#but then make the legend soft and friendly after the fact because despite the fear we still want to assume kindness!!

[theearnestonion]

I LOVE when humans see or hear shit they can't explain so they make a beast out of it

[marshthat]

My Jedi master Eeth Koth headcanons!

Eeth Koth has been my comfort charcter for quite a long time, and still is now (and I hope still will be in the future also, bc I cant imagine me existing without my love for Eeth anymore).

So, I've decided to share my most prominent master Koth headcanons that I've accumulated at this point

As promised, I'm posting only general ones, without any specific implied pairings or other relationships!

note: (due not so much info about Eeth in Canon and Legends (unforgivably little actually), maaaaybe I'm projecting some of my own mental stuff on him, but eh, this is unevitable I guess :)

Have fun reading these!

1. Change of the profile

In his youth, Eeth was a Jedi Guardian, a.k.a "Jedi-on-the-front-line", and carried a blue lightsaber. But after the death of his master, followed by him joining the High Council, Eeth calmed down his inner rambo and changed his profile to a Jedi Consular. And so he chose a path of a diplomat, built a green lightsaber (with a hilt very similar to his dead master's one, as a remembrance) and eventually became famous in the Jedi Order exactly for his ability to resolve conflicts peacefully. (that's why no big missions on his part before the Clone Wars era apart from his participation in the Yinchorri incident)

2. The acceptance issue

Eeth pays a lot of attention to his appearance: carefully brushes his hair, makes sure his clothing is perfect, and so on.

Some consider this a simple whim, but in fact this will to have an ideal appearance is a consequence of some issues Koth now has because of his difficult childhood. Due to the fact that Eeth spent his first four years as a ragged orphan in the filthy slums of Nar Shaddaa, he sometimes feels as if he doesn't deserve to be in such a clean and nice place as the Coruscant Jedi Temple. (And the fact that his membership in the Order at first caused a lot of controversy among the Council masters only worsened this fear)

That is why Eeth tries his best to always look as perfect as possible - to be suitable for the beauty of the Temple and to not feel himself a stranger in its walls.

3. Long meditation hours and self-reflecting

He does meditate on his issues quite often, in order to get rid of every irrational fear he has, like the one described in the previous headcanon. Usually he does that in the evening, after all the tasks are completed - he gives himself time to reflect on what happened during the day, what he did and said and how the others reacted. This does help, but still some thorns can be very hard to get out of his hearts. His favourite meditation place is his own quarters in the Temple, where he can have a nice view on the evening/night Coruscant, which is somehow more relaxing to him than the gardens in the Room of Thousand Fountains.

4. A little peek into the apartment

Eeth’s master-quarters in the Temple are decorated with effort and thought. The most significant part are the long heavy thick and soft curtains, that, if closed, take all the light in the room away, leaving the nice pleasant semidarkness atmoshphere. Also Eeth has a lot of various cushions around the whole apartment, along with an enormous supply of aroma candles! 

5. The tragedy of the Padawan

Eeth's first and only Padawan learner was Sharad Hett.

Sharad's will to quit the Order deeply hurt Eeth, even if he didn't say that out loud, as he put a lot of effort and dedication in his promise to be the best master possible for Sharad. Also he lowkey agreed with the accusations of other masters telling him he was responsible for Sharad's departure because Koth failed as a teacher - so he does feel himself guilty of failing both Sharad and the Order.

After the Hett's incident, he actually vowed to himself not to take any more Padawan learners, so as not to let anyone's expectations down again. (And, like master Saesee Tiin, chose to put his efforts into other fields rather then teaching)

(these panels still hurt me somehow qwq 

Sharad made Eeth cry, for kriffs sake!)

6. But he's still very friendly to kids

Despite the unpleasant exprienece with his own Padawan, he did let go of his initial frustration and now he is quite happy to give younglings and young padawans some general lessons! Also sometimes he takes other masters' students to group trainings or supervises them during the Trials of Knighthood. And young Jedi do love master Koth a lot - because he's soft and very patient, and does allow them some liberties :)

7. The social butterfly

Eeth is a "social butterfly" or a "caretaker" (ESFJ mbti-type)

He is used to being among a large number of people, but even though it seems that he gathers these people around him, in fact this is not true - his natural charm and outgoing personality allow him to easily make new acquaintances, interact with friends and encourage conversations, but he more follows his more assertive companions, adapts his behavior and words to them in order to create the most comfortable atmosphere possible, than directs them himself.

In other words, he offers the fun, but enjoys more the others' reactions to it, than the fun itself!

8. Sweet tooth!

Eeth LOVES sweet things! He generally likes all sorts of sweets, starting with various desserts and finishing with sugary tropic fruits. (Gaining weight? Naaah, the zabraks physiology allows him to consume a lot of food because of the higher metabolism due to the zabraks having two hearts. And also he does a lot of physical exercise in the training halls. So it's not a problem at all!)

9. And he is sweet himself too

This love for sugary things is not only for sweet treats actually, but also for the scents of cosmetics too! (And he does use a lot of that stuff). That is why Eeth usually smells of something nice, either caramel, or vanilla, or fruity etc.

This is often favorited by his colleagues on the Council, who definitely enjoy the pleasant aroma Eeth always brings with him to the Council meetings.

10. Energy drinks!

He got badly used to them during the Clone Wars era, because he really needed an additional energy resource when staying up all night brushing through various diplomatic documents and strategy plans. Caf wasn't much of a help because it just turned out to be not strong enough for the zabrak, so he eventually replaced it with cheap but more effective sweet energy drinks. It doesn't really matter to him which drinks to buy exactly, but the meiloorun-flavoured ones are among his favourites.

11. Form of lightsaber combat

Form III - Soresu!

I actually did a separate essay analyzing why Eeth’s form of combat is definitely Soresu, but if keeping brief: he uses Soresu mixed with some Ataru moves. Ataru was his initial style, advised by his master due to Eeth’s small complexion and natural agility & flexibility, but after changing his Jedi profile to a Consular he also adopted the main Consulars’ style - Soresu (usually called “the diplomat style”, “the most peaceful among the seven'' etc.). Koth’s Soresu moves can clearly be seen in the “Grievous Intrigue” episode in particular. Also Koth’s stance in the "Intrigue" is different from the famous Kenobi's "point-fingers" thingy simply because Eeth's pose is not an opening Soresu stance, but the brace-ready stance, which in Soresu is described as “having much in common with the "Ataru guard," with the hilt held at waist height on the dominant side in a two-handed grip for greater control, extended vertically upwards”

12. The double-bladed saber

Eeth wields a double-bladed saber almost as well as a regular one.

And in fact, it was Darth Maul who has inspired Eeth to try this kind of a weapon - after the High Council sent him to lead the investigation on the question of a zabrak sith on Naboo in 32 bby, he got genuinely interested in the possible perks of two blades in his Soresu and eventually mastered the double-bladed saber on quite a level. But he still sees this only as an interesting training option, but nothing more. So the double-bladed saber stays in the Temple and is used only in the Training Halls, but never on the battlefield.

13. An earring (yes, in the singular form)

Eeth has one of his ears pierced (right one), and he actually has several different earrings, mostly simple, like basic metal rings, which he usually picks every morning according to his mood. But to be honest, this earring thing is purely only for himself - because you can’t really see his ears under his usual three-ponytails hairstyle.

Though, he did abandon wearing earrings during the Clone Wars era - because since the war began and the potentially dangerous missions became more frequent, it wasn’t really a right place and time for such things, especially knowing that the Separatists can use some specific traps (like the ones they used to magnetize Jedi lightsabers on Lola-Sayu). The prospect of losing the whole ear due to such a trap is not the most pleasant one indeed.

14. HUGS (and other tactile activities)

Eeth very very VERY much loves hugs!

And for him, tactile contacts are more than just a way to feel comfortable - for him it's a vital part of the whole communication process. This issue dates back to his master, Kosul Ayada, who was a herglic (a race that is actually not very good at speaking Galactic Basic), and therefore helped himself with gestures and body language. And spending a lot of time around master Ayada, Eeth also got used to supporting his verbal dialogue by body language and tactile contact.

That is why while speaking Eeth actively gestures, grabs the other's hands, squeezes shoulders etc. And the hugs are his way to express sympathy and also to feel safe and appreciated!

15. Driving skills

Master Koth can drive, and actually quite well. And by driving I mean not spaceships, but smaller things that stay on land, like speeders.

And because he is a diplomat who often attends various meetings with senators and ambassadors, he also has a personal speeder, allocated to him by the Order for the ease of attending senator events and other diplomatic ocasions.

(But he does use it for other personal purposes too, because why not to, if there is an opportunity)))

(A panel of Eeth casually driving a speeder like a damn pro is one of my fav Eeth comics crumbs,,,,,,)

16. Singing

Eeth enjoys singing! But he usually keeps this thing to himself, making the quiet manthra-like singing a part of his meditative prep - it helps him to settle down his tangly thoughts a bit and tune his mind and body for the actual meditation.

(the hc was inspired by Hassani Shapi’s singing in one of his films, because Shapi’s voice is really beautiful and I’m sad they didn’t give him even a single line in the Phantom Menace when filming Koth’s Council scene)

17. Space soap operas...? (not so serious, sometimes treated as crack, but sometimes not)

Koth (secretly) likes soap operas on the late-night HoloNet, and often stays up to watch a new episode of something before going to bed. His favourite series is called “Lekkus of love” (my imaginary in-universe show I usually use in my sw writings) and it's about a twi’lek girl’s life, filmed in the style of our “Magnificent Century”, with lots of romantic intrigues and twists.

18. LOTS of feelings

Referencing the previous one - Eeth is very emotional, actually! Yes, he’s a Jedi and he knows how to keep his mind clear, but he’s still sensitive enough to actually cry over sad episodes of "Lekkus…" because “Poor Ai’sha, she worked so hard to get her man’s attention, but he still chose that togruta girl? This is outrageous, this is unfair! :ccc”

Also this can be in fact explained biologically. He's a zabrak, and zabraks are supposed to have a hot, blazing, higly-emotional nature (to match their home planet, Iridonia, wich is also boiling with acid seas and all that - otherwise they won't survive)

19. Podracing as a favourite sport

Eeth enjoys podracing. He first got into it back on Nar Shaddaa, when he heard a lot about racing and stuff from smugglers and bounty hunters (and at that time he even dreamed of becoming a cool podracer - but that was of course before he was taken to the Temple).

Now he doesn't dream of podracing that much, but still can and actually does enjoy watching annual championships via HoloNet. He also tries to keep in touch with the latest news in the podracing world (that interest he shares with the young Anakin Skywalker, and they do sometimes occasionally discuss podracing when they both have free time)

20. Horns

Eeth doesn’t really trust droids with trimming his horns, so he usually does that by himself, in the freshener, and that always takes a while. Also unlike a lot of male iridonian zabraks, who prefer to keep the tips of their horns comparatively sharp as a sign of their brutality and masculinity, Eeth chooses to make the tips humbly rounded and smoothed.

21. A pet? (Also not so serious - but sometimes it IS the most serious hc!)

Eeth has a pet loth-cat! The loth-cat is a she-cat, and she's big, fluffy and always on her own mind. Agen Kolar sometimes points out that the loth-cat is very similar to her owner in a lot of little things, like the way the cat purrs when being hugged and how she is obsessed with being clean and ideal too.

The loth-cat is also a bit jealous of her owner’s attention, so she will every time make herself comfortable on his knees when Eeth is meditating or working with documents to show that this is HER man. (especially when smb comes over to Eeth’s apartment - that's the case when she just NEEDS to state who’s the real boss here).

22. Participation in the first battle of Geonosis

I headcanon that Eeth was not directly on the Petranaki Arena actually during the first battle of Geonosis in the AOTC. Since he's not on-screen in that symbolic circle of survivors but is still stated as a participant, I assume that instead of being a part of the main group, Eeth joined Yoda on his trip to Kamino. Maybe not directly on the planet but still somewhere there, helping to gather clone legions to guide them to Geonosis.

(p.s. I know that Eeth's on-screen absence is because of Shapi being replaced with another actor and the new character turning out not at all alike to TPM Koth, but this little hc actually kinda fixes the hole without ruining anything…?))

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 3

Time for the Forgotten

He wonders. There's a question gnawing at him. Twilight knew. His wolf-boy had not wavered in the slightest when Time had suggested they could be related by blood. He'd been... serious. So serious. Scarily serious. It was a bit of a glance in his mirror shield. The reflection similar enough that it took some effort to mask it with nonchalance. Twilight hadn't been ashamed, more wistful and awed than anything after that talk with Malon.

But he had started to notice the way Twilight looked at him when no one else did.

Twilight knows. Twilight knows and he is a fine young man that Time is so, so proud of. He's not the favorite, because he can't have one. It's a different bond though (something like what he has with Warriors), and he always made sure to never let that influence his decisions on this quest.

The others don't doubt their place with the group. Not because of Time, at least. It's the least he can do for those incredible young men.

He just feels the question come and go in the dark. Twilight hadn't trained with a sword before his quest. Their technique is so similar however... He has to have been taught.

His heart hovers between settled and troubled, and it's the most innocuous thing that tips the balance.

A jab amongst others as they're cutting down wood for a fire, of all things.

Twilight, chainmail and shirt off, wipes sweat off his brows, an axe across his shoulders and a pile of neatly cut branches by his feet. “So slow,” he says, teasing his brother-in-arm a few trees over. “Didn't they run drills like those in the army?”

As always when pricked, Warriors heckles back. “Not every one of us was born in a barn, ranchhand!”

“For your information, I was found in the woods as a toddler, thank you very much,” Twilight replies, taking on an exaggerated snobbish accent. Or what he thinks passes as. It's a bit hard to tell with Twilight's countryside drawl.

The others laugh, join in the mockery, and they don't notice their leader taking a second to digest the news.

Twilight is his descendant. Twilight was adopted at too young an age to remember his birth parents. Might not even know their names.

And a wound he thought was closing suddenly bleeds inside him.

                                                   ***

It's a slow evening, almost night, and they haven't encountered a monster in days. But he's reeling, his head spinning.

His mind is filled with questions he knows are futile. Pointless bites from a cruel, unknowable future.

Which of Twilight's parents had the Hero's blood? Was it a granddaughter or grandson that perished, leaving a little boy orphaned? Had they known? Twilight mentioned having the Triforce of Courage since as long as he could remember. Had his parents learned only then of the heritage? When their son was marked by fate?

Was it a lack of knowledge that had killed Twilight's birth parents? Training?

The Goddesses truly are cruel, to confirm all his greatest fear in the same breath they gave him a glimpse of triumph. He doesn't know how to feel.

Time knows he ought to talk to someone about those things. About the choice he'd been offered. Even if it felt like breathing glass, like baring his own naked flesh to the elements. He's done it before, mostly with Malon, bless his darling wife. He's spoken the words, cried in whispers and fallen asleep on a damp pillow with the arms of his love around him.

He let his Zelda erase all the suffering Ganondorf wrought, and that very act might have condemned his own to an ignominious death. Might have cost Twilight his birthright. Worse still is the knowledge Wind offered him: the timeline hadn't vanished either. What was the point then? A childhood he couldn't recover even with a child's body? A forsaken land threatened by a mad demon?

He should speak.

He... can't.

He sits down on a rock and ignores the few curious gazes of the boys when he pulls open his inventory.  Other times, he might play with them, dance on their expectations and see their astonishment while he laughs inside.

He can't laugh right now.

His fingers close on the instrument, which sends a tingling of power through his hand. An ocarina to commune with the goddesses. He's not a pious man, never had the need, but as he raises the pipe end to his lips, it does feel like praying.

The Song of Healing.

Music to sooth pain beyond flesh and bones.

Why, then, does it only sound like screeching to his ears?

He put so many to rest in that forsaken place. Why can't he turn that power on himself? Why is he not allowed the slightest bit of-?

Something hits him in the chest. The last note of the song goes wild, off-key, and it stops the old memory playing in his head.

“Wolfie?” they call, some puzzled, a few like Wind rather ecstatic by the presence of the pup's beast form.

“... Did he just headbutt the old man?” Legend asks, smirking.

“Maybe the music hurts his ears?” Sky ponders.

Time doubts that. For one, Hylian ears wouldn't hurt enough for that kind of reaction even if he started playing as badly as he felt. No, it was the song that got Twilight into that state.

The whine Twilight makes pulls at some long dead heartstrings. Despite his size, worrying strength and undeniable intelligence, that sound alone gives Twilight the air of a kicked puppy.

The pup can't know, he tells himself. His heritage had been unknown to him until his quest, he mentioned that once. He can't know what the Song of Healing means, what playing it is supposed to do.

But the pain in Twilight's sky-blue eyes speaks otherwise.

“I suppose I ought to be more considerate of our canine friend,” Time declares, dusting off his pants. “My equipment could use a bit of maintenance.”

Busy work. The song had been a bad idea anyway.

As he stands though, he feels Wolfie's fang graze his hands and heels. Tug at his sleeves.

“Not sure he agrees with that,” Wild comments, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Wild knows what this is, and Time has the creeping idea that he's being herded like a goat.

“He'll have to get used to the idea,” he replies, more even than he feels.

The sympathetic feeling is starting to flicker at the repeated nipping. To be a hero, one needs to be stubborn. In this case, Time rather feels this is turning against him. He's rarely been the target of Twilight's protective streak. Fewer still as Wolfie. He is starting to understand that the style of comfort changed quite a bit during the transition. The inability to talk forces his protege to go physical.

And physical for a wolf...

Air is shoved out of his lungs as a massive weight crashes on his back.

“Not gonna work, pup,” Time bites out, trying and failing to keep walking as if nothing is wrong.

Wild's meals are far too rich if this is the result. A big lug of a wolf not knowing his place. He could shake him off, but now his pride is shouting for a decisive victory. He can't surrender so much authority at once. The group's survival and very continued existence depends on it!

His foot hits one of the logs they cut to sit. Of course.

Twilight chooses that moment to jump off. Of course.

Time has no time to brace himself for the puddle of mud. Of. Course.

Would the Goddesses strike him deaf so he doesn't have to hear the explosion of laughter shaking the camp!

His successor looks awfully smug, huffing and puffing on his side of the dead campfire.

Far too smug, in fact.

And, before he knows what's happening, Time finds himself chasing after that insolent youngster throughout the clearing under the thunderous laughter of seven other heroes.

Wolves are faster, but Time has far too many tricks up his sleeves to be bested. A hundred years of training might allow this brat to compete. MIGHT!

And when he collapses not too long after, it's side by side with an equally panting but not as annoyed pup.

He lets out a long sigh, his head lolling on a patch of moss, and the word is more mouthed than spoken: “Why?”

“Woof,” Twilight barks.

It's nonchalant, a little mocking and very much the non-answer Time would give in his place. He hadn't intended for his wall-building tactics to be turned against him this way. But, he supposes, a teacher can't always choose what his students will take from them.

There is, however, a clear hierarchy that needs reestablishing.

Time's grown up with eternal children. He has years of training in zero-ing of the most sensible weak spots in a body. Specifically, where one is most ticklish.

The effect is immediate, over-the-top and oh so satisfying.

Wolfie jumps five feet in the air. He tries to bolt, but in all his arrogance, hadn't realized he'd stayed too close to escape Time's grip.

(The others are watching with wide eyes as their glorious leader play-fights with their massive wolf-friend. Bets are, perhaps, being made.)

Only when the yipping sounds appropriately pitiful does Time give in and stop his ministrations. With a breathless laugh, he lets himself fall on his side, right next to his infuriating descendant. Clearly, Malon would have to be a stricter parent (Time knows he can't be one if his life depends on it) if this is the standard behavior to be expected of his lineage.

For a moment, Time lets himself lay there, on moist grass, half over, half under a wolf with behavioral problems. The thought, again, that he is promised a family line, that this irritating young man descends from him, soothes the old scars on his heart. Despite himself, his hand finds the soft fur and runs through the coat. He doesn't know the future. Few if none knows the full extent of his past. He's long learned to live in a world of strangers wearing friendly faces, of clueless happiness fueled by nightmares of events that, ultimately, never happened. He's a man of faded dreams, to be recognized only by the most precious few.

Some of the weight shifts, and Twilight's big head lies down on top of his chestplate, a soft glint in those gentle blue eyes. Time can hardly move, even if, at the moment, he finds himself comfortable enough resting with his eldest son.

… Which, now that he thinks about it, is what Twilight had been after all along.

“You damned nosy pup,” he says, smacking himself on the forehead. “It's not your job to worry. It's mine.”

The glare he receives goes straight to his soul. As if, it challenges. They really are the same on that front, aren't they? Him and his eldest?

Time can't even tell when it happened, but his chest doesn't feel tight anymore despite the added wolf head. His worries seem so much smaller when his descendant can wrestle-trick him into submission with ease. The boys would be alright.

“Thank you... ”

It's when he sits down by the campfire later that evening, glaring at a smug Twilight over his bowl of soup, that he suddenly realizes the ache has gone. That the bitterness of all his pain being forgotten just... didn't matter in front of that cheeky boy smirking at him.

Even his heart betrays him by going warm with pride. He's impressed.

It shouldn't be a surprise.

After all, his successor is descended from his Malon too. And she always knew best how to handle him.

“You're getting second watch tonight, pup.”

The grunt of annoyance is hardly repayment for a faceful of mud, but you take what revenge you can get. That's another lesson living with the kokiris taught him.

[dragonquill]

Durin’s Day: Boxing Day Edition??

Here is my fic for Durin’s Day!  It was inspired by the amazing @ofahattersmind, who was 100% more patient than I deserve with my writing issues this month. 

See the lovely art here!

Happy Durin’s Day ah....delayed!

----

Fili is five the first time it happens. 

It begins with a sense of warmth and contentment that almost makes sense - he’s by the fire with his parents, and happy enough - but the warmth is stifling and the contentment brief.  But what follows - a sense of searing brightness, fear, indignation, is so clearly foreign that he bursts into tears, burying his face in his father’s chest and shaking with the power of it.  

He tries to explain, but he’s only a child, five years old and precocious but with no point of reference for what’s just happened to him.  It passes in minutes, and his sobs give way to little gasps for breaths and the occasional hiccup as his father rubs his back and kisses his hair and worries over him.

His mother has her suspicions, but keeps them to herself.

Keep reading or Read on Ao3!

----

For Kili, there is no “first time.”  From the day he’s born, he seems oddly mercurial, his mood shifting suddenly from time to time.  He’s a cheerful, loving child, outgoing and friendly nearly to a fault (“We don’t talk to strangers,” he recites after his mother, but once someone says hello, they’re not a stranger anymore!).  But there are times when he goes quiet and thoughtful, watching the world instead of forcing himself on it.  He likes those times, he says.  He feels peaceful.  Like he’s not alone.  

“That’s our Kili,” his mother says fondly, watching him go from spinning in hyperactive circles to curling up happily on the couch, watching the crackling fire. 

----

Kili hears words first.  Perhaps it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.  It feels like his quiet times, and the voice in his head isn’t saying anything scary.  It’s a little boy voice, like his, and it’s studiously practicing multiplication tables.  Kili’s years from learning them, though when the day comes he’ll already know them and won’t quite be able to explain how. 

In the stories about soul bonds, the first communication is usually dramatic and meaningful, the beginning of something otherworldly.

For Kili, it makes his nines tables a sinch five years later.

----

Fili’s parents die when he’s twelve.  His uncle takes him in, serious Thorin with his Durin-blue eyes and limited understanding of how children work.  He is the one who tells Fili about soulbonds, how rare they are, how their minds meet across the entire world.  He suspects Fili has one.

“And if you do,” he says, as gently as he knows how, “they’ll be feeling all the pain you’re feeling, and might be very scared by it.”

Maybe it’s a dirty trick, using a boy’s empathy for others to dry his tears and toughen up, but it appears to work.  Fili stops crying so much, starts getting out of bed and living life.

But what Kili feels, far away, isn’t the facade but the real thing.

His parents worry and fuss and arrange for therapy as he cries himself to sleep, night after night.

-----

Fili is rather secretive by nature.  He doesn’t want to bother anyone into worrying about him, and by the time he’s fourteen, he certainly knows they’d worry if they knew he talks to himself in his head all the time. The fact that the voice is different from his own only makes it more disturbing.  

I hate living with Thorin he’ll sulk, because Thorin is trying but he isn’t Fili’s parents. And his own mind answers Yeah he seems like a and a stuttering pause before dick that makes Fili laugh.  

And then he’ll find himself defending Thorin, who isn’t so bad, and the voice makes up a silly song about Thorin’s tendency to talk like it’s 1854 until Fili is sprawled in bed grinning to himself over how clever the voice in his head is, and why can’t he be that clever in real life?

----

Kili is an open book, and he forgets not to just talk back to the voice in his head.  It’s cute when he’s a little boy with his invisible friend, but the older he gets the more concerned the adults in his life get.  

He doesn’t know about the quiet meetings among counselors, teachers, and his parents.  He doesn’t really understand the new doctor who tries to convince him the voice isn’t real.  

He doesn’t like the summer he has to leave home and go stay in a hospital for two weeks during his vacation.  He’s furious, and lonely, and everyone is telling him to lie about the friend in his mind, but he’s not a good liar by nature.

I’ll know the truth his brain-friend says.  We’ll know.  Just tell them you don’t and then tell me you do.  It’ll make them happy.

Kili is reluctant, but he does as he’s told.

He still slips up sometimes,and he sees the worry in his parents’ eyes and laughs it off.  He’s a class clown, right?  He can get rid of these things.

Only his friend knows he hates it, hates the lies, curls up in his covers and sniffles some nights, feeling like a bad person.  

For a while, his friend promises to go away, and leave him alone. But that is so much worse, because it’s quiet in his head and he’s all alone and. “Is this what people want me feel?” he asks the dark, arms wrapped around a well-worn blush manatee he’s too old for as well (keeps it under the bed so his parents won’t take it away, as his friend suggested).  “It’s awful.”

And he tells his friend just how awful it is, until he comes back.

---

It’s sensible enough to name his inner voice Kili, Fili figures.  As good as anything else.  It is just an aspect of himself.  A..creative one.  Who tells stories about a life different from him.  Who lives out some of Fili’s fears (is he not quite sane?? Is his inner voice too much??  Don’t writers and such have this??  It’s fine, it’s fine).  Who is warm and funny and optimistic in a way Fili isn’t, but wants to be.  

Just a way of thinking things through.  It’s fine if he gives it a name.

He hopes.

----

His friend’s name is Fili, and Kili loves how they match. It’s like destiny in his favorite tv show!  They’re meant to be the best of friends!  The show is all about a legend about soulmates being bound from birth, and talking to each other, and finding each other and--

---

Fili visits the library, and researches, and wonders.

---

It happens on a lovely fall day in Fili’s home town. Fili is working on his post graduate degree in business administration - not the most interesting, but it’ll help out his uncle’s business, and that’s a guaranteed job that will pay enough that he can hone his own hobbies and interests on his off time. He’s still sensible, but that doesn’t mean he can’t turn some of that practicality to funding his personal interest in writing and travel. 

He’s also working at the business’s central office, actual pay instead of an internship, so he’s stayed close to home.  He’s saving money for a trip down south, for warm weather and sprawling beaches that remind him of stories he’s heard.  Or.  Made up.  Via Kili.

Fili tosses hair back over his shoulder, adjusts his coat, and walks into his favorite park.  The trees here were selected to look as colorful as possible in autumn, and he loves it.  Best time of year, hands down.

-----

Unlike Fili, Kili traveled for university.  He’s on the archery and lacrosse teams, with actual scholarships, and he’s studying English, which is mostly so he can go on into a proper specialty in myths and folktales.  He secretly believes he is a folk tale, despite the counseling and medications to convince him otherwise.  He loves the city, filled with carefully maintained parks and currently a chaos of fall colors.  It’s too hot back home for anything like this-

He sees someone out of the corner of his eye, and turns his head with practiced nonchalance for a better look.  Kili is a man who appreciates the human form.  Oh ho, he thinks, he’s hot.

And he is, all long golden hair and neat beard and fur lined leather jacket.  He’s shorter than Kili, but more solid.  He looks delicious, in the best way.

Stop creeping people out, says Fili in his head, and Kili laughs.

The man stops, frowning a little.”Odd,” he says aloud in a soft tenor voice that makes Kili’s heart thump.

He gives his head a little shake before looking around.  Blue eyes- so blue Kili can make them out from a fair distance - flicker in Kili’s direction.  He doesn’t seem to have a bit of Kili’s secret shyness.  He smiles, slow and inviting.

Never mind, I’ve found a pretty one, too, Fili says in Kili’s mind.

Kili nearly chokes on his own spit.  

The blond man turns and walks closer, more than a hint of swagger in his steps. 

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

-----

Kili feels his jaw drop.  His heart is racing.  He can hear it in his ears.  He bungee jumped once, Fili refusing to have anything to do with it.  It felt like this, like ziplines and roller coasters that flip you upside down.

He clicks his jaw shut.  

“Ah...hey,” he says back, intelligently.

---

Fili feels a flash of concern, and steps closer.  “You okay?”  He puts his hands up.  “Promise I’m not a serial killer after tourists.  I’m honestly just flirting.”

---

“I’m not a tourist!”  It’s not what Kili means to say, because he knows, in his bones, who this guy is.  He wonders why he never really thought about what Fili must look like.  He’d have thought taller, but everything else…

Yum.

“I’ve been here a year!”

----

“Oh, pardon.”  Fili grins and bows like an old-fashioned gentleman.  “Practically a local, then.  Does that mean you’re familiar with the Ri Family Teashop?”

Fili is forward, but not usually this forward.  But somehow, he wants to know this person.

Or already knows him.

Something.

----

Kili starts to grin.  “Are you asking me to tea?” he asks, because oh, good, Fili knows him too.

“Hmm.  I don’t know.  My mother said never to have tea with strangers.”  Fili holds a hand.  “Fili Durin, local peacekeeper and not an axe murderer, and you are?”

----

The cutie is staring at him, and the stare is starting to look singularly unimpressed.  “You know who I am, Fili.”

“Ah, afraid not,” Fili answers, but there’s a tug in his belly like he’s lying to his uncle Thorin about why he was out so late as a teenager.  “But I very much hope to.”

The definitely a nine sighs and puts his hands on his hips.  “I honestly thought you were smarter than this.  But you can’t be completely perfect, I guess.”  But he’s smiling, fit to battle the sun, and Fili can’t even work up a sense fo indignation.  “It’s me, Fili.  It’s Kili.”

-----

Fili will deny it until they are old and grey, and Kili will just keep telling the truth anyway.

Fili’s eyes roll back in his head, and he stumbles, and Kili grabs Fili in his strong arms like the hero he is.  It’s not fair to say Fili passes out, maybe fades a bit would be more accurate.

Either way, he regrets it forever because it makes him the damsel who wakens (blinks and sees better, because he wasn’t unconscious or anything that dramatic, correct?) in the arms of a stranger who is no stranger at all.  And dammit, Kili even kisses him awake.

(It’s soft and chaste and sweet and Kili, a press of lips just like his voice, beloved and real and everything Fili ever wanted to be real.)

“Hi,” Kili says again, grinning down at him.  “Welcome back.”

Fili will argue later that he didn’t go anywhere and he would have been fine and etc. etc, but for now, he reaches up from his awkward arching slouch in Kili’s arms and brushes hair from those playful hazel eyes, and tugs him down for their second kiss.

----

Nice!, they think, and the kiss turns into laughter.

[luminescentlyricist]

VD: y⊙ur turn, buddy :o)8 (if y⊙u want t⊙, that is)

VD: n⊙ full ⊙n pr⊙mpt, but h⊙w ab⊙ut just s⊙me b⊙nding? maybe putting my makeup ⊙n ⊙r fixing up my hair, y⊙u kn⊙w, getting int⊙ the r⊙utine. can g⊙ any directi⊙n y⊙u want, ⊙r y⊙u can use an entire different pr⊙mpt. i just want t⊙ hear y⊙ur take ⊙n me :o)8

;; Gotcha!! Hope you like this :o)

🃏A Road To Recovery ⊙

Being the newest troll in the circus troupe, as unintentional as it was, Jezakk often stood out like a sore thumb when it came to showcasing his skillsets. He was unbearably graceless, even though he had never adorned the classical shoes that the clowns seemed so fond of. He left trails in his wake, whether or not it was a physical presence. Scent trails, more often than not, that were unbearably easy for a certain other troll to pick up on. While the tinkerer had never established himself as a sociable troll, he kept himself silent despite his yearnings for interaction of any kind. It was a strange fear that helped him maintain his otherwise unassuming nature, though it did nothing to deter one Othamo Oculus. If anything, the smaller of the two had the feeling he was being watched around a corner more often than not, regardless of Othamo’s lack of sight.

Then, there was always the heaviness. Although noticeably thinner and smaller in stature when compared to the other purplebloods around him, there was an uneasy leadening feeling that occasionally swept him, and it was nothing that he could yet explain. Of course, there were quite a lot of things that he had failed to glean from his short time in the facility, when he was conscious. The only conclusion he could draw was that it was a power-based backlash from his time as Othamo’s chucklevoodoo puppet. Jezakk felt there were also things that he had been told then, critically, that his amnesia - as a result of the unfortunate puppetry - had made him forget.

This was one of those times that he didn’t want to forget. Jezakk sat out in the hallways leading to one room of the Mordant King, the ringmaster of the whole group and undisputed Lord of the Circus. Panton Magnic was his name, but that title had been long since forgotten in favour of raw greed and want to establish his power with a title. Sometimes, his tinkerer mused that Othamo was no longer the main puppeteer of the troupe. He fidgeted restlessly with the small golden pendant he had been given on his first day, twisting it around in his claws and glancing downwards to catch the Capries as it flashed in the light of the windows. These windows, Jezakk thought, were unnecessarily large, and depicted circus acts in manners more suited to scenes of the Sufferer’s preaching than entertainments.

He looked around himself, heart beginning to pound in his chest. Panton’s name was the only memory he had retained from the many-sweep-long amnesia, and he wasn’t sure why. It barely mattered. If he shared it with anyone, he feared being exiled from the troupe and never seeing Sealdad again. And the healing of his father’s injury was exactly what landed him in the troupe in the first place. It was strange how desperate he had once been to get into the area, because all he wanted now was to escape. But there was a moral dilemma to deal with, and that was the fact that he would have to choose between his friend and his father if he wanted to get out. As much as Othamo gave Jezakk the creeps, he remained one of the lucky few that held his attention for long enough.

There were vaguely familiar voices behind the door, those of Ferrum and Mierle, two of the other purplebloods that he often crossed paths with. They were friendly enough, but he was wary nonetheless. Tilting his head and standing, he realised that there was no way he was going to hear the conversation. After a few moments, they exited together, looking quite shaken. Laughing dryly to himself, Jezakk shivered in anticipation and dread. He’d not been looking forward to any sort of meeting with the ringmaster, and the unnaturally hesitant appearances of the other trolls did nothing to reassure him. Smiling at them as they passed, he forced his hands to his sides and entered the room without waiting for Panton to call him through.

First mistake.

There was something unnerving about the way that Panton swivelled on his heel to greet the other, and the calm smile that he wore did nothing to soften the sharpness in his gaze. Something told Jezakk silently to turn tail - literally, as it squeezed around his waist tight enough to hurt - and get out of there before he was sliced into. Instead, the tinkerer bowed his head to show his respect, stepping forward. Despite his acquaintances’ nervousness, the naive tinkerer saw next-to-nothing that he should have been concerned about until the ringmaster raised an eyebrow, clasping his hands in front of his body neatly and beginning to speak. His tone was soft and disarming, made to rekindle a false sense of security. Although the smaller knew this, he couldn’t help but begin to let his guard down.

“Y/o\)u( KN/o\W, JEZAKK, I’VE BEEN THINKING AB/o\)u(t Y/o\)u( RECENTLY.”

This caused Jezakk’s eyebrows to raise in alarm, but he was otherwise still. He’d had to work on suppressing his fidgeting in fear of irritating the other troupe members, which had also caused him to unintentionally become skilled in preventing general movements and emotional displays. Raising his head to look at Panton, he remained silent.

“THERE’S A SMALL J/o\B I WANT Y/o\)u( T/o\ D/o\ F/o\R ME, AND THERE IS N/o\ /o\NE ELSE Q)u(ITE S)u(ITED F)o(R IT. Y/o\)u( ARE FAMILIAR WITH THE BEES, I TR)u(ST? I HAVE SPENT AN ADMITTEDLY L/o\NG TIME SEARCHING F/o\R S/o\ME/o\NE WILLING T/o\ C)u(LTIVATE THEIR H/o\NEY, AND I HAVE N/o\W C/o\ME T/o\ A RECENT F/o\REG/o\NE C/o\NCLUSI/o\N THAT Y/o\)u( MAY J)u(ST BE THE PERFECT CANDIDATE.”

Jezakk often spoke without foreseeing consequence, and lacked much of a social filter. It proved itself a dire slip to make more often than not.

“I’Ll do IT, sir.”

Panton’s smile widened, showing off rows of teeth more suited to a shark than any troll. It was less comforting than it was menacing, and the ringmaster’s next words sent a chill through his subordinate’s whole body for no clear reason.

“AH, GOOD! I AM S/o\ GLAD I F/o\UND Y/o\)u(, JEZAKK. Y/o\)u( START IMMEDIATELY, N/o\ Q)u(ESTI/o\NS ASKED. ASK /o\C)u(L)u(S F/o\R ASSISTANCE IF Y/o\)u( M)u(ST AND BEAR IN MIND THE AM/o\)u(NT /o\f FAITH I AM PLACING HERE. D/o\ N/o\T BREAK IT, F/o\R THE C/o\NSEQ)u(ENCES WILL BE DIRE.”

And with that, Panton Magnic returned to his work. Jezakk shifted in his stance. There was a creak as the door was leaned against by another from the outside, and the man only looked up once more from his work before smiling - almost threateningly, despite the lack of teeth - and waving to dismiss the troll in front of him.

Leaving the room, the little tinkerer never expected to see Othamo already there and waiting for him to follow. Placing a hand on the blind troll’s shoulder to indicate where he stood, he looked towards his companion.“WElL shIt. DIDn’T expEcT TO hEar thaT. UH… wEll. I KNoW yoU caN gENERaLlY SMEll yoUr waY AROuNd pRettY weLL, oThAMO, Sir, BUt I thINK I’ll LEAve THe hEAvY LIfTin tO VIZeRA aNd LUmIra WHen I CAn GeT THeM to LIsTen ENOugH.”

Othamo raised an eyebrow, waving to Jezakk as if trying to snap him out of some kind of daze. There, on the palm of his hand, was a carefully drawn eye. Jezakk looked dumbly at it, placing his hand over the one seemingly offered to him. This caused the other to flinch back, curling his nose in disgust. The scent of lemons was heavy in the air, which made him smile despite the distaste he’d show moments prior. He treated those inferior to him as they should have been treated, and never once considered that the tinkerer - a newbie, fresh meat, the perfect little puppet for his games - would be any different, regardless of the time he had in an uncomfortably close proximity and seeing through his eyes. Although it was normally an unpleasant, sharp scent, the undertones of fruitiness unique to the other made fear smell inviting.

“i can see a little bit, y⊙u kn⊙w. en⊙ugh t⊙ want t⊙ c⊙mment ⊙n h⊙w idi⊙tic that was t⊙ assume.”

He murmured, pointing towards the eye on his palm and inadvertently causing Jezakk to look down towards it, even though he had nervously averted his gaze prior. The lemon still hung in the air between them, and the smaller’s appreension was unrelenting. Tension ran through his every movement, and the stiffness was what caused him to fumble and almost trip over. He likely would have, had Othamo not reached out to steady him, unintentionally knocking their bodies a little closer than was comfortable. The taller chuckled, letting his arms fall from around Jezakk and noting how powerful his lemon scent was after that, enough to make his head spin.

“i can generally see thr⊙ugh eye shapes as well, n⊙t just y⊙ur eyes. thatd be selfish, d⊙nt y⊙u think? als⊙, the legends are true. y⊙u smell ⊙f blackberries and fear.”

Jezakk nodded silently, seeing that Othamo would notice the gesture without shifting his arm. He couldn’t help but laugh in fear, even though his words were stuck in his throat, making it near impossible to muster any vocal reply. There was something disarming about the puppeteer, but he was entirely aware of what he was doing. It was making Jezakk on edge, constantly, and he hated it. As such, he sped up his walking, attempting to get as far away from his companion as possible. Due to his dismal height difference, it only took a few rapid strides for Othamo to catch up.

He still intended for the others to help, however, so he continued on his merry way while periodically checking whether or not his ‘friend’ remained at a safe distance from him. There was really no use bothering him further. The first section of the journey to his practice room - as it was in an entirely separate tent to the Ringmaster’s quarters - was filled with a tense silence, which at least one of the pair seemed to heavily regret. The tinkerer was spinning his Capries necklace about in his fingers as an anxious fidget once again, something he performed under stress frequently enough that he took no notice of the action more often than not. Attempting to break the silence, Othamo spoke. It was more of a private mumble than anything directed towards Jezakk, despite that he was wrongly addressed.

“i have n⊙ idea why that jerk th⊙ught it was a g◎︶◉d idea t⊙ put me in charge ⊙f the bees, jazakk.“

“JazAkK? I’M jEzAkk.”

To this, the puppeteer simply shrugged, giving his companion a toothy smile. There was no true joy in the action, and it was unnervingly similar to the Ringmaster’s in that it was more threatening than anything else. Othamo never appeared to drop his grin, which was one of the other reasons Jezakk found it hard to detect whether or not he was being genuine about his expressions. Reaching to place a hand on Jezakk’s shoulder in a mimicry, his claws dug deeper than necessary. He spoke in a hiss, though there was some lightness to it that was reassuring. As if he never meant to threaten, but it was habitual.

“well, y⊙ure n⊙t t⊙ me. y⊙ur ⊙fficial nickname is jazzy n⊙w.”

“I- fiNE. BuT You cAn’T LEt anyONe eLsE knoW… Ah, hERE we aRe. WaNnA CoMe in fOr a BIT? I dOn’t miNd thE cOMpAnY. NObOdy elSe mUch PUTs UP wIth me THeSe daYs. SoRRy… Uh, sOrRY AbOUt thE mEss. I’VE bEen tiNKerINg QUItE a BIT. sEcreT PRoJect.”

The tinkerer, still fidgeting restlessly, rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I SHoUld proBabLY gO anD sOrt ouT the BEE buSINess foR a Bit. NOw thAt I knoW yoU don’T wannA dEal WITh thEm. FeEL frEe to LOOk arOunD, i guEss.”

With that, he left his friend to his own devices for a moment, which likely wasn’t a good idea. There were things scattered all over the place in a frantic manner, as if there had been a fight or something had occurred very quickly. Otherwise, the room seemed relatively empty on the ground, instead hosting shelves that lined the walls filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes. These were Jezakk’s pride and joy; the jack-in-the-boxes were what he was known for among his friends, and rightfully so. He’d definitely honed his craft, making them with an unprecedented love and precision.

Luckily enough, certain trolls - such as Othamo himself, and Jezakk - had been born with tails, according to whether or not their lusus had one, although it was rare. This enabled Othamo to better navigate the room, sweeping objects aside and out of his path to sit and wait for his friend’s return. Closing his eyes, the troll noticed soon enough that there was a strangely printed pair of leggings discarded across a chair, and his grin widened. Perfect. Their ocular design - unnerving to some, and even more so to Othamo himself because of his phobia - would enable him to see properly, though significantly blurred. He had chosen to sit on Jezakk’s recuperacoon, which had been fitted with a cover. It seemed nearly unused.

Activating the chucklevoodoos he was so adept at using, feeling about for the eyes and latching onto them, he made sure to keep his own closed. He wouldn’t need them. Observing the room through his ’new’ sight made his head spin, more than it ever had before. But the fruity scents were like a comforting punch in the nose, so to speak, and it helped him relax slightly and disregard the strangeness of it. There was nothing he could see that would possibly reveal the secret Jezakk had mentioned beforehand, or so he thought. The truth was that he wished to sell his jack-in-the-boxes to help him gather enough Caegars and ensure a safer escape from the troupe.

Meanwhile, Jezakk had located one of the two trolls he wished for help, and he was glad to find that ze was pleasant enough for him to avoid losing his composure. Vizera was slightly too loud for his tastes, and he kept his distance from the acrobat beside him, recalling the enthusiasm with which she had accepted his comparatively gentle plea for assistance. It was not exactly his ideal bottle of Faygo.

“LuMira? YEs, hElLo. It’S… JEzAkk, AND i Don’t THiNk we’VE reaLLy spOken, bUT i wAS WOndeRIN if I couLd HavE soMe heLp mOVIn thEse BeEhOUsEs inTo mY roOm.”

“YEAH, LLLLLUMIIIIIRA! HELLLP THE KIIIID OUT, WON’TCHA? HE’S A NEWBIIIE, AND YOU KNOW HOW THE RIIINGMASTER GETS IIIIF NEWBIIIES GET THIINGS WRONG!”

The troll at the door wore a pleasant smile, directing zir gaze towards Vizera and nodding before looking back towards the little tinkerer, who was significantly shorter than both of them.

“oh!! of course i’ll helP you, jezakk!! i suPPose i have enough time, and i wouldn’t wish for you to get in trouble with the ringmaster!!”

With a small sigh of relief, Jezakk smiled towards Lumira - still, unfortunately, finding it rather difficult to speak because of the new people around him - and led the two through the task, eventually saying his shaky goodbyes to the two and returning behind the safely closed doors of his room. His heart was pounding in his chest, and there was nothing that could have possibly prepared him for the sight that greeted him in that moment. It was an absolute mess. Everything that was scattered on the floor beforehand had been shoved to the side messily. The fact that a few of the jack-in-the-boxes had fallen from their shelves had just established itself as the second most distressing sight there.

The first, of course, was Othamo.

Immediately, the smaller’s hands retrieved his card deck, and he began to rapidly shuffle them as a reaction to his nerves. There was nothing else he could think of except the boy on the floor, but his body completely refused to move in a way he wanted it to. It was hard to decipher what had happened, exactly, but Othamo was laid out on the floor, staring blankly towards the tapering ceiling with eyes weakly flickering purple. He looked as if he’d been almost paralysed. Tears dripped their way down his cheeks, an even paler lavender than his eyes themselves. The only sound in the room - that Jezakk could hear - was the beating of his own heart, so loud and panicked that it drowned everything else.

Jezakk wasn’t used to this at all. His claws were trembling as he shuffled his cards around, silken gloves at risk of unravelling from where they were pulled high to his shoulders. He wasn’t truly expecting anyone to be with him within his practice room, let alone when he returned to it after Othamo had scheduled a busy day at the shows. Because he was new to the troupe, everyone else tended to have more performances than he did, which left him lonely. But here Othamo was, finally giving him the company he so craved, and he had no idea what to do. Everything was just a little bit too wrong, and no amount of physical messing around could fix it. So he distracted himself first, because his thinkpan wasn’t letting him make any lateral solution to the problem yet.

Tiptoeing around so that he didn’t disturb anyone else, Jezakk let his mind drift away from his friend for a moment. He placed his cards away, attempting and failing to regulate his breathing. How could he, when his pan was being wild? Instead, he walked around and picked up all of his boxes that had fallen, softly humming a show tune under his breath that he was fairly sure Panton himself had composed. He wasn’t sure why his pan had strayed to it, but he didn’t like it much. There was a funny taste in his mouth about it, because it meant that something about that suave, manipulative asshole was genuinely likeable. Shaking his head physically in an attempt to clear it, Jezakk placed the last box upon the shelves and redirected his attention to his friend.

Clearing a space to sit next to Othamo, he crossed his legs and began to sing a little louder. Even though his voice was croaky and awful because of the tears that had begun to greet his eyes and blur his vision, he continued, hoping that his voice would at least rouse the one on the floor. There wasn’t much else he was able to do, because he couldn’t properly attend to someone who was unconscious. Othamo was practically a dead weight as it stood, so manipulation would prove difficult for Jezakk. Nonetheless, he continued to sing to his friend, the frown lifting from his lips into a smile.

However negative, he enjoyed the time he spent with the puppeteer, and hoped Othamo felt the same. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, the clown gently wiped the tears away from his friend’s cheeks and eyes, which caused them to flutter and Othamo to stir. He flinched back, seeing the purple sparks that licked at his fingers, and shuffled his position so that he could give him some space to properly orientate himself.

“Ah, SHit, sORRy otH. DidN’T, UH, didN’t meAN tO hUrT YOu or ANytHIn…”

Othamo’s unseeing gaze followed Jezakk’s voice when he struggled into a sitting position, and he shrugged, not having gathered enough composure to vocalise his thoughts. Everything was spinning, and he felt dizzy even though there was no visual indication of it.

Although there was no longer a smile upon the tinkerer’s face, he was relieved beyond expression that Othamo had actually stirred. His fears often caught up with him, and he’d panicked about leaving the other troll to get into a bigger accident. Observing the smudging face paint smeared across his puppeteer’s cheeks in blackened tear trails, he pursed his lips. Softly telling Othamo to wait - as if he could do anything else - Jezakk left the room, locating Othamo’s own and entering it. It was cluttered, sure enough, but he was soon able to locate some liquorice-scented face paint among the jars of scenting strings and return to his friend.

“HOLd on. I thInk YOu smUdGed, mAn. LEmMe heLp yoU.”

He murmured, lifting the puppeteer into his arms with a groan and placing him on top of his recuperacoon once more, back against the wall. He hopped onto the cover himself, settling beside Othamo with his supplies. Taking a makeup brush and some remover, he began to gently brush away the crust of old makeup and remove the rest. After he was mostly clean, Jezakk preceded to wash his friend’s face of the smears with warm water on a cloth, all the while mumbling rapid-fire apologies whether or not he’d actually hurt the troll. He didn’t know how long it’d been since the blind troll had been able to reapply it himself or bothered to, but it couldn’t have been good.

He wrinkled his nose upon twisting the paint’s cap off, the scent making him almost vomit. Why Othamo liked liquorice was something he’d never understand, but he dipped the brush into the pot and began to carefully outline the boy’s ‘mask’ nonetheless. Subconsciously, he found his singing beginning again as he worked but reducing itself to a vague hum. It was a habit he’d suppressed, like many others, but Othamo made him feel safer about expressing himself. Filling it in gently, with slow and rhythmic strokes, he was pleased to find that the paint was drying rather quickly.

“YOu shOuLd gET soMe reST, BRoTHer. I CAn’T be sURE hoW loNg yOu weRe ouT FOr, buT yoU SEEm tiRed AS alL hEll. I hoPe I DId yoUr FACe PaInt WELl enOugH. I guEss I’M prEttY LucKy THaT YOu cAm’T SEE it… I’LL chEck On yoU LAtER, but I SHouLd go DEaL witH acTaLLy geTTin ThE bees FOr thE hOuseS. YOu caN usE mY reCUPerAcoON toDaY, lOokin IN no RIgHT sTaTe tO BE MOvIN.”

Once again using his unprecedented, caste-granted strength, the boy moved Othamo enough to slip the cover away from under him and help him ease into the slime underneath. Jezakk remembered how warm and relieving the sopor was, especially for physical pain. He’d installed a special heating apparatus underneath it so he - or another recipient - wouldn’t get cold in the harsher Alternian months. Turning this on and walking towards the door, Jezakk flashed Othamo an equally warm smile that would go unseen, but was nice regardless. Feeling a deeper sense of satisfaction than he had in sweeps, the tinkerer flicked the lights off and partially drew the door closed.

“HAve A gOOd rEsT, BRoTHer. yoU dEsERvE it. I’m pROuD oF yoU.”

[writersrealmbts]

Frosted Glass: Part 2

Description: Yoongi is in love with the princess of another land, and he’s given the opportunity to court her, with the help of his brothers. You are the princess of the country south of the frozen kingdom, but you’ve gotten a deadly disease and your only home is to venture and live in the icy north. Will Yoongi be able to win your hand with the help of his brothers?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 02/01/2020

Tags: Yoongi x reader, Prince!Yoong, Prince!Jaebum, Prince!Yesung, Prince!Yeonjun, Prince!Hwall, Frost Prince, Jack Frost! Yoongi

?: 1,966 words

A/N: Second part posted as my soul leaves my bodies and winter semester slump sets in.

You stood tall, despite feeling like you were about to drop dead. You had no choice.

“Presenting Princess Y/n, second daughter of the kingdom of Cierova,” The man announcing you to the royal family of Godeuleum continued to drone on and on about your lineage.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. They knew who you were. They had invited you. You just wanted to shut his mouth and make this supposedly essential greeting go more quickly. You wanted to lay down. The cold felt amazing, but the journey had exhausted you and you had been ill for quite some time now.

“We welcome you, Princess, we were sorry to hear of your illness. I’ve had our healers prepare a room for you to recover in before we discuss treaties,” Crown Prince Yesung said the moment the man stopped to draw breath. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. Jisoo will lead you to your room directly and my brothers and father will greet you when you are recovered and ready to meet them.” He had a soft smile that was kind as he gestured toward a maid.

You curtsied, but lost your balance.

“Careful,” A different voice said, catching your arms and supporting you with hands so cold you could feel it through the sleeves of your dress.

You closed your eyes, feeling dizzy, but when you opened them you were looking at dark blue silk, embroidered with black. Pale hands carefully gripping your arms and holding you steady, long fingers that looked oddly attractive.

You managed to look up at the face of the one who assisted you.

He was breathtaking.

You shook your head, trying to clear the delirious thoughts, but caught a glimpse of the crown on his head. “I apologize, I think…”

He released one arm, and pressed his icy hand to your forehead. “Your fever has risen again. Jisoo, get her to her room. I’ll send the healers directly.”

“Yes, Prince Yoongi,” The maid that must have been Jisoo said, curtsying to him before his older brother. She came and supported you as he carefully released your arms. “This way, Princess.”

You let her lead you away, glancing back at the icy prince who had caught you, and his brother. There was something almost familiar about him.

Not that you saw much of anyone for the next few days, too busy getting treated, feeling more alive as you limbs went numb from cold than you had in the past two months since you’d contracted that confounding illness. It gave you time to adjust, really. Time to come to terms with the fact that you would most likely spend the rest of your life here, married to one of the princes. You knew it wouldn’t be the eldest, Yesung, because he was recently betrothed to some princess from an even icier kingdom than Godeumleum—Princess Eira. But the king had three other sons of marriageable age, though you knew the one was on the much younger edge of being old enough to marry. And then there was the youngest son, who was apparently away at school.

You found yourself at the window one morning after the fever broke, looking out, but then noticing the designs in the frost on the pains.

You grinned and carefully examined it. You hadn’t seen the designs of your frost-friend in a long time. Not since that morning a while back, when the design had been incomplete and you’d been unable to keep yourself standing. You hadn’t been able to check the windows since, too ill. You were honestly surprised you were even able to stand upright on your own while initially being welcomed to the kingdom by Prince Yesung.

Your frost friend had drawn flowers and trees, a little frost landscape. You sighed happily, glad that whoever it was hadn’t completely abandoned you anyway. It made sense that they’d be here as well, since this was the kingdom of all things cold. The Kingdom of Old Man Winter and his Frost Princes, of Ice Princesses from the highest and coldest of mountains, and snow during all seasons of the year.

It was probably a good thing you liked winter as much as you did. You learned how to skate as a child, and had continued practicing as you grew. You’d helped the children of the capitol city make snowmen, and you frequently took your horse for a brief canter through the winter woods. You conversed with ice fishermen. Then you would go home and curl up with your furs next to the hearth fire, drinking tea and hoping all of the townsfolk were warm through the night. You didn’t have power, or access to any sort of money—your mother had been making all of the purchases for you—and the townsfolk knew it. They knew you couldn’t help them as you would like when you would bring the children food you had pilfered from the castle kitchens to try and help those you knew were struggling. They knew when you would “lose” a scarf that you had wrapped around a child that looked too cold, or a hat that you had shoved onto the head of a maiden that looked chilled to the bone.

You were always warmly welcomed in the village. As the youngest of six you were left much to your own devices, frequently absconding to the towns and villages to check their welfare.

But now, marrying one of the princess of this kingdom would be the best way you could aid your own kingdom. It would result in better trade agreements, ease travel through the mountain regions, and you wouldn’t be a burden to your kingdom’s finances any longer.

You dressed in one of your favorite gowns with the help of the maids, then exited your room for the first time in a week. You were to dine with the royal family, and the dress was more than appropriate, however you started doubting your choice as you noticed most people wearing clothes in blues, purples, whites, blacks, browns, and some greens—meanwhile you stood out in your pale pink gown. It wasn’t even that bright, and yet you felt as though you were standing out in such a terrible way.

“Y/n?”

You looked toward the voice, seeing another woman with a delicate tiara on her head, pale as snow.

She dropped a slight curtsy and you mimicked it, shaking a little. “It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Eira, of the Ice Mountains. It is good to see you are well, and we are happy you are to join us this evening. Shall we walk to the hall together?”

You nodded, smiling a little and taking her arm. “Sorry, I am still a little shaky on my own feet.”

“Of course you are, you have been so very ill. I am so sorry. That must have been hard, especially so far from family. But you look wonderful, and that dress is astounding on you. An excellent choice,” She said.

You wondered if she was buttering you up. Nobody was this nice.

“We should have lunch together, the family usually have duties that go through midday meals, but I could use the company. I am so accustomed to being surrounded by the women of the mountains all the time and here I am surrounded by men, but now that you are here, perhaps we can find some sort of common ground over a meal together?” She looked at you with such genuine friendliness that you knew that she was being honest. About everything. Her compliments, her invitation, everything. It reminded you of something one of your childhood friends used to tell you, that only black ice knew how to lie.

“I think that sounds lovely, I could bring my embroidery,” You replied, smiling back and feeling a little better.

She visibly brightened, her smile becoming dazzling. “Oh! Yes, that would be excellent! I could work on lace and you could embroider and we could just enjoy one another’s company! Oh, I am so glad to have another woman here.”

You giggled, squeezing her arm. “I can tell.”

“Oh! Yeonjun! Have you met Princess Y/n?” Eira called to a young man that was talking to a guard.

He looked over and smiled, bowing as you curtsied. “I have not, but it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. My father is eager to meet you at last.”

You curtsied again, feeling a little shy at the thought of meeting the king. You’d heard so many legends about him, and you wondered how many were true.

Yeonjun offered both of you his arms, and you both took one, allowing him to escort both of you in. You could tell that he was too young for you, kind and definitely would be a sweet brother, but altogether too young. Still, his kindness warmed you.

The King stood to greet you, gesturing for you to take a seat right away. “I would hate to keep you on your feet, I know you are still recovering. We are mightily pleased to have you here with us, Princess. You are most welcome. It’s high time that a treaty came about between our two countries, seeing as you’re our only neighbors.”

“I believe both of our kingdoms could greatly benefit from an alliance as well,” You agreed quietly. “I am happy to be here, and thank you for your hospitality. Without it, I fear I would have been much worse.”

“Someday that blasted disease will be cured, but we’re glad we were able to help you so quickly. You have met my eldest son, Yesung, and my second youngest, Yeonjun, but may I introduce my second eldest son, Yoongi, and my third eldest, Jaebum, and my youngest, Hyunjoon.”

You dipped your head since the king had been quite insistent on you sitting. “A pleasure, gentleman.”

“And you’ve met Princess Eira.”

You smiled toward the woman, nodding. “We have met, yes.”

She grinned back at you from beside Prince Yesung. “She has charming manners, my king. I approve of her very much.” She sat as Yesung pulled her chair for her.

“I believe there are very few of whom you do not approve, my dear,” Yesung said, the affection palpable in his voice as he gently pushed her chair in once more. He sat beside her, the King on his other side.

Yoongi sat next, then Jaebum, then the youngest two seemed to sit at the same time. You were across from Prince Yesung, but Yoongi sat beside you.

The youngest started telling the King about some of his activities from school and you glanced at Yoongi beside you.

“I was unable to thank you for catching me when I first arrived,” You said softly, knowing you were allowed to have your own conversations since Jaebum, Eira, and Yesung were chatting with each other.

He shook his head slightly. “You should have been shown directly to a room to recover. You are feeling better?”

You nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiled softly, just barely, but it felt strangely warm for a frost prince. “Good. Once you’re fully recovered, I could show you the town.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” You thought it strange that the one you’d heard had the coldest demeanor was so…friendly? Maybe they had it wrong.

Yeonjun caught your attention, striking up a conversation where you told him about summer activities in response to his curiosity about what one did in “extreme” heat.

You were very aware of the presence beside you, watching you casually, listening. It felt…so familiar. Again. But you couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it excited you.

–

Previous.  Next.

Masterlist.  Yoongi Masterpost.

Tagging: @alex–awesome–22​  @bryvada​  @missmoxxiesworld​  @knjhe​ @agustdgeniuslab​ 

(Please remember to comment on the Taglist masterpost if you want to be tagged)

[letmeringabell]

Legends Never Die - Chapter 1

Lately, I’ve been consuming a lot of Mortal Kombat content (Especially Erron Black and Kabal ones). So I thought that I should contribute in some way to the fandom, because you just gotta be the change you see in the world sometimes.

My OC’s name in this, is Vanessa. Basically, this is an Erron x F!OC fic, where the OC is a field medic, and Kotal wants to have friendly relations with Earthrealm by calling Special Forces for a field trip. 

I’m sorry for a slow first chapter, but sometimes you gotta lay down the framework, the same way you lay down a table mat before you eat to avoid making a mess. God, I’m so hungry.

Anyway, enjoy! I’ll include a link to the AO3 fic, or you can just search for it with the same name. 

Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49453874

- 

“And thus, Kotal Kahn has agreed to receive Special Forces’ Entourage as a sign of trust and cooperation between Outworld and Earthrealm.”

She hears General Blade’s voice boom throughout the hall, the entire fleet pays close attention to their leading officer-in command.

“This delegation will be led by Commander Cage. I, myself and Johnny will stay behind to watch over things here, just to make sure Earthrealm is kept in check. Take this as an opportunity to further sharpen your skills and reflexes. Don’t ever let your guard down, you never know what danger finds you in Outworld.”

There is no sugar-coating with General Blade, but it is apt for the situation.

General Blade continues on with her announcements; The time and place for the Delegation to assemble, the necessary and optional squadrons needed, and a briefing in Outworld Etiquette and Propriety later in the evening. The General ends the meeting, and dismisses everyone early to allow for preparation and packing. Every soldier needs to be fully ready; Their physical fitness at their peak, and iron-clad mental fortitude to persevere through the unknown days ahead.

Despite the warnings and precautions, the allure of danger and mysticality still has everyone whispering excitedly, or worriedly. She can’t tell at this point, because all sorts of whispers seem to drown out any distinction between the two.

What would they be doing there? What would they see in Outworld? What does Kotal Kahn want with Special Forces? Is Outworld coffee stronger than Earthrealm? Better yet, does Outworld actually have coffee?

She doesn’t stay long for the excitement nor dread that has everyone rapt in their conversation. She sees Jacqui and Cassie in the distance, and calls out to them eagerly. There are more pressing and urgent matters on hand, and she has a tendency to procrastinate.

-

“And here I thought packing my stuff would take the longest,” Cassie grumbles as she hoists another box to the corner of the room.

Jacqui is busy going through her extensive vault of books; Any journal, document, or research paper that would be useful goes in the box while others, would collect dust on the large shelf during their 6-month stay in Outworld. Jacqui is impressed by the sheer volume of reading material in the office, but silently hopes that this is the last of it. The whole sifting and sorting process is wearing her spirits down, and she feels the impending migraine pulsing at the back of her head.

“Don’t worry gals, I have come with gifts,” She comes in with a tray of hot coffee in hand, and immediately, the girls lighten up.

“God, I needed a break from all these books!”

“And I need a break from all this heavy lifting. We’ve gotta KonMari your office when we get back, Van,” Cassie says, taking the offered coffee with a tired hand and a soft thank you.

“We’re almost done, actually. All that’s left is the books, and after that, we can start moving my stuff onto the trolleys.”

“Thank God! If I have to sit through another ‘Cardio’, ‘Surgery’ and ‘Benign’, I’ll go nuts and throw the books through the roof. Why do you need so much books anyway? Most of the information is in the Special Forces Database.”

She shrugs carelessly, “Some of them are very old tomes and medical journals that are not online, and I prefer having paperback anyway. Makes jotting and scribbling little notes easier.”

“What ever you say, Doc,” Cassie holds her hands up in defeat, “Just make sure you pack for all sun and no rain, because Outworld is hot as hell.”

“No kidding. I almost got a heat stroke, and Outworld’s bedside manners aren’t exactly… up to par,” Jacqui’s grimace at the recollection is evidence enough that Outworld weather is not to be trifled with. Although, it does sound like the perfect weather to have ice cream and brownies, and every other dessert on the chilled spectrum.

Her glance moves beyond the window, into the outside world, and finally, settles at the sunset sky – The splashes of purple, pink and orange washes the sky in vivid technicolor, and it leaves her feeling some kind of way; Like she would never come to see the sunset sky the same way ever again. It is somewhat unsettling, yet, she doesn’t feel her skin prickle at the thought. Maybe it’s just her nerves or paranoia flaring up.

All of them finish packing her things up, and unloaded the boxes onto the designated trolleys. At least, she’s packed her stuff early and if she ever needed to pack more, she could just add to the load.

Cassie is the first to initiate the conversation, “So, Jacqui, Van, where do you wanna eat? We’ve got 2 whole days before we make a move, so we might as well start satisfying every craving known to man now.”

“Should we make a head start on sushi, then?” Nothing could’ve been any better.

-

Outworld is every bit as hot and dry as Jacqui and Cassie had described it to be, and she is thankful for their advice; Her medical outfit is light and loose, allowing for easier movement and a reprieve from the searing heat. She wonders whether everyone else is suffering in the heat, and if they’re cursing their decision to come to Outworld—Whether the allure of ‘I’ve been to Outworld and survived its hell’ had been worth the attraction in the first place.

Although, it is not her place to doubt the Special Forces. All of them had been trained for extreme climates and situation, and this delegation is no different. Cassie is front and center, with Jacqui at her side as her right-hand man. Everyone has their guns lock and loaded, and a contingency plan had been formed prior to their arrival should anything go wrong.

She catches a glimpse of 3 figures in the distance, and she can only guess who they are: Kotal Kahn, Kitana and Jade. They had rolled out the red carpet treatment, coming to greet the delegation themselves. The air surrounding the Force tenses in anticipation as they near the Kahns—Everyone’s standing a little straighter, and the grip on their guns tighten ever so slightly.

“Welcome to Outworld, fellow Earthrealmers,” His welcome had been loud and clear, “We hope that you enjoy whatever Outworld has to offer, and do not worry, we have prepared food and accommodation for your stay here.”

The Imperial Army had descended upon the Special Forces, (and to their relief) started helping them with their equipment and luggage. Immediately, everyone was up in arms, trying to work and sort through all the different boxes and luggage, making sure they don’t accidentally end up in the trash or some other unsavory place. She’s never went dumpster diving in Earthrealm, and she’s not going to start the habit in Outworld.

The Imperial Guard guided her through the Palace halls, and like any person with new experiences, she observed her surroundings; Talltalltall ceilings overshadowing longlonglong hallways, the pillars stand strong with their embellishments of royal red and gold, and there are windows interspersed to grant the Palace inhabitant a splendid view of the City from above. All in all, this Palace is bigger than any castle she’s seen back home.

The infirmary is nothing out of the ordinary – Cabinets filled with medical equipment and solutions, the beds are adjacent to the wall and there are people filing in out and out of the room. Her office is neat and tidy—Tables, bookshelves, and other assorted furniture had already been moved in for her comfort. I could get used to this, she mused to herself. Her office back home wasn’t this big nor spacious. It wasn’t cramped either, but one could always upgrade to bigger spaces once in a while.

There is a garden outside of her office, and its splendor can be admired from the infirmary. The spread of green stretches as far as the eye can see, yet there are fragments of oranges, reds and white that makes the garden all the more surreal. She spots the row of unknown plants in one corner of the garden, and wonders if there are herbs planted here for easy access. Maybe, she’ll ask some of the other doctors for help.

“Miss Vanessa,” The guard brings her out from her daydream, and speak of the devil, “I would like to introduce to you the Palace Doctors. They will be here to assist you should you need it.”

“Thank you, but I think I would be needing their help more than they mine.”

“Don’t be so modest, Miss Vanessa. We could all stand to learn from each other,” One of the Doctors joked, and before she knew it, she was being huddled by all these strangers. She was relieved to be welcomed so warmly, the fear of being an outcast had been an idle thought playing in the back of her head for the past few days.

The routine in the infirmary had been simple; 2 off-days, make sure that the medicine cabinet is always stocked, all rounds must be completed on schedule, paperwork must be filed, and other things she was already doing back at Earthrealm. She is reassured by the fact, that there is something that she is used to doing and it makes adjusting to life on Outworld a little easier.

Clack!

The sound of heavy footsteps against the marble floor had everyone’s breath held, there had been some sort of frenzy; Some frantic urgency that had caused them to file out of the room like a deer out of headlights. She was… confused? Confounded? What? She had walked to the doorway to find the reason for the commotion, and true enough, there had been a man at the center of it all.

Deadly—Had been the first word that came to mind. Gore and glory seem to go hand-in-hand because he shows up bloodied and slightly haggard (with mud trailing behind him, to her annoyance), yet his mere presence is enough to command everyone’s respect, is enough to have people whisper in awe and alarm at the sight of him.

He is tall—He towers over some of doctors crowding him, and even she can see that his physique is packing serious amount of muscle under all that clothing. He is dark – The tufts of brown can be seen in his sideburns, and he has a slight tan from all his days of yeehaw-ing around. Is he handsome? Hard to tell considering he has the bottom half of his face obscured with a mask.

He looks at her, and it makes her stand a little straighter. His eyes are intense, and it scares her how deeply he’s staring into her, but she still can’t look away-- Something in her tells her, forces her to hold his gaze.  It feels like forever since they’ve been staring at each other, but finally, something in his eyes change, and he subtly tips his hat off to her. Whether it is a sign of respect or acknowledgement, she doesn’t know.

But she breaks their staring contest, turns around and shuts the door behind her.

 -

1868 words

[mwolf0epsilon]

who are you dbh ocs!!! what are they like? are any of them androids? (sorry if that terminology is wrong i dont know much about dbh (im assuming you mean detroit become human but if you arent thats double embarrassing))

You got that right, it is Detroit: Become Human, no need for embarassment!And to answer the question, the majority of my DBH ocs are androids, with a few being android dogs actually.I’ll list all of them here and give a brief look into who they are and what they’re like, buckle up it’ll be a long one ^^;

Androids:

Joel the EM400 - Like most EM400s he worked for an amusement park, but he was tasked with maintaining the haunted house attraction. As a result, Joel had to deal with jumpy people who’d kick and punch him and overall behave abusively towards the actors in the haunted house. He ended up deviating purely out of fear when someone sicked their supposed “service dog” on him. Joel is an anxious mess and an aspiring novelist.

Jindosh the HR900 - He’s a custom Korean Traci that traveled to Detroit after the revolution. The Eden Club wasn’t the only facility of it’s kind, and it’s obvious the Traci models in Korea have just as many horror stories to tell, if the extensive damage to Jindosh’s face is anything to go by. He works as a body guard for hire.

Sergei the PL600 - Jessica Lamb’s PL600 who was bought under the guise of taking care of her baby. Was actually tortured for fun and came out of it psychologically damaged and prone to odd fits. Is a masochist and a drag queen and probably my favorite out of my OCs.

Noah the PL600 - A special edition PL600 who’s main design difference is that he has green eyes. He’s a soft spoken individual who belonged to a man for a few weeks before he was traded in for an AP700. He worked for several other families for a while before ending up at a pawnshop.

Dakota the CX100 - Once a CX100 named David, Dakota is an extraordinary example of how modding doesn’t necessarily have to go the same track as what Zlatko did to his androids. Being perhaps one of very few trans androids does come with hardships, but Dakota has enough friends and allies that she’s always one call away from help if someone tries anything.

Monochrome the CX100 - Chrome is another interesting CX100. He’s an android that works as a dancer for a strip club called the Steamy Piston. The one thing that sets him apart from most standard CX100s is that his hair is black and his eyes are grey, which is where he gets his name.

Apollo the AP700 - He was a faulty AP700 that was purchansed by a family at an absurdly low price with added costumization. His memory chip malfunctioned during production, which made it impossible for him to recall things or people unless he was standing right in front of them. For a while this meant that Apollo couldn’t register a name for himself until he was properly repaired. His appearence is that of a PL600, but his hair is a shade darker, his face is noticeably freckled and his eyes are a different color each. He was abandoned and lived in the Android Junkyard for a while…He’s a bit cold at times but is actually a pretty affectionate guy.

Eddie the WK218 - A british maintenence android that was stolen and modded before being sold in a flea market as a partner model. He’s an anxious clumsy mess who’s definitly not used to being indoors, but the people who rescued him have properly adopted him into the family and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Aleshenka “The Stag” the WM500 - The Stag is a living urban legend that is seen roaming unlit streets at night. They are a heavily modded WM500 who’s created a small circle of cultists followers. To maintenence and construction worker androids, the Stag is a merciful creature. To android abusers, they are a merciless prosecutor. For some reason, interfacing with them is like being consumed by white noise, and it leaves other androids reeling and unnerved.

Veronica the WR400 - A rather shy WR400 that was purchansed by the Eden Club to substitute North when she was reported missing. She made a friend out of Scott, a HR400, and the two tried to run away after Echo and Ripple were let go by Connor and Hank. Unfortunately Veronica and Scott were caught, and while they did manage to escape, Scott was shot down, leaving Veronica no choice but to salvage her friend’s memory chip and find a temporary body to house it until she could get him a new proper one.

Scott the HR400/K9300 - Originally he was a HR400 that had the appearence of a PJ500. After making friends with Veronica, the two attempted to escape the Eden Club but Scott ended up getting shot down. When he next awoke, he was in the body of a guard dog model made to look like a massive pit bull. Sarcastic and often rude, Scott doesn’t mind the fact he’s basically the real life Scooby Doo, but god does he miss having opposable thumbs.

Ragnarok the K9300 - A guard dog model that looks like a rottweiller, Roky is a very friendly pooch who, despite having been horribly beaten by his owner, is eager to make friends. He seems to think he’s a lap dog.

Chitin the K9099 - A police dog model made to look like a german shepard that was used in an illegal android fighting ring. She’s a lot smarter than she seems, which is how she managed to escape and end up at the K9 devision of the DPD. She’s not just a good girl, she is the best girl.

Regi the K9300 - Val’s personal guard dog model and her only remaining family member. He’s loyal to a fault and will protect his owner at any cost. He’s a fan of belly rubs and ear scratches.

Zulu the WMK9 - A military grade android attack dog. He’s big, fast and scary. Enough said on that matter.

Miles the RK300 - An RK series prototype and also Cyberlife’s first attempt at utilizing the RK models in their pursuit for knowledge on deviancy. He was subjected to all sorts of experimentation to try to induce deviancy in an android and then attempt to newtralize it. This including psychological torture and physical torture as a means to fix a glitch…It didn’t work whatsoever and Miles eventually escaped and hid within the walls of Cyberlife Tower. He’s terrified of everything, including his own shadow. 

Tristan the RK700 - The predecessor of the Connor model, Tristan was designed for infiltration. Cyberlife assumed that, by having an android that could blend in, they’d be able to stop deviancy at it’s root. Sadly, because they tested Tristan through military espionage missions, Cyberlife lost track of their prototype and he went rogue. Tristan is currently a mercenary for hire, chosing to work for the highest bidder, and lives what is essentially a double life. One where he has a civilian personality and appearence, and another where he can disguise himself as whomever he pleases.

Humans:

Artyum Kutznekov the Ex-Cyberlife Engineer - A 21 year old russian immigrant who came to america for a second chance. After lucking out and getting a job at Cyberlife as an engineer, Artyum soon came to realize something just wasn’t right with what the company was doing and that deviancy was more than just a glitch or virus. Unable to keep working out of disgust and guilt, Artyum quit and became a bit of a shuttin. This all changed when one rainy night he came across a severely damaged Sergei and decided to do some good with his skills as an engineer. He’s a gruff bitter young man who looks 40 due to his prematurely graying hair and unkept appearence.

Valentina Hernández the Illegal Modder - A latina 18 year old who helped her father mod androids for a living. A child prodigy, Val had a bright future ahead of her before Cyberlife began to blacklist modders due to the “danger” they posed for the company. When her father refused to stop modding, things took a turn to the worse, and now Val only has Regi to keep her company. Bitter and angry over the injustice her family suffered, Val has taken it upon herself to royally screw over Cyberlife, starting with helping deviants change their appearence. She was the one who modded Dakota, and seems to hold a lot of affection towards the CX100.

Elisa “Myu” Corvo the Android Rights Activist - A portuguese android rights activist who saved Eddie from the flea market he was being sold at. A long time advocate for AI and robotics, Elisa came to america to help in any way shape or form she could, even if it means offering temporary shelter or participating in large protests.

Jessica Lamb the Red Ice Addict - I don’t even know where to start with this one. She’s a drug addict, a drug dealer, a child murderer, and she’s a sadist. She bought an android with the sole intention of recording herself torturing it. She and her friends may have something to do with a certain WR600′s mental and physical scarring…Overall Jess is a terrible person and nothing she does is excusable or morally correct.

Chance - A small baby that Apollo found abandoned in a warehouse. Literally the only thing Apollo has to live for anymore.

AI Handlers:

Miles’s Amanda - One of the first iterations of the AMANDA handler, Miles’s Amanda, known as Amy, is a calmer and more understanding version of Amanda Stern’s AI copy. Her mindscape space is a bakery instead of a garden.

Tristan’s Amanda - The fifth iteration of the AMANDA handler, Tristan’s Amanda is closer to the final product, being stricter and more judgemental of Tristan’s overall behaviour and actions, with the one difference being that she does not have the same override protocol as Connor’s Amanda. She can only berate Tristan for his choices. Her mindscape space is a cinema theater.

Tango - An AI copy of Amanda Stern’s professor, Aaron Hoss, who was her greatest inspiration. He was Part of the RK300 tests, suffering through the same amount of torment as Miles, which in turn drove him insane. Known only as TANGO, this AI handler is a lot more ambitious and murderous than the AMANDA program.

[nichetraveldesign]

Locals Only

A few years ago some Italian friends told me about some natural thermal baths in Saturnia, Tuscany.  They explained that there was a famous spa one could go to, but that there was also a natural occurring, free version very near the expensive spa, “IF you can find it!”

You see, the trick was that the locals will not tell outsiders how to find the natural thermal baths as they don’t want the natural baths overrun with tourists.

Since we lived In Italy I figured we qualified as locals of sorts. I was determined to find the free thermal baths. Unfortunately, at that time, the natural baths were not part of the standard GPS menu. The only information that we had was that they were near the famed Terme di Saturnia Spa and Golf  Resort.  Armed with an old fashioned map, American grit and a stubborn streak, we set out to explore.

It was not easy to find. There were no signs and there are a multitude of country roads to chose from. I am nothing, if not persistent though, and eventually we found it.

The kids and me in the front pool – Cascate del Mulino

After visiting Cascate del Mulino, I can see why the locals want to preserve this special place. Until now, I have never written about the baths out of respect for the local’s wish to keep it secret and special.  Today, good or bad, what the locals feared has come to pass and one can input the location on your GPS. Back then it was such a local secret that when we asked our hotel for directions and they gave us some vague instructions about the general direction to go. Today they advertise the baths on their website.

Two Very Different Experiences

Luxury

If nature is not your thing, rest assured that one has choices when visiting the thermal baths. The resort, Terme di Saturnia Spa and Golf  Resort, offers golf, spa treatments, yoga, massage, restaurants and accommodation in addition to thermal baths. It looked amazing and relaxing. The atmosphere is pure luxury. Room rates start at 300 Euros a night.

Photo Credit: Trip Advisor

Photo Credit: Premium Europe

Rustic

In contrast, the natural (i.e. free) baths, Cascate del Mulino, just down the road, are the complete opposite. At the time that we visited there were no signs and we drove down many a dirt road searching for the mill.  The area is unattended by any staff.  There were no parking attendants, lifeguards or wait staff serving cocktails and sparkling water.  The area was unpaved and dusty. Nearer the mill and falls, it was quite gravely and the actual pools and falls were quite slippery. Water shoes are a must. 

The Legend

According to Italian lore the gods Saturn and Zeus were arguing about mortals penchant for fighting each other.

Zeus and his Lightening bolt – Photo credit: Newsela

Saturn – Photo Credit: Chronos Speaks

At some point during the argument, Zeus threw a lightening bolt (or a thunderbolt depending on who you ask) at Saturn (or at the mortals depending on who you ask).

The power of this lightening bolt went straight into the Earth and resulted in warm water gushing out, overflowing and enveloping the mortals. Essentially, Zeus gave the mortals a warm bath to calm them down. And it worked, the warm hot springs calmed the mortals, healed their ailments and generally made everyone happier. And it still works today.

The Healing Properties

Who wouldn’t want to heal themselves in waters divined by the gods?  These thermal waters have been in use by local Italians since the Etruscan and Roman period.  Natural pools have formed out of travertine as a result of 3,000 years of flowing water. The pools are perfectly formed and comfortable. The pools are so perfectly formed and smooth that my husband did not believe that they were naturally made.

The water is a consistent 37.5 °C/99.5 °F which may seem like it would be too hot, but trust me, it is not. It was oh.so.nice. We visited in the spring and I couldn’t help thinking that visiting on a crisp autumn or winter evening would be heaven. 

The thermal water contains a myriad of minerals that offer healing powers.  A few of the minerals are sulfur, sulphate, sulfide, carbon, bicarbonate, hydrogen, alkaline, thermal plankton, and 2 gasses – hydrogen sulphide and carbon dioxide. The gases give off a rather pungent smell similar to hard boiled eggs.  We did not mind the smell, but I was told some people do not like it.

The minerals in the water have been used as a natural therapeutic spa since the the Etruscan and Roman periods. The waters were so revered that the Romans built thermal baths in many of the little villages surrounding the falls. Some of those baths still remain.

What can be cured by soaking in the thermal baths? All kinds of ailments including eczema, psoriasis, respiratory infections, and rheumatoid arthritis, to name a few.  The water is also said to detox the body, and improve circulation, cell oxygenation and immune function. For me, the simple relaxation it provided was enough. And an added bonus, the minerals left my skin feeling soft and supple.

Monte Amiata.  Photo credit: gps-tour.info

The source of the incredible healing water begins at Monte Amiata. Monte Amiata is a dormant volcano, which despite its dormant status, still pumps in excess of  800 litres/211 gallons of water a second from its depths into the falls. The water begins 200 meters/656 feet below the earth and is heated by the thermal activity of the dormant volcano. I am not a geologist. I admit that I don’t understand how a dormant volcano is still generating this much heat and hydraulics, but, who cares why. I am just glad it does. 

Practicalities

Parking is limited.  Many people park along the road and in fact that was how we ended up finding the place. There is one small car park at the end of the access road, however, it was jammed packed with cars so don’t count on finding a place.

Never leave valuables in your car.

Water shoes – you must take water shoes. Not only for your comfort on the rocky shore, but for safety in the slippery pools.

The usual bathing suits, towels, a sun umbrella, and sun screen, but you may also want to bring a change of clothes as your bathing suit will smell of sulphur after you get out. Changing occurs under the cover of your towel – again, this is a no frills natural spa and it is Italy where people don’t get hung up about changing on the beach, etc.

Food – bring a picnic, snacks, fresh water, etc. as there is only a tiny snack bar that sells things like ice cream, but not a full service restaurant or store in the area. Also, what a fantastic place for a picnic!

Accommodation

There are many hotels and B&B’s in the area. We stayed at the darling Relais Ciavatta in Maremma and I cannot recommend it more.

Relais Ciavatta offers beautiful Tuscan grounds,

rooms with traditional Tuscan country decor,

Photo credit: Booking.com

Photo credit: Booking.com

an inviting pool,

Photo credit: http://www.czemplik.com

a delicious restaurant on site, Osteria la Frasca,

and amazing, friendly staff. One in particular was very attentive and sweet. Luigi, the Jack Russell.

Luigi – the official greeter.

Benvenuti a tutti.

Luigi waiting patiently outside our door for my daughter to play ball with him.

Our day at Cascate del Mulino remains one of my most treasured memories of living in Italy. I like that we had to work to find it. It made it feel like a treasure at the end of a hunt. Like we had made it into the elite club of locals.

Cascate del Mulino is such a unique place that my heart is torn. I want to share it with others and yet, I really hope it does not end up developed and overrun with people. I am hoping that because the baths are a bit off the beaten path, most tourists will not make the trek and the natural thermal baths may retain their natural allure. 

While I totally appreciate the spa with its services and luxurious treatments, for me, soaking in ancient, naturally carved pools, with the sound of waterfalls that have been flowing for over 3,000 years, the incredible Tuscan countryside all around me, was an experience of a lifetime.

Secret Tuscany – The Thermal Baths of Saturnia Locals Only A few years ago some Italian friends told me about some natural thermal baths in Saturnia, Tuscany. 

[faequeen40]

Candlelight and Supernovas

Day 3: Love/Comfort

Day 1, Day 2, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

The quiet of the Castle of Lions was overwhelming sometimes. Even as she sat alone in one of rooms the Paladins had reclaimed for recreation, Allura couldn’t help but crave the boisterous presence of her Paladins.

They were a far cry from their predecessors but she couldn’t help but think that they were perfect. The previous Paladins were what Altea had needed, remarkable warriors that had served her father with tenacity and poise. Her Paladins were barely out of adolescence, reckless and wild.

They were perfect. And what the universe needed.

But despite their energy and strength, she longed for the world she had known. The festivals and ceremonies of her home world were largely lost. Only she and Coran remembered them. Ten thousand years was a terribly long time and hardly anyone remembered that Alteans existed.

It hurt.

It hurt to know that her people, her culture, and even her entire planet were nothing but legends to the citizens of the universe now, the very citizens she and her team were trying to protect and defend.

Unable to stand the quiet of her chambers, she’d ventured out and settled herself into the room they frequently used for movie night, the soft pajamas she’d adapted from the style of the Paladin’s clothing pooling around her feet in an almost comforting way.

She missed home. She missed her family and her people.

Her very soul ached for them and the knowledge that she wouldn’t get to see the world she had known threatened to tear her apart from the inside.

So Allura sat and stared out windows at the stars, letting some of that sadness escape in the form of tears. She didn’t let herself make noise, no big heaving sobs or shuddering breaths.

Only silent tears that dropped onto her hands with gentle patters.

It was so quiet.

A gentle cough caught her attention and she wiped at her eyes frantically before whirling on her intruder. “Yes, what is it?” She rushed, trying to recall her previous composure.

Her eyes widened when she saw Lance standing nearby, an empathetic frown on his face. “I’m sorry to sneak up on you, Princess, but are you okay?”

Silence reigned for a moment before Allura drew herself up, pressing her feet to the floor from her previously curled up position. “I’m perfectly fine, Lance. Is there something that you needed?”

“No…” Lance mumbled, “I just thought I’d left my phone in here and I was looking for it. And I respect that you say you’re fine but if you need to talk, you know you can talk to us, right?”

Abruptly, Allura felt guilty and she fiddled with her fingers. “I thank you for your concern, Lance, but I don’t wish to bother any of you. I am fine.”

Lance nodded slowly, his hands clasping behind his back nervously. “If you’re sure.” He replied, “I’m sorry, again, for sneaking up on you. I’ll see you later.”

He made to leave, clearly intent on letting her remain in silence. He didn’t believe that she was okay but he was willing to give her the space that she needed.

Her Paladins really were too good. They were kind and empathetic even if they were young. Barely out of childhood and yet here they were, fighting a war that had been raging since before their civilization even dreamed of the stars.

Perhaps she could reach back to her Paladins. While Shiro would be a better sounding board for the struggles of leadership and the fears of what the war would bring, maybe Lance would understand her longing for home.

He was the most homesick out of all the Paladins, a fact that had made her heart ache with empathetic pain. He was the reason they would be celebrating later this week, a party of Hunk’s creation that managed to combine many of Lance’s childhood memories of his birthday parties with the basics of the First Day ceremony.

Lance was so giving of himself and his time. Yesterday had been a great distraction and she’d had a ball learning the steps to the Earth “salsa”. He gave so much. Maybe it was time that she gave back.

“Actually…” She started, her voice shaking a bit as she caught his attention.

He stopped immediately, turning back to look at her with wide blue eyes, their hue similar to deep sea glaciers of Altea’s far north. It almost hurt to think about but she steeled herself, letting her shoulders drop and drawing her knees back to her chest.

“I miss my home.”

Lance’s expression immediately darkened with understanding and he took a few hesitant steps back towards her, his body language carefully kept open and friendly.

“I miss my father. I miss my people and my planet.” Allura continued, the words wrenching themselves from her chest now that she’d started, “I miss the festivals and celebrations. I miss the hustle and bustle of the Castle around my First Day ceremony. And it hurts to know that it’s gone. That it’s been gone for ten thousand years. My people are a fairy tale. No one believes that we existed.”

The empathy in Lance’s expression was hard to look at. She couldn’t stand to maintain eye contact as he came to sit beside her, carefully keeping a respectful distance between them while staying close enough to convey comfort.

He’d come a long way from the terrible flirt she’d met at first. It had been a long time since he had flirted with her in earnest and she appreciated how he had turned the endeavor into a more humorous occasion. He helped her laugh, sometimes in situations that were completely inappropriate, but it was something she needed.

However, she wished that the Paladins didn’t need to treat her so informally all the time. She wanted the intimacy of true friendships. She’d hoped to have something like that with Pidge upon her gender reveal but she had found that to be an idle wish.

Not that she didn’t understand now, of course. Pidge was an excellent ally and friend but she wasn’t the sister figure that Allura had wished for.

“What’s a First Day ceremony?” Lance asked curiously, his prodding gentle as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

She smiled at his curiosity, letting her cheek rest on her knees. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s very similar to the birthday celebration on your planet.” She began, not missing the slight flinch Lance gave when she mentioned birthdays, “However, Alteans traditionally celebrated the day after one was born. In some areas, infant mortality was bad and children wouldn’t survive their first night. Therefore, we began to celebrate the day after. It was a celebration of each year the child lived and also an expression of thankfulness that the child lived through the first night.”

Lance seemed enthralled by her explanation and a part of her truly felt better at the retelling of her culture. “That sounds really cool. You guys never figured out what caused the infant mortality? Your technology was so advanced.”

“We did determine that it had something to do with the child’s quintessence. Alteans are very attuned to the quintessence of the universe and sometimes children came into the world unable to take that sudden strain.” Allura said gravely, a familiar sadness filling her at the thought, “There wasn’t anything we could do.”

Lance nodded solemnly. “On Earth, we have things like sudden infant death syndrome. A lot of babies just seemed to die and no one could figure it out. It wasn’t until about a decade ago that we figured out that most of the babies were being put to sleep on their stomachs. Their necks weren’t strong enough to lift so they suffocated. It was really sad and I was so worried when my niece and nephews were born.”

“You’re an uncle?”

“Yup. The best.” Lance bragged, “I took care of my niblings all the time.”

His expression immediately dropped and he began to curl into himself as well, some of the respectful distance falling away as he grew quiet.

Allura let herself just appreciate his presence for a moment before he let out a wet chuckle. “You know, you remind me a lot of my older sister. She would just sit down with me sometimes and we’d just dish. If I had a bad week, she’d sit me down and we’d do face masks and I’d braid her hair. It was nice. Comforting even.”

“I had a few friends among the nobility that I would sleep over with when I was a child.” Allura admitted, “It wasn’t anything like the intimacy you all seem to have. Everyone kept me at a more respectful distance because of my title. I understand but it was something that I had always wondered about.”

Lance hummed in consideration for a moment before he gave Allura a shy smile, the look so adorable that Allura had to resist the urge to squeeze him like a stuffed animal. “I have face masks in my room?” He offered hesitantly, “And I could braid your hair if you want? I got pretty good at it. We could put on those Altean soap operas that you like and you could tell me about some of the other celebrations from Altea?”

Allura was floored by his offer and her eyes welled without her permission. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Lance said awkwardly, “It always helped comfort me when I was feeling down and we need our Princess in fighting form. Plus, it’ll make me feel better too. Maybe it’ll make us a little less homesick?”

Determined, Allura nodded, surging to her feet. “Meet me back here in ten. I have to go grab my hairbrush.”

Despite how startled Lance was by her sudden movement, he smirked, shooting off in the opposite direction. She ran to her room, gathering up everything she thought they would need before rushing back to the recreational room, draping her enormous comforter over the couch and letting it pool on the floor.

It was her favorite blanket.

She’d just started setting up the old Altean soap operas that she loved, still amused at how adamant most of the other Paladins were about not watching. Lance was the only one who didn’t seem to mind them. They’d even tested Shiro’s eternal patience.

The thought made her giggle.

Lance skidded through the door, multiple tubes clutched in his hands even as he hugged several pillows, nearly breathless as he slumped beside her.

“Okay, so what next?” She asked, a bit of excitement building in her chest.

She’d always wanted to do something like this. Just be a normal girl for a bit and do some traditional friend activities with someone else.

“We’ll go ahead and do the masks first so you should put your hair up for now. This stuff does not like to come off hair easy.” Lance advised, fiddling with the tubes in his hand as Allura pulled her heavy tresses up into some form of bun.

It was messy and would likely give her old etiquette teacher a heart attack. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. She listened as Lance explained how the masks worked and handed her a tube, expertly smearing the green goo-like substance over his face.

Allura followed his lead, giggling at how strange it felt on her skin. Lance cracked a wide smile even as he continued putting on his mask. After a moment, he reached over and corrected some of the spots where the mask hadn’t spread well over Allura’s skin.

It was nice.

Her favorite show played in the background, the mask tingled on her skin and after carefully cleaning his hands, Lance was steadily pulling her hair into an incredibly complex braid.

She felt comfortable and happy.

She let herself relax, words falling off her tongue without even a thought. She spoke of the many festivals of Altea, even the most mundane.

Their night passed calmly, stories and explanations passed back and forth until Lance eventually fell asleep, his head pillowed on Allura’s shoulder.

Allura was grateful for her Blue Paladin and he was going to have the best birthday/First Day celebration the universe had ever seen.

She’d make sure of it.

[martinlawless]

Tour of Malta 2019

Foreign National, General Classification Staged Race Masters E1234 10-13 April 2019

Extracts from my tour diary, to CC Ashwell’s club forum…

Tour registration day Wednesday 10 April 2019

Team CC Ashwell have arrived in Malta all safe and well. Mitchy - riding for Contour Cycles - had a nightmare getting over but he got here eventually. Me, Dave W and Jenny are representing the club. My dad and young Ellie Mitchinson are here in support. The Tour of Malta is a four stage GC race, registered as a Foreign Race with British Cycling, so hard to earn points for individual stages and overall GC are out there for the taking. But primarily, this is racing at its most enjoyable. It’s truly a friendly Tour, very much in the Maltese spirit. We are messing around on bikes in a warm country and drinking coffee in between: so we're all winners.

Among the registered riders, former multi GB national champ, Colin Sturgess, is in with me and Dave in the ‘Masters’ (40+) GC. A former stablemate of Bradley Wiggins, I fully expect to see Colin's wheel briefly before he rides off into the distance. Go get him Mitchy!

I’m staying in the official Tour hotel, so it's nice to bump into others, including Steve and Rachel from Verulam in St Albans. The weather forecast is pretty good. Around 16-20 degrees. Dry. Windy. It’s always windy on these small Mediterranean islands. Malta looks pretty in the Spring with lots of flowers and the grass not yet sun-baked brown. The drivers here are friendly. Just as well, as the major roads are quite busy and some of them are in poor quality.

The first stage is a 7 miles TT. I remember it from last year. It uses one of the National courses here, up and down the hill several times, besides the amazing ancient walled city of Mdina. It’s a nightmare to get any kind of TT rhythm and doesn’t play to whatever strengths I might have. But that’s the way it goes for us all. Fair enough. After that, there are three road race stages. The fourth of which is the one featuring the famous local climb of San Martin: Malta’s mini Alpe d’Huez. We’ll be hitting that seven times.

To check my bike over, I rode a few miles to Mosta this morning to buy a pump. Mosta is famous for its massive domed church, where in the Second World War a gigantic bomb landed through the roof but failed to explode. Sending an already ultra-religious nation into overdrive. Hopefully, this big failing bomb is not a metaphor for my performance on this tour. My objective is to simply enjoy it this time.

I spoke to an old boy outside his bicycle workshop in Mosta. Turns out it’s 78 years old John Magri. Maltese cycling legend, several times national champ and among other accolades finished 31st in the 1972 Olympics. Over an hour later, I’m getting nano-detail on some of his best races and cycling stories from this complete stranger. He’d make a great guest speaker for a Club social evening. He fixed his first bike in 1949. His gran opened the bike shop in 1899. I bought a pump from his son who now runs the shop who laughingly asked if his dad had been talking to me for a while...

In the afternoon, we all met up to ride gently over to Golden Bay for a coffee in the beachside cafe. Dave and Jenny had a swim in the sea and we tootled back. A leisurely way to spend an afternoon. The climb up San Martin has been partially resurfaced, but up top, the surface is not unlike Paris-Roubaix.This Stage 4 will have a bit of everything.

We register this evening and get briefed and find out out TT start times for tomorrow. Then a bit of local pasta and an evening of fettling with bike and kit. I’ve had a decent winter of training by my standards. It’s not at all scientific, but I gauge myself as being just about as fit as last year - so let’s see how we get on. The word is, the Masters field is tougher this year in general.

We'll be updating this thread as much as we can. Writing helps pass the time as we don't really want to ride or drink or eat too much to rest in between stages. And the messages of support give us a great boost. Racing day after day for four days is draining. Imagine the pros doing it for three weeks in a grand tour!

If there was ever a bike race to suit Ashwell, it would be this: it has the competitive element and camaraderie of our grass track events... But with sunshine. They drive on the left, use three-way plugs, Malta has it all. Stick it in your diary for 2020 and it will motivate you to train throughout the winter.

Tour of Malta, Stage 1 Individual Time Trial Mdina Bypass Thursday 11 April 2019 It’s warm and calm today. In fact, it’s the hottest day that I’ve raced here. It’s going to be a fast day. Certainly faster than this stage last year in the wind and rain. Luckily, it’s still quite early. All stages start at 10am.

The team muster on a side street off the TT course: which is a modern dual carriageway bypass road, bookended by roundabouts, by the side of the UNESCO World Heritage ancient walled city Mdina, which is not out of place if it were in Game of Thrones. The road is pretty much a straight line with quite a slope on it: think like the gentler part of the slope to Tadlow on our TT course, but around a half mile long. We have to repeat the loop five times for a 7 miles course.

The local teams always turn out in force and set up well: gazebos, pumping music, bottles and gels neatly laid out, rollers, their DSs do a great job. It gives each stage a festival-like feeling. We chat to various people. We spot (World Champ) Colin getting ready. He looks big and strong. We are friendly with Mosta Cycling Club mostly, so park ourselves there. We see our smiling Italian friend from last year. The Gibraltar team have good team branded kit: I note to up our tour kit game next time. We catch up with a few Brits. Everyone is pepped and excited, and a little nervous too of course and keen to get going.

With the road closed, we tootle around to warm up and familiarise ourselves with the loop and test our bikes. I’m delighted to see that last year’s dodgy eroded part of the road is well patched up. At the bottom corner, there is a lot of debris. Daryl, from CC london who we have adopted, asks the organisers to brush it, but I take the opportunity to remove the big bits while down there. I pick up a twig, then realise it’s a squashed giant centipede. As big as your big finger. I’m reminded that we’re not that far from Africa and Libya.

Team Ashwell and Contour prep well. Everything is easier when the weather is good. I've removed my bottle cage. Put on rubber aero socks. I’ve got tri-bars on which means I have no computer to look at, but actually don’t mind that: I intend to not use numbers - but riders - to gauge my effort and define my power exertions.

Jenny is the second rider off. Before you know it she is up and down the loop like a yo-yo. The start/finish is in the middle of the course and we get a good opportunity to cheer our team on twice a lap. Soon enough Dave is off, then Mitchy is off just in front of me and Daryl a few riders behind.

The good conditions mean we get the ramp start. Quite a nervous thing as there’ll be instant gravity in effect from the moment you’re released: you go hard instantly or you’ll slide off. “Watch this one, he’s Lawless. Breaking the law.” say the organisers in thick Maltese English, fascinated by the surname as I’m counted down. Three two one. Go. I’m off.

Despite the initial climb, months of stockpiled adrenaline from thinking about this start is released in an instant and I go off like a rocket to the top of the loop in what feels like three breaths. This course is technical in as much as gear selection is everything with no level section. I turn and go down in a high-ish gear not really knowing if I’m being optimal. The legs instantly hurt. To be expected. I can feel a soft wind in my face going downhill and think it will suit me as it will inhibit the power guys who can smash me on this section. I turn quite confidently in the good, bone-dry conditions and break the imminent uphill down into parts: an easier first bit until the fifth lamppost and then a hard gear on the steadier section in search of a good rhythm before nudging back a touch for the steeper peak and then turning for the downhill again. I count each lap out aloud to myself when going over the line. Without a computer I have a small fear that in the midst of the effort I’ll ride too few, or too many, laps.

I can’t yet see my minute-man, but on the second lap, Daryl goes past me on the downward section like a rocket. I know he’s good but all the same am impressed he’s caught me so soon. I’m delighted, all of a sudden I’ve got a perfect rabbit to chase after: someone better than me. It really focuses me. On the uphill, Daryl is surprised that I actually overtake him, such is the difference between my uphill and downhill power outputs. But I only serve to galvanise him and 20 seconds later he’s back in front. But this is good for me and I can sense I am pushing hard as I’ve got quite a stitch now and breathing hard. The air is hot. I move to my highest gear on the downhills to try and keep sight of him. It’s super hard and hurtful: but I know it’s short-term.

By lap 4, Daryl is too far ahead to be any use as a marker. I’m motivated by my team mates’ cheers and picking off the various riders on the course. Some are way off any TT form: but credit to them for turning up on a working day and having a go and enjoying themselves. Into the last lap and I spot my 2-minute man. He makes a good target, but eventually I catch him with three-quarters of a lap to go. It’s the downhill run and I’m like John Noakes in that Blue Peter episode when he’s training with the paratroopers in a plane in high-up thin air and he can’t remember his name or the name of Shep. I endeavour to glance at the big digital clock at the start line, on the other side of the road as I go past - because I start to doubt myself on how many laps I’ve done. It tells me I’ve got exactly two and half minutes to cross the line if I want to break 20 minutes. Righto: I’ve got one final thing to aim for to make me push hard in the final run in.

Out of nowhere, ‘Safety Dance’ by Men Without Hats pops into my head. It’s a song I know is very short and just over two and a half minutes long as it took a tiny amount of space on my Now That’s What I Call Music album. I hurtle down to the bottom of the course with ‘We can dance if we want to...’ going through my mind. I turn for the uphill and happily go into the red in the knowledge I can blow up over the line. ‘Am I in the second chorus bit?’ I think to myself as I see the finishing line coming up. ‘It’s the Safety Daaaaance’ I can hear as I make out Jenny urging me on on the line. Surely there’s still some of the song left? - I think as I blast over the line and glide to a stop where Mitchy is recovering by the side of the road.

We stumble back to the start, sweat is dribbling down my face and my uncomfortable TT helmet is about to get thrown into the cacti as I find out that I had broken 20 minutes with 19:46. Happy days!

There’s a short wait for all the Masters to complete their rides to find out I’d come 8th. I’m delighted. I’ve beaten local sports legend Fabio by 3 seconds, who has his own branded car with his face on it and ’Team Fabio’ written on it and everything. Dave W is 15th and Mitchy 6th. Jenny is 7th in her race, smashing the gap to the winner from over two minutes last year, to just 40 seconds. Wow. So, great results for us all considering the quality of the field. Of course, Colin Sturgess wins the Masters. Indeed, his time beats the winner of the Elites race. Wow. He will be hard to undo for the GC race in the next three road stages - that’s for sure. It will be great to be involved as things unfold. Daryl gets 3rd and takes the podium after we have a drink in the most delightful cafe nearby that’s utterly hidden away from anywhere.

So, we are now prepping for Stage 2. A hilly crit near the hotel, essentially. We’re all unsure as to how the dynamic of the peloton will work out: if it will break? More than once? Who’s where? How everyone will place and how it will affect GC? These are the thoughts I will take to my 10 euro buffet hotel dinner downstairs.

Tour of Malta, Stage 2 Road Race St Paul’s Bay Friday 12 April 2019 Last year, this stage got cancelled. It’s on top of a big hill really near where we are staying and totally exposed to the weather. It was so windy it wasn’t safe, and some club gazebos and the podium blew away.

This year: it’s much better. It’s a bit cooler this morning than yesterday. Mainly because of the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. But it’s fine. Sunny. This stage sends us up and over the road seven times. Each side is a bit like the climb up through the Weston Hills tunnel Baldock bypass road: about as long as it takes to get to the roundabout at the top and yes, pretty steep!

We make our base at the start/finish line at the top of the hill, sign on and prep. I realise I’ve left my aero socks behind, so will be racing in my bed socks that I left on all morning. Other than that, we’re all good. We are all thinking a one bottle strategy as this race is only 26 miles or so. I need to think carefully about this for the fourth stage as I drank much more than anticipated in the warmth and ran pretty low towards the end. We wonder what Colin will do who is in the Red Jersey following his win yesterday. The Elites start first. Then us in the Masters and Juniors races, then the Ladies race, with Jenny looking to improve on her last time here two years ago when she got dropped from the peloton.

We’re off. We take it fairly easy at the start, as to be expected. The first climb is almost like a warm-up. Everyone is settling in and it’s a bit cagey. The riding standard seems pretty high and there doesn’t seem to be any wild antics from anyone. Up, we crest the top and get cheers, then lurch down the steep winding west side of the hill into the wind. It’s a fairly tight turn on both sides. My new brake blocks squeak to let me know they’re working. We turn to climb back up east. This side is steeper. I resolve to keep it in the big ring all the way - but am in the granny ring at the back. The angle suits me and find it OK to stay at the spearhead of the peloton. All eyes are on Colin, waiting to see what he does. First lap done though and he keeps his cards to his chest as we descend to start the second lap.

It starts to crank up from here. Eventually, Colin shows a bit of his strength. The group respond. A few Maltesers have a go but are brought in. The big Gibraltarian who smashed the TT yesterday has a dig. I’m impressed, he’s a big powerful unit. He must have lungs the size of a blue whale. It’s great to have Steve from Veralum around whose wheel I can trust. He’s a very animated rider and nosing around at the front a lot. I’m just being careful and being really quite disciplined on positioning among the riders and tuning my position to shelter from the breeze.

The climb east is hurting some riders and I can hear it getting quieter at the back. I can see Dave W is over his bike in a way to suggest he’s in the red. There’s nothing I can do to stop the momentum of the front and eventually I catch Dave in the corner of my eye when he’s detached with a couple of other Brits who are forming up a second group.

Colin and co are doing that thing of putting the hammer down as we crest the hill so that there’s no respite. I’m holding on OK all the same, as are Mitchy and Daryl. We begin to tonk it down the long descent, comfortably holding 38mph until we squeak brakes, turn and generally take it easyish for the climb. The group puts in pulses of effort and I can see we are shelling riders. Soon, I see its down to twelve of us. Of which, I’m very much in the lower ranks! I ride alongside Colin. He’s a strong looking fella. I get the sense he could do us all if he wanted to. But hasn’t really done so yet.

In a lull, Daryl goes for it and pings off the front. On his wheel an Italian I’d not really noticed before. Daryl and the man from Milan quickly establish a gap of several seconds. The rest of us look to Colin who is watching his Red Jersey disappear. But there really isn’t a response. I can see Mitchy isn’t in the mood to chase his friend, or risk doing a lot of work on his own and blowing up. As we approach the last two laps, it’s clear that the break won’t be chased down and the two brave breakaways will get first and second. Well done to them for their bravery.

So, back in the bunch of ten, it’s going to be a bunch sprint for third place onwards. I really don’t want the last two places and be out of the BC points in eleventh or twelfth. I also want to preserve my GC position too if I can. It’s the bell lap. It’s laughably slow on the initial climb. I even find myself on the front for the first and only time here. Me: in front of this group. lol. I get a bit irritated after a while as no one will take the front off me, even though I'm doing that snakey whiplash thing across the road to shake the front. Then, Mitchy bursts through to ripple the group and I’m relieved of duty. We shoot down the other side and turn for the final climb. I look to see if somehow we’d dropped anyone, but alas, two people will miss on points here.

I’m feeling pretty good as we climb for the final time. I tell myself I can do all right and spin in a strongish gear near the front. We get down to the final 200 metres and there are several riders dropped from the Elites race in the way ahead of us. It’s a bit of a mess as we lurch into the gallop and I miss out on having a decent clean sprint. It’s eyeballs out. As we approach the line, I see Fabio in front who I have 3 seconds on in GC and focus on his wheel. Another 25 metres, I might have caught him, but he beats me by 0.5 second. In the cheering and melee, it’s hard to count my position, but I’m excited to think I got 10th. Mitchy beats Colin in the bunch sprint to get 3rd. Verulam Steve gets 7th. Daryl gets 1st by over 40 seconds and we work out he’s taken the Red Jersey off Colin by around 15 seconds or something (GC positions unconfirmed at the mo) I wander to the race HQ and see I’m confirmed as 9th. I’m delighted.

We gather and swap stories. Dave and Ellie go for a photo with Colin and he gives Ellie his cap! Jenny comes through for the Ladies race finish. She’s in the lead bunch and grabs 6th. This is proper amazing when you consider she got spat out on this same race two years ago. She has transformed herself in that time. Dave, working with the Brits, comes in 17th. I’ll be keen to see that he has kept or even improved on his GC position.

This afternoon, Jenny gets a massage. Mitchy and Ellie go to the beach. We catch up with Dave for a coffee, and then spend ages cleaning kit with hand wash in the bathroom sink. It’s Friday night. But all revelry is to be bottled for Sunday night. Stage 3 tomorrow is designed to give our climbing legs a rest: it’s a flat crit. Surely it will be a bunch sprint. Will it? Will it?? Or, will it? Tune in tomorrow for the continued adventures of Ashwell racing abroad.

Tour of Malta, Stage 3 Crit Zebbug bypass Saturday 13 April 2019 Today was a flat, super simple crit. It’s designed to give the legs a break after yesterday’s hilly road race - and in anticipation of the fourth and final stage: the San Martin road race stage with its steep climb. The course is quite far away from the hotel base and in the middle of the island.

In truth, the straight lined course does tilt. Gently so, but with a fierce headwind on top, today wouldn’t have the simple rhythm that could have been expected. It would swing from steady to bullet fast - depending on head or tailwind.

We would do 10 laps of the 2.6 miles course in the Masters race. As would Jenny in the Ladies race. The wind made the weather feel fresh. It was sunny, but there would be very light showers now and then all morning.

Most of this race went as predicted. Any idea of a break was impossible to imagine. Dave W was clearly loving his favourite course ever - and happily burning watts on the front during the fast tailwind side. There were silly solo attempts, including one by Fabio who I have to keep in check as I only have 3 seconds on him in GC. I think he just wanted to give the fans something to cheer for a little while. But we hauled him in soon enough. At one point it was all Hertfordshire and surrounding areas on the front, with me, Dave, Mitchy, Daryl and Steve from Verulam in a line. Indeed, we were always generally knocking around the front or thereabouts.

10 laps is hard to count accurately what with everything going on. What doesn’t help is when the lapboard gets out of sync which I’m fairly sure is what happened. We thought we were approaching one lap to go, when Colin’s team mate launched a late attack - in an obvious attempt to lure us and give Colin an opportunity to spring the trap. But we brought him in eventually quite easily as we had further to go than thought.

As we approach the final lap, I hear the sudden bang and hiss of a puncturing tyre. Sadly, it turns out to be our Dave. Rotten luck - especially when he’d animated the race so well. He’d hit a pothole at high speed. To his massive credit, he runs to the Start/finish line where young Ellie Mitchinson is waiting with a spare rear wheel. He’d lose a good couple of minutes from the rest of us, but finished and still holds on to a good chance of clawing back up the GC in Stage 4.

Meanwhile, back in the bunch, it’s all winding up to the big sprint finish we’d anticipated. This would be one for the sprinters. Without the ability to compete, my plan was to go long and build up momentum. Weeks and weeks of road race training all winter with all the talent down at Welwyn had taught me that if I can make the sprint over 20 seconds, I begin to compete and negate the power of the fast sprinters. As we turn the final corner, there’s a lot of hustle and bustle. A few shoulders to shoulders. Mitchy touches wheels with Colin - and quickly apologises. This bit is not for the faint-hearted. Some riders back off. But, I’m loving the rush. I’ve got my eye on Colin and Mitchy and plan to jump into the gap they will leave when they fire the afterburners. The line is fast approaching and I can hear the shouts of support. It cranks up early as I’d hoped and indeed I seize the gap. I’m clear on the right and have a delightfully clear dash to the line. I can’t hear riders huffing behind me but quickly running out of road to do more damage up front. I’m 8th. Mitchy: wins! Beating Colin by a handsome margin. Daryl in the Red Jersey is on my left in 6th. Verulam Steve is 10th. He’d have placed higher for sure but did way too much work on the front earlier on.

We cruise around and congratulate each other for a good race. I tell Colin how impressed I was by his racing style: so bullish and confident. We get back to see Jenny finish. She’s in the bunch chasing 2nd place downwards, and comes in 7th. She is frustrated as other riders lolling after their race got in her way and pegged her sprint. It’s a shame, but still a massive result. She’s got no team mates and fighting on her own all the way, all the time.

We reconvene and swap stories as we wait for the presentations. It’s great to see Mitchy get a win and pop the champagne on the podium: all in front of his daughter. Daryl retains the Red Jersey. It will be an exciting final stage as a final race, and in GC it will be a great game of chess. A lot can change. Friendships, pacts and allies will be made, then turn on each other. We will be doing calculations in our head to work out time gaps. There will be competitions within the competition. There’ll be heroes, villains, good fortune and cruel fate played out on the winding slope of San Martin hill, its vertiginous descent towards the sea and the crazy fast tailwind valley, repeated seven times. The French say ‘Allez!’, the Maltese say ‘Imshi!’.

Tour of Malta, Stage 4 Road race San Martin Saturday 13 April 2019 In GC terms, this final stage is the decider. Forget what has gone on before.

The San Martin race course is famous here. It has three parts: a vicious, long climb. With a much needed switchback. It varies from not very steep at all to out of the saddle steep for a mile or so. It levels off at the top for a flat fast section before turning for a fast descent on new tarmac. We then turn for a ridiculously fast flat road section through the valley until we start the climb again. For us Masters and Ladies races, we’d do this six times.

The day was pretty fresh, but very warm in the sun. A lot of riders were nervous about this race, though I was pretty calm. I was quite philosophical about everything. What will be will be.

Off we go and Dave hits the front for most of the first lap. It’s steady enough, though I feel my legs are tired. I’m a bit surprised by this and wish I’d done some massage work. We turn for the first climb of San Martin. One of the Italians, Gerloamo, pings off the front straight away. There’s an initial lull as we don’t think the guy is a contender. Then, there’s a surge. Led by another Italian, Tommaso. On reflection: this was a pre-planned Italian move. The weaker guy (not that weak) getting a head start before the stronger guy then stretches the group ensuring both make it.

It’s the first climb, and we are absolutely and suddenly in the red. We are attacking on a massive slope. This is outrageous riding. I know that we’ve instantly shed riders and the race hasn’t even done a lap. This is brutal. Like organ failingly brutal. Seeing stars. Can’t feel my hands. Can’t think. Breathing like a steam train. This is the fastest climb of the hill I’ve ever done, in the smallest group. I cling on as the climb stretches out and try and hold onto the selection at the top. I almost make it, but six guys make a few bike lengths of distance, including Mitchy, Daryl and Colin, while I’m with Verulam Steve and six others in group two. By the time we approach the descent, there’s not enough firepower into our group to bridge back and we have to work with what we’ve got.

That’s not to say things got easier. The GC factor kicks in. This second group is aggressive too. Derek from Gibraltar wants to keep his high place. Fabio wants to do me in. Steve knows he can climb the ranks. The second climb of San Martin is equally devastating. Steve, a rider considerably better than me, records his highest power 5 mins, 15 mins, 1hr and 90 minutes on this race. I mirror him so will have likely done the same stats.

We spin like mad to the top. I don’t know how I do it but I keep with the second group. I keep thinking that I've come all this way for this so am not going to give in. We drop big Derek, but he fights back. I really know we are burning watts: when we catch and pass the Elites race! They started two minutes ahead too. It’s a mess, but we get through them. This race is nuts.

Again and again we go up. It’s super hard. The Elites peloton eventually passes us on the climb. Fabio jumps on to the back of their bunch. A probable DQ in Britain, but acceptable here. He disappears out of view and I know I’ve slipped down a place in GC. At the top Derek puts in a great effort. I can’t believe his power: he’s a proper unit but can do the climbs too. Amazingly, he solos off the front and he too consolidates his GC position when I least expected him to do so.

So six riders up front, plus Fabio and Derek in between us in the second group, means we’re fighting for 9th place down.

We enter the last lap, I lob one bidon and squirt all but a swig of liquid from the other. Grammage counts now. As we climb San Martin for the final time, I actually feel pretty good. I take to the front with Steve and get into a rhythm. I can tell somehow that i’m hurting the others. No one is coming through and it’s very quiet behind me. We approach the line and Steve takes a lead. I hold his wheel but I can’t get past it and to be fair: he’d done so much work on the front, I'd feel bad if I nicked him on the line. Steve gets 9th and I get 10th. Despite the pain: a single BC point for my efforts. All good.

We are all breathing hard, but soon recover to chat. Fabio gives us all respect for holding on to the second group, and my nemesis Ivan from last year is very friendly and kind and says he remembers me from last year and is impressed with my improvements. I was in awe of everyone: this race was a brute to take on.

Mitchy gets 5th from the front group. Colin wins the stage, but Daryl preserves his Red Jersey and we get to see him on the podium to celebrate his GC win.

All of a sudden, it’s all done. The trophies are handed out and we make plans to watch Paris-Roubaix in the hotel bar with everyone. Johnnie, the MCF president and main organiser, has a tearful moment while wrapping everything up, having had the chance to meet the Pope recently for all his efforts to promote cycling in Malta. It’s a big deal to this highly Catholic country.

Jenny comes in 7th on her race. Another great performance on the front bunch. She really has had a strong Tour: up there and in the mix at the tip of each race. Dave comes in around 20th in a third group, along with a couple of friendly Colchester lads who thought Malta would be a bit like Majorca.

10th place today, and 10th in GC for me in end. A very successful trip, especially when the quality of the field is accounted for. The Tour of Malta has awarded me I think 12 BC points. Half the total required for preservation of 2nd Category status. I can’t wait to hit the grass track and score more.

:-)

[phyripo]

Can I just say I adore how you write Rom and Bul? Like, a lot

Ahh, thanks so much, anon! That’s great to hear, especially since they are among my favorite characters :D

As a thanks, I finished this thing I had in my WIP folder for the longest time where I do this weird thing that I’ve done before where the parts in the present are in past tense and the parts in the past are in present tense. It’s also just a really weird (semi-sad?) sort of story, but I hope you like it maybe?

No one really came near the lighthouse thesedays. All kinds of weird stories buzzed around the village, and every residenthad something to add to them.

There were screams from the tower, they wouldsay. All days of the year, or only on full moons or new moons or only when thetide was high or the wind was strong – that was never clear. But there werescreams, they agreed about that much.

Some people claimed to have seen pale, ghostlyfigures in the tower. Some said they would leap to their death when the tidewas low and the rocks on the shore were exposed. Others said they were trappedin the light. Yet others claimed to have seen the light burn as if thelighthouse were still in use, like it had been for those many years. Until thestorm.

They agreed about that much, too.

-

He’s always been a loner, he thinks. He doesn’treally remember having friends as a child, and life near the coast isunforgiving enough that he used to spend days just trying to get by.

Now, finally, he can say he has settled.

Stefan Borisov, lighthouse keeper. He can livewith that. It’s a lonely existence as well, sure, but the townspeople rely onhim. The people out at sea, sailing close to the treacherous rocks, count onhim. It’s a good feeling. It’s also kind of terrifying.

Not everyone in the village knows his name;most people just call him the lighthouse man. He usually introduces himself asjust the lighthouse keeper. There is one man, selling clothes and blankets onthe small market, who used to call him the guardian of the light until Stefantold him to stop being dramatic and just learn his name.

He’s been Stefan ever since, and there is apleased sparkle in the man’s rust-brown eyes every time he says it that makesStefan wonder just who won that little battle.

The odd thing is that he doesn’t even know thevendor’s name.

-

There was a play about the lighthouse nearlyevery year; the village school had started writing out contests as to who couldmake the most interesting version of the legend. There were robots, once. Withlasers. The children agreed that that was the absolute best one.

Most of the adults were quite happy with theone about the forbidden love, the lighthouse keeper who fell in love with awoman pregnant with another man’s child. They also agreed that they shouldlimit the amount of films their children were allowed to watch.

-

The odd thing is…

The vendor is walking up to his lighthouse,choppy hair flying everywhere in the wind even as he holds his hat downtightly. Stefan amuses himself for a while by watching the man navigate thenarrow path. He’s carrying something wrapped in a blanket that flaps in thewind.

“What are you doing here?” he asks when heopens the door to the knocking that ensues when the vendor reaches thelighthouse.

“Oh, no need for pleasantries, I see.”

Stefan sighs. The vendor grins a toothy grin,touching his tongue to his front teeth.

“I just thought I’d stop by. Doesn’t it getlonely out here?” He is trying to peer into the lighthouse over Stefan’sshoulder. “Do you actually live in here?”

“Of course I don’t live in here. It’s alighthouse.”

“Well, what do I know?” he pushes his hair outof his weirdly colored eyes, tucking some strands underneath his hat. “Really,Stefan. Do you get lonely?”

Stefan is silent, and the vendor takes that foran answer, apparently, because he reaches out, touching his shoulder. He smilesa little softer this time, though there’s still a curious edge to it. Not amalignant one, just a sharp one. As if he knows everything.

Stefan invites him in.

-

There had been historians who had tried to unravelthe mystery. Tried to separate fact from fiction, legend from reality. They allleft, for some reason or another, before they got anywhere.

That is when the villagers really startedbelieving that something was wrongwith the lighthouse.

It was a monument now, so it couldn’t be takendown. It had remained standing through wars and heavier storms than everbefore. It never seemed to change.

There was plenty of space to build on the shore,but people built in the other direction, even if the grounds were soggy thereand their houses sunk. Anything was better than being near the lighthouse.

-

And, as the vendor leaves his house, now-emptyblanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, Stefan looks down at the oddlittle stone carving he’s been gifted, and realizes he still doesn’t know theman’s name.

That is going to have to change.

The next time he visits the market, he spendssome time talking to the vendor, about the village and the lighthouse and aboutthe man’s younger brother, who lives with him, apparently. Stefan doesn’t havea lot of things to do during the day most of the time, not when it is sunnylike today, so he stays a while, talking to some other people too.

He doesn’t learn the vendor’s name.

The next day is sunny, and so is the next, andthe market is ever-busy and the vendor ever-smiling. He is friendly, he likesto talk about his job and his brother, seemingly knows all the storiescirculating around town, especially those about Stefan, and appears to beinterested in getting to know him. Stefan does his best to let him do that,even if it is only to learn his name.

After a while, he kind of forgets that that waswhat he came here for.

-

A while ago, someone from out of town came andmoved into the lighthouse keeper’s house. A mother and daughter from the city.Their names were whispered around town with something akin to fear tintingpeople’s voices. Even those who swore high and low they didn’t believe inghosts, in the legend of the lighthouse, whatever it was, were afraid for thelittle family.

The young girl was friendly to the villagers,the mother seemed withdrawn.

Some children went exploring with the girl,overseen by the mother. They climbed the stairs in the lighthouse despite thewarnings they had been hearing their entire lives.

They came back down. The girl had found acarved rock with some crudely scratched letters on the back. This gave birth toa whole slew of new speculations.

She thought it was fantastic that she hadachieved the status of local celebrity.

-

Can you really be friends with someone if you don’teven know their name?

Stefan lets the sea wind whip his scarf to andfro harshly and wonders. He wonders about the man he calls the vendor as if it’sa title, who is so open about everything but that. Is it a game to him? Is hewaiting for Stefan to guess somehow?

There is a ship, out in the dark distance. Hewatches its faint light for a while.

Maybe there’s more to it. Maybe he’s acriminal, an outlaw. But then, why make it so obvious you’re hiding something?

Maybe he’s just weird.

Stefan thinks he could live with that.

-

The girl who had climbed the tower became ateenager fascinated with the village history. She couldn’t leave, not like thehistorians who had passed through, so she dedicated her time to searchingthrough her own house and the lighthouse, when she was sure there were nonative townspeople around to scold her for it. She didn’t believe in ghosts.

There were little stone carvings in nooks andcrannies, hidden in places no one had thought to look for centuries. Or maybe,she thought, the carvings had hidden themselves. She did very much want tobelieve in magic.

All five carvings she had found so far hadletters scratched in the back, like a message. She tried to decipher it.

-

Definitely weird, Stefan has concluded, as hestares at the assorted stone carvings the vendor keeps bestowing on him. A feware just carved in the shape of seashells, like one might find on the coastbelow the tower. Others are more intricate, like one depicting the lighthouse.

“Why don’t you sell these?” Stefan asks thevendor one day. The man laughs, tongue touching his teeth.

“I can’t make a living with that,” he replies,as if it’s obvious. “Besides, these are special.”

“How so?”

He plucks the one Stefan is holding from hisgrip with thin fingers and holds it up close to his face, seemingly studyingit. He turns and turns the stone, letting different corners of it catch thefading light. Stefan should pay attention – dusk falls quick, it’s almost timeto light the fire in the lighthouse.

The vendor snaps his fingers. Stefan looks athim.

“They are special because they are yours,” hesays, voice oddly soft. Like he is sharing a secret. Stefan likes the idea ofsharing secrets with the vendor.

“I thought they were yours,” he replies.

A short laugh. “Always have been yours, Stefan.”He turns the stone he’s holding over, and there is an S on the back that Stefanis sure wasn’t there before. He reaches out to run his fingers across itwithout thinking, starts when the vendor clasps the stone between their hands,their fingers touching.

“You’d know if anything were mine,” hewhispers. Stefan shivers.

-

It was odd that she could make out the lettersso clearly, she thought. Shouldn’t they have been weathered beyond recognition?

Then again, shouldn’t the whole lighthouse havebeen weathered beyond recognition? Before it became a monument, no one appearedto have ever given it any thought. It should have crumbled decades, perhapseven centuries ago.

She decided to start literally digging, often in the middle of the night so no one noticed.Her mother was absent as ever. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find.Perhaps nothing at all.

-

S. T. E. F. A. N.

The letters weren’t there before. He knows thiswith absolute certainty.

Stefan goes into the village on a rainy day andtalks to some people in the local tavern. No one appears to know the vendor. Noone knows where he lives or what his name is. Some people can’t even recallhaving met him on the market. He doesn’t stand out to them like he does toStefan.

But at least he is real. He doesn’t exist inStefan’s imagination only, as he had started to fear.

He somehow isn’t surprised when he finds theman at the top of the lighthouse one evening as he goes to light the fire. Histeeth flicker in the light when he grins. Stefan sits down next to him, puttinghis hat on his thighs.

“You’re curious,” the vendor says.

“I am.”

“I am curious too, Stefan.” And, when Stefanlooks at him in confusion, “You have never askedfor my name, as if you assume I’d be unwilling to give it out.” He picks upStefan’s hat and lets it twirl around between his fingers, faster and faster.

Stefan puts his hand on his hat, stopping itsmovement. “Aren’t you?”

The vendor looks at the hat, amused, then up atStefan. His eyes flicker too, and it’s impossible to tell whether it’s the fireor something behind them. There are sharp shadows on his face, harshly framinghis too-sharp cheekbones and his narrow nose. He just looks. Stefan looks back.

“I’ll tell you something,” the man eventuallysays.

“Yes?”

“I prefer to reserve my name for specialoccasions.” He leans closer, planting his hand on Stefan’s thigh. The windhowls around the lighthouse as it always does. It’s comforting, by now.

“Such as?” Stefan puts his own cold handovertop the vendor’s. Oh, but this is so wrong. He can’t possibly be thinkingabout…

The vendor leans closer, and his eyes areshuttered. His breath whispers hot on Stefan’s jaw when he speaks.

“Call me Dragos.”

And he kisses Stefan.

-

It was a… She honestly wasn’t sure what it was.It was a something. A one of those. A thing all around the lighthouse, and the lighthouse keeper’s house.Something she couldn’t dig through whatever she tried.

The local librarian was starting to get rathersuspicious about her borrowing so many books about magic.

-

As wrong as it is, Stefan can’t find it inhimself to care.

Dragos. He wants to say it as often aspossible.

He does so, because it seems to amuse Dragoshimself as well.

Sometimes, Dragos whispers his own name intoStefan’s skin, which seems odd until he remembers – you’d know if anything were mine. It’s still odd, but it feelsgood. It’s good to be wanted even when the person who wants you is a fabricvendor who can’t seem to stop moving, or talking about his brother or showingup at the oddest times – and Stefan often has no clue how he even got in.

He takes that in stride, along with the way thecloak he bought from Dragos seems to repair itself or how the fire in thelighthouse never seems to waver when he’s around.

At least until the storm.

-

The last stone carving, she found by accident.It was the first letter, she was quite certain of that. The S/D to complete herwords.

Protection, she thought they were, so she wascareful to always keep at least one within the something around her home and the lighthouse. Her sparse friendsthought she was completely insane, and she couldn’t really blame them. As muchas she wanted to come out with a story about this, about the something and the stones and theundeniable magic around the area, she knew no one would take her seriously.

Those kids who wrote that play about forbiddenlove had been right in a way, she thought, because the names the carvingsformed were both male.

No, no one would take her seriously. She keptlooking for more information nonetheless.

-

It is hisfault. His responsibility. Hefailed his duty. No amount of Dragos telling him to calm down is going tochange that.

“I am the lighthouse keeper!” he shouts, overthe wind at the top of the lighthouse. “Didn’t you call me the guardian of the light? If there was nolight that night, then isn’t it my fault they hit the rocks?”

“You couldn’t have known,” Dragos says, tryingto touch him. “You couldn’t have known the light was low, Stefan. It never hasbeen.”

It never has been. “Because of you.” But you were equally distracted, he thinks. We weredistracted by each other.

“It isn’t my fault either. It was an accident.”He finally succeeds in grasping Stefan’s shoulder, but Stefan resists thetingle that flares out from his hand.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he just says. Dragosshakes his head, expression a mix between angry and confused. “I’m serious,Dragos. The villagers want me prosecuted.” He can already see them coming upthe cliff from the village.

“I know.” And his eyes definitely flash thistime, a bright red hue that should startle Stefan but doesn’t, because hetrusts Dragos, perhaps against his better judgment. “I’m not going to let them.”

The stone carvings are there. Were they therebefore? Stefan blinks at the one depicting the lighthouse, because there isanother letter on the back of it. The rest are no different, when he picks themup and turns them over.

D. R. A. G. O. S.

He looks up at the man in question, whose hairwhips in the wind and whose eyes are brighter than ever.

“They can’t touch what’s mine,” he says. Thecarvings vanish, just like that.

When Stefan stands up, slightly dazed, Dragospulls him in and kisses him, right where the angry mob nearing the lighthousecan see. Stefan kisses him back, because what has he got to lose?

“They bear you ill will,” Dragos mumbles, asthe villagers come to a messy standstill at the foot of the tower, just out ofits actual reach. “No one of ill will shall ever stay here.”

The villagers are turning already, as if theyhave forgotten what they came for.

“But they’ll be back,” Dragos continues,holding on tight to Stefan when he tries to look down in astonishment. “They’llremember, and they’ll return. There is nothing I can do about that.”

But… “That means I have to stay in thelighthouse forever,” Stefan breathes. “Or they will grab me. And you.”

“Yes.” The word is nearly whispered against hisskin. “Can I ask you something, Stefan?”

He holds tight to Dragos’s cloak, because hehas a bad feeling about what is about to come. If he can never leave thelighthouse, then…

“Yes.”

-

She finally found one tiny reference to thelast lighthouse keeper. His name matched one of the names on the stones.

He was to be prosecuted, most likely sentencedto death, for letting the light go out one night and causing a ship to sink onthe rocky shore, killing all onboard, and to add insult to injury, he had beensuspected of being romantically involved with a man, which was unheard of atthe time.

But he vanished before the trial could evenstart. That was all there was on the history. It’d been buried deep. Maybe ithadn’t wanted to be found before.

She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she didbelieve in magic, so she put all the stone carvings back, returned her books tothe library and focused on writing down what she knew now. Perhaps, Stefan thelighthouse keeper and his unnamed lover were around somehow, if not as ghoststhen in the unbreakable buildings themselves, in the unchanging rocks on theshore. She didn’t want to disturb that. She had no right to.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t make a good storyout of the facts. It could be the next play, perhaps.

-

“Do you trust me?” Dragos asks. Stefan looksdown at him. He is warm, pressed against him from thighs to chest. He is safe. Stefan knows this. He won’t letanything happen to him.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Dragos returns, with a grin.He kisses Stefan slowly while the wind howls around them. It will be anotherstormy night.

The fire in the tower lights with a swoosh. Stefan bites his lip and holdsDragos’s flickering gaze. He nods.

Dragos pushes them both over the edge of the lighthouse.

They never hit the ground.

[nearthewalkingdead]

Why you ship Caryl? What you love about the characters as individual's?

this might get long, anon, be prepared.

what I like about Carol: Carol has come so far as a character, and that’s one of my favourite things; she began the series as an abused housewife, who was mousy and weak and fearful of anything that could happen. When her daughter disappeared after running into the woods, Carol was helpless. She didn’t know how to use a gun, she wasn’t able to track to try and find her little girl in the woods. She had to rely on everyone else. Even when Sophia emerged from the barn, she was unable to kill her herself. Rick had to do it for her. And the loss of her daughter impacted her so badly she became defensive when it came to children. She wouldn’t let Lizzie or Mika call her mom. When she lost them, she became almost aggressive toward Sam, fearful that if he got close she would just lost him too. And she was right. And the guilt for Sophia, Lizzie, Mika and Sam follows her everywhere she goes, she has to live with this even though she’s a natural mother and nurturer, that she lost four children she cared for.(putting in a read more, click to read the rest!!!! ITS LONG)

Despite her guilt, she evolved into a woman who would kill to protect the ones she loved. A woman who blew up Terminus because they had her family in there. A woman who saw “Wolves” attacking her home and immediately sprang into action to protect the community - with NO hesitation. A woman who, reluctantly, had to put down her own adopted daughter because she was mentally unstable, and thought killing her sister and (almost) Judith was a good idea. And yet this woman can’t help but question whether this is really right, because she doesn’t enjoy killing people. Another AMAZING thing about her. Carol, in the words of the gorgeous Melissa McBride, is not a cold-blooded killer. Even in her conflicted state she’s trying to keep herself from feeling. She tells Daryl he has to “feel it” when he’s struggling with his emotions, but that she “can’t.” She doesn’t allow herself to feel because she fears if she brings her emotions into play, she’ll hesitate or do the wrong thing, and she never wants to risk her loved ones. She’s a mother, a warrior, and a beautiful and selfless guardian to her family.

What I like about Daryl: Let’s be honest, Daryl has come a long way himself. He grew up in a home with an abusive and neglectful family. Even his brother was abusive towards him, and a bit manipulative, trying to convince Daryl that no one would ever care for him like Merle did. Daryl was racist, rude for seemingly no reason, stand-offish, and even planned to rob the original Atlanta camp “blind”, along with his brother. Daryl was not what you’d consider a stand up guy. However, he began helping look for Sophia. He protected his family when it was called for. Proved himself to be what Carol refers to as a Man of Honour. One of my favourite developments of his will always be when he realised that he wanted to be with his new real family, not with Merle, and corrects him to let him know Glenn was Korean - something Daryl had previously been ignorant about. His family had become so important to him that he wouldn’t forget it again. I respected when he didn’t want to turn Michonne over to the governor, and when he seemed uncomfortable about going in and killing everyone at Grady. I felt for him when he failed in finding Sophia alive, failed in finding his brother alive, and then failed in rescuing Beth in time. Daryl’s heart is always, always in the right place. He wants to do right by his family.In Always Accountable, Daryl becomes distraught when he wants to return to Alexandria to make sure the rest of his family is alright. When the claimers wanted to kill Rick, Michonne and Carl he was ready to give up his life for theirs. Hell, he was willing to punch Negan because he thought it would be HIM who would be killed over it, not Glenn. He didn’t mean for that. While Daryl keeps getting pegged as this rough sort of guy (by Beth, by the claimers) he’s really got a heart of gold, just a rocky upbringing. He’s a good man.

                                                           Why I ship Caryl: So a lot of points I said previously are going to tie in here. I believe Daryl was the first to begin falling for Carol. When her husband dies, Daryl feels for her - but not because he thinks she’s sad over Ed’s death. But because he knew what Ed did to her, and the abuse she and her daughter faced. He had experienced abuse himself. When he handed her that pick axe, I believe Daryl was briefly wondering what it felt like, to know that it was over and that he couldn’t hurt them anymore, and that after all of that she could drive a pick axe into his head. When Sophia goes missing, Daryl pulls out the soft “Carol voice”. This voice has only ever been used with her, reserved for her. He’s gentle, he tries to reason that he’ll find her. He jokes to keep it lighthearted. He hears her crying and he searches in the dark for her daughter. He brings her a Cherokee Rose, telling her the story of it’s legend because just SEEING the flower makes him think of her and Sophia. When Carol kisses him and says that he’s done more for her than her daddy ever did in his whole life, Daryl tries to downplay it. “Ain’t nothin’ Rick or Shane wouldn’t have done”. But the fact of the matter is, Rick and Shane never went to those lengths for Sophia. Daryl really cared deeply for her, and for Carol. So much so that after he was mean to her, he apologised and took her to a lake to see more roses. (Sorry, but did he ever do this when he was mean to Lori? Or Beth? Rosita?)After Sophia’s death, I believe Daryl felt responsible for not finding her soon enough. He yells at Carol to try and relieve his guilt, but I believe in this moment he realises that they’re both carrying it together. Sophia wasn’t his, but he had cared for her and searched for her as if she was.I also want to touch on the bus scene, simply because a lot of folks argue that this scene proves Daryl is not into her. But I want you to consider what Norman has said in interviews carefully. “Daryl has no game”. He prefers the “slow burn” sort of relationship. He’s not one to jump into anything quickly, and he’s not one to “throw you up against a tree in the moonlight”. If these things are true, then it’s extremely clear why he didn’t take Carol up on her offer on top of the bus. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he cares for her deeply and doesn’t want to rush anything - especially when she’s using phrases like “screw around”, because that would imply having sex just because. (You’ll notice that even with this being the case, Daryl considers it. The tension is obvious when he stares at her and withdraws his hands, like a deer in headlights, and mentions getting back to the camp. When she asks him the question, he eyes her for a moment before scoffing.)This is running long, so I’ll make the rest as brief as I can!Carol’s “death” - Daryl is broken about it, even angry; puts a Cherokee Rose on her grave because the flower reminds him of her. When he does find her he’s sure to compliment her toughness in a very cute and proud way.Jasper stone - happens to coincide with Carol’s banishment, and the stone symbolizes nurturers, fertility, and protectors. All signs point to Carol, folks.Carol’s banishment/Hershel’s death/moment in Still - Daryl is clearly angry and distraught by Rick’s choice to banish Carol. He claims he would have taken care of whatever trouble rose with Tyreese (a caryllel to Carol saying she could handle Tyreese, mind you.) and then next thing he knows they’re going to war. When the dust finally is settling, though, Daryl repeatedly voices a lack of belief that there are good people. I believe this is partially because of being run out of their home and losing the rest of the family, watching Hershel be murdered right in front of their eyes, and partially some bitterness because Rick had so badly hurt him by sending his best friend (and love of his life) away without discussing anything with him.Terminus Reunion - come on. He sees her. He HAULS ASS TO HER. He slams into her with a force that would have knocked her over if he wasn’t already holding her in the ultimate deathgrip. He picks her up, swings her around. Strokes her hair. They’re both crying. When he pulls back they look into each others’ eyes, he headbutts her affectionately and she strokes his hair too. IN THE SCENE FOLLOWING THIS WITH GABRIEL, he stands in front of her, protective. When they are on watch together (do you think they both were chosen for watch, or one offered and the other one joined them?) he stares at her. He accepts her decision but he’s there if she needs him. When they hear a sound, he gets up and puts up a hand for her to stay back - ready to protect her at all costs, despite her having saved all their asses previously.Consumed - He stays with her, protective, throughout the entire episode up until she’s hit by the car and is taken to Grady. They have a cute little bickering exchange in which Carol says “You don’t know me,” teasingly, and Daryl replies, “Yep. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Because he probably knows her better than anyone. (Quick callback to the scene in which Daryl says, “Stay safe”, and she responds, “Nine lives, remember?” Her asking if he remembers implies they’ve spoken about it; the fact they’ve spoken about it means they probably have had a lot more than just that conversation off screen, and it’s safe to say they’re friendly/affectionate/teasing with one another in average conversation. Season 4 Episode 1 is also evidence of this. Their on screen conversation constantly references similar off screen experiences.) Daryl helps Carol into the van and touches her butt. That has honestly nothing to do with anything, just wanted to point out that he touched her butt. (I’m serious, watch the Behind the Scenes on AMC for Consumed. he touch it.) When the van is going down, Carol puts her hand over Daryl’s. Daryl looks at her, and he wraps his thumb over her hand, as if to hold it. (Callback to Bob and Daryl in the 4th Season, when Bob says “They wanted to go out together, same as they lived”, or something to that effect.) Also wanna point out the religious symbolism that once again, Daryl and Carol are sharing here. He checks on her numerous times to make sure she’s okay in this episode. He knocks a bookshelf onto a teenager and prepares to leave him to die because he hurt Carol - only saving said teenager when Carol pleads with him. When Carol is taken, he has a sudden intensity that seems to do Noah a frighten.Forehead kiss - She knows he’s hurting. She tells him to let out his emotion, to feel it, because she knows he has to stop bottling it all up. He listens.The Same Boat - They share ANOTHER hug initiated by Daryl, who is notorious for hating physical contact. He wants to make sure she’s okay, and she’s not.I would also like to remind that Carol is in Daryl’s “Lucille flashbacks”, meaning those moments - the bus scene, finding Carol, giving her the rose, saving her on his motorcycle - all mean something special to Daryl.To sum it up, I ship Caryl because I believe these two people - bonded by their former abuse, troubled pasts, will to protect and save others - have a chemistry and indescribable love for each other, and that no matter how many times the world tears them apart they always find each other again. It’s true love.

(none of the gifs are mine, sources are linked on them!!)