A/N: So... I bet you want an explanation (because you'll need one before this gets started)...

My friend looked on my screen while I was watching Blood Blockade Battlefront. It was during one of White's flashbacks (I think it was the one where she was explaining her nickname), and she just saw a man with a stick waving it around the 'sheepies'.

Thus, this OC of an inside joke was born.

And, since she also likes to write gift fics, this lovely gem was created.

Many thanks to Rosie Bluejay for creating this and the Lord of the Sheepies... and letting me post this and characterizing White perfectly even though she's never watched the show. XD

The more reviews this gets the more likely she is to actually watch the show! ... Maybe. Enjoy!

Once, in a land not so far from our own, lived a simple shepherd. He cared for his sheep with great tenderness, and he led his flock all over the land. Not many knew him very well, but they would see the shepherd taking care of his wooly companions and maybe give a wave. It is unclear to this day exactly how he was before the War, for no one knew him well enough to say, and he had no family to speak of.

But, as you might already know, from the history of old, the War began with terrible strife, and the king called for every man to come to the capitol and prepare himself to fight. The shepherd, a young man at this time, with a smooth face and tousled brown locks, joined in his country's time of need. He was quiet, not particularly skilled, and of average size and strength. And so not much happened to the shepherd for a time. But one day suddenly, an attack fell on the city he was stationed in, and he was called to protect the people. He defended as well as he could, and his troop pushed the enemy out of the city. However, the young shepherd did not come out of the battle unscathed.

His injuries took him out of the line of fire, and eventually out of the military. A cracked skull would not befit a soldier, after all. But this did not mean the shepherd disliked the life of a soldier. Experiencing traumatic events and a few bar fights in the throes of drunken-ness, waking up the next morning to find scars in obvious places and a tattoo in a not-so obvious place, the shepherd no longer wanted to live the calm, peaceful life of herding dumb-ass sheep and traveling when most of those waving assholes didn't know his name. Soldier life changed the young man forever, and in that moment that would never be remembered in history, he created a new and glorious name for himself.

Lord of the Sheepies, lord over all of the sheepies and the lands.

With his army of white-haired wooly monsters, he conquered vast lands, ruled a variety of peoples, and fathered many children with everyone but his four wives. His subjects bowed before him, the women fell in love with him when seeing crude drawings of the Sheepie Lord, and all the world's wealth and luxuries were his to govern and control. The world recognized his excellence, and he could be defeated by no man, beast, or spirit. A mighty sword hung at his hip, a dagger at his thigh, infinite wisdom in his mind, and, since he was too busy making babies with all those whores that ruled his bed many times better than those four bitches that he made the mistake of vowing his life too, wore little or no clothing. He would sit upon his mighty throne, hips deep in naked women, with his modest, dressed wives by his side, and answer to dignitaries and generals in his grand castle-reception-room-thingie. Challengers would meet him, and swear to take his life. They were cast down with his giant sword (both of them).

When not working, the Sheepie Lord liked to find time to practice maneuvering his well-forged sword, made of space rock and the sturdiest metals. All he would need to do to train would be to slice the air in front of him. Slice! Slice! Slice! it would go. He did this many times a day, and it soon became his very favorite activity. It was during one of these training sessions, when he was demonstrating to his white monster army, that a child with pigtails approached him. "What are you doing in such a dangerous place as this, little girl?! Do you not know that our divine lord, Lord of the Sheepies, is giving his troops a demonstration? How dare you, child!" a general screamed, raising his hand to smite the ignorant offspring of a prostitute and a buffalo. But before the hand could fall upon the girl, something shot out to hold him back. The Lord of the Sheepies looked at his general in disapproval.

"Do you not see this poor creature is trying to look upon her great ruler? How dare you try to defile my name!" the Sheepie Lord scolded loudly, so all could hear. The general, feeling so much shame, disintegrated with a girlish scream at the lord's steely glare, his eyes shooting lasers. One would expect the little girl to fall to her knees in honor of his great glory, to quiver in fear, or something resembling shock.

However…

All that was given was a raised eyebrow and an incredulous look.

"Who are you?" she asked obnoxiously, attitude and sassafras clear in her voice.

The Sheepie Lord was confused, then deeply offended. This child, this girl, this cretin that was lucky it had his grace to shine down upon it, was being blatantly disrespectful of his Majesty, his Divinity, his Sheepine-

"'Cause, you're in our pasture. Papa said to get you to move along. And you're scaring the livestock."

His face blanked, and he looked around himself. Where was his army? They were now grazing sheep. His general? A puddle, literally. His castle? The mountains to the north. His wives? The rams that stood around him, judging.

In horror, he took one final evaluation of his most prized possession, the one thing that had to be real, to be true.

His sword?

A shepherd's crook.