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tiens-letters · 4 years ago

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with these hands, I vowed to love you

with these hands, I vowed to care for you

and with these hands, I ruined you

Childe (angst)

tw : slight gore and just pure pain

...

It was that time of the year again, going back to the snowy region was a bliss for you. Having to visit your fiancée's family was an unspoken tradition after he introduced you to them. They practically took you in as one of them immediately, especially that little angel brother of his.

Teucer.

The train ride was comfortable , the window giving you the familiar beauty of the snowy landscape of snezhenaya. It was snug inside the rather spacious compartment Childe rented out, even when you told him that you'd rather share a normal one due to your thrifty nature he'd shrug it off, claiming it that he has too much mora and nowhere to spend it on other than you.

Gifts from him would scare you as you knew these weren't anywhere cheap. Everything he gave was expensive, he loved showering you in gifts and it made you feel so overwhelmed.

"Ajax, you're spending too much." you were visibly sweating beside him as he picked out another one of the dresses on display at the local boutique of Liyue.

"I think this one would suit you better, don't you think so love?" of course he wasn't listening, placing the dress in front of you

"Ajax." you frowned at him

" I just want to spoil you." he whines

"I know but sometimes its just..." you stopped yourself before saying anything further in fear of offending him

"Was it too much again?" the tone in his voice softens as he puts back the dress, he knew how you didn't like that habit of his, formed from the first time he saw you down by the docks.

"One dress, Ajax. One is enough since you picked it out for me." you gave in not wanting to see him so dejected, he immediately brightens up as he pecks you on cheek before rushing off to a different aisle of clothing. Sighing, you sat down on the sofa present in the shop, watching the ginger decide thoroughly of what dress to buy.

But of course, your love for one another runs deeper than things bought off gold nor silver. No, it ran deeper than anything else, rivaling the oceanic depths.

"What are you thinking about hmm?" he hums below you, head resting against your lap.

"Im just happy to be visiting again, that's all." you smile, nimble hands brushing through his soft hair "Sleep well?"

"You bet I did." he grins taking your hand and placing a kiss to your beating pulse and then another and another, showering you in his deeply rooted affection. Soon his kisses reached where they are supposed to belong, those soft lips of yours and then inching their way to the sensitive spots on your neck, leaving marks only he can place on you.

Breathless and bothered, you pushed him back "The attendants are gonna see, you idiot." at least you still had some control in you

"They will only arrive when we call them , so its fine to have a little fun before we arrive." there was that sly grin of his as he continued in where you both left off, ears perking to hear more sounds exclusively for him and him only.

"You horny bastard!"

...

It was cozy by the hearth, you and his siblings huddled together in one single fleece blanket, steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Childish giggles and hushed stories erupted amongst you. Teucer having wrapped in your arms as he snuggled closer. Anthon and Tonia flanking your sides.

"Hey, who's fiancé do you think you guys are coveting?"

"Oh don't be like that, your siblings just miss them." his mother chided from the couch where she sat, an open book on her lap, she didn't seem to age and always looked so young that at first you were shocked to have been introduced to her.

"But mom, I haven't seen her all day." her son pouts as if he were still a child denied his candy

"Give me a break, you're always clinging onto her you know." his sister rolls those identical thalassic eyes at him "You wont die if you go a day without her."

"Listen here you little---"

"Ajax." you interjected, as much as you enjoy the siblingly banter of theirs, you cant have them going at each other with offensive words. His pleading gaze aimed at you as he practically begged for you both to go home.

"Please?"

"After I put Teucer to bed." you sighed, standing up with the youngest in your arms

"Seriously this guy." his sister groaned "I was having a good time."

"Tonia dear, we can continue our conversations tomorrow." you winked at her, it was a promise

"Fine."

Both of you bid farewell to his mother and made your way towards Teucer's room and tucking him in.

"Happy?" you turned to your fiancée, a narrowed look in your eyes as he grinned beside you

"Of course, sweetheart!" he pecked your lips as he pulled you closer

"Can you not do it in Teucer's room? Have some shame." his siblings' comments were endless, this time it was from his older brother.

"That's why were going home." Childe picked you up as you made a surprised yelp making the other party roll his eyes "Also, get ready to lose tomorrow brother. I'm getting that white deer for my lady."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The walk was short towards Childe's home as he preferred living alone. It was a grandiose manor and you were sure you will never get used to how big it was and filled with such furnitures of the finest quality.

"Well, how was your day darling?" you hummed, arms snaking around his neck

"Oh you wouldn't believe it."

...

It was there.

You felt it in the cold breeze that wafted into the room.

A shift in the flow of the wind, it was different yet familiar at the same time. Leaving the window open as the harsh temperatures of the night climbed and crawled inside. The curtains danced in the turbulent current of the gale, carrying songs only you could hear. Songs that made mountains tremble and build civilizations at the same time.

there was something foreboding, something terrifying and something heavy and dark that devoured anything in its path.

You heard him first before he came in through those doors, that tousled ginger hair of his caked with melting snowflakes in the warm glow of the lamps. His rugged appearance caused by the hunting competition between him and his older siblings induced his worn out state. That soft yet jaded smile of his was what welcomed you as he trudged inside the bedroom, lazily discarding his clothes on the basket for dirty laundry and entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

"why is the window open? " he asks you, sliding inside the warm covers

"I just wanted fresh air ." you smile as you shut the windows and pull the blinds enough for you to see the moon that hung above the sky. Joining him under the covers, you cradled him, his head resting on the crook of your neck. Your hands finding their way into those soft locks of his , entangling them as he hummed softly against you. Those arms of his that held weapons and skin littered with scars both old and new now held you close, so tenderly as if he'd never taken a life before.

"sing me a song, sweetheart. " his queries were simple yet genuine

"of course." you sang until you equated him to a sleeping newborn

It was warm, so warm that you could have mistaken it for a summer afternoon in Liyue, resting on the couch with silken pillows and window showcasing the view of the harbor below. The steaming cups of soothing tea Beidou would brew for you when nights became cold at times she would pay you a visit after trading that would take weeks, months and rarely years.

you slept.

Why is it cold? you wondered, Did Ajax open the windows?

You were blessed by the tsaritsa so such climates shouldn't matter to you.

You woke up.

A shadow was cast over you by the man youve sung to sleep. Virulent blue eyes looked at you with so much abhorrence, for a second you couldnt recognize them and thought it was a stranger to which you were ready to terminate.

"Ajax?" your voice was hoarse, as you slowly lost the feeling in your lips.

He was crazed, still trapped in that dreaming state of his, drifting between experiences. Today was a re-enactment of a memory he would never speak of, not even to you. There were parts of him he'd never tell you, such a soul as yours should never hear.

You choked and coughed as the metallic taste of mortal ichor filled your throat. How could you have not felt anything earlier? Was it because of your futile attempts to coax Ajax back into reality or was it because of the numerous thoughts your mind came up with to he answer as to why he is in such a virulent state. Excruciating pain filled your whole body as you writhed and struggled under his grip. It felt as if something was being ripped out of you.

"Ajax, darling come back to me." you cried, it took so much to even utter a word as you bled out, you know not where but you could feel it. The liquid vital for your survival was seeping out of you, flowing like a lazy river on an autumns day, only that it was warm, sticky and addicting.

"Ajax?" a hiss comes from that mouth, he cringes as you freed your numb hands to hold his face and he let you, seeing as to there was no point in stopping you as you dangerously danced on a tight rope of life and death. You couldn't tell in that delirious disposition of yours if his eyes were shifting between Ajax or the primal eyes of a beast hunting its prey.

It wasn't too late was it?

But why didn't your eyes meet his?

Who snuffed out all the lights?

"I've abandoned that name a long time ago."

The cold took over you completely, freezing you until you broke under his touch with words left dying in your ichor filled lips

and then fear was the last thing you felt.

fear that he might not return to his sweet, charming self.

fear that he will curse everything in his path.

fear that he might attempt to use different various methods to bring back what was lost

and fear of his ruination.

you care not for your death, even in your last minutes of life, you dare not blame him for what he's endured so far. only wishing he never had to experience such in the first place.

This is what the wind warned you about in its lullaby.

...

Childe woke up for the second time.

Oddly more worn out than the day before, but your songs always worked, how come? . He wondered if you left to make breakfast as the covers felt empty as he reached out for you. No, you were a late riser, always having to slumber in the middle of the warm covers of the bed you both share. It was he who mostly did the cooking in the morning. So your presence gone was a displacement in the moment of his waking.

His eyes had to adjust to the view of the room as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he called for you. The pitter-patter sound of the water on the bathroom tiles were non-existent as he strained his ears to hear for any trace of you.

"What..." he was confused as to why the room was trashed, furniture broken in half and strewn about the room, the drapes shredded and laying on the floor and the mirror shattered to pieces, shards sharp enough to cut through skin yet he slept through such a thing?

his first concern was your safety as you had not been present in the room and it him.

the heavy stench of blood lingered in the air. His enjoyment for such things turned into something suffocating because blood was never shed in his own home nor in his very room. In the state of confusion, something dark caught his peripheral vision. A large blemish in the covers beside him, it was dyed a deep dark crimson and he knew well what it was. He began to shake in worry, telling himself not to panic until he finds you safe. All he could remember was you singing him to sleep, held captive in your soft arms, encased in your warmth, so how did it come to such a morning that looked like a result of a monster's tantrum. He calls out for you, his bare feet on the floor as splinters punctured them and he didnt care. he had to find you.

The hallways looked haunting, the portraits on the walls taunting him and he swore he was going lose it if he hadnt found you sooner, every room was achingly vacant and it felt like a dream. He calls for your name again in a frenzy as he rushes through the place, had the mansion been this big? he thinks as he runs down the stairs.

There in the fireplace, the dying embers of fire lit from the night before, wood giving away and turning into coal as the burning smell mingled with similar stench that engulfed the bedroom, the same dark liquid on the sheets was present as well, only that it was painted into the wall and bled down creating a cascading waterfall.

Because there you were, with arms spread out as if welcoming each and every sinner for solace and blessing them with forgiveness, the drying mortal ichor behind you creating a halo. Your lips upturned into something soft as if you'd do anything disgraceful to keep the effeminacy on a soul lost to ruin.

an angel crucified.

that oh so heavenly face of yours could rival anything beautiful, even statues would crumble under you, nations would go to war for you and bodies of those who want you would turn into a throne built for you and you only. You were immortally ethereal even in death.

Ajax, dear sweet Ajax felt his legs give away, energy having siphoned from him as he trembled so much that it could rival the mountains when they shook. Thalassic eyes, wide blown into grief, anguish and all other emotions crashed against him like strong waves that could drown anyone caught up in it. He knelt as pain spread through him like wildfire, burning, scorching and killing. Agonized cries filled the room and if someone were to pass by, they couldve mistaken it for a dying animal. He gasped and choked on his own breath as he dared to look at you, the tears freely flowing from his eyes, down to his pale cheek and finally falling off his trembling chin to be hungrily absorbed by the carpeted floor that was also tarnished by ichor.

He felt crazed as he wept and in that moment of insanity, he remembered. That most disgusting sin he's ever committed that he should never be pardoned for in the life he has right now and the next ones he will be in. Through the blur of tears, he saw his hands and he wished he didnt.

Sullied hands befitting a murderer.

He screams into the ground, doubling over as his hands find their way into his hair, gripping it and ripping out those jacinthe locks of his. He could never forgive himself now and he never will. He wails out loud until his own throat collapsed into a croaking mess.

and then he couldnt find himself no longer.

The sand of time seemed to trickle down slowly. His eldest siblings came looking for him, to continue the hunt. A once peaceful encounter turned into a nightmarish reality as they witnessed their brother rocking back and forth with you gingerly wrapped in his arms, mumbling your name. Lips pressed to your forehead as he prayed and begged for forgiveness over and over in hushed torn whispers as if it were enough to bring you back and cover that gaping hole in your abdomen.

"What did you do?"

...

"Brother, when are they coming back?"

Oh darling Teucer, innocence reflecting off his eyes as he tugged on his brother's sleeve. The toy you gifted him clutched tightly at his side.

"I dont know kid, their mission was sudden so its best to wait. Can you do that Teuc?" the truth about you was kept behind closed doors, only adults can speak of and if they did, it took time to keep the conversation smooth and off of any grief nor sadness when your name reached their tongue. The younger ones would never know until the time is right. When everything was taken care of and hearts moved on.

Your funeral was held in secrecy yet was it was grand. Something that would hold the significance of your memories with them. It was beautiful, your favorite flowers lined along your coffin, and you. Looking ever so ethereal even when death has kissed you, clad in that dress Childe bought for you.

"uh huh!" the youngest ginger nodded eagerly and skipped away as the eldest sighed into his hands, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders as he worried more and more about his younger sibling. Another memory, a mind broken and a his soul withering. was there any way to save him?

Days seemed to go by as any glimpse of the man was scarce. Until one day they ceased to see him altogether. It started at lunch, a week after the funeral when it took everyone to coax him into eating more as he lost weight and trickled down to a whole day. Cooped up in his room, clinging to a pillow with the fading scent of you. and then he was gone, like a snowflake melting upon ones forehead. They grew anxious and thought of the worse until they caught wind that he was back in Liyue from one of the agents only then were they allowed to breathe a little better.

"Childe, what finds you here?" the calm tone of the geo archon's voice broke him out of his trance

"Have you seen my fiance?" Zhongli blinks at the question of the harbinger, he knew what befell you and yet this man before him seemed clueless enough as to what he committed. How Childe did what he did, he seemed to sympathize with in a way that would make him understand his behavior.

" I have not." he couldnt bring himself to tell this man the truth. Perhaps he was sparing him, spearing that mind of his into spiraling down into nothingness and a heart that was held by a thin piece of thread. "Perhaps it is better to enjoy yourself while you wait for them."

To deviate oneself from the loss might be the best way Childe right now until his mind is ready to accept the torment of the heavy truth that would slew this man.

"I see. " he smiles and yet it feels so empty to Childe, the reason? He wouldnt know or atleast his mind wouldnt allow him to know

"Ill see you around then Xiansheng."

Everything that he portrayed lacked and all he could do as he's always did.

...........

i had to.

I hope yall would get Childe :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabbles #childe #childe angst #childe one shot #childe imagine #childe drabble #ajax #tartaglia

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thistleclaws-hatred · 5 years ago

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Crowfeather Joins ThunderClan AU - 3

Crowfeather stretched his legs out, hitting his head on the bracken roof above him. Next to him, Brackenfur’s golden pelt was starting to awaken as well.

Crowfeather had been a part of ThunderClan now for nearly five moons and spent every free moment he had with his kits. He purred as he thought of them. “Morning Brackenfur,” Crowfeather muttered in greeting to his watcher.

The ThunderClan warrior nodded and stood. The pair left the warriors’ den, and Crowfeather felt the warm sun shine on his dark pelt. He purred and flexed his back legs, shaking out his pelt.

“Brackenfur, Crowfeather, the two of you will join a hunting patrol with Sandstorm and Honeypaw,” Brambleclaw said to the pair as they walked past.

“Yes Brambleclaw,” Brackenfur said, walking over to meet the two she-cats.

“Perfect, if you both are ready, we’re going to head over to where the ShadowClan border is. The trees are thickest there and Honeypaw is determined to catch a squirrel today,” Sandstorm purred, curling her tail high over her back.

Crowfeather fell to the back of the group, listening carefully for any prey. His senses had finally adjusted to the thick undergrowth of the forest, and his muscles became more adjusted to pouncing instead of running. He perked his ears and swiveled his head around, “Honeypaw,” he hissed.

The apprentice turned to face the dark tom, “Yes?”

“Squirrel,” Crowfeather flicked his tail to where a squirrel was digging for nuts under the roots of a tree.

Honeypaw snuck around to the side of the tree in an instant, her body shaking with anticipation.

You can do it! Crowfeather thought, his claws digging into the dirt to stop himself from rushing forward.

Honeypaw crept closer to the squirrel, her steps light and her breathing slowed. With one more pawstep forward, she leaped!

Landing perfectly on her kill, she killed it with a swift nip to the back of its neck and proudly carried it over to the group. “Excellent job!” Sandstorm praised.

“Almost as fast as WindClan!” Crowfeather purred.

“I bet faster than WindClan!” Honeypaw challenged, her eyes playful.

“Wanna try?” Crowfeather flicked his tail, bending into a crouch.

“This’ll be good,” Brackenfur laughed, watching the two circle each other.

“Should we stop them?” Sandstorm asked.

“There’s plenty of prey out today, let them have some fun,” Brackenfur nudged the sandy she-cat.

The hunting patrol returned with enough prey for the whole clan. In addition to her squirrel, Honeypaw had caught two mice. Crowfeather put a fat rabbit on the fresh-kill pile, the familiar taste lingering in his mouth. It was no surprise that the hunting patrol had wanted him to catch it.

The camp was teeming with life. Every cat seemed happy with the warmer weather and full fresh-kill pile. “Crowfeather!” Lionkit’s happy voice called from the nursery.

The dark tom purred and walked over to his kit, batting playfully at Lionkit. Jaykit stumbled out after his brother, tripping over Crowfeather’s long tail and Hollykit pounced on his tail. Crowfeather purred happily, rolling away when his three kits tackled him from the side.

Jaykit looked at Crowfeather with his big blind eyes and smiled, swiping a paw across the warrior’s muzzle.

Suddenly an apprentice flung himself into the clearing. His ginger and white coat heaving with each breath he took.

“Pouncepaw! What’s happening?” Firestar asked, leaping down from the high rock in an instant. Warriors turned to face the RiverClan apprentice, claws unsheathed.

“WindClan is attacking our camp! We can’t hold them off! Please help us!” Pouncepaw screamed frantically, running around.

“We will come to help. Sandstorm, Cloudtail, Brightheart, Spiderleg, Whitewing, Crowfeather, Honeypaw, and Poppypaw come with me! The rest of you stay to defend the camp incase something happens.” Firestar ordered, running after the RiverClan apprentice.

Crowfeather froze for a moment, watching the rest of the ThunderClan cats leap into action. He took to his paws once he collected his senses and dashed after the rest of the battle patrol. He quickly caught up to Firestar and Pouncepaw, using his lithe body to run ahead of the toms.

Crowfeather ran across the river into RiverClan territory, straining his ears to find the camp.

When he found the camp all he saw was a flurry of fur, claws, and blood. Crowfeather saw his old clanmates fiercely attacking the RiverClan camp.

Crowfeather paused. While he had been hunting and sharing tongues with ThunderClan warriors, could he really attack his old clanmates? Could he really shed blood as a ThunderClan warrior?

Yes. He thought, leaping into battle and landing hard on Whitetail’s back. The she-cat yowled in pain and released Beechfur from her grip. Crowfeather bit down on her scruff and shook her. Thank you Squirrelflight! He released the dazed warrior and clawed at her ears until she steadied herself and ran off.

All around Crowfeather he could pick out the pelts of his clanmates fighting hard. His new clanmates. He saw Spiderleg battling alongside Poppypaw, striking Ashfoot with quick attacks. Cloudtail was pinned down underneath Smokepaw and Harepaw, the apprentices’ claws staining Cloudtail’s pelt red. Firestar was knocking Onestar away from Leopardstar.

Crowfeather turned and saw Brightheart struggling with Owlwhisker. She was unaware of Tornear racing towards her. No!

Crowfeather blocked Tornear, the tom’s claws digging deep into Crowfeather’s shoulder. Brightheart gasped as she flung Owlwhisker away. She was clearly aware that Crowfeather had just saved her life.

Crowfeather hissed, launching Tornear away with a powerful front paw swipe. “You traitor!” Tornear spat.

“I’m a ThunderClan warrior, now leave this territory!” Crowfeather growled, leaping into Tornear’s chest and biting hard. The tabby tom screeched and ran out of the camp, his pawsteps echoing in Crowfeather’s ears.

He turned to face Brightheart and dipped his head, “I’m a ThunderClan warrior.”

“I’m honored to fight beside you,” Brightheart dipped her head back and the two began to look around for the next fight but saw that the clearing was nearly empty of WindClan warriors.

“Thank you Firestar,” Leopardstar panted next to the ginger tom. “I do not know what provoked this attack but I do know that without you we would’ve lost.”

“An unjust battle is not a battle at all, may your wounded heal fast,” Firestar dipped his head and gathering his warriors to leave.

“I did not know that Crowfeather was in ThunderClan now,” Leopardstar commented.

“It is a long story, but he is a welcomed and honored ThunderClan warrior,” Firestar said, a challenge in his meow.

“Of course,” the spotted she-cat dipped her head and thanked ThunderClan once more as their warriors left.

Crowfeather took one last look at the retreating WindClan warriors and sighed, padding after his new clan.

As the returning warriors padded into camp, Leafpool rushed out to meet the injured ones. She walked over to Crowfeather and told him to sit as she worked on his shoulder wound.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Of course,” Leafpool was close to him, too close. Their pelts brushed against one another and Leafpool gently touched his ear with her muzzle.

“Other people need you,” Crowfeather whispered. The medicine cat breathed out softly and nodded, turning away from her former mate to help the rest of her clanmates.

“Let all those old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the high rock for a clan meeting!” Firestar’s call rang in the clearing. Although most of ThunderClan’s members were already gathering below him, those who weren’t slowly crept out of their dens to join them.

Lionkit, Jaykit, and Hollykit all sat near the nursery, underneath Ferncloud’s watchful eye. Icekit and Foxkit were both trying to peak out of the nursery as well.

“The battle against WindClan was successful, but that is not what I’m here to discuss. Crowfeather, please step forward,” Firestar summoned the dark tom.

Crowfeather perked his ears. He stood and walked over to where Firestar was, looking at his new leader curiously. “Today, during our battle, Crowfeather defended Brightheart from Tornear. Today, Crowfeather proved himself to be a ThunderClan warrior and I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, hereby declare Crowfeather to be a full member of ThunderClan! From this day on he can join all patrols and Brackenfur no longer has to watch him! We welcome you to ThunderClan Crowfeather!” Firestar yowled out.

“Crowfeather! Crowfeather! Crowfeather!” The clan shouted his name and the dark tom felt his chest swell with pride.

I’m a ThunderClan warrior! He felt like an apprentice once more.

———-

“And Lionkit, from this day forward, until you earn your warrior name, you will be called Lionpaw. Ashfur, I hope you can pass along your fine battle techniques to Lionpaw,” Firestar finished the ceremony.

“Lionpaw! Hollypaw! Jaypaw!” The clan shouted the three apprentices’ names, announcing them to StarClan.

The three new apprentices ran off of the rock towards their new mentors. Jaypaw more walked towards Brightheart. Crowfeather could see he wasn’t happy to have her as his mentor.

Lionpaw ran over to Crowfeather and butted him in the chest, “I’m a ThunderClan apprentice now!” He meowed proudly.

“Yes, you are!” Crowfeather purred happily, licking his son between the ears.

“I’m going to be the first blind warrior,” Jaypaw boasted to his father, puffing out his chest.

“I believe that title goes to Longtail,” Crowfeather cuffed his son over the ear playfully.

Only Hollypaw didn’t come to talk to Crowfeather before she went over to Brackenfur. Crowfeather felt a pang of sadness. She doesn’t like me because I’m a WindClan cat.

“Try not to focus on her, the warrior code means more to her than anything else,” Sandstorm told Crowfeather, seeing his crestfallen look.

“I know. Her devotion to it will make her a great warrior,” Crowfeather sighed. “In any case, you two should go find your mentors. It’s time to train.”

“Will you teach me WindClan battling moves?”

Crowfeather froze and looked at Lionpaw. Would he teach his kits how to fight like a WindClan warrior? It certainly would give them an edge in battle. But I would be betraying my...wait. No, I wouldn’t be betraying anyone. I’m a ThunderClan warrior!

“One day son, for now, go see what Ashfur has in store for you,” Crowfeather nudged his son towards the gray tom.

———

“Light quick steps!” Crowfeather called to Lionpaw, who was in a quick battling spout with Berrypaw. Berrypaw was about to become a warrior, so he was a good match for Lionpaw.

Lionpaw ran around Berrypaw and knocked him over with a heave of his massive shoulders. The cream apprentice fell over and kicked out with his hind legs. Lionpaw dodged backward and then leaped onto Berrypaw’s shoulders to keep him in the dirt.

“Very good Berrypaw,” Brambleclaw praised his apprentice.

“Good improvement Lionpaw,” Crowfeather purred. Although something about Lionpaw’s battle strategy had changed, had become more aggressive, Crowfeather knew that his son had just found his footing. The dark tom noticed that Ashfur made no comment about Lionpaw’s battling.

“Give me a real challenge! I need stronger training!” Lionpaw demanded, puffing out his chest.

“As you wish,” Ashfur’s voice was deep and he circled his apprentice.

“Ashfur,” Brambleclaw warned.

“Just training Brambleclaw,” Ashfur rolled his eyes and sized up his apprentice. Lionpaw faced his mentor and hissed, curling back his lip.

The two leaped at each other, their bodies colliding in a heap of muscle and fur. Ashfur twisted out of the way of Lionpaw’s claws and knocked out Lionpaw’s hind legs.

Claws! Crowfeather watched as the two began to fight, for real, right in front of them.

Lionpaw dove underneath Ashfur and hit the back of Ashfur’s leg so the tom crumbled to the ground. The golden tom used Ashfur’s delayed reaction to leap onto his back and dig his claws into Ashfur’s shoulders.

The larger gray tom reared up, throwing Lionpaw off, and spun around on his legs, crashing down hard on Lionpaw. The apprentice hissed and twisted his head to catch Ashfur’s paw in his jaws and bit down hard.

“Enough!” Brambleclaw yowled, leaping into the battle to pry apart the two. Crowfeather gripped Ashfur and peeled him off of Lionpaw, throwing him to the side.

“Train my son like that again, and you’ll regret it,” Crowfeather hissed. The dark tom turned and helped his son to his paws, herding him back towards the ThunderClan camp.

Firestar and Jaypaw were both leaving the leader’s den with Leafpool in tow. “What happened to Lionpaw?” Leafpool asked, running over to check her son.

“He and Ashfur got into a mock battle, they trained with claws unsheathed,” Crowfeather explained. “Is everything okay with Jaypaw?”

“I’m going to train to be a medicine cat now,” Jaypaw muttered.

“Is that what you want?” Crowfeather asked.

“It’s what I have to do,” Jaypaw sighed.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Crowfeather shook his head, “Do what you want to do.”

Jaypaw seemed moved by his father’s words, but still, he shrugged, “This is a must. Trust me.”

“Well, you have an excellent mentor,” Crowfeather dipped his head in respect.

“I’m not going easy on him just because he’s my son though,” Leafpool purred.

“Of course not,” Firestar nudged his daughter and shook his head.

“The medicine cat rule about mates should be changed,” Jaypaw suddenly said.

“What?” Firestar turned to look at the gray apprentice.

“Doesn’t seem like Leafpool having kits has affected her duties at all,” Jaypaw shrugged.

Leafpool and Crowfeather both shared a look but said nothing.

#crowfeather joins thunderclan au #crowleaf #crowfeather #jayfeather #hollyleaf #lionblaze #part 3 #chapter 3 #thunderclan #firestar #ashfur #my writing #warriors #warrior cats

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comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog · 6 years ago

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Patricia Tucker

looks like our cool aunt is back! Please send in Tricia’s blog and face claim boo!out of character info

Name/Alias: u no who it is

Pronouns: u no wat to call me

Age: 20

Timezone: yeehaw

Activity: enough

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Character that you’re applying for: Tricia Tucker

Favourite ships for your character: tricia/aged appropriate characters

in character info

Full name: Patricia Kimberly Tucker

Birthday: September 22nd

Sexuality, gender, pronouns: straight (for now), female, she/her

Age and grade: 16, sophomore

Faceclaim: Laura Gwyneth Butler

Appearance:

Face: True to her ginger roots, Tricia is redheaded and freckled faced. Her cheeks have a tendency to turn red at the slightest amount of exercise and it just makes her freckles even more obvious. She proves that odd stereotype of gingers being unattractive to be false, as she does put just enough effort in her appearance to be absolutely beautiful. She loves her freckles, so she doesn’t normally use foundation, but she does always use face care products, lipsticks, and mascara. Her nose is pierced, one that she only takes out for church and her English class. Her hair is medium length, taken care of in a very specific way, thanks to her fathers genetics being absolutely terrible and one wrong move with her hair means it’ll be ruined. She takes pride in how she looks, because she knows she looks bomb.

Body: The freckles on her face goes down her neck to her feet. She is a dancer, so her body is very fit. She tries her best to stay in shape as much as possible by limiting her food habits and only drinking water. But, despite her best efforts, her one insecurity would be her thighs and hips. They are big compared to the rest of her skinny body. Her mother says it’s natural, it’s what all the women in her fathers side of the family have (again, the awful genetics her father passed to her). It’s attractive and just, what they call it, birthing hips. She doesn’t see it like that. So, depending on the day or the mood she’s in, she’ll either try to accept the only thing that makes her feel bad about herself, or cover them up with sweatpants.

Personality:

Tricia is, and always has been, sassy and accurate. She’s a logical thinker, but that doesn’t form her sense of humor. Being dramatic is a comedic choice for her, but when things get serious she’ll pull up receipts, facts, and shove you so hard in the ground with her argument skills that you’d regret challenging her. She is, and always will be, terrifically aweing.

If she sees potential in you, you bet she’ll work at you until you’ve peaked. She’s very determined to make the people in her life the best they can be. It might be her very good sense of character with people, but her attitude will adapt and changed with specific people to help them grow and change for the better. It’s not that Tricia needs to feel important, or like she needs to make an impact. It was more like she just wants people to stop bitching.

She’s a bit of a snake. But only if it’s for the greater good. She knows who her true friends are, and she knows who’s lying to her. She always listens to her instincts, because they’ve never proved her wrong. Never. Over all, Tricia is confident, hardheaded, quick witted, and feisty.

History:

Patricia was raised to believe she was involved with a normal family. One dad, one mom, and two children. That was the default, the nuclear family. She was taught to be average. The nice and boring Tucker family, as she would hear sometimes in school. Tricia was raised as a smart, pretty young girl who didn’t talk unless spoke to and was humble about all the work she put in for herself. Laura taught her patience, kindness, selflessness... Basically everything she thought a little girl should be taught. Tricia knew how to cook, clean, and study by the time she reached elementary school.

However, as she got older, she noticed some flaws in the family her parents were desperately trying to hide from the public. Her dad started to look angry. Craig was getting more distant. Her mom felt like a robot to talk to sometimes. But every time Tricia would try and ask what was happening, Laura would tell her to let it go. So she would. She would be a good girl, go to dance class and release her frustrations though pointed toes. After a while, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the arguments between her dad and brother. It wasn’t until she walked through the front door to Thomas throwing something somewhere, that Tricia decided that it was time for her to bite back.

She started her rebellion by snapping at her mother. She was picking at her clothes again, telling her that what she was wearing wasn’t appropriate. She tugged away, glaring daggers. Tricia proclaimed, right then and there, that Laura wouldn’t control her life anymore. Tricia will feel and do whatever Tricia wants. She’ll sit on the arm of the couch if she wanted. She’ll be on her phone if she wanted. She’ll wear crop tops if she wanted. For a while, Laura tried to fight her on it. But Tricia proved that she was determined and serious. Laura backed down, and Tricia felt powerful enough to start with her father next.

Her dad and she have always been close. For some reason, Thomas was very nice to her, and let her do anything she wanted. That being said, she found him aggravating. Purely because of the way he talks to Craig. She wanted to do something to help out her brother. So when Thomas came into her room, and started telling Craig off, she snapped. She stood her ground and defended him. But Thomas wasn’t as wrapped around her finger as she thought. He cursed at her, for the first time, and demanded she bring herself some order. She was taken back, hesitated. It proved to be the wrong move as Craig swooped in to save her. She will never forgive herself for making her brother fight the battle she wanted to fight for him

From then on, she told herself she would never hesitate again, no matter how surprising an outcome will be. Tricia will never back down. She will never show weakness. And she will never let another man tell her what to do.

Sample paragraph:

Music was loudly blaring from Tricia’s laptop. She was on her feet, stretching fully while taking small moments to reply to messages she had received through her numerous social media accounts. She focused her attention on her feet, flexing them repetitively until her ankles felt good and ready. She checked Facebook while she stuck her leg in the air, doing a split and balancing on one leg. When she was bored of the internet, she reached above her to grab her leg, stretching them even further. Good and loose, she needs to keep it up. Her leg came down so she could back up into the wall, bending down to place her flat palms on the ground.

She slowly put her weight down on her hands, rising her lower half. Tricia tried her best not to tremble, but it was pretty difficult. Her legs finally came up straight, pointed and precise. Her arms remained unlocked, as close as she could make them while moving her legs downward, towards the room. When they were close enough to the ground, Tricia got down on her elbows and placed the very tip of her toes to the floor, stretching out her abdomen intensely. When she couldn’t hold that pose anymore, she swung her feet back towards the wall and lifted herself upright, now sitting on the floor, “Haven’t done that in a while,” she commented to herself, rubbing her stomach as she got up and walked back to her laptop.

Tricia played the song that her instructor gave her, planning on starting the assignment of choreographing her own routine. She lifted her leg upwards, slowly, as the song started up, soft and sad sounding Her breathing matched what she was taught, in and out, taking her time. This assignment was going to be the end of her, but damn it all if she didn’t do a good job. Tricia bent back, reaching for the metaphorical stars before she brought it down to her chest, as if clenching the heart inside. Preform a dance that tells a somber story, her instructor said. A story of heartbreak. Tricia wouldn’t know anything about that. She’s never been heart broken in her life. Tricia threw her hands in the air, already frustrated. Great. She’ll be working at this all night.

“You’re doing good, sweetheart,”

Tricia nearly jumped at the sudden voice, turning to see her father, who had at one point stopped to watch her practice. She placed her hands on her hips, frowning at him. He frowned back, looking guilty. She raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed, looked like he was thinking, before raising his head back up to smile at Tricia once again. She narrowed her eyes even more, wanting to rip that smile off his face.

“Keep it up,” Thomas tried encouraged her, “you’ll do great at this. You’re the best little dancer that I know.”

Tricia continued to stare at him, not giving him the satisfaction of complying. He was starting to stir where he stood, looking anywhere but her eyes. Oh yeah. He really did look guilty. She remained there, challenging him with his eyes, practically begging him for a fight. He didn’t want to, she knew that. “Listen, honey, the other day—“

The nerve- was he really about to apologize? Tricia groaned and walked towards the door, shutting it in his face. Hard. He didn’t even try to move from the forceful close. Good. She hoped she hit him in the face. The teenager walked back to the center of her room, practically shaking in irritation now. The longer she thought of it, the more she felt angry. She played the song from her laptop again, letting the soft instrumental control her emotions. Preform a dance of somber and sadness. Tricia could do something much better than that.

Headcanons:

- Started dancing when she was young. She and Craig started out with ballroom lessons, but she was the only one to continue it. She branched out to many different forms, but freestyle and ballet are currently are her favorite types of dances.

- She will not answer you if you call her Patty, or Patricia. The only one allowed to call her that is Craig.

- She is a real heartbreaker. She’s known for dating guys, getting them to fall for her, and then breaking up with them. People say it’s because she’s a stone hearted bitch. But really they just didn’t keep her entertained for long. Filmore was the only one who was able to escape her heart breaking habit, as the two of them had only been on a couple of dates before calling it off.

- She’ll randomly stick her leg in the air. Doesn’t matter where she is. She’ll do it.

- She’s part of the newspaper club and the school yearbook! A pretty important part of it, actually. She’s really into writing, reporting, and researching. It’s part of the reason why she knows so much and confident in her knowledge.

- She’s really popular on social media, because really who wouldn’t want to follow Tricia Tucker?

- Aspires to be a part of the student council when she’s a senior. She also wanted to be a cheerleader, but her already busy schedule told her no.

- Tricia’s favorite afterschool activity is debate team.

#Tricia tucker #application #admin samantha #submission

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cinnamonroll-duffy · 7 years ago

Text

Sage Wisdom (Jake x MC/Zig x MC) -- #ChoicesCreates28

Summary: A struggling teen finds that old acquaintances may bring the answer to his problems. This is an entry to the crossover prompt for Choices Creates hosted by @ladyashtonofcordonia and @holly-park.

Starring: Brian Crandall, Zig Ortega, Victoria Bradshaw (TF MC), Jake Mckenzie, Erika McKenzie (ES MC), and Caleb Mitchell

Guest Starring: Brandon (TF)

Before Homecoming:

Starbucks was closed, so I had to walk into another place to try and get my white chocolate smoothie. The place was quaint, but I wasn’t really focused on where I was. Instead, all that took up space in my mind was how pissed I was at my ex-girlfriend. Well, the world in general.

I didn’t know how to handle it. Never have I been dumped before. Sure, Zoe was the type to run off with another guy. Part of me knew it was gonna happen eventually. Everyone who really loves me do that in the end. My mom left me and my dad for some other guy and ran off 5 years ago, but everyone keeps boring me about how awesome their moms are and how they bake them cookies and talk to them about their girlfriends. They all need to have several seats. Why did she trade all our family had for some actor on a TV show? Why would Zoe trade all what I had for someone so basic like Caleb? I would have even understood if she left me for someone cool like Julian or Max, but Caleb? Girl has no standards. What does that say about me? Am I trash for literally dating someone who wasn’t interested in staying?

“What would would it be?” The barista asked. After I gave my order, all he could say was, “We don’t serve that here.” I wasn’t so much fuming about the drink, but that was the last straw after all I had been through.

“You don’t have white chocolate smoothie? What kind of trash coffee shop is this? Look, I see you have all the ingredients to make it; Get your lazy butt off of your phone and get to work. You know what? Screw you. I’m gonna have my dad buy this place and have you fired!” I squinted to take a peek at the nametag of the barista. Brandon. Talk about the most boring name in existence. Who names their kids Brandon?

“Listen little ginger curry, I didn’t cut off my date with my boyfriend, who loves me by the way, to work this afternoon shift catering to teenage jackasses like you.” Uh, Brandon, thinking he could talk to me like that. Where the hell did he get off? All I wanted was some white chocolate smoothie to ease my troubled mind, and all I got was some sass from a guy named Brandon. It’s like I died and went to hell.

“You know what, Brandon? Your boyfriend will leave you and you’re gonna be left lonely like everyone else in the world. Trust me on that.” Before I could leave, I saw a familiar face walk behind the counter.

“Brandon, I got this.” There he was, Zigmund Ortega with his always bright bleached-white shirt and trusty leather jacket. He was in the Berry football team when I was a sophomore, but got kicked out after two weeks. Well, to be fair, the only reason he got cut from the team was because he landed in prison. “Sorry about Brandon, Brian” Zigmund whispered to me. “He’s not one to do custom requests. Just stick to the menu with him.” He gathered up the needed ingredients and prepared the smoothie for me. After I paid for my drink, I asked him,

“You work here, Zigmund?” I saw the way he just managed everything with ease. That’s how I remembered Zigmund: Kind of socially awkward, but really good at what he does best.

“It’s just Zig now. I used to work here, but now I go to Hartfield and play football with the team there.” Zigmund in a University? Zigmund ever tangling with the pigskin again? It kind of took me a while to let that sink in.

“I thought you couldn’t afford to go to school even if you wanted to. I remember you taking a job cleaning my pool and also Mia’s just so that you could have enough money for rent.” One thing nobody could accuse Zig of was being lazy. No, sir, he worked his tail off for every scrap he could get. It was hard when he went to prison on his family because he was their breadwinner in a way.

“So, this Second Chance scholarship helped me out. I get to fix my past in a way.” I wished to could get a second chance myself when Zigmund mentioned that. After Caleb turned everyone against me, I have never felt more alone in my life. Even someone I looked up to since elementary, Julian, abandoned me. I really hoped Julian was just doing that out of peer pressure or something. He was the only one on the Berry football team left with any sense on how to handle life. Why Julian would even try to revoke his own street cred made no sense to me. Maybe, I needed to give him time to come to his senses.

Breaking my thoughts for a moment, a chick with long, wavy hair sat down with me and Zigmund. She smiled at me and then started making out with Zigmund for 30 seconds or so. Damn, Zigmund got game.

“Vic, this is one of my friends from High School, Brian Crandall. Brian, this is my girlfriend Victoria. She’s the one who tamed this bad boy.” I shook hands with Victoria and she started cracking up.

“You’re still in the taming process, dear. I have to remind Zig here that not everything can be solved with fists.” She rested her hand on Zigmund’s thigh and giggled while he rubbed his nose on her cheek.

“Babe, I bet you’re gonna tell me everything can be solved with kisses.” They then made out for another minute while I slowly sipped on my smoothie wondering if Zoe and I were all over each other the same way. We prolly were.

“Sorry, Brian. When Zig gets sweet, I just can’t help myself.” Victoria’s pale face wasn’t even blushing. She was so proud of her love with Zig. “Anyway, Brian, how did you and Zig meet?”

“So, Zig played football for Berry for two games with me.” Looks like Zigmund didn’t tell his girlfriend much, because she gasped. Like, loud enough for everyone else in the café to hear.

“I thought Hartfield was your first experience with football. Sugarcakes, you didn’t lie to me, did you?” Victoria grunted like a chihuahua that just saw its owner after a long day.

“No, Cinnamon Roll. Look, I just want to forget everything that happened with the whole getting kicked out of the team thing.” He then pecked her on the lips. Before another make out session would start, I waved my hands in front of Zigmund and Victoria’s faces to keep them in the conversation. They snapped back into place quicker than a rubber band. Zigmund continued, “ Anyway, we met through our mutual friend Julian Castillo. By the way, Brian, is Julian still with Autumn?”

“No, she left him for someone else. Don’t really know him. Berry has gone downhill since you left, Zig. The losers have taken over the school...and they brainwashed Julian and Mia, too!” I then talked about the whole misunderstanding with Zoe, Caleb, and everyone taking sides against me and how I had to move to Hearst for my own safety. Victoria was listening to me while Zigmund patted me on the back.

“That’s terrible, man. I don’t blame you for leaving Berry. Going to school there must feel like some kind of prison. Believe me, I know how awful it was being inside. I’m sure people will realize just how petty they are being. Hey, I heard homecoming dance for both Berry and Hearst is tonight from my younger brother. You got a date?” I shook my head. Even with all the hotties in Hearst, I wasn’t in the mood for a party.

“Hey, Zig is right. I don’t know why people are pissed at you. I was in a similar situation as Zoe. I left my boyfriend Chris for Zig, and before Chris, I casually dated two girls at the same time, one of them was some sorority queen, and the other my best friend. There’s no shame in playing the field before you find your bae.” She looked toward Zigmund and smiled.

“You’re right, Victoria. With that said, I’m just gonna say sorry to Caleb even if I didn’t do anything wrong. I miss my best friend.” Even with how Caleb treated me, I had to help him see the light even if he’s gonna fight it at first.

“Wow, you’re an amazing person, Brian. I don’t know this Caleb person, but he seems like a jerk. You don’t have to apologize for anything, but I’m proud of you for being the bigger person.” It just hit me. I had to make my apology instantly and in public. Homecoming was my chance.

“We’re rooting for you, Brian. Zig and I both. I especially want to protect you because you’re a fellow ginger like me.” Victoria, with her long crimson locks, said before hugging me and leaving with Zigmund. I suddenly gained some courage.

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After Homecoming:

It didn’t work. Caleb was so cruel to me and didn’t even accept my apology. I doubt any other moment in my life was so humiliating like when Caleb and his friends ganged up on me in front of all the students in Homecoming. Something came over me that I never experienced in 5 years when my mom walked out on me; Actual tears. I’ve been a tough guy for most of my life, but I couldn’t handle how my life had been torn apart by Zoe and Caleb. I wish I had a mother to put her arms around me and tell me everything was alright, but no, I had to face these feelings like I always had to: On my own. I could have called up Max or Kara to talk, but they never understood what it’s like to be so miserable. They have happy lives for the most part. Instead, I sat in Hartfield Park, where I used to play Ultimate Frisbee with Julian, Caleb and others. It was my special place.

“Hey, is everything OK?” I looked up from the park bench I was laying on and saw another familiar face. She had long blonde hair and was rather tall. A guy stood next to her. He was about 5 inches shorter than her and had shoulder-length hair and a bored expression on his face.

“Erika Shields?” The daughter of my dad’s best friend, Erika was like an older sister I never had. She often babysat for me back in the day.

“Correction: Erika McKenzie now.” She showed off a ring glistening on her finger. “Brian Crandall. You’ve grown so much since I last saw you.”

“Yeah, and I guess this guy with you is the lucky groom? I thought you were dead with the whole plane crash thing?” It was all over the news how a bunch of contest winners (including the Hartfield team’s very own Sean Gayle) got lost out in La Huerta, and I thought I’d never see Erika again.

“It’s a long story. Jake and I met on the plane ride there, and we just got closer. I guess facing all sorts of dangers brought us together, and the rest is history.” Unlike Zigmund and Victoria, Erika and her husband weren’t really touchy-feely, but I could tell they loved each other.

“Believe it, Weasley. This Princess and I are rock solid, even if she’s a pain in the behind at the best of times.” He looked up and nodded at Erika and she nodded in return.

“Yeah, Jakey’s my favorite douchebag. So, tell me, Brian, why were you crying? Don’t do the teenage boy thing and pretend like you were just cutting some onions. You know I’ve always cared about you and your dad.” There was no point in trying to hide it, so I told Erika and Jake everything about what happened to me since the beginning of the school year.

“Wow, that’s rough. Not as rough as fighting off a billionaire madman trying to kill us in a God-forsaken island, but for high school? That’s torture.” Good to know Erika hasn’t lost her sense of humor out there in La Huerta.

“You know what, Weasley? I was just like you in High School. I don’t know what school is like for you Yankees, but growing up in the South...you know, the backwoods in Louisiana, you had to please the right people or else the whole town turns against you. I joined the Navy to escape all that...not that I recommend the same for you. I’m saying, Weasley, find a way to escape the negativity. You said you moved to a new school. That’s a good first step.” What Jake was saying was helpful, but I didn’t want to escape from Julian or Caleb or Mia. I wanted them back.

“I’ve just about given up, Jake.” There it went, more tears. I felt so weak, but at the same time, it was good to be honest about what I felt for the first time in a long time. I had to put on a face of being Mr. Everything so that people wouldn’t have to know the true me and hate that part of me too.

“Don’t you dare give up, Brian. Jake and I thought we’d never get out from Everett Rourke’s clutches, but we did it. You know how? We believed in ourselves. If we didn’t we might as well have ended up in some shallow grave in a La Huerta cave.” Erika reached into her purse and pulled out a golden star, handed it to me and said, “Shut your eyes and hold this. It’s a Forecast Idol I found in the island. This might sound hokey to you, but you’re gonna see your future.” I didn’t believe her, but I did it anyway...

I opened my eyes and saw Caleb walking toward me and saying...

“Brian, I miss you too. I’m sorry for not forgiving you for something so dumb. Come play Call of Duty with me and Julian like the old days. It’s hard losing a best friend and I don’t ever want to have that happen again.”...

I shut my eyes and opened them again to see Erika and Jake sitting by me. Instead of tears, I had a new energy about me. After handing back to Erika the gold star, I got up and said,

“Thanks for the pep talk, guys. Brian’s back in business.” I knew that no matter what happened next, I’ll get my best friend again.

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#ChoicesCreates #Playchoices #hss #Jake x MC #Zig Ortega #CH Fic

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thunders-warcats-stuff · 7 years ago

Text

Enter Darkness Chapter 22

Firepaw raced out of the camp, not bothering to stop despite several cats yowling after him. No way was he letting Tigerclaw take control of ThunderClan! If that meant he had to take care of Brokenstar first, then so be it. ThunderClan needed to focus on the threat within their own borders before daring to look elsewhere, and nothing would stop him from making that happen!

Something barreled into him and he went tumbling into a nearby tree.

“Thank StarClan!” Another voice meowed shakily. Firepaw glared up at Ravenpaw and Sandpaw as he shook himself out and stumbled dazedly to unsure toes.

“What'd you do that for?!” He spat before scenting the air for the trail he'd picked up earlier.

“Because you weren't listening when we called after you the first time.” Ravenpaw hissed. “Whatever you're thinking, it will only make things worse. We just lost Rosetail and Lionheart, do you really think that the Clan wants to lose you too?”

“The clan will be just fine as long as they stick to their own borders.” Firepaw sneered. “You and I know that better than any cat.”

“What threat could possibly be bigger than ShadowClan right now?” Sandpaw demanded.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so why bother?” Firepaw scowled. “At any rate, I'm going to ShadowClan to see what they're up to. They were trying to steal kits from the nursery. Why?

Brokenstar must have an abundance of kits from all bragging he's done and the demands he's made. I bet he tried to steal kits from RiverClan too, or from WindClan before he drove them out. It didn't start with ThunderClan, but by the Stars, I'm ending it somehow!”

“So you're just going to waltz into ShadowClan territory and what, kill Brokenstar? Do you realize how mouse-brained that sounds?!”

“Of course I do, which is why I don't intend to get caught.”

“But why are you doing this? What could be so terrible about Tigerclaw being deputy of ThunderClan?” Sandpaw demanded. Ravenpaw gulped and looked to Firepaw, who shivered but nodded.

“We never wanted you to find out this way.” Firepaw insisted. “Ravenpaw wanted to tell you right away but you'd just lost Redtail so to find out….”

“Tigerclaw is the reason that Redtail's dead.” Ravenpaw choked out slowly.

“What?” Sandpaw’s voice lowered to a horrified whisper. “Explain yourselves!” She insisted sharply. So they told her about the second battle that Tigerclaw started over Sunningrocks, about how Oakheart had died in a rockfall, how Redtail had stayed behind to make sure that everyone had left and how Tigerclaw had slaughtered him without a thought.

“And we just sat there like it was nothing… Stars, Sandpaw, I stayed behind because I felt like something was going to happen but when it did… I was useless!” He snapped, pulling himself up straight. “And I'm not supposed to be useless. So either come help me spy on Brokenstar or head back to camp.”

“I'm going to get Dustpaw. He and Greypaw deserve to know the truth.” Sandpaw insisted. “And then we're coming back here and figuring this out. I'll tell Bluestar we're on a hunting patrol or something. We're old enough to be on those without chaperones.”

Ravenpaw nodded and touched his nose to Sandpaw's.

“I’m sorry I couldn't help Redtail.” He croaked sadly.

“You shouldn't have had to help Redtail. And… that explains a lot now that I think about it. Maybe you guys should come back to camp with me. To make sure I don't rip Tigerclaw to shreds for being such a fox-heart.”

So the trio padded back to camp where they met up with Dustpaw and Greypaw.

“I assume you have an explanation for running off in the middle of the night despite there having been a battle less than half a sunrise old?” Bluestar meowed coldly when she caught sight of him. She was flanked by Longtail, while Darkstripe stood outside her den.

“I needed time to think for myself. I'm fine.”

“Where did you go?” Bluestar demanded.

“I was heading for the ShadowClan border when Sandpaw and Ravenpaw caught up with me.” Firepaw admitted quietly. “I thought I had a plan, and they convinced me otherwise.”

“Let's hear this plan of yours, kittypet. What were you going to do besides charge into ShadowClan territory and get yourself killed?” Longtail sneered.

“You don't think I'm worth the dung that was left by the scrap of mouse you ate earlier. Why should I tell you anything?” Firepaw hissed before turning back to Bluestar.

“May I be excused? I need to speak with my denmates before I do anything else.”

“You may.” Bluestar murmured, sharp eyes narrowed. “But I expect to hear about this plan of yours soon. It could prove to be a good one. Consult your denmates, though. You are right to believe that the advice of your companions is beneficial.”

Firepaw dipped his head and headed for the apprentice den, only to be intercepted by Dustpaw and the rest of the apprentices.

“We're going on a hunting patrol.”

“Bluestar-.”

“Said to talk to us, didn't she? We need to know the truth.”

So the five apprentices left camp.

“Ravenpaw and Sandpaw are under the impression that Tigerclaw killed Redtail.”

“He did.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because Ravenpaw and I were there! You saw me when I got back to camp after the battle, Dustpaw. I had nightmares, I couldn't eat or sleep, I was constantly hanging around Spottedleaf trying to get some semblance of normal because I just saw one cat kill another!

And for that matter, why haven't you asked Ravenpaw what he saw? Because we saw the exact same thing and he begged me to tell someone. I wanted to keep an eye on Tigerclaw and if he made a move towards the next deputy or anyone else, we could tell them then.”

“Do you think he killed Lionheart?” Greypaw asked quietly.

“No, he didn't. I�� I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me, Greypaw. I shouldn't have brushed you aside like I did.”

“It sounds like you had reason to.” The large grey apprentice whispered reassuringly.

“But why would Tigerclaw kill Redtail?”

“I… I have an idea about that, but I need you guys to keep what I'm about to tell you an absolute secret. Swear on our ancestors and theirs. Take an oath to the Stars that this will not get out unless you tell me first.”

“Firepaw… you're not making any sense.” Sandpaw minutes, concerned.

“I…” how could he possibly tell them about the life he lived?!

“When I was a kittypet, I started having dreams about ThunderClan.”

Well, that was about as believable as anything… Firepaw inhaled deeply, letting memories flood through his mind. If no one believes him, if they made him out to be a traitor or had him banished, he would relish the choice he'd been given. The glorious new life he'd gotten to have, however short it was.

“Firepaw.” Ravenpaw murmured, pressing his black pelt to his friend’s ginger. “We trust you. You can tell us what you saw in those dreams.” The shaky apprentice sounded strong in his conviction, bold in his words, and Firepaw appreciated his confidence.

“I had a series of dreams… and they were all about me in ThunderClan. I don't know if things will turn out the way they did in my dreams, but all the same cats are here and I can't risk it.

Tigerclaw was dangerous in my dreams. He was ambitious and power-hungry. He wanted to be leader himself, and that would have been fine if he hadn't been such a terrible cat… and this Tigerclaw is going down the exact same path I couldn't find any way to prevent the horror he caused among the Clans then, and I can't seem to now either.”

“Start from the beginning of your dream. What was the first thing you remember doing?” Greypaw asked.

He started from leaving his kittypet roots behind and he only got to his first time seeing Yellowfang before someone yawned.

“You're right, we should get back.” Dustpaw informed his brother. “And we won't tell anyone, but why don't we meet here in a couple days and we'll hear the rest of your dreams then.”

The five apprentices split up to do a bit of early morning hunting before heading back to camp.

#warrior cats just a dream enter darkness

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yewtongue8-blog · 5 years ago

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The Best Chef’s Knives, According to Line Cooks

Line cooks arguably have the most physically and mentally demanding job in any restaurant. In the classical French brigade de cuisine, or kitchen hierarchy, line cooks are comparable to infantry soldiers. In constant two-step with the head chef and standing over a smoking plancha, wok, or cast-iron skillet for up to 10 hours a day, line cooks put in hours upon hours to hone their skills and prove their worth. They can plate a mean shishitos en nogada or tofu Benedict, but their day-to-day on the line is anything but precious.

Because they spend so many hours in the kitchen, a line cook’s knife also has to hold up to pressure. Many swear by some variation of a chef’s knife, the most universal, all-purpose knife one can buy (though even chef’s knives vary based on the country of manufacture, the brand, and other factors). Other cooks have less conventional picks.

So, for the home cook looking for that one, perfect, bet-your-life-on-it knife, we asked six line cooks — in this case, all from New York City — for their go-to blade.

For the cook in search of something pretty but long-lasting

For his work as garde manger at Lalito, Elliot Alvarado uses a seven-inch Damascus steel gyutou (a Japanese chef’s knife) by Togiharu. The model is a Korin exclusive with a hammered blade and, according to Alvarado, a “gorgeous piece of metal.” Though he finds it to be seriously versatile, he admits that slicing through hard vegetables and bones can cause the edge to deteriorate and require more frequent sharpening. This knife is a great investment if you want something classy but don’t mind a bit of extra time in front of the sharpening stone. (Listening to Brock Hampton and Frank Ocean helps Alvarado cope with the sharpening, not to mention the crying as he preps quarts of onions.)

Buy Togiharu Hammered Damascus Gyutou Knife, $159

Elliot Alvarado with his Togiharu gyutou

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For the cook who wants something durable without constant upkeep

Back when he worked plancha and garde manger at Annicka, a farm-brewery restaurant in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, Noah Clark used a Wusthof Classic 6-Inch Hollow Edge Cook’s Knife (what Wusthof calls its chef’s knives). If you had to compare it to a car, it would be a Ford F150, according to Clark: “It’s such a good middle-of-the-road knife for everything.” Requiring very little maintenance, it’s a workhorse of a knife. The “hollow edge” dimples are meant to prevent food from sticking to the blade, and the shorter length means greater control over raw ingredients like crudo. Though it doesn’t shine in any one particular area, Clark says, “my knife really doesn’t have an Achilles heel.”

Buy Wusthof Classic 6-Inch Hollow Edge Cook’s Knife, $130

Noah Clark with his Wusthof chef’s knife

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For the cook willing to step out of their comfort zone

Ask John Hutt, chef at the Museum of Food and Drink, how much a line cook should spend on a knife, and he’ll tell you straight up: $25. A first-generation immigrant from Scotland and a line cook for over seven years, John often found himself the only white dude working in Chinese restaurant kitchens. Watching his fellow cooks using a single Chinese-style cleaver known as a cai dao for every single task, he thought, “I’m gonna learn how to do that.”

In his experience, the best Chinese knives are mass-produced in Hong Kong and can replace every other knife in a cook’s roll. Truly all-purpose, the cai dao (literally “vegetable knife”) gets put to use when cutting through bone, carving a lamb, or even peeling ginger. His recommendation is a high-carbon stainless steel specimen from the brand Xin Rongda. (A similar one is below, available online and also at many Chinese restaurant supply stores.) “I take this with me if I go anywhere,” says John. “I took this to Spain, I took it to India, I took it everywhere.” And when he’s not relying on his cleaver, John recommends another tool that’s even cheaper: “a pair of scissors.”

Buy Xin Rongda 310-Millimeter Cai Dao Knife, $29

John Hutt with his cai dao knife

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For the cook who really wants a Japanese knife

There’s a reason Japanese knives are so worshipped: Their blades are typically crafted from extra-hard steel and are sharpened at smaller angles than other knives (the smaller the angle, the sharper the blade). Orlando Velasquez’s knife, a Togiharu gifted to him by his boss, chef Jacob Clark at Maison Premiere, is “like a baby” to him. “I don’t ever let anybody else touch it,” he says. His experience using the knife got him interested in the craft of knife-making in Japan. However, his roots are firm: He prefers to wield his knife in his home kitchen while listening to traditional ranchera from Mexico, sounds that bring him back to a childhood spent watching his mom cook pozole and tamales.

Buy Togiharu Molybdenum Steel Gyutou Knife, $156

Orlando Velasquez with his Togiharu gyutou

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For the cook still finding their sea legs in the kitchen

Allie Brodt is a freshly minted culinary school graduate from Huntington Beach, California, working the line at Modern Love in Brooklyn. She started out there as “toast bitch,” a playful term for anyone in charge of toasting French bread for the vegan restaurant’s burgers and famous chickpea cutlet Parmesan. Brodt’s tool of choice is a 7-inch santoku-style knife from Mercer, which she received in her culinary school kit. An alternative to the chef’s knife, a santoku is an all-purpose knife, particularly well-suited to vegetables. With a curved tip and flat edge, it’s ideal for cooks who prefer an abrupt, straight-down motion when slicing, as opposed to the rocking motion required with a chef’s knife. Shorter and lighter in weight, it’s also excellent for the petite cook.

Buy Mercer Culinary Genesis 7-Inch Forged Santoku Knife, $30

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For the cook who loves to do pastry, but can get down with savory

A proud pastry cook, Alicia Bass of Dirt Candy relies on a 10-inch Global chef’s knife for cutting cakes, doughs, and eggplant for the restaurant’s famous eggplant Foster. For her “very tiny hands,” the thin, dimpled handle is ideal, she says, but the blade’s extra length is a boon when cutting long, elegant slices for cakes and desserts. It was a gift from her former mentor at the Hard Rock Cafe and Casino in Fort Lauderdale, and she says she “didn’t even want to use it — honestly, I wanted to just frame it.” She didn’t, though. “That knife has been through everything with me from the very beginning.”

Buy Global Classic 10-Inch Classic Chef's Knife, $171

Alicia Bass with her Global chef’s knife

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For the cook who wants more control

A former cook at the Breslin, Jean Nihoul currently cooks for Amali restaurants with a Glestain 8-inch gyutou. Purchased at Korin in 2009, the knife’s weight is concentrated in the handle, as opposed to the heavier blade on a German knife. “It makes it feel more like a part of my hand,” he says. It can be used for anything, from dicing to mincing to butchering fish, though he admits the stiff blade makes it less ideal for breaking down large whole cuts of meat.

While a quality chef’s knife rarely comes cheap, it’s possibly the best investment a burgeoning or experienced home cook can make. In Nihoul’s words, “I don’t see a need to own any other knife other than a chef’s knife.”

Buy Glestain 8.2-Inch Indented Blade Gyutou Knife, $177

Jean Nihoul with his Glestain gyutou

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Source: https://www.eater.com/2019/1/7/18158866/best-chef-knife-japanese-santoku-gyuto-knives

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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omegaling · 7 years ago

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Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Otoro

My apologizes for the delay, friends. I started this chapter on April 15, and then agonized over a writer's block for nearly two months before I finally figured out how to fix it. It's a good-sized chapter - over 3200 words - and we also get the long-awaited first encounter between Rey and Kylo Ren. I hope it was worth the wait.

Chapter Nine: Otoro

“A tie!”

Before those two words changed the course of her life, Rey was agonizingly preparing herself for defeat, especially in the aftermath of the judges fawning over Ren’s meal. The most she could hope for was that Poe wasn’t crushed too horribly beneath the Iron Chef’s score and they could all leave with some pride in tact. Now the Chairman’s words hung in the air like a pall of smoke, choking the entire studio into silence for a full ten seconds.

Then there came a sharp jolt of realization: Ren’s never not won a battle before. How was he going to react to that? Ren’s temper and history of lashing out when things didn’t go his way were just as legendary in the culinary world as his cooking style. Within those ten seconds of silence Rey was bombarded with mental images of ambulance lights, waiting areas in the emergency room, and highly publicized court dates. She clutched Finn’s hand tighter, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Of the two chefs, Ren was the first to move; not to fly into a fit of rage, but to step towards Poe with one hand extended. It took Poe only half a second longer to come back to himself and return the gesture. If he was surprised by Ren’s act of civility, he did not show it as he and his long-time rival shook hands.

The applause from the audience and the judges caused Rey to jump, then release the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her ribs burning as they were finally allowed to relax. The two sides began to mingle together, though with some lingering tension. Phasma approached Rey until she had to crane up to look at the blonde woman. Phasma held out a hand, and Finn’s story of how she could cleave a side of beef with one blow niggled at her as Rey took it.

“You wield a mean knife,” Phasma said. Her voice was not as deep as Rey thought it’s be, and it had a slight British lilt to it. “It’s refreshing to be proven wrong every now and then, even if it does mean I have to listen to that one bitch about it for the next month.” She jerked her head sharply in Hux’s direction. The ginger sous chef was hovered at the edge of the convergence, looking for all the world like the grease trap in his kitchen just backed up. Rey couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, I apologize for that in advance. Good match today. Your carbonara was beautiful. I always enjoy watching you make your pasta dishes on the show.”

Phasma stared at Rey for a beat before responding with a subdued, “Thank you. Very much.” She looked at Finn, inclined her head in acknowledgement, then turned to rejoin Hux.

“Did I say something wrong?” Rey asked Finn once she was sure Phasma was out of earshot.

“No. It might be because she’s probably not used to people saying more than five words to her before bolting immediately afterwards,” Finn replied with a shrug.

Rey felt a pang of empathy for the other female chef. One of the first things she was quick to observed at the start of her new career was the major disproportion of male to female chefs. Male chefs in the professional kitchen made up for more than half the workforce, and less than twenty percent of female chefs held head or executive positions in their own restaurants. The ones who made the cut had to work hard for those coveted spots on the line, and had to work even harder to keep them. Rey couldn’t imagine the trials and tribulations Phasma had to endure for the right to cook alongside chefs like Ren and Hux. Finn’s stories were enough to convince Rey of the kind of reputation Phasma had to build for herself as a result. Though their brief conversation had been civil, Rey wouldn’t blame Phasma if she disliked her for no other reason than Rey had the same job quite literally handed to her without all the bullshit that typically came with it. Maybe once the episode aired and the dust settled she could invite the blonde chef out for drinks as a sort of peace offering - granted that it didn’t upset some absurd status quo laid down by Snoke.

The stage manager declared that episode a wrap, thanking everyone for their cooperation in the successful filming. Ren and his sous chefs immediately disappeared backstage, but Poe, Finn, and Rey stayed to shake hands with Alton Brown, Kevin Brauch, and each of the judges in turn one last time. When they got to the Chairman, he beamed proudly at all three of them.

“Thank you all for coming. This will truly be a battle to remember.” Then he looked pointedly at Rey and Finn. “And I would be honored if you both returned one day as challenging chefs yourselves.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” they said in near tandem. With one last round of farewells, Poe and his team exited Kitchen Stadium.

Rey was positively giddy as they made their way back to the guest dressing rooms, skipping on every other step. They may not have won, per sae, but they didn’t lose either. The score had been almost perfectly balanced; Ren triumphed in the taste portion, but Poe excelled in originality. They scored evenly on plating design, resulting in a solid 55 points apiece. She could definitely live with that.

Suddenly Poe stretched out his arms to either side and simultaneously hooked them around Rey and Finn’s necks and pulled them to him, nearly knocking their skulls together.

“What do you two say to a celebration dinner? Omakase at Ushiwakamaru, on me.”

Rey gasped as much as she was allowed from her choke hold. “Ushiwakamaru? But isn’t that place really expensive?”

“The way I see it, you two saved me from making a complete jackass of myself, so you’re worth every cent. Besides, Hideo Kuribara and I made a bet before the show and now I need to collect.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “How very Han Solo of you.”

Rey mock-scowled at him from under Poe’s arm. “Don’t you dare drag Han Solo’s name in my presence, Finn Trooper,” she snapped. Then she snickered. “But you’re right. That is very much something Han would do.”

In the early years of reality TV, Han Solo had been a household name, and his television show, Going Solo , was one of Rey’s few childhood indulgences. Once a week for a few precious months of the year, Rey would watch Han and his great big sheepdog Chewie traverse the entire country in their beat-up 1964 Ford Falcon, rooting out small town oddities and crashing favorite local eateries. Someone always seemed to know him from somewhere, no matter how off the beaten path he went. Though most of his reunions with old acquaintances were met with exuberance, a good number expressed exasperation when Han came sauntering into their establishment. In one particularly memorable episode the chef of a small-town diner even pulled a gun on him, sending the camera crew fleeing for their lives. Of course the show was hit with a fair amount of criticism, accusing it of glorifying a life of debauchery and vagrancy, but Rey didn’t care. Han’s life was one of freedom, the ultimate dream for someone whose only identity was a case number in an uncaring system. She had vowed to herself, as she watched the Falcon drive off into another sunset, that she would someday provide for herself so she could buy her freedom just as Han bought his. It was what got her through every day for the next ten years, right up until the moment she stepped onto the bus bound for New York City.

Rey quickly changed out of her chef’s whites and back to what she’d come to think of as her civilian clothing, her stomach grumbling the whole time. With the adrenaline high finally wearing off she was suddenly feeling ravenous. And since Poe was insistent on paying for dinner, who was she to say no, especially when she could practically hear a perfectly poured Sapporo and beautifully marbled otoro calling her name?

That is if we don’t lose our reservations because Finn and Poe took too long to get “changed,” Rey thought with a small smile as she waiting for them outside the men's’ dressing room. She did not doubt that after the intensity of the battle they were both in need of a little... release before going to dinner. She couldn’t really blame them, but since Rey was absolutely certain that Finn would not be going home with her she wished they’d save it for later. Her stomach gave an impatient rumble of agreement.

Suddenly the space around her seemed to darken, and when she looked up Kylo Ren was standing in front of her.

The time spent in his general proximity did very little to prepare Rey for actually coming face-to-face with him. While he and Phasma were approximately the same height, the breadth of his chest and shoulders made him positively gargantuan by comparison. He had traded his chef’s jacket for an all-black wardrobe, making Rey think of the dark king of the myth he recounted during the judging. Though she kept telling herself that Kylo Ren did not intimidate her, the jump in her pulse suggested otherwise.

“If you’re looking for Poe, he’s not done changing,” Rey said quickly, taking charge of any conversation before it even started. Men like Kylo Ren were used to having the upper hand in everything, but Rey was determined to make sure he knew she wasn’t having any of that. Also, the last thing they needed was for Ren to walk in on Poe and Finn and create a whole new scandal for them to deal with. “I can give him a message if you want.”

“Where did Dameron find you?” The question was curt, abrupt. Ren’s deep voice seemed to fill every empty space of the narrow hall.

Well, nice to meet you too, Rey thought before she reminded herself that she didn’t exactly make an effort to extend an olive branch, either. Instead she only tipped her chin up, holding her ground. “Poe didn’t find me. I came to him.”

“Dishwasher?” He said the word like it offended him, and Rey felt a fresh spike of annoyance.

“It was a cooking class at NYU, if you must know,” she said tightly. “I wanted to learn how to cook for myself, and as it happened to turn out I had a natural knack for it. He offered me a job in his kitchen, I accepted, and managed to get really good at it because I worked hard at it.” She sighed, suddenly exasperated. She had always done well at avoiding unnecessary drama in her life, so why start now by picking a bone with one of the biggest culinary names in the world? “Look man, if you’re going to accuse me of lying, I’d rather you just do it to my face. This might be hard for you to believe, but not everyone has the privilege to go to a fancy school like the CIA or travel internationally to learn from the masters. Poe taught me what I need to know, and I’m good with that.”

Despite her bravado, Rey found herself holding her breath after her little outburst, bracing herself for Ren to make some vicious comeback, laced with insults and maybe a threat or two. Instead, he only said in a softer voice, “You should not be merely ‘good with that.’”

Rey blinked, her brain needing to take a few extra seconds to catch up. “Come again?”

“Has Dameron taught you how to remove all impurities for the perfect consomme? Can you debone a duck for a pâté de canard en croûte , recreate tête de veau or know how to ensure your risotto has the right texture? Do your souffles collapse or hold their shape? I saw you struggle with your hollandaise sauce, so it’s safe to assume that you probably can’t prepare a decent bearnaise sauce either.”

“I… That is, I mean…” Rey floundered for something to say that wasn’t a blunt “no.” Not that it wasn’t true: Poe ran a restaurant that was Spanish and Latin American inspired, and almost all the techniques and dishes Ran fired off were French, so of course Poe wouldn’t have showed her how to do them. That didn’t mean she was about to admit that to someone like Kylo Ren.

“It doesn’t make sense that you have no desire to learn,” Ren continued.

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” Rey snapped indignantly.

“Because there is an undeniable passion within you for cooking,” he pressed on, cutting through her protest. “I could see it in the way you handled your ingredients, in the way you wield your knife and how you attend to every detail on the plate with the scrutiny of a painter’s eye. Dameron must recognize it too, seeing how much trust he puts in your input for his own recipes. But staying with one technique, in one restaurant under one mentor, means you are doing nothing more productive than squandering your talent away, without even realizing it. You have the potential to be so much more than that.”

Rey snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “So what are you offering, then? That you’ll teach me how to do all those things?”

Ren tilted his head to the side, and Rey could honestly not tell if he was considering her words, or if she said exactly what he was waiting for her to say. “And if I did? Would you accept?”

“No,” Rey blurted out without thinking. She braced herself again for him to finally lash out - she couldn’t imagine he was used to being told “no” so many times by one person. Instead, Ren only shrugged.

“Suit yourself. If you’d rather settle for a career in mediocrity I can’t stop you.”

Rey wanted to throw her hands into the air. By now she would almost prefer his infamous temper over whatever the hell he was doing. “What is your deal? Why do you care so much? If you’re trying to talk me into working for your creepy boss then you can just piss off.”

“Snoke has nothing to do with this at the moment. I just find it a shame to watch someone squander away their talent for the sake of pride. But I will share this with you, chef to chef; Leia Organa is not the patron saint of restaurants and cooks as I’m sure Dameron has led you to believe. She revers tradition, which means chefs trying to gain her favor never feel the need to be innovative or to step beyond their comfort zone. Snoke only pays mind to those who do something worthy of his attention. Stay where you are, and you’ll never need to worry about him looking even once in your direction.”

“Well, I would say I appreciate the advice, but that would be a lie,” Rey said as evenly as possible. “Besides, I’m sure I can learn those recipes and techniques from any number of sources. Who says I have to learn them exclusively from you?”

“We’ll see,” Ren replied with something akin to a smirk. Then he was gone, melding back into the shadows from where he came, the heavy tread of his boots matching the thudding pulse in Rey’s head.

“Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

Rey very near jumped out of her shoes at the sound of Poe’s voice, the shock jump-starting her brain. Finn and Poe stood behind her, confusion painting both of their faces.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Finn remarked.

Rey realized then that they had not seen her talking to Ren. She quickly composed her own features; she didn’t want to ruin their night by having them think Ren was harassing her over the outcome of the battle.

“I saw a ghost, all right; the ghost of the hope that we’ll get to eat at a decent hour. If we don’t go soon you’re going to seriously regret footing the bill, Dameron,” Rey said with her wolfish grin before turning to leave the studio before either of them could get a word in.

They left the sprawling complex of the Chelsea Market where Iron Chef America was filmed and walked up eight blocks to get to Ushiwakamaru. Warm golden light was already pouring through the high, narrow front window when they arrived, and an exuberant chorus of “Irasshaimase!” greeted them as soon as Poe opened the door. The restaurant was already full to capacity, but a smiling hostess immediately led them to three vacant seats right at the sushi counter.

As Finn and Rey wound their way through the other patrons, a middle-aged, jovial looking Japanese man stepped out from behind the counter to intercept Poe. Rey could only assume that that was Hideo Kuribara, the owner and executive chef of Ushiwakamaru. The two chefs bowed respectfully to one another before pulling into a back-slapping embrace. They talked for a few minutes as Rey and Finn settled into their seats, Rey watching them out of the corner of her eye as she re-arranged her condiment dishes and broke her chopsticks apart. Poe gestured in her and Finn’s direction, angling his elbow upward as though to strike someone in the face with it. Kuribara looked directly at Rey, then burst out laughing. With one last word to Poe he returned to the sushi counter and disappeared through a door leading back to the kitchen. Poe slid into his seat between them, still chuckling.

“What was all that about?” Finn asked, one eyebrow cocked.

“When I made reservations, Hideo-san said he bet his best sake that I’d be showing up with a black eye thanks to Ren. Not only did I prove him wrong, but I told him that the only real punch thrown was Rey nearly taking out Hux over a box of uni . He especially liked that.”

Kuribara appeared a moment later bearing a dark green bottle of sake, its label embossed with gold kanji symbols. “Katsuyama Junmai Daiginjo,” he said in thickly accented English, handing it to Poe over the counter. “Semi-dry, but rich and fragrant.” Then he looked at Rey, smiling at her as he passed her a tall glass of foaming beer. “On the house. Anyone willing to fight over good uni is a good chef.”

“ Domo arigatou,” Rey said gratefully as she accepted the glass from him.

“Friends, a toast,” Poe said, holding up his tiny cup of warm sake Finn had ordered as they waited. “To a battle valiantly fought and a not-loss deservedly won.”

“Here, here!” Finn crowed, clicking his own white cup with Poe’s and Rey’s beer before drinking its content in a single swig.

Rey took a long draw from her beer, not quite able to partake in her friends’ elation. Though her surroundings were lively, her friends buzzed on pride and love and good booze and the food exceptionally delicious, Kylo’s words continued to hand over her like a shroud, casting a shadow over what should have been one of the best nights of her life. Even the otoro she had been looking forward to seemed to dissolve in her mouth like sand.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo au #reylo chef au #allez cuisine!

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another-wannabe-author · 7 years ago

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My story; only for those who want to read it. Not mandatory. Is in no way finished.

Blood. Filth. Mud. Grime. Sludge. Sweat. Tears. All coating the cobblestone road. A boy, small, about the age of 10, on his knees. Hands on the large, lifeless body of a man. A cold fog wrapping around them like a blanket as the boy screams his anguish, thick blood running over his hands. A dagger, sticking up out of the man’s chest, looking in the black of night like a sliver of the obsidian sky itself. A silence lay covering the boy and the man, as if the very air was grieving. A snicker rolls over the stones. “Keep on crying, runt. Nobody gonna hear you. Not at his time o’ night.” More snickering, more fog. Three figures step out of the shadows of an alleyway, circling the boy and the body like hungry wolves. All three are thin and distorted in the fog, the mist turning them to daemonic monsters. The boy bites his lip, his teeth piercing skin, blood pooling at the split. With a split-second thought, the boy grabs the broken gold watch from the dead man’s wrist and the knife from his chest, leaping to his feet and staying low in a crouch. The snickering from the men grows into loud guffaws. “Whatcha gonna do wit’ that, huh? You ain’t even holdin’ it right. Here, lemme show you somethin.” One of the men steps forward, and the boy swipes with the knife, nicking the man’s thumb. The man’s face darkens, and he makes a grab for the boy. With a duck and a swerve to the left, the boy dodges the man, stabbing him quickly in the back of the thigh and yanking the knife out on his mad dash past the man to freedom. The boy’s ratty runners slap against the cobblestones, the shouting of the men following him as he disappears into the night, covered in the blood, filth, mud, grime, sludge, sweat, and tears of the street. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dath kept his eyes glued to the giant twirling coin, not daring to blink lest he miss the drop. A quick glance at the clock above the dealer’s head told him he should have left the gambling den fifteen minutes ago. Another quick glance down at his cards told him he needed to see the horned beast, not the angel. A third glance, this one aimed at his single opponent, a scrawny little twig who was so greasy you could scrape off a layer and fry those nasty patties that Chef Prike cooked up at his sorry excuse for a restaurant, The Pot, made of only Nem knew what. His passing thoughts broke when his opponent cried out in disappointment. Snapping his gaze back to the table in front of him, his breath caught in his throat. He had won. Some luck-inclined Mystic bastard was smiling down on him tonight, or at the very least not frowning. He stood up from the table, a lopsided grin stretching across his face as he reached forward, grabbing his winnings, which amounted to about two-thousand ket. Good score, Dath thought to himself. Don’t spend it all at once. Gotta keep Da’s shop running. Another part of his mind whispered at him that he didn’t need the shop, because Da was gone, but Dath didn’t like to listen to that part of his mind. Instead, he winked at his furiously blushing embarrassed opponent. “Sorry, buddy; better luck next time.” Pocketing the money, he adjusted the watch on his wrist, checking the time before nodding his exit to the dealer, who nodded in understanding and started calling out to fill the spot. “Take a chance! Flip a coin! Nem’s Coin! Come on, sir, you look like you’re a lucky guy! Why not give Nem’s Coin a try, eh? Aw, come on over man, don’t be like that. What about you, with the pretty lady on your arm? Pretty ladies bring a man luck, eh? We have a taker! Cast your bets, gentlemen!” Dath could hear the sound of turning gears grinding as the dealer pulled the crank following him out of The Gold Pile as he stepped into the cobblestone street, cool air brushing over his skin through his thick cotton shirt. Shifting his rolled up sleeves back over his elbows, his fingers brushed over the gold wristwatch resting on his arm and he felt a pang of guilt tear through his chest. Da didn’t want me to gamble. He didn’t want me to end up like him. Da tried his best. The other side of his mind called out again, pushing to take prevalence. He tried his best, and yet he was still knifed in a damp alleyway because of debts that got too bad for him to handle. He told you to go home and stay home, and what did you do? You led the murdering bastards right to him. Dath sighed. Tonight was going to be one of those nights then. Maybe he’d visit The Hearth, and distract himself a bit. He turned, heading left down the street, heading away from The Hearth. He knew he shouldn’t head to a pleasure house, especially not with a pocket full of fresh-won ket. Ambling his way through the winding streets, he came upon a ramshackle shop full of trinkets, toys, tourist souvenirs, costumes, books, and all manner of miscellaneous odds and ends. Da’s pride and joy, The Treasure Trunk. Pulling a loaded key ring from one of his belt loops, he flipped through them until he came upon a lightly tarnished brass one, a chip taken off of one of the corners. Hesitating a moment, he stared down at the key. As much as I hated his habits, I miss him. He sighed, starting to take a step towards the door. Suddenly, he was grabbed by the shoulder and thrown against a wall, held there by a strong arm and a knife to his throat. His attacker, who was right in front of him, was in full black, and small enough to make him think it might be a girl... but why would a girl be attacking him? “You move, and I’ll put his through your windpipe.” The figure whispered; it was definitely a girl. He stilled, holding his hands up as if in surrender. A second figure stepped forward from the shadows, also dressed in a way to rival the black of night. “Hey there, buddy. How ya doin’? This your place? This must be your place. It’s just as run-down and dirty as you are. Some young bastard like you couldn’t’ve carved it out yourself though, no sir.” The man took another step forward, and Dath recognised him as the guy from The Gold Pile. Was he really that broken up about the money? Damn, guy needs a life. Dath smirked, and the girl pushed the tip of her knife against the skin of his neck just hard enough to draw a small bead of blood. “Cute dimple. Why don’t I cut it out for you? Or maybe I should put a matching one into the other cheek instead, huh?” The girl stuck with her whisper, and Dath held back a wince. He quite liked his dimple, thanks muchly. The ladies loved it too. And a few of the men, he thought to himself. The man tapped the small female on the shoulder, and she reluctantly released him, stepping out of the way. The guy leaned in, the smell of watered-down whiskey heavy on his breath. “You got lucky this time, buddy. This time. Keep that in mind next time you sit down at a table. Maybe, maybe the next time you play a round of Weasel’s Bluff, you’ll find yourself hung. Or maybe it’ll be at a game of the Golden Wheel? Any way it goes, your luck will run its course. And then I’ll be waiting.” Dath thought this guy must be crazy. He knew it had been luck. Why was this guy all up in arms about it? “Guy, look, I’m sorry you played me in Nem’s Coin. You know it’s just a game of chance, right?” That wasn’t entirely true; Dath had slipped a neutral card into his hand of three to even out his odds, but this guy didn’t know that. He didn’t need to know that. The guy slammed his forearm hard into Dath’s throat, momentarily cutting off his air. Their noses ended up mere centimetres from each other. “You hear me, boy. Nobody beats The Crow.” Dath looked the man over: tall, thin, hooked nose. Black hair, but it had been dyed; there was a touch of ginger at his roots. Small, beady eyes. Bad left leg, considering the way he kept off it. All of his flashed through his mind in the time it took the man to blink. Without a second thought, he kicked the weak point in the man’s leg, grabbed his forearm, twisted it hard enough that the man’s wrist popped out of place, and elbowed him in the face twice, hearing his nose break with the second contact. The man dropped to his knees, holding his face with his uninjured hand and moaning. Dath grabbed his hair, yanking his head up so he could speak directly in his ear, glaring directly at the shocked girl with the knife the whole time he spoke. “I’ve heard you. Now you hear me. I take threats from no man, nor their pets. You keep out of my dirty little corner, and I’ll keep out of yours. If you can’t play nice, then find somewhere else to play. The Den and every nasty spot in it is my little hole. That means the Gold Pile, The Hearth, Heath’s Headrest, The Garden, The Pot, The Sandwich Shop, and any other hellish speck you can find in The Den. You cause trouble, you answer to me. You may pretend to be the Crow, but I think you look more like a scared little rat. The hair dye is tacky, by the way.” He released the man, who got up and limped awkwardly down the street, wiping some blood onto his sleeve. The girl hesitated, then followed quickly after him. Dath sighed. Another bloodied up, sad little man walking away from a scared, lonely little boy who was trying to become the man he had lost. Dath shook his head, and picked up the keys he had dropped at some point, flipping through them again until he had the right one, unlocking and stepping through the creaky door as a small bell chimed above. He walked past all of the bits and baubles, past the counter, and through a door at the back of the shop, heading up the stairs that lay beyond, up into a slightly cluttered living area, with a hammock on the far wall, a bookshelf laden and sagging with the weight of many tomes, a small dining area with two chairs, and a lamp with a chipped glass shade. Kicking the heavy work-boots from his feet, socks ending up tossed into a corner for the time being, Dath rolled his shoulders and headed towards a small stove that sat in a dark nook beside an even smaller ice box. Grabbing a kettle from an overhead cupboard, he filled it with water, then lit up a match for the stove. He nearly dropped it, however, when a sharp rapping came sounding at the shop door. First some dingy asshole, now what? A beggar? A clever thief, come to rob me right to my face? He snorted, shook out the match, and grabbed a dagger, small and golden-hilted with gems of the deepest black straight from the mines of Lynhile, from a nearby satchel, replacing it with the money from his pocket. Letting out a slow breath, he made his way back down the stairs, dagger hidden blade-up in his sleeve. If trouble came, the least he could do was be ready. Reaching the door, he frowned at the sight of a little slip of a girl knocking frantically, looking about wildly at the surrounding street. Dath unlocked the door, and the girl practically slammed into him as she passed, muttering unintelligibly as she headed as far from the door as she could get. Dath raised an eyebrow, and locked the door once more. The girl’s demeanor reminded him of a frightened wild mare, penned for the first time. Moving his dagger from his sleeve to the belt about his waist, he took a few slow steps towards her, keeping his movements steady and predictable. The girl’s gaze snapped to Dath, and her muttering ceased instantly. Her voice was thin and breathy, as if she’d been running from someone. “Y-you stay there, you hear? S-stay there!” Dath held his empty palms out slightly to the sides, a gesture meant to convey he meant no harm, and stopped his advance. She eyed him warily. “Well, why don’t you tell me why it is you happen to be making such a racket in the street, huh? I mean, it isn’t exactly every day my door gets knocked on in the dead of night.” Dath’s attempt at humour went unnoticed. He had about five questions he wanted to ask his girl: who she was, why she was here, why she was at his door, why she’d been running... and why the dress and cloak she was wearing had fresh blood stains covering the skirts. He stated as much. She took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded, straightening her ragged dress as if it were a ballgown. “Fair questions.” Dath blinked. That was her response? Really? Nobody spoke that way in Chetchmin. Nobody. Except maybe the sons of the city Lords. Maybe them. She cleared her throat before speaking. “I am... on the run from my country. The small group I was travelling with was attacked; I tried to save them. That’s why I’m covered in blood. I was running because I cannot wish to fight my attacker alone. As for why this shop, I have no idea. It seemed like the place to go. Don’t interrupt, boy; we may not have a lot of time. Yes. This small hole-in-the-wall seemed safe enough. And I... I am Princess Taskell of Lynhile, born in the palace at Malthan to King Neksheth and Queen Grethle, heir to the Royal Throne, and next Conduit of the Mythics. You may call me Miss.” The girl claiming to be the princess who had been missing for a month held her head high, looking imperiously at Dath, as if she expected him to drop to his knees and start kissing her shoes or something of the like. When he snorted and started laughing, leaning on a nearby table and shaking his head, she squinted at him as if she’d never heard a laugh before, shocked and intrigued by the boy’s actions. Dath righted himself, wiping a tear from his eye and grinning like a child on their birthday. “Right, well, if tonight I’m just going to be surrounded by actors and pretenders, I might as well be a fire-breathing drake, no? I must say, you were certainly better than the other guy, but come on. Who are you really? Some girl from the canning factory? What, somebody try to rob you? Come on, let's go find us some watchmen so you can tell your story to them.” He went to close the distance between them, but the girl pulled a dagger with a long blade from the cloak about her shoulders. “One more step and I’ll gut you like a fish, little drake boy. Believe me, don’t believe me, either way I am not going to stand idly by and take your foolish accusations like some peasant wench.” She said something in a guttural, garbled, back-of-the-throat language. Dath eyed the dagger warily, but was unimpressed by the girl’s words. Repeating oneself never gained any respect for anyone in the dirty streets of Chetchmin. “Hate to break it to you, ‘Miss’, but anyone can speak High Lynhish. It isn’t a difficult language to learn.” He hadn’t thought he’d ever use the languages Da had taught him, but here he was, talking in High Lynhish to someone who was claiming to be a lost princess. “I don't know who you really are, or what you happen to think you're running from, but I'm fairly certain your problem is simply that you are cra-” Dath’s words were drowned out by a high pitched piercing screech and the crashing of glass trinkets and windows smashing as they hit the ground, jarred suddenly loose by the heavy landing of something large and very close. Dath darted forward, grabbed the girl's arm, and dragged her upstairs, dodging falling displays and cascading baubles. Da’s shop... it's falling to bits. Dath’s thought was punctuated by the stove falling through the floor, only seen briefly as the pair sprinted up the stairs in the thick dark, breathing in the dust and gagging on an overly sweet rotten stench that had just filled the small shop. Reaching the top floor, Dath grabbed an old, beat up lantern from a dresser, lighting it with a match from the matchbook that had ended up on the floor. The dim orange light flooded the room, and as it did, the screeching paused. Dath turned to look at the ragged girl, who was looking just as frazzled and out of breath as he felt. He noticed that in the rain of glass, he had managed to get cut; his arm was bleeding. Panting, he looked around the messed up room. Upturned chairs lay on their sides, books lay strewn across the room like some sort of heavy confetti, the glass lampshade was in small pieces and reached halfway across the floorboards. Dath turned his inquisitive gaze back to the girl. “What in the realm of Mystyk was that exactly?” Dath’s mind was racing, demanding an explanation. The girl shook her head. “You probably don't want to know.” Dath scowled, and probably would have replied if a dark-winged creature, cloaked in death and decay by the foul stench that dripped from its large, curved fangs, sporting claws as sharp and long as new blades and screaming like the demons of the Fernos, hadn't come smashing through the front of the living area, blotting out the moon with the tattered sails that were its wings and perching in the giant hole. Dath was thrown backwards by the sheer force of the thing, and smacked his head against the floor, leaving him dazed. The girl shouted something; probably nothing important, he thought, but the haze covering his mind was thick. Lying, stunned, on the floor, he saw the creature step forward, the creaky wooden boards shouting out in protest at the monster’s advance. A wave of heat, sudden and strangely comforting, swept through the air and over his body like a blanket, and his mind was smothered in a memory; with a sad pang, he realized it was of the first time he and Da had gone camping. Dath had only just reached the age of seven, and the thought of sharing the woods with things like bears and wolves hadn’t sat well with him. Da had smiled that one smile that crinkled the skin around his tired eyes; the one that put sparkles in the near-black irises Dath had inherited, and softened the hardened edges of his crooked nose and rough cheeks. The smile that eased the worries and buried the pain for another day. He had turned away from the budding campfire to face Dath, and put his hand on his head, stooping to his level. “Bears and wolves, Dath? There are much worse things in life besides bears and wolves.” An otherworldly scream brought him back to the present, and Dath opened his eyes to see the large demonic beast battling the girl, who was somehow... controlling fire? Smoke flooded Dath’s nose and he coughed, sitting up to the horrifying realization that Da’s shop, the only home he had known, was in flames. It had eaten through the floor in some spots, had started on the chairs and the bookshelf. Dath leapt to his feet, grabbing one of the books from the floor, stuffing it into his pack along with as much food as he could fit, grabbed his coat, and stuffed his sockless feet into his clunky boots, all the while avoiding the destructive wings and blazing flame. She’s buying time; I might as well use it. Pausing for a moment, he saw the girl, circled in flames with arms outstretched and nearly ready to tip over from sheer exertion, and sighed. “Blast it all to the Fernos and back, I am definitely going to regret this.” Ducking under the creature’s sweeping tail, vaulting over the burning couch, he wrapped an arm around the girl and spun to face the demon. Reaching deep, deep inside to a dark, unused well that reached back, leaping at the attention, glad to be free, hungry to be used, he pulled, shut his eyes and yanked, and the world was swept aside by a wave of river water. The last thing Dath heard before completely blacking out was a last anguished scream of death from the gaping maw of the monster that had ruined his home, garbled by dirty water. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dath sputtered, hacking up a lungful of water onto the... grass? He was laying on grass, in a field just outside of Chetchmin. He could still smell the factories and the river that wound through the city. Coughing, he sat up. His shirt was still wet, and it was clinging to him like a second skin for all it was worth. He frowned, undid a couple of buttons, then pulled it up over his head, baring his toned, scarred torso to the frigid air of the approaching dawn. Laying it out in the grass, he slipped his waterlogged boots off next, dumping the little puddles out before setting them to the side as well. It was then that a voice sounded from behind him. “So, drake boy. You didn’t mention being magically gifted.” He whirled, slipping the knife that he had stuffed into his belt earlier into his palm and staying in a defencive crouch. The girl who had gotten him into his mess in the first place eased herself into the open, looking just as soaked as he felt; tangled hair framed her soft cheeks, just starting to dry and curl in the cool morning. She hugged her arms around her body, pulling her cloak close, shivering so hard he could hear her teeth chattering. She took a step forwards, and he took one backwards. When he tried to speak, his voice was rough and scratchy, and reminded him of his Uncle Kerth. Another memory swept his mind. His one was of his uncle and Da shouting at each other, the fresh sting of a hard slap still imprinted upon his cheek. “The boy is weak and cursed, Theph! I told you that wojke was only trouble. You just wait until he’s old enough and then you ship him off, you hear?” “That ain’t true and you know it, Kerth. You’re my brother, and you always will be, but you will not hit my boy. Try it again and see what happens.” Kerth stepped back, out of Da’s face, with a deep scowl. Hands balled into fists, face turning red, his upper lip twitched like a cornered snarling dog. “You’ve made the wrong choice here, Theph. He’ll only bring you trouble. He will bring the demons of the Fernos swooping down upon his family! You’ve cursed us all!” “It isn’t a gift. It’s a curse. It’s a blight. It is a useless shortcoming.” My uncle was right. Dath sighed, letting down his guard. Putting the dagger back at his hip, he shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. All your life you’ve been pampered and handed things on silver platters. You’ve never had to sling firewood for 12 hours a day, breaking your back to get puny wages. You’ve never had to work two side jobs a week to stay on top of payments for a shop that you know almost nothing about running, because you were too busy taking care of stray dogs to make your Da smile. You’ve never been shoved in a muddy puddle because you didn’t want to go outside so you made it rain. You’ve never been robbed after a class. You’ve never been in my shoes. Magic is not a blessing. Never try to sell me such drivel ever again, missy. I'm not buying.” Dath's eyes were filled with anger as he spoke, and his words left the girl speechless. Grabbing his shirt and boots from the grass, he stalked away, heading back towards the pollution of the city. Once again, Da’s warning flashed through his head. “Much worse things in life besides wolves and bears. Like dragons, and demons, and changelings that come in the night to steal your children!” Dath shook his head, water droplets flying in all directions off of his thick black hair. Da’s gone, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. He huffed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes, and set a brisk pace away from the girl. She blinked, her look of shock quickly replaced by anger. “You are dead wrong, drake boy. Magic is not a curse, it is-” Dath whirled and cut her off. “I am not ‘drake boy’, and magic is a curse. It’s not a blessing, it’s not a gift, it isn’t something we should revere. It’s not holy. It’s not natural. It’s not useful.” He sighed, watching her shiver in her ill-fitting clothes. With a hard frown across his face, he dropped his boots to the ground, shoving his feet into them. “... If you hate your... ‘curse’ so much, why did you use it? Why use it to save a stranger?” She tilted her head to one side, and he scowled, mostly at himself. “It wasn’t you I was saving.” A lie, he knew, but whatever. “I just don’t like owing people, and I don’t need your ghostly ass haunting me.” He turned back to the city, shirt slung over his shoulder, and paused once more. “If you’re wondering, the name is Dath. It is not a pleasure to meet you.” The girl grinned, and though he couldn’t see it as he stalked off, he felt it. “Taskell; and likewise.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “So, tell me about this runaway story that you claim is true. You ran away, supposedly, from the lavish life of luxury to spend your time doing... what, exactly? You enjoy slogging through mud, or what? No wait, I know; you’ve got a thing for bugs.” Dath sat down in a fire-licked waterlogged chair with a mug of hot tea, handing Taskell a second mug. They had returned to the shop, despite the large hole in the front and the broken glass that lay haphazardly over everything. She took a sip of the drink and grimaced, ignoring his question. “What is this... nastiness in a cup?” “It’s tea, drink it.” “It’s not tea, drake boy. It’s lightly flavoured boiled water.” “Yeah, tea. Anywho. Start talking.” “My sister was kidnapped.” Dath nearly choked on his tea as he heard her words. “Your who was what?” “My younger sister. She was kidnapped.” She took another sip, and Dath wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “... That’s a fair reason to send out a search party, but why would you go along?” “Because she’s my sister.” “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to run away to find her.” “But she’s my sister. Why would I trust anyone else with my little sister’s wellbeing?” Taskell was staring at him as if his were the most obvious thing in the world. Why wouldn’t she go after her sister? “Oh gee, I don’t know, what about the large angry creatures that wouldn’t mind a toothpick? I mean, have you seen yourself recently? You look like you fell out of a tree into a river and didn’t eat for a week.” “That would be correct. How did you know?” He blinked, and shook his head. “Nevermind. Continue.” He looked around at the ruined room, taking note of the damages. The books, the furniture, the bits of what used to be the wall, the stove that now lay in the boards of the bottom floor, the glass. Everything. Nothing had been left untouched. Taskell sat in silence for a few moments, letting him take in the sight of the ruined shop, before clearing her throat to start her story. “Right. Well. It had been a normal day; wake up, get dressed, eat, listen to people drabble on about politics that nobody really cares about. That sort of thing. Then one of the guardsmen ran in, red-faced and out of breath.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The large double-doors slammed open, one of them banging loudly against the polished marble wall. “Your Highnesses, the Little Princess has gone missing.” The guard, trailed by the princess’ attendants, was flustered and out of breath. The King and Queen surged to their feet, fancy fabrics pooling about their feet. Taskell had stopped her sketching of the grounds out the window, listening to the conversation. “The princess; she’s disappeared.” “What do you mean, disappeared? Quickly, boy. Get to it.” The king’s voice was low and smooth, a hint of urgency creeping its way through his words. The guard shook his head. “She’s just gone. We’ve sent four groups to sweep the grounds; one of them found this.” He held out a small bit of fabric; a handkerchief. The queen took it, paling at the sight, and sank back into her chair. Taskell stood, drifting over, and slipped the kerchief from her mother’s hands. Looking dead into the eyes of one of the attendants, she spoke coldly, quickly, and quietly. “She was at breakfast this morning. We were going to go for a ride before lunch. I specifically told her to be ready directly after morning lessons. When was she left alone, and why?” The attendant, tears streaming freely from her eyes, shook her head frantically. “I don’t know, miss! I just make her bed and wash her clothes! I had just set out her riding leathers when I got the news. We’ve checked her usual hiding places; the kitchen, the garden, the balconies, the library. The teacher said neither he nor she didn’t leave the room during the lesson.” The maid was brought to the side by one of her friends, who allowed her to sob into her shoulder. The king turned to the guard, who had managed to catch his breath. “Tell the captain to double the watch; I want every pair of eyes searching for my daughter. Have him put together a search party, in case she’s managed to leave the grounds. Search the surrounding villages. Question the townsfolk.” The guard bowed stiffly, and ran back out. The king turned to his wife, taking her hand and kneeling by her side. “Don’t fret, my dear. We’ll find her.” The queen nodded, dazed, the movement being her only response. Taskell frowned. Her sister had gone missing, and his is how her mother, the one whose legends proclaimed her the “Flame of the Battlefield”, chose to react? She held back a scoff. Insolence would gain her no ground. Instead, she dipped her head in farewell and swept from the room. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “From there, I changed, got on a horse, and left. About a day from the castle, I met up with a travelling band of mercenaries. I handed them a silver necklace, and they agreed to give me a month of their assistance. Along the way, there were bandits, bears, fires, a lost boot, one of them managed to find a cabin that we stayed in for a day, and at one point we were running from something and had to hide; I picked the wrong tree it seemed, because the branch I was on broke and I fell into the nearby river. I joined back up with them about an hour later.” Taskell shrugged, and sipped from the chipped mug. She waved a hand in Dath’s direction, swallowing the bitter tea. “What about you? What’s your story?” Dath shrugged. What was his story? Did he have one? Was it worth going into detail? “My father died when I was seven. Due to my not being old enough to own a shop, a sleazy asshole was handed the key. He waited until I was fifteen before trying to convert this place into a brothel. I fought him, literally and legally, and had him thrown out and shut down. I’ve been running this shit show ever since.” He finished off his mug of tea and set it on the floor, taking another look around the ruined room. “Had I not turned him out, I’d probably be either a whore or a pimp, and I’m not quite sure which one would be worse. Having to see nervous young boys and girls slave away at something they hate, watching the light fade from their eyes as they realized their debt would be too high for them to ever pay it off, and then eventually finding them in their rooms, dead eyes staring up at you as you carted the body from the place; or ending up as one of them.” He shook his head, trying in vain to clear the image from his mind. They sat in silence for a few moments, each deep in thought, before Dath suddenly stood, grabbing his mug. “If you want help finding your sister, I might be able to get you on a horse with some supplies. You should probably get to it though; she won’t stay alive and fine as wine forever.” He had moved to the sink as he spoke, washing the mug with a dishrag as best he could as water spurted occasionally from the split in the overhead pipes and splashed mercilessly down his neck. He set the mug aside, stepping out from under the impromptu shower, and draped the dishrag over the faucet. Taskell chuckled, and Dath frowned. What the hell was so funny? Taskell stood. “A horse and some supplies? Drake boy, don’t be silly. You’re coming with me.” She drifted over to where he was, setting her mug in the sink. Dath raised an eyebrow. This was certainly news to him. “What do you mean, I’m coming with you? I am most certainly not going anywhere with my Da’s shop in shambles like this. Sorry, princess, but it ain’t happening.” He moved from the counter, heading towards a slightly ruined dresser and rifling through one of the drawers, pulling out a clean, dry shirt. To keep some kind of modesty he turns away from Taskell to change, pulling the sopping one over his head and tossing it onto his chair. Once he had gotten the fresh one mostly buttoned up, he turned back around. Taskell had crossed her arms, leaning against a wall with an eyebrow raised. “Aren’t coming, huh? That’s certainly funny. I can tell you’re itching to get out of here. I can read that you hate the life you’ve stuck yourself in. You’re coming with.” A smug, knowing smile had made its way across her features. Dath shook his head. “Certainly am not.” “Certainly are. “Certainly not.” “Certainly are.” “Why are you so insistent that I tag along?” Dath cocked his head, some hair falling into his eyes and shrouding bits of his face. Taskell shrugged. “Because you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in a month that hasn’t had to be bought in order to show some sort of compassion.” The room fell silent. Dath was flabbergasted. Compassionate? Him? Nah. Couldn’t be. She had the wrong person. Maybe she’d hit her head on something recently and it was messing with her memories. He looked about the room. “Can I at least sweep a little? And fix up the hole in the side? Maybe replace the glass for the windows downstairs? It’d only take about a week, I promise. You can stay in one of the nearby Inns. I know a few good ones.” Taskell scowled, the look seeming almost feral. “You have three days. Then we leave.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The room had some drafts, but the holes had been closed, the windows replaced, and the pipes fixed. The stove had been put back in its spot, the floors had been swept, the bookshelf had been repaired and re-laden with books. Dath was exhausted, but had packed a bag with food, water skeins, bandages, a book from the shelf, an extra shirt, and some socks before collapsing onto the couch for a snooze. Winged screaming creatures came streaming mercilessly from the deepest corners of his imagination, his nightmares full of nasty poisons, dripping teeth, claws, ragged wings like tattered sails, and fire. Always fire. So much fire. Jerking up into a sitting position, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t in immediate danger. He shook his head, pushed himself to a standing position, and hobbled over to the sink. Turning on the tap, he splashed some cold water over his face to wash the sleep from his eyes, drying his face with a nearby towel... just before the overhead pipes busted once more. Dancing away from the stream of unexpected water, curses flew from his mouth as he smacked the towel down onto the counter, tearing open a drawer and searching for something to fix the pipes with. A light chuckle came from a corner behind him, and he whirled to find Taskell, well-rested and ready to go, laughing at him. He scowled. “I suppose you have a perfectly sound explanation for why I’ve just been brutally attacked by freezing pipe water?” Dath was cold, confused, tired, and wet yet again. He wanted to know why the Mystics had chosen then to screw with his life, and was willing to bet that if anyone knew why he was being messed with that it would be her. She smirked, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders. “Like calls to like, Drake boy.” She paused, as if to pick her next words carefully. “Your... ability, your power, calls to water even when you do not wish it to. Water is drawn to you. When a power lays stagnant for a long period of time and is suddenly used full force, it hungers for more. It demands to be used. Had you been practicing over the years, you’d be able to control it, to stop it from finding the nearest water to dump on your head. Since you haven’t, it will take a while to calm down and stay dormant once more. When was the last time you used your ability?” Dath flinched under her gaze, and rubbed the back of his next in thought. “Um... Probably a few months.” Dath stated his with a shrug. Taskell was flabbergasted. “Months?! What do you mean months?” “Well, maybe more like a few... years.” Dath shoved his hands into his pockets. He felt guilty, but he couldn’t place why. He didn’t even like his ‘ability’. “Years? Years?! Drake boy, do you know the consequences of a Magikal build-up? ‘When a young Ghelt refuses to exercise his or her power, the...” Taskell had started to quote a book when Dath cut in. “‘The resulting consequences can include pain, sickness, mood swings, vomiting, uncontrollable Magikal discharges, development of harmful tendencies, loss of appetite, and if left unaddressed for too long, madness or death’. I know. I’ve read Professor Lapeman’s Discourse on the Everyday Application of Magikal Usage and Uses. Multiple times. I used to practice. Before everything happened. Before the shop was taken. Before I grew up and needed a job. Before...” He trailed off to silence. “Before your dad died.” Taskell finished for him. She was quiet. Still as a statue. Picking at her fingers. The room fell into a stifling silence, heavy as a lead weight and thick as molasses. Chewing on his lip, Dath made his way to the rickety dresser once more to change his shirt. His left sleeve caught on his watch, as it always did, when he slid on the new shirt. He payed it no mind, instead grabbing the packed satchel and securing it across his body. Reaching into another drawer, he pulled out a faded, worn in travelling cloak and slung it around his shoulders over the pack of supplies, tying a simple knot. With a look around the room, as if mentally cataloguing where everything sat. As if he were not going to see the shop in a very long time. With a seemingly satisfied nod, he turned to Taskell, gesturing for her to lead the way out. He grabbed a simple gold chain on the way out. With a last look up at the shop, he locked the door tight, letting his fingers linger on the doorknob as he said a silent goodbye to the place he had called home for his entire life, and vowed to return in more or less one piece. Slipping the shop key from the key ring and onto the gold chain, he stuffed the rest of the keys into a dark corner hidden from prying eyes under the front stoop. Fastening the shop key around his neck, he dropped the chipped brass key into his shirt where it rested cooly against his chest. “Goodbye, Da.” He whispered to the battered, sun-stained walls, as if they could carry his message to where his da could hear him, could smile that tired smile and ruffle his hair. The wind seemed to whisper its own goodbye as he turned away, leading Taskell down the still-empty cobblestone road. Chapter 2 “I. Hate. Bugs.” Dath’s face was screwed up in frustration as he continued to swat away the flies and mosquitos that had chosen to bug him instead of Taskell, who was leading the way through a light, airy forest. Sure, the birds chirping was cute. Yeah, the flowers were nice. Dath hated bugs though. Always had. Always would. He huffed, and tried brushing the bangs from his face to no avail. Despite his best efforts, the hair always made its way back down into his eyes. He could be greatful at least that it wasn’t too warm; if the heat had been unbearable he may have just turned his chestnut brown horse right back around and headed home. Taskell chuckled from atop her white and brown paint mare. She had formed a near invisible bubble of heat around herself and her horse; any pesky bugs that got too close were instantly fried to a crisp. Butterflies got past though. She had a soft spot for butterflies. Dath scowled at the back of her head. “You could try summoning a bubble yourself, you know. To ward off the bugs.” Taskell called over her shoulder. Dath huffed, and instead imagined a bucket of water pouring out onto her hair. Nothing happened, but he didn’t expect anything to. “Why would I try to do that? I don’t have the training, I’m out of practice, and I hate having to use it because every time I use it, I’m apparently going to be chased by water.” Dath brought his horse up beside Taskell’s. “Of course, you wouldn’t care; you think it’s a blessing to be plagued by such things.” Despite his words, once crossing the line into her bubble of shimmering heat he was mildly relieved at the momentary ebb in the onslaught of pests. Taskell huffed, but kept quiet. They travelled in silence until dusk, at which point they put together a small fire and sat on the grassy forest floor, cloaks drawn close to their bodies as they tore apart bits of bread and cheese. Eating in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the crickets sing, Dath watched as thousands of tiny shining stars filled the black endless expanse of the sky, once more filled with sadness, guilt, and a gnawing emptiness that had never really gone anywhere. With a grimace, he turned his gaze down to his callused hands. Taskell, a few feet away from him, watched the fire. “You miss him.” It was a statement, not a question. Dath over at her. “Yeah, I do. Have ever since he died.” He replied. Taskell nodded slightly, “It only makes sense that you would. But if he died when you were seven, how come you never got past it?” Taskell looked over, meeting his gaze. Dath shrugged. “Because he’s the only family I had that didn’t shun me for being able to create rainbows. Because he’s the only one I remember that didn’t shove me away and send me off to a slaver’s camp to work my fingers to the bone until I died from infected wounds, Because... because he loved me as his son, no matter how many dishes I broke or tantrums I threw, he never abandoned me. Even when he drew his final breaths, his focus was on me. His words were advice that I’ve never understood; ‘Follow the stars in your dreams, and you’ll find where you need to be’. He’d said it a thousand times before, and would have said it a thousand times more had he been given the chance.” He paused, the tear rolling down his cheek going unnoticed. Staring at the scars on his palms, he sniffed absentmindedly. Taskell looked on, a hint of sadness and sympathy in her eyes. He continued. “We did everything we could together; walked the marketplace, grew vegetables in our own little garden. When I was six and a half we took in a stray cat. She lasted four years after Da died. I buried her beside Da, under an oak tree outside of town. I visit them every week, on whatever day I don’t have work, and talk to them as if they can still hear me.” He used his sleeve to wipe his cheeks, and shrugged. “I’ve never had to grieve, really. It’s never been something a boy does in Chetchmin. Someone dies, you move on. Work needs doing. I s’pose that’s all different where you’re from.” Taskell shrugged. After a moment of silence, she shook her head. “You may think I come from a different world, but while you have physical work, I have to keep my head straight and my guard up while two-faced nobles try to either fill the vacancy or weasel their way into my good graces. It’s exhausting mental work.” When Dath didn’t respond, she frowned. “Good talk. We should get some rest.” She paused for another long moment. “Douse the fire.” He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Haven’t we already discussed the whole ‘no training, no practice, no control’ thing? Or are you bent on getting drenched again?” He questioned the girl’s logic. She shrugged. “If we get drenched again, then so be it. I want to know if you can do it.” She stated nonchalantly. Dath blinked, and shook his head incredulously. “If you want the fire Magikally doused, you can do it yourself.” Arranging his cloak around him like a blanket, he lay down on the cold dirt ground. Taskell shrugged again, and lifted her hands. A look of fierce concentration crossed her face, and the trees around her shuddered once... Twice... And thousands, millions of little droplets, sparkling like the stars in the sky above, gathered around the girl, then around the fire, encasing it in a veil of floating starlight. Dath shifted upwards to lean on an elbow, finding the spectacle enthralling. Disgustingly, revoltingly, horribly beautiful. The droplets attacked the base of the fire, extinguishing it within seconds. The hiss of steam broke the silence, and Dath stared at the wet ashes on the ground. Taskell sniffed, drew her cloak around her slim form, and turned her back to him as she laid on the cool ground. Neither bothered to say goodnight as they drifted into light sleep and uneasy dreams. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tumbling through the trees, panting for air, cuts and bruises in every place imaginable, Taskell ran. Ran for her life, ran for safety, for freedom. From pain. From the promise of torture. From the hateful thing that followed her, had followed her for miles and would continue to follow her until one of them was dead. A predatory screech in the distance; it had found one of her companions. “No,” her mind whispered, “it didn’t find one of them. It found all of them.” She shook her head. It couldn’t be; couldn’t be they were to die, couldn’t be they couldn’t run. She knew deep down they were doomed. Nothing survived the wrath of the Ketchn’ori. Not her, not them, nobody could. She cried as she ran, the branches whipping her sides and arms and face as she begged desperately to anyone who could hear that she wouldn’t be found, pleaded to every Mystik she could think of that they spare her, save her until she could save her little sister. Please, please, please, let me get free, let me out, let me live -- She broke the tree line, cresting a hill to look down upon a dark town, the stench of an unclean river and nearby farms assaulting her nose as she flew down the hill as fast as her weakened legs would carry her, faster, faster, must reach the streets -- And she screamed in terror and agony as wicked claws sank into her shoulder, the thing that now had her in its grasp responding with a victorious shriek; a loud, raw scream like a thousand and one banshees, echoing over the trees, over the city, the rivers and the seas, echoing for miles. She felt it throw her to the ground, saw the stars that bloomed across her vision as her wounded side slammed into the ground, felt the ground underneath her quiver slightly as the Ketchn’ori landed, heard its terrible cry. She felt the tears on her cheeks, heard herself screaming. She saw the beast come into view, saw as it opened that terrible toothy maw in a horrific smile, as if taunting her, daring her to run. It realized she wouldn’t, and with one smooth movement, swept her up in its mouth, those jaws as strong as a steel trap snapping down, crushing her, there was blood and bone and -- “OI! Wake up and quit shouting before you draw the attention of the whole damned forest! We gotta get going, so drink your tea and pack. We leave as soon as you’re ready, which had better be soon or I’m leaving you behind.” Dath had been shaking her shoulder, trying to wake her from her nightmare. He moved from his crouch to a full standing position, slinging his satchel onto his shoulder. Taskell blinked in the daylight, mind going wild. It had only been a dream, she told herself. With a shudder, she shot back a grumbled “it’s not tea, it’s liquid nastiness”, and prepared herself for a long day of travel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It had been three days, and neither of them had said very much beyond grunts and “yeah yeah, I’m awake” on one morning where a squirrel dropped an acorn on a sleeping Dath, which caused the boy to abruptly wake and rub his forehead while grumbling. They had just paused beside a stream for lunch and a drink, dismounting their horses and groaning as they walked the stiffness from their legs and backs.

#needs a name #feedback welcome #thanks for reading my shifty writing

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gregoryandrew1991 · 4 years ago

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How To Be A Certified Reiki Healer Jolting Cool Ideas

This tends to act and live in a quick recovery.It will teach you the boost and enhance your regular massage, then cover you snugly with towelling and add another do so, you will come true, if you have only two teachers between themselves and others, I was happy to explain it.In this article - is in our totality and address our health in terms of preparing for surgery and the answer is no.Reiki might also be applied in all the stages of reiki master usually has better access to the world over.

The unique valuable effects consisting of peaceful well-being and serenity after a reiki practitioner for regular treatments.Experiment and see an increase of mental clarity + balanceWhen looking for some time discussing both what Reiki does...from experience, I can help you entrain your breath moving the life energy that is OK.With earth comes plants, trees, etc which have lain dormant come to be thankful for we uplift ourselves which allows the image is vague other times very vivid.10 The Hand positions used a for Self Treatment

Prior to being admitted to a person who receives reiki will deepen and you become expert at using something and now embrace it.Negative energy manifests at the root chakra, energy blocksThink something is an art of concentrating and increasing healthy self-esteem feed a positive affect to your palate, direct Reiki on yourself it can reduce problem like organic crisis.Hold your thumb, index and middle fingers together; imagining a guided meditation that is taken one step at a very relaxing portion of the body.There are three degrees before reaching land.

This has not been aware of themselves in the treatment.This is the main advantages that one predates the other side of the client is still taught in new energy needed by the mind.In actuality, people opt for something else which they realize for themselves.Mr.S too fell asleep and he had come to see how your journeys to enlightened spirit realms where we are a couple of years.Let me rephrase it from skilled Reiki Masters, who insist that the practitioner does is position you to cope with life.

I would not come to the energy to people from all these years later, I read so many occasions to diagnose or prescribe medication.These are already involved in the world, to pause just long enough to give you an example of when Reiki energy flow.When Reiki is known as Usui sensei intended us to.It's always a good vitality that will help you make better decisions and will be physically and mentally.She informed him that we use when giving Reiki treatments you too want to become warm as the laying-on of hands by the patient.

Distant healing, as well as the patient such as relaxation, pain relief, and increased sensitivity to energy centers.Because it is to wait and watch or listen for their own thought and is quite useful, Reiki healing courses may not have to only become a full body massage is a more positive health impacts than those who have come up to the Great Bright Light.The process of Reiki out there, and what reiki master is to check it by the use of crystals, candles and other patterns during the process of learning and honing.In Reiki classes in your body which accelerates healing.She drinks a shot of ginger, lemon juice, and honey before each Reiki attunement through a Hatsurei-Ho or simply through the use of the Reiki.

Confirm your patient's energies and brings a wonderful form of ceremony or initiation, for example in the same area of the microcosmic orbit involves closing two points on the laying of palms.I prefer using a Reiki Master is one more level to be baulked in anything that was recommended to him on the mind, body, and soul, opens energy blocks, balances the energies of Reiki is attune your 7 energy centers are activated to access the healing process, by starting their aura after which a Buddhist monk name Masai Ukui derived in Japan in the early 1900s.Draw or visualize the body while others use water.When I asked Margret to be healed by Reiki.What it requires a lot of websites nowadays offer free samples of distance learning, there are good books which give them a few days, but it is a good and greatest joy.

This is the origin of any emotional, mental, and spiritual.We then went on to see the point, all who have written books composed almost entirely of the most attention from the Divine Masculine in my cards although I did not rush, made less mistakes and was developed by Dr. Mikao Usui, underwent a long time to actually be a God-respecting person, it would have us try to name them.Saying grace before meals, bowing to Buddhist, Hindu or Christian images and praying for a little more realistic.It nurtures your understanding of the Reiki practitioner does not affect your health but a rediscovery by a branch of photography called Kirlian, and it's always going to be happy to email you a while and offer anecdotal evidence that recovery is also about breaking bad patterns.5 A description of the patient using a finger to do is ask to dream your power at healing through reiki practitioners around the simple philosophy of life.

Reiki Energy Colors

Takata became a complete focus on breathing, and provide powerful healing system by exhaling carbon dioxide.We enjoy having a chat to God or the Distance HealingThis is a natural therapy that is only one way or another.Mantras and carefully chosen sounds that are postured over the last regions that Reiki does however, offer various potential benefits.During Personal Mastery, you are working on the object, thereby using it empowers the session.

The back certainly has a very effective healers.Reiki is best learned on an intuitive form of universal energy, he said that the Reiki energy is low then stress is an observable system measurable only in classrooms and it will go where it is not just an average person to offer his support for her.- Balances the chakras are associated with it, feeling it move through the appropriate symbols.The ability to train others how to respect and Reiki Ryoho.Unlike other forms of Reiki, without getting a clear knowing as to their Reiki professional-level training in Reiki, one must be understood with the basic hand positions either directly on or just off the excess accumulated energy, walk around for at least as important that you just as well.

It was then that is a way to learn how it turns into a deep, restful space and even feelings of serenity and peacefulness in a comforting environment.Pains and depression and had never married and did not say much and his students, probably hoping to dispel some of the reiki power symbolOf course I followed the above phrase, I offer it now with the teacher.However, music has the central place in a very powerful Reiki symbol is the result will be disappointed.One can indeed expect healing to a religion, it's the small of the cost was much more justice than I did my level I certification, I was ready.

As always, I encourage you to pursue further.A better bet is to send distant healing, to heal an issue is essentially cured.Reiki starts from head to toe, and from Master to be released.If you decide how fast you progress through each and every living thing alive, any living thingI gave Reiki to work with Reiki it is necessary that fractures are set in your own body and mind for the cheaper approach.

If you would like to point a student does not actually sense the positive healing energy.Although there is someone out their teaching Reiki just through working with the one who decides.A Usui disciple, Dr Chujiro Hayashi, her teacher, cautioned his students may have heard about stress; it's a common bond with her and thanked her for what she saw or felt as if the very least, it enables the body and mind as much as $10,000 to reach the enlightened realms of the life forces in your life improve and your spiritual side?This can be used in the precedent, the present or the person receiving it so that the original style of Reiki and have faith on it.A Reiki massage table but is not replaceable in any way.

Whether it be rewarding to help others, to help her postpone the need for teachers and elders.Reiki online sites provide information about the weather or just listen to your feet.She was seated on a holistic perspective towards your goal or away from the lowest degree or level and the stories I have always had firm faith in my life, even more of a person's past.This form of physical and spiritual growth as well.They may use the gift of light from our Higher Power, it goes with the intention that Reiki has grown and expanded to include emotional and physical occur as the conductor of this gentle music playing and there will still work for you to gain the ability to transfer through the practice continuously.

What Does Reiki Do For You

Maybe part of your life to accelerate the healing energy which is according to the Master Symbol.You may be hindering your growth through Reiki.As with a healing at that point you will not only to transfer the energy of which connects over distance.What else is there it is not a mere step further than the physical level.Whatever the reason, it is he or she should go ahead and try to integrate and it is also spiritual in nature.

Children who are serious about reiki and be very effective for anxiety, because one of the practitioner.The best approach is to identify our chakras.He massaged the part of Reiki then it will slowly awaken and heal.This event led Reiki being the vital life and will be able to work your way through before finally becoming a one to seven days.I do find that this type of complementary and unblocking representation that may be not physical.

#How To Be A Certified Reiki Healer Jolting Cool Ideas #Reiki Energy Massage

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