#and glen possibly staying behind with their mother

[svankmajerbaby]

little glen and glenda moments from S2E4

[jungle-angel]

Cozy Companions: Part 3 (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: Calvin can't think of a better thing to come home to, than you and your daughter

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Calvin couldn't get out of the car and into the house fast enough, the porch light still on and the sun having set just a little bit later, a sign that summer would be fast approaching.

Into the house he went, shutting the door quickly behind him and hanging up his coat on the coat hooks and stamping the snow off his shoes before kicking them off. The fire was crackling away in the living room and something in the kitchen smelled delicious. The little baby giggles coming from the living room caught his attention quickly along with a sniff from Six-Thirty who lay beside the spot where Ellen had been sitting on her pink blanket.

"C'mere princess," he chuckled, scooping her up into his arms. Ellen kept giggling when Calvin littered her cheeks with kisses and pretending to bite her cheeks with his lips.

"Now where's mine?" you laughed.

Calvin laughed with you, eagerly taking you in his free arm and kissing your lips. It had been a long day, a long day of grading papers, experiments and dealing with pretentious little pricks who thought they owned the whole world. Yet coming home to you, Ellen and Six-Thirty had made it all worth while.

"Wish we could take a permanent vacation," Cal remarked as soon as dinner was done and you had handed him a steaming hot coffee. "I'd take you, Ellen and Six-Thirty down to Sanibel for a couple of weeks."

"Be a nice change for sure," you said, finishing the last of the dishes and sticking them in the drying rack next to the sink. "I went to go and help your mother this morning and thought the cold was gonna take a toe off."

Calvin made a face before taking a sip of the hot hazelnut coffee. He knew that for the next couple of days, classes at the college would be ending early due to the dangerous dip in temperatures. He had been afraid to let Six-Thirty out to do his business, but thankfully the dog had the good sense to come back in after a minute or two.

You both went into the living room to enjoy the coffee and the snowfall outside. Calvin threw a few more logs into the fireplace to keep it going through the night and dropped the needle on the record player. You both snuggled into each other as Glen Miller's music filled the whole living room, putting you both at ease after a long day.

Ellen's giggling reached your ears once more as Six-Thirty licked her chubby little cheeks before going back to gnaw at his ham bone. "Alright princess," Calvin groaned, getting up from the couch. "Time for bath and then your bundling up for bed."

Calvin lifted Ellen from her spot on the rug and brought her right upstairs to your shared bathroom, letting the water get as warm as possible for Ellen. He let her splash around with a few of her favorite bath toys while he ran the washcloth over her face and scrubbed her from head to toe with the grapefruit and mint bodywash you had helped him make in the lab as a little experiment.

"Alright sweetpea," he said. "Out you come."

He dried her off as best he could in her fuzzy yellow towel and got Ellen ready for bed. The minute she was in her little pink jammies, he brought her back downstairs to say goodnight to Six-Thirty.

"Cal, I come bearing a gift," you teased, setting the laundry basket down next to the sofa.

"What's up sweet cheeks?"

"Your running sweats, fresh from the dryer," you said.

Calvin groaned happily. Normally he didn't sleep in his running sweats, but on a night like this, he was desperate for something warm to sleep in while his pjs were in the washer. They stayed warm, even as he slipped into them and carried Ellen up to her nursery, laying her down in her crib with her blankies, her paci and her fuzzy little ducky and her teddy. Six-Thirty lay right down on the rug next to her crib with Cal giving him a few scritches before turning off the lights and heading into your room.

"C'mon sweetpea," he said, crawling under the covers beside you. "Lets get warm."

You both snuggled in, the doors to yours and Ellen's rooms always remaining open so you could hear each other. Sleep came easy for you and Calvin, cozy and warm in your beds and the rest of the weekend to look forward to.

[banburytalcs]

INFO.

NAME: everett bolivar.

OCCUPATION: stable hand.

AGE: 30 years.

GENDER: cis-male.

PRONOUNS: he/him.

SEXUALITY: bisexual.

HEIGHT: 6'2.

HAIR: dark brown, curly.

EYES: brown.

MOTHER: lucia bolivar — deceased.

FATHER: unknown.

SIBLINGS: unknown.

PERSONALITY.

POSITVE TRAITS: compassionate, generous, wise.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: impertinent, private, isolated.

FEARS: thunderstorms.

LIKES: animals, staying busy, being outside, fresh fruit.

DISLIKES: the ways of society, those who act entitled, desserts.

HOBBIES: reading, taking walks, tending to his small garden.

AESTHETICS: calloused hands, the smell of oats, hay in your shoes, worn poetry books, second-hand shirts, muddy scuffed boots, unruly curls, singing to horses, a broken pocket watch, sharing your meal with someone less fortunate than you, fretting over the rain in your garden.

BIOGRAPHY.

everett never had any questions about where he belonged in society; born to a mother outcast by her family, the two of them were often penniless, sometimes without a roof over their head or anything to fill their stomach at all. even as a child he could recognize the expressions people wore when they passed them, either distasteful or pity, rarely anything in-between. though he knew that his existence was the reason lucia had nothing, his mother never made him feel anything but loved and wanted; enough that he was almost convinced she would have chosen this sad and empty life with him over the one she had led before. as he grew, she managed to find more consistent work as a maid for a family that took pity on her, but still, times were tough and he had no choice but to find work as soon as he possibly could. it was sad that he could not continue to attend school like the other children, but everett didn't give up on learning. from the few years of teaching he'd had, he took his knowledge and expanded on it, asking questions about things he didn't know and reading any book that he could get his hands on. he was a smart kid, he listened more than he talked, and with various trades he picked up enough skill to get by. over time things became more bearable. then his mother grew sick. he would never know the illness that had taken her, but it hardly seemed to matter. freshly 22, everett found himself well and truly alone for the first time in his life. he knew hardly anything about his father, only that she had loved him. he gathered what he could from the letters his mother had left behind, letters to him and to her parents, though they held little information. he traced her hometown back to briar glen, london, and with every pound he had managed to save he left st giles to make a life there, keeping his lips sealed but his ears open in hopes that he would be able to find a relative in time... preferably one that wouldn't hate his very existence.

CONNECTIONS.

daniela almedias: they're similar enough they don't have much trouble enjoying one another's company, though most time spent together very well may be talking about horses or complaining about the ways of society.

veronica talbot: perhaps it wasn't smart  to  find  himself  tangled  in the sheets of his employer's daughter, but everett never claimed to be a smart man.

priscilla cavendish: they say opposites attract, and it could not be more true in this case . . . but everett is not complaining.

open: a list of wanted plots can be found here, though please know i would love to hear any other ideas you may have as well!

[modern-inheritance]

Fäolin: A ramble post about the fallen member of the elf squad and why he wouldn't have remained one

While writing Reunion and realizing how much Arya and Glen care for each other as friends, I realized that I have done very little writing with Fäolin. Since then I established that he was the more lighthearted one of the group, confirmed he was their sniper, reestablished that he and Arya grew up together as kids and were friends long before Arya even left for the Varden, and confirmed that he and Arya were in love. 

That last bit, though. That last bit is what’s throwing everything up right now. See, Paolini said during some interviews that Arya and Faolin were indeed romantically involved, but in a way it was more for convenience (???) and they never were ‘romantic soulmate/true name’ material for each other. He has said several times that Arya wouldn’t have stayed with Fäolin as romantic partners had he lived.

And honestly? Thinking about him in MIC and how his character has (loosely) developed in my mind, I agree.

And I don’t think that, had he survived along with or instead of Glenwing, he would have returned to the Varden with Arya for the Battle of the Burning Plains and to officially become one of Eragon and Saphira’s bodyguards. Something would have changed. And I don’t think Arya could really accept it.

Here’s where I’m coming from. Fäolin agrees with Arya and Glen that the elves need to be doing more for the fight against Galbatorix. He believes in it, would fight for it, and did, but there’s something different. We’re gonna go like…way more in depth than I’ve gone before and again, this is a ramble, so don’t expect much to make sense. 

Let’s go back to The Medic, Glen’s first official appearance in MIC storylines. Glen was born in Ilirea and lived there for about 15 years before the 5 year war of the Fall of the Riders began. His mother and father both died in the final conflict at Ilirea while Glen was spirited off to Du Weldenvarden, possibly fighting alongside Evandar himself. He was old enough to see the world he knew falling apart around him and know why it was falling apart. He wanted to fight to get it back and knew he could make a difference. So he left.

Arya, meanwhile, was around probably 6-8 at the time the war ended. She grew up with war on the horizon and infiltrating everything. It was all she knew. Her father would explain everything to her he could, why he was leaving so often, why her mother was frequently sad or angry, explained Galbatorix to her. Rhunön swore up and down about the Wyrdfell and the injustices being committed, the insanity of it all. She grew up with this knotted feeling of anger and frustration at what was lost and what was being thrown away and fury that she was left without her father and, in a way, without her mother because of the war. She hated hearing how people were being hurt and dying when the elves could be out there making a difference. And damn it she knew she could make some difference. So she left.

Fäolin is different. He wasn’t as close to the conflict but still was affected by it. He wasn’t the son of a king or great warriors and healers, just regular elves who were drawn into the war. His father remained behind to watch him while his mother joined the fight out of a sense of duty. She fell during the conflict, and his father, unable to cope with the loss of the entire world he had known, his mate of centuries, and unable to look at his son who was so much a reminder of his loss, left Fäolin in the care of their village and disappeared into Du Weldenvarden’s depths. Fäolin was more shielded from the war than the others, and while he too grew up with an itch to change the world outside the forest, and to fight Galbatorix and his Forsworn, he didn’t feel the urgency that Arya and Glen did. He didn’t feel he had a reason to actually leave Du Weldenvarden. He had a whole family, his village, providing him with the attachment that the other two had difficulty feeling due to their circumstances. And he didn’t feel like he needed to leave until about 30 years before the first book, and only then because he felt that his friendship and feelings for Arya were what drove him. 

Arya and Fäolin were very, very close friends. Different from the way Arya and Glen were close (Arya frequently explained it as ‘Once you trust someone enough to hold your literal guts in while there’s bullets and blades and fire around you, and they’re not moving until they can move you despite all that, you get closer than any of that romantic crap could get you.’), they were childhood best friends. Fäolin was a bright spot that Arya felt the war would never touch, and while she wanted him by her side she absolutely did NOT want him joining the Varden. But he did, and he was still bright and the sun and he never lost that quirky little smile. He was, in a way, everything she was fighting for, the people back in Du Weldenvarden, the free races, Alagaësia, the innocent people who didn’t really choose this fight. 

I think they both loved each other. I think they loved each other romantically and I think, in a way, they loved each other because they needed each other. I can’t put it into words properly but that’s the vibe I have. It doesn’t change the fact that they were in love. 

When Arya was captured, Glen was distraught. After healing and adapting to his prosthetic he tried to leave Ellesméra and Du Weldenvarden to do two things: Find out if Arya was alive (and if so, get her back), and rejoin the Varden. Arya or no, he would have left anyway. The only reason he hadn’t by the time everyone got back was because Gilderien wouldn’t let him on the Queen’s orders.

Fäolin, though. He would have stayed. Maybe he would have had a reason, maybe he didn’t want to question if Arya was dead or alive and the implications of her living through the ambush and not being found, maybe he just couldn’t take any more of life in the warzone, maybe he had soured on the rebels when it was realized that someone in the Varden had to have leaked their location for the ambush. He would have given up on her being alive and possibly given up on defeating Galbatorix altogether. 

And despite his reasons or his lack of them, no matter how he would have or not have tried to explain it to Arya when she returned with Eragon and Saphira and Brom in tow, I don’t think she could have accepted them. I think she would have seen that he had changed, and she had changed. The changes from her time in the Varden had been gradual and more in line with who she was as a person, but the changes after her imprisonment, more hidden though they may be, are sharp and sudden and I don’t think Fäolin would have been able to cope with them either. They would have remained friends, still laughed and joked around, but there would be a noticeable distance. And they would just…drift apart. 

I don’t think Arya would have even asked him to come with her again. She would have just said goodbye. 

So. 

Yeah. 

I can’t think of anything else but that’s what it’s at right now. 

[droewyn]

Yuri!!! on Sims (5/??)

FIRST 

PREVIOUS

And we’re back!  So, where were we?

... right.

Well, what else could possibly go wrong?

The shock of watching her former lover brutally assaulted and zombified in front of her sends Rowan into spontaneous labor!  Yuuri freaks out!

...however, it’s now officially Morning and therefore Time for Work!  Sorry, Victor’s baby mama!

Except that the discord chat voted to name the kid Oshibka (”Mistake” in Russian), so that got changed at the earliest opportunity.  Little Oshka lives with his mother, which is probably for the best.  I imagine that Rowan is probably more responsible than Victor, and also she is not a zombie.  Yet.  With the way things are going, it’s honestly only a matter of time.

After work, Yuuri goes to the local alchemist’s shop to purchase a cure for Victor.

Unfortunately, the cash register is bugged and Yuuri is unable to purchase anything!  He’s gonna have to do this the hard way!

There’s an alchemy workstation on the second floor of the shop.

First, Yuuri needs to find some potion ingredients.

Eh, going into people’s private gardens looking for wolfsbane is fiiiiiine.  I mean they’re probably all zombies by now anyway.

You’d think he would have put on his work clothes for this, though.

All of that ingredient harvesting takes time and energy, however, and Yuuri needs to get some sleep before he can start delving into the Dark Arts.

MEANWHILE

Even as a goddamn zombie, Victor got game.  Playboy gotta play, I guess.  *sigh*

ALSO MEANWHILE

The Repo Lady cares nothing for the fact that Yuuri has been spending all of his time gathering herbs to save the entire town of Meadow Glen!  He is behind on his bills, and that means NO COUCH, CURTAINS, OR BATHTUB FOR YOU.  I was able to replace the tub with funds on hand, but the couch and curtains are going to have to stay gone for now.

IT’S TRUE: CRIME JUST DOESN’T PAY.  AT LEAST NOT YET.

So Yuuri goes home and goes to bed.

AND THEN

Northern lights?! At THIS lattitude?

Yuuri is curious!

He really should have stayed in bed.

WELL THAT WAS CERTAINLY A BAD DREAM

IT WAS JUST A DREAM RIGHT

RIGHT

Anyway, life goes on!  Autumn is here, and Yuuri needs to learn alchemy and save the town.

LOOK YOU CAN’T BLAME HIM FOR OVERINDULGING ON THE KATSUDON A BIT WITH ALL THE SUPERNATURAL MAYHEM IN HIS LIFE

Some Sweatin’ to the Oldies should get him back into shape in no time!

He can’t afford to skip any more work if he wants to keep the Repo Lady at bay.

He fires off a quick text to his zombie wanna-be boyfriend...

And then spends the rest of the evening learning alchemy!

His efforts earn him a promotion and raise at his oddly formally-structured criminal organization.

He spends some more time at the gym.

Keeps up with his arcane training

And doesn’t forget to spend some quality time with his best friend.

But for some reason, he just can’t seem to stop gaining weight!

In other news, Zombie!Victor continues to be flaky as fuck.

None of the other background sims are bouncing in and out of relationships like this.  I’m guessing it’s the story progression mod, which keeps flip-flopping between “Victor is single” and “the player is trying to hook up Victor and Yuuri.”  If I ever manage to get them into an official relationship, this nonsense should stop.

At least it’s mostly harmless.  Except for little Oshka, who is a toddler now.

He’s a cute little tyke, for an unholy abomination who should not exist.

NEXT

[terisrog]

Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Ser Jorah Mormont and Iain Glen

All the Iain Glen and Ser Jorah excerpts from the “Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon” book by James Hibberd.

CASTING (Ch2)

Scottish actor Iain Glen already had some Hollywood genre-movie experience thanks to major roles in films such as Resident Evil: Apocalypse and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider when he tried out for banished Westerosi knight Ser Jorah Mormont.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): No one knew anything really about it except that it was HBO and so many [British actors] were going out for it. I met with them, felt pretty good about it, then it all went silent. I said to my wife—and I never usually say this—“I really, really want that job.” She asked why. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “Because I know nothing about it. I just got a funny feeling”

PILOT EPISODE (Ch3)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): It was a bit ragged and, in some ways, ill conceived, and no one had great conviction. Since the wedding was shot at night, quite a lot of money had been spent on seeing absolutely fuck-all.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: Some bigwig at HBO said, “Why the fuck did we go to Morocco? You can’t see fucking diddly squat, we could have shot it in a car park!”

SEASON ONE (Ch6)

EMILIA CLARKE: From day one, I was like, “Looking silly is not an option.” And the only way to not look silly is to just be completely balls-in the whole way. Because I thought if anything’s going to end up looking stupid, it’s going to be because of me, not in spite of me. I was too naive to know [others’ messing up] was even a possibility.

Clarke received reassurance and support from her more experienced scene partners Iain Glen and Jason Momoa.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): One of Emilia’s great qualities is she has no idea how good she is, but that also causes her to doubt her ability and causes neurosis. She worries. So I always wanted to be reassuring. She would always want to talk through the possibilities in a scene.

(...) 

“Those were tough days,” [Emilia Clarke] said, and on the Armchair Expert podcast added, “I’ve had fights on set before where I’m like, ‘No, the sheet stays up,” while praising Momoa and Glen for being helpful and protective.

IAIN GLEN: In moments when she felt exposed because of what she was required to do, I was always very protective of her on set, making sure that the protocol was followed and everyone knew to treat her with respect.

(...)

In the most stunning shot of Thrones’ debut year, Daenerys rose from the ashes, Ser Jorah fell to his knees, and the Mother of Dragons was born.

ALAN TAYLOR: A stuntwoman walked into the flames for Emilia. I didn’t think it was working because she was wearing a gossamer gown like Emilia was wearing and they had to put so much fire retardant on it that it looked like she just climbed out of a vat of Vaseline. I thought, “This is never going to work,” but it seems to work fine.

Clarke’s real-life emotions about performing Daenerys’s rebirth nude were infused into her portrayal of the iconic moment, and she detailed her thoughts during each phase of the reveal.

EMILIA CLARKE (Daenerys Targaryen): On one side, that moment was incredibly powerful. And on the other side, I was butt naked in front of people I didn’t know. Alan saw the fear on my face and said, “Let’s lean into that then.” So there’s that close-up of me looking up at Ser Jorah, who’s looking down. And that’s exactly what I was going through: “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I’m expected to feel. I don’t know what I’m expected to do. I’m fully aware that I couldn’t be more ... open.” So the shot went from sitting down where there was fear and then as I stood up I was like, “It’s all out. So you just better own that shit.” Then as you stand up, you think, “Okay, you’ve done the worst bit. You’ve stood up. No one is behind you. No one saw up your ass, so you can stand all the way up now.” Suddenly that feels like a much more confident stance than just sitting cross-legged on the floor buck naked in front of people. Then I just naturally felt my shoulders go back.

(...)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): At the time, the dragons were just dots on Emilia’s naked body. But the way she looked and the way the pyre went up, it all felt pretty amazing, and there was that buzz around the cameras that something magical was being created.

EMILIA CLARKE: They were like, “But what about the dragons?!” I decided I wasn’t going to stand there and think I have dragons all over me. This is a stupid example, but if I had my dog, I wouldn’t change my position because she was there. The dog would just exist, and just do whatever they’re going to do.

ALAN TAYLOR: Her performance is so rich and layered in that scene. Also, Iain Glen’s performance. It’s one of those cinematic moments where you convey the wonder of what you’re seeing partly by seeing it but mostly through the old Spielberg trick of watching somebody else react to it. Jorah’s reaction when he sees Daenerys and the dragons and falls to his knee is so beautiful.

(...)

ALAN TAYLOR: Probably the thing I was most proud of was the aftermath. [The dragon reveal] in the novel takes place at night. I wanted to shoot it at dawn and got into a fight with David and Dan about it. I wanted to be able to pull back to see the landscape, and we couldn’t afford to light that much landscape at night. They let me do it. I’m really happy with the shots that bring Jorah in and we do the slow reveal and the magic of the dragons, showing people awakening to this new world, then being able to drop back to a truly vast landscape. And what [composer] Ramin Djawadi does with the music there, so the last thing you hear is the dragons’ cry. The last line of the first book was “And for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.” So that was a wonderful way to end. We know this world, and now it’s been launched into whole new territory and you can’t wait for next season.

SEASON THREE (Ch9)

ALEX GRAVES: I came up with what’s been called “the Apocalypse Now shot.” But we were filming in Morocco during the Arab Spring, when transporting high explosives into North Africa was not allowed. I didn’t give up because that image of Emilia was so burned into my brain. So we smuggled the explosives into the country to do it. Emilia stood in front of these fireballs and you could feel the heat and the shock wave from the explosions, and she didn’t flinch.

EMILIA CLARKE: Iain Glen, who was consistently my mentor, was like, “Darling, come here. Look at how well taken care of you are. All you have to do is stand in front of that and all this shit is happening.” I realized that was all I needed to do. And it felt so good. It felt so electric. It was like everyone who had ever fucked me off in my life, they had them all lined up.

SEASON EIGHT’S SCRIPT (Ch28)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): For eight years, you go, “Please-please ...” You just want to stay in the party, you just want to stay on board. This was the season to [get killed off], if you’re going to go. It’s a heroic and satisfying demise [for Ser Jorah]. Dan and David were sweetly nervous about everyone’s reaction, and their instinct is you'll be upset if you go. So the first thing I did was I emailed them and told them how much I loved the scripts.

JORAH’S ARC (Ch28)

... and Jorah Mormont, who died protecting Daenerys from the Army of the Dead.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): You either conclude as a character, or you get to the end of the whole thing and people try to project forward of what’s the future of your character that you'll never know. I was happy to conclude. He would absolutely sacrifice his life for her to succeed. In a way, he was given the conclusion he wanted.

DAVE HILL: For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah there at the Wall in the very end—the three coming out of the tunnel [in the series finale] were to be Jon, Jorah, and Tormund. But the amount of logic we’d have had to bend to get Jorah up to the Wall and get him to leave Dany’s side right before [her tragic turn]—there’s no way to do that blithely, and Jorah should have the noble death he craved defending the woman he loves.

SHOOTING THE LONG NIGHT (Ch29)

Those fifty-five nights sandwiched in the middle of an already demanding schedule became like a real-life version of an eternal soul-crushing supernatural winter. The production had the added misfortune of getting slammed by two “polar vortex” storms, dubbed “the Beast from the East” in the press, as if White Walkers had literally arrived on the set. The storms brought extreme low temperatures with weather that local reports said felt as low as nineteen degrees Fahrenheit. “One night we were supposed to film Jorah defending Dany by a flaming trebuchet, and we had to call it off because it got so cold that the gas fire bars wouldn’t light,” Dave Hill recalled.

The cold blast combined with freezing rain, gusting wind, and an intensively physical and technical job that stretched from early evenings to the mornings. The Thrones crew prided themselves on being resilient, but the “The Long Night” very nearly broke them. The cast had to become actor-athletes, enduring week after week of physical endurance challenges while continuing to give their usual acclaimed performances.

IAIN GLEN: I don’t think people can comprehend what eleven weeks of continuous night shoots does to the human body and brain. It destroys your system and your thinking. We just had to get so wet and so dirty and so cold and do it again and again that it really was the hardest thing in all eight seasons for all departments. You kind of try and retain a gallows humor, but it was absolutely brutal. In storytelling terms, it made sense because of who they were up against. But it was a real test. It completely fucked your body clock. You have no life outside it. On day shoots you'll go have a meal in the evening and do a bit of something. On nights those down hours are removed. You get to sleep at seven in the morning and then you get up in the midday and can’t really do anything. It was the most unpleasant experience in all of Thrones.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: How Miguel managed to hold it together is beyond my comprehension.

(...)

IAIN GLEN: You had an absolute fucked bunch of actors, but on-screen it looks horrible and dirty and dark and cold. Without getting too Method about it, it bleeds onto the screen.

HER BELOVED SER JORAH (Ch30)

What followed was a succession of, as Clarke put it, “strings being cut” for Daenerys. After their victorious battle against the Army of the Dead, Daenerys lost her beloved Ser Jorah. And when Varys heard of Jon’s rightful claim, the Spider took steps against his queen, attempting to manipulate a scenario where Jon could sit on the Iron Throne instead. Daenerys, already feeling isolated and paranoid, ordered Varys executed by dragon fire. And that, in turn, further caused Tyrion and Jon to question their loyalty to her.

THE PYRES (Ch31)

Ser Jorah was laid to rest after the Battle of Winterfell, with Iain Glen among several actors lying on funeral pyres.

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): In that moment, I was aurally saying goodbye, listening to the set operating. What a vast, slick machine it had become, and to hear it orchestrating ... I got into it. Everything echoes backward over the past decade. Trying to let the whole thing go.

But when Daenerys said farewell to her faithful friend, she bent forward and whispered something in his ear. In the script, her words are described as “something Jorah will never hear, and we will never know.” Appropriately enough, Iain Glen will not reveal what Emilia Clarke said.

IAIN GLEN: It was something entirely sincere and true to the moment and something that I will never forget. I'll always cherish it because it’s something no one will ever know but the two of us. And that’s a memory to hold on to.

THE END (Ch32)

IAIN GLEN (Jorah Mormont): What we do as actors is ephemeral. We get lost in something and then go get lost in something else. But to live in that for a decade was the best thing ever to be involved in. Until my dying day it will be the most exceptional experience. To be in the biggest hit ever is the best feeling. What you can’t do is project ahead and say, “I want more than that,” because it ain’t going to happen. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You have your final shot, your final red carpet—all of the “finals” of everything. There’s even a final “How do you feel about it ending?” It never hit me that much. It’s only looking back now, occasionally, that a shock will go through me: “I won’t be doing that again.” I can be doing anything, but it’s usually around work, when I just get a memory of the Thrones world. You had the most amazing support, the most brilliant crew, these great friendships, and a great deal of love for what we were doing, where anything was possible. Nothing will ever compare to it. Nothing will be like that, ever.

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex��s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: This is a mammoth chapter (over 5k!) but it wouldn't have felt right ending it at any other point. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! I am hoping to keep up a bimonthly update schedule to give me plenty of time to focus on work and my other novels, so I'm aiming for February 7th as my next update date! Anyway, here we go with chapter one! 

*****

Chapter One

Isla Reid stared down at the churning ocean and wondered what would happen if she fell overboard.  

It could happen, she reasoned. The railings felt flimsy and only came up to her waist. With no ferry staff nearby and only a handful of other passengers too preoccupied with puffing on cigarettes, or watching their Pokemon, would anyone even notice if she did fall? Someone’s Snubbull careened past and Isla could have sworn she heard it cackle. That was another thought. A collision with a Snubbull could easily launch a full-grown person six or seven feet. At least. More than enough to send her over the railings and down into the roiling ocean below. It wouldn’t be pretty, no, but she would have taken anything over what was coming next.

Over my dead body, her mother declared when Isla gave her the news, will my daughter be going halfway around the world alone. As if she’d conveniently forgotten the past four years Isla had spent working and living independently the moment that inter-regional travel was more than a fragile possibility. Before she knew it, her mother had taken over, sitting at the telephone with the air of a military general and a dog-eared phonebook that hadn’t seen the light of day since Isla was a child. Banging the phone down ten minutes later, her mother announced that if she really must go all the way to Kildo (but you really should reconsider, darling, it’s ever so dangerous!), she would be collected from the ferry by her cousins. Cousins they’d had no contact with in years. Cousins that, if she was being honest, Isla had forgotten even existed.

Isla fixed her gaze forward. The ocean unspooled in every direction, slate-grey water in a haze of mist. The ferry ploughed on, swaying like the rocking of a newborn baby, kicking up fans of white foam. A man hanging over the railings made a funny burping noise as they cleared a large wave. Soba mewled and pushed her head into Isla’s clenched hands until she relaxed them enough to pet her. They were getting closer. And she definitely wasn’t in Johto anymore.

A stir of movement behind her and she was pulled back from her percolating thoughts. A group of men shifted through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke towards the seats. The youngest, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, had a Pidgey perched on his shoulder and a frown deepening his face.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he prompted the older men, glancing up at the leaded sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain. I saw on the news that another storm is coming.”

“Don’t be daft!” a man with a wiry beard laughed. His accent was thick, heavy on the vowels, and took Isla a moment to understand. “We’ll be docked well before any bad weather hits.”

“You hope,” the younger boy muttered, but it was drowned out by laughter. “Dad, I’m serious! Remember I was telling you about ADoomWithAView – that streamer? He said that all these storms and stuff are because the Vitalities are angry with— Dad? Dad! Dad, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Son, you would do well to stop listening to that brainwashing drivel.”

“It’s not brainwashing! I’m serious! Humanity’s dependence on technology is what—”

The rest of the boy’s protests were drowned out by a prolonged blast of the ship’s horn. In the distance, something loomed out of the thinning mist. Land. They were approaching land. Soba squeaked as a ding-dong-ding rang out and a voice, in that same thick accent, crackled over the speakers.

“Good afternoon, passengers, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded that all personal belongings and luggage must be removed from the baggage area, communal spaces, and all outer decks before disembarking. For those disembarking via the gangplank, a reminder that all Pokemon – with the exception of service Pokemon – must be safely stowed in Pokeballs and not released until you are safely onto the harbour. To repeat, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded—”

Isla’s heart tightened in her chest. This was it. They were here.

She let her Furret bump against her hands, Soba’s soft fur instantly soothing. “I guess it’s time to face the unknown, eh?”

“Fur!” Soba squeaked.

Isla waited until nearly everyone else had disappeared down the gangplank before braving it herself. She’d travelled as light as possible, much to her mother’s disdain, but the backpack still felt she like she was hauling around a bag of rocks instead of a few changes of clothes and a laptop. Anxiety prickled over her skin – or was it just the cold? – as she faced her first tentative steps into Kildo.

She was almost disappointed when she looked out onto a perfectly ordinary little port town. Tucked into an alcove of beach, Port Glen’s harbour was filled with people and the dreamy hues of blue and green. The town lay ahead in a generous curve, bordered by a strip of sea that already looked darker, almost black, under the deepening sky. A thin wind roused the hair on the back of her neck.

Her mother had given her a reference photograph of Rhona, the cousin who was supposed to be meeting her. Related by marriage through some obscure aunt, Isla struggled to notice even one iota of family resemblance between them. The woman in the photograph had pale skin and a shock of red curls, but not much else in the way of distinguishing features.

At the bottom of the gangplank, Isla swept her gaze around, desperate for a sign of her chaperone. But there was no-one waiting. And as the last few passengers sidestepped her, heading towards the town, Isla suddenly felt very small and very alone. While she hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of staying, even temporarily, with strangers, being alone in a new place hundreds of miles from home was an entirely different brand of anxiety.

Panicky thoughts looped through Isla’s head. Where was Rhona? Why wasn’t she here? Had she forgotten? Had she somehow missed her? Or maybe she just hadn’t seen her yet. But who was still here? She could see a sailor tying ropes, a child wailing at a dropped ice cream, a woman arguing with a… what even was that?

The Pokemon looked like an ordinary Wingull at first, so much so that she nearly skipped over it, but the longer she looked, the more she saw that was wrong with it. This Pokemon was much rounder, a body like it’d swallowed a bowling ball, and its wings were shorter and rimmed with black, rather than the traditional blue. Isla delved for her battered old Pokedex and lined it up with this new Pokemon.

“Wingull, the Seagull Pokemon. Facing competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, as well as a more deceiving nature.”

So it was a Kildonian Wingull! That made sense. Isla was the first to admit that her knowledge of native Kildo Pokemon was lacking – a poor decision in hindsight – but she really should have been able to work out it was a regional variant. A flush deepened her cheeks as she imagined her professor’s scowl.

With no guardian in sight, Isla watched the scene unfolding in front of her. The Kildonian Wingull screeched as it dove at the offending woman at the end of the docks, the sound rippling over the wind. There was something in the woman’s hands, something that the Wingull seemed intent on, certainly enough not to be deterred at the attempts to fend it off. Isla let her bag fall and released Soba from her Pokeball.

“Soba, go and help! Use Quick Attack to chase that Pokemon away!”

Soba bulleted towards the struggling woman, squashing herself flat against the ground like a snake, rising into a fierce, full-body strike when the unsuspecting Wingull’s back was turned. With another ear-splitting screech, the Wingull went down like a sack of potatoes.

By the time Isla caught up, the Wingull was gone, dropping into the water of the harbour with an indignant squawk. The woman it had accosted looked harassed as she tried to piece together a ripped plastic bag brimming with wrapped sandwiches.

“Are you alright?” Isla asked, patting her thigh to call Soba back to her side.

“Oh, I’m fine, chick, but I can’t say the same about my lunch! Those Wingull are a terrible nuisance. These tourists think it’s funny to feed them and then it’s us locals that have to live with them. Oh shoot,” she cursed as one of the sandwiches slipped out of her grasp.

Isla ducked down to retrieve it. “Here, let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you, chick,” the woman said. “I have a spare bag here. Gosh, I can’t thank you enough for stopping to help. Usually when a Wingull gets its sights on your food, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“They definitely seem a lot more, uh, food-oriented than the ones we have back home!” Isla laughed as she helped drop the sandwiches into the new bag.

“Back home?” the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I thought your accent wasn’t local. You’re Isla, right? I can’t believe I didn’t realise it straight away. You’re the spit of your mum, so you are.”

Isla tried very hard not to mind being compared to her mother, but she took a small comfort in the fact that her waif of a mother would be far more scandalised. Was this woman really her cousin? Rhona, if this was her, was pleasantly round, much bigger than she was in the photograph. And while she was still small compared to Isla, it felt like a comfort to finally see another woman in their family that looked like her. And Rhona was pretty, her red curls pulled into a modest bun and her plump skin pebbledashed with freckles. She met Rhona’s eyes and they filled with warmth. Instantly, Isla felt soothed.

“Yes!” she said, barely able to hide her relief. “I’m Isla. And you’re Mrs—”

“Now, chick, you’ll call me Rhona. We’re family after all.”

“Rhona,” Isla corrected herself shyly. “Thanks ever so for letting me stay.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, dear. Always happy to have visitors! I’m just sorry I’m a bit late, I’d stopped to pick up lunch and that blasted Wingull got a sniff of it. Chased me all the way down from the road end! If it hadn’t been for you and your lovely, uh… what Pokemon is this, dear?”

“This is Soba,” Isla stroked Furret and she purred appreciatively. “She’s a Furret. I’m not sure if you have them here. We’ve been partners for years.”

“She’s gorgeous!” Rhona said. “Don’t leave her alone with my daughter, though, she’s obsessed with all things Pokemon. She might try and adopt her!”

“You have a daughter?” Isla asked, frantically wracking her brain to try and remember if her mother had ever mentioned that.

“Yes, my Skye. She’s thirteen and Pokemon daft. And there’s my son, Blair. He’s the same age as you, give or take. They’re both very much looking forward to meeting you.”

Isla felt like something had just severed her at the chest. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned Rhona had children? Living with one stranger had been a scary enough prospect, now there were two more cousins to contend with?

“Come on, chick, shall we head off?”

As the harbour decking melted into gravel path, Rhona’s questioning amplified – How’s your mum? How has she been getting on? Does she still see Great Aunt Florence? Does she enjoy working for herself? – as if she were trying to make up for ten years of missed conversation. Even though Isla could only give short answers, Rhona still nodded and responded as if she’d just given her the secrets of the universe.

“So, what about you, Isla?” Rhona eventually asked as they turned away from the streets and approached a dirt road, littered with pebbles. “Your Mum said you needed a place to stay for a while, but she was a bit hazy with the details. What brings you all the way to Kildo?”

By the time Isla finished explaining her final year thesis proposal, Rhona oohing and ahhing the whole way through, they were coming up on the Whispering Pines Croft. A weather-beaten cottage sat beneath the shade of a looming forest and sloping hills. Fencing laced through the land like thread through fabric, bordering off sections of patchwork ground in brown and green and the occasional flash of vibrant purple. If Isla squinted hard enough, she could make out a field full of Miltank grazing in the distance. Another field to its left was occupied with the puffy, cotton-wool silhouettes of Wooloo. The whole place smelled of earth and mud, with a tinge of salt, wafting in by the ocean-bound breeze.

Rhona paused to catch her breath. “The Whispering Pines Croft has been in our family for generations. Every generation, we seem to find something new to build.” Indeed, the cottage looked like a mishmash, a Frankenstein’s monster of building expansions. “We do all sorts here. Livestock, farming, everything. The soil isn’t as forgiving as it is in other regions, it’s full of salt from the ocean, but we manage.”

Rhona didn’t take her shoes off when they clomped inside, but Isla slipped hers off, conscious of the mud clinging to the bottom of her soles. She put Soba in her Pokeball for the same reason. Rhona led her through to a kitchen with a low ceiling, steamy with condensation, and thick with the smell of baked apples. Like the house itself, the kitchen had a hodgepodge feel, a cosy mismatch. A proper family place, a life centred around a kitchen table.

“You can throw your stuff anywhere,” Rhona said, but Isla, totally out of her depth and wishing very much she could shrink to half her size to accommodate herself in this tiny, bustling place, just slotted her backpack in the gap by the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” Isla asked, the pressure of standing there like a stubbed toe eclipsing every other feeling.

“No, chick, you sit yourself down. You must be tired,” Rhona said as she laid the sandwiches down on the table.  “Here, you take first choice, but be warned, if there isn’t an egg and cress left for my mother, she’ll fall out with you.”

Isla’s hand froze. “Your mum lives with you?”

“Yes. She went with my Dad to assisted living for a while, but when he passed, well, it was easier on everyone to have her here. Does her the world of good to be around people and have a little independence,” Rhona said over the clatter of plates. “She’s got more hobbies than I do, in fact! She teaches classes in the old Kildonian language on the weekends too. Keeps her out of mischief.”

“Really?” Isla’s heart leapt to her throat. “The Kildonian language is something I wanted to look into for my report!”

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over some of it with you. Oh, hang on a moment,” she said, reaching up to pull a Pokeball from an apron hanging on the kitchen door. “I’m just going to call everyone to the table.”

Isla’s mouthful of cheese salad sandwich almost ended up splattering the table as Rhona tossed the Pokeball to the ground, and the kitchen was invaded by a flurry of grey and red feathers. The Pokemon – whatever it was – came up to Rhona’s hip, had a squat body, long muscular legs, and powerful wings that it beat to great effect as it noticed the stranger. Isla yelped as the Pokemon cocked its head, its movements quick and jerky, like the ticking of a clock.

“Ruchter, calm your feathers,” Rhona said, tapping the Pokemon on its haunches. It clucked and crowed, shaking its head fiercely. “This is Isla. She’ll be staying with us for a bit.”

The Pokemon relaxed, but still fixed Isla with a withering glare. Isla consulted her Pokedex.

“Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

Rhona ruffled the Pokemon’s tail feathers. “Ruchter, please go and fetch Blair and Skye from the fields.”

The Pokemon was off before Rhona could even finish her sentence, barrelling out the door with all the grace of a drunk Tauros.

Rhona poured tea into a flowery mug and arranged one of the sandwiches on a matching plate. “Isla, I’m just going to pop up with this for my Mum. I’ll be right back. There’s lemonades and sodas in the fridge, so help yourself.” Rhona was halfway up the stairs when she called back, “And if my two come in tracking mud everywhere, make sure they wash their hands before sitting down!”

The tightness in Isla’s chest squeezed harder. Any moment now she was going to be dropped into a meeting with two new mystery cousins. What would they be like? Would they like her? Would they think she was weird, as most people did? The memories of barbed stares resurfaced like a Sharpedo’s fin breaking the water. Strangers, her peers, her friends, even her own family, all of them silently judging her, as she tried to navigate life being both big and invisible.

No, she needed to calm down. Spiralling wouldn’t help. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. She hadn’t even met them, and she’d already decided they wouldn’t like her. She had to get better at this.

All the same, her stomach stayed knotted and eating felt like the last thing she wanted to do. Though maybe she should wait until her cousins came in anyway, do the polite thing. She paused and went to the fridge instead, opening and draining half a can of fizzy lemonade. The bubbles pulsed through her twisty stomach, prickling like pins and needles.

She heard the voices before she saw their owners, one deep and droning, the other light and lilting. Then the door swung open, Ruchter scrambling inside in a skittering of talons on wooden floor, two people bringing up the rear.

“Skye, take off your shoes! Mam will go mad if you track mud in.”

He hadn’t seen her. Neither of them had. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. As the two of them tromped towards the sink, she cleared her throat.

The oldest – a young man with long red hair tied in a ponytail – stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! You must be Isla? Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand covered in mud only to retract it when he saw Isla staring. “Maybe later, eh? Skye, make room at the sink please.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Isla said over the sound of running water. “Blair and Skye, right?”

“That’s us!” Blair shook his hands off at the sink. “Nice to have you here, cousin. It’s quite something having family coming from all the way in Johto, isn’t it, Skye?”

Skye moved like a ghost, silently staring under a canopy of brown fringe. “Do you have Johto Pokemon?”

Isla blinked. “Ah, yes. Just one though.”

“I want to see.”

“Oh,” Isla looked at Blair and then to Ruchter. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead!” Blair took a savage bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Let me just put Ruchter out so the two don’t end up in a scrap.”

After Ruchter went haring out to the garden in pursuit of scattered pellets, Isla let Soba bounce out of her Pokeball. Her younger cousin’s eyes lit up.

“She’s so pretty! What is she?”

“She’s a Furret. They evolve from something called a Sentret. They’re kind of common around where I live, I’m afraid,” she added with a nervous chuckle, then wondered why on earth she was apologising.  

“What type is she?”

“Normal.”

“Is she strong?”

“She’s not super strong, but we’ve been together for seven years. She knows how to handle herself.”

“What moves does she know?”

“Quick Attack, Fury Swipes, Rest, things like that.”  

“What’s her nature?”

“The lady at the Pokemon Centre thinks she’s Bashful, if I remember right.”

“Does she have any TM moves?” And before Isla could answer, Skye kept going. “What’s her favourite Rock flavour? Where did you get her from? Does she—”

“Hey, easy up, Miss Missy,” Blair nudged his sister. “Come on, let Isla relax and eat her lunch. You need to get something in you too. Keep your strength up for the big day.”

Skye rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

“Big day?” Isla asked, desperate for something to fill the silence.

“Skye is going to Aberdrip City in a few days to get her very first Pokemon,” Blair said proudly.

Isla smiled encouragingly but the fact that her younger cousin was a year late in getting her first Pokemon didn’t escape her attention. She decided not to ask as Skye chattered on about Aberdrip City and how she still hadn’t decided which starter she wanted. By the time Rhona came back downstairs, Isla felt fuller and warmer than she had in days.

“I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Rhona smiled, collapsing into the chair next to her daughter and dropping a kiss on her head. “Here, what did you leave me? Ugh, cream cheese and cucumber. I don’t know why they keep it in the multibuy deal, no-one likes it.” She took a bite anyway. “How are you, Isla?”

“I’m good,” Isla said, and she meant it. “Thanks again for having me. It’s a real help.”

“So, what are your plans for Kildo?” Blair asked, nibbling on a crust. “Seeing anywhere nice?”

“I’m here for a research trip,” Isla said. “I’m doing a project on the legend of the Chessmen Pokemon, so really, what I want to do is visit the places that the Chessmen were rumoured to live, and then finish up with the exhibition in Hydrogate City.”

“Hydrogate is a long way to travel,” Blair said seriously. “Especially with all the… complications.”

Rhona shot Blair a fierce look. “Now, Blair, don’t go terrifying the poor lass! There’s nothing wrong, chick. Just a bit of funny weather.”

“And the rest, Mam! There was a landslip near Auchtermelty the other day. They reckon it could take days to clear. It’s totally stopped trade and deliveries; they have to go the long way around. Wee Arthur – that’s Auchtermelty’s Gym Leader, Isla – has been trying to dig it out single handed with his Pokemon but even he had to stop because it was too dangerous.”

“Arabella’s mother says it’s because the Vitalities are unhappy,” Skye interjected.

“Arabella’s mother needs to take a long walk off a short pier,” Blair said, and Skye let out a snort of laughter.

“Blair, watch your mouth,” Rhona said, without looking up.

“Well how stupid can you get?” Blair said. “The Vitalities aren’t to blame for this.”

“Wait, what’s all this about?” Isla asked, confused.

“Just an old legend, chick.” Rhona said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, considering you’re interested in the Chessmen tale.”  

“Of course she hasn’t,” a voice rasped from the doorway and Isla nearly dropped her can of lemonade. Standing in the door’s alcove was an elderly woman, skin deeply lined, and grey hair styled into a candyfloss-like perm. She was tiny – maybe a whole foot smaller than Blair – but her voice was sharp and crisp like every word held a pointed edge. “Incomers don’t make a habit of learning our secrets,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on Isla. “Then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?”

“Mum!” Rhona said, her voice tight. “What are you doing up?”

“You think I wouldn’t get up to greet our guest? Especially one who has such a vetted interest in our local legends?”

“Oh, here we go,” Blair stood up. “I think I’m going to get the Miltank in. Looks like a storm on the horizon. Skye, are you coming?”

Isla glanced out the window. The sky had turned granite-grey, swirled with black.  When Skye and Blair left, a thin wind send the temperature plummeting. Rhona fiddled with the thermostat and the heating clanged into life, but it didn’t make a difference. Icy fingers had worked their way up Isla’s spine the minute the old woman had spoken.

“Isla, this is my mum, Morag. You can call her Nana Morag though, as my two do.” Rhona said. “Mum, why don’t you tell Isla about the Vitalities while I wash up?”

“Why not?” Nana Morag said, settling herself into the chair that Skye left empty. “The Vitalities legend dates to round about the same time as the Chessmen. Think of the two as intertwined, rather than separate. The Vitalities, made up of Voltean, Burnach, Creakrone, and Liathsong, were said to be able to give – and take – all forms of energy from the world around them. Legend has it that the earliest settlers, who came here centuries ago, were given gifts from the Vitalities that allowed them to heat their homes, harness the ocean, work on the harsh land, and even have some form of electricity hundreds of years before it became common use. Now, the Chessmen, they were different. They were said to control—”

“I know this,” Isla couldn’t help herself. “They’re known as the Progression, Expression, and Protection Pokemon. They gave early Kildonians the means to develop industry, arts, and security.”

The old woman nodded approvingly. “You know your stuff. Very good for an incomer.”

“Mother,” Rhona said warningly.

“You know how the legend ends, yes?” Nana Morag checked. “The Chessmen, enraged with how humans squandered their gifts, tore the region apart and set humanity back hundreds of years. The Chessmen became dormant and the Vitalities were banished, leaving the humans to rebuild alone. Many people believe the Vitalities are responsible for all the natural disasters—”

“They’re not disasters, Mother.”

“—because they’re still furious about being banished all those years ago.”

“Fascinating,” Isla breathed out. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”

“I think, for now, we’ll get you sorted in your room, shall we?” Rhona interjected hastily.

“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Isla said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

As she manoeuvred her backpack out of the gap by the fridge, Nana Morag caught her by the elbow, her thin, bony hand proving a surprisingly strong grip. “I have some books that you might find interesting. I’ll drop them off for you later.”

And then Isla was climbing the creaky old stairs, ready to try and slot herself into this strange new home with these strange new people.

**

The rest of the day passed slowly, like petals of a flower unfurling in the sun. She met Kenneth, Rhona’s husband, who split his time between the farm and the market in town. He was frighteningly tall, too tall for the cottages’ low ceilings, and he walked with a noticeable hump even when there was enough space. Rhona was a mean cook, serving up a vast pot of bubbling stew, and Isla had to banish all thoughts of whether the meat too was “home-grown” from her head in order to enjoy it.

Tiredness swept in the moment she laid her knife and fork down. The night came in so much faster in Kildo than Johto, and it felt somehow thicker and darker, like she was swaddled in a large black cloak. She was glad when Rhona took one look at her when the family was doing the final storm checks on the farm and sent her straight up to bed.

Maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the long journey, but the second her head hit the pillow, Isla was dead asleep.

Hours slipped by, or maybe it was minutes, until her world was split apart by a huge bang! She sat bolt upright, cocooned in slippery blankets, and it was all she could do not to topple headfirst out of the bed. As the world phased in around her, freezing cold air gusted into the tiny room, causing goosepimples to erupt on her bare skin. The window, left on the latch before she fell asleep, had blown open. The storm had hit.

Slamming the light on, she untangled herself and grappled with the slippery latch. Eventually she shut out the wind. Outside, everything was pitch black like the swirl of spilled ink, and the rain lashed against the house, sounding like bullets. Isla pressed her face to the window, her breath misting the glass. Something bobbed in the distance, a single pin of light, moving through the velvety dark. It looked too small to be Blair or Kenneth. But who else would be out there during a storm?

The light moved closer. Isla scrubbed impatiently at the fogged glass, terrified that if she took her eyes away, even for a moment, it would disappear. It grew, doubling first, then tripling in size, then a crack of lightning split the sky. Isla let out a gasp as her entire room plunged into darkness. The power was out.

The light in the garden was growing brighter.

Or was it really a light? It looked almost solid now. Like a real living thing. Or maybe not a something. Maybe a someone. Something behind the light looked like the silhouette of a child.

It intensified, burning so bright that it seared Isla’s eyes and for a moment, all she saw was white. Then it faded and was gone. The lamp on her bedside table flickered back into life. The winds seemed to calm. The rain simpered to a stop. And Isla was alone, aside from the impression of a pair of wide, childlike eyes burned into the back of her head.

**

As we have a full Pokedex (130+ Fakemon), we decided to provide more details about each new Pokemon as it's introduced, especially as we may not always be able to give full details for each one. These aren't necessary to enjoy the story but it's here for anyone who is interested. So, here are the dex entries for Kildonian Wingull and Ruchter!

Kildonian Wingull Number: 041 Type: Water/Flying Evolution: Kleptern at Lv25 Abilities: Keen Eye/Pickpocket. HA: Rain Dish Stats: 50/55/30/30/30/75 Dex Description: Facing severe competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, but has also gained a more deceiving nature.

Ruchter Number: 090 Type: Flying/Ground Evolution: Evolved from Chickter (Happiness, Male-only) Abilities: Early Bird/Tough Claws. HA: Vital Spirit Stats: 100/125/55/50/55/90 Dex Description: Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

[kainissoable]

Homecoming but Okayer

I started thinking about how to make Silent Hill: Homecoming more coherent and emotionally satisfying without having to discard too many of the major story beats. What I ended up with was about 2000 words of a half-baked idea, which in fairness is still slightly more baked than the idea the team who were paid to make the game came up with.

We start with a shorter version of the opening nightmare with more of an emphasis on the nurses. It’s hard to tell, but the two or three patients they’ve mutilated all bear a resemblance to Alex without actually using the same model. The dream ends when a nurse stabs him in the chest. Just behind her, he sees Josh, and wakes up shouting for him.

Alex wakes up and winces, putting a hand to his chest. As he takes some nondescript medication and looks around the shabby motel room, we get a voiceover of his mother, reading out the letter she sent to him inviting him back home before his next deployment. She never mentions his name.

When he reaches Shepherd’s Glen, the fog is so thick he can barely see. There are dozens of abandoned vehicles on the road in, and eventually he has to get out of his car and walk.

The town is pretty much deserted, but there are signs of violence on almost every street. Then he recognises someone in the fog – Detective Wheeler. He runs over, but Wheeler doesn’t recognise him, or know of any Alex Shepherd. Wheeler coldly tells him that whoever he is it’s best if he leaves town. There’s nothing good here now.

He leaves, confused and unsettled, but carries on down the empty streets. On his way, he finds one other living person – Judge Holloway. He calls out again. Surely his Aunt Maggie will remember him. There were no ties of blood between them, but he’d been friends with her daughter Elle since they were small, and she’d almost been a second mother to him.

Judge Holloway looks at him blankly until he says his name, and then she’s all smiles. Oh, hasn’t he changed, no wonder she didn’t recognise him in all this fog. Go see your mother, dear, she’s waiting for you. Such a pity Elle isn’t here to greet you but she’s busy.

Alex continues, feeling more optimistic, until he sees the third figure in the fog. From a distance, it looks like someone crawling along the street, but as he gets closer, he sees it’s no human. Armed with only a utility knife, Alex either fights it or flees, and eventually reaches his childhood home.

When he gets there, he can look around a little and pick up a couple of things. There are several pictures of his parents and brother, Josh, and in his mother’s sewing room is a picture of Josh and an older girl. Alex says he remembers that being taken, must be eight or nine years ago by now.

When he finds his mother, she looks like she’s been crying. She looks at him for a long time before hugging him and starts crying again. “I missed you too, Mom.” Alex tears up a bit too. It’s been a long time since he was last home. She glances out the window and hands him his dad’s old pistol. “See if you can find Elle. It’s not safe out there.”

Alex takes the pistol and goes out in search of her. He finds Elle hanging up a missing person poster. Her little sister Nora vanished a few days ago. Alex says he’ll help her look.

There’s no sign of Nora, but once or twice Alex sees Jake in the fog. If he runs towards him, the vision fades and all he finds is a dead end. He finds a hairband at the playground near the cemetery, but then sees Mayor Bartlett in the graveyard. Concerned for him, Alex follows him to a run down hotel.

He doesn’t find the mayor inside, but he does find several more monsters and a room he can’t get into with a woman inside. He sounds like such a nice young man, she says. Would he help her remember? Alex agrees and finds some letters and postcards of hers. As her memories start returning, she becomes distressed and guilty for her infidelity to her dying husband. Alex can choose to comfort her, help her come to terms with her actions, or speak to her harshly. Her ghost may then move on, leaving him a key to find the mayor.

Mayor Bartlett is in a garden that actually looks like a garden. He’s talking to himself, or possibly to the tree in the centre. Either way, he laughs when Alex asks about Nora, then panics. “He” has woken up.

The world changes and the tree twists into something closer to a corpse. It picks up Bartlett in one hand and crushes him. Then it turns its attention on Alex.

Alex fights and kills it, then faints as the world tuns back to normal.

He wakes up in a jail cell with Deputy Wheeler staring at him through the bars. He’s clearly suspicious, and things might have gone very badly for Alex if Elle hadn’t vouched for him. Wheeler releases him because law isn’t starting to mean much in this town now, and Alex and Elle find themselves fighting through dozens of monsters on the streets.

Jake appears again in the distance, but Alex holds Elle back when she tries to help him. He says he’ll explain later, because the monsters are closing in.

They take refuge in Dr Fitch’s surgery after being surrounded and find his daughter Scarlett’s playroom. Elle picks up one of her dolls which has fallen on the floor and asks if now is a good time for Alex’s explanation. He tells her that it can’t be Josh. He died last year in a boating accident. Alex says it was his fault, he should have been watching him more closely, but he was so distracted doing his reading for the army aptitude test, Josh wasn’t a priority. He wanted so badly to make his dad proud, but all he did was fail his family again. Elle starts to say something, but she doesn’t get beyond Alex before the world changes and she vanishes.

Alex explores the Otherworld surgery looking for her. He doesn’t find Elle, but at the bottom of a perilous descent littered with monster nurses, he finds Dr Fitch crying and cutting himself over and over with a scalpel. Alex tries to talk him out of it, but Fitch keeps babbling about his sins and how sorry he is to his little girl. The “little girl” is a disproportionate porcelain doll over twice his height, which kills the doctor and makes a spirited attempt to do the same to Alex.

Once Scarlett is killed for the second time, Alex wakes up in the playroom where he was. Elle wakes up beside him, but instead of a doll, she’s holding a key. She recognises the seal as matching the one in the town hall where her mother works. Elle gives the key to Alex and returns home to check on her mother and let her know what’s happened.

Alex goes to the town hall alone and discovers a ceremonial dagger hidden there. He recognises the pattern on its hilt as matching his mother’s jewellery box. He goes back home in search of answers and walks in on an argument between his parents and Judge Holloway. He doesn’t catch much more than his dad shouting that he failed.

They all turn as Alex bursts in and his mother’s face goes pale. Judge Holloway asks him to come with her. Elle’s tracked down Nora in Silent Hill, she says, what reason does he have to stay here?

Alex wavers, but before he can make a decision, a group of monsters burst through the window. His parents and Judge Holloway are dragged away, the former by more inventive redesigns of Pyramid Head, the latter by a monster taking some design inspiration from the Missionaries in SH3. Another of the same type attacks Alex.

The Otherworld returns once it’s defeated and Alex has to navigate a twisted version of his childhood home. While there, he finds his mother’s jewellery box and inside finds some photos of him and Josh growing up. This is where anyone who hasn’t already twigged finds out that Alex is a trans man, and always felt that he was letting his family down because of his identity. Looking at these photographs with his mother’s neat hand crossing out an illegible name and replacing it with Alex is the first time he feels accepted by her.

Alex escapes the hell house and finds Wheeler, who he convinces to help him rescue his family and loved ones from Silent Hill. Once there, they split up to cover more area. In the undercroft of a church, Alex discovers the shared history of Shepherd’s Glen and Silent Hill, of how his town’s four founding families kept the Otherworld’s influence at bay with a blood sacrifice every 50 years – a child for every family.

He heads deeper into the crypt and finds his parents at the centre of a shrinking ring of fire, two of the pyramid headed monsters looking on impassively. It transpires that his mother had invited Alex back to be sacrificed, but they couldn’t go through with it, not after losing Josh the same way. They hoped that the town would accept the accidental drowning, but realised too late that it hadn’t. Alex has the option to try to save them, but either way he fails. The monsters don’t stop him from leaving the church.

Outside, he finds Judge Holloway. Apart form a couple of bruises, she looks unharmed, and she comforts him as he weeps. Eventually, Alex asks after her daughters. He says he knows what the powers that be want her to do, but they can’t save the town now, but they can still save the people. She agrees, says she knows where Nora was being held and if they hurry, they might be able to rescue her. She leads him to a large open room and runs though a door which locks behind her. Nora was already dead, and this human centipede of hands reaching out to choke him is all that’s left of her.

Alex defeats the monster that was once as close to him as a sister, and when the noise ends, Judge Holloway returns, expecting to see him unconscious on the floor. She flies into a rage, telling him to abandon this selfishness or everything will be for naught. As she speaks, her voice becomes more and more difficult to understand as her body changes and she abandons the last of her humanity.

The monster that she changes into tries to drown Alex and fulfil the final sacrifice. She loved him as  much of either of her daughters and she’s willing to sacrifice him just the same. Alex fights for his life and takes hers with a heavy heart. It wouldn’t have worked, he knows. It has to be someone of the Shepherd’s blood to consign him willingly to the water, and now there’s no one else left. He looks into the deep, dark pool he was so recently fighting to get away from, and jumps.

Depending on his actions, there are three fates for Alex. If he lets his self hatred and guilt rule him, his death saves the town in a bittersweet ending. If he chose wrath and vengeance, his body is dragged out of the water by the two pyramid headed monsters to become another judge of the guilty. If he chose to accept himself and come to terms with his actions, Elle and Wheeler pull him out of the water and he survives as well as the town of Shepherd’s Glen.

[kyndaris]

Flower Trains and Musicality

Seeing an old bridge as we drove along the new Grafton Bridge towards the place we were staying at, my mother immediately wanted to find a way to get close and snap a photo. Put upon by my mother’s disappointment that she hadn’t been able to do it when we arrived, I made sure that, as we packed our bags ready for the next leg of our trip around northern New South Wales, to find a way to get underneath the rickety, single lane death trap for an opportunity with the camera. And as we greeted the morning joggers, it wasn’t long before we were back in the car to take a gander at the park that my grandmother visited a year and a half ago, when COVID-19 was still just a tickle in someone’s throat.

As it was not quite the season, the treas were mostly bare of the iconic purple flowers. My grandmother was quick to reminiscence about her time there, spent with a gaggle of other elderly ladies such as herself. Looking around, she was surprised to see a new playground that had recently popped up. True to form, both my mother and grandmother regressed to their childhood years as they swung on the swings and tried to make music out of colourful xylophones. Being the only adult there, I snapped a few shots and was eager to leave within minutes of arriving. After all, there was still a lengthy drive ahead of us and I wanted to get a good head start.

Our next stop on the tour of northern New South Wales was Armidale. The reason why? Because my mother was eager to take photos of the university campus. Along the way, we rested briefly at a lookout for the Guy Fawkes river. Terrified of the huge flying wasp-like insects, it took me a good long while to sit my tush down on the toilet seat. But I did! By the time I left the compost toilet, my mother had already scoped out the area and was heading down a nearby track to take a look at the scenery. She was followed by my grandmother, who admired the nearby waterfall that she felt was much more admirable than the one at Natural Bridge.

Once I had safely herded the two children back to the car, we were back on the road, winding through several road work projects, before we finally arrived at Armidale at noon. By now, we were hungry and so I, being a faithful navigator, searched up a few local restaurants. With a lot of choices vetoed, I decided to try Paper Tiger - a fusion of West and East. To my surprise, both my mother and grandmother were open to the choices and we had an excellent meal before we headed to the University of New England.

Driving around campus, my mother admitted that she had not taken a photo with the Hogwarts-esque building at the University of Sydney. As an alumni of the University of New South Wales, I was disheartened to hear her say how superior the architecture was at the rival university and tried to point out many of its flaws. Still, it did not deter her and there’s every possibility that one of these days, she’ll go visit the University of Sydney campus just to play Chinese tourist.

Most of the buildings around the University of New England was less than impressive. We did, however, stop by a Museum of Natural History. It had a tortoise display near the front and what appeared to be a dinosaur behind it. Unfortunately, it was closed. And so, we resumed our impromptu look around UNE. Satisfied that we had taken photos of the most prominent buildings, we started on the long journey to Tamworth: the home of Australian country music.

We arrived quite early. After checking in, summoning what little energy remained, we headed to the Golden Guitar. After snapping a shot of the sculpture outside the visitor information centre, my mother was adamant about seeing the Australian Standing Stones. To her dismay, she learned that they were NOT in Tamworth, but actually in Glen Innes.

In the end, she settled for the busts of many music greats at the Botanical Gardens of Tamworth, though she wasn’t very happy about it.

Our last day of travel was really a mad dash back to Sydney. Knowing that my friend had returned from Western Australia and was temporarily staying at Muswellbrook as they looked for more permanent lodgings due to the nature of her husband’s job, I also determined to drop by and say ‘hello.’ This we did. As we caught up, chatting about life and future career choices, we also looked out on the horde of bats that had set up home in the trees behind her hotel. It made me a little uneasy, wondering if there was a possibility of new diseases springing forth from the Australian country. 

COVID-19, while contained and subdued in Australia, was still threatening the livelihoods of many people around the world. Still reeling from the disaster of the pandemic, it was very easy to see the spread of more deadlier viruses. All trapped in those blind flying mammals.

An hour passed in quiet chatter before we were on the road again, reinvigorated for the last part of our journey home. In many ways, it was a mad dash. Three hours it took (trapped due to traffic once we had finally arrived in Sydney because of school zones), for us to finally arrive at our front door. But it was all worth it in the end as we unpacked and unloaded and I finally got to go back on my computer.

The trip around northern New South Wales had its ups and downs. After all, it wouldn’t have been a family trip if we didn’t have a few arguments along the way. While I didn’t get to spy on the Hemsworth family or stalk Zac Efron, I did get to see a few interesting things on my trip, as well as sneak in a bit of gaming. And while I don’t think I’ll ever feel a hundred percent comfortable in the country towns of Australia - I know that I’m no stranger to this country. Small pockets of diversity exist, even in the most far-flung places. True, Sydney probably has them all beat in terms of quality and authenticity of multicultural food, but it’s also nice to see friendly faces everywhere.

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Forward and Through

Cursed tv 2020

Gawain being sad for a minute. Perc shows up at the end too.

Rated G

Crossposted to AO3

I dont know why I cant out a read more link in via mobil again. Sorry guys.

It is surprisingly easy to slip away and he has never been so grateful for anything in his life. Gawain walks past so many individuals coming towards the gathering where Nimue had named herself queen and very few even acknowledge him. He should know all their faces but they are blurring together as his eyes water. Instead of looking at them, assuring them, he keeps his head down, clenches his teeth and hunches his shoulders. He marches past the main camp site, down the hill, beyond the cliff and towards their water source. He follows the narrow river down and around two bends and into a small glen where it splits into two and pools in a small pond. He's never been here before but it's the perfect place for what he needs. The water is fresh, and running nearby. The rippling and lapping of liquid against stone soothing. The brush and birch trees have grown up hiding this spot from prying eyes save how he had gotten in. There was a narrow strip of dry land beside a large willow blocking the way in. With a sigh he sits on a an oddly shaped boulder and let's the wind caress him as it blows through the reeds. It's then, alone in this still little space cut off from the rest of his people with only the frogs and squirrels for company that Gawain let's his composure slip. 

He inhales a deep breath and when he let's it out it is shaky and pained. With it rises every emotion he has pushed down. Anguish, pain, sadness, bitterness, even anger. He is uninjured physically, but for the umpteenth time in his life he has watched a friend die for the greater good and been unable to stop it. He picks up a handful of rocks and let's them fall one by one into the pond. Watchs listlessly as the ripples spread across its surface and double back over themselves. How many rocks are at the bottom of the pond? Do the ones he is adding make any difference? 

Bergerem and Kaze are the last to know him as a peer. The leader of the Tusk clan is someone Gawain looks up too, but who he knows he is letting down. Bergerem is dead, their mission failed. Plop. How many will starve because of his incompetence? How many more will die? And Nimue, his dear little sister, Lenors daughter proclaiming herself queen. It is not what he had meant. It is not the path he would have asked her to walk. It cannot be undone now no matter how hard he wishes it. They can only move forward.

Plop. Plop. He lets the rest of the stones fall from his hand and the tumble against the ground by his feet with a soft ruckus. Some land on his boots and others roll into the water with little splashes. 

He weeps. Grasps his knees tightly in his hands and leans over. Nails digging into the flesh beneath his trousers. There is no one here to witness the Green Knight, protector and guardian of the Fey coming undone. No one he can fail with his weakness and shame. No one he must offer strength or guidance or council too.  He doesn't have to hold his head high, be sensible and make the hard choices. No one for whom he must hold his head high and be brave. No one for whom he must be chivalrous and kind. No one for whom he must bend or stand firm. Not right now. Not here in the little alcove of quiet among the chaos of war. 

At the same time, there is no one here to comfort Gawain the man who would sacrifice his ever fibre of being to protect his people. Gawain who gave up surgeon's hands for a broad sword or battle axe. Clean linens for armor, salves for sword oil. Gawain who would tear out his heart and hand it over if it stopped yours from breaking. Gawain who is flippant and perhaps flamboyant. Who loves deeply and freely. 

No, here in this pocket of space he is a broken man free to revel in brokenness and heart break. To grieve the cost of war and mourn his friends and loves. Here he does not bear the responsibility of the people on his shoulders. Here his sorrow can be real and tangible and take a form beyond training to the point of collapsing. He allows himself the freedom afforded to others. Weeps late into the afternoon. Heavy shuttering sobs from deep in his chest wriggle their way up his throat. The frogs crack and the squirrels chatter. The world spins around him and he remains as he is, a single witness to his truth.

He coughs and wipes his nose with his elbow, presses the palms of his hands against his eyes and wills the tears to stop. He has nothing left to give of himself, or of the Green Knight. He is just a man like any other, tired and beaten down. Yet he must get it together. He may not be in charge any longer, but he is still needed. Nimue will need him to help lead, to understand the cultures of the other tribes. Young Squirrel wants to be a knight and wishes to seek vengeance, he can at least teach him how to stay alive. 

He bows his head and draws in deep shaky breaths. The air is growing chilled as the sun sets in the horizon and his teeth chatter. His joints ache with the cold as he pushes himself to his feet. He should have been back ages ago. Slowly he surveys the spot a final time and commits it to memory. He would like to come back here. Slipping past the willow he starts back up the riverbank. 

"Green Knight, Sir." Percivals voice rings out in the air and he stops in his tracks. Straightening his back he looks around but cannot see the boy. 

"What is it?" He asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. It is raw and coarse from diuse and the ache that accompanies tears. He Hope's not to face the boy, he knows the evidence is clear on his face where the tear tracks have washed away the debris of the battle field. 

"I…." Percival comes around to face him from behind and Gawain closes his eyes and takes a deep breath then opens them and exhales. Percival's eyes are as blue as his mothers had been. And they look at him with that same earnest unyielding defiance and knowing. He swallows. 

" I heard you sir. And I know I'm only a boy, but sir…. You don't have to be alone." Squirrel says boldly and rushes forward crushing him in a surprisingly strong embrace. His brain doesn't catch up until Percival has pulled away and started to turn. He cant help it as he pulls the boy into another hug. He wont let him shoulder the burden, won't tell him the entirety of what's going on in his head, but he appreciates the boys meaning.

"Come on," he says putting his arm around Squirrels shoulders, "I'm sure Nimue is waiting on us." 

There is only one way they can go, one thing they can do; push forward and through, and it is his job to see that they make it. 

[imagi77]

The King and the Knight ~ Drabble

Wrote this with a friend, @claude-frollo-archives​~ I thought I’d share. :’) Nothing official or anything, but it sure made me happy~

His nightly ride had come to a strange end when he soon found someone he knew, oddly placed at the center of a glen. She had greeted him like an old friend, and graced him with an enchanted waltz that even his own discovered wild spirit could not resist. It brought tender memories of this first part of the decade of raising a little girl, when he truly did not have any sort of obligation to take on the work of another. And to continue it to the very end… was just enough proof of the heart to someone who waited deep in the pines for these two wayward voyagers.

The towering pines became from dark and looming to somehow calm and peaceful to the point that it began to feel … uncanny to him. It felt so different that he had to stop. The stallion stalled in his tracks, with his ears back, upon a sudden… The female creature who was accompanying him paused and looked back to him.

Her eyes lit up with realization when this brilliant stallion displayed, shockingly… a lack of confidence? It almost made her eyes water to see this wise one hesitate so suddenly before her eyes. This was a wizard who has scorned in the face of evil itself and had been on a transforming journey for more than a decade — This was unreal. What was fastened here? What was trapping him?

In this form, he had to abandon it, for it was a treasured secret of his and has been so for years — If this was lie of some kind or some cruel trick, he had to come as his true form, the way he was. There was this… tranquility overcoming him, overcoming his logic and if he let that go, ever… it would leave him too vulnerable.

The stallion’s form wilted away before the Dryad and there stood a very on edge wizard, whose cloaks were just as slick as the beast’s coat as before. At her, his eyes looked shocked… hurt even at the mere possibility.

“What are you doing?” he asked her suddenly, a new tone taking over his often strong voice. It sounded fragile.

“I have done nothing,”

“Nothing. Have you charmed a wild animal’s naivete in order to bring me to this place? The very same way that you cursed it?”

“Absolutely not, dear Prince…” she answered, patiently. “You are not who you were almost 20 years ago. Far, so far from that. That curse relies on you now… Not I… but I do really believe that is the least of our worries now.”

“What do you mean…?”

“Only come, there is nothing to fear here…”

“Even you should know that there is always fear — Do not be so with me. I am aware of the dangers of feeling this close to safety can only be a diversion of some kind. If I know the effects of the Dark Arts well enough, this is a deathtrap waiting to happen…”

Her ambers softened sadly. “Things are not as they were, Orpheus… You have loved and have become loved and in doing so, you have something far beyond what you have once dreamed of as a boy. You are correct that fear would always survive, but love blooms brighter during such times, wouldn’t you agree? You have looked after so many and lastly that young inventor who proved to be more than what he seemed to be, after your Lily’s found petal no less…”

The anger fell from his eyes before he trailed them to the ground away from hers. He drew in a deep sigh, yet he still held his wand… ready for anything.

“Perhaps it was the pathetic hope of keeping who I held dear away from the horrors I have seen. If I was that close to losing myself to the enemy that young, it would prove the same for anyone… Or… I was always guilty of my sins…?” he brooded. “A shallow, weak minded fool who only wanted one day in the sun, shrouded in darkness, every day. Lyra… oh little rosie … when she took that hit and held it inside, killing that part of him with it, I felt a part of myself just shatter into ashes… Her eyes were cold ice for so long after those lessons… I thought I would never see her again.”

Soon enough, he looked ahead to the glen she was aiming to lead him to with a sign of dread yet there was a shred of once lost innocence in his eyes.

“I have forgotten this feeling. There was never a time when I ever felt this way, except for a few…”

“Like whom?”

“My mother… Then there was Lily… and then Lyra, two of which I have failed outright. I feel no danger here and so I cannot step further, for I know I will be betrayed and everything I have worked for would be undone —“

“It will not be that way — Prince, that is a promise. This is someone who knows and they will help everyone we hold dear. I swear it! Just come with me, this once. Let me show you.”

Severus couldn’t bear to look her in the eye for one minute. Casting his gaze to the ground and he did not go for her reaching hand - Not at all.

“Whether this is a lie … or not. I shall see and determine for myself.” he warned, keeping his distance. “I am warning you — I have no room in my heart for any more treachery… Of what’s left of it…”

At that she nodded, respectfully. The agony he had to endure to get to this point in time was precious and so she understood as to why he was so cautious about it.

He swept passed the Dryad soon catching onto the distant sunlight that seemed to be trapped within this one part of the forest and oddly, it did not illuminate much else. The Wizard instantly felt a change in the air that almost took the breath right out of him. A fascinating, yet yearning peace warmed up in his chest as he stepped into the sunlight, very cautiously. There was a body upon one of the ledges between two grand pines… A massive golden body with a mane a brilliant as gold as the wind blew through it, it glistened like diamonds. Prince stopped not knowing how to process this at first…. This felt like a dream… As the Dryad joined his side, the great Head then turned to face them. The eyes were more human than ones he had ever seen, belonging to such a massive beast — Pure sunlight gold, full of mirth and a great knowledge that brought forth a score of sorrow. That face resembled that of a crown, for a King so great.

Right then… Prince felt the overpowering desire to stay humbled. All the pride and stubborness he had just vanished entirely… He felt small, worthless whilst in the presence of… whoever this was. It was not only not human, but far beyond that. Far beyond any magic. Had he just died just now… Was time even real?

Right then, the golden Beast rose from their perch on a pair of strong front arms, with a tail gracing behind them.

“I understand that you have much to ask me.” the Beast had spoken in a deep, profound voice, almost purring and rumbled like distant thunder. “Do not fear me, brave Knight.”

For a moment, it seemed that he could not even speak. Prince had a sense that this was a presence to be reckoned with.

“I find that… problematic, with all due respect.” he soon managed a response.

“With a drawn wand that I see, I do understand why. I vow to you that no harm shall come.”

“You know me enough to know my alias…. Who are you?”

“I am ASLAN. The Great Lion. I have come from a world that is not of your own, friend. I have come seeking the courageous, the trustworthy and the wise.”

At the sound of that mighty voice, it had seemed to have the Wizard in a state of peace, whether it was welcomed or not. The Lion knew it was something the weary man needed in his life, it was so lacking that the feeling was purely foreign to him. At that, Aslan held the most compassionate gleam in his golden eyes as he gently climbed his way down from the ledge, with so much power that he even shook the ground beneath Prince’s feet.

“This world has worn you down. I can see it, I can feel it… You must know now that I am no enemy. I have seen your beginning and your present. The rocky road you have traveled on as shook you to the point that you no longer believe in your own truth, yet you believe in others whom you hold dear. You have regrets and sorrows that can never be forgotten… You try to forget the past yet your soul still lives in it. It lives in it and you fear of the terrors of the past returning again. I am not here to humor you of this, but to encourage you to let free of that bind. It never defined you. If you let it free, your heart will heal.”

Prince’s eyes flashed as if something had just awoke within him and his brow furrowed once again, soon taking a step back.

“No one will ever have power over you again, Orpheus Prince… or are you still Severus Snape? The boy who supported and honored his mother to the very end of her days. He who tried to shield his childhood friend from the evils of another… He who had no control over such evils ever since the beginning?”

“DON’T. Severus is DEAD.” Prince soon spoke, his voice clearly on the verge of absolute agony. “… He had been killed along with his filthy excuse for a father, whom I was almost molded into…”

“You were never your father, Prince. He had chosen his fate long before you returned for Eileen. He had been given chance and chance again, and he still returned to what truly killed his soul, entirely. Whereas you, you hung on to a single thread and you managed to mold your own destiny. Severus Snape did not die. He only transformed…” Aslan’s powerful tone soothed further into a gentle and loving tune, even as a tear escaped Prince’s eye. “If Lily and her husband saw you now, they would be overjoyed. You carried on her tender work of raising their daughter, sparing her from evil, as they so wished on their last night. She always had faith in you. It broke her heart that day, but deeply she knew that you would make the wisest choice. This will be your choice to make. I only ask that you consider this offer with a calm heart.” said the Lion. “I do not desire you to be eaten by self loathing… That is not how others see you. The past no longer plays a part in your life NOW. You shan’t look back and compare, rather, look back and reflect of how different and more you have become ever since you had endured those events. I see a magical boy who escaped an abusive home, he who made a living for himself, from what he knew, he taught and therefore he learned… Instead of using your abilities to bring harm to others, you took that evil and created good out of it. You taught others like you to fight for independence and protection. That is no school you run. It is a home now. You are a magician who anyone can trust. Hence why I come to you now. I have been in silent observance, in search of magical blood worthy to aide my realm.”

At that, Prince rose his eyes to meet the Lion’s, deeply confused.

“I? Worthy enough? To aide the likes of you, whose able to flatten me with a mere stare?”

“You are worthy to me, Orpheus… Someone worth more than a thousand songbirds.” Aslan lovingly smiled. “Show me who you really are ~”

This was no challenge but this was a form of expression. The transformed Wizard, with his chest feeling as though it could burst unleashed a Patronus so bright that it trapped the entire glen in pure white light. In quiet tears, Prince freed a sprightly doe from his wand and she danced about the glen… even inviting the Dryad to prance with her.

“There she is…” Aslan softly whispered with a smile at the sight. “As bright as a spring day…”

“Just as I thought…” the Dryad laughed.

Prince watched his own creation be alive about the glen with a deep wistfulness before she gently came to his hand and he seemed to stroke her head.

“. . . what is it do you wish of me?” Prince soon asked, his soul feeling entirely free for once before solemnly facing the Lion who gently closed in.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki fic: His Mother

I was kicking around headcanon ideas about Loki’s birth mom, so I wrote this. 

NOT a reader insert technically

The bifrost touched down and Loki stepped out, looking around warily. Before him stood a large cottage nestled in a forest glen. He gazed around, seeing that the forest went on for miles in every direction, well hidden and out of sight. It was well protected from every intruder, it truly had taken years to find this place.

Loki shifted uncomfortably, listening to the voices coming from within the cottage, happy, peaceful. They didn't need disturbing. His presence would upset their whole world. He swallowed hard. His beloved wife had told him this was the place though.

Loki exhaled heavily, gazing towards the sky, clenching and unclenching his fists before slowly approaching the cottage. Swallowing hard again, Adam's apple bobbing, he raised his fist to knock at the door.

Instantly the voice's fell hushed, a heavy silence coming from the house.

After a long pregnant pause, the door opened ominously. A tall burly woman opened the door. She had a thick brow and long dirty blonde double braids hanging down on either side of her shoulders. Glaring down menacingly at Loki, she growled, 'What do you want outsider?' Her visage blocked his view of the rest of the cottage.

Loki blinked, staring at the large woman. 'I'm looking for a woman...'

'I'm a woman.' The woman responded in a deep voice.

Loki smiled pleasantly if a bit awkwardly. He glanced over her shoulder and noticed the large sword slung over her back. After a moment he sighed, 'My wife suggested there might be a guardian here.'

'Did she now?' The woman responded coolly.

'I'm looking for the woman known as Mari?' Loki tried.

'Never heard of her.' The woman grunted, reaching for the door to shut it.

Loki caught the door with his hand. 'Please.' He looked at her desperately.

The woman's face remained hard. 'Begone, male.'

'I'm told she is my mother.' Loki pleaded.

'Hilde?' A voice came from within the cottage and the burly woman glanced over her shoulder, hand still pushing on the door.

A tall slender woman appeared behind the burly woman, who Loki assumed to be Hilde.

'Mari, it's not safe here, there's a strange man. Stay with the others.' Hilde murmured softly, her strong voice lowered.

'Hilde, he said he is my son. I have to know.' The woman, Mari, responded.

Hilde sighed, moving back from the doorway and just enough that Mari could peer out at Loki but not enough that Loki could easily get to her.

Loki stared in at the tall woman, she was shorter than him but still tall for a woman. Mari had long black hair, covered with a blue head scarf but it was clearly curly. She had tall sharp cheekbones and his same green eyes and Loki knew if she smiled it would be his crooked smile looking back at him.

Loki swallowed hard.

Hilde's arm blocked Mari from stepping closer to Loki or Loki stepping closer to her as Hilde stared between the two of them.

'Well?' Hilde demanded, glaring at Loki. 'Can I send him away?'

'Please don't.' Mari whispered, pulling her shawls tighter around herself.

Loki stared at her unblinking. She was so small and slender.

'He's your son?' Hilde asked, her voice softening considerably. She looked at Mari surprised.

'I'm certain of it.' Mari responded. Shaking her head, 'I was so certain they had killed you.' She whispered, trailing off as tears welled in her eyes. She pushed past Hilde's arm and reached up cupping Loki's face.

Loki stared at her stunned. 'How?' He finally managed to choke out, feeling his own tears prick at his eyes.

Hilde cut in, 'That Jotun bastard hurt her in the worst way...'

Mari bit her lip as she continued to search Loki's face. 'But you were a miracle, I didn't blame you in the least. Until they came back for you. I thought... I thought after what happened I could just keep you and it would be over.'

Mari started shaking and Loki pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. Mari allowed him to hold her.

Hilde explained, 'This cottage is for women who have been hurt in ways that don't need explaining.'

'I'm so sorry.' Loki whispered.

Hilde shrugged, 'I guard them, keep filth away. We keep expanding the cottage as need be. They just wander along, I take them in, no questions asked, if they regain their confidence, and feel like leaving, they're welcome to. Your mother here has been here the longest. Having a babe taken is...' Hilde trailed off and shook her head.

Mari pulled away from Loki, 'Are you still using the name Loki?'

'You gave me that name?' Loki asked in disbelief.

Mari smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her face and Loki felt his heart flutter, 'I never thought it was possible...'

'I can't believe I found you...' Loki muttered, shaking his head. He gazed at her, looking her up and down, the layers of clothes. She was so small, the dark circles under her eyes.

'You don't look like you've been eating very well.' Mari, narrowed her eyes at him and said admonishingly.

'What?' Loki asked.

'Let me go get you a bowl of stew.' Mari hurried back inside.

Hilde chuckled, 'Mothers.'

'She looks like she hardly eats.' Loki protested.

'She does, and yet you're skin and bones, boy.'

Loki rolled his eyes. 'Perhaps if others ate less...'

Hilde quirked the corner of her mouth up in amusement.

Mari was quick to return with a bowl of stew and soon voices from within could be heard again, though more subdued this time. 'Here. Eat, eat.' Mari pushed the bowl and spoon into Loki's hands and crossed her arms.

Loki looked at her annoyed.

'I've had centuries to go without mothering you.'

'I've had an adoptive mother who has done quite well, all things considered.' Loki muttered, finally complying, 'And a wife.'

Mari smiled widely, 'You'll have to tell me about both.' Though she looked sad at the mention of the adoptive mother. 'I wish you hadn't needed an adoptive mother.'

'She was lovely.' Loki said wistfully, around mouthfuls of soup.

'Was?'

Loki looked away.

'I'm so sorry.' Mari reached out and touched his arm.

'Thank you.' Loki took another spoonful of soup.

'What of...' Mari bit her lip.

'Both of my fathers were horrible.' Loki muttered.

Hilde's eyes darkened.

Mari pulled her shawls tighter around herself and nodded.

'Though I could say I avenged your honor in a way,' Loki inclined his head, 'the one who did this to you died at my hands.'

'I'm sorry you had to do that.' Mari murmured.

'You're what?' Loki raised his eyebrows, nearly choking on the soup.

'You shouldn't have had to know the pain of killing someone. I wish you could have forgone the pain of war entirely. I wish you had known a peaceful life instead. You should have lived your life in the country, working the land and living an honest life.'

Loki blinked at her then gazed thoughtfully at the sky. 'That is a thought, I suppose. Instead I was trained as a prince and a warrior, a magician since birth raised into war and magic.'

'A hardship no one should be forced into.'

Loki half smiled at her, 'Perhaps. I wonder if your way would have suited me.'

Mari met his gaze evenly, 'I can tell you have suffered greatly on the path you have traveled, am I wrong?'

Loki was silent for a time, holding the empty bowl in his hands, twisting at it idly before he answered, 'No, you're not wrong.'

'I wish you peace, my son.'

'I do not think peace would suit me.'

Mari sighed, 'No, I don't think it would. You were born in chaos, but for my child, I wish you could have it. I always wondered what became of you, now I know the famed prince Loki of Asgard.' She smirked.

Loki smirked back and half bowed, 'At your service.'

'Your reputation quite precedes you, Prince Loki.' Hilde said, recognizing Loki.

'My apologies for not announcing myself.' Loki replied.

Hilde raised her hand, 'You were maintaining a low profile, I understand. Not everywhere is friendly. Even here we are wary of visitors.'

'As I saw.' Loki nodded, he turned back to Mari, 'Mother, I see you are safe and happy here, I would welcome you into my life but I would not uproot yours.'

'I have long since shunned the outside world,' Mari replied, 'And yet.'

Loki inclined his head, 'My wife and I wish to one day have kids, if there is a possibility to have a grandmother in their lives...'

Mari smiled, tilting her head, 'That would be wonderful. Perhaps one day I would embrace the world outside again.'

'Of course, there is no hurry. You would have a home with us, but if we might visit in the future and speak at length again, to grow closer.'

Mari stepped forward and hugged him tightly, 'I wish to never stop holding you. My child I never knew.'

Loki smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around her and hugging her back.

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Thank you all for continuing to read. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for all their support advice and encouragement

So, perhaps it’s time to introduce William to Lallybroch...

Chapter 8: A Discontented Minor

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Jamie finished typing a message and pressed send as Ian wandered into his office.

“So, are ye ready fer Jenny tae come back tae work next week, then?” Jamie asked, motioning for Ian to sit.

“Aye, weel, I think it’ll be a wee bit hectic at first getting the kids tae nursery and pre-school, but I can tell she’s itching tae come back. And it’s a good time tae do it, with the marketing campaign in Japan tae sort out. Which is why I’m here… dinna forget tae sign off the budget fer the campaign, will ye?”

“I’ll do it now…” Jamie glanced at his phone. “Ah, she’s opened the message… wait fer it… five… four… three… two…”

His mobile phone started to ring. Ian made to get up, but Jamie motioned for him to stay as he answered the phone.

“Hello.”

From the look of exasperation on Jamie’s face, it was clear to whom he was speaking. The one sided conversation continued.

“Aye weel, I wasna actually asking fer yer permission. I was telling ye out of courtesy which is more than ye do when visiting with yer mother down in England --”

“It’s on ma time with him, Geneva. It’s no’ affecting ye at all. We drive up on Saturday and come back on Tuesday.”

Ian could see Jamie growing tenser as he listened to Geneva’s unwarranted concerns. His fingers tapped against the desk.

“Christ, it’s Lallybroch. It’s no’ the wilderness. There are doctors there, ye ken. And Claire’s coming too.”

Jamie rolled his eyes at Ian.

“Dinna be daft. I’m no’ taking him mountain climbing or such like. That’s the end of discussion, Geneva. I will pick him up on Friday as arranged. Goodbye.”

Jamie put the phone down and breathed deeply.

Ian smiled. “Tough call?”

“That woman, I swear. Thinking I need her permission tae take ma son away fer a weekend. And I’m sure she thinks Lallybroch is some sort of shack in the middle of nowhere with no running water and an outdoor privy.”

“Ye never took her tae Lallybroch, did ye?”

“Nah, only Claire.” Jamie paused for a moment, thinking back to that first visit. “So, are ye driving up on Saturday too?”

“Aye,” Ian laughed. “Jenny wants us tae be on the road afore eight o’clock. I canna see that meself.”

“Me neither. I never realised how much more complicated everything is with a bairn.”

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

“Sassenach,” Jamie called to Claire as he finished loading up the car. “Do ye reckon we’ve got everything we need?”

Claire emerged from the house carrying William in his car seat. “Think you’ve got everything you need for six months, let alone a weekend. Just one thing missing…” she passed the car seat over to Jamie.

William let out a high pitched squeal before he resumed sucking the sodden ear of his plush dog. Jamie blew a raspberry against his cheek and secured him in the back of the car.

As Jamie climbed into the driver’s seat, he checked one more time. “Are ye sure we havena forgotten anything?”

Claire sighed. “If you’re that worried, why not check the list that Geneva sent you?”

Jamie shook his head. “Definitely no’. If she sees that I’ve opened it, she’ll think I canna cope, that I need her tae tell me how tae care fer ma son. And that isna going tae happen.”

Somewhat later than planned, they left the suburbs of Glasgow, away from the city traffic and towards quieter roads and fresher air. There were the usual caravans and motorhomes dawdling along -- tourists trying to navigate the roads and take in the wonderful scenery at the same time. Jamie made no effort to overtake them but kept a leisurely pace too, his mind partly on the road but also on the weekend ahead.

There were so many things he wanted to show William: the tree he used to climb as a boy; the thicket where he used to hide from grown ups; the little cave that became his and Ian’s den (with absolutely no girls allowed, ‘that means ye too, Jenny Fraser’); the secret glen where he went swimming. He knew, of course, that William wouldn’t be able to remember any of this, but he wanted these places and the atmosphere of Lallybroch to be part of William… to be in his blood.

There was also another thought playing on his mind. As the sun finally peeped out from behind a cloud, Jamie pulled into his favourite stopping place. He climbed out of the car and stretched before walking around to check on William, who was fast asleep. Claire came and stood next to him. Jamie put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

“Sassenach, afore we get tae Lallybroch, there’s something I want tae discuss. This weekend with Da and Jenny and, weel, everyone, I want us tae start planning our wedding. I mean, actual planning wi’ real dates. But there’s one thing that’s fer us two tae decide and no one else. And that’s where we have it.”

Claire placed a hand on Jamie’s chest as he continued.

“I ken ye like Kelvingrove Art Gallery. We could get married there or -”

“Lallybroch.” Claire spoke decisively.

“What?”

“Lallybroch,” She repeated. “Can we get married at Lallybroch?”

“Are ye sure? Ye’re no’ jes’ saying that fer me?”

“No… for me. I want us to be married at Lallybroch. Do you think your father will let us?”

“Let us? Sassenach, Da’ll be thrilled, truly.”

“Well, come on, let’s carry on and see how far we can get before William wakes up.”

***********

It was a very relieved Jamie and Claire that arrived at Lallybroch some time later. The rest of the journey, initially, had been wonderful, with William asleep and the sun shining down. Then the weather and the baby both went downhill. As the clouds started to gather, William woke up.

To begin with, he was content to amuse himself by making a variety of squeals and babbles and gnawing on his toy dog, but by the time the rain began to lash at the car’s windscreen William was getting decidedly fed up and made his feelings known loudly and clearly.

As Jamie carried William into the kitchen, his cries subsided to a series of small sobs and sniffles. With his lower lip jutting out in a decided sulk, he was in no mood to greet his waiting family. He buried his face into his father’s neck.

“Look William,” Jamie said encouragingly as he turned the baby around. “Here’s Grandda and Murtagh come tae say hello.”

William looked at Brian briefly before turning his attention to Murtagh. He reached his arms out and firmly grabbed Murtagh’s beard. He gave a happy chuckle as Murtagh took him from Jamie, the baby refusing to release his grip on the beard.

Jamie turned to Brian. “Who’d have thought it? Our Murtagh’s a regular Mary Poppins.”

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

The pandemonium that comes with the arrival of four adults, one little boy, one toddler, one baby, and all the associated luggage eventually died down and some semblance of calm was restored at Lallybroch.

“Come along, Jamie. Intae the kitchen wi’ ye. It’s tea time.” Jenny tried to attract the attention of her son as she strapped Maggie into the old wooden high chair, previously occupied by several generations of Fraser children.

Claire sat with William in her arms as Jamie prepared his bottle.

Wee Jamie stomped into the kitchen, a look of fury on his face.

“I’m no’ a wee bairn. I wanna eat wi’ the growed ups, no’ the babies,” he informed his mother.

“Och no, that’s too late fer ye. Well past yer bedtime.” Jenny put a cushion on a chair and motioned for him to sit. “Ye’ll eat yer pasta now please, young man.”

With a scowl on his face, Wee Jamie sat and began to eat. Jenny sat next to Maggie and spooned pasta into her mouth while Maggie dived into the bowl with her hands, enjoying the feel of the food between her fingers.

Jamie settled himself next to Claire as she fed William. The adults began to talk.

“I canna believe how big Maggie is getting. She’s enjoying that food, right enough.”

“Aye and she no’ far off walking now. There’ll be no stopping her.”

“With William no’ far behind. Did I tell ye, Claire’s bought him a Scotland rugby shirt? We keep it at our house. I’m no’ sure Geneva would like it…”

As they carried on their conversation, Wee Jamie began dragging his spoon along his plate, trying to make as much noise as possible in protest. His mother gave him a warning stare. Wee Jamie watched his sister, now smearing sauce around her mouth. However, his mother and uncle and even Claire seemed to find Maggie amusing. He tutted.

Finally the children’s dinner was over. Jenny attacked her son’s hands and face with a washcloth.

“Now ye can go and play. Go find yer Da. We’ll see tae the babies’ bath and bed and then it’ll be time fer yer story afore bed. Ok?” Jenny kissed her son’s cheek as he quickly got off the chair and ran out of the room.

Jenny, with an efficiency born of years of practice, and Jamie, with somewhat less efficiency, handled the bathing of Maggie and William together in the large roll top bath and put them to sleep in adjacent cots in the spare bedroom designated by Brian as the nursery.

Jenny now turned her attention to Wee Jamie and called for him to come and prepare for bed. With no response from her son, Jenny quickly moved from room to room before hurrying downstairs to Ian who was chatting with Brian, Murtagh and Claire.

“Is Jamie wi’ ye?” she asked, quickly looking around.

Ian looked up from his conversation. “I assume ye mean our son, no’ yer brother. He was here a while ago and then wandered off. I asked if he was going tae find ye and he agreed.”

“Well, he’s not answering me.” A thought crossed Jenny’s mind and the colour drained from her face. “He’s no’ gone out has he? I ken he likes tae go tae the field where the horses are, but he kens fine well he canna do that on his own.”

Brian got up and laid a hand on Jenny’s shoulders. “Dinna fash. The doors are locked. He’s around the house somewhere… probably laughing his wee socks off.”

“I’ll help Jamie look upstairs, shall I?” Claire slipped out of the room and headed upstairs.

As she poked her head around the door to Jamie’s room, Jamie was sitting on the end of the bed. Without making a sound, he put on a mime show -- pointing under the bed, putting his fingers to his lips and then pointing at Claire before making a walking motion with his fingers.  Claire understood and backed out of the room.

Jamie heard her going downstairs and started to talk. “Aye, weel, Sassenach, ye ken when I was a wee lad and dinna want tae be bothered wi’ people, I’d hide under ma bed. Once I hid under there so long I missed a batch of chocolate brownies that Mrs Crook had baked. I came out tae find Jenny had eaten ma share. But then it served her right, she got awfa sick in the night with tummy ache and…”

He paused as he heard a snigger from under the bed before resuming. “But, Sassenach, it was no’ so nice under the bed and it got awfa lonely down there.  No-one tae talk tae, no books, no toys, jes’ me and the dust bunnies makin’ me sneeze.”

Another snigger came from under the bed, followed by a small voice. “That’s silly, Unca Jamie. There’s no bunnies here.”

“Sorry, I thought I heard something…”

“It’s me, Unca.” A rather dusty little boy slowly emerged alongside Jamie’s feet.

“Aye, so it is. So, Jamie, would ye mind telling me why ye decided tae hide under the bed and no’ answer yer Mam?”

His nephew looked down, wiped his hands against his trousers and muttered something.

Jamie scooted up the bed to rest his back against the headboard and patted the bed next to him. “Come here and talk tae me.”

Wee Jamie clambered next to Jamie and sat beside him, mirroring his uncle’s posture, legs stretched out with ankles crossed, hands in his lap.

“Ye willna understand.” Wee Jamie pouted.

“Try me. Why did ye hide?”

“I dinna ken if anyone’d notice. Mam and Da and ye, Unca, ye’ve got the babies. Ye’re always minding them. And Grandda and Murtagh were talking about work.”

“So ye felt left out, is that it?”

Wee Jamie nodded. His uncle put his arm around him. “Ah, lad, I’m sorry if I made ye feel that way, and I dare say it seems tae ye that William and Maggie take a lot of looking after but it will get better, I promise. I’m still learning how tae be William’s Da, ye ken, so sometimes it takes me longer tae do things wi’ him. And soon the three of ye will be able to play together and Maggie and William will look up tae ye as the big boy.”

“I’ll be the boss?” A small smile crept onto Wee Jamie’s face.

“Aye, ye’ll be the boss. Just like yer mam was with me.”

“Da says she still is.”

Jamie laughed. “Ye’re no’ wrong there. And how about tomorrow, when I go fer a walk, ye come wi’ me?”

His nephew’s face lit up. “Jes’ ye and me?”

“Weel, I have tae be honest. William will come too in the baby carrier. We have tae show him around, but ye can help me. And I need somebody more grown up tae talk to and tae skim stones with. What do ye say?”

A half-hearted cry suddenly came from the baby monitor next to Jamie. The little boy tensed, waiting for his uncle to abandon the conversation. It took all of Jamie’s willpower not to go and check on William, but he realised how important this was to his namesake. So he stayed still and waited, feeling his nephew relax once more.

“OK, then. If ye need me tae help ye.”

Claire peered around the door. Jamie beckoned her in and she joined them on the bed, the grown ups sandwiching the little boy between them. She nodded at Jamie.

“Actually, lad,” Jamie began. “There is something else ye can help us with too. Ye ken me and yer Auntie are planning on getting married this year, don’t ye? Weel, we need someone tae be the ring bearer at the wedding…”

“The bear?” Wee Jamie looked puzzled.

Jamie laughed. “No’ the bear… the bearer. It means someone whose job it is tae carry the rings and keep them safe at the wedding. And Claire and I want ye to do that.”

“Me ‘n’ the babies?”

“No, Jamie.” Claire joined in the conversation. “Just you on your own. It’s an important job. Would you do that for us, please?”

Wee Jamie pretended to be deep in thought, rubbing his grubby hand across his face. “Aye, Unca, Care bear, if ye need me, I will.”

“Thanks, lad.” Jamie ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“Unca, will I stand next tae ye?”

“Aye, ye will. All the lassies will be lookin’ at us in our fine kilts.”

Jamie’s face fell. “I havena got a kilt.”

“Dinna fash. We’ll get ye a whole outfit. Now go and tell yer Mam the news… and get yerself a bath. Ye’re a filthy wee gomeril.”

Wee Jamie grinned as he ran out of the bedroom to find his mother

[istanleyff7]

Joanne and Lilisa of the Slums

Final Fantasy VII Remake: The Investigation Unit Within the Painting A Short Story by Kazushige Nojima Translated by Stanley

Chapter 13: Joanne and Lilisa of the Slums

My vacation was over. After finishing my overnight duties, I went against the flow of people and returned home. Joanne Liu was in front of my house, waiting.

“Is there a woman inside? That would be an issue... Please come with me, we’re going to the slums”, she said with a straightforward tone.

“How do you know about this place?”, I questioned as I chased after her.

“I used the same method as you did. I was surprised that our information was being sold”, she reports with a laughing voice.

Looking at her again, she had a different and pleasant expression on her face compared to our first meeting. “Your atmosphere had somehow changed, didn’t it?”

“Maybe so. I thought a lot from that. It’s time to stop thinking that I’m a human who is not allowed to request anything. That’s what I’ve decided and I have been liberated. So, thank you.”

What should I say?

“You were trying to face the past. It was worth learning from that attitude.”

We enter the street, facing the station. Joanne is walking faster than I am. If I do not try catching up, I will be late.

“If I was of any help, then I’m glad. I regretted being rude.”

“You should reflect hard on that. I spoke the truth with my heart, yet you did not answer me. But instead, you ran away. It was rude.”

“I apologise.”

“An apology is unnecessary. Please answer the questions I asked that day.”

Her voice is no longer laughing.

“Where did Geddy get the photograph of Mideel from? Who painted that painting? I won’t do anything even if I knew about it now. Of course, I also will not tell this to others.”

I did not answer and walked on silently. We arrived at the station shortly after. Surprisingly, Lilisa was there. Standing and swaying, she receives the cold glances of the people who come and go.

“I had hidden this from you. Lilisa and I often go to the slums.”

Every time Joan tells me something, I felt that my debt towards her has increased.

Joanne and I sat side-by-side on the train seat. The seats are mostly filled. Lilisa was the only passenger standing along the aisle. People working the same shift as mine are probably going back to the slums. I had been dispatched to slum thrice before to maintain public order. I didn't have a really good impression. I think it is the prejudice of the people born under the plates. We, who were raised above the plates, have lived our lives without falling down the social class and were raised and taught that the bottom was a place where bad people are born.

“Don’t worry”, uttered Joanne. If you’re wearing your uniform, you won’t be attacked. We might get harassed by words, but that’s about it.”

“I hope that’s the case.”

“I think everybody wants to work for Shinra if there’s a chance. Rarely they behave like an anti-Shinra and they would not do anything outrageous. We were the same.”  

“We”... Joanne, Lilisa, Glen and Geddy. They probably had a bond that I possibly cannot understand.

“When we went up, I thought we probably wouldn’t return again.”

***

When we got off the train at Sector Seventh Station in the slums, Lilisa walked shakily.  Instead of going downtown, she seems to be heading to an abandoned rail-car scrap yard. Joanne said it is called the ‘Train Graveyard’. Lilisa walked on between almost decayed rail cars and sometimes went inside them.

“Where is she going?”

“I don’t know because it differs depending on the day. I’m just following Lilisa. My job is, for example, when she boards the wrong train, or when she’s dealing with some heartless dudes who poke fun at her… I’m her bodyguard.”

“To what degree does Lilisa grasp what she’s doing? She has Mako Poisoning. Its’ effect is considerably severe but...”

“It’s no mistake that she has severe Mako Poisoning. But as far as this “walking” is concerned, there are also people who think it may be due to the medical treatment received from the Science Department. Take Glen's mother for an example, I heard that she found an operation scar on her son's body.”

"Huh?", several questions came to mind.

“Shhhh…”

Joanne stopped in her tracks and pointed forward. There was an open space.

It was not just Lilisa who was there. There are also figures of people wearing similar robes. 

Six, no seven? They are not doing anything, but standing there. They are facing in whatever direction they like, and only their faces are looking up. Following what they are looking at, I could only see the steel frame on the back of the plate.

“Glen…. and Geddy”, Joanne uttered as she pointed to the two figures standing apart.

“Huh?”, a silly-sounding sound came out from my mouth. “Around 5 years ago, Glen was found and was taken in by his father while he was loitering around the slums. His mother also believed that her son was alive. No, it seemed that she never once thought her son was dead. Well… parents can be like that sometimes.”

Is that so?

“His mother’s wish came true. I don’t believe such a thing, like mothers’ wishes coming true,  but Geddy had also returned. It was 4 years ago. It wasn’t just Glen. You probably don't know about this, but many people are missing in slums. Some of them, 15 years ago and recently about 2 or 3 years ago, who had been missing, had returned. Everyone has a similar condition as Lilisa and has a numbered tattoo somewhere on their body.

“It was the doings of the Science Department, isn’t it? They had the same treatment as an experimental creature. How did the company explain this?”

“They only apologized for the various confusion regarding the whereabouts of military personnel. They also stated that long-term patients who had been hospitalised and treated within the Shinra Company but did not wish to receive further treatment were allowed to be discharged.”

“That’s about them, right?”

I pointed to the black-robed guys that were standing idly.

“You mean… people who didn’t want treatment? I want to know how they validated their will.”

“Sniff...”, Joanne snorted.

“I think it's only reasonable that Professor Hojo and others in the Science Department are punished. But for the parents, it’s different. They think that their son, who was supposed to die because of Mako Poisoning, survived thanks to the treatment. I don’t have the rights to deny it. But of course, neither do you...”

Accept everything. That’s what she meant.

I approached one of the men. Even though his hair and beard were unkempt, I recognise him. It’s someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, Geddy Puck.

“Geddy?”

I tried calling out to him, but there was no response. I lightly gave a tap to his shoulder. He now looked at me slowly.

“It’s been a long time isn’t it?”

But Geddy doesn’t seem to recognise me. It’s not just because of the 15 years time gap.

“Look at you… Poor Geddy...”

But my voice didn’t reach him at all.

I felt someone’s presence behind me, so I looked back. It was from Joanne.

“I’ve always thought that Lilisa poisoned them. She had a reason to stop Glen’s plan and the opportunity to obtain the poison. But I came up with a better conclusion. I wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t pay me a visit.”

“Joanne...”

Many thoughts crossed my mind. What do Glen’s and Geddy’s lives mean to me? How should I answer Joanne’s interrogation, which is supposed to happen now? What kind of guilt should I bear for them because of their severe Mako Poisoning? Will I have a chance of forgiveness?  

“What should I do?”

“Deal with them one by one. You have plenty of time. They will no longer go anywhere.”

***

The return train was much more empty than when it came. Lilisa is sitting next to Joanne. She is probably tired. She rested her head on Joanne’s shoulder. Joanne supports her head with her hand.

I sat beside Joanne, who was sandwiched in between us. Joanne then pulled her arm around my neck in a rough manner.

“Listen to what my guess is. 15 years ago, it was not Lilisa who added the Mako into the dish, but it was Geddy. Since he often went to the Science Department, it mustn't have been too difficult to obtain those Mako-derived substances. The crime…. I’m intentionally calling it that, but the purpose of the crime was to get on the helicopter. He thought that by riding the helicopter, he would certainly meet the President’s expectation of him. I don't know what future he envisioned after that, but to achieve success, he took advantage of Lilisa’s love and our friendship.”

“Let me go.”

“But what made Geddy go till that far?”

Joanne tightened her arms.

“Why are you obsessed about Geddy?” “You were going to apologize to Geddy, saying that you’re so sorry for what had happened.”

I was silent.

“The photograph that we were given... Were you the one who painted the painting?”

“...Yes. No. I mean…”

“Well, say it”, Joanne took her arm off my neck and requested.

“There was a girl named Aerith…”

I talked about the days I had spent with Aerith, how she started painting and talked about the incident after that.

Aerith's paintings gained fame, and finally, it was to the extent where even President Shinra came to see her personally. He had a particular interest in her landscape paintings and often enquired about their origins.

“I can just instantaneously picture the landscape”, she answered his questions, feeling annoyed.

The President was satisfied with her answer.

“So that started the Special Ground Investigation Unit?”, Joanne said and heaved a sigh.

“Yes. The President believed from the beginning that the mysterious abilities of the Ancients would bring enormous profits. That’s why he finally thought that time had probably come.”

“What did you think? Did you believe that?”

“I noticed that Aerith wasn’t normal, she could see and hear things that I couldn’t. But if I had acknowledged that, I felt like she would become distant from me. Even if she was an Ancient, I wanted her to stay normal like I was.

“Aerith changed since she started painting. She barely ate. She didn’t smile. She didn’t dance. She didn’t read. A week after I drew that coil, I was no longer allowed in the room. My mother was unaffected and still worked, but I remained at home to house-sit. She explained that it was due to the changes in Professor Hojo’s policies and told me to play with a ‘normal kid’. I cried and lived on with a feeling of loneliness.”

“The situation, however, changed again a week later. After the sunset, I was summoned and my mother accompanied me to Shinra Building. I had a very very bad feeling about it and my hunch was right. The Aerith whom I hadn’t met in a long time, was thin and looked like a sick puppy. The long hair she always had tied up, became frayed and her clothes were stained with paint. But there was something that overwhelmed me before even I noticed her. It was a painting of a large number of people, landscapes and even mysterious animals painted on all sides of the walls…”

___

-Next Chapter- Chapter 14: Aerith of the Shinra Building (II)

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[sachiel21]

A BB FF where Yang's Clan and Blake's Clan are enemies and both are the daughters of the leaders and they both fall in love with each other and end up keeping their relationship a secret.

Prompt #1 - A Clandestine Affair

Rated M for sensuality.

Yang woke up to her lover shifting in the sheets of thebedroll. With surprising speed, she loosely wrapped her arms around the otherwoman.

“Mm,” she mumbled into her shoulder. “It’s still darkoutside. Stay with me.”

Blake wriggled out of her grasp and gazed at the blondefor a moment before pressing a lingering kiss on her soft lips.

“It’s dawn. The light is on the horizon. I have to go.”

“It’s just the Harvest Moon, shining through the tent. Wehave more time. Stay. Don’t go,” Yang said, running her fingers down her side.

Blake suppressed a shiver. Even though her entire bodycraved the warmth Yang offered, she knew to stay meant death. She was thedaughter of Ghira of the faunus White Fang clan and Yang was the daughter ofRaven of the Branwen clan. Their clans were sworn enemies. If she got caught,she would be killed on sight.

Blake gently took her hand and moved it off as shereluctantly got up to get dressed.

Yang watched the movement of her shoulder blades under theskin of her back as Blake put her arms through the sleeves of her white shirt.A hunger reignited in her belly.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Blake said, pulling on herbreeches.

“Doing what?” Yang asked, propping her head up on herbent elbow as she lounged side long on the bedroll. She gave Blake her bestsmile to entice her, a thin blanket the only thing covering her from the waistdown.

“Meeting up like this,” Blake said, turning away with ablush. She fastened the ties of her black leather tunic. “It’s dangerous.”

Whatdid they have? Stolen moments in the dark. Her hand clampedover Yang’s mouth, smothering the sounds when she reached the height of herpleasure. Was it worth all the risk?

Theirs was a strange courtship. They first met in theforest, their fierce warrior reputations preceding them, Blake the swordwielding shadow and Yang the golden haired brawler. The battle kicked offimmediately, they gave the fight everything they had but it ended in a draw.

Exhausted and out of strength, they silently agreed to atruce and made their way to the stream to clean their own wounds. Yang caughther eye and pulled a face and it made herlaugh. The next two times they met, they lowered their weapons and sattogether in the glen, exchanging spare words and glances.

“Canwe be friends?”

For some reason she was inexplicably drawn to Yang. Blakeknew it was wrong. Yang was a human and a girl. They were from different clanswho were wrapped in a bitter turf war. It could never work.

The next meeting Blake was determined to end it. Sheattacked her with ferocity, Yang barely had time to bring up her bracers. Theydidn’t hold back and yet again, it ended in a draw. With nothing left and tootired to fight her desires any longer, Blake dropped her sword and kissed her.

It was hot and messy. A different battle took place. Theytore each other’s clothes off, trying to get as close as possible. Blake lickedthe sweat off her neck. She felt like an animal. After they were finished, soreand satisfied, they lay together in the clearing underneath the stars, sharingskin and stories.

“Blake…” Yang gently wrapped her arms around her waist,embracing her from behind. “I love you…” she said shyly.

Blake stiffened up at the mention of the word love. Itseemed too big like a vast overarching concept that she didn’t understand. Butin her heart she knew it was true, and she felt the same way about Yang.

Yang buried her nose into Blake’s hair, inhaling deeply.She laid a kiss on her neck.

“I’d do anything for you. A love like this is worthfighting for. Worth dying for.”

“Yang…” Blakesaid, closing her eyes and leaning back into her embrace, her faunus earstwitching against Yang’s cheek. “Don’t say things like that.”

Suddenly Blake turned around in Yang’s arms and broughttheir mouths together in a frantic kiss. She pushed Yang back on to the bedroll.

“I want to stay with you forever. I don’t care whathappens. They can kill me if they want. I’d die for you. Let it be the nightand not the day,” Blake rasped, laying kisses across her thighs.

The inside of the tent began to brighten from therising sun.

“Nnngh,” Yang whimpered. “It is the dawn. Blake… You have to go.”

Blake didn’t hear her, too intent on taking everythingYang was willing to give.

“Blake,” Yangsaid urgently again.

A voice spoke just outside Yang’s tent.

“It’s my mother,” Yang whispered. “You have to go.”

Blake gave her one last kiss as she was about to leavethrough a flap at the side of the tent. “Farewell, my love.”

“Farewell!”

A/N I had fun with this prompt. It is also inspired by the bedroom scene from Romeo and Juliet.

[renee-writer]

From Gladiator to Knight Chapter 28 An Easy Death

Claire Jamie Tianna Arthur Morgarna Daggini

Arthur

"I have decided to have Morgarna put to death by beheading instead of burning. Daggini will do it. But, we still will hear her plea. Bors, fetch the prisoner."

Claire

I look towards Daggini when Arthur appoints him executioner. I can tell by the look on his face, that he doesn't want to do it. I also know, that he will. He will see her dead as his king wishes.

Bors brings Morgarna in. She meets my eye and I nod, letting her know that I did as I said I would. She stands on trembling legs before Arthur and his most trusted Knights and Dames.

"I did it. I tried to kill you with poison giving to you by Mordred. Please, don't hold him responsible. It is all on my shoulders. I will take whatever punishment you decide. I just ask one thing."

"Yes?"

"That I might be able to say goodbye to my son."

"Granted. I will have Knight Jamie and Dame Claire bring him to you. You will say your goodbyes and, in the morrow, at dawn, you will be beheaded in the courtyard by Daggini. Bors, take her back now."

We are then all dismissed.

Tianna

Arthur stops me on the way out, inquiring if I wish to be a witness to the execution.

"No sire'. And, I believe I can speak for my husband, that he won't wish to either."

"Then you will both head to the glen to spend a few days with Merlin with Jamie and Claire."

"Thank you sire'. He bows to Claire and I and slips away.

"I just couldn't. I am glad she won't be burned. I witnessed a burning in Rome. It gave me nightmares for months after. I just can't watch another execution." I explain to Claire.

Claire

"I understand. I saw at lot of violence in my orginal time. I believe that once we are settled. When we are no longer jumping through time, that we all be able to work out some of the drama from the past. And from what I see of what Merlin is bringing back from that time, we should be able to."

There is a knock on the door and Daggini enters. "Sorry to disturb you Ladies, I just have a question for Dame Claire."

"Yes?"

"What herb causes a quick death?" From behind me, I hear Tianna gasp. I reach back and touch her arm before answering him.

"Foxglove. Why?" He gives me a sad smile.

"No reason." And then he slips out with a bow.

"Is he?" Tianna asks. But then Jamie is there saying it is time to take Mordred to his mam. I have no time to answer her. But, I would have said,' yes, I think he is.'

Jamie

"He is in the kitchen." I tell her as we head out. We find the lad, curled on himself, in a corner. Claire walks over and kneels beside him. She strokes his back before asking,

"Do you wish to see your mother?" He jumps into her arm and wraps his arms and legs tight around her. "I take that as a yes." She says with a smile. "Do you wish to walk or be carried?"

"Carried please me lady." He whispers.

"Carried it is." She walks slowly toward the steps to the dungeon. Her hand doesn't stop moving, stroking the lad's back and hair, all the way down.

"Ye will make a bonny mam." I tell her. She smiles but it holds a note of sadness. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, the lad wiggles out of his arms and runs to his mam.

Morgarna

My son! I can't hold him, due to the chains, but, I must get him into a safe position as possible.

"Modred, I have to leave you. You mustn't blame Arthur for it. It was all my doing. I tricked you into giving him the cup of poison. He doesn't blame you and will see you safe when I am not here. Show him respect. As your King. Do not hate him for what I did."

"Mother, please stay. Don't go!"

"I can't stay. And, you must go. Mother must have some alone time. I love you son. Goodbye."

"I love you. I don't want you to go!" His cries tear at my heart. I do all I can.

"Please. Take him." I ask Dame Claire. She walks over and lifts his stiff body up. He collapses against her and starts to wail. She hurries him away as her husband follows.

Claire

Her own cries follow us up. I feel sorry for her. But, more sorry for the weeping child in my arms. He clings to me like a vine, and although several servants we pass, offer to take him, I keep ahold of him until Queen Guinevere appears.

"I have him Dame Claire." I release him into the safety of her arms.

Daggini

I head to the kitchen in the darkest part of the night. I make a meal of bread and cheese. I add two glasses of wine. In one I mix the Foxglove. I carry the tray down to the dungeon. I am tasked with killing her. I have decided to let her decide how. I don't wish to behead her. To kill in cold blood.

"Morgarna?" She jerks up and I know she has been asleep. "I have brought you some food and a choice. The glass of wine on the left contains a herb that will give you an easy death. You will simply drift back to sleep and never awake again. Or, you can drink the other and I will take your head in the morrow."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Not for you. For myself and for Modred. I don't want to kill in cold blood and, it will be easier on your son if you passed in your sleep. You needn't worry about your soul. I will take responsibility when the time comes. I will be here but will turn around. You can decide in private."

I turn. I give her time to decide and act. I turn back to find the bread and cheese ate and the wine on the left drank. She lays on the floor. Her breathing is slow, and gets slower as I sit beside her until it finally stops. I gather up the tray. I pour the undrunk wine out and hide the two cups in my room. I sleep well that night.

Claire

We are awakened, before dawn, by banging on the door. I start to jump up, thinking there is an emergency. Jamie is faster. He opens the door to revel Merlin.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It is Morgarna. She is dead. Was found dead this morning. Arthur is furious. Denied the chance to publicly execute her."

"What do you think caused her death?" I have my suspensions. Merlin confirms them.

"Poison. But, Arthur can not know that. Can you convince him it was a heart attack?"

"I will do my best." We all hurry out the room. Arthur is pacing back and forth. I touch his arm to stop him.

"You have heard?"

"I have. I believe it to be a heart attack. She was terrified when I last saw her. That kind of stress can easily cause a fatal heart attack."

"Come Arthur. Let's get you some wine before I escort the Frasers to my glen." He allows himself to be lead away.

As we are heading back to our room to get ready, we pass Daggini. I catch his eye and see the truth. She was posioned by Foxglove. He gave her an easy death. I squeeze his arm in passing, letting him now I understand.

We prepare to leave and I stop by Tianna and Paul's door. I knock briskly. "Come on. We are leaving for the glen in five minutes." We meet up with Merlin and turn to head out when heavy breathing is heard behind us. Tianna and Paul, breathing heavy, sweaty , and disheveled, running to meet us.