#do. do i need to say anything about the spoken introduction to the river

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

My Fathers House [album version] 🤝 Independence Day [Live at the Roxy 1987] 🤝 The River [Live at LA Coliseum 85. the spoken intro that hits like a sledgehammer] [all yt links]

Songs by Bruce Springsteen that make me feel shrimp emotions about Fathers.

[kevinkoosk]

Avoid the Loan Sharks

Introduction

Someone I know tried to commit suicide recently. He slashed his arm violently, in a fit of depression and anger, and hoped to bleed out and die. He was found in a pool of blood, and rushed to the hospital. His life is in a precarious state; but the worst has passed.

I was informed that he had run up a huge debt with a loan shark; and his family has just found out about it, and they are trying their best to pull together the cash to pay it off. At the same time, they are trying to negotiate with the loan shark, and ask for a reduction of the interest.

I heard from his family member, the loan shark had played this person for a fool. This person had spoken greatly about his father's wealth; about how his father had made it with blood, sweat, and tears. And his boastful talking had irked some people, so much that they decided to set him up.

How it starts with these loan sharks

A small borrowing, started a small debt, which then snowballed into a huge debt. Once you borrow from a loan shark, they feel legitimized to come after you for everything that you've got. They are notorious for using violence and dabble in vice, and if you come to them, it means that you've accepted those conditions.

But the loan shark is often friendly, when they're trying to get a person to borrow from them. "Don't worry, we are people too," they say. It's like fishing: the ones doing the fishing wait patiently for the fish to bite on the hook. And when the fish gets hooked, they reel it in and never let it go.

A fisherman pulls a fish in from the river or the sea, and plops it on the grass, or a basin. They don't want the fish to flip and land back into the water. Some fishermen whack the fish on the head, to stun it and prevent the fish from moving further.

Loan sharks do that too. Once they have their debtor, they let the debt balloon, and wait for the time to come. At first they'll collect partially, so that the debt continues to increase. The interest rates are far higher than anything the bank offers. Even credit card interest rates cannot compare. I heard that it can start as low as 30% for 3 months, and go as high as 50% a month.

Why not borrow from a conventional bank? (And not a loan shark)

If you borrow money from a bank, at least you know your interest rates are more reasonable. A debt of RM100,000 will not turn into a debt of RM1,000,000. Despite whatever you may say about the traditional banking industry, it plays a much needed role of offering loans to those who need it.

But conventional banks assess risks as well. They see the profile of the borrower, and rate his ability to repay. They offer him a loan within the ambit of his ability to repay. And then they monitor the loan, and send notices whenever there is a default. Repayment is made in monthly instalments, so if there is a hiccup, they will know about it. Best of all, they ask for collateral, to fall back on if the borrower is unable to repay.

So it is ironic that a loan from an unlicensed moneylender, i.e. the loan sharks, is now being repaid with a loan from a conventional financial institution.

But if the loan from the loan shark had been reasonable and followed the operation of the financial institution, that person would not have come to his moment of desperation. He would not have run up his huge debt. And he might still be well.

No, it's unreasonable because it is unlicensed. The loan sharks know that if a borrower comes to them, it's because he does not qualify for a loan from a conventional financial institution. They are the lender of last resort, and they take their chunk of flesh, because they are predators. It's a business that they cannot scale legally; so they operate from the shadows, and claim their victims whenever they find one.

The lesson for you (about loan sharks, and kings)

What is the lesson here? I was blessed to hear my church pastor speak about Hezekaiah, a good king in Israel from the line of King David. His final days offer a lesson that is relevant to this topic.

Hezekaiah was approached by an emissary from the Babylonian king. This emissary was presumably visiting so that Babylon could form an alliance with Israel against the world's superpower at the time: The Assyrians.

To this emissary, Hezekaiah showed everything he had: his stores of gold, silver, and spices. He probably led him around the kingdom and showed his great treasures that his predecessors had accumulated. The Bible says that there was nothing that he did not show the Babylonian emissary. Maybe he was trying to show how secure and how rich he was, in a bid to impress the emissary.

A prophet then asked king Hezekaiah what he had shown the emissary. "Everything", he said. "I showed him all my treasures, all my gold, all my silver." (Something along those lines, which I paraphrase.)

"OK," said the prophet. (Again, I'm paraphrasing.) "Because you showed all your treasures, etc. your children will become slaves and eunuchs in the Babylonian empire, and your kingdom will fall."

King Hezekaiah did not think much of it, because he thought that it would happen after his lifetime. "At least," he thought, "I will escape this ugly fate, right?"

But that was foolish thinking for a king! As a king, the rest of the world would know his sovereignty. He did not need to show them his treasures; indeed, they were not visiting him to audit him.

The lesson is not to show off your wealth, even to friends; because if you do that, eventually, greed will come, and with it, comes your destruction.

People always think that it is OK to shortchange a rich man. I know first hand how many many imagine that a lawyer should be rich, and nonchalantly say, "But you're a lawyer, surely you're rich, and you can afford to _____, right?"

Once they have their justification, they come with their demands and requests. Even if some of them are undeniably rich, they will do so.

Don't be a victim

Coming back to the topic at hand, when that person boasted that his father was rich, he drew the envy and (perhaps) disgust of his friends. They set him up, and plotted how to bring about his financial ruin, with the knowledge that his father would come to his rescue.

In other words, they wanted to take away the wealth that his father had accumulated, just like the Babylonians would one day, take away the wealth that King Hezekaiah's predecessors had accumulated.

The Chinese have a saying, that wealth lasts for three generations: The first generation works hard for it; the second generation, knowing how hard it was, maintains it; and the third generation squanders it all away.

In this case, the person that I know was of the second generation. His father had worked hard to accumulate wealth; and should now be enjoying his retirement. But now, comes a huge debt, and his father's properties will be charged to the bank simply to unlock the liquidity therein. From here on out, the family will work hard to bear the monthly instalments.

Loan sharks are usurious; and so, it is always, always best to avoid them.

In your life, even if you're short on cash, and have nowhere to turn, never go to a loan shark.

If someone offers to help you refinance your debts, think carefully, and never deal with offers on the phone if you can.

After all, banks have branches, and branches have workers who earn a commission. If the deal you get over the telephone is genuine, you should be able to avail it over the counter at a nearby bank.

I don't know how some of these people get my number and call me up to offer a loan, but I always say no, I will see you at the bank if you're real. Not on the phone, please.

Conclusion

Avoid the loan sharks. Even if they're nicely dressed and speak nicely with you. You'll be happier.

Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: This article is published for information sharing purposes; and should not be regarded as legal advice. Nor should it be considered financial advice, because I am not a financial planner or a financial professional.

This article was first published at Linkedin.

[moonieshinesims]

Generation One - Chapter Thirty Six

River begins her internship and becomes fast friends with the other interns. However, they don't know they are working for a secret Simkuza organization, and River needs to keep them in the dark. Meanwhile, she's also on the hunt for news about Ichiban, but news like that is hard to come by when someone's got their eye on her...

Damien was far less "buddy buddy" at work than he was during their NITCA meetings. Here at Arakawa Corp he had to pretend to be the "man in charge" of the interns.

The "kids" didn't seem to be taking him too seriously though.

River, Jun, and Reiko were each paired up with different permanent employees, who would be known as their direct supervisors, in the company and each of them were given an office to share with them.

River's direct supervisor was going to be someone named Toshiro Moriyama, but he was "busy" at the moment and wasn't able to greet River inside their office.

She supposed he'd decorated it for her at least, because she wasn't quite sure any grown man would be a fan of pop stars like the ones adorning her wall.

Thankfully Damien had enough to train her own himself to keep her busy for the day since her new "boss" was MIA. She wondered if he was close to Arakawa, and therefore had other responsibilities to attend to.

She couldn't wait to meet him!

Back at her new home, River decided to do some exploring. She found a cute convenience store that had all sorts of yummy snacks and cute pieces of home decor.

She ran into Ruang while she was there, but he didn't say much. His Komorebigo was at about the same level as River's, and he didn't speak Simlish very well either, so perhaps it was just nerves that kept him from speaking.

She also took a trip to the laundromat to clean her clothes.

The next day at work River actually got to meet her direct supervisor.

Toshiro Moriyama.

He was the guy giving her a strange look during her welcome introduction the other day, although today he didn't have on glasses.

He introduced himself, but told River to just call him Toshiro.

"You can call me something more formal in front of the others since they'll want you to be more professional around me, but I'm pretty laid back. I don't like all the pomp and circumstance."

Something about him seemed so familiar...

"Maybe..." River blushed. There weren't any celebrities she liked... only ever boys from school - Rohan and Ichiban. Toshiro wasn't ugly or anything, but that definitely wasn't it.

Her first day in the office with him went well. He was a good instructor, and was very helpful.

Reiko and Jun on the other hand did not have as much luck with their direct supervisors.

On day two, Reiko had to take the reigns with her own boss and teach him how to teach her. Ryou Higashi looked, he was bald and built, but soft-spoken, and apparently very nervous around women.

Reiko, who liked to joke around had to actually start taking things more seriously since it seemed like she'd be the one directing him!

Jun was also having a horrible time. On day one his direct supervisor Howard Lo came into the office late and immediately fell asleep at his desk before giving Jun any instructions.

He slept the entire day away and Jun had no idea what to do other than sulk.

The next day the three of them met up in the courtyard after work and discussed their new bosses and plans for the weekend.

River had already heard enough complaining from Jun, but hoped that things had started going better after a few days. They apparently had not.

Reiko joined them and was caught up to speed on River's suggestion to Jun.

"Oh, like, to get to know him better, right?" Reiko asked, "I think that would be a good idea. You can take him out and buy him a drink or something, see what his deal is..."

"I don't really want to see what this slacker's deal is!" Jun hollered, his voice cracking. The two girls burst into laughter.

"Calm down, Howard will warm up to you and I'm sure you will to him. I hear Reiko has already got Ryou being somewhat more boss-like already, right?"

"Well, it's only day four, but I think he's getting less nervous. I accidentally touched his hand when I grabbed some papers today and I thought he was going to puke."

They laughed some more. Jun was still pouting.

"Cheer up Jun! What do you guys say to getting lunch tomorrow? It's the weekend, we should get to know each other more too." River did legitimately want to become friends with her fellow interns, but she also figured the closer she was to them, the more intel she could get on Arakawa's inner circle.

"Sounds good to me! Let's go to the noodle shop I mentioned when we first met!"

"I guess that's okay with me..." Jun sighed.

It was settled. Week one at work was over, and the interns were going to lunch!

[irishseeeker]

                      row, row, row your boat with ferocious jealously 

Kate Sharma is taking a boat ride with a man that isn’t him. Anthony Bridgerton decides he doesn’t quite like that.

---

Anthony Bridgerton was livid.

“Anthony.”

“Anthony?”

“What?” Anthony snapped, his tone harsher than intended as he snapped his head away from the source of his rage and back to look at his pestering brothers.

Benedict, frowning at his brother’s harsh tone, raised an eyebrow. “What on earth are you glaring at?”

Colin was smirking triumphantly over the glass in his hand, which made Anthony want to throttle him more. “I wonder what our dear brother could be glaring at. Or should I say-who.”

The widest lopsided grin spread out on Ben’s face.

Benedict, the traitor, quickly caught on as he followed Anthony and Colin’s eyeline to where Kate Sharma herself, dressed in a dark purple dress that made her brown skin glow and his legs weak, was talking to him. No-she was laughing with him. He couldn’t possibly be that funny.

Was it a pity laugh? Surely it was a pity laugh.

Anthony had never hated a man so much in his life as he hated William Trent. He was the second son of an Earl and Anthony had spoken to him a few times at Whites. Anthony didn’t know him well at all, he had been in Benedict’s year at Eton and Oxford and they had only met a handful of times.

Anthony still despised him.

Since when had he been courting Kate? Anthony couldn’t have possibly missed news that significant. He came from a family of gossips who would have said something, he attended most of the same balls as Kate did-he didn’t recall them dancing, much less speaking.

Kate’s ring of laughter rang through the air and it was like a knife to the chest, puncturing every bit of sense he had left in him. Anthony didn’t care much for sense at that moment.

All he knew was he wanted to be the one to make her laugh.

That fact itself rather terrified him.

“What do you think of Trent, Ben?” Colin’s teasing tone wasn’t lost on Anthony and he was this close to getting thrown into the river that was a few metres away from them.

“I rather like him. We went to Eton and Oxford together. Decent. Funny,” Benedict drawled, his lopsided grin close to falling off his face as it was stretched so widely. “Very popular with ladies, I believe.”

Anthony was clenching his jaw so hard, it began to ache. His grip was so tight on his wine glass, it was close to smashing in his hands. “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves.”

“Oh brother,” Colin said, patting his eldest brother on the shoulder with the same, teasing grin. “We truly are.”

This was ridiculous. He didn’t want to come today. The last place he wanted to be was at a full of young ladies on the marriage mart, their families and potential suitors. He had to come, as he is meant to be courting and finding a wife. He was also the head of his household. He was meant to be courting Edwina.

Edwina.

Anthony hadn’t thought about her since they had briefly greeted each other when they arrived. All he could think about, from the moment he saw Kate and her head full of bouncy, dark curls , was her. How much he wanted to wrap one of those curls around his fingers and pull her away, behind a tree and-

No.

He had to stop this. This endless torture of imagining things that would never be. He had already chosen a wife. Kate had dragged her sister off just as Anthony and his brothers greeted the Sharma women.

Kate had barely looked at him as she said those two words, “My lord,” that made the hairs on his arms stick up and an uncomfortable warm feeling spread through his stomach.

Those feelings only ever happened when she spoke to him.

He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while he had his way with her. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear in their bed. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while she was sat on his lap, dancing in his arms, for the rest of their bloody lives-

“It looks like Miss Sharma is going for a boat ride down the river.”

Colin’s voice snapped Anthony out of his dangerous thoughts and the fury quickly spread through Anthony’s entire body as he watched Kate take that bastard’s hand and walk towards the boats that were lined up along the bank of the river.

Not on his bloody watch.

“What an excellent idea,” Anthony said, shoving his glass into his brother’s chest as he clapped his hands, looking around for Edwina. “I’ll go find Miss Sharma.”

“I believe Miss Edwina Sharma has already been escorted into a boat.” Benedict chimed in, gesturing towards a boat that was being rowed by a man Anthony couldn’t recognize.

Shit.

Anthony had to act fast. He had to ask a young lady quickly to take a boat ride with him so he could catch up with Kate. He would row the bloody English channel just to find out what they were speaking out and what was so bloody funny about Trent.

He scanned the crowd around them, most of the young ladies beaming at him but he struggled to put a name to most of their faces. He needed someone he could tolerate, that didn’t talk too much and someone that wouldn’t make him want to drown himself more than he already wanted to at the thought of Kate and that imbecile rowing along the river together.

He left his brothers, making his way through the crowds and spotting a few familiar faces. He nodded his head in greeting as people spoke to him, hastily turning around as he spotted Cressida Cowper and her mother making a beeline for him.

Colin had once compared them to the Queen’s yapping little dogs that never seemed to shut up and follow you everywhere and Anthony struggled to not laugh every time he had the displeasure of making their acquaintance.

There were many things Anthony would do to get closer to Kate Sharma and that man but trapping himself in a boat with Cressida Cowper would not be one of them.

He didn’t like bullies.

There, standing in a shockingly blinding bright yellow dress with embroidered sequins, was his saving grace.

Penelope Fetherington.

“Miss Fetherington,” Anthony said, slightly out of his breath as he approached her, bowing his head. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a boat ride along the river?”

He felt slightly guilty, noticing she was alone and looking uncomfortable. Eloise was sick at home in bed, she had made her first season quite the strain on their family with her habit of complaining about everything and unwillingness to participate in anything.

“My Lord,” Penelope squealed, her round cheeks darkening as she bowed her head. “Oh! That is very kind of you. But-well, you don’t have to. I’m really okay. If your mother-”

“I want to,” Anthony said quickly, the guilt growing inside of him as she spoke. No one should have to feel as if they’ve only been asked because someone’s mother forced them to. Even if his intentions weren’t honourable, he’d try harder to make sure she didn’t feel like that. “Do I seem to you like a man who does what he doesn’t want to do?”

Penelope’s anxious expression faded slowly into a relaxed one, a small smile appearing on her face. “I would love to, my lord.”

“I will admit, Miss Fetherington,” Anthony spoke quietly to her, offering her his arm as they made their way to the river bank. Anthony pushed people out of the way until they were right behind Kate and William. “I do enjoy boat rides. However, I needed to escape the preying mothers and their daughters on the bank. My mother would have pushed me onto a boat if I didn’t pick a suitable young lady and I couldn’t have picked better company.

Penelope’s giggle, which was louder than expected, caught the attention of Kate, Trent, Cressida Cowper, another gentlemen Anthony hadn’t met and of course-Colin.

Colin, who had wormed his way into a conversation with Kate and Trent and grinning mischievously at his brother as he did so. Benedict had been wise enough to stay away.

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Trent said quickly, smiling and bowing his head as he addressed him. Anthony’s bow was stiff in return.

“Good afternoon,” Anthony said stiffly, feigning slight confusion and real distaste as he stared at him. He wasn’t very impressive up close. His jacket looked cheap and his hat was slightly wonky. Anthony surely didn't have anything to worry about. This man didn’t look funny. “Have we met?”

It was rude, but Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He chose to ignore Colin’s loud snort from beside him as well.

“William Trent, my Lord.” He said, blushing slightly as he shook Anthony’s hand while he pushed his shoulders back and stood up straighter. He looked scared. Anthony knew instantly he wasn’t a good fit for Kate. She would walk all over him. Anthony relished in how intimidating he could be sometimes. “May I introduce-“

Anthony could feel his blood boiling. How dare he. The hand that was free from Penelope’s arm curled into a fist, he knew the expression on his face was thunderous. No one had to introduce Kate to him. No one. If anything, he should be the one introducing Kate to people. That should be his job. Except it wasn’t and it could never be. “There is no introduction necessary. Good Afternoon, Miss Sharma.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” She said plainly, frowning slightly at him. Her voice and frown, and those two words once again, having an exhilarating effect on him like nothing else has before.

Anthony’s manners quickly made themselves known as he turned to Penelope. “May I introduce Penelope Fetherington?”

“Sir,” Penelope said kindly, bowing her head. “Kate.” Her smile was much wider as she greeted her. Kate’s smile and something inside of his stomach twisted.

“Lord Bridgerton,” A voice from beside them piped up, belonging to, unfortunately, Cressida Cowper. “I would be happy to accompany you on the river. Sir Byrne will take Penelope off your hands-”

“I don’t believe I asked you, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said sharply, turning to glare at the intruder who had wiped the smile Anthony had been staring at right off Kate’s face. “I believe I asked Miss Fetherington.”

That shut her right up. Anthony didn’t like to think too badly of ladies of the ton but Cressida Cowper was truly unpleasant. That was the nicest word he could think of that wasn’t severely inappropriate.

“But, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said, his revenge so sweet he couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face. “My brother Colin would be happy to accompany you.”

The colour drained right out of Colin’s face.

Anthony couldn’t help but glance at Kate, who caught his eye before looking down at the ground, desperately fighting off a smile.

Anthony clapped his brother’s shoulder as they moved towards the bank of the river where footmen had set up the boats for the passengers. He moved quickly to make sure they got the boat right beside and behind Kate and Trent. Kate and Trent were saying something quietly but Anthony could see the smile on her face and it infuriated him more.

It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Kate to have suitors. How could she not? She may be different to some ladies of the ton but everything different about her made her stand out from the rest. Not to mention, she was absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t stand in a room with her lately without glancing at her every ten seconds.

Any man would be a fool not to want her. Of course she was going to be courted.

He just wished she wasn’t.

He had no right to, he shouldn’t, but he did anyway.

Trent, the incompetent idiot, was caught in a conversation with a man on the bank. Kate, of course, took it upon herself to get herself into the boat.

“Be careful.” Anthony said, jumping at the opportunity to offer her his hand after he helped Penelope into their boat. Kate stared at his hand for a moment, before, begrudgingly, accepting it and stepping into the boat.

“Thank you.” She said stiffly, avoiding eye-contact as she settled into the boat. The moment their hands touched, her touch erupted a sensation that traveled from the top of his fingers, all the way up his arm and into his chest. This was seriously getting out of hand. Anthony needed to get himself together.

“Enjoy your boat ride,” He said quietly, noticing out of the corner of his eye Trent was finishing up his conversation. “Kate.” Anthony made his way back to his boat, smiling briefly at Penelope as they waited for Trent to begin rowing so Anthony could quickly follow.

Once they started moving, Anthony had a small swearing fit under his breath but the chances of Penelope hearing his language was quite high. Another boat had pulled out in front of them and separated them from Kate and Trent. Anthony was manically rowing to try to catch up with them up the river and his arms were beginning to ache.

Penelope spoke up. “I was sorry to hear about Eloise. I hope she is feeling better soon.”

Anthony didn’t miss the sly smile on Penelope’s face, which momentarily distracted him from glaring over at Kate and Trent’s boat. “I would be willing to bet the deed to Bridgerton House that Eloise has made a miraculous recovery by this evening.”

Penelope laughed. Anthony couldn’t help but join in.

“I apologize,” Anthony said, both of them sharing a smile that his apology wasn’t sincere at all. They both knew Eloise quite well. “Betting is not an appropriate topic to discuss with a young lady.”

“Please do not apologize, my lord.” Penelope said, smoothing out the bright yellow skirt of her dress and fidgeting with a few beads.

“We have known each other for a long time, Penelope. Please, call me Anthony.”

“Okay, Anthony,” Penelope said slowly, testing out the name before smiling shyly. “I will not say anything. What happens on this boat, stays on this boat.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow at her before returning back to glaring at Kate’s boat. He couldn’t help that his attention drifted there. He didn’t mean to be rude but he was just dying to know what they were talking about. He could see Trent rowing, and Kate laughing, and he couldn’t help the ache in his chest that he wished it was him.

“I do hope Miss Sharma is okay.”

Anthony looked back at Penelope, his arms slowing down slightly as they were really beginning to ache. He didn’t want to seem too obvious in his endeavours to get closer to Kate but he would be willing to capsize the boat between them to get closer to her. “I believe I saw Miss Sharma get on a boat earlier, with a gentleman I didn’t see. Is there a reason she wouldn’t be alright?”

Surely Kate wouldn’t have got on a boat if Edwina was ill or in some sort of trouble. Kate was always by her sister’s side, looking out for her. It was one of her traits Anthony admired the most.

“I didn’t mean Edwina.”

They briefly stared at each other in silence, an awful sinking feeling in Anthony’s stomach settling in as if he had been caught in the middle of an act. Subtly had never been his greatest form. If Penelope knew what Anthony was thinking, who was he thinking about, what he was trying to do-well, he was screwed.

“I was speaking with Kate earlier and well, she is not too fond of boats,” Penelope said, glancing upwards as they rowed under an oak tree. “I’ve always enjoyed the water. Kate, however, doesn’t. The movement makes her feel quite sick. I believe she tried to avoid a boat trip but Mr. Trent was quite persistent.”

It was as if the clouds had cleared and the storm inside of him had faded away, making way for the sun to shine brightly through.

Anthony tried very hard to smile. He focused on pulling each oar back and forth to hide his smile but he wasn’t having much luck. Kate was with him out of pity. Kate hated boat rides and she was probably miserable a few metres ahead of them, desperately wishing to be anywhere but on a boat with Trent.

A man who had to beg a lady to do something she didn’t want to do wasn’t the right man for her.

He wasn’t the right man for Kate.

“I hope the experience isn’t too unpleasant for her.” He said idly, desperate to keep up some sort of calm, cool and collected façade that he wasn’t thrilled to hear the news. The boat ride was actually quite pleasant, they chatted away while Anthony picked up the pace to make sure they were behind Kate and Trent as they pulled back into the bank of the river.

Anthony stood up and helped Penelope out of the boat herself, waving off the footman and smiling as she bowed. “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, my lord.”

“Anthony.”

“Anthony.” Penelope blushed slightly, her eyes catching something behind him. Anthony turned around to see a rather flustered Colin, desperately rowing and splashing to make his way to the back with a very displeased Cressida Cowper. Penelope bowed her head again before turning around and walking back towards her family’s tent, to her very pleased looking mother who was pretending she hadn’t been watching them the entire time.

“That was nice of you. To ask Penelope.” The voice next to him, one he could recognize in a crowd full of people, caught him by surprise as he turned around to see Kate Sharma beside him. She wasn’t glaring at him like she usually was, which was an excellent start.

“I like Penelope. I know this may come as a shock to you, Miss Sharma,” He said teasingly, the smirk on his lips the most genuine and amused all day. “On the rare occasion, I can be nice.”

To Anthony’s surprise, Kate laughed. The low, joyful laugh was like Christmas to him, flooding his veins with dopamine like no other. He never wanted to stop hearing it.

Anthony made her laugh.

It was the best feeling in the world.

He was secretly thrilled she approved of him inviting Penelope. He didn’t know why, but he had found himself lately needing her approval. He was desperate for it.

Kate’s eyes darted around them before landing back on him, quickly bowing her head. “Well, I will see you at your ball tomorrow evening.”

He bowed back, a small smile playing on his lips. “You will, Kate.”

“Well,” She said, gulping slightly as she fidgeted. She appeared flustered, her neck and cheeks reddening slightly. Anthony desperately wanting to kiss it away. “Good day Lord Bridgerton.”

“Anthony.” He quickly corrected her.

Kate wasn’t buying it. “My Lord.”

“Good day, Kate.”

He watched her nod her head before turning around, making her way back up the slight hill of the bank. He watched her fierce, bouncing girls fly in the wind until she disappeared into the crowd.

It was a good day, indeed.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 10

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Nine

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Ten: Human not Humane

Huckleberry Hall was thriving with life. Lucien had apparated at the bottom of the pathway leading up to the external arches and courtyard placed before the hall – and there were people everywhere.

Elain saw all walks of life, from noblemen to peasants crowded on the lawns and paths. It was like looking directly into a memory. In another life, Elain would walk among these people with her sisters and parents. Nesta would trot directly behind their mother as she sneered down her nose at the farmers and tanners, Feyre would drift a little further behind, looking up at the clouds in the sky. Their father would walk at the back holding little Elain’s hand, pointing out the flowers and the trees and showing her how to make a trumpet from a leaf.

That was another life and what Elain had always assumed was a happier one.

Mother knows what she thought now.

Lucien and Elain were hidden from sight down the pathway, and it looked as though they were the last to arrive. Looking around, Elain saw stableboys managing a small army of horses, farmers sitting next to wagons full of seeds, grain and fruit, there were even Lords and Ladies, perched under umbrellas in fine chairs, tutting to themselves at the display.

It was so…human.

The rowdy chatter, the children playing hopscotch, the delicacy of these little lives and how they were interwoven with one another. Another way in it being so human was that Elain knew she didn’t fit.

Years ago the sight of all these people would have simply washed over Elain, now it threatened to drown her. Looking around all she could see were people, people and more people. People she didn’t know in a situation she couldn’t control. How long had it been since Elain had spoken to anyone outside the Inner Circle or the Band of Exiles? She hadn’t been taken to any of the meetings with other Courts or any trips abroad – her family hadn’t even told her. They’d just left her alone and hoped she’d be fine.

Breathing started to become a little difficult.

“Are you okay?” Lucien’s voice husked in her ear.

Elain just stared blankly up at him; she wasn’t sure. His own eyes were assessing her carefully.

“If you don’t want to do this just say the word and I’ll take us home.”

Home…

“I’m fine,” Elain said, though a little breathily, “It’s just…I haven’t been around a crowd in a long time.”

She flinched then as a carriage thundered through the woods on a path far to their left, the noise scaring the birds who began a loud chorus of squawking. All of the uproar felt as though it were washing over Elain, dragging her down, suffocating her.

“Hey, Elain, breathe,” Lucien’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders as he pulled himself in front of her, blocking her view of the Hall and all the people surrounding it. Now, her attention was on him.

“Breathe,” he commanded once more before he joined her in taking deep, long breaths. In, out. In, out.

Slowly, the roaring noise and itching anxiety began to fade away as she became encased in the sensation of Lucien. The smell of him surrounding her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes concerned as they roved over her face.

She wondered if this is how he often felt – like his entire universe sometimes shifted so that she was at the centre.

Once Elain’s breathing had returned to a steady pace for several moments, she felt something tugging from within. Without thinking, Elain brushed up against the bond and was surprised to feel a wave of emotions – Lucien’s emotions – washing over her. She was even more surprised at what those emotions were.

“You’re angry,” Elain whispered after a moment. Lucien shook his head but, he was. His eyes were burning, his jaw set, his brows furrowed – he looked as though he were furiously trying to stop himself from talking. “You are,” Elain prodded because, well, it was a good distraction.

Lucien sighed before looking warily down at her, almost as though he were contemplating telling her whatever it was that had set him off.

“I told Feyre a long time ago that she should’ve been taking you out to see the ocean or sunlight. Instead she…” Lucien trailed off. Elain wished he didn’t, she wished he just said what he so clearly itched to get off his chest.

“I like the indoors,” Elain shrugged.

“Do you?” Lucien cocked his head, “I thought you used to spend all your time in gardens and your greatest wish was to see the continent.”

Elain paused. How did he know about the continent…

Her father. When Lucien had come for Vassa he’d met Elain’s father and he must’ve tried to inconspicuously pick up as much information about her as he could. Maybe once Elain would’ve thought the notion strange but, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling shyly.

“Okay…” Elain tilted her head, “But I needed the indoors.”

“You needed both,” Lucien said as his eyes softened, “Fresh air, new places, new people – they remind us that the world is bigger than the rooms we lock ourselves in.”

The hands on her shoulders began to rub soothingly along her upper arms, and once more Elain’s entire focus zoned in on that point of contact.

“Did you used to lock yourself away?” Lucien grinned.

“Elain, I’m a 400-year-old fae, I’ve spent my fair share moping indoors. Tamlin was the one who eventually had enough, he threw me out into the woods of Spring one day and said if I couldn’t catch anything, I wasn’t eating dinner.”

“That sounds mean,” Elain half-laughed.

“Maybe,” Lucien shrugged, “But it got me out. He was a bastard though, I spent all day in a river collecting enough bass to feed a small army only to come back to the Manor and find an entire spread waiting for me: potatoes, honeyed-ham, even Tipiati – it’s a delicacy from Dawn. It’s this little bird and you cut it open and eat the heart raw-”

“Oh, ugh!” Elain giggled as she scrunched her nose.

“What’s wrong petal? Raw bird heart not sounding good? Wait until I tell you what they do with the eyes-”

“Okay, okay! Feeling better! Ready to seize the day just please, stop talking about those poor birds!” Elain laughed, feeling for the first time in forever the weight on her shoulders disappear.

“I’m going to get you to try it one day,” Lucien grinned, looking rather smug with himself at having made her laugh.

“Oh, in your dreams,” Elain looped her arm through his as they made their way up the path and into the view of the humans.

“Just you wait, if we’re ever in Summer I’m making you try Calamari.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Elain smiled, and for a moment, she forgot where she was.

Because her arm was in Lucien’s and he was smiling down at her as though she were a forest nymph bedecked in moon-flowers and in this moment, everything felt alright.

It was only when they were halfway down the path to the Hall, that Elain began to remember where she was, and she felt the eyes of the humans – humans she once knew – boring into her. She simply kept her own stare ahead at the open doors of the Hall in which she could see the fiery glint of Vassa’s hair and golden dress.

But her fae hearing picked up on everything. She heard the whisperings of the peasants, both enchanted and disgusted by her beauty, she heard the Ladies muttering to one another about her dress and how disgustingly uncivilised it was.

She heard the Lords grinning to one another about how they knew Elain when she was a little girl. About how they had first dibs…

If she wasn’t mistaken Lucien had gone somewhat rigid next to her and he was once more pulling himself to his full height, looming over everyone in the courtyard. One glance up at him told her that he was wearing his fiercest scowl, his entire being practically thrumming with magic that she knew was hot under the surface of his skin.

Then, Lucien was leaning low, his lips coming close to her ear as he whispered three little words. And then, his voice was the only one that mattered.

“I’ve got you.”

***

Time started to move quickly after their laboured walk into the Hall. Once they were in and grouped with Vassa and Jurian, Elain found herself being introduced to a plethora of Noblemen and Ladies. They shook her hand with introductions and light discussions of who they were and the role they played in the rebuilding of the mortal world. Elain was glad she had spent so much time looking over the documents and contracts as she found herself maintaining elaborate, detailed questions with everyone she came into contact with – and as each successful conversation passed, so did her anxiety, and she truly began to believe she could do this.

She often found herself using the same techniques her mother had taught her when attending balls. Except now, instead of conversations about dowries and marital prospects, she was speaking of trade routes and contractual obligations.

On more than one occasion she came into contact with someone whom she once knew. Some people, such as older, less wealthy men were kind and joyful, telling Elain how they were glad to see she was at least healthy and alive following the Battle against Hybern. With others, Elain could read the quite plain apprehension and slight disgust in the eyes of those she’d once known – particularly of father’s whose sons she’d once been a contender for marrying.

The Hall was busy with chatter as this was also the first meeting in which Queen Vassa was in attendance, and with the two new, unusual arrivals, there were many mortal civilities that needed to pass before everyone was to take their seats in the main hall at the southern end of the building.

Lucien never left her side, but not in a way that felt claustrophobic or hovering, but merely in a way that told her that he had her back. Whenever she tuned into his conversations she found that most mortals responded somewhat well to Lucien. At least, as well as they could given the circumstances. Many mortal Lords were interested in Lucien’s weaponry and experience in battle, there appeared to be an endless amount of questions regarding his sword of choice.

There was only one time in which Elain overheard her name in his discussions.

“Are you and the Lady Elain married then?” Lord McAdams, an old man who owned the human libraries inquired over a glass of port.

“We’re acquaintances, and while she is here she is under my protection,” Lucien replied smoothly. He was the image of relaxation, an easy smile that lit up the room playing on his features.

“Ah, I see,” McAdams winked at Lucien, who merely tilted his head in response.

“Pardon?”

“I won’t tell anyone, of course, you see, it is highly unusual for an unmarried woman to…well to…though it does happen.” McAdams was old enough that he wheezed as he talked.

“I’m quite lost Lord McAdams, though I’m sure you mean well.”

“Of course, of course, my boy. Of course, I mean well,” McAdams chortled, “Besides, I can’t blame you can I? You know I knew Elain when she was a little girl, her father used to take all three of them round to my house so they could have their pick from my libraries. She was the prettiest of them all, even then, and it’s always interesting to see how they…turn out.”

Elain was nodding along as a young Lord who owned the rice fields out West continued to chat extensively about himself. Though at that moment, she felt a pair of eyes searing into her back, particularly her behind. At that moment she didn’t need to reach for the bond to feel the protective fury that was radiating from her mate.

It was strange, but for some reason, she liked it. Some guilty, deep down part of her shuddered in agreement at the idea of Lucien being protective over her in the face of these men. It was almost a nice idea, belonging to him…

“Elain!” A saccharine voice pulled Elain from her internal tribulations and Lucien and McAdams faded away as a silver blur appeared in front of her. “Oh Elain it’s so good to see you again, you look…well!”

Delilah Darlington exploded into the conversation, nudging into the side of the young Lord who grumbled in response. She was bundled in a rather ridiculous silver gown which was bedecked in frills of lace that hung off the fabric like cobwebs. Delilah was beautiful, though, and a sweet kind girl.

She did not deserve the cruelty of someone such as Graysen.

“Delilah, I’m so glad you’re well! Congratulations on your engagement,” Elain said with as much earnest kindness she could muster as she pulled Delilah into a brief embrace.

They’d been friends, once, along with a small gaggle of girls. Nesta couldn’t stand any of them, she saw them as competition at balls and discouraged Elain from forming any kind of relationship with them. Elain had anyways, of course. It was something to look forward to at those balls, something to distract her from the wandering hands and unwanted touches.

“Oh, well, yes I-I uh, I didn’t know you were coming back.” Delilah looked strangely guilty for a moment, and Elain felt something in her chest squeeze. Graysen wasn’t deserving of this girl, and he wasn’t worth coming between them.

“Well I’m only here until some political goals are accomplished, then I’ll probably be heading back over the border.”

“How exciting, you always wanted to travel.”

“Yes,” Elain grinned shyly, touched that Delilah remembered such a trivial detail. Looking around Elain realised that the young Lord had disappeared, and she felt herself relaxing from the forced courtly act she’d been playing.

“It’s wonderful Delilah it really is. Being turned fae has been difficult, more than difficult it’s been…well, it’s been hard, but it’s almost worth it for the beauty of Prythian.”

Delilah, unlike the other mortals who changed the conversation once anything beyond the wall was mentioned, grinned widely and rubbed her hands together.

“I read a book after you were taken over the wall, it was a forbidden scripture from McAdams library that I managed to steal when I was over there. It detailed all things about Prythian, is it true there are Seasonal Courts?”

“Oh yes,” Elain grinned, allowing her courtier’s exterior to crumble, “Lucien hails from the Autumn Court.”

Elain shifted so that she was now standing next to Delilah against the wall and pointed out to Lucien, though there was no need, he stood head and shoulders above everyone, currently nodding along to something a small gaggle of women were chatting about.

“Oh of course, I can see it now,” Delilah muttered with a smile, but Elain was fixated and the now growing group of women that were trying to gain her mate’s attention. Delilah, seeing Elain’s line of sight, smiled wider. “They do that every week. They’re all eligible brides, see there’s Isobel and Lottie…not that they would ever admit it, but I think some of them want him to propose.”

“Propose?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from spluttering, feeling a protective fiery anger move through her at the thought. The idea that these women had gathered week after week trying to sway Lucien into offering them his hand in marriage for two years, it made her feel feral.

Lucien was hers.

The thought was like a stone to the head and suddenly the protective rage was cleared, leaving behind her internal shock and confusion had having had such an audacious thought. But by the way Lucien was now grinning slyly at the women before him, his confidence having tripled within the minute, Elain was pretty certain she’d accidentally sent that thought down the bond.

“Is he really your mate?” Delilah asked, her eyes twinkling slightly. Elain stayed quiet for a moment, and then.

“Yes. He is. We’re bound together by fate and the Mother herself.”

“That sounds very beautiful,” Delilah said softly, but Elain could not take her eyes away from her Autumn Male. It was like the thought had just truly dawned on Elain, the reality of their situation.

Lucien was her mate. In that way, he was hers.

And she was his.

“It is…”

“The meeting shall begin in ten minutes, please, may you all take your seats!” A loud, brash voice called from the looming doors of the main hall and the crowd began to move in the direction, the babbling only increasing as wives got left behind and Lords could engage in the locker room talk before the politics – Elain didn’t miss the several glances thrown her way as the men’s rowdy chatty began to fill the building.

“I must go but, I’ll see you soon,” Delilah hopped out away from her, giving Elain a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek before she was waving and disappearing into the crowd. The crowd where her fiancé no doubt was hidden.

She had not yet seen him.

Just as she was about to lose herself in the throng, Lucien was in front of her, pushing through the men as though they were no more than butterflies to swat at. Before she could say anything, he was holding out his arm with a slight bow.

“Lady.”

Unable to help herself, Elain grinned at her mate as she looped her arm through his and was rewarded with an equally bright grin back. Lucien led them through the crowd into the hall, people parting for them as though they were a plague to be avoided. Elain didn’t mind, especially if it meant no one would stand on her train.  

“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Lucien didn’t move as he spoke, he merely muttered the words under his breath and had he been talking to any mortal, they would’ve been lost on the wind. But Elain’s fae-hearing picked them up, and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine at the secret conversation in plain sight.

“Feeling territorial?” Elain surprised herself by husking back.

“It would seem I’m not the only one.” She didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking coyly.

“I don’t like the way they talk about me,” Elain moved on before her cheeks could start burning, “The men who watched me grow up.”

“It’s repulsive.” All humour left her mate’s tone. “If it soothes your mind know that I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“I don’t know if touching is the problem so much as the looking.”

“That dress isn’t doing us favours I’m afraid.”

“Oh, do you wish for me to get rid of -”

“Don’t,” Lucien said too quickly, his arm going rigid from where it was interlinked with hers. Elain smirked. “It’s…it’s a fine dress.” Lucien tried to concede.

“I think so.”

“It reminds me of home.” Elain stole a glance at him then.

“Because of the fabric?”

“Well yes,” Lucien’s brows furrowed as his eyes met hers, “But…that dress was my mothers.” Elain felt her shock roll through her. His mother’s? But this was a gift from Mor – right?

“You didn’t know,” Lucien mused, now seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her. Elain shook her head. “Ah, of course, I gave it to Nuala the other day, she wouldn’t take it until I said it was from Mor.”

“I’ll…have to ask her about it. Why do you have your mother’s dress?”

“Eris delivered it months ago, apparently she’d heard of our bond and wished to gift it to you as a mating present.”

“Oh-”

“I don’t intend to – I’m not giving it to you for that reason I just, I explained to Nuala my thinking about how the fabric and style is perfect for setting intention.” Elain just drifted next to him, turning his words over in her head.

“Is this why you are always dressed so finely, because it is a political motive?” Lucien, to her surprise, grinned wickedly.

“Nothing is coincidental, Elain, from the clothes we wear to the way we talk.”

“Whose we?” Lucien shrugged.

“I would’ve said Autumn Court Males but, I believe it is only Eris whom I share that trait with. Ah, here we are.”

The hall was set up like a Courtroom, with certain families, estates, and job sectors, sectioned off into small groups. Elain and Lucien, being the representatives for The Fae were somewhat isolated from everyone else. They were near enough to Vassa and Jurian who were bickering quietly from where they were seated to their right. The room was still squabbling and rowdy with chatter, and there were only men besides Elain and Vassa. The other mortal queens were not even present.

Elain’s eyes unwittingly began to search for Graysen. For some reason, not having seen him yet was making her nervous, it felt as though the longer she waited, the worse it was going to be. She just didn’t want to have anything sprung upon her.

Perhaps with the bond having been in more use the past few days, it seemed that Lucien was somehow easily able to gleam that Elain’s attention had returned to her ex-fiancé. Elain knew because he’d gone rigid next to her.

“What?” Elain prodded, turning to him. With the hall still full of chatter, she wasn’t worried about anyone overhearing their conversation. She’d thought she and Lucien had been good on the Graysen topic following their conversation in the kitchen doorway. Lucien didn’t look at her, instead, he appeared to be assessing the Darlington’s as they made themselves comfortable. “Lucien,” Elain stressed.

“I um, I felt you the other night, when you found out Graysen was engaged,” he began slowly, still not meeting her eye. Elain tugged on his sleeve forcing him to look down at her, she raised her brows questioningly to show she didn’t understand. Lucien breathed deeply, his eyes closing momentarily before he looked deep ahead, avoiding her pleading look. “I could feel what you were feeling.”

The way Lucien looked ahead, his jaw set and his eyes unfeeling, it was as though that little sentence had explained everything. But she was just more confused.

He’d felt her? Her emotions? What had she been feeling? She’d found out that Graysen was engaged, and she felt…She had felt tired, relieved, pitiful even. It was like some door had finally jammed shut after it had been fluttering between open and closed. It was a final sever in their bond and as she had fallen asleep that night, she’d welcomed the end of her time with Graysen. Her dream that night was a reminder that her relief was earned.

How could any of that upset Lucien?

Then Elain realised that Lucien had felt it. That longing, and by the way Lucien was now glaring at his hands, curled into fists in his lap, she’d realised that he may have misunderstood what, exactly, she was longing for.

She didn’t want Graysen. She wanted what he had. Not in terms of Delilah but, she wanted his ignorance, his ability to simply move on and find a new wife. She wanted his strength to not change, to still be who he was, to still have the world the way he wanted it with him at the centre.

She longed for the bliss Graysen had found, simply because that bliss made her agony so much more tender.

Lucien had misread her. She almost sighed with relief. She could fix this; she could simply explain to him why, and the small waves of hurt currently rocking through her would disappear.

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, he wasn’t going to leave her side in an instant just because of a misunderstanding. But even as Elain repeated this to herself as the room quietened and the meeting began, some part of her refused to believe it – some part of her refused to trust.

***

The meeting was rather boring. After all her research and all her note-taking, the first two hours involved discussions Elain had no interest in. It was about internal disputes, farmers angry with one another over borders, fisherman demanding wage rises, etcetera, etcetera. Elain was forced to watch as the Lords and Noblemen sneered down at the lower class, working men and had to bite her tongue the entire time.

It seemed that Lucien shared her disgust, as he regularly whispered quips in her ear about how mortal and fae weren’t so different after all. That the High Fae and these Noblemen had more terrible things in common, such as their treatment of working families and Lesser Fae.

Elain had tried to watch with an assessing eye, categorising the figures she needed to remember for later discussions. But by the time the lunchtime break came about, she was practically falling asleep on Lucien’s shoulder. It was after lunch that the room seemed to clear slightly, the farmers and peasants going home to their families as the topic of the Fae and Queen Vassa was brought up.

Queen Vassa made her introduction to the room, her voice full and powerful as she stood, Jurian watching with an all-knowing smile at her side. There were some small talks about property and Vassa was able to confirm her signature on several contracts.

Lucien got involved in discussions several times, and Elain was more than happy to sit quietly and watch as he worked the room. He was perfect. The way he eased into conversations, the easy-going smiles, the unconfrontational comments on trade routes and Fae resources.

Elain was surprised to notice that several Noblemen had taken a shining to Lucien and seemed to actively pursue his voice in discussions. She could tell a lot of it was fake, the way Lucien grinned at men whom he’d whispered insults about in Elain’s ear but, his courtier’s mask was perfect.

Elain was beginning to think that she might make it through the meeting without having to stand and utter a single word, until Lucien interjected a conversation about wrapping up for the week.

“We must speak of the matter that is Koschei.”

This seemed to be the first thing Lucien had said which the Noblemen did not instantly grin and nod along to. Instead, Elain saw heavy sighs and the rolling of eyes. It would seem that these Lords did not mind discussing with the Fae so long as it was about mortal matters. But talk of Death-Gods and magical firebirds, seemed to rather put them off.

“We have spoken of it. Weeks ago.” Elain heard Lord Nolan’s tired voice swim into the room. He appeared humoured by Lucien’s statement while Lucien simply remained passive. Stoic. They were sitting far to their left, and Elain had already glimpsed Graysen perched next to his father, leaning back in his chair. It was almost like he was trying, and failing, to impersonate Lucien’s image of confident boredom.

“May I remind you, Lord Nolan, that fae resources are only open to you so long as you stick to your word.”

“My word-”

“-yes,” a shimmer of anger was seen in Lucien’s eye, but beyond that his courtier's mask was flawless. “Your word that you would assist both Queen Vassa and her fae acquaintances in disposing of the Death-Lord, whose residence is not far from this very hall.”

“The agreement was to help you reverse the so-called curse placed on the Queen, and as we can all see, Queen Vassa has joined us today and therefore one might consider that vow fulfilled.”

“I am here on bought time,” Vassa now stood, her voice dripping in authority and power as she asserted herself amongst the men, “I shall not explain the means, as the explanation shall no doubt be lost on a room of mortals, but what you see before you is merely a temporary solution to the problem.”

“It would do you well, Queen Vassa, to remember that you too are mortal,” Lord Darlington now husked, his eyes predatory, “Or at least you were…once.”

“Oh don’t worry, Darlington, she’s just as mortal as I am,” Jurian grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Darlington merely sneered in disgust.

“The point is Koschei is still at large-” Lucien tried again, the picture of relaxation from where he stood, looming over the room.

“And what do you expect us to do?” Elain felt her heart shudder as Graysen’s voice finally joined the others. It was only a matter of time.

Even though he was speaking to someone else - to Lucien - Elain felt her fight or flight instinct kick in. The last time she had heard that gravelly, low voice, had been when it had broken her heart.

“You fae clearly see us humans as inadequate, as proven by your Queen forgoing explaining her sudden appearance. No doubt caused by some dark magic, the same magic that threatens to infiltrate our lands and poison our people.” Graysen rose to his feet, his voice growing louder, and Elain noticed how much he had aged since she’d last seen him.

It had only been two years but the stress of rebuilding the mortal world without a wall had taken its toll: thinning hair, lines around his mouth, he’d also put on quite a bit of weight. He was no longer the young boy Elain had fallen in love with, a dreamer who wished to rid the world of evil beings. He was a man with a heart full of hate.

“Two things,” Lucien’s own voice didn’t waver as he turned to address Elain’s ex-fiancé, and she wondered how much they’d had to see of each other over the past two years. “One, Vassa is not my Queen. Two, it is somewhat hilarious to watch you whine like a pup over Queen Vassa not explaining to you her magic, when you are already so prejudiced to not comprehend the difference between the fae and Koschei. There is no magic seeking to infiltrate your lands apart from the work of the latter.”

“Koschei is fae-”

“-Koschei is a Death-God.” Lucien’s tone turned cold, and at that moment the sun dipped behind the clouds. “A survivor from the time of Old Gods. He is not fae, he is a threat to us as much as he is a threat to you.”

“The threat to humans are all fae and everything that comes with them.”

“The fae of Prythian have no interest in humans-”

“Oh please, one must only look to my ex-fiancé for proof of their machinations.”

The room went cold. The sun having now truly disappeared from sight, leaving behind a world of blue and grey shadows.

“Look at her, look at her unnatural beauty. Many of us knew Elain, the true Elain Archeron, the human one. She was beautiful but plain of the mind but set to live a normal, human life. Now look at her, she’s no better than a siren or a nymph, her beauty is of a freak nature and it’s only purpose is to lure you in, to cover the ugly truth underneath. Her and her two sisters were turned, stolen from their beds in the middle of the night and taken across the wall. I’m surprised to see you here Elain,” Graysen had been talking theatrically to the room, but that last sentence was personal, intimate. And when he caught Elain’s eye, she could only think one thing.

She hated him.

“Surprised but I suppose that’s my own fault, you always had a small fortune of ugly secrets you liked to keep hidden - and to think I almost fell into a marriage with you. You see, this is another reason the fae wish to infiltrate our lands, they wish to take our wives. Elain was stolen and turned only to be given to the male we see before us,” Graysen held his arm out to where Lucien was standing, still as stone at Elain’s side.

“This male was able to lay a claim on Elain the second she was turned. We’ve all heard of the mating bond.” A ripple of disgusted murmurs went around the room. “At that moment Elain, my soon to be wife, belonged to a fae male. Mother knows what atrocities occurred in the time between their mating and the moment Elain finally remembered her fiancé and came back home.”

Outrage and disgust were expressed around the room, and Graysen looked almost gleeful as he assessed the crowd.

“These two, this harlot and her owner-“

Elain shot out a hand and gripped the fabric of Lucien’s trousers if only to stop him from burning the boy to a crisp from where he stood.

“-have come here to mock us! They have come as a warning, to show us what will happen to our people - our women - if we allow this alliance with the fae to continue!” There were shouts of encouragement swelling from the crowd. “If we continue on this path then our women will look like her, horrid in their beauty. And worse, our women will belong to him as Elain belongs to him, as little more than a personal prostitute!”

There was something feral in Lucien’s eye as he glared at Graysen across the room. But while her mate was focused on her ex-fiancé, Elain was drowning in the leering coming from the crowd. People she had just introduced herself to a few hours earlier and had pleasant conversations were now staring at her with revulsion and disgust. She heard shouts of people calling her a ‘witch’, people telling her that she had no shame, that she was to burn in hell.

With her hand fisted in Lucien’s trouser leg, Elain drowned it out, she drowned it all out, and reached for the bond within.

Lucien was a tempest. Brushing up against the bond, Elain herself could feel the fire in his veins, could envision the rings of his powers, burning hotter and hotter all the way down to his golden core. The mating bond was taut in his skin, demanding him to defend Elain, to rip out the throat of anyone who would insult her. But there was another anger there too, a personal one. Lucien was furious on Elain’s behalf; she could read that now. He thought so highly of her and to hear lesser men insult her was turning him livid.

Sharply, Elain tugged on the bond and in an instant, his eyes snapped to hers.  

There was so much emotion in that one look. Concern, fury, bitterness, doubt. It was all there for her to see; he didn’t dilute anything. With as much delicacy and care as she could muster, she slipped her hand from his pant leg into the hand that was dangling by his side.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“It is true,” she began, and she felt Lucien’s hand squeeze her own. “I was stolen in the middle of the night by a group of fae. They stole me across land and ocean, all the way to Hybern. It is there where I was thrown into the Cauldron, the maker of all life, and transformed into a High Fae. This is all true.

“But my transformation was an irregularity, an unfortunate yet calculated political move whereby the King of Hybern attempted to get back at my sister for her killing of Aramantha. I expect you to all remember the King of Hybern, given that your own armies joined the fae in the Battle that catalysed these meetings two years ago.

“The King of Hybern was evil. Not the fae of Prythian. The King of Hybern was your enemy and the threat to human life. Not the fae of Prythian. Those such as Lucien here fought for your freedom. Fae died on that battlefield for you to stand here today, and you repay them by villainising them.

“There needs not be any animosity between these mortal lands and the fae realms of Prythian. I grew up like you, believing the fae were evil incarnations that existed to tempt human morality. But unlike you, I have travelled Prythian, I have seen fae from all walks of life, and the reality is the cautionary tales we all heard growing up were nothing more than fiction.

“The fae have homes, wives, children. They have towns and cities, farms, libraries and schools. They wake up each morning and go to work and each evening they have dinner with their families.

“This alliance is not about turning humans into fae, nor turning fae into humans. It’s about recognising life and seeking to protect it from those who might threaten it - and Koschei threatens all of us. We know he seeks to free himself from the confines of his lakeside Manor, we know he wishes to seek vengeance for his imprisonment. But there is much we do not know.

“We do not know how Koschei was bound to the lake, how he steals women of this land and turns them into swans, why he took Vassa, nor what it will take for him to be free. That is why this alliance is paramount.

“Koschei has a fascination with the mortals, he steals mortal women and mortal Queens. His residence is only a few miles south from here, deep in the forest. It is because of this we need mortal alliances.

“You do not need to believe the fae are good, nor must you trust us. But you must understand that all we wish to do is destroy a being who threatens everyone in this room. The alliance need not be a happy one, but it is needed.”

The room had quietened, the shouting had stopped. People were listening to her, and Elain had finally found her voice.

Lucien’s hand squeezed her own and she realised they were both standing before the room of mortals. She could only have an idea of what they must’ve looked like, side by side, glistening with the beauty of the Fae. They must’ve looked united and commanding.

They must’ve looked powerful.

Then, across the room, a man got to his feet. Looking at him for a moment, Elain realised it was the young Lord she had been speaking to with Delilah who owned the rice fields out West. He looked tentative and young as the spotlight fell on him, but when he met Elain’s eye, she saw a fierceness burning there.

“What do you need?”

***

Lucien wanted to get Elain home quickly after the meeting. Today had been unusually tiring, what with Elain’s debut in that dress this morning to the crowds turning on his mate halfway through the meeting. He just wanted to go home.

Correction, he needed to get Elain home and safe and away from these horrible men and their horrible thoughts.

A few noblemen came forth following the meeting expressing their devotion to helping Elain and Lucien in tackling the problem of Koschei. Most of them were young Lords who had come into their father’s wealth unexpectedly after the war, and their hearts had not yet had a chance to become polluted with years of hatred for the fae.

That was a success. No matter how often Lucien had tried to convince the noblemen to even speak of Koschei in the meetings, it seemed that the missing element was both Elain and Queen Vassa.

But before long Lucien had had enough. He wanted Elain home and safe now, and expressing a few half-hearted apologies he looped Elain’s arm through his and guided her out down the pathway before winnowing away without a second notice.

They made their way to the house with some small talk about how well the meeting had gone (Lucien tried his hardest not to spend all his time grovelling about how amazing she was and how fierce and strong she’d looked when addressing the crowds). The maids were there waiting for them with a pot of tea whilst they began on dinner.

It seemed that the meeting had gone on well into overtime and the sun was now distinctly plummeting towards the horizon. But when Vassa and Jurian finally made it back on horseback, there was only Jurian who entered the living room with a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“She decided to get her firebird overtime out the way,” Jurian sighed, something bitter in his eye as he flopped carelessly on the couch next to Lucien.

“Does that mean she won’t be turning back tonight?”

“We assume so, we’re not sure how the ring works but if Koschei’s little note is correct then I believe we won’t be seeing Vassa for a few days.”

Lucien cursed under his breath. Jurian just looked tired and…angry.

“There was a note?” Elain asked from where she was perched on her armchair, her legs tucked up underneath her, her dress outlining every curve of her body.

“Yes,” Jurian eyed her for a moment, “You did well out there princess, Lord Cao looked practically ready to sign you his battlements.” The Lord who had spoken at the end of the meeting.

“We talked after,” Elain mused, her finger running around the lip of her glass, “His residency is the closest to Koschei’s manor and he’s invited all of us to come visit, I think if we get close enough we may be able to get a read on the magic that’s bound to the manor.”

“Oh, fun, a day trip,” Jurian sighed bitterly, something clearly having aggravated his mood. He turned his scowl to Lucien. “Are you really going to let your mate within a mile of that place?”

Something dark flickered in Lucien’s eye.

“If Elain deems it a worthy trip then of course we must go. I thought you were interested in seeing Vassa free of the curse?”

“Of course I’m interested in seeing Vassa free, why do you think I’m here?” Jurian hissed.

“To generally give the manor a feeling of unease?”

“To make rude comments about people’s sisters in an attempt to start a fight?” Elain added.

“To make indecent comments about people’s mates in an attempt to-”

“Alright, alright. Mother, you two are no fun.” Jurian rolled his eyes, but some of the tension seemed to leave his body at the teasing. “Have you already eaten?”

Elain and Lucien nodded and Jurian got up with a stretch.

“Yum, leftovers for me then,” was all he said before he headed for the door.

“Jurian,” Elain called, “That note Koschei sent with the ring, could I see it?” Jurian glanced between her and Lucien, seeming to think before he nodded.

“I’ll send it up to your room in the morning," was all he said before he left the room. And once more, Lucien and Elain were left alone with nothing but a crackling fire.

There was a tension there that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had, maybe they’d both just been too ignorant to see it.

The reality was there would always be that tension between them, that intrigue and possibility. Looking at her now, curled in an armchair, the dress having turned a glittering emerald in the firelight, he felt every inch of his skin respond to her.

Not for the first time, an unplanned fantasy strolled through his mind. An image of himself getting up off this couch and walking over to her, of him placing his knee on her armchair, in between her thighs, capturing her throat in his hand and lowering his lips to hers.

One blink and the image was gone. Perhaps it was the bond showing him these things, taunting him with a possibility that at this moment seemed unachievable.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you actually,” Elain spoke into the silence, and briefly Lucien fretted if his scent had changed.

“Oh?”

“Yes…about Graysen.” Lucien’s hope dropped like lead in his gut.

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to say that I think you misread my emotions when I found out he was engaged which, I mean that’s not your fault. This whole bond kind of disrupts communication.”

Lucien just nodded. Looking at her, he saw the strands of hair that had come loose around her face, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“I’m not upset about it. I don’t want him anymore,” Elain said plainly. “I just…I guess I want what he has.”

Lucien blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“What, specifically, do you want?” The words were careful, calculated.

“I’m not sure…his happiness? His ignorance?” Elain seemed to scowl slightly and then she was standing, setting her drink on a nearby table as she turned to the fire to warm her hands. Lucien pondered for a moment, definitely not using that time to worship at the way the dress followed the swell of her behind and, Mother help him, her thighs. Then he was up, moving around the table to join her at the fire.

Elain turned and watched him approach with an enigmatic stare, the fire reflecting in her glassy eyes.

“Graysen’s life is perhaps an easier one,” Lucien eventually breathed, “But whilst yours may prove more difficult, it is certainly more worthwhile.” Elain paused as she pondered his thoughts, and Lucien once more allowed himself to drink from her ever-flowing fountain of beauty.

“I just, I think it’s all so unfair.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Why?”

“Because why does he get to be happy? Why does he get to continue to live his life and just find someone else to marry? Is there no such thing as justice?”

“You are free to seek retribution Elain-”

“And give the humans further reason to hate the fae?”

 Lucien blinked. The timing of Graysen’s death would be unfortunate, but Lucien wanted to see the boy dead, even if that meant tomorrow an army would be at his door.

“The humans should be grateful the fae are ridding them of such vermin,” Lucien couldn’t help himself from spitting as he glared out the window. But not before he caught Elain giving a weary look and for the first time, he realised just how tired she looked. The way her shoulders hung forward and her arms curled limply around herself. Something akin to agony washed through him at the sight of his exhausted mate, followed by the overwhelming need to fix it, to take her into his arms and protect her from all the things that worried her. Lucien had to fold his arms tightly across his chest to stop himself from reaching out.

“I don’t want to have any revenge when it comes to Graysen because it’s not going to make me feel better,” Elain looked at the fire as she spoke, and Lucien hated the wobble in her voice. He hated that he didn’t know who was making her cry – him or the boy.

“It might.”

“No. It wouldn’t,” she said with such ferocity Lucien was temporarily reminded of Nesta. “You know why?” Elain scowled, her eyes tightening and her lips turning down into a cruel frown.

“Because I would’ve still loved him if he’d been the one to come back changed. I would’ve still married him, and I would’ve told him it’d be alright, and we’d figure it out together – and killing him isn’t going to change the fact that he wouldn’t do the same for me. That he would’ve never done that for me; and that means he never loved me the way I loved him. You don’t get Lucien. Killing him means nothing because there is nothing I can do to him to make him hurt even half as much as he hurt me because he simply, doesn’t, care. He will never even comprehend what he did to me. He will spend the rest of his life, even if that life ends tomorrow, in blissful ignorance of what he did and the damage he caused. Hurting him back would just be so…so pointless, and…I’m tired.” Elain curled in on herself with an exhausted, angry sigh.

“I know you think I came here because I was ready to finally deal with this…with us,” she met his eye and hunched herself into a smaller ball, her arms winding further around herself, “But that’s not it. I came here because I’m tired and there nothing left for me and, and I’m running out of-of-I’m running out of-”

She was starting to hyperventilate. Madja had warned her of this, the panic attacks that had become a side effect of her depression. She needed to breathe, she needed to calm down, she needed-

Lucien crossed the room in three strides. Some part of Elain wanted to recoil at him approaching her with such ferocity in his step and steel in his eye, but she couldn’t be scared of him. She could be afraid of the bond and what it meant to her, what he meant to her, but Lucien would never hurt her. Ever. That she knew.

He’d stilled in front of her, looking down at her enigmatically. She’d run out of words, and she didn’t know if Lucien understood what she was attempting to say. Every part of her was ready to just break down from how exhausted she was.

The silence drew on. The tension turning palpable, and when she was just about ready to fall to her knees and let the agony take over, his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her firmly against his chest.

Elain let out a small sob as her face was pushed into the fabric of his shirt, her head resting against his upper ribs and lower chest. She’d never been so aware of how different they were in size; he was the tallest of them all and she the shortest. But it felt…good. And maybe she was touch-deprived, or maybe she was just deluded, but she found herself burrowing into him. He was so warm, and with his arms around her she felt like…like he had her. Like it didn’t matter if she let go and just crumpled because he had her and he wasn’t going to let her hit the floor.

At this point, falling was inevitable. Elain had been falling for some time, plummeting down and down after the Cauldron had tipped her out and washed her corpse on jagged stones. But with Lucien holding her she considered, for the first time, having a soft place to land.

She didn’t want him to see her cry, so she burrowed deeper. Her arms were still curled around her torso; Lucien’s curled around her back. Both of them holding onto her and keeping her together. A few seconds, minutes, hours of silence and she realised that after this, she could never forget how he smelt. Apples, warmth, musk, fresh Earth, smoke. Familiar and foreign. A stranger but…hers.

He smelt like an evening, an Autumnal evening, with a brilliant streaking sunset. The kind where it seemed like the sun had never been so alive, where the sun took the sky and turned into its masterpiece.

He was that masterpiece. The Autumnal sky. The Autumnal Sun.

Sighing, Elain waited for him to recoil. For his arms to slacken and for him to move away, for them to nod awkwardly at each and then go to bed and try to pretend that this conversation hadn’t happened. But time ticked by, and Lucien didn’t let go. If anything, his steely grip only tightened. As though with each passing second, where Elain expected him to drift away, he set out to hold on tighter. Their words had run out tonight, but Elain heard the message he was saying as he held her closer and closer. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Elain breathed him in, and allowed herself to stay.

***

Right then, she wanted to tell him that she didn’t know how to do this, but she knew she didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure if she could love again, that she might be a lost cause because Graysen had so thoroughly ruined her trust, and she wasn’t sure how high she’d built the walls around both her heart and mind. She wanted to say that she was lonely, and that she thought he was too, and what a funny pair they were in this world full of light and dark. Where good came in the form of people who made them both feel so alone.

She wanted to say that she was at a breaking point and had been for some time. That even though the war had ended it still raged within her. That no one else seemed to care because they’d got the happy endings whilst she just…existed.

She wanted to say that she didn’t know what she wanted. That her dream of being a wife and mother had been buried when she first tried to kill herself, three days after the Cauldron. Because how could she care for anyone else, especially a child, when she couldn’t care for herself.

She wanted to say that right now, in this moment, she just wanted to know him.

She just wanted a friend.

She wanted…

She wanted…

She wanted to run away and never look back. She wanted to damn the world that damned her. She wanted a brain that worked. A family she felt connected to. Someone to care.

Someone to fucking care. That was all.

But for now, this was enough. Lucien pulling her into his arms before she finally collapsed was enough. And so, tonight, she’d sleep. And that was enough too.

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act II

Introduction

Cast

Act I

Act III

Act IV

Act II

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, guns, knives, weapons, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

There was actually no point in hiding,

If anything, Jeno should be the one walking away. Yeji was safe walking on the grounds the Vipers ruled over, Jeno was not. All eyes were on him as he stood in the middle of the Poculum, which was Viper territory. Everyone was ready to whip out their guns to shoot the heir of the Neos. No one cared about his status or high rank, he was in Viper territory and he was a Neo, he was at the bottom of the food chain. Anyone, Viper or Neo, could easily recognize him. His tall and muscular figure with his jet black hair and his dark eyes, no doubt it was him.

Jeno had lost sight of Yeji or where she was. Everyone in the bar had stilled as Jeno made his way across the club. Business men stopped their conversations, girls stopped flirting with the merchants, the merchants stopped drinking just as Jeno passed their tables in hopes of finding Yeji.

Meanwhile, Yeji had to stop and lean against the wall in order to maintain her composure. She stole a quick glance to see that Jeno was as clueless as a lost puppy. In that moment, she had wished for one of the gangsters to shoot him right then and there. It wasn’t bizarre for a random gunfight to begin at the club, in fact it would be more bizarre if a night or day had passed without a random person dying in this club, it was just how things went in Viper territory.

Yeji started to walk closer to him, forcing a lump in her throat to stay down. Fighting every instinct in her body to kill him right there and then. Damn these new shoes.

Just as she was close enough, she reached out to touch the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Hey there big guy.”

Jeno turned around to the all too familiar sight in front of him, a young woman dressed in Viper colors. The scene felt way too familiar for him. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out. Yeji arched her eyebrow higher, a sign for him to continue what he was supposed to say, yet nothing came out from his lips again.

The thought of him, standing in the middle of the club, in Viper territory, surrounded by Viper associates, in front of the Viper heiress, suddenly registered to him, and it was as if a bucket of cold ice had been dunked to his head.

“Yeji,” Jeno said way too easily. A name in which he had not spoken for so long suddenly rolled out of his tongue as if he said it everyday. A name that if called by any other name would smell as sweet. A name only unique to her.

Jeno cleared his throat. Based on Yeji’s look on her face, they were no longer on first name basis. “Ms. Hwang, how long have you been here in Seoul?”

Bold of you to assume I ever left, she thought to herself.

That was partially true. Although 4 years back she had moved to California, her mind still wandered here. Seoul was her city, her life, her kingdom. Seoul was all she grew up knowing and serving. She has been preparing all her life to finally rule this city, she could never leave it for some other town. She was ready to die and sacrifice her life if it meant that the people of Seoul would stay safe. She couldn’t bear any moment away from this city.

And it was all your fault

“Not for long but do forgive me for asking Mr. Lee, what are you doing here?”

Jeno was the reason Yeji had to leave Seoul, for Yeji’s safety and to ensure that nothing would happen to the heiress of the Vipers. Now that he was in her territory, the audacity to show his face to her after what he had done, nothing would have felt better than sticking a knife straight to his heart.

“I need to speak to Lord Hwang,” Jeno said as if asking to speak to a longtime friend, “It is urgent.”

Yeji stepped closer, her dress wrinkling at the side since she was gripping it too hard. She looked at him from head to toe, judging the way he entered her territory as if it were his, as id they were still friends. She took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes once more.

“I see how urgent it is if you have come all the way here.” Yeji said while arching her brow. “But that urgency has to wait for Lord Hwang is handling international affairs as we speak.”

Jeno looked at her, puzzled. That was not the answer he was hoping to get. “Speak to me instead and I’ll try to pass the message. Speak, Lee.” The way she had said his name was as if it was the nastiest curse in the Korean language. To her, it felt foreign, speaking his name after so long.

“You don’t have to worry about anything spreading, Lee. You can trust me, right?”

Her vexing tone was one thing, but her icy and cold stare was another. They were the last people the other would trust, and it should remain that way. It should always be that way.

But whatever Jeno needed, it was serious. He didn’t argue.

“Can I talk to you?” he said in a much more quiet voice. Yeji let out a puff of air and turned on her heel. She didn;t even bother to wait and see if Jeno was following her. He was. Jeno made sure to keep his distance from her. It’s not everyday you encounter someone who has been waiting 4 years to kill you, it’s better to take caution.

Yeji stopped right near the dressing room of the performers. The place was more secluded and less chaotic, if anyone were to die right now, no one would even notice. Yeji turned around to see Jeno right in front of her. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.

“Well, get to it then.” She sounded rather impatient, she didn’t even bother to hide it in her tone.

Jeno scanned the place, looking if anyone was listening to them or if anyone followed him. He lowered his voice to an almost inaudible sound, Yeji struggled to hear him and struggled she did. There was no way she would come any closer to him.

“Last night, at the dock near Han river, 6 Neos had died.” He said carefully.

Yeji looked at him as if he said the most stupid thing she had heard.

“And?” Yeji was getting impatient. She coudln’t believe Jeno really came all this way just to tell her that his men died. And?

I hope you were one of them

“And,” He added rather defensively, “Two policemen and two of yours.”

Strange, Yeji thought to herself. Surely if a Viper death had occured she would have heard from her cousin who claims he knew everything and everyone. She tried to recall a mention of any death yesterday, but her mind was blank. It was a little weird to find a crime scene that involves both sides to end up dead. One side should’ve walked away bragging, not ending up dead. Still a matter like this was very unintersting for Yeji, Jeno could sense her walking away at any moment.

“Do you know anything about it?” Jeno asked, hoping to get some sort of answer.

“Are you serious?” Jeno was taken aback.

“What?” He asked, not sure why Yeji was reacting this way. A few years back even if a dog died that was owned by a Viper would cause Yeji to cry for days, and now she was standing here as if Jeno was telling her the most nonsense story she had heard.

“I said, are you serious?” She repeated, this time sounding rather more annoyed than she was when they first started talking.

“I need an explanation, does your father know anything about this?” He said as he stepped forward towards her, she took a step back.

“I already told you, my parents are abroad right now handling business affairs. Also why do you care so much about what happened last night? It’s not like you don’t see crime scenes on a daily basis.” Yeji said leaning against the wall while rolling her eyes.

“The cause of death was all self-inflicted.”

What? Yeji looked at him to see if he was messing with her. To her dismay, Jeno’s expression was rather solem and mournful.

“No gunfight nor violence was initiated by any side. They all had self-inflicted claw marks at their throats.” He added.

Yeji looked away with a scoff. 10 people, with claw marks on their throats, lay dead on the port near Han river? Yeji swore that was a plot of some old shitty Hollywood movie, and he expects her to believe and find him an explanation? Well I’ll be damned.

“We can not help you.” Yeji said firmly.

“If you know anything Ms. Hwang, I’m sure it would help to know what had happened that caused them to die like that.” Jeno persisted. It was obvious that he was getting irritated with her already, they were getting on the same level.

“Two of your people had died and–”

“We will not help nor cooperate with the Neos.” Yeji cut in, her face rather showing a much more hostile rather than an annoyed expression. “I will say this once and I won’t repeat myself again so you better listen. Even if my father knew something, I would still not tell you even if you begged. I do not care if any information my side knows can help and solve whatever you are stressing about. You and I both know the last time we had told each other information from our sides that it did not end up pretty. So if you have no more matters to discuss, I’m afraid I need to end this conversation. A pleasant day to you sir.”

Obviously, Yeji wanted him to leave and never come back, yet he remained where he stood. Yeji couldn’t stand any other moment with him so she decided to leave. Just as she was making her way towards the exit, she heard Jeno whispered rather sadly, “What happened to you?’

What happened to me?

Yeji could have said anything right now. She could have said the same words she had been preparing herself to say for the past 4 years when they finally meet again, she could have said anything that she felt or anything she could have thought of in the moment. She could have reminded him what he had done to her before she had left for America, putting the blame all on him. She could have said so many things right now, but she said nothing.

Just before she was out of his sight, a deafening scream echoed all through out the club. A scream so loud, it was heard above all noise, making everyone and everything in the club freeze.

“What the hell is happening?!” Yeji started to move to the center of the chaos, but right as she was about to weave her way towards the crowd, a hand had grabbed her arm, making her stop with a burning feeling where his hands were. Things may have changed over the past years, but his touch still set a burning sensation to her.

“Don’t,” He warned Yeji. His tone was on the calmer side, as if implying that he wouldn’t care if Yeji listened or not, but his eyes told a different story. Filled with pleading and caution. If you please just listen to me this once.

Yeji has never jerked her arm from someone so fast, it was as if she indeed got burned. She was on fire, no doubt her eyes didn’t fail to show what she felt when she looked at Jeno. He lost the right to care or even protect her.

She tried her best to weave through the crowd currently going into panic, trying her best to ignore Jeno’s persistent presence trying to stop her. Just as she was close enough, she saw a man currently rolling on the floor, going insane.

He started clawing at his own neck.

“What is he doing?!” Yeji exclaimed as she took a better look, “Well what are you all doing?! Somebody do something!”

But the man was already too far gone. He had clawed enough for some muscle to be exposed, blood already starting to seep to the floor. The man kept scratching and scratching as if there was something there that only he could see and feel, his nails dug deeper and deeper. People watched the man’s ragged breaths slowly decrease, until nothing could be heard at all. It was deafening.

People halt in their tracks, not muttering a single word. Everyone far too scared to even make a single move, they could only stare at the violent sight in front of them.

A sight of a man who had gone insane, causing him to collapse and violently scratch his neck, until the soft muscle was scattered all over the floor.

Then what once was a scene so quiet, quickly turned into a scene of chaos.

People started panicking and screaming, getting as far away from the man. They started to push themselves, causing the others to trip and lay next to the man. Soon enough, mass hysteria had began.

“Mr. Lee you need to leave right now.” Yeji said, facing Jeno who was right behind her when the scene unfolded. Yeji had waved for two Viper men to come and clean up the mess, they didn’t verbally complain, but their face said all. Yeji almost fired them on the spot, how dare they for complaining to do their jobs, until she had caught a glimpse of Jeno frozen like a Greek statue, not leaving.

“You have got to be kidding me.” She rolled her eyes, her attention turned towards the two Viper men mopping the floor, “Please show Mr. Lee the way towards the exit? Please?”

The two men looked at each other, then looked at the Neo heir. Their faces had contorted into a weird, almost psychotic way. It was the moment they have finally been waiting for. They immediately shoved Jeno roughly infront of them, causing Jeno to lose his balance and almost lay next to the dead man.

“I said show, didn’t I?” Yeji said, causing the two men to look completely confused.

“But madam, he is trespassing and he is not welcomed–”

“Why can’t you understand?” Jeno cut in abruptly, nodding towards the dead man and back towards Yeji. He looked at her and only her in the eye. Pretending that no one else was present in the room, not even the two men behind them, not even the dead man on the floor. At that moment, it was only as if Jeno and Yeji were there. “This is what exactly happened to the Neos and the Vipers last night!” He pleaded just for her to try and listen to him.

But with a swift move of her wrist, Jeno was quickly dismissed. The two men shoving him towards the exit. Jeno couldn’t afford to fight back. Considering how lucky he already was for leaving the Poculum with no blood dripping from his body. Yeji knew he couldn’t fight back, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

Just as he was gone from her sight, only then did Yeji take in the scene in front of her. Turns out, the man wasn’t dead afterall. He was muttering something. She knelt forward to listen to his words, but a feeling of nostalgia came upon her.

This was exactly what the picture was like 4 years back. Her kneeling to a pool of blood already staining her dress, beside a dead–well in this case, dying person. She glared at the place where Jeno last stood, as if he was still there. She then glared towards the door in where he had been escorted out.

She knelt closer to the man in hopes of finding out what he was saying, “Oh dear heavens above, what in Lucifer’s–” Mr. Liu apparently never left and here he is peering over Yeji’s shoulder, too scared to come closer.

“Shut up.” Yeji said in attempts of figuring out the man’s last words. She had focused so hard that her background was starting to blurr, the hysteria fading slowly, until nothing but the man’s words were heard.

“Goemul, goemul, goemul, goemul”

Goemul? A monster?

“What monster? What monster are you talking about?” Yeji tried to tap the man in order for him to regain his consciousness, but with one last look at her, his eyes fell dull.

Now this time, he truly was dead.

[felicia-cat-hardy]

20 Asian American Musicians To Add To Your Playlist Now

Over the past several years, the K-pop industry in the U.S. has grown exponentially. The fan enthusiasm behind bands like BTS has drawn parallels to The Beatles, and so many K-pop groups have received the same passionate reception. The attention is well-deserved, but Asian artists represent a multitude of musical genres (even just within the K-pop industry) — a fact that should not be overlooked. Whether you're a fan of indie rock, R&B, hip-hop, or dance music, you won't want to sleep on these Asian American musicians.

Asian artists have recently received some long-deserved recognition in the entertainment industry, primarily in film. In 2020, Bong Joon-ho's Parasite won big at the Oscars. The following year, Youn Yuh-Jung won the award for Best Supporting Actress for her work in Minari, which also scored The Walking Dead alum Steven Yeun a nomination for Best Actor. However, there's still plenty of work to be done within the music landscape to ensure equal representation is achieved.

BTS, most notably, has seen unprecedented success in the U.S. Still, despite being invited to attend the last three Grammys, they've yet to take home an award, highlighting the discrepancy between their immense success and the Recording Academy's willingness to acknowledge it. Additionally, Asian artists have a harder time landing record deals. As American Idol alumni Paul Kim explained to The New York Times, he was blatantly told by industry execs he would have been signed to a label faster had he not been Asian.

By streaming these artists, you're not only supporting them and their art, but you're subsequently showing industry insiders just how valuable they are. Consider this list sonic proof Asian artists are making exceptional, diverse music that can't be boxed into one genre or sound. Each of these artists prides themselves on breaking boundaries and creating their own rules. You may have heard of a few, but many have been flying under the radar for far too long. Your ears will thank you soon enough.

Melissa Polinar

Polinar got her start in the late 2000s when viral YouTube covers paved the way for success. While artists like Justin Bieber and Lennon & Maisy were sharing music covers, Polinar focused on posting her original music — and her soulful vocals were a hit. In 2019, the Filipino-American songwriter actually re-recorded one of the songs that propelled her career forward, "Try," on its 10-year anniversary.

Eric Nam

Born and raised in Atlanta, Nam moved to Korea to pursue music because he felt he had a better chance of succeeding there. “Even if you look at American Idol, or X-Factor, or The Voice or anything, it was always difficult to see an Asian or an Asian-American make it to a certain point,” Nam told TIME in November 2019. Today, Nam is a highly visible and respected name in the K-pop industry. While he's very proud of his K-pop success, he considers himself a pop singer first. He hopes to grow his success stateside and told TIME, "I want people to hear my music and say, 'I don’t know who this person is,' and I could be Black, white, Latino, Asian — it doesn’t matter, but it’s just a great pop song."

Clinton Kane

Kane's got every making of a great singer-songwriter, and his lyricism will make a fan out of loyal Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith listeners. The Filipino-American singer's impressive vocal range captivates, and his emotion-driven lyrics will melt your heart. One of his more popular tracks, "Chicken Tendies," has upwards of 2 million views and is a must-add to your heartbreak playlist.

Jhené Aiko

As a mixed-race Japanese, Creole, Dominican, and European woman, Aiko has proudly championed her diverse roots throughout her accomplished career. The R&B singer is a six-time Grammy-nominated artist and is well respected within the industry for her philanthropic endeavors. She launched the WAYS foundation in 2017, an organization dedicated to helping cancer patients and their families.

Steve Aoki

Steve Aoki is hardly a newcomer to the EDM scene, but as one of the most prominent DJs in the industry, and one of the biggest Japanese DJs ever, it would be a crime to leave him off this list. Aoki even has his own record label and, in 2016, Netflix released I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, a documentary about his career.

Karen O

As the lead singer for the rock band Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Karen O has solidified her spot as a rock music legend. Not only is the Korean-American singer's discography with the band a must-listen for any rock music fan, but her 2019 album with Danger Mouse, Lux Prima, earned her a Grammy nomination for Best Rock Performance.

H.E.R.

Hailing from the San Francisco Bay Area, H.E.R. (aka Gabi Wilson) has become one of the most prominent names in R&B. At just 23 years old, the singer-songwriter already has four Grammy wins and 13 nominations. Along the way, she's never shied away from praising her Filipino mother and Black father, Agnes and Kenny Wilson, for giving her the unique perspectives that propelled her musical success.

Toro Y Moi

Toro Y Moi is actually one person (Chaz Bear) and he's become the unofficial king of chillwave. Born to a Filipino mother, the South Carolina native later relocated to California to further his music career. If you need some chill vibes on your playlist, Bear's got you covered.

Ruby Ibarra

Ibarra is a Filipino-American rapper from San Lorenzo, California who also dabbles in spoken word poetry. Her music is meaningful in more ways than one. A number of her songs touch upon her experience as an Asian American woman. In April 2021, she released a powerful song and video called "Gold" with Ella Jay Basco, which exposed the harmful effects of the skin whitening industry.

Ella Jay Basco

You may recognize Basco from her appearance in Birds of Prey, but her music is not to be slept on because it's making major waves. Her song "Gold" with Ruby Ibarra highlights her Filipino heritage. As she told People, "From top to bottom, we wanted to make sure that our Asian-American community was represented with this project."

Mitski

Meet your new favorite alt-rock queen. Mitski's dreamy melodies appeal to the indie-rock crowd more than anything, and, if you're a sucker for a sad bop, this Japanese-American songstress has plenty of those stacked up.

Yaeji

Yaeji was born in Flushing, Queens in 1993 and grew up between the U.S. and Korea. Since she moved around so much as a kid, she found friendship on the internet, where she first connected with the bossa nova, jazz, and Korean indie music that drove much of the Korean DIY scene. She soon returned to the States to attend college, where she discovered a love for producing and DJing. Now, she meticulously blends hip-hop elements with her house-driven sound for a listening experience that is unlike anything else.

Hayley Kiyoko

Kiyoko has been given the nickname Lesbian Jesus since she’s so outspoken about LGBTQ+ representation in the music industry. The Japanese-American singer is a true trailblazer and her pop music genius has landed her hits with Kehlani, MAX, and AJR.

Jay Park

Park is an industry heavyweight. The Seattle native got his start in the K-pop industry as part of the band 2PM, but he went solo in 2009. Today, not only does the star have dozens of hits under his belt, but he has two record labels of his own that specialize in R&B and hip-hop music: AOMG and H1ghr. Park uses his superstar status to give others the spotlight, and he's put his support behind other artists like GOT7's JAY B and Yugyeom, and Raz Simone. Whether you're a self-proclaimed K-pop stan, or you're just recently getting acquainted with the genre, Park's discography is required listening.

Jin Au-Yeung

Born and raised in North Miami Beach, Florida, the Chinese-American rapper, aka MC Jin, has some seriously impressive accolades under his belt. After becoming popular among his musical peers for his epic freestyles, he was signed to Ruff Ryders in 2002 at just 19 years old, becoming the first Asian American solo rapper to be signed to a major record label in the U.S. He's since parted ways with the label and now travels back and forth between the U.S. and Hong Kong, seeing success in both places. In May 2021, the rapper released a single called "Stop the Hatred" with Wyclef Jean to raise awareness about hate crimes toward Asian Americans amid the coronavirus pandemic.

Olivia Rodrigo

Rodrigo needs no introduction, but I'll do it anyway: This Filipino-American actress-turned-singer-songwriter's mega-hit debut single "drivers license" was unavoidable in January 2021. Its heartbreakingly relatable lyrics about a crush moving on with someone else struck listeners to their core and immediately soared to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. It also went viral on TikTok, before making its way into a Saturday Night Live sketch. Rodrigo's songwriting skills have fans likening her to industry heavyweights like Taylor Swift, so it's no surprise her debut album, Sour, is one of the most highly-anticipated albums of summer 2021.

Run River North

Run River North is not just one musician, but three. The band formerly known as Monsters Calling Home is an indie rock band from Los Angeles. The group has an eclectic sound that draws inspiration from each member: Daniel Chae, Alex Hwang, and Sally Kang.

ZHU

When ZHU first entered the electronic music scene, he used an alias and remained anonymous. By 2014, the artist also known as Steven Zhu was ready to share his identity with the world. ZHU got his start in San Francisco, California, but has made his mark on the EDM scene globally.

Darren Criss

Criss rose to fame starring on the television series Glee and he's since proven himself to be a true triple threat. His work can be seen across TV, film, and music. In September of 2018, Criss became the first Filipino-American to win an Emmy in the lead actor category for his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in FX's The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. He’s also got several full-fledged EPs under his belt.

Amber Liu

Amber Liu (also known mononymously as Amber) is of Taiwanese descent and grew up in Los Angeles. She made a big splash when debuting as a member of the K-pop girl group f(x) in September 2009, but has since gone solo. Her 2019 solo track "Other People" racked up millions of streams, and she’s gearing up to drop her first album of 2021, called y?, very soon. In the meantime, she’s continuing to grow her superstar following on social media, where she has 5 million Instagram followers and over 2.3 million on Twitter.

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[greatshell-rider]

“Al, wait!” Toby cried, scrambling after her. “We shouldn’t be here!”

“What are you, scared?” she called over her shoulder, long strides quick and eager.

“Yeah! Yeah, I am! If M. Harriet finds out about this . . .”

“Hmmm,” was all the response he got.

He shook his head, making the light streaming ahead of him from his headlamp wobble, and hurried faster to catch up to the thin slip of a girl marching through the cave, her blond hair swinging smartly from side to side in its ponytail, synced to her step. She was so sure of herself, always in motion, never waiting for any one or thing to tell her what to do. The camp counselors had never stood a chance. Toby couldn’t convince her to leave using threats; he had to appeal to her own interests and goals, not what others thought of or would do to her.

So he tried again. “Randall said the meteor shower’s peak is happening at three A.M., which is—” he checked his wristwatch— “an hour away! We won’t see anything good unless we start heading back now—”

“What does Randall know?” Al interrupted, dismissive. “Besides, don’t you want to see Jack again? We’re doing this for you, remember.”

“We don’t have to be doing this at night,” Toby complained, but he hesitated. Jack. Two days had passed since he’d stumbled upon that lost hiker in the woods while in the middle of the deep-woods navigation scavenger hunt, two days since Toby had seen or spoken to him—and even just hearing his name made him shiver.

The memory was so distinct in his mind. Kneeling by the stranger’s head from where they lay a distance from the closest deer trail, apparently having collapsed and definitely unconscious. They had a pulse, but was badly sunburned, with cracked lips and no water bottle or snacks that Toby could see. Dirty, disheveled and torn clothes, all fabric and skin caked with dust, but their hair had stayed soft, long black curls falling over Toby’s hands like water as he’d carefully moved the hiker’s head to a more comfortable position after rolling them over onto their back. As soon as he had touched his water bottle to the hiker’s lips, they’d awoken, dark green eyes flaring open to meet Toby’s own. After some awkward explaining and introductions, Toby had learned:

1. The hiker’s name was Jack.

2. Jack was far from home.

3. He wanted to return, but couldn’t leave the mountains until he found something that had been lost.

4. That thing was in Spruce Fire Cave.

And Toby knew this already: Spruce Fire was within Blue River Campgrounds, and no outside visitors were allowed in.

“But I need it,” Jack had said, fierce and earnest, gripping Toby’s hand hard. “It’s rightfully mine. They took it from me and—” A snap of a tree branch startled them both, and Jack jerked to his feet, looking like a deer who’d spotted a hound. “They can’t find me,” he’d hissed, then disappeared into the trees before Toby could object, right as Al had stepped out, asking who that’d been.

Al could keep a secret though. She kept plenty of her own to herself; Toby didn’t know if a soul knew where Al had come from, or who her parents were, not even the counselors or M. Harriet. But she also had connections, ways to smuggle information or goods in and out of camp, and before sundown of the same day, she’d found out more about Jack from her contact in town.

A ghost, apparently. Jack was a ghost.

“How long has he been haunting this mountain, again?” Toby asked reluctantly, brought out of the past by the realization that he’d been quiet for a while now, and they were deeper than ever in Spruce Fire Cave.

“Mal says the stories start some ten, fifteen years back,” Al said, ducking under a low outcropping of rock before turning sideways to squeeze down a narrow passage. She grunted, and her next words came out strained. “Overnight hikers can hear him at the edges of their campfire at night, asking for directions. But they say he’ll stay lost until he finds his compass. His mother’s or something.”

“His mother who died in the fire,” Toby said, gut twisting, and he barely even noticed the constriction on his ribs as he followed after Al.

“Well they both died—though no one can agree exactly how—but it was his fault. And that’s why he’s the ghost. He’s got to make it better. So they say.”

“So they say,” Toby echoed, then concentrated as they reached the tricky part of the cave, where the ceiling was relatively high, but the path narrow, with a crevice wide enough to fall down on Toby’s left. The counselors had made everyone go single-file here, with an adult at the beginning and at the end of “Traitor’s Teeth”, as it was called, because of the jagged rocks forming the lip of the crevice that made it look like a grinning mouth. But just a little farther, and they would reach the end of the cave, the largest cavern with its clearwater pool and impressive curtain of stalactites that almost seemed to glow when all the campers had their flashlights turned on them. Toby remembered his cabin’s visit from the beginning of the week well, and the counselors had warned sternly about the consequences of littering in the cave—no way a compass had been left there, if one had ever been found.

But Toby still had to try and look. He couldn’t help but sympathize with ghosts; he’d grown up with his father telling him about his grandmother, after all. If there was a chance he could help Jack—who looked no older than Toby’s fourteen—he had to take it. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the image of cradling Jack’s head in his lap, the weight of it on his hands. He had seemed so real, so vulnerable, and the thought of the pain that he had experienced, was still experiencing, for fifteen years now, made Toby’s heart ache.

Al was right. The counselors never would have let them go up into Spruce Fire alone. Sure, it wasn’t safe to be here at night, but it was the only way.

They were still on Traitor’s Teeth. Toby nearly bumped into Al before realizing she’d stopped dead in her tracks. “Al?” he said, peering over her shoulder.

Silently, she pointed. Barely a foot ahead, a chunk of stone was missing from the path, leaving a ragged hole that joined with the crevice. Al swore quietly, then stepped up to the hole and leaned over to examine it.

“Al, careful!” Toby grabbed her shoulder in alarm, partly to keep her from falling, and partly because the sight suddenly made him dizzy. The nausea in his stomach rose, and coldness flushed down the back of his neck as his nervousness returned. “Al,” he forced out, holding himself steady against her, “now we really need to get back. There’s no way we’ll get past that!”

“You’re right,” Al said, straightening.

“No, really, it’s too big. We can’t—wait, what?”

“Let’s go, Toby,” Al said, turning around and moving his hand off her.

“Awesome,” he said faintly, shuffling his feet to go back the other way, but had to stop when the nausea hit again, this time like a punch to his stomach. He groaned and hunched over, barely holding himself back from puking the remains of dinner—chili dogs—into Traitor’s Teeth.

“Toby?” he heard Al say, but dimly, as if she were far away rather than right next to him, and felt pressure on his shoulder as she grabbed him. “Are you—”

And then he was falling.

And then it went black.

~~~~

Toby woke to Al calling his name and shaking his shoulder, then the glaring yellow light of her headlamp when he opened his eyes. He groaned, trying to turn away, but it hurt too much, he realized. Every bone in his body hurt, and his head was screaming. He touched his temple, and it came away wet with blood.

“Finally you’re awake,” Al said, in a different tone Toby had ever heard from her. “I wasn’t looking forward to dragging you, you know. Now, up you go.” She tugged on his arm, and he let her pull him unsteadily to his feet. “Woah,” she said as he swayed, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched tight as a new wave of nausea swept over him. She laughed when he sagged against her, but slung an arm over his shoulders to support him. “My, how close two can get in less than a week.”

Her laugh upset him. “What’s funny about this?” he asked, forcing his eyes open. His headlamp was out, but Al’s still worked, and he could make out gray stone all around them, different from the brown rock of Spruce Fire. “Al, where are we?”

She pointed up, and Toby craned his aching head back to see a ragged rip in the rock ceiling above them. The light of Al’s headlamp threw back dramatic shadows in the stone teeth, making them look huge and sharp. He blinked a few times in confusion, his body hurting so much he could hardly think, but then everything that had happened caught up to him. “We fell down Traitor’s Teeth?”

“You fell,” Al said, tipping her head toward him. “I more like, skidded down, on my feet.” She moved her free hand down diagonally, making short, jerky stops to mimic a descent down an uneven slope. “Easy enough. But come on. It’s close.” She started walking.

“You followed me down?” Toby said in disbelief, forced to stumble after her with her arm still around him. “Why didn’t you go for help! Now we’re both stuck down here! Al!”

She grinned, teeth glinting in the light of her headlamp, but her eyes stayed forward. “Aw, but I care about you. Aren’t you flattered I came after you? You just matter so much.”

He stared at her. Al might’ve disdained the counselors, and knew nothing but fight with authority figures, but she wasn’t ever mean to her peers. Not to him. They . . . they were friends. And she was smart, smarter and faster than any other kid at camp. Had Toby fallen down the crevice, she would’ve gone for help. This wasn’t like her. None of this made sense.

“Where are we going?” he said, alarmed, as he realized they were going. “Al, the Teeth are back there!” He struggled to turn around, get her arm off of him, but her grip was strong, and she kept pulling him forward.

“While we’re down here, we might as well explore,” she purred. Her light, playful voice didn’t match the rest of her at all—not the quick, urgent stride of her long legs, nor the strange, feverish light shining in her eyes. Her entire body buzzed with tension, reminding Toby of a cat crouched in the grass, one pounce away from a kill.

“Al, I want to go back. Please.” His voice trembled on the last word, and Toby was suddenly aware he was close to tears. He could barely stand, let alone walk, his head wanted to explode, and his stomach was still twisted in knots. “I’m done with this cave, done with Jack—”

“Not yet you aren’t,” she murmured, more to herself than him, and came to a stop. Abruptly Toby realized they’d come to a dead end, a bare wall of nearly straight stone before them. It was a paler gray than before, with veins and patches of smoky white throughout it, and it looked oddly smooth, not natural at all.

Al let go of him, and Toby slumped to the ground. All he wanted was to curl up and let the pain take over, but he forced himself to watch as Al walked up and placed a hand against the stone, lightly, skin just barely touching. “ ‘Bury a child of Veranas under ashes and starfall to unlock the gate,’ ” she mused to the rock, “ ‘and unworldly treasures shall be yours.’ ”

Toby jolted at the name of his grandmother. His pain dimmed, only to make room for the fear. “Who are you?” he whispered, trembling. “What do you want with me?” Al turned to him with a smile sharp with delight, and suddenly Toby remembered the moment before he’d fallen down Traitor’s Teeth.

Al had pushed him.

He shrunk away as she approached him, and cried out when she grabbed him, but she ignored his kicks and flails as she dragged him up to the stone wall.

“Stop,” he begged, hitting at her side with his hand. “Please, don’t.” One strike must’ve hit harder than the rest, because she grunted, then adjusted her grip to twist his arm sharply behind his back. He cried out, and could only struggle feebly as she forced him up close.

“Hey, be glad I don’t have to use the knife,” she told him. One hand still twisting his arm, she used the other to grab his neck and press the bleeding side of his head, where the fall had cut him, against the rock. “Let’s see if this works,” she said cheerfully, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her bend down to look at his wristwatch. “Two fifty-eight in four. Three. Two. One—”

Fire lit up the side of Toby’s face, a pain sharper and crueler than the rest of his strains and aches combined. He screamed, but didn’t hear it, as his jaw dislocated and his back arched and his whole body began to hum—

Before finally, blissfully, he returned to the black.

~~~~

Lani emerged from Spruce Fire Cave a short time later, a little dustier than she’d started, with a bit of blood staining the collar of her t-shirt, but triumphant. With her headlamp turned off, she looked around the entrance of the cave, then used a tree as a handhold and clambered up the cliff face a ways to reach her brother, sitting on a ledge and watching meteors streak down from the heavens in fiery ecstasy.

“Heyo, Jack,” she hallooed, plunking down beside him.

He rolled his eyes. “Is he okay?”

She rolled her eyes back. “Your boyfriend’s fine. They’ll find him in the morning or never.”

“He’s not—” Jerry cut himself off with a frustrated puff of air, taking a moment to calm himself before continuing in a carefully not-angry tone, “Did you get it?”

Lani fished around in her pocket, pulled out a snail shell, and tossed it to him. Jerry caught it by the fingertips, preventing it from sailing down the mountainside, and threw her a resentful glance. She smiled back, and he exhaled again before turning the shell around in his fingers to examine it by starlight.

“What’s it do?”

She snorted. “It’s a snail shell, Jerry. Snails, uh, live in them.”

His head jerked to her. “This isn’t it? All of this was for nothing?”

She flapped her hand at him. “Calm down, poltergeist. That’s just a neat shell I found in the cave. Curious that a snail found its way all the way down there, you know? I wonder if there’s a species on this ’scape that—”

“Lani,” Jerry cut in, teeth grit. “Did. You. Get. The. Information. Or not.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. There was a skeleton beyond the wall, pale bleached old thing. I sprinkled some of Veranas’ blood on it and it woke right up, chattered away at me about curses, fates, damnation of the world and the failure of my line and all that, then got to the good stuff. Well, I had to threaten to break its ribs with my boot first, and then it agreed to answer my questions, i.e., the good stuff.”

“And?”

“He was here,” she said simply. “We’re on the right trail.”

Jerry let out a long breath, leaning back to settle against the rocks. He stared blankly at the sky. “I was right.”

“Yep.”

They sat quietly for a while, watching the meteor shower. Or, maybe Jerry was. Lani didn’t bother. She tapped her chin after a minute or two. “Although.”

Silently, Jerry turned his head and looked at her. When she said no more, he raised his eyebrows. “Although?”

She lifted her eyebrows back at him. “Someone was here before us. Path was ruined.”

Jerry groaned, hunching over and dragging his hands down his face.

“Crevice got bigger,” Lani continued in a conversational tone. “And the grain of the gate was swirled in a different pattern this time. Skeleton didn’t mention it, but it was hiding a lot. Or it’s not advanced enough to remember anything more than what’s already been programmed. But this, plus what happened to your shoelaces . . .”

“They’ve caught up with us again,” Jerry growled, face still in his hands. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them. All of them, I swear.” He repeated that a few times in a dark mutter to himself, along with a few other threats no more creative.

Lani didn’t bother listening to that, either. She was thinking. Her brain was doing that all the time, even without her sometimes, no matter what her brother or other spectators might say in regards to her actions, but now she focused her thoughts solely on this one question, this one puzzle and game. Regular hunters would have attacked them already by now, laid a trap in the cave, probably. Or an ambush on one of the trails. Maybe even a blatant slaughter of the camp—not to cover up their tracks, but as a warning, an example made to their subjects of what happened to those who attempted escape.

But we did escape, she reminded herself. They had to be careful now, not to let them get away forever. A weakness she could exploit.

But that wasn’t the puzzle here. Part of it, but a mere digression from the true question. Whoever had been at the gate had not been their hunters, not the regular ones at least. The signatures didn’t match. So. The question. The puzzle and the game.

Who had it been?

[siobhan-bridges]

Whenever Siobhan spoke of home, she held Paris in her mouth like a prayer.

She never said anything bad about the city she was born in. She absolutely adored it. From the architecture, to the people, the music, the food, even the language itself. There was a magical aura that clung to the air, chiseled its way into the cobblestones, and anchored itself into the depths of the Seine River. Siobhan loved Paris and she was so excited to share this beautiful city with Everett; only more eager for the trip when she learned that this was his first trip here. 

However, this trip had a purpose. It was time to introduce Everett to her family. Of everyone, she was most eager for him to meet her granddad who she adored beyond words and joy filled the woman to see how well they got along. She wasn’t worried about this introduction, or the one with her mother, or three of her sisters. It was introducing him to her father that had Siobhan in a knot of anxiety by Thursday, the day of the dinner. 

Everett didn’t seem nervous at all as they arrived at the Dumas Estate. The man looked so handsome, the blue button up he wore had Siobhan swooning, only fragments at a time before her anxiety sat back in, but enough. He held onto her hand and he was her saving grace. She was so thankful for his strength today, she needed to syphon from it. 

I love you. I’m never going to leave your side. I’m with you. Nothing he can say will change the way I see you, which is in the highest regard. You are worthy and you are loved. 

Everett’s words billowed against the woman’s eardrums before satiating the ache of her heart. The words massaged away some of her fears—again, only temporary. It would be a repeating theme this evening, but Everett never gave up. Siobhan couldn’t believe how devoted he was, how patient he was when it came to her insecurities regarding her father. The very thought had her in tears and she came to a halt before they could ascend the steps. Her entire body seemed to be trembling now and she felt the heat of wetness building in the corner of her eyes. Overcome by emotion split in two. Part of this was due solely to Everett and just how honest his love was for her and the other was fear of seeing her father again. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Everett was there, caressing her back with a gentle rub, his lips on her temple, whispers of his love were laid here in a kiss.  

Everett had to knock on the door, because Siobhan wasn’t ready. They would have waited all evening on her to tap her knuckles against the door. It wasn’t long before Juliana was answering the door. She was a beautiful Spanish woman. Even for her age, she still held a beauty that couldn’t quite be matched. Her lips were painted in a coral color, her hair pinned back into a neat bun, not a single hair was out of place. She was perfectly presentable. She quickly pulled her daughter into a tight hug, trying her hardest to take some of her anxiety away. Juliana knew exactly how her daughter was. After a long moment, she released her and looked over at the tall man. “And you must be Everett?” she said; her accent was a lot heavier than Siobhan’s. Juliana reached for him and pulled him into a hug, a soft thank you whispered to the man before she kissed each of his cheeks and welcomed them both into the home. 

They were sent to the lounge to wait while she finished the last details on dinner while Pascal was working in his office, in no rush to greet his guests. Siobhan spent this time wiping her sweaty hands on her romper repeatedly, it seemed. Never could relieve herself from the clamminess, but this didn’t bother Everett. He’d capture her hand the moment she started fidgeting, trying to calm her nerves. It felt like an eternity before they were led to the sunroom where their dinner would be had. Siobhan knew her place here. She was to be seen and not heard until her father addressed her. He came into the room and didn’t bother to introduce himself to Everett and it felt like he had taken a dagger and stabbed Siobhan’s heart. She wanted to cry but she knew better. He would laugh at her weakness. She was always too soft growing up, too easy to push to tears. Too sensitive. She needed to be more like her oldest sister. She needed to be stoic in public settings or she’d never be a successful businesswoman. 

Dinner was painful. And none of it was at the fault of Everett or Juliana who tried hopelessly to turn the conversation to more positive things when Pascal seemed to dig into Siobhan. Everett held her with such a high regard against all of her father’s snide remarks. He never faltered. Siobhan admired him more than he would ever know for this. Throughout the dinner, Siobhan kept her hand on his thigh, tracing lines into his leg; this feat was not meant to arouse him, but simply to coax him away from his frustration with Pascal whenever it grew too large. 

Being one who believed success was based on power, it was no surprise to Siobhan when her father brought up Everett’s job and then began to dig into him about his ambition. And Everett kept up with the man easily, “I’m never satisfied. There’s always something more I can do. A new account to be opened with a major company, more money to be made. I rarely slow down.” He turned in his seat to look at Siobhan, his expression slightly adoring, slightly apologetic. “One of the many reasons why your daughter is my perfect match. Owning a string of international bakeries with no intentions to stop is very admirable to me. She’s a hard worker.” Turning back to Pascal, Everett’s expression hardened slightly. “She’s just as ambitious as I am. Together, we are going to build an empire.”

An empire? This was something Everett had never used to describe their futures entwining together, but it brought chills to her flesh. She stared at him, you could see the love they had for each other. It was powerful and real and true. Surely, her father saw how perfectly they fit?

He didn’t. Instead, he took this moment to dig into Siobhan’s sensitivity and Everett defended her without hesitation. 

“Sensitivity is steel.” Everett argued as evenly as he could, though he was sure Siobhan could pick up on the subtle anger under his tone. “With all due respect sir, an empire built without heart is one that will crumble. Investing money is just the tip of what it takes to make it work; the starting point. Anyone can make money. Anyone can make a start. It takes real ambition and dedication to keep it going. I’ve learned the hard way that working for money and success isn’t enough. You have to believe in what you do and have a motivation greater than that. Before I met Siobhan, I didn’t have that motivation. So arguably... sensitivity is not weakness. It is steel.”

Siobhan leaned into Everett’s side, giving his shoulder a kiss. She had barely spoken during the dinner. She hated how weak her father made her feel and now she felt her eyes starting to burn with tears that desperately wanted release. She looked at her mother for salvation, and Juliana was quick to chime in. “Everett, did Siobhan ever tell you I was a dancer? Siobhan, why, why don’t you go show him the ballroom? It’s so beautiful.”

Everett quickly stood up, and Siobhan joined him. Not waiting for her father’s permission. She captured her boyfriend’s hand as he said goodbye to the man who was on his fourth glass of wine. The moment they were far enough away from the room, Siobhan turned around and buried her face against Everett’s chest, her hands grabbing at his sides. 

“I’m so sorry,” she moaned out, a few tears fell from her eyes but she was in control of her emotions, surprisingly. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, with him.” Everett wiped away her tears before pulling her back into his embrace. It was a brutal hour but they had made it through it. Everett kept his arm around Siobhan as they left the house, both of them agreeing to make the most of the rest of their trip. 

[yeniayofnymeria]

Arya's Return to Westeros... To Jon Snow

Hello everyone,

Introduction

As you know, Arya Stark escaped from King's Landing at the end of the first book and constantly made an effort to reach her family and home, but so far she has not been successful. Both her family and the house have been destroyed, at least that is what within Arya's knowledge. On the other hand, she knows that Jon Snow is still at the Wall, and when she went to King's Landing, she often missed Jon and dreamed of going to him, even on her way to Braavos, she actually intended to go to the Wall, but the captain refused her. He took her to Braavos, but when Arya saw the two Men of the Watch even while she was there, she wondered if they would return to the Wall because she still had in mind to go to the Wall, to Jon's side.

On the show, they gave Lady Stoneheart's Frey scenes to Arya(Yeah they did this a alot). When this happened in the show, many readers began to think that Arya would likewise go directly to the riverlands when she returned to Westeros. A few things put forward as justification for this; The presence of Nymeria and Cat there; and also Beric and his crew and Gendry characters... and even the Freys themselves.

This is more of a fictional math guess, of course. There are these people in the land of the river, and these are the people Arya has met before, if so, Arya will return here ... Even if there is a bit of plain logic, this is one of many interpretations and is possible. Of course I do not think so.

Why not riverlands?

In the first place I want to express my opinion, why not Riverlands? To summarize briefly, there is nothing there for Arya. During her time there, she did not take any time to find Nymeria, and actually she did not have much opportunity, but although Nymeria was constantly around her, she never went directly to her. Even if they meet there, there is nothing they can do on the first stage riverlands. It makes no sense to expect a meeting without purpose. On the other hand, those Beric and his crew are not important for Arya, so there is no reason for them to go there. She could only go for her mother, but she doesn't know that her mother is alive. The Freys might have been a good reason, but Arya couldn't kill anyone she didn't know their name and couldn't add names to her prayer because she didn't know the Frey's names. Naturally, she is not after them.

The riverlands had already covered most of Arya's adventure over the course of two books, and she did what she would do there, learned that she would learn, and she was done ... It makes no sense to go riverlands as her first target when she decides to return.

There are those who say she will go to King's Landing to kill Cersei, but as we know when Cersei's death will come, we know that her death will be carried out by a Valonqar, so it is pointless for the author to take Arya there for something she could never achieve. In addition, it is logical that Arya, who is trained in Faceless Men, should infiltrate Cersei and kill her.

That's why as a writer you wouldn't want to use such a character that way because either you have to kill one of your character early, or you write an unsuccessful attempt and write a meaningless and ridiculous scene, and your character will be distracted by empty scenes, like the show playing for time...this is what a novice writer does... Also, Arya will woke up one night and said that, "OK, I'll go and kill Cersei." ? It would be a little ridiculous.

In summary, according to the mathematics of fiction, Arya's possible directions do not fit these two places, and I have not seen any signs of them yet.

Let's come to the question of why Arya Stark will go to Jon Snow, towards the Wall.

First Cause: Jon Snow himself

As I said at the beginning of the article, Arya has missed Jon since she left Jon in the first book and wanted to go to her, even when she got on the ship of the captain from Braavos, she said it was where she wanted to go, but received a refusal. Even as Yoren was taking him to Winterfell, he somehow wanted to reach first to the Wall.

When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.

As I am sure that Brienne's whole purpose and the focus of her current story is to find Sansa, she will eventually find her, so I'm sure Arya will go where he is because of her wish go to Jon Snow since the first book.

We already have two sample scenes showing that she is still thinking of going to wall while in Braavos. The desire of someone with this goal to go elsewhere is unthinkable, especially if we consider that this girl suffers from family and loneliness as much as the desire for revenge.

Personally, if I were Arya, I'd rather go to my only living family than take revenge. First I would like to feel safe and whole again. For example, Sansa, although she knows the state of Winterfell, her heart prefers to go there ... she knows that she will feel safer and stronger there.

The place where Arya will feel safe and quench her desire for home is obviously Jon Snow himself. Indeed, even Jon had told Mance to "bring Arya" home. Logically, Arya was already at home, but for Jon it is obvious that the house is not there, but him side.

In the conversation between Jon and Arya, Jon said, "Sometimes different roads lead to the same castle." After all, they both differed ways, but they will eventually meet at the same castle. You know Martin wanted to reunite the two characters at the Wall, as he wrote in the first outline.

Of course, this interpretation is possible. "Okay, it looks like a strong foreshadowing, but this castle doesn't have to be Black Castle, they can meet at Winterfell."

It is quite possible, which is a very strong possibility. It doesn't matter much, either the Wall or Winterfell ... Arya's direction will be Jon Snow, this is the important part; I don't think their meeting at the Black Castle or Winterfell is important for the development of the story. However, I still have to say that there are signs that he will go to the Wall, I will mention that when the time comes, let's continue.

So the question is… Why would Arya Stark want to stop training and leave when she was training the Faceless Men in Braavos? We do not know how many years this training takes in total, but we know that it should take years, so Arya looks like she has taken several years of training. I have already said that Martin wanted the 5-year jump for Arya and Bran's education and growth.

Parallelism

There is a parallel story development between Arya and Jon. The two got into an organization where they would never marry, have no children, and would leave their families behind completely. These are the things that are demanded of them. Both of them have to spend their entire lives in this organization.

Both stand out in the books as each other's "weakness". For example, even for Arya's father, she did not betray Jon and remained silent, or when someone accuses Jon of being a thief (even indirectly), Arya got angry ...Jon did what he did not do for Robb and Ned or even Ygritte; He goes around his vows for Arya and tries to use anyone he can use for Arya Stark ...

I think we will see a parallel development from now on. Jon decides to break his vows for Arya in the last book and is killed. It is also the author's use of the Arya factor to free Jon from his vows. I think a similar thing will happen on Arya side. We have read that Arya can sometimes get news from Westeros; She learned that her aunt was dead, and even learned about Hardhome.

Also, we also read that from time to time she heard about Jon Snow being spoken in taverns and inns. In short, our girl gets information about Jon Snow. Martin must not have added this part for nothing. If even she gets some news Jon's election as Lord Commander at the Wall, then I see no reason not to hear the news that Jon was dead. So, how will Arya react when she finds out that her only family member and her most fond and beloved family member have died? Do you think it is appropriate for Arya to sit calmly and continue her education and shed two tears? I do not think so. Anyway, this girl is Braavos for a reason and has to return before completing the training. Why is that?

It's actually very simple. Being a Faceless Men means being of all identity and not. When a person becomes FM, that person becomes "nobody"; she has no identity, you cannot call her an individual, only a means of her deities; are people who constantly live under other identities and faces. Consequently, if Arya completes her education as FM, she will no longer be Arya Stark and she will completely lose her identity. In this case, Arya has no place in the story because Arya is dead. We do not read Arya ... Therefore, we cannot wait for Arya to seek revenge in Westeros or to meet with other characters.

When the emphasis was made in a question in an interview that Arya was the Faceless Men, Martin objected to this; “She's not yet the Faceless Men, you assume she will. She's still an apprentice. ” he said. In other words, Arya did not take an oath as she had not completed the training yet. You know Jon was trained first and was taken when it was decided he was ready. It would be absurd to expect her to complete the training in a year, anyway. Although Arya's education is progressing much faster than usual, this is a separate topic.

In other words, after learning as much as Arya should learn, she will need a reason to leave here before she has the opportunity to complete the training, without being promoted to be the Faceless Men and taking their oaths; that's Jon Snow. The death of Jon will save Arya from being the Faceless Man and return her home, just as the author eventually caused his death by using Arya reason to escape Jon's from his vows.

Anyway, Arya had given us the signal that she would not throw the Needle that Jon gave her, but would continue to be Arya by hiding it, and that she would never lose her identity. The needle symbolizes Arya's identity in the books. It symbolizes her connection with her home, family and Jon.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don't tell Sansa! Mikken's mark was on the blade. It's just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She'd been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. "It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . .

. . . but it wasn't.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

As it seems from this quote, Arya doesn't want to give up her identity. We actually have a possible foreshadowing scene where Arya might act to avenge Jon.

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. And the singer should be on the Wall.

As you know, Jon Snow was actually a Targaryen prince as Rhaegar's son and killed, and Arya is a character who will avenge her prince. And yes, maybe the singer will go to the Wall. ;)

Cause Two: The Night's Watch

To explain this, I want to go through another example first. When you read Jaime Lannister's POV on the Riverlands, especially in book 4; There was an intense interaction with Brotherhood without banners. On the first povs with Brienne, he almost fell into their trap, but they did not swallow the bait and escaped. Later, we read that when Jaime returned to the Riverlands, he often spoke about Brotherhood without Banners and heard news from them. If I was not mistaken, he had assigned someone to hunt them.

There is a similar thing for Brienne, but there was not as much interaction as with Jaime, of course, his was more extreme, but there was for Brienne too. Of course, even they heard the name of Lady Stoneheart. As a result, both of them are now in the hands of the without Banners and Lady Stoneheart(at least we assume it). In a way, Martin "made a way" to the characters here ... For example, he said that he made the way for Tywin's death by using the "gold shitting" theme, as a sign. For Jaime, there is another "way build" that he interacts with; Nymeria and her pack. There are many references to this as well, as Jaime will probably encounter not only the Cat, but also the direwolf and her pack.

There is a similar theme for Arya. Night's Watch. Arya is constantly interacting with the Night's Watch (another thing she's interacting with is dragons, by the way). Let's continue with the watch. Logically, the first member of the brotherhood with whom he interacted is Jon Snow(after Benjen), who left home to join. Later, she meets Yoren and the first one she asks is Jon, and she even talks about wanting to send him a letter.

Then, at the end of the book, Yoren finds Arya and disguises her as a boy, takes her with him as one of the apprentices of the Watch and leaves the city. His goal, of course, is to bring her to her family. When Yoren first saw our daughter Arya, he thought she was even a boy. In fact, the "boy" theme is another sign for Arya ... It is not surprising that a child is thought to be "boy" when she is scruffy and dressed in boy's clothes. We know that when Cersei changed her clothes with Jaime as a child, even her father thought she was a boy(Jaime). Consequently, they thought Jaime was a girl(Cersei) too. Nevertheless, for Arya, it was a recurring thema, and eventually our she-wolf disguised as a boy and joined the Night's Watch.

Well, do you know the story of a girl participating to the Watch disguised as a boy? You know. Danny Flint. Flint girl disguises herself as a man to join the Watch to escape the abuse. Her story is sad and the only part that interests us as a matter of our subject is the girl figure who participated in the watch disguised as a boy. The name of this girl is mentioned in three places; We heard the first one while Bran was hiding at the Wall. We heard the second from Lord Manderly's mouth in Theon POV called Prince of Winterfell in the last book, which I think was a very interesting combination. And later again in last the book, from Jon's mouth.

The Manderly part is remarkable.

After serving Frey pies at Arya Stark's wedding feast, our fat lord was so happy and wanted for 2 songs for Arya Stark; The first one is "Ending Night", which tells the end of the Long Night, and the other is the song of "Brave Danny Flint". It is interesting, is not it? He wanted for Arya two songs about the Long Night and the girl who participated in the Watch as a boy.

By the way, for those who don't know, Arya probably takes her name from one of her great-grandmothers who lived years ago; the woman's name was Arya Flint.

Lets continue. Arya continued her journey with the Watch in the second book, she had beaten Pie well, and Yoren had beaten her as a punishment and then made the following phrase.

"Might be I got your attention now," Yoren said. "Next time you take that stick to one of your brothers, you'll get twice what you give, you hear me? Now cover yourself."

They're not my brothers, Arya thought as she bent to yank up her breeches, but she knew better than to say so. Her hands fumbled with her belt and laces.

Brothers? They are not Arya's brothers... because Arya is not an apprentice to join the Watch, not even a boy. Despite this, the author wrote such a sentence in Yoren's mouth. Why is that? If a character says something stranger than usual, I guess pay attention.

The reason is obvious, it is highly probable that Arya gave a sign that she was going to the Wall; he's making a way. Everything is in front of our eyes; The story of the Flint girl; some people thinks Arya is a boy in the first books and she travels with the Watch, even when she goes to Braavos, meeting two Night Watch members and intending to go to Wall with them. There were always Night's Watch around this girl; Just like there are references to Braavos and Braavosi people in the first book, and eventually she went to Braavos ... I think it would be a correct inference to predict that she will go to Night's Watch as all previous character examples tell us that this is the case.

In addition, considering that she has aimed to reach Jon from the first moments, when they are all combined, it leaves us no choice but the Wall. So, at worst, Arya will surely leave Braavos and education for Jon Snow, and at best, the meeting place will be the Wall.

It is possible to present another sign in this regard. Dead man's boots ...

You know Melisandre and Mance thing... Melisandre said to Jon "Mance will help you for Arya" and Jon asked "how he can live and she changed his looks"

Melisandre said:

"The bones help," said Melisandre. "The bones remember. The strongest glamors are built of such things. A dead man's boots, a hank of hair, a bag of fingerbones. With whispered words and prayer, a man's shadow can be drawn forth from such and draped about another like a cloak. The wearer's essence does not change, only his seeming."

In other words, the magic of blindfold is mentioned where Arya is mentioned and one of the things mentioned as sample items is "the boots of a dead man ..." (By the way, it is also interesting to refer to Davos's finger bones)

Dead man's boots ... logically, the item does not have to belong to a dead person in order to wear someone's image as a cloak, because we saw Mance and the other man were both using each other's belongings while they were alive. There's a dead man accent though, why?

So now I'm taking you back to the Arya scene. We're in Braavos and Arya gets an impression of Dareon. The singer called the Black Singer, but none of his clothes were black except for his boots.

The whores called him the black singer, but there was hardly any black about him now. With the coin his singing brought him, the crow had transformed himself into a peacock. Today he wore a plush purple cloak lined with vair, a striped white-and-lilac tunic, and the parti-colored breeches of a bravo, but he owned a silken cloak as well, and one made of burgundy velvet that was lined with cloth-of-gold. The only black about him was his boots.

In the Arya scene, the "boots" first catch the eye, and then, chatting with this singer, she continues to walk and kills him, and when she go to Brusco has these black boots with her.

By the time Cat returned to Brusco's house, an evening fog was gathering above the small canal. She put away her barrow, found Brusco in his counting room, and thumped her purse down on the table in front of him. She thumped the boots down too.

Brusco gave the purse a pat. "Good. But what's this?"

"Boots."

"Good boots are hard to find," said Brusco, "but these are too small for my feet." He picked one up to squint at it.

"The moon will be black tonight," she reminded him.

In the same POV (all aff this happening in the same pov) later she went to Kindly Man.

This time she did not hesitate. "Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night's Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots."

"Good boots are hard to find."

"Just so." She tried to keep her face still.

In both scenes, there is an emphasis on "good boots are not easy to find". How does Kindly Man knows that the boots are good which he has not seen, it is thought provoking, but I think it is not just the quality of the boots here. Dead man's boots are a good tool for Arya's future purpose ... so they're good boots ...

In other words, the emphasis on the boots of the dead man here indicates that Arya can wear these boots and go to the Wall as a man with the magic of the blindfold. Well, does Arya know about this spell? Where can she learn? Let's listen to the Kindly Man.

"Mummers change their faces with artifice," the kindly man was saying, "and sorcerers use glamors, weaving light and shadow and desire to make illusions that trick the eye. These arts you shall learn, but what we do here goes deeper. Wise men can see through artifice, and glamors dissolve before sharp eyes, but the face you are about to don will be as true and solid as that face you were born with."

KM mentions that he will teach all face replacement methods; The method of a mummer(which Arya is with the mummers at the moment) and he will also teach the magic of the blindfold ... On the other hand, there is also the issue of wearing the faces of dead people, it's already being told during this scene ... In short, when Arya is done here, she will knows all of this, and naturally, she will go to the Wall by making a "blindfold" spell with the boots of the dead man belonging to the Night watch member, disguising herself as Dareon. I think it will be a very interesting and funny scene.

Let me even give another possible parallel scene example for this scene that I expect in the future. Now Theon is Jon's foil anyway. Martin pointed out that the two had similar positions, but that they both made different choices. Another thing that the two have in common is that both Jon and Theon have sisters they saw as a child. Theon did not recognize Asha when he returned home, the scenes are well known to you all.

Jon was also wondering if he would recognize Arya even if he saw her right now, we can expect him not to recognize Arya at first because she's already grown up, but especially if she use this spell, he cannot recognize her at all, and we can read funny scenes. A little parallel with Theon, but I think it will be a nice thing.

What if they meet at Winterfell instead of the wall, I think it probably coincides with the moment of war. When Martin wrote the last script for the series, he added a scene note where Ramsay fought direwolves against his hounds. He noted something that would probably happen in the books, and there is already information that Ramsay raised his hounds to kill wolves in Theon pov. These wolves are undoubtedly Ghost and probably Rickon's wolf Shaggydog, but since GRRM stated that they had plans for Nymeria and did not write this wolf pack for decoration, it is possible to see Nymeria and her pack in the final battle with the Boltons in the north. How long will they stay in the riverlands? If the owner is there, the wolf is there too; if the wolf is there, the owner is there too ...

So this end. Thank you for read and sorry my bad grammer.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

“STARTING OFF WITH A RECIPE FOR COZY”

7AM

Turns out the recipe for cozy is one sleeping bag underneath, a wool blanket directly on top, a second sleeping bag on top of that, and a duvet cover over this whole yummy sandwich of warm. Like very comfortably warm without further heat from the Rialta as the overnight temps settled into the high 30s.

Out of bed in the morning, yeah. I definitely felt the world outside our cozy bubble. So we fired up the Rialta, kicked on the heat, and continued our journey south with a stop at one of the Starbuck’s along Main Street in Vancouver, Washington for a drip coffee, an Earl Grey tea, and a sausage breakfast sandwich to share between the two of us.

By the time we left Vancouver and landed in Hayden Meadows Square just on the other side of the Columbia River, we were coming up on 

9AM

Okay, first of all, our stops at Starbuck’s while we’re on road trips also double for opportunities to recharge our electronics. Only at this point in our collective history, Starbuck’s in Vancouver isn’t doing the dining-in thing. Which also happens to mean no charging for our phones and laptops.

Whoops.

We also discover, much to our chagrin, that none of the electrical outlets in the Rialta actually, you know, work.

Double whoops.

And then we find out, there in the Hayden Meadows parking lot in front of Lowes, that Xfinity hot spots aren’t what I think they are. By which I mean to say we were surrounded by such hot spots yet couldn’t find them on our phones or laptops.

Triple whoops.

Fortunately for Kimmer’s first Zoom meeting of the day, Lowes turned up with a complementary bit of Wifi service.

Definitely a fortunate turn of events.

Now while Kimmer was occupied, I set about researching some potential solutions for our charging problems. A solar usb charger was top of that list. Failing that, another usb battery pack and one or more power banks with A/C outlets. I hit Lowe’s, Dick’s Sporting Goods, a Marine & Outdoor store, and, of course, Walmart’s.

After that, I wanted to know why we came up short on the Xfinity hot spots so I walked around, guided by the Xfinity Hot Spot app, to check out each one of those hot spots that were identified. What I discovered was that some of the Wifi coverage was pretty much confined inside stores while other times it leaked comfortably out into parking lots. Even then, though, that coverage definitely had a hard boundary. Which is how I discovered that we’d parked maybe 50 feet shy of solid Wifi service without ever knowing it. Broadcast from the local DMV, no less.

12:45PM

Back on I-5 traveling south from Hayden Meadows, it’s striking how much of this corridor—starting almost from the Columbia River all the way to where you can begin to see downtown Portland across the Willamette River—is defined by graffiti, considerable amounts of trash, and homeless encampment after homeless encampment. 

It’s a helluvan introduction.

1:15PM

Okay so the big challenge today is finding local RV repair service. The dead electrical outlets, of course, are front and center in our minds. But also this: what was the engine “hiccup” about? Is that an actual problem? And if not, will it be an actual, you know, stranding us problem?

Back up at Hayden Meadows, Kimmer’d spoken with our first choice for RV service, a mobile repair company, and quickly discovered they were booked two solid weeks into the future.

Down by the Fred Meyer’s in Tualatin, using the Xfinity hot spot we could acquire in the parking lot, we reached out to other companies both in Tualatin as well as ahead of us in Salem.

But it was same story one after the other.

Booked.

Solid.

Yikes.

But here’s the thing: we’ve got time. 

We’ve got.

Time.

Some space to breathe and to think. So first of all, to address a coupla different and immediate needs, we booked ourselves into the Tualatin Oregon Comfort Inn & Suites. It’s actually right out back of the Fred Meyer and is, in fact, a comfortable, peaceful, and perfect spot for regrouping. 

As well as recharging.

2:30PM

We actually checked in early, put in our order for tomorrow’s breakfast, and settled right in. 

Our primary concern’s that the further we travel from home, the more screwed we are if anything’s actually and hugely wrong with the Rialta’s transmission.

Right now, the plan’s to be in Crystal Cove, California on Tuesday. So there are a number of options open to us... and Kimmer runs us through ‘em.

1. Find someplace local where we can drop our Rialta for repair and also rent a new RV with which to continue our travels.

2. Rent a car, continue our travels, and then rent an RV in LA.

3. Catch a train down to L.A. and then do the RV rental thing.

Good ideas, all. But it doesn’t take long to spot that the Rialta being left in Tualatin creates a logistical problem in a coupla ways. First, we’re traveling with a lot of stuff we don’t actually want to leave here. And second, eventually we have to deal with the Rialta in Tualatin.

So then Kimmer comes up with new alternatives.

1. Turn around, go home, rent an RV, and then hustle down I-5.

2. Turn around, go home, rent a car, then hustle faster down I-5.

3. Turn around, go home, catch a flight from Sea-Tac to Long Beach, then rent an RV there.

Kimmer even identified a Sunday morning flight for decent rates. So that would be us getting up early tomorrow and returning the Rialta to its home driveway. Sleep sleep sleep. Then, the following morning, drive down to the Doug Fox parking lot at Sea-Tac, and then catch our flight.

This was a very doable plan which didn’t leave the Rialta stranded in Tualatin.

It’s a working plan, though. We’ve still got time to think this through. And while we do that, we’re gonna head a little further south to visit the GoodWill Superstore in Wilsonville.

For now, though, our plan is to return home.

[mythopoeticreality]

Okay. Alright. I’ve been trying to figure out how to put all of these thoughts into words for the past couple of days now, and I thiiink I‘ve gotten this into a place where I can communicate it all clearly? (you know rather than a flailing keyboard smash about Norrell and Strange and John Uskglass xD) Sooo....yeah. Time for some more rambling about the Raven King? Time for some more rambling about the Raven King!

Something that I’ve wondered a lot over the years I’ve spent writing and roleplaying as John Uskglass has been his attitude towards Fairy Abductions. In the book, just before Strange and Norrell summon the Raven King one of Norrell’s objections to the entire plan is this: “What will he care about two lost women? You are thinking of John Uskglass as if he was an ordinary man. I mean a man like you or me. He was brought up and educated in Faerie. The ways of the brugh were natural to him and most brughs contained captive Christians -- he was one himself. It will not seem so extraordinary to him. He will not understand.”

In essence here, Norrell is basically saying, ‘John Uskglass will not care’ and I can’t help but feel that his words are more of a refection on himself and his own still lingering attitudes towards the Raven King. I mean, the last time Norrell and Strange spoke together, didn’t Norrell just outright say it? “Do you think he cares what happens to England? I tell you he does not. He abandoned us long ago.” Norrell tried so desperately wen he was younger to find the Raven King. He is a Northerner, born and raised amidst stories and tales of John Uskglass’s deeds and surrounded by his legacy every day of his life; This is the same environment that Childermass -- who’s own devotion to the Raven King is made obvious -- grew up in, and so much of our knowledge of the Raven King does come from Norrell, he could be called one of our foremost experts on him in the book! But he felt betrayed, abandoned by the King as well, and that kind of bitterness doesn’t simply just go away. And now Strange wants to summon the King? Like Norrell tried and failed to do when he was younger? Imagine how close to home that would hit, how that could reawaken that sort of bitterness!

Meanwhile Strange replies with, “Then I will explain it to him, Mr Norrell.” He believes he can convince the King. Of course, this could all be chalked up as arrogance on Strange’s part -- ‘Arrogance’ is so much a part of his character that it was his name in the Prophecy after all! But his plan was to summon the King from the beginning. He believes that John Uskglass will be sympathetic to his plight. Our first introduction to Strange in this chapter, we see him reading from a book, listing off recorded historical cases of Fairy Abduction. “Seven people from Norwich in 1124...Four from Aysgarth in Yorkshire at Christmas in 1151, twenty three at Exeter in 1201, one from Hathersage in Derbyshire in 1243 -- all enchanted and stolen away into Faerie. It was a problem he never solved.” And here strange is presenting Fairy Abduction as something the King would see as a problem, would want to see solved. Not as something that just happens as a matter of course, as natural as the wind or rain. 

And honestly, I think we should believe Strange’s view over Norrell’s here. I think that of the two of them, though Norrell might know more of the Raven King intellectually, Strange has displayed more of an....emotional understanding? A sympathy? for the Raven King. (well, inasmuch as anyone can understand the Raven King on any level, atleast xD)  I’ve already gone into this more in a post I wrote a while back over here, but during the battle of Waterloo, Strange’s experience casting  Pale’s Conjectures Concerning the Foreshadowing of Things To Come reflects something of his later description of the young Raven King after his conquest of England. Look, compare this:

“Until this moment it had never seemed to him that his magicianship set him apart from other men. But now  he had glimpsed the wrong side of something. He had the eeriest feeling – as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence – laughter, love and innocence – were slipping irrevocably into the past.” 

to this:

“He was pale and handsome and solemn-faced.”  Said of a boy fifteen years old, and newly successful in accomplishing all of his goals. As I said in that previous post, you would expect something more triumphant and celebratory to be in his expression --especially as he was raised by fairies. Can you imagine the Gentleman not crowing about his victories, after all? But instead he carries that same air about him, after battle, that Strange feels and experiences, looking out to the results of the battle he is about to fight, Melancholy, lonely, “as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence – laughter, love and innocence – were slipping irrevocably into the past.”

So Strange has already once glimpsed something of what it was to be John Uskglass, but then, here at the beginning of the very chapter where he’s proposing to Norrell to summon the Raven King, he returns, just newly having gone through perhaps the experience that brings him as close to the Raven King as he ever has been: “I suppose it is because I have been many things since last we met. I have been trees and rivers and hills and stones. I have spoken to stars and earth and wind. One cannot be the conduit through which all English magic flows and still be oneself.”

So yeah, on some level I would say Strange had more of an understanding of the Raven King than Norrell does, or atleast a very different one, not blinded by the same bitterness that Norrell feels towards him. But does that necessarily mean he understands The Raven King in regards to how he feels about Fairy Kidnappings? Does John Uskglass view this as an issue? Does he care?

What’s interesting to note here are the locations and numbers of the dissaperances. Seven people from Norwich in 1124, Four from Aysgarth in Yorkshire at Christmas in 1151, twenty three at Exeter in 1201, one from Hathersage in Derbyshire in 1243. Norwich is in East Anglia, Aysgarth is in Yorkshire, Exeter is in Devon, and Heathersage is in Derbyshire. Interestingly, the places where the most people disappear are outside of the Raven King’s kingdom of Northern England. Perhaps it’s almost as if his presence there is discouraging such captures?

Of course, if we’re going to talk about Fairy Abductions, we cannot overlook the case of Buckler and Brandford-upon-Avon. In 1310 Buckler offered to act as the Fairy Servant of a minor magician known as Simon Bloodworth. After serving the magician and gaining the trust of the Household, Buckler managed to spirit back off to Faerie seventeen members of the Bloodworth Household, both of the family and servants. The Raven King sent magicians from his own court to investigate the matter of the dissaperances, but they were unable to discover the whereabouts of the Bloodworth family. Important to note here, in regards to our current discussion, however is the fact that the Raven King? He didn’t have to do anything about this. He did’t need to have anyone look into the dissaperances at all if he didn’t think it was an issue. Bradford-upon-Avon is in the South, and well outside the Raven King’s own Kingdom. Meanwhile, Simon Bloodworth was a rather minor magician who’s wife was lured into Faerie partially by the promises of spells that would ease the workload of her and her daughters, that they might not have to be constantly “sweeping and cooking and cleaning.” Such hardly speaks to a family of any importance, so even the political benefits of taking an interest in the matter seem negligible. But the Raven King did take an interest in the disappearance of the Bloodworth Household, and he sent two of his own Magicians into the South to do something about it!

Even the very presence and mere existence of the court of Folflures suggests far more about John Uskglass’s concern about the consequences of Fairy actions in England -- including Kidnapping -- than Norrell’s assertions would have one believe. Why else have a court committed solely to settling disputes and trying the crimes committed by Fairies? 

But of course none of this is to say that the Raven King has a completely human viewpoint on the matter of Fairy Abductions either. The Raven King himself is said to have spirited off several men and women to live with him in his home in Faerie-- to the point of there even being a ballad written about it. Not to mention the fact that his entire plan to bring Magic back to England involved the Abduction of three innocent people for over a decade -- no matter that in the end he also planned for an end to their capture in the form of Stephen’s rise to Kingship over Lost Hope as well. But...I don’t think it’s quite as simple as Norrell believes it either. Yes, he was raised in Faerie and their ways might at times seem more natural to him even than human ways. At the same time however, he has spent over 300 years amongst humanity, and in the course of his life amongst other human beings, even Norrell had to admit that he became “less like a fairy and more like a man.” Perhaps in the beginning he wouldn’t have understood, not really, but as he began to live more amongst his human subjects? As he began to develop connections himself, as he taught his apprentices, as he gained friendships, found people he actually cared about personally? How could he not understand, atleast on some level?

So yeah. I don’t...I don’t think The Raven King views such things as necessarily wrong all of the time, under every circumstance, but at the same time I certainly don’t think that he wouldn’t care or understand that kind of grief at separation at all. I don’t know. I think his opinions on such Fairy abductions were ambivalent and complicated, and were constantly changing over the course of his life, and even after all this thinking and rambling about it I’m still kind of trying to sort it all out. What do y’all think? I’d really love to talk to someone about this :D

[trulycertain]

I’ve just finished Hearts of Stone for the first time (I got the expansion packs last birthday, thanks Ma), and cor, I’m... still a bit dazed. That was one of the best experiences I’ve had with a game for a long time. Heck, in some games that would’ve been the main campaign. It truly feels like a work of passion.

The negative, to get it over with

I had some issues with the portrayal of the Ofieri. The people we see are monsters, mages, mystics and enemy guards. The first Ofieri person you meet is... a toad monster you kill. And then the next ones are your jailers. 

And you might say that Temeria and Redania are full of yokel stereotypes - I mean, the “How often should I beat my wife?” NPC line is a clear nod to that kinda thing - and plays on Slavic mythology, folk tales, and fairy tales, and Ofier is the nod to the Arabian Nights... but we don’t get many Ofieri characters, nor clear examinations of those tales. Instead we’re quietly directed back to Robin Hood and Beauty and the Beast homages (which I adore, but). And one of the first introductions you get to their pseudo-Arabic language (which doesn’t feel as researched as Sapkowksi’s cod-Welsh Elven, but I don’t know about Nilfgaard’s language) is a Redanian guy calling it “gargling.” *wince* After the interesting, often nuanced takes on pseudo-Slavic culture and the fantasy non-human racism, I found that a bit frustrating. 

And yet... In some ways, it feels like CDPR were aware of this. Because you don’t actually have to kill the rest of the Ofieri guards, and then the next people you meet from Ofier are scholars and thoroughly nice dudes. (And... merchants, which is another stereotype on its own, but maybe I’m reading too much into that and reading British biases into it.) And gosh, I find it interesting what little we see of Ofieri scholarship and spirituality, and runeworking/smithing as prayer. It’s like a mix of Islamic Golden Age mathematics - but with languages instead - and humanism, maybe with some Pagan influences. It’s really, really beautiful, and it’s clearly had some thought put into it. Also interesting is the interlinked duchies/city-states sort of system that the merchant nods at, which I’d love to know more about.

OK, so... maybe this is easy for me to say as an English lass who looks like a flour explosion in a snowstorm, but it feels wonky (to say the least), but... not ill-intentioned. If anything, the portrayal of the Ofieri is rather less biting than portrayals of other countries, though those portrayals also feel less.. loaded. I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I had some issues with how strongly the pack tries to force you into romance with Shani and makes it a bit all-or-nothing. I wish I’d been able to buy her a drink or give her a nice rowan garland (actually, seriously, I need to draw her in that flower crown, it’s lovely and she was adorable) even as a friend, as a way to say goodbye, rather than just... buggering off and leaving her there sad, and failing a side quest to boot. Framing the romance that way made it very clear that “oi, you’ve made the wrong choice,” even if you had your reasons. And when you talk to her later, it’ll still treat things like you romanced her.

The Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t do much. Yay, fancy bandits. But... thanks for the armour, guys? Made a fair bit of cash off that, nice of you.

The positive (my favourite bit)

Shani! I haven’t played the first game or the second (I’ll... get there), so I hadn’t met her before. She’s wonderful. And much as I love Yen - and stayed faithful to her, though I was sitting there thinking, “Would books Geralt do this? I’m really not sure” - I liked how in contrast, Shani often gets into the thick of it with you. I also love a) doctor characters b) characters who put their calling above all else and have such strong purpose. She’s kind and wry and I was seriously tempted to romance her. I also like her admitting that it was a “make the most of the time we have” thing, and that it probably wouldn’t work long-term. I appreciate that honesty and again, that sense of purpose. Much like Triss, she’s not dropping everything for Geralt, who has his own crazy timetable and travels to deal with. That straightforwardness is lovely. 

And also... god, I really like her friendship with Geralt. Even if you don’t romance her, they’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s so clear how happy he is to see her. They relax around each other and she knows how to gently poke fun. Seriously, I can see why people liked her and wanted her back.

“And now I have nowt.” Bloody hell, is Olgierd von Everec actually written with Northern dialect as well as voiced with the accent? Is the dashing rogue... Yorkshire-accented? God, they must be Polish, Northerners almost never get to be upper-class or smooth in British media. (Even Sean Bean had to go posher for GoldenEye.) Nice to hear the language spoken properly.  I always admire the localisation when I’m playing Wild Hunt; it’s beautifully thought-out and detailed. And yes, Von Everec was an absolute jerk in a lot of ways even before the wish, but... a well-written, nuanced one. Also, considering some of the lasses we see in Skellige: sometime, I’d really like to have seen a female character along similar lines somewhere (one Geralt couldn’t bonk), though I know that won’t happen. (No more Geralt games. ;_; )

“A man must have some moments of madness from time to time. Tells him he’s alive.”

Iris! Goodness, I hesitated for nearly ten minutes over That Decision, and I still feel sad for her typing this post up on my couch, having finished the expansion an hour ago. I think it adds even more that I’d purchased “Starry Night Over the Pontar River” by Van Rogh (I can’t believe they even did that). I played Geralt as genuinely loving her paintings. (And seriously, speaking of assets, that Iris/Olgierd marriage portrait is lovely.) She was as complicated as her husband, though she got less screentime - and some part of me would have gladly trapped Olgierd in a painting and brought her back into the world, but I also know that necromancy in The Witcher doesn’t work like that. A very romantic-fairy-tale take on the tortured artist trope.

I even found Vlodimir interesting. I was glad that Shani called him on what was basically fancy sexual harassment and told him to keep his hands to himself, and he was clearly a real shite in life, but... yeah, even I felt rather sad for him after the dressing-down he got from O’Dimm. And to be honest, he does have some bloody hilarious lines. This series excels in “likeable bastard” characters.

I get shades! And I’ve been going round with the Mastercrafted Wolven Armour and those, doing the look I fondly call Douchebag Geralt, ever since. CDPR’s nerdery. It wasn’t particularly immersion-breaking, and it made me cackle. “Merchant With A Pearl Earring”? “Witness me”? “Geralt: The Professional”? “The Professor’s Glasses”?

All the optional NPC dialogue. You can doom yourself by not researching enough. You can never find the runewright. You can miss half the wedding party dialogue. You can miss things like the Van Rogh painting and the sad, rather interesting story of Vesemir and his lover (and the Viper Armour!). The game always rewards you for being interested in the story, and thorough (you are playing a detective, after all), but because it was smaller, they’ve also made HoS so dense and all that’s here in abundance.

“Delight in the world and all its glorious creations.”

The furious pace. It’s a rollicking, rip-roaring adventure. A frog prince! An old friend/lover! A political plot! A storm! A deal with... something not-good that may or may not be The Devil! A shirtless tied-up action-movie fight with five dudes! Dueling a reluctant immortal! Characters from distant shores! A horse race through the streets of a village! A Guy Ritchie-esque heist movie nod to Robin Hood! Getting possessed by a ghost and sitcom/rom-com hijinks while fishing for boots, herding swine, and retrieving fire-eaters! Haunted mansions and tortured artists and interesting grief and depression metaphors! A Seventh Seal-esque game of wits with something very old and very unkind! O’Dimm promised a big adventure... he wasn’t wrong. And it probably sounds like they’re throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks... and yet, it all makes sense and ties in beautifully. It’s really well-written and thought-out, and balances a touching story with CDPR clearly wanting to give you your money’s worth and take you on the best journey they can.

Gaunter O’Dimm. The one thing I did think was that they’d be more vague about who/what he actually was. I was surprised at the more overt things like the crossroads deal, and the Oxenfurt scholar. But I immensely enjoyed his character, and that trippy finale was fantastic, even if I spent everything after the first second or so muttering, “It’s a REFLECTION, oh my god Gaunter you have commitment to your theme, please let there be a mirror in the house.” (And it’s also kind of perfect that one of the main spectres who attacks you in his realm is a Hym. Punishment for misdeeds, the guilty conscience... I’m seeing a theme here.)

Treasure hunts and new armour.

“Like your new gear, Roach?” We got to see a bit more of Geralt's fondness for this Roach (not sure what number she is, to be honest) and that he treats her well.

Lots of quiet but intense, lovely Geralt moments. The kindness with which he treats Shani, and his quiet, wry joking around with her in comparison to Vlodimir’s crudeness; the fondness and understated grief with which he speaks of Vesemir, and finally getting to hear a bit more of what he thinks about his mentor; the guilt he feels over being pulled here, there and everywhere on adventures and how many people he’s left behind; more stuff on “Witchers are heartless bastards because mutations” and how untrue that actually is; his steadfastness about trying to avoid bloodshed in the heist; how he doesn’t like to see Vlodimir tortured, even if he is... Vlodimir. Course, I play Geralt as a (pragmatic, blunt) goody-two-shoes, so it might be different if you play him bloodthirstier, but there were some lovely not-blank-slate-protag moments. CDPR get that the characters are why people come to the games; I adore playing a game where “go to a wedding reception” and “have a snowball fight with your daughter to cheer her up” are missions.

I’d be interested to see anyone’s takes on this pack, because I was so busy trying to avoid spoilers when it came out (and I think I might have been knee-deep in Fallout 4? Not sure) that I missed most of the stuff on it. But it was full of fascinating characters, wonderful performances, some really sad, achey complex themes, and pulpy adventure. I spent... too many moments trying not to cackle in joy. And much as I tried to be a completionist and do base-game sidequests remaining after the main story and drag it out over several days, I spent enough time on this expansion that Geralt’s beard grew back and my backside went numb. So. Even with its imperfections, probably one of my favourite gaming experiences of all time. So.

...God, and there’s another, slightly bigger expansion to go. I’m not sure I’ll survive.

[the-unknown-storyteller]

We are Four (pt.1)

(Loosely based on this discord message by @cassandrasdreamworld)

(Also, this request by anon came in just in time for this fic)

(Universe by @linkeduniverse)

Warning: Gender (?) Dysphoria, Probably Inaccurate Depictions of what could be described as dysphoria (I'm sorry in advance)

Summary: The Four Sword is a most peculiar sword with most peculiar side effects. Four is not amused.

______

They step up onto the podest, each raising their swords to the sky. Woeful expressions bid the last goodbyes in silence, before they simultaneously drive the Four Swords into the stone below them. Their bodies tremble, shake, merge back into one. A quiet “goodbye” leaves his lips as he opens his eyes to see that everyone is truly gone. They’re- He's alone now.

He steps down from the sacred stone and shoots Zelda, who's standing behind him, an unsteady smile. “It is done, we've won”, he says, glancing towards the sword one more time as they leave.

___

The first few days show how much he needs to adjust. Link makes his usual remarks, but looks and laughs in the wrong direction, expecting to see someone there. Only to then realize that, no, there is no one. Of course, why would there be? Link’s alone. As he has always been… before.

Still, there are always a few too many bowls on the table, a few too many spoons and forks and knives. He buys too much bread for one person to eat, too many arrows for him to carry around alone. His eyes are always magically drawn to the purple of certain lilies, the deep red of especially sweet and ripe apples and the vibrant blue of sapphires along the market stalls. The constant green of his tunic in his peripheral doesn't help. Neither does the shadow that seems to swirl and dance at his feet as the sun goes down.

To top it all off, he realises how wrong the name “Link” feels on his tongue and in his ears. It leaves a bad aftertaste in his mouth and makes his fingertips itch.

He tries out different names to look and see if the hollow feeling in his chest goes away or lessens in any way. But normal Hylian names won't do the trick, so he tries ones from other cultures, from other regions.

One day, on his way to the library to get a book on names from other lands because this is driving him insane and he's desperate enough to just find something that will remotely work, an old lady stops him on his way. “Would you reach over and give me some of those apples, my dear?”

Ripped from his thoughts he turns around, looks at the old lady, then at the apples behind him that are too far away for the small woman to reach.

She smiles at him sweetly and adds: “Four of them, please.”

Link carefully puts them in her basket with a distracted nod.

When he was talking to her, the empty feeling in his chest had dissipated for just a moment.

He takes a few steps away from the small fruit stall, while quietly repeating what the lady had said. Excruciatingly slow, word by word. It could be anything the small lady’s said, but he wouldn't reject it.

His lips slowly form the word “four” and he immediately knows that this is it. He's found it. Four, Four holds back from voicing his joy too loudly. The name is quite odd, since it is but a number, but it somehow feels right and soothes the strange feeling in his chest enough to be bearable.

_____

Shortly after that, he notices the bitter taste of “me” and “I”. His mind, which had been occupied with the issue of his name before, can redirect its thought towards the next one. This time it's pronouns. It gives him that same tingling sensation he felt back then. Whenever he refers to himself as a singular, it leaves a growing ache in his chest that makes itself noticeable again each time he says “I”. So he switches over to the most logical one he can think of.

And to them, it feels just right.

Days go by and the news have spread of the hero who doesn't want to carry the legendary name of “Link”, who vehemently refuses the implications of being just one.

But nobody dare say a word against it, you hear? How can we deny them this simple request of expressing who they are when we're the ones who caused this. We just don't have the right to be this arrogant.

While everyone did say and think that, the reality of it looks much different. People keep calling them Link by accident, refer to them with singular pronouns and the conversations that sometimes follow afterwards are tiring. In some instances they make Four wish they were “normal”.

Fed up by the constant confusion surrounding them and their name, they sit down one evening and think. They think about how they could make this easier. How they could show everyone that they're not the Hero “Link” anymore.

They let their eyes wander through the room until they land on the green tunic that's hanging over their chair across the room. It is one monotone singular shade of green.

As they are looking at it, they can't help but feel annoyance towards it, before it makes way to confusion, then hesitation and lastly satisfaction. They frown. They think some more.

Four then gets up and walks over to the chest beneath the footboard of their bed. Pieces of clothing and tools like a small hammer, nails and a few broken arrows go flying through the room. With a smile on their face they finally pull out three more tunics in blue, purple and red. A big pair of fabric scissors follow shortly after. They open and close them a few times, listening to the satisfying clicks, and get to work.

Soon enough each tunic, including the green one that was hanging over the chair, is cut apart into four separate, equally big pieces that slot together nicely. Four lays it down flat on the ground, making sure the edges aline, before they pin it down carefully. Excitement and waves of approvement rush through their brain and they slowly start to stitch the fabric back together. Each stitch puts them more at ease, makes them feel more like themselves and when they're done, they proudly pick it up, smoothing down some of the rougher edges.

“This will do”, Four whispers, puts it on and goes in a small circle to see every inch of their new tunic, that describes them perfectly, in the mirror. Yes, this will certainly do.

______

“Do you think that's him?”

“It must be. All the other boys around don't have the right characteristics.”

“You mean the golden hair? Twi and I don't have golden hair and there are actual a lot of boys here with that kind of hair colo-”

“Yes-, I mean, No! I'm talking about his face, you idiots.”

“Hm, yeah. I guess, he does have our faces.”

“I'm still the handsomest, though.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Everyone, just shut up. Wind, you go and talk to him.”

“Why me?!”

“Because you're the least threatening since you’re small and all.”

“But-! Ugh, fine.”

______

“Hey there. Sorry to interrupt your… uhm, walking”, a boy with golden hair and a blue tunic approaches them with a waving hand. Four raises an eyebrow, but does stand still and wait for the boy to catch up. It's not unusual for them to be spoken to out of the blue.

“Are you Link?”, the boy continues, lowering his hand and wiping both of them on his tunic. Four ignores the uncomfortable feeling in their chest He's probably new around here, never seen him around. and nods with a pinched smile. “Yes, that's me.”

“I know this probably sounds crazy, but I'm Link too! Everyone calls me Wind, though, since it would be confusing because, you see, in that bush behind me, there are seven others whose names are also Link, we're incantations of each other, you know, an-”

Wind’s rambling is suddenly interrupted when a hand comes up from behind him and stops his river of words.

“How could we forget that Wind is really really bad at talking in high stress situations,” the boy groans. He’s wearing some kind of animal fur around his shoulders and there are strange markings on his face. He’s keeping a strong grip around Wind’s mouth who looks less than thrilled. “You can come out now, you guys. I don't think we can ‘ease’ him into the current situation anymore.

“We should have sent in Hyrule. He's way better with words. Also, look at his face and tell me you can say no to that.” The one in blue tunic and with a hooded cloak around his shoulders is squishing the face probably of the one called Hyrule.

“Whatever. We can't change how we've approached him and I don't think that discussing how we could've done it better in front of him is doing any good.”

“Legend’s right. We're achieving nothing with all of this blabbering going on.”

While the group of people in front of Four are discussing… something, they can do nothing but stare. At their faces and their clothes and the way they look like the same person, just slightly changed.

And it reminds them so much of Green, Blue, Red and Vio. The way they bicker and jab at each other. The aching feeling grows into something else. Tiredness and confusion make Four’s chest constrict in an all too familiar way, but it's different. The reason behind it is different. They're jealous. Jealous and hurt and stricken with grief that they have lost this and can't have it any more.

They are all so absorb in what they're doing, saying, thinking that nobody notices how the place around them warps and changes and takes all of them somewhere else.

_____

When they all, except Four who was still very much confused and didn’t know what to do, had noticed that they've changed dimensions again, they began to set up camp. They collected wood and pulled up small tent-like constructions, various maps were pulled out and spread across the ground.

After a quick round of introductions from the group’s side, they all go back to planning and checking on supplies or just leaning back and taking it easy.

“I am so sorry about this”, Hyrule says, sitting down next to Four who's staring into the flames of the campfire. They don't know what's going on, but after having gone through that kind of adventure back then where they were also thrown all over the place, they learned to just not question, but rather find out what to do. Even though they don't know what to do right now.

“Usually, we're fast enough with the explanations and all”, Hyrule continues. “But then, Wind kind of failed to do it and everyone started panicking a bit and now we're here.” An apologetic smile is sent Four’s way. “Since I can't really offer you a way home, I can at least give you an explanation, alright?”

Four still feels overwhelmed, but more so tired, so they just nod and listen to Hyrule, as he talks on and on about the Legend of the Hero and how he incarnates and passes on his name, his tunic and his piece of the triforce.

“A few months back, old man Time”, he gestures towards the one across the camp with the scar who looks the oldest out of the bunch, “was ripped from his universe and into Sky’s. He was incredibly confused. When he met the “Hero” of that dimension, they both barely had enough time to find out what was happening before they were thrust into the next world."

He pauses and looks down at his hands, then into the fire and then back to Four.

“Since then, they've been slowly collecting Links from all kinds of timelines and worlds. Time usually tries to give a short and precise explanation. That way the current Link won't be too overwhelmed when we change dimensions... Ah, but some time ago, in Wild’s Hyrule, the old man barely avoided getting stabbed. Wild wasn't too fond of the scar over his eye and the amor. To him, Time looked like an enemy. So then, we changed things up and sent me to explain instead since I look less threatening. We just met Wind a few dimensions over and thought it would be a good idea to send him, but you saw how that went.”

Four gives him a blank stare which makes Hyrule give a nervous laugh in response.

“Anyway, I can already see your head spinning. Let's just… lay back for a minute.” He lays down his hands on his lap and looks up towards the darker growing sky. First stars are starting to twinkle and sparkle faintly. The silence is the most comfortable one, but Four doesn't really know how to initiate a new topic or what to talk about for that matter. So they just let it be for now.

Four averts his gaze and awkwardly looks around. There's nothing they can really do, but wait for something to happen. They lean closer to the fire, hunching in a bit.

Different incarnations of them, huh?

“Hey, Link?” An unpleasant feeling crawls up their left arm. They turn their head back to Hyrule. A displeased expression on their face which the other doesn't see since he's facing forward. “This is kind of a strange question, but are you the hero of something? Like, Twi is the hero of Twilight which is why we call him that and Wild is the hero of the wild and so on, ya know. It's kind of confusing to call you Link because everyone will swivel their heads around out of habit.”

“Oh, uhm, of course. Just call me Four.” They would love to add on their preferred pronouns, but something is holding them back. It could be that everyone else goes by he/him and aren't they supposed to do that, too? Being another incantation and all.

All of this is giving them a headache and the Four Sword they can spot leaning on a tree across the clearing is making things even more complicated.

______

The days pass in a blur and the matters weighs down on their mind, their body and their heart. It gnaws and eats away at them and just reminds them so much more of how different they are to all the other Link incarnations.

Not only that, but there's also this sharp, stinging feeling whenever they overhear someone talking about them. They also feel an uncomfortable tingle shoots up their back whenever they have to talk.

“Four, could you take over the first shift?”, Hyrule asks. He's the one, Four been primarily talking to. The others are nice and friendly, too, of course, but something about Hyrule’s familiar brown hair and his soft way of talking reassured them.

“Yeah, w- I can do that,” they catch themselves and swallow down the ‘we’. They're back to being singular. They have to remind themselves a few times a day, even after having gone through with it for at least a week.

It's fine. It's okay. They can do it.

They sit down at the fire, while everyone else hits the hay, and throw in a few more sticks for good measure. Their gaze wanders around before it falls on the Four Sword. So far, they didn't dare use it properly, scared that someone might see them. All of them.

But tonight, for the first time, they're truly alone. He's the only one keeping watch. Everyone's gone to sleep already. This is the perfect opportunity to maybe, just maybe, try…

They pick up their sword and slowly get up. For a few moment, they don't move a muscle and wait for a reaction from the sleeping group a bit away from them. When there is none, they tiptoe away from the camp until they can be seen no more. With shaky hands they raise their sword up to the sky.

Deep breaths. Concentration. On the feeling of the glimmer within the sword. Pull it out, let it engulf you. They can feel their body changing, moving, splitting into four.

They keep their eyes closed and hold onto the sword for dear life. They're scared. What if...

Right then and there, they could have all cried, seeing each other again. Red throws himself into the arms of Green and Blue who are standing the closest together. A few heartfelt hugs are exchanged, accompanied by the sobbing words of Red and the embarrassed ones of Blue. They sit down in a circle. None of them can wipe the grin off of their face.

As they are talking and laughing and bursting with relief and happiness, no one notices how all of the Four Swords give off a faint glow that were growing weaker by the second.

“But guys, it's really not okay for Four to deny themselves. Because if they are, they're hurting themselves and the body,” Red cries out, when Green explains why everyone has this weird feeling in their chest.

“It's probably because they used the Four Sword for so long,” Vio contemplates. He takes out his journal and his pen and draws a quick sketch of a person. “Usually, when a person uses the Four Sword, they've received a lot of training beforehand, so that they won't lose themselves. They have to precisely know who they are, what they want and how to center themselves, since they're literally getting ripped apart into pieces. Four didn't have that training, but used the Sword anyway.” He draws two crooked lines across the person's body, parting it into fourths.

“Not only is Four really young, compared to past wielders of the Four Sword, but we also got separated on our journey. Now their center isn't in the right place and the power starts to weaken and crack every time Four is unsure or denies themselves. They're unstable and so are we as a result. It's not unexpected that something is going to happen to us if we're like this for too lon-”

Vio’s words are cut off by a sudden tightness in his chest. He grips his tunic tight with his left hand and supports his body on the ground with his right. He's heaving and coughing for air that doesn't want to fill his lungs.

He looks around with hectic motions and sees that everyone else seems to be fighting with that very same tightness in their chest.

“Crap, it's happening, ugh, sooner than I e-expected,” Vio gasps out. His left hand is shaking so badly and is feeling kind of numb. He watches on in terrified fascination when he suddenly notices that his hand is turning gray. So is his shirt. The bangs in front of his eyes are losing their golden glow. “G-Green?!” He can barely feel his left arm now.

“I got it!”, Green suddenly yells and lunches for his sword on the ground. Both of his legs look like the color is slowly melting off of them. His trembling hands grab the sword before he thrust it upwards, face pinched with pain and exhaustion.

The others understand immediately. Each takes their sword in hand and weakly lifts them up into the sky. They can feel their body changing, merging, moving back into one.

Four falls down to their knees, gasping for air. Beads of sweat cover their forehead. The sword falls from their grasp.

“Dammit.”

Read more

______

A/N: Dammit, indeed. I've just edited this crap on the desktop version on mobile because of that stupid 100 word block limit and it didn't frickin work. I'm so sorry but I'll have to split it.

[momtemplative]

Watching My Diet.

Of Words and Images, That Is.

As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested.—Oscar Wilde, from The Picture of Dorian Gray.

1.

When I was pregnant, I was astounded by the amount of shit-advice people felt entitled to force upon me, thanks to the visual whistle-blower of my growing belly.

I kept the book, Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, by Ina May Gaskin next to my bed like a sacred text. The second half of the book contains a collection of empowered women sharing inspiring stories of their natural birth experiences. I read at least one story every night to off-set the deflating stories that were pushed at me. (One, still clear as day in my mind over a decade later, came from a woman who had never had kids! She said, in low tones and with concern in her eyes, “It’s the most painful thing you will ever experience. You WILL NEED DRUGS.”) 

I would often fall asleep with Ina May’s book on my chest, thinking maybe the positive messages would cause seep into my being, like a topical treatment.

Now, during the era of COVID19, the news is an IV drip of mounting catastrophe into all of our collective veins. And the way we receive news during these current times is 24-7, on screens, visual, relentless and without limits. (PS: as said in Time, “media images can be so intense that they can cause symptoms of acute stress or even PTSD.”) 

Like many, I find myself falling into the habit of using my few-far-between windows of space to either read updates from the Post and the Times, or to check social media. While informative at best, these word-venues are, nutrient-wise, anemic crumbs not suitable for a bottom-feeder.

So why the impulse to keep going back?

According to Time Magazine, “The human brain is wired to pay attention to information that scares or unsettles us—a concept known as “negativity bias“. Meaning, our brains are predisposed to go negative, and the news we consume reflects this.”

On a personal level, my intake of news is rising by the day—sometimes seemingly out of my control. I’ll just be grabbing my phone to check the weather and suddenly I’m well into an article on the pandemic, as if in a trance. 

Without clear boundaries and a bit of mindfulness, the news and media we are ingesting can be far more toxic than beneficial. The effects of constant negative-news consumption are real and complex. 

And I feel the wear-and-tear in my mental state, to be sure. I’ve been taking in the news every night, just before bed, via my tiny phone screen as if that makes it less potent and more manageable. Not the case. I can easily slip into helplessness, along with tasting the vinegar of potent rage in the back of my throat, even as I’m trying to settle in for sleep. 

Anxiety and stress create cortisol, which can wreak havoc throughout the physical body and beyond. My neck and shoulders feel like they are clutching with white-knuckles for some unseen disaster, pretty much all the time. Yoga and breathing provides a world of help while doing it, but the muscle memory is so deep, that the bad patterns often return within moments of back-to-life.

This is not to say the solution is to bypass the news entirely. But if we are in this for the long haul, deliberate choices need to be made, for the stability of everyone.

2.

Last week, my dear friend, Steph, mailed a box of crafting goodies to my girls. An eclectic mix of junk-drawer extractions and art things—things that have the potential to clutter up a house. But, when assembled in a package with intention and love, feel like vintage treasures from another world. Girl scout patches, circa the early 1990’s, ribbon in original packaging from the Carter administration, an untethered bouquet of white plastic glitter flowers. And in the midst of this treasure chest: a hardcover copy of the Oscar Wilde book, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

It was a fancy, old-timey edition that I had read through and written-in during college, using the same red ink from the same red pen the whole way through. My handwriting is young—an un-mastered version of my current script. But my brain is searching and inquisitive. I’m not sure why Steph wound up with the book, but there was a time when I passed out Oscar Wilde books like a communist would pass out propaganda and I likely forced it upon her.

Back then—over twenty years ago, more than half my current age—Oscar Wilde spoke to me in a way I was not accustomed to being spoken to, and brought about feelings that literature rarely provided. I indulged in Him, collected photos, quotes, and bought multiple used copies of his books. He became an unwitting spiritual guide of sorts. I carried the story of his tragic incarceration and subsequent death with me the way a god-fearing man would hold the image of Jesus’ crucifixion close to his heart. If they sold Oscar Wilde on a necklace, I’d have bought one, for sure.

Placing my hands on the cover of that book—while my girls squealed and unpacked the rest of the boxed treasures—was not far from the feeling of placing my hands on a body to massage. Flesh—living, breathing flesh. Cracking open the book brought with it not only the slight sigh that takes place in the inner ear during a good stretch, but also a swell of emotions. I flipped through the pages, feeling saved.

The article, What You Read Matters More Than You Might Think, in Psychology Today discusses the difference between “deep and light reading.” Deep reading is defined as reading that is slow, immersive, rich in sensory detail and emotional and moral complexity. It is distinctive from light reading, which is little more than the decoding of words. The author continues by saying deep reading is great exercise for the brain and has been shown to increase empathy, as well as inspiring reflection, analysis, and personal subtext to what is being read. 

A passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray—”Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there is in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?”

Another passage (how can I resist?): “In this country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every common tongue too wag against him. And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.”

How I missed that man. And what a time for him to pay a visit.

3. 

Last weekend, I was feeling particularly ill-at-ease. My speech had edges like so many sharp river rocks. Tears and sadness rotated through in unpredictable gusts. 

On the particular day I refer to, a book called Ordinary Magic, Everyday Life As Spiritual Path all but did a swan dive from my bookshelf and landed at my feet. The cover-image was dated and sun-bleached. The font and spacing came directly from the early 90’s, which is when it was published. I have a vague memory of buying this book at Half-Priced Books in Columbus, just before I made my move out west, in 2002, eighteen years ago. It’s a collection of Buddhist essays that focus on sectioned-out, topics—creativity and community, for example. It did not take long to realize that the editor, John Welwood, steals the whole dang show. His intros to each chapter sparkle with the quiet wisdom of one who is not the headliner, but knows his own worthiness.

(As with Oscar Wilde, I could include countless quotable phrases, but a taste is all you need.) In his introduction to the creativity essays, Welwood said, “By being still and receptive, instead of busily trying to find solutions, we give our intelligence the time and space it needs to find an appropriate way to proceed.” I read that line and gently set the book on my lap to take pause and think to myself, Thank god.

Another account of being liberated by the right words.

The Unknowing. Yes, that is the landscape we all inhabit now. How do we work with such potent feelings of lack-of-control? A classic solution would be to distract the hell out of ourselves so the low hum of anxiety doesn’t seem as loud. Or, we could try to re-frame our reaction, teach the brain that there could be another approach. 

Our lives are, in many ways, on hold as we await a vaccine to protect our collective physical health. But our mental health is not on hold. Our intellect is under non-stop media siege and our sanity begs to be nourished and protected now more than ever. An essential piece of that puzzle (the puzzle of avoiding going clinical insane, that is)—more so than what’s contained in a bottle or that can be purchased online with a credit card—may very well already live on our bookshelf.

John Welwood also said, “What is fresh and alive comes only from the unknown.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to have that phrase tattooed on my forearm  in old-english script after this whole thing is over. 

May 17, 2020

[rinthehufflepuff]

Agent M pt. 1

Parings: Clintasha x Reader

Summary: You’ve been on the run for four years, never staying in one place too long, until you stumble across an abandoned house that seems the perfect place to bunker down in for the winter.  Just as you’re getting comfortable, however, and the seasons start to change, the homeowners appear and they are far different from anything you could have expected.

Warnings: Nothing but some mild panic and language in this part.

Word Count: 1983

A/N: So I’ve decided to try my hand at posting fanfics on here.  I’ve written on other websites, but never Tumblr and never with reader inserts.  I will have little warning tags at the start of each chapter when applicable (part six is written and edited and it’s gonna be marked to hell) so just keep an eye on those and hopefully, we can avoid any incidents.  Oh, and if you don’t have it already, I would suggest getting the InteractiveFics extension, it’ll make it just a bit easier when reading through.

You thought you had found the perfect place when you stumbled across the run-down farmhouse.  It was nearly half-an-hour away from the nearest town and situated on a fair amount of land with plenty of surrounding forest to disappear in if need be.  The house and land looked abandoned, though you couldn’t imagine why it would be when it looked like such a wonderful place.  Well, it would be wonderful once it was fixed up.

The cream paneling was more beige from the weather and was cracked in places.  The green-tiled roof had places where birds and other critters had nested and damaged the structure.  A few green window shutters limply hung where they should, but most of the windows were shattered or cracked and were missing their shutters.  The wrap around porch you had always dreamed of having had collapsed in places from rotted wood and the rickety stairs had rusted nails sticking out in the oddest places.  Nearly half the exterior had some sort of plant growing against it in some manner or another.

Inside wasn’t much better.  It looked like whoever the house had belonged to before being abandoned had gutted the place, tearing up whatever they had owned with no regard for the damage they had left behind.  Stray hooks and wires littered the wall along with random holes that you couldn't be sure the origin of.  Mold had taken a firm hold in what had probably once been the kitchen as well as the bathrooms.  The paint was chipped and peeling in every room, and there were some very odd-looking stains on the floor.  The only furniture in the house was a lumpy couch with exposed springs and a wire bed frame that looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.  The whole place smelled too, making it obvious that animals and the elements had been claiming the interior just as much as the exterior.

Still, it was better than sleeping on the ground outside with a tarp that tended to not completely shield you from the wind and rain.  With the November air becoming colder by the day, you were becoming desperate and the house was big enough you were sure you could find someplace to curl up and sleep without freezing to death.  

It took all of three days for you to decide that the house was less of a temporary situation and more of a semi-permanent situation.  You were running low on money and after finding a bike in the battered barn behind the house, you rode into town and found a job as a mechanic that would pay cash without too many questions asked.  It wasn’t the best job, your pay was lower than it should have been and you worked irregular hours because you were an unknown commodity in this town, but it paid for the bare essentials to keep you clean, fed, and warm.  Most of the money, though, you squirreled away for an emergency.  What you could afford to go without you adamantly avoided.  Most of your food came from setting up small traps around the house’s land, which also meant you could get a little more money off the pelts you skinned, out of dented cans from the dollar store, and discarded food you fished out of the dumpsters of grocery stores or restaurants.  It wasn't the most pleasant way to live, or the most comfortable, there were plenty days you had nearly nothing to eat, but it was far better than the life you had been living before.  Leaps and bounds better, and you wouldn’t change how you were living if it meant going back to that life.

When you weren’t working at the garage or scrounging for food, you were slowly repairing the house.

It had not been your intention to repair anything major, just the room you were staying in, but there was something so satisfying about fixing the dilapidated home that you found yourself doing random repairs for anything you could do without spending too much money.  At least, at first.  By January you were spending more on the house repairs than yourself and if you were in the house you were working on repairing it.  You didn’t bother to buy furniture or paint the walls or make it any more of a home, but you spent hours upon hours working on the main structure, making the fireplace functional, replacing the window panes one at a time, and fixing what you could of the roof from inside the house.  By February, the mold was gone as well as the wires and critters.  It still was not a place most people would want to live, but it looked worlds better than when you had first crept inside.  Without meaning to, you became attached to the house and you found yourself dreading the day you would have to leave and go back to camping in the woods.  At least no one else had appeared on the property while you were squatting there. 

Until one afternoon in the middle of March.

You were making your way back to the house from the river nearby when you felt like someone was watching you.  Shrugging it off and blaming the feeling on your near-constant paranoia, you left the safety of the woods and used the back door to get into the kitchen.  You hadn’t caught much, living on your own and being used to eating very little, you didn't need to, but you had managed to catch two catfish that would serve as lunch and dinner for the day.  Just as you were skinning it, you heard a creak from behind you and a smooth female voice.

“So, catfish for lunch?”  Gripping the knife, you spin to come nearly nose to nose with a very pretty, and slightly annoyed looking, redhead.  “I hope you’re making enough for all of us.”

You squeaked and tried to back up, but you just bumped into the counter where you had been working and you realized that you were effectively trapped unless you could dart to one side and run like hell.  But then you would lose all your belongings, meager as they were.  This wasn’t something you were prepared for.  Living in the woods?  Uncomfortable but doable.  Squatting in empty buildings when you thought you could get away with it?  Better than the woods when it was cold, but not by much.  Fixing things?  It didn’t matter what it was, you could make it better than before - somehow you could fix anything you touched.  A masters degree in electrical engineering and doctorate in mechanical engineering from Stanford helped.  Confrontation?  You were useless.  If it weren’t for the counter you were currently clinging to you would probably be on the floor.

“Awe, come on now, got nothing to say?  How about an introduction.”  When you don’t say anything, she grins.  It’s all teeth and harsh angles, and the woman looks like she could very easily tear you to sheds.  “Are we shy, or do we not speak English,” she purred, enjoying how your eyes darted around the space, desperately trying to find a quick exit to where you were keeping your things.

At the front of the house, you could hear the door open and close, something heavy hitting the floor, and the jangle of metal.  Chains?  Handcuffs?  She wasn’t wearing a police uniform, but that didn’t mean anything.  

“Nat, you camping in the living room?”  You flinched at the deeper voice as it echoed off the walls.

“No, it looks like we have a guest,” the woman - Nat - called back, not breaking eye contact with you.

“What do you mean- who the fuck are you,”  a man yelled,  rounding the corner, clad in combat clothing that has been torn and stained.  You did not recognize the emblem on his vest, but that didn’t mean anything either.  Burn marks and what looked like sutured stab wounds were littered across his muscular arms making him look even more intimidating.  The yelling did you in.  The boning knife you had been clutching in your hand clattered to the ground and you slid down and cowered against the cupboard, a ringing sound drowning out everything as your breathing went from a little quick to fast and shallow all at once.  The woman frowned and took a step back, yelling something in a language you didn’t understand, but it sounded harsh.  You screwed your eyes shut as a freezing feeling settled in your stomach and your throat felt like it closed off.  As the ringing got louder you clamped the heels of your hands over your ears.  But it was still there.  Ringing.  Yelling.  Screaming.  Crying.  The cold spread across your whole body as you shook.  Banging.  Crashing.  Smashing.  So cold.

And then you felt warm.  

Something heavy and warm pushed at your side and your legs, making you unfold a bit.  As soon as there was enough space, you felt the heavy warmth settle in your lap and nuzzle your face and arms.  It was soft.  Slowly, the noises subsided until you were left in silence and the numbing cold retreated.  You were still scared though.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay.”  Your eyes were still closed, but you knew it was the same male who had spoken, except his voice was much softer, barely above a whisper. 

Opening your eyes, you found both the redhead and the man crouched in front of you while a large golden retriever lay on your lap with his tongue lolling out of its mouth.

“That was one nasty attack,” the man said, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  “I promise we aren’t gonna hurt you, you just surprised me is all.  I kinda expected this place to be empty.  My name’s Clint, and this is my...friend Natasha.  That great lump there, in your lap, is Lucky.”

“This...this is your house.  Isn’t it,” you asked, focusing on the dog in your lap.  Lucky nudged his head into your hand, not so subtly asking for you to pet him.  Tentatively, you scratched his ear a little and he leaned into it.

“Yeah, though I’m guessing it’s more your place than mine by now.  How long’ve you been here?  I won’t be mad, it’s not like I’m here all that often.”

“Few months,” you whispered.  “Needed - needed someplace to keep warm.”

“So you’re homeless then,” Natasha asked, the bite gone out of her voice.  You nodded and she huffed, standing and leaving the room.  

“I’ll leave, it’s gettin’ warm out again,” you mutter, looking up a little so your eyes were trained on the bird emblem on Clint’s uniform.  “Promise I will - just don’t call the cops.  They...they…”

“Hey, I won’t call anyone,” Clint said, sitting fully on the floor and taking a quiver of arrows and a collapsed bow off his back.  “Natasha and I try to avoid local law enforcement whenever we can, makes a bit of a mess if we don’t.  Plus, as far as I’m concerned, you can stay.  Like I said, I’m not here much.  I’d have to talk to Natasha, and you’d have to, erm, agree to some terms, probably learn a thing or two while we’re here to teach you, but I’m more than fine with you keeping this place standing while I’m gone.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” you frowned.  

“Maybe not, but you look like you’re comfortable here and I’d be a dick if I kicked you out.”

“You’re already a dick, Clint,” Natasha yelled from somewhere, obviously having been listening to the conversation.  “She can stay, but she’s gotta help clean this dump.”

“Well, I guess that settles that then,” Clint chuckles.  “So, first things first, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N.  Now, Nat said something about catfish…”

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Part 2!