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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Audrey Roget

Audrey Roget has 10 fics at Gossamer, with some different ones at AO3, fanfiction.net, and her website. You might know her from her very good fics or as part of Musea, a collective that all wrote fic and posted X-Files fic recs. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas and The Shirt. Big thanks to Audrey for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? A little, yes. Not so much by folks who were around in those days. I sometimes go hunting for beloved stories from the early years, both those I read and loved, and those I never got around to. I am always delighted to hear that later generations of fans have stumbled across my stuff, especially since I haven’t posted anything new in a number of years. It’s fantastic that both years-long fans and new ones are out there continuing to rec fic from all eras, and to maintain archives for fans yet-to-be born. What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? It may sound corny, but the main thing I think of, and the thing that has ultimately been most valuable and lasting, has been the friendships. The feeling of having found a tribe – not just of TXF fans, but of other people who could be as enthusiastically engaged as I was (if not more so) with fictional stories and characters – was mind-blowing. Since I was a kid, I had often mulled over the books/movies/TV I loved and speculated internally about what happened off the page or off-screen, or created new stories for characters in my head. But, except for an elementary school phase where I and my two BFFs regularly played Charlie’s Angels, I hadn’t engaged in that kind of gleeful immersion in a fictional world with others until TXF fandom. My involvement in fandom followed pretty quickly from getting hooked on the show, so for me, it’s all one big ball of experiences. Even as my interest in/involvement in fandom has waxed and waned over the years, I’ve been lucky to remain friends with wonderful people who I originally connected with as fellow fans.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

My initial entrée to the fandom was through fanfiction. I didn’t get interested in the show until mid-season 5. Around the same time, I read an article in a zine called Might (co-founded by Dave Eggers) about this thing called fanfiction that people would write and publish online. At first I thought it was satire or a joke – the fic cited involved Wilma Flintstone and a polished sabre tooth, as I recall – but then realized this was an actual thing. So I figured that a show then at the peak of pop culture must have fanfiction, and I went looking. Early on, I scrolled atxc on a daily basis and downloaded stories. But I didn’t engage in discussions about the show on Usenet, since I only knew how to access it with my Earthlink email client, and I didn’t want to post using my real name.

Later, I set up a pseud address with Yahoo and subscribed to a couple of email fanfic/discussion lists, and stayed subscribed to those for years. There was also a period in there somewhere – of maybe only a year or so, when I think about it – when I’d often nerd out into the wee hours with other fans via IM chat groups. That was around the time the small writers’ collective Musea was founded, and we were active for several years after the show’s initial run. In the early aughts, I followed many authors to LiveJournal and eventually set up my own account and stayed involved in fandom that way, until it mostly dispersed as well. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? In a word: Chemistry. I had casually watched a couple of episodes during the first four seasons, but I’m not a huge sci-fi/horror fan at heart, and the story lines didn’t immediately grab me. But I happened to tune into The Red and the Black in 1998, and BOOM. For the first time, the intense layers of emotion and attraction between Mulder and Scully really struck me – and then of course, upon further viewing, I realized it was unmissable, an essential element in the fabric of the show. As a wise woman once said, a switch had been flicked. Mulder and Scully’s magnetism was like nothing I’d ever seen, and though I eventually came to appreciate the storytelling, humor, production values, and other components that made the series so successful, watching those characters interact has always been what kept me coming back. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? I was part of a list-serv discussion group for The West Wing for a while, which was a fun melding of character and plot analysis with political discussion. Later, I got into the House, MD fandom, again mostly as a fanfic reader/writer. I was finding that other fandoms, unlike TXF, were more dispersed, the networks of people structured more loosely, if at all. There were fanfic and discussion communities on LiveJournal, and fanfiction.net was the other main hub for posting and reading, but if there was anything centralized like Gossamer, Ephemeral, or the Haven, I never found it. Within all those fan communities, as in TXF, there were partisans for various characters and pairings, and flame wars erupted over plot developments that outraged this faction or that. One main difference was that those other shows had larger, ensemble casts and more varied subplots. So on one hand, there was more opportunity to explore back stories and multiple perspectives. In House MD in particular, there were several entrenched rival shipper camps, which were about equally grounded in canon, rather than TXF’s central ship. I was less into TWW fic, but my impression was that readers were less militant about their pairing preferences than TXF or House fans. Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I was deeply fascinated by Greg House for several years. (And the love-hate chemistry between him and Lisa Cuddy was a strong draw for me.) House MD came early in a wave of TV shows centered on anti-heroes, and Hugh Laurie brought amazing complexity and thoughtfulness to the character.

Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (The Americans) are a lethal pair of antiheroes. The inherent moral conflict of a sympathetic narrative from their POVs, and the global political conflict they embody was TV catnip for me. The internal struggles at the hearts of those characters were so exquisitely written and performed, they completely fascinate me.

The West Wing felt so much like a show created specifically for me. I’m especially fond of story arcs and scenes that centered on CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, and Josh Lyman. Though I loved Martin Sheen’s human portrayal of Jed Bartlet, the fact that he was the President always made him a little untouchable in my mind. But CJ, Charlie, and Josh were basically hard-working functionaries who were ambitious and idealistic and funny and flawed, and they spoke to me. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I do continue to think about Mulder and Scully and watch episodes somewhat often. I’ll sometimes run a favorite episode as background when I want something comforting on. I read TXF fic pretty regularly, which can inspire me to go back and watch a particular episode or story arc I haven’t thought about in years. Just recently, I started listening to The X-Files Diaries podcast (@XFDPodcast, @admiralty-xfd), and that’s a fun dive into the characters, and how other fans react to and interpret episodes.

Every once in a while, a TV show or movie – and more particularly, the characters – will grab my attention and make me curious about how fanfic writers have interpreted the original material. Random example, I saw Singin’ in the Rain for the first time in a theatre a couple of years ago, and the chemistry of the three leads sent me to AO3 as soon as I got home. I also loved the first season of Mercy Street and found some well-done stories in that fandom. I usually peruse the Yuletide gifts every year and have been amazed by the sheer variety, creativity and cheekiness of the output. There are a bunch of other shows I’ve followed faithfully, and sought out fanfic – Broadchurch, The Killing, Agents of SHIELD, Elementary, The Good Wife. Although I’ve found some well-written stuff in those fandoms, I’ve rarely gotten the same charge from them as reading TXF fic. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

syntax6 (@syntax6) – Universal Invariants/Laws of Motion. I’d also shout out to syn’s Hunter fics, too – well worth reading even for those who have never seen or particularly loved the show itself.

JET – I re-read Small Lives Awake every year around Thanksgiving time. Other annual holiday re-reads: Revely’s The Dreaming Sea and Jordan’s Through the Fire (both set at Halloween).

Amal Nahurriyeh’s Casey universe – the rare post-col fic that felt hopeful, made extra intriguing by a kick-ass original character. [Lilydale note: the series starts with Machines of Freedom and has lots of additional fics and snippets.]

Prufrock’s Love – Finding Rokovoko was genuinely terrifying and tender.

melforbes (@melforbes) – Seaglass Blue is a recent favorite, lyrical and bittersweet.

These are just a few (apologies to those that didn’t come to mind immediately). Fortunately for readers, there’s an astonishing number of authors who have written in TXF fandom whom you can depend on for a good yarn, insightful character study, and/or ingenious “fixes” where 1013 went awry.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Probably the two set in my own (former) backyard of Southern California: Enivrez-vous and Ravenous. I’d first read the Baudelaire poem that was the source of the former’s title back in university days, so I was tickled to be able to use a few lines as an epigraph. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? It’s not out of the realm possibility. I’d meant for “Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas” to be followed up with “And One Time She Did.” In fact, the idea for that never-finished story was what inspired “Three Times” in the first place. I have a couple of scenes sketched out and – unusually for me – even know exactly how to end it. Every year, November rolls around, and I think I should finish and post it…maybe in 2021?

Where do you get ideas for stories? Sometimes it’s from my environment. “Enivrez-vous” and “Ravenous” describe places that I’m fond of, that made me want to place Mulder and Scully there. “What Not to Wear” has that element too – I set it in Memphis as a tribute to a great trip there with a sister Musean. But WNTW was also inspired by a kink challenge in a years-ago LiveJournal thread, so sometimes ideas come from fandom discussions or even other fanfics. In the House MD fandom, a fic by another writer made me want to continue the story, and the author kindly allowed an authorized sequel. What's the story behind your pen name? I wanted my pseudonym to sound like it could be a real person’s name – or at least, maybe like a romance writer’s pen name – rather than an online handle. I also wanted to use a slightly obscure fictional character, to amuse anyone in the know. I had long had a bit of an obsession with Whit Stillman’s 1990s film trilogy, which started with Metropolitan; the 3rd installment, Last Days of Disco, came out the same year I started down the TXF rabbit hole: 1998. The central heroine of Metropolitan – who is mentioned in or makes a cameo in the other two – is Audrey Rouget, a lover of Austen and, eventually, a book editor. I altered the spelling of the last name as a nod to every writer’s companion, Roget’s Thesaurus. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? I have a few close friends – from outside TXF fandom – who know that I’ve written fanfic. I don’t know if they know my pseud; if they do, or if they’ve ready any of the fic, they haven’t said so to me. They are fannish sorts themselves, but not really TXF fans. A smattering of other friends and family members know or could intuit that I’ve been a fangrl on some level for years. My boss, whom I’ve known for about 3 years, recently mentioned off-handedly that she was really obsessed with TXF “back in the day,” and I am DYING to know if she got involved in fandom, but don’t think I’ll ever work up the courage to ask.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? Most of the X-Files stuff continues to be generously and steadfastly archived by Forte at The Basement Office. The House MD stories and some TXF things are at fanfiction.net; same for AO3. If ever post anything new, it will probably go to TBO and AO3. I really ought to get it all together in one place, one of these days…

(Posted by Lilydale on April 6, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #audrey roget

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goodmorningmissmorgan · 4 years ago

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One of my first bits that I wrote for this little disjointed Blackwall/Trevelyan story, and still one of my favorites (although in desperate need of revision+polish.) Blackwall and Evelyn chatting at Haven. CW: alcohol, snippet under the cut!

She eyes the warden from across the tavern as she pokes at her food. It’s richer fare than she’s used to, and stew never quite settles properly in her stomach.

He holds his spoon and adjusts his napkin on his lap with a care that suggests he’s trying to be polite, but he can’t seem to stem the speed with which he eats. Habit or hunger, she can’t tell which; he eats like a man starved. He wolfs down two bowls of stew, scarcely coming up for breath, before he tears into his bread roll.

He didn’t seem quite so ravenous in camp. Perhaps it has more to do with the abundance of food, here, or the fact that it’s a real meal and not just dried rations or scraps of meat.

By comparison, the ale he savors as though it could be his last; the first sip makes him close his eyes momentarily. He takes another, longer sip after that, and his shoulders droop on a sigh. He sets it down, considers, picks it back up again, and simply holds it to his mouth for a moment before sipping a third time.

Maybe proper sit-down meals are a luxury for wardens?

She finds herself gathering up her meal before she’s even thought it through. It’s too late to change course, though, so she takes the empty seat across from him and sets her stew and watered-down ale on the table.

He looks up, surprised and something else - alarm, perhaps. She freezes.

“Sorry. If you don’t want company, I can…”

“No! No.” He waves off her suggestion and tips his chin towards her. “Please.”

She eases back down into the chair. He’s eyeing her stew. “Not hungry?” He asks.

Sheepish, she pokes at it again with her spoon. “Oh… I’m just not much of a fan of stew, to be honest.” She blushes. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound terribly spoiled. It’s just that they serve it a lot, and it’s rather… rich.” Maker, take her. Here’s a man who clearly doesn’t often have the luxury of such a meal, and she’s turning her nose up at it.

He doesn’t disagree with her, that much she can tell, but he’s kind enough to at least smile about it. “If you…?” She nudges the bowl towards him in offering.

He’s gazing at the food with interest, but hesitates. Maker’s blood, he probably feels like some sort of charity case. “If you want,” she offers, weakly. With a chuckle, he reaches forward, pulls the bowl towards him, and begins dabbing at it with his bread. No harm done, then, she hopes. She sips her ale just to have something to do.

“So,” he starts, after he finishes chewing and wipes his mustache with his napkin. “‘Herald’, is it?” He’s looking at her with those aquamarine eyes, sharp and inquisitive, and she squirms beneath his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She had intended to, initially, but the idea of referring to herself as Andraste’s Herald had the words sticking in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. And calling herself an ‘agent’ wasn’t a lie - not really. She does the work the Inquisition needs doing, does she not?

“No,” he says, lightly, and then considers. “Well… perhaps. Yes.” He laughs, a dirty little growl of a sound, and scoops a spoonful of stew - her spoon, she notices with a small amount of interest - into his mouth before continuing. “Seeing you close that damned rift was a bloody surprise, I’ll tell you that.”

They had run into it midway through the frostbacks; the way back should have been clear, the path already traveled, but a new rift had apparently opened up in their wake. Blackwall’s eyes had nearly bulged out of his head with surprise when she ripped off her glove and sealed the thing. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. She cradles her marked hand in her other one, staring down at it with distaste.

He follows her gaze. “Does it hurt?” He asks, quietly.

“It did. Not anymore - not lately, anyway. More… itchy?” She opens and closes her palm a few times, watching the green light shimmer, and then sighs and tucks it back under the table. “You have no idea how disconcerting it is to have this magic… thing… strapped to your hand when you have no magical ability to speak of yourself. I feel like I’m going to wake up to find it’s chewed my arm off.” She grins at him and takes a large swallow of ale.

He’s almost finished with his third bowl of stew - her stew - and seems to be thinking as he cleans the bowl with the last of his bread roll. She nibbles on hers.

“Do you think you’re the Herald of Andraste?” He asks.

She’s asked herself the same question many times over. She’s a faithful Andrastian - at least, as faithful as any regular folk. She makes her Chantry donations, she’s confirmed as every other Trevelyan has been, she frequently attends services. But to be a Herald? She doesn’t feel like one. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly.

He seems to take that as answer enough, and takes a long, large swig of ale before popping the last of the stew-soaked bread into his mouth. His hunger is satiated, she thinks, from the way he leans back with a content sigh and traces the rim of his mug with a finger. When he catches her curious gaze, he smiles wearily.

“Been a while since I’ve had a proper meal.” That explains that, then. Hunger, not habit. “Hopefully I’ll put some of this weight back on. Winter was a bit… rough.” He plucks absently at his sleeve.

She wouldn’t have guessed that he’d lost any; she’s no great judge of figure, but supposes he looks somewhat gaunt in the cheeks. He’s mostly muscle and belly, veins and tendons standing out like thick vines along his forearms. “I can’t imagine how lonely that must have been,” she says.

He’s running his finger along the handle of his mug, now, and tilts his head as he watches her. There’s an odd, calculating look in his eyes. “Aye,” he agrees. “It was.” He scratches his chin and squints. “How did you end up involved in all of this, my lady?”

“Ah.” She drums her fingers along her leg, once, twice, and throws him a sheepish look. “Do you know the Trevelyan family?”

“One of the richest noble houses in the Marches? Aye, I’ve heard of them.” He cocks his head, curious. “Are you…?”

“I’m the youngest daughter, yes.” An expression crosses his face, too quick for her to catch. “My father sent me as a representative to the Conclave. To represent our interests, that is.” She examines her fingernails, suddenly self-conscious. “Everything went to hell, obviously, with the explosion, and this.” She holds up her hand for a moment to indicate the mark, and he nods. “So… now I’m here.”

“I see.” He considers her quietly, sipping his ale. “That mark keeps you here, then?”

She flushes at this new line of questioning. “I’m the only one who can close the rift, it seems. So - yes.”

He’s still eyeing her curiously with that cool, unnerving gaze. She could leave, she knows; get up and just go to her cabin. Perhaps the drink is making her bolder, more defensive. She stares back at him.

“You just… don’t strike me as a noble lady,” he comments, finally. “You’re capable. Strong. Willing to get your hands dirty.”

She’s not sure whether to be offended or flattered. “And, what, you consider us incapable for our status?”

He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m only saying that some folks get soft when they have wealth. Let servants do the work for them, think the little people beneath them. You…” He shakes his head softly back and forth. “I mean no offense, my Lady.”

#my fics #my writing #blackwall romance #blackwall x inquisitor #blackwall x trevelyan #blackwall #thom rainier #evelyn trevelyan #fic snippet #cw: alcohol #alcohol cw

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theschizoidblog · 4 years ago

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Schizoids at work – tips for schizoids and their employers

Blog 5: 22/09/2020

When it comes to Schizoid Personality Disorder, I find there’s so little info online on how to deal with it. While not all schizoids are comfortable holding jobs, many love to work for the income it provides, which in turn gives them the opportunity to have their own little haven without starving. (Ah, the joys of capitalism!) Some even really enjoy the challenge their job provides. Others suffer through jobs that aren’t a good match for them.

In this blog I want to give tips to employers about how to deal with schizoid employees, and to the schizoid employees themselves - don’t worry, you’re an asset!

(Also a quick note: covert schizoids are the ones you’re most likely to encounter on the workfloor, overt schizoids usually have it a little harder with fitting in.) (I can’t speak from experience there since I fall in the covert category.)

Now, the chance that an employee will tell you they’re schizoid, is minimal. First off, many don’t seek out therapy and thus don’t even know they are schizoid. (I didn’t know until I was 36.) Second, those that know they’re schizoid, will often feel like they can’t trust you with something as personal. Third, in some cultures it’s a big taboo to talk about mental health, especially if you have something that is labeled a ‘disorder’, and thus they will not tell you because they fear you would just fire them.

But in the rare occasion that your employee opens up to you about schizoid personality disorder, at least now you have this bit of advice from a schizoid who’s been employed in two countries (Belgium and the Netherlands), in a few different sectors and who has been in situations where the employer did not know, and is currently in one where the employer does know.

To the employer

First off, don’t be terrified or apprehensive if an employee tells you they are schizoid. Schizoids are better rooted in reality than most people and don’t suffer from delusions or paranoia like certain other personality disorders. They’re often quiet observers, analytical, witty… if they dare to open up in your company!

While it’s called a disorder, it doesn’t necessarily require medication or a great deal of therapy – it’s a state of being. If someone tells you they’re a schizoid, what they are saying is that company can drain them, that they are immune to most forms of peer pressure, that they don’t mind not talking to people.

Keep in mind that Schizoid Personality Disorder can be accompanied by depression, PTSD, anxiety and other comorbidities. While a schizoid seems emotionless most of the time, when your schizoid is suddenly crying at work, it’s possible you triggered some PTSD and that’s why they’re unable to perform well. But a schizoid without any comorbidities should, in theory, give you less trouble than any other employee.

You might think “humans are social beings”, but the same can’t be said for schizoids. We operate in a world where most people around us are just different from us, and accommodating to their social needs can exhaust us. (And in my experience that part gets worse with age.) We’re not very social beings. We get energy from being alone.

Consider us the ultimate introvert, while most managers and CEO’s I’ve met are on the other side of the spectrum, massive extraverts. To explain that bit: Did you find the lockdown horrible? Did you find it draining to talk to your employees online instead of at the coffee machine? Well, for a schizoid it’s often the other way around. Talking to colleagues through chat online is easier, more fun and less draining than talking to them at the coffee machine, and while you get energy from those conversations in the lunch room, they drain the schizoid person. We’re wired a little differently, so keep that in mind.

As an employer, you want to get the most out of your working relationship with anyone in your company. For schizoids, like other employees, you can just ask them what they feel or think, but in some cases schizoids will try to avoid conflict, and thus just say what you want to hear or not appear analytical at all. If they don’t trust you, I wish you the best of luck in getting them to open up. (You’ll need it.)

Especially young schizoids have not yet learned from experience to open up and might not indicate when things aren’t working out for them when they see it’s working out for their other colleagues. While immune to peer pressure (they might not eat the birthday cake everyone is having when they dislike it, or conform to the same clothing standard of the rest of the company when it’s not a strict rule), they will avoid conflict and thus they might not be fully upfront if the new work islands are ruining their concentration or when you place them among the loudest colleagues in the group and they just suffer quietly between them.

So in general, ask them whatever you like and be open and honest, and with any luck the schizoid will be self-critical, open and honest in return to you.

Ideal jobs for schizoids would be jobs they can do alone, like being a night guard, administrative jobs they can do from home, or jobs with animals or in nature. But that doesn’t mean that that’s all they’re good for. Plenty of schizoids work in retail, customer support, elderly homes, healthcare, IT, or are teachers, lawyers, even psychologists themselves! Having Schizoid Personality Disorder should never be an excuse to fire someone from a job, because it’s not a reason as long as the schizoid is doing their job well.

Practically

Feedback moments

Schizoids have their walls up very high, nearlly all the time. During feedback moments, that’s true as well. Give your feedback, but don’t expect to see shock, anger, sadness, relief or happiness on the face of the schizoid. They might not respond differently to your praise or criticism than if you were to recite the alphabet to them. Ask them what they will do about the issue and they’ll probably come up with a solution themselves or give you the acknowledgement that you wanted to hear that they understand the problem now.

Whatever you do, don’t get harder and meaner in your feedback because you see no response. Someone once did that to me and it triggered PTSD that I’ve been coping with for 15 years now. I did not realize why my employer was so mean to me, but now I realize that I must have sat there like a zombie, hardly acknowledging his feedback with any visual cues, and he felt a need to “drive it home” to the point where my body is now convinced I’m being sent to a war zone when my employer says it’s time for my yearly evaluation.

Control/manage

Schizoids don’t enjoy other people controlling everything they do. I’ve worked in helpdesk situations and do great in situations where I’m not given specific scripts to stick to. It makes for a better customer experience too and I get the job done and I get it done well. By forcing scripts on schizoids (but probably on plenty of regular folks too), you’re destroying motivation and only making the job harder. Let the schizoid do their job and use their magnificent brain, they’ll figure it out. Be there as a person they can come to for help. Tell them they can always ask for help or advice, and they’ll ask it if they need it, but don’t try to be too authoritarian, it usually doesn’t stick well with the schizoid and they’ll just learn to dodge you instead.

Flexibility in shifts

One of the biggest advantages of having a schizoid employee is that they might be willing to work Sundays or Saturdays or evenings or nights while others prefer to spend that time with family or going to the bar. I volunteered to work on Sundays and evenings because if I work on Sundays, I don’t have to go to carnival get-togethers with the family (huzzah!), and evenings because then I don’t have to work with all my colleagues together at once, but I just have one other colleague around and it’s quiet and I can listen to music.

I’m also the go-to-person for my colleagues when they have an evening shift they need to switch in case of emergency. I don’t mind switching from morning to evening. (I’m also an evening person so my efficiency will be better if I work late shifts compared to when I work early shifts.)

So while a schizoid person might not enjoy being in large groups, don’t say they’re not team players! They will gladly help out the company when they can, as long as they’re not being taken advantage of.

Dinners/parties/celebrations/team buildings

Every company has reason to celebrate at times and sometimes you want to thank your employees for their hard work with a nice party or event. A schizoid might not like every type of party or teambuilding though. I’ve been to a few I really enjoyed, but others where I was like “can I just work instead?” We did a very intimate speeddating teambuilding with our closest colleagues which I really enjoyed (wait, what, a schizoid enjoying a speeddating sort of thing? – I liked it because it wasn’t small talk but really witty questions that you could discuss with colleagues.), but there are sometimes also parties where the entire company is there and that are just too many people whose name I don’t know and whom I don’t fully trust, with music I don’t like and lots of drunk people, so I’ll rather bail out of those. Basically, my tip would be: definitely extend the invitation for the event, but if they say “no”, that’s that and don’t take it personal. (Also, they once didn’t ask me to go to a party because they know I never go anyways, and then I was a little sad they hadn’t asked me. I’d still like to say no and feel included. ;-))

Privacy

Most employees like to know a lot about the private life of their employers. Schizoids might not share a great deal. They like to keep work and private life separate, but let’s be real here: there’s often not a great deal going on either. Asking “What did you do in the weekend?” might result in a slightly annoyed schizoid. They probably didn’t do anything you’re interested in hearing. They probably had food. Watched shows or played games. Slept. A lot. And that’s what they might do for the next 51 weekends of the year as well. Don’t invite yourself over uninvited either, I never open the door unless I know someone’s coming. It’s not even something personal, it’s just that home is sacred and I wouldn’t even open the door to my elderly grandmother.

Someone else said that intrusion upon privacy is even something they consider offensive, so best not to do it!

But, if you’re patient, you will get to know your schizoid employee better. We just open up slower than most, so don’t pressure it, we’ll tell you what we want to tell you when the time is right.

Carpooling

I think carpooling is great for nature but from a personal point of view I hate it. Some companies are big on carpooling, sometimes to events. One schizoid told me she drove 6 hours to go to a company event because she didn’t want to take a flight and sit next to a talkative colleague. That’s how much we prefer to be alone when travelling sometimes. For some schizoids it’s the only time they have alone. At home they might not live alone, at work they’re never alone, and thus that time in the car is sacred to them, the only moment they can recharge a bit and be alone with their mind. (I have the same with lunch break, I usually take my lunch alone, just to recharge a bit. It’s nothing personal, I just need the me-time.)

Ambition

When asking a schizoid where he or she sees themselves in a few years, they might offer a blank answer. Schizoids don’t have a great deal of ambition. They will rarely say they see themselves as a manager or anything of the sort, instead they’ll express they’ll be good employees with a good knowledge of all systems and such. Don’t expect your schizoid to be ambitious – they might be perfectly happy with an entrance-level job.

Please do not mistake this as a sign they have no interest in the company or in their own career with the company. They just can’t imagine a lot of things changing very fast in their career path.

Mediators and Listeners

Schizoids are great mediators and listeners. If you have a problem, tell them the problem and wait for their pearls of wisdom. They’ve been observing society for their entire lives, even if they’re not very social people, they understand society better than most. They’re also very good listeners and will earn a lot of trust from their fellow colleagues that way if they open themselves up to them. Just be mindful at the same time that you’re not expecting them to do a specific job AND sit them down next to people that love to talk, because those people will love to take advantage of the fact they’re great listeners and get their own egg out of their system. Not a lot of work will get done then.

Bonding with colleagues

If you want a schizoid to bond with colleagues, it’s not really going to happen if they work 9 to 5 with 10 other colleagues in the same room. They’ll become part of the wallpaper. If you want them to bond, then let them work with other colleagues in 1-1 situations where it’s just the schizoid and the other colleague. For me, that’s during my late shifts and weekend shifts that I’m usually alone with one other colleague, and that way they get to know you in a non-intrusive way. For me it always works better that way then if I spent a regular 9 to 5 job among a large group of people.

Open Office

One of the hypes that I really dislike on the work floor are all the “islands” and “open workspaces” they have now. Everyone is stuck in the same room, often very close to one another, and it’s often loud (even when everyone is trying to be quiet) and distracting. A manager is like “but I want people to play off of one another!”, but to a schizoid it just means they can’t think properly and they lose track of what they’re doing and they need to listen to conversations from other colleagues about their kids that are going through college or the soccer match of their youngest. I once worked somewhere where not only half my colleagues were constantly on the phone, but the others were not allowed ear plugs to listen to music because the team lead wanted folks to listen and talk to one another. Needless to say, in a room of IT’ers that decision was not appreciated. IT’ers in generals are very introverted, at least allow them ear plugs to listen to music if they’re in a loud environment, you can’t afford to have them fuck up because they can’t focus. (Not to mention that now with covid a lot of open offices are like ‘oh, maybe we should not have had everyone in one big area, maybe we should have at least kept a few smaller offices with walls in between them….’)

Meetings

If you are having weekly meetings with your team, let me just tell you now, so your schizoid doesn’t need to tell you: your meetings are boring as hell and repetitive. It’s more efficient to have brief meetings when new things are happening or problems need fixing. Weekly meetings where you go over the same agenda each week aren’t really necessary, the neurotypicals are just abusing the fact they don’t have to work for an hour. :-P I felt like someone needed to say it, even if it’s not even a schizoid thing to remark. Sorry, managers. Monthly meetings are more than enough in most workplaces.

To the schizoid

Whether or not it’s wise to tell an employer that you have SPD depends on many things. I notice that culturally there are big differences. In Belgium and the Netherlands I feel like there’s a very open attitude among millennials regarding mental health. When I told my employer I was going to a therapist because I wanted to explain my anger outbursts and PTSD and I wanted to learn how to control them better, I got nothing but praise about how brave I was to take the first step and to talk about it so openly and to trust them with the news.

It took quite some time before I had the schizoid diagnosis, and after processing it myself, I also told the same team lead about what they’d found and what it meant. She’s a big extravert so it was rather funny comparing and explaining it to her, but she was intrigued and also confirmed that even if I am a schizoid, I’m still a teamplayer and my strengths are the weaknesses of others (and the other way around.)

When working in a team, there’s room for everyone and schizoids aren’t toxic people or anything of the sort. We can be barometers to sense the mood in a room and whether something is wrong in a team.

With all of us working from home with covid, my lead has also seen proof in my numbers that I perform better when alone at home than when I’m at the office in an open space. She’s also thinking of, when covid ends, letting me work from home several days a week and no longer having me come into the office four days a week. (On Sunday I always worked from home anyways.) Maybe when covid is over I’ll just be asked to come over one or two days a week.

Personally I think there are more advantages than disadvantages for companies that hire us.

However, it really depends on the company. Ten years ago, I’ve worked in a company where I saw people go if they had diagnosis of ADHD or other much milder things, where they were laid off and told to pack their stuff. Not necessarily the moment they opened up, but they never remained for longer than a year after that. Some companies do not welcome diversity or folks that decide to have such an open dialogue with their employers.

In my opinion, if you’re a schizoid and babyboomers are in charge, I don’t think it wise to open up. They do not like diversity or just folks that ask attention for their own mental health in the same way millennials do. They don’t see it as an advantage but as a disability to their own company. They don’t want folks to ask any work from them, they like it as a one-way street. They don’t want folks with labels. And some labels are more harmful than others. Personally I don’t think schizoid is a harmful label, as long as your employer does not confuse it with schizophrenic. And some employers will think a label, for the sake of having one, is already a bad thing.

How people look at personality disorders also depends on the country you are from. Belgium and the Netherlands are rather open (- especially the Netherlands). In the Netherlands they often say: “Alles is bespreekbaar”, which means that you can talk about anything, without judgement. If you admit something weird or extravert, you’re sooner called ‘brave’ than ‘weird’. Or you’re called both, affectionately.

Political climate at your job/in your country is also a means to predict how well it will be received when you admit to having a disorder. The more to the left, the less folks will make a fuss, the more to the right, the more they’ll think it better to exclude those that are different.

If you decide to never tell your employer, that’s perfectly fine. If you are happy in your job, why would you? If you are not in therapy or anything of the sort, there’s very little reason to tell them.

I’m very open about my current treatment as well, and now that I’m in EMDR treatment it’s possible I’ll have days of emotional turmoil and thus lessened productivity. I warned them in advance so that if it happened, they’d know about it. With my PTSD attacks increasing, we also agreed that I could just tell them “having an attack” or something of the sort, and then they’d know what I was doing to self-care and that I’d be back asap. (But it helps not having to explain everything from the start in that very moment, since that’s counterproductive.)

Or as we say in Dutch “goede afspraken maken goede vrienden” – meaning that good agreements make good friends. We got agreements on what to do in certain unexpected situations so that if a PTSD attack happens, they know exactly what to expect from me with just a word.

I realize such a good relationship with superiors at work is rare - I’ve had a lot of jobs before I landed this one and some were straight-out toxic. I would not recommend opening up in an environment where folks will use it as a means to pick on you. Luckily not all workplaces are like that, and I hope you find such a place!

Conclusion

Schizoids are hard workers that just want to make some money so they can support themselves. They might not be very social at work but they can make up for it by being a team player who doesn’t mind taking over unwanted shifts. They thrive when working at home, alone and don’t need constant supervision. They can be insightful and are good observers, and they are peacekeepers within the group. You won’t catch them having fights with colleagues. Since they read the mood in a room very well, if your schizoid is closing off completely or looking ill at ease, that’s probably a sign that the mood on your work floor isn’t great. There could be some toxic people out there that are preventing the schizoid from opening up at all and those same people could be ruining the mood for others as well. (Or worse: a toxic leadership style is also possible.)

If you have further tips or questions, my inbox is always open! I’m certain there are many more tips to give, and not every tip will be effective for every schizoid. (I suppose this is more for the covert schizoid, like myself, as opposed to tips for helping the overt schizoids.) None the less I hope it’s helpful and that if you have a schizoid employee, you now know there’s no reason to panic!

#spd #schizoid #schizoid personality disorder #ptsd #work #blog

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sellhousefast323 · 4 years ago

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9 Top-Rated Attractions & Things to Do in Roanoke, VA

Roanoke is a popular tourist destination, whether you're a culture vulture seeking out unique museums and attractions or an active vacationer seeking out outdoor adventures. The city is a four-season destination for avid hikers, rock climbers, recreational boaters, and sportfishing enthusiasts, and is located in the picturesque Roanoke Valley in southwestern Virginia. In-town greenways, cultural diversions, diverse dining, and unique shopping discoveries await urban explorers. Whatever your vacation style, keep our list of Roanoke's top attractions and things to do handy.

1. Mill Mountain Park & the Roanoke Star

Mill Mountain Park, which is home to the famous Roanoke Star (also known as the Mill Mountain Star), has more than 10 miles of multi-use trails (hiking, walking, and biking) where visitors can experience the region's all-season natural beauty.

Take the Mill Mountain Star Trail, a 3.5-mile round-trip from the base trail, to the summit of Mill Mountain, the city's highest point at 1,703 feet, for a moderately challenging hike. Hikers are rewarded with two scenic overlooks atop the mountain after climbing 838 feet in elevation. The Star Trail parking lot, located just off Riverland Road SE at the Star/Wood Thrush Connector, has plenty of free parking and clear signage.

Connect with the short Watchtower Trail for the best panoramic views and photos right at the base of the Roanoke Star, one of Virginia's most famous landmarks. The National Register of Historic Landmarks has listed this unusual landmark, which was built in 1949 as a temporary Christmas decoration by the local merchants association. The giant star, at 89 feet in height, is America's largest star. It is visible from up to 60 miles away and is lit every evening until midnight.

Hikers are welcome to bring their leashed dogs, and there are picnic tables, restrooms, and water along the Mill Mountain Spur Trail en route to the Discovery Center, a naturalist centre with exhibits on the park, local wildlife, and trail maps. Mill Mountain Zoo, a small but lively enclave with local critters such as the Indian crested porcupine, red wolf, and yellow-spotted side-necked turtle, will appeal to children of all ages.

2. Carvins Cove Natural Reserve

Carvins Cove Natural Reserve, with more than 60 miles of trails surrounding an 800-acre reservoir, is known among locals as a haven for off-road mountain biking. The reserve, which is the second largest municipal park in the United States, spans nearly 13,000 acres, the majority of which is protected by the state of Virginia's largest conservation easement.

Trail maps are available for purchase, and bikers can get local advice on which trails are best suited for their experience level at Just The Right Gear, a cycling shop near the Bennett Springs parking lot (one of three reserve entrances — the others are Marina and Timber View). There are also rentals of high-end bikes and gear.

On the Easy Street, Kit & Kaboodle, The Skillet, and Enchanted Forest trails, beginners will find a gentler rise and more flats. On the Comet, Gauntlet, Hoe Trail, and Clownshead, riders seeking more difficult challenges will get exactly what they want. On the most difficult trails, expect to gain up to 2,400 feet in elevation.

Along these well-kept trails, riders will encounter packed dirt, loose gravel, and tamped soil. Canoeing (equipment rentals and instruction are available) and fishing are also popular activities at Carvins Cove.

3. Smith Mountain Lake

Smith Mountain Lake, one of Virginia's most popular — and the state's largest — has nearly 500 miles of shoreline, earning it the title of "Jewel of the Blue Ridge Mountains." Because state fisheries keep the lake well stocked, SML, as it's known by locals, has an especially impressive striped bass population. Anglers can book half- or full-day charters with a number of licenced guides who have plenty of experience traversing the 21,000-acre lake. They'll provide bait, equipment, and all of the necessary expertise to ensure that those fishing have a safe and enjoyable time on the water.

Crappies, bluegills, largemouth and smallmouth bass, as well as stripers, are among the tasty fish that make freshwater fishing at SML a popular tourist destination.

Waterskiing and wakeboarding, boating and sailing, and jet skiing are all fun activities to do on the lake. Swimming is also available at a family-friendly beach, and there are several golf courses nearby.

4. Roanoke Valley Greenways

The interconnected Roanoke Valley Greenway allows visitors to walk or bike along miles of trails in the area, which are safe, well-populated, and well-maintained. A popular trail in and around Roanoke is right along the Roanoke River, where deer, herons, geese, and other wildlife can be seen even in the city. Vic Thomas Park, just off Memorial Drive south of the river, is a great place to start your exploration. From there, you can easily join the Roanoke River Greenway.

A short distance away is the well-known Black Dog Salvage. Every visit to this nationally recognised purveyor of reclaimed architectural, commercial, and industrial fixtures and elements yields a fascinating, one-of-a-kind inventory. Visitors come from all 50 states to see Black Dog, which specialises in doors, windows, wrought iron, period lighting, garden statuary, and other specialty home components.

Head southeast on the Roanoke River Greenway towards Wasena Park after visiting Black Dog. At the Wasena Skate Park, kids can be seen hanging ten on their longboards. The park is always bustling with activity, and the locals' fancy footwork on their skateboards and blades is entertaining to watch.

On your way to the Tinker Creek Greenway, continue on the greenway and cross the Mill Mountain Greenway. Follow that road north for less than a mile and reward yourself with a picnic at Fallon Park's picnic area.

5. Taubman Museum of Art

The Taubman Museum of Art, one of the city's newest attractions (it opened in 2008), is a must-see for art lovers and casual culture consumers alike. The museum's permanent collection of 2,000 unique pieces is spread across 11 different galleries, including works by Thomas Cowperthwaite Eakins, Purvis Young, and John Cage, and is housed in a stunning modern design by renowned architect Randall Stout.

Visiting exhibits featuring work by some of America's best artists, including John James Audubon and Norman Rockwell, to name a few, are common. Photographic, folk art, and design-related exhibits are among the other highlights.

If you're travelling with children, look into children's programmes, such as hands-on workshops and interactive displays. On-site amenities include a café.

6. McAfee Knob

McAfee Knob is one of the most photographed places on the Appalachian Trail, thanks to its incredible vistas and spectacular rock overhang perch. The 3.5 miles of intermediate-to-difficult trails that lead up to the knob from the Virginia 311 parking lot are popular with hikers.

Climbers know it for the more than 70 gnarly sandstone and slick quartzite boulders that make for days of mini-summits. The majority of boulders are between 10 and 20 feet tall, with many crimps, jugs, pockets, and edges. Bring pads, lunch, and a buddy; it's never a good idea to go rock climbing alone, and McAfee is often deserted.

Another popular recreational area in Roanoke is the recently re-opened Explore Park, which is located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. The park features 1,100 acres of breathtaking scenery, numerous walking and hiking trails, as well as thrilling ziplines and a treetop adventure course that is appropriate for families with younger children. It also has a visitor centre and a gift shop, as well as camping and rustic cabins.

7. Bottom Creek Gorge Preserve

Bottom Creek Gorge Preserve is a popular destination for birders, nature lovers, and photographers. Bottom Creek, located less than 20 miles south of Roanoke, is one of the most important headwaters for the Roanoke River, and it offers visitors several well-marked trails to enjoy the vast hardwood forest, unspoiled landscape, and Virginia's second highest waterfall.

For the best vantage point to photograph the 200-foot cascading waterfall, the second tallest in Virginia, photographers should take the Red Trail (the longest trail here, at five miles round-trip). Bring a long/telephoto lens because the overlook at the end of the trail offers a clear, open shot, but the falls are a long way away. A side path off the Yellow Trail leads to other viewpoints of the falls.

8. Roanoke City Market

The historic City Market, also known as the Farmers' Market by locals, is open all year and offers boutique shopping, local produce, flowers, meat and cheese, local dining favourites, and some of Virginia's best people-watching. Pay close attention to the market's four mosaic tiled entrances, each of which contains over 2,000 pounds of porcelain tiles that reveal a little bit of the history of this storied public space.

9. Roanoke Pinball Museum

We’ve recently started a new family hobby – vintage record collecting! In keeping with this new found connection over the beloved old, we were delighted to take our girls to the Roanoke Pinball Museum and show them how we entertained ourselves long before the internet.

From the 1932 styles to the slightly more modern Munster’s machine which had a baby pinball inside the bigger one to play, you could get lost in here playing over 65 machines for hours.

Prime Home Buyers is a real estate brokerage firm based in Roanoke, United States. We are known for offering an easy and quick house-selling experience to our clients.

We offer upfront selling solutions to our clients, satisfying their requirements. We have been serving as real estate investors for over a decade and know all the tricks of this trade. Prime Home Buyers can provide you with the best real estate offerings and prices. We are the experts you are looking for if you want to sell your house fast and at the best price. Besides our expertise in buying houses, we also provide commercial property investment.

Business Location

#sell your house fast

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amberlarks · 4 years ago

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“Half”, 2019-2021, oil on canvas, 48”x 60”. It’s about growing up half Asian in America. Art is about wearing your heart on your sleeve and I have a lot to share about this one. It would really mean a lot to me if you read the story behind it. I reflect on the current events of the past week and past year. It feels very vulnerable sharing all of this, but I also know how important it is to share. This is one of the most important and personal paintings I’ve made in my life and I’m so happy I finally finished it. Thank you for your support, your inspiration, and for listening❤️

Growing Up Half Asian in America: A Reflection on Identity and Racism

By Amber Larks

I finally found my words. Day 1 I had no words, only grief. Day 2 I was furious with rage. And now I feel a sense of healing. Grieving together and supporting each other even just virtually has been so healing. And it inspired me to finish a painting I started sketches for in 2019. I’m not sure what strange force or feeling came over me to put it down and not pick it up until now, but I think it was meant to be.

These two years have been huge for talks about race and I’ve learned so much. I think my painting was finally ready to be completed because of how much I’ve experienced and learned and because of that, found my voice and identity in this movement.

This painting was art therapy for me and I know a lot of people will connect with it. I had been struggling for so long on my thoughts on current events because I am half. Half Chinese and half white. Somehow, I always feel my thoughts or feelings aren’t valid because “I don’t know what it’s really like to be Asian”. I have always struggled with imposter syndrome because I’m half. I constantly straddle two worlds. But being Chinese is who I am, it’s half of me. I was gaslighting myself wondering if my grief was valid. Thoughts like: “You’re not really Asian so stop playing the victim here”, “People will think you’re just a white girl trying to look woke” and “You should be sad, yes, but grieving like you knew them? That doesn’t make sense”. How fucked up is that?

But this is what being half is like. You feel like an imposter even though it is 100% genuinely part of your identity. And I honestly think this is where a lot of my social anxiety comes from because I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere. But being half is also a beautiful blessing where I’ve cultivated a deep understanding and practice of empathy.

Being half, you experience direct racism but more often racism in the form of people being racist in front of you not knowing they are in front of an Asian person. My first memory of racism is being in second grade and two white boys in my class pulling their eyelids up and down taunting “Chinese” “Japanese” “Chinese” “Japanese”. I will always remember it and the feeling I felt.

And Seattle, my city, as much as a beautiful, progressive haven that we are, we blindly participate in passive aggressive racism. I can’t tell you how many times people have complained to me about “Asian tourists” as if they are not human, but instead an inconvenience to your white city. As if they are not people who have worked hard and saved for years to take their family on vacation, land in a foreign city with a foreign language only to be scoffed at and not welcomed. Where is our empathy there? Where is our humanity? So much of racism is not seeing others as human which makes it easy to be so cruel. The dehumanization of minorities is pure cruelness.

Maybe we don’t do things like you, look like you, or talk like you, but that doesn’t make us lesser. We have feelings. We feel pain. We have depth. We’re smart. We can read between the lines. We know when we are not welcome and it hurts. We know when we are being ridiculed and it hurts. We know Hollywood only sees us as objects and it hurts. We see our brothers and sisters getting murdered and it hurts.

Growing up half taught me to hide my Asian side because from age 5 I deemed it unsafe to show in fear of being bullied. As I grew up, I continued to hide in fear of being disrespected, stereotyped, harassed, and sexualized. That last one is huge for Asian women and disturbs me to my core. I hope I never hear the phrase “Asian persuasion” again or “exotic” like we are some seductive fetishized foreign object rather than individuals.

Also mixed kids need to be normalized. Being mixed is becoming more common now thankfully but growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, I had people ask me if I was adopted, if my mom was my nanny, or “what am I?” and “Where are you from?” This is so alienating. And we’re still at a point where we’re being fetishized because of “how exotic we look”. Please take a moment to understand why these are issues.

It’s only within the last few years that I’ve gotten more comfortable sharing my identity as the world becomes more accepting of different cultures. Although current events show why I’m still weary with sharing my identity with people I don’t know.

And yes, I am privileged in many ways to be white passing because I have the option to blend in easier. I have realized this year more than ever just how privileged I am and oblivious I was. But I also feel the weight of pain our communities feel. And grief is grief. Struggles are struggles. Pain is pain. We need solidarity to move forward.

So I’ve been really touched the past 24 hours how much support and outcry there has been. My boyfriend (also half Asian) and I were saying how it’s actually weird seeing all this Asian stuff. I had to do a double take at what was happening- to see so many people talking about it. We’ve always just dealt with it and somehow society made us feel that’s just how it was. We were used to it. We learned to expect it. You learned to deal with it. And you don’t complain. “People have it harder” “We’re lucky to be where we are”. Silent strength. And silent suffering.

I think of my grandma and her strength. And how she never complained. And it breaks my heart to think of the things she must have endured throughout her life. She was my hero. So strong and so quirky and so herself. And I think of how all of that is in my mom and my sister and I. Being Chinese to me is to be resilient. My people have been through so much yet we’re taught to keep our heads down, work hard, and not complain.

So it really warms my heart seeing so many people speaking out about this and supporting us right now. It’s really moving to see how much positive support can help heal a hurting community. Just seeing people speak up is healing in itself. That people are listening and our problems are actually real. That we’re not overreacting. Victims normally don’t see themselves as victims if they’ve been manipulated to think their pain is normal.

That’s how it’s been for Asian people. (model minority myth at play here). And this is the problem with the model minority myth: It is crafted out of white supremacy to preach “congratulations you should be proud you climbed your way out of poverty. Not like those other folks. Look at the bright side. Forget the rest. Forget the torment we put you through. Forget the past. Aren’t you so glad to be you, a model citizen, a respectable citizen” when in reality it is giving a false sense of security and false praise in a society that is still so very hostile towards you. It delegitimizes our pain and manipulatively puts us against other minorities. It “deems” us closer to white even though that’s not true at all. It’s not a scale of white to black and everything in between. We are all unique cultures and something we just happen to have in common is that we are all not white. We all know what it’s like to be the minority. And we have strength in solidarity.

This has been a moment of clarity for me for my identity. I grieved and I’m still grieving for those lost and their families. Because they could have been me. They could have been my own loved ones.

Empathy can create so much change and healing. So please, when a community calls out for help, please return the call. Picture yourself in their shoes. For them to endure so much pain to finally reach the breaking point of calling out for help- it means it’s serious.

This past year has shown how much white supremacy upholds our society. It really does permeate every major artery, crack and corner of this place. It’s also shown how easily it’s tolerated. Excuse after excuse is made to uphold it and it’s time for that to stop. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone being vocal about this, everyone who is evaluating how their thoughts, words, jokes, or actions could be part of the problem(it’s not your fault, it’s the society we grew up in), and to everyone who reached out. Thank you.

I feel like a weight has been lifted finishing this painting and at the same time I am finding peace with my identity. Being Asian is having an unspoken bond with other Asians because you’ve all been through similar struggles. You are brothers and sisters in solidarity. And that’s what I love about the Asian community. We have an unshakable strength in each other. But recently our community has been violently rocked and traumatized seeing our brothers and sisters murdered and abused. It takes a toll on a community. It’s a collective grieving we are going through. So thank you to everyone returning our call for help. Thank you for listening. And thank you for your love. We will heal but we will need everyone’s help to get rid of white supremacy, racism, and domestic terrorism. And until then we will continue to stand in solidarity with all communities fighting for the same cause✊

I ask of everyone reading this:

Please try and use a lens of empathy to understand why marginalized communities are marginalized as well as their history and struggles.

Please take the time to reflect in the moment if your everyday actions, words, and thoughts perpetuate stereotypes and racism. I’ve caught myself many times. It’s in all of us because we live in a toxic society built on white supremacy. But that’s where the progress comes- when you address it and try and fix it.

Please vote and support leaders who are anti racist. Who work to uplift all communities. Voting and activism works. Rhetoric matters. And politics is not just an old man’s game anymore.

Show solidarity. It means you care.

Have empathy. Do your part to make the world a better place- not just for yourself and the people you care about, but for every human being. The light in me honors the light in you❤️

#asian american #stopasianviolence #stopasianhate #half asian #half Chinese #half kids #mixed kids #racism #racism in America #solidarity #minority #Chinese American

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phantomwarrior12 · 6 years ago

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A Lonely World

Prompt: Broken by lovelytheband

Word Count: 2,394

Warnings: Mild swearing, Gabriel trying to be an innocent little shit, fluff

Summary: The Winchesters tend to get laid, you somehow end up with something more exciting.

A/N: Hi folks!

This fic has been in the works for the better part of year, but, at last, I emerge victorious and I finished it!

Please leave a like/comment and let me know your thoughts!

~ Phantom

A Timely Rescue

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I like that you're broken, broken like me

Maybe that makes me a fool

I like that you're lonely, lonely like me

I could be lonely with you

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Fingers drumming aimlessly against cool brown glass, y/e/c locked on the couple swaying to and fro in the back corner.

Another bar, another night of the Winchesters trying to persuade you to let them play wingman. Another night of you declining their offer and electing to drink alone after they leave.

Different town, same story. That is, until he appears in the chair beside you.

You hadn't heard him approach, let alone noticed the shift of people around you. There's a Hunter's instinct kicking in somewhere in the back of your mind, but no alarms. Whatever it is, it won't hurt you.

You feel his finger tips along the small of your back before you see him. There's subtle buzz entwined in a tenderness you've never known within the depths of his touch, every inch of skin tingling from a single brush, a warmth flourishing beneath flannel.

When your eyes find themselves facing warm honey and you could swear you felt your heart skip a beat.

"Come here often, sugar?"

It takes a moment, but you grasp the fleeting sense of reality and steady yourself, turning towards the charismatic stranger, fully aware of the arm now slung across the back of your chair.

"That line work on all the ladies?" You query with a delicate arch of an eyebrow.

"Depends. It work on you?" The corner of his lips tug upwards into a mischievous smirk.

"No."

He allows a quiet chuckle, settling a little closer to you, "Really? I think we both know that that's not true."

You let out a quiet snort, readjusting your body to face the bar more so than him, hand already curled around the beer bottle as you study its contents, "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you."

He arches an eyebrow but pulls away and leans on the bar, "Alright, I'll play along," cocky shift of the shoulders, "let's start over."

He outstretches his hand, smiling at you with such an expectant look, you decide to indulge him, if for no other reason than to entertain yourself for the remainder of the evening.

"Y/N." You accept his hand, soft meeting calloused, gentle meeting firm. There's almost a current running through his veins, a subtle jolt when palms meet and fingers lock.

And there's a twinkle in his eyes when his thumb brushes across yours as he shakes your hand, "They call me Gabriel."

"Pleasure," you can't help the warmth that crawls into the smile you offer.

"So, and forgive the how cliche this line is, what's a girl like you doing in a dump like this...alone?"

"Just passing through," it slips out easily, a forewarning before things go too far, "how about you?"

He shrugs and finally relinquishes his hold on your hand, leaving it empty and nearly forlorn at the loss of his touch.

"Same as you, quick stop in a little town," he glances around the bar before settling back on you.

You nod slowly, noting the intentional break in eye contact to study their surroundings, "Running , huh?"

He seems as surprised by your boldness as you are, gauging the expectant look etched into your features.

"I'm that easy to read, huh?"

"Like a book." You set the empty bottle off to the side and direct your full attention to Gabriel.

"Takes one to know one."

"Except I'm not running," you correct him, "got nothing to run from."

He leans a little closer and his expression grows solemn, "Everyone's running from something."

"I don't run, tough guy." You counter, leaning a little closer, studying every inch of his features. "Something pushes you down, gets in your way, you stand up and make it move."

Gabriel scoffs, "You make it sound easy."

"Task's only impossible if you deem it so," you return proudly, y/e/c drifting from his eyes to his lips and back again.

He flashes another cocky grin, "Mind if I buy you a drink?"

You gesture towards the empty bottle beside you and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he orders another round. He waits until the bottles rest between the two of you before he speaks.

"So, if you're not running, what're you doing out here?"

"Road trip with my brothers." You nod to the Winchesters huddled in the corner, two women fawning over them. There may not be any blood relation, but they're the closest thing to family you have.

"And they left you to drink on your own?" He arches an eyebrow, disapproval evident in golden hues.

"I get some peace and quiet, they get laid, we all win." You chuckle lightly, taking a sip of your beer.

"Weird, but whatever works, I guess." Gabriel shrugs, turning his full attention back to you.

"And what are you running from?" You level an expectant look on the man beside you.

"Family drama," he shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"You really aren't good at this lying thing, are you?"

"Oh, but I'm telling the truth. I got brothers, too, they're just a lot bigger and meaner." He offers an amused smile, "It's good to get away from family now and again."

"I can understand that." You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

"Enough about that, care to dance?"

"I don't dance."

"Really? Who shoved the stick up your ass?"

You snort indelicately, "Apathy."

"Well, let's see if we can't have it removed." He takes your hand, pulling you to your feet and out onto the dance floor.

"Gabriel--"

"Have some fun, Y/N." He twirls you to arms length and then back against his chest.

Your shoulders sag but there's a smile etched into your features, allowing him to guide you across the hardwood. You can feel ths Winchesters' gaze, but soon, he's the only thing you can see, the only thing you can feel as the two of you glide across the floor.

His hands are everywhere, molding with every curve as you move in sync. His presence floods your senses like a rush of ecstasy that you never thought possible, a feather-light embrace that you can't see, but every nerve can feel. You brush off the nagging hunter's alarm, attributing the paranoia and distrust to the alcohol coursing through your veins and the traumatic memories that haunt your thoughts--memories that often banish any hopes of genuine happiness.

Just once, you want those thoughts to be wrong. Just once, you want the mysterious man whose arms are wound around you, to be real and not a danger when you turn your back. Just once, you pray he feels the same way.

So, when the Winchesters leave with their catches for the night, when the bar's inhabitants dwindle and it's only the two of you swaying to a slow song, you allow your defenses to fall, if only for a moment.

You lay your head on his shoulder, your eyes sliding shut as you commit every touch, every detail to memory--something to cling to when hell grips hold and you need a safe haven.

You're lost in the newfound sensations, the alcohol singing through your system, a perfect concoction of endorphins and ecstasy until that cool wisp flickers along your spine. It dances over marred ridges and, for a moment, you're convinced you're imagining it; the chill as nothing more than an unfortunate result of beer and sleep-deprivation.

That is, until you meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat when you notice the faint glint of blue flaring against whiskey, "Gabriel, your eyes--"

"What about them?" He questions innocently.

"Either I'm much drunker than I thought, or they're glowing."

"How many rounds have you had, sugar?"

"All night? Five or six?"

"You're drunk, sweetcheeks. My eyes aren't glowing," he assures you smile.

"You sure? Because I'm pretty sure there's something trailing along my spine, too."

"Drunk. How about we get you back to your motel? You should probably try to sleep this off," he teases gently.

"You're probably right," you relent as the wisp disappears and the alarms in your mind silence themselves.

You're positive you blacked out, convincing yourself the whoosh of air you'd felt was the wind during a brief moment of consciousness on the way to the motel. It couldn't be the ruffle of feathers you hear when Castiel flies you somewhere. The next time you open your eyes, something that felt as if it had only been a moment, you're both standing in the middle of your motel room, "How long was I out--?"

"Twenty minutes, give or take," Gabriel shrugs, helping you over to the bed.

"I probably snored--"

"Not at all," he waves you off, tucking the blankets around you.

"Thanks for the ride," you murmur, settling in to sleep.

"No problem, sugar. Sweet dreams."

The snap of his fingers is the last thing your exhausted mind can register before you drift off, a content smile spread across your lips.

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

"Rise and shine, Y/N!" Dean knocks on your door and you groan against the light filtering through the curtains, burying your face in the pillow.

"Go away!"

You hear Dean swipe his spare card and step inside, "Up and at 'em."

"You tell me to get up one more time and I'm coming at you." You bite back, reluctantly kicking the blankets off, swinging your feet onto the floor.

"You sleep okay?" He props himself against the doorframe after he closes the door.

"Like a baby," you stand, moving to grab a change of clothes from your bag.

"So, spotty and you cried a lot?"

"Fuck off, Winchester."

"Must be one hell of a hangover if you're this cranky. How'd it go with thar guy last night?"

"What guy?" you deflect, stifling a yawn as you shuffle towards the bathroom to change.

"The one you spent most of the night drinking with?"

"Didn't go anywhere, good dancer though." You call through the door.

"That sucks," he glances around the room, "Maybe next time."

You step out of the bathroom, "Not holding my breath."

"Oh, come on--" Dean's cut short by a knock at the door, "There's Sam," he pulls the door open, "and Cas?" He arches an eyebrow, glancing back at you.

"Don't be a dork, let them inside." You don't look up as you throw your clothes into the duffel.

"Hello, Dean. Y/N." Castiel greets, stepping inside the room.

"What brings you by, feathers?" You glance up from your bag with a smile.

"Sam called about a case, I thought I'd--" he looks over at you for the first time, cutting himself short.

"Cas?" Dean glances between you and the angel.

Castiel strides across the room, brows knit together in confusion, his eyes beginning to glow a brilliant blue as he reaches for you.

"Whoa, easy," Dean steps between you and Castiel.

"Something wrong?" You frown, y/e/c darting between his outstretched hand and his eyes.

"You have residual grace."

"I have what now?"

Dean steps aside, allowing Castiel to step closer, offering his hand to you, "May I?"

Confusion emerges victorious in the whirlwind of emotion and you tentatively hold your hand out. You hold your breath as Castiel's fingers ghost over your forearm, a cool whisper beneath his touch as small wisps of blue trail along your skin.

"I've felt that before--" you murmur, eyes trained on the swirling light.

"When?" His gaze darts to your face, concern evident.

"Last night. This drifter sat and talked to me, I thought it was just the beer, but, it felt like this. My hunter alarm was going nuts at first, but he was fine by the end of the night."

Castiel nods slightly before he turns his attention back to your arm, squinting slightly at the Enochian letters glowing bright against your wrist.

"What the hell?!" You jerk your arm back, staring at the lettering as it fades, "What was that?"

Castiel takes your hand again, waving his hand over your wrist to reveal the letters, "It's Enochian and it's a warning."

"A warning for what?" Dean steps closer, concern glinting in apple green orbs.

"Y/N's been placed under the protection of," he hesitates, staring at the letters for a long moment in wonder.

"Of who?" You press, the anxiety building in your chest.

He meets your gaze solemnly, "The archangel, Gabriel."

You open your mouth to speak, but clamp it shut as you sink onto the bed, holding your wrist.

"So, you don't get laid, but you somehow draw the attention of an archangel and get yourself on his no-smite list." Dean shakes his head, scrubbing at his face, "Must be Tuesday."

"He's not just any archangel. He's the only one of the archangels to flee heaven. He's been missing for thousands of years."

"He said he was running from family drama," you interject, brushing your thumb over your wrist absently.

"Y/N, did he say where he was going?" Castiel kneels beside you, searching your features desperately.

"No. We talked, drank and I somehow ended up here. Looking back, I guess it felt like when you fly us places, Cas." You look up at him slowly.

Castiel's features fall but he nods, standing back to his full height, "Then he's moved on."

"But why place me under his protection?"

"What did you talk about?" Dean asks.

"How annoying brothers are."

Sam snorts lightly, "Maybe be thought of you as a kindred spirit, fed up with your brothers?"

"That's entirely possible." Castiel glances towards Sam, "Mankind has done much less to earn the protection of God himself, perhaps something Y/N said resonated with Gabriel."

"In any case, you've now got an archangel in your corner, Y/N. Not a lot of people can say that." Dean pats your shoulder before he moves towards the door, "Let's head home, I promised Bobby we'd pick up some supplies on the way home."

"Right," you find your way to your feet, "I'll meet you outside, just need to grab a few more things."

Dean nods, corralling Sam and Castiel out the door to finish packing up Baby. Within twenty minutes, you're on the road, following Baby down the street. You cast one final glance in your rearview mirror, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you see the archangel's watchful form in the distance.

"See you around, Gabriel."

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

A Timely Rescue (Ch. 2)

Taglists are open!

Gabriel Squad: @thewhiterabbit42 @erisunderthemoon @stuckoutsideofthebox @nuvoleincielo @lyselkatz @high-church-of-the-holy-dick @fand0maniac @lovelyhexbag Forevers: @heaven-hell-imagines @a-mess-of-many-fandoms @currentlyfangirling99 @bofa-deans-nuts @emiwrites3reads

#gabriel x reader #gabriel spn #gabriel #spn #supernatural #phantom writes

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sellhousefast323 · 4 years ago

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9 Top-Rated Attractions & Things to Do in Roanoke, VA

1. Mill Mountain Park & the Roanoke Star

Hikers are welcome to bring their leashed dogs, and there are picnic tables, restrooms, and water along the Mill Mountain Spur Trail en route to the Discovery Center, a naturalist center with exhibits on the park, local wildlife, and trail maps. Mill Mountain Zoo, a small but lively enclave with local critters such as the Indian crested porcupine, red wolf, and yellow-spotted side-necked turtle, will appeal to children of all ages.

2. Carvins Cove Natural Reserve

3. Smith Mountain Lake

Crappies, bluegills, largemouth and smallmouth bass, as well as stripers, are among the tasty fish that make freshwater fishing at SML a popular tourist destination.

4. Roanoke Valley Greenways

5. Taubman Museum of Art

If you're travelling with children, look into children's programmes, such as hands-on workshops and interactive displays. On-site amenities include a café.

6. McAfee Knob

Another popular recreational area in Roanoke is the recently re-opened Explore Park, which is located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. The park features 1,100 acres of breathtaking scenery, numerous walking and hiking trails, as well as thrilling zip lines and a treetop adventure course that is appropriate for families with younger children. It also has a visitor centre and a gift shop, as well as camping and rustic cabins.

7. Bottom Creek Gorge Preserve

8. Roanoke City Market

Prime Home Buyers is a real estate brokerage firm based in Roanoke, United States. We are known for offering an easy and quick house-selling experience to our clients.

Our Social Media:

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#sell your house fast

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displacedhobbit · 5 years ago

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Update: Greater Than Gold

AN – Uhm, so, yea. Quarantine has been a good time for me to sit down and write, so here we are. I started this story about 8 years ago. It’s drifted in and out of my thoughts pretty regularly in that time. In my absence, I’ve been scribbling down thoughts, moments, plots. I can honestly say the story is mostly finished, it’s just a matter of editing and figuring out what I want to include and reordering events to make them chronologically correct(ish).

Anyway, I fully expect that most people who have been following this story are long gone, have moved on to different fandoms, and forgotten my words. I just want to see it through.

This chapter takes us part way through the quest, to Rivendell. There will be at least one more chapter before the conclusion. And probably two endings, haha.

Warnings: Violence, some swearing.

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 25: Eighty-Two and Seventy-Seven - Part 1

Word Count (chapter): 8035

It’s time.

He scans the room once more, ensuring that everything he will need for his journey has been packed. He’d made list after list and double-checked them all. He was prepared, he was ready , but he drew little comfort from that knowledge. As Dwalin had reminded him, there were no guarantees in the wild. He hurriedly paces his bedroom, scouring it for anything that he may have missed as worry claws at him.

It was time .

Not so long ago, he’d accepted that this day would never come, that Erebor would be lost to him forever. And now, now he was ready to walk out of the doors of the home he’d built in the Ered Luin, likely never to return. So much of his own blood, sweat, and tears had gone into establishing this home for his people. Nostalgia fills him; this was where he had raised his boys. There are thousands of memories here, most of them good, but the bad ones that clung around the halls like ghosts, catching him off guard when he least expected it, reminding him of all that had been lost.

But still, while he was proud of the life he had created for his people here, from practically nothing, he longed to bring them home . To let those who had fled Erebor with him walk among the halls once more. To let the children who’d only heard of it in stories gape wide-eyed at their homeland. To let them, all of them, know safety and security and belonging after being cast out and forgotten for so long. To let the stories or Erebor become real for Durin’s Folk once again.

There’s a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” he calls, calming his pacing and busying himself with checking his bags one last time.

“Dwalin just arrived,” Kíli says quietly, taking in his uncle’s somber mood. He looks nervous, and Thorin can hardly fault him. This would take his boys far from the only home they’d ever known, across the expanse of Middle Earth to a home they’d only longed for because of him .

“Come here,” Thorin requests, and his youngest nephew crosses the room with haste. He immediately pulls him into a tight embrace, feels the tension in his youngest nephew’s back. “It is time, isn’t it?”

He feels Kíli nod against his shoulder as the lad tightens his grip on him. “Be careful,” he murmurs. Though his tone is soft, it is stern, and Thorin knows that his words are a command, not a request.

Thorin kisses his temple, squeezing him one last time before releasing him. “Come. We must not keep your brother and Dwalin waiting,” he says, reaching for his bags. Kíli grabs one of them, carrying it with him as they leave the room. Thorin holds back, casting one last glance around, before following Kíli to the living room where Dwalin and Fíli are quietly conversing.

“Ready to go?” Dwalin asks cheerfully, clapping a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. Thorin can tell that he’s deliberately keeping the mood light to brighten his spirits, and he is grateful for it. His heart has longed for Erebor since the day the wretched dragon came, but even he cannot deny that parts of Ered Luin will always feel like home. It still feels impossibly hard to leave.

“Aye,” he murmurs. “Should be able to make good time with this early of a start.” He looks to Fíli. “Come here, lad,” he calls, and wraps his heir into a tight embrace.

Fíli heaves a sigh as he hugs him closer still. “Please be careful,” he echoes his brother’s words.

“I will,” he promises, dropping a quick kiss to his forehead as he shifts to hold him out at arm’s length. “Take care of each other,” he says, regarding Kíli as well. “I will see you in Bree.” He pulls Fíli back into another embrace, reaching for Kíli as well.

He holds both of his boys tight, breathing with them to calm his nerves. He refuses to entertain the possibility that this will be the last time he sees them. “I love you both,” he murmurs, throat tight at the admission. It isn’t often that he voices his affection for the lads, and he feels both of them hug him tighter at his words.

“And I love this whole sorry lot,” Dwalin confesses as he joins in, wrapping a bone crushing embrace around the three of them. Kíli lets out a rough laugh, one that shows just how tight with emotion his throat has become, and Thorin feels his heart lurch as he desperately squashes the dark visions creep into his mind again.

Dwalin gives another squeeze before pulling away. “Alright, lads, we’ve got to be off now.” Thorin is fairly certain he sees the glimmer of a tear in his old friend’s eye and knows that it pains Dwalin just as much as it does him to leave.

“Two weeks,” Thorin says as they separate. “Oin and Gloin will be ahead of you; they’ll send word if there are any signs of trouble. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur will be three days behind you.” Thorin adjusts his hold on his pack, before reaching for the bag Kíli had carried into for him earlier. “Be careful, lads,” he all but whispers, reaching for his nephews once more to touch his forehead to each of theirs. “We will see you in Bree.” If his voice cracks, none of them comment on it.

“Good luck,” Kíli says, his voice coming out overly loud in their otherwise stiflingly quiet home, and though he has put on a brave face, Thorin can see how his eyes are watering. A glance toward Fíli shows that he does not fare much better.

“Stay safe, lads,” Dwalin says, speaking when Thorin finds himself unable to due to the lump that has lodged itself in his throat. He claps a hand on both of the boy’s shoulders, squeezing them gently as he does. “We’ll see you soon.”

No one is able to find any more words as Thorin and Dwalin finish preparing to leave. They pause for one more round of embraces, and no one comments on the mistiness of all of their eyes.

Without a sound, Thorin and Dwalin depart the dwelling, with Fíli and Kíli trailing behind them, heading through the still halls in the early morning. Being up before most of the settlement makes their journey quicker than normal, and soon they reach the mouth of Thorin’s Halls, where the early dawn light slips through the open gates.

Thorin turns to regard his nephews once more, taking in their faces and committing them to memory, just in case. Surprisingly, it is Fíli who blinks out a tear, so Thorin reaches for him first, curling his fingers around the back of his neck and knocking their foreheads together with a tenderness he was sure he had lost in the last few years. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dwalin do the same to Kíli, and once he is ready he breaks his embrace with his eldest to trade places. When they part, Kíli gives him a brave, albeit shaky, smile, and Thorin feels a wave of emotion wash over him.

He doesn’t deserve these boys. He doesn’t deserve their love, he knows, but he cherishes it all the same.

“We will see you in Bree,” he says once more with a steady voice, willing himself to believe it. This part of the journey makes him anxious, when they will all be setting out at different times, following different paths before reaching the main road…he will not be able to protect them in the wilds, but he trusts that their training is enough to keep them safe.

He will rest easier once they are all reunited.

As he and Dwalin turn to greet the misty morning, he doesn’t dare look back to the gate. He keeps his gaze forward, on to the port at the Gray Havens where he will meet with Dain’s men, then to Bree to reconvene with the company, then to Erebor. He mustn’t look back; not now. He’s come too far for that.

His eyes are fixed on home .

------

It doesn’t take long for them to set up camp for the night; he and Kíli are well practiced at it. But his brother is unusually fidgety and cautious, his eyes keep flitting toward the tree line as if the darkness itself is going to creep into their campsite. While Fíli has removed his scabbards and set his swords to the side for the night, Kíli’s bow stays slung on his shoulder, and though his brother has laid his sword down, his hunting knife is still tucked into his waistband.

The camping is familiar; they’ve done it dozens, if not hundreds of times before on hunting trips. The setting is not . Kíli has never been this far from home, far enough that the Blue Mountains sit on the horizon and the trees are becoming sparser every day, giving way to rolling fields of tall, tall grasses. Thorin has taken Fíli on enough trips that the road feels almost comfortable for him, but Kíli is all jittery and full of nervous energy. With every day it gets slightly worse, and Fíli hopes that once they reunite with Thorin and the rest of the company that he’ll settle down.

“Should only be a few more days until we get to Shire,” Fíli murmurs, stretching his arms behind his back as he speaks. “And then maybe two more days to Bree. I can’t wait to have a soft pillow under my head again.”

Kíli makes noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, eyes still scanning the edge of the forest.

“Hey,” he calls again, waiting until his brother’s gaze turns to him instead. “Come here.” He pats the ground next to him. “Boots off. Feet by the fire. Relax. I mean it,” he adds when Kíli very nearly rolls his eyes at him.

Kíli settles in by his side, pressed too close as always, but Fíli takes advantage of this position to sneak his bow off his shoulder. Kíli shoots him a look, but just sighs and unbuckles his quiver and lays it next to his bow. He looks tired. Fíli wraps his arm around his shoulder, smiling when his brother instinctively lays his head down on his shoulder. “Maybe we’ll even have an ale or two,” Kíli murmurs sleepily, and Fíli’s smile pulls even wider.

“I mean no offence to Mister Bombur, but the ale in Bree is much better than his,” he says, chuckling at Kíli’s feigned gasp of disbelief.

“Traitor,” he teases, “I’ll tell him. He’ll only have you drink the skunked ale from here on out.”

Fíli chuckles at him. “You wouldn’t. I’d bring you down with me,” he promises.

Suddenly, Kíli’s head snaps up from his shoulder, and his dark eyes focus on the edge of the clearing. His hands reach instinctively for his bow, fumbling for a moment before he finds where Fíli set it down.

“What’s wrong?” Fíli whispers, but is immediately hushed by his brother. Then he hears it, too, the soft crunching of underbrush in the distance.

Someone is coming.

Fíli immediately reaches for his scabbard and pulls his sword free, eyes intently watching his brother. Kíli has always been able to see better at night than him, better at using his senses to locate prey moving stealthily through the woods, so he knows it is best to follow his lead.

Silently, Kíli pulls an arrow and nocks it in his bow. The sound of snapping branches gets louder. Whoever is encroaching on their camp is making no means to be quiet about it. Kíli starts to draw, his eyes narrowed, focused on something that Fíli cannot see.

“Oy, don’t shoot me, laddie!” Bofur’s unmistakable tenor sounds through the woods, and Kíli relaxes, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Mahal, Bofur!” Fíli exasperates. “You nearly scared the life out of me!”

“Good thing he didn’t hear you talking about his ale,” Kíli teases, smirk playing at his lips even as his shoulders stay tense.

“Sorry, lads,” Bofur says as he, Bifur, and Bombur finally reach the clearing. “Wasn’t completely sure it was you all we were coming up on.”

“You’re supposed to be three days behind us,” Fíli says, as he and his brother cross the clearing to meet the other dwarves, helping them deposit their supplies to set up camp.

“Got a raven the day after you left. Thorin wanted us to catch up to you and head to Hobbiton instead,” Bombur explains, already digging in his pack for his cooking supplies. “Forgot to pack some of my spices in our haste to leave, but we should be able to make due until we can purchase more provisions,” he says with a wry smile.

Kíli shakes his head and laughs at him. “Priorities, honestly,” he murmurs, and then signs something quickly to Bifur in Iglishmek that makes the older dwarf laugh as well.

“Did he say why?” Fíli asks as they all settle around the fire, where Bombur has immediately taken to seasoning the rabbits they’d had roasting there. “Is something wrong?”

Bofur shakes his head. “Nah, didn’t seem to be anything amiss, though it’s hard to tell in a letter. Didn’t use any of ‘em code words, so I suppose it’s all right.” He reaches into the pocket of his overcoat and pulls out a piece of parchment, handing it to Fíli.

Before leaving, the company had settled on a few phrases that sounded innocent enough that Thorin was comfortable sending through the ravens, but held special meaning for them, and them alone. The ale’s gone stale meant that Dain’s men had crossed them, or This town reeks of tall folk meant that they were under threat of attack.

It doesn’t surprise him at all when Kíli’s head appears behind his, reading the letter over his shoulder. Bofur was right, there isn’t anything off about the message, just that their meeting place had changed and they were to look for a door with a particular rune on it once they reached Hobbiton. Straight and to the point.

“Gets you to your soft pillow and decent ale sooner,” Kíli murmurs, smirking at him when Bofur looks up in surprise.

“Oy! What’s wrong with my ale, laddie?”

------

They wander the narrow trails of Hobbiton, passing a glance at each door they pass to check for the rune. Bofur and his kin had decided to refresh themselves at the inn before reuniting with the company (with some “ decent ale ,” Bofur had teased), but Fíli and Kíli were anxious to see their uncle again, so they’d headed on.

“What if we’re the first ones there?” Kíli asks, idly chewing on a piece of grass. They nod in greeting to a hobbit that passes them with a wide berth, giving them a peculiar look all the while and muttering something about strange folk in the town once they’d passed. From his lessons, he knew that Hobbiton was fairly isolated and wary of outsiders, so he paid it no mind.

“Then I suppose Master Boggins will have to entertain us for a short while,” Fíli answers easily. “Though I should think Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin should be there already.”

He pauses, and regards his brother with interest. “I thought it was Baggins?”

Fíli’s eyes narrow in thought. “I’m fairly certain it was Boggins,” he affirms. “Hey, do you see that?” he asks, pointing toward a house on a hill. There’s a small thing at the base of the door, shimmering in the glowing moonlight. “That’s got to be the mark, don’t you think?”

Kíli nods in agreement, and they set off up the hill. “I hope he has food,” he grumbles lightly, suddenly wishing he had stopped at the inn with Bofur.

“I’m certain he will,” Fíli assures him. “No one in their right mind would host thirteen dwarves without preparing a proper meal first.”

------

It’s been raining for days . Kíli is certain that even his bones are soaked through at this point; he’s forgotten what it meant to be dry. The entire company had been right miserable, Thorin most of all, as they’d continued trudging along, hoping that the rain would either let up or they’d come across a town with an inn where they could warm up and sleep.

Even Fíli’s normally cheery mood had soured; he’d snapped at him earlier that morning for simply trying to start a conversation with him. It was early in the afternoon (at least, he thought it was; it was hard to tell with the overcast sky and the monotony of the road) when Kíli slowed his pony down and shifted to the back of their traveling party to ride next to Mister Baggins (oh, he would need to get his brother back for that one later).

The hobbit looked as miserable as he did, and so Kíli decided to ride by him in companionable silence instead of trying to force conversation.

“This is not at all what I was expecting,” the hobbit – Bilbo – utters bitterly, furiously wiping rain from his face. “Not like any of my walking holidays at all! None of the adventures in my books talk about how utterly mundane this all is.”

Kíli chuckles lightly. “I must agree,” he admits. “Though I’ve never been on quite such a journey before. I suppose I didn’t really know what to expect.”

Bilbo adjusts himself on his saddle. “And these ponies! I much prefer the ground under my feet, thank you!”

He glances down toward the hobbit’s feet. “Wouldn’t that be painful?” he asks without thinking, forgetting his manners and Balin’s teachings about the ways of hobbits. Were his teacher within earshot, he would have gotten a lecture for certain.

“You know, with as hardy as dwarves are supposed to be, you’d think your feet could handle some rough terrain,” Bilbo replies, unbothered, a mirthful expression on his face that makes Kíli laugh and forget the rain for a moment.

Gloin tosses an irritated look back at them, clearly still disgruntled from the rain, which makes Bilbo downright giggle in response.

“The rain’s making ‘em delirious back there,” Bofur teases good-naturedly, which only earns him a scoff from Gloin.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and for a while, the rain doesn’t feel so stifling.

-----

Bilbo wakes with a start. He’s not been too keen on sleeping on the ground in the first place, but it’s made worse by the fact that he thinks there was something crawling on him just then. He fumbles out of his bedroll, dusting himself off where he swears something just slithered across his legs. The fire has burned low and is casting strange shadows around their camp, giving him all the more reason to feel anxious about a creeping visitor in the night.

He knows he won’t find sleep anytime soon, so he looks to see who is on watch, thinking that perhaps he will keep them company for a while or maybe relieve them early if they’re tired. It’s Kíli that’s watching him from where he is propped up against a tree trunk, a small little smirk gracing his lips that lets Bilbo know he saw his miniature freak out, and he has the decency to at least blush a little before he makes his way over to him. Fíli is asleep beside him, half curled into his side and using his little brother’s leg as a pillow.

“Can’t sleep, Mister Baggins?” he asks as soon as Bilbo sits beside him, a smile clearly evident in his voice. He likes Kíli, he knows. The young dwarf is always full of energy and is overly kind to him, which is something that could not be said for the rest of the company.

“No,” he answers. “We don’t all have the luxury of your brother to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, no matter where.”

Kíli chuckles before glancing down at his brother, affection clear in his features. “A bit annoying, really. He tricked me into watch. Said he wanted someone to keep him company and then dropped right off.”

Bilbo laughs as well; it does certainly sound like something Fíli would do. The lads had broken up the monotony of the journey by playing pranks on one another, much to the amusement of the company (he’d even seen Thorin crack a smile at their antics). “I could take over for you, if you want,” he offered. “I’ll be imagining things squirming around my bedroll for the rest of the night, I suppose.”

Kíli gives him a light smile, but he notices how it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t really sleep either,” he admits, and there’s something about him that just looks so off and vulnerable in that moment that Bilbo suddenly realizes how young Kíli must be.

Eventually he fishes out his pipe and fills it, offering some to Kíli, who simply shakes his head. He takes a long drag, tastes the Shire and home , and it brings a bit of peace back to him. He watches Kíli for a moment, notices how his gaze keeps flickering from one sleeping dwarf to the next, to the treetops and the stars, to the fire.

“How old are you, Kíli?” he asks eventually, curiosity getting the better of him, even if it may not be proper to ask such a bold question at this time of night.

If Kíli is surprised by his question, he doesn’t show it, but his eyes do stop their wandering and eventually settle Thorin. “Seventy-seven,” he answers.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. He is only fifty, and hadn't imagined that Kíli could be older than him, but he thinks he remembers from one of his books that dwarrows live a good bit longer than hobbits. “When do dwarrows come of age?” he asks, and notices that Kili almost blushes, but it could be a trick of the firelight.

“At eighty,” he answers. “The company had to vote to let me come or not.” He swallows thickly, and Bilbo knows there’s something else he wants to say, so he gives him time to speak. Eventually the young dwarf just sighs and shakes his head.

Bilbo lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think I would have ever been able to convince my parents to let me journey so far before I was of age,” he comments, searching for familiar patterns in the stars, silence stretching between them.

“My parents have been gone a long time,” Kíli eventually murmurs. “It’s just me and Fíli. Always has been.”

Bilbo curses his boldness. There’s a sadness in the lad’s voice that he’s not heard before, and he hates that his curiosity puts it there. Yet, it explained why the brothers were so close, much closer than any of the other siblings in the company. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Kíli doesn’t reply, but Bilbo sees the soft smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. The dwarf isn’t cross with him, which comes as a huge relief.

“I had forgotten that dwarrows live much longer than hobbits,” he eventually says, breaking the silence and steering the conversation down a different path, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. “But no doubt you’ve had plenty of time for adventures in seventy-seven years?”

Kíli gives him a lopsided grin. “I’m just as green as you, Mister Baggins,” he admits. “Up until a few months ago, I’d never left Ered Luin.”

Bilbo is quite certain that his jaw drops, drawing a light chuckle from Kíli.

“Well, sometimes Mister Dwalin and I would go on hunting trips, but they were never far away or for very long,” he explains. “And I went out on patrol around Ered Luin, but still, not far.”

“Oh,” is all Bilbo can think to reply. The lad had seemed so at ease in the wilds; he had just assumed Kíli had more experience than most, especially having been chosen for such an important quest. Bravery must be in no short supply for dwarrow, he reasoned. “Well then, I hope you are at least not as afraid of everything as I am.”

Kili’s gaze flickered down. “I am,” he admits quietly, and Bilbo wonders how in the world he can possibly be afraid, because he is always sent out scouting and climbing trees and hunting, typically with a smile and an eagerness not possessed by the rest of the company. But really, he realizes, Kili is still just a child, one who has never been away from home before.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” he ventures, and Kíli just nods. Bilbo offers him his pipe again, but he refuses again. “Well, I’ll look after you if you decide to nod off. I can keep watch until morning.”

That soft, kind smile returns. “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, and Bilbo can hear the sincerity in his words.

The comfortable silence descends over them once again, and Bilbo focuses on his pipe, idly humming fragments of a mostly forgotten lullaby from his childhood, the words dancing around his mind but flitting just out of reach. He wonders how he’s forgotten the words but can hear his mother’s voice clear as day, wonders if Kíli does the same with old dwarven lullabies. He turns to ask, but to his pleasant surprise sees that Kíli’s eyes have slipped closed, his head resting back against the tree trunk, chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths, lulled to sleep by the pleasant smell of pipe smoke and Bilbo’s humming.

Bilbo smiles, feeling immeasurably proud of himself as he settles in to keep watch for the next few hours.

He doesn’t see the fire glinting from Thorin’s eyes, who quietly watches him with a growing fondness.

-----

Lightning cracks across the sky, followed by another booming rumble of thunder. He and Kíli are working quickly to get the rest of the ponies tied to some trees, to keep the spooked beasts from fleeing in the night. As it is, Fíli feels fairly certain that one or more of them will be missing before the dawn. He deftly ties the reigns of the last of his ponies, before looking back at Kíli to see if he’s almost done. He cannot wait to be back under the cover of the outcropping of rocks they had found just before the skies opened up in this deluge.

His brother is on the last of his ponies, Minty, and Fíli begins to trudge over to help him along. Another bolt of lightning streaks the sky, bathing the entire wood in an eerie blue light, with the impossibly loud crack of thunder coming immediately after. Fíli sees Minty rear up in fear before sprinting off. Frantically, Fíli’s eyes search for his brother in the suddenly dark wood, but he cannot see him - the place where Kíli stood moments ago is empty.

“Fee!” he hears in the distance, and with a sickening feeling he realizes that Kíli must be caught up in Minty’s reigns, being dragged alongside her as she flees.

“We need help!” he screams in the direction of their encampment, before tearing off after the pony. Lightning illuminates the forest once more, and Fíli can see them, can see Kíli’s arm trapped in Minty’s reigns as his brother tries to pull himself free. He pushes himself faster, sprinting through the brush of the forest to catch them. Another flash reveals the stream they’d forded earlier, and with relief he realizes that Minty will likely stop at its banks - she’d been the most reluctant to cross it. He’ll be able to catch them and get his brother loose.

He trips over a branch, falls face first into the underbrush, and hears a large splash from ahead.

“No, no,” he breathes, scrambling to his feet. The next flash of lightning reveals Minty’s head barely above the tumultuous waters as she frantically tries to cross, with Kíli nowhere in sight. “Kíli!”

He reaches the streambank just as Minty pulls herself up on the other side, reigns cut. Kíli must have managed to free himself, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

Panic grips at him as he scans the turbid waters, searching for any sign of his brother. Behind him, he hears someone calling out, but he can’t focus on who it is or what they’re saying. Another flash of lightning and he sees him, at least the blue of his hood, farther downstream. He sprints down the bank, his boots sticking in the mud, slowing him with each step, but he keeps his eyes on the hood, terrified that he will lose sight of it and his brother will be lost for good. When lightning flashes once more, he is relieved and horrified to see an outcropping of rocks blocking most of the stream flow, water rushing over and around them in their quest downstream. The rocks should stop him, and Fíli will be able to catch up.

Without thinking, he leaps into the rushing water, frantically moving forward, the water pushing him along with unforeseen might. He smashes into the rocks, his hands gripping wildly for his brother. Finally, he feels Kíli’s solid weight just under the surface and he pulls .

“Here, laddie; we’ve got ‘em,” he hears suddenly, and he looks up to see Bofur and Bifur with their arms extended. He lifts his Kíli up as well as he can, and the brothers grab him to pull him the rest of the way up. Kíli is deadweight, unmoving, and Fíli’s heart lurches in his chest as Bifur carefully carries him across the rocks and to the riverbank.

“Now you,” says Bofur, and Fíli reaches for him, grateful for his help in getting out of the stream as his legs have turned to jelly and he’s not certain he could have done it on his own. He leans heavily on the innkeeper, trying to find his brother in the darkness.

“He’s not breathing,” he hears someone say, but he can’t quite place their voice. He abruptly realizes how cold he is. Lightning flashes again, but it seems so dim. Why is everything so dark? “Someone get Oin! He’s not breathing!”

He feels the mud of the bank under his feet, but his legs give out when Bofur relinquishes his hold to let him stand. He hears thunder, and everything goes dark.

-----

“Move!” Bilbo commands, startled by his own forwardness. Dori obliges without comment, stepping aside from Kíli’s limp form, face clouded with worry. Kíli looks like hell, practically blue. Bilbo sinks to his knees beside the lad, shaking fingers brushing the hair back from his face, alarmed at how cold he is. Gently, he adjusts the lad’s head, trying to recall the rescue breathing his Brandybuck cousins had taught him ages ago when they were just children. When he pulls his hands back, he is dismayed to see them covered in blood.

“Do you know what to do?” Dori asks from behind him.

Dimly, he nods. “I think so, at least,” he admits, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Need some help over here, lads!” Bofur calls, and Bilbo looks up to see him struggling to support Fíli’s weight. Bifur rushes to help carry him, throwing Fíli’s arm over his shoulder to hoist him up. “Dori, get Oin. We’ll be right behind you.” He fixes Bilbo with a stern look. “You’ve got him ‘til they get back?”

“Yes; now go!” Bilbo orders, confidence returning as his fingers feel for the boy’s pulse along his neck, finally finding it sluggishly pounding along. He takes a deep breath, pinches Kíli’s nose, then breaths into his mouth once, then twice. The lad’s chest rises with each breath, something he vaguely remembers as a good sign, but he can’t for the life of himself remember why.

“C’mon, Kíli,” he murmurs, before breathing for him again. And again. And again. Watching between each breath for a sign of life from the lad. And again.

It can’t be like this. Not Kíli. Kíli who was so kind, and listened to his stories, and found ways to make him laugh on the darkest days of their journey. He breathes for him again. Watches. Nothing .

And Fíli! Was he alright? In shock, no doubt, from the icy chill of the water. He breathes again. Watches. Surely he would be okay, but without Kíli? Breathes again. He can’t fathom it. He’d only known them for a short time, but they were practically two souls sharing one body. Again. Again.

Again .

Kíli suddenly coughs, spurting up water as he does, before taking a rough, heaving breath. His body spasms violently as his consciousness comes back to him, grating, gasping breaths shake his entire form.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, stroking his hands along his face, his shoulders. “You’re alright, Kíli; we’ve got you.”

Oin suddenly appears beside him. “Said he wasn’t breathing?” he asks. “You did this?”

“My cousins taught me rescue breathing after one of them nearly drowned,” he explains hastily. “I think he has a head injury,” he adds, holding up his still bloodied hand as evidence.

“That arm might be broken, too,” Oin says, gesturing to Kíli’s right hand, which is already bruised and purple, swollen around his gauntlet. “C’mon, lads,” he says, and Bilbo looks up to see Gloin and Dwalin, their faces stricken with worry. “Let’s get him to the fire; Mister Baggins’ fine work will be for naught if we don’t get him warm.”

Numbly, Bilbo follows after them as they carry Kíli’s still sputtering form, hurrying through the downpour to get him under the safety of the outcrop. After what seems like an eternity, he spies the campfire in the distance. As they get closer, he can see the dwarves wrapping Fíli in furs. He’s cradled against Bofur’s chest, next to the fire, mumbling incoherently as he comes back to his senses.

Thorin is positively frantic, which strikes Bilbo as odd. He is immediately at Kíli’s side while Oin strips him of his soaking clothes, and it is Thorin who gathers the lad into his arms and wraps him tight under his furs, lips pressed close against his temple as he whispers words Bilbo cannot hear while Oin prods at his head, searching for the wound.

He feels like an intruder, like he’s watching something deeply private infold, so he slips away.

Silently, he trods off to the other side of the fire, to sit beside Fíli and Bofur. Fíli seems to have regained some of his strength - he’s not leaning on Bofur quite so much, and his eyes are focused on his brother across the fire. Bombur has placed a warm bowl of stew in his hands, and he’s cradling it gently, the tips of his fingers white with cold.

“He’s breathing?” Fíli asks as Bilbo approaches, his voice a stammering slur of words.

“He is,” Bilbo confirms as he settles himself, warming his chilled hands by the fire. Thunder rumbles again, making him jump. His adrenaline from being able to help has faded; now he just feels worried and cold. “What even happened?”

Fíli clears his throat. “I’m not quite sure,” he admits, his voice trembling. “We were tieing up the ponies. I looked over and one of them bolted, and I don’t know what happened but Kíli was...he was caught somehow...and…”

“His arm looked injured,” Bilbo said softly. “It must have gotten tangled in the reigns.”

Fíli chokes on a sob. “He went under and I couldn’t find him,” he murmurs, and Bilbo glances over at him, dismayed to see the tears pooling in his eyes. “I couldn’t help him.”

He reaches over and pats Fíli’s arm, trying his best to soothe the lad. “You did help him, Fíli. You got him out of the water. And now Oin will take good care of him.”

At that moment, Kíli lets out a pitiful wail as Oin tends to the wound on his head. Fíli starts to stand, but Bofur grabs his arm to keep him seated. “Rest, laddie,” he commands. “He’s in the best of hands.”

“I’m not leaving him alone,” Fíli asserts, and when he staggers to his feet, Bofur doesn’t stop him. Bilbo watches in barely concealed amazement as Thorin opens his arms and allows Fíli to settle into his opposite side, gingerly taking his brother’s arm into his hands to examine it. He’s never seen Thorin show a lick of affection to anyone in the company (and certainly not to him), and this raw tenderness...it’s a side of the dwarf king he hadn’t seen before.

His musing is interrupted as Bombur hands him his own bowl of stew. “It’s supposed to be a secret,” Bofur says after a moment, “but I think you’ve earned our trust.”

Bilbo regards him oddly. Their trust? Did he not already have it when he agreed to come on this blasted quest?

“They’re his nephews,” the innkeeper says, voice quiet, buried under the commotion of the camp.

“His what ?” Bilbo asks, incredulous. Slowly, the pieces click into place, his conversation with Kíli from a few nights ago catapulting to the front of his mind. Being orphaned, having to rely on his brother, being brought on the quest even though he wasn’t of age…

“He doesn’t want anyone to know because they’re his heirs - could wipe out the entire line of Durin at once if some evil sort wanted to,” he continues, still quiet. “Aside from Erebor, he loves those boys more than anything in the world. Raised ‘em himself. They may as well be his sons.”

-----

Kíli finally feels warm again, from where he is pressed against his chest. Thorin watches him as he sleeps, the subtle movement of his eyes beneath his eyelids. The fact that he is sleeping relatively peacefully is a gift that he won’t take for granted.

He truly thought they had lost him. When Oin and Dwalin had brought him back to their encampment...he was too pale, streaks of red blood on his face and neck, his arm impossibly swollen…and Fíli, his sweet Fíli, soaked to the bone and utterly terrified that he’d been too late to help his brother.

He’d been ready to scold the lads about being careless when tending to the ponies, but all of that anger, all of his appearances dissipated the second he’d heard Fíli’s frantic scream in the storm. The second he’d seen his frightened face…

He swallows thickly. Nightmares for his past swirl around his mind, horrible visions that he hoped would never come to pass. He regrets bringing them, both of them, but they’re too far gone to turn back now.

Oin had worked quickly on Kíli, finding and stitching the gash on his head, bracing his (fortunately unbroken) arm. The lad had been nearly delirious, from pain or cold or both, and Thorin had focused on talking him through what was happening, on distracting him with stories from his childhood, keeping him awake so Oin could assess the severity of his concussion. When Fíli had stumbled over he couldn’t help but gather him into his arms as well. Kíli was certainly in a more dire state, but it wasn’t lost on him that Fíli had nearly lost his life as well. If Bofur hadn’t heard his call...if he hadn’t rushed to their aid…

He couldn’t let himself dwell on that.

Holding them both so close had reminded him of when they were children, when Kíli was horribly afraid of storms and Fíli was afraid of sleeping alone, and they would both clamber into his study (where he inevitably was still up, pouring over his maps and books) and curl up on the settee together until they calmed enough to go to sleep.

But they weren’t children anymore, and they weren’t in the comfort of their home. They were in the wilds, on a quest that Thorin had no right to bring them on, no right to even ask them to come on.

The guilt gnaws at him, and he curls his arms tighter around Kíli’s sleeping form. He catches Fíli’s eye across the fire, where his heir is heating some water for the herbal tea Oin had given him for his aches. Fíli gives him a gentle smile, but Thorin sees the sadness and fear that still linger in his eyes. Thorin had held him close last night as he’d cried out his fears and blamed himself. But from the sounds of it, it was all a freak accident. No one could be blamed for this, not truly. Perhaps Minty, but the beast was only acting on instinct, and now she and her supplies were lost.

Kíli stirs slightly. Thorin peers down to be met with clouded, confused brown eyes. “You’re awake,” he says quietly, and Kíli’s brow furrows.

“Wha-” Kíli starts, his voice raspy. “What happened?”

Fíli rejoins then, smiling slightly when he sees that his brother is awake. He takes the tea he’d brewed for himself and presses it into his brother’s hands. “Minty took you for a late night swim,” he says, light tone belying the fear of the night before. “Drink this,” he adds, helping his brother lift the mug to his lips. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Kíli frowns. “Wha’s wrong with my hand?”

“Got tangled up in her reigns, I’m afraid.” Fíli explains, and Thorin is immensely grateful for his calming presence. A lump has lodged itself in his throat, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. “Oin thinks it’s just a sprain,” he adds. “Should be right in a few days.”

Kíli quietly sips the warm tea, a soft hum of appreciation slips from the back of his throat. He lifts his head from Thorin’s chest to look around, but quickly grimaces and screws his eyes shut, letting his head fall back. “Ah, shit,” he grumbles, making Thorin chuckle, loosening the knot in his throat.

“Oin thinks your head will be off for a few days yet,” he explains. “Maybe sooner with the teas, but you’ll need to take it slow until then.”

“Thought you always said I had a thick head,” Kíli grumbles, drawing a bark of laughter from Balin nearby, which tugs a small smile to Kíli’s lips.

“Good thing, too, laddie,” Balin says, laughter still bubbling in his voice. “A knock that hard to any of the rest of this lot would have then out cold for days.” He casts a glance over to his brother. “Except for Dwalin, of course.”

Kíli laughs for real then, and Fíli joins in. Thorin feels immensely relieved to hear them sounding so much like themselves; it dissolves some of his guilt and frustration, reminding him that although they are but boys, they are strong , and loyal, and kind. It reminds him of why he included them in the company, even with his reservations, of their worth to this quest, of the rewards they would reap in Erebor.

And despite the terror of the night’s events, he feels more sure of himself than ever.

-----

“I don’t care what Uncle says about elves,” Fíli sighs contentedly, sinking into the huge, cushiony covering of the bed they’d been lent for the night. “So long as I get to sleep on this divine bed, they’re alright in my book. They’re even more hospitable than the poor hobbit was!”

“ Bilbo ,” Kíli reminds him. Having grown close to the hobbit during their adventure, he’d learned that he was particularly annoyed at being referred to simply as “the hobbit.” ( “I have a name,” he’d grumbled after Dwalin had dismissed him easily. “A perfectly good name that he’d be kind to remember!” ) Since then, Kíli had tried to use his name as often as possible.

“Yes, Bilbo,” Fíli amends. “Speaking of, what do you think of him?”

Kíli adjusts the sleeves of the robe the elves had lent them while they tended to their clothes, rolling them to keep them from covering his hands, before clammering up onto the bed with his brother. “I don’t know how he’ll fare as a burglar,” he admits, settling into the delightfully comfortable bedding. “But he is kind and honorable. A good man.”

“Mmm,” Fíli murmurs in agreement, practically falling asleep. It had been a long time since they had gone off to bed with a full belly and all of the comforts of home (though, to be true, the luxurious halls of the elves were a far cry from their modest upbringing), and Kíli would be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with the turn of events. Elven culture was dramatically different than their own, but seeing a semblance of home , even if it wasn’t his home, had been deeply comforting.

A thought occurred to him, one that he had tried to squash down many times before, moreso now that their journey had started. He’d never properly voiced it aloud, not even to his brother.

What even was home ? Ered Luin had been the only home he had ever known, but being raised by Thorin it was always treated as a temporary solution. His days were filled with stories of Erebor, of their real home, but that’s all they were to him. Stories.

Now that the quest was proceeding, he felt a distinct fear gnawing at him. Would he even like Erebor? Thorin always spoke of the great, winding halls that carved deep into the mountain, but Kíli hated being underground for long stretches of time, much preferring the rolling, open fields or the comforting canopy of the forest. ( Elf-bred indeed , his brain mocks). If Thorin were restored to his throne, certain...responsibilities would be expected of him. He wasn’t sure he would be able to fulfill them. Fellow dwarves would be depending on them, and he was right terrified of letting them down, of not being up to the task.

He knew in many ways Fíli felt the same way - that their upbringing precluded him from being a suitable heir to Thorin’s throne, that he also feared not being adequate for their people. But Fíli didn’t see himself the way Kíli did - the way their fellow dwarves in the settlement saw him. He was assured and just and kind. He was skilled on the battlefield and had proven his worth as a soldier and general in his time on patrol.

And then there was the unspoken truth about his birth - he was the spare. Part of him didn’t even dare to hope that he would ever even see the halls of Erebor, which is maybe why he couldn’t picture where he would fit. He’d already nearly lost his life thrice already - most recently this morning, when he’d covered the company as they’d fled the band of orc hunting them, jagged arrows narrowly missing him. Then there was the business with the trolls, and not to mention how he almost got himself drowned (purely on accident, at that!). The wizard had alluded to the fact that the danger would increase the farther they traveled - that Rivendell would be their last safe sanctuary for quite some time.

He drew up the map of their road in his mind. Idly, he wondered at which point he would meet his demise.

“You’re not sleeping,” Fíli groggily mumbles, arm blindly flopping around to find him. “Go t’sleep.”

Kíli rolls, curling up against his brother’s side, squashing down his dark thoughts once again. Fíli already has so much to worry about; he doesn’t want to burden him further, especially knowing how much theorizing about his own end distresses his brother.

He focuses instead, on happier memories, in particular on a foraging trip he had taken with Fíli and Dwalin through the woods surrounding Ered Luin on a perfect autumn day, the leaves swirling around them in reds and golds in the crisp breeze. They were just children, unburdened by the worries of their people. Carefree. Happy .

The sound of Fíli’s soft snoring and the comfort of their bedding eventually lulls him into a dreamless sleep.

-----

AN - I’m wrapping up the next chapter (currently rewatching the films for reference - my dumb self forgot about the whole ~arkenstone~ thing...oops).

#greater than gold #durin family #durin family feelings #yooooo #look guys i'm alive

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