremendously otherwise he would have fallen to the side ages ago.  His shirt was taken off and then his undershirt was pulled over his head.

Next came his shoes and trousers. Ignis chose to ignore the last shred of his dignity being stripped away, as his boxers were taken off.  He knew it was necessary and honestly it felt so much better to not have any wet clothing sticking to his skin.

The stranger spared him complete humiliation by quickly throwing a towel over his midsection once he was fully disrobed.

“You’ve got hair drying duty I’ll get his legs.” The man said as he handed a towel to Prompto.

Ignis zoned out, despite being out of the water and getting dry he was still shivering violently.  “Do --do you have a blanket?” He asked hoping they would wrap him up soon.

“I’ve got a bunk right here with a pile of blankets on it just for you.  Give me a sec.”

As promised a moment later the dark haired man bodily lifted him again and placed him in a bunk a few feet away.   Ignis sighed loudly in contentedness as the covers were pulled up around his body.  He might survive this ordeal yet.

“Try and relax, you’re safe, you can rest.” The stranger urged.

That was all Ignis needed to hear and he passed out.

--

“Uh Gladio – come take a look at this.” Prompto announced as he held Ignis’ clothes while they both stood in the common area.

“What is it Blondie?  Upset because he dresses better than you?”

“Hey! I like my style.” Prompto huffed. “Stop distracting me, this could be important.  Take a look at the label in his shirt; it says it came from the ‘crown tailors’.  Does that mean the crown?” He stressed.

Gladio trudged over finally and took a peek.  Sure enough the label inside read as Prompto had described it.  “Have you heard any chatter over the radio about any boating accidents?”

“Nothing, which is really weird right?” The younger man pondered.  “Unless it was on a secret mission and the boat sank and Ignis is the only survivor.”

Staring at the blond Gladio sighed heavily.  “You and your imagination.  If there had been other people don’t you think Ignis would have said something about looking for other survivors?”

“Not if he is sworn to secrecy and the mission failed.”

Rubbing his face with his hands Gladio chose to walk away and rummage through the food stores.  “I’m going to go sit with him in case he wakes up again.  I’m worried he didn’t drink enough water before he passed out.   You gonna keep my boat float?”

“Okay you have trained me really well on that part; I promise I won’t let anything too terrible happen.” Prompto swore as he crossed his heart with his fingers.

Pursing his lips together Gladio shook his head.  “I’m not sure whether to be happy that you know your limitations or worried that you know your limitations.”

“Oh go I’ll be fine.  I know where you are and I can use the P.A.  if I need to.”

“Fine.” Gladio huffed as he grabbed some apples and water.  Smiling at Prompto he turned and left the common area. His blond friend was an odd ball for sure.  Poor guy had been chased down by a bunch of local thugs one night, and he’d sought solace on Gladio’s fishing boat.   Why on Eos he’d been trailing around the run down port of east Niflheim was beyond him.

Gladio had finished his business and put out to sea without even realizing the plucky kid had gotten stuck in his bait hold.  He remembered getting the fright of his life when he went to check the bait stocks.   All he saw was a shock of blond hair and a skinny arm reaching out to grab him.

That was almost two years ago and no matter how hard he tried the guy wouldn’t leave.  Not that he minded so much, it was nice to have company when he was in between fishing seasons and down a full crew.

Approaching his cabin he pushed the door open slowly and walked in.  Ignis was still unconscious but thankfully he’d stopped shivering.  He’d only left him for about ten minutes and he looked so much better already.  Gladio figured he’d wait another hour and then try and wake Ignis up to drink something.  For now he setup his hammock and grabbed a book.  

--

Panic gripped the advisor as he awoke.  Where was he? What had happened to Noct?  The gentle shaking of his shoulders stopped when he finally opened his eyes.  It was immediately evident that his face had betrayed his fears.

“Whoa Ignis don’t freak out, you’re still safe.  I picked you up in the open sea about two hours ago.  Remember?” His rescuer asked.

The memories of his hellish adventure came flooding back.  The royal vessel and the traitors that had so cruelly shoved him overboard, he could only pray that Noct was unharmed.  He needed to find his prince before it was too late.  “I need to go.” He uttered quickly.

“I figured you’d say something like when you woke up. I’ve already charted a course back to the main land.”

“Where?”

“A fairly decent sized port near Altissia.  I can radio ahead if you need to deliver a message of any kind.”

“No!” Ignis hissed that was the last thing he needed.  He had no idea how many other kingsglaive had been turned.  

The stranger held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Don’t stress, I won’t do anything until you’re ready.”

The response calmed Ignis somewhat.  At least he didn’t have to fight with this man over things of that nature.  “What do I call you?” Ignis asked suddenly when he realized he had no name for his savior.

“The names Gladiolus Amicitia, but you can call me Gladio.” He smiled.  

Ignis blinked stupidly at Gladio.  Blaming his exhaustion for being unable to think clearly he tried to find out more information.  “Who’s your father?” He asked weakly.

Gladio narrowed his eyes.  “I’ll play fifty questions with you but you need to drink some water first.”

Oh.

The thought of water was so pleasant it nearly distracted him completely.   Working an arm out from the covers he reached out to take the bottle.   Gladio carefully helped him sit up so he could drink.   After the bottle was drained Ignis became aware of his state of undress.  He opened his mouth to speak again but Gladio cut him off.

“I’ve got some spare clothes for you if you’re able?”

Nodding quickly earned him a lap of comfortable looking garments.  Gladio remained by his side as he pulled the worn but very soft t-shirt over his head.  It was good that Gladio was nearby, as he almost toppled sideways out of the bed, when the shirt was over his head.   He could add lack of balance to his list of problems.

Laying back down Ignis took the sweatpants and managed to don them while staying under the covers.  He sighed heavily after the task was complete.  “Thank you.” He mumbled, sleep was threatening to take him again.

“Let me cut you up an apple before you pass out again.” Gladio added as he patted Ignis’ shoulder.

Watching as the dark haired man pulled a chair over to sit beside him, Ignis worked to remain awake.   He focused on Gladio cutting the apple and watched his fingers work the blade around the fruit.

“Here.” He offered as he held out a small slice.

Ignis accepted and munched slowly, astrals he was hungry.   Accepting each slice gratefully he was starting to relax slightly.

“So my father is Clarus Amicitia, the King’s shield.  However, I have a feeling you already knew that.”

“Did my phone make it?” Ignis asked suddenly.

“Huh? A yeah it did actually.  Prompto’s charging it now.  Fancy with technology these days eh, making water resistant phones and all.”

“I must get to shore quickly.” Ignis reiterated.

“Don’t worry I’m working on it trust me.”

“When was the last time you saw your father?” Ignis asked as he bounced back to the topic at hand.

Gladio rubbed at the back of neck.  “I dunno exactly but it’s been a while.   After my mom died, when I was young, I went to live with an Aunt.  My younger sister and I spent our youth visiting dad on the weekends.  That got to be hard with his work schedule so we stopped going after a while.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Ignis offered.

“I have good memories, which helps, but it was still sad not being with him all the time.”

“May I ask why you haven’t taken up the family profession?”

Gladio scoffed.  “I’ve trained for it, believe me.”

Ignis knew this was true simply based off of Gladio’s actions to date.  He’d been picked up twice already by the man, and he could see his muscled physique plain as day. “What happened then?”

“I didn’t want to get sucked into a life that wasn’t my own.  I grew up never seeing my dad and it was because of his job.  I didn’t want to do that to my sister.”

“But aren’t you out on this boat a lot?” Ignis asked unable to stop himself.

“Yeah – you got a point there, but I do spend the off season at home with Iris, my sister, and she tags along sometimes.  Titan’s ass, listen to me rattle on about shit you don’t care about.  Sorry.” Gladio admitted.  

“I don’t mind, it’s nice to hear actually.” Ignis had been curious about Clarus’ home life or lack thereof.  He’d known the man had children but he’d never met them.  Sighing he decided he might have to divulge more information about his situation.  He had a feeling he might need the services of a runaway shield.

“So what about you? How’d you end up floating in the middle of the sea?” Gladio asked with a concerned look.  “You don’t have to answer that yet, I really should let you rest.  You look wicked tired.”

It was true Ignis was struggling to stay awake, but he did feel it might be beneficial to share some of his story.  “It’s alright, you deserve to know more.” He added right before he yawned widely.

“You need to sleep, it can wait.”

“Mmm sleep does sound wonderful, but I must tell you some part of my story in case it proves useful.” Ignis could see the look of confusion cross Gladio’s face.  “My full name is Ignis Scientia and I’m the royal advisor to his highness Prince Noctis.”

Gladio appeared dumbstruck.  “I would hear my father mention someone by the name of Scientia when I was younger.  The prince’s future advisor and babysitter, if I recall.”

Ignis smiled at that remark.  “Ah yes I do still hear that occasionally.”  The thought of caring for his prince did reignite his worry.  “I was accompanying the prince on a special fishing trip when I discovered there were traitors in our midst.  I was unable to act fast enough and they literally shoved me overboard in the dead of night.”

“Damn!  That’s shitty.  The astrals must want you to save him since you got rescued.   Honestly, I wasn’t even meant to be where I was when I found you.  I’d gotten off course and was about to correct it when I saw you waving.”

That information caught Ignis off guard.  He wasn’t expecting to be told of his near doom.  “Oh – that is – uh.” The advisor couldn’t figure out what to say.  Being reminded that he had nearly died was doing funny things to his brain.  The feeling of tears pricking at his eyes surprised him.  Taking a deep breath Ignis worked to calm down.  He’d been saved and that’s what mattered.

“Oh sorry I didn’t mean to upset you.  Try not to focus on the ‘what if’s’ you’re safe now.”  Gladio announced kindly.

“Can I ask that you keep this information quiet for now?  I’m not sure who I can trust.”  Ignis asked seriously.

“Sure thing, you’re lucky my dad likes you otherwise we might have a problem.”

“Huh?” Now it was Ignis’ turn to be confused.  “I thought you didn’t talk much anymore?”

“Yeah well you’ve been in service to the crown for a long time, and I do remember my dad talking about you.  Nothing personal just that he thought you were a good influence on the prince.  I’ll have to take your word that you’re not one of the traitors.”

“I would die for highness; I can assure you I’m one of the good guys.”

“Well you almost did die for your prince already, so hopefully you won’t have to do it again.” Gladio added.  “Now rest, I’ve chewed your ear off for far too long.”

Ignis hummed his approval and closed his eyes.  He could feel the blanket being pulled up to cover his shoulders.  Shoving his thoughts aside he tumbled into sleep once more. 

--

“What do you mean he’s disappeared?” Noct yelled. “People don’t disappear on a fucking boat!”

“Highness watch your language.” Drautos hissed.

“I will do no such thing, my friend is missing and we need to figure out what happened!”

“You must consider the possibility that he slipped and fell overboard last night.”  Lazarus offered with a sneer.  “It’s hard to see at night and the seas were choppy.”

“Ignis is smart he wouldn’t have fallen overboard.  We need to turn around and backtrack; we need to find him before he drowns!” Noct added frantically.    

“I’ve put out a distress call just in case there are any other boats in the area.  They will keep an eye out.” Drautos added with little sympathy.

“No this is unacceptable.  We are turning around now!  That’s an order!” Noct huffed crossing his arms and frowning.

Drautos looked irritated and he looked to Lazarus with a glare.  “Of course highness.  Lazarus go tell the captain to get this boat turned around.”

Lazarus left quickly and then it happened.  Noct watched in horror as Drautos suddenly morphed into a full suite of magical armor.   The ensuing battle was far from fair.  Sure, he could use his magic to defend himself but it wasn’t working real well.  Fighting on a boat was hazardous.  One wrong move and the boat would sink essentially dooming them all.  The turning point had been when Drautos had threatened just that.

He had forced the battle down to the cabins below and was ready to open a hole in the bottom of the vessel.  Noct was livid he’d been duped by the very captain of the guard.  A small hope flickered in him that Lazarus had made a distress call.   That idea was squashed when he saw the glaive coming to join them.

“Put it on him.” Drautos ordered.

Before Noct could ask, Lazarus was standing beside him holding a metal collar.    “I’m not wearing that fucking thing!” he sputtered.

“You don’t have a choice.  Put it on or I’ll sink the boat.” Drautos growled.

After an intense stare down Noct finally took the offending item from Lazarus and fastened it on his neck.  The device blocked his use of magic.

“If you try and remove it, it will electrocute you.”

The prince wished it was full of explosives instead.  He would have considered trying to remove it with them all on the boat.   He would at least be taking down two traitors.  His advisor was most likely dead and things were looking grim.  “Why?” he asked curtly.

“Nothing personal highness, I want money plain and simple.  Lazarus, lock him in his cabin would you.” Drautos ordered.

Once inside his room Noct sat down and tried not to cry.  This was so bad.   He needed to figure out how to send a distress call.  Reaching for his phone revealed no signal.  He’d need to get to the bridge above to use the radio.  Without his magic that was going to be a hard task.

The Eos was a boring place these days.   There had been no major wars in the last three hundred years, and no one died from the scourge anymore.  The history books were full of tales of the black death but the malady had been banished half a millennia ago. Even the daemons that roamed the lands were gone.  Monsters still lurked here and there but they were manageable.

Some ancient Lucis Caelum had come back to life and saved them all.   Or at least that’s how the story was told.  No one knew exactly what had happened, merely that the current Lucis Caelums were tasked with protecting the crystal that gave life to their Eos.  He used its very magic to fight with and it felt brilliant.  What a waste to have such power and not use it for domination.  

However, the soldier wasn’t stupid and he knew a rebellion of that nature would never work.  The Eos liked being at peace.  The idea had come to him to operate on a slightly smaller scale.   Every large city across the Eos had a darker side.

Organized crime.

Once he’d completed this mission and gotten his ransom money he was going to relocate to Niflheim and open up shop as it were.  He had power, and he would have money to go with it soon.  He’d instructed Lazarus to plot a course to angelgard.   The time had come to make his move.

>Next Chapter 2 or read on AO3

[blog-in-a-corner]

TSOTBL - Static

It was midnight, everyone had fallen asleep by now, everyone but Lucinda.

Although Lucinda had fallen asleep earlier, she woke up a few hours later and couldn’t fall back asleep.

“Irene! This whole damn trip has been exhausting and I can’t even get some shut eye.” Lucinda muttered to herself, tossing and turning in bed. “Ugh I just wanna fall asleep!” She said aloud, getting up and out of bed. “Maybe some nice hot tea might help me…”

Lucinda exited her room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She grabbed a pot from one of the cabinets, brought it to the sink and filled it with water. She turned on the stove and set the pot on it, then grabbed a mug and a small box of tea from one of the cabinets and pulled a packet out for herself. She set everything down on the counter as she waited for the water to come to a boil.

“Geez, this place is way creepier at night….but hey, it’s not like there’s actually anything out of the ordinary in this boring old town.” Lucinda thought to herself, looking around the kitchen. “I hope this tea will help me go to sleep, I’m tired and want nothing more than to go to bed, but...I don’t know something kinda felt weird up there when I was in bed, the atmosphere felt almost kinda...I don’t know, like static? I guess that would be the best way to describe it. But I don’t feel that anymore down here….perhaps I’m just thinking things.” Lucinda checked on the pot, the water still wasn’t quite ready yet. “Just a few more minutes and I can go back to my room…” She looked out the window, and gazed at what little she could see in the dark. “Gosh it looks like it’s freezing outside, how have the residents of this town not frozen to death by now?” She looked away, but then quickly looked back. “Funny, I thought I saw something move just now. I’m probably just seeing things. I can barely make anything out from here anyway.” She looked back to the pot, still not ready. “I hope Kim is okay. I haven't been able to get her to say anything about her strange behaviour, but I'm getting to know more about her now, that's for sure.” The water had finally come to a boil.

She poured the water into her mug, and dipped a tea packet into it, she grabbed a spoon to stir it. She left the kitchen and proceeded to walk back to her room. On the way to her room, she heard something odd.

“Huh? Is that...whispering? But where is it coming from?” Lucinda mumbled, stopping by the entrance of the corridor. She followed the whispers as they got louder.

“I don’t know…” a voice trailed off. “Is that…?” Lucinda thought to herself, passing each room.

108, 109, 111, 113-

“That doesn’t sound like….” the voice trailed off once more. “Garroth…?” Lucinda thought to herself in confusion. “Who could he possibly be talking to at this hour? Zane? Aphmau?”

115. Garroth’s room.

“It’s just.…no it’s not like that...” Garroth could be heard, right from outside his room door. “Who’s he talking to? I can hear his voice, but I can’t hear anyone else in the room…” Lucinda thought, stopping at his door. “I’ll just...check on him.” “But what if-” just as Lucinda put her hand on the doorknob, Garroth’s voice was cut off. “Huh? He stopped talking…” Lucinda uttered, hesitating to open the door.

Lucinda struggled to open the door, as it seemed to be slightly jammed, but she pushed through nonetheless. She opened the door to see Garroth in bed, reading a book.

“Hey Garroth, are you alright? I thought I heard you talking,and I wanted to be sure everything was fine…” Lucinda asked quietly, staying in her place, holding the door open. “I’m….fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured reading something might help, but I haven’t been able to put this book down since I started reading it! Kinda the opposite effect than…what I was hoping for...” Garroth giggled nervously, holding his book close to him. “I see…” Lucinda muttered, slightly doubtful of Garroth's explanation. “Then again, it is Garroth…” She thought, before returning to the conversation. “I haven’t been able to sleep either. But do try to get some sleep okay? We’re going to be busy for a little while longer.” “Yeah….sure. Don’t worry about it.” Garroth muttered, placing the book beside him. “Alright then. Goodnight.” Lucinda said quietly, closing the door and walking back to her room.

Lucinda went back to bed and snuggled into her blankets. She took a sip of her tea, it had cooled down enough to drink.

“I should try to fall asleep, hopefully this tea helps me get over this...weird, static feeling.” She mumbled to herself. “That book Garroth was reading though….it did look...awfully strange. Then again, it’s from an old as hell library so....perhaps I’m just looking into things too much. This place does nothing but give me the creeps. I can’t wait till this trip is over and we can all go back home…”

Lucinda finished her tea and fell back into bed. She was able to fall asleep, eventually.

___________________________________________________________________

It was five in the morning. Not many people were awake at this hour. Who would want to be? It’s freezing and dark as pitch at this hour.

“Ugh why do we have to take in the stock so early?” Michi groaned, desperately trying to warm herself up. “Because we have to get back to the store in time for opening!” Liochant reminded, carrying one of the crates sent to the liquor store and setting it inside his truck. “No one even goes there!” Michi argued, throwing her hands up in the air. “That’s not true! We still have an average of about, 5 or 10 people a day. Besides we’re getting paid we might as well be getting paid to do something.” Liochant insisted. “How is that liquor store even still open?” “Well you see-” “I changed my mind, Michi doesn’t care.” “Oh alright then. Now c’mon help me get this last crate into the truck so we can go open.” “Okay...” Michi pouted, helping Liochant lift the crate into the truck.

Liochant and Michi went inside the truck and drove back to the liquor store. They took down the crates and left them in the back of the liquor store. They then entered the front of the store.

“Ah, what a beautiful morning!” Liochant sang, turning on the open sign. “Yeah, sure…” Michi rolled her eyes, standing at her place at the register. “Oh c’mon Michi lighten up!” Liochant insisted cheerily.

“I’ll lighten up when the sun decides to lighten up this ghost town for once. Did the sun ever actually exist here once or is it a foreign concept to this place.” Michi snorted. “Oh great, our first customer is that weird guy in the cloak.” Michi groaned, looking out the store doors. “He’s not weird! He’s a regular customer here! Besides you know his name, its-”

Liochant was interrupted by the jingle of the door opening.

“Hi! Welcome!” Liochant cheered, turning to greet the customer. “What can we do you for? The usual?” “No, no...I need something else today…” the cloaked figure explained, grabbing an assortment of items. “Wow that’s uh...odd assortment of items you’re buying there. What’s it for?” Liochant commented, as Michi rung everything up. “...Something I’ve been meaning to do for a while….” the cloaked figure responded quietly. “Ah….”

Once he finished paying, the cloaked man left the store without another word.

“Have a nice day!” Liochant shouted, waving the man goodbye. “That guy will never not give me the creeps…” Michi muttered, looking at the man walk out of sight. “He’s not creepy!” “Didn’t you see what he was buying? That guy is totally going to murder somebody.” “No he’s not! Sure a knife, a lot of rope, and a bunch of cloth is a weird assortment of items but hey! Maybe he does arts n’ crafts!” Liochant argued. “Nya~, whatever you say. Michi is staying away from him.” Michi stated mockingly.

But that would be for better or worse.

[the-collectim]

.:RP:. A Day at Suzume

Characters: Chuuya Miyahara (male Raen), An Yeung (male Duskwight)

Rating: General.

Origin Date: 24 Feb 2019

Fresh off business for the Suiren Temple’s opening, An Yeung has some steam to blow off. So he heads for a rather unassuming paper shop in the Rakuza district

Normal text = Chuuya

Italics = An Yeung

{ xxx } = hand signing

-----

It was another day at Suzume. The shop was in the Rakuza arts district to the north of Kugane, tucked away. There was just enough foot traffic for people to find the shop by chance but hidden away enough in a nook to lay quiet and unnoticed if needed. That was because it was property of the Azuma-gumi, one of the top three yakuza syndicates in the city. Innocuous as the paper and souvenir shop may seem, the men lingering outside the store playing go atop a crate were armed, tattoos hidden from sight.

Chuuya was hard at work in his room, the sliding doors open to the tiny garden in the back. There was no fear he would run. Where would he go? Besides there were always guards about. It was something the young man resigned himself to as just part of his life. He had no clients at the time and he sat at the large desk he did his work at, seated properly on the floor and taking a thin blade to pale paper, carving out intricate, razor-thin and precise shapes that looked as if they'd break with an ill-intended breath.

The red kimono sat low on his shoulders, another thing forced upon him that was routine. He was pretty. And his employers used that to make up for his other flaws. That and the long snow-white hair that as tied loosely back in a subtle, but elegant style.

  An Yeung was flustered. His name was not shared with Lord Bai, but he was still very much a sworn brother. To be looked upon as lesser and regarded as such was a frustrating thing. He should have just talked freely rather than thinking to be mindful of fragile Doman sensibilities and egos. 'This humble one' his ass!

Walking up to the shop, Yeung just eyed the men playing their game of Go and went right by. Let them cause trouble, he'd gladly knock them right into their place. The jug of peach flavored rice wine swung on its rope in his hand as he went up the stairs and opened the door to the shop. The boots already being slipped out of as he balanced there from one leg to the next. He wouldn't prance all over the shop in the things he had been wearing all about the city and residential quarters for most the day. He wasn't that barbaric.

"Ge ge!" He called out as he made sure the boots were out of the way of the door.

  The guards were used to the odd Elezen but they usually let him come and go. He bought things, after all. Though one did get up and follow after eyeing the wine and visible irritation of the dark-skinned man. They did have a job to protect their wares and that included the Raen hard at work.

Speaking of, he looked up from his design towards the sliding doors at the call. An Yeung? But he'd just visited not too long ago, it felt like. Or had it been? It was hard to keep track of time when one was a victim of routine. A click of his tongue and a small red panda scampered down from its cushion in the rafters. A fluffy cute lil thing, it had been trained from near-birth by Chuuya. It scampered over the paper doors, nudging at it and then having enough space to stick its head in the cap to open it up and peer up. Aka just stared up at man. Oh, he knew this one!

   "Hello Aka." He gave a wave to the panda and squatted down a hand reaching out to rub the top of the red pandas head. A grin spread across his face from the moment he saw the critter to this very moment. The jug making a sloshing and blop sound as it rested down on the ground. "I'm sorry to have forgotten treats today! The stand was fresh out of yakitori when I went by."

   The panda stood on its hind legs to enjoy the full motion of such pets! He was such a spoiled lil thing! Indeed he was sniffing for treats, paws out to grab at the guest's sleeve. Where is?

Meanwhile Chuuya was smiling, setting his tools down. Spotting the guard that had followed, he raised a hand in a comforting motion. He had no fear of An Yeung. Besides....as if they would be too far anyway. The yakuza made a face at that and nodded. He was winning his game, likely his partner already manipulated the board while he was away!

With that done, the Raen shifted properly to face the entryway, hands in his lap as he watched the attention lavished upon his furry friend.

After only a few more moments, An Yeung plucked up the critter in one arm as the jug hung from his other's wrist. His coppery eyes settling across the way to Chuuya whose desk he walked right over to before plopping right down on the spot. The Duskwight already at the pinnacle of height for his kind just leaned there and sat the wine down on the desk, careful of the work being done and kept the Panda in his lap to continue scritches.

"I'll bring treats next time! Unless you want a cup of wine~" He teased the red panda as he rubbed at its belly and looked over to Chuuya. "Aw...you could have left the guard. It's fun to test how much I can get away with around them."

  Aka was perfectly content to skitter up that arm and drape himself about this tall tree's neck. Well-behaved, he was!

Chuuya shook his head with a small frown. No, not messing with the guards. And the dark red eyes looked to the wine in a bit of disapproval. Alcohol never did anyone any good. ‘{You're back in town already? The business has opened?}' he signed with a tilt of his head. He'd heard rumor of the Elezen poking about but he was never allowed to wander over into the residential districts to see things himself.

  '{Things are smooth there.}' His signing, as always, was short even if it was smooth. "Though I've a lot to say to Lord Bai that he will likely enjoy." A heavy sigh left him and he leaned on the desk. His chin upon the heel of the hand, the other on top of the silk cover of the clay pot of brew, and a finger tapping at it as he looked over Chuuya's handiwork. "Granted if some stuffy Doman samurai thinks he'll just waltz out of his room for them, they got a surprise coming for them."

  '{Samurai?}' The frown returned to his pale face. '{And Doman?}' True, Doman businesses were popping up here ever since refugees managed to make it across the Ruby Sea years and years ago before Hingashi closed its ports. But to hear of one causing issues? '{What did you do to anger them?}' was the instant assumption.

He stood at that, a practiced graceful gesture that would make a geisha proud. Chuuya needed to make some warm tea!

   "I am an angel!" An Yeung declared; feigning hurt as finger tapped at the top of the jug. "The most humble of servants to the house of Bai, and I'd never slight my sworn brother's name so sloppily."

Really. He huffed a flop of that ginger-and-white hair out of his face only for it to fall back in place. The Duskwight not even wearing a pout, but instead a slight frown. Though his attention followed Chuuya's movements. Really the Raen was so neat and orderly.

"They were the ones that wouldn't let me read the letter they were handing me for Lord Bai, saying I had no right to it. Even after I showed them my white jade crest, and Atlas affirmed I was very much the most trusted right hand of the Lord Playwright!"

  There was a small stove to the other end of the large room, purposely /away/ from all of his crafting materials. A portable crystal-powered thing that he detested still to this day. It never heated evenly. A pot was put on, water poured in from a pitcher on a stand. Now it would only take forever to heat up with its pitiful heat! But none of that irritation never showed as Chuuya padded back over, listening to his companion's gripes.

He sat back down, tucking the deep red cloth about his legs properly. '{Some are paranoid. I heard rumor that with the war over, there are those looking to falsify documents as former lords. Maybe they were afraid you were playing a game?}' Always one to give the benefit of the doubt.

  "Pffft, like we of Nanxia would lower ourselves to such a point to pretend to be lords." An Yeung huffed at that. Though he moved to pull the covering off the jug and lifted it by the rope to take a drink. "That said the temple is coming along nicely, ge ge. It is a shame I couldn't show you it in person. When a Kami resides there it will be even more splendid."

The change of topic chosen so he didn't have to think about that insufferable samurai. Why was it when you put a sword in their hands they became so insufferable? A man with a blade was no better than a commoner. They all bled the same color red in the end, and breathed the same air. Ugh just thinking about it made him want to roll his eyes, but An Yeung resisted that temptation.

  There was the slightest bit of disapproval on the Raen's face but he said nothing. Well...signed nothing. It wasn't his place to correct another. What to do... Ah. Turning a bit, he reached under the low desk for a small box. Opening it, he took out a piece of his work and handed it over. Once he'd heard the name of the place, he had to do something to commemorate it! It was all the artist could do to offer encouragement.

It was handed over properly with both hands, a small smile on his face.

An Yeung glanced over at the handiwork. That was a good enough distraction, and sure enough he licked wine from lips before taking it in hand to glance over. With his hands being careful in holding the piece, he at least couldn't drink from that jug so it was a good choice in distractions. Plus how could he not look at what Chuuya made? It would be downright criminal not to look and praise him!

"It's lovely work as always, Chuuya." He praised, the grin softening a bit. "I'm sure Lord Bai will love to see your work on display in Suiren Temple, and so will whatever Kami comes to rest there."

  The praise meant more from someone that wasn't holding his chains and the Raen couldn't keep a smile off his lips, his tail swishing over the cushion behind him. '{No charge this time.}' He added, a little flip in his gestures giving off a vague feel of light teasing. The long thing hands paused before he continued. '{I'd love to do work for the Temple but there has to be a contract in place. And do you really want my work in a holy place?}'

"Why would your work not be fitting?" An Yeung inquired as he looked over towards Chuuya. Really it was remarkable, and he didn't think the Kami would care about such frivolous details like where it originated from. "Plus you know well enough Lord Bai will pay any fee you ask of his coffers for your work. Your work for the last play drew several people to his stage after all."

A light click of his tongue and he moved carefully to place the piece down and back into range for Chuuya to take back. His expression light as he noted to reaction to that praise. Ah it was good to see the Raen in better spirits.

"Maybe I'll have to kick your guards' backsides and spirit you off to see it one day." Kami knew the Duskwight had yet to have a good fight in ages. Biming kept out of trouble which left Yeung restless and bored. "That would be quite a trip to take indeed. Once we've Kami and a priest, that is."

  Instant panic at the suggestion chased away and contentment, ever-fleeting. Eyes were wide and he waved his hands 'no.' To have the yakuza after An Yeung and they would know for sure of a new shrine opening and the name attached to it. They could all be killed, the place burned down. Or even worse, the soft power of threats to keep petitioners and students away! That would slowly suffocate any place.

Another wave of his hands in that no gesture. '{I can't do that, we both know it. Please don't say such things.}' He nodded to the doors. The guard may have left but still, ears were about.

   "Aye..." The relenting word left him, but he did muse at the panic that came with the suggestion. It was always amusing to work up the other. His fingers moved to make for the jug again. "I wouldn't tempt tigers to act against small birds."

A private metaphor for Biming's work. The playwright didn't just write poems and plays, after all. He was a collector of Magpies as much as secrets. Though he was of the benevolent sort as long as someone didn't cross his path in the worst way. No that An Yeung had to regularly go out of his way to crush threats and problems for the reclusive lord.

"I should say such bold things more often if they get that kind of reaction!" he teased.

  That seemed to only make the worry stay! If the Duskwight did say such things so much, it wouldn't take much to bar him from the shop. And to lose an acquaintance, his only one that wasn't simply a customer, would...be terribly lonely. Now that Chuuya had had a taste for such social things, it would be terrible to be deprived of them once more.

'{Just, please, watch what you say.}' With that, his hands fell to his lap, nervously wringing in the silk of the kimono.

  An Yeung's orange gaze just watched him worry at that kimono silk, and he let out a relenting sigh before drinking down a measure of wine straight from the jug once more. It was back on the desk soon after. Those long dark fingers just resting over the lip of it. Though he was once more sitting there quite lazily, elbow on the desk, and chin in hand. His fluff of short cut hair barely hiding the violet tinged face from the wine.

"I shall, ge ge, I shall." He assured. "I'm only teasing you. Kami...there need be something they'll let you do! You can't be cooped up in this fancy cage...shop...thing...all the time."

  Red eyes glanced out the window that let to that tiny yard, the wood of a building right there as well. There was no clear sky, just the scent of the ocean that managed to waft down these alleys. '{I can go for walks once a moon.}' His motions were more resigned, less with the energy from when An Yeung had first arrived. '{They are kind to allow me such an opportunity.}'

"You need see the sky and sea more than that." He let out a sigh and let eyes close.

To him it still made little sense why they would keep the Raen locked away like this. What was he? Some prized consort? An Yeung could almost believe such a thing to be frank. Especially as he looked over him.

"Let’s go see it tonight." One coppery eye opened to look to him. "The sky will be clear and the sea still. It will be perfect, and we can dodge your hounds."

  The panic was back in an instant and he put a finger to his own lips. Shush, the motion read. There was no need to know signing for that! Then those fingers flew. '{I was already allotted my walk this moon. I went last sennight. I have to wait.}'

  "And you didn't invite me? A shame..." Of course he dropped it, and instead opted to play dejected instead. His arms crossed over the desk and he rested his head there. "Ge ge, don't you want to go on walks with me?" He looked up to the Raen through the fluff of white-and-ginger hair. The glass beads just clacking together as the slightest turn of his head disturbed them. "I can show you where the best wine is sold in all of Kugane."

  '{Thank you but I don't drink and you were out of town.}' Straight to the point yet polite. The Raen jumped as the pot whistled. About time! A slight bow of his head to excuse himself as he stood to tend to it. Two cups were all that he had, one for himself, one for a client. Doman black tea was put in orb-like steepers, placed in each delicate cup, and then the hot water added. Both were then put on a tray, as was proper, and he walked back over with small, controlled paces.

The tray was offered first to the guest, of course.

 An Yeung sighed heavily at that response. What a curse his job was! Though it had been for good reason and cause, and Biming was interested in this particular investment. So he had no choice but to follow his sworn brother's obscure whims.

"I would be here in the strike of the kilin's hoof, if you called for me." He reasoned even if the scenario was impossible.

The Elezen lifted a hand from his crossed arms, and plucked up the cup. The thing tilted to let the infuser clatter against the ceramic piece of work. What a frustrating scenario. Watched here. Couldn't take him on walks. Didn't even touch wine. What could he do?

"Then I shall stay here the night before Lord Bai calls to drag me off again, and once that's done I shall camp out here until your next walk's allowance!"

  A blink that left Chuuya just staring at the other man. Stay? The night? No, no that was impossible. He shook his head, the long hair framing his rather feminine features in the motion. Not allowed, no. His tail curled behind him at the thought.

  "What? I'll sleep in the window, or at your step like a good gentleman." Though normally didn't a good gentleman take the couch? Well somethings were complex when one didn't own a couch to slumber on!

An Yeung moved to sit up. Nursing the tea like it may as well been even more wine, leaning his weight upon the arm while the other reached forward towards Chuuya. It was hard to resist the temptation to touch that hair. Maybe he already had a fair amount of wine in him? It wouldn't be beyond the monk to waltz about drinking when he had no immediate responsibilities. That or he just wanted to fluster the other further.

It was definitely that last option.

  And it was quite successful. Chuuya recoiled quickly, the other cup in the tray spilling over. Fortunately the tray caught most of the liquid, only a few dots spotting the silk he wore. Now quite out of sorts he was quick to put the tray down on the desk and scampered over to the stove to grab a towel.

  Did the masters not allow him to be touched either? An Yeung let out a sigh and just dropped the hand back to rest on the ground and leaned back into it. The tea cup tilted back as he took a long sip of it. Though he looked sideways to the red panda then.

"I keep getting rejected, Aka, whatever shall I do?" He lamented with great woe to the pet as if it was empathize with him or provide some insight.

  The panda was a master at adjusting whenever An Yeung did, always finding some part of his body to perch on. Unlike his master, he was quite apt to cuddle against others. Big round eyes looked over at the voice, nose wiggling. As if he could provide an answer!

Towels fetched, Chuuya returned to mop the mess out of the tray. Firm presses of the rough woven fabric to the coppery-hued metal to soak up the hot tea. Careful not to let his fingers touch. If they were burned and he couldn't work, he would've caused damage to yakuza property.

  "Ge ge, let me." An Yeung moved forward to take the towel. He was careful in how his pitch-dark fingers - lined with some spots of white from his freckled patterns - touched the other's hand to get that towel. "It is best you take care of your hands after all."

  The Raen shook his head but a moment later, did pull his hands back. The threat of being in trouble was more than simply being rude to his guest. Nervous now, he clasped hands together near his stomach as he watched the cleanup. Why did he have to make a mess?

  "I do apologize," he said lightly, "I'll be more mindful next time."

An Yeung's words were sincere at least. It didn't mean he'd outright avoid teasing him, but he would at least be more mindful now. The copper eyes just looking up to him as he dabbed the mess clean. Once done he offered his cup and what remained to him.

"Here take the rest of my tea."

  A shake of the head though he did bow a bit in gratitude. That was his guest's tea. He wouldn't indulge. After holding the position a moment, he moved forward to take the clean tray and its contents. They would be washed and cleaned later by the help that stopped by in the morning and evenings.

  An Yeung settled back once more and sighed. Though he glanced back towards the way the guards would be. What a pain! And he had missed out on the one walk for the moon. He finished off his cup and just sat it down after. For now he was just quiet and looked thoughtful.

   With that set aside, Chuuya prepared himself another cup of tea. Fortunately there was enough hot water left in that tiny pot. He took his time, trying to calm his nerves. Anything that was out of routine always made him anxious. Especially with this man! It wouldn't take much provocation for the guards to kill a single man. And the fight that would break out as a result would leave plenty of damage to Suzume. What would happen afterwards?

A deep breath before the artist walked back over and sat on his cushion once more. Unsure of what to 'talk' about now, he simply sipped his tea.

  Oh An Yeung would like to see them try. His fist was greater than a dozen of the henchmen any Yakuza could think to tire, and he was certain his stamina would hold out for many a night so sheer numbers alone wouldn't vex him. He chuckled at the thought. The sound rolling into a laugh, but at no particular one. Ah how he wished he could say such things out loud!

"Chuuya, come on. Let me stay here just to rest one evening. I don't wish to go to my Lord with sour news already." He said then in pleading tones, once more testing the waters as he plotted.

  The sound of the laugh had those red eyes looking up from their gaze on the tatami floors. His expression easy enough to read, that uneasiness. With a small clink, he set the cup down on the desk next to his work. A small sigh before he answered. '{I can't. They patrol. They'll find you if you stay any in or on the property. I'm sorry.}'

  An Yeung sighed. "Then at least permit me to nap for a spell? All but a bell, maybe two? I shan't disrupt your work."

  Chuuya looked over to the chronometer on a small shelf nearby. Then he held up one finger. One. He had a client after that.

  One bell? He smiled with that. This was a small victory at least! So he moved to rest down upon that desk as he had before, eyeing the Raen with a single copper hue. "Will you help me rest easier with a pat upon my head?"

  A small noise of surprise and embarrassment left the mute at that. Pale cheeks, more devoid of scales than most of his kind, flushed pink and he shook his head in a most definite 'no!' In fact, he picked up his small blade again, intent on getting back to work!

  At least he hadn't talked on the 'and call me a good boy' part! An Yeung just grinned a bit as he admired that blush. Really a flustered Chuuya was the best even if it cost his life one day.

  Must concentrate. It was more difficult to do so in the presence of someone. Again, his poor routine! It was bells of working alone interspersed with client visits or tourists looking for souvenirs. Accepting a presence outside that was always...different. Not necessarily negative. It was just something out the ordinary. But he had work to do and with a deep breath, Chuuya continued to do so.

[ropergillt-blog]

Choir Boy Beginnings

Setting: 1987 Tucson Arizona.

I go into the Tucson Boys Chorus with a love of music and soon find another love, roping. Along with a repertoire of western songs it turns out the choir cultivates a tradition of trick roping to go with it, devoting a portion of rehearsal time every week to roping practice in the dusty parking lot. I was an eager singer and an equally eager roper, taking my rope out frequently in my backyard to learn "the routine" so I could someday be on the roping team, a select few who would showcase trick roping in performances.

A nearby feed store stocked the popular 3/8 in. braided cotton rope which all the choristers used and the craft was primarily passed down from boy to boy, without a formal roping instructor. Dr. Julian Ackerly was our musical director and he knew enough to get you started with a rope, but some of the senior boys who were better ropers really mentored the younger boys, or at least provided an example enough so that if you had some self motivation you could work how to replicate what you saw the more experienced boys doing. You Tube didn't exist in those days and none of us had internet access anyway so these face to face encounters were crucial for passing along the skills.

Photo: Me in the wedding ring while fellow chorister Curtis Miller and our host family stand by. Colorado Springs during a Western States Tour 1991

It didn't take long and I was sold, I idolized the boys in the top group who were the best singers and best ropers. When I was younger I didn't get to see the Touring Chorus too frequently but a few times a year we would rehearse and perform at the Music Hall for our Holiday Show and Mother's Day Concert and I loved watching the roping team at those times. Along with learning to read music, I learned to rope so that when I got to the Touring Chorus myself, I eventually qualified for the roping team and was one of a few boys who would perform in the concerts.

Photo: Gill T. the early rascal days

Here is how the roping performance played out: Dr. Ackerly as announcer would call us through trick by trick. A hand-full of boys standing in a line across the front of the stage all proceeding through the routine in unison, first throwing out a Flat Spin in front of them and then stepping in the Wedding Ring a few seconds after. The Teardrop was accomplished by slowing the rope down and the loop droops into a teardrop shape around you as it spins. On a standard rope with a loose honda you can't slow the rope down too much because it closes up but the chorus had a tradition of taping their hondas tight so the spoke length remains nearly constant no matter what speed you spin the rope and it's a bit easier to go extremely slow without losing your loop altogether. Next the rope was sped back up and dropped into Handshakes followed by Single-Leg Handshakes, then the Switch where you would switch which leg was down. We would go back to Wedding Ring before doing a Lift-Off, that is, a single Handshake used to get momentum to pop the rope off over the head back to a Flat Spin. Then came Taps, and Double Taps (Spoke Hop variations). Lift-On took the rope back over our heads to the Wedding Ring position where we finished off with Skyrockets. Skyrockets was like the Lift-Off in that it used a single Handshake before popping the loop up overhead, instead of going off front into a flat loop it came straight back down to another Handshake and was repeated 5 or 6 times up and down. 

Each roper then showcased a solo trick, I don't remember what we called all of them but they were mostly variations of flat loop and wedding ring tricks. Stargazing was a memorable one where the roper would adjust the spoke to be rather short, it held place because the hondas were so tight, and while spinning a Wedding Ring around him he would lay down on his back, arm up, spinning that loop right above him. The short spoke let the loop spin just above the roper's horizontal body without touching down and killing the spin. If the top roper could do a vertical loop and Jump Through it then that was always saved for last and the whole chorus standing behind would count the number of times he could jump through, ending on the nice round number of 10 if he could get that far. This wasn't a Texas Skip mind you, nobody had a large enough rope or a weighted honda, so it was more like the makings of a large loop Butterfly taking the rope from the right side of the body, around front to the left side and then jumping through as the loop was pulled back to the right side starting position.

In my four years in the chorus, the Jump Through was the only vertical loop trick I ever saw anyone do. Nobody that I saw even did a regular Butterfly, I didn't know what that was till later and even the Jump Through was only done by a few boys, it was harder than all the horizontal loop tricks in the routine, even with the training wheels of having a virtually fixed honda it took a bit of practice. My day came my last year in the chorus, there were a couple other good ropers and probably a little better than I at the time but I out-roped all the other boys that day and was slated to do the Jump Through as a solo trick at the show. I had a first attempt where the rope hung up on my boot on the third jump. I wasn't sure if I could pull off ten jumps, having hardly ever done that in practice, so I was a bit nervous that Dr. Ackerly would push me at more attempts only to repeatedly fail there on stage and run off embarrassed that I was an unfit captain of the team. He called out "Let's give it one more try now!" and to my surprise I pulled out jump after jump until I heard all the boys behind me shout out "Ten!" and I was home free. That was surely one of my best moments.

To create a grand finale we would always do a Pyramid, grabbing the smallest boy who could do a steady Wedding Ring and put him on the shoulders of a mid-sized boy who then was pushed up on the shoulders of the largest boy in the group. I remember little Gary always up there on top that three man Pyramid spinning a wide loop. I would watch from the chorus or from a position as a spotter, and the size of that spectacle always went over well.

The dusty chorus hall parking lot has since been paved but the Tucson Boys Chorus still does a great service to keep alive the semi-obscure practice of trick roping (along with music of course, which has also added greatly to my life). I let my rope get packed away through my teenage years and through much of my adulthood but thankfully the fire was re-kindled in me a number of years ago partly because I found a copy of Will Rogers' "The Ropin' Fool" at the library to remind me of how much I love roping, and my eyes were opened to all the more you could do with a rope that I hadn't even imagined when I was a kid. I started roping a bit more, but still distracted by my adult responsibilities it didn't take off as much as I wished until now as I am making time for it just about daily, I'm hooked more than ever and keeping myself fit in the process. A big thanks to the Tucson Arizona Boys Chorus!

[blitzandthebarracudabrigade]

Prologue 2.1: Salmon Running and You

Welp here’s the second prologue story, with guest cameo by @blueplayer2‘s OC Akio and featuring @flowingchiaki‘s OCs Hazel and Fil(bert), @patar-fuifui / @inkdazzled‘s OC Andy, and @theoneguardian‘s OC Brayden! 

(Music linked in the story isn’t mine, obviously)

Not gonna lie, I’ve been wanting to work on this prologue story for a while ever since Salmon Run was revealed at last year’s E3 event with Nintendo and I had so much theory crafting going on. More or less the game mode was everything I expected it to be and more, what with the locations and special Grizz Co. weapons to play around with. But anyway I hope you enjoy “Salmon Running and You!”

*Beep beep beep beep!*

“Mmm... not now babe. A few more... minutes.”

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

“Damnit alright I’m up!”

An inkling grumpily slammed his hand down on an alarm clock next to him, causing the blaring device to go quiet. For a few moments the inkling smothered his face on his pillow in an effort to clear the sleep out of his eyes. Eventually he pulled himself off his bed and clumsily stood up and walked to his bathroom. Looking into the mirror he reached a hand to his cheeks and pulled them down, trying to get his eyes to widen.

Ugh... I knew I shouldn’t have had those drinks last night.

Despite his groggy condition he had to get himself together for his new job. He hastily brushed his beak, took a quick shower (a cold one at that), and went to the kitchen to grab a snack. He glanced to his phone and saw that he was running late to his job; a first for him.

Damn, gonna have to call a guy to get me on time.

Keeping his phone out he taps on the Sc.Uber app and scrolls down the list of drivers. Finally he spots one he knows is reliable.

“Yo how’s it going? Uh I need you to pick me up asap. Yeah I-I know it’s pretty early but I’ll pay you compensation for it. Alright, cool.”

The inkling was about to put his phone away he heard tires screeching in the distance before a sports car pulled up to his house.

“Hey,” the driver yelled as he pulled down his driver side window. “you ready to go?”

“Yeah I am!” The inkling ran down and got into the passenger side before the car revved up and sped off, leaving behind long tire marks on the street.

“Hey, thanks again for picking me up at this hour. The app showed you were the only one available and-”

“Don’t sweat it dude!” The driver bumped his client’s shoulder with a fist and clutched the gear up a notch. “Now where to my good sir?”

The passenger pointed towards Inkopolis Plaza. “That way.”

The driver nodded with a grin and pressed down on the gas, pushing the car’s engine to the max and speeding through the light traffic. The inkling sat back and looked out the window, watching various landmarks pass by like Moray Towers and Urchin Underpass. A few minutes later the car arrived at the square’s parking lot. 

“Alright, here’s your stop.”

“Thanks,” The inkling took out his wallet and gave the inkling a roll of cash. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks Aeto!” The driver gave him a sincere smile and rolled up his window. 

Aeto grinned back and took a bite of his snack. “See you again Akio!” He turned to the inkling social hub and started making his way in, wolfing down his food along the way. He looked around to see that the local shop vendors were just getting their doors opened up and waved to a few. He even saw Crusty Sean pulling in with his food truck.

Hmm, maybe I’ll get one of his Seanwiches during my lunch break.

A few minutes later he reached his destination: the GrizzCo. Industries building. Albeit looked more like a run-down store than a true building it was where Aeto’s latest occupation was located. He walked inside and set down the few possessions he brought with him into a locker before reaching up for his work uniform. In a moment’s notice he donned the company’s signature hat, rubber overalls, and a white jumpsuit before heading for his desk. He took out a pen and clipboard and scanned over the list on top.

Looks like we’ll be getting 3 volunteers for the morning shift. 

Aeto set down the clipboard and tapped the pen on his head. 

But they’re new to the business so that means I’ll have to show ‘em the ropes huh? Oh well, guess that’s why Mr. Grizz gave me that new job as trainer.

He pushed back on his chair and got up to stretch his arms over his head, feeling his back finally getting some much needed attention. He looked to his locker and pulled out a rental Splatterscope and strapped the charger over his shoulder, waiting for the volunteers to arrive.

(One hour later...)

The first of the volunteers arrived as Aeto leaned against the doorway to the building, eyeing the crowds of inklings and jellies that walked to and fro. He glanced down to his clipboard and saw three names scribbled down and tapped on each one.

They should have came in almost 15 minutes ago...

The inkling sat back down behind his desk and kicked his legs up, leaning back on a worn out folding chair as he flipped through the few papers attached to his clipboard. However he didn’t hear a pair of footsteps walking to the building until someone coughed.

“Excuse me, is this where we sign up for Salmon Running?”

Aeto hesitated for a moment before sitting upright and fixing his cap. He looked to the entrance and saw two inklings looking at him quizzically.

“Uh yes this is it,” He stood up and walked towards them before reaching out to shake their hands. “And you two are...?”

“My name’s Hazel, and this is my little brother Filbert!” The inkling girl wrapped her arm around the younger sibling, who shyly smiled back.

“Come on sis, it’s Fil!” He hissed back to her, causing the older sibling to giggle mischievously. 

Aeto nodded and looked to his clipboard, seeing their named printed on the top of the recruit list. He lifted the paper up and saw two pictures of said inklings.

“Alright, please come inside and wait in the lobby while the other two show up.” He motioned with his hand for the pair to take a seat by a set of chairs. As the senior freelancer was about to head to his desk he noticed another inkling standing at the front door waiting.

“Ah, are you here for the morning Salmon Run shift as well?”

The inkling nodded, a stoic silent look stared back at Aeto as he glanced down to the clipboard.

“Brayden, correct?”

He nodded again.

“Okay, please come inside and take a seat by the other recruits.”

He nodded once more and walked in before setting his belongings under his seat. At the same time Aeto took a moment to himself to check off his list.

That’s three present. The last one to arrive is-

“E-excuse me?”

Aeto heard a soft and slightly jittery voice calling from the doorway and looked to see an octoling boy peeking in.

“Ah, hello there. Are you, by any chance, Andy?” He looked back to his list and saw the last name printed.

“Mhmm.” The octoling nodded and peeked in a little more.

“Well, welcome aboard!” Aeto reached to him with an open arm. “Glad you could make it young octo!”

At first Andy recoiled from the sudden loud burst from the senior inkling but felt himself calm down before reaching out to shake his hand. 

“Thanks.”

“Now come in, the others are waiting for you to take a seat. I’ll get with you all in a minute.”

The octoling thanked him again and hurriedly found a seat a row ahead of the others before setting down his own items before sitting down. In a few minutes Aeto approached the four with a projector under his arm.

“Alright recruits! Now, Mr. Grizz has told me to show you this video tape of the basics on how we run things around here,” He then placed the device on a stool and pointed it towards a tarp on an adjacent wall. “But I thought that would be pretty boring so we’re just going to say that you watched it.” He pushed the stool aside and dragged a crate to the front of the room. 

“So... what are we going to do instead then?” Hazel questioned, crossing her arms.

“Glad you asked!” He took out a crowbar and cracked open the container. The lid flew off to the side, revealing a plethora of ink-based firepower to the group. “Because I’m going to show you how to Salmon Run myself!”

All four looked into the crate and reached in to get their hands on some of the weapons inside. Brayden pulled out a Heavy Splatling, looking it over before making a nod of approval. Hazel and Fil picked out a pair of Dapple Dualies and a Splattershot respectively. And finally Andy chose an E-Liter 4K Scoped. He looked through the sights and smiled that they were just right for him.

“Now remember, these are rental weapons so don’t go losing or breaking them. I’d rather I not have to pay for damages,” Aeto joked as he grabbed a large duffel bag from his locker before slamming it shut. “Anyway just follow me to the tram and we’ll get on our way to the work area.” He watched as all of the freelancers readied their rentals and trailed behind the senior trainer through the back of the building and out a back door. There the group approached a large truck and piled in the back as Aeto took seat in the driver’s position, fired up the engines, and drove to Port Mackerel.

(A few hours later...)

“Hey, Mr. Aeto?” Andy called to the trainer. “Are we there yet?”

“We’re a few minutes from reaching the Spawning Grounds Andy. Why?” Aeto looked back from his spot on the boating wheel, the sea-worthy vessel the group was on cruising through green polluted waters.

“Oh... no reason.” He replied back as he held a hand to his mouth.

“Yeah,” Hazel grumbled to them, her face having lost some color since disembarking from Port Mackerel. 

“Oie, if you’re feeling seasick take one of these.” Without looking away from his post he reached for two small paper bags and waved them to the seasick pair. Almost immediately the inkling and octoling grabbed them and hurled their breakfast into it before closing it up.

“Thanks...” The two grimaced before tossing the filled bags into a trash can.

“Just sit back down in the cabin and take it easy,” Aeto motioned to a small room behind him. “I’ll let you know when we’re there.”

The now sickly duo took his advice and found a bunk bed inside and laid down on it. Meanwhile the other two recruits were staring out at the open waters, taking in the not so graceful sights around them.

“Geez, the seas here are gross,” Fil mumbled to Brayden. “There’s piles of trash all over the place.”

“Yeah,” Aeto yelled over the sound of the boat’s motor. “The Salmonids around these parts just let their waste and junk float back up to the surface. They’re not exactly ‘eco-friendly’.” 

“How come they make so much trash then?” Brayden asked out of curiosity.

“Good question but for another time,” Aeto powered down the boat’s motor to a slow drift. “We’re here freelancers.” He then knocked on the cabin door to get Andy’s attention. “C’mon, it’s time to show you how Salmon Running is done.” The octoling, feeling slightly less seasick, walked out and followed the group to the back of the boat.

“Now before we head to that big island you see over there,” He pointed behind them towards a large landmass. “There are a few things you need to know. One: the areas where we freelancers work in are surrounded by an unexplained barrier that prevents us from super jumping at will. So we have this giant satellite dish on this here vessel,” He motioned to them said device. “to temporarily break this barrier in order to send ourselves onto land.”

“So that means we can’t super jump to each other?” Fil cocked his head, a pang of worry in his eyes.

“No, but the islands we’ll be on are pretty small so super jumping is kind of redundant.”

“But what if we get in trouble?” Brayden pointed out.

“I’ll explain that later. Two: Each of you will be carrying Splat Bombs as your secondary weapons. Out of all the explosive subs we tested, Splat Bombs are the most effective when tackling the Salmonids.” 

“Why not something like Burst Bombs or Auto Bombs?” Brayden 

“Long story short, Mr. Grizz finds Splat Bombs to be the best,” Aeto shrugged the question off. “And three: Since this is a training run you won’t have to worry about being overrun by Salmonids. Understand?”

The group nodded in agreement.

“Great. Any more questions?”

“Uh...” Andy was about to raise his hand when Aeto clapped his together.

“Wonderful! Now everyone please stand on this platform behind me.” The senior trainer stepped forward to allow the freelancers some room to get on.

“Uh, Mr. Aeto? Are we going to have a lunch break when we’re done?” Andy tried to ask.

“Ready?” The inkling opened a panel on the satellite.

“W-wait you didn’t answer my question-”

He pressed a few buttons and reached for a lever.

“Mr. Aeto! Are we gonna have a break at all-”

He pulled the lever, which caused the dish to activate and started spinning. A moment later the group watched as the air around them momentarily wavered before it went back to normal. “Everyone, super jump to the island now!”

The four didn’t have time to ask any more questions as they all changed into their squid and octopus forms and flew away towards the isolated landmass. Aeto then reset the lever and reached for a pair of binoculars to see if they landed safely. It took him a moment to find all 4 flying towards the island before they landed on what they guessed was a landing pad. The four took a second to recover from their surprise flight and changed back to their bipedal forms.

“Ugh, my head...” Fil grumbled as he rubbed his temple.

“Ugh, my face...” Brayden groaned as he touched his nose.

“Oooh, my stomach...!” Andy held his gut before running to a trash bin and hurling once more into the container.

“...ome in freelancers! Ca... you hear me?” 

All four heard a static voice coming from around them.

“Did you guys hear that?” Hazel asked as she continued glancing around. Fil and Brayden nodded while Andy recovered from his episode of illness.

“Hold on... a sec.” Another moment passed as they heard more static and inaudible chatter until they heard Aeto clearly. “There, that should do it. Can you four hear my voice clearly now?”

“Yeah, we hear you loud and clear.” Hazel replied, grabbing a Dapple Dualie in one hand.

“Excellent, it looks like you all made it in one piece.”

“...mostly.” Andy mumbled.

“You’ll be alright Andy. Now take a good look around you,” The group did as such and saw that the island around them was more than just a patch of dirt in the sea. They saw several structures built around the landing pad, such as ramps, catwalks, and walls. “You are currently at the Spawning Grounds, one of the first locations where Salmonids go to migrate and... well spawn. You will also notice next to where you all landed a square metal panel.”

“You mean this thing?” The group looked to Brayden who was standing on top of it, a raised eyebrow looking down at it suspiciously.

“Yes Brayden, that square metal panel,” A moment later the panel opened up and a large cylindrical net popped out and launched the Splatling wielder into the air, falling back on the landing pad. “Don’t stand on the egg basket please. I told you that I really don’t want to pay for damaged property of Mr. Grizz.” 

“Ugh... sorry.” He stood back up while rubbing the back of his head. 

“No worries, just stick together and I’ll run you all through the training exercise.” The four heard a horn blow from the boat Aeto was in. “Alright, the first thing you’ll notice is that the egg basket is empty. Look around for a big glowing fish that’s holding a big frying pan.” 

They looked around but didn’t see any such creature. 

“We don’t see it.” Fil said as he glanced around the area.

“You’re gonna have to look for it yourself,” The trainer sighed. “Go check around those catwalks. There should be one hiding out over there.”

The group then headed to where Aeto suggested and, sure enough they saw a large gold-scaled fish wandering around. The late morning sun glimmered off its metallic body, causing the freelancers to stare at it in an almost trance-like state.

“Oie, noobies. Don’t just stare at it. You need to take it down to collect some Golden Eggs!” Aeto radioed to them, causing the group to snap back to reality.

“Uh, sorry.” Andy blinked his eyes until he could see clearly. He then aimed his charger and lined up his sights on the Salmonid. He took a moment to breathe out before releasing the trigger and-

SPLAT!

They watched as the toga-totting fish turned into an ink splotch on the ground as well as 3 glimmering orbs.

“Woah, those must be the Golden Eggs.” Fil muttered to his sister before heading down a ramp to get them.

“Wait, Fil!” Hazel yelled to her younger sibling, racing behind him. Brayden followed suit to grab an egg of his own leaving the octoling charger to watch their back. But as he watched his new squad mates he noticed that small bubbles were forming by the edge of the island next to the eggs. He aimed to them only to see another Salmonid popping out of the water and headed right for the eggs.

“Guys! Watch out!” Andy warned as he took aim at the intruding sea creature. The others stopped dead in their tracks to see it going straight for the eggs instead of them.

“It’s trying to steal the eggs!” Brayden prepped his Splatling while the other two made a mad dash for their objective. In what they felt was a small eternity, Andy lets loose another shot from his E-Liter while Brayden unleashes a torrent of ink shots. At the same time Hazel and Fil changed into their squid forms and grabbed hold of an egg each. The two looked up to see that the overwhelming firepower did more than enough to splat the Salmonid, leaving one last egg for Brayden to simply walk up and take.

“Alright!” Fil leapt up with joy as the others cheered. 

“Good job freelancers. Now get those gold goodies back to the basket and deposit them in.”

The three egg holders regrouped to Andy before heading towards the basket. As they stood by it a slot underneath the container opened up, allowing them to drop their prize in and see the eggs pop up within it. 

“That wasn’t so hard.” Fil chimed as he waved his Splattershot around.

“Trust me kid, this job is a lot tougher than it seems,” Aeto radioed in. “Don’t forget that this is just a training session.”

The four drew silent for a moment before they heard their comms crackle. 

“Now, what you just saw were Salmonids called a Goldie and a Snatcher. Obvious of what the big glowing fish is but the Snatcher will come ashore and try to steal any eggs you might leave out for too long. So be sure to collect as many Golden Eggs as you can.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Brayden calls to the others, his weapon in hand. The others nod with him approvingly.

“Looks like you all are ready for some more action,” they heard. “Now let’s see how you lot handle a wave of them Goldies.” A moment later a foghorn blew from the ship, followed by bubbles forming around the edges of the island. One by one the group watched as the bubbles slowly became Goldie Salmonids, leaving behind a thick, viscous green slime as they made their way inland.

“Let’s take them out!” Hazel rallied to her team as she ran down towards the beach section of the Spawning Grounds and immediately started taking on a pair of Goldies. 

“Well, you heard the lady. Take out those Goldies and get those eggs in freelancers!” The others heard Aeto order through their radios. They readied their ink weapons and joined Hazel, splatting the Goldies as they showed up. For several minutes Aeto watched from the boat as the recruits worked on their egg collecting. Andy stayed on top of a high wall and provided long range support by taking out sneaky Snatchers or lone Goldies that tried to ambush the others. Brayden took it upon himself to keep himself a good distance away from the shorelines, keeping the beach inked in their color. This left Hazel and Fil to the task of luring the Goldies in closer and grabbing eggs as quickly as they could. 

Not bad for a bunch of noobs. Aeto thought to himself, keeping an eye out behind them in case the Goldies attacked from a different angle. As he panned his view towards the docks section he noticed some bubbles forming by the far left pier. He was about to reach for his radio to warn the others when, instead of a Goldie coming up, he saw the all too familiar sight of a gigantic armored Salmonid with pipes protruding from its mouth that led to a launcher on top of its head.

“Freelancers look out behind you!” Aeto warned. The first to look was Andy and when his gaze fell upon the looming Salmonid closing in on him he yelped in horror and started to slowly back away. Brayden glanced back and saw the behemoth and turned his weapon to it, charging his weapon fully before blasting away. But he could only observe as his ink shots splashed harmlessly off the massive fish’s body.

“Uh, guys. What do we do?” Brayden gulped and backed up as well. Hazel and Fil stopped their egg harvesting and gazed in fear at the new Salmonid. 

“S-Sis, what is that?“ Fil stuttered, almost dropping his weapon.

“Everyone! Get back from that Salmonid!” Aeto called to them. “That’s a Steelhead! Attacking its armored body won’t do a thing!”

“Then what do we do?” Andy cried out. Just as he said that the Steelhead stopped moving and began to tremble. The octoling looked up and saw that the monster fish was gurgling green spit in its mouth, causing the charger user to almost vomit a third time. But he also noticed that a plastic sac was beginning to inflate on top of the Steelhead’s face.

“Quick Andy! Splat that inflating bomb before it launches it at you!” 

He reached for his E-Liter and aimed it right at the bomb. The others rushed to his aid and tried to distract the giant but to no avail, as the Salmonid filled the sac up with more slimy drool. Andy took one last moment to aim and let loose a discharge of ink and watched it pierce through the explosive. The Steelhead recoiled from the implosion and ruptured, leaving behind bits of armor and three eggs.

“You did it Andy! Well done!” Aeto sighed with relief, watching as the octoling stand up and pick up and egg.

“Thanks Mr. Aeto.” He chimed back with gratitude.

“Just call me Aeto, freelancers,” He chuckled and saw them deliver the remaining eggs left on the beach. “Good work you lot. Now head back to the launch pad and-”

He couldn’t finish talking as he saw the water around the Spawning Grounds beginning to fizzle and boil.

“What the...?” Aeto looked around and watched in utter shock as Boss Salmonids started to surface. More Steelheads began to approach along with lesser Salmonid Chums from the docks, Fly Fishes and Drizzlers popped up from the catwalk area and took positions by the far corners of the sector, and Scrappers charged their way up the beach, denying the recruits’ chances of an escape.

“W-what’s going on!” Fil quivered in his uniform as Hazel, Brayden, and Andy found themselves surrounded by very angry looking Salmonids.

“Hehehe,” One of the Steelheads approached the group with a sneering, cold-blooded grin. “Looks like the hunters have become the hunted!” The other Bosses laughed maniacally as they watched all four freelancers clump together in fear. “For too long we’ve been slaughtered for our eggs. Well,” It grabbed the nearest recruit, Brayden, by the life saver on his back and glared at him. “No longer will our people have to struggle to preserve our own kind.” The monstrous fish tossed the inkling back onto the ground and moved back with its waiting comrades. “Salmonids! Who wants a taste of some revenge?” The others roared with blood-thirsty cheers.

“Hang on you guys!” Aeto tried to reassure them as he dashed to the boat’s cabin. He reached under the bunk bed and pulled out a metal locker, grabbing hold of his own custom charger: the Splat Bolt Action. Please, just hang on a few more seconds! He rushed outside and, hastily switching on the satellite, super jumped to the landing pad on the island.

“G-guys, I’m scared!” Andy huddled close to his coworkers as the Scrappers boxed them in. The Steelheads then began to inflate their bombs, the Fly Fishes opened up their rocket pods, and the Drizzlers aimed their Ink Storm mortars. But just as the Salmonids were about to unleash their attack, Aeto landed behind them all and whistled to the fishes.

“Hey! You leave them alone you slime-sucking freak shows!” The entire island’s occupants looked towards the source of the shout and saw another inkling gazing towards the confused Salmonids. “Recruits, get down now!” They did as he told and hid in an ink puddle. Aeto aimed his charger and fired away, his shots penetrating the Steelheads’ armored plating and causing them all to get splatted. With each shot he cocked back a bolt on his charger, ejecting a glass tube, and loaded another ink cartridge before resuming his onslaught. He redirected his fire at the Scrappers and blasted them to pieces. Reloading his Bolt Action, he scoped in on the Drizzlers’ mortars and disabled them in seconds, leaving them utterly defenseless before piercing their umbrella-shaped shields and killing them instantly. Finally he saw the remaining Bosses, the Fly Fishes, realize their dire situation and attempted to flee. But the sharpshooter ran towards the now retreating Fly Fishes and annihilated the airborne assailants with swift and deadly accurate shots to the pilots. In less than 60 seconds Aeto had single-handedly wiped out the Boss Salmonids, protecting the recruits and leaving behind dozens of Golden Eggs. The senior freelancer took one more scan of the Spawning Grounds and, satisfied that no more Salmonids were present to harass them, holstered his weapon and met up with the others.

“Hey, you four alright?” He checked each of them for any injuries as they changed back into their bipedal forms.

“Y-yeah....” Andy stared at Aeto, though unsure if it was awe or fear he felt at this point.

“How... how did you take out all of those big scary Salmonids?” Fil repeatedly hopped up and down with excitement. “That was awesome!”

“Don’t worry about that, alright?” He patted the young inkling on the shoulder. “Just collect all the eggs around here and head back to the boat when you’re done. I’ll keep watch to make sure no more Salmonids show up, okay?”

They all nodded and headed off in pairs to gather the eggs. Aeto stood by the basket and kept a close eye on all of them while in deep thought. 

Why did all those Salmonids attack? The training session was only suppose to have Goldies show up... In a few minutes the last of the eggs were harvested and accounted for. Aeto closed up the basket and motioned for them all to head back. But as he was about to super jump back he noticed something peaking out from the ink a few meters away. He walked up to the mysterious object and pulled it out, seeing that it was actually some sort of recording device.

What in the world is this...? He thought and examined the device over. But his train of thought was interrupted when he heard the recruits calling him through the radio to hurry up. He took one last glance around him before pocketing it in his satchel and joined the others, sailing off to Inkopolis.

[ask-pastelkiller]

2 plus Ghana cause she isn't allowed to be happy :^) [if you're still doing these of course yikes]

2–Chemicals

Warning for….well, you can probably expect what’s coming.

“You know, I’m really not as happy doing this as you’d think.” Oliver sighed, twirling a lock of pink hair around his finger as he fiddled with the length of fabric tying his apron around his back. He didn’t look at his guest, paying more attention to the metal cart of items in front of him. It had taken him quite some time to heave it down the concrete stairs to his basement, but it had, for three lovely months, been stored away in the basement’s one attached room. A multipurpose room, of sorts. It helped him with so many things. Storing his equipment, giving a small bedroom to the ‘friends’ of his that were quick to accept his rules and requirements.

For now, it was simply used as a storage room, and he had wheeled out his little tray cart into the middle of the basement’s main area.

He huffed as the tie around his back proved to be more than a one hand job, and he stopped playing with his hair, reaching behind him and fiddling with the knot. “Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have tied it so tightly last time. Do remind me to not try and slip it over my head next time, won’t you? I just have no wiggle room.” He let out a faint giggle, his cheeks turning a light pink. “Perhaps I ate a few too many sweets in the past few weeks…Is it starting to show?” He twirled in a circle, glancing inquisitively at his guest.

“Screw you.”

Oliver’s face scrunched up in displeasure, and he stuck his tongue out. “Now now, honey, there’s no use for such vulgar language.”

“Yeah? Well you can go fu–”

“Abigail!”

The girl in question snarled, teeth bared in an animalistic expression that made Oliver raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were civilized than that. I should have known you’d be as daft as you always were. Shame on me, I suppose. Only a fool believes that a fool would change.” He clicked his tongue, shrugging lightly.

“I stand by my statement, go fuck yourself with a rusty golf club.”

Oliver tensed, a shiver of disgust running up his spine, ending with a small tremble in his shoulders. “Abigail, that is–I–That is disgusting! Quarter in the swear jar, now!” His lip pulled back in a near snarl, a malevolent twinkle in his unnaturally blue eyes. “Ah, you didn’t bring quarters? I can make do.” His hand reached to pick up a small glass jar on the tray, one that he usually used to store teeth once extracted.

His guest’s eyes followed him like a cornered animal’s, darting with each of his movements. Oliver saw the gears turning, and did not explain. He set it closer to him, then picked up a roll of fishing line. He twirled a length off the roll, then snipped it with one of his many sharp edges. He tied each end to a short metal stick that had perhaps been a screwdriver in the past. He gripped each metal piece and pulled it, the fishing line going taut with a pleasant ‘tang’.

“Know what we’re doing yet?” Oliver purred.

Abigail glanced from the line to each of the metal sticks in the Englishman’s grasp. She stayed silent, but shifted anxiously in her chair.

“No? Alright.” He stepped forward, getting on his knees in front of her. She tensed against her bonds, staring at him without faltering. He moved to slide the fishing line under her left pinkie finger, then moved one end over the finger, wrapping the line around it. He pulled on the metal shafts, the line tightening snugly around her finger. He glanced up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips. “Figured it out yet?”

Abigail’s eyes were wide as saucers, mouth agape. “No, no–You–You’re kidding, you–”

Oliver didn’t wait for her to finish. He yanked his hands apart from each other, the fishing line pulling tight in one swift motion. The thin, strong string instantly sunk into her finger, slicing through the soft flesh without much protest. It only stopped tightening once it hit bone.

“AAAHHH!”

Oliver waved a hand dismissively, still gripping the metal shafts. “Shh, no need to scream, it doesn’t even hurt. But, maybe it would if I did….This?” He pulled his hands towards his chest, the fishing line attempting to come with him. It did not stay where the finger was attached to the hand. No, it followed Oliver’s movements, but he had not loosened his wide pull. Still tight to the bone, it slid towards the end of her finger, tearing the skin off the bone as it came.

He blocked out the screams as he tugged, forcing it over the knuckle, then continuing his tugging. It fell off the tip of her finger, leaving only her fingernail behind. He hummed in contentment as he picked up the meat off the floor, where it has fell. He stood up and tossed it in the glass jar. He picked up a freshly sharpened wire cutter from the tray, and then knelt back down. Blood gushed from the mangled finger, white bone meeting oxygen for the first time. He leaned forward, opening his mouth. His tongue gently moved underneath the finger, mostly bone by now, and he accepted it into his mouth, up to the second knuckle. He groaned as the delicious taste of iron danced with his tastebuds, and his eyes fluttered closed momentarily. He could feel Abigail’s body start to spasm from the pain. He leaned back only after tugging off a sliver of muscle from the bone, blood dripping from his pink lips and down his chin.

“Mmm…For having such a foul mouth, you taste delicious~” He murmured.

Abigail only heard him because she had been inhaling a desperate breath. She stared at him in horrified disgust, and only moments afterwards, Oliver saw her throat move in a familiar motion. He got to his feet and stepped back just in time to avoid her vomit spewing from her mouth.

He made a face, but didn’t reprimand her. Once her stomach seemed to be empty, he stepped forward and reached down with the wire cutters, snapping the remaining bone with a satisfying crunch. He tossed the bone into the glass jar.

He winked at his guest, who was looking at him with huge eyes. “No quarters? I can take a finger, then.” He reached an arm up, wiping the blood dribbled on his chin away. “Anyways, I have something to try. That’s where you come in.” He leaned close, pressing a quick kiss to her sweaty forehead. If she had all her wits about her, she might have headbutted him, but not many people had a clear train of thought after what she had went through.

Oliver began to hum a cheerful tune as he spun around, poking around at the supplies on his metal tray. He spoke, not expecting much of a reply. “You’d think that being the literal representation of Britain would make it easy to get access to medical testing, but apparently not. So I do testing myself. It’s actually quite fun, I won’t lie.” He picked up a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe. He punctured the top of the vial and filled half of the syringe, then set the vial down. He filled the rest of the syringe with an odd milky substance in a tiny glass bottle from the craft section of the dollar store. After shifting it around the make the substances combine, he tapped the syringe and pushed out the small amount of air within it.

Oliver turned to face his guest, blinking innocently. “Now, we have two options. Tilt your head and let me see your neck, or I can do it the hard way. Which would you like?”

The Nation of Ghana was no stranger to pain, which made Oliver smile as she blinked and spoke, albeit shakily. “I…No, I don’t…No.”

That wasn’t really an answer, so Oliver simply assumed she would refuse to tilt her head. He shrugged, and in one smooth, quick motion, jabbed the needle downward, sinking it into the area near her shoulder. The metal needle clinked as it hit her collarbone, and Oliver didn’t quite try and stop it as the needle snapped. Perhaps it was an ‘accidental’ jerk of his wrist that made it snap, who knew? He had managed to inject the liquid before it snapped, so he really didn’t care.

Abigail’s body went rigid, pupils dilated, and her breathing stopped. It wasn’t due to the substance injected. No, it was simply her freezing up, waiting to see what on Earth the drugs did. Oliver waited patiently. Only seconds after being injected, Abigail began screaming, not even having time to open her lips before the sound tore from her throat. Oliver tapped his foot, tilting his head from one side to another as he hummed a tune. The pure capsaicin would begin to fry her nerves, he had expected that. As it surged through her bloodstream, her screaming became more intense, her arm beginning to seize and jerk violently as her body attempted to reject the chemicals. Her breathing was sporadic, her lungs being affected, but it wouldn’t kill her. It would just cause an extraordinary amount of agony.

Her eyes glazed over. Ah, perfect. Her gaze became unfocused on the room, but seemed to dart around and lock onto seemingly invisible things. Her face twisted in terror and her shrieks were much more shrill than before. Her body jerked against her bonds, her legs trying to scrabble backwards, get her away from whatever was terrifying her. Oliver watched with a raised eyebrow, only looking away to fish out fluffy earmuffs from his bloody apron. He slipped it over his head and focused on his guest.

Her muscles tensed every second or so, her abdomen flexing and trying with every ounce of its strength to bring her arms and legs from captivity. “NO! NO NO PLEASE DON’T--GET AWAY GET AWAY LEAVE ME A-ALONE GO GO GO S-S-S-S-S-TO-OP!” Her shrieks echoed off the walls, making the metal tray of tools rattle slightly. Oliver moved to stand in front of her, hopping from one side to the other, dancing from her left to her right, waving his hand once or twice. Her eyes didn’t lock onto him. They looked past him, in front of him, everywhere but directly at him. She wasn’t seeing him. The chair rattled as she struggled, the ropes around her wrists and ankles digging into her skin. Only a few more seconds, and...

The ropes broke the skin. With that barrier out of the way, they sunk deeper with every seize, with every jerk, with every terrified tug. Abigail felt far too much to even register that pain.

Oliver began making faces at her, enjoying the horror flooding her face at a simple stuck out tongue. Tears poured from her eyes, falling down her cheeks like a salty waterfall. They dripped down, only to be replaced with fresh ones, a never ending cascade. He huffed as he got bored, and plopped his rump down on the cold floor. He sat criss cross, staring at her shaking body curiously.

“What do you see?” He murmured, mostly to himself. He had used this chemical mixture on a young person weeks ago, including a small amount of a truth serum he was perfecting. They confessed, in between gasps and screams, that they were being torn apart by human sized spiders, drowning as small ones crawled down their throat, in their nose, their ears. He had no idea what Abigail was seeing, was feeling, and he made a note to add the truth serum the next time he used this on a Nation. The amount of drugs in the person’s system had killed them within half an hour, cutting down Oliver’s fun considerably. But Abigail was holding out wonderfully, probably due to the fact that she wasn’t completely human. She could probably handle some more drugs. What was a bit of scopolamine on top of the capsaicin and psychedelics in her body? Not to mention his current favourite, midazolam.

Or, if she was out of commission after this, he could always use a different Nation. He had quite liked the few glimpses of that Latvian Nation he had seen. First Players were always more satisfying to use.

He sat there for quite a while, watching curiously as Abigail broke down. Once her seizing had stopped, and her movements had lessened to a violent tremble from the trauma, he moved to untie her. He would just drop her off on a street corner and he could forget about her. After all, that lovely midazolam would erase any memories of the pain of torture inflicted while under Oliver’s care. It was so much easier that way. He used a sharp blade to slice the ropes around her wrists, and he giggled as he pulled it away, a funny, wet sound coming from them as he pulled them from deep inside her flesh.

“Good job, Abigail. Thank you for your help~”

[odins-missing-eye]

So as i’m working on my (what is to be my) main fanfiction called Spoons to Swords i’ve also been working on a side story that will be shorter and only have a couple parts. this is the intro to that side story. (my gods i feel like ragnar with somethin’ on the side...)

PAIRINGS: MAIN- Eikhríð x Sigurd SIDE- Asta Bergljot x Ivar Title: Moving a Tree (in a Storm) Summery: How one takes grief varies on the person but you must keep moving. In a land where she was born an outsider Eikhríð will gain a family and maybe make one of her own. Slave to free women she will learn that her actions as one may allow for her to grow as the other, Eikhríð owes nothing to her mistress yet she stays loyal not out of pity or fear but out of love and need. Her mistress’s future is blessed by the gods yet hers, hers in unknown.

Asta Bergljot (blond) is based on my bestie @imaginesparadise  this story is dedicated to them.

story rated: 18+ This story will include: SLOW BUILD, swearing, mentions of rape, attempted rape, blood, smut, graphic gore, and a lot of other stuff though warnings will be on each chapter.

tagging: @imaginesparadise @ivars-pet @cherrytrinkets  (let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part)

Moving a Tree (in a Storm) - INTRO

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The strange dragon ships came one day in the fog. By then they needed no cover of night as rumors across the shores had already started to travel and take root in this once quiet town as more and more accounts of blood shed and fear made its way down the coast.

Chaos, that's what this was. No organization. Exit plans? What exit plans, it was pure mayhem. Women, children executed by family members so the 'heathens' wouldn't do it, or worse. Churches boarded up in haste as if pieces of wood would keep them out. They knew wood, their boats perfectly crafted and unlike any others. And the fire, the blaze of the end times surely. Buildings, people, the fire cleansed all who it touched. Fire didn't pick and choose, it took. If their was one element in this world those northmen could be described as, it was fire. They took, burned, and took more. Their was no recess. But just like a fire some things Hardy make it. She was such a thing. She was the type to endure but this was ridiculous! If you thought when a raid happened you only had to watch out for the raiders you would be wrong. It seemed her people in panic went insane. Slaying their own. She not only had to watch out for the new comers but her own neighbors as well. She was never really lucky however and this day was no different, but it seemed she wasn't down right UN-lucky either. She was taken last, found among the crates and stalls at the markets, the ropes cutting into her hands on her end, the other end was in the hands of a large heathen of a man but was snagged by a young women quickly after. words were exchanged quickly between the two. Consintrating on who’s hand now owned her leash gave her enough distraction to what was going on around. The young women had blond hair blazed red and orange, golden even when the fires around them both hit it just right it was tied back in long braids and her grey eyes didn't look at her but they were fierce and glared at others of her people as she passed. She didn't speak much but seemed to growl in announce to her kin when she needed to. This was someone in charge if people leaving no sooner then her words were spit had anything to go by. The young women wasn't very tall though a couple inches more so then she, a small waist and curvy hips she was dirty with Ash, dirt and blood and smelled of all three. Her leather clothing..or was it armor were fitted to her and she wore pants of all things! women here didn't wear them except in the winter if it was cold enough but even then that was under a dress still. These men and women cleared out as quickly as they came. They did not linger and when all was loaded including her she was in the middle of the water looking at endless waves. Her own black hair kept getting blown in her face. She would need to braid it when she could use her hands again. You would think she would be afraid, among strangers, tied to a pole under the ship, she wasn't, she was far to curious. Everything had happened so fast she was alert looking over everything she could, the others captured like her didn't even look at her, that was no surprise considering she was an outsider to them all. Her green eyes took in who had been spared and she recognized some young women and stronger men. No children or elderly. That meant her father had not made it. Her father, a great healer, was one of them but her mother, a witch of a healer, came from another land. She had her mother's looks mostly, some were unique to herself, all she had been given by her father was her striking  eyes, identical to his. Black hair, palest of skin almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones. Skinny and short with a small chest she got these things from her mother but she also had birthing hips or so she had been told her thighs were a bit on the bigger scale and her butt wasn't flat like her mothers these were the parts of her her father said came from his mother. Green, not to bright like emeralds but more like the Jade her mother had favored from her home land, her eyes stood out just more so then her fathers seemed to as his features didn't seem too make them exotic. on her they seemed foreign, not right. In the darkness like now under the main deck Her eyes seemed black. Her father had been the main healer for their rich small area and was so good others from other areas around contacted him. Even Kings and royalty had called for him. After Her mother had died it was just him and her, she learned everything he would teach her and as he got older she was thankful she did get to travel with him. In fact they had both just gotten back from the royal castle in the east, they had delivered a child of the young queen. She had gone to the markets to get some supplies as three weeks of being gone had their store room needing fresh food. She let herself shed a couple tears in his memory before wiping them away. The Northwomen came back looking far better and less agitated then before, her hair down now and clothes a little cleaner. she untied her and pulled out some bread and water both from the land they had just left. She almost choked on both when the young women opened her mouth and spoke her language. You may think how she spoke wasn't the best but besides a light accent proving she wasn't a native you couldn't tell. So they talked and they learned each other's names, the Northwomen was called Asta Bergljot, Asta by her mother but called Bergljot by her men and her brothers. Asta was the name her mother wished for her to have and the other the name her father called her. It seemed her people called her Asta as a title almost rather then a name but it was shorter and easy to say.Her own name wasn't impressive but she shared it anyway and when the women had trouble she told her how her name meant treestorm so the lady Asta called her Eikhríð eik meant tree, hríð meant storm It was harsher then her own language but she liked it. It was different like she.They talked about that to, about her parents and Asta was impressed with her abilities as a healer she even offered condolences when she talked about her father. Eikhríð knew she shouldn't be spilling so much but she was never good at stopping once she started something. She had never connected with anyone before. Her father's people hated her and no one opened up to her. Asta did. The whole journey to Asta's land was filled with conversation and lessons about their ways. Asta opened about her people about her brothers two older and one younger and a sister as well. Her father was a Jarl in their land and that made Asta a princess of sorts. they talked about many things for many days, above deck and below. Asta seemed to enjoy her company, one of her older brothers was in change of this raid and didn't even seem to mind them both gossiping like kitchen slaves in a palace.

By the time they got off the ship Eikhríð had gained a lot of knowledge she no longer had to be led around like her kin though Asta did tie her hands and hold on to her just for show as she was still a slave. 

Life moved on, Asta's family treated her well. Eikhríð was Asta's personal handmaid but only acted like it when they were in front of others. two years past this way, Eikhríð learned their language, how they fought, how they lived. 

Though she was a slave she had earned the title 'The Wagging' due to always having information to give. she didn't give the information freely, secrets were kept but it wasn't a secret that she knew enough to bury most people. She looked so foreign she could play the part of new slave well to over hear things. most in their land knew not she could speak their language as well as she could.  

Asta thought of Eikhríð more of a sister as her own was older and had been married off. They were close so when Asta went raiding Eikhríð went too. When the sons of Ragnar called upon an army news spread. Asta's father didn't like Ragnar, he wouldn't let his sons go. Asta grew angry at her fathers decisions and left a little farther north to see her uncle who always favored her. Her uncle had raided with Ragnar before he was already packing to answer the call so it wasn't to hard for both women to slip in among his ranks. Her father would no doubt be furious but both women knew he wouldn't send anyone after her.

Eikhríð knew to stay close when they reached Kattegat, the town was bigger then what both were used to, it was new, exciting and Eikhríð thought dangerous. Eikhríð herself tied a rope to one of her wrists and the other end to Asta's, she wouldn't be getting lost or taken off to who knows where. As a friend, a sister and a slave Eikhríð knew Asta would do great things. she could listen to her talk all day of plans for the future, where she wanted to go, things she wanted to do. heading to the great hall Asta walked proud next to her uncle and behind her Eikhríð quickened her steps as not to have the rope pull her along, eyes scanning everything, she wanted no surprises. all three stopped once in the threshold to take it in.

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leaving it here as this is only the intro <3

[im-not-a-what]

The Witch Doctor on Main Street, Ch. 4

Title: The Witch Doctor on Main Street

Summary: Mr. Gold runs Storybrooke’s herbal shop. He sells remedies that some people consider miraculous, although he’s earned suspicion from florist Moe French and distrust from professionals like Dr. Whale. When Moe’s daughter Belle moves into town, she gets caught up in the rivalries and mysteries surrounding Gold’s line of work. Little do any of them know the true power of Gold’s “magic touch.” But a warlock making herbal medicine may not be the only extraordinary secret hiding in Storybrooke. 

Rating: G

Genre: Friendship, drama, modern-day with magic AU

Chapter: Parents and Punishments [1] [2] [3]

Characters/Pairings: Mr. Gold, Neal/Baelfire, Lily, Maleficent

Read on AO3

Note: This chapter gives the Golds’ perspective on what happened that day Belle was visited by Neal and Lily.

There were worst ways for any given day to go, but getting a phone call from the principal at your son’s school with news that said son had assaulted another student certainly belonged on Gold’s list of Things I’d Rather Not Deal With. Yet the first question to leave his lips was, “Did my son have a good reason?”

“Good reason?” Principal Nottingham sputtered, balking at the insanity he deemed present in Gold’s words. “Mr. Gold, we have a zero-tolerance policy for violence at this school!”

“Could you at the very least tell me who else was involved?”

“If you and the parents of the other students wish to set up a conference, I can arrange an appointment.”

“Other students?” Just how many kids did Neal try to fight?

“Yes—Lilith Vincent and August Booth. I suggest waiting until the conference to discuss this matter with their parents. I want to handle this situation as judiciously as possible.”

“Of course,” Gold said. The words churned in the back of his throat.

The growl had its intended effect, if the principal’s “ahem” was any indication. “Y-you can imagine that this behavior warrants suspension, Mr. Gold. You’ll receive a written statement of the facts and my decision on how to proceed within the next few days. The same will be so with the other children.”

“And if I don’t agree with your decision?”

“You have a right to a hearing, of course.” Another clearing of the throat. “This is a serious situation, as I’m sure you understand—”

“I’m coming to pick up my son now,” Gold said as he turned over the pawnshop’s sign to ‘Closed’.

“Yes, yes, please do. Thank you for your time.”

Gold snapped his flip phone shut. He still writhed at the fact that someone decided it was a good idea to put that man in charge of children. He didn’t trust Keith Nottingham’s judgement as far as he could hurl him. Then again, with the right amount of effort, he just might try hurling the principal quite a distance.

Maybe Gold felt responsible for this uncharacteristic aggression in his boy. Not that he was beating people in back alleys with his cane (despite a few fantasies). But while he provided a well sought service in the community, he wasn’t by any stretch popular. Moe French had sympathetic compatriots.

Some had asked, even begged, for more than even Gold could deliver, he whose gift with herbal medicine astounded his clients. Such a gift inspired a little too much hope at times. To other citizens, the mere aura of the shop, old-timey and steeped in esoteric knowledge, hinted that the man wielded a power they could never understand. That notion earned in turns respect and fear. Once, long ago, the shop had a friendlier atmosphere under the care of Rosalind Gold and her partner Olive Meriwether. Even when its current owner first inherited the establishment, their generous spirit carried on within it. Now, light still played on the glass counters, tin tea boxes and porcelain jars, but most of the store lived in a shadow of whispered memories. The ember of kinder times had been reduced to a flicker.

Gold hadn’t noticed the gradual change until he got a call from his ex-wife confirming she was not coming back. What hope this place had promised for the future nearly sputtered out. Gold alternately had avoided it and hidden in its gloom, even from Neal.

His son wore bravery like armor, reflecting the light of the world around him and hiding the scars. But the scars remained, as did a cloud of anger and sadness. The cloud would rear up, an overdue storm, in moods that took and left too suddenly to predict. Gold did notice that it came around most often around Neal’s birthday. Neal seemed increasingly aware, too, since each year he tried harder and harder to distract himself or pretend to be cheerful. It erupted in an outburst, anyway—maybe some shouting, a few cruel words, often followed by silence and isolation. Then he always apologized: “It wasn’t your fault, Pop. I know it wasn’t. I just wish . . .”

Gold never had the right words. He let Neal guide his response, normally a hug or an offer to get him something, anything, he wanted in town. Ice cream, donuts, a bagel with cream cheese—always food for some reason.

An offer of ice cream was probably not the right way to confront one’s son about a school fight. Gold pushed aside the impulse to overthink what to say to Neal, even when he arrived.

School was still in session, though close to dismissal, so most of the halls were empty. He was left to a relatively peaceful walk to the administrative offices. The reception area provided a buffer to the principal’s office so Gold could step inside, loiter near the receptionist’s empty desk and observe the space. It was then he noticed his son, a little bloodied around the nose but otherwise fine. Further in along a wall, parallel to the one on his right but out of the doorway’s line of sight, stood a row of chairs occupied by Neal and two other kids. Lily sat right beside him with a split lip, a bruised chin, and reddened knuckles on her right hand. She just whispered something in his ear. August Booth, tall and freckled, was struck with the fear of God at the sight of Mr. Gold. He buried his gaze in his lap and clasped hands. He had a couple more darkening circles on his face, including a black eye.

Lily saw Gold second to August. She bumped Neal’s shoulder with her own. Neal looked up, then tried to sink his head between his shoulders. Pure shame. Yet he did cut a glare at August before fully embracing chagrin.

Gold started at a calm stride toward his son. Hardly after two steps, a door somewhere on his left swung open.

“Mr. Gold!” Principal Nottingham hurried out of his office. Gold was briefly distracted by how the man tried to pass his greasy, barely combed hair as a legitimate style. The receptionist, Mrs. Loxley, made a furtive getaway from Nottingham’s office back to her desk.

“I’m here for my son.” Gold barely looked at the other man. His gaze and nodded urged Neal to collect his bag and come along as quickly as possible. Neal was inclined to agree, but as he stood, he regarded Lily like a soldier leaving a comrade to face the current skirmish on her own.

“I just want to thank you for coming so promptly.” Nottingham moved in and made a half-realized motion to shake Gold’s hand. One deadpan glance from Gold stopped him and sent his hand into retreat. Still, he kept talking. “I understand that this looks rather ugly, but we will handle this matter delicately.”

“We?” Gold asked.

“Well, the school board will be informed, of course. I-I can’t help that. There’s also the matter of your son’s permanent record—”

“Mr. Nottingham,” Gold said at a gentle volume, “I suggest you hold your tongue until we conduct our official meeting. I intend to seek legal counsel if it comes to that. Now, as I wish to waste as little of your time as possible, we’ll be leaving.”

By now, Nottingham had put a five-foot berth between himself and Gold. He nodded while trying to smile. “Yes, of course. I just---uh, well—”

“If you have something to say,” declared a woman’s voice behind Gold, “you might as well spit it out.”

Oh, brother. Gold barely held back an eyeroll before turning around.

Magdalene Vincent, sharply dressed and sharply tongued, swept into the reception area. She came to an ominous halt beside Gold, which he accepted since she became a filter for the unctuous presence of Nottingham.

“No, no, Ms. Vincent,” Nottingham sputtered. “I understand that you and Mr. Gold are very busy. And for your children’s sake, it’s best that we hold off further discussion of the matter for a better time.”

“I want an account of the incident,” Magdalene said, “here and now.”

Lily mimicked Neal’s turtlish pose.

Nottingham tugged at his tie. “Uh, well—”

“Not out here.” She sounded weary already. “In your office.”

Gold had to admit to admiration that she didn’t add “idiot” at the end of the sentence. What he didn’t like was how she faced him and, with a conspiring nod, roped him into an uncomfortable session with the already perspiring principal. He would’ve preferred taking Neal home and dealing with the technicalities later. But Nottingham might use the grace period to craft a damning case against Neal if he wished. Magdalene wasn’t taking that chance, and maybe Gold ought not to, either.

With an apologetic look and instructions that Neal and Lily sit tight, Gold followed Magdalene and Nottingham into the office.

Twenty minutes later, they emerged with a story that, quite frankly, didn’t do much to change Gold’s feelings about the situation. Under the force of Magdalene’s pointed questions, Nottingham conceded that Lily had been harassed first by August, although various accounts from the trio as well as witnesses didn’t completely agree on who started the physical fight and why. Lily didn’t seek a teacher for aid, so in Nottingham’s eyes, that made her partly culpable for what happened—Magdalene’s glower not withstanding. As for Neal, he interceded on Lily’s part, first to pull her out of the fight with August, then to fight August in her place. All this had occurred during lunch period, so plenty of students and a handful of teachers on lunch duty could paint a panorama of the event sequence. Lily and August started the fight; Neal finished it with August on the ground.

When the two parents and principal exited their private conference, Marco Booth was standing and waiting with his son at his side. Marco became awash with distress seeing two of Storybrooke’s most intimidating residents already in talks with the principal. To Gold and Magdalene’s surprise, though, Marco prompted August to apologize to them and Mr. Nottingham for fighting with Neal and Lily. The boy begrudgingly did. Gold wondered if Marco was aware that a simple apology wouldn’t let August off the hook for suspension. The old carpenter had a sincere air bordering on naivete. He did what he could to raise his son with a moral backbone, but maybe August took advantage of his old man’s goodwill. He did look chided, if only for his father’s sake.

Once the parents collected their children, Marco lingered to get clarification on a few details about the fight from Nottingham. The Golds and Vincents gladly left the Booths behind. Gold caught Neal meeting eyes with Mrs. Loxley, who returned his gaze in sympathy.

“We need to talk,” Magdalene said as they approached their cars, only a couple parking spaces apart.

“Can’t it wait?” Gold said.

“It’s in both our best interests.”

Neal slowed down as he neared the Cadillac Deville. Lily rested a hand on the passenger door handle of the Chevrolet Bel-Air while watching the adults. Gold checked on his son, feeling the scrutiny, before he replied to Magdalene. “If we do this, it’ll be at my shop.”

“That’s your idea of neutral territory?”

“It’s a place of business, open to anyone who cares to peruse it, but I can guarantee privacy.”

Magdalene looked hardly eased by his reasoning. Yet, after a glimpse at Lily, she nodded.

That was how Mr. Gold and Ms. Vincent ended up talking in the herbal shop’s backroom while the children were told to wait outside. By the time they arrived, Gold warmed up to the upcoming conversation. Suppose Nottingham had the gall to suspend Neal for standing up for a friend, as the boy himself confirmed during the car ride. August, while not exactly a friend, was a tolerable classmate when he wasn’t tagging along with kids who wasted every hour they could spare sneaking in a smoke behind the school or causing some vandalism in the way of graffiti or overturned trash and recycling bins. Lately he’d gotten into some gambling, or his “friends” often bullied him out of money. Today he came up to Lily, first pretending to be nice, even a little flirty, which Lily shot down. He switched to pressing her about his desperate situation—he owed fifty dollars to a kid named Lambert.

Now, Lily didn’t have the cleanest nose herself; she’d fallen in with similar kids who encouraged her to skip classes and stay out late. Lambert was someone she’d known and then made a point to avoid. The last thing she wanted was to give him her money.

Pleas and refusals turned to exchanged insults. August let some thoughtless barb fly that hit Lily on the worst nerve. The next moment her fist connected with his face. So, yes, Lily had thrown the first punch, but he’d clearly crossed a line! And then August retaliated by shoving Lily. She toppled into a lunch table, her face impacting on its edge. He didn’t even get a breath to insult her again or blurt out an apology before another attack from Lily. Neal was heading back from the bathroom when he ran into a gathering crowd of spectators. By then, Lily was on top of August, wailing on him.

As soon as he pushed through to the other side of the throng, Neal grabbed and hauled her away. He didn’t know about the table, so seeing her already reddening eye and jaw set him off to confront August. Despite some solid punches to his chest, August got back to his feet with only a few hearty coughs. Neal made the mistake of shoving him as the freckled boy stepped toward them. Adrenaline in flux and pride on the line, August didn’t give a thought to taking a swing at Neal. Both boys were soon grabbling, punching and pushing each other. The cheering students acted as a barrier to the two female teachers on duty. One of them retrieved Mr. Dunbroch, the gym teacher. While he had a prosthetic leg, he put every weight-lifting man in town to shame. His shouts were enough to bisect the crowd. His big hands grabbed the boys by their hair so they’d be in too much pain to keep fighting. As soon as it was clear he’d just landed himself in hot water, August weaseled out Lily as the instigator.

Gold made it clear to Neal that he shouldn’t have let the fight go on by pushing August. That said, he understood Neal’s indignity from seeing his best friend hurt. What he didn’t tell Neal was his deep displeasure at Lily’s behavior. Yes, it was irritating to be hit up for money, and perhaps August’s remark, whatever it was, deserved a thrashing. But by letting her temper overrule what good sense she had, she dragged Neal into trouble with her. That was not the sort of friend his son needed.

The teens agreed to wait outside the shop’s backdoor—they each had their tablets and phones to occupy them. Thank goodness for distracting technology. Relatively confident that their busy fingers would stick to the pulse of social media and keep their ears away from the chatter inside, Gold escort Magdalene into the backroom.

The two parents were swallowed by the soothing aromas of flowers, herbs, salts and oils coming from the raw materials of his products. The main worktable had a standing army of bottles, jars and bowls. Gold felt a little self-conscious about the mess. It was his work area, so he didn’t need to keep it organized for anyone but himself. Everything else in his life—his house, his showroom in the front, his finances, his wardrobe—were all kept in immaculate order. He never let Neal leave a shirt or even a sock lying around: either it went in the hamper or he never saw it again. He’d drawn the line at cleaning Neal’s room. Neal could arrange his belongings in some manner of manageable chaos. Creative spaces were given exception. Gold’s workroom was one such space—his potions den. His laboratory. A system existed, to be sure, so he could access this jar of ginkgo leaves and this box of goldenseal root, but once they were on the table, it became a collage of concoctions simultaneously in the process of creation.

All past this he led Magdalene toward the room’s front end, right behind the curtain to the show room. She’d caught glimpses of his handiwork before. It still felt exposing. A few comfortable chairs, upholstered in velvet, were summoned from a corner. On a nearby counter resided a portable stove, the barest equipment for making tea and frying up a meal if he couldn’t slip over to Granny’s diner or prepare something ahead of time at home. Gold rarely cared to leave unless urgency pressed him.

“This places smells like a garden collided with a soap factory.” Magdalene wrinkled her nose.

Leave it to a woman who comes into regular contact with furnaces, diesel fuel and heating oil to find the scent of gardens and soaps unpleasant. “Maybe one of my teas will improve the smell.” Gold went over to a counter where a kettle rested beside a portable stove. He filled the kettle with water from a sink and set it on the burner to boil. He then nestled himself in the chair and set his cane against one of the armrests. “I should’ve expected this day to come.”

Magdalene planted both feet on the floor while leaning back in her seat. She didn’t care to cross her legs when there was business at hand. “Is this in regards to your son’s cavalier behavior?”

“Cavalier? Neal might well have saved your daughter from more unpleasant consequences. I think I’m more in the right to be worried.”

“How do you reason that?”

“Your daughter was the first aggressor. Neal acted only after she put herself in harm’s way. That temper of hers—”

“You know how it is for her! I couldn’t have been clearer about it.”

Gold allowed Magdalene a moment to cool. While her pale blonde hair, fair skin and gray-blue eyes suggested the temperament of an ice queen, she was anything but. The cracks in her restraint showed through the tendons of her neck, in the harsh line her red mouth drew across her face like a bloody wound. She had years of practiced self-control behind her, but Gold knew better than to push her limits. He was sensible about these things. He had to be.

“I must make my son’s safety my priority,” he said once the tension in her face laxed. “You must understand that.”

“You bound yourself to a contract,” she replied.

“Not at the expense of my son’s welfare.”

“And what of Lily’s welfare?” Anger dissolved into no less troubling sorrow. Her sharp eyes bowed to the floor, not out of deference but from something that lingered in her thoughts much closer to home. Gold linked his fingers together and waited, patient as always.

Magdalene led with a sigh. “Lily has been asking about her father. More than usual.”

Gold’s head slowly bent down.

“There’s only so much I can say. I’m running out of excuses, and now she’s . . . she’s channeling her frustration into other outlets.”

“Teenage rebellion,” Gold reminded her.

“It goes beyond that. If it comes to it, I will track down her father. But you can imagine the complications involved. It could take a while, if it’s even possible. As for Lily, I need your guarantee that whatever happens, you will do as you promised.”

Gold dragged in air through his slender nose. It was hard not to bristle at what could’ve been a veiled threat. “Is this your way of demanding my special services? I could prescribe some remedies—”

“No. My daughter doesn’t need to be medicated.”

“There’s no shame in a little help to keep her nature under control.”

“Rupert.”

Gold stiffened. An extra vibrato registered an octave below Magdalene’s natural voice. In a moment he recovered, tilted his head, and assumed a disapproving tone. “I meant no offense, Magda. No need to make it personal.”

She huffed with a duchess’ primness. “Sometimes I think you and your kind like to forget who has the real power, regardless of the adjustments we’ve all had to make.”

“True. We all must adapt. I recognize that it’s harder for some. As I said, my services are available if you wish to make use of them. I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to aid your daughter.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to step beyond the usual bounds.” She was annoyed by this parrying, so she moved on to what she presented as a compromise. “Your son has been, dare I say it, a positive influence on her. I don’t want her thinking she should depend on a man for protection, but he’s provided her companionship over the years. I understand why today’s events would prompt you to put an end to their friendship. If nothing else, allow Lily to have it.”

Gold pulled a half-frown. He was discouraged from his previous plan simply by the imagined scene of him telling Neal to stay away from Lily. “I doubt I could stop it if I wanted to. But I hold Lily accountable for today, regardless what he says. If she wants to get into fights, she’ll do so alone.”

His declaration went unanswered for a short while. Magdalene turned over her thoughts while her eyes drifted over the backroom. Gold took this moment to check on the steaming kettle. The water was hot enough to pour into a teapot and leave a couple of teabags to steep. When he returned to his chair, her attention wandered back to him.

“At one time, I would’ve encouraged Lily to fight her own battles. I still support it in the long-term. But, right now, she’s just a child. I’d rather do the fighting for her. So please appreciate what I’m asking. It’s not easy to do.”

His acknowledgement came as a nod. Magdalene wore her pride well. As a young woman from a humble upbringing, her start in the heating business was far from glamorous. It suited her, though, the hard work. When the money rolled in, her business expanded with employees who did the bulk of the labor, but she still had the most experience and could be depended on for a sound assessment of repairs and installations she was brought in to oversee. She wore the gray business suit like a second skin. She also continued inspecting the wares of her trade, hands-on, traces of ash and oil inescapable. That was the pride of self-dependence. She wanted that trait to pass on to Lily. So yes, he could understand how this must have felt to a formidable creature, rolling over on its back and presenting its vulnerable side at the mercy of another.

Gold rubbed his thumb and forefinger on the head of the right armrest. “I don’t suppose you’re asking me to play a . . . a sort of surrogate father to Lily.”

Her scoff came with an arched eyebrow. “Let’s not give her the wrong idea. You needn’t be any friendlier—I know the toll it would take on you. Just watch over her. Give her guidance if she seeks it. If there’s a standing credit as a result, I’ll be the one to pay it.”

“I charge consultant fees only by appointment.” His cheeky smile only widened under the force of her askance glower. He got up to fetch the tea before Magdalene answered.

After clearing a place on the work table, he set down the tea tray loaded with quaint blue-and-white china. Magdalene wisely waited in her chair until everything was assembled. Gold filled their cups with pleasantly bitter English Breakfast, and they sipped while discussing the logistics of Nottingham’s account of the fight and how it matched with Neal’s and Lily’s versions. Their children’s stories corroborated each other, which might have been a testament to their aptitude for conspiracy, but Gold and Magdalene felt it bolstered a defense against suspension. The trickiest points of contention lay in two facts: Lily threw the first punch, and Neal pushed August after he broke up the first fight, thereby initiating a second fight. Their parents had no misgivings or doubts about arguing provocation and self-defense, respectively. As the hands on the clock mounted next to the archway marked the passing of the hour, they built a case were Nottingham to hand out suspension notices.

A tingle of warning at the back of his neck begged Gold to pardon himself from the conversation and peer outside the back door. Neal and Lily were nowhere in sight.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Magdalene said while pulling out her phone. A couple calls to Lily’s cell garnered no response.

Gold tried the same method with Neal’s phone. Same outcome. In hopes that the children had only just wandered up and down Main Street to assuage their boredom, Gold and Magdalene exited by the store front, just in time to see the new librarian walking their Neal and Lily back to them. The sight and the exchange that followed blindsided Gold. Magdalene was not much less startled, though she conveyed it through silent intimidation. For him, he couldn’t even muster a reason to be annoyed at Belle French. He was the one who had tried soliciting a payment from her father not a week ago. It was odd, though, (and therefore dubious) that Belle saw it as her business to escort them to their folks after an hour of presumably watching them. Perhaps this was her idea of becoming part of the community, regardless the fact that “librarian” didn’t equate to babysitter or youth counselor.

“She was just being nice, Dad,” Neal fired off, though only after Magdalene and Lily left. “It’s not like she’s trying to get another favor out of you. Why do you always assume that about people?”

“It may seem unreasonable to you, but I’ve learned that trust must be earned.”

“And what’s she done to make you distrust her?”

“Nothing. I barely know her.”

“Then why did you offer her a job?”

Gold was putting the tea set away, the pot’s contents transferred into a thermos and stored in a minifridge under the counter, when Neal’s words stopped him short. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Neal said, hands in his pockets. “But I know how you are about magic. I’d hoped you hadn’t visited her to make her return the favor. Guess I was wrong.”

“Neal, I didn’t demand anything.” The pang of disappointment in himself—in how well his son knew him—tightened his throat for a few seconds. “Belle said she was open to the idea of working in the shop.”

Neal’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Well, if it’s her idea, then you should hire her. Then you’ll find out who she really is.”

“And you won’t have to help out as much.” Some of Gold’s smile returned.

Neal didn’t try to argue.

For the rest of the afternoon, Gold resumed managing the store, now open and receiving the usual trickle of clientele. Leroy, a hardy janitor, crept in for bi-monthly jar of iron-supplement tablets and a bottle of joint pain relief cream, accompanied by the side-eye that reminded Gold to keep his health issues secret. Other customers gravitated to the displays of thread, yarn, knitting and crochet needles, and the scarves and socks one could create with deceptively simple tools. Anton Bean was among them, the rotund giant of a man who oversaw the town’s community garden. Abigail and Frederick Knight stopped by to pick out new scented candles, completely organic and designed for aromatherapy. Marco hadn’t been by yet to purchase another bottle of wood finish, also organic and, by his own admission, more effective and less odorous than the commercial brands. His best friend, Dr. Hopper, did come in to ask about Gold’s pet products. Pongo was suffering from a gum infection. Gold had a limited selection of remedies for animals, but he easily pulled a bag of dog biscuits off the shelf and instructed the therapist on how and when to administer the homemade treats. If the infection didn’t clear up in a week, Hopper should come back and put in an order for a special formula.

In the meantime, Neal completed his homework in the backroom. Gold checked in every so often to ensure homework was indeed getting finished. He even looked over whatever worksheets Neal’s teachers had assigned. While not particularly versed in information technology, Gold assumed that Neal snuck in breaks to check social media or play a game on his phone. He allowed it so long as homework was in progress, too.

Both of them were done with work by seven o’clock. Gold closed the store for a second time and drove home with Neal. Halfway to their salmon-pink Victorian house, Neal breached a topic Gold had expected him to avoid like a contagion.

“Um, Dad? I’ve been thinking . . . maybe I should apologize to August and his dad next time I see them.”

Gold frowned. “What? Why?”

“It seems like the right thing to do. Should I apologize to Mr. Nottingham, too?”

“No,” Gold declared. “You need to avoid suspension. Let’s not do anything to compromise that.”

“I get that. But apologizing would be the right thing to do, right?”

“You said yourself you were helping Lily. Now it sounds as though you believe you were wrong.”

“It’s not like that, exactly.” Neal blinked hard and wiggled his nose. No doubt it was still sore. “August was being an a—a jerk. But I could’ve handled it differently. I could’ve yelled at him or something. Or gotten Lily away and reported to a teacher. That’s what Mr. Nottingham said I should’ve done. Maybe he was right.”

The corner of Gold’s mouth twitched down. “Neal, I won’t get into a long-winded explanation, but I’ve known Keith Nottingham for years. I don’t know why anyone thought he should be your principal. I’m not saying you shouldn’t trust most people in charge, but I will tell you that Nottingham has his own, personal reasons for punishing students for fights. He’s not interested in right and wrong.”

Neal watched his father for a silent minute. Their house came into view when he spoke. “Wow. You realize most parents would tell their kids to not think badly of other adults, right?”

“Other parents might have to worry about their children using any excuse to act out. I don’t have to worry about that with you.” Gold glanced at Neal, his look both pointed and playful. “Right?”

“No, Dad. I’m gonna organize a school-wide riot to get Mr. Nottingham to resign.” The boy was remarkably gifted at deadpan. At the end, however, a half-smile broke through his dry delivery.

Gold didn’t hold back his own grin. It faltered as he thought about his son’s previous worries. “You still want to apologize to the Booths?”

Neal nodded. “Mr. Booth looked so upset when he came in. August told him Lily punched him first. His dad looked at her, pretty angry, but he asked why she did it. Lily didn’t want to say, so I told him that August had insulted her. He went from being mad at Lily to being mad at August. And he could see that Lily had bruises, though not as bad as August’s. He told August he’d raised him better than to hurt people. He made him apologize to us. And—I don’t know. I could tell Mr. Booth was disappointed in us, too, but he wasn’t going to scold us. I don’t think August was all that sorry for what he did. He didn’t want to let his dad down, though. As much of a jerk as he can be, he loves his dad. And it got me thinking: I gotta be at least as decent as August. I mean, wouldn’t apologizing by my own choice make me the bigger person?”

Gold sighed. The whole “bigger person” argument was overrated in his estimation. There were plenty of circumstances where protecting yourself and your loved ones was more important than being especially noble.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He steered the car into the driveway.

“Great. Thanks for the moral support, Pop.”

Gold cut the engine and turned to his son. “I won’t pretend I’m the expert when it comes to what the noble thing to do is. But I know this: there are people in this world who will take advantage of your good nature, Neal. Marco Booth isn’t one of them; Mr. Nottingham is. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that you have to be careful and not let anyone twist your generous gestures against you. If you apology to someone who hurt you or someone you love, simply because you hurt them back in retaliation, they will take that to mean they can hold your guilt over you like a Sword of Damocles.”

“Sword of what?”

“I mean like—like a guillotine, always hanging over your head.”

“Oh.” Neal’s mouth pursed into a frown. “Yeah, that sucks.”

“Indeed. I don’t want you going through life like that. You have to stand up for yourself, even if that means throwing a punch.”

“I’m pretty sure this is not the conversation Mr. Nottingham is expecting us to have. But I get what you’re saying.”

“Don’t worry about what Nottingham thinks.”

“Okay. But I care if it was right or not. I am sorry—but not completely sorry.”

Gold chuckled. “Let’s leave it at that, then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna punish me?”

Maybe he should. There wasn’t some parental committee that could come in and condemn him for not grounding his son for a school fight. But that did sound like the responsible course of action. Gold leaned into his seat and stared ahead in thought. No Internet? No, that was next to impossible with Neal’s laptop and phone. Gold himself depended on Neal having a phone as a means to stay in touch. Sure, parents had managed parenting without this technology since humanity’s first days, but boy was it convenient. Even if Gold wanted to try it, Neal would find ways around it. Friends’ phones, computers at school, just to name a few alternatives. A more effective and manageable punishment would be to enforce added chores rather than take away privileges.

An epiphany came, and with it a smug expression. “Janitorial duties,” Gold said. “For the next week, I’ll pick you up from school. We’ll go directly to the shop. You’ll dust, sweep and mop the entire place. Then you’ll complete your homework. After I close up, we’ll go directly home. No going out with friends, no friends coming over.”

“Oh, come on!” Neal’s pleading look couldn’t undermine his father’s resolution. His grumbles were taken as a sign that Gold had chosen a satisfactory penalty. Even so, mild displeasure niggled at him.

“Hey,” Gold said, “let’s get some ice cream.”

Neal picked up his head off the headrest, despair discarded. “You serious?”

“My sweet tooth is calling. You on board?”

While no more ready to process this turnabout, Neal said, as though defeated, “Yeah, sure.”

Gold gave a kinder smile as he switched the engine back on.

[dangerhissy]

So this is a bit of a rant post, because frankly links like this and commentaries around it claiming it's "just a bit of fun" are insidious and divisive in what should be a vibrant, close knit (excuse the pun) community.

Instead of promoting things like this (seriously 100g of blueface leicester for less than a tenner! How did i not find this before??) it means that all less well-off crafters are being fed is a steady diet of oblique messages that they'll never be one of the club or that they'll never be real crafters.

Let me give you a bit of background.

I took up knitting the month after my mum died and i lost a pregnancy, knitting found me when the only coherent thoughts i had were of going to lay down on still fresh dirt on mum's grave and let the cold take me in my sleep.

I took it up when 400 cigarettes a week was three asthma attacks a day, when alcohol became more important to me than coffee (I was a university finalist) and university became so unimportant i stopped seeing the point of interrupting my drinking/smoking/suicide planning to bother with it.

I picked up knitting on an off chance. I was at uni, making a beeline for the bar between classes and they were knitting poppies in the SU for Rememberance Sunday and i got roped into having a go.

Knitting was my step off the road i was hightailing it down that only had my own early grave at the end of it. I wasn't eating properly, i wasn't drinking anything but alcohol and coffee or redbulls and i was smoking so much i had to switch brands twice in a week because the store in the SU i used to buy them from didn't get deliveries that often.

I was sufferring from flashbacks, nightmares, psychotic episodes, severe depression and regular anxiety attacks.

The only reason i wasn't hospitalised is because the one doctor who tried to suggest it never saw me again. I was tailspinning through each day waiting for the inevitable crash. And in the midst of all this someone put a pair of knitting needles in my hand and gave me something productive that i could do fairly easily (I picked up garter stitich in under twenty minutes) without getting frustrated or stressed because it wasn't really important.

And that made it the most important thing in the world to me.

In the space of a fortnight my cigarette and alcohol intake halved another fortnight and it halved again, i started sleeping and the contant buzzing and anxiety quietened when i had a pair of needles in my hand.

Within two weeks i'd bought a set of cheap circular needles from china and about £20 of Marriner Yarn.

Was it great stuff? Not really. It was sportweight acrylic but the colour choice was brilliant and it knit up well enough.

Did it do the job? Well, i'm still here.

But here's the thing: I was skipping meals to buy yarn becuase i NEEDED the distraction after that, i was a student, if i didn't have my knitting (or later my crochet project) i was going scatty.

I wasn't skipping meals to pay for cigarettes, and eventually i stopped skipping meals altogether. I stopped drinking too. Buying yarn became more important. I swapped one potentially deadly addiction for something that was no more harmless to my bank account and the worst it could do was give me a few callusess on my fingers, but i had those anyway from guitar class as a teenager.

When i look at some of the groups i joined after finally getting my eye in i thank then moon, stars and whatever deity is out there that i didn't find them sooner.

When i look i realise that it's no wonder young people don't want anything to do with crafting unless they've got money, knitters espcially are some of the most elitist, condescending people i've ever met and frankly i'm sick of it.

When a new knitter makes a garter stitch dishcloth you should be congratulating them not telling them how easy it is! Crocheters do this too, seriously if making a shell stitich shawl is so easy go do it instead of looking down your nose at someone who did because 'it's such a simple stitch."

Some call it friendly debate and banter.

They say it's like comparing branded and off branded clothes and everyone does it so that makes it ok, the thing i see don't see t-shirts from whichever top brand is flavour of the moth emblazoned with slogans "death before goodwill" or similar because that would be deemed classist, probably with a side order of racist thrown in depending on where it was, so how is this acceptable in this community?

The thing is it's not a friendly debate and unless you've been the kid bulled for not having branded clothes to wear or the latest handheld games consoles you just don't get it. This whole mentality is wrong and uncalled for. It brings out the worst in everyone.

If you want to spend £40+ on a skein go ahead -just don't try and make out that you're somehow better than other people, or that they're committing some kind of crime for not doing it how you do, because you have more money so spend on a HOBBY than they do on actual medical bills and therapy!

Oh and just so you know, every single one of the quotes in this rant is genuine, but in order that i don't have to engage with the foul ignorant humans who would say such things to ask their permission to post i've been vague about who said what and where.