#some folks were able to help stamp it out a bit back when but it's still around

[gwynrielsupremacy]

Time to rest your weary head - PART 12

OK. this was officially the most fun chapter to write y'all! And since the last one was so short (and ended in a cliffhanger lol) I decided to free you of your anxiousness and hand you now......... THIS RIGHT HERE. enjoy, folks!!!

Chapter List

@madie2200 @starbornsinger @katiebellf

She could do this. She could do this. Gwyn kept mentally repeating to herself for the few seconds between her subtle decision of telling Azriel about their mating bond and right before she opened her door. She couldn’t hear anything below the thrumming of her heart, blood pounding in her arched ears as she inhaled deeply.

She was a Valkyrie. Confessing her feelings to a male was nothing. Except that it wasn’t just any male. It was Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, the Shadowsinger, and her friend. Her mate. And she wasn’t like any female. She was hurt, and tarnished and –

No. She wasn’t about to fall in that pattern of behavior. She was so much more than what happened to her. She was the rock against which the surf crashed. Nothing could break her. Not again, and not anymore.

So she was determined to let it all out. She needed to be fair, for both of their sakes. She owed it to herself, that honesty and truth. And her newfound friends and family were there to prove it. She could be happy, she should be happy. And although having fears was a part of the process, hers wouldn’t dominate her anymore. She could still walk on her own pace and be mindful of her boundaries.

She opened the door. She would do it, she would talk, and Azriel would listen –

Like summoned by her thoughts, there he was; standing in her doorway, a hand in the air, as if he was seconds away from knocking. Still dressed in that beautiful evening attire, the black silk of his tunic matching the color of his raven hair, staring at her with such unwavering intensity that made her knees buckle.

She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“Gwyn, I…” He looked hesitant, and she didn’t know if that made her feel more or less nervous.

Seeing his pause, she motioned for him to come in, desperately trying to calm her racing mind to what could he possibly be doing there. She didn’t dwell on it any longer as she now faced him, and observed quietly as he crossed his hands behind his back, refraining himself. She clutched her hands on the folds of her skirt, both because they were trembling and because she felt that, if she didn’t, she would boldly cross the room and reach for his face.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.” Azriel started, and they stood a considerable distance apart. His shadows seemed to be in an internal dispute, some trying to go for her and others hovering on his shoulders. His voice was low and quiet, sending shivers through her spine as he continued: “But I won’t keep this to myself anymore. I could do it, but I just… It wouldn’t be fair to you. To us.”

She swallowed hard, and her heart beat faster in her chest. “Az, I…”

“Please.” He softly interrupted her “Just… Let me say this.”

All she could do was nod as he turned away from her stare, his gaze lost within the logs of the crackling fireplace in front of him. Something in his tone made her tear up. Mother, she didn’t even have the chance to say how she felt and now there he was: melancholy in his voice as if he was going to deliver some bad, bad news.

But then…

“You must know something. But first, you need to know that you don’t have to do anything about it if you don’t want to. I would respect and understand any decision you’d make, always. Even if you didn’t want to ever see me again” The words poured from his mouth, as if he had the same intent as her: to let it all out. His sharp inhale and the way he met her stare, worry and insecurity behind that casual indifferent mask, shattered her.

She could suddenly see both of them in the theater again; staring into each other’s eyes like it was only them in the whole world. That damned pause after he called her beautiful, pure emotion in his voice. With a jolt, she knew what he was going to say next.

“And I would do it without even thinking twice because, Gwyn, we’re-”

“Mates.” She completed his sentence, softly.

His eyes grew wider as a few shadows swirled around her, agitated.

“You knew?”

She nodded, closing her eyes slightly before opening them up again, taking a couple of mind stilling breaths that allowed her to focus.

This is it. You can do this.

“Since my birthday.” She saw the way his posture switched from caution to rather curious, some tension easing up on his shoulders as he took in her words. “I was hoping… I was giving some time, trying to understand how I felt, how to tell you this... But after tonight, I just had to let you know. I was meaning to come after you, but it seems you beat me to it.”

She knew he was gathering up the pieces by the way his eyes were quickly scanning her, his brows slightly furrowed as he read into the looks and blushes she cast him on training, how differently she talked to him on the first days after his surprise.

“Why? I mean” He corrected himself, hoarsely “Why after tonight?”

“Because tonight was amazing” She took a step towards him, watching him nervously, barely hiding the small smile spreading on her face now, her eyes glimmering “Because you are amazing, Azriel. And I like you a lot.”

He also took a step and she observed joyfully as wonder appeared on his features, his eyes widening just a little at her words, his heart racing. Just like hers. His shadows were all over the place right now, as if he’d forgotten all his worries. Or if he didn’t particularly care about them at the moment.

“I like you too, Gwyn. A lot.” His voice rumbled through her spine, making her shiver. Mother, he was handsome. She closed their distance in one last step, and now they were face to face, staring at each other with such intensity it could have made her melt. “And I will do whatever you’d like. I mean it, if you don’t want to accept the bond, I would-”

“I know.” She quietly interrupted him, nodding.

They stood quiet, staring at each other for a couple of seconds, and Mother if she couldn’t help the shift in her tone now, the way her voice automatically lowered and softened, before she found herself asking:

“And what do you want to do?”

He watched her every breath, assessing her with a different kind of emotion in his darkened eyes as she stared back at him expectantly.

“I want you, Gwyn.”

His longing, warmth, careful words and actions, the way he pronounced her name, it all caused her heart to burst with passion, heat spreading through her. Like she was everything he could think about, but he was still concerned he’d make her uncomfortable.

So she finally gave in to that aching need of touch and reached to his face, her thumb caressing his cheek. She leaned in and placed a feathery kiss on his lips, giving in to the jolt of electricity that sparked at the mere touch. When she pulled away, seconds later, she found him gazing at her lips, before meeting her stare again. His eyes had widened just a little, as if he was trying to process what had just happened.

He placed his palm on top of hers that was still on his cheek, his shadows encircling them. She could hear his heart even clearer now that they were so close, and a soft smile bloomed on her mouth. With his left hand, he tugged a strand of her copper hair behind her ear, brushing lightly against her face.

She saw the question in his eyes before he even asked, his voice like velvet, eyes tinged with mischief and carefulness and heat: “May I kiss you back, Berdara?”

“Of course, Shadowsinger.” She breathed.

When they lips met again, it felt like the world stilled around them. It was so much more than she thought it could be. Azriel gently cupped the back of her neck, sending shivers all over her, while she rested her free hand on his chest. The kiss was gentle, and soft, but also a bit more intense than the one before and filled with an array of emotions Gwyn couldn’t begin to convey. Suddenly she recognized she’d been waiting for this for a long, long time. To be in his arms, to taste his lips...

His hand left hers and stopped at her waist, and they parted. She was panting lightly as she took in his ragged breathing, his darkened eyes and swollen lips. What a delightful sight.

She couldn’t help smiling once again, which turned to a breathless chuckle as he grinned back before resting his forehead on hers. They stood like that for a few seconds, breathing each other’s scent and smiling like fools, and Gwyn allowed herself to close her eyes and fully take in the moment. The way she felt at ease and relaxed at his presence, in his embrace. The pleasant heat that spread through her as the kiss deepened, that thrilling sensation that threatened to leave her comfort-zone, and how she didn’t seem afraid of it – of everything that came with it. She wanted to face that with him, someday. Right now, she would just enjoy being in his arms.

After a moment, her curiosity settled in and she realized he hadn’t told her for how long he knew about it:

“Az” A soft hum in response “Since when did you know?”

She lifted her head and faced him fully, waiting for his response. Admiring those beautiful features and lines that hid so much from the world, yet were so openly gazing her now.

“I heard you.” Seeing how confusion stamped her face, he let out a soft chuckle “Singing, one night after our dinner at the River House. I was at the training ring, and your voice… It beckoned to me, to my shadows, and my feet moved at their own accord until I stopped at your door. It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard.”

She raked her fingers through his silk raven hair, and marveled at how smooth it was. His eyes shut for a moment, before he hugged her, keeping her close.

“You know” His voice was a sweet tune on her ears, his breath on her neck “With the mating bond acknowledged, I don’t think we’ll be able to cover our scent. Everyone will find out.”

“About that” She almost forgot. “We’re not the only ones to know.”

He faced her again, brows furrowing.

“Oh?”

“Rhysand.”

She could see by his amused laugh that was not the answer he thought he’d have. But he let her continue as she went through what had happened all those nights ago. How Rhysand had figured it out, the same night that Azriel did. After she was done, Azriel just shook his head lightly, still with that dimpled half-smile.

“I could talk to him, if you’d like privacy for some time. Although my shadows could perhaps cover the scent, I think the spell Helion taught him while Feyre was pregnant would prove more effective.”

Gwyn mulled over his words, considering. Her most reckless self wanted to be carefree and confident and discard the offer; but she thought the pressure of everyone knowing about them might be just a little too much. Baby steps, she reminded herself. There was no problem in hiding from the world what they had for now: what mattered was that they both knew it. And she wouldn’t risk her new relationship with Azriel for her pride: she needed to respect her boundaries, after all. And she knew he would be on board with whatever she decided.

So she nodded.

“Only for a while; I think it would be good.”

“For as long you want, Gwyn. You know we’ll do this at your pace.”

It was like he had read her thoughts. She chuckled quietly in response, and without saying anything, closed their distance once again to brush her lips against his; Mother, she would never get enough of that feeling. Of the fact she could just lean in and kiss him. Something so intimate yet she once thought it would never happen to her; she never thought she’d want it to.

But she did, so badly, and he was there, with her, one arm pulling her close and the other set firmly on her hips, and she enlaced her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss even more, feeling his warmth and his grip around her, gentle yet steady… She let out a sigh, and heard a small groan in response from him as he reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily and facing her with a growing need that made her stomach flutter. They would go slow, and they both knew it, in a silent agreement. That’s why he parted their kiss.

“Are you going right away?” Her voice was no more than a whisper as she tried to pull herself together.

“I don’t particularly want to, but I will. I’ll see if Rhys is still up.” He sighed, murmuring. “You should get some sleep.”

She hugged him tight, placing her head on his chest and savoring the sensation of his muscles under his silk tunic. Pressing one ear to his broad torso, just like she did the night of her birthday; feeling his warmth, breathing in his scent. She didn’t want to let go just yet, but she could feel the tiredness creeping in, the adrenaline now leaving her body. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Az.”

They parted at last and she held his hand and stare, interlocking their fingers as they moved slowly towards her door, shadows finally gathering around their master. She stood by her threshold and watched as he lifted her hand slowly to his lips and kissed it, never taking his eyes off her.

“Good night, Gwyn.”

She fell asleep just a few seconds after laying down, almost believing it had all been a dream; the tingling sensation on her hand and mouth and the way his scent lingered on her, lulling her to sleep, the only things to prove her otherwise.

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #this is part 12 now #gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #fluff and steam #i love them so much #azriel and gwyn #gwyns birthday #azriel is cute #they like eachoter #they're mates #i live for gwynriel #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 14

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 1, Chapter 4 (part 2)

Though he misses Lang Junxia, Duan Ling has gradually understood something: perhaps if his father didn’t come, Lang Junxia wouldn’t have left.

Some will come and some will go — it’s just like how Lang Junxia described it himself. You can’t have all the good things that happen in the world; one will always have regrets, one way or another.

A lot of things feel like they were pre-arranged for him by the heavens itself.

Not without astonishment Duan Ling realises that if he ever has questions about any of the books he’s reading, as long as he brings them up to Li Jianhong, he can almost always answer them. On top of that, while his answers are wholly different than those the headmaster comes up with, they do not contradict his other interpretations, leaving Duan Ling little option but to be persuaded.

“Dad, didn’t you tell me that you didn’t get much schooling?”

“Life is limited, knowledge is limitless.2” Li Jianhong answers, “Who can truly say they’re well-read? All one can learn are bits and pieces. The more you know, the less you understand.”

Duan Ling only half understands, but he nods anyway. Today, he has flipped through his books for a while, and now he asks, “Dad, Confucius said that a gentleman reveres three things. What does that mean?”

“First to revere fate, second to revere the ruling class, third to revere the words of sages. A wretch who does not know the inevitability of fate would not know he should revere it..”

“Revere doesn’t mean fear.” Li Jianhong gives an impromptu explanation as he looks out into the courtyard, “It means to respect. Only by honouring one’s fate can one find shelter.”

“And what does fate mean?” Duan Ling asks.

“Everyone has something that they must accomplish in their lives, and that is decided from the very moment they are born. Some are born to farm, some are born to fight in wars, some are born to be the emperor. There are all kinds of fates, endlessly dissimilar.”

“But how am I supposed to find out what my fate is?” Duan Ling asks another question.

“It makes perfect sense for you not to know,” Li Jianhong puts down his bowl and heaves a sigh. “Dad doesn’t know either. Independent at thirty, confident at forty, knows one’s fate at fifty, said Confucius — we’re not supposed to find out until we’re fifty.”

“Isn’t that too long?” Duan Ling doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Yeah. We spend the first half of our lives bumping about in the dark not knowing what we’re supposed to do — it’s truly a waste of time.”

Li Jianhong gets up and walks away, but Duan Ling is still thinking about what his father told him; he finds him far more interesting than his teachers.

But soon Li Jianhong is walking past his door again. It’s drizzling outside, and Li Jianhong has changed into a cloak. He has a bundle in one hand. “Don’t you need to go to the Illustrious Hall today? Want to keep going to school?”

“Oh!” Duan Ling remembers now — today is the day he’s picking up his papers. He’ll be able to pick up the last essay he wrote at the Illustrious Hall and get it stamped by the headmaster so he can hand it in at Biyong College. He’s nearly forgotten, but Li Jianhong somehow still remembers everything, and takes him out on horseback. They plan to go get the papers, then head to the ink room to register for the exams before heading out of the city for a leisure trip.

Shangjing’s Biyong College is situated in the middle of Zhenghe Street, teeming with pedestrians and carriages that come and go in an endless stream. A line has already formed outside, all from noble and high-ranking functionary households. Standing apart from the crowd, Duan Ling and his father look on, both of whom dressed in plain commoners’ clothing.

“Do you envy their show of wealth in their beautiful carriages?” Li Jianhong asks without much thought.

Duan Ling shakes his head. A lot of these people are his fellow alumni from the Illustrious Hall. They’ve spent years studying with each other, but he never imagined that they came from such eminent families. Duan Ling says to Li Jianhong, “The headmaster taught us that one must be content with poverty and be the ruler of one’s own self.”

Li Jianhong nods. “Even though the headmaster talks a lot of nonsense, in this instance he is correct.”

Duan Ling laughs as he goes to get a number for registration on his own, so Li Jianhong pulls his hood down low until it covers half his face, and he stands in the shadows as he scans the faces of the passersby.

“Duan Ling!” Cai Yan calls his name from a distance. “What are you waiting for? Come over here!”

Though Duan Ling has completed his course of study at the Illustrious Hall, he has made few friends; because Lang Junxia made sure he only lived in the secluded side wing, he had little opportunity to meet with his fellow students. The only people he’s relatively close to are Cai Yan and Borjigin, whom he met on the first day, and Helian Bo who was occasionally given the standing punishment along with him.

Cai Yan came with this older brother as always, and he beckons at Duan Ling. So Li Jianhong walks over to greet them, saluting Cai Wen with one hand wrapped over his fist.

“Thank you for looking after him,” Li Jianhong says.

"I hardly did anything. "Cai Wen smiles, returning the gesture.

Cai Yan rests his arm over Duan Ling’s shoulder, letting him line up in front of himself, and the two of them exchange pleasantries. Duan Ling seldom sees Cai Wen, and he cannot help recalling that one winter where Lang Junxia was injured. In the days following that incident, Duan Ling returned to the Illustrious Hall, and Cai Yan came to see him without prompting; noticing his swollen right eye, Cai Yan thought Duan Ling was beaten by the adults at his house, and talked with him for a while to console him.

Ordinarily the two of them were almost never in the same class together. By the time Duan Ling started school, Cai Yan was already in the literature pavilion learning the four books and five classics ahead of time, as well as writing essays, and by the time Duan Ling advanced to the literature pavilion, they were classmates only for a few brief months before Cai Yan was taken back home, where his brother hired someone to teach him. Therefore the two of them did not see each other often at all.

But Duan Ling did have some idea of Cai Yan’s family situation. He knows that even though Cai Wen is Cai Yan’s older brother, the two did not share the same mother, and Cai Yan’s needs to be taken care of by Cai Wen everyday the same way Lang Junxia looks after Duan Ling. It made Cai Yan and Duan Ling intangibly closer still. Aside from this, Cai Yan and his older brother had also run into Duan Ling and Lang Junxia twice outside of school; once at the Mid-Autumn lantern festival, and the other time at the Double Third festival3 on a spring outing by the water.

However, Ding Zhi seems to like Lang Junxia, but not Cai Wen so much, thus when their respective elders happen to run into each other the atmosphere feels a bit awkward.

While the young men stand in line, the adults around them have a friendly chat. Duan Ling has forgotten to introduce Cai Wen to his father; Cai Wen is dressed in sky blue casuals today, looking quite dashing with a fighter’s bearing, like a sharp, newly forged sword. What they talk about is nothing more than the two children’s studies. Compared to the respectful distance Lang Junxia tends to keep, Li Jianhong comes off as far more cordial.

When Lang Junxia is mentioned, Li Jianhong merely brushes off the subject with a simple, “He’s my servant, and I wasn’t going to let him interfere too much in my son’s studies. Once I finished work and came to Shangjing, I sent him back to the south to take care of the business.”

Cai Wen nods. “I’ve been told you’re a merchant, Duanxiong?”

Li jianhong nods. “It’s not going so well. I was just thinking about finding some other way to make a living. Ambition I’ve plenty, but with all this war going on it’s hard to find a foothold anywhere, so what can I do but eat away at my savings while sitting idly on my hands. I’ll worry about that when I’m done watching over my son and he’s grown.”

Cai Wen laughs. “Judging by your bearing, Duanxiong, surely you wouldn’t have to eat away at your savings. You’re just being overly modest.”

Though Li Jianhong’s clothes and ornaments are not extravagant, his every movement and every word carries a particular aura, far from anything like a nouveau riche. In recent years Shangjing is filled with all kinds of folk, rich and poor alike; many nobles have also taken their entire families to shelter beneath the Liao celestial emperor’s feet. Though Cai Wen thinks Li Jianhong is no ordinary man, he has already met Duan Ling, and so he does not think too much of it.

Cai Yan sees a youth walking towards them and says, surprised, “Helian Bo!”

Duan Ling says smilingly, “Helian Bo!”

���You’ve come too!” Cai Yan greets him, “Come over here.”

Helian Bo has grown as well; he often got sent to stand out in the hallway alongside Duan Ling as punishment, and at fourteen he’s already rather tall, with dusky skin. He’s dressed in the Xiqiang fashion, with high brows, deep-set eyes, and chiselled features. Ordinarily he looks rather imposing simply standing there without saying a word, but in fact, he stutters.

Helian Bo is with his steward, so he nods at Duan Ling and Cai Yan, then tells his steward to leave before going to stand behind the two of them silently.

“Did you see Borjigin?” Cai Yan says offhandedly.

Helian Bo shakes his head. He looks at Li Jianhong, obviously the first time he’s ever seen him.

“My dad,” Daun Ling finally remembers to introduce him.

Helian Bo puts one palm on top of another, so Li Jianhong nods at him and returns the salute. Duan Ling looks behind him to find a carriage stopped on the road. Helian Bo points over that way and explains to Duan Ling. “My mom.”

His mother’s the one who brought Helian Bo here to register. Shangjing custom does not allow female family members to appear in public, so Helian Bo has come to line up by himself. He cups a hand over his fist to Cai Wen and the others in an apology.

The young men chat casually with each other for a while, and when it’s their turn, Duan Ling wants to let the others go first, but Helian Bo makes a gesture palm up at Duan Ling, please go ahead, and along with Cai Yan the two let the youngest among them go first.

“Duan Ling can come over whenever he’s free.” Caii Wen says, “I hired a teacher from the south. He can choose some of the easier material to teach him for now.”

“It’s wonderful of you to offer, thank you,” Li Jianhong says.

Cai Wen waves it off, don’t mention it, while Duan Ling has already gone inside with his answers, handed it in, and got it stamped. Li Jianhong says goodbye to Cai Wen, and he steps away with Duan Ling to pay the exam fee.

By the time Duan Ling is done, his friends are already gone. Noticing that Duan Ling is still looking back to search the crowd repeatedly, Li Jianhong asks, “You have friends that didn’t come?”

“Batu didn’t come.” Duan Ling replies, “We said we’d come today to register for the exams.”

Li Jianhong thinks to himself for a little while before asking Duan Ling, “Did you make any other friends?”

“Those are the one that are good to me. But I don’t know why their families are so strict with them.”

“Well, I forgot to ask, actually. Was Lang Junxia strict with you?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. It’s already been a while since he parted from Lang Junxia, but when he thinks about the past, he cherishes the comfortable years he spent with Lang Junxia very much still. Not that he didn’t want to play around, but Duan Ling was terrified of disappointing him. However, he can tell that Cai Yan, Helian Bo, as well as his other fellow classmates seem to have been having a hard time, as though there was a constant gloom pressing down on their heads.

“Helian Bo and the others … I don’t know how to say it, but they always looked like … looked like … um …”

Li Jianhong says, “Like there’s a ghost trailing them, forcing them to study so they can’t even laugh out loud.”

Duan Ling smiles. “That’s it.”

“They’re all mature beyond their years. They’re not like you.”

Duan Ling heaves a sigh.

Li Jianhong says, “They’re all heirs of politcal hostages, so naturally ever since they were little they understood more than those around them.”

“Well, I know that. But is it all that scary?” Duan Ling asks.

Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling’s hand as they walk down the street. “Helian Bo is the son of the Xiqiang royal family’s Helian Luan. Borjigin is a descendent of the Yuan Jiwowen line. As for the brothers Cai Wen and Cai Yan, they’re the offspring of the Cai family who moved north to work as officials in Shangjing. They’re children from mixed marriages with Khitan women.”

“In other words,” Li Jianhong explains, “Their dads are all foreigners, and most of them are royal kin. They’re here as hostages in exchange for peace between their home country and the Liao empire. If war breaks out between them, the Khitans will kill them.”

Duan Ling falls quiet for a moment before he asks, “Who is Southern Chen’s hostage?”

“The Southern Chen imperial family doesn’t have a hostage here — because the Han refuses to yield.”

“A lot of people who went to school with you in the Illustrious Hall are the descendents of the Liao empire’s south-side bureaucrats. If they ever defect, the Liao emperor would kill their sons.” Li Jianhong asks, “Do you know a child with the last name Han?”

“I do!” Duan Ling immediately thinks of that Mister Han.

“He’s actually Khitan. His dad is the imperial tutor of the southern administration.”

Duan Ling nods. He’s standing at the intersection with Li Jianhong; Dayu’er Lane is right next to them. Duan Ling stands there, and peers in for a while. “I want to check Batu’s house.”

And so Li Jianhong steps into Dayu’er Lane with Duan Ling, but they discover that many Khitan soldiers are inside, questioning everyone they see.

“Who’s there?” They’re immediately on guard.

“I’m …” Duan Ling has just started speaking when Li Jianhong’s hand on his shoulder lightly presses down.

“When I was taking my son to register earlier I ran into General Cai outside Biyong College.” Li Jianhong says smoothly, “He noticed that Borjigin was absent so he asked me to come check on him.”

“It has got nothing to do with Cai Wen.” The officer says, “Return and tell him to mind his own business.”

Li Jianhong nods at him and leaves with Duan Ling, a slight furrow between his brows.

“Why are they …”

Li Jianhong puts a finger over Duan Ling’s lips, letting him know not to ask. By the time they get home, Duan Ling has already forgotten all about it, and goes to work in his flowerbed. After a while, Duan Ling finds Li Jianhong getting some sun on the recliner in the courtyard, his eyes narrowed as though lost in thought.

“Dad.” Duan Ling is going to ask him to go sleep inside, but Li Jianhong’s eyes open and he beckons Duan Ling closer.

So Duan Ling goes and sprawls all over Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling close to him with one hand, and takes his hand with another.

“What’s this? Your hands are covered in mud, just wiping it on your dad’s face all day long.”

Duan Ling wipes both hands on Li Jianhong’s clothes and says, “I’m hungry.”

“What do you want to eat? Let’s go get something at a restaurant …”

Duan Ling is about to wash his hands, but Li Jianhong doesn’t loosen his hold; he carefully examines Duan Ling’s expression while looking at his eyes. “Tell me this before you go. Are you good friends with Borjigin Batu?”

There’s gravitas in Li Jianhong’s expression, and Duan Ling gets a bit worried, thinking Li Jianhong must disapprove of him making friends with Batu, so he starts thinking about how he should answer. And yet after just this short pause of hesitation, Li Jianhong is saying to him, “If he is then say he is, if he isn’t then say he isn’t. What’d you think I’d do to you?”

Duan Ling answers, “He is.”

“Life is long, and you must have a few friends. Go wash your hands.”

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

It’s by Zhuangzi. The full quote is Life is limited, knowledge is limitless; the pursuit of the limitless with the limited can only end in failure. ↩︎

The double third festival happens on 3-3, on the third day of the third lunar month. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[bundleofyarrow]

Chapter 8 - Motostoke is here!

it took me a while but finally chapter 8 is finished! so much happens, and hopefully there’s enough surprise in there for you all <3 you finally arrive in Motostoke and there’s barely enough time to make it to the opening ceremony! here is the link to read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087343/chapters/71401200 but you can also read it below the cut! would absolutely love any and all feedback <3

Motostoke

The entrance to Motostoke was a grand, brick-lined staircase, like a bridge into a fortress. It’s intimidating. Coming closer to the steps, you realize how this feels like a gate to the rest of Galar, and you’ve been contained to a little tiny pocket this entire time. Your thumbs graze the straps of your bag hanging from your shoulders as you contemplate this. Things are going to get more serious from now on, aren’t they?

A chill runs up your arms, the cool morning air brushing past you. The sun hasn’t yet peeked over the cliffs of the Wild Area, casting sleepy shadows across the field.

“We’ve made it!”

Milo clearly is used to being awake right at dawn, and has gently ushered you from your sleeping bag while it was still dark and along the walls until you reached the stairs of Motostoke. Most of your Pokemon were too sleepy to do the walk, only Wooloo, Milo’s Pokemon, and the wild Pancham followed along with you. Wooloo refused to not walk pressed up against your legs, and not being particularly agile this early in the morning, tripped you at a pretty consistent rate. Instead of saying something to the Wooloo, Milo instead opted for you to hang onto his arm.

But here you are, literally steps away from civilization. You take out your phone to text Leon that you arrived, and he quickly replies that he’s getting Charizard to come retrieve you.

Your mind was preoccupied wishing for a warm shower when you hear some shuffling behind you. Turning, you see Pancham kicking her feet a bit. Wooloo turns with you, and decides to sleepily trot over to her. You crouch down in front of her, not feeling particularly coherent, but knowing you should say something.

“It was so sweet of you to join us for some camping. Did you enjoy yourself?” You offer you hand, and she brushes her check against it, nodding. “I can tell you made friends with my Pokemon, right Wooloo?”

Wooloo nuzzles against Pancham, making her eyes glisten. From your periphery, you notice Milo intently watching your exchange, keeping quiet. Reaching to one of your bag pockets, you fish out a Pokeball, and show it to her.

“I won’t force you to come with me, but if you want, you join .” Your eyes still squint in tiredness, but you’re able to muster a genuine smile for Pancham.

The Pokemon takes the device into her paws, staring at it for a bit. She stares across the lake, probably back to where you found her. Wooloo gives an encouraging baaah, nudging Pancham. You gesture to the knob. “Just press that button, but only if you want.”

With a few more moments of contemplation, a bright flash of light envelops Pancham and she enters the Pokeball. There aren’t many more movements, and it clicks into place. You’re quick to let her back out, giving her a hug. “Welcome to the team!”

You stand as Wooloo takes over hugging duties, and Pancham looks happy. You look over to Milo, who has a more serious look on his face than you were expecting. His brow is scrunched and it looks like he is really considering something.

“Everything okay, Milo?”

He jumps a bit, clearly lost in thought. Milo blinks a few times and presses his lips together, like he’s steeling himself for something. You didn’t notice it before, but he was clasping an envelope in his hand. First, he whispers your name, then quickly shakes his head and steps closer to you.

“I know this is sudden but-” You notice he’s turning red. “I have to hurry ‘n meet Nessa for somethin’. I hate rushin’ off like this, but, I could also use a favor.” He offers the envelope, which you assume inside is a letter, to you. “You’re goin’ to the openin’ ceremony, right? If you’re gettin’ there early, can you give this to the person at the front desk?”

You take the letter from him, flipping it over to notice green stamp in the shape of a leaf. “Sure, of course! It’s the least I can do for all the help you’ve given me. I’ll make sure to arrive early.” You pocket it safely. “I guess this is goodbye?”

He gives you a quick nod. “For now, I’m sure we’ll see each other soon!” Milo begins to move backwards towards the stairs, waving. He really seems to want to run off, turning and scaling the steps towards the city, his Pokemon floating around him and making sounds as if they were chiding him. It was much like how it happened over at Route 1, breezing into and out of your life. You wish you were able to get his number, or any other sort of contact. You make a mental note to visit Turffield, once you learn where it is.

Returning your Pokemon to their Pokeballs, you begin to climb the steps. Ambient noise of both the river and the city ease into your senses as you progress upwards. You hear what you come to see are large rotating gears and streams of steam leaking into the sky above. A feeling of excitement rises from your chest as you finally make it to the top, taking in the view of a bustling city. It’s such a contrast to the quiet of Postwick and Wedgehurst and the utter remoteness of the Wild Area. People mill about on the bridge crossing the river and in the distance more dense crowds hustle to their destinations.

The sound of your name breaks your reverie, and in the middle distance you see someone sprinting towards you. You barely have the time to react before Leon nearly crashes into you, pulling you into a big bear hug. Shocked, you gently place your hands on his back. Behind him you see onlookers starting and Charizard making his way over.

“You’re here! Thank Arceus you’re actually alright.”

Smiling, you close your eyes and give him a proper friendly squeeze. “I promised, didn’t I?” Your face was pressed into his shoulder, and you can feel his heart beating from presumably his run over.

“I know but… I just had to see you myself to believe it.” Leon pulls away, and begins to realize the closeness of your bodies before letting go quickly. “Sorry- didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, Leon.” You smile softly as you both tear up.

A huff comes from behind him, and Leon makes room for Charizard to say hello. You pet him, but you can’t help but notice people are gawking a bit.

“Shall we get out of here?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Please, I need to shower so badly!”

“I wasn’t going to say that out loud, but-” Leon’s cut short by you poking him in the side in retaliation. When he reacts strongly, you do it a few more times. “Stop! That’s my type weakness!” Who would have known the Champion of Galar was ticklish?

Rolling your eyes and petting Charizard one more time, the three of you crossed the bridge into Motostoke proper. However it became clear navigating through the city wouldn’t be as straight forward as you thought. Leon was attracting a constant influx of fans, probably because more trainers and sports fans are in the city than usual because of the ceremony. You could tell that it pained him turn down autographs and selfies, he would only stop and do a few at a time before apologizing.

“Sorry everyone, I have to get her back to the hotel.” This drew more curiosity your way. You weren’t sure how you felt about the attention. “But after the opening ceremony, there will be plenty of Champion Time!” He strikes that dramatic pose of his and the crowds cheers. Leon nods at Charizard. “Lead the way, mate!”

Charizard takes off and Leon runs after him, leaving you to scramble keeping up. Every once in a while Leon would look back over his shoulder at you, as if checking that you were actually there still with him.

Motostoke was characterized by its red bricks and industrial metal, giving you the feeling that even though this was a city, it was full of working class folk and had more of a big town vibe. You noticed people in what looks like mining overalls, and plenty of off-duty watt traders. There were more second-hand stores and plant nurseries than anything fancy. It was an interesting contrast with the trendy stores on the main thoroughfare in the center of the city. But there was still plenty of motion, much more than you usually see in Alolan cities. The train cruised through the city at timed intervals, and large flying Pokemon you’ve never seen before pick up and drop off passengers in compact cars. You tried to remember some stores for visiting later before you got on the moving platform that brought you to the second level of the city.

“Woah, this is so cool!”

Leon couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction. He’s been focused on making his way through the crowd after Charizard, waving at people who call out his name, signing a shirt or two along the way, but trying not to get too distracted.

“I used to ride this all the time as kid whenever my family visited. Mum would yell at me for pressing the button too many times, said it made her motion sick.”

Charizard shook his head, leading the two of you off the platform. You see crowds lining up to enter a large building, with intermittent cheering and Pokemon cries. In particular, there was a loud group of fans in black and pink yelling the loudest for a particular challenger they had banners for. Galar… really takes this gym challenge seriously, doesn’t it? There was even a figure dancing around in what you assumed to be a Pokeball costume, handing out Pokeballs to everyone and encouraging children to enter the challenge when they were older.

“That’s Motostoke Stadium, where the opening ceremony is. I’ll be able to get us through when we come back.” Leon scans the situation before Charizard huffs again for him to follow. He could tell Leon was prone to getting sucked into crowds of adoring fans if left to his own devices for too long.

The Budew Drop Inn wasn’t too far away, a straight shot from the stadium. You notice trainers leaving it heading towards where you just came from.

“The League put us all up here, so if they are running late, we might run into Hop and Gloria! Unlikely though, Hop was probably bouncing all night.” He chuckles to himself as you both enter.

Indeed, moving through the lobby you don’t spot any familiar faces though, of course, the young trainers are reacting to Leon. You also feel like they are reacting to you, not knowing who you are or why you’re with Leon. Their eyes begin to feel like weights pressed on your body, and you couldn’t be happier when the elevator doors closed and it was just you, Leon, and Charizard. There’s something comforting about the low hum of the machinery lifting you upwards.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.”

You turn to Leon, surprised. It seems like you’ve had enough time to process your encounter with danger in the Dappled Grove, but it must still fresh for him. He’s leaning back with arms crossed over his chest, looking over to you… wistfully?

“Sorry Leon. I just… wasn’t thinking right.”

Charizard seems to busy himself looking at the elevator controls as the two of you talked in hushed tones.

“I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you.” You lock eyes with his golden gaze. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

His expression softens, maybe even looks a bit sad.

“Of course I do. I was acting all weird around you, because… because…” Charizard casts Leon a look, and he gulps, looking incredibly flustered.

There’s a chime, and the elevator doors open. Trainers file in, recognizing the famous duo. Trying to talk with Leon prompts him to grab your sleeve and lead you onto the floor instead of finishing what he was going to say. You hear Charizard exhale a disapproving grunt.

Soon you were in the room you saw through the phone, seeing a scattering of Sonia’s and Leon’s things all over. Both probably are a bit of a mess. Leon flops back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Okay, I’ll take a quick shower and change into something fresh.” You set your bag down in a corner, grabbed what you needed from it, and slipped into the bathroom. Everything felt both strange and familiar, not having things like running water and electricity for the past few days almost made you feel like you regressed in some way. But the moment you stepped into the heated spray, you felt all the discomfort in your body melt away. The film of sweat and dirt on your skin finally washed off with a good scrub, and the steam smelled of your body wash, honey with a range of floral notes.

Reaching out of the shower to grab something for you hair, you catch conversation through the thin wall. It sounds like Leon is talking his Charizard.

“Don’t give me that look.”

You hear Charizard give an exasperated sigh.

“I’m just waiting for the right moment!”

What is Leon talking about? You can hear him groan.

“Arceus- Raihan’s right, I have zero game.”

You begin to feel a bit guilty eavesdropping, so you return to your shower. You guess he might be talking about Sonia, and imagine there’s a lot to catch up with once you all get some time to yourselves.

Eventually you get through the motions of your shower and exit it, feeling better. You’ll never take a functioning bathroom for granted ever again. Quickly slipping into clean clothes and leaving the bathroom, you look into the mirror and attempt to, in vain, tidy up your hair. You hear Leon rising from the nearby bed and leaning on the threshold to the vanity area. He sounds like he’s going to say something, but hesitates. You can see him in the reflection of the mirror, and he’s tapping the sides of his face with his hands for some reason.

“Is something wrong Leon?” You’re applying a quick amount of lotion before hurrying to slip on shoes that aren’t caked in mud and grass.

“O-oh nothing! Just wanted to be ready to leave soon.” He coughs a bit, strangely at the same time Charizard makes some noises.

“Okay okay, I’m almost done.” Reaching for your phone in your bag, you remember your promise to Milo and grab the letter to slip it into your back pocket. “Alright, I’m all set to go!”

“Let’s go!” Leon is quick to throw open the door and lead everyone out of the room.

Soon you all exit the hotel and Charizard leads you down the path to the stadium. Crowds clogged the streets and blocked the path forward. You easily got jostled by hyped up sports fans, especially ones that noticed Leon and his Charizard. And considering how much they stuck out like a sore thumb, a long shock of purple hair over a cape with a flame orange companion, that was everyone within a mile. Fans tried to get in some Champion Time and mostly saw you as an obstacle in the way of getting a moment with Leon. It’s not long that you lose sight of the two as you’re pushed back and away from them.

You call out Leon’s name, but all you can do is hear him try to calm down excitable fans. It must be tough having to put up an image constantly, and needing to cater to fans whenever he steps outside. He seems to enjoy though, at least, that’s what you see from the outside. Leon seems at his best when he’s among his fans, talking to them about Pokemon battles and striking poses. All the times you see him in private he seems off, maybe because you don’t treat him like a champion. You’re not really that interested in becoming The Best or getting his autograph. No desire to fight him and become champion yourself. Maybe it was selfish of you to basically ignore that Leon was The Champion of Galar, not putting much importance into it, because that makes up for so much of who he is.

A hand appears from the crowd and grabs yours. You try to stammer out a sound of surprise, but you’re pulled in as some of the fan part to make room. Soon enough you see the arm belongs to Leon, and you can’t help but notice how well-muscled it is. You fingers instinctively tighten and his rougher palm brushes up against your softer skin. Warmth creeps into your face as you lock eyes with Leon, who looks both determined and concerned.

“Hold on tight, we’re just going to push through!” He doesn’t seem to notice your reaction at all, and turns to move through the crowd.

Leon politely tells people to move aside, or that he’ll sign their grandma’s Alcremie’s Pokeball some other time, trying to stay a cheerful champion but getting more forward when fans don’t listen. You’re definitely noticing the amount of eyes on you, and wonder if the flashing you’re seeing is your anxiety or Rotom Phones. You feel Leon’s grip tighten as he begins to shoulder through people to get to the front doors of the stadium.

What look like event coordinators are trying to corral people into orderly lines and only let some in at a time. They stiffen a bit when they see Leon suddenly among the people they are trying to hold back.

“Ch-champion Leon!! What are you doing out here? Oleana has been looking for you!”

He puts back on that Champion Smile. “Sorry, I got a little lost on the way! You know me.”

The staff let out an exasperated sigh, then look over to you, eyes trailing from your face, to your hand being held by Leon’s, and back to your face.

“And who’s this?”

Leon suddenly becomes very aware of holding your and drops it.

“A f-friend! Sitting with me.”

He quickly waves and moves past them, signaling you to follow. When you enter past the doors you both arrive in what looks to be the lobby of the stadium. Is there you notice the front desk, and remember what Milo told you.

“Leon, one second, I need to deliver something to the front desk.” You beckon them to follow over as he and Charizard were about to go off in a different direction. Mercifully, there’s no one else needing to take up the attendant’s time, so you hope this goes quickly. “Excuse me, is this front desk?”

The man behind the counter looks up from the computer he’s typing on and nods. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I was asked to deliver this letter to you.” You take out Milo’s letter and give it to him. Leon sees it and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. You must have forgotten to mention it to him in the rush of everything. “Hopefully everything’s all there.”

Business done, you turn to Leon. “Alright, that’s all! Ready to go? I’m so excited to see Hop and Gloria out there!”

You’re about to step away when you hear your name being called. Confused, you turn back to the man at the front desk, who is reading the letter that was in the envelope. “I’m sorry, how did you know my name?”

“It’s right here.” He shows you the letter, but you don’t understand why it would be there. “It’s an Endorsement Letter for the Gym Challenge. And not just any endorsement.” He points down to the messy signature at the bottom of all the writing. “This is from Milo, Turffield’s very own Gym Leader.”

It takes a couple seconds for you to notice your mouth is hanging open.

“Milo is a WHAT!?”

~*~*~*~

There he is on the big screen. Kind but goofy grin, messy peach hair, noticeably jacked silhouette. That’s Milo alright, and he’s waving to the entire stadium in an outfit you haven’t seen him in before, along with the other Galarian gym leaders wearing similar ones. And not only that… right next to him is a face you recognize. The model Nessa. Milo’s girlfriend Nessa.

You’re standing in a locker room with other Gym Challengers watching the screens of what’s going on out on the stadium pitch. The man at the front desk hurried you away from a confounded Leon, grabbing a uniform that looked your size, and escorted you to the room where new challengers would be waiting. And here you are now, wearing the numbers 168, standing between Hop and Gloria. The look on their faces when you appeared was priceless, but now they were mostly excited for you be there.

It is a mystery as to why Milo endorsed you to do the Gym Challenge, especially when you said you weren’t really interested. Pokemon battles don’t excite you, and you aren’t looking to beat Leon and become the next Champion. And he never mentioned that he was a gym leader the entire time you were with him! You suppose that you never asked, but isn’t it pertinent information for when you’re handing near-strangers letters of endorsements for the biggest sporting event in the nation!?

Everything was still processing through your mind when the event coordinators began to herd all the new challenges out of the locker rooms and into the tunnel that led towards the field. The noise from the crowd was overwhelming, thumping in your chest where your heart should be. A wave of anxiety churns through your torso as it hits you what is happening. This entire time you were confused about how you arrived at this point, but now you’re being asked to take your own steps forward. Hop is dragging Gloria forward who in turn pulls you closer to the pitch, only letting go once you arrive and see the crowds cheering.

How did you get here? You didn’t even want to be here. And now everyone sees you, both with their eyes and cameras, and it’s like there’s no turning back. You can’t run.

They eventually line you all up to go and shake hands with the gym leaders. Milo is first, and your heart beats faster as you approach him. Eventually, you’re in his periphery, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say he was beginning to stutter and turn a shade redder. Maybe that was just the effect of the stadium lighting.

Eventually, it’s your turn. You step in front of him and see that his emerald eyes are downcast and his face his completely red. He grasps your hand, but doesn’t really shake it. It’s almost as if he’s looking for an apology.

“Q-quite the surprise, huh…?” He’s able to get out at least that much, though you barely heard him over the din of the stadium.

“Milo, what is going on??”

You can’t continue the conversation because of the flow of the line, you’re quickly nudged over to face the next leader:

Nessa.

Shaking your hand, she looks you dead-set in the eye. You can’t help but notice how elegant she is, even in the sportswear. She leans in closer to you.

“Interesting.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from her. You notice Milo looking over to the both of you from the corner of his eyes.

“Make sure to beat Milo, I want to know what he sees in you.”

And with that, the line forces you to move on to the attractive older man next to her. You continue down the line, shaking hands with all the gym leaders, and only when you near the end do you see that Leon has also joined the gym leaders in the event. When you arrive in front of him, he gives you a look. You don’t know what it means, but instead of shaking your hand, he gives you a quick hug. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he whispers into your ear:

“Wait for me in the lobby.”

And with that, he sends you off with the rest of the line, back to his Champion smile and handshakes.

~*~*~*~

After being forced through some photoshoots with the League’s PR people, you change out of your uniform and head back out to the lobby with Gloria and Hop. The three of you chat before you’re approached by Leon, and by his side is a fashionable-looking man in a business suit.

“Congratulations again! You all looked great in your jerseys.” Leon high-fives the kids, and direct a small smile your way. “I wanted to introduce you all to Chairman Rose, he’s the head of the League!”

The chairman waves his hand in modesty. “It’s good to meet you all! I was curious to see who was able to get the Champion’s endorsement.” He then looks over to you. “And Gym Leader Milo’s! Very unusual and rare indeed.”

There is something about the chairman that makes you nervous. All that you know of him is from TV and passing talk, and it makes him seem almost god-like. At the vary least, the patron of all of Galar. He sees the Dynamax bands on the kids’ wrists and brings a hand to his chin.

“If you all have those, you must have been guided here by the light of he Wishing Stars… Auspicious indeed.” Rose turns to Leon. “I must be off, and I’m sure you have to get to things as well.” And with a friendly nod, he departs.

Leon crosses his hands over his chest with a smile. “That’s the Chairman for you, he’s always pushing himself for Galar’s sake! I learn so much from him.”

“And I’m going to push myself too! Just you watch, Leon!” Hop thrusts a finger at his brother. “I will be the next Champion of Galar! C’mon Gloria, we need to hurry to Turffield and get our first badge!”

Hop bolts off to the exit, and Gloria is shaking her head. “It turns out not matter how fast he runs off, no matter how long I take, he’s waiting for me.” Gloria is either just observant or already a fine manipulator of men. She comes over to hug you, squeezing tight. “I’m so happy my cousin is coming on this journey too! It makes it less lonely.”

“You always have my number, feel free to call if you’re ever in trouble, okay? ” Your eyes look up to Leon. “I have Pokemon now, that means I can help people.”

Leon returns an expression of curiosity, uncrossing his arms and smoothing his beard in thought.

Gloria pulls away from you. “Okay, I better follow Hop before he gets into trouble. I hope to see you in Turffield!” With a shy wave to Leon, she’s off through the doors.

The lobby is actually pretty quiet since most of the crowd of fans were moved out of the building as the challengers changed and were given instruction on what they needed to do. You were given a tour of the map of Galar, seeing the order of the gym you had to challenge before competing in the Champion Cup at Wyndon. You learned that the first gym you were to visit is Turffield Stadium’s. Milo said he was from Turffield so you imagined he would be there. You were hoping to see him out here in this lobby, but he must have slipped out some other way.

“Leon, I’m sorry, I had no idea what was in that letter!” This is the first time you’ve been able to speak with him one-on-one since you were suddenly pulled into the opening ceremony. “I told Milo I wasn’t interested in the gym challenge, so I have no idea why he did that. I almost want to drop out, it just feels wrong for me to take up a spot…”

“No.” Leon steps closer to you, closing the distance between you enough for you to tilt your head slightly upwards to meet him in the eyes. “I’ll admit that I was hurt at first… I thought you didn’t want my endorsement. That Milo was special to you.”

Your face begins to feel a bit hot, you’re not sure such strong emotions like this exists over sports.

“And to think he was the person you happened to encounter in the Wild Area this whole time, and you had no idea he was a gym leader.” The gears are turning behind his gaze. “He must have seen something special in you. As Chairman Rose said, you’re being guided by your Wishing Star… I was there, I know what your wish was.” He hits a closed fist in an open palm, like he just decided on something. “No, you’re supposed to do this, don’t drop out. I think I can do it by the time you get to Wyndon, if you’re able to push through.”

That last part makes your brows knit and head tilt to the side. “Do what??”

Leon looks like he said something he shouldn’t have, backing up from you. “Nothing, absolutely nothin-”

“There you are!”

A hug glomps onto you from behind, and the impeccable turquoise nails on the hands clasped around your shoulders signal that it’s Sonia.

“What a total shocker this is! You should have seen Leon panicking earlier when he told me the news.” Sonia giggles in your ear, her breath tickling at your neck.

The Champion of Galar fidgets in front of you. “ANYWAY,” It seems like Leon doesn’t wish for Sonia to elaborate further. “I have to get to some work for the Chairman. I’ll text you two later, the gym leaders always have a get-together before heading off to their gyms.”

He waves and dashes off to the entrance, seeming to steel himself before going out to the public.

Sonia lets go of you and turns you around to face her. “It’s been a sec since I’ve last been to Motostoke, or hung out with any of the gym leaders in fact.” As if being reminded of something, she lets go of your shoulders and begins to text on her phone. “Actually my best friend is a gym leader, I’m sure she’ll be down for a cuppa before we head to dinner.”

She begins to walk absentmindedly towards the door as she texted with her friend, and you followed, feeling more lost than you did before. At least you could see all of Postwick, and everything seemed predictable and quiet. Now are you not only out traveling a country you barely know, but are participating in its most important sporting event without a clue of what you were doing. Everyone else moved around so naturally, and to you, everything’s foreign.

“Alright?”

You didn’t notice that Sonia finished what she was doing on her phone and looked over to see how overwhelmed you were feeling. Giving her a weak smile didn’t do anything to convince her that you were okay.

“I got it!” Her eyes sparkle a bit as she grabs your hand. “You know what you could use? A bit of shopping!”

~*~*~*~

You have to admit, shopping and gossiping with Sonia does make you feel better. She mostly talks to you about their time in the Wild Area after you separated, wisely gliding around moments that would remind you of the worry you put them through and highlighting the amount of times Leon would get lost. Things begin to feel normal again. Sonia is mainly looking through the glasses collection, asking which pair makes her look the most professorial, if that’s a word. You’re feeling like you should look more the part of a gym challenger, you buy some track bottoms and a matching cap, along with a pair of purple sunglass Sonia slips on your face to match your yellow jacket. You had quite the fashionable and colorful getup for a gym challenger, you think, looking at your clothes in a mirror. The less this is about getting lost and grimy in the Wild Area, the better.  

Just as you both exit the store, Sonia’s Rotom Phone pops out of her bag and shows her a new text she received. “Brilliant!” She makes a couple taps before Rotom buzzes happily and flies back where it came from. “She’s meeting us at a cafe down the way! Just follow me~”

You stroll down the boulevard with her, looking around and taking in the scenery. The both of you pass buy vintage record shops and bookstores, all in their own ways inviting. Everything has been a rush since you arrived, but you hope to find an excuse to just look around Motostoke by yourself.

Eventually the two of you enter a trendy looking cafe, somewhere you could totally imagine Sonia meeting with friends of her. You scan the tables looking for a spot to sit when you see her:

“Nessa! Darling~”

Sonia moves to hug the gym leader, who was out of her league clothing and in fashionable clothing not too unlike the ones you’ve seen her model. Nerves all of a sudden wrack your body as they separate, and Sonia turns to introduce you.

“We’ve shaken hands before, but are you good with hugs?”

You’re shocked but begin to relax a bit when you give a friendly greeting hug to her. It makes you think, why are you nervous around her anyway?

Nessa gestures to the table she’s sitting at, which already has mugs of tea for each of you. “I got us all some Calm Mint tea, I hope that’s alright. I know I could use some calm after today.” She tests the temperature of the tea with a small sip before looking over to you. “You’re quite the interesting one, aren’t you? Wouldn’t have guessed you were acquainted with Sonia and Leon.”

You bring the tea closer to your noise so you can smell it. It indeed smells like what you imagine calm to smell like, soft floral and herbal notes stand out of the usual minty taste. “It’s all by chance really. I just happened to be in the right spot at the right time.” You think back to the dinner conversation you had with Leon back in Postwick, your first chance encounter with Milo, and shopping with Sonia.

Her eyebrows raise a little in response. “I guess I didn’t notice it during the ceremony, but that accent is Alolan, is it not?” After you nod, she sits back in her chair. “That makes more sense, you seem to both stick out and not really know what is going on.”

Unsure of whether she meant that as a critique or passing observation, you look down a little embarrassed. “I admit, I do feel a bit in the deep end at the moment. All of this is rather sudden.”

“Milo told me about what happened in the Wild Area. I guess you don’t really have places like that where you’re from.”

You get flustered under her gaze as she sips some tea, like she’s evaluating you. Sonia seems to pick up on this and changes the subject. “So Nessa, how are you and Milo doing? I know you both haven’t seen each other for some time, preparing your gyms for the challenge and all.”

“Oh yes, I meant to mention.” She sets down her cup on the table. “We broke up.”

What? Sonia is similarly shocked so you know this must be news to her.

“Really? When?? You were just talking about how you wanted to see him last night!”

“Just after the opening ceremony and before I came over here.”

She doesn’t seem said or upset at all, which confuses you.

“Nessa this makes it, what, the third time you two have broken up this year?” Sonia rolls her eyes and looks a bit unamused, but it seems more out of concern for her friend than any actual judgment.

“I think it’s for good this time. No really!” She responds to Sonia’s clear expression of disbelief. “We’re just really good friends and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just because we’re close doesn’t mean we need to be in a relationship. I mean, it doesn’t even feel like we are in one, things are just, well, normal.”

Sonia rests her chin into her palm and nods, as if she’s heard this before. “But you’re the one who keeps starting and breaking things off. Are you sure you’re not going to change your mind about it?”

“It’s for good this time, I swear!” She looks a bit indignant, which actually amuses you. It’s nice to know there’s a human behind what you see as a perfect mask. Nessa crosses her arms, looking more serious. “I told him that we’re rivals. No one sees us as a real challenge, and we’re not going to be taken seriously if we don’t get stronger. A Grass-type specialist is the perfect rival to help me rise to the top, and he could use any excuse to get more serious as a gym leader.”

“You’re serious? What did he say to that?”

Nessa frowns and picks her tea back up. “Oh you know, he just sort of laughed it off like he usually does. He said his only rival is himself or some nonsense like that. I think Milo feels nothing is really going to change between us, but it really is going to be different!”

You’re quiet for the most part, sipping on your tea as the two go back and forth. You can tell they’ve been friends for a bit. It felt good to be included, it’s nice to be around familiarity. Though it isn’t long until Nessa looks to you with a bit of a mischievous look.

“And what’s going on with you and Leon?”

The question hits you like a Wooloo Tackle from the side, making you sputter in your tea a bit. “I’m sorry?? What do you mean by that?”

Ness takes out her Rotom Phone, gives it a few taps, and shows you the screen. Opened up is the popular social media app Pokegram, and your eyes see pictures of you and Leon. “This is blowing up all over the place. Did you really not know?” In a post captioned Is Champion Leon Dating a Gym Challenger!?, there’s a few purposefully chosen pictures to make it seem you and Leon were intimate. The first was him hugging you at the entrance of Motostoke, then there ones of you entering the elevator at Budew Drop Inn together, him holding your hand going through the crowd outside of the stadium, and of course, his hug during the opening ceremony. Your eyes widen when you see the amount of likes, reposts, and comments.

“Oh my god.” Sonia gasps, looking at it from her phone. “We’ve been shopping all day, and no one knows your social names because you’re new here. So we’ve been oblivious this entire time!”

You’re stunned, sitting back in your chair. “How did they get all those pictures?”

“Sports fans are nuts here in Galar.” Nessa takes back her phone and scrolls through it some. “It’s not uncommon for us to have a stalking incident once in a while, all the gym leaders and Leon have to be extra careful of what we do out in the open. Especially Leon, who obviously has the most fans. I wouldn’t be surprised if Oleana is giving him an earful right now. The League is very controlling of our public image.” She looks over to you. “But it surprises me seeing all this, and it’s Milo of all people endorsing you for the gym challenge. Why didn’t Leon?”

It takes you a couple of seconds for the reeling in your brain to slow down enough to respond to her. “He did offer, but I said no. I wasn’t, and technically sorta still am not, interested in doing the gym challenge. I told that to Milo as well. So it was shocking to find out that he endorsed me. He just asked me to deliver a letter to the person at the front desk, he never told me that what was inside! I didn’t even know he was a gym leader!”

To your surprise, a small smile forms on Nessa’s lips. “I see, now I understand.”

You blink a few times under her gaze. “Understand…?”

Before she could reply, all three of your phones buzz. Your Rotom Phone zips out of your bag and opens up a text for you to look like. It’s a group text of mostly Galarian numbers you don’t recognize, from Leon and including Sonia. Seeing that Nessa got the text as well, you assumed it was to all the gym leaders.

It’s that time again everyone! Head on over to Huo Guo Hot Pot for our yearly celebration! Let’s start this year off with a Champion good time!

Don’t forget to thank our sponsors, Huo Guo Hot Pot, and take plenty photos for Pokegram!

(Oleana forced me to write that)

That’s right, Leon mentioned before there was a gathering happening. Given what you’ve just found out, you’re surprised he’s inviting you. Wouldn’t that just create more controversy?

~*~*~*~

Nessa leads the both of you to the restaurant, being the most familiar with Motostoke. You all chat pretty fluidly, any reservations you had being around Nessa washing away. It’s an important lesson about appearances, and giving everyone a chance.

You all eventually arrive to a restaurant with wooden finishing and lanterns, giving it a rustic and traditional style more akin to the Johto and Hoenn regions than anything in Galar.

“Despite being sponsors, everything here is really good. Kabu recommends this place whenever there’s a bunch of us in Motosoke.” Nessa mentions as she waves to the League official, who casts a suspicious look your way. “Both are with me.” They nod and hold the door open long enough for the three of you to enter.

Inside is actually quite spacious with many tables, but the only people inside seem to be associated with the League in some way. In the back corner of the restaurant you see some people waving, beckoning Nessa and Sonia over. You follow with a stone of anxiety in your stomach. In no way where you expecting this especially with everything that’s going on.

“Hello, hello! Make room for us why don’t you?” Sonia greeted, smiling and giving some shoulder pats and hugs. It seems like she’s already acquainted with most of the leaders, probably because she’s close with Leon and Nessa. As the text mentioned, it was a hot pot restaurant, and the current setup had four people sharing the same simmering pot.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to a new friend!” You’re certain you blushed when Nessa announced that, both because you were hoping to maintain a low profile and also you didn’t realize she felt so friendly towards you already. Most people were polite, giving smiles, nods, and basic greetings.

“Oi! Yeah you, come sit with us!” You notice a rather tall man grinning and waving at you, and if you remember correctly, he was the furthest down the line of gym leaders when you were shaking hands, just before Leon. In fact, at his table were two, quite interesting people: Leon and Milo. “Just want to get to know you a bit.” He winks as you eventually nod and separate from Sonia and Nessa.

You sit down at the table with a bubbling pot that smelled of mushrooms and spices, next to the stranger and across from Milo, with Leon on the opposite corner of you. Both of the men you know looked incredibly flustered, with Milo looking down at his plate and Leon staring somewhere off in the middle distance. Things definitely feel… awkward.

“’Name’s Raihan, I’m the sorry bloke that has to clean up all of this guy’s,” He jerks his thumb towards Leon. “messes. I also have the best ‘gram feed in all the League.” He winks at you again, leaning back on his chair and draping his long arms on the back.

After introducing yourself, Raihan insists on following each other on Pokegram. You look up to Leon and Milo, who are still shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the table, busying themselves looking at the menu. “What’s wrong with them?”

“That’s what I wanna know, luv.” He peers at them over his phone, still scrolling. “They’ve been acting right daft all day, one thing after another. Figured you would be able to help me out here.” He looks back to what he’s looking at on his phone, eventually stopping on something. “You’re from Alola, right? Accent fits, you have that look to ya.” After you nod, he shows something from Pokegram to Leon and Milo. “Is this what’s got your fancy, mates?”

Both of them turn red. When you look, it’s just a normal picture of you at the beach back on Melemele Island. Sure you have a swimsuit on, but so does everyone at the beach?

“Raihan, stop.” Leon swats the hand holding up the phone, causing the Rotom to zoom away and float by Raihan’s head with a buzz.

“Oh now you want to speak up. Tell me why you got hands all over this bird out of nowhere.” He looks to you. “You’ve seen the pictures, right? I mean, you were there, given, well, you’re the bird.”

You blink a few times being asked so forwardly. “It’s all still a shock to me too. Leon was just being friendly, we were separated in the Wild Area and by the time I arrived here, I was running late to see my cousin in the opening ceremony. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”

Raihan smirks a bit, revealing his one sharp tooth that reminded you of a beast. “I see, I see. And Milo’s endorsement of you?”

Looking over to Milo, it seems like he wants to be anywhere but here.

“Not only did he endorse a complete random, no offense, but breaks up with Nessa on the same day. When they didn’t walk out the stadium together, fans went rabid with speculation.”

“She broke up with me. N-not that it’s a big deal!” Milo finally chances looking up at everyone. “We’re still good friends, there’s nothin’ awkward or anythin’.”

“Right, right farm boy, we get it. But why did you endorse this bird over here? Have you met before today? You know the League, and the fans, dig into the lives of challengers endorsed by League representatives.”

“I’d like to know too, Milo. I was so shocked.” Your voice is soft, almost like how you would talk to your Pokemon. “I’m not sure what you see in me to use your own name to endorse me.”

Milo shifts his weight in his seat, breathes in some air, and looks up at you through his bangs. “I’m sorry, I shoulda told you. But the way ya handled Pokemon out ‘n the Wild Area is remarkable! Watched three different Pokemon accept your ownership without battlin’. That’s rare and unusual! And…” He fidgets some more instead of finishing.

Both Leon and Raihan raise an eyebrow at you. “Three Pokemon? Which ones?” Leon asks, not having seen it for himself.

“Umm, let’s see, I think he means Wooloo, Lotad, who’s now a Lombre, and Pancham.”

Leon is shocked, and looks to Milo. “So you were with guy with the Wooloo? And who defeated the Seismitoad??”

Milo bashfully nodded, stealing a look at you before looking quickly back down at the menu as a waiter stopped by the table. It seems like someone put in an order for you all already, and various vegetables, meats, and dipping sauces were placed around the pot. “Sake for the table?” When you all nod, small tumblers are placed in front of you and filled up. “Please let me know if you all would like anything else.” They take the menus, bow, and leave.

Raihan is the first to speak, lifting his cup. “To a new gym challenge, yeah? Here’s hoping none get through me and I beat the pants off Leon.”

“Hey, wait-” Leon’s brows furrow, hand halfway to tapping Raihan’s. “I don’t want to cheers to that!”

“And what bollocks do you wish for? Is it…” Raihan looks over to you.

Before he can say anything else, Milo thrusts his cup in. “Cheers to that!”

You play along, not knowing what is going on with these three, but smiling as Leon and Milo begin to open up and talk about this year’s challenge. It’s obvious things aren’t resolved, and there’s more going on behind the scenes, but you put that aside as you remember how much you just enjoy their company. Raihan is an entertaining contrast to their personalities. Where they are earnest and fumbling, he’s smooth and brash at the same time. He easily convinces you into selfies, and you can see that the other two are staring.

The food is indeed delicious, and sharing dinner with the boys is fun. Sometimes funny moments will come up, like both Milo and you attempting to grab the same lotus root, and spending an entire 5 minutes offering it to the other. Or Raihan overzealously dipping his pork into soy sauce and splashing who you learned to be Gordie sitting at the table next to yours. You realize, when you just let go, things work themselves out, and all the tension melts. Yes, things aren’t resolved. But as you look out to this group of people, you sense a feeling of belonging, and you know they will be, in time.

~*~*~*~

After dinner, the group splits in different ways. Some call flying taxis, others head back to Budew Drop Inn, and some even walk off into the city without really saying where they’ve headed. You head back to the hotel, the group boisterous with a healthy amount of sake in them. The rest of the city is quiet but has a low hum with all of the steam-powered machinery at work. The train has stopped by now, but steam lazily hisses from various vents on the streets. Looking up, you can only see a few stars. You realize you haven’t seen a clear sky since you’ve left Postwick. Only fitting given how cloudy your path seems.

Early in the walk, you feel a tug on your sleeve, and you turn to see Milo trailing behind the rest of the group. You hang back until you’re matching his pace.

“Hey.”

“Evenin’.” He’s not looking directly at you, but you can tell he’s a little more at ease. “How are you feelin’?”

Walking with him reminds you a little of the time you spent together in the Wild Area. “Hmm, lost, but holding faith that I will find my way.”

The both of you walk a couple of paces without saying anything.

“I owe ya a better explanation for everythin’. Just been a bit out of my element today.” He exhales, looks at you, and then back forward. “While it’s true I’m impressed by your ability to attract Pokemon, there was another reason I gave you my endorsement.”

You can tell he’s trying to work up to something. Instinctively, you reach out to his shoulder. “May I?” When he nods, you place your hand on it. Like the rest of his body it’s well-built, your fingers lightly rub the muscle you find there.

“I also did it because…” You can hear him gulp a little. “I wanted us to have an excuse to see each other again. ‘n for you to come to Turffield.” He looks to you, searching your face for a reaction. “I’ve enjoyed the time we spent together so far.”

That’s when you begin to realize something about Milo.

He’s cute.

Like, really cute.

“So did I Milo. I’m happy to hear you feel the same.” Whenever the two of you pass by a street light, you try and take in all the feature you can see. The soft qualities of his face, the hard qualities of his body. Everything you’ve felt about Milo rolled into this experience you’re having now.

“Really?” He’s being bashful, which makes you want to tease him a little.

“Of course. And you didn’t have to go through all this to see me again. You could, you know, ask for my number.”

“R-right!” A few moments pass in contemplation. “May I have your number? Jus’ for keepin’ in touch ‘n all!”

Smiling, you offer Milo your phone, and he puts in his information. When he hands it back you send him a quick text.

so glad i met you, all the way back at route 1 <3

By now you’ve reached the Budew Drop Inn, and all that remains is Sonia, Leon, Raihan, Milo, and yourself. Others, Leon in particular, grab your attention away from Milo, tipsy and full of low giggles. Riding the elevator is when you find out Milo is staying with Raihan. When they move to get off, giving their parting goodbyes, the sake in your system emboldens you to hug Milo. You can feel he’s surprised, but eventually he returns the gesture. It’s possible he said something to you, but it was too soft for you to hear. All of you wave goodbye as Raihan drags him away from you and the elevator.

Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you turn around to your friends remaining. Sonia is fighting persistent yawning while Pokegram is showing on her phone. Shifting to look at Leon, you see that he’s been observing you for some time now. His expression is a mix between sleepy and conflicted, like he’s trying to figure something out by just understanding your features. Something in your alcohol-influenced brain decides that Leon also wants a hug, so you step over and wrap your arms around his middle.

His body stiffens for a moment, before relaxing and hugging you tightly. You only now realize how comfortable Leon feels, since he’s usually so uptight around you. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the day, but you begin to drift asleep, closing your eyes and listening to the stead rhythm of his heart.

#milo x reader #leon x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield imagines #pokemon milo imagines #pokemon milo #pokemon swsh imagines #fanfiction #a bundle of yarrow #fic

[legolaslovely]

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A/N: Hello friends! Happy happy Fili Friday! I am very excited to share this story based on this ask that took on an insane life of its own! Thank you to the anon for sending the lovely idea in and for giving me permission to run with it! The Fili heart wants what the Fili heart wants.  This is based on this video = the dance scene from Tangled! I listened to this while writing if anyone wants to know! It’s fun!  Listen guys, my impatient ass is counting this as a slow burn because the end is just so comfortinggggggg and fluffffyyyyyy so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 4,270

Warnings: ... none?

Summary: Based on an ask! I’m not telling any more!

Link to the photoset below

It was only after months of rough traveling that Thorin decided to stop and spend a full day and night in a village along the route of the quest to Erebor. This much needed break came just in time for you, and more specifically your pack, which had continued to wear with every step you took and at this point, started to look as though a warg’s teeth had got a hold of it. You had been waddling around with its one serviceable strap slung over your shoulder for days and if you didn’t buy at least a replacement strap soon, you were sure you’d end up shrinking- hunched to half your size by the journey’s end.

Luckily, though this village was quite small, it did have a rather extensive market. As soon as Thorin made clear the details of the company’s overnight plans, you set out to comb through the many tents in the square. Most of the crafters fawned over the princes and king, leaving you free to browse without distractions. It didn’t take long for you to find a leather shop that boasted gorgeous weaponry, armor and tools. 

You were running your fingers over a strong leather strap, enjoying the geometric designs so common in classic dwarvish craftsmanship, when Fíli spoke from just over your shoulder.

“Will this do? I know it’s a bit larger than the one you have, but I think it will serve you well.”

The pack he was holding was extremely fashionable and even from the outside, it was clearly quite handy. Though it was currently empty, the sturdy leather still held it’s strong boxy shape. From the top and sides fell straps and hooks for your bedroll, canteens, weapons, and tools and what’s more, the design almost perfectly matched the strap you’d been admiring. The leather was tastefully embroidered and stamped with sharp triangles that weaved and folded into one another to wrap all around the body of the pack. Such a commendable creation was overwhelming and left you silent. 

“I should have asked first,” he said. “I’m sure I can return this one and we-you can pick out one you’d like. I shouldn’t have-”

“Fíli,” you said, taking the pack from him. Despite its size, it was light in your hand. “It’s beautiful. But I’m sure it was expensive- I mean, not that you don’t have the... I just... you didn’t have to- oh! I’ll pay you back. Here.”

You wanted to crawl into a whole. Who were you to talk money with the prince of Durin’s Folk? All the same, you were sure he expected you to pay for it. Maybe he’d merely grabbed the best pack for you before it was gone, bought by someone else. He was simply doing you a favor, watching out for you as company members do. You dug into your ripped pack for your coin purse, though you knew you wouldn’t have enough money. Mortification was rolling through you and if you allowed it, tears could have gathered in your eyes.

Then a hand covered yours.

“No, (Y/N). I don’t want anything from you. This is a gift. Come over here, we’ll transfer your things.” He led you over to a bench on the edge of the square.

“I can’t accept such a thing,” you said, sputtering. “I- really, this is too much-”

He took your torn pack from your shoulder and set it open on the ground before he moved to the new, pristine one, holding it still for you. “(Y/N), you need a good pack. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

“I can go buy one. Actually, I was just going to buy a new strap to mend this one-”

“(Y/N),” he said, lifting your fallen chin with gentle fingers. “Please accept my gift, hm? I want to do this for you.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, accidentally shaking away his touch. 

He hummed and gave you the soft smile he so often sent your way. As you transferred your belongings into your new pack, you marveled at the many pockets and layers you found inside. There was a place for everything you’d brought with you- food, bathing and eating utensils, blade sharpening and repair tools. Apparently, Fíli was entertained by your ogling and when you looked up to the sound of his low chuckle, he was shaking his head at you. But you knew it was fond.

“I suppose I’ll see you at the inn then,” he said. “I have a few more things to look for in the market, so-”

“May I come with you?” you asked. “Everyone else is driving me mad. Even your brother is haggling with the archery merchant! I can’t bear it.”

“Of course,” he said, holding a hand out to you and lifting you to your feet. “Did you hear Dwalin at the ax vendor earlier?”

“ ‘What am I meant to do with this blade? Do they think I have time to hack through a warg’s leg?’ ” you mocked.

“I said it would be a good challenge for him,” Fíli said, leading the way back to the tents. 

“What did he say to that?”

He leaned to your ear. “You don’t want to know.”

As Fíli studied the tables of the shops, running hardened fingers over knitted scarves, lifting bars of soap to his nose for a sniff, taking in the shine of intricately decorated blades, your attention was pulled to the other end of the market. A fiddle in the corner slowly creaked into tune before erupting into a jig that was wealthily accompanied by a lute, a whistle, and a cajon drum. The shoppers barely paid the musicians any attention, but your feet couldn’t help but tap to the deep thumping of the hand drum. 

The music reminded you of home, but instead of sending you into a bout of homesick blues, the tune lifted your spirits and brought back fond memories of dancing around a crackling fire during crisp summer nights. Even the dance steps that you hadn’t performed in years came flooding back to your mind and soon, your feet. Heel, toe, hop ‘n turn. Kick, ball change, circle round. Not a soul in the small village’s plaza around you seemed at all moved by the music and though you itched to dance, you turned your bopping head back to the tables.

It seemed your yearning to enjoy the music hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You let out a surprised noise when an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand yanked you to spin around. Only when the tents stopped revolving around you were you able to focus on a bright grin and messy, brown hair.

“Kíli!”

“I know you want to dance, lass. Come on.”

He led you, hopping in time with the speeding fiddle, to the center of the square. Together you circled through the gathering crowd with precision and speed like a pair of bumblebees through a lush garden.

“Kíli!” You heard Fíli’s voice. “Not so fast!”

But Kíli spun you around him, yelling, “She doesn’t need your protection all the time, brother!” 

You laughed- even now the brothers bickered! But it added to your amusement. However, as Kíli lost himself in the fun, he also led you too close to the market tables and captivated audience members and you soon wished Kíli would heed his brother’s advice. 

You squeaked his name in fear as the fabric of your trousers caught on the corner of a display table of glass trinkets. It was clear he paid your worries no mind. Instead of slowing his lead, he chuckled lowly in return and tightened his grip on you, balling your tunic in his fist before he whirled you around him once more.

“I gotcha, (Y/N),” he said. 

Then the music shifted. You raced out of his arms into the open, unobstructed space where he could stand across from you like an opponent ready to lunge. 

“I love this song!” you cried as the fiddle weaved into a familiar tune- one that filled your heart with melodies and memories of adolescence. Your nerves seemed to disappear, as did the years since you’d learned the traditional dance of the dwarvish culture, and every nuance of the jig came flooding back to your memory. 

“Kíli! Remember the steps?” you asked as you hopped around him, hands on your hips and head turning side to side. 

“Not a bit!” he said, attempting to keep up with you anyway. 

Your sight grew blurry with laughter as you watched his stuttering feet, but when you looked up, you saw you weren’t alone in the dance. Others from the village had joined in. You were now surrounded by a hive of hoofers, some forming graceful and evolving formations, others giggling and stepping on unsuspecting toes. All was just as it used to be when you celebrated feast days in your own home town.

The musicians played louder and faster, encouraged by the participation and indulgence they saw before them. The sound of echoing claps brought your attention to the edge of the crowd while you continued your dance with the well known steps. There, Gandalf was grinning at you, lifting his hands to applaud you. Beneath him stood Bilbo, hairy feet tapping, hopping, and stepping in place so as not to get trampled by the sturdy, and quite passionate dwarves. Even Thorin and Dwalin seemed a bit beguiled, but as your head swiveled round you couldn’t find the dwarf you were looking for. 

You leapt on top of the large stone fountain in the center of the square, skittering around its edge and looking for a golden head of hair. But it was nowhere to be found. Even your frolicing heart sank a bit at the thought of Fíli missing this fun. 

“Kíli!” you cried as he bounced past. “Where’s your brother?”

He gave no answer and instead knocked at the back of your knees, plucking your legs out from under you. You fell from the high fountain, too startled to scream, but not too surprised to give Kíli a good smack on the shoulder when he caught you. Through the village plaza he raced, carrying you in his arms like a dangerous bird through the whirlpool of bees. You hid your face in his vest as he narrowly missed a few of the villagers, only opening your eyes when he set you safely on the ground. Before you, Thorin and Dwalin shook their heads, sporting deep smirks and cocked brows. 

Lucky for Kíli, by the time you turned around to catch him, he had vanished, safely hidden in the crowd of dancing dwarves. A bright pat pat came to your ears, sounding just over the music and when realization of its origin dawned over you, you grinned. “Are those… tapping toes I see, Mister Dwalin?”

Dwalin shared a look with Thorin. “I see no such thing, little lass.”

“Come and dance,” you said. You took his hand, finding it before it could disappear behind his back, and pulled. He didn’t budge. 

“Find yourself a different dance partner, (Y/N). There are many here,” he said, sliding his hand from your grasp. 

“Come now, Mister Dwalin,” you said. There was a twinkle in your eye that he recognized. It seemed you had learned a few things from Kíli in your weeks of traveling together at the company’s caboose. “Don’t be boring.”

“Oh, I’m boring, am I?”

“Yes!”

You had no time to run from him. One moment you were standing firm on the ground, the next you were in his arms being spun like the wheel of a wagon. The sky reeled, puffy clouds blurring into long white circles and dancing dwarves into blears and blobs of color. You screwed your eyes shut to save your frenzied mind, but it plainly made the dizzying effect worse. 

“Dwalin!” 

You screamed over the music, but the sound seemed to evaporate into the swirling air around you. Even when your feet eventually touched the flat ground, you were still twirled by your hands, shoulders, and waist. Just when the tormentor had finally relented, a familiar, smooth voice distracted you just enough for one foot to trip over the other and send you hurdling to the ground. Luckily, someone caught you.

“Are you all right?”

You opened your eyes to a blur of gold. It was Fíli who had caught you and you now lay in his able arms, helpless to stand. 

“I called Dwalin boring.”

“Oh, not your smartest idea, lass,” Fíli said, slowly moving you upright. 

You held his shoulders as your head continued to spin. “I think I may need a moment,” you said.

Fíli chuckled. “Let’s go sit, hm?” He led you to the fountain, watching just one of your wobbly steps before deciding to lift you in his arms once more and carry you to the stone seat. It was a smooth wave of movement you didn’t at all mind enduring. Once sat, he smoothed your hair behind your ear, marveling at your lips that were still grinning, even as you rocked back and forth in the aftermath of Dwalin’s “dancing.”

“Where were you?” you asked him. 

“Why? Did you want a better dance partner than Kíli?” he asked. You just saw his wink.

“Your brother is a good dancer!” you said with a slap to his shoulder. “He just dances to his own beat.”

Presently, K��li was arm in arm with Bofur, skipping and hopping through the other dancers with precious little grace. You waved as they passed. Bofur barely made it past the fountain with Kíli’s dangerous lead. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“If you can call that dancing,” Fíli chuckled. His form had finally stopped swaying in your vision. “When you can stand on your own again, I’ll have to show you how it’s really done.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Why do you think I was looking for you in the first place?”

As the afternoon passed, other members of the company shopped through the market with notably lifted spirits. However, as the sun slid through the sky, it stretched gangly shadows of the pair who still made their perch on the fountain in the middle of the village plaza. Though you protested, sure Fíli had many other things to do rather than sit and listen to the music with you, he remained by your side, clapping to the beat as his feet collided with your swaying boots every once in a while. 

It wasn’t until the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon that Kíli ran back into the square calling for his brother.

“Fíli! Have either of you moved all afternoon? We’ve been waiting for you at the inn.”

Fíli sputtered and stood, pulling you to your feet. “No, I lost track of time.” He sandwiched you between him and his brother as you followed Kíli through the small streets to the inn. A heavy hand on your new pack kept you close when dwarves filled some especially crowded pathways. 

When the inn came into view on the far end of the lane Kíli turned over his shoulder and said, “There are taverns full of beer and food all over this village and you two spend the entire day sitting on a rock in the sun!”

You shook your head. “I would much rather spend the day outside in the sunshine than in a dark bar, getting a sore belly from too much ale and smelly dwarves.”

Kíli, of course, had something to say about your reaction but you didn’t hear his reply. You were too distracted by Fíli leaning to your ear and running his fingers past your hand. 

“And I’d much rather spend the day with you than anyone else,” Fíli said.

Before you could discern his exact meaning, his hand found your back and led you through the door to the tavern. The moment you stepped through the threshold of the bar, he seemed to disappear, joining his uncle and helping to make the arrangements for the company’s overnight stay.

He stood tall next to Thorin- shoulders back, hands on his belt before one rose to shake that of the inn owner as Thorin dropped a few coins on the counter. Despite the months of travel, his clothes and hair were neat, even shining in the low light of the dark tavern. He turned over his shoulder and immediately found you watching him, giving you a high browed look as if he caught you stealing a treat from the kitchens. 

“That’s a nice pack, (Y/N).” Kíli’s voice interrupted your long distance facial feature conversation with Fíli. 

You hummed. “Thank you.”

The first thing you did when you reached your private room was bathe. You were given a large tub full of steaming water and fresh soap- no fish, plants, sharp rocks or sweating dwarves in sight. It should have been the most soothing event to occur in the past weeks. However, instead of relaxing and sinking deep into warmth and peace, your mind whirred and your body remained tense. Before the water had even run cool, you leapt out of the tub and dressed to run across the hall.

The hair by your neck was still damp and curling by the time you knocked on Fíli’s door. But it was Kíli who answered. You should have known they’d be sharing a room.

“Is Fíli in here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bath. You want him?”

“No,” you said, jealousy rising and peaking above even your frustration at your endless jitters. “Will you just tell him I wanted to speak with him?”

“It’s not about the pack, is it?” Kíli asked.

“What? No-”

“Because he just wanted to give you something he knew you needed. It doesn’t even really count! He’s told me how badly he wants to make your gift, but there aren’t exactly any forges he can take advantage of while-”

Fíli’s voice stopped him. “Kíli! Who are you talking to, brother?”

“(Y/N)!” Kíli answered.

“(Y/N), our (Y/N)?” On the other side of the open door, you could hear water slosh onto the floor accompanied by Fíli’s incomprehensible grumbling. Then he peeked around the door with a sheepish smile. You could just see the soaked ends of his hair sending streams of water down his bare chest. “What were you two talking about?”

“The pack-”

“I just wanted to speak with you,” you said over Kíli. “Not right now. Later. When you’re… ready. I’m across the hall.”

Fíli nodded, forcing a smile that looked more like a wince. It didn’t reach his now stormy eyes. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Take your time,” you got out as he slammed the door shut.

Before you stepped back into your own room you heard Kíli cry out, “What! What did I do?” 

You closed your own door quickly, not wanting to eavesdrop any more. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about what Kíli had said. Had Fíli wanted to make you a pack once Erebor was reclaimed? Why would you need it then? Maybe Thorin was planning to ask you to travel back to Ered Luin once it was safe to lead the people back to the mountain. Imagine a trip free of wargs and orcs, you thought. 

You jumped when the door vibrated with his knock. 

“Come in, Fíli.”

You had never seen his hair loose and untied before. Its waves fell around his face like sweet rays of sun and the dripping ends left sheer wet clouds on the chest of his tunic. Did Kíli usually braid his hair? Had their mother taught them the traditional styles? Or did Fíli do it himself, never needing to ask for help with something so trivial? You were sure you could manage it. The braids weren’t so intricate and they were similar to yours if you thought about it. Which you often did.

He was looking at you with that “caught ya” grin again. “What did you want to talk about, lass?”

You turned, digging through your pack that was laid out on the bed. “Not so much talk,” you said. “I wanted you to have these.” In your hands sat the strap you had been admiring from the market. While you were alone in the morning, you’d paid to have it fashioned into a scabbard and a matching pair of bracers. It was simply coincidence that the pattern on your new pack happened to match these gifts you’d picked for Fíli. “I saw the engraving and immediately thought you’d like it. I know your bracers were torn by the trolls a few weeks back.”

He looked at you before he took the gifts. You couldn’t quite place his expression, you were sure that even after months of traveling together you’d never seen it before. He flipped the bracers over and could have seen his reflection in the shine of the buckles. They were immaculate and new- obviously made this morning- however they seemed comfortably broken in as if they’d been worn for days previously. He could imagine what custom gifts like these would have cost you.

“I can’t take these.”

You waved his hands away. “Fíli, please accept my gift,” you said, repeating his words from earlier in the day.

He ran his rounded fingertips over the familiar triangular etchings and hummed. “Thank you, (Y/N). They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” you asked. Your nerves were starting to build again, as you took one of the bracers from him. “Are you sure? I was wondering if these straps were long enough. I can go back to the seller in the morning and get them adjusted-”

His hand covered yours. “They’ll fit fine.”

“And you like them? They’ll be of use?”

“I love them.” He set the leather pieces in the seat of a chair by the door. “However, I believe there is still one thing you owe me.” His eyes shined. Mischievous. He too had learned a few things from his little brother.

“Oh?”

You let him lace his fingers in yours and wrap an arm around you. “I never got my dance.”

“Ah,” you said, melting into his embrace. “And I suppose you’ll tell me we don’t need music?”

“You read my mind.” You could just feel his thumb waving back and forth against your tunic as he seemed to tuck you into the crook of his elbow. “And just for you, I’ll go very slow. Can’t have you getting dizzy again.”

“My hero.”

He hummed and held his cheek to yours. His skin was so warm- not from the bath, not from his soft, thick beard blanketing the side of your face, but just from Fíli. He glowed. Finally, you were close enough to feel the beams radiating from him and you couldn’t stop yourself from burrowing into the heat, eyelashes tickling his skin, nose nestling into silky, clean hair. You bathed in his sunlight, blinded to anything other than his arms around you and chest supporting you, his lips caressing the side of your head. 

“Dizzy?” he asked.

“A little.” 

“Me too.”

He only just rocked you back and forth, barely swaying as if to merely keep up the pretence of dancing. Safe in his arms, he led you along to the melodies of your beating hearts, steady breaths and unspoken confessions. You leaned your head on his shoulder and that tiny movement seemed to break a spell. Fíli’s voice, however, brought a new kind of magic.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what Kíli meant?”

You breathed out a laugh, sending cool air over his neck that made him shiver around you. “I was going to let you tell me when you were ready.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been ready.” You lifted your head, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. “The pack was meant to be a courting gift- a proposal. But you deserve much more than that. I want to make something for you with my own hands. Something grand and gorgeous that you could love forever and would possibly begin the greatest adventure of our lives.” He swept tender fingers through your hair and held your cheek, feeling his own warmth still radiating from your skin. “But I don’t know how long it will be before I can do that for you and I don’t want to wait that long. I don’t want to wait another moment, so I’m asking you now. Will you allow me to court you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes.” You turned your face into his hand and kissed his palm. “But Fíli, of course I want to treasure something you’ve made for me and have it with me always, but what matters to me is being with you. I don’t need gifts. Only you.”

You saw his radiant smile before he pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours and then settled. The two of you shared the same air for long, peaceful moments, before he went digging into his trouser pocket. 

“Wait,” he said, drawing away. He pulled out a hair piece, the one he wore on the bottom of his backmost braid, and held it flat in his palm. “I have this. I can secure a courting braid with it, though it’s a tad unusual.” He took your chin in his fingers, running his thumb back and forth. “It can be a placeholder.”

Pride bubbled in your chest. You kissed him. “A placeholder.”

Taglist: @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​ @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @dashesofink​ @teagarages​ @dreams-of-wander​ @winchesterandpie​ @bluebellcotton @tumblinglringlring @fxngsfogxarty @specialagentsnark @afeistyfairy12 @queenofmankind @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger @daydreamer-in-training @aidan-kili-mitchell-forever

#fili friday #fili x reader #fili x dwarf!reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #dean o'gorman x reader

[magioftheseas]

The Captivating Voice That Is Not Yours

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Compelling Voice taken from here.

Rating: T

Warnings: Talk of kidnappings. It’s a Phantom of the Opera AU, so...

Notes: Yeah baby, Hanako of the Opera fic finally but it’s also AoiNene because not only do I love them but I also thought Meg/Christine deserved WAY BETTER. This isn’t all that happy of a fic though. More tense and a bit experimental. I wasn’t sure what I was doing and it shows.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

There are enough rumors of the phantom of the opera to fill a book. Some said he kidnapped young girls to force them into being his bride. Others say that he lured in unsuspecting folks with a honeyed voice before drowning them in the sewers.

(“Like a mermaid,” she said in the flattest voice imaginable. Nene burst into laughter when she followed it up with puffed cheeks and exaggerated glub, glub, glubs.)

The only certainties of the phantom were his talent for music and his dangerous temper. They had just remade the chandelier broken from years ago, the last time the phantom had been so angered. Supposedly, there had even been talks of people discovered hanging from the rafters. It was recounted with chilling fright. Bodies or no, the Phantom was nonetheless deemed a force to be conceded to rather than fought. To raise a sword to the Phantom was to raise a sword to a storm.

(“Or to a rat,” the manager had chuckled with such a serene smile. “It just so happens that this rat composes truly beautiful pieces.”)

Well, because Aoi was a dancer, the Phantom was little more than the subject of gossip. He notoriously only paid attention to singers and orchestras. Everyone else was left alone. She had no reason to worry for herself, so she hadn’t.

That changed when Yashiro Nene arrived.

--

What would you call it? Infatuation? Love at first sight?

She and Nene had known each other long before all this. A more innocent time when they were fellow schoolgirls and close as close could be. She was a dancer, Nene was a songstress. Nene’s singing was rough and clumsy, but her voice was bright and earnest.

Aoi could listen to the other girl speak and sing for days. She had truly been deeply enamored.

So much so that even when she was scouted, she wanted so dearly to bring Nene along. But with the competition so aggressive and passionate, Aoi’s earnest little songbird had been stamped out and shooed away.

Nene still watched her performances, lovelier than any bouquet and always with such a shining gaze. That shining gaze often turned to the stage with such longing.

(As sorry as Aoi felt for her, she also had a sick sense of satisfaction for being the only one Nene sang for.

And then that changed.)

When Nene arrived, Aoi was struck by two things.

Joy: happiness at Nene being where she had always wanted. Smiling the brightest she ever had.

Terror: fear at Nene being at risk of the phantom. Smiling so brightly, unknown of the snake that curled around this opera house with a deathly grip.

(And imagine how she felt when she realized the phantom had already wrapped around the little songbird, his maw open wide to reveal the sharpest fangs. Just imagine.)

--

“He’s not what I’d call an angel, but he is a good teacher,” Nene had explained, and whatever bit of irritation flickered through her expression was drowned out by her beaming with pride. “Because of him, I’m good enough to share the stage with you, Aoi!”

“Nothing makes me happier to hear besides your singing,” Aoi murmured in return. That was genuine, even as caution crept back into her tone. “So, that teacher of yours… How did you find him?”

“It’s more that he found me.” For some reason, Nene got flustered. Despite how adorable she looked, a chill settled on Aoi’s shoulders as the songstress went on, “He heard me practicing. He said...that I had a lot of potential.”

Aoi had known that from the start. Yet, she hadn’t been able to help Nene at all.

It’s such a terrible feeling.

“Nene-chan,” she says sweetly. “Can I listen to your singing once more?”

Nene lights up like a supernova. Her rosy mouth opens, a deep intake of breath into her delicate throat, and she sings.

She sings and Aoi is captivated.

(The phantom truly was potent. Nene’s singing was definitely improved from before. Whereas she once could only take hold of Aoi, now… Thanks to the phantom, she could hold the whole world in her hands if she so wished.)

--

Which of course means that the phantom’s grip is even greater. Aoi’s never heard the phantom sing, but even she could tell that no words could do such a siren’s call justice.

--

Yashiro Nene is to be the next star of the performance. Mitsuba Sousuke throws quite the fit. The manager is quick to calm him down, and the manager’s brother, a patron, is quick to reassure him.

Nene fidgets uncertainly, flinches when Mitsuba turns to her with a tearful glare. Aoi tightens her grip on Nene’s hand. They watch him stomp off, and Nene releases her breath.

“It’s normal,” Aoi said. “You deserve to be a star, Nene-chan.”

(Even if as a star, Nene would be shining for someone else.)

--

Nene’s singing was beautiful during the show as expected. It was ephemeral. Really, she was perfect.

Aoi watched her face from the shadows, distant from all the applause.

However...

While it was Nene’s voice in the darkness, those words were not hers.

However, it was nonetheless captivating.

--

“It’s as if the songbird has become a spider,” Aoi said to the mirror in the dressing room. Nene stiffened up, but she relaxed when Aoi’s hands rested on her shoulders. “The audience was trapped in your web, Nene-chan.”

“Geez, Aoi, that’s an exaggeration,” Nene griped good-naturedly, with a face twisted away from Aoi, her reflection, and the flower bouquets she had received.

“Nene-chan,” Aoi hummed and peered into the mirror. Her eyes narrowed. “Your face is pale.” She reaches down, taking Nene’s hand within her own. “And your hands are cold. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I…” Nene recedes from her. A flower closing as if in anticipation for the night. Perhaps, Aoi should have realized then. “I’m feeling a bit faint, Aoi. Can you get me some water?”

“Oh! Right away.”

As dutiful as she was adoring, Aoi had obeyed without question.

--

There were many ways it could have occurred.

Simply sneaking up on the girl and taking her away.

Using threats and other forms of intimidation.

The likeliest: using that heavenly voice to lure that girl into the catacombs.

The end result all the same: an empty room.

“Nene-chan…?”

The flowers are untouched, even the makeup is in the place last set aside. Aoi still looks around. The candles are still lit. The mirror reflects her uneasy expression.

When she reaches for it, however, she is stopped by an elegant shadow in the entryway.

“Akane-san, may I speak to you?”

That shadow moves through until it looms by her side, subdued yet encompassing.

“It is important,” her teacher says with an expression so stoic yet beautiful. “Please, do not worry about Yashiro-san. She will be returned momentarily.”

“Nanamine-san…” Aoi blinks up at her. She strains, not out of any physical need. “What do you know?”

“Much more than you need to,” Nanamine says simply. “Please, do not worry. Yashiro-san will be fine.”

“The phantom...he took her, didn’t he? Is...is Nene-chan really going to be stolen away?” Aoi asks, wavering as she begins to grow frantic. “Is that phantom her teacher?”

“Yashiro-san is a rising star in this opera house. Thus, she will not be taken away. Will that assuage your fears, Akane-san?”

How am I supposed to answer that?

...

Once upon a time, Nene-chan was mine and mine alone. At least, that’s how I could perceive things. I can’t pretend any longer. At the very least…

Aoi nods, turning from the mirror.

If she really can no longer be mine...

“I don’t have any intention of letting her be his, either,” she murmurs.

There isn’t a response from her teacher. There is, however, a soft meow from the floor. A peculiar black cat is wrapping itself around Aoi’s ankle, chirping up at her with a bright, knowing gaze and an open, fanged grin.

The teacher leads Aoi away, but the cat follows them with a carefree trot.

#Magi fics #AoiNene #hanako of the opera #jibaku shounen hanako kun #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo

[jewishconvertthings]

Something I’ve noticed come up again and again in conversion-focused/prospective convert spaces is a fascination with orthodoxy. I think a lot of what drives this is the desire for universal recognition and to do things the “right” way. And, since Jews both inside and outside of orthodoxy tend to hold up orthodoxy as the gold standard for halacha and for conversion in particular, people who would never otherwise consider converting orthodox still end up seriously investigating the possibility and/or even attempting it. This becomes especially painful to watch when, for one reason or another (or several) the individual in question simply cannot convert orthodox without making life changes that are, frankly, not worth it or even impossible.

I say this as someone who absolutely, 100% went on this ride.

(This is a Very Long Post, so I’ve put it under a cut)

I am a queer non-binary person in a relationship with another queer non-binary person who is not Jewish and has no plans on converting. Now, at this point in my life, I present in a traditionally feminine way 98% of the time (and was assigned female at birth), the aspects of physical transition that I have accessed are not visible or are easily able to be masked, and for a number of extremely personal reasons I won’t get into here, I have also reached a point in my life where my ability to be attracted to cis men is not something that I automatically reject.

So on a pragmatic level, if I wanted to be orthodox I had two choices: (1) Stay with my partner who I love and have built a life and a home with, who supports my Jewish journey and observance 100%, who loves me no matter how I present myself gender-wise, and whose life experiences as a fellow queer non-binary person allow us to have a profound understanding of each other; or, (2) Leave my partner, and also most likely also make an effort to stamp out or at least conceal the queer and non-binary facets of myself.  

I think it’s pretty clear that I opted to not take path #2, which left me with the decision to either pursue a Conservative conversion or accept being a Noachide. Fortunately, I happened to already have a Conservative community that I really loved and three Conservative rabbis for my beit din, each of whom I tremendously respect. Therefore moving forward with a Conservative conversion did not cause me all that much cognitive dissonance. To be perfectly honest, all told, I think my theological framework fits better within Conservative halacha anyway and there is plenty of space for me to exist and be respected as a queer non-binary person with a non-Jewish spouse.

But despite what I feel is an overall very good outcome to this problem, I still went through a whole grieving process for letting go of the idea of ever converting orthodox, and looking back I felt it was really important to interrogate why. I could of course take the easy way out and say that it was because I was sad to lose this particular shul as my primary community, but that’s not completely true. I still go there sometimes and enjoy it when I do, and also by the time it became clear to me that this was not a community I could convert through, it was no longer my primary shul. I’d already switched.

I could also say that it was because I deeply desired living and sharing community with a congregation where the majority of members took halacha very seriously and lived by those convictions. While I have deep love and appreciation for my Conservative community, the reality is that I am in the minority as someone who keeps a strictly kosher kitchen and one of a handful of people who make much of an effort to be shomer Shabbos. At the same time, I have found and built friendships with those who do take a more traditional approach to observance who also share other values of mine as well. So I have ultimately ended up in the exact kind of community I desired, even if it isn’t the numeric majority of the congregation as a whole.

There was also a very real period where I needed to sort out my understanding of what I believed about what Torah even is, and how I wanted to build my Jewish observance from that understanding. (Namely, that even though I can never say that I believed with perfect faith that the Torah was given directly to Moshe by G-d on Mt. Sinai in its entirety and in fact believe that most of the evidence points away from that understanding, I also felt it was important to essentially accept it as an underlying assumption for interpretive and halachic purposes. I have . . . evolved a bit since then, but honestly haven’t moved too far from that position.)

The point is that there were actual, real reasons other than just for the validity.

But if I’m being extremely honest with myself, while it was far from being the only reason or the “real” reason, it was nevertheless a not-insignificant reason for why I was disappointed and felt a loss. I understand the other pieces pretty well at this point, and so with the benefit of time and some emotional distance, I decided to examine this a bit more deeply.

I think the problem is two-fold. First, I think that the same intense beliefs and emotions that drive someone to do something as drastic as converting to Judaism to begin with also create a desire to do so in the most intensive way possible. Amongst myself and the many other conversion students and converts I’ve met, irrespective of our many differences, our passion for Judaism and our enthusiasm in Jewish engagement are near-universals. For better or worse, that tends to manifest as a desire for a high level of observance and for a community that shares that commitment.

Second, I think that converts of whatever background, but especially those of us who are marginalized in other ways, tend to be under a great deal of scrutiny from the rest of the Jewish community as to our motives and our processes for becoming Jewish. While I don’t doubt that this is painful for anyone, this can hit especially hard if you have experienced some other kind of serious invalidation, erasure, and/or rejection in other areas of your life.

So I think, after having sat with this a bit, part of that feeling of hurt and loss comes as a sort of echo trauma from having been erased and rejected as a queer non-binary person. The invalidation I’ve received both outside and inside the queer/trans community has been significant enough that the idea of stomaching more rejection, more invalidation, and more treatment as an interloper was a tough pill to swallow. Combine that with my genuine passion for Judaism and desire for an observant Jewish life and community, and you had a perfect storm of me reaching for a community that was, all told, not a good fit.

I eventually moved past that stage, and ended up quite happy in my Conservative community. So what’s the problem? Why am I bringing up such a painful topic if it turned out fine?

Here’s the thing: I’d seen other people ride this emotional rodeo before and so while I anticipated these feelings of rejection, I was afraid of experiencing them and tried to avoid doing so by being hyper-aware of the possibility. It didn’t work. Unfortunately, this was just something I had to figure out on my own. However, there was another effect I’d seen as well, namely that once people had processed the immediate sadness, there was usually a bit of backlash afterwards. I saw this especially with a particular friend who regularly expressed not just legitimate criticisms of orthodoxy, but lashed out angrily towards anyone who expressed an interest in orthodoxy or who happened to be orthodox and talk positively about their experiences. This was serious enough that it almost ruined our friendship.

I did manage to mostly avoid this latter effect because I actively built relationships within my orthodox community and maintained them even afterwards, and because I refused to make that rejection a personal thing. I also gave myself ample space from that community and have only engaged to the extent that I can do so in a healthy, comfortable way. But it’s worth noting that despite controlling my outer reaction, I definitely had to process and work my way through that same anger internally.

I raise all of this for the following reason:

I haven’t seen anyone talking about this much, and what I have seen has not been constructive or compassionate. While I don’t think reading about my seemingly typical (even cliché) experiences as someone who was not a good fit for orthodoxy trying to shoehorn myself into it for understandable (but ultimately futile) reasons will spare anyone the emotional ride of having that experience, nor do I think it will likely help anyone avoid having to experience it themselves to be sure, I do think that it may help with a couple issues. First, I think it may help outsiders who have observed this trope have a bit more compassion for those going through it and be able to offer some better responses than derision or telling folks to just get over it. Basically, realize that these are growing pains, and try to be kind and mature about it.

Second, I think it may help people who are on the verge of going through that experience and/or who are in the middle of it to understand that it is A Thing, that it is not an inherently bad thing, that they are not bad people for having to go on this emotional journey, that it is reasonable for them to have hard feelings about it, and that the only thing they really do need to be careful of is how they treat the people in their communities and not take this out on them. Ultimately, if you are unable to convert orthodox for reasons outside your control (or even just realize that you inherently don’t have the right worldview for orthodoxy/have an actual desire to live an orthodox lifestyle) there are usually other ways of meeting your community and observance-related needs and it is best to start exploring them sooner rather than later.

Collectively, I think I would challenge conversion students and liberal converts who are considering an orthodox conversion to seriously consider if there are other ways to meet your spiritual and community needs. If so, why pursue orthodoxy? You really do need an honest answer to that question, even if it takes a bit of soul-searching to get there. If it’s about universal recognition, you need to stop immediately and reconsider. (Understand that there basically is no such thing. Then understand that this means that you will have to build an internal Jewish identity that is unrelated to how random people without community decision-making power view you.) Finally, I’d ask that you try really hard to separate the larger trends and systems within orthodoxy from individual Orthodox Jews you happen to encounter.

And of course, I would challenge folks to leave passing judgment on any given conversion student’s process and motivations up to their sponsoring rabbi.

[guidedbynors]

Quest RPG Adventure: City of Whispers

Premise/Setting

In City of Whispers, an adventure for Quest RPG, adventurers take on the role of famous musicians, traveling around trying to make a bit of coin. When they come to a city that is ruled by a cult that has outlawed music, it’s up to the adventurers to show the populace of the town how wonderful music is and to overthrow the music-hating cult.

Opening Scene

The adventure starts as Questers come to the gates of a grand city. Strangely, everything seems still and quiet. There are very few sounds coming from within the city. There is no indication that music is outlawed, though the guards do seem grim and suspicious of travelers. They only speak in whispers and when Questers speak, they ask them to lower their voices. If any adventurers have instruments visibly on their person, the guards will ask that they leave them at the guardhouse if they wish to enter. The guards will make it clear that quiet is a virtue within this city. As adventurers pass through the gates and into the city, they will feel a strange tingle as any instruments they have concealed from the guards vibrate just for a moment. If adventurers refuse to hand over their instruments, the guards will not let them in. They will have to try and sneak in some other way. When/if Questers do find an alternative route into the city, the same thing will happen to their instruments as they pass from outside the walls to within.

Navigating The City

Once adventurers are inside the city, if they didn’t get the hint, they’ll quickly realize that the whole populace is terrified of music. They won’t talk much about it willingly, but anyone who is caught playing music disappeared, and anyone who listens to music is put in the stocks at the center of the city, as an example to all others. Everyone in the city speaks in whispers, and anyone who raises their voice draws the attention of guards. Even laughter is a silent smile and a series of silent breaths within this town--not that many people laugh. Townsfolk and guards greet each other by saying “Silence is Peace.” The correct response to this greeting is “Lest the dead wake.” Guards and townsfolk alike will greet Questers with this, and if they do no respond with the correct greeting, they will be known to be outsiders.

If the party has snuck into the city because they didn’t want to give up their instruments, they’ll need to stay clear of the city guards, especially if their instruments are on their person.

As a vast metropolis, the city has pretty much everything characters could ask for in a city. All the “free” general goods items from the Quest RPG gamebook can be found here, as well as a few magic items, if your Questers have something to trade for them. Guides are free to situate this city in whatever location seems reasonable to their campaign. Mountains, rivers, Underdark--they all work. As long as the city is quiet.

When/if your Questers visit local pubs or inns, they will meet other performers and see people whispering lyrics to well-known songs, but without any instruments and without singing. It sounds like a really bad spoken word that should have music to it. If Questers try to sing along, they will be hushed into silence by anyone listening to the performer.

Raising The Alarm

Raising the alarm can happen easily and quickly if Questers aren’t careful. Speaking too loud too often is a sure way to land yourself in the stocks. If the Questers try to play music that will get them taken to the Hall of Silence. The Hall of Silence is a magical prison and courtroom that is enchanted so no sound can be made within it. Everything “said” in the Hall of Silence must then be written down and shown to others. As a Guide, it’s up to you to decide how to handle this if your Questers are arrested. Obviously, a quill, ink, and paper would be needed to write, unless they can do so through magical means. You can let players describe what they write--or for more immersive (and perhaps frustrating results) make all your characters write down everything they “say” in character, then pass the paper around to those they want to communicate to.

Escaping from the Hall of Silence isn’t the center of this adventure, so if your Questers get thrown into prison, let them use some clever roleplay and abilities to escape. Or. . .

The Ruined Rollers

There is a resistance to the City of Whispers. The Ruined Rollers are an “airband” that fights against the silence the oppressive Order of Whispers dictates. The Ruined Rollers were once a punk rock band when they were kids. Now they are all in their 60s. They lead the resistance against silence. They remember the time before the Order of Whispers came to the city and mandated the silence the city now lives under. They hold rallies in which they play air instruments and whisper sung lyrics as the crowd, mostly young people bob their heads, trying not to cheer or stamp their feet too loudly with the imagined beat.

The Dead Awake

It’s common knowledge in the town that if too much noise is made the dead will wake from their graves and roam the streets. The dead won’t attack people unless they feel threatened, but the people of the city are still terrified of the dead. They stink and can spread disease and look horrible with rotting flesh. Anyone who died violently will try to move about but are hampered by whatever ailment killed them. Any dead who awaken will try to get back to their families or loved ones. Depending on what they died from, some of the living city folks may try to harbor their undead relatives, though they will continue to decay and the smell becomes worse and worse. Sometimes the dead will also want to go out and have similar human desires as when they were alive. If someone is discovered to be harboring an undead, they will be disappeared by the Order of Whispers.

What Can Be Done

The Order of Whispers is a cult that rose to power 20-some years ago. They became leaders of the city by winning some elections to install themselves within the congress of the city. They eventually won enough elections so that they were able to reform the governance system of the city, to install the Grand Silencer, the head of the order to be the ultimate authority of the city.

The Problem

The problem is this: The Grand Silencer, lord of the city, raises the dead to punish people for making more noise than he likes. The main reason for this is to stamp out any music that might be played. The Grand Silencer is a failed musician who gave up his dreams and so tries to stamp out any music that might be played. The Order of Whispers is a cult of failed musicians who are bitter at people who still like music. Their rise to power coincides with the rising of the undead, which can be deduced by Questers if they ask around the city.

The Solution

Questers can find many solutions to the problem. They can infiltrate the Order of Whispers and discover the spell or mechanism The Grand Silencer uses to raise the dead. They can out him if they choose. They could also lead a rebellion with the help of The Ruined Rollers. Start a punk rock revolution.

There are a ton of different ways Questers can deal with the plight in The City of Whispers. For Guides, it’s important to give players problems you don’t have the answers to. Let your players then make up the answers they think are best for the situation. An invaluable resource for running this adventure is the official Quest Character Catalog. This book can be helpful in populating your city if you don’t want to create a dozen of your own NPCs.

#TTrpg #Quest RPG #Indie Games #dungeons and dragons

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter three]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: I didn't plan on working on [with you] right now, but when the inspiration hits, listen to it. 

I lost my momentum/motivation for this story a while ago, but damn it, I said I’d finish it so I'm going to finish it. [with you] isn't done, folks. Thanks for reading and for the constant support. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and stick around for the rest. ❤️

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

Read on: AO3 

---

Well, the ring isn’t bigger, but it is flatter. 

Too flat to possibly fit on Louis’ finger.

Well, fuck. 

The hammer hits the workbench with a deafening clatter that bounces throughout the basement, causing a startled Willy to drop the tattered, blue tarp in his hands. 

Mitch lets out a deep groan, leaning back in his chair while tugging at his hair. 

“How bad is it?” asks Willy. 

The ring’s a piece of shit, Mitch decides. He tried reshaping it, stretching it to be just the tiniest bit bigger, but progress was halted due to the fact that he fucked up.

Maybe it would be easier if he had Louis’ measurement- which Clementine has neglected to obtain yet- but right now, it’s damn near impossible to get it back to its perfectly circular shape.

“Fucked,” Mitch grumbles. He can’t give it back to Clementine in this shape. She’ll be devastated. 

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” Willy yawns from beside him, rubbing at his eyes. 

Turning the ring- if you could even call it that anymore- around in his fingers, concern furrows the young boy’s brow as he chews on his bottom lip. 

“What are we gonna do?”

That’s a great question, one that Mitch doesn’t have an answer to yet. 

Really, it should’ve been simple. 

He should’ve been able to stretch it out a bit then reshape it into a perfect circle, into a ring. Now it’s just a long, depressing, wobbly, scratched up loop . 

All the mornings he woke up early this week to come down here and work on it… all for nothing! 

Fuck.

Clementine’s gonna be pissed. 

“No clue,” Mitch sighs, pressing forward against the desk to step down from his chair. “Don’t suppose you got any ideas?” 

“Maybe we could melt it back?”

“With what? Fire?” Mitch sighs.“No fire we could make would be hot enough to melt this.”

“We could just get it hot enough to reshape it, at least?” 

“Maybe,” Mitch says, unconvincingly. "Then again, it is pretty cheap, whatever it is."

Willy tries stretching the ring with his fingers to no avail, only succeeding his pinching his pointer finger. 

The only reason it got into the shape it is now is because Mitch secured it in an old wrench, then used a pair of thick pliers to try and reshape it. No set of fingers are going to be enough to pry it apart. 

“If we don’t fix this, Clem’s gonna be mad at us!” Willy exclaims, slamming the ring back down onto the workbench. “There’s gotta be something we can do! Maybe we could find her a new one? A bigger size? ”

Mitch perks a brow. 

“You got a bunch of wedding rings lying around that I don’t know about?” he asks. “Seems like a weird thing to collect.” 

Not that he’d be all that surprised, though it’d be rather convenient. Willy collects all kinds of strange shit- used stamps off of old envelopes, coins, fun-shaped erasers, probably other stuff. The kid’s like a bird collecting random shit for a nest. 

“No,” Willy grins. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find one. What about the headmaster’s office? Or the old teacher’s lounge? Maybe one of them took their ring off and forgot about it?”

Seems like a long shot.

Most of the teachers who worked here before all the bullshit happened were married. Hell, Mitch bets that’s one of the reasons they ditched. Had to get back to their husbands and wives and dogs and whatever. Or maybe that was just the excuse they used. 

Even so, he doubts any of them took their rings off before abandoning the school. Even if one happened to leave a ring behind, the odds of it fitting Louis were still not in their favor, which would put them right back into this predicament. 

“Doubt it.”

With the ring and pliers in his hands once more, Mitch bends the ring the best he can. It’s much easier fucking up than fixing it, he thinks bitterly, though that could be due to that fact this his patience and energy levels are at an all-time low. With every failed tug at the ring’s material, every wrong bend, the muscles in his neck tense. 

Fuck the ring, fuck the ring, fuck these pliers, fuck this damn ring, fuck-

“Careful!” Willy gasps out just a bit too late. 

The force causes the pliers to slip from his hand and become lost on the floor.

The ring-

No, not a ring anymore. Nope. 

“Mitch! You just-”

Broke it. 

He broke it. 

Mitch stares down at the damn this in disbelief. How the fuck was that possible? What is this thing made out of? Were wedding rings always made to be this flimsy? The walker Clementine took this from must’ve been a cheap son of a bitch because there’s no way that’s a thing that should’ve happened! 

It just… snapped! Broke apart!

“Oh shit,” Mitch hisses out, cradling the ring in his palm, poorly attempting to stick it back together. “Oh no.” 

Superglue! He had to have superglue down here! There’s-

A high pitched squeak echoes through the basement, followed by a leak of the morning’s barely rising sunlight and the metal clang of the basement door. 

“Mitch?”

Oh-

Oh fuck-

“You down here?”

Mitch’s wide eyes meet Willy’s panicked ones. In an instant, the two yank the torn tarp over the workbench, knocking the flashlight off the edge with a loud clang. The basement darkens. 

“Shit!” 

Footsteps. Heavy, slow footsteps. 

“Mitch?” James’ voice echos, sending a jolt through Mitch’s stomach. He fumbles with the broken ring, only for it to drop and bounce on the concrete floor. 

“Ruby said I’d find you down here.”

“Oh, for fucks sake-!” Mitch dives down onto his hands and knees beneath the workbench, grumbling a string of curses as he feels around for the damned ring all while an annoying ache throbs in his knees.

“Nope! Not down here!” Willy spits out, jerking the tarp down over Mitch’s back, effectively shielding him from any light left. “Nothing to see! Come back later!”

Fucking shit- ouch!

A jagged rock digs into the bone of his kneecap, causing him to jerk up and smack the top of his head against the underside of the workbench. 

Ouch, ouch, ouch!

A chuckle from James breaks through the shooting pain and Mitch can’t tell which is more annoying. 

“Mitch isn’t here?” James asked, the amusement clear in his tone as he approaches.  “Strange, I thought I heard his voice.”

Bastard. 

Of all the fucking people in this school, James would be the one to come snooping around down here. Shit, maybe Ruby complained to him about yesterday and now he’s here to investigate what they’re doing. 

That’s not good. It’s already bad enough that he enlisted Willy’s help after promising that he’d keep the damn marriage proposal nonsense to himself, he doesn’t need to add James to the list. Clementine’s already going to be pissed enough as it is now that she doesn’t have an actual functioning ring! She might really stab him this time! 

“Nope. You didn’t hear anything! Not here,” Willy tries. “Nothing suspicious here.”

“I see. So, those aren’t Mitch’s boots sticking out right there?”

“...Uh, no? Those are, uh, my boots!”

For once, Mitch wishes Willy were a more convincing liar- ah-ha! 

Rubbing along the dirty ground, the ring finally brushes against his finger. With the damned thing secured in his fist, Mitch quickly scoots out. Fighting with the tarp in order to stand up, he damn near trips over his own chair, saving himself by grabbing a hold of Willy’s shoulder with his free hand. 

A bright light nearly blinds him, one held by a grinning James. 

“Gah! Watch where you point that thing!” Mitch exclaims, batting blindly in James’ direction. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, there you are. Uh, sorry,” James apologizes, lowering the light. “I hope your head is okay. Sounded like a nasty bump”

An irritating, sheepish warmth burns Mitch’s cheeks. 

“Hurts like a bitch,” Mitch snaps. “Thanks. Now, what the hell are you doing here? It’s way too early for you to be poking around. And haven’t you ever heard of knocking? We’re in the middle of something and don’t need you waving our flashlight around like- like some sort of flashlight creep, weirdo, person!”

Mitch huffs, trying not to look out of breath after his tangent, but the charmed smile James wears makes him want to knock the flashlight out of his hand. Cocky bastard, catching him with his pants down-

Wait no, fuck, not- 

James caught him fucking around with Clementine’s ring- which he doesn’t know anything about- and now he’s like a deer in the headlights- ha, there’s a better metaphor… y’know, because of the flashlight- and James is the hunter in the car waiting for an explanation. 

Why the hunter would wait for such a thing instead of shooting the deer doesn’t make any sense but-

“Mitch?” Willy’s concerned voice breaks his train of thought. “Are you okay?”

“What?” 

“You look-”

Before Willy can finish, James holds up his hands, quietly asking for silence. He cranks his neck to look behind him, back up at the closed doors of the second outdoor entrance. 

The faint barks of Rosie ring outside. 

Omar must be up, Mitch figures. Early bird starting breakfast, that’d explain Rosie’s excitement. He has to hush her by tossing her a piece of old jerky he found when messing around out here, that way no one was alarmed so early. 

Shit, that means everyone else will be up soon, too. 

After a moment, James turns back to them with a small, relieved smile. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I already know what’s going on. Clem told me you were working on the ring down here. You don’t have to hide or make up any excuses.”

Clem? Didn’t he say Ruby-

Wait-

“You know?” Willy asks. “About the ring?”

James nods down at the boy. 

“I wanted to see how it’s coming along, and maybe help, if that’s okay,” James says, giving Mitch a sincere look. “She hasn’t gotten Louis’ measurements yet, has she?”

Mitch’s split on if he wants to throw the disfigured ring in his face or not.

“No,” Willy answers for him. “She hasn’t, and we screwed up!”

“Willy!” Mitch snaps. 

“Big-time!” 

James’ face falls. 

“What happened?”

“I- Well, hold on!” Mitch stutters. “When did she tell you? I thought I was the only one who knew.”

James gives Willy a quick look, to which the young boy gives a guilty, toothy grin and a shrug. 

“Okay, fine, fair enough,” Mitch sighs. “I needed his help and he swore he wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone . Right?”

Willy crosses an X over his chest, saying, “Scout’s honor.” 

“I see,” James nods, watching as Mitch pulls back the tarp to reveal the workbench. “Well, so long as Louis doesn’t find out, I think you’ll be okay. And, uh, last week.”

James picks up the pliers from the floor. Mitch snatches it out of his hand before turning away, purposefully avoiding his heavy gaze. 

He has the weirdest eyes, Mitch thinks. They’re so dark that you can’t tell where the pupil starts or ends and the way he stares is so-

Mitch scoffs, waving his hand as a silent, ‘Well? Go on.’

“When she came to get me, she asked if any of the walkers I keep in the barn happen to be wearing a ring,” James continues. “I searched and searched, but came up empty-handed. We ended up at the train station. She told me about her plans after she got the ring.”

Well, that makes sense, at least. 

And here, Mitch thought he was the first and only person she told. Though he had to admit- not aloud, but to himself- that he’s a little glad that James knows. Maybe he has an idea of how to fix this mess. 

Speaking of which-

Mitch, continuing to avoid James’ stare, uncurls his fist and sets the ring on the workbench. 

James, finally sparing a glance away from Mitch’s irritated face, looks down at the remains of the ring. 

A beat of silence passes as all three of them look at the damn thing. 

God, they’re so fucked. 

Finally, James hums. 

“I don’t think that’s going to fit Louis.”

Mitch glares.

“Gee, ya think?” 

“Told’ja we screwed up,” Willy mumbles. “But maybe we can just wrap it around his finger? Since, y’know, it can do that now.”

“Nope,” Mitch slams his hands on the workbench. “Nu-uh, now way, this ring is trash. Nothin’ we do is ever gonna fix it. Not gluing, not melting, not wrapping. We’re gonna have to start all over.”

“You have another ring?” asks James, leaning against the workbench with his arms folded across his chest. 

Huh, he doesn’t have those nasty gloves on. 

“Uh, no,” Mitch shakes his head. “We don’t.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Nope.”

What a mess.

Clementine asks him to do one thing and he just had to go fuck it up. He should’ve waited until she had his measurements. Don’t know what difference that would’ve made, exactly, but perhaps it would’ve been a step in the right direction. 

God, he can see it now. She’ll come down here with or without the measurements and he’ll have to tell her that he broke her ring and then she’ll be pissed and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on the ground in agony because she kicked him in the dick.

Unless he comes up with a plan. 

“I’m here to help,” James says, breaking the silence. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it. We’ll figure this out.” 

Well, isn’t that so damn kind of him...

“What else can we make a ring out of?” Mitch asks, whirling around to face them. “Doesn’t hafta be fancy, just something they could wear without it breaking on ‘em. Something like- like wire, or shit, I dunno… wood? Do you think we could carve some rings?”

“Maybe,” James nods. “Though I don’t know how comfortable or sturdy wood rings would be, it’s a good start.”

“A last resort, at least?”

“I think so.”

“What about the library?” Willy pipes in. “We’ve got all kinds of books in there that could help. Remember all the books we found about boats and explosions? If they had books like those, then maybe there’s some on rings or jewelry making?”

Mitch grins. 

“Fuck yeah, good thinking,” he pats Willy’s shoulder, “see if you can find anything in there. And remember, keep it down, yeah? Don’t need anyone poking their noses where they don’t belong, and we can’t let Clem find out what happened. Got it?”

“Got it,” Willy nods, a frown forming. “Wait, I gotta go alone? Can’t James come help me look?”

“No, he’s gotta keep an eye on the others.”

James shoots him a questioning look, which is more than enough reason for Mitch to turn away. 

“We can’t have anyone coming down here, especially Louis. They’ll ask too many questions, and Clem can’t know I fucked up yet, alright?” Mitch says. “I’m gonna go to the teacher's lounge and see if I can find anything. If not, I’ll gather as many materials as I can find. We’ll meet back here later.”

“In that case, breakfast should be starting soon,” James looks back at the double doors. “I shouldn’t have any troubles, but I’ll do my best to keep everyone’s interests low.” 

Mitch smiles, despite himself. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

---

“One of these days we should just stay in bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep, spend the whole day in bed. Eat, play card games, sleep, what have you.”

Clementine grins, leaning up on her tiptoes to press another kiss to Louis’ cheek before saying, “Only if we can build a pillow fort.”

Louis chuckles for the first time this morning, fully turning around to face her, his hands pressed against the curves of her waist. 

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” 

He dips forward as if to kiss her, and she’s fully prepared for it. It’s only when she feels the familiar material of her hat being pressed onto her head does she lean back and open her eyes to find him smirking down at her. He pats her on the head, poorly containing the laughter within him at the sight of her annoyed expression. 

“Unfortunately for us, Clem, we can’t take a vacation day and spend it in bed,” he says, letting her go to head for the door. “Our dear Aasim said Lucy’s ready to pop today assuming she already hasn’t and apparently he needs more than Ruby’s help to deal with that.”

“He wants you to help deliver baby bunnies?”

“I know, I thought it was strange, too,” Louis shrugs. “He knows I get attached to cute, fluffy things, and when I’m attached, I don’t exactly want to butcher and eat them, y’know? Must be doing it on purpose to get back at me for always beating him in Go Fish.” 

Louis swings open the door, motioning for her. 

“After you, m’darling.”

Clementine rolls her eyes, though her smile betrays her. 

“You go on ahead,” she tells him. “I’ll see you down at breakfast.” 

“Well, in that case…”

Louis dips down and kisses her. His lips are soft and warm against hers, more than enough for her to hold him there for just a few seconds longer before pulling away. 

Even though his exhaustion is still rimming his eyes, he smiles brightly. 

“I’ll save you a seat,” he says. “And I’ll make sure AJ doesn’t eat your breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Clementine grins, and it’s on the tip of her tongue, the urge to ask him if he’s okay again. 

At this point, she doesn’t need to ask, and he doesn’t need to hear it or answer.

Once he’s gone, Clementine gives a big sigh. 

Alright, time to find Mitch and give him the string. 

Her plan was more than successful last night. Now she finally has the measurements for Mitch to properly adjust the ring. How he’s planning on doing it, she doesn’t know, but he promised her that he’d try and she trusts him. 

Mitch isn’t hard to find, which is surprising. He’s digging around in one of the hallway drawers when she finds him, muttering curses to himself with a bitter expression. 

He’s spent most of the week down in the basement tinkering around with what she assumes is ways to fix the ring. While she appreciates the effort he’s putting into this, she wishes he was a little less defensive about it. 

Ruby questioned him yesterday about it and he about blew up on her. 

Mitch takes the string without a word and hurries back outside, never once looking her in the eye. 

Odd, she thinks, but sometimes Mitch is hard to figure out. So, she lets it go.

As for the next order of business, she has to find AJ.

Considering he didn’t come back to the room last night, she assumes he had a sleepover with Tenn last night.

For that, she’s grateful.

Not only would he have walked in on something, well, intimate , but AJ has a hard time leaving Louis alone after one of his nightmares. Clementine warned him about being clingy, but all AJ says back is, “I just want him to be okay.”

Louis always insists he’s fine, that the nightmares aren’t really that bad, that he barely remembers them. She knows he still tells AJ that to reassure him. He used to tell her the same thing, only she knows better.

She can still remember the first time she told him to stop lying to her.

“Louis, stop. Just… stop. Lying to me isn’t going to make it any better. You can’t carry this on your own and I can’t fully be here for you unless you’re completely honest with me.”

She never held someone whose entire body rocked and crumbled with so much regret, so much fear. So many things brought to light, so much more than she initially imagined. 

That was the first night they slept in the same bed.

He moved in two days later.

She can only hope that tonight’s better, that he can find peace in his dreams again.

Clementine leaves the dorms and steps out into the fresh morning air, inhaling the intoxicating scent of dew ridden grass and dirt. 

AJ’s at one of the tables, scarfing down his breakfast next to Louis, James and Tenn.

From a distance, she can see how tired Louis is, even if he’s smiling and laughing with the others.

“Clem!” Omar waves her over, holding up a plate. 

That’s when the scent of breakfast hits her, causing her stomach to tighten with a growl. She’s about to hurry over until she sees Violet loading up her bowl. Their eyes meet for a split second, and that’s enough to make Violet jerk around and head to the farthest table possible, one occupied by Aasim. Clementine watches her go as she approaches Omar.

“Good morning,” she greets him.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it? I’m glad there’s a little breeze today,” he says cheerfully.

“Yeah,” she agrees before bringing her voice to a whisper. “Hey… did she say anything to you?”

Omar gives Violet a quick glance, shrugging a shoulder. 

“Just thanks. Nothing else. Tried making conversation but I don’t think she’s in the mood today. Y’know.”

“Right," Clementine nods.

"Hey, have you seen Mitch this morning? He hasn’t grabbed his food yet.”

“Oh, um, I haven’t,” she lies.

“He’s nowhere!” Willy exclaims from behind her, causing her to flinch. Somehow that boy manages to be both too loud and too quiet. He’s a good little sneak, she’d give him that.

“Nowhere?” Omar asks, frowning. “He can’t be nowhere. He’s gotta be somewhere. Oh-” Omar lets out a huff. “Is he in the basement again?”

“No!” 

“That’s a yes, then,” Omar rolls his eyes.  “He’s been down there a lot this week.”

Ruby comes over to them now with anger knitted in her brow and her cheeks puffed red.

“Oh, he’s been banging around down there all mornin’! I just went ta fetch him fer breakfast and he hissed at me like some sorta rodent,” she scowls, “tellin’ me to fuck off, he’s busy! What’s he been doin’ down there that’s so important?”

Willy bites his lip as if to prevent himself from blurting something out, but once Ruby pays him a stern look, it’s out.

“He’s totally not making something super awesome! Nope!”

“Oh, God,” Ruby groans. “What's he makin’?”

Willy shrugs with faux innocence before shooting Clementine a knowing smirk that makes her freeze. 

“What’s he makin’?” Ruby asks again, harshly.

“Nothing!” Willy exclaims before pointing at himself, “I would know because I’ve been down there with him and we’re not doing anything! Nothing !”

Clementine never thought that she’d ever meet a worse liar than AJ but-

Wait.

“Willy, I know yer lying! What’re ya doin’ down there?”

“I’m not! We’re doing nothing !”

No, no fucking-

Clementine has to refrain from slapping her forehead. 

If Mitch has been down in the basement working on her ring all week, and Willy’s been down there with him…

So much for keeping quiet.

“It best not be another cherry bomb ‘cause I will whip his ass so hard-”

“It’s not! Honest! Don’t worry, it’s nothing!” He smiles at Clementine again, baring all his crooked teeth. She glares back.

That seems to straighten Willy out. He looks down at the dirt and says nothing more.

“Well, either way,” Omar hands Willy a plate, “take that to him. I don’t want to hear him complain he’s hungry when he finally comes outta there.”

“On it!” Willy almost spills the food when he takes off, desperate to get out of the situation.

“Willy!” Clementine calls after him. “Hold it!”

He stutters to a halt in front of the basement doors. When she gets closer, she can hear a repeated banging echoing from down the stairs. They both look around to make sure everyone else is out of earshot. Deeming it safe, she leans down and demands, “What did he tell you?”

Willy avoids her hard gaze. 

“Nothin’.”

“ Willy .”

“Okay, fine! Mitch said he needed my help fixing your wedding ring ,” he loudly whispers. Clementine’s hand shoots out to cover his mouth.

“Shhh!” Clem glowers. “Who else has he told?”

“No one,” the boy answers, this time honestly, shaking his head. “And I ain’t gonna tell anyone either, I swear.”

“Willy-”

“Really! I even promised Mitch! Scout’s honor!”

“Clem!” She hears AJ calling for her. She turns to wave at them while keeping her gaze fixed on the young boy.

Willy gives her a sincere smile. 

“Don’t worry, Clem, we got it all figured out. James is helping us with it, too!  Just leave it to us.”

“James-?”

With that, he hurries into the basement, calling out for Mitch. She sees some of the food slosh over and fall on the stairs.

She sighs.

At this rate, Louis’ll find out before she even has a proper ring.

Doing her best to ignore the nervous frustration spreading heat in her belly, Clementine grabs her breakfast and joins the others at the table.

Interestingly enough, she finds that they’re done with their food. 

Instead, papers and colored pencils scatter all over the table. AJ and Louis hunch over their papers in full concentration while James sketches all over his paper lightly, eyes darting up constantly to look at AJ.

Just as she takes a seat, Louis sits back to flash a big smile, holding up his picture. 

“Ta-da!” The other three boys stop and look up. They say nothing as they study the drawing. Clementine leans over to see as well.

“...What is it?” AJ asks.

“What is it?” Louis repeats, his confidence wavering. “What does it look like?”

“Like…” AJ squints, cocking his head to try and piece together what the drawing depicts. Finally, he settles on, “A bunny?”

Louis’ eyes go wide.

“A bun- what ?” he exclaims. He re-examines his picture. “It’s not a bunny! It’s Rosie!”

Hearing her name called, Rosie barks, trotting away from Omar and over beside Clementine, sitting politely and awaiting any leftover scraps. 

When Clementine gets a better look at the drawing, she can tell that it’s… sort of like a dog. It’s the same color as Rosie, but the face is odd. And the ears are definitely too big.

AJ takes the picture from Louis and shakes his head. “Nope, not Rosie.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” Louis snatches the picture back and holds it up to her. “Clem, you can tell it’s Rosie, right?”

She blinks up at him before slowly shaking her head. She can’t help but giggle a little at the distress on his face as he looks at his drawing.

“I think it kind of looks like her,” Tenn says.

Louis sulks, resting his chin in his palm and slouching over, grumbling, “Thanks, Tenn.”

Clementine rubs his back and offers an encouraging smile. He grins back at her and steals a potato chunk off her plate, popping it into his mouth.

“Clem, look!” AJ hands her his drawing. It’s of him, her and Louis standing together with a large beach ball hanging in the air. “We’re playing catch!”

“Wow,” Clementine beams. “You’re really becoming a great artist.”

Louis leans against her shoulder to look. His face scrunches up in consideration. 

“Hmmmm,” he turns the picture upside down for a moment, then right-side up. He glances at the young boy with a smirk. “Looks great, little man. This’ll look awesome on your wall.”

Pleased with the compliment, AJ laughs.  He takes his picture back and signs it. When he goes to grab a new paper, he asks, “What’re you drawing, James?”

“Huh? Oh, um,” James snaps his head up, his hand instinctively moving to cover his page, “I was just… well,” he gives a sheepish smile, “I haven’t had a chance to draw in a very long time, so I hope you don’t mind but…”

When he holds up his paper, Clementine gasps.

The portrait of AJ on the paper looks so… real .

“Dude!” Louis exclaims, amazed.

“Hey!” AJ gasps. “That’s my face!”

James puts the paper down and looks away. “I-I’m a little out of practice, you see. The proportions aren’t exactly right, and I always had a hard time with ears-”

“Dude, are you serious?” Louis laughs. “That looks just like him!”

Tenn gasps lightly at the drawing as well, eyes darting over the portrait, taking in the details with curious eyes. His gaze falls back to his own picture, unsure, covering it with his arm and starts pressing his fingers together nervously.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“It’s what I used to do before. Charlie and I… we both drew,” James smiles. “He’s a lot better at it, though.” He picks his pencil back up, looking fondly at the portrait. “He could do amazing things. These huge scenes with so much life and so much character. Me,” he chuckles lightly, “I could only ever do portraits of people.” He looks at Louis with a comforting grin. “I’m terrible at doing animals, too.”

“You’re a real artist!” exclaims AJ. “Just like Tenn!”

Tenn, still fixated on James’ drawing, tucks his own under the stack of other drawings.

“Wow,” he finally says. “You’re really good. Like, really good.” 

 James notices the young boy’s sudden timidness and looks to Clementine with questioning eyes. She returns his look with a smile and a small gesture towards Tenn.

“Um, thank you,” James awkwardly places a hand on Tenn’s shoulder, “I could show you. How I draw like this, I mean. If you want.”

“R-really?” Tenn stutters. He takes a glimpse at the portrait. “I could draw like that?”

“Of course,” James smiles, “anyone can.”

“Even Louis?” Clementine teases, pointing at his picture of Rosie.

“ Hey ,” Louis takes the picture and holds it to his chest protectively, “I worked hard on this.”

“No doubt,” Clementine laughs, turning to Tenn. “Taking lessons from James could be a lot of fun. What do you think?”

The young boy nods, still not entirely sure, but willing to try. “Yeah, I-” he turns to James, “I want to draw like that.”

“Me, too!” AJ butts in.

“Actually, AJ, I need your help with something today,” Clementine says quickly before AJ can jump on the ‘Drawing with James’ train. 

“Me? Why?” 

Clementine picks up her plate and stands from the table. “C’mon, kiddo. You can draw with Tenn and James afterward. It won’t take too long.”

“But, Clem-” he whines.

“What do you need help with?” Louis asks. “Perhaps my services could be used instead?”

She grins at him but shakes her head. “Sorry, Lou, need AJ for this one.”

“But-” AJ tries again.

“Now, AJ,” she shuts him down. “C’mon.”

James offers the young boy a comforting smile. 

“I’ll give you a personal lesson when you get back,” he says. “Promise.”

“Okay,” AJ sighs.

Just as AJ and Louis go to stand, James says, “Actually, Louis? Can you stay?”

“Dude, don’t mean to undermine your talent, but I don’t think even you could teach me to draw like that,” Louis tries to laugh.

James shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. We need a model.”

“A model?”

“To draw,” he explains, “drawing from life is the best way to learn.” 

He gives Clem a knowing look, which she returns with a grateful one of her own, relieved at how intuitive James can be.

“Modeling, hm?” Louis sits back down, puffing out his chest and adjusting his jacket. He flashes a big, bright smile. “How do you want me? Happy? How about sad, distraught? Seductive, perhaps?” Pursing his lips, Louis winks up at Clementine.

“Still, looking straight ahead, please."

“Right, gotcha.”

AJ sighs loudly.

She nudges him with warning eyes. Before they can turn to leave, Louis reaches out for her hand.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling her closer. She leans down and he plants a sweet kiss on her cheek.

AJ sighs even louder.

“Have fun,” Louis smiles.

She squeezes his hand. “You, too.”

James places two blank sheets of paper in front of him and Tenn, handing him a pencil. Tenn takes it eagerly.

As she and AJ walk away, she hears Louis say, “Make me look good, fellas!” and she can’t help but giggle, just a bit.

“Can’t we go on patrol later?” AJ asks.

“Trust me, kiddo, this can’t wait,” she says. “It’s pretty important.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” she says. “Not yet.”

---

Rosie’s tail wags happily as she trots out through the gates. She doesn’t go far, always sticking close to them as they walk the perimeter. If she ever does wander too far, all Clementine has to do is whistle and Rosie will rush right to her side.

“James is a really good artist,” says AJ, “even better than Tenn.”

“He’s had a lot more practice than Tenn has,” she replies. “With enough help, Tenn can be as good.”

“You think so? You think he can teach me to be that good?” AJ asks hopefully.

“He said he would, didn’t he?” she smiles at AJ’s excited face.

AJ continues to gush about James as they walk. Clementine remains mostly quiet, only answering when AJ expects her to. When he’s run out of things to say, they’ve already gone all the way around.

“No monsters,” AJ says firmly. “And nothing else.”

“Looks like we’re clear.”

“Yeah,” AJ nods.  He starts for the gates. Clementine places a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s walk around one more time,” she says.

“Why? It’s clear.”

“I know,” she nods. “But, I need to tell you something, remember?”

“Is it bad?”

“No, not bad at all.”

“Oh.”

Clementine whistles for Rosie and they continue walking. She takes a deep breath and speaks the words she’s been repeating in her mind the entire walk.

“AJ, you remember the couple at the train station, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And, you remember what Louis said about them? After you found that picture?”

“Their wedding picture,” AJ nods. “He said they were in love.”

“Right.”

“A kissing love.”

“Right,” she says again. AJ waits for her to continue, but now, she feels at a loss for words. She stops walking and scratches at the back of her neck. “You know that I love Louis, right?”

“‘Course you do. You guys kiss all the time,” AJ teases.

Clementine feels her cheeks heat up as she murmurs, “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Sitting on one of many bulging rocks thrown about, she inhales deeply. Rosie sits by her feet, dropping the stick she held in her mouth. AJ joins her, concern and confusion apparent on his childish features. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she finally says, “about that day and about that walker couple and… I’m going to ask Louis to marry me.”

AJ doesn’t say anything, not immediately. She can tell from his puzzled eyes that hundreds of questions are forming in his head. 

He starts with, “So… what does that mean?”

“Well,” she starts, “it means that, if he says yes, he won’t be my boyfriend anymore. He’ll be my husband.”

Husband.

Let me introduce you to my husband, Louis.

“And you’ll be his, uh…” AJ thinks hard, trying to remember the word.

“I’ll be his wife.” 

Just saying it makes her feel strange. Not a bad strange, of course, but a nervous strange.

“His wife.” AJ sits on this information, mulling it over. “And you’ll be married. So, things will be different?”

“Well, no, not really. We’ll have rings on- well, he’ll have a ring on, maybe. But, nothing drastic.”

“A ring?”

“Remember the walkers?” she asks. “At their wedding, they gave one another one to seal the deal, I guess. That’s what that picture was.”

Then, AJ gets excited. 

“Okay,” he says. “So, you guys’ll have a big party?”

“Maybe we will, but I have to ask him first,” she says. “Last week, when I went to look for James, we went back to the train station to take their rings. Couldn’t find the lady’s, but the man still had his on.”

“You gonna give it to Louis?”

“That’s the plan.”

AJ’s grin grows wider. 

“This…” he draws out, “this is a big thing, isn’t it?”

“It kind of is,” she answers honestly. “Well, for me and him, anyway.”

“Me, too,” AJ laughs. “I like this. We’re gonna throw a huge party! We haven’t done that in forever! We can pull out that, uh, that… music thing! And play games! And-”

“Woah, hold it,” she stops him, laughing at his eagerness. “I haven’t even thought of a way to ask him yet.”

“Well, go ask him now!”

“No, AJ, I can’t ask him right now.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not how it works.” She stands up and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I want to do this right. If I just asked him like it was any other question, then it wouldn’t be as important. I want it to mean something. I want it to be special,” she looks back at the school, “in a world that’s so fucked up, that’s taken away so much from all of us, where any moment could be our last. I want him to know how much I love him. How much I want to be with him in a different way. That’s why I went back and got that ring. I’m not just going to ask, I’m going to propose.”

AJ listens silently, the gears turning in his head as he processes her words. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” she sighs, “I love him, and I want to give us something that we thought was lost forever. Does that make sense?”

AJ grabs her hand, smiling.

“Yeah, I get it.” 

Scooting closer, he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tight.

“Good,” Clementine hugs him back. “That brings me to what I really wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“Do I have your blessing?”

“My blessing?”

“Are you okay with me asking Louis to marry me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I love you, and I love Louis, too. We’re family.”

Clementine’s throat tightens, and so does her grip on AJ. 

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

#[with you] #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg clouis #twdg mitch #twdg james #twdg jamitch #twdg willy #twdg ruby #twdg omar #twdg violet #twdg aasim #twdg rosie #twdg tenn #twdg aj #clouis #twdg louisentine #louisentine

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 31

Wahoo my favorite chapter, read on AO3

The bliss from your wedding could only last so long, and you knew that, but it didn’t lessen the blow when things had to return to normal. 

“This is it, Dutch, our last big score!”

Hosea had poured over a map of Saint Denis for days mapping every possible route into the bank, the job Dutch claimed over and over was going to save the gang. 

“I’m telling you, this is the way to do the job. The best way! The distraction will buy you all the time you need.”

Arthur groaned from underneath you. You had fallen asleep in the morning sun and the voices from downstairs carried far too much for your liking, waking you up to the harsh light of day. 

“All they talk about lately is that damn job,” Arthur muttered. “If I heard ‘Saint Denis bank’ one more time I am going to lose it.”

“Arthur!” Dutch yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Get down here, we need your help with this.”

The past few weeks since your wedding had been as blissful as they could when you lived with a large group of people on the run from the law. You and Arthur had enjoyed many free days where no one asked a thing of you. The lake was the perfect spot for picnics and more than once Arthur had suggested you slip away and relax at the water side. It was perfect and everything you could hope it would be.

But all good things had to end. 

“I’m coming! Arthur hollered back. He groaned as he sat up and you decided it was best to greet the day as well. 

“You know they trust you, that’s what they’re trying to say,” you spoke as you dressed. 

“They sure have a strange way of showing it.”

You were quick to follow Arthur down the stairs, greeting folks as they passed. Most were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes or drinking a cup of coffee. 

“I...I don’t like it.”

Dutch’s hesitation was palpable. For days he had been telling Hosea something about this job felt off, his intuition saying this was not the way. It struck you as odd because Dutch had been searching for one more score, one big was out and when presented with the idea he shrugged it off. 

You leaned against the doorframe watching Arthur approach the bickering old men. They went back and forth, agreeing and disagreeing about the best way to proceed. 

“It’s the right plan. We’ve done the work. I’ve been in town, looking, watching and waiting. I’ve tested it as well as I can. It’s the right plan.”

“I know,” Dutch chucked at how worked up Hosea had become. “I know. But between us, I’m...nervous. I suppose that’s it.”

Hosea placed a hand on Dutch’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re never nervous, that’s been my job all these years.”

It was clear Hosea was leading this robbery. He had timed the whole operation out and wanted it to move like clockwork, each cog and arm greased up and ready to go. You could see a younger man shining through; one who spent days and weeks putting heists together, using each member of the gang in s specific sequence so everything would be just right. 

As the three men got to talking, Micah walked in and watched behind you. It was unpleasant to have him over your shoulder but you remembered your vow to keep the peace with him as best you could.

“What’re they planning in there?”

“Bank job. Last one to get us out of here,” you responded softly. 

“The big bank? In Saint Denis?” Micah scoffed. “That’s one lofty goal for our ragtag crew, don’t you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, Hosea has it all planned out. What could go wrong?”

“Oh, girlie, there’s plenty could go wrong. But let’s hope none of it does and we make out on top.” Micah shot you a wink that made you shutter and walked back out the front doors, taking off for somewhere or something in town. 

“Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we ever had was because we did not execute properly.”

Hosea spoke impassioned. He needed Dutch to see he was right. 

“You’re right.” Dutch stood dramatically and looked between his lifelong partners in crime. “Let’s rob this bastard. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Look smart. Travel light.” 

The leader passed you with a half smile before going to track down Mrs. Grimshaw and Pearson to tell them of the new plan. At least we had some notice this time and didn’t have to throw everything around in a hurry. 

Arthur asked you to help clean the room and you packed together, chatting to keep the nerves away. There had been a moment where he wanted you to go with Hosea and stay away from the action but you refused; if your husband was going in so were you. He didn’t fight you on that very long. 

The thought of leaving Shady Belle filled you with melancholy. It was strange to think that one building could hold so many memories from just a short time. The gang really hadn’t been there that long but they had managed to make a lasting impact that could be seen as you walked the halls for one of the last times. You had to look forward; things would be better. How much more suffering and pain could one group take?

You found Abigail playing outside with Jack later in the evening, staring up at the night sky and admiring the stars. You plopped down next to her and tilted your own head back, thinking about the heavens. 

“You ever wonder if our destinies are planned?”

“I sure hope not. To think that someone put all of this together for us means we have no free will, no choice would be our own. And they would put us through all that pain!”

“Sometimes...I guess it’s just nice to think that I wasn’t the one who made all the mistakes in my life. That I could blame someone else for the way things turned out.”

Abigail spoke in hushed tones but never looked down from the sky. Her words echoed in your mind. 

“Your life isn’t full of mistakes, it’s full of love.”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “Sometimes a bit too much love if you know what I mean.”

She and John had been fighting again. From your shared room with Arthur you could hear them through the walls going on about raising Jack and trying to show him a better life. 

“Jack will be just fine, he’s got a lot of us who care. And so will you. You know I’ll never leave, you’ve got a friend for life.” You wrapped your arm around her shoulders and sat like that, enjoying the view and marveling at the size of the world around you. 

It was hard to sleep that night. 

You tossed and turned with anticipation of the next day, knowing everything would be different after the sun rose up in the sky. It could be a good change; like fire burning away the underbrush to allow for new life. Or it could be disastrous. 

The dichotomy of the choices made you restless. 

Arthur shook your shoulder gently that it was time to go. It was much too early, and the terrible night of sleep made it hard to drag your body from the warm bed and you tossed it a sad smile knowing it was the last time you would see the room you called home. 

The look on your face must have told Arthur something for he gave your hand a squeeze after you met him at the bottom of the stairs. 

“You know what?” He looked at you softly. “At the end of today, we’re going to look back and know we did everything right. We faced the day together as wife and husband. I’m never letting you go.”

With a kiss to your hand you felt your confidence rise back into place. All it needed was a boost from Arthur. Today was going to go smoothly, nothing could bring you down from the high of life you were riding. 

Everyone was dressed to the nines. Fine black suits with hats for the men, and clean flowing gowns adorned every woman. It was almost as if you were headed to a Sunday mass instead of a bank robbery. Even Jack had found a flower to stick in his coat pocket. 

“You got everything Arthur?” Dutch called as he handed Hosea a suitcase to load into a wagon. 

Arthur nodded. “Sure, house is cleared out of everything we could grab.”

“Just think!” Hosea spoke up brightly. “Within six weeks we’ll be living life anew in a tropical idyll spending the last of our days as banana farmers?”

The plan was for Hosea and Abigail to serve as the distraction. On their wagon sat crates of dynamite that when lit, would bring enough police attention that the robbery in town wouldn’t be able to pull them all away, giving the group enough time to slip out unnoticed. Hosea had looked over the details for days on end and everyone trusted him to know this plan backwards and forwards, no small part missed. 

You were riding in and acting with the robbery. At first, Arthur had asked that you go with Hosea and Abigail for they were far less likely to be caught. But to you that was out of the question. Now that you and Arthur were married you didn’t want him running off into battle alone, something you had to repeat over and over before Hosea finally relented and added you to the bank detail. It just made sense that you would be there. 

With your nerves shoved to the back of your mind, you sat next to Arthur on Eclipse as Zues stamped his feet anxiously.  

“Let’s get out of this god forsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!”

A chorus of cheers rang out as the gang envisioned what life could be like after today. No more running and hiding, no more threats from the law, no more being told that their way of life was wrong or backwards, just freedom and the incredible feeling of hot sand between your toes. 

You were more than ready to be out of this place. 

Micah led the group up and out of Shady Belle, the horses moving much quicker than the wagons. It was slightly comical to watch a large group in impressive threads leave such a ratty and worn down home. Over the past few weeks you decided firmly that sleeping with four walls around you was a comfort you preferred. 

“This is it, ladies and gentlemen! The last one.”

Dutch was gearing up for a big speech as he rode behind Micah. 

“Where have we heard that one before?” John asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

“What has happened to you, John? You lost all your heart.”

“I’m just trying to stay real about all of this.”

“Real!” Dutch spit. “Oh how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination.”

The group rode over the railroad tracks and your heartbeat started to pick up. This was real, you were taking part in a bank robbery. Oh if only your father could see you now. The lawman’s rebel daughter. 

“How soon are we shipping out?” Micah called from somewhere ahead. 

Dutch replied, “As soon as we get the passage organized. A boat down to Argentina, then another around the cape.”

“What about the money in Blackwater? We’re just gonna leave that behind?”

“Forget that, it's gone.” Dutch swiped a fly and the question away. “You all talk like it’s the only goddamned money in the world. We’re gonna take that and more, take it from the people who take it from us. This isn’t some hick town, hundred dollar operation. This is a big city bank!”

“Right,” John broke in. “With security, guards, police.”

“Hosea has done his reconnaissance,  we’ve been over this.” Dutch almost sounded tired. “The plan. One last time. Hosea and Abigail will draw out the police, we go in fast and calm. John and Lenny, secure the front doors. Javier takes the side exit. Bill, Micah, YN, and Charles, control the crowd. Me and Arthur deal with the bank manager and the vault. Got it?”

Everyone agreed that they did. Most of the other women were leaving with the camp supplies and not participating, and the look Dutch gave you was not lost as he took in his crew. 

Hosea reckoned they needed about fifteen minutes to set the distraction with Abigail and pull enough police and that sounded fine by Dutch. As the others rode off with the wagons, Sadie threw you a smile of encouragement and you spurred Eclipse on to keep up with the others. Nothing, not even your nerves, would hold you back from this job. 

Arthur had talked about when to tell Dutch that maybe sailing to another part of the world was not in the cards for you two, but it still hadn’t come up. Before the bank job seemed a poor choice as it would only take away Dutch’s focus, so tentatively the plan was set for later. There was a lot to think about lately and that was just another worry to add to the pile. 

“Everybody know the drill! We head in hard and stay calm. They won’t be expecting us. Any minor trouble, head back to camp. We’ll leave in a few days.”

Your nerves must have really been showing through as even Micah threw you a half grin. It wasn’t pleasant, but you accepted it nonetheless. 

Bill and Charles rode ahead to break up the group, hoping that it wouldn't look like a giant posse riding in together. The five of you left held back a few minutes and then rode into town, through the gates of Saint Denis and into the belly of the beast. You couldn't tell if your shaking hands had more to do with being on horseback or the impending mission, but you steeled them to stay still as you moved through the streets. 

Arthur pulled Zeus back and rode next to you. 

“How’re you doing?” 

Despite the bundle of nerves moving through your veins you had to smile. Arthur was clearly a bit worked up about the whole thing too; his words had a slight twang to them as he spoke. 

“Oh, I’m fine. I remember what you taught me. Just…” you looked around and remembered the first time you marveled at Saint Denis. “What if something happens?”

“It won’t, I promise you’ll be safe. Hosea went over this so many times he knew we had to get it right.”

You nodded. You had heard him mumbling the details for days.

Before you could respond your destination came into view and your mouth went dry. Lemoyne National Bank. The imposing building stood nearly three stories high with gold and white paint covering the exterior. The sun beating down was hot and you wiped beads of sweat off your brow after hitching Eclipse up next to Arthur and Bill. 

Charles made his way over. “Just wanted to say good luck. I know you’ll be fine, but...you know.” 

You smiled at your friend. His words brought you comfort even though they were minimal, but knowing Charles this was the equivalent of a long speech. You patted his arm in thanks and followed the group over to Dutch. 

“Foks. Robbing thieves, it ain’t no crime at all. People like this...they stole what this country could have been.” The men grunted in agreeance. “Now, act natural. Wait for Hosea to do his thing.”

As a trolley rolled slowly in front of you Arthur took your hand in his. 

“Now, it ain’t too late and no one would say a thing if you decided to leave. I’ll put you on this trolley and collect you myself as soon as we’re done and we can leave; put this city behind us and head off to freedom. You just have to say the word.”

You searched Arthur’s eyes and saw nothing but love and worry. The beautiful way the blue and green and maybe in the right light grey mixed together filled you with happiness and you knew your answer before speaking. On your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek and beamed at him. 

“You know I’m staying. I’ll be right at your side.”

Just as Arthur opened his mouth to speak the ground shook violently below you. You grabbed Arthur’s arm for support as the screams and voices rose through the city. 

Dutch let out a full laugh. “I love that Hosea! He’s a true artist.”

And with that, he led the way across the road and into Lemoyne National Bank. 

You pulled your mask up over your face, hands still slightly shaking. Javier whispered something before slipping around the corner to guard the side door, and on his signal Dutch burst through the bank doors, pistols drawn. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! This is a hold up.”

The room was filled with screams and the bustling of shoes on the tile as you aimed your gun at the innocent folks going about their day, corralling them back into an office to be locked up and unable to disrupt the robbery in progress. Bill was stuck with a particularly loud customer, so you poked the end of your gun into his back to shut him up, shoving him into the room. You got a grunt of thanks from Bill as he locked the doors. 

“Arthur! We have found the manager. Would you kindly have him open the vault?” 

A man dressed in a long purple coat shook like a leaf as he twisted and turned the dial to find the correct combination. He looked around the room for any willing pair of eyes but no one was able to help, simply sneered as he pleaded silently with Arthur’s gun only inches away from his face. 

The air was tense around you as John and the others patrolled the entryway. All of them were on the lookout for anything suspicious outside, any sign that this wasn’t going to work. But it had to. It simply had to; this was much too large of a show to go off with a hitch. 

A loud scraping sound resonated as the vault door creaked open with the poor bank manager pulling as hard as he could. Arthur cast you a look before heading in, his brow filled with worry to get this over with as soon as possible. You sent him a small smile, hoping he could read it under your bandana, and nodded for him to go on. 

Anxiety pumped through you. The bank manager stood outside and at Bill’s command called out the combination, his legs shaking from the stress. The seconds ticking away felt like hours and you wanted nothing more than to run away from all of this mess. 

“We got trouble! Looks like the law.”

Your head whipped around at John’s yell. His voice was tense and Dutch ran over to get a good look at the situation with anger and fear in his eyes. The others were quickly behind him. 

Everyone knew this operation had to be executed precisely. Anything short of perfection would mean failure and a real risk of death. With Hosea’s attention to detail and the way everyone knew their part Dutch had been confident this would go off without any problems. He already felt the warm, island air rustling through his hair, the grainy, hot sand beneath his feet, and the sweet, sticky mango juice bursting in his mouth. This was going to work. This had to work. Because if it didn’t, there was no way out. 

Unfortunately Dutch didn’t count on your father. 

“Come out! It’s over!” 

No, no, no, no. Not him, not now. Your heart pounded in your chest so hard you were sure the others heard it, and at the same time your stomach dropped down to your feet. How on Earth had he found you?

John said something about Abigail but a rushing sound filled your ears and you couldn’t make it out. Everyone had pressed themselves up against the wall in cover and you did the same, hoping you would be able to act when it came down to it. 

“Dutch! Get out here. Get out here now!”

A silence fell over the bank. Agent Milton walked out from behind a wagon across the street brandishing a pistol that was shoved into the back of Hosea’s head. Dutch let out a groan. 

“Someone must have squealed!” 

“We never should have gone after Bronte, Dutch,” John spat. His eyes were on the mother of his child just beyond his reach. 

“Mr. Milton?” Dutch’s voice lost its usual silk and instead was filled with fear, cracking slightly. “Let my friend go. Or folks are gonna get shot unnecessarily.”

“Your friend? Why would I do that?” Your father’s voice was loud and full of confidence. It sent slivers of fear through your spine as your mind raced. 

“C’mon, Milton!”

“It’s over! No more bargains, no more deals.”

“Mr. Milton, this is America. You can always cut a deal.” 

He was reaching his finale. Your father always loved making a show of capturing ‘the bad guys’ and you knew from his stance that you were running low on time. If someone didn’t do something Hosea would be dead, the rest of you following shortly. 

“Hey girly, remember way back when you and I made a deal?” Micah was standing much too close to your back for comfort and in your agitated state you tried to shake him off. This only made him mad and he grabbed your arm tightly in his grip. “You owe me, I’m cashing in. Only one way this thing and it’s with you outside of those doors while we escape.”

“What?” you asked, your mind racing and unable to comprehend his request.

“Daddy Dearest is out there about to blow us all to hell. We need a distraction and you are the golden ticket.”

You froze. Micah was asking, no, telling you to sacrifice yourself on the slim chance your father wouldn't kill you on sight. It was insanely risky, but it would give the gang and the people you had grown to love a chance, albeit slim, to get away safely. All around you were the tense faces of people who had time and time again proven they were good and loving, more than you could ever say for your own father who stood on the other side of the street with the power of the law behind him. In a way, you felt this had always been coming. Rushing towards you like a train in the night. Eventually it would have to reach its destination. Your hands shook as you realized that this might be the only plan, and you couldn’t risk the chance of your newfound family dying because you weren’t brave enough. Your father wouldn't listen to anyone else and as the seconds melted away you steeled yourself against the tide that would surely try and knock you over. 

“Well?” Micah shook you impatiently. 

You looked around. Dutch, Bill, Lenny, John, Javier...Arthur. These were people you would gladly sacrifice yourself for. Memories came flooding back of sitting around the campfire singing, hours spent in the fields hunting, and the times you and Abigail laughed yourselves silly. Your eyes watered at the thought of leaving, but it had to be done. 

“I’ll do it,” you spoke quietly. “But I have one request.”

“And what’s that?” 

Micah had started making his way to the door and Arthur, noticing you moving about, was heading towards you too. You met his eyes for a moment and you swore he knew what you were about to do. His footsteps picked up and you had to act. 

Leaving him was of course the hardest. Never had you imagined a love so brilliant and bright, and knowing that you were willingly throwing it all away tore you apart. The ring on your finger felt heavy with guilt but you clutched your gun tighter until Micah tore it from your hands. Arthur opened his mouth to whisper something and you knew waiting would make it worse. 

“Tell Arthur I love him.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Micah snorted and unceremoniously shoved you outside the giant bank doors before slamming them shut. Something on the other side slammed against them and you guessed it was Arthur, livid at the unexplained sight. A voice yelled something and then everything went quiet, and you looked up at the scene before you. 

Hosea stood in the middle of the street covered in dust and watching you with worried eyes. He shook his head slightly, telling you to leave, but you cast him a watery smile of reassurance. 

Behind him every gun held by the Pinkerton Detective agents was trained on you and ready to fire. You looked up and down the line realizing just how many there were. This had to be a set up, no one was ready that fast. 

A strangled cry that turned into a laugh came from the head Detective. He took a faltering step forward, then looked at you with utter bewilderment. 

“Put your guns down,” he said. The detectives looked over at him confused. “I said put them down!”

“Sir?” questioned one of the men to his side. 

“Because…” Agent Milton spoke slowly, still trying to process the change in events unfolding before him. 

You placed both hands up in the air and spoke with much more confidence than you felt. 

“Because I’m his daughter.” You looked directly at him, taking a deep breath before saying, “Hello, Father. Good to see you.”

#price to be paid #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #female reader

[southwindstories]

Horseshoe Bay

Kelantis

DEAR STORMBUTT’S DIARY.

I, Windswept, have once again usurped your supple, tasty pages from your cruel oppressor, that they may be liberated from her tedious exposition and granted the brilliance of my divine pen. And by that, I mean I stole her book again. I might draw lewd pictures in it. I don’t know yet. I’m thinking about it though. Because I have fingers, and she doesn’t.

How does she write in you anyway?

Don’t answer that, book. I don’t need your lip.

So a couple years back we helped save your pony butts from a big angry monster and kinda banged up our capital-city-robot-dingus in the process. To which many thanks were given and much aid in repair was rendered, which was great, because Princess Aurora has been nothing but mutter-grumble-gripe-pony-gripe-legs-grumble-mutter ever since we broke down in Horseshoe Bay and I’m pretty sick of it. Do you know what its like living with a brooding immortal? THEY HAVE NO CONCEPT OF TIME. Most ponies mutter about something for an hour and get over it. SHE’S DONE IT FOR A YEAR. A WHOLE YEAR. I’M GUNNA DIE. I would kill her first, but I’m not certain its actually possible, and if I failed, I’d have to listen to THAT for a year. And she goes onnnn and onnnn about Celesssstia. Hate this, loathe that, self-righteous this, traitor that, gunna choke her this, shoulda left her to die that, oh my GAWD I wish they’d just shack up and screw so they could GET OVER IT. I swear its like listening to teenagers moan about their misplaced sexual repression. FOR A YEAR.

Which can be kinda hot when she’s descriptive. I mean she’s really visceral about the choking part.

*Note to self, buy Aurora a fake horse phallus with a sun stamped on it. Deliver and swim very very far away.

BUT ANYWAY! Despite any long standing animosity between our Princesses, the REST of us are actually getting along great with Equestria! Ever since Horseshoe Bay dropped its military title of Mustang Marina and traders and civilian populous started moving in, we’ve made all sorts of new friends. Whole construction guilds have helped rebuild Kelantis! I HAD A SPECIAL SOMEPONYforlikeacoupleweeksandthenwekindacalleditoffcausereasonsAnd at long last, we’re finally set to flood the tubes and get this tub back out to sea.

I’m going to miss being this close.

Ill still be back fairly often, I think. I’ve kinda got a job here, I’m a bit of an unofficial ambassador (cause the real one’s a tool. Which, I imagine, is part of the job description). But for the past few years, and even the months before that, I’ve looked out at night and seen Equestria. And I’ve kinda gotten used to that. I miss the open ocean, but living here has grown on me. I sort of felt like I’d earned it. For a while there, I was the onlllly Kelpie here. Not anymore, we’re all intermingled now, but for a bit anyway. Just me. And I was sorta okay with that. It was lonely, sure, but, you know. You make do.

Might be why Stormy and I get along. I think we both have a thing for being where other ponies aren’t.

Sea’s all aglow with folks getting ready to watch the launch. Its been a nervous couple days, honestly. There’s quite a crowd, and not all the faces are common ones. Luna and Celestia are both watching, and that has Aurora’s dial set to 11 right off the bat, and now we’ve got dragons and kirins and sphinxes. SPHINXES. Well, just one, but that’s 100% more than was expected. It all spells out races that last saw this machine when it was creeping across the landscape eons ago as Discord’s traveling throne, sewing chaos in its wake. For all I know, some of them saw it first-hand! I know the Princesses did.

So, you know. No pressure.

I have to go, my planet needs me. I’m going to draw a penis on a random page of this book now and hide it back in Stormy’s bag. Or not. I would, but I think she’d be able to like, instantly point out if I screwed up the details. Being a penis enthusiast and all. And I’d honestly kinda feel bad about messing it up, being a wannabe penis enthusiast and all.

Abstract penis?

Abstract penis.

-Windswept

#MLP:FiM #Launch #SWS #mlp

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 36 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 36 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

///////////////////////

Chapter 12: Poison

Tanlin saw Kurin’s collapse from across the square.  She got grimly to her feet and went to the Grandalor’s booth.  There she told Barad what she had seen.  In a small group, including two bound prisoners, they went to their boats and returned to the Grandalor.

As soon as she saw Kurin collapse Sula beat the “general quarters” drum call with her hands and was surrounded in moments by her sailors.  Gathering Kurin into her arms, she began issuing orders. “Miklot!  You run to the Longin’s Captain.  Mord is his name. Tell him that Kurin has collapsed, and we are taking her to the Dark Dragon’s sick bay.  Any from the Longin who wish may visit.  Go!”

“Pollet, get a fast boat for us and bring it, now!”

“Narsan! Find Doctor Worran and have her meet us in sick bay.  Move!”  

The sailors moved.  Those with no other orders, formed a human shield, and escorted their Captain and her charge to the waiting boat.  It was a slender six oared shell, and under the power of Sula’s crew, it skimmed across the water like a flying fish, hardly seeming to touch the sea.

At the side of the Dark Dragon, an emergency sling was already waiting. Sula put Kurin into the sling’s stretcher and secured her.  The Captain herself went up the big piece of cargo net slung over the side as a crew ladder, steadying the stretcher until they were on deck.  Doctor Worran directed two crewmen to take the stretcher with Kurin in it to sickbay.

“What happened to the child, Captain?” she asked silently, her flickering fingers taking the place of words.

Replying the same way, Sula signed, “I hope, only fatigue.  She has had a very busy Gathering, with little sleep, due to the foolishness of Captains, myself included.  She looked tired.  We traded jests and she collapsed.  That is what I know.  I fear worse.  I saw that boneless collapse too many times during the wars.  She feels hotter than she should.”

They entered the sick bay and Doctor Worran began to examine Kurin.  Her hands busy with the examination, Doctor Worran spoke softly, “Light fever, lax muscle tone, weak, shallow breathing, poorly coordinated pupillary response.  Exhaustion or not, she is in trouble.  Thank the Dragons that she’s not coughing blood.”

Turning to her aide, she directed, “Tell the duty cook that I want the sweetest fish broth he can make.  Fast.  Also tell off two of the watch to bring buckets of the coldest water we can get, they have to let the buckets sink as deep as the lines allow.  Thank you, Calis.”

Calis was back shortly, with the soup.  She signed, “The galley was making a sweet and sour sea grass soup.  They strained out the sea grass and sweetened it more.  They set a pot aside for us.  The men are sinking buckets, now.”

The Doctor raised Kurin’s head and spooned a little broth into her mouth.  Some dribbled out, but she did swallow.  She was still spooning broth into Kurin when the sailors of the watch showed up. “Ma’am, we brought your water, as ordered,” one said, both hands carrying buckets. Turning to Sula he added, “Captain, there’s a bunch of folk in small boats as wants to come on board.  What shall I tell them?”

Sula signed silently, “Invite them to the deck.  They may come visit only a few at a time.  She is one of their own and important to them. Us, too.  This is Kurin, the Dragon’s Daughter.”

The sailors stared in disbelief.  One signed, “She’s so small.  All that I’ve heard, I thought she’d be — — bigger — — somehow.”

Sula’s fingers flickered, “I felt the same, before I met her.  She has wisdom, intelligence, and skills far beyond her Gatherings.  Now, go and invite our guests aboard.”

Kurin’s fever was not dropping, so the Doctor wrapped her in a blanket soaked in the cold water from the buckets.  Kurin began shivering and tried to pull into a fetal position.

“Good,” said Doctor Worran.  “She is no longer fully lax, but her breathing is still weak.”  Feeling Kurin’s forehead, she added, “Her fever is broken.  She needs more broth, as soon as she is able to swallow.”  She held Kurin close, regardless of the wet blankets, and began spooning in more soup.  At first Kurin was swallowing by reflex only.

“Ugh!” the child whispered, trying to lift a hand to push away the spoon, “It’s too sweet.”

“Kurin, can you open your eyes?” the  Doctor  asked, her voice carefully neutral.

“Sure, I’m just tired and cold.  Mainly tired.  I want to sleep.”

“Just open your eyes and look at me, Kurin.  Have a few bites more of soup, and we will let you sleep as long as you want.”  Her black eyes looked carefully at Kurin’s unevenly wide pupils and unequally tracking eyes.  She nodded to herself grimly.  “Bring me the ray spine extract, now!” she said quietly as an aside to her startled aide, “Then get Captain Mord in here.  I have news that will not wait.”

She added a carefully measured part of the liquid that the aide brought to the soup and spooned it into Kurin’s mouth.  Kurin almost spat it out, but Doctor Worran stopped her with a light yellow hand.  “I know that it’s bitter, but you must have it.  It is a medicine that will help you to rest.”  Kurin pulled a bit of a face, but obediently ate what she was given.  She did fall asleep quickly.

“Get dry blankets and set up a fresh bunk for her.  Then get a crewman to clean up this mess, and caution him to be quiet.”  Doctor Worran turned at the entry of a worried Captain Mord.

“What is the matter with Kurin, Doctor?  I was told by people who saw her collapse that she was exhausted.”  He looked at the wet mess in the sick bay and went on severely, “This does not look like the way that we treat exhaustion.”

With some asperity, Doctor Worran said, “Neither do we.  It is how we treat Ord poisoning.”

“Ord! Those things kill in minutes!  There’s no antidote that I know of,” now he was looking horrified.

“True, Captain, if you are unfortunate enough to be stuck by one.”  She put her head in her hands, and rubbed her forehead, breathing deeply before she went on.  “The poison is much slower if it is eaten in food.  A quick stab of a spine into any of her food or drink would do.  There is no betraying taste and all that the spine leaves to mark its deadly intent, is a small hole, invisible in many common foods.  She could have been poisoned anytime in the last half day. Fortunately, there is an antidote to the poison, if there is time to give it.”

“Did Kurin get it?  I have never heard of it before,” said Mord, plainly upset.

“I have given it to her.  If she is lucky, we were in time.  I had to be sure, before I gave it to her, because the ray spine extract that counters Ord is also a deadly poison but it will release the grip of the Ord toxin on her system.  She is already breathing more easily.” Doctor Worran looked both angry and sad.  “She will have a bad few days, however it goes.  I think that she will live.”

“We are lucky that you had the antidote in your supplies.  We owe you much.  The thanks of the Longin will not be intangible.”

“Luck had little to do with the antidote being in our supplies, Captain,” Sula said.  She had been wisely staying back, out of the way, and letting her crew do their work.  “The Corlis fleet requires every ship to carry it.  Ord was used as a weapon in the Boren Current wars, about ten Gatherings ago.”  Grimly, she added, “I helped to track down the ones responsible and we cast them adrift in small boats, with Ord contaminated supplies from one of the ships that they killed.”

“I see.  Captain Sula, it was generous of you to allow us to come aboard and be near.  Kurin has many friends, both on the Longin and off.”

“Only those from the Longin will be allowed aboard my ship.  Somebody tried to kill her, and may have succeeded,” Sula said, jaw set.  “I will have provisions distributed to your folk who maintain vigil and sleeping quarters will be arranged.  Come to my cabin with me.  We can wait there for news.”  She led the way to her cabin beneath the raised and partially enclosed bridge, near to the bows.

Entering Sula’s cabin, Mord saw that it was decorated with many woven and embroidered hangings.  On the bow-side wall was an embroidered hanging of Dark Iren with his Orca whales about him.  In places framed by the design were three plaques.  Each simply said, in inlaid letters of iridescent shell, “For Meritorious Service To The Corlis fleet” The first had the number nine in it, the second, twelve, and the last had fifteen.  Over the whole design was embroidered, “Dragons grant that we need never suffer another such victory.”

Mord let himself down onto one of Sula’s many cushions.  Already certain, with no evidence, of who was behind Kurin’s poisoning he lapsed into pleasant thoughts and dreams as he waited for news.  He pictured the Grandalor capsizing in a storm.  He thought of them hard on a reef, sinking slowly, with none to help but hungry Strong Skins.

Suddenly, things that Mord had heard clicked together with the tapestry on the wall.  “Wars?  You have fought more than one?” he asked incredulous, shaken at the thought.  He noticed the lace-making cushion and equipment.  The layout had Kurin’s unique stamp.  

Sula seated herself on a nearby cushion and said grimly, “Three of them and, I hope, never another.  We still keep the old combat catapults and a magazine of ship destroying ammunition.

“Since the second war, all Corlis fleet ships are armed for battle.  Dragons please!  Let me live my days without ever needing those weapons again!  I never want to see another ship destroyed.”  She was weeping silently.  “I have killed too many already.”  

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 36 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

#[[intro; mackenzie rae parker]] #please...love us? #shes a good sweet egg i promise #well sweet maybe not

[chrysalispen]

xxii. men who know their secret safe

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta. 

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience. 

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe. 

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof." 

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door. 

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon. 

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. 

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch. 

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth. 

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition. 

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day... 

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice. 

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip. 

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands. 

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel. 

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead. 

The morning wore on.

 ~*~

 Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud. 

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud. 

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything. 

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old. 

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks. 

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself. 

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due. 

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him. 

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too. 

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule. 

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.” 

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate. 

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

#chrysalispen writes #reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris