#Leadership Courses Cork

[htsdfferent]

she has made her journey, from girlhood to motherhood. everyday, she finds herself a new reason to be proud of the children she’s raised. ( of course, she did not work alone. she picked a good one. ) she knows while her leadership may be coming to it’s conclusion, her daughter’s has just begun. and what steps to follow in. while lori would never brag about her role as matriarch, she is well aware of the changes she has brought to her coven -- to eden’s coven. she is not absent of mistake, but she has righted wrongs, and closed chapters to bring forth a fresh blossom for her daughter.

a smile graces her features at the new presence in her green room. ( a mother knows when her child is in distress. ) fingers roll the herbs, watching as they break part and fall into their jar for safe keeping. eyes are cast over her shoulder to offer eden a reassuring smile. “of course, honey.” cork is placed atop the jar, and she places it next to her others. hands are dusted against her jeans as she turns to face eden. the smile never slips from her lips. lori pulls a spare stool towards her table, where she sits on her own. hand pats against the wood. “what’s on your mind ?”

@htsdfferent gets a starter for Lori ◡̈

She, matriarch, headstrong leader. Priestess. Mother. Eden was not only proud — but also grateful — to have Lori as her mother. A light in the dark, beacon through uncertainty. She taught Eden everything she knows, helped her sprout wings and soar. For that, Eden feels she could never repay her. How does one repay the woman who breathed life into her, who sacrificed everything just to give her a fighting chance?

No, Eden can never repay her mother. But she can make her proud. She can take the mantle that her mother gave her, wear it with pride. With purpose.

But she does have her reservations. She does hesitate. Not at her own abilities, but rather — the way she plans on going about running the Coven. Her own way. Her mother always taught her to create her own way, but Eden was dealing with her legacy now. Did that same principle apply? Or would she be confined to adhere to tradition?

❛ Hey, Mom. ❜ Eden leans on the greenhouse’s doorframe. Lithe digits run over a few of the plants — a greeting — as she steps inside, approaches the matriarch, her matriarch.

❛ You have a minute to talk? ❜ Her face is level, neutral, as always. But that won’t matter. Not to her mom. Her mother can read her like a book; she likely knows exactly why Eden is here. She likely knows her worries, fears, reservations. Perhaps she’s the only one who does. ❛ About… ❜ She doesn’t finish her sentence in words, but rather touches the pendant around her neck. The one that signifies she is the High Priestess. She is the leader. Matriarch of the Coven.

How could she ever fill her mother’s shoes, while remaining authentic to herself?

[htraining163-blog]

leadership courses and management training in cork, ireland

Do you want best leadership courses & management training in cork, ireland? No need to worry, H-training undertake courses and training in all surrounding towns also."

[enchantmentable]

Think of All the Years Gone By

Summary: It’s been five years, and Tubbo is still mourning his lost country. (a clingy duo fic)

Warnings: there’s a short argument, allusions to death and character death, grief (though it’s not horribly heavy, this is still a fic about grief and loss)

Word Count: 1710

AO3

There was a small hole in the glass floor that lay over a crater. The hole was small and jagged and hidden under an overhang of rock, but it was there and Tubbo had found it pretty easily when he’d walked over the crater the first year. He wasn’t one to miss little things like that.

He’d wondered as he’d approached if he’d be able to slip past the sharpened edges of the glass without cutting himself, but he needn’t have worried. After the first three years, he’d mostly stopped growing and had remained almost as small as he’d been during— during it. He slipped past the glass and into the crater easily. 

Sliding down the cliff face with an arm raised and a careful hand dragging over the rocks as he passed, he landed safely on the same ledge he’d landed on for the past five years. He followed the trail of footprints that had remained branded in the dust and ash down a few more meters of rock to get closer to the bottom of the crater. Once his feet hit bedrock, he spotted the boulder he’d sat on every year prior and settled himself on top of it. 

Tubbo looked up, up, up at the sky and saw it still covered in traces of night. He took a deep breath of the trapped air and waited for the sun to rise.

Briefly, Tubbo was distracted by the sound of someone walking over the glass, but after reminding himself of the overhang of rock above him, he assured himself that no one would be able to see him all the way down here unless they already knew where he’d be. Reassured by that, his gaze returned to the crater, prepared to wait at least an hour for the winter sunlight to reach him down there.

He’d been considering the red vines that still crawled all along the bedrock floor when he heard noise above him again. Frowning, Tubbo stood up from his boulder and stepped out from beneath the overhang of rock. He scanned the glass above him, looking for any sign that someone he knew was out and about at this hour. He nearly called out a curious ‘hello?’ out of habit before he remembered that he didn’t really want to talk to anyone this morning and stayed silent, watching warily for movement instead.

Not a moment later, Tubbo heard a quiet yelp and watched as a few pebbles tumbled down the cliff and landed at his feet. Unable to stop himself this time, he called out, “You alright?”

This caused another, louder yelp followed by another, larger waterfall of rocks to cascade down the cliff. There was a moment of silence as the person above him presumably caught their breath. Tubbo watched as a hand forming a thumbs-up gesture stuck out over the ledge. “Yep,” came a weak voice in reply after the moment had passed. 

Tubbo frowned, recognition ringing immediately through his mind. “Tommy?” 

A head replaced the hand. “Tubbo?”

“I didn’t know you knew about this way to get into the crater.”

“I didn’t! I just found it today.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another pause as Tommy and Tubbo just stare at each other before Tommy speaks again. “How’d you get down?”

“I slid.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I did! I did! All the way ‘til the ledge, at least, then I followed the path I made earlier. There are footprints.” 

Tommy shook his head and pulled back from the ledge. A second later, Tubbo watched as a figure fell towards him, a bucket of water gripped in his hands. There was a splash, and Tommy was standing next to him, unharmed but for the fact that his shoes and the hems of his pants were soaked through. “My way’s better,” he claimed before Tubbo could even properly say hello.

“Sure.”

“The path though—you’ve been here before?”

“Every year.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Tubbo shrugged, walking back over to his boulder, landing hard against it. “Didn’t want to.”

“I was there too, you know. I miss it as well. I mean, that’s why I’m here now, innit?”

“It’s not the same,” Tubbo said quietly, staring down at his folded hands.

“Well, no, it is.”

Tubbo looked up sharply, his eyes full of something cold and hard. “It’s fucking not! It wasn’t your country that got blown up, was it?”

Tommy recoiled. “I mean, guess not, but—”

“Then it’s not the same.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment before responding. “It wasn’t your fault though. It was mine.”

Tubbo just laughed. “No it wasn’t.”

“Without me though, Techno never would have—”

“Trust me,” Tubbo cut him off with a scoff, “they’d have razed this place to the ground even if you’d done everything right.”

“But—”

“It was never about you, Tommy. It was the fact that we were a government, and under my leadership, we were still seen as oppressors.”

They both let the silence hang heavy in the air.

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but Tubbo nodded anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know. It’s alright. I’m… more pissy today anyway. Another reason I prefer to just be alone these mornings.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy sat down on the ground next to Tubbo’s boulder. “D’you… want to talk about it or something?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

They both went quiet again, but Tubbo could see from the look on Tommy’s face that he wanted to keep talking. Sighing, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can I?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I offered, didn’t I?”

“Right. Yeah. You did.”

“Right.”

“Okay it’s just that— I don’t know. I just miss it. A lot. I miss the feeling we had, being a part of something, and I miss when it was easier to just… be.”

“I don’t think you really miss L’manburg then. Or, well, New L’manburg. I think you just miss when you didn’t think you had to save the world.”

“Do you not miss it?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say that, but it was— it was more than what you said. It was protection and safety, and at least for my New L’manburg, I wanted it to be somewhere where we didn’t have to worry about dying all the time. I miss that feeling. And losing that feels like— it almost feels like losing a parent or something, I don’t know. The type of grief is similar at least, I think. I’ve never lost a parent though, so like… yeah, I’ve got no clue.”

“No, yeah. I’ve never lost a parent either, not really, but… like. I know what you mean. Wilbur… he was similar to that, at least. And losing him November 16th was like that for me. Losing L’manburg, though, that was like losing a home, losing a place I could call my own. I wasn’t— I didn’t have anywhere like that after—” he gestured to the destruction in front of them— “after this.”

“I guess this place was just different for us, then.”

“Yeah.”

Tubbo had to take a long breath before he was confident his voice would be steady again. “And like— today is bad, and that day was worse than I could genuinely ever say, but… I get it, I guess. I know why they’d want to destroy it. But it still— like, it still, uh—”

“Hurts?”

“Mhm. For both of us. All of us, probably.”

They lapsed into silence, looking up at the sky again, and Tubbo slid off from his boulder, sitting beside Tommy and pressing their shoulders together. “It’s been five years now,” he said softly, “and I’m still not over it. Still makes my chest ache a little bit every year.”

“I don’t think this is ever gonna be something that you’re gonna just. Get over.”

“Yeah, I know. I still— I still try.”

“If it helps, I can tell you do a lot to keep it alive still. It’s nice. Makes me miss it less, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were the one who made New L’manburg all the good things it was, so even though it’s gone, it’s still… you. You know?”

“Not really.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I wish I could be that for you.”

“I don’t think anyone could be what New L’manburg was to me. It’s not the sort of thing that could be replicated, even if we tried again.”

Tommy sighed. “I know. I still want to help you miss it less.”

Tubbo went quiet, but what he wanted to say was that mourning alone had hurt so fucking much and that Tommy just being here had helped more than anything else ever had. He didn’t say that, but he asked, “Would you come down here with me next year too?”

“For year six?”

Tubbo nodded. 

“Of course, Tubbs.”

“Thanks. The sunrise is boring without anyone to see it with.”

They were both fully aware that’s not why Tubbo wanted to bring Tommy along, but that went without saying. So they didn’t say it, and the truth lay between them, forever unsaid.

“Winter sunrises are my least favorite,” Tubbo commented, forcing the air around them to feel light again.

“Yeah, they’re real ugly, aren’t they?”

“The light’s so watery. Kinda sucks that they didn’t destroy the country a few months later, you know? It would’ve been nicer to watch the sunrise then.”

“We’ll have to mention that to Techno next time he’s dead set on destroying a country, yeah?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“This sunrise doesn’t even have the decency to be that much later in the day. It’s still so early for such a boring experience.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo laughed, glancing over at Tommy with a smile. “Yeah.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they watched in silence as the sun rose over the edge of the crater, marking an official five years since one of the worst days of their lives. Quietly, Tommy pulled a bottle of champagne from beneath his jacket. He popped the cork and raised it in Tubbo’s direction. “Here’s to one more year.” He took a sip and held it out in offering.

Tubbo took the bottle into his hand and took a sip of his own. “To one more year,” he repeated. 

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

A short-story preview.

Set in a story where years down the line, Fen'harel has yet to destroy the Veil, but his plights are making all of Thedas weary of the modern elves.

Four Dalish elves band together to avenge a massacre. Will they inflict Justice or Vengeance on those responsible? And what secrets will they uncover along the way?

Warning: Violent acts & Character Death.

----

On the outskirts of Ansburg, a Dalish settlement had been destroyed. 

They had been camping beside the coast, where a river drained off from the ocean. 

They’d thought that the lack of freshwater would make the paths less favorable towards merchants or humans in general.  Their aravels had been pitched and their halla let loose to graze. 

They lasted three days. 

On the fourth day, when two cloaked riders closed in on where the Dalish were meant to be, the stench of death still remained, carrion birds harvested bodies, and a started fire had laid waste to everything.  

Blood ran the river red by the time the two riders reached the desolate camp.

Their movements became slow and they approached with caution; anticipating an ambush, but all they were met with was the silence that the massacre left behind. 

“Maker,” one of the riders mumbled, bringing his arm up to cover his nose.  “Who could have done this? Do you think it could’ve been Fen’harel?” 

“No,” the other rider says, his voice somber and distant. “No, these elves were not his enemies and they did not deserve his wrath.”  As he spoke, he would have abandoned his mount, an older Dracolisk, beside the river. Carrying on by foot, he would assess the carnage.  Bodies lay to waste around him, many of which were missing their pointed ears. It was sickening, deplorable, and a byproduct of fear.  “Even so, this act is unforgivable.” His voice would crack, overwhelmed by anger  and grief. “There are so few of our people left, and the only thing they have done is chosen not to take a side in this foolish war.” 

“The war that we are fighting.” 

“Yes, because even though it is foolish, it can not be ignored.  Not when innocent people are being slaughtered like this.” The second rider would crouch down, to close the eyes of an elf who was staring up at the sky. “Falon’Din enasal enaste.” 

“What are we going to do now, carry on to Tevinter?” 

“We are going to bury them, and find those responsible.” 

The first rider lets out an exasperated sigh. “Lavellan, we don’t have the time-” 

“- Then we make time.” 

The first rider says nothing more, hanging his head in silent compliance. 

They spend their evening in this way, gathering bodies and offering them final prayers. They didn’t have the means to do a proper ceremony, but they would do their best with heavy hearts.  

Nightfall had soon come and gone, and as a new dawn broke across the sky, the two men sat across from each other, swallowing down their rations despite lacking a proper appetite.  

“So you didn’t find your dalish contact amongst the dead?” The first rider would ask, his bright green eyes were growing red, as he fought the  need to sleep.  Only in his mid-twenties, and a recently freed slave of the Tevinter Imperium, he was not used to the constant traveling and combat he had to endure while shadowing the former Inquisitor.  He rubs at his face, hands running across his mutilated vallaslin.  The branches that spread over his cheeks had been cut into and burned by his former master, when he was only eighteen and freshly kidnapped from his own clan. “Perhaps he went after those responsible?” 

“No,” Lavellan would shake his head. “Ryland would have waited for us, had he still been alive and of his own free will.” The older elf  would be fiddling with a string around his neck. He clutched at the sending crystal as if it was his life line with one hand, while the other, a prosthetic, would be clutching a potion. “This group was made up of smaller dalish clans, ones that were left abandoned by their clanmates when they joined Solas. Ryland was traveling with them, to bring them to another encampment on the other side of Nevarra.” 

“That was very noble of him.” 

“Yes, and I’m the one who asked him to do it.” 

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened, and drink your potion.” 

Lavellan would stop fiddling with his necklace, taking to unscrewing the cork of the bottle in his hand. “If we had gotten here a day sooner Ma’hallian, we may have prevented this from happening entirely.”  He would down the bottle in one go, guzzling it’s dark purple liquid, looking as if he’d just bit into a lemon afterwards. “This thing could be a poison.” 

“A poison that keeps you from keeling over in pain.” Ma’hallian would remind him gently, before reaching out to take the empty bottle from the other man’s hands. “And we didn’t get here a day sooner, so we have to keep moving forward.” 

“We will, as soon as the person responsible is brought to justice.” 

The white-haired elf would lean forward, fixing the former Inquisitor with a narrowed gaze. 

The older elf was on the cusp of fifty, with silver streaks in his long chestnut hair and wrinkles overtaking his darkened skin.  These days, his hands shook whenever he lifted his sword, and his amber eyes always smoldered with conviction. “Is it justice you are after, or is it vengeance?”

“The two are not so different, when faced with a situation like this.” 

“We both know that they are.” 

Lavellan hated being shown up by his assistant, someone who could be so callous and shy towards the rest of the world. The boy had spent the majority of his life either in solitude or servitude and yet, he still managed to come out of it with a remarkable sense of responsibility and level headedness. 

“I-” He does not get a proper sentence out, as a distant sound causes his ears to twitch. Ma’hallian hears it too and they rise to their feet.  

Ma’hallian draws a dagger from his belt and Lavellan pulls free his sword from its sheath.  They approach the source of the noise with silent steps, until they are looming over the site of a destroyed aravel. It’s red fabric and splintered wood had made a heavy pile, and something dared to move beneath it. 

“Careful,” Lavellan murmurs, “it may be an abomination that’s risen.” 

Leering forward with one foot, the elf  would kick the debris away, his sword poised to strike down, but he would stop just short of skewering another elf. 

An elf also nearing his fifties, with deep red hair that was coated in soot and streaked with soft greys. His face, while well defined, was covered in laugh lines and scars alike. They danced along his vallaslin for Ghilan’nain, etched in blue to match his eyes.   This new elf stares up at them, as a cough rattles throughout his chest and past his lips.  “Well, hello your highness. I survived then? Unless you managed to finally kick the bucket too.” 

“No, Ry, you’re just that lucky.” Lavellan would put his sword away before holding out a hand, hauling his former partner from the aravel. Eyeing him wearily, in search of any wounds that could prove fatal. 

“Ah well, what can I say? The universe loves me.” Ryland dusts himself off, wincing as he does so, but seemingly unharmed save for a few aches, bruises, and perhaps a concussion after being crushed beneath one of their landships. “How bad is it?” 

“You’re the only survivor.”

 The red-head takes in a sharp breath. “That can’t be right. Where are the bodies?” 

They take him to the people who they had wrapped or covered, ready to be buried, as time permitted them.  He looks them over, with blue eyes watering, before he shakes his head.  “There were younger elves here, children, and a mage. None of them are with the dead.” 

“Perhaps they perished in the fire that ravaged the camp?” Ma’hallain offers, supervising Ryland as Lavellan wanders off to their mounts. “Or animals picked off their remains?” 

“You are  a grim young man, Ma’hallain, but no. The only scavengers in this area are the birds, and they wouldn’t be able to devour  a body within a day, let alone a dozen or so. The person responsible for the siege must have taken them.” 

“And who was responsible?” Lavellan had rejoined them, bringing a fresh pair of clothes to Ryland from his carry on.

“There’s a human settlement nearby, Ansburg? They’ve recently come into new leadership and the man appears to be terrified of us knife-ears.” Ryland would strip there, pulling his otherwise tattered shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground.  Lavellan would hand him the clean one and Ma’hallian would have the decency to look away as he took off his pants as well. “When the local militia arrived, I told them that we had no ties with Fen’Harel or the Qun. They said that they were under orders and at the end of the day, all elves were the same.” 

“Yet they would never claim that all humans are murderers, would they?” 

“Fear is bred by ignorance, highness. They’ll get what’s coming for them.” 

Lavellan would grumble, “Did you at least scout Ansburg when you first made camp?” 

“Course I did, seemed like a normal shemlen village. Smelt of rotten fish and wet dog. There weren’t any elves, but I didn’t find that odd. There aren’t many flat ears left in the smaller settlements.”  

“Did you find where this new leader lived?” 

“It was the first thing on my list, but something seemed off about it. The whole village was sort of dreary, but his estate was shimmery, almost. Like the stones were reflecting the light.” 

Ma’hallian snaps back to attention, his ears drooping just so. “That sounds like warding, and a very obvious one.  I bet he is using it to scare others away, people do that in the Magisterium. Either to scare the already fearful, or to make a spectacle out of something valuable.” 

“So we’ll need a mage?” Lavellans asks. 

“Unless warriors suddenly know how to dispel things? Rogues most certainly do not.” 

“Oh,” Ryland would croon, “Do you know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like a call to Dorian. Tell him I said hello, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know that I survived.” 

Rolling his eyes, Lavellan would turn away from the other men. Knowing that Ma’hallian was glib due to his many years living in darkness and Ryland was only using humor to cope with the carnage around them. 

[iam93percentstardust]

2020 Fic Recs Part 1

Hello everyone! If you saw @ad1thi‘s recent fic rec post going around, you know she got the idea from me. I had the idea a few months ago of doing a roundup of my favorite fics from 2020 at the end of the year because, let’s be honest with ourselves, I read a lot over the last twelve months, partially because this year, I really started settling into my own in fandom but mostly because this year was an absolute shitshow and I needed a distraction from everything going on outside my tiny apartment. I know it’s been a hard year for everyone and while there’s hope that next year might be a little better, there’s no guarantee so here are some of the fics that helped me get through this year. I hope you all like them as well.

Fics are organized by month and range over a variety of fandoms and ships. Since some of these are multi-chapters, I’ve organized them according to what date the last chapter posted. This got a little long so I’ve broken this up into 4 parts to be reblogged over the next two weeks.

January

Hope for the Holidays by @aurumacadicus (Winteriron)

Tony never expected to share Christmas with the man who killed his parents, but he's here now, so they should make the best of it.

Woodash and iron and leather by LokelaniRose (Geraskier)

Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear

Happiness: A Song in Three Parts by @newtypeshadow (Stuckony)

Tony's just a kid when he first hears the music. He's human, no one knows werewolves exist yet, and there's no sexy beefcake couple Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes coming out as werewolves and giving interviews to the press to explain the melody Tony heard sporadically during childhood is what werewolves—and the human mates of werewolves—hear when their soulmate is within a few miles of them.

By the time he finds out what the music means, he hasn't heard a note in years.

And when he finally hears it again, he's busy running for his life.

Heart in Hand by janonny (Stevetony)

Steve had been thinking — that was all he was doing, thinking, not moping, as Bucky described it — about the best way to make his feelings clear to Tony. He wanted it to be perfect. He needed it to be the best demonstration of sincere interest that Tony had ever received.

Bucky called it procrastinating, but Steve called it strategizing.

And this Courting Ceremony? It was perfect.

Now he just needed to figure out what to get Tony as a Courting gift. And what to wear. And what to say. And what to do.

-

Or the story where Tony, an Omega, holds a much belated Courting Ceremony. Steve joins up and loses his mind a little.

something i can treasure by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes (Geraskier)

Jaskier would not call himself a thief. But, well- he is elbow-deep in someone’s saddlebags, pulling up handfuls of pretty little bottles. They’re all filled up with jewel-bright potions, corked delicately, and they almost seem to hum in his hands.

Then, suddenly-

There’s the sharp point of a sword at his neck.

Lock & Key by sablier_bloque (Geraskier)

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!”

“Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.”

In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.

February

A hard curl of satisfaction by LokelaniRose (Geraskier & Yenalt in V-shaped polyamory)

Geralt was taught that a witcher is only good for one thing

Half Agony, Half Hope by @no-gorms (Stevetony)

Following the Battle of New York, the Avengers Initiative kicks into high gear under the leadership of Steve Rogers, i.e. Captain America. Tony didn’t mean to become part of this initiative, but it makes sense to sign on due to his experience with SHIELD and Rhodey’s War Machine suits.

The upside: Tony’s tech can be used in a widespread and meaningful way to help protect people. The downside: the last time Tony saw Steve, he’d rejected Steve’s proposal of marriage and broke his heart, leading to almost ten years of the two having no contact whatsoever. Until now.

when the bones are good by SummerFrost (Geraskier)

Julian is six when he realizes that he's got an astounding capacity for being an annoying bastard. He's seventeen when he finally decides to lean in.

Where There’s a Witcher by ghostinthelibrary (Geraskier)

Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins.

Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.

my body bruises at your touch by brawlite (Geraskier)

To lure a monster out, Geralt ties Jaskier up, making him look like easy prey. Surprisingly, Jaskier finds himself enjoying his time as bait a bit more than expected.

Do it Again by thisgirlsays22 (Geraskier)

By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

The Song of the White Wolf by sospes (Geraskier)

“It’s a wolf, not a dog,” Geralt says flatly.

“It’s hurt.”

“It’s a wolf.”

“I’m helping it,” Ciri says, ignoring him, and turns back to the wolf.

But when is a wolf not a wolf? When it's everyone's favourite humble bard, of course!

March

Even Steel Blades Need Fire by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Geraskier)

Jaskier's given a lot to Geralt over the years, but there's one tiny, insignificant, minor molehill of a thing he's kept back from him.

Namely that Jaskier isn't human.

Mission Accomplished by @riotwritesthings (Winteriron)

Tony has had a terrible, rotten, no good day. Fortunately, he knows exactly what he needs to feel better.

With a Conquering Air by inexplicifics (Geraskier)

From the kinkmeme: AU Warlord!Geralt receives Tribute!Jaskier as a sacrifice to appease him in every way possible. Jaskier has no choice on the matter and he’s fully aware of the awful rumours that have spread about Geralt and his ruthless conquests. (But we all know those aren’t legit.) A classic angst with a happy ending please! A dash of smut to heal those scars and a sprinkle of new found love!

Jaskier arrives at Kaer Morhen knowing his family gave him up without a second thought, and absolutely sure that the dreaded Warlord of the North will value him even less than his own blood did. But the White Wolf and his pack are not what Jaskier expected...and if he's unreasonably lucky, Kaer Morhen might become far more of a home than Lettenhove ever was.

play out a spell in your sequence of chords (to inspire and sharpen our rusted swords) by AceSailorKoshkaRayn

Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear.

"I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.

Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.

Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.

Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

Instinctssss

WIP Sampler Basket

[Summary on this one is a re-write of Hancock’s first affinity dialog, within the context of his and Paige’s relationship. I shall post a snippet. EDIT: I attempted to put a read-more in this, but something fucky is going on with Tumblr’s dash rn. Apologies for the long post]

The cork came loose with a satisfying pop, and Paige found the now-opened bottle being offered back to her.

“Everything... okay?” Paige quested gently, hand wrapping around the glass neck. She didn't take a drink though, watching him curiously. Next to him, she saw him both in profile and more head-on in the reflection of the dirty mirror as he turned his attention back to the bag to rifle through its contents. His affect had changed-- he'd been on a grinning high when he handed the whiskey over, but now? His brow furrowed down over dark eyes, and the smile had turned into a pensive, flat line across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, it ain't the bad kind of talk. Just... what went down. I know it was a bit ago, now, but... I guess I just wanna say my piece and get it off my mind. When I sent Fahrenheit down there, I figured someone was gonna end up with a bullet in their head. I didn't like it-- that sorta dictatorial shit, ain't usually my style-- and you got caught up in the middle of it.” He scoffed, shaking his head as his hand emerged from the bag with a tin of mentats between his forefinger and thumb, the other three fingers curled around the long end of an inhaler for jet. “Hell, you managed to talk Bobbi down.” “Wasn't easy-- it could have gone either way; she tried to trick both of us.” Paige noted, finally knocking back a swig from the newly opened bottle-- damn if that wasn't a blast from the past. The taste was different, of course- two centuries of aging tended to have an effect, but she could still recognize the base flavor, and the nostalgia went well with the burn when she swallowed.

“And most folks woulda blasted her brains out for that-- Fahrenheit was ready to, on my say-so.”

Hancock departed from the bureau, snagging the armrest of the nearby chair and noisily dragging it across the patched floor until he could pitch it back, turn it on one of its wooden feet, and plonk it down near the bed before letting himself down into the seat with all the grace of a ton of bricks getting dropped off a roof. He splayed out, elbows out past the armrests and his legs kicked all the way out; heels on the floor and the toes of his boots pointed up and out.

“Guys like me use their sway to do that kinda harm, to folk who don't deserve it... makes me sick.”

Paige had followed after him, bottle in hand, to eventually pass him and put herself down on the edge of the bed. She didn't speak-- she didn't need to. He wanted to talk; all she had to do was listen.

“... hell, that sorta bull's the whole reason I became mayor in the first place.” He continued. “Some ass named Vic ran the town for I don't know how long before that. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy bank. He had this... goon squad he'd use to keep people in line. Every so often, he'd left them off the leash; go blow off some steam on the populace at large.”

The memory made him angry; he couldn't stay slouched in the chair. The chems he'd picked up got stashed in some pocket inside his red coat as his body came up and pitched forward, and he gathered in his legs to brace his elbows on his knees, hands gesturing along as he recounted the leadership he'd replaced.

“Folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters, we got it bad. There was one night, some drifter said something to them. I don't even remember what, but they cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement, and we all just stood there. Did nothin'.”

Paige had heard stories like his before-- not exactly the same, of course. No, her stories came from before the bombs fell, when she'd been working public defense-- a lawyer for those who couldn't afford defense in a court of law. Working for those at the bottom of the ladder? Fear was the driving motivation of most things. Fear for life. Fear for family. Fear for oneself. It drove a lot of good people to do terrible things-- all because they were trapped at the bottom of the heap.

She recognized the edge in his voice. It was angry... and ashamed.

“Outnumbered and outgunned, sometimes nothing is the only thing you can do that doesn't get you killed.” Paige noted, softly. “You can't blame yourself for that.”

He scoffed. “You're right... but it was still spineless.” He rebutted, shaking his head. “I felt like I was less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely.”

His eyes closed for a second, as if reflecting back to that exact moment. Maybe he was.

“When I came to, I was on the floor of the old statehouse. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock. John Hancock, first American hoodlum and defender of the people.” He paused a moment, possibly second-guessing telling the story but going on anyway. “I... might've still been high, but those clothes spoke to me, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put 'em on, started a new life; as Hancock.” The name was practically growled out-- there was weight to it for him, even now. “After that, I went clean for a bit. Got organized, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware... Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins, started training. Next time Vic's boys went on their tear, we'd be ready for 'em.”

“Guessing that was one hell of a negotiation with Kleo.” Paige posited with a faint smirk. “You try to charm the bolts off of her?”

He blinked, and actually let out a faint laugh that interrupted the gravity of the story he'd been telling. “You'd be surprised how quick she warms up to someone who knows how to work munitions into sweet talk... plus she didn't have any love for Vic's crew-- not that it's my story to tell.”

“Still, it's smart; gather up support, make allies, get armed, fight back... Vic may not have been the British Empire, but sounds like you got the right kind of inspiration going.”

“Right?” There was a note of relief, at being understood. “Same wavelength-- justice for the oppressed.”

“So you got a militia together.” Paige encouraged. “What came next?”

“We waited for the next time they were gonna go through and raise hell-- night of, we all got loaded, let Vic's boys get good and hammered, and burst from the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. They never even saw it coming; we didn't have to fire a shot. We didn't have to, but we sure fucking did. It was a massacre. Once we'd mopped up, we strolled right into Vic's quarters in the statehouse, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony.” He straightened up, recovering from the slouch he'd been holding for the majority of the story so far and letting his hands hang between his thighs. “And there I am, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say something-- the first time I said 'em? They didn't even feel like my words: Of the people, for the people... it was my inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day. And from then on, I vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever. Again.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, considering the story, sensing it as he looked to her for some kind of assessment or reaction-- or maybe just an opening to ask questions.

“Vic woulda shot me for not killing Bobbi.”

He blinked. Another beat of quiet, as he considered that.

“... yeah, he woulda. Or worse-- you're too pretty to just shoot...” He made a face, not elaborating on that particularly disgusting thought. “You got a point, though. I ain't Vic... just didn't like that what I did made me feel a little closer to him; sitting up in the statehouse and deciding someone's gonna die who might not have fully earned it. Getting innocents caught up in the crossfire who definitely didn't.”

“You were worried you'd become him... is that part of why you decided to go with me? Climb back down and remember what it was like to look up at the balcony, rather than stand on it?”

“I ain't really the ponderous type.” He reminded her, picking up that smirk of his again. “When an instinct takes hold, I listen. This time around, instinct said I should join up with you... seems it was a good one.”

“Maybe your instincts are just a sucker for a pretty face.” Paige suggested with a sly smile of her own before kicking back another swig of her whiskey. “Or is it just girls with hardware?”

“That would explain why I bet on Kleo.”

[marshmallow-phd]

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew that you shouldn’t. And you couldn’t even say you knew it deep down because the anguish and fight was right there on the surface of your heart.

All week, you’d been trying to figure out a way to avoid this, to come up with another plan that didn’t involve anyone getting hurt, but you came up empty. So there you were, sitting up in that tree, your bow as heavy as lead in your hand.

From where you were perched, you could still see the rental that you had parked on the side of the road. After the deed was done, you’d need a quick getaway. You were also secretly hoping that they wouldn’t come this close to the edge of the forest.

An hour or so had gone by without any sign of them. While you were relieved, you were also anxious. Over and over, you told yourself that it was better that you did this rather than Johnny showing up. It was a lie, of course. This wasn’t any better, not really.

You felt like a fraud. Like there were two different versions of you walking around, inhabiting the same body. There was the one you’d always known, the one who was loyal to her family and the organization. And then there was the new you, the one who’d grown stronger after perhaps living deep inside you in the dark for so long. That version questioned everything she’d ever been taught, all for the sake of a wolf. You didn’t know which one was real and which one was fake.

Rebellion was not in your nature. You always stayed in line, obeyed every order without question, blindly trusting your leadership, who also happened to be your father. You’d never been secluded from the real world, but coming out here on your own, you felt like you were really seeing it for the first time. Or maybe just a different angle of it.

A rustling reached your eyes, pulling you from your internal monologue and making you face your immediate reality again. One last time, you inspected the arrowhead. You watched as the thick, molasses-like liquid slid down the metal edges. It was a special concoction, rarely ever used by the hunters due to its potency. Even humans were vulnerable to the poison living in it, a mix of wolfsbane and other toxins, if it ever reached the bloodstream. But it wasn’t a quick death, slow as it made its way through the body. You hoped that, since you put only the tiniest drops on the arrow, no one would come out seriously harmed after this. Especially if they got to the book in time.

The crunching of leaves and dirt grew louder. Docking the arrow, you brought the long-range scope up to your eye and searched the area in front of you. A small group of the wolves were running together, playfully snapping at each other and seemingly enjoying themselves a hundred yards or so away. Two of the wolves were pure white, one as black as coal, and another who sported a beige coat that felt a little ordinary when mixed in with the others.

Since the beige wolf stood a little apart from the others, you lined your sight up. You just wanted to graze him, not cause any permanent damage. Taking one last deep breath, you hesitated, just for a moment, before letting the arrow slip through your fingers.

You didn’t wait to see if you’d hit your target. You couldn’t.

Jumping from the tree, you landed hard on the soil, rolling so you didn’t cause yourself any damage. You ran for the street where the car door was open and ready for you take off. The engine was still rumbling and after throwing your bow in the back of the vehicle, you sped off down the road, careful to still remain within the speed limit in the rare case you came across a police officer.

Back within city limits, you parked the car several blocks away, emptying the inside of anything that might identify you, even wiping the steering wheel clean and using a lint roller over all the seats. Then you just left it there. Maybe in a day or so, you’d return it.

As soon as you closed the door of your apartment behind you, your bow clattered down to the wooden floor.

What the hell have you done?

The weight of your actions bore down on you. As much as you wish you could, you couldn’t take it back. Was that really the better option? Maybe you should have just turned yourself over to the pack, let them kill you since that was probably their plan with you anyway once you were discovered.

Storming into your bedroom, you ripped the board out from your closet, tearing the photographs and pieces of paper from their thumbnails keeping them to the cork. You threw the pieces everywhere. It was all you could do to take out your anger and frustration at the corner you were backed into. Surrounded by the hours of work and stalking you had done since arriving here, you collapsed down to your knees, bent over with only your palms on the carpet keeping you up. Luhan’s face haunted your mind, his smile, his laugh, the soft way he looked at you. Once he discovered what you’ve done, he would hate you. And that was the heaviest consequence of them all.

**

It had been a peaceful day, a calm morning. Almost everyone was out of the house, leaving Luhan alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t seen you since he left your apartment. Each time he went to work, he’d hoped that you would show up randomly with an answer, but each time he went home disappointed.

Eyes staring down at the table in the breakfast booth, he traced the outline of your tattoo over and over again on the shiny wood. Throughout the entire course of the night the two of you spent together, you never took off the thick leather cuff that covered up your mark. He considered just telling you that he knew what you were. Maybe that would help you. Or maybe it would just make things worse.

He’d promised to give you space, so he would. Even if it was torture to him.

“What are you drawing?”

Luhan nearly jumped out of his seat at the question. Sehun slid into the seat across from him, a curious frown pinching his face.

Wiping the table as if that would erase the nonexistent doodle, Luhan replied, “Just nonsense. Nothing, really.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger wolf. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Sehun smirked. “Canceled. Professor sent out an email this morning. Probably has a hangover or something.”

Laughing, Luhan shook his head. “Or more likely, he’s just sick. The cold’s going around.”

“No, not as interesting.” Sehun leaned back, sighing. “So, what are you up to today?”

“I don’t know,” Luhan replied with a shrug. “I don’t work tonight so there’s not much on my calendar.”

“Since when do you not work Friday nights?”

“I traded with Ron,” he explained. And he was a bit thankful for it. He was too distracted to be able to handle the crowd that was to be expected tonight. He wasn’t hurting for cash so he might as well give the shift to someone who had rent to pay.

Sehun had his thinking face on and that usually meant trouble. “Well, Tao’s busy, but Minseok and Kyungsoo are home – without their mates, for once. Why don’t we all go for a run?”

A run? Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

At Luhan’s nodded agreement, Sehun slapped the table and jumped up, running out of the kitchen excitedly. Releasing a sigh, Luhan headed out for the backyard, already pulling his shirt over his head. When the other three were outside and ready to go, they all took off, racing through the forest at high speed. None of them were focused on where they were headed, no real direction or destination in mind. They mostly just egged each other on, getting rowdier and more rambunctious as they went along. Luhan was enjoying himself, not acting like the oldest and just being loose. Kyungsoo stayed on the edge as he ran alongside them, keeping his distance but clearly laughing at their actions.

Wait! Minseok yelled, making them all slow down.

What is it? Luhan perked up his ears, searching for something the beige wolf might have heard.

We’re getting close to the edge, he explained. We should double back before someone accidentally sees us.

You’re ri- argh!

Sehun had taken the advantage of Luhan being distracted to pounce, getting a good nip at his neck. Momentarily ignoring the warning given by Minseok, Luhan turned to counterattack. Sehun was, unfortunately, a bit bigger than Luhan, giving him the slight advantage. The others just stood there and laughed at the two white wolves who were blurring into one.

A whistling sound flew the air, making them stop. But it was too late.

An arrow had sliced through Minseok’s back, making him howl in pain. All four of them shifted back into human form. For a moment, they were all too shocked to do anything besides stare at Minseok lying on the ground as he groaned from the pain, a long red streak oozing blood running diagonally across his back.

“Get him back to the house!” Kyungsoo yelled. Turning on his feet, he started running in the direction that the arrow came from.

Hauling Minseok up, Sehun carried him on his back as they headed back to the house as fast as their human forms could take them. From the way Sehun had to hold onto the older wolf, Minseok was too weak to stay on if they shifted back to wolves.

By a miracle, Yixing was standing in the kitchen and talking to Ming as he cooked a meal for the two of them.

“Oh my god!” Ming yelped as soon as they stumbled into the house.

“What happened?” Yixing ran to them to help Sehun lay Minseok face down on the kitchen table.

“I don’t know,” Sehun growled, his fist curling at his side. “The arrow came out of nowhere. Kyungsoo went to see if he could find the shooter. It had to be that hunter the other pack talked about.”

Yixing’s face scrunched into a fierce expression. “Ming-”

“Already on it!” his mate yelled from halfway up the stairs. She came back less than a minute later, first aid kit built especially for werewolves in hand.

“I’ll call Junmyeon and Kris,” Sehun offered thickly. He was shaking violently which explained why he went into the backyard after swiping his jeans from the back of the booth. His cellphone was in his pocket, but the last thing Yixing needed right now was for him to lose it and shift right there in the kitchen. Sehun cared deeply about all his brothers and seeing Minseok whimpering in pain there on the table was hard on them all.

“It’s festering,” Yixing whispered, harsh lines forming on his forehead. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Will he be okay?” Luhan asked desperately. He needed Minseok to be okay. His brother had to come out of this alright.

Yixing didn’t look at him as he sighed. “I don’t know.”

Sehun came back inside, phone in hand and dressed once again. He’d calmed down enough to stop shaking. He held the cell out to Yixing, telling him in a monotone voice, “Junmyeon wants to talk to you.”

Yixing nodded, taking the cell right away. “Yes, Junmyeon?”

If Luhan had been concentrating, he would have been able to hear both sides of the conversation. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus on Yixing’s words either. Because he knew the reason Minseok was in so much pain.

You.

Had he been wrong to protect you? Should he have told his pack the truth from the very beginning? Could this had been avoided if he was honest? With anyone?

Yixing hung up and handed the phone back to Sehun. “Junmyeon is picking up the book with Kris and then they’ll break the speed limit to get here. Until then, I’ll try to clean the wound as best as I can.”

The book. The book.

Luhan remembered seeing a few notes on your board regarding the museum and then there was the time he found you leaving the back rooms, barely catching you on the steps. It was all piecing together in his mind.

Is that what you were after this whole time?

Kyungsoo came back just then, his face blank as he stared at Minseok.

“Did you find them?” Sehun asked, eagerness in his voice. It was frightful tone, even putting Luhan on edge.  

Kyungsoo shook his head. “No. They were long gone. But I brought this back.” He held up the arrow, red blood painting the head, covering up the silver metal underneath.

“That will help to figure out what’s in Minseok’s system once Junmyeon arrives with the book.” Yixing took the arrow, inspecting it closely.

Not saying a word to the others, Luhan grabbed his clothes and tore out of there, running out the front door and passed the garage. He didn’t even bother with his car, just pulling on his shorts and shirt as he headed for the woods. He had too much anger riling up inside. The car would be faster, but he couldn’t drive in this condition.

When he finally broke through the trees into city limits, he was coated in sweat and breathing heavily, but he still didn’t slow down. Luhan tried his best to avoid knocking people over on the sidewalk as he thought back to the way to your apartment from the bar. It was easy enough to find once he retraced his steps. He slammed his fist against the door hard, over and over again, not caring about your neighbors in the slightest.

You opened the door and Luhan shoved his way inside. Taking in your face, Luhan was able to calm down a few notches, at least enough to stop shaking and even out his breathing. Your eyes were red and tear stains were visible all over your cheeks. From where he stood, he could the disaster that was was your bedroom through the open door, paper strewn everywhere and the corkboard now broken in half.

Swallowing thickly, Luhan glared at you, feeling his own eyes prickling with growing tears. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Unable to answer him verbally or even meet his eye, you nodded.

Luhan growled, low and elongated. “Why?”

“Because,” you whispered, your voice coming out unsteadily, “it was either that or let someone sadistic come and torture you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“We can take care of ourselves!” he roared. “How was hurting Minseok the only way to stop that?”

No longer meek or afraid, you yelled back, “I was ordered to! It was maim one of you or risk more hunters showing up here and killing you! I didn’t have any other choice!”

“Then just lie and say you did it!”

“My father would find out! He always does!” You were gritting your teeth, water pooling in your eyes once again. “He’d bring more people here and just eradicate the pack! I don’t want you to die!”

Unable to find a response, Luhan just let out a yell, grabbing whatever was light and nearest him, throwing it across the room. You didn’t even flinch as the candle crashed against the floor.

“You know what I hate the most?” Luhan mumbled. “I want to hate you. I want to so badly. But I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” you told him softly. “Because I hate myself enough for the both of us.” It was your turn to yell wordlessly. “Why do I feel this way about you? I’m a hunter! You’re a wolf! I shouldn’t be feeling this way towards you! So why!”

“Because you’re my mate!”

Saying it out loud for the first time felt good. And it shouldn’t have. Not when it was in this situation, under these circumstances. But the confirmation made him feel lighter just by the slightest fraction.

“You’re supposed to say that I’m simply crazy.”

A laugh - freaking laugh - actually escaped Luhan. “I think we’re both crazy.”

You shook your head. “How long have you known? That I was a hunter?”

“Since that first night in the bar,” he admitted. Pointing to your wrist, he explained, “I saw your tattoo.”

You cursed. “Ametuer move.” After a pause, you asked, “Does anyone else know?”

“No. They don’t know about you at all, save that you’re Hae In’s cousin.” And for that, Luhan was grateful. Curious, he asked, “Does she know? Hae In?”

“No. She has no clue.”

He looked up at you, fearful of what could come next. “Will Minseok die? From whatever you poisoned him with?”

“As long as they get the book, from what we think, the cure should be in there. He still has several days before it’s gets too bad. I put the smallest dose possible on the arrow. I only meant to scrape him. If that happened, then he should be okay.” Out of nowhere, you began to sob, crumpling into yourself as you covered your face with your hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Pulling you into his chest, he rocked you back and forth. He shushed you gently as he cradled the back of your head. Comforting you like this felt strange, yet oddly right. He meant it when he said he wanted to hate you. The image of Minseok withering in pain on that table was burned in his memory. But you said he would be okay, so Luhan would trust you.

Then again, he’d done that once before.

[daimonicwriting-blog]

Desperate Opportunities

It was always said by the elders among Suramar, “If the night skies vary, mark the end of times.” It was not the end, at least not yet. The barrier stood, and as far as everyone was concerned, the world did not exist beyond the walls and magical barrier. All that truly existed was Suramar City. This was no less true for Cathiir, a child with his shelter under the bridges of Suramar. He seemed to be debating something, shaking his head frantically, and to those passing by it may look as though one child was pressuring another to do something he did not want to do.

They would have been right.

“Come on, Cathiir, drink it! We need to get a little extra food – oo, oo! And something pretty like last time!” Elodine, a young girl, was hopping about, holding a bottle of arcwine with merely a single drink left in it. “It took me a long time to find it, Cathiir, come on!”

“No, Elodine, no! That stuff makes me feel woozy, I can barely focus and I– I–”

“And you do that cool thing? Come on Cathiir, please?” She pouted at him. Cathiir crossed his arms and turned his back to her.

“What happened to the ring I got you, huh?” He turned his head slightly, a prominent, childish frown on his face. The sort that adults would warn them would stick if they kept it that way.

“I told you, Sildor wanted it so we could be here longer.” Her pouting somewhat ceased. She knew well enough it would have disappointed Cathiir, he never liked giving in to Sildor’s demands – though he was the unofficial landlord of the homeless around their parts of Suramar. All had to pay their piece, or else they would have to find their own space.

And he did not hold that back. “I’m sick of Sildor taking our stuff! I’m going to get caught at some point, Elodine! Those guys will catch on!”

There was a silence between the pair for a while, Cathiir with his back turned and arms crossed looking as a rock, and Elodine with her arms to her side trying to think of the right things to say. It was not selfishness that motivated her, but the right words to say to make Cathiir realize their situation.

Homeless and hungry. Perhaps what Elodine did not quite realize was how reliant Cathiir would be to the arcwine with each use. She heard adults talk, though. Some of the nobles had fallen from grace and ended up looking malnourished and akin to walking skeletons – what remained of their flesh and skin sagged. They grew paler, and hair more brittle. For a moment, she observed Cathiir, but was not convinced from the view she had from behind. So she laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to swing him around. He turned to her, arms losing their unending knot and frown dissipating to that of shock as he was face-to-face with her.

The purplish tint to his skin was still there, except with a slight tint of red to his cheeks, as well as his dark locks that he had directed to go down his back. A couple of stray strands wandered to his face. Elodine stared at him with what she believed was the finesse of an experienced medical professional. In truth, her eyes were just squinted and her tongue left her mouth in a sort of contemplation.

“What?” Cathiir was getting worried. “Elo, what?! What’s wrong?” She did not answer, and it clearly only frustrated him more. After a final exclamation of her name, she twitched her pointed ears and looked him right in the eyes.

“Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing. I just– I wanted,” she looked away, turned, and sat on her bedroll. “It’s nothing Cath. Just… you’re right, it isn’t a good idea. We’ll find some other way, right? I can just… figure something. Something safe, right?” She laid on her back, and had stopped dwelling on the subject. Except for one bit.

“I’m sorry, Cathiir.”

~

He kept saying it was all nothing to be concerned about. That was, until the barrier fell. Thousands of years it had held – Cathiir was not even alive for one-thousand of those years. He was barely five-hundred years old.

His father (who had adopted him) had been alive before the barrier even existed. As Cathiir stood on the balcony to the large manor his family owned, he stared up as the sky slowly became exposed.

Daytime. There was a sun, and clouds. Birds flew about, confused at the opening of new land. Animals scattered far in the distance where the border of the barrier had been, terrified by the display of magic. It hit him all at once why his father had been so busy.

The advisers and the Grand Magistrix herself had to have been aware. Though they could do nothing. Some days had passed after Cathiir witnessed this most wonderful and fearsome display and he was told by the other young shal'dorei that ‘demons’ were about, patrolling, and executing dissenters.

Public execution.

Cathiir was not entirely ignorant on what a demon was. Stories were often told by others, his father included, of the horrors invoked by the War of the Ancients. Destructive aliens bent on the submission of the world, the recruiting of malicious like-minds, and encouraging desperation among the masses.

It had only been a week when Cathiir felt the desperation sink into his stomach. He was sitting in his family’s manor, and a thought rolled through his head. The advisers to the leadership of Suramar who disagreed with the Legion’s siege and wanted to revolt were executed just the same as commoners. Though here his father was, sitting, eating among them.

He was a sympathizer, and all had known. Cathiir felt the desperation, but he wondered if his adoptive father felt it even more. He had not spoken much to Cathiir or Milaes, his sister. Cathiir felt as though his training into lordship and to be a protector of the family was placed on pause – all to surrender to the end of the world.

He had nothing to distract himself with, and so that panic set in more and more. It was night – which notably, was a harder time for him. There were real stars in the sky, put onto a grand display. Moons shining along with them, and a darkness that could not be replicated by magic, even. He had suddenly left the house, his father and sister asleep, and wandered through the streets. His feet held all of his thoughts, and he guided himself nowhere – it was all as if he was being piloted by memories.

He left the sprawling manors, went over bridges with intricate gardens and statues, away from the pens of exotic animals, as well as the vineyards were arcwine was made. He wandered until he went were the dark was familiar to him. A large bridge connecting two parts of the city, he had gone underneath and lingered. There was a small nook that was empty; he had known it was empty for some time.

He sat down, legs crossed, and leaned his head on the stonework. There was scattered litter here and there; papers, some bottles, and even a rotting shadefruit in a nook parallel to him. His head lowered and lowered until he looked into his own lap. The gravity of the situation seemed to, at first, hit him so hard he felt the wind leave his lungs. He slammed his fists into the hard ground, leaving scuffed marks on his knuckles.

Then, just like that, it left him. It all faded when he convinced himself of the reason why he had arrived here. He was in such a daze he had forgotten.

He was waiting for someone to arrive. He was waiting for someone so he would know the best course of action. Though for a while, all he was left with was memories.

And for now, it would do.

 ~

It was the dead of night. The bustle of homeless shal'dorei quieted, and Elodine had been asleep.

Cathiir laid in his bedroll, eyes up at the bridge above them. He stared at it and tried to count as many discrepancies as he could. It… was not a long process, truthfully. Almost no cracks or even points, it was entirely smooth. Though he started to become good at noticing them nonetheless. He was not about deluding his time-wasting distraction, but rather, give practice to what he was about to do.

If he could notice the problems with even a perfect structure, he could notice the problems with a horribly flawed plan.

He could not sleep because it ran through his mind again and again. Feeling too confident was always a concern of his, but not of his companion’s. Or at least so she seemed. He sat up and stared at the bottle of arcwine that was beside him. His hands reached for it and grabbed it by the neck. He struggled to get the cork loose, but it inevitably came off.

Instinctively, he sniffed into the bottle, and immediately darted backwards. It was pungent for sure. A strong beverage. Though Cathiir could smell it had exactly what he needed in it. With a hand pinching his nose, he downed the remaining drink it, and immediately felt the surge of power.

Though he also felt the nausea. He quickly laid the bottle down and stood up, taking breaths as he had practiced time and time again. He muttered words in shalassian, gestured his hands, and his form started to disappear, completely. The moment he disappeared, he felt the strain in his mind. He had to focus to keep the spell intact. He walked around a bit, and observed his hands to ensure he stayed invisible. It did not break, not even slightly.

He recalled a point where he looked as a floating display of rippling water. He came to learn it was the lack of focus that caused his spell to distort him instead of entirely conceal him. As he stepped around, and felt as though he was ready, he stopped, and sighed out.

That was when a voice came out of seemingly nowhere. A girlish voice, “You know, if you keep breathing that loud they’ll find you for certain!”

It was Elodine, who, well, was as awake as he was. The surprise of this caused Cathiir to twitch, then lose his focus on the spell entirely. “Elo!” He quietly said.

She simply giggled, and stood up. “Whoops – oh come on, you weren’t going to walk there all sneaky.” She placed both her hands on Cathiir’s shoulders, and with a big smile, she said, “Now then, let’s go, I’ll keep watch. And this time, I promise: Sildor won’t get anything! I’ll hide everything well!”

Cathiir nodded at her. “Good, because if you keep giving up all our best stuff, he’ll start wondering how I do it.”

Elodine nodded in response, then suddenly leaned in to peck his lips. She let go of his shoulders, and stepped passed him. “ For good luck. Let’s go, while you were staring at the bridge the owners got a couple of hours of rest – hurry!”

Cathiir was a bit red in the face, and of course, sporting a tipsy demeanor to himself. Though he followed Elodine nonetheless. While she was thinking of all the wonderful things they could manage… he chose to concern himself with alternate plans if it all fell apart. Potential escapes, and especially how he could get her away if anything went sour.

Though for once… although it may have been the alcohol speaking… he felt as if it would all be fine.

[littlewritingrabbit]

Could you write Hamilton feeling jealous or possessive of Laurens?

You betcha I can! Though… I must apologize for not responding to this ask in like a million years, SO sorry about that! It was actually a really fun prompt and I got really carried away with it, so I hope you enjoy :)

The time period is… eh… vaguely before Monmouth sometime

Gentleman

The fiasco began, as many fiascos do: witha redcoat.

It was a warm summer evening in a smalltown that wasn’t much more than a church and an inn, which was fine, since allthat was needed that night was the inn. Alexander Hamilton, feelingout-of-place in civilian dress for the first time in months, crossed the streetbeside John Laurens, trying to keep his walk leisurely and as little like themarching step of a soldier as possible. At his side, Laurens was looking up atthe sky, painted an idyllic shade of rose from the late sunset. Hamiltonreached over and pulled Laurens’s hat down over his eyes.

“Hey!” said Laurens, re-emerging from underthe hat.

“It’s a mission, not courtship,” mutteredHamilton with a smirk, “We get in, get the information, and get out. Andpossibly eat along the way.”

They entered the inn to the tune of an off-keyhurdy-gurdy in some unseen, smoky corner. Nobody paid them a second glance asthey picked a table illuminated by a single candle (for concealment, of course)and sat down across from one another. Hamilton pulled his own hat down further. 

“Anything to drink lads?” asked a waitresswho was somehow holding two plates per hand and still looking unfazed.

“A bottle of wine should suffice I think,”said Laurens with a nod, and she hurried off. “Now,” he said, lowering hisvoice, “What precisely does Tallmadge’s informant look like?”

“He didn’t say much more than young,dark-haired, and with a peculiar scar across the nose,” Hamilton replied. “Thecode phrase is when in Rome on ourpart, and avoid scheming senators onthe other.”

Laurens wrinkled his nose. “Who coined thatone?”

“It was Brewster,” Hamilton admitted, “AndI doubt he was entirely sober at the time.”

“Hm,” Laurens nodded in agreement, “If hewas sober, I doubt he would have remembered Caesar at all.”

Hamilton laughed and shifted the candleslightly away from them. It wouldn’t do to be recognized in this tavern,especially with such a group of redcoats entering and calling for drinks.“You’re closer,” he muttered, “Let me know if they say anything about troopnumbers.” Laurens nodded discreetly and leaned back slightly, so as to hearbetter. The King’s men were confident and boasting - apparently one of theirnumber had recently obtained a command.

“Let’s have some whiskey for this one!” asoldier called to the waitress as she passed, “He’s captain of a regiment -seventy men if you can believe that! That’s more than most!”

“Yeah,” another soldier said, as Hamiltonstrained to hear while remaining inconspicuous, “Even McIntyre only commandssixty, and he’s the most ferocious of the regiment, as everyone knows!”

“Seventy men is considered a lot by currentstandards,” Hamilton muttered, “Though the average is close enough to sixty.That should give us a rough estimate.”

“Which one is the captain?” Laurenswhispered.

“Don’t look now, but he’s the good-lookingone she’s handing the whiskey to,” said Hamilton.

“What do you mean, good looking?” Laurensasked, looking over his shoulder.

“I said don’t look now!”

“I see what you mean, good looking indeed,”said Laurens raising an eyebrow.

“Are y- what?” Hamilton’s words stumbled toa halt.

“I just mean that I agree with you,”Laurens protested, turning slightly pink under Hamilton’s incredulous stare.

“He’s a redcoatcaptain Laurens!”

“You called him good-looking first!”

“I meant it as a descriptor,” Hamiltonrolled his eyes.

“Well so did I,” said Laurens, watching thecandle cast shadows across the table, “He just looks… I don’t know, gentlemanlyI suppose. Like the sort one would accompany to the opera.”

“That’s not a description John,” saidHamilton dryly, “That’s a romantic novella.”

“In my defense though,” said Laurens,“Don’t you think he would look fitting at an opera?”

They were spared any further argument asthe waitress returned with a bottle and two glasses. She was about to pour thewine, when another waitress, presumably her younger sister, appeared and heldout a platter of potatoes. “If you don’t mind,” said the second waitress, “Idon’t like the look of that gent over there, but he ordered these so…”

“I got it,” said the first, taking thepotatoes and leaving the wine to her sister. She weaved between two tables anddisappeared behind a cloud of smoke.

“Fine night for a drink, gentlemen,” saidthe waitress, pouring Laurens’s glass. She was pouring rather slowly. Laurenslooked up into a pair of warm brown eyes shaded by dark hair. “Though,” shesmiled, “There isn’t much else to do on a fine night in this town I’m afraid.”She leaned across the table to reach Hamilton’s glass, and as she did thecandlelight caught a pearly scar across the bridge of her nose.

Hamilton raised his eyebrows. “We thoughtjust the same,” he said, “You know, when in Rome…”

“It is best to avoid scheming senators?”she supplied, fitting the cork back into the bottle. Hamilton smiled.

“Would you like to join us, madam?” Laurensoffered.

“Why thank you,” she seated herself besideLaurens, facing away from the redcoats, and slipped an envelope from a pocketin her dress directly into his coat.

“That’s the map?” Hamilton asked in anundertone. She nodded. “And it’s to Tallmadge’s specifications?”

“You can be certain,” she said. “The boy Iloved drew maps in our town’s almanac before he signed up with you lot and waskilled by the redcoats. He was the one who taught me to draw.”

Alexander solemnly placed a hand over hisheart. “I promise you, his sacrifice will not be in vain. The estimations onyour map will help us prepare to meet their troops, and give us a better chancein the fighting.”

“You’ve done us a great service, ma’am,” saidLaurens.

She looked over her shoulder, and thenback. “My sister is coming,” she said, standing up. “I wish you luck, sirs.”

“The same to you madam,” Hamilton nodded,but she was already making her way back to the kitchen.

They finished their wine, and then somebread and butter before leaving the inn. As they headed out the door with theintention of getting back to the Continental Army’s encampment to deliver themap as quickly as possible, Hamilton glanced back at the redcoat gentleman. Hewas beaming cheerfully, a lady at his side and the sort of certainty in hisdemeanor that leadership warrants. He really would have looked at home amongthe patrons of an opera house. Hamilton snorted in disgust.

The following day they returned to theirdesk-work, which, Hamilton had to admit, was slightly less exciting than anundercover expedition. Thankfully, it was made livelier by Laurens andLafayette’s dispute at the next table over, about whether or not it wasfashionable to have little paintings on the buttons of one’s coat.

“It is clever and detailed,” Lafayetteinsisted, “And it makes every coat unique-”

“Uniquely overcrowded, perhaps,” Laurensreplied, “And a distraction from the rest of the coat. It seems fussy andoverdone.”

“Would you mind passing the ink?” Lafayetteasked, clearly realizing that Laurens was not likely to give in on hisposition, and deciding rather to return to work.

It wasn’t a minute later, however, that theconversation started up again, this time on the subject of wine. Lafayette knewmore varieties of French wine than Hamilton had fingers to count them on, if hecared to do so. Laurens also seemed to know a great deal, and had grandopinions about which were “so much better than our American stuff.” Hamilton,who until now had never found any fault in their American stuff, did not careto comment.

“There was, on one occasion,” said Laurens,“This French wine - the name escapes me - which my friend smuggled into theopera theatre while we were in college, and it was simply the best I have evertasted. I don’t know what sorcery he must have had to pull to get his hands onsuch good champagne but I tell you it was certainly worth it.”

“Oh, the opera?” Lafayette soundedintrigued. “What did you see performed?”

“Oh, several things,” said Laurenscasually, “Bastien und Bastienne, Apollo et Hyacinthus, things of thatsort.”

“Oh magnifique!” exclaimed Lafayette. “I do thinkevery gentleman should, in his life, see an opera in person.”

“Too true, it ought to be mandatory,”Laurens smiled, reaching for another sheet of paper.

There it was again, that word. Gentleman. Hamilton scratched out a wordin the order he was writing with such force it almost tore the paper. He hadnever been to see an opera in his life. He had gone to the theatre with Ned onetime, to see Hamlet, and the girl playing Ophelia had sung, but that reallycouldn’t compare to Laurens and Lafayette’s international, aristocraticadventures. In some respects, someharsh part of his mind reminded him, you’llnever be able to measure up to your friends. No matter how polite you conductyourself, no matter how well you fight, you’ll never be a gentleman like them.He made a face and continued writing.

Hamilton fell into bed that night in astate of such soft and pervasive frustration that he spent a good five minutesplaying with Laurens’s hair just to distract himself while Laurens was turnedthe other way.

“Well someone is certainly looking forattention,” Laurens muttered with a smile, turning over to face him.

“Good evening,” said Hamilton, “That wouldbe me.”

It was quite true, he figured as he sighedand draped an arm over John’s shoulders to pull him a little closer, he didwant attention. He wanted the attention Laurens paid operas and the attentionthe soldiers payed the redcoat gentleman. He wanted someone to think himadmirable.

“Would you like a kiss?” Laurens asked.

Well yes, he wanted that too.

Laurens kissed him gently, fingers holdingsteady at his chin. His kisses were so terribly comforting it was like thefamiliarity of home. Alexander wondered if he might just melt like a taffy inthe sunshine to be kissed so.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that,” hefinally chuckled, pulling back.

Laurens laughed. “I went to university inEurope, did I not?”

“Oh, is thatwhat they teach you in Europe?” Hamilton asked, soliciting another kiss. Itwasn’t the first time he had wondered about Laurens’ time in Geneva, and whatsort of adventures he might have gotten up to there, but it was the first timehe felt as if he might get an answer. “What was he like?” he asked softly.

Laurens frowned in thought at the wallbehind Hamilton’s head. It took him a moment to reply. “He was… just as scaredas I was, I think,” he said finally. “Better at hiding it, of course. He knewthe ‘to be or not to be’ monologue by heart, but always forgot where his bookswere. Sort of a beanpole. Impeccable taste in wine. Certainly as much of arascal as any of us were, but he’ll be remembered as a gentleman.”

All of a sudden, Hamilton almost wished hehadn’t asked. On some level he was honoured that Laurens would trust him enoughto tell him this, but on quite another level he was seized with pricklingjealousy. The boy from Geneva was yet another gentleman. Hamilton could almost picture him now, dressed inembroidered silk and tall boots, watching the opera with some sort of crystalwineglass in his hand… whoever he was, Hamilton hated him.

He leaned over to give Laurens anotherkiss. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said with a sideways grin. Forthe moment being, his dear boy was here in his arms and no one else’s, nomatter how gentlemanly the rest of the world might be.

The next day Hamilton offered to takeTilghman and Meade’s letters that weren’t official enough to be sent by courierto the post office. Was he leaving behind paperwork that needed doing? Perhaps.But he also felt so restless that he might do something drastic if he was toldto sit still, so he considered it better to get some fresh air away from thedesk he was trapped at.

It was on his way back from the postoffice, just as he was passing the cobblers, that the fiasco became afully-fledged Incident.  

Because there in the window, between pairsof sensible shoes for gentlemen and ladies, sat a pair of the most gloriousboots Hamilton had ever seen.

They were tall, heeled, and made of glossyblack leather. A row of bright golden buttons adorned the outside, a goldenbuckle sat atop the foot, and both boots looked tight enough to cling quitesplendidly to the muscle of a man’s leg. They were, Hamilton thought,inspecting them with the rigor of a child looking through the window of apastry store, the sort of boots a real gentleman ought to wear.

Before he knew it he was inside the shop,asking in his most polite voice: “Sir, might I try on those magnificent bootsyou have there in the window?”

Despite the fact that it took a good fiveminutes to get all the buttons fastened properly, the boots really were assplendid as they looked. They made Hamilton about an inch taller, did indeedshow off the turn of his leg, and the buttons had a habit of flashing nicelywhen the light caught them as he walked. Undoubtedly they would catch Laurens’attention, if not the attention of everyone in the encampment.

The only issue was… they were at least asize too small. It had been a tight enough squeeze to get his feet in in thefirst place, but now the creases at the back were scratching his heels when heattempted to walk. Hamilton could already tell that it wouldn’t be the mostcomfortable endeavor to march in these boots.

He looked at his reflection in the mirroronce more. Yes, the boots were brilliant, but he wondered if might also be a tadfrivolous for an aide-de-camp.

The cobbler, on his way back to his deskafter fetching a tool from the opposite side of the shop, seemed to thinkdifferently. “You look like quite a gentleman in those boots, if I do say somyself sir,” he remarked.

Hamilton couldn’t help but smile. “Nameyour price, sir,” he said.

Laurens was too absorbed in his paperworkto notice the foppish footwear at first, which Hamilton didn’t mind particularly,as he figured that there would be ample time to show them off during themorning’s drills. Laurens, however, was called in to meet with GeneralWashington, and therefore missed the drills. It was after these drills, when noone had so much as commented on his brilliant boots, that Hamilton began tothink he might have made a mistake. His feet were aching and he walked back tothe General’s tent rather gingerly. Laurens didn’t notice a thing, as Hamiltonremained sitting at a table until lunch, after which he had to collectinformation for a report.

“Are you limping?” Meade asked as Hamiltongathered his notebook and pencil.

“…no,” said Hamilton.

By the time he returned, he was indeed limping.He was also fairly certain that his feet were blistered, and was eagerlyawaiting an opportunity to sit down. Even the sight of the golden buttonsflashing in the sunlight couldn’t quite reassure him that this had been a goodidea.

“Ah, Hamilton,” said the General as heentered the tent. “I must ask you and Laurens to deliver these instructions tothe Baron before supper.”

OhGod no, thought Hamilton.

“Of course, sir,” he said.

He and Laurens walked quietly in the fadinglight. Laurens stretched his arms over his head, making an endearingly sleepyexpression. He lowered his arms and looked quizzically at Hamilton for amoment. “Are you alright?” he asked, “You’re walking funny.”

It took a tremendous effort for Hamilton tosay “I certainly hope not.” He smiled, or, perhaps it was more of a grimace. “Idid however, purchase some new boots,” he said hopefully, “What do you think ofthem?”

“Quite dashing,” said Laurens, stilllooking slightly concerned, “But I really do think you’re limping. Are youalright?”

“I’m just fine,” said Hamilton, a littlesharper than he meant to.

Laurens raised his hands and eyebrows in agesture of defeat. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you be.”

Hamilton crumpled a little inside. This wasnot how the plan was supposed to go. He had thought, perhaps, if he looked thepart he could hope to compete with the redcoat gentleman and the boy fromGeneva and seem just as noble as his dear friend, but the only rewards for hispains were a few bright buttons and blisters. Jealousy, like a green-tintedglass over the world, didn’t seem inclined to leave him in peace.

Hamilton threw himself onto his bed with asigh that night, and immediately started grappling with those blasted buttonsto free his aching feet.

“Damn,” he said aloud, pulling off hissocks to reveal that his heels were indeed bleeding.

“Alexander!” exclaimed a voice from thedoorway. There was Laurens, looking all the more lovely in the room’s softcandlelight, despite his exasperated expression.

“Hello,” said Hamilton, wobbling across theroom to find a cloth to clean up the blood with.

“Alexander, what is going on?” Laurensdemanded, draping his coat over the back of a chair. “You’ve been acting oddfor days. How can I offer my help if I’ve no idea what I’m helping with?”

Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, butfell silent again. He sat back down and cleaned the blood from his heels. Withthat completed, he folded his coat and waistcoat at the bottom of the bed, andpulled the blankets over his legs. “I don’t know a thing about French wine,” hesaid quietly. Laurens looked puzzled. “And I’ve never attended an opera. I don’thave command of a regiment, and I don’t have painted buttons on my coat.” hesighed, “I suppose I thought I could look the part anyways, but that justbattered my feet and now drills tomorrow are going to be a complete pain-”

“Alexander,” John sank onto the bed, “Didyou buy those abominable boots just to impress me?” Hamilton noddedreluctantly. “Why?” it seemed as if Laurens was attempting not to laugh, “Doyou think me some sort of magpie that can be captured with a few rows of shinybuttons?”

“I simply thought I might try to seem moregentlemanly…”

“And do you really think French wine andoperas and painted buttons are the only things that make up a gentleman?Alexander, you are ten times as honourable as most with the audacity to callthemselves gentlemen. You’refighting, by whatever means you have, every day to make a future for ourcountry. That’s more noble and good than gold buttons could ever be.”

“But the other boy, the one you kissed inGeneva-”

“He sided with the Crown,” said Laurensquietly.

“Oh,” Hamilton pushed back the blankets andscooted over to take Laurens’ hands in his own. “I’m so sorry John.”

“It’s alright,” John shrugged, “You didn’tknow. But if you’re jealous… don’t be. He could never compare to you.”

How is one supposed to reply to such asentiment? Alexander leaned closer, embracing his dear friend, and hoped theaction could convey the warmth in his heart well enough. “If you take my placetranslating for the drills tomorrow, I’ll do your paperwork,” he muttered. “Thenwe can take the evening off and return to that tavern properly.”

“What, to gather more information?” Johnasked from somewhere over Alexander’s shoulder.

“No, to court you properly!” Hamiltonlaughed.

“One condition,” he could hear Laurens’smile in his words.

“What’s that?”

“You will return those boots as soon as weget into town.”

If that was the price to pay for an eveningalone with Laurens, Hamilton would gladly pay it.

[tornbetween2loves]

My Heart Torn Apart, 5 years later

Open Minds and Open Hearts

This is the next part in my series My Heart Torn Apart, 5 years later. You can catch up on previous parts on my masterlist here.

Warnings: Riley, Liam and Drake are in a polyamorous relationship in this series. Most parts are at least a little NSFW. If this sort of relationship offends you, please don’t read it. There is also mention of my TCTF series, A Story Worth Telling. You can also find that series on my masterlist linked above.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry. I am simply borrowing them.

Taglist: @kennaxval @boneandfur @bobasheebaby @drakewalkerwhipped @femmeshep @hhiggs @lizeboredom @pb-boeboe @klaudiana-beaumontkkreal @tmarie82 @writtenbycandy @xxrainbowprincessxx-deactivated @speedyoperarascalparty @darley1101 @katurrade @lodberg @bella-ca @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @missevabean @walkerismychoice @eileendannie @museofbooks @jared2612 @h3llostrang3r @ooo-barff-ooo @alesana45 @debramcg1106 @stopforamoment @carabeth

Liam stood in the center of the stage behind the makeshift pulpit. There were several microphones and bright flashing lights as the press snapped pictures. He stood proud, with Riley to his left and Drake to his right. He squeezed their hands, making eye contact with each of them before turning to face the crowd.

“Good Evening. Thank you all for coming to celebrate our anniversary.” Liam paused to look at Riley and Drake again before he continued. He cleared his throat. “Before we continue with the celebration, I have an announcement to make. Earlier today, in a ceremony officiated by Leo Rhys, Queen Riley and I were married to Drake Walker. We all exchanged vows and are legally bound to each other.” An excited murmur filled the room and reporters began shouting out questions.

Liam held up a hand to quiet everyone. “No questions. I have more to say.” He took a deep breath, turning to look at the portrait of the warrior queens behind them. He turned back around. “I would ask all of you to look at the portrait behind me. I know you are all familiar with Queens Kenna and Val. I know that everyone in the country has been required to read A Story Worth Telling as part of their high school lessons. Everyone knows the tale of their love that grew out of the worst possible circumstance: war. They fought powerful enemies, and won. They fought to unite the Five Kingdoms, then to defeat Empress Azura; ultimately bringing peace to the Five Kingdoms and the Iron Empire. Their love grew from the battlefields of this war and created a fierce loyalty, not just between the two of them, but also between their circle of comrades.”

“After all the fighting, they got to reap the rewards of their labor. Sure, their union was unconventional for their time, but they ruled strong together, ushering in an era of peace which still exists today. It is only because of their leadership that we are able to enjoy the prosperity of our kingdom.” Liam turned to gaze at the portrait once more, pausing for a moment before he continued.

“I have always strived to rule like the warrior queens. I want history to write my reign as peaceful, as a strong king who ruled justly. I’ve never been afraid of change, especially when it’s for the better. I keep an open mind and heart for all of the Cordonian people. But I believe that we all deserve happiness, including us.” He gestured at Riley and Drake. “We have an unconventional union, not unlike Queens Kenna and Val. And our love comes from a similar place. Granted, we did not battle across the country together, but the three of us have faced a lot together. Conspiracies, bombings, attacks, shootings, kidnappings. Those were our battles. We faced them together, along with our own group of comrades. And out of those experiences grew the same fierce loyalty experienced by the warrior queens. That is where our love comes from. Queen Riley and Drake Walker are the loves of my life. I have no doubt of our ability to serve the people of this great country. We can continue the era of peace started so many centuries ago right here at Stormholt.”

Liam paused and took Drake and Riley’s hand in his so the three stood linked to each other. “I am asking the Cordonian people to have an open mind and heart. I am asking for your support. We pledge our loyalty to Cordonia and all it’s citizens. Let’s continue in peace.” He raised his arms above his head, bringing Riley and Drake’s arm with him.

At first, silence filled the room. Then, as cameras flashed, the room broke out in thunderous applause. Reporters began shouting out questions again, but Madeline was on stage taking over the pulpit. She gestured for Liam, Riley and Drake to take their seats. “I’m sorry, we are not taking questions at this time. I do have a written statement prepared. We will hold a more informal press conference at a later date to address your concerns. Please enjoy dinner.”

************************************************************************************

After dinner the press left and Liam, Drake and Riley mingled with the guests. Everyone was upbeat and positive, showing their support of the monarchy. Slowly the nobles said good night and took their leave until it was just the three of them and their close friends. They all sat around one of the big round tables. Liam, Drake, Riley, Hana, Maxwell and Olivia. Madeline approached the table with a bottle of champagne and several flutes. She set them in the center of the table and patted Liam on the shoulder. “You did well, your majesty. Although I haven’t seen the reaction to the live coverage, I feel like anything too extreme would have been reported to me. I think we can call tonight a success.” She popped the cork on the champagne and filled the flutes, passing them around the table. Liam smiled and looked around at his friends as he raised his glass. “I just want you all to know that what I said in that speech came straight from the heart. I can not express how much I am thankful to have you all as friends. Your support means everything to us.” Everyone raised a glass and toasted, except for Riley. She felt the familiar churning in the pit of her stomach and raised the can of ginger ale she had popped open a few minutes earlier.

“We love you guys too,” Hana said as she sipped the champagne. “Yeah, I’m so happy that you all can be together now, in public, without worrying about judgment,” Maxwell added. “That was a fine speech you gave Liam,” Olivia said. “I just don’t see how anyone could question you after that. The parallels you drew between the warrior queens and yourselves was amazing.”

“That reminds me, do any of you recall coming across any proof that the queens had a third in their relationship?” Liam asked. Everyone shook their heads and shrugged. Olivia let out a snarky laugh. “Come on people. They did manage to somehow produce heirs. Of course they had a man! How else do you think they had babies?” Drake rolled his eyes. “Sure they obviously got pregnant somehow. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they were in a relationship with the father. They could have just kept him as a concubine.” “Who’s to say they even had sex,” Maxwell added. “It’s not like they had artificial insemination back then Maxwell,” Hana said. “Of course not,” Maxwell said. “But who knows? There could have been some medieval version of it.” Riley tried to suppress a giggle as she locked eyes with Hana. They both burst into laughter. “What? Did I miss something?” Maxwell asked, confused. “Did they baste turkeys back in medieval times?” Riley managed to squeak out between guffaws. Soon everyone at the table was cracking up at the thought of Liam’s ancestors coming from inside a turkey baster.

“Ok, so obviously the queens had to have some kind of relationship with a man,” Liam said. “What if they had a lover? Someone they both cared for, who fathered their children and was a part of their daily lives?” Olivia’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Wait a second. Are you suggesting that the Queens of Stormholt were in a relationship with a man and managed to keep it a secret? For centuries?” Liam nodded as he broke into a slow grin. “In fact, I think we may have found proof.”

Silence fell over the table as everyone looked at Liam in shock. “Proof? What kind of proof could you possibly have found?” Olivia said doubtfully. Riley reached into her bag and pulled out the journal they had found earlier. “We found this in a hidden alcove in what used to be the queens’ chambers,” Riley said. “It was covered with 500 years worth of dust,” Drake added. She also pulled the aged copy of A Story Worth Telling from her bag. “This is a first edition and has a handwritten inscription for the queens.” They passed the books around the table, mouths open in amazement. Riley read the first entry of the journal aloud for all of them to hear. “Wow, this is huge,” Maxwell exclaimed. “Like altering history huge.” “Let’s read some more entries. Perhaps we can figure out whose journal this is and how big a role he actually played in the queens’ lives,” Hana said. Everyone nodded in agreement, murmuring excitedly.

Riley turned the page gingerly, blowing a plume of dust off the next page. She began to read the next entry:

24 June 1520

This week has been long and tortuous. Poor Kenna is just beside herself with guilt and indecision. I know she has feelings for me as I do for her. She is so beautiful, inside and out. I understand why Val loves her so. I never thought anyone would be able to penetrate Val’s rough exterior. Well, anyone but me of course. I am sitting here in my chambers, across the hall from their’s, trying not to hear them in the throes of passion with each other. Each night I am more amazed by their stamina. But I’m not sure how much longer I can abstain. I think tomorrow I will have a discussion with Val. It’s time to speed this process up. I know I said some things can’t be rushed, but this is driving me mad!

“Wow, it does seem like whoever wrote this had a relationship with the queens,” Olivia said. “How many entries are there?” Riley slowly flipped to the back of the book. It was completely filled. She read the date on the last entry. “It looks like it was written over a 5-year period.” “Why don’t you skip to the end and read the last entry? Maybe it will answer some questions,” Hana said. Riley nodded and began to read.

17 July 1525

I am in awe of my beautiful queens. Today I held my daughter in my arms for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful as my tiny girl, only just born, gazing up at me. She is the perfect combination of Val and myself. I can see the best of us blended together in her tiny face. Just like her big brother. His resemblance to Kenna is striking. But as he grows, I can tell he’s a Drammir, through and through. I feel a twinge of regret that my children will never bear my name. Or know their roots. But at least they will know me. I happily accept this as my lot in life because it allows me to be with my true loves. And when they are older I will take them to Fydoria and teach them what I can about my culture and history. They are royalty, after all, and should have that sort of knowledge of the Five Kingdoms. I will only write this down once, then I will forever hide this journal from the world. My name is Michael Drammir, of Fydoria, cousin of King Tevan. My children are Gabriel Leon Rys, crown prince of Stormholt, and princess Annelyse Lia Greaves of Stormholt.

Madeline, who had been strangely quiet the entire time, began coughing as her gulp of champagne went down the wrong pipe. Liam looked at her with concern. “Are you ok? Although I think we all would have had a similar reaction if our mouths were full when Riley read that last part.” Everyone nodded. Olivia shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. After all this time. Proof of the lineage of your ancestors, Liam.” He nodded. “Yes. And apparently the father was the author of A Story Worth Telling.” Maxwell suddenly sat up straight. “Wait a second. Liam, you’re not just a descendent of Kenna Rys. You’re also a descendent of Michael Drammir. Of Fydoria.” He looked back and forth from Madeline to Liam as the color drained from her face.

“Oh my god,” Olivia said as she sat up straight. Liam met Madeline’s gaze as he cleared his throat. Riley, Hana and Drake looked confused. “I don’t get it. Did I miss something?” Riley asked. Liam nodded. “Fydoria is now the area we refer to as Fydelia. As in Madeline’s Duchy.” Madeline took a deep breath and looked around the table, meeting each person’s gaze before resting on Liam’s. “Although I don’t use it often, my surname is Drammir. I am a direct descendent of King Tevan Drammir of Fydoria.”

[htraining163-blog]

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[cliffordmcmillan72-blog]

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[chalmersr]

Arrival at Ballymaloe

It’s extraordinary how normal this enormous thing I have done feels – completely altering the trajectory of my life at a time when many people are settling into the endgame, and often the pinnacle, of their chosen careers. At 52, I have resigned from what some may deem to have been a successful career as a Director of Corporate Communications at a multinational organisation, and moved in a fundamentally different direction.

I recently arrived at Ballymaloe Cookery School, Organic Gardens and Farms in Ireland. http://www.cookingisfun.ie/ The school is set on a 100-acre working organic farm near Cork in the south of Ireland – very much in the countryside, as it were. I am here for the next three months on the 12-week intensive immersion cookery course, which is billed as a “farm to fork” experience, or a garden to table approach to cooking. There is a big focus on seasonality, so you cook with the foods that are in season at the time, which is not only healthier for the environment and yourself, but also makes food more affordable.

The first week has been amazing and completely overwhelming – a huge amount of information has been thrown at the 64 people on the course who range from the ages of 17 to 67. I am living in a house with six others (fortunately in a single room with my own bathroom, yay), all of us of a similar age and they are a really great group of people from the UK, US and Ireland, which is pretty representative of the course (with one or two people from France, Australia and Asia thrown in). Being the only South African in the house, and on the course, I am viewed with some interest and many questions come my way about the country, life in SA and much more.

Darina Allen who started Ballymaloe Cooking School 30-odd years ago with her brother Rory O’Connell has been guiding us through the past week – visiting the gardens, understanding the routine of the school (it’s complex at first) and demonstrating cooking lessons as we go along. She’s entirely fabulous – 70 years old with more energy than anyone I know (other than my sister Penny, perhaps, who has the advantage of being a decade younger) and a wonderful, dry, Irish sense of humour. I chuckle a lot at her many aside comments when she is teaching or roaring around the grounds, clambering over fences and stomping down lanes. At the moment, she is beside herself with excitement at the large number of mushrooms in the fields – there is a bumper crop and one she has not seen since her childhood. We have all been out late into the evening gathering mushrooms, as well as blueberries, blackberries, raspberries and much more.

So why am I here? A few reasons, actually. Those who know me will agree that I am something of a “planner”. I was at a school in Boston in the USA a few years ago on one of those leadership type courses, and we were asked to plot out our future five years. I had mine down to a tee, and the teacher was a tad flabbergasted at the level of detail I had gone into – she felt I needed to give some leeway for the possibility of life happening! And of course, she was right. Some of the things I had planned have happened, and others are very different to what I had envisaged then – like being here at Ballymaloe. So the idea was always to leave corporate life at about this time – late 2018, to sell our house in Johannesburg and move to the small town of Stanford near Hermanus in the Western Cape where we have had a house for the past six years. I wanted to work for an NGO or civil society in some form and/or perhaps start a communications consultancy to keep the wolf from the door, while my husband would write (and he was very keen to lie down a lot, as was I J).

But of course, life did happen and last year we had an opportunity to buy the most wonderful small country restaurant, called Mariana’s in Stanford, which we rather surprisingly decided to do. Surprisingly because neither of us has any experience in managing or cooking in a restaurant, or in  overseeing a large vegetable and fruit garden which is part and parcel of the restaurant.

But once the decision had been made, I started to look around for courses that would equip us to deliver a food experience that at least made an attempt to do justice to the type of ‘garden to table’ quality food the restaurant owner and her husband – Mariana and Peter - had pioneered in the Western Cape for many years, and for which the restaurant had become well-known. I discovered that there are essentially two main options for learning to cook so intensively and work in the South African food industry – you either do a two or three year diploma or degree at Silwood, Prue Leith or other such schools, or you can do short courses for a week or two, sometimes a bit longer. Neither suited our purposes, so we looked further afield and there were, of course, lots of options internationally but the one that resonated was Ballymaloe. The philosophy of garden to table is one that we would like to carry forward,  three months seemed doable (with several visits from my husband) and hey, I get to spend time in beautiful Ireland which I have never really explored even though our family has rich heritage here.

And so here I lie, in my single bed, writing the first of what I hope will be regular updates on my experience here. They say that the time here goes incredibly fast as the course is so intensive and you learn so much, that it all becomes something of a blur. Right now, after what has been an exhausting but exhilarating first week, I seem to have a long way to go. I am hoping that the course will help me decide whether I wish to cook in the kitchen, to manage our restaurant, to oversee and undertake the planting and growing of the vegetable and fruit gardens or perhaps a combination of all of these. We also need to decide on the new name of our restaurant as we did not buy the Mariana name. Apart from planning and running the kitchen, we must know what to grow and when to grow it, how to hire great people as well as understand specialist things such as costing of food, how to buy the right amount of stock and much, much more.  All of which I will learn on the course.

I aim to treasure this special time and soak up as much as I can – very few people are lucky enough to have this opportunity and I know how very blessed I am to be able to have this extraordinary experience. So cheers for now, until next time!

[inspiredink]

Finding the Dots

This piece, and perhaps, future pieces will not be following any logical train of thought per se. There may be some method to these seemingly scattered thoughts, but, if there is any objective at all, then it is for both the writer and the reader to enter a space of mental exploration of themes and ideas as they come with the flow of words.

Our minds as humans have gone through various evolutions. One of them being that if you are not the one wielding power, then you must not oppose those wielding power over you, that you dare not rise against those established by your environment as superior to you, that everyone suffers, and you must accept your suffering with grace if you don’t want to be crushed. From this mindset, we’ve gradually and collectively evolved to what appears to be the opposite view: question authority. Challenge superiors. Not all authority is legitimate. Among the many themes of our various human conditions, we seem to cycle between these two mindsets.

Like waves of the oceans, people rise to challenge leadership and to change it if possible, and though the road to change may be arduous, once they have achieved it, they settle in the false hope that the leadership they have chosen will address their needs only to become discontent again and rise to challenge yet another superior power they have established. This may happen within the confines of democracy, revolutions, or whatever method people use to change who wields power.

But for the very fact that changing the powers that be is difficult, and like viruses, people with power over others never really relinquish their hold, these uprisings may happen several times in our lifetimes. And during these times we will engage with those who oppose our views, those who remain ambiguous, those who prefer not to choose sides, those who just don’t care, and those seeking to take advantage of whatever movement is active at the time.  (It’s happening on twitter even as I write). A time of political, social, and economic chaos as some may call it. I call it change. The process of change.  I once declared in a conversation, that while I believe that organized religion plays a powerful role in society, I feel today’s societies will do just fine without it and the social scientist I was chatting with said I was calling for anarchy. As though chaos and anarchy are not or cannot be organized. In any case, any attempt to rid society of organized religion will only make it flourish or evolve into other forms. But I digress…

 If you happen to be clinging to any of the ideas I’ve mentioned, then the stories you tell will probably carry these themes.

 Lay-by – it gets murky

Fairy tales about queens and kings and princesses and knights and subjects, and of course, the outcasts among them: be they dragons, elves, goblins, fairies, enchanters, sorcerers, dwarves, fawns, and talking animals; the outcasts who can create magic and change the course of a character’s presumably predestined life… These exist in a world of their own with their own organized system of hierarchy. Yes, hierarchy, there must always be hierarchy it seems. Someone must sit on the shoulders of others to keep things marching in some direction. Is it possible for groups of beings and communities to self-organize without some form of hierarchy? I don’t have answers, but it helps to explore these ideas.

Lay-by- memories

Fairy tales. In addition to all the western fairy tales I imbibed while growing up, I also enjoyed hundreds of Ghanaian “fairy tales” (Anansesem) most of which follow the format of the ruler and the ruled and probed themes such as pride, bravery, and cunning. Some stories were about anthropomorphic animals, and animal kingdoms. Many of them were about Kweku Ananse the trickster (Ghana’s spider man) who outwitted kings, and gods, and wise-men.  Sometimes, the human world and the animal world crossed paths in these tales. Other stories were about magic forests, caves, trees, rivers, wells, and beautiful women or proud princesses who married the fascinating and handsome stranger who turned out to be a dangerous serpent and therefore, these women needed to be rescued by the brave clansman.

Lay-by - the murkiness returns

Short stories without the magic people. Young adult. Modern. Are these any different from fairy tales? An 18-year old or a 22-year-old may leave home, leave their parent’s house to start life on their own. Let’s call home their place of nurture. Because home can be an orphanage, a foster home, a mental facility, a caravan, a convent et cetera. They leave home to discover what they can make out of their lives.  Is it any different from the farmer’s child, the merchant’s child, the orphan (of the old fairy tales) who leaves home, or village to discover their fortune? In the fairy tales, these adventurers ended up marrying some prince or princess, or queen, or king. Eternal rescue from poverty. Or as the stories called it The Happily Ever After ; another mindset that has been challenged time and again in today’s stories where writers scrutinize the human spirit and intellect. 

Modern stories. The young person going through a coming-of-age phase, meeting all types of characters who, one way or another, enable them to examine their world view. Detective stories which allow us to consider our views on crime and justice, horror stories which grant us license to indulge in the shock factor and life’s unpredictability and ambiguity, tales of fantasy and science fiction which focus on world building and also include similar themes of power, hierarchy, love, relationships, and may or may not include magic. We could go on and let our minds wander through the evolution of poetry and poetic prose, stories written from the first person or second person narrative, surreal writing and stream of consciousness writing and so on. Where was I going with this?

Last Lay-by- I’m putting a cork in it

Of course, we also know that not all stories, whether they are the tales of old or told today follow the leave home and find fortune narrative. Every now and then, one finds among the old tales a story of an adventurer who perished or didn’t find “the good life”. Such stories have been placed under the term Tragedy. But in all these stories, you will find CONFLICT. Both internal and external. And it makes me wonder, isn’t it interesting, that without some form of conflict in a story, most people would consider it incomplete? Is it possible to tell a story without conflict? Will we be bored out of our minds if our lives had no conflict in it? War is obviously our most extreme expression of conflict where we all have a chance to exercise our various levels of power or become victims. Those who are smart seek protection from the powers that win. Whether they find it is another tale all on its own. And that’s another narrative a writer can follow. Thus, hierarchy, power, and conflict seem unavoidable in storytelling, whether we live in chaotic or organized systems.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03: 

Chapter 50: A Monster Made

Snow and Charming hurried into the shop and Belle noticed the alarm on Snow's face, as did Jefferson. He had been scarce lately, as he had spent a lot of time catching up with Grace, but his daughter was having some one on one time with her mother today.

"What's happened?" she asked, as Gold came in from the backroom.

"Is that it?" David asked, noticing the blank white globe on the back counter.

"It is…she seemed to buy my act, though there is really no telling with her," Gold replied.

"I don't think she did," Snow blurted out, as Persephone and Emma hurried in.

"I got your text," the dark haired Goddess said.

"Me too," Emma added.

"I saw them in the woods...Cora and Regina," Snow said. Persephone looked instantly worried.

"Did they know you were there?" she asked. Snow shook her head.

"I...I don't think so, but it's bad," she fretted, as Charming put his hands on her shoulders.

"Tell them everything you told me," he said, hoping that his embrace could calm her. It did somewhat and she took a deep breath.

"Regina and Cora were meeting with a man in the woods, not far from Johanna's house," she began, as she glanced at her Mother. She wanted to believe that it was a coincidence that it was in such close proximity to Johanna's residence, but the look on Persephone's face told a different story.

"A man?" Belle asked.

"I've never seen him before, but he had a very identifying trait," Snow replied, as they looked at her expectantly.

"A hook for one hand," she added. Gold clenched his fist at that. So...Cora had brought the Captain with her, after all.

"Whoa, whoa, wait...a hook?" Emma asked incredulously, as they all looked at her.

"As in Captain Hook? He's real too?" she questioned.

"Says the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming," Jefferson quipped. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Hook has a known affiliation with both Regina and her mother," Gold provided. Snow and Charming glanced at him.

"And apparently one hell of a grudge against you from what Snow heard," he added.

"They're looking for the dagger...and Hook is very upset about Cora not allowing him to kill you with it. Because she wants to become the Dark One," Snow informed.

"Just as we thought then," Persephone surmised.

"He kept calling you the Crocodile…" Snow added. Gold was dismissive at that.

"We crossed paths some three hundred years ago. He wronged me and I repaid the favor," he offered vaguely. Persephone rolled her eyes.

"You killed your wife for running off with him and cut his hand off for humiliating you before you were the Dark One," she corrected. He clenched his teeth.

"My past grievances are not for you to air to the world," he growled.

"And this is not the world. They need to know why they might be caught in the crossfire with the war between you and Captain Hook," she snapped back.

"Yeah, especially if he obviously knows you have friends...and someone you love," Emma added.

"She's right...Cora has likely been watching us all, as creepy as it is to think about. That's what she was doing while we enjoyed a bit of peace these last two weeks," Persephone warned.

"So what do we do? How do we combat her?" David asked. She looked at Rumple.

"You need to get your dagger and then we send it with you across the town line when you leave to find your son," Persephone stated.

"Because it would have no power out there," Belle realized.

"An act like that will likely result in an attack from Cora...you'll need to be ready. And if I'm not here, you'll have to fight her alone," Gold warned.

"I know...especially since you'll need Emma to track him down," she added. Emma looked at all of them.

"Yeah...I'm more than willing to help. But leaving you guys with Cora on the loose and now this Hook guy? I don't know…" she lamented.

"I don't suppose I can convince you two to leave with them?" Persephone asked.

"As much as we want to go with Emma...we can't leave our people with this kind of threat on the horizon," David answered. Snow nodded.

"He's right...we have to protect our people. But I do think you should take Henry with you," she added. Emma nodded.

"Yeah...taking the kid out of this mess is probably a good idea," Emma agreed.

"I still want you two to drink the potions, just in case. Belle and Gold have already taken theirs," Persephone said, as she handed the vials of pink liquid to them. Snow and David popped the corks and each drank the sour liquid.

"It's time…" Gold said, as he opened a wall safe behind a painting and took out a long box. He opened it, revealing the dagger. Using it, he pricked his finger and let the blood fall onto the blank globe. They watched the droplet of blood fall with anticipation and when it stopped, they watched a landmass form. It was easily recognizable to Emma and she looked up at them.

"New York City…" she said.

"Pack for yourself and your son, Miss Swan. I'll make the arraignments and we shall leave tonight," he said. Snow and Charming looked uncertain, but hugged their daughter between them. Charming looked over at Gold and started to open his mouth.

"No harm will come to them...you have my word," he said. David closed his mouth and nodded gratefully.

Regina put the flowers on Daniel's glass coffin that she had kept in her family mausoleum all these years.

"We almost had her, Daniel or so I thought," Regina muttered.

"I cursed her and took away everything she loved...only to find out that she still had them in her dreams. But I had Henry...and that was enough," she murmured.

"Until she took him away again...her and her wretched family. She's taken everything from me again, just like she took you," Regina said, seething that Snow White was continually allowed to get away with her evil.

"So...you've kept him preserved," a voice said. Regina's face went ashen and she turned to find her mother there. She had only risked coming here when she thought her mother was occupied enough not to realize her absence.

"Regina...love is weakness. You must let this go," Cora chided dismissively, like Daniel was a mere object.

"He is here as a reminder...of what she did to me," Regina argued.

"Yes...but he is also holding you back from truly making her pay. Her life under the curse...she may have had no one, but you were far too kind to her. You gave her an apartment and a job. You could have gifted her to that God that was obsessed with her...yet you didn't. Her torment would have been constant with him...she would have been his virtual slave and yet you didn't," Cora admonished. Regina swallowed.

Subconsciously, as much as she hated it, she had protected Snow from a fate like that. The Regina that she insisted died long ago with Daniel protected the little girl she was so fond of from that horrible fate. As Leopold's wife, she had been trapped and she admitted that it would have been satisfying to trap Snow as well. Perhaps Rumple had seen to it that Snow's life wasn't complete hell during the curse. He needed her strong and ready to fight, not broken by a man that would have constantly raped her.

"I may have cast the curse, mother. But Rumpelstiltskin has always been pulling the strings. Your former mentor's fondness for the Charmings may have had a hand in that. He didn't want a broken Snow White, after all. She's of no use to him like that," Regina surmised.

"Mmm...very true. But I do want a broken Snow White. The question is...do you want that?" Cora asked. She looked at her mother incredulously.

"Of course I do...I want her to suffer…" Regina growled, as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Then it's time to send a monster to finish the job," Cora said deviously.

"But Persephone trapped Damon...with Prometheus' chains no less. Not even our magic can undo that," Regina replied. Cora smirked.

"I'm not talking about that monster," Cora said, as she snapped her fingers. Dr. Whale appeared and looked appropriately confused.

"What is this?" he questioned.

"I'm in need of your assistance, Dr. Frankenstein. Here is a healthy heart and there is a viable body. Make your monster," Cora ordered.

"Mother…" Regina started to protest, as all Whale's equipment appeared around them. The doctor picked up the heart and eyed it curiously.

"Whose heart is this?" he asked.

"No one important...I took it long ago. They may not even be in Storybrooke," Cora replied dismissively. The doctor looked intrigued.

"Mother...I don't think is a good idea," Regina protested.

"No darling...this is exactly what we need. Only a true monster can rid us of Persephone's bastard child. It's only poetic that her life is snuffed out by this man...she caused him to die, after all," Cora said, as she turned back to the doctor.

"If I do this...then you'll get me back to my land? So I can find my brother?" he asked. Cora nodded.

"As we discussed. A deal is a deal, doctor," she agreed. With that, Regina watched in horror, as Whale fired up his equipment. His chemicals boiled and his beakers rattled violently, as electricity charged through the tubes now connected to Daniel's body. Whale held the heart up and them slammed it into Daniel's chest.

After the conversation at Gold's shop, they parted ways for the afternoon. Emma went home to pack for her and Henry, Persephone stayed to help Gold try to determine a more precise location within New York City to give them a starting point, while David had gone to the station to cover things there. As Mayor, she returned to her new office and though she had brought a few things from her desk at school and even hung a painting of her own, it still felt foreign to her. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to this, but she was determined to do the best for the people that elected her.

Her mother's help was proving to be invaluable though, as she had helped Snow organize everything in a way that was very easy to follow, from budgeting, to licensing, and legislation. Of course, the true test would come next week during her first Council meeting. Her leadership would be put to the test then and so she began to work on the agenda for her first Council meeting.

A couple hours passed and Snow felt accomplished, as she worked diligently on the backlog of paperwork. Several new businesses would soon be opening, thanks to her granting new permits to people that had decided to forge new career paths now that the curse was broken.

One was for a young couple for a Cajun type restaurant. She recognized their names from a movie made a couple years ago, but she never imagined that they too had counterparts that were all too real. She was happy to grant a license to them and hoped Tiana and Naveen would have success in their new endeavors.

She was just finishing her first proposal when Henry arrived at her office surprisingly.

"Hey there...what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I got off the bus here...don't worry, I texted Mom. I wanted to see the office now that it's yours," he said. Snow smiled and motioned him over.

"I'm glad you came then...I miss seeing you during the day," she said, as she hugged him.

"I miss seeing you too, but this is better! You're going to help people," he replied. She smiled.

"I'm certainly going to try and I hope the Council will see it that way next week," she said.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked in confusion, as he cocked his head to the side.

"Well...one of my proposals is to close Damon's club and get rid of the entire building. It's still being run by his cohorts and it might be a lot for some to swallow. It's a big first step to change though," she explained.

"But why wouldn't they want to do that if it's a bad place?" he asked.

"Well sweetie...it is a bad place, but Damon also funneled a lot of money into the town treasury from his business. It's dirty money that I want nothing to do with, but the Council might be worried about how we're going to make up for those funds. Especially when they find out what I want to replace it with," Snow replied.

"And what's that?" he asked curiously.

"I want to build a community center that also has a shelter for people in need. People are changing and new opportunities are needed, like training programs for people that want to start new careers or become more educated. Then my next step will eventually be hopefully to create an actual college or university here in Storybrooke," she explained.

"Wow...really?" he asked. She smiled.

"Eventually, but that's a long ways off and really ambitious," she replied.

"But why wouldn't the Council want all those things?" Henry asked.

"Well...it's not that some don't want it, but it comes back to funding, sweetheart. A community center would be non profit and though the money from educational tuition would help, it's still going to be a far cry from the money Damon used to pay," she explained.

"But that money came from bad things," he lamented.

"I know...but for some, it's just business and some of them benefited greatly from that bad money. Getting some to see things my way won't be easy and maybe impossible for some," she said.

"But you won't give up?" he asked. She smiled and ruffled his brown hair.

"No...I'll never do that," she promised. A sudden banging made them jump in surprise and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her first thought was that perhaps Damon had managed to free himself and a bone deep fear settled in her at that. She stood up and pushed Henry behind her, as the shadow of a figure could be seen at her door. She picked up a nearby lamp and readied it to fight.

"Grams…" Henry whimpered.

"Stay behind me, Henry," she ordered. But when the door was smashed open, confusion and a cold dread filled her, for she never expected the person standing before them now. That person was supposed to be dead and now he stood before them with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Daniel…" she uttered in disbelief. He growled unintelligibly and lunged for them. Snow cried out and grabbed Henry, as she rolled away.

"Henry run!" she called, as she pushed him toward the door. But he stopped when he saw the man hovering over Snow.

"Grams!" he called.

"Henry go!" she called, as she dodged Daniel's fists and kicked him in the shins. He growled and she scrambled after him. But he grabbed her arm and flung her back against the wall.

"NO!" Henry cried, gaining the attention of the monster and he slowly started to move toward the boy.

"Henry…" Snow cried weakly, as she tried to remain conscious. Through dazed eyes, she looked up to find Cora staring down at her with a smug grin.

"Time to finally give my daughter what she has always wanted…" the woman said, as her hand hovered above Snow's chest. But she suddenly found herself blasted away by lavender colored magic and she crashed into a chair.

"Step away from my daughter," Persephone growled. Cora got to her feet and a stream of magenta colored magic met a lavender one.

"Henry...come with me," Regina pleaded, as she stood in the doorway.

"No...you're doing this, aren't you?" he cried.

"Henry...this is for the best. I promise you'll see that someday," Regina pleaded, as Daniel growled.

"Daniel...no!" she cried, as he reached toward Henry.

"Daniel...you want to kill her! She's the one that did this to you...not Henry!" Regina tried to reason with him.

"That is not Daniel anymore, Regina!" Persephone cried, as she warred with Cora. Tears fell down Regina's cheeks.

"That may be his body, but you know his soul is gone. He passed through the Underworld long ago!" she cried.

"Because of your daughter," the Queen growled, as she stalked toward Snow's prone form.

"No...because of your own mother!" Persephone growled, glaring at Cora.

"He was in my daughter's way to the Throne...but now he will be the tool to the other obstacle in her way...your spawn," Cora growled back.

"Never...you will never hurt my Snow…" Persephone hissed, as she intensified her magic.

"Regina please…" Snow pleaded drowsily.

"Pleading for your life? I thought you were above that," Regina said smugly.

"No...Henry...get Henry…" Snow cried. The other woman turned to see her son putting his arms over his head, as Daniel towered over him with fists ready to crush him.

"Daniel...no!" she pleaded. But her hand shook and her magic refused to cooperate.

"HEY!" a voice interrupted, as David stood in the doorway now, with a gun trained on the monster.

"David...no!" Regina pleaded, as he cocked his weapon.

"He's going to kill Henry! Either you do it...or I have to!" David roared. Regina sobbed, nearly uncontrollably, but waved her hand and lifted her preservation spell. Daniel turned to dust then and Regina fell to her knees, sobbing, as he holstered his weapon and rushed to Snow, just as Emma rushed in and scooped Henry up. At that moment, Cora cried out in pain, as Persephone's magic nullified hers and burned her. She held her hands in pain and glared murderously at the Goddess.

"This isn't over," she promised, as she and a crying Regina disappeared.

"Snow...Snow!" David cried, as he lifted her up and placed her on her desk.

"She cracked her skull when she hit the wall...but fortunately, it's nothing I can't heal," Persephone said, as she poured her light magic into her daughter's wounds.

Snow's emerald eyes opened wide a few seconds later and she gasped. The tension and worry melted in David at that point and he hugged her tightly. He may have been relieved, but the overwhelming fear that he had just almost lost her again was still prevalent.

"I'm okay…" she promised, as he pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. He sighed again relief, as he pillowed her against his chest and kissed her hair. She relished his embrace and clung to him for dear life.

"That was Daniel…" she cried and he looked into her eyes seeing the haunted look and the shadows behind her eyes. He then looked at his mother-in-law.

"How is that even possible?" David asked.

"Yeah...and why was he acting like that?" Emma inquired.

"It's possible only one way...with Dr. Frankenstein's help and he's like that, because there is no soul in him. Daniel's soul passed into the Underworld and then peacefully onto Asphodel Meadows, a place where ordinary, but good souls go," Persephone explained.

"Whale had a hand in this?" David growled. She nodded.

"Cora likely threatened him though or made a deal of some sort," she replied.

"Well, that settles that. There's no way in hell I'm leaving town now," Emma decided.

"You have to," Persephone argued.

"She just sent Frankenstein's monster after my mother! And you want me to go now?" Emma cried.

"She's right honey," Snow said. Emma looked at her in disbelief.

"This just proves that we need to get the dagger as far away from a place of magic as possible," Snow replied.

"She just tried to kill you!" Emma protested.

"And I stopped her...and next time, I'll find a way to do it permanently," Persephone promised. Emma sighed.

"I hate this," she said, voicing her opinion. David put one arm around her and they hugged Snow between them.

"We'll be fine...it's almost time to meet Gold at the town line," David said. She sighed.

"What about Whale?" she asked.

"Oh trust me, after you leave, he's getting a visit from me and it's going to be unpleasant for him," David promised. She allowed herself a smile at that.

Cora and Regina reappeared in her house and the latter sniffed, as she mourned him again.

"That wretched girl...she did it again," Cora soothed, but this time Regina glared up at her mother.

"You did this, mother…" she hissed. Cora frowned.

"I was trying to help you...to finally get what you keep failing to get. Your revenge on that insipid girl," Cora snapped in return.

"By using Daniel!" she cried.

"I lost him once...and now it feels like I've lost him all over again!" she added. Cora's expression betrayed no emotion though.

"This is what I've warned you about time and again. Love is weakness and you needed to let him go," she said, as she slithered around the room. Regina looked up at her in disbelief.

"You did this on purpose...you wanted this to happen," she realized.

"It was for your own good," Cora said sharply.

"I knew the only way you would finally let him go would be if you were forced to save the one you love most now...young Henry," she stated.

"Henry could have died! You risked his life!" Regina cried.

"Oh no, I knew you or one of those idiots would save him. I was hoping at least to take one or more of them out in the process, but sadly, things did not go as planned," Cora said, observing the burns on her hands.

"Persephone defeated you," Regina said, a note of smugness in her voice. Seeing that her mother wasn't so impervious to failure was cathartic in a way.

"She caught me by surprise. Sometimes I forget the lengths she'll go to protect her child and that was foolish of me. After all, there is nothing I won't do for you, darling. We are the same that way," Cora cooed. Regina turned away though and felt the warring inside her greater than ever.

"Of course mother," she answered obediently. Regina knew there was no reasoning with her. Her mother always did what she wanted and got her way. She knew she had to ask herself some hard questions now. How long could she continue to go along with her mother, especially if she decided to take an interest in doing what was best for Henry. Because if Regina was one hundred percent honest with herself, even the thought of her mother anywhere near him terrified her to her very core.

Manhattan. That was their destination. They had managed to pinpoint the location of Gold's son to a three-mile radius in Manhattan. That was still a lot of people, but Emma could definitely work with it. She had already narrowed it down to five apartment buildings in the area that were likely cases for his residence. And that was just what she was able to do on her laptop.

"And you're sure it might be one of these five?" Snow asked curiously, as David drove them to the town line in the truck, following Gold's car.

"Well, this part of Manhattan isn't cheap and a lot of these buildings in this radius are home to higher income individuals or families. Now, there's no telling what Gold's son does for a living, but I peg him as an off the radar type of guy. So he probably makes an average income. And if that's the case, he probably lives in one of these five apartment buildings. They're more median income level," Emma explained.

"Emma...that's amazing," David said in awe. She smiled and shrugged.

"Just my experience in the bail bonds business," she replied. But her parents were always impressed by her abilities.

"I wish you guys were coming with me," she mentioned.

"Us too...but maybe next time. We are curious about this world," Snow said.

"Does that mean we can on a family trip soon?" Henry asked. Emma smiled.

"Yeah kid, I think we'll be able to manage that someday," she agreed, as they slowed and stopped just before the town line. They got out of the truck and loaded their luggage into Gold's trunk. Snow and David hugged them fiercely, as they watched them get into the backseat.

"Call us when you get there...even if it's late," Snow called. Emma nodded and smiled.

"I will," she agreed.

Belle waved to them and Gold slowly drove off, crossing the town line without consequence.

Snow and David watched the car with arms around each other until they couldn't see it any longer. Snow gave him a worried look, one he was sure matched his own, as he rubbed her arms.

"Come on...there's a certain doctor I'd like to visit right now," he said.

"David...I'm not sure it's completely his fault. Cora probably threatened him," Snow chided.

"And if that's the case, I'll only punch him once. Plus, I want to know if he knows anything else useful," he replied. She sighed.

"Okay...but only one punch. As Mayor, I can't condone you beating up our citizens, even if it is Whale," she said. He chuckled, as he opened the passenger door on the truck for her and she got in. He kissed her tenderly, sharing a heated gaze with her, as he shut the door and went around to the driver's side. With one last glance beyond the town line, he got in and turned them around to return to town.

[the-firebird69]

Watch "Steve Miller Band - Rockin me baby 1976" on YouTube

Well we all get together and decide what to wear no but they decided to make the video. And apparently they start to understand something he says he's out there Max are trying to get stuff to me and they're trying to maintain their act and then corky goes out there and ruins it cuz he loves to ruin acts anyways intense and they get into fire fights and truly is retarded man who doesn't know any better and that doesn't understand the impact and foreigners are willing to leave alone because it seems to have an effect but they have to deal with it too with the max are fighting in their country it's a huge hassle to say is wet assholes come down the street in a big game and start fighting each other it makes a big mess you have to try and defend people they're huge assholes about it too they scream who are you to come down on us in any way except pulling it out and you have to annihilate them all so they're out there in Phoenix messing around with his bicycle stuff and they're up there in New Jersey messing with it is probiotics I took it out and said we're going to hit every single one of you that tries messing with it and we can hear them yelling and screaming at each other like idiots start hitting cuz I just keep coming in and dying this is a few groups do it it's hard to see his coming to do it real fast pull you all out that's amazing and you feel them and you are them they just sitting there encouraging them to ruin you with us cuz you'd rather sit there and fight their retarded guy we're not impressed

Wie

We have a plan and corky is part of it but he's not supposed to be doing most of what he's doing he's not supposed to be eating his way to leadership the way the the numbers he's doing quantity it's not so host to have this huge attitude or tons of Max stuff yet he goes out and drives it and then sleep help him so he's making a stew stuff and I suggest that we utilize that against him and his

Zues Hera

Lucy and put down his boss and his women's and it's easy for cork so you have to come in there and slam dance him so sick of seeing this dumb face and here's an idiotic insults. I don't want to be belittled anymore by this hose back it's nobody so we have to prove it he's nobody. As soon as struggling with the question that all of us should be concerned with that he can't answer and they're not helping with that's why nobody helping with it even Harris just kind of like well he can't figure out or decide which one it is suddenly she's up and says I'm trying to help him get to it everyday every inch away and not get enough help and neither are you Thor Freya she says. And I agree we need more help being fairly stubborn you said it looks like she crashlands from the ISS and then it's a Chinese pod so it goes to China it looks like she crashed lands from somewhere above South America in Brazil and that would make sense because the first time she's taking Intel from China to China as the queen of Britain so then she's going to take Intel on a Mac facility to mac facility. Their odd way of saying stuff course it backfires.

About 50,000 ways of saying no you don't listen to any of them so we can deploy the one you do listen to

It says it starts with the ISS and it makes sense and Vietnam is heating up in China but they're not 50 miles north or Northwest they're only about 5 miles and they're just sitting there doing nothing so it's kind of odd because they really need to know and they're not doing anything

China's not doing anything either

There are two holes in there going to explode and that's going to force it to happen

Hera Zues

You see something she's really starting to push and she's doing a good job and he is too and they're both doing great and they're young and insulted and threatened quite a bit a lot I need to get in here and stop them and put more shops in now actually I'll start ripping their bunkers out and we're going to start doing it and he says if we don't have Giants that can pull it out all at once and take the wrong sound pieces and we're doing that and we also doing that it's a huge operation and they have tons of being crushed and lots of all sections going up and we're using it all and we're going to rip the bases out now since we don't have a use for them and he says well we could consider using their basis even their hardware I don't know what we do with it but it behind the walls not as effective as parachuting and offspring or other from their own a****** aircraft then we would have to make sure that we had people in the land so we're going to look at doing that making a firebase as well he said that even though it's a bunch of bunkers that we could launch things out of those bunkers and build weaponry and all sudden I started getting excited it's a huge base but he's talking about be part of these six good we just move the wall we can move the law takes a few of us so we're going to sit down and meet about that and ask her in general it's a good idea each other

Thor Freya

We think Zeus Hera and others was here because in psychologically powerful too he's got our pieces and they seem to be parachuting on us and at night oh that I hate that stuff