May 6
More of my DCA x Feral Y/N stuff, though this time it's actually a full picture instead of doodles wow-
Played around a lot with some new brushes + figuring out some textures.
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from T1
seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from India
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Norway
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Norway
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
More of my DCA x Feral Y/N stuff, though this time it's actually a full picture instead of doodles wow-
Played around a lot with some new brushes + figuring out some textures.
A Vintage Bouquet: 5
Main Masterlist Here
One Piece Masterlist
A Vintage Bouquet Masterlist
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Chapter Title: Legally Bound and Mildly Feral Length: 8.5 K+
Previous/Next
It starts, as most catastrophes do, with a mandrill trying to tell you something important—and you not understanding a word of it.
Still, you follow.
You drop the ladle. Just drop it. It clatters into the roots, splashes wine-stained compost, and you’re already bolting through the garden, boots snagging in your tangled skirts as you tear down the overgrown path.
And then you see it.
A ship. A real ship. Massive, ridiculous, and very much docked.
There are people on it. Real humans. Loud ones. Moving.
For a second, your brain tries to make excuses—some kind of sea mirage? Government hallucination? Surely the mandrills will tear them apart before they get too close.
But then a voice echoes through the misty courtyard. A voice that is far too human, far too loud, and far too close to your herb beds.
“Oi! This the place where the Greatest Swordsman dumped his secret wife and made her fight mandrills for survival?”
You stop cold.
Immediate, vine-snapping, limb-tingling panic.
You round the corner and there he is. A man. Leaning against your gate like he owns it, hands in his pockets, grinning like a drunk fox who just broke into a henhouse.
You have no idea who he is. Red hair. Sun-warmed skin. A long coat thrown over his shoulders like some heroic cliché. A grin that practically sparkles with idiocy and poor decisions.
Your first coherent thought is: Another pirate.
Your second is: Do I have time to grab the shovel?
“You!” you shout, storming forward like divine wrath in muddy boots. “Who in all seven hells told you you could just walk onto my vineyard?!”
He blinks. “Uh—hi?”
“Off. My. Land.”
He straightens slightly, still smiling like you’ve just offered him a drink. “So you are the one he left here.”
“Left?!” you screech. “He abandoned me! With mandrills! I’ve been living off compost and hallucinations! I had a staring contest with a spider last week and lost!”
“I heard it was romantic,” he says, like a man who enjoys being punched.
“Romantic?” Your voice cracks with sheer disbelief. “Who even are you?!”
More of them appear behind him—laughing, gawking, one of them loudly betting on whether the “Warlord’s Wife” is going to stab someone or just go full banshee.
You don’t answer. You just point.
You are one twitch away from committing vineyard-related homicide.
“I heard rumors,” the redhead continues, completely unfazed by your escalating fury. “Thought it was a joke. Warlord’s secret wife abandoned on a cursed island to become a feral wine-making queen? Hilarious. But…” He gestures toward your vines. “You’ve got a good crop.”
“They’re not for you! And I’m not—you can’t just dock and stroll in like this is a tasting tour!”
“Why not?” he says, absolutely thrilled.
Before you can launch into a shrieking tirade about boundaries and bladed deterrents, the underbrush rustles.
Then you hear it.
That low, guttural growl that means trouble.
Five mandrills emerge from the treeline, massive and bristling with territorial fury. Rude Bastard, their leader, bares his yellowed teeth in the direction of your unexpected guests.
The crew freezes.
The redhead squints. “Are those… your guards?”
“I didn’t hire them!” you snap. “They adopted me! I feed them! Sometimes they bring me bones!”
“Right,” he says slowly, backing up half a step. “You’ve got guard mandrills. Very normal. Totally healthy.”
One of the younger mandrills hisses, grabs a half-rotten yam, and chucks it straight at his head.
He ducks. Barely.
And grins again—this time with the cautious respect of someone who just realized he might be in over his head.
“Okay,” he says, eyes flicking between you, the mandrills, and the shovel still lying temptingly in your reach. “This is gonna be fun.”
Shanks hadn’t believed the rumors.
Not at first.
Mihawk? Kidnapping a woman?
It was absurd. The man barely tolerated company, let alone went out of his way to acquire it. Shanks knew him. Knew the way he sharpened his silence like a blade. The idea of him picking up a woman, sailing her to some cursed hunk of rock, and dumping her there like discarded luggage? No. It didn’t fit.
Mihawk was cold, yes. Unapologetically severe. Prone to ominous remarks and dramatic cloaks. But not the "tie-her-up-and-leave-her-on-a-haunted-island" type.
Still... as the Red Force neared Kuraigana’s jagged shoreline, the rumors got louder. And dumber. And more specific.
“Apparently, she fights off mandrills with a shovel.” “She eats moss and rage.”
“She’s got wine now. Probably made of moss. She legally married him. There’s a contract and everything. Mihawk might be married.”
Shanks had laughed. Right out loud. Then he stopped laughing. Then he brought wine. Because if this was real, he needed to see it.
So naturally, he came ashore.
And what he found was…
A courtyard overtaken by choking vines and volcanic weeds. A battered stone well, bubbling quietly under a crooked tree. A vineyard, a patchwork miracle, clawed from hostile ground like it owed you money. And you.
You, standing there with boots half-caked in volcanic mud, fists clenched, a rusting shovel in one hand, and the unmistakable look of someone who had not had an everyday conversation in several months. Possibly longer.
There were five mandrills standing around you like a security detail from hell. One was chewing a stolen kitchen towel. Another had what looked like your laundry draped over its shoulder like a cloak.
You hadn’t even noticed Shanks yet. You were busy arguing with a vine.
He took a cautious step forward, hands raised slightly, as if approaching a wounded animal.
“Uh. Hey. You’re… the wife? Aren’t you?”
You whipped around so fast your braid nearly struck a mandrill in the face. Your eyes locked on him. And if looks could kill, he would’ve already been buried under your grapevines.
“Who the hell are you, pirate?”
“I’m… Shanks,” he said slowly, like that would help. “Friend of Mihawk’s.”
You blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then said, flat and deeply offended: “That man has friends?!”
A yam flew past his head with malicious intent.
He ducked on instinct, turning just in time to see the smallest mandrill hurl another with frightening precision.
Shanks straightened, more cautious now. “So. Uh. The rumors might’ve left some things out.”
You stared him down. There was no recognition in your eyes, no deference. Just raw, bone-deep exhaustion sharpened into fury.
“Let me guess,” you said, voice low and scraping, “you’re here to give me a message. Something cryptic and masculine. Something like, ‘he’s watching over you’ or ‘he left you here for your own good.’”
“I mean,” Shanks said, scratching the back of his neck, “I was mostly here to see if the mandrill-wife thing was true. But also… yeah, kinda.”
He paused. Looked around again.
The vineyard wasn’t just surviving—it was thriving. Grapes curled like tiny jewels on thick, sturdy vines. Someone had patched the castle’s broken masonry. Smoke curled from the chimney. There was a smell of stew. Not imaginary stew. Real stew. Possibly with seasoning.
This wasn’t a ruin.
It was… a home.
An angry one. A little violent. But unmistakably alive.
“I didn’t realize it was sort of true,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I thought people were exaggerating. You know. Like sailors do.”
You stared at him for a long, scalding moment.
Then you threw down your shovel, hard enough to make one of the mandrills hiss.
“He left me with no firewood, one moldy rice sack, and a note that said ‘told the forest not to eat you.’” Your voice cracked up an octave. “I had to win a duel with a raccoon to get this ladle!”
Shanks nodded, slow and solemn. “Yeah. That… that sounds exactly like him.”
Another yam struck his foot. Not hard. Just enough to say we’re watching you.
He raised hand in surrender, stepping back.
“Alright. Message received. I’ll just admire your terrifying agricultural empire from over there.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Good. Stay on the stone path. If you step on the sprouting tomatoes, I will let them eat you.”
Shanks nodded again, already stepping carefully backward. This was no exaggeration. This was no joke.
Mihawk had left a woman on an island.
And she had thrived.
By force.
With mandrills. And a shovel. And pure, unfiltered rage.
It is, without question, the most unhinged tea party in Grand Line history.
The table is a crooked contraption of driftwood and one stolen door, balanced directly on the dock. You didn’t put it there because it’s scenic. You put it there because the mandrills won’t let you wander more than ten feet from the vineyard without forming a furry, twitchy perimeter like you’re some moss-stained queen in exile.
Shanks sits cross-legged on a barrel across from you, holding a chipped mug of wine and trying very hard not to smirk every time Rude Bastard bares his teeth. One of the younger mandrills has stolen a spoon and is chewing it like it owes him money.
You sit with your arms folded, face carved from stone, and one eyebrow twitching each time Shanks opens his mouth.
“I’m telling you,” he says between sips, “the man brings one bottle of wine to a duel, claims it pairs well with violence, and then refuses to share.”
“That’s generous,” you mutter. “He left me a crate of rotting lentils and a note that said ‘boil them or suffer.’”
Shanks wheezes. “That’s practically a love letter from Mihawk.”
“He married me out of spite.”
“That also sounds like him.”
Rude Bastard plops down beside you with a heavy grunt and thumps his chest once in solemn agreement. Shanks watches the motion like he’s trying to figure out if it’s approval or a warning.
“Are they always like this?” he asks, gesturing loosely to your simian entourage.
“They’re calm,” you say flatly. “If I die today, it’ll be on your watch.”
Shanks raises his mug in surrender. “Duly noted.”
At the far edge of the dock, a man leans against a support beam like he was built to do nothing else. His cigarette glows, a slow-burning ember in the mist. You’ve been ignoring him on purpose, mostly because he hasn’t said anything, which makes him dangerous. Or shy. Possibly both.
He watches the scene unfold, eyes narrowed. Half amused. Half bracing for impact.
You notice the way he studies you, not lecherous, not condescending. Just observant. Like a scout trying to identify a new species.
Tangled hair. Callused fingers. Clothes mended so many times they might be original pieces of the shipwreck. But you sit straight-backed. Pour your drink in one fluid motion. You don’t waste effort. You don’t ask for respect, you expect it. And that man—whatever he is—seems to clock it immediately.
“She has no idea who we are,” he mutters low to Shanks.
“Nope,” Shanks replies, far too cheerfully.
“No clue you’re an emperor.”
“Not a one.”
The quiet man exhales smoke through his nose as he watches a mandrill clean its nails with a fishbone. “You want me to explain? Or let her keep treating you like the intern?”
“I’m enjoying the mystery,” Shanks says. “She yells real good.”
You glare between them, tired of being left out of the subtext, and finally snap, “Are you nobility? You talk like someone who thinks soup should be sipped in silence, but your hair screams tavern fire.”
The quiet one chokes on his drink.
Shanks lights up like a man handed a second birthday. “No, sweetheart,” he says, raising his mug. “I’m something much worse.”
You narrow your eyes. “A smuggler?”
More coughing.
Shanks nods solemnly. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
You sigh and glance skyward like the Saints might come down and strike the dock out of mercy. “Why are all the men I meet swords and cryptic nonsense? I swear, if someone sends me another crate of half-rancid beans, I will declare war.”
One of the mandrills screeches approval and starts beating the dock with a crab shell.
The quiet one, Benn, pinches the bridge of his nose like this is already too much for one lifetime.
He’s going to need a bottle. And probably a translator.
Shanks doesn’t say goodbye. Not properly. No dramatic wave. No farewell toast. Not even a lazy smirk and a “see you around, Queen of the Monkeys.”
He just disappears.
Leaves things behind like a polite curse. You wake up to a bundle on the table—wrapped in oilcloth, suspiciously untouched by monkey hands. Which already feels suspicious.
This makes two for two.
Two pirates. Zero emotional maturity.
What is it with pirates and goodbyes? Is there a rulebook? A code of silence? Some tragic oath carved into a rum barrel?
Because clearly, speaking like a decent human being before leaving someone behind is too much to ask.
You sigh, already tired, and start unwrapping the bundle like you expect it to explode.
And inside—
Ink. Real ink. Parchment. Thick, luxurious sheets, not the half-mildewed trash Mihawk left behind like a cursed library donation. A bottle of black ink that doesn’t smell like vinegar and despair.
Seed packets, some labeled elegantly, others scribbled with notes like “might attract bees. Watch your face,” or “sweet enough to justify living.”
Caramels. Salty fruit ones. High-quality. Rude Bastard tries to steal one instantly. You smack him on the snout. He sulks.
And then there's the note.
Looping script. Too charming. Too confident. Practically winking at you.
To the Queen of the Mandrills, Consider this a down payment on your next survival arc. You’ve made quite the impression. I admire a woman who builds an empire out of compost and spite. The seeds are from my personal stash. The paper’s so you can start keeping a log of which gorilla tries to assassinate whom and when. Or, if you prefer, a scathing letter to your dearly absentee husband. I hear he likes efficiency. I also regret to inform you that I’ll be back. Eventually. Blame Mihawk. Or thank him. Either way, I intend to annoy him about you until the end of my days. P.S. I flirt only out of respect. And because it bothers him. —Shanks
You read the note twice. Once aloud. Once in stunned silence.
Then, very calmly, you set it down on the table like it might explode.
You turn to the nearest mandrill.
“What,” you say flatly, “is wrong with pirates?”
The mandrill shrugs. Then steals one of the caramels and eats it with smug satisfaction.
You spend the rest of the day in a haze of new soil and mental debate. You plant the seeds. You feed the mandrills. You consider burning the note. Then you consider framing it. Then you consider both.
You do neither.
Instead, you fold the paper into a neat square and tuck it behind the third wine rack, where not even Mihawk would bother to look. Not because you like it. Not because you like him.
But because there’s something profoundly satisfying about being the reason the World’s Greatest Swordsman might one day die of irritation, pestered into an early grave by a redhead with a sense of humor and far too much free time.
Far across the sea, Shanks finds Mihawk in the worst possible place.
A sunlit cliff. Quiet. Still. Peaceful in the sort of way that invites stabbings.
The swordsman is seated cross-legged on the grass, polishing Yoru with all the joy of a man filing his own execution orders. He doesn’t look up when Shanks saunters into view, arms wide, posture cocky.
“Ah,” Mihawk says without inflection, “the red clown returns.”
Shanks grins like he was born to be annoying. “Still emotionally constipated, I see.”
“I was having a peaceful morning.”
“You left your wife on a haunted island with moldy rice and a death note.”
That earns the faintest twitch—a barely-there shift of his eyebrow. A breath held a beat too long.
“…What did you do?”
Shanks flops onto the grass with all the smug satisfaction of a man who definitely did something and is very ready to talk about it.
“Not your wife,” he drawls. “Unfortunate. Tiny. Loud. Uses a shovel like divine wrath incarnate. Leads a gorilla militia now. You remember her?”
Mihawk blinks. Slowly.
“…Oh.”
“That,” Shanks says, grinning, “is your legally bound spouse. The one you ditched with a sack of lentils and a sticky note that said ‘don’t die.’”
There’s a long pause.
“I forgot to annul it,” Mihawk says at last.
Shanks whistles low. “Man. Imagine if the World Government found out one of their warlords accidentally married a feral noblewoman and made her queen of mandrills. That's gotta be some kind of record.”
Mihawk’s gaze slides to him. No humor. No twitch of amusement. Just that quiet, lethal stillness that usually comes right before something gets sliced.
“I do not find this funny.”
“Wow,” Shanks breathes. “You left a noblewoman—a noblewoman—on a murder-island, and she turned it into a vineyard guarded by primates with crab-shell clubs. What a resume.”
Mihawk gives him a long, cold look.
“You sailed across the Grand Line just to say that.”
“Of course I did.”
Mihawk goes back to polishing Yoru with slow, deliberate strokes, like Shanks' voice is nothing more than a breeze he intends to ignore.
“You’re insufferable.”
“She threw potatoes at me,” Shanks replies.
That gets him.
The blade stills. Silence blooms like a bruise.
Mihawk doesn’t look up, but the shift in his grip says everything. Slowly, with the precision of a man sharpening intent into threat, he slides Yoru back into its sheath.
“She missed?” he asks, voice flat, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“Barely,” Shanks says, rubbing the back of his head. “One of them dented the barrel behind me.”
“Hm.”
There’s a long, knife-edged pause. Just long enough for the wind to change, tugging at their coats, stirring the grass like breath held too long.
Then Mihawk stands.
He adjusts his coat with the methodical slowness of someone preparing to walk into a duel—or a storm. Every motion is perfectly composed, like he's setting a scene. Yoru gleams at his side, catching the sunlight like a warning.
“I suppose,” he murmurs, “it’s time I check whether the project has rotted.”
Shanks blinks. Sits up straighter. “Project?”
“She was an experiment,” Mihawk says, voice cool as stone. “Unplanned. Brief. Misfiled under diplomacy.”
“You married her,” Shanks reminds him.
“It was a bureaucratic ambush.”
Shanks snorts. “You signed it.”
“I thought it was an arms treaty.”
“She’s the Queen of Kuraigana now.”
“She was not meant to last.”
“She built a vineyard out of ash and livestock panic,” Shanks says, throwing an arm behind his head, still lounging. “The mandrills follow her like she’s a prophet. Benn says she could run a nation if someone gave her a shovel, three tax codes, and something to swear at.”
Mihawk exhales slowly. It’s not quite a sigh—it’s too composed. But it holds the weight of a man realizing that something he thought would die quietly in a corner has, instead, taken root and sprouted a wine empire.
“I’ll drop her off somewhere functional,” he says finally. “A real town. A market. A priest.”
He glances sideways. “We’ll annul it. Quietly.”
“And if she refuses?” Shanks asks, eyebrow raised.
“She won’t.”
“She will if you say it like that.”
Another long pause. Mihawk doesn’t respond. Doesn’t argue. Just turns.
There’s a faint crackle of his coat, boots shifting in the grass, and then the slow, inevitable rhythm of his retreat—measured, quiet, deliberate. Yoru swings lightly at his side, as if amused.
But just before he’s out of earshot, he catches it. Under his breath. Dry. Begrudging.
“If she hits me with a shovel, I’m making you eat it.”
Shanks tips his head back and howls.
Laughter spills out of him—loud, delighted, far too pleased with himself for someone about to witness what might be the most emotionally stunted reunion in Grand Line history.
He can’t wait.
Short series maybe
There are strangers in the woods. The only thought in your mind, the only thought you needed as the unfamiliar scent glossed over you. Bitter ash, the stain of bloodshed is sticking to them like a parasite, and they dare to show their necks in your forest.
You peered closely at them, moving with the breath of the Mother, clinging to the frail branches and positioning yourself to where your weight won't break it. Four of them, human, male, only one of them looks dead, you think.
Heavy steel weapons are adorned on their figures alongside vests that appear stuck to their body. These men are here for proper war, but with who?
You follow them longer, hearing them talk amongst eachother in a language you don't know. An urge to jump out fills your complex every moment the spiky one held his weapon to an animal.
Very soon, the trees became less common, and you found yourself becoming creative with your hiding spots. Weaving away from the crispy leaves and fallen branches as to not give away your cover. Everything down to your own breath and heartbeat had to be measured.
In the distance, there was the old cabin. The trees here were bare and scattered along the plot from the older deforestation. The men appeared relieved to see the cabin, picking up pace as to get there.
You decide not to push any further from here, finding it too dangerous with the lack of cover and their heavy weaponry. You turn back, but you'll check on them tonight.
DESPERATELY NEED FERAL READER WITH EP 8 WITH AN INJURED JOEL AND KIDNAPPED ELLIE…….. I KNOW OUR CRAZY QUEEN WOULD KILL EVERYONE ♥️♥️♥️♥️
Yall asked for it lol
Violent Delights Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 6.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They took her kid and she was getting her back. Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and torture
She woke up with a start, having drifted off unknowingly after trying to keep watch, a sense of disorientation as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening. The basement. They were still in the basement, the cold leeching any warmth from the walls and floors, the haggard breathing of her companion her only company. It’d been over 48 hours since she last slept, since Joel was hurt and they’d had to drag him into the house and patch him up. He wasn’t in good shape. Joel was so close to death’s door, it terrified her. They were so close to losing him and she had never felt more helpless.
She could still hear his pained groans, the glazed and blank look in his eyes, as she put pressure on the bleeding hole in his stomach just a couple days before. “Don’t you dare die, Joel. You still have to make shit up to me and you can’t do that dead. You can’t leave us again.” He’d tried to tell them to leave him. To go back to Tommy’s and leave him behind, the stubborn asshole. But Ellie managed to find the first aid kit and they’d sewn up the hole, wrapping it best they could with the little supplies they had. She knew it wasn’t enough. There could be shards left from the baseball bat, they weren’t the cleanest, nothing was sterile. She didn’t even know if something internal had been damaged. But it was all they could do. They’d been so focused on getting to Colorado they’d been using their food storage rather than hunting over the past week. Now it was biting them in the ass, their supplies dwindled. She’d managed to briefly go out and hunt down a rabbit, but game seemed scarce and leaving meant leaving Ellie and Joel alone. Without Joel, it was hard to sleep, look after Ellie, look after him and keep him stable, look after the fucking horses, and hunt. She was overwhelmed. So sleep went out the window. She took watch when Ellie was asleep, went and tried to hunt and scavenge the nearby houses when she was awake, and kept an eye on Joel in between taking care of the two horses in the garage. But at some point she’d fallen asleep finally, fallen deep and hard enough that she hadn’t noticed Ellie slipping the rifle from her hands and leaving the two adults alone. A small scribbled note was placed on her lap on a piece of what looked like newspaper, “Be back soon -E.” She scrambled to her feet, looking around and cursed herself. Joel was still breathing steadily but his brow was covered with sweat from the infection he was staving off. Both their packs were against the wall but Ellie’s was gone and the panic that took hold was like a lightning bolt. It stole the breath from her lungs. Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone- it was a racing thought that circulated over and over again. Her main purpose, main job, and she’d fucking fallen asleep.
Her heart jumped further at hearing footsteps above her head, the slight creak and shift in the old wood, a door slamming…then it all came out in deep relief as she recognized the light shuffling.
Ellie raced down the steps, cheeks pink from cold and wind, and breath huffing out in a rush as she entered the basement.
She grabbed the girl immediately, shaking her by the shoulders with the vestiges of panic still in her blood, “Where did you go, Ellie? You weren’t supposed to leave!”
The teenager paused, eyes frantic and a little wild, but a tough set to her lips as she shook her head, “I went hunting and you needed sleep! I had to, but look! I got Joel medicine!” Ellie took the bottles out of their wrap, quickly moving away from her and kneeling down to Joel, beginning to lift up his shirt before she could even get a good look at what she had. The wound was ugly and discolored and she could hear him groan at the small touches. Her mind was still caught up in the panic of discovering the girl was gone and she quickly snatched the bottles away before the syringe was inserted. “Where did you get this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands. Penicillin. Two whole bottles of penicillin, practically liquid gold in their world, and Ellie had managed to get it while she slept. The teen looked nervous and tried to snatch it back, but she was quick even if she was exhausted and pulled her hand away, “Please, can we give it to him first and then I’ll explain?” Her eyes were so big for her face, cheeks pink. Her desperation to help Joel was evident. Ellie knew how bad he was doing and believed she held the cure to it all in her hands. She could only sigh and hand it back over, instructing her to give just a fourth of the bottle and to tap the syringe. Joel would probably have a heart attack if he knew she was letting the kid give it to him, but she knew Ellie had to do this herself. It was her win and she had to feel like she was the one saving him so she let her. But then they both stared, her knowledge only getting them that far. “Where the fuck am I suppose to put this?” Ellie cursed, looking at the wound and Joel’s arm, eyes switching between hers and his closed ones, “Fuck, how are we supposed to do this?” She cursed herself. Her medical knowledge was mediocre. Stitching, cleaning wounds, pulling out bullets, the basics they needed. Infections and medicine she had no clue about, “Just give it to him in his stomach. As long as it enters his blood stream, it should be fine.” At least, that’s what she thought. Ellie winced and inserted the needle, Joel giving out pained groans as it sunk into the sensitive area. They both watched the plunger empty the contents and then she pulled it out, trying to clean the needle the best she could. They only had one syringe and would have to reuse it. “And now we wait,” the teen commented and looked at his face as if at any second he would be magically better. He would wake up and smile and tell her good job. But he didn’t, staying silent on the small makeshift bed. “No, now you tell me where you went and how you got that,” she bit out, sitting on the other side of Joel to face her. Ellie winced and looked down at the small glass bottles in her hand, “You needed to sleep and we needed food. I know you think you can take care of all of us, but you can’t and I wanted to help by trying to hunt.” “That’s not your responsibility-” “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to help,” Ellie cut her off but then sighed, “And I did manage to actually get a deer…but I ran into these guys...” Instantly, she was on high alert, eyes searching everything that was visible and checking her for any wounds, “You ran into people and you’re barely telling me!” “I know!” the young girl argued back, hand resting on top of Joel’s, “They found my deer before me and said they were from a group with starving women and children. They offered to trade for half the deer and said they had medicine. I did everything I was supposed to! Got them to drop their guns, unloaded their rifles, and had them back away. One went to get the medicine and I kept the gun on the other.”
“So you gave them half the deer and they gave you the medicine then just let you go?” she asked and clenched and unclenched her fists. Ellie wouldn’t look so nervous if that was the whole story and she wasn’t nearly tired enough to have been dragging half a deer carcass back. Shrugging, Ellie grimaced and refused to meet her eyes, “That was the deal…but they knew who we were. The people that attacked us at the university belonged to their group and this guy started talking about how one of theirs had been killed by a crazy man with two girls. He knows that was Joel. I don’t know why he let me go, but I think they’re looking for us.” With a curse, she quickly stood, hands on her hips and pacing in a tight circle, “Fuck. Fuck. And they didn’t come after you?”
“No, I think they let me go because I was a kid.” She doubted that. People rarely were that charitable, even to children in this world. Especially a child with a gun and an attitude like Ellie’s. The unspoken words were there though. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for her and Joel though. Ellie may be deemed innocent but the two of them were problems and only one of them was in commission currently. But what could they do? They couldn’t move Joel in his state. They couldn’t leave him behind either. They were stuck. “Okay. Maybe if they let you go they don’t plan on coming. Maybe they think both of us are injured if you were out on your own and won’t come,” she lied comfortingly and tried to speak the words into existence, knowing the kid was probably feeling guilty and needed some hope. They needed rest, needed to breathe for a second, and panicking now wouldn’t help. It took a while to relax enough to let the adrenaline fade away.
Ellie laid down, exhausted, tucking into Joel’s side as she had the past couple nights and resting her head on his shoulder. He subconsciously leaned into her, still alive for now. Her heart ached at the sight, the way they held each other in their own ways. She didn’t have the strength to get after the girl more or uproot them out of precaution. They were all exhausted and Ellie had somehow managed to bring hope even if there was a cost.
She sat down by the stairs, flipped her knife between her fingers to keep her awake and focused, and watched the two sleep with her heart in her throat.
The men would come. Now that they knew they were in the area, they would come and they were stuck in this spot until Joel was better. There was no way they could get him on a horse and move him now without undoing all the healing he’d done. A thousand scenarios went through her head, sleep now a distant memory in the face of the panic and anxiety plaguing her. How was she supposed to fight off a group and keep them both safe?
She couldn’t. That was the reality of the situation.
The thought hit her over and over again like a blow to the chest, the knife turning between her fingers. _________________________________________ Morning came and she could see Ellie’s disappointment that the medicine hadn’t instantly woken Joel up and made him all better. To ease her mind, they gave him another dose, trying to make the bottles last before shoving the remainder in their bags. They were out of food, the rabbit she had caught two days ago long gone without a way to store it. Joel still wasn’t eating or drinking and she worried that even if they got the infection under control, his body wouldn’t be strong enough to get better. Things were bad. The possibility of Joel dying was a constant chime in her head. It felt like a mockery that he had left and came back only to be almost taken from them permanently. She was angry. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that took the hit. It had been meant for her but he’d pushed her out the way as the bat swung, breaking on the tree, and then tackled the guy. If it had been her, Joel would know what to do. He could take care of them both or at least would have the strength to leave her behind if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could. She was failing him. Failing them both. The basement was suffocating, pressing in on her, and she took the opportunity to go tend to the horses, leaving the girl and her unconscious companion to the pressing weight of disappointment. Her body was beginning to ache from the lack of sleep and food, joints protesting her movement, but she reached down and scooped snow into the small metal bucket for them to get some water. Soon the horses would starve too or be too weak to carry them. Death was creeping up on them. Looking over the neighborhood they were held up in, she sighed at the obvious foot steps leading up through the streets before beginning to methodically cover what she could. Ellie knew better than to leave a trail but she guessed in her hurry to get the medicine back to Joel and get away from the men she had forgotten. And as birds took off in a rush further down the road towards the wooded outskirts, she froze and her heart thundered in her ears.
She felt fear run through her as her thoughts from the night resurfaced and became reality, a living nightmare. They were coming. They had waited for daylight to search them out and were coming now. She knew it, could feel it, and they were out of time. Quickly covering what she could and making false tracks from the other houses, she ran back inside and flew down the stairs to the basement taking two at a time. No time, there was no time. Ellie startled at her rushed appearance and the way she flew across the room to the rifle and her own pack, “What’s happening?”
“Those men you saw are coming,” she huffed out, grabbing the rifle and checking it was loaded before looking around the room as if she could find the answer there.
Turning to Joel, Ellie began to shake his shoulders as if he were merely sleeping and not borderline in a coma, “Fuck. Joel! You have to wake up, Joel. Joel, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Joel!” But he only gasped, pained whimpers leaving his lips, eyelids fluttering.
She bent down and grabbed Ellie by the shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes, “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take the horse and run.”
“What? No, what about-”
“You run and I’ll follow behind and try to pick them off,” she interrupted, voice adamant, “They’re going to search every house and they will find us eventually. I can’t hold them off like this. I need to know you’re good first and if we’re away from here then it will take the focus off Joel.”
“You want me to go without you?” Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear and her heart ached at the sight, but there was no time.
“I’ll find you,” she promised and dug her fingers tightly into her shoulders as if she could sink the words into her skin, “I will. But you have to go now. We’ll block the entrance to down here, give Joel some time.”
Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded, running to grab her backpack and last minute grabbed one of the larger knives they had. Running back over to Joel, the teen knelt down and placed it on his chest, forcing his hand to grab it. She let her while grabbing the rest of her stuff and placed Joel’s pack into a small cubby under the steps to make it less noticeable.
“Okay, look at me,” Ellie whispered to him while he only groaned in reply, “There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, Red is going to help get rid of them. But if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?”
“Ellie, hurry,” she bit out, peeking out the small window along the top of the wall. “Joel, do not fall asleep,” the teenager pleaded desperately, squeezing his hand around the knife. She could see his eyes partially open, see his lips trying to move and his fingers twitching trying to grasp the knife. But Ellie finally got up quickly and rushed up the stairs. She went to follow after her and paused, staring back at the unconscious man on the floor. A part of her whispered that this could be the last time she saw him alive. One or both of them could be dead if this didn’t go right. Heart in her throat, she ran back to him and kneeled, kissing his forehead and grasping his hand. “Stay alive for us, please, Joel,” she whispered, squeezing the hand around the knife, but getting back up and running up the stairs. She tried not to look back. Both of them moved the tall kitchen cabinet over the door entryway to the basement, trying to shuffle things around to not make the spot obvious before heading to the garage. They got both horses out, grabbing what she needed from hers and sending silent apologies to Tommy before forcing it to gallop away in the opposite direction with a sharp smack. The other she saved for Ellie to ride, closing the garage door behind them. They’d figure out transportation later when they were out of this mess, but they needed the guys off their trail and two different horse tracks would help. With quick hands, she helped Ellie climb up onto its back.
Shakily, she bit out, “You ride hard and fast and loud. They’re going to come after you but if you go fast they won’t catch you and I’ll hit them from behind. They only know for sure about you right now. Do not look back, Ellie. I’ll find you once it’s safe, I promise.” Ellie was shaking but tried to put on a brave face, nodding and holding onto the reins. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her it was going to be okay, but she wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. The men were close, she knew that. She patted the rear of the horse and nodded a final goodbye, beckoning her to go forward. Her heart screamed to not let her go, that it was safer with her than alone, but they were backed into a corner and she had no choice. They wouldn’t win in a shootout and losing meant Ellie would die. So she watched as the girl rode away down the street away from her, turning until she was completely out of sight, and tried not to flinch at the gunshots that came soon after and the yells of men. She tried to shut off the part of her that wanted to panic, to react and worry. That wasn’t the part she needed to listen to at the moment. Running as far as she could, crossing over fences and staying against the walls of the house, she followed the sound of loud hoof beats and chased after them as they chased after Ellie. Her ears caught on one of them screaming that she was to be left alive, but that didn’t ease the worry in her. Being captured alive wasn’t always a good thing. One of the slower men chasing Ellie fell the furthest behind, wheezing in the cold and trying to clamber in the dense snow. Her own knife in hand, she ran and jumped onto his back, using both their weight to send them forward onto his front behind the cover of some of the shrubs.
He hadn’t been expecting to be attacked from behind and it took him a moment to try and struggle, to lift his face out of the snow to breathe, and she took advantage of that by stabbing deep into the back of his neck. He groaned, the sound muffled, and she pulled the blade out and sunk it in again and again with a growl. The snow was staining red around them. He stopped moving. One down. She stood and took off, the cold biting into her lungs and stealing her breath. The terrain was hard and the one kill had put her farther behind the group, forcing her to cut across more backyards to catch up, but she could only hope Ellie had done what she asked and was out of range. She could catch the rest of them once they scattered. But then a gunshot rang out close by. The sound of a horse’s cry ripped through her, tore her soul to shreds, and she knew if she lived beyond the day she would hear that sound forever in her nightmares.
She ran. She left all care of stealth behind and ran fast and hard, dodging trees and fallen branches and then ran faster when another gun shot rang out. The chest felt like it was being cleaved open by the panic, fear gripping her tightly. They wouldn’t have shot her. They wouldn’t have killed her. She was a kid, they wouldn’t-
And then she watched from the trees as the group surrounded Ellie who was on the ground, her horse unmoving not far away, and a tall skinny man picked her up and began to walk away with her. She raised the rifle, looking down the scope, and cursed as the men separated and began to head back into the neighborhood. No doubt to continue their search for Joel and her.
She could see Ellie’s face through the scope, the loll of her head, but she was gripped too closely to the man’s body. He was walking further and further away. Two sides of her screamed. Leaving to go after them meant abandoning Joel, but staying behind meant leaving Ellie. She wanted to press the trigger, shoot, but knew it was too risky with Ellie in the man’s arms. She could so easily accidentally kill the girl if she was one inch off and her hands were too shaky from exhaustion to be precise. Only some of the group was going back, the others looking like they were continuing to scout the area.
She knew what she had to do, what Joel would tell her to do, but the reality of it felt impossible. If they found Joel, he’d die for sure. But she wasn’t sure she could live with leaving Ellie.
The men with the girl were getting farther away and a choice had to be made.
So she swallowed the sob in her throat and let the rage she felt consume her completely, push her forward, and followed behind the group to where they would take her kid. __________________________ It was getting harder and harder to follow along as the wind began to kick up a notch. She needed to see where they were taking Ellie, but she was tired and the cold was sinking in, her body struggling to keep going. And as they entered the town, it was getting difficult to avoid being seen. Too many buildings, too many open areas, and she didn’t know who could be watching. She knew they had entered one of the nearby buildings, but wasn’t sure which. The clock was ticking in her mind, Ellie’s life on one hand and Joel’s on the other. What good was she if she couldn’t save her people? Blood crusted on her fingers as she entered the first of the buildings quietly, finding a back entrance. It was dark but she could hear voices nearby as she found herself in some kind of storage room, the cold still reaching her through the walls. She wasn’t used to carrying the rifle. It had always been Joel’s weapon thanks to its weight, her preferring knives or a small pistol or even a bow when she could find one. So when she crouched down to ease her way over to the swinging door leading further inside, she winced when it thudded and scraped against the floor, the sound so loud in her ears. The voices paused and she froze, eyes wide and watching the door. There was shuffling and she quickly backed away into a darkened corner, pulling her knife out. Steps came closer and she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The door swung open and she could see a man enter, beard a little rough and looking a little ragged, cheeks red from the cold. He frowned, looking around, gaze shifting over what he could. He turned to look at the back door, back facing her, and only then did she realize she had tracked snow inside and it hadn’t quite melted. Lunging, she stuck the blade deep into his lower back with all her might and threw her arm around his neck, choking him hard. A cry of pain tried to leave his lips, breath cut off, and he struggled wildly. She twisted the knife, feeling blood coat her hand. “Where is the girl?” she hissed, jerking the blade deeper. He sobbed and made pathetic mewling sounds of pain, voice wispy from lack of air, “Please, I don’t know-” She twisted, hearing the squelch of flesh tearing, “The teenage girl your buddy grabbed, where is she?” The distinct smell of piss lingered in the air and he sobbed out, “I don’t know! Oh god.” Steps were coming close again and she growled, keeping her grip on the knife buried in his body and shifting her arm away from his neck to hold the back of his collar. He wheezed in air, blood starting to bubble from his lips. The door burst open and the distinct sound of a gun rising echoed in the tiny room, only to pause as she held the man in front of her like a shield, mostly hidden by his body. “Howard-” A woman’s voice. All the people who had attacked them had been men.
She wouldn’t have the information she needed. With a growl of frustration, she shoved the body at her, letting his dead weight hit her and trap the woman against the wall. She let out a startled cry and the delay gave her just enough time to unholster her pistol and shoot her in the head. The numbness that was a twin to her rage had sunk into her skin, blanketing her all over. She’d search the buildings, one by one, and kill whoever she had to to find her kid. She didn’t care. Stepping over the bodies, she moved into the area they had been in before she drew their attention and paused, icy horror filling her. A leg was in the process of being cut apart, small chunks set aside and being wrapped up as if to store for later. It was a kitchen, most likely used to prepare food for stage, large makeshift smokers and pits along the back unused. The ticking clock in her mind sped up as the reality of what she’d uncovered hit her. Cannibals. These people that had taken Ellie were cannibals. A strong hit to her back sent her stumbling forward and clattering to her knees. She grunted and scrambled forward as a stomp missed her, hitting the ground instead. There’d been someone still in the room and she’d been too distracted to notice.
Rolling onto her back, gun still in her hand, she aimed and managed to shoot the knee out of her assailant as he raised a butcher knife. He crumpled to the ground with a cry and she got to her feet slowly, gun raised and trained on him.
The guy was younger, but thin and haggard looking. His bravado hadn’t fully left him though as he stared her down, anger in his eyes, “You fucking bitch. You blew out my fucking knee.” He tried to get up but she aimed at his head, making him freeze. “I’ll shoot the other one too if you don’t shut up and tell me where the girl you kidnapped is,” she snarled, adrenaline helping to keep the firearm steady on him. His nose wrinkled and he spit at her, brow furrowed.
Stubborn. Younger guys were so stubborn.
She pulled the trigger and watched his other knee explode as the bullet met his target. The man screamed and she quickly knelt down, shoving her hand over his mouth and placing the still warm barrel against his forehead. Tears leaked out his eyes, making little dirt tracks through the grime on his skin.
“Where the fuck is she?” she screamed into his face and the sound was almost inhuman, gravel and fury warping it almost into a howl.
But he only shook his head, eyes defiant. Frustrated, she stood, looking at the meat cleaver in his hand and the human leg on the table. She didn’t have time for this. Ellie was out there and the situation was worse than she thought. Not even meeting his eyes, she raised the gun and shot him in the head. He wasn’t going to give her any information.
She raced back outside through the back door she had entered, heart in her throat and a panicked scream wanting to leave her lips.
The storm was picking up as an idea hit her. If she searched each building, there was no guarantee she’d find someone with information in time. She had to draw their attention. Maybe lure them out. They had wanted Ellie alive for the moment. If she could distract them, it may buy her time.
Chewing her lip, she kneeled behind the building and swung her pack around to dig through it. Her hand wrapped around a small glass bottle that had been carefully secured in the middle of her clothes and yanked it out along with one of her old shirts. They’d been saving it for emergencies, using it to sterilize what they could, but she needed it for something else now. Her face stung from the cold wind and her hands shook, but she managed to tear cloth and shove it into the liquor bottle, saturating the fabric, before she put her pack back on and stood.
Time to make a big fucking distraction.
Blocking the wind with her hands, she lit a match and watched as the tip of the cloth burned bright with flames.
With a snarl, she tossed the molotov through the window of the next building, ducking down and watching as the flames exploded inside. Screams and shouts followed, telling her there had been people inside, and she waited for more voices to join them. Someone would investigate or come outside.
Like clockwork, a man rushed out into the cold and she gripped her bloody knife at the familiar face. One of the men that had come back with Ellie. He cursed and ran through the snow, yelling that he was going to grab the fire extinguisher next door while the others scrambled to put the flames out. She followed, quiet, lava flowing through her and teeth bared. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore.
The wind blocked any sound she made as she rushed after him into the alley and lunged, shoving him into the cold brick wall with a loud crack. She growled and grabbed his hair, gripping it tightly and smashing it into the bricks once then twice. He tried to push away and turn, but she kneed him hard in the spine, driving him to his knees. “Where is the girl?” she snarled into his ear, knife to his throat. Blood poured down an open wound on his forehead, one eye blinded by red, as he finally took in who had grabbed him, “fuck you,” “Wrong answer,” she yanked his hair and slammed it into the wall again. When he went to raise his hand to fight her, she stabbed the blade through his hand and into the ground. His screams were carried away by the wind and snow, the shouts of his group telling her they were still distracted by the fire. “The girl your group grabbed,” the words were all razors and broken glass, almost the sound of an animal snarl, “Where did you take her?” He sneered at her, trying to put on a strong front through the pain, “That bitch is probably soup by now.” She stepped on the knife, the blade so far in his hand the hilt was pressing against the back, “I can make this last a fucking lifetime. Your choice. Where-” “Please, don’t-” Frustrated, she ripped the knife out and placed the tip just inside his mouth, “Last chance. Where is she?” The tip clinked against his teeth and he hung his mouth open to avoid being cut, his beard a mess of blood and spit and green eyes wide with fear finally. She tried not to feel satisfaction as seeing that, understanding setting in for him. He lifted his bloody hand and tried to point across the street, stuttering out, “Steakhouse. The fucking steakhouse. David has her in there.” She looked at him, eye swollen, and blood coating the front of his face, clearly terrified.
Slowly, she took the blade away, watching his lips wobble with sobs and slight relief. Then she slit his throat, continuing to move behind the buildings even as his blood sprayed out and soaked her clothes and his pleas gurgled and quieted.
The steakhouse was a few more buildings down across the street, “Todd’s Steakhouse” still written on the sign out front. The storm was a blizzard now, sharp stinging snow hitting her skin and turning the blood on her into patches of ice. There were yells, panicked screams, and she wondered if they had found the bodies. If they had found the blood and chaos she had left in her wake.
But with a destination in sight, she had let her guard down and she cursed herself later on for it. Arms wrapped around her torso, crushing the rifle into her back, and she kicked at the air as she was dragged back against a brick wall.
“You fucking bitch!” Screamed into her ear and she was tossed to the ground, teeth clattering from the impact.
A kick landed in her stomach and she grunted, the air leaving her lungs, but she had enough sense to grab onto the leg and cling to it. The move caught the man off balance and he tripped, falling to the ground next to her. Her blade was somewhere in the snow and she struggled to dig around for it, sharp steel nicking her fingers as she found it only to be thrown onto her back.
The man climbed on top of her, straddling her waist, his weight so heavy and her pack on her back making the move crushing. She grit her teeth and bucked, thrashing to try and get him off of her. But he only grinned, pulling back and decking her in the face. Stars lit up behind her eyes, a high pitch ringing all she could hear as pain exploded through her head.
He pulled back to punch again and her fingers found the cold metal in the snow. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the sharp steel cut into her palm as she grabbed it by the blade instead of the hilt, and stabbed it into his lower throat. She didn’t stop, only switching to pull it out by its handle this time, and stabbed again and again, blood reigning down onto her.
With a howl, she shoved him off of her and sent a final stab into his face, snow soaking into her and pain a radiating heat. Everything hurt and it was an effort to get up and roll onto her side, staring at the decimated body next to her.
She spit blood on him and stood. There was smoke coming from all around her, the fire having caught from the molotov and moving on building to building. Across the way, smoke could be seen from the steakhouse and she swallowed her pain, letting adrenaline carry her to the front doors. Her hands shook as she tried the handles, pulling again and again but they stayed locked and shut. Growling, she threw her shoulder into it. She was so close. She had found the place and was so close and a locked fucking door was all that was keeping her away. Her breathing was quick and frantic as she looked over the front and tried to reason that there had to be a back door or an employee entrance. Her hands skimmed the wall to try and keep upright, knowing soon the exhaustion and pain would take over, but she tried to push it back. Ellie had to be close. She needed to keep going a little bit further and then she’d get her kid and they’d go get Joel.
Her steps stumbled and she pushed off the wall, screaming at herself to stay steady. There, she could see the back door. Plain and wooden, easy enough to shoot the lock off and get inside. With shaky fingers, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder, the weight of it almost unbearable, and took two shots to get the lock blown off. Her legs were shaky as she climbed the few steps and opened the door, smoke pouring out. She coughed and tried to wave it away, stepping inside and feeling the heat. She had taken only a few steps into the building and stopped, hearing a familiar voice. “Red?” Relief flooded her, eyes instantly filling with tears, as Ellie emerged from the smoke not too far in front of her. Ellie was there, hair a mess and half tumbling out of her ponytail, blood splattered and smeared all over her face and clothes. It took her a while to realize she was standing there, actually standing there, watching as the girl stumbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.
Smoke and fire was all around them, but she couldn’t care because she had Ellie and they were both alive and safe now. With shaky hands, she managed to direct them back out of the building and into the cold, fresh air. Her promise rang in her ears and she whispered them out loud as she clung to the girl, “I found you. I found you. I’ll always find you.” And she had, but not quick enough. She knew that something awful had happened, that Ellie was now one step closer to being what her and Joel were. The tough exterior had crumbled away and all that was left was a shocked girl who’d had a piece of her soul cleaved away. Her nose was busted and she knew that look in her eyes, the horror and pain at doing something ugly but necessary. Ellie’s lips were shaking as she looked her over and she was so focused on the girl she almost didn’t see Joel coming around the corner. Joel, standing and whole and alive, coming towards them like Ellie was a gravity well pulling both of them towards her. His eyes met hers and the relief was bright, even if she was dripping in blood. But Ellie hadn’t noticed the shift in attention, hadn’t heard his steps, and when he went to grab her she bucked and thrashed in his arms in sheer desperation. So much like her, a wild animal fighting not to be caged. Her heart tore apart, shredded to pieces, at the painful screams then broken sobs as she realized who was holding on to her.
Joel only kept whispering, “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.” “He- I-” she stuttered, eyes glazed and searching both of theirs. Joel held on with all his might, trying to ease her, gentle words soothing. And the girl crumbled, falling into his arms and clinging to him tightly as much as he was clinging to her. His eyes met hers and she let the exhaustion hit her and carry her towards them, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around them both. All three of them, blood soaked, finally home with each other.
______________ Feral Reader Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111
Shay and Haytham aren't having a good time with the new stray.
How about Tengen, along with his wives are traveling back from an escort mission and they encounter a little girl humanoid.
She has steel bones and claws that come out of her knuckles. An insane healing factor and rather quick acrobatic reflexes. The poor thing had no family, friends, or even memories of her past. She couldn't even speak except for growls and grunts.
They decide to lure her to the guild, since they can't just leave her alone in the woods.
You're a feral little girl creature, aren't you? You're more of a mysterious beast that roams the forests and lands, than a human, but that doesn't stop Tengen's wives from approaching you carefully, despite the man telling them not to.
You're weary of them, but they aren't dangerous and you can't sense any hostility radiating from them so you allow them close enough that they can offer you some food they carried with them.
As soon as your sharp nose picked up the scent of sweet buns they had gotten from the town they had escorted the wealthy businessman to, you were putty in the ladies' hands.
"Damn, you really tamed it," Tengen thought out loud as he approached the four of you, but as soon as he was close enough, you hissed and swiped at him with your huge ass claws that somehow came out of your knuckles!
"Shit!"
"You're scaring her!" Makio snapped and Tengen glared at you as you glared back at him, "That thing almost cut my hand off!"
"This 'thing' is a young girl, dear!" Suma cried out as she grabbed you and hugged you close to her soft body as if you were the cutest little thing ever, "She means no harm!"
"I'm pretty sure she does mean harm to me."
"Dear, look at it from her view," Hinatsuru smiled, "She is small and scared, and you are big and strong."
Tengen frowned, but he understood what his wife meant. So he sighed out loud and crossed his arms, "So what do you want to do with her?"
"We can't just leave her here!"
"Why won't we take her back to the guild?"
"That's a wonderful idea!"
"No, no it's not!" The man shouted, but his wives paid him no mind as they picked you up and started to carry you towards the town where their Guild was located, with Tengen walking close behind.
"My, what a cute little thing she is," Shinobu smiled as she gently pet your head and Tengen's three wives smiled, "Right?"
"Would you like some cake I just bought?" Mitsuri asked as she offered you a cake with a bright juicy strawberry on top.
You licked your lips hungrily and as soon as you were close enough, you grabbed the cake and attempted to stuff the whole thing in your mouth in one go.
"Careful! You might choke!"
"Where did you say you found her?" Giyu asked from the sulking Sound Hashira, "In the woods."
"Any signs of her parents?"
"None."
"My, I think we might have to take care of her," Shinobu thought out loud, "She is too young to live out there on her own and not tame enough to live in the orphanage."
"She could be our new mascot!" Mitsuri smiled as she handed you more cake, which you ate with great gusto.
"Oi, you had enough cak-!" Obanai was saying as he reached for you, but as soon as he got close, your claws emerged and you attempted to swipe him with them.
Of course, the Serpent Hashira was faster than you and easily avoided your blades, but that didn't stop him from glaring at you.
"Little shit...!"
"Obanai!" Mitsuri gasped, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just," He glared at you, "Don't lower your guards around her. Despite being a child, she is still dangerous."
"I agree," Shinobu nodded, "But she appears to favor women over men. It might be best if we take care of her together?"
"I like that idea!" Suma nodded.
"Yeah, together we can teach her about humanity!" Makio grinned.
"We could take turns, how does that sound?" Hinatsuru asked.
"Alright! And since she likes sweets, we should call her Sugar!" Mitsuri said cheerfully and Shinobu giggled, "My, what a cute name."
As the women of the guild spoiled you rotten with sweets and affection, you looked at the men glaring at you and smiled.
For a feral little thing, you sure looked smug as Hell.
Title: The Repercussions of the Newly Mated (Sequel to “Bite”)
Rated: Explict
Relationship: Alpha James “Logan” Howlett/Omega AFAB Reader
Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex (F! Recieving), Feral Reader, Mate Telepathy Goes Wrong, Best Friend Wade Wilson, Soft Logan, Hurt/Comfort (sort of), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Omegaverse Adjacent, Happy Ending, Logan’s Rage
Ao3 Link (please note there were some edits on this version. Also, color font is not an option so the format is slightly different.)
Summary: It's been a month since Logan and you have been mated. You two are still working out the kinks in your relationship and how you two communicate. Oh, and there is Wade too. ;)
A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you to one of my best friends, Winchesterfields67, for beating my fic too.
Please be aware for those who are not a fan of Poolverine, you might not want to read the end. I'm not sorry. I'm a big fan of Poolverine and a fan of poly ships and poly relationships.
You woke up to Logan’s tongue encircling your clit. You quickly awakened to fingers sliding into your drenched entrance. You gasped and thrusted against his fingers. “Mornin’,” his rough sleep voice teased. You hummed before moaning as his fingers found that delicious spot inside.
Panting, he rapidly pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, your toes curled, and arched your back as your sleep-filled, hoarse voice moaned. He thrusted in and out, and in and out riding out your orgasm until your channel calmed some. He slowly removed his fingers which made you open your eyes with a pout on your lips. He chuckled, sucking all your juices off his fingers before crawling up your body to box you in with his. “Got one more in ya?”
You huffed and quirked a brow. ”Dude, I just woke up, and as much as I’d love to continue this.” You frowned. “I’m still mad at you about last night.”
He rolled on his back with a heavy sigh. “We talked about this.” You sat up and turned, getting off the bed. “No, you talked at me last night and didn’t listen, let alone address any of my issues I brought up to you. You didn’t even apologize.”
He sat straight up. “I need to apologize. You were the one who had a drink in one hand and let two guys rub up all over you,” he growled. He jumped out of bed and stalked over to the bathroom.
Toothbrush in hand, you began to explain. “First of all, I had my jacket on and covered the majority of my skin—“
“So you planned that?” He accused loudly.
“No!” You turned back to the mirror, turned on the water, and got your toothbrush wet.
“No,” you spoke quietly.
“I did not know what to expect last night so it was a precaution. You invited me out with the X-Men. You ignored me most of the night—“ He huffed incredulously.
“Most of the night you were talking to your X-Men buddies other than us reaching out and needing to connect…to touch. Don’t act like you didn’t know how I felt. We’re mated, Logan.”
He walked out of the bathroom throwing up his hands. You stepped out and looked at him to continue. “You knew I felt lonely and like a third wheel. I even sat and tried talking. It was Kitty who told me you fell out of the fucking jet and she saved you with her phasing. You didn’t even tell me!”
He turned around, tilted his head, and sighed. He softly addressed, “Nothing happened, sweetheart. I didn’t even get hurt—“
“You could have. That’s my point. You don’t talk to me. You just want to fuck and cuddle. I want to understand you. I don’t understand why you have nightmares or what they're about. I want to know your triggers to support you if they happen. I want to know why you have metal on your claws. I want to know how you got the name Wolverine. I want to know about your parents and your childhood. Did you have siblings? What you’ve been doing before the X-Men! I just want to know the person I’m spending the rest of my life with, Logan! Or do I call you James, which I didn’t even know until Ororo was going over paperwork with me? Where did ‘Logan’ come from?!” You realized you were yelling, and yelling never communicated what anyone needed. Your mind suddenly felt strange, alone. “Did you just block me out?!”
He scowled at you.
You put on the jeans you wore yesterday, grabbed your teddy bear Logan had given you that smells like him, and his favorite flannel before walking out of your shared room. You scowled at anyone who looked at you. Walking over to the student dorms, you headed over to Laura’s room. When you knocked and received no answer, you headed over to Yukio's, a level down. You knocked and Yukio’s chipper voice answered. “Come in.”
When you walked in, Ellie looked at you so confused. “Who died?”
You looked at Laura. “Your Dad is a possessive asshole.” She huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”
“He won’t listen to me or even consider my feelings at all.”
“Sounds right for an Alpha male,” Ellie said, chewing her gum while she looked at her phone.
“I’m sorry it’s such a rocky start,” Yukio sympathized.
You look at them as you speak. “You know, I get this is some fated, destiny thing and it’s basically an arranged marriage but you’d think he’d try harder.”
“He is,” informed Laura, quietly.
You looked at her with a quirked brow.
“He blocked me out,” you gritted through your teeth, seethingly.
Laura raised her eyebrows and eyes wide.
Your anger was beginning to increase dramatically. “I hate this. I’m glad my shit is over with those fucking violent urges but what the hell am I supposed to do with an alpha who just wants to—“ You growled suddenly. Eyes changed to amber, tore the teddy bear in half, and changed into your wolf, shredding the clothes you were wearing. You ran out of the room and down the stairs. Your wolf-self grumbled out the front door of the dorm before running toward the woods.
You ran and ran and ran until you were out of breath. The anger in you was turning to red-hot rage and you didn’t understand. Your wolf and human sides were battling. The loss of control makes you shift back to your human form, naked and boiling rage in your veins. Your fangs lengthened and nails grew as you clawed into the closest tree trying to expend this rage within you.
Meanwhile, Laura was nearly at your room when Logan turned a corner. She stopped and held out the pile you left in Yukio’s room. He frowned and grew angry at the ripped teddy bear.
“You have to talk to her, Logan. She feels everything you do, and right now, she suddenly raged,” Laura explained, frowning.
“Shit,” he quietly exclaimed. “Would you see—“ he began holding the teddy bear out to her.
“Si. Vámonos.” She smiled and headed back to the student’s dorms. He paused right before the stairs and went back to your room to grab sweatpants and a shirt, seeing you shred your clothes.
Once outside, Logan followed your scent, easily tracking you. When he found you, he opened his mind back to you, only to be onslaught by your inner turmoil. You appeared human, naked with bloody hands, tears rolling down your freckled cheeks, flecks of small cuts scattered on your skin, growling, shredding a tree to bits, before you pushed at it.
In your mind, your wolf was in control and wholly confused. It lashed out at everything nearby, including him. A headache began to form that he ignored. You were most important right now.
As the tree fell, he didn’t realize how strong you were. The loud thud he felt and crashed on the forest floor did nothing to your mood. You began to kick and punch at it before falling to your knees. When you screamed, he felt his rage reflected to him. His eyes widened at the realization. Somehow, you had tapped into his feral rage and this was the outcome. You were attempting to rid yourself of nearly two centuries of pain and white-hot rage within him. He couldn’t even do that.
He slowly stepped closer and closer, and then he heard you whisper. “Stop, stop, stop. Please just stop.” You sobbed and returned to punching the tree trying to expel all of Logan’s pent-up rage you were feeling. You were feeling all of it with no understanding as to what or why.
He knelt next to you and whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned to him, face flushed, amber eyes, and then he noticed the blood you were leaving on the tree. “We need to get you to Hank.”
“Fuck off, Wolverine,” you snarled at him before returning to the tree. You’ve never called him anything other than Logan in anger. “I’m not in the mood for your alpha bullshit.” Logan could feel your exhaustion beating at you but the rage fueled your body’s adrenaline nonetheless.
He knew if he could get you to stop for just a minute, exhaustion would win. “Let’s get you dressed, darlin’?”
He slowly got behind you, quickly wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you back laying on top of him faced away. You growled and wriggled before clawing at his arms. You dug your toenails into his legs, shredding his calves and the blue jeans he had on.
You screamed, suddenly, your head going side to side as you did. He repeated over and over again “I’m sorry. I’m sorry” as he held you. He pushed his emotions, showing his sincerity for hurting you and allowing you to experience this alone. He was sincere and remorseful.
“Lies! You’re lying! You’re lying. You left me alone,” you screamed and he felt your abandonment. The rage was consuming you. You and your wolf were losing control. Logan did the one thing he hoped would snap you out of this: terrified, he opened his heart and showed that he loved you, deeply. Within seconds you stopped moving, tears fell heavily, and you slowly went pliant in his arms. He wrapped his love around you like a warm blanket and himself with it. You held on to him and his heart as you slowly drove the rage into a corner of your mind for now. You opened your own heart to show that you love him in return, pushing memories to him of every action you had witnessed that caught your heart before you two were ever mated. Tears fell from his eyes, he didn’t know he could experience this. That this could be done. You revealed that you knew this because of his nightmares but never said, not wanting to expose him or trigger him when you saw what he experienced without any further context. You didn’t want him to feel guilty or bad for seeking comfort and support in his darkest, most vulnerable time when he had no control over his mind demanding to process these traumatic events.
You sobbed, shoulders shaking. “I hate this!” You sniffled.
“I’m sorry you experienced this…my rage,” he hesitated on the last two words.
“I don’t care,” you breathed. “I don’t care. I just…want…you.” You wiggled slightly. “Could you loosen up? My arms hurt.”
He did as you asked, knowing you weren’t going to attack him. You turned a full 180, laying chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis as your exhaustion began to take over. He could hear your breathing and heartbeat begin to slow. He held you as he sat up. “You need clothes.”
You hummed, questioning, nearly asleep. He grabbed the flannel, carefully pulling one of your arms in, and then the other before button a few buttons to mostly cover your chest. He repositioned you onto a bridal-style pickup. Your head resting on his bicep as he got the sweatpants on you one-handed. “Let’s get you inside,” he quietly cooed. You hummed acknowledgment. Your red-rimmed, puffy eyes closed, tear-stained, red cheeks cooling, and your head nuzzled against his chest.
He slowly walked into the mansion, shushing anyone who was talking. Jean walked away before Logan even got close, only for Hank to come running up with a first aid kit that he gently laid on your abdomen. He smiled at Logan and whispered, “Let me know if you need help.” Logan smiled and nodded before heading up the stairs to your room.
Hank, Charles, Logan, and you discussed the connection Logan and you shared with Charles helping you two build and strengthen your relationship.
Once in your room, he locked the door and laid you on your bed. He set aside the first aid kit on the nightstand. He grabbed a cup of warm water from the bathroom sink with a washcloth and a towel before unbuttoning the flannel and wiping off your chest and all around your breasts. He picked up the first aid kit before using the tweezers to pick out the splinters, wiping each spot clean. Using the dry towel, he gently wiped the water off to keep you warm. He buttoned the flannel back up before continuing. He pushed up the sweatpants legs, one at a time, and wiped each one down, front and back. He continued to check for splinters, removing them, and cleaning the areas before he dried you off with a towel. He even did your feet, carefully removing the few splinters in your heels, before washing and drying them. Saving your face and hands for last, knowing they may wake you from the possible pain.
He rinsed out the washcloth in warm water and replaced the warm water in the cup before he slowly and gently wiped the dirt and sweat off your face. He removed splinters from your face and cleaned it up prior to gently taking the closest injured hand. He slowly wiped your fingernails off first. A grumble came from your sleeping form with a slight tug. He kept your hand in his as he began to examine your knuckles and forearms to find any more splinters. While there were none on your forearms, the knuckles of the top of your hand had several from you punching the tree.
He visually skimmed over your fingertips and inside of your hand, only finding a few on your fingers. Your nails were the most damaged, having broken them clawing at the tree and anywhere else you may have gone. He took out the splinters and slowly washed the palm, and up each individual finger before approaching the knuckles. The splinters were large and more like small pieces of wood. He pulled one out without much issue. The second one was deeper than expected.
You whimper and try to remove your hand from it. He shushes her and kisses the top of her hand. “Almost done,” he coos. He yanks a bit harder and removes it. You whimper. He licks the wound, helping it close and heal. He kisses where the wound is and wipes it off. He sets your hand down next to you. When he switched to the other hand, he examined your palm, finding no splinters and flipped your hand over, finding some on the knuckles at the top of the hand like the other. These were smaller, easier to remove and you hardly pulled from Logan. He wipes each knuckle before kissing each one. His eyes remain on your dozing form. He sees many of the small cuts and scrapes are gone but the bigger ones are still healing.
Setting your hand down next to you, he returns to the bathroom and rinses everything, putting the washcloth and towel in the dirty laundry hamper before returning to the bed. He undresses to his boxer briefs before sliding in on his side of the bed. He gingerly rolls you on your side and pulls you towards his chest. You rest your head on his bicep and nuzzle into his neck. He waits, knowing you overheat easily. Within five minutes, you wiggle around working your clothes off with just a touch of sweat on your brow. “I got you,” he coos at you.
You frown and nod, eyes remaining closed as your mate holds the sleeves taunt for you to pull your arms out, right then left. You hear the shirt fall to the floor. You lay on your back and start shuffling the sweatpants down, only for Logan to finish pulling them off. He then takes off his boxer briefs since you rarely like clothes on either of you two when sleeping. Once he is back in bed, he wraps his arms back around you. Your head returns to his right bicep and nose against his scent gland. Your right arm is thrown over his ribs, and your right leg is thrown over his left hip. He pulls a sheet over you both and watches you fall back to sleep.
“I don’t care,” you whisper.
“About what?” He whispers back, brows furrowed as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.
“About your past. I don’t care.” Your sleep eyes flutter open, their usual human color. “I love you for who you are right now, Logan.” You turn your head and yawn. He cards his fingers through your hair. Returning your eyes to his. “That’s who I have always loved. That’s why I was so afraid to hurt you, baby.” You hold his jaw in your palm. “I never want to hurt you, ever, but I know I’m going to. I know it can’t be helped. Just means talking to be listened to and listening to hear, to understand, and to adjust as needed. We choose each other every single day. I promise you this, Logan. I promise I will always love you and always choose you every single day of my life no matter what.”
He played with your hair, removing a few tangles and wrapping a few strands around his finger as he listened. He smiles softly. “I promise to always love you and to always choose you every single day of my life no matter what,” he repeated. Your sleepy eyes match the joy in your smile.
“Sleep,” he commanded.
You hummed and returned to your former position around him. He held you close, nuzzling into your hair periodically. He watches the few cuts left on your face and chest heal, using his tongue to wipe the remaining blood spots from you. Enjoying the little tastes of you he can get right now.
As you sleep, he begins to doze himself. He even starts purring, waking you. You shift and look at his chest listening. He opens his eyes at your movement and the purring stops. You pout and whimper looking up at his face. His face is so soft looking at you, only to start purring again. You grin widely and snuggle against his chest, your ear under his collarbone. He wraps both arms around you, holding you in place as you listen and find comfort in the vibrations. You, yourself, begin a returning purr.
It wasn't until that evening that you two left your room, fully dressed. Laura, Ellie, Yukio, Wade, Ororo, Pietro, Jean, and Scott were downstairs in the foyer chattering away trying to play charades. Laura was up. Logan and you stood at the entrance watching her. “Mountain Lion,” you called out.
“Yes!” Laura grinned, pointing to you two. Logan stood behind you in his usual dark jeans and a matching navy t-shirt fitted to him. His hands are on your shoulders, grinning at his daughter, and a thumb rubbing your mating mark. You were barefoot in a long denim skirt and navy peasant shirt that Logan had bought you.
Amazingly, Logan had even braided your hair, advising Laura lets him practice different braids on her hair. He whispered in your ear that he liked doing it but not to tell her. You had chuckled, making a note to tell her later. You walked in, greeting everyone. Wade was the first to hug you and then Laura.
Laura skipped then walked on the balls of her feet, excited to see you two alright. You glanced at Logan who gave a slight nod, his informed ‘ok’, to your next move. You showered your neck to Laura, while a sign of submission was also a pack symbol of trust. Laura wrapped her arms around your torso and pressed her nose against your scent gland. You grinned and laughed; it was a bit ticklish when Logan wasn’t teasing you. Logan walked around you and waited his turn. Laura rubbed her wrist on the other side of your neck and stuck her tongue out to her Dad before giving him a wide grin and hug. You played with her hair down her back, really rubbing your wrist in between Laura’s shoulder blades as a silly move back, scent marking her with your scent.
You realized Wade was waiting for you three to finish.
Laura stuck her tongue out at you before noticing Logan had shown his neck to her, and she inhaled maintaining space between his scent gland and her—a sign of pack alpha respect.
He rubbed his hand on her hair, a hidden way to scent mark her but not be blatant. When he stood back up, the others were chatting and Wade was hugging you. You nuzzled against his face and rubbed his back, scent marking him. “Hello, sweetie.” You pulled back, still holding him. “How’s the merc business treating you?”
He grinned and shrugged. “Oh, you know, not bad, not bad.”
“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” Logan said from behind you.
“What can I say? I missed my kitty cats and puppy.” Logan extended his claws and snarled while Wade took out Baby Knife, whispering “Baby Knife”. You looked at Wade and reached out to Logan sensing there was no hostility, only amusement, so you decided to play along. You turned around, back against Wade, and held his hand to your chest. “No, my love. I cannot allow this charade to go on any longer,” exaggerating the drama and your body language.
Laura busted out laughing and bent over, holding her abdomen.
She understood the assignment.
What was the assignment, puppy?
Just play along, dude.
What is with you and the word ‘dude’?
You push Logan away and he takes one step back. His claws retracted and watched you two with amusement. You never let go of Wade’s hand. You turned back to him, throwing your arm over Wade’s other shoulder. “Wade, I love you and to prove your love to me, you must…,” you hesitated trying to think of something silly to do.
“Dance the tango,” called out Ellie who started playing the music, “Dance the tango,” you repeated without thought before your brain caught up. “Wait, what?”
Wade took your hand in his and the other arm wrapped around you, splaying his hand just below your shoulder blade. “Basic,” you stage whispered at Wade.
You tried so hard to stay focused on the drama but kept tripping over Wade’s feet, laughing. Logan stepped in, picked you up, and set you down before taking your place. Wade and Logan kept serious faces and even swapped baby knife from one mouth to the other. It was great. Everyone enjoyed the silliness but they weren’t done. When the two men were done, Logan looked at Laura with a playful grin and a wink. “Flamenco?” Yukio was already prepared and played some wonderful Argentine flamenco music.
You squealed at Logan’s dance moves. Wade watched him for less than a minute before joining in. What surprised you was that Laura and Yukio joined in too. Ellie sat there holding her girlfriend’s phone with a small smile on her face, watching her. You enjoyed the energy and felt Logan’s eyes on you. When your eyes met, he quirked a brow as his thoughts came easily to you.
Join me.
Are you kidding? (You know he isn’t.) I was tripping over Wade. Fuck no.
If you join me, I’ll give you a treat.
Sex is not a treat, Wolverine.
Logan gave you that sexy, flirty smile he does when he has plans to devour you.
Logan (you warned).
Are you sure you don’t want a treat, puppy?
You ass. I hate you. (You love it when he calls you puppy and he knows this so much)
You love me (he retorted).
That’s beside the point.
You watch everyone’s feet and try to work out the movement. He walked over to you and took your hand, walking you both back out. Wade made space for you. Then, unexpectedly, Logan sends images of foot positioning to your mind allowing you to slowly catch on to where you can even stay in rhythm with him. You two dance around each other, clapping.
This went on for another 45 minutes or so before everyone else got tired. You giggled as Logan held you in his arms. Everyone quickly says good night except Wade who tags along to the kitchen.
Logan points to the island. “Sit.” He walks to the fridge and begins pulling ingredients out. “I didn’t know you could dance, baby. Wow.”
“Wait till you hear him sing,” Wade informed confidently. You look wide-eyed at Wade before looking back at Logan. “You sing too?”
“Wade,” Logan warns.
“What? I’m just being honest.” Wade rests his elbows on the island and plops his head down on his open palms as he watches Logan and you.
You look back to Wade. “We’ve only been mated like a month, man. We’re still learning each other,” you defend your mate.
“You two are so cute together,” Wade coos. Logan snorts as he mixes stuff in a large bowl.
“So, he cooks too,” you observe aloud.
“He is multitalented,” Wade agrees. You nod and go back to watching Logan with Wade.
“You spending the night?” You quietly ask Wade.
“Not sure yet,” he admitted.
“Not sure because no one invited you or not sure because leaving Ms. Althea alone is a bad idea tonight?”
Wade doesn’t reply but does hold up his index finger.
“We do have a pull-out sofa in our room,” you offer.
A quiet rumble comes from Logan’s chest. You look at the back of his head. “He’s your best friend and you haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Sex can wait a night, my darling alpha.”
Wade giggles at your declaration.
You didn’t have to invite him (you can feel Logan pouting).
Again, sex can wait a night.
…
If you’re that frustrated, I’m sure Wade would enjoy being an audience member. (As the thought leaves your mind, you watch Logan’s reaction—the images that flood his mind of Wade in various states of undress and positions disappear as quickly they appear, saying much about Logan’s extreme attraction to his best friend.)
Logan drops the spatula. Wade quirks a brow at him before glancing at your cat-got-the-canary grin. ”That’s not fair. You’re doing the mate telepathy.”
You looked at him with that grin and winked. “Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It’s up to Logan.”
“Peanut, what’s the misses talking about?”
Logan had picked up the tool and got a new one before working on cooking dinner for the three of them. “Nuthin’.”
Oh, my love. It’s something all right. It’s hot (you pushed images of a shirtless Wade, who has come over to swim when it was warmer, sucking and biting Logan’s neck. Biting at his nipples. You imagined Wade sitting in the corner stroking his cock as Logan pounded into you.)
Looking at Wade, you recommended, “Hey, why don’t we watch the Coneheads tonight?”
“Or keep watching Letterkenny,” Wade countered.
You could smell Logan’s arousal but made no word or action about it anywhere. “You have to make the sweet and salty popcorn,” you demanded.
Wade sighed dramatically as if it was such a big deal. “Ok, if I must.”
(You pushed the image of Logan fucking Wade and vice versa a few seconds later.)
“Damn right,” Logan interjected with a grunt. The both of you turned to Logan with your brows furrowed, confused.
“You ok there, Honey badger?”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” you deflected and put your hand on Wade’s arm. “Hey, you were gonna tell me about Saskatchewan next time you came over, remember?”
