#am i entering my northern arc

[eggmeralda]

sudden realisation that if I let my accent go a bit more northern then everything I say sounds so much clearer?

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 1

Part (1) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

WC: 3,183

“Damn it, get down!!”

“I am! Any lower and I'll need a kriffing shovel!” I snapped back, tempted to mute him just to hear myself think.

“I’ve got eyes on her, Cross; just focus on finding us a way in!” Even Echo's voice held the faintest rush of unease.

We'd known this wouldn't be easy. They'd caught someone – some big-name politician I hadn't made much effort to remember, but the Republic deemed them important enough to send us behind enemy lines to get them back.

The Marauder lay hidden nearly a dozen klicks away, nestled amidst brambles and fallen logs until even I struggled to notice it. We’d stolen a pair of Separatist transports to approach the black ops site without raising much suspicion and split up to search the compound faster. Tech and Wrecker infiltrated the northern side, Echo and I came in from the south, and Hunter was on his own along the crumbling remains of the eastern wall with Crosshair posted in the nearby tree line. He’d violently opposed my going in, but we had no means of knowing what kind of state our target would be in when we found them.

The politician was the least of my concerns, though. I’d been on edge since entering those transports. The ping of the metal walkways against our boots, the hum of the engine, even the color of the walls… it was just too similar. But were weren't on Agamar, and I hated how softly the others were stepping around me. I hated even more the undeniable knowledge that I needed them to.

That tension hadn’t lessened as we reached the Separatist black site. It looked abandoned; scarce buildings in such a perfect state of intentional disarray as to almost promise nothing but ancient debris and decades of dust lay within, but Tech's scans confirmed massive power fluctuations underground. It wasn't a huge compound, but it didn't need to be. Barely a half dozen structures remained standing, skeletal framework partially hidden by an overgrowth we now used to our own advantage as we crawled through the dense brush, thorns somehow numerous enough and sharp enough to occasionally find purchase in the slim crescents of skin left unprotected between sections of armor.

Echo and I had just finished sweeping through the second building in search of an entrance to the lower level when the site’s defenses suddenly roared to life. Numerous turrets burst from the soil that, mere seconds prior has shown no trace of anything beyond untouched wilds, and we’d just managed to hide behind a partially caved-in room before being noticed.

I could hear dozens of gears whirring to life just beyond our dilapidated shelter, the harsh crunch of leaves and branches breaking beneath heavy, metallic feet. Droids were flooding the site. We were pinned down by the turrets. And Hunter wasn’t answering his com.

“Can we make it to the next structure?” Echo asked, voice forced into a whisper.

“Not yet.” There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel myself tensing more with each passing second, legs coiled beneath me. “Now!” We were moving before the hushed order fell silent, both crouched so low that we were practically crawling, one hand occasionally darting to the ground in a gate more natural to some forest dwelling beast, but our awkward appearance didn't matter. The half dozen droids mere meters to our right posed little threat in and of themselves, but revealing our presence now might cause untold numbers to swarm. If they had Hunter, our only hope to free him was to keep ourselves hidden.

My legs burned from the effort of keeping up with Echo. He moved as though he’d been born for such things, body stalking preternaturally through tall grass and biting bramble effortlessly, but I still found myself watching him, worried I'd note some hint of a falter in his stride, but whatever strain the motion surely wrought upon his residual limbs was a torture to which he was far too accustomed to show amidst the threat lingering over us.

“Down!” We dropped harshly to the ground, and my every instinct balked at the helpless position. Mere seconds passed before the almost musical chorus of shifting counterweights and metallic limbs raced through the foliage just feet ahead of us. Droidekas. The nervous tension dancing beneath my skin turned to dread in an instant, ice bursting through my chest in a rush of panic. I didn't want to notice the way Echo glanced back toward me, the depth of concern that tiny movement conveyed. The droid presence was no longer a simple annoyance. We were in danger.

Was Crosshair switching between com channels to warn Tech and Wrecker lest their chatter create a lethal distraction? Were they balancing the risk of striking first versus continuing what felt like a doomed plight to remain unnoticed? My lungs ached from the effort of controlling each breath, body eager to fall into the too tempting frenzy of fear.

Echo’s hand flared out, signaling me to move around his left flank before readying his pistol, attention trained toward the sound of machinery falling into formation. I knew at least fifteen meters still lay between us and the next building; knew that he was purposefully placing himself between me and the enemy units; that, even among this squad of elites, Echo was the most capable soldier I could hope to have guarding my back, but, still, I had to grind my teeth against useless objections, abhorred at the very thought of letting him act either as distraction or delay if we were seen.

That fear surged anew at every shuffle of leaves and snap of twigs as I crawled forward, stealing one final glance just as I passed him. He couldn’t see the plea in my eyes, the order begging to scream from lips carefully trapped between ground teeth that he not put himself in danger, but he didn’t have to. With the smallest movement, he looked toward me in kind and offered the faintest nod, and that tiny gesture was enough to push me on.

He waited until several feet separated us before he started after me, and something about that, about knowing he was following just behind me granted me a confidence I had no right feeling, determination numbing me to the burn in my arms as I hauled myself through an undergrowth that showed no sign of the wear it ought to have from the abuse of concealing a Separatist base.

When the ridge of a tattered roof finally jutted above the line of greenery, I couldn’t restrain the deep sigh of relief, but I had to remind myself that any façade of safety feigned by the crumbling walls granted only a fool’s comfort and forced myself to pause just shy of the entrance. Echo didn’t stop until he was nearly flush against my side, and we both waited with bated breath.

“Tech and Wrecker found an entrance. If you don’t find one in there, stay hidden until they report back.” Crosshair’s voice fell into a carefully detached hum. I wanted to respond, to offer some reassurance, but we couldn’t risk even that, so I merely watched in silence as Echo took point once more, waiting for his signal before following him into the derelict structure.

Once, it stood a couple stories high, brick walls more akin to a school than a prison, but there was no sign of such possibilities within any longer. Nature had reclaimed the half-dozen rooms and interconnecting hallways long ago. Ferns draped through shattered windows, and mounds of dirt collected in the corners reached halfway to the ceilings. There was no broken furniture nor remnants of belongings hidden amidst the rubble, and I found myself wondering if it had ever been anything more than this. Had the Separatists built it solely to be abandoned; its fate preordained to ruin from the start purely to act as camouflage for what horrors lay below? I wanted to hate them for it but knew it was fueled by naivety; knew that far more had been wasted for less in this war on both sides and that even more would be lost before there would be any hope of armistice.

Only after Echo stood did I move to regain my footing as well, body still hunched forward in that instinctive drive to hide as we searched each room in turn. When he paused in what must have been the central chamber, attention trained in the corner just to the right of the doorway, I stepped back toward the hall, carefully watching for any signs of encroaching danger, my own pistols at the ready.

“We’re heading in.” Echo stated seconds before the hiss of an airlock screamed through the tense silence.

“Copy.” Crosshair replied shortly. He hated this. I knew he hated this: being forced to wait behind as we tread beyond his sight, beyond his reach should something go wrong, and my heart ached knowing there was no comfort I could offer as I turned to follow his brother down the narrow porthole into what was surely a maze of identical passages designed to be inescapable.

No veneer of color was granted to bare metal walls and exposed purlins overhead, and what few lights flickered within granted only fleeting glimpses of the lifeless passageways. This place was not created for comfort. Every detail was made through cruel intent to rob those trapped here of even the thought of warmth, and I couldn’t force the memory of that filth-stained cell from my mind; the scent of stale moisture and blood and rot.

My stride must have faltered; my pace slowed or breath hitched. Something drew Echo’s attention back to me, and shame sank into my gut like something rancid and squirming, and I couldn’t find the strength to push it back in time to dismiss it entirely.

“You alright?” He whispered it, body leaning carefully over mine as though he could hide me from the nightmare surrounding us, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to answer him directly.

“Let’s just get Hunter and the damn politician, and get out of here.” I nearly growled. He hesitated a moment longer, and I wanted to yell; to shout that there wasn’t time for this, to berate myself for causing even this short delay, shoulders pulling back with a determination fueled by the rage I felt toward myself for my weakness. He drew a slow breath before wrenching his focus back toward the long hallway, and a shaky sigh of relief escaped me.

I wouldn’t have noticed the port had Echo not stopped suddenly beside it, needing only to shoot a quick look for me to take watch as he plugged himself in. There was no cover here, nowhere we could hide if a patrol came upon us, and each second we lingered stoked the anxious certainty that we were moments from being found, but I didn’t waver, attention shifting between the direction we’d come from and the path ahead.

“Tech, Wrecker; looks like the target’s in the far west corner. Are you guys near there?”

“We are.” Tech responded quickly. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No, but we’ll head east and see what we can find.” My heart dropped at Echo’s response, and I fought to convince myself that that didn’t mean they didn’t have him; that didn’t mean he was…

Echo disconnected from the port, and I forced myself back to attention. He didn’t say anything more before continuing forward at a quick trot, weapon held loosely before him. Our footsteps boomed around us, mocking our every attempt at quiet. We slowed at every intersection, carefully searching down each hall before crossing. It was a perfect grid, an even number of paces separating each corner for what felt like eternity.

I heard it first. It was wet. An occasional crunch of metal against meat. I knew that sound. I knew the heat of abused flesh swelling beneath the assault; knew they would kill him long before he talked.

My hand was reaching for him before consciously acknowledging the movement; a quick tap on Echo’s shoulder singling him to stop. He needed only to pause before he heard it, too, and I watched his body tense as he reached the same conclusion I had, breath quickening beneath a flare of rage and dread. Without a word, we took off toward the wretched sound. There was a rhythm to it. Two strikes and a pause. Two strikes. Pause. I couldn’t hear what they asked in those fleeting seconds between, but my mind wouldn’t let it remain quiet long enough to wonder.

Who ordered the hit?

I swallowed back the bile that tasted too akin to rancid water.

We barely slowed at crossings now, nearly sprinting through the underground base.

Who placed the bombs?

Two strikes. I could hear him cough in the brief silence that followed, heard the splatter of liquid against metal and knew it was blood.

Echo looked over his shoulder to catch my gaze, to make sure I was ready, before tearing through the door. An alarm blared. The lights flashed a deep red that paled beneath the blue of our blaster fire filling the small cell. His armor was gone, blacks torn where they’d snagged on metal fists. I didn’t count them, nor did I need my overlay’s targeting system as Echo and I stormed the room, both strafing the enemy units in a frenzied rush.

I vaguely noticed the lethal elegance of the man beside me as he dove between a pair of B2s, rolling to his feet behind them, pistol already raised and firing before he’d come to a stop. I ducked to the side just as another droid raised its arm, the wall behind me hissing as metal melted beneath the powerful, crimson shots. It didn’t get the chance to fire again, and I watched with eager satisfaction as the towering machine fell heavily to the floor.

It took mere seconds. I didn’t have time to find a new target before Echo felled the few remaining enemies, sparing only a fleeting thought toward a figure among the metal corpses that was far too soft to belong among the droids, nor did I pause to wonder if it had been my shot or Echo’s that claimed their life. Whoever they were, I was too happy to leave them to rot among the destruction they sowed, attention training instead on Hunter.

Already, Echo was working to sever the bounds securing his wrists to the metal slab behind him, and I rushed forward to catch him as his first arm fell free, wincing at the stifled groan my touch drew from him.

“T… took yuh… long ‘nough.” He slurred, jaw barely moving around the strained words.

“Not our fault you let yourself get caught at a kriffing black site.” Echo retorted, already working on his other wrist.

“S… st’nned m…” His reply broke into an agonizing flurry of coughs, thick drops of crimson smearing across my chest plate.

“Alright, enough – you can make all the excuses you want after I patch you up,” I interrupted, a gentle warning in my hushed voice, “For now, just try to slow your breathing and stay awake, alright?” His head shifted toward me in silent consent, and my worry spiked. He was barely recognizable from the sickeningly wrong angle of his nose, and already his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His ribs were far worse off, however. I could see the heavy bruising through tears in his shirt, could hear the rattle in his every hitched, shallow breath.

“I presume the alarm indicates that you’ve found Hunter?” Tech asked just as the other shackle clicked open. Hunter fell against me with a choked grunt, and I tried not to imagine the pain shooting through his torso.

“Easy; just sit back.” I murmured softly, carefully guiding him to the ground.

“Yeah. He’s hurt, but Doc’s with him.” Echo responded, already treading back toward the door to watch for incoming troops. He paused briefly at the figure lying amongst the droids, but I didn’t see what he did, attention devoted to helping the wheezing man before me.

“Hunter, I want you to focus on me for a bit, okay?” My voice left in a whisper void of the urgency with which I dug through my bag. He hummed some manner of a reply, but I couldn’t make out anything akin to actual speech.

“We located the prisoner, but… it seems we were only given a portion of the information regarding this mission.” I had to stifle a surge of frustration that I could hear mirrored in Tech’s clipped statement as my scanner buzzed to life.

“Great.” Echo groaned.

“We’ll rendezvous at the Marauder and discuss how to proceed. Crosshair, is-” He was interrupted by a violent shockwave tearing through the base.

“That… wasn’t me.” Wrecker said hesitantly after a moment of tense silence.

“All clear.” I nearly scoffed at the haughty pride in Crosshair’s voice before returning my attention to the scan results, stomach twisting as I read over his injuries.

“Looks like you’re gonna live, Sarg.” I managed to tease softly despite my own dread, earning a groan heavy with mock disappointment. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a week, though.” He let out an even less thrilled grunt that drew a quiet chuckle from me. “How about I get some pain killers in you, and you let me help you back to the ship?” His eyelids shifted but weren’t able to fully open. Still, he offered no objection when I laid an autoinjector against his neck, and my worry grew at how quickly his body went limp.

“How is he?” Echo asked, voice tense as he walked back toward us. My gaze caught on a sack thrown over his shoulder. “His armor.” He explained, much to my relief. They hadn’t had him long, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that they wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it, but it was still a stroke of luck that he was able to find it so easily.

“He’ll be alright… but we should hurry.” Even through our opaque visors, I knew he felt the intensity with which I held his gaze, that he understood the truth behind my carefully even reply. He gave a small nod and dropped to a knee at Hunter’s other side.

“Hey, brother, think you can hold on to me?” My lips pulled into a small smile at the gentleness of Echo’s deep voice, the care in his movements as he eased Hunter’s arm over his shoulders. I threw my bag back on and followed suit with his other arm.

“Mmm… m’alri’.” His dismissal faded into a barely audible mumble as we pulled him upright, head slumping toward his chest.

“Those drugs won’t last long.” I warned quietly. Again, Echo responded with a short nod, and, together, we began the lock trek back toward an exit I doubted I’d ever find without him.

Next Chapter

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[ilikestuff69]

Live Action ATLA Rant

(Spoilers obviously)

tw: mentions of abuse

(If there is a better way to word that trigger warning or if I missed anything please let me know)

This rant is gonna be about the Agni Kai against Zuko in Ozai in the live action adaptation of Avatar: the Last Airbender.

Now first off I want to say I’m well aware that adaptations will change things and I am all for that as long as the change makes the story better. Like I love the changes made to Bill and Frank and Henry and Sam in the Last of Us adaptation. But I will complain if the changes made weaken the story being told. And that’s what happened with Ozai and Zuko’s Agni Kai. So here are my reasons as to why I don’t like the changes made. (Also if you like the changes made, that’s totally fine, this is just for me to rant about something bugging me).

1. Zuko fights back in the Agni Kai. Now this is gonna probably be the most of the rant so let’s break it down.

- Zuko wouldn’t have been banished: in the original Zuko was banished because he literally refused to fight in the Agni Kai and it was seen as dishonorable and an insult to the Fire Nation. But having him fight back is him engaging and honoring the Fire Nation tradition. Yeah, he lost, but he wouldn’t be banished for that. When Zuko and Zhao have their fight and Zuko wins, Zhao isn’t exiled, Zuko wins and gets to put Zhao in his place. Losing is not dishonorable and Ozai shouldn’t have been able to banish him for that. But that’s very nitpicky, I’ll be honest about that, so let’s move to the next point.

- It takes away from Zuko’s character arc. Zuko isn’t a violent person. He was raised by his mother to be kind. He stood out in his family because of this. So when the Agni Kai comes, he refuses to fight his father and is marked and banished for doing so and the only way to earn his honor back is to find the Avatar, which is a seemingly impossible task to do. Being banished and abandoned by his family (besides Iroh) leads Zuko down a dark and violent path searching for the Avatar for years because he’s been to led to believe that violence is the only way his family will forgive and accept him. Then, in season two, Zuko and Iroh are branded traitors for helping the Northern Water Tribe which causes Zuko’s search for the Avatar to stop. While in hiding, Zuko sees firsthand all the damage the Fire Nation has done to the other nations. Also him and Iroh are able to set up a pretty normal life for themselves and Zuko actually seems happy. But then, when Azula promises that Ozai will be proud if Zuko helped her kill the avatar, Zuko relapses back into his violent tendencies and helps Azula, betraying Iroh in the process. When it appears that Aang had been killed, Zuko is welcomed home and crowned the prince of the Fire Nation once again. So he’s happy now, right? He got everything he wanted, right? No he’s not happy because he realizes that this isn’t actually what he wants. In fact Zuko hates himself. He hates himself for allowing and contributing to all the violence the Fire Nation is committing against the other Nations. He hates himself for betraying his uncle, the only person in his family who actually wanted to help him. He hates himself for doing all these awful things just to earn the approval of his father, a man who saw Zuko as an embarrassment for just being who he was. He hates himself for forgetting what his mother taught him and becoming more like Azula and Ozai. That’s why, when Zuko turns on Ozai, he tells him that the Fire Nation needs to enter an era of peace and kindness to make up for the era of violence they’ve been in for years, but they can never do that as long as Ozai is the Fire Lord and that’s why Zuko joins the Avatar and help him take down Ozai. Zuko wasn’t violent growing up. He wasn’t like Azula or Ozai. He stood out because he was kind. Ozai saw that as a weakness and when Zuko begged to not fight him, Ozai saw Zuko as an embarrassment who needed to be punished causing Zuko to go down the path he goes down in the series.Having Zuko choose to fight Ozai in the Agni Kai feels like it negates so much of that.

- Zuko almost wins. In the live action adaptation, when Zuko fights against Ozai, they imply that Zuko is strong enough to beat Ozai. I’m sorry, what? Compared to Ozai, Iroh and Azula, Zuko is arguably the weakest firebender in the family. He learns sword fighting so he didn’t have to only rely on his firebending. How is Zuko able to almost beat Ozai in a one-on-one? It also just looks bad from a writing standpoint. In the first season, you are showing that the main villain could easily lose to his son? Ozai should seem unbeatable. When Aang fights Ozai in the finale, Aang almost loses to Ozai until Aang accesses the Avatar State. Ozai shouldn’t be almost losing fights to children who don’t have god-level powers.

- There was a better way to have a fight if they wanted to have a fight. If the creators really wanted to show more of a fight between Ozai and Zuko, they should’ve had Zuko stay on the defensive for the whole fight. Have Ozai be relentless against Zuko as Zuko is just barely able to avoid or block the attacks, while trying to get his father to stop. Not only doesn’t it make Ozai look more ruthless, but it makes you feel more for Zuko as this child tries desperately to stop his father from hurting him only to inevitably fail. And you can still have Ozai express disappointment in Zuko for not even trying to fight back, seeing it as Zuko disrespecting their tradition. But idk, I’m not a writer.

2. They make Ozai look sad when he burns Zuko’s face. I’m sorry, but why are we trying to make Ozai look sympathetic? He’s an abuser. He’s actively choosing to burn his child. He’s not doing it because he’s forced to or anything. It was his decision. Sometimes villains don’t have to be complex to be good. Ozai is an evil man who abuses his children constantly. He doesn’t get to look remorseful as he’s doing it.

3. The Agni Kai was so much smaller in the adaptation. In the original, the Agni Kai took place in front of hundreds of people and this is important to Zuko’s character because not only was he punished and exiled for how he acted in the fight, but he was also humiliated as all those people watched as his father punished him for wanting to not fight his father. Making it such a small event just makes it feel less impactful than it could’ve been.

4. Having Iroh speak out against the Agni Kai takes away from his character. (This is also kinda nitpicky but that hasn’t stopped us before so why should it now?). In the original, Iroh not speaking out or trying to stop the Agni Kai is something that he deeply regrets. He watched as his nephew was humiliated in front of hundreds of people and didn’t do anything to help him. That’s why Iroh is with Zuko for a majority of the show. He knows Zuko. He knows who Zuko was before the Agni Kai and why he’s been acting the way he is while looking for the avatar. He felt like he let Zuko down and wants to help Zuko get what he needs. It’s why Iroh never chooses leaves Zuko side and having Iroh try to stop Ozai just lessens that a little bit for me.

To wrap it all up, i think the changes made to the Zuko and Ozai Agni Kai in the live action adaptation of ATLA aren’t good changes and weaken a lot the characters involved in the scene. But that’s just my opinion.

(Sorry if some of this was wrong or didn’t make sense, I’m writing this at midnight and just kinda going off memory for some of the details).

((Also, If you actually read all this, you’re awesome btw. Have a nice day!))

[cherryheairt]

As Morningstar landed, she seemed to call out for something, or perhaps someone.

Poor Morningstar, she was looking for her friend Dusk.

I must be the only man of no Valyrion blood to ride a dragon.

Cregan doesn't know how real his phrase will be, he might be the only northerner who gets to "ride a dragon" 😉🤭

Cregan turned to Daenys before they entered. "If you need anything, tonight, come to me." He whispered to avoid an echo in the hallway.

If it were not for the fact that Cregan is a man known to be very honourable, I would say that he wanted to help Daenys with other "needs" in the middle of the night.

"My betrothed asked me to come to the Queen's council as an advisor. Once my men follow on foot, I will take my leave to lead them." Cregan said, firm and absolute.

Cregan doesn't have to feel threatened, but it's still so nice to want to mark his territory as the alpha wolf of the pack.

Cregan smirked at him, pointedly rubbing the dragoness' snout himself.

Surely Dusk also misses Morningstar and must be sulking knowing that she went to Winterfell and he could not greet her. I can imagine poor Dusk restless at night after Daenys and Morningstar left, he must have been howling to call his dear friend, but she didn't show up. If Cregan misses Daenys, it is obvious that the direwolf misses Morningstar.

Come, Cregan. Show me how Northerners pray. I would quite like to learn, now that I have an opportunity.

Surely Cregan was more than ready and willing to teach another kind of "prayers" to Daenys 😉🤭

"You to stay by my side." He laced their hands together, squeezing once as the feeling and his words made her heart flutter.

Surely Cregan did not want to waste any more time and wanted to marry Daenys at that very moment, taking advantage of the fact that there was a Weirwood.

also alysanne is NOT meant to sound like a bitchy character...

I agree. I am sick and tired of women being portrayed as resentful and hostile bitches just for being leaders during a war, especially when there is a male love interest. A good man will make it clear from the beginning that his affections only belong to you, he will not make you compete with another woman that is just playing with the feelings of both. Women should not fight for any man.

Currently regretting naming the dragon Lightbringer so early on in the story. It would've been so much more fitting if Daenys and Morningstar had earned the title in a battle, instead.

I think it's fine, you shouldn't worry about that. Sunfyre, Aegon's dragon, was called "the golden" because he was the most beautiful dragon Westeros had ever seen. Tessarion, Daeron's dragon is called the "blue queen" because of her scales. None of those dragons earned that nickname in batte, our spoiled girl Morningstar also deserves a tittle after all she looks like a star in the night when she flies. Also Sunfyre and Tessarion may be beautiful dragons, but Morningstar gets extra points for sympathy. Let the girl keep the title.

Dusk and Morningstar breakup arc 🤧

LMAO im glad you noticed that double entendre. save a horse, ride a dragon.

He might secretly hope for it, but alas he is forced to be the honor mascot 😪

He wants everyone to know HIS betrothed wanted him here by her side how cute

Awh hat makes me think of poor Dusk alone with the army. Everyone knows of the wolf being the warg catalyst for their Lord, so they stear clear of giving him affection bc they never know when it'll be Stark or wolf lol

oh he definitely thought of having their wedding right then and there, asking Simon to officiate it and Daemon to give her away. He's only waiting for her own confession.

women should not fight for a MAN ❗️❗️ Firm believer in this, I didn't want to turn it into a cat fight. Also, Alysanne would totally want to go off to battle instead of sit around Harrenhall waiting for ravens. Since she's older than Davos and more experienced and less reckless, Willem let her go instead of his son.

You're so right, actually. I think Meleys is also called the Red Queen simply because she is red and was ridden by a queen. Lightbringer fits her white scales and calm nature.

Tysm for commentating as usual I love these sm 😭😭

[everythingsinred]

~ essay navigation ~

Have you ever thought to yourself, "Anya's essays are interesting in theory, but I really don't wanna read ALL of it! I just wanna read the analysis of my favorite parts!" or maybe "I DID read all of Anya's essays but now I wanna reread one specific thing she talked about and I can't remember which post it was in because there's too many of them!" ? Me too! Don't even worry about it! Today I am addressing those issues with a TABLE OF CONTENTS!

This is for essay parts AND in-depth character questions related to GA that I've answered. I get a LOT of questions about GA's ending and thus I feel like I've talked about it exhaustively. This is how I make it all digestible. <3 Love ya!

Anime NM Essay (6 parts/includes a self-contained and easy to navigate table of contents so I won't go into it again here)

NatsuMikan Essay (Natsume's Version) (30 parts. This is the one people actually read I think):

Part 1 (covers ch 1-4. corresponds to pt 1 of mikan's/ mikan entering the academy and the northern woods game)

Part 2 (covers ch 5-8. corresponds to pt 1+2+3 of mikan's/ northern woods game and mikan's intro to academy life)

Part 3 (covers ch 9-12, corresponds to pt 4 of mikan's/ dodgeball, letters, culture fest announcement, and central town)

Part 4 (covers ch 13-16, corresponds to pt 5 of mikan's/ the reo arc)

Part 5 (covers ch 17-20, corresponds to pt 6+7 of mikan's/ culture fest up to anna's shop)

Part 6 (covers ch 21-26, corresponds to pt 7+8 of mikan's/ rest of the culture fest)

Part 7 (covers ch 27-30, corresponds to pt 9 of mikan's/ exams, kaname & bear's story, beginning of z arc)

Part 8 (covers ch 31-35, corresponds to pt 10 of mikan's/ part 2 of z arc up to going through the tunnel)

Part 9 (covers ch 36-40, corresponds to pt 11+12 of mikan's/ part 3 of z arc up to the discovery of z's headquarters)

Part 10 (covers ch 41-44, corresponds to pt 12+13 of mikan's/ part 4 of z arc up to its conclusion)

Part 11 (covers ch 45-47, corresponds to pt 13 of mikan's/ natsume's bday and christmas ball prep)

Part 12 (covers ch 48-52, corresponds to pt 14 of mikan's/ christmas ball and winter cleaning)

Part 13 (covers ch 53-55, corresponds to pt 15 of mikan's/ part 1 of new year's arc up to n&m sleeping together)

Part 14 (covers ch 56-61, corresponds to pt 16 of mikan's/ part 2 of new year's arc up to yakumo and natsume's fight)

Part 15 (covers ch 66-70, corresponds to pt 17+18 of mikan's/ part 3 of new year's arc up to conclusion and aoi's departure)

Part 16 (covers ch 71-76, corresponds to pt 19+20 of mikan's/ transition arc including alice stones and valentine's day)

Part 17 (covers ch 77-80, corresponds to pt 21 of mikan's/ part 1 of sports fest arc up to the equipment mishap)

Part 18 (covers ch 81-86, corresponds to pt 22+23 of mikan's/ part 2 of sports fest arc up to n&m's masked hug and conclusion)

Part 19 (covers ch 89-91, corresponds to pt 24 of mikan's/ soul swap arc)

Part 20 (covers ch 93-95, corresponds to pt 25 of mikan's/ transition arc including swimming up to n&m hugging to comfort each other)

Part 21 (covers ch 96-100, corresponds to pt 26 of mikan's/ beginning of escape arc, natsume's confessions)

Part 22 (covers ch 101-116, corresponds to pt 27+28 of mikan's/ part 1 of time travel arc up to izumi's death)

Part 23 (covers ch 117-123, corresponds to pt 28 of mikan's/ part 2 of time travel arc up to conclusion & mikan's decision)

Part 24 (covers ch 124-138, corresponds to pt 29+30+31 of mikan's/ high school arc up to conclusion)

Part 25 (covers ch 140-143, corresponds to pt 32+33 of mikan's/ yuka's funeral, christmas ball and shiki's gift to mikan)

Part 26 (covers ch 144-145, corresponds to pt 33 of mikan's/ rapunzel arc)

Part 27 (covers ch 146-149/ natsume and ruka developments and new year's planning)

Part 28 (covers ch 150-163, corresponds to pt 34 of mikan's/ new year's concert and natsume's death)

Part 29 (covers ch 178-180, corresponds to pt 39 of mikan's/ final chapters, which we all know by now i despise)

Part 30 (covers the nm content in kageki, corresponds to pt 40 of mikan's)

NatsuMikan Essay (Mikan's Version) (40 parts. Longer and stole more of my soul but got less engagement) :

Part 1 (covers ch 1-2, corresponds to pt 1 of natsume's/ mikan entering the academy)

Part 2 (covers ch 3-5, corresponds to pt 1+2 of natsume's/ adventure in the northern woods)

Part 3 (covers ch 6-8, corresponds to pt 2 of natsume's/ mikan's intro to academy life)

Part 4 (covers ch 9-12, corresponds to pt 3 of natsume's/ dodgeball, letters, culture fest announcement, and central town)

Part 5 (covers ch 13-16, corresponds to pt 4 of natsume's/ the reo arc)

Part 6 (covers ch 17-19, corresponds to pt 5 of natsume's/ culture fest throughout the SA event)

Part 7 (covers ch 20-22, corresponds to pt 5+6 of natsume's/ culture fest up to imai sibling meeting)

Part 8 (covers ch 23-26, corresponds to pt 6 of natsume's/ culture fest up to conclusion)

Part 9 (covers ch 26-30, corresponds to pt 7 of natsume's/ exams, kaname & bear's story, beginning of z arc)

Part 10 (covers ch 31-35, corresponds to pt 8 of natsume's/ part 2 of z arc up to going through the tunnel)

Part 11 (covers ch 36-39, corresponds to pt 9 of natsume's/ part 3 of z arc up to mikan falling in the sand trap)

Part 12 (covers ch 40-43, corresponds to pt 9+10 of natsume's/ part 4 of z arc up to pengy's death)

Part 13 (covers ch 44-47, corresponds to pt 10+11 of natsume's/ conclusion of z arc, natsume's bday and christmas prep)

Part 14 (covers ch 48-52, corresponds to pt 12 of natsume's/ christmas ball and winter cleaning)

Part 15 (covers ch 53-55, corresponds to pt 13 of natsume's/ part 1 of new year's arc up to n&m sleeping together)

Part 16 (covers ch 56-61, corresponds to pt 14/ part 2 of new year's arc up to h+r+m chasing after natsume and ruka deciding to tell his and natsume's tale)

Part 17 (covers ch 65-67, corresponds to pt 15 of natsume's/ part 3 of new year's arc up to mikan getting hit by persona's alice for the first time)

Part 18 (covers ch 68-70, corresponds to pt 15 of natsume's/ part 4 of new year's arc up to conclusion and aoi's departure)

Part 19 (covers ch 71-73, corresponds to pt 16 of natsume's/ part 1 of transition arc, including alice stones and valentines day)

Part 20 (covers ch 74-76, corresponds to pt 16 of natsume's/ part 2 of transition arc, including the graduation concert and hoshino)

Part 21 (covers ch 77-80, corresponds to pt 17 of natsume's/ part 1 of sports fest arc up to equipment mishap)

Part 22 (covers ch 81-84, corresponds to pt 18 of natsume's/ part 2 of sports fest arc up to the borrowing race)

Part 23 (covers ch 85-88, corresponds to pt 18 of natsume's/ part 3 of sports fest arc up to kibasen and conclusion)

Part 24 (covers ch 89-92, corresponds to pt 19 of natsume's/ soul swap arc)

Part 25 (covers ch 93-95, corresponds to pt 20 of natsume's/ transition arc including swimming up to n&m hugging to comfort each other)

Part 26 (covers ch 96-100, corresponds to pt 21 of natsume's/ beginning of escape arc, natsume's confessions)

Part 27 (covers ch 101-110, corresponds to pt 22 of natsume's/ part 1 of time travel arc up to n&m/kaoru&yuka parallel)

Part 28 (covers ch 111-123, corresponds to pt 22+23 of natsume's/ part 2 of time travel arc up to conclusion and mikan's decision)

Part 29 (covers ch 124-131, corresponds to pt 24 of natsume's/ part 1 of high school arc up to hotaru's farewell)

Part 30 (covers ch 132-134, corresponds to pt 24 of natsume's/ part 2 of high school arc, including mikan getting 3 love confessions and returning 1)

Part 31 (covers ch 135-139, corresponds to pt 24 of natsume's/ part 3 of high school arc up to conclusion and yuka's death)

Part 32 (covers ch 140-142, corresponds to pt 25 of natsume's/ reuniting with mikan in labyrinth)

Part 33 (covers ch 143-145, corresponds to pt 26 of natsume's/ rapunzel arc)

Part 34 (covers ch 150-163, corresponds to pt 27 of natsume's/ new year's concert, escaping with persona, and natsume's death)

Part 35 (covers ch 164-166/ mikan trying to save natsume)

Part 36 (covers ch 167-169/ mikan's widow arc)

Part 37 (covers ch 170-172/ memories lesson)

Part 38 (covers ch 173-177/ mikan's departure)

Part 39 (covers ch 178-180, corresponds to pt 29 of natsume's/ final chapters... this part is just me ranting actually)

Part 40 (covers nm content in kageki/ corresponds to pt 30 of natsume's)

To be continued because Tumblr hates me and I hate it back <3

[theroadtoanywhere]

Crowning Moments of Funny

The start of the film, in which Blane, Hinto and Orrin, disguised as fruit merchants, try to get a castle guard to let them speak to Carmen, which starts with the guard lampshading the presence of bananas in a northern part of Arc. Which then shifts to the first guard and another guard getting into a Seinfeldian Conversation about sparrows and their carrying capacity, at which point the three just give up and skip right to searching for Garnet. Really sets the tone for the story.

Guard 1: Where'd you even get the bananas?

Orrin: Uh, we found ‘em.

Guard 1: Found 'em? In the North? The banana’s tropical! This is a temperate zone!

Blane: Well, sparrows fly south for the winter! Ergo, these bananas are imported from the south.

Guard 1: ...Are you suggesting bananas migrate?

Blane: No, “imported” means “brought from”. Y’know, as in carried?

Guard 1: What? A sparrow carrying bananas?!

Orrin: If it was a sparrow, it could hold them by the stem!

Guard 1: It's not a question of where it holds them! It's a simple question of weight ratios! An eighty-five ounce bird could not carry one-point-four pound bananas!

Blane: Look, it doesn't matter! Will you go and tell the Red Queen to let us in?

Guard 1: (is silent for a moment) Listen, in order to maintain airspeed velocity, a sparrow needs to beat its wings between 16 and 19 miles per hour, right?

Hinto: (exasperatedly) Would you just-?!

Guard 1: Am I right?

Hinto: We’re not interested!

Guard 2: (interjecting) They could be carried one at a time!

Guard 1: Oh, yeah, one at a time, maybe, but not all together at once, that's my point.

Guard 2: Oh, yeah, I agree with that.

Poppy’s threats as Garnet is taking the sack holding the former to the latter’s room.

Poppy: OPEN THIS BAG OR I'LL EAT YOUR EYEBALLS!

The castle lords.

Lord: You don't scare us, human vermin! Go and soak your heads, ye seeds of stupid people! I pick my nose and wipe it on your blimp! You and your silly, so-called human trrrravelllllers! (blows raspberries)

Poppy: What a weirdo.

Blane: Now, look—

Lord: I don't wanna talk to you anymore, you empty-headed human waste dispenser! I fart in your faces! Your mother was a bonnacon and your father smelled like Limburger!

Orrin: Anybody else up there we could talk to?

Lord: No! Now leave these premises or I Shall Taunt You a second time!

And then the four get bombarded with fresh produce. "Fetch the big one!"

"AND THIS ONE IS FOR YOUR MOTHER!" [throws watermelon]

The failed attempt at entering the castle in a "Trojan Cat", namely that the lords promptly catapult the cat back out with the quintet inside.

The Freymere witch trial scene.

Mayor: What makes you think she's a witch?

Peasant 3: Well, she turned me into a toad!

Mayor: A toad?

(beat)

Peasant 3: She could’ve.

Crowd: BURN HER ANYWAY!

The mayor tries to reason with the mob with some bizarre science:

Mayor: What else do we burn apart from witches?

Villager 1: MORE witches!

Villager 2: (nudges him) Shush!

Villager 3: Wood!

Mayor: So, why do witches burn?

(very, very long pause while the villagers think)

Villager 2: 'Cause they're made of... wood?

The “trial” ends with Garnet being put to the mayor’s test, which is weighing her against a goose, because if witches float, they must be made of wood; wood and geese both float, and so must weigh the same. She fails, thanks to a hilariously off-balance scale.

Poppy: (being held by a villager) Is all this because she’s human?

The other three running towards Freymere with dramatic music, but making no ground. The movie cuts between them and the town guards watching five times before the trio suddenly get there.

"HIYAAA!"

The guard's mildly worried "Hey..." after Hinto flying kicks his fellow guard.

The three’s Roaring Rampage of Rescue, in which they beat the hell out of everyone who’s attending Garnet and Poppy’s attempted execution.

Sigal hyping up the Beast of Ganamar is given extra hilarity in the film, with an especially hammy delivery.

Sigal: And so, brave adventurers, if you do doubt your courage, come no further! For death awaits you all with big, nasty fangs!

(Cue looks of utter confusion from the kids, except Poppy)

Poppy: Bravo. (begins clapping her wings, before Garnet stops her)

The cave containing the last words of the sage Donnan, ending with the word “aaarghh”.

Hinto: What is that?!

Blane: He must’ve died at the end of it.

Hinto: If that’s the case, he wouldn’t even bother carving “Aaarghh”! He'd just say it!

Blane: Well, that’s what it says here. Unless he was dictating it and the guy who wrote it took down his death rattle.

All leading, of course, to the dramatic entrance of the Beast of Ganamar, which Orrin attempts to distract with the offer of teaching it a knock-knock joke:

Orrin: You go first.

Beast: Knock knock.

Orrin: Who's there?

Beast: ...

Orrin: HE BOUGHT IT! RUN!

[The group escape]

The trailer has nothing to do with anything in the movie adaptation, and that's why it's just as hysterical.

Narrator: ONCE! In a lifetime! There comes an animated motion picture, which changes the whole history of animated motion pictures. A film so stunning in its effect, so vast in its impact, that it profoundly affect the lives of all who see it. You flocked to see The Magic Kaleidoscope for the music. You went to The Little Godfathers to see the world of a children’s book come to life. You came to see Ryumi and the Magic Jewel for the creature designs. But this film can offer you so much more. It's not just the music, nor setting, nor character or creature designs which makes this brand new film a unique cinematic experience. It’s the animation. Yes, folks, you’ve never seen anything like this before! CGI effects with 2D effects! Fluid motion up the wazoo! Silly walks! It makes Hadi and the Magic Ring seem cheap. No expense has been spared bringing in the world's greatest animators!

Producer: Wait a minute, wait a minute. What about the plot?

Narrator: Uh, the what now?

Producer: The plot. Y’know, what the movie is about.

Narrator: Well, I haven't actually seen it...

Producer: Seriously?! You're actually sitting there telling literally everybody watching this to go see a movie you haven't even seen?!

Narrator: Well, I can't go and watch every movie I narrate the trailer for!

[samhelleborewrites]

moon kiss.

hi, it's 1 am and I just saw the new champion for league of legends. and I am in love with how they look. but I did fall for the brother the most.  so my mind went into overdrive and came up with a story.  so please keep in mind I almost know nothing about him and just go of on what I know for now. I hope you still enjoy it. 

---

Watching the stars from the mountains was always a treat to behold. The moon shining at it's brightest, the stars adorning the sky aswell. But you weren't here for that, it seems like the moon was guiding you somewhere on to the mountains, little whispers, and lights guiding you. Slowly climbing up the mountains, your hands and knees red from gripping on to rocks and other stuff, but you kept on climbing. This must be it, if the universe was here to guide you to where you need to go or even needed to be, you do it happily, just to get away from your boring life. Pulling yourself onto a platform herself hitting the water, the whispers stopped, no lights seem to light your way around. 

A soft sigh left your lips, unsure of what to do. Do you have to do something... Where you here to rest? Or had the universe something else planned for you. When soft music seems to enter your head. Only to start over after some time, the music cutting itself off and start again with the same notes. Looking up at the moon, her eyes held confusion, why would the moon make her listen to music. Moving around in the water, the moon making the water seem to glow. She saw the platform in the middle.

Unknown to her she was not alone on the mountain, a young man was there as well. He was looking around for a special flower, but hearing her made him stop in his tracks. 'I heard it as well Aphelios. We should probably see who that was. If they find the Lunari she could tell the world.' The brother nods his head, slowly trying to find where she was now. She hadn't said anything for some time so he just followed where he had last heard her make sounds. 

"Do you want me to sing?" You called out to the moon, hoping for an answer to come. Silents. "I'm unsure of what to do now! You have brought me here, what now?" Your voice rings out into the silents of the night, the moon seems to glow a bit brighter pointing you to send in the middle of the platform. Now that you look around, the ground was covered in moon symbols, as two arc ways were over the platform. On the arc ways where more moon symbols, you slowly walked to the middle. when the music seems to start again. "You really want me to sing don't you..." You softly whispered to yourself.

Aphelios found her, the platform where the moon was shining down on as she moved to the center. Water dripped from her legs onto the ground, as she ran a hand through her hair. She slowly start to hum, he couldn't hear the music but his sister could. 'The moon is singing to her, it seems to want to show her something. it guided her here, I'm unsure why but we should keep an eye on her.' Once more Aphelios nob, as he looked at the girl. The light of the moon seems to make her glow, like she was a ghost. a soft sigh left her lips, closing her eyes as she slowly swayed from side to side.

As you took a breath, words seem to pop into your mind, as you slowly began to sing. "Distant moon, so big and bright. Softest silver glowing through the night. High atop, the mountain gold. Sun unseen, the world is cold." Slowly lift your hands to the moon, from your point of view it seemed like you were holding the moon. The moon seems to flicker, almost as it seems that it was happy that you were finally singing to it. "Here I wait, and here I stand. Early morning northern hour hand. Studying, in solitude. Looking for, a hidden clue." You couldn't see it but the water seems to slowly glide up onto the stone platform reaching for you.

Aphelios eyes where wide seeing the woman sing to the moon, the magic he felt coming from her seem to be so strong. 'Such a pretty voice, the moon seems to enjoy it.' His sister whispered to him, he could hear on her voice she was enjoying it too. Her hands dropped to her sides, a troubled look on her face. "I wish, to see this world through my own eyes. To calm, the elders and silence their cries. Because of you, I now gaze up and sing. The lullaby of the moon." The water reached her legs as white lines began to glow on her skin. She slowly turned around almost in a trance, as the white lines creep up her body, slowly reaching her eyes, who were closed.

Slowly your eyes opened, the world seems to be more bright, seeing everything better as the moon began to guide your way again, so you kept on singing. "Found at last, I steal away. Moving faster through the silent shade. Sea of stars, like flowers bloom. Looking for, the hidden tomb." Rushing through the thickness of the woods, but you kept on going, the powers of the moon seem to pull you to this other strong force. When a big door overgrown by the greens of the earth, was there in the middle of the woods. Moving closer you pull away at the green slowly revealing the door more and more. Moon ruins where on the door, as her hand was full pressed against it, it lite up. The green of the earth seems to pull itself away from the door.

The man followed the woman into the deeps on the woods, his sister softly talking to him, telling him the moon was guiding her to a secret tomb who none could enter unless the moon wants them to. In the tomb a crescent blade laying in wait for its owner, to help out the lunari. 'I think to moon wants her to find it.' As they see the door lit up, they knew for sure. Her glowing white eyes, but a soft smile on her face as she entered the hidden tomb. Aphelios following her inside, he felt the power coming from the moon but also the tomb. Her soft footsteps echoed through the tomb, her soft breathing seemed to come out fast, almost like she was scared.

Once entering a bigger room a nagamaki was stuck in stone in the middle of the room, the moon shining down on it. The wooden part of the weapon was engraved with moon symbols and writing, as the blade itself was shaped like a normal nagamaki, only for it to have a row of moons cut out in the middle, going from a beginning moon facing the left to an ending moon facing the right. You slowly walked to it, as soon you got close the moon to seems to glow. Pulling the blade from the stone ground a gust of power was released making your hair going everywhere. The music slowly picking itself back up in your head. A soft smile on your lips you turned around, only to see ahead pull itself back behind the door. They didn't feel like a  threat, more a welcoming person, that you have known for years. 

As the woman had turned around he had quickly pulled himself back behind to door open she hadn't seen him, only to hear her soft voice sing again. "Here I found, the crescent blade. Forged by Rakkor, surely lunar made. Shining down, upon the earth. Now they'll see, I'll prove my worth." Her soft footsteps seem to make it's way back to the door, making him jump up wanting to run away from her. 'Don't worry brother, she will do you no harm' As she slowly came into his sight, her soft eyes making contact with his. She nods to him, a half-moon appearing on her forehead, his eyes widen. She walked further past him, he was mesmerized by her beauty, the moon always seems to pick the once who were graceful and elegant.

Once outside you began to walk back to the platform, you could feel the unknown man follow you. You couldn't help yourself but let your mind wander to who he was. He sure was handsome, but his eyes seem to hold so much pain and sorrow. Returned to the platform you stand at the edge so you could touch the water if you wanted to. "I wish, to see this world through my own eyes. To calm, the elders and silence their cries. Because of you I now gaze up and sing. The lullaby of the moon." The cutout moons on the blade seem to glow as you grip on to the weapon tighter. Memories of the past came flooding into your mind, what the solari had done to the lunari. Telling you to help them, and protect them from the Solari. The moons cries made you feel so much hatred for the Solari. "Condemned me to death. With my last breath. Sorrow and anger. Fill my head." 

The water seem to move around, the wind picking up, the moons light dimming down. Aphelios felt her anger and sadness, him slowly making his way over to her. 'The moon as shown her what happened to our kind, the lunari, her emotions are taking over. Please, Aphelios help her calm down.' His sister softly whispered feeling her presents closer than ever before after her entering the fortress. "Distant moon, so big and bright. Softest silver glowing through the night. High atop, the mountain gold. Sun unseen, the world is cold." Her weapon touched the water, making it turned silver as she slowly stepped into it, the water reaching her waist. He quickly rushed over to her, pulling her from the water, the sadness seems to leave her. Hands grabbing his coat, turning her head around looking up at him.

As your eyes made contact with his again, the feeling returned once more of knowing him for years. But seeing a figure appear behind him making you push yourself out of his arms and away from him. He reached out to him but you backed away. But you slowly called down seeing a woman appear more a soft smile on her face, but her eyes widen as they made eye contact. 'You can see me..?' You nob slowly pulling yourself onto your knees, a confused look on her face. 'And hear me?' You nob once more, a joyful laugh left her lips as she turned to the man sitting in front of you. 'Aphelios, she can hear me! Can you believe it?! It's wonderful!' Now knowing his name you turned to him, a soft smile on her lips. "Sorry for pushing you away, but seeing her behind you made me back away." A small smile was on his face shaking his head. "Are you mute?" He nods, as you softly smiled moving back to him. 

Aphelios looked the woman over, the lines now gone, showing him her glowing (colored eyes) eyes, a soft smile on her pink lips. The moonlight making her skin seem to glow. "So what were you guys doing here?" 'We were looking and following where the moon leads us.' The woman softly said, as she nodded. Aphelios reached for the younger women's hand as he pulled himself up as well as the woman. "Wow, thank you" He nodded as she leaned down picking up the weapon, soon after looking out over the view over shurima land. The moon once more seems to tell her to do something. "Now I know, my chosen path. Higher calling they will know my wrath. Raise my relic blade. I will not be swayed. With the might of the moon by my side." She lifted the blade over her head the moon seems to be blinding for a second, as a moon now appeared onto her upper torso. 

Feeling a hand place itself on top of your own, making yourself look up at Aphelios. 'He says, that you did your duty, for now, tomorrow is another day.' "But seeing what the solari did to the lunari-" He shook his head, pulling you away from the edge of the platform once more. 'Rest is what comes first, tomorrow is a new day.' You nod, rolling your shoulders you softly sigh. "You know Aphelios, the first time I saw you in the tomb you felt like a year old friend, just calming and relaxing." 'Aphelios agrees, he felt like he knows you from maybe a past life. one where you where friends or even more...' You looked over to the moon, almost like it brought you together. "Do you think the moon wanted us to meet?" A silent laugh seems to leave his lips, a small joyous smile pulled at his lips as you could also hear the woman giggle. Standing on your toes, you softly kissed his lips, quickly pulling back. "Thank you for saving me from my own anger and sadness."

He felt her lips against his, quick and fast, but soft and delightful. Her words almost seem to fly over his head, as he just stared down at her. Slowly making her flustered, slowly pulling herself out of his arms and apologizing for stepping over the line. But he slowly places his hand on her cheek, making her eyes return to his. Slowly leaning down kissing her, longer them before as well as pulling her close. Strangers kissing in the moonlight, but to them, it felt they knew each other for so long. Slowly pulling back, a few seconds of silents before she softly laughed pushing her forehead against his. "Strange how we only have known each other for a good 20 minutes and here we are." She felt him laugh as he still caresses her cheek, as she leans into it kissing the palm of his hand. "Thank you." She softly whispered into his palm, her eyes looking into his. He shook his head after it nudging his nose against hers, silently telling her not to thank him anymore.

[crimson-dxwn]

At Odds Chapter 5

Summary: Kal gets the shock of a lifetime, Mij Gilamar breaks HIPAA, and Mereel Skirata is serious for once. Ori considers her choices. 

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one)

Words: enough (trying not to measure my writing by how many words I can get down on a page these days)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

Imperial Garrison

Summer, 18 BBY

They leave her in a sparse cell. The Empire, ever prepared it seems, has plenty of the tiny rooms built into the west wing of their new garrison. The troopers leave her to her thoughts with no inkling of how long she’ll be imprisoned here. The officer was just some pumped-up kid, there was no way any charges would stick. She was sure those trooper helmets had cameras, too. They’d be able to prove she was innocent. Or someone would find her first - Mij would notice when she didn’t show up for her shift. 

The room is large enough for her to pace three steps in each direction, just enough to fit a cot, latrine, and a small sink. And a poorly hidden camera in the upper corner near the door. Her cheekbone throbs and Ori uses the minuscule sink to splash water on the area. It’s lukewarm and does a poor job. But it’s something to do, to focus on instead of the pure panic that she can feel rising from her gut. She’s trapped here. Her comm is gone. She rubs below the cut where she can feel dried blood and the water runs rusty with it.

A knock booms at the door and she flinches, sending a jolt of pain through her face. A sleek- looking droid enters and makes its way towards her.

“I am PH-1477, here to process you into the Imperial prison system. Cooperate and no disciplinary action will be necessary.”

Still dazed, she nods and the droid seems to accept it as an affirmative answer. Her right arm is yanked out in front of her and she feels a prick of pain before she can even register what’s happening. A blue light scans her palms and fingers for prints. Then a full body scan. She gives her full name. And then the droid glides out of the room and she’s left with her thoughts once again. Despite the throb that has migrated from her cheek to the side of her head, Ori decides to try and get some rest, finding that in spite of everything she’s absolutely exhausted. It must be the come-down from the adrenaline. 

How could this morning feel so long ago? In the course of twelve hours she’d nearly gotten herself arrested twice, succeeded once, thrown up, passed out and broken quite possibly more than one bone in her face. The worst part about her day is that through the durasteel door, she can hear more cell doors opening and closing and bodies hitting walls, and bodies hitting other bodies. Jumbled words and sounds bounce off the durasteel and into her cell as she finally drifts off into fitful sleep.

She’s small again, that she knows from memory. It’s dark out, and cold. Her hands, even tucked in the fur-lined mittens her mother had given her, are stiff with it. Orla is five, and it’s Munin Ca - Long Night to the aruetii. Her favorite Mandalorian holiday. It’s so cold that the snow under her boots practically squeaks, but it means that the sky is clear and every star in the sky glitters when she lays on her back with her friends making angels in the snow. 

Around the fire they tell stories about friends and family who have passed on in the last year. Her buir talks about her ba’buir, his father. Asa Beviin. She’s in her mama’s lap, trying to cry as silently as possible because she misses her ba’buir, so much it hurts. Ori is old enough to understand now that she’ll never see him again. Mama gives her a few sips of her shig and she feels better when her buir tells stories about ba’buir that make the people around them laugh. It hurts a little less knowing that other people miss him too. 

Ori is so warm and sleepy from being near the fire, and she tries so hard to keep her eyes open. She’s on ba’buir’s lap now - Asa’s wife - and she carries Ori to their tent to tuck her in. Ba’buir smells like campfire and berry-scented shig and hugs her close to her chest until she falls into a deep sleep. 

-

Finally she wakes, body stiff from lying on the narrow hard cot for what feels like hours. The dream that should have comforted her has only set her off kilter emotionally. She’s ashamed that despair has set in so quickly. But the Empire had shown so far that it was efficient, ruthlessly so, and there wasn’t any guarantee - at least that she was aware of - of a fair trial, let alone a trial at all. They could stand her up against a wall and slot her and nobody would be the wiser. Consuming nausea interrupts her spiraling thoughts as she sits up, barely making it to the commode before she’s retching up pure stomach acid. Her body is rebelling against an empty stomach, she knows, but there’s nothing to fix the problem. She dry heaves. 

Paralyzed on the floor, she breathes slowly in and out through her nose. Someone will find her. Mij will know something is wrong and Kal...Kal can find anyone. Or at least that was the rumor around the karyai when she visited. He has a dozen or so ARCs and commandos at his disposal on any given day - the most elite soldiers in the galaxy, trained by one of the most dangerous mercenaries Mandalore has ever produced. They will find her. 

———

Keldabe Med Center

Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

Summer, 18 BBY

Kal hurries through the med center doors, careful to check the filters in his helmet before he starts his search for Mij. The chakaar had summoned him down to the med center again, as if he didn’t have enough on his plate. He loved the man like a brother, but damn if he couldn’t have told him whatever it was that was so kriffing urgent two days ago when he was last in town. It makes him twitchy to be out in the open these days, with the Empire openly flaunting what amounts to biological warfare, and with a bounty still on his head. 

With the doc going absolutely off the wall on those troopers the other day, he hopes she’s feeling a bit more stable today. He understands. After weeks and weeks of fighting, a little frustration can send you over the edge. She’d had the exact same look in her eye he’d seen a hundred times. Even in his boys. The human body has break points and she’d obviously hit one. Kal doesn’t judge - he’s been there. Thinking back to what was now over a year ago - watching Etain slaughtered in front of Darman - he’d lost it. They were human, and it was only natural.

“Kal!” Mij flags him down in the atrium of the center. The man somehow looks even more haggard than the last time they’d met; he looked like his last meal was weeks ago. And even more concerning, Kal sees panic in the man’s eyes. Not even on Kamino had he seen Doc Gilamar this bad.

“Mij. What the kriff is going on?” The doctor runs his hand over his face, smoothing the lines there briefly before they etched themselves back around his sunken eyes. The bottom half is covered by a mask, like all the staff here. Kal notices the skin above the edge is rubbed raw.

“Have you heard from Dr. Beviin?” He hasn’t. Not since she’d made a spectacle of herself and passed out in the atrium a few days ago. “She didn’t show up for her shift this morning.” 

“You could’ve called me with this Mij,” he replies, “I haven’t seen or heard from her for three days.” 

“She’s not on a house call at Kyrimorut?” 

“No...” Kal was not about to let Mij’s sense of panic bleed into him. 

“She’s not one to skip shifts.” Kal’s friend sits in a chair by a room, taking a break from his anxious pacing. There’s blood spray on the top of his scrubs and his neck. “Shab.”

“Spit it out, Gilamar. You look like you need a fucking break. She probably just overslept.” Mij glares daggers at him. They both know she didn’t oversleep. His friend looks like a ghost of himself.

“Fine. You want me to check in on her?” The doc sags with relief in his chair. 

“Please...Kal...I shouldn’t even be telling you this but...” Again he runs his hand down his face, rubs at his bloodshot eyes. “You’d find out sooner or later.”

He waits expectantly.

“She’s pregnant.” His stomach drops. Mij’s head is in his hands.

“And you let her work in this?” Dread is rising with his ire. He considers the chaos around them, the spatter on Mij’s scrubs. He doesn’t want to be angry with his friend but is finding it difficult. 

“She didn’t disclose it on her forms, I had no idea until the other day. It came back in her bloodwork.” Shab. “She might not have even known.” 

That was bantha shit if he’s ever heard it. The woman was on top of everything. In what universe could she not know? He thinks back to watching her sleep, the exhaustion on her features, how her eyes widened when she’d checked her datapad...kriff. 

“How far along?” Mij looks up from the cradle of his hands, puzzled. 

“Why does that…”

“Just tell me.” The doctor’s eyes narrow. Exhausted as he is, not much gets past the old sargeant. 

“Ten weeks.” 

Kal’s never been as quick as his boys at figures, not even when they were small. But he’s always accurate. He is already putting a plan in place to find her. Not that it mattered whose kid it was, but his boys had been picking up whispers. Whispers he didn’t like about what the Empire had been getting up to on Mandalore. Mandoade were dying in droves these days and Kal was not about to let doc become one of them.

In all likelihood she was at home, exhausted, and had slept through an alarm. For now at least, he keeps his temper in check. No use getting worked up over nothing.

--------

Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

Imperial Garrison

Summer, 18 BBY

1 Day later

Durasteel cuffs shine around her wrists in front of her as more troopers usher them to the transport. It has a Mining Guild insignia on the side, and Ori looks for any other identifying marks as a clue to where the Empire is taking them. Nothing. 

The stormtrooper wearing a pauldron near the front of the line holds a hand up to his helmet, receiving a transmission. The line of prisoners backs up as he holds up a gloved hand. Distracted, she bumps into the warm body in front of her.

 “Halt.”

Chatter is audible through helmets, but nothing clear as the sergeant walks down the line, scanning the prisoners’ arm bands. He stops at her and Ori’s heart drops. He nods at his counterpart. The trooper to her right grasps her upper arm and escorts her away from the silent line of her brothers and sisters. Stripped of their armor, they look naked, ordinary. But not afraid. Never afraid. Armor doesn’t make a Mandalorian, no matter what the Empire may think. She can feel their eyes on her as she’s led away. One of the men speaks up for her and gets a rifle butt to the mouth for his trouble.

Either they’re going to execute me or they know. 

When the droid initially processed her, it took a little blood, just a drop. To confirm her identity, she presumed. She hadn’t put up too much of a fight, to do otherwise would have drawn suspicion, but it was obvious they’d run other tests. 

The troopers place her back in her cell, where she sits, heart racing for only a few minutes before an Imperial officer enters. This one isn’t familiar to her, at least from the few days she’s been in the cell. 

“I suppose congratulations are in order, ma’am.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone is too defensive, and she can tell he isn’t fooled. 

“Forgive me, I’d assumed considering your former profession that you would know.”

Former profession? So they do know. Well, it’s not getting slotted against a wall. Though by the sounds she’s heard outside her cell the past few days, the Empire doesn’t shy away from more physical methods of information extraction. She also suspects that the walls were made thin for a reason. 

“We’re not savages, my dear. You’re being transferred somewhere more suitable.”

With that, he leaves and two troopers step in, and they usher her out a back door to a smaller unmarked transport. She knows that being taken to a second location is going to make her chances of being found vanishingly small, and she tries futilely to resist the hands that push her forwards, sure that they won’t shoot her, now that she so obviously has something they want. 

The ship is small, enough to fit the two troopers and herself without much other cargo space, barely a light freighter, if that. She can smell the oil they use to lubricate the joints and machine parts in the engine, acrid, almost smokey. 

When she arrives at her destination some hours later, she’s handed a uniform of a sort, more something she would imagine one would wear at a spa, the type that uppity Coruscantis frequent, with hot stone massages and steam rooms and manicurists. Not that she’d know, having never been to one. 

It’s a tunic and trousers made of a soft, wicking fabric in a pale celadon. The top is short-sleeved and wraps with ties at the side, hem hitting at the tops of her thighs, while the pants are loosely cut. She slips the separates over the plain white basics they give her. The fabric slips easily between her fingers as she rubs at it.

Her brain is flying in a million directions as to where she is and why she is here. The options range from concerning to terrifying. They’d definitely been in hyperspace, but she couldn’t tell exactly how long they’d been traveling. They could be on Coruscant for all she knows. Whispers have been floating around Keldabe about various work camps where prisoners were sent and never heard from again. Mostly she’s heard about mining guild outposts, but nothing like where she is now. What kind of sick outfit are they run-

The matron raps at the door, signaling that her time to change is up and she exits, arms wrapped around herself defensively, shoulders hunched inwards. The woman looks her up and down, apparently satisfied with her appearance. With a cock of her head, the woman motions for Ori to follow her, ushering her into a bland office space where another woman sits in front of a large datapad. She’s wearing a crisper, piped version of her own spa-ready garments in varying shades of blue. A hand pushes at her shoulder and she sits clumsily. 

“Planet of birth?” the woman queries. Orla pauses at her directness.

There isn’t really any benefit to lying. They know who she is, and asking questions about her origins is likely a formality designed to lull her into submitting to questions that they really wanted to know the answers to. Truly, she wasn’t sure exactly what these people thought they were going to learn from her. She knows about the vaccine, sure, but she’d already revealed that. It’s possible they think she knows more.

“Mandalore.” 

The woman taps twice on a datapad with her stylus.

“Age?”

“Thirty two.” 

Two more taps.

“Any medical conditions?” The woman before her smiles mildly. Ori resists the urge to spit in her perfect face before she can figure out where hell she is.

“That’s not really any of your business.” 

“I’m afraid it is,” she retorts, not offering any more explanation.

“None,” Ori bites out, “Where am I?”

“You’re in a rehabilitation center-”

“-but I’m not sick.” Her interruption irritates the placid-faced woman, Ori can tell by a flicker in her eyes and a brief downturn of her lips. Maybe trying the woman’s patience the first day in this dump was ill-advised. But she just felt helpless. Trapped. 

“You’re in a rehabilitation center for wayward citizens of the Empire-”

Tired of milk-faced woman’s run-around,she interrupts again. “Why don’t you get to the kriffing point, hutuun?”

She pauses, even more annoyed than before, but keeps her composure. The nametag she wears on her left chest says Technician.

“You committed treason, Ms. Beviin. But your Empire is sensitive to your condition. Sending you to work for the mining guild would be a waste. In your condition, you’d last even less time than the weakest prisoner there. But you can be useful to the Empire in other ways.”

Useful…

“It so happens that many obedient Imperial citizens desire children of their own and are unable to conceive. And with your sordid political history, it would be remiss of us to let your child grow up in such a dangerous home.”

Ori blanches. 

“Not to mention your rumored association with the traitor Skirata and his adopted brood. You did ask me to speak plainly, Ms. Beviin.”

“I did.” Her voice comes out as wan as she feels.

“From what I understand, children of Mandalorian parents are quite sought after.” She gives a slight laugh, almost girlish. “Though one would think there would be more of them given your people’s penchant for...” she pauses, searching for the right words, “- loose morality.”

Her tiny bit of courage that she has mustered deflates to nothing. Her tone is light but there is avarice in the technician’s pale blue eyes. 

“Now, shall we continue?” All Ori can do is nod weakly. Stealing children. How many of her vode are in this place?

“Nationality of the father?” She shakes her head, unwilling to reveal more. Teeth dig into her lower lip to stop the emotions that rise up. This is insane, it can’t be real. 

“It would be to your benefit for you to cooperate with me,” she tuts, “The more we know, the better the placement for your child. Who knows, we may find a place with one of your more loyal countrymen. If you’re especially well-behaved.”

“Mandalorian,” she whispers, “he’s Mandalorian.”

“Good,” the woman praises. Her unnerving pale eyes flick greedily down to her flat abdomen and she quickly moves her top to obscure the area, oddly protective of something that wasn’t even visible yet.

-------

Keldabe City Center

Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

Summer, 18 BBY

Her apartment is empty. The sheets on the bed are rumpled but clean, and a glass of stale water sits on the night table beside it, next to a half eaten ration bar. There’s no smashed glass, no valuables taken, though Kal notes that the place is sparse, even for a Mandalorian - he’s not sure he’d find valuables even if he looked. The only personal touches he finds are a small Jonah wood figurine and a plain metal band.

The door had been securely locked when he entered. For all intents and purposes she’d gone to work as usual. Normally he’d be comforted, but his findings rankle his instincts. He’s consciously not letting himself think about the fact that he’s most likely going to be a father again. If he starts on that train of thought he’s not going to be able to think clearly anymore. Before he starts to lose it he comms Mereel. He hasn’t felt this way since Etain, since when Ruu was missing. He hates laying his problems on his boys, but there are certain things he can’t do himself.

Mereel picks up on the second ring.

“Buir?”

“Son, I need you to track someone down for me.”

“Sure thing. Who ya got?” 

“I need you to check arrest records in Keldabe.” Kal sits at the small dining table, running his hands through his cropped hair, feeling his agitation rise. 

“-Jaing get himself into trouble again?”

“Doc Beviin. Mij says she didn’t show up to work this morning.”

There’s silence on the other end as Mereel takes in his request. It’s a bizarre one, he knows, but if there’s anyone that can find a trail on someone it’s his ad’ike. The line quiets as Mereel works. He’s still holding the figurine from Orla’s dresser, worrying it between his hands, smoothing his thumbs over the polished wood. Everything is going up in flames. Somehow it seemed like just weeks ago that he had grand plans for his aliit escaping a Republic that was rotting from the inside out, when in reality it has been much longer. 

He waits an hour for Mereel to call back, sitting, sweating alone in her apartment, paralyzed by the thoughts running through his head. Waiting for a call from Mij that she had showed up to work, that she’d stopped for a caf on the way and been waylaid somehow. He lies to himself for a minute or so and then steels himself for the news Mereel is going to give him. It’s moments like this when he feels like little Falin again, if just for a moment, alone and scared and plagued by nightmares of horrible things happening to the people he loves. Before he can sink too far into the past, he’s interrupted by his comm beeping insistently.

“Son?”

“We found footage of her entering the Imperial Garrison on Keldabe two days ago.” 

“And leaving?”

The little hologram of Mereel shakes its head. Kal nods. This is his fault. He knows exactly why she’d gone and it was his own shabla fault. How could he have expected someone like her to know the Empire had vaccine and not go after it? 

“We need to get into that system.” 

“I’m sorry-”

“-It’s not your fault, Mereel. We’ll find another way.” It’s his fault. His own kriffing fault. 

---

Taglist: @leias-left-hair-bun @fractiouskat @nelba @clonewarslover55 @wolfangelwings @cherry-cokes-world @passionofthesith @808tsuika @simping-for-fives

[humansofhds]

Steven Fisher, MDiv ’21

“I had one interaction with a patient who had trouble talking and had to communicate by writing on notebook paper. And as she struggled to write, she told me that she was preparing to be her husband's co-caretaker now that they were both in a place of poor health. As a chaplain, to receive that note and see the love that was poured into it was beautiful. That is what ‘holy’ is. I still carry that specific note with me, almost as one would a prayer card.”

Steven Fisher is a third-year master of divinity degree candidate at HDS and serves as a chaplain at Boston Children's Hospital.

Forming Identity, Finding Belonging

I grew up outside of Chicago, in a suburb called Vernon Hills. I was born there in 1993, my family having immigrated from Mexico City in 1991. So, I grew up in a household in which Spanish was primarily spoken, and then as soon as I started school, I started speaking Spanglish. Even though I spent most of my time in Illinois, we traveled to Mexico City often to be with my family there. Both the Chicago area and Mexico City are very much home for me. 

I had a rich childhood, filled with time spent outdoors in the prairies, the forest preserves in Northern Illinois, and then Mexico City for Christmas. I remember spending many hours in such beautiful places, like grandmother's flower garden, and the nearby open-air market. These vivid places have informed my experience of the world. I recall being in Mexico City seeing houses that were painted pink, and cerulean, and orange, then taking the plane back to Chicago, and as we were landing, I’d look down and see the winter. Suddenly everything was covered in snow. The sky was gray and the houses were painted gray or brown. It felt like I was entering a completely different world. 

Over time, I learned to switch between and navigate those worlds. Whenever I was in Chicago, I felt like a part of myself was missing—my Mexican identity. And whenever I was in Mexico, a part of my American identity was also missing, or wasn't being acknowledged fully. But when I got to college, I began to meet people from similar backgrounds with immigrant childhoods. 

There, I found belonging with people who knew what it meant to belong to more than a single culture. They knew how to speak Spanglish, they accepted my Spanish with all its grammar mistakes, and they weren’t embarrassed about their own accents in whichever language. Finding these communities was probably the most enriching experience I had, because I felt seen.  

Ministry at Harvard Divinity School

Before HDS, I worked for the Red Cross in their disaster services. Doing that work, I came across firefighter chaplains, state trooper chaplains, and hospital chaplains. I loved their ability to connect with survivors of natural disasters, so I investigated that career a little bit more and realized one needed a theological graduate degree. 

I had been a theology minor in undergrad and had a professor who encouraged further theological studies. At the time, I was at a Catholic university and this professor wanted me to go to a Catholic graduate school. However, I heard about HDS and decided to apply to their DivEx program instead. When I got to DivEx, it was incredible to see so many people who were rooted in different traditions and unconventional ways of being within their own traditions. They had such a commitment to justice and what that looked like in their respective communities. It was an almost immediate connection with the people there, coupled with lots of laughter.  

After that, I decided to apply to HDS, and I came about a year later. I could have gone to any number of theological graduate schools to complete that requirement, but I think I chose HDS because of our sense of wholeness when it comes to spirituality. The sense that we can take a class at the Medical school or the Education School and turn that into ministry. I love that HDS honors that, and that's a big part of why I came here.  

Queerness, Catholicism, and Eco-Spirituality

I grew up Catholic in a predominantly Mexican American experience of Catholicism, with a deep devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Saints, and all the folklore that surround that. I still carry that with me as someone who is part of the Catholic tradition. 

At the same time, I'm also queer. And going back to the conversation about belonging, my queerness has challenged my place in the Catholic Church and forced me to claim spaces within it at the same time. What that looks like today is constantly navigating what it means for me to be true to myself, and what it means for me to be Catholic. 

Pointing toward Saints like Saint Francis of Assisi, Saint Joan of Arc, and Saint Therese of Lisieux has been a big part of my spirituality. They had a really deep and expansive sense of what loving is, in ways that extend even beyond the human, and into other ecosystems and other beings in the world. That is something that I want to hold true to. It shows up a lot in my spirituality and the ways it’s grounded in the environment, which I like to think of as a manifestation of God's creation. 

As individuals, some of us have a strong relationship with different ecosystems and what our place is in those ecosystems. But as a collective, we haven't really articulated a common vision. I think this is why we have so much trouble articulating our positions on climate change and policy. This is not to say we need to create a moral vision around the environment, but rather to say that we have an opportunity to unearth truths within our own traditions, and to learn with humility from the traditions of people who have been a part of this land before us, particularly indigenous peoples. 

The Holiness of Love

Currently I'm at Boston Children's Hospital, where I'm working primarily as a Spanish-speaking chaplain. However, a lot of my past training here at the Divinity School has been in English. Therefore, phrases like “holding space”, or “ministry”, or even the word “chaplain” don't necessarily translate to Spanish very well. It's awkward, it's clunky, and I struggle. So, now I'm learning to let the patients and families give me their own language for articulating their spiritual care. 

I ask very basic questions, and the vocabulary they use around God, or meaning and faith, is what I can more easily use to reflect back. I can't come in with my own vocabulary anymore. And I think this lesson applies to the way we meet people with other traditions. Essentially, we cannot come in with our own language of what it means to articulate a moral position around the environment, for example. We can only learn from other people's languages and reflect back what they have shared. 

Being a chaplain has honestly given me a broader conception of what is considered “holy”. This is due to the fact that I have had to learn how to honor holiness in the lives of other people who may have a very different worldview from me, whether it is about politics, religion, race, or gender. I've had to grow the capacity to learn what is holy in their lives, and to take that seriously.  

I had one interaction with a patient who had trouble talking and had to communicate by writing on notebook paper. And as she struggled to write, she told me that she was preparing to be her husband's co-caretaker now that they were both in a place of poor health. As a chaplain, to receive that note and see the love that was poured into it was beautiful. That is what “holy” is. I still carry that specific note with me, almost as one would a prayer card. 

Additionally, every time I talk to a patient nowadays, I try to light a candle. When I'm done talking to that patient, I blow out the candle. I've since extended that to my classes. It is one simple thing that has allowed me to acknowledge the holiness of the moment, even if it is through a phone call, or a video call, or a class on Zoom. This has been really centering for me. 

I am also a beekeeper and now that it’s getting warmer, I'm ready to be with my bees again, and check on their hive more regularly. Bees have the capacity to leave the hive, explore, and then come back to their community. For me, there's a sense of connection that comes with that. During this time where I'm somewhat isolated, I can welcome these bees back from wherever they went and feel like I m a part of this world, especially when I see all the pollen they have returned with from flowers miles around me. 

Interview by Suzannah Omonuk; photos courtesy of Steven Fisher

[mymothershumility]

neverflownwithme asked: ❝ i’ve waited all these years for you to admit we’re made for each other. ❞

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ @neverflownwithme​ }

Even in the late stages of spring, the air remains cool and crisp so far north. Winds howl through the trees, cause the branches to twist and sway among the treetops. For a moment, the gale increases, fueled by the thundering snap of leathern wings and a dragoness’ roar.

The earth groans under Sunfyre’s descent, ground shaking as the dragoness alights first upon the walls of Winterfell before descending into the training yard. Form lowering upon the flagstones within the training yard, golden scales gleaming in the late afternoon light, the dragoness stills to allow her rider to slip from her back. Her only movement comes when she cranes her neck back, offering her head and snout as a brace for her rider.

Laira is careful in her dismount, having flown from the sands of Sunspear back to the Northern seat of Winterfell. The journey had been long and her muscles are stiff from the extended time spent upon Sunfyre’s back. Gloved hands take hold of one of the dragoness’ golden horns, landing with barely a sound back upon solid ground.

Sunfyre chirps at her when she is safely upon her feet once again, golden snout brushing tenderly at her middle as her scarlet eyes look over her.

The Princess returns the affection, gloved fingers sweeping softly over her mount’s head as she smiles in return.

“Your Grace,” a voice calls out.

Laira glances up, smiling all the more when she spies the form of her good-sister crossing the training yard. Moone lopes ahead of her, the black direwolf striking a path for Laira. Sunfyre blows warm air upon the direwolf when she is near enough. Moone answers with a huff of her own, squeezing herself against Laira’s opposite side.

“Lyanna,” Laira greets the young woman, granting Moone the affection that she seeks from her. Her free hand brushes over the direwolf’s head, fingers rubbing softly upon her ears. “I gather things have been well in my absence,” she goes on, catching the woman’s eye as she takes the final few steps. There is a teasing smile already spreading across Lyanna’s face.

“Well enough,” Lyanna assures. “The staff will be relieved to see you have returned, in truth. Perhaps now my dearest brother will cease his growling and stalking about. He has been quite sullen as of late.”

Laira’s answering smile is knowing. “Be kind to him, Lyanna,” she advises, leaning to spare a parting murmur to Sunfyre. The dragoness turns without hesitance, climbing back atop Winterfell’s walls and taking flight with a solitary snap of her great wings. “He worries over me when I travel about the realm. Even with Sunfyre to look after me, he worries.”

The dragoness is already high above Wintefell, circling the great castle in widening arcs. Within moments, her mount will be hidden up within the cover of the clouds, scouring the ground from her vantage point for prey.

“Yes. To be sure, he worries over you,” the She-Wolf chuckles. She reaches and tucks her arm through Laira’s own, drawing her nearer to her as they begin to walk from the training yard. “I believe more than anything, however, is he misses you when you are away.”

“Is such a thing so horrible?” the Princess questions, a quiet laugh echoing in her words.

“Only to those who are forced to endure his moods during your absence,” Lyanna says. “None of us anticipated how utterly besotted Hal would become with you when he first met you.”

One chance meeting with the Princess at a tourney at Harrenhal celebrating King Rhaegar’s ascent to the throne and everything had seemed to fall perfectly into place for the two of them. It had been less than a year later that Hal had wed the Princess in King’s Landing.

And, it had been less than half a year ago that King Rhaegar had named Laira as his heir, bestowing the title of Princess of Dragonstone upon her.

“He will wish to see you,” Lyanna says, nodding to an attendant as they enter into the Great Hall.  “No doubt he is already aware that you have arrived home once more.”

It was difficult for the Princess to arrive in secret when her dragonmount announced her arrival in such a manner.

Lyanna leaves her on her way to her own quarters. It is a short trek from where her good-sister departs her to the doors of her own apartments. When she opens them, Laira is struck with the welcoming familiarity of them. Her time in Sunspear had been pleasing and she had enjoyed the time she had been granted with her sister.

However, Sunspear was not Dragonstone nor was it Winterfell. It was in such places that Laira truly felt at peace. It was in such places that she had crafted a true home for herself.

A fire has been stoked within the hearth. It is the first thing that she notices when she enters the space. Candles scented with orange and ginger are also burning, the scent of them soothing. What draws her attention above all else, though, is the vase of winter roses that have been set upon the corner of her desk. The roses are freshly cut, she notices. The petals of some have yet to bloom open.

Moone dashes ahead of her as Laira closes the door behind her. The direwolf makes for the door that joins her own rooms with Hal’s, nosing at the slightly ajar partition. When the door swings entirely open, Moone dashes through with a happy sounding yap. Taking one of the winter roses from the vase, Laira follows behind Moone, taking in the scent of the rose as she walks.

“The roses are lovely,” Laira calls as she enters her husband’s own rooms. She smiles when she catches sight of him. He has bent to offer Moone his own bit of affection, scratching beneath her chin and her stomach where she is flopped down at his feet.

“I thought you might enjoy them,” Hal tells her, looking up from his direwolf companion. He spares a final pat to the wolf’s stomach before standing and stepping towards his wife. “Your travels went well, I gather,” he says. As he speaks, he reaches for her, drawing her into his embrace. His mouth sets itself briefly against the crown of her head, pressing a kiss into her silver hair.

“You know me too well,” the Princess tells him, smiling at the way he reaches for her and draws her so effortlessly into him. She goes willingly, form all but melting into his hold. His hold is strong, arms secure around her.

For the first time in over a fortnight, she feels tension abandon her shoulders and the length of her spine. The peace that surrounds her is instantaneous, a sudden wave of utter contentment.

“I have always thought such a trait to be a positive one,” Hal murmurs, his voice teasing. He spares another kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. He can smell cinnamon and a hint of smoke. “I am glad you are back,” he admits, fingers tracing up the column of her spine. “I never like it when you are away for long periods.”

Not without him.

She breathes a sigh of understanding, head nestled against the line of his shoulder. He smells of the training yard... of leather, horse, and a hint of pine. Those scents have been favorites of hers for some time now.

“Nor do I enjoy being away,” the Princess says. Things are always better when he is with her. Such a thing she had come to realize long ago. “It seems we are quite the pair, you and I,” she goes on, hints of amusement hanging to the edge of her statement.

“I have always thought so,” Hal says, hand reaching for the rose in her hold. He takes it from her, leaning back until he can thread the flower into one of the braids along the side of her head. The rose comes to rest just behind her ear, the blue blooms bright against her olive complexion and the silver color of her hair. “Why such an observation now?” he asks.

“Your sister made mention that your mood has not been as it typically is,” she admits. There is no admonishment in her tone. Instead, there is understanding. “Daenerys made a similar observation of my own mood while I was staying in Sunspear.”

Laira had gone to Dorne to see to her sister, to offer comfort after the unfortunate loss that she had faced. Still, after so long, home had called to her.

Hal chuckles in response, pulling her all the more against him. “I’ve waited all these years for you to admit we’re made for each other,” he teases. “And, there are far worse things that could be said of us.”

“If I have not made such a thing most clear by now, then I have failed in my duties as your wife,” Laira says. Though her words are all jest, the princess can see the way her husband’s gaze softens as he looks at her.

“You know such a thing to be untrue,” he reminds, hand skirting around her side until his palm is pressed softly to her middle.

“I do,” she assures, her own palm settling atop his.

“I did not ask how Daenerys is faring,” Hal murmurs. His thumb ghosts over her silk covered stomach, gaze darting to quickly examine where his touch lingers.

“Better than I expected,” she admits. Though the loss had come upon Daenerys in the beginning weeks of development, Laira knew that it had greatly pained her sister and her favorites. “She was in better spirits when I departed this morning.”

“Good,” he says, thumb still sweeping across her.

“I did not mention anything to her,” Laira continues, sensing the question before Hal has the opportunity to voice it. “It was not the right time.” Of that, she knew that he would agree. “And,” she hesitates, “it is still so early.”

In the coming weeks, once Daenerys had healed more than she had and Laira was certain of matters, she might send a raven to Sunspear revealing her own pregnancy. But, for then, she and her husband were the only ones who needed to know.

[inspector-montoya-fox]

#13 - Menace from the North, eh!

Setting part 1: i mean......... whatever, right? at this point, India got 2 levels and Prague got 2 levels so i’m like ok, let’s get this over with. and i genuinely believe this and Anatomy for Disaster are the game’s two weakest episodes, despite the great conclusion. look, SP... they fucking delivered. they served absolute excellence with episodes 2-4, but it’s getting redundant and Menace from the North, eh! is just Menace from the North, meh? (please forgive me Lord). the game takes a weird environmentalist turn, which i fully appreciate but am ultimately confused by, seeing as He Who Tames The Iron Horse had absolutely nothing to do with Jean Bison’s pollution aspect. it feels weird to return to a Canadian outing after the gang had such a successful run in the previous episode, which felt like a conclusion even with the absence of a bossfight. like, SP could have easily inserted a Bison bossfight at the end of He Who Tames The Iron Horse in order to add another Klaww Gang member for an extra episode or maybe replace Menace from the North, eh! with the lost Monaco episode. it sounds like i’m bitching a lot, and i actually am. what really takes me aback every single time i play this game is that after you complete the Rajan/Contessa saga, it all becomes so anticlimactic. and i can’t comprehend why. by the end of this episode, the stakes are so high but the drive just isn’t there. and it’s not because the gang is demotivated. Sly has been having so much fun throughout the game, even with Neyla’s backstab being a huge obstacle. so getting down, dirty and serious is a much needed mood change. but i feel like i speak for all of us when i say that episodes 5-7 are overshadowed by episodes 2-4. with a few alterations to the order of the episodes and some changes to the script, i really think we could have had an awesome Contessa vs Clock-La final showdown episode and have Bison come right after Dimitri. because, honestly, Canada feels like ‘second episode’ material.

Setting part 2: i’m splitting it up because i don’t want my rant above to spoil the actual writing. the gang sticks around for another Canadian caper after some kooky stuff goes down with the environment and, mainly, the Northern Lights, which as we’ll soon find out, play a rather unexpectedly significant role in the grand scheme of things. and we’re treated to a log-chopping area, an off-the-maps secretive camp which really ups the ante, because Jean Bison is being such a jerk to nature. we’ve got deforestation, we’ve got melting ice, exploitation of wild animals, and Bison getting a raging red boner by literally destroying the environment in order to flex in the Lumberjack Games..... both the player and the gang have had enough of this dude, and i think SP used the fact that his only traits are being an angry idiot and a bigot to their advantage. instead of providing the necessary character development as they did with the Contessa and Rajan, Bison and his actions (especially his communication with the mYsTeRiOuS Arpeggio) are used as a prelude to Anatomy for Disaster. there’s not really a lot of dialogue apart from the final mission and bossfight, because the overall Klaww Gang plot begins to unravel, and particularly so by the time we find out about the lighthouse and its technological contents. in fact, if you think about it, Anatomy for Disaster starts with Clock-La’s shitshow and an info-dump at the beginning, which, if you’ve been paying enough attention to the details (i know that until i turned 12 and replayed the game as a young teen i hadn’t been paying attention to shit so it was all gasp!), is just the connecting of the dots. Menace from the North, eh! is essentially the last piece of the puzzle, before it’s all given to us in full detail by Arpeggio. i mean, apart from Dimitri serving dishes with drugs in them (i still can’t get over that at the age of 21), the rest is all things the player could pick up. and that’s this episode’s main focus. trying to prevent the inevitable under countdown, before Arpeggio’s blimp arrives to collect the Northern Lights energy. so it feels very anticlimactic and strange to put in all this effort without purpose. if you’ve played it before, you know it’s all for nothing since all the parts will be gone by the end of the episode. and it’s even more anticlimactic (although hilarious in tonal shift) to see how the gang scrambles under the pressure of preventing the Klaww Gang’s doomsday by hacking boats and having all these grandiose plans involving the lighthouse, just to then resort to taking part in the Lumberjack Games, without even a clever scheme but actually just cheating, and finally have Bison, an idiot, foil their plans by finding out where they’ve been hiding. and the bossfight is fine, but again, meh... i mean, woohoo Bentley! or whatever the fuck.

Characters: let’s talk about Jean Bison and his mistreatment as a character. we first meet him at Rajan’s ball, where Bentley introduces him as a Canadian shipping baron and says that he owns half the trains in Canada. later on, during the introductory cutscene for He Who Tames The Iron Horse, we get his backstory and how he’s risen from being practically dead, frozen since his time, and back with a vengeance against the environment. in my previous #episodeproject entry i said: SP plays up Bison’s savagery and gruesome nature by spotlighting how his plans affect the environment and even going so far as to call his house ‘the lair of the beast’. this is all true but is never put into practice. like, Jean Bison is all tell and no show, y’know? even the cutscene that plays when Sly gets caught in Bison’s cabin during He Who Tames The Iron Horse’s first mission shows Bison getting angry, but hunty, that’s about it. apart from the Lumberjack Games and his bossfight, it’s all oh Bison will get angry and oh Bison will kill us with the talons. well, where is it? where’s the fucking Canadian shipping baron with a vengeance against the environment? my baby heart was legit quivering when we had to steal Rajan’s blueprints as Bentley, and the Contessa was such a grand sleazebag of a woman, like what a douchebag - and you see that, although i’m often flamboyant in my writing (!!!), the way i describe these moments with these villains is both effective and relatable, because they showed up and lived up to their descriptions. Bison was written to be a ferocious beast of a villain but never showed that. and that’s on SP. whatever... let’s talk about the gang. now, despite the gang looking seriously badass in the opening cutscene for this episode (image below), they’re actually in a pretty good headspace. they’re only missing the talons and whatever Clockwerk parts Arpeggio had before collecting all of them. so it’s only natural for them to feel a bit cocky, and that’s actually gonna be their demise. before that, i just wanna mention that almost all the missions here (as with He Who Tames The Iron Horse) are group missions: Sly and Murray infiltrate the moose club in RC Combat Club, all three of them work together in Lighthouse Break-In, Boat Hack, and Old Grizzle Face. what really stood out to me every time i played this episode, is how, at the end when they take down Bison and they rush to the battery, each member has a different way of entering it, which is a small detail but important nonetheless. this further reinforces how united the gang has become since the Contessa levels and how their bond has strengthened. now, lemme circle back to how they’re cocky. i mean, apart from Jean Bison, Menace from the North, eh! doesn’t present any immediate danger or like trouble, seeing as both Neyla and Carmelita are absent. without any interference, the gang had lots of breathing space to plan ahead, even under countdown before Arpeggio’s blimp arrived. and they kinda wasted the opportunity because, as i’ve already mentioned, the operation was an absolute train-wreck. there’s no plan b, or like something clever or whatever. and usually, the operations tend to get disrupted by third parties, such as Carmelita or Neyla, but here, it failed because it was never smart. and it’s only natural for them to fall hard (by losing all the Clockwerk parts) after feeling all cocky (maybe i’m being too harsh). and all this directly leads to some more Bentley character development.... again. look, i’m all for character development, but the turtle already faced his demons when he busted Sly and Murray out of jail. i know we got Murray vs Rajan, but i don’t know, Murray was always kinda just there throughout the game. the hippo had his ups and downs (face-off with Rajan, imprisonment, losing the van), but not a fully realised story arc. that’s why, when Sly 3 starts off with his enlightenment and return, that story arc is instantly so iconic. i could go on about how Bentley gains self-confidence after defeating Bison, but um, we’ve already done that sis.

Themes: He Who Tames The Iron Horse and Menace from the North, eh! should have been one episode and i truly believe that. they could have shared the same themes. for the former, i said there’s the speed theme, and that applies here too because the gang are under pressure. the countdown lights a fire under their asses and it’s all very destructive. again, there’s an antithesis between the calm Canadian atmosphere and the chaotic energy of the missions. but it’s not just speed theme anymore, it’s more like theme of ferocity. everyone’s kinda on edge??? Old Grizzle Face is a motherfucker and we get up close and personal with the eagles, lasers destroy huge ice pieces, there’s a mammoth, the destroyed oil manes create fiery air drafts... chaos. and it all results in the disastrous events and outcome of the Lumberjack Games, which make Menace from the North, eh! the straightest episode in the game. yuck. it only makes sense for the missions to become less sneaky and more destructive as the stakes get higher and the gang is in a hurry, and that kinda embodies the pollution motif/ environment motif. it’s less of a theme and more of a motif because it’s so story-centric, but that’s the other things the comes into contrast with the calm environment. saws, the buzzing, chopped-up logs flowing down the river, tree stumps spread across: these embody the pollution and the harm Jean Bison has been doing even though it’s a forced storyline in my opinion. and finally, size theme. it’s not major, but it feels like everything’s bigger in Canada... Sly feels so puny in this episode, like especially when climbing the lighthouse. the wild animals are huge, the structures are huge, Jean Bison’s house is huge. it’s just lots and lots of nothingness. if you took absolutely nothing and enlarged it by 10 times, you’d have this episode’s hub. and this is also seen in the bossfight when tiny Bentley takes on Jean Bison. so yea.

What I Like: gliding off the lighthouse and throwing fish onto already stinky guards before Old Grizzle Face rips them to shreds. also, those cute lil catfish-lookin viruses in Bentley’s hacking! they’re so adorable.

What I Don’t Like: erm... it’s not that i don’t like this episode, but i find it kinda boring? apart from interacting with the wild animals, the missions are meh. and i hate the Lumberjack Games...

Quote: Get too close and old Grizzle Face will be eating barbecued raccoon for dinner.

[autisticstarseed]

if u could, perhaps, bless us with all the applicable symbols from that fic ask for hvh 👀

ooOoOOOoOO Rub s gay hands togehter omg ty friend 😍;;;;;;

💡 - What was the motivation behind the story?

hHH i hadnt written in 10+ years so when i latched onto this plot idea i just thought itd be a good time to jump the shark and try it again !! i just wanted smth really edgy and depthful bc im emo and the rest kind of snowballed

💎- What was your favorite part?

osdlfksd;lf it’s hard to pick a fav but the drunk scene was definitely the most fun to write at least

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

THE SCENE WHERE THE GANG IS KIDNAPPED BY ENKI,,,, i debated toning down the violence but in the end i knew where the story was going (and where its still going) and that its gonNA be kinda dark so why hold back now ig

🎭- What was the feeling or mood you were going for?

BITTERSWEET AF,,, sort of just treading the line of ‘hopeful’ and ‘hopeless’ at all times to fully portray the feeling of being at your lowest, but with that classic tss ‘silver linings just around the corner’ kind of undertone

🏟️- Who was your intended audience?

mostly all the adults that watched tss as a kid and felt like spirituaLLY MOVED BY IT cuz i really tried to tap into that Emotion Tee Em we all felt when we found out that zak was [redacted]

🔬- Was there one scene you were building up to/knew you had to get just right?

hHH theres actually a LOT of scenes like that and i think a lot of my general motivation to keep going comes from that ‘WAIT FOR IT WAIT FOR IT’ vibe slkdf:SDF but the Plot Twist tm in the latest chapter was definitely a big’n, and theres a few more of those still to come :^)

🗝️ - What were you thinking when you wrote it?

kjdjFSDs:DF tbh whenever i start really writing, [’im shifting into soup mode’ seinfeld meme voice] im shifting into maladaptive daydreaming mode

🎥- Were there any tv shows, books, or movies that influenced this verse, if any?

:^) devilman crybaby pls forgive me for everytHing

📈- Was there a clear character arch you wanted____ character to go on?

i actually have a short list of what i somewhat consider to be the story arcs in my notes !! mostly just for organization and obvs i wont list the future ones but so far we’ve seen the kushtaka arc, the enki arc, and now we’re in what i call ‘the annunaki’ arc.

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

ALL OF IT JSHDJSKD, but again a lot of the enki scenes i was worried would be too edgy TM, and the whole annunaki plot as well i was worried might be too ‘out there’ for ppl, but it takes the story exactly where i always wanted it and lines everything up perfectly so i went for it lol. i was also ofc worried if people would like ila or not bc oc but most ppl love her actually which is so 😭❤️

☠️- Did you consider killing off any of the characters? Did you?

8^) [mickey mouse voice] this is a surprise tool that will help us later ,

✉️- Did you title your chapters? What title do you like best?

yes! the next one actually has my favorite chapter title yet, but so far i like ‘so strikes the harpoon’ since its a throwback to the first couple chapters

☀️- Was there symbolism/motifs you worked in?

o every single paragraph is an overly thought out middle school poem im entering in the talent show actually

🎵- Did you have a playlist/piece of music that went with this story?

Yes !! i have HVH insp part 1, Part 2, and an extra one for all those songs that have the vibes but just dont fit enough to make sense in a playlist

📜-Do you want to write something like this again in the future?

probably ! ive learned i definitely like the edgy/darker and emotionally driven stories with ongoing plot, so that trend will almost definitely continue. idk if ill write a dystopia again anytime soon, but i think my future stuff will at least retain that long and heavy vibe

💁- Did readers influence/change any part of this story?

oh yEA like basically i was ready to quit after the very first chapter before it was even written and kinda just got it all out on a whim of motivation but was expecting to flake on it like i tend to do with projects, but the invested response to it was just so uplifting that its what ive been riding on all ten chapters and im so grateful for it :’)))

✏️-Would you go back and change anything if you could?

hHHHHHHH yes and ok this is terrible but i actually tend to avoid re-reading my older chapters until i hAVe to bc i suffer from that sO much ,,, , its just little things like tiny words i wanna change or bits i wanna take out/put in and once or twice ive even caught a mistake or plot hole/smth i forgot to add that i rly do have to go back and edit and i just turn to dust every tim e

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

i really liked the northern lights scene!! it was meant to be a pivotal moment of that ‘bittersweetness’ vibe i was talking abt and it was another one of those scenes i had been planning for a while;;;

“ I think of how much the rest of the family would love this. This isn’t like the moon and the sun, where I can see it and know that even if it looks different, they’ll see the same one soon enough, wherever they are. This reminds me only that I am not with them. It stings. It seems unnatural for something so gentle and natural to appear before us as if we aren’t in complete, total fucking chaos. After all we’ve been through, and the sky still dances. “

📣-What was the best piece of encouragement you got?

AVERY ALL OF UR LIVEBL OGS AND COMMENTS GIV ME SUCH L I FE, ,, ,, CRYIGN CAT FA ce

🔦-Did you learn anything while writing it? About yourself? Writing?

isdfhSDF YEs, part of my hesitation to write came from this thing where i always just assumed there was a wildly high standard of writing in fandom spaces like in original literature spaces, where you had to have like 10+ sentences to a paragraph and you had to describe every tiny detail of a setting and you had to follow every single grammar rule or it was unreadable but like. genuinely its like sculpting with words as long as you have a shape ppl get the idea which is such a weight off my shoulders lol, its still a lot of work but so much fun to know i can to an extent do what i want and ppl actually like it like that. i also learned that like most other writers i have to cause my favs emotional and physical pain,

🎁- Any writing advice for people who want to write something like this?

hhHHHH 1. please do it its so fun just give in to the edge my guy , 2. try to get comfortable re-reading your chapters, for me its like when ppl listen to themselves sing/act but im trying to do better bc its so much more consistent when i keep it fresh in my mind and it also boosts confidence when u can pick out the things u like instead of the things u dont, 3. trying to have at least one scene in mind for each chapter that ur excited to write so u can have motivation to update faster! for me it doesnt have to be smth i think would excite the audience either like it could be the most basic thing but just having an idea of it and knowing i want to see it come to life rly helps me stay on top of it all

TY SM FRIEND THIS WAS SO FUN x x )

[ladyoflosgar]

GOT showverse AU, Sansa marries Domeric instead of Ramsay

Some wordvomit on how using Domeric would smoothly integrate the North and Vale plotlines and wouldn’t stray as far from book!Sansa’s (and also Littlefinger’s) character after the cut. Warning that as Domeric is a Harry stand-in who was dead in the original anyway, he was doomed from the start.

I didn’t watch season 6 or season 7 because I ragequit at the Sansa/Ramsay wedding episode, I just know memes like “battle of the bastards” and “poisoned by his enemies”. Also I know nothing about what happened to the southern storylines until Dany showed up at Winterfell in S8. I’m a book gal. 

Marrying Sansa to Domeric instead of Ramsay makes Littlefinger less stupid. This could go along similar lines as the Harry the Heir plot: instead of raising the Vale against the Boltons now that Tywin Lannister is dead and the Crown is weakened, Littlefinger could come to a deal with Roose to get him friends in the Vale instead of enemies. Littlefinger would then exploit the chaos of battle with Stannis/the existing tensions between Roose, Ramsay and Domeric to off each of them in some order, after Sansa has safely borne a child, after which he would become the power behind the North. Domeric is also a cultured nobleman with a good reputation as a tourney knight instead of a bastard serial rapist so it wouldn’t come across as a critical research failure on Littlefinger’s part.

How would we incorporate Domeric into the Game of Thrones story up to S4/5? You would need to introduce him in S1 at the Eyrie when Cat and Tyrion show up. Maybe before, during the Tourney of the Hand. When Cat is about to leave, give him a scene where he says “my lady, I would fight for you, I am a Stark man through and through” and Cat tells him, “ser, you would be of better service to House Stark here in the Vale, speaking for our cause”. In S2-S3 have Cat read dispatches from him about how Lysa isn’t being helpful, the knights of the Vale won’t march without her leave, etc. This would build up trust in the Boltons and kind of justify why Robb gives so much control over to Roose, and amplify the gut wrenching horror of the Red Wedding.

Begin the Sansa Bolton arc. By S4 when Littlefinger shows up with Sansa at the Eyrie we could have a scene with Domeric and Lord Royce (because they cut Lord Redfort) where Domeric says something like “what a family I have, my father the kingslayer, and my brother a would-be kinslayer”. Give him an angstbro moment where he is dejected because his father undid all the work he put in, give him the need to go on a redemption quest for something he wasn’t involved in. After Lysa dies when Lord Royce goes up to the Eyrie, give him a fluffy moment with “Alayne Stone” where he’s playing the harp alone and she sings along or something. Then at a feast, Lord Royce says his name, and Alayne flinches back, he mutters ‘even the novices at the motherhouse curse the name of Bolton’. Then he watches her and figures out that she’s Sansa Stark. He talks to Lord Royce about it, Lord Royce doesn’t believe him, and then the conversation with Sansa and Lady Waynwood happens where she outs herself. Then Littlefinger, Lord Royce, and Roose go into talks. Have Littlefinger recycle the “bewitch him” line he used in the TWOW sample chapter.

Preserve intrigue/suspense at Winterfell by pushing forward the Ramsay & Domeric Cain and Abel plot and make Domeric a player in the Northern conspiracy. Have Sansa use her observation skills to figure out what he’s doing. Have Domeric not involve Sansa in the GNC because 1) he saw her kissing Littlefinger and discuss their plan and 2) it’s about bringing back Rickon and he doesn’t want Littlefinger to know. Turn him into a paranoiac - ‘everyone at Winterfell is trying to kill me except for my dad, who I hate’. Have his opinion of Sansa sour while her opinion of him grows. Domeric’s suspicion of Sansa would also seed the Northern lords’ reluctance to follow her: they believe she is Littlefinger’s creature. Bonus: Sansa’s latent warging ability manifests in Ramsay’s hounds and she learns more about the intrigue at Winterfell.

Leadup to the Battle of Ice. Conflict swirls between the pro-Roose (+Ramsay) and pro-Domeric (Manderly/Stannis) camps at Winterfell. Too many men and mouths to feed, Roose needs to get them out to deal with Stannis. Sansa and Theon flee into the night, to Stannis. Jon receives the pink letter at the wall (but to add mystery, it’s probably not Domeric who wrote it). Mel and Selyse don’t believe it, they burn Shireen to grant Stannis victory, instead they resurrect Jon into wight!Jon. Confusion in the battle because Stannis has Sansa. Maybe Ramsay does something gloriously stupid like kill Stannis in a parley (let’s keep Brienne on the Arya plot) and now the Northmen just have to crush Team Dragonstone. Or, the conlfrontation ends without resolution, Stannis nopes back to the Wall, finds Shireen dead and his wife a depressed husk, and an heroes. Huge blow to the GNC, they all ride back to Winterfell in shame.

Ousting Littlefinger, the fall of the House of Bolton, Sansa vs Jon conflict. Knowing that the lords of the North still want the Boltons gone but won’t include her because of Littlefinger, Sansa’s attention needs to be on disentangling herself. She also has a personal motivation to be rid of him because he is a creep who keeps forcekissing her, and he killed Lysa. In the end I think Harry will grow on Alayne/Sansa at least a little bit, so Domeric has to grow on Sansa too. This is just a wordvomit so I don’t know all of the logical steps but Sansa needs to get rid of Littlefinger by herself without making herself look too bad by outing him to the Lords of the Vale and help Domeric get rid of Ramsay while Ramsay’s about to arrange a hunting accident, perhaps by warging into a dog. Domeric’s arc would be about Roose so he’d need to be the one to play the poisoned by his enemies card. Now that Sansa and Domeric are working as a team, enter Jon, stage right, dark!Wight with a wildling army to rescue his sister. Noone can find Rickon (shaggy dog story). Half the Lords of the North still want a son of Ned Stark, and like Lyanna Mormont said, “Lady Sansa’s a Bolton now” and Domeric is a kinslayer. Stark Bowl, get hype, it’s a Northern civil war. The Knights of the Vale come in to bail Domeric out but it’s too late. The Northmen make Jon KITN because that’s what happens in the show and also he killed Domeric, and they are still reluctant for a ruling Lady Stark without a husband. It was a real tragedy because this is Westeros. Now it’s time for the White Walkers and Daenerys plot.

Impact on Sansa’s character. At the end of the day I don’t think show!Sansa and book!Sansa are the same. IMO steered in a different direction from the girl who led the women in the Queen’s Ballroom signing hymns to the Mother, who asked for a maester for Lancel, and sang the Mother’s hymn to Sandor during the Battle of the Blackwater. The sass queen who goes “uncle, sit” to Edmure Tully is not the same person who helpfully finishes stuttery Wallace Waynwood’s sentences and spares him further embarrassment. This might be naive but I hope GRRM is going to have her retain her kindness, her mercy, her goodness while having her do things that are genuinely grey (her role in whatever happens to Sweetrobin for example). She would express regret, just as she expresses regret for outing Ned to Cersei. If her endgame fate is to end up alone, and not with someone brave and gentle and strong who loves her for her and fulfills a beauty and the beast metaphor, then I think the role Harry (Domeric here) would have played in her narrative is to have made her come to regret using someone as a piece on the board rather than treating them as a person valuable in and of themselves, with their own hopes and dreams and flaws and virtues. It happened to me, I did it to someone else, I am sorry, etc.

Thanks for reading my badfic outline. 

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “At the Start (At the End)”

Anon requested ‘one or two paragraphs of Jon coming to Sansa the night before the war and telling her his feelings’, so of course I write this 3k+ monstrosity that may or may not constitute as such.  I mean... I GUESS.

On the eve of the Battle for Winterfell. Fits as a missing scene during 8x02. Placed directly after the scene of Jon, Sam, and Edd on the ramparts of Winterfell, after the war council meeting. Season 8 compliant up to 8x02.  Mild M.

At the Start (At the End)

‘Why did you come here tonight, Jon?’  Maybe it was pointless to come in the first place. Maybe nothing changes.  (Maybe everything changes.)  -  Jon and Sansa.  What it means to remember.

* * *

“Think back to where we started.”

           It’s a striking reminder, standing there atop the battlements of Winterfell, staring out into the dark and cold, his Black brothers beside him.  Only, when Sam’s words are meant to bring forth memories of Grenn and Pyp and Lord Commander Mormont, it’s suddenly copper hair and frantic fingers at his back and the warm, hollow of her throat beneath his breath instead.  It’s the look in her eyes when she had stood trembling before the gates of Castle Black and run to him – breathless and aching.

           Suddenly, it’s Sansa at the start.

           Jon’s jaw clenches beneath the realization.  He grips his gloved hands together, running a thumb over his knuckles, shrugging his cloak closer.  “I’ll find you later,” he tells Sam and Edd, turning to leave without preamble.  He stalks down the stairs, Ghost already trotting ahead of him, as though he knows.  And why wouldn’t he?

           His feet have known this path for longer than he should be willing to admit, some part of him already yearning for her in the dark, and when he turns the corner to the hallway of her chambers, he finds Ghost is already waiting before her door, looking back at him expectantly, and Jon could laugh.

           How blaringly apparent he’d been.

           His hand stills just before knocking at her door though, and everything comes rushing back like a wave of sickness.

           The threat he brought into their home – the unburnt queen warming his bed.

           His hand curls back, retreating.

           Before he can turn from the door, Ghost scratches at it, releasing a low, long whine.  Jon shoots the direwolf a desperate look.

           “Ghost?”

           Her voice from beyond the door stills the breath in his chest and before he can question it, Jon clears his throat, answering “It’s me.”

           There’s a steady beat of silence where he simply stares at the door, and then her soft “Come in” broaches the quiet.

           He enters swiftly, Ghost loping eagerly into the room and stopping at her lap, where she sits in the chair by the fire.  Her smile is instant and singularly private when she sets her sewing aside to wind her hands into his fur, gliding over his ears and along his sides in fondness.

           It makes Jon’s chest tighten with something he can’t name.  “Sansa.”  It’s more a croak that leaves him.  He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders.

           She glances up at him, her smile wilting only slightly, but it’s enough to stir him forward.  “He wanted to see you.”  He motions to Ghost with a shrug of his shoulders, an impish grin lighting his features.

           Ghost throws a blank stare back at him, and Jon huffs, fingers curling and uncurling nervously.  “Alright, boy, come on.”  He waves the direwolf back and Ghost trots over, passing him and stopping just outside the door, resuming his watch.  Jon takes a moment to ponder the direwolf’s quiet vigilance before he shuts the door, turning back to Sansa.  He looks at the table by her side where she laid her sewing.  His eyes catch sight of a familiar jerkin.

           “What are you…?”  He stops, licks his lips, something blooming between his ribs.

           Sansa glances to the material, grabbing for it when she stands.  She fingers the lining hesitantly, taking a deep breath.  “You tore it the other day.”

           He keeps his eyes on the jerkin.  “I hadn’t even noticed.”

           “You hardly ever do,” she says, swallowing thickly, before setting the jerkin aside.

           He wonders then, how many shirts of his and how many breeches and how many boots has she mended?  How much thread and how much time and how much tender care has she spent?  He wears her touch daily and doesn’t even notice. Doesn’t recognize the work of her delicate hands until it is staring at him here, in the firelight, in the night before the end.

           Jon rubs a hand over his mouth and sighs.  “You needn’t do that, Sansa.”  Because saying anything else seems an insult.

           She lifts her chin, hands folding behind her back.  “I wanted to.”

           Jon stays staring at her, the dim light of the fire casting shadows over their forms, and then Sansa sighs, her shoulders slumping with it as she turns to face the hearth.

           “Is it so wrong?  To want to be needed? To want to be useful?”  Her words are a tight whisper, her body a rigid line.

           Jon takes a tentative step toward her.  “You are needed, Sansa.  You’re the Lady of Winterfell.”

           She scoffs – lightly though, hardly demeaning of a lady.  “Much good that will do me now.”

           Jon’s brows bunch in confusion.

           Sansa releases her hands from behind her back, pressing a worrying thumb into her opposite palm, the motion registering in Jon’s mind with a stain of uneasy familiarity.  “Tonight will belong to the soldiers, the warriors.  And I will huddle with the other women and children in the safety of the crypts while my family bleeds for us.  Again.” Her hands are shaking now, her thumb arcing in nervous circles over her open palm.

           Jon steps up beside her, a hand at her elbow.  She turns at his light touch easily, as though it has always been thus between them.  “You bled your fair share for the North already.  We need you down there.”

Her lips thin into a tight line but she doesn’t answer him.

“You will protect our people, like you always have,” he says, voice low and sure.

           She levels him with an incredulous stare.  She shakes her head, eyes flitting back to the fire.  “I will never swing a sword like you or Arya.  I will never host visions like Bran does.  I am no help to you.”

           Jon huffs in aggravation, and the sound draws her attention once more.  His hand falls from her elbow.  “’Swinging a sword’ didn’t win us back Winterfell.  It didn’t unite the Northern houses, it didn’t feed or clothe our people, it didn’t keep this place going when I sailed south for allies.  You did that.”

           “What, with mending jerkins?” she asks scathingly, motioning at her forgotten work on the table.

           “Yes,” he nearly barks at her.  Because he doesn’t know how to tell her that she mends more than that when she puts her hand to the needle and works the thread.  She mends more than split seams or houses or hearts.  Sansa looks at the woes of her people and she doesn’t turn away. She listens.  She heeds.  She learns. She leads.

           Jon doesn’t expect to last the night, not really.  He’s thought this for a long while.  And maybe it’s a selfish wish of his, because he doesn’t know how to manage a throne-crazed dragon queen if they win the war against the dead. Some part of him has always expected to perish before he had to.  Perhaps even to perish with Daenerys.  After everything, it would be a just end.  After everything, he’s only known how to protect.  And if keeping the North alive meant bringing the Targaryen conqueror to Winterfell, if it meant appeasing her want and granting her false affection, if it meant laying his pride at her feet like a proper traitor king – if it meant Sansa and Arya and Bran and more were not meat for the Night King (because some things are not worse than death, Jon knows) – then he will give himself to the slaughter.

           He will give himself to Daenerys Targaryen.

           (What isn’t already hers, at least.)

           “What, will I sing a hymm for the terrified ladies?  Soothe them with false comfort?”  She says it derisively, but her eyes have taken on a desperate sheen, lost in some memory he thinks he might never be privy to.

           “Don’t be silly, Sansa, there’s more to it than – ”

           “’Silly’?  I suppose it must sound silly to you, oh seasoned warrior.”

           Jon sighs, and he lets the anger sink back beneath his skin for a moment before speaking.  He isn’t angry with her, after all.  With everything that’s led them to this, to this conversation, to these words, to this war-worn Sansa he wants to bundle in his arms and keep to his chest – yes, angry with that.

           Anger so familiar it sticks to the roof of his mouth with tart recollection.

           “You’ll direct the wounded,” he begins.  “You’ll tend the children.  You’ll run the supply of arms and food if it turns into a long enough siege.  You’ll be our first and last contact when the walls break.  You’ll be the one who gets our people out if this all goes south.”  He’s staring at her, demanding this of her, because he knows she will do it.  He knows she can do it.  She’s the Lady of Winterfell, and she knows what it means to bleed for the North better than any of them.

           Sansa blinks at him, breathing hard, swallowing back whatever heated reply she might have had on her tongue in favor of exhaustion.  It’s writ all over her face, in the arc of her shoulders and the curve of her neck.  She swings her gaze back to the fire.  She flexes her hands.  She licks her lips.  “I suppose I… I needed something normal.  Something… familiar.”  Her hands stay locked before her, her sewing still laying forgotten on the table behind them, lost in the shadows their figures cast from the fire.  It’s the closest thing to an apology he expects to get from her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

           But Jon nods, because he thinks he knows.  It’s in the hard hilt of Longclaw, and the sharp draw of a labored breath, and the subtle throb of aching muscles.  Familiar.  The fight.

Familiar.

He’s just so tired of the familiar – the blood and the snow and the long, dark nights.

She laughs then, so soft and so jarring and so alien.  Jon startles at the sound.  Sansa covers her mouth with a hand, smothering the noise.  “I’m sorry, I just…”  And then another soft chuckle, but he can see the wetness at the corner of her eyes.

“Sansa.”  He reaches for her cheek before he even realizes it.  But she shakes her head at his touch, swallowing back her tear-laced laugh, and his hand retreats to his side, his fingertips alight with her warmth still.

“It’s so stupid.  It’s so stupid.”

Jon turns fully to her, his hands lighting along her arms.  “Sansa, please, what is it?”

She shakes with it, sniffing back her tremulous laugh.  “Sometimes I still remember Father’s promise to me.”

Jon rubs up and down her arms, silently urging her to continue.

“Someone who’s brave and gentle and strong,” she recites, shaking her head, eyes downcast.

Jon doesn’t know what to do but to listen.  To just listen.

“I still want it, in some worn-away, ruined part of me.  I still want it.  That promise.”

Jon blinks at her, hands stilling at her arms, and suddenly it makes sense.  He swallows down his trepidation and takes a deep breath.  “Sansa.”

She meets his dark gaze with her own teary one.

“This isn’t the end.”

And how hypocritical, he thinks.  Because he’s already resigned to it himself.  He’s already laid that burden to rest.  But the idea of Sansa – the very thought – it doesn’t… it could never be.  This scenario doesn’t include anything for her but survival.  He’s already bled for it, knelt for it, laid his crown at the dragon’s feet for it, so – no. No, this isn’t the end.  Not for her.  Never for her.

(Sansa is the start.)

“Sansa, listen to me.”

And she does.  She stills so suddenly and so thoroughly that he thinks she’s stopped breathing entirely.  But it’s there – just barely.  The slight rise of her chest.  The subtle flare of her nostrils.  The restrained flex of her throat when she stares at him expectantly.

His hands find their way to her face, cradling her cheeks, her hair bunching beneath his fingers and she sucks in a breath at the motion.  His eyes flick to the draw of her mouth for only a moment, only a hesitant breath, and then they find hers again – needful and daring.  “I promised to protect you.  Always.”

Sansa opens her mouth but nothing comes.

“Do you believe me?”

She stares at him dumbly, breath hitching.

“Do you believe me?” he asks again, this time harshly, this time with the reckless heat of something dark staining his words.

“No one can protect me.  No one can protect anyone.”

How the words haunt him at night.

“Yes,” she breathes lowly, a quake of a whisper.

Jon releases her face, breathing heavily. His features softens at her exhale.

And then her fingers are bunching in his tunic, holding him to her.  “Tell me we can win.”

But this he cannot.  He stares at her, mouth a thin line, and in the flicker of recognition that passes her eyes, he thinks he also sees terror.  His hands fold over hers at his chest.

“Sansa, you have to do something for me.”

She hasn’t stopped staring at him, eyes wide and salt-tinged.  She nods mutely.

“When the time comes, you need to leave.  Flee south.  Make your way to Riverrun.”

Her hands release her hold of him instantly and he feels the loss keenly.  “No,” she says without pause, stepping back.

“Sansa.”

“No.”

He growls then, a barely held thrum in his chest, closing the distance between them once more.

She braces a hand to his chest to stop him and narrows her gaze at him.  “I promised to never go South again.  And I meant it.  I will not leave these halls.  Not ever.” She pulls a deep breath, her lip trembling.  “Please, do not make me.”  Her hand slips from his chest.

The break in her voice tears at him in ways he isn’t ready for, and he shakes his head, rubbing a hand down his face as he sighs heavily.  “If we can’t hold them…”

“Then we can’t hold them.”

“Sansa,” he snarls, pressing into her.

She stumbles back, surprised at the heat of his anger.

“I told you this isn’t the end.  The Starks will survive.  You will survive.  Even if that means going South when the dead overrun us.”

Sansa blinks at him, brows furrowing, and then she’s pressing back, stepping into him, her furious breath pooling in the air between them.  “And what am I without the North?  What am I without my family?  Without you?”

Jon rears back, throat dry.

           “You say it like it is some easy thing to leave this all behind.  And maybe it is – to you.”

           “What?  That’s not – Sansa, you know I – ”

           “And how could I expect anything else?  After all, I went south and became a captive, but you – ”  She spits the word, harsh enough to brand his cheeks with the heat of her exhale, his own chest rising in indignation.  “You went south and became a consort.”

           Jon’s growl hits the air like a Northern wind, and he moves into her, hardly even noticing when she steps back at his closeness.  He stalks her back against the desk until she stumbles to a stop, hands grasping behind her vaguely for the table top.

           “Jon,” she warns – breathless.

           “You know what that was,” he says lowly.

           She stares back at him, eyes hard, licking her lips.  “Do I?”

           Jon narrows his eyes at her.  “I did whatever I had to do to get her – her armies, her dragons – here.  And I’d do it again.”

           Sansa nearly flinches at that one, and he has the sense to feel ashamed. But not enough to stop.

           “We can’t do this without her, and I wouldn’t…I couldn’t let it just… end like that.”

           “Do you love her?”

           Jon’s glare hardens as he sucks a sharp breath through his nose.  “Sansa.”

           Her fingers curl tightly against the desk behind her.  “You never answered me before.”

           He sighs, and it seems to take everything from him.  “I didn’t think I had to.”

           She swallows tightly, silent, chest heaving.

           And suddenly Jon realizes how strangely beautiful Sansa is.  Not in the far-away, untouchable sort of sense he once thought of when he remembered his lady sister from all those years ago – a child still, really, a delicate, sun-lit child with a face full of Southern yearning and hair the color of the Red Keep’s walls.  

           No. Sansa is beautiful in the way her frost blue eyes meet his unblinkingly and the way she wears her Northern furs like a second skin and the way she mouths his name in equal fervor whether it’s ire or affection.

           Sansa is beautiful in the way she signs her letters and the way she pours her wine and the way she holds her hand out to catch the snow.  In the way she fingers the tip of her needle and hook chain when Bran takes to his visions, and the way she teasingly cocks a brow toward Arya at Gendry’s passing, and the way she lays the winter roses at Robb and Rickon’s graves.  The way she nuzzles Ghost and laughs at Tormund and stands with Brienne.

           The way she fights for him.  Even still. Even now.

           But Sansa is also beautiful in the way that will never – should never – be his.

           Jon sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth, suddenly aware of how very close he’s standing to her.  He takes a step back, throat tight with an unspoken ache.  “It’s going to be a long night, Sansa.  You should… get some rest.”

           “Why did you come here tonight, Jon?”

           He meets her gaze for a beat, finds her eyes intent and focused on his.  The sheen of wetness is gone.  He takes another step back and she follows – keeps the space between them barely a breath.  His chest tightens inexplicably, his jaw working over words that never meet air.

           “Why did you come here?” she repeats.

           This time he doesn’t retreat when she presses closer, her chest bracing to his, her fingers lighting along the fur of his cloak, her eyes shifting between his – never blinking, never wavering.

           He suddenly thinks back to the war council meeting, Sam’s words lingering in the air around them.  “That’s what death is, isn’t it? Forgetting.  Being forgotten.  If we forget where we’ve been, and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore.  Just animals.”

           And maybe it was pointless to come in the first place.  Maybe nothing changes.

           Except, it was Sansa at the start – it was Sansa at the start – and he thinks maybe there’s a reason for that.

           (Maybe everything changes.)

           “Jon?”

           “Because I don’t want to forget,” he mutters on a swift exhale, his hands fisting with the effort to not drag her into him and kiss her wholly, unrepentantly.

           Sansa’s mouth parts in recognition of the words and he reaches up to hold her jaw, his thumb bracing against her bottom lip.

           She stills beneath his touch, her fingers curling slightly in the fur at his collar.

           He leans in, presses his thumb harder into her lip with a keen sort of need, trembling – standing there at the precipice, at the edge, just a fall away, just a spiral down, down, down and he could taste her, sink his teeth into that glorious wolf skin, drink her moans and swallow down that sweet, haunting aftertaste.

           Her eyes never leave his when her tongue darts out to wet the pad of his thumb, shivering at his groan, and suddenly he isn’t standing at the precipice anymore – he’s tumbling down, flailing desperately, lost to her.

           His hand pulls back from her lip to be replaced with his own mouth, his arms winding down to her waist and tugging her roughly to him.  They stumble with the force of it back against the desk, his hips pinning hers, his teeth sinking into her lip when he takes her gasping mouth.

           Her hands are in his hair, her back arching under his touch when his moan fills her mouth and nothing in the world matters but this –

           But that she kisses him back.

           “I don’t want to forget,” he pants against her lips when he pulls from her, and her hands are already tearing off his cloak, his fingers tangled in her skirts. “I don’t want to forget this.”

           “Good.  Because I won’t let you.”  She gasps when his tongue finds her throat, his hands going under her thighs to heft her up onto the desk, toppling her ink well and scattering her scrolls, the dark pool of ink slowly staining her skirts but he’s already back between her legs, sucking at her throat again, tugging at the confines of her dress.

           When he lays her back against the hard wood of the desk he sees the dark swirl of ink at the edges of her copper hair – a great blackness not unlike the one he knew when he first left this world.

           Because there was nothing on the other side.  Not even memory.

           And memory is what makes them men.

           Jon kisses her, and kisses her, and remembers.

           It was Sansa at the start.

           (And it will be Sansa at the end.)

[lovemychoices]

Before There Was You- CH.6

TRR X ROE

Song Inspiration: 5sos - Ghost of You

Three years ago while travelling in Europe, Eve Sommers was involved in a car accident. She woke up from her coma two weeks later with no memory of what happened to her in the past seven months. Three years later and still no recollection about what happened to her before the accident. But all of that is about to change. Will she finally know the truth? Will there be consequences?

*THIS SERIES PRACTICALLY THROWS CANON OUT THE WINDOW* YEET!YEET!

Characters except my OCs belong to Pixelberry, I am just borrowing them

Word count : 1700++

Chapter Summary: We time jump three months after the masquerade ball. The court are officially in Lynthikos and the snowy atmosphere takes Leo back to a certain memory.

A/N : This is my first fiction series so it will definitely not be 100% perfect. In other words be kind :). Feedback and comments are welcomed, also hit that reblog button if you like what you read.

Catch up with the series HERE

Warning : I’m rating this PG18 cause there will probably be PG18 stuff that’s going to happen in future chapters. So if you read this series you acknowledge that you are 18 and above.

Tags : @thecordoniandiaries @leelee10898 @ao719 @annekebbphotography

@desiree-0816 @rainbowsinthestorm @emceesynonymroll @the-soot-sprite @carabeth @cora-nova @charliejane-blog @dcbbw @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @jlpplays1 @pixieferry @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jessiembruno @romanticatheart-posts

[[More]]

“Wow, Hana! You never told me you were an amazing figure skater.” Eve cheers as she watched Hana do a Biellmann spin on the frozen lake. The group arrived Lynthikos a few hours ago and Olivia had scheduled for them to go ice skating on the lake near the estate.

Hana chuckles. “Oh , it was nothing, I learned that move when I was seven, though my skating instructor always said my spins where a bit sloppy.”

“Aww Hana, I think you were amazing despite what your instructors said, right Olivia? She affirmed and gave Olivia a nudge. “Meh, She wasn’t bad.” Olivia smirks.

“Ladies..” Liam beamed when greeted them as he and Maxwell approached the three. “My prince.” Eve smiles and kisses Liam on the cheek.

“Ugh barf..” Olivia cringed followed by sarcastic eye rolls. “I’m going to skate over there where the view is less nauseating.” She points then skates away towards Penelope and Kiara, who were skating or at least trying to.

“Hey Hana, watch me do the ice skating version of the moonwalk.” Maxwell says excitedly trying his best to impersonate the moves in his skate. Hana looks between Eve and Liam then at Maxwell. “I’d better go check on Maxwell before he hurts himself.”

“Subtle..” She grins.

Liam chuckles. “As long as we have some time to ourselves, I’m not complaining. Shall we?” He asks offering his hand. Eve smiles and takes his hand, the two begin skating side by side with their hands intertwined.

“Did I mention how lovely you look today.” Liam grins.

“No you haven’t and thank you.” She winks playfully. “So do you and the court come here often?”

“Not often, but when we do Olivia is always a generous hostess. I did use to come here a lot when I was a child. Leo and I used to have a snowball fight with Drake even Olivia would join us.”

“Leo right, I forgot about him.” She rolls her eyes, her expression suddenly dim.

Liam brows creased, he noticed a change in her tone and the way her body shifted when she said his brothers name. He stops in his skate and pulls her closely while he tilts her chin up. “Eve is something wrong?” He asks sincerely.

Her lips formed a thin line followed by an exasperated sigh. “Look it’s no big deal, it’s just that I think Leo doesn’t like me very much.”

“Why would you say something like that? You’ve been nothing but wonderful throughout your stay in Cordonia. Even Olivia is starting to warm up to you.” He chuckles. “‘Maybe it’s just some misunderstanding.

“I’m serious Liam, everytime I enter the room when the gang is hanging out he sees me and suddenly there’s always an excuse for him to leave. He doesn’t even stop say HI or make eye contact. It’s been two months you’d think the guy would warm up to me by now.. Heck! Like you said even Olivia is already treating me like a friend in her own way.” She looks Liam in the eye. “Normally I wouldn’t care what people think but he is your brother, he’s your family. it’s important to me that we get along.”

Liam heaves a sigh. “I’ll try to have a talk with him okay? In the meantime I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, you’re a very hard person to not like Eve Sommers.” He grins while placing his hand on the small of her back and pulling her into a kiss.

***

As the sun began to set and the day began to turn dark, snow began to fall on the estate. Everyone in court gathered in the great hall for some eclairs and hot chocolate by the fire.

Leo sat in the library by the window watching as the snow fell from the night sky while taking a sip of his scotch. His mind drifted to three years ago in Finland.

Three years ago - Kakslauttanen, Finland

Leo and Eve lay on their bed cuddled up with each other. They had both been seeing each other for a few months and decided to head to Finland for their next adventure. Eve wanted to see the aurora borealis which was on her bucket list of things to do during her trip in Europe so Leo rented an igloo shaped room made out of glass.

It was the perfect romantic getaway, they could watch the constellations in the night sky while waiting for the aurora to appear all in the comfort of their warm bed under the glass dome surrounding them.

“Okay, how about that one?” Eve pointed to a wishbone shape group of stars. “That’s Perseus and that—.” Leo pointed to the star next to it. “Is Andromeda's line.”

Eve cocked an eyebrow. “I’m assuming this has some romantic Greek tragedy story written behind it?”

Leo chuckles. “No tragedy at least for them. Andromeda’s parents were going to sacrifice her to the monster Cetus when Perseus came and save her, they fell in love, got married and lived happily ever after.”

Leo turned propping one hand on the side of his head. “But if you’re interested in tragic romantic stories.” He grinned and looked back up at the sky through the glass window. “There that one.” He pointed towards the group of stars that looked like they were forming a stream. “That's called the milky way. Though the myth surrounding that constellation differs depending on the country. In Japan the myth tells the story of a celestial princess Orihimie, who falls in love with a mortal named Hikoboshi. When her father found out he was enraged and forbid their love. To punish them he placed them in the sky separated by the celestial river or as we call it the milky way only to reunite once a year.”

Eve got up into a sitting position with her legs sidesaddle, sadness filled her eyes. “Oh my god that’s just tragic and sad, I couldn’t imagine what I would do if that happened to us. To be separated from the one I love, to be separated from you. I—.” She froze when she reailised the words that came out of her mouth. Did I just confessed that i love him? Did he hear me? What if I said it too soon? Holy crap you really blew it this time Eve! Prepare yourself and watch him run for the hills.

Leo gently cupped her cheeks with his hand, closing the gap between them as he pulled her in for a deep kiss, only to pull apart a few seconds later. His ocean blue eyes looking into her soft teal ones. “I love you too.” He says.

A whirlwind of pale green light appeared and swirled above, the streaks tossed about wildly. Then scarlet red clouds of fire pulsated in wave of arcs, rolled against the midnight sky and darting towards the heavens. They both looked up and marvelled at the beautiful lights as it danced in the northern sky illuminating the night.

***

Leo is suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by the squeaking sound of the library door opening.

“And here I thought this was the last place I would find you in.” Liam teases as he walks into the library with both hands in his pockets.

Leo snorts. “And yet here I am.” He opens a bottle of liquid amber and pours it into an empty glass before offering it to Liam.

“Thank you brother.” Liam says taking the glass from Leo. “ I didn’t see you earlier on. You know usuy Drake is the one who is busy brooding, what’s gotten into you lately?”

“I wasn’t really in the mood.” Leo murmurs, swirling the glass in his hand watching as the liquid amber turns into a small whirlpool.

“Is it because of Eve?” Liam asks studying the expression on his brothers face.

Leos is taken aback. Could it be he found out about our past? Play it cool Leo it could be about something else. Leo clears his throat before answering. “Why would you say something like that?”

Liam steps closer rubbing the back of his neck, pursing his lips before answering. “To be honest, Eve was the one who brought the subject up. She thinks you don’t like her and you know what I don’t blame her now that I see it. Ever since she came to Cordonia you haven’t really been welcoming, you leave everytime she enters the room. You barely say more than three words to her whenever she tries to start a conversation with you.” He pauses then heaves a sigh. “Brother you need to tell me if something is wrong so we can all try to work it out. I’m trying my best to convince the council that the woman I love is not just the perfect Queen for me but for Cordonia. Before the start of the social season you promised to help out as much as you can.”

Leo didn’t know what to answer he was stuck between his brother and the woman he once loved, the woman he still loved. Avoiding her wasn’t an option anymore, it might cause more suspicion and suspicion might lead to Liam digging for more answers. He just couldn’t risk letting Liam finding out about their history together. Leo ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to make Eve feel unwelcomed, I promise I’ll have a talk with her to straighten things out.”

“Thank you Leo, that’s all I ask.”

“And I’m sorry I haven’t been living up to my promises, I’ve just been having a hard time lately.” He murmurs taking a sip of his scotch.

“Is it about your divorce with Katie? I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy worrying about my problems I completely forgot that you have yours. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Leo gave a rueful smile and pats Liam on the shoulder. “Thank you Liam, but these are demons I need to face on my own.”

Liam places an assuring hand on Leo’s shoulder. “ If you ever need anything. You know I’ll always have your back just like you have mine. So what do you say we stop with the brooding for a few minutes and join the others at the great hall?”

Leo chuckles. “You don’t have to ask me twice brother.” They both finished their drinks and went on their way to join the others.

[warriorofdragons]

Light in the Dark Chapter 10: The Northern Light

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death

Note: {Övüsi is in these brackets}

Additional Note: [Mystery Language is in these brackets]

You’re getting ready for work, when there’s a knock on your door and you go to answer it, but opening the door instead of Hernandez, you’re met with Montehugh and Kandomere.

“Can we come in for a sec?” Montehugh asks.

“Of course,” you say and usher them inside.

They step inside and you shut the door behind them, “What is it?” you ask.

They’re both silent for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you question.

There has to be some sort of trouble for both of them to be here.

“The Northern Light has landed in L.A.” Montehugh states.

Your eyes widen in shock, “What?! Where?”

“In the elven district, in one of the large gardens,” Kandomere says.

“Is she still there?” you ask hesitantly.

Montehugh nods.

“And you want me to do something about it?” you ask.

Kandomere inhales, “You have been specifically requested to be present during the talks by one of the…higher ups in the Magic Task Force.”

“Me? Talks? So is she just…sitting there? Waiting?” you ask.

“Pretty much. She’s been there since early this morning, just patiently waiting for someone to come out to meet her,” Montehugh explains.

“So just to clarify, this isn’t like what happened with Angelo?” you question.

“No, she has come here peacefully though not many are enthused by her presence,” Kandomere says.

“You being there would make things go a lot smoother, otherwise those politicians aren’t gonna go anywhere near her,” Montehugh adds.

“And I’m sure we would all rather not test a dragon’s patience,” Kandomere continues.

“Alright, it’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my day, but I guess I don’t have much a choice,” you say grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes.

You’re wearing a white midi dress with blue and pink flowers across it and a pair of lace-patterned flats. When you finish putting on your shoes and look up at the elf you see confliction in his face that mirrors the look you saw before with Angelo.

“I am sorry, Querida, were it up to me you would not be the one to do this,” Kandomere says.

You pause, there’s that word again.

Querida.

Does he really mean it?

It’s not just some word he’s throwing around, right?

You take a breath, “I suppose we shouldn’t keep her waiting. We have a job to do afterall.”

“I will be beside you the whole time,” Kandomere says softly taking your hand, “As will Montehugh.”

You nod and then follow them both out of your apartment and then down to the car. You nervously wring your hands together as you stare out your window and inch closer to the elven district. When you reach the block that houses one of the larger botanical gardens you step out of the car and stare up at the buildings surrounding it. There’s more than enough open air space for something as large as a dragon to fly down and land…somewhere…nearby.

You follow between Montehugh and Kandomere as they lead you towards the entrance where a number of other people are gathered. There are MTF agents of course decked out in full gear and in the middle of them is a human man in a suit, and three very old elves. The three of you approach them as they all seem in to be in a heated discussion.

“In my day there wouldn’t have been a meeting at all,” one of the elven men says.

“Agreed, as far as I’m concerned she’s complicit in her mate’s actions,” the other elven man wearing a bowtie says.

“That’s hardly fair, Frotovir, she could’ve just as easily been caught unawares as we were,” the elven woman says.

“Yes, I agree Moiranith, and isn’t that why we’re here to hear HER side of the story?” the human man asks, who now as you get closer, you recognize to be Mayor Mike Contreras.

And the elves are members of the city council.

“I thought we were here to hear her demands?” Frotovir asks.

“All I’m saying is we would have run BOTH of them OFF!” the first elven man says.

The Mayor seems exasperated with his counterpart, “Yes, well, Guthron, this isn’t back in the day, and in today’s world we try and hear everyone’s side and then decide on the information we’re given what to do next.”

“They have both been living here peacefully for years! We owe it to them to at least hear what they have to say for themselves for this betrayal,” Moiranith says.

Guthron seems disgruntled with the way the conversation is going, but Moiranith holds up her hand, “It seems we have company.”

The Mayor turns around and takes in your group, “Ah you must the Special Agent I was told about,” he says as he extends his hand to Kandomere.

“Yes,” Kandomere says and extends his own hand and shakes it firmly.

“Kannomire? Was it?” the Mayor asks.

Kandomere lifts his head slightly and then sighs, “Kandomere.”

“Ah yes, my apologies,” the Mayor says.

Some of the elves behind him roll their eyes.

The Mayor nods at Montehugh and then he stares at you curiously, “Are you an agent as well? You seem to be different…”

Kandomere steps forwards and puts a hand out in front of you, “This is an expert on dragons that we brought to…aid if necessary in the meeting with The Northern Light.”

He nods, “Very well then.”

You look at the elves past him and the elven woman and one of the elven men are looking at Kandomere askance like they don’t quite believe his explanation. You are at least a little relieved to know that the city’s leaders don’t know you’re a Bright.

“Now, that we’re all here we can begin,” Moiranith says.

Some of the MTF agents go first while the others hang behind he group forming the familiar pattern that Montehugh and Kandomere always do with you. You realize now that it’s a protective position and that they’ve been protective of you…this whole time.

Even though you’re a Bright.

You look to either side of you at the agents and notice that Kandomere has placed himself between you and the other elves. You then glance around you at the beautiful gardens, there are tall, green trees that are definitely not native to the region, colorful flowers in perfectly manicured rows, and you can hear birds singing as they dart between the trees above you. It’s gorgeous and oddly serene, considering you’re all moving towards a large, fire-breathing dragon. You had never really thought to come here before with all the times you’ve visited this district.

You wish the first time seeing it was under better circumstances.

All of you walk across a wooden bridge over a gentle stream and you can see koi fish swimming in the water beneath you. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the city, but then again so is the rest of the elven district, this is just one of the only parts that embraces nature like what elves used to be known for.

Finally all of you exit the tree line and enter a golden field that sits at about knee height.

And that’s when you see her.

The Northern Light.

In the middle of the large field the dragon watches you all approach as she rests calmly with her forelimbs crossed over one another. Over the top half of her body are blue almost teal scales and her underside including her bottom jaw are covered in snowy, white scales. But the tops of her forelimbs, the edges of her wings, and the tip of her tail are a crimson red.

She leisurely reclines on the grass as she waits patiently for your group to come near, her wings calmly folded at her sides. Her ivory horns are long and twisted and they dip down and then arc back up at the points. The MTF agents spread out around her in a defensive position, but she pays them no heed. Her golden eyes are focused solely on the city’s leaders as they apprehensively close the distance.

Your group finally stops close enough that everyone doesn’t need to crane their necks directly upward to look at her. It’s this close that you realize something.

She’s the biggest dragon you’ve seen so far.

She’s at least twenty-five percent bigger than her mate, in fact.

She shifts and you can hear the movement of the scales from her body and the ground beneath her shift from her weight, “Thank you all for meeting me here. I know that you no longer fully trust me,” The Northern Light says.

“And why should we?!” Guthron demands.

“You think you can just barge in here unannounced?” Frotovir questions.

“What my compatriots here are trying to say is, it is too much to ask for our trust at this juncture,” the Mayor says.

“I am not asking for your trust, that is not why I am here,” she replies.

“Then why are you here? What is it you seek?” Moiranith asks.

“For us to come to an arrangement,” The Northern Light states.

“If that arrangement means you leave this region, then I think I can agree to that,” Guthron says.

“I will not abandon my unborn children,” the dragon responds.

“Then what will you do?” Frotovir asks.

“Please, The Northern Light has come here to talk civilly, and asking her to forgo her role as a mother is not very civil,” the Mayor remarks.

“Agreed,” Moiranith says, “And it’s barbaric.”

“Then she should take them with her!” Guthron continues, “The less dragons the better!”

“When did you lay them?” you ask suddenly.

Everyone seems startled to hear you speak and the dragon’s golden eyes shift to you, “Four months ago,” she replies.

You turn to the group who is now staring at you, “Dragon eggs need to be kept warm with their parents’ firebreath and after two months, obsidian formed at the base of the eggs has solidified them in place.”

You neglect to mention that there’s also diamond formed in the process.

“So she can’t move them?” the Mayor asks.

You nod, “It would kill them.”

The dragon’s golden eyes regard you for a moment and then her eyes slowly shift back to the others. You exhale quietly, and feel Kandomere’s arm press against your left arm. You go to move your arm away from his, but he follows you and presses his arm firmer against yours. You turn your head to the left towards the Mayor who is now focused on the dragon again and your eyes shift to the blue-haired elf beside you. He has his hands in his pockets and he’s not looking at you, but you realize that he’s trying to comfort you.

It’s the only gesture he can offer under the circumstances and you lean into him.

“What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?” Moiranith asks, “What is it that you have come here to ask of us?”

“My mate and I have not been able to hunt in a week. My children require constant heat now, as has been stated,” her head turns to you slightly, “Heat that cannot be given if my mate and I are starving. One of us must hunt in the sea, so I ask that you let it be me,” she finishes turning her head back to them.

“Where is your mate? Hmm? Why are we not speaking to him instead?” Guthron asks.

“He is in our nest, our home, tending to our children,” The Northern Light says.

“A little role reversal then?” the Mayor asks.

The Northern Light pauses, “No?”

She seems confused by his words and you wonder if you should tell him that both dragon parents take turns raising the children and protecting their territory.

“I…nevermind,” the Mayor says.

“We do not want you near the city,” Frotovir says.

“I’m not asking to go near the city, I can go around it. It will take more time,” she says glancing to the side, “But it can be done.”

“And what about the lives that were lost?” Moiranith questions, “What do you have to say for Angelo’s actions.”

The Northern Light blinks and you recognize the look in her eyes as the same Angelo had. She closes her eyes and dips her horned head for a moment and then raises it again, “There is nothing I can do to bring back the dead. And there are…no words that I could say to ease the broken hearts of their families.”

She takes a breath and everyone takes a step back instinctively except you and the two agents beside you.

“So you care nothing for the children that were slain?!” Guthron demands, “But then again I’m sure you with your happy family wouldn’t understand the loss of a child has on a parent.”

The dragon’s eyes start to cast a golden glow as her pupils shrink and you know that she’s really pissed. Because it’s more or less the same look Selina had sometimes.

“You think…that I don’t…know,” she begins with much restraint, “What it’s like to lose a child? You have no idea about my past. How hard I have worked to get to this point,” she pauses to exhale carefully, “HAVE YOU EVER LOST A CHILD?”

Guthron looks incredibly nervous, “I…no.”

“Because I have,” she says and she swallows, “I have had many infertile clutches, and when I finally did lay a clutch that was fertile? That was alive? They were taken from me,” she hisses her head drawing closer to him, “By a pack of wyverns…they tore them apart as they were hatching, they barely even had a chance to open their eyes. So do not pretend that you care about children, you old fool.”

The elven man swallows and the dragon’s head draws back and she closes her eyes and when she opens them there’s a slight bit of steam rising from her eyes. You give her a sympathetic look and there’s a slight shift of her eyes in your direction and then it immediately shifts back to the Council elves and the Mayor.

“I do extend my and my mate’s deepest regrets and sorrow,” the dragon says, “Which is why I wish to do something to help provide for the families.”

“Such as?” the Mayor prompts.

“Not to be rude, but what is it you could provide them? Words of comfort?” Moiranith asks.

“Our voices are the last they would wish to hear,” The Northern Light says, “No, I mean to give them gold. A small piece of our horde.”

Staring over at the politicians you watch them all glance between one another in a hushed excitement. Dragon gold is quite coveted and quite rare. And you can tell that it’s the best news they’ve heard all day.

“Well, I’m sure that it will more than cover the damages done to-“ Frotovir begins.

“It is NOT FOR YOU,” the dragon’s voice bellows and the elven man quiets.

“It is FOR the loved ones of those that died and the wounded who survived so that they may continue on without their future survival being threatened.”

“That’s very noble of you, but we have this thing called ‘taxes’ that have been around in this country for more than a couple hundred years. Living in your cave I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with it. And unfortunately there will be a great deal taken away from them by the government with how much gold is worth nowadays,” the Mayor says.

The Northern Light literally rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh her hot breath blowing past all of you, “Aren’t ‘taxes’ the very thing that made your country revolt against the last one? And just because I live in the mountains doesn’t mean I don’t know how things are run down here. What’s next? Are you going to explain to me how voting works? Or indoor plumbing? I am nearly six hundred years old I don’t need your ‘words of wisdom.’”

The mayor looks a little alarmed and flabbergasted and Moiranith sighs and steps forwards, “Then as one six hundred year old to another how do you plan to ensure they get all the treasure?”

“Is there not a law that was established during World War II where upon any dragon providing relief to any town or CITY may be tax free by the U.S. government?” The Northern Light questions.

The politicians all look at each other startled and Moiranith wrings her hands together, “She is correct, the gold is to go first to those most deeply affected and then to any reconstruction of buildings and infrastructure.”

“But it’s not World War II anymore!” Guthron protests.

“No, but it’s still on the books and has been utilized since, granted often in more rural communities but,” the Mayor says.

“But it is a federal law, one we must uphold,” Moiranith finishes.

The dragon nods.

The politicians all exchange a few glances they seem to be unhappy about not getting the gold and after a moment the Mayor steps towards the dragon.

“Alright we will allow you to drop off the gold, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we don’t want it to be inside the city,” the Mayor says.

“Fine, then outside of it,” the dragon sighs.

“And give the city a wide berth should you need to fly past it,” Frotovir adds.

“Of…course,” The Northern Light says reluctantly.

They all spend the next couple minutes working out the details on where the drop off should be. And Kandomere chimes in to reassure everyone that the MTF will handle it from there and even bring in an expert to properly determine the worth of the gold. When they all seem somewhat satisfied with their compromise the politicians are the first to leave the clearing with the armored MTF agents to escort them safely out.

And it leaves just the three of you alone with The Northern Light.

And her golden eyes shift from the edge of the clearing to you.

And only you.

“Come on-“ Montehugh begins.

“Wait,” she speaks softly.

And everyone stops and looks up at her.

“You’re the one aren’t you?” she asks, “The one who saved my mate?”

You nod silently.

“Thank you,” she says and her head moves forwards as she lowers her head almost to the ground in front of you, “Thank you for saving my mate and the father of my children, thank you for returning him to me.”

The two agents maintain their positions beside you, but you notice they glance between each other and then back at the dragon.

“He was fighting another dragon,” you begin, “Before…”

“Yes, I know. My mate and I can still smell him across our territory, but he is long gone,” The Northern Light says.

“Gone? Gone where?” you question.

“We suspect he fled to Europe,” she states.

Montehugh throws up a hand, “Of course where the fuck else would he go?!”

“Be careful, Little Ones,” she warns, “For we also believe him to be the Scourge of Europe and the slayer of The Everburning Emerald.”

Your vision shifts suddenly and you’re no longer surrounded by a golden field, but an emerald one. You begin to hear heavy footsteps and knowing what’s happening you try and focus your vision back to reality not enough to break it but just enough to…there!

You now have a sort of double-vision going on where you can see not only the dragon in front of you but also the field near the forest. The green dragon steps out into the meadow and then turns in your direction and as she opens her mouth to speak, you focus on her words.

And you repeat them.

Then the dragon flies off once more towards the mountain and the vision ends and this time you are jarred back to your senses and Kandomere grabs a hold of your arms and steadies you before you topple forwards. As you stare up at him you feel him brush the hair out of your face and you’re vaguely aware that he’s cupping your cheek.

“What?” you begin.

“I said are you alright?” he asks.

You stare into his silver eyes and focus on him to help ground you.

“I’m fine,” you manage quietly, as you now realize you’re in his arms.

“You don’t look fine,” he mutters and you notice how concerned the elf looks.

You turn your attention back to the dragon, “What did I just say?”

She’s staring intently at you and then her eyes shift to the side for a moment and then back to you, “If it is a new amulet you need then I will help you forge another. Then mayhaps together we can end his reign of terror.”

When she finishes speaking it instantly clicks in your brain that of course that’s what the dragon said!

“[A amulet,]” you whisper.

The spines on The Northern Light’s body puff out and she starts to say something to you in Draconic, but the only word you understand is the word “you.”

The dragon studies you for a moment, “I suppose not then.”

“What did you say?” you question.

“I asked you if you could understand me,” she says.

“I only understood the word ‘you,’” you say.

“This amulet wouldn’t happen to be The Amulet of the Dragon?” she asks.

You glance at the two agents and Kandomere nods and then you nod at the dragon.

“Oh dear, did you wear it?” The Northern Light questions.

“No, I only touched the lockbox holding it,” you state.

“Hm,” she muses, “It seems that was enough.”

You shake your head, “Enough for what? What’s happening to me?”

“The amulet has imprinted on you, it’s attempting to call you to it,” she explains.

“Imprinted?” you question.

“There are many different ways a magic item can belong to someone, are you familiar with them?” she asks.

“Uh…” you mutter trying to remember, “Binding spells are the most common, but they’re also only used for more powerful items. Then there’s ownership through forging an item, and also right of conquest where you kill the previous owner for it.”

“And a lesser known and often more rare way of claiming an item is by it ‘claiming’ you,” The Northern Light explains.

You ponder her words.

“It…WANTS me to use it?” you ask horrified.

She nods solemnly.

“Why?” you look to Kandomere and Montehugh whose faces are grim, “Why me?” you demand staring back at the dragon.

She sighs, “I don’t know…perhaps it has to do with who you are.”

“I…how do I MAKE IT STOP?!” you demand distraught.

Kandomere pulls your back to his chest and grips your upper arms firmly and leans down next to your ear, “Shh we’ll figure something out, you’ll be alright,” he soothes.

The Northern Light fixes you with a sympathetic look and raises her head, “I wish I knew more about the forging of the amulet.”

“Is there anything else you know? What was the name of that dragon again? The Scourge of Europe?” Montehugh questions.

“That was only one of his names, the name most knew him by was The Darkest Shadow,” The Northern Light says.

You blink and there’s an image of the grey and blue dragon soaring through the night sky as he banks back in your direction and swoops in low, and then there’s another image of him standing in front of you with houses set ablaze with blue flame. The dragon opens his mouth and more blue flame rises up from the back of his throat and illuminates a much smaller figure dressed in robes that swirl around them as the figure outstretches a hand. And in their hand you vaguely make out a small item as they thrust it outward and there’s a green flash of light…and you remember an image carved on the lockbox of a figure holding something out to…a dragon. Your mind rapidly fills with several other images none of which you can clearly make out and you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your head in your hands.

And then everything calms and you open your eyes.

You feel something holding you really tight against your midsection and look down to see the elf’s arms and turn your head to stare at him.

“It happened again,” you mutter weakly.

“What happened?” he asks shaking his head.

“Some sort of vision…” you answer.

Kandomere looks to Montehugh.

“We should get her outta here,” Montehugh says.

“I agree,” Kandomere says.

You stare up at the blue and white dragon and she tilts her head at you concerned, “I’m sorry I do not know more to help you.”

“It’s alright…” you mumble.

“Thank you for your help,” Kandomere says to The Northern Light and then he turns to you, “I think you need to rest.”

You nod and he adjusts his grip and loops your left arm around his waist and you lean heavily into his side.

“Goodbye, The Northern Light,” you say looking back at the dragon.

She smiles at you the corners of her mouth turning up, “Aurora.”

You smile back at her and the three of you begin to make your way to the edge of the clearing finally. As you walk leaning on the elf you reach your right hand out and run your hand along the golden grass and you realize that it’s not grass…it’s wheat.

                                                                      *******

Kandomere reaches the car and Montehugh climbs into the driver’s seat. The elf opens the back passenger door for the woman and she just stares at the car.

“Hey,” he says softly massaging her upper arm, “We’re going to get through this together.”

She nods slowly, “Okay.”

“I made a promise remember?” he asks.

She stares up at him and smiles at him gently, “I remember, Kandomere Dear.”

Her smile eases his heart a little.

He then lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her delicate skin and there’s a light blush that colors her cheeks, one that increases as he then drags his lips lightly across her hand and towards her arm.

“Kandomere!” a voice calls.

Kandomere stops and presses one final kiss to her hand and then glances behind him at one of the Council elves approaching him and sighs softly.

“Wait in the car,” he says.

She stares at the older elf and then at Kandomere again.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Kandomere promises.

She nods and then climbs into the car and he shuts her door. Kandomere then straightens his jacket and strides over to meet the elf.

“Yes?” Kandomere inquires politely.

“Do you think the MTF is prepared should anything more happen with the dragons?” Frotovir asks.

“We are making preparations as we speak,” Kandomere states.

“Ah yes but what about-“ Frotovir begins.

“And we have help from the National Guard coming soon, so should if it come to that…we’ll be ready,” Kandomere continues.

“Good, good,” Frotovir mutters clasping his hands together.

Then the much older elf squints at Kandomere, “I notice you’re not wearing your gorget is there a reason for that?”

Right, he has met this particular elf on a couple of occasions prior to today.

Kandomere raises an eyebrow at him and he avoids looking back in the direction of the car. He can’t hear either of them breathing through the car doors, but he can hear Montehugh searching through the radio stations.

He smiles inwardly, but his face remains neutral.

“I thought it would be in poor taste to wear it,” Kandomere remarks.

“Ah yes, The Northern Light might not have appreciated it,” Frotovir says nodding to himself.

Kandomere isn’t sure whether or not he truly misunderstood him or deliberately is refusing to acknowledge it, especially considering the entire council had gorgets.

“Yes, she would not have appreciated it,” Kandomere says.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work then, I’m sure there’s much to do,” Frotovir says and then he wanders off.

Kandomere shakes his head and then returns to the car.

They all wait until they hear the weight of something hitting the ground and feel the tremors shake the car. Fortunately this time the dragon is far enough away to avoid setting off the car alarms in their vicinity though he can hear some in the distance. After another moment he watches the primarily blue and white dragon quickly gaining altitude.

“Alright, we see her. Time to move out,” Montehugh says to the agent on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll mobilize the teams on my end,” Agent Murphy says.

Montehugh hangs up the phone and pulls the car out onto the road and heads back in the direction of the office. They mostly sit in silence with music playing quietly on the radio. Kandomere stares out the window and notices a large mural of Angelo painted over one of the buildings as they pass, but it seems it’s been added to recently…

“Kandomere?” she asks.

“Yes?” he responds.

“You speak Spanish, right?” she asks.

He inhales, “I do.”

“What does Ángel de la Muerte mean?” she asks.

“Angel of Death,” Kandomere answers.

The mural of Angelo has his eyes crossed out in red with the words spray-painted over the name “The L.A. Dragon.” And as they move further down the street there is similar graffiti written all along the walls written in English, Spanish, and Bodzvokhan. All of which call the dragon far worse things, but he refrains from repeating them in a lady’s presence. The elf turns in his seat and stares at her and he can tell that she’s still upset and she notices him staring and tries to compose herself.

Doesn’t she realize that she doesn’t need to pretend to be strong around him?

He’ll have to assure her that it’s okay to not be strong all the time.

He’ll have to assure her.

They make it back to the main building and Kandomere ushers her into his office and she sits down on the couch and wraps her arms around herself. Kandomere shuts his door and removes his coat and drapes it over her shoulders as he sits down next to her.

“What are we going to do?” she asks and tears begin to well up in her eyes.

“Shh,” he quiets as he places his hand on her right cheek and wraps his other around her and pulls her close.

“We’ll go talk to Saerthon, he’s our resident arcane researcher, it’s possible he knows more about what’s happening to you and how we can stop it,” he whispers.

A tear slips free from her eye and he thumbs it away.

She closes her eyes and then opens them again and takes a deep breath.

She looks exhausted.

She’s teetering just a little in fact.

He glances at his jacket, “You know I always keep some chocolate on hand.”

Her eyes light up and she digs through the inner jacket pockets until she finds the unopened chocolate bar and tears into it. She pops off a square and eats it and her body sags and she moans softly in delight.

Kandomere swallows the sound she made is…definitely doing it for him.

No, that’s hardly appropriate right now.

Especially seeing as she is in such dire straits.

She opens her eyes and breaks off a few squares and hands them to Kandomere.

“I think you need it more than me, Darling,” he says.

“I’m not going to eat the whole thing and it was yours to begin with,” she says.

Kandomere smiles and takes the chocolate and pops it into his mouth. The milk chocolate filled with caramel melts in his mouth and he hums in enjoyment. The woman stiffens in his arms and gives him a sidelong glance.

And then she leans into him.

He’s caught off guard for a moment and then he slowly rests his head against hers and they sit in relative silence as she munches on the chocolate.

He buries his nose in her hair and inhales her scent.

Nothing seems to have changed, but the amulet still has a hold on her or at least is attempting to. A worrying ache grips his heart and he inhales her scent again and her close proximity calms him somewhat.

Somewhat because he senses her worry as well, as it hangs over her like a cloud.

The door opens suddenly and Kandomere’s head snaps up and he sees Montehugh enter. He was so preoccupied with her, he hadn’t noticed the man’s heavy footsteps. His partner looks from Kandomere to the woman as she belatedly lifts her head to stare at Montehugh.

Montehugh raises an eyebrow at the elf, “We got a meeting in five minutes with one of the big bosses, he wants a rundown on what happened this morning with The Northern Light.”

Shit.

Of course.

He starts to stand up and then looks to the woman seated next to him, “Does she need to be there?”

Montehugh frowns, “Nobody said nothing about it so I would assume not.”

He releases her and stands up, “Just wait here, I’ll be back.”

She nods.

“It’s probably best she stays here anyhow,” Montehugh says quietly to the elf as Kandomere moves to join him.

“Hold up, Princess,” Montehugh says putting up a hand and Kandomere turns around and sees the woman standing up.

“Stay here,” Montehugh insists.

She looks back down at the couch and despite the fact she hardly moved from the couch she almost topples over when she tries to sit down again. Kandomere swiftly moves to her side and helps her sit down again.

“I think maybe I should get some rest…is it okay if-“ she begins.

“Of course. You can take a nap on the couch if you’d like. I’m going to lock the door when I leave so that no one will come in here and disturb you,” Kandomere says softly.

She smiles at him and he lifts one of her hands and presses a kiss to it. And then he stands up and leaves with Montehugh and locks the door behind him.

As they start to walk down the hall, “Hey, Boss, you wouldn’t mind taking a little detour for a minute? I need to talk to you real quick,” Ulysses says.

Kandomere follows him to his office and closes the door behind him. The office is smaller than the elf’s, but it’s still nicer than some of the other agents’.

“Yes, what is it?” Kandomere asks.

Montehugh holds up a finger, “First things first. There aren’t any of your pointy-eared friends around are there?”

Kandomere pauses to listen and then opens the door enough to look out and inhales and then closes the door, “No.”

“Good,” Montehugh says, “Now, I suggest if we want to keep her on,” Montehugh says quietly and jerks his head back in the direction of Kandomere’s office, “We don’t tell ‘em a fucking magic artifact is giving her visions.”

Kandomere takes a breath, “I agree.”

“Listen, I’ve seen enough of who she is as a person to know she’s not gonna turn out like all those other Brights we hunt down. She’s not a criminal. In fact she’s beyond good. Shit, she’s better than me.”

“I know. I can say the same. But they’re not going to believe that, not yet at least,” Kandomere says.

Montehugh’s brows furrow, “You got a plan? I was hoping you might have a plan.”

“The more she assists us with our cases the harder it will be to deny her virtue, and the closer we’ll get to finding that amulet,” Kandomere continues.

Montehugh nods, “You gonna talk to Saerthon later?”

“Yes,” Kandomere says, “Hopefully he’ll have something we can work with.”

“That elf runs a tight ship, he can be real weird at times, but I know he won’t say shit if you tell him not to,” Montehugh says.

Kandomere nods and pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time, “We best get going we don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

They both leave the office and step out into the hall.

                                                                      *******

You feel someone nudging you and you sit up and rub your eyes.

You stare at the pair of silver eyes in front of you and Kandomere smiles.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks softly as he smoothes your hair down.

You close your eyes and smile and then open your mouth in a yawn.

“Yes, actually it’s…peaceful here,” you say softly.

He smiles, “It’s what makes it so easy for me to do work,” he says and turns his head to stare at the mostly eaten candy bar, “I see you’ve eviscerated my chocolate bar.”

“I was trying to save you some,” you say.

“I gave it to you, it’s yours. You can have the rest of it if you want,” he insists.

“Well, if you insist then, I’ll just shove it into my purse for later,” you say.

He smiles wide and his fingers brush past your ear.

“It’s actually one of my favorite brands, but it’s only sold in the elven district,” you continue.

“I could get you some if you’d like?” Kandomere asks.

“I didn’t mean you should…you don’t have to,” you mutter.

“Are you kidding me? Montehugh pokes fun at my snobbish taste in chocolate. Despite the fact that, that’s not true I’ll eat anything chocolate. I just have my favorites,” Kandomere says, “I’m more than happy to buy chocolate for the one human who seems to share my taste.”

You smile at him, “Could…you maybe get more than one…”

“I’ll buy you an even dozen how does that sound?” he asks.

“An elf after my own heart,” you say softly.

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, “A lovely heart it would be to hold.”

You blush and glance down shyly.

He presses another kiss to your hand and then sighs, “I think it’s time we visit Saerthon. Are you up for it?”

Your smile fades, “Yeah,” you say and stand up.

You’re still wearing Kandomere’s jacket and it seems to have gotten quite wrinkled in your sleep and you’re worried the elf will be mad at you.

“Oh, um I’m sorry it’s all wrinkled,” you apologize.

He gives you a gentle smile, “It’s quite alright. It’s just a coat afterall.”

You stare at the elf, you don’t think you’ve ever seen an elf not be upset by minor inconveniences to clothing. Then again he deals with so much more serious matters on a regular enough basis that something like that wouldn’t hinder him. He loves to look good mind you, that is still very elf-like of him he’s just…a strange and…gentle elf.

He takes his coat from you and sets it down on the coffee table and ushers you out of his office. You take the elevator down and then walk across the familiar sidewalk path to the lab building. Kandomere opens the door for you and follows you inside and you continue forward down the hall.

You enter the lab with Kandomere, his hand on your lower back, “Saerthon?” Kandomere calls. Some of the assistants glance up at you, both curiously but when the Special Agent’s eyes sweep over them they go back to their work.

“Yes? What is it you require?” the older elf asks rounding a corner.

He stops short when he sees you.

Kandomere glances between the two of you and then stares back at Saerthon “We need to speak to you. In your office.”

The other elf nods and gestures for you to follow and you walk to an office not far from the main room and when you near the door you stop. Kandomere stops short with you and fixes you with a curious glance. Your gaze shifts slowly to a door at the end of the hall and you feel some kind of pull and find it difficult to tear your eyes away. It’s a familiar energy that’s thrumming…faintly.

Kandomere’s hand brushes against your cheek and you focus on him. There’s that worried crease in his brows and he thumbs your cheek gently. Your gaze shifts beyond the blue-haired elf and you realize Saerthon is staring at you as well.

“How ever did you know it was there?” Saerthon asks.

Realization dawns on Kandomere’s face and he glances between you and the door, “{That’s what we need to speak about,}” Kandomere says in hushed elvish.

Saerthon’s brows crease and he opens his office door and turns on the light.

Kandomere pulls out your chair for you and you sit down and then he seats himself. Saerthon locks the door behind him and then rounds his desk, his office is much smaller than Kandomere’s but it is immaculate, everything is clean and organized. Including his more personal items he brought to decorate the glass shelves behind him, such as a stone chess set with pieces that reflect the nine races. With an elven king and queen, centaur knights, giants as rooks, human bishops, and a mix of brezzik, orcs and…the other’s are beyond your sight but you assume goblin, and ogres and the like are mixed into the pawn line. It’s a very elvish take on chess, but you glance at the other side and it seems to be mostly orcs and two elves serving as the king and queen.

The battle of the nine armies then.

You glance around at the other figurines on Saerthon’s shelves and they all seem to be historical recreations of armor and castles, there’s even well-worn books on history and magic which are understandable given his line of work.

Saerthon notices you staring and spins in his chair and glances up at his belongings, “I’m a bit of a history buff I find it’s important to learn as much as possible about our past to better understand and prepare for the future.”

You glance at his gorget, “Maybe you should try learning a little harder.”

He spins back around in his chair to face you and furrows his brows as he glances at his gorget.

“We’re here to discuss The Amulet of the Dragon,” Kandomere interrupts before you all get off track.

“Do you have any more information for me?” Saerthon asks folding his hands across his desk.

Kandomere’s eyes shift to you, “In a manner of speaking.”

Saerthon glances between the two of you slowly.

“In our meeting with The Northern Light earlier today….some new information was gleaned,” Kandomere continues.

The other elf leans forwards slightly his face becoming serious.

“It seems the amulet has imprinted on her,” Kandomere says and gestures to you.

The other elf’s eyes widen and he leans back, “Oh my this is very serious and potentially very dangerous for you most of all Ms.” he says gesturing to you.

“Aurora told me what she knew about ‘imprinting’ she said it wants me to wield it,” you say.

His brows raise, “Yes, and now it makes sense how you knew where we’re keeping the key. You have a connection to it, one that is getting stronger. When did you first notice anything strange?”

“When I picked up the lockbox,” you answer.

His eyebrows raise higher on his head, almost to his hairline, “You picked…it up?” he shakes his head, “You shouldn’t just touch random magical artifacts-“

“I didn’t even know what it was! Selina wouldn’t tell me anything about it!” you shout.

Kandomere holds out a hand to you both and then glances behind him at the door, “Keep the volume to a minimum both of you if you wish this conversation to remain private,” he warns.

You’re still mad and Kandomere gently grips your upper arm and kneads it and you settle back into your seat. His hand trails down your arm to your right hand and he holds your hand in his.

“She’s been having visions: one when she initially touched the lockbox and two more when she was talking with The Northern Light,” Kandomere explains.

“Was the dragon’s mere presence enough for this vision? Saerthon asks calmly.

“No. She said a name, two names actually, The Everburning Emerald and The Darkest Shadow,” you say.

Saerthon’s face goes even paler, “I cannot say I recognize the first, but I do…very much recognize the second,” he takes a breath, “He is a very vile dragon that was quite infamous in Europe for burning villages to the ground some several hundred years ago.”

“She also said that he slayed The Everburning Emerald,” you add.

“That’s not surprising that name sounds like a dragon’s name, and he killed quite a number of them as well in his rampage,” Saerthon continues, “I imagine this dragon he-“

“She,” you interrupt.

He pauses, “She?”

“She was a female dragon I know from my vision,” you explain.

“What did she do in this vision?” Saerthon inquires.

“Um…she stepped out of this forest into a field and looked in my direction…it wasn’t at me specifically and then she said, ‘[If it is a new amulet you need then I will help you forge another. Then mayhaps together we can end his reign of terror,]’” you say.

Kandomere’s hand clenches yours a little tightly and you stare at him, he seems very worried. Saerthon is also staring at you, but he seems confused.

He purses his lips, “Might I ask what language you think you just spoke?”

You knit your brows together, “English?”

He shakes his head and stands up and removes a book from one of his shelves and starts flipping through it. You glance at Kandomere and when his eyes meet yours it confirms your suspicions, “I did it again didn’t I?”

He nods.

You take a shaky breath and Kandomere takes your hand in both of his now and strokes your hand gently.

Saerthon finds the page he’s looking for and sets the book down on his desk in front of you, “Do you recognize any of these runes?” he questions.

You stare at them and shake your head and then you pause…and tap one of the pictures of a single rune.

The elf leans forwards and examines it, “The Draconic word for ‘new’ or ‘renewal’ as it’s often used,” he states.

You nod, “[Renewal.]”

Kandomere shifts in his seat and you glance at him and then back at Saerthon.

“How is it you know this word?” Saerthon asks.

“I learned it when Aurora translated it for me,” you say.

“So it is not instant recognition? That’s good, it’s not as far along as I feared,” Saerthon says.

“What do you mean ‘far along’ it’s going to get worse?” Kandomere demands.

“Yes, actually. Until we can severe the connection somehow it’s going to keep happening,” Saerthon says.

“Is there anything I can do to stop it?” you ask.

Saerthon picks up the book and sets it back up on the shelf, “I’m afraid, I don’t know. Since I don’t know the why? Of how the connection was formed I cannot give you specifics.”

“I wasn’t the only one to touch it though so why me?” you ask.

Saerthon glances back at you, “Who else touched it?”

“The elf with silver hair,” you say.

“Hm if it’s nature is predatory it could be it saw you as an easier target? But that doesn’t sound quite right it should have ignored you after enough time had passed. No, there’s something it wants from you specifically,” Saerthon says.

“Like what?” you ask.

He puts up a hand, “Again I’m at a loss as to what that might be.”

“Is there anything else you know of the amulet’s history that might could help us?” Kandomere asks.

“It was made by a human man sometime in the 14thcentury, he was a simple potterer and artisan who doubled as his village’s resident wizard. There are some who deny that it was made by him, but that ledger you brought me is the most damning evidence I’ve seen,” Saerthon explains.

Kandomere looks to you and studies you, “Did you see anything that time?”

You shake your head.

Kandomere then turns back to Saerthon, “There isn’t anything else?” he questions a little exasperated.

“My interest and study in the story is a hobby of mine and I never imagined that it would be touched upon at all in my professional life. But I do have a few people in mind I could contact for more information and I will find someone who does know,” Saerthon continues.

You sigh and glance down at the cardboard box on his table and peer inside.

It’s filled with your Aunt’s figurines.

“Ah, yes, those,” Saerthon says noticing, “I’ve already examined them and found them to be ordinary so I’m carefully packing them in this box so they won’t break.”

“I could’ve told you that,” you say and pick up one of the unicorns not meticulously wrapped in bubble wrap.

“Yes, well I did want to ask you a few questions to make this process go smoother, but I understand that it is upsetting,” Saerthon says.

You stare at the rearing unicorn with their head dipped in a fighting stance, “Maybe there’s someone else we could still ask who might know,” you say glancing to Kandomere.

He inhales, “Saerthon, if you would.”

You furrow your brows and glance at the other elf as he takes a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocks a drawer in his desk and then pulls out a familiar purple-hearted wood, rectangular box.

Selina had this box specifically made for transporting her unicorn-haired brush.

He unlocks this box as well with a small, golden key and opens it and turns it to face you. You reach out and lift the brush out of the box and set it in your lap. Kandomere still has your right hand in both of his, and you turn the brush over to stare at the carving on the handle of a unicorn peeking out from behind some trees and you speak her name…

“Lady of the Wood, the Moonlight that Shines Through the Trees…” you whisper.

You close your eyes and you’re staring into a small stream illuminated by the moonlight. You turn your head to the right and see the unicorn who appears to be gleaming with silver-white light under the moon. Her head lifts up as she stops drinking from the stream and she stares at you.

You dip your head, “I apologize if I’m interrupting I-“ you begin.

“You seek my wisdom?” she asks interrupting you.

You lift your head and stare at her and nod.

Her eyes study you for a moment and then she lifts her horned head, “Something has happened. Something has changed.”

“Yes, I…” you pause and take a breath and the unicorn’s ear flick towards you and she lifts her head slightly, “There’s this amulet called The Amulet of the Dragon and apparently it has…’imprinted’ on me,” you explain.

Her head lifts up and her neck moves back as she inhales and then she stares at the ground, “Yes, that sounds problematic.”

“Can…can you help me?” you ask.

“From this distance? No,” she says fixing her gray eyes on you.

Your shoulders slump, so you’re doomed then.

“But,” she continues, “Were you to find this amulet and bring it with you here to my forest, I could sever the bond it has forged with you,” she finishes with a thrust of her horn.

Your eyes widen, “You can do that?”

She nods, “Of course, but both you and the amulet must be here,” she says with a stomp of her split hoof.

This is the best news you’ve heard all day.

“But how do I find the amulet?” you ask.

She tilts her head at you, “The bond is not strong enough then to sense it?”

“No,” you answer with a shake of your head.

“In your hunt for it, it will get stronger as will the pull to it,” she explains.

Then she stares at you for another moment, “Yes…not strong enough yet. It was not awakened before.”

You furrow your brows.

“When you find it. Do not use it. No matter the temptation,” she states.

You nod and then you pause and the unicorn tilts her head at you again, “Do you know anything about The Everburning Emerald and The Darkest Shadow?”

The unicorn stares at you and then lifts her head and stares up at the night sky. You follow her gaze and you can see the stars, something you sorely miss living in the city.

“I am from the earth and dragons are from the sky, I have heard stories of the ones you speak of, but I do not know them myself,” she says and her head lowers to stare at you, “I know only my forest and those who enter it and the stories they bring me. But what I do know is that the shadow of which you speak is a monster who enjoys the destruction and chaos he causes. But he is also a prideful creature one who does not enjoy being bested or escaped,” she finishes as she steps forwards, “Be careful, he’s seen your face.”

You nod and both your hands clench around the brush you’re holding and then you feel a hand grip yours and you relax. You look down at your hands and you can’t see his hands at the moment, but you can still feel Kandomere near you. The unicorn stares at your hands and then stares at the empty space beside you where Kandomere is seated.

“It seems you will not be alone in this endeavor,” she states, “Good…I sense the elf will aid you, “ she adds softly.

The unicorn stares at the empty space beside you and then slowly turns back to you, “How interesting….yes, something has changed.”

You stare at her confused and then focus on the feeling of Kandomere’s hands overtop yours, they’re strong and steadying.

“Thank you for your help,” you say with a dip of your head.

She repeats the gesture, “Hopefully our next conversation will be under better circumstances, Little One.”

You smile and then open your eyes and you’re back in Saerthon’s office.

You turn to stare at Kandomere and he fixes you with that worried look of his.

“She said that she could break the bond the amulet has on me if we find it and bring it to her,” you explain.

“Well, that’s good news,” Kandomere says with a little relief.

“Yes, but she’s all the way in France, yes?” Saerthon asks.

“Yes,” you answer.

Kandomere grumbles and his shoulders get tense again, “It would take considerable effort to convince anyone to ship such a dangerous artifact overseas to another country.”

“I…also have to go with it,” you add.

Kandomere looks at you and knits his brows together.

“It won’t work otherwise,” you state.

“They’ll definitely not agree,” Saerthon says.

Kandomere looks to the other elf and sighs, “There has to be something.”

Saerthon tilts his head to the side, “The amulet IS from Europe perhaps that is how we get our foot in the door? Convince them it needs to go home?”

“They wouldn’t ship it directly to France is the problem,” Kandomere says and then he stares at you again, “Unless bad weather redirected them?”

You get what Kandomere is implying and nod.

“We can work on an argument and a plan of action, but we still need to find the amulet before it disappears again for another several hundred years,” Saerthon says as he outstretches a hand to you.

You instinctively pull out of Kandomere’s hands and hold the brush to your chest.

“Not to worry you’ll be reunited soon enough, and until then she’ll be safe in here,” Saerthon assures you.

You reluctantly set the brush back in the box and then stand and Kandomere stands as well and follows you out of the room. You walk back to the main room and spot your Aunt’s books in stacks and then you see a familiar pink cover and stop. Kandomere stops beside you and stares down at you, “What?”

He follows your gaze to the stack of books and sighs, “We’re still going through the spellbooks-”

“These aren’t spellbooks,” you interrupt spinning to face him.

You then step forward out of the elf’s grasp and pick the book out of the stack, “It’s just a regular book, that I wanted to reread,” you explain.

Kandomere closes the distance and extends a hand and you give him the book and he flips through it briefly to verify.

“Those are just the regular books from the half-elf’s collection,” a feminine voice says.

You turn to see an elven woman with lavender hair wearing a yellow dress and holding a clipboard.

“I know, I recognize them,” you reply.

Kandomere hands you the book back and his hand finds your lower back as he stares at the elven woman. You glance at her and then glance at Kandomere and he seems to have gotten very tense all of a sudden.

Wait, they’re not exes are they?

She is very pretty and you can hardly compare to any elven woman.

Your heart sinks a little.

“I’ve already cleared them and set them aside,” the elven woman continues.

You stare at the stack and then up at Kandomere, “Can I take a couple home with me?”

He turns his attention back to you and his brows furrow, “Well, they do belong to you...” he trails off, “Saerthon,” Kandomere calls and turns to the older elf who just entered the room.

“Hm?” Saerthon responds.

“Would it be alright if she took a couple books home with her?” Kandomere asks.

Saerthon furrows his brows as well and steps towards the stack you’re standing next to, “From here?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“Oh of course, it’s fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, “Our Specialist has already cleared that stack.”

You pull out an old fairytale book from the stack too and set it on top of “A Moonlit Courtship” and nod at Kandomere.

“I do need you to sign for it,” Saerthon says after grabbing some paper and a pen from nearby and pinning it to his clipboard, “Just don’t put the date down or anything, we’ll put that in later after you’ve spoken with the lawyer about the half-elf’s estate.”

“Wait, so you’re the one…” the Specialist begins, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You stare at her and there’s a sincerity in her eyes and you nod, “Thank you.”

You sign your name and Kandomere nudges your back gently and he escorts you out of the building and across the sidewalk back to the office. And while you’re walking across the grass, “So…is she your ex or something?” you ask.

Kandomere bristles, “WHAT?! NO!”

“Oh,” you reply quietly.

“Why did you think that?” he questions.

“I don’t know things just seemed tense between you two is all,” you say.

Kandomere grumbles and stares forwards, “I’ve only met her the other day when she asked me out.”

“She asked you out!” you exclaim.

“Yes, why do you care?” Kandomere asks stopping in his tracks.

Why do you?

“Because…we pretended to be a couple and if you were already dating someone…” you offer as your only explanation.

Kandomere shakes his head, “We’re not dating. I declined her offer.”

You relax a little.

He then takes your hands in his, “I would not do something so dishonorable. It hurts my heart that you think I would, Querida.”

You glance down, “Well, I’m glad you’re single then.”

You stare back at him and he’s giving you a weird look, “Not that being single is bad, I mean I’m single, I mean…”

Kandomere chuckles and then lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, “I’m glad we’re both single then,” he says in a low voice.

You stare up at him as you feel your cheeks flush, he’s so handsome and he’s…your eyes drift down to his neck.

Not wearing his gorget.

“We should…get back to work, yes?” you ask.

He nods and lets go of your hand only to gently touch the small of your back and you feel a tingling run up your spine. You smile at him as you both walk back to the office and you feel his thumb lightly stroking your back and your heart flutters a little.

                                                                      *******

At the end of the day the elf insists on taking you home and you follow him out to the parking lot and you make note of the car he approaches.

It’s a four-door Mercedes Coupe, in a beautiful shade of blue.

He unlocks the car and opens your door for you and you seat yourself, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to,” he says and closes your door.

He steps around to the driver’s side and gets in.

The interior of the car is incredibly sleek and modern.

Fitting for the elf.

He starts the car and seems to notice you staring, “Admiring my car?”

“It’s nice, just not as expensive as some of the other cars I’ve seen elves drive,” you reply.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

Your eyes widen, you hadn’t meant that to be a backhanded compliment.

“Uh, I like the color,” you say.

He huffs as he backs out of the parking space, “Well, when you’ve lost fours cars in two years, you tend not to buy the most expensive ones anymore. Also blue is my favorite color.”

“FOUR CARS?!” you exclaim, “What did on Earth did you do to them?”

“What? You think that elf lady is the only person who’s ever tried to kill me?” he questions.

You stare at him in horror, “Kandomere, I’m very concerned.”

“Didn’t you lose a car as well?” he asks.

“I…that was different!” you argue.

“How so?” he asks raising an eyebrow, but focusing on the road.

You sit in silence for a moment and stare forward, “Okay so maybe it’s not different.”

He hums in response.

“Your favorite color is blue?” you ask.

“Yes, why?” he asks sparing you a brief glance.

“No reason,” you lie, “It’s a nice color.”

You continue the drive in relative silence, but when you make it to your street, you’re thankful that you didn’t get hit by a truck this time.

Kandomere parks on the street and gets out with you, “I’m going to walk you up, make sure everything’s clear.”

You smile and then you stare at his very expensive car and then out at the darkened street. This IS a gang neighborhood, and the elf’s car is too tempting a target.

“You can’t just leave your car here,” you say.

“Why not?” Kandomere asks.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Because it won’t be here when you get back.”

The elf frowns and stares at his car.

“Look, just let me cast an illusion spell on it,” you whisper stepping towards him.

He nods, “Very well.”

You place a hand on the car, “No matter how those with ill will feel, When they look upon this car there will be no appeal,” you whisper.

Light collects on the car and there’s a flash and instead of an overly expensive car, it now looks like the cheapest and oldest car on this block. You head up to your apartment with the elf in tow and unlock your door and then lock it behind you both. You turn to him and he steps towards you and takes your hands in his and holds them up massaging them gently, “How are you doing? Are you alright?” he asks softly.

You look up at him and shake your head, “No, I’m not. I’m not alright.”

“Come here,” Kandomere says and he wraps his arms around you and hugs you.

Maneuvering your arms around his waist you hug him back and close your eyes as he holds you for a while, as you allow him to comfort you.

And his presence is a comforting one.

You’re finding you’re less and less afraid of him the more time you spend with him.

You lift your head off his chest and he loosens his grip.

“Would you like me to stay awhile?” he asks.

You nod, “If you wouldn’t mind?”

You look up at him and he smiles gently at you, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

He takes you by the hand and leads you over to the couch and sits down. You sit down next to him and he removes his jacket and sets it on the table and you slip off your shoes and set your purse on the table as well. He leans back and wraps an arm around you and you move closer to him, resting your head on his left shoulder. Pulling your feet up you and placing your left hand across his chest, you curl up next to the elf and he rests his head against yours. You sit there in silence for a while, his fingers tracing themselves along the exposed skin of your upper arm. Your eyes start to slip closed as you begin to drift towards sleep.

“Can I turn on the tv?” Kandomere asks startling you back awake.

“Huh? Oh, sure,” you mumble.

He leans forwards and grabs the remote and turns on the tv and begins searching through the channels until he finds the history channel. You stare at the tv as a program about magic comes on and then slowly turn your head towards Kandomere.

He meets your gaze, “What?”

“Really?” you ask.

“I like to watch these sometimes, because I find it funny,” he says.

Your brows furrow at him, “How is it funny?”

“Well, when you work with actual magic on a day to day basis it’s hilarious to watch how wrong they get it on these shows,” Kandomere explains.

You turn your attention back to the tv and after about ten minutes of watching it in silence, “What?! That’s not what that’s supposed to look like!”

Kandomere chuckles.

You look at him and wave a hand at the tv, “Those runes are all wrong! I guarantee you it’ll backfire and blow up in your face if you so much as try to activate it!” you exclaim.

Kandomere huffs quietly and wraps his arm tighter around you and holds you close to him and you settle back into your seat.

You watch the tv angrily, “I don’t see how you think this is funny.”

“It’s funny to watch your face,” Kandomere remarks.

You turn on him, “Is that why you turned it on?!”

“No, that is,” he says and points at the tv.

You glance back at the tv and try to hold back your laughter as you see a group of actors in robes wander around in a circle chanting literal nonsense waving sticks in a field.

“Oh my God what are they even supposed to be doing?” you ask stifling back a laugh.

You look to Kandomere and he makes a stern face, “Summoning the dead,” and then the corner of his mouth lifts up slightly. Now you burst out laughing and Kandomere chuckles along with you. You settle your head back against Kandomere’s shoulder and continue to watch the very bad documentary.

“I think that’s stock footage,” Kandomere says.

“Yeah, I think you’re right I’ve seen it used in a lot of other things,” you say.

After a while you start to drift off again when a sound from the tv jolts you awake. Kandomere must have fallen asleep before you, because he also startles at the sound and swiftly grabs the remote and mutes the tv. You stare at the tv as a program about dragons comes on and the elf quickly changes the channel. Kandomere leans back against the couch, “I think that’s enough dragons for one day.”

You nod and then move to rest your head under his chin, your left hand moving across his chest and now fiddling with his tie. Kandomere rests his chin on the top of your head and wraps his other arm around you and then trails his fingers lightly across your arm. And you both sit in silence for a few moments.

“It’s not coming back,” he says quietly.

You stop fiddling with his tie where his gorget once was.

You pull away from him slowly and prop yourself up against him and stare at him.

“You promise?” you ask, smoothing your hand over his torso.

“I do,” he says, his face serious.

You glance to the side and take a breath and then settle yourself against the elf again, “I don’t want to ever see it again, understand?”

“I understand, Querida,” he says.

Your eyes widen slightly and you pull back and stare at him, “Why do you call me that?”

He stares at you and blinks and then wets his lips.

“Why do you call me Dear?” you ask.

You feel his fingers trail up your arm and to your face where he thumbs your cheek.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

And you can tell from his contemplative expression, he’s telling the truth.

“Perhaps, you just look like one to me,” he says with a small smile.

It’s not a very satisfactory answer, “But why?” you ask more insistently.

“I am hardly the first person to call you Dear,” Kandomere says.

“I suppose,” you mutter.

That is true, even Banathar referred to you as such.

“To be fair you called me Dear first,” Kandomere continues.

You furrow your brows again, “Is this that phone call that I don’t remember?”

“Yes,” he huffs, “And in that phone call you called me Kandomere Dear.”

You have…actually called him that since then.

“I mean…it rhymes and you know how much I like rhymes,” you counter.

He smiles a toothy grin and you find you like the way his face softens and the warmth in his eyes.

“I do, you’ve saved my life with some of those rhymes,” Kandomere says.

“Twice,” you say.

“Twice,” he agrees.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

“Stop what?” you ask confused.

“Do you want me to stop calling you Querida?” he asks softly.

You stare at him and lean into his touch as he continues his gentle touches and you close your eyes, “No,” you say softly.

There’s silence for a moment and then you open your eyes and let out a small yawn.

Kandomere lets out a little huff, “It seems I’m keeping you from such much needed rest.”

He sits up and you untangle yourself from him and then stand up.

The elf stands and checks his pocket watch, “It is getting late.”

“Who are they?” you ask suddenly.

“Hm?” he hums and then he glances at the picture in the pocket watch you’re pointing to, “Oh, Mi Familia, this is my mother and my three older sisters, with Maretha being the eldest, and Aranea and Cirinea being twins, and this is me.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” you say smiling at him.

He looks to you with a smile on his own face, “Yes, and you have a sibling as well.”

“I’m not surprised that you know that, but yes I have an older sister,” you say and then you stare at the photo and frown, “Where’s your dad?”

You glance back at Kandomere and his face darkens.

“Oh he’s not….dead is he?” you ask worriedly.

Kandomere closes the pocket watch and stuffs it back in his vest, “He’s dead to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mutter.

He shakes his head and stares at you, “Don’t be. He’s not a good man.”

He starts to move towards the door and you follow and then he turns to you and his hand finds your cheek. You smile and close your eyes and then open them again to find him return your smile. You tentatively reach your hand toward his face and brush your fingers against his cheek and as you start to move for his ear…his hand catches yours and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. You stare at him transfixed as he presses a couple more kisses to your skin and he meets your eyes again. His silver eyes regard you warmly and you stare back at him silently.

Have his eyes always been this gorgeous? Even the slightest movement of his lids as he glances down and then back up at you is breathtaking.

You realize you’ve been staring a little too long when he says, “Goodnight.”

You also realize that you had leaned towards him, “Goodnight,” you whisper pulling back, “My brave, gentle elf,” you add.

His eyebrows raise slightly as there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, “Brave, gentle elf?”

“Well yeah, that’s who you are to me,” you say.

He smiles and gives a small nod, “It is an honor to be known as such. Querida,” he says and takes your hand and presses another kiss to your knuckles and you can’t help but smile again.

“Goodnight," you repeat.

“Goodnight,” he repeats.

And then he walks out of your apartment.

You lock the door behind him and press on it to make sure it’s shut and then look at your hand. You press it to your face and sigh and then smiling to yourself, you tuck your hair behind your ear and finally go change out of your work clothes. You then turn off the tv and curl up on the couch with the book “A Moonlit Courtship” and re-read some of your favorite parts, before you inevitably fall asleep.

                                                                      *******

Kandomere sets his keys in the bowl next to the door and shuts it and locks it. He sighs and shrugs out of his jacket and heads for his bedroom. He sets it across his dresser and then loosens his tie and removes his gun and sets it in it’s proper place. He then removes his shoes, socks, and vest and wanders back through his apartment and into the kitchen.

It’s starting to get late and he doesn’t feel like cooking anything tonight.

Kandomere looks through his fridge at what he has leftover and sees there’s still some soup left.

Perfect.

He takes it out sets it in a pot and turns the stove on.

Bored, he meanders around his apartment for a bit. He wanders out into his living room and spots his plants near the window. Stepping over to them he checks to see how they’re doing. The rosemary and thyme seem to be doing well.

Hmm, the basil might need to be repotted it’s getting too big for the one he put it in.

He takes a long inhale enjoying the fresh scent the plants provide and then wanders back out of the living room.

He paces around with his hands in his pockets.

Kandomere lives alone of course.

He’s lived alone for quite some time, he doesn’t mind it’s just sometimes it can get...well lonely.

He stops and stares into his empty bedroom at his bed.

It has been quite some time since he’s had a girlfriend live with him.

Elves are all well off enough that they don’t need to live with each other and as such it was rather difficult each time to convince a girlfriend of his to live with him. Elven women don’t generally need to be taken care of either, unless it’s sexually of course.

He can more than provide that.

Only problem is too many didn’t value him for anything more than that even if they were dating him. And as such it’s been a little more than a decade since he has shared his bed with anyone. He wonders if humans have similar problems when it comes to their love life.

Perhaps he should ask his Bright?

Montehugh’s been married for a long time and hasn’t needed to deal with the bachelor life and voices that he very much prefers not to go back to it. He could ask her…though the question may seem out of the blue.

There’s suddenly an image of her from earlier curled up on his couch in his office and he imagines her in his bed, waking up because he came home late and having a worried look on her face. And he would crawl into bed next to her and hold her to reassure her that everything was alright...

He shakes his head and turns to stare into his home office.

He remembers suddenly that book that she’d wanted to read “A Moonlit Courtship”

was it?

He steps into his office and sits down at his desk and starts typing the name into the search bar on his computer.

There’s…two different versions?

He opens a tab for each of them and reads through them, one seems to be in English and the other in Övüsi. He scrolls down on the blue and silver embossed version and reads an overview of the book. He knew it was a romance novel, but the romance is between an elven man and a…human woman.

This is a rare find.

Elves quite loathe these types of books, they hate anything that encourages elves to seek romantic partners outside of their race. He reads through more about the book it was written by an elven man…and it’s…nonfiction…

Kandomere removes his hand from his face and sits up, it’s the story of how he met his wife. He hears the soup boiling and he quickly rushes back to the kitchen to turn off the stove. He removes the pot and sets it aside and covers it with a lid and then returns to his office. He checks the pink non-elvish version of the book…it’s her perspective on how she met her elven husband. He then starts to do a little research on the authors of the book. They had decided to write down their love story to encourage others that love can be found anywhere you just have to open your heart to it.

Kandomere smiles as he reads up on the couple’s life.

They were so happy together.

Inevitably though his human wife did die first of old age, but the elf never loved anyone else nor anyone more than her and never remarried and was buried next to her when he inevitably also died. Though he did die much sooner than he should have for an elf, perhaps it was a broken heart.

The couple had tried to have children, but had lost more than a couple in childbirth and early infancy, and as such only had each other.

That hurts his heart, as someone who wants children of his own, to be unable to have them would be heartbreaking. It would not be reason enough to find someone else, no, he would love her too much to abandon her.

And what if he was the problem?

He would not want her to abandon him either.

He wants to read this book, he decides.

Yes, but it is more than a couple hundred years old it might be difficult to….nevermind there it is.

There’s an old bookshop nearby that has one in stock.

Ugh, it’s not available to order online though, it’s just a list of the items they have in stock on a web layout he has not seen in a while. He’s not opposed to doing things the old-fashioned way, though it does take time out of his busy schedule.

He looks up the number for the shop and calls it.

“Yes, hello?” a raspy feminine voice says.

“Hello, I was wondering if I could reserve a copy of ‘A Moonlit Courtship?’” he asks.

There’s some grumbling on the other end, “Hold on one moment let me check to see if we have it.”

Kandomere saw that it says it’s in stock on the website, he hopes it’s still there and not false hope.

There’s some sounds of rifling and then, “The only one we have is in elvish,” she says uncertain.

“Yes, that’s perfect! Could you hold it for me? I’ll be by tomorrow to pick it up,” he says.

“Sure, what’s your name so I can write it down?” she asks.

“Kandomere,” he answers.

There’s a pause on the other end, “…Kandomere?”

“Yes…” he replies tentatively.

Oh no, is she not going to let him have the book?

She sighs, “Alright, Kandomere, I’ll have it set aside for you.”

“Thank you, goodbye,” he says with relief.

“Mmhm, bye,” she mutters and hangs up the phone.

He’s excited, he can’t wait to read it!

He closes out his tabs and makes a note on both his desk and in his calendar to go pick up the book after work tomorrow. And then he goes and fixes himself a bowl of soup and watches tv. And he finds he misses having her here to watch it with him.